Holy Site Meter!

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

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.

When a good run can break your heart

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

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.

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

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.

Eyes Wide Open

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.

Cheating: A words game?

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?

Under My Skin

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.

So this is what it's like

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.

Truth in the Lies I tell myself

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.

Bits & Pieces

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.

Garbage day with the Hendersons

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.

Minus the Papercuts

"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....

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)

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

Flair: 2007 Style

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

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.

10 Lessons Learned From the Chicks I Know

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

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.