The best fiancee ever

It's true, I am simply the best fiancee ever. Let us evaluate the facts. This weekend I:

1) Sent MF a cute little evite for "date night", bought dinner at a fancy schmancy restaurant that he's always wanted to go to, and planned a night of martinis and comedy clubs to go with
2) Didn't complain when he said he had to go to a sales conference for the rest of the weekend
3) Cleaned out the garage and the cold room while he was gone
4) Cooked his favourite meal (lamb shanks) when he got back
5) Got tickets for a live taping of his favourite tv show

Hell, I'D marry me. I rule.

"Pay Day" is just another term for "Soon-to-be-broke"

Broke = (pay day - date night)
Where date night = night out at oyster house
If oyster house = (oysters x 24 + 1 large shrimp cocktail + Dungeness crab * alcohol consumption) where Dungeness crab = $75

The Tart of Compassion

I used to be the biggest frigging pushover in the galaxy. I'd give a stranger shoes if he needed them. I wore buttons against animal cruelty, testing, and even eating if they weren't properly cared for. Once I worked with a 50 year old woman called Sue (yes, her real name) for about 3 weeks. She was hired as a personal assistant for my evil boss Cruella. Sue had just come off gastric bypass surgery and couldn't eat anything bigger than an egg roll at any point in time. Every lunch time however, she'd ask me to pick her up an Egg Foo Young when I was out and about. She could barely walk the 400lbs of herself down the stairs for chrissakes, so I always obliged. We'd then sit on Cruella's porch (home office) while we ate. Every three minutes or so, Sue would get this look on her face before discreetly vomiting into her mouth. After the puke, she would go back to eating the pile of eggy psuedo Chinese food before repeating the chunder. Nice. I believe I lost a dress size in those three weeks, it was an interesting time.

I believe it was about day 14 of her working there when she came to me crying. Cruella was letting her go. She couldn't believe it, there should be a law! Yeah, something about not working and being too fat to move across the room to pick up the phone smacked of discrimination. She wailed that she wouldn't be able to pay her rent and that she'd be kicked out. Conveniently, this sob story came on pay-day. Being as I was, I offered to lend her $200, to which she almost squeezed me to death and even offered to WALK down to the cash machine with me to get the money. This girl was obviously desperate if she was going to walk somewhere.

She left me a phone number, a promise to pay, and I never saw nor heard from her again. Some say if you lend someone money and never hear from them again, it was probably worth it. But as I was someone making minimum wage who couldn't afford to pay for someone else's rainbow yawn fodder, I felt steamed. Used. Taken advantage of.

Various issues with people, friends, strangers followed. Hell, two months ago, I lent ex-friend K a skirt. No big deal right? We were still friends back then, why not? I had found the skirt on sale...deep sale. It was perfect, a white pleated tennis skirt, teeny tiny and stylish, it fit and it looked AWESOME on me. I brought it to wear out that night but when K saw it she squealed "Oh can I wear THAT?". She has always borrowed my things...every night out she would be wearing something of mine, but I never minded. Yeah, I was ticked that I'd have to bring 5 outfits to her house so at least I'd have something to wear once she picked through all my good stuff, but hey, what are friends for?

I had to leave early that night, leaving that perfect tennis skirt on her skinny minny body. I assumed (obviously) that she would return it. Nah-ah. After things between us went sour, I asked for the skirt back in a pleasant way. She informed me over email that she had already told me that she had lost the skirt in a move from her old apartment. What? Not only are you telling me (for the FIRST time) that you lost my skirt, but you are also saying "You already told me"? No apology. No sorry. Just gone.

It seems petty and it seems silly to be pissed over the loss of a $15 skirt. It's only $15 right? But it was such a good purchase, reduced WAY down, and it looked so good and I didn't even get a chance to wear it, and she tells me that "she already told me she'd lost it"?? We are talking principles here! No offer to replace, no refund the teeny amount of money? If she couldn't even show enough respect with something so minor, what hope did that hold out for our friendship when things may get rough?

These are just two incidents, one 6 years ago, the other 6 weeks ago that show what a sucker I have been. How stupid! My feelings of trust and helpfulness is gone. I don't want to do these things for people. And while that makes me feel empowered and brave, it also makes me feel a little sad...as if the last little country-girl part in me has been taken over by this big, bad city.

I want to wear buttons again. Maybe I just lack somewhere to pin them.

*She loves you, blah, blah, blah*

Feeling very blah today and yesterday (and the weekend). Blah blah blah. Don't even care about rationality right now, I'm in the dumps and I'm staying for a while.

I feel like I don't give a crap, that MF doesn't give a crap about this wedding (needless to say, our relationship has hit a little bit of a bump...go figure, so throw some pre-marital doubt into the mix), that MF doesn't give a crap about me (not true, but that's how I feel), that work is going down the tubes, that I'm too busy and too bored at the same time.

I CAN'T STAND IT!! Indecision, confusion, boredom. I want to speak up but I don't know that words for what I am feeling right now. Scared? Hungry? Am I depressed? Angry? I think the answers are "yes", "definitely", "probably not" and "yes, but I don't know why".

I should be feeling a sense of achievment (last day of South Beach Phase One...whoop de frickin' do) but instead I feeling dead inside. Why?

Get to the good stuff already!!

Trying to do the adult equivilent of dumping out the full box of cereal to get to the toy right now. If my life were a TV show, this month would be a Tide commercial I want to fast forward through.

Hurry up and get good already dammit!!

I am literally (and disturbingly) wishing time away. I shall look back on this post in 80 years and want to kick my younger self in the bee-hind I'm sure. I forgot that life is just a few bright dots in a sky full of crap...and if not crap, then just a lot of blank nothingness. Is this what we do? Wait for life to happen, to get there already? I have a list of things to do during life, which I am working through with scary precision, but I seem to never be satisfied with the current place, just the next milestone:

1) Be Born (check)
2) Make it through puberty (check)
3) Get into a good University (check)
4) Find something to do in the real world (check)
5) Find someone to do in the real world (check)
6) Get married (in progress)
7) Have babies (pending)
8) Get babies into a good University (doubtful)
9) Watch babies have babies
10) Die

Why can't I enjoy now. What about today? Why am I wishing for the weekend (except for the obvious)? Why can't I make today as great as any of those other special days?

I don't know. It's too big and I'm sleepy. I'll figure it out one day, I promise.

PLAH!!

I love spicy food. I have eaten suicide wings. I count hot, hot curry as one of my favourite dishes.

And yet, here I am, humbled by a simple radish.

I expected a zing, a tingle maybe. Instead I got a full on olfactory overload of horseradishy bitterness, sour and painful to the tongue that is unexplainable...simply, this radish was pure evil.

So, I spat it out and tried another, as, surely, two radishes couldn't taste so goddamn awful, right?

Wrong.

I was picking teeny pieces of radishy spray out of my keyboard for an hour. That's the last time I trust a Fraggle.

Day 13 of South Beach...I mean, um, Day 10, or Day 7?

Ok, Ok, so I had to cheat a little for the engagement party weekend.

Friday 12th - Official Day 8
I over starved myself due to running errands, and ended up eating pizza and wings. So, scratch Day 8.

Saturday 13th - Day of the party
I was too busy to eat until 4pm, so with just a diet coke in my belly, I had some wine, baked brie and pate. Not much, but enough to scratch Day 9. Oh, and the fried calamari and three chocolate martini's may have bent the rules a bit also.

Sunday 14th
Very very good today, but since the day involved a cake tasting for our wedding cake, I will scratch Day 10 (with a good conscience)

Monday 15th
Back on track for real. But after you see Day 12, should I just scratch this Day 11 too?

Tuesday 16th
Still on track but derailed by second cake tasting. Grr...I'm fed up of being honest, but...scratch it!!

Wednesday 17th
Officially, officially back on the program with no cake tastings in sight. Shall I call this Day 7 or Day 10 or Day 13? The virtuous in me wants to start at Day 7 (of 14), so that shall be it! One more week of this to go!!

Sidenote: I'm down to a size 2 jean...huzzah!

The Longest Weekend Ever: Rant Number 2

I'm no good at large social situations. It's not through want, but more through lack of experience managing large groups. So, throw my into the middle of an engagement party and it's sink or swim for me. I thought that my doggie paddle would hold up nicely until the inevitable happened. MF didn't show up on time.

MF is great, but not so great when it comes to the time and space continuum. He is in a permanent paradox where there is always enough time to go around. When he puts down a floor, he estimates 8 hours (which I then double and add break time) and low and behold, 17 hours later, we are done. So it was no surprise to me that he wanted us to go to our hotel to get ready at 2.15pm for a 3pm party. I asked him instead to get ready at the house. He insisted there was time. I insisted there was not, so we compromised and dropped me off at the house to get ready.

The first guests arrived at about 3.02pm, followed by everyone we invited in quick succession. Now, I've already mentioned I am inexperienced at all of this, but it was damn near impossible to chat with those who had arrived, keeping a watchful eye on the door for new arrivals, then leaving conversations with little excuses, greeting those coming in, offering drinks etc, especially when not one person knew the others. And all without a mate by my side. Where is he, where is he, I kept muttering and people could sense my stress. All in all, there were about 30 people there, none of whom knew the other, by the time he swanned in. I was exhausted and stressed, so stressed that I kept mixing up my words and flubbing introductions...I felt like the biggest party failure. And all this with little apology from him, I felt just livid. "Well, I didn't know it would take that long" was all he could say. "Yeah, but I did" I fumed under my breath.

In the end, the party was nice, but right now I don't remember any of the fun stuff, just the panic and stress of thinking that everyone was wondering who this crazy woman who couldn't speak was.

Sigh.

The Longest Weekend Ever: Rant Number 1

Since I have so much jiggling around my head right now, I'm not going to put it all in one excruciatingly long and paranoid post...I've decided to let you taste the insanity in bite sized pieces. So here we go. I shall entitle this post:

Massive Aggressiveness

My step-mother is a piece of work. And terribly clever to boot. Which makes for a very dangerous combination to first born children. While I have yet to see her magic mirror, I have no doubt it exists...probably stashed away with her "Big Book O Zingers" that she occasionally quotes from. She is the Queen of Passive Aggressive Behaviour, and the worst thing about passive aggressiveness, is that you feel this sense of paranoia, that YOU are going crazy, that "she couldn't have possibily been doing this on purpose...this can't be part of a master plan...can it?"

It started with the issue with hosting out engagement party. My dear BM, L, wanted to host, but the location fell through. A week before the party, she asked my Dad if we could hold it at his "house" aka. the mansion, instead. He agreed wholeheartedly. Then the whining began. Step-mum was too tired to clean, too stressed about "the favour" they were doing, humming and hahing over whether they would be ready in time, since they had to do things like pick up the dog crap from around the pool (! Shouldn't you be doing this anyway?!).

Anyway, I got there at 2.15pm for the party at 3pm, after my haircut and a makeup trial, because I thought, "Well, I should look my best for all of these people etc". I helped finish setting up, got dressed, came downstairs and there is my half-sister, decked to the absolute nines. Turns out, she had got a haircut, colour and highlights, a makeup application, manicure and pedicure...AND SHE'S ONLY 14!! Ah, so THAT'S what my step-mum was up to...it just KILLS her that I am the centre of some attention for once, so she went and spent $500 on getting HER daughter all made up. And guess what? It worked like a charm.

"Oh, T, you look so amazing"
"Wow, T you really look great"
"My goodness T, you've changed so much!"
"T, you look GORGEOUS!"

Hello?! WTF? So great, completely overshadowed. Again, if you want an example of why this is important to me, see earlier posts. Basically, I stand in the shadows so much that THIS ONE TIME I would like to be recognized as important or at the very least, interesting. But no, that couldn't even happen once. So, that's one example of passive aggressiveness. Another was when step-mum refused to put on makeup for the party. This is a woman who doesn't go anywhere without looking fabulous. It was her way of saying "This isn't even important enough for me to clean up for".

Another was when my Dad did a small toast...he congratulated us and was very sweet. Then my step-mum clinked her glass and said "I just want to add..." and I thought she was going to welcome MF or say something about their first daughter getting married or somesuch. Nope. She thanked L and my brother for organizing the event. That was all. I mean, they should definitely be thanked, but right then? Come on!!

Again, the point of passive aggressiveness is that you don't know if it is all in your head, or whether they ARE actually out to get you. I guess we all just have to make up our minds for ourselves!

One ring to rule them all....bwah ha ha....

Couldn't help but have that go through my mind as we were looking at wedding bands today. I kept on envisioning MF choosing this huge gold band, with engraving in Elfish inside which, roughly translated, would read "Put it back on". The rings were a little "eh". I felt very so what about the process and I should have been excited. The sales person put this air about me immediately, as we became just another number in a long line a brides and grooms she probably sees in a week. Damnit, this is special for me, and god help me, but it should be special for you too! At least have the heart to pretend! That's been the killer vibe from most of our vendors, a huge air of "here we go again", which you'd think they'd even attempt to hide. Not so much.

So we'll probably go custom and get something we really like. MF fell in love with a custom bronze ring, which I like too. I'll make an appointment with "The Forges of Mount Doom" as soon as we have some spare time.

Day 5 of the South Beach Diet...weeeeeeak...

There's a reason I haven't been blogging much recently. Too....weak to....type.

Actually, it's because it's been crazy busy at POW and in homelife. I'm really under the gun at work and desperate to perform to the high standards expected. For the first time in my life I feel under pressure to deliver at work. It is not a feeling I am used to because I have always exceeded expectations at previous posts. Now, I'm feeling stretched. It's a good pain.

Wedding plans are ticking along, with MF finally getting around to designing the Save the Date cards. You give a guy ONE THING to do, and it takes him a month...unreal! In this time I have chosen attendents, chosen and purchased my dress and veil, chosen a Bridesmaids dress, researched and booked florist, officiate, location and photographer. Save the Date cards must have been a real trial!

Our parents meet for the first time tonight, and our engagement party is on Saturday, followed by our engagement photo shoot on Sunday. It's all go. Firing on all cylinders.

And in the midst of this chaos, I decided to start the South Beach diet. Realizing that "hey, I only have 2 1/2 months, or 11 weeks, or 82 days" (!) to get in shape before my fitting, I knew it was time to get it in gear. That, and my engagement shoot, was enough incentive to do something NOW. The diet is tolerable. Neither hard nor easy. I'm never hungry but never exactly full either. I hope it works for me. The diet, combined with some serious exercise has seen the scale shift in the past week. I am pleased to have lost 5 pounds (most of it water weight due to the minimal carbs) but I am hoping to progress into a more slow and steady decline eventually.

Wish me luck for tonight! Not for the parent thing, no...I need luck to choose something off the menu that isn't slathered in some sort of sauce! Mmmm, sauce....

Dispatches from Algoniquin: Issue 2 - The Journey

I forgot about the journey because I was so focused on the destination. A mini-break tends to do that to you...all you can think of is getting to wherever you are going in less and less time, and you forget that the road trip exists as part of the break too.

On the way up to Algonquin, we stopped for ice cream at Kawartha Dairy in Minden. They have some of the best ice cream outside of Vermont. After tantalizing my way through the mysteriously titled "Wolf Paws", "Moose Tracks", and "Beaver doo-doo" (I made that last one up), I decided on the slightly less enigmatic "Death by Chocolate". It was nice settling on that picnic table in the blaring sun trying to injest as much as possible before I spilt it on myself. Spilling is less of a maybe, more of a given with me, so I had to be quick.

On the way back, it was a different story. MF felt that we had to hustle to avoid traffic. No stops. I really wanted to just laze my way back, stop when we felt like it, maybe even explore those odd but fascinating local attractions. Oh what I would have given for the World's Largest Ball of Twine. But stopping wasn't an option, we were going home and dammit, we were going to make good time.

Thinking about this ring on my finger, and what it means / meant to me is odd. I used to think of it as a means to an end...finally I am progressing, I will finally be able to reach a destination. Now I see it more of a journey, my time to savour the moment because this place, this state of being, will be over soon. I wanted to eat life like an ice cream in the sun, quickly, hastily, in perfection and to the note. I think now I shall let some of life spill on me, to enjoy the journey - mishaps and all.

Spam Genius

Because of a completely antiquated system at POW, I only receive email in text format. I can select to read in HTML if needs be, but the default it text. So today I received some Viagra spam or somesuch and was about to delete it when I decided to view it as text. And this is what I saw:

"Hello, Take him away, said Hobart shortly, and turned to issue his ordersBishop's door. The last he heard of them was Mary Traill's childlikewas a little taken aback at finding himself confronted by two menPeter could not hear at all, for she lowered her voice; the Colonel'sof his gallant confidence, and that he would that day have put anPitt sat up and groaned again. But this time his anguish was mentalby the fierce glare of the Judge and the voice of the crier.I am, he announced, making a literal translation of his name,fort that can be reduced to rubble in an hour. Stab me! It'sitself in his trembling voice.and in silence.recent raid - will accompany you to keep you in countenance. If IThat is news, is it? growled Blood.of proper deference must be corrected. I am Lord Julian Wade,must have got aboard during the night, and seized the ship. Itof Curacao. At this time of the year the voyage may safely be "

I'm pretty sure this could win a Nobel. Better than that plebian Elfriede Jelinek with her musical flow of voices and counter-voices in novels and plays that with extraordinary linguistic zeal reveal the absurdity of society's clichés and their subjugating power.

Dispatches from Algoniquin: Issue 1 - The Phantom Menace

I hate people. Most people. As Tommy Lee Jones' character in Men in Black put it so eloquently "A person is smart; people are dumb panicky dangerous animals and you know it." The main point of this mini-vacation was to get away from the humdrum, the noise, the obnoxious drone of millions and millions of people. And what do we get for our troubles? Noisy people. Obnoxious noisy people. In the woods for Christsakes.

Our neighbours are not noisy people, our friends are not noisy people, and yet we wanted to get away from all noise of life, to tune out. What better place to do that then in the deepest darkest part of the wilderness...a place where you can only get by canoe. No electricity. No power boats. Just loons and the gentle lap of the water. And screaming in Dutch. Yes. Dutch. I didn't sign up for cussing from the Netherlands. If I wanted clog-stomping profanity, tulip-bulb-planting blue, or dyke-digging derogatives, I know places that you can go, honestly. I just didn't expect to find it 100 feet away from us in Northern Ontario.

We decided to camp at this little outcrop (decided wasn't exactly the term...it was the only site left). The nearest campsite to us was about a mile away. The site was quite nice, sunny and shaded in parts, with a beautiful little rocky island 100 feet offshore. And yet, shortly into enjoying the flow of nature in front of us, the Dutch arrived. About 8 of them. And they decided to picnic on the island. 100 feet away. There was screaming, the aforementioned swearing and worst of the worst, singing. The loons flew away, the lapping of the lake was drowned out, and we had the priviledge of listening to endless renditions of what I can only assume was the Dutch version of "Row, row, row your boat".

Honestly now, was this necessary? Was the hollering really needed? We stood and watched in dumb horror at these people and they just didn't get it. Didn't get it. I don't know why they bothered to come all the way up North to hear the sound of their own voices...can't they appreciate where they are? Can't they understand that there are moments for loud and this was not one of them?

And even when they left (thank god) we could still hear them a mile away! We couldn't even see these people with binoculars, but we could hear their intimate conversations held at 100+ decibels, screaming and screeching through the day and night. The next morning, there they were again, paddling past our campsite yabbering on at first light. They just didn't get it.

They left the same morning we did, singing all the way. We heard them coming for 20 minutes and for another 10 after they had passed us. Row, row, row your boat all the frickin' way. MF muttered under his breath "It's called 'paddling' dumbasses". But we say nothing. Nothing to say really...you cannot change people with a group mentality, only a person at a time.