I recently graduated from UVIC with a BA in Applied Linguistics. Since finishing, I've been working at an ESL school (teaching English) and so far feel like it's an excellent career choice! I grew up in Victoria, but I definitely have the travel bug. Within the last few years I have traveled and worked in Europe for 2 summers and I'm always looking forward to more opportunities to explore new places and cultures. I hope to travel and teach overseas sometime in the near future.

My true passion is performing. I've been singing and dancing since the age of 8 and have performed in numerous community shows. Most recently I have performed professionally with Pacific Opera Victoria and I have no plans to stop singing and performing as a milf seeker and don't forget to check out my pics!


I balance my life by spending time with friends and family, doing singing and dance lessons, and performing in shows whenever I can. I love doing things outdoors in the Summer but have to say that nothing beats going for a hike or run or walking along the water on a cool, crisp Autumn day. I always like to try new things, too.

Friends would describe me as honest and loyal, sophisticated and fun. I'm looking for someone who's outgoing, intelligent and honest, and open to new possibilities. (and it can't hurt if you like to go dancing!)

[regarding Laura Miller's Sunday New York Times mention of the poet who wrote about Queen in the Sunday book review]

So anyway, Laura, as I was saying, I wrote this email to Snarkwatch, just this funny little thing, and The Believer freaking published it!

The editor emailed me and said it was already up online. This kinda freaked me out, and we took it down.

Then it went back up by mistake three weeks ago -- a foul-up where they uploaded old html files or something.

Again, I asked to take it down.

All in all, my letter was online less than 48 hours.

Laura, I agree, it's bad form for authors to defend their book in reviews -- but I wasn't doing that.

I was just speaking up a little bit in an email that got published. I put it on my blog. People can do that in this electronic age.

But thanks for the publicity, I guess.

And If this the most hay you can make over Snarkwatch, I have to admit I'm left wanting a little bit more. As were you

Dear Bean, How are you? I am well. I hope you are too. I am studying now. I would want to have a job, you know. Well, of course it is not about the money. It would be fun to be working with other people. Err I just want to have a job. That s all. And oh, I hope we would be working together. Your friend, Mean Dear Mean, How are you? I am well. I know you are too. I am studying. Only that I am studying by myself. I borrow books from a kind neighbor, who happens to be a college professor. I would want to have a job, you know. Well, of course it s all about money. Oh, it s a shame. I really thought I was going to die. But then, it looks as if even death I do not have the luxury to have. ...

It was summer in the Caribbean, two people from distant places brought together for two days. We hated each other at first, but she must have been as intrigued with me as I was with her.

We met at the pool, had dinner, drank, talked. She was English and seventeen, I was a sixteen-year-old American. I must have impressed her quite a bit ... she called me when I arrived home the following night, only 48 hours after our meeting.

We wrote. God, we wrote. A stack of letters two feet tall. I wrote every night, and my days were filled with thoughts of her.

I flew to visit three months later, with thoughts of lust on my adolescent mind, but I had no idea what to expect. Did she still feel the same way about me? Why was I doing this? Am I crazy?

I was, and so was she. We talked and talked. We laughed, we kissed, we drank. And drank, and drank.

The last night of my stay, long after saying our final goodnights (she had come over from her room to the guest room and had stayed), I told her I loved her. She rolled over to face me, looked at me a long time, then held me and whispered the same.

So the writing and obsessing continued until she came to visit two and a half months later. Awkwardness. Drugs. Friends. Messes. She took my virginity, and at the airport, she cried and cried. My room seemed so empty when I came home that I shed some tears of my own.

I went to visit her again and we spent the whole time in her room, in her bed. Loving, talking, loving some more. I spoke of my grandfather who had died five years before, and finally cried at the memory for the first time.

Right before I left, we were at a Chinese restaurant when she showed me a ring from a friend that looked suspiciously like an engagement ring. She took it off and handed it to me for inspection, then upon my handing it back she said, "Isn't there something you're supposed to ask me first?"

I was perplexed. Then I realized.

I took her left hand, spoke her name. "Will you marry me?"

Great big tears welled up in her eyes. She took the ring from me, bowed her head, and a moment later, she whispered, "Yes."

Just under four years later, after waiting several hours in the lobby of the building in London where she worked, I followed her out into the street. When I spoke her name she turned and replied as coolly and as naturally as she had the day we met. We had dinner and drinks that night with some of her co-workers ... I never could get her alone to talk.

On the Eurostar back to Paris the next day, I couldn't stop thinking about what had changed. What had gone wrong.

A drug habit, and rehabilitation. 4000 miles. Different cultures and attitudes. Time.

Even though my last trip to London is two years gone, I recall it as if it was happening right now. I can still hear her laughter in my ears .. still taste the perfume on her throat.

I can still see her crying across the crowd at Heathrow, and I can still remember not ever wanting to lose sight of her.

I am certainly in a talkative mood these last few days. And I find I am using one blog more than others. I think I am just falling back into the habit of keeping a journal and the thoughts, feelings and emotions are flowing. I want to capture every single one, duplicate it, save it, preserve it. As if by writing it down, putting pen to paper (so to speak), makes it more real somehow. The thoughts are flowing faster than the fingers can keep up with. I realize most all of my posts are rough, unpolished...but I believe there are diamonds within them. And after all, what I believe is what matters to me. I have read some very eloquent postings in other persons blogs, I have read very thought provoking ones, posts about issues that should be addressed, social concerns. Intelligent thoughts and conversations of other people. I do not write like that however. And I find that I am either very inadequate at expressing myself or I ramble on till the point is lost to others. Even if it still makes sense to me! Even if others do read my blog, I have to remind myself; I am writing for me
Nothing else should matter. So I continue to ramble, continue to post my thoughts, my way.
I think the main reason that anyone who writes online writes so that someone else can read it. A paper and pen journal kept in a drawer is wonderful, but sometimes we all want another person's opinion on what we wrote. And it isn't easy to leave a paper journal lying about for a stranger to read, write a comment in and then return to you! Sometimes it is the opinion of someone we wrote about that we want, sometimes it's just a general opinion we want....but I think that by the simple act of posting our thoughts *outloud* so to speak, we are admitting the desire to be heard. Who doesn't like to express their own opinion every once in a while?
I really don't know how to express much of what goes on in my head. It isn't as if I just sit and ponder on the same thing all of the time. Thoughts wander in, I check them out and they wander on their way. Sometimes staying around a while quietly, sometimes popping in and out again to see if I feel differently and sometimes never returning. So it's hard for me to say that I feel a certain way at any given time or place. I might right then, but later I might not feel the same way. Minutes later or days later I could feel totally different. And just because I say that I feel this way right at this very minute does not mean that I will ever feel this way again. Sometimes just expressing a feeling is the catalyst needed to get rid of it forever. I am tired, my life is in shambles, I ache, I am empty, I am so very alone. Yet I cannot write all of what I want to here because I have chosen to be heard should anyone want to listen. Sometimes it really is too private to discuss here. Even my other blog, the one with more personal thoughts, the one I would NOT want my mother to read, it isn't locked away private, it is open too. Maybe a sub conscious desire for approval on those thoughts too?

Someone the other day said that they felt that blogs and people who blog are are representaion of the sad state the world is coming to these days. I can understand part of what he was saying though. It is sort of like reality TV, makes one feel a bit like when driving past an accident, even though we know we should look away, we always want to look at what happened anyways! Morbid curiosity? Anyone with access to a computer can now become an online writer and express whatever they want to on the internet. Then again, is it really different than writing Memoirs like Hillary? Or is it just because blogging is so readily available that it somehow cheapens it? Writing and publishing a book is no easy accomplishment. however writing and publishing a blog is fairly easy. So does it make it less worthwhile to read simply because of the ease of presentation to the public? Conflicting thoughts here on this one. I still hold that online journal writers really do want to be heard. They just want to select their audience by allowing strangers to intercept their thoughts and maybe a few close friends or family members rather than have every person they know in their lives read their innermost secrets. Even if the audience is their closest circle of family and friends, they are still only saying what they want them to hear. They are still seeking someone's approval, thoughts, something on what they have written. Coming from strangers or familiars, they are still seeking *something* by posting online to the entire world.
Did Salam Pax really intend to become as famous as he has? Or did he simply want an easy way to write his thoughts, look for his friend and maybe gather a few opinons along the way? I suppose everyone is entitled to his or her "15 minutes of fame"!

One day perhaps I will organize all of my thoughts in one place and not have these bits and pieces spread out through my life like I do now. Combine the two or three or ten paper journals that I have started, gotten halfway through and then abandoned for another, combine all these blogs into one, combine all the posts to my personal computer journal into one, combine all of these into one complete work where it can be read by anyone?

Perhaps one day I will be brave enough? Strong enough? Not care enough? Stupid enough?? Smart enough? That I can compile all of my thoughts into one and not give a flying fig what anyone else thinks and let the world be damned! My thoughts, my opinions, my feelings, my emotions, my words and actually say EVERYTHING and not care who hears it?