Loincloth thoughts

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

Comment Horror, Comment Whore

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.

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.

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?

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.

Being Called the "C" Word

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

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.

I second that Emotion

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.)

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!)

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.

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.

This much I know

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.

My life in music

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

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.

Germy

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.