Around the Bay

And what a race it was!

Friday Night

State of mind? Excited!

I blew out of work to pick up my race kit complete with race chip and super swish technical shirt (sorry, Toque, I know you're still hiding out in the bitter barn because I got the shirt...) Bib number 3444... Decent. I got myself a couple of new headbands at the health expo and searched high and low for a good fuel belt, but with no luck.

I headed home to forge a second race bib for Toque who would be illegally trading places with me at the 15km relay point (long story short: I missed the relay registration by a day so we registered as one person with plans of tagging out at the half way point. I took the first half, and Toque, being the more profesh runner complete with running coach, pace timing watch larger than my face, and some super funky stretching techniques, planned to run the last half = much hillier than the first.) It's amazing what you can fashion with a scanner and some t-shirt transfers. Should I ever decide to leave the library business, I'm sure I could make a healthy living on the seedy underbelly world of t-shirt forgery.

Saturday

State of mind? Delusional.

Toque arrived around 2:00 and after some serious discussion and a few hundred glasses of water, we waddled out to the car to drive the course with Beef and Lil C'. It was clear from the get go where our various challenges were to lie: while Touque's portion of the course was much hillier, it was also in a much swankier part of town. I, on the other hand, was blessed with a relatively flat track, yet risked getting shived.

Being Palm Sunday and us good little Catholics, we dutifully attended church and prayed to the sweet JC to bring us on home. Dinner was homemade lasagna and yummy buns, and after a little TV we went our separate ways, Toque to sleep and me to lie aimlessly in bed plink-plink-plinking awake. Why is it when you can't sleep, it's always the night before an event you need sleep for? And why is it when you can't sleep you notice how loud your cat breaths, how bright the street light outside is, and how bizarre a noise the radiator makes when it burbs? When I did eventually fall asleep I had panicked dreams I left my iPod in the car pre-race... Not a good scene.

Sunday

State of mind? Nervous wreck.

Up at dawn's crack, showered, and dressed in my super swish gear, primed with my coffee, oatmeal, and banana before 7:30 am. Toque isn't far behind, heating his calves with the magic bag (*snickers*). Fingers picked us up at 8:00 and I was dropped in front of Copps by 8:15, way too early, but with road closures we weren't taking any chances. Being that we weren't registered for the actual relay, neither of us was eligible to take the shuttle so blessed Fingers drove us from depot to depot, cheering us on, complete with lawn chairs, heating pads, and blankets. Yay Fingers!

I busied myself around the stadium and then decided to take the detour walk up and around the stadium, positioning myself in the starting gate around 8:50. With 40 minutes 'till race time there was some serious people watching to be had. I'm convinced I saw Ralph Fiennes warming up in front of me. There's not talking me out of it, regardless of how irrational it may be...

By 9:15 I realize I've made a colossal mistake: I have to pee. But there are now nearly 10,000 people crowded in around me and I can see from my starting spot there are 60+ people in line for the 3 port-a-potties. Even if I was blind and nose-less you couldn't have convinced me to use them. I decide to take my chances with the race. Worse comes to worse, I wet my pants. Yea, I said it. Wet. My. Pants. Touque has already warned me the first 2km would be full of pushing and shoving to gain position, so wet pants are only going to give me a wider berth. It's a strategy to my advantage.

Bang! Gun shot goes and I'm... walking. I walked for about 2 minutes before actually crossing the starting line and picking up pace... 5km, 7km, 9km and I'm hustling, pacing myself against a little person in front of me wearing a pink hat. Around the 10km mark I lose her, either because her tiny legs have gotten their second wind or because my @ss is starting to drag. There are THRONGS of people all around me... We're a wall of people, a sea of legs as far as the eye can see. People are cheering from street corners, clanging their cowbells, and slamming spoons against pots and pans. I'm overdressed, hot from the get-go, peeling off my mitts, wishing I had gone with my gut and left my running coat in the car.

About 56 minutes in I can see the skyway bridge, which mentally tells me I'm almost done my leg of the race. With the 2:45 pace bunny within eyes reach, I turn on my power song ("Single Ladies") and mentally pat myself on the back for a race well run... Only to see the 12km marker. WTF?! But I've already played my power song?! What am I supposed to do now? Head down, I plod on through determined to reach Toque by my goal of 1:30.

Bam! 1:22 I role in to our rendezvous point (behind the canoes on Beach Boulevard) and quickly switch time chips with Toque, giving him a hug and a "you go girl" before he charges off in to the crowd. Being that we registered under my name, I yell a reminder for him to smile big and look feminine when crossing the finish line (for the celebratory 8x10 glossies you can purchase post race.)

Fingers and I head back to the stadium in time to see Nina and Jeremy breeze through under 3 hours, and Toque at... 2:53! Just shy of the rain, and near spot on our total estimated time. My legs are like jelly, Gatorade has never tasted better, and I'd give my unborn for a cheeseburger but otherwise I'm super proud of us. All the nerves, pre-race panic, and doubt led up to one very cool event that I'm proud to say I was part of... Heck, it's older than Boston!

Although we left this year wondering how anyone could run the whole thing, I'm convinced, like child birth, I'll totally forget how crazy it felt and sign up to the run the entire 30km next year. You game, Toque?!

p.s. For those wondering how PSITW went? This picture says it all:

'Teased' doesn't begin to explain it

I got my hair cut at lunch, trying to squeeze as much into a workday as possible. But it would seem my stylist has forgotten I work in a library and not in a Junior Miss department or the corner of King and Sanford.

Great.

At least I completed my four hour desk shift this morning. I can hide my hooker hair in the workroom. I'd much rather receive the ribbing and jibbing of my coworkers over that of an elderly man looking to take home the next Annette Funicello.

Another one of life's learning lessons? Never try to be efficient on your lunch hour... You'll inevitably end up with buyers remorse over the bathing suit you thought you could pick up on the quick, or hair that resembles something out of Beach Blanket Bingo.

I have more rules about the types of books I won't read than the types of books I will read:

• I won't read anything with England, Ireland, or Scotland as the setting
• I don't like books about the 20's or the 30's
• I don't like books about World War I or World War II
• generally speaking I don't read anything recommended by Oprah, thus I don't read books that drag you into the depths of depression or those that chronicle real-life ordeals
• and usually (*cringe*) I don't read Canadian... with the odd exception...

I'm fairly open to genre, including historical, romance, futuristic, a bit of sci-fi, and I am perfectly happy with something from the children's, young adult, or adult collections. Oh, and I don't like pocket paperbacks, like the kind you'd buy in the 7-11. I don't like the way they feel.

But what I've started to notice is that most of the books I do read have one very noticeable theme: strong, female leads. Not in a "rising up out of the ashes", violence and misery kind of way, but women who end up dealing with life changing situations in exceptional ways. Recently, these titles have included:

• Remarkable Creatures, Tracy Chevalier
• Sacred Hearts, Sarah Dunant
• Physick Book of Deliverance Dane, by Katherine Howe
• Tender Morsels, Margo Lanagan
• Hunger Games (and Catching Fire), by Suzanne Collins
• Never Let Me Go, by Kazuo Ishiguro 

Funny how that happens, huh? It's not something I actively seek out, but even looking back at my Library Thing catalogue most of the titles are female centered.

Any suggestions for next reads?

Free range and Cobble Hills Farm Sanctuary

As you may or may not know, I am a firm champion behind the theory that eggs are the perfect meal. Go ahead... Try and argue me out of it. This is one fight you cannot win. Why? Because simply put, eggs are little ovoids of happiness securely wrapped in their hard, evasive shells of protein matrix ready to be fashioned into many different (and uniquely flavoured) forms, as you see fit: scrambled, fried, over easy, poached (my favorite), meringued, egg salad-ed, etc. And because I'll punch you in the stomach and run away shouting "Eggs! Eggs!" at the top of my lungs, it's best you just agree.

That said, I've recently (as of the last year) made the switch to free-range eggs. And I seriously can't tell you what a difference it makes. Not only in the way the eggs look--big, bright yellow, clear white, no little weird filmy/slippery bit clinging to the side of the yoke--or taste--fresh--but because of the inevitable betterment you're bringing your body, and because of how much better they are for the environment.

Listen up, folks. I am by no means David Suzuki. I'm sometimes too lazy to recycle my toilet paper rolls, and I don't carry my own mug to Second Cup. And I won't pretend I know what I'm talking about. But when I hear from someone who does know, and who I trust to give me the green light, I listen.

Chris was a friend of Beef's growing up. They road horses together or some such nonsense (while I played in the horse poo, but that's another story for another time...) Chris was always a champion of animal rights. Not in a militant, red-paint kind of way. But in a gentle, she-makes-me-want-to-be-a-better-person kind of way. She's one of the few people I know (besides maybe Nina and Jeremy) who has taken her ideas and her family 'all the way'. In 2006 they opened their dream sanctuary farm just outside Stratford, Ontario: Cobble Hills Farm Sanctuary. Together they rescue battery farm chickens and her video story from the Toronto Star changed me:



I could never go back to purchasing regular eggs after seeing these little chicky's in their wee sweaters. I trust what she says. And while I'm in no place to adopt my own hen, I can support the cause by no longer purchasing battery farm eggs. Voila! I'm a free-ranger. Taste, texture, and peace of mind = well worth the extra $2 a carton.

Side note: Chris also introduced me to The Smiths, Morrissey, and Spirit of the West all in one glorious mixed tape (thank you, Chris!)

Riddle me this!

Why are there so many stairs at a ski resort?

It doesn't matter where you go--low classy Glen Eden or super swank Kicking Horse--you hit stairs. The bathrooms are inevitably in the basement, while the cafeterias are on the second floor, and don't get me started on the number of stairs you have to descend to get out onto the snow. Do you know how difficult it is to clomp around in ski boots? They aren't built for speed, you know. And they certainly aren't built to bend at the ankle, which is a necessary skill when one encounters a flight of stairs. While I can appreciate snowboarders don't have these problems, most resorts were built before the snowboard rush of the early 1990s, so one could assume these buildings were designed with skiers in mind.

For example:

1. Holiday Valley Yodler Chalet, Ellicottville.

2. Lake Louise, Alberta, Main Chalet.

3. Sunshine Village, Alberta, Main Chalet and Gondola.

Bizarre.

Windows 7 was my idea.

In other news, I love the smell of air at this time of year. After my run and a quick pop-in at mom's I walked the rest of the way home enjoying the smells and the sounds.

On one hand it has this super fresh scent, not like Febreeze, but like mud and tiny green grass buds poking up out of the dirt, and like being outside until the streetlights come on. People are pulling off their BBQ covers and firing up the grill, the tang of burgers and charcoal lingers faintly. Kids are clogging the sidewalks with scooters and chubby sidewalk chalk drawings, deliciously sick with the excitement of March Break. It's cold, but warm enough I want to take off my sweater and be in my t-shirt. It reminds me of Kirkendale--for those of us who lived the Kirkendale experience--when your parents sent you to play t-ball or soccer on the reservoir fields and by the time the game ends it's dark and cold and you run the last block back to the house to get warm.

On the other hand, you can feel winter lurking around the corner with no intention of riding into the sunset like we all hope it would. Mixed with the smell of BBQ and fresh grass is wood smoke from those of us cozied up next to our wood stoves. Unlike their humans, dogs still wear their wee jackets and lurking in the dark corners of the parks they run and play in are stubborn piles of snow.

My hands get cold as I turn the last corner and I jam them into my sweater pockets. I hunch my shoulders and pull my toque down but turn my face up to the last bit of warmth from the evening sun.

I love the spring.

A 50% discount would be nice, but so is my sanity...

I routinely get emails from the Running Room advertising upcoming races, sales, and seasonal clinics. More often than not, they're short on instructors and are asking for interest from past clinic participants. I've thought on occasion that leading a clinic could be kind of fun, not to mention the implied clothing and shoe discount which of course gives me a serious case of the "heck yeahs!" Pretty crazy coming from a girl who not 5 years ago in Edmonton was convinced the RR was a cult.

But what can I say? Spring weather makes me twitterpated, and I always find myself redonk busy, usually because on top of existing commitments I also want to spend as much time as I can outside in some way, shape, or form. While I am by no means the booty-shorts girl roller skating up and down Sterling Avenue just because it's light out past 5:00 pm, the time change and double digit temperatures gets me giddy.

So when I received the weekly RR email on Friday and heard the call for instructors I spontaneously put my name forward...

... Not so smart. And this is why I'm a librarian where spontaneity isn't necessarily a required skill.

Turns out they need an instructor for a class starting Wednesday which requires not one, but two weekly run commitments plus weekly emails to the group, curriculum and speaker arrangements, and support at the May goal race which takes place 45 minutes from here... Um. Yeah. Those details should have been shared initially. When I agreed to come into the store tonight to find out more about the position I certainly wasn't thinking I'd be handed an employee package and asked for a void cheque... I knew I was in trouble when I walked in and store manager-lady introduced me to some students as "the new 5 km instructor."

I managed to eek my way out the door 30 minutes later, running home with my package of goodies and a promise to follow up by 9:00 suggesting I'd need at least an hour to think about "the opportunity." Translation = I consulted with Beef. She hit me with a V8 can (bonk!), implied she might like to see me at some point in the next few months, and that outside of work and other things I already said I would do I might need time to sleep and/or eat. I hadn't thought of that.

Needless to say, however much I would appreciate the clothing allowance and shiny new kicks I am not the newest RR team member. I am, however, nervous to go back into the store to purchase my water belt for the upcoming Around the Bay... store manager-lady was crazy intimidating and the silence on the other end of the "it's not you it's me" email I sent is quickly becoming the elephant in the room...

5 things I ate today that start with the letter C:

1. Crunchy peanut butter on apple slices.
2. Crispy Minis, of the dill variety.
3. Chewy fruit and nut cookies with my coffee.
4. Cheddar cheese on my sandwich.
5. Chard boiled eggs.

Alright. You caught me. Chard isn't a word, but I was scrounging. Gawd, what are you, the food police?

UPDATE: Because I know you're all sitting on the edge of your seat, I thought of another one... Crab. There was crab in my Japanese roll last night.

p.s. I had one of those dreams last night that wakes you up out of a dead sleep with a "woa... weird..." Uncomfortables doesn't begin to cover it.

p.p.s. A big shout out to Groovy Granny! Good luck in O-town today, sweetums. Virtual hugs:

[{{{{*}}}}]

Love you.

Sad as a little black raincloud...

Mama LL and I babysat Lil' C Saturday night, and somebody--I won't name names *cough*BEEF*cough--found it necessary to take her baby back.

Rude.

No one thought to ask if maybe we'd like to keep him a bit longer. Nobody thought to ask if maybe we were having fun and maybe we didn't want to share his stumpy little legs with anyone just then, hmm? I'm just saying... Next time you should probs ask before you come and take your baby home. But don't be surprised if you find the door double locked. And we'll be too busy jumping on the bed, log rolling, playing hide-and-seek-and-squealing, talking nonsense, putting things in other things, talking into the channel changer like it's a phone, getting up on the couch and then down and then up again and then down again and then up again (*repeat*), and cuddling to hear the doorbell or your incessant knocking.

I'm just saying... Next time I"m keeping him. It's only fair.

Why don't they make a McChicken Happy Meal?

It's free coffee time at McDonald's, and although I don't usually like supporting the golden arches I'm totally taking advantage of their perceived good will. I'm strictly there for the coffee, however. I prefer an Egg McMike to an Egg McMuffin (he even buys the round cheese...)

But I'll admit... There's something about the sweet tang of grease that calls to me from McDonald's, heckling me from across the Fo'tinos parking lot, drawing me in like the high-pitched Sooey! of a pig farm. Grocery shopping with Mama LL can be torturous on a Saturday, my mouth literally watering just thinking about the delicious hydrogenated corn oil and sodium levels waiting for me three stores down. Hot damn, the weight of a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in my hand feels so good, the cool touch of a Diet Coke, the crisp sizzle of a perfectly salted fry in a cold pool of ketchup...

...

...

S'kay, this just got weird.

But their coffee is good. So get it while it's free.

In other news, Bert is obsessed with Vanilla flavoured yogurt and can't wait in the morning for me to finish my breakfast so he can lick the bowl. I say "can't wait" because he climbs my robe trying to get closer to the spoon. And he's no light weight, so we're talking damage to my blue fuzzy robe, which leaves me running from room to room to avoid his claws, him trailing behind like a man possessed.

Cat's crazy bananas, man. Like mother like... cat?

I think I'm going to join...

SFLWSMoFo

You?

Please don't replay "just wait 'till it's your turn..."

Let's talk about the latest trend in parking lot annoyances: parking for pregnant ladies.

While I appreciate parking spots for 'those traveling with small children', as I have seen first hand how small children can quickly turn into a disability, pregnancy is hardly a handicap. Rather I'd argue pregnancy is a super power, and includes the ability to get what you when you want it ("I'd sleep on the floor if not for the obvious reason: I'm pregnant and I don't want to..."), the ability to eat what you want when you want it, and the ability to act like an irrational deranged person without penalty or persecution. These are abilities no regular human is afforded, and are hardly dibilitating. I can't wait for the day I can blame my gas, leathery tail, love handles, rage, wobbly bits, nap quota, and right to eat popcorn for dinner on the sweetness blooming inside of me. Babies are gifts on so many levels.

Pregnant ladies don't need prime parking spots in the Zellers parking lot. Correct me if I'm wrong, but doctors recommend regular exercise during those nine months, non? I saw the Sex and the City movie... Charlotte's doctor said it was okay for her to run. Charlotte's fake movie doctor couldn't possibly be wrong, right? Exactly. Just as I thought. Movie doctor's don't lie.

So.

*claps hands together*

I propose prime parking spots be put aside for, not pregnant ladies, but those suffering from Badayitis. You know, a bad case of AnnoyingCustomer or ChildrenAskTooManyQuestions or CanNothingGoRightToday. Trust, y'all, driving around a lot looking for someplace... anyplace... to park one's car does nothing to improve a raging case of Badayitis. And driving around a parking lot looking for someplace... anyplace... to park one's car when the first 17 spots in each lane are painted pink and blue and sit empty, reserved for those eating for two only inflames the condition.

I propose we not only reserve these spots for those with Badayitis, but we get the belly's to carry our bags to the car. This accomplishes two goals: one, it soothes the rage in those who can't get a break, and two, it presents the MTB (mommies to be) the cardio they need while building their soon-to-be-required baby lifting biceps. Perfect non?

Those in favor, spin around, stop, double take three times (one, two three), then pelvic thrust (whooooooo, whooooooo), stop on your right foot (don't forget it!) and bring it around town...

Or just reply "Aye!"

Vancouver 2010, eh?

I'm super duper sad it's over!

What am I supposed to watch now? No more luge or biathlon. No more Brian Williams. No more Difference Makers. No more special Tim Horton's commercials to make me cry. I know so many of you are with me on this one... Something will be missing from the day to day without a torch relay update or a qualifying round or an "OMG did you see that last night?" to brag about.

There's a certain personal investment in these games, not only because they're Canadian or because we've done so spankingly well, but because so many friends and family members have been involved in some way, shape, or form.

1. Dearest Free Samples and her mom who carried the torch in Stratford. Making the trek with Poo and the gang to run along beside her and take a million mad photos of our besty's mom looking beautiful in her white suite. Not to mention photo stalking Quachi and the other mascots.

2. Mom, diving head first into a freight box of red mitts to grab as many pairs as possible for Christmas before the unwashed masses crushed her on the Bay floor. Orange has insisted we put a pair aside "still in the box" to act as our nest egg, alongside a set of Petro Canada cups. The fact I recently purchased a couple of the 1988 Petro Canada glasses at Value Village for $1 doesn't phase him.

3. MattPeg, taking every child's dream to drive a Zamboni beyond any or our wildest imaginations, becoming part of the ice committee in Vancouver, specializing in the bobsled track. Go MattPegg (all one word)!

4. Lady G, who moved across the county last summer quickly snatching the opportunity to grab as many sets of tickets as possible for the biggest event to hit our fair county since SARS. I envy your being there first person, Lady G.

5. And last but not least, dearest Cousin Toque doing us all proud making long distance travelers comfortable in the COH and regaling us with his stories of excitement, tears, giggles, and HBC line-ups. I've tuned in every day for your quirky lamentations. I can't think of another person who could do a better job representing true Canadian please-and-thank-you's... Can you make "sporting hospitality" a career, sir?

I can't wait to see the final ceremony if only for the fact I've heard everyone entering the stadium was handed a pair of moose antlers. There are so many uniquely Canadian things: Tim Bits, Bob and Doug, Ookpik, Bonhomme, stubbies... pray Shiloh poutine makes it in there somehow. If anything deserves to be celebrated it's poutine...

Speaking of which, it's 8:20 pm which means I need to get comfy in my couch crevasse with my tea and fleece faux Snuggie (hand made for me by my very own Aunt Margie, before the Snuggie ever hit the as-seen-on-TV market) before I miss the last of these amazing games.

GO CANADA GO!

Side Note: Things I can do without? Watching Nikki Yanofsky lip sync to I Believe. How am I supposed to "believe" she sung it in the first place if every which way I turn she's mouthing it while an 8-track does the work in the background?

p.s. Thank heavens someone told Stephen Harper to loosen up and drop the suit. It's about time we saw him in some Canada gear... But would it kill him to smile? Or perhaps sing along to the national anthem?

UPDATE: Michael J. Fox, I heart you...
UPDATE: Where can I get a giant inflatable beaver?
UPDATE: While I don't like any of them, props to Hedley and A Simple Plan for being the only musicians to sing live... I mean, really? Eat it Chad and Boobie.

The Cruise

Holy vacation, Batman!

Mama LL and I had a rock awesome time last week. While I never considered myself a "cruiser" per se, there's something about absolute and total luxury that really speaks to me. Diamonds and dream homes, pfft. But it's clear I'm gonna have to start making more money on the side with that puppy grow-op so I can take more vacations like this one. Three stars will no longer cut it.

Sunday we were up at dawn's crack to meet our driver for a 7:20 am flight. Foolishly, we actually adhered to the novelty we were needed at the airport three hours prior to boarding, only to find out we weren't able to go through US customs until one and a half hours before boarding. So we stood in line with the general malcontents, people watching while mom's knee swelled to the size of a grapefruit.

The flight and boat boarding was swell. We got our groovy sea pass charge cards all loaded up and promptly went to the bar, me for a brew and mom for a Bloody Mary. These were promptly followed by Guinness and Zinfindel, and Guinness and Zinfindel, and Guinness and Long Island Ice Tea(s)... And so the week flowed.

Our cabin was very cozy with a beautiful view of the lifeboats, complete with a sizeable balcony from which to gaze at the giant orange monstrosities. The beds were super comfy, and just as I remembered from our cruise 15 years ago, I've never slept better in my life. I was literally rocked to bed every night in a giant, 2500 passenger cradle. And I totally pocketed all of the free toiletries (hope you like 'em, Fingers!)

WARNING! If you're name is Pants, stop reading now!!!

The food. Dear god, the food. Anything you could conceive of, you could find it. And it's all free, 24 hours a day. A salad bar with feta and goat cheese that literally melted in your mouth. A build your own sundae bar. A nacho bar. A pizza bar. A BBQ. Sushi, homemade donuts, fresh fruit, mountains of fresh hot cookies, butter chicken and samosas, homemade turkey, bacon, sausage, chicken breasts, stir fry, speghetti and meatballs.... And I can keep going. It seriously took all I had to pace myself, and I won't lie... Every meal was finished with ice cream of some sort.

Dear god the food. See left for a sample breakfast.

While there was a lot to do (movies, lectures, hot glass blowing demonstrations, bingo, a fully operating casino, shopping, mini golf, croquet, three pools and eight hot tubs, a fully equiped gym with classes up the wazoo, a spa, late night comedy shows, musicals, live music, dance parties, karaoke, trivia competitions, and on and on and on...) mom and I spent most days laying in the sun, reading, walking the ship, and (me) running the track that circled the 14th floor.

Talk about trippy. Running on a boat is hard stuff. The rocking too and fro messed something crazy with your balance, and add to that the fact the deck chairs are all positioned to stare at your jiggly butters running by, and you've got yourself some very awkward conditions.

We shared books, bought each other sangria, discussed what we'd wear to dinner, people watched and gossiped about what we saw while people watching, and reminisced about past holidays with dad. Most nights we ate late, avoided awkward conversations with our table partners, and tucked ourselves in to an on-demand movie about 11:00 pm (minus the one night we got sucked into the 1960s retro dance party that cascaded into the grand foyer... see picture.)

We stopped in San Jan, St. Marten, the BVIs, and Labadee, and always made time for walking the town, shopping, and site seeing. San Juan was a very pretty city with blue cobblestone and brightly coloured buildings and outdoor cafes.

Tortola, BVI was hot, hot, hot, and although our stay was short these are definitely islands I'd like to go back to.

Labadee was cold and rainy, but that didn't stop us from sipping cold ones and watching the storms roll in from beach chairs. I even talked Mama into two (extremely expensive) hair braids!

And in the case of St. Marten, getting on board a catamaran for some snorkeling and party time was well worth the $89. Giddee up! Excuse the cheesy white sunglasses but there was no way I was gonna risk losing my hispter glasses to the sea (not to mention the rum punch and wicked undertow...)

 

Between the sun, the quiet time, the total and complete indulgence, and the company I honestly couldn't have asked for a better time, with the exception of the fact that  both of us said more than once we wished Beef had been with us. The laughs would have been doubled, for sure.

If someone asked me what it is I did last week, I'm quasi-ashamed with so much offered our way, to say "not much". But on the flip side, I couldn't have asked for anything more and I know we both had a ridiculous time perfecting the art of lazy. And I would gratefully accompany such a hip lady wherever she wanted to go, and will cross my fingers she'll be up for more fun next year.

Rage, rage, against the dying of the air filter...

I'm fairly compulsive about my car. I get the service checks when I'm told to, always take it to the dealership, and generally take care of Lil' Y. But I'm becoming more savvy on what I can and can't do on my own, and more importantly what I can have Mr. Lube due for me at a lower, yet equal service quality, price.

My next service appointment is tonight, and looking at the checklist of things to be done I noted I'm due for a new air filter. Bless him, Orange agreed to do this for me--saving me both the Toyota price and Toyota labour cost. Orange's services are much cheaper and can usually be paid in hugs. Here's the hitch:

We lift the hood last night to do the replacement and discover... There is no air filter!?

WTF?

At my last appointment in August, before my Labour Day vacation, I brought my car in and according to the service record had my oil changed, fluid levels checked, tires checked, and my air filter cleaned. I'm left to assume that after cleaning, dude forgot to put the air filter back in. That was six months ago.

Worse still, mid-September, in the midst of dad's stuff, I had to bring the car back into Toyota because whenever I idled it made a horrible rattle noise. I was told when I returned to pick Yaris up that "something was loose." Indeed. No doubt that "something" was the clips on the box my air filter sits in because whomever was last in there in August forgot to finish what they started!

To recap, I've had my car in for service twice, and both times someone failed to notice I was without an air filter. Needless to say I'm raising some serious stink over this and would appreciate any one's advice on how best to handle the entire situation.

Let's take a minute to be happy, hmm?

It's so easy to get caught up in the little things that make us unhappy (inserts in magazines that make it tough to flip the pages, a clogged drain, irrationally itchy eyes, and the oil that separates from natural peanut butter), it's rare we stop to think about the little things that make us happy. And there are so many of them! So let's do that, hmm?

1. Someone who drops off a handmade scarf. Especially a surprise handmade scarf, of the blue variety.
2. Sweatpants at the end of a long day.
3. Hugs. From my mom.
4. The feeling of success when one does something round the house with one's electric screwdriver.
5. Memories of visiting my Aunt Margie's house in the summer. Because it's so cold out now, and we always seem to be visiting her during the hottest week of the year. Yum. And because of the brownies and Koolaid. Double yum. And because it's Aunt Margie... And she's cute. And she's probably reading this right now... (Hi, Aunt Margie!)
6. Packing lists. And subsequently checking something off a packing list.
7. Making Valentines.
8. THIS video.
9. Crunchy peanut butter and banana rolled up. And some milk.
10. The thrill of riding a camel. I'm not sure what this feels like, but I would imagine it's pretty exciting. I have a button that says I rode a camel at the Toronto Zoo, but it's a sham... I talked my dad into buying it for me after one of our annual zoo visits, perhaps because I less than successfully lobbied for him to pay for the actual camel ride.
11. Pictures of babies I've known and love. Like Pants' little Bear, and my own Lil' C. Especially of my kiddies in onsies. Speaking of onesies...
12. Onesies.

Anyone care to venture some little happy things?

Ugh. It was such a good weekend.

Thursday night I hauled Bert over Orange's house for a dry run of what's to come next week when Mama LL and I abscond to the Caribbean. The three of us spent most of the weekend camped out, watching movies, and puttering. So fun.

I had Friday off for working a weekend prior, so in the morning I got up and quickly (and I might add, efficiently...) rearranged his furniture a smidge. And for the record, we both agree it looks a lot better in the new configuration. I think I might have a thing for feng shui (sp?) I got a pedicure (le sigh, thank you Beef) and returned a couple of regrettable shirts to Jacob. For heaven's sake, I even baked cookies (albeit, not very good cookies.) We watched Surrogates--blech... no good.

At this point, Bert is in total sensory overload with more picture windows to look out than one tuxedo wearing cat could ever possibly need, and a flight of stairs to boot. Orange is nervy over the volume of hair coming off Lil B, and is threatening to introduce him to the vacuum cleaner when I'm away. He tried rationalizing with him: "why do you need to shed so much? What about Rogain? Have you considered a hair thickening agent?" Hee!

Saturday, we went to Ottawa street to scope the antique stores for a desk. Although Orange's ability to work from home is a blessing, working from the couch/PS3/satellite is not a blessing. Ottawa street proved a bit too expensive however, while Ikea proved too... cheap. The free cookies and candy in the cafeteria, however, were well worth the trip from my point of view.

Mid afternoon we took a nacho and beer break, followed by a visit to Lil C' and the Beefs. We spent a good portion of late afternoon (ashamedly) watching the horror that is Jersey Shore, and considering how much gel we'd need to get Orange's hair to resemble that of Paulie D's.

At -27 with the wind chill, it was a cold walk to a late dinner in Westdale, especially considering how wee Orange's legs are. I think it would have been faster to either a) leave him mid-field and book it, fingers crossed he makes it or b) throw him over my shoulder and see how far I can manage. Bless him, mid-walk, hands-jammed in pockets, head down against the biting cold, he admitted "I really am a slow walker..." Thankfully the wait at the Bean Bar was short, and the amazingness of my dip platter more than made up for the cold.

Sunday included breakfast with Mama LL and an open house for an (unfortunately) conditionally sold house, followed by junk food and pizza in front of the Superbowl (yay Saints!) Both Bert and I were sad to see the day come to an end, but by 10:00 we were bundled and boxed, and headed back to the apartment for an early start and an even earlier work meeting. My saving grace is T-6 days to a week's vacation, warm weather, the sunny South, and an unlimited ice cream sundae bar.

Happy birthday.

Soup, there it is! Soup, there it is!

I'm all about soup these days. Sexy, huh?

For realsies. I can't get enough. While I generally believe eggs to be the perfect meal (what can't you do with them? Seriously? Try and argue differently and I'll be the first to call you dumb...), it would seem a weekend can't end these days without a giant pot of soup on my stove. Today was no exception. Although I worked yesterday (blarg), after farting around with Mama for most of the day I squeezed out a pot of BBB--beef, barley, bean. Yummers. In an hour I have 10 substantial meals, frozen, and ready to be reheated for lunch. No messy tuna to make, or turkey to sniff and wonder about the expiry date. Just bean-y goodness. IN A BAG!

Yes, that's right. I bag my soup.

A lady I work with, Lorna, taught me to freeze my soup in Ziplocks. Genius. Why my pea brain hadn't thought of this before, I'm not sure, but it really is the best way to carry out business. First, it takes up less space (in my already wee freezer) and second, it makes the defrosting process a lot simpler because you can squeeze it out of the bag and you're not stuck with a giant Tupperware soup lump that takes 10 minutes to heat. Bagged soup is the perfect individually sized meal.

My tips: let the soup completely cool and then put about three scoops in a medium sized Ziplock. Set your bag aside (I usually stand them in the sink).

When everything's been scooped, take one, lay it flat, and squeeze out the air. Wipe away spills from the zipper area, and stack one on top of the other.

The bags will sit nicely in the freezer, and when they're frozen you can stand 'em upright so they take up even less space, squeezing into all your freezer nooks and crannies (in between your salmon, mini pops, cookie dough, and frozen pizza... *blush*)

Forgive if this post is boring. I'm just a giant geek and easily excited by soup stacks.

p.s. What the stink? Was I'm On A Boat seriously nominated for a Grammy?! Don't get me wrong, even thinking about it makes me laugh my butters off. But really? Even I can smell the organization's desperation to reach a new demographic.

Oh yes it's lady's night...

Orange has absconded to Revelstoke for the weekend, which is perfectly timed for the upcoming high school lady's night (by which I mean the night my high school buds--Fingers, Free Samples, and Poomobile--descend on Casa de Bert for dinner, drinks, games, and shootin' the sh*t.)

I love these ladies, and I'm lucky to have them. We're talking a group of girls I've known for 15 years, if not more (dearest Fingers and I are working on 25...) They know all of my annoying habits, swallow my horrible jokes, humor my sarcasm, hold their tongues when an outfit really does make me look fat (or at least find a semi-respectable way of saying it's gross), and have held my hand more times that I can count. On the flip side, I think I've seen each of them at their best and their worst, not the least of which was the night we played drunken Old Maid wearing Poo's mother's muumuus.

Who knew we'd still be pulling the same shenanigans we started in grade 10 with post school formal sleep over parties? Certainly not me. Especially considering Free Samples used to refer to me as the Manatee.

Tomorrow will be no different than it was in 1996, with the exception of the fact we'll all be able to purchase our own beer, most of us will go home to our own beds, Poo is now married and thus ineligible for the randoms in my building (unless she's inclined to pash cats), Free Samples will be wearing heels (regardless of the rest of us in sweats and hoodies), and Fingers will artfully arrange a veggie platter. Mind you, she'll also bring a pack of nudie eighties ladies cards, but some things will never change.

*wink*

So flippin' cool!

So I'm in the middle of creating a presentation for one of the school board PD days. The presentation is on the importance of incorporating social media into the classroom, and specifically what photo apps are available to teachers and how they can be incorporated into school work plans.

Naturally, through researching the presentation I've come across some seriously cool things, not the least of which is Animoto, a semi-free photo presentation software that combines your photos with their stock copyright free music and arrangement abilities. It's super easy, and honestly, in less than 5 minutes I created this:

Note: while I know this is the second Lil' C post in a week, I've got a boat load of his pictures on my computer which made creating a presentation super easy. Not to mention his squeezy cheeks. Muchas appologies to those non-baby lovers out there.

Three completely unrelated thoughts:

1. I made Fingers some round, pink Jello Jigglers in honour of her pink eye, but I couldn't figure out how to get the Jello out of the container without ruining said Jiggler shape. It was a big ole fat mess. I must be the only person on the planet who can't figure out how to work Jello.

2. I heard an interesting statistic on my new favorite radio station, 95.3: 12% of Canadians have 'made love' with Hockey Night in Canada playing in the background.

3. Snookie, from Jersey Shore (don't judge me) is the female equivalent of Danny Devito.

Me and my buddy

'Twas a good weekend. Saturday night Lil' C, Mama LL, and I hung out. We climbed the stairs multiple times (and shuffled back down them), played, put circles in the circle holes and stars in the star holes, danced to Raffi, pretended the remote control was a telephone and made important phone calls to Stella (the dog) and daddy, and finished off the evening with some milk, stories, and a snuggle.

In the morning we cuddled some, ate some banana, shook our booty's to Sean Paul, and worked more on the circles in the circle holes and stars in the star holes.

Probs the best Saturday I've had in... mmm... *scratches head*... a long time. Thanks buddy. You were just what we needed.

From Connor

Things I think I can safely say I will never have:

1. An afro
2. A doberman pincher
3. Braces
4. A lowered car
5. A child named "Lamar"
   
6. A beauty pageant title
7. A Juicy Couture tracksuit
8. Six toes on one foot
9. Spam or Klick in my fridge
   
10. Implants
11. A knack for math
12. CBC as a programed radio station
13. A taste for short stories
14. A subscription to Sport Fishing magazine
15. Thigh-high boots

But don't quote me...

Energy spent being negative is a greedy waste.

I rolled in from my work dinner around 9:00 tonight still wearing some pretty serious grumpy pants (complete with horrible underwear lines.) I'm determined to make tomorrow better. So I changed the bedding and sprayed my Bath and Body Works pillow mist, put on my super attractive over-sized flannel pajamas, made peppermint tea, and settled into watch Diamond and Troy (who have been living in an RV for the last year and a half) purchase a $450,000 home with a power line in the backyard. Qu'est-ce que f-bomb? Bless them. They were happy.

It's truly ridiculous how a series of small yet nasty events (a bumped elbow, a dropped toothbrush, and a tablespoon of scalding coffee) ruined 15 completely unrelated hours of my life, non? That is to say I let these events ruin 15 hours. In retrospect, I don't think grumpy is really worth the effort. All things currently considered, and me warm and cozy in my flannels and peppermint. Tomorrow I launch my hastily organized charity soup sale for work, with the hopes of raising something... anything for the Red Cross.

Ugh.

I woke up this morning on the wrong side of the bed. I bumped my elbow on the sink, dropped my toothbrush, and burnt my tongue on coffee. I'm out of groceries, out of Kleenex, out of money, out of patience, and I couldn't find an elastic for my hair. My apartment is dirty, my clothes are dirty, my linens need to be washed, and I can barely see out the windows of my car it's so grimy.

I'm tired, I'm grumpy, I'm bloated, and I'm due at a mandatory work function tonight. I have a million things to do, and I don't want to do any of them. And the pièce de résistance? The underwear lines I'm sporting, only noticed while in the staff bathroom trying to cover up what I think is becoming a bald patch on the back of my head.

In the words of Alexander, it's going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

*snicker*

Have you heard about THIS?

*giggle*

I'm such a child...

Resolution drop-out

It's only January and I already feel like I'm failing with my New Year's resolutions.

Flossing is... a crap shoot. I've barely seen Fingers, and her new loft is wooing her more so than a trip to the Westfield Heritage Museum (rightly so...) I called to cancel cable (but keep the internet) and got sweet talked into keeping both for a reduced price (mind you it was seriously reduced, but still... where were my balls?) and then I got my car insurance renewal slip in the mail yesterday only to find my rate is actually supposed to GO UP by $30 a month. W. T. F. Seriously. I've had Lil' Y for three years now and each year the price of driving him has gone up. Is this normal? There have been no tickets or accidents or illegal firearms...?

Ehn.

That said, I'm minding my p's and q's at work and keeping my comments to myself. I'm running three times a week regardless of the poor Kleenex to snot ratio. And I feel good I at least made the call to Cogeco... The fact they pulled a Godfather and offered me a deal I couldn't refuse is beside the point. With the measures they've gone to in phone stalking me to answer their customer service questionairre, I wouldn't put a horse head in the bed past the Cogeco salespeople.

"'Cause Saturday night's the night I like...

Saturday night's alright, alright, alright!"

As a stupid fun Christmas present, Beef took me to Toronto for a Saturday evening, all expenses paid including shopping, tickets to Second City, and a swank room at the Hyatt. Can everyone say "heck yes"?! Since Lil' C has come on the scene, our time together is generally absorbed with "look at the baby, look at the baby" so setting aside 24 hours for me and she is a sweet treat. Heck yes!

We got in around 2:30 and went straight to Toronto's shopping mecca: Loblaws. 100% classy. We rode the conveyor belt escalator, bought a carton of wine, stocked up on treats for the hotel room, and cleaned out Joe Fresh. I seriously heart Joe Fresh.

After spending our hard earned--yet reasonable budgeted--dollars (thank you, Galen) Beef decided it best to use the GPS to navigate us to the hotel. Not being city girls, heaven forbid we get lost.

*ahem*

Two left turns later, we arrived. Needless to say, the entire technological experience was a bit anti-climactic for dearest Beef. So we parked illegally and made up for it by using the self-check machines, only to be later shamed by the concierge scared of losing his job to a machine.

Up to the 15th floor! The room was beautiful. And we made ourselves super cozy by cracking open our tub of wine and relaxing into a bit of MTV's Teen Mom. More classy. Both Beef and I have our hearts set on Spring Rolls for dinner--I've already decided what I'm going to have, and she hasn't stopped thinking about it since she was there last nearly three years ago. Being Beef, she's already mapped the walking route to the closest location so after a quick change into our new Joe Fresh diggs we're off.

20 minutes later after walking up, down, up, down, up, down Queen street and checking in with an Asian convenience store/flower shop/pet store, we're unable to find Spring Rolls. So we give up and do sushi. We order Sapporo's to start. I get mine... I get mine... I get mine... But no one will bring dearest Beef a beer. Poor Beef. After asking three times, someone finally delivers a bottle only to find our bill charged with all off the mystery Sapporo's never fully delivered. Bizarro-ville. And of course, as soon as we leave Queen Sushi we're smacked in the face with Spring Rolls not two blocks away. Ehn!

Second City was ridiculous funny, and thanks to Beef's sister in law who works at the theater we had some sweet seats. We sipped our jug of Killer Lemonade and laughed so hard our faces hurt. Seriously. We asked the people sitting next to us to snap a picture... Camera's must be foreign to those in North Bay because this was the best shot our neighbor could get. I look hammered. I'm not. Really...

While the options were unlimited post-comedy show, we were more interested in hitting up our fancy room than glow-sticking our way around the club scene, and what more do you need than boxed wine and Ruffles? So we marched across to the hotel and slipped into something more comfortable. Read: sweatpants.

After a couple of hours of (super classy) trashy Real Housewives and ease-dropping on the party guests getting jacked up next door for a night on the town, Beef fell asleep on me mid-conversation. Classic Beef. By this time the Killer Lemonade has set in on me, though, and the sugar has gone straight to my brain. My sleep problem rears it's ugly head again and there's no way I'm falling asleep anytime soon. So I lay there. Waiting. For the sweet tang of sleep.

1:00...
2:00...
2:30...
2:45... zzzz...

BRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIINNNNNNGGGGG!

Fire alarm! Some dink in the parking garage thinks it'll be super funny to pull the alarm and watch a full night of guests clamor down the stairs in their PJs. Still awake, this isn't a problem for me. But poor Beef is seriously confused by the entire situation and being a teacher, super angry when most guests refuse to leave the hotel lobby:

We're following the rules! We're waiting outside! There are 6 fire trucks outside and the entire parking garage could be up in flames! Why aren't these people evacuating?!

A strongly worded letter to the hotel management is on it's way for not only the Hyatt's poor evacuation procedures, but the fact that only two elevators were working meaning at 3:00 am nearly 200 cranky party-goers (and two crankier sisters) were pushing and shoving their way onto the lifts trying desperately to get back into their luxury beds. Dearest Beef.

By 5:00 am I'm finally able to fall asleep, only to be back up and wide eyed by 9:00. So I high-tale it to the hotel gym--the GYM--and run my energy away. Beef thinks I'm crazy and hairy eye-balls my running shoes while she sips her coffee from the comfort of her duvet (like any normal person on a Sunday morning.)

When I get back from the coolest treadmill (over looking the Toronto skyline from the 19th floor) we spend another hour or so lounging around our suite, hitting up Starbucks and MEC before saying sayonara to the big T.O.

Oh how the other baby-free, independently wealthy, big city half live. Good times, Beef. Totally fun. Seriously wouldn't have traded any of it. Looking forward to next year's gong show.

Dear Much Music, 99.9, 104.5, 103.5, 92.5, 93.5, 102.9, 105.7, 106.1, and 102.1:

Please take the following songs off your play list tout suite before I punch-a-size your face for free:

1. Fireflies, by Owl City
2. Bad Romance, by Lady Gaga
3. Empire State of Mind, Jay Z
4. One Less Lonely Girl, Justin Bieber
5. Ice, Lights
6. Anything by The Stereos. Full stop.
7. Anything by Drake. Full stop.
8. Anything by Jason Derulo. FULL STOP.
9. Good Girls Go Bad, Cobra Starship. Ugh... Now I have it stuck in my head...
   
10. Cha Ching, by Hedley

Danke schön.

Sesame Street is on drugs.

"Near... Far... Near... Far..."

"Telephone... Brrrrrrring... Brrrrrring... Yup, yup, yup, yup, yup, yup, yup..."

"Just a teeny super little guy!"

What do all of these jazzy tunes have in common? You've got it! Sesame Street. Like any normal child raised in the 1980s I spent a good portion of my non-school hours glued to the shenanigans of Big Bird and his misfit crew of muppets and multicultural humans (R.I.P. Mr. Hooper). While some may say too much television for children is a bad thing, this soapbox can't possible encompass Sesame Street, what with the espanol and mathematical components (*jazzy beat* 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, tweeeeeeeeeeelve!) Give me one good reason why children shouldn't be raised by Sesame Street and I'll tell you why you're dumb.

Thanks to the wonders of streamed media, many of my favorite Sesame Street clips are now available online (including Captain Vegetable and Here is Your Life with host, Guy Smiley), all of which in retrospect are disturbingly trippy. But none can compete with the two-minute journey into the surprisingly psychedelic world of crayon manufacturing. Is there anything better than a box of 64 with a sharpener in the back?

For those of you not fortunate enough to have sucked the proverbial boob tube, you missed the opportunity for a daily mindf*ck (pardon my French, Aunt Margie!) Fingers, if you're wearing your new Hat Street toque, take it off, because you're about to have your mind blown:



Adding to the trip... Where is that child's lips?

Three completely separate thoughts:

1. Every morning on my drive to work I pass a woman in a mini van picking up what I assume to be the laziest child known to man. The house she stops at is on the left hand side and rather than pulling off to the right (the legal and safe thing to do) Van Lady pulls up onto the left curb blocking the entire road while she waits for the Lump to lop his way down the stairs. I'm ALWAYS stuck behind her, and once he's inside she ALWAYS immediately yanks across the road without looking.

Today I decided not to wait for him to ooze out the front door, only to find that, whilst swerving to avoid the oncoming traffic, her giant van butt is not only annoying and inconvenient, but one massive blind spot. Aces.

2. The heir to the Johnson and Johnson fortune, Casey Johnson, died on Monday night. This is sad and senseless indeed. But what I don't understand is how her loved one's immediately responded to the news. On Twitter.

"Everyone please pray 4 my Wifey Casey Johnson. She has passed away. Thank u for all ur love and support but I will be offline to be w family."

"This is a very heartbreaking time for me. I just want some privacy as I deal with the loss of my Fiance Casey Johnson. I'm heart is shredded."

"I just got news that my fiance is not dead but currently in a coma!!! Omg please pray that she will make it! Hang in there my love please!!!"

"I'm still in shock! Once again thank U for the outpour of love and support. I just wish to have some privacy at this heartbreaking time."

"I can't stop these haunting visions of her and I. We made such a lovely couple, only beginning to spend the rest of our lives together..."

All of these posts come withing an hour of each other. So it would seem the year 2010 brings with it a new definition of privacy. Go away Twitter. And take omelets, Michael Buble, jeans without back pockets, and people who cut their toenails in front of others with you.

3. I'm back watching Kath and Kim on DVD, courtesy of my Irish-Australian buddy, Becca. Thank Shiloh for Kathy and Kim. While some of you may not appreciate the humor, this sh*t makes my life:

Goodies from New Years!

Whisky sours, big fat fires, drinking Jenga, and obsessive puzzling. Can you tell in which shot Orange is sick of both me and my camera?

New Years 2009 (err... 2010..?)

Ahh, resolutions. Call me 30, but new years is becoming less and less about the P-A-R-T-Y and more and more about good friends, good food, and good resolutions. Especially considering how many different ways I've spent the big night: sleeping on Cheryl whats-her-face from high school's cement basement floor trying desperately to drown out the choking sounds of Cypris Hill raging in the room next door; rockin' out in a Best Western hotel room in Canmore, Alberta playing hearts, drinking Pil; dead sober (and slightly hung over) in a Cuban discotheque with Dark Horse and Susie and a rag tag pile of tourists and questionable Cuban ladies who may or may not have been prostitutes.

Needless to say, snow pants, prime rib, and Bud Lite Lime at BSB's cottage was a welcome reprieve (even with the indepth conversation about merkins...) The hour and a half spent alone in the sauna the day of gave me lots of time to think about the year and what I'm hoping for 2010.

So *claps hands together* let's look at last year's resolutions:

1. Floss. Not so much. Although Orange introduced me to the wonders of the Dento-Stick, I'm still dentally challenged. This item will remain a priority for 2010 and I'm hopefully my Carlsburg years will bring dental maturity.

2. Get myself more financially stable, i.e. actually pay attention to my student loan statements and stop using the bank machines that charge me $1.75 to withdraw cash. This actually happened, including the closing off of one student loan, the consolidation of another, and the switch to a rewards Visa . Can we say "three cheers for dividends"? While the occasional convenience store cash withdrawal does still occur, I'm more partial to the cash-back scenario.

3. Be a positive person. Sometimes I feel weighed down by my negativity, and it's an icky feeling. Still a problem, but in light of the events of the past four months I'm not going to psycho analyzing where my Debby Downer tendencies originate. Much like flossing, I'm still a work in progress.

4. Do the Guelph Try-a-Tri. Negative, good buddy. But I did (barely) complete the Paris to Ancaster bike race which I consider ample substitute.

5. Pop my RRSP cherry. Check!

6. Be greener. Hmm... Well, I hosted two pot-luck lunches at work, carry a bagless-lunch (*snicker "bagless" snicker*), cut out plastic bags, and continue to aim for optimal mileage in Lil' Y but I'm sure there's still more I could be doing. I wish we could green-bin in apartment buildings but it's still not an option. I guess I could get a worm farm and home compost...? But let's be realistic... That's a bit... Ew.

7. Push myself to do something I otherwise would not do. Well, Paris to Ancaster, captain-ing an Ultimate Frisbee Team, Dodgeball, and flying to Florida for a weekend are good starts. Running the Around the Bay, the Ottawa Half, taking ukulele lessons, and crossing the Paris to Ancaster finish line in under 4 hours (*fingers crossed*) are all 2010 possibilities.

8. Volunteer more. Still working as a Youth Mentor, but I'd say my Christmas charity project with the girls counts in this category.

9. Broaden my musical interests. Ehn. Not much, unless you count Dispatch, K'naan, and Matisyahu (thank you, Orange). I'm trying, though.

Not a total disappointment, and truthfully better than I thought I might do. Let's hope 2010 is a better year:

1. Floss.
2. Be a (more) positive person. Specifically at work.
3. Learn a new skill.
4. Finish my annual Bronte 10km race in 50 minutes or less.
5. Get a better deal on car insurance. God, I'm old...
6. Shock someone with a decision.
7. Give more.
8. Lose the muffin top.
9. Develop a green thumb.
10. Complete at least half of my birthday activities with Fingers.
11. Cancel my cable. Pray Shiloh I can convince myself to actually follow through.

Anyone else?

Gone to work for a much needed rest...

So much action this holiday season.

Note: 'action' meaning "comings and goings", not 'action' meaning "hanky-panky". Pervs.

Christmas Eve I left work at 1:00 pm for the farmer's market to purchase the traditional stocking fruit and Cheeses of Nazareth. Zipped home to get one last snuggle with Bert under the mistletoe before moving my stuff to the house for Santa, etc. Church, food, more food, some guy named Guido, cuddles, coffee and Baileys (yum!), presents, ride-on Fire Trucks, naps, snacks, A Peter Griffin Christmas, wine, turkey, bedders, and a partridge in a pear tree went flying by in a blur. Somewhere in there was a baby in a necktie, contraband in my stocking (to be secretly shared with Fingers... *wink*), and a man dressed as a Christmas tree doing a 10-mile run.

Santa was sweet this year, and I'm rocking my new winter coat with style. Bless him, as much as he dreads it Orange continues to facilitate my transition into a crazy cat lady (I think it's called "enabling") as he found and purchased for me a Kit Cat Clock--the very one I've been searching for since first meeting Bert! It now hangs with pride in my living room, and really is the bees knees.

Boxing Day I got a visit from Joe Fresh Sleeves, which was happiness indeed, followed by a sleepover party with Beef and her double-diapered baby. Is there anything cuter than a footie-sleeper? Maybe lil'C in a footie sleeper...

Side note: I've eaten more shrimp this holiday than ever before, and I worry that like a flamingo I may just turn pink.

Today I'm back at work, the majority of my day putting together a "look what I found at the library" display (the contents for which include the library's bizarrest and most interestingly underused items, including the Teddy Bear Encyclopedia, Have Your Poo Rolled Away by Dung Beetles: and 99 other things to do before you die, A Field Guide to Meat, Swahili Phrasebook, and Kitting with Balls.)

And finally, tomorry Orange, Fingers, BSB and I (and maybe Poo and BG) will hit the trails to cottage land for New Years up North--boardgames, beer, bed, and BSB's cooking = rockin' GTs. I'm spoiled. I'm not sure what I'm looking forward to more, though: snow pants, watching Orange stroke the big wood elephant (literally), or the outdoor sauna.

Happy New Year, everyone! Stay tuned in early January for a recap of my 2009 resolutions, and those for 2010.

"Merry Christmas, everybody!" love Library Lady and Prof. Grampy

I know, I know. I post the same video every year, and you're probably getting sick of it. But when I was eight, this movie made my life. So take your grinch pants off and start watching. I mean, the man makes a train set out of a tea pot! A TEA POT! I'm no scientist, but I'd say that's pretty amazing. Not to mention the vacuum cleaner ride-on thingy...

LL's Pictures with Santa, Take Two!

... And this one came in it's own fancy-dancy card!

Please note *pulls out laser pointer* the coffee cup stains *points to coffee cup stains* and pen markings *points to ma's signature phone doodle, 'hi!'*

Clearly this card was as treasured as it was intended to be, making my suffering through more poorly-costumed Santa laps well worth the effort. That said, considering this diddy is circa 1984-85, and the fact my mother has a nasty habit of throwing out anything not physically nailed to the floorboards, I'm shocked this actually made the move from not one, not two, but three houses (in two separate provinces!)

Thanks, mom, for the nod to nostalgia.

Inside the decorative card you get a great snap of me and my bestie, Ryan (this was pre-Fingers... although she lived in the 'hood, I was more into riding Big Wheels with the boys than playing with stinky girls..) Again, I apologize for the picture quality.

What you won't be able to see in this one, especially beyond my blinding outfit, is that I'm once again not willing to sit on Santa's lap. While Ryan is comfortably seated, I'm awkwardly leaning against Santa's knee going to town on my candy cane (which no doubt had to be given preemptively in order to get me up near the big guy to begin with.) Santa himself has clearly given up on charming both of us, as he hasn't even bothered to look at the camera during our snap... To be fair, this is probably his thousandth of the day which would be a hard day's work at the legendary JS mall (scene to the childhood nightmare Fingers and I refer to as "the guy who threw lit matches at us".. but that's another story altogether...)

*sigh*

The last time I visited Santa with the intent to sit on his lap was during my undergrad when Beef and I thought we'd wow mom and dad with a cutesy sisterly photo shoot. Unfortunately, once again Santa oozed the "no feeling" resulting in yet another awkward picture with me standing slightly off to the side. I think it was when he asked me if I wanted a boyfriend for Christmas...

A couple of years ago I made the trek out to a pet store with Gary (the cat, not the uncle) as a Christmas gift for the human sea cucumber. This time around it wasn't Santa that creeped the little guy out (that cat, not the cucumber) but the other kittens on display at the store. He seriously couldn't have gotten out of there quicker, and barely made it through the shot without peeing his wee fluffy pants.

All in all, me and photos with Santa are like egg nog... just wrong. But I can definitely leave you with a Santa I'd actually pay to spend time with. It's probably best if he sits on my lap, though, because I'd probs smother him with my big butters.

Look at those wee boots... Hmm? Squishy.

LL's Pictures with Santa, Take One!

Excuse the picture quality, we're talking polaroid from 1983...

... But this picture says a lot. Creepy Santa man in some very unrealistic faux facial hair, and Library Lady fighting tooth and nail to stay as far away from him as humanely possible, complete with red, tear stained eyes and disheveled bowl cut (not to mention a ridiculous plaid jacket...)

The best part? Dad, trying to subtly stay out of the photo so he and mom can have what is a fairly standard childhood tradition: photos with the jolly man. I'm clearly not playing my part, however, as evident by my death grip on what appears to be dad's tan-on-tan three-piece corduroy suit.

For the record, this was not a phase. To this day I don't like sitting on strange men's laps. And the picture is still priceless!

Stay tuned tomorrow for LL's Pictures with Santa, Take Two!

Is it a bottle of scotch? A baseball hat?

Christmas, however different, is creeping into me. Secret gifts, homemade Christmas cakes, decorating my mantle, mom's bits n' bites, 24-hour carols on 105.7, a wallet stuffed with gift receipts, tree shopping with mom, an advent calendar on my desk, cold winter mornings, shopping lists, the Farmer's market, and night time drives to check out the neighbours lights.

There are so many memories tied to this time of year, huh? Each tradition comes with a new flood of feelings and smiles and tears and laughs. The year he hooked the tree up to an IV because it kept drying out over night... the year the turkey made no gravy *insert horror movie music*... the year Beef and I secretly unwrapped each and every present while they were at the Medical-Legal holiday party (Beef got a Coconut Joe sweat suit and I got a mommy and baby Barbie set with matching dresses.)

Some traditions we won't carry on (there's no one to buy a tacky comedic neck tie for, for example), but others we will (marzipan pigs, bayberry candles, and the 'Cheeses of Nazareth'.)

Any traditions you care to share?

Math even I can understand...

Christmas shopping
+ popcorn for dinner
+ strawberry thermal pajamas
+ new Internet treasures (Steve and merit badges on Etsy.com)
= a good Tuesday night

A list of things I need to confess:

1. I like the show 8 Simple Rules for Dating My Teenage Daughter. Don't judge.

2. There is a tub of cookie dough in my freezer that calls to me like the sweaty tang of the karaoke microphone, midnight, on a Friday night at Rays Place. Damn that chocolate chunk. And damn you cheap walking-distance pints!

3. I start listening to Christmas carols December 1st and still can't quit that sh*t until well after baby Jesus explodes onto the scene.

4. With daylight savings, I leave a light on in the morning when I leave the apartment. For Bert. So he doesn't sit in the dark. I said DON'T JUDGE!

5. I find Paul Plakas from X-Weighted disturbingly attractive.

6. I have a book on my library card that is well over a month overdue, and there are holds on it. The guilt is seriously eating me alive, but I'm not finished reading it yet.

7. My mother admitted to me that she wants shoulder pads to come back in style. This isn't my confession to make, but I feel I need to give her secret a voice/publicly mock her for this ridiculous wish. No telling, Aunt Margie!

8. In my life as a back-up dancer, I'd like Free Samples and I to learn the Let's Hear it for the Boys dance from Footloose. Whether or not we perform it in public is another thing (although secretly I'd love to...)

9. In my last Christmas shopping trip, I bought something similar to what one might classify "a slouch sock"... For me.

10. Tonight at the hair salon I walked into a glass shelf and pulled a Peter Griffin. Seriously. I thought I was going to puke it hurt so much. But an entire salon of well groomed people were staring at me so I put on my best "I'm okay" face and paid my tab. And whimpered all the way home. I now look forward to the giant monster bruise that will no doubt form on my arm--stay tuned for pictures.

And so it begins...

I'm getting snow tires on Monday. And thank the sweet baby Shiloh because I nearly collided with three guard rails, two Fords, and a semi on my way to work. Excellent. 70km an hour winds really shake things up down here in the So'O. Add that to the fact I drive a sewing machine on wheels, and you've got a big slippery mess.

Needless to say I'll be taking the long road home tonight.

Obvious product placement is starting to creep me out...

I stopped contributing to the statistics of American Idol many moons ago, but not before the gang started singing and dancing around the latest Ford monstrosity or a large Coke glass. Product placement has become an integral part of this show, and is one of the reasons I stopped following it (alongside their blatant capitalization of mocking the mentally disabled and/or sick.)

But I confess, I watch The Biggest Loser. I find the contestants inspirational, to an extent. For a reality show there seems to be less focus on the trash talk and backstabbing and more on hard work and support. For these reasons, it's actually one of the only shows I watch on a weekly basis (until Lost comes back, that is...)

But I seriously can't take the product placements! They're new to the show this year and they give me the heebie jeebies . In the middle of a workout session or a heart to heart, one of the trainers will turn to the camera and say:

"You can do this, Liz! You have the strength to push through and reach your goals. You're 22 years old you should be able to lift that 22lb dumbbell above your head! Damnit, Liz. Push! You're a strong woman, and this Extra sugar free Polar Ice gum will help you fight your cravings, giving you fresh breath and a whiter smile!" *insert creepy toothy smile*

It's... uncomfortables. Take THIS CLIP as an example... Thank god for Ziplock, hmm? And that's a mild example from last season, not nearly as seamless as those from this season.

It's like The Truman Show...

Self image is a dangerous beast. And if I really stopped to think about how much time and energy I've consumed criticizing myself, I'd finally have something to actually criticize.

Ironic, hmm?