Santa whould have fired me long ago....

Those who fail to plan, should plan to fail.



So I officially logged off this Christmas vacation… it was fairly nice, it being my last day of vacation before returning home and being thrown back into real life, I'm still not really in any mood to post…. I did start a post last week, so I think I will share this one with you.


It is 10:28 am on Dec 23rd.

I have officially lost the Christmas card battle this year....which is too bad, because I thought I was fairly well prepared.

Starting way back around Dec 7th a client (who had brought her cards with her to sign during her pedicure) informed me that the proper date to have all your cards in the mail with Dec 13th....

She has clients she deals with all across Canada and was diligently preparing hers, as I watched her sign some 50 cards I thought to myself "jeeezzz.. you lazy grinch, it's not that hard, go get some cards"

So I did. Cards purchased, Dec 7th. List started on who to send them to, stars by people who I needed to get addresses from, "A"s beside the people who would rather a religious card that a generic "happy holidays". I was organized.

A week goes by, and in between clients I continue to add to the list, stuff envelopes and generally get them done. yea!!!

I'm so far ahead of the game I should get a special elf pin or something!!

Then, it all fell apart.

Our house was finished ( yea!), which meant moving (boo) which means total chaos…. Christmas cards start piling in from other more organized people in my life, and I start planning on how I will send mine out.

Finally, my sister stops by to drop hers off… I throw mine in with hers to make my life a little more sane, she is willing to hand mine out as well.

As I match up my cards with hers, I start realizing I have forgotten half of our family…. it is a huge family, I can't help it.

Once you go through two packs of cards you should be done anyway, there has to be some sort of limit.

So I accept defeat and just tell her to hand out the ones I do have, no one will ever know the difference ( until I post the whole story on the internet that is).

Then I have three simple cards left to mail. And no clue where any stamps are in either houses ( the moving process has been less organized than the card process… someday I'll post about it.. but since I'm still stuck in the middle of it, it's not funny yet… it's just frustrating)

No stamps….

That's okay we go to town on Mon the 20th… and head to the post office….

I've forgotten the cards… but I buy the stamps anyway.

Get home, stick them on the cards and put them where I won't miss them tomorrow morning.

Tues comes and goes without the cards getting in my car.

Wed morning, I remember them, and I haul them out to lick them closed before I hit the mailbox.

Cheap-assed dollar discount envelopes don't close.

I slobber like a bernese mountain dog with rabies all over them… still no luck.

I get to work and tape the bastards shut. The post office is a hop skip and a wink away from where I work, and I have an actual lunch break when I can do it!!!

It's the 22nd, I will make it!!

Thurs the 23rd, I find the stupid things in my laundry basket. And I officially surrender.

Friday the 24th, I find a stack of envelopes in my Christmas decorations.

They are unsent Christmas cards from last year.

And funny enough they are the side of the family that I remembered this year (which means I'm averaging hitting everyone at least every two years… that's not bad… that's actually 50% and I consider that a pass!!!)

Finally on the 26th, on our way to the city, I slip the last remaining cards in the mail… because dammit, I already stuck the stupid stamps on there, I'm more cheap than I am embarrassed about the fact that I'm sending cards after the holiday is over.

As we wandered the shops this year during boxing week sales I couldn't help but notice all of the cards 50% off… and I thought… hey, If I only ever get 50% out, then maybe I should only pay 50% for them…

Plus if I buy them now, and fill them out by Easter, maybe next year I'll actually have them delivered by Dec 25th.

Now I get what hapened to those two front teeth....

.
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Three phrases that sum up Christmas are: Peace on Earth, Goodwill to Men, and Batteries not Included. ~Author Unknown

It's that time of year again...time to stand in line for hours, scramble like mad on internet sites, and spend half of your life savings to buy that "must-have", "greatest gift of all", "what everybody wants" "it" toy of the season.

Soon to be followed with "recall season" where you find out that this years version of Tickle me Elmo is coated in lead paint, oozing cyanide out of it's ears, and has small radioactive pieces that resemble chewing gum when they inevitable fall off.

So in celebration of shoppers everywhere... I'd like to share with you a warning that came with a Krazy Carpet I once received as a Christmas gift.

Warning

Slide only in safe areas.

(Maybe in general they should just stick a warning on us at birth..we pop out and up pops a sign..."warning life can be dangerous, please don't do anything unsafe"...

This would I’m sure abolish all need for warnings on products in general).

Do not use in standing position.

(Mainly I’m sure because you’ll look like a fool halfway down the hill when you are still in a standing position, but upside down with your head buried three feet in the snow.

Even worse if you’re wearing a skirt..which you will notice is one warning they’ve left off the package)

On or near streets, roadways, driveways

(Don’t go anywhere were you may get into it with something bigger than you, a good general rule for life),

sidewalks, near trees or obstacles on steep slopes or in icy conditions.....

(so generally the only safe place to slide is on the stairs into the basement.

Until your mother finds out, then you must enjoy your sled from the floor of your bedroom, where you will be until the grounding is over)

Do not tow with any vehicle. This is not a tow-able device

(Of course not!! it’s certainly not sturdy enough to withstand the tow rope..but don’t worry once we get the duct tape and reinforce the handles.....)

Product will develop high speed under certain snow conditions

(like the conditions that allow you to tow sleds behind four-wheelers)

Product has no brakes or steering mechanism

(No sh#t Sherlock, it’s a long piece of plastic)

and excessive speed can cause loss of control and injury.

(Again another good general life rule..injury mostly to your bank account through the court and insurance systems, or your spinal fluid, depending on the type of speed)

The wearing of a safety helmet and protective goggles is strongly recommended.

(if you enjoy being the joke of the neighbourhood and want the crap beat out of you)

Always face forward.

(If you try to turn your face to your back you will only get a cramp, and realize you don’t like the look of your butt in those jeans)

Keep hands feet and head within the outer edges of the carpet while sliding.

(I’m glad they added that head part..because generally if something isn’t safe for me to put my hands or feet on, the first thing I wanna do is stick my neck out and put my face in danger..literally)

There was more, and I'm sorry that I never copied the entire warning.

(It took up half of the 3 foot carpet, and it was fine print.)

And although I originally wrote this years ago, it still puts me in good mood every time I read it, so that is why I share it with you here today.

Actually it kind of puts me in the mood to go find my dog, tie him to something plastic and make him tow me around the yard.

(Don't worry, I will, as always keep my head away from anything I wouldn't want to get my feet and hands near.)

Thinking about thoughts on a boat.

Did you ever stop to think, and forget to start again? ~Winnie the Pooh

Remember how I said I wouldn't have a post about lobstering? Well I lied.

This is not a real blog entry anyway... this is simply a compilation of things that went through my head in the past week while banding lobsters....

You'd be surprised at how much can go through your head during a 15 hour work day.

You'd also be surprised at how much of that is absolutely meaningless.

The top twenty things I think most often, in no particular order.

1. ugghhh....I have to pee

2. I don 't think I can feel my fingers.... oh wait, there's a crusher claw, yes yes I can feel them....

3. "Fish heads, fish heads, rolly polly fish heads"

4. What time is it?

5. Is it daylight?

6. Dammit where's the horizon?

(For anyone who has never experienced seasickness, I'm not just hoping to find the spot where the sea and sky meet because it looks pretty... I'm trying to keep my lunch down)

77. How many more hours till I can pee?

(My toilet on the boat is a bucket.

That fact alone is enough to make me not want to use it.

Add to that the amount of work it takes to take off your gloves, scarf, hat, oil gear, ask your father for the bucket, not fall over while on the bucket, put everything back on, including snapping the stupid oil gear closed which my hands are normally to numb to do, then hand your bucket of pee back to your father like it's a perfectly normal thing to do so he can throw it over and walk back out on deck and pretend that no one knows why you were down forward for so long.

Plus all the unbanded lobsters that have collected while you were taking this stupid break. Needless to say, I try not to ever use the bathroom on the boat.

But since we are there from 4:30am to around 7:30 pm it is not something I can entirely avoid, I can only put it off as long as possible)

8. I wish the sun would come up so it would be warm.

9. Stupid sun is in my eyes.

10. Only 8 hours left!!! yea!!!!

(This one always makes me laugh, it is the most ridiculous thing to think in the world, but also completely genuine.

8 hours is an entire shift in most worlds, but in the double-license banders world, it is the last portion of your day, and something to celebrate)

11. "Fish heads, Fish heads, eat them up yum."

12. Why the hell don't I know any more words to the stupid fish heads song??

13. 4 more hours till I can pee.

14. Cheesies are the best invention ever.

15. Ha! got you you bastard.

(Much like slapping a mosquito before it bites you, it feels very triumphant to band a lobster that's being ornery and fighting for it's freedom. I know I'm 20 times bigger than they are, but it still feels good to outsmart them).

16. I'm going to count the strings to make this go faster.... one.... two...... three.... two?? or three?? five, it must be five by now... wtf??

17. I'm going to count the lobsters to see how many I band in a string.... one, two, threefourfivesix....sev-nope to small, seve-nope, seven, eight-nine-ten, nope V-notch,was I on nine? ten? thirteen? no twelve, no wait- what?? dammit.....

(I'm not really good at concentrating on counting. Generally because if you focus too much on counting you are bound to screw up and get your fingers caught in a claw.)

18. ow that hand hurts, I should switch to the left.

19 damit, my left hand hurts, I should switch to the right.

20. huh? isn't that funny, two hours ago I had to pee, and now I don't.

There is more that I think about.

~Life plans.

~How to achieve world peace.

~Lyrics to Jem and the Holograms.

~Other jobs I could do and if they would make me as much money as this one.

~How happy I was to have new boots.

~If it would be worth it to figure out how to use Kijiji and sell my new boots, so next year I can have the pleasure of buying new ones again.

~What really happened "The night the lights went out in Georgia".

~How the hell I managed to have a bag of croutons for lunch that had an expiration date of June 2009.

~If I really cared that the crusty bread bits I packed because I don' t like sandwiches were out of date, since they still tasted of garlicky goodness.

But in general, year after year, those twenty listed are thought over and over.

And with the exception of #14, probably won't be thought again until next year.

My New Tango Shoes

It isn't the mountain ahead that wears you out; it's the grain of sand in your shoe.
Robert W. Service

Next week, I will be lobstering. There will be no post....

Sure I will have plenty of time, an average of 14 hours a day of nothing to do but think. I'm sure I could dream up many posts.

But seeing as my hands will be occupied banding thousands of lobsters, I will not have the time, nor the co-ordination to type them up.

Don't set your hearts on a post lobstering week wrap up either.

Banding is kind of like childbirth. You feel a little acid-refluxy nervous anticipation for it. You get through it. You enjoy the rewards after. Then you forget every detail so as to be able to someday go through it all again.

It's indescribable anyway.

In fact I tried to describe it this weekend to a sales man, and I'm pretty sure he thinks he was being punked.

He's probably still checking for hidden cameras in the display racks.

Last year my boots disintegrated off my feet on the second day.

So I had to spend the remaining 5 days in second rate non-insulated rubber boots.

Not only was I sad to no longer own a pair of size 13 hand-me down "Lego-Boots" but my feet were also cold.

So this year, I decided to sacrifice a day's pay to purchase my very own pair of good lobstering quality boots.

No more digging in the basement for a pair of matching rubber boots my father no longer wants...I am a grown up, I will buy my own pair.

I wanted a fancy comfy pair like my boyfriend has for work. No dice, they are $250+ and have to be ordered online.

So he takes me to Atlantic Workwear. The window display is camo gear, and orange stuff you see construction workers wear.

Inside there is a sign, promoting a percentage off hunting boots, big oil gear, safety hats, and black steel-toed police boots.

I fit right in in my leggings, 80's inspired t-shirt dress, and fur lined boots with decorative buckles.

Maybe that's why I didn't get waited on right away.

I pick out a big pair of clunky boots and flag down a store clerk.

When I ask to try some on he tells me they don't come in womens sizes.

He is obviously very flustered by the fact that he is waiting on the 150-pound-woman-with make-up-on, and not the 230-pound-man-with-arms-the-size-of-a-dumptrucks that he assumed would be buying something.

He quickly goes back to find the smallest pair that he has. I try on the men's size 9 I took off display.

It's too small.

Not in the normal sense, of my toes a scrunched up and I can't get my heel in. But in Lobsterbander terms, size 9 is a bit snug for me.

The look on his face was priceless when he comes back out with the 7 and I tell him no way.

I then start to explain to him why I need boots in the first place.

I say it will be cold... he helpfully informs me that they are insulated boots.

I re-explain cold as "Ill be standing still fro 12 hours on a boat, I need to fit three pairs of wool socks on"

He shows me the girlie rubber boots he still thinks I am looking for, something light weight and you can fit the fancy liners in side.

These are in fact the exact type of boots that I wore for five days last season, which brought me to the conclusion that it was worth it to spend more money on my very own pair of boots.

There is something about "12 hours of cold" that this man is not understanding.

As I explain to him that I need to be able to wiggle my toes inside my boots, mainly to keep warm, but also as a form entertainment between sets. (Wiggling your toes is as close to dancing as your body can pull off during the first week.)

When I tell him that I usually wear size 13, he starts looking at my boyfriend for some sign that I'm an escaped lunatic who just needs to be corralled into a corner so they can straight-jacket me and put me back in my cell.

I finally convince him to let me buy the size nines. (I asked for size tens and he said he didn't have any... I think he was lying, but I didn't bother to call him on it.)

I then drop the final bomb on him and tell him it doesn't matter since I'll only be wearing them for a week anyway.

I realize now that I failed to mention that I would be wearing them for one week out of the year, not one week my entire life.

I will continue to wear them after that, but most likely all they will be really useful for, is that one week. These boots should last me the rest of my life, one week at a time

I would have tried to clear that up, but he actually gave me a discount. It may have been because he felt sorry for me.

Or it may have been he was afraid I would freak out at the price and he would have to go through the whole "choosing a pair" process with me again.

In the end I have a brand new pair of Arctic, green, cushiony, insulated rubber boots. And I'm getting used to the fact that you can't fit a Ford Explorer in the space between my actual toe and the end of the boot.

You can probably still fit a good mid-size family sedan though, so I'm happy.

And as I brag about my new boots to anyone who will listen (or read), I realize that an expensive pair of new shoes makes me excited, no matter what they look like :)

People in glass houses, shouldn't throw cantelopes.

Learn all you can from the mistakes of others.  You won't have time to make them all yourself.  ~Alfred Sheinwold

This week my niece learnt a very important lesson.

Not to throw rocks.

She actually learnt it with the least amount of damage. There was no broken glass, no dented car, no bloodshed, chipped teeth, or trips to the emergency room.

She threw a rock across to road about two seconds before the school bus passed by. The family dog ran after it. My sister screamed bloody murder at the dog, and he did stop.

Then she continued to scream bloody murder at my niece.

(Okay as I write that I realize child services might start to take interest.. but you know what I mean).

My niece was quickly put in "time-out" to think about what just happened.

I think my sisters intention was to let her sit and imagine how horrible and guilty she would feel if she had of been the cause of the demise of the beloved family dog.

My niece is four. She didn't really grasp that concept.

Instead, for two minutes she sat and thought "oh, my Mommy is MAD at me... she did not want me to throw that rock, I wonder how long she'll be mad at me?? I wish she wasn't so mad at me.... what can I do to make her not mad"

So in her little four year old mind she devised a plan to fix things.

"But Mommy, I didn't throw the rock... Magnum did"

Second lesson of the day, don' t lie to your mother. Or at least don't always try to pin it on the dog.

This story (after the fact) was quite entertaining, (although I think traumatizing in general for my niece).

And it got me thinking about some lessons I learnt as a child without ever meaning to.

Nail Polish and Barbie Dolls don't mix.

I decided my Barbies would get in a car accident. And then need surgery. I used lipstick for the blood.

When that ran out, I used Covergirl Valentine Red #076 Nail Polish.

Looking back, perhaps this was the first sign of my resourcefulness as a make-up artist.

At the time my mother didn't quite see it as an act of a budding artist. I can still remember sitting on the kitchen counter, watching her try to scrub the polish off all the barbies, some of them loosing their eyes and their lips with the acetone.

Our one and only African American Barbie contracted Michael Jackson's skin bleaching disease.


Not all lessons have to be learnt from the destruction of property.I also learnt early on that Older brothers really are good for some things

One day I decided to follow my cat while she went exploring through the woods.

I chased her around the well, and over rocks, and finally up a tree, only to have my foot caught between two branches and get stuck.

As the malicious feline sat and watched me cry for awhile, then simply got up and trotted off as if to say "Ha, that's what you get for pestering"

(she was a cranky cat, this incident should have ended our friendship. But one lesson I've never learnt is when to let people out of my life who are only going to hurt me)

Hours later dusk was settling. (Or perhaps 20 or 30 minutes... the drama of it all kind of skews my memory... but in 5 year old time it was hours) My brother wandered through the woods and informed me that Mom was looking for me.

He probably could have left me there if he wanted to be as heartless as dear sweet Kitty. But his conscience couldn't escape my hyperventilating wails and he broke the other branches to help free me from my captivity.

And you aren't done learning lessons once you pass the age of innocence.

I learnt that Bus schedules aren't just decorations at the bus stops

No they actually mean something. And should you choose to take a bus, you should probably learn how to read them.

Figured that one out somewhere in England. I say "somewhere" because I honestly don't know where I was when I did figure that out.

I got on at my host parents bus stop... and just kept going. No one else from the Academy was on the bus, but I didn't really notice.

In fact I never really noticed anything until I realized we had gone into the country side, and back into another town, without ever passing anything that looked like the Steiner Training Academy.

It was 30 minutes before classes started. And it would be another 15 minutes back to where I started, and 15 minutes from there to the Academy.

So here, in this strange town, was where the bus decided to park for a 20 min break. It was also in this strange town that I vowed never to take a bus by myself again.

Trust me, it does no good to explain to your future employers how you can completely competent in every single way, except at understanding a simple bus schedule.

I refuse to talk about the reasons why You should always wear underwear when in a strange country. But trust me... I had not intended to learn that lesson that day either.

The one thing that does come from learning things the "unexpected way" is that they really stick with you.

I never played "ambulance" with my Barbies again. I've always appreciated my brother, and know I can count on him in an emergency.

And you can always pick me out in a foreign country...

I'm the tourist paying 10 times as much to take a cab instead of the bus, who has panty lines.

Something Worth Mentioning

Now that it's all over, what did you really do yesterday that's worth mentioning?  ~Coleman Cox

Nothing.. that is what I did yesterday (I apologize to any clients that I had yesterday... but nothing came to mind)

Okay now that I think about it, I did have a very good conversation with one of my clients yesterday.

She had a problem, and although I couldn't offer her a solution I did assure her that she wasn't the only one who had a teenager who was driving her to the looney bin.

See... like I said.. not really anything worth mentioning.

So today I changed that.

Today I signed up for "Bust-A-Move". A fundraising campaign for a breast cancer clinic being built at the IWK in Halifax.

I need to raise $1000 by March 27th 2011.

Sure.

No problem.

And tomorrow when I wake up I will be able to say... "Hey guess what I did yesterday, something worth mentioning"

And then I'm fairly certain that I will say "WTF??? I Hate Fundraising!!!"

I mostly blame a certain period of time in my life that most like to call "Sr. Year"

Also known as the year I lost my mind and decided to become Grad/Prom minister.

I fundraised my a$$ off, only to have half girls in the Sr. Class come to me a month before prom and beg me not to spend any money on decorations just to give it all to families in Africa to by pigs and goats.

Thank You Oprah.

And Mrs.Walsh for showing that episode in class..... and then turning around and using the hard-raised money to pay for a flat screen TV for the new school.

Oh yeah, and don' t forget to give the credit to the next graduating class.

So yes, you might say I'm a little bitter from my last fundraising experience.

But the chance to shake my booty with Paula Abdul is just too good to pass up.

So I'm dusting off my pledge sheets and practising my "please help my cause" smile.

But this time I'm not doing it alone.

When I saw that you had to raise $1000 a few things came to mind... mostly time, and money, and my lack of both.

As someone who is three weeks away from moving into a brand new home, I am actually closer to a Pollyanna character than I am to the benevolent Aunt Polly...

And as most of my friends well readily point out, I don't have time for a coffee or a phone call most days, let alone hours on end to beg, borrow, or steal my way to "strait up' glory.

So I decided to get someone to do it with me.

Since I don' t actually have any rich friends, with extensive ticket selling experience and nothing to do with their time but wish someone would ask them to make some cold calls, I roped my sister into the deal.

You know.. cause she's got nothing better to do.

Well yea, she's a mother, and runs a business, and volunteers for every tourism event that happens in the county.

But I thought in between teaching her daughter to skate, checking guests in, creating a giant leg lamp for a parade float, and having a life of her own she could squeeze in some time for breast cancer too.

I actually thought I would have to twist her arm, didn't take much, guess it must be a hereditary thing, taking on so much that you wake up with panic attacks.

But we're a good team I think... she's good at getting people excited about things, and I'm good at managing my panic attacks.

All we have to do now is think of a better name than "Team Shannon and Beth". And figure out how to work the donation site. And exercise for 6 hrs strait come Mach 27th.

As Jimmy Johnson said "The difference between ordinary and extraordinary is that little extra."

Unfortunately for us that little extra describes the difference between a $25  registration fee and a $1000 donation collection.

If I sound a little worried about this mountain of a goal we have in front of us (yes it is a mountain... in no world is $2000 between 2 people in 4 months a mole hill) that is because I am.

I'm also terrified.

Although not nearly as terrified as someone who has just found out that she has been diagnosed with breast cancer.

So I am going to swallow my fear and bust my booty to contribute a small portion towards a huge goal of having a state of the art, all inclusive center to help make that experience even a little bit easier for them.

To donate please go to my donation page

http://bustamove.kintera.org/shannonandbeth

I'll bet living in a nudist colony takes all the fun out of Halloween.

~Hold on, man. We don't go anywhere with "scary," "spooky," "haunted," or "forbidden" in the title. ~From Scooby-Doo~

I do not enjoy scary movies

I spent the first three minutes of the previews of "the Strangers" wringing my hands and muttering things like "Maybe I'll just go hang out with the ticket taker for an hour and a half.. he seemed bored.."

I actually should get a percentage of my money back from "The Hills Have Eyes" since I only really watched the top right hand corner of the screen.

(It's hard to plug your ears and cover your eyes with your own hands at the same time. Plus you have to know when it's safe to watch again)

I'm also not a fan of surprises, I don't like the stress of planning surprise parties.

I don' t like my day to be thrown off from what I planned to do.

I'm not afraid of any bug or animal if I know I'll being presented with it.

Make me wear a boa constrictor as a pashmina? Sure!!

But show me a harmless green snake hidden under a rock and I'll scream for the heavens.

That all being stated, one thing I enjoy every year is creating a haunted house for the trick or treaters :)

(Yes it was pointed out to me how cruel it is that I plot to traumatize people under the age of eight, yet whine if a slasher movie comes on TV.)

But Halloween isn't about me. It's about the kids.

This year, I enlisted some help.

I asked for a pulley device to raise and lower a spider to scare the kids as they got their candy.

Be careful what you wish for.

What I got was described as this...

"Picture a spider as tall as a kitchen table with eight 8 foot long legs. I feel bad because if it works like it's supposed to, if everything goes RIGHT, children will be scarred for life"

We spent a solid 24 hours preparing the house and setting the stage. (well except for that silly 10 hours that I slept... it was Sunday people, of course I slept in.)

At any rate, by 3:30 p.m. the house was enveloped in fake cotton/polyester webbing, scattered with plastic skulls and few real ones and I was ready....

Donning my best "Orkin Man" costume, with my story of infestation all worked out we answered the door to every cute little dressed up kid in the neighbour hood.


The script went a little like this...

Answer the door, explain that the owners of the house had left because of a spider infestation.

Invite them in to pick up the candy scattered through out the house.

Get them past the spider, and finally ask them to pose for a photo, at which point I would video them as we dropped the spider behind them.

Then watch them scream and run for their lives

Yes that was the plan...




This is what really happened.

Answer the door, explain there has been some spiders.

Offer them candy and anti-snake venom medicine.

Remember our theme is spiders.

Tell them about the chewable Benadryl (aka gum-balls) in case of a bite.

Get nervous that people will think I'm actually handing out medication to 4 year olds, so I break character and actually say the "aka gum-balls" part.

Lure them into the kitchen and ask them to pose for the "photo".

Watch through the unfocused screen as the black shadows do not move.

Seriously... if you want kids to behave these days, get them to pose for a photo,

They DO NOT MOVE until the flash has gone off.

Even if a giant 6 foot spider is screaming it's mandibles off as it descends upon them.

They just stand there and smile until the flash happens.

So we add more smoke, and more flashy lights.

I try to convince Mr. Anti-Holiday to hide under the table and grab at the kids feet as they reach for their candy (No dice).


And we perfected the sales pitch.

"Smile for the photo"

Cue spider.

Cue me screaming bloody murder and demanding Adam get it under control. We figure if the kids saw me panic about something, they too would panic.

Unfortunately this also makes me wave the camera around wildly, which in turns creates a useless video.

But it did encourage some kids to jump a little farther and higher.

And then when I realized the kids were actually afraid I would break character again and tell them "Don't worry, it's not real."

(I wouldn't have believed that I did this if there wasn't blurry badly lit video evidence of it. But it does makes sense, I hate being scared, why would I like to scare them?)

All in all I believe they enjoyed it. And we managed to retouch the video to go from black and blurry shadows to slightly less black yet still kinda blurry.

The plans for next year are already being discussed.

No part of those plans involve me being in charge of the camera.

Pets, Sales, and Crappy T's

Owning your own small business has many perks.

But it also has some drawbacks.. as in, since I am the only one in the company I also have to do all the crap jobs.

That is what I am avoiding right now. Crap job aka cold calls

I've been avoiding the cold calls for about 3 weeks.

I don' t like the idea of pestering people. I don' t want to annoy my clients. I don't want to hear them say no.

But I have to do them, if I want them to know about new products.

I've tried it all, I've booked off time, I've set up who I need to call and what I'm going to say.

I even told more than one person that I'm doing it so that I can be held accountable.

Still haven't done them.

To be honest, I should be doing them right now, but I'm writing this weeks blog instead.

I was supposed to do them last Friday morning, but I decided to head to the city early before the Jane event I was scheduled for.

(Yes I went and did sales for another spa, yet decided instead of working on my own I would go shopping)

My shopping list included a dog toy and some tarps from Canadian Tire, and there I found a lesson in sales that I need to try to apply to my own life.

By the time I got to Bridgewater I was already late, so I was rushing through Canadian Tire like a crazy woman in search of crack.

I made it to the pet section, and started scanning the wall for the special toy that is the only thing that keeps my dog entertained enough tot keep him in the yard

It was here that I was approached by the bravest salesman I've met in awhile.

"You look like you're searching intently for something"

"Yes I am"

And I was, which was why I made no eye contact or really paid any attention that someone was talking to me.

"Hey how may steps are you up to"

I wear a pedometer, I think it's pretty self explanatory, so I didn't bother to think about why he was asking me.

I just looked at it.. mumbled 3000 and that I had been driving a lot, then went back to mad pet-toy scanning.

Nothing there, so I moved to the next aisle ready to give up and move on, when the guy came back.

"What is it exactly that your looking for?"

Dammit, now he's going to try to help me and he's going to spend twenty minutes wasting my time looking for something that I know for a fact isn't there.

"Oh just a dog toy, but it's not sold in every Canadian Tire, so I'll have to pick it up in Dartmouth"

"Oh.. to bad you have to go that far"

"I'm heading there anyway, it's okay"

At this point I'm doing one of those, talking with my body turned in the other direction as I step away. because I'm really bad at ending conversations without resorting to typical work type "Thank-you and have a magical day" phrases.

He steps with me... we are now looking in the kitchen and bathroom cleaner aisle for pet toys... somebody should call PETA.

"What kind of dog do you have"

This is the start of a conversation that only dog owners have... you will rarely find a cat owner, or a fish owner who cares what breed your dog is.

Much like you will rarely find a single business woman who cares what brand of diaper wipe you think is best at clearing up your two-year-olds rash.

So I realize he must be a dog owner/lover and I'm about to be sucked into the typical compare your dog small talk.

I give up, and give in, I was never going to make it to MicMac before 2pm anyway, what's another 5 minutes.

"He's a husky, so he runs... this toy is the only thing that gets him to come back."

Following this sentence is generally the point where the other person says what breed of dog they have, and a cute little anecdote about their pet.

He doesn't.... he introduces himself.

I shake his hand and give him my name.

It feels a little like we just decided to have a business meeting about pet toys.

His people will call my people, and my dog will have a lifetime supply of squeakers if I just sign up for a three year contract and promise to sign up five family members.

This is my first signal that this "salesman" is a little odd.

His next sentence is "I don' t actually work here, I just thought you had a nice smile and seemed easy to talk to"

Oh,

Woops... how rude of me.. I hadn't even bother to pay attention!!

This wasn't a worker.. he was just some random man that thought I was having trouble finding something and wanted to help.

how nice...

Just like in Sobeys when you are muttering profanities to your self because they've moved to stupid pickles again and someone decides to let you know they think they saw them in the ice-cream freezer next to the cake flour while they were looking for canned tuna.

So I just smile again, because that's what I seem to do when I don't know what to say, and he must have thought that was an invitation to keep talking.

So he did.

He tells me that he's a sports therapist, from Halifax, asks me what I do, I answer, with a weird feeling that we're no longer talking about dogs or toys anymore. I'm not really sure how we got into this conversation.

Or why....

"I just happened to notice that you don't have a ring on your finger so that's why I figured it was okay to talk to you"

oh....





Oh.......







OH!!!!!!







He's hitting on me.

In the pet section?

Of Canadian Tire???

Now forgive me, I understand that I have been off the market for quite sometime now.

But I did put in a good 10 years or so of dating.

I don't remember Canadian Tire being on the list of best places to hook up.

Although, now that I think of it I probably would have had better luck there than the Tavern.

I quickly try to regroup as he sputters on about coffee and numbers and my smile.

He has been hitting on me.

And apparently I've been letting him.

We've actually gotten to the stage of our relationship where he's replaying how we first met. ( Seven minutes ago, two aisles over)

I need to quickly let him know that I am not interested.

I try to do this nicely as I've already spent half our relationship mistaking him for a friendly Canadian Tire worker.

I feel bad for judging him before getting to know him... or apparently looking at him.

So I say something that makes perfect sense to me. (The happily unmarried person who would never want a ring for the pure fact that my dog would swallow it, or I'd flush it down the toilet, or something equally as obscure and devastating)

"Oh, I'm married I just don't wear my ring"

I think "for safe keeping"

He thinks what every other sane person in the world thinks "because I'm stuck in an unhappy marriage"

Sometimes when one door closes a window opens.

I closed the front door but gave him the key to the back entry, with a map and a flashlight.

As soon as I see the look on his face I realize what I've said is wrong.

This is the advantage to being picked up in a bar... at this point you would mumble something, that he wouldn't hear because the music was too loud, and run and hide on the other side of the dance floor.

There was no dance floor.

And even if there was a dance floor, there wasn't a crowd of people to put between us anyway.

Now I'm late, without a dog toy, and feeling GUILTY for leading some random guy on.

He still talking... he keeps saying coffee, and I keep thinking... dammit.. if I had of just gotten a second coffee this morning I maybe could have been alert enough to have avoided this entire thing!!

I finally interrupt him, something I am not good at and usually reserve solely for telemarketers.

(yea those people who make cold calls, I hate them, I never let them get their first two sentences out....wanna take a guess as to why I've been putting off my cold calls??)

I set him strait as quickly as possible, no ring, happily unmarried, please go away.

And then I turn and run.

I wind up circling the entire store twice looking for the stupid tarps.

(They are really hard to find when you won't look up past knee level for fear of making eye contact with anyone.)

As I drove the rest of the way to Halifax and thought about the weirdness of a person that just walks up to a random stranger in the pet section of Canadian Tire and tries to start a relationship with them.

He is just one of those people who sees any opportunity and takes it.

He saw a girl, into sports (or at least into knowing how many steps she takes each day), who liked animals and was not wearing a wedding ring.

It was like I was a walking E-harmony profile.

And what did he get for stopping and asking me out... well, nothing.

Except a little rejection.

But he was not really any worse off than before he stopped and accosted talked to me.

(I think I was actually the only one scarred by this series of events)

There was no harm (to him) in asking for something.

So that is something I will keep in mind as I work up the nerve to do my cold calls.

Tomorrow.

Or maybe Friday.

The Doctor is In(correct)

It is a mathematical fact that fifty percent of all doctors graduate in the bottom half of their class. ~Author Unknown

There are a lot of things and people in the this world that drive me nuts, but at the top of that list lately seems to be dear sweet Dr Oz.

Every woman who watches his show takes what he says as gospel.

It's the same phenomenon as the Oprah effect, only worse.

Because Oprah is just telling us what movies to watch, or books to read, or that we should turn our cell phones off and starting praying more and eating less.

Dr Oz is giving medical advice in 10 min increments.

He is curing heart disease in between commercial breaks.

I'm not the only one out there that doesn't like him either.

Go ahead and Google "Dr.Oz controversy" and see how many people are complaining that his claims are all sensation and no science.

He actually doesn't even have the worst information out there.

The show "The Doctors" has more misleading things than Dr Oz. But they are so busy talking over one another that no one can understand what they're saying anyway.

These other medical doctors out there concerned he's giving misinformation, or partial information.

In case you didn't know, I'm not a doctor.

I'm not actually concerned, I'm just annoyed.

Then why does he bother me so much?

I think it is because most of my clients all seem to watch him. They will take his advice over and above anything else they have ever heard.

He might as well be Elvis.

Or the Pope.

What ever he says, they repeat, as if it is brand new ground breaking information.

I overheard a conversation today about the great Doctor.

He says if every mother and child would start taking Vitamin C, in mid September, then they would not get a cold or flu all season.

Look at that!!!! He's cured the common cold!!

With a little over the counter pill!! Who knew??

Don't you think if all it took to stave off colds was a daily Vitamin C tablet they would be handing them out left and right at the schools??

Just like the measles, rubella and diptheria vaccinations they make us get??

(Let's not get into the fact that I just found out that HPV is vaccinated in schools now in Nova Scotia. No choice,lets just experiment with our teenage daughters please.

Not that I have a problem with 13 yr olds getting vaccinated for sexually transmitted diseases, I only have a problem when that vaccination is accompanied by the "abstinence" theory of teaching about other ways to prevent STD's

oh wait.. I seem to be getting into it.... I digress)

He also tells us things like "Broccoli will help us stay young." Good for your thyroid, and helps prevent cancer....

Yes... and opening your eyes helps prevent walking into walls.

Or using a fork to eat prevents one from nibbling our own hands off accidentally.

And it's not just the vegetables that he's promoting.

He also advises everyone to carry an Epipen in the summer, even if you're not allergic to anything.

Just in case..... you know you're walking by someone and it looks like their lips are swelling up.

Maybe THEY just got stung by a bee, and maybe they ARE allergic. Then you can stab'em with a little medical injection and save the day.

Unless of course they've just gotten their own injection of the Restylane kind and then instead of a hero's welcome all you get is a lawsuit for attacking someone.

There's also Equine Assistant Therapy.... for depression and anxiety.

I'm not certain but I'm pretty sure a bottle of Ativan takes up less room in your medicine cabinet than a Shetland pony.

He has let a woman put kitty litter on his face as a detoxifying mask.

Yet he has also declared the bathroom as the most "toxic" room in the house. (I'm pretty sure you don't need to be a doctor to figure that one out.)

I'm also going to glaze over the rant about the fact that he poses questions on his "What's your True Age" site only to hand all the personal medical information over to pharmaceuticals companies for advertising.


Or that his "Ask Dr Oz" section of his website is answered by other medical professionals, a homeopathic doctor, and a spokesperson for Dove???

Right.. that company that's helping us all have better self esteem. (by buying their products)

I guess my point is, there is something we need to remember about the man who wears surgeons scrubs all the time to put oomph behind his words.

He's a cardiologist.

Not an immunologist, or a dermatologist, or rheumatologist or an anything else-ogist.

Would you let your dentist give you advice on your foot care?

Would you like you chiropractor style your hair?

Would you let your mechanic rewire your home??

Then wtf are we doing listening to the a heart surgeon tell us how to reverse the signs of aging, reduce out risk or breast cancer and increase our sex drive??!!

(His answer is garlic for all three I believe)

Alright stop, colaborate, and listen.

In honour of Thanksgiving I'd like to list this things in life I am thankful for.

Yes, I know two holiday themed posts in a row.. well like I said, it's my favourite holiday.

(Hmmm maybe the list should include that I'm thankful this is just a blog and I don't have an editor somewhere saying "find a better subject")

Starting with the obvious, family, friends, and good health.

Even though family can drive you to want to jump off a cliff sometimes.

And your friends can convince you it's a good idea to jump

("C'mon...it'll be rad man!! Everybody's doing it!!!")

And your good health record may further convince you you're invincible and can survive anything.

("Hey I haven't broken any bones yet, I doubt those ragged rocks at the bottom of this cliff will do anything")

They are all still good things to be thank full for.

But there are a few other things in life that I am thankful for.

Like this morning I was thankful for Philip Dexter.

Even though I cursed him from about 9:18 to 9:23 for driving so damn slow.

At approximately 9:26 as we passed a cop car.

Since I didn't get pulled over for the speeding that I would have been doing if I hadn't been stuck behind him, I immediately removed him from my "curse him" list and stuck him on my "thankful for" list.

I am thankful for my in-house bathroom I now have at my new Liverpool location.

In Packets Landing, I had to leave my desk (and cash box) unattended, go down the hall, and unlock the bathroom.

Not to mention the fact that every time I went, I would see the physio ladies look up and wave to me.

Sometimes after about the third trip they would save me the embarrassment and just pretend they didn't see me.

But I know they did, and I am quite certain they all snickered and talked about me and my bladder over coffee on their down times.

Yes.. I'm sure they had nothing better to do than discuss me.. at least my paranoia believes that.

But now no one notices if I go to the bathroom a zillion times a day.

I can up my water intake to ten gallons without worrying that anyone will think I'm a weirdo.

Well, no one but Kayla, but I'm pretty sure she already knows I'm a weirdo.

I'm also thankful for the no-cell-phone-while-driving law.

Yes I know some friends have threatened to disown me for not answering my phone any more.

But I've saved over $900 since it was announced. Not to mention it has probably kept me from an accident or two.

Now if they just outlaw eating Subway, painting nails, spraying hairspray and dancing to Latino music while driving I'll be the safest driver out there.

(well as long as I'm stuck behind Philip with no passing lanes in sight)

And lastly I'm thankful for Dolly Parton.



Really do I need to elaborate on this??

Nine to Five. Better Get to Livin'. Her entire Kenny Rogers Christmas album. Her entire outlook on life and the beauty industry.

"You'd be surprised how much it costs to look this cheap!"
Dolly Parton

Life would be a little less glittery without her. We should all put her on our "thankful for" list.

And maybe we should all put on a little more lipstick.


```` okay, my post was going to end with Dolly... but I just found one more thing to be thankful for.````

Vanilla Ice has his own show on the DIY network.

The man who sang the lines

"I'm killing your brain like a poisonous mushroom"

"With my rag top down so my hair can blow"

and

"If there was a problem, Yo, I'll solve it
Check out the hook while my DJ revolves it".

He is a general contractor. And he has his own "How to do it yourself" show.

And I am thankful, thankful baby.

An empty belly is the best cook.~Estonian Proverb

Those Estonians are a hardy bunch.

This weekend is Thanksgiving, and seeing as it is my favorite holiday ( yes even above Halloween) I would like to post an oldie but a goodie that shows my exemplary skills in the kitchen.

(The recycled story has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I was off to a Jane conference yesterday and couldn't get organized enough to have a post ready earlier. )

Stop judging and just enjoy the culinary ride back to 2005 when I was living in Yellowknife.....

Sometimes I forget that I'm not a good cook.

Sometimes I forget that it takes more than a few ingredients and hope to make food turn out right.

Or even edible.

Maybe, that's why I'm not a good cook, because I truly do believe that if you have good intentions, and you mix a bunch of stuff together and put it in the oven, it will turn out a master piece.

I blame all the "house" we used to play, when the sand and the mud and the moss would go on the rock oven and turn out to be dinner.

That's what I tried to make tonight.

(dinner, not sand-mud-moss cake)

With not really a lot of stuff in the fridge my options for supper were, cereal, toast, eggs, or pasta and vegetables...

Now wait a minute you say, that last one sounds like a great idea.

And it was a great idea, the past five nights that's what I've eaten.

I just wanted something different

Matt's suggestion was obvious (to him) Boston Pizza!!

They must deliver.... but ordering out is not within the budget I have planned.. so I decide, "hey, I can make my own pizza".

I don't have meat, or mushrooms, or peppers... or anything else that I like on pizza.

But I do have garlic. And Broccoli.

Garlic and discount broccoli, (why was it discount, I don't know, I've been eating it for a week, and it hasn't killed me yet!!).

So I decide to make garlic fingers. A Grande Plan Sam...

I don't have any yeast for the dough, but resourceful old me finds a recipe on the internet for yeast-less bread.

You need flour, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, and vinegar.... great!! I have everything but vinegar.

Opps the vinegar is the most important part, makes some sort of acid reaction.... so i check out my fridge for something else that is acidy. And I find a grapefruit.

(Let me just point out, that it is past 8:00pm and I haven't eaten since lunch at 2:00pm, so this next move I make may be part stupidity, but it is also fueled by a delirium of hunger.)

So I make grapefruit garlic bread... and no I don't measure.

(What would i measure with??? I'm Sitting on the floor and eating out of zip-loc containers here people, I did NOT splurge on measuring cups and spoons).

I just dump.

Lots of flour... some of the other ingredients, lots of water... oops, it was supposed to be a little water... so in goes more flour, and then the grapefruit juice... squeezed right on top.

Mix'r all up, flop it on the pan and in thirty minutes I am topping my heavy, crusty, lumpy, (guess I flunked the mix'r up part) with cheese, garlic and broccoli.

And then I ate it, and you know what it wasn't so bad.

I ate half the loaf. Kinda like my own little personal pan pizza. Just a little doughy (I was supposed to cook it for forty minutes, but my stomach decided when it was done instead of my common sense).

The regret is small, because as I look at my plate there is about three bites left, and I am actually considering them.

I apologize if you thought this e-mail was going to have a point...it doesn't.

I just thought if I don't wake up tomorrow, then at least people will know why.

At the funeral you can get Boston Pizza to cater. Then you can all go around shaking your heads and sighing

"The poor girl, if only she would go grocery shopping, she wouldn't have gotten her self into this mess."

But what ever you do, please don't blame the grapefruit bread... it really wasn't so terrible... I'm sure it won't kill me.

I just don't trust the discount broccoli

My spell check needs an Ativan

I was recently informed that the word Scrambly doesn’t really exist.

pshaw I saw... that’s poppycock,

or balderdash maybe.

Well to be honest, I will mention that I hadn’t actually typed the word “scrambly” I had typed “scramby”.

The non-existence of that word I will agree with.

But scrambly on the other hand makes perfect sense.

It my not be included in Wikipedia.

Or in the vocabulary of most Jr. High English teachers, but I must say, it exists in my world.

For the record, it is an adjective, used to describe your computer when it decides to go all crazy and make things scrambled and jumbled up.

It can also be used to describe satellite T.V. when the weather is bad.

I’m not by any means trying to defend myself, or my abuse of the English language.

I simply thought it was a word that I had made up while typing my panic induced call for help the other day.

Then I found it used in a something I wrote back in 2007.

That made me realize something... those of you who have been reading my e-mails all along, may have actually spent the past 5 or 6 years not having a clue what I was talking about.

So to help you all out, and to clear up any confusion with any new readers, I’ve decided to do a small glossary on some common but debatably non-existent terms that I tend to use frequently.

I digress

This one actually exists, although I’m quite certain I don’t always use it in the proper way. It’s one of my favorite sayings.

I read it in BSC book once, and have used it as often as possible since that fateful day back in 1995.

Sometimes I go off topic just for the chance to use it.

Wonky

As in weird and crazy.... to use it in a sentence....

“My hair feels all wonky today.”

or “I tried to call you but the phone went all wonky”

(as I type I realize the term is actually not just “wonky” but “all wonky”)

Going all wonky is usually something that happens just before your technology gets scrambly.

kestahvup

I’m fairly certain I not only spell this word wrong, but I also pronounce it wrong.

I can’t take credit for this one, it is actually C.S.Island slang. It means the sound of a gunshot.

The first time I heard a friend use this word I didn’t laugh.

I actually just sat there in silence, as did the rest of the audience, all of us unsure what the bejeezus kestahvup actually meant.

Once it was explained to me, I laughed.

And I still laugh about it. It makes absolutely no sense to me what so ever.

And so I continue to use that phrase as description for any type of loud bang or crash, because the sheer non-sense of the word makes me smile.

~I should mention that I have been told it’s not actually “UP” it ends in something else..... I don’t remember what, because frankly I don’t care... it makes no sense no matter if it ends in “up” or “ach” or “et” is still sounds absolutely NOTHING like a gunshot.~

Just thought I should clarify that part in case you ever feel like using that word while with-in the Barrington town limits. You may use it to sound cool in front of new friends, but they’ll probably call you on it.

They may not talk like the rest of the English speaking world, but dammit they believe they are grammatically correct anyway.

I shouldn’t have to define the word bejeezus I’m sure I didn’t make that one up. But in the spirit of trying to keep my writing somewhat PG, I tend to sub in words that sound funny for words of a less acceptable nature.

I’m also a big fan of talking about Sam and Debbie. I don’t know either of these people, but they get a lot of mentions.

Debbie, as in “FU Debbie!”. I actually have nothing against any Debbie in the the world. This is a phrase I said for years and had no idea why. Finally a friend informed me I was just a victim of MTV corruption. Thank you Eminem)

And Sam as in” That’s a grande plan Sam”

I’m sure most people want to correct my spelling there, as I often tend to stick “e” on the end of words where it doesn’t belong.

I blame the French immersion education.

Actually Mr. Healy blamed French immersion for that, as he noticed most students did it.

He let us get away with it, because he thought it was hard enough to go to school in one language, let alone in two. So he never corrected us, and never deducted marks for that particular spelling error.

So since grade eight I’ve been sticking “e”s on the ends of words that don’t belong, like a cat sticks his sharpened claws in a canary cage.

And I haven’t felt bad about it since.

In fact sometimes I juste put E’s on the endes of wordes because I thinke I’me privilagede toe doe ite.

But I digress.

This grand-with-an-e thing is not a case of a French learning superiority complex.

It is simply that I think the plan is in fact grand enough to deserve a little something extra added to it... the “je ne sais quoi” of spelling.... GRANDE.

Another common theme with my writing is the fact that sometimes I go on for pages with seemingly no point at all.

Or worse, it starts out like a have a point, and seems like I’m getting to a point, and then it never appears.

This is one such time folks. Thank you for tuning in, and blowing the last ten minutes of your time.

Perhaps I’ve enlighten you. Or at least amused you. Or perhaps I’ve just confused you.

I believe I’m a bit confused myself..... (actually I’m confuddled, but I’m trying not to use words that debatably don’t exist.)

My Karma ran over my Dogma

"I don't believe in superstitions, it's bad luck"

I was not going to post today, As I am technically on vacation.

But seeing as it is 8 am and I'm awake anyway, I've already taken the dog for a walk, no one else is up, and my only other thing to do on my list this morning is sort through some workers comp government craziness, I guess I will post.

It's kind of becoming a mid-week routine anyway.

I felt a little empty not posting last night.

Like missing Sunday morning bacon and eggs... it just felt like I was screwing my week up.

I know not everyone believe in routines and rituals. I explained one of my weirder ones to a friend once.

When I use a public bathroom, I always unlock the stall door before I flush.

It's a simple precaution I take, just to avert disaster in a public place.

My reasoning is... I'm always a little bit afraid that the toilet may overflow, and at the same time, the stall door lock gets stuck.

My friend (who I must mention is extremely co-ordonated and not really given to belief in rituals to please a higher power) told me it would have to be a big coincidence that two terrible things happen in the same stall, on the same day, to the same person.

My belief (and I must mention that I'm generally banging into walls for no reason, and grew up Catholic with the belief that when something bad happens you must have deserved God's vengeful wrath...) is that life does that type of thing to me just for sh#ts and giggles.

---- I must add, as a side note, as soon as I typed this last sentence my computer froze for ten minutes, again, that's what I get for that little sarcastic poke at the almighty.

It's now 8:45 and I've spent 10 minutes typing and 35 minutes trying not to throw my computer on the cement floor and step on it-----

My belief that life can hand out more than one bad occurrence at a time was magnified this vacation.

Not by the fact that we chose to tent during a hurricane, that's just plain odd luck.

Not by the fact that I came to hike through the Highlands and the only thing that didn't get packed was my sneakers. I'll blame that one on poor communication.

But yesterday I somehow managed to slip on the cliff rocks (even with my brand new perfectly treaded sneakers I had just bought).

I slipped down a small crevice of rocks and dirt and water and general garbage.

Cut my hands on some glass, left behind by scuzzy party-litterers.

I let go of the dog-leash in all of the general klutzy confusion, and when I stood up to get him back,I managed to get my hair tangled in a tree.

I was wet, hurt, dirty, dog-less, and hanging from the side of cliff by six inches of curls and a pine cone.

It is slim chance moments like that in my life that re-affirm my belief that I should always unlock the stall door, before flushing a toilet in a public bathroom.

It's not always easy trying to get ahead in this universe, and I am going to take all the precautions I can think of.

Where's my newspaper??

When life hands you lemons.... make some Lemon-aide.

Just be careful not to spill the sugary goodness all over you pant-leg and then stand on a fire ant hill or something.

There is a Garfield cartoon out there in the world, that has a photo of the beloved grumbly cat with a rolled up newspaper saying "If today were a spider, I'd knock it into next week"

Amen, you furry lasagna lover, Amen.

Today's events actually began last night, as I was heading to bed, and I realized it was time to change the alarm clock.

We'd been getting up too late, and frankly I'd been cutting it way to close in the morning. So I took the time and the trouble to change the stupid thing.

I hate doing it, the buttons only work half the time, so you end up standing there for ten minutes until you fingers go numb and you start to daze off and forget what you're doing.

Suddenly you realize you've gone past the time you wanted in the first place so you have to hold it down for the next 50 numbers to count by ( which you would think would only take 50 seconds, but is more like three minutes.)

Chinese water torture has nothing on changing the alarm clock.

But I did change it, because I was planning ahead, and being proactive and trying to improve my life and crap.

That's how bad days usually start for me, by trying to improve it. If I would just give up and say, "Today i hope to be as crappy and unsuccessful as yesterday", I would probably achieve my goal.

But when I say, "Hey... here's a little something that might make my day run a little smoother" The world stands up and takes notice, and sticks it's foot out into the aisle just to trip me up and remind me that it was here first, it owes me nothing.

None the less, I keep trying.

So I changed the time on the alarm to a 7:30 am, instead of 8:00.

This morning as I felt the dog paw at me, i looked at the clock to figure out what ungawdly hour he was deciding he needed to go pee, and saw that it was in fact 8:05

No didn't sleep through my alarm... you can't sleep through an alarm you didn't actually set it to go off in the first place.

World : 1

Elizabeth : 0

I truck off to work. Slightly late, with not quite everything I needed done, but oh well, that's what tomorrow is for right?

I arrive at work to see my first client has canceled. I actually have nothing to do for two hours.

World : 2

Elizabeth : 0

I haul out my computer to start doing some book work, and promptly realize I can only do half of it, as I left the other half at home in my rush to get to work on time.

World.. you get no points for that. I'm pretty sure that's a hit below the belt.

So I decide to clean up a little... I scrub my wax pot clean, put in a new can of wax.

Spill the new wax on the clean pot.

Pick it up to clean it again and drizzle it all over the floor.

Just wait.... that's not the worst of it yet.

I throw the brand new can of wax in the garbage out of frustration, and scrub things clean again.

( In case you're keeping track, I've made no money yet today, as I've had no clients, and I've just thrown out $10 worth of wax, and used $5 worth of orange clean to clean up...not exactly a productive day business-wise.)

I then try to scrape the spilled wax off the floor with a popsicle stick, and get a SPLINTER!!!

From a POPSICLE STICK!!!!

Aren't they supposed to be child proof or something??

( Don't even get me started on child proof stuff.. I know it's a marketing scam that Tylenol puts a "Child Proof" cap on their pills... I get a headache just thinking about opening them.)

Finally my first client arrives. She is new, usually a good sign, as it means I'm still doing something right somewhere, to be bringing new people through my door.

She explains her mother-in-law loves me and bought her a gift certificate!

Word of mouth advertising is the best you can have.... that's great! My day is starting to improve.

World : 17

Elizabeth :1

At least it's not a shut out day.

As I go to complete the book work for the gift certificate, I realize it has never been entered in the first place, which means I have no money for that service allotted anywhere. Technically I did that service for free...

World.... screw you I'm not playing any more.

What's it worth to you?

Believe you can and you're halfway there.
Theodore Roosevelt

Today while complaining about fruit flies, a friend told me his theory of why there is a "fruit fly season", something to do with the weather turning colder and the warm air inside....

Don't worry, this entry is not about fruit flies... I am far to riled up about them to make a short yet slightly witty entry about them...

But he did remind me of what I was doing this time two years ago, as the weather started to change and the inside become much cosier than the wild out-of-doors.

That wild started coming in to enjoy our more temperate climate.

They were not welcome.

These uninvited guests I'm talking about are most popularly known as Mickey and Minnie.

As someone who has grown up in the country, I am more likely to call them plain old rodents.

The first sign of them came unexpectedly, as I thought I saw one out of the corner of my eye... not wanting to be a wimp in in front my my then-new boyfriend I quickly convinced myself it was a trick of the light and I was over reacting.

The second sign of them could not be ignored... I saw it full tilt run from behind the dryer and under our washer.

There was no more "not wanting to be a wimp".

I had a full on little girl freak-out jumping up and down running up the stairs and pretty much screaming indecipherable things.

My cool girl cover was blown

(Who the f cares!!! We were living with a mouse!)

And you know what they say, when you see one, there are usually ten more that you don't see.

People who say that probably have not got mice in their houses. If they did they would realize that not only is that little quip not comforting, it's down right insomnia inducing.

So after I calmed down and starting speaking English again (as opposed to "ohhhmyyygawdit'saMOUSEisawitISAWITFORREALIT'STHERE!!!!!!) My shell shocked new boyfriend went about the manly task of setting traps.

And every day he also did the manly thing of checking the traps, and I did the girlie part of stuffing every nook and cranny I could find with steel wool.

This was a system of gender separation I was quite comfortable.

The 50's didn't have it all wrong you know. There are plenty of times I would much rather be in charge of having a cocktail at the ready when he walks through the door after a long day of doing things that I just feel I shouldn't have to do. ( i.e. take out the garbage, mow with a push mower, remove spiders, open jars, etc.)

And then came his annual conference. Which meant he was to be gone for three days.

Which also meant if something was caught in a trap I would have to take care of it, or live with a dead decomposing carcass for three days.

The adult, mature, rational, option is to "take care of it", the little squirmy girlie girl option isn't so obvious.

He checked the traps that morning before he left- all clear. He kissed me good bye and said he though maybe we had caught them all anyway.

5:45 am I heard his truck drive out of the driveway.

5:47 am I heard the undeniable snap of a trap going off in the basement.

The smart thing to do would have been to call him and make him come back. Two years later that is exactly what I would do. Fresh-relationship-girl decided she would tough it out on her own.

All I had to do was go down, remover the offending vermin, reset the trap and life would be fine.

I got up my nerve and put on my best brave face and went into the basement.....I could do this.... "I think i can, I think I can, I am the jedi master of oohhhhhhhh gawdammit there it is!!!!! eeeeeewwwwwwwwww I am NOT TOUCHING THAT!!"

Plan B... i found a broom.... with the broom I successfully managed to push the stupid thing around for about ten minutes....

Now not only did I have to deal with the deceased before breakfast, but at this rate I was going to be unbelievably late for work.

Plan C... I found my emergency snow shovel from the car, and swept the mouse and trap onto it.

Now what the hell do I do?? Why are all of may plans only one sentence long!!!???

I maneuvered the expired rodent, still attached to it's device of demise upstairs, through the kitchen and out the door, like a cocktail waitress from a five star resort, holding a nuclear bomb.

(I should mention that by this point I had considered calling my father about three times, but didn't, since he lived a half hour away, and I also considered calling Eric since he lived closer, but knew I would never live down the shame of it.)

I brought it to the edge of the yard and realized I now had to actually get the thing OUT of the trap in order to dispose of it.

I was starting to wish I had gloves. Actually i was starting to wish I had never decided to be a "big girl" and take care of it myself in the first place.

But I knew it had to be taken care of, and that I had to save the trap and remove the mouse.

As I inspected it closer, trying to find the easiest was to pry it open I caught a glimpse of something orange.

Home Hardware.

$1.99

And my only thought was "screw this"

With that I took the shovel and hurled it as far as I could into the woods... cheap damn trap and all.

The moral of this story?

"No matter how far you've gone on the wrong road, turn back"

L.O.C. (Letter of Complaint)

Dear MADD (Mothers Aligned with Dental Destruction)

You are making me FAT (Feel A little Toothachey). Your little jar of jujubes sit there on my counter every day.. and stare at me... asking me to please just put a dollar in and then I can have some gummy goodness.

I don't even like Jujubes!!

That's the worst part... it used to peppermint patties...and I don't like those either, but at least after I ate one I would remember that I didn't like them.

The peppermint sticks to you for so long that it would only be one every few weeks... maybe around PMS time (Peppermint Munching Syndrome).

But now you Mothers have changed your minds, and believe that GCG (Gummy Candy Goodness) is the best way to avert the DUMB (Driving Under Many Beers) accidents.

I'm not even going to try to imagine how this money actually helps drunk drivers... never have I been at the pizza place a 3 am and seen a MADD sponsored vehicle pull up and offer me a ride home.

Nor do they hand out MADD sponsored taxi vouchers at the bar.

All I can see that comes with this maddening effect of fundraising is that every few weeks you come along and fill the JuJube jar back up again.

(which I can't really complain about, since near the bottom of the jar it is only the baggies left with lots of green or black candies in them...IDEA colours... as in I Don't Eat Any of those colours. )

The only other effect that MADD seems to have on my life is that they are leaving my cash drawer to be a little SOL (Short On Loonies).

Kayla does not seem to be as effected by their LURE (Loathsome Urge Regarding Eating) as I am... she claims she eats them too, but I think she just says that to make me feel better.

As well, I have never seen a client fall victim to the jujube either. Not once have I seen anyone else ever put money in that jar, or eat any of the CINDYs (Calorie Infused Nutrient Devoid Yummies).

The solution to this problem, is not a WIMP (Willpower Increasing Management Program) but something as simple as a new fund-raising system altogether.

I'll call it MEWAC (Monetary Exchange Without Any Consequences). I'm simply asking that MADD removes the UT ( Unavoidable Temptation) from our counter top, and instead simply shows up every third week, takes a twenty from my cash drawer and walks out.

I see no reason why we can't come to this arrangement WI-FI (Without Involving Furthur Incidents) but should there be any problems I will be more than happy to involve the DEA (Diet Enforcment Agency).

Thank You,
YOLP
(Your Overly Loyal Patron)
Elizabeth

Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional.

"95 percent of women suffer from cellulite, including me."~ Jillian Micheals.

If that's all you suffer from in life, can't you count yourself fairly lucky??

Can we do a pole on how many MEN suffer from cellulite?? I'm going to guess maybe 10-15%

Is that because they have a different genetic make up?? Is it because they have thicker skins?? or thicker brains...

Maybe 95% of men HAVE cellulite, but only 20% actually even notice, and it's only 5% that think it's something worth SUFFERING over.

Kids in Africa are suffering from the aids virus.

You suffer from Malaria.

People with leprosy suffer with a LOSS OF LIMBS!!

Are we really that effected by a few little dimples.... or even a lot of little dimples...

I'm not saying I'm not vain by any means, or that my body is perfect the way it is, or that I would never change anything.

But I can't say the I'm actually suffering from my cellulite... in fact I can think of a few things I am suffering more from.

Curly hair... that is something I suffer with, especially this year with the humidity factor being somewhere between 95% to "I think hell is boiling over and I'm in it"

What makes me think I "suffer" from curly hair?

Maybe the billions of dollars and hours I have spent either trying to make it strait.... or trying to make the curls look better.

I am a master with a bobby pin.

I have actually used my clothes iron on my hair more than I have ever used it on any article of clothing.

I have learnt that just about anything creamy will help in a pinch. ( Cosmo just offered the advice of using your new beau's shaving cream to smooth out your ponytail.)

Yea sure- what do you think is going to weird the guy out more the morning after??? Knowing that your hair is a little messy, or knowing that you have already entered crazy stalker girl mode by going through his bathroom and using his products?

Come to think of it.. I actually just suffer from hair... when I was younger my hair was fairly strait and I paid the price ( in money, and the damage to my hair, not to mention my nostrils) to get a perm!!!

I have spent far more time trying to change my hair, the colour, the texture, the length.

And now I'm realizing it's not just the hair on my head..

I pencil in my brows every day.

I dye my lashes, then I coat them with mascara, each and every application thinking about how I should splurge on an eyelash curler.

And I have used every method known to man to remove it from other parts of my body.... in fact I have made a career out of removing it from women AND men.

We're ALL suffering from hair!!!!

Even celebrities have a problem with it!!! They are paying thousands to have it sew in, lasered off, curled, teased, straitened, thinned, implanted.

Remember Britney's big meltdown?? The worst of it was when she shaved her head...

( Sinead O'conner's been doing it for years and no one really notices, but when a mouseketeer decides to finally rid herself of something we are ALL suffering from, we hospitalize her! )

And they say the road of life can get a little bumpy... I say it's much worse when life gets hairy.

A Learning Curve

You can't teach and old dog new tricks, and you can't teach a young dog to stay home.

There are some things in life you may have been taught but you never actually learned.

Some things like walking, talking, looking both ways before you cross the street and even times tables are perpetually drilled into us until we can accomplish the task with an 80% success rate.

Other things are brought to our attention ... "Here's a skill that could be useful in life" and then left up to us if we ever really figure it out properly

I wish I had of actually learned how to iron from my mother... I still can't do it.. maybe that's because it's one of those things that comes with practice.

Since I'm not very good at it, and I don't like to buy new clothes, I'm not willing to sacrifice the ones that I have to practise until I'm good.

There for I am 26 years old and still bring my cotton blouses to my mother and ask her to iron them for me.

It was my dad who was always trying to teaching us weird random skills that I now wish I could actually do.

It may have been great parenting, or it may have just been boredom, but Dad taught us many things as kids.

He taught me how to play hockey, and golf, and that's why I am right handed but always hold my sticks lefty.

He also taught us all to walk on stilts once. He had every kid in the neighbourhood outfitted with two by fours with foot rests at varying lengths.

The older kids had to stand on back of the pick up truck in order to get on the stilts. Actually I'm amazed no one died... this was back in the day before they made you wear a helmet to brush you teeth or walk downstairs.

Being the youngest, my stilts were only about 4 inches off the ground. So I didn't really learn any circus credibility, but I think I can credit Dad to this day for the fact that I can walk two miles in 3 1/4 inch heals without flinching.

He also taught me a valuable rollerblading lesson. Don't go down a paved hill when there is only gravel at the bottom to stop you. That was a lesson he taught me by example. I didn't need to try it myself.

But the one skill that I think would be really useful these days was back when I was about 7 or 8 years old and he decided we should all learn to use a lasso.

This is a skill I actually practiced with a certain amount of dedication. (Mainly because at the time I still believed that a horse for my birthday was a real possibility. Being able to use a lasso, and looking good in a cowboy hat seemed to get me one step closer to this dream.)

But alas, having no real training, and only the tiniest concept of how a lasso actually works, eventually that skill was given up as well ( actually, I think that was when he moved us onto the stilts).

Every time my dog heads out the yard, and I stand there useless, screaming my head off, fifty feet of rope all around me, I have a tiny smidgen of remorse that I never mastered the art of slinging a perfect circle of rope around a moving object.

12 steps from channel 142

Reality is a crutch for people who can't cope with drugs. ~Lily Tomlin

I have a confession to make... I have been doing something I am not proud of... and I'm pretty sure this is something harder to kick than cocaine

(actually I swear there's a survey on that somewhere "one hundred and one things that are harder to kick than a coke habit"... but sometimes I think that's just propaganda spread by the coke dealers themselves, or maybe something smokers have made up to make them selves feel better)

They say the first step to kicking a bad habit is admitting you have a problem, so that's what I'm here for... to confess

I think I'm addicted to "The Hills".

Yea I know, the show has been on for four or five years, and I've hated it for every second.

Well every second up to about four or five weeks ago. When regular TV programming stopped playing, and MTV started doing the all day marathons of the insanely annoying and pointless show.

Since I've seen every episode of SATC multiple times, and Yard Crashers wasn't on, I started watching them.

Just like a drug addict that only wanted to try smoking it once, to see what all the fuss is about, I only tried to watch it to understand what was so great about it.

And honestly the first time, it was just as stupid and pointless as I remembered.

Then the next weekend the marathon played again. And I saw a show that had aired previous to the one I had "experimented" with before. And it started to draw me in.

But I still wasn't hooked yet... It was just something I could do occasionally, turn it on as background noise while I did the dishes.

I could turn that dial off anytime I wanted to.

I just didn't really want to.

I broke down and told a cousin of mine about this small dabble in to the world of bad reality TV. She not only admitted to watching as well, but informed me that "The Hills" was really just a starter show.

There is this other show called "The City". A spin off of "The Hills". Just as staged and lame and pointless to the point where it becomes mind numbing. Yet it was about the fashion industry.

One hit of "The City" and I was hooked. Of course, when "The City" wasn't playing, I had to settle for whatever form of reality TV I could get my hands on.

I then became obsessed. I was watching episodes over again to see what I had missed.

(That's the beauty of becoming obsessed with a show after it's been cancelled, you can always watch another episode.
You people who get hooked on shows right away mean you have to wait an entire week to get your next fix. )

I was considering the box set of entire seasons.....

I was watching "The After Show", an actual show about what just happened on the episodes that just aired.....

(Bad enough you say?? Throw in two obnoxious hosts and some staged interviews and you have something that makes the cat clawing your eyes out sound like a peaceful retreat. )

And I was justifying it....

.....Grey's isn't on.... I don't get home in time to watch Oprah.... at least I'm not watching Jerry Springer.

I really wasn't ready to admit I had a problem. But I did have a turning point last weekend.

I turned on MTV and began watching "Jersey Shore". When I started to know them by name instead of "that chubby one with the pouffy hair" I realized I was out of control.

The first step is admitting you have a problem.... now that I've put down the remote, and confessed my reality downward spiral, I need to go on to the next step and get help.

Move over Ms. Lohan, I'm next in line for Dr Drew.

Would You Rather....

Would you rather

A) earn 50,000 a year while others make 25,000

 or

B) earn 100,000 a year while others make 250,000?

When Readers Digest posed this question I picked A, much like everybody else so they say.

 I have to admit that when I first chose, I thought I was being frugal.

Actually in all honesty I think what happened is given the choice of the two I believed I wouldn't even need 100,000 to be happy.

Someone with less than 20,000 yearly thinks that making an extra 30,000 sounds like a pretty sweet deal.

Then I kept reading, trying to see if the article had a point..... it did!!!!

(this is surprising only because I rarely seem to have a point when I ramble about random things... although that may be why I'm not published and Mr Stewart Foxman is.)

The point was we all suffer a little bit from the "Keeping up with the Joneses"  syndrome.

 (nobody apparently is trying to keep up with the Kardashians anymore.. the Joneses must be slightly more attainable...)

 Actually to paraphrase the article, people are willing to forsake a doubling of salary just so they can outspend their neighbours.  We all just want more more stuff than the next person.

psshhhaw I said... I'm not that shallow... I don't need other people to gauge how happy I am... and then I thought about it... I have a lot of time to sit and think about things like this, as I have an hour drive to work every morning.

 So during this mornings drive I convinced myself that I chose A because I believed 50,000 was enough to make me happy.... especially since if no one else made that much the cost of living would have to go down and I'd be able to get everything I'd ever dreamed of.....

... it had nothing to do with at least I'd have more money than everyone else.

 At this moment of self-celebrating-clarity the Turbine Truck passes me. This is a long-haul truck that is carrying HUGE steel cylinders through the narrow roadways. I've met him every workday for the past month.

 There is always a string of cars behind these trucks, as there is a half hour stretch where you simply can not pass. Driving behind these massive trucks probably turns that half hour stretch into something more like 45 minutes to an hour.

 (I'm not rambling here.. I promise I do have a point)

 This morning I decided to count how many vehicles were subject to this torment.

Eight...... as I counted them I thought to myself, "well I may have a long drive to work but at least I'm not one of those cars....."

... uh.... wait a minute.... did the sight of someone less fortunate than I just make me happier about my own situation??

 no, I'm not that shallow... remember, I just figured that out. Just a flukey coincidence That I hate being stuck behind trucks and I decided to be happy that this morning I wasn't.

 As Karma would have it...I promptly turned the next corner and found myself squarely in behind a large slow moving log truck..... Today of all days.

 Now not only was I stuck behind something on the Port Motoun Road, which in itself drives me absolutely bonkers.  But I also had the weight of a guilty conscience for not being as much of a "love thy neighbor" type Christian as I thought I was.

 I decided not to bother thinking about either thing and started wishing for the zillionth time this summer that I had a car with air conditioning (see, the $50,000 would actually be quite useful to me)

 And on the next turn I see a gaggle of cyclist straining with their orange vests and high flying tail flags to get up the steep hill that I was easily coasting down in my non-air-conditioned car.

Then without a chance for me to tell it to zip it's lips, my subconscious  managed to mummer "Well, you don't have air-conditioning but you're sure as hell not as hot as those poor people"

Any self riotousness I had left, flew out my open window.....

So now I choose to accept it....

 I may buy my sunglasses from the dollars store instead of the Gucci web-site.

 I may have purchase my Steve maddens from Frenchies for $4 instead of $400 from a boutique downtown New York,

 I may not want to go $400, 000 into debt just so I can have the biggest, bestest house on the block.

 But dammit I can't help but gain a little peace to my mind to hear someone, somewhere has it a little worse off than me.

 According to Foxman, that makes me human, which in turn makes it impossible for me to be frugal.

According to my conscience, at least I'm not as bad as so-and-so down the road.....

Brick by brick

If you have built castles in the air,
your work need not be lost;
that is where they should be.
Now put foundations under them."
~~~Henry David Thoreau

I tend to build a lot of castles in the air.. in fact I'm pretty sure I need to apply for a second zip code those castles have grown so many.

Some of these castles I've abandoned. I realize now that it's not actually ideal to live in seclusion on the Island for the rest of my life (I like society, most of the time).

I've also given up on becoming a runner ( I just honestly can't give enough damn to keep going).

I have to admit I've let the castle with me being a coupon queen become a little dusty ( first you have to find the coupon, then you have to WANT what it's couponing for, then you have to find the damn product, and if you're prudent enough to actually BRING the coupon with you to the store you still have to actually USE the product in the end... that's a lot of work to save 35 cents)

Another one of those castles included updating every day.. a new and funny quip about life each morning... why not, I have interesting conversations with my clients everyday. I should be able to put one in blog form.

Hell I spend a half hour every morning mindlessly biking around, why not use that time to think of something funny, then sit down, enjoy my morning coffee and breakfast and write.

It was a grande plan m'am, and as grand plans seem to do... it collapsed.

Turns out, I actually have other things that are more important than a daily rant.

Also turns out, a daily rant takes more time to type and post than it does to simply actually RANT about something.

And as you may have noticed from a previous post... it actually does take a lot of concentration to not end up in the ditch while biking with a 45pd Husky attached to you.

Not to mention that my morning coffee and breakfast is actually quite enjoyable because I have NOTHING to do but enjoy my coffee and breakfast.

But I'm not ready to put this castle in the marathon-coupon-hermit category... I simply need to reconfigure the floor plan...and maybe try to post once a week......

I hope.

Just as I'm learning that the house building process takes longer than expected ( yes people told me it would, but who wants to believe everybody else??) I'm also learning that you don't just pick up someday and jam Blogging into your life.

So I'm going to start slowly, one weekly ranting brick at a time. I still have a faint sliver of hope that someday I will be so good that I will be posting everyday....

Perhaps I should start taking my laptop with me on my bike rides....

Hey I have a turbo stick, I can post from the ditch if I have to.