Even if it's 10:00 on weeknight.
I realized that I forgot to call to find out when Ash Wednesday services are tomorrow. So I opened the phone book and found the number for the church, figuring they'd have it on the answering machine. Imagine my surprise when I got a real, live person! At 10 pm! It was the priest. Poor man was probably trying to get ready for bed, or settle in for another great episode of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit and I interrupt his peace and quiet because I can't think to get myself organized during regular business hours. He was very polite and patient. I'll probably go to hell for this. :p
February 28, 2006
February 27, 2006
Signs a girl should call it a night.
There is one of those silly email forwards that's been floating around for years with the above title. It offers examples such as:
- I believe that dancing with my arms overhead and wiggling my butt while yelling WOO-HOO is truly the sexiest dance move around.
- My eyes just don't seem to want to stay open on their own so I keep them half closed and think it looks exotically sexy.
- I've suddenly taken up smoking and become really good at it.
Saturday night, I think I found another one to add to the list. Walking away with my second piece of street meat (yes, second. Because, apparently, at 3:00 am having just one sausage from the streetside vendor isn't enough - apparently, at 3:00 am, you should go back to the vendor and get another hot dog), I slipped on some ice, and fell to the ground in a full lunge position. Right knee and hand on the cold, wet, ice. Keeping balance with my left leg (foot firmly planted on the ground) and left arm outstretched, maintaining maximum distance between my beloved hot dog and the dirty ground.
I tried to stand up. But between one hand occupied saving the precious street meat, and the slippery ice and, well, the vast quantities of alcohol consumed, I couldn't quite make it. A random stranger helped me to my feet. (My friends were further away on the corner having some deep conversation, oblivious to my graceful performance). As I stood up and slid back over to my friends, I was touched by the support of the crowd standing outside the bar. I got many compliments on my ability to fall down and yet save the hot dog. Not even any pointing and laughing! (That I could hear. :p) Such nice, lovely, drunk people!
I approached my friends and told them it was obviously time to call it a night. When you fall completely on your ass (or you knee, as the case may be)in front of dozens of people, can't get up yourself and yet, take pride in your ability to rescue the manna sent down from the heavens (not even a drop of ketchup spilled!), it's about time to head home.
The thing is, looking back on the event in my sober state, I don't even get embarrassed. All I think about was the guy who complimented me, several times, on my form and my saving of the hot dog. I think he might've been pretty cute. Then again, after 7 shots, 8 martinis, a couple other drinks and a bottle of wine, who wouldn't be?
- I believe that dancing with my arms overhead and wiggling my butt while yelling WOO-HOO is truly the sexiest dance move around.
- My eyes just don't seem to want to stay open on their own so I keep them half closed and think it looks exotically sexy.
- I've suddenly taken up smoking and become really good at it.
Saturday night, I think I found another one to add to the list. Walking away with my second piece of street meat (yes, second. Because, apparently, at 3:00 am having just one sausage from the streetside vendor isn't enough - apparently, at 3:00 am, you should go back to the vendor and get another hot dog), I slipped on some ice, and fell to the ground in a full lunge position. Right knee and hand on the cold, wet, ice. Keeping balance with my left leg (foot firmly planted on the ground) and left arm outstretched, maintaining maximum distance between my beloved hot dog and the dirty ground.
I tried to stand up. But between one hand occupied saving the precious street meat, and the slippery ice and, well, the vast quantities of alcohol consumed, I couldn't quite make it. A random stranger helped me to my feet. (My friends were further away on the corner having some deep conversation, oblivious to my graceful performance). As I stood up and slid back over to my friends, I was touched by the support of the crowd standing outside the bar. I got many compliments on my ability to fall down and yet save the hot dog. Not even any pointing and laughing! (That I could hear. :p) Such nice, lovely, drunk people!
I approached my friends and told them it was obviously time to call it a night. When you fall completely on your ass (or you knee, as the case may be)in front of dozens of people, can't get up yourself and yet, take pride in your ability to rescue the manna sent down from the heavens (not even a drop of ketchup spilled!), it's about time to head home.
The thing is, looking back on the event in my sober state, I don't even get embarrassed. All I think about was the guy who complimented me, several times, on my form and my saving of the hot dog. I think he might've been pretty cute. Then again, after 7 shots, 8 martinis, a couple other drinks and a bottle of wine, who wouldn't be?
February 23, 2006
A formidable display of willpower
My birthday is Monday. Two weeks ago, when my parents were here, my mom left my birthday gift for me in my kitchen with instructions not to open it until my birthday (very mean). She and my sister memorized its position so they could verify whether I'd messed around with it, so I couldn't even move it to a less central location (out of sight, out of mind). 12 days of looking at my present and not touching it. I'm going out of town for the weekend and when I return it will be only 12 hours until my birthday. For all intents and purposes, I've made it! Considering I'm generally a big fan of instant gratification and denying myself nothing, the last 12 days have been an extraordinary display of willpower.
My present from my sister arrived in the mail today. I put it on top of my mom's present. And I will calmly wait until Monday.
A stunning display of growth and character if you ask me. Surely a sign old age has set in.
My present from my sister arrived in the mail today. I put it on top of my mom's present. And I will calmly wait until Monday.
A stunning display of growth and character if you ask me. Surely a sign old age has set in.
February 22, 2006
27 minutes
From bed to desk.
My morning routine tends to be fairly efficient. Not necessarily rushed, but definitely efficient. When each moment getting ready for work means one less moment of sleep, I just naturally progess towards a routine that maximizes my sleep time.
The 27 minutes it took today was a bit too quick.
Here's how it broke down:
8:00 am - Wake up, slightly startled. Hear a dog barking (who is never normally barking between 6:30 and 7:00 when I normally wake up). Notice it's bright daylight outside. Wonder what exactly is going on. It's not the weekend... I don't think. And yet, it can't be a weekday because it's 8:00 am and I'm still in bed. Surely it must be the weekend. Close my eyes, only slightly convinced.
8:02 am - Eyes fly open! OMG! It *isn't* the weekend! I have no idea what day it is but I suddenly know it isn't the weekend! Jump out of bed. Peel off my clothes.
8:03 am - Jump in the shower. (Somewhere between taking my clothes off and getting in the shower, I remember it's Wednesday)
8:12 am - (I really need a clock in the bathroom - it was awful having those 9 minutes pass without knowing how fast they were going). Showered and have done my hair (which, thank goodness, only involves brushing out the wet hair, applying a frizz control gel, and giving the hair a couple scrunches to encourage the curls), applied makeup, deoderant and perfume.
8:13 am - Putting on clothes. Slightly annoyed at self for not laying out clothes last night, figuring I'd have enough time in the morning since I was going to be up at 5:30 am to go to the gym so I'd be back at the house, and awake, before 7:00 to actually dress - right.
8:15 am - In kitchen grabbing an apple. Thankful that, a couple days ago, I decided to take yogurt to leave in the work fridge. Grab purse and put on shoes. Grab coat.
8:16 am - Backing out of driveway, marvelling at how, even though there have been occasions I've only left for work at 7:55 am, the world seems so much more "alive" at 8:16 - kids are out and everything. Drive to work. Consider going straight to other side of plant, where I'm supposed to meet someone at 8:30 and then, just pretend I was there at 8:00 and decided just to head over that direction directly. Decide against this - I'm not interested in playing games.
8:23 am - Pull into work parking lot. See my boss' car and realize my hope that today will be a day he doesn't arrive until 8:30 isn't going to come true. Park and lock car.
8:26 am - Breeze into office as if there's no issue with me not arriving until 8:30 (and really, given that we're on flex time a bit, and I put in enough other hours, it probably isn't a huge deal, but I certainly don't feel good about it. I think 8:00 is the latest I should be there. Which would mean I can't really be, you know, waking up at that time. :p)
8:27 am - Drop my purse, take off my coat and plop down in my chair. (I was a little late for my 8:30 meeting with the other person but we'll pretend that's because of the urgent business I had to discuss with my boss based on a voicemail - not because I completely overslept. :p)
27 minutes from bed to desk. That's a little too efficient, even for me. :p
My morning routine tends to be fairly efficient. Not necessarily rushed, but definitely efficient. When each moment getting ready for work means one less moment of sleep, I just naturally progess towards a routine that maximizes my sleep time.
The 27 minutes it took today was a bit too quick.
Here's how it broke down:
8:00 am - Wake up, slightly startled. Hear a dog barking (who is never normally barking between 6:30 and 7:00 when I normally wake up). Notice it's bright daylight outside. Wonder what exactly is going on. It's not the weekend... I don't think. And yet, it can't be a weekday because it's 8:00 am and I'm still in bed. Surely it must be the weekend. Close my eyes, only slightly convinced.
8:02 am - Eyes fly open! OMG! It *isn't* the weekend! I have no idea what day it is but I suddenly know it isn't the weekend! Jump out of bed. Peel off my clothes.
8:03 am - Jump in the shower. (Somewhere between taking my clothes off and getting in the shower, I remember it's Wednesday)
8:12 am - (I really need a clock in the bathroom - it was awful having those 9 minutes pass without knowing how fast they were going). Showered and have done my hair (which, thank goodness, only involves brushing out the wet hair, applying a frizz control gel, and giving the hair a couple scrunches to encourage the curls), applied makeup, deoderant and perfume.
8:13 am - Putting on clothes. Slightly annoyed at self for not laying out clothes last night, figuring I'd have enough time in the morning since I was going to be up at 5:30 am to go to the gym so I'd be back at the house, and awake, before 7:00 to actually dress - right.
8:15 am - In kitchen grabbing an apple. Thankful that, a couple days ago, I decided to take yogurt to leave in the work fridge. Grab purse and put on shoes. Grab coat.
8:16 am - Backing out of driveway, marvelling at how, even though there have been occasions I've only left for work at 7:55 am, the world seems so much more "alive" at 8:16 - kids are out and everything. Drive to work. Consider going straight to other side of plant, where I'm supposed to meet someone at 8:30 and then, just pretend I was there at 8:00 and decided just to head over that direction directly. Decide against this - I'm not interested in playing games.
8:23 am - Pull into work parking lot. See my boss' car and realize my hope that today will be a day he doesn't arrive until 8:30 isn't going to come true. Park and lock car.
8:26 am - Breeze into office as if there's no issue with me not arriving until 8:30 (and really, given that we're on flex time a bit, and I put in enough other hours, it probably isn't a huge deal, but I certainly don't feel good about it. I think 8:00 is the latest I should be there. Which would mean I can't really be, you know, waking up at that time. :p)
8:27 am - Drop my purse, take off my coat and plop down in my chair. (I was a little late for my 8:30 meeting with the other person but we'll pretend that's because of the urgent business I had to discuss with my boss based on a voicemail - not because I completely overslept. :p)
27 minutes from bed to desk. That's a little too efficient, even for me. :p
February 19, 2006
In Search of a Pinot Noir
I spent the weekend in wine country. In general I have a decent idea of the types of wines I like and don't like. Lately, though, I've been interested in pinot noir. Not that I've been drinking it - more that I realized I don't think I've ever tried it. When I was in California recently, I tried one or two while visiting Napa but didn't really find anything I liked. I thought this weekend would be another opportunity to try a few more.
Now, I don't really know where this strong desire to try pinot noir came from. I learned in Napa that sales of Pinot Noir are skyrocketing since the movie Sideways came out, so really, that misguided trendiness should be enough to completely turn me off. And yet, all weekend I was driven by this mission. I think I finally decided it's a completely manufactured desire on my part. My favourite white at the moment is Pinot Grigio and I've somehow decided to draw a parallel that dictates that, since both are called Pinot, I must love the Noir just the same.
Not the case. Winery after winery and not a favourable reaction to be found. Tasting after tasting of me trying to tell myself that I want to like it and I will like it and tasting after tasting of being disappointed and thinking "I dislike this even more than Merlot" I finally did find one that I could tolerate but it is, of course, outside a price range I would be operating in (or, at least, if I was paying that much, I certainly wouldn't be buying a pinot noir).
I've come to the realization that there is a difference between being open-minded and giving something a fair shot, and, trying to force something that isn't meant to be. Fourteen pinot noirs later, I think I can be satisfied with my attempt. And yet, a part of me won't ever close that door. I will always be open to finding that special pinot noir.
I need a pinot
I'm holding out for a pinot till the wine is found
It's gotta be rich
And it's gotta be full
And it's gotta be fresh from the vine
Now, I don't really know where this strong desire to try pinot noir came from. I learned in Napa that sales of Pinot Noir are skyrocketing since the movie Sideways came out, so really, that misguided trendiness should be enough to completely turn me off. And yet, all weekend I was driven by this mission. I think I finally decided it's a completely manufactured desire on my part. My favourite white at the moment is Pinot Grigio and I've somehow decided to draw a parallel that dictates that, since both are called Pinot, I must love the Noir just the same.
Not the case. Winery after winery and not a favourable reaction to be found. Tasting after tasting of me trying to tell myself that I want to like it and I will like it and tasting after tasting of being disappointed and thinking "I dislike this even more than Merlot" I finally did find one that I could tolerate but it is, of course, outside a price range I would be operating in (or, at least, if I was paying that much, I certainly wouldn't be buying a pinot noir).
I've come to the realization that there is a difference between being open-minded and giving something a fair shot, and, trying to force something that isn't meant to be. Fourteen pinot noirs later, I think I can be satisfied with my attempt. And yet, a part of me won't ever close that door. I will always be open to finding that special pinot noir.
I need a pinot
I'm holding out for a pinot till the wine is found
It's gotta be rich
And it's gotta be full
And it's gotta be fresh from the vine
February 15, 2006
I am so not a pet person.
I am not interested in the responsibility. I am not interested in the work. When I forget to buy groceries for two weeks, I can adapt. A pet cannot. I am not interested in taking care of, and entertaining, a permanent 3 year old. I do enough of my own shedding. I love sleep too much to have my face licked at 6 am so I can open the door and let the fuzzy little creature out. I get enough unconditional love from my parents and, while a pet wouldn't criticize how I wear my hair or how infrequently I recycle my newspapers, my parents don't eat my shoes and pee in them when they're mad at me. If there is ever a pet in the house in which I live, it will not be mine - it will belong to someone else.
So, when I bought my house, and people started asking me when and if I was going to get a pet, I had to chuckle. My family just laughed right out loud. (My grandmother was the strange one - she was absolutely convinced I'd have a dog by Christmas). I got the question so many times, I started to wonder if there was some rule that said house=pet.
Christmas morning arrives. I'm unwrapping presents. I open up my last box, see something moving and scream (dropping the box in the process). Santa brought me a dog!
The perfect pet!
"Perfect Petzzz... are cute sleeping puppies and kittens that offer unconditional love and are maintenance-free. They look so lifelike - you can even see them breathe! "
His name is Bernie. He is, after all, a St. Bernard. He never barks, he never sheds, he lets himself out and always closes the door behind him. He spends most of his time sleeping in his little bed. The only movement you see is his little belly rising and falling as he breathes.
Last Thursday my sister was sitting on the chair across the room. She said she couldn't see Bernie breathing. I went to check on him and he was breathing fine. I figured she was blind.
Friday I came home from work. My mom (the parental units had just arrived for a visit) says "You let Bernie die!" I had no idea what she was talking about. When I went to bed Thursday night Bernie was fine. I walked over to Bernie and, sure enough, he wasn't breathing! I picked him up and shook him. Nothing. I made sure his batteries were pressed in properly. Nothing! She was right! Sometime during Thursday night and Friday afternoon Bernie died! I had killed my fake dog!! Who knows how long his lifeless body had been lying there!
The next day we bought more batteries and revived Bernie. He's been going strong since Saturday. Life is good now. Apparently my sister was on to something when she couldn't see Bernie breathing from far away. Now I at least know how to tell when he's getting sick. But this is exactly why I don't own a real pet. Well, that and the licking.
So, when I bought my house, and people started asking me when and if I was going to get a pet, I had to chuckle. My family just laughed right out loud. (My grandmother was the strange one - she was absolutely convinced I'd have a dog by Christmas). I got the question so many times, I started to wonder if there was some rule that said house=pet.
Christmas morning arrives. I'm unwrapping presents. I open up my last box, see something moving and scream (dropping the box in the process). Santa brought me a dog!
The perfect pet!
"Perfect Petzzz... are cute sleeping puppies and kittens that offer unconditional love and are maintenance-free. They look so lifelike - you can even see them breathe! "
His name is Bernie. He is, after all, a St. Bernard. He never barks, he never sheds, he lets himself out and always closes the door behind him. He spends most of his time sleeping in his little bed. The only movement you see is his little belly rising and falling as he breathes.
Last Thursday my sister was sitting on the chair across the room. She said she couldn't see Bernie breathing. I went to check on him and he was breathing fine. I figured she was blind.
Friday I came home from work. My mom (the parental units had just arrived for a visit) says "You let Bernie die!" I had no idea what she was talking about. When I went to bed Thursday night Bernie was fine. I walked over to Bernie and, sure enough, he wasn't breathing! I picked him up and shook him. Nothing. I made sure his batteries were pressed in properly. Nothing! She was right! Sometime during Thursday night and Friday afternoon Bernie died! I had killed my fake dog!! Who knows how long his lifeless body had been lying there!
The next day we bought more batteries and revived Bernie. He's been going strong since Saturday. Life is good now. Apparently my sister was on to something when she couldn't see Bernie breathing from far away. Now I at least know how to tell when he's getting sick. But this is exactly why I don't own a real pet. Well, that and the licking.
February 14, 2006
Happy Valentine's Day!
Called my parents tonight. My dad asked if I got the Valentine's Day card from my mom. I said no. Mom got on the phone. Turns out he was referring to the mass e-mail she sent to me and my (also single) sister. I razzed her about sending a mass e-mail to express love on Valentine's Day and she said,
"... oh ya, a mass e-mail to my two... what did I call you guys earlier? Oh ya. I said to your father "Happy Valentine's Day to my main Valentine and my two hangers on."
Nice, Mom. As long as you're handling the fact that we aren't married and probably won't be anytime soon, well. :p
************************************************************************************
I turned on the Charlie Brown Valentine's Special. Charlie Brown Christmas is my favourite Christmas special and I always enjoy a viewing of It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown, so I thought I'd give it a shot (even though I don't remember it existing).
About 1.5 minutes in, I had to quit. I can sit through countless tortured romantic comedy/love stories. Love so strong it makes you cry and makes your heart ache for the characters. But, with Charlie Brown and his unending attempts to capture the heart of the Little Red-headed Girl, there is nothing but intense frustration. A frustration so strong I actually have to turn away. I don't know why. I have no problems with Sally's unrequited love for Linus. But I can't take Charlie Brown's quest. Perhaps it's because I know he'll never be successful* (whereas I firmly believe Sally will eventually land her man). Or maybe it just drives me crazy we aren't allowed to know her name. Either way, it's obvious that the Charlie Brown Valentine's Special will not complete the holy Charlie Brown trinity. Not until the very special Charlie Brown wedding episode is released.
*Though, part of me vaguely recalls an episode where he actually got a kiss from her. Did she move away after that? Does anyone remember how their story ended?
"... oh ya, a mass e-mail to my two... what did I call you guys earlier? Oh ya. I said to your father "Happy Valentine's Day to my main Valentine and my two hangers on."
Nice, Mom. As long as you're handling the fact that we aren't married and probably won't be anytime soon, well. :p
************************************************************************************
I turned on the Charlie Brown Valentine's Special. Charlie Brown Christmas is my favourite Christmas special and I always enjoy a viewing of It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown, so I thought I'd give it a shot (even though I don't remember it existing).
About 1.5 minutes in, I had to quit. I can sit through countless tortured romantic comedy/love stories. Love so strong it makes you cry and makes your heart ache for the characters. But, with Charlie Brown and his unending attempts to capture the heart of the Little Red-headed Girl, there is nothing but intense frustration. A frustration so strong I actually have to turn away. I don't know why. I have no problems with Sally's unrequited love for Linus. But I can't take Charlie Brown's quest. Perhaps it's because I know he'll never be successful* (whereas I firmly believe Sally will eventually land her man). Or maybe it just drives me crazy we aren't allowed to know her name. Either way, it's obvious that the Charlie Brown Valentine's Special will not complete the holy Charlie Brown trinity. Not until the very special Charlie Brown wedding episode is released.
*Though, part of me vaguely recalls an episode where he actually got a kiss from her. Did she move away after that? Does anyone remember how their story ended?
February 13, 2006
The voice mail apology
You have two new messages. Message 2:
"Hi. Listen, I know it's weird to do this over the phone but we're both so busy I don't know when we'll get a chance to talk so I just wanted to let you know that D and M told me that your feelings were hurt (back 3 months ago) and I just wanted to let you know that it wasn't meant the way it was taken and I just thought it might be fun and I'm sorry and I hope you can call me back and we can move past this. K, bye." *click*
Okay, credit to her for having the nerve to call and apologize when I didn't have the nerve to let her know I was pissed, but a full apology on voice mail? When we haven't spoken since before Christmas? How about "hey, call me so we can talk" (especially since it was the first phone attempt). Odd.
Of course, it might also make a great book idea. "Dealing with life's dramas and traumas in 30 seconds or less" I can see it now.
Chapter 1
"Hi there! I know we've haven't really talked in years, but I just thought I'd let you know that you've got an 11 year old son and he's in juvie and you've got to bail him out because I've got yoga tonight. Call me on my cell to confirm! Ciao!"
Chapter 2
"Sorry to bug you at work but I accidently ran over and killed your dog. But don't worry! The taxidermist will be all done with him by 4:00 provided you call by 1:30 and let him know what colour collar you want on him (the dog, not the taxidermist). You can pick him up at Stuff You on 34 Main Street. Have a great day! Toodles!"
Chapter 3
"Um, hi. Um, I just... um... well see, um... I kinda, um... sorta, like, have this thing for your sister. And, um... she's just so pretty and fun and just so different from you! And, well... I just, like... I just don't know if this is working.. and... " beeeeeeeeeeeeeppp
Yes, I can definitely see a time when all problems are solved via 30 second voice mail messages. We'll just all need much larger inboxes.
"Hi. Listen, I know it's weird to do this over the phone but we're both so busy I don't know when we'll get a chance to talk so I just wanted to let you know that D and M told me that your feelings were hurt (back 3 months ago) and I just wanted to let you know that it wasn't meant the way it was taken and I just thought it might be fun and I'm sorry and I hope you can call me back and we can move past this. K, bye." *click*
Okay, credit to her for having the nerve to call and apologize when I didn't have the nerve to let her know I was pissed, but a full apology on voice mail? When we haven't spoken since before Christmas? How about "hey, call me so we can talk" (especially since it was the first phone attempt). Odd.
Of course, it might also make a great book idea. "Dealing with life's dramas and traumas in 30 seconds or less" I can see it now.
Chapter 1
"Hi there! I know we've haven't really talked in years, but I just thought I'd let you know that you've got an 11 year old son and he's in juvie and you've got to bail him out because I've got yoga tonight. Call me on my cell to confirm! Ciao!"
Chapter 2
"Sorry to bug you at work but I accidently ran over and killed your dog. But don't worry! The taxidermist will be all done with him by 4:00 provided you call by 1:30 and let him know what colour collar you want on him (the dog, not the taxidermist). You can pick him up at Stuff You on 34 Main Street. Have a great day! Toodles!"
Chapter 3
"Um, hi. Um, I just... um... well see, um... I kinda, um... sorta, like, have this thing for your sister. And, um... she's just so pretty and fun and just so different from you! And, well... I just, like... I just don't know if this is working.. and... " beeeeeeeeeeeeeppp
Yes, I can definitely see a time when all problems are solved via 30 second voice mail messages. We'll just all need much larger inboxes.
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