Easter Sandals.

Dear Loco Ono, consider this a public letter of thanks and acknowledgment; homegirl LOVES her easter sandals! Even though I was almost struck by a Cavalier driving idiot while en route to the Post via bicycle on Osborne and Stradbrook this afternoon, my enthusiasm was hardly curbed thanks to a laughter-filled shift at Fresh. Steve (brilliant coworker) had me in stitches from beginning to end and Cara (Sea Bass, friend) entertained me over copious amounts of coffee at our neighborhood haunt once I was released of the clutches of said job.

After a few days of making random conversation with grumpy/dissatisfied people from behind the bar at my job and on the street, I have drawn a few conclusions regarding the change in season and why people (including this face) are acting so berzerker of late. A.) There is something in the water (dead bodies and asbestos, so says The Sun, shocking!) B.) The position of the moon does in fact influence one's mood C.) Winnipeg's coupledom epidemic has multiplied at an alarming rate and become just that, an epidemic; it is bringing those without down (not to shit on any happy couples--I am psyched for you--it is just that if I have to witness one more couple spoon-feeding each other gelati on Corydon, I will die [until I become one of them and succumb to spoon-feeding my own phantom lover] for now I am okay with being bitter and silently chastising them through the windows of my workplace). Maybe it was last week's snowstorm that sent any previously established positivity spiraling into a downward tailspin, but the entire city seems to have their panties in a knot. I am over it.

On a more random note, this is the last paragraph I have read recently (referenced without permission from a work by J. Winterson):

"On more than one occasion I have been ready to abandon my whole life for love. To alter everything that makes sense to me and to move into a different world where the only known will be the beloved. Such a sacrifice must be the result of love... or is it that the life itself was already worn out? I had finished with that life, perhaps, and could not admit it, being stubborn or afraid, or perhaps did not know it, habit being a great binder. I think it is often so that those most in need of change choose to fall in love and then throw up their hands and blame it all on fate. But it is not fate, at least, not if fate is something outside of us; it is a choice made in secret after nights of longing". I am a charioteer in this game called Love and although I am only twenty two, my am growing tired of longing after a phantom.

ANYHOW, Spring has arrived in the neighborhood at long last and along with the abundance of aforementioned twosomes, all the usual suspects are coming out of the woodwork. Even Milly, the Corydon gypsy has been out and about; collecting tabs from cans and cursing to Hell any who drinks more than she sees fit at Bar Italia. I have yet to spot Smoochie (the Spring/Summer season fille de joie) lurking outside of restaurants in her thigh-high white Smoochie boots.

There is no real point to this post, especially considering the weak threat to stop writing in my last heavily reference rear wheel post. At this rate I should throw in the towel. I suppose I merely wanted to give my gal Lo a shout out of deep gratitude for mailing me a new pair of sandals along with a letter that made me cry. Thank you gem, you are aces. Congratulations are to be extended to the same said lady, Laura Beeston, on her recent acceptance to Concordia for Journalism. Shit, I don't know what is better: the prospect of completing one's Masters in Journalism at Concordia in the Francophone land of opportunity, or squishing grapes barefoot in France hand-in-hand with a Parisian lover. I trust that whatever path this girl takes, it will be one to write home about. Home is where the heart is, and gem, you have my heart.

Despite this melodramatic post of love and longing and life and overdue typewritten applause for a friend out of my reach, I am riding the crest of happiness once again. Just like that. Thank you Laura for being a constant and an inspiration when it felt like all else was lost and there was nothing left to write about. Thank you to my state of perma singledom for providing me with material to bank on, even if it is depressing as fuck.

Spring is here, and I am waltzing with the open sea in my new Easter sandals.
I miss you Loco, mucho mucho.

Madge 'Debbie' K. Shit.

Post script: here are some recent photos.