{a sweetslice of my new city.}

It's been just over two months since I landed in the big smoke. I've found a job and an apartment. I've met new friends and reconnected with old ones. And, each and every day I learn something new and surprising - not only about the city, but often about myself. I try not to look at the city as a whole, but as a collection of neighborhoods. Feel like something new on a Monday? Hop on the streetcar for twenty minutes and upon disembarking find yourself in a whole new city. Bored on a Thursday? New adventures are just a subway ride away!

See? It's not so scary here!

xo. B.

moving out and moving on.

Though my number one reason for being in Small Town, NS has literally left the building (see: post #1 - him,) I somehow find myself still here - and happier than ever. The cozy, two bedroom apartment, a 10 minute walk from Main Street, is suddenly sprawling, empty and what seems like a hour's walk from my life. So, dear readers, I am moving!

Be warned: I am the world's worst mover -  and, I plan on documenting this abhorred process right here before your very eyes.

This was May 24 weekend, and I had three days off. Three days to fill with plans, lists, packing and progress. However, it was May 24 weekend, the weekend when that burning ball of fire in the sky decided to make its long awaited arrival, and I found myself less involved with moving on and more consumed with slacking off.

I spent the days tooling about town: camera in one hand, iced coffee in the other. I danced with my girlfriends, rocked out to this amazing band with my work buddies, and ate eggs for breakfast three days in a row. I procrastinated by baking brioche, grilling fish, re-potting plants and crushing a six-pack of Corona. And, you know what? These are all the things I  didn't do all year. The things I am finding time for now.

Packing can wait... I'm having fun.

I'd better get moving...

x. {B}

the kindness of (virtual) strangers.

Working as a waitress can be a demanding, exhausting, soul-sucking job.

"This beer is flat!"
"I want my fries extra crispy!"
"Yes, I do want exact change for $8.98 from a ten dollar bill!"

Sometimes, I want to kill my customers.

But, then there are my regulars. The singles and couples, after-work drinkers and after-school wing eaters, who - week after week - find a table in my section, plop themselves down and proceed to plaster a genuine smile across my face as I rush them their beers (two at a time) and potato skins (extra cheese, side of hot sauce.) Some call me by name, others silently revel at the fact that they needn't actually order out loud any more, and some go out of their way to brighten the day of a tired, blister-footed waitress.

Last night L, one of my Friday evening regulars stopped by the pub. He asked if I had a moment and pulled me to the side of the bar.  The 50-something gentleman proceed to open a black briefcase filled with smooth, circular, wooden bracelets.

"This is my last week in town. So, for always remembering my Rickard's Red and extra sauce for my fish - I'd like you to choose one to have for yourself."

As I looked more closely at the beautiful jewelry, I recalled a brief conversation a few weeks ago, where L told me about the wooden jewelery, bowls and other works of art he creates. I was so deeply touched by this man's thoughtfulness and generosity, not to mention giddy with the acquisition of new jewelery!

Its the L's of the world who make my job a pleasure and even a joy. They get me through the "sauce on the side! Where's my bill??? Just give it to me to go!" kind of days.

{B}

a thousand words...

Happy Monday.

x. {B}

by the numbers.

WARNING: I have purchased a new camera. 

Prepare yourselves for photo-overload, starting... NOW!