Barlet Starlet's Life Less Ordinary

Whubba-whubba-whubba-whubba

2007-01-17T13:58:00.000-05:00

...and hence, that noise has marked the beginning / end of the rest of our lives.

We have a heartbeat!

Rereading my last post, I realize it came across as quite negative, and that's not what I wanted to come across. I think "shock", "disbelief", "extreme excitement" and my favourite "pure, gut-wrenching terror" actually combined to form a quite depressing little post about the baba, aka. the nugget of impending doom.

I do love this though. I really, really do!

I haven't had any morning sickness, touch wood, and nothing to complain about except massive boobs. MH does not have the same complaint.

I'm due on August 11th, have secured an OB, am planning to renovate the living room, family room, walk in closets, bathroom and, oh yeah, the nursery, before the blessed event. What could be better than a 6 month pregnant lady tiling a floor? Nothing I say!

I am woman! I can do anything!! Except tell my boss!!!

in a sing song voice I'm TERR-IFIED!

2006-12-28T15:25:00.000-05:00

K, so I haven't written in a while. Nothing interesting of any note, trust me.

Then, horror of blessed horrors, I find out that I'm preggo.

Knocked up.

Damaged goods.

Tin roof. Rusted.

It's GOOD! It really is good, but damn, I don't think I'm ready. I mean, I'm ready, but I'll never really be ready, right?

So I sit here, almost 8 weeks gone. Terrified. Scared pooh-less.

MH is so very, very supportive. He thinks it's soon too, but hey, we're married, it will never ever be the best time to do this, there will always be something. He has barely let me out of his sight since I told him, two weeks ago. We told all of the various parents on Christmas Eve and Day, to various amounts of success. Mum was thrilled, wailing like a Jewish bubbie in the kitchen. Dad and Step-Mum were less so, but attempted to look happy. MIL and FIL were thrilled but less than we thought they would be, as they had been pushing us since the hour after our wedding to have kids.

So, that's it in a nutshell. I'm happy, pukey, and general shit-scared. Good times.

You Tube Late Night Thoughts

2006-10-22T00:12:00.000-04:00

OK, so not really late night, as I'm still on Pacific Time, and it's actually only 9pm here (12pm midnight back home) but hell, I'm trapped in a hotel room watching You Tube. Yeah, last night I said I'd got to the end of the internet and guess what? I found You Tube! Now I have at least three more hours of internet based entertainment.

I can't help but feel a) empowered and similtaneously b) saddened by the videos I've been watching. Some are so powerful you just feel like weeping. Some, well, damn they are funny. Regardless, I feel inspired and want to buy a video camera!

Away from home

2006-10-20T23:03:00.000-04:00

Sitting in a hotel room in Victoria, BC. I always thought that travelling for work would be fun, and to an extent, it is. It's the work part that ain't so rosy. It would be very different if I was with coworkers, but I'm not. I was sent all by my lonesome, while 10 coworkers are yukking it up in Alberta. Every hour or so I get a message or email, saying "We MISS you! We're having SO much FUN!" and worst of all "wish you were here!!". Fab that they think of me that way. Boo that I'm in Victoria.

Hotel rooms are fun / not fun too. You come back to a tidy room, fresh sheets, and the prospect of room service. Sounds great in theory. Then you realize that you have no-one to come home to, no regular comforts (it's hard to get something as simple as a bottle of water or soda), no cats to snuggle with, and no real distractions except TV and internet. I believe I found the end of the internet last night...it really is full of crap, it's true.

I do love how being away from MH makes me feel. I feel much more grateful for what I have, and long to be back with him. It makes me feel good about us, and it's been a while since I've felt that "yes, this is the guy I long for". I love him so much, but sometimes you need a bit of distance to bring that into perspective.

I have to go through tomorrow, Sunday, and Monday before I come home. It's going to be tough, but I'm hoping that it will help us, in the long term.

Things haven't been 100% smooth over the past month or so. I feel so overworked that I simply can't relax at home. MH has responded by being curt and acting like I'm hurting him, because I have to work at home sometimes. I respond to that badly! It's been a bit of a vicious circle. I feel that he is not helping out around the house enough, as I have so much to deal with at work, then I have to come home and do dishes, laundry, clean litter boxes, and generally tidy while he watches tv. But this is his way of exerting control (not that he'd admit it). We had a bit of a blow up the other day because he insisted I hadn't informed him about something, when I had. Several times. The particulars of the conversation that did / did not happen are not relevent...it is the way he reacts in these situations that is. He can't be wrong. But he was. Therein lies the rub. I also can't stand to be wrong, but in this instance, I was 100% right. And he treated me like I was some sort of delusional, idiotic crazy person. THAT, I won't stand for. But I walked away, because I know these things never turn out in my favour. Then he accused me of losing something unimportant, because, since I control all of the paper in our house (by default), and I am his personal assistant, I must be incompetant as well as crazy. That drives me nutso. Trust me, I hate being his filing cabinet / scheduler / personal assistant / banking agent / diary etc, but if I don't do it, the gas gets shut off from failure to pay, and his mother stops talking with us because he forgot her birthday. Anyway, to say that one piece of paper has gone missing in almost five years of our relationship...I'd say I'm pretty damn good at my "job". But now I'm incompetant.

Anyway, what I am trying to say is that I need this time. I need to find the "need" for MH. And sleeping 5000 miles away may just give me that. So this whole thing is a blessing, and very much a curse.

Now, I'm going to go and have my cheese plate. It may be a curse to be in a hotel, but it does have some random perks!

"Let's start over"

2006-10-18T13:40:00.000-04:00

...one person said to the other, extending their hand as if for the first time, although it most certainly was not. She wanted to begin afresh, and so she began.

"My name is Barlet. I'm 29 years old and live in Pickering Ontario. I spend much of my time worrying about my appearance, working too hard, and waxing philosophical. I have a lot of acquaintances, and hardly any good friends. I wanted to be a ballerina when I grew up, and when I did grow up I had grown too much (outwards). As a result I have a fantastic rack, but no ballet career. I don't believe in religion, but I am spiritual. My biggest peeve is when someone tells me I am wrong, but I am not. It makes me feel small and uneducated, even though I hold a Masters with Honours from the number 3 University in the UK. It plays upon how I feel about myself, deep down, and I dislike that too. I am in charge of all of the money, paper, bills, and scheduling for my "family" which is exhausting at times. My family consists of MH, my husband, and our two cats. I love my husband very much, and am very happy. While I am a happy person by nature, I am also very emotional and am prone to crying. This makes things awkward, especially during performance appraisal time at work. But I have gotten better. I am / was terminally shy, which people told me comes off as snotty and aloof. I am not snotty, nor aloof. I am scared of you. I don't know why that is, it just is. Over time, I have gotten better, but I still cannot look people in the eye when I enter somewhere like a work cafeteria. I don't know why. I stare straight ahead as if focused on my task. People used to tell me to smile a lot. Strangers in the street would tell me. I thought I'd look a bit bizarre walking around with a grin, so I do not smile, but I do turn the corners of my mouth up when I walk around, to prevent the appearance of unhappiness. Although I am happy. Ironic. People also used to say that I had the bluest eyes they've ever seen. They do not say that anymore. Typing that last sentence made me sad. I work for a large company, that publishes books. It is a great job, and while I am extremely happy, I also work damn hard. This puts a strain on my relationship with MH, especially recently, as he does not feel the same level of commitment to his own job. I love to scrapbook in my spare time, but I feel a lack of creativity sometimes. I feel as if I am a different person than the person I was at 16, at 18, at 21. This is a blessing and a curse. I sometimes look at myself in the mirror and think "what happened to the girl who used to write poetry?". I try and work out quite a bit, but it never really happens. Something always comes up. I love to eat. I am a good weight for my height, and I have always been a very healthy person in general, despite what I eat. If I could eat one food for the rest of my life, it would probably be a Big Mac. Or cake, because cake spans so many different varieties, I'd never get bored. The only bone I've ever broken wasn't really a bone, it was my nose. I've never been anorexic, depressed (to my knowledge), or have done anything detrimental to myself except eat Big Macs and drink to excess on occasion. I have smoked one cigarette (to prove a point to someone...the point was missed by that someone) and have never done drugs. I still have a teddy bear from my childhood that sits on my shelf, and I felt guilty that I bought one just like him in mint condition from eBay. I felt it insulted him. I sometimes think I'm mentally ill. I have a bad habit of "racing" cars going the opposite direction to the light poles in the middle of the highway. I don't accelerate, I just see who will get there first. It is a little too OCD for my liking. I have very few "things", certainly in comparison to others. There is very little that I "must" do, eat, see, touch, not do, not eat, not seem not touch, during my daily life. I cannot understand high maintenance people. I don't like having polish on my fingernails, although if I do, I stare at them all day. I then feel very grown up. I am terminally unfashionable, and wish I could just let loose and buy something fabulous, but I can't. I want lots of children, but I'm scared to start. I don't talk about huge life issues with MH. We had never spoken once about marriage until he got down on one knee. Perhaps we will not talk about children until I see the plus sign on a plastic stick. MH frustrates me at times, at I think he can be overly confident to the point of arrogance. But I say nothing because I know he is overcompensating. He is a very self conscious person, and has low self-esteem. I sometimes think I have low self esteem, but then I'll look at myself occasionally and say "Damn, I'm ridiculously good looking". The moment then passes. People find me attractive, which I think is hilarious. I miss my grandparents and wish I couldn't have known them better. I cry at their graves. I hope they are proud of me. My mother and I have come to an understanding, but she doesn't know it. I have decided that her life is hers, and I will no longer worry for her. I feel like a mother to her, which makes me sad. I have a problem with other women not liking me. The best explanation I have received of this was from good friends of mine, female and male. They say that other women are jealous of me because I have a great job, make great money, have a nice house, a handsome husband, and am pretty. I like that explanation, true or not. But it still hurts when women turn on me, for no reason. There seems to be a contest as to who can bring me down, and while no one has won yet, they are trying very hard. I have lots of very good friends from my childhood and we are still very much in touch, even though we don't see each other very often. I miss them. I don't understand why I haven't met anyone as a friend (except MH) who likes me for who I am. I think I am a nice person, and I like myself. I am very kind to animals, and I appreciate all life. I have a complete intolerance for racism, sexism, creedism, and jerks. I especially find it horrible that people cannot tolerate gay people. Shouldn't we all just let love happen? I swear a lot, and people find that amusing. I find myself amusing, in a good and bad way. I laugh at myself a lot, but sometimes I laugh at my own jokes, which I suppose is a little immodest. I am immodest. Externally I act nonchalant about praise, but inside I am much more confident about my abilities. I do not speak any other languages except English, although I studied French and Spanish. I went to a private school, which I hated. I have posed naked, and acted on stage topless. I have taken stripper lessons and loved it. I often think it would be easy to streak a ballgame, strip on stage, or walk down the street naked, but since I've never done any of it, it is obviously not easy for me. I have an overly developed sense of law and justice. I must have fairness is all that is around me, and despise unfairness. I believe fully in karma, and have stored up much in the Buddha bank. I am extremely law abiding. I have two passports, but one is expired. I went through a phase as a teenager where I loved fish, and have many, many fish related items. I have one tattoo on my ankle of a starfish, which I love even 5 years later. I would like another at some point. I fear that my marriage to MH won't last, but then I am newly committed to making it work. I drive an SUV which work pays for, but I pay the taxes on it. I love it, which makes me feel eco-guilty. My favourite holiday is Christmas, and season is Fall. I would love to be Martha Stewart. I've always wanted to see Japan, and live near the ocean. My favourite place I've visited was Assateague Island, where I watched wild horses run on the beach. My least favourite place is either Blackpool or my ex's apartment. I've cheated numerous times on my boyfriends, but never on my MH. The worst thing I ever did was carry on two serious relationships simultaneously. I never felt guilty, which makes me feel guilty. I had a strange preoccupation with Disney when I was a young teenager, especially Alice in Wonderland. I collect Alice books, and still look out for them when I go to antique markets. I lost my virginity at 16 to a boyfriend of 6 months. I cried afterwards because I realized you could never go back. I have a scar on my chin where I put my teeth through after falling off my chair. I have lots of small chicken pox scars on my body, and white scars on my ankles from a flea infestation we had in the house when I was a child. I listen to the news voraciously. I hate speaking on the phone and prefer the medium of email. I watch way too much TV, and have since I was a little girl. I’m just not that into sex, and don’t know why. My most prized possession is a picture that was given to me by an ex. The only unfortunate thing about it is that it was given to me by an ex. I hope one day to go to Japan, and I really hope I get a culture shock. I am ashamed of the world sometimes and want to kick its butt. But I must start with my own. I worry about getting breast cancer, and I worry about how long I have with my parents. I am the oldest of five children, and that’s ok with me, even though I always wanted an older brother to take care of me. I’ve always wanted to marry someone with a last name that you can shorten to one letter, like on television. I’ve always wanted to be “Mrs. P”, but it didn’t work out. My maiden name is very rare, and there are only a few of us worldwide. I love my family, but sometimes I don’t like them very much. I think I missed out of much when I was a child, compared to one of my siblings. Life has been a comfortable struggle for me. I’m quite smart, although I was an average student. I love to write and wish I’d get my act together and write what I need to put down. I sometimes wonder where all of my beloved possessions from childhood went…are they in a dump, decomposing somewhere? Do they realize how much I loved those things? I often wonder where my ex’s are now, and secretly wish they are thinking of me too. I’ve said “I love you” to many boyfriends, but I didn’t know what the words meant. I know someone who has a crush on me, but never admitted it. I contribute to a few chat boards, and like being heard. I would have liked to go into politics but there is too much dirt on me. I dance really well for an amateur. I am my family’s glue. That last statement probably isn’t true. I aspire to greatness. I am still convinced I’ll win something one day. I am a good person”

Pleased to meet you.

TMI

2006-06-05T09:52:00.000-04:00

So, I'm now officially "off the pill" and no, not for the real reason one would decide to go off it. I am fed up of being messed around hormonally. I've begun to really *feel* a difference in my body, like I am moving the wheel around on a car, but I'm actually on some form of rail...it doesn't matter where I steer, because my body is on auto-pilot because of the pills.

I feel out of control of myself, unable to quite manage myself 100%. If this was any more pronounced, I may even say that I feel like a split personality, that there are simply two of me in here, both out of control to varying degrees.

So, I'm off. Other methods of birth control don't exactly appeal, but we'll have to make do. No little Barlets running around in the near future!

Tick-Tock

2006-05-24T13:51:00.000-04:00

I've developed a twitch (or tick) in my left hand. ANNOYING! These things usually develop for me after a bout with stress, when I am back in recovery mode. I think that my muscles get so tight for so long when stressed, that as soon as I start to relax a tiny bit, either my eye or my hand gets a mind of its own. It's like coming down with a cold the second you get on holiday...one moment of letting go and your body lets go completely.

The business I am in is extremely cyclical. Summers are dead quiet, Septembers are murder, end of year (as with every business with a bottom line) is hellish. And May is, well, just brutal. So I am glad to see the end of it, and my hand twitching at least spells a winding down towards summer.

The whole summer is now stretched out in front of me...hopefully a series of days and weekends of sun, languidity and softball, maybe a theme park or two, and lots of walking. Sounds like heaven. MH and I always promise to spend more of the summer out and about, so I hope this summer is less like the last (promising but never coming through with our outdoorsy committments). My brother arrives in late August (yesterdays most extravagant purchase...a plane ticket for his b-day) and I look forward to the planning of that too...to share some of Canada with him by himself. More on this later.

So, tick (literally) tock, time passes, and days get longer. 29 degrees promised for Sunday. I just hope it all follows through.

Twiddling thumbs...

2006-05-11T00:39:00.000-04:00

I'm sitting in a hotel room in London, Ontario...between wanting o go to sleep and needing to go to sleep. I have only 6 hours until I am to have breakfast and depart for a conference. What to do if I am unable to sleep. I wish I had more time, maybe some wine. I had got quite drunk on the weekend and actually got sick (which is unusual) because I suppose my internal "stop" button got stuck on "keep drinking". I actually passed out in my room with MH and a friend downstairs. It was a safe environment but embarrasing nonetheless. Now I am wishing for a bit more to drink.

My grandmother was an alcoholic. This bothers me. I hear alcoholism runs in the family, which worries me further. Do alcoholics know that they are? However, I also know that I am NOT an alcoholic. I don't need a drink. I don't drink every day. I barely drink once a week. But tonight I'd like a drink. And yes, that worries me.

Away from MH, the world seems smaller, and less complete. I miss him. But I like missing him, as it makes me remember that I love him. I will always love him, but it is nice to be jarred out of your comfort zone of "loving" to "missing being loved". I will look forward to going home.

Reeling, busy, getting fat...

2006-05-04T16:24:00.000-04:00

Life is so busy and hectic right now, that I'm getting fat. Now, considering the daring depths of weight loss that I undertook to be radiant for our wedding day, it was only natural that I'd gain some weight...I couldn't maintain it forever. However, I am now getting distinctly podgy. And no, it's not a "I'm so in love, I'm getting fat" type of thing (although yes, I am in love) but rather a work-too-much-take-work-home-too-exhausted-to-exercise-I'll-just-watch-America's-Next-Top-Model-instead type of weight gain.

I do have to work on the handles, I just can't be arsed.

Lucky Number Slate

2006-04-07T15:12:00.000-04:00

We are in the process of thinking about considering discussing working towards starting home renovations. We are significantly closer to it than last week, when we were only pondering a twinkle-in-the-eye of thinking about considering discussing working towards starting home renovations. We went to look at tile, which is absolutely the wrong thing to do. The ensuing conversation went something like this:

(We enter tile store and stand still for about 3 minutes)
Me: Ok, so what room are we thinking about doing?
MH: Hmmm. The kitchen?
Me: Ok. So, are we putting new tile down before we put in the new cupboards? Because we can't afford new cupboards.
MH: Right. Ok, not the kitchen yet then.
Me: I was thinking bathroom.
MH: Ok, what do you want to do with the bathroom?
Me: Well, since we're replacing the whole thing, I guess we should choose a scheme.
MH: A scheme? You mean a colour?
Me: Well, yes, but we need a theme.
MH: I thought you said scheme?
Me: I did, ok, well, what colour then?
MH: What are you thinking?
Me: I was thinking a greeny, seaglass, whites and...and (slowing down as I see his "icky" face)...and maybe instead we could do a beige-y, all-natural, rock slate tile, wood, shells...and...aaaaaannnnd....
MH: What are we doing here?

So, we are back to pondering a twinkle-in-the-eye of thinking about considering discussing working towards starting home renovations. It's all chicken and egg really. We'll know what we like when we see it, but won't see it until it's in our space. Hmmm.

The photos are in!!

2006-04-03T12:18:00.000-04:00

The photos from the wedding are back and....

I look slim!!!

I look slim, I look slim, I look slim!!
Haha!! If the camera does add 10 pounds then I wasn't just slim, I was skinny!!

Hahahahahaha!

Only a girl can understand this post...

Just when you think things are normal again...

2006-03-23T15:49:00.000-05:00

My sweet friend, L, travelled to my wedding all the way from England, which was very nice and totally unexpected. Of course that DID mean that I had to also go to witness her marriage, a mere 6 weeks later. After just paying for my own wedding, it was a little painful to put down the credit card for the flight, the gift and the car rental but hey, what are friends for? I was really looking forward to seeing her married on March 25th.

So, Monday rolls around and I get a call...they'd called off the wedding. I don't expect an explanation, but wow, that's big news. I can't even imagine what she's going through, even though it was a mutual decision.

So, I can't get any money back from the flight so I'm still going, but it's going to be a weird little trip. See, I could only take three days off work, so this is a real whistlestop visit, and one that I really am loathe (financially anyway) to take right now. Work is crazy and I'd just rather not spend the money on three days. But hey, here it is and here I am.

But I do get enormous motherly brownie points, as I will be at home for Mothering Sunday (English Mother's Day). But $1000 is a lot to spend on brownie points, no?

Duh...

2006-03-23T15:37:00.000-05:00

I meant to post something very retrospective and interesting on February 23rd, the anniversary of this blog.

Instead I wrote an entry entitled "I'm BAAACK!"

Actually, that makes good sense...I'm back in business! Or, as my Scottish friends would say:

"You're all shoulders back, tets oot, moving forward"

Ironic moment: I've decided to write the "next great novel". Work starts tonight as soon as I get on the plane. Read February 23rd 2005 entry for insight.

Out of the mouth of a babe...

2006-03-21T10:56:00.000-05:00

Darling husband turns to me last night, after regaling him with the latest tales of "the world done do me wrong" and says:

"Women can be fucking bitches sometimes"

So succinct.

The downside of anger...

2006-03-20T15:34:00.000-05:00

Not sure if I've blogged about this before, but it seems to be a recurring theme in my life, so maybe a second blog is worth the effort.

I went to a psychic once. I am not really that way inclined, and my beliefs are a little up in the air as to that sort of stuff, but my friend dared me so I went. He was an interesting little man, and I felt similtaneously that I was being had, AND that I was staring at the only person in the world who could really determine my karmic worth. It was a real "what is my mettle" type of moment.

He told me several things, only some of which stick in my mind (which is , in my skeptic opinion, a way that psychics work...they get you to remember the stuff that APPLIES to you, not the other way around, so you leave convinced that it's all true). What stuck in my mind the most was this: I was destined to be tested, constantly and without warrant. He said that people surround me who wish me ill. Not just people right now, but that there would always be someone in my future, waiting to bring me down. He told me that I was a shining star, and if there is one thing about a shining star it is that it brings out the best and worst in people...and that there will always be someone whose LIFE GOAL, whose karmic reason for being, is to pluck the shining star from the sky.

Something about that stuck. Not only that I was (in his opinion) a shining star in life, but that there were people made / created / that come about, with the specific life goal to take me down.

Then I think back at the frigging trials I have had all through life. How seemingly EASY it is for me to make enemies. Not just any enemy either, oh no...I make enemy-to-the-grave, bind-your-powers, ruin-your-life type enemies. People that I seem to have done SO WRONG that they make it a mission to blight my existance. Bull, you say? Exaggeration? Maybe a little for dramatic effect, but not much.

The girl when I left college: I asked the advice of mutual friends of ours, when her boyfriend tried to hit on me when he dropped me off at home one night. Should I tell her? The answer was no. They told her anyway, and she proceeded to ruin my reputation amongst mutual friends and the whole bloody town. Result: I'm a tramp, friendless and alone. The unfairness of it all.

The boss: Being asked to limit my bathroom breaks, not take lunch, get no benefits, no pay-raise, asked to run an entire business on my own, put up with her pregnancy bullshit, shut up and take it. When I found a better job and gave my two weeks notice, she flipped, went mental and didn't pay me for my final week. Ensured that my name was mud in the industry. I had to take her to court to get my final pay check.

The work-mate: After being partnered with a girl in a marketing class, and being stood up by her umpteen times when we were meant to partner to do a group project, I finally wrote the damn thing myself and submitted it as a solo project. She flips out, demands credit on the paper with zero work (actually, minus work because she took up my work time while I was waiting for her to show up), and gets it. Cusses me out and makes the entire class think I'm some sort of prima-donna bitch. Bonus points for irony: I joined the after work classes to try and make more friends.

The second boss: Simply decided that I needed to be taken down. No reason. She joked about me, my personal life, micro-managed me (when I was the person in least need of micromanagement) and generally put me down at any available opportunity. Luckily, she was fired after 2 years of hell.

Coordinator: Decided in November that MF and I were too big for our britches (for no reason). Decides to start badmouthing us around town. I still cannot fathom how this came about. When she completely drops the ball the week of our wedding (i.e. missing our wedding rehearsal, messing up practically everything) I call her on it. Instead she turns the tables and says that WE were a nightmare and we were lucky she didn't leave us high and dry...and everyone believes her. So, we are out a couple of thousand, and we're the bad guys. Nice.

The end result of this is just a huge big ball of anger in me. I feel that it is all so unfair. Even more unfair is that, the more you talk about it, the more people start to believe that YES, I am a bitch and deserve everything I get. I can only say so many times "I'm NICE, I'm a NICE person...I care about people and treat them with respect and try, every day to be fair and non-judgemental". But people are so apt to toss off my own defence, because face it, if you are defending yourself, you've been accused of something, right?

Rebuilding reputations is impossible. It just takes time. But my desire to defend myself is so strong when I've been wronged. But you just have to take it and shrug it off right? I just have to wait for people to believe me.

While I may not believe in psychics, however, I do believe in karma. So let's hope I have enough in the bank to last me through...

Three weeks from my last post...

2006-03-16T15:00:00.000-05:00

I hate posting in constant "update" mode, but to be honest, I can't say I really care to blog right now. For anyone who cares, here's the update:

1) My wedding coordinator threatned to sue me for libel because I told people she was useless as tits on a bull (which she was) and she responded that she was only like that because I was the worst human being alive (which I wasn't). She tried to discredit everything I said by saying that I was a bridezilla and nothing I said had any weight. That's what you get when you tell the truth, I s'pose.

2) Life lessons learnt (from February 23rd - March 15th inclusive) = 8

3) I have determined that I don't need half of the things that I own, because we have hardly unpacked anything and I'm not really missing much.

4) I have found out that I am to receive a very large inheritance from my grandmother. How large? I don't know. But I've been told it's big. I'd be happy with a cup of coffee and half a twinkie right now, to be honest.

5) My mother moved in with a bloke. Actually, he moved in with her. He sounds nice. Time will tell (as they've only been dating for 2 months)

6) I can't think straight, I'm so busy at work.

7) I attended a funeral for a 6 week old baby boy, which was harsh. But I am glad I didn't get pulled up to see the open casket, I would have achieved total meltdown at that point, I believe.

8) We have so many gift certificates from the wedding, all at stores that have nothing we want to buy. It's kind of nice / annoying.

9) My dad wants to give me his wedding present on Monday. Breath is being held. I'm pretty sure that it's something like a savings plan. Go Dad.

That's it. There's more, but I don't care to elaborate. Sorry.

I'm BAAACK!

2006-02-23T12:05:00.000-05:00

Did you miss me?

K, so I'm married, have a new car (new to me anyhoo), have a new job, have a tan, have absolutely no money (one week without pay = not good), have an absolutely useless $1500 dress hanging in a closet, a house full of cat pee thanks to the sitter, and boxes upon boxes upon unpacked suitcases upon boxes of stuff. Oh, and a husband. Go me!

I PROMISE I'll give more details, but I'm playing catchup with, well, everything, so I'll give you the scoop soon.

Later!

Superficial blogging to return after this post...

2006-02-06T17:09:00.000-05:00

It saddens me to think that people are sitting on the edge of their seats, waiting for a spark to ignite the touchpaper that makes up their temperament.

While it is unfortunate that cartoonist think that it is ok to caricature the Prophet Muhammud (it isn't), reaction should come in the way of discourse and debate, not burning / throwing / killing.

Am I a loony? Is this irrational? Are these people just naturally angry?

It's a BAD thing that the cartoonist are doing, don't get me wrong. But why this reaction?

If something that Canadians love and cherish beyond all things (say, bear claws, Tim Horton's coffee, or Wayne Gretzky) were threatened or insulted, we may have some strong words, but I don't believe I would incite a riot.

Or would I?

Timmy's does make an excellent double double.

So white, it hurts...

2006-02-06T12:13:00.000-05:00

Upon seeing the headline "Rhymes bodyguard shot outside video shoot" my first response was...

"Why does LeAnn Rhymes need a bodyguard?"

This post will change nothing.

2006-02-01T17:30:00.000-05:00

I'm not big on the political stuff in my blog (oh, you hadn't noticed?) but I am big on politics in my everyday life. I just figure that I'd be pegged as a bleeding heart if I were to post on policy and probably comment-ed to death by Republicans. And since they have limited brain power, I don't want to push them to such extremes of communication. Oooh, did I say that?? Why yes I did! Oh, oh, I just brought it!!

Sooo, here's my summary of beliefs. Comment away!

1) I believe that the invasion and subsequent war in Iraq is based on a lie and is unconstitutional. As a Canadian, I have nothing to add to the democratic process in the States, but I can say that whoever voted for this has eaten way too many cheetos. The orange colour rots your brain.

2) I believe in the right of a woman to choose what happens to her own body. I believe that large corporations do not have the right to pick which prescription medicines to sell based on a fundamentalist religious belief, especially when it revolves around a woman's right to choose.

3) I believe that if two people love each other, and want to get in front of friends, family, God, Allah, Buddha, Krisna, and the big bad government to show that, well I think we should let them.

4) I believe that people are equal. That means no feminism, no affirmative action,

5) I believe that religion should never be confused with policy, and that Church and State should never, ever, ever....ever mix.

6) I believe in supporting the citizens of this country, whether immigrants or Canadian-born. I believe in allowing those who have qualifications to continue practicing in their area of specialization after a short and thorough retraining for the Canadian system. Doctors shouldn't drive taxis.

7) I believe in Christmas. I also believe in Hanukah, Diwali, Kwaanza, Raamadan, the Solstice, and anything I or you care to practice. Just let me keep practicing it, will you? Why should we ever consolidate a party? Why should we amalgamate into a random "holiday"? Why can't we be diverse? Why can't I search for Christmas ornaments on a Walmart site, why am I searching for "Holiday ornaments"? Aaaaargh!

8) I believe in political correctness (to a point), helping the helpless (to a point), and being nice.

9) I believe that people should work for a living. Call me crazy...

10) I believe that free childcare is not a right if you do not contribute to the system. I believe that free healthcare is not a right if you willingly and knowingly damage your health through smoking.

Gah, that's it for now. There's more. It gets kind of kooky at that point and I'm not sure I need the hate mail. Ah well. Baby steps...

One week to go...

2006-01-31T16:30:00.000-05:00

...no, no, no, not until the wedding!

Until my mother arrives!!

Now, this is both a good thing and a bad thing. My mother and I have an unusual relationship. Based on my absolute fear of her basically. I would do anything for my Mum; buy her gifts, keep her in good spirits, sell my first born, you get the idea. And unfortunately, she doesn't...quite...get it as to how I should be treated in return.

Many people regard this as status quo with their own parental units. I do not. I refuse to accept how criticism and (let's call a spade a spade) passive aggressive manhandling can masquerade as love or caring. I have had to accept that I must tell her nothing, if I do not wish her to bring it up in a public place and / or ridicule and use it against me for the rest of my life.

Albeit, I do tell her things, but I simply shouldn't. During "the incident" I went to her for advice. I got lovely support and lots of hand holding, but I also received a lifetime hate award for MF. Not that I should expect anything less, but she doesn't even hide her contempt. One day, we'll be lining up the grandkids for a visit to Great Grandma and she'd still roll her eyes whenever he would open his mouth. It is what it is.

So, with her arrival comes the obligatory head nodding that I am so accustomed to. "You hate my dress? Mmm, hmm. Mmm, hmm." "Oh, the room I spent three months researching for your specific needs and comfort isn't big enough. Mmm, hmm. Mmm, hmm."

Hopefully she won't get too drunk and say something in her speech (she is already planning a diatribe on my unusual use of Q-Tips when I was 12). But she also must remember, that I am the last to speak...and she really doesn't want to push me, right? Mmm, hmm. Mmm, hmm.

Holy schnikes!

2006-01-27T14:44:00.000-05:00

OK, I have officially bitten off more than I can chew. That's it, that's all, no more.

So, I got the new job. No more base salary, but I get a company car, a pension plan, a blackberry, more vacation, more benefits, better hours, more travel, and, get this, a 25% bonus plan that could go up to 150% of my salary if we hit numbers.

That means leaving here, which is really tough. I've really come to regard the people O work with as family, and it is really difficult to cut that off. It's like chopping off an arm to save a leg. A tough choice.

I just buried my grandmother.
I move next weekend.
I get married the weekend after that.
I get back from honeymoon and change jobs.

I feel as if I am spinning plates, and I see them slipping...

Then I found out I am going to get a substantial inheritance. The world as I know it is about to change. In three weeks, I don't think I'll recognize myself anymore.

Once more, with feeling

2006-01-25T12:58:00.000-05:00

My favourite Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode, and most possibily my favourite television moment of all time, was the "Once more, with feeling" episode. The premise was that a curse made all of the characters sing and dance out their emotions, so instead of talking and arguing, they were tangoing and trilling out their angst. What made it all the more wonderful, was that they used all of their real singing voices, bringing to the show a lot of realism and a very emotional and personal experience.

I get the same little thrill when watching Bollywood movies. One moment, you are standing with your girlfriends in the marketplace, the next you are a singing and dancing homage to "that boy across the street". Pure brilliance.

I wish I could just break into song. Right now it would be "Dirge about a cold" as I am suffering with the sniffoos. I think it would actually be fairly humerous, as I can't pronounce L's, S's or T's.

"Ooooh, ooh, this code in my node
is gedding worze and worze
I cand even breed
so I'm singing out a dirge"

I can just imagine walking down the aisle, everyone singing out songs of celebration and throwing rose petals in the air, the girls standing on their seats and the men pirouetting below. It would make everything so much more festive, don’t you think?

Life simply needs more musical numbers.

Goodbye, my bathing beauty...

2006-01-17T09:23:00.000-05:00

She was my hero for the first years of my life. A shining example of the riches that life had to offer when we were not so young, and not so tight of skin. I admired her like the sun, and everyone wanted to be near her, to touch her, to make her notice you so that she would laugh her laugh and give you a hug.

The moonlit nights in August, the light playing off the water. It is frozen like a stillshot in my mind. Getting the towels for us, for her - her bathing cap. And the little girls and older woman would wind their way down the cottage stairway, stepping gingerly over the pine needles, until we reached the dock. Then, she would take away that towel, take away that bathing suit and for a glimpsing second we would watch her execute a perfect dive from the board. Only the moon on her back, and her silvery laugh over the lake. Just her. And her bathing cap.

Goodbye Grandma. My bathing beauty.

January 16th 2006.

Pampering

2006-01-10T09:21:00.000-05:00

I am about to indulge in an absolutely insane and expensive amount of pampering, which is both very exciting and a little daunting given my propensity to freak out in spas.

It all started with a facial last Tuesday, "just to give myself a treat". We all know that any form of spa treatment after years of treatment drought only tend to lead to more treatments. The logic being that, if you don't treat yourself often enough, your esthetician thinks you are a cash cow waiting to be milked, and will try and sell you on every lotion, potion, and shiatsu-based-reiki-modulated-salt-rub available. After the facial, I barely escaped...with just a cleanser, toner and age perfecting serum tucked into my clammy little mitts

Sidenote: Mitts were clammy, because I was just frightened into purchasing, on the threat that "Don't I want to look my ABSOLUTE best on my wedding day? Hmmm???". Blackmail, blackmail, blackmail. But it works! How can a bride-to-be resist that? "Actually, no, I was thinking about just looking 'okay' for my big day". Yeah, ok.

So, today I have a fruit enzyme facial peel scheduled (and I still don't know what that is, or why I need it exactly). A manicure follows on Saturday (as penance from my brother for being such a dolt about this wedding). Next Tuesday is the eye and neck treatment, and a full European facial is the following Tuesday. Cut and colour at my salon the next week, before the full out pampering begings (I know, it's ludicrous!).

The week of the wedding has me exfoliated everywhere (yes, everywhere) and slathered with self-tanner to avoid me looking like the Corpse Bride. Then another manicure and pedicure, and a wedding day massage.

I'm going to glow dammit, if I want to or not!

Here We Grow Again!

2006-01-09T16:02:00.000-05:00

There comes a time when you realize that your life is no longer a series of inexplicably profound events, divided by days, months or years. It isn't a disjointed jumble of events...it's a flowing even tide of life, happening.

I thought that my move from my evil place of work (1) to (what turned out to be) an even more evil place of work (2) in February of last year, followed by a swift departure to current place of work (3), would end the event. Lights on, party over.

But it doesn't work like that. Every little movement I have made this year, if not in my entire life, has brought me to a point where I can begin to look pretty darn great for place of work...let's call it...Xanadu (4). I tried and failed to move from (1) to (4) in 2004, but they told me I lacked the exact skills necessary. So, from (1) I jumped to (2) with little resistance. Although my stay at (2) was brief, I would never have got job (3) without the 30 days worth of training I received at (2). And now here I am, poised to receive an offer from (4), the place where I would have been content in the first place, but never would have got a chance if it wasn't for (2) and (3).

It is a strange, semi-contented feeling when you realize that everything happens to bring you to a point that has been determined before you were probably even born. It is an odd comfort, a life travelling on rails. No offroading. No fresh powder. Just the rhythmic rocking of the train as your life stays on track.

An update

2005-12-29T10:01:00.000-05:00

I hate starting an entry with "it's been a while", but it truly has been a while, and so much has happened! Lots of ups and downs. So, let's begin:

WEDDING UPDATES
- We attended our food tasting and were quite disappointed. Our venue has an excellent reputation and is changing us out the wazoo for the food, so we expected to be blown away. However, the steak was cooked to the point of obliteration...I would have sent it back at an Applebees. The lobster was excellent. The hors d'oeuvres were disappointing. We made some changes and hope that this will improve the situation. However, it was a fairly negative experience (as I had hoped this would "redeem" our venue for past sins...it did no such thing)
- Venue needs to be redeemed over terribly miscommunication and (dare I say it) funny business on their end. Thought we signed a contract for a minimum of 80 people at $200 a head = $16,000. So that's what we budgeted for. When it looked like we would only have about 65 people (due to unexpected drop offs) we thought, fine, we are over per-head by about $47. $247 a head for 65 guests = $16,055. GREAT! Not great. The venue wants us to stick to our original agreement of a MINIMUM of 80 people at $200 a head. The final cost didn't matter. And if we don't get 80 people, we have to pay $2000 for room rental. GAH! So, we had to invite an extra 15 people, and reduce the amount we spend on each of them. It's miscommunication, but it has really shaken our already tumultuous relationship.
- First dress fitting finished. I look supa!
- I have three attendants. My sister, E, my oldest friend K, and my brothers girlfriend L. I still haven't received payment for half of L's dress. 2 months and counting!
- Our wedding rings are under construction with a lovely artisan who keeps on forgetting about us, missing meetings and deleting my emails. Will we have rings on the day? Stay tuned!
- We have ordered our favours (boring chocolates!) and they are simply the most divine thing I have ever put in my mouth!
- I have had the last laugh with MF, who challenged me making 70 invitations back in October when we were only inviting 80 odd people. The invitee list has now risen to 102 due to huge amounts of unexpected "no's" and we are almost out. Who's laughing now!!
- Need to pick our wedding music by tomorrow (eeek!)
- All the lovely fiddly things now begin: manicures, creating seating plans, tanning, haircuts, guest books, first dance music, and keeping people apart who wish to kill the other.

PERSONAL UPDATES
- PMS-ing continues in earnest. Getting progressively worse. Prone to mood swings and bursts of tears, especially when my family (for the 18th time) criticize or joke about the wedding / my groom / me.
- Upswing in moods creates euphoric bursts of energy that help me make it through the day.
- Work putters along at a snails pace during this holiday break.
- Christmas was not exactly disappointing, but it just wasn't quite right either. Missing home. Stupid, I know.
- On fourth stage of interview process with another company. Writing an intensive marketing plan. V. exciting. Will submit Jan. 3rd!
- Gained a few pounds (and not from Christmas binging either) through slow descent back into poor eating habits. Shows particularly on skin and around the waistline. Am drinking gallons of water and eating soy beans.
- I've got a headache.

Think that's it for now. Will try and be more up-to-date...it's my new years resolution!

She's So Vain...

2005-12-12T16:26:00.000-05:00

...can't help it, sorry. This post is going to be all about how spanking gorgeous I can be. Feel free to skip the post, it's very self-indulgent and only partially true. However, it is just a snapshot in time and the feeling will fade. But for now, humour me.

It always starts with a little dress, have you noticed that? A perfect...little...dress. Way too expensive for the amount of fabric that makes it so...little. Vivid Christmas red in silk. Not cheap silk-substitute, no way. Real silk. I have never put on something so fab. I had to have it. Too much money but so many justifications. I hadn't had a nice dress in years. The one I was to wear that night had been worn at the same event the previous year. I was worth it. And so I put my money down and it was mine. Did I know that the earrings were half off? No, no I didn't. Would I like the ones that matched the beautiful brooch on the dress? Why yes, I would.

A clever cooincidence...as I was already on my way to the party when a sudden whim for a new dress struck, I already had all of my ecoutrements with me, packed. With great fortune and cooincidence, the undies I had packed left no lines visible, so strap unhidden, and the most ridiculously perfect amount of cleavage on view. But to the shoes? I had black, and clearly that wasn't going to cut it. An emergency trip to the mall yielded a parking space directly across from the shoe store, despite the overcrowding and Christmas crush. Two stores later and I had them...red satin shoes in the same hue and style as the dress. What luck! And, with a gasp as I turned them over the view the price, more reasonable than I expected.

I dressed in haste, a hotel room near the banquet hall. My hair dried *just-so* and my makeup *perfect*. MF looked at me as if he hadn't seen me in years...his eyes lit up. I felt like a movie star.

I danced all night, even to the stupid tunes played by a really appallingly bad DJ. I wanted to shimmy and shake, shake that flirty dress and have a great time. And I did! Even MF needed to dance with me, to be part of the aura. Not too much to drink to make me sleepy, not too much to eat to ruin the ligne. Perfect.

No cab to be had, but a friend gave us a ride back to the hotel. We indulged in the extra red wine and ordered a pizza. I was still starry eyed and perky, not sozzled like the other girls. Keeping my cool, keeping my dignity, grace and mystery. Going to bed content, danced out, happy, at peace with myself and my fiance.

I will remember this. I need to remember this.

I shone like a ruby.

Ahhhhhhh-pathy

2005-12-08T17:00:00.000-05:00

Sorry about lack of blogging, just don't feel very motivated to do so. I also feel that when you don't feel like doing something, forcing you do do it for the sake of doing it is counter-productive. Apathy doesn't just fall under the blogging realm, it has also affected:

Laundry
Cleaning
Cooking
Working
Showering
Shaving
Everything else

As when you simply cannot see the wood for the trees, I cannot see a way to get anything done because I am too damn busy. So really it's not apathy (I'm telling myself)...it's probably closer akin to exhaustion.

I haven't been out dancing in months. I haven't had a quiet night at home with MF in 20 days. I'm struggling with work. I'm struggling with other issues (more to follow at later date). I just want to curl up in a ball and watch Dr. Phil until my eyes bleed.

I can't be bothered to write anymore. I have nothing interesting to say. God I'm pathetic.

...or not...

2005-11-29T12:51:00.000-05:00

Pulled into a meeting at 5pm which ran until 6.40pm therefore missed the chance to go to the One of a Kind Show last night. Trying to go tonight instead.

Am feeling very strange. On the verge of tears. Inadequate. Confused. Overwhelmed. You know, all the good stuff.

It's all work related. Things have been so up and down recently.

I just wish I didn't need constant affirmation that I'm ok, that I'm not going to be let go at a moments notice. I can't stand being in someone's bad books, or even just in the shadow of grace. My last job, I always felt underappreciated, over-used, over-worked and underpaid...you know, the typical stuff. Here, I feel like I am struggling, as if I am standing on constantly shaky ground with no chance to stop the quaking. I have no part in the quaking, but am made to feel as if I do.

There is just something I cannot stand about helplessness...like when you are blamed for something that you didn't do and have no way of defending yourself. And to attempt to defend yourself sounds too much like lies, or that you are too vehement. I just feel as if everyone got the memo, but they didn't give me one on purpose, and now they're all at a meeting and wondering where I am. It really, really tough, and almost insurmountable. I'm trying not to cry.

Maybe it's PMS, I don't know. I feel like my time here is both limited, and unlimited. I just don't know.

Truly One of a Kind

2005-11-28T15:33:00.000-05:00

One of my all time favourite things is happening tonight...I'm going to the One of a Kind Show in Toronto. The One of a Kind Show is, at its most base level, a craft show. But it is so much more than that...oh so much more. The crafts (they prefer the term "artisanal designs") range from the edible (gourmet candy apples, home-made pepper jellies, and the ubiquitous fudge) to the luxury and ill-afforable (lapis lazuli brooches, endless strings of pearls, and carved amethyst rock).

I try and get all of my Christmas shopping done here, every year. Last year, I picked up a personalized apron for my mother...a Bond-style girl lounging like a mudflap lady at the bottom, "Margarita Mamma" emblazoned on the top. I also love the edibles and go to great lengths to snaffle the samples...last year an alcohol pickled garlic clove (yes, you heard me...clove) took me to new heights of ecstacy (and yes, stinkiness), only tempered by the melting, aching sweetness of shortbread that didn't need to be chewed as much as absorbed. I bought packets for everyone I knew. Ok, and one for me.

As with any show of this size, there are duds. But that is part of the pleasure...going into hysterics at the mere sight of certain products just makes the day all worthwhile. For example, the miniature fruit stall. It looks great, but what on earth do you do with miniature fruit? Lose it, I suppose. Find it down the sofa? I don't know.

I simply cannot wait until 5.30pm to find out what this years show will hold...oh, oh, will the lady with the freaky faced fairies by there? Oh, what about the person who carves faces into tree trunks? And will the woman who created thousands upon thousands of pink tulle tutus for dressup be there? God, I hope so...I've been promising myself a crown of ribbon and glitter this year.

The Feeling of Useful

2005-11-25T16:55:00.000-05:00

I had forgotten what the feeling of useful felt like. The sense of accomplishment when you have reached the end of the week, not only (relatively) unscathed and mostly alive, but also with the list ready to go for next week. The feeling that you can put the week safely to bed knowing you can fully enjoy a well deserved weekend, return on Monday, and have a list.

No scatterbrain thoughts...no rushing madly from one project to another aimlessly. No no, not this week. This week, I am in control. I shaped my week. I won.

The last five days were not without their bumps, but I have also learnt that bumps are not necessarily the end of the world. I can brush off the stilleto heel marks from my suit and get back to work. Yes, there might be a few hasty job applications, but it's only a temporary lapse until you regain control, dab your eyes, flap your hands in front of your face a few times and return to your desk stronger than before.

The funniest sensation did happen to me though...I thought that, if I did lose my job, it would of course be terrible. But I also got this feeling that everything would be ok if I did. Sure, we'd have less income for a bit, but I am a competent woman...I'd get a new job, and we'd be fine.

Then thoughts turned to babies and maternity leave for a few moments, and I had to think hard to get me back on track. Ah, yes...being fired.

I just knew that MF would take care of me, of us. It would be hard, but we'd manage. I'd take a lower paying job if I had to, we have plenty of sacrifices we could make if necessary. It seemed all sort of romantic (in the same sense that Dickens or Tolstoy or Hugo is romatic, that is).

Regardless, I am now back in control. I am still me, just with a more cautious attitude, more prepared, with a CYA file (that's "Cover Your Ass" for you non-corporate types who haven't been exposed yet to the vipers of the world). I am looking forward to the weekend, yes, but I am also looking forward to Monday.

Onwards!!

Why do people have to be...so "people-ish"?

2005-11-18T15:17:00.000-05:00

I have said before, and I'll say again, people suck. Especially people who are meant to be your nearest and dearest.

We've been getting "feedback" about our invitations. I didn't know our invitations were up for discussion until I had some comments. Why everyone feels as if they have to weigh in on everything wedding related, I'll never know. We weren't (believe it or not) asking for opinions. My personal favourite was:

"Oh, I got your invite, it was nice. You obviously took some time to make them. But my friend Sarah's invite was really nice...blah blah blah, I'm a total moron".

The other comments we LOVE receiving usually feature the following statement:

"Oh, you are doing BLANK? We don't like BLANK, we didn't do it at our wedding" or "BLANK is such a total waste of money, why on earth are you doing that?"

The funny thing is that I had no idea how diverse peoples opinions are on weddings. We have a friend who thinks that is is completely ridiculous and unnecessary that we are feeding our guests. Another thinks that anything other than a cashbar is completely ludicrous. "Why on earth would you pay for other people's drinks?" we exclaims while avoiding paying for yet another round.

Then some people think that unless I have a gold carriage pulled by fieldmice in little jackets, that I am somehow doing this whole thing on the sly and on the cheap?

"What do you mean you aren't getting a custom made dress? Who on earth nowadays doesn't go custom? What type of peasant are you anyway?"

I'm happy now just to smile and say "Ok, we'll take that into consideration" while shooting daggers at them about their complete lack of clue. And the next person who says "Chocolates as favours? But I don't like chocolate", I'll just tell them that I'll have theirs instead, so as to avoid the inconvenience we are clearly causing them.

Truth in Advertising

2005-11-17T13:38:00.000-05:00

Driving in yesterday morning, I was interested to see a photograph of a woman between the wheel well and the rear doors of a 1988 Camero. Not just any photo, but a full head to toe, silver bikini clad, platform shoed and stacked photo. I was curious at who the absolute pig was driving said Camero...and as we pulled ahead I couldn't help but notice that the driver...was the woman in the picture!

Now, this has raised some very important questions for me:

a) It was clearly her head...but was it her body? Couldn't tell!
b) Where does this girl work?
c) What is she advertising? Herself? What if she works in an office? *Announcing newer, improved SHANNON*?

I don't get it. Attention-seeking? Definitely. Reasons however, remain unknown.

Back-bloggin'

2005-11-16T10:02:00.000-05:00

Thanks for kick-starting me back into the blogosphere M, I have been completely awful in my lack of blogging. I will summarize some posts I will be completing in the coming days, and (hopefully) will get them all done shortly:

Truth in Advertising: Regarding my commute this morning
Simply Don't Want to Be Here: Regarding how crappy work has been lately
Why People Just Suck: Regarding people's reactions to our invitation
Hot Mama: My Mum's got a boyfriend!
Why I am always right: Because, well, I am.

I will (try to) start with post #1 this p.m!

Another check on the list

2005-11-07T15:42:00.000-05:00

Invitations are now (almost) out. We now have only 15 or so lounging on the carpet at home, waiting for enclosures. Yay.

Up until this exact point, the invitations have been the most stressful thing on my to-do list. Think about it: first you have to pick and choose from everyone you've ever known in your entire life and then divide the list into two parts - people you like / like you, and people you hate / hate you. Then you have to divide the "people you like" list in half. This is now the master list. Then you have to cut the "people you hate" list into quarters and add one quarter to the master list. These people are invariably relatives.

You then take the master list and try and find out where they live, or in one case, where they are buried (sorry Uncle Rob!). You have to contact people who make up another quarter of the "people you hate" list to find out where the "people you hate" on the master list actually reside. Then you end up pissing off that quarter because they weren't invited, even though they hate you and you know it.

When you've got everything settled, you've made your max number, and everyone has contact info, this is the exact point when both mother and mother in law wonder why you haven't invited Aunt Sydney, or Uncle Brian. Don't you know they are like a sister / brother to them?? How could we have been so inconsiderate? You then take Aunt Sydney and Uncle Brian (and their 19 children, natch) and put them on the "backup master list". This list is very important. It is a list you have no intention of contacting. Ever. You plan no invite to send them, no space on the seating chart, no intention of getting contact info. These are the people who will show up on the day of, despite "forgetting" to disclose the province you are being married within. Remember this. It will happen. And they won’t bring a gift. And they will complain. A lot.

Then we have to decide which of these people will partake in various activities, such as out-of-towner dinners, the rehearsal, and my favourite, the Bridal Tea. Somehow, I have to keep the fact that we are having a Bridal Tea a deathly secret...if mother-in-law got wind of it, she'd appear with her flying monkeys…I mean, grandchildren, nieces and Aunt Sydney…much to the chagrin of my mother, who is hosting. Then, I have to keep explaining to MF that the tea is only to thank the bridesmaids for their (non-existent) help, while simultaneously inviting all of my out-of-town female relatives, because my mother won't have seen them in about 20 years.

THEN we have to figure out which of these darling guests resides in which country, and contact someone in each applicable country to purchase stamps for the RSVP envelopes...as I'm pretty sure that Germany won't accept out fiddy cent Canadian flag stamps. THEN we have to weigh each countries invites to work out the individual postage (who knew that a stamp to Uganda would cost $8?). THEN we have to drop them in the mail and await RSVP.

There is a measurement of time that is so minusculey short, so insignificantly tiny, that it doesn't even have a name. Millisecond is way to long a title. If a millisecond denotes that time frame, this measurement of time would be called a "mi".

A "mi" is precisely the amount of time between dropping all of the invitations in the postbox, and discovering a huge (and potentially embarrassing) typo on every single one of our invites. This will not only guarantee that no-one will show up a) on time, b) in the right location, AND c) in the correct dimension, but will also cause undeniable and catastrophic ripples throughout your entire guest list, ensuring that those who do manage to show up on time, in the right location and dimension, don't bring a gift.

So, we sit (or cower) and await the inevitable. Planning a wedding is so much fun!

Some good news, some not-so-good news

2005-11-02T09:24:00.000-05:00

Good news:

I can now fit into undies that I wore when I was 18 without the sides cutting into my thighs and making unsightly bulges on either side.

Bad news:

This means that my underwear is 10 years old. Go me.

Halloween Synopsis

2005-11-01T11:48:00.000-05:00

Approximately 90 Aero bars left. Distinct surplus. Should be gone within 3 days given MF's propensity for the bubbly bars.
Status of our three pumpkins = intact. Strange. Really expected them to be kicked in given the damage done to the rest of the street. Must be our super-duper carving skills (mine featured a raven on a skull, MF's was a cat. We threw in a scary face for luck). Pics to follow.
Distinct dry scalp developing from tightness of Alice band worn yesterday. I shall break out the Head and Shoulders tonight.
Home-made pumpkin seeds are the highlight of this week. Not too roasty, not too salty, just right!
Candygrams received at work = 1. From someone mysteriously called "The Magic Pumpkin". I never knew he cared.
Fear Fest at Canada's Wonderland proved to be worth the money. Fancy that!

What I am and what I can be

2005-10-31T14:05:00.000-05:00

Pretending to be someone you are not. Isn't that just the rub? I do this everyday, but not in costume...I'm in work clothes, going-out clothes, grub clothes.

I want this blog to be funny, so I write the ha-ha's because that's what a blog should be, shouldn't it? I don't want to be too self-indulgent of myself, or write intense soul searching entries (like this one) because, let's face it, I wouldn't read it myself. I want to be so many different things, and care too much about how I appear to others.

So I try to be funny, because that's what I would want to read about. I wouldn't want to read about the doubtful times, the rough times. I want to be clever and witty and brilliant. But I'm not. I used to call myself a good writer, but I am actually just a glorified diary writer.

So I sit and try and find out the humour of what happened today. Like the fact that I won third place at work's costume contest. Not because of my fantastic Alice in Wonderland costume...no, no...but because the judge thought I was dressed as a "naughty nurse". Not just a "nurse" but a naughty one. A slutty one. Great, now I have something to label me in a work environment, negatively at that.

Sidenote: How anyone thought that a nurse carries a Cheshire Cat under one arm is beyond me.

But it wasn't funny. It wasn't funny at all. It made me want to curl up in a ball. It ruined my day and I am sad now. And deflated. Nothing I do is good.

Like when I decided to take some classes to improve myself and meet new people. I actually came out of that experiment with an ENEMY. I mean, who takes a marketing class and comes out with someone who hates your guts. Oh right. That would be me.

I once went to a psychic who told me that things are made purposefully difficult for me, because I am being tested. Things never come easy. And it is because of all of the pain I have to face that I will become unbreakable. But I'm not exactly loving the process. You know when you start to feel paranoid that the whole world is out to get you...well I'm not paranoid, it really is.

I've had so much good in my life and so much bad, and I feel that I am never quite with the group. I'm always running to catch up. I live and breathe on the fringes of friendships, always the "third girl" (ladies, you know what that means), always the last one asked for coffee, the first to be picked on, the last to be given anything freely and without consequence.

I want to be so many things, but most of all I want to be liked for who I am. God that sounds so pathetically sad. I want to go through a day knowing that I am liked, and feel warm inside with that thought. I want to know that there is no-one out there that wishes to see me embarrassed or hurt. I want to be the funny, carefree girl, but it isn't to be.

I hope I will one day see the meaning of all of it. A great "ah-ha" moment at the age of 80. I hope it is all worth it. I want to be worth it.

Down the rabbit hole

2005-10-31T11:26:00.000-05:00

I sit here today at my desk, dressed as Alice in Wonderland. I feel like a dork. However, I know that at least I resemble Alice in Wonderland, from my little Mary Janes to my blue dress and "Alice" hairband. I even have a stuffed Cheshire Cat. Clearly, I rock.

I went to a nightclub on Saturday dressed as a hula girl (pics to follow) and encountered not one, but four other hula girls. I was brave enough to be wearing a grass skirt, bikini and a smile. All but one were as daring.

I also plan to wear this getup tonight while being honorary candy server at our house. Hopefully I will get a comment. Last year, while wearing my favourite "Hello Kitty" t-shirt (no, not a costume), I got a "That's a really cool t-shirt" from a 6 year old.

It was the best compliment I think I've ever received. Again, clearly I rock.

I'm even leaving early from work to get home in time to see the young ones, often the best dressed of the bunch. Last year we got a 3 month old dressed as a pumpkin at about 5.30pm. I wouldn't miss that for the world.

House is sold

2005-10-27T10:22:00.000-04:00

We managed to sell the house last night. You know how you expect some things to end with a bang? Well, this was one of those times that you expect the bang and get the fizzle. I expected to break out a mini bottle of champagne that I'd been saving, but instead we just put on America's Next Top Model. What a celebration.

The whole "end-of-an-era" thing is becoming quite clear now. It's almost as if we are sorting out our affairs before we begin a whole new life (which essentially, we are).

Getting the house off our plates gives me more free time to worry about other things too, like our invitations. Hopefully, with MF gone most of the weekend, I'll be free to run errands and glue stuff like a mad woman. I am actually really looking forward to it!

Claustrophobia makes you famished!

2005-10-24T17:11:00.000-04:00

Something about being on an airplane, a glorified winged tin can, after a hideous takeoff combined with turbulence, appropriate baby screeching, and two-year-old kicking the back of your seat (natch) to bring on a case of the hungries.

There is NOTHING like the wafting smell of beef in goop drifting from the galley to make you realize you have never been quite as hungry as you are right now. This is not a joke. Something about airplanes makes me seriously ravenous, and those mysterious food platters (which, you know, are about 3 hours away from actually being served) and their teasing lingering scent go on their way to make me absolutely insane with hunger.

And now, sitting in my cubby while waves of luscious Lean Cuisine smells waft from the kitchen, I realize I have never, ever been this hungry in my life.

Damn you, plastic tray food that I cannot eat!!

Time to explain...what's going on in my life?

2005-10-24T15:36:00.000-04:00

Well, the reason I have been so ticked at MF recently is because he has been sick for almost 2 weeks, during which time we bought a house and put ours on the market. There is a lot of stress going around. Also, our close date is 8 days before our wedding, which makes things a little crazy.

I'm beginning to seriously doubt my ability to vow to love MF "in sickness and in health". Of course, I WILL, but it takes so much out of me that I just hope I can stay strong if he does get seriously ill.

This is all just coming to a head. After he injured his neck at a volleyball game, and we spent hours in emerg waiting for a doctor that never came, he just hasn't been well. That was three weeks ago. After he hurt himself, we was pretty stiff and sore for the entire following week (and all of the complaining that involves). But instead of taking it easy, he went and played volleyball the following week too, and guess what? Another week of complaining and soreness. Does he stop playing volleyball? No. In fact, he then proceeds to help a buddy finish his basement, help my Dad pound fence posts into the ground, and next week is set to chop up trees at his Dad's place. Basically, he is overextending himself and I get the brunt of it.

This weekend, we had friends over to discuss the wedding, as he is the MC. I tidied the house by myself, cooked the dinner, cleaned up afterwards, sorted laundry, loaded dishwashers, cooked every meal. Not one finger lifted, because he is "sick".

You know what? Enough. If you are that sick, don't play volleyball, k? Don't chop down trees, k? Don't complain that you are too sick to help me cook dinner and then finish someone's basement, k?

The house has to be spotless every morning for showings, I'm stressed that the place hasn't generated much interest, and I am planning a wedding. I spent a day this weekend hand cutting and gluing the invitations that HE insisted we do, while he took a nap. I am one...bloody...complaint away from murder right now!!!

But the house we bought is lovely, and much closer to work, so less commute. It really has been a bittersweet couple of weeks.

Sick Boy

2005-10-18T17:10:00.000-04:00

The world remains in order. With a stressful situation now hovering over us like a hungry mosquito, MF has fallen ill. Again.

Again.

There isn't much to say except, "again".

Our moment of need = sick
The point at which we need to work hard together = sick
A stressful time for both of us = sick

I know everyone has their reactions to stress, but this is ridiculous. And to make matters worse, this time it's some mystery ailment. Sure, I feel sorry for the bloke, but I'd feel a heck of a lot more sorry for him if he doesn't do this every...bloody...time...I need him to be "on" and working hard.

I'll expand on this later...it really is exciting news, and I am rising to the challenge. The irony is, I feel that these times are the ones I really get to shine, as I embrace stress and rise up to exceed expectations. But it would be a heck more enjoyable if "we" were rising to that challenge together, as equals.

Ho-hum.

A mystery of the universe is solved

2005-10-14T14:25:00.000-04:00

I have worked out why there are always lineups at women's washrooms. As guys are strolling in an out with an almost frightening speed, we do the peepee dance in line for 10 minutes.

Why?

Because (some) women are stupid. They get into a public washroom and the internal dialogue goes something like this: "Ewww. Like, so totally gross. I have to put my butt and some junk on an icky dirty toilet seat. No way! I'm going to line it with paper so I don't have to touch anything!".

Just wondering, but when was the last time you heard of anyone catching a highly contagious ass disease? Anyone? Anyone?? No, there must be an epidemic of ass diseases going around, because women are carefully tearing off sheet by sheet to line the seat and prevent this deadly infection from spreading. Clearly, doctor's offices are full of women with scabby circles on their rears and upper thighs. Physicians everywhere must be distraught that people STILL sit on toilet seats without a 1-ply protective barrier, due to the severity of the butt bubonic plague going around.

Do I sit on a public washroom seat without paper? You bet your bee-hind I do.

Open Letter to Death Cab for Cutie...

2005-10-14T14:24:00.000-04:00

Depeche Mode called. They want their music back.

Welcome to Slutsville: Population - Me

2005-10-13T16:37:00.000-04:00

Sooo, I'm walking around the building here, as one is wont to do, and I see a girl wearing the same sweater that I had recently purchased from Jacob.

Didn't really irk me until later that she had been wearing a white shirt under said sweater.

Sure, the sweater by itself is easily described as low cut and tight. It even has a slight tendency to fall on the outer shoulder blades. But is it really necessary to wear a shirt underneath to preserve modesty? I thought not.

Therefore, I am obviously a raging slut.

Even with the recently layering trend (which I don't understand BTW), I thought I was perfectly decent letting the puppies out for a bit of air. Not a lot of air. Screen door air.

If you will excuse me, I am going home to reconsider my work-casual options now.

Everything is Awesome

2005-10-12T15:57:00.000-04:00

Let me explain. MF thinks I'm one of the most positive people he's every met. This is either because he is mistaking me for someone else (likely), or comparing me to his ex-wife (even more likely). I am not personally known for optimism amongst my (non-existent) group of friends. I think I am more likely to be known as "the loud one", "the drunk one", and very infrequently as "the mushy one". Optimism though...not so much.

When we were driving home one day, about two years ago, I looked out the window and saw a house covered in cheap spider web stuff and decorated with little pumpkin lights. Neato!! I smiled and said to MF (then MB) "Ah, I love it when people decorate for Halloween...it's so cool". He smiled, and thought that was the cutest thing to say, that so many people are down on little things like that.

But I've always liked the little things. Lights at Christmas. Walking in leaves. Baking. Feeding ducks. Running. Holding hands. Kids on skis. Bunnies.

Before I get all "puppies and kittens" and crap, I would like to say this...everything is awesome. I guess I'm having one of those stupid love bursts, where everything is great and the world is pink and happy. I'm not sure if that's it or not. I think what I'm trying to say is that the world is a pretty kick ass place full of amazing people who are doing nothing but doing what they do best (whatever that is). Whether it is decorating their house to bring a smile to a kids face (or an adults for that matter), to people who grow Christmas trees, to people who teach other people, to people who learn, to people who share and just try and make their space and their home better for themselves and for others.

Totally awesome, and completely kick ass.

Tonight I'm going home, getting to pet my cats, snuggle MF, and glue together wedding invitations. What could be better? I honestly can't think of anything I'd rather be doing.

4 months is just a nice way of saying "2976 hours"

2005-10-10T16:57:00.000-04:00

In four months, 1 day and 30 minutes, I'll be walking down the aisle. It's scary as hell. It's really hard to reconcile what should be a really happy and joyous event with my shyness, my nervousness and my over-active imagination. Will I trip? Will I catch fire? Will I cry?

Although catching fire is unlikely (though not impossible), I must start focusing more on what this means rather than what it is...what it all means is that I will become a wife, a lifelong companion, taking the first steps towards being something different in mindset and shape to what I am now. What it is is a party, a celebration, an event.

I fear I am in danger of being consumed by the wedding machine...focused on the placecards instead of on joining hands with my husband. I will endevour to do better (as soon as the invitations are out, that is).

Thanksgiving

2005-10-07T14:26:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow begins a monumental weekend of turkey eating. Whee. Sometimes I wish the Canadian Thanksgiving was more like the American one...or is that just a TV construct? I have this idea that an American Thanksgiving involves 12 happy people sitting around a huge and gorgeous spread (complete with tiny pinecone turkey placecards), chattering politely in their knitted pullovers before retiring for a spot of touch football where no-one gets mucky.

Here, there isn't a lot of symbolism to the event. It's a nice day, but in the end, it's just a long weekend. Not that it is even that for me...I don't get the Monday off as my company works as per the American calendar.

I cook my first Turkey tomorrow for the in-laws. I hope everything turns out for the best. Being me, I would like to take this moment to completely outshine all previous efforts of everyone who came before me. More than likely, I will end up with a turkey more like my Dad's...burnt on the outside, slimy raw on the in. Mmmm, cajun style.

So, here is what I have to give thanks for. Note that "Having the day off" is no longer applicable. I am thankful for:

MF
My job
A roof over my head
Money in the bank
My furkids
My general good fortune in recent days
Bunnies
Low sodium club soda
Ryan Reynolds
Laughter
Snuggling
Saturday mornings
My family (I guess)
Canadians
Registries
My peeps and homies
Cheese
Brad Pitt in "Troy"
Convoluted conversations
Blogging
Backrubs
Marcy, my colourist (yes, she really IS that good)
Television
Advice columns
Procrastination
The colour pink

I think that covers it. Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Things I do that I can't figure out why I do them

2005-10-06T14:09:00.000-04:00

Computer Related
1) Check MF's email

Ok, this has some qualifications. I still check it now and again because of "the incident". Occasionally I find things, little things. Like some random e-vite to a party held by a name I recognize from his old contact list, before he deleted it. Could she be a blind date from 6 years ago that still has him on file? Or could it be a girl he was corresponding with during "the incident"? I don't know.

2) Google names from MF's email

See above. I google email addresses that I am wary of. Nothing comes of it except my churning stomach.

3) Google ex-boyfriends

I now know where my most recent ex works. Actually, I think it just gives me peace of mind to know where he is from 9-5 so I can avoid the area.

4) Read certain blogs

Ah, the guilty pleasure of reading blogs that incite or upset me. Yay.

"Opening" related
1) I open boxes in stores

Gift boxes, jewellry boxes, wooden boxes...what do I think is in there?

2) I open my paycheck

Why? I know what's in there. It's the same every week. What am I going to find, an uncashed bonus cheque?

3) I open MF's unopened mail

Because I'm a snoop. If he doesn't open it, why not? And besides, I hate filing envelopes.

Personal quirk related
1) I flap my hands in front of my eyes when I'm about to cry

Why??? Dear God tell me WHY??

2) I bite my nails

I'm not as bad as I used to be (biting them off) but I do nibble at my cuticles like some rabid chipmunk. I know it's going to hurt later, but that doesn't seem to stop me.

3) I allow my mother to get to me

Ok, but who doesn't??

4) I pull my eyelashes as a compulsive habit

Weird huh?

The essence of cake

2005-10-05T13:27:00.000-04:00

Today is MF's birthday, once that fully esconces him into early-to-late early 30's. I presented him with a slightly non-traditional cake this morning...a tray of Costco Cream Cheese Frosted Sticky Buns. He was pleased.

I didn't receive a cake on my birthday. Not on purpose. It was merely an oversight. But the fundamental importance of cake (to me) dawned on me that day. To me, cake has always been the marking of my years, my passage. It's not real until the candles are blown out and wishes are made, bringing closure to the old and hopes for the new. A symbolic exercise if ever there was one.

Recently, while experiencing scrapbooking creative block, I sorted my photographs until I had found all of the pictures of us children blowing out the candles on our cake...cheeks ballooned, eyes wide with effort and excitement. While some years were skipped or missing, there was enough to cover a whole spread of my scrapbook with 1x1" pictures. That's a lot of cake.

While the cakes got less elaborate and fancy with age, deteriorating from sponge cake castles and chocolate button decorated dragons, to bowls of trifle and store bought standards, there was always something special about that cake, whatever shape it took.

The last picture of me with a cake was on my 18th. I was "dressed-up" in a black dress with my hair in an attempt at a sophisticated twist. My friends are around me in their best black tie and we are all laughing as I cut the Champagne Bottle shaped cake. A snap shot in time.

I look forward to taking my own pictures of my children on their birthdays. The typical shot of the 1-year old, covered head to toe in icing. The 10 year old beaming at his arrival into the double digits. The surprised look on that five year old face as they get that barbie cake I'd been denying them for SO long.

But who will take pictures of me? Who witnesses my aging? Who would spend hours to bake me a cake, and sit enthralled as I blow out those candles? We mark the time in years, but the importance lessens. Therefore, MF will be getting an even better cake next year, perhaps made from scratch this time. I just hope he sees that everything I do for him is a little bit of a silent encouragement to do the same for me. I hope.

Bang a Gong...or a Birch

2005-10-04T12:32:00.000-04:00

Last post I wrote reminds me of someone telling me, years ago, that T-Rex's last hit was a tree.

Poor Marc Bolan. But too funny.

Conspiracy Theory #282: D'Angelo's Car Crash

2005-09-27T15:34:00.000-04:00

Hmm. So you are listed in "critical condition" following a harrowing SUV crash in which you (duh) weren't wearing your seatbelt.

Now, all of a sudden, it appears that you just bruised a rib. Ok, I'm following along so far...

But when your lawyer / business adviser, makes a statement that includes the sentence: "(D'Angelo) is anxious to finish the recording of his soul masterpiece that the world has patiently awaited", you lose me.

Bravo 14-minuter, I applaud you and your dubious techniques. You have reached the checkpoint and your time has been extended.

The Art of Compromise

2005-09-26T16:55:00.000-04:00

I bend like grass in the wind...everyone elses feelings ahead of mine, everyone elses needs come first. I should be studied by anthropologists due to my remarkable lack of spine.

And I just put my foot down dammit!

I am sick and fricking tired of people taking my aura of compromise and "let's just get along"-ness as weakness or indifference. And if there is one thing I've learnt from my lack of vertebrae, that is people will take advantage of someone's desire not to rock the boat.

My beloved Mother for example (drip THAT with sarcasm, and you are right where I am right now). She is unable of giving an opinion without making you feel as if you are absolutely stupid to do it any other way than the way she has suggested. This all came up over Bridesmaid Dress colours, which I couldn't give a flying frig about. Bridesmaids colours, whee. So what? So, I eventually whittled my own intense disinterest into two choices; champagne and charcoal. Upon finding out that, oops, champagne makes my girls look like extras in "Dawn of the Dead". I change and go for the charcoal. Fine. Or so I thought.

Twenty eight years of brutal and intense bootcamp training in the art of avoiding my mother's opinion should have kicked in about now, but no, I decide she deserves...not a "say", but at least a moment to air her thoughts. And air she did.

She simply cannot tell me (as any rational person would in the face of an eager, sunny bride-to-be asking an opinion) that she isn't fond of the colour. She can't even make non-committal noises. No, my mother has to have an all-out "your choices suck" kind of moment. The kind of moment, where, I paraphrase, she called my choice "dull, dire, funerial, boring, and sad".

Oh, ok then.

Bearing in mind that I have been completely non-plussed by the events leading up to our wedding. My "choices" have been flexible and frankly, the result of many coin tosses. But this one was my own choice. My only choice. So, what does my rational thought process do as soon as I hear the tired from Mummy-Dearest?

I want to change it to champagne.

"Frick that" is what (I believe) I heard a small portion of spinal column whisper up to my grey matter. I couldn't believe that I was actually going to change MY choice, at MY wedding, which I AM PAYING FOR because my mother doesn't fancy the colour.

Screw you Mum...I'm getting charcoal.

So while I rest my body with it's burgeoning spine, I will be informing my BM's to go order their dresses in that dire, funerial colour.

Then I will proceed to hide under my duvet and avoid the incoming calls from England.

Ah, compromise!

Assist now...

2005-09-23T14:20:00.000-04:00

DEAR SIR/MADAM,

RE: TRANSFER OF (24) TWO-DOZEN KRISPY KREME DONUTS

I want to transfer (24) Two-Dozen Krispy Kreme Donuts from a Prime Donut Manufacturer here in South Africa to an oversea domicile. First, I must solicit your strictest confidence in this transaction. This is by virtue of it's nature as being utterly confidential. I am sure and have confidence of your ability and reliability to prosecute a transaction of this great magnitude. I solicit your assistance to enable us transfer the said amount of donuts into your safe house for unward consumption. You can either provide us with an existing kitchen counter or to set up a new food service area immediately to receive these donuts, even an empty shelf can serve to receive these fried bread products, as long as you will remain honest to me till the end of this important business trusting in you and believing that you will never let me down either now or in future.

I am the personal pastry chef to the great late INDUSTRIALIST who has a donut craving in one of the top donut depositories here in South Africa. The shop was opened in 1998 and he died in 2003 without a written or oral WILL and since 2003 nobody has operated on this manufacturing plant again hence the donuts are floating and if I do not remit these artery clogging pastries out urgently they will be forfeited for nothing. Or go stale.

The owner of this palace of fat is a foreigner and no other person knows about this business or anything concerning it, the owner has no other beneficiary and until his death he was the manager of the company. My investigation through the National immigration department proved to me as well that he was single as at the time of his entry into the Republic of South Africa. The amount in the glass display case is 24 ( two-dozen) only.

As a matter of fact, I have decided to transfer these donuts abroad for consumption. Your assistance as a foreigner is necessary because the management of the Krispy Kreme will welcome any foreigner who has a kitchen table, or at the very least, a napkin, which I will give to you immediately, if you are interested to do this business with me. There is no risk in this business. With my position and my personal contact with the manager of the Krispy Kreme, the donuts can be transferred to any mailbox you can provide with assurance that these pastries will be intact pending their physical arrival in your country for sharing.

We will start the first transfer with a half-dozen original glazed [6]. Upon successful transfer without any disappointment from your side as to their taste and freshness, we shall re-apply for the remaining balance of 4 devil's food, 2 kruellers, 6 lemon filled, 5 chocolate cake and 1 sprinkle-topped to your home. I am only contacting you as a foreigner because these Krispy Kremes are known to be fattening to local people here, and can only be approved to any foreigner who has the incorrect nutritional information of the trans fats, which I will provide for you.

At the conclussion of the transfer you will take 2 original glazed and the remaining will be for me. As soon as I hear from you and upon your strong assurance that you will not let me down once the donuts go into your house I will then start the processing of the transfer of 1 devil's food and a couple of lemon filled to your kitchen without further delay.

Send the Information as I stated below.
Name:.............
Address:..........
Proximity to a Tim Horton's:...........
Are you a police officer?:............
How do you take your coffee?:.........

Contact me urgently via telephone for further details.

Thanks.
Yours Faithfully,
Ayaka Udom.

If I'm "on-the-wagon", can I eat wagon wheels?

2005-09-20T16:58:00.000-04:00

Day 6 of my renewed attempt at the South Beach diet. I finished the diet a month ago with little flourish and 8 pounds lighter. My 14 / 19 day stint seemed to have done well by my waistline. Then my sister arrived and we ended up in junk food hell...grabbing whatever we could eat in between activities. Then I got a call from the bridal store...my dress was in, well ahead of schedule. So I threw myself back into this no starch netherworld to try and shed just...a...little...bit...more before I have to go in for my fitting in early November. I am definitely well on the way to my goal weight.

Throw in some stripping, ahem, "exotic dance" lessons, some rock climbing, and lots of pretending to be at the gym, and it all looks very positive. But...

I'm starving. Starving! Damn this whole thing to hell, I want cake. And not just any cake, no, the ooey-gooeyist of cake, with cheesecake on the side and icing thick enough to hold up my grandmother without her walker. I want to swim in jello FULL FAT pudding and stuff lemon meringue pie into my mouth until it pushes out of my ears. I'd eat someone elses black forest if they weren't holding onto it. My teeth would make marks on the plate if I got my paws on pecan pie.

So I had a zero fat, sugar free yogurt. Which was nice.

*Sidenote: Not sure if you have them here, but Wagon Wheels (in England at least) were basically a Joe Louis which is (in Canada at least) is a chocolate coated, cream filled, oh-so-bad-for-you, trans fat ladened cake. Mmmmm. Trans fats....

Oooooh the irony...

2005-09-19T17:09:00.000-04:00

We just booked our honeymoon today, which I am totally and utterly thrilled to bits about. Nothing gets me all fired up like the prospect of a vacation as you can see through my March 2005 posts about Cuba. So, we (I mean "I") splurged and booked Maui. Yes, Maui. Fant-a-bulous Maui.

And I haven't got a coin in my wallet. Not one.

Since my sister came, and since I spoiled her beyond all reasonable means (including my own means...dinners out, shows, more dinners out, clothing, cosmetics, entertainment, MORE dinners out) I am now completely overdrawn on my account and can't even scratch together a $5 to get me through to Thursday.

I couldn't find a post on this, so I assumed I never wrote it. Three years ago (almost exactly), I was living by myself in an apartment I could not afford. I had stacks of debt on credit card and lines of credit and my job simply didn't make me enough each pay to get me through with the basics. I was overdrawn each month and I was barely hanging in there. I had no social life to speak of, and no luxuries if you don't count a passive-aggressive cat. The point of no-return came on an October Tuesday, when MF and I were at the end of our rope. I was SO overdrawn, I could overdraw no more. My credit cards were maxed, my line of credit was packed, and I had $5 in my wallet. MF was in an equal bind...fresh in divorce-ladened debt, his available credit was zero, he couldn't even afford his mortgage payments each month, and worse than me, he had NO cash. And we had to buy enough food to get us dinner that night, lunch and dinner the next, before our pay came around again.

No savings, no money, no nothing. This was truly the lowest point for us. I felt like a failure. What the hell was I doing? I didn't deserve to be called an adult, I had misused or misappropriated what little I did have. Somehow, we managed to buy a loaf of bread and 6 eggs, figuring that the dusty can of tuna in my cupboard could be divided four ways over four sandwiches, and an omelette would be filling. We ate in silence. I was terrified.

I look back on that and am thankful that I hit that point. Somehow, through some form of grace, or at the very least, a soppy movie ending, it all got better. MF asked me to move in with him. I paid him rent (1/4 of what I paid living alone) which allowed him to afford his mortgage. I got a better job with more money, and suddenly I'm booking a honeymoon to Maui. It all works out in the end...but why? That's the mystery.

I have had a little taste of that day in October this week. No money in my wallet, but an empty credit card to use if I must. Savings in the bank. An RRSP for my future. I've realized that, if things seem bad, that just means you aren't at "the end" yet...ain't no fat lady singing. Everyday just takes you in one direction, to the inevitable conclusion of the story...I hope you are travelling up.

Is Yahoo News, News?

2005-09-15T16:49:00.000-04:00

Scary:

Mice infected with bubonic plague missing

Roberts Says He Won't Be Ideologue

Donald Trump to Make Soap Opera Debut

Obvious:

Washed-up celebrities saturate reality TV

U.S.: Spike in Iraq Violence Predictable

Blog...delete...blog...delete...aw screw it, I'm bloggin'!

2005-09-15T11:40:00.000-04:00

I keep writing the same post over and over again, each time figuring that it may be offensive and deleting it. I don't even keep it as a draft, I mercilessly just delete the pages of text I wrote saying "Naw, this could get messy, I'd rather duck and avoid". Then, two weeks ago, I re-wrote the whole thing. It was still vibrant, a little scathing, and probably poorly written. I don't know exactly, because I deleted it. Today, I have decided just to bloody say it, because dammit, I can. Now, after that prelude that is going to make the rest of the post seem completely disappointing, here it is...the forbidden post.
-------------------------
Original title: Dying Whiners

You already know that I can't stand whiners. Get of your hiney and do something about whatever the hell it is you are complaining about. I am only so harsh on others because I have been there...my name is Barlet, and I'm a whiner. No more though, I have put the whining days (almost) firmly behind me, and if it wasn't for blogging, I wouldn't whine at all. It is simply something that, to me, takes more time and effort than just getting it done (whatever that may be). So, let's call this whole thing "An Observation" and not a whine (which is really, at it's base level, exactly what it is).

There's a guy in the blogging sphere. He may read my blog, I don't know. I wouldn't think I was self important enough to think he would if it wasn't for sharing mutual blog links. It is just a possibility. This guy has had a tough run of it, and his problems are very real and very, very pronounced. BUT, the guy is a whiner. Grade A. His blog is filled (FILLED) with the tales of woe, usually centring around which of his friends has recently done him wrong. The post that follows would then flip the whole thing on its head...they are now best of buds. And this seesawing continues throughout...friend wasn't available to talk = bad friend, friend sends email = good friend, friend hasn't time to be on the phone = evil friend, friend makes positive comment = good friend. I can't take the drama.

So why do I read this? I don't know. Nothing ever changes. Someone always "done him wrong" through some tiny misgiving that I would forgive of my worst enemy. I almost start to crave the lunacy...his best friend in the whole world kicked to the curb over a misunderstanding...LOVE IT! Better than a soap opera / car crash combination.

But it is hard to watch, the total and utter mental and physical disintegration of someone who is so fickle, hard to please, impossible to deal with, manic and clearly insane. Yet every day I aid and abet his whining observations of the world around him.

*sidenote: if you don't see why I couldn't write this earlier, maybe now you can

And here is where it gets difficult. I have known many disabled and sick people throughout my life. I have cared for the elderly, the dying, the permanently maimed, and guess what? While I was privy to their darkest thoughts, the most painful and lonely times, there was always a glimmer of...not hope...lightness. Of acceptance or humour (and not the dark kind either). These are people who still lived fulfilling and interesting lives, and fulfilled the lives of others even as they lay dying. Is this important? I don't know. All I know is that whining got them nowhere during those last weeks. All it got them is less time and less breath to say what they needed to say.

What am I saying? That people in terrible pain and in the process of dying should shut up and put up? No. But I am curious as to why this guy wastes so much breath and time and energy on being such a drama queen, if his days are, but his own admission, limited. All of the things he appears to be bitching about, all of the supposed "slights" against him appear minor to say the least, so what's the deal? What's the story?

Should I be writing this post? Isn't it taboo to saying anything bad against the diabled or dying? Yes, it is, but does that make this guy any less of a jerk? No. He's a jerk. I'm not sure why I care so much, but I feel as if I want to punch him in the face sometimes just to get him to understand...life is precious, shut the hell up! Why are you wasting time?! Why are you so focused on who said what to whom at what time when your kids are going to be fatherless?! Why the hell are you typing this blog? What is it for? What type of legacy is this that you are leaving for your wife and kids ? Shouldn't you be writing them letters to open on their wedding days? What the hell is wrong with you, and don't give me that "I'm dying" crap because I've seen it and this isn't about that.

Now that I've sufficiently whined my way through a blog post (again), I guess I'm just saying that life is short, and even shorter for some. It's what we do with it that counts. As Terry Fox Day creeps up on us I just think of him on the road, riddled with cancer but full of life. He showed us what it means to live, as strange as that is. To the anonymous guy, I wish you the best life possible. Just don't waste it.
------------------------

All hate mail can be directed to barletstarlet@yahoo.com

Back in the blogging saddle...

2005-09-13T17:19:00.000-04:00

After a weeks worth of fun and hilarity with little sis, she is now back home and everything has got back to normal. So I have decided to avoid a full blown post and just go straight to bullet points...the Big Mac of the Blogging experience: quick and satisfying (oh, and bad).

Things I Did With My Sister This Week (in order):

Picked her up at the airport
Went mini-golfing
Hit a driving range
Ate three pounds of crab (each)
Saw "The 40 Year Old Virgin"
Went to the CNE
Ate perogies
Ate cheesecake
Had a pedicure
Went shopping
Ate steak
Ate at Denny's
Went rock climbing
Had chicken risotto
Had lunch with a family friend
Visited dead grandparents
Ate green thai curry
Saw Blue Man Group
Went shopping
Chose a bridesmaids dress
Visited Rib Fest
Went to a wedding show
Saw the President of China
Watched Napolean Dynamite and Sideways
Had McDonald's Breakfast
Visited Canada's Wonderland
Ate funnel cake
Ate Chinese food
Went shopping
Bought junk food
Unlimited shrimp at Red Lobster
Dropped her at the airport

And here is what I didn't do while my sister was visiting:

Have sex

And here is the extent of my interaction with MF while my sister was visiting:

An argument

Needless to say, I need some TLC and some downtime. And don't get me started on my mother...I've HAD IT! More on this later.

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em

2005-09-01T11:40:00.000-04:00

I have the utmost of compassion for those affected by Hurricane Katrina. In an effort to wholely sypathize with the citizens of the affected states, and to immerse myself in their experience, I have begun looting my office.

Things looted to date:
A stapler
A blue highlighter (technically, not looting. Just retrieving my property from a co-worker)
A cheesestring
Two sheets of previously doodled on paper
A DVD player

I know that the paper and the cheesestring could be seen as being greedy and unnecessary. However, the DVD player is fundemental to my existance during these flood ravaged times.

I will next loot the Walmart Gun Section. Oh right, this is CANADA, we don't sell guns in department stores. Oh well. Not looking too smart are you Bush / NRA? Ha!

The best fiancee ever

2005-08-29T17:57:00.000-04:00

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"

2005-08-29T11:57:00.000-04:00

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

2005-08-26T09:32:00.000-04:00

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

2005-08-23T09:39:00.000-04:00

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!!

2005-08-18T10:10:00.000-04:00

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!!

2005-08-17T12:15:00.000-04:00

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?

2005-08-17T11:48:00.000-04:00

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

2005-08-16T12:18:00.000-04:00

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

2005-08-15T01:41:00.000-04:00

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....

2005-08-10T16:56:00.000-04:00

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...

2005-08-09T11:42:00.000-04:00

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

2005-08-04T12:42:00.000-04:00

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

2005-08-03T15:15:00.000-04:00

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

2005-08-02T17:37:00.000-04:00

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.

The weekend forecast...

2005-07-29T09:54:00.000-04:00

...calls for sunny skies, a camping trip and hotdogs over an open flame. Yes, our annual "Hightail it to Algonquin" trip starts tomorrow! I love this trip...what's better than hitting the road, stopping for the best ice cream in the country along the way, getting lost in little towns and picking up our canoe for a paddle into the deepest darkest national park in Ontario? Nothing, that's what! After an hour of paddling, those hotdogs are the best tasting things in the world. Three days of naked lounging, naked swimming and naked weenie roasting...bliss. Best of all, you cannot hear or see another living soul for miles (thankfully, due to the naked stuff) so it will be just MF and I...talking, chilling, reading a book (which I haven't done in a shamefully long time), playing cards, making out and fending off bears. Love it.

It's times that these that I am so thankful to have found a soul so akin to mine. I couldn't imagine one person that came before that would be so complementary to my needs, my likes, my dislikes, that I would feel so safe in those deep dark woods with.

So in love and happy (and thankful) right now.

I am not the size of a house (or high), honest...

2005-07-27T00:01:00.000-04:00

Realizing how much of my life (and my blog) is food-centric has given me a bit of a jolt. I always knew I loved food (to eat, not in a "special" kind of way) but to realize what a huge part it plays in my day-to-day wellbeing and mood is kind of disturbing.

I don't just think about food, I'm pretty sure I've reached the obsession phase. I think about what I am going to eat next all the time. When I've had breakfast I plan lunch, when I have lunch I think I could eat a snack later. On the drive home, the conversation is always focused on dinner. I worry when I go to someone's house that I won't be fed in close enough intervals. I am a girl on a mission...a stomach mission.

I think a lot of it stems to my low blood sugar (at least, that's what I'm calling it) because I get cranky and irritable if I don't eat regularly. But it's not just the timing, it's the quantity...I tend to overfill my plate and eat the whole thing. Bizarre.

And after all of this, I'm a size 5, trying to lose about 10 more pounds for the wedding. I admit I need some toning, but I'm not exactly Starr Jones here. I'm surprised that I'm not in a mu-mu right now.

I'm going to dinner with clients tonight (my first official "dinner with clients" ever...go me!) and I'm not thinking about dinner conversation...I'm thinking about choice of entree.

I need help!

What's up with 80's movies and hookers?

2005-07-25T13:42:00.000-04:00

Number of movies I watched this weekend: 2
Number of movies I watched this weekend that directly or indirectly featured hookers: 2
Number of movies I watched this weekend from the 80's: 2
Number of movies I watched this weekend that directly or indirectly featured hookers starring Tom Hanks: 1
Number of movies (that I know of) that directly or indirectly feature hookers starring Tom Hanks: 4

Tom Hanks and Hookers. Never thought I'd see the day. Not so much the all-round family entertainer, eh Tom?

Ban Tom Hanks!

Thinking about eating something

2005-07-22T17:01:00.000-04:00

I have half of my lunch sitting underneath my desk. It's staring at me, willing me to eat it. I'm not hungry, but I may be (as an ex so articulatley put it) "tasty". I don't want to eat, but I'd like to taste something, and it would do the job.

Lunch was purchased (and half consumed) at this little hole in the wall Chinese place around the corner. I believe it was called "A-B-C Chinese Food"...real knack for names those folk. I ordered the interestingly titled "Rainbow Meat and Shrimp Vermicelli", but only after asking what "Rainbow Meat" was (hoping it wasn't Leprechaun). Turns out Rainbow Meat is "red and green peppers, onions, and bean sprouts", which confused me slightly. In clarification, I asked if there was any meat in Rainbow Meat, to which I was informed "yes", Pork. Ah, alrighty then.

What I got was a very tasty (if a tiny bit bland) vermicelli mountain. Mt. Noodle. Chinese people were hiking it, it was so huge. I didn't know whether to eat it or conquer it for British posterity. Mr. Creosote would have looked at it and said "Gosh, that's really quite large".

I then proceeded to maw my way through it, and to my shame, I could have finished the whole thing. Only common decency (ok, and non-elasticated pants) prevented me. Dignity intact, I put down my chopsticks and took the remaining hillock back to work.

So now I'm tasty and I want to finish it (curse my "clear your plate" upbringing...no food can be left undigested). Nothing is stopping me except pride and perhaps heartburn. I do have a dress I'll need to fit into but DAMMIT I want Rainbow Meat! I'll let you know if I make it to 5.30 without caving.

Dennis Leary: Prophet

2005-07-22T08:59:00.000-04:00

There was Strawberry Banana flavour coffee at the 7-11 today.

The 7-11.

It's the end of civilization as we know it.

And the moral of the story is...

2005-07-21T17:15:00.000-04:00

Morals. God love 'em, but I have few. Mostly they centre around supporting other peoples rights and freedoms (gay marriage, abortion, freedom of religion, freedom of speech) so I keep very few for my own everyday behaviour. Or should that be that I lack shame, rather than morals? Yes, that sounds better...I am shameless.

Cutting right to the chase, I took lapdancing lessons this weekend. Good, wholesome, butt-slapping, leg splaying fun. My bridesmaid, L, introduced me to the class, but we had no idea what we were in for. Yes, I know lap-dancing usually involves a seated person, and yes, I know that you are meant to gyrate on top of them...I just didn't realize we'd have to practice on each other.

Sidenote: If you listen very carefully, you can hear male blog readers all over the country running off to get the hand cream.

Well, this experience has taught me, without a shadow of a doubt, what way my door swings. And it's not like one of those galley doors, but like a church door. Firm and unyielding to being pushed the other way. I swing one way only. Only having someone else's (clothed) breasts rubbed in the genital area can prove that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

So, after the splits, the head flips and the move I like to call "the Zeta Jones", I am fully equipped to tackle MF. Bring it on!

Indiana Jones and the Mystery of the Budweiser Bikini

2005-07-20T13:07:00.000-04:00

I know much of the ways of men. I am living with one who gives me way too much insight at times (would it kill you to close the door while you pee?). However, there are some things that remain elusive to me. Such as why Budweiser bikini's are attractive to guys. I spent good, decent money on a push-me-up, keep-it-in bikini to make me look like a svelte and sleekly well-proportioned beach goddess, and he wonders why I didn't get a "sexy" bikini. Like a Budweiser bikini. I thought only biker chicks wore those.

Seriously, to placate him, I went to Bikini Village, where they keep them at the back away from all of the designer suits (as if those beautiful Shan suits will be corrupted by the white-trash tankinis) and tried one on. It barely covered my boobs, and less said for what was posing as a bikini bottom the better. I could have swallowed the entire suit without a glass of water to help it on it's way. And I'm no prude! I draw the line at beach thongs, but other than that, most anything goes. But I looked like a ring girl at a junior kickboxing competition, or the girlfriend of someone called "Snake".

So, after my "dance" class (more on that in the following post) I went next door to a lovely boutique called Lovecraft, just for a browse. I came across Budweiser bikinis in the sale section (at a SEX SHOP...the pheneomena must be more widespread than I initially thought!) So I tried one on, figured, what the hell and bought it for him. Not for me, I wouldn't be seen dead with it on out of the house, but I figured I'd spend the same on lingerie.

So, he's in for the shock of his life tonight, his own Bud Girl. I shall inform you of the reaction...let's just call it a social experiment.

Puncture my ear drums please

2005-07-20T10:18:00.000-04:00

Someone in the office is whistling "Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer".

I think I shall kill him. Yes.

My dear cubby neighbour, though I love him to death, is playing Abba and Beatles music on panpipe.

Then are only so many times you can hear "Ob La Di, Ob La Da" Yucatan Penisula stylie before you go insane.

I think I shall kill him. Yes.

Stupidius dumbassi

2005-07-19T15:13:00.000-04:00

Mummy Moo has a boyfriend that I shall call "Dumbass". They have been together on and off for about 4 years. I don't like the guy. I'll just stick to the facts, without elaboration, to show you why:

He's a bigot
He's a racist
He's a sexist
He is always, without exception, right
He thinks Canadians are stupid
He doesn't like Canada. He thinks we sue everybody for no reason and that it is too safe because we have warning signs like "Mind Your Step".
He sees no difference between Canada and America
He thinks that the French should accept his English currency and be grateful because England liberated them in the 1940's
He cheated on my mother
He smokes in our house, knowing it makes my brother sick
He is a City Counsellor in England, elected on an anti-immigration platform
He falls asleep on the couch when we have company over. And snores.
He told MF that Germans should all be killed for what they did (MF is half German)
He wanted me to level our Christmas tree with books
He can't spell my sisters name after 4 years of knowing her. And it's an extremely common English name.

So, that's just scratching the surface of it all...without getting petty, and without getting mad.

So, what does Mummy Moo want to do? Have him invited to the wedding, of course! Now, in case you didn't see point 4 through 7, I don't know why he'd want to come in the first place. If you saw all of the other points, you'd probably see why I don't want him there (with particular attention given to point 13, which would go down an absolute treat with MF's GERMAN family). And it's not even a question of "IF" he'll raise the issue...it's "WHEN". I vote for during the ceremony, with me walking down the aisle to a fist fight.

True story: MF and I were talking about passports and Dumbass interjects that he doesn't see why we have to have passports. I said that it's to prove what citizenship we held. Dumbass went on to explain that he was coming into the UK from Europe and had misplaced his passport. When the (Pakistani) passport control officer asked him to prove that he was British (meaning a drivers licence or such) Dumbass gave him a rollicking for daring to question HIM that he was British, when the officer himself CLEARLY wasn't British, he was from darkie country. The officer then proceeded to say "Sir, you are being so entirely rude, you must be British". And Dumbass tells this story with PRIDE! The NERVE!!

MF is furious that he never spoke up then (mostly because we probably would have been thrown out of Mum's house for insubordination...she won't have anyone criticising Dumbass, no matter how obvious the criticism), and he doesn't want him within 2000 miles of our wedding.

So I had the difficult job of telling Mum that he wasn't welcome. Yes, this is a huge faux pas, and yes, we SHOULD invite him, but I can't. I won't. I won't put the day in jeopardy for one monkey. Other people have said "Oh, he can't be that bad". Trust me, he is.

Just imagine, if you will. My step mother won't be sitting in the first aisle (she will be sitting in the second), only my Mother, Father and my two Brothers (Mum's escorts) will be in the front row. Dumbass, if he weasled his way in against my wishes, would be asked to sit in the second row. But he wouldn't. He'd refuse. He'd make a scene, saying he wants to sit in the front row (a position not even my step-mother will have). And he'd make us, in the middle of the ceremony if necessarary, just to get his way. Again, not IF, but WHEN.

I won't have spent a week with my mother without him hanging on like some ignorant barnacle for 5 years. Please dear God, is it too much to ask that he doesn't come for the week of my wedding? By that point, I won't have seen her for a year and two months (alone or not) and goddamn it, I want to visit with her, not have her absent and distracted as she cares for this 60 year old toddler! He would demand to come to the Bachelorette ("What am I going to do by myself?") , he'd want Mum to stay with him the night before the wedding and then try and be around for the getting ready stuff...hell, he'd probably convince my Mum to let him walk me down the aisle!

Anyhoo, I told her no. She's upset. I wonder how much of it is just appearing "dateless" at the event, or genuine care for the guy. Right or wrong though, I'll stand my ground.

A quick note to Jennifer Connolly

2005-07-19T14:33:00.000-04:00

Dear Jennifer,

Just want to say, love your work. You were a real role model for me in Labyrinth...I wanted to grow up to be just like you. I know you disappeared for a while, and was thrilled when you found it back onto the screen and back into our hearts as the drug addict that uses a double dick on some random girl. Priceless.

I'm just as riveted to your most recent project, entitled "Dark Water". I found that it gave me a unique insight and perspective on the fundamentals of apartment block plumbing. The way the pipes rusted out...wow. The drama. In fact, the look on your face when the drywalling was being completed, ooh, gave me chills. How do you bring that type of emotion to the screen? I know I was fully prepped that this was indeed a horror film, but tell me...in that pivotal laundry room scene, how difficult was it to react in absolute fear to a visual effect created, I believe, for my other favourite horror film "The Frighteners"? I mean, the way you just freaked out when the water went brown...again...it must have been hard to keep up that tension, since we had already seen the same reaction about twenty times before that point.

You have given me a new found respect for leaks and buckets, and your performance has definitely made me want to pee in the near future.

Looking forward to seeing you in something equally good in the coming months,

B

Reality bites...hard

2005-07-15T13:12:00.000-04:00

Anyone who is following this blog saw what a crisis of conscience I had when I was contacted by an ex-boyfriend. In the end, I responded and informed MF that it had happened. Honesty is the best policy. But honesty swings both ways. The ex had told me that he still had feelings and rued the day he gave me up. A very nice, if somewhat pleading, email. I wrote that I appreciated him being honest with me, but that I was perfectly happy as I was. I was of course sad that we didn't work out, but I am moving on with my life.

So now, what to do about my impending marriage. Should I tell him? He could hear from mutual friends, would that be rude to come from a third party? I decided, a month after the fact, to tell him in a jovial "hey, how's it going?" type of email, because he was my friend, we were close, and I wouldn't want his feelings hurt.

Turns out he had already been told. He wasn't sad, he was just ok. He appreciated hearing it from me, despite the fact that I wasn't the first to tell him.

Now, MF is in the same boat with his ex-wife. To tell or not to tell. He is in the same situation...a mutual friend could tell her, so to inform her would be the decent, if unnecessary, thing to do.

It's strange, making that closure, ending a chapter with finality. We are moving on.

In Defense of Customer Service

2005-07-15T11:00:00.000-04:00

Having been largely raised in England I am used to a standard of customer service that hovers around the "piss poor" mark. Case in point...it did not surprise me in the least that a cab driver, called to pick us up at our home, got lost on the way and cussed US out (under his breath) that we led him on a wild goose chase. Or the hotel manager that cussed us out (under his breath) and gave us general hell because we were trying to open the main door to the hotel, which they had locked (despite us asking if the hotel would be locked at night).

Sidenote: This is an English thing, and I am always sure to ask. They assured us that no, the hotel wouldn't be locked. But it was. We thought that the door was just stuck, as they had told us it would be unlocked. Then the cussing began.

We also got cussed out (under his breath) by the pizza delivery guy who got lost on the way and delivered us a stone cold pizza for the equivilent of $50 (damn that exchange rate).

By the way, the cussing basically goes like this. "Bloody woman, doesn't know how to bloody get to her own bloody house, bloody, bloody, rumble, grumble". I always want to say "I can hear you, you know. I'm standing right here".

Another sidenote: Brits are infamous for stooping to gender stereotypes at the drop of a hat. You are not merely "stupid", you become "a stupid woman". Lovely.

Basically, English customer service revolves around one basic principle...you'll get whatever we choose to give you, and you'll like it. No refunds. No money off. No recourse. You'll get it, and you'll like it. This also applies to fast food ("These fries are cold!". "So?") and any form of reservation you place ("But I reserved these hotel rooms months ago!". "So?").

So, it pleases me greatly to come to Canada, and for that matter, most places in the States, where the customer is always right. It is a priviledge that I try not to take advantage of, but it is always a good fall back. If my pizza arrives in over 40 minutes and / or if the temperature of the pizza bag is below 60 degrees, my pizza is free. Not half off. No "so?". Free. If my heel falls off my shoe, it is replaced. Free. No questions asked. Jewellery stores ask "Can we clean your rings for free?", Kernels hands out free popcorn samples, and I get a free pickle with my deli sandwich because they felt like it.

This is all leading up to a point, I swear.

MF went to The Keg on Tuesday for lunch with a friend (the Keg is a steak restaurant...a little upscale but not stuffy). They don't go often at all, and this was a treat. They ordered steaks medium rare but MF's came chicago-d (charred) and medium well. They called over the waitress and asked about the steak. No questions asked, she put a new steak on. She asked how the friends steak was, to which he said it was ok, a little over what he would have liked, but he was fine. She insisted on replacing his steak also. Then the manager came over, had a nice chat with them, apologized, and insisted their steaks would be there within two minutes. They were. When the "bill" came, it just said "Your meals are on us today". That's service. Almost over-the-top service, but great service.

Having heard this story, I began craving steak, so we headed out to The Keg last night (it was pay day, whee!). I ordered a rare steak and crab legs, MF ordered the large steak medium rare. Both came well done. Ooops. Normally, I'd just eat it (and not enjoy it) because I hate making a fuss, but the waitress noticed straight away that the steaks were overcooked. She insisted on replacing them. The manager came over, had a nice chat with us, apologized (profusely), and insisted our steaks would be there within two minutes, and would I like a heap of extra crab too? I did, and they were. When the bill came, the wine we drank (a $30 bottle) was free.

So, this whole post is just one long ad for The Keg basically. I love their food and they take care of their customers. That's service.

PAIN! The Musical

2005-07-13T11:47:00.000-04:00

Don't know exactly where my head is at over these past few weeks, but for whatever reason, I fell down the stairs on Sunday. I haven't fallen down the stairs since I was about 5, and that was only because I was wearing semi-lethal non-grippy tube socks. Needless to say, I hurt myself. Not badly, just enough to be concerned and apply bandaids in conspicuous areas.

So, I show up for softball on Monday with bruises everywhere (my butt looks like a five day old banana...not that the team got to see that) and of course everyone looks at MF like he's some sort of abuser. I look like the victim of some sort of very selective shark attack...knobbly areas like knuckles, knees and elbows are the only areas scraped. Then I proceed to pull my ham strings while running. Great.

Today I am in great pain. Ham strings feel like tight elastic bands. Oh, and since I've been using Crest Whitestrips to get ready for the engagement party, my teeth are zingy and extremely sensitive...so much so that I can't chew. Loving it.

Cereal

2005-07-12T17:10:00.000-04:00

I have a love/hate relationship with cereal. Right now, I'm at the hate stage. Not because it's done anything wrong, no no no. Cereal can do no wrong. It's because I'm trying out the South Beach diet and carbs are decidedly out.

*Sidenote: When I say I am "trying" the South Beach diet, that means that I'm eating a Michelina's Carb Free Meal for lunch and cheating on the rest.

I used to love choosing my cereal in the grocery aisle, especially when we were visiting Canada from England over our summers. England had stupid cereal, healthy cereal. Like Weetabix. Cereal is meant to be fun and have a toy. There was nothing fun about Weetabix, that cereal was all business. We'd have to heap sugar on top of it and pound it into a soupy paste before it could be consumed. Oh, and since we had our milk delivered in the mornings, by 10am the milk on our cereal would be lukewarm from sitting on the doorstep for a couple of hours. Lukewarm soupy paste peppered with undissolved sugar. Lovely. Oh, and if it happened to be winter, the foil milk bottle seal would have been pecked through by birds trying to get to the cream that would rise to the top. Avian flu with your Weetabix? Bring it on. But then at least the milk was cold.

No, I loved choosing my Canadian cereal. Lucky Charms were my favourite. What's not to love? Crunchy sugary things and multicoloured marshmallowy goodness? Don't mind if I do. For a while we went a little hog wild with the different kinds, stuffing ourselves in the morning so that we could get a box of something new at the store that day. Whatever wasn't boring and / or had bran in it was fair game. The grammatically challenged Capt'in Crunch. Boo Berry AND Count Chocula mixed together in a G-rated horror of contrasting taste. Throw in some Franken-berry for a truly frightening taste sensation. Cocoa, Fruity AND Dino Pebbles...Mmmmm. And Sugar Smacks with the frog on the box. Scary that frogs can sell cereal, but hey, it worked. Other times, when we were coming off a sugar high, we could settle for Trix or Froot Loops (what is it with cereal names and grammar issues?)

The toys were great too. Even at 13 or so, I was collecting Star Trek: The Next Generation trading cards from inside Cheerios. My favourite was Deana Troy, who I wanted to be when I grew up (hey, a kid can dream).

Now, our collection includes Kashi, cereal of champions. This fiber-licious concoctions is low in fat, low in sugar and high in soy protein. Mmmmm. Also in our rotation is Special K Red Berries, which is hard to eat if you don't soak the berries in milk first...otherwise it's like eating little sour sponges. Of course, we do keep a box of Lucky Charms on hand, in case of a severe 80's moment (such as seeing the "New New Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" on tv on a Saturday morning). We also just invested in a box of Scooby Doo cereal, with marshmallow ghosts, mystery machines and doggie bones. Good to know that something nowadays will still give you early onset diabetes.

Sex, Lies and Vera Wang

2005-07-11T13:50:00.000-04:00

Sex:

Had a fight with MF last night about something utterly ridiculous and ended up sleeping on the couch (after falling down the stairs...yes it's official, I am a clumsy dumbass). Anyway, I had the most ridiculous dream about running away from MF and finding my ex, who was, of course, still completely in love with me, and we ended up getting married. I had butterflies, the whole thing over this guy who, during the 3 years we were together, gave me no such thing. I find it all so odd, but I woke up with this sense of longing, a sense of "rescue me" from this whole thing. I wonder if I'll ever see him again, not for anything untoward, just wondering if our paths will cross at one point.

Lies:

I am upset at my father. After all he has (or most appropriately, has not) done for me, I was pleasantly surprised when he told me he was going to fund our wedding. We hired a ccordinator, looked at lovely venues, planned a lovely wedding. We even gave him a budget with a "We pay / You pay" column which he said "sounded low". So we looked for places that were in that budget, knowing that he would want us to have a nice, high quality place.

He changed his mind.

He now wants to only pay half. Which would have been fine if he had told us that upfront. No, he told us "just send me the bill". I would have NEVER hired a coordinator if I was paying half, nor would we have gone to look at the really nice venues. Now we have to decide what to cut, since we have already booked the coordinator and the venue, those things can't be changed. While I appreciate his generosity, I wish he was upfront. Now I just feel sick.

Vera Wang:

Went to Vera Wang this weekend, because I will never ever be able to go, in good conscience, to try on dresses again. I put one on. It was, of course, fabulous. However, part of me says "Do you really love it, or do you love it because it's a Vera Wang?".

I put the dress back on the hanger and never looked back!

Donkey Kontroversy

2005-07-11T13:28:00.000-04:00

I like video games. Mucho. I have, well, how would an intervention term it...an "issue", with video games. That's why I'm not allowed to play video games. They ruin my life.

I can recall almost every single game I used to play. The love affair started with Pong, which one of the rich kids in my primary school used to bring to the "Last Day of School" party and we'd sit and fight over the controller. And this was 1985, Pong was past it even then. Uncool kids played Pong. Everyone else was playing Pac Man and Space Invaders but not me...I was addicted to those tiny "spank me" paddles.

We weren't well off enough to have a system at home, so I used to love going to the local swimming pool because they had those wicked table top games that you could just plunk the money into. Gorgeous stuff. I used to love going over to my friend K's house...I mean, loved the girl, but loved her Commodore 64 more. We'd play endless games, including one set at the seaside and involving a donkey. I have no idea what that one was called but man was it ever cool. The rewinding of the tapes and loading of the games didn't bother me, we'd just grab a snack and listen to the whir. Loved that Chuckie Egg!

Blessed was the day when I came home from my school computer class and told my Mum that school was selling off old BBC Micro's, and god love her, she said we could have one for 100 pounds. I had been learning how to "program" games onto it (I put "program" in quotes because it was really nothing of the sort. That was the programing where you go from line 10, to 20, to 30 etc) and I had learnt how to make mulitcoloured triangles flash on and off the screen. Totally addicted. The Micro had a green screen and had multiple Easter Eggs programmed in...you could get a poem by Roger Gough to appear randomly. I remember a couple of the lines "You hand me an olive branch" and "You cry crocodile tears". This was the coolest thing I had ever experienced. My favourite game was one called Elite, which to this day I still have no idea how to play. Your character was a starship trader, and all I did was go round and round in circles until I accidently got into a dogfight and was killed. Awesome.

We upgraded to an Archimedes shortly afterwards, which was the shiznat. The supreme of cool. However, we couldn't do anything with it, so I spent countless hours designing filing systems for files which did not yet exist. I believe I was about 13. I learnt how to use the draw program and would design houses.

The real bomb dropped when we got a Nintendo. I almost wept. We got a game where all you did was beat the crap out of each other (waaaay before Streetfighter or Mortal Kombat...ah, just get me started on THOSE!), I think it was called, appropriately, "Punch Out". Literally, the screen didn't move, you just kept on thwacking each other. Completely "da-bomb". We saved up enough to get Mario and then my world just exploded into video game heaven. Games that followed included E-Type (wicked in the extreme) and one with a motorcyle. We had entered a true golden age with the NES, the SNES and the gameboy, (one word for Bart vs. Camp Krusty...awesome), and I fell in love with Duck Hunt, Micro Machines, Bubble Bobble, Streetfighter, Mario Kart, Double Dragon, Hunt for Red October (uber-awesome), The Addams Family, Cal Ripkin's Baseball, Duck Tales, and Castlevania. I get confused as to what system supported what game, but it was pure wicked in cassette form.

I remember getting a personal computer from my Dad for University, a Compaq that was anything but. It was one of those all-in-one monstrosities, way before Mac made it look cool. The thing was a block of a computer and I loved it. I remember being asked if I wanted it to come with something called a "CD-ROM" drive. I said what the heck...I mean, I had never seen a CD-ROM before, but they assured me it was the next big thing and I believed them. More and more games came onto the PC market, moving from disk to CD. My favourite game of all time was Sam and Max, followed by the Day of the Tentacle and all of the Monkey Island series. I even had Sim City, which was just terrific. I also picked up games called the 13th Hour and the 7th Sense or something...horror puzzle games that would scare the beejesus out of me if I played alone in the dark. Fun times.

So, that's where it all began. On a whim one day, I decided to order an N64 off ebay, you know, relive the glory days and such for kicks. Big mistake. For the entire last summer and most of the fall, I was hooked to the thing like an IV...could...not...stop...playing. Eventually I hid it in a cupboard for my own good and went cold turkey, tried to go outside and refuel on the vitamin D I'd been missing out on.

Which brings us to this Saturday. Browsing the Blockbuster, they were selling off some old N64 games. And there it was...Donkey Kong. I had to have it. MF loved the game too, so off we went. $10 poorer, but oh so rich in other ways. And then I ruined the weekend. There it was, gorgeous and sunny at 28 degrees and I was inside playing a stupid game. Could...not...stop. MF blamed me for ruining the weekend and we had a huge fight...why oh why did I have to have that sweet gameplay? Why do I always cave?? Don't they know it ruins lives??!!

So the game, freshly bought, still with the price tag on it, is now hidden in the cupboard. Not to resurface until a rainy day (literally). That 64 bit machine is such a cruel mistress, and I remain her slave.

I have found THE DRESS!

2005-07-08T14:11:00.000-04:00

I went to Ritche last night with L and spent a frustrating 40 minutes throwing on and off dresses. I eventually turned to the sales person and said "Are we running out of options?". I almost tried on everything in the store. Finally, and in desperation, she gave me a book of every single dress that have in the store and asked if there was anything I liked. I pointed to two dresses and she brought them in. The second she unzipped one of them, both L and I went "oooohhhh!" like two little girls seeing a tutu for the first time. It was perfect. And here it is...

Of course, it doesn't look like that on me...but after 7 months of the South Beach diet, who knows!

I don't know what to write...

2005-07-07T16:08:00.000-04:00

...so I figured I'd just fire up a post and see what came out. The news tickers have quieted down now, and the weather report has returned to the BBC's homepage. I guess that symbolizes that everything is ok now, the weather is now front page material. I haven't cried yet, mostly because I would feel ridiculous doing so. My friends and family are accounted for, everyone in their houses and shortly, in their beds. Probably cuddling a little closer though. I have every reason and yet no right to cry. Crying should be reserved for those who lost or are hurt tonight. For me to cry, well, that would just feel selfish, people who truly have a right to shed a tear should do so. Not me.

I'm left with just a feeling of empty. An upturned jug. I saw my contents spill all around me and said to myself "Ah, so that's what I'm made of". Sitting here at work like a flipped turtle, soft underbelly exposed, not being able to wiggle my way back to upright because I almost don't know which way is up anymore. Why do people do this to other people? People shouldn't hurt other people. It goes against everything I need to be true, but it's not true, and I feel lost.

I'm not naive, I just wanted better for the world, wanted better for my friends and family who were trying to find each other this morning. I imagined it, this chain of hands from one to another to another, making ever decreasing circles until everyone was accounted for. Then we just stood there, holding friends, linked by email, expressing sorrow. I want better for all of us.

People shouldn't hurt people. No grace of God, anyones God, allows that. Show me a religion that preaches murder. There is none. We must not let narrow mindedness interfere with what we hold true. We must not retaliate. We must steel ourselves. We may not throw sticks. We may not call names.

I made my circles, tried to find which way is up, dusted down my skirts and got on with my day. I have reports due. Everyone has reports due. Life goes on after the dust comes off. We heal. We write reports.

I can't promise you I won't cry. They want to make me cry but I'll try my hardest not to. I just wanted better, for me. For us.

Aw, crap...

2005-07-07T09:41:00.000-04:00

I read the news today, oh boy.

Nothing much to say right now really. I feel the simmering anger, but I think I just want to be sad for a while. Just for a few moments.

I hope that it was quick, that not too many people are suffering, and that those who are find peace or health soon. My thoughts are with all those in the UK, and especially my friends who I now have to track down one by one...ok, beginning to move into anger phase, so I'll be back later when I'm ready to go there.

My worst fear realized...

2005-07-06T17:32:00.000-04:00

...and no, it doesn't involve oompa-loompas. Instead, it involves me having to go through the most bone-melting, gut-wrenching, bile-inducing process I can imagine.

Making a decision.

I hate making decisions. I'm a professional fence sitter. I'd rather say "I don't know" than speak my mind. Why, you may ask? I don't know.

The most dreaded conversations I've had usually involve what I want to have to eat. "What do you want to do for dinner? MF asks..."I don't know", I reply, because sushi, linguine with clams and white wine sauce or filet of beef with warm hollandaise usually isn't an option.

However, I DO have an opinion, but I can't give it. I know what my options are...if I want to cook, then the choices are quite expansive. If I don't want to cook, my choices are hamburger helper, pork chops (yes, just the chops), spaghetti bolognaise, or Shake and Bake. Vegetables do not feature in the meal plans. So I say "I don't know" to avoid making him feel bad that he won't be able to provide those things I DO want.

Anyhoo, I digress. I have to make a decision on the venue for our wedding. It will either be out-of-town upscale golf club or stunningly posh downtown hotel. Both are freaky expensive...both are wonderful in their own very unique way. The golf club will show the snow, is very accomodating, and seems to fit our style. The hotel is jaw droppingly stunning, and something I would never in a trillion years be able to afford if my Dad wasn't helping. But something about it is too ostentatious, too grand for us. Not that we don't deserve grand, we do, but it just screams "GRAND!".

So, that's decision number 1. Decision number 2 lies in the dress. Believe it or not, I'm going to Vera Wang on Saturday (me...in Vera Wang...seriously, I must be dreaming) and by mid-next week I'll need to choose a dress. Wouldn't be so bad if they didn't look so damn good on me. The assistant was in shock, saying that most people can't find one dress that looks good (and thus have an easy time of choosing when they find one that does). I am blessed and cursed with a perfect "bridal body"...almost designed to wear a big poofy meringue. It will be a frickin' chore trying to narrow down the choices...something I HATE to do at the best of time.

Just read what I had written above...oh poor me, having to choose a posh venue and a Vera Wang dress, wah wah wah. Ok, I'll shut up now.

We are living in a traditional world, and I am a traditional girl...

2005-07-05T16:18:00.000-04:00

I have been called some things in my time ("Dime-a-dance whore" was my particular favourite...ah, she was just jealous) but I have never, ever been called *gasp* traditional.

It's a buzzword used in the wedding industry to imply in a very thinly gauzed way that you are boring. Is it my fault that I like an off-white, ballgown like dress ("Oh, so traditional" sighed the attendent), or white roses ("the most traditional of flowers"), or a nice meal ("beef tenderloin...the traditional wedding fare")? I feel as if my perfect wedding could have been planned by monkeys watching a couple of episodes of "The Wedding Story" on TLC...blindfolded.

Am I that predictable? Am I boring?

So what if I don't want to wear scarlet and carry a potted plant? So what if my cat doesn't act as ringbearer (seriously considered for 30 seconds...the "traditional" side of me must have thought I was getting too quirky and raised my rational thought levels to normal again). No, I don't want to get married in a nightclub and no, I don't want my attendents to wear go-go boots. Am I weird in my normalness?

That being said, there are some "traditional" elements that we will NOT be having, such as:

NO showers (Brides orders...hey, I'm allowed to be bossy over some things right? I just don't like being fussed over is all, I don't need extra gifts, it just not a British thing, so many reasons not to)
NO bouquet or (bletch) garter toss
NO stupid games instead of clinking glasses
NO "stripper DJ"...you know, the kind that sounds like he's going to break into "Welcome to the staaaagggge, Angiiiieeeeee" at any given opportunity.
NO money box, money dance, money shower, or money anything. Sooo grabby.
NO Jack and Jill as wedding fundraiser. Nothing like hitting your good friends up for cash.

Just good, honest, elegant, "traditional" fun. Oh, but I am going commando...stick that in your traditional craw, Ms. Bridal Store Attendent, and smoke it!

The Single Most Surreal Moment of My Life: 7.15pm June 30th 2005

2005-07-01T14:33:00.000-04:00

When I tried on a wedding dress for the first time in my life. Shocking. I'm a bride!

I tried one on first because I thought it was "the one" from a photo I had found...and it really does look lovely. But after a few more dresses, I think I have found a different one that really looks fantastic. But if you've only tried on 10 or so dresses, how can you be sure that there isn't an even nicer one out there? I guess I'll keep looking and if none of them feels right, I'll go back to the first one.

I tried another one on and the salesperson asked if I wanted a crinoline, so I said "sure". It gives the skirt fullness (read: Disney Princess fullness). But I thought it looked funny and asked if I could take a quick walk in it to see if I looked like a rollerblading nun, or a Dalek. The salesperson took me out into the hallway, and I started walking down it. Then I stopped dead. There was a full length mirror at the end and I was watching myself walk up this "aisle". I almost passed out cold. Very surreal.

It's all becoming very, very real now.

My life's greatest scares

2005-06-30T11:35:00.000-04:00

Watched War of the Worlds last night and spent half of it hiding behind my fingers. Surprisingly scary. So I was thinking back to the times I was really scared in a variety of ways. Here is my list, in no particular order of scariness:

1) I was about 11 years old and on holiday with parents and siblings in the Canary Islands. When walking across a tidal pool to get from one beach to another, we had to keep climbing up the rocks to avoid the waves that came in. As I saw a really big wave, I called "Wave!" and everyone moved up to higher ground. Except me. I stood there like a lemon watching the wave come in. So it hits me full in the face, knocking my legs out from underneath me and dragging me down the rocks. I tore every nail off my hands trying to grab hold of something, anything. Unfortunately, I saw the drop off coming up and it was a good 20 feet onto the sharp rocks below. That's when I saw my 7 year old brother running towards me, screaming my name. He grabbed my hand and held on so I wouldn't fall. Very Hollywood. Extremely scary.

2) 16 years old. 1st boyfriend. 1st time. Condom broke. 1st panic attack. 1st morning after pill. 1st vow never to do that again.

3) Watching Fraggle Rock. So many creepy moments. Like the one where Red gets a mark on her hand that she tries to hide. Or the one where Wembley finds this horrible cave. Or the one where the Minstrel moves really fast. Horrible. Stuff of nightmares.

4) Critters 2. I think I was 11 at the time. 'Nuff said.

5) I had a terrible nightmare about a solar flare that created an electromagnetic pulse, knocking out everything electronic. We went back 100 years in one minute. Things blew up, fell down, massive apocalyptic destruction. I didn't know if my family in England was dead or alive, because there were no phones, no planes, no satellites. A year later, I managed to get enough money together to buy some black market air time on one of the only existing satellites to try and see if at least my Mum's home was still standing and give me some clue as to her whereabouts, but the link never went through and they stole my money. Years later, the rebuild begins. I manage to get on a plane and go to my old village. What was once my house is now broken into three buildings to house as many people as possible. I had no idea where my Mum and family was, or even if they survived. Frightening stuff.

6) Back in the Canary Islands, same vacation. Got caught by a rogue wave while trying to swim in to shore. Got tumbled around and around in the surf and didn't know which way was up for air. Ended up with my head half-buried in the sand of the beach and managed to stand up and catch a breath. Closest I've come to drowning, and not fun.

7) Evil Dead, 8 years old, made to watch it by my step-sister. Scariest. Movie. Ever. I didn't know it was meant to be funny, or spoofy. Ugh, when the tree tries to rape the girl...to me it was just sheer horror.

8) Being caught in my illicit relationship with ex-one by ex-two. Until that point I thought that heart-in-throat was an exaggeration.

9) When I walked into my room in a shared apartment, I didn't think anything of it. Was about to sit down at my desk when my boyfriend at the time jumped out at me from underneath a table. I was so scared, my legs went out from under me and I actually fell down. Jerk.

10) Spiders. Anytime. Anywhere.

11) Drop-Zone at Canada's Wonderland, where they lift you 15 floors and drop you. I was so terrified I think I was crying by the time I got to the bottom. However, I was also going "wa-hoo!" so it was more a physical fright than an actual scare. My knees were knocking together for hours afterwards.

12) My Mum tried to get into my bedroom when I was in there with 1st boyfriend. We were obviously making out and he had his shirt off. Although I had a safeguard (a piece of furniture blocking the door) she managed to push past it and caught us. I was truly scared for what she would say...and boy, did she ever let me have it!

13) My friends and I made a ouija board when I was 10 and it told us a ton of scary things. I still don't know what to make of it, but we were so scared we burnt the board and buried it and the coin we used outside of the property.

Appropiately, I shall end there!

Pet Peeve #47

2005-06-30T09:51:00.000-04:00

People Eating Chocolate Bars Sideways in Commercials

I know you are trying to show the label while the guy eats his chocolate covered sugar bar (ok, it's a Mars Bar) but honestly, who eats a chocolate bar sideways. It's disconcerting.

Oh, and to the poor shmuck in those Coffee Crisp commercials, I feel for you buddy. I once ate a Coffee Crisp sideways by accident too and lacerated my gums and the roof of my mouth on the wafer. You sir are a trooper.