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Daria Salamon


Nine years ago I flew to Ghana and spent a month living in a little village with no running water or electricity, helping the locals build a school.  What a colossal waste of resources that was –  a 120 lb weakling flying half way around the world to dig trenches, pour concrete, lay brick.  Come on. Seriously?

My role degenerated into getting sent over to the District Chief to beg for bags of rice because our camp kept running out of food – probably because our “leader”, Shalloman (yes, creepy similarity to my last name), who talked about himself in the third person, was permanently stoned on who knows what, wore sheets wrapped around himself as clothing, was certifiably insane. There was this poor volunteer from France who Shalloman effectively deemed would be his servant. 

The whole thing was a bit Survivor-esque –except our version Jeff Probst was always creeping around and acting super crazy. My next novel is going to be about this guy. I should point out that all of the other local volunteers with whom we worked and the local villagers were incredible - and equally perplexed by Shalloman.

Our fearless, nut job leader Shalloman wearing a bed sheet.

But the experience impacted how I saw the world. When I came home I lobbied the school where I taught to take on a project that would change people’s lives. Nine years later, almost $100,000 later, three primary schools have a permanent source of water that will last decades. Girls get to attend school instead of walking miles and miles to collect drinking water for their families. Illness is reduced and school attendance is increased because the water is clean. Ahhhhh. So great.

My students in Canada have bought into the project and fundraised to pay for the tanks.  Kids helping kids. Does it get any better?  I’m giddy thinking about this (but maybe that’s the wine talking?)

Today we head over to see the project in action, and hopefully appreciate our own lives a little more.  

And that is why I will be trapped on a plane for 30 hours with teenagers!  All that's missing is Shalloman!

Have I mentioned that there is no booze allowed on this trip? I don’t think I’ve ever not drank on a plane before.

Wish me luck!



So, you work on a book for over 3 years. Boom. You finally finish. Your agent sends it off to publishers. And then…. you wait. You wait.

(Very Questionable) Things to Occupy Your Time While Waiting to Hear Back from Publishers About Your New Novel:


1. Drink.

2. Watch all those great cult TV shows that everyone else was watching while you were trying to write your damn book, but now they’re totally outdated – like The Wire. In about 7 years you’ll watch Game of Thrones.

3. Yell at your kids.


4. Get a new piercing. Yeowwwww.


5. Drink more.

6. Work out obscenely – get an ab to poke through all the fat.

7. Sort through all the old prescription drugs in the medicine cabinet. Start taking the ones that are less than 3 years expired.

8. Try and write a short story using only text from wine labels.

9. Bum a cigarette while in line at the bar, for the first time in a decade, from a 20 year old, and then proceed to light the filter in front of her.

10. Bite your nails. Chew your cuticles. No, literally chew off the tip of your pinky.

11. Ooooh. Ooohh…here’s a good one. Create a website and blog! Hope people read it and post all sorts of warm and fuzzy messages!


I still have another week to kill so I am very open to new ideas at this point!



ME: How was the sleepover?

DAD: Good. Isla climbed into bed with me this morning and told me I have hairy boobs.

ME:  That’s pretty funny. She thinks you have boobs. Time to shed a few pounds, huh?

DAD: Then she told me that my boobs aren’t as hairy as her mummy’s vagina.

I’m kicking Isla out of the shower from now on. She’s vagina-obsessed.  At Superstore when I asked the clerk which aisle we could find the shampoo, Isla piped up for your vagina?

This is the part where I’m supposed to defend myself, say I’m between waxings, or the lady who does my Brazilians is napping.  But really, whom are we kidding? I live in Winnipeg. It’s spring. It still snows every second day. My razor is so rusty I’d need a tetanus shot if I tried using it.

Time to call MJ, my Polish lady with the pot of wax and prepare for some pain. And tell my daughter to stop talking about my Winter Vagina.


FML The Blog

Hi. I'm Daria.

This is my blog.

Heart. Humour.

The most important things in life.

My goal is simple. Find the funny in life. Suck it. Slurp it. Regurgitate it here for you on this blog.

See you soon.

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