Now hold on, before you go setting your parental settings let me explain; in no way has this blog entered into 'R' rated territory. It is the Easter weekend as you may or may not know, and in order to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus, I decided to book a spa weekend, as you do. You may also recall an earlier blog regarding the ordeal of booking a manicure and hot stone massage. You may recall I booked the hot stone massage portion of the spa day online. At the time I booked my massage I was under the impression that Frankie was a female. I don't think it unreasonable to think that anyone who a) goes by the name Frankie, and b) spells their name Frankie, would be a female. So you can imagine my surprise when Frankie was in fact an asian man.
Now I am by no means a prude who can not display my ankles in the presence of a man, but I was a little taken aback. Nevertheless I wasn't about to let this ruin my day of relaxation. The massage was super relaxing. The manicure changed my life (shellack is a way of life for me now). What did very nearly ruin my day, was a misguided attempt to go to Walmart to purchase a few necessary items, such as a new wallet (please see previous blogs). I drove in, turned around, and drove by back out. That in itself took me nearly 20 minutes (each time I recount this tale it gets a little bit longer, if I tell ten more people I'll have been in the Walmart parking lot for nigh on a decade). It was madness. Which leads me to this: How is it possible that stores being closed for 2 days can cause such mayhem?? Each year we know that the shops will be closed Good Friday and Easter Sunday and yet somehow we are always caught off guard and we flock like hordes to the shops, be they grocery, pharmacy or otherwise. And where do these people come from?? It's as if the entire populace has suddenly realized that the stores will be closed and so they crawl out from every nook and cranny and head, with vehemence, to their nearest shopping facility. Now I know, it seems somewhat hypocritical for me to sit and judge when I have admitted that I was also going to Walmart to pick up some required items, but in my defence, I didn't know I needed some of these things until it was too late. You see I'm staying at my parents house, getting it opened up for them upon their triumphant return from the southern states. How was I to know that there would be no detergent, both laundry and dish. Also, I could not have foreseen the mishap with the smoothie which would result in the need to do laundry in the first place. In the end I found myself shopping at 9pm at night to avoid the crowds.
And so my weekend took me from spa day, to my first outdoor run of the season, to bad sushi, to movie date, to movie solo date, to fabulous steak dinner with blue cheese cream sauce and sautéed mushrooms, and now, to watching A Knight's Tale on TV. All and all has been a brilliant and relaxing long weekend and I shall be saddened to say farewell to it, only to begin the countdown to the next long weekend...
Also I nearly burned half my hair off in a mishap with the BBQ. Perhaps a blog for another day...
So I hope you have all been (or still are) making merry and enjoying the holiday season. Until we meet again,
Cheers
Sunday 31 March 2013
Friday 29 March 2013
AND SO THIS HAS BEEN ONE MOTHER OF A DAY
There is no easy way or obvious place to start this blog. It has been one colossal disaster after another today. I suppose if I had to put my finger on the pulse of where things began to unravel I'd have to harken back to Wednesday. It seems a rather unfortuitous incident set the tone for a series of mishaps so epically comical in their occurrence it would seem unlikely that they could even coexist.
It all starts with my refusal to purchase a new wallet in spite of the fact that my current wallet is literally falling apart. The zipper has become more of an ornamental feature, and on occasion, a hindrance rather then a help when I'm trying to unzip to access various cards, cash and coin. But I have been soldiering on, limping my little wallet along with each passing day. You see this wallet has been the best wallet format I ever known. There is ample coin space, slots for cash or notes or postage stamps and the card storage is beyond compare. What's more is this tiny suitcase in charge of carrying all my worldly goods, came with a snazzy strap which made for easy transport. Also, it's red.
Now I know a wallet made from god-only-knows what material, manufactured in China, is in no way going to last the span of an average human wallet-carrying life, but I was hoping I could make it last for just a few more decades. Unfortunately it had other ideas. On Wednesday, where this swan song begins, my wallet ended up in a toilet. And not a toilet in my own house either. It was a toilet at a coffee shop I had stopped at. My wallet, was safe and securely (or so I thought) in the pocket of my sweatshirt, where it has resided many times before, but as I made ready to squat down I heard a mighty "sploosh" and when I looked, there was my wallet sinking into the depths. Without a thought for my own safety I plunged a hand in and retrieved said wallet, then headed straight for the sink. In retrospect this may have been a cry for help from my wallet. In a bungled attempt to commit Harry-Karry my wallet leapt from my pocket into the watery abyss, only to be saved for another days service.
Today's episode was a much more dramatic attempt to put an end to the wallet's suffering. This morning I had plans to meet friends at the One of a Kind Show in Toronto. This is an arts and crafts show of very high quality and I was very much looking forward to it. I was up early and out the door with my smoothie breakfast in hand. When I arrived at the show I still had 3/4 of a blueberry banana smoothie left. Like a rube I thought "I'll just throw that in my bag with my wallet and drink it later." Oh what a ridiculous plan indeed, but after a late night followed by an early morning, my brain was not totally firing on all cylinders yet. I ended up being about 45 minutes earlier then my friends which worked out well since I had a couple of things I specifically wanted to buy and I could get them before it got too busy. This, my friends, is when things took a tragic turn for the worst. Somewhere between the tapinade guy and the waxed linen bracelets my smoothie bottle overturned and spewed forth its contents like lava from Mt Vesuvius. It completely engulfed my wallet, and there I stood trying to pick up a coated dripping mess of a wallet while simultaneously keeping my cool that there was "nothing to see here." I made a mad dash for the restrooms in a feeble attempt to rescue my wallet once again. But I was foiled by the motion-sensor technology which sets off the faucet and no matter how frantically I waved my wallet, the sensor would not budge. This time there was no reckoning to be had. And so I sit on the sofa, while the entire contents of my wallet are airing out all across the kitchen counters. My wallet, may it rest in peace, is currently at the bottom of a fresh garbage bag where it has finally met its destiny. Tomorrow I will begin my quest anew to find a replacement, but I do not relish this task.
To add insult to an already injured day, when I returned home I discovered, to my horror, that the satellite dish programming had seemingly been erased. Thanks again Ma Bell! Oh well, at least the lapse of television has led to yet another stunning blog.
Also I got butter chicken sauce on my brand new white hoodie.
Cheers,
It all starts with my refusal to purchase a new wallet in spite of the fact that my current wallet is literally falling apart. The zipper has become more of an ornamental feature, and on occasion, a hindrance rather then a help when I'm trying to unzip to access various cards, cash and coin. But I have been soldiering on, limping my little wallet along with each passing day. You see this wallet has been the best wallet format I ever known. There is ample coin space, slots for cash or notes or postage stamps and the card storage is beyond compare. What's more is this tiny suitcase in charge of carrying all my worldly goods, came with a snazzy strap which made for easy transport. Also, it's red.
Now I know a wallet made from god-only-knows what material, manufactured in China, is in no way going to last the span of an average human wallet-carrying life, but I was hoping I could make it last for just a few more decades. Unfortunately it had other ideas. On Wednesday, where this swan song begins, my wallet ended up in a toilet. And not a toilet in my own house either. It was a toilet at a coffee shop I had stopped at. My wallet, was safe and securely (or so I thought) in the pocket of my sweatshirt, where it has resided many times before, but as I made ready to squat down I heard a mighty "sploosh" and when I looked, there was my wallet sinking into the depths. Without a thought for my own safety I plunged a hand in and retrieved said wallet, then headed straight for the sink. In retrospect this may have been a cry for help from my wallet. In a bungled attempt to commit Harry-Karry my wallet leapt from my pocket into the watery abyss, only to be saved for another days service.
Today's episode was a much more dramatic attempt to put an end to the wallet's suffering. This morning I had plans to meet friends at the One of a Kind Show in Toronto. This is an arts and crafts show of very high quality and I was very much looking forward to it. I was up early and out the door with my smoothie breakfast in hand. When I arrived at the show I still had 3/4 of a blueberry banana smoothie left. Like a rube I thought "I'll just throw that in my bag with my wallet and drink it later." Oh what a ridiculous plan indeed, but after a late night followed by an early morning, my brain was not totally firing on all cylinders yet. I ended up being about 45 minutes earlier then my friends which worked out well since I had a couple of things I specifically wanted to buy and I could get them before it got too busy. This, my friends, is when things took a tragic turn for the worst. Somewhere between the tapinade guy and the waxed linen bracelets my smoothie bottle overturned and spewed forth its contents like lava from Mt Vesuvius. It completely engulfed my wallet, and there I stood trying to pick up a coated dripping mess of a wallet while simultaneously keeping my cool that there was "nothing to see here." I made a mad dash for the restrooms in a feeble attempt to rescue my wallet once again. But I was foiled by the motion-sensor technology which sets off the faucet and no matter how frantically I waved my wallet, the sensor would not budge. This time there was no reckoning to be had. And so I sit on the sofa, while the entire contents of my wallet are airing out all across the kitchen counters. My wallet, may it rest in peace, is currently at the bottom of a fresh garbage bag where it has finally met its destiny. Tomorrow I will begin my quest anew to find a replacement, but I do not relish this task.
To add insult to an already injured day, when I returned home I discovered, to my horror, that the satellite dish programming had seemingly been erased. Thanks again Ma Bell! Oh well, at least the lapse of television has led to yet another stunning blog.
Also I got butter chicken sauce on my brand new white hoodie.
Cheers,
Thursday 21 March 2013
SNARKYNESS WILL GET YOU NOWHERE
Today was a relatively uneventful day. Relatively with the exception of the phone call I made to the day spa.
Lets take two steps back in order to take two steps forward, shall we? My parents are away for the winter in Texas, or as I prefer to call it, the land of pistol packers who would make Charlton Heston proud. They are planning on returning home from the winter pilgrimage some time in mid April. This means I will be on my own for the Easter weekend. Do not mourn for me good blog followers, for while many of you will be indulging in dinners of the turkey or ham or roast variety, I am planning a quiet retreat to my parents empty house to get the water turned back on and plug in the fridge (a big responsibility). I have decided to make this my long weekend retreat of luxury and pampering and self reflection. Self reflection will mostly involve watching romance movies wile drinking wine until I am in a self reflective state. I'll know I'm there when I start thinking that infomercials are a good idea and that I genuinely need those Hollywood Curls ribbons.
So in that light, yesterday I booked a hot stone massage for myself on-line at a local day spa. Then I thought afterwards, how about a spa manicure (pedicure is currently off the table due to a kickboxing class mishap that resulted in a missing toenail)?? So I left a message yesterday on the spa's voicemail and they called back this morning. In fairness I did start the conversation off on the wrong foot by saying I wanted to book on Saturday April 30th when I meant Saturday March 30th, but it went downhill from there. First I told the lady that I had booked a hot stone massage for 10:30 and before I could explain that I had done it on-line she cut me off and told me she didn't see it on the books. Once we had sorted that out and I told her I wanted a manicure she started booking it, and did not ask me which kind of manicure I wanted. Yes, there were three kinds of manicure, the regular (boring), the spa (my choice) and the man manicure (for men). After she started the booking I said that I wanted to do the spa manicure and I also wanted to try the new shellack polish. This caused a certain amount of sighing and was made out to be clearly an inconvenience on her part. Next she asked me for my last name, at which point she informed me, in an irritated tone, that I "was not in her system." I guess new customers are not a normal thing for this woman.... So now she has to take all my information, you can imagine how much of an ordeal this must have been for the receptionist at the spa. And to top it off, because I live in a different area code, she had to adjust her form. Oh the horror!
Anyway, here is to hoping that the actual spa experience is better then the appointment set up was.
Cheers,
Lets take two steps back in order to take two steps forward, shall we? My parents are away for the winter in Texas, or as I prefer to call it, the land of pistol packers who would make Charlton Heston proud. They are planning on returning home from the winter pilgrimage some time in mid April. This means I will be on my own for the Easter weekend. Do not mourn for me good blog followers, for while many of you will be indulging in dinners of the turkey or ham or roast variety, I am planning a quiet retreat to my parents empty house to get the water turned back on and plug in the fridge (a big responsibility). I have decided to make this my long weekend retreat of luxury and pampering and self reflection. Self reflection will mostly involve watching romance movies wile drinking wine until I am in a self reflective state. I'll know I'm there when I start thinking that infomercials are a good idea and that I genuinely need those Hollywood Curls ribbons.
So in that light, yesterday I booked a hot stone massage for myself on-line at a local day spa. Then I thought afterwards, how about a spa manicure (pedicure is currently off the table due to a kickboxing class mishap that resulted in a missing toenail)?? So I left a message yesterday on the spa's voicemail and they called back this morning. In fairness I did start the conversation off on the wrong foot by saying I wanted to book on Saturday April 30th when I meant Saturday March 30th, but it went downhill from there. First I told the lady that I had booked a hot stone massage for 10:30 and before I could explain that I had done it on-line she cut me off and told me she didn't see it on the books. Once we had sorted that out and I told her I wanted a manicure she started booking it, and did not ask me which kind of manicure I wanted. Yes, there were three kinds of manicure, the regular (boring), the spa (my choice) and the man manicure (for men). After she started the booking I said that I wanted to do the spa manicure and I also wanted to try the new shellack polish. This caused a certain amount of sighing and was made out to be clearly an inconvenience on her part. Next she asked me for my last name, at which point she informed me, in an irritated tone, that I "was not in her system." I guess new customers are not a normal thing for this woman.... So now she has to take all my information, you can imagine how much of an ordeal this must have been for the receptionist at the spa. And to top it off, because I live in a different area code, she had to adjust her form. Oh the horror!
Anyway, here is to hoping that the actual spa experience is better then the appointment set up was.
Cheers,
Wednesday 20 March 2013
WHAT I LEARNED IN KINDERGARTEN...
In no way prepared me for being a temporary supervisor in spite of the inspiring story that typically goes along with how what we learned in kindergarten has carried through are whole lives. Oh sure, colouring inside the line is a key life skill, but in no way did Mrs. Attice teach me how to be a mediator, a mentor and a mother, sometimes all at the same time. If I had the opportunity to re-write that little kindergarten ditty it might go something like this:
What I learned while being the temporary supervisor is that many people are unaware of their limitations and they will make every excuse and exception they can to save face. Other people who you thought you could trust to be your support and rely on for assistance will turn their back on you merely because you're their "boss." I have also learned that people who are capable of doing their work will respect your leadership because they are confident in their own abilities, but also aware enough of their own inexperiences to ask for help when they need it. Most of all, most importantly and eye opening of all, what I learned while being the temporary supervisor is that the only person you can control is yourself. You can not take ownership of the action of other people, you will end up on a very steep up hill battle in which you have no way to win. You can control yourself and your reactions and nothing more. Once you accept this, you will find that life is much easier. The one other thing, and perhaps the most difficult for many people, is that you have to let go of worrying about what other people think of you. The reality is, if you do a good job, you will get the approval of people who are far more important then a co-worker who is incapable of doing his/her job. Ultimately you must please yourself and, at the end of the day, feel good about what you did.
So to summarize, don't worry about what people think of you, be happy, and the only thing you can control is yourself, unless of course you are like me and controlling yourself means not eating a 1/8lb of parmesan cheese immediately before going to your MMA class. A very unwise decsion.
Cheers,
What I learned while being the temporary supervisor is that many people are unaware of their limitations and they will make every excuse and exception they can to save face. Other people who you thought you could trust to be your support and rely on for assistance will turn their back on you merely because you're their "boss." I have also learned that people who are capable of doing their work will respect your leadership because they are confident in their own abilities, but also aware enough of their own inexperiences to ask for help when they need it. Most of all, most importantly and eye opening of all, what I learned while being the temporary supervisor is that the only person you can control is yourself. You can not take ownership of the action of other people, you will end up on a very steep up hill battle in which you have no way to win. You can control yourself and your reactions and nothing more. Once you accept this, you will find that life is much easier. The one other thing, and perhaps the most difficult for many people, is that you have to let go of worrying about what other people think of you. The reality is, if you do a good job, you will get the approval of people who are far more important then a co-worker who is incapable of doing his/her job. Ultimately you must please yourself and, at the end of the day, feel good about what you did.
So to summarize, don't worry about what people think of you, be happy, and the only thing you can control is yourself, unless of course you are like me and controlling yourself means not eating a 1/8lb of parmesan cheese immediately before going to your MMA class. A very unwise decsion.
Cheers,
Monday 11 March 2013
AND THEN THERE WERE BLUE PANTS
So Target has landed in Canada, and like the rest of the masses, I went in search of new retail treasure over the weekend. Fortunately, long line ups and my lack of patience prevailed and stopped me from making any crazy "some assembly required" furniture purchases. Unfortunately, when we followed up Target with a trip to the mall where I was "just looking," I ended up making an unexpected purchase.
I think it is fair to say that we all have a "go to" look, a style that we feel confident is out best look, and we don't tend to stray from that. Hence the advent of shows like What not to Wear and the horrible one wear people's "friends" hire a stylist to get them out the MC Hammer pants and tube tops that they have been wearing since 1993. Now I seriously hope that none of my friends were thinking of signing me up for that show, but I am fiercely aware that I have a style. I'm a jeans and sweater kind of person. Jeans and hoodie during working hours. It's very difficult to break that mould once you've found something you are comfortable with, but from time to time I wish I had the courage to change it up and do something drastic. Which leads us to Saturday afternoon at Riki's and the case of the blue pants.
Now when I say blue, that could conjure up any spectrum of colour, everything from navy to cornflour is on the table. These pants are a vibrant royal blue, like the delicate wings of the eastern mountain blue bird. On top of that they are of the "skinny pant" variety. I have not worn pants that tapered at the bottom since pleats were in fashion, let alone pants that are so tight that they fit more like a pair of, well lack of a better word, tights... They are way out of my comfort zone. They are not even in the same comfort district, region or country, but for some reason I couldn't stop looking at myself in them. Sort of like a car crash. And now I have pants that I do not possess the fashionability to match with a shirt let alone shoes! I have no idea what I'm going to do with these, but I'm damned sure that I can't go out topless in bright blue pants wearing slippers. This can only mean one things. I must return to the mall on a quest for a shirt to match my blue pants. As far as shoes are concerned, lets just take it one textile at a time...
Also, I was deliberately throwing in as many "" as I could. It didn't start that way, but then it just kind of "happened."
Cheers,
I think it is fair to say that we all have a "go to" look, a style that we feel confident is out best look, and we don't tend to stray from that. Hence the advent of shows like What not to Wear and the horrible one wear people's "friends" hire a stylist to get them out the MC Hammer pants and tube tops that they have been wearing since 1993. Now I seriously hope that none of my friends were thinking of signing me up for that show, but I am fiercely aware that I have a style. I'm a jeans and sweater kind of person. Jeans and hoodie during working hours. It's very difficult to break that mould once you've found something you are comfortable with, but from time to time I wish I had the courage to change it up and do something drastic. Which leads us to Saturday afternoon at Riki's and the case of the blue pants.
Now when I say blue, that could conjure up any spectrum of colour, everything from navy to cornflour is on the table. These pants are a vibrant royal blue, like the delicate wings of the eastern mountain blue bird. On top of that they are of the "skinny pant" variety. I have not worn pants that tapered at the bottom since pleats were in fashion, let alone pants that are so tight that they fit more like a pair of, well lack of a better word, tights... They are way out of my comfort zone. They are not even in the same comfort district, region or country, but for some reason I couldn't stop looking at myself in them. Sort of like a car crash. And now I have pants that I do not possess the fashionability to match with a shirt let alone shoes! I have no idea what I'm going to do with these, but I'm damned sure that I can't go out topless in bright blue pants wearing slippers. This can only mean one things. I must return to the mall on a quest for a shirt to match my blue pants. As far as shoes are concerned, lets just take it one textile at a time...
Also, I was deliberately throwing in as many "" as I could. It didn't start that way, but then it just kind of "happened."
Cheers,
Wednesday 6 March 2013
TIME FLIES
Well once again I have been remiss in my blog duties. I know, I know, in order for this to be a success and for me to get that book deal I've so been longing for so I can hob-nob with the celebrities and eventually marry well out of my league due to my outlandish fortune, I must be more consistent.
The problem is finding the time to blog, and more importantly the material. I mean there are any number of monotonous things I could share with you, including the misfortunate incident of the guitar pick which I caught (or rather was given by a friend) at a concert and then tragically lost in a pants-pocket mishap of epic proportions. Or the terrible decision to eat a piece of cake at the retirement party last Friday, which resulted in stomach cramps and exhaustion which lasted for 3 days. It's finally time to admit I have a full fledged gluten allergy and I can not have "just a little bit" and be okay afterwards...
Truly the gluten allergy is a tragedy that is far reaching and which I'm sure I have not yet fully felt the affects of. It's one thing to be gluten free in the safety of your own home, but once you get out in that big bad world full of gluteny deliciousness, compounded by your own weakness for all things gluten, it's a really struggle. This weekend, for instance, I am headed to a retirement party on Friday (they are dropping like flies around my work place) and then on Saturday to a friend's place for dinner. Fortunately my friends are pretty good about my disease and often try to be gluten free themselves, however the retirement party owes me no allegiance and so I will be at the mercy of the veggie platter most likely.
But this begs a greater issue. I have long been bitten by the travel bug and have been to several countries, though not as many as I'd like. How do you convey to someone who doesn't even speak your language that you can not eat their bread? And what a shame to miss out on traditional fare because my intestines will reject it?? Even all inclusive vacations are loaded with gluten filled food. It does become a challenge. Not to mention my mother is already in panic mode because she doesn't know what to feed me. You know what they say, if it's not one thing, it's a mother, ha!
Okay, that is really all I have to contribute at this time, sad as that may be. Perhaps tomorrow will be unabashedly harried and full of exciting blog material. If it's not then be prepared for one of two things; 1) a very long hiatus between blogs or 2) more drivel like the above about gluten or Tim Hortons...
Cheers,
The problem is finding the time to blog, and more importantly the material. I mean there are any number of monotonous things I could share with you, including the misfortunate incident of the guitar pick which I caught (or rather was given by a friend) at a concert and then tragically lost in a pants-pocket mishap of epic proportions. Or the terrible decision to eat a piece of cake at the retirement party last Friday, which resulted in stomach cramps and exhaustion which lasted for 3 days. It's finally time to admit I have a full fledged gluten allergy and I can not have "just a little bit" and be okay afterwards...
Truly the gluten allergy is a tragedy that is far reaching and which I'm sure I have not yet fully felt the affects of. It's one thing to be gluten free in the safety of your own home, but once you get out in that big bad world full of gluteny deliciousness, compounded by your own weakness for all things gluten, it's a really struggle. This weekend, for instance, I am headed to a retirement party on Friday (they are dropping like flies around my work place) and then on Saturday to a friend's place for dinner. Fortunately my friends are pretty good about my disease and often try to be gluten free themselves, however the retirement party owes me no allegiance and so I will be at the mercy of the veggie platter most likely.
But this begs a greater issue. I have long been bitten by the travel bug and have been to several countries, though not as many as I'd like. How do you convey to someone who doesn't even speak your language that you can not eat their bread? And what a shame to miss out on traditional fare because my intestines will reject it?? Even all inclusive vacations are loaded with gluten filled food. It does become a challenge. Not to mention my mother is already in panic mode because she doesn't know what to feed me. You know what they say, if it's not one thing, it's a mother, ha!
Okay, that is really all I have to contribute at this time, sad as that may be. Perhaps tomorrow will be unabashedly harried and full of exciting blog material. If it's not then be prepared for one of two things; 1) a very long hiatus between blogs or 2) more drivel like the above about gluten or Tim Hortons...
Cheers,
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