It Has to Get Better Than This...

It's been two long years since I last made a blog entry. I have spent so much time waiting for something good to happen; something worth 'blogging' about and I have realized I have been thinking and going about it the wrong way. Blogging isn't like other social networking sites where you are only trying to put your best foot forward with your prettiest selfies, highlights of fun social events and public displays of affection so everyone knows how happy and in-love you are.

Blogging is introspection. It is the gritty, real-life experiences that make a worth-while blog and a blog worth reading. It is the therapy of putting (non-literal) pen to paper and mapping out your thoughts and hopefully you open a window for other people to reflect and learn from your mistakes and if your lucky, they might have some useful advice or perspective. My dream was to have a witty, illustrated blog that was fun to read and jam-packed with sarcastic humour. I just don't have that in me right now.

This past year has been the hardest year of my entire life. It has been a year of transition and heartbreak and continues to be a roller-coaster I just can't seem to get off of. For the most part my journey has been partly reflected on Facebook, though it isn't really an outlet for expressing the day-to-day and I try to limit the number of posts because you'll find your 'friend count' decreasing as people delete you for being the annoying user that floods their news feed.

In November of 2012 I used my life savings for Slimband weight loss surgery. This is not something that I advertise and I never planned on making it public knowledge, but considering everything that has happened since, it seems less important and I want other people to learn from my experience. Weight has been a struggle for me my entire life but more than anything, my decision was motivated by self esteem. Slimband promised a permanent solution to the problem of yo-yo dieting and worrying about every meal and every calorie. It was supposed to take the thought out of weight loss so that it would happen naturally and consistently and free my mind up to think about other things. The reality is a very different scenario. We will revisit this in a future blog entry. 

In May of 2013 I ended what would have been an almost 9 year relationship with the person I spent almost every day with since I turned 19 years old. This was the person I thought I would eventually marry and build a family with, however the reality (again) was something very different. After living together for two years and watching my relationship transition into a fraternal bond and more of a friendship, I worried that perhaps all relationships eventually turned into co-dependent friendships. I sought out friends in long term relationships and asked them how they felt about their partners after all the years spent together. The answers I got were inspiring and somewhat disappointing for me. People still felt in-love and attracted to their partners. They still maintained their independence and rejoiced at their time together. Romantic love was still alive in their worlds, while mine had been dead and buried for years. I realized that although we had connected well as young people (still teenagers), we had turned into very different adults and didn't relate well to each other anymore. I saw glimpses of what a real adult  romantic relationship could be and decided to risk everything for a shot at it. Despite fear of the unknown and possible failure, I took the risk of my life and walked out. I jumped in with both feet and have never looked back. I am now living with the love of my life and we have built a really healthy, mutually respectful and loving relationship together. The transition has been stressful and not without its' trials, but I am happy where I am and would choose this path again. We have just moved into our second condo together and are picking out paint colours for accent walls.

On November 13th, 2013 I lost the other love of my life. My almost 10 month old Niece Aspen passed suddenly and unexpectedly while at daycare. She was the first and only baby in my very small family and I cannot describe the depth of this loss . Life has been a constant nightmare, waiting for answers that may never come and hoping against hope for justice. We were astounded by the overwhelming show of support from our friends and family. A service that should have been under 150 people (followed by a public visitation) turned into an overflowing chapel and improvised 'video room' service for nearly 400 people. With no strength for words at the service, we compiled photos and videos into a montage to paint the picture of this tiny life. Everyone viewing was wracked with sobs watching this perfect little angel laughing at books, smiling in the sun and running with her buggy. 

How does a family recover from something like this? The answer I get most often is: they don't. They become empty and jaded shells of their former selves until one day... they decide that life might still be worth living and you trudge on. In the meantime, I still feel like I am in an ocean fighting the current with wave after wave hitting me and not letting me catch my breath. There is no 'How To' guide on how to be a support system to loved ones facing such a loss. It is hit or miss. I struggle between bypassing the issue and offending when I think I am trying to help. I bring it up, only to cause my beautiful and strong sister to break down in a restaurant. I avoid, only to be told I should be in mourning  and should stop acting like nothing happened. I talk about my own struggles and am told I am insensitive or I become too forward and worry I am hurting more than I am helping. 

I know I am not alone in this. My sister told me an anecdote about being in a mall cafeteria with her husband on a Saturday morning. They were eating a meal in silence when my sister looked up and said "it has to get better than this..." in an attempt at morbid humour. Her husband broke down and wept while she scrambled to pick up the pieces. I think every day must be like that. A delicate balancing act between keeping it together and falling to pieces. We're like Jenga puzzles. Say the wrong thing; pull the wrong block and we come crumbling down around you.

Trigger (no pun intended) was my last game changer. The weekend of my Mom's birthday (November 11th) we searched Kijiji and found the perfect kitten for Aaron and I. I brought him home from Peterborough and we were instantly and passionately in love. Trigger was my first pet and represented a 'next step' in my relationship. Aspen died two days later. The weeks and months to follow were a blur, interrupted only by my intuitive kitten licking tears from my swollen eyes and cuddling me through every night and waking me during every nightmare with a soft paw on my face. He turned 6 month old and we made arrangements to have him neutered.

I got the call while I was at work. My vet- "I'm sorry, but there was a complication during surgery and Trigger's heart stopped. We were able to resuscitate him after around three to five minutes, but he still hasn't woken from the anesthesia. We're hoping that if you and Aaron come, he will hear your voices and come around". I hung up the phone and dropped to the floor wailing, while coworkers rushed to my side. My worst nightmare was happening again. The chances of a perfectly healthy 10 month old child's heart stopping with NO preexisting conditions is less than 1%. The exact same thing happening to a perfectly healthy kitten, previously screened for anesthesia allergies is less than 1%. I was struck by lightening twice in less than half a year.Another teary phone call to my mother, another rushed car ride to the hospital. Another broken heart. 

Aaron and I sat by his side while he lay comatose on an examination table for four hours trying to coax him awake. Most cats recover from anesthesia within 20-30 minutes following a procedure. Trigger did not wake up for nearly three days and when he did, it became apparent that he had suffered a traumatic brain injury while he was flat-lined. Aaron and I spent 6 weeks of sleepless nights, IV fluids, syringe feeding, daily vet visits, incontinence and physical rehabilitation before our vet told us that our Trigger would never recover.

 

We opted for euthanasia with broken hearts and shattered spirits until a late night phone call from our equally broken-hearted vet begging us to surrender Trigger to the clinic where they could place him in foster care for cats with brain injuries. We jumped at the opportunity to save the life of our sweet cat that had once offered me so much comfort in my time of need. He needed so much more care than we could offer (being mostly blind and mostly deaf and mostly incontinent), but he still showed promise to live a happy and fulfilled life if someone would be willing to provide him with the love and care he required. The foster family will not allow contact and my heart still aches with his loss, but my vet will text and call with occasional updates and photos and I know he is being well cared for.

Walking back into work in a daze, I did my job day in and day out and over time I noticed my health starting to fade. While I was being handed more work and more responsibility, I found I had less capacity to focus and get through my days. Migraines, nightmares, sleepless nights, vertigo, chronic 'feminine' medical conditions, back pain and an inability to keep down food. I went to my general practitioner and BAM- not cleared to return to work due to medical conditions aggravated by stress. What now?

all people deal with stress and grief differently, I guess. My sister warned that time alone away from work was the opposite of what she needed to cope. Work gives her purpose and sustains her, while her darkest days are the ones she is left to her own devices, alone with her thoughts. These days my thoughts alter between fear of becoming useless and bed-bound and trying to find productive and healthy ways to spend my time. I worry about my relationship. In a single year my fabulous (but relatively new) man has been through the ringer with me. I went from having everything: a perfectly happy and lovely family, a good job, a happy outlook and prosperous future to this. Now we are all broken with our eyes turned towards the past, my balance is precarious (I feel pessimism and often go from tears to anger) and my career is sidelined while I try to heal my mind and body. I hope he continues to stick it out with me, but this is more than I expect any one person to be able to contend with. 

In one year I will be 30 years old. Why is that number so scary? If I could paint a picture of my life, would it look anything like I thought it would? Probably not, but I am not so jaded that I still don't see the beauty in the small things. Just yesterday I went and got a memorial tattoo (my first one EVER) of an Aspen leaf on my foot. The heart-shaped leaf of the Aspen Tree will always remind me that we must tread lightly through life because it is delicate and could be swept away swiftly, as if carried on a summer breeze. As it whistles though the trees, I will look upon my foot and find a quiet peace...

When are you old enough to start feeling haggard? I had a moment the other day when I posted a profile picture on Facebook from my university days and someone commented "wow, you look so young here!". Was it really that long ago? (counts backwards) Hmmm. I am turning 27 in two weeks and decidedly had a moment with my mirror to inspect the damage. I have wrinkles. Smile lines. Sun damage. These things just sneak up on you I guess. I checked for jowls. They're there when I frown really hard, so I will do my best to keep from looking too unhappy...or smiling too hard for that matter. But I am not one of those women that are afraid of aging. I didn't start using anti-wrinkle creams when I turned 21 or using SPF 60 when I go out in the sun. I enjoyed my 20's and now that they're coming to an end, I am looking forward to the next milestones: A family of my own, becoming an Aunt, creating a home with a man that I love.

My sister is expecting her first child and I feel like I have been waiting for this moment for 100 years. I am the youngest member of the Matthews or Humphreys lines (excluding second and third cousins) and my family desperately needs new life to revive it. I know the prospect of having a tiny person that will rely on me has revived ME.

Since it has been so long since my last entry, I will do my favorite short-answer summaries for updates:

My current sorrow:
My best friend has just moved to a different province to pursue a live interest. My social life will suffer, but I am happy for her and I love her and wish her the best.

My current hope:
I am hosting my birthday at my cottage for the first time ever. I am hoping it goes smoothly and the weather is good. My cottage in the rain can be pretty miserable.

My current struggle:
Back pain. I have developed a chronic herniated disk and muscle sprain that leaves me immobile for days at a time. I am in treatment, but it is a long and painful process.

My current success:
I changed my hair. Small miracle it worked, but it will keep me going for a while. Chocolate brown underneath and white on top. Am I too old for this?

My current find:
I was looking through my computer JPEG's and found a CLASSIC Jamie-style paint drawing:

I just thought I would share that because it is much more exiting than my depressing self-portrait from above.

My current loss:

I would like to say weight, but I enjoy my summer patios too much. Oh well, there is always the fall for concentrating on weight loss. For now, enjoy the end of summer and summer sun everyone.

Until next time, loyal blog readers...

My Last Letter...

It’s impossible to know how you will handle the loss of a loved one until you are faced with it. My Grandma’s birthday would have been on Tuesday April 3rd. I think it is possible for people to lose a grandparent and not be particularly affected. Life carries on as it always has and you feel sad for a while because the idea of anyone’s life ending is a sadness, but the impact is minimal. I don’t feel like I have lost the little old lady that I would see on holidays, I feel like I lost my friend and confidante.


Growing up, my sister and I spent weeks at a time living with my Grandma and I attribute a lot of my raising to her. She lavished affection on me (including gifts) but if she thought I was getting too spoiled, she would give away all my toys to a needy family.

She inspired my love of art by fawning over my drawings and taught me to paint pottery. She helped teach me how to swim and dance and fostered my love of big band music. When I got older and didn’t see her as often, she was my faithful pen pal. We sent hundreds of letters back and forth over the years. She was the BEST kind of pen pal because she would put funny little presents in my letters. Stickers, confetti, earrings, needlework, gum, loonies…you name it. When I was at University and having rough time, she sent me a hand sewn handkerchief in the mail. She kept every letter & drawing I ever sent her. Even when the arthritis in her hands got so bad that she couldn’t send many letters, she still tried. The words would be barely legible and slanted down the page, but I loved them nonetheless. And eventually she wasn’t able to fill them with goodies because she couldn’t get out to the store, but she would doodle flowers and happy faces on the pages to keep them exciting.

In second year University I noticed that her mind was starting to falter and so for a school project, I borrowed a voice recorder from my sister and spent several hours interviewing my Grandma about her life and memories and opinions. It was the best idea I have ever had. I have her voice forever etched in stone. I have a true record of her professing her love for me and my family and most importantly, I have her optimistic view on life. She says “You can’t take life too seriously. You can’t spend all your time worrying about being sick or in pain. Life is too short. You just have to be happy.” I played the recording for my family after she died and we sat together laughing and crying at her (sometimes) outrageous comments. We sorted through hundreds of pictures that delineated her life. She was always so happy.

Even when her mind started to fade and the letters stopped, I still faithfully wrote her. I started to put little presents in HER letters. Earrings, loonies, Tim cards…you name it. She would show my letters to everyone at the nursing home tearfully and proud. My last letter to my Grandma sat unsent on my desktop the day I got the news and that is one of my biggest regrets.

My Grandma got to be at my sister’s wedding and it will always be a great sadness to me that she didn’t get to see mine. I still feel moments of overwhelming sadness, like when I look at my dresser and see the funny little gifts I gave her for Christmas only a few months ago. But that’s the funny thing about life. It DOES actually go on. And sometimes you have to grab hold of something to slow it down for a couple of seconds so you can reflect on your losses and remember. I thought my world would crumble when she actually died, but it didn’t. And as Grandma would always say, God doesn’t ever give you more than you can handle. And I think you can’t know true love, until you’ve known loss.

I didn’t get to give her the last letter, but I can give it to you loyal blog readers…

I'm a knife Wielding, Road Rage Conquering, Country Rambo-Chick!

It's amazing how the most unusual things can happen to a person doing the most mediocre of tasks. It's equally enlightening to find out how you would REALLY act in a situation that you have never been in. I didn't surprise myself. I knew I would be kick-ass in the face of a threat. What DID surprise me was the reaction of my partner in crime (or innocence in this case) in all his 6 foot tall, 200 pounds of glory.

We were on our way to pick up some groceries from Bayview Village Lowblaws and we were cut off by a blue minivan leaving the parking lot. Stuart (of course) laid on the horn a little over-zealously and we went on our merry way.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the Blue van had pulled an erratic u-turn and was zooming through the parking lot at break-neck speed in an attempt to cut us off before we entered the underground parking lot. We parked the car and waited to see if the blue hell-van  followed. Sure enough, it slowed and parked a couple rows over. We waited to see what the driver would do, but he didn't get out; he just sat angrily staring out the front windshield until we got out of the car.

We slowly walked to the front of the grocery store and paused at the entrance to see if he would follow. He didn't. At that moment it occurred to me that my car was in danger of having the tires slashed, windshield smashed or of getting keyed. I encouraged Stuart, being the great mediator that he is, to go over to the blue van and try to diffuse the situation and find out what what the guy wanted. He vehemently

 refused to approach the van and tried to convince me to ignore him and go get our groceries.

I decided that I wouldn't do that without getting the license plate of the minivan (just in case). I walked as close to the van as I dared (being nearsighted that was about 100 meters away) and turned to give the plate to Stuart so he could record it in his phone and realized he hadn't followed me. So I shouted the plate numbers out to him (and in doing so) attracted the attention of the psychopath.

"Do you have a problem?!" he asked me, as he slowly got out of the drivers side of his van.

"Ya, actually I do- Why did you follow us here, do you make a habit of following everyone that honks at you?" I asked.

"I can go wherever the fuck I want!" and he started moving towards me.

At that moment I decided it was time I turned into country-girl-rambo and I pulled out my knife (which is completely legal at just under 3 inches of length and is a button trigger- NOT a switch blade).

"You crazy bastard!" I yelled, " I have your license plate number now so if you plan on doing anything to my car..."

"Why don't you go inside and find out!" he threatened.

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Stuart finally convinced me to abandon the confrontation and go into the grocery store. As I was walking away, the kind man reminded me gently to buy lots of salad while I was in there to combat a potential weight problem (however he may have worded it differently).

Where was big Stuart during this confrontation? Behind me somewhere? Sitting quietly weaving intricate needlework? It's possible. Turtle! That is all I have to say about that.

I didn't report him to the cops because (as Stuart pointed out later) I didn't know the number for the police station and he didn't think the incident warranted calling '911' because it didn't quite fall into the 'emergency' category. I somewhat beg to differ...and when I retold the story at work (at LEAST 10 times) it just kept getting better and better and I am FULLY convinced now that my life was in danger and I am practically a gladiator for standing up to a 10 foot tall giant!

Until next time, loyal blog readers...

A little Perspective and a LOT of Naked

I am an expert at painting naked people.


It’s taken lots of practice and I must admit, I have had my pitfalls. In second year university I took several fine arts courses, one of which was oil painting. We spent the majority of the year painting still life (posed displays of junk- mostly flowers) and once we perfected our brush skills, we moved on to nudes. Nudes every day. We duplicated master-nudes, painted details (small snapshots) of nudes and even had live models come in for days and days to be painted in the buff. Our final project was a large painting of our own subject matter (with the instruction that it must be a nude). Most people chose to paint themselves as a nude (from a photograph that I hope was destroyed after the project). Other people hired models and used rented studio time to complete their paintings. I decided to be original and do something no one else had done. I asked Stuart to let me paint him naked.


(On a side note- if you have ever painted anyone naked, you understand what I mean when I say that nudity becomes meaningless after 3 hours of staring at butts and boobs. People become a sum of parts and you won’t remember why you were giggling at the beginning of class.)


He agreed to be my model and so I set him up in my dorm room. For five days (in 3 hour increments) he reclined in the same position (with some urging and repositioning) on my tiny little dorm room bed.

On the turn-in-day of the project was a ‘class critique’, where fellow students look at your final piece and critique your technique, colour choice, composition, subject matter and inspiration.


It was during this critique that I realized why people don’t paint in their dorm rooms and use the studio instead. My painting had appeared perfectly proportioned mid-process. ‘Surely this was the greatest thing I have ever created’, I thought. Now that I could step back and take a look at it, I recoiled in horror. The perspective was COMPLETELY OFF. I hadn’t had enough space in my closet-of-a-room to step back and check my proportions and perspective. The painting appeared to recede away from the canvas, with Stuarts body far in the background and the point of focus (and the object closest to the viewer) being *gasp* his JUNK!

Unsurprisingly, my critique centred on the visual 'focus' of my painting and my choice of....*gulp* colour variation. I admitted I had mistakenly used an inadequate space with a more than adequate model, (being my boyfriend), whom I named in front of all 25 students without thinking. Granted, he got quite the reception when he met me after class to escort me back to residence. The women seemed particularly pleased to meet him.


Though I have kept much of my art that I created during University, I decidedly threw that painting into the fire during a particularly cold May 24 camping weekend (we were in need of firewood). It popped and sizzled and was consumed by flames torturously slow. By morning, only a single piece of canvas remained in the ashes, perfectly preserved. I don't need to tell you what image remained, except that I felt cursed by the nude-painting-fairy and as a result I was the butt of all jokes for the rest of the weekend.

I'm Back...

I have been a bad blogger. It has been several months since my last post, which is sad because I had been steadily creating 2+ blog entries per month for almost 3 years now. My excuses are limited to a move, a vacation, a new position at work, some holidays and a slightly more active social life. I also got a new tablet for my birthday (called a Bamboo) and I have been experimenting with my art. I will admit, it took me a while to get used to drawing on a tablet, but I think it will be worth it because my pictures are more detailed with a more 'hand drawn' quality. Now I just have to get out of Microsoft Paint and I will be well on my way to being a pro!


So I missed creating a Halloween post- but I did make a little snapshot in honour of the occasion.

In reality, it should have been a Christmas snapshot. So I made some edits-

So instead of writing a mile long entry on all the updates in my life, I will be efficient and keep it in point form:

• The new apartment is working out nicely. All the glitches have been repaired and we have two bedrooms & two beds if anyone needs a place to crash. Photo's coming soon.
• Stuart and I (and my sister and her husband) went to Vegas for vacation at the end of October. It was my first time there and was exactly what I'd hoped it would be. Stuart and I drank Crystal Champagne (at the bar it was $1000+ dollars) offered to us by a woman in a fur vest who pronounced herself a 'porn star'. I don't mean to judge, but if she's a porn star, then I'm Van Gogh with a great tan.

• We did a pub-crawl down the strip and the best part was the partybus that takes you from club to club with the stripper pole in the centre Isle. I'm not going to lie, I tried dancing on it until the bus took a tight corner and I flew off into the lap of a stranger with a terrible beard and disposition.

• I crashed into a parking pillar at work. Yup. I was jet lagged and on autopilot for my first day back to the office and I caused $3000.00 worth of damage to the side of my leased Corolla. I am putting it through insurance because I have accident forgiveness and it shouldn't affect my rates- but I have 4 years left on my lease and I am going to have to baby this car for the rest of it. I swear the damage doesn't even look that bad.
• We put up our Christmas tree the first weekend of November along with all of our decorations. Stuart is always in such a hurry to decorate because he loves Christmas more than anything else. For me, Christmas is ready for a transition. I really want my sister to have a baby to breathe  new life into the holidays.  
• My highschool is getting shut down. PCVS is the beating heart of Peterborough. It brings life into the centre of the city and it certainly was my salvation at a time when I needed nothing more! I had to apply to get into the Arts Program at Peterborough Collegiate and was lucky enough to get accepted for visual, musical and theatric arts. I was stimulated in a way that no other highschool could have competed with. It was like Glee, without being slushied in the hallway. There were no clicks, no judgement and I have no traumatizing highschool memories. It was a group of the most talented, accepting, beautiful people that could have been collected in one spot and I mourn for all the teens that will have to survive without it. Highschool can be a cruel fate and I can't begin to count all the lives that were likely saved inside the walls of PCVS. I will feel its passing like a member of my own family.

• Stuart turned 26 on December 19th. I didn't get him a present because he never got me anything...and he normally gets gyped because his birthday is so close to Christmas. Don't worry, he got a Christmas gift.
• Stuart and I have lost an enormous amount of weight (between the two of us, it is nearly 75 pounds) and we are hoping to get back on track soon, since we obliterated all our healthy eating over Christmas.
• Our tree looked particularly nice this year and we were very spoiled:

Well, loyal blog readers...if you still exist, have a safe and happy holiday/New Years and have a toast (with me) to getting back on track and doing the things that make you happy.

Cheers!~

Birthdays & Boxes & Backwards Apartments!

So the big move has come and gone and I am exhausted. Screw a diet plan- I think I lost 20 pounds of sweat just shuffling boxes and furniture, packing, unpacking and organizing. There is no room for food during a move. I think the busier a person is- it directly correlates to how thin/in shape they are. A sedentary life-style really is the true body-killer.

For the past month I have been on a Doctor-directed (and OHIP covered, thank god) diet plan. So far I have lost about 15-20 pounds and I feel great. I think certain people can hold more weight than others. I am one of the lucky ones that gains weight EVERYWHERE so I can generally get away with carrying an extra 50 pounds that someone who has a smaller frame, can’t. It is a blessing and a curse because I let myself get away with it as well. So now that I have had some weight-aggravated medical conditions, it’s time to get back on the healthy life-style pony and get back to where I am comfortable.

Anyway, enough of my image-woes. The apartment is a two bedroom that has been gutted for our move-in-pleasure. But now that we are on day 3 in the new place, I am noticing some small anomalies that weren’t present in our other apartment (from the same complex).

The light switches are all backwards (up is off and down is on)

One of the light switches turns off the TV (why? I can’t tell you)

The hot water says cold water and the cold water says hot water.
The doors are all hung backwards, so that they don’t close unless you turn the handle.

We have the only apartment without a peep hole.

Essentially, our apartment is completely backwards and upside down. Mind you, these are all livable problems, but are exceedingly annoying.

I am officially 26 years old (as of August 25th). Because my birthday landed right in the middle of a move and a diet, it went uncelebrated, but I don’t mind. I was happy to get the move under my belt. But I won’t say I wasn’t tempted by the idea of cake.

I love cake. I could eat cake all day. Screw this pie business.

Anyway enjoy the long weekend, probably some of the last warm weather of the summer, so get your tanning, swimming and boating in before we pack it in for fall.

Until next time, loyal blog readers!



THREE THINGS I LOVE ABOUT COTTAGING

This summer has been hotter and sunnier than the previous three summers (that's the limit of my memory), and as you can imagine that means lots of cottage weekends. Spending so much time in the rustic outdoors has really made me realize all the reasons I absolutely LOVE being at the cottage. Here are my top three reasons:

1. Enjoying the lovely cottage weather-

2. Being in touch with and close to nature-

3. All the yummy Summer-BBQ-

We recently just went on vacation because, as you know from previous blog entries, they are tearing down our apartment. We must have looked at 20 places in the area, trying to find a suitable replacement. Everything was either too expensive or too inconvenient for getting to work. The result? We ended up moving to another building in the same complex. After all that time and effort- we are crossing the street. The new apartment is similar to the previous one, the difference being that it has two bedrooms instead of one. How can we afford it? Well, it is a ground level apartment with an awkward layout: (click to enlarge)

Note the random door to the bedrooms, floating in the middle of the living room. Also note how there is no 'Master' bedroom. The bigger bedroom has the smaller closet, but the bigger window. The smaller bedroom has the bigger closet and the smaller window. If all the doors are open (livingroom, linen closet, bedrooms & bathroom) they will all crash into each other because they all open out. But we can afford it! Yay!

We move in August 31st (or sooner) because the whole place needs an overhaul. So while buildings and garages are crumbling around us, we will be packing.

 Until next time, loyal blog readers...

The Thought Doesn't Always Count!

On my 17th birthday my 3 best friends surprised me by kidnapping me from my home and taking me to Sand Banks National Park to go camping. It was probably the best birthday I ever had. When my best friend, Meghan turned 17, I felt compelled to do something equally special. I wanted to give her something meaningful. Something I’d poured my heart and soul into and that showed her just how much I cared.

Despite not knowing how to sew, I decided that the most original thing I could do was create a handmade doll as part of her Birthday. I took two things that I knew about her- that she collected porcelain dolls and that she absolutely loved sun flowers- and I mashed them together.

I spent four months slaving over this two foot long sunflower doll that I created from old t-shirts, scraps of fabric and artificial leaves. I worked night and day. I dedicated after school hours to cutting and sewing and stuffing. I must have pricked my fingers 1000 times and I picked up some stitching techniques and knots along the way. Surely this was the greatest thing I had ever created! I swear, blood-sweat-and tears went into this doll and like most artists, I could see NO flaws at ALL with my creation.

I could barely wait to give it to her. On the day of her birthday, I orchestrated an elaborate reveal (where the path to the doll was littered with real sunflowers).

Her reception of the doll was not as warm as I had been expecting, but I chalked it up to her being overwhelmed by the greatness of the doll. She placed the sunflower person on top of her dresser and we went about celebrating the rest of her birthday.

Over the next few weeks I noticed that the doll had mysteriously disappeared. When I posed the question, Meghan told me it was in her closet because she needed the space on her dresser. It wasn't until several years later that I discovered the true reason:

It turns out, Meghan stashed poor Sunflower-Doll in a box in her closet because (I dragged this out of her) its' eyes followed her around the room at night and it was giving her nightmares.

Ten years later and Sunflower-Doll's fate was sealed in a basement flood in the late 90's. Where he is now? Nobody knows. But keep an eye out for glassy doll eyes following you in the dark of night!...

Muah ha ha ha ha....

MY SUBWAY & PREGNANCY NIGHTMARE!

I have a confession. I am a coward and did something spineless during one of my last visits to my home town of Bridgenorth. While on the way to my parent’s house, they had asked me to pick up some subs for the family to eat at the cottage. They gave me a detailed list over my cell phone of toppings and breads and sizes, which I repeated out loud for Stuart to hear while we were driving (two heads are always better than one, when taking orders).

When we arrived at the local sub shop of Bridgenorth, we both got out of the car and headed in, Stuart in the lead. I had taken two steps into the store when I noticed ‘OMG my ex boyfriend is standing at the counter ordering a sub!’. I immediately, without thinking, ran for the hills.

I dodged back to the car, keeping my head low- but when I tried the handle IT WAS LOCKED! (and Stuart had the keys). I looked for shelter elsewhere. I considered running into the local convenience store, but didn’t want to risk getting trapped in there if my ex decided to get dessert. I ran (and I mean it- I RAN) to the end of the strip mall and hid around the corner with my back pressed against the wall.

I knew it was an awful thing I had done. I had stuck Stuart with ordering everyone’s subs with only a secondhand knowledge of what they wanted, never mind sticking him with the bill for everything. But I simply couldn’t stand the thought of being spotted in dirty cottage clothes after a long car trip from Toronto, especially considering how drastically different I look from when he dated me (and not in a good way). So I hid.

I periodically peaked around the corner to see what was happening. When I saw Stuart come out with his bags of subs, looking around for me; I inconspicuously waved my hand. He spotted me and mouthed “what are you doing?” I managed to motion for him to drive the car over to me so I could jump in quickly (with some bizzaro charades display).

Needless to say, he was NOT happy and my excuse seemed terribly juvenile when I said it out loud. Everyone got a sub though- even if there were some discrepancies in orders- and I managed to remain elusive and unseen. Totally worth it!

My nightmare does not end there! It is every womans' worst nightmare to have a stranger insinuate that they are fat. The other day I was riding the elevator with a 'newly hired' coworker; I was carrying a big stack of documents and just minding my own business when this happened...

And of course, being the genius that I am- I immediated tried to diffuse to situation and minimize the awkwardness the best way I knew how...

I puffed out my stomach, leaned back and announced the possibility that 'yes, I might very-well be pregnant' when that is absolutely not the case (but I didn't want her to think she had just called me fat; better she think I'm stupid *rolls eyes*). In the end, she was confused; I was ashamed and neither of us wanted to speak to the other any more.

And my nightmare wouldn't be complete if the very next day I hadn't been trapped in the elevator with her again (just my luck). I decided I would be funny and announce "I'm six months today- hopefully 4 months tomorrow, ha ha". But she just averted her eyes and gave a half-hearted chuckle.

Just kill me. Until next time, loyal blog readers.

Gypsy-Brides and BOOBS!

I know a girl who had a breast reduction. It cost her about $7,000. That is more than the BEST set of boobs you could buy! I know another girl who spent about $6,000 on a pair of moderately sized and tasteful breast implants. It got me thinking and experimenting. So now whenever I see anything shaped remotely like breasts, I need to put them in my shirt.

I see this:

And I don’t think “oooh, a tasty treat”…

I think:

I have a new obsession. Gypsy Brides. Inspired by the new TLC program ‘My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding’. It’s like a terrible accident; it’s gruesome and horrible, but you can’t look away from this train wreck-of-a-culture. In short, Gypsies are travelers that rarely stay in one place for very long. Their social norms are very regimented and strict and straight out of the 18th century.

Young girls are taken out of school at 11-12 to clean their family caravans (motor homes), they are uneducated and illiterate and are often responsible for rearing their mothers’ younger children. It is a young girls’ only aspiration to get married and raise a family. They do so around the age of 16, and if they are not married by the time they are 21 or 22, they are like our current-age spinster, bringing shame to their families.

It is completely unacceptable for girls and boys to mingle, so the girls have to dress as provocatively as possible to attract a mate. He shows his interest in her by ‘grabbing’ her (which is violently dragging her into some dark corner and punching, pinching or pulling her hair until she agrees to kiss him). Despite their looks, girls must remain completely chaste until marriage, less they be disgraced by their community. They can’t go out without their parents, they can’t drink, or party or talk to boys; but MAN can they dance! Girls have been known to say that they don’t expect to be doctors or lawyers because they are meant to be housewives and their big achievement in life will be their big elaborate weddings.

Girls compete by having the biggest, most flamboyant (and often tacky) wedding dresses and wedding cakes. I think of these uneducated 16 and 17 year old girls getting hitched and imagine that they are like 6 year olds. Imagine the wedding dress designed by your little grade 1 relative and how silly and tacky and childish it is. Imagine butterflies and hearts and taffeta and make it PINK! That is what these girls do.

People from outside the gypsy community are almost never invited, but there is an open invitation to all gypsies. Unmarried girls use weddings and social events to show off their bodies and dancing skills. The problem with this culture is that girls are so repressed. They can’t work or socialize or have an educated. They clean their trailers and pop out babies at 16 years. They say more than half of marriages in the gypsy community are riddled with domestic abuse and divorce is almost unheard of because these girls have nothing if they left their men. This is happening today, in the 21st CENTURY!

In any case, I find it sick and fascinating. And even if it is every little girl’s fantasy to look like Cinderella on her wedding day, most of us have the sense to keep that dream where it belongs; in the midnight hours! However, I WILL commission pictures of any friends that want to be Gypsy brides:

So in conclusion, I am going to leave you with some thoughts and feelings-

Something I am Angry about:

My car got broken into AGAIN! I filed a police report and called my property manager to move my parking spot to a more exposed area, but that doesn't change the fact that it is going to cost me a fortune to fix!

Something I am Looking Forward to:

Our cottages are almost complete! Soon we will have a new Bunkie that can sleep six and Stuart's cottage construction should be complete by mid-July.

Something that is Frustrating me:

I am learning some new positions at work, but I am finding it difficult to balance my old and new responsibilities while we are short staffed. In light of my new tasks, I was also denied vacation because now I am considered backup for other departments and only one person can be off at a time from each one. Boo!

Thanks, that is all for now loyal blog-readers!



WE GOT EVICTED! It IS the end of the World!

So I officially got my eviction letter for our apartment. I was walking through the stairwell, coming home from work and my site supervisor was in the hallway, going door to door. He sees me and says “I come bearing bad news.” If that isn’t the understatement of the century! So he hands me my big brown envelope of death and I know immediately that my pipe dream of renting my quaint little apartment for a few more years has been abolished. I say “you’re kicking us out, aren’t you?” and all he says is “yup!” like that should answer all my questions.

We have 6 months to find a new place. We can’t even become squatters because the whole building is scheduled for demolition. Where my building stands now is going to be a parking lot or tennis court, or some other useless use of valuable living space. I knew something bad was on the way when I saw one of those brightly spray painted stakes sticking out of our front lawn saying ‘New Bell Line’. We aren’t even getting the worst of it. The couple beside us just moved in about 3 months ago. They have JUST started hanging pictures (I can hear them hammering through the walls). Stuart and I had hoped to make friends with our new neighbours, but we just ended up humiliating ourselves when we knocked on their door to tell them they had left their keys in the lock. The ‘boyfriend’ answered the door in a very small robe (obviously hers) and all the lights were off and he was NOT happy at our interruption. I guess we had wrecked the mood, so we sheepishly wandered off and are only just now starting to make eye contact again. Oh well, no harm no fowl.

On another note, the world didn’t end. However, in light of the information from above, I have no doubt MY WORLD is in an apocalyptic state. The May 2-4 weekend, may have been predicted as the ‘end of days’ but Saturday afternoon was beautiful. There was an unreal thunder and lightning storm in the middle of the night over the long weekend, and I can’t deny that I woke up thinking that maybe our log cabin might end up in a tornado like Dorothy.

Tomorrow (with humidity) it is going to be 40 degrees. I am not really a hot weather type of person. I don’t like to show my shoulders or have bare arms. I don’t really like skirts or wearing sandals. Maybe I am a prude, or am too conservative. I like layers and cardigans and jackets. In fact, I just looked down at what I am wearing- a collared shirt with a frilly collar, a pink cardigan buttoned up with a belt and a grey jacket with brown work pants. I am lame and I want to live in Autumn forever.

I always like to include ‘visual aids’ in my blogs, but I recently stumbled upon a blog called Hyperbole and a Half and she does all original artwork to accompany her blog posts and I find it hilarious. So I might try it out a little more consistently than I have in the past. Lemme know what you guys think. I am also considering making short cartoons about Hanna’s adventures as a puppy. Here is a sample image. Feedback is always appreciated!

Until next time, loyal blog readers…

JUDGEMENT DAY OR LONG WEEKEND?

Tomorrow is the Zombie Apocalypse and no one told me. I heard snippets on the radio this morning while I was getting ready for work. Those of you who know me well, know that I am a heavy survivalist advocate in the event of a viral outbreak or natural disaster (ultimately the end of the world). I have a survival plan, access to firearms and an isolated place to get me through the worst of it. But it would help if I had more than a day to prepare! I am obviously being a little quip about it because this specific apocalypse is a religious one. Some guy found a secret code in the bible or something and he has facilitated it so that the numbers say the end of the world is May 21st 2011 at 6pm. It just so happens since that is the May 2-4 weekend; I will already be in my isolated safe haven, so I really didn’t need to plan too hard.

It is supposed to start with an earth quake in New Zealand and move along our land masses, blasting our rector scales out of the water. And then it will be sort of like Noah’s Ark. So I hope everyone can swim. Ever since my obsession with Zombie outbreaks started, my biggest concern has been everybody’s pets. That would be one of my first orders of business….going door to door, letting out cats, dogs and birds (the snakes can fend for themselves). Poor pets, trapped inside cages and basements without food or water. It would be terrifying. Someone has to be their savior. In the movies, man’s best friend always comes to the rescue. Remember ‘I AM Legend’? So I will rescue them first. Getting past the living dead would be the greatest obstacle.

I am not putting much weight in the actual date, (but I am counting on something weird happening in my lifetime) but I am not going to lie, tomorrow I am wearing clothes that are layered, movable, breathable, with running capabilities and that are NOT dry-clean only!

Stuart’s cottage fell through for the weekend, so it looks like it is mine or nothing! Bunkie-Building-Bliss I guess. Our family is expanding too quickly for our one-bedroom cabin. Now that my sister is married and that I am fairly bound as well, that is six of us…with four bunk beds. So last summer we theorized that we would build a Bunkie for our family. Just a 12 by 14 little house, with windows and a door and 2 sets of bunk beds (doubles on the bottom) and a little desk vanity. Looking forward to a new structure with no mice, snakes or bugs! However the building of the bunkie will probably be laden with all those things.

Anyway, that's all for now loyal Blog Readers. Have a safe and happy Long Weekend....and bring a little extra bottled water- just in case.