Americani

Friday night I had a brief conversation with a coworker from Latin America. He told me that in school, they learn of only five continents: Africa, Australia, Antarctica, Eurasia and America. Outside of this being a lot of "A" places, it seems to make a lot of sense; All of the Americas are one giant land mass, and Europe and Asia touch as well.

This, therefore, lead us to discussing the concept of being American vs. Mexican vs. Canadian vs. Latino etc. Technically, he says, we are all Americans, but he definitely things of himself in terms of Mexican and Canadian. Further, I would also be American, but identify as Canadian as it is my country of origin. Why, then, am I so offended when I am "mistaken" for American? What's more, why are only people from the United States generally called "Americans" to the exclusion of all other types of Americans?

Central/South Americans learn us all as American, and don't really differentiate between the hemispheres. When we want to be specific, we can be Brazillian, Mexican, Canadian, Peruvian etc. So why do US citizens get the monopoly on the simple "American?"

These days, of course, it would take a grand effort of linguistic re-appropriation to convince Canadians, Mexicans etc. to identify as "American" because of the grossly negative connotations surrounding the word, much in the same way many women are offended by the terms "Cunt" and "Bitch" (both being translations of ancient words for Priestess). We would also have to think of some other term for the current "Americans," such as U-S-ers, or Statesians (maybe U-S-ians?). I'm not sure how this would go over with the Almighty Superpower, either.

Today I learned that the reason North Americans (and probably Europeans, and I'm not sure who else as I have not experienced all education systems) differentiate continentally between North and South America, as well as Europe and Asia, has to do with tectonic plates and how they are laid out; just because the continents seem connected on the surface does not mean they actually are. Or something like that. This makes me wonder about Central America then; is it tectonically North or South, or is it its own thing and we haven't had time to update the maps into eight continents? If anyone has answers I would certainly like to hear them. In the meantime, I will continue to think up non-ridiculous terms to apply to citizens of the United States that go beyond simply "American" as it belittles the rest of us on the (two) continent(s).

Feeling like a Bride... I think.

Tuesday I had my very first and fabulous dress fitting.

In February I began the quest that most bride's look forward to, but I dread: Finding the Perfect Dress. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE dresses, I enjoy shopping, and I'm as excited as the next bloke to find something pretty. The prospect of shopping for a wedding dress, however, filled me with apprehension. I had no idea what I was looking for, or what I was getting myself into.

My friends and I all managed to have a Saturday off, so we met up early and started to hit my local bridal boutiques (I live right on the edge of Greek-town, so there are a surprising number to be found). The very first place we went we were asked to remove our shoes. Now, I had been warned about this, but I thought it would be only in very eccentric, over-the-top shops. Apparently, this has become common practice throughout the industry. And me in my Christmas socks. At least they didn't have any holes. As we trotted through the store, I noticed several things:
1. Everything was VERY white.
2. Everything was VERY fluffy.
3. Everything was VERY big.
4. Everyone in the store was VERY coiffed.
I was lost in a sea of crinoline, taffeta, silk, satin, and many many layers of fabric. Not to mention many dimensions of ugly. We did manage to find a few un-heinous selections and started to carry them around.
Eventually, we were approached by an unsmiling sales woman who immediately took us to task: "Do you have an appointment?"
No hello. No good morning. No pleasantries. No smile. No appointment.
"What are you looking for?"
A wedding dress. No, seriously. A wedding dress. In a bridal store.
"When is your wedding?....Oh, that is not enough time."
Eight months is too short notice for one of these dresses?
"Well, we try them on, see what we can do." And off she goes to start a fitting room for me.
The fitting room is the size of my apartment. My friends and I crowded in and I undress. It took all four of us to get me into this dress. It's huge. It's about four feet too long, six inches too wide, and made me look like a little girl playing dress-up. Now, clearly all wedding dresses require some degree of alteration, and I'm sure that given half a chance this dress would look just fine on someone of greature stature. I, however, stand at a towering 5'2" and have a girth of about 120lbs soaking wet.
Still-unhappy sales woman pulled back the curtain, took one look at me and said "There are larger mirrors this way" and walked out fully just expecting me to follow. What's a shellshocked girl to do? My entourage (as they were all holding the dress on for me) followed me out into the parlour, past a woman who has very obviously had her hair and make-up done for this fitting and who looks mighty pissed that we are also in the room and GIGGLING no less, up onto a little pedistal in front of the world's biggest mirror.
I looked ridiculous. There is a picture of this, but it's print not digital so I cannot share, but we were nearly thrown out for taking it. It's about this time I realized that floor length is really not for me, so we mentioned this to Madame People Skills who informs me that they don't carry "Those kinds of things here."
We hauled my tulle toting tushee back into the fitting room to try on dress number two. In the midst of stepping out of one dress and into the other, topless, Ms. Acrimonious barged in with another dress shouting, "What do you think of this one?"
I think I'm topless and the entire store just saw my boobs, thank you very much.
It didn't help that down the front of the bodice were enormous fabric flowers made out to look like giant buttons. Yeesh.
Dress number two didn't even make it out of the gate. Still too big, still too long, still too ugly. It even had a little shoe-lace type bow around the waist.
Please note the face.
After taking one hillarious picture of my socks under a waterfall of tafetta, we decided it was time to move on.
We went to another traditional bridal store in the neighbourhood (much less traumatic, and therefore much less funny to relate) before we called it quits on tradition. I put my shoes back on, pulled up my socks, and headed to Queen West fashion district.
Along the popular strip is a store I have always loved but never purchased from: Pam Chorley's Fashion Crimes (http://fashioncrimes.ca/#). Inside I found every dress in every style I have ever worn or wanted to wear. I heard rock music. I smelled indie perfume. I felt at home. I got to keep my shoes on. And it is here that I found my almost-perfect dress. Then I discovered that I could make it into my perfect dress for only a fraction more of the price, and the price would include ALL alterations and fittings. I nearly fell over. The staff was friendly, happy, helpful, enjoying their work and even go so far as to remember my name weeks later. The other patrons in the store were SMILING and looked happy to be there. I was sold. And so, therefore, was my dress. I cannot post pictures or describe it here as of yet since Jim reads this blog and doesn't want to know, and I LOVE keeping happy secrets from him. ;) I bought and co-created my dream dress for under $500. (Did I fail to mention that all the traditional cake-dresses at Miss Surly's shop were all well over $1200?)
On Tuesday I had my first real fitting and felt like a rock star. I went early in the morning, right at opening so there was no one else in the store; just me, the staff, and thousands of pretty dresses, the prettiest one on my body. I have another fitting in just over two weeks wherein we will also discuss accessories and possibly good places to get shoes (shoes are giving me issues). I can't wait.
The joy of non-tradition is that I can actually get what I want. I can have my cupcakes on the table, not on my person, and eat them, too.

Dear Crappy Waitress Job;

When we first began seeing each other three years ago, everything was fabulous. The work-load wasn't too extreme, the clientel was... variable but generally pretty good. The tips were included on meals, but extra for drinks, but at least there was a decent guarantee of going home with a certain amount every single night. By the middle of our first year together, we had let go of that guarantee in order to bring in more business. I resisted at first, but soon found that it made only a little difference in our relationship and my wallet, so I held on. Also, the promise that this included gratuity would return every holiday season, and with larger group bookings, kept my hope and loyalty alive.

During the summer months of each of these years, we have taken vacations from each other to ensure our relationship doesn't grow stale. These trips only lasted two weeks or so, which allowed us time apart to grow fond of each other, perhaps even miss each other just a little bit. I always came back to you, knowing you could help support me and my grocery habits, and accommodate my school schedule.

Over the last year or so, things have been rough. Management competency has dwindled, and with it the clients, the business, and the tips. I would blame the economy, but that isn't really the whole problem. You recently lost your entire kitchen staff and I sympathize with this loss. But then you hired a slew of new (and unneccessary) waitstaff along with the new kitchen staff. You stopped calling me in order to ensconce this new staff; you placed our long-standing relationship on the back burner. Ten weeks I waited for your call for naught. I began to think that maybe we were through; you had found a new love and it was time for me to move on. Then, yesterday, I called you just to check in, and you asked me to come. I was nervous, but still excited as it had been so long since I had seen you.

When I arrived, I learned of some changes to policy, packages, and general ideals and I have to tell you: You have reached a new low. Removing the gratuity from the show/dinner package may bring in the clients, but it will send out the waiters. People who are not presented with a bill at the end of an evening will certainly not remember to shell out a gratuity on a dinner paid for days, weeks, or even months in advance. And while most of the clients we have are delightful people, I cannot pay rent using pleasant company of strangers. Last night, having served over twenty five patrons, I went home with just over $50. After doing the math, I realized that this package has actually cost ME $40. After the requisite 20% tip-out to the wonderful bartender, sub-par food expediter, and non-existent busser.

You promise that the package will go into remission come September, that this is a temporary measure to ensure that your staff remains "employed." Funny, for ten weeks I was "employed" with no work, and in return essentially lost money for coming in.

I am not sure what I'm going to do with you. You haven't always been delightful to me, you've caused me anxiety, you've treated my friends like dirt, and now you've begun to actually cost me income. I have already committed to coming in this evening. There is a distinct possibility that this will be our last rendez-vous. If I didn't have a wedding to pay for I would have told you to hit the skids last night right before service began. Further, it seems rude to walk away from you when my manager is on vacation; it feels cowardly. Thus, I will see you tonight, likely for the last time.

We've had some laughs, we've had good times, but all that ended within our first six months together. It's time to say good-bye and let go of each other with love. I hope you will be very happy.

Sincerely,
Me.

Just a short post

To let everyone know that the butterfly bush has bloomed!!!