Finding Your Inner Dog

They wouldn’t be invited to my party.

2010-02-14T10:58:00.002-06:00

Because the Opening Ceremony hasn't been commented on enough, I thought I'd add my two cents.

I thought it were great. I thought it was beautiful, artistic, representative and diverse, which ultimately, is what our country prides itself on.

I watched comments being posted on Facebook as the ceremony unfolded, and was angered by the number of negative - and ignorant - things being said. I couldn't believe it! I don't understand how someone couldn't watch the Ceremony with an open mind and heart and not be extremely proud. It showcased the varied and outstanding talent that we have in Canada, and it celebrated history and artistic creativity (very Cirque du Soleil) from across Canada.

Here's one of my "favourite" outtakes that I saw on Friday night:

"So so sad…I love the Olympics but yet again, we are embarrassed. Not to mention the 4 big Indian looking penis statues that erupted from the ground in the middle of the stadium!!!".

Right, embarrassed. I'm embarrassed that this person wrote this! The four ABORIGINAL penis looking statues were ice sculpture totem poles that were representative of the four aboriginal host nations. If you ever visited a museum as a child, or made it past grade 4 in the North American school system, you'd know that totem poles are carved from trees. And last time I checked, trees were thin and tall and round. And these penis statues extended their arms (penis' have arms?) to welcome the World to the Games, as the aboriginal communities would have. I mean really, were the drum circle participants going to hug everyone individually?

Here's another ditty:

"After the opening ceremonies anyone who has never been to Canada now things we all live in igloos or are red neck, boy loving, tattooed fiddlers…good job idiots".

Ya, I don't have much PG-rated to say about this statement.

But so this person can sleep at night, I'll let them know that each and every person that I've heard from that does not live in Canada, has had great things to say about the Opening Ceremony. I've heard that the Ceremony was beautifully put together, had amazing effects (the orca's got several shout-outs), that we have a lot of diverse talent, that we're artistic, unique and that we have hot fiddlers. So thanks for the concern but no need to worry about what others think, buddy.

The Ceremony wove together parts of our history, folklore and culture. Fiddling is common across Canada, thanks to the French-Canadian and Acadian cultures. And the fiddling section of the Ceremony (devil in a canoe, to jog your memory) was based on a French-Canadian folktale called La Chasse Gallerie. And if you know anything about Ashley MacIsaac, you know he isn't an angel. Fiddling is as French-Canadian as pea soup!

There was also talk about "why tax dollars were spent on this shit". Yes, my friend, your hard earned tax dollars were spent showcasing Canada to the World. But the Olympics will generate enough (taxable) money that those (borrowed) tax dollars will find there way back into the Receiver General's pocket. So relax, you'll get your refund.

I could go on about this (Facebook is a fantastic source of public opinion), but I won't.

Suffice it to say, I feel sad for those who can't find it in them to support the amazing work that Canadians (and yes, some non-Canadians) did to put the Opening Ceremony together. Who cares if you didn't like parts of it, like the giant Indian looking penis statues. In the end it's about supporting your country and celebrating the great things. Even if everything sucked about the Olympics, we should still be supporting Canada because it's our country.

I wouldn't invite these people to my party.

My favourite part of the ceremony was when poet Shane Koyczan recited his work "We Are More". Man, was he EVER good! His poem was smart, honest and funny. He is an incredible speaker; I was so impressed! And what about KD Lang singing Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah? She sent chills down my spine.

I'm really proud right now that my country is centre-stage and being such a great host. A lot of people dream about living in Canada; we're living that.

Enjoy the Games.

A Week in Review

2009-12-19T14:40:00.003-06:00

There’s a consensus amongst my close friends that I attract more than the average amount of weird stuff. For instance, random people always talk to me in bathrooms about their problems. Or, when I drive, I’m the one who runs over a rogue lampshade that happens to be flying across Interstate 91, resulting in a $5200 engine repair. Or, the schizophrenic man on acid who wants to take a trip to Montreal decides to move into my ("his") car overnight to prepare for the morning’s departure. Stuff like that.

There’s also a consensus that when I have a bad week, it’s like a bad to the power of four.

Tuesday: I woke up to the equivalent of a CSI crime scene investigation. I walked downstairs with Eva-Mae, bright and early, to find blood everywhere; on the floor, the carpet, the walls. This was a bit surprise and traumatic, as you can imagine. I called the pets, and Atlas didn’t come. I found him in the family room, licking his face, crusty blood on his white fur.

Atlas grew a random lump on the side of his face over the past few months. He was scheduled to have it removed after the holidays ($$$). Apparently this didn’t “work” for Atlas, so he took it upon himself to remove half of it, resulting in the ensuing blood bath.

It wasn’t as bad as it looked, though. I cleaned Atlas up, cleaned the house up, and got myself and Eva-Mae ready for the day. I left Atlas, feeling quite guilty, and made my way to Montessori and then work. Atlas’ vet was very accommodating, and scheduled him for surgery the next morning (the operation, after all, would cover a month of their rent).

At about 3:30 in afternoon, I got a call from Eva-Mae’s school saying she had a very high fever and I needed to come and get her. I dropped everything at work to go and pick her up. It’s possibly one of the most unsettling feelings when you know your baby is sick, and you can’t get to her in two minutes.

When I walked into Eva-Mae’s class, she was lying on the futon wearing only her shirt and diaper because she was so hot and uncomfortable. Her teacher had a cool cloth on her forehead.
This made my heart hurt.

I went over and picked her up, and she snuggled into me and started to cry, I think out of relief. When I tried to get her dressed, she wouldn’t let go: Heartbreaking.

That night, Marc took care of Eva-Mae, and me of Atlas. My little family was sick.

Wednesday: Eva-Mae was feeling much better, which of course lifted my spirits. We got ready, and then just before leaving, I let Atlas out to use the facilities. About five minutes after he came in, I realized he stank like shit. Apparently Atlas had some digestive issues, and because of this I had to give his posterior a bath (i.e. he didn’t just smell like shit). This unfortunately, did not work well with my scheduled timeline because I had to have him dropped off to the vet within 30 minutes.

Again, we were about to leave when I realized something still smelled. Turns out that Eva-Mae had stepped in some of Atlas’ digestive issue residue. So I had to change Eva-Mae.

And of course, as we were finally heading out the door, I couldn’t find my bank card. Why couldn’t I find my bank card? Because I am extremely disorganized when it comes to anything that should be in a wallet. This meant that on our way to the vet, we also had to stop at the bank so I could get a new card, so that I could pay for Atlas’ $1000 plastic surgery.

By the end of the day though, both Atlas and Eva-Mae were home, feeling all kinds of better, running around like the previous 48 hours never happened.

Thursday: On Wednesday night we had quite a bit of snow. So, practical as I am, I wore my snow boots to work. I made a mental note when I pulled them out of the closet NOT to forget my inside boots for work.

Of course, halfway to Montessori, I realized I forgot my boots. This was bittersweet; I had an excuse to buy new boots, but really shouldn’t be thinking this way considering the Atlas Incident. I weighed the pros and cons and decided to get new boots. Until I was able to get out of the office at lunch to buy then, I borrowed my co-worker’s boots which while lovely, were a size 10, not an 8. I think I looked a bit like an elf.

I headed to Rideau Centre to fulfill my footwear fetish, only to bypass the Bay’s shoe department and head to bathroom; I felt like I was going to puke*. Karma’s a bitch, and apparently I wasn’t meant to get new boots. (*No, I am not pregnant, I'm just still getting over the flu/have a new one).

Thursday afternoon was our work holiday party. I was really looking forward to this, because I really like the people I work with, and I really like getting to know them outside of the work environment. And, as predicted, it was fun.

Around 4pm, I headed towards the garage where I’d parked that morning. It wasn’t my usual one, but it was the closest I could find to my work and because I was running late, I parked there. As it turns out they only take credit cards and change at the pay stations. This didn’t work for me because I only had a couple of twenties on me and (because I am not good at keeping track of anything that should go in a wallet) I forgot my credit card at home.

I quickly crossed the street to Starbucks to buy a tea, so that I could get change. Unfortunately (yet predictably), they refused to give me change because it’s “against policy to break larger bills”. Sweet Jesus, the clock was ticking! I went to two restaurants and asked if they could give me change – nope. So I high-tailed it back to our holiday party and asked the bartender to give me change. And oh, how I would have loved to stay for more holiday cheer!

So while I initially “tried” to leave to pick up Meets at 4pm, I ended up pulling out of the $UCKING PARKING GARAGE at 4:45.

I think it was around this point that I felt like I wanted to throw back a bottle of Sambuca and pick a fist fight in a bar.

Friday: The highlight of my week (life) was going to see Eva-Mae’s holiday pageant. She and her infant classmates sang and danced to three songs, dressed as snowflakes. Hearts melted everywhere. I am so proud of my little girl. She makes everything worthwhile. I love her more than anything in the World, and would do absolutely anything for her.

Friday evening I made plans with a friend, so I headed downtown to pick her up. On my way I my mind drifted: Often in my car, this thought pops in my head saying “wow, things are going really well right now”. And then it never fails that just after I get this pleasant yet obtrusive thought, shit hits the fan for a week or two. This is exactly what happened about two weeks ago.

I snapped out of this deep thought when I realized that a cop was following me with his lights on.
I pulled over, put my window down, and reached into my bag for my license. But (because I am not good at keeping track of anything that should go in my wallet) I didn’t have my license. And not only did I not have my license, but I didn’t have my vehicle registration or my insurance. They were in my other bag. Also, I have been delinquent in renewing my registration, even after I got a warning a while (6 months) back. I knew this wasn’t going anywhere good. But by this point in the week, I felt so defeated that I just didn’t care.

So when the cop came to my window and told me “I pulled you over because you turned right on a street that you can’t turn right on from Monday to Friday, from 3:30 – 5:30” I simply said “I wasn’t paying attention”. I followed this by “you’re about to give me a lot of tickets, because I don’t have my licence, registration or insurance papers, and I haven’t updated my registration sticker”. He responded by saying “You look like you’re having a bad day”. Bad day? Dude, you have NO idea.

The cop came back and told me that he appreciated my honesty, and that I had a perfect driving record. And so he let me off with three warnings, downgraded my traffic violation ticket to a bylaw infraction, and gave me a ticket for my delinquent registration. And he wished me a happy holiday.

While getting pulled over sucked, I have to give it to the cop; he let me off pretty easy. If Marc had been pulled over, he would have been cuffed and had his truck towed.

Last night, after getting back from dropping off my friend, I decided that I shouldn’t leave the house this weekend. Perhaps this is how adult onset OCD or paranoia is triggered? That decision worked out nicely though, because this morning I woke up with a nasty cold. Of course.

You know what, as much as this week sucked, it doesn’t even matter. I got to see my little snowflake perform in her first Christmas pageant ever. She sang and she danced and she was happy, and at the end when she saw me in the crowd of over a hundred, she said “MOMMY!” and came running across the stage towards me.

Merry Christmas, Universe. And for God's sake, bring me a wallet for the New Year.

The Big Love

2009-11-24T19:22:00.000-06:00

Love is so thrilling. And while people define it differently, we experience it in a similar way: it’s a warm, embracing feeling that lifts our spirits, helps us dream, energizes and strengthens us, challenges us and heals us.

Our ability to feel love is a birthright, but choosing to give love is a most beautiful gift. We can give our love to friends, to family, to pets, to strangers, to our neighbours, even to those make it difficult for us to want to share it. To receive the love of another is something to be appreciated, respected and honoured.

A marriage - however you define it - is an ultimate expression of love. Making an honest promise to love someone as they are, for a lifespan, is a most deep expression of love. It’s the BIG love. It’s about a deep respect for something bigger than yourself. It’s about letting go of selfishness and joining souls with another. It’s about what the other teaches you about the world, what they teach you about their world, and what they teach you about yourself. It’s about having respect for the other and patience. It’s about going to bed some nights scarred of how interconnected you are with another. It’s about waking up the next morning, thankful for the interconnectedness.

How lucky we are that we find a person who we actually want to give our love to, for the rest of our lives, and who we want to stand by and support, for the rest of our lives. We are so lucky that we find comfort and elation in giving and receiving the BIG love.

Being loved is a privilege. Finding someone who promises to love you forever is a gift like no other.

What makes you feel a rush of love? What makes your heart feel warm and drenched in happiness? What makes it sing, and what makes it dance? Take time to celebrate your BIG love. Because chances are, they make your world more wonderful.

I'm Not Sarcastic (insert sarcastic mark)

2009-11-22T16:35:00.000-06:00

It’s come up several times over the past couple of weeks that I’m a bit sarcastic. Because I’m not sure how to take this, I’ve thought quite a bit about it.

This is what I’ve come up with.

I like sarcasm. I love reading things that are sarcastic; they make me laugh out loud. Witty sarcasm really saturates my dry sense of humour.

I’m not funny, per say. I’m witty (I like to think), which often translates to sarcasm. I never use sarcasm to hurt others, or to put them down. It’s just an automatic default for me. Perhaps though, this doesn’t always sit very well.

Like many others, I find that humour breaks down barriers. And because I’m not funny, and I think sarcasm is, I use it like others use actual humour.

When I feel uncomfortable, I use sarcasm. When I feel out of place, I use sarcasm. When I feel that I’m being judged, I use sarcasm. When I don’t feel important, I use sarcasm. When I admire someone, I use sarcasm. When I don’t know how to express myself, I use sarcasm.
I think the more I know someone, the less sarcasm I use. So maybe I just don’t know too many people very well.

See, I’m an introvert. And ironically (because I have a blog), I don’t like a lot of people to know me; that would be threatening. I share the things I want people to know, and that I think may benefit others (dig back into my blog about two and a half years). In that way, I’m not selfish.

When I feel like I need to stop sharing, I let a sarcastic remark slip. I’m pretty sure it’s my way of deflecting conversation. And I also use it when I want to tell someone something positive, but I either don’t know them very well, or I feel uncomfortable speaking from the heart.

I in no way think I am unique in how I use sarcasm. Maybe just unique in how much I use it.

Full Circle, Back to Fredericton

2009-11-22T16:33:00.001-06:00

It’s funny how things come full circle, without any intentional intervention.

13 years and three months ago (I’m dating myself right now), my Mom, Dad and brother Brent drove me from our family home in Connecticut, to Sackville, New Brunswick. This would be my home for the next four and a half years, while I was going to MtA (or, Mount Allison University).

I had never set foot in the Maritimes prior to this trip. While most people like to visit where they apply to university, I prefered taking the trusted word of my Dad, and signing the “I accept” line on my MtA letter of offer.

On our way to MtA we spent a night in Fredericton. I remember rolling into town late in the evening, and going straight to bed. I remember feeling extremely sick (turned out I had an ear infection and a sinus infection), and therefore not really paying attention to my sourroundings. I do remember, very fondly, eating breakfast on a large deck that was part of the hotel restaurant, facing the what I later found out was the St. Johns River. That particular morning it was very sunny. Fredericton’s warm welcome carried through my entire four and half yearsin the Maritimes.

I think of who I was on that late August day, back in 1996, in Fredericton. I was 18, had just finished high school in Connecticut, had travelled through Europe with my brother, had spent a great time with my family at our cottage, and had a taste of dancing on pedastles and tabletops in bars.

I could tell so many stories, from between now and then. But that’s not the purpose of this.
Rather, the purpose is to say that I ended up back at this hotel, 13 years and three months later for a work conference. My visit was for a different purpose, at a different time in my life. And it was a reminder of how much has happened, and how much I have enjoyed and loved my life and my choices since I last spent a night in this hotel.

This time I flew to Fredericton for work; it wasn’t a stop off while heading to Mount A. This time, I was there with great work colleagues, not with my family. And this time, I wasn’t the daughter, I called my daughter every day, twice a day.

It was that first stop off in Fredericton that brought me to Mount A, which directly resulted in me going back to Fredericton for work. With many stops along the way.

Seamus, Stop Calling It the Swine Flu

2009-11-22T16:29:00.002-06:00

While it definitely rolls off the tongue easier than H1N1, calling the virus the “Swine Flu” is seriously crippling the pork industry.seriously crippling the pork industry.

Vegetarian or not, I don’t think anyone wishes financial hardship on those who feed cities. Until a few weeks ago, I worked at our country’s agriculture department, and part of my job was reviewing the public environment (media, popular blogs, social research) for what was being said, and reported on, about agriculture. Hands down, the pork industry was front and centre.

Pork is super cheap at your local grocery store for a reason. Recently, after spending $150 on a load of groceries, I got a gift; a rack of ribs. This was a first. And why? Because, the current market value of pork is significantly below the cost of raising a pig, and some of our largest trade partners have shut their borders to the product. Pork producers are loosing money hand-over-fist.

And you guessed it, this started when the media spread the term ”Swine Flu” faster than the virus spreads in a daycare.

What blows my mind is that national media outlets are refusing to stop using the term “Swine Flu” - even after outcries from industry associations and requests from federal government. Apparently it’s sexier to us Canadians when our favourite news anchor refers to the “Swine Flu”, and not (it’s actual name) H1N1. According to my favourite national news station, H1N1 doesn’t “resonate” with the public as well.

I think it’s pretty unfortunate that the news media is more concerned about turning its viewers on, than the effect their choice of terminology is having on those that provide them their greasy spoon breakfasts. I’m sure the damage is done, but the fact that they won’t jump ship and use the term H1N1 – even symbolically – is really unfortunate.
Seamus, I think it’s sexy when you whisper H1N1.

FOS

2009-11-22T16:26:00.001-06:00

I remember saying on many occasions: When you have a kid, your life should only change as much as you let it.

I was so full of shit (FOS).

I only realized this though about 15.5 months into my daughter’s life, during a trip to Newfoundland to a college friend’s wedding.

Until this point, I tried hard to live by my naive words. You see, I’m an extremely stubborn woman, born under the Taurus sign. I like to live by my words. The problem was, I was trying to live by words that I spoke as a relatively responsibility-free, late 20-something that liked to spend as much time downtown as possible.

I did a pretty bang-up job though, considering. Within 11 months I gave birth, packed an entire townhouse, renovated it with the help of my BFR (boyfriend-with-a-ring), moved to a new home, took two university-level courses, planned a wedding, had a wedding, went back to work full-time, and of course, maintained my priority of raising my baby. I did my best to maintain friendships, keep in touch with family, and keep my relationship in check.

By the time I went to Newfoundland, I was spinning. I felt like I wasn’t doing anything well. I felt that all of my time was spoken for. I was trying to be the person I was before I had EM, and that was just not going to be possible.

When I was in Newfoundland, I realized something great: I didn’t want to be that person anymore. I came back to Ottawa with reorganized priorities; I have a new outlook. I can’t really explain it well, but I have a sense of peace knowing that “this” is what I want.
All this to say, I am much more careful with my words now.

A Long Trip

2009-04-03T08:55:00.006-05:00

Selling my Jeep was like finding an old dog a new home. I couldn’t just sell it to anyone: the vibe needed to be right, I needed to like the new owners, and they need to love her.

A couple of weeks ago, my Jeep – the bane of my young adult existence, and the love of my life – went to a new home. I found a good owner. I probably sold it for less than I could have, but that doesn’t even matter to me. Knowing that she’ll be loved and well taken care of is more important than change in my pocket.

When I got confirmation that the deal was a go I started to cry. Marc started to laugh (and then he gave me a hug). It’s not as much about the Jeep; it’s about letting go of something concrete and real that represents a chapter of my life (OK, and a bit about the fact that I’m selling my Jeep).

So much happened in my life while I drove my Jeep. Here’s a snapshot:

Gift: She was a gift to me, from my dad. That does not mean that I was spoiled; my brothers and I were very lucky growing up to have parents that taught us beautifully about life, love and responsibility. I don’t even know why my Dad did this, I’ve never asked. I just really appreciate that he helped me out this way.

Long Distance Drives: I drove long distances in my Jeep, and I absolutely loved it. It was a rough, loud ride, but it made me so happy because I loved driving it so much. The longest drive was from Branford, Connecticut, up the east coast through Rhode Island, Mass, New Hampshire, Maine and into New Brunswick where I went to school. It was a solid, and beautiful, 12 hour drive. I drove many times from Ottawa to Connecticut, through Quebec, Vermont, and Mass, and from Ottawa to Connecticut through New York and Mass.

The Cottage: I drove my Jeep countless times from Ottawa to our family cottage in Quebec. This drive is stunning. I particularly love the feeling I get when I leave Gatineau, and I love the part about one hour in, just along the river, especially just after a rainfall. One particular summer was really amazing. It was when Jo, Nikki and I were living together at Nikki’s house, and we’d pack up on Friday nights and go for the weekend. We’d come back into the city on Sunday evenings, tanned and relaxed, we’d BBQ some chicken and sit in Nikki’s backyard and eat and drink wine. On Monday morning we’d email each other about how we longed for the next weekend at the cottage.

It Brought Out the Worst in People: An ex-boyfriend of mine bashed my Jeep (in words) all the time. It made me so sad. Really, I think my Jeep was trying to help me understand what a dick this person was. Because really, his attitude about my Jeep was pretty much his attitude about everything: Nothing was good enough. He tried desperately to convince me to trade her in for a Honda Fit. WHAT A TOOL.

It Brought Out the Best in People: With the exception of the aforementioned, everyone who got in my Jeep, particularly when the top was down, was very, very happy. There’s something about driving around on a beautiful summer day with the sun beaming down on you. How could it not make you happy?

Sex: Yes, I had it in my Jeep.

Subsidized Housing: One night, I left my Jeep downtown in a “monitored” parking lot. My friend Erin was staying across the street while doing a coop term, and so, I crashed there after a particular fun night out (I remember it being extremely cold – the last time I ever waited in a line-up, in the cold, at a bar). The next morning when I went to get my Jeep, and long story short, someone had moved in. NO KIDDING! Someone had thrown it in neutral and moved it to face the opposite direction as I had parked it. They had popped the hood, had removed all of my belongings (such as my skies, which had put on top of my Jeep), and moved their stuff in (some half-eating fruit, a hat, some maps and blueprints, you know, the essentials). I found the guy’s wallet on passenger side seat, took it, and ran back to Erin’s to call the cops. When they arrived they drove us to my Jeep where the new “owner” was found “cleaning” it, prepping it for a ride to Montreal. What really sent me into a tailspin was the construction floodlight that he had pointing under the hood so he could “tune it up”. Turns out this man was schizophrenic, on pcp, and wanted by the cops for uttering death threats and assault. Apparently I was very lucky that he didn’t actually see me take his wallet out of my Jeep (this creeped me out a bit). When the cops asked him what was going on, he said that he ran the plates of the Jeep in the machine, and it told him it was his. He was arrested, but couldn’t be charged because of his illness – which is totally understandable. What was sad was that he was refusing all social assistance. A week or so later, the officer responsible called me to tell me that the man had been arrested again, and this time was admitted to the psychiatric hospital in Brockville. He’d gone to a car dealership and taken one of the used vehicles for a test drive – and didn’t’ come back. They found him about an hour away. Oh, and I almost forgot – he’d taken the plates off my Jeep and hung them in a tree (???). Ya, that was totally weird.

Most Beautiful Destination: The most beautiful place my Jeep drove me to was Bar Harbour.
First Breakdown: I had just come back from a lovely and relaxing vacation in Virginia and North Carolina. I drove directly from the airport to pick up Atlas (about 30 minutes outside of Ottawa). On my way home, my transmission fell out while driving on the Queensway. Yes, that’s right, my transmission FELL out. Unfortunately, my warranty had expired about four months previous. That only cost me $4200. And so it began…

Mont Tremblant: I drove to Tremblant with my soft-top only Jeep on possibly the coldest weekend ever (the high was like -38C). It was so cold that we couldn’t ski. This worked out fine for my friend Chris and I, because we spent the day sleeping and eating. Sunday morning I went to start my Jeep, and of course, it wouldn’t start. Chris and I spent the next three hours running around the village trying to find a tow truck that would give us a boost. We finally found one and they tried to boost it. Nothing. They tried pulling it and starting it. Nothing. So the tow guy suggested pushing it down the mountain (on the road, don’t worry) and have the momentum help jumpstart it. I agreed, and off the guy went in my Jeep, down the mountain. Chris and I looked at each other, both realizing at the same time what just happened. A stranger took my Jeep (and our ride home), our money, our credit cards, our ID and our clothes, and shot himself down the mountain. So we did what anyone would do, and we ran after him. We did find him, and my Jeep had started.

Therapy: Driving is like therapy to me. And during my twenties, God did I need therapy! Driving gave me time to be alone and think through things. I did so much thinking in that Jeep. I made so many decisions, I cried so much in it. And of course, when I was in it, I became a pop star singing to my heart’s content.

I think I could go on all day about my experiences in my Jeep. But let’s leave it at this: My Jeep drove me through my young adulthood, and it brought me to where I am now.

I heart you Jeep.

Brown is more than a colour.

2009-03-08T21:37:00.007-05:00

Brown is our cat. His full name is Charlie Brown, but he looks more like a “Brown” than a “Charlie Brown” or “Charlie”. He’s a three (shy of a month) year old Himalayan. He’s a variety of shades of brown – his lovely velvety chocolate feet and ears, I think, are the most parts of his coat. Brown has very beautiful, clear blue eyes and an incredibly small nose (his nostrils are the size of a pinhead – seriously, it’s surprising that air can even fit through them). He sort of looks like an ewok.

If it’s possible that a cat can be eccentric, then Brown is. I can say without hesitation that he is the most unique, odd, fantastic cat ever born. For starters, he has species-identity disorder: He thinks he’s a dog. When someone comes to the door, he runs to it like a dog (and out of our three pets, he’s the first one there – and he actually skids around corners to get there before the real dogs). He knows our schedules, and waits by the door when we should be coming home. When he wants attention, he follows us a around and meows, and if that doesn’t work, he starts to bat us with his paws. Brown even chases his tail – yep, that’s weird, I know. And get this, HE COMES WHEN YOU CALL HIM! What cat does that? He also likes to play with both Eva-Mae’s toys and the dogs’ toys – much to Atlas’ frustration.

Brown’s the most affectionate cat that I have ever come across. He’s the first of the animals to jump up on the couch, and more often than not, cosies himself right up on one of our laps. He also tries to sneak into our bed our bed at night, casually I might add, as if it’s just something that he’s supposed to be doing. And he doesn’t want to sleep on it; he wants to sleep curled up under the covers, in our legs. And while this is very cute, it’s not very conducive to (much needed) slumber.

Brown is also Eva-Mae’s favourite pet of the moment. She LOVES him. Every morning after she wakes up, we do a survey around the house of whose home and who isn’t (it’s a good way of teaching her our pets names and that her daddy’s at work). When we find Brown, she gets a huge grin on her face, her legs start kicking, she starts to babble, and she reaches out for him. Luckily Brown digs Eva-Mae too. He’s always close to her, and cleverly, has learned to stay just out of her reach. She’s definitely thrown him for a loop now that she can crawl – the days of restful, curious watching are over for Brown. He lets her tug at him and pet him; he’s really very good with her.

Brown makes our family just that much happier. He always brightens my day – just by being around. I’m so glad that cats have long lives, because I want this little guy around for a long time.

For my love.

2009-02-25T23:09:00.003-06:00

Shortly after we met, you asked me to please talk to you, not just write to you. I did, and I thank you for it. I do feel that in doing so, you missed out on many of my thoughts that while I could have put on paper, was not always able to express.

So tonight I write to you, for fear that I will rob you of the love I feel right now.

My hand feels warm tonight. Finally I have the band of precious metal and stones on my left ring finger. It has surprised me just how much it has made me feel – shocked me really. I'm practical and you are passionate. Or so I think. Even in the face of my practical approach to our wedding day and engagement, you came home tonight, bent down on one knee and asked me to marry you. Tears flowed down my face. These were different though, not nearly as salty as many that you've seen. Tonight I had no choice but to feel passion.

My love, in our short time together, we've conquered odds. People questioned our instant connection. I remember our second date; we had to leave the restaurant because I couldn't stand sitting that far away from you. I picked you up from the airport on January 14th and you never left my house. Our relationship was drenched in love from the very beginning.

I gave my heart to you, and you didn't hurt it.

After only 9 months together, we made a baby. Our lives quickly changed. And while it was hard at times, we were still so in love. And now we have a beautiful baby girl who will hand us our wedding rings on May 30^th.

When you wear your grey hat, the one that makes your eyes so piercing, my heart melts. It reminds me just how strikingly beautiful you are. When you do the chicken walk that makes me laugh so hard, it reminds me of how alive your spirit is. And when you chew on your nightly tea, it reminds me of how fleeting those little annoyances are.

Being with you is the easiest and most peaceful thing.

You treat as if I am so much more precious than this ring. You listen, you love, you hold back, you're my best friend, you hug me, you challenge me, you're the same as me, you're different than me, you support me, you compliment me, you're the best dad. You treat me the way I feel you deserve to be treated by the World.

My heart feels warm like my hand. I am so happy that we are going to spend the rest of our long lives together. I'm so excited about what our future holds; the surprises, the good and the bad.

At the end of my days, you will be the person that I shared the most with – my life with. You will be the only person that truly knows my depths. And nothing makes me happier.

Caught with his pants down!

2009-02-23T07:12:00.002-06:00

This deserves a posting.

For the past two months I’ve been attending church on a fairly regular basis. Primarily, I started going because I want to be married the particular church in question, by the particular minister. It’s the United church that my Grandma and Grandpa went to for 50 plus years. My Grandma and I are very close, and so, it’s something that I really want to do for her.

I’ve never been dipped myself, and Marc is Roman Catholic. I hold some pretty liberal views very close to my heart, and so getting married in a church of Marc’s faith would feel like a complete fraud to me. I really respect my Grandma’s minister because she's very inclusive. She performs same sex marriages for instance. She’s a very interesting, open-minded woman, intelligent woman who provides excellent food for thought.

I digress.

So yesterday I’m sitting in a pew next to a man who’s probably in his early 80’s. The minister asks us to stand, shake hands and spread peace (this is all new to me – I find it slightly weird and awkward). I hear the man next to me and the couple behind me laugh nervously, and when I turn around to see why, well, the man’s pants had fallen down.

That’s right, the man was caught with his pants down in church!

Oh my God (is that OK to say?) it took everything in me not to bust a gut! The fact that he lost his pants (in church!) was funny in and of itself, but his reaction was priceless. He laughed, pulled them up and said that he must have finally lost that weight he’d been trying to shed for 30 years and that he needed a new belt.

Whose pants fall down, and whose pants fall down in the middle of a church service?

When I sat back and thought about it last night, I belly-laughed for about 15 minutes. Church really does promote selflessness: I needed a good laugh so a man sacrificed loosing his pants.

Renovations: A comedy of errors

2008-12-03T22:18:00.004-06:00

Three and half years ago I bought my first house. It was a lovely 3-bedroom townhome relatively close to the Ottawa River in Ottawa.

I got a smokin' good deal.

The reason I got this deal was because the elderly woman who had lived there since it was built (back in the early 70's) had to move into a retirement home after a particularly bad spill down the basement stairs (there was a nice indent in the drywall to prove it). Her only son was in Vancouver and basically just wanted to offload it. A bit sad, really. For her, not me. This was very good for me.

I walked in and saw the potential. It was very well maintained and structurally it was in perfect condition. It was however, wallpapered head-to-toe in white/pink/floral wallpaper that was both shiny and textured. The flooring was all over the place (pun); carpet, laminate, parquet, cement. It needed some aesthetic love.

Fast-forward three and a half years. For the first year and a half I worked on peeling and painting by myself (Marc was not yet in the picture). For the past two years, we've been doing flooring, fixing up the backyard, etc.

We sold the house in September when we bought our new one. And as part of the deal, we had to complete certain additional renovations. Now the beauty here is that we sold it to my parent's as a rental property for them, so we had a rather flexible timeline for getting the updates completed.

But it's taken forever.

All said and done (well, we're like *this* close) though, it looks amazing. I'm really quite proud of what we've done. We've managed (outside of regular life activities) having a baby, learning how to be new parents, growing Marc's business, selling and buying, moving, and renovating a house all since June 14th of this year. We've been busy. And man we're tired, but I digress.

Last month after a rather frustrating few evenings at the condo, I wrote the following email to a few friends (I can laugh now because we're like 2 hours away from being done).

Now we get to start on our new place. We don't learn.

***********************************

So how do you explain to a new owner why there is a month delay in the renovations of a condo being completed? You try and then you just give up, acknowledge that you suck and put in 4-7 hour nights trying to get things completed.

If one WAS in fact able to discuss the comedy of errors that has resulted in the delay to the new owner, this is what the dialogue would consist of:

1) The floors were ordered. The floors were picked up. Half the flooring was laid in one room (a very unsquare room at that, that required a myriad of small cuts). One realized that in fact, the wrong floor had been provided by the store. The flooring is riped up.

2) The flooring is returned and re-ordered. It is supposed to be in in one week. One calls the store, the clerk says it is in, so one takes the trip to the store with the infant. Upon arrival, the flooring is in fact not there. The computer said it was, but in fact it wasn't. This results in another week delay.

3) There are problems with the toilet. As there is limited experience with plumbing, various "tricks" are tried out. It is made very clear to all parties (including the real estate agent) that the toilet is not to be used until further notice.

4) Upon arrival at the condo one morning, the house smells of an odour of shit. Oh look! What do we have here! Someone has taken a dump in the toilet! Fantastic! This delays the toilet fixing process because before one can fix the toilet, they now need to clean the shit out. Oh yes, and air out the condo. And who was the shitter you ask? The real estate agent. Did he bother to call to let the renovator know about the incident? No - too busy we guess.

5) And after all of the toilet drama, and just when the renovator has the toilet working like a dream, the bowl actually cracks. Just. Like. That. CRACK. And so now, the renovator must replace the entire toilet.

6) The renovator's assistant goes to home depot to pick up $170 of paint to do touch-ups. Two of the colours are colour matched. The assistant touches up. The assistant, after two hours of drying, realizes that two of the colours were not exactly "matched". Now two entire rooms need to be repainted.

7) And this will really get you howling. The evil parking guy at said condo complex who we will refer to as "Harry" believed that a random pail of plastered that was left in the common area belonged to the renovator (even though he no longer lives there), and left it the condo's backyards where his assistant fell over it upon entering the gate. The pail did not belong to him, and so the renovator placed it by the garbage area. The following night (back at the condo again), the renovator goes out to his truck only to find that "Harry" has retrieved the pail of plastered from the garbage area, and has placed it IN his truck. That's right, "Harry" took it upon himself to open the cab and place it inside. And the renovator found this out when he opened the cab, and the pail fell out and hit him in the nuts. The pail of plaster was placed on "Harry's" doorstep.

I would like to recommend 1) not taking on large renovation projects when you a) move yourself b) have an infant c) have a boyfriend that works 11 hour days with one job and several other hours a week with a second job and d) you have limited babysitting services (shout out to Theresa and Anna). It's pretty much just a recipe for disaster.

Funny, but definitely a recipe for a disaster. (note that this list in not exhaustive).

Bad Manager

2008-12-01T21:34:00.004-06:00

I should be studying for my upcoming final, but instead I'm going to write about how funny my baby is.

So Eva-Mae, like most babies, has an exersaucer. Her Aunty Nikki coined it the circle of neglect because it is a place to leave your baby where she is safe and entertained, so that you can basically ignore her for a bit. In the last week or so, Marc has come up with yet another scenario for the exersaucer; it's now Eva-Mae's desk.

Marc cracks me up with his narration of Eva-Mae's activities at her "desk" (and please, keep in mind that Marc is a contractor and so the lingo he is using he has picked up from either me or The Office). For instance, she bangs her mug (bottle) around when she's pissed off at her admin assistant, she's constantly dropping her pen (teething ring) - and the bitch has the nerve to call her junior officer in to pick it up, and when she's really mad because a merger or acquisition doesn't go particularly well, she literally throws people (stuffed bears) out of her office. Is this not hilarious?!!!

The funniest though was tonight. Before putting her to bed for the second time, Eva-Mae was at her desk. Marc handed her "Fluffy Chick and Friends" (a favourite cloth book). She took it, looked at it, banged it on her circle a few times, threw it across the room, and proceeded to look at Marc in a very angry way as if saying "are you kidding me? you call that piece of shit a report? i don't have time for this crap!".

You know, it was bad enough when I (and then Marc and I) made up dialogue for the pets. Now we're making up office-talk for our 5 month old baby.

OH MY GOD, we're so funny.

Recap

2008-11-30T21:23:00.010-06:00

So I think that I actually have the mental energy to keep this blog up...(again). I've caught myself thinking many times over the past six months "hmmm, I'd like to write about that". So now I think that instead of just letting my toughts jog through my grey matter, I will take action and write. I also admit that Facebook became my crack.

I'll recap on what's happened - in a nutshell - in the last six months or so:

- We welcomed little Eva-Mae Maria Mainville into our lives.

- Marc and I moved into our new house.
- We've been finishing up renovations in our former house (part of the deal).

- We're getting married on May 30th. Planning a wedding does not come naturally to me. Nope, not at all.

- Eva-Mae is now five months and 2 weeks old. She wears either size nine or twelve month old clothing. We don't want to make a big deal about this because we don't want her to get a complex. No

really, I think someone should write to someone about the sizing of

baby clothing.

- I bought a new laptop. This is a very exciting thing. It has a lot of RAM. That's a good thing. Apparently.

- I'm on mat leave for another six months. Perhaps I would like to be on mat leave for like 15 more years.

- Marc's business is doing very well. He has lots of it. Also a good thing. (Good for me because we got some pretty sweet new appliances and I got to go to the Bahamas).

- I went to the Bahamas on a mom-cation (definition: vacation for new moms without kids) with Chris. It was fantastic. Perhaps a bit more wild than anticipated, but fantastic.

- Marc's family has visited twice from Edmonton.

- My family has visited several times.

- I'm taking another psych class at Carleton.

- The other kids (Atlas, Brown and Pinch) are doing very well and adapting to having a new sibling.

I think that sort of wraps it up. Now that that's done, I can just blog about regular day in, day out stuff.

Talk to you soon, XOXO Gossip Girl.

KIDDING. Lisa.

Mayflower to Junebug

2008-06-08T15:07:00.003-05:00

With a name like "Eva-Mae", I would have thought my little girl would want to be born in the month of May, so that she could be brought up with such knick-names as Mayflower. But the calendar rolled over to June, and still, no Eva-Mae.

Today is June 8th, her due date. I've been told for the past 8 months to disregard the magic date given to me by my various medical practitioners for the anticipated arrival of my baby girl. But of course, like most mom's to be, I ignored these words thinking that I would be rewarded with a slightly early arrival of my baby, after a long 9 plus months.

I guess today's parenting lesson is this: Babies and kids are unpredictable and adults have to adapt and be patient.

How does this make you feel Lisa? Honestly, I feel like balling my eyes out and throwing a large blunt object through a window out of frustration. Of course I can't do the latter of the two, because I think social services would order me induced and take away Eva-Mae. So I just resort to random bouts of tears of frustration. Which is very weird, because up until about a week and a half ago, I felt no frustration with being pregnant. That. Has. Changed.

It's hot, I want my body to be mine again, I want to go for a run, I want to sign up for microdermabrasion to get ride of the couple of small stretch marks I have around my belly button.

But by far, the most painful part of this game, is having to wait at least one more day before I meet my Eva-Mae.

Send me labour vibes, please.

Drugs please

2008-02-16T21:29:00.002-06:00

Regardless of how health conscious you are, if you live in Ontario, you will get at least one cold over the winter months. Either it's -30C with the wind-chill, or the temperature randomly goes up to 9C. Both extremes create the perfect storm for viruses.

Last week I caught a cold, which started with sinus pain. I slept for 2 days straight. That helped and I thought I'd kicked it. Then on Monday I woke up with a sore throat. Tuesday I sounded nasal. Wednesday very early morning I was greeted with a stubborn cough. And then Thursday, Friday and today I have a full-blown cold.

In prior years, I would take Tylenol cold, sip on Neocitrine, and drink back some Robitussin. This cocktail would keep me quite functional. However this time around I've had to just say no to drugs.

I went to the pharmacy the other day and asked (desperately) the pharmacist what I could take for my cold consider I was pregnant. She smiled nicely, and told me "not much". She said that she could recommend different products, but untimely they wouldn't do much. They may sooth a sore throat for a short period, but no more effectively than a lozenge. She told me to use a humidifier (check), to drink sips of room temperature water (check), to use Halls cough drops when needed (check), and of course, to get a lot of sleep (check, check, check). I walked a way from the counter a bit sad.

So I pretty much feel like total shit.

Shout out to y'all who approach the common cold and flu season without the tender embrace of over-the-counter remedies. Serious, props to you because if I had choice right now, I would in a warm Neocitrine haze.

Eva-Mae, your schedule just isn't working out for me.

2008-02-06T20:31:00.000-06:00

Dear Eva-Mae,

Your schedule isn't working out for me. I'm sorry to tell you, but whatever you're doing that's causing me insomnia just isn't really going to fly. My doctor tells my inability to fall asleep/sleep more than 1 hours at a time/get back to sleep is caused by the hormones that you're little body is creating in my big one. Perhaps this can be your first lesson in "compromise". Ho about you make as many hormones during the day when I'm supposed to be awake, and take a break from your hard work at night when I'm supposed to be asleep. I think you may be like your nocturnal grandpa who stays up until all hours of the night. I'll have to have a chat with him about that.

And while I have your attention, I'd also like to have a tete-a-tete with you about how much of my energy your taking. This could be a lesson in "sharing". You seem to need some practice at this, my love. The energy that I have, the food that I consume, the drinks that I drink, you seem to want it all. The doctor did tell me that you're a much bigger than average girl, so tell you what, how about you try to be more like the others and s.l.o.w down a bit?

So much to learn my little Eva-Mae.

No more puking

2007-12-03T12:06:00.000-06:00

I’ve stopped puking, which is really, really nice. And the nausea that I felt for 7 weeks has also disappeared. I occasionally feel queasy, but not 24/7 like I did. It’s been about two weeks now – AMEN! Last week I even had…energy…

I started going back to the gym, which has definitely made me feel better. I’m taking it super easy – which is difficult – but at least I feel like I’m doing something about keeping the slump from the rump.

It’s really great to be able to focus on things about being pregnant outside of morning sickness. For instance, two Friday’s ago I had my 12 week ultrasound. THAT was one cool experience! It’s really, really amazing! I loved every second of it, and wished that I could have watched my baby all day long. It put on quite a show for me, with lots of bouncing around, sliding, waving, and for a finale, he/she kicked back and relaxed and lifted his/her hand like he/she was waving. I have a picture of it J Those few minutes with the ultra sound tech made me forget about how shitty I felt for a couple of months.

My belly’s starting to grow a bit. I don’t really notice it that much, but people who are close to me do. Marc loves it, and even in his sleep, reaches out to touch it. I think that’s pretty cute.

What’s also great about not feeling sick all the time is that I can turn my focus to things other than being pregnant. I think about my job, school, my friends and family, holiday shopping, the way I always have. And I think about being prego, but it’s not always top of mind. I like that now I can balance my thoughts and feelings a bit more.

I have some good stories in store…check back in a few days…

On being sick. All the time.

2007-11-07T15:25:00.000-06:00

You know, a few months ago, when I heard people talk about how they felt nauseous when they were pregnant I sort of shrugged it off like not a bit deal.

I.Was. Dead. Wrong.

My first day of nausea was just shy of me being 5 weeks. I woke up and felt queezy and I’ve pretty much felt that same way ever since. The best way I can explain it is like a hang over. I feel tired, I have a bit of a headache, and I feel like I’m going to be sick all the time.

The nausea was bad enough, but around week 7.5 the actual “sickness” kicked in. And where did it kick in? It kicked in as I was walking away from my car in my work parking lot. It was like a gag reflex that I didn’t even know was going to happen – totally spontaneous. I high-tailed it back to my car, grabbed a plastic Bulk Barn bag that I had left in the backseat, hide between my car and the next and proceeded to loose my breakfast.

Thank God I didn’t have any spectators.

I sat in my car for a few minutes and then made my way into work. The rest of the day was spent making quick trips to the ladies room (skinny girl puking every 30 minutes makes people wonder – I needed a sign on my forehead “I am not bulimic”). And the next day and a half were spent in comfort of my home, hugging my porcelain God.

Since that episode, I fluctuate between nausea and puking. I actually prefer the puking because at least that way I have moments of feeling more normal.

And I have the weirdest cravings during those moments. For instance yesterday during a particularly nice nap I wanted black licorice and pink grapefruit – together. On days where I can eat, my staples included (and are in fact limited to):
• Anything lemon
• LOTS OF LEMONADE
• Pink grapefruit
• Tangerines
• Granny Smith apples
• Mangos
• Avocadoes
• Corn chips
• Water
• Bread sticks
• Cereal, cereal, cereal
• Sausages (particularly the maple syrup kind)
• Whipped cream
• Nutella on white toast (I can’t stomach brown)

Most of you have seen me eat. I eat a lot, well, and well balanced. This “diet” is not well balanced. My doctor keeps telling me not to worry, and to just eat what I can. OK, so for breakfast I’ll have white toast with Nutella topped off with some whip cream. Perfect.

Most inconvenient is the fact that I can’t make plans. I never know how I’m going to feel, and so I don’t like to commit to anything in advance. Also, day to day, different smells make me feel worse. Another casualty is the lack of sex when you feel like you’re going to barf all the time. You don’t exactly feel sexy, and you don’t exactly feel like being jostled around.

I’m told that this should stop within the next 6 weeks or so. God help me. God help everyone around me.

Nine and Half Weeks

2007-11-02T18:38:00.000-05:00

I think that over the course of my mat leave (starting mid-May), I’m going to write a book about the last 5.5 weeks.

I found out I was pregnant after I peed on a stick in the food court bathroom of Billings Bridge (most ghetto mall in Ottawa). Let me take a few steps back…

I had class on Monday and Wednesday. To get to my class, I need to climb 4 flights of stairs. Usually I prance up those stairs, no extra breath needed, to enrich my mind with new statistical formulas. On Thursday, I was sitting at my desk reflecting on the climbs that week. They made me feel exhausted; I was panting by the time I got to the top. That was out of the ordinary. And my legs were hurting and twitching, sort of like my digestive system was. A light went off. These were similar pregnancy symptoms that a friend had. But I couldn’t be pregnant.

And I was, as I found out in the Billings Bridge food court bathroom.

Over the next 3 days I took 5 more tests. Each day the little pink plus got darker, and darker and darker. Wild. I told Marc and he was ecstatic, which was a relief. The last LAST thing I wanted was for him to feel trapped. But no, Marc had the pregnancy glow on.

Fast forward fourteen days – at which point I was 5.5 weeks pregnant. I went to my scheduled pre-natal exam with my regular doctor. I was so nervous and scared and surprised, so I started telling her about my feelings. She looked at me very matter-of-factly and said “Lisa, it will never be the right time. Particularly for you, it will NEVER be the right time. You don’t like feeling tied down. You’re family will be fine. You and Marc will be fine. Get over yourself”. OK.

Later in the exam as I sat on the table with the paper blanket draped over me, my doctor asked me “would you like to deliver at the Civic or the Queensway Carleton”. I went into shock. I muttered “uh, which is better” she responded “they’re both great”. My Mom had my older brother and I at the Civic, so to grasp something familiar, I blurted out “the Civic”.

At this point she started listening to my heart. But to me, my heart was feeling fainter and fainter. I said “Dr., I think…I think I’m going to” to which she responded “Lisa, stop talking for a minute I’m trying to listen to your heart”. A few seconds later my doctor was forced to stop listening to my heart because I fainted. And it was quite a production. Apparently I passed out, hit my head on the wall, and sorted of rebounded.

I woke up to my doctor’s voice. She felt really badly. “No big deal” I said, “I talk a lot, so you didn’t know”. She got me some orange juice, we finished the exam, and she called Marc to come and pick me up.

How much more Lisa could this get. Things not working properly, fainting in a medical setting, not being able to drive my car, etc.

I struggled with a lot of emotions. But I’ll share that with you in another blog. I’m feeling happy today, and I want to keep that feeling.

As most of you know, my brother and his wife had their baby Maple a few weeks ago. I made the decision to hold off telling my family (and you) about this until once she was born and she was celebrated. Also, I wanted to be emotionally ready when I told them. I’ve always said that I don’t know if I want to get married, but I know that it’s important to my Mom and Dad, so I was a bit concerned about how they were going to react.

Today I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I needed to tell my Mom. I was planning on waiting until I went to visit her for U.S. Thanksgiving, but I couldn’t. We had the best conversation. Mom’s are wonderful (…I guess that’s sort of complimenting myself now, weird).

I’ve talked to a few people about this and they’ve all been so great, so supportive and such good friends. But talking to my Mom made everything feel right. And now Maple will have a cousin to get in trouble with.

To be a cog or to not be a cog, that's the question.

2007-09-23T18:31:00.000-05:00

What's the purpose of "work". If someone could tell me, that would be great. I can't seem to figure it for myself.

Perhaps it's the expectations that we let grow, as we grow, about the importance of "what I'm going to do when I get older" that's causes this problem. Or perhaps, it's because we're too selfish to actually do the jobs that are "good". Or maybe I'm just missing the whole point of what work is supposed to be.

I want to make it clear that this post is in no way dissing my workplaces, past and present, because I'm really thankfull for them. Rather, I just have some questions that have been parading around in my head for a while and like a reoccuring dream, and keep coming back.

Why do we do what we do? What's the point? I feel like everything around us has been created, and now we have to work so that we can pay for those creations. But why? I sort of feel like we are cogs in a big wheel. What's the benefit of what we're doing? Are we making ourselves happy? Are we making other people happy?

And what about being a silly servant. A very good friend of mine and I were chatting about the above one day, and she said "I've worked for the man (private sector consulting) and I've worked for the people (the government). At least working for the government I know that I'm doing things to make people's lives better". I've always kept those words in the back of head, and dusted them off when I started questioning my career path.

I've talked about this with several friends, and it seems that those who are happiest in their "work" are those who don't look at what it's doing for the greater good, but rather, what it fulfills for them in their life. And this varies depending on what that particular friend's priorities are. For instance, one of my friends has a relatively low paying job but she does something she's passionate about 24/7. Another friend has a high paying job, knowing full well that she's a paper-pusher, but does it so that she can live the high-life outside of work.

I just don't have a sweet clue where I fit in here. Frustrating.

The Blog Lives!

2007-09-19T19:49:00.000-05:00

I’ve been completely delinquent about updating my blog. But instead of listing all 18 excuses, I’ll chalk it up to "I was out of the office".

I’m a student again. I don’t know if it’s something in the water, but many of my friends are too. We’ve asked ourselves why is it that we’ve chosen to dive back into the academic world, head-first. We have full-time jobs, we have friends and/or significant others, we have social lives, we have hobbies. So why is it that we’ve decided that engaging in a learning environment over-run by high school grads is a good thing?

For me, it’s about having a goal. See the thing is I’m not that goal oriented. Instead, I seem to have a knack for making good decisions when opportunities present themselves. I’m really lucky to have had the experiences that I have – things have definitely worked out for me.

But I’ve realized that this luck may run out. I figure that it’s in my best interest to take a bit more control over my life direction, and actually set an attainable goal. I rummaged through my mental list of things that I think I want to do for myself (key word), and came up with going back to school and working towards a graduate degree.

Let’s roll the calendar back a few years. I completed my B.A. at Mount Allison University, and while I ended up with an overall academic GPA of a C+, I had like an A+ in social performance.

Now, 6 years after graduating, I know I’m smarter than a C+ GPA. And it’s not about the letter grade, it’s about wanting to absorb the information that is being taught to me, and put it to use in practical ways. And by doing this, by really learning what I’m paying to be taught, I’ll increase my GPA and I’ll do my M.A.

I transferred my MTA credits to Carleton U, and have to take about 8 courses to graduate with an Honours B.A. in Psych. Once that’s completed, I’ll do my M.A. in psych or counseling. There’s still a slight chance that I’ll apply to a communications program, but it’s slim.

So that’s why I spend two mornings a week walking the halls of my local academic institution with young, young looking people who are like totally influenced by the cast of Laguna Beach and The Hills.

You've been tagged!

2007-07-16T15:30:00.000-05:00

Random Facts and Habits

Sara (over at From the Desk of Sara) tagged me for this, and well, shout to her! Cause I’ve been pretty lazy about blogging lately.

The Rules:
(I have to post these rules before I can give you the facts, as indicated in the rules below.)
1. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
2. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
3. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
4. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

Here goes:
ONE: I am not a planner. I don’t plan. Plans and me are not one and the same. Planning, come to think of it, makes me feel incredibly uptight and nervous. I don’t like feeling that all of my time is committed, I resent it. I never have, and it seems that as I near my dirty-30, I disklike planning that much more. This is of great frustration to my family and friends (sorry!!!).
TWO: I love berries and cereal – together or separate – I love them both. I have raspberries growing in my backyard right now, and everyday when I come home from work, I pick and eat the ripe ones. Occassionally I’ll save one for Marc. Too bad I can’t grow cereal (theoretically I could, but it’s not that practical given my current abode).
THREE: On average, I find myself with a hang-over twice a year – around my birthday and new year’s day.
FOUR: Two years ago, I didn’t care if I died. I know, that’s totally morbid and sad, but it’s true. Don’t get me wrong, I in no way ever contemplated calling it short, but I didn’t care if I woke up. I definitely don’t feel that way now. I’m sure that at some point, everyone feels like that.
FIVE: I love lying on my bed (at home, at my cottage, somewhere foreign), when it’s really warm out, in the middle of the day with the windows wide open. It feels so indulgent. I don’t know why exactly, but it just does.
SIX: A while ago, I lived in a Tofino. I still keep up-to-date on the goings on in the town via a few friends that I’ve kept in the area. The place really captured my heart. I don’t pretend to have ever really fit in with many of the people there – I didn’t, and for no reason in particular. But I felt (and still feel) a strong attachment to the environment, and feel very comfortable saying that I fit in well with it. One of the nicest compliments I ever received was at the restaurant where I worked, , when a couple said that I was the epitome of an Island girl. They were shocked when I told them I was from Connecticut (the cultures couldn’t be any more different).
SEVEN: I love sleeping.
EIGHT: I love the way Marc and I drive home from the cottage when we’re in our separate cars. We stay behind/in front of each other because we like to be close.

So here’s the problem – I don’t really have anyone to tag. Everyone in my blogging community has been tagged. So anyone reading this, feel free to tag yourself, and send me and 7 of your friends an email answer the above.

Have fun!

$5200 for a new heart

2007-06-27T14:36:00.001-05:00

T-storms are pending, which sparked the creation of this entry.

Once again, I am writing to tell you all about my complete and total bad luck with cars. Totally, totally bad. If you’ve read say five entries, about 3 of them were probably related to – in one way or another – the mechanical problems I’ve had with my beloved Jeep. While I didn’t write about the latest, I think most of you know about it.

On the drive back from CT, about 30 minutes outside of my hometown, the Heep died. The engine died. It just stopped – sort like a heart attack, I would imagine. Luckily Marc and I were at a convenient place to pull off, at a fork in the highway which provided us with ample green space to stretch out while we waiting for 3.5 hours for a tow.

I had to make a decision: let her die, or give her the transplant she needed. I decided to resuscitate. I did a quick cost benefit analysis, and the amount I could sell my baby for surpassed the amount it was going to cost me to fix it (albeit, not by much).

Luckily for me, my younger brother Brent is a mechanic, so he’s taking care of the repairs. And it’s only costing me $5200. (gag). I had to get a new engine (built on site), I got a new clutch (because I’ve never had a new one, and of course it will break soon), a new fuel…something, and a new mirror.

I can now say that the entire innards of the Heep have been replaced. Totally amazing.

My Dad was kind enough to lend me the family tank – a 93’ Mercedes 190E, black with tinted windows – while I wait for the Jeep to recover (I look like a drug dealer driving it). This car has run smoothly for as long as he’s had it. It has required no repairs; it was in perfect condition.

Until I got it.

Low and behold, I’ve been driving this car for about a month, and of course – OF COURSE – something has to go wrong with it. A few nights ago, the back passenger-side window got stuck in the down position. I can’t make it go up; I think it’s off the rail.

So now, I have to bring the car into the shop to get the window fixed. And not any shop, I have to bring it to a Mercedes dealership. I’m hoping it won’t cost me a small fortune.

That is why I thought about writing this entry. It’s now raining out, and my window is stuck in the down position. So not only will the car’s window need to get fixed, but I will need to have it detailed. Sweet.

Really, and I mean really now, do you know anyone who has such bad luck with cars?

I should probably just invest in several bikes and some running shoes with good insoles.

Meet the parents

2007-06-04T12:37:00.000-05:00

Over the long weekend, I took Marc South of the border to meet my family. The drive there was easy (particularly for me – I only drove for about 1.5 hours) and fun. It was my first long(ish) road trip with Marc, and it was a really happy one. We like to travel the same way – not rush, but sightsee a bit along the way, stop to pee (mostly for me and for Atlas), and what-have-you. For kicks, we stopped at a giant Walmart in upstate New York just to see what it was like.

On the way, Marc made reference to the movie Meet the Parents. He was trying to convince me that my Dad did not work for the UN, but the CIA, and would be asking him to “tour the basement” only to administer a lie detector test. When we pulled into my parent’s driveway, their traditional New England house was in fact, quite reminiscent of the parent’s house in the movie. Only the RV was missing (and frankly, I’m surprised that my Dad has yet to purchase one off of eBay yet – he really likes eBay).

The next morning I was sitting having breakfast in the kitchen, and my Mom made a joke about the movie Meet the Parent’s, which was sort of weird. But Marc coming down the stairs saying in his booming voice “Oh man Heather! You have a Mr. Jingles” sealed the deal. My mom has recently acquired a second (forth)-hand, very inquisitive Himilayan, just like Jingles in the movie. His name was Jack. Now his name is Mr. Jack Jingles.

And Marc didn’t even run away.

Rather, he became very comfortable very fast. He called my mom Heather, and my dad Rob. This was particularly funny because no one calls my Dad Rob. It’s Mr. Damien or Bob. When my Mom and I heard – and caught on – to what he was calling my Dad, we started giggling. And then my Dad started laughing. And Marc was wondering how he missed the joke. We suggested that Bob would be a better name to call Mr. Damien.

Marc was so comfortable that when my Mom asked him what he wanted for breakfast (toast, cereal) he told her that I knew what he liked and that I’d be make it – eggs, bacon, toast, coffee and juice. My Mom just laughed – luckily, so did Marc.

This was very funny for my Mom, because out of my five-person family (8 including the animals), I am the least domestic.

Marc really won over Rob and Heather’s love when he reacted the way he did to my car problems. But that’s a whole other blog.

My Mom described Marc as a very unique and pleasant combination of a little Gracefield (QC), a little Ottawa Valley, and a little Alberta. She loved him, and really loved when he gave her a hug and kiss goodbye. My Dad (who thank God he didn’t hug and kiss)…actually sat with Marc and I and talked until 1:15 in the morning. My Dad has NEVER done that.

I tried to bring Mr. Jack Jingles home with me, but that didn't work out.

To be continued....

The ulimate summer fun!

2007-05-24T20:52:00.000-05:00

Tonight was my first game of ultimate this season. Last Thursday was our first game, but I couldn't play because I had strep throat (of course I was sick, it's like the story of my winter/spring).

Usually I don't like planned activities. Correction: I tend to really disklike planned activities a lot. I don't like feeling that I have to do something, like something is a chore. I felt that way by the time I stopped dancing, and by the time I stopped dragon boating. Thursday night with my ultimate team only feels good.

I like that the game was actually familiar to me this year. It gives me that addictive feeling that I love, like I just want more. What was so nice about playing tonight, was the comfort of seeing the now familiar faces on my team. We seem to really gel well as a group, which is not really that common. Everyone is pretty different, which makes the dynamic fun and entertaining.

There are some very friendly smiles on my team, and it really is a treat seeing them again. And there are some people on my team that just always have nice words to say, and I like that.

I really love playing the game. I like running around, I like the rush of actually doing something right. Tonight I scored a point - wohooo!

I'm really looking forward to the rest of the summer, seeing this group of people every Thursday. It's a good, uplifting feeling.

And to think that Radford and I used to call Ottawa ultimate a cult!

It's like finishing a book that you loved

2007-05-17T21:56:00.000-05:00

It's two hours later, and I'm still completely distraught about the Grey's season finale.

I have the terrible feeling you get in your stomach, when something you love is taken away and you have no control over it. I know - this sounds totally ridiculous. But I bet there are many of you out there who feel exactly the same way.

I don't think I have ever seen Christina be so emotionally expressive, so totally broken. I think that's what got me. It's like through the wedding planning, she grew and her love became more sure. And then Burke walks away, so calmly. And she returns to their apartment, and his things are gone - and she knew exactly where they all used to be. That scene was probably the most heart breaking scene I've witnessed on TV - ever.

And George. He's our favourite. Everyone loves George, and now his role is going to change. I hurt for him too, because his heart is breaking every minute on that show. He isn't being true to himself, and now it's like he's just unwinding.

Meredith seems like such a lost soul right now, and because of that, she's most likely going to lose the man who loves her to no end.

At the end, when the new interns entered the locker room, they were so fresh and untouched (and Meredith's sister!). Don't you feel like that scene served as a crazy reminder of the intense emotion and experience the characters of the show have had over the past two seasons?

The characters on the show are just so believable. I don't mean in a "wow, that's what being an intern is really like!". I mean that the experiences these people have, their relationships, their trials and tribulations - it's so easy to related to them on some level. For me anyways, it's hard not to feel something that one of them is going through.

I like what happened for the Chief.

I loved this show, but it definitely left me feeling pretty sad.

Hotel Review

2007-05-01T11:56:00.000-05:00

This past weekend I went to Toronto with a group of friends, to celebrate three birthdays. The trip had been on the radar for a couple of months, to go to the big city to see one of the birthday girl’s favourite bands Clam Chowder.

We pulled some strings, but still, the cheapest rate we could get was like $160 without taxes. Of course I was not OK with this price (read – I’m cheap). So I went on Hotwire, and found us a hotel in the right vicinity for just under 100$ a night, taxes and fees in.

The thing with Hotwire is that you only see the price of the hotel per night, and a brief description. You don’t actually get the name of the hotel until you book it. We took our chances.

On paper, the hotel looked perfectly fine. It was The Bond Hotel, on Bond Street, literally across the road from the Eaton Centre. It was the perfect location. It was rated 4 stars – so how bad could it be?

As expected, there were two beds in our room. However, they were single beds. Very, very small single beds. So small that Marc’s entire feet hung off the end. Nikki and Sean’s room was right next to the one Marc and I were assigned – very convenient. However, Marc and my room had not been cleaned – and it was after 3pm. So Marc went and got us a new room but a few floors above. This room also had single beds, but at least it was cleaned.

I took a nap, and when I woke up, I was famished (therefore, grumpy). Marc went to find a vending machine to get me a little something to hold me over until dinner. He didn’t come back empty handed – he came back with tokens. Apparently this hotel only has a pop machine (on the 15th floor) and you need your room key to access it. And you can’t use change; you have to use “tokens” that you buy from the front desk. What a process!

While I was napping, Marc decided to watch the hockey game. But he was unable to. Instead his options were The Simpsons or porn. That’s right – we only got a few channels and one of them was Bon-Chikka-Bon Bon 90’s porn.

The next morning, after a long night out, we got a wake-up call. This hotel is so proactive that they give you one without you even asking. At 8:30 a women burst on the scene introducing herself “housekeeping”. What really surprised me was that 3 people fit in that room…How odd– our first room hadn’t been cleaned by 3:30, yet here’s housekeeping practically in bed with us at 8:30 (ready to get down and dirty?).

What a funny experience.

It was a perfect location though (particularly for the dragonboaters out there looking for cheap weekend accommodations), and I’d still recommend it. Maybe not booking it through Hotwire though….

It was such a happy birthday

2007-04-26T12:05:00.000-05:00

Last year I promised myself that I would celebrate my birthday on my birthday, the day I turned 29.

With the new (birth)year, I started a new job. It feels fresh, and happy, and positive, and challenging. One day earlier this week, I thought about my former job. I definitely learned a lot there, but what resonates with me is the sadness that I felt most days I entered “the castle”. Walking into work on the “farm”, it’s like a new start. And I really, really think I needed it. What kept me at my former job was the group of friends that I made. What a great, spirited, unique, funny group of honeys.

Friday night I celebrated my birthday with a true girl’s night out, with Nikki. Her birthday falls a day after mine, and this year she turned 30. So we did it up. We lit up the dance floor. We drank shots that cost $9.50 each. And I won a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes. Sweet!

Saturday however, I remembered why I don’t do it up birthday style very often.

My birthday was on Tuesday. Here’s what my horoscope had to say about the coming year:

Laughter will never be far away over the coming 12 months, even when you are focused on serious matters such as your career. Is the world outside your door as bad as some people claim? Or is it their negative attitude that makes it look that way? Always keep a smile on your face and life will always be fun.

My boss gave me a card with that written in it.

I was awake at 12:00 a.m. on the 24th, and so I turned to Marc and said I love you. Do you have any idea how good that felt? I feel so, so lucky that I’m in love with someone, and that he’s the best part of my World. Someone that’s so kind and loving and passionate, and who is a best friend. And hello ladies! He gave me a beautiful pair of heels (and some unmentionables) as a birthday gift! (He must have watched Oprah or something!)

I had cake later that night with Chris and Bryan and Marc. We got it at my favourite bakery (Swiss Pastry shop in Billings Bridge). It was the first time that I’d been to Chris and Bryan’s new house, and the first time I saw her new kitten Ashes. It felt so good.

I’m glad that I recognized my birthday this year as a day to celebrate all the happy things that I have going for me. I’m not going to be as anxious anymore when the calendar turns to April*.

* Disclaimer: With the exception of my dirty 30.

Just like garden perennials, part of our brain thaws and comes back to life

2007-04-19T20:56:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I heard a man explaining to a foreigner that in Canada, we have two seasons: Fall and Winter. I tend to agree with this statement.

In October, Ottawa had freezing rain. And it didn't stop until January. Then we had wind chill's so cold that icicles formed in mid-air, and that continued through March. Then the freezing rain resumed, and temperatures hovered around -7.

It's now April 19, and it's warm. I really hope that Mother Nature isn't teasing us, and that this warm 20 degree weather is here to stay. It means that our city comes (seriously) alive with patios and drinks, we can bare our pasty white toes (legs, stomachs, what-have-you), we can open the cottage, and (hello!) we're all gonna suffer from Spring fever!

It also seems that with this warmer weather comes a new dress code. Here are some of the outstanding outfits I saw today:

Taupe mules, calf-length floral skirt, bare legs, skidoo coat.
Flip-flops, short shorts, down vest, knitted scarf.
Capri pants, ankle boots, Winter coat longer than pants.

This adds a whole new meaning to "Spring thaw". Apparently the fashion sense part of our brain freezes just like our garden perennials. And like them, it does come back. But for a while there, it's very in between and overall, very much worthy of Cosmo's "What Not to Wear".

Ottawa natives are so strange. We get so freaking exciting when the weather is above 15 degrees, that we can't NOT wear something "Summer". Even if that means keeping ourselves warm by coupling that cute new skirt with a parka.

Funny no?

When you have to carry a barf-bag with you on your way to work, it's probably time to leave...

2007-04-17T20:02:00.000-05:00

Usually I’m very good about letting go of bad experiences, particularly when it involves work. I don’t ever want to be controlled by what I do for a career. But I’m having a really difficult time of letting go of the frustration, disappointment and anger that I felt when I left my job this past Friday.

I realized last night I hadn’t written my thoughts down for a couple of weeks. So I sat down on my couch, and let the floodgates open. After about five minutes, tears were streaming down my face.

I started at my (now) previous work in January of 2002. I worked very hard, I poured my energy, my time, and my creativity into the positions I held. I wanted to do well for myself, and to make the bosses that I really liked and respected, look great.

I was bread for the private sector, and I decided to keep some of that mentality when I joined the public sector. I worked overtime without ever recording it and my office hours were fairly random. In a matter of 4.5 years, I jumped 7 levels, and yes, I went through what the government calls "competitions" for each promotion. So I think it’s fair to say that I’ve been doing something right.

But I have never felt so badly about my work as I did over the past 7 months. My confidence took a serious dive off the high board. My “leader” did not say one positive thing about my work during that time. Rather, I received change after change, criticism after criticism. And not only about my actual work, but about the way I interacted with my clients and coworkers, and the processes I used.

In team meetings, when reporting on projects, I was questioned in an attacking, hostile way. And I was not the only one that noticed this.

For the first three months, I dealt with it. I excused the micro-managing because my leader was new. Then every day of the fourth month I felt nauseous before going to work in the morning. After that passed, I decided that I just didn’t care about this leader, or anything that they had to say. My goal was to do a good job for my clients, to tell (and see) my leader as little as possible, and to move on. I dished back to my leader, and made my opinions crystal clear. When I have no respect for someone, I can’t pretend that I do. My face does not hide emotion.

It was a bad time.

It makes my heart feel so big though, that I gave so much of myself to this organization. Also, that I had the intention of staying and growing with it. I’m like a sponge, I retain a lot. I left with a lot of corporate memory, and a lot of experience. And really, that's too bad. Particularly at a time when demographics should make retention a priority.

Call me on it if I'm wrong, but management is two-fold: managing projects/programs and managing people. This person had absolutely no idea how to do that latter. I really hope that someone in senior management recognizes this, and for the greater good, does something about it.

But luckily in this case, there’s a happy ending. Once I decided that I wanted to move on, one thing after another fell into place for me. I’m now happily settling into a new job, with new people around me, in a new organization. I came to my new place of work on Monday with enthusiasm and a positive outlook. I’m excited to learn new things, and to apply what I learned over the past years.

And this leader taught me so much - exactly what I don't want to be when I manage people. He taught me more than I ever could have learned by attending "management courses" that I included on my yearly learning plan.

I also fought back and stood my ground. I learned not to be bullied by those senior to me. I'm not letting this bad experience jade me, because it forced me into looking for a solution, and the one I found I am very happy with.

Neutral like Switzerland

2007-04-04T12:26:00.001-05:00

I spent this past Saturday morning at the Ontario Ministry of Transport office on Bank. En route, I got myself a Tim’s (large double-double), and arrived prepared with my myriad of documents to complete the final step of the importation process.

I knew that I was going to be there for a while when I had to manoeuvre through a group of people mulling outside of the office. I took a number and sat down to wait my turn. Actually, I was pretty surprised that I was able to find a chair – but I did, and that was a good thing.

I people watch, a lot. So as I sipped away on my now lukewarm Tim’s, I took note of those coming in the door. And I quickly realized: No matter who you are, what your social or financial status is, what nationality you are, everyone has business to do with the licensing office. And the man who walked in with Gucci everything was treated the same way as the woman who walked in with her three kids.

And I’m fairly confident that it wouldn’t matter if you were Paris Hilton, Fergie, or Ben Mulroney, you would still be at the mercy of “the” number. You have to wait in line, seated if you’re lucky, read your book, fall asleep, annoy the person next to you by striking up an unnecessary conversation, (you get the point), until the customer service representative says “38”.

For anyone interested in the available labour market, you should totally check out the licensing offices on a Saturday. It’s a great research opportunity.

I talked to one nice man when I was there, who had recently immigrated to Canada from Haiti. He asked me what my business was there, that Saturday morning. So of course, I “shared” which involved me bitching about the amount of money the process was costing me. He smiled kindly and said “that’s what God gave you money for, so you should be happy that you have a car”.

(sheepishly sinking into chair)

When my number was called, I ended up dealing with the agent beside him. He said to me “how old are you anyways? About 18?”. This man totally grew on me.

All this to say that my visit to the Ontario Ministry of Transport was far more entertaining and educational then I ever would have imagined. It’s like a Switzerland – neutral.

$2955

2007-04-02T12:34:00.000-05:00

Dear Canadian and U.S. Governments,

With all of this talk about making trade/importation/exportation between Canada and the U.S. easier and less burdensome, you’d think that making my 1999 Jeep Wrangler “officially” Canadian would 1) have taken less than 3 months and 2) less than 2.95K.

Below is an outline of the costs:

GST paid at Customs: $850
Registrar of Imported Vehicles fee: $250
Transport Canada requirements (daytime running lights): $150
Safety # 1: $80
Work costs to meet safety requirement: $1450
Safety # 2: $40 (I wheeled and dealed for this)
Emissions test: $35
Ontario Ministry of Transport registration and plates: $100
Grand Total: $2955

The process above involved: mailing documents to Custom, picking up documents at Customs, signing documents at Customs, running from Canadian Tire to my mechanic of choice and back to Canadian Tire, two trips to the Ontario Ministry of Transport, many hours of research on the Internet, buying new insurance that took over a month because former insurance company kept loosing requests I made for documents, and conversations with “specialists” that provided the wrong information.

Throw in a lot of stress, family feuds and guilty feelings – and you have yourself one sweet and efficient system.

Don’t get me wrong, Government officials, I am very thankful that I have my Jeep legally in Canada, and that it now sports Ontario (Yours to discover) licence plates. But my complaint is with the process it took for that to happen.

Because I strongly believe in not just bitching about the system and actually trying to make it better for others, I called the Canadian side of this process. I got a stellar explanation, which made me feel totally inspired and appreciated: It’s the Government Miss, it’s just the way it is.

Yours truly.

Shopaholic

2007-03-21T13:16:00.000-05:00

I used to be a shopaholic. I bought so many clothes – like way too many. At a time when I should have been investing in say, food, I was buying scarves.

But then I owed a lot of money, and so I had to stop buying things. Shopping is a total addiction, It just makes people feel good. Well, it made me feel happy and makes most of my shopaholic friends feel happy.

Every time I went to buy something, I’d remind myself that I would like it and feel good about it for like 3 days, then it would loose its lustre. I still do this, and I’m actually really good at not buying things now. Actually, I find it more fun to talk myself out of buying something, than caving.

Except for the fun pants I found at Gap today on sale for 14.99. Those I couldn’t pass up.

Which brings me to recap my lunch-hour (and a half) shopping excursion. I rarely go shopping, but today I had to walk through the mall to pick up some odds and ends. I decided that I would go to some of the stores I like, just to browse and see what’s hot with the Ottawa fashionista club.

I was totally unimpressed.

It’s spring people (designers, buyers, etc), where’s the colour at? I went to Club Monaco, and no word of a lie there is nothing, and I mean nothing, that isn’t black, grey, taupe or white. There is no colour. The same held true for Jacob, Mexx, Tristan, even Benetton. The colours the stores did carry were very muted greens, some purples.

I never thought I’d say this, but it was like a breath of fresh air walking into Guess. The blues and pinks and yellows – it was uplifting.

I’m glad I’m not addicted to shopping anymore, cause I don't know where I'd get my next fix.

Chris in the skin

2007-03-14T08:20:00.000-05:00

Here's a picture of Chris and I, that Cass took this past Summer when she was visiting.

Unfortunately I do not have a picutre of her cat Ebony - but I think that Chris is just as pretty to look at.

Chris' Cat Ebony

2007-03-13T14:21:00.000-05:00

I got an email from Chris today, and one of her cats died. Reading her message was so upsetting because I could feel her deep sadness. I felt sadness for Chris loosing her pet, but also because I know how incredibly loving and sensitive she is and how much this would make her hurt.

Chris had two cats – Ebony and Ivory. Her neighbours, just prior to naming them, had indulged in many drinks. The white cat was called Ebony and the black cat is called Ivory. They have long beautiful fur, are of a medium size, and have very distinct personalities – very much a reflection of Chris.

I met Ebony and Ivory about three and half years ago. Ivory, the male, is very laid back, affectionate, and social. Ebony, the female, loved Chris and only Chris, was very sassy side, and liked the pleasure of her own company. Ivory is like the Jake Gyllenhaal of cats, and Ebony was like the Pam Anderson.

Chris loves her cats. Whenever she goes away, she plans well ahead of time to make sure that someone very animal-friendly will not only come and feed and water her cats, but spend some time with them, petting them and loving them. I did this on several occasions, and was actually winning the love of Ebony over.

But then one day I had the bright idea of bringing Atlas over to “visit” the cats. Ebony did not like this, and retreated to Chris’ room, under her bed. Atlas did like this, and thought that Ebony was playing games with him. The night ended with the cats under Chris’ bed with her bedroom door closed, and me and Atlas watching TV.

After this little episode, Ebony was not loving me. Whenever I went over to Chris’, she’d hiss and run. I think she could sense me coming and would make an appearance at the front door JUST to be able to hiss and run. She wanted me to know that she was totally dissing (hissing) me.

Seeing Chris love her pets the way she did, and be the way she is with them, caring and protective, makes me want her to be a mom. She looks at her pets the way I look at mine. And I know how that makes me feel. Ebony and Ivory have been a strong constant in Chris’ life for many years, something that we all need in our 20’s.

Ebony died late last week. Chris had just given her some attention, and left the room. An hour later she returned to find Ebony’s body curled up on her pyjamas, and her soul gone to animal heaven.

Loosing a pet is so hard. When I read the email, I thought about Atlas and Megan. To be honest, I thought about Atlas in particular. I love him so much; he’s been my constant. He’s the source of so many funny stories. He taught me very quickly that being responsible for something, removing a level of selfishness from my life, can be the most rewarding thing. I stopped myself there though, because I don’t even want to contemplate the emptiness I would feel if Atlas were gone.

Pets give us unconditional love. They’re always there for us. They pay attention to us when we need it, they occupy us, and they comfort us. And they do this because they are completely dedicated to us – and not because they want anything back. Through this, I think they teach us to love and give just because.

I’m sorry about Ebony Chris. I’m glad that you and Ivory can take comfort in each other.

Southern belles

2007-03-08T11:31:00.000-06:00

Last week, Rebecca and I participated in a cook-off to celebrate employee diversity at work. Being that I have ties to the U.S of A, I entered us as the South's representatives.

We spent 6 hours the night prior cooking up chicken and sausage jambalya, biscuits, and bread pudding with rum sauce (which Rebecca coined "rumbalaya"). Neither of us had made any of the above, so as you can imagine, we were a bit nervous about the outcome. My bf - culinary wizard that he is - gave us the occassional nod, letting us know that food was actually resembling what it should.

About 130 people came through our kiosk, and at the end of the lunch, we had about 2 servings of each item left.

It was so fun!

Drug addict

2007-03-08T11:27:00.000-06:00

That’s what I was. But I’m weaning myself off, and do I ever feel weird.

I’ve been coming off Zoloft for almost a week now, but today is the first time I’m feeling physical withdrawal symptoms - and they’re so funny! I randomly feel like I’m going to tip over, I feel like I fall asleep for a second now and again (like a brain hiccup), my mental capacity is definitely not at full-throttle, and I sort of feel like I’m half asleep.

A couple of days ago I felt some mood symptoms, but those are starting to become less noticeable now. I felt like I was going to snap, and I was really easily annoyed.

Between the two – I’d much rather have the physical symptoms. I don’t like being angry. So I’m glad those are taking a hike.

The reason I started taking this wonderful anti-depressant, anti-anxiety, anti-obsessive compulsive medication was so that I could figure out why I was feeling sad and bad, and deal with it. I’m very proud of myself (yes I sound like I’m in grade 2) because I actually did take the time I was on the drugs to do just that. I didn’t like that I was on them, so I wanted to take care of business, figure some shit out, and get off them.

I went to see a shrink for a while, I talked to my doctor a lot (she’s so, so awesome), I wrote a lot, I calmed down a lot. I was more attentive to the friendships that I have that are solid and good for me. I paid attention to what was eating away at me and dealt with it. It was really hard, but I’m so glad that I chose to go through it and not just keep living the way I was.

I can honestly say that I feel good now, and not just because things in my life are better. I still have the same crap being handed to me that I always have, the same issues to work out (just like everyone else). But I think because I feel more grounded and confident with myself, I can just handle all of that better. I also know what it feels like to be so, so sad and have limited support – and I don’t ever want to go back there.

I contemplate writing these types of blog entries. But then I think of the people that have come to me after reading some of my emotional/life outpourings, who have found it refreshing and supportive to know that other’s go through what they do. So if someone is starting the process that I did a year and half ago, and if I can give then that extra boost they need on that one particular day, then I’m happy that I posted this.

Funk…and I ain’t talking of the G Love variety

2007-03-02T13:22:00.000-06:00

I don’t know what has gotten into me, but for the last while, I’ve been in a funk. OK that’s not be 100% true – parts of me have been in a funk.

As a side note: Why is it that we put the $ sign before a number, and the % sign after a number? You say “Give me five dollars or your momma’s ass is grass” not “Give me dollars five or your momma’s ass is grass”. The French have it right here, they put the $ where it’s should be – after the number. If anyone can explain this to me, I’d appreciate it.

From talking to various friends, and reading various blogs, it seems that many people are suffering from the funk. For me, I think a good part of mood has resulted from the fact that I’ve had the stomach flu 2.5 times since January 1, 2007 and a bad cold 1 time (still ongoing). I haven’t felt healthy in way too long, and it’s totally starting to irk me. I might be the best commercial ever for getting your flu shot (I didn’t get one this year). But man! Is this ever getting me down! Because of my illnesses, I’ve been sleepy, a bit more cranky than usual, less patient, and I haven’t been outside that much. One good part about being sick though, is when your hot manservant (boyfriend) makes you soup and sits on the couch with you all day watching Orange County Choppers. I like that.

And then work. I’m pretty (read: quite) unhappy at work right now. I won’t get into great detail, but let’s sum it up by saying that I enjoyed being thrown in a McDonald’s dumpster by my brother and high school best friend Willie on our way to Vermont one time more than I enjoy work (most of the time). I’m like a freaking punching bag. If someone’s having a bad day, I get lashed out at. If someone’s pissed cause something is late or delivered to the wrong address, it’s my fault. I can’t seem to get anything right these days. Processes that I’ve been using for 1.5 years and have never been questioned are all of the sudden being “discussed at a higher level”. Seriously, everyday I go to work and I wonder how I’m going to have to defend myself. I’m so, so sick of having to defend myself. I understand clearly now why it is that communications employees in government get paid what they do. It’s like emotional danger pay was included in our salaries without even telling us.

I suppose my Jeep issues, and the fact that I have had to postpone my trip to visit Cass in London, doesn’t help the situation either.

It’s like holy fuck people I can’t win! I feel like I’ve been letting friends down, letting colleagues down, letting my bf down, letting my family down. And all because I’m just trying to keep myself from going postal, or taking a trip to “rancho relaxo”.

This weekend I really, really want to turn my frown upside down. I’m going to sleep a lot, eat a lot of blueberries and spinach, and get healthy. And I’m going to think about a new work philosophy. And then I’ll come to my new closed office (sweet!) on Monday, and I’ll be beaming with happiness.

My Jeep isnt' cheap

2007-02-22T14:35:00.000-06:00

The World is about balance. Or that’s what I keep telling myself.

I’m very happy right now. I’m trying to think positive things about work, and I’m starting on some new projects that have potential to be quite fulfilling. My dog and cat are happy and healthy. My friends are having fun, are being loved and have lots to talk about. My family is not chaotic. I’ve been sort of sticking to the half-marathon training I’m doing, and my house is clean and organized. But what makes me really happy is Marc, and how we are together. He’s the cat’s the pyjamas.

I start to worry when things seem really good in my life, like there’s nothing real to be stressed about - because the World likes balance. A couple of weeks ago, work was really, really getting my goat – but that passed somewhat and I don’t feel sick to my stomach every morning.
But if there’s one thing I can always count on to keep my positive neutral, it’s money. Whenever things get stress free and good, I should probably bring any extra cash I have to work and feed it to the paper shredder.

I brought my Jeep to Canadian Tire this morning, because they have to give the "official" stamp of approval that it meets Canadian federal transportation standards. For those of you who don’t know, I imported (with my Dad) my Jeep from the home a month and a half ago, and now I have multiple steps to go through before it’s “officially” Canadian.

It was supposed to cost $400. The only thing I was going to need were daytime running lights, a safety test and an emissions test. Two hours later, I’m going to need to harvest $1609 from my money tree, to put into my baby so that I can license her in Ontario. Apparently I need two new U-joints, a new exhaust, muffler and manifold.

I want a second opinion. And hopefully it will be more in line with mine. I think I can fairly say: Fuck me!

Celebrity look alike

2007-02-20T08:47:00.000-06:00

I found this link on a fellow blogger's site, and thought it was pretty fun:
www.fromthedeskofsara.blogspot.com

I never would have thought I looked more like Annette Bening than any other actress but I'll take that! Try it out.

I love, I love, I love

2007-02-15T11:00:00.000-06:00

A fellow blogger (extraordinaire), and coworker for that matter, had this list on her site yesterday. She invited readers to post the same (with answers that applied to them, obviously). It was meant to be posted yesterday, but I couldn't get on Blogger.

And I had a good Valentine's Day. Maybe I shouldn't be such a critic.

10 people I love:
G-ma, Heather, Bob, Mark, Grace, Brent, Marc, Nikki, Chris, Cass

9 movies I love:
I Heart Huckabees, Love Actually, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Life Aquatic, Serendipity, Groundhog Day, L’Auberge Espagnol, Donnie Darko, Forest Gump

8 words I love:
Lovely, beautiful, atlas, soothing, mellow, lush, serendipity, happy

7 books I love:
Shopgirl and Pleasure of My Company (Steve Martin), To Kill a Mockingbird, Me Talk Pretty One Day (David Sedaris), The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants (the series), Tuesdays with Morrie (Mitch Albom), The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho).

6 songs I love:
Box of Rain (Grateful Dead), Travelin’ Soldier (Dixie Chicks), Heart of Gold (Neil Young), Rocky Raccoon (Beatles), No Rain (Blind Melon), Suddenly I See (KT Tunstall)

5 TV shows I love:
Desperate Housewives, Grey’s Anatomy, Jeopardy, Canada AM, Dallas (I know it’s not on anymore)

4 foods I love:
Greek, cheesecake, my Mom’s chicken stirfry, popcorn

3 places I love:
My family cottage, Matunuck, West Palm Beach

2 quotes I love:
I have absolutely no idea.

1 thing to love about me:
I’m caring.

Valentine's Day - a bit too sickly sweet

2007-02-13T13:44:00.000-06:00

I don’t like Valentine’s Day. It gives me the same type of feeling as my birthday does, but a bit worse.

It’s fair to say that I’m not much of a romantic. Romance actual makes me cringe, and makes me incredibly uncomfortable. For instance, say we went out on a date, and you arrived with a bunch of flowers. I’d go completely stiff and be like “oh, you shouldn’t have”, and then it would be game over for you. I don’t know why, romance just makes me feel funny.

So needless to say, Valentine’s Day isn’t my favourite Hallmark holiday. I took a few moments today to reflect on why, and this is what I came up with:

1: I don’t want my significant other to buy me, out of obligation, a card and chocolates and flowers (or any of the three) on a regular day, so I don’t need them on February 14.

2: I haven’t had a good track record with boyfriends celebrating our “relationship” on Valentine’s Day. So I guess I’ve compensated by setting my expectations very low. For instance, one boyfriend lost the card he got me in his office, and didn’t take the time to find it until he moved offices months later.

3: How can I celebrate something that I spend far too much time and energy worrying about whether I deserve, or whether I’m going to loose? It’s like asking someone who has a fear of flying to board a new model of a plane for its test run.

4: I’m very uncomfortable when people give me things, or do things for me.

While my bf isn’t a fan of Valentine’s Day, he does have a soft spot for my artsy, caring side. So I’m going to celebrate that. I’m going to make him a card and some sugar cookies (with some extra sugar on the side - wink wink). And then we’ll probably watch hockey and share a Heineken with two straws.

My favourite dog in the Universe

2007-02-02T07:37:00.000-06:00

A couple of weekends ago, I went up, up, up North. Atlas and I climbed some hills together, and I took these pictures. I love my dog.

These are a few of my favourite things

2007-02-01T10:57:00.001-06:00

I’ve been know to ask the following question:

“What’s your favourite (fill in the blank)?”

I don’t know why this interests me so much, but it does. I like to know about people’s favourite day, favourite colour, favourite movie, favourite love affair. Knowing these small details gives me insight into what makes a person really happy. I have this (rather obvious) theory that if you compartmentalize your life and look at what makes you happiest, and then create an environment and experiences where you put all those happy things together, then you’ll be in a very good place.

Yesterday I asked my (smokin' hot) boyfriend what he was doing when he was happiest. His response got him lucky. But I digress. While I was taking a nap before going to bed last night, I started thinking about when I’ve been most content (because of the earlier conversation). These are a few of the things that came to mind:

My favourite day:
I wrote about this in my Blogger profile. It was spent with my brothers, their friends and my friends in Rhode Island at my favourite surf spot. It was perfectly warm, the sand was beautiful, the waves were nice and mellow and I was surfing well. I was so, so happy.

My favourite vacation:
When I went to West Palm Beach with my girlfriends a couple of summers ago. I loved our time together, we had fun. We went to the beach, we went shopping, we went dancing, and we watched a lot of televised plastic surgery.

My favourite sound that Atlas makes:
When I hear him trotting across the floor towards me. That sound makes me feel warm.

My favourite concert:
Bjork. I went to see her at a small venue in New Haven with my brother. Her energy was contagious, and she’s so cute (and she wasn’t even wearing her swan outfit).

My favourite island:
Savary Island off the coast of British Columbia. I went there for a day several years ago, and it was so beautiful. It was so lush and green with winding dirt roads and hills. And the beach was long and sandy, and the water was beautifully clear and warm. And the company was pretty good too.

My favourite job:
My current one, about 5 months ago. I felt creative, I was productive, and I was getting very positive feedback. I’ll get to that point again.

My favourite colour:
Green. Sage green.

My favourite place to relax:
My cottage, sitting on the front deck at sunset, with a glass of wine talking or not talking with friends and family.

My favourite car drive:
When I went to Sudbury for a dragon boat festival with Chris. I always love driving places with Chris, but this one was particularly good. We read articles out of magazines to each other, we talked, we shared secrets. It was really nice.

My favourite feeling:
When I heart someone. And when I can stare into their eyes and two hours can pass.

My favourite hike:
When I was living in Tofino, and I went and hiked around Mears Island by myself. I was completely in awe of what I saw. It was so lush. That place is so alive.

Every morning I want to feel more in love

2007-01-18T13:31:00.001-06:00

When you’re falling in love with the right person, what does it feel like?

I think that you love hearing their voice. The sound makes everything else stop and makes you melt. It causes a shiver to run through you body, and an image of their face to appear in your mind. It makes you feel blissfully happy and it makes your head spin, erasing any dark clouds. Hearing their voice makes you want to see them more than anything, and touch their face, their hands. It feels like Champagne is running through your veins.

I think that when you’ve met that person, you aren’t afraid of the term soul mate anymore. And that’s because you can look into their eyes, sharing your soul and absorbing theirs, and two hours can pass. You don’t have to talk; you’re feeling that person because somehow, you already know each other. Vulnerability becomes beautiful, welcome, and respected.

Sitting across a table at dinner from that person is too far away. You need to be able to touch them, to feel them beside you, to hear their breath. You can sit in silence, or you can sit and talk. And no word of a lie, there’s nothing in the entire World that you would rather be doing. I think that when you meet your soul mate, you realize that that person will be the most important part of you. You will share yourself with him or her, every part of you.

You’ll write love letters to them, you’ll bring them to the point of ecstasy and back, you’ll fantasize with them and about them, you’ll cook for them, you’ll change their oil, you’ll make them a mixed tape. When you meet that person, you’ll feel so much softness towards them.

You’ll feel an overwhelming sense of wanting to care for them, of warmth, of commitment, of passion, of admiration and respect. You’ll never, ever want to do anything to hurt that person. And you can never get enough of them. Saying things like if I had no sense of responsibility, I’d like to elope right now would be completely natural. Music will make more sense, old movies will make sense and the environment will seem more colourful and cheerful.

You begin to understand why people believe in a higher power. Because it’s a very painful thing to think that one day, you may never, ever see that person again. So you hold on to the idea that in the end, you’ll be with them .

And every morning you’ll wake up more in love.

Giant beer fridge

2007-01-08T10:50:00.001-06:00

A few weeks ago, Nikki and I decided to share our culinary capabilities* and have a little dinner party. And with good food comes good beverages. So off we went to the Beer Store to get some Bud(weiser) (sarcasm).

I regularly frequent the LCBO to get whatever red wine I feel like having. Most often I pick out one that has an animal on the label or in the name. Surprising as it may be, this method of wine selection has resulted in some very good finds.

In all Beer Stores I’ve been to, you have to ask for the beer you want, and then the cashier goes into the big walk-in fridge and gets it for you. But not in this one - apparently. After walking through the room with the extensive inventory, we were like – we should get a case that’s been refrigerated, so it’s nice and cold. I went to the cashier and asked if they could please give us a 24 of (insert beer name that I can’t remember) that was cold. They all sort of looked at me in shock (horror, really) and said “ya - you can help yourself to that. See the big room over there, the one with all the beer in it? It’s actually a big fridge”.

Right. So apparently the room that was abnormally COLD where ALL the beer was, was actually a giant fridge. Nice, very nice. And where have I been hibernating for 28 years?

I think I’ll stick with my animal wines.

*I made the salad

Let's resolve to have a very happy New Year!

2007-01-02T09:36:00.000-06:00

I was really committed to my 2006 resolutions, and I think that was partially due to having announced them on my blog. So I think it’s worthwhile to do the same for 2007. Sure, why not.
First order of business - the carry-over items from 2006:

1) Floss my teeth every two days
2) Create my art room
3) Start writing my book

Followed by my new resolutions for 2007:

4) Run a half-marathon with Nikki
Nikki and I are totally wanting to do this. After the 10km, we got motivated to train together for the next level of running challenge. So we’re going to run the ½ marathon at the National Capital Race Weekend in May. Our official training started last week, with strength workouts. The running portions starts on February 14. Bring it on. We’re going to be fit-as-fiddles, and we’re going to be so freaking speedy.

5) Leave the continent
I want to leave North America (just temporarily). And this is looking good, cause I’m going to visit Cass in London for a couple of weeks in April. I’m not only go to stay in London, but bounce around here and there. Don't worry, I'll take pictures.

6) Be on time
I used to always be late. Always. I really worked on this last year, and did pretty well (an unwritten resolution). This year, I would like to continue the trend – particularly where it applies to my work hours.

7) Set personal boundaries – and enforce them
I set boundaries for people, but forget about them quite easily. This just ends up making me upset, and that’s not good. So this year I am going to set some boundaries that I know are very healthy, and I’m going to stick to them – hell or high water!

8) Stop taking Zoloft
I don’t think I need this anymore, and so when it gets warm out and sunny, I’m done.

9) Let myself fall in love if the opportunity presents itself
And by this, I mean really fall in love, and let someone really love me. Not feel like I have to hold anything back, or like their love is conditional.

I think this is a good list. ‘Till next year!

Shout out to 06'

2007-01-02T09:02:00.000-06:00

Happy New Year’s y’all!

I hope that you all rang in 2007 with friends, drinks, feather boas, kissing, party hats and dancing. Or anything celebratory really.

I’d like to start the New Year off by reporting on my 2006 resolutions progress. That was my first blog post ever – Shout out to the blog’s first birthday!

1) Floss my teeth every two days
I was semi-successful with this. I definitely increased my overall flossing frequency, but this one will have to be a carry-over item for 2007 for some overall polishing (pun).

2) Buy milk by the bag instead of the carton (I drink a lot of it, and Atlas likes it as well)
I was very successful with this initiative. I bought a milk bag holder for like $2.99 and then started buying bags of milk. I go through it so fast. Well done Lisa!

3) Write letters to friends, not just emails
I get a gold medal for this one for sure. I definitely wrote more letters to friends and family. It’s now something I just like to do, and I’ll no doubt continue with this. I’m actually mailing one off today.

4) Create my art room (which will include a comfy chair for guitar playing, baskets for material, a big space for my sewing machine, my photos, etc)
Like the flossing, this will be a carry-over item. I started putting this room together, but for budgetary reasons, the project was halted. I have a desk and a bed in the art room (for guests) and my sewing machine set up. I have various baskets and pretty bags for materials and paper and stuff. I also got a photo printer, and so that will help with my photo-taking obsession.

5) Start writing my book
Ya – this didn’t happen. But I did think about it a lot, and David Sedaris' books inspired what format my book will take. Carry-over item.

6) Not letting other people, and what I do for them, create my identity
I definitely made progress on this one. I made some really good changes, confidently. I think I've positioned myself well for a lot of progress on this front. I’ve never really cared what people thought of me, so that’s good. I think I feel most happy about the outcome of this 06’ resolution.

7) To stop trying to create change, and just let it happen
I don’t know how much I agree with this one anymore. I think that in 06’ I really learned that things happen, shit happens, feelings happen and change, and you have to respond to that with change. If not, you end up sad and anxious because things don’t feel right anymore. This was a good lesson.

8) Develop a better (more committed) decision-making process
I worked on this. I definitely started making decisions that were in my best interest or the best interest of those I care about most, and because of that, I’ve been more committed to them.

9) To not let other people’s hatefulness poison my outlook (I need to copyright those words to my brother Mark)
AMEN to this resolution! This year I became a bit too aloof for a while, because it’s how I coped with some negative attitudes. That’s not me though, I’m not aloof. So then I just started to be able to dismiss the negativity and let people wallow in it if they had too. So far, so good.

All in all, a successful year from both a resolutions perspective, and an overall perspective. I liked 2006 – even though it wasn't an easy year. But really, who has an easy year? I liked what I did with this past year, and I’m happy with the decisions that I made and the things that I did.

Such good things happened in 2006: My brother Mark married a wonderful woman; My brother Brent is happier and more confident than I've ever seen him; I saw some fantastic concerts and got some great new music; I finally imported my Jeep; I did a lot of work on my house; I spent a lot of time at the cottage with my friends and family; I did really well at work; my finances don’t suck; I played a new sport; I got some good perspective; I made some great new friends; my pets are really happy and healthy; and, I had a lot of fun.

I feel strong going into the New Year, and that’s really great. I have a few people around me that make me feel confident, happy and loved. I hope you all do.

Merry Christmas

2006-12-25T12:09:00.000-06:00

Merry Christmas everyone (that celebrates the holiday).

First odd thing about the holiday:

So yesterday, Christmas Eve, I went for a run with Atlas so that we could both justify the amount of food we are eating - in a t-shirt. December 24th at 4:30 p.m. and I was comfortably running in short sleeves. I wonder what Santa does under these climate conditions? I mean I am a few hours south of the border, but you have heard of Christmas in Connecticut right? And I believe it involved snow? I bet a lot of kids got The Inconvenient Truth (the documentary) under the tree this year.

Second odd thing about the holiday:

I went and had a sleepover at my brother and Grace's in Westport on the 23rd and 24th. Mark and I (keeping our holiday tradition alive) went to the shops on Christmas Eve to finish our gift-buying. There's a Tiffany & Co. right down the street from where he lives, and I noticed a constant stream of men - looking a little panicked and rushed - walking into the upscale jewellery store. Here's the difference: Mark* and I were buying last minute gifts at Barnes and Noble, Target, etc. The rest of the Westport men were buying their gifts at Tiffany's. Maybe it's because of the 14.1 billion dollars in bonuses one of the local hedge funds paid out to their employees this year (insane).

*I was wrong. I found out this morning that Mark did in fact shop at Tiffany's earlier in the week, and gave Grace a beautiful belated engagement ring with sapphires .

Third odd thing about the holiday:

There have been no family feuds.

Fourth odd thing about the holiday:

Everyone eats the same thing for breakfast on Christmas morning. Generally for my first daily meal, I have a bowl of cereal and orange juice. I know that this is quite common, although some substitute the cereal with toast or a bagel. Yet on Christmas morning, everyone I know sits down as a family and eats eggs, buttered toast, bacon (or another breakfast meat), juice and coffee. I guess it isn't the breakfast itself that's odd, but the fact that everyone seems to have this same tradition. I guess it's like the whole turkey thing, but less celebrated.

Fifth odd thing about the holiday:

It's like a few days of PMS, without the cramps. Seriously, I get so ridiculously emotional around Christmas. Maybe it's because I'm around family, maybe it's because I'm away from other people I care about, maybe it's because it reminds me of when I was a kid and the fact that I'm not anymore. But my God, I'm surprised nobody's given me a rubber room for Christmas yet.

On another note, I got a really kick-ass digital camera from Father and Mother Claus. So for a while, this blog may turn into a bit of a picture story - much easier to read.

Merry Christmas y'all!

Chrismika

2006-12-13T15:08:00.000-06:00

Last year, the first winter holiday season that I spent in my house, I realized that my neighbours were eccentric and flamboyant about Christmas lights and the such. My townhouse corporation sort of becomes like the set of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation in December.

I have a hard enough time keeping my plants alive, let alone putting up wreaths and glowing reindeer. Apparently though, my non-festive spirit really got my neighbours’ panties in a twist in 2005 because for the first two weeks of December (or thereabout) when I ran into a fellow townhouse owner, they would ask if I was planning on joining in on the cheer by putting up seasonal decorations.

I responded to my neighbours with a “no” what seemed like about 50 times. Then I just flat out lied. One of my neighbours caught me on a day when my tank was running a bit low on patience:

Neighbour - “So Lisa, I see you don’t have any Christmas lights up”
Me - “Nope”
Neighbour - “Well, most people put lights up in our neighbourhood”
Me - “Yes, I noticed that”
Neighbour - “And you aren’t going to put any up?”
Me - “No”
Neighbour - “Really?”
Me - “Yes”
Neighbour - “Why wouldn’t you want to put some lights up?”
Me - “Because I celebrate Hanukah”

This is totally not true. I would have absolutely no problem joining in on a Hanukkah celebration, but I’ve always celebrated Christmas. It’s so funny that the lie rolled off my tongue so easily.

But like all little white lies, this one caught up with me.

When I was home for American Thanksgiving, my Dad was nice enough to pick me up a couple of sets of white lights; one for the tree that I was going to cut down at my cottage, and one for my front window. I was really stoked at the idea of making my house a bit more festival (I’m really happy to have a TREE in my HOUSE).

Then I remembered that I lied last year, and told my neighbour that I celebrated Hanukkah. Which means that everyone in my townhouse corporation now believes that I am Jewish (gossip).

I don’t want to look like a total fraud, so this year, not only do I have a Christmas tree and Christmas lights for my house, but a menorah.

Thanks for coming out

2006-12-05T10:16:00.000-06:00

When I was kid and living in Ottawa, I went to see the 67’s play with my Dad. He’s a hockey fan (and came this close to playing for the Canadians way back when he was young, and the team actually held try-outs). I liked going - it was fun, there was action, I got caramel popcorn. Until one day a woman relatively close to where we were sitting got nailed in the head with a puck gone wild. She was bleeding, looked like she was in quite a bit of pain, she cried and she left. From this point on I have always been plagued with the fear of having a sailing puck knock me in my noggin.

Nikki’s bf plays hockey, and I often accompany her to his games (although, I need to reconsider this, cause they always loose when I show up - bad omen?). The first time we went, Nikki warned me “you know I have really bad depth perception, so if a puck flies our way, you’re going to have to save me”. “Sure” I said, “no problem Nik”, comfortable with my promise, knowing full well that the chances of this happening were negligible.

Last night Nikki and I got our large hot chocolates from Tim’s, and proceeded into the rink for another action-packed game. There were two teams and two spectators (us). Needles to say, we got our regular seats. Partway through the second period Nikki reached down to put her empty cup on the stand, and I was talking away as usually. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a puck – a puck flying full force directly towards us.

My childhood fear was materializing.

My brain had synapses that resulted in quick reactions. I reached up, and knocked the puck down. Everything was silent.

Ya, everything was silent. What’s up with that! Someone on the ice had just shot the puck AT THE ONLY TWO SPECTATORS IN THE ENTIRE ARENA, and not one of the players said “head’s up” or “puck flying at you” or “ladies, duck or be hit”. Nothing. Silence. But they were all staring, wondering what was going to happen next.

After the puck was knocked out of the air, the silence and stares continued. I hopped down the stands, picked up the object that could have meant a myriad of stitches, and tossed it back on the ice so the game could resume.

And still, silence.

The only voice came from Nikki’s bf’s team bench: “At least ONE of you was watching the game”.

Thanks for coming out. You would have thought that with all the new NHL rules, there’d be some kind of penalty for this.

Carry-on baggage

2006-12-03T21:13:00.000-06:00

Several years ago, I signed up for a mantra: to carry my own guilt. Trust is probably my top value - and so when I break it - or perceive that I have broken it - I felt extreme guilt. Perhaps I don't lie because at a very young age I realized I was incredibly bad at. But I like think that I'm an honest, straightforward and trustworthy person simply because that is who I chose to be.

We've all asked ourselves this question: If I kiss someone (etc), and I have a significant other, do I tell them?. The response to this seems pretty split down the middle. I always thought that I would tell my significant other - because I believe that I committed the action, and they have the right to chose the reaction. It isn't my right to take that choice away from them. But several years ago I was in that situation, and I felt extreme guilt. I wanted to be honest with my significant other, because it would make me feel so much better. But that is the wrong reason to fess up to a bad action. And so, that's when I decided to carry my guilt.

Why am I writing about this? Because I think that I've carried this mentality too far, and I have a feeling that many others do too. I think I feel a lot of guilt, for all kinds of things that I really shouldn't feel guilty about. I feel guilty if I don't visit my Grandma enough, if I don't spent enough time with my pets, if I don't go to the gym 4 times a week, when someone gives me a compliment, if someone wants to buy me dinner, etc. It's unhealthy I've realized, and somewhat immobilizing. And writing the above down makes me think - what the heck? let it go...

From where I stand, a big problem with guilt is that it makes you feel like there's something you need to be forgiven for. And like anything, when it hangs out in your mind for too long, it usually gets blown out of proportion. Because we're our own worst enemies, we're pretty tough on granting ourselves forgiveness. I wonder why.

When do we learn when it's appropriate to feel guilt? When do we learn to not confuse taking care of ourselves with guilty emotions? Maybe it's when we realize that we need to take care of our own being first. That would make sense. Or maybe it stops when we finally figure out what's most important to us, and so we can let go of the things that aren't.

I think this is a tough thing to tackle.

Cat's out of the bag!

2006-12-01T08:48:00.000-06:00

When I walked into my bathroom to take my morning shower, this is what I saw. It looked like Miss M was paying for a late night out.

Reliving the Reunion

2006-11-29T11:32:00.000-06:00

Below are the reasons that I'm very glad that I did go to my 10 year High School reunion (see earlier post). Funny thing - the letter that I wrote to myself the night of my graduation predicted that I would remain close with the three lovely ladies in the middle picture. These friends are all doing so well, and I'm so happy that we've remained close.

Check out Dustin's rockin' band: www.absynthmusic.com

Picturing Toronto - Take 3

2006-11-29T11:29:00.000-06:00

And these pictures capture our fascination (and in my case - complete skepticism) of the glass floor.

Picturing Toronto - Take 2

2006-11-29T11:26:00.000-06:00

These pictures are of our trip up, up, up the CN Tower.

Picturing Toronto - Part 1

2006-11-29T11:16:00.000-06:00

Here are some pictures from our whirwind weekend in Toronto. The first two are of Andrew and Rebecca, at our funky hotel. I particularly like the picture of Andrew, because he looks like he's trying to teach us something (and actually, it looks like Rebecca is listening to him from across the table). The next two pictures were taken in Andrew's new workspace (very lovely, very comfortable).

Lisa Damien: S.W.F.

2006-11-25T10:19:00.000-06:00

Last night I had my 10 (ten!) year high school reunion. I should have increased my Zoloft dosage for the occasion.

I was looking forward to seeing a few friends, and reconnecting with a couple of people that I'd lost touch with. I'm glad that this happened. It was good to hug and have a drink with a few of my former classmates. The raspberry vodka and Sprite's were especially tasty. The Committee did a really great job prepping the bar, making some collages, and displaying our heirlooms. One very fun (nostalgic) activity was reading the letters that we wrote to ourselves, on the night of our graduation. Reading mine reminded me of how much I have not changed. I remember composing it, against my will. It was a trip to see that I'm still closest with the people that I thought I would be, and that I have a similar writing style (there was also mention of getting implants and an ex by the name of Scott). I signed off "Love Yourself". I liked that - hearing those words from 18 year old Lisa was very soulful.

But oh my God, the anxiety that I felt. I think this was partially due to the following four questions that I was asked like 80 times:

1) What's your job?
2) Where's Ottawa - I've never heard of it?
3) Are you married?
4) Are you engaged then? (while casually taking a glass at my left hand).

These conversations were more often than not concluded with "so I guess you don't have any kids". No. But I have a really great dog named Atlas that likes to spoon with me at night, and a cat that's a diva. And I'm actually a spy for the Government of Canada that moonlights as an exotic dancer. Want me to show you some moves?

I actually contemplated answering these questions in that fashion, to make things a bit more interesting. It was at that point that my friend Chrissy felt that it would be good to call it a night.

Jesus Christ. I mean really, why do conversations have to steer that way? I guess it's only a natural, polite course of business. I took it upon myself to ask questions like "so, where's your favourite location on the globe that you've visited?", and "jeez you look great, have you been weight training?", and to my fellow former French classmates I would ask if they knew ou le V.C. ce trouvais.

I really think that these types of things - reunions - have a really good way of making people feel badly about themselves. Particularly the people (such as myself) who have not necessary kept up with the traditional engagement-marriage-children time line. I'm very sure that those who walked in with their life-partner on their arm, and stories about their new families felt pretty good about the whole ordeal. So I guess I should take a step back from my selfish perspective, and acknowledge that many people had a really lovely time, and went to bed last night happy as clams.

I should probably just get over it, and appreciate the connections that I made. But not so much that I plan on going to a reunion again anytime soon.

Lisa Damien S.W.F.

I’m glad that I stayed at the Gladstone

2006-11-20T12:20:00.000-06:00

A few months ago when I was driving to my brother’s wedding, I was thinking about how spontaneous I used to be. Over the past couple of years, I’ve noticed that when I take myself out of my regular schedule, I feel anxiety. I decided that I wasn’t happy with that, and it was something that needed to be reversed.

I sort of forgot about that brainstorm for a few months, but I think my trip to Montreal a few weekends put things in action, and unleashed my love of the unplanned.

On Friday, at about 4:30, my friend Rebecca came to my office to have a week post-mortem, and to discuss our weekend action plans. Off the cuff and mostly joking, I said “let’s go to TO for the weekend”. Then she headed off for drinks, and I continued working until about 6. While driving home I realized that I did in fact want to go to TO for the weekend. I could let go of my comfy weekend patterns and be up for something new.

We left Ottawa at about 9:30 – at least there was no traffic. We called a friend en route, cause we knew we were going to be super late, and kindly requested that he make our hotel arrangements. And did he ever make good ones! Our hotel was by far the most fun, funky, hip hotel I’ve ever stayed at. It’s called the Gladstone House (www.gladstonehotel.com), and features unique rooms each designed by different local artists. One night, we stayed in a room that had a cloud theme. The next, our room looked like something out of 18th century Asia. Each floor had a living room/lobby with lounge chairs and art. I believe there was a joke about late-night, wine-enhanced performance art (wink, wink). The hotel had a couple of bars that featured different bands at night. The place was staffed with young hipsters that I assume were well immersed in the local art scene. And the beds and sheets were heavenly. So, if you ever go to TO, I highly recommend that you stay at that lovely hotel.

Rebecca and I, both dragon boaters, were lucky enough to join our friend Andrew’s team for an 8:30 a.m. Saturday morning practice. It was tough getting up after about 4 hours of sleep – but it was so worth it. It was so wonderful being on Lake Ontario, paddling, connecting with people and the water, early in the morning. I haven’t really paddled in the past year and half – it reminded me why I do love it.

Most of Saturday was spent leisurely eating (a great) brunch at our hotel’s restaurant while listening to the Beatles, and then at Andrew’s new lounge office space reading about how to become optimal (he owns a corporate training and HR consulting business – www.bigfishinteractive.com). Both Rebecca and I responded to his space the same way, that it would be impossible not to be productive in it. Traditional offices – while they fit the bill – have nothing on this place. So of course, we began brainstorming about starting our own business so that we to could have a lofty office.

Then my friends indulged me, and we went up the CN Tower – all the way up – because I never have. I usually find heights nauseating; I feel like I’m going to throw myself off tall things – weird. But I got over that pretty quickly, because the views were so…huge. I couldn’t help but to think – no wonder our world is hurting, how does it support so much stuff, so many people? Looking at TO from a birds-eye view gave me just a bit of perspective on the impact people have on the planet (and why Ontario Hydro has a energy-reduction campaign!).

Saturday night we ate dinner at a savoury Indian restaurant. It was exactly what I wanted to do – eat a lot, talk a lot and have some wine. It was perfect.

Here are a few other things that transpired:

- Rebecca and I got pulled over for blowing through a red light at about 2:00 a.m. while trying to situate ourselves on a map, and almost hit a cop. We got pulled over – and managed to talk ourselves out of a $300 ticket and get directions.

- We didn’t sleep all weekend, we napped. I think the longest period we slept for was 3.5 hours.

- Nikki was arriving back from Australia, at Pearson Airport, at 6:00 a.m. Sunday morning. We went to surprise her, and pick her up. Unfortunately, we were waiting in terminal 1 (for almost 2 hours), and Nikki arrived in terminal 2.

It was such a fun weekend. We had great conversations and food, we laughed a lot, figured some stuff out, and experienced some of what our Province’s capital has to offer. I have to say, my opinion of Toronto was jaded by some attitudes that I’ve met from some locals. I wanted nothing to do with the city for a long time – and now I’m asking myself why. That was such an arrogant way of thinking – it’s so important to experience something and create your own opinion. This short trip left me with a feeling of wanting more.

I heart Elton!

2006-11-17T15:46:00.000-06:00

I couldn't help it - I had to share these pictures. I'll write about the experience later (I'm sure you won't loose sleep over it). I heart Elton!

This is not a laughing matter, Lisa.

2006-11-17T15:41:00.000-06:00

Something funny happened yesterday at our All-Staff meeting. The incident itself wasn’t funny, but my interpretation of it was.

Last week, I had a discussion with my sassy work neighbours about some differences between Anglophones and Francophones (in Canada – or, the National Capital Region if you want to get specific). The key example was the reaction when someone falls, slides, or trips:

Anglophone onlooker - Tends to feel embarrassed in the situation, pretends like the incident never happened, and if any noise is made it’s a very silent “gasp”. They are concerned if the person is injured, and once they find out they aren’t, the event is never spoken of again.

Francophone onlooker - Tends to enjoy the comedy of it all, and usually breaks out in laughter. After all, the physical motions you go through when bailing are quite funny. The thud is a particularly dramatic ending. Of course the French check if the individual in hurt – but they tend to make light of the situation to avoid discomfort.

Personally, this is where my French-Canadian side kicks in.

Back to the All-Staff. An individual gave a presentation on stage yesterday about sustainable development and health and safety, in front of about 300 people. He finished, and proceeded off the stage. Unfortunately for him, he somehow missed a step, and fell (with a large thud). The crowd gasped, I giggled and had to turn my head. People rushed over, and after about a minute, he stood up and raised his arms. The crowd clapped.

To me, it’s weird that the crowd clapped. It was sort of like when a sports figure goes down in the middle of a match/game, and when they get up, the spectators clap. But this was a government meeting.

But luckily, the meeting’s MC must have some French blood too, because once he got up, she said the following: Thank you X, for your interpretive presentation of health and safety.

And I started laughing so hard that I could barely breath. But I think that it was inappropriate, because no one else really did. I like to think that it’s just because they didn’t hear her off the cuff comment.

Last night before I fell asleep, I got the visual of the incident in my head. And again, it had me in stitches. I mean really, when I flew off the treadmill at a packed gym and people just pretended like it didn’t happen – it made it so much worse. I would have much preferred if people had started pointing and laughing, at least I would have felt good knowing that I brightened their day (or at the very least, made their workout seem less painful - [pun]).

I hope I don’t loose my job for writing about this.

We should have run away from the camera

2006-11-14T13:03:00.000-06:00

Nikki and I have consulted on this, and agreed that we do not look hot when we're running.

These are some pictures from the 10K we did last month. Here are some things to consider:

Are we floating, or are we running?
Why did I chose to wear turquoise socks?
Nikki has remarkably great pipes.
Am I supporting my former dragon boating team by wearing the team shirt, or is it the only thing that was clean that morning?
If I'm such a fashionista, why am I wearing 6 colours, while Nikki is wearing 2

Vulnerability

2006-11-14T12:46:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, I had what turned out to be a bit of a flustering (not a real word) conversation. I thought I was asked the following question:

Lisa, what makes you feel vulnerable?

As I usually do when conversation turns to something real and concrete like this, I ran circles around the question, answering with mumbled examples that I hoped would provide somewhat of a convincing answer.

But ultimately, the truth is – I don’t know. I know I feel that feeling, but I have a hard time deciphering why. There comes a point in my relationships - friendships, boyfriendships (I’m aware that that is not a real word) where I hit a point. A point where I need to disappear – at least temporarily. From discussions I’ve had with friends, this seems to be quite common. I guess what I really need to think about, it why?

The easy, one-word answer would be vulnerability. But really, that doesn’t mean anything. And for those of you who know me – I need to know the answer. (For instance, the other day, a friend of mine was talking about a problem she was having with her baby. I couldn’t accept not knowing what this problem was all about, so I researched it, found answers, and provided them to her. But really, the answers were for me).

When I was in my early-20’s, like 23 – 25, I completely shut people out of my life (with the exception of a few best friends). I didn’t want anyone close to me. To the point where I was at my 25th birthday party, and I actually said out loud (internal monologue made external - by accident) sitting at the bar “I didn’t have sex once when I was 24”. Needless to say, the bartender gave me a free shot. I couldn’t let anyone close to me, because I didn’t care about anyone that I met. I was hurting, for a very long time, because of a relationship that I loved where I made some bad decisions. That took me a long time to get passed – and I don’t even think that I fully accept what happened now.

I dated a few of people for like 3 months, then 6 months, but I had panic attacks a lot, so ultimately, I don’t think that those relationships were very good for me. But – this is not a blog archiving my relationships, so I’m going to stop here.

Perhaps it's because I've done a lot of different things so far, which has made me inquisitive and have different perspectives (maybe a little unsettled). Perhaps it’s because of what I’ve seen in my family. My shrink thought (past tense – I haven’t gone in a while) that it was because I don’t feel that I deserve love for being just me. My Grandma thinks that I just like doing my own thing, and that I’m a bit too picky. My mom thinks that I haven’t dated the right people. My dad doesn’t talk. Men in general think it’s because I’m too independent. My friends don’t really know what to think.

I think that my answer is something like this:

I am only starting to feel comfortable with myself and my decisions now. I firmly believe in the idea that you can’t be with someone, until you’re good with yourself (even if you don’t know it yet). When you’re in a transition period yourself, you can’t expect to be comfortable accepting more into your life. I feel like only this past year have I been equipped with some of the tools and experiences I need to share myself with someone. I’m still getting used to them. I believe that fate/the universe/some spirit will present me what I should have, when I should have it. And I’ll feel comfortable.

You know what the funny part of this conversation was? The question wasn’t what makes me feel vulnerable; it was what DOESN’T make you feel vulnerable. Funny how you hear what you (subconsciously) want to hear.

Burn's on me - Part 2

2006-11-14T12:19:00.000-06:00

This is the picture that goes with the Burn's on me blog. But as noted in my previous blog, for reasons beyond my control, this wasn't possible.

I think it's really funny.

Technical problems

2006-11-14T12:18:00.000-06:00

Note: I have various hot topics to write about, but because Blogger has been a complete ass-hole as of late, I have not been able to post them, or to post pictures. I think I’m going to be very Canadian, and write a letter expressing my frustration. I just can’t justify posting my blogs about my extremely fantastic experiences seeing Five for Fighting and Elton John, without posting the pictures. Hopefully Blogger will also respond to me in writing, indicating that the technical problems have been permanently fixed. Thank you for your patience.

Burn's on me

2006-11-14T10:58:00.000-06:00

I have wavy hair, and so, the shorter it is, the wavier it goes. As long as I can remember, I’ve had short pieces of hair around my face (not on it) that don’t grow past a certain length (kind of like other hairs on our bodies). Because of this, they are somewhat fuzzy. I’ve learned to tame such hairs with products like Shapers Smoothing Groomer (which I found out recently, has been discontinued – but I digress).

At the young, impressionable and insecure pre-teen age of about 11, my older brother decided to tease me (as any older sibling would) about my unique feature, saying playfully that I had sideburns (and hairy legs, but that’s a completely different story). This was not a good thing to hear. Only men had sideburns, and had to trim them regularly with shavers.

Not only did I not have boobs (still questionable at age 28), but I had sideburns. This begged the question, was I really a girl?

So, I did what any person at the cognitive level of age 11 would do – I decided to get ride of the problem. I cut my sideburns off. However this was 1988, and for those of you who remember, skater hair was all the rage (I’ll jog your memory for those of you who find yourselves unable to get a mental picture – long on top, shaved underneath – absolutely no burns). Not only were the short, non-growing hairs around my face cut off, but a portion of my hair by my ears.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about my new look. But when my mom walked into the bathroom (salon), gasped, and said in her panicky voice “LEEEESA! What did you do!”, I realized that maybe it wasn’t such a good one. Shortly thereafter, my brother walked into the bathroom, his eyes widened in shock, he laughed, and vacated. Apparently my cognitive level had failed me, and the trim was not such a good idea after all.

The thing was, my brother was super cool, and hung out with the popular crowd – so I listened to him. I on the other hand, wasn’t so cool. My brother wore clothes from Le Chateau, had aqua Converse, he had hot friends, and he was “experienced”. I wore white blazers and “dressy” jogging pants (not together – or maybe), I roller-skated and played a lot of Nintendo, and for a real good time, I went skating at the public rink and ate Certs (although on my way there, I would always fantasize that I was meeting up with whatever guy I had a crush on).

This was a breaking point for me – I realized that in fact, it wasn’t the sideburns that made me uncool.

18 year later, my unique hair still gets an honourable mention now and then. But I take pride in it, because I am well aware that the alternative is not a viable (or pretty) option.

Couch surfing

2006-11-01T08:16:00.000-06:00

I got a new couch. Actually, I bought my first couch ever. I did have a couch prior to this – 2 actually – but neither were bought by me, both were hand-me downs (or hand-hand-hand me downs).

I was at home on Sunday, reading my new book Me Talk Pretty One Day, while sitting on my (now) old couch. I took a mental vacation, and began thinking about how much I wanted to be able to lie down flat across a couch, while reading. And because my (now) old couch was a two-seater, this was not possible (without dangling my legs over the arm of the couch, which without fail resulted in dead-leg syndrome). So, after 1.5 years of fantasizing about getting a new couch, I decided to live it up.

I ended up at Ikea (where I had the coughing fit I wrote about in my last blog entry). The process of selecting a couch was long, yet so comfortable. This was my preferred couch criterion:

A natural colour, because I like earth tones
A three-seater, because I like lying down on couches
Nothing too puffy and ornate, I like simplicity
No patterns, only one colour
Preferably a washable slipcover, because of the dog and cat
Comfortable
Moderate price-range

I spent about 2 hours couching-hopping - sitting, moving around on the couches, lying down on the couches, talking on my cell phone and eating craisins on the couches. I was like one of those live mannequins you see in dress shops in Montreal. It was a tough call. I liked the brown leather couch with chrome/silver feet. But my brother has this couch, and it’s sort of slippery. Aesthetically it’s lovely, but I think that I would have problems staying on it. Then there was this funky purple corduroy couch, which made me reminisce about the brown shag carpet we had in our family room when I was a kid. But making me reminisce was all that the couch really did for me.

I ended up settling on the Ektorp three-seater sofa. It fit all of my criteria, and I really felt that it would fit in nicely with my décor (what décor are you talking about Lisa? many of you are thinking). It matches Atlas’ fur, so I won’t be super obsessive of cleaning fur off of it. And if the slipcover starts looking shabby, I can buy a brand spanking new one for the bargain basement price of $99 plus taxes (in an assortment of colours).

So I handed over my credit card (for the PC points of course), filled out the necessary paperwork, and left Ikea with a sense of pride. I just bought my very first couch, and my God, was I proud.

I was walking on water yesterday. Nothing phased me – not a puppy that I was dog-sitting peeing on my freshly cleaned carpet, and not burning myself on my iron because I was shocked that the puppy was relieving himself only 10 minutes after I had brought him for a walk. I knew that my new couch was arriving between the hours of 5 – 10 p.m. yesterday. And it did, it arrived at 8:00 p.m. I quickly unwrapped it, slipped on the slipcover, positioned it, and sat on it. And smiled. It was more beautiful than I remembered

I’m not sure if it’s in the right location in my living room. I’m going to test it out for a few days and see. I’m not really feeling where I put it though, in front of the large window. I think I may move it to the sidewall, so that the sun can fully do its magic. I’ll keep you posted.

To cold for comfort

2006-10-30T11:15:00.000-06:00

I’ve had a cold now for about a month. It’s the kind of cold that likes to hibernate for a few days, and then resurface with a brand-spanking new symptom.

For about a week, I felt tired and headachy. I figured I was just “fighting” it off, and that my daily dose of vitamins would zap the microbes that were causing my illness. Then I went in an outdoor hot tub when it was really cold out. Not a good idea. Enter nasal congestion.

A few days later, my face stopped dripping cold-related fluids. So I went to help my Dad close up the cottage. This involved a 2.5 hour job of putting a tarp over a catamaran (a large one). It was very cold, and very windy – and I was not wearing a toque. Or mitts for that matter. Or a scarf (which is unprecedented really, because I always wear scarves). Enter sore throat.

About a week later I was feeling perky again, so I decided to stay out late one school-night at a guitar sing-along (adult version). I think I rolled home around 2:30 or so, and had to get up 4 hours later for work. Enter body-aches and the chills.

A couple of days later I really put the icing on the cake, and went to Montreal for the weekend to see a band (Five for Fighting – which was like, amazingly great – future blog). Of course, you can’t go to Montreal to just see a band. So there was dancing at a nightclub and a visit to a pub with three guys jamming. Needless to say, enter…well, another form of illness involving the body’s response to too many Heinekens.

This past week I’ve really taken the bull by its horns. I got lots of sleep, and had down time. And I’ve been rewarded with a nasty cough – which resulted in one of the worst coughing attacks I’ve ever had yesterday, in the clock section at Ikea. I thought I was going to pass out. People looked like I was the new epicentre of a SARS epidemic and hushed their kids away.

So I’m really hoping that this is the final stage of my Fall cold, because I’d really like to go in the hot tub again.

BFF

2006-10-24T15:38:00.000-05:00

Here's a beautiful picture of Atlas' best friend forever (occasional lover) Maiga, taken by his owner. It's like he's a chameleon with his rust-coloured fur and the Fall leaves...

What happens at fondue, stays at fondue

2006-10-16T11:26:00.000-05:00

Do you watch Corner Gas? It’s really quite amazing how the show’s writers are able to develop scripts, week after week, that entirely capture the audience. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the show – it’s about life in Canada’s small town Prairies. The plot of each show is very simple – for instance, burning a barn down or a dealing with a pot-hole – but the actors work their lines so magically that something so simple becomes an enthralling tale.

Last Monday, several of the Corner Gas clique started Fondue Group. The exclusive members were privileged to not only warm cheese and bread – but to Fondue gossip. And collectively they decided: What happens at fondue, stays at fondue.

Watching this episode, or I guess hearing the word fondue really, made my friend Nikki and I crave fondue. So we called up a friend who shines when it comes to throwing dinner-parties, and organized a Friday night meal.

And what a good idea it was! We had cheese fondue, various meats (not deli-style), veggies, and drank a lot of wine.

The people that I ate and drank with I’ve known the longest since being in Ottawa (and Nikki longer). It’s so nice to be around people who are open and welcoming and caring, and who really make you feel like you belong where you are. It’s so nice to just feel like the people you are around want you there, purely because they enjoy the pleasure of your company – for who you are. And particularly with group, there was no competition for attention; the vibe was just so nice and easy.

The characters on Corner Gas make their own good time – cause they live in Nowhere, Prairies. It’s a good lesson for the shows viewers, that you can create really fun and very real memories with people, with no distractions.

I like that. And I like that just like on the show, our little clique has some steamy secrets.

Kitty Coat

2006-10-13T11:53:00.000-05:00

Grace is an artist and is going to have some of her work displayed on October 28 - 29 in Hamden,CT. And so are 300 other artists - so if you live in the area, you should really go and support the show. For more info, check out Grace's blog (French is for jerks).

When I was browsing Grace's website, I fell in love with her drawing Kitty Coat. So, it's going to be the first piece of original artwork that I will ever buy and own. And it will be prominently displayed in my living room. Fun hey! This is the drawing.

Someone should have pushed him off the tower he built...

2006-10-12T12:04:00.000-05:00

This is part of Kim Jong-il's biography:

In 1964 he graduated from the Kim Sung Il University where legend has it he wrote 1,500 books, all of which are stored in the state's library. It is also said that he wrote six operas, all of which are better then any in the history of music, and designed the Juche Tower, a 150-metre tower that commemorates his father.

Were they dark books that couldn't get published? By "stored", do they mean packed in boxes collecting dust in the cellar? Maybe he sung his operas from the top of the tower he designed (?).
Listening to the news last night made me cry. How could someone want to start a nuclear war? How sick is this man, that his ego is so monstrous, that not only is he willing to starve "his own" people, but incinerate them as well . The North Korean dictator publicly announced yesterday that he would consider it a declaration of war, if the U.S. refused to cease pushing for embargos. God that is so twisted and scary. Say what you will about the U.S. and its military and foreign policy, but I would rather not get on their bad side!

While all of this makes me happy that I live where I do, at the same time, it seems like we're taking steps to become more involved in the instability around the World. It's not comforting.

Who's the bitch now!

2006-10-11T12:25:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, as per usual, I brought Atlas to the park for walk. At this particular park, people let their dogs off-leash to run around, roll around, and sniff around.

Scenerio: Atlas was doing his thing – running then eating grass, then running and eating grass. A woman with two springers was walking towards us. Her dogs were on leash.

If you know anything about an off-leash dog park, it’s that bringing your dog(s) there on-leash is a bad idea. Because the off-leash (aka “lucky”) dogs sniff them and want to play. This causes the on-leash dogs to get pissed, and jump around, etc. And most of the time, this makes for a cranky owner.

So Atlas moseyed over to the posh spaniels for a sniff. The spaniels pulled the usual on-leash moves. The lady yelled (yelled!) at me in her British accent “Get your dog away! Away! He’s making my dogs jump!” I pointed out to her “well, it’s not my fault that you don’t have control over your dogs”. I also called Atlas back, and he came. She followed up with “Well, you should have control of your dog off-leash”, then I piped up “I do, I called him and he came”. She continued by saying “You should have your ANIMAL on leash, this is not an off-leash park”. I responded “Really? Cause I don’t see a sign stating that, and there are plenty of dogs down there (pointing down the hill) that are off-leash. If you can show me a sign that indicates that dogs are not allowed off-leash here, I’ll gladly put him on his”. She didn’t like that. So she left, yelling some obscenity.

I wish Atlas had started humping her dogs. That would have funny...imagine the reaction!

Who’s the bitch now! (pun)

A Sound Wedding

2006-09-14T20:21:00.000-05:00

It's taken me while to write this entry. Because I never really felt in the right groove, and that I was going to do it justice.

Mark and Grace's wedding was 2 weeks ago, on September 4th at 7:00. It was so beautiful. It was perfect for them. I've been to many weddings (I'm so very much past the 3 times a bridesmaid rule), and I have never seen two people so calm, sure, and light-hearted before they were about to be wed in holy matrimony.

The affair involved the efforts of Mark and Grace's community. Friends and family ran errands, picked and arranged flowers, assembled plastic champagne flutes, baked and cooked, chose wine, decorated, and provided decorations. They didn't want any gifts for their wedding, they simply asked each person attending to bring something for the reception, that could be shared.

Grace's step-dad, Captain Bob, owns a tour business. Our families live on Long Island Sound, and the Thimble Islands are very much part of the landscape (seascape?). For years, Captain Bob has provided many locals and tourists with the opportunity of seeing and learning about the Islands.

Grace and Mark decided to say their vows on Captain Bob's tour boat. About 40 us witnessed this. Just as the sun was setting, the Minister pronounced them husband and wife. This was, hands down, the most emotional and touching wedding ceremony I have ever been part of. There was so much love between the two of them. Mark had a look in his eyes that I have never seen before - it was like Grace was the only person that existed in the World. And Grace, she looked at Mark like she just couldn't get close enough to him, deep enough into his heart. To witness the love they have is a pleasure, and something of a privilege.

The tour boat brought us back to the dock around 8:00, at which point we promptly joined more guests at Grace's home, where the reception was being held. The community church had lent Grace and Mark tables, chairs and tents. The two of them spent the days prior setting these up, and decorating them with hundreds of white Christmas lights. Beautiful and colourful summer flowers lined the tables.

People brought together by Mark and Grace sat, exchange conversation, everything looking mellow and glowing with the candlelight. We ate together, drank together, danced together, and celebrated together. There were artists, a woman with stunning tattoos, beautiful east and west coast surfers, political and vegan enthusiasts, consultants, coffee shop owners, Government of Canada employees (laugh please, that was not meant to be serious), ecotourists, etc.

The wedding was beautiful and memorable. It was a perfect expression of who they are, and it allowed them the opportunity to express their love in the perfect environment.

I'm so happy for them. I'm so happy for our families. I'm happy that my family's roots are now planted in a place that I love so much. I'm happy for my brother Mark. I love him so much, I care about him, I think he's so wonderful. And to see that he's met his soulmate - it's like something quite perfect and comforting.

Mental Health Break

2006-09-11T12:10:00.000-05:00

I think I’m energized by environments, much more than by people (some people excluded). I’m assuming that this is a defining characteristic between introverts and extroverts.

I believe that I’ve mentioned this in earlier blogs, but for those of you who aren’t waiting on the edge of your seats, glued to my online journal, I dragon boated for several years. (If you’re thinking “uhm Lisa, what’s dragon boating?” check out this site: http://www.dragon-boat.com/index.htm)

I paddled with a team for 3 years. To recap: I had fun, and this year I wanted a break cause I wasn’t having as much fun last season. I sort of got the best of both worlds though, because on occasion my former team needed a spare. I called at a festival earlier this summer in Pickering* and this past weekend I paddled at the Great White North festival in Toronto.

(*To all you single-but-attached ladies out there. Tell your boyfriend/girlfriend that you’re going to “Pick-a-ring” over the weekend, and prepare to capture their reaction on camera).

The joke was that I bring bad weather, because when I went to Pick-a-ring it poured, and that’s how Saturday started off. Good God, I thought. Why am I not at home, sleeping past 6:30 a.m., in my own bed?

But by the end of the weekend, I remembered plenty of reasons why I was doing it. Sunday cleared up to be he most lovely day – sunshine, bright blue sky, light wind. It was the kind of day that makes you want to sit outside and eat crisp fall apples, with your hoodie and sunglasses on. The festival was at (on?) Lake Ontario, which if you didn’t know was a lake, you would assume was the ocean (because of its size). Nothing beats being on the water on a day like Sunday. The wind and spray feel so fantastic and invigorating. And the rhythm of the boat, the unison of the paddles – it makes everything feel so, together.

After our first race of the day, I pulled up a chair next to the lake, and watched the other boats paddle their way to the finish line. And then I watched the beautiful, big sailboats moving gracefully across the harbour front (as a side note: why do men on boats wear light pink polo shirts?). That particular moment, with the chatter of familiar voices from my former team around me, I felt so energized and connected. I felt like that was the right place for me to be at that moment, and that I want my life to have a lot moments like that.

It was such a simple day, but it had such a significant impact on my happiness and the energy that I felt. Smiling was effortless.

I’ve always felt very connected to my environment. When I’m surrounded by buildings and herds of people, I often feel drained. Taurus is an Earth sign – apparently this is a trait quite particular to us. This is another reason why I’m a true bull.

That feeling of happiness and simplicity, it’s such a mental vacation. I hope that you all have a place like that.

Braless, wearing a lace scrunchy? Let Glamour help you.

2006-08-29T10:01:00.000-05:00

I managed to catch part of Glamour magazine's top 50 fashion faux-pas' this morning, while eating my cereal. I scribbled them down, so that I could share them with y'all:

33. Dressing for two (a la Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen)

32. Too tight clothing (Check out "From the Desk of Sara" - she has a post about spandex that might interest you)

31. Nail-art (Disney meets S&M)

30. Roots (the dirty hair look)

29. Too much animal print (a roaring mistake)

28. Body piercings

27. Overalls

26. Shoulder pads (apparently a rule of thumb is that if you are about to wear something that Delta Burke would have worn on Designing Women, don't)

25. Holiday sweaters (particularly when worn not on the holiday)

24. Tie-die (this only looks good when high)

23. Muffin tops (when you wear pants or a shirt that's too tight, and skin sticks out over top of it, like a muffin top)

22. Men in puffy shirts (it's not hot to make out with a man wearing a blouse)

21. Too-mini skirts

20. Muscle T's (particularly if you have no muscle to go with your T)

19. Coloured or lace pantyhose (this begs the question - what about fishnets?)

18. Dark lipliner (check out your local plastic surgery clinic for some collagen)

17. Over accessorizing (think gypsy...)

16. Carrying more than one purse

15. Too much lace

14. Bedazzling yourself with bling

13. Suits with sneakers

12. Visible foundation lines (particularly if you're a guy, I'd say)

11. Raccoon-eyes

10. Perms

9. The "denim tuxedo" (head-to-toe denim)

8. Mom jeans (you know the kind - the ones that have a 9-inch zipper, and leave absolutely no trace of a torso)

7. Going braless (I assume this doesn't apply to men)

6. Mean-message T-shirts

5. The scrunchy (particularly if colour coordinated to your Gap pocketed t-shirt)

4. Visible thong

3. See-through clothing

2. The fake orange tan

1. Visible panty lines (or - VPL's)

No real shockers. But funny enough, a former neighbour of mine found VPL's to be extremely sexy, and preferred to see some lines under form fitting clothes. I don't know many women who would indulge him in that, but to each their own.

Out Of Office Reply

2006-08-25T12:25:00.000-05:00

I need a vacation. I really do. And no – just because I work for the government doesn’t mean that I am always on vacation*. Actually, I haven’t taken any time off since early last July (with the exception of a few chaotic days at Christmas), and I’m feeling it.

I like to think that I approach my work creatively. But as of late, I’ve been experiencing a bit of a creativity drought. I need some real life experiences to freshen my perspective and re-energize my soul, and I can get those while on vacation. A vacation for me means a change of scenery, not having any type of schedule, and being close to the ocean. I’m driving home (to CT) tomorrow, and will be there until September 5th. During that time, I plan on going fishing and surfing and shopping (there are excellent outlets near my home). I would like to go to New York for a day, and of course, I would like to do some reading. And I definitely need to catch up on Laguna Beach (I haven’t seen all of season 1) to get me mentally prepared for the Season 3 premier on September 6. While it should go without saying, Atlas will be my travel companion.

Also, when I’m home (actually the reason why I am going home) I will be going to my older brother’s wedding. I’m really looking forward to this. I never knew how I would feel about Mark getting engaged/married. We’ve always been very close, and I’ve always been a bit weary of the women he’s dated. They never seemed just right. But over the past year, since he met his wife-to-be, I’ve never seen him happier or more at ease. They compliment each other, they’re real, and they’re very creative, energetic and eccentric. So how do I feel? I feel extremely happy. I genuinely feel happy that they met each other. I feel really lucky that I will have the sister-in-law that I will.

I am very sure that my vacation will recharge my creative battery (and my patience, energy, enthusiasm, ect., ect.).

*I hear this a lot, about how government employees don’t really do that much. I would hope that those who know me would acknowledge that I would not put myself in a position to sit around and rot in my ergonomic chair.

I Like What Life Tossed Me

2006-08-20T20:56:00.000-05:00

At the beginning of the Summer (end of the Spring if you want to get picky), I decided that this season, I would not dragonboat. For the past three Spring/Summer/Fall's, this team sport has played a central role in my life, and took up a great deal of my spare time. Through it, I met some really good friends, had some great experiences, saw places that I probably wouldn't have otherwise traveled to (Sudbury, Welland) , and actually managed to tone my upperbody. Dragon boating also gave me a sense of pride that I had not felt since I was surfing. The team I was part of was really good - we got invited to the World's in South Africa the first year I paddled. It definitely felt super being part of something so competitive.

But last Summer, I sort of had enough. I wasn't having fun with it anymore. Things just changed. So, when the sign-up date came this year, I let it pass. And I'm really happy that I did. Not because I didn't miss the friends I met, the roadtrips or being on the calm river water at 6:00 a.m.. But because I was ready to try something new, to meet new people, and to have more non-committed time.

Since I moved to Ottawa, I laughed in the face of ultimate frisbee. A former colleague of mine and I were convinced that ultimate was some kind of crazy O-town cult. But then this Spring, when I was looking for a fun new activity - it actually became appealing. A friend of mine (Lilith from some earlier blogs) had been working on me,to join her team's roster for a couple of years. I decided to give it a try.

And so began a new fun team sport season. Like with my dragon boating experience, I met really great people, all unique, positive and interesting. And moreover, every one of them seems to have a zest for life. Playing our weekly Thursday night game quickly became my week highlight (or maybe it was the post-game drinks).

I think that people (not excluding myself) are caught up with not being "normal", being better than the average. But the people on my team, who seem to come from various walks of life, are all very normal. And they make "normal" seem so incredibly appealing. I'm not married, and I don't have kids, and this made me an odd one out on my team. While they have no idea they did this, my team showed me that you can have a family life while continuing to have the solo things, personal interests that help maintain individuality. The "marrieds" all seem happy and quite zen really.

I'm also happy that through my team, I met a couple of people that are "friends", not just people that I play a game with once a week. I really like that.

You never know what life is going to throw you (pun!).

Hormonal Bitch and Freaking Jerk

2006-08-11T13:28:00.000-05:00

There’s no doubt – yesterday I was in an uber-bitchy mood. Sometimes that happens. I think it was partly because I spent $1432 getting my Jeep up to snuff, partly because my day at work was about as pleasant as getting a brazilian wax, partly because I was hormonal, and partly because I ate chocolate (due to my hormonal state) and I am in fact mildly allergic to chocolate.

Anyhow - I got home from work, packed my stuff for ultimate, ate a turkey sausage, some olives and cheese curds for dinner (odd – and no, I am not pregnant), and left to pick up a couple of my fellow teammates. We were heading out to Manotick for our game, thus, we had to get on the highway. Low and behold, as I was cruising up the on-ramp, my Jeep stalled. Funny thing is – this is the problem that I had just paid $1432 to fix. This revved up the bitchiness (note: car analogy). I saw that my gas had just hit the redzone. So, after getting my Jeep started again, I cruised to the nearest gas station. But because gas happened to be cheap yesterday (relatively speaking), everyone and their mother was filling up. I quietly waited in the queue, so that I could pay the $50 to fill my tank.

A pump was free. I was next in line. I drove over to it. I proceeded to back up into the zone. What? What’s this? A grey-haired (nothing against grey hair), pot-bellied (nothing against that either), middle-aged man in a CRV stole my long-awaited spot! He just slinked into it, like a snake. And to boot – as I was watching him steal my pump, he honked (yes honked!) at me, and then gave me the universal “oh well!” sign. What a freaking jerk!

I turned around so that I could see the next available pump. Turns out that the next pump that I could use was the one behind him. So I pulled in. The conversation was as follows:

Freaking Jerk: I didn’t steal the pump

Lisa: Yes you did.

Freaking Jerk: Oh well.

Lisa: Ya well, it’s no big deal, it’s OK, it’s just totally rude. Ya, you’re just rude.

Freaking Jerk: No I’m not.

He then left to pay for his gas. And then I had to go and pay for my gas. At this point I was thinking – maybe Freaking Jerk really isn’t that bad, and I’m just being a hormonal snot. As I walked into the ESSO to pay for my fuel, Freaking Jerk was walking away from the counter, having just paid. The store attendant said “Excuse me sir, you have my pen”. Freaking Jerk then turned around, and threw (with force!) the pen, at (not to) the attendant.

Lesson learned: Never doubt your instincts about a Freaking Jerk just because you’re on day 21 of your cycle.

The attendant laughed, and muttered something about needing some emergency shots. To top it off, Freaking Jerk then yelled out (while the attendant and I were conversing about gas prices and having a bottle of rum at work) “hey, where’s (not where are) the coffee people” (note: there’s a Tim Horton’s in this ESSO). The attendant replied, “Who knows”. Freaking Jerk then exited.

Luckily – when I went to get back on the highway towards Manotick (we initially took the wrong highway), my Jeep didn’t stall. So I’m going to assume that now I either need to have 1) my gas sensor fixed, or 2) my fuel pump replaced. However, considering it took me 6 months to replace my cracked windshield and non-functioning windshield wipers – well, I wouldn’t hold your breath.

As we drove to Manotick, listening to Nelly, my mood improved. Which is a blessing for anyone that was to be around me for the rest of the night. Also, we had a really great game. And one of my teammates hugged me as part of a play, and that was so fun.

(Really what happened was that I was catching the disc, and my (handsome) teammate was running for it as well, but because I looked like I was going to fall over, instead of catching the disc he hugged my legs/waist so that I wouldn’t fall. What a move! Apparently this all looked quite funny from the sidelines. Ya – we’re tight).

OC Transpo Best Practices

2006-08-09T08:50:00.000-05:00

Just because a bus starts with the number "9" does not mean that it goes downtown. For instance, if the bus happens to be a 99 Westbound, chances are it's going west, not central.

If you happen to take this bus, you may end up getting off at the Museum of Nature, and walking for 40 minutes to work because buses seem to only be going west and not east. You may also have chosen to wear your cutest - but most uncomfortable - heels and so, you may end up cursing your judgement. And then you may get cursed out because you show up 20 minutes late for work. Sweaty.

If you were a dog, you would be...

2006-08-08T17:12:00.001-05:00

This past long weekend, friends and I were at my (family's) cottage. Like me, most of my pals are canine-lovers, and have one or two. For instance, at some points this weekend, dogs outnumbered people. I kept thinking (to myself ) "how weird would it be if they took over?, how would they do it?". I actually contemplated this over a few glasses a wine. And then when I went to bed.

This got me thinking about dogs in a "people" role. So naturally, I began reflecting on what dog reminded me most of what friend. Here's my list:

Sofy: Gordon Setter - My first thought was an Afghan, but their personalities differ too much. The Setter was a better match. Like the breed, Sofy is stylish, intelligent, noble, dignified, and shows no signs of shyness. Also, they both suggest strength and stamina.

Nikki: Plott - While physically I would not look at this dog and think "Nikki", it's personality is similar to hers. They're both intelligent, determined, confident and have a natural athletic ability. Also, they're loyal, and pursue things aggressively and fearlessly.

Joanna: Like with a Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier, when you see Jo you want to hug her. She is cute, energetic, happy, graceful and strong. They are both self-confident and are interested in their surroundings. One thing they do not have in common, is that the breed is very coordinated. (hahaha).

Theresa: Dachshund - (In a total non-weiner type way) Both are well-balanced, are sleek and confident. They both like to be loved and committed to one. And they can talk!

Mario: Bulldog - Appears a bit tough, but kind and gentle - and steady. Also, they're both very loyal and family oriented.

Andrea: Cocker Spaniel - Perhaps I associate these two because Andrea grew up with one. But none the less, they're both very loyal, intelligent, independent, pretty, and determined.

Chris: Irish Setter - Aside from the obvious red hair and sporty form, like this breed, Chris is energetic, intelligent and affectionate.

Cass: Cavalier King Charles Spaniel - Like Cass, they are very cute and sassy, have great hair, are chic and urban, travel well, and Charlotte from Sex in the City had one by the name of Elizabeth Taylor (and Cass could totally be in the London version of the show- and have one called Kate Moss).

Steph: Rottweiler - Both have powerful bodies and are broad. They're both calm, courageous and dedicated, as well as serious, steady and confident. I also like that with "with proper handling" they can be "loyal, loving and very rewarding companions". I'll handle Steph any day.

Grace: A Dalmation, through and through. She's poised, strong, muscular and active, free of shyness and intelligent. She's also friendly and outgoing.

Mark: Chocolate Lab - Not only because he has one, but because he is energetic, likes running after things and sleeps hard, because he likes affections, he's loyal, and because he also has chocolate coloured hair.

Brent: Bernese Mountain Dog - Like Brent, this dog is big, solid and likes cold weather. They are sweet, caring and very loyal. Neither like change.

My Mom: Tibetan Terrier - I think this would be a good small dog for my Mom, since the passing of her beloved Buff. Like my Mom, this breed is intelligent, devoted, loyal, sensitive and affectionate. And like her, it can be a bit shy, reserved and cautious. They both have great wavy hair.

My Dad: Newfoundland - Stately and strong (and tall), courageous, generous and intelligent. They can both be very active, or very lazy. They also share a love for the water.

Rebecca: English Pointer - Like this dog, Rebecca is full of energy. She's also a loyal and devoted friend.

Jason: Springer Spaniel - Jason is very friendly and always on the run. He's attentive and well balanced.

I'll be like Atlas - thank you.

It's totally normal that I spent time doing this, right?

Note: If your name does not appear above, and you would like to be analyzed against the CKC Breed Standards, I will do so for a nominal fee. (Not really, but I'm sure someone could market that on eBay).

Prozac, Head Doctors, and Flirty Girly Fun

2006-07-28T12:17:00.000-05:00

Hi.

This blog entry is purely self-indulgent. It’s not particularly funny, and probably not all that enlightening or thought provoking (really though now, are they usually is what I should be asking myself).

As of late, I’ve been a little lighter on my feet (that makes me sound like I’m a fairy or something). Something snapped (besides my ankle ligament) about a month ago. Actually, it all went down when my beautiful and fabulous friend Cassandra was visiting from London. I can’t pinpoint exactly what happened (OK, I got laid – That was a joke, well, probably not, but I digress), or why it happened, but I’m rather enjoying the emotional freedom it’s given me.

It’s no secret that my drug of choice is a form of Prozac. And that I’ve gone to see a head doctor to try (and try and try and try) to figure out why I feel blue (a deep shade) sometimes. But the year that I’ve been “working through things” using traditional western therapy – I question how far it really got me. I guess it allowed me to ask myself some questions that I would not have otherwise asked, and it allowed me some mental clarity (because of the selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors). And I guess that it made me to feel like I wanted to get out of bed in the morning (that shouldn’t under-value it).

But something really magical happened – as absolutely corny as that sounds. I went out, and I let myself have a lot of fun. And that was better medicine and therapy than anything Westernized that I’ve tried.

I had lost my love of talking to people – both people I knew, and people that I didn’t. I had forgotten that if I smiled out of the blue at someone, it would make them a bit happier, and smile back. It escaped me that I could in fact be a bit flirty and girly – and not feel badly about that. That sounds harsh, because I am dating someone. But that was the problem. I was so hung up on not drawing any kind of attention to myself, at all, that I lost the social part of me that really makes me so happy.

And all of this because I went out one night, and let myself have fun. Strange hey? Because I remember how good and happy that part of me makes me feel, I’m not letting it go again. I feel lighter, and happier, and like I sort of bounce when I walk. Smiling at people – it’s so fulfilling. I love looking into someone’s eyes – male or female – and just sending them warm and welcoming vibes. Because that’s how I feel, and that’s how I hope they feel.

I know this must sound very weird to you, because it sounds so simple and so normal. But it’s new to me again, and I didn’t appreciate it before. And now I do, and I want to share that.

Also, over the past month or so, because I think I’ve had a more colourful aura, I’ve met new people who are positive, and caring, and fun, and who have given me some new perspective. And I’ve rekindled relationships with those who I sort of pushed away for a while. Also, I think that my happiness meter has reached a 2-year high because I have really fantastic people around me, who are also reaching their goals. It’s all just really nice and peaceful.

It’s funny though – I guess I sort of feel like someone does when they reach their weight goal – I just want to use what my mamma gave me. I need to be careful not to overwhelm people I think. That said, perhaps my next goal will be to realize balance. But whatever, not for a while cause I’m enjoying this.

The Platinum Days

2006-07-24T18:46:00.002-05:00

A while ago - in the Spring I think - I wrote an entry about the Golden Days. I wrote about how sometimes, you don't realize how wonderful a certain point in your life was, until you reflect on it down the road. I got the chance over the past week and a half to revisit some of those days. Only this time around I would refer to them as platinum.

Have you ever done something twice, only to wish that you hadn't gone back, because the experience just wasn't as memorable and sweet as the first time around? I've been in this position before, and it really is a total bummer. But that didn't happen when Joanna came to visit Ottawa from her Vancouver home. It was a wonderful visit - one that lead to many lively and girly (very giggly even) discussions and memories.

While Jo was here, she, Nikki and I spent pretty much all of our waking (and sleeping for that matter) hours together. We made dinners, we drank (so much) wine, we went to bars and clubs and dance clubs, we went to the driving range, went rowing, we set Jo up on a date, we went to Nikki's family pool, Jo's dad made us dinner and gave us (more) wine. We watched movies, we shared stories, we drank tea. We met Charlotte, Annabelle and Frederick. It was just so nice to spend time together. And the best part was that really, our chemistry has grown just like we have.

When Jo left on Sunday, I was left with such a peaceful (yet sad) feeling. It really is just so incredibly nice to spend happy time with best friends, to feel really cared for, and to just have fun. Really, that's what it was all about - we just had so much fun together.

Girlfriends are really, really important (same sex friends is what I'm referring to - I'm sure it's the same for you men out there). There's just something so unbeatable about having friends around you that make you laugh, support you unconditionally, and that are always up for fun things. And if I ever start putting too little time aside for them - remembering the platinum days will be a kick in the ass enough for me to reassess my priorities.

My Super Cool Brother Mark

2006-07-20T13:58:00.000-05:00

These are some pictures of my super cool brother Mark. He loves surfing - a lot. And he's very, very good. These are some places where he's surfed and/or lived to surf: Rhode Island , Massachusetts, Long Island, Hawaii, Santa Barbara, LA, Tofino, Argentina.

We like to go surfing together. It's just fun. Usually when we go, I make him take me to my favourite spot which is in Matunick, RI. It's a long beach, with left and right breaks. Personally, I like lefts, and waves that are about 2 - 4 feet. And it's a safe place to surf - limited rocks to knock your melon on. And then, we go to Crazy Burger in Narragansett.

I think these pictures are from a trip he took to Rhode Island, with two of his best friends Cory and Greg (Furlong - fun last name, hey?).

Mr. Jones and Me

2006-07-20T13:33:00.000-05:00

I just had a very good experience.

I took a bit of a late lunch, about an hour past my usual time. I wanted to get a few loose ends tied up at work. When I left my building, I couldn’t decide what I wanted to eat. Lately, I’ve been enjoying the $2.99 sub of the day at Subway – but today, I didn’t feel like that. I didn’t want curry-in-a-hurry either, nor did I want a bagel from Tim’s. So, instead of taking a left to Rideau Centre, I took a right and decided to stroll down Sparks, to see if I could find an Italian sausage vendor.

To my delight, there were about 8. So, I picked the elderly man’s stand, gave him $3.25, and he gave me my lunch. While I was dressing the pig up with ketchup, a homeless man walked up the vendor. The vendor just smiled at him, and said in his limited English, “here you go” and handed him over all of his tips. That was so nice.

While this whole sausage thing was going down, I was enjoying a street performer’s music. He was playing the guitar, and singing, and he was fantastic. So after my lunch was fully prepared for consumption, I walked across the street, and sat in the shade with some other people, and listened. He played Mr. Jones (Counting Crows). I love Mr. Jones. I secretly sang along.

I was sitting there, and it’s like I snapped out of a daze - I realized that I didn’t feel lonely. Not at all. I was by myself, sitting on the side of a street (on a bench, don’t worry I didn’t pull up a newspaper to sit on), eating my lunch alone – but I didn’t feel lonely in the least. And I have been feeling rather lonely as of late, so this was a very nice experience.

Being me, I thought about this and analyzed it. I realized that not feeling lonely at that particular time meant that I felt completely connected to my environment. The weather is beautiful and warm and sunny, the street was lively with tourists and business people eating lunch. And the music – it was the music that made me feel so connected.

There are different kinds of lonely, I think. I’ve had a great time with friends over the past couple of weeks, so I don’t feel lonely in the people sense of the word. Rather, I haven’t felt a connection with my environment (although, I didn’t know this). And today, by surprise, I did. And I loved it. It was so nice.

When I finished my sausauge - and my thoughts - I put my loose change in the performer's guitar case, said thank you - he said thank you, and I was on my way. But I wasn't just saying thank you for his beautiful voice. I hope that somehow, he knew that.

http://www.countingcrows.com/

Even One-Eyed Dogs Go to Heaven

2006-07-10T12:07:00.000-05:00

Saturday morning I got a call from my mom. One of our family dogs, a lovely little Lahsa Apso named Buffy, had left us.

Buff is best described as one-of-a kind. He looked so harmless...but wasn’t at all. He was the grumpiest, most unpredictable small breed dog you’d ever meet. He was the definition of small breed dogs. But it was this Grinch-like attitude that made Buff legendary.

We adopted Buff when he was only a few months old. A friend’s family had bought him with the purpose of using him for breeding. Unfortunately (for them), there was a chance that Buff could have an eye problem (turned out he didn’t – well, not until later in life anyways, but we’ll get to that), and so, he couldn’t be used to fill the father role.

One day when I was out rollerblading with my friend, she told me that Buff was going to be permanently retired if they didn’t find him a home asap. I was horrified. So, being the manipulative 12 year old girl that I was, I decided to tell my family about this sad, sad situation over our Sunday night family dinner.

Knowing that my mom thought Buff was very cute – I dropped the bomb that he was going to be put down unless a home was found for him asap.

My mom’s response:

“Go and get him now”.

My dad’s response:

“……….” (fork stops halfway to mouth – eyes shoot look of death at Mom).

Speedy kids that we were, my brother and I ran down Harvest Crescent as fast as we could (to get away from my Dad?) to get our new pet. The outcome was this: Buff was saved, my parent’s didn’t talk for about a week.

Here are some highlights of Buff’s life, and some quirks:

1) I stepped on his foot when he was about 6 months old, and he never liked me after that.

2) He growled if you went near him, touched him, or even looked at him the wrong way. Forget even trying to pick him up – unless you had a hand to spare.

3) If you made farting noises in his presence, he would growl and turn up his lips. This became a very fun game.

4) He slept on my younger brother’s bed, and my parent’s bed. He thought he owned wherever he slept. For instance one time, my Dad accidentally rolled into Buff’s bed territory, and Buff leaped up and attached himself to my Dad’s face. Buff was thrown across the room, and my Dad had a bloody eye. 1 point Buff – 1 point Dad.

5) In his younger days, Buff was playing around at the beach, at our cottage. He came running up to my Mom - casually even - when she saw that a crayfish was clamped on to his mouth. This was very, very funny.

6) Buff was very high strung. One time, he was sleeping on one of the Newfoundland’s beds. Otis tried to move him off, so he could sleep on it. Buff didn’t like this and went ballistic. Otis gave him some sass. There are two possible explanations for what happened next: Buff’s blood pressure skyrocketed, and his eye literally popped out, OR, in the angry barks and bits that went back and forth between the two dogs, Buff’s eye was hit. As a result of this incident, Buff lived for several years with only one eye.

7) One of the Christmas traditions in my parent’s home involved Buff. Every year, after we’d unwrapped our gifts, we would decorate Buff with all of the bows. He thought he looked beautiful, and would parade around the house. I have a picture of this which I will post shortly. Believe it or not, he actually looked pretty ridiculous (believe it or not? Why would I even write that…).

8) Buff was a dictator, even though his subordinates were two, 160 pound Newfoundlands (compensating for size?).

All joking aside, Buff was probably my mom’s best friend. She loved him so much, and was very, very attached to him. My dad travels a lot – many months of the year are not spent at home. My mom finds companionship in her (many) animals – she adores them. Buff was so special to her, because she had him for 16 years, because he really only liked her, and because he was very dependent on her. During the last year of his life, he always wanted to be with her. So, she brought him everywhere. They were such good friends to each other.

So when my mom came home on Friday night, and found Buff lying on his side, moaning, she knew it was his time. That morning he hadn’t wanted to eat – which was very out of character for Buff. My Dad drove her to the vet, and she went in alone. She sat with him for a while in a room, and talked to him, and cuddled him. And then, when she was ready, the vet came in and Buff went to sleep peacefully.

I miss that Buff is no longer with us. But the sadness I feel is more for my Mom. When I think about it, I get that choked up feeling in my throat, my chest, and my stomach. I don’t look forward to having to go through what she is. My Mom is a very giving, very loving, very caring soul. Buff’s pretty lucky that she shared that - so unconditionally - with him.

It’s funny with animals, how much a part of us they become. Things are so quiet when they aren’t around, and life just seems a bit emptier. Someone recently said to a friend of mine, about me “It’s so inconvenient that Lisa has to go home after work and let her dog out – I’d be so annoyed if I had to do that”. I feel badly for that person.

It was a near full-moon last night. At about 11 p.m., I stepped out on to my front porch to get a better look at it. It was so beautiful, and so bright. I thought of Buff. And funny enough – a cloud crossed in front of the moon that was in the shape of a dog, with a long fluffy tail.

Give your animals a hug tonight.

Atlas the Wonderdog

2006-06-28T14:10:00.000-05:00

I thought I'd share a picture, cause I thought it was pretty fun.

This is Atlas, helping my friend and I with the plumbing at my cottage a couple of weekends ago.

My dog is wonderful.

Bands, Boys, and "Borrowed" Shirts

2006-06-27T16:05:00.000-05:00

Last night I was talking to a friend about how I never, ever fail to get busted when I’m doing something shifty – even slightly shifty.

For instance, in my former job, whenever I played hooky (which was like twice) my direct boss caught me. One night I went to see the Chili Peppers. One thing lead to another, I went out for drinks with a guy I had a crush on (of course, I played it cool), and I didn’t get home until after 2:00 a.m. (don’t get too excited, I was alone). I woke up when my alarm went off – and used the opportunity to call into work to say that I was sick (because of the drinks). I called two colleagues and left messages. However, as luck would have it, both of those colleagues ended up also being “sick” and not in the office (really though, how odd is that!). My boss got worried when I didn’t show up for work, and apparently he was pacing the floor. Someone kindly jogged his memory that I had gone to see “one of those modern bands” the night before. So of course, he got more worried, and decided to call me. This was our conversation:

“Lisa?”
“Michel?”
“What are you doing at home?”
“Uhm, I’m not feeling good?”
“Cause you were out too late last night and drank too much?”
“Maybe”
“When will you be in”?
“In an hour?”
“Sound good. See you then”

Right. I was busted. So busted. Who does that happen to? Seriously? Whose boss calls them at home, tell them to get over their hangover, and come into work?

And to top it all off, as I dragged myself into my place of employment, down the hallway where my boss had paced, my coworkers laughed and pointed.

My next experience involved local media. This one is good. And strangely, it also involves going to see a band.

I went to see the band Powderfinger with my Aussie friend Cass and my Canadian friend Chris (and her friend). They are huge in the land down under – as in, they fill Corel Centre/Madison Square Garden sized arenas. But in Ottawa, we saw them with like 100 other people. And of course, after the show, Cass used her feminine charms (which men can’t resist), and we got to have drinks and chat with the band. No – we are not groupies, we simply appreciate their music (and…their hotness).

After a very fun (star struck) evening, we headed home (ran actually, in a bit of a giddy stupor). The next morning I woke up late. I was walking around my house trying to find something to wear. But because I had been having so much fun, I hadn’t done laundry in like 3 weeks (I have a lot of undies). Now, I like to think of myself as a good roommate, one that respects people, their space, and their things. But I was in a jam, and I needed a shirt. So, I borrowed one from my roommate (and…this is the first time she will hear about this…). I don’t like doing things like that, because I don’t like invading people’s stuff. Anyhow – it was an emergency.

So I packed up, got my Starbucks, and headed down to where I had parked my car the night before.

And then it happened. I was walking along Bank Street, in something of a daze – looking less than pretty. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a video camera was in my face and Ed Broadbent – the NDP Candidate for my riding – was asking me questions. What the? There were so many things wrong with this scenario! I’m tired, I look totally frazzled, I can’t string 3 words together to form a coherent sentence…and I’M WEARING MY ROOMMATES SHIRT AND IT’S GOING TO BE BROADCAST ON THE MOST WATCHED NEWS IN OTTAWA! Holy shit this was bad luck!

Luckily for me, my roommate happened to be in France, and because I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be broadcast across the pond, I felt I was safe.

So, the lesson I have learned in life is that I really, really can’t try to be sly. Cause I get busted.

Geek in the Pink

2006-05-17T19:46:00.000-05:00

Have I disclosed that I have a bit of thing for Jason Mraz? I believe I included him in my profile as one of my favourite musicians. Please don’t groan too loud: the tween versions of his music that are played on national (international) airwaves leave something to be desired. But seeing him perform live is another story.

There are a couple of points to this blog.

"Geek in the Pink" is one Mraz’s songs, and if you haven't heard it, you really should because it's quite catchy. I strongly suggest you support the music industry, and that you download it off of iTunes. It's fun. He's fun…

And how do you know he's fun you, Lisa (you ask)? Cause I met him - oh yes, I met the man, in the flesh. And not only did I meet him (face to handsome fact); I talked to him (sort of) on a street, in Montreal. This was a couple of years ago now. A friend of mine and I took a road trip to La Belle Province to check out his show. In fairness to Chantal Kreviazuk, he actually opened for her, so in fact, it was her show (granted I could be wrong about that, because I didn’t actually stay for her part of the show). Anyhow - knowing my infatuation with Jason (notice the first name basis), my friend coaxed (bullied) me into saying hi. So I did - and it was wonderful. We had a little chat (he talked, I stared blankly – probably with an odd red face and sweat beads gleaming on my forehead) - and he suggested that my friend and I go see Bella Fleck with him and his band. Any normal die-hard fan that was invited (in a round about way) to go and check out a kick ass band with her favourite musical artist would be all over it. Me? I like to be different, so I got shy and ran away - seriously. My friend and I did go and see Bella Fleck, but only because we had previously planned to.

Sigh. I did see Jason at the show. I kicked myself black and blue for not being more of an obsessive groupie and jumping all over his….invitation. Like anyone full of regret, I drank my sorrows away with gin and tonic (or white russians – I can’t remember – case in point).

The reason this memory surfaced – and no, there isn’t an obvious link here – is that I found out that one of my friends is a closet geek. And she’s a girl. So I thought of the song Geek in the Pink. Lillith (refer to my previous blog about Moxy’s) comes off as a relatively cool cat. She’s very cute, plays sports, she drives a very sassy Audi, she can work a crowd, and to boot, she’s very nice and trustworthy. Overall, she’s a pretty funky lady. To make a long story short, I stopped by her house unannounced. She was very distracted. She said “do you want to come upstairs and surf the net?”. What? I come to your house to see you and you want me to surf the net? Turns out she was in the middle of a heated online computer game. Oh my god, Lillith is a gamer! She’s a geek! Or maybe this makes her more of a catch…

Strange how those two stories connected in my head.

Lisa-Marie (Presley) singin’ the birthday blues

2006-04-26T13:59:00.000-05:00

Monday was my birthday. And for my birthday, I’m coming out of the closet. That’s right; I am birthdayphobic.

I’ve been coming up with excuses not to celebrate my birthday – on my birthday - for years. My most common excuse is that I like to celebrate it on the weekend (obviously, this works best when the 24th doesn’t fall on a Saturday or Sunday). I like to use my birthday as an excuse to get my best friends together in a room, to see them interact – but of course, on the 22nd or 23rd.

For instance, this past weekend a bunch of friends and I went out for dinner, and then for desert and drinks. I had a fantastic time (and I got hooched up, which was sort of fun and quite out of character – but I digress). I felt happy, I felt fulfilled, it was great.

Why can’t I celebrate on the 24th? I have this mental hiccup that won’t let me get passed the idea that I will be depressed. It didn’t take my psychology minor to figure this one out – that obviously this is mind over matter. I’ve trained myself through years of fear – through birthdays of self-evaluation – that I will be depressed on the 24th.

I find that my birthday makes me feel pressured. People ask “did you have a good day?”. If you answer no, people feel pitty. Why? It’s like any other day? Why does it have to be a “good” day? Talk about performance anxiety! Particularly when your birthday happens to fall on a Monday, where you have meetings with clients that dislike who you represent, and where your boyfriend is apparently suffering from sympathetic birthday blues. Also, it just so happens to be the day where you jump confidently on your scale – and apparently you shouldn’t be eating cake. Or, where you check your credit score and you realize that maybe you should get those rotating cards paid down to 35% of the maximum.

Right.

To get a bit superficial about the whole thing– birthdays also depress me because they make me think about where I am in this game called life, versus other…say, 28 year olds. More often than not, this train of thought crashes. I’m not unhappy with what I’ve done and where I am, but give me a break, humankind is insecure! I took the bus on Monday (cause I still haven’t fixed my wipers, and it was raining – pouring actually, and cold – thank you Dieties, God of Rain). On my way home – I became afraid, very afraid of the future. There were some interesting elders on the bus that day – we’ll leave it at that. GOD I DON’T WANT TO END UP ALONE WITH A BAD WIG AND STIR-UP PANTS!

I find celebrating my birthday a challenge. I’m going to quote a wise friend. Her words explain my overall sentiment:

I think the aging thing is tougher when you're still trying to fill yourself up. If you put too much pressure on yourself, it's as though you create this gap inside that you just can't fill. It's only when you start embracing yourself and where you're at, that you start filling in that gap. All to say - you're doing yourself a disservice to feel dissatisfied with where you're at.

These words really made me think. I’m always trying to find my place, what I like, what makes me feel happy and at ease with myself. I have yet to really find this, and on my birthday, I tend to reflect on it just a bit more.

I think that for my 29th birthday, I would like to give myself the gift of accepting happiness. And I would like to have a birthday party on the 24th.

When Steph calls - sparks really fly!

2006-04-21T10:20:00.000-05:00

This morning started to well. It was beautiful and sunny outside, so Atlas and I took advantage of it with a 6:30 run. Well – to be perfectly honest – not only did we go for a jog because of the weather, but because Atlas developed a spare tire this winter, and he needs to work it off so that he’s not embarrassed come bathing suit season (am I projecting on him?).

But I digress (I almost wrote regress – that would have been funny). Following our 25 minute tour of the hood, the animals and I had our breakfasts (we didn’t eat the same thing). Then, as per usual, I took a shower, brushed and flossed, moisturized, peed, combed and dried my hair, and deciding that today would be a wavy-hair day, began twirling my hair with hot rollers. Halfway through this process, my phone rang.

I need to set the stage. I recently painted my bedroom (a lovely robin’s egg blue – if you were curious), and so, I removed the electrical outlet covers. Because I’m sure you’ve all done this at some point, you know that you can then see the metal parts – the innards – of the electrical outlet.

Back to the story. My phone rang, and I ran into my room to get it. Because it’s a cell phone, it was plugged in to get re-juiced. As I answered the phone, I yanked the plug from the outlet.

It was Steph calling.
Sparks flew.

While in any other context, that would be a very romantic thing to say, in this one, I almost peed my PJ’s (even though I’d just gone as part of my morning routine). Holy shit! Sparks were flying from the outlet! This spelled D-A-N-G-E-R. Of course, I was sort of in shock (pun). I didn’t really know what to do – I mean really, this is actually one thing that I don’t think about! Steph suspected a short-circuit, and suggested that I go to the breaker and turn the fuse off. So, I ran downstairs (working on that spare tire), and turned off all of the fuses (like I said, I was a bit shocked and may have over-reacted). When I got back upstairs, there were no more fireworks coming from the outlet. Thank goodness. It was then suggested that I unscrew the outlet, and look inside to make sure there was no smoke, heat – anything that would indicate that a fire had started.

I sniffed it out, and the coast was clear. No need for the fire department.

Because I tend to overact to such things, I decided to leave all of the fuses in the off position for the day. Not only will I not have to worry about my animals frying, but I think of this as a good way to save money. And it’s Earth Day tomorrow, so I’m conserving energy. Or – I’m just playing paranoid.

I arranged a time to pick Steph up, got off the phone, then continued with my morning (now interrupted by potential house fire) routine. But oh my God! I only have half my head in hot rollers and because the fuse in the bathroom was also turned off, the hot rollers were turned off! Well tickle me pink, they were still warm, so everything worked out. THAT would have made for a bad day.

I made it to work, I called my electrician friend, and really, I now have a very good reason to actually put batteries in my smoke detectors.

And there was a leaf on my pear this morning, and I thought that was pretty odd. What a peculiar morning.

Touchy feely - and not anonymous!

2006-04-20T14:59:00.000-05:00

I bet that title really captured your attention :)

I’m going to use names in this blog entry. Only first names though – to maintain some anonymity. I have to use names because this entry is about some friend’s accomplishments. Lately, it seems that people around me have a lot to be proud of. But I don’t think they really realize it.

Nikki. She is just about to finish a 3-year program in interior design. She left a job that she found pleasant, and the security of a good income, to pursue what she really knew she wanted to do. How many of us think “what if”? Nikki didn’t just think it, she did it. Can you imagine giving up your current cushy job, going back to school for 3 years, and giving up your 20-something “lifestyle”? That takes some serious determination and courage! Not to mention – she did incredibly well, and received one of the top placements her program offers. Also – she managed to keep her house and dog, she had fun, and was always there when her friends needed her (even after those nights with zero sleep). She’s pretty amazing that Ms. Steele!

Jason. He is currently travelling alone, in Europe. Jason has a wife and son. So, when people hear that he is travelling solo – that his wife “lets him” travel alone – they tend to get some attitude. They assume that something is “wrong” in Jason’s personal life, because why would he want to go away and see new things without his other half? Because he likes to! I think it’s fantastic that Jason is doing what he is, that he’s fulfilling his needs, and that he’s in a relationship that supports that.

Dan. This free-spirited, new-age hippie (yet grounded) is following his dream. Dan loves films, documentaries in particular. He studied film, and then worked in film-related jobs. He did a lot of volunteer work. Dan went on a “trip”. A long one actually – that took him to Costa Rica, the desert of Utah, and many, many places in his own mind. I was fortunate enough to have been a stop along the way – and I managed to never really fall off his bandwagon. Dan wrote a script called “Searching for Dragons” about his “trip” – more precisely, the ideas he got on it. He pitched it, and got a lot of grants to produce it; municipal, provincial, and federal. Dan is currently on the road, working on his dream. He really is a modern day hero. Follow Dan on his magical carpet ride by reading his blog: www.windpathfilms.com/blog

Steph. I’m going to keep this one purposely vague. You haven’t been introduced to this character yet. This man has had a rock-show of a year. I was there for a lot of it. He is one very strong person. I don’t think many people could have come out on top like he did. Regardless of what was going on in his life, he still managed to be a good friend to those in need, he still managed to have fun, he managed to excel in his job, and give love. I think Steph is strong, determined, caring, and committed person. I can’t really do this one justice.

Brent. My younger brother. Brent has grown-up in a very different way (and world) than my older brother and I did. He had different role models, and very different challenges. Over Easter weekend, when I was home, Brent looked happier than I’ve ever seen him look. He’s found something that he loves – on his own terms – and so, I think he’s starting to live his own life. He’s gained confidence, he’s respected, and he’s very good at what he does (he’s becoming a mechanic). It takes a lot courage for someone who is brought up in a traditional-go-to-university family, to reject that idea of the “expected” and pursue what they really want to. I think Brent deserves a lot of credit for being confident and happy in the choices that he made.

Chris and Carrie. This is random – because they’re my best friends, from my two hometowns, and I don’t feel right not mentioning them. You’re both so similar, and yet you’ve never met.

Karma, gas (or lack thereof) and Moxy’s

2006-04-13T09:49:00.000-05:00

If I didn’t believe in karma, this week would have proved me wrong. Luckily I do believe in karma, and therefore I have been proven right (God I love when that happens).

Last weekend I was the designated driver. I was cruising in my friend’s car, and noticed that 1) it was on empty and 2) it wasn’t driving smoothly. I commented on this, but was “shushed”. So I just kept on driving. Joke was on the car owner, because the next morning it wouldn’t start because as I had pointed out the night before, it had no liquid CO2 love left. The car owner was going to head to the gas station, in my car, to fill the jerry can. But low and behold, my car wouldn’t start. The choking/sound of death that it made – and then didn’t make – indicated that my battery was dead. So buddy had to walk to the local Petro Canada to get the goods. After which, you will be happy to know, my car was jump started (thank you).

Obviously, I took full advantage of this incident, and “made fun” of the car owner like an 8-year-old girl with a crush.

But just as sure as my birthday falls on April 24th every year (remember that - I like diamonds, and could use a new car, as you will see shortly), karma came into play.

Last night I was on my way home from work, driving down Montreal Road. The thing is, my gas indicator light (is that the mechanical term?) goes on when the tank is just below a quarter-full. So sometimes, I think I might push it at bit. Yesterday was one of those times. I was chatting away on the phone (bad Lisa! I deserve a spanking!) with my best friend, and my car started making funny jolts – sort of like dude’s car did. Shit. And then it ran out of gas. Luckily, I used my – as Napoleon Dynamite would say, skills – and coasted into a parking lot. To any passer-byer, it would have looked very planned.

I walked home. It was only about 15 minutes. Thank goodness, because it started raining.

Which brings me to another car-related problem. One thing about me is that I like to think of my car problems as minor inconveniences. Because I have a lemon of a car. I have a 99’ Jeep that has basically been rebuilt from the inside out because it’s had so many problems. People tell me that I need to get rid of it and buy a Honda Fit or something (NO!). So, I downplay any beep beep Jeep problems, because I don’t want to hear it.

I look so cute in it.

Most recently, my windshield wipers stopped working. Yep – they just quit. I think it has something to do with the large (LARGE) chunk of ice that flew off a car’s roof that was travelling in front of me at about 120km, and landed directly on my windshield. Right. Actually, being that I’m laying my cards out on the table here, this actually caused another issue. My window is cracked, in a few places. I really need to get that fixed hey? (but shoes are just so nice this season…). So, my window is f*ucked up, and my wipers don’t work. And now I have no gas.

I think that the Universe was just watching out for me, because I would have continued driving in the pouring rain without windshield wiping capability – and something bad would probably have happened.

So I get home, having actually enjoyed the walk. I went through my mental list of local friends – and finally talked my friend - we’ll call her Lilith for the purpose of this blog, cause she looks like Lilith from Cheers - into rescuing me.

And so began a fantastic night. We were totally on the same wavelength. She came and picked me up, we got gas, we put it in my car (first time I ever did that), my car started, and I drove it to her place. Then we went out for dinner at Moxy’s…and spent the next 3 hours having a wonderfully happy girl-type conversation. You know those random nights that you have, that are just so fantastic, and where you feel like you’ve really made a great connection with a friend? It was one of those. We had a great dinner (I highly recommend the Mosaic appetizer), and I tried a new (to me) Chilean wine (it’s a new found love).

By the time I got home (in the rain, sans wipers), I was so happy. I’m so glad that I ran out of gas.

Thank you Karma.

FREE: Window spit-shining on Clarence Street

2006-04-11T09:47:00.000-05:00

My jeep and I have had some unique encounters with homeless men. In an earlier blog, I mentioned the homeless schizophrenic man on acid that moved into my car (and “fixed” it). This morning, I can add a new chapter.

I had a fairly casual morning coming to work – pretty much status quo. Got my coat on, put my lunch in my bag, my car started, I got my morning coffee at Tim’s, the drive down Montreal Rd. was fairly pleasant. The portion of my usual route into the downtown core is under construction, so I took some alternate roads. But many people take these roads, because of the said construction. So, as you can imagine, there was congestion.

I was waiting at the corner of Clarence and Dalhousie, because of a red light. When the light turned green, I turned slightly to the left, waiting for the pedestrians to cross before stepping on the gas. This is when the incident occurred.

A man with no front teeth (not sure about the back ones), equipped with large bag over this shoulder, walked up to my window, starred at me, and proceeded to spit a very large, very condensed, very yellow luggy on my window. What the fu*k! This was followed by a string of unpleasant words. The man in blue of no fixed address then walked off, and I continued through the intersection. I took a look in my rear-view, and the construction workers were even in shock.

Yes my faithful readers, this was a case of Stranger Danger.

I got mad. Very, very mad. As if that just happened! So, in pure Taurus style, I turned my jeep around, and went after the guy. I zoned in on him walking oh so casually on Clarence, and pulled up next to him. He just looked at me. I unrolled my passenger side window, and asked what I really wanted to know “Why the fu*ck did you just spit on my window, Sir?”. He responded that he was defending himself (with spit?), because I was trying to run him over. Of course! Of course I was! That’s what I was trying to do! And actually, I picked him to run over, out of all of the other pedestrians that I waiting for before proceeding through the intersection. Because I wanted to give him mouth-to-mouth THAT bad! Then came the golden reason “and you’re a fu*cking American”. Oh no. Why, why did he have to say this? I’ve had a few incidences like this, and they never go over well. I had an Ali McBeal moment:

I got out of my car, and walked over to the man. I Spit on him – a nice, thick, après-coffee spit. Then I kneed him in the groin (very hard, with crippling force), and when he was bent over, I took his over-sized blue sweatshirt and pulled the bottom of it over his head. Then I took him out at the knees. When he fell, I knocked him out with a quick jab to the temple. Randomly, a tattoo artist walked by. At my request, he tattooed an American flag across the man’s forehead (he was really knocked out). I thanked the tattoo artist, got back in my red jeep with American license plates, and drove away into the warm, 18C sunny day.

But of course, that’s not exactly how things went down. I didn’t really offer an explanation to the guy, that I am in fact Canadian and just happen to have American plates on my car. Just the fact that he would spit on my window because I was “American” was enough to put me over the edge. So I really set him straight! I told the guy in a sarcastic voice – “Ya! I love Bush!”

Then I realized what I had said. Karma. Bad, bad karma. The Universe did not want me to pester this homeless man. And I was being punished for it. Damn.

It makes for a good blog though.

So, with my tail between my legs, I drove to work.

I'm waiting for Katie Couric's call...

2006-04-06T15:50:00.000-05:00

The CRA commercial/news segment/radio segment that I did a few weeks ago with my coworkers was/is on MSN, Yahoo and Google today. I talk...so...slow...ly...

Anyhow, if you'd like to take a look:

Go to the www.msn.ca site
Select "Video" on the left hand menu
Search for "Netfile"
Add the segment to your playlist

And...that's that. My friend/co-worker Dal did the French version (all the men and boys out there who have a thing for sassy French women - you may just want to check it out. Dal may just poison my morning coffee for this).

Also, at one point today, if you looked under "Video Highlights", our Netfile segment was listed directly under "Diaz wins suit over topless photos". I thought that was pretty funny.

April Astrology Forecast: Clear and sunny

2006-04-03T13:47:00.000-05:00

Last month's astrologyzone.com forecast had my panties in a bit of twist; everything Susan forecasted came true! Refer to my last blog entry for some background, but even after that account, more of my monthly predictions unraveled before my eyes.

I can imagine that many of you may be (are) thinking that I am just finding things to make Ms. Miller's astrology come true - regardless, it was ridiculously (and unfortunately) accurate.

I had to work myself up to checking my April forecast. Instead of opening the link from my Favourite's first thing Saturday morning (April 1st - AND I'd like to point out that it was April Fools day - a potential double-whammy!), I waited until after the weekend, so that I wouldn't have as much time to dwell.

Bring out the clowns! My horoscope is very positive, very! Thank freaking God, because I was getting a bit tired of the not so pretty predictions! This month, only happy things are supposed to unfold, and I'm supposed to take advantage of the positive social vibe that will surround me. Done Susan, done!

My money sector is also supposed to become more healthy - after a 2 year (YES) slump. Apparently I had a lot of unforeseen expenses because of Mars in the last 758 days (YES). You know what's funny about this? I got my paystub in the mail this morning, and the promotion I got (2 months ago) has finally taken affect (Public Service pay and compensation isn't very [understatement] fast). Susan was right! And, I'm happy about that. Coincidence? Not a chance.
Thank you Mars, but please be on your way! Venus - let me prep the guestroom for you.

I'm really not crazy about horoscopes, but they've just been so accurate as of late...

So, if any of you non-believers want to help me make my horoscope come true this month, feel free to do one - or all - of the following:
1) Give me money
2) Go out for a fun night of drinking and dancing
3) Propose to me
4) Bring me on a trip (not that far though - distant travel is not in my forecast)

Happy birthday to me!

My horoscope was right, and I was wrong

2006-03-29T13:35:00.000-06:00

Religiously, on the first of every month, I read my horoscope on astrologyzone.com (which I highly recommend if you’re into planetary pull and push). This month when I skimmed through (studied) what was in the stars for Taurus’s, I didn’t exactly feel all warm and fuzzy – happy like a puppy dog.

Basically, it told me that I was going to lose a friend. Either the friend or I would cut ties. Generally, I have a very (very!) difficult time phasing people out. And right now, there isn’t anyone in my life that I don’t want around. This worried me.

There were two times this month where I thought I may loose a friend. First was one of my best friend’s from home, who I will refer to as Dr. Grey. I had to tell her that I couldn’t go to her wedding (she’s taking her vows in Vegas next week – don’t worry, she’s bringing her boyfriend to marry). And this is not for lack of wanting – oh no – I just don’t have the cash to go (home ownership is NOT without cost). She’s a very bright young lady, who is currently a resident at a hospital back home. She’s very, very (very, very, very) busy, so I don’t hear from her much. Anyhow, after I told her I couldn’t go…I didn’t hear from her for a long period of time. This made me very sad, because I was afraid that she was the friend that was going to cut me out of her life plan. So, in true persistent and stubborn Taurus fashion, I emailed her and called her many times – until I finally got in touch with her. While we only got to talk for a short few minutes, it was nice to be reassured, and to know that her busy doctor life is the only thing that’s keeping her from getting back to me (as promptly as I like – selfishly). That was a load off.

But only for a day.

This time it was a friend of mine that I met about 7 years ago, maybe 8 now, from Australia, who happens to be a world traveller of sorts and so, I will call her Carmen (Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? – wow, run on sentence). We met in Massachusetts, and spent a summer in Tofino together. And I will be the first to say that I was not the best of friend to Carmen that summer. My boyfriend at the time was there (is from there). We all lived together - they didn’t love each other - it was pretty hasty at time – I hate taking sides so I don’t - it stressed me out, etc. But, Carmen and I managed to salvage our friendship and move on (my boyfriend and I however – did not). Anyhow, long story short, I think I’ve let her down one too many times. I really don’t feel like sharing the details, nor do I have time. But I will say that one of (what I believe to be) my biggest character flaws, has caused this. I don’t think that I gave the friendship the attention that it deserved. And so, I think that I have been phased out. This is sad to me, because she’s a really caring and patient person, and she has so many incredible stories about her life travels – she should be writing a blog! Anyhow, suffice it to say; I think that my horoscope was right, and I was wrong.

It’s almost April, and time for a new horoscope. I hope that somehow, it brings an old friend back into my life.

Have you walked the line?

2006-03-14T13:24:00.000-06:00

I’m a bit of country music fan at heart. There’s something so appealing about it, it makes me feel energized and happy. I find there’s a purity to it; the lyrics, the sound, the heart behind it. I imagine the love and lust found amid the rolling hills of Tennessee, Alabama, the heat of Texas, inspiring many a song. I think I would really love to be part of that scene. Maybe this comes from my teenage years (OK – and early/mid/soon-to-be late 20’s), when I thought the Grateful Dead was the cat’s ass, and defended them relentlessly when people called them a 2nd rate country band (they’re more of a jam/rock/country band, and they definitely aren’t 2nd rate).

So naturally, I watched Walk the Line. And I can say that hands down, I completely understand why Reese Witherspoon won the Best Actress Oscar. She captured her audience (or me, anyways) so profoundly, and made them (me) feel like we knew June Carter, loved June Carter, admired June Carter, and sort of wanted to be June Carter. Her character was strong, and very admirable. From the get-go, I liked June. She was caring, supportive, independent – and not a pushover in the least.

Johnny Cash’s first wife (Vivian), I didn’t like her (her character – the actress who played her was good – very convincing). She was always nagging, being bossy, unsupportive, spoiled, and constantly talking about what she needed her husband to provide her with next (get a job Viv!). Johnny Cash’s character came across as a gentle-soul, who was quite insecure. She did nothing to support him. It seemed like she just wanted to spend his money. No, I didn’t like her.

I liked June Carter’s character, because she was such a good friend, such a supportive person. And she was fun! She lent a hand where help was needed, and she had her priorities straight. And she respected herself, and others – particularly when they were unable to respect themselves. At the same time, her character showed a vulnerability, which made her more endearing.

The music in this movie was great, the settings, the costumes. It felt so real. It’s an anomaly, in that you actually feel like you know the characters and their relationships by the time the credits roll.

This is a really good movie. That’s my conclusion. You should watch it. It’ll even speak to the kanye west lovers.

More "Tails"....about taxes?

2006-03-06T15:03:00.000-06:00

How many animals is one required to have on their personal property, to have it considered a farm? And does having a farm mean more tax breaks? With 3 – 4 animals, can I be considered a “family operated farm” and get subsidies from our social-leaning government? If I grow my grass really long in the backyard so that it resembles hay, will that help me qualify?

These thoughts ran through my head this weekend, because:

1) I was doing my taxes (for 2005*)
2) I am currently dog-sitting a boxer (= 3 animals in my house)
3) As of Wednesday, I will also be dog-sitting a golden (= 4 animals in my house).

* Note that I work for the Canada Revenue Agency, and I have not filed my taxes in 3 years. That’s right, I have not filed for 2003, 2004 and 2005. However I have been proactive about this (in hopes of getting a nice little refund), and I called the CRA (from work I may add – which I find sort of humorous), and “ordered” the necessary materials to be able to file my returns. What makes this even more comical is that I am going to be in the new CRA commercial, saying that I NETFILED for the past many years, and that I love it.

OK so back to my original story. The boxer I am dog-sitting is a really, really lovely dog. She’s super cute, very delicate for her breed, very quiet, and gets along very well with Atlas – although very much his opposite. In the morning, Atlas becomes alert – ears up - as soon as my eyes open, waiting for me to say the magical words “do you want your breakfast?”, at which point he charges full-speed (like a bull out of the gate – farm reference) down the stairs (carpeted), skids on to the hardwood (bad for the floors – would this be deductible if I were a farm operator?), and runs into the kitchen, where he sits by his bowl, drewling, and wagging his beautiful and fluffy tail**.

** Another tangent. When at the dog-park this weekend, I ran into a woman who was a golden retriever breeder, and a judge for the Canadian Kennel Club. She told me that Atlas was a beautiful dog, that he had a beautiful face, and great stance. However Atlas is “too tall at the shoulder – 25 inches where he should be 23 - must be the American Golden in him”, and he’s too….”fluffy”….Of course…. at this point I got arrested for sicking Atlas on her. Kidding! Hello! He just had a bath with L’Oreal Hydra Vive! Of course his hair has a lot of body!

Again, back to the story. Bronte is just much more dainty than Atlas. She takes her time going down the stairs, she’s slightly apprehensive about slipping on the hardwood, and she trotts (like a horse - farm reference) patiently towards her bowl, posing while waiting to be fed. This weekend, I made a comment to a friend who was visiting about how it’s like she tap-dances across the floor, because her nails click as she walks (because of the angle of her feet – that’s my conclusion anyways). My friend made me crack up by saying that lovely delicate boxer Bronte is actually wearing Lee Press-On nails. I think this may have been one of those you had to be there moments (regardless, this comment lead me to a strange dream about my brother wearing orange and purple press-on nails. I woke up laughing very hard).

My cat, Megan (I did NOT name her), is also a bit of a princess. She actually takes the cake where feline diva’s are concerned. She’s managed the additional canine very well – much better then when Bitmap the cat was visiting. However, yesterday, the dogs got a bit excited in the kitchen when I pulled out some treats. Megan got nervous (or maybe didn't want to get trampled - farm reference), and jumped up on the counter. I have a lot of counter space in my kitchen. But Megan decides to jump up where the dishes were drying, and in doing so knocked a bowl into my new wine glasses, and broke them. Unscathed, Megan then proceeded to (very casually I might add) walk around the counter, to where she ALWAYS jumps up and sits. Why on Earth didn’t she just jump up there in the first place?

Not that I’m complaining – I love animals. And I think that they are so funny, and I think that they make our lives a bit more comical (in my case, a lot).

I'm sure I'll have more stories come Thursday...