20.2.12

Clocks and Arrows

Many times I've been told that love is not so much a matter of fate as that of timing. It's all about the when, not the who (that handsome or not quite that handsome but oh so sweet guy), not the why (he's so funny, charming, brilliant blah blah), not the where (oh the scenic backdrop to this fantasy must be something that either contradicts it or compliments it perfectly!), just the when. This perfect timing either refers to a particular point in your life where you're more likely to want a relationship, a particular seasoned age or in my case it could refer to a particular time of the day (read: when I'm full of food and happy).

Mostly though, I think it refers to when the readiness of both involved parties are totally in sync. You're there? Oh shit well so am I. Let's do this. Basically. Otherwise we find ourselves in situations where we are completely exposed and vulnerable and likely to be shut. the. fuck. down. There has probably been at least one instance in your life where you put yourself out there for someone telling them how you feel and they either straight up rejected you or let you down nice and easy. And up until that point you were always of the "Just take a chance" mentality. Funny how the information we receive all comes back to us based on our situation at the time. When you're gearing up to tell this person how you feel (la vie en rose!) you remember things like "It's better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all" and "wear your heart on your sleeve" and the list goes on. You tell yourself, "what's the worst that could happen right?" then you say how you feel, the compulsory awkward silence progresses into you feeling like you may be experiencing a heart attack and then...words. None of which you want to hear but at least you know you're not indeed deaf from the silence right? And when you do start remembering how to speak the English language you start feeling the weight of this monumental rejection all but turning you into a pulpy mass of your former self. In short - the worst that could happen has indeed happened. Uppercut.

Suddenly you remember the wise words of the prophets Pharcyde who said, "I guess a twinkle in her eye is just a twinkle in her eye." These and other relevant words which you've unconsciously recited time and time again suddenly begin reinforcing themselves in your memory. Too late. I've come to the realisation that this can all be traced back to the things we were taught growing up. We are at once being encouraged to be brave and be careful. To be open and be guarded. As such, we often mix shit up. We're careful when we should be brave and sometimes brave when we should have a seat. The same applies to love; you're too careful and you let an amazing person come in and walk right out of your life. You can never go back. And will likely never learn. Then you take a chance and fall flat on your face. Oh why wasn't I more careful that one time and save myself some teeth? And this will be the case again and again until yet another potential mishap happens at just the right time and then...tah-dah! Love.

Mark Twain said, "It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so."

It's all just a hit and miss, not so?

Your miss-miss-misser,

Allycat














Image from Andertoons.com

10.2.12

Shit Mark Says: Take One

This is just a little look into the reasons why my friends are extraordinary (read: marginally sane and AMAZING) human beings without whom my life would be a meaningless and humour-free existence. My partner in shenanigan crime Mark and I, aka Probs and Mayhem, were out last night at it again. Nothing but ruckus trolling around the city mixing more drinks than we should have. Good times. Along the way I decided I should share with the world some of the ridiculous shit this clown says to me regularly. Keep in mind, everything he says below happened within 24hrs.

On film and literature:

"You should get this book 'The Love Dictionary.' I highly recommend it. Oh and also watch 'The Troll Hunter'! I would give up good head any day for those two things."

On kah-rah-taaaay and fight tactics:

"We should wear masks like ninjas. Definitely."

"You should just be like, kick..." *demonstrates and accidentally kicks a guy who's walking past just then* Kicked him. Swear.

On music:

Me: "I wanna learn to play the guitar. I'll be much less impressed with these niggas when I do. Like, 'Oh you play the guitar? Me too so gftoh.'"

Mark: "That's a good idea. Clouding your mind with some wood and a few strings. Smh."

On my taste in men:

"Really? That nigga is one chromosome away from being a woman."

Me: -_-


On becoming ex-pats:

"We can't be in New York together. Ever. We'll get arrested. We'll get deported."

----------------------
And there you have it.

Your keeper of the worst good company,

Allycat



4.2.12

6 Signs You Need More Estrogen In Your Life

Allow me to preface this by saying that if you know me/this blog you know that this is in no way going to be a scientific breakdown of the effects estrogen - or lack thereof - has on your life. If you're looking for science find a book. This is about me maybe morphing into a penis-less man (The best kind! Oh wait...). For whatever reason this year I have been surrounded by my male friends much more than my female ones. I don't know why and I actually don't mind it at all, the interactions are less complicated and I save myself a lot of explanation but this isn't to say that I don't love the banter with my girlfriends. I am however, noticing some side effects of said increase in male interaction.

Here is my list of 6 things to look out for as indicators that you need more girlfriends.

1. Increase in Food Consumption
Guys eat. A lot. And a lot of crap at that. With girlfriends you tend to make more conscious decisions about what you put into your system which is usually limited to home-cooked meals, salads, Subway and cute cocktail parties. I love food a whole lot as I have previously expressed, but this is a major issue with me because exercise and I have been back and forth in a ridiculous beef like Common and Drake. Sigh. I guess we need to squash this amicably before it gets real gully. And by 'it' I mean my ass.

2. Birds Town and Birds All Around
Every girl I know and have ever known is now a 'bird'. Even if I don't say it out loud, in my mind I'm thinking, "What's this bird going on about now?" I shit you not. This is because my guy friends address girls as such when we discuss them. It's too hard to keep up with names and such ya know?

3. Dick Repellent
This is actually a great thing for where I am right now but if ever I was in doubt of a man's power to cock-block it was confirmed on Wednesday at an event. He didn't even need to say a word, touch me, nothing. Just the fact that he was there ensured that all other men stayed away because let's face it - it's a crazy ass world we live in. Better to assume that's my man than chance it because niggas be trippin out. Which brings me to...

4. Bitches Be Trippin'
I literally cannot stop saying this. In part because of my friends but also because it's soooo true! To hear the shit that we birds women do recounted to me by a guy makes us all seem like the most ridiculous, irrational ass creatures God ever thought of. I mean really, the whole going through the phone, Facebook screenings and whatnot - been there done that, never doing that again - and really we all need to stop that shit. Stop trippin' birds bitches! Do it for me so I can't truthfully say this.

5. Ass, ass, ass, ass, ass, ass
If you know ANY man, I need not say more.

That being said, this also engages me in some slight lesbianism. Just a smidge. I'm not personally courting any females so don't exert too much energy raising a judgemental/sexually stimulated brow. You know how guy friends are always looking for the bird girl of their dreams and shit? Well I sometimes feel that I can locate said bird girl and so I find myself actually scoping birds girls for them as if I'm gonna walk up to this bird girl and say, "Hey, I have the man of your dreams do you want him?" Smh. Fem shit.

6. Talking About It
"It". As in the way you used to say sex before you passed through puberty and assumed you were grown. I don't actually believe it's quite so simple to dismiss the myth that men think about sex all day. This is because I have witnessed with my very eyes and ears that they do - in some way or another - tend to think about sexual interactions VERY often. If it's not covert then it's blatant but either way, it's there. And now, 'it' is always on my mind as well. Look at that guy's back... Ooh look at that guy's lips that look like... That smile could easily spread... Mhmm. Thanks for the dick repellent though guys. Comes in handy.

Your girl in need of girls,

Allycat


Image from cartoonstock

31.1.12

Introducing Dolce

A couple of weeks ago a friend of mine found a stray that she decided to put into a box and label "for Ally". Not literally but I got the call that she had this amazing splendid specimen of a kitten for me. Initially I was under the impression that we would "share" the cat but that was quickly clarified. So there I was with a teeny tiny flea infested starving kitten who was afraid of wind and made noise for no reason. Le sigh (as they say).


Within the first few days she turned my new gold and cocoa curtains into a restroom, peed on the couch, peed on the phone, peed on the floor of my entertainment room and continued to pee until I decided to be proactive and stop feeding her liquids altogether because the shit was getting ridiculous. No not really, but I put her ass in the porch. She got a nice little basket to sleep in, food on a regular and only gets let inside after I've witnessed some kind of excretion. That part is serious. No really - cleaning up after a cat is NO fun.


After the first week the little runt grew on me. She was supposed to be handed over to a cousin but I'm too far gone. I decided to stop calling her Cat and give her a real name. Since I'm not Audrey Hepburn. She's now known as Metta World Peace (How ridiculous is Ron Artest with that shit? My bro and I are almost seizing when we hear the commentators call him that. Yes, they actually have to call him that!). But I digress, her real name is Dolce. Which is a man's name yes, but a gay man so I think it now qualifies as unisex.



Currently Dolce enjoys lounging on the carpet, the couch, my bed and naps in her basket.

She also enjoys horse play and has inflicted me with several puncture wounds on my toes and fingers. Case in point:


I don't make it a habit of takin strays into ma house at all (disclaimer: this is not limited to animals) but...I'm experiencing a change of heart with this one.

Your yet-to-be-confirmed-as-crazy cat lady,

Allycat

Image from: crazytownmayor.com

24.1.12

Thrills Sans Pills

Getting my thoughts sorted and analysed by my secretary (read: therapist) has been awesome for the whole two sessions we've had so far. A whole two. I'm cured! Remember when I said I was afraid of becoming one of those "my therapist said" people? Well I haven't become one of those only because I'm far too preoccupied having discussions in my head about what my therapist would say about things I'm doing or worse - the shit that I think about doing. I'm on the fence as to whether that's better or even worse than what I was afraid of becoming to begin with.

I walk into her office and immediately the logical and more articulate version of myself decides to make an appearance. This woman must see that I am in fact not crazy and therefore seeing her recreationally to give her my money because I ball so hard. As I sit on the chair to face her, the disrespectful, cussin, brutally honest side of myself just decides to take a seat next to me and snicker while Doc marvels at my maturity and understanding. True story. I mean what kind of person would she think I was if I said, "blah blah blah and when he said that I wanted to reach through the phone and slap him hard enough to make his head spin because that's real fuckery." She may faint. Or die. And I'm sadly ill-equipped to handle that type of stress. Clearly, I'm seeing her for a reason.

Right now our relationship is a similar sensation to getting a new bff - any and everything that happens makes me think 'Ooohh I can't wait to tell Doc about thisssss.' I wonder if that happens to everyone...

Your psych convert,

Allycat



toon from: writerunboxed.com

17.1.12

Shit Girls Say And Other Shit That Was Said

Unless you live under a rock you're familiar with the 'Shit x say' trend in viral videos. Insert whatever you want at 'x' and it's probably been done. It all started with Shit Girls Say and bring on the parodies thereafter. In all the mele there are a few videos I've come across that have literally left me either laughing hysterically or in tears. Seriously though, don't watch these back to back, you may die (DISCLAIMER).

1. Shit Caribbean Moms Say
Of course being a Trini, I had to start with this one. "DOH-TISH!"



2. Shit Fashion Girls Say
Being a fashion girl myself I can say I've found myself saying some of this shit from time to time. It just happens. I tweet and do net research on brands and designers all day and it really is kind of taxing but this is just hilarious.


3. Shit Single Girls Say
I've heard this so many times and said some of this too. But I'm glad the girls in my circle don't go on like this. Way to get an instantaneous slap from me.




4. Shit Liza Minelli Says
I have often thought about how hilarious it must be to be a fly on Liza Minelli's shoulder as she just lives her life. What a class act that one.




5. Shit White Girls Say...To Black Girls
I can't understand why people would see this as racist. It's simple facts. You know how many white girls have walked up to me and touched my hair? Just asking because I've lost count. But seriously, there are black girls with long hair who don't wear weave but that doesn't mean you have permission to touch my head. She got every reference right.




I've been thinking of doing one myself but I have so many ideas it's hard to keep up with which one hasn't been done yet. We'll see how that goes. Hope this made you smile today!

Your blogging comedienne,

Allycat


22.12.11

Why All Women Need At Least One Man

Man friend that is. I'm not of the school of thought that men and women can't be friends because somewhere, somehow along the lines feelings are involved. I call bullshit on that. Perhaps that's because I don't go around crushing on my niggas but really, I value the thoughts if my male friends much more than my female ones. How could you say such a thing Ally? I mean, really women are more well-rounded with their thought process, don't you appreciate that? Like hell.


Don't get me wrong, I'm as fragile and sometimes petty as the woman one seat over but I don't often care for the addition of female fluff to pad my issues. Your male friends will never pad. And I never pad for them. Or for my female friends actually... which explains why I have so few. It all boils down to this simple fact: bitches be lyin'. You're always wrong but not really wrong. And it's always, "who does he think he is?" and "i can't believe he did that!" I have the same convo with my male friends and they're all like, "you know you should've seen that shit comin, come on now." And then I actually have to stop and THINK. Psh. Men. Burstin women's bubbles since 500 B.C.


Anyhoo, tonight I was having a convo with a friend in which sex was briefly "discussed". I use the quotations there because men don't really discuss sex. For women any talk about sex could turn into a book, for men it can be narrowed to a simple sentence. Specifically when addressing casual sex. When is casual sex ever casual for a woman? Didn't Justin and Mila just address this?! So I said to him "sex is complicated" to which he responds, "it definitely is not" and goes on to break it down in man sense.


For men it's basically as simple as a handshake, we're doing nothing but having sex - simple. That's a binding contract right there. For us it STARTS that simple and can turn into something else if we're attracted to the person outside of just the physical (insert fine print complication here). 


We think, "maybe, just maybe this could be more and this will just be the funny tale of how we became mr. and mrs." (catastrophe pending!) Men think (in the words of my friend), "just don't fuck them like you love them. pull their hair and shit."


A female friend would interpret that as "ooh maybe he's just freaky" but this is why I love and appreciate ma mens. Because I know that if ever I were to enter into a casual sex arrangement and he pulls my hair I better just enjoy the ride and neatly pack my oestrogen riddled brain in my overnight bag. Simple life 101.


Your knowledge-seeking man hugger,


Allycat








Image from: cartoonstock.com

15.12.11

Therapeutic Gangster Rap

There's just something about Thursdays that automatically make me feel like shit. And what is it with random showers of heavy ass rain on a Thursday anyway? Basically, Thursday is an asshole. It was however, interesting to (tentatively) embark on my adventure of seeing a therapist. There I was sitting in the waiting room expecting a frail-looking woman with round spectacles to peep from behind the wooden door and ask me - with a very Keanu Reeves monotone - to come in. Imagine my surprise and awkward facial expression when this bubbly adorable woman emerged smiling and chirping hellos. Ok Thursday...

There was no couch, no weird instrumentals fucking with my subconscious, and no one sitting across the table nodding and taking notes while randomly inserting an automated "mhm". She's almost as animated as I am, didn't outright gawk like my girlfriends but she reacted like a regular human being would and best of all she's HILARIOUS. Like, I think she may have been Eddie Murphy (a la Beverly Hills Cop not Pluto Nash) in a previous life. I. Love. Her.

But of course this would not be a tale of my life if there wasn't something awkward amidst the interesting social interactions. I cursed. I cursed at my Christian therapist. Not my usual F (and MF...and C...and friends) bombs but I said shit and asshole a few times. I was actually quite proud of myself. What self control I possess! She was able to confirm my sanity (aaaaaahh!!!) and assure me that I wasn't in fact fuckin up. Did I mention she was awesome beyond all definitions of awesomeness?

Following the relief of my visit I was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to listen to gangster rap. Wu Tang Clan ain't nothing to fuck with. And neither is B.I.G. Thuggin Thursdays. It was perfection.

The saga continues!

Your Zen Master,

Allycat













14.12.11

Seasonal Resolutions And Things

Following my last awkwardly obscure post (all mobsters know snitching gets you murked) I decided to do a switcharoo for the blog. Every new year I say I'm going to write more, share my rants and other musings with the world while trying not to say too much about my actual life because oversharing makes me nauseous. Time to change that. Just a little.


In order to actually write more about my random and excessively theatrical life I will be sharing a little more of ME with you. This will include my most amusing interactions, loads of aliases, maybe some video, definitely some pictures, and interesting things I run into on a daily basis. The word daily as used in that sentence does not mean I will be posting daily however. But it's an improvement, yes?


This year was full of changes and overhauls for me and now that I'm decidedly less cynical but absolutely still a comedic case I'm going to let you into my head a little. Even my dearest loves (said friends who bitch slapped me out of my quarter-life crisis) are weary of the thoughts floating around in here. Enter at your own risk of course.


The adventure begins tomorrow with *insert drumroll and other suspense-inducing sounds here* therapy. Yes, therapy. Yes, that therapy where you see a therapist who takes notes while you lay on a couch and/or vomit because of the nausea induced by oversharing. This is an adventure for me because my friends outwardly gawk at the shit I tell them about my life and I always wondered what a therapist would say, so I'm going to test one. 


I know right now you're envisioning an eye-twitching, awkwardly conspicuous psychopath but sane people get therapy too! Friends and family are generally biased (yes, no matter how much they try not to be) and at times you just need an independent party to tell you when you're fuckin up. God, if my therapist curses this will be the beginning of a very long love affair. She better not be one of those, "and how did that make you feel?" types because I won't be able to stop laughing and from experience I know that can be counter-productive.


So we begin a new chapter ahead of the new year and if 2012 brings the wrath of Armageddon upon us, I'll be at my cursing therapist's office drinking tea and discussing my absurd emotions. Here's hoping.


Your silly wabbit,


Allycat


Image from toonpool.com

4.12.11

The Audacity of Closure

Years of movies and regurgitated therapeutic rhetoric has lead us to believe that when things happen in our lives that hurt us no matter how much we try to move forward there is just one final piece of the puzzle that’s missing. This final piece that threatens to leave us “incomplete” forever is closure. Like many of you, I was of the belief that I would forever be labelled a baggage handler if I didn’t confront the person who wronged me. I somehow assumed that if I faced this person and asked the questions I felt I desperately needed answers to, all will be well in the world. Meh...

Delving into those emotions past only sent me down a path that was better off barricaded (and surrounded by warning signs and booby-traps). The thing about emotions, particularly those dealing with love and other associated romantic notions, is that you can only wield so much control over them. Beyond that point they take on a life of their own. And so, in seeking nothing but peace of mind and the mythical being ‘closure’, I got lost. Not send-a-search-party lost but I definitely lost my bearings and spent a night in the wilderness.

There is a reason this person is no longer a part of my life and despite not having gotten the answers to any of my questions (because as much as we like to see it movies, in reality dogs can’t talk) I was given so much more. I didn’t get the type of closure you see in movies. You know the thank-you-for-being-honest-I’ll-be-on-my-way-now-bless-you *cue the music* but I got the truth anyway. It’s not always as straight forward or simple as I would like it to be. Suffice to say, I can never get closure from someone else. They are the ones who have to deal with what they’ve done. My only duty is to forgive them and release myself of the burden so I can be happy.

As enlightening and devastating as that experience was, it has strangely renewed my hope. I was always of the belief that at least once in our lives, no matter where on the timeline, we all eventually get the love we deserve. In retrospect, despite the soap opera melodrama of that day, I wouldn’t have done anything differently and I’m actually better for it. You never really see me discussing intensely personal things here, because it's hard to articulate my emotions that aren't humorous, so I’ll let my love Nina touch on the issue. Really she says it better than I ever could. 



Your soldier of love,

Allycat


What an appropriate description! :)

21.10.11

October: The Month of Early-Onset Insanity

Mere days before my birthday I found myself sipping some wine and slowly but surely sinking to the bottom of the glass. My life, which was previously believed to filled with love and laughter and yes, many a few disastrous failures, morphed into a dry wasteland. I haven't done enough, seen enough, been disciplined or productive enough - it's not enough! What have I done with the last 23 years of my life exactly?!


Still unanswered, it turns out this enigma was brought on by a quarter-life crisis. I know, I also shook my head. This usually happens to people between the ages of 25-30 but of course in true Alicia fashion, I'm experiencing it at 23. It's essentially a phase where you begin questioning and over-analysing your life. It would appear that my introverted ways are catching up with me, thus causing this shit storm that wasn't due for another 2-7 years (sigh). Throughout the process I was able to maintain a substandard of sanity thanks to my spectacular and impatient ass friends who aided me through the bouts of depression and told me to stop my shit. I love them.


Symptomatic of this early-onset crisis I was introduced to (and overwhelmed by) loneliness, perhaps even fructifying the crisis more so than being a product of it. Not only was I taken aback by this (finding myself using the word 'lonely' in conversation is quite the experience) but I am now submerged in it. Originally I assumed it was because I went from a long-term relationship to an ephemeral pseudo-relationship to now being absolutely singular. But despite being the girl who loves to go the movies alone, take long solo walks through the city and generally living the live of a seldom-socialised hermit - I find myself constantly on the verge of an anxiety attack. I still savour the time spent with my family, my brilliantly entertaining little cousins, my friends, my friend, yet I'm still aware of a void I can't currently fill.


As recently as 4 days ago this void was a canyon, but as the dust starts to settle on 23 the downward spiral is becoming more of a startling dip into a pothole than me plummeting to my spinsterly death. As for the other aspects - an inactive social life, an even more inactive love life, my hatred of college, my lack of a career - I figure they'll all sort themselves out in time. For now I'm trying to focus on being ready for the great things I want to happen. That's a full-time job so technically I'm not a total bum.


I'm not sure how long these things last according to science but for now I feel like I've been through the worst of it and heading towards recovery. Hopefully this isn't one of those "calm before the storm" moments. Fingers crossed.


Your lonely beaver,


Allycat



23.8.11

Her Majesty The Cynic

I was once upon a time (yes, I just said 'once upon a time') proud to call myself a cynic. I would turn my proud cynical nose up at the optimists (the majority only briefly visiting the disposition) and laugh at their naïveté, mocking. Cynicism was a dose of reality that I had a tendency to overdose on. As I went through my many developmental phases over the years, I began scrutinising the cynical way I had honed for so long. The lingering taste of bitterness started replacing my saliva, like somehow being a cynic had turned me into something other than just an average human being. The Cynic took over, thus becoming Her Majesty.


Her Majesty ruled with an iron (albeit bejewelled) fist, seldom smiled and when one did appear it was oft a sarcastic smirk or pretentious greeting. Though glorious and splendidly irreverent at first, she soon became tart and inappropriate. When Her Majesty starts meeting the family, it's gone too far. Her Majesty is like the girl you take to bars and casual social gatherings, often introduced to acquaintances but only fleetingly socialising with friends. She's great company when you have nothing better to do and is a distant memory when your life is filled with more meaningful matters. She is never, under any circumstances to meet the family. And so, we parted ways.


Recently, I have been bumping into Her Majesty everywhere I go. And by recently I mean two days now. Very recently. She looks radiant and reminds me of our good times. She was a good friend. Loyal. But I still refused the offers to have a drink and drown my accumulation of sorrows. I told her that I fell in love with the most wonderful man I've ever known and she scoffed noticeably as if to remind me of the other "most wonderful" men we've known. I wanted to knock her teeth out but that's exactly what she'd like me to do so instead I took a deep breath and smiled, warmly. She seemed astonished. Bitch. That's what the old me would think anyway. I've been ignoring her calls, deleting her emails and yet, I look back on the times we've had and a part of me wants to believe that her scoff is accurate, that she is the kind of friend I should have in my life, instead of these fleeting bouts of optimism and faith (which she considers to be a legitimate illness) that I've clung to. 


Perhaps her barbed wire exterior isn't aesthetically pleasing but at least intruders can't run in and out, stealing all her valuables. Not much is precious to her but the few things that are remain well guarded around the clock. I sometimes wonder if even she can still access them. Maybe there is something to Her Majesty's ways. She never smiles, or blushes, or laughs heartily, but she also never cries. Yet, despite the displeasure of tears (and snatty noses), I have decided to keep Her Majesty exactly where she is - in the far reaches of my mind. I never much cared for barbed wire.


Your Highness The Ephemeral Optimist,


Allycat


















image copyright http://www.creativedisease.com

29.6.11

A Wise Man Once Said...

A friend of mine recently sent me the book 'The Alchemist' by Paulo Coelho which I delved into this morning while having my first cup of tea. I was immediately intrigued but unsure whether my interest stemmed from the book itself or how relevant the book is to my current stage in life. Either way, it was simply written - in an elegant fashion, and a wonderful place to start my day. One part in particular stood out to me though, a story told to the main character in the book, that I feel compelled to share.


Paulo Coelho - The Alchemist: Part One 

"A certain shopkeeper sent his son to learn about the secret of happiness
from the wisest man in the world. The lad wandered through the desert for
forty days, and finally came upon a beautiful castle, high atop a mountain. It
was there that the wise man lived.

"Rather than finding a saintly man, though, our hero, on entering the main
room of the castle, saw a hive of activity: tradesmen came and went,
people were conversing in the corners, a small orchestra was playing soft
music, and there was a table covered with platters of the most delicious
food in that part of the world. The wise man conversed with everyone, and
the boy had to wait for two hours before it was his turn to be given the
man's attention.

"The wise man listened attentively to the boy's explanation of why he had
come, but told him that he didn't have time just then to explain the secret of
happiness. He suggested that the boy look around the palace and return in
two hours.

" 'Meanwhile, I want to ask you to do something,' said the wise man,
handing the boy a teaspoon that held two drops of oil. 'As you wander
around, carry this spoon with you without allowing the oil to spill.

"The boy began climbing and descending the many stairways of the palace,
keeping his eyes fixed on the spoon. After two hours, he returned to the
room where the wise man was.

" 'Well,' asked the wise man, 'did you see the Persian tapestries that are
hanging in my dining hall? Did you see the garden that it took the master
gardener ten years to create? Did you notice the beautiful parchments in my
library?'

"The boy was embarrassed, and confessed that he had observed nothing.
His only concern had been not to spill the oil that the wise man had
entrusted to him.

" 'Then go back and observe the marvels of my world,' said the wise man.
'You cannot trust a man if you don't know his house.'

"Relieved, the boy picked up the spoon and returned to his exploration of
the palace, this time observing all of the works of art on the ceilings and the
walls. He saw the gardens, the mountains all around him, the beauty of the
flowers, and the taste with which everything had been selected. Upon
returning to the wise man, he related in detail everything he had seen.

" 'But where are the drops of oil I entrusted to you?' asked the wise man.
"Looking down at the spoon he held, the boy saw that the oil was gone.

" 'Well, there is only one piece of advice I can give you,' said the wisest of
wise men. 'The secret of happiness is to see all the marvels of the world,
and never to forget the drops of oil on the spoon.' "

The shepherd said nothing. He had understood the story the old king had
told him. A shepherd may like to travel, but he should never forget about his
sheep.

                  _______________________________________________________

I need not comment, expound, or share my perspective on this story. I would just like you to think about this and hold on to it.

Your wandering traveller in search of riches,

Allycat


            













15.11.10

Mirror Mirror on the wall...

A few nights ago, in a taxi zooming through the streets of Port of Spain, I was lost in my mind taking in the drama and the noise of the city. I love town. It’s chaotic, filthy, unpretentious and alive. On pause for a few seconds at a red light, I stared at this vagrant who was very intensely staring at his own reflection in the glossy window of an establishment. He was standing there with a sac over his back that I can only assume was filled with his worldly possessions and treasures. I wondered what he was thinking. Was he looking at who he is now and wondering how he got there? Was he wishing he could retrace his steps back to where he used to be? Or was he just high out his fucking mind looking at his reflection thinking it was another man and trying to intimidate him? Of course I will never know which it is, but I felt in some way that I could relate to that vagrant.

Shouldn’t we all have that moment (or several) where we stop and look at ourselves and evaluate our lives? How did I get here? Where am I going? Am I happy with who/what I have become? I believe these moments of reflection and questioning are paramount to our development as we go along on this journey – for those of us looking forward to evolving that is. Some of us prefer to use the mirror solely to examine the wrinkles of worry that have accumulated over time.

As we continue to deny ourselves these moments of pause do we risk becoming zombies, going about our routines void of any thirst and love for life, thereby condemning our entire species to non-existence? As it is, the degeneration has already begun. We spend so much time teaching our children to have discipline, compete, work hard, study, have manners, say this, do that but we never put enough emphasis on laughter, love, personal growth, caring for others and taking time to just do nothing but talk and develop their imagination. In some ways this works for the benefit of mankind, we now have more doctors, architects, engineers, artists, etcetera to propel us closer to the futuristic world we all had in mind since The Chrysalids. But now, there is also more violence, crime and suicide. Have we taught ourselves to sacrifice happiness for stringency? We are constantly going at a pace with our schedules and plans and plans to make plans.

If there were no red lights to make us stop, would we?

Just some thoughts.


Your aspiring traffic conductor,

Allycat

                                    Who said anything was wrong with moving at a snail's pace anyway?



9.11.10

Spinning Webs of Wisdom

There are times I truly believe I have lost my mind. I don’t know when nor where I lost it, if it is entirely lost, but I am certain there are some fundamental chunks gone awry. The combination of life experiences – real, imagined and modified – have driven those parts of my mind to either vacate or mutate without warning. I wonder if I can grow and develop with what I have left and cling desperately to the hope that I will not be this way forever; the selfish, hot-tempered, and unfocused person who I am occasionally ashamed of. We’ve all been there. It’s all part of the vicious cycle of attaining the ever elusive “maturity”.

Playing Spider Solitaire (my new obsession – don’t ask) at 5am this morning I was (repeatedly!) informed  that whether I quit and start a new game or restart my current game it will be counted as a loss in my statistics. Here is this game telling me that even I start over and ultimately win, the fact that I even had to start over means I’ve lost. Sipping on tea, legs crossed sitting with my laptop on my bed (very much like the illustration), it got me thinking about life. Having been a strong believer in the dust-yourself-off-and-try-again philosophy, now I can’t help but wonder how many losses I’ve accumulated over the last 22 years of my existence. And exactly how important are those losses? It also made me think about shortcuts, as I – armed with a victorious smile – reset my current statistics. Oh the joys of a fresh start!

But do we always have to accumulate losses to win or can we all just be winners? If we are always reminded of our “life statistics” will this make us strive for a better record, or just feel miserable and burdened?

I’d like to think we all continuously strive to be better people, good people, and conquer the things we have been taught make us “civilised” and “respectable” adults. Whatever that means. Can we all be the she-has-her-shit-together lady, or are some of us just destined to be the helter-skelter types? I understand that reaching this place of emotional and intellectual maturity is a process, and I continue to trudge along in my journey, but I often wish I could just be the “new and improved” me without all the trials and errors. I’m running in circles like a puppy chasing its own tail when I would rather be the smart and cunning cat observing and taking note of life from a high perch, casually swishing my tail while I harvest my wisdom. When do we become the cats?!

Just some thoughts.

Your work in progress,

Allycat


6.8.10

Fashion Internships: New York, Los Angeles and beyond

For all the latest info on internships in fashion and related fields you should all follow @FASHIONISMYLIFE. These are the ones she tweeted wee hours this morning, there's more coming so follow her! She tweets you the info with the quickness. Instead of filling up your FB newsfeeds and posting repeatedly on my Twitter (follow!) I made a listing of all the internships. Get to it worker bees!


New York:
  • RACHEL RACHEL ROY DESIGN INTERN (NY): Have experience in Design field or in school for design. Visit: WWW.JONESAPPEAREL.COM/CAREERS.
  • ARCHETYPE SHOWROOM SALES & PR INTERNS (NY): 3 days a week. Can start ASAP. School credit available. Resume & brief CVR Letter to press@archetypeshowroom.com.
  • LOUIS VUITTON PR (NY): 3 days a week, full-time or part-time. Starts now. School Credit only. Experience in PR a plus. Send Resume & CVR Letter to r.singh@us.vuitton.com.
  • MARIE CLAIRE FASHION INTERN (NY): 3-5 days a week. School Credit only. Long hours.  Send Resume & CVR Letter with start date and availability to MCFashionista@gmail.com with “Marie Claire Fall 2010 Fashion Intern” in the subject line.
  • GLAMOUR MAG PR INTERN (NY): 2-3 days a week: Aug - Dec. Word, Excel, Internet research important. School Credit (must be in school). Send an email telling a little about yourself as well as your resume to Samantha_Storch@condenast.com.
  • TOPMAN PR INTERN (NY): Unpaid, 3 Days a week. Microsoft Excel & Word, verbal and written skills. Send Resume and cover letter to TopmanInternship@gmail.com.
  • MIGUELINA DESIGN INTERN (NY): 3 days a week. Photoshop, Illustrator & Microsoft Office. Can lead to full-time employment after 3 month review. Send Resume to sathya@miguelina.com.
  • MIGUELINA SALES & MARKETING INTERN (NY): Start now, must be available at least 1 day per week. Photoshop. Send Resume to heather.green@miguelina.com.

Los Angeles
  • THELOOKBOOK.COM INTERNSHIP (LA): Database updates, red carpet credits, social media. School Credit offered. Send Resume to thelookbook.internship@gmail.com.
  • ROMEO & JULIET COUTURE SHOWROOM INTERN (LA): Interest in Fashion a must. Send Resume in body of e-mail to rjcintern@gmail.com.

Nationwide
  • BALL AND BUCK BIZ DEVELOPMENT: Needs interns for LA, Boston, Miami, Chicago, Atlanta, DC, Marthas Vineyard Nantucket, Nashville, Austin, Dallas, San Francisco and Greenwich: Not afraid to sell. Commission based salary. Can turn into full-time employment. Send Resume to Mark@ballandbuck.com.

Your fellow aspiring fashionista,

Allycat






21.7.10

City Gyal: A stroll through Port of Spain

I like walking through the city after dark when the respectable citizens lock up their businesses and leave their jobs to go home and the notorious and otherwise entertaining characters emerge. People watching is one of my favourite things in the world to do. You’ll learn more than you will in any education institution. I felt like Jodi Foster’s character in “The Brave One.” I really love Trinidad.

I’m going to walk you all through the journey of my city stroll.

8:20 – Walk from the beautiful Savannah down Dondonald Street, careful to avoid roaches on the pavement. Nasty bitches.

8:23 – I hear music blaring behind me on the street and assume it’s a car but this band of bicycle riding teens pulled a fast one on me. There was one of them with a huge speaker attached to the back of the bicycle blaring Jamaican dancehall music. I laughed loudly and shook my head while thanking God that the music was so loud they couldn’t hear me. Don’t want to take any chances.

8:25 – Walk past the strip club. Yes, there is a strip club sitting betwixt businesses and schools. Only in the city. The man asks me if I want to come in, I steups and keep walking. In my mind: I’m not a stripper you shit face.

8:30 – Walk past 3 guys talking and laughing on the other side of the street. One shouts, “Goodnight nice girl. I would give you anything you want, anything, a Benz, a X5, a big house on the hill, tell me what you want!”I laugh with my eyes but keep walking.

8:32 – Slow my pace to walk behind two women with outrageous weaves who chatter and laugh loudly. They’re talking about installing kill switches in their cars while I examine their hair. I imagine them at the hairdresser getting it done and then leaving thinking they’re the flyest people on the planet. I imagine the other people in the beauty parlour endorsing this fallacy.

8:35 – Listen to a vagrant ask a man behind me for money. Always money, not food. Never food. I see the hard and cracked soles of his feet in my mind and wonder what they were like years ago.

8:40 – There is a man sitting opposite the casino in a Police Service t-shirt diligently polishing his shoes with a toothbrush and shoe polish. *shhh – shhh – shhh – scoup polish – shhh – shhh – shhh*

8:43 – I look into the car park of a building and see fully costumed dancers saying prayers before their rehearsals. Two more steps: Tassa Drums. Hearing Tassa Drums always makes me feel like doing an African dance ritual.

8:45 – Jehovah’s Witnesses. Too busy thinking about African dances and didn’t see them in time to cross the street. Smile politely and take the booklet. It reads, ‘Would you like to know the truth? Does God care about us? How can I find happiness in my life? In my mind: Pay attention Alicia, damn.

8:49 – There are six old men avidly debating politics in the Square. Go home and take your pressure pills na pops.

8:52 – Stop dead in my tracks to avoid a roach touching my feet. Step into the street and inadvertently step on another roach emerging from the sewer. *CRUNCH* Deep breath to stop my skin from crawling. I drag my feet for two more steps to ensure the yellow gunk is removed from the sole of my flip flops. Why the fuck are there so many roaches?!

8:55 – Look into the showcase of one of my favourite stores from across the street and examine their layout marking things I approve of.

8:56 – Look into the showcase of the store I hate and scowl. Any merchandiser who sells low quality goods at a high quality price deserves it.

9:00 – Heart of the city. Pass the nuts and newspaper vendors. Boldly cross the street and imagine myself being hit by a car if I was in another country. I am admittedly a wayward pedestrian.

9:02 – More Jamaican music blaring. This time from a pirate selling CDs at the side of the street. I sometimes forget that I am in Trinidad and not Jamaica.

9: 05 – In a maxi (the equivalent of a small bus in Trinidad). The man next to me is holding a box of food. I imagine what’s inside. You don’t want to know.

9:07 – Maxi stops and a girl with her hair in an afro ponytail sits in front of me. I imagine that they’ll honk if I squeeze them. Briefly wonder what she would do if I did. Flashback of that viral video of the white war vet beating that black guy on the bus. Worse yet, ‘Soulja Girl’ going crazy on grandma in ATL. No thank you.

9:10 – Honking pom poms gets out the maxi and flashes me her pink and white striped underwear as she bends to pay the driver. Sigh and look away.

9:12 – Close my eyes and savour the smells from the various Chinese Restaurants lingering in the air. I love Asian cuisine.

9:13 – Fantasies of Asian food come to a screeching halt with the maxi as the driver almost hits a man crossing on the green light.  They curse each other out. Life goes on.

9:14: A car is overturned into a ditch at the side of the street. The driver smokes a cigarette and talks softly into his phone holding a beer. Wonder what happened?! The woman behind me promptly calls someone to relay the news. All Trini people are natural reporters.

9:15 – Another passenger gets out and flashes me her ass crack as she pays the driver. Switch seats or keep your eyes to the window woman!

9:16 – Thankfully, I arrive at my stop. The driver speeds and has no regard for road safety regulations. I am also thankful that my outfit prevents underwear or ass crack flashing of any kind. Goodbye asshole, try not to kill the other passengers.

9:17 – Home. Flip Flops thrown aside, hair down, glass of milk. Possibilities are endless.

Your stripping, roach crushing street walker,

Allycat








Image via cartoonstock.com