It's like, I'm...mmmagic!

Because all the cool kids are doing it

2007-05-06T12:16:00.000-06:00

I'm moving. I've decided that Blogger is like your first car. The one where you need to use the pliers with to turn the radio on, and thus, I've decided to upgrade. (We can all really blame Ruby for this actually.)

Find me at

http://brainyjane22.wordpress.com/

Thanks!

My Greatest Hits

2007-05-03T16:21:00.000-06:00

Brace yourselves.

I've got big news.

Blogger has informed me that this is my 100th post. Cue confetti, start up the marching band and get those batons twirling!

To celebrate this momentous occasion, I considered a massive celebration complete with new sparkly shoes (any reason is a good reason to shoe shop). I thought everyone should take the day off work, and write poetry about how great I am. Perhaps those artistically inclined could make me some art, those who enjoy astronomy could name a star after me. Someone would find some elephants for us to ride around on (not circus animals, but wild elephants who are just wanting to give rides for fun) and cotton candy would fall from the sky like raindrops.

However, this seemed a tad impractical, so I saved you all the trouble of planning an elaborate party and have instead complied my ten favourite posts. They weren't always the ones that got a lot (if any) of hits from other readers but I consider them my greatest. If there is to be no parade, at least I will make this post all about me. I kid. Sort of.

1. Because that's how I roll...

2. Flair: 2007 Style

3. Garbage Day with the Hendersons

4. So this is what it's like

5. My lips are sealed

6. Under My Skin

7. X + Y + Z = I'm a rock star

8. Charmed, I'm sure

9. When a good run can break your heart

10. 20/20 Talk

Oh, and those are my shoes. The picture is a bit dodgy and you don't see the great heel but that's all I've got people. (Oh, and the jeans rolled up? That's 4 drinks in and suddenly I feel that people NEED to see the shoes more CLEARLY). But seriously. Shoes that great under $20? They were practically free!

On a completely different note I'm just finishing up my last few books and am looking for some good reads. Please share your suggestions!

The icing on the fake

2007-05-02T23:10:00.000-06:00

I've never understood girls who weren't friendly. Pretending to be "too cool", or "too busy" or "too important" to remember someone always just seemed like a gigantic waste of time. I like knowing that if I go up town and see my math teacher from grade 7, or the chick who cuts my hair or the man who gave me piano lessons, I will always say hi- and they will say hi back. Because, to me saying hi is what normal people do. Saying "hi" isn't showing exquisite manners, it's just being normal. It's like, tying your shoes or brushing your teeth, something you just... do. If you see someone you know, why wouldn't you say hi?

Enter Jessica.

Jessica and I went to school together for as long as I've been going to school. Through velcro shoes, lock-up jeans, and those thermal shirts that changed color when they got touched (why where those popular again?), we've always gone to school together. Grades 1-12. Her locker was next to mine in grade 8. She was the worst player on our volleyball team yet everyone always told her she did a good job, and made nice plays. It seemed the nicer people tried to be to her, the meaner she got.

Jessica saying "hi" to me when we see each other is like a math equation dependent on many factors. Who I'm with (more people equal a greater chance of a hi, and if it's guys I'm with? She wants to hold hands and suddenly her laugh begins to resemble Julia Roberts minus the sincerity), how many drinks she's had (again, more equals a better chance of a "hi", but instead of hand holding she wants to hug for too long, like a grandma who you never see) and whether or not she's stranded alone at a table waiting for someone to show up (if she's alone, suddenly we are long lost sisters).

I've always found this more amusing than annoying. I'm not saintly, but I would rather get frustrated at people who leave their pets in cars while they take long lunches than at a girl who is more fake than a $3 bill. I think I just like to reserve my frustration for those who have truly earned it.

Today however, Jessica took this all to a new level...

Scene: I'm cruising the grocery store trying to tell myself I will still live a long life if I don't buy the really expensive pomegranate juice. I see Jessica standing by the organic carrots with a robotic man wearing every shade of beige possible. Because I'm normal, I say "hi". She gives me a puzzled look like she's confused. So, because I'm not clear what she would be confused about, I walk over...

Me: Hi! How are you?

Jessica: (begins miming what she must assume 'confusion' would look like if she pulled it out of a hat during a game of charades. She's all head scratching and squinty eyed, as though blurring her vision is going to cause her to remember everyday we sat next to each other in Science class our last year of school, or the fact that two weeks ago she chatted with me in line at the movies.)

Me: It's Brandy...

Jessica: Hmm.. (at this point she's doing some head shaking too, like by violently moving her head the memory of me will fall into place. Keep in mind, there were 60 kids in our grade in elementary school. We know each other.)

Me: Um, we went to school together? (And because I'm ~~really obnoxious and too stubborn to let this go~~ helpful, I add in...) For 12 years?

Jessica: Wait, is your name Lyndsay?

Beige Man: No, I don't think that's it (Suddenly beige man is trying to place me, though I've never seen him before in my life. Suddenly trying to remember me is a partner job that Jessica can't do alone)

Jessica: Oh! Well, it's been so long since school...

Me: I guess it has. Okay well, I will see you later

I walk with a case of "the inappropriate giggles", which strike at funerals, during the telling of sad stories or (apparently) when I'm getting snubbed by someone who cried when the New Kids broke up. I suppose that I could be annoyed, or insulted or frustrated by Jessica's progression to complete ignorance of who I am, yet I still find it amusing. And honestly, a little amazed that someone would go to such great lengths.

If being the biggest fake is a game she wants to win, I will gladly hand her the crown.

I walk back, pick up the pomegranate juice (I've earned it) and go to pay with one thought in my head-

"Well played Jessica, well played".

Shrimp Forks

2007-05-01T20:25:00.000-06:00

I probably should wait before writing something. I should probably drink chai tea, do some yoga or go to my meditation room where I will breathe deeply until my lungs hurt. But, since I have no tea, don't do yoga (don't hate me. I also don't like sushi and sometimes take two parking spots at the mall when it's tricky to park my truck)and don't have a meditation room (surprise!), I'm just going to write. Besides, that's why I started writing in the first place- to have an 'outlet' for frustration. And you know, because I like to.

So. (Side note: I notice that I say "So." a lot when I'm frustrated. And it appears that I also have the urge to use a lot of brackets)

I'm frustrated.

I know this person. Let's call him... Marvin. (And no, I don't particularly love the name Marvin, in fact, I picked a name I dislike because I'm spiteful like that. And if you are reading this, and your name is Marvin... I'm sorry. I'm sure you have lots of other great qualities and that millions of girls in this great big world love that name, but I don't. And I'm sorry. But not sorry enough to choose a different name.)

I digress.

Anyway, Marvin. Marvin has always been on of those friends that you could talk to about anything. In fact, there was a time when he was the first person I told all the big moments, bad news and exciting stories to. Marvin was funny and thoughtful and always had something interesting to say. He asked questions. He remembered things. He held up his end of the conversation and more than once listened to me ~~declare jihad on ex boyfriends~~ cry. But lately, Marvin has become really... well, lame.

I realize that lame is well, a lame word to use but it fits. If the God of Friendship (let's name that God...Jack, because that's my favourite name for a boy), so if Lord of Friendship Jack, told Marvin and I that we had to unload a dishwasher, it's like we went from doing everything 50/50 it being 90/10. Suddenly, all Marvin is capable of is putting away shrimp forks. And sweet Jesus, this may surprise you, but just putting away shrimp forks does not a friendship make. Suddenly, I'm doing all the work, asking all the questions, working at something that used to not be work.

See? Lame.

I suppose this is where you would tell me to stop acting like I'm oh, about 14 years old (again), and talk to Marvin. And I could. But the thing is, what do you say? "Start being more like the old you and less like the new you?", "I'm sad I don't know what to talk to you about?" Or better yet, "Do you want to just... stop being friends, because if you do, that's fine but you are going to have to tell me because I'm a girl who just don't get the 'fade out and I'm sorry if that's hard for you to grasp, but that's just how I roll'?".

That hardly seems adult.

But I guess it's better than the alternative- stabbing him in the leg with a shrimp fork and hoping it brings the old Marvin back.

... And then I'm 14 again

2007-04-30T18:45:00.000-06:00

So.

I think some of you got scared from the last post (Actually, I know one of you did, you sent me a lengthy email discussing all the reasons I'm a great person, BUT how moping about my life is a thorn in feminism's side, and gave me advice on how to improve my life that started with my "fixing my apparent urge to downplay anything girly" about me. And no, I'm not joking. I'm almost thinking this little gem needs to be shared,- name withheld, of course). Anyway, the feeling has passed. I'm sure there will be a time I will feel lonely again (and despite the advice in the aforementioned email, I'm sure I will write about it), but today, oh today I'm happily single.

Why?

Because I just ran into him. You know. That guy in every ones past who is just... it. Or who was it. Who makes you just want to reach out and touch somebody (like... him). The guy who makes you feel like your 14 again because when you talk to him suddenly your self conscious in a way you haven't in a long time. Suddenly you notice how much space is between you, the band aid on your finger, the color of his eyes. Who makes you blush every time you talk because you are pretty sure he knows what you are thinking (and for the record, you are thinking about wanting to touch... him). The guy who has the actual ability to make you swoon. Swooning people! I was swooning!

I'm actually feeling giddy. More giddy than new shoes make me. Ahh. I'm 14 years old again, but with a bank account and better shoes.

Today, I love the universe.

Single

2007-04-29T14:27:00.000-06:00

My Saturday night started off very well. A good friend was in town, and to celebrate we popped open wine, marvelled at my shoes (pictures. soon. promise.) and discussed everything from The Hills, to Don Imus with equal passion. We laughed, we drank and I went out smelling of vanilla, glossed with my lipglass and doused in the "look at me, I'm bloody fantastic!" confidence that comes with a 4 drink minimum or a really good hair day.

We went to a lounge where the music was loud and the people were polished. There were camera shots and tequila shots. There were hugs to old friends and numbers exchanged to new ones. It started out being one of those nights where you hope you see everyone you ever knew because they would see you at your best- laughing, happy, surrounded by friends and wearing killer footwear.

An unfortunate circumstance found me having to state my relationship status repeatedly (or lack of relationship status to be more accurate). At first it was fine, I can throw in a joke about it, can say all the reasons I'm glad I'm not currently coupled like an animal on Noah's ark (the commitment! the chance of drama! the fact I would have to shave my legs on a regular basis!), but it didn't stop. I had to keep saying it over, and over and over again.

I'm single.

And the kicker? I'm not casually dating, not currently on the fence about a particular guy, not even secretly lusting after someone.

I'm just... single.

It was in that moment that I noticed everyone who wasn't single. I noticed the couples suctioned to each other- sweaty from dancing with hands interlaced. The ones smiling at the dancers antics knowing they would go home together and have something to talk about. The ones whispering secrets and stories no one else would ever hear.

Suddenly, I felt something that stirred my insides and left me shaken. A feeling that crept slowly up my throat and left a bad taste in my mouth. Suddenly, I felt being single wasn't fun.

There's the idea that singleness equals carefree road trips with red toes out the window. Of random sexual escapades that would make even Samantha blush. Of spur of the moment splurges, weeknight parties, drawers filled only with expensive knickers and complex nightgowns with strings and bows.

And sometimes being single is like that. It's lovely, and exciting and causes you to skip into your office or strut in the coffee shop. You feel independent and lovely and find yourself going on trips or applying for jobs you would have to think twice about if coupled.

And sometimes being single isn't like that. It's heartbreaking and lonely and causes watery eyes when you realize that when you wake from a bad dream, there's no one to tell. And you find yourself on a Saturday night wearing your best shoes, surrounded by too many people, feeling far too alone.

The Near-Miss First Kiss

2007-04-27T06:51:00.000-06:00

I've been subbing grade two this week. There is one particular girl who has captured my heart in a way that something you love so much you almost hate can. She's a tattler, overly emotional, the first one to complain, the last one to help clean up. She's constantly chatting, is bossy, and talks at a volume so loud, I've considered buying the entire class earmuffs to save their little ears. In short, she's me- 17 years ago.

She screeched in with her hello's this morning and followed it up with ...

Girl: Miss V! Miss V! I got to tell you something. Really big news!

Me: Sounds exciting! What is this news? (For the record, the last 'news' she shared with me was that she recently touched the leg of a dead moose and it made her feel 'weird'. Don't ask for more details because trust me, neither of us has the time. Needless to say, I tried hard not to giggle..)

Girl: Well Miss V, I've been trying to get my first kiss for a while and I almost caught it!

Me: You almost caught a kiss?

Girl: Yes. I got Matthew on the floor of the bus before the bus driver started yelling. I'm going to get him today though and then I will have it.

Me: Did Matthew want you to kiss him?

Girl: I don't know, but I need to do it anyway because I've got to get my first kiss from someone and he's the best at Sparkle (a spelling game), so it's got to be him. Plus, I really like him a lot and I don't care who knows it.

(I put on my teacher hat and try to gently discourage a follow up to this near-miss first kiss when Matthew enters..)

Girl: Hey Matthew. I'm going to catch that kiss at recess. I just missed your lips, before but I'm going to get you still!

It's in this moment where I realize how different my little friend and I are. Though we are both loud, chatty and prone to hurt feelings, I would never have the nerve to try to catch a kiss from a guy. Chasing's just not my style. I suspect despite all the talks, warnings, and 'looks' from the teachers, she will get her kiss. And it will be great because she wanted it, she went for it, and she got it.

Her first kiss will be exactly how she wants it to be.

I can only cross my fingers for Matthew.

Stove tops

2007-04-26T23:56:00.000-06:00

When I was little my mom would get upset because I would always put my hand near the stove. Despite her warnings, I would do it- because I could and it was MY hand (I was a charming child). Of course, I would get burned. Normally one burn is enough to teach a child, but I was not a normal girl. The fascination of a heat that warmed me before it hurt me would drawn me back again, and again. Eventually, I grew out of the fascination, just as one grows out of old clothes with faded logos or songs that have lost their meaning and my parents breathed a sigh of relief.

I find myself near a stove again. And I know what will happen before I touch it. It will hurt. This time it's not my family telling me to stay away, but my friends. My smart friends who know about particular stove top burns and how slow they are to heal. How slow I am to heal. And this time, I really want to listen and I know I should, but I find myself wanting to be warmed again even if it hurts. I find that their kind words and gentle warnings are the rock, paper, scissors but my foolish heart is the atomic bomb that beats them all.

I find that I'm six years old again.

It will hurt. More than before. Because it's not a stove anymore. And it's not my hand.

Note- Okay, so I just re-read this and realized it sounds like I'm getting initiated to join a gang of angry bikers with bad facial hair or have decided to give crystal meth a try. I assure you it's nothing that dramatic. I'm just... a sap.

3,000

2007-04-25T23:13:00.000-06:00

I had a great post planned. It was going to be funny and discuss really loud grade 2 children and how they are learning about numbers in math.

However.

I can't write about it because I'm still ~~freaking physically exhausted and emotionally bankrupt~~ a tiny bit weepy from damn American Idol. It was the "Idol gives back" episode and I should have known to crack open a new box of kleenex when Ryan first appeared wearing his 'serious face'.

Let's recap...

Carrie Underwood singing "I'll stand by you", while taking African children to put flowers on a grave? Sob

Simon and Ryan watching 13 kids lay down on a dirt floor getting ready for bed? Sob

Being told that a baby that the camera crew picked up on the way to a clinic who had malaria (which is CURABLE, people) died before getting treatment? Sob

Every picture they showed of HIV orphans crying big fat alligator tears? Sob

Annie Lennox singing "Bridge over Troubled Water"? Sob

Because I'm working on not worrying, I decided the only way I would feel better about all of this is if I did something. So, I ordered another Gap t-shirt and another package of one bracelets. I've also decided that instead of buying 5 fat and glossy fashion magazines each month, I'll buy 2 (it's the same stuff in each one anyway), and donate the difference. It's not a lot, but it makes me feel better.

Upset that kids are dying from CURABLE disesases? Go here. As for a post about numbers, I will leave you with one I'm not soon to forget: according to Malaria No More, this CURABLE disease kills 3,000 children everyday. 3,000 doesn't sound like a lot until you start thinking of everyone you know. Do you know 3,000 people total? Imagine all of them gone tomorrow.

3,000 kids a DAY

And it's CURABLE.

I'm going to get off my soapbox now.

The 3's

2007-04-24T15:41:00.000-06:00

Three Words/Phrases I Say Too Often
1. Seriously!
2. Imagine!
3. What the hell am I doing?

Three Addictions That Make me feel like I'm 14 years old
1. "The Hills". I. Cannot. Get. Enough.
2. Facebook
3. Harry Potter mania. New movie annnnd new book this summer? Screw December, I think July is going to feel a lot like Christmas!
4. Going to see J.T. in concert this August. (Because really, what's a better way to celebrate my 26th birthday?)

Three Quirks that make me feel like I'm 84 years old
1. I refer to my legs as my gams
2. I just bought a $63 tube of eye cream
3. I think most people listen to their music too loud

Three Things/People That make me swoon
1. Anyone who is a)male b)in possession of an accent c)single
2. Pretty new shoes. Especially ones on my feet.
3. Seeing other people in love. Since, the last time I was in love man had just invented the wheel and the consensus was that the world was flat. It's been a while, friends. But I love seeing other people in love. Especially old people. It's just so darn cute.

Three Recent Purchases That Made Me Happy (Because yes, I'm the girl who gets happy by material objects. It takes more than personal fulfillment and rainbows to get me to smile sometimes...)
1. New shoes (pink satin with a 3 inch heel. Peeptoe, with a bow. Cuter than a baby panda)
2. "On Beauty" by Zadie Smith. If I ever wrote ONE sentence similar to how she writes, I would die completely fulfilled.
3. Elizabeth Arden Mediterranean perfume. (I smell radiant. sensual. captivating. A modern expression of sparkling radiance.- Well, at least that's what the box says it will be like...)

Three words I commonly misspell
1. accidentally
2. Mediterranean
3. misspell

Three of my best Halloween costumes
1. A ninja turtle (we went as a group. I was the orange one...)
2. A paperbag princess
3. Ashley Olsen (Trout was Mary Kate)

Three things I do exceptionally well
1. write in fragment sentences
2. distract small children and get them away from open windows so they can finish their schoolwork
3. give speeches

Three things I do not do exceptionally well
1. time management
2. hold my tongue
3. hide my excitement

Three people I would love to be for a day
1. Zadie Smith
2. Karl Rove (I would love to see what his typical day is like. Does he really rub his hands together and laugh wickedly when he has an evil plan? I'm curious)
3. Jon Stewart (the man is hilarious)

Three people I would not want to be for a day
1. Ann Coulter (karma is going to get her and I don't want to be around for that)
2. Ann Coulter
3. Ann Coulter

Happy Wednesday!

Worry Boot camp

2007-04-24T15:40:00.000-06:00

I'm a girl who worries. A lot. I have lost countless sleeping hours wondering if the relationship is going to work out, if I'm going to get the job, if I parked too close to the curb, if it's going to blow over, if Angelina really doesn't love Shiloh, if he still remembers me, if I hurt her feelings, if a Canadian team is going to win the Stanley Cup, where Heidi is going to live when Spencer breaks up with her, where my extra set of keys are, if I've accidentally had gluten... and quite frankly, it leaves me tired.

So I'm going to throw myself into worry boot camp. For the rest of the month, anytime I start to worry about things I can't control, the people I can't change and the acts I can't erase, I'm going to stop. Then I'm going to channel Dr. Phil/Oprah/The Secret and anyone or anything else that's about positive thought and has sold a lot of books and take my worry and replace it with a great thought about how freaking fabulous I am. Because really, if everyone I know is signing up for a boot camp to improve their assets before summer, I'm going to sign up to improve mine. And I can't think of a better place to start than with my brain.

20/20 Talk

2007-04-22T19:08:00.000-06:00

What I wish I would have known 5 years ago, at age 20

- Dude, your house is going to burn down. So when you go away for that one weekend to visit your brother, take your journals with you.

- You know how you pride yourself on holding on to grudges? You shouldn't. Because you aren't holding on to the grudge anymore, it's holding on to you, like a shackle. And every year you continue being angry, sweet girl, it just gets harder to remember why you are so angry in the first place. So back down, grow up and move on.

- Sunscreen. Wear it.

- You will meet a boy and he will be everything you didn't realize you wanted. But, you will break up. You'll contemplate a breakdown on the side of the highway and then much later, it will be the cause of a breakthrough. You will realize that sometimes, what someone will do to you- will have nothing to do with you. That their mistake doesn't have to be your fault.

- If a guy tells you he's a jerk, he's a jerk. If he tells you he's interested, he's interested. If he tells you he has a girlfriend but that he loves you, - run.

- Getting your degree with be the easy part. It's what you do AFTER you have it, that's challenging.

- You are smarter than you think you are.

What I wish I would have known 10 years ago, at age 15

- You know that girl in your highschool that you think is perfect? The one who always wears the Calvin Klein jeans and looks like she's just walked out of a toothpaste ad with her ever smiling grin? Yeah, she doesn't know what the hell she's doing with her life either.

- Don't worry. You will fall in love. I promise.

- Boys have feelings actually. And treating them poorly is bad form, and your mom raised you better than that. Plus, karma is going kick your ass in a few years with a string of bad dates and boys who think the word "tits" is a completely respectable term to throw out upon meeting. Be nice.

- Being rebellious doesn't make someone more interesting. Don't feel bad for not sneaking out and driving around town sipping strawberry wine with girls who have secret tattoos and hate their parents.

- Step away from the hairspray. Your bangs are now officially a fire hazard.

- He's not being mean to you, he's flirting with you. Flirt back.

- You are prettier than what you think you are.

What I wish I would have known 20 years ago, at age 5

-Listen sweetheart, you're mom has something called a 'hobo' purse. In fact, because your mom is a shopaholic she has a ton of them. And they are just going out of fashion so she's going to donate them to Goodwill. DO NOT LET THIS HAPPEN. One day in your future, those bags will become insanely popular again and you and your mom will reminisce over them. Save the bags!

- That's it. You are pretty much perfect.

Bubblegum Thursday

2007-04-19T12:55:00.000-06:00

So I'm lucky, in the random sort of way. I win random contests, accept random prizes and am STILL getting random cheques in the mail from the government of Canada who I think must really have a crush on me (Bre, if I can't find a way to spend them, I will send them your way, as you mentioned).

However.

When it comes to winning stuff based on talent, or skill, or personal effort other than writing my name and phone number on a piece of paper... not so lucky. Other than winning a handful of horse competitions and public speaking awards in my youth, the last time I really won something meaningful was grade 2 class president.

I'm still a little vague on what the presidents role in the classroom was, and considering I live in Canada, I now think class prime minister would have been more appropriate... but I was glad I was victorious. I wish I could tell you I won through hard work, determination and a *speech that moved my classmates to tears. (Actually, I think Daniel was crying in the third row because he had peed his pants at recess and was embarrassed, but that's just a hunch.) but, upon reflection I won the same way most politicians do- empty promises and vague declarations of a better tomorrow. I told them if they voted for me I would be their best friend, figure out a way to cancel math class and (this was what sealed my victory) make sure that we could chew bubblegum whenever we wanted.

Thankfully my teacher was great and said that everyone could chew gum for the day that I won and was awarded my black construction paper crown with navy and silver glitter glue decoration. I suspect she allowed the gum chewing because she realized any public, grade two or otherwise, would lynch a newly elected official who broke her biggest promise on their first day in office.

Up until yesterday, that had been my biggest win. So it was a happy surprise when I found out that I had won a 'thinking blogger' award, bestowed upon me by the always lovely and entertaining Jennifer. I haven't quite decided what to do with it, perhaps print it off and put it on a mantel. Or hang it over my bed so it's the first thing I see when I wake up. Or maybe, just maybe, I will put it on the side of my blog and so I will have a reminder that I should perhaps write about more than Snoop Dog and loincloths.

In the spirit of discussing great blogs, or blogs that are entertaining reads, I will throw a shout out to my new favourite blog. Perhaps you think I'm a biased because she is Fabulous, and maybe you are right, but I don't think so. I just think she just has a unique voice and interesting tales that are worth sharing.

And to celebrate my win, I'm declaring it bubblegum Thursday. So find some bubblegum, blow a big bubble and relish the thought that you, as an adult, can now chew bubblegum whenever the hell you feel like it, instead of waiting for a classmate to promise you the dream of one day being able to.

*As stated in a previous post, my mom did help me write my speech. It was good, made my teacher laugh and I'm pretty sure I was the only candidate who spoke of 'classroom rights'.

(Oh, and we just take a moment and marvel at the fact that I posted a picture? Or something similar to a picture? I swear, one day soon I will learn how to get that strike through font...)

Loincloth thoughts

2007-04-19T09:47:00.000-06:00

I have a certain conversation on a weekly basis. My view is constantly changing and the topic never grows old for me. I imagine one of the first conversations on the topic of guys and girls being 'just friends' went something like this...

Mary and Sarah sit in loincloths eating raw meat...

Mary: Sarah, we missed you yesterday at dinner. We played hangman on the cave wall, ate burnt leaves and drank from a muddy puddle. It was wonderful! Where were you?

Sarah: Oh, Jacob and I went rock picking and then he speared something, which we quickly ate to avoid having to share it with the tribe.

Mary: You went with Jacob? Alone? Sarah, I have to ask, do you covet Jacob and want to bear his children? Do you wish to look under his loincloth?

Sarah: No Mary, Jacob and I are just friends.

Mary: Just friends? Is that possible?

Sarah: Why wouldn't it be?

Mary: I've just never imagined that people with fitting parts could possibly be just friends. Are you sure this can happen?

Sarah: I think so... I mean, I don't think I want to run into the bush with him and I don't think wants that either. I think we are happy just spearing animals together and seeing who has the most impressive grunt.

Mary: Fascinating. Man and Woman. As friends. This needs further discussion, but for now let me pick the bugs out of your hair. I'm starving.

End scene

Holy Site Meter!

2007-04-18T18:07:00.000-06:00

In the early 90's my mom's mantra was "Learn about those computer things! They are the future! By the time you are in college everything will be on computers, we will all wear tinfoil jumpsuits and you will have a flying car, isn't that exciting?!".

Sadly, I didn't learn about computers. I decided that my high school elective should be cosmetology, because spending 80 minutes three times a week fully mastering the art of washing hair made much more sense. I'm happy to tell you I can now rinse shampoo with the best of them, and if finger waves ever come back in style, I can totally hook you up.

Computers however, baffle me.

I'm a devout follower of "if you want it bad enough it should just magically happen", which is why the last time my computer started acting weird, I assumed I would be able to fix it. Because I wanted to. I spent a day pushing keyboard buttons I forgot I had in alternating combinations, ALT & CTRL & F6, ESC & SHIFT F9, & QWERTY- just because it's fun to type. I ended up deleting my entire hard drive.

Despite my lack of computer skills, I started a blog. I figured it was not really about computers but more about ideas, and I do have those. In abundance. And for the most part, the posting of all my ideas hasn't been that difficult. Minus the fact that I have no idea how to post pictures and it took me a good two weeks to figure out how to link anything because I was too mortified to ask anyone. Oh, and that little trick you all do where you write in the strike through font... yeah, that causes mini explosions in my brain from extremely painful thought.

But complaining about what I don't know isn't what this is about. It's about sharing what I DO KNOW. *And sweet goodness, I just discovered site meters!Half a year into blogging, and I now see that there's a way to keep track of who is reading what I write. And I have to say, it's bloody fantastic! Whoever thought of site meters should get some sort of genius award. Like, a life size statue of chocolate. Or all of your money. People in New Zealand and Chicago, Atlanta and London... are all reading.. this? That's so crazy. I mean, I knew obviously, that the people who commented weren't all my neighbours, but seeing it on a map how far away some of you are, well, it made me think that I should attempt to write something interesting sometime soon.

Give me six more months and perhaps there might even be pictures!

*I'm saving this sentence into my memory bank as proof of my nerdiness next time I start to think I'm more diva than **dork.

** I secretly like being a dork. It's less pressure.

Today's Top Five

2007-04-17T23:48:00.000-06:00

Sooo... again this is from Bre. Basically, the idea is that someone sends you five questions and you answer them. Which, in my opinion is a great idea, because I love, love, love talking about myself. I kid. Sort of.

1. What is your earliest childhood memory?
I grew up on an acreage and in the spring my mom would pack a picnic and carry my brother and I out to a field to eat and play in the sand. I remember eating a honey and peanut butter sandwich and crying because it fell on the ground. My mom gave me a Popsicle instead and then my brother purposely dropped his sandwich. My mom threw her head back and laughed. I think I was about four. The next earliest memory is my fifth birthday when I got my pony. Yeah, I just had to say it.

2. What about blogging appeals to you?
I like how writing helps me organize my thoughts. Sometimes I won't even know exactly what's bothering me, or why I can't sleep or why I'm skipping happily into my office until I start thinking of how I would write about it. Once I do that, everything sort of falls into place. I also like the challenge of it, the idea of taking an ordinary story and making it more interesting, or something someone can relate to. Or knowing I've used the best possible word in a sentence. Man, that sounds sort of nerdy now that I typed it...

3. How do you spoil yourself on a daily (weekly/monthly) basis?
It's all about the afternoon naps... oh, and expensive (albeit extremely glossy) fashion magazines that weigh more than a phone book.

4. What is the most ridiculous thing that has happened to you in the past week?
Um, I found myself watching this movie. And honestly, if that doesn't sound ridiculous then you clearly haven't seen the preview. Or, being one of the only 'non-accountants' at an 'accountant' party... there were some ridiculous aspects in that... such as me busting out the Snoop while other people watched.

5. What is a relationship dealbreaker for you?
Other than cheating? Bad kissers? A close relationship with cocaine? A hate on for dogs? Hmm, I would have to say I don't like the idea of being with someone who isn't confident. I don't require a man to be arrogant, but I really need to be with someone who feels secure enough in themselves that they don't question every choice they make. Reflection is good, but a guy who doesn't have the confidence to make the first move, or stand by a choice he's made is probably not a guy for me.

And thus concludes my five. If you are interested in participating, here are the rules:

Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me!”
I will respond by e-mailing you five questions. I get to pick them, and you have to answer them all.
You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

On loss

2007-04-17T13:24:00.000-06:00

Though I'm reckless and fickle, I can be a planner. I like laying out my clothes the night before, getting my concert tickets ahead of time, choosing the reason of my post instead of just 'free flow' writing it.

But sometimes planning feels instinctively wrong to me. Like wearing rubber boots with your prom dress. Or smearing ketchup on chocolate cake. Or trying to read a novel underwater. Or thinking out a planned response of sympathy to a tragic event.

I suppose the reason I can't plan what to say about Virginia Tech, is because if I tried, I would feel... silly. It's not my school, it's not my town, it's not even my country. Adding sympathy or trying to comment on something so tragic leads to me grabbing fistfuls of cliches, "I don't understand", "Everything happens for a reason", "I just don't know what to say".

I would like to say something memorable, something relatable, something that would provide my brain a moment of rest while it races through dictionaries of words and lists of quotes, but I'm just left with cliches. And then I realize, cliches are cliches for a reason. Because they give everyone who doesn't know what to say something to reach for, and in times like this, that's what people need.

I work in a college. Everyday I see kids walking through halls, ipods jammed in ears, laughing with their friends. With the approach of spring, the laughter has grown and the mood has seemed lighter- even finals haven't dampened the mood. Until now.

Today the halls are quieter. There is not less to laugh about for them- their lives still hold the same people and promise they did yesterday or the day before, but I think, I think they have been reminded of what the look of loss is, how it's painted in shades of grief and agony. And that it can be found anywhere. At anytime.

Even, in a school like their own.

So without knowing what to say, I will say this. The loss of lives at Virgina Tech has saddened not just the nation (as put by George W Bush in his speech to the students) but anyone who has ever felt like their world was secure. Who has ever felt a bounce in their step, or a reason to laugh.

It has saddened me.

And that's all I can say, on a day where I don't know what to say.

Singing to Snoop in my cardigan

2007-04-15T19:08:00.000-06:00

Picture it: A Saturday night house party. Except, instead of being in high school surrounded by people drinking Mikes hard lemonade and wearing Ikeda jeans, I'm surrounded by working professionals drinking wine and wearing Hugo Boss. For reasons I'm still a little vague on "Gin and Juice" is being played (because really, isn't that what all accountants listen to in their spare time?).

T: Um, did you know you are singing to this song?

Me: Ah, no I'm not. I don't like this song. At all.

T: But, but you were just singing. Really.

A moment goes by. Wine is sipped, talks of a taxing tax season are overheard...

Me: Holy shit. I'm singing along. Why am I singing along?

T: I just want to know when you learned all the words. Now, would you like a glass of gin, some crack and a ho to go with your cup of cranberry juice?

Me: Shut up. Just shut up.

Comment Horror, Comment Whore

2007-04-13T18:59:00.000-06:00

So a few days ago I posted this lovely ditty. I thought it was well said, with some interesting points written in a lovely, non-confrontational way.

I checked my email later in the day to accept those who disagreed with me and feel warm and fuzzy for those who did. I expected compliments and flowers. Disagreements but acceptance. I expected sentences that started with " Well, I don't agree but...". Instead, I got crickets.

There were no comments.

At first I thought nothing of it. I have always felt that all you bloggers secretly meet to discuss when you post, since you always do so when I least expect it. (This is frustrating since I'm always the 14th person to comment and all my "original" comments have been said already by persons 1-13). I imagine the "blogger.com" people meet in a warehouse drinking dusty kool-aid out of plastic cups and eat prepackaged foods high in sugar and low in taste. The 'wordpress.com' kids get together at a Ramada hotel and drink diet sodas out of real glasses and marvel at the pretty landscape paintings adorning every wall. And those with their own domain? They meet each dripping in diamonds and sweating in mink, via satellite- since they are all on their own yachts and phone reception is iffy.

Anyway...

So the 'no comment' thing didn't bother me. I mean, as I recently told Miss Fabulous (who herself has started her own blog), writing for comments is like, working for the man. It's prostituting greatness, and if I'm going to prostitute myself, I'm going to do it for big bucks. More bucks than the man could ever pay. (Actually, I think I just told her I didn't write for comments, and left the man out of it). I was sure that you were all busy with Easter and work and family, and the comments would come flooding in, and suddenly my world would make sense and I would once again, feel whole.

I checked back.

Nothing.

I re-read the post searching for something that would have caused you all to slap me with silence. Did I accidentally type "I believe the only good orphan is a working orphan?", or "I believe when my *grandma doesn't polish my shoes the way I like, it's a free pass to pistol whip her and kick her good hip while wearing stilettos?". Nope. I didn't say any of those things. So what the hell?

I was stumped.

Later on I started getting emails from people saying they couldn't comment. I checked back and realized I had the 'no comment' filter on. Suddenly, my world made sense again. People weren't shunning my post, they were forced to not write something. It was only when I realized this, did I fully understand how comments can really be useful, or at least nice to get once in a while. In short, I realized, I'm a comment whore.

This led me to think about all the times I read something I enjoy and don't comment. This was the last one I read on someones site that I really, truly and madly enjoyed and left without commenting. All the comments seemed to be what I was feeling, so I didn't add anything. Now I realize how important every comment is. So do I go back and comment and say 'ditto?', or do I just leave it? Sigh, I don't know. Perhaps I should invent an abbreviation for the line "I really enjoyed this post, and wish I had an original comment but I don't. But I still want you to know I enjoyed it". Perhaps this could be shown as "IRETPAWIHAOCBIDBISWYTKIEI!".

Or I could just stick with 'ditto'.

* the grandma reference was just for you e.b.

When a good run can break your heart

2007-04-12T12:30:00.000-06:00

I have a confession. I'm a runner.

No, I'm not confessing to slipping on my pink and silver Nike's at the twilight hour and running until a thin film of sweat covers me and my body aches in appreciation of being tested. My running isn't healthy and doesn't do anything positive for my heart. I run from people. Problems. Discussions where arguments hang heavily in the air like the smell of a burnt dinner that's ruined the night.

I don't run from every argument, every person. Just the big ones. The really big ones. The ones who matter, the people that earned an explanation before the shotgun goes and my legs start. The ones who deserve you to plant your feet and have the talks you don't want to. The talks where your awkward fingers dance on tabletops giving you a focus other than someone else's apologetic eyes.

Running doesn't mean I don't say sorry. When I feel something is my fault, when I have been in the wrong, chosen the thoughtless word rather than the the thoughtful act, I apologize. And I mean it. But when someone has hurt my feelings, suddenly my only option is to throw on my sneakers and sprint to a safe spot, avoiding the hurdles that come with a healthy relationship.

Perhaps running would be fine if I wasn't the type of girl who liked to look back, but I do. I like seeing where I started, how far I've come. I need to see my progress, whether it's the distance between me and the starting line, or me and a boy who broke my heart. But lately, looking back has only shown me how little I've moved. Instead of running on an open track, where the perspective changes with each step, I've been on a treadmill- pretending. Pretending that my aches and breaks, pains and gains have been worth something, and you know what? They haven't. Running only works if you feel better from it.

I don't feel better.

So maybe it's time to hang up the sneakers and try something a little better for my health. Something that doesn't promote regret and make my heart ache in a way that only making a big mistake can. Perhaps table tennis.

* I got a few emails about people asking why they couldn't comment on the previous post. I accidently had the comment section turned off. Sorry.

Stealing Inspiration

2007-04-11T16:21:00.000-06:00

So once again, I'm stealing an idea from Bre, because sometimes stealing is the only way I can be inspired.

Things I believe in....

I believe that "sleeping on it" always helps figure out life's big problems. Unless you are sleeping on a rock, then I'm against it.

I believe if your $15 lip gloss makes you feel like a million bucks, it's worth it.

I believe that the only thing more dangerous than a president with a narrow minded personal agenda, is a public who votes him into office. Twice.

I believe in forgiving people, not for them, but for yourself. I believe, this is easier said than done.

I believe that everyone belongs to someone.

I believe that drinking alone doesn't make you an alcoholic. Only drinking alone, maybe...

I believe that a true, honest, platonic friendship rarely can occur between a man and woman, but that it can occur. I believe I'm cynical about this because I'm much more like Harry than Sally.

I believe the hardest lesson to learn is that you can't help who you love, and trying to understand why you do, will lead to a weekly therapist appointment and a strange love affair with late night television.

I believe that you don't have to call your best friend at 3am, to prove she's your 3am friend.

I believe everyone looks prettier when they are happy and are happier when they are feeling pretty.

I believe in thank you notes, tipping even when the food wasn't great, and solo break dancing performances at weddings.

I believe that crying when your sports team loses a big game is perfectly acceptable- crying every time they lose a game, is not.

I believe in regrets, and that I'm a girl who needs to say I have them.

I believe every song sounds better live, every pie tastes better homemade and every shoe is more fabulous when it's on sale.

I believe teachers are undervalued. I believe I think this because I'm a) a teacher and b) someone who sees on a daily basis the gigantic impact a teacher has on students. I also believe that anyone who utters the phrase 'two month holiday' in regards to how easy teachers have it, has never heard the phrase ' school wide lice outbreak'.

I believe that money provides freedom, and freedom provides happiness.

I believe "I'm sorry" always sounds better than "I apologize".

I believe you can love someone more deeply and clearly than ever before, and still be the absolutely wrong person for them. I believe that knowing this, doesn't always bring comfort, in fact, it usually doesn't.

I believe that a woman should choose what she does with her body. I also believe, that abortion shouldn't be used as a form of birth control. I believe that this is a topic that needs more than three sentences to be fully explained.

I believe opening your presents on Christmas Eve is cheating.

I believe that forgiving someone doesn't mean you need to be friends with them.

I believe if someone wants to propose marriage to you, they will. I believe that asking for a proposal is asking for something I would never want.

I believe in the usefulness of interactive toys, light up games and sturdy Baby Einstein books. I also believe that an empty refrigerator box is the best gift you can give a child.

I believe that unless you voted, you haven't earned the right to complain about the government.

I believe every success I've had has been the result of a mother who gave me a truckload of confidence and an eye for great shoes.

I believe people need to let the Anna Nicole thing go. Seriously.

I believe being 'complicated' doesn't make you interesting. Some of the most fascinating people I know are those who live life simply, without the tanglements of drama.

Procrastination Nation

2007-04-09T13:32:00.000-06:00

Lately I've begun wondering if the last-minuteness of my life is necessary.

I'm that girl who started cracking my textbook the week of finals, who drinks the last sludge of milk in the carton that smells iffy because she hasn't gone to the store, who always gets the 'guaranteed or it's free!' coupon from blockbuster because I only rent movies at 11pm after everyone else has picked up all the 'two thumbs up' releases.

I started thinking about this, my love of procrastination, this past week. I've been on holidays (more stories of me, piano bars and 3am mass emails about my love for Oasis to come in future postings), and have had a lot of free time. Like, I can put lotion on my legs and wait for it to dry before getting dressed, sort of time. And honestly, it's weirding me out.

I kept going to sleep rolling through everything that I thought I had to do, should be doing, or was late doing. Because, the thing with procrastination is the rush of adrenaline that comes with it. The addicting metallic pulse that comes from realizing you could fail and if you did, it would be only your own fault.

I love that feeling.

I'm the queen of procrastination, a wizard at wasting time, a true master at the art of doing nothing. Which would make you think spending a holiday doing nothing would be enjoyable, and something I would relish. But I'm realizing that I work best when I have a looming deadline, because then I will fill up all my time with making myself busying doing something else. Having nothing to do, makes me do less.

Realizing that I have no crazy work to-do list, scheduled doctors appointment, report to write, oil change due, or meeting to attend, makes me a little anxious. Because suddenly, I could spend an entire day doing nothing. And once you realize, all you have is time... well then you are forced to discover that you can do anything you want.

And realizing your only limitation is yourself, can be more frightening than the current lycra leggings revolution.

Oh, the updating of my blogroll, will get done soon. I promise. I just have to put some lotion on...

I'm thisclose to pulling a Plath

2007-04-02T23:18:00.000-06:00

Ohio lost. Instead of winning my pool, I tied for first place.

Perhaps if I was a middle child, or a native from Switzerland, or a generous Pisces or just someone who didn't know better, I would be happy with a tie.

But to a Leo, who is the oldest child, who sometimes enjoys winning more than she should and who at times likened herself to Luke Skywalker in her battle against evil forces such as an NCAA basketball team who just won last year, this tie feels like a loss.

Good things need to happen immediately.

(NOTE: Apparently when I'm feeling sad, I need to use a lot of italics.)

I got kidnapped too!

2007-04-02T13:56:00.000-06:00

Actually, I didn't get kidnapped. But Ruby tagged me to do this, and she got kidnapped and I was just trying to outdo her. Why? Because at first I thought there was nothing interesting left for me to say about myself since, I succumbed to pressure and wrote out this, and then.. this. But, then I thought to myself 'self, you ARE entertaining and there is MUCH the world doesn't know about you, so do it! And do it well!'. Hence,

FIVE Things You Don't Know About Me

1. I'm a reading dork.
Now, I'm a teacher so I promote reading all the time. It makes you smarter! It expands your vocabulary! All the cool kids are doing it!, but the difference between being an avid reader and being a reading dork is what you read and how often. I've made no excuses to hide the fact that I'm not so secretly in love with Bob Woodward. I have, however, recently discovered a new lusty-like feeling for George. If I just enjoyed the good political book that would be fine, but I like to sprinkle them in between re-reading Harry Potter for clues to what will happen in Book 7. Because, I think I'm going to find all the answers by re-reading the end of book 6, oh, 4789 times. (And to further hammer the dork point, I will admit that I got panicked thinking I wouldn't get Book 7 the day it came out, so I pre-ordered and then asked what time the store opened so I wouldn't be waiting in line until my 35th birthday). And if that still didn't prove how much I loved reading, when I was 9 years old I told my brother that I loved books so much I wished I could eat the pages so they would always be inside me. Okay, I said that when I was like, 14. Okay... like 22. He still makes fun of me for it.

2. I'm anti-"blog"
I hate the word blog. Because it rhymes with my two least favourite words- slob and glob. The word 'Blog' makes me think of old sweatpants that smell like sour milk and spray cheese smeared on the side of someones face. I prefer the term 'Post', as in "I posted about Ohio". To me, "post" implies that I typed while wearing creamy white gloves while sipping chamomile out of a dainty teacup adorned with hand painted buttercups. I've never actually typed while wearing gloves, or drank tea out of an actual teacup with saucer (I prefer comfy pants and a juice box), but the idea of it makes me feel better.

3. I've lived in a tent
Not permanently. But, growing up my dad's hobby required travelling every summer, so each year from June to August, my family would travel all over Western Canada. And because for the entire summer we lived in our holiday trailer, and as much as I love my family a girl needs some space- I took to sleeping in a tent.
Every night. Every summer. For ten years. (And for this sacrifice, my parents rewarded me with a very cool tent of my choosing for each summer. To this day, I get ridiculously excited when I see the tents up at Costco for you to buy)

4. I like hospitals
I suspect the reason I like them is because when I'm there it's me in the hospital and not anyone else. If I knew someone who was always in the hospital, I suppose I would detest them with the same fury that Paris would shun polyester. But, because it's me, I enjoy them. When I'm there overnight, I love the blankets they give you with just enough scratch to exfoliate (too bad they didn't smell like this) your body and dim lights- dark enough to make you sleepy, not enough to make you scared. I get blood taken a lot (mostly, to just re-confirm the fact that the blood I do have is bad), and doctors waiting rooms make me feel just as good. I like reading all the old Housekeeping magazines that give me quilting advice or tips on making meatloaf. Perhaps the reason I like hospitals and waiting rooms is because I know neither is permanent.

5. I'm always gettin' lucky
When it comes to winning contests, or getting money for doing nothing, I'm always getting lucky. The last contest I entered and then forgot about, I won. First place. Hundreds of dollars in gift certificates to the mall, new sunglasses and two tickets to a three day outdoor concert. When I was in university I applied for this obscure funding option based on the fact that my grandmothers grandmother was Native, and I got my last year of tuition/books/rent paid for. Plus a healthy spending allowance. And even now, I get random cheques from the government and I have no idea why.

And now you are fully in the know about me. Oh, one more thing... I'm trying to update my blogro-, er, postroll, so if I don't have you would you just leave a comment so I can keep track of everyone I need to add?

Ohio Madness

2007-04-01T11:13:00.000-06:00

So I just realized this is my third post with the word "Ohio" in the title. I'm not overly fascinated with the State, but maybe this is a sign I should pay a visit?

Anyway, March Madness is winding down (tear) and yours truly has a chance of winning her pool if Ohio wins in the final. (I actually picked both Florida and Ohio to be in the finals, but I'm trying not to brag since they were both a number 1 seed....). So, all I'm asking is for you to all cheer for Ohio on April 2nd. Face painting isn't mandatory but it would be a nice touch.

Oh, what do I win if Ohio wins? A few dollars, bragging privileges and 5 haiku's that discuss my greatness.

Fingers crossed.

Me, Jack Daniels and Doogie Howser, M.D.

2007-04-01T05:55:00.000-06:00

Before I met Jack Daniels, discovered how important reading glasses are and found myself commenting on the price of gasoline, I was a kid. I was a kid who had big expectations for herself.

When I was little, being 20 years old made you an adult. Because being 20 years old meant you weren't a teenager anymore and the only thing after a teenager was an adult. So once I was 20, I was going to be a teacher and a psychologist (apparently Doogie Howser and I drank from the same water bottle). I was going to have high heels and wear lots of pink skirts with flowers on them. I would have 2 dogs, 2 cats and a turtle named Melon.

My hair would be really long.

I would have a big house that had a porch all the way around it. I would have lots of flowers in my yard. I would have a housekeeper. I would drive a brand new red car and I would have gone to Easter Island (a place of fascination in my youth). I would have actual tea parties, call people 'darling' and wear scarves around my head when I drove.

I would be married.

My husband would look like Uncle Jesse, but would make me laugh like Joey. Sometimes we would kiss when I wanted, and if I didn't want to he would build me stuff like bookcases and take me fancy places for dinner where the forks would be as small as the ones in my playhouse. I would stay all the way up until 11pm and if I wanted, I would have vanilla cake with chocolate frosting for breakfast.

I would complain about bills, but always have enough money to pay them. I would have cloth napkins and always remember to say "may I ask who's calling?", when giving the phone to someone else. I would refinish furniture, quote Shakespeare in random conversation and own a well-used picnic basket.

I would worry about losing my wedding ring down the drain.

I'm past 20 now. A few years past, actually. And I realize that my life isn't at all what I thought it would be like. I'm my own significant other, I drive an old truck instead of a new car and I can't remember the last time I had cake for breakfast.

Am I sad that my life is so different than what I imagined? Sometimes. It does sound easier. But I'm slowly learning easier isn't always better and if this life means having more disappointments than I thought I would, I'm okay with it.

Besides, if I had the life I always thought I wanted, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't know Jack,- Daniels that is.

#5: Trout

2007-03-31T09:42:00.000-06:00

If you haven't been keeping up (and it's a shame if you haven't), the Month of March was dedicated to "Women who have shaped you", an idea that a lot of great writers stole from Bre. (And if you haven't read her last one, you should. It's genius). Anyway, this is my last one for the month (I like to cut things close apparently).

You know how you have that one event that becomes the marker for your life? Everything happened either before or after it, and the day it happened is burned into your memory? Sometimes it's a divorce, sometimes it's a wedding. Sometimes it's a death, sometimes it's a birth and for a few of my more... materialistic friends, it's the time you found your favourite shoes marked 50% off. I have my marker.

It's the day I met Trout.

I don't mean to say that my life before this great friend was horrible, or that the life I've had after has been a blur of rainbows and butterflies but she's the marker I have because I have a hard time imagining a life without her in it.

She's that friend.

The first person I told when my doctors thought I had cancer. The last one to judge me when I made the same mistake for the fourth time. The one who knows my secrets, my failures, my regrets and likes me despite it all. The one who is the Mary Kate to my Ashley. The one who volunteers to help regardless if it's moving furniture, painting childrens faces for a play or listening to me discuss the latest trouble in my life. She's the one who understands why I need to color code my bookcase and closet and comments on how nice it looks while others stare wondering 'why?'.

The one who has seen me at my best- dressed to cause heart attacks with shiny hair and tall boots (and the only one who truly knows how long it takes me to achieve this look), has seen me at my worst- in 3-day old sweatpants and sweatshirt with holes with no inclination to find the hairbrush, and everyday in between. She's seen me in every Halloween costume imaginable (pirates last year was a favourite, but the signature Brandy and Trout costume was defintetly the Olsen twins the year before), and knows exactly what my 'rage' face looks like. She's the one who I can have a 40 minute conversation about a celebrity (and not feel guilty at all) and then yell about George W, and not blink an eye.

She's the friend who feels like the sister I never got.

She was there when my house burnt down (it was her house too, after all). She watched my bag during the 10 hour layover in Germany when mono ravaged my body. She was the one who handed me the bag of frozen peas to stop the swelling when I broke my foot break dancing. She was there for the time 34 eye patches needed to be made for a pirate play. And the time my heart broke into thirty-six million pieces because of a boy? Trout said all the right things, but realized sometimes saying nothing is the best thing you can do. She's been my translator, my therapist, my stylist, my cook (I miss the grilled cheese) and the one person I seem to never run out of things to talk about.

I will see her in a few hours. Because Trout has volunteered her Saturday to painting many faces for my latest childrens play. She will do this and I will say thank you and then I will realize it will have never of crossed her mind to NOT help me.

Why?

Because she's the best kind of friend. The one who wants more for you that even you can imagine, who's hopes for you exceed your own, the one who doesn't ignore your failures but finds the success in them.

She's that friend.

Love means big screen tvs

2007-03-28T14:05:00.000-06:00

So I've been reading a lot of posts about love. I suspect it's spring. There's something about not wearing 18 layers of fleece and thermal each time you leave the house that gets the libido going. Suddenly, the removal of hats and scarves and lumpy coats prove that we are not all cousins of the Michelin man. Instead, we are well-dressed people with curves, and smiles and hair that hasn't been flattened by a toque. And such discoveries can lead to love, or at the very least, a well developed case of like.

But spring and love is another story. This is about love, and love alone.

Apparently love means never having to say you're sorry. That phrase is like the 'get out of jail free' card in regards to apologizing. The phrase is everywhere and has been said so many times, it's now taken as fact. It's embroidered on pillows, agreed with on Oprah and referenced *328 times every minute in the North America when a couple fights over a missed anniversary.

And the truth is, I think it's bunk.

My experiences have taught me that love means saying sorry. Frequently. And usually with gifts that require extensive assembly or jewellery cleaner. I'm kidding, sort of. But I do believe it's the people who love you, and who you love who deserve your sorry's even more than the stranger you never see again. The people you love the most, deserve your best. So when you screw up, slip up or are just trying to make up, say sorry. And when words are not enough, say it with a big screen tv.

* I made this up. I felt my post was lacking statistics.

Work is a fairytale

2007-03-27T09:42:00.000-06:00

I'm working on today's to-do list for work and this is what it's looking like:

1. Find a 'witch-like' broom for the Wicked Witch of the West.
2. Find green face paint for the Wicket Witch of the West.
3. Buy some tarts so White Rabbit can get put on trial for stealing them.
4. Find shoes that look like glass slippers for Cinderella.
5. Build/buy/find a monocle for the Mad Hatter, get tea for their tea party and search for more tea cups.
6. Door Mouse needs a tail.
7. Grab an apple for Snow White
8. Dorothy needs more sparkle added to her shoes.
9. Snow White's stepmother needs her dress hemmed, the Duchess needs a completely different outfit and White Rabbit's watch fob needs to show actual numbers.
10. Gretel needs bobby pins. So Does Dorothy.
11. Alice needs a basket, Knave needs gloves.

I have two children's shows in the next week. This is about a third of my to-do list. Sigh. At least it's entertaining. I mean, who else can add 'looking for a glass slipper' to their work list?

#4: Edie

2007-03-27T06:17:00.000-06:00

(This is the fourth post in a series of 'women who have shaped my life'. I got this idea from Bre, who has been doing a better job at posting these than me.)

When I get bored at work I will roam campus looking for a vending machine that sells something that is gluten free. Or just something that looks like it wasn't made prior to Trudeau taking office (whoo ha! A little Canadian history reference for you, which means that basically it's a reference that no one will get. Moving on..). And once I admit defeat and spend my money on sour candies from the vending machine, I wander over to the coffee stand that almost bankrupted me my first year of college.

One day not so long ago, I had paid for my tea and felt the unmistakable sensation of being watched. I looked around and spotted my stalker. A well dressed, elderly woman with a shock of short white hair. She waved. I waved. And since I had no idea who she was, I proceeded to be deeply interested in the color of my tea.

People stare at me a lot. This has nothing to do with any weird extra limb, or my hobbit like status, but because I look a lot like my mom and everyone seems to know her. So, they think they know me, when they don't. Usually, I just smile and wave and then the person does the same and walks away.

Instead, this lady came over.

It turns out, Edie did know me. I had taught her grand kids figure skating when they were younger. She was at the college to meet her granddaughter for lunch. I admired her brooch and we chatted about the insanity of extra low-rise jeans being in style. She repeatedly kept looking to my left hand and then finally asked the question all single girls hate:

"So, not married?"

I said no.

Usually, this is where the conversation ends. Though I like to complain about my single status, I usually reserve this privilege to friends, or people who subscribe to read about it,- Edie was neither. I looked at her, ready to follow-up my one-syllable answer with an excuse, a joke, a way to change of subject, but I didn't. She had asked so nicely, and had waited patiently for a reason rather than just a response, I couldn't ignore it- I couldn't ignore her. And there was something about the way she looked at me that felt that lying to her would be as bad as lying to myself. So, I told her the truth:

"It all just seems really hard."

Her freckled hand with pale blue veins mapped out like a tree's roots, reached for mine and she laughed.

"My dear, all you need is to find someone who puts up with you, but who won't when you don't deserve it. If you find that, you've found everything."

And with those two sentences, my dating philosophy was born.

The conversation drifted and we sipped our tea, just two women surrounded by students. One woman knew everything, the other just enough to realize how important the other womans words were.

#3: Mom

2007-03-26T09:39:00.000-06:00

(This is the third post in a series of 'women who have shaped my life'. I got this idea from Bre. Smartypants.)

I know what you are thinking. #3? This woman tortured her body to give birth to you and she's #3? She endured months of pregnancy, hours of labour, and years of sullen teenage angst for you! She spent her youthful 20's carpooling, counselling and cooking all for you, and she's #3?!

All I can say is yes.

She's #3 because I've been struggling how to describe her. I've thought of this in traffic jams, while waiting 3 minutes before rinsing my conditioner (I'm a sucker for direct directions), while shopping and bowling, working and napping. And I've finally realized I can't tell you how she's shaped me. There was no complicated goodbye, no single phone call that illuminated her influence. The idea of putting words to who she is has been rolling around in my head, leaving me frustrated because I just don't have the right words, because sometimes there is no right words, or best words. There are just the words you have.

She's unlike anyone I've ever met and I'm better for it.

She's the mom who hand painted my sneakers in elementary school so I would have shoes no one else did.
She's the mom who started her own business, and when families can't afford to send their kids, she lets them come for free.
She's the mom who put pomegranates in my lunch while all the other kids had browned apple slices.
She's the woman who (every year) risks getting kicked out of the holiday resort because she sneaks cold cokes to the beach jewellery sellers.
She's the woman who befriended a jewellery seller named Juanita and has taken her family to Wal-mart for shopping sprees, paid for her children's school uniforms and bought them chickens.
She's the mom who remembers my friends birthdays, the name of my grade 3 crush, and the day I started like onions.
She's the mom who showed me how to not be embarrassed of success (or really, really large shoe collections).
She's the mom who still has my paper crown I won as grade two class president, and she's the mom who helped me write the speech that clinched the win.
She's the mom who has had my puke on her. More than once.
She's the mom who took me to gymnastics, horse riding lessons, brownies, figure skating and cooking classes, all in the same year when I decided I wanted to 'learn about everything', and didn't once utter the word 'chauffeur'.
She's the mom who can get me at my own game.
She's the mom who taught me how to check the air in my tires, apply fake eyelashes and "say sorry like you mean it".

She isn't a perfect person, and I'm not either. We've had fights that have made the King of Sparta vs. the Persians look like a lunchtime misunderstanding. But she is mine and I am hers, and though we may violently argue over ideals and ideas, I love her just the same.

She may be #3, but realizing that the one person who told me I could be anything is the one person I want to be like... makes her incomparable.

Eyes Wide Open

2007-03-25T15:14:00.000-06:00

I watched "Poseidon" this weekend and realized one thing:

I really, really need to learn how to swim with my eyes open.

I would have been deadweight to the survivor team with my inability to open my eyes underwater. Poor Josh Lucas would always be having to comeback and find me holding my breath, eyes clamped shut, banging my head into a closed steel wall thinking it was my way out. And I'm going to go out on a limb and say that would effectively ruin our chances of being together.

If Josh and I are going to have any serious chance at love, I've got to get my eyes opening underwater.

That is all. Carry on.

Discomfort Zone

2007-03-22T07:16:00.000-06:00

Like Pavlov's dogs, I'm learning that certain triggers will send me into an unplanned response. More specifically, certain phrases will send me into a blood curdling, hair tingling, cold and uncomfortable sweat that will prompt me to lie in the fetal position under my bed and drink whiskey until I think I AM Johnny Cash.

Okay, I exaggerate, but here are some phrases that make me prone to fits of extreme rage, or you know, just uncomfortable or unhappy...

- "I signed us up for karokee, stop drinking so fast, let's do this song sober!"

- "Hi there, this is Revenue Canada. Can we please speak to Brandy?"

- "You're late" (I hate,hate, HATE being late)

- "It's time for a pap smear!"

- " I think you are silly/cute/a joke".

- "It broke" (And to quote Louis Armstrong, 'if you have to ask, you'll never know')

- "Now, I know we said we weren't going to cut a lot of hair off this time, but I thought this Dorothy Hamill cut would really suit you. Hey, why are you crying?"

- "Nope, we don't have you booked on this airplane, sorry! Now can you step aside for the next person in line?"

- "Hey, dude, I'm watching your house burn down right now. No really. Ohhh, they just smashed your window."

- "I don't want to date you anymore, but happy birthday."

- "Ma'am, I need to see your license and registration" (this is only uncomfortable when I'm driving with expired insurance...)

- "You're a democrat? Wow, I would have totally pegged you as a Republican." (this one was more funny, but I was shocked nonetheless)

- "I don't watch The Office. Wait, why are you looking at me like that? What's wrong?"

And of course, the ever popular, never appreciated

- "I have some bad news"

Being Called the "C" Word

2007-03-20T09:49:00.000-06:00

I admit it, I say it. A LOT.

Before I can stop myself, the 'c' word will fall out of my mouth and into casual conversation. I've called Miss Fabulous the 'c' word. I've called the kids I teach the 'c' word. My old dog, my favourite shoes, even my grandmother have all been called the 'c' word. In fact, just today I yelled it down the hallway to my boss. It would appear that I like giving the word out, but I've discovered I hate being called it by others. The 'c' word I'm referring to? Cute, of course. For some reason the word 'cute' rolls off my tongue and gets attached to many things in my life like a piece of velcro you can't shake off.

It's always been the adjective people use to describe me. I suppose it's the blond hair, or the fact that I laugh a lot. Maybe it's because I have the hobbit gene and am short. Maybe it's because I get excited easily or cry during Saturn car commercials. I don't know. I do know however, that I'd rather be called a million other things than cute.

I don't strive to be called 'sexy'. It seems like a lot of work. Perhaps it's not fair of my brain, but when I hear the word, the first thing I think of is fishnets, a red sparkly dress made out of lycra and thigh high stilettos. And long red hair. Basically, Jessica Rabbit with a little less Botox. When I think 'sexy' I just think I would be too tired to wear those shoes all day and keeping my hair red hot flaming red would take serious upkeep. Maybe I'm less cute and more lazy?

Sometimes I get 'nerdy' and it fits. Unlike those who object to it, (they are most likely to be wearing fishnets I've noticed), I don't mind it. I read a lot. I get irrationally angry when people display ignorance about war or politics. I have been known to get really happy over a sweater vest. My closet, bookcase and shoe collection are color coordinated, and I take great pleasure when others notice this. Recently, I've found myself squealing when I watch a new Harry Potter preview. See? Nerdy fits.

I've gotten 'funny' before and that one I like. Who doesn't relish the idea of feeling that what you say is worth a laugh? "Complicated" has been whispered, which is understandable, but not always appreciated. Though it seems we live in a world where 'complicated = interesting', I would prefer to be something different. Complex, perhaps, that seems like complicated's nicer cousin. Complicated reminds of people torn between huge life choices and prone to maniac cleaning spells induced by rage. And I assure you, I vacuum quite irregularly.

I started thinking about this on Saturday when a nice couple (Channel and Dan), couldn't find a table at the St. Patricks party we were at and joined ours. They seemed a bit uncomfortable at having to sit at a table of 8 girls (1 of which who was standing on a booth doing an air guitar with part of her body I'm too lady like to describe right now), so I kept asking them questions. They told me how they met, how they fell in love and the whole story was just so well... cute. I might have clapped my hands but then Dan started raving about how 'cute' I was, and the feeling passed quickly.

Maybe I don't like it because it's the term I get the most. Or because it seems like an adjective that's not very specific. It's like 'good' or 'great'. It doesn't seem like it's based on anything. I mean, puppies are cute. One could argue that at times, Colin Powell has shown cuteness. I would just like another word.

But I suppose when the time came, when the request tumbled out of my mouth, whoever had called me 'cute' would just feel that I deserved the term that much more. If my grandma threw her hands on her hips when I stuck the 'cute' term on her, and told me that being called 'cute' was silly and wanted another word, well, chances are she would seem that much cuter. Or she would seem ridiculous.

And given the choice between ridiculous and cute, I would take cute.

Worth the wait in an instant world

2007-03-19T08:59:00.000-06:00

We live in an instant world. Instant coffee, instant messaging, instant car starters. We wait for nothing. We can fast forward our commercials, email our letters and drive-thru for our meals.

Everything happens so quick that when I actually am forced to wait for something; eggs to cook, Saturdays paper, a doctor to see me, life suddenly seems to move very slow. Too slow. Unbearably slow.

While toe-tapping and watch checking this morning waiting for an airline flight confirmation, I got to thinking about what is WORTH waiting for. What would I never want to be found quicker, what I wouldn't want to experience sooner, what I would hate for technology to 'speed up'. My list of what's worth waiting for includes...

- homemade pie crust. Actually, any food that's homemade. Instant potatoes scare me more than Tara Reid.

- babies.

- the third date kiss. Not the "it's the third date so we should kiss", but the "I'm so excited about you, I need to kiss you" kind.

- a proper goodbye.

- handwritten letters in the mail that confirm I'm not the only one who misspells "foreign".

- my birthday.

- someone who loves you even on the days (most especially on the days) you don't love yourself.

- garden peas.

- the shoes you adore (but cost more than your car) to come on sale.

- a glued macaroni picture addressed to you in crayon.

- an "I love you" to be said sober, fully clothed and vertical.

- movie sequels with an actual plot.

- waiting in line to meet Cinderella.

- an explanation for a broken heart, missed lunch appointment or $489 vehicle repair bill.

- seeing your favourite piece of artwork so close up your eyes can trace the paint strokes and find the pieces of hair stuck in the paint.

- the perfect wedding dress.

Suddenly waiting doesn't seem so bad.

Disappointing Oprah

2007-03-18T14:04:00.000-06:00

So recently I've noticed a trend. It started out with a friend of mine, then moved to Grey's Anatomy, then spread into the life of yet another pal. The trend? Realizing that even if you don't want to be with someone, you still don't want them to be with someone else.

I'm weening myself off Grey's Anatomy (I'm sorry but there's something about Meredith that makes me want to take a scalpel to my brain), but saw Izzie tell Alex "just because I don't want to be with you doesn't mean I want you to be with someone else". That really hit home. I know it's selfish, immature and lacks the all-knowing self empowerment that Oprah has in diamond encrusted truck loads, but I find I relate to that sentiment. And I'm finding, I'm not the only one.

It's not that I want the people I don't want to be single and miserable forever, I just want them to be single until I'm not. Once I'm bathed in the lavender glow of coupledom, where 'we' statements flow and the inside jokes are common, I hope they find the same. After I'm happily cocooned in a great, stable relationship with a man (preferably a pediatrician who sings 'green eyes' by Coldplay and thinks my neurotic tendencies are adorable), I will become more Oprah-ish. I will be that ex who invites old flames for dinner with their new loves. Who takes great delight in the fact that they have found love with someone who is not me. And in this version of my future, I will also be able to wear pearl necklaces without looking like I'm playing dress-up.

The bottom line? I want ex'es to be happily coupled, to experience the satisfaction of feeling like they found a person who fits snugly into their life.
I just want them to find it after I have.

See? I told you- immature.

It's moments like this I'm glad I'm not friends with Oprah. I don't think I could handle disappointing her like this.

I second that Emotion

2007-03-15T07:42:00.000-06:00

Overheard today...

" Sometimes I feel smarter knowing less. I mean, sometimes information isn't power. It just gets in the way of the stuff you already know."

In other news, I just calculated that I won't be home (ie. in my bed sleeping) for 15 hours. This thought has left me incredibly depressed. Even more depressed than seeing what's-his-face-with-the-ever-changing-hair stay yet another week on American Idol. What gives America?

(And yes, the phrase 'what gives?' is making a comeback. And it's starting today.)

Family Sacrifices

2007-03-14T07:06:00.000-06:00

At this point, I'm willing to stun gun my grandmother if someone can promise me it's going to stop snowing.

Lessons on a Tuesday

2007-03-13T07:08:00.000-06:00

1. Never trust a man who has a fridge stocked with pesto but no ketchup.

2. Sometimes prayer works when your truck doesn't start. Sometimes a new battery works better.

3. Never take a cart when you go to Costco. Or else your bill will be so high you will have to sign off on your first born. Seriously, who NEEDS a 5 gallon jar of pickles?

4. My grandmother had something called a "dinner ring" and wore it after she had changed into something 'appropriate' for dinner. I have something called "sweatpants" and I wear them while I eat my dinner that comes from the microwave.

5. A hair straightener can become an excellent clothes iron in a pinch. (I like to think MacGuyver would be proud of me)

6. Some things just don't translate. Like explaining how funny a phone conversation I had today with my friend about how I plan on trying out for the Amazing Race with an imaginary partner. Needless to say, it would be me, not Hank, who would be performing all the tasks but I would be yelling at him to "hurry up!", endlessly. See? Not so funny typed, but at the time it was hysterical.

7. There is a man in Texas who thinks Canada is in Utah. This should make me sad but it just makes me giggle.

8. It's impossible for me to listen to "Brown Eyed Girl" without wishing I had brown eyes. And a boyfriend who loved layering his clothes and playing that song on the guitar and singing it to me every morning immediately after he serving me breakfast in bed. Oh, and he has a dog too. And nieces he lets braid his hair. And he's always saying things like "how did I ever manage without you!?". And he has parents who marvel at my brain and hug me everytime they see me (which is usually once a month when the whole gang meets for brunch at the estate). And- okay I need to stop.

9. When you start trying to figure out chords, it's time to take a step back and reconsider your love for the air guitar.

10. March Madness makes me happier than Christmas. (I started a pool!)

Killing Time...

2007-03-12T13:05:00.000-06:00

I got this emailed to me and it was really fun, and an excellent way to waste time! Try it, I want to see if anyone else was deemed a 'love bug' like myself. (Oh, and the 'easy rider' label was great. Anyone else thinking "The Office"?)

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

Cheating: A words game?

2007-03-12T00:52:00.000-06:00

I had a conversation recently that went something like this…

Not me: So, have you ever cheated on a boyfriend?
Me: Define cheat.
Not me: Have you ever had sex with someone else while dating a guy?
Me: No
Not me: So…. then what’s your definition of cheating?
Me: I think cheating is doing something I wouldn’t do if my boyfriend was there.
Not me: So then you have cheated?
Me: Well, under my definition yes. Under your definition, no.

(Long silence as we contemplate that under my definition we are both guilty and under theirs we are both innocent…)

It seemed strange that such a huge issue- the issue of cheating, would be defined so differently between two people. I always assumed that cheating was a black and white issue, how could there be so much confusion? So much grey matter? I decided to ask my trusty dictionary to give me some clear cut definition- and answer to the biggest question since the Caramilk bar mystery of the early 90's, but found out that Encarta is sometimes as helpful as a screen door in a submarine. This is what I got…

1. deceive somebody: to deceive or mislead somebody, especially for personal advantage
2. be unfaithful: to have a sexual relationship with somebody other than a spouse or regular sexual partner
3. escape something: to avoid harm or injury by luck or cunning

So, we both found our definition embedded in the great mind of Encarta. Instead of feeling pleased that the dictionary recognized the act of deceit as cheating, I was more troubled. Were Encarta and I prudes in assuming that cheating was deceit? Did everyone else think cheating was sex? And if they did, were the majority of these individuals carrying a Y chromosome?

I decided to take to the streets (okay, my email contact list) and ask others what they defined cheating as. Apparently, when it comes to cheating everyone has an opinion and it’s different from the rest. Here are some of the results…

Cheating is…..
- “sex.”
- “anything you do that you wouldn’t want anyone to find about”
- “ isn’t looking at other girls. It’s giving them my phone number when my girls in the bathroom”
- “unforgivable. People say they forgive it but don’t forget, but if you don’t forget something that horrible, how can it be a healthy relationship?”
- “boob grabbing”
- “ a words game. It’s instinct over conscience. It’s anything you do that you feel guilty about”
- “wishing the boyfriend/girlfriend you are with was someone else”
- “dangerous, and devastating if you are the person getting cheated on. I would never do it because I wouldn’t want anyone to go through what I did.”
- “anything you wouldn’t do with someone of the same sex (if you aren’t gay)”
- “removal of clothing”
- “lying to your partner because you spending time with someone else. Even if you are fully clothed and spend the whole day at the park, once you lie, you cheat”
- “sometimes a way to see if you are really serious about your boyfriend/girlfriend”
- “not cool unless you are on a holiday, or if she/he is cheating too”
- “not worth it. I mean, if you want to be with someone else, why are you with the person you are with?”
- “getting caught”

Honestly, it was a bit frightening to see that so many people I know define the act of cheating so differently, but it was nice to see that men weren’t prone to one type of answer and women another. There were pretty equal in the numbers of responses who viewed cheating as ‘just sex’ or ‘anything you feel guilty about’.

Our society clearly defines our world; this is what murder is, this is what marriage is, this is what taxable income is… and yet, cheating has slipped through the cracks. I realize that cheating is a moral issue and that it would be impossible to lay down a clear definition in the “book of life” , I’m just saying that it would be nice. I like the idea of in the heat of an argument being able to pull down a large book with tissue thin pages that would state: "Cheating is: holding the hand of another girl at the movies", or something similar. It would make things so much easier- and arguments a lot shorter.

Until then I will hold myself accountable and feel guilt over my past. Why? Because I’d rather be guilty under my definition than innocent under someone else’s.

Anyone have a different definition of cheating?

Ordinary grief

2007-03-09T12:34:00.000-07:00

I suppose it’s quite common to feel very small in a crowded church smelling of wet coats and baby powder. And I suppose it’s very pedestrian to wonder what you are doing with your life when you listen to a pastor talk of a boy who never really got the chance to live his. To feel that this must all be a mistake when you recognize that this baby’s first words were also his last

I suppose it’s quite common to feel your heartbreaking with an ache so intense your hand instinctively moves to your chest. To actually have your insides hurt with such a force it steals your breath and leaves you lightheaded. To realize that it is possible to cry your hardest without making a single sound. To find that sadness hasn’t swept over you- it’s invaded you.

I suppose it’s very commonplace to find yourself feel like something has broken when you see the uncle who once told you that “crying is for sissies”, openly sobbing, clenching handfuls of tissue. To see shy grown men shake their heads, hands stuffed in their pockets, not bother to wipe away their tears. To watch a mother whisper such a private and choked goodbye you have to look away, because such anguish does not need a witness. And I suppose it’s expected that you find yourself wishing you knew what to say but to finally (finally) learn that sometimes there are moments where words will not fit.

I suppose it’s very ordinary to see firsthand the difference between crying, weeping and sobbing, and to find that it is the weeping leaves you saddest- the beautiful restraint of it all seeming very brave. To close your eyes and hear what a church full of grief sounds like.

And I suppose it’s expected to revert to being a child again and to ask “Why?”. To take the frustration of no answer and want to bargain. To know that in an instant whatever you have you would give- to end the sobbing of a man who can’t stop repeating his sons name.

And I suppose it's very natural to be shocked at just how hot your tears are and how fast they can fall.

I suppose there is just nothing sadder than toys in a coffin.

#2: Miss Fabulous

2007-03-09T09:22:00.000-07:00

In case the "#2" confuses you, this is my second post about women who have shaped my life. I got this idea from Bre and it's been a great way to get me really thinking about the people I know. It's been interesting realizing who comes to mind when I try to figure out who to write about. I find that often my instinct is to write about someone who is funny, or someone who I remember vividly due to their personal quirks or personality but I'm trying to avoid that. To me, the idea of shaping implies something learned, something that's helped guide me into being the person I am today. That's why I have to include Miss Fabulous.

If I didn't love her so much there's a chance I would hate her. I'm not kidding. She's talented and funny and beautiful. She's everything that my New Years resolutions want me to be. She's one of those people who speaks multiple languages, can dance like an extra in a Missy Elliot video, travels (and when she does she sleeps on the beach, not at the resort)to exotic places, knows how to knit and make the best guacamole you've ever had. And if you asked her, she could probably figure out a way to do it all at the same time. And she makes it look so effortless.

See what I mean about the hating thing?

But here's the thing. I couldn't hate her. I could never even be jealous of her, even though she is able to tan the color of a coconut while I burn like a tomato. Or the fact that French rolls off her tongue like it's her native language and I'm still stumbling through "my shirt is green". Or the fact that she kayaks and climbs mountains while I sit in traffic jams. I just have nothing but big love for her.

Why?

Because.

Because she's the person who gets the "ungettable" things about me. She understands why I only like eating green gummy bears with no heads. Or why it's imperative that I discuss why I'm against the idea of peeing on someone as foreplay. Or why I can be a happy and smart girl and still need to call her at midnight just to confirm that I'm not going to die alone.

My house burnt down two years ago. I called Miss Fabulous from the scene and after establishing that I was okay, she giggled. Maybe to someone else this would have been the wrong move, but as the one who knows the unknowable, gets the ungettable, she realized that I needed it. It was the completely unexpected reaction, but one that was appreciated. Everyone had been so kind, so thoughtful, so serious, but Miss Fabulous wasn't. She made me realize that regardless of how I dealt with the situation, my house was still gone. So we laughed. And honestly? The laugh helped. I still cried my eyes out later, but being reminded that I could laugh, made things easier.

We met in school through her, but now Miss Fabulous has moved away. I miss her like crazy. The way you miss the last day of summer or the feeling of discovering something you love for the first time. Though I don't see her as often as I used to, Miss Fabulous still reminds me to keep learning (hence the self-taught French lessons), to never doubt myself when a boy lets you down (again) and to watch Shark Tale for the best hip hop moves. She reminds me that you don't have to live close to be close and that if my house burns down again, it will still be okay to laugh.

And if I don't laugh? I know she will be there to listen to me cry.

Dear Citibank...

2007-03-08T17:16:00.000-07:00

Dear Citibank,
First of all, thanks for all the letters. I haven't been getting a lot of actual hold-in-my-hands-golly-gee-it's-for-me mail lately, so getting repeated envelopes addressed to me has been exciting.

I love that you are so excited to give me a credit card. All the exclamation points seem to indicate an abundance of real joy over this opportunity or a maniac sugar rush, either way- it's contagious! Guaranteed! Low Interest Rate! Pre-Approved! I almost expect a smiley face at the end of each. Maybe that's something you are working on?

And can I just say that I love that I'm pre-approved? Knowing that you like me already without ever talking to me or knowing anything about me makes me feel really good. I mean, this world is so crazy now and everyone is getting judged on how witty their bon mots are, or how sci-fi their sneakers look, or what kind of job they have yet you managed to skip all that nonsense and approve me based just on me. And that's a nice feeling. If only there were more like you Citibank, the world would be in a better place.

I also really am in love with all the different templates of credit cards you have, I have to admit they are a great signing up feature. Though I'm partial to the ladybug design, I'm not sure it's a right fit. Don't get me wrong, I love ladybugs, and I like the idea of my credit card showing that I'm intune with nature but I have a feeling that I would get tired of the lady bug. And although I do love being Canadian, the credit card covered with maple leafs isn't quite right for me either. Perhaps the mysterious plain black card would work- it reminds me of the story I heard about Jessica Simpson and her black Mastercard that apparently has no limit. If we could work out a similar deal, I think I could find time to fill out the form.

While others groan at finding yet another letter from you in their mailbox, I'm charmed at your repeated attempts. I admit it- I'm a sucker for persistence. Whether it's a credit card company or a man I should stay away from, not giving up usually means I give in. Oh, and I especially appreciate that the president of the whole Citibank shebang has taken the time to actually sign my letter. I mean, from what I gather from the website you citibank folk are pretty busy, so I appreciate the extra touches you guys are putting in. And can you pass along to him that I love his penmanship so thoughtfully displayed in his signature?

Sadly however, I don't want another credit card. I won't try and sugarcoat this since I've already called and told you. I just feel like one card is enough. And I know, I know, I should be wanting another one because I'm young and reckless and every store is putting out their spring line, but Citibank- I have to stay strong. I feel we've gotten quite close with all the recent mail and phone calls but I'm asking you to now be a good friend and support my choice. Maybe try me again in a year. Perhaps then I will be in desperate need of a card that shows my love of the maple leaf. But not today Citbank, not today.

If you want though, you can still keep sending me the letter. Like I said, the mails been a bit slow and I like finding things addressed to me. Plus, all the exclamation marks boost my mood.

Sincerely,
brandy

100

2007-03-06T21:41:00.000-07:00

I'm a big fan of conformity. In fact, I don't think there is enough in the world. Too many people are trying to be original and that's a shame. Conforming is comforting. I mean, show me a person who hasn't had a good time following their friends off a bridge and I will show you a liar. Thus, when I started noticing every freaking blogger has listed a 100 things about them I jumped on the bandwagon (and off the metaphoric bridge).

Conforming- it's just one more way to fit in.

1. I was born August 22nd, 1981- at night. I don't know the specific time and my mom can't remember. This bothers me immensely.
2. I think the juice box may be one of the world's greatest inventions
3. Buying stationary gives me a high.
4. My favorite fruit is oranges, I do not like strawberries.
5. I want to visit Rhode Island, Ireland, Prague and Madrid. I do not want to go to Las Vegas.
6. My grade school bus driver was English and loved to sing to Annie Lennox in the mornings.
7. My favourite 'kid friendly' joke involves pirates and movie ratings.
8. "Whoo ha!" (channeling Al Pacino) is my favourite thing to yell when I'm excited
9. I can play the 'Flintstones' theme song on the piano. With my eyes closed.
10. I'm much more productive in the summer, which further proves my theory that I am solar powered.

11. I think Janet Jackson is overrated. Joseph Arthur is underrated.
12. I have my blue swimming badge.
13. I believe that "I'm sorry" always sounds better than " I apologize"
14. I do not own a Jack Johnson cd.
15. I prefer Cat Stevens to Sheryl Crow, but I would not like to be named Cat.
16. I wear 2 toe rings.
17. i can do the robot
18. When I don't think I've explained myself as clearly as I could have, I bite my lip and shake my head.
19. Peonies are my favorite flower
20. I am excellent at roulette.

21. I'm excellent at talking without saying anything.
22. i do not like white food. Or bacon.
23. i like extremely violent weather.
24. i always fall asleep on road trips.
25. John Krasinski is today's top 5, 1-5. Always.
26. i like the smell of the light blue mr.sketch marker.
27. i do not know how to work fax machines
28. i played my recorder at my friends wedding. Because she asked me to and I'm cool like that.
29. I like crushed ice, not cubed.
30. When I substitute, teachers have confused me with a student and have reprimanded me in the hall for not being in class. Sometimes I tell them I'm teaching. When I'm tired I just nod.

31. "Baby It's Cold Outside" by Frank Sinatra is my favorite Christmas carol
32. I am very bad at: time management, hitting a baseball, keeping track of my keys and driving a standard.
33. I must always be singing while I drive.
34. My favorite mode of transportation is train.
35. Kirstin Dunst is my least favorite person on the planet for reasons I do not understand.
36. I like the name Jack.
37. American History was my favorite academic subject.
38. I once got 17% on a midterm and my professor wrote 'good improvement'. And he was serious. It was.
39. I once was walking and got hit by a car.
40. Pineapple juice is my favorite beverage derived from a fruit.

41. "The Office" is my favorite television show.
42. I once held a job that required me to wear an oxygen tank and full protective gear.
43. i do not believe at love at first sight.
44. Sometimes I take the bruised fruit at the grocery store because I don't think anyone else will.
45. I believe in karma
46. Zoos make me sad.
47. I get carsick.
48. i admire kids who don't listen, unless I am teaching them.
49. I like cats, against my better judgement.
50. I like green apples, I do not like red.

51. The previews are my favourite part of the movie theatre experience.
52. I believe that songs on the radio come on as direct signs to me
53. I've stolen karaoke books and tongue depressors. I have never shoplifted.
54. My principal once chased me all through the school after an argument. Does it make it worse when I say I was in grade 9?
55. When at the public library and I see a book I read and loved, I will pull it out on the shelf a little more so it stands out. Librarians must hate me.
56. I am an excellent public speaker
57. Water skiing scares the crap out of me.
58. March Madness is my favorite sporting event of the year.
59. I like the aisle seat.
60. My least productive time of day is morning.

61. I like leaving phone messages, but hate the sound of my voice.
62. Bottle Rocket is one of the greatest movies of all time. This is not opinion- this is fact.
63. I get mad when I think that I can't vote to chose the next President.
64. Blue freezies are the best.
65. My worst date involved a man who refused to stop at red lights.
66. I really like airplane magazines
67. I get a lot of parking tickets
68. My favorite color is yellow
69. 384 is my highest Scrabble score, my favourite Scrabble word to write is squirrel.
70. I get irrationally angry when I watch "City of Angels"

71. I do not know my license plate number.
72. I'm currently teaching myself French. I've mastered 'hello' and 'poutine'. I think I'm set.
73. I regularly think of who would be my "phone a friend" if I ever was on "Who wants to be a millionaire?"
74. I like grape pop, but can't remember the last time I had enough guts to buy it.
75. I do not find painting pottery relaxing.
76. I cheat at Solitaire.
77. I believe Alex Trebeck is one of the only people on the planet who looks better with a mustache.
78. I judge books by their cover.
79. There is something about Kevin Costner that forces me to stare at him.
80. I like watching sporting events only for the opportunity to yell loudly.

81. I broke my fingers playing basketball in grade 8 and my teacher didn't believe me and had me keep playing. It was only when I started crying I got to sit out.
82. I dislike haircutting services with lame names like 'hair4u!' or 'hair today, gone tomorrow!', or 'hairisma!'.
83. If people were parts of a magic trick, I would be the turn. And I'm happy about that.
84. I get scared when I think about JK Rowling ever dying before the last book gets released.
85. Ronald McDonald once picked me to be his special magician helper on stage.
86. I like lego. Still.
87. Escalators make me nervous
88. If I don't know what to say, I will say 'thank you'. Even if it doesn't make sense. Usually when it doesn't make sense.
89. My zodiac profile says I'm cunning.
90. I can't open my eyes under water.

91. I'm allergic to beer. This is my burden.
92. "Later" is my least favorite way of saying goodbye
93. I am excellent at putting electronics together
94. I do not like to eat eggs cooked by other people
95. When I doodle, I always draw people. And shoes. And jars.
96. I do not like to text in short form: I feel bad writing "ur" instead of "your" or "you're"
97. My toothbrush is orange.
98. I have been in love a few times but my heart has only been broken twice- and both times it was worth it.
99. i like roasting marshmallows, I do not like eating them.
100. George is my favourite Beatle, but I'm most like John.

X + Y + Z = I'm a rock star

2007-03-05T10:48:00.000-07:00

Confession: I have boots that I like more than some people. And before you judge me, let’s talk about the boots. They have a bit of an elevated sole, are coal black and are soft suede. They zip up to my knee and do everything you wish magic boots could do. I mean, Cinderella wishes she had shoes like this. When I wear them my legs look longer, I feel three feet taller and suddenly everything I say becomes witty, important and/or insanely insightful. In these boots I’m pretty sure I could keep my own with Stephen Hawking, they are just that great. I’m guaranteed a sigh of happiness every time I look down. They look perfect with skirts, dresses or jeans and I’m pretty sure they would even complement a wedding dress. In short, they are perfect. They are the George Clooney of my shoe collection.

I’m wearing them today, thus- boots are: X

Confession: For me, good hair days are better than Prozac. I’m not talking about the manageable good hair day, or the one that becomes good after 10 minutes of straightening/curling/pleading/blowdrying/concocting a recipe of gel,mouse and/or hairspray- I’m talking about the good hair that just starts out awesome. The one where you wake up and you think, ‘what the hell?! Is this really my hair? God does love me!” sort of hair day that prompts you to run all your errands you put off just so you can hopefully run into people. The sort of hair day I imagine Reese Witherspoon wakes up everyday having and that Britney won’t ever again. This hair day happened to me today. It’s shiny, with volume and it just feels longer today (and having it feel long is an important part of it looking great). I suspect it’s not likely to happen again before 2012 so I’m considering going to get head shots taken at Sears.

Anyway, fantastic hair day is: Y

Confession: “Irreplaceable” is on my ipod and I love it. (This is where the word ‘confession’ actually becomes relevant). I’m pretty sure when I sing along I sound even better than Beyonce and that I become the first person on the face of the Earth who actually looks cool singing with their eyes closed. Seriously. I don’t know what it is about that song but I could listen to it all the time.

Feeling like I could win a Grammy with todays sing-a-long: Z

Today I found myself coming out of the photocopy room at work wearing my boots with the shiny hair when the Z song came on my ipod. I didn’t walk down the hall way- I strutted through the gaggles of college girls and boys, like a rock star without the drug addiction or entourage. I assume the students who stared were looking at my great hair, although in hindsight maybe it was because I was singing out loud.

Spring may not be outside, but today it’s in my step.

Answers

2007-03-05T07:38:00.000-07:00

Drumroll for the answers...

1. I got a real pony named Simon for my 5th birthday. When my parents sold him, they told me he ran away. I believed this story until my cousin accidentally told me the truth when I was 18.

TRUE: I know. Totally awesome. Sometimes I get sad thinking that the greatest moment of my life happened when I was 5 years old, but I keep dropping hints that I want another pony for my 30th birthday. I'll keep you all posted if I get it. Oh, and the reason why my parents sold Simon- he jumped the fence when I was on him and was deemed 'unsafe'. And yes, I was irrationally angry when I found out that he didn't run away. You have no idea the kind of guilt that a girl feels when her pony "runs away".

2. I once broke my foot break dancing at a wedding. And because I didn't get fitted with the right cast, the side of my foot is curved, a bit like a banana.

TRUE: Although I have no idea how to dance, two years ago at a wedding I was pretty sure I would be a pro at "the worm". Witnesses say the first thing that hit the ground was my face. I kept dancing despite the pain in my leg, and only sat down when a friend kicked me in the head accidentally while attempting a new dance move. Two days later, I found out I broke my foot in three spots. I had my teaching practicum and because it was my driving foot I spent the next 2 1/2 months riding the LRT to the closest stop and then hobbling in the deep snow to the school, where an awful child would step on it every time he got mad at me. And because it didn't heal right, I should get it re broken and set. But I'm a chicken. Maybe if I got a new pony I would be brave enough?

3. I own 63 pairs of shoes and they are color coded.

LIE: Although I love shoes, the housefire incident of 2005 flatlined my entire shoe collection. I have no idea how many pairs I have, but I know I don't have 63. And Beth, seriously... you have them on your PC? That's genius!

4. I backpacked Europe with a serious case of mono and a backpack that weighed more than half of what I did.

TRUE: I found out I had "severe mono" after I had bought my plane ticket. I went anyway and had the time of my life. We landed in Frankfurt and I spent an entire ten hour layover in a mono-induced coma, with my good friend and travel partner watching my things. It got easier as the trip went on but the first few days were rocky. I came back with a lighter backpack- I left sweaters, t-shirts and socks all over Europe... more room for fanta!

5. I once stumbled across a working girl giving a blow job to a guy in a park. I didn't see what they were doing but introduced myself and extended my hand before I realized. She wiped her mouth, shook my hand and then because I didn't want to be rude, shook the guys hand too.

TRUE: There's really not anything else I can say...

Congratulations 'accidentally me'. I will be thinking of giving you a new car for the rest of the day. You deserve it!

5 On Friday

2007-03-02T11:09:00.000-07:00

Okay my apologizes if I don't give you credit, but I've seen this everywhere and after scouring to find where, I can't. So if I got this idea from you, let me know. I will send you a candy gram and give you credit. (Okay, probably no candy gram but I will think about giving you one and isn't it the thought that counts?)

Anyway, I realize that my posts have been a bit.... serious lately and felt that it's Friday and I'm fun so I should write something fun but will still educate you about the inner workings of my mind. I've posted below 4 truths and 1 lie. Speculate, reflect and use all your mind juices to figure out which is which. The winner will get a new car, or more likely, the winner will get the thought of me giving them a new car which, is almost as good. Because seriously, a new car would be a pain to unwrap.

1. I got a real pony named Simon for my 5th birthday. When my parents sold him, they told me he ran away. I believed this story until my cousin accidentally told me the truth when I was 18.

2. I once broke my foot break dancing at a wedding. And because I didn't get fitted with the right cast, the side of my foot is curved, a bit like a banana.

3. I own 63 pairs of shoes and they are color coded.

4. I backpacked Europe with a serious case of mono and a backpack that weighed more than half of what I did.

5. I once stumbled across a working girl giving a blow job to a guy in a park. I didn't see what they were doing but introduced myself and extended my hand before I realized. She wiped her mouth, shook my hand and then because I didn't want to be rude, shook the guys hand too.

#1: Dr. K

2007-03-02T08:14:00.000-07:00

When I first read this, I got really excited. What a great idea. (I suspect this person has a lot of them- great ideas that is). Anyway, I liked the idea of writing about women who shaped my life and eagerly volunteered to do the same. Throughout the month of March, I will write six posts. This is the first.

I suppose I could have started this assignment with an easier person, a person who’s more friendly, more caring, a little less like Simon Cowell- but I can’t. It has to be Dr. K. Perhaps because she is gone. Perhaps because I’m surrounded by her everyday.

She had wild red hair and tiny hands that were always slicing the air or reaching for ideas that I had never thought of before. She believed in God, Samuel Beckett and Mary Kay cosmetics. Her last three fingers on her left hand wouldn’t bend. I only noticed this last fall while she typed- they stubbornly refused to move while she helped whip up a program proposal that I would later submit and run. It really is the weird things you remember when someone is gone.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

In the fall of 2000, I took a theatre course as an elective. I had never taken theatre and I was pretty sure I would hate it. I didn’t. I loved it and found myself taking every class I could. I was annoyed with Arthur Miller and couldn’t understand the hoopla over Oedipus Rex. Miss Julie made me weep, The Importance of Earnest made me laugh. Suddenly everything Shakespeare made sense. Suddenly, my life made more sense.

It would have been easier to win a Tony than get Dr. K to burst out into laughter, but when you did, you felt like you accomplished something more than what an award would have brought you. She was the steady force in my life when everything else seemed easily swayed. She never demanded more than what you could give, but she demanded what you give be everything you could. Her disappointment would come through with a glance, and you would know to try harder, work later, give more. She once watched a rehearsal for a play I had written and I remember thinking it would be a success when I heard her giggling in the back of the room.

I remember once waiting for class to start and a friend sharing a long winded quote. As soon as she was finished I said “oh, I like that”, because that seemed like the right response after hearing a long quote by a dead poet. Dr. K looked at me and said “But it doesn’t make sense. What does it mean?”. And the thing is… I didn’t know. I didn’t think to question it, or even consider it might be senseless. I’m still ashamed when I think of how readily I would attach myself to ideas or assign feelings I didn’t feel only because I thought I should. With two sentences said in one breath, Dr. K got me to realize how important it was that I think for myself.

She had a group of us that she held close to her. The ones she selected from her classes, based on criteria I will never fully establish. We worked early on weekends, late on weeknights and became the kind of friends who think nothing of sitting in a back room in striped tights and full silver makeup at 1am waiting for a particular scene to hit the stage. I look at our group now and every single one of us is still tied to theatre in some way. I believe this is because of her.

After I graduated, we drifted apart and it was only this last fall I saw her again through a random meeting in the bookstore. I told her I wanted to do theatre again, and although looking tired and worn, she invited me to her office so we could talk. A few days of meetings and hours of exhausted research later, her papery hands passed me a completed conservatory program proposal. I said thank you, hugged her and walked out of her office.

I never saw her again.

She called of course, but I was always too busy, making plans, seeing friends, getting the program set up. I was young! I was busy! I listened to a message asking me if I could come in and sub her old class, and I listened to her machine as I left a message saying I couldn’t because I was already working.

I should have known something was wrong.

Weeks went bye. I heard she left the college. Stress leave. Due to bizarre circumstances, the college asked me to step in and finish up her classes for the term. I would now take over the rest of the semester for the professor I loved. She left shoes so big, I could have done cartwheels in them. I called her to ask for advice on how to teach students the same age as me. She was packing. She was leaving the next day. Moving across the country for a fresh start, such would be the only option for a woman like Dr. K. She didn’t want to say goodbye to anyone, I was told not to tell anyone she was leaving and she made me promise on the phone over my love for Oscar Wilde. I did. She told me she would call me when she settled, I pretended I believed her.

I’m in her office now. I find that I still think of it as hers, though my name is on the door. Her rushed departure left souvenirs of her life everywhere. Cleaning out the desk I found her Mary Kay lipsticks and date books from 1997 filled with her spidery handwriting and white bottles of gardenia hand lotion (I could never place the scent). I found a sheet of paper that has all of our names on it, the kids she took under her wing for those few years. There is nothing else, just our names and a question mark at the top. I like to think she wondered about us as often as we wondered about her. I found an old Oscar Wilde poster behind her desk that I labored over for a big assignment. It’s seven years old, tattered and is bearing my bubbly name in the corner. I’ve tacked it up on the wall and when people come in asking why it’s there I’m at a loss for words. I haven’t figured out a way to explain that it’s a reminder.

Not of the professor I want to be, but for the one I was glad to have.

Talk less, say more

2007-03-01T23:32:00.000-07:00

My cranium is crammed full and heavy with the things I do not say. This is a reoccurring issue for me, and one that I suspect a therapist would get wealthy trying to understand. (I'm talking like wallpapering the master bedroom in Benjamin Franklins wealthy.) I suspect if my lovely brain was wrung out by gloved hands, a billion silvery thoughts would escape down the drain- with a majority of those thoughts being things I wish would have said, but never did.

And it's one of those quirks that gets more annoying as I get older.

To some people in my life, I say everything that I don't need to say and nothing that I do. I talk all the time unless I should say something and then I become a clueless mute with an intense interest in pocket lint. I spill my feelings about El Nino and Britney Spears and suit coats with side vents but to a few select people in my life, saying something that's important, that's necessary has never been something I could do.

And I hate that.

The funny part is, the things I want to say are good. I have no boiling rage, no intense regrets, no scary admissions. Really. I'm full of nice things to say, I just don't say them. I have insightful compliments and thoughtful condolences, encouraging observations and a few lovely secrets that I know would make people burst with happiness. I know this. And knowing I could say these things and make people feel good is what makes them necessary to say. But yet, I say nothing.

And I don't know why.

Maybe because saying nice things is more work than joking around. Or maybe it's because I've said the nice things and it didn't work out. Or maybe I talk without saying anything because it's less scary. One must always go through the scenario that after saying all your nice things you will be rewarded with the painful sound of crickets.

And really, who wants to risk that?

I suppose this is why they invented Hallmark.

Under My Skin

2007-03-01T00:00:00.000-07:00

There are those who you love. Those who love you. The lucky few who fall firmly into both groups. And then there are those people, the rare- and heartbreakingly lovely people who seem to find a way to seep under your skin and take up residence somewhere close to your heart. Like a memory you won’t forget and can’t convince yourself you should, these people have a lure that makes them impossible to say goodbye to- even when you’ve tried.

I have such a person. A fantastically brilliant, maddening, charming and utterly frustrating person that has a brownstone near my main artery. A person who’s punctuation inspires me to remember to put in my apostrophes. A person who reminds me that there is someone else out there who would choose vanilla over chocolate. A person who reminds me cats aren't all that bad. Due to reasons of fate, logic and personal sanity, it makes sense for us not to be friends. And we aren’t. Anymore. We are a weird hybrid of wary acquaintances and eager strangers- wanting to talk but never knowing what to say.

The hard part was learning that’s how it should be.

I’ve finally discovered that when someone has managed a way under your skin, has set up within striking distance of your heart and hunkered down for some time, you can’t really evict them. You don’t have a choice anymore. Everything they’ve ever said, or yelled or whispered- is stuck with you.- fixed in you. You cannot push ’delete’ as I has once hoped. When it’s impossible to say goodbye, wish them well, find a way to mean it and keep going. It doesn’t get less confusing but it does get less painful.

And if you are very, very lucky you will find that one day when you least expect it -it doesn’t hurt at all.

And that’s how it should be.

Lent

2007-02-26T11:20:00.000-07:00

I'm not really religious. I'm sort of muddled when it comes to choosing a name or a face for what I believe in, but I do believe in something. And I believe that believing in something makes me feel better.

But that's not the point of this ramble. This is about Lent.

I have a friend who practices Lent and I've always been intrigued by the idea of 'giving something up'. Will power has never been one of my strong suits, but that's because I hate the idea of giving something up forever. Forty days of sacrifice? That's something I can do.

It's been explained to me that deciding what you give up should be based on what you like. Since it's about sacrifice, it should involve giving up something you enjoy. (This point was made clear when I heroically declared I would give up folding my own laundry for the next month and a half). Apparently, a lot of people give up a favourite food. I dismissed this quickly. When you've already had to give up your favourite foods (and most food in general), and find that you actually dread having to decide what to cook because there are so few options (think celiac's disease and not a zealous food watcher)... the idea of giving up more food just doesn't seem right. Maybe that's selfish but until you've ate a green pepper for dinner because nothing else in your pantry is safe... do not judge.

I was explaining the idea of Lent to a friend who got me to re-summarize what criteria people used in deciding what they gave up.

Something they enjoy.

Something (in a lot of cases) that isn't healthy.

Something that they eat or use or experience often.

Then it hit me. I know what to give up.

I just have to figure out a way to tell him.

The one where I get sick for an audience

2007-02-25T16:36:00.000-07:00

First of all, let me preface by saying that I love that I'm writing this post directly after writing one about being 'an adult'. It would appear, that my membership to the youth club is still very active....

Friday night a good friend was in town and it seemed vital to celebrate and catch up over drinks. I went out glossed and sparkling, a blur of high boots, the perfect jeans and a red leather clutch. I smelled fantastic and felt that every single eyelash was magnified. (And for the record it was, new mascara makes my heart skip a beat).

A group of us met for drinks and while commenting on how adult I felt sitting at a bar, holding my clutch drinking a martini, I almost spill the sugary concoction all over myself.

This should have been a warning.

Five martinis later we moved on to yet another watering hole. More laughter, political discussion and marvelling at the 'adultness' of having just been invited to a trunk show (hooray!) I was in good spirits.

I was smart. I was beautiful. I was drunk.

Then someone re-introduced me to my old friend tequila and the night starts to get hazy. Suddenly I'm really hot and there isn't enough air. Suddenly I'm having deep talks about the future, feeling hot tears (yes, I'm that girl) and stuttering. Suddenly I'm home. And suddenly, I miss my bed by two feet and with a loud thud make a bed on the floor.

I wake up raccoon eyed and confused. My mouth tastes like I licked a dirty kitchen floor. I lay on the cool ground and close my eyes as the tequila shivers begin. I thank God for a nearby water bottle and then nuzzle into the floor anxiously awaiting the escape that sleep will bring. Then I remember I have to work.

With children. In an hour.

I'm not proud to admit this, but I actually felt tears in my eyes. I washed my face, throw my hair in a ponytail (brushing it hurt) and change into the first things I can reach in my closet. I get sick, brush my teeth and then attempt to wash off the club admission stamp of last night. Evidence of my evening isn't something I want to display to the kids, or more accurately- to myself. It takes an impressive amount of scrubbing and I find myself actually mumbling 'out damned spot'. It's then I realize that it's a bad sign when you actually find yourself identifying with a murderer.

I drive to work stopping outside the local KFC to get sick on the side of the road. At first I consider just laying in the ditch for a few minutes to clear my head but then notice all the cars slowly down to watch me. Because apparently, in my town projectile vomit is worth a second look.

I guess sometimes you need to watch the train wreck jut to feel good you aren't apart of it.

So this is what it's like

2007-02-23T13:51:00.000-07:00

It will start without you knowing it. It will creep up on you in tiny increments until there is no turning back. And you realize now it's smart that it happens in tiny steps, because if you knew that it was going to happen, you're not sure you would think yourself ready. You would find an excuse to dislike it, look for a way to prevent it.

One day your feelings will get hurt and instead of sending an angry email you will decide to sleep on it. You will say sorry first when it's your fault, and you will mean it when you say it. You will wear more sunscreen and a little less sparkly eyeshadow. You find that you give as many handshakes as high fives. You will find that life suddenly begins to eat up your time and daily two hour phone calls about every detail of your best friends life no longer happen. All of a sudden not every lip gloss you own will be named after a berry. You will learn that sometimes people are better off not knowing, and you will be able to keep your secrets secret. You won't apologize for leaving the party early, for not dating someone who uses large stacks of pornography as a nightstand or for things out of your control.

You will floss more.

When your friends talk of their houses, they are no longer referring to the ones their dad built them in a tree. They own their own. They drive cars without rust, wear high heels without teetering and tell you they love you at times other than 3am. They will have offices and responsibilities and suddenly you will know that you can count on them to be there not just for the party, but for the funeral. They will not always know what to say, but they will know that they need to be there. And they will know that is enough.

Suddenly you will know more married people than not- and it doesn't scare you.

You will find yourself a part of a club that you didn't know existed. A club where people talk about 401k's and wine and all the excellent television found on a Friday night. And at first you are reluctant to join the club, but you know you can't go back. So you stay, not always knowing what to say or how you fit in but then you realize being here is less stressful, less dramatic. You find that you feel... relieved, happier to know that there is a life outside the world you knew. You realize this new group also talks about goals and the future and they say things like 'when we do this' not 'if we can ever do this'- and that comforts you. They own plants that don't die, ideas that are theirs and pots that have matching lids.

But sometimes, you will feel wistful. The great stories of dancing all night and drinking from contraptions held together with duct tape will feel over. You will miss the late nights but can now recall the painful mornings. You will fondly remember spending all your money on shoes and clothes but now like the idea of a home and savings accounts and pots with matching lids. You will miss knowing every single detail of your closest friends lives, but then you realize, you are starting to learn the details of your own.

One day without realizing it, you will have become an adult.

Does anyone....?

2007-02-22T11:47:00.000-07:00

Does anyone else ever imagine what the six Jeopardy categories they would most like to have if they were on the show? I think about this regularly and think I have mine narrowed down:

1. Books (preferably books by Melissa Banks or Bob Woodward)
2. Scrabble ( I really think I would do well in this. Probably because when I can't sleep I chose words and try to calcuate their scores. Wow. If I wasn't so awesome I would be a huge nerd.)
3. The Bush Administration (I'm not a fan, I just like reading about it)
4. Sex and the City or The Office (it feels wrong to have tv consume two categories, so I would be happy with either one.)
5. Places that start with "R" or movies starring John Cusack
6. Usless celebrity knowledge

Does anyone else feel that the Barack/Hillary debate is dangerous when people say things like "It's time a woman was president" or "it's time a black person was president", without saying a single comment about where each of them stand on important issues facing the States? Don't get me wrong, although I don't live in the States, I see myself more of a Democrat than Republican, but voting for someone because of what they look like seems just as bad as not voting for someone because of what they look like.

Also, does anyone else feel that there are backup singers on American Idol who should be contestants and contestants who should be back up singers?

And am I the only one who feels just really sad for Britney now? And then, sad that I feel so worried about someone I don't know?

I'm just curious.

Dee Brown wouldn't have pulled this.

2007-02-21T10:02:00.000-07:00

I just read this and felt the need to comment.

For the record, "extremely poor judgement" is when you wear shoulder pads or give a thumbs up review of Speed 2: Cruise Control.

Driving drunk and then leaving your teammate who you think is dead warrants something a little worse than the term 'extremely poor judgement'. It's like saying Britney is currently experiencing a "personal blip". It's just not enough.

To show my outrage, I think I'm retiring my University of Illinois t-shirt this year from March Madness, even though I really rock the orange.

Thanks for nothing Jamar.

Tired

2007-02-20T13:18:00.000-07:00

I'm tired. Not in the "I just ran a marathon and feel so ALIVE but yet so tired I need a good nap and a bottle of gatorade" way but in the "I woke up today counting all the things I had to do before I could go back to sleep" sort of way.

It feels like it's a bad sign when the idea of a life exhausts you.

Maybe it's the month. Valentines Day sends a jolt of love soaked fuel to coupled people. Since I am single, I used my energy in deflecting all the conversations of love, lust and "I can't believe how much we are meant to be together" talk. Right now, I feel I have nothing to add to any conversation that includes the word love. My body is starting to physically convulse when I see yet another happy couple shopping at Safeway. It's not pretty and I'm not proud. Maybe I'm suffering a Valentines Day hangover?

Or maybe it's the weather. I'm a scarf whore but I'm getting tired of the 26 layers of long sleeves and fleece zip ups and warm socks that I must don before leaving the house. I'm tired of walking slowly, planning every step in advance, searching the sidewalk for a glorious patch of raw pavement not glazed with ice. I'm tired of thicky icy roads that become a deathtrap when your truck has tires that are more bald than Britney. I drive nervously, hunched over my steering wheel like a grandmother and feel my neck muscles get angry.

It could be my job. I love my job. I love working with kids and putting on plays and listening intently as they describe the color of icing they had on their birthday cake. But sometimes pretending that each of their new discoveries is as exciting to you as to them can leave me searching for tylenol. I'm not talking about learning how to read a challenging word, or memorizing a difficult monologue- that's the good stuff that's easy to get excited for. But showering excitement every class over new shoes or pet iguanas can be difficult and draining. Realizing that sometimes you just don't care about Roddy the iguana can make a girl feel bad.

Or maybe it's nothing so easily defined in one group- maybe it's a cluster of little things. Thinking of unreturned phone calls, unanswered questions, not understanding how to file my taxes, searching for my favourite pair of mittens I lost , or sweating under a looming deadline I set for myself in regards to a project I started for fun. Maybe I'm tired because I keep making the same mistake- missing the same people I told myself I do not miss. Maybe I'm tired because I don't understand what's happening on Lost or because today it feels like I'm the only person at work having a bad hair day. Maybe it's all of those things, or none of them. Or maybe I just need a nap.

This much I know

2007-02-20T12:31:00.000-07:00

In heaven there will be applesauce, high top sneakers and duvets. You won't need to give explanations, or apologies or change for a dollar. There will be no alarm clocks or tube socks or allergies to gluten. Friendships and milk will never sour with age. You will never lose the reciept, your sanity, or a bet with your brother. Stamps will be free. You won't have the same argument, with the same person, in the same way for years on end. In fact- you won't argue at all.

Oh, and green gummy bears? They will fall from the sky like raindrops.

Addicting? Moi?

2007-02-18T17:58:00.000-07:00

I saw this here, and was ridiculously curious what mine would say. I have to say, the results really boosted my ego. I like the idea of being addicting... like a legal version of crack.

Your Candy Heart Says "Cutie Pie"

You always seem to have a hot date, even though you never try to meet anyone.
A total charmer, you have a natural appeal that keeps you in high demand.

Your ideal Valentine's Day date: multiple dates with multiple people

Your flirting style: 100% natural

What turns you off: serious relationship talks

Why you're hot: you're totally addicting

What Does Your Candy Heart Say?

Sucker...

2007-02-16T14:22:00.000-07:00

I read about this here. And loved it because 1) who doesn't love thinking of all the things they love (?) and 2) I'm a sucker for lists.

Things That I'm a Sucker For...

- Accents. Sweet Jesus, accents!
- the smell of the bookstore
- someone else washing my hair
- tequila
- Ikea
- guys who cry, but who also you know... chop wood and build stuff.
- handwritten letters
- corn in anything I can figure out a way to add it to
- Jon Stewart
- any food that comes on a stick (carmel apple- with nuts, kebob, corn dog...)
- Scrabble
- the George
- 3am phone calls that aren't an emergency
- black and white photography
- puzzles. Not Sudoku, puzzles from a box.
- rootbeer in bottles
- dodgeball
- making lists
- the perfect quote
- fort building
- Aveda shampure
- duvets
- "The Hills". Damnit.
- cotton candy ice cream
- men who play guitar
- toques
- the sale rack
- fat, glossy fashion magazines
- Julie Andrews' sing-a-longs
- snow days
- drink specials
- my bed
- Bob Woodward books
- white tanks tops (can you ever have enough?)
- roadtrips

Man. I love this list.

Truth in the Lies I tell myself

2007-02-16T11:34:00.000-07:00

I always thought I was a good cook. Then I came home yesterday and attempted to make soup. I burnt it and then (in a blinding moment of clarity), thought I could still salvage some by adding water (Note: This was not me being a 'thrifty' cook, this was me being a 'too lazy to start again/ let's be adventurous' cook). That didn't work. I ended up eating a piece of gluten free toast and peanut butter on the kitchen floor feeling sorry for myself.

I've decided that cooking is like speaking french, if you don't practice it you lose it and suddenly you find yourself angry that you told a lie to yourself that you still believed. And you can't decide if you're more annoyed that you kept telling yourself something that wasn't true, or that you so readily believed it.

I decided to make a list of the lies I tell myself and the truth (if any) that is hidden in them. This is what I found...

Lie #1: I am a great cook
Truth: I'm good when I have all the ingredients, a glossy cookbook (with lots of pictures), multiple pans (for when I burn the first batch), an entire afternoon, the right apron and some inspiration (the food network does the trick). Meaning, I'm a great cook, once a year... always a on whim.

Lie #2: The worst pain I ever felt was a broken heart
Truth: The worst pain I ever felt was pulling all my neck muscles in grade 9 and having to wait a day before getting a brace. Broken hearts hurt when I think, pulled neck muscles hurt when I breathe. I can go without thinking.

Lie #3: I'm a great driver
Truth: This is sort of true. I'm great in the "I drive so slow even if I hit a grandmother she would be able to brush off the snow and shuffle away), but in terms of... "being aware" on the road, I suck. This is how I killed a duck and how big red became accessorized with all her scratches and dents.

Lie #4: I know a lot about Canadian politics
Truth: I just barely pass the 'citizenship test' that new immigrants into Canada have to take. I know this because I attempted to take it last night. The three branches of Canadian government? I could only name two. (The House of Commons and the Senate) The third? The Queen. But seriously, when's the last time she was mentioned without the name Helen Mirren attached?

Lie #5: I don't like cats
Truth: Liking cats and being single always seemed like the beginning of a joke that involved a punchline I wouldn't like. The truth is, I like cats. I like cats that like me. Of course I don't like cats as much as dogs, but I do like cats more than I like bunnies or goldfish, and that's saying something.

Lie #6: I believe absence makes the heart grow fonder
Truth: I believe absence makes the heart grow irritable, exhausted and (at times) cynical.

Lie #7: I have no regrets
Truth: I have huge, Grand Canyon regrets. Enough to fill a 10 story library with tattered journals, or displace all the water in the ocean or cover the rings of Saturn. I have regrets.

Lie #8: I remember.
Truth: I can't forget.

Lie #9: I find Ryan Seacrest unattractive
Truth: I'm not sure why, but admitting that I find him hugely appealing seems as wrong as saying you have a crush on your cousin. But there's something about the way he hugs all the contestants, manages to keep a straight face when they are truly horrible singers and the way he wears his jeans just right that makes me think I might love him. Or at least, given the opportunity, be best friends with him.

Lie #10: I'm a great dancer
Truth: Okay, that one is the truth. I am a great dancer.

Deeply Superficial

2007-02-14T14:07:00.000-07:00

I do not feel bad for admitting that new shoes can restore my faith in the universe.

If only doing good deeds did the same thing.

Heard in the dressing room....

2007-02-10T10:08:00.000-07:00

Daughter: Mom, I hate this shirt. It makes me look f-a-t. Fat!

Mom: Don't say that, it's not true. Try on the purple

(Time goes by, I contemplate red lace vs. pink cotton...)

Mom: No dear, the other one looked better. This one makes you look hefty.

Daughter: What's hefty mean?

Mom: Fat

Sometimes I feel like... people should have to have a license to parent.

Some lessons are priceless. Some cost $63.49

2007-02-10T07:01:00.000-07:00

I stamped my boarding pass into heaven this past holiday season with my open mind and willingness to have coffee with people formerly known as people formerly known as "the devils worker bees". It ended up being a Grand Canyon of a mistake. The wrong kind of regret. However, the effort put into it was something to be admired (and rewarded with a shiny medal of courage and restraint) and I took comfort in knowing that such mistakes do not happen a third time. No God, however cruel, would allow a trifecta of mistakes of this magnitude to occur- that much I do know.

Such disappointments usually leave me angry, but I didn't dwell on it. I guess if it hadn't of been expected it would have been more upsetting. But some people (now known once again as 'the devils worker bees') I've learned... will only surprise you with the depth at which they can and will hurt you- anything else seems unnatural for them. It was a good lesson to learn. One I thought I already had, but nonetheless... I wasn't angry. I was sad.

Then I found out I didn't get a job I wanted because I was considered to be "too young".

I lost my favourite pink mittens and my favourite white scarf I tell people I knitted but actually bought from American Eagle.

I had to pay $63.49 for movies I didn't like watching.

I realized that some people can disappoint you more for what they don't do, than for what they do.

I started getting calls where the charming caller just leaves really long messages and sounds like the maniac in "Phone Booth". Worse yet, I know him, and he knows that I'm just not answering so instead of 'not calling anymore', he calls more frequently. And at weird times. Like... 4am this morning.

I discovered my plans for Valentines Day involve working with children who draw me pictures and then decide to give them to other people.

And after everything, I find that I'm only angry now at seeing a quote I told being used. Granted, it's not my quote to begin with (such genius lines do not dwell in my cranium), but still. For some reason, that bothers me more than anything else. A quote I told being used, like the devils worker bee knew it before me. In the future, quotes should quoted like this " Well, this genius I used to know named Brandy once told me that Bill Clinton once said... "

People who call and leave creepy messages. Age-ism. Lost mittens. Quote plagarism.

You know, a girl can only take so much.

My life in music

2007-02-09T10:10:00.000-07:00

If my life was a movie, it would be a musical. I practice the air guitar and dance in my office way too often for it not to be. I'm hoping my life would be classified as more romantic comedy and less of a tragedy. I would be okay with a comedic tragedy, but tragedy alone? C'mon, I'm too funny for that.

The movie of my life would also include a pirate, at least one telephone montage and a cameo by Vince Vaughn (I feel we could be bff, if only given the chance). Figuring out the soundtrack took some time but it's finished. I resisted the urge to pick 'cool songs', and really stuck to picking songs that I felt really fit the time. I even worked at putting the songs in chronological order, because I'm nerdy like that. So in this tidy list of 28 songs are a few heartbreaks, a few loves, the discovery that I have fantastic friends, the loss of home due to a raging fire, a 'wild streak' and the realization that I'm finally learning things I thought I already knew. Music snobs (this means you Matt), don't email and ask (and hope) that there are a few typo's, there are not. The Pussycat Dolls are actually there.

"We're going to be friends"-The White Stripes
"I feel pretty"- West Side Story
"Teenage Wasteland"- The Who
"Part of your world"- The Little Mermaid
"Time"- Chantal Kreviazuk
"Us"- Regina Spektor
"Uptown Girl"- Billy Joel
"If we're in love"- Roisin Murphy
"Hands Open"- Snow Patrol
"Slide"- Goo Goo Dolls
"Get off of my cloud"- The Rolling Stones
"Why Can't I?"- Liz Phair
"Untouchable Face"- Ani Difranco
"I don't need a man"- pussycat dolls
"Collide"- howie day
"I feel good"- James Brown
"Criminal"- Fiona Apple
"Honey and the Moon"- Joseph Arthur
"Don't think Twice, It's all right"- Bob Dylan
"The Old Apartment"- The Barenaked Ladies
"The City"- Joe Purdy
"Shake Ya Body"- Jay-Z
"Call and Answer"- The Barenaked Ladies
"Downtown"- Petula Clarke
"Comfortable"- John Mayer
"Everything"- Stero Fuse
"Something More"- Sugarland
"Wise Up"- Aimee Mann

Hmm.

2007-02-06T12:30:00.000-07:00

What is the statute of limitations on being angry at someone over something they did to you ... in your dream?

It's been over 36 hours and frankly, I'm still a little pissed.

My lips are sealed

2007-02-05T10:26:00.000-07:00

I read this early this morning and it couldn't have come at a more perfect time. I've been feeling like I've been keeping a lot of secrets lately and what better way to share them without actually giving them all away? I've actually written my own list before, but felt it sort of lost something when people started guessing which sentence (confession? admission?) was about them and I told them. So I've decided to try again. New thoughts, new people and this time my lips are sealed.

We actually stole it more than once.

It would be easier if I loved you, but I don't. So stop trying to make me.

It would be easier if I didn't love you, but I do.

You are not allergic, you just don't like it. There is a difference.

An ultimatum will not work, it shocks me that you think it would.

I wish you wouldn't do things that make it impossible for me to like you.

I think of that talk everyday single day.

You tell me too much.

I avoid you because I know I keep letting you down.

Sometimes I wish you would just let me down- it would level the playing field.

I don't get you anymore and it makes me sad.

You are the funniest, weirdest and most original person ever and I'm completely jealous of your brain.

I wish I knew how to be closer to you.

You keep pronouncing it wrong and I don't know how to correct you without looking like a jerk.

Brought to you by the letter "F"

2007-02-05T06:56:00.000-07:00

So I've moved past my obsession with celebrity life (farewell glossy US Weekly and star sighting proving that they are "just like us!") and have discovered that reading other peoples blogs is highly entertaining and unusually comforting (knowing that a gal in New Jersey wants to wear sweat pants but just can't make herself because of how she feels when she wears them really hit home with me). Usually I lurk without commenting, but when I read this I had to reply. Those of you who know me, know that I enjoy anything that gives me a reason not to do actual work and I feel contemplating my views on the letter "F" clearly provides me with that opportunity.

This is how to change your life: Write ten words that start with the letter you are assigned and a brief description of why you chose that particular word. If you feel this might be something that you too would like to participate in to stall you from doing work, email me and I will give you a letter. And no, it won't be X.

The Letter F

1. Fanta: The greatest beverage of all time. If it was possible (and not highly disgusting) I would figure out a way to have an IV of it started up and permanently inserted into my arm. Fanta was also chosen because it's the only beverage (in 6-pack form) I carried in my already too-heavy backpack while traipsing across Europe. My love for it is strong and deep, like a river some might say.

2. Friday: My favourite day of the week.

3. Foosball: The one game that I can't seem to improve upon. I try to play angles and learn defensive strategies but I've come to the startling conclusion that the only time I win is when my opponent is drunk (or just, more drunk than me), or when we play partners and my partner is amazing. I could take my lumps and stay a horrible player, but that goes against everything I stand for. This is why I insist on playing whenever I see a table.

4. Faux: As in the only type of fur I can wear without getting the shivers. My mom is determined that I will jump on the 'fur bandwagon' and will one day express a strong desire to want to wear her old fur coats. I don't see the idea of wearing a dead carcass on my back fashionable, so the coats remain in storage.

5. "Fever": The one song it's not only cool but freaking mandatory to snap your fingers along to and sing with your eyes closed. (I'm partial to the Peggy Lee version)

6. Franck: The greatest character in "Father of the Bride". Don't get me wrong, Steve Martin is great but Martin Short makes me giggle every time.

7. Floss: I feel like I'm an adult because I take this seriously. I console myself with the fact that I still haven't boarded the train of 'mainstream boring adult' because the floss still needs to be flavored. Currently, I'm rocking mint.

8. "F!": The letter I yell out when I'm angry. Like, when I drop a paint can on my foot. However, if the paint can is full and I'm wearing open toed shoes I might elevate it to "fuck", but I prefer saying "f". It's funnier (and that's important when my foot is throbbing), plus I work with kids so I try not to get into the habit of dropping the f bomb- it shocks the kids into uncomfortable silence and leaves parents less than impressed. Trust me.

9. Fred Flintstone: I like playing Scattegories and you get double points when you list something/someone who has double the letter. So my gaming nature makes it necessary to include Fred. Another Fred Flintstone note, I must imitate his bowling move every time I'm at the bowling alley. It's official, I'm a dork.

10. Fate: An idea that keeps me up at night (even more than the idea of failure- another f word), watching Larry King reruns.

Love, love, love...

2007-02-04T18:19:00.000-07:00

Valentines Day is approaching. Actually, I feel like it charging towards me in a blur of pink and red cellophane. I first noticed this the second week of January while at the mall searching for new mittens. Rows and rows of pink and red boxed chocolates, (enough to throw a diabetic into a seizure with a single glance), stuffed toys clutching hearts with stitched cliches and bouquets of roses were all crammed together in a shiny, blurry wonderland of love. It sort of made me nauseous.

As a kid I loved Valentines Day. I’m a craft dork, so the idea of using special scissors and thick construction paper to make cards for everyone I loved seemed not only fun but insanely exciting. I liked the idea of knowing there was one day a year it was expected to say exactly how you felt, the fact the world was smeared in pink and the discovery of who liked you by how they signed their name on their Valentine to you -From? Love? Always?.

I’ve kept valentines that meant something to me and as I look at them I realize that none are from recent boyfriends or guys I met after I got my drivers licence. They are all from a time before spell check and self doubt. My favorite one I received in grade three from a boy with messy blonde hair. It has glue smears on the front and the inside reads (in messy boy printing) “ I’m not 100% shure, but I think I might like you. I will let you know”. I miss that.

Now I feel like Valentine’s Day is the a holiday that truly divides mankind into two groups each unwilling to concede that the other group may be onto something. (Forget the war, it’s Valentine’s Day that’s splitting the world apart) There is the group who loves, loves, loves Valentines Day (and are unsurprisingly spending the day with someone they love, love, love) and the group who hates the holiday and views it as “just another opportunity by large corporations to make you feel like you need to buy shit you don’t need to show people you care” as one friend so eloquently put it. Of course, these are extremes I’ve noticed over the years so in a fit of Elle Woods inspired productivity; I went to the streets and asked the people. (Okay, so I mass emailed, it's cold outside.) Here is what I found…

My theory of the two opposing groups holds steady- sort of. The majority of coupled girls love the holiday. Not for the opportunity to show someone you love them (“I don’t need a day to tell my boyfriend I love him”) but because you like getting presents (“when else is it mandatory that I get flowers?”). I’m not going to lie, as a single girl I found this to be a disappointing discovery. You've found him! You shouldn't just expect flowers, you should go bowling and drink soda with straws! Seriously though, I may be single but I've dated enough to know that expecting things from a man to ground you in happiness will never lead to anything good. (Also, I'm now considering the fact that I may still be single because I think bowling and drinking soda constitutes romance.)

Coupled guys have other ideas. The majority doesn’t like the pressure it puts them under (“I hate knowing that she’s imagined something better than whatever I end up doing”). Fair enough. I love my gender but after talking to what some of the coupled girls are expecting… this Valentines, I would be wary too. Heads up ladies, none of you are getting proposed to on a glacier with a string orchestra in the background- at least none that I know of.

Single guys hate it because they think “that much attention to a holiday focused on flowers is stupid”. One insightful (and refreshingly honest) guy admitted that he didn’t like it Valentines Day because it made not being in love feel like he was failing.

Single girls seem to feel it’s necessary to show the world (and themselves) that they are not just okay but are thriving this holiday season by going out in large packs. High-heeled, low cut shirt armies that take over pubs and recount all the reasons they are glad they are single (#1 being you won’t be disappointed when your boyfriend forgets it’s Valentines Day). Some recounted these nights made them feel better, confirming they are not alone. Others admitted they felt worse and woke up with a hangover plus a few phone numbers of guys they would never have considered taking if they weren’t trying so hard to feel like they were happy alone.

In short, I guess no one is guaranteed a perfect Valentines Day regardless of your dating status. My friend Andy pointed out that Valentines is a lot like New Years. A lot of expectations with no guarantees it’s going to result in love, love, love. I suppose the best any of us can hope for is a construction paper Valentine from someone who tells you exactly how they feel- even if they are not 100% sure.

Quote of the Day

2007-01-26T16:52:00.000-07:00

" I suppose I like free time best. It's the only time I feel free." - Kelby, grade 2 genius

Bits & Pieces

2007-01-25T20:33:00.000-07:00

I had a conversation today that went something like this:

Me: I don’t really like nuts in salad. It seems wrong. Like putting relish on birthday cake.

T: Oh relish, I haven’t been able to have it since…

Me: Since when?

T: It’s a long story, but let’s just say I walked home missing my socks.

My everlasting fascination (re: prying obsession) into other peoples lives wanted to hear the story but time ran out (I was at work after all) and I missed hearing how one goes from underrated condiment to shoeless and hitchhiking. (Left to fill in the blanks, my mind imagined a story involving a plastic pool, donkeys, a pirate named Lubby and fireworks.) I realized that if I thought about my life, there were a million random bits and pieces- places, numbers, sayings and songs that reminded me of a stand-out, character shaping story that no one knew but me.

Quiche, tin foil, crazy carpeting, Davos, card games, fortune cookies, Charles Dickens, and a love for Russia each reminded me of good friends and insane activities- most of which would make my mother flush, or at least wring her hands like a dishtowel. I think the crazy carpeting tales would result in not only blushing, but also the asking “for the love of goodness, why?” repeatedly while wondering how it’s possible that we share DNA.

Filed under the category of “stupidity that still makes me blush”, I find the sharp memories of a paper hole punch, calamine lotion, my views on the ocean and Susan Sarandon. Dusty bottles of cooking wine, lemonade and my obsession with radio volume also make the cut and leave me shaking my head in both awe and amazement that I survived my youth in pursuit of misguided attempts at fun.

If I dig into the bank of “love or it’s cousins- lust and like”, I find myself immediately drawn to the thought of a math assignment. (Some memories fade, but I’m entirely convinced that one will stick with me forever.) My favourite pink sneakers, leather jackets, the smell of my mom’s laundry room and how it feels to wake up with the beach as your pillow, each also make me sigh with happiness.

Sorting through these bits and pieces and putting them in a category makes me understand why oatmeal cookies make me wistful, paper crowns still make me proud, and why I have a sneaking suspicion Seattle will always make me sad. The story I have of each, or more accurately- the story influenced by each, is more memorable than the actual item,- or place.

I glance around my office and wonder what random item found in here, what word I could say or song the radio could play that would prompt the people I know to divulge their own secret stories. Ones centered around relish and chaos, or South Bend Alabama and falling in love or a game of cricket and a sadness you’re not sure you will ever get over.

I imagine every story involves a pirate.

Bush League

2007-01-18T12:26:00.000-07:00

Life Lesson #139: It's probably not the best idea to alienate yourself at work because you strongly disagree with a lot of George W. Bush's policies and all the narrow-minded people you work with who like him only because their parents live in Phoenix. (I know. It doen't make sense) Stony silences and dirty looks due to arguing over a president who rules a country you don't live in is never the path to upper management.

Hittin' it like a lady

2007-01-17T10:56:00.000-07:00

So I was at the bank today and saw a girl wearing a shirt that said:

"i fuck like a girl"

I couldn't help but think that it would have been funny if it said "tiger" instead of "girl". I mean, that would be a t-shirt I would throw down for. Plus, it would (finally) give me something to wear on a first date.

Garbage day with the Hendersons

2007-01-12T07:10:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning with the kind of start that only comes when your body is trying frantically to remind you of something your head has forgotten. I realized that today was garbage day. Bleary eyed and rocking serious bed-head I scrambled around the house trying to collect two weeks worth of garbage. I threw on a fleece coat over my pajamas and trudged through knee deep snow, grumbling the entire way in the still dark morning.

At the end of the drive I dropped my bag. Despite the -30 temperature, I stopped to dump out the snow that had began to numb my sock-less foot and saw that I wasn't the only person who was out. Next door an elderly man and woman were emerging from their home with trash bag in hand. She grabbed his arm to prevent a fall and they walked leisurely towards the street. The spectacled man waved me over.

He said good morning, introduced himself as Ray and explained that he lived next door. He offered his services if I needed help with anything and told me that his wife Audrey made excellent chicken soup- if I was ever interested.

I expressed thanks through chattering teeth and made a joke about how nice it would be to have an escort to take the garbage out with.

Audrey looked at me and explained that her and her husband always took the garbage out together. "It's silly, but it's something we always do. It's our thing, I guess you could say."

I nodded like the idea of designating 6am cold January mornings outdoors lugging trash as "couple time" made perfect sense. It didn't- it was insane. I said my goodbyes and turned to retrace my deep footsteps back to a warm home. I reached the door and turned to wave at the Hendersons and saw they weren't looking at me. They were looking at the sky. Audrey said something and they both laughed. Then Ray kissed Audrey and they began their walk inside together, linked together through puffy coats and knitted mittens.

I looked at them and realized that if they were insane, I wanted to be too.

I walked inside alone.

Snow Day!

2007-01-10T11:53:00.000-07:00

Snow Days feel like free money. They come out of nowhere, leave me ridiculously excited and dangerously ambitious.

The howling winds, zero visibility and freezer-like temperatures sparked school bus cancellations and ended my commitment to teach grade five math today. I considered going back to sleep, but like all good children (at heart, anyway) with a day off from school, I realized that sleeping would waste this day.

Instead, I attempted snow shoeing. While walking a dog. Who hates walking.

Fully encased in layers of fleece and thermal, I trudged into the backyard- reluctant dog firmly in tow. I will spare you all the details of falling down a hill and almost being dragged when the dog spotted deer, but needless to say it was fun. As much fun as you can have with snow packed into your ears and down your right pant leg. I'm not sure if I will ever feel my toes again and I wasn't aware that powdered snow could cut you- but it was entertaining.

I'm so excited about today.

Up next: making smores in the fireplace.

"What the hell!" moment #293

2007-01-09T14:37:00.001-07:00

Outside looks like a shaken snow-globe, with big fat flakes falling everywhere. It's the kind of weather that promotes high hot chocolate consumption, all day cuddling and the abandonment of high heels for boots with tire like treads. I had the urge to hibernate but I needed a fix that could only be remedied by a trip to the local video store.

After paying for more Jack Bauer time, I stood inside beside a wall of Will Ferrell disappointments and looked for my keys. I searched for my remote car starter on my keychain and couldn't find it. Had my remote car starter fallen off? I then searched my pockets, my bag and still it was no where to be found. There was a panic that crept up my throat as I watched the other customers leave and smugly push a button to pre-heat their vehicles already encased with icy snow. With each person leaving I felt the gust of wind enter the store leaving me cold right down to my toes despite my layers of fleece. My worry increased and my search became more frantic. I dug through old receipts and bubble gum, phone numbers and leaking pens. I came up empty handed. I had lost my car starter.

Then I realized, I don't have a remote car starter.

Painful life lesson #293: Thinking that you should have something doesn't mean that you actually have it.

Minus the Papercuts

2007-01-06T12:06:00.000-07:00

"The Perfect Saturday"- (n): a extended period of time following a 'madcap Friday' but before a 'lazy Sunday'. "The Perfect Saturday" consists of sleeping in late (and therefore missing the marmalade smear of morning sky- that's a Sunday activity), followed by reading the paper in bed (it's vital that newsprint gets on you) and eating fruit you can catch in your mouth ( I suggest grapes- pineapple gets messy) while trying to get comfortable laying on hardwood floor. When enough food has been caught to satisfy, "The Perfect Saturday" turns to it's main event- reading by a fireplace, or any other indoor heat source that has comfortable seating near it. If no fireplace is available, I suggest turning on a blowdryer and lighting a candle (for atmosphere), or turning on the stove- furnace room reading gets claustrophobic. (Reading selection is a matter of choice, but "Special Topics in Calamity Physics" left my heart full and beating quickly.)

After reading till full of envy and similes, "The Perfect Saturday" must include something outside. I suggest snowshoeing, pc snowgroup making or (if your 'boots are feeling heavy') a lay down in the snow while you search a blank sky for answers to questions that keep you up at night (such as "how old is Vanna White?" or "will I always make bad choices or am I just on some 'bad choice making streak' that is sure to end soon with much fanfare and applause?"). After you have built the politically correct snowfamily complete with 2.3 children, or have become soaked from snow (and have begrudgingly realized that the answer to life's small questions are not going to be found in the lone cumulus cloud hanging like a chandelier directly above you), it's time to return inside and drink apple cider tartier than your cousin who used to be a hooker (I do not kid). For reasons unknown to me, it's imperative that your favourite toque stays on while you burn your throat drinking your favourite beverage in a mug that says " Everybody loves a friendly cheetah".

After you've consumed your little mug of heaven, a movie needs to be watched. I suggest forgoing anything heartbreaking (Andre, Shindler's List, Little Man Tate), extremely violent (No Tarantino) or any moving picture that includes Jessica Biel (oh wait, I can't even remember a movie she's been in). The perfect movie for "The Perfect Saturday" needs to be one you've seen before (the why of this will soon be explained). Perhaps "Good Will Hunting" or "Bottle Rocket" or "Casablanca" (the last has an astounding number of funny lines). After settling into the movie with a blanket, kleenex (if it's Casablanca) and Sunkist Vitamin C tablets (better than candy), it's important that you promptly fall asleep. (A good sleep while movie watching is only acceptable when it's a movie you've already seen, otherwise you should feel full of guilt sleeping through someones lifelong dream on screen).

Upon waking, it's imperative that you play, watch or coach something that involves cheering. A good cheer revitalizes the senses and gets the blood flowing (in a way that watching Shindler's List clearly cannot). In March I find this task especially exhausting but rewarding (staring at the creepy facial hair of Adam Morrison always gives me shivers), but one must find something to cheer for each Saturday in order for it to reach 'perfection'. I suggest college basketball, street hockey with illegal sticks and/or gluten free bake-offs. (Feel free to send the completed baking results to me).

What happens next is undecided and fully determined by personal choice, attitude and color of parachute. (Because clearly everything else is determined by fact). "The Pefect Saturday evening" is up for debate. Dinner, dancing, smoking cigars. Boardgames, cold drinks and victory dances. Cow-tipping, running and aliases. The rest is up to you, like a "choose your own adventure" minus the papercuts.

I shall....

2007-01-05T16:51:00.000-07:00

I love the idea of New Year's resolutions. I love the idea of lists. I love the idea of using 'shall' in many sentences. Thus, this seems not only a good idea, but a necessity.

My 2007 To-Do List

1. I shall continue rocking my new bangs, my favourite jeans (complete with hole) and my side ponytail with complete abandon.

2. I shall make continue making Nancy Regan proud and "just say no" to: half hearted attempts at friendships with people who are jackpot tragedies, re-joining the Grey's Anatomy bandwagon and succumbing to the tasty (albeit dangerous) lure of The Olive Garden.

3. I shall eat more ants on a log. Peanut butter! Celery! Almonds! So good!

4. I shall start watching "The Wire", finish a Sudoku puzzle and will stop apologizing for loudly singing along to "Life is a Highway" any time it plays.

5. I shall not feel bad for needing confirmation that I will not die alone. I will also stop putting myself in a position where that thought even crosses my mind.

6. I shall stop worrying about Reese's happiness and consider my own. Unless of course, damning photos come out of Ryan and his rumored love Abby Cornish. Then, naturally, Reese's happiness will become a top priority.

7. I shall consider the possibility that me standing on one foot for 20 minutes, cheering with a toothbrush in my mouth is NOT the reason for Canada's world champion hockey victory.

8. I shall start memorizing all 1014 3-letter Scrabble words, but will also work on 'toning down' my obnoxious victory dance. (It's getting a bit.. out of hand)

9. According to my friends I have a problem with actually 'answering' my phone. So, I shall work on improving my 3/27 pick-up rate. That's just for you Darci.

10. I shall do more things that are good for me and less that are not. ( And I shall continue being as vague as possible when I'm too tired to go into details)

A Sidewinder Season

2007-01-03T12:10:00.000-07:00

The last two weeks have included more ups and downs than the Sidewinder roller coaster at Knott's Berry Farm (which happens to be my favourite roller coaster ever, f.y.i). I realized why I hate flying, why I love crossword puzzles and how to correctly pronounce the word 'romoarita'. I cried so hard I laughed, laughed so hard I cried and discovered I'm an aggressive Jenga player (and could probably go pro if I could get the time off). I spent a lot of money, lost a little pride and became aware of all the reasons I do not drink Red Bull. I found out my mom is the best actor I know (" I love getting 8 mini jars of jam!") lotion kleenex makes all the difference and how to win at Sports Scene It (tip: be on my brothers team). I discovered that I'm getting old, found out what makes me feel scarily young and who to talk to when I'm unhappy about either. I learned that I can't peel my eyes away from Flavor Flav, that I can keep a secret and how to take on 43.6% of blame.

I've learned that 'unmuddling' everything that feels muddled in my life brings me more happiness than I would get discovering the last digit of pi. And my attempt to feng shui my life didn't come from one choice or one realization but from two weeks of serious thinking, a pay phone phone call with my sensai, a quote that's stalking me and of course- my mom.

I'm exhausted but to the surprise of the Westjet flight attendants (especially the overly peppy "Kyle" who has a serious hate on for GP) and my friends who must listen to me rant- I'm happy.

And methinks that being happy, coupled with the knowledge of what happens after drinking Red Bull in the backseat alone on long car rides is possibly the best way to start 2007.

(Update: 2 hours and one cut knee later, I've decided that I need to feng shui my truck and move to Bali where there is no ice to slip on or trucks to unearth from 8 inches of ice)

Amy Poehler make me laugh

2006-12-21T21:15:00.001-07:00

Two Can Play This Game

2006-12-19T18:43:00.002-07:00

My favourite holiday game involves me asking the people around me what would be the worst gift I could get them. When they (inevitably) say that they would be happy with whatever I got them, I go on the attack. I list off the worst possible gifts I'm considering purchasing them and watch them pretend that they would love it. Eventually however, they admit they would hulk out if I made them large installation art made out of animal bones and corn husks and I declare victory. I thought I had perfected this conversation until I called my mom today...

Me: I was just curious... what would you think if I got you an Ihop gift certificate for Christmas?

Mom: What's Ihop?

Me: International house of Pancakes.

Mom: But we don't have one here....

Me: I know. But there is one in Edmonton. You could just take the 5 hour drive for pancakes and come right back. 10 hours roundtrip, but they are pretty tasty mom.

Mom: Well, that sounds good. I'd like a great reason to go to Edmonton, I haven't had pancakes in a long time. I would hate to use this gift alone though, so I might ask you along for the trip.

Me: But I can't eat pancakes.

Mom: No, but you can have juice. Besides, wouldn't you feel bad not being there to see my appreciate my gift?

Do not try to outwit the person who brought you into the world.

Mom:1 Me: 0

And then I went "Ohhh Ahhhh!"

2006-12-17T21:48:00.000-07:00

If I die tomorrow please know that the last thing to make me happy wasn't a well timed phone call, extended olive branch or a surprise Christmas card in the mail. All of those were lovely, but the last thing to have made me almost weep with happiness was purchased on a whim for $7.

It was JP Spa Gingerbread Sugar Body Scrub.

An impulse buy chosen to help get me ready for Christmas since the 900 gazillion Christmas CD's purchased, on-going hunt for a fantastic Christmas tree and fashionable red polish I was sporting weren't doing it. I was skeptical, because I'm not really a fan of gingerbread, but I'm glad I took a chance. This $7 purchase has changed my life. Or at least, my showers.

I opened it tonight and felt the heavens open up. I actually jumped up and down with excitement, it smelled so... lip smackingly delicious. Mouthwatering. It smells like all promises kept and love letters received and every good thing that's ever happened to anyone- ever. After standing in the shower inhaling what paradise must smell like for a ridiculously long time, I smeared it on my legs and went"ohh ahh!". It's like.... mmmmagic- multiplied. The perfect texture- not too grainy but not too... well, not-grainy. And after the water washes off the grainy bits, you are just left insanely soft skin. It's almost illegal how good it makes you feel.

It's magic, -that's all there is too it. I've never had a better shower, never smelled so good and have never been more convinced that heaven does exist.

In short, I'm ready for Christmas.

Germy

2006-12-15T12:14:00.000-07:00

I'm sick. Again.

And instead of having a boyfriend who will make me soup and hold my germy hand and pass me kleenex when I sneeze with abandon, I am single and have a cat who stares at me.

And then leaves.
Which is fine. I don't want the cat to get sick. He's old.

I've decided to relish this opportunity and not feel bad for missing work, or skipping a chance to Christmas shop or continuing my law breaking scheme. Today is a day to watch movies with a rootbeer candy canes and an orange juice IV. And while my germy eyes scanned my humble movie collection I realized that while sick, stressed out, or tired, there are certain movies I will watch again and again.

These include:

- Good Will Hunting (Fav Quote: "... and let me save you the suspense, this girl you've met she's not perfect either."- the idea of not having to be perfect comforts me when I'm wearing sweats, with itchy eyes and a runny nose)

- Say Anything (Fav Quote: "I am looking for a dare to be great situation." OR "The rain on my car is a baptism, the new me, Ice Man, Power Lloyd, my assault on the world begins now". Because anyone who refers to himself as Ice Man is cool in my books.)

- Sweet Home Alabama (Fav Quote: "Like I could tip a cow BY MYSELF!"- because I completely understand where she is coming from. It's ... impossible.)

- Garden State (Fav Quote: "I'm okay with being unimpressive. I sleep better")

- JFK (I don't have one, but I do appreciate how serious Kevin Costner can look in those glasses)

- Rounders (Fav Quote: "If you can't spot the sucker in the first half hour at the table, then you ARE the sucker"-or pretty much anything said by Teddy KGB)

- When A Man Loves a Woman (It's not about the words, it's about Andy's eyes. I'm swooning.)

- Bottle Rocket (Fav Quote: "I don't think your happiness is quite appropriate" or " We almost did it, didn't we?"

- National Treasure (Fav Quote:"We have to steal the Declaration of Independence!!". I wish I was joking about this movie but I must come clean. I'd like to think I'm drawn to it for it's references to American history, but, it could also be Nic's ability to both squint and growl at the same time. Nicholas Cage just sucks me in like a black hole.)

Feel free to drop off soup. Or presents. Or soup and presents.

Flair: 2007 Style

2006-12-14T18:17:00.000-07:00

Little Known Fact: I was in Brownies

I started out as a mere pixie but worked my way up to full Brownie status in record time because I hated not wearing the sash and having a chance to wear badges. Why? Badges = Flair

Even at an early age, flair was important to me. And although I no longer remember most of the badges I earned (other than a cutthroat game of lawn bowling that gave me the bowling badge and my cake baking badge that would have made Martha Stewart squeal with glee), I still like the idea of showing off your talents through badges. Or... as I call them, flair.

Which got me thinking. As we get older, the obstacles we surmount and the goals we reach become even bigger, so where is the flair now? There are definite achievements and battles I've had to overcome that I feel are completely badge worthy and should be showcased on some ultra hip sash-like accessory.

These Include:
- learning how to cha-cha in Spain
- surviving a really bad break-up (notice the 'really')
- explaining to my college students why theatre makes them better people when they all just want to go for a smoke
- teaching my ma how to do a tequila shot in Mexico
- discovering the perfect sentence to whisper
- backpacking up an Italian *mountain while fighting mono
- letting it go (it? Him?)
- speaking at a funeral, playing a musical instrument at a wedding and holding a baby without dropping it
- moving a too big couch into a too small elevator (unless you've attempted it, you have no idea)
- not always asking 'what if?'
- baking the worlds best cookie
- possibly liking cats

Still on my flair list (it sounds a lot more hip than 'to-do'): becoming a skilled snorkler, understanding how to do my taxes, learning how to catch a baseball and becoming modest.

Can we ditch the brown cotton sash with the gold piping though? I'm thinking they could be improved...
* Erin, it was a mountain.

Losing Ohio

2006-12-14T14:36:00.000-07:00

Today I couldn't find my Ohio quarter. I retraced my purchases and realized that I spent it. On a cup of peppermint tea. From a vending machine. Life is not fair.

Only 45 more states to go.

Again.

Carrying Ohio

2006-12-12T15:39:00.000-07:00

I found an Ohio quarter in my bag today which made me ridiculously happy.
Only 44 more states to go.

Conversation of the Day

2006-12-10T18:19:00.000-07:00

brandy: Do you think we could have Dali Lama like calmness if we could ask the entire world one question and get it answered?

Matt: I suppose if it was something like “Will I ever be completely fulfilled?” or “What’s the purpose of my life?"

brandy: No, I was thinking more along the lines of “what the hell do you all want from me?"

Matt: That could work.

10 Lessons Learned From the Chicks I Know

2006-12-06T13:35:00.000-07:00

It seems people read blogs, but instead of leaving comments, they email you directly to complain about what they don't like. Or better yet, they call you. (The 'better yet' isn't sarcasm, I'm bored out of my tree at work.) I have decided that in the fairness of all the lovely chicks I know to give them their own list...

1. How to chug a beer (classy, I know)
2. When to stop talking.
3. Two words: false eyelashes.
4. How to catch a gopher.
5. Soccer moms are hot.
6. How to run in high heels.
7. "It's difficult to do anything but love someone when that's exactly how you feel"
8. I could not date a man named Destiny.
9. Nothing happens if you don't show up.
10. Tequila makes me want to dance.

Everything else I learned from Mr. Dressup, National Geographic magazines, Martha Stewart, late night tv, or through the painful experience of trial and error.

10 Lessons Learned From The Men I Know

2006-12-06T12:24:00.000-07:00

1. You can never have too much hot sauce.
2. If you want something- initiate it.
3. Why it’s important to have transmission fluid checked.
4. How to not punch like a girl.
5. Sweats can be beautiful.
6. How to grout.
7. They don't know what they are doing either.
8. How to spit.
9. Regrets don’t equal mistakes.
10. I hold my breath when I sleep.

Quote of the Day

2006-12-04T21:00:00.000-07:00

" I'm not wearing a plaid shirt because I'm ultra trendy- I'm wearing one because I chop wood."
- Moose

Wanted: Island Commrade

2006-12-03T21:32:00.000-07:00

I’m in desperate need of distractions. If my ‘fight mode’ is avoidance, my current way of dealing with life in general may be classified the same. However, that doesn’t sound healthy so let’s stick with ‘needing distractions’.

In the spirit of keeping myself busying with mindless activities, I started doing yet another email survey that some clueless sap sent to me. It was pretty mundane and my clever wit can only creatively answer the question “vanilla or chocolate?” so many times. Surprisingly however was #11. Seriously, out of no where was this question. Like a diamond in the rough. Okay, that’s definitely stretching it, but it’s better than trying to defend a flavor of ice cream.

11. If you could take one person, one book, one piece of technology, one article of clothing, one CD, one object of sentimental value and 3 pieces of survival gear with you to live on a deserted island for six months, what would be your choices?

Okay, so I have to admit, I've thought of answers for each aspect of the question but my person, my deserted island comrade, is faceless. I have decided that listing the characteristics might help me narrow it down. I hate not knowing ahead of time, because what if this was to actually happen? And I had three seconds to make a choice? I need to know who I would take! On to the specifics....

1. This person must be male between the ages of 25-35- based purely on the fact that men in that category would be stronger than men or women in any other age category. And because he and I would probably have a lot in common- which is important in deserted island scenarios. Oh, and I feel strongly that this person should be a stranger. If I went with someone I knew, well... if we didn't get along, or the stress of the island brought out the worst in us, it could ruin the friendship. I know. I'm thoughtful.

2. Also, I require….someone who can do long division in their head (I would just find that fun to watch)

3. I prefer non-smokers. I envision a smoker getting angry when they go through with drawls on the island. And really, I don't want this trip to be marred by nursing someone back from the dark side.

4. He needs to be able to make sun dials and keep me posted on the time (why this is important I’m not sure. I just feel that it is)

5. Someone who understands that I am not a morning person (because if they didn’t understand that, our island experience might not be as lovely as it could be…) is absolutely necessary.

6. It's important that he has some medical training so if I cut my foot they would know what to do and would do it in the manner of "serious-yet-determined-doctor, similar to Dr. Jack on "Lost".

7. He must enjoy playing games such as "I spy", "Scrabble" and "20 Questions" (And for those of you wondering how I would get Scrabble on the deserted island, it's one of my three 'survival gear' items)

8. It would be a plus if he could wrestle a shark, catch fish and know a lot about building huts. Or at the very least, fashion a hammock out of island debris.

9. It's important that he doesn't tire of me asking questions (such as.. "what time does the sundial say now?")

10. Someone not named Wilson. It would just be weird.

Heard in the hallway

2006-11-30T11:48:00.000-07:00

Girl: Chris! That's her. That's our professor!
Boy: No way.
Girl: I know. She actually dresses like she's from the same century as us.
Boy: Holyl shit. I'm changing my major.

Because that's how I roll...

2006-11-27T20:35:00.000-07:00

I'm impulsive. I'm reckless. I've been known to make bad choices and love every second of it. Why? Because sometimes that's how I roll. I've noticed this carefree attitude attracted to all that is bad has taken hold of me lately and refuses to loosen it's grip. And although I love it, the consequences of such an attitude has left me to ponder why lately, behaving badly feels so good.

I'm sure there are a million definitions of "bad", but for the point of this ramble, let's stick to mine- "of poor quality, unskillful, incorrect, wicked, offensive, harmful, injured, unpleasant, distressing and/or evil. (The last being my personal favourite)

Now before I continue let me say that I do have many good things going on in my life and I DO make good choices. I am not a strung out alcoholic who's like a piece of birthday cake with everyone having had a pieces. I promise. I am a good girl and make thoughtful, well-planned, logical choices-99.9% of the time. I refuse gluten laced food, would rather drink lemonade over tequila and have an unnatural obsession with cardigans (and yes, loving cardigans deems you 'good'). I play scrabble with a man who hugs his grandma and I floss before I go to sleep. I'm no where near close to destroying my life with my poor choices but it still makes me wonder.

My bad choices haven't left me feeling sick like gluten, nor have I woke up foggy of the last nights events (as is the case when tequila and I become fast friends). My bad choices have resulted in some awkward silences, hurt feelings and a few sleepless nights. Which makes me wonder- why make them? Why make the choices that I know are bad? Because it's the bad choices, the reckless attitude, the impulsive words that cause the thrill? Is that it? And if it is, is the thrill worth it? Why is it that it's the things that are bad for us- the food most damaging, the drink most destructive, the words most harmful that feel so good? That are so easy to justify? Would the cookie taste as good if you knew you shouldn't have it? Would we still say what we do if we knew there was a different outcome? Would you have another drink if you were assured there would be no headache the next day?

I like to think yes, but today I'm not sure.

Of course the downside to eating that second piece of cake, having the third martini or smoking the last cigarette is the after effect. The sick feeling- the hangover, the realization that there is a consequence to the pleasure a few careless acts can cause. And each time I suffer through this, I promise myself I will make the changes necessary. But then the cardigan doesn't fit right, the "what if's" run through my head and I make a choice I'm already regretting.

Why?

Because I'm impulsive. Because I don't have a 5 year plan. Because sometimes feeling good wins out over logic or smarts or any sense of appropriate behavior.

Because sometimes, that's how I roll.

Charmed, I'm sure.

2006-11-26T18:49:00.000-07:00

F.Y.I.: Ten Sentences That Will Charm Any Girl
(or at least.... me)

1. I play ____________ (insert any musical instrument here) .
2. Oh this picture? It's me and my nieces at the park.
3. Roger Moore IS the best James Bond!
4. I'm man enough to admit, I cried when I watched ___________ (insert any appropriate movie here. NOT appropriate movies include: Striptease, Gigli and/or any movie starring the Olsen twins.)
5. My greatest joy is making others happy.
6. I don't smoke. ("unless I'm on fire", is the perfect ending for a girl like me who likes lame lines, but I don't feel it's necessary for the charming to take place)
7. Paris who?
8. I understand.
9. Can I make you dinner/shovel out your truck/buy you a small island/challenge you to foose?
10. You're right.

Jon Stewart and Me

2006-11-25T11:57:00.000-07:00

So I've succumbed to peer pressure and have started an actual blog. I've done this for the following reasons:

- I have a few spare hours to kill before I watch Bond kill
- I actually enjoy writing but feel that my attention span won't allow me to compose a novel
- I was told I should (and after this, I'm jumping off that bridge)
- People are annoyed with the yellow star that keeps showing up on my msn space each time I waste time there.
- I want to join the pretentious masses who tell you they 'blog'

I want to be a blogger but I have a sad feeling no one reads the blogs of random people. People read the blogs of individuals fighting off serious diseases, battling mother nature or discovering cures to diseases with really long names. Or famous people. Even I admit, if Jon Stewart blogged I would most likely read it everyday. Okay, even if he just typed out a grocery list of a complete stranger I would read it. Daily. Like, at 5pm.