Meet the Teacher

E-harmony is a process.  I guess this is fair - any relationship you embark upon is a series of steps that lead to a friendship or an acquaintance or whatever.  E-harmony has just laid the steps out for you in point form so you can prepare for what is coming next.  Once you've completed the first 4 steps in "guided communication" you read a nice (albeit long) message from Dr. Warren.  Basically, it's a disclaimer...you know, the standard...we don't do background checks, follow your intuition, be extra cautious of anyone asks for money (er...there goes that idea...) and then you reach "open communication."  I'm not going to lie, this is a little intimidating.  For the past month or so, you've been guided thru the communication.  They give you a list of questions you can ask and then (these guys have thought of everything...) they give you answers to pick from.  You hardly have to think.  Plus, there's this build-up to the open communication.  This person liked the answers to your first questions, liked the answers to your second (long answer) questions, they've read the warning advice from Dr. Warren, and they still want to talk to you.  What do you talk about?  You know, besides the weather...no, seriously...what???

I've reached this step with one guy who's a high school teacher.  For this reason, I shall call him Mr. Kotter (Can you believe this is the only reference to a high school teacher I can think of?  And I've been thinking all day...this is all I've got.  I think it's important to mention, though, that it's really Mr. Kott-ah or Mr. Kot-tair...depending on your level of cool vs. geek.  I also think it's very important to point out that I have only watched this in re-runs...I think I was 2 when it first came out...)

Mr. Kotter is tall (6 feet)...this is good.  Mr. Kotter has a 6 year old daughter.  This is also good.   Very good.  Mr. Kotter is 36.  He likes to laugh (well that's a relief...) and is physically active.  He feels chemistry is very important and can tell within the first few dates if said chemistry is there.  If he could do anything with no consequences, no cost, and no one would ever find out he would 'paint the town red.'  Yup.  You know as much about Mr. Kotter as I do.  Almost a month of "guided" communication and I know that he likes to laugh.  Who - dare I ask - doesn't like to laugh? 

Sigh. 

So, he asked about my day, and I mentioned the unusually warm weather we're experiencing right now.  I'm waiting with bated breath for his response...

It's a start.  A beginning, really.  Who knows what may happen.  I'm trying to remain absolutely neutral, but I will say that in the little recesses of my mind I am hopeful.  What if it works out?  Wouldn't it be great to be a stepmom to a little girl only a year older than Q?  And he's a teacher.  That is so fabulous.  Not only is he inspiring young minds, but he can also help Q with his homework!  It's perfect, right?

And I'm only just a little planning our wedding in my head...

This Girl Just Couldn't Resist...

I had such a fabulous Christmas.  It was so relaxing.  I was spoiled rotten.  Q went shopping with my mom and picked out this beautiful butterfly necklace.  Q picked it all by himself.  My mom says that as soon as he found it, he just knew.  Even when the sales lady showed him other ones, he just knew that mommy would love the one he had chosen.  And I do.  I so do.  I got a beautiful cashmere sweater and suede boots (great for a soccer mom such as myself!!)

And it was peaceful.  Unlike millions of people who hate their family, I am fortunate enough to like mine!  I had my beautiful son, my lovely momma, and all was right with the world.  If my brother had been there, it would have been perfect. On Christmas Eve, Q fell asleep to "T'was The Night Before Christmas" and me singing him Christmas carols.  We left cookies out for Santa and carrots for the reindeer.  I love that innocence about Q.  The innocence of believing in Santa.  It's something I don't ever remember.  I remember pretending to believe when I was little.  But I don't ever remember believing.

My plan for Boxing day - of course - was to fight for the last of this, or the size 10 in that...shopping with the masses of people who didn't get what the wanted on Christmas.  Or maybe they did, but the lure of bargains and the desire for things got the better of them.  We woke up early in the morning, put on some coffee, made some scrambled eggs and decided that shopping was the absolute last way we wanted to spend the day.  The funny thing was, there was really nothing I could think of that I wanted.  I had everything that I needed.  Instead, I took Q to a movie.

Peace.  That's what I'm talking about.

Nothing...I didn't need a thing...

And...

...then I went on e-bay.

Turns out, I needed a new messenger bag for work (it's super cute), perfume (Ralph Lauren Romance, my favourite scent ever), and a Coach bag. I kinda feel really very guilty about the last purchase, because when all was said and done it was $175.00.  And I really don't need it...but, it's pink.  And it's Coach...Coach!!  Really, it's more of an investment.  Pieces like this are classic, you have them for years and years.  And c'mon - pink...how ME is that?

Holy Crap.  I just spent $175.00 on a purse. 

Merry Christmas!

Tomorrow I am going to begin my Christmas shopping.  Okay, I guess technically it's later on today, but it's still tomorrow to me.  I mean seriously, Christmas shopping on Christmas Day is soooo Alex P. Keaton.  Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve, however, is unfortunately just like me.  In my defence, I've been so busy at work, exhausted all the time, and I had to wait for pay day which just happened to fall on Christmas Eve (oh the joy of single motherhood!!) 

This is how I am going to approach shopping tomorrow (erm...today)  I am, first and foremost, making a pitstop at Starbies for a fabulous Creme Brule Latte.  I think I'll even spring for a Grande!  I am going to park far, far away from the mall and walk in so I don't have to fight with 15 different cars for the same coveted close parking spot.  I have a list in my head that I have been going over and over (and over and over....) so I know exactly what I'm looking for, exactly where to find it, and exactly what it will cost.  I am planning to spend at least an hour in a line up, who knows...maybe even two line ups.  I figure if I plan for a large line up, nothing will get to me.  Thirty people in front of me?  No problem.  The person behind me has one item?  Of course you can go in front of me.  The person in front of me is paying with rolled coins and is short fifty two cents?  I will have fifty two cents in my pocket to give them.  I will hum Christmas carols as I shop.  I will wish every one a Merry Christmas because, dammit, this is MY holiday, and I am going to celebrate it.  If you're offended, well suck it Mister.  And Merry Christmas to you, too!  I will be complete Zen.  I will be the epitomy of Christmas spirit and joy. 

My Christmas wish for you is peace this holiday season.  Genuine peace.  That on Christmas Day, amidst the chaos of presents and family and food, you will feel a moment of peaceful bliss.  That you will have a moment where you realize how fortunate for everything and everyone that surrounds you.  And that you will say a quiet prayer of thanks. 

Merry Christmas, my blogger friends. 

Careful What You Wish For

Like father, like son

My relationship with my ex is volatile, to say the least.  Usually when I describe him, the first word that comes to mind starts with an 'a' and ends with an 'ss'.  There are two things about him that drive me absolutely insane.  The first is the fact that he does not possess any common sense what-so-ever.  Like none.  At all.  The second is his inability to have normal relationships, in part because he is the most selfish person I have ever met.  Many an argument has been started due to his stupidity or selfishness. 

I've often wished that he would just disappear (haha, that is soooo putting it mildly!)  Here's the little life lesson for today:  Be Careful What You Wish For.  After facing the 3rd layoff in as many years, he has decided to look overseas for work.  And I feel sick.  Not for me, of course...the further he is from me, the greater chance I have at sanity.  I feel sick for my little boy.  Sick because one day last week as Q was falling asleep he said quietly, "I don't think Daddy loves me anymore."  Sick because I don't want my son to grow up without a father figure, no matter how annoying I find him. 

Mr. Ex grew up without a mother and a distant father (who, coincidentally was overseas...)  He grew up in boarding schools.  His relationship with his father is next to non-existant, and his relationship with people in general sucks. 

I know I can carry Q on my own.  I know that I can raise him to be a strong, carrying man.  I know that I have the patience to be a full-time mommy.  Unfortunately, I  cannot be a father.  I can't be an example of what a good father is.  I can't take away those fears of not being good enough or those feelings of abandonment.  It makes me sick.  As a mother, I want to shield him from those feelings for as long as possible.   And I don't want his father to be the one who wounds this perfect little being.  I don't want him to grow up like his father. 

An example of no common sense:  The guy wants to sign the house over to me, so he won't have to pay taxes in Canada.  He says he'll pay the mortgage while I'm living there.  Uh....hello...you sign the house over to me...I'm selling it, taking the money, and running.  Okay, just joking, but why would I want to live there?  It has sooooo many horrible memories for me from when we were together.  And it has his stuff.  Everywhere.  Can you even imagine, bringing my new boyfriend over?  Oh, wait...it's not about me.  It's about what's most convenient for him.  What an ass.

The Blind Date

It was bad.

Like really bad.

In hindsight though, I guess I should have asked a bit more about him than just his name.  I'm compiling a list of questions to ask in the event that one of my friends decides to set me up on a blind date in the future.  I'm sure this list will come in handy.  Just so you know, what you are about to read is real. It has not been made up, exaggerated or altered in any way.  The names, however, have been changed to protect...oh screw it...his name was James and I think he was 5 foot 4.

First of all, if you don't drink coffee do not suggest 'going for coffee.'  But I'm just nitpicking here.  While we're waiting for said coffee, I find out he's an insomniac.  No biggie.  Also while we're waiting for our coffee, I find out that he moved to Vancouver recently to be with his mom.  Evidently she has some health issues and he wanted to be able to take care of her.  Openminded me thinks that's noble.  He's short, but he's a caretaker.  But, he continues to say, "she hasn't changed at all.  She's the same old witch she always was.  A drug addiction can do that to you."  I wouldn't know.  Of course, she's clean now but (I learned a lot about drug addictions today....) the damage has been done.  She kicked him and his son out because they ate too much bread.  I'm kinda with her on that one...hasn't he heard how bad carbs are for you?  Hello, Atkins would be horrified, too.  Phew...that was the frst 5 minutes.

He didn't even mention his dad.  I think he's in jail.  That's totally second date conversation though.  You don't bring stuff like that up on the first date.  You wouldn't want to scare anyone away.

We get our coffee (yes, he ordered coffee....) and sit down.  Why'd he live in Calgary?  Family?  A job? Nope.  He was living in Canmore when his ex (mother of child) stayed with him while she looked for a place to live herself.  The only trouble is, she's an alcoholic.  A crazy alcoholic, apparently....she broke into the apartment below his and stole their alcohol.  He got kicked out.  So, a buddy said he could stay with him for a while...in Calgary. 

He bought a house in Calgary with a guy he worked with.  He was the co-signer and the mortgage got approved right away because his work buddy's sister worked in a bank.  The plan was to flip the house in three months and sell it for twice the price.  Except...the guy decides he wants to rent it out instead, takes off to Lebanon (of all places!!!) with the rent money, and leaves Buddy ( I can't call him Mr. Mom....Mr. Mom makes me think of a man who's got his shit together....) with a $9000.00 mortgage payment.  The bank gets mad and decides they want to sue him for $416,000.00, so he declares bankruptcy.

It gets better folks.  Right now he is on unemployment insurance while he figures out what he wants to do with his life.  He really wants to be a personal trainer, but his employment officer talked him out of that dream.  '"Shot that dream down", he says.  I can't imagine why.  I'd have a personal trainer who weighed maybe 100 pounds, wouldn't you?  But I'm a girl.  What guy wants to look like a stick figure?  If you're a trainer, isn't your body a walking advertisement?  I'm just saying....

He's really into martial arts.  He's volunteering right now at a place, and they're gonna hire him real soon.  So he took this opportunity to 'get clean' because narcotics really slow the reflexes. "Yes,"  I say.  "I imagine they would."  Sometimes, I'm just to polite for my own good.

"So, you wanna meet on Friday?"  he asks. 

"Uh. I'm really busy Friday."  I say.  "You know, Christmas and all." 

All of this, disclosed in a mere 40 minutes.  And that's just the stuff he felt comfortable talking about.  What didn't he mention.  Oh my mind doesn't even want to go there, folks.

In case you ever find yourself being blindly set up, I am sharing my list of questions to ask before you agree to meet.

1. How tall is he?  (I believe this one is the most important question, but that's just me...narcotics smarcotics, I say)
2. What's his last name?  (For google searches and such...)
3. Does he have a job?
4. Does he have a place of residence?
5. Has he declared bankruptcy in the last 5 to 7 years?
6. Does he have a history of drug or alcohol addiction?
7. What was his family life like?  Is he close to his mother?  Does he have a dad?
8. Is he bondable?  (We didn't even get around to this...coffee was only 40 minutes...we ran out of time to discuss criminal history...)
9. Does he have a crazy alcoholic ex that arbitrarily pops in and out of his life, causing chaos and mayhem along the way? (Leave out the crazy...I'm pretty sure every guy on the face of the earth thinks his ex is crazy...)

It's a work in progress, my list...but I do think it may come in handy. 

The kicker?  I paid for coffee.  Mine and his.

My landlord feels really bad.  She had no idea, so she says.  Hmmmmmm, I could forgive it all for a month's free rent. 

The Set Up

I have a blind date tomorrow...erm...today.  Well, it's not exactly blind thanks to the marvels of modern technology and phones that take pictures and then allow you to send them.  So, technically...I kinda know what he looks like.  Which isn't saying much.  Uh...by that I mean that I'm the least photogenic person on the face of this earth.  If I had a team of 20, perfect lighting and Annie Leibovitz I'd still have some stupid look on my face.  Eons ago, I was watching Oprah and she told me (well...I guess me and a million other people...) that when you're having your picture taken, to put your chin up.  It takes away any other chins that you may not want photographed.  So I went thru a phase where I looked like a turtle.  Turns out, if you put your chin out too far all you see is chin, and you look like a turtle.  To compensate, I decided it would make sense to pull the chin back in, but then you can't see any definition between my neck and my face.  Let's just say that after 32 years, I've yet to see a picture taken of me that looks anything like I think I look.  I'm still trying to find that happy medium.  Sending Mr. Mom (I'll get to the name...) a picture of me, taken by me, on my phone isn't saying much.  I expect that he probably doesn't look as scary in person (here's hoping, anyways....)

We spoke on the phone today for about 15 minutes, and (I love this...) he texted me first to see if it was okay to call.  I thought that was considerate.  I made him wait a few hours.  Teehee...no, honestly I was getting Q ready for school.  Talking on the phone with a nosy 5 year old is not fun.  For some reason, they decide that very minute they need you for something very important...like reading a book, or helping them colour....you know life-or-death type things.  For this very reason, I no longer take baths either.  The minute I get in there, he's got a crisis.  Back to Mr. Mom tho...we're both from Alberta, we both live in Van (obvious...) He's a full-time dad (hence the Mr. Mom...) to a 7 year old boy.  He's currently unemployed, looking for a job as a rehab councillor (anyone hiring???)  And he was waiting for his son's Christmas concert to start.  He had the video camera all charged and ready to go.  That is cool.

We're meeting for coffee, and I'm so nervous I want to cancel.  It seems so silly to be set up (this is the landlord set up, btw.)  No one ever sets you up with friends..."Oh, I have the most fabulous friend for you.  You just have to meet her."  Isn't the whole point of being with someone that you feel that spark when you're around them?  Isn't it backwards that you're meeting someone on the off chance that you might feel that spark?  The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced I'm in love with the idea of love.  Moreso than love itself.  And maybe I'm just freaking out that I'm meeting a stranger tomorrow.  A bald stranger with a long goatee.

I've been busy...

I have come to the realization that the world is filled with procrastinators.  Everyone knows that Christmas is December 25.  It's not like it changes every year.  It's not like it just springs up on us.  And yet, the three weeks before Christmas are the busiest at the post office.  I'm not judging.  I'm one of the biggest procrastinators out there.  I know how long it takes for mail to get from point A to point B and all the little pitstops it *may* take along the way and I still haven't mailed my stuff yet.  I've still got time.  In my defense though, I wait til the last minute because otherwise people would be getting gifts all through the year.  Seriously, if I was one of those people who started buying Christmas presents in August, I wouldn't have any of them left by December.  I'd be too excited to wait.  I love giving presents.  And besides, nothing says 'Christmas Spirit' like being in an insanely busy mall on Christmas Eve fighting over the last size 8 cashmere sweater.

Anyways, all that preamble was my excuse for not blogging over the past week.  I've been busy.  I've been exhausted.  I've been dreaming of forklifts and trucks and parcels.  Just in case you're wondering, that is NOT my idea of a restful sleep.

E-harmony is not living up to its commercials.  I believe it's because all the good guys from eharmony are in all the commercials they do.  There are none left.  Have you noticed the dates in the commercials?  Met in 2007, or Married in 2006...nothing recent.  Where are the 2009 commercials?  Hmmmmm.  Right.

Meet Patrick (yes, that is his real name....)  His reply for "What's one thing only your best friend knows about you?"  was "I'm in heart failure."  Oh great, I think...just what I need.  Some guy who's not over his last girlfriend.  But futher down in his profile he clarifys...he really, truly is in heart failure.  He's had three open heart surgeries and is waiting for a transplant.  But he hopes that I'm the type of person who can look past that (and the weight he's gained from the medication) because there's nothing he can do about it.  Uh...I'm sooooo trying to be open minded here, I really really am...but c'mon.  I know, even people with life threatening illnesses need love too, I know that.  But how responsible of me would it be if I invited this man into my life (and Q's) just to have him die on us.  That would really suck, don't you think?  I don't have to worry too much about it though, because he closed the match. 

The rest are all just blah.  Blah.  No one who really intrigues me.  I am communicating with one guy who's profile picture is him with a life size green M&M.  Remember, open mind...and maybe I'd feel differently if it was the yellow M&M, but I'm just not feeling the love.  It doesn't help that he has glasses from the early 80's and looks like he should be working in the produce section of the grocery store.  Ahhhhh, there I said it.  Superficial - I am superficial. I can't help it.

My landlord is setting me up with a guy though.  His name is James, he just moved to White Rock and he has a 7 year old child.  She met him in a course she's taking offered by Unemployment Insurance for people who have been laid off.  She says it's soooooo amazing to listen to him talk, apparently he's got quite the story.  She says he's gone through sooooooo much and come soooooo far.  And he's 'kinda' cute.  Whatever that means.

So, the skeptic in me thinks....drug addict, alcoholic who has no job.  The optimist in me is thinking....oh, what the hell. 

p.s.  mail your parcels already...

The Terrible Two's

I thought bad things come in three's.  And so I really should be grateful that, for me, this week bad things happened in two's.  The proof is as follows:

• Two parking tickets.  Two.  At work, we have to pay for parking.  You can only pay for 3 hours at a time, so you have to run out 3 hours into your shift and plug the meter.  I always, always forget - as evidenced by the parking tickets.  That meter maid is stalking my car, I just know it.  I don't think it's coincidence that I get a ticket mere minutes after the meter expires.

• Two conflicts with employees.  Another huge one this evening.  Sometimes I cannot believe the things that I have to say to adults, but these words actually came out of my mouth tonight, "If you yell at a supervisor again, you will - at the very least - be issued a 24 (disciplinary) for insubordination.  Do you understand me?"  In the unbelievable file:  One day I had to tell an employee three times that my expectation was that he stayed awake during his shift.  THREE times.

• Twice I was putting an elastic band around tags with it snapped and hit my thumb in the exact same place.  It stings the first time.  It really makes you want to swear the second time around.

• Two is the number of fingers I slammed in a drawer.  Not just any drawer, but one of those old desks that is solid wood.  I said a certain word that starts with "F" and ends with "uck" after that one.  Twice.  My finger still hurts, by the way.

• Two times this week I had to scrape my windows.  I know, I know I shouldn't complain.  Especially since Alberta is getting slammed with a snow storm as we speak (or as I write...)  But, ugh...after 8 hours at work and an hour on the train (both ways)- the absolute last thing I want to do is scrape ice off my windows.  Oh, and -2...coincidence?  I think not.  (That's -2 degree's celcius of course.  I have no idea what that is for my US friends)

• Two people I will be missing very much this weekend.  I was so super excited that my best friend and her newborn baby girl were coming for the weekend.  Disclaimer:  (Best friend reads this) The content of item #6 is in no way meant to make said BFF have feelings of guilt, sadness, or any other negative type feelings.  I mean, if my doctor told me, "If it was my baby, I wouldn't be taking her on an airplane during flu season,"  I wouldn't either.   Oh, who am I kidding?  I probably would take that to mean that it was not safe to leave the house for the next 3 months.  But I was really looking forward to meeting baby K, and having some girl-bonding time with my best girl.  The next time will be even sweeter!!

• Two supervisors.  That's how many we're short right now.  A fond farewell to KS, who leaves us three weeks before Christmas.  Then there were two (supervisors that is.  Two.  Doing the work of 4).  Fabulous.  More work for me.  Yay! Work.  Ohhhhh, I can't wait.  (Did you catch that sarcasm?  It was suble)

It about two minutes it will all be okay.  And this is why....two is also the number of little blue pills I just stuck under my tongue.

The Gift

I had a horrible day at work tonight.  Horrible.  I think that it was actually so bad that horrible doesn't even begin to describe it.  And it started from the moment I walked in the door. Now, this is really saying something because, as some of you know, I worked in the airline industry for 10 years.  In those 10 years, I had my share of delays.  Like 24 hour delays with 300 passengers who were on their way to Cuba before the aircraft decided to crap out, and spent 6 hours in an enclosed space before it was determined that the aircraft was indeed broken.  I'm pretty sure I don't need to explain this, but 300 people who were expecting to be in Cuba, but instead are spending the night in the airport...well, lets just say they can be a little grumpy.  Ya, today...was worse.

It all began with an argument with an employee.  Asked him to do a task, simple enough (or so I thought, but what do I know...I'm just the supervisor...) He thought said task was dumb, or too much work, or I don't know what, and pretended to do it.  I watched him pretend to do it, then asked him what part of the instruction he didn't understand, so in an attempt to infuriate me further he stared me down as he deliberately did the bare minimum of the request.  Then he yelled.  I don't like yelling.  I avoid conflict at all costs.  Truly I do.  However, you make me look like a fool in front of my employees and customs officials inspecting the mail....I take the challenge.  And I win.  I always win.

Not even 10 minutes later, an employee (thankfully a different one) takes a huge (yet surprisingly aerodynamic) parcel  and throws it at another (unsuspecting) employee and narrowly misses his head.  Conflict number two and I haven't even been there for half an hour.

"Dude,"  I say. "Not cool." 

To which he responds, "What?  Not cool that I missed?" 

*SIGH* (oh, for clarification...this would be my sigh...)  "Was that your intention?  To hit him?" 

"Uh, no..." grin is gone from his face. 

"Okay, so here's the deal....you will not throw mail.  And you will not try to hit co-workers.  You do it again and you're going home."  Just so everyone is on the same page here...no, I do not work in a sweat shop with children.  These are adults. 

Fast forward through the night...pull two licences for 'unsafe' forklift driving.  Inadvertantly lie (which if you don't mean to lie, is it really a lie?  Or a miscommunication?) to an employee and then have to fess up.  Oh, and then there's this little thing called MAIL which is ever increasing in volume as we lead up to Christmas and I was just ready to...well, I don't know.   I went outside to get some fresh air(and by fresh air, I mean I had a cigarette.)  I contemplated standing in front of a bus, but there was no driver so I could have been there for a while.  And it was cold.  So I went inside. 

All this, and a last minute rush to get the end of shift paperwork completed, when an employee on the next shift comes over and begins talking to me. 

"Did you get to enjoy the sun today?"

"A lil"  I mutter, thinking 'can't you see I'm busy here??????!?!?!?'

"Wasn't it a wonderful gift?"

Full stop.

Wow. 

In November, we've had record rainfall...which for Vancouver is saying a whole lot.  It's rained every day for what feels like a year.  I was beginning to understand how Noah felt.  Just when we thought we were all going to trade our cars in for canoes, the sun came out.  And it's been out for two glorious days.  It is a gift, a fabulous gift.  And I almost forgot to be thankful.

So, I don't know how your day was today.  But if it was anything like mine, all I have to say is this...

"Wasn't it a wonderful gift?"

7 Little Things

First things first....

The e-harmony update...

-I have been matched with 18 men

-9 men have closed the match

-5 of these men said it was due to the fact they were "pursuing another relationship" (I call bullshit)

-4 are from the great U.S. of A (would never consider moving)

-Communicating with 5

-2 are named Andrew and are 42 years old (I get them mixed up all the time)

-2 are named Bruce

-I've made it to step 3 (which, I should clarify is NOT the same as third base...) with Andrew1 (and it won't go much further...he can't stand women who can't manage their finances...hmmmmm....ok....not so bad except that he also can't stand women who curse.  Well, fuck fudge I have been known to use a few...um...choice words from time to time.  Okay, okay, who are we kidding?  I could shock a trucker...)

-I've made it to step 2 with Andrew2 (and it won't go much further....as I'm trying to keep an open mind, I've ignored the fact that this man is not the least bit attractive.  I know it sounds mean, it is mean.  But if the attraction isn't there, it just isn't there.  Right?  Am I being petty?)

-And three haven't gone past step 1. 

**sigh**

I guess I won't be doing a commercial any time soon.

Recently, a fellow blogger (f8hasit) gave me an award!  I totally suggest you check out her blog because I just think she is hilarious.  And it's getting to be winter.  I don't know what winter means where you live, but here it means rain.  And more rain.  And then more rain.  You get the idea.  Spend the afternoon reading her blog, drinking some tea (or wine, or Vodka...I'm not judging) and the rain won't seem so...rainy...

Back to the award...(and by 'award' I mean ME!)  The rules behind this particular one is that I have to share 7 things about me that no one (or most) don't know about me.  Sooooooo, here goes....

1.  I didn't really know how the award works.  "Swing on by and grab it"  f8hasit said.  Uh....ok...swing by where?  Grab it how?  So, I did the only thing that made sense to me...I stole the image from her blog (right click here, left click there...bada boom bada bing...here it is!) and put it on mine.  Phew....I feel so much better.  I feel horribly guilty for stealing.  It's really very pretty, though, isn't it?

2.  The past few weeks I've been watching Soap Operas before I go to work.  I haven't watched them for years!  But I've overdosed on HGTV and TLC.  General Hospital is soooooo much more scandalous!  I'm super happy to know that Jax and Carly are still together (although they are going thru a 'rough patch')  Elizabeth and Lucky are still together, although since I last watched they've been married, divorced, and Elizabeth has a child (ren?) from Jason that Lucky is raising(?) and they're getting married again.  Sonny is still alive, but living the mobster high life.  Maxi and Lulu sure have grown up, though.  Man, I feel old.  However, I also feel quite good about myself and my life.  My mother isn't sleeping with my ex-boyfriend, my brother's wife hasn't stolen my baby because her's died, my long lost daughter hasn't shown up and hit on my husband and my new beau (no, my husband does not know!) is not a hitman.  I'm doing awesome!!!

3.  I've never had a speeding ticket.  Ever.  This doesn't mean I don't speed.  I'm just lucky.  The only ticket (besides the million parking tickets...) I've ever had is for turning left over a double solid.  For the record, I'd like to state that practically EVERYONE does this.  I just happened to do it while a cop was filling up with gas in the gas station I was illegally turning into...

4.  I can't dance.  Seriously, I got no rhythm.  I dance like a white girl.  I can move my feet or I can move my arms, but I cannot for the life of me move both at the same time without looking like I have to pee.  Throw hip girating into the mix and I look like I'm having a seizure.

5.  I don't drink water.  I hate the taste...makes me gag.  I get my fluid intake from coffee.  Mmmmmm, coffee.  I love coffee.  Mmmmmm, Pepsi's good too!

6. I contemplate everything, no...I mean everything.  In fact, some would think it's borderline worrying.  To be absolutely honest, psychiatrists call it 'generalized anxiety disorder' and they give me this pretty pink pill to take every day so I don't drive myself mad with worry.  If I'm having a really bad day, I have a cute little blue one that dissolves under my tongue.  Oh the miracle of modern medicine, really quite spectacular.  Seriously, though...I'm really quite vocal about my 'disorder' because it horrifies me how many people suffer from mental illnesses and don't get help because it's taboo.  If your leg is broken, you go to the doctor and he fixes it.  Why can't it be the same if your brain is broken? 

7.  I feel inadequate in every aspect of my life, every single day.  I'm not the mother I could be, I'm not the daughter or sister or friend I should be.  I should be more spontaneous and less fearful.  I should be kinder and more thoughtful.  I should reduce my carbon footprint and recycle more.  Basically, I should single handedly save the world and everyone in it.  It's an exhausting job, but someone's gotta do it. 

Wow, that was cathartic...and thank you once again, f8hasit!

Lessons on a Skytrain

Lately, most of my social life has revolved around the skytrain. As in, this is the only social contact I have with the adult world outside of work. I know, I know it sounds very pathetic but it's really not so bad. I love people watching, for one and I've learned some valuable lessons.

For instance, I have learned that I cannot give people the benefit of the doubt on the skytrain. Normally, I really do like to live by the "3 chances" rule. You know, first time something happens I think, "hmmmm, that was odd," and move on. Second time, I make a point of acknowledging the inappropriate behavior - as in "ok, that was sooooo not acceptable." And the third time, I open up a can of whoop ass (figuratively, of course. My left jab isn't what it used to be...is that even what it's called? Left jab? I'm not sure.) This works particularly well with Q. I have to say I have never once gotten to "3." Q doesn't know what happens when I get to 3. Don't tell him, but I don't even know what happens when I get to 3. I usually get to 1 1/2 and we're good.

So, a while back when a guy got on the skytrain and sat directly behind me when it was clearly evident there were a dozen other places for him to sit, I thought "hmmmm, that's weird." When he hit me upside the head....literally, up the side of my head...I really should have said something. That was not a benefit of the doubt kind of situation. Now, I'm pretty sure he was missing a few vital brain cells that would have told him his behavior was inappropriate, but even so...

What creeped me out the most was after he left the train, and the guy sitting across from me said, "Did you know him?" When I said "no," he got really sort of angry with me. "You know," he said "You should have said something. He can't just hit you. I would have done something, said something, but I thought you knew him....I mean, he's been stroking your hair for the past 5 minutes!" Uh.....huh.....not sure how I missed that. Valuable lesson....pay more attention to your surroundings on the skytrain...

Then the other night, this obviously very drunk kid kept nudging me. This in itself was annoying enough, but he kept saying, "He's coming to get you. Are you scared? He's gonna kill you. Are you scared?" Again, first time I ignored him. Second time, I made eye contact, and gave him the 'mother look'. You know the one - the 'don't-mess-with-me-mister' look. Third time, I was winding up for a "You need to stop touching me now" when out of no where a cop was there, in between us fighting for my freedom (of space...) "Are you bugging this woman? Are you bugging her because you're drunk? Do you want to spend the night in jail?" It was so movie-ish. Too bad he was old. It could have been a love story.

It's not all bad though. One night I was sitting behind this couple who I'm pretty sure were on a first date. They talked the whole train ride. They talked about their likes and their dislikes, and every time they found they had something in common there would be this huge, "oh my goodness, I like banana's too" or "I know so-and-so!!! What a small world!" or something of the sort. I'm telling you, I was getting butterflies. I wanted to take my sniffly, coughing (it was the cold...) self and sit between them and compare notes. Something told me that would not be appropriate, but I really, really wanted to.

Remember that feeling? That newly-into someone feeling - where you talk on the phone til 6 am, and then still can't sleep because you replay every single word they said and analyze it to death. When his hand touches yours and your heart starts beating out of your chest. Or when your eyes meet, and you get goosebumps. It's so exciting to get to know someone, to feel that bond grow with every "ME TOO!!!"

Oh, I do miss it.

Harmony (we'll see)

Plenty of Fish is soooooo yesterday's news. Fed up with perverts, slimy one liners, and unrealistic expectations I cancelled my profile. I'm ready to meet real men the real way....I've signed up with e-harmony instead. That's right folks, this time I'm paying for it...uh, literally paying for it...they say it's free to see your matches. And I guess technically they're right. You see their name. But nothing else. No picture. And then you can't communicate until you pay, so unless you're looking for a headless guy named Joe who doesn't talk, it's beneficial to pay. I'm just saying. I mean, yes my expectations have dropped somewhat but I'm not that desperate -yet.

I like the idea of e-harmony. After filling out a personality quiz (oh and a word to the wise - answer carefully - you can't go back and change your answers. Believe me, I tried.) they tell you all about yourself. It was just like a Cosmo quiz - they give you insight into all your personality traits. How you handle stress, if you're outgoing or introverted. And I don't know who created this quiz, but let me tell you, they are good! They got me down.

After you find out who you 'really' are, you get to fill out your profile. Answer a few questions, post a few pics, take a few measurements (haha) and you're good to go. The game is on.

You don't get to browse profiles. This I'm not so crazy about. They send you matches based on your personality profile. And I'm not sure if this means that they send you matches that are exactly like you or ones that mesh with your personality. I'm pretty fabulous, but if I met a man exactly like me, that might be a little too much of a good thing, ya know?

I put my profile up the day after I turned 32 (and the day after I found my first grey hair. Pure coincidence, I am telling myself.) I've had 9 matches so far. This is the other thing that I like about e-harmony - guys can't send you cheesy one liners. It's called "guided communication." After reading a profile, if you like what you see, you get to send 5 questions (you get to pick from about 25 of them.) They answer, send you some back. It's like a 10 step process before you even get to say "hi." But it's FUN. It's exciting.

However. Ah, yes...there is always the infamous however. However, I sent my "5 questions" to my matches and 3 closed communication immediately. Like same day. Like didn't even answer the questions. Their reason - they're pursuing another relationship. I don't believe them. I mean, you checked your profile immediately when the new match popped up, and yet you're pursuing another relationship? No. There must be some other reason. Something they didn't like. Or maybe they are that slimy. Who knows? I never will.

I'm waiting for responses from 2 more right now, and avoiding 4 others (just joking...) Personality IS important, but there has to be some attraction, don't you think?

Just My Luck

Every year, my girlfriend and I have a huge birthday blow out. Our birthdays are two weeks apart, so a few years ago we started a tradition. One year we went to Whistler with the girls (which, I might add, was the first time I had ever been to the wonderful ski resort in all my years of living in B.C.) Last year, we planned a night out in downtown Vancouver. We went bar hopping (got kicked out of one for starting a fight...soooo wasn't me...) This year, our plan was to go to the Casino. Like always, we sent out a mass text to everyone we know, bought gorgeous sparkly dresses, and waited for what has become the rowdiest night of the year. This year, I got sick. Like horribly sick. Like I have been attached to my Kleenex box, Advil Cold and Flu, and chicken noodle soup for the past 4 days. My nose is raw, my throat is on fire, and I'm pretty sure it's gone into Bronchitis (but that might just be the hypochondriac in me...) The party went on. Without me. While I was on the couch watching horribly romantic love stories complete with men who DO NOT EXIST, and a plot line that has been done like a thousand times before, my friends were getting their groove on. While I was high on tea and decongestants, they were getting their fill of beer and shooters. I'm not going to lie, I was feeling a little sorry for myself. I had high hopes my friends, hopes of winning big at the blackjack table, and meeting the man of my dreams. It was going to be an awesome way to spend my 32nd birthday. Side Note: I do not recommend either "Ghosts of Girlfriends Past" or "The Ugly Truth" however, I always enjoy "Bridget Jones" - something about Mark Darcy that just makes me swoon (Colin Firth is sooooo yummy!) So, get this...while I was lying, nearly dying - I might add, on my couch...guess who showed up to MY birthday party? Mr. Married. Mr. Married showed up at my party. And guess who he showed up with? His wife. Uh...huh? As if right on cue, in walked my former fling, with his new girlfriend. What is wrong with these people? Are they insane? Did they not get the memo that this was MY party? Am I the only one who thinks that this is highly inappropriate? Not to mention awkward? They didn't know I was sick. In fact, Mr. Married texted me wondering where I was. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I didn't go...me + Mr. Married + alcohol = trouble. Me + Mr. Married + alcohol + WIFE = Disaster. And Mr. Fling. Don't even get me started. I loved him. He was so wonderful. I'm glad that he found someone who could make him happy, I really, really am. I mean, we just were wrong for each other on so many levels. But do you have to rub it in my face? Do you? That's just mean. The couch is looking mighty fine right about now. I think I'm going to stay here for the remainder of the winter. I'd like to miss out on the whole holiday celebrations while being single once again. Spring seems like a good time to get off the couch.

Home (a.k.a if it ain't broke...)

this is our home. heaven on earth

I once heard a friend describe himself as an enigma. I love that. Aren't we all, to some extent? I know of a few men who've said they just don't understand me.

I am an oxymoron. For instance, I hate change. HATE it. I would love for everything to stay exactly the same every day from now until the day I die. I like to know exactly where everything is (which is another minor oxymoron...things are never where they should be...) I like to know exactly what to expect in every situation. Now, I can see how this could sound as though I have control issues. But really, it's not like that at all. I just don't want things to change and therefore I get a tad control-freaky. However, you do it my way and no one gets hurt. This is why I'm a supervisor. I control the situation. It's where I'm most comfortable. So while I seem cool, calm and collected...it's just part of my sinister plan to ensure nothing changes.

...and here's where the oxymoron inconveniently pops in for a visit. I crave change. Crave it. I get this itch (no, not that kind of itch...) The itch of change. I start to day dream about moving to a bigger house (touche...a bigger basement suite would be more accurate) with a backyard that Q can play in, and a dog - ohhhh, a dog. And then I start to think about how much I hate my job, and oh boy does that grass ever look green over there. Seriously, it happens about every 2-3 years. I had the 'itch' 6 years ago and moved 1000km from home to this fabulous ocean side city. Got knocked up (okay, was blessed 'with child') that same week. Talk about a change. Three years later, child and I moved into our own place - perfection means you beat a dead horse dead just to prove it's really, super dead. Two years after that moved to another place that was a little bigger. As far as jobs go, I go thru those on average every year or so. And this was not by choice. Lay-off's in the airline industry are uh, common...I'm sure you've heard...

I decided that huge changes were in the works. I mean, I've been living in the same place for two years, and my job...a year and a half. I am due, my friends, I am due. Two weeks ago, I had a job interview for this job that just seemed totally awesome. It was me. Absolutely me. My first clue that the interview was going down hill was when the interviewer started checking out her manicure instead. Isn't that the international sign of boredom, picking at your cuticles? Needless to say, I did not get the job.

Then the other day, I found this awesome little house for rent. A house!!! I was sick with excitement (and fear....) It had a fenced in yard, a dishwasher, and a washer and dryer - it's the simple things. It looked like a little piece of heaven. And the price was incredible. I was in love. I was soooo excited...until I google mapped it. It's in a "light" industrial area, which in this case means a block away from a railway hub. Those of you who know me, know how I love my sleep.

Two attempts at change, and twice it didn't work out. You know what this tells me? It tells me that I am right where I'm supposed to be. Maybe if I'm looking for change, I should consider a new book, or hair colour. I'm staying right where I am. I might not know the reasons why I'm here, but it's never been more clear that 'here' is where I belong.

However......

Subsequent to my previous post, I forgot to mention the silver lining. Of course, as a pessimist, I tend to look at the glass as half empty. My theory is that if I expect the worst and something better happens, then I am pleasantly surprised. Anyways, my point is just that sometimes I forget to see the good, because I'm so busy dwelling on the bad.

The good here is that I am saving money on razors and shaving gel. I haven't shaved my legs in probably a month. In fact, the last time I shaved them was only because Q told me they looked like Uncle Dede's legs (my brother....) Sufficiently embarrassed, I shaved them. I figure winter is coming very, very soon so a little extra layer for warmth will be welcome. If I can't cuddle with a man for warmth, I might as well wait until Q starts complaining again. Let's just file this one under "Too Much Information"

If You Scratch My Back...

You know what I miss the most about having a "significant other?" It's not that they can fix my toilet (dude, I can do that!!) It's not that they take out the garbage. Sure...cuddling is nice. And so is cooking for more than just me and Q. Companionship....meh, good, I guess. But what I really, really, really miss is having someone to scratch my back. Seriously, it sucks. I mean a door frame can do in a pinch, but it's just not the same. It doesn't give you goose bumps. It doesn't do it with feeling. Sometimes I can talk Q into it...if I pay him. The kid is good. I mean, he's only 5 and already he's figured out how to make a quick buck. The going rate is a quarter, which sounds like a pretty good deal except for the fact that he lasts maybe 30 seconds. That's fifty cents per minute. My math sucks, but isn't that like $30.00/hour? I don't even make that. Kinda makes me proud, though....my kid is smart....he's gonna go places (or rob people blind...)

Ya, so there's the back scratching. I really miss that. It's been three years since Q's father and I parted ways. While I have had a few flings here and there, I haven't found anyone to have a 'relationship' with. I guess I lied when I said I didn't miss the companionship. I really do. Ugh, I really, really miss the cuddling. And I hate taking out the garbage. If I really wanted to fix toilets, I think I would have been a plumber...they make more than $30.00 per hour and I'm pretty sure it's even more than that on weekends...

Honestly, I'm feeling like a blob. I know, it's a fairly nondescript word, isn't it? That's exactly how I'm feeling, like a completely nondescript asexual blob. Men used to check me out when I walked by, they used to whistle. One time I walked up to this guy who whistled at me and said, "I am not a dog, I am not an object. I do not answer to whistles or cat calls. You want my attention, you come up to me and talk to me. You understand?" And then I walked away, secretly loving the fact that he whistled at me. Ahhhh, reminiscing....

But what happened to that person? Where did she go? When did I turn into this? I haven't kissed a man in months, I haven't had sex in well...let's just say a loooooong time (my mom reads this...) and they're not exactly lining up either. Sigh. I guess I better get used to scratching my own back or resign myself to giving my son a small fortune.

The Crazy Fish Lady

I have no fear of becoming the 'crazy cat lady.' I don't have any cats. I have fish. Two of them. I talk to them. They get all excited when I do. They come to the surface of their bowls and flitter their fins, and I can feel their love. I feel it. I feel the love.

My fear, especially recently, is becoming the crazy fish lady. The ranting crazy fish lady. I feel myself slipping into rant mode more and more often. You think I'm joking, but I was actually in bed and had to get out in order that I may write a rant blog. Let me tell you, I am pounding the keys right now. Oh. Yes. I. Am. and it feels good. Sooooooo good.

For instance, I feel as though writing a rant letter to the newspaper would be absolutely appropriate right now. Why? Oh I will tell you why. On the third page of the newspaper (so important, right?) they do a full article about this MP (Member of Parliament for my US counterparts) named Hedy Fry who thinks that they should put an H1N1 clinic offering vaccines at Parliament Hill in Ottawa specifically for government type folk. For the simple reason that she has to shake hands all day long, and God knows who she's touching. Are you KIDDING me?!?!?!?!?! Isn't it the Government who has created a whole campaign around not shaking hands at all, but maybe giving "knuckles" or touching elbows instead? Oh, yes. Yes, it is. So why the Newspaper decided to make this breaking news is beyond me. And furthermore, who says you're more important than I am? Really? Get in line, sister. Get in line.

Along the H1N1 rant....ever since it was discovered, there has been mass hysteria created around it. Where ever there is H1N1, you can be sure there is a reporter and a government official calling it a 'pandemic.' So, Health Canada goes around spouting off about some vaccine that has been created and tested and they're suggesting that EVERYONE gets the shot. In fact, they go so far as to call this the "young person's" virus, and then officially recommend that everyone get it. They say it's "critical" that everyone in Canada under the age of 65 get it. People are dying, dammit. Dying! What's wrong with you people? Do you want to die????? They fail to mention that people die from the ordinary old flu every year. So, get the flu shot, okay? Oh, and by the way, we don't actually have enough for everyone. We weren't expecting such a big response to the vaccine shot, I mean, geez people it's just the flu...

I decide to get Q vaccinated. Only because I would feel absolutely horrible if he did get it, and I knew there was something I could have done to prevent it. So, I call my doctor's office last week and I'm told by the receptionist that he's not high risk, so call back on Tuesday. Today is Tuesday. I called back. And the exact same woman answers and tells me they're all booked up for 5 year olds. Oh no no no no no. (Please note: I am usually very passive aggressive...) I say: "Well, this is really frustrating, because I spoke to you last week, and you told me to call back on Tuesday. I'm calling back and you're saying there's no available appointments?" She gets all snotty with me and puts me on hold for 10 minutes. She comes back on the line and says "I have Thursday at 2:20." "Uh, he has school until 2:35" "Well, then I guess you're going to have to pull him out early, aren't you?" I take a deep breath. "Okay." See, she has the power. She can cancel that appointment without telling me, if I'm not polite. That is cruel. Just cruel. She tries to hang up, but I have more. I need to book my physical. "Look," she says. "I'm busy. There's a line up out the door. I don't have time for you. Call back tomorrow." And she hangs up. Are you kidding me? Are you?!?!?!?!?!

I'm yelling at drivers. This is completely fair, though. Last time I checked, we all had to learn the same rules of the road and take the same test before we could drive. So, you all know - just as well as I - that the right lane is for the slow cars and the left lane is for me. GET OUT OF MY LANE. We also all know that when you're turning left, you pull out into the intersection and then turn when safe to do so. So, pull out into the effing intersection. You also know that there is a speed limit. Go the speed limit. If you don't feel comfortable going 50km/hr, then you don't get to drive. My kid can drive better than you. And by the way, if you're not turning...why are you driving with your signal on? And yes, I am perfect. Check my record. Not even a speeding ticket...

If this is supposed to be therapeutic, we are in trouble my friends. My blood pressure is sky rocketing. I can feel it with every word I type. So, I am going to spare you (and my heart) the agony of listening to me rant about my ex. And my best friends ex....what is it with men? Sometimes, all I can do is pray for a big bus (uh.....ha, ha....ha...)

I am single. I have fish. I dislike the BS that comes with men. I talk to my fish. I rant. Out loud. Oh, did I forget to mention that - I'm talking out loud to myself? Well, it's more like muttering, but whatever. I fit the bill. The crazy fish lady bill.

What a week to quit smoking. Note to self....pms + withdrawal = does not play well with others...

I'm going to go take an Atavan. Maybe that will help.

Baby, Remember My Name

Right now, I'm avoiding. Life, I guess some would say and truth be told, they're not far off the mark. Hurry up and wait, it'll get better.

Last night was one of those rare occasions where I had some time without Q. I decided to go to an adult movie...okay, clarification is in order...not an adult film, an adult movie. You know, one with no cartoon characters? These ones have plot lines (Yes, yes, you could argue that Disney Movies also have plot lines...) and adults and if you luck out, a fabulous message and a few goose bumps. We found this scummy movie theater by my house that offers movies at $4.50! Can you believe it? What a steal!! Of course, the seats were disgusting, and my girlfriend and I are wondering if you can get bedbugs from disgustingly dirty theater seats. They've never been cleaned I'm sure, and we really tried to not think about all the stories of what can/may happen in movie theaters. We sat, we didn't move, we didn't touch anything, we watched a movie for $4.50!!! Side note: a third the price, a third!! I may mention this again sometime during my blog....please be forewarned!

Our choices were limited, but we finally decided on "FAME." Absolutely worth the $4.50 (told you) my friends. Oh I had goosebumps (um...hopefully goosebumps and not bug bites....) the whole movie. It wasn't as sordid as the original t.v. series, however I was 5, so kissing and holding hands was definitely pushing the envelope. It made me want to dance, it made me want to sing at the top of my lungs, it made me want to act. Dammit, I want to be a triple threat!

Go out and live your dream. GO DO IT. It's going to be tough, and it's going to be a lot of hard work. Sometimes you will feel like giving up because you're not the best, fastest, most creative. But stop feeling sorry for yourself, push through it and show the world you can do it. Shit, forget the world, show yourself you can do it. It's a rush, it's a thrill, it's what life is all about. What are you waiting for?

Alright, now I've given myself a pep-talk I'll tell you what I'm avoiding today. I've decided to write a book. I have an idea, I have a few characters in mind. I have an ending....oooooooh, maybe I should write the book backwards. Co0incidentally, I don't have a beginning. And the more I think about the book I want to write, the more idiotic it sounds. But it could be really good, really, really good, if a really, really good author wrote it. I'll never know if I'm a really, really good author though, until I actually try. I've got to get these words out my head and into my computer. I've got to stop fantasizing about what could be, and realize what is. I'm going to write a book.

Sometimes I Amaze Even Me!!

So, Martha Stewart I am not. Nor have I ever, ever claimed to be. Cooking, at the very least causes me copious amounts of frustration, and at the very worst has sent me to the hospital. I am an expert at putting out stove fires (not to toot my own horn, but can you do that Martha? Can you put out a stove fire without batting an eye or breaking a nail? I didn't think so...) Cleaning - well - I can do it, but mostly I just chose not to. And who here needs a wreath for every season and every holiday? Certainly not me.

However, if you want to talk about perfection...that is a different story. I am a bit of a perfectionist...a lazy perfectionist, if you will. That is, if I can't do it perfectly the first time round, then I simply don't do it. This has, over time, been the crux of many a hilarious story involving yours truly, a frustrating task that absolutely cannot be accomplished perfectly the first time around, and a "lesson" in humility and my own humanity (shocker *I am not perfect* - I struggle with this reality everyday.)

So, in August when Q mentioned that he wanted to be a shark for Halloween I thought, "No big deal...E-bay is my best friend. E-bay has everything. E-bay will have my shark costume." After a few weeks of watching E-bay, and etsy and googling 'shark costume' with no luck I thought, "No big deal...I'll talk Q into being something else for Halloween..." Right. No such luck. Ok. I thought, "No big deal, I'll make him one. How hard could it be?" I mean, I took Home Economics in junior high. I made a cute little purple reversible apron. Shark costume? No problem. Back to google for 'shark patterns' and it quickly became evident that my child is the ONLY child on the face of the earth who has ever wanted to be a shark for Halloween. Great....

So, I thought, "No big deal. I'll make the pattern." Super easy, right? I mean, I could picture it in my head, all I had to do was put it on paper. My goodness, it was going to be a walk in the park!

A month went by, and then six weeks. And I still had this perfect picture in my head of what the shark was going to look like. I had thought about it for so long that it would practically make itself by the time I actually got around to making it. You understand that I was not going to stick a cone on his back, paint some fangy shark-like teeth on his face and call it a day. This was going to be a head to toe costume. It would be effortless. It would be perfect.

I bought some pattern paper (I still have no idea what it's actually called, but that's what I call it.) I bought some pins. I even bought a measuring tape. I took all Q's measurements, added an inch to each side for the seam. Then, came the task to find the perfect material for my shark. Pleather, my friends, is my new best friend. Seriously, I can see why so many designers work with it (uh, does Zellers count as a 'designer'? Probably not...) These supplies sat in the house for another week or so until I realised it was 3 weeks until Halloween. It was no longer August. It was October. Okay, so I'm a lazy, procrastinating perfectionist.

Dudes, here's the costume. It's done. Martha, who's da bomb now, huh? Oh yes, that's right...I am. I'm kind of freaking, though...'cuz man, I've set the bar high for future costumes...

the pattern

the end result...

(p.s. don't mind Q's 'art supplies' in the background...)

A Mailbox is for Mail

At the Post Office, you see all sorts of things. Most I can't tell you for "security" reasons. Believe me, you can count yourself lucky, because when I say "security" reasons, I mean bore you to death reasons...seriously. On a good day, my life is like 'Groundhog Day'...you know, the movie with Bill Murray where he relives the same day over and over and over...ya, kinda like that. The mail comes in, the mail goes out. And just when you think you've seen the absolute last piece of mail, yet another one shows up. I can tell you that one country, for "security" reasons (let it be known that here on in, whenever I say "security", it will come in quotation marks, because that is what I'm doing with my fingers when I say "security"...) sews their bags shut. Now every country does seal their mail bags for obvious "security" reasons, but sewing it shut, doesn't that seem a little like overkill. Who, I'd like to know, is the sorry bastard who has that job? And is it by hand? Because if it is, then there really is a job worse than mine!

And I can probably tell you that the strangest thing I've ever seen mailed is this:

• Clothes
• Toys
• Small Child

Now, we're pretty sure that what they meant was there were clothes and toys for a small child in the box. I say 'pretty sure' because we didn't actually check...and secretly, I think we're all waiting for a news story out of India about a small child that was mailed by Canada Post. And there would be a quote from the shipper that said, "Well, I wasn't trying to hide anything...I declared it..." I say we're all still waiting because it was sent surface, which is postal jargon for 'by boat' which is a good 6 to 8 weeks, if we're lucky.... Another person didn't have a stamp, so she taped .54 cents to the envelope... You'd be surprised how many people drop their rent money, or their Visa payment or their pay check in the mail in a completely nondescript blank, unsealed envelope. Of course, it's usually a wad of crisp 100 dollar bills - $3000.00, once. But I think you'd all be more surprised at how many people get said envelope back with all the cash inside (us posties might be a lot of things, but we believe in honest pay for an honest day.) Wallets, and cell phones, and hotel keys (oh my!) You'd also be surprised (and by surprised, I mean disgusted) by what people put inside mailboxes. Dirty diapers, used tampons, feces (maybe dog, maybe human...I'm not about to do any 'tests'), used syringes, broken glass, a loaded gun (street letter boxes come in handy when you're running from the law...) These are just a few of the things we've seen. Nothing is more exciting than opening a bag of mail after a long weekend, let me tell ya. But I've also seen a couple of interesting companies that I thought I'd share. If you're crazy about buying online, you might want to check these places out... www.gojane.com - super trendy, cheap clothes...need I say more? www.solestruck.com - honestly, I'd buy just because of the absolutely creative name, but discounted brand name shoes...well, twist my rubber arm... www.wiggle.co.uk - now, I'm not one to ride a bike, something about the seat being less than a third the size of my arse, but I'm a sucker for a box with cool writing, so I googled...

And of course, my favourite, www.ebay.ca all your addiction needs rolled into one!

Ode to Berta

I've found a task more daunting than looking for a hubby. I know, I know...you're thinking, "What could possibly compare to that?" Well, my dear friends, let me tell you - I am in the midst of looking for child care for Q.

Let me tell you about Berta. Berta is soft spoken. She never gets cross. She loves my son as if he were her grandson (she has no children or grandchildren of her own.) She has been Q's partner in crime since he was born. She was/is literally on call 24/7 (quite conveniently, she lives two doors down!) She would arrive at 5:00 in the morning (!) while Q was still fast asleep with her little bag of surprises, and settle down with a book until he woke. I had total piece of mind while I was at work. And she's sooooooo much better than Mary Poppins because before she retired, she was a nurse in the Pediatric ICU. Not only did she love my son, but she also knew exactly what to do in the event he was choking, bleeding, unconscious, etc, etc. (total peace of mind for a hypochondriac worrier such as myself...) Berta has come to every birthday, every Christmas concert, every graduation (okay, so it was preschool and there was only one....but she was there. That's the point. And more to the point, she'll likely be there when he graduates high school and medical school too!) She shared with my son her love of gardening, dancing to the 'oldies' and baking.

But Berta is getting older. While she loves my son, taking care of an active 5 year old 5 days a week is just a little too much. Hence the search for a new 'Berta'. Geez, she's set the bar high.

Nothing like interviewing someone to love your child. Here's the clincher...I want you to love him, but not too much. You can't replace me. I want you to be firm and enforce things like manners and good behaviour, but I don't want you to be mean. I'll need you to pick him up from school, so you need to drive safely. Because I work shift work, I need you to tuck him in to bed, and read him stories, and make him a bed time snack. I need you to do all the things that I should be doing. All the things that I imagined I would be doing when I dreamed of having children. All the things I ache to do every day. But you cannot, I repeat CANNOT replace me...

I need them to start on Monday.... Damn, I wish I wasn't such a procrastinator.... I think I'm feeling a little ill..... Obviously, someone didn't win the $20 millions dollars.....

Thanksgiving

This past weekend was Thanksgiving here in Canada. I'm not quite sure why it's earlier than in the States...maybe we were so much more thankful that we decided to celebrate first. Or maybe we were really discovered first, so we got dibs on the celebration. Maybe when the holidays were being planned, Canada stepped out to use the ladies room when they were discussing Thanksgiving. Then, when we got back from powdering our nose everyone thought it would be funny to tell us that Thanksgiving was the second weekend in October. And because we're just so darn friendly and trusting, we believed. I'm glad we didn't step out of the room during the whole New Years debate like China did...

So, I guess it's officially fall. The leaves are changing into a gorgeous symphony of colour. I'm getting the itch to bake peanut butter cookies and pumpkin muffins with Q. Mmmmm and drinking Hot Chocolate. I'm putting away the flip flops and bringing out the wool sweaters and turtlenecks. I love this time of year. I wanna go crunch some leaves. And rake them into huge piles and then jump in them.

Sometimes when things aren't going exactly the way we want, it's difficult to be thankful. It's easy to forget how fortunate we are for the little things. I have wonderful friends who ground me, who remind me what is really important and what doesn't even matter. I have a family that loves me and accepts me for who I am. I have a beautiful, healthy little boy who is more wonderful than I could have ever imagined. I can appreciate a beautiful autumn. I am truly blessed.

This Thanksgiving I was reminded by my best friend of the things that really matter. She reminded me that if I'm not happy, I have the ability to change it. Big changes are coming...

I Have a Dream

It's been a particularly grueling week. Sweeping procedural changes with little-to-no communication nor foresight at work. Contractors popping in and out (FYI: It takes one person to screw in the light, a different person to put the baseboards on, yet another to install the underlay, and so on and so forth. I haven't seen the carpet guy yet...) AND get this...they cashed my rent cheque. Oh.yes.they.did. I am livid (and I'm so ridiculously passive...I know I won't ask for compensation for my 'inconvenience') I haven't seen Q since Tuesday and I miss him like a piece of me is missing. I alternate between guilt for not seeing him enough, sadness for missing him so darn much, and anger that I have to work full time instead of being with him. Throw PMS into the mix and I am a sobbing, hormonal mess.

So, what did I do to escape the madness? What does anyone do...I bought a lottery ticket. For 20 million dollars. Let me say that again...twenty million dollars. It has become the dream that I dream for approximately 8 hours a day. Suddenly, I'm not a disgruntled postal worker, I'm a millionaire...nay, a multi-millionaire. I have a 'financial advisor' and a 'maid' and not only do I have a pool boy, I also have a pool for him to clean! (I'm just giddy with excitement!!) I have a house in White Rock on the Ocean, and a vacation property in Hawaii. I think I will have one in London too. Oh, and New York. No, Miami. No, New York. Oh, what the hey...New York and Miami, it is! But I wouldn't be living in a basement suite, that's for darn-tootin' sure.

When I am not travelling or being massaged or manicured or supervising my pool boy (again, giddy!!) I am sitting on the boards of many non-profit charities - Children and Postpartum depression are closest to my heart. I will throw fund raising galas and silent auctions and fashion shows, and maybe even open up a girls school in Rwanda. I'd adopt babies from China and Romania and South Korea! I will walk into little boutiques and say, "Oh, hello! I'm a multi-millionaire, and I'm throwing a little soiree for my millionaire friends. What should I wear?" I can't even imagine showing up at my mom's door with a realtor and saying, "Hi Mom, this is Debbie. Debbie is a realtor. Let's go buy you a house today!!"

I'd spend my days with Q. We'd go to the beach and the aquarium and Science World and we'd ride bikes and just hang out!! I'd have the chef bake him homemade cookies and pies and hot cocoa. I'd get to read him stories, tuck him in, and put him to bed every night. I'd drop him off at school and pick him up. He wouldn't cry when I dropped him off, because he'd know I'd be there waiting to pick him up. I wouldn't have to say good night on the phone every night. I wouldn't have to hear about his day, every day, on the phone. My heart wouldn't ache every time he says he misses me. We'd travel and I'd show him the world. It would just be heaven. It would be bliss. It would be fabulous.

I think I paid $2 for the ticket. And I know I won't win twenty million dollars, I mean I never win anything. Ever. I think I won a teddy bear in elementary school, only I didn't actually win it. My teacher gave it to me because she felt so horrible that I didn't win anything. But $2 is a very small price to pay for an amazing day dream, an escape. And you know, I could go without the properties in New York and Miami. I could even go without the pool boy. Time with my boy, that's all I really, really want.

Lights, Camera, Action

Well, I can now add Kim and Aaron to the list of those who have seen me before the crack of dawn. Kim and Aaron are my drywallers/painters, and wow, they're super dedicated to the job. I mean these guys show up at 8:00am. Consistently. And, for the sake of this blog, it would have been way more exciting if they were women (come on, Kim? Aaron?) because then we could have at least had coffee, bonding over jilted man stories while the first layer of drywall dried. But nope, as luck would have it, Kim is like 75 (well maybe not, but my point is he's old...) and Aaron is maybe 19. Kim lets me in on all the little tricks of the trade. All day long. Just in case I decide to start dry walling in my free time. Now, in the event that I do, I will know how to manage my time so that by the time I've finished the fourth wall, the first will be dry, so I can paint the second coat. Yay!

Of course, it couldn't just happen that my Mr. Perfect would show up at my doorstep and I would have to do nothing but bat my eye lashes to attract him (and brush my teeth...) Kim and Aaron are done tomorrow, after which the carpet experts will install the underlay and baseboards. Then, hopefully, my sleeping pattern will return to normal, by which I mean I will still be sleeping soundly when 8 am rolls around...

The POF (Plenty of Fish - a free Internet dating site) surprised me yesterday. A message from Mr. Shutter (he's into camera's...) who grew up in South Africa, then lived in London for 15 years before moving to B.C. You know what that means, right? He has an accent!! Accents are super sexy. He said he read my profile and thought, "Wow, this is a person I'd like to get to know better." That's nice, isn't it? He's a director with his own movie company, and has a couple of commercials and independent films under his belt. He worked on some movie that was in the theaters, too...but I can't remember what it was. Truthfully, he has more in common with my brother than with me. Snowboarding and world travelling, to name a couple. But I figure that if all else fails, my bro might get a gig or two out of it.

Ghosts of Boyfriends Past

I'm pretty sure I've referenced this before. The past two months have been filled with continuous reminders of boyfriends past. (Which, might I point out is so unfair, Scrooge only had to deal with ONE night...) But if they're not visiting me in my dreams, they're calling me or texting me, and my resolve is growing thin. Thing is, my dreams, for the most part, are filled with the boyfriends I'm still attracted to. They aren't the boyfriends that I went running for the hills from. They're the ones who I had 'unfinished' business with. And the boys that are calling me, ya.....same thing....

One in particular. I mean, this guy is amazing. He makes my heart go pitter patter. We agree on most things and what we don't agree on, we're content to disagree. He 'gets' my sense of humour, he 'gets' my faith. He makes me laugh, he makes me feel safe. He's supportive, he's respectful. We've been friends (and nothing more) for nearly three years. So, what's the big deal. right? What's holding me back? Take the plunge and don't look back. Except for one little thing...he's married. I think i just heard a collective 'Ohhhhh....'

Of course, I know deep down that this isn't really a dilemma at all. There are no options here. He is Mr. Married, and so I must just move on. It's soooooo hard, though. I know that I am being tested. This, Mr. Married texting me all day long "Good Morning, Sunshine." (ugh, I'm Sunshine. How perfect is that?) And he's surprisingly intense after almost six months of silence. Nothing. And then, boom....

He's the lure. He's the (hopefully final) test. Get past this, and hopefully it will be made clear that my ways have changed and I am not looking for random trysts and sordid love affairs. I am looking for a concrete, pure relationship. It seems as though I am soooooo close, and yet so very, very far away. Whom ever said good was easy.....

Get this....I have followers!! Besides my mother and my best friend!!! I remember the first time someone who I didn't know followed my blog. I was ecstatic. I wanted to throw a party, with cute little invitations that said, WELCOME ANONYMOUS!!! Instead, I called my mom.

Blogging really is a surreal experience. My journal is online! I remember once I let my boyfriend at the time read my journal. That turned out to be a huge mistake because I had mentioned how I was crushing on this guy named Darius who played a keyboard. Oh he was so super cool. My boyfriend didn't think that was very cool...

And then, tonight, I realized something I hadn't before. People comment on my posts. They comment! I have comments! Oh, I felt like Sally Fields when she was accepting the Oscar for Places In The Heart, "I can't deny the fact that you like me, right now - you like me!" (not the one where she went on the anti-war tirade, that would just be weird...) They have words of encouragement (as does my mother, which is a constant bone of contention with her, that I don't listen. But, come on...mother's are a little biased. It's their job, they can't help it. I'll admit that Q will show me a drawing of himself with his arms coming out of his head, and his body completely not proportionate, but I don't ever point it out, I just say, "Oh honey, I love it!!" because that is my job.) There is something about a complete stranger validating your words, agreeing with you, cheering you on that is just exhilarating!

It can be a little disconcerting when you look at other blogs and they have hundreds of followers. Of course, they must have an unusually large extended family. Or maybe they've made up other identities. But they say things like, "Hello Lovelies" and "How are my Loves today?" and well, that's just not me. It's not that I don't care about you, my followers (!!) it just sounds a little phony. Silly me, I forgot phony sells...

But thank you all for following my blog, for reading my thoughts, for commenting on my stories. It really means the world to me. It absolutely makes my day to make your day...even just a little bit. Tell your friends! At dinner, tell your unusually large extended family! Tell your dentist, "Mpfh thwuspd dkdusile single dating mommy..." Tell your boss (dude, I told mine!!) Tell the guy who flips you off in traffic, "Oh ya, well you, mister, need to read single dating mommy dot blogspot dot com (all one word)!" Maybe one day I WILL write a book, and I will dedicate it to you (really, I promise...) unless I have a boyfriend (or God willing, a husband!!) because then it would probably be more appropriate to dedicate it to him...but maybe not. I don't know yet, geez, get off my back...I haven't even figured out the plot yet, or the characters (*cold sweat*) Truthfully, it will most likely be dedicated to my mom, who always, always believes, even when I don't.