the only thing for certain is uncertainty

To be blunt, determination is choking me.

It seems everywhere I look its peaking right behind the corner. I want to scream at it, but know the response will come up empty...
Do you not see how badly I want this?
How do the Biggest Loser contestants have so much of you?
But most importantly, even though some people always have you, how do you turn selfishly turn around and take it away?

Everything always boils down to that simple word. Determination. And whether you had enough of it.
And Right now, I’m on the fence.


It’s like an ex-boyfriend you can’t shake, but when it comes down to it, do you honesty think you could?

I’ll bump into it face-to-face on occasion. And we’ll laugh and smile, all doubt will disappear. We’ll get a motivation boost from the excitement that this may work out after all. And like that pesty ex, I’ll apologize and fall into the pattern like nothing bad ever happened before this moment. It even foolishly get my hopes up that something good is going to come of it this time.

But…

Then there are moments when I feel like our relationship is dead. We tried all we could, but at the end of the day, we are like fire and gasoline. It’s causing me doubt, and I’m not helping it succeed: a word that usually is attached at its hip. So there we are, running around in circles crying wolf.


I try moving on alone, but the reality is, whether nothing good comes of you or not, it’s nice to know that at some point you will simply bring me what I’ve been wanting all along. Or so I keep hoping.
So, no! I have not completely lost you; I know you’re right there, sneaking up on my every step. Just hurry up and catch me, before I break up with you once and for all.
xx

You can never take the country outta the girl

Just a quick word:

My photography-addict-of-a-friend came to ask me for a favour a couple of weeks ago. After I stopped jumping up and down in excitement, I agreed to model for her once more. Which brings me to this lovely piece of news. The photo she took of me was so exceptional, and produced the thought-- “ more students should strive for this," in words of the professor, that it was picked to hang in the halls of Georgian College. Be sure to check out the Photographers Showcase when you are trying to think of a reason to be late for class!

I am very honored for her success and am very happy to be but a tiny part in the celebration with her hugely growing portfolio. Let’s wish her all the luck in the world —even though, we all know she doesn’t need it.

xx

VBrassington Flickr

"I don't mind making jokes, but I don't want to look like one."

I love fashion. But I hate change. 


Around this time last year, I went to the hair salon. Desperately needed a cut and after sitting in the chair for what seemed like hours, I'd decided I'd had enough of this and needed a, dare I say it? ...Change.
"Try and go back to my natural blonde please oh, and could you give me some bangs?" I looked at her with scolding eyes, as this is the first [& last] time I would ever trust a stranger with my hair. Another hour or so goes by, she blow drys me, gives me a hug [yes, I always get in my hairstylists good books-- I don't want to look like Lady Gaga at the end of it all] and I walk back to the boat I was on at the time. Everyone immediately started complimenting me on my hair. Saying how good it looked, and that it was a good choice to get bangs and a new hair colour. A new hair colour? Pardon? I ran to my mirror, realizing just how strange it was that they didn't really have any in the salon. As I came to it, to my horror, I was practically a brunette. I nearly cried. Being a blonde my whole life and actually loving it, I was mortified that this bitch had changed my hair so drastically. And I paid her to do it! 

Fast-forward a year. 
I am yet again in my "I want a change, but do I?" stage. Like the magazine-reading-whore I've become, I knew how drool worthy luscious red lips have become. Not to mention I gawk over the beautiful Marilyn Monroe posters in my room night after night. So it was only a matter of time before I jumped in too. 
I must say, when the Lize Waiter consult took me away from my "Burnt" in one hand and "Rose" red lip shade confusion in the other, I was rather relieved. Professional help was just what I needed. Half and hour later and I was caked in foundation and my lips glowed so red you'd think I just became a vampire. 
I was pleased. 
Finally, a change I think could really grow on me. . . 

xx

You're the kind of reckless that should send me running

I have this disease called addiction.

It’s not gambling, smoking, eating, hoarding or shopping – although I do have a rapidly growing collection of shoes, nail polish and products. But that’s more of a girl thing…

It’s classifying things in my life into ridiculous [sometimes unrealistic] categories.

It’s buying that one sweater when I absolutely don’t have money to spend on it, but walking with it in my hand out of the store, convincing myself I needed it.

It’s the, not so odd, glass bottle of wine that I’ve taken up on the weekends. 

It's kissing. 

It’s the feeling that I sometimes want to check Facebook even when there is no need.

It’s lying in bed on a rainy day

It’s singing hopelessly, terribly loud in the shower when I have no business singing out loud at all.

It’s the fact that I hate to text but do it anyways… a lot.

It’s worrying.

It's making others happy.

It’s having to watch TV before I go to bed. 

It's Subway. Eat Fresh.  

It’s watching full television series on my laptop.

It's keeping old notes/emails/cards from loved ones and re-reading them over and over again. 

It’s Hank Moody, McDreamy and DJ Pauly D.

It’s the act of getting addicted.

Just as I was doing a few of my addictions yesterday, the phone rang. There are few things I don't get in this world, but calls are one of them. Maybe its because I forget what my ringtone is, or maybe its because only 15 people have my cell phone number. Regardless, I picked it up not expecting much. So when I heard my doctor on the other end of the phone I perked right up. Turns out that this bad year of mine keeps on progressing. Ten minutes after I hung up the phone I had another appointment for that afternoon (which, if you have a family doctor, you know it is damn near impossible to arrange this within a few hours notice). Unless its absolutely necessary. After my 45 min appointment, I headed to Wal-Mart to pick up my new medication that, until 6 hours ago, I would have never of guessed I’d needed. I wondered how many other times I’d have to go the clinic on a day off? Or drop what I’m doing to make an emergency doctor visit? Or carry on living in a town I hate instead of traveling? Or, just get worried every time something miniscule changes with my body? I went home so frustrated, mad, pissed off and filled with questions. To top it all off, I now have a cold. Not a good combination.

Hello, my name is Alana...I have an addiction; it’s called a disease. 

xx

been losing faith for quite a while now.

Aug. 24

Today was my appointment with the doctor. A part from being so nervous I felt sick to my stomach, I managed to forget how to count, and walked right past suite 201. With my state of mind, filling out information sheets was the last thing I felt capable of doing, but if it was going to distract me from noticing I’m the only non-pregnant girl in the room- by all means!

I was eyes deep in my poetry book (yes, I carry one in my purse for moments such as this.) trying to relax when, “Alana? Alana Britten? The doctor will see you now.” I stood up, in what could only appear to be an unnecessarily, shocked jump, when the giant nine month pregnant lady gave me a pity smile. I walked to sit in the colourless office, and took the seat that was sturdy and perfectly placed next to the wall. It never occurred to me until now, but why is it that all doctors have chairs with wheels on them? Its not like they have a desk to sit behind or anything. Or are in the room long enough to take it for a ride in a 5 meter jaunt. 

No sooner do I take a seat, when the same shrill voice that called my name moments before, comes in to hand me a brouchure printed on the brightest, bluest paper I’d ever seen. So you know it must be important. I take one look at it and quickly shove it in my purse, as how could a LEEP (loop electrosurgical excision procedure) apply to me?

In attempts to keep my stressful mind-set at ease, I pick up the year old magazine (one I’d already read when it initially came out) and began flipping through it vigorously. I was, yet again, fully emerged in 2010’s summer hairstyles when, in walks a guy wearing dress pants and tie, holding a Tim Hortons coffee. He must be my doctor. It was hard to tell for sure, as the last time I saw him, he was head deep in my vagina and I didn’t exactly want to get a good look at his facial features, let alone look him in the eye. I keep thinking that each time I go to a gyno it will get easier to get over that fact, and in some ways it does, but it doesn’t stop it from being on the back of my mind each and every time.

The small chat that one would normally partake in with their doctors took place at this time. Mostly about the weather, with occasional references to how busy the waiting room is- and it was! But just as soon as it came, the small talk quickly turned serious as he explained to me the extend of the previous procedures results. I had been mentally preparing myself for the worst, so when the news of “pre-cancerous cells” came rambling out of his mouth, I let out a sigh of relief. Funny how a sentence containing the word cancer can go to complete opposite ends of the spectrum in seconds, isn’t it? Don’t get me wrong, I had wished the only “C” word that would be said in that room was “See you in another year!” but you don’t always get what you ask for. I figured this would be a good time to start controlling my facial expressions, as surely he could see I was about to burst into tears as he told me “I would have this problem for the rest of my life.” And I did. I left the room feeling a little bit better from his in-depth explanation as to what would happen next. I calmly made an appointment, grabbed my purse (which also doubles as my luggage these days) and walked in a quick but strong stride to the car. That’s when it happened. Tears. Before I even managed to shut the door.

I thought back to the last couple of years. The countless doctors visits, the endless worrying which often interrupted me from all my exciting adventures. I remembered how ever since my first abnormal pap test I was worried every single time something seemed out of place with my body.

What an exhausting past few years.

The tears continued for a few minutes until my alternative, realistic –often-considered “deep” mood kicked in. I started thinking about all the other woman out there who maybe have/had the same sort of results. All the ones that, were maybe too scared to go back and get it really dealt with- like I had originally been. I just hope, whatever the case may be, that they did bite the bullet and go. Because, although the doctors office may seem like a danger-zone to walk willingly into alone, you are anything but. They are there to help you and who knows, maybe your brave actions will help them catch it in time before anything more comes of it.

So, it could be worse. Other people are worse off then me, and I bet they didn’t break down in tears after their conversations with their doctor. I smarted up, wiped them away and put my truck into drive. 

 xx

my life has a superb cast, but i can't figure out the plot...

Before you get to excited. 

 No, these are horrible model shots, but yes, the photography is amazing. And the real reason I want everyone to see them, is so you will check out my best friends amazing photography. We have known each other since age four and it will be that way until we're 94. She is very talented, creative, goofy and going places I only dream of going. 

Click on any of the pictures to check her out, because when she's famous, I will tell you I told you so !

xx

are you my mama ?

Sunday:

Sitting downstairs taking a trip down memory lane with my bestie, when all of a sudden I hear a noise. Not only was the home video we were watching terribly embarrassing, but I had secretly been looking for an excuse to run away from my 13-year-old self dancing around in my PJ’s on the big screen! So when this noise came I practically leaped out of my chair even before it dawned on me that what could have made the sound could be worse then my past. Luckily, my bad year has taken a turn for the “mediocre” so when I saw a raccoon out there and not a black bear, I let out a sigh of relief.

Now don’t get me wrong, the number one wild animal all houses in the country have a hatred for, are those vicious garbage-craving, cat-food-eating jerks called raccoons. So it wasn’t unusual to see my dad holding a shot gun in his hand as he begins to tell me how this raccoon tried to “break into our house.” As I take a look at this raccoon my dad is now calling a “crook”, I can’t help but let out a big “AWWE!” This baby raccoon is lost, tiny and just looking for someone to point him in the direction of his mama. He is far from the crook my dad was willing to give a B&E too, that is for sure. I will give my dad credit – he was trying to get into the house and he was running up and down the porch trying to trick us to open the door, but this raccoon was nothing more than an adorable, cuddly animal I was willing to bring into the house [if only my dad didn’t stop me.]

He cried outside our house all night long and was even there the next morning for a bit. 

Monday evening:

My sister and her boyfriend were out in the driveway saying goodbye, when all of a sudden we hear a high-pitch scream, which could only have come from a girl. Turns out the scream came as this cute raccoon started chasing my sister’s boyfriend up our drive. And when we tried to chase him away, he came up to our other porch and just kept reaching out his little paw to us. Having had a run in with a bit bigger wild animal myself earlier in life, I knew I was not touching this thing without a rabbies-free, clean-bill of health. Next thing I know my sister has her hand out, and its crawling all over her like that’s all it was wanting this whole time; a little human contact. Well that was the end of it. I was no sooner sticking my hand out, only to have it suck on my finger thinking it was miraculously going to be getting milk out of it! I stayed outside with him sitting in my lap, feeding him milk and crackers till 2a.m. I’m a tough person, but I’m a sucker for animals. Thankfully I wasn’t alone, as my other friend came over to see what all the fuss was about… and one minute after meeting Doug (yes, I had gotten so attached I had already given him a name!) he was convinced he was going to take him home. After giving him five to many crackers, I thought I had killed the poor bugger as he was desperately in need of water, but he lived to see another day… that was after he ran around from porch to porch for an hour after I left, crying for me! Damn he is so cute, I don’t know how I am going to give him up. 

Tuesday:

It’s raining when I wake up. And its immediately clear to me that Doug doesn’t like getting wet, as his head is wedged between my house and my bench, under our canopy outside, while his back end is hanging out for me to see he is still alive. I come back from town and he is awake when my friend and I try to go in the hot tub. A small fact I misjudged about Doug, he doesn’t hate the water, he loves it. Not only does he pace back and forth trying to get on my shoulders and grab at my bikini strings (Doug is also becoming a little pervert!). But he is putting both his front paws in the hot tub, and is ready to make a long leap into the water with me! I fed him (against my mom’s dismay) and start playing with him, as Doug also gets quite frisky. He is throwing up his toy Garfield in his hands and strutting with him in his mouth as he wrestles with my sister and I. Doug gets more visitors then someone in the hospital, so the rest of the day people were coming by and playing with him and feeding him scraps. He was getting really attached to me, so whenever he got scared or unsure of something, he would run to me and jump on my lap for comfort. Doug was soon becoming my new favourite animal, and my cats are now ignoring me because of it. And just as I was becoming this little rascals new mama, my one friend and his mom came and picked him up to take to their home. They’d raised raccoons before, so I know he is going to a great home! I still miss the little squirt, but on the plus side, I no longer hear his sad crying whenever I am inside trying to sleep. 

Wednesday:

Long story short, Doug was not liking the counter tops at my friends house and was clearly trying to get into the redecorating course at Georgian by throwing everything off that he could grab. Needless to say, it was just after noon when I picked him up and brought him inside my house instead. If I thought he was curious outside, you should have seen him inside. Sniffing every single thing, and jumping around on the couch, like I use to do when I was four! It was very cute. Not to mention, he would not let me out of his sight, so he followed me up and down every flight of stairs I went! (Doug definitely got his work out that day.)

After dinner Doug decided that it would be a good time for us to take a nap, so we did. He had a few more visitors, and I am sad to say, that Doug is now more popular then I. Later that night, I curled up on the couch with Doug and him and I slept sound fully until 6 a.m. the next day, when he wanted to play. This is when we parted ways and I went to sleep in my bed and he wondered around outside!

Thursday:

Doug and I spend our last few hours together fighting, napping and him following me around the house in the morning as I got ready for the day. Side note # 123, he does not like the sound of a door shutting loudly by the wind; in fact, he hates it and jumps 2ft in the air when he hears it.

Dad and I drove Doug to his new home. I like to call her “The Coon Lady,” and yes, she is just as crazy as you would imagine someone who surrounds themselves with raccoon’s day in and day out. It was a tearful goodbye but it was fun while it lasted!