SHHHH!!! I'M TRACKING A LEOPARD PRINT CARDIGAN, SIZE LG!!

People, it's Friday night and I've had a couple of glasses of red wine (as if there's any other kind) and it finally occurred to me what my subject matter for my new blog post should be.  It came to me in the form of a ridiculous H&M commercial, which is probably fodder for an entirely different blog, but I digress.  I am no stranger to the land of retail, as you've probably noticed by now.  For instance, just last week I made an impromptu, and somewhat long distance, trip to a store that I occasionally frequent for jeans, on the whimsy of a 40% discount I received via e-mail (oooo Lordy, thank god for spell check because it just took me about 5 minutes to figure out why my macbook was highlighting "received" for miss spelling, and I don't even want to tell you how much trouble "because" caused.)  Now I'm watching this absurd commercial for a "biker jacket" being sported by a 16 year old anorexic model with bleach blond hair who has probably never even ridden a peddle bike, let alone a motorcycle.

Albeit the commercial is preposterous, but, as I said already, that is the least of my concerns.  My issue stems from the arrangement of clothing at the H&M store, which seems to be modelled after my arch nemesis Winners.  Look it, shopping is meant to be therapeutic, relaxing and an all around enjoyable experience.  You know what I don't find relaxing or enjoyable in the least?  Hunting for clothes.  This is not an African safari people.  If I find a sweater I like, I want all the sweaters to be in the same location, from extra small up to jumbo-saurus.  I do not wish to stalk my prey through wracks of clothes which have already been picked over and relocated to inappropriate locations.  You know what I mean, you find the fabulous pants you wanted on your size wrack only to discover that some freakish nymph who wears a size 0 (size 0, really?? What's next negative sizes??) decided she no longer wanted the fabulous chords and hung them willy-nilly in the size 14 aisle only for you to discover them, and for a brief moment, be elated to have found them in your size until you realize the sick and twisted truth.  A let down of epic proportions.

And they always put out those teaser displays at the entrance where they have the best of the best of their new collection, but only three to peruse through so that they peak your interest and send you on the hunt, like a shark catching the scent of blood.  I say no more fellow shoppers!!  This madness must end!  For centuries clothing has been organized by style and size in an orderly fashion making it easy to find what you are looking for, or at the very least ending the anticipation of whether or not that satin mango blouse is in fact available in your size, rather then searching feverishly in hopes that the shirt has been "miss-filed."  Let us band together to end this cruelty and rally around the stores that provide us with a simple and satisfying shopping experience.  Yes, I say shoppers unite!! Bring this calamity to an end once and for all, let there be order amongst the chaos!!

And if you really must hunt for something try finding tahini at your local grocer.  I promise you, the challenge will more then fulfil that killer instinct.

Cheers,

MMA STYLE MIDGET BASKETBALL ON ICE

Alright look it, there is nothing challenging about 6' 9" men slam dunking baskets.  They are all tall enough to stand underneath said basket, reach up and touch it.  What I'd like to see is full contact on ice basketball with no one over 5' tall on the teams.  Now that's a sport.

I recently returned from our nation's Capital of Ottawa for a trip to fulfill a life long goal of skating on the Rideau canal.  The skating was fantastic, the food was delicious, the company was terrific and the drinking was of shit show proportions.  Nothing short of what I anticipated.  But the trip brought up an interesting discussion, and that is the "bucket list," which seemingly has become cliched since the release of the major motion picture starting Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson.  One of the people I was on the trip with has a friend who is fighting leukaemia.  She has recently been trying new things that she had never done before, from new foods to learning to ski.  It took this fight with cancer to bring that out in her.  So the debate became about waiting to make that list and saving your pennies until you have a massive life altering experience, or is it better make that list and check off those things on your list whenever the opportunity comes along.  I know a lot of people who sit on both sides of the fence.  On one hand, there is a certain risk with trying to fulfill life long goals which can often be costly and sometimes dangerous, say if you're life long goal is to climb Everest or to fight a sumo wrestler, but on the other hand, how do you want to look back on your life? I am no stranger to impulsive decisions, some of which have been costly, such as the purchase of a brand new vehicle on a whim and a trip to Ireland after the trip to Vegas got cancelled because everyone else bailed.   Both of those events took place within two months of each other.  Do I regret it?  Sometimes when the car payments come out I wonder if I made the best decision possible, but ultimately there are few experiences I wish I hadn't had.

When I look back at my life I want to be able to say I did everything I wanted to do and that I wasn't constrained by money or, more importantly, fear.   And while it may be folly to squander away every penny on excess, I would much rather die poor having lived, then die rich having done nothing but squirrel it all away.

As to the case of my friend's friend, I say good for her.  She is taking something challenging and turning it into something incredibly positive, something that gives her purpose.  Regardless of what caused her to make this decision, I can see no downside to it and I wish her all the best in everything.

So as for Ottawa, I can put a big check mark next to skating the canal (one of my less extravagant items on the list) and move onto the next big thing.  I'm thinking maybe hand gliding in the Alps....

Cheers,

THE CURE FOR THE COMMON HANGOVER

So it's Valentines Day and I find myself nauseated beyond my usual contempt for the made up holiday that flies in the face of singledom everywhere and makes those of us who remain unattached feel somehow ashamed and like less of a contributing member of society then our paired up counterparts.   And while I know it seems the single girl rant would be cliched, that my readers, is precisely what you should expect from me by now.

On the topic of my nausea and exhaustion, I can say with little regret, it is entirely self inflicted.  In true anti-valentines fashion, I went out last night, on the 13th of February, to a concert, where I double fisted double glasses of wine (two glasses poured into one, the drink line was a 30 minute wait) which I then drank through a straw so that I could dance without fear of spilled wine.  It was a country concert, but let me be clear, this is not your grandma's country music.  We partied like it was 1999 and if I'd had access to a computer last night you surely would have been treated to one of my infamous drunk blogs. Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately, depending on your prerogative) we did not have to deal with that aftermath this morning.

The aftermath I am dealing with is exhaustion, fuzzy head, churning stomach and extremely sore shoulders which I can only assume is from excessive arm waving.  Yes the night was a success, but surviving the hangover is the real change.  Why is it that the only known cure for a hangover is greasy food?  It's the one thing we can collectively agree, that after a night of excess, is the only thing that will satisfy our angry stomachs.  Have you ever woken up hungover and thought "a salad would really make me feel better?" No you haven't, I don't care what kind of vegan tree hugging hippy you are on a normal day.  When your head is the size of a beach ball there isn't enough tofu in the world that will comfort you.  Look at the fast food industry; they know this phenomenon well and have been capitalizing on it for years with post bar hours.  There must be some kind of magic in grease that we have not yet discovered.  For now I am content to do my own studies.  I will keep you posted of my progress.

Now on the more contentious subject of Valentines Day, what can I say that hasn't already been said by others?  I mean we all know what a commercial machine it is.  Flowers, chocolates, cards, candy, restaurants, all beneficiaries of the great marketing machine that keeps this "holiday" alive.  And I'm sure it's lovely to be given flowers or whatever from your significant other, but isn't it worth more to receive some romantic gesture, big or small, for no reason?  It's expected on this, the midway point of February, that couples, and lets face it the onus falls primarily on the male in the relationship, to run out and buy some little trinket to express how much they love their partner.  And how about that pressure?  What if you get the wrong thing?  What if your partner's gift to you is significantly better then the one you got them?  Imagine the horror of a new relationship, when you just know the meaning of your gift/card/gesture is going to be analized by every female the gift receiver knows and will be assigned meaning you could never dreamt possible let alone deliberately thought of.  The length of time the relationship will last could be in jeopardy all because of some ridiculous holiday, which I firmly believe, was made up by Hallmark Cards.  I say no more my friends!  It is time we liberated ourselves from this dated practice of shattering the self confidence of school children when they don't receive as many cards in their little card bag as their more popular class mates.  

Let's stop this madness now and in that vane I would like to announce February 13th shall henceforth be known as "drink in my hand day."  Festivities will consist of putting a drink in your hand, and having a rocking good time with friends and not caring what the next day is going to feel like.  It doesn't matter, you're good friend grease will be there to ease you through the next day anyway.

Cheers,

EVERYONE HAS THEIR CROSSES TO BARE, MINE COMES IN THE FORM OF AN 80'S HAIR BAND

For sometime now I've been agonizing over a fork in the path of my life.  With recent changes at work through means of retirements and promotions there was an opportunity for me to advance in my career, which is all well and good, except it doesn't coincide with my actual goal to transfer to an office closer to where I grew up.  It was seemingly a case of choosing whether my career was more important or my life was more important and while I think we sometimes think those two things are synonymous, this experience really showed me that they are, in fact, not.  You see, had I chosen the route of promotion I would, at best, have prolonged the return to a place I love and feel most comfortable in my skin, and at worst eliminated the possibility altogether.  On the flip side, I am very driven to succeed and expand my horizons through new experiences and challenges.  I need this constant motion to keep me satisfied in my job.  I spent several weeks weighing the pros and cons of the two options, but ultimately kept coming back to one thing; if you strip away everything down to the bare bones of the choice it truly does come down to choosing between life and career.  It was seemingly a no-brainer for me.  My job is just a job and life without me in it will continue as it has for many years before my arrival.  When my time is done at this company I want my life to be fulfilling out side of work.  Nevertheless I saw the opportunity to interview for the promotion as a chance to gain some valuable knowledge for the future as I am confident other opportunities will arise.  It's an aging work force so it only stands to reason this to be true.  

Yesterday was D-day.  Myself and three other candidates were interviewed, including one co-worker and one person who is currently already in the roll, just at a different location.  My interview went well, I knew that the interviewers were impressed.  My co-workers interview did not go as well and I could tell he was anxious to pick my brain and see whether I was serious competition or not.  He's been campaigning around the office for several weeks since this all came out, but I've know for sometime that the manager who was filling the vacancy was doing his best to give me this chance, which only added to the stress of my predicament.  In the end the manager was advised by our HR department that the existing supervisor must be given the job as there was no grounds to say that any one of us were better qualified when she has been doing the job for nearly three years now.  It was a brilliant learning experience and I got exceptionally positive feedback from both my interviewers.  I am glad I went through the process, but even more relieved that I was not forced to make a decision.

The cherry on the sunday for me was that plainly my co-worker thought I had been offered the job this morning when he was me being called into the office first thing.  The look on his face was quite priceless and was worth going through it all.

The funny side of this story is that, while I was so stressed out about this interview I dreamt about zombies on Sunday night.  The dream was so intense that I woke frightened followed by very hungry which was a strange sensation.  Dream about zombies = being hungry?? Hungry for what though...

I know there is little levity in tonights blog, not to my usual repartee, but I thought it was an experience worth sharing and putting some perspective out there for anyone who may be in a similar situation.   Hopefully tonights title at least brought a smile to your face.

That's all for now,

Cheers

I KNOW IT'S BECAUSE ITS FEBRUARY, BUT I REALLY THINK I NEED A NEW PAIR OF SHOES

I've made it this far, all the way to the first week of February, touting the merits of winter and cold and snow.  And while I genuinely do believe that lots of snow and a traditional Canadian winter are detrimental to the health of a bountiful harvest and the replenishment of water tables, I find that I have hit the wall this week.  Perhaps its due to the preverbal February blahs, perhaps the lack of sunlight and shortened days is finally starting to take a toll, or perhaps its because I am in my 32nd year of life and I know (or optimistically hope) there will be many more winters to weather.

As I type there is winter storm a raging out my window, the culmination of an Alberta Clipper and a Texas low which by all accounts I am assured will lead to an inevitable snow-maggedon.  The weather forecasters tell me that the end is nye and I should prepare to have to tunnel my way to work tomorrow through an unending amount of snow.  Now as I said, I have weathered 32 winters, and I have seen this type of wildly outlandish claims of excessive snow fall, followed by hurricane force winds many times before.  More often than not the claims are exaggerated.  I'm sure there will be snow, it is early February in a country who's alternate name is The Great White North.

But more to the point of my story, yesterday while sitting in my vehicle, it hit me.  That overwhelming urge and longing for warmer days to come.   Thus far I've been able to placate my self with promises of winter activities, such as skiing and skating (and we all know how that went).  I've also tried a countdown estimating the time when we will begin to see a light at the end of this long dark tunnel (two tunnel references in one day, that's a first) by telling myself "there's only a couple months left now, we've made it all the way to February and February is a short month.  Then comes March and the days will be longer, and then April is here and surely the end of April will begin to bring some warmer weather, so it's not so bad really, just a few weeks..." But people I don't know how much more of this I can take.  I bring my sunglasses with me everywhere I go in hopes of coaxing the sun out from behind the clouds, even at night.  I've started telling the cat stories because the weather is too crappy to venture out in for social activities.  I've developed a ridiculous school girl crush on Tom Hardy and find myself on Amazon.ca ordering every Tom Hardy movie I can get my hands on (PS check out Lawless and Warrior, will let you know how the rest are at a later date and in all fairness he is a fantastic actor, well worth checking out). For god's sake I was even sucked in by the shopping channel.  This is not healthy behaviour.  This is the behaviour of of a person who has contracted a full blown case of cabin fever compounded by lack of sunlight.  I'm on the brink and I know there is only one solution for this crisis.  I need new shoes!  And I don't mean functional shoes such as runners for the upcoming training season or new winter boots.  I mean fancy dancing shoes.  Shoes that make others say "where did you get those shoes, they're spectacular."   I'm talking Wizard of Oz ruby slippers here people.  It's what I need and if I don't satisfy that one small craving that I can control, well the consequences could be disastrous.   Fear not good reader.  For as luck would have it I'm sucking up my anxiety of being in large crowds and heading to a mall this weekend.  The main goal is to start purchasing something for a retirement gift, but the secondary goal will now be foot related.

One final note to leave you with, and I hope this doesn't loose something in translation from spoken word to written word.  What happens when a cow jumps over a fence??

Udder destruction! Ha!

Cheers,

THE PROBLEM WITH THE ALL YOU CAN EAT SUSHI BUFFET IS THAT YOU CAN'T EAT AS MUCH AS YOU THINK YOU CAN...

I don't know what that Beyonce business was about.  I guess I was just feeling guilty I hadn't blogged in a while and needed to say something, anything, irrelevant and useless as it was.

And in that vane I wish to share with you a small snippit from some texts I sent out at lunch today.  Allow me to set the scene:  An all you can eat sushi lunch buffet and me alone at the table in a somewhat busy restaurant.

Now this part is verbatim:

Here's a little light reading for your leisure: lunch update #1; yam sushi has tempura batter and is therefore, not gluten free.

Update #2: There's a guy here who sounds like Ray Romano.  I can't see  him so it's possible he is Ray Romano.  Possible, but not likely...

Update #3:  He is not Ray Romano, we have visual confirmation

Update #4: I have three pieces of sushi left and I think I might die, but it's the all you can eat buffet and they will charge me if I leave them.  Also they are the tuna rolls that they caution us against wasting.  I don't' want to be on the sushi black list!

Update #5: I ate the sushi and now I know how the pigeons that eat the rice at weddings feel.  I might die.

Update #6: If I don't die, I may use this entire series of texts as my blog tonight

Update #7: I also have the theme song to Bumper Stumpers stuck in my head which is just weird

Update #8: I hope you laughed so hard at some these that you peed a little bit.  I know I did...

The response I got to this last comment was this "My boob's are leaking."  I did not know I could have that kind of affect on someone.

One final update; the vacuum cleaner is working again.  A piece popped off the hose and when I put it back on that puppy started sucking like a starving calf in a room full of utters (there's a mental image for you!).

Cheers,

HOW BEYONCE RUINED THE SUPERBOWL

So I guess pants really impede ones ability to sing according to the half time show at the Super Bowl with Beyonce.  And now there's been a power surge which has caused the game to come to a halt and I can only believe that Beyonce is somehow responsible for that.  What's more then this, is that my spell checker recognized Beyonce as a word.  You know you've made it big when your unusual and uniquely spelled name is recognized by spell check around the world....

You know, part of me was hoping for, as Justin Timberlake  coined it, a "wardrobe malfunction" so that we could go back to the days of classic rock half time shows.  Remember the Springsteen set and the Rolling Stones?  Don't get me wrong, Beyonce is a fiercely talented singer, but when only  25% of the performance is singing, and the rest is gyrating followed by hair tossing, something gets lost in translation for me.  Just sing, and for god's sake put on some pants!

Looks like the game is about to start so I will leave you with that food for thought.  I will attempt to regale you with more tales of woe and glory in the days yet to come....

Cheers,