Anxiety

It's the last week of CreComm, and I'm waiting for the last day. Anxiously waiting. I choose to use the word "anxious" because I find it's the most accurate description.

I suffered anxiety when I was young, but it all went away eventually.

It came back.

CreComm is a difficult course, and when the work load began to add up, my anxiety returned. I was terrible at time management (attending school full-time and working over 30 hours a week) and began to lack interest. What was the point?

October 2012 was when it started up again. I was in a bad place when it came to my five year relationship, school was overwhelming, and I couldn't find time for me. I couldn't relax.

I wasn't eating much, and was constantly dehydrated. I got extremely shaky, my heart was beating so hard at times.

One day in October I was about to start my shift. I remember holding a coffee cup in the back at the staff table, talking to a fellow employee. I don't recall what we were talking about, but what I do remember, is everything going black and hearing a smash.

I passed out.

Ever since, it has been back. Not to the point of passing out. But where I psych myself out, my make my anxiety worse and worse. I've tried different ways of dealing with it, but I don't think that I took seriously enough.

Thus, I'm looking forward for the end of the semester where I can stop and think. I'm sure that doing things for me that will change my thoughts to a positive.

1. Water.
2. Proper nutrition.
3. Exercise.

An anxiety attack started a couple hours ago, and just by writing about it, I have found that it helps a bit. Talking about it is important.

Things are looking up, and I know I have the will to change all of this.

Happy thoughts with you :)

Sexy...Underwear...Pictures...Cookies!

Now that I have your attention, it's finally that time! The long-awaited Magazine Trade Fair!

The "Audrey Magazine" team have been working their butts off all semester to bring to you an entertaining, sexy and sophisticated read. Covering topics that women aged 35-50 may want to know about such as; Why do we wear underwear? Mothers who embarrass their daughters, "cougars" and their online search for younger men, women's-only gyms. These topics are not only enjoyable topics for this audience, but will be for you too!

You may be asking yourself, "Why should I go?" Well, I will ask you this. Do you like prizes? More specifically, free photo sessions, massages, lotions and nail polish? I can guarantee you do if you're a woman.

If you're a man... there's food! What man can say no to eating cookies that are in the shape of bras and panties? If you like beautiful women and underwear hanging all over the place you'll be in heaven!

Come check out our table, and while you're there, why not take a few pictures in our photo booth.

We are proud of our work, and would love to show it off at the trade fair March 28, 2013 in Red River College's Atrium at the Roblin Centre (160 Princess St.) Noon-4:00pm

See you there! 

A Thousand Farewells

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 A Thousand Farewells, written by Nahlah Ayed, a correspondent for the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, is a book about her experiences reporting on the Middle East, leading up the Arab Spring.

Let me begin by saying that this was a difficult and challenging read for me mainly because I am not familiar with the past events that occurred in the Middle East. Nahlah does attempt to educate the reader by giving a brief history of the events that had happened before she continues with her story relating to them. She uses terms that are unconceivable to the average person (me), so I could not understand the explanation. Thus, a copious amount of research was had.

 

Nahlah uses incredible imagery to describe the places where she reported, which gave me a helpful visual to follow her story.

“The farther south we got towards the city of Tyre and the surrounding area, the more visible the destruction. The main roads had been cut off by bombardment, forcing us to detour onto a dusty track through a banana grove… We veered around cavernous holes made by falling bombs, into which cars had fallen along with their passengers. On the way, we could occasionally see bombed-out bridges dangling their metal innards, chunks of concrete scattered on the highways below.”  pg. 225

There were many people, places and organizations named in the story, which became confusing to me.  One thing I would change in this book to help the readers, would be to include and index (similar to the one in the back) of the people, places and organizations in the back of the book, with a small description.

Nahlah describes her struggle with the English spelling of Arab names in the book.

“I spelled names as they would sound in Arabic, in others I spelled them the way the individuals themselves preferred. That makes for many unavoidable inconsistencies.” pg. 342

In my opinion, when people hear the words “Middle East”, “Afghanistan”, “Pakistan”, they default to the word “war” or “terrorist”. Nahlah does a beautiful job of making aware of the citizens who are affected by the overall war.

“Mahmad was lying in the yellowed sheets of bed number 12, staring at the stained ceiling. For our benefit, he cleared his throat and recounted the moment that annihilated the family he’d been nurturing for half his life. A bomb had crashed into his home in Kandahar, killing his five sons and only daughter… ‘I lost everything’ he said, putting the blame squarely on the Americans.”

Nahlah is an exceptional journalist and a prime example of who to look up to as a student of the Creative Communication program. With many assignments and a choice of majoring in journalism, Nahlah demonstrates to future reporters how important it is to get into the story. To experience exactly what they’re reporting and to get those descriptive details.

My respects, Nahlah.

"Charlie"

All right his name isn't really "Charlie", it's Ralph. My Great Uncle.
I never knew him well when I was younger, he was just the crazy Uncle who never called anyone by their actual name, he just called us Charlie. He would visit come Christmases, and the most interaction I had before starting a relationship with him was driving him back to Winnipeg where bought me a coffee in Prawda.

Now I don't know how much I can tell you about his past other than that he loved the ladies, and spent a lot of time in jail. I must admit, he was pretty bad-ass, robbing trains and banks, then ironically became a security guard for most of his life.

What I can tell you in confidence is everything that I know and what I have learned from him in the last few years.

I started visiting him in May 2010 at his retirement home after a conversation between co-workers and I struck the reality that I never knew Uncle Charlie well, and that he doesn't have any family in Winnipeg.

Intimidated, I worked up the courage to go see him that Wednesday. Walking in to the care home, I immediately stopped. Looking around at the people who seem so lonely made my heart sink. It's a tough experience to take in. I approached the front desk to ask for Charlie. The receptionist had no idea of who I was talking about. Oh, right! As soon as I told her the name Ralph, she knew exactly who I was speaking of, and she was quite happy I was there to see him, explaining that he doesn't get any visitors. Of course he doesn't... I'm his only family in Winnipeg.

She showed me to his room on the 11th floor (might I add, is not a short trip to get there by elevator, stopping at every floor after waiting five minute for the damn thing to show up). I knocked on the door, and slowly opened it. There he was sitting on his chair watching "Dracula" cranked to the volume of 600. My heart was beating so fast. I thought to myself about what I was going to talk to him about. I don't know him. He doesn't know me. I muted the T.V and introduced myself, hoping he would remember me.
"Huuuuuuh?" he said.
Oh, he has a hearing aide. Although he had no idea who I was, and I was intimidated, I know that he was happy to have someone visit him, and I was happy it was me. I thought that looking through family photo albums would strike a memory as to how he would know me. He didn't, and that's okay. I enjoyed going through them with him anyways. One thing we had in common the first day was that we both enjoyed our nicotine. We went downstairs for a smoke, shot the shit for a bit, and I was on my way. I told him I'd see him next Wednesday and I remember telling him I loved him, and wasn't sure if I should have. Perhaps I felt compelled to say it because he's my family. Now I know it's because I did love him.

Throughout the years I've met three of his "girlfriends", a native man in a wheel chair who I called "Scary Larry", who would always ask me for a twenty or smokes, and a man who always told me to f--- off. (This isn't extremely relevant, just had to include it! ) 

I visited him every Wednesday for three years. He still didn't know my name. He just called me Charlie, and I him.  He knew my face, and always told me he loved me smile and I always called him gorgeous. I was so happy to include him at Christmas with my immediate family, so I took him Christmas shopping the first year. We bought gifts for the entire family, and I remember the look on his face when everyone gave him a huge hug thanking him for the gifts.

I never had many outings with him other than coffee, Kenora, and the Downs.
He used to go to the Assiniboia Downs in his younger years, so I took him last summer.
"Five on five!," he would say.
So I put five bucks down on horse number five for him. From what I remember, he just gained his money back from the bets he made.

We didn't do much when I went to his place. But we usually talked about the same thing, and he would always tell me:
"You're a good driver"
"Didya get hitched yet?"
"You drive that little red car today?"
"What's that movie? Shangri La?"
"Where ya been?"

The second year driving back from Kenora at Christmas time, he was my partner in crime and I gave him a little taste of what it's like to rebel against the law again.

See, it's difficult to know how fast you're driving on the highway without a speedometer. I look in the rear-view mirror, and for the first time ever, I was being pulled over.

"Uncle Charlie! The fuzz got us! What do we do!" I said.

I don't quite remember exactly what he said, but it was something like "Sh--"

I pulled over and the cop came to the window. I rolled it down.

"You know why I pulled you over, Miss?"

"GREAT UNCLE CHARLIE REALLY HAS TO PEE!"

So, like a trooper, Uncle gets out of the car and starts goin' in the snow bank.

I think the cop was embarrassed, and let us go with a warning. 




I could type about this man all day. Stories upon stories, lessons upon lessons. But I thought I'd share a bit about the man who I never knew when I was younger, but am I glad that I know him now. I'm proud to say that he is my Uncle.



Uncle Charlie passed February 5, 2013 just before 9p.m. from heart failure at HSC. Mom, Dad and I were with him.


I kept my promise that I would stick it out with him for the long run.

I love you, Charlie.

The Waiting Room

Have you ever had the experience of waiting in an emergency room? How long did you wait? How were you treated?

Waiting the long hours to see a doctor can be frustrating, especially when it seems as though there people after people are seen before you are. Of course common sense should kick in by now that perhaps their ailment is higher on the priority list than yours, which is standard protocol in hospitals.

These are some of the main issues that were covered in “The Waiting Room”, a documentary focusing on the American healthcare system. The documentary, based in Oakland, CA, gives the audience a sense of the excruciating wait to see a doctor in Highland hospital.

Some patients waiting for over a day, one man in unbearable pain because he had a bullet in his hip, a man trying to get in for surgery for his testicular tumor, a young girl with an infection in her tonsils are a few examples of the patients waiting in Highland hospital that day.

Stop. Let’s think about this for a second, there are 34,482,779 people who live in Canada, while we have 2.2 physicians per 1000 people. Seems pretty low, doesn’t it? Meanwhile 313,914,040 people live in the United States, and they have 2.4 physicians per 1000 people, according to OECD Health data. I’m frustrated just thinking about it.

How many people are actually ill, and in need of a doctor in emergency rooms? In my opinion, I think that some like to try and self-diagnose themselves, and are convinced that there is something medically wrong with them, or some could have a simple case of the sniffles.  Looking for attention, I suppose.  Would wait times go down? Also, how much money are people wasting for this attention?

 Perhaps I’m getting a tad opinionated here, and I will continue to do so.

Us as Canadians are fortunate to have the free health care system, and the potential for benefits through employment that we do. According to the AHRQ (Agency for Healthcare Research and Quality) the average/mean cost for an ER visit was $1349 in 2010, and the median cost was $607. The patients who are shown in “The Waiting Room” have no insurance, and some were out of work, and one, could barely afford a bus ticket to see his daughter in the Emergency Room.

Overall, I found the documentary interesting. I was a little confused as to where it was going, but it created a tone for the viewers who have not experienced a U.S Emergency Room.  It also showed the audience what it is like behind the scenes where doctors and nurses cram to get as many patients seen. Sympathy also comes into play where patients have to be bumped down the list many times because of more severe ailments, and patients with critical conditions come in the ambulance.

I think that the filmmaker, Peter Nicks ended the documentary off strong. A young boy, came in to the hospital by ambulance with a gun wound, and later died. The doctors call time of death.

“How old was that kid?” says one doctor.

“15, I think” says the other.

 

 

The Accidental Friendship

Good friends are hard to come by, and are a dime a dozen. But how does one go about finding one? They could come by in school, work, social gatherings, or can be met through mutual friends.

Beauregard, my now "bestie 4 eva!" came to me through a simple mistake of sending a text message to a wrong number, and playing along with the stranger.

"Call me Beauregard," he says.

Beauregard? What an unusual name. For some reason I thought of the story of Moby Dick to fuel my response.

"Call me Ishmael," I replied.

You can only imagine that someone as quirky as to show any interest to respond to an accidental text message would elaborate.

Throughout the day we began sending odd messages about our passions, career goals, and any other goofy anecdotes we could come up with. We informally introduced ourselves to eachother, and I now know his name. Let's just say it's not far off from Beauregard which is still the contact saved in my phone.

This friendship is developing fast, too fast.

"Are you a physcho?" I had the nerve to ask.

"You realize I have the equal right to ask you the same question," he said.

Oh snap.

Now if someone were to respond to this question with a 'yes', more than likely, they're not. Now, if they responded with a 'no', flags would arise and further research would need to be done.

This is as far as my accidental friendship has gone, and am excited to see where this could go. It could go nowhere, or I really may have found a new "bestie 4 eva!"

I'm the kind of person who believes in 'the kindsness of strangers', and that 'a stranger is just a friend you haven't met'. Is this okay?

What are your opinions?

I did it. I took the plunge and I, small town girl went to a fancy shmancy restaurant...

Amici isn’t your stereotypical spaghetti and meatballs type Italian eatery. Supporting local merchants by using their fresh meats, fish and produce, Amici is able to create new and exciting recipes while staying true to its Northern Italian, Tuscan roots.

The dining room has an elegant vibe with dark browns, and burnt orange-coloured walls.  It is uniquely set up in two tiers with tables and booths and seating for 80. I was sat in the lower tier along the windows at table 27. Classical Italian music played in the room, helping me feel relaxed and ready for an intimate dining experience.

I was promptly greeted by my server, and offered a glass of wine to start my night. My preference for wine is on the fruitier side, so he recommended the Alamos Chardonnay from Argentina for $8.25 per glass. He was bang on with his description as having “a fruity aroma, with hints of tropical fruit, pear and a buttery finish.”

The daily appetizer and entree specials were translated tableside from Italian to English. I had the Gamberi Sulla Risotto con Speck Tirolese; Tiger-Prawn Shrimp

wrapped in smoked Tyrolean bacon served on Parmesan risotto with a paprika and brandy cream sauce. I must say the results were pleasing. The Tiger-Prawn Shrimp had the perfect crunchy texture, while the bacon was seamlessly cooked. The buttery palate from the Chardonnay paired with the risotto, was an immaculate combination.

For dinner I chose one of the house specialties, the Carre d’Agnello Arrosto. Lamb lovers, listen up! If you don’t try this, you’re missing out on a flavor experience of a lifetime. This mouth-watering Provimi Rack of Lamb will run you $36.00 for the four bone and $48.00 for the six. The lamb chops are Dijon mustard crusted, cooked to your preference (I like the rarer side of rare), served with a red wine herb sauce and sautéed root vegetables. To go with it I was recommended a glass of the Australian Hickinbotham Shiraz-Cabernet that goes for $10.25. The combination had my tongue receptors moving, as the spice from the Shiraz, and the rich fruitiness of the Cabernet balanced well with the herb sauce, and the natural flavour of the Lamb.

Be sure not to fill yourself up with the succulent selections before you get to dessert. My first St. Honoré experience had me hooked. A puff pastry shell filled with

chocolate sponge cake, chocolate pastry cream, with strawberries and whipped cream tasted exactly how it sounds. One word. Delicious.

Reservations and formal attire is recommended if you’re planning a night out at Amici. Guests have worn jeans, but you should snaz it up a bit with a blouse or a blazer, or your waiter may show you up with his designer suit. Don’t let this intimidate you- yes it is a fancy place to dine, but you won’t have to study up on your mise en place table etiquette.  Rest assured, if you use the wrong fork, the servers would happily replace it for you, I know by experience.  

Fine dining isn’t something I do often, and at Amici I was pleasantly surprised. I felt I was in a classy environment without any stuffy pretentiousness.

Table 27, I’ll be back!