Only love can heal such a scar

Getting a tattoo has been on my mind a lot lately. But since I'm the type of person that needs to be 100% certain about something I've been holding myself back.

As kid!Sonya, I hated tattoos. The only ones I had seen at that point were the tattoos of my uncles and aunts who had (usually) got them whilst drunk and were done by themselves. The tattoos were on their left arms (they had done the tats themselves remember?) and done with sharpened pens and superheated ballpoint ink.

Every time I thought about getting a tattoo, I'd suddenly have the vivid image of my aunt's Tweety bird forearm tattoo that looks like an ink drawing that got caught in the rain. Even now, after I went to a local tattoo shop in the city to see about meeting an artist, all I can think of is that damn bird.



But I've decided I will get one. And it's all about overcoming something with the same level of permanence. I have this scar on my left forearm. It came about as the result of a very horrible person from my past. This person didn't leave the scar but it is related to the last time I was hurt by him. I dislike that no matter how much time has passed, that scar is always a reminder of that moment in my life. What I want is to counterbalance that stupid scar. That's what keeps tipping the scales towards getting the tattoo. No amount of "Well, you'll regret it in 10 years" can counter it. When I see that scar, I want to see the tattoo as well. But deciding on what to get has been as big a challenge as deciding to get one.

I've got a few contenders. After my grandmother's death, I wanted to get her names for my sister and I tattooed on my arm as a memorial to her. I also love dragonflies especially how they symbolize change and rebirth. I loved the style of Heath Ledger's dragonfly tattoo and was certain I was going to get it. But I felt I needed something more powerful to take the sting off the scar.

I think I found it! Last year or thereabouts, I was blown away by this one phrase and got my Dad to get it translated into Cree:

Sawenihtakosiw aheahk ka pasteskahk kekwan

The line that blew me away was blessed is the spirit that overcomes (the Cree above translates to blessed spirit overcomes). I love the imagery of that line and how it resonated with me when I first heard it. "Blessed" is a heavy word and I always associated with material things and people in the upper class. I like the idea that being able to overcome the seemingly insurmountable obstacles in your life makes you fortunate that you are able to do so. Being "blessed" to have that strength not to give up.

No matter how much it fades, I think I'll always look at my scar negatively. But I don't want it to have so much power. I'm nervous about getting a tattoo, the permanence scares me. But I want to have one mark on my arm that is associated with positivity. The phrase also looks beautiful in Cree syllabics.

The line comes from here:



Yes, it's a U2 lyric. I've become one of those fans.

Play To The Finish

I reckon everyone should be working towards a goal. For the month of January, I have two: finally finish a short story I’ve been writing since November and complete The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask.

I love video games. I’ve had some form of Nintendo from the age of 4 to the present and have given my thumbs blisters on many occasions. In my 20s, I’ve been tempted over to other systems with the release of excellent games not available for Nintendo. But Nintendo has always drawn me back. And this one game has always drawn me back.



The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask was released back in 2000 when I was 13. After Ocarina of Time blew my mind two years earlier, I was eager to blister my thumbs during the inevitable 8 hours of game play EVERY DAY until I completed the game. After a few days though, I found my mind wandering. It’s not that the game wasn’t enjoyable; I just started to become overwhelmed with the futility of my actions within the game’s universe.



That last bit requires some explanation: the game is set over the span of 3 days. You repeatedly travel back in time to the beginning of the 3 days to find a way to stop the slowly falling moon, which will crash into Termina (the world in which the game is set) on the final day. When you travel back to the first day, everything is reset to the way it was on that day (save for the masks you’ve obtained, travel points you have created, money saved in the bank, and your weaponry). People you’ve helped and tasks that have been completed are all undone in the trip back to the first day.

Now you can see how annoying this can get.

I also had trouble completing the game as it is quite scary. Not in the gory, things-popping-out-at-you scary but the subtle, get-under-your-skin-and-keep-you-awake-at-night scary. A piece of unsettling music begins to supersede all other background music as midnight of the final day nears. The clock is constantly winding down while the grimacing moon gets closer and closer. And there’s the villain: a powerful, ancient, and sentient relic in the form of a mask that amplifies the dark desires of its wearer before corrupting and possessing the “puppet” to further its own motives. But the thing I found the scariest about Majora is it has no real motive. The use of its power to drive people insane, to destroy the world of Termina, and to generally make everyone’s lives as miserable as possible is just because Majora wanted it. At least Ganon’s repeated rampages through all the other Zelda games were because he desired power. What does Majora want? You never find out.

Lastly, the game is hard! I’m a person that likes to get through the main plot first and leave the obsessive pursuit of side quests to the people who write the video game walkthroughs. Majora is 80% side quests! All of which can only be done on certain days and at certain hours with certain items. Thank God the dungeon bosses are easy otherwise I’d never finish this game.




In spite of how many times I’ve thrown my hands in the air and tossed this game out the window, every so often I’ll get that itch to see if I can beat it.
I got that itch again after discovering that the game was available on the Wii Virtual Console and after I read this entry for the game under the “Earn Your Happy Ending” trope over at TV Tropes:

The world is going to end in three days and only you can go back in time to prevent it from happening. All the while people around you are depressed or dying, the four areas are in turmoil with suffering for all who live there, and trying to help anyone is pointless because you have to turn back the clock eventually to stop the end of the world making all your efforts to help pointless. All the while the Moon continues to stare down at you, scaring you and mocking your efforts at the same time. And yet despite all that you still keep going. You struggle for the light at the end of this dark tunnel. And when you finally see the sun rise on the 4th day, you know it was all because you didn't give up.

I’ve declared that 2011 will be the year I defeat Majora once and for all. After years of seeing “Dawn of the Final Day, 24 hours remaining” and being stuck in the same 3 day cycle, I finally want to knock Majora to the moon and see the dawn of the 4th day. Wish me luck!

First Loves

You always remember your first love. I had my heart stolen and split by two guys when I was a little girl.

I was quite the loud-mouth brat from the ages of 2 to the present and my mom's go-to way of dealing with me was to throw a movie on. My mom really loves crappy romantic comedies and spent the 80s loving Shelley Long. So I watched a lot of Hello Again when I was a child (which was on TBS hourly in the late 80s).

Thus, my mom started my crush on Gabriel Byrne.

Try not to get lost in dem baby blues

As I turned 3, I was certain I was going to marry Gabriel when I was older and told my dad to prepare the dowry. It was his eyes that cinched it. In my three short years on Earth, I hadn't encountered blue eyes. Gabe's were the first ones I remember seeing and I thought to myself, "THEY COME IN OTHER COLOURS!?"

With Gabriel Byrne and U2 alive and well, I thank the Universe every day for Ireland.

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My mom also loved action movies. I reckon I would not be the person (and nerd) I am today if she hadn't thrown on this movie.



The first time I saw Tim Burton's Batman, it blew me out of my light-up shoes and I knew that I'd never be the same person again. I was 4. It started my lifelong nerdity, my love affair with cinema, my obsessive need to make a film just as good as it, and it gave me a huge crush on Batman. Not on Michael Keaton, BATMAN. As a 4-year-old, I was really impressed with Batman's quest to rid his home city of all the things that were bringing it down. He had encountered the horrible things the city had to offer when his parents were killed in front of him. Rather than escape from it, he decided to face it and take it on so that no other kid would have to go through the same thing he had.

I grew up on a reserve and I hated it. I disliked how terrible it was with the rampant alcoholism, domestic violence, violence in general, and drug abuse and how I perceived that nobody but me seemed to care or wanted to change it. Seeing Batman 89 probably set me on a more positive course in life since it gave me hope that there were people out there that cared and wanted to change the horrible things in life. It also gave me a feeling that there were people out there watching out for others.

Yeah Batman blew up a factory and threw a mook down a church tower but he got results. And, hey, I was a weird kid so it seems appropriate that I'd have a strange role model that inspired me to do good in my community (non-violently of course).

I admired Batman. But since I was already betrothed to Gabriel Byrne, I left it at a respectful admiration (as well as a crush since HELLO, have you SEEN Michael Keaton's eyes in that cowl?)



------

There have been other loves over the years but my heart still belongs to the original two. Over Christmas, my dad and I were reminiscing after he found a bunch of my old toys in the crawl space. Randomly he asked me if I still planned to marry Gabriel Byrne like I had wanted when I was 3.

Considering Gabe looks like this at 60



I wouldn't be against it.

Theme Song Power Up

When your show's opening theme song starts to play, your enemies are fucked

I'm the laziest person alive. If I could, I would lie on my couch with my Wii projecting onto the ceiling and play Zelda for hours. It takes a lot to motivate me to go to the gym. It takes a lot more to keep me at the gym.

This is where my iPod comes in handy. Music is a great motivator and I have one ever evolving playlist that I use specifically at the gym. I call it "Brown Eyed Samurai".



It also doubles as my "kick your ass" soundtrack. It includes a bit of everything from Garbage to En Vogue to Billy Idol to a few wrestling theme songs. All of them are pretty fast paced and include lyrics relating to pushing forward and throwing down your enemy to smote his ruin upon the mountain side.

Of the 49 songs on the playlist, I have a few set favourites, all of which need to be played at maximum volume.



This song became one of my major "You Go, Girl" themes after someone set it to a Supergirl fan video. Minute 2:05 to 2:30 got me through many boring skipping rope sessions.



Back when I was still boxing, I loved to listen to this song while I practiced. I like the slow build, I also really like the lyrics. The song makes me feel really defiant and I once punched a bag off the hook while listening to this track (Yes, the bag was on a single rickety nail but I still punched it off!).



If I were ever to samurai sword fight someone, this would be the song I demand be played as we fought. I know it has absolutely nothing to do with beating someone up (the song is actually about the death of Stevie's uncle) but it's still one of the most bad-ass and epic songs in existence. It can hold its own with the hardest stuff on the playlist even though the lyrics are far softer than the music and intensity of the vocals would let on:

Just like the white winged dove
Sings a song
Sounds like she's singing

And that guitar riff! Who says songs about mourning someone have to be solemn?



I swear, The Miz has become one of my favourite wrestlers mainly because of how awesome his theme is. It's what every wrestling theme song should be: hard, fast, and tells the world how you're going to beat it down. It's really good for the last bits of a workout when you feel like your legs are going to give out from under you.


Done, I'm done; I'm on to the next one

I defy anyone to listen to this song and not feel like going out to fight crime.

The most badass bits of this song are from 2:45 until the end. It makes you feel like you're in the final act of your action film and are preparing for the most stylized kung fu sequence against the antagonist after fighting through legions of minions. And you smile to yourself because you know you're going to win.

This is my tricep song. I have the weakest, little boy arms when it comes to anything related to the tricep and I need all the badassery I can get.

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I will need the playlist in the next few days as I've recently started running to try and kick myself out of my laziness. I always need to do a bit more high intensity cardio and I've always wanted to start running.

I think this song will be the perfect soundtrack:


Off with your head, dance till you're dead

Off to the gym.

I Walk The Line

I’m apart of some crazily devout fandoms but not even the Trekkies or the unappeasable WWE fans can hold a candle to the fans of U2.



There are no fans like U2 fans. We are insane. And you’d have to be to do some of the stuff I’ve seen: fans will camp out for 3 days to see a U2 concert (sometimes more if the show is in Dublin, U2’s home city). Some will go without water for hours so they don’t need a bathroom break and risk losing their spot at the front of the stage. One fan is following the band for as many dates as he can on the European, Australian, and North American legs of the most recent 360 tour, all of it on his own dime.

I’m not exempt either. After growing annoyed with U2 skipping my city on previous so-called World Tours, I decided that when they announced their next tour (skipping Winnipeg, of course), I'd see them play no matter what. The 360 tour was announced (no Winnipeg) and I hopped the nearest WestJet and flew half way across the country to see the band in Vancouver. It was my first U2 concert and I had waited nearly 13 years for it.



By this time next year, I will have seen U2 in concert 7 times, including a date in Winnipeg. My cry of "Finally" probably registered on the Richter Scale. People like to ask why anyone would travel the country (or even the world) to see a band. In my case, it's making up for lost time. This is my first u2 tour and with the ever constant rumour that it may be their last, I really want to see as many of these shows as I can. It's also an excuse to travel. My trip to Oz hadn't originally been U2-related but my trip to Montreal is. It will be my first time there and I'm really looking forward to it. You also get to meet loads of awesome people who are just as mad for U2 as you are.

And, truthfully, a u2 concert is just damn fun. Especially when you get general admission tickets and arrive early to line up.

My first lineup was in Vancouver and I went with my longtime online friend Chloe. The morning of the show, I asked if she wanted to head down early. Her ticket was in the GA while mine was for the Red Zone (a section of the GA for the people that won their tickets through an online auction). Chloe said it would be ok to head down later as "Vancouver is not really into standing in line". Fast forward to us arriving at 3 in the afternoon and the line begins at the Plaza of Nations, parallels False Creek and probably went all the way to English Bay. And we were at the end of it.

We were in line for about an hour when I found out that the Red Zone had a completely different entrance. So I joined up with the line I was supposed to be in. There I met these three sisters from the Northwest Territories: Cathy, Crystal, and Tammy.

My second lineup was for Sydney 1. I arrived at 9AM as I had heard from the various posters on the @u2 forum that the Australians are second only to the Irish when it comes to U2 concert insanity so lining up for a good spot is a must. I had also heard that the U2 Line Militia were out in full force and I really wanted to encounter them. The U2 Militia are usually the people at the front of the line that start the numbering system for entry into the inner circle. The inner circle is the bit of general admission that surrounds the higher main stage and is haloed by the smaller runway stage. Ask any u2 fan and they'll tell you that the inner circle is where you're wanting to be.

You don't need to have a number to get into the inner circle though. The inner circle is first come first served. As a result, the numbering system is very rarely honoured by the security of the stadium. The leaders of the Militia will spend hours screaming at the head of security that "they have seen the list work before at Dublin 2/Rose Bowl/Turin" and if there are any injuries during the rush to the gate (which the Militia will lead with an Orc-like savagery), it'll be on security's hands. It was while I was waiting for the Leader of the Militia to return from the bathroom that morning that I met Chyloe and Emma (or 223 and 222 as they were known to the Militia).



The lineup is addictive. Everyone who lines up really wants to be at that show and it's hard not to get as excited as everyone else. Chyloe, Emma, and I had met these moms who had brought their teenage children who spent the lineup being a little bit bored but immediately perked up when it looked like we were going to be let in. Around 3 or so when the sound check started and Edge began the intro to City of Blinding Lights, the lines on both sides of Anz Stadium gave a cheer that probably brought a smile to Edge's face.

There are downsides though. The security is often unprepared and rude. The U2 Militia should be wearing shirts that read "STOP HAVING FUN, GUYS" for how they swagger through the line with an air of superiority and contempt for how excited everyone else is. People can get pushy if they think you're in their spot (especially those girls that think you are what is separating them from a dance on stage with Bono). And the line when the gates open can be dangerous. I almost fell during the mad rush for the gate at Sydney 1 and only kept my balance through a combination of how close everyone else was to me and my two months worth of core training.

But a lot of things make up for the downsides and it's not just the concert itself.



As a person who grew up being the only U2 fan in Northern Manitoba (at least the only u2 fan under 18), it's amazing to meet people who are just as crazy about them as me. The sisters I met in Vancouver were from Northern Canada (like me) and the first Aboriginal u2 fans I had ever met (I had thought I was the only one). The conversations I had with Chyloe and Emma about the music made me feel like I had met kindred spirits. And I finally got to meet Chloe in Vancouver after being friends for nearly a decade and after years of talking about how awesome it would be to meet each other.

When I arrived for Sydney 2 as the gates opened and sat in the inner circle, I started to regret not lining up early and meeting more people. That show was the best I've ever been to, I'll admit, but it would have been far greater if I had people to share it with. My favourite memories of these shows are related to the people I've met: jumping and cheering during the amazing, amazing intro to Where the Streets Have No Name with the sisters in Vancouver, to singing along at the top of our voices to Bad with Emma and Chyloe in Sydney, to the huge, giggly hug Chloe and I had when we picked up my Red Zone ticket and realized that we were really going to see U2 that night.

The line may be hot, annoying, and pushy at times and there are the few in Joshua Tree shirts who will complain loudly about how U2 aren't as amazing as they were when they were 18 (Trust me, U2 at 18 wasn't that amazing). But I've never seen so many people be so generous as they are in the line. People were sharing food (thanks for the awesome Turkish food, E and C!), getting water, keeping places in line for others that were alone, and no one was scalping tickets (Though I got my ticket for Sydney 2 for less than the person who sold it to me had paid because "you just have to be there" he said).

U2 fans are crazy but we're crazy together. When we walk out after the show, everyone exhausted but still singing the last song of the night, barely anyone is complaining.



I have 4 U2 concerts this summer and I cannot wait. And if this entry has sparked an interest in seeing a u2 concert, I've got an extra ticket for the Winnipeg show if you want to come with.

I Came to Play Part 2

Up until September of last year, I hadn’t watched wrestling in nearly 8 years. I had drifted from it due to a mix of disinterest and feeling like I had outgrown it. There are two things I’ve always loved about wrestling: the storylines and the wrestlers that are just damn good at wrestling. But around 2001-2002, the storylines weren’t of interest to me and not even my favourite wrestlers could save it.

So a sexy accent and magnificent bastardry brought me back to the WWE. I’m also quite the sucker for good vs. evil battles especially when the side of evil is so deliciously evil and that's why Cena vs. Nexus brought me back.

Still, not even a delicious villain with sumptuous tones or the eternal conflict between face and heel were reason enough for me to come out of the wrestling fan closet. This Trekkie had a reputation to protect after all!

I think my Raw watching would have ended just as quickly as they began if it hadn’t been for another house show I went to. This time it was just my sister and I. She had wanted to go because she was convinced John Cena would be there. I wanted to go because my high-powered binoculars, like me, had a crush on Wade Barrett. Since tickets were only 20 bucks each, we decided we’d go for a laugh. I still wore my hood the whole way there though.

Our seats were pretty awesome

House shows don’t involve any of the super cool theatrics that are on the televised shows. There’s no pyro and the matches aren’t commentated. Knowing this before hand, I went in convinced that all I was going to do was leer at oiled up boys, boo and cheer at the appropriate times and renew the drink and popcorn supply when I got bored.

The first match was Daniel Bryan vs. Dolph Ziggler.

And boy did that match not bore me.

Daniel Bryan is considered one of the best wrestlers in the world and was trained by two of my favourites: Shawn Michaels and William Regal (both being absolutely fantastic at the actual wrestling side of pro wrestling). Being new to the most recent batch of wrestlers in the WWE, I hadn’t known of Bryan or his awesomeness at the time. The mind of this once obsessed wrestling fan that grew up watching Shawn Michaels, William Regal, Chris Jericho, and Owen and Bret Hart was in absolute nerd meltdown while watching Daniel Bryan conjuring his magic. It was nerdgasm after nerdgasm, people. It was the first time I saw his absolutely badass running back flip off the top turnbuckle and I was in love with it. I would marry that back flip.

That night was a blast and that match between Bryan and Ziggler reminded me why I loved wrestling in the first place.

However the house show also reminded me of why I disliked wrestling and why I’m embarrassed to like it. You see, I've always loved women's wrestling but I always disliked how it was treated. Sure back in the WWF day, women’s wrestling wasn’t that big of a deal but they still had quite a few awesome ladies. When I was young, it was Alundra Blayze, Bull Nakano, and Luna Vachon. When I was a little older, it was Sable, Lita, and Chyna. Yes, back in the WWF days, the women wore very little clothing but they still kicked both male and female ass while in very little clothing. Sable came to the ring once in a “bikini” that consisted of a bikini bottom and black paint hand prints over her breasts. My dad had my eyes covered for that but the time she power bombed Marc Mero after kicking him in the groin endeared her to me forever (she was fully dressed for this bit of badassery). Women's wrestling wasn't a main event but at least it was enjoyable.

I don't know how but when I came back I found out women’s wrestling is even less of a deal. The match between Eve Torres and Alicia Fox that I saw was met with the most overwhelming feeling of, “Oh, God, really!?” from the 90% male audience at the house show. Which really surprised me as I had assumed that most of the guys in the audience would be into hot chicks cat fighting in very little ring attire.

What annoys me about women's wrestling in the WWE is the double standard: men have to be good wrestlers first and that’s it. The women have to be supermodels and the wrestling end is not really that important since they’ll pick it up as they go along. That bugs me because not only is it stupid, it’s dangerous. A pro wrestler is like being a stunt person and a lot of training is required to do things properly. One botched move can leave you with broken bones, a concussion or paralysis. And even with training, things can go wrong. With the women not really being expected to do anything other than look pretty, I’m surprised there haven’t been more injuries amongst the female competitors.

That’s not to say there aren’t talented women in WWE. I absolutely love a bunch of them with Melina, Natalya, Tamina, and Beth Phoenix being my fantastic four.

The way the women are presented is what stinks. Female fans feel insulted when the women wrestlers spend most of the match pulling hair and calling each other fat while the male fans are annoyed with the low quality of the wrestling that not even hot chicks in hot pants can save. And with commentators calling a women’s match with, “Well, this is a 3 on 3 Divas match, I wonder what John Cena is up to?” it appears that company isn’t taking the women seriously either.

The treatment of women in the WWE is why I’m embarrassed by it. I wish WWE would go about changing it especially when you hear little girl wrestling fans who would like to be Divas but can’t (they say) because “they’re not pretty”. It’s enough to make one fly to Connecticut, find Vince McMahon’s house, knock on his door, and hit him with a steel chair when he answers. Oy vey.

Despite that, hope remains. In the few months since I’ve been watching, things are getting better. Natalya is the Divas champion and her feud with Melina seems as if it’ll be more about the title and less about mean girl jealousy. And Beth Phoenix is back from an injury and fireman carrying two Divas on her back at the same time to show that’s she feeling better.

I want to be Beth when I grow up despite her being only 5 years older than me.

Though WWE may be turning me into a Red Lantern some nights, I’m recapturing my love of it. I doubt it’ll ever make it out of the guilty pleasure bit of my brain and there are parts I’ll always roll my eyes at. Still I find myself loving it even with the hammy overacting and incredibly bizarre storylines. It’s like a real life comic book: the Superman, the Wonder Woman, the Big Bad, and the final battle (live on Pay Per View!). Most of my old favourites have retired or are about to but I’ve surprised myself with new favourites taking the banner. And you can’t completely hate something that meant a lot to you as a kid even if sections of it embarrass you as an adult (looking at you, Backstreet Boys).

I’ll still buy the magazine while it’s sandwiched between Shape and National Geographic but I'm going to hold my head up high when my sister and I are inevitably the first women in line for the Royal Rumble PPV at the multiplex later this month.

Now that I've spilled the beans, I'd love to hear the tales of your guilty pleasures.

I Came to Play Part 1

I think it’s time I admitted it: I’m a WWE (formerly the WWF) fan.

And that tends to embarrass me. When I go in to buy a WWE magazine, the process is what I imagine buying pornography would be like. I buy a second magazine (Shape or Oxygen usually), put that magazine over the WWE one, and make sure my body is blocking the view of what I’m buying when I’m at the register.

The silly thing is, I have far more nerdy things I could be embarrassed about. I’ve spent most of my early twenties running around in some sort of guise be it a Ravenclaw student, a Spider Splicer from the bowels of Rapture, an Engineering Ensign, or the Master playing track 3. I won’t even mention the “We Believe in Harvey Dent” campaign I organized with my sister while we stood in line for the midnight showing for The Dark Knight. But I digress.

As a kid, I loved wrestling. My dad was a bad influence since his babysitting of me often involved sitting me on his lap while wrestling was on. Amongst the kids I grew up with, the only thing more popular than hockey was pro wrestling. The most popular teacher in my elementary school was the teacher that was a first cousin of Chris Jericho (we didn’t get to meet him sadly). Obviously WWF was a big deal. Tuesday morning recess was spent talking about Monday Night Raw the night before. The lucky handful that were able to attend a WWF event in Winnipeg were listened to the day they came back with a hushed reverence in the half hour the teacher set aside for them to talk (the teacher having been annoyed by our constant disruptions during math when we tried to get the goods out of the lucky traveler).

Thanks to my dad, I was one of those lucky travelers! My dad bought the tickets to a WWF house show when he found out that Bret Hart vs. Shawn Michaels was the main event that night.


Bad. Ass

I was 11 and Shawn and Bret were two of the tri-Kings of my universe (the third being Batman). The story of that trip has reached the status of legend in my head even though I only remember two things about it: the lights going out during the Undertaker’s entrance and the Bret vs. Shawn match. Our seats were right at the hockey boards, 8 rows away from the barricade around the ring. There was a clear path from me straight to that barricade. When Bret’s music hit, I made a run for it. My dad grabbed me by my belt and pulled me back to the chairs, giving me a look that said, “Don’t think I won’t drag you out of here!” I frowned but sat down and cheered for Bret.

Then Shawn Michaels’ music hit and I lost all restraint. I got a whole leg and my upper body over that board when my dad grabbed me by the neck of my Shawn Michaels t-shirt and yelled, “SONYA!” To which I responded, “DAD. IT”S SHAWN!” and put all my weight forward. I didn’t care if I choked myself out, Shawn bloody Michaels was less than 50 feet away. So there I was, screaming at the top of my lungs with my last lungful of air while Shawn entered the ring and my dad tried to pull me back. I wouldn’t freak out to that level again until I saw my favourite band for the first time 12 years later.

I’ve only recently returned to regular watching of Raw and Smackdown. I wish I could say it was because of the fond memories I had of watching wrestling when I was a child but the truth is I developed a huge crush on Wade Barrett. There’s just something about a charismatic, dominating magnificent bastard that is just fascinating and fun to watch. And the fact that he has a sexy accent is a bonus.


......I'm sorry, what?

Best. Hoodie. Ever.

Back in July, I decided to take a trip to Australia. Sydney and Brisbane to be precise. One of the items on my To Do list was to visit Australia on my birthday and have at least one birthday in a warm climate. Being born in December and in Canada often results in snow every year on one’s birthday. I was determined to have at least one birthday in a temperature higher than 0 degrees.

A trip needs money though so I spent the months leading up to Oz saving every cent for the trip, which meant no weekly trips to Galaxy Comics (my shop of choice) from July to December.

I saw Kings Comics on my first day wanderings in Sydney. I went in to look around.



It’s reassuring to know that comic book stores the world over are pretty much the same: folk loitering while trying not to look like they’re reading the comics, incredibly overpriced nerd memorabilia, and the lone girl on staff.

It took all my strength to restrain myself from spending my spare Aussie cash on stuff I could get in Canada. Iron was my resolve. And then I saw a Green Lantern hoodie that I was absolutely certain I couldn’t get in Canada (even though the lone girl at Galaxy Comics owns one). I was also pretty certain I couldn’t get this awesome poster of the cover of Blackest Night 2 back home.

Ok, my resolve was not so iron but somehow I got out of that store without breaking out small, colorful see-through bills or a credit card.

Being a comic book geek is expensive. Especially when you’re as big a nerd as I and have actually asked about getting a replica Green Lantern power battery.

It would go nice with my replica Sting sword from Lord of the Rings.

Some girls spend their money on shoes. Others spend it on comics and useless nerd props that could be used in the event of a break in (my sword IS hanging in my room for just such an emergency).

I think the only thing that out-expenses my comic book habit is my see-u2-in-concert-as-much-times-as-possible habit. But we’ll get to that in a later post.

2 weeks in Oz whizzed by way too fast and there I was on my last full day in Sydney. I had been a good girl and hadn’t spent an obscene amount of money on U2 merch at the shows I attended the week before (unlike my first U2 show were I spent nearly 150 dollars….whoops). I had already bought my Christmas gifts for family and hadn’t yet bought myself a birthday present. Back in Kings Comics, I was trying on the Lantern hoodie and making up all sorts of reasons why I should buy it.

“The planes home are cold”.

“Green looks nice on me”.

“The hoodie will be a nice starter piece until I get a REAL Lantern ring”.

Seeing as how I was returning to a minus 30 Celsius environment, I bought the hoodie. And the poster once I figured out I could fit it in my luggage.



Nothing says “Australia” like a thick hoodie.