Monday's On My Mind

Stuff I'm thinking. On a superficial level. That's as deep as my brain goes this evening. It's a little sore.

• Dancing with the Stars has lost its novelty. I don't care enough to accidentally watch it.
• I suddenly like Castle. I think I'm obsessed with anything writer-related.
• Paul Gross on Eastwick = poor man's version of Jack Nicholson. Too bad. I once loved Paul.
• I need to learn css and html and everything code- and design-related. My ideas cannot magically appear without knowledge. And so I shall learn.
• I will not write a 650-word article for $4. Now you know.
• I took Tylenol tonight. I haven't had a headache in months. It's been so long, I'm not even complaining about this one. I figure it's time.
• Coffee will be waiting for me in the morning. Yes, folks, I have an official writing-related reason to leave my apartment.
• I need new shoes. But writers don't need shoes. We just need slippers. Shopping trip averted.
• The new "cocktail lounge" across the street is actually a sports bar. I am so confused. If I need to hang out with questionable characters late at night, I'll stick with the pub next door. It has karaoke.

Another Chapter for the Memoir

The end. Also known as "the beginning."

A few months ago, I quit my subtitling job of four years for a slightly more lucrative position at an online mall. "Editorial Assistant" was good for the ego, and granted me the financial security that allowed Fridays off for writing projects. Some of you envied me. Others applauded the move; I was finally moving up in the big bad workplace world.

But something was off. I was going through the motions, dragging myself to work every day. My daily routine felt destructive to my spirit. I operated in a state of defeat, mourning stunted creativity and envious of those who thrived at their day jobs. I just wanted to write.

Fast-forward to last Wednesday.

When I left the office on September 16th, I left it for good. I said goodbye to my "grass is greener" gig with no backup plan. I am free-falling career-wise, and I'm excited to see where I land. But maybe insanity does that to a person.

I've known this for a long time: None of my dreams line up with conventional 9-to-5-ness. And at 26, I'm already weary. I'm tired of having those dreams nag at me. Of having tiny regrets start to creep into my daily life. I don't want to sit back in 20 years and ask myself why I didn't just quit my job and go for it.

So I quit my job. And I'm going for it.

I'm a writer. The kind who likes to see "By Nadine Bells" printed alongside her words. I have a unique voice, but I never market myself. I'm not sure why. I'm about to find out. And I have a million little ideas swirling around in my head that I've never pursued, mostly for a lack of available time. Well, I have time now. No money, but time. And time IS money. So really, I'm set. And I'm already comfortable with the idea that most of you won't understand this life upheaval. That's okay. To the few who do, I love you. Honestly. I could hug and kiss you all. Right. Now. (Or maybe give you an awkward high-five. Whatever.)

This is also my opportunity for that life makeover that everyone secretly wants. No more excuses. My schedule is what I make it. Already I'm penciling in regular exercise, time with God, healthy-meal prep time, piano breaks and jaunts to my local library.

I'm starting to feel alive again. And that's priceless.

My name is Nadine and I'm a freelance writer.

P.S. Will write for rent money.

Monitor This: Flame-Broiled Blogging

Has your monitor ever rebelled against you by bursting into flame? Mine has. This evening. And now my apartment smells like burnt wires and dead computer.

Toby MacBook sits back and laughs. Stupid PC.

image source

Home Office Inspiration

[via white trash beautiful]

This weekend, I will be at home. This is by choice. I refuse to let you feel sorry for me. Music will blare. Dark chocolate will vanish. Decisions will be made.

Some of those decisions will have to do with creating a workspace that's both lovely and functional. Others will have to do with purging my darling apartment of unnecessary clutter. This includes the closets. The sheet music. The stacks of unsorted paperwork.

Believe me, you don't want to be here for the chaos.

Sunday Stuff: The Sequel

Just some really fantastic randomness that's stuck in my brain, begging to be released. And so I release it.

• I need a shoe rack. It will probably have to be custom-made. I am debating between starting a handy-gal blog to chronicle my attempt at such a creation and the easier option of asking someone who knows what he's doing. Yeah, I said "he." Don't shoot me, girls. ("She's so hot she's making me sexist" just popped into my head. Go watch Flight of the Conchords. Now.)

• I spent a lovely day with a newly engaged friend yesterday. They have a great proposal story. But not quite as extreme as these. (Number 5 is pretty awesome.)

• Mail Goggles is pure genius. And is the perfect follow-up to a recent conversation I had with a friend about drunk-dialing. Personally, I'm more terrified of exhaustion. I have plenty of email drafts that will never be sent thanks to some remarkable post-midnight self-control. (Quite appropriately, I believe I was introduced to this Gmail Labs feature in the wee hours of the morning.)

• One day my email drafts will be compiled into a book. Or a one-woman play.

• Addictive vs. addicting. The grammar mystery has been solved. I actually once rewrote a sentence to avoid having to use either word.

• I'm a writer. Just thought I'd throw that out there. You know, in case you were wondering.

• Toby MacBook has a very boring laptop sleeve to hang out in when we travel places together. This would make him more fun. And give him a little more personality. (Barry's Farm, as a general rule, makes me want to spend money on things that protect gadgets I don't even own yet.)

• Sometimes conversation with kids is awkward. Me: "Are you from Toronto?" Her: "No, I'm from Canada." Me: "Where in Canada do you live?" Her: "Far away from Myrtle Beach."

• My favorite Natasha Bedingfield song EVER is "Stumble." Probably because she mentions spelling. Among other things.

• I need to buy a real domain name and go pro with this whole personal-blogging business. This is really just a "note to self." Feel free to ignore.

This upcoming week is going to be a tough one. I can already tell. But a good tough. The kind that will make me reevaluate my time, my priorities, my day-to-day non-negotiables. Career and ministry updates will follow shortly. There will be more weddings, folks. Because I'm an expert.

Tales from the Inbox: Sentence Structure

Up until this week, the shortest email I'd ever received was:

great

But then someone sent me this:

T

Seriously, folks, send me sentences. You're killing me here. (Or start with words. Whatever you can handle.)

Tales from the Inbox: Spell Ya Later

A few years ago, I was sent this short message from a guy I hadn't seen since the fifth grade. I'm afraid I didn't respond too eagerly.

Yah long time for swure. what part of toornto do you live in? maybe you would like to hookup sometime? :)

Funny, I don't remember telling him I lived in "toornto."

I try not to be a writing snob. But I have to draw the line somewhere. That line is "swure."

The Other Blog: Pop Culture, Anyone?

Amy Adams bringing my life to the big screen in Julie & Julia.

Most of you know that I write. All the time. And everywhere. What you probably don't know is that I have another blog of pop-culture goodness that you should be reading. And maybe even commenting on.

Read Canada Pop Culture Blog. Join the discussion. Don't agree with my sometimes-snarky angle on celebrity gossip? Then call me on my crap in the comments. Hang out with me at work, folks. My blog needs more friends.

If you read now, I'll be kind when you're famous. Promise.

This Evening

[via let's run away forever]

I know it breaks all of those "the bedroom is only for sleeping" rules, but I'm a rebel. Tonight I'm writing from my bed. And it's fantastic. So there.

Lately

image source

You've Got Mail

A few evenings ago, as I was typing away (a habit of mine), I noticed that a new message was awaiting me in Gmail. And then another. So exciting.

Unfortunately, when I ventured over to my email account, the anticipation of a friendly hello or witty commentary came to a pathetic halt. My inbox was merely filling up with emails I had CCed myself on, sent from another account.

I email myself. So sad. So very sad. And then I forget about it. Also sad.

But the CCing was me being efficient and productive and professional. It's a lose-lose-win.

My memoirs are going to be fascinating. [Insert momentary sarcasm.]

Incriminating Paper Trails

I write. A lot. It's how I process things. Actually, I'm a verbal processor, but living alone has honed by ability to use the written word to the same effect. So you can probably piece together most of my "brain life" by snooping through the notebooks and scraps of paper left in my wake.

The number of unsent letters and emails is startling. I'm thinking of compiling them into a series of monologues. Or a one-act play. The most recent attempt at do-not-send correspondence started off friendly, turned angry, and concluded with a soul-bearing apology. Like I said, I process this way. 

Today I found this note. I left it attached to my headphones at work over a year ago. Man, I'm a paper-trail nightmare. And apparently pretty passive-aggressive.

To whom this may concern,
(If you're sitting here, that's you.)

I have new headphones. Do not use them. The old ones (which you used even though they were broken and MINE) are in headphone heaven.

If you need your own pair, talk to **** or ******.

Pretend this is kindergarten. Don't share headgear.

Subtitle well, my friend.
Nadine

At least I remember writing it. Sometimes I have no recollection. Not long ago, when I was sorting through stacks of sheet music, I uncovered a half-written song. And I have no idea who or what inspired it.

I can't go back now
Thanks to the point of no return
I can't backtrack now
Just tag this as a lesson learned
I can't pretend now
I'm the girl you think you need
And I can't defend now
All this inconsistency

For a rather neurotic gal such as myself, you'd think this would trigger something. Nope. Maybe it was the ill-fated coffee date with the actor? The non-boyfriend I had to break up with over creepy emails? Maybe I was channeling someone else's pain? No clue.

I don't know if I should publish a book or invest in a paper shredder.

Don't get me started on to-do lists....

Interviewed: Me

Wanna know all about my life as a subtitler? Head on over to Jason Boyett's blog and read all about it. And then stick around. 'Cause he has some great stuff to say.

The timing couldn't be more perfect. Because as of tomorrow, my working-for-a-living world will look significantly different. Subtitles will only bookend my weeks, sprinkling my Mondays and Fridays with snippets of television greatness. Never fear, I'll still be writing in the midweek. But the words will be mine this time. (Details will follow shortly. Pinkie swear.)

Cue Hamlet's craziness (preferably with Kenneth Branagh's face): "Words, words, words."

Oh, Shakespeare. Always relevant. Always.

Sylvia Understands

(photo by mkendall)

Some things are hard to write about. After something happens to you, you go to write it down, and either you over dramatize it or underplay it, exaggerate the wrong parts or ignore the important ones. At any rate, you never write it quite the way you want to.

~Sylvia Plath, Unabridged Journals

(via this is my heart. it is a good heart.)

Adventures in Blogging. Plus Keanu.

Here's my weekly Web-writing wrap-up:

• Indiana Jones is finally going to marry Ally McBeal.
• David Letterman married his girlfriend after 23 years together. Note to every guy who reads this: I won't wait that long.
• Some Lost scoop.
• Valerie Bertinelli wears a bikini. And Kirstie Alley cries. (I was challenged this week to wear a two-piece this summer and get over myself. Hmm.)
• Links to more Lost scoop and a recap. Seriously, I dig that show.
• And now Boone is a vampire.
• And there's even more Lost fun.
• Robert Pattinson showers. Zac Efron doesn't use Q-Tips. You know, stuff you need to know.

And as a bonus:

Here's possibly the most horrible/wonderful music video ever. Keanu Reeves and Paula Abdul. I'm not sure if I want to laugh, cry or vomit. Oh, Keanu, why don't you have an Oscar? Never mind. Don't answer that.

Into the Twittersphere!

Oh, Twitter. I really hope I'm not using you to randomly brag about my unexceptional life. But I probably am.

If we can't Twitter, we don't exist!

If the above video hasn't scared you away, I'm @OnHerToes. Feel free to follow.

My blogging's been lacking this week. Two days of sick-day blahness is partly to blame. But I'm back in fighting form, save for the lunch-hour gluttony that is now trying to lull me into a coma. But that's the hot roast-turkey sandwich at work, not the flu.

For those of you trying to keep pace with my writing life elsewhere:

• I discovered a new lip gloss last week. Yes, this is important news. To me.
• Jennifer Love Hewitt and Jamie Kennedy love each other. Apparently. Weird.
• Natasha Richardson went skiing in Quebec. You know the rest. Tragic. (Aside: I once skied in Quebec. On a beginner hill. With an instructor. And no helmet. Could've been anyone.)
• Charlie Sheen + twin boys = One and two-half men?
• Project Runway's Kenley Collins hit her sleeping ex-fiancé with her cat. Crime at its best. (P.S. I want to be on Project Runway. Desperately.)
• PostSecret is amazing. Because people's deepest and darkest secrets are often quite universal. I mean, girls, how many of us HAVEN'T had this Lost discussion?

I'm off to the parental unit's place for the weekend. It's tax season, and I'm trying to make sense of the freelancing chaos that is my life. I will self-medicate with my mother's home-cooking.

Seacrest out.

Keeping Up With Me

For kicks, I'm going to start recapping my online writing adventures here once a week. Just so you can cyber-stalk me (if you so choose).

• My Lost thoughts. Please tell me you watched. It was one of the best episodes of the season. Sigh. I kind of love Sawyer now.
  
• I unclogged my shower drain this evening. With baking soda, vinegar and water. I'm the super-resourceful green-living Donna Reed.
• El Naturalista has super-cute eco-friendly shoes. Now that the snow has melted, I get to wear shoes again. I count it all joy, friends.
• Hermione might go to Yale. Sometimes I wish I applied to Harvard just to brag that I got in. (Of course, if I was rejected, I just wouldn't tell anyone that I applied in the first place.)
• Vince Vaughn is engaged. Jennifer Aniston is not.
• The Bachelor rejects won't go away. More reality TV for everyone!
• And most importantly, Dakota Fanning is now a vampire.

Sunshine and Kale

notebook by twoguitars

"Writing is the only profession where no one considers you ridiculous if you earn no money."

~ Jules Renard

Today was gorgeous. Perfect. I wanted to hug a weatherman. Unfortunately, the sunshine damaged my work ethic. I took a lovely long break around midday, walked to the newly renovated library about a half hour away, convinced myself not to take out every single book, took a few photos of my not-all-that-pretty neighborhood, and meandered home two hours later.

So good.

I did get enough writing done to make the day financially worth it, but it felt a little labored. By the time I sent off my invoice, I was ready to reward myself with piles and piles of nutritional greatness.

Try Kath's Kale Chips, folks. You will never look at kale the same way again. I will probably die of a Vitamin K overdose now. Yeah, my once leafy-green-packed fridge is now empty.

My window is open. I am not cold.

It has been a good day.

Confessions of a Non-Teenage Drama Queen

Lazy Saturday

Confession: On weekends when I have no social engagements lined up that require me to look presentable, I channel my inner super-low-maintenance gal and end up dressing like the "before" women on What Not to Wear. Or like my brothers.

Exhibit A: Today, I was wearing old red sweatpants that are too short and too wide, paired with a ratty Nike tee that has a hole in the back. Nathan, thanks for your castaways. (And no, he didn't give me a T-shirt with a hole in it. I did that myself. Somehow.)

Exhibit B: When I needed to head out into the cold (at least there was sunshine), I swapped out the sweats for jeans and threw on an oversized hoodie once belonging to Joel. Because it's warm and awesome.

Homestar Runner
belongs in everyone's wardrobe.

No makeup, no hair-brushing (ponytails are wondrous things), no jewelry. Backpack instead of a purse. It's freeing, just letting go. But not every day. That would be depressing.

Tomorrow I will be pretty. And hang out with 3-to-5-year-olds at church. I'm sure they appreciate my eyeshadow and ensemble coordination.

Dance Like It's 1963

Doesn't actress Ashley Leggat* look so much like Baby?
We had a different Johnny. A better one.

Dirty Dancing was fantastic. It was the movie come to life, with the most adorably impressive Baby convincing me that I'm missing out by not spending time on the stage anymore. Oh, and Johnny Castle. All the girls swooned. Because he was channeling Patrick Swayze. Which is weird; I don't generally spend much time swooning over the actor. At all.

Awkward comment of the night: "Too bad Patrick Swayze's gonna die soon."

If you don't like the movie, you won't like the stage show. There were word-for-word, move-for-move nostalgic hugs on that stage. And they were counting on the audience being cult fans. "Nobody puts Baby in a corner" received cheers and wild applause. I may have been part of such rowdiness.

The set design is what won me over. It was simple and effortless and still a little dazzling. And the costumes made me happy. I think I have new fashion muses. Yep, I'm going good girl circa 1963.

I want to dance.

*Ashely Leggat was in Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen. Back when she was blond. So was Megan Fox (Transformers). And Alison Pill (Milk). It seems that Lindsay Lohan walks away from that one with the least promising career. Funny how life works.

Roll Up What Rim?

Caffeine-free update: It's my fourth day without a coffee or Diet Coke. And I have exhibited zero signs of withdrawal. I am super-relieved to know that my appreciation for said drinks is not linked to an addiction. Jitter- and headache-free.

I Am Woman

I've been both lazy and motivated in my writing life lately. I'm afraid I've mastered this uncomfortable balance. For those of you who want to cyber-stalk my writing elsewhere, I'm now a columnist over at Woman.ca.

Check out my latest postings:

• Beyonce Comes to Canada
• Joel Madden on Making Babies: Better than Oscar!
• Oscar Buzz Promises Dancing with Hugh, Zac and Anne
  

And thank you, dearest Dad, for coming up with my column's name: Pop Goes the Culture. I'll mention you in the acknowledgments of my first novel. And then I'll thank you at the Oscars. And when I'm super-rich, I'll buy you something ridiculously cool. Like a pottery wheel.

Shampoo in a Box

I received a box of shampoo in the mail this week. A box of bottles of shampoo, to be more specific. Because I'm such a trendsetter/icon in the blogosphere, I'm going to be testing the entire new Herbal Essences Hydralicious collection and giving my feedback. If you live near me and want free shampoo, I have coupons! Let's all have sexy hair, folks.

Everything's Amazing, Nobody's Happy

You've probably seen this. It's everywhere. But I'm posting this in case you haven't. Best Conan interview ever. The greatest comedy is based in truth.



P.S. If you're ever asked to choose between Leno and Letterman, the correct answer is ALWAYS Conan. Even once Fallon enters the ring.

If Only

It's raining. I haven't slept for more than 5 hours a night in almost a week. So I'm not sure if I'm chilled because of the weather or because I'm slowly dying of something.

There's a quiet discontentment. A roughhousing between heart and head as I type here. Maybe it's exhaustion. 

Shouldn't I be writing on a beach somewhere? I'm young. I have a passport. I have a laptop. And I'm ridiculously neurotic and responsible and practical. And borderline boring. Someone, take me away. Sigh.

Maybe I just need sleep. After Lost.

Yvette Inufio Photography

I apparently have a thing for typewriters. In photographs, at least.