Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Haiku This! A Special Wednesday Treat

Wednesday, June 23, 2010
I can't wait to go on vacation
I'm feeling a certain elation
soon many books I will read
no rushing, no need
unless it's to pee at the nearest gas station

Pain is Pain

Yesterday I looked at myself in the mirror, and honest to god, my eyebrows had grown together. I told my friend Dana over email, "I don't know what happens. One day, I look fine. The next day - hot damn!"

So after work I promptly rectified the situation. I've been getting my brows waxed since I was in Grade 6. My mom plucked my eyebrows at home a few times when I was in Grade 5, but that went nowhere positive, so off to the Merle Norman she took me.

I still go to Merle Norman, but the one downtown mysteriously disappeared, so I stepped in to the newest day spa on the same block as work and, lucky me, they had an appointment open.

The place was nice. Soothing music, soothing paint colours, quiet but friendly staff.

Then the woman doing my wax told me she was going to do a 'touch up' by threading.

I don't know if you've ever had your brows threaded. I hadn't, but my old roommate swore by it. She had nice eyebrows. (Still does, I assume) She also told me that it didn't hurt as much as waxing.

Before she got to business, the lady with the thread told me that it was better for me than waxing, because waxing pulls at the skin and causes wrinkles.

I had a bit of a freakout. Silently, because I don't like to cause a scene.

Do I *rrrripp* look like *riiiiippp* someone who *riiiipp* should be concerned about wrinkles?

Good thing I had something to distract myself with. Because let me tell you. That roommate is a liar. Waxing, threading, tweezing - however you slice it - is still ripping the hair out of your face.

And it's going to freaking hurt no matter what you do.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

I'll bring the blanket, you bring the basket

Tuesday, June 22, 2010
I have this incredible urge to go on a picnic. A Don and Betty Draper in the Happier Days style picnic. I want to wear a pretty dress and sit in the sun with my beloved and play checkers and eat sandwiches and drink lemonade.
Yes, I mean gin.
One of the happy fuzzy childhood memories I think back on often is going for a picnic with my best friend, Candice. Her mom packed up the little plastic toy picnic set with a banana and a thermos of red koolaid. I realize this is unconventional picnic food, and okay, it was just a banana, but to us it was an incredible adventure! We must have been four or five, because we weren't allowed to go very far. We sat under a tree around the corner, in the back alley, and played and pretended for the entire afternoon.
I remember pulling over on the side of the road, eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in Kananaskis with my parents, trying to catch squirrels and skip rocks - two things I've never been able to do.
And I remember eating Tiger Tiger ice cream in the playground beside the swimming pool, my mom dishing it out every June to that year's Kindergarten graduates and next year's Kindergarten class.
Why can't I go back to that? Why does that magic slip away so quickly? I was so eager to grow up. What I wouldn't give for a thermos of red koolaid right now. And some gin.

Monday, June 21, 2010

That's why those Nirvana lullabye albums are so popular

Monday, June 21, 2010

The music industry has forsaken me.

It's been four years since I finished my last paper, wrote my last exam, handed in my last assignment. I finished my time at the U of C and proudly went out into the world, thinking that I had finally arrived and damn it, everyone would continue to cater to my needs and wants and desires for the rest of time.

Imagine the rude awakening this has resulted in. Here's the thing - the world has changed. No one cares what 26 year old employed women in a relationship but not yet engaged or married want. No one, not even fashion magazines, care what I think or what I need. I don't use acne products, I haven't yet faced facts and started shelling out for anti-aging eye cream. I have no need for lip gloss that will bring all the boys to the yard, I perfected my "I don't give a damn" hairstyle years ago, and aside from the occasional spa visit to rip out all of the visible body hair below my scalp and to get my heels buffed, I'm super low maintenance. I drive your average Japanese 4-door sedan, I go on occasional vacations, and my boyfriend picks the movies we go to because it's just freaking easier that way.

Given the choice between something blowing up and a couple overcoming obstacles through dance, the explosions are going to win. I don't want to drag Gary to see Step Up Part 62, especially if he's going to be miserable the whole time. Also, most of the time the actiony films have cute shirtless guys in them. Win-win!

No one cares what I want or what I'm going to buy. Purchasing decisions are made by mothers and teenagers, and I am neither.

I realized this morning that all of the music I listen to is old. We're talking OLD, people. Most of it is 15 odd years older than me. I was raised on a healthy diet of Lennon, McCartney, Zeppelin, Jagger and Van Morrison. This is what I still listen to. Right now, my iPod is running a playlist of music that only gets airtime on the AM dial.

When I workout, I listen to Madonna. Old Madonna. Good Madonna. The Spice Girls. ABBA.

I stopped buying music about three years ago. I can count on one hand the albums I've purchased in the past two years - Ray LaMontagne's Gossip in the Grain, who sounds like my golden oldies; and the first two volumes of the Glee Soundtrack.

Which, for the record, are mostly covers of old songs I already love.

The music industry has completely abandoned me. Or I abandoned it. Somewhere along the line I stopped tarting up and going to the club to get shake it. I stopped binge drinking and going home with strangers (KIDDING! I never did that, stop hyperventilating, Mom!) and cruising around with the windows rolled down and the stereo blaring.

That's bad for your hearing, and gas is expensive.

I knew it would happen. I knew the day would come when I would spend all my time listening to Bon Jovi and singing along to Journey and bopping embarrassingly in the passenger's seat to Britney Spears, circa 1999, and on the rare occasion that I turned on the Top 40 Radio station, I'd have to ask after every song, "Who is this? Why are they singing about drinking Jack and Coke? Aren't they 15?"

I just thought I'd have pre-teens in the backseat to torture when I did it.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010


Wednesday, June 16, 2010
dear children outside
bang on my office window
you drive me insane
maybe I won't breed
don't think I could deal with you
twenty-four seven

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

We have a winner

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

I could never understand why people 'forgot' why they broke up with someone. This was, until recently, when I was trying to enter a contest with a local TV station.

I'm such a sucker for those "tell us your best story" contests. Because I have me some goooood stories. Recently I entered a Best Shopping Story contest and a Best Father's Day contest. What would have been better is if both were the same story, but I digress.

So when I saw this contest, asking for your best (worst?) bad dating story, I chuckled to myself in my office. Which has a terrible echo, and I'm sure the three ladies who sit in the cube farm outside my door hate me because I do a lot of chuckling to myself. Heh, heh, heh. Most often about my own wit.

So I opened my email, cracked my fingers and ...drew a total blank.

That's the funny thing about memory. Oh, lawdamercy, some of the dates I've been on have been AWFUL! Like that guy who...or that time we went...or, uh...shoot.

Two and a half years off the meat market and I've forgotten what it's like. I'm that smug bastard friend who says things like, "Oh, I remember being single! I had so much fun!" and "What do you mean, dating is hard? Dating is fun! Go slap on some lipstick, get out there and have FUN!"

I would smack myself if I wasn't concerned about visible bruising.

Of course I remember some of the more hurtful, painful, emotional speed bumps on my dating highway. Like the guy who FINALLY came over to my place after weeks of not calling me back because I threatened to burn the 'shit he left on my nightstand'. Or the guy who wouldn't take a hint and kept calling me, at my office, long after we'd 'broken up'. Or that damn Bradley Hayes* who eluded my love from 1989-2002, told me on September 18, 1998 that he didn't want to go out with me "right now" and then did the total jerk maneuver of asking a friend of mine out RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME on December 18, 1998.

I've always been good with dates.

Uh, for the record, that day was also the day that I first met vodka shots. Yellloooo!

Oh, or the guy who took me to a comedy club, where I was mocked and picked on by a low-grade comedian for an hour before I excused myself to go cry in the bathroom. Yeah, that was romantic.

But some of the best stories, the funniest ones, the ones that made my friends cringe over jagerbombs and double dogs and those delicious pot stickers at OJ's, the ones that I know would have won that freaking contest are gone forever.

Maybe it's human nature. A survival tactic. You know, like how mothers forget the pain of childbirth, so they can manage to do it all over again. If we didn't wipe the slate clean over time, maybe we'd all just give up before we found someone who made us happy enough to give it all up on purpose.
*Bradley Hayes went on to become a very smart, responsible, respectable citizen and if you are googling him with the intention of hiring him, you should do so. At least I think he went on to all of this greatness, because even now, almost a decade later, I still can't really talk to him without saying something stupid and breaking out in a sweat and giggling like a baying donkey. I get the nerves, y'know?

Monday, June 14, 2010

I'm an Auntie!

Monday, June 14, 2010

My brother got a puppy. I'm so excited, because Gary our apartment management company won't let me have a puppy.

She's so cute!

Also, I should add that it seems really unfair that I would probably be the best Aunt in the world (after all, I learned from the best Aunties a girl could have...), but I've decided to shack up with an only child. The concept of my brother having kids? Let's revisit this subject in, oh, 15 years.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

An Open Letter to Jon Hamm

Thursday, June 10, 2010
Dear Jon Hamm,
I just wanted to state, for the record, that even though you are a total jerkwad to your wife Betty on Mad Men, I would run away with you in a second if you asked me to. Preferably to 1960s California. Also, in this fantasy I would have a body and wardrobe much like Joan's.
Oh, shoot. Am I confusing reality with fiction again? My bad.
My offer still stands.
Hugs and Kisses,
ps- don't tell Gary. I want to break it to him gently, you know? Somewhere nice and private, like on my blog.
pps- ooops. You don't have blogs in the 1960s, so disregard that last sentence. I'll explain it soon enough.

Wednesday, June 09, 2010

An Ode in Haiku

Wednesday, June 09, 2010
To my diet coke
friend, confidant, companion
trusty cold bevvie,
I promise to love,
honour, trust and refrigerate
not drink before noon.
Even at room temp
a few days old, slightly flat
down the hatch you go.

Tuesday, June 08, 2010

One of those days

Tuesday, June 08, 2010
Someone I used to know once uploaded a bunch of crappy techno to my precious iBook laptop. One of those songs was by Blossom Dearie/The Brazillian Girls and the chorus was "just one of those days..."
Wait. A quick google search to verify has informed me that for years I've had the incorrect lyrics playing on annoying repeat in my head for like, 4 years. It's "just one of those things," not "days." Bastards.
Okay, so that point failed. Anyway, I hate techno and I really hate today. Today is one of those days where I'm scraping the bottom of the already shallow bright-side barrel. Last night I was in a great mood, because we were going to have steak, but then Gary got home and brought his grey cloud of Monday frustration with him, and then the quest to get propane turned sour, and we didn't eat until 7:30, and the grumpitude rolled in.
The grumpitude has not rolled out.
So. Help me, blogiverse. What are some things that always make you smile? Here are mine:
1. "Let's go to the Mall!" by Robin Sparkles. Video mandatory. Because I'm emailing this post in, I don't know how to imbed video so go youtube it yourself.
2. Kittens and big-eyed exotic baby animals.
3. Judging and general mockery of other people. Yeah, I'm going to the hot place but I like what I like.
4. The colour green.
5. Thinking about how epic and great the HBO SATC series was. Oh, NYC. Oh, wearing my hair naturally curly. Oh, high-sugar cocktails.
6. Fantasizing about escaping to a Greek island paradise. Maybe with Jake G, but he wouldn't be allowed to wear a shirt or speak because that would ruin the mystique. Also, in this fantasy I would have perfect hair and a slammin' body and wear pretty much beach clothes and white sundresses all the time.
7. True Blood Season 3 is starting on June 13th! This may not be an "always makes me smile" but it makes me happy right now.
8. Laughing until my stomach hurts. Now, to just find something to laugh about.
9. Baby ducks.
10. Puppy kisses.
Crap. Now I'm thinking about how bad Sex and the City 2 was and I'm all grumps again.

Saturday, June 05, 2010

summer blockbusters '10

Saturday, June 05, 2010
I've now seen all of the summer blockbuster movies I was planning to see. Because I love you, I will now provide you with a review:

Iron Man 2 - meh. First one was better. RDJ, on the other hand, only gets better with time. Growl.

SATC 2 - Insipid. Annoying. Like watching a train wreck, but without any of the excitement. Skip it. SJP, tragically, is NOT getting better with time.

Prince of Persia - Jake Gylenhaall. Gyllenhaal? Gyl-len-haaal-io? Whatever. EXTREMELY hawt. Entertaining quest-y adventure film. The best of the three. Looking forward to a sequel where Jake spends the entire film shirtless and kind of sandy. I'd go see it at least five times.

Friday, June 04, 2010

Bare All

Friday, June 04, 2010
I am pretty low maintenance when it comes to my appearance. By pretty low, I mean about as low as one can get before scraping the bottom of the pond.
I'm a fan of wearing my hair clipped up (thanks, Lady Buttons, for tipping me off about those Goody Ouchless clips, I've used mine pretty much every day for six months or more) or in a ponytail.  Occasionally I'll pin the top back and let it air-dry curly.
I wear a pinky red tinted lip balm and mascara almost every work day, sometimes I toss on some light coloured eye shadow, but often not.
I use Noxema and Oil of Olay moisturizer with SPF.
And if I paint my finger nails, which is pretty infrequently, I almost always reach for a bare pink or beigey nude colour. If I'm getting a pedicure, on the other hand, it's red or hot pink or coral, or some equally punchy hue.
But despite the fact that I have a really bare-bones cosmetic routine, I own a hell of a lot of makeup. I've got several brands of perfume. And about fifty thousand bottles of bare pink or beigey nude nail polish. Which is why, despite Sephora's summer launch of their newest Canadian exclusive nail colour, a barely there, nude colour, I'm resisting my lizard brain's urge to GO BUY IT NOW. Shut up, lizard brain. You already have nine million bottles of almost the exact same colour at home. It's highly unlikely that this new colour will fufill all of your wildest, nude-polished nail dreams. Buying it won't make you richer, thinner, smarter, or cuter.
Damn, I wish there was a Sephora with lunchtime walking distance...

Thursday, June 03, 2010

The Girl Your Man Could Smell Like

Thursday, June 03, 2010
I did not sleep well last night, blog friends. I don't think Gary did either, because it was a restless and fidgety night for both of us. When my alarm went off ths morning, I turned it off immediately. Gary left for work and I went back to sleep.
Until 5 minutes before I was supposed to be at work.
I hauled myself into the shower, still half-asleep. I was going to need a swift kick so I turned down the temperature of the water considerably. That didn't work. I looked at my soothing vanilla orchid body wash and determined that it's delicious, calming scent would only make me head straight back to lullabye land.
So I used the uber man scented Cool Tingling Irish Springs body scrub the other person who lives in my apartment uses.
Shazam. It does tingle, this is true. And now I smell delightfully man-fresh.
It's going to be a loooooong day.

Wednesday, June 02, 2010

Wednesday Haiku

Wednesday, June 02, 2010
Ice cream and hot dogs
barbecues and camping trips
Summer. Finally.
slap on the sunblock
Let's pretend we're in LA
drive with the top down
except - my car is
a mazda four-door sedan
but let's make-believe