TAKING STOCK

It's the eve of the beginning of a brand new year. It's time to look back, to take stock, to give life a good self-evaluation.

There's a lot about myself and my life that I love... and there's a lot that I'd like to improve upon.

What perfect timing, a fresh start, a brand new year. It's time to make resolutions, to aspire to be a better person and to make the world I/we inhabit a better place.

Every New Year, since junior high school, I have written a letter addressed to my Guardian Angel. (I cringe in embarrassment having admitted that.. but I was eleven when I started this tradition. Mock if you feel compelled to do so, but remember, you are mocking a wide-eyed, optimistic, innocent, effervescent eleven year old girl... which would make you a cold-hearted, callous, grim human being.) These letters would include my hopes, dreams and desires for the New Year. It would principally be a selfish list of endeavours, but on occasion the list would include dreams, hopes and desires for others whom I felt needed assistance. The letter would be sealed, kept unopened and safe until the following year.

A past year's letter opening required a new year's letter sealing.

This has been my twenty-one year discreet tradition. Divulged to no one, not even my husband... and now exposed to all my readers. (Blogging sure has a way of eliciting secrets.)

Question: Why, share this information?

Answer: To inspire others.

1) I think that it's a great undertaking, a cathartic release of pent up desires, hopes and fears about an undefined future.

2) It's also a great method for self-evaluation, to compare your old list to the year that you've lived. Do items that you once thought important a year ago still hold the same significance? Have you achieved what you had hoped for in the past year?

3) It's fun.

I'm not going to share my 2007 Dreams, Hopes and Desire List with you, (that would be breaking tradition) but I do hope that you start your own.

CHEERS!
Happy New Year Everyone!
Here's to a joyous and promising New Year!

ROMAN KNEE HIGHS

RE: My choice for the must have shoe (a reply to Alice)

I'm startng a new trend. I will endeavour to make these the shoe staple in every woman's closet. Pair these with a fab (Chanel) shift dress and you'll be set for spring 2007.

Quite apropos for S.B., unlike the regulation standard Uggs.
*

INFLUENCED BY GREATNESS

I read a lot. When I'm in between shows, I spend hundreds of dollars on books. Like my father, my library over flows with reading material: Political Theory, Philosophy and Behavioural Psychology and Historical texts; books on writing, script analysis and directing, Plays, Scripts, Poetry and a few Classic Lit. There's not enough shelf space for all the books that I have acquired over the years, most remain in piles on my office floor. It's an addiction; (like shoes and purses) I buy a lot of books.

Recently, I've spent most of my money and most of my literary endeavours on Chick Lit. Books that often require only a day investment and not a lot of brain power. However, I've currently been feeling the need for greater mental stimulation.

Hence, my first New Year's resolution: Resolution #1: Spend more time reading/rereading Classic Literature

It's been quite a while since I've invested time and effort into reading the Classics. I need to revisit and reimmerse myself in literature from authors who are the benchmark for all writers who aspire towards greatness. I need to be influenced by greatness.

Here’s my 2007 reading list:

The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
In Cold Blood by Truman Capote
On the Road by Jack Kerouac
Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner
Civil Disobedience And Other Essays by Henry David Thoreau
Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
Light In August by William Faulkner
Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy
The Children's Corner by Jackson Tippett McCrae
East of Eden by Steinbeck
The Idiot by Dostoyevsky
Poetics by Aristotle,
Leaves of Grass (poetry) by Walt Whitman
The Bark Of The Dogwood by Jackson Tippett McCrae
The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli
I, Lucifer: Finally, the Other Side of the Story by Glen Duncan
The Odyssey by Homer
Franny and Zooey by J.D Salinger
The Stranger by Albert Camus
Paradise Lost And Paradise Regained by John Milton
The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner
Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey
For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway
Cat’s Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut
1984 by George Orwell
Ulysses by James Joyce

UPDATE: Additions, courtesy of my beloved blog reader (s)

Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies by Jared M. Diamond
The Voyage of the Beagle by Charles Darwin
Glengarry Glen Ross by David Mamet
The Misanthrope by Molière

THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGGS

UGG [ugh] n.
1. A type of sheepskin boot, which has been made in Australia and New Zealand for nearly 200 years.

Etymology: originally called "ug boots", which is short for ugly.

I have openly denounced UGGS as one of the most deplorable fashion footwear of this or any other century. I have preached to anyone who would listen about the ridiculousness of these boots. I have sworn that I would never don those shoes on these feet (along with clear heeled stilettos).

I stand here, head down with my tail between my legs, wearing Christmas presented Uggs on my feet.

Yes, they are still ugly and ridiculous, but they are SO COZY and COMFY. (You should know. I'm a sucker for cozy and comfy.)

Head still down. However, this time not from shame, but from marveling at my new UGGS.

At least these are more "shoe" defined than the classic Uggs, which are still hideous. (I know, excuse making and straw gasping... back to shameful head hanging.)

THE NOIR SIDE

I have recruited new members into the VERONICA MARS fan club. Yesterday while spending quality time baking cookies with my brother, his fiancée and my two cousins, I coerced everyone into watching the first season of Veronica Mars.

By episode two, they were hooked.

As a filmmaker and a writer I love this series. The writing is clever and powerful. The characters have such depth and complexity, such human strengths and weaknesses. I admire how the character arc (for all characters) reveals itself episode by episode, allowing the characters believability in their development. The neo-noir style is perfect for the teen detective genre. The actors are marvelous at their craft (less one, but I will not point fingers. You can judge for yourself - reference to actor only applicable to season 1&2).

As a regular TV watcher, I love the plotlines. It combines the greatest of TV narratives: the trendy serial story arc and the TV touchstone of stand alone episodes. It makes for great syndication possibilities and great "choice" episode rewatching. It's not just one of those teen dramas that quickly become dated *sneeze-90210-sneeze*. It's more like Colombo (cult classic) or Seinfeld, a good "any era" type of TV watching.

I endeavour to share good filmmaking/television making with others. I love great story telling, and I must admit VM is by far one of the best TV story telling of the past three decades. I can say this with immense conviction because I am a TV whore. I've watched a lot of TV in my lifetime; my show knowledge is vast... I even regularly watch shows that are prior to my TV viewing era, and beyond my target demographic. I am the TV trivia champion (David would be the only other person who would come close to taking my title, but it would be a hard fought battle), so trust me on this one.

I hope I have enticed you to give this show a chance.

Tuesday 9pm SunTv - in the GTA only, check you local listing elsewhere.

See you on the Noir side.

ON THE EVE

"I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach."
- A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens

BE HAPPY, BE GRATEFUL, BE GOOD - OLD SAINT NICK IS COMING TONIGHT!

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!

HE DOES EXIST!

Dearest Mr. Claus,

I hope all is well up there in the North Pole. I know it’s your busiest time of year and billions of other little girls and boys are writing to you, demanding gifts and such, so I will make this brief.

It is with much delight that I write to you. I would like to start by thanking you for granting a pre-Christmas wish that has been on my list since October. Thanks for ending my detention sentence a day and a half early! (Although I did ask for an earlier date than this… I’m not complaining, I’m just pointing out our miscommunication issue.) To aid in your endeavour in fulfilling the remaining portion of my wish list this year (without further mishaps) I will recap and include pictures for your reference.

I hereby tender my newly revised wish list:

1) A White Fendi Selleria handbagNOTE: An authentic one MADE IN ITALY, not a replica like last year’s Balenciaga Handbag MADE IN THE NORTH POLE. I know the elves make quality handbags, but it’s just not the same.

2) An Hermes Kelly bagNOTE: I know spending at this fiscal quarter for North Pole Inc. is at it’s maximum, but $6500.00 for a Kelly is not an unreasonable request.

3) A Gucci violet calf 'Bouvier' hoboNOTE: Yes, another handbag. There are 365 days in the year after all, and I only have a month’s worth of purses. That’s only 8.2% of what I should have.

4) Snow in Ski Resort Areas Only
NOTE: My paid lessons are going to waste without snow in the Snow Belt. Otherwise I’m very happy with the plus 7°C for winter in Toronto.

5) A Pony (the Andalusian variety... if we are being breed specific)

NOTE: I know we’ve talk about this before. But I’m much older now and I can take better care of a Pony. I won’t forget to feed it, like I forgot to feed Muffy the goldfish. I’ve been practicing my pet caring skills with a dog for two years now… and trust me, that dog has never missed a meal.

6) An open Roundtrip Business Class Plane Ticket to Fiji.
NOTE: Or any other Polynesian country.

7) Spending Money (must be given in combination with above wishes)
Note: To keep wishes 1, 2, 3 and 5 from being empty and to use as a bartering tool for wishes 4 and 6.

AND FINALLY… I wish for:

Peace on Earth, an end to world hunger and all that intangible warm hearted stuff that is on the list of all good girls and ALL Beauty Pageant contestants.

Sincerely Yours,

G.I.M.S

TREE TRIMMING

Spending tonight decoration our tree. David picked it out... it's a smaller than previous years' Evergreen. But at least it's not a Charlie Brown Christmas tree (that would have made me teary).

Pine Needles everywhere. But house smeels great.

The dog is very scared. She stares at it from a distance and sniffs the pine scented air. She's not sure what to make of this coniferous creation.

THE QUEEN CITY

Tomorrow, I'm going Christmas shopping in Buffalo. I'm definitely going to exceed the maximum allowance for my personal exemptions. I'll have to be creative with my purchases.

Shhhhhh! Don't tell the Canadian custom's officers.

COUNT IT DOWN!

After tomorrow, I have one more week to endure... then it's over! I say my farewells and leave the misery behind me.

Ten things I have taken from this experience:

10) A year supply of Xerox paper
9) Pretty colourful Post-Its and Highlighters
8) A cold, the flu and another cold (currently battling)
7) A bottle of non-alcohol Buckley's cough suppressant (Looks like arsenic, tastes like death, DOES NOT WORK and I can't even get a buzz off it!)
6) The Director’s parking spot
5) Production swag up the Wazoo (How many Production t-shirts can a girl wear?)
4) Coal miner's lung
3) An acquired taste for foot-in-mouth
2) A sharpening of my acerbic wit
1) The delicious feeling of vindication

AN EXTREME CHRISTMAS

Company Christmas parties and Gay men. These are today's topics.

Last Sunday David and I attended his company's Christmas celebration. In previous years, the company hosted a formal dinner at a lovely poshy place du jour. This year, having recently been bought out by American investors, the company decided to forsake the conventional sit down dinner and opted for a contemporary nightery finger food affair.

BIG MISTAKE!

A) Too few waiters carrying too few h'orderves.
B) One bar, three bartenders and thirty people in line for drinks.
C) Standing room only.
D) All this mayhem taking place on a Sunday night.

D MINUS!

The only glittery silver lining of the whole night was cabaret drag-travaganza, a variety of accomplished female impersonators lip syncing and dancing to lively songs. (Did I fail to mention that one of the new owners is gay?) I had my fill of eye candy with shirtless gay elves dancing around a drag Mariah Carey. It's the company's version of "The Nutcracker" with Sugar Plumb Fairies dancing about.

LOVED IT!

I love flamboyantly gay men, they appeal to my fun loving don't take yourself too seriously sensibility; and gay men adore me, clearly because I'm spunky, fiery and down right fabulous! (It's true! I've been told this on several occasions, and I believe every word of it.)

Have an EXTREME CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY!

Dear Diary... He asked me out!

Today David and I celebrate our 13th year anniversary. On December 11th, 1993 we went on our first date… dessert and a movie.

Thursday, December 9th, 1993 - G.S.H. Academy

HE ASKED ME OUT!!! He said, "Do you want to go check out a movie on Friday or Saturday?" When I got off the phone, I danced around my room. I'm so happy!

Saturday, December 11th, 1993 - G.S.H. Academy

David took me out for dessert before the movie (My Life). I had to make the first move with the handholding. He’s really shy.

When he drove me home, he didn’t even try to kiss me. I had to be aggressive and make the first move. I was determined to get a goodnight kiss out of him...

Yes, I am one of those girls, the ones who marry their high school sweetheart. Who would have predicted the outcome of a simple high school romance? Not me. At eighteen I thought, “What an antiquated notion, marrying your high school boyfriend.”

These lips wanted to kiss a number of frogs before finding price charming.

There are a lot of things that I would do differently, in retrospect, but marrying David is not one of them.

Happy “First Date” Anniversary to us!

PIXIE OR ELFIN?

Last Wednesday, on a whim, I made and appointment to get my hair cut. I was in desperate need of a new style.

A month ago I volunteered myself for a free haircut, given by my brother's girlfriend (an apprentice hair stylist at FIORIO, my salon of choice). It was trimmed from shoulder length to the nape of my neck.

Now, with the holiday season upon us, I wanted my hair to be more coiffed. So off to the salon I went.

I'm very secure with my hair and I'm definitely not a timid hair client, after all it is just hair. I sat in the chair and said, “Do what you think is best.”

Well, my security and hair sensibility were tested. I came out of the salon with the shortest hair I've ever permitted (I should rethink giving stylist free reign to my hair). It's short, it's very, very short, boy cut short. It's what one would call a "Pixie Cut". Although, I do love and appreciate that my “high fashion” hair is very low maintenance, the haircut is definitely going to take some getting use to.

I'm continually surprised at my own reflection.

Now, having five days to absorb the hair, or lack there of, I'm over the initial shock… or so I thought.

On my way home from work, I stopped by a Café to buy myself a gingerbread cookie ('Tis the season). The man behind the counter asked, "Boy or Girl?" For a split second I thought he was referring to me. But common sense prevailed and I quickly realized he was asking if I wanted a boy or girl gingerbread person.

I guess I still am a little sensitive about the new style.

SCENES FROM: The Subway

I have a stranger crush on "Joe". It's unrequited love, he doesn't even know I exist... BUT, I was made well aware of his existence today on the TTC.

My crush for him is not a physical one, he is not, by any stretch of imagination, beautiful. He is however, absolutely beatific and this crush is a pure metaphysical attraction. Here's why...

INT. SUBWAY CAR - MORNING RUSH HOUR

A dense throng of commuter charge into the subway car, each forced to circumvent a lone rider, JANE, who stands steadfast in the middle of the doorway.

JOE, mid-twenties. An over sized hooded sweatshirt, in lieu of a winter coat, covers his lean frame. Slouch fit jeans and heavy black boots finish off his hardened, aggressive image.

He stands among the morning commuters, watching the uncompromising Jane.

He takes two decisive steps toward her. Leaning forward, he stops his mouth a hair’s breadth away from her ear and utters sotto voce.

JOE
It’s not very helpful with you
standing there, is it?

Jane sucks in a nearly audible breath, but remains immovable.

She shifts her head to look at Joe, shooting daggers at him with her eyes. She turns away and proceeds to ignore him hovering behind her.

Joe stares at her for a moment, then returns to his FRIEND and begins whispering loudly.

JOE

It takes a certain level of conceit
and prerogative to obstruct the
doorway during rush hour.

Friend nods in agreement.

These hushed tones prick up the ears and shift the eyes of surrounding commuters, who witnessed Joe’s comment to Jane.

JOE (CONT’D)
Anyways, it’s not like I’m
insulting her for no reason.

I mean if you are not going to
remember your manners, you
shouldn’t even bother leaving
the house.

FRIEND
What if she’s on her way
to meet up with her manners.
Then she has to leave the house.

Joe and Friend laugh. Surrounding commuters smirk.

A scowl of humiliation crosses Jane’s face, but she pretends not to hear Joe and Friend.

She pulls her expensive cashmere coat tighter around herself and prepares to exit the train.

Joe, looks in her direction, determined to make a concerted effort to instill manners into Jane.

JOE
Maybe next time, you’ll remember
your manners like a big girl.

Jane exits the train, stands on the platform facing Joe and flips him “the bird”.

Joe and Friend laugh.

FADE TO BLACK.

No portion of this script may be performed or reporoduced by any means, or quoted or published in any medium without the prior consent of NEWIN FILMS INC.

I'm a stickler for manners, I grew up having it instilled in me. It's one of my finer qualities. It's also one of the qualities I find most attractive in men (once you get passed all the physical attributes, afterall, I'm not blind).

My "Joe crush" is because of this very reason, he said all the things that I was thinking and so much more. An articulate, manner-filled hard core rocker willing to disrespect the ill-mannered.

A great paradox wrapped in a boy for Christmas. Wishes do come true!

Disclaimer: The names have been changed to protect the innocent.... and the guilty... and because I never really heard any names mentioned. All dialogue remains unaltered, some actions may have been embellished for the sake of the story.

CHOOSE WISE WORDS

I am a word snob, English and foreign languages alike.

I like knowing the etymology and semantics of words, its origin, interpretation and relationship to other language form. This comprehension of words makes learning new languages manageable (I'm in the process of learning Spanish, understanding the relation of Spanish words to French, Latin or English makes it easier for me to remember).

The more I write, the more I find myself in a greater search for more succinct and precise usage of words. An endless search for the absolute perfect words to convey my thoughts or images flawlessly.

"Choose your words wisely", advice taken to heart in my writing and in my conversation.

Conversation, however, is always subjective, what you mean and what is interpreted are not always one in the same. Therefore, even in speech I often choose words that leave little room for misinterpretation. I mean what I say, and I say what I mean (but this doesn't mean that I always say what I think, for THAT would definitely get me into trouble).

"What do you mean?" and "Do you know what I mean?" are questions that are often heard in my dialogue with others. Regardless of my constant usage of these phrases, dimwits, who discard my query of comprehension, have often misinterpreted me.

Speech should not be an attempt to string some random words together in hopes of being understood. Recognize what you're saying and what others say to you. If you don't "get it", for god sakes, ask for clarification.

Long blog short: I'm tired of dealing with Idiots. I give up. You try; see if you can get any further than me.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

ON THE 1st DAY...

I've been waiting for this day with great anticipation. It's been circled on my calendar for months. (Well, not physically... I would have, if I had an actual calendar. BUT I've mentally circled it, in my cranium calendar.)

Why?

Beginning today, I can officially start telling everyone who crosses my path to have a HAPPY HOLIDAY and a MERRY CHRISTMAS! Starting today, I'm allowed to sing Christmas carols at the loudest volume my voice and neighbours will allow.

Any sooner than today, people give me funny looks and refuse to reciprocate the Christmas sentiment (this is not an assumption, it is a tried and tested certainty).

I’ve already begun reacquainting myself with that warm-merry Christmas feeling via downloaded Christmas music.

Christmas, it's everything I love all rolled into one holiday. Gift giving, Friends n' Family time, gingerbread and sugar cookies, cooking (Rumours to the contrary aside, I am a VERY GOOD COOK, I just don't do it very often), over indulging, TV specials, group singing, home decorating, Holiday parties, dressing pretty and SHOPPING!

Malls are over loaded with shoppers, but I don't care. No one in my family is fanatical about getting the latest gadgets or any must have item... so I'm free of gift giving restrictions. To some, this would be an annoyance; to me this is a great challenge, an annual treasure hunt with my own lyrical accompaniment.

Dashing through the Mall
In a rush to find a gift
Through the stores we go
Spending money swift.

Loved ones on your mind
Making spirits bright
Oh, What fun it is to seek and find
A perfect gift tonight! Aaay!

HAPPY SHOPPING, ONE AND ALL!

PRIZE WINNER

A few posts ago I challenged my readers with an obscure movie quote. As promised there is ten dollars awaiting the winner... but here's my dilemma... I'm not familiar with the winner and am in the process of trying to suss her out.

I'm truly flattered that she takes time to read the chronicles of my life and am considerably impressed that she's aware of GREASE II.

That's right ladies and gentlemen... GREASE II, Michelle Pfeiffer's finest work. Well, at least to a suburban kid in grade five, who believed Stephanie Zinone was the coolest chick around. The open mouth gum chewing, the tight black clothes and the satin pink greaser jacket, she was the epitome of "Bad-Ass-Cool" in my ten year old world.

I recorded Grease II on my dad's VCR and played the movie over and over until the magnetic strip wore thin. I listened to the soundtrack, walking to and from school, for two months straight. My friend Kelly and I would sing "Cool Rider" as we walked home. She boogied down the sidewalk to the Cool Rider choreography while singing at the top of her voice. I was too shy to accompany her in dancing, but not even on my very timid days could anyone stop me from joining in song.

Oh, the innocence of youth... where have you gone?

DARTH VADAR'S DAUGHTER

My current position at work requires me to spend hours in the day photocopying documents.

The production office is located in an ancient building with very poor ventilation systems and unfortunately for me, the photocopier is situated in a tiny room without any ventilation at all.

Due to my diligent work ethics, I have since developed mild migraines and a hideous photocopier’s cough.

Concerned with my health, my Department Head has since ordered a Hepa mask for me, to be worn when sequestered in the copier room. The mask is great, after two hours of being in this toxic environment I resurface without a headache or hacking cough.

However, when interrupted by coworkers who need to copy a sheet or two, the atmosphere is awkward and the discourse is strained. My voice, muffled, echoy and breathy. As I attempt to maintain a carefree conversation, all I can focus on is the knowledge that I look and sound like Darth Vadar’s daughter. (Sexy only to a Star Wars Geek.)

People can only maintain eye contact for a few minutes and then they quickly shift their eyes towards the ground, because looking at me is like staring at a kid trapped in a complete braces-n-headgear ensemble. You must look away quickly before the poor kid can see the pity and stifled laughter in your eyes.

Almost everyone at the office has made an effort to come in to copy "something" so they could take a mental picture of the Hepa mask girl.

In my vivid imagination, they all assemble at the water cooler, talking and laughing about the ridiculousness of my get-up.

To my knowledge this has not yet happened, but as a preemptive strike, I have made fun of myself and the mask, allowing my coworkers to openly mock and pity me.

It’s a good thing I don’t take myself seriously and have the ability to make others laugh at my own expense, or else this would be a truly traumatic experience.

Dear Diary... About David

Leading up to my 13th year "first date" anniversary with David, I will share excerpts from my diary about him, for fun and because I have a lot of time on my hands being confined to the house. (Like most girls, I don't just rely on my memory of high school , I have my diary to turn to for the cold hard FACTS - as perceived by me.)

November 12th, 1993 - G.S.H. Academy

David H., this guy from my business class, I saw him last Sunday and drove him home from the Library. We talked and now I'm totally comfortable with him...

We had an assembly on Thursday, I walked down (to the caf) with him and we ran into his friends. I assumed he'd leave to sit with them, so I quickly walked ahead to an empty bench. I heard David call from behind, "So where do you want to sit?"

That, I thought, was so sweet and unexpected of him. He's a really cute guy...
*
I got a fake telegram today, signed Peter (from Nancy and Ronny). David shouts, "Miss. popularity!"

We headed towards class and he projects such a bad attitude towards me. Strange, he's usually great and very friendly. "What's wrong?" I asked. "Tired," he replied. I totally didn't believe him, but I kept being "normal" and pretending not to notice his cold shoulder.

He finally gathered the courage to ask me about the telegram. I tell him the whole story (practical joke and backstory), he asked if there was anything going on with Peter and me. "NO WAY!"

Then all of a sudden, he became less tired...

TONIGHT, WE BOWL

Paulette

What are we gonna do tonight Johnny?

Johnny
Tonight, we bowl!

(I will send ten bucks to the first person who correctly guesses what movie that quote is from.)

A couple weeks ago (before sickness took up residence in my body) I had a chance to go on a dinner/bowling double date with my friend Alison. I had a wonderful time.

After a frustrating workweek, you cannot discredit the healing power of a two-hour session at the local bowlerama.

I have several ways I like to work out my pent up frustration.

1. Write
2. Lose myself in a good movie
3. Boxing Classes (which I no longer go to since it has been scheduled at a very inconvenient time)
4. Bowl

Bowling ought to rank highly on the anger management list of things to do. A heavy ball and a lot of anger, a very dangerous combination to ten mocking pins. It definitely gets the hate out. There is something so satisfying about taking my “made for kids” eight pound ball, hurling it down the alley and rejoicing in the ball-pin contact.

Although only once did I get a strike and only twice a spare.

David said that I should work on my ball hurling technique.

I choose instead to use this opportunity to exercise and master my Psychokinesis. Willing my eight pounder not go gutter-side. Willing the pins to drop despite lack of contact. My awesome mind power worked… occasionally. (I need more practice)

While I was working on my psychical powers, David opted for mystical sorcery. He harnessed his magic into a fifteen-pound bowling ball and was unbeatable after that.

We did not divulge our little paranormal accomplishments to our double date partners. Some things are best left unspoken.

INFLUENZA

Guess who didn't get her Flu shot this year?

Day 4 of Flu. Incoherent... Weak... Coughy... BLOGGING SICK DAY(S).

Will blog when body and brain begin to cooperate.

UPDATE:

I tried to go to work today (Monday, Nov 27th) and was sent home at noon. I'm tired of having the Flu, but I guess the Flu isn't tired of having me.

The plus side of being sick:

1. I've caught up on all two seasons of Veronica Mars. Having the backstory all in order allows me to fully internalize season three's character motivations. (Veronica Mars, Tuesday at 9pm on SunTv - a greatly written and well executed show!)

2. I have killer stomach muscles from hurling everything I eat and from fiercely coughing every five minutes for six days straight.

(And you thought I'd be the girl who always says the glass is half empty.)

COUNTRY WASN'T COOL

I would like to take this opportunity to divulge a BIG secret that I have been hiding for all these years. I LOVE COUNTRY MUSIC.

I’m not referring to the new wave cross-over country/rock n’ roll music. I’m talkin’ about the uncool old-time, backwoods, honky-tonk country.

Songs featurin’ the good ol’ boys (Waylon Jennings, Hank Williams, George Jones, Kenny Rogers and Johnny Cash) and the famous female crooners (Dolly Parton, Patsy Cline, Barbara Mandrell, Loretta Lynn, and Tammy Wynette).

How is this possible? An urban fashionista, such as myself, swayin’ to music from the Deep South?

I wasn’t always an urbanite. When my parents immigrated to Canada, the government assigned the majority of Vietnamese refugees to Alberta, the Nashville of the North.

From the age of five, I grew up watching Hee Haw, Barbara Mandrell and the Mandrell Sisters, and The Dukes of Hazzard. Even Sesame Street was a little bit country with a Muppet called Polly Darton;

the show also included a slew of notable guest appearances by Crystal Gayle, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson.

I was young and impressionable.

At age nine, moving to Toronto, I quickly discovered “Country Music” was a pejorative term with the city slickers. I was country when country wasn’t cool. So, I relegated myself to being a closet country fan. The best thing about lovin’ old country songs is that you can put it away for years and comeback to it without ever having to update your collection.

I have a kooky knack for turning ANY song (including hip-hop songs) into a country song. I particularly like doing this when driving in the car with David, because it amuses him. Yes, we have established the fact that I am a BIG NERD; I’m just giving you more ammunition to justify calling me one to my face.

So why am I admitting this now? I don’t really know. Maybe because I vehemently denied it to a coworker who loves country (although, she likes new country), maybe because it’s safer to do it in a blog than to personally affirm my penchant for Country. It’s like a confessional, only to a lot of people (all 9 of my readers) all at once.

So now that it’s all out in the open, I’d like to acquaint you to my country and share with y’all a track list of my homemade mix tape for your researching pleasure.

Good Old Boys (Dukes of Hazzard Theme) – Waylon Jennings
I Was Country When Country Wasn't Cool – Barbara Mandrell
Sweet home Alabama – Lynard Skynard
I Never Promised You A Rose Garden – Loretta Lynn
Coward of the County – Kenny Rogers
Ghost Riders in the Sky – Johnny Cash & Willie Nelson
There’s a Tear in my Beer – Hank Williams Sr.
Jolene – Dolly Parton
Gambler – Kenny Rogers
Mamas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys – Waylon Jennings
The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia - Vicki Lawrence
You are my Sunshine – Hank Williams Sr.
Jackson – Johnny Cash & June Carter Cash
Crazy- Patsy Cline
A Boy Named Sue – Johnny Cash
White Lighting – George Jones
Island in the Stream – Kenny Rogers & Dolly Parton

Find the songs, listen to the songs, give it a chance. Live a little! Do it, everyone else is! It's harmless, I promise.

TODAY, WE PAINT

Today I reside in D.I.Y limbo. Lots to do, not enough time in the day.

I have ended my home makeover procrastination and have commenced to convert a spare bedroom into my office. I will finally be able to get my computer and writing resources off the dinning room table.

I have guilted my youngest brother and his girlfriend into helping me with my D.I.Y projects this weekend.

1. Paint the office
2. Assemble the Ikea office furniture
3. Sand the stairs and banister
4. Paint and stain the stairs and banister

Okay, before you get on my case about "slave labour". May I inform you that this is all VERY MINOR payback for all the sleepless nights I have lost over a vast amount of brain drain from above mentioned brother.

It all started innocently with his grade six valedictorian speech. A speech that left not a dry eye in the house, written by... me, his Ghostwriter. Since then, we (I write, he submits) have been getting A's on all our writing assignments. Not only do I have a B.A. in Political Science, I also (by proxy) have a B.Comm. in ITM.

Upon his University graduation, one would assume that I have expunged my ghostwriting career. Well we all know what happens when one assumes. ASS-U-Me ('nuff said).

Hence, the guilt.

But, what about his poor innocent girlfriend? Surely the slave labour thing is a bit too much to bestow upon her.

My reply in six poignant little words: I let her cut my hair ('nuff said).

Today, we paint.

THE TRUTH SURFACES

A couple posts ago I blogged about a flowery surprise. I dismissed my initial suspicion (I was saturated with pleasure at the time), but my skeptical nature reign supreme over my cheery outlook.

I questioned the motive behind my beautiful bouquet.

"Just Because" was the response.

A very unsatisfactory answer. So I dig relentlessly until I uncovered the truth.

Truth: He's leaving me for three days, at the end of November, to go to a football game in Boston. The rest of the explaination was a blur, something about Bears and Patriots, a fifty yard line and an NFL hook-up.

It appears that the tickets to the game will be my Christmas gift to him.

Moral of this story: Flowers are wonderful to receive but never take them at face value.

11th HOUR, 11th DAY, 11th MONTH

As the years pass more and more of our war veterans die and with them the personal stories of the world’s most tragic events. Lest we forget.

A brief history lesson supersedes:

On the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, Canadians are asked to stop and give thought to the thousands of war veterans, peacekeepers and civilians who sacrificed their lives fighting for freedom. The significance of the date is to highlight the end of WWI, November 11, 1918. (Imaginably, at a time when the collective commonwealth believed that this would be our first and only World War.)

On this day Canadians are also commemorating the 60th anniversary of D-Day and the Battle of Normandy, where Canadian troops suffered 18,444 casualties. Among them, 5021 were killed. Of all the divisions which formed part of the 21 Army Group, none suffered more casualties than the 3rd and 2nd Canadian.

It was a huge sacrifice – and a huge factor in turning the tide of the war against Hitler's Germany.

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders Fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

- John McCrae, 1915

The poppies bloomed across some of the worst battlefields of Flanders in World War I. Canadian Lt.-Col. John McCrae was driven to pen the poem In Flanders Fields on sighting the poppies growing beside a grave of a close friend who had died in battle.

Today, I will be thinking of the soldiers who fought and all the Canadians continuing peacekeeping missions throughout the world.

Let us not forget their past sacrifices. Peace.

SOFTER-GENTLER MIEN

This evening was one of the most mundane yet truly delightful evenings I’ve spent in the city in a long time.

In heavy mist filled night air, the city possesses a softer-gentler mien.

I chose to walk to the Union Bus Terminal from the Eaton Centre. A seven block walk, full of simple pleasures, down the longest street in the world, Yonge Street.

1. The Hudson’s Bay Company is preparing for the unveiling of their Holiday window display. I’m giddy with anticipation.
2. Sharing a smile and a dollar with a homeless person.
3. Passing by a Brasserie, observing people enjoy scrumptious food and conversation.
4. Strolling down Yonge St. on a November night with temperatures around 11 °C. (52 °F)
5. Mentally replaying the day peppered with laughter and sheer nonsensical conversation.
6. Drinking a delicious strawberry-banana smoothie for dinner.
7. Being by myself in the city, yet not feeling lonely.

Most mundane, yet truly delightful.

FLOWERS!

Contributing to my delightful evening… David surprised me with flowers.

Hmm… satisfied or suspicious?

I choose satisfied!

GREAT JUMPING JEHOSAPHAT

When my brother and his fiancée asked me if I wanted to be a bridesmaid, it wasn't exactly an offer I could refuse (actually, I did once, but he’s my brother and love overcame irritation). On June 16th, 2007, I will be walking down the aisle as a brides-matron (brides-matron sounds so homely, but I can’t truly call myself a bridesmaid, I’m married).

Yesterday, the plans were set in motion, bridesmaid dress shopping.

The boundaries given to me for this dress search was: one common style in the colour Purple.

This shopping expedition brought back memories of my own quest for the elusive “perfect prom dress”. Only this time, I did not get to make the sole decision; it was a hunt for a unanimous selection.

Five girls, five differing body types, seven dress styles, one affordable dress and one particular bride-to-be, the odds were stacked against us.

I wanted to choose something not hideous, and perhaps a dress that would be voluntarily wearable again on subsequent occasions.

I’m very particular in my way of formal dressing. I gravitate toward simple timeless elegance. No ruffling, no swooshing, no gathering, no unnecessary detailing and nothing too boring, in a complimentary colour. Easy right?

Seven dresses were pulled off the racks. Three girls modeled, excluding myself. None of these dresses screamed “MUST HAVE”. One dress was agreeable, but only on a must compromise and make-the-bride-happy basis (for me anyway).

Then suddenly, “THE” dress floated towards us, swaying elegantly on the hanger in the hands of a sales associate. A dress I would have chosen for myself, barring any other influences. Three girls modeled, including myself. I loved the fit on the other girls and I loved the fit on me.

Great Jumping Jehosaphat, we all agreed on one dress, at the very first store… and we were allowed to get it in BLACK!!!

Huge sigh of relief.

So now what? Now we price shop.

SPACEY & CRUELLA

For a brief moment last night I was Kevin Spacey, an undercover operative posing as a Parliament Page. No fancy espionage type outfits for this undercover operative, I was camouflaged in white blouse, navy blazer, dark gray pants and ugly (yet comfortable) black shoes.

I was running, literally running, all over the Capitol complex delivering messages to MPs, assisting the Key House Speaker, Clerks and other House officers in the Chamber, all the while trying to uncover a spy (thank god for the ugly, yet comfortable, shoes).

I was transporting legislative documents and having to crawl through doggy doors (dream foreshadow) and venting shafts to get between Congressional offices.

I overheard the Minister of Natural Resources, Cruella de Vil (literally), talking about using skins of the Pages to produce fabric.

That was my mission? I was to stop Cruella de Vil from kidnapping Pages for their skin?

Hmm… I smell dream plagiarism.

Did I succeed? I don’t know… I woke up after that discovery.

I hate unresolved dreams. I’m going back to bed.

PLASTIC PRINCESS

I missed out on seeing all the neighbourhood kids dressed up for Halloween. Our neighbourhood is small and secluded, so making the rounds in this area would only take an hour.

I got home at 8:30, no more children and no more candy.

I miss going out in costume, begging for candy. I love Halloween.

Being immigrants, my parents never really understood the full concept of Halloween. While other children had elaborate homemade costumes I had this…

To this day I can recall the smell of that plastic mask, the build up of breath-drawn-moisture that would collect inside, and the way that flimsy rubber band pulled at my hair. I would run door to door with my tunnel vision, mask securely encasing my face, barely audible as I shouted “Trick or Treat”.

That costume was so uncomfortable, so unsafe, yet so coveted. I was six years old and I was extremely ecstatic to be a plastic princess.

I as grew older, my brothers and I were left up to our own devices in regards to Halloween costumes. Our unoriginal Halloween dress-ups were accomplished with a quick rummage through our closets. We never had complicated costumes.

My brothers (each):

Baseball Player – 8 x
Girl – 2 x
Hobos – 6 x

Other than a princess and a witch, I don’t remember any of my other Halloween costumes… Oh wait, there was this one time when I was a 1970’s porn star… but that wasn’t until years later in the dress-up game, when slutty became the new scary.

MISSIONARY

Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m blogging about the propagator not the position.

Late Thursday evening, as I was enjoying my privately chauffeured transit ride home (truthfully, there was one other passenger on the bus, but he was tucked away in the back), three young (19-20ish) men encroached on my exclusive ride. They were very well groomed and decked out in suit-n-tie.

Mormons.

Immediately, they engaged in their divide n’ conquer tactic. It’s funny how at ease I was with them commandeering the bus. Surely, I would have been put on edge by this action with any other trio of boys.

As each of the boys pursued a conversation with, the bus driver, the other passenger and myself, I couldn’t help but smile at the play that was unfolding before me.

He politely asked how I was, where I was coming from and where I was going. I openly told him, playing the part that was scripted for me. We made small talk as the bus rolled on. In between our conversational pauses I overhead segments of the other conversations, the same questions were being answered.

At this moment I decided to adlib, I wanted to deviate from the predictable script that lay before me.

“Are you Mormon?” I asked.

He was thrown, but only for a moment. He nodded.

It was my turn to control the direction of this conversation. I became the interviewer.

He was from Utah, one year into his two-year mission, the boy with the bus driver was six months in and the boy at the back was a year in. He learned Spanish for his mission. He’d been to Mexico once, on a family trip, but was not fluent in the language then. He was “called to service” after his first year of University, and he would return upon completion of his mission.

I could hear talk of scripture and God emanating from the back.

I was open to conversation, but I was not open to aggressive proselytism.

I believe that everyone has the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion. However, I do not believe the bible (or any other Religious Resource) should be used a weapon against people's differing beliefs.

I am fully aware of my rights - The International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights Article 18 states: No one shall be subject to coercion which would impair his freedom to have or to adopt a religion or belief of his choice.

I pulled out my trump card, Elder Schulzka, my distant familial connection, through marriage, to the Mormon religion. The subtext of the Schulzka conversation was to make my new acquaintance aware that I understood his religious beliefs, respected his religious beliefs, but would not be converting to his religious beliefs.

Here’s my motto on religion: Don’t tell me that I’m going to hell, and I won’t tell you that you’ll be reincarnated into a worm.

I shook his hand and wished him good luck on his mission. I realized how impossible being a missionary would be in a metropolis like Toronto. I’m not saying that what he is doing is fruitless, just extremely difficult.

I felt for him, he was a very nice boy.

FEEL LIKE DANCING?

On a night out with the Girls, heading downtown, we were going south for some SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY. We, a DANCING QUEEN, a WILD THING, and a NAUGHTY GIRL, were ready to have some GOOD TIMES, so we called up our INFORMER and asked him, “WHERE’S THE PARTY AT?”

“Head into FUNKYTOWN”, He instructed, “You’re sure to have a WILD NIGHT, IN DA CLUB.”

WE LIKE TO PARTY, so we agreed to CHECK UP ON IT and HUNG UP. We filled the car with GASOLINA and headed off with a roar.

On our short road trip, we took a wrong turn. I’m not sure where we went wrong. Perhaps it waasss a right turn past the LONDON BRIDGES and not a left. We realized that we were in trouble when we passed a graffiti sign, which read: WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE.

Suddenly, I DON’T FEEL LIKE DANCING.

We pulled over, unaware of the danger surrounding us, I’m talking about the kind of danger that was GONNA MAKE YOU SWEAT.

The street was teaming with PROMISCUOUS girls. One of these girls approached our car. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM! Her DIRRTY, CRAZY bony hands slammed on the window. She told us that she was, THE ROCKAFELLER SKANK, and this was her territory. “I ain’t looking for no more girls, especially a NASTY GIRL like you, so move.”

We were insulted and WE’RE NOT GONNA TAKE IT.

"Oh, IT’S GOING DOWN, ‘cause I am definitely a HOLLABACK GIRL." I got out of the car, mustered up the RED NECK WOMAN in me, shouted, “MOVE THIS,” and took a swing at her. She hit the ground hard, I won.

However, I didn’t see her sidekick come at me from the behind. Fortunately for me, my friends did. As they demonstrated their ass-kicking ability, and ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST. Looking around we knew that we would soon be out numbered, so we BUST A MOVE and speed off, RIDIN’ DIRTY, still determined to not let that showdown be our LAST DANCE.

We FINALLY navigated our way towards Funkytown and into the club.

Some might ask if it was worth the trauma, just to express your L.O.V.E. for dancing.

I say, there are times in your life when, GROOVE IS IN THE HEART and YOU HAVE TO FIGHT FOR YOUR RIGHT (TO PARTY).

FOUR UNCOMPLICATED WORDS

I’ve been sick for the past 10 days, can’t seem to shake this cold-flu-whatever-it-is. I’m weak, I’m delirious and I’m grumpy. So, with the state of my disposition clarified I am now free to make my blogging demand (be grateful… the word is d-e-m-a-n-d, and not demand-plural).

YOU READ, YOU COMMENT!

Otherwise, you are no better than the perverted peeping tom spying on my life behind some rancid dumpster, or that degenerate who steals my underpants at the Laundromat, or the psychopath who covertly takes photos of me downblousing.

Tsk, tsk, tsk. You need serious clinical treatment. How can you live with yourself?

If this is not your intention or you are unfamiliar with my blogging rule, let me repeat it. “You read. You comment,” one very simple rule, four uncomplicated words. I’ll even make it easier for you. You don’t have to comment on every post, perhaps every other post or you could get into the habit of commenting once a week. I also read old posts’ comments, so feel free to comment on my previous publication.

Just think of it like summer camp, like the time you carved “______ (fill in the blank with your name) was here, 1988”, but instead of a knife and the wooden post of a bunk bed, you have a keyboard and the blank space on the comment link.

Don’t forget to leave your name, or your moniker, so I can rescind you from the pervert watch list.

Thanks for reading my delirious ramblings and indulging my high maintenance blogging expectations. As I head to my sick bed I leave you with these nine words, together they make a phrase (gotta love linguistics).

“This is not FREE entertainment, you read, you comment.”

P.S. Massive SHOUT OUTS to those first time readers who were gracious enough to follow the rules, and to my long time readers who faithfully comment. You make a girl want to rant on for your enjoyment.

THE NEXUS

A really wonderful Production Accountant once told me, "Production Accounting is the nexus between the dream and the reality."

Grateful to know I'm not the lone artist in a conservative department. Thanks Greg E.

HER SPECIAL DAY

Today would have been her 63rd birthday, but she did not live long enough to see her 61st. She waved goodbye on May 14th, 2004 and departed to a place where cancer could not cling.

She was my cheerleader, my confidant and my friend. I was fortunate to have known her for the last 10yrs of her life. I love her dearly and miss her greatly.

Happy Birthday Jackie.

GOOD WITH NUMBERS

“You’re good at Sudoku cause you’re Asian.” She says.

“So?”

“Your people invented it, you’re all good with numbers.” She replied.

She was racially stereotyping me because:

A) She has limited experiences with Asians
B) She is overtly racist
C) She’s incredibly ignorant
D) All of the above

I waved her off, not caring to correct her erroneous conclusions about Asians, which I’m positive she gathered from watching “my people” being portrayed in the media (huge bone of contention).

For her information: I’m good at Sudoku, because I like solving logic puzzles, not because I’m good with numbers.

Case in point: This week at work, it took the Payroll Accountant three tries on three separate occasions to get me to understand the mathematics involved in calculating the background performers’ payment. (It's really harder than it sounds. My head was spinning for hours, but I finally got it… Yay me!) Production accounting was supposed to be logical, not mathematical… someone lied to me!

I hate math. In fact, there are numerous high school journal entries pleading to the Numbers God to bless me with the brains to understand math, or at least let me scrape by with a passing grade. It never happened. I hate math.

GROWING OLD...

… but not grown up. On my 32nd birthday I stand unsure of where I should be seated… at the grown-up table or at the kids table. I know at age 32 I am technically a woman, but emotionally I am not ready to commit to full fledged adulthood. I live in this schizophrenic world where I am both woman and girl, at any given moment I will vacillate between both personalities.

I am a girl when I dance and sashay in bare feet, a woman when I mingle and saunter in heels.

In the mornings, my weary bones whispers woman. In the evening, my flannel pajamas screams girl.

A girl when I play, fight and cry. A woman when I work, argue and comfort. Both when I laugh, forgive and write.

I am a girl reminiscing about the past, a woman planning for the future and both living in the present.

Happy Birthday: Girl, Woman… Me.

SMART AND POLITE

I work in a really seedy part of town. In the daylight it appears harmless, but under the cloak of night the creeps come out to play.

Leaving work at 7:45, I knew that I wasn’t going to escape the darkness, but I thought I’d just to keep moving to keep the darkness from getting too close. Brilliantly, I made a safety call to my brother and swiftly walked myself two blocks to a busier, well-lit intersection, where I’d be much safer… or so I thought.

I noticed a young homeless man eyeballing me and eavesdropping on my conversation. Immediately, I switched to Vietnamese (at this moment I am very thankful for knowing another language) informing my brother of this creepy man. At this point, I’m in a real panic to get on the streetcar and abandon this uneasy situation... but that would be too convenient. I continue talking to my brother, this time, telling him exactly where I am, what I’m wearing and the exact route I plan on taking home. If anything were to happen to me at least they would know where to start looking.

Creepy man initiated contact.

Social norm dictates that when a person is on the phone it’s rude to interrupt. Correct? Wrong, apparently this etiquette only exists in my Miss-Manners-World.

“Do you have a token you could give me?”

I took a mental picture: Late twenties, early thirties. Black Runners. Dark Jeans. Trench coat (OH MY GOD… isn’t a trench coat the uniform for flashers, killers and rapists), an over-sized backpack (to carry his arsenal of weapons, of course) and biking gloves (GLOVES… no finger prints… OH SHIT).

“No, I don’t. Sorry.” I did not want to encourage a relationship based on a kind act. I was not feeling kind; I was feeling scared and awkward. Yet, I was still pleasant and polite. I didn’t want to offend him. After all, I did not want to be the headline on the evening news: RUDE GIRL GETS MANGLED AND KILLED.

Streetcar arrives, phone conversation over. Creepy man can’t get on without a token. I am safe… or so I thought.

He’s on.

I sit up front close to lots of people. (Well, four plus the driver… it was late. Sane and safe people get to leave work at a decent hour.) He heads to the back. Now, I’m safe… I was wrong… again.

He returns, without backpack.

“What’s your name?

I stare at him blankly.

Internal voice: Don’t give him your real name. Quick, think of something: Ingrid, Sophie, Jane… anything, just DON’T GIVE HIM YOUR REAL NAME. “Uh… Anna.”

Internal voice: Anna? You Idiot.

“Where are you going?”

Internal voice: Answer him. Keep it general. Be smart, not rude. “North.”

Internal voice: Ha, opposite direction confusion… smart and polite.

“North? Hmm?”

Internal voice: Hmm? Hmm, what? Hmm, you can read my mind and you know I’m lying? Hmm, it doesn’t matter which way I go cause you follow me anyway, and do bad things to me in a dark cornered recess… that kind of Hmm?

“I’m going to Spadina.”

Internal voice: Is he saying that to me because I’m Asian? Does he think this will bring us closer… because he’s headed to towards Chinatown we should be friends? “That’s nice.”

“I should eat this,” He proceeds to pull out a mint from his pocket. “To keep my breath smelling good, for when I kiss the girls.”

Inwardly, I grimace.

Internal voice: OH MY GOD! I don’t like where this conversation is going… Stop this conversation.

But instead, I smiled that polite half-smile that indicates, ‘I'll humor you so you won’t kill me’ and say, “That’s nice of you.”

Internal voice: What’s up with this ‘nice’ business? There’s nothing 'nice' about this whole situation, stop saying 'NICE'.

Uncomfortable silence.

“UUGGHH, Oh shit.”

Internal voice: What, What? I was ‘nice’, no reason for him to go off like this. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! “What’s wrong?”

Internal Voice: What are you doing? Stop talking to him. Move seats. Yell out to the driver. Stop talking to him!

“My backpack, I left it back there!” And with that, he ran to the back of the streetcar and never returned.

I ran off the streetcar, happy to be safe. SAVED BY A FORGOTTEN BACKPACK!

I'M THANKFUL FOR...

…my brother and his fiancé’s wonderful thanksgiving get-together. (Thanks Mike and Andrea) The dinner satisfied my turkey craving and the company was delightful. Reuniting with my brother’s friends, whom I hadn’t seen in a long time, was wonderful. I laughed so hard my face hurt. (Thanks Nancy, Morgan, Kelly, Jen, Cliff and Janet)

…holiday gatherings with my in-laws. This year’s get-together has dramatically changed, with Manny and Vidal’s marriage in July we are now a blended family. The usual six has now become nine. The abundance of food was delicious (Thanks Vida, Vanessa and Dad) and the company was lively. (Thanks Vida, Dad, Vanessa, Bijan, Dan, Cody, Mike and David)

…my mother’s strength. Even through her own turmoil she’s always able to lend an ear, a shoulder, a tissue and a warm embrace.

…my pre-birthday dinner celebration. (Thanks Mom, Dad, Chris, Jen, Mike and Andrea)

…my husband and my life.

FREE HUGS

Hugs. It's the most intimate way to connect with someone platonically. I love getting and giving hugs.

Here is my free hug to all my readers.


There are days when a free hug is all you need to chase the storm clouds away. Come back here if you ever need another hug.

CANADA'S GIVING THANKS

Thanksgiving, Canadian style.
(early October, not late November)

I'm excited for turkey! However, I'm hearing whispers around town that there might not be a turkey this Thanksgiving... THE HORROR! I'm sincerely sad at the possibility of not having a turkey.

I've never been one to abandon the Thanksgiving Day tradition of turkey, but this year I'm at the mercy of others. Two dinners invites and the turkey is not guaranteed.

I have certain turkey cravings and need my cravings satisfied damn it!

My brother and I once announced a craving for turkey one late April evening. Fortunately for us, my parents' freezer was housing the coveted turkey. Unfortunately for us, we were up until 1:30am cooking the coveted turkey. We were finally feasting on the flightless bird at two in the morning. It was, BY FAR, the best turkey I have ever eaten.

PEOPLE PERSON

An open letter to my insolent coworker:

Dear Oppressive Coworker,

Your presence has poisoned my work environment and I can no longer stand idle in the mist of this pollution, muzzled by my politeness. I am writing this letter to you, in a quest to free myself of all your negative energy.

Allow me to begin by saying that I have put forth a valiant effort to tolerate your malice, but how far must I bend before I break?

You have caused me to hate my job with a loathing generally reserved for baby killers and people who kick puppies.

I see the pained expression on you face when you are giving me instructions. I apologize if my inexperience with your division is causing you such discomfort, but YES, you have to deal with training me on something you have been doing for twenty years and, YES, I ask many questions when I’m confused. The questions may seem irrelevant or elementary to you but I need to know the details to do my job more efficiently.

Your demeaning statement, “I don’t need you to understand it, I just need you photocopy it,” has truly revealed how resentful you are of my attempt to acquire knowledge and how fearful you are of being outed as a SIMPLETON. You can attempt to maintain your know-it-all charade, but I see you for what you really are, which is ignorant.

You will not change me. I see this world with eyes of a curious child, in my mind continuing questions of why's and how's. You will not crush me. I will not let you douse my flames of knowledge with your venom of ignorance. I am not the cause of your misery. If you are unhappy, YOUR conduct is the cause. So suck it up, stop treating me like the bitch who is trying to jeopardize your job, and help me learn this crap already!

We are truly different creatures you and I, we do not speak the same language, causing continual misunderstandings. Clearly this is my fault, the next time that I have failed to do something you NEVER ASKED ME TO DO, I will remember to remind you that I flunked out of psychic school.

I will maintain a positive outlook and do whatever it takes to push through this undesirable working condition. I will attempt to endure my time with you a while longer, even if that means staying perfectly quiet all day while chanting to myself “I’ll be out of here soon. I’ll be out of here soon. I’ll be out of here soon.”

We only have two more months and then I can make a clean break from the rat-infested squalor housing your soul. I will smile politely and bid you farewell, secretly hoping that our paths will never cross again.

Sincerely,

Me.

P.S. When you have to ask someone if you are a “people person”, chances are the answer is a blatant NO!

"Girls are taking over!"

I stumbled on this article today and am truly excited over this revelation:

"Society's pressures have created a new ideal female. Nerdiness -- caring about school -- is now mandatory for the cool female, along with the typical desired traits of attractiveness and sociability. Instead of the movies' airhead cheerleader as the popular campus queen, in the modern day, the admired female is smart, concerned about school and active in achieving her success."

Fellow Nerd Girls Kick Ass!

BLIND DATE

I started my new job last week with such anxiety and trepidation.

Why, you ask? Not usually my style, you say.

Not to worry, it wasn’t the: Can’t Sleep at Night Tossing and Turning, Anx-Trepid variety, it was more like the: Butterflies in Stomach Blind Date, kind. You know the one I’m talking about, the one with the unrelenting questions swirling around your head: What’s he going to look like? Am I going to get along with him? Will this be fun?

Well…

“He” looks good, all stylish and glossy with lots of money to throw around. No more scrimpy and saving for essentials. Whatever my little heart desires to make me comfortable, he provides. He’s attractive and alluring… he’s got all the right people working for him… high caliber specialists, they are. I read his script… it was sweet and tender. He’s got talent.

He promises to put my name up in lights for all my efforts and dedication (or at least rolling credits on the big screen). How courteous. I think I’ll get along with him just fine.

And the fun bit? I intend to have fun. I’ve put in a lot of hard work and long hours on this date, but he’s made it real easy by surrounding me with interesting and lighthearted people (all but one... who was sent by SATAN). Yes, I do believe this date is headed towards Fun City.

OH...HOW NICE.

Day 2 of my new job and I received some rather newsworthy information... I am working on a movie starring Ryan Gosling.

The thirty-one year old me replied, "Oh... how nice." The twelve year old me, was hollering, dancing and jumping around for hours.

SAY GOODNIGHT SADIE

Good Night Sadie.

It's a wrap on our third and final season of "Naturally Sadie". To all the people whom I have had the privilege of getting to know while working on the series: I will miss you.

Deep sigh... I get completely melancholic when confronted with an ending... but on the UPSIDE (a cheerful, boisterous and inebriated upside), a few pictures from our wrap party:

By the end of the night my body was entirely made of vodka. Mmm...GOOD TIMES!

DANGER:SHARKS IN MIAMI

During the past several seasons the Florida gulf began to emit a distinctive fishy odor. This smell is due to the unusual number of sharks circling the Miami waters. Is this shark activity in Miami really that unusual, you ask? Well, no. Not if a particular Miami television series has been rigorously preparing to jump the shark.

For a while now, CSI: Miami has been on the verge of shark jumping, with its unnatural characters (Horatio Caine, Eric Delko, Ryan Wolfe), unintelligent dialogue (Horatio Caine: Justice is not yours to dispense, and now you're going to pay for it), and unconvincing plotline: (is it plausible for a gorgeous girl like Marisol Delko to marry an emotionless, gingered hair, know-it-all like Horatio Caine).

Well last Monday, the show finally took the plunge with its fifth season premier episode. BIG SHARK JUMP! Commencing with a ill-plotted Brazilian storyline (to show off the show's access to foreign locales and visual treatment).

The show is beyond stylized. The colors are over-saturated and artificial, causing distracting visuals and unnatural skin texture (re: close ups of Horatio Caine’s cringe worthy face). The over use of slow motion, CSI: Miami is plagued by the irritating and ineffective use of this film technique (slow motion should be used to highlight important moments, not to highlight Horatio Caine’s facial mobility). The obtuse and unnecessary use of split screen, rupturing any illusion of reality. (CSI MIAMI is a police procedural series about forensic scientists, isn’t REALITY an important element to the show?)

But the biggest shark jump on CSI: Miami is by far the serie's emphasis on Horatio Caine (David Caruso). He is one of the most uncharismatic characters in primetime television. He has an abnormal need to wear sunglasses indoors, and a compulsive urge to rip them off and awkwardly pose mid sentence. (Blame the director) The character also imparts an incredibly uncomfortable stance with added neck bend to accentuate his laughable dialogue. (Blame the actor) Dialogue that is purely composed of clichés and bad expositions, the info-dump uttered by Horatio Caine to his subordinates is insulting. (Blame the writers) One would think that to work in a forensic lab, of the show’s caliber, one would know a little something about the crime and procedure. Apparently not!

These jump-the-shark elements have finally convince me that the show has fundamentally and permanently strayed from its original crime fighting allure. It is a desperate and futile attempt to keep viewers like me from the drifting towards more innovative and intelligent shows competing for my attention.

NOTE: To my faithful reader who do not watch CSI:MIAMI, be thankful.

PALMAE

I am daydreaming, as images from my screensaver flash before my eyes, tropical island vistas.

I look at a palm tree and feel strangely at home, strange because I've lived in Canada since I was 4yrs and 11 months old.


My last Palmae visit was in November 2005, with my lovely co-workers.


I’m jonesing for another trip.