What I Know Now

This blog post comes from an inspiring conversation I had with 2 young women both on the crest of their 20th birthdays.  They, like most younger folk I meet, were surprised to hear that I was "that old" when I stated that my upcoming birthday would be my 38th.  The conversation turned from surprise to inquiry. These ladies wanted to know what it was like once they weren't teenagers anymore. I was delighted to be asked for my "sage" wisdom. 

But before we dive into what I said to them, let's get one thing straight: 

38 isn't OLD. It's 38 for chrissake! It's not even 40. And guess what? 40 isn't old either!  SO relax. Just chill, bruh. Don't sign me up for the waiting list at Shady Oaks just yet. Yeesh.

Ok, now that we have that out of the way, let's get down to it. 

Your 20's are for fucking up, going the wrong way at least 5 times, turning around, making up for your mistakes only to make a round of new ones you will hopefully have lived down by your 30th birthday. Your 20's are for your FIRST marriage. In short, just make it out alive. My 20's were the most confusing, heartbreaking, challenging, FUN, silly and wild years of my life. I loved, I lost, I left, I came back, I made horrible choices that bled into my 30's.  Your 20's are the years where you still have the metabolism of a cheetah so eat those fries, chug those beers, devour those nachos and bathe EVERYTHING in cheese. And wine. Sure, sure, be healthy, but don't obsess cause I guarantee you, no matter your size, mobility, or position in life in your 20s, you will find yourself scrolling through old pictures on facebook on the eve of your 38th birthday and lament at how young, cute, fit/able/perfect your body was back then. In the last year the reality of my mobility has come roaring in and I mostly bemuse the days that I could climb mountains, run 10k and do those high-impact workouts. Now, my knees are shot, my joints are constantly on fire, and I feel like there's a permanent knife in my right hip that twists every time I take a step. Years of having a "pretty person job" of serving in restaurants and bars, have left me with repetitive stress injuries, "server elbow", faceitus in both feet and ZERO PATIENCE FOR YOUR BULLSHIT, MA'AM.

The first half of your 30's are for repairing the damage of your 20's and also for accepting that you are in fact "in your 30's". You're a bit greyer, you're a bit slower, you're a bit more jaded. BUT. Here's the good stuff:

You give 50% less of a fuck about most things. This means what Fucking Sharon in accounting thinks of you is inconsequential. Because FUCK SHARON. She's bitter and angry and you should never take what she says seriously.  Plus she's 40 (ew). 

You give progressively less fucks the further you push into your 30's.  I'm at the point where I can go a whole day without caring. I can already see my next blog post..."If I Give a Fuck, Will You Stop Crying?"

In your 30's, when you've managed to live down most of what you did in your 20's (or stopped caring about it) you have so much mental space and time to do stuff. They say that tortured artists like myself can only write through pain. Those people just hadn't turned 35 yet.  I don't need pain, I need time. And some GODDAMM peace and quiet. So, yeah dude, we can date. You can even live with me. You're adorable, I love you. Just listen to your music on headphones and try to leave me alone at least once a day for a few consecutive hours. Mama's gotta get shit done.  

The other awesome thing about being in your late 30's (aka pushing 40) is that you're like 3 years away from people no longer bugging you about having a damn human baby. The only bummer is the folks (mostly men, oddly) that feel the need to remind you how much time you have left. And also to remind you that the last 19 years of survival, creating a body of work in respect to your art, travelling to countless cities/countries really won't make you a woman until you create a life. *eye roll* Oh, and they LOVE to remind you that you gonna regret not having one. Like I'm gonna wake up on my 45th birthday and be all "MY LIFE MEANT NOTHING".  Again, chill, Bruh. In the words of my dear darling Uncle Ken (aka UK):

"I decide."

Oh yeah! I forgot the best part! YOU DECIDE. And you finally have the balls to say what you want or what you don't want. You can decide you don't like something. You can say you don't feel like having sex/going for a walk/drinking beer/watching that movie and you don't have to waste your time agonizing about WHAT IT ALL MEANS. It doesn't mean anything, it's just means you don't fucking feel like it right now. Maybe you will feel like it in 15 minutes, but not now. And then in 15 minutes when you feel like it you can say "hey sailor, I feel like banging/going for a walk/drinking beer/seeing that movie" and most of the time he'll say "sweet, i'm in." or he might not. So then you both shrug your shoulders and go do what you feel like doing alone. It doesn't have to mean anything. It doesn't mean the thrill is gone. It just means you're different people and everything's gonna be ok. 

Oh and having made it to the closing remarks of your 30's means...you're almost 40.  And once you hit 40, everything's gonna be ok. That's the promise land, man. You made it. Hopefully with no children. (in my case). Put your feet up, crack a beer and put on a record. Light a damn candle. Light 40 on your cake if you want. You know who you are now, less people will fuck with you. And if your a woman, you're pretty much not a target demo for the media's idiotic beauty standards, or the dude catcallers on the street. Your world is infinitely safer as you rapidly approach your invisible years. 

Genevieve Rainey, The Invisible Woman, coming 2017...

S  O  U  L  M  A  T  E  S

Traditionally, it was common for women to be soulmates with their best friends. It was not a title reserved for husbands and romantic partners. I can definitely agree with this. The longest, healthiest and most fulfilling relationship I've had to date has been with my bestie. Not to detract from the wonderful romantic partner I am with, my friendship with my best pal isn't in direct competition with him. She provides me with aspects that my partner doesn't really have the life experience with me to provide. Also what he provides, even after almost 20 years, she can't.

She, like a parent or close sibling, has seen me grow up. From the tender age of 19 all the way to 38. During what I dare to say my most formative years, she was right there beside me. She was my family when mine was so far away. She was confidante and mentor. She was (and is) my biggest critic, ally and cheerleader. 

I truly believe a human with a best friend of a substantial amount of time, is possibly a fuller formed individual. When I was on the dating scene, I avoided men who didn't have a best friend. To me, having a bestie shows commitment, understanding, and the ability to work through problems and create a sense of family. 

Lone wolves were not attractive to me. Single for years is fine, I'm a testament to that fact that some people take decades and many failures to find a truly compatible romantic companion.  But, damn,  if you don't have a "ride or die" person...that's where I start to question things. If there isn't someone in your life that sticks by you matter what, you might be an expert of pushing people away or simply not needing other humans. Which I'm not bashing, but I want a partnership and I want family and I need someone who can foster that in my life. 

So, if ya gotta bestie, tell them you love them. And if you don't, look around and pick out that person you haven't seemed to get rid of...perhaps they are there for a reason. 

I'm gonna go send this to my girl now. Don't forget to head over to youtube and watch the video I made about this, if you like it, share it and if you want to see more, subscribe!

Draw My Love Ep1 "The Great Annmarini"

Buh-bye!

In this week's (inaugural) episode, we make ice tea! 

The current temp in Vancouver is this: (hot as balls) and as you may or may not know, BC is basically on fire. With 219 wildfires burning in the southeast alone,  a friggin idiot can deduce we are in dire, climate change induced, man-made caused MASS DESTRUCTION of our eco-systems. The last few days we’ve finally been able to open our windows again due to the air quality warnings and literal ash on our window sills and in OUR LUNGS. Yet we have the most sensitive smoke alarm known to man. We boil a kettle, it’s apocalypse now. Massive plumes of smoke decending upon our city? Not so much as a peep. 

One thing Vancouverites know is rain. Something we haven’t had a drop of in 25 days. Heat is not our forte, we don’t have AC, we don’t own fans nor do we own sunscreen. Add massive smoke cover from forest fires and an air quality advisory to close all windows……did I say it was 30 degrees? Did I mention we don’t have AC? Yeah, basically mo-fuckas need to cool down. 

SO, here’s one solution. Taking a page from our friends in the south, I’m going to make two versions of ice teas to keep us cool, hydrated, caffeinated and also an excellent vessel for booze. 

Firstly, here are the ingredients and tools you need:

Foods:

Fresh mint leaves
Fresh rosemary
Earl grey tea (I used the loose leaf kind in a tea ball)
Green tea 
2 cups sugar
2 cups water

Tools:

Kettle
2 large mason jars with lids
2 extra large mason jars with lids
tea ball
medium size pot

The tea part is easy, boil water and steep to desired strength and flavour.  (Steep in large mason jars).  

The simple syrup is aptly named.  Dump 1 cup sugar and 1 cup water in your pot and bring to a boil, then remove from heat, add herbs and cover to cool and steep.

Once everything is nice and cool, pack a glass full of ice, add a shot or 2 of your desired syrup and then pour in tea. Stir, add gin to taste, savour and feel yourself cooling down slowly and surely.  Maybe take a glass to that sweaty hydro worker...or if you don't live in a Harlequin romance novel, put your feet up and enjoy a glass all by your itty bitty self. 

Until next week, kids....buh-bye!

love: moutarde

PS: Don't forget to follow my blog! And subscribe to my youtube channel! I post vids M-F!!

She's the Cat's Mother (No Contest)

I have a confession to make. My mum isn't better than your mum. I could posture in my pontification, I could make huge claims of her awesomeness, I could make declarations of her unmeasurable worth. They would all be true. But she isn't better than your mum. She isn't better than you. She's a human woman who chose to push 3 wild children into the world. All with the support of a fantastic gentleman who I call my dad. I find myself prefacing and apologizing for it at times. ("Don't mind me, I'm a product of a two parent household!") The way I was raised isn't "better" than you, although it may have definitely been more privileged than you. It wasn't perfect, and bad things happened. And yes, at times, I held those bad things in as secrets and didn't allow my mother to be a part of them. In fact, there are trials in my life that I haven't shared with her.  I've rocked myself, bathed myself and practiced self care until I healed all on my own. The fact that I was able to do this had a lot to do with her and what she taught me by example. But she wasn't there for everything. How could she be? She isn't a superhero. She's just a woman. A good one. She made her choices, decided to read certain books, raised us in the church and I got a swat or two on my behind.  She's lost her temper, she's let words fall out of her mouth that weren't chosen as carefully as she would have liked, she's taken another side than mine more than once. In all honesty, my mother and I differ in opinion a lot. She isn't always my champion. She hates my tattoos, she wishes I would come back to God, I'm sure she wishes I wasn't so brash and vocal about my feminism.  She wishes I didn't swear so much or have endless arguments with my father about the state of the world at Xmas dinner. She wishes I said Christmas instead of Xmas. If I ever have kids, I know she will ache when I say "no" to church until they are the age of consent. 

In short, my mother is a real woman. There is no pre-requisite to complete to be that. My mother is a mother. There is no pre-requisite to be that. Not even having a functional uterus. She did however, step up to the plate more than 3 times to be there for another human.  She took in troubled friends of ours, she sat for hours comforting other mother's children when they couldn't share their pain with their own mothers. Just as other mothers have done the same for me. Every woman in my life, good or ill, has shaped me. My mother played the largest role. And for that I am eternally grateful. I am not being hyperbolic. I will swell with problematic pride for her until my energy stops bouncing off the atmosphere. 

I will not glorify her, I will not compare her anymore to anyone else's mother. 

I am lucky. I am privileged. My mother is still alive. I can still talk to her. I can still make the choice what I share with her and dread the day I no longer have that choice. 

I have made the choice to not be a mother. More than once.  It's not a permanent one, just one I have continued to make so far. I've had other work to do. Guess who has never scolded, guilted me or judged me for that? Yup, you guessed it.  She hasn't. That is not to say I don't mother. I practice what my mother has taught me everyday. The listening. The sitting. The worrying. The supporting. I've gone to bat many times for many of you, without a second thought. I will again.  I'll be screaming "hold me back!" as I come at whoever has hurt many of you. I won't stop.  

Mother's are everywhere. They are male, female, non-binary. They are mothers.  They give birth to you, they watch your birth, or they meet you somewhere along the way and sit with you, listen to you, support you, and worry worry worry. 

To ALL my mother's: you are valued. To ALL who have lost a few of their mothers: you are not alone. 

To the woman who birthed me and raised me: I'm glad you're here. You hold your own title. To which there is no comparison. 

No contest. 

Love: g