i love the autobahn…

autobahn (n) - (in Germany and Austria) a superhighway; expressway (that used to have no posted speed limit)

eccentric (n) - a person who has an unusual, peculiar, or odd personality, set of beliefs, or behavior pattern

crazy (n) - an unpredictable, nonconforming person/ (adj) - mentally deranged; demented; insane

…i’ve often been told that living in my head must be really hard…that the thoughts flying around in there are probably very similar to driving on the autobahn…there is just really no slowing down and if you even try to change lanes – watch out.

I really don’t think this equates to me being crazy, eccentric maybe, but crazy no. I mean take the other night for example, I was driving home and I was on the brink of tears wondering what the point of life was, was this where I was destined to be, and please god, help me, because I’m sure I’m destined for greater things. But just as quick as I was having a mental breakdown – I was just as quickly over it because all of the sudden life’s answers become clear. And all of this in just 7km - just imagine what I could do in 15.

Now I know you are wondering what clarity did I receive well going at 100 miles/hour in my head and really it was two-fold, first the only reason I am bemoaning my life’s existence was because of my job (where, like i've said before, I don’t get paid enough for the boredom I have to endure) and second, and more importantly, was the realization that the full moon was due out in a few days. And clearly the full moon can be attributed as the cause to a myriad of issues.

There – subject closed. Tears averted. I am on top of the world. I love driving on the autobahn.

Then last night, I was doing “speed work” at the local track. I’m not a fan of speed work, running around a track for about an hour, really does nothing for me, nor does it do anything for my mental status. Actually, watching the Paralympic hopefuls’ doing their track work does nothing for my mental stability since they can run faster then me, but we won’t get into that.

Also present was the local track team – these are kids between 10 to 16 years, many of whom go on to receive full scholarships at U.S. colleges So anyways, there I was labouring through my 800 repeats when I PASSED these guys from the track team. I PASSED THEM. I’m sure you can imagine the elation I felt. All of the sudden, my shoulders were back, head high, arms propelling me forward and my stride – just perfect. Clearly my 6 weeks at the track really had made me a stronger runner and as I passed them I felt myself growing stronger and going faster. Here were these kids and then there was me, double their age and then some and I’m a female – how could I pass them. Nonetheless that was all I needed to have a fabulous speed work session.

Oh did I mention that when I passed them, when I was feeling such strength and elation – it was while they were on their cool down lap leg? But honestly, does that really even matter?

There is no such thing as a blind spot on the autobahn.

the adventures of babysitting…

exasperate (v) – to irritate or provoke to a high degree; annoy extremely

value (n) - relative worth, merit, or importance

atari - A maker of arcade games, home video game systems, and home computers, especially during the 1970s and 1980s. Atari are best known for their range of 16- and 32-bit microcomputers

…so I was babysitting this weekend. Okay I can’t quite call it babysitting, since she is 13 years old. Anyways, I had to go to Wal-Mart because I decided I needed a toothbrush holder – fine, I didn’t really NEED a toothbrush holder but I wanted one but I couldn’t find anything less then $7.99+tax and I just didn’t want to spend that much because:

- it wasn’t really necessary for me to have it (I have gone without it for over a year or two), and
- the piece of plastic I was looking at didn’t really equate to $7.99+tax in my mind

Apparently, all of my neigh saying over the cost of the toothbrush holder, really exasperated the 13 year old, who said that since I work, I have money and therefore I should just get it.

How do I explain to a 13 year old that working doesn’t necessarily equate to having money. More importantly how do I explain to her that I work hard to earn my money by being painfully bored at work and I cherish my paycheck (since I really don’t feel I get paid enough for the boredom that I have to endure day after day) and I’m just not going to spend it willy nilly. However this is the girl that figures she’ll have a car when she is 16, she should have a laptop now b/c her desktop is too slow and brand names are the rage.

I by no means can be considered cheap, and have been known to be frivolous to some degree but the question still remains – but how do you teach the value of money?

Anyways, I was talking to, Jasmine, who’s an old friend of mine – we both of us grew up in a single parent household where money was always scarce. We knew that and it wasn’t a painful existence – it honestly wasn’t – but I know that I can thank my mother for that.

We managed but we also knew that if we wanted something, our mothers would get it for us - but we also knew not to ask. We knew and it was that simple. Also, I suppose growing up in the 80’s is a lot different then growing up in today’s society. I don’t think there was that pressures of do I have the “right clothes” or do I have the “right accessories.” There wasn’t the pressure to have a cell phone, PS1, PS2 AND PS3, Wii or any other gadget, mind you – I think all we had back then was Atari – and phones at that time were still rotary dial - so the choices were quite limited.

Coupled with this conundrum is, how long should parents pay for their children’s way? Even if they can pay for it, should they? I don’t think so. Maybe I’m just jaded b/c I can’t go crying to daddy every time I need a new outfit, because the twit who sits next to me at my boring job wore the same thing as me.

So I’ll share a story that Jasmine told me,

- Jasmine daughter, Maya, is three years old and wanted a train set for Christmas,
- So Jasmine bought a train set for Maya and had it wrapped up for Christmas
- Maya was excited about her present and played with it for two whole days before tossing it aside
- So Jasmine asked Maya – “do you want to keep the train, because if you don’t I’ll return it”
- Maya said she did not want the train and Jasmine decided to repackage it and return it to the store
- Jasmine took Maya to the store with her - so Maya could witness the return and know that mommy was ‘serious’
- Jasmine asked Maya one last time if she wanted to keep the train
- Maya replied, “no mommy.”
- So Jasmine handed over the train, along with her credit card and returned the train
- For a moment, Maya looked sad and asked Jasmine, “is the train no longer mine?”
- Jasmine said, “no, it belongs to the store.”
- Maya then asked, “did the money go back on mommy’s card?”
- Jasmine said, “yes”
- Maya then stated, “so now mommy can buy Maya another toy.”

So what is the moral of the story? That children are actually smarter? That you don’t have to explain the value of money but rather the mechanics of a credit card? That they not only understand and know the value of money, but are being economical by playing with the toy, returning and only then getting another one?

By the way, I have since bought a toothbrush holder…it was $9.99+tax…but in my defence at least it is ceramic and not cheap plastic.

insert circus music please…

…all I wanted was toner. I’m pretty self sufficient - I’ll even put the toner in myself, I really don’t need IT to do it for me.

But we have this “system” in place. We have to submit an “IT help ticket” in order to notify the IT team that something is amiss.

I decided to go by the IT team (this was first mistake, actually going to the IT team was my second mistake and we won’t get into my first mistake). Okay, so I decided to go to the IT team and just double-check that no one had already submitted the request for new toner so while sleuthing – I went over to the other side and IT outlined the steps I would need to execute in order to have the toner changed.

I guess I am a little slow because I didn’t quite understand what they were saying, so I asked them very nicely with a pleasant smile plastered on my face, “I’m sorry but can you explain that to me again” I believe I asked them this question 3 times because I am still convinced that I misinterpreted what they were asking of me…could they really be asking me to do the following:

1. Submit an IT help ticket requesting IT to check if there is an available toner in stock
• This would allow IT to verify that toner is in fact needed for the requested printer (i have no idea what this means?)?

• Providing that there is toner in stock (not in the printer) - IT would notify me and then close the ticket (this would also allow them to pull statistics on how wonderful their turnaround time is) and my next step would be to:

2. Submit an IT help ticket requesting IT to change the toner
• Since I submitted #1 above, I will have my wish granted and the toner will be changed

Abracadabra – I present you with…drum roll please….efficiency.

So I took a deep breath and showed IT the paper which I had just printed that was bare of any words, symbols or drawings and said – I’m pretty sure that there is no toner. Thankfully, one of the IT people (yes this conversation took two IT resourses) – confirmed yes indeed the toner needed replacing, in which case I only needed to submit one ticket to “change’ the toner. (help me please).

So as I was recanting my fabulous story to my neighbour – I started laughing so hard that I was crying. I think all of the “interesting people” in the entire world have quite possibly gathered at this one company and therefore the only answer to these situations is to insert the circus music (“ this example seems somehow appropriate)”…

…you know when you have a situation and there are simply no words in the entire English dictionary to express it, when you can’t believe the ludicrous-y of the situation or just the sheer mind bogglement of it all…the best thing to symbolize these moments is by inserting circus music. I usually apply the concept of circus music to work only, although I suppose you could apply it to any situation – but you don’t really want to dilute the meaning of circus music.

It is when things are so helter skelter, higgledy-piggledy, when things are just so mind numbingly unbelievable that you can’t even fathom how the world goes around or in this case how my workplace survives…

So if you see me, glassy eyed, zoned out and in a daze, it just means that the circus music is playing…over and over and over…


NOTE: I usually try to provide definitions but for this parituclar blog…I think it best if we kept it simple.

when does the debauchery end?

debauchery (n) excessive indulgence in sensual pleasures; intemperance.

frolicking (n) merry play; merriment; gaiety; fun.

…a few weeks ago, I received an invitation for a shower & bachelorette party for a good friend of mine. I was happy to go except in reading the invite the only thing I could focus on was that it was going to be a “night of drinking and debauchery.”

What exactly does “drinking and debauchery" mean? And do I really want to indulge in it.

For some reason, actually a lot of reasons, I am just hung up on the word debauchery…I can’t say that I would feel better had the invitation said a “night of fun and frolicking,” but something about the word debauchery makes this 33 year old cringe.

Honestly, I have had no desire to debaucherize for a very long time and I think that is because of the image/memories that the word debauchery just equates to – someone being ridiculously drunk (i.e., standing straight becomes difficult), someone behaving ridiculously (i.e., dancing on speaker boxes) and being ridiculously in pain (i.e., still hung-over on Monday morning) really just has no allure.

Debauchery definitely had its time and place for me – I’ll be the first to admit that I partook in it...a lot - but to be honest I’m done with debauchery.

I know that it is just an invitation, but the fact that someone had the forethought to write the word “debauchery,” honestly made me laugh and shudder simultaneously.

And do we really have to equate the ending of one’s single life to drinking all night, wearing a penis flower on your head and begging guys to buy you shots because you’ve decided to become one with another? Or maybe we should equate it with the need to be hog-tied by your friends, thrown in the back of a van and dragged to a strip club, only to be thrown out because you were too drunk and therefore slept in a snow bank for two hours and were literally frozen when your friends (and father in law) decided to come and see what you were up to. Wow – sounds like fun and yes that was a true story. I’m almost sad that I never had a night of debauchery solely dedicated to my singledom life.

The funny thing was, there we were 12 girls sitting around a table at a club…looking at each other. The music was too loud, the place smelt of bleach and our feet stuck to the ground. We were now those people that we once made fun of – wondering why “old” people wanted to relive their youth by going out to a club. Don’t get me wrong, I’m only too happy to spend time with my friends; however I would rather just do other activities.

So if, after reading this, anyone does want to invite me out, I’ll joyously come, have a few drink, dance to a few songs, but I will be in bed by 12am – I’m sorry if that makes me old or if you find me a bore (actually I’m really not that sorry) but that’s my world and I’m okay with that.

although none of this really answers my question…when does the debauchery end?

I AM a britfender…

societal piranhas (ab) voraciously carnivorous large social groups who often attack and destroy

…yes you read right and I’ll say it again – I am a Britfender. Please keep your rolling eyes to yourself because I too have had my share. I have heard everything everybody has had to say about Britney Spears and good for you for having an opinion, even if it is on Brit. But at the end of day, if I’ve said this once, I’ve said it 1,000 times - yes I am a defender of Britney Spears now hear me roar.

I believe in karma and reincarnation (stay with me, there is a connection). Combining the two gets you - karmic reincarnation. I don’t believe we live on this earth once, just for someone to point you to heaven or hell. That would essentially be a waste. This is where karmic reincarnation comes into play because the basic ideology is that:

a) People are reincarnated and keep on being reincarnated until they reach enlightenment and for some that is a very very very long time
b) What you do in this life directly impacts your next life – so your bad deeds will in fact come back to haunt you
c) Essentially your path is chosen for you based on a) and b) above
d) And no you can’t go from being human in one life to being a goat in the next life (although some scholars beg to differ but this is my story)

So if you can follow my train of thought, there are two obvious thoughts here:

- Clearly Brit will need to be reincarnated a “few” more before she even comes close to enlightenment, and
- Just try to imagine what Brit must have done in her previous life to be in the mess she is in now?

And that is why I am a britfender.

I’ve heard all that the naysayer’s have had to say – which ultimately boils down to the fact that she is a product of her own actions and we should not feel bad for her. Well, remember that the next time you are in a traffic jam when you're already late; see a no-smoking sign on your cigarette break or meet the man of your dreams and then meet his beautiful wife (or not so beautiful wife). I believe that is what they call karma.

It’s all relative baby. And that’s what people forget.

So the question is why aren’t you a Britfender? I love the moral high grounded people - they are so visionary. Perhaps you have caught that green debilitating disease, otherwise known as envy? Are you jealous of the money, the fame and everything she has – you would have to be lying if you said otherwise. Wouldn’t you want everything she has, has done and is doing? Oh wait that’s right, you would be able to handle it so much better. I forgot. Regardless of your position on Britney, let’s make sure that you have zero sympathy for her for the right reasons.

Of course there are the some things that she probably could /should control; i.e., she could stop flashing her nether regions...or better yet wear some underwear; she could stop antagonizing the paparazzi or even stop dating them…she should just stop…period. But for whatever reason, whether it’s because she is bi-polar, has 54 personalities, is surrounded by enablers, is just plain dumb or is part of this karmic reincarnation phenomenon - she can’t. Maybe that is what happens when your entire life has been choreographed by someone else.

The problem is that I don’t know the real answer, I don’t know her reality and neither do you.

What we all DO know is what the media puts out there and we just lap it up. Shouldn’t the media have some responsibility in this colossal mess? Who is more to blame? The media that feeds society’s incessant need for information or the societal piranhas that have created a niche for the paparazzi. Are these two things even mutually exclusive?

Then I was reading an article in The Star that came on the heels of Brit being strapped to a gurney, taken to the hospital and being put on a suicide watch…the article had two awe inspiring thoughts and I knew where I wanted the blame to lie. The author stated that:

1. The media is not to blame, because once Brit flashed her private parts – it was all fair game, and
2. It is her time to pay

Uhmm not really so awe inspiring.

Why do we want her to fail and what does she have to pay for? For being rich? For not realizing what she has? That’s her prerogative…does she owe anybody anything? People will argue that she is a role model but when exactly did she get that title? When she was dressed as a catholic school girl, with two pony tales, gyrating round and singing “hit me baby one more time?” Well if it makes you feel any better, not only was she hit – she has been pummeled straight to the ground. (Hanna Montana should watch out…)

A lot of people love the soap opera known as the “Life of Britney Spears” – maybe because she has what you (materially) covet and that evil part of you can’t help but smirk at her demise. Why should she have everything when you’re in a dead end job, with a berating boss, a wife you can’t stand and a girlfriend you want but can’t have? Just to clarify, in case there was any misunderstanding, the only reason your life is not in the news is because it is essentially common and most people would rather slit their throat on a jagged edge of a corn beef can then listen to your story.

And that pretty much sums it up - you’re eating corn beef out of a can while Brit is chugging from a $535 bottle of Cristal.

Karma’s a bitch.

does sex make the relationship or does the relationship make the sex?

antiquated (adj.) continued from, resembling, or adhering to the past; old-fashioned

ice queen - a woman who refuses sexual advances; frigid

I was listening to the radio last week when the discussion turned to relationships and sex…asking what comes first – the relationship or the sex. Sort of like the chicken and egg conundrum.

For those that know my antiquated views, know, for me sex has meaning, emotion and blah, blah, blah. I’m not into one night stands, drunken encounters and let’s just say at the end of the day…sex can’t just be willy nilly. For me, it is mutually exclusive with respecting myself…but I won’t bore you with my rhetoric.

For others sex is just an act with no real meaning…at least that is what I’m told. This notion leads me to believe that sex is a lot like spin class…take a few layers of clothes off, sweat a little, maybe feel light headed…all that’s left to do is take a lazy drag of that cigarette.

In university I may have been known as some what of an ice queen and that was fine by me (maybe that’s still how people perceive me – and at 32 years old – that’s a complete whatever). I did a good job of keeping my ice queen title until 4th year when a simple 5 second, completely public, interlude cost me my title.

Just to clarify, this guy wasn’t a stranger…he apparently had haboured some “attraction” towards me (whatever that means)…but those 5 second made it fair game for an invite to have “sex in the bushes.” Right then. Right there. Seriously? No, seriously?

So could sex in the bushes have led to a potential relationship?

At that point I’d rather just arm myself with rabbit the habit …why go through the effort of having to kick some guy out at 2 in the morning….that and I have free porn.

If sex does make the relationship, then how quickly do you have to hit it? Does the 3rd date rule still apply? Or in this day and age when it seems like the pool of eligible mates is fast drying up – do you have to test drive all that you can in hopes of a winner?

Here’s another thought – what happens when the intent was a relationship and the result was great sex but the problem is that you are no longer together. Is it okay to just keep the sex but lose the relationship? I have an acquaintance that a few years ago broke up with her BF via a text message no less. She lasted less then a week before she found herself texting him again asking if they could just keep the sex. Other then the obvious question this brings up, i.e., why are we texting him this kind of info, if the relationship didn’t make the sex and the sex didn’t make the relationship – then maybe sex is just an act.

However in my world, this is just a shade of gray that I have no interest in understanding. In case you haven’t figured it out - my answer is that the relationship makes the sex. It’s not about getting into bed quickly – just so you can rate the sexual chemistry…because your thought is why tolerate the relationship if the sex is bad. Chemistry isn’t always about instantaneous combustion – sometimes it is a work in progress. if the relationship is right – then there is no question that the sex will be great as well. In MY world we have,

Jack and Jill sitting in a tree,
T-A-L-K-I-N-G
1st comes getting to know each other
Then comes more getting to know each other more
Then comes the feel (and I don’t mean the cheap kind, if you don’t know what I mean then you may want a new relationship)

my metamorphosis…

serendipity (n) an aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident, good fortune; luck

metamorphosis (n), a complete change of form, structure, or substance

…by the time it is all said and done – I will have made it a little over a year. Actually it will have been 13 months and 13 days to be exact. That equals out to about 408 days or 587,520 hours. I suppose that is a long time – but unfortunately (or fortunately depending on your outlook) it did not feel like a long time.

To be honest, I am not sure all that I did in those 408 days but I’m quite positive that I did plenty and I am happy I did the things that I did – even though for some reason I can’t remember all what I did other then be part of the unemployment statistic.

Fine I guess I could go out on a mental limb…I spent a quarter of that time or about 100+ days in India and I have some great and some not so great stories. For example,

• as a result of a car accident I ended up in a hospital where the dr. concluded that I did not have a concussion because I wasn’t paralyzed.
• i was essentially violated by two woman during an ayurvedic massage
• oh yes, there was the ‘fabulous’ 300km bike tour through Rajasthan, which by the way is a desert
• i was part of a state election campaign. This meant going door to door campaigning for the candidate (who was my aunt) by pretending I was her daughter. Apparently Indians are more inclined to vote for a candidate if they feel the candidate showed them some “personal” attention.
• i went to the pharmacy located in the hospital to buy medication….for the dog.
• i traveled by plane, train, automobiles, rickshaws, scooters, horse drawn buggies, bike, boat and the dreaded camel
• and the list does go on…

Anyhoo – I also traveled to Cuba, to San Francisco and few other places. I got leaner but not meaner. I got myself a mangetar. And I suppose I exorcised some demons, got some perspective and I did that wishy washy thing of finding myself.

All of that has now come to an end - I wasn’t even looking for a change but sometimes it is just serendipity…which means I now have a job.

Now, I can no longer go to the gym leisurely at 8am and spend hours there, I can’t watch back to back episodes of ER in the morning, or keep abreast of General Hospital or even find out what Dr. Oz had to say on Oprah. I can no longer visit Michaels (that would the Arts and Crafts store) every Friday afternoon (and I thank all of the people who continuously passed along their coupons my way) and more importantly – it is the end of ghetto lunches.

I have been my own boss for so long that my biggest supporter sleeps on my left side and my biggest critic snores peacefully on the right. I was pretty content with the situation but all good things must come to an end so I grabbed my pillow and prepared myself to jump into bed with someone else.

For those that remember – I had defined my “ ZOPA” last year, which resulted in me leaving my job. I had said that my previous employer had lost out on me and I had won because I was about to embark on this journey – that no job could equal. And I was right and I can’t help but be a little smug.

Just to keep life interesting, my new employer was once a client/competitor of my old employer. From the rumours that I have heard – that relationship ended on a sour note and there are still a few residual effects of that. As a side note, I was very honest with the people who had agreed to be my references in letting them know which company I intended to work for. However, I was naïve in thinking that all of my trusted people who had chosen to help me – would in fact help me. Unfortunately, someone did have a problem with the company I was associating with and chose not to support me. I just fail to understand is why. After all isn’t a reference - a character endorsement of ME and not a reflection of an industry rivalry that may continue for years? It never ceases to amaze me what you can learn about people.

In any case, I am now officially employed and not only was I hired by them but they created a position for me…CREATED. Whether they hired me for all of the secret information that I possess (wow I could just be like chuck bartowski) or because they feel I could actually be an asset to their mgmt team is irrelevant – the fact is my old employer lost out and this is why I can’t help but be a little smug.

So now I have to answer to someone else. I’ll have to deal with people I may not like since I can no longer just turn around and walk away (which is quite a fabulous thing to be able to do). I’ll have to pay taxes. I’ll have to do all of the things that I guess we have to do in life…but this time it’s on my terms...well more or less :)

The sad part is that one day of employment has quickly erased 13 months and 13 days of unemployment – overall I may be in a better place but I’m right back into the dreaded routine. But there is good news – I have located a Michaels nearby ….only 0.98miles away…get the coupons ready…

i am not the biggest loser….

fat (adj.) - having too much flabby tissue; corpulent; obese; plump; well-fed

rationale (noun) - the fundamental reason or reasons serving to account for something

…I wasn’t even close. I was about 12 lbs away from being the biggest loser. 12 lbs. That’s 12 sticks of butter - imagine that. No really imagine that -12 sticks of butter.

I have spent the last 8 weeks and over $300 being part of The Biggest Loser at my local gym. It’s similar to the T.V. show just without the big weight scale and the commercial breaks.

I have spent more hours in the gym then I care to admit, I have spent time logging every single morsel of food that goes into my mouth so I can keep track of my caloric intake. I have spent a lot of time running on the treadmill, the elliptical machine, the bike, the stair master, the arc trainer and the damned rowing machine, which gave me calluses beyond belief. And I have spent a lot of time being tired.

The last eight weeks have certainly been hard - a lot harder then downing that junior whopper burger with extra pickles, poutine and a coke.

I have always loved weight loss stories. I love watching them and I love reading them. I can sit and cheer-on these people who I have never met but am buoyed by their stories. Maybe I love them because I can relate to them – although I always think that if I am watching a successful weight loss story on TV – then there’s got to be more to it then meets the eye. There has got to be a conspiracy by the network and that’s why the person has lost weight – clearly the person could not have done it on their own.

I know there are people out there who can’t understand the concept of being FAT. I mean why don’t all of us FAT people just stop eating so much – why don’t we just put down the damn fork? And it should be that easy but instead over the years, we’ve made our real (or perhaps no so real) emotional and mental issues the rationale as to why we’re FAT (thanks Oprah).

It is not all Oprah’s fault, after all there is always an excuse for not trying to lose the weight. I am busy. I am tired. I have a headache, I have no time. I have to work. I have to look after my children. I have to eat that tub of ice cream because it is there. I have to do my laundry. Actually I have no clothes to wear to the gym so I can’t go. It’s never going to work so why bother. I’ve lost 2lbs in 4 weeks – why bother. I’ll start on Monday. I’ll start next week. I’ll start on the 1st of the month. I’ll start January 1st.

The point is, I did the hard work but even when I was doing the hard work I really didn’t think it was going to work - at least not without heroic measures. Remember I have a lifetime of learnt behaviour and 8 weeks wasn’t going to change that. It is probably the hardest work I’ve done in a long time and the reality is there is no other way. At the end of the day I’m 15.6lbs lighter, there’s 20cm less of me and I have a BMI of overweight instead of obese. Sadly enough, that still doesn’t make me a believer.

excuse me ma’am, have you seen my fertility?

antediluvian (adj.) - very old, old-fashioned, or out of date; antiquated; primitive

mental (adj.) - pertaining to intellectuals or intellectual activity

Have you ever noticed that most rights of passages can only be only attained after passing a test of sorts?

- We are graded right from junior kindergarten (yes, Tommy exhibits exceptional art skills with his finger painting) all the way to high school (unfortunately. we have had to suspend Tommy because graffiti is not part of this curriculum)
- Some of us are then tested for four years in University just so we can obtain another coveted (?) pretty piece of paper (I think mine is in the basement)
- We are now tested several times in order to drive on the highway (back in the day – there was only one test to pass…you either did or you didn’t)
- You even have to take a test and answer questions about Canadian history in order to become a Canadian citizen (albeit you can take this test in several languages (other then English and French) which is beyond me because I can’t remember the last time I had to vote and the ballot was in Punjabi unless perhaps you live in Brampton…but I won’t even get started on that)

Now don’t get me wrong, I do believe that these and all the other plethora of tests are needed but what I fail to understand and what gets me slightly enraged is wondering why there are no tests that women/parents have to go through before they can have a baby and just to be clear I am not talking about a medical test to ensure the safety of mom/baby.

I am talking about a series of tests that women should have to go through just like their adoptive counterparts. Individuals wanting to adopt a child have their lives (and bank accounts) turned upside down - yet no questions are asked of women who can conceive…a psychological evaluation, pay stubs, a SIN number, reference checks – something, anything other then – well I have an ovary or two therefore I am a good candidate or better yet – it is the next thing to check off on my “life’s to do” list.

I am speaking specifically about those people who can perhaps materially provide for their children but other then that they’ve got nothin’ to offer…nada, zero. Just because you are in a perfect union (or not) with an income that allows you to support a child DOES NOT mean you should have a child. Be honest – we all know someone who has a child and we always walk away wondering why…

This goes out to those parents who don’t understand that the problem is not their children - the problem is the parents themselves and their own behaviour. When little Mary is running around the coffee shop licking the pastry display cases – this would be time to perhaps get off your ass and try something new – like stopping her vs. shaking your head and hoping she will grow out of it while you continue with your coffee. Or maybe your “me” time will have to suffer because using the TV as a babysitter – just doesn’t work. Again I fail to understand that if you have one child and realize that there is something amiss (let’s suppose little Johnny has the propensity to kick and scream at you…everyday) then perhaps you should think before having child number 2 but instead you have child number 3 AND 4. It is just unacceptable. If you don’t think these are your children – check out Nanny 911 – you may be surprised what similarities you find.

I know I know – life is a bitch and there are those that are less fortunate then others and are unable to provide certain things for their children. But I am not talking about material items – I am talking about nurturing your children, which perhaps naively in my mind has nothing to do with your background, culture, economic status, social status and any other excuse you want to use – because that is what it is - an excuse.

While a child may be a product of their environment they are more so a reflection of their parents.

Just to state the obvious – yes, I do think that I am the perfect parent. Why am I the perfect parent? Because I don’t have any children. So yes, I may not know the dilemmas that parents go through to raise children, but I was once a child and I know what was acceptable and what wasn’t – and that was because of my parents. It wasn’t because of some TV program and it wasn’t because my parents thought ‘freedom of expression’ was a better mantra then discipline. We’re talking about 4 year olds not 40 year olds.

So I have an easy solution to this debacle - a woman’s fertility should be kept under lock and key until she passes some sort of test and once successfully passed – then and only can they take their eggs with them. Brilliant isn’t it? Yes I thought so too.

Think of it as a library – once you have passed the requisite tests and have your fertility approval card, you can locate your eggs via the dewy decimal system, proceed to the self checkout (which naturally has a fingerprint verification system) - swipe them through – and off you are to fabulous parent hood.

To all the feminists out there who are thinking this is an inventive antediluvian plot to jolt womankind back to the days where we didn’t have the right to vote – fear not because that is not the intent. Although as a side note – 42% of Canada’s population is made up females aged 15+, in the last Canadian election approximately 40% of the entire population voted – I wonder how many women voted? I don’t have the time or the mathematical inclination to sort that out – but what I do know is 100% of all eligible women did not vote but the more important question is why do we have to be 18 in order to vote yet I can be a baby mommy when I am 15. Deep breath.

Anyways, as I was saying - having a child is not your “right” - it is a privilege. Yes it is your body but if you don’t have the mental capacity to raise a child – then you shouldn’t. We do not have the right to take our own life in the name of medical necessity thereby denying ourselves the self respect we deserve at death – yet we can procreate at any time, age, place – whatever wherever. Think of how ridiculous that is - just imagine - you are terminally ill and withering away and the only thing “it’s my body and I can do what I want” will warrant you – is a baby.

So excuse me ma’am, have you seen my fertility because…

I cannot find it in my box,
I cannot find it among his rocks
I cannot find it here or there.
I cannot find them anywhere.
I do not see it in my house
I do not see it with my spouse
I cannot find it here or there
I cannot find it anywhere

…and that may not be such a bad thing.

sometimes in life you should let the ice cream truck pass you by….

facebook n. a publication for an organization, such as a school or business, which helps members identify each other; also, an online version of this, with profiles including a picture, name, birthdate, interests, etc.

….and that is what I wish I did when I got the invite to join Facebook. I really blame the whole thing on my curly haired recently engaged former work colleague who decided to send me the invite. But before I get fully embroiled in my rant I do have to point out that I was really surprised to find that there was actually a definition for Facebook in the dictionary dating back to 2004. And as a side note, the incredibility of the whole thing led me to see if “ FTLOG” was defined in the dictionary….and clearly the lesson I learned is - I should have had the word patented.

Okay back to Facebook, I was pretty hesitant about joining Facebook – not quite sure what it was but decided why not. Not one of my smarter decisions. So not only did I join but I pushed some magic button and all of my email contacts suddenly became my “friends” on Facebook. We think twice about entering our credit card information into a portal but think nothing of putting our name, birthday, address, phone number and place of employment on the web for anyone to see. Oh wait that information is restricted – well I’m sure that will keep the bad people out.

By the way - how do some people have over 100 friends?? I just don’t buy it. Is it a status thing? Oh no, I only have 10 friends, I better add my entire grade 3 class who I haven’t spoken to since 1983, that way I’ll have 15 more friends (class sizes were much smaller in the 80’s) and ohhhh let me start a group called “East York Ghettoland” that should get me a few more….hmmm I wonder where Tara is now – but I digress.

Anyhoo – I’ve been on Facebook since the beginning of April and have been pretty cautious; e.g., I have not displayed my high school or university name because really – if I haven’t kept in contact with you then chances are - well I don’t really want to. Although I have to admit – that isn’t quite true. Over the last few weeks I have been wavering in thinking that perhaps I should “poke” (Facebook lingo…you know how that it is)…anyways I should poke a few people that I wouldn’t mind hooking up with. But other then the obligatory “hey how have the last 15 years been?” what more is there to say?

So the point is – I became deranged and decided to add both my high school and university name to my profile. I mean - what the hell – what’s the worst that could happen?

Well at 11pm that night I found out. I see an email come in and I quickly go to log onto Facebook because god knows what important message could be waiting for me. Oh wait I am already logged onto Facebook (since I am slowly becoming an addict) so no need to sign in…great that saves me 5 seconds and brings me that much closer to the coveted email.

I read the email and I think WTF. It is from someone that I once knew and I use the term “knew” very very loosely. Let’s say - someone I used to drink with – why I have no idea, even then I had no idea why and I was perfectly content never speaking, seeing or hearing from him ever again. But is life ever that easy?

This guy can be nice but has the tendency to creep people out – just what one should look for in a drinking buddy. And that was probably because most of the time he was drunk and his beady little eyes were always slightly glazed over trying to focus but never quite making it there. Oh and he was always trying to bed my friend – yuck. I think he was generally harmless (can you believe I just said that) - but could one really be sure? My professional assessment would be that he is not as confident as he would have others to believe so he puts on this bravado – but the question is – how does this really affect me? I’m not here to rehabilitate him.

Anyways – I see the email come in, I read it and it gives me the heebie-jeebies. It reads:

Where is XXXXX....I still want to bang her, even after 10 years...

WTF. That email should make me run very fast in the other direction but the sad part is that I’m not sure I can give up Facebook or even if I want to give it up. So I am bound by a moral obligation to save the non-believers by saying fight the power and DO NOT succumb to Facebook - just because the creators were once a part of Harvard – that makes them smart – not us for joining.

I have nothing more to say other then I should have let this one go…but noooo now I have to go to a therapist in order to extract myself from the world of Facebook. Problem is that I have taken an early retirement – so who’s going to foot that bill? Wonder if I can find that old friend, you know the one who had some extra cash back in the day…hmmm I wonder if I can find him on Facebook….gotta go…

i’ve lost my mojo…

mojo n. self-confidence, self-assuredness. as in basis for belief in ones self in a situation.

….it’s not so much that I have lost it but more so that it has been misplaced – sort gone astray. After almost four months in India – all I have, other then no mojo, are two diametrically conflicting thoughts:

- Am I an Indian woman in India?
Or
- Just another tourist, who happens to have a vagina, traveling through the spiritual land?

Actually if I wanted to I could also add to the mystery by asking - am I a CBI (Canadian born Indian), POI (person of Indian origin) or a NRI (non-resident Indian)…but why get into such details.

After much soul-searching – I’ve realized that there is simply no answer. I am Canadian by birth but my culture, religion and family values are upheld by my Indian roots and the only way I can see to reconcile the two, in India, is to simply get myself a strap-on penis.

Laugh all you want, but I truly believe that the answer too many of my problems in India would be solved by a strap-on penis. At least if I had one, it would not matter if I were an Indian woman or a female tourist because if I “accidentally” made eye contact with a man – he would not have to wonder if a) if I was a prostitute (because the only Indian women who would even consider making eye contact with a ghar mard (strange man) would be a prostitute) or b) if I was just another easy woman from the west (because apparently all women from the West are easy… take a look at porn…how many times have you seem an Indian woman moaning in “ecstasy” on screen).

If I had a penis I would be able to urinate in any public place – be it on a busy street corner in Delhi, on a random tree, against a wall and generally anywhere. And until you’ve seen a women’s public washroom in India – you don’t know how liberating that would be.

Can you even believe that to be allowed to climb a tower in one of India’s most well known mosques – I need a penis? It’s not that the mosque is being “sexist” but in order to keep my vagina safe – they insist on it being accompanied by a penis.

If I had a penis, there would be a 0% probability for me to be part of the current statistic which states 10 million female fetuses have been aborted in the last 20 years…and that’s only what is “reported”

If I had a penis, I as a female, wouldn’t have to feel second class

Correction - if I had a penis, I as a female, would not be second class.

Essentially if I had a penis in India – well, I would be God.

I stubbornly refuse to acknowledge that MY vagina is not equivalent to a penis. As I righteously give hail to my vagina and blame a country for my missing mojo – I realize that the mistake I’ve made is to equate the inequality I see before me as being specific to India, when in reality it does exist all around us – just in varying degrees. Wasn’t there a time in the 70’s when women were all about bearing and burning? Now we have articles about Hillary Clinton and her “one-way trip to the sexual scrap-heap…with a fast rusting vagina.”

Clearly I am the only one that can reclaim my mojo – so to ensure that it doesn’t disappear altogether – I have decided that I am a…Canadian born, person of Indian origin who is a not residing in India - doing the tourist thing while traveling through the spiritual land and most importantly of all – a proud owner of a vagina

There - that should do well for my mojo…that and I have no idea where to find a strap-on penis in the homeland.

do you know your zopa?

gallivanting intr.v. To roam about in search of pleasure or amusement

ZOPA - "Zone of Possible Agreement" – this exists if there is a potential agreement that would benefit both sides more than their individual alternative options do

acrimonious adj. caustic, stinging, or bitter in nature, speech, behavior, etc

Everything can be negotiated – this was the message that was communicated at a work sponsored executive education seminar I attended last year. The seminar, presented by a Harvard Associate Professor, was titled “Win/Win Negotiation and Decision Making.”

The concept of negotiation is a simple one; however it is the execution that determines success. For example, being able to negotiate means identifying what it is you want AND what it is you are willing to settle at. That is the easy part. To negotiate successfully requires an outcome that is a win/win for both parties (your ZOPA) - otherwise all you are is a school yard bully.

Somewhere along the line, I got confused as to what I wanted. Without clearly identifying what I wanted – I could not identify my ZOPA and I let emotion get in the way. In the world of negotiations – there is little room for emotion.

Allow me to self indulge.

I have been employed for 6.5 years. Like I have said in a previous post – I am the sixth oldest employee – I have expectations for myself with this employer and hopefully they of me. But I did the unthinkable – I didn’t follow the yellow brick road to americracy. Instead I decided to take a little detour.

My detour comes in the form of a long-requested 5 month leave of absence. I have been transparent in my request – making my intentions known back in May and officially requesting the leave in August. The only reason I can offer my employer by way of an explanation – is that it has been a difficult year and I need to go on this spiritual journey for myself.

I have had my own ups and downs with this company – to the point where I came very close to the chopping block for being a difficult employee. That was 3 years ago, a lot has changed and the fact that I am still here speaks to that.

I truly believe that I have grown tremendously with this company, both personally and professionally. I feel I have learned more at this job then I probably could have elsewhere – and I continue to learn and grow. But let’s not loose site of the fact that I am still asking for a 5 month leave of absence based on a seemingly whimsical reason. I realize it is a long time but I have proven my worth. This is what I was told:

- I have been a great employer but…
- In light of the acquisition, we don’t know where we’ll be in 5 months so a leave of absence would be difficult (it would take too long to explain why I don’t believe this)
- It would look great on my resume if I stayed till at least till the end of the year because I would be involved in the important integration project – but this did not mean I would be granted a leave of absence (??)
- At this point, it would probably be best to officially terminate
- However, if I were ever interested in coming back – I would still have to go through the interview process (I mean what would that interview be like – employer: so tell me about your last employer and what you did me: uhm well you were my previous boss??)

So that surmises what 6.5 years can get you. That and a company staff meeting with no mention of my fabulous accomplishments and rest assured – they certainly were fabulous. It comes to a crushing and sudden end with an email sent to the top brass; (She)”has been an important and valuable part of our customer delivery and support since March 21, 2000.” That’s 18 words in case you were wondering – about three words per year.

Okay fine, a bit overdramatic – I will give you that. After all it is, sorry was, just a job and I am not owed anything nor should I expect anything. I just made the mistake of making it into something it wasn’t.

As for my own perceived self-worth – I can’t be that far off the mark. I will take the reaction people have shown at my departure, from chiefs to directors to everyday people like me, as a sign of my character and if needed, that can be my own vindication.

I have maintained the position that my leaving is the best answer – even though I have a difficult time understanding why a leave of absence was not granted. Although I admit that I did waver slightly when I found out that earlier this year another employee was granted a two month leave of absence. I can only hypothesize why they granted that leave and not mine – but ultimately it really does not matter. If I had used the foresight I had, and I had plenty, I would have made a better choice 7 months ago.

The bitch of it is that I even had a sign – isn’t that what we are always looking for? My sign came in the form of an email – but I chose to ignore it. The email was eloquently written like only he can write and was not meant for my eyes. The email indicated that while the current circumstances were unfortunate – the project at hand was of utmost importance, it was imperative that it be completed and it was going to be used as a measuring stick for many people including the author of the email.

Bottom line – if I was not able to handle my work while dealing with the terminally ill – then maybe someone else should be the responsible party. After all, personal circumstances have no role to play in this story. So what did I do? While on bereavement leave I chose to work. I mistakenly thought that if I didn’t do it - it would be a poor reflection on my work ethic.

Instead what I did was leave those that mattered the most to fend for themselves in a cold inhospitable hospital - left to their own frail and perilous devices while I wrote business specs, attended company meetings and wasted effort trying to care. I could have done more then just get panic attacks trying to juggle something that was not worth juggling. I should have let the plates come crashing down.

Someone once told me that my relationship with my workplace is very similar to that of an abusive relationship and perhaps on a mental level it is. How did I get to this place where I allowed my employer to have the power to influence my emotions?

If I knew 7 months ago what I know now – I would have left the company then. I would have spent those last few months with those that are no longer here not with those that were only too quick to dismiss my existence. The truth is I have no one to blame – I should known better but I made the wrong choice.

I am not prepared to make another mistake. This journey is my “once in a lifetime” moment. How many other chances will I get in my life to do something that I truly feel I need to do – that I am lucky enough to be able to do. I am not willing to give that up and it is as simple as that. I have only one option – and with that I have defined my ZOPA.

My employer refers to my journey as - gallivanting – another sign that they simply don’t care to understand me and I guess they don’t really have to. By not granting me a leave of absence - my employer has identified their ZOPA.

So what is the end result? I have the opportunity to embark on an adventure that could shape me like no job ever can. This makes the decision very easy, one that is devoid of any emotion – so two weeks ago I officially resigned.

Was this negotiation a success? Did it have a win/win outcome? I have won – that much I am certain of, however in my estimation - my company has lost out on me.

I actually started writing this about a week ago. I have gone through a lot of emotions to get to the end – definitely more then one should have of a job and I’m still working through it. It is simply time for this chapter of my life to be closed.

Don’t think that I am ending this on an acrimonious note – on the contrary, this blog is dedicated to exorcising my demons. Hindsight is 20/20 - I have absolutely no room for anger, resentment or "what if's" – it is what it is and I leave the rest to karma. Consider this a metamorphosis.

americracy anyone?

americracy (unknown) melting down disparate elements to form a new reality

melt v. n. to pass, dwindle, or fade gradually (often fol. by away)

equilibrium n. a state of rest or balance due to the equal action of opposing forces.

lip service n. Verbal expression of agreement or allegiance, unsupported by real conviction or action; hypocritical respect:

“We’ve all been fired.”

Those were the words offered by my co-worker on Tuesday at our hastily called company staff meeting. Of course, he had said it in jest following our CEO’s opening remarks of “today is a very exciting day for us.” Had my co-worker been in the “know” – he would have understood why those four words were followed by a brief, almost subtle, understated yet uncomfortable silence. Our CEO response was a barely audible “some may not find that so funny” and with that he unleashed the worst kept company secret – we had been acquired by one of the largest healthcare players in the U.S. domestic market. That put to rest all of the rumours and innuendos that had been circulating at a heightened pace throughout the morning following the witnessing of the first “walkout.”

The next 15 minutes were dedicated to the virtues of this new conglomerate and if you had been listening to what was being said – I’m sure you would have found them very impressive. However, at that moment every single person who wasn’t part of the executive team was thinking the very same thing – what does this mean for me? No one cared that we could buy stocks at reduced prices, had two extra vacation days or that we all now had a plethora of opportunity (albeit in Minnetonka, MN) – all we wanted to know was - “do I have a job?”

Having caught wind of this news a bit before the big meeting meant that I had time to “digest” it although I had very little idea what it meant for me. I had been hire number 15 when I started working for this company over six years ago – and today I was the 6th oldest employee. All that was about to change because as of October 9th – I was to become employee number 55,006. WOW.

Looking around the room – I knew the fate of others was far worse then mine – and even though the company line was that “we all had jobs” the undeniable question was how much of that was just lip service?

Upon hearing the news, the domestic U.S. sales team literally hung their heads in their hands – minds already calculating which one of their contacts they could call to secure/procure their next employment. The Chief Marketing Office of the domestic sales team tried to keep a poker face but the dejection rang through loud and clear. Our COO made an interesting attempt to sell the fact that he had been thinking of going into early retirement anyway so this was a great opportunity for him to “step down.” In one fell swoop – the lives of about 100 people were changed – perhaps a bit melodramatic but true nonetheless.

From a personal perspective – it comes with mixed emotions – our COO has now “retired”, my director has "parted ways" - so where does that leave the little people within this new Fortune 50 Company? But the reality is, at times like this – there is no place for emotion.

From a business perspective – it’s a brilliant move for our 35 year old CEO who started this business out of his room in a frat house, decided not to finish university and 11 years later had the largest U.S. healthcare company ask him to sell out and he did. The truth is – had you or I been in his shoes – we would have done the same thing.

As I went home that night, I thought back to Tuesday morning when the only decision I was faced with was what shoes should I wear with my business casual attire – the black Reebok trail shoes or my red and white Asics running shoes. I then fast forwarded to the after work drink/gossip/bitch session where aside from hailing the virtues of the acquisition - someone was planning on dry-cleaning their business suits – because you only get one chance to make a first impression with a new boss.

This acquisition is a bit like life and death. If we don’t have life or death or have too much of either one – the pendulum swings too far in one direction and the world as we know it has no balance - the result is that chaos ensues. The business world is no different – it too needs a steady pendulum to maintain equilibrium.

In trying to understand the the happenings of the past few days - I have learned a new word. The word is both a bit ugly and crude - perhaps my issue with it is that it seems to personify the ideologies of Geroge Bush - one that is more concerned with strong arming vs. understanding. Regardless, this new word amptly describes a new world order of balance and it is “americracy.”

If you Google americracy – you won’t find too many results for it. It is a difficult word – one that doesn’t roll off the tongue easily and perhaps that should be indicative of its meaning - melting down disparate elements to form a new reality. Think about that. That is life, death and rebirth all in one and as a result the pendulum remains still and we now have equilibrium once again.

Perhaps I should trade in both my black Reebok trail shoes and my red and white Asics running shoes for a pair of sensible pumps but I’ll leave my corporate suits in the closest and take a chance to see which side of the pendulum I land on.

I’ve been dumped...

dump v. To get rid of; discard

ironic adj. Poignantly contrary to what was expected or intended

Not only have I been dumped but I got dumped by a voicemail. In this day and age – don’t people have a little more tact then to dump someone with whom they’ve shared intimate details with over the damn telephone? Of course the best line of the voicemail was “I want to make sure we don’t leave on bad terms.” There was no remorse, no sadness, no sound of longing for me – nothing…just flat monotone “I’ve really enjoyed your company but…”

Hmmm isn’t it funny how fast life can change? It was only a couple weeks ago – that I was telling you that I was in love and now I’ve been dumped and I find myself asking how can this be possible? Actually it’s quite ironic because over the last month I myself have been contemplating doing the dumping (not over the phone mind you, I have a bit more tact then that) but I guess I was too late and I got beat. Damn it - I wanted to be the dumper not the dumpee (insert the princess stomping her feet here).

Who would have guessed that Dixie Bell would dump me?

How could she do this to me? FTLOG – I paid for her damn services. Apparently it’s because she’s cut her hours to only Monday, Wednesday and Fridays & I only go to her on Thursdays….hmmm likely story….I wonder if she is faking the funk with me.

She invited me to Texas, she invited me to her pink trailer in Wasaga beach (don’t ask), I told her about my uterus – we shared things and just like that she offered me up to someone else….just like that…to someone else…someone named Maria – I mean what kind of name is Maria because I don’t foresee the hills coming alive with her.

This is one of those break-ups where (after the initial shock) the only thing I feel is joy (other then the fact that I wanted to dump her first)….after all Dixie Bell did stand me up 3 out of the last 4 weeks, the sessions have been completely unstructured, she talks a lot, she’s unconventional – but she was Dixie Bell and ultimately I did get results.

So after a few minutes of deep contemplation – I returned her phone call only to fittingly have to leave her a voicemail:

“Hi Dixie Bell, booo that you’re no longer going to be my trainer. It’s unfortunate because I really enjoyed the sessions but I guess you have to do what you have to do. Don’t worry - no hard feelings at all. I guess I can try Maria if you recommend her – but a couple of things:
- I would like to meet her tomorrow at 6:30 pm
- I will not pay for the first session with Maria
- If I don’t like her/training style then I want to be refunded for my 12 unused sessions
- And/or if I decide between now and when I meet Maria that I don’t want a personal trainer, then I want my money back – let me know who I have to talk to - to make that happen
Call me when you get a chance. Bye and have a great day.”

Who said break-ups were hard…it’s all about frame of mind…and just like that I am en route to belonging to another.

i am in love…

love v. to have an intense emotional attachment

epic adj. surpassing the usual or ordinary, particularly in scope or size

psyche v. to put into the right psychological frame of mind

It's been over a month since I've blogged something and that’s really because I just can’t get inspired enough to comment on it – which in itself is quite depressing but if I read one more article on either of these two issues – I might kill myself:

a) Why have there been no sightings of Tomkitten (now that she is a 100+ days old)??? (note: Tomkitten would be the daughter of TomKat…still not with me...you know - the daughter of Tom Cruise & Katie Holmes – sort it out people, although you may be in a better headspace not knowing this)

and

b) Why Madame Tussauds Wax Museum in London would create a wax sculpture of Brangelina’s new baby (this one I’m not going to explain to you...you'll have to Google it)… anyways you can now go the wax museum with your family & have a picture taken with the Brangelina’s (wax) family and $1 will be donated to UNICEF...isn't that fabulous??


Anyhoo I digress - the point is that I'm in love. It's taken me a long time to get here. I can't really say I was looking for it - far from it. In the last four years – I really tried to be open to it and embrace the idea. I have had plenty of opportunity but I guess I was just in denial and funny thing is that when it happened it was love at first sight. It was emotional - it was powerful - it was liberating. When people say that love conquers all - they are 100% right.

There is no more hiding it and I want to share it with everyone.

My love comes in the form of a pair of DKNY, item
# DY 4517 olive coloured hi indexed plastic glasses.

Full stop. Period. That’s my story.

Now I understand that most people don’t/can’t understand the magnitude of this event for me – because to you they are just glasses but to me they are something of epic proportion.

You see I got my first pair of glasses when I was 5 years old just before I headed off to Senior Kindergarten. I didn’t know anyone with glasses, so for a 5-year old – it was a big thing (I’m not sure if you are aware but kids can be mean – even your sweet ones).

Anyways, somewhere deep in the psyche of a 5 year old – it was determined that I had three choices:

1. Not go to Senior Kindergarten
2. Not wear the glasses
3. Go to Senior Kindergarten and wear the glasses

Clearly there were only two viable options and fearing the wrath of my father – I decided it would be in my best interest to go to school…but without glasses.

Off I went to school with Tara (who was my best friend that particular day) – we were both happy because we were in Mr. Turnball’s class (although as a side note – he wrote in my senior kindergarten report card that I have a propensity to talk too much - weird).

Just before we got to school – I took off my glasses and held them in my hand and when no one was looking slowly slid them into the side of my underwear. Yep – my underwear became my eyeglass holder and I actually got through almost 4 months without wearing glasses - albeit being slightly uncomfortable.

Then came parent/teacher night and Dr. Turnball learned that I had glasses – I mean how does that come up in conversation? So the “hiding glasses in underwear” thing stopped fairly quickly after that.

So let’s move onto grade 2 – I was sitting beside Cindy (who was my best friend that particular day) when Shannon (who was never my best friend) – leaned over the desk placed her finger on her nose and pushed it up (in a la pig nose way) and said “piggy piggy four eyes" (think that could never be your sweet little child…you never know what kids do when they are not with you).

Fast forward to grade 8 – when I had no choice but to wear glasses everyday and Salima was my best friend that particular year. I decided I should get myself a pair of stylish “round” blue glasses. However, since by this time my eyesight was fairly bad and lenses were not what they are now (i.e., small/thin) – to the outside world it was if I had huge magnifying glasses on my face.

In grade 11 (when I decided that having a “best friend” was too difficult) - I got the ultra thin frames – but again due to the thick lense issue - ¾ of the lense stuck out of the frame.

So after 26 years – I’ve finally come into myself. I am in love with my glasses. I am in love with the fact that I look fabulous in them.

I have finally gotten past years of trauma, drama and general anguish and it is amazing. Of course in retrospect - it seems silly that I had given so much power to an accessory and now I am in love with the power that I have given myself. And I want more. Like lululemon says – do one thing that scares you. I have.

So next time you see me and I am wearing my DKNY item # DY 4517 olive coloured hi indexed plastic glasses - stop and comment. Good or bad - I can take it. I have purged the psyche of that 5 year old. I am not scared.

...have I told you that I’m in love?

why fake the funk?

friend n. a person whom one knows, likes, and trusts.

acquaintance n. knowledge of a person acquired by a relationship less intimate than friendship.

fake adj. having a false or misleading appearance; fraudulent.

funk n. a cowardly, fearful person.

…we quit jobs, we break-up with boring/dull/life draining boyfriends, we trade in our old cars for something new – we make all of these clean breaks but do we ever get rid of energy sucking “friends?”

No we probably don’t and in all likelihood it is only because we’re just too damn nice. Who really wants to be responsible for hurting someone else’s feelings? Therefore it is better just to fake the funk then be real – after all we know karma is a bitch.

The question remains - why be friends – if you’re truly not friends. No one wants to be told they are not friend material – but in a world of 6,625,619,734 people (as of 12:42am on 6/20/06)– there are going to be people you don’t like and those that don’t like you – so deal with it.

Don’t look so appalled at the suggestion – because I know you feel me. We should be able to get rid of those friends, who when we see approaching make us groan inwardly. We try not to make eye contact in hopes of appearing invisible but when the realization hits that there is no way out – we’d rather plaster a smile on our face, appear wide eyed (because this “look” makes it seem like we’re more interested) – take a deep breath and say, Hi, how are you?” – when clearly we don’t care.

I once told my friend Christine that one of her friend’s was a “whatever” to me - meaning that I had no real opinion of her. I neither liked her nor disliked her…she was literally a whatever with no real effect in/on my life (harsh?...perhaps. Although has anybody read The Five People you Meet in Heaven because clearly I could be wrong). In any case, Christine decided to tell her friend about my “thoughts” and the friend was offended! Of course she was – we as a society are trained to be offended at this politically incorrect behaviour.

People who know me know that I say “I have enough friends, I don’t need anymore” – and it’s true. I’m not trying to be rude or mean – but just because you share one common interest with me doesn’t mean we have to be bosom buddies. I have my circle of well thought out friends – and I don’t need to dilute that with random riff raff (don’t take that personally – key word is random).

Maybe the problem is that there are so many different types of friends and to categorize them and then to further remember which category they fall in – is just too much work. Where do we draw the line between friend, acquaintance or simply rare encounter - and more importantly how do we explain that to the other party.

Work “friends” always pose a problem - just because you spend 8 hrs/day with Dianne doesn’t mean you have to be friends. Or just because you know Dianne drinks Double Ristretto Venti Nonfat Organic Chocolate Brownie Frappuccino Extra Hot with Foam and Whipped Cream Upside Down Double Blended – doesn’t mean you really know her.

The work thing does get tricky when you chug down a Cosmo or 12 with her and somehow you’ve now become inseparable. Honestly if it is only the vodka, triple sec, lime juice & cranberry juice that’s holding the two of you together – then take her for what she is – a fabulous drinking partner but not necessarily a friend.

We then have those people that think they are your friends after repeated failed attempts (on your part) to enlighten them otherwise – but all you get in return is “oh you’re so funny.”

Let’s not forget those people that are friends of friends and assume you are ALL friends.

Or those friends who have been around since grade four and even though you have zero in common – you still find yourself getting together while playing musical houses for monthly potluck night.

Last but not least, and this one is a bit tricky and requires strength, there are those people who can’t decide if they are your friend or not - when it suits them they talk to you and when it doesn’t they don’t. These are people I absolutely have no time for – you either are or you’re not – sort it out. Besides at the end of the day he doesn’t want either one of us – so don’t fake the funk with me.

FTLOG (that’s for the love of god for those that are new)

It is an unfortunate reality – but the “friends” we don’t want to keep often languish a slow death…we don’t quite get rid of them but instead hope they will just fade away. Wouldn’t it just be easier to go in for the kill in one fell swoop? Or better yet - just not be friends in the first place?

We have all these rules that govern our lives but there is no flashing neon sign warning us of the dangers of have friends that we have no interest in or worse yet no longer have any interest in? The dangers of these friends, who when they speak – you wish they just wouldn’t.

When is it okay to stop faking the funk? Or is the answer never?

Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet, Friendship (1923)

holy reinvention! batwoman’s gay…

Section A, Page 28, The Toronto Star, June 1, 2006

holy adj. Belonging to, derived from, or associated with a divine power; sacred

reinvention - reinvention was not found

lipstick lesbian - a slag term for a feminine homosexual woman who is attracted to another feminine woman, rather than a lesbian who is attracted to a more masculine woman

sensationalism n. The use of sensational matter or methods, especially in writing, journalism, or politics the journalistic use of subject matter that appeals to vulgar tastes; "the tabloids relied on sensationalism to maintain their circulation"

diversification v. To give variety to

Thankfully I can’t take credit for this headline. In fact the front page of the Toronto Star may have stated it even more eloquently, “Years after she first emerged from the Batcave, Batwoman is coming out of the closest”

Seriously.

I’ll be honest – I don’t know anything about Batwoman so I decided to wiki it and let me share with you what I have learned about Batwoman:

- she’s a crime fighter
- she is Batman’s female counterpart
- she carries a utility purse instead of a utility belt
- she’s has a niece named Bat-Girl
- there’s an imp named Bat-Mite in the Kingdom (this is where I lost interest) BUT
- she used to have a thing for Batman

…and now she is gay.

According to the Executive Editor of DC Comics, Dan DiDio, “This is not just about having a gay character…we’re trying for overall diversification in the DC universe. We have strong African American, Hispanic and Asian characters . We’re trying to get better cross-section of our readership and the world.”

I guess the light went off for someone somewhere and they decided OMGB we’ve left the gay contingent behind. If we quick create one in a superhero format – the world can be saved. And maybe it will – there must have been some market research done indicating that by making Batwoman gay we could save The Kingdom…Planet Krypton…or where ever it is she resides.

Do we even need to ponder the question of who is the gay representative of male superheroes? Is the world ready for Batman and Robin to come out of the closet? And let’s be realistic – what would sell better then a lesbian superhero? Clearly she is going to need a playmate and presto – just like that - we have two gay (female) superheroes. What’s better then two lesbian superheroes in tight fitting cat suits making out with each other? Just visualize.

So what is this really about? When DiDio states that Batwoman is not only gay but – she is of the lipstick lesbian variety of gay – are we not moving away from diversification and into sensationalism?

Is the reinvention of Batwoman about being gay or is it about being a strong ass kickin’ female superhero that can wear a cat suit and still carry a purse - who just happens to be gay? Because if it is the latter of the two - would it even make the front section of The Toronto Star much less the front page?

Why did Brokeback Mountain create such a fervor? Was it because this was a beautiful love story as described Ang Lee? Or was it because people saw it as a “breakthrough, “ as the 1st portrayal of gay cowboys on the big screen? Be honest.

How about this random thought – if you want to diversify and get a better “cross-section” of readership why not make your female superhero weigh 200 lbs – given the obesity issue these days – this would surely get a larger audience.

But the real question comes down to - can you put a 200lbs female superhero in a cat suit and still make the front page of The Toronto Star?

…and more importantly what would the headline read…“Years after she first emerged from the Batcave, Batwoman's stuck?”

do you have a uterus?...

uterus n. An organ in female mammals for containing and usually for nourishing the young during development previous to birth that consists of a greatly modified and enlarged section of an oviduct or of the two oviducts united, that has thick walls consisting of an external serous coat, a very thick muscular coat of smooth muscle, and a mucous coat containing numerous glands, and that during pregnancy undergoes great increase in size and change in the condition of its walls called also womb (hmmm was that a bit much??)

obsequious adj. Full of or exhibiting servile compliance; fawning.

..."do you have a uterus?" was the 2nd question asked by my new personal trainer – sandwiched somewhere in between “Do you have a few minutes to chat?” and “Did you eat before you came here?”

For those that know me – I think we can agree that I’m generally a confident/strong individual…but “do you have a uterus?” had a strange effect in me…I had to think…do I in fact have a uterus? and more importantly is answering “yes” the right answer.

The problem (other then the question itself) was that I had no time to think…she just kept on firing questions…

- do you have implants
- have you had children
- are you on birth control
- do you have “gas” problems (???)

I was unable to make eye contact and had a thousand thoughts going through my head as I tried to figure out in the .05 seconds between questions what exactly I was doing here and why all of the sudden I felt like I was 12 years old doing this repetitive head nodding/motion/twitch “thing” every time she said something. I found myself astonishingly obsequious to this former professional wrestler with 15 years experience named Dixie Bell.

Don’t you just love it – Dixie Bell. Say it with me “Dixie Bell” - “Dixie Bell” - “Dixie Bell”

Let’s be honest - half the reason I chose her was because of her name. And she is fabulous. In 65 minutes…I found my gym soul mate…and let me tell you that is not an easy thing to do…as a side note – the last trainer I had was about 4 years ago – and he was more interested in the booty’s available at the gym as opposed to making mine à la J. Lo.

So I guess the moral of this story is:

a) do not judge a person by their name (this is to all you Dixie Bell’s, Chastity’s, Charity’s and Englebert Humperdink’s out there)

and

b) you really should know if you have a uterus or not…

ode to the runners...

Marathon n. any long and arduous undertaking; a footrace of 26 miles 385 yards; a battle in 490 BC in which the Athenians and their allies defeated the Persians

Half-marathon – the thing that marathoners call a jog

Conviction n: an unshakable belief in something without need for proof or evidence

“Most people, maybe 80 percent of people, aren’t physically designed to undertake such a task (marathon). It’s more than (just) 26 miles of repeated stress, which is brutal."

http://www.bu.edu/phpbin/news-cms/news/?dept=4&id=38606&template=4

..to the above statement i say "bite - me"...this is homage to ANYONE that has attempted to run a marathon and I’ll further extend it to anyone that has attempted to run half of a marathon. This is not for any walkers or for anyone that bikes, roller blades, skips or even races 10 km. You can’t give respect in the same way – I don’t care what you say.

This is for those that spent the last five months pounding the pavement in the cold winter and the so-so spring weather only to be greeted with crazy, harsh winds (who knows where the hell they came from). This is for those that had to contend with bleeding nipples or chafing in other lovely places, or had the wrong shoes, the wrong shirt or those pesky shorts that kept creeping up. Those who endured knee pains, hip pains, and any/all pains. Those who gave up smoking, gave up red meat, and gave up all that used to be fun.

This is for those that have voluntarily entered the cultdom.

Let’s face it – the majority of the population can’t get off the couch because we might miss the pivotal moment in Prison Break (clearly he and his cronies will be breaking out of prison…hence the name of the show) much less log in 35 – 100km of running/week for nothing more then personal glory.

And that’s what running is…personal – it’s euphoric…and let’s be honest…you get bragging rights.

I’ve generally been on the side of the runners (as a half marathoner) but this time I was a spectator and it was a crazy place to be and I speak for all my riff raff spectators…craning our necks, praying to all of the gods, getting nauseous as the clock ticks closer to that pivotal time and shouting in jubilation when one of our own came into sight. It was if we were running the race (clearly we’re not…it’s just a cliché...runners don’t get upset).

This is the first time that for a race of this magnitude I was a spectator and I wish I wasn’t…I wish I had had the dedication to be a part of it – b/c it is an elite crowd and damn it I want back in.

Take solace in what you done…what you’ve accomplished…and if you want to wallow in your defeat do it b/c you can…or bask in your glory…either way – we all know the truth…you'll be back for more…

now ode to my riffraff…
* Brother of Tapio (18/102) – arms raised…need we say more
* BF #2 (65/149) – hmmm results could be indicative of overexcitement re: what I promised next year…Teen where’s my $100…
* Roxybaker (29/90)– don’t shed another tear – it’ll happen and besides you can run w/ the boys baby…that’s something on its own...
* Eduardo (23/53) – the consummate gentleman...outwardly smiling without a hair out of place...inwardly…does anyone know??
* BF #1 (56/111)– better then sex eh? Let’s go another round…
* Neil – (149/288) - 17 minutes baby...
* Dave – (188/288) – back on the plan? 21.1…30…42.2...
* LAD – (389/463) - you did it on your own…have faith.

open letter #2…

Cruel adj: lacking or showing kindness or compassion or mercy

Unfathomable adj. Difficult or impossible to understand

Sincere adj. Not feigned or affected

...yet another letter sent
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May 16, 2006

XXXX XXXXX
Public Works & Government Services Canada
Superannuation, Pension Transition and Client Services Sector
Shediac, NB

RE: Death Benefit Claim Form
Pension Number XXXXXX

XXXX XXXXX,

I received the required death benefit claim form, along with your personalized letter.

I would like say that it was very nice of you to have taken the time to personalize your cover letter, but my father died in 1985 and your sympathies however sincere are a bit late. In addition he never worked for the government or received any pension from the Superannuation Department.

What would have been appreciated in this difficult period was if you had taken the time to verify the gender of the deceased. I assume in this case your condolences are meant for the death of my mother who was employed by the government for 35+ years.

While I understand that personally knowing my mother by anything other then her 6 digit ID number would be beyond reason - I have to believe that the gender of a former employee would be information on file.

I find it unfathomable that a simple piece of information, such as gender can be misrepresentation in a letter as devastating as this. This not only trivializes the death of a loved one but also gravely upsets those that have been left behind.

What I would like to suggest for the future is that if you do not have the time to research the details for a particular case, then either do not offer your condolences or leave it generic.

Should you have any questions or require any further information, please do not hesitate to contact me at the address listed below.

Given that this is the second such letter I have had to write - I would rather that you/your office not respond to this letter by indicating that due to the high volume of claims that you/your office handle it was an oversight.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,
XXXXX (Miss.)

cc. MGR

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...is this really happening?