Blogbatical

Road

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Yes. It’s true. Everything you’ve heard is accurate.

I’m leaving you for my true love. But I’ll be back darling. If you can wait a couple of months, we can get together again for a laugh and catch up on all things fabulous. You see, I have to attend to Mr. Manuscript. I know, I know ! A manuscript is so demanding, what could I possibly see in him? A future perhaps, something a little more substantial than our 500 word trysts.

Wait for me…I’ll be back. I love you, I really do. I just need to do this. If you don’t hear from me before the new year…send reinforcements!

Mwah! See you all again soon.

 

 

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Quit Whining and have a Popsicle

Augie's Ice Pops

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I often tell people in my line of work that I don’t believe in denial and yet, I am the queen of it.

You see, I could have my leg chewed off by  my neighbour’s dog while watching my house burn, and walk away saying, “It’s all going to be ok. I just know it will be.”  Recently hobbled by a rather inconvenient surgery which requires a very long recovery period, I have been walking around, working, going about my daily business, just doing the best that I can.

But today it hit me. I’m frustrated, and I’m in excruciating pain from my stiff-upper-lip, just carry on attitude. Today I want comfort.  I’m feeling creative, but can’t write. I’m in pain but don’t want to be knocked out and lose my creative streak to the narcotics. Whine, whine, whine!

I just want to snuggle in and be pampered. You get that way don’t you? When you feel down and out? When you don’t feel fabulous? Sure you do.

Here’s my list of comfort wishes;

1)To curl up next to my MIA-man-steak and know it’s going to be ok.

2)Hot tea with milk.

3)A few really good movies at my disposal.

4)My grandma’s homemade ox tail soup with buttered bakery bread.

5)My kiddo running in and out of the house.

6)Pain meds that don’t put me to sleep or upset my tummy.

7)Quiet.

8)My house clean. I’m too wiped to do very much.

9)A muzzle for my very expressive parrotlet who thinks my very presence is cause for jubilant squawking.

11)A Jersey Milk chocolate bar.

12)A poetry book

13)Cold apple juice (1/4 apple juice 3/4 water)

14)The promise of a car ride out in the country.

15)Banana popsicles

What’s makes you feel better when you’re too wiped to care about the important things like lipgloss and waxing?

Great Advice From your Girlfriends

Woman in satin dress holding mirror

Image by George Eastman House via Flickr

Yogurt and herbal tea. That was my advice to my girlfriend today when she called with an all too common-amongst-women health concern.

Secret Christmas gifts for two little kidlets who broke my heart and taking more pain meds was her advice when I told her about my heartbreak and surgical recovery.

What would we do without one another? Our girlfriends I mean.  I have great friends who fill in as my mother and sisters of choice.  Throughout the years I have received and given great advice from this small but mighty clique.

Some of the advice that has been doled out includes;

1) Bladder infections: drink a warm glass of water prior to doing the nasty. Cranberry juice, no coffee, no sugar, no dairy, no sex (?!), no baths, no wine.

2)Financial woes; draft a budget, forget to sign your cheque, educate yourself about financial services,buy it once, eggs go a long way.

3)Stress; deal with it now or it will catch up with you, drink, smoke pot,don’t drink, don’t smoke pot, have sex,get your vibrator out, cry it out, talk about it, don’t worry I’ll take care of it for you.

4)Problems with a Co-worker; quit your job,spit in their coffee mug,talk to them,just let them talk until everyone else realizes they’re an idiot, drink when you get home, get your resume ready.

5)Entertaining; hire a maid, potluck, hide your weed,clean like a mad woman, google it,relax.

6)Dating; wear something slutty, wear something classy,stand him up,do it for practice, do it to discover new restaurants.

7)Childrearing; it won’t last forever, go ahead spoil him, you have to have rules,take a mom-time-out,give him gravol, I’ll babyset.

8)Fashion; you can borrow my fat clothes, you can borrow my skinny clothes, wear the red sweater,take it off and bury it, a good bra is worth every penny, buy it-you deserve it, with spanx that should fit.

9)Break-ups; burn everything leftover, sleep with someone right away so you won’t go back, delete his number,do you really want a relationship anyway,I’m coming to stay with you,what a bastard.

10)Aging; Are you kidding me? We’re not aging!

No News Is Bad News-Muckrakers Needed

Charlie Chaplin stands on Douglas Fairbanks' s...

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Have you watched the news lately? Did you see all of the tragic accident scenes that are sadly typical of long weekend  news follow-up? Did you watch the 30 minutes of  weather forecasting that has become mandatory to any one hour news program?

The news this morning featured local accidents that happened yesterday, complete with close-up shots of a man on a stretcher surrounded by EMS professionals. Shocking. It’s almost t shocking enough to make a girl forget about what’s really going on out there in the big, scary world.

Even more shocking than the terrified face of the man strapped to the stretcher was the 5 seconds devoted to the impending Air Canada Flight Attendant strike and the rotating “Wall Street” riots in the United States

More shocking still (actually, not shocking any more) is the lack of independent journalistic inquiry (a 21st century oxymoron) into the real reasons the Flight Attendants want to strike, and why, our “democratic” federal government feels justified in legislating the negotiations between the union, and the fat-cat-gluttony of Air Canada itself. 

No offense Air Canada, you’re just one of many we’ve let eat all of the leftovers while we starve beside you. You’re actually my airline of choice. Your in-flight service is great, and your Flight Attendants are world-class.

I’ve heard that Air Canada needs to compete in the industry. I can live with that. I can’t live with the federal government protecting capitalist interests and taking our independent rights away to negotiate our working conditions. Before you go all redneck on me bitching about the unemployment rate and all of the people “who would be damn grateful for the work”, calm your patriotic erection down.

Take a big, deep breath and then repeat about 10 times. Think.

What happened to the social groups who fought hard for worker’s rights in the early 20th century? They lobbied and suffered so we had a 40 hour work week, benefits, and safe working conditions. We’re on the pendulum swing back to that.   We need modern Muckrakers, and we need solidarity in large numbers.

Think about what you’re hearing and seeing in 30 second clips, and why oh-conglomerate-news-agencies-oh why are we not seeing full news articles investigating working conditions and getting information about the steadily increasing profit margins of those companies who are thriving? (Just an aside -we might like to also see the numbers on the billions of dollars paid via public taxes to private contracts for our Middle East “peace” keeping mission).

Large companies are getting larger and have created monopolies in every sector. Our “news” is owned by a few large newsmakers who have an interest in their own investments.  And here we are bitching that we may not be able to make our flight  if the underpaid, overworked Flight Attendants strike.  Poor us.

It’s not an uncommon symptom of how and why the gap between the ultra-rich and the poor is becoming a groaning void. More and more people are losing their full-time jobs to contract and part-time positions. The bottom line for the capitalist elite is skyrocketing while the working class has to work harder and harder only to realize at the end of every month that the “ends” do not meet.

If you support losing full-time work, benefits for families, and stuffing the already obese pockets of the elite with wealth with profits that should belong to the blue and white-collar workers who actually work for it, by all means support our government in their pro-capitalist interference.

I’m not saying I’m right. I am saying that the Canadian government taking away our rights as worker is wrong. If we don’t get off of our apathetic part-time-employed-behinds, soon we will be in big, big, trouble. A democracy is only a democracy if the citizens participate.

I guess this wasn’t really a funny girly blog was it? I’m sorry. You’re very, very sexy when you think though. You too boys. Just think political participation and passion about human rights could get you out there and meeting your Mr. or Ms. Right. 

Dare to be political. Dare to be cerebral. Dare to be sexy. Pass it on.

Seditious Wishes

Candles spell out the traditional English birt...

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Did you know that the “luxury market” is set to boom this year? Bain and Company makes this prediction in the face of the looming global economic crisis. Did you know that Noam Chomsky has predicted this economic crisis by way of middle/working class brainwashing (by “them” – the combined political/capitalist elite)and apathy for decades?

Why, all of this thinking could make a girl dizzy! So, while my Vietnamese aesthetician exfoliated and massaged my feet today, I came up with my “If I were a Rich Girl Birthday Gift Wish List”. 

1)I will open the door to you holding a bottle of Clive Christian‘s Imperial Majesty Perfume: Price $215,000, and a bouquet of  orchids crafted of peridot, diamonds and rubies. Of course they will be token gifts for me so that you may cross my very glamorous domestic threshold.

2) Le Creuset‘s Metal Cork Catcher. That way we can start the occasion off with some bubbly minus the worry of injuring anyone, or more importantly anything.

3)Of course I would like a nice bottle of bubbly to practice using the Cork Catcher. Let’s see. Hmm? How about a nice bottle of the Shipwrecked 1907 Heidsieck.  Better get on that. It’s rare, and you only have a month left before my big day. If for some reason you’re not man enough to get your hands on a bottle of that, I’ll take some Pernod-Ricard Perrier-Jouet. Actually, better get two.

4)A nice little Michael Kors leather-bodice dress to wear for the special occasion. I’ll need to get it altered for a little extra va-va-va-boob, so don’t leave it too late.


5)Pearls are a no-no for a man to give for a woman as they represent tears. Since I’ve had some experience with this, I will resist putting a beautiful strand of pearls on this list. Instead, how about a little something from Cartier. I think the Two-For-Trinity necklace would go nicely with the dress. Oh yah, and the earrings too.

6)For our little ride to the airport there’s a 1951 Rolls out there you could arrange. If you can’t manage the ’51, the ’49 will do.

7)After your people book a private luxury flight to Charles De-Gaulle, be sure you have made reservations at L’Ambroisie. You get the best tables if you call 01-42-78-51-45. Mmmm…can’t wait to blow out the candle on  the tarte fine sablée au cacao! Oh you’re so good to me. This is where I will open your real birthday gift to me..ooooh! I can’t wait for the surprise! I hope it’s shiny!

8)After dinner let’s slum it a bit and hit Au Lapin Agile after dinner eh? I know, it’s not Michelin starred darling, but let’s have a laugh and buy the house a round. Please, pretty please. I promise we can make for the jet straight away after the last act.

9) I suppose I need a “you” to direct this birthday list too. How about  one of the world’s eligible billionaires? I have a lot of respect for Oprah, but being heterosexual and all,  I’ll take Eike Batista. The latin ones are always pretty frisky and we’re born only 5 days apart – we can celebrate together! After a couple glasses of bubbly they all look the same anyway…blah, blah, blah.

10)A simple Langford cedar canoe. You see, indulgence can only ever come to a catastrophic end, whether it’s gluttony or greed. Kinda like the global economy. I figure with the canoe – I’ll have a place to reflect upon my 37th year as our civilization crumbles around me.

All of this  Noam-Chomsky-subversive-truth-telling-while-waiting-for-civilized-North-American-life-as-we-know-it-to- blow-out-our-liberal-class-sputtering-candle is enough to make a girl think twice about filling up her gas tank, or heaven forbid hope for a little over-the-top-materialistic-romance. Sheesh! Somebody pass me that bottle opener and whatever cheap hooch we’ve got on hand.

Since I likely won’t be getting any of the things on my greedy-guts-glam list, I’ll settle for a little public education. Go out and get yourself  some Chomsky in honour of this gal’s big day. Perhaps start light with Chris Hedges and his Death of the Liberal Class.  

After you’ve finished reading come on over, have a beer with me on the patio and chat. After all, enlightened conversation is a priceless gift. It’s all about the Om baby.

Trash Talking and Turkery – Another Great Canadian Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving Turkey

Censor’s Warning – Fowl Foul Language

Today, albeit a-two-day-too-early Thanksgiving, I had wonderful company and a wonderful meal at my friends’ place. Not only were we able to pre-dinner socialize outside on the deck with a humidex of 30 degrees, my friends even cut my meat for me (I’ve recently had surgery and cannot use my right arm for a few weeks). Now those are good friends!

Another great part about the day was that as the sauvignon  flowed, the vocabulary became ever more creative.

You see, I love words/language/communicating. I have a plethora of new derogatory words that I’m saving up for my own curse-word dictionary; Little nuggets of English napalm for those moments when only the most foul of terms apply.

When I’m seething and know that my very livelihood may be in jeopardy if I open my mouth, I invent little words in my head that act like pressure release valves. Words like; twatcycle, she-douche, sphincter-centre,mangina,cuntasaurus and poop-head. I think poop-head may technically have been used  by someone else before me.

Today I was delighted to be tucked in and taken care of by some dear friends. I was even more delighted to learn new curse words that I’d never heard before; fuck-twat, ass-hat and jiggilicious to name a few. I was particularly pleased that my extra-butt weight might be considered by some to be jiggilicious yet, I’m still trying to imagine what an ass-hat might actually look like.

So this Thanksgiving, I’m thankful for my goofy, sometimes foul-mouthed friends and for life-long learning!

Happy Thanksgiving! Gobble-Gobble!

Ghosts of Dating Past Part II

Children's Valentine in somewhat questionable ...

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My sage advice for those of you who are following on the dating path, and those who are walking beside me;

1) Always drive to the first few dates yourself. That way you can escape if you need to.

2)If you’ve been invited to spend the night with your date (my besty’s dad says never to accept said invitation prior to date #6), spend the entire night. Do not (like me) get up and leave at say, 3am while Mr. Wonderful continues to sleep, leaving his front door open and letting his cat out.

3)Always bring a large purse to his place.  That purse will  inconspicuously house your toothbrush and overnight emergency needs should you receive the sixth date invitation. Alternatively, the large purse has enough space to cram in just one of the bastard’s shoes if it all goes wrong. You will have the satisfaction of imagining Sphincter-Centre (please see previous post for contextual meaning)madly searching for his shoe just before work. Of course you will mature (like me) and realize that this is wrong, wrong, wrong. In the mean time, it provides instant satisfaction to the snubbed. If you’re a man, carry a backpack or something manly.

4)Wear something comfortable. There’s nothing worse than having a wedgie, sore feet, or having clothing cling to wiggly bits while you’re trying to concentrate on your lovely date.

5)Any man who is willing to hand out his number upon first on-line dating contact is a weirdo. Block him.

6)Don’t run from the really nice ones because you just finished up with a ding-bat. If you do, apologize.

7)Don’t play games. Unless of course you don’t want a commitment, then by all means, play away, but don’t be misleading.

8)Have sex before you commit. After all,  you try a slice of meat at the deli before you bring home an entire package.

9)Have back-up.

10)Give the back-up up when you think you’ve met a keeper. Give up the back-up immediately.

11)Be safe. Make sure someone knows where you are. Use a condom, and all of that parental wisdom.

12)Don’t give up. Never, ever give up.

13)Appreciate all people in your life who you don’t date. They are your friends.

14)Don’t settle, and don’t be a jerk either. No one is perfect. Not me. Not you.

15)If  he/she doesn’t make you laugh – RUN!

16)Age, height, weight – give some leeway, but demand kindness.

17) Use a loofah on your elbows and outer thighs (often ignored important intimate bits) and be well-groomed. You’ll feel better, and get felt more (Ooh-la-la!).

18)If they’re unkind to wait-staff – they’re unkind. ‘Nuff said.

19)Being right isn’t as important as knowing what’s important to argue about.

20)Know thyself. Don’t give yourself up to a relationship if you’re not ready – it’s not fair to the people you date.

21)Have a one night stand at least once twice.

22)Write love letters.

23)Give up cynicism. It’s not as sexy as love, peace, and good faith.

24)Send flowers. Wear lingerie. Write poetry. Be what you desire.

25)Introduce andshelaughs.wordpress.com  to your friends. You know, just in case we hit it off.

BONUS WISDOM:

26) If a man/woman wants to be in your life they will be. If they’re not around they fall into either the “back-up” category, or if you reach a certain age, they likely fall into the “not worth your energy” category.

Happy hunting. See number 25 😉

Ghosts of Dating Past Part I

Pin Up Moto

Image by Lexinatrix via Flickr

35 (and over – in some cases way over)?! Why settle now? You’ve been married, divorced, had a kid or three. Why not play the field until you’re, well, 45 or so? After all, 40 is the new 30 right? What a load of bull poop.

Every birthday I give myself the first-aider once over, and thank my lucky stars that I pulled through another year. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t feel like my best days have passed me by, I know it. 

I will never again experience the drama and giggles of dumb-ass decisions like I did in my late teens and twenties. Mind you, I did take more risks than most of my peers, and I lived on the adrenaline-edge cultivated by my, “What the heck” philosophy.

Just because we dress in slightly larger and more expensive clothes than our teenagers, and keep active in such narcisistic and unique ways typical of generation X, Y, and every other generation identifier that’s come along since, are we really crazy enough not to embrace our age and the life-experience that comes with it? Maturing and Mellowing is highly under-rated.

So now, after experiencing marriage, motherhood, divorce, and living for over a decade as a “single” person again, I have a much different perspective on dating and commitment.

You see, at one point I only dated men who stood over 6’2″, had at the minimum a bachelor’s degree from a respected institution, had never been married, had never had children, and had not too much, and not too little dark hair. I had certainly acquired a taste for men who could speak more than one language, were born in another country, had professional bragging rights, and knew how to order oysters and champagne, buy jewelry and entertain me in that Great Gatsby way that so few gentlemen can pull off.  Blondes,men under 30, those with blue eyes, who didn’t reserve a date at least a week or two in advance  and a  host of others who did not meet my must have demands were left in my wake.

I went on blind dates, internet dates, managed to snag a man at each social event I attended, and many of my free weekends were taken up toasting these gentlemen with the nudge-nudge-wink-wink toast and tink of wine glasses motto that my girlfriends and I adopted, “May the Best Man Win”.

 All of this keeping in mind the sage advice I got from a much older and wiser woman on a South American beach, “Always have back-up”. In other words – keep a few on the side for those nights that would pass a heck of a lot less lonelier if you had a warm, masculine body helping to keep your sheets warm.

In retrospect, I realize that I was not dating to find a life-partner, I was dating for sport. I loved the adventure, the richness of the post-date storytelling, and the safety of not committing to one person. In retrospect a lot of the men I dated and gave a hard time to really weren’t that bad. In fact, they were actually pretty thoughtful and sweet.  I was not shy on poetry books gifted, daffodil deliveries, surprise weekends away, and inscribed jewelry. I was shy on knowing my own self, and what I had to offer.

Having convinced myself  not to settle, I have landed well, well on the other side of 35 still gloriously single.

Glorious, I say, as I reminisce about the last manI dated who turned out to be a disappointment. Realizing that maintaining “back-up” was not conducive to this thing called monogamy, I lost my list immediately.  But, as it turned out, this one couldn’t pass a mirror without flexing or checking himself out. For a man with who stood at 5’10”, he had enough confidence to convince himself that the rest of the world was responsible for his unhappiness. Yah. Alas, in my 30’s, my girlfriends and I bemoaned the age category I was now engaged in for dating/hunting.

I figure at this age, I’m either getting the sparse leftovers of the really nice guys who are now married, or waiting for the next generation of divorces and young widows. Yippee. Unless, of course, I go all-out cougar and start to give love-making lessons to the 25+ set. I need to give that some serious thought.

Previously older men were always better lovers. Now older men are almost ready to apply for Old Age Security and trim ear hair. Younger men have always been entertaining, but not satisfying. The experience was kind of like eating a tuna-fish sandwich when I really was craving lobster.Yummy. Much more satisfying than sharing naked bed space with myself, but back-up nonetheless.

I now have some hindsight about dating. It’s come at the price of a few tears, a few lonely nights, and a lot of laughs. Laughs about my own behaviour as much as any of the men that I dated.

I have entered a new phase of my life as a single person. My list of must-haves has become a few notes on what could be “general” characteristics I’m willing to explore before getting googly-eyed and romantically girly-girl over a potential partner. Don’t get me wrong, I still have expectations, I am just  much more clear about what makes a guy ok, and what makes him sphincter-centre.

Ghosts of Dating Past Part II will include a list of dating advice from someone reporting directly from the dating battlefield.

What’s your Heroin?

Assorted cosmetics and tools

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“Men with good manners and Bordeaux on weekends, Rom coms and lattes, long weekends in Nassau, long warm wet kisses that last ’til tomorrow….these are a few of my favourite things!!!”

Bookstores, the used-all-hardwood-flooring type are the equivalent of a soft, warm, blankie for me. I used to love spending time in Eliot’s Bookshop on Yonge during my lunch hours. Most days I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just a little comfort. 

Memoirs of an Addicted Brain, by Neuroscientist Mark Lewis  is a book about addicts. You’re an addict right?

Whoa – wait a minute there tiger. Not an addict? No? Think again.

According to Lewis we’re wired for addiction. He begins his exploration of addiction by siting the presence of opioids in mother’s milk. The long and short of it is, we all just want to be loved. We have an innate emptiness about ourselves that needs to be sated. Maybe it’s not heroin, but perhaps a new skirt, a cookie, maybe just another toke? You know, a little pick me up.

Actually, most things that I do, I do because they bring me comfort. I use specific soap certain days to make me feel happy. I take my favourite route back and forth to the office. I keep dark orange chocolate beside my bed. I seek out one special relationship with a big, strong, sexy man who will hold me in their arms….I value my friends, who all, in their own way bring me comfort. I covet Elie Saab and Michael Kors. I carry a purse filled with things like lipstick and hand lotion and my cell phone, all of which I claim I cannot live without.

Bad days often involve a  luscious latte of some sort, and maybe even one of those little chocolate cupcakes with peanut butter icing at my favourite Starbucks.

We often look at drug addicts and alcoholics with disdain, or we wonder at times if we’re riding a bit too far on the edge ourselves. Often it’s after my decaf-non-fat-latte-and-sugar-pumped-cupcake that I wonder if I’m just as bad as a crack addict with my need for sweet things. I know I am. Worse even. Because I’m functional.

If I said that we’re all addicts, it’s just a matter of to what degree, would that be cliché? You know, kind of like the cheesy, “We’re all bisexual. It’s just a question of how bisexual are you?”.

By definition, an addict is someone who is physiologically and psychologically addicted to a substance. Is M.A.C. eyeliner a substance? How about Lancome fragrance? What about Jersey Milk Chocolate Bars wedged into marshmallows? Hmmm….?

Most people agree that an addiction is a problem when it starts to impact the lives of those around you. Just ask anyone I’ve spent the night with in close quarters. My very simple, minimalistic beauty routine impacts their counter space. My need for intellectual stimulation ensures a pile of books, magazines and papers that interferes with my cat’s sprawled napping. Oh yah, and boys over 30…I kinda like them too.

I’m addicted to so many things.

What’s your poison?