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...
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Monday, April 9, 2007
Monday, April 2, 2007
I got kidnapped too!
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?
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?
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Lessons on a Tuesday
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!)
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!)
Monday, February 26, 2007
Lent
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Tired
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.
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.
Sunday, February 4, 2007
Love, love, love...
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.
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.
Friday, January 5, 2007
I shall....
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)
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)
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
A Sidewinder Season
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)
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)
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Two Can Play This Game
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
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
Sunday, December 17, 2006
And then I went "Ohhh Ahhhh!"
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.
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.
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