Little Loft on the Prairie

Big-city girl trying to make it in a little loft in Edmonton. Dreams, plans, grad school, flight school, pole dancing, new people, new places, new beginnings. Join me, and I'll try to keep it interesting. #GradSchool || Airplane Noises || Photos

[little-loft]

How to get lost like a boss

I'm going 135 down a winter highway. It's raining. The air is so dry, I am swallowing back blood. Metallic taste to everything around me, silver car, silver mountain tops...in theory. It's pitch black. My wipers are working overtime and Drake is on the radio, "0 to a 100 real quick." 

I am going to Canmore, Alberta. It's midnight, and I'm late. This is my weekend getaway and I'm driving like there is someone on my tail. 

This is about getting lost. 

I pull myself up into the top wooden bunk in my room for 6. and collapse into happy oblivion. I contemplate tripping on the mountain tomorrow, but decide against it. This is about getting lost back in time. 

I wake up and skate into the parking lot. My rented Nissan is waiting for me, with all its 4-wheel drive booty, glistening in the morning sun - it's only just stated to lick its way down the mountains. 

I drive to Lake Louise, this time taking it slow - cars on either side of me are spinning their way into the snowbanks. Lake Louise Fairmont is the first thing you see. It's $9.80 per vehicle to see the rest. The view takes my breath away, again. I haven't been here for ten years, and nothing's changed. This is about getting lost back in time. I'm 12 again. I still remember how air in Ukraine tastes and I don't know what a Double-Double is yet. But I see this nature and it's the first thing I learn to love about this country. It's hard to love it still, but Lake Louise is unconditional. 

I take the path less taken and cut across the lake on the East side. The snowshoe path takes me into the woods, a narrow path that winds up and down along the hills. Every once in a while I'm knee-deep in snow, but the Timberlands hold. 

I feel like singing so I falsetto my way through an old Russian Gypsy song. This is about getting lost, back in time. I look across the lake. I see the 12 year old me, waist-long hair neatly in a braid, my sister an 8 year old, brother is a mere four year old, in a rain coat with a red and pointy hood that makes him look like a garden gnome. My parents are so young. It's fall. 

The song I am signing is on repeat. Note to self to learn a few new ones. I imagine myself singing this song to my firstborn. This is a weird walk. There is a horse-pulled sleigh on the other bank. The path winds up, and I decide to turn around. I want to see the lake one more time and I have to keep going. 

On the drive to Banff, I spot my favourite mountain. Tunnel, it's called. It looks like the mountain from Lion King, from which young Simba was presented to the animal kingdom. Are you judging yet, or nah?

I am in Banff for lunch/breakfast/dinner meal of the day. I am making a significant time travel loop. Banff is buzzing with weekend laziness - everyone is happy to be here. Shoutout to Italian food and old friends, #jesuispain ;). 

I pop into an information center around Canmore. Give me a good hiking trail. She sends me along to Grassi Lakes. there is supposedly a good 2-hour trail there. I have to take the Three Sisters parkway to get there. I pass the turn to Grassi Lakes, and I keep going. The road quickly turns into a snow-covered serpentine that climbs up, up, up. Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go everywhere. 

This is the winter I was looking for. This is the peace I came to find up North. And I found it because I missed a turn. 

Have you ever seen a lake engulf a mountain side? 

Or have you ever raced a mountain stream deep into the woods?

Only to find the lake that welcomes it?

Have you ever hollered at the sky and heard the mountains echo back to you?

I was perfectly happy tonight. And I was glad I went alone. Some people would say that maybe it's foolish to go hiking alone, or to drive without a map or to walk on half-frozen lakes. But it's about conquering fear to look around the next riverbend and having your breath taken away. When you're with someone else, fear multiplies and you are less likely to go up a steep mountain road with 90 degree turns over a 10,000 foot drop. So maybe I'm an idiot. But I'm a happy idiot. 

[little-loft]

Weary Travellers

to a weary traveler, all airports start to look the same. stale silver of the hallways, all modernity becomes the same. the same voice is on every speaker, the same script is repeated, for ever and a day. we shuffle from line to line and get stuffed into long air conditioned metal pencil cases, full of beating hearts. the weary travellers are easy to spot - we have nowhere in particular to be, our realities consist of going from point to point. everything becomes routine. the weary traveler prefers to stay as low to the ground as possible, and at home we sit on the floors. regular-sized bottles seem gigantic compared to the ones we oder on our tab. we know the pilots who fly our most common routes. we are so used to strangers, anonymity becomes second nature, and no one greets us at the airports, taxi drivers are the first to hear our stories, and we never tell the same one twice. state of constant flux, longing, loneliness that only reveals itself at thirty thousand feet as we look out our tiny windows and over the wings that carry us to yet another passport stamp. the weary traveler is never surprised, rarely annoyed, there is inner peace that comes with routine. sometimes uncertainty and nomadism can be routine. 

the weary traveller is really just looking for a home. there is nothing romantic here, nothing moving, nothing extraordinary. some people were born to walk, others to fly. the weary traveller can leave her heart in Montreal, she can cry at the dinner table in Toronto, and she can make her confession in Edmonton without a second thought. She can leave the people she trusts in Ottawa and make life-changing decisions in Vegas. The weary traveller can fall in love in Chicago and leave two days later. air space is church and weary travellers have just one religion. we recognize each other by aloofness and lack of certainty regarding the current time zone. our maps are on a bigger scale. our perception of time is stretched, of distance - shrunk. 

weary travellers pack light. half of the suitcase is shoes and necessities. the other half is rolled up clothes. bring an extra laundry bag. don’t bother with neck pillows, those are for amateurs. bring a blind fold and wet wipes. dress in layers. weary traveller’s pockets are always empty. we’ve mastered consistency. we know how to talk to authority to disarm and reassure. we know our border allowances. we know the cut-off points. we are never late and never early. airport layouts are ingrained in our skulls, we are never lost. we have more money in air miles than most people have in savings accounts. 

we are accustomed to the flight attendant’s perfect hair, and the flight captain’s sharp jaw lines. everything we need to survive, to live full, memorable lives, all that fits into a carry-on. 

the weary travellers thrive from take-off to landing. how often do we picture a nose dive. we know one drink counts for two at high altitude. we are leaving behind more than we can drink away, but we drink anyway. weary travellers are drifters who have lighter anchors. we criss cross geography like scalpels, we leave scars across the clouds. weary travellers sometimes need to be held down and ordered to stay. the reoccurring Mary Poppins phenomena. the weary travellers obey only three things - the winds of change, the boarding pass and their pressure-stabilized hearts (or those who own these). 

weary travellers are unjolted. they carry deep inside them a space that has seen everything, in one way or another, we’ve lived all of the seven possible narratives, times over. that space is not rattled by any fears. we know how stories end, we’ve seen enough paperbacks with corners folded, left behind by flight attendants who dream of underground caves. if a weary traveller chooses to return to you, don’t take it lightly - this is Freedom choosing you.

[little-loft]

Practical Guide to Bar Hopping (in Edmonton, lol)

It's Monday night, which is just about the time your weekend hangover is replaced by the reminiscent phase, now that rereading texts-from-last-night has seized to baffle and amuse.

On Saturday night I had a little get-together over drinks, which got a little out of hands, as much as visiting four bars in one night outside of Frosh might.

We meant to meet at Woodwork - the only Montrealesque dive in Edmonton, to my knowledge. Here tight shorts and loafers meet fitted short sleeves and Troitsky glasses. Woodwork couldn't be bothered to sit us in a timely fashion so we put our names down on the list and headed around the corner to Craft.

Craft is a huge and lovely place, with inviting booths, a lively bar and a patio, not to mention additional second floor seating. The menu is fixed to large wooden boards and tens of beers are listed in tiny font, making this a drink menu equivalent to a small encyclopedia. I had a cider and my friend ordered a very dry martini. We were pretty satisfied with our drinks (arguably, it's hard to mess up cider) and the atmosphere of the place was wonderful - both casual yet decent, this joint opened its doors to anyone from young professionals to sophisticated college kids to middle aged patrons looking for a good drink. I heard the food is divine, but it's a rumour I can't support at press time.

Just as we took our last sips, Woodwork gave us a call. We paid our lovely waitress and headed back. Woodwork prides themselves on using locally sourced ingredients and fancy drinks. I wish they listed their drinks on their website so that I could tell you what not to order. My friend had a gin and basil drink, which was delicious. His second martini left you wishing you didn't touch the olives. I ordered something with "Little China" in its name and my drink came in a China cup on a saucer. I had a flashforward to my alcoholic grandma years when I have my grandkids over and entertain them with stories as I take sips of what they think is iced tea. It was an odd experience. My second drink was orange in color, tart in taste and entirely a bad decision. I don't remember what it's called, and I blame that on coping mechanisms.

I'm stealing all the pictures

I would, however, recommend the smoked salmon plate, which consists of delicious salmon and some finely sliced cucumbers that make you wonder what the life of a cucumber slicer must be like, because slicing cucumbers so thin along the long side of a cucumber must require a certain personality type.

100 was our next stop. This was one of the oddest venues I've ever seen - there was a live DJ who kept talking, and a 27-35 aged crowd who neither ate, danced or really drank that much. With the exception of one lady who kept trying to grind on people on either side of her, without much success. We started with tequila shots, mojitos and vodka sodas. Our waitress was adorable and terribly slow. 100 would confuse people less if it tried to resolve its own identity crisis between trying to be a bar, restaurant and lounge all at the same time.

This is like Disneyland, only better

To end the evening on a high note we made our way across the street to Sherlock - a shot of nostalgia from my Liverpool days. Sherlock was a pub that beared no false hopes - grimy, busy, loud and smelling of beer, it was perfect. We got ID-ed, which made us giggle, and stood at the bar as the evening's live act tore Bob Marley and Bruno Mars covers out of his throat. We had vodkas (sodas for him, Seven for her) and everything reminded me of Bukowski and everything was beautiful and nothing hurt. The bar was covered in stickers, license plates, old passports, hotel room keys and restaurant napkins - artifacts of human curiosity and treasures left behind by slurring travelers.

Sherlock felt like a warm blanket tucking me in for the night. And it was. And so it goes.

[little-loft]

This is where I'm studying this week. I'm feeling very Victorian.

[little-loft]

"I hate Vegas"

It’s a Tuesday night and I’m in Vegas. I hate Vegas. I love Vegas.

I’m a little buzzed and the music is far too loud. Tell me that you know me but you don’t really know me but it doesn’t even matter.

Why do I hate Vegas? Because I hate amusement parks. Vegas is begging for you to ride its pony, go ahead, that saddle’s waiting.

Vegas is the fake excess, maxed out. People come to Vegas, eat their complementary shrimp cocktail and leave. People come to Vegas to feel like they matter. They stay in pretty hotels and take pictures against pretty flashing lights. They wear their finest clothes and send their dollar bills down the throats of slot machines. People see the fake Eiffel Tower, the plywood Coliseum, and they feel they are going somewhere in life. They see the chlorinated Venice Grand Canal and they feel like they know what they’re talking about. Someone refill that man’s margarita tube.

Vegas is Rome. Vegas is Rome right before Rome fell. You see Vegas and you never want to touch capitalism again. You see Vegas and you think, the American dream is Elvis’ ghost.

Vegas is great if you haven’t been to Europe. If you’ve never had a chance to see and feel and taste the real thing. Vegas is nicely clustered, and did you want girls, because strip clubs have free limo service. Nothing complements ‘I’m a confident male’ like arriving in a limo at a strip club.

How much are people willing to pay for fantasies? A lot. Even people like me, although in our fantasies we’re just smarter than everyone else.

But Vegas does have great shopping. Waist cincher, designer dress, shoes and bag for under $300? Holla. Before you judge me, please understand I’m paid to say the right things while looking good. The trick of the trade is the business card timely handed by well-manicured hands.

I understand why Vegas exists. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas because you can't pack up smoke and mirrors. And it makes me a little sad, and it makes me feel a little hollow, but I get it. It’s all right. Enjoy...

[little-loft]

Letter to Future Boyfriend

Dear Future Boyfriend,

Hi. Before we hit it off, I thought I’d lay down some things about me that would make this whole thing easier for the both of us. Not that I’m difficult. I’m just an Aquarius, we like our space and we have our fair share of free spirit.

You’ll see that in me, and it will scare you. You’ll wonder if I’m really in it for you, or if you’re just another one in a queue to my bedroom. Part of the blame is on me – I like risk. You see, I create risk. You’re probably the type to minimize risk. But we are actually quite complementary. I set fires. You put them out. We need each other. Without you, everything would burn up. Without me, you’d have nothing to put out. We create each other’s purpose.

Please understand that for me, the people who matter are the people I come back to. I may be laughing at someone else’s jokes, but I come home to you at the end of the day. Please understand that that’s the most important thing to me. Essence over form.

I won’t hold your hand for show, but neither will I introduce you to my girlfriends at a Starbucks over pumpkin spice. I’m not that cruel. Once I fall in love with you, really fall in love with you, and feel that you love me back, you’ll be loved like never before. Essence over form.

You should also understand that everyone has bad days. My bad days can look daunting, but they’re just that – a little pothole in the road – they don’t mean there isn’t a way through. I’m a writer. I’m a feeler. Sometimes the things I have to feel in order to understand them are heavier than what you might be used to. Don’t question it, just hold me when that happens. On those days just stroke my hair and kiss my face until I come back to you and let you back in.

You should also know that I do a lot of things just because I can, not because I expect something in return. I will make you breakfast in bed, I will run you a bath, give you a massage, take you to a Broadway premier just because. It doesn’t mean I’m getting obsessed, or falling too quickly. It means there is an experience I want to have and I’d like to share it with you.

Everyone has insecurities, I get that, but I promise to do my best to disarm yours. For one thing, I find you dashingly attractive, or I wouldn’t do that thing I do (you know what I’m talking about). As for mine, I’m working on them, and I’ll try to separate you from my own problems. On that note, be prepared to put in work – giving up is easy, and if you give up, I will leave you, and I will never come back.

Speaking of which, you have to understand an important distinction. I’m a nomad, I come and go as I please. This is something that is important to me. Don’t take it personally, I’m just on a journey, and right now it’s a physical, moving one. Once I see enough of the world, I’ll settle and the journey will be directed inwards. So if I leave, know I’ll come back. Because you’re Home.

But if you hurt my integrity, if you take advantage of my openness or my feelings, I will leave you, cold-bloodedly. You will lose me forever. You may still have my body, but it’s only for a matter of time. If you lose my respect you lose me, unequivocally.

This is kind of heavy, I know. It’s okay. You’ll see these things for yourself. I’ll always be there to support you and encourage you – I got your back. This can be an awfully big adventure, if you’re up for it. Sometimes you’ll just have to take my hand and trust me to lead you. Sometimes you’ll have to lead. But the least we can do is make it worth our time. So let’s make it count.

xoxo

[little-loft]

It's snowing outside, but I'm spending quality time in the cozy wooden warmth, recalling my days in Dublin, visiting this very brewery. Fun fact - I once stole a Guinness glass. You can read about that here.

[little-loft]

This is only really funny when you consider that the only clothes I have access to are summer clothes.

[little-loft]

"She's With Me"

I’ve been around the block a couple times, and I’ve learned that if someone can get into clubs with no line, no cover and a tab, you should tag along.

I met J, a club photographer and a promoter company owner at a café under Twist Ultra Club. We started talking and he asked if I cared for a sort of a club tour, while he shot a few places. Seeing as I’ve been in town for 5 days, I agreed thinking it might be a good way to scope out the nigh scene. I’ll describe the three more memorable clubs; there were others whose names I don’t recall, or which I didn’t like at all.

At 10, Twist was pretty empty, so J and I just cruised about, he showed me some neighbourhoods around Whyte, then we crossed over to Downtown, carried by buzzed Saturday night traffic of pimped out trucks and vintage rides, waxed to reflect every streetlight, sailing alongside limos past crowded sidewalks, struggling to contain the partiers. The remarkable thing about Edmonton’s night life is that everyone goes out – you have your college kids, your sophisticated college kids (grad students, holla), and the older crowd – from cougars in dangerous shoes and low cut-outs to cowboy-hatted jacked hunks who shower in oil every morning.

Our first stop was Red, a somewhat awkwardly laid-out joint along Whyte Ave. It was a single story club, spinning something between R&B and EDM. Red gets bonus points for awesome bartending service, and pity points for college kids spending rent money on bottle service and looking a little lost. The DJ could have been reading the crowd a little better, since people seemed to enjoy only every other song. J scouted the floor for photo ops and I opted in for the bar. Before I could make my way across the dance floor to the soft glow of lit up bottles, some kid stepped out in front of me.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for directions.”

“What?” we were right by the speakers. I am not qualified to give directions to anyone in here, I thought.

“I am looking for directions to your heart.”

I burst out laughing and almost felt bad. “Oh babe,” I patted the kid on the shoulder and kept going. Edmonton is adorable.

For our next stop we came back to Twist, which by now (around midnight) was considerably busier. Think lasers, smoke machines, heavy EDM, and glow-sticks. I got a red bull and joined the “dancing” crowd at the front. EDM isn’t really my scene, but I went along with it, mainly because the dance floor allowed an amazing view for the people-watcher that I am. There were two girls in panties and furry leg warmers dancing in the corner, I suppose as part of the club entertainment - they gave off a that 'cant-be-bothered-I-work-here' vibe. I stood surrounded by college kids drowning in cologne, as well as an older crowd. Someone grabbed my hand and pulled me in. “Dance like no one’s watching” screamed a female voice in my ear. I pulled back and took in my new friend – a salamander tattoo on her right shoulder blade, tube dress and a pony tail. That was Becky. Becky offered me a beer, which I politely declined, and introduced me to Michelle, whose dress left very little to the imagination, but much to the liking of her boytoy, who handed me his brand new beer and moved on to Michelle. Becky asked me to join her outside for a smoke break, and then instructed me to chug my (kind of mine?) beer.

Twist Ultra Club

Outside, Becky bumped a cigarette off of someone, but almost dropped it from her mouth when two cops showed up to chat with the bouncer out front. Shrieking “I love to assault them!” Becky came up to the taller of the two and started grinding on him. To her credit, she got quite low. That was the most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen. Have you ever seen a cop get shy? He had to ignore the “assault” but he wished her a good night. Becky trailed after him begging to try his handcuffs.

I felt like I was inside a snow globe and looking in from the outside at the same time.

I found J and we ditched Twist. Becky gave me a goodbye hug. Becky was from BC, and she hated Edmonton.

We headed to Studio107, Downtown. Studio had a very strong contemporary R&B vibe, which I was really in the mood for. J did his thing and I did mine, flashing lights, everyone around me slowly poppin it, girls getting low, boys standing around the edge of the dancefloor, watching and drinking up their courage.

I came up to a girl with the best contemporary dance moves and told her she was the best dancer in the whole club. That earned me a hug and a kiss. Edmonton, you’re a curious beast.

The night saw advances, none miraculous. Dayday asked me if I get my body from my Momma and I asked him if he was Will.I.Am. He wasn’t. He was an MBA student from Boston. He asked me if I do this every day, I said often.

The energy and layout in Studio was my favorite. A whole panel of fly-looking DJs took over the booth and kept the rhythms bumpin.

J told me I can’t be too smart here, I have to be careful. I told him I already knew. J drove me home, entirely danced out, red lipstick gone, but content. “She’s with me” still ringing in my ears along with the memories of echoing bass and the heavy, sweet smell of the fog machines. Until next weekend, Ed.

[little-loft]

#Preach

[little-loft]

The Firsts

First alarm rang at 4:15am

First bag cost $75 in extra weight fees

First boarding call revealed no seat on an overbooked flight

First time watching Maleficent on the plane. First Disney movie where the Prince is useless.

First Edmonton impression - cold. 10 degrees kind of cold.

First University impression - rich. Three course catered lunch kind of rich.

First looping thought - I am so tired, what time is it, how am I still awake.

First Orientation impression - Here is a room-full of people who know what to do with their lives. Hi.

First impression left with people - This chick is weird and she doesn't have a place to live yet.

First introduction - being offered a couch to crash on. She was really sweet though. 

First frat house - giant sign out front, Party Friday Night. I might just crash it. I have some sorority envy to make up, McGill wasn't exactly the feta cheese of the Greek life.

First uncomfortable observation - long stares from boys in pick up trucks.

First challenge of the day - someone find me an apartment. Now.

First pleasant surprise - grad students get two free personal training sessions at the gym

First intriguing statistic - 800 people applied to School of Public Health, just over 80 got in, and there are 10 people in my stream.

First biostatistic - all the 10 are girls. Maybe all the boys are in the pick up trucks.

[little-loft]

Here we go

[little-loft]

ACCEPTING GRAD SCHOOL OFFER LIKE

[little-loft]

Corbett Hall, University of Alberta

[little-loft]

Preface

This site is for everyone I am leaving behind, as I embark on this new journey. It's for everyone I am yet to meet, and for everyone who appreciates the value of shared experiences. Because there will be many.

Many firsts, and some lasts, many new things, some old things but many scary things, challenging things, things that will demand difficult questions but also things that provide new answers.

Stay tuned as I make my way through grad school, odd jobs, pole dancing and pilot school, all up in the cold and brand-new-to-me frontier that is Edmonton, Alberta, Canada.

I'll keep it super fly if you keep reading. ;)