I didn't know this would be so stressful...

...so I'm just going to stop thinking about getting engaged. Promise no more posts until it happens.

Instead, I'm going to talk about Paris Hilton. Because I can.

I may not exactly be the most hip or with it person, but I'm not too shoddy. I know my J Lo's, my P.Diddy's and what "crunk" means.

But what the hell happened in the world to allow Paris Hilton to get so huge (figuratively)? Is this the second coming? Is the Apocalyse nigh? At what point did someone say, "you know what the kids really need? They need someone to look up to...to give them guidance in this world. We need someone that will let those precious children know that, even in this time of uncertainty and war, there is something that can be depended on, relied upon, something certain and stoic to give them a sense of belonging and place".

And this beget Paris Hilton. And it was not good.

That spoiled bitch has made me ashamed of my generation, and despairing for others. Why do we put some piece of skanky, white-trash-with-a-mastercard slut on a pedestal? Gosh, that was a little rude of me, but COME ON! Someone who makes a living out of taking her clothes off (oops) and losing her cell phone (oops) and ditching friends (oops) and stealing boyfriends (oops) and having a boy-toy BECAUSE he has the same name as you and it's just so, like, totally cute and some junk.

Purlease. It makes me mad that there are relevent role models out there, and I can't see them because of all the stupid Guess posters, House of Wax trailers and Entertainment Tonight garbage press that this girl gets.

I'm starting to look up to Brittney Spears. Seriously.

OK, what the hell is going on...

I guess I'm not the only one with wedding fever. MB's email account (which I have access to...since "the incident", we've kept an open door policy on our email) has a saved email about engagement rings hidden in one of his files.

Eeek.

Somebody stop me...

...because I sure as hell can't stop myself.

After Tuesday's upset with the flooring, and Wednesday's apology and subsequent "making up", I am now back to dreaming (literally) about weddings.

Over the past month, it has become almost intolerable. I lay my head down on my pillow each night and these visions and dreams just spill from the sky: weddings, marriage, flouncing down an aisle, having babies, loving each other when we are old, just plain old being married.

It's our little routine in the car each morning that MB asks me what weird and wacky dream I had the night before. I am a very vivid dreamer, and he delights in what oddity my subconscience played with the previous night, especially as I can remember every last detail! After having one wedding dream last month, I told him about it to test the waters. It was a really cute dream actually. MB and I were going to get married, but it was so casual and relaxed. I put on a dress, he picked me up in his car and we drove each other to church, holding hands. I gave some lady in the last pew my jacket to hold while I got hitched. We walked down the aisle together, hand in hand. It was sweet, and it was real. I told him all of this and he seemed good about it, but after the second, third and fourth dream on the same theme, I decided to keep my mouth shut for fear of scaring him off in some way.

However, I am now scaring myself with the intensity of all of this. Yes, I do want to be married to him, yes, I would like to get married before I'm an old maid. However, I'm more looking forward to being MARRIED, not to having a WEDDING (which is just a party in a white dress, really). The other night, I dreamt that MB was Tom Cruise (i.e. he looked like himself, but he was Tom Cruise!) and we were getting married in a hotel, and I was throwing my batchelorette party. Another night, we were having a baby. Other times, we are just plain old walking down the aisle.

It's all confusing, and I wish it would stop. It's making me nervous and on edge about the whole thing.

Can live with him...can't kill him...

After all of the blissful postings about MB the last few weeks, the other shoe had to drop at some point. I don't understand how you can be so happy and in love one minute, and muttering under your breath about hating him the next.

We went back to the clients house to finish the floors. This will be, oh, about my 18th hour working on this floor, BTW. For free. As a favour. So HE can have some extra cash.

We start out ok, but ever since Sunday, he's been in this cranky mood. Not necessarily directed at anyone, just generally in a mood. So we are laying the floors, trying to get the floors straight. During this time, I'm trying my damndest to keep a quarter inch gap around the floor because we need it for the floors expansion. Unfortunately, the hammering of the pieces together shifted the end pieces and they ended up beiung closer to the wall than I would have liked. Oh well, I thought, I'll just try and correct the problem as I go...no big deal. We get to the transition between the living room and dining room and MB looks up. "You didn't leave a 1/4" gap" he says, angry. "I tried" I say "But the pieces kept on shifting and you told me not to use the spacers, so it was difficult". At this point, he says "You just don't care anymore do you?" to which I wanely smile and say "Of course I do". He again accuses me of not caring and starts going on about how it is essential to have the gap, and am I stupid for not telling him about the problem? He starts shifting the floor around to create a gap, while I just stand there like a mute. OK, I know I should have left more of a gap, but the floor will be just fine, and I DO CARE!

So, I just bite my tongue and take another piece of the floor and start putting it in, but I can't get it to line up right, so I'm sort of holding it in the groove to figure out where it is catching, when he grabs the piece from me, says I'm just fucking around now, and shoulder barges me out of the way. I was crouching on my heels, so I fall over and have to put my hands out to stop myself from going sprawling. I couldn't believe it! He just shoved me!!

At that point I get up and just go wander around the kitchen so I don't start bawling my eyes out (note: I'm very, very sensitive and I can cry at the drop of a hat). Besides which, the client is in the house and I can't be crying. So, I'm doing the whole waving the hands in front of my eyes to stop myself from crying, and I sit on the stairs to cool down. I don't want to start an argument here. MB just throws himself into the floor, sawing and snapping like a crazy man. Eventually, he asks if I'm going to help. So I get up and go to help again. I told him I didn't appreciate being pushed, and I want an apology. To that, he says "I'm sorry for pushing you" in that sarcastic, condescending way that guys do (girls, you know EXACTLY what I am talking about), but I let it go. Not here, I tell myself. I take another piece of floor, still near weeping and a little shaken up about the pushing. I am kneeling to snap it in when he tells me the piece is broken. I ask him how he knows, and he points to a big chunk out of the side I hadn't noticed. And I'm putting it in backwards, he says with a sneer.

Now I'm mad and upset. I go to put the piece down but I guess I was more mad than I thought because I threw the piece more than I placed it down. He starts yelling "HEY! Stop being such a child!" and then I start to cry for real. Between trying to hide tears, I kept laying the floor. After this point, he was so rough and gruff with the flooring that he trapped my fingers twice, once was hard enough to break the skin on two fingers...this did not help the crying situation.

I didn't say a word to him for the rest of the night. I can't believe that I'm trying to help him out, and that's what I get. I'm not a professional flooring expert and he knows that, but I AM trying my BEST and I'm certainly not messing anything up on purpose. I take great offense to that and to be shoved around and insulted because of a mistake is inexcusable.

Girls, you are going to REALLY hear me about the next part. All of the way home, he's asking "what's wrong?" in a sweet, concerned voice.

SIDENOTE: You know what guys? When you ask a girl what's wrong, and she says "nothing" and you get all pissy because you think that you have to guess what's wrong with her...just think back to what you have done/said that past hour/day. It's probably directly related to that. You are just in denial that you did anything wrong because you are too clueless to figure it out. Stop being so bloody self absorbed and realize that, if your girl doesn't want to tell you what's wrong, it's not going to be because of something that happened to her at work, the shopping centre, or the gym. She won't want to talk with YOU about it, because it is something that YOU have done, and she is waiting for an apology. And if you don't know what to apologize about, just use your brain. The north brain, not the south brain.

Sorry about that rant. Anyway, expect for the rudeness, the shouting and the shove, I guess nothing was wrong, right? I don't know why guys go into instant denial as soon as they've done something wrong, but oh well. I just can't believe that here he is, asking me what is wrong and trying to be really sweet, when all we need is an apology. How clueless do you have to be to not realize that shoving your girlfriend may warrant her getting a little upset?

Anyway, after the uncomfortable drive home, and an uncomfortable drive in this morning, I get an email. General gist of it is:

a) What's wrong?
b) I'm sorry I was cranky
c) BUT (Dr. Phil says that a BUT is just a way of negating what you have just said)
d) I wanted it done perfectly
e) BUT (see above)
f) That wasn't an excuse for being rude
g) Is there something going on at work that you are upset about (!!!: see above sidenote)
h) I love you

Yeah, I love you too...you just make it so damn difficult sometimes...

Working at the bookstore, as promised...

A while ago I started to write about former part-time jobs I've had while I was in school. Now is the time to document "the bookstore", for it should go down in the annals of history as one of those "truly weird times" in my life.

I took the job in the bookstore because a) I thought it would be easy, b) I liked books and c) it wasn't dangerous. Turned out it was easy and I still like books, so this must have been the perfect job right?

Oh so very wrong. Before I relate this story, let's just get one thing straight. Me = bad. I was bad, very very bad. I accept this, and have moved on.

Okey dokey, so I began work in March (shortly after the nipple incident at the bar) and proceeded to learn how to use the systems, talk to customers without strangling them and sandpaper the books (yes, sandpaper the books...to send them back to the publisher for a refund if they didn't sell, they had to look in pristine condition. Therefore I was told to get a fine grade sandpaper and buff off all of the marks they had picked up through manhandling. Quite a trick!). That's when I met Kenny, who was technically my superior. Kenny was sweet, Scottish, utterly mad, a political genius, crazy smoker, and was working in a bookstore. We hit it off right away. I guess at that point I should have told him I had a boyfriend, but further and further we went into this friendship, the stupider I felt for not bringing it up. Besides, I liked the attention, I liked HIM, and I liked where this was going. So I stayed schtum*. I drove myself to work, my boyfriend never came in, and I worked evenings, so everything supported this ommission. Kenny asked me out for drinks, I said yes, and oops, now we are kind of dating. I liked him, I really liked him, but I was living (yes, living...remember me = bad....I know, I know, I know) with my boyfriend at the time. The whole thing was great, expect for the overwhelming feeling of "wrongness", that I felt whenever I went out with him, but Kenny just put it down to me being a private person...he didn't know exactly where I lived (ommission, not lying on my part) and I stayed at his place frequently (I told my boyfriend I was staying with friends....ok, THAT was a lie).

I didn't know what to do, it was spinning out of control so fast. If I split with my boyfriend (a distinct possibilty...we were great friends, but not great anywhere else) I would be homeless...how do you explain THAT to someone who thinks you are seeing each other exclusively. I had no money, and I was tied to the lease to boot. But I LIKED Kenny, and it was all agonizing. In the end, I drove him even more insane with my "private" nature, increasing his already present paranoia about the whole thing. At the end of those few months, I had him going almost 'round the bend with my excuses, makey-uppeys and outright lies (like when one of the girls at work saw my boyfriend drop me off one day when he needed the car. She told Kenny, he confronted me, I denied it (I know, I know, I know) and he apologized).

In the end, I called it all off; sick of the sick feeling I had everytime I went outside, sad and lonely and needy still, but unable to do anything about it. I said it was because I was about to graduate (true) and I said I loved him (true, insofar as a 21 year old is capable of love) and I said I'd think of him (true). But I was going home and I couldn't keep it up, despite all of that.

I left him a broken man, saddened and torn up inside over this woman who said she loved him but still left. I asked his forgiveness later on, never quite revealing the truth, but trying to make my peace. We left it where it was, fond memories of botanical gardens, mad late night conversations, and overcooked pasta in a tiny flat in Leith. I will always miss that; his oversized jumpers, his face. I think of him often in regret.

Kenny C. bless your heart. I'm sorry.

Bookstores are bloody dangerous.


* This means "quiet" in English slang

Oh, the irony...

I watched Super Size Me last night and have had a craving for a Big Mac ever since.

Somehow, I don't think this was exactly the response that Morgan Spurlock was going for.

I've been on my knees all week :)

This is something that MB doesn't exactly like me saying when we are around company, but it's pretty much true. Tonight we go back to finish the laminate floors for a client. She had such an uneven floor that we had to level it with EZ Flow and leave for 24 hours, putting a huge crimp in our plans (and I'm sure, her's too) to get it done in a weekend. So back we go tonight for more knee-based hammering and sawing, followed by more painting in our bathroom. We can't use the shower until we paint the ceiling and therefore we are only having tepid baths so that the steam doesn't affect the primer. Renovations suck. After the walls, we have the trim to paint (more "on me knees" time). I'm getting old. My ass muscles can't take the strain!

MASSIVE SPECULATION REPORT:
On another note, since this is MB's side business and I'm just helping out as a favour, any money he earns is his to do with as he will (and since he has debt and I don't, I don't see this as unfair). I asked what he was thinking of spending his riches on, knowing that he wants to get a new router table and other tools. He looks at me and says he's not telling. I mention his plans for a router table and he says again "I'm not telling". I warn him to please not spend the money on me, because I am making more now and I don't need anything. And he just smiles at me. Could this be the beginning of something, or have I just been looking at way too many Bridal websites?

I wish that I knew what I know now...

I live my life with no regrets.

Plenty of "oh god that was humiliating and horrific", but no regrets.

I feel that to regret is to deny what we have become, as we are the sum of our experiences, good or bad. That being said, I wish that I could tap my 15 year old self on the shoulder, and impart these words of warning:

1) Take care of your knees.
2) Drink more water.
3) Put sunscreen on your hands and moisturizer on your neck, and of course, keep putting both on your face.
4) Don't eat the Chicken a la King at the school cafeteria.
5) Look people in the eye more.
6) Stand up for yourself (I am the poster child for "Doormat - Now available in people size!")
7) Always have a comeback.
8) If you think someone is being rude, but you aren't quite sure, they are definitely being rude.
9) Stop biting your nails NOW! Not later. NOW!
10) You are not ready for a serious relationship. Wait until you are 25. Seriously.
11) Don't stop writing / acting / dancing ever.
12) Don't take American History as a degree. Take Journalism or Marketing. American History is a hobby, not a vocation.
13) Save your damn McDonalds paycheck. You'll need a house more than you'll need a new Alanis Morisette CD.
14) I know I have no regrets, but please avoid M, A, J, J and P. They contributed nothing but heartache to your life.
15) Don't be so aloof. I know you are just shy, but you come off as aloof.
16) Don't play games.
17) Don't sing karaoke in the Canary Islands.
18) Actually, just stay sober in the Canary Islands...that should solve a few issues.
19) Be sad about not having many friends. And then stop being sad and do something about it. Oh, and it's not just you. It's sometimes them.
20) Don't put up with any crap from your mother.
21) Yes, you are doing the right thing. No, you shouldn't look back.
22) The person who said "if you fall off the horse, you should get right back on" obviously hadn't been on "Fern", the demon pony. If you don't like horseriding, you don't have to do it.
23) Don't get drunk at Lisa's wedding.
24) Take more photos.
25) Don't go down the river rapids waterslide at Centerparks. Your nose will thank you for it.

O Sister, where art thou?

My beautiful, talented and clever sister, E, is about to turn 18. This, combined with an impending "gap year" before she enters University, gave me a splendid idea.

I will fly her out to visit me as a birthday gift.

I think this is a lovely idea, allowing her to get out of the house and just BE 18 for a little while, instead of the worried and sensitive person that circumstance has made her. However, she has been so reluctant in the past to make this journey, and I hope that my offer will be accepted this time.

Now I just have to wait for her to email me. Crossed fingers!

The trim is done!!

The final coat of paint went on my trim last night in the bedroom...I'm thrilled! Now we just have to prime and paint the window, buy new drapes to replace the blanket that has been our blind for the last two years, buy fabric to go inside the French closet doors, make new bedside tables, make a new bed, and buy a new dresser! I see the light!!

Oh, and bless him, MB didn't flinch when I showed him my mastermind plan for the scrapbooking station. He's going to make the frame out of plywood with a beautiful oak veneer. It is going to look wonderful. Then he is cutting some brushed steel sheet metal to attach to the side of the piece so that I can place magnetized holders for all of my most used tools...that way I won't have to keep opening and closing drawers...it will all be right at my fingertips! Can't wait for him to start. If we weren't laying another floor this weekend for a client, he would be working on it...oh, I hope he gets going next weekend!

A little word about someone I hardly know...

Moirebri is the person who inspired me to start blogging. I came across her blog by complete accident, oh, about a year and a bit ago. I was searching for recipes or somesort and saw her reviews. For some reason or other, this led me to her blog and I began reading it on a daily basis. I saw strength in character, adversity over hardship, joy in small moments, and best of all, just a damn good heart.

I've just found out that she's sick at the moment, and I'd like to take just a little time to wish this very brave woman luck, strength and triumph over her illness.

M - you have inspired me to be more honest, be more brave, take more risks, love more and often, and try and be the best person I can. I know that sounds like a lot, but its no exaggeration. Keep going kiddo.

Oh, and read her blog, it's very, very good (the link is on the bottom right).

Everything I own is crap

I knew I'd eventually find something to whine about, even with my run of good luck recently.

(Sidenote: You know when something goes really, really right in your life, so much so that you actually say that little mantra "I'll never, ever complain about anything again"? Well, that basically goes out the window after the honeymoon period)

Now that I have a little bit of extra money coming in, it's time to freshen up the house, my wardrobe, and me in general (and god do I ever need it). I did a rekkie* of the entire place, and now have to prioritize what to fix / replace first. And here's my conclusion:

Everything I own is crap.

No word of a lie, these are the items of furniture that need to be repaired / replaced asap:

• Coffee table (crap)
• Bed frame (crap)
• Bedside tables (#1 is ok, #2 is a wooden crate = crap)
• Bedroom dresser (double crap. It's not only ugly, but it's huge without any real storage areas = crap)
• Kitchen table and chairs (actually, I love it because MB built it in Grade 9 and it still looks good. But we really need a set that more than two people can sit at comfortably)

These are things that I really need, because we have too much stuff and no storage. This also doubles as a list of things that MB has promised to build at one point or another:

• Bookcases (need, need, need thanks to our voracious reading habits. Our beautiful books are now in boxes in the cold room)
• A scrapbooking workstation (because I have so much "crap", as MB likes to call it)
• Pantry (this was actually started in 2004...see previous posts for explanation of general household procrastination on this one. All my dry groceries are on the floor of my kitchen)
• Quilt boxes to preserve my heirlooms. Right now they make great cat cushions.
• Coffee tables / bedside tables / kitchen table and chairs. However, we never seem to have the right tools for the job, so MB has to go out and spend money (that we would have used to buy new furniture) on the tools that he never has the time to use to make things. *sigh*

So, all the furniture in my house, except for the couch, is in dire need of replacing or repairing. Then I went tomy wardrobe, expecting just to have to buy some new pieces to change up what I already have...but it's never that easy, is it? For some reason, everything I have purchased within the last year has mysteriously gotten stained, the hem has fallen down, the seams have ripped or has shrunk. I hate this. I'm a great believer in fixing things, but what can you do with a beautiful white linen skirt with a great big yellow splot in the centre of it? Or my silk skirt with a mysterious oil stain? Or my pink skirt which has a massive blue ink stain for some stupid reason. My brand new sweater with two pink dots on the sleeve?? I'm going mad!

So, all of my new stuff needs serious detailing. Then there's my old stuff. It's crap.

I just feel as if I'm going to have to replace / repair 90% of the stuff in there, and that's actually not a good feeling. Don't get me wrong, I love to shop...but when you are physically out of clothes and seriously cannot find something to go to work in that isn't stained, ripped or clubwear, there's a problem.

This is going to be expensive.

* slang English for "Reconnoiter"

Soul Food

My version of soul food is the type of stuff I ate when I was a kid. Most of it sounds utterly disgusting now, but I indulge very occasionally. Today was peanut butter on celery sticks. Sounded good in theory, but now I'm completey grossed out and a little nostaglic. Some other foods I'll be trying again in the next few days to see if I can still keep them down:

• Fried peanut butter and banana sandwich (the staple food of my teenage years)
• Ramen noodles
• Apple juice
• Lucky Charms
• Crumpets heated in the microwave with butter (bletch!)
• Peanut butter and jam sandwich
• Twix bars
• Chocolate milk made from powder (like Nesquick)
• Mashed potato on its own...as a meal
• French bread pizza (God that makes me feel like gagging already)
• Bagel bites
• Pizza pockets
• Club and Penguin bars (these will have to be imported from England)
• Those little fruit jellies from Japan that look like eyeballs
• Easy Mac (*gag*)
• Anything in a juice box
• Oooh! Oooh! Capri Sun's!
• Cotton Candy
• Spaghetti O's (on toast)
• Baked beans
• Tuna cassarole

I think that's enough for now. All of these foods bring back memories of either school lunches, snacks that I made before my Mum got home from work, or very distressing and cheepo University dinners. I don't know how I ever missed getting scurvy...

Salsa and a Mama Sita

MB doesn't dance. Not at all. Not even the white man shuffle. This has been a major point of contention between us (yeah, we have nothing better to fight about, right?) mainly because for 18 years, dancing was my life. I was going to be a ballet dancer until I grew boobs and realized I didn't want to develop an eating disorder. Oh, and there were a couple of small points about bad joints, and a general lack of flexibility and talent.

But still, I have dance in my heart. I dance whenever I can. By myself when I clean, in the shower, mowing the lawn, wherever. It is who I am, and to neglect that part of me, well...it's as if a little part of me inside has died. Nothing makes my heart soar more than being led out onto a dance floor by someone who really knows what they are doing. I yearn for weddings just so I can dance to a romantic song.

But with MB, those times are very few and far between. We got into an arguement a long time ago where I basically made it clear that I didn't want to be standing in the middle of the dance floor on my wedding day, while my groom sits with his arms crossed at the head table. No-one can hate dancing THAT much, can they?

So, we took baby steps. He agreed that we would only dance if he had steps, so we went for swing dancing lessons. The lessons were fantastic...I got my fix while he was learning. Unfortunately, this all went to pot our first time on a real dance floor. He couldn't remember the steps and it all fell apart. I was frustrated to get so far and flop, and I lost my temper. This set us back, oh, about 6 months. He never wanted to get on a dance floor again.

So, we were at an impass. I asked him what the issue was. He replied that he looked stupid dancing (thanks to the constant put downs of his then-wife...cheers to her, I have to deal with the fallout...and now I had aggrevated the situation) and that he was flat out scared to do it, phobic even. During one of our counselor visits, he likened it to my fear of spiders...completely irrational, yet it was still there. I began to understand a bit more then. I can understand how fear is irrational, but even if I cannot understand it, that doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

We began slowly again, slow dancing at weddings. Not one ounce of criticism from me, just gentle encouragement and gratitude for the moments stolen on the floor.

(Sidenote: One thing that has always bugged me about MB is that he is so stubborn, so firm about what he will and will not do with me, but he is open to suggestions of others. If he complains of constant stomach aches, and I recommend that he cuts out the eight cans of fully-leaded pop he drinks a day, he doesn't believe me. If his personal trainer tells him the exact same thing, he'll take his word for it. If I've been wanting to go to a Japanese restaurant (my favourite), he'll refuse because he doesn't want to try it. But if his staff at work want to go and have Japanese, he'll go and try it with them, but not with me.)

So this brings us to this Saturday. I've been wanting to go Salsa dancing forever, but he's always refused. Until now. And guess why? A girl at work was having a birthday party at a salsa club and invited him (and me) to go. So we went. First, it hurt my feelings that he'll go when someone else asks him to (but not me) and second, we just sat there, watching everyone else have such a good time dancing. For me, it was like bringing a starving person to a buffet and telling them not to touch. Brutal. I actually was choking back tears for a few minutes at the unfairness of it all. It didn't help that the birthday girl is hot, and they work together closely (she replaced my position). But all that changed when he asked me to dance...

We danced for a few songs, actually doing really well. I could have danced all night (I felt like Eliza!) but it was over too soon.

Baby steps, baby steps. Now if I can only work on my little "jealousy" issue...*sigh*...

Grand plan...ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod

Lying awake last night, listening to MB sawing wood, I did some math. And I hate math, so it must have been important, right? I worked out, to my horror, that if I wish to get married before I'm 30 (yes, yes, totally arbitrary year, I know, quit bugging me :) I will have to be engaged by December of this year. Yikes.

How so, I hear you ask? Well, I'm 28 and it's 2005. I wouldn't want to rush an engagement, I want to enjoy it and take things easy and just enjoy being MB's fiance (ooh, just got chills). So I figure, a year is good. However, I've always wanted a winter wedding. A years' engagement to would have to begin in December 2005, in order to be hitched in December 2006 / January 2007, before my 30th b-day.

That sounds too stupid for words doesn't it!? Time doesn't matter! Who gives a flying fig if I'm not married by 30...right? RIGHT???

Oh god, I do care. I do I do I do I do care. I'm such a traitor to modern feminism.

Internet + POW = Complete Chaos

The third party software that POW uses as their email system is crap. Total crap. I've been missing emails all week, can't send certain things out etc...it's very very frustrating. Worse the censorship on the internet is getting worse...I guess the IT folk are working out which sites I check during my lunch break (nothing bad) and gradually shutting down our access. Today just takes the cake...I purchase banner advertising as part of my job, and the banner that we purchased to advertise ourselves has been censored...BY OURSELVES! The error message came up, you are trying to access advertising...well, no duh!

I'm going to look into getting access at home!

Listening to Jann Arden today...

...on the radio. Her latest song is all about picking up and starting over somewhere where no-one knows you, and I started wondering why I didn't just pick up and leave when things pretty much hit rock bottom for me in April 2002.

Sidenote: Of course, if you've seen my earlier post, you know that rock bottom was still to come for me...but the whole nature of "rock bottom" is transitory and I can always hit another rock bottom in the future. It's funny how you can go through things and you think it can't get any worse, but of course, it always can. That's almost a direct quote from my mother...always the optimist.

Anyhoo, the whole song revolves around just getting in the car, jam-packed with all of your belongings and just driving, driving, driving.

Got my hands on the wheel, got my foot on the pedal
Gonna drive till I drop, till the tires turn to metal
Gonna sleep when I'm dead, gonna laugh like the devil
Gonna find some place where no one knows me
Gonna stop when the last drop of gas turns to vapor
Gonna ride till I can't even seem to remember
Who I was when I left and it don't even matter
Gonna find some place where no one knows me

I wonder why I didn't do it, when things were at their worst and there was nothing for me where I was at that time. Why didn't I go? Was it fate that I should stay, and meet MB instead? Is this all part of the plan. Yet, this still holds some sort of appeal to me, even now when I am happy. The thought of the power, the potential that lies behind just packing it in, packing up and moving out. Wow. The grief and the empowerment. I wonder why I am thinking so much about this now?

*Ren-o-vate, good times, COME ON!*

On a whim, MB and I have decided to tear our house apart. OK, that's being dramatic, but we are redoing our bathrooms. OK, that's a little dramatic too...we are painting and adding new light fixtures, window treatments etc. Despite the fact that we have never finished anything that we have started, we are forging forward with this plan. Case in point...when I moved in, in December 2002, we decided to put new laminate floors in the bedrooms and paint. This weekend (yes, that's April 2005) I was painting the trim. Not necessarily our fault...we are just bad at home renovation. The story of this bedroom is as follows:

January - June 2003:
1) Pull up old carpet, remove old trim and closet doors, seal floor
2) Lay new laminate
3) Paint room with 6 coats of red
4) Nail on wooden trim after delay because saw breaks, and new saw is purchased

June - December 2003:
1) Wonder what to do with closet doors. Start shopping for new ones without cheesy mirrors

January - June 2004:
1) Find French closet doors. Decide to frost the glass
2) Frosting runs out. Buy another can and reapply
3) Frosting looks crap. Remove by scraping off with razor blade
4) Decide to stain doors to match floor and trim. Tape off and paint doors

June - December 2004:
1) Stain looks crap. No idea what to do now because nothing matches the trim. We decide to screw off for a while.
2) Brain blip! We can paint the lovely wooden trim white, which will match the doors that we can also paint white. We put 4 coats of paint on the doors.
3) Mount closet doors. Party held in celebration.
4) New trim purchased for closet doors and around door frame
5) Trim returned as it's the wrong size
6) New trim purchased for around door frame

January - April 10th 2005
1) Applying extra sticky primer to wooden trim, as the regular stuff just sloughs right off
2) Two coats of primer applied
3) Door and closet trim applied
4) One coat of primer applied to remaining trim

And this is where we are now. I look forward to our completed bathrooms in 2011.

Happiness, happening?

For those who know me, you are aware of what I have been through over the past 12 months. For those who don't...well, now is the time to spill. In July of last year, MB and I encountered the biggest challenge of our relationship, which we grimly refer to as "The Incident". If any of you know what Ashley Madison is, all I need to say is that I found MB was on it, actively looking, with a photo of us on our holiday to advertise himself (but with me whited out, of course).

I was thrown into a total tailspin. I moved out, back in with my father and step-mother. Oh, that wasn't awkward at all. Being the father-type he is, the consolation I received was heartfelt but limited. Mummy-moo was 2500 miles away. I had no boyfriend, no savings, nowhere to live, a job I hated, and a suitcase full of clothes. I left my cats, my things, my whole life behind. There is nothing, no words, to describe how I felt right at that moment. "Broken" is the only word that even comes close to summing it all up.

I scoured rental ads, cheap condos in bad areas of town, planned to buy a car (but with what?) and then there was the day after day after day that followed where I had to work with MB. Be civil. Smile. Don't cry don't cry don't cry don't cry. Do your job. Don't let anyone know.

And at night came the soul-sucking downs where I doubted myself, my attractiveness, my body, my face, my personality, and the constant question of "why?". What had I done? I didn't know, and he couldn't tell me. The phone calls started up, after the initial period of self-enforced no contact. I wanted to know everything, EVERYTHING. Did he actually progress to the point where he had an affair. The answer was no. Did I have to get tested for anything. I felt sick to my stomach, but he said no. I didn't believe him, nor should I. He had lied, why would I believe a liar? Nothing he said made it better. He told me he was stupid, he was bored at work, it meant nothing, he never met anyone in person, just the raunchy emails back and forth. Photos. I felt sick.

The next stage was the counseling. I threw myself into therapy with a vengeance (paid for by work, thank god). It made me feel worse. I don't know how anyone manages to do it, to be honest. She asked that I read "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus". I laughed. It turned out to be the best thing I have ever done.

The phone calls continued. He sobbed, screamed, begged, pleaded with me to come back. I'd never seen him cry before. We talked and I was understanding to a point. He still didn't know why did it. I demanded he go to counseling. He accepted, which I found very strange. I demanded joint counseling too. He refused, which I found very strange. Eventually we went, and the counselor took a firm stance with me. I couldn't look at him. We changed counselors because of the bias (which, while I found her bias comforting to me, I understood how it wouldn't work in this situation). We talked, we cried. Issues were raised "pre Incident" that I wasn't aware of. We both did so many things wrong. So wrong. It had only been a matter of time before something of this magnitude happened to us.

The big alarm clock of the soul. Wake up.

I moved back after 6 weeks. We talked and we talked. We kept going to counseling, and I made peace with my decision. The aftermath was horrible. Everyone who I had told thought I was insane, and I lost friends. My mother and my father both knew what had happened, how were they going to be able to sit in the same room with him when they knew what he had done to me? The first few weeks, I'd wake up and not even be able to look at him. I hated him, what he had done to me and to my life.

Today, I woke up and thought (not for the first time) that it was the best thing that ever happened to us. I'm not kidding. We are closer, more open, more understanding of each others feelings. The trust has been slow to return though, I still don't trust him with my whole heart, but the difference now is that I know this will come, just as the counselor said, over time.

It will be our three year anniversary in June, and will be almost 1 year at that point since "the incident". We have healed and are looking forward to our future. It is truly happiness, happening. He has made those tiny, awkward, trying-to-be-subtle conversation points about marriage..."Your parents were married in summer right? What season would you want to be married in?", "Oh, look at that ring in the window, do you think it's nice?". And I'm ready.

If you told me a year ago that this would happen, I would have said that there would be no way that we could recover. Now I realize the depth of my heart, the value of his love, and the strength of my soul. No matter what happens in the future, I know I can cope. Now and forever. For better or for worse.

Letter to the Women Using the Facilities Today

To woman #1: I don't know how you think spritzing some water on your hands for 3 milliseconds is going to protect me from your germy mitts. Here's a tip: use soap. Oh, and for the soap to do its job you have to actually lather for a full 15 seconds at the very least. I prefer 30, but hey, that's just because I don't like injesting e-coli over the course of an afternoon. Call me crazy...

To woman #2: You are a working professional in a highly paid field. What would possess you to graffiti the inside of the stall? Are you nine? Do we need to send you to the Principal's office?

To woman #3: Let me make an introduction - Garbage bin, paper. Paper, garbage bin.

To woman #4: They are called "Brush Ups" and you can buy them everywhere. I don't even like seeing MB brush his teeth...why on earth would I want to see you do it?

To woman #5: If you are so paranoid that you line the seat with paper, at least flush the paper after your sparkly clean butt has vacated the general area. I so LOVE to sit on people's butt paper...no I do, I do!

To woman #6 (probably related to woman #5): I know you flush the toilet using your foot. And I guess now I understand why...I mean, why would you want to touch something with your hand when someone has touched it with their foot! Am I right? Dumbass. Now I have to flush the toilet using paper. Thanks buddy.

To woman #7: It's called a plunger. You should use it. God, you must be in serious colon denial. Eat more fibre girl.

To woman #8 who strategically draped 8 squares of toilet paper over the holder because the paper had run out and you couldn't tell until you got busy: You are a goddess, an utter vision sent from above. Thankyouthankyouthankyou!

The Tough Decision (or, Everything is Cyclical)

Everything that will happen has already happened before.

No, I haven't been watching too much Battlestar Galatica, but it does ring true. After a hard two months of house hunting, MB and I had a tough conversation yesterday. It has becoming increasingly apparent that we simply cannot afford the type of house that we want to move into. After looking at so many "maybe" and "hmmm" type of houses inside our price range, and comparing them to the "wow" and "beautiful" houses outside of our price range, we've decided to stop torturing ourselves and just call it a day for the timebeing.

The plan was always to make our next move a "semi-permanent" home...stay for 5 of 6 years, then move on up to the "dream home". The problem is that everything that we can afford is the type of home where it is either:

a) really small but quaint and full of character, and you have to gut the place (not worth the time and effort because it is too small to be our keeper for life)
b) a good size but characterless and boring, but we don't need to do anything to it
c) a good size but characterless and boring, and we need to gut it

None of these options is good for the semi-permanent home. I would prefer:

d) a good size, quaint with character with a few fixer-upper jobs (i.e. new bathroom, wallpaper etc)

But of course that comes with a price tag. So, we've decided that instead of settling for the boring, we'd just stay put, get some more equity built in our existing place, and start doing those reno jobs we've been putting off because we were going to be buying a new place!

The funny thing is, the last time we looked for a house was two years ago, and after looking for three months, we came to this conclusion that April. Tough break, but what are you going to do?

Kicking my own ass

I am definitely my own worst enemy. During a bout of the blues recently, I have decided that those last 4 pounds have got to go...no matter what. Never underestimate the power of a good sob session and an "oh woe is me" attitude to get you moving (albeit probably temporarily). Now, I have ruled out the forearm removal option of my earlier post, but have definitely found room for improvement in the consistancy of my exercise. Therefore I have rolled out Operation: Kick My Own Ass, which involves weight training two days a week on my lunch break, cardio three days a week in the evenings, and a Saturday Body Pump class just in case I'm still breathing by the weekend. I estimate full success by June 1st. Hopefully sooner, because I'm not allowed to buy any new clothes, eat french fries or have alcohol until this is done (subclauses 2.3, 8.7 and 12.1 of Operation: Kick My Own Ass, respectively). I did the weight training AND cardio yesterday. I feel like I'm going to throw up / fall over / pass out...not necessarily in that order. I hurt everywhere. Bloody great.

God, I even hate talking about this. I hate people talking about their weight and their struggles. It bores me to bloody tears. I can't help just nodding along to their whining while thinking about eating a Big Mac.

But part of me realizes that I must talk about these things, for my own good. Because if I put it out there, then it's real and I must succeed, otherwise Operation: Readers Kick My Ass comes into full effect.

Wish me luck!

Commentary on Comments...

I swear I'm going nutso...my comments keep on getting deleted. I still receive them, so please everyone keep posting them...this whole site is on the blitz.

Chicken Curry: Reloaded

This is my third meal of chicken curry in two days.

Curse my budget-conscience cookery!