Going Loonie in The Great White North

I'm rich!

So we’re back to typing and writing - no vlogging this week, so I hope you enjoyed it last week - it may be awhile before any of us agree to do that again!

For our January posts we’ve been keeping them light and fun for the most part, but we all know that being a 20-something isn’t always fun. In the past we have tackled difficult subjects such as relationships, future ambitions and getting older. This week we are tackling the subject of money.

Yikes!

Here are some quick things about me and money:

• I work at a cafe and make minimum wage. My pay cheques - even though I work five days a week - are not enough to survive on my own. This sucks.

• I am currently paying back a hefty student loan. This also sucks, but I am responsible and diligent when it comes to making loan payments.

• I wish I could live without a lot of money - I just want to be happy and not care about money. But I also want a lot of freedom, and freedom costs a lot.

• I love to shop. I realize that it’s silly to buy things I don’t NEED, but my argument here is that these things make me happy (for the most part).

• For someone with very little, I am actually really good with my money. I have good credit and always pay bills early or on time. I also have RRSPs - so I’m also investing in my future.

• Greed makes me angry. I hate seeing people my age with so much, and yet they want more. I have nothing and would be happy with just a bit more - I am not cut out for capitalist society.

I wish I could do what I love and get paid for it. Is that too much to ask? A lot of people tell me that I should just do something - something that pays - and that it shouldn’t matter if I hate it because EVERYONE hates their job and that’s just how life is! I say NO! Why should I do something I hate just for money? If I’m miserable at work - and I’m at work most of the week - then what am I gaining? Money to save for when I’m too old to do anything? Yes I work at a cafe now - and it’s not ideal, and most days I hate it - but right now it’s what works for me. Yes, it’s stupid, but yeah, I’m holding out for better opportunities. At the end of the day I’ve made some awesome friends and have a few bucks in my pocket.

One thing I’d love to do is travel more - make that “perfect day” a reality (maybe split into four separate vacations though). Right now travel isn’t very realistic, unless I’m willing to go into a bit more debt for it. Everything I do puts me in a bit more debt, and then I recover, but I’m back to square one. I’m really debating that trip to the UK I mentioned before (in my what I want for 2011 post) - but what’s really halting me is lack of funds. Just say I’m still a barista when I decide to go - I’d have to book the time off - unpaid, obviously. I’d have to put the flight on my credit card, that would take months to pay back. I’d also need some spending money, and after converting Canadian dollars to Pounds Sterling, well I’d be left with a pitiful amount. What keeps me dreaming about this trip is that no one would be able to take that experience away from me - I’d always have the memories and I wouldn’t regret it. But money seems to always win. I feel like I’m too old to be reckless with the few bucks I do have. Should I stay or should I go? Should I be responsible or fun? Can’t I be both?

I do the same thing when buying unnecessary items - such as concert tickets, books, DVDs, music. While these items don’t really put me into debt, they also take away potential savings. When I get my tax money back or any government reimbursement cheque my first instinct is to spend it one something fun - because it’s like free money. But then I feel like I’m just acting like a kid with birthday money and that I need to be more grown-up and responsible. Getting older sucks sometimes!

Basically, when it comes to the little money I do have I am constantly playing tug-of-war with myself. Neither side is right or wrong, just a different approach to life. Some days my head is in the clouds and I feel myself wanting to click “Buy” on those plane tickets. Other days I close the window and try to forget about it.

I wish money didn’t always have the final say in my life. Lauren, maybe I should move to Portland, where young people go to retire.

See ya Wednesday Tom, ‘cause money can’t buy me love :)

P.S. A Loonie is a dollar coin in Canadian currency. We also have a two dollar coin known as a Toonie.

Fears, Beers, and Cheers!

In honour of Tom’s Birthday this week he has suggested the topic of “Growing Older.” This is a really common issue with 20-somethings, as we finally start thinking about how we won’t always be in our 20s...and that REAL adulthood is creeping up on us fast.

You know that scene in the movie The Wedding Crashers? The one where Owen Wilson’s character John is talking to Rachel McAdams’s character Claire...I think they’re on a beach...anyways, and he says something about how he’s still young and he has time, blah, blah, blah, and Claire blasts him with reality and says, “Yeah, but you’re not that young.”

That is my life.

I realize he was probably playing a character in his 30s, approaching his 40s, but I think the sentiment is bang on. You can pretend you’re young all you want, but eventually it’s just going to seem silly.

Tom will be joining me soon...in the mid-to-late twenties club. But, as the current elder of this collab blog, I have to say...I’m scared, man. I’m scared of turning 30 in a few years. I’m scared of being alone and poor and unsatisfied with life. I’m scared of being perceived as someone trying too hard to be hip and trendy.

In Ontario, Canada, there are several milestone birthdays:

16 - You can legally learn to drive a car.
18 - You can vote, buy lottery tickets, purchase pornography, and buy cigarettes.
19 - You can legally drink and purchase alcohol, and gamble.
25 - You are officially a Quarter-of-a-Century Old

After this, aside from the big birthdays (30, 40, 50 and so on), ages just become signals - signals that you’re getting older.

Now, I’m not really one to get depressed over age - but I do freak out over society’s expectations of certain ages. By 30 you should have a career and a steady income and a white picket fence. By 40 you should own lake front property and a boat. By 50 you should play a lot of golf and attend many banquets. When you die you should leave a large fortune to your offspring. Ahhh!

Do you blame me for pretending it’s all not happening? Do you blame me for hanging out with people who are younger than me? Do you blame me for not wanting a conventional life? If I avoid the expectations attached to my age people will be shocked and surprised when they find out that I’m 26, going on 27.

So, I raise my virtual glass to you Tom! Welcome to the club! May you drown your fears in beers! Cheers! (I’m a champion of rhyming).

I hope you’re not too drunk to post on Wednesday buddy - this is your week to shine my British friend!

Happy Birthday!

*Picture from my 24th birthday, but let's pretend those are Tom and Lauren's hands, okay?

Being Realistic Has Never Been My Thing...

So when I was a little kid, my perception of reality was even worse than it is now.

In other words, I wanted to be Darkwing Duck when I grew up.  Actually, I didn't want to wait to grow up to be Darkwing Duck.  I wanted the transformation of identity to take place as soon as possible and I went around insisting that everyone addressed me as "Darkwing" instead of "Lauren."  I was four so I got away with it.  However, I still cringe whenever I revisit this vague memory I have of correcting a Sunday School teacher when they dared to call me by my non-cartoon-superhero name. 

After my fascination with Darkwing Duck, there was a brief period where I wanted to be Teddy Ruxpin.  I saw a commercial for him one time when I was experiencing my daily of dose of "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" and wanted to adopt his personality.  So I began insisting that people called me "Teddy."  For the record, I never actually owned a Teddy Ruxpin doll.  They are pretty frightening things.  I think my parents realized this and got me Creepy Crawlers instead. 

Once I emerged from my "I-wish-I-was-a-creepy-animatronic-bear" phase, I grasped onto an idea that was a little more realistic:  I wanted to be a "librarian hippy Elvis."  Now, I'm not really sure what that means, but I imagine it involves acting like a rock star while living in a commune and reading the occasional book.  If that's the case, I think I am what I wanted to be when I grow up.

Of course, as I got older, the dream got more specific.  I started taking piano lessons when I was eight and it wasn't long before I wanted to be Horowitz.  This ambition was fueled by a moment in a piano shop when I was in about the fourth grade.  My family was shopping for a new piano because the one we had was an octave short of a full keyboard and I was already unexpectedly outgrowing it.  So we went to this one particular piano shop where Horowitz's piano was on display and the shop owner was nice enough to let me play it.  I don't even remember what I played, but I do remember that ten-year-old Lauren was very, very happy.

My desire to be a crazy concert pianist when I grew up didn't really fade until late high school.  There was even a point in time where I would get up a couple of hours before school to practice my scales and arpegios, sneak into the band uniform room to play Chopin on a gross piano during lunch at school, then come home and spend a good portion of the afternoon/evening learning torturously difficult classical pieces.  I even got up the nerve to compete in a couple of piano competitions and always lost to crazy Asian kids.

Julliard had been on my mind as my number one college choice since I was a little kid that wanted to be Horowitz.  But when it came time to actually apply, I realized I'm not really concert pianist material.  I like to have a life outside of practicing the piano six to eight hours a day.  I like to play with other people.  I like music that has a recognizable beat.  I like to dance.  I like to rock.  I think I've always been a "librarian hippy Elvis" at heart (though I still don't really know what that means).

And with that, I shall wish you all a happy Friday and sign off for the week.  Happy Friday, amigos!  Stay tuned next week to hear about the guilty pleasures of the TASG.  I'm sure it will be a delightfully embarrassing week for all of us. 

Anyway, live long and prosper, homies. 

Lauren out.

Yes, I am the whitest kid I know.  And no, I did NOT steal my hat from Jay and Silent Bob...

Peter Pan Never Had To Grow Up...

I find that children, especially boys, tend to choose what they want to be when they grow up from a fairly limited selection; a footballer, a fireman, a policeman perhaps. Among the girls at my school were budding teachers, nurses and dancers. Other children have a talent that stands out and helps define their ambition; Allison had her art and Lauren, I imagine, was busy making music. And then there was Tom, bucking the trend, weighing the pros and cons of all the jobs the world had to offer. I knew what I wanted, and I wanted to be a button designer. *

I was very young when I decided this. I had raided my mum's sewing kit and claimed all of the spare buttons for my future business ventures. I had so many ideas, such hope, but it wasn't long before the cruel mockery I faced from my dad and my brother shattered my dream.

From that day forward, I drifted from one profession to another; from weatherman to vet, from radio DJ to archaeologist. Each idea lasted roughly a month before I got bored and moved on. Things interested me, and vague plans fluttered around briefly, but nothing stood the test of time. Was it a lack of ambition? A lack of talent? I don't think so; there were things that I was good at, and there were things I wanted to achieve. The problem was that I didn't think about it enough, mostly due to my tendency to drift off into a fantasy world at any given opportunity. I spent most of my youth in a bubble, far removed from grim reality.

My mind wandered constantly to more colourful and fantastical places. I remember taking an atlas from downstairs into my room and leaving it open on the floor, on a page about deserts. And then jumping on it. You see I'd just read [a fictional story] about a boy who could travel through pictures in books. Unsurprisingly, it didn't work. I remained in my room, standing on a book, breaking its spine. At that moment, I think, reality caught up with me. I stopped looking in wardrobes for secret passages to other worlds, and began thinking about what I would do with myself, in this world, when I grew up. Only nothing else seemed as much fun.

Lauren, over to you my American friend.

* If you think that's bad, my brother wanted to be a zebra. I blame our parents.

"I Don't I Feel that I Have to Explain My Art to You, Warren."

Here is an "Artistic" cellphone photo of my eyes
because I'm mysterious and interesting!

When I was a little girl I would travel up to my grandparents’ lake house near North Bay, Ontario with my family. While my dad and brother liked to fish, I preferred to play alone or follow my grandma around while she gardened. One summer I got out some paper and glue and picked flowers and plants from around the property and made people out of them. My mom thought I was some sort of creative genius. I was was just doing what I do.

This week the Transatlantic Support Group is posting about what we wanted to be when we grew up as kids. While some girls wanted to be ballerinas, and others teachers or actresses, I wanted to be an artist.

I remember being in preschool and not really caring about building blocks or counting and learning my ABCs. What I really loved to do was paint. I’d happily put on my smock and paint away (I usually wanted the pink paint, as I was heavy into my pink/Barbie phase of life).

My whole life I have been surrounded by fabulous artists. My uncle went to college for illustration and he always bought me arts and craft supplies from the store he worked at. My aunt is incredibly talented and always made wonderful things. My cousin is a painter, a stained glass artist (she taught me) and a fantastic crafter and knitter. My paternal grandmother knit. While my own parents aren’t so much interested in these things themselves, they always encouraged me to be creative.

In grade 8 I proclaimed that I wanted to be an artist when my teacher asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up. What did I know about real life?

By high school I started to feel jaded about it all. I didn’t get along with my art teacher - her and I had different visions. Aside from grade 10, when she was gone on maternity leave, I fought for my art all throughout high school.

I fought when she thought I should put a hat on the person I painted. I fought when she thought my lino block print needed a bit of jazzying up. I fought when she didn’t want to grade my painting early so I could boost my midterm mark for university applications. My grade 10 substitute art teacher, however, thought I was awesome.

It was probably my high school art teacher that scared me away from wanting to pursue art in a serious way. I didn’t want to have to answer to someone. I didn’t want my art to be judged. By my final year of high school I was more into writing and English anyways, so I left art behind and became a dabbler.

I did some creative things in university too. In first year I took a photography class - and it was my only A+ ever in a course. My T.A. was a hippy from the east coast who was into Kurt Cobain conspiracy theories and wore tartan patterned Doc Martins. She gave us our grades on Monopoly money and pretty much let us be as creative as we wanted. While the professor was a hard-ass about lighting and aperture and exposure, my T.A. - Lori - was super cool.

After first year I let my creativity bled into my writing and didn’t really take any more art courses. In third and fourth year I was required to take a design course. I learned page layouts and stuff and that was fun. My art background really paid off here, as I felt I had an edge over a lot of the other students.

Now, well, I have my own Etsy Shop and I still paint sometimes (very rarely). I like taking photos and creating images for my blog and stuff. While I now know that I probably can’t be an artist by trade, I can still be an artist in life. Because when it comes down to it my occupation is only one thing about me. When I’m not at work I’m doing other things. It’s funny that while I said I wanted to be an artist when I grew up, I had no concept of the fact that I already was one.

Tom, did you want to be a firefighter or a ninja when you grew up? Can't wait to read yours on Wednesday!

Here are examples of my work over the years:

Tom, this painting was done using a photo I took in Cambridge, England.

Abstract painting from High School Art.

Mixed Media Self-portrait. I made my own glazed tiles.

This is in my parent's pool table/bar room.

Two summer's ago - My cottage view.

Painting that my teacher thought should have a hat.
"But I worked so hard on the hair!"