It's my birthday and I don't have to go to work on account that with Boxing Day having been on a Saturday this year, we get Monday off! Yay!
My brother was up for Christmas so we got to talking about yelling at rude fellow patrons in the take-out line. It turns out that he had a story similar to my Starbucks moment [except that he had more success].
As I am a bit embarrassed to show my face at the Starbucks where I caused a scene the other week, I was having my espresso at a nearby high-end department store a few days back [I was in the store drooling over my perfume which I discovered did in fact make it as my parents' gift to me this year. So happy]. Holy crap I live a shallow life, but back to my meaningful espresso story...
The nearest Starbucks was short-staffed or deficiently staffed today - either way everything was taking a long time. However, it's only coffee. This guy in front of me was being so freaking rude to the woman behind the counter and started barking at her after she gave him his sandwich, "Knife! Knife! I want a knife! Didn't your hear???? KNIFE!" She handed him one and this was followed by "Fork! Fork! And a FORK". [and this had already followed his muttering diatribe that started from the time he ordered]. Meanwhile, my head is about to fall off, I'm dying for an espresso, and all the staff look like they are no longer functional and so fed up with it all.
He received his knife and fork and I looked at him and said, "You're welcome" He glared at me.
I continued, "You know - please, thank you - common manners? You should try them."
Of course I ruined my etiquette lecture by adding (and not in a whisper), "You're a complete asshole. Oops! I guess I'm not showing any manners now but you don't deserve them. You fucking asshole"
The whole time he was making kissing noises at me. Honestly, I can't believe how irate I was. I walked out with my espresso, resisting the urge to keep up our public display of boorish behaviour as he was saying, "What? Where you going?"
Long day people. Long week. End in sight though.
My most inspirational job ever was being a librarian/treatment educator for a national HIV organization. I usually only hear about HIV in the news when the tragic stats in Africa are enumerated or when someone is being criminally charged with spreading HIV and is held up as a pariah. However, my experience with the HIV community was meeting the most open-minded, fun, and socially-aware individuals ever.
I started 2009 with the conviction to cycle to Montreal as part of a fundraiser for the Toronto People with AIDS Foundation, and with great effort, managed to complete that. I'm closing the year by hosting a series of dinner parties and encouraging people to in return donate to the PWA food bank. I'm beginning to form an idea of how to honour the community in 2010 - now with my depression under control, I can once again fight for the cause I most believe in.
... you have body hair. That's all there is to it. For mine, it was even sprouting out of my nose like some old dude. Gross and I bought one of those hair/nose trimmers in order to rectify the situation.
Today however, I discovered that the battery died or something. My trimmers were not working. In desperation, I grabbed my tweezers (used for my unruly eyebrows like normal women have and for my freakish once-in-a-while chin hairs that women with Italian grandmothers have), and yanked out all the hairs emerging from my nostrils. The pain made me wince, but the procedure was a success.
In other news, I'm moving in with the bf.
What do all these items have in common?
If you guesssed "Starbucks items that Susan loved but were sadly discontinued at least in Toronto at the stores she frequents" then you are correct! I give up. There is no Starbucks food item I particularly enjoy now.
I've tried the substitutions. The english muffin became the feta/spinach wrap and it's not bad. The apple bran muffin has become the pomgranate bran muffin. I tried that this morning and am now completely crabby as it was a thoroughly unpleasant food experience. It was somehow greasy but with none of the delight of a doughnut or some other such food that I expect grease from. The biggest travesty though has to be the replacement of the beloved and delectable vegan brownie with some vile low-fat chocolate cake. How on earth can chocolate cake be less moist and delicious than a vegan dessert? Yet somehow it is.
Like I wrote: I've given up. I just get food items elsewhere now. At least I shouldn't have to worry about espresso disappearing from the Starbucks menu anytime soon.
*A further note on VIA: Holy crap is it caffeinated! I had to switch back to espresso, which apparently has about half the caffeine, as odd as that seems to most people
I am a cat person. I like dogs, as long as they aren't mine. However, my new guy has a dog, and his family has two other dogs. They are all mid-sized dogs too - the smallest is 35 pounds, the largest, maybe 70- so there's no avoiding them. Whenever I go over, I am circled by these barking, fleshy sharks. All of them have wonderfully kind natures so it's not a terror moment, it's just an in-your-face [or more accurately, in-your-crotch] moment. It's such an adjustment.
I do see - and try to practice - random acts of kindness on the transit system, but as evidenced by yesterday's rant-y post, it's often easier to dwell on those who make a crowded commute quite taxing. And yet, yesterday, still feeling like a psychopath on my way home, I left my gloves and wallet on the subway. I realized as soon as I got home that my wallet was not in my purse, but I figured that I had left it in my office. A few hours later when I was about to call credit card companies to put my cards on hold 'just in case' - I got a call from a woman who had found and kept my wallet and gloves safe for me. I had in fact left them on a seat in the subway when I got off to transfer to the east/west subway line.
I met her this morning at her work place. She returned my wallet and gloves, and everything was intact. She had gone out of her way to locate my phone number (indeed she called the few numbers in the phone book with my last name), and even called me again this morning to let me know that her train had left late and that she would be a bit delayed in meeting me.
I'm so grateful for her actions. Indeed, three times I've had wallets returned to me, and once a cell phone. Most people are good. I would say I'm happy but right now I feel another bout of depression closing in. I've been in tears for no reason the last week. ah well, I'll try to get off my lazy ass and do some major cardio, and if that doesn't work, then I'll go and get my meds adjusted. In the interim, I'll think of this woman and remind myself that really there's a lot to smile about.
Today I work at my office in the north of the city. I don't mind the commute and because I'm going to opposite way from most commuters, I always have a seat. For some reason I am particularly crabby and wanted to scream at the behaviour of two of the people who sat near me. They weren't doing anything wrong per se, they were only annoying to me.
The first woman was eating an apple. I really don't like people who eat on public transportation, but oddly enough, healthy food eaters (yoghurt and apples/bananas/pears) are the ones that drive me to distraction. First of all, I hate having to listen to the sound of either crunching into an apple or that annoying spoon dipping scrape/scrape/scrape noise of yoghurt-eaters. Also, there is so much risk of spill and mess. Not to mention that it is revolting to have to endure apple odour when I'm trying to do my cross word.
The woman went two stops. She couldn't have waited four minutes to eat? I don't mind at all when parents give kids crackers or apple pieces - I mean, kids get hungry and whiny - but for the love of god, can North American adults not do without food for even a half hour subway ride? And if you're time is so pressed, stick to smoothies in well-contained bottles. Don't make me share your meal. I confess - I have been guilty of eating an apple on the subway but when I realized that no one else was eating and how really unnecessary it was, I never did it again.
Ditto for people who feel that the subway is a good place for personal grooming. It's not. I'm not referring to people who clip their nails on the subway - I think that's seen as universally vile. Today though, as soon as apple-eater got off the subway, make-up chick got on. I'm not adverse to a quick application of lipstick, but I hate, hate, hate seeing someone's entire blush, foundation, and eye routine. Especially the use of an eyelash curler.
Again, get up 10 minutes earlier if you can't leave the house without make-up or make use of your office washroom, but please don't force me to watch you root through your grubby cosmetic bag. I know I've ranted about this before, but it makes me crazy. Literally. I had to stop myself from screaming -Can't this wait???? I also reserve a special place in hell for women (and in my experience it's always women) who brush their hair on public transportation. Again, yuck. I don't want your hair dropping all over the floor. Of course there is nothing to quite compare to the couple where the woman was sitting meticulously sqeezing her boyfriend's facial zits [he had a lot]. They were on a bench right next to the food court at my workplace.
Okay, rant over for now. I'm feeling better.
What are your pet peeves of fellow commuters? I'm wondering what things are annoying to YOU. I think there are universally despised behaviour spitting on the floor, hogging seats, cutting people off (if in a car); but we also all have those little annoyances that may not be offensive to others.
VIA Rail is Canada's passenger train service and I love it. I even love calling their 1-800 number and hearing the bilingual message. It's changed now and although still English followed by the option to switch to French, the old one use to say: Welcome to VIA and then would switch to a much deeper male voice saying, "VIa. Bonjour!" Still, I don't care - I don't need a 1-900 number when I have the VIA 1-800 recorded voice.
But today I am referring to Starbuck's new instant coffee VIA. I had no interest in trying it but yesterday when I was getting my daily espresso the staff begged me to buy a VIA three pack [I guess sales weren't going as well]. Because I love, love, love the staff at this particular Starbuck's, I grudgingly gave in. I bitched about it all the way back to the office but today, I felt that I should at least try it.
Not bad at all! In fact - good. WAY better than the disgusting crap sold as coffee in Tim Hortons (will never, ever understand why Canadians are so attached to that crap. So embarassed that they are now opening outlets in Manhattan. Barf).
I bought more today. At my other office where I work three days a week, I feel no attachment to any of the nearby coffee shops. Even the Starbucks near that office doesn't have the same joy and ambiance of the one near this office. As such, I think I'm actually going to drink *gasp* the instant coffee when I'm down there. Not to mention that VIA can make the hell otherwise known as camping more tolerable if I am forced to endure that again. Travelling too. Or the horrors of meeting or office coffee. Really, the possibilities are endless.
Go VIA!!!!
When it was August 22nd this year I kept remembering that I had been in Vegas the year before with great friends, and all I wanted to do was die. Or maybe at that time I had been more struggling to live. I had started my antidepressants and it was kind of my last ditch effort. I look back now and feel so sad that I didn't get my depression properly treated sooner.
I don't think though that I knew any other way to be, and of course, I've had such happy crazy times too. For me depression was like being in a completely abusive relationship: you just don't know how else to be, and you tend to focus on when times are good.
So I'm into September now. It's been a year since I started to feel better. I no longer dream of dying. I am fine at work. [One horrid sobbing incident at work convinced me that I needed to get help - I had ALWAYS been able to function well at work but even that ability was beyond me last summer]. One of the best decisions I ever made was to go in the bike rally. Despite all the pain, that level of exercise is what I need to keep my mind functioning. Perhaps 100km a day isn't realistic, but I need to keep doing at least a 50km ride on week-ends and some form of aerobics each day.
As I am at work, I'll end this post now. I'm in an odd mood, but then again, that's not odd for me! Love to everyone.
I thought I'd better post or I'll forget that I ever had a blog. It's been a looooong summer. Not bad, but just long. I'm very excited about September and fall coming. It always gives me more focus and a sense of purpose. Here is the summer summary:
I'm just too lame to blog right now. I'm too lame to even comment. I've read exciting things that you all have been up to - Tornwordo's and Eroswings' travels, Rox's relay against cancer, Patron Saints post-weight loss surgery successes, Stewie changing his blog name (and more amazingly, actually blogging), and so much more - but I have been negligent in putting fingers to keyboard and commenting on these great posts. I haven't even linked up the new Matt Swift music blog yet. I know this won't change until at least after my bike ride (assuming I'm fit to do it - my back is in pain and I'm in physio). Hence, I'll reconnect with everyone sometime in August.
I always used to say that I was on the road to ruin [ode to favourite Ramones album] and loving it. But since I've stopped drinking as much, my new road is literal and involves all the endless bike training I'm doing. I decided to try to do both the Saturday and Sunday training rides last week-end. Saturday was a 72km loop that went north of the city, which apparently consists of endless hills. Sunday was an 40km ride along Lakeshore to a town to the west of Toronto, and then back. It was a relatively flat ride, but there was a lot of wind going there. It suffices to say that I am not ready for a 6-day, 100km per day ride.
My thighs were in so much pain on Monday. I did stretch, and I did have a hot bath, but that was not enough for my poor muscles. Even a liberal application of Tiger Balm didn't do that much help. What did help was walking part way home from work. Yesterday I went for a 20km bike ride with my bff and that finally did the trick. I am still exhausted though. I'm dreading tonight which is some sort of team bonding spin class.
Still, I feel better than I've felt in years by doing all this exercise. I'd feel even better if the scales weren't going up! I know that muscle weighs more than fat, but for crying out loud, I still have a chubby tummy and slightly jiggly thighs so I'm not sure where the heavy muscle is hiding. I think it's due to the fact that my appetite has gone up exponentially. I try to satisfy my hunger with oatmeal and apples, but pasta is becoming a very prominent feature in my diet.
And that's it for me. I will blog next about my incredibly wonderful dinner with my sister that I had last Saturday just to show that I do still have a bit of a life.
I've been out a lot this week, with a wonderful dinner last night with friends. However, I am now exhausted. I have a 7:40am bike ride tomorrow and all I want to do is hide out in my basement bedroom and drink a nice big glass of red wine. I also have some long overdue cards and emails to write. I need my down-time so I'm so ecstatic to be alone right now.
The only unpleasant task that awaits me tonight is that I have to give someone the "I just want to be friends" speech. I've given the speech dozens of times, I've received it dozens of times - it's a process that has to be done. For various reasons I know being lovers/partners in this particular instance will never be a viable option for me, so better to be upfront about it. Still, this guy is amazing and witty and very, very open-minded - I think we'll be able to salvage a friendship after all.
After 40 years on this planet and happily having two older brothers R. and M., I found out earlier this year that I have a sister.
At first it was a bit of a shock, but I am so happy now getting to know her. More to the point, I'm so grateful that I have this chance to know her. Well, I guess I've been living with her my whole life so I knew certain aspects about her: I knew she was smart, funny, right-wing, and a major history buff. But I didn't know *her*. You see, I always knew her as my brother R.
If anyone said that they had any idea that my brother was transgendered, they are lying. There was no external hint to any of us. What I did notice was that my brother whom I had been so close to growing up, was gradually drifting away from me more and more. Now I understand why. When anyone lives with a secret, even if they think they can handle it, it can become too much.
I'm glad and proud that she had the courage to emerge. Soon she will be able to present as female. Obviously my sister is out at work and to friends and family or I would NEVER be writing this post (she told me and a select few others quite a while before others), but it is still her private life so I won't go into much more. It suffices to say that my parents and brother and I are supportive. In fact, she has met with a tremendous outpouring of love and encouragement [and some difficulties too, but those don't need to be catalogued here].I hope and want for people who never knew her to not think of her as a T-girl, but just as the fabulous woman she is. I want everyone to know that I have a sister and a brother.
and most of all, I want everyone who is living with secrets, in shame, and in fear because of our repressive society to be inspired by my sister who decided to be true to herself. I am in awe of her and it has given me courage.
I wish the title referred to my body, but alas, it is a comment on me and all my friends. Especially the ones with kids - we are all so exhausted. Such is life and I'm spoiled to be able to keep going off on solitary bike journeys, but ah, life starts disappearing quickly.
I think I would be completely demoralized working in the atmosphere that I do if it hadn't been for my previous job and my gay, sex-positive office. I adore my current coworkers and they are not close-minded. Not at all. What they are is straight.
Okay, I am too admittedly - but I realize how much more I preferred the openness of the queer culture I worked in. People there celebrated sex, desire, and passion. We all still got our work done. Hell, we were all so dedicated to the cause of helping others - more so than the odd charitable moment where I work now. Many of us had loves and families. We were professionally innovative. Yet, there was so much more.
It wasn't dirty or weird to be able to actually admit to each other that we enjoyed sex. It wasn't odd to ask one of my coworkers for tips on sex toys to use with my boyfriend at that time. Even now I had a brunch invite from someone I had worked with at that job and I texted him back saying that I was off to have sex (and details I won't get into here). He texted back - GREAT! [and then proceeded to give me tips on what to do, etc.).
We will get together for brunch. We will discuss how our families are and what's going on in the world. But I love to see him because we can talk about anything.
I am so grateful for the job I had and how much confidence it gave me in affirming my right to be a completely sexual being. I have learned to tone the chatter down in the regular office, but as much as I celebrate the marriages and views of my coworkers (and I do, they have as much right to their views as I do), I also am determined not to hide my own views. Sex isn't everything to me. Hell, I haven't had regular sex in well over a year. But whether or not I'm having sex, I will always be a sexual being (as all of us are!)
After the date was cancelled, I went to a party I had been invited to earlier in the week (but had declined due to planning for the date). It was great to be out and meet new people, and I got to spend some quality time underneath with the host.
Okay, because I don't want the whiny post as the first thing on this page, here's part II to my love of 2 Live Crew.
I love them because unlike the sappy crap I had to listen to in high school (OMD from the Pretty in Pink soundtrack - I liked Enola Gay) or Cat Stevens with "Wild World" and which were seen as love songs, 2 Live Crew was an in your face celebration of raw sexuality. There were no vomit-provoking hiddenly misogynistic lines like, "I'll always remember you like a child, girl" or worse, "If you want to leave take good care, there's a lot of bad things out there..." Oh fuck off! Being trapped in a house with some over-protective neandertal would be worse. BARF BARF BARF.
I did hear some better things in high school like the stunning Annie Lennox of my hero George Michael, but to me, most mainstream love songs demean and trivialize a woman's spirit. Even great sexy songs like NIN's Closer are a bit sappy. But not 2 Live Crew. If you overlook the fact that they show no respect for the hoochie mamas they are singing about [and admittedly - lines like "I've got a good woman but I need a whore"* don't really celebrate female sexuality...] - these are excellent sex lines. They're fucking! They're sucking! They're in your face and up your ass. Yum. This is sex.
*I just pretend that they're singing, "I've got a good woman 'cause she's a whore". That's all I want. Some guy who loves a woman raw and sexual. Not as a piece of ass on the side, but as his woman. And as close as I can find this ideal in song lyrics, I need to turn to 2 Live Crew.
I have gone through ups and downs with exes and had some pretty nasty break-ups, but I harbour them no ill will. They are all in my heart in some way. There is no guarantee of a relationship working and I'm no prize, but at least in the four LTRs I've had, we tried. We called it a relationship. We were couples. Then we weren't. It happens. Not to say I wasn't devastated by last summer's break-up. That break-up coinciding with my complete break-down has likely left me damaged beyond repair, but again, at least we tried. It's certainly not his fault that I had severe and untreated depression.
On the other hand, recently I've re-evaluated two friendships with people who meant a lot to me. The first was with someone I used to date. Seeing him now with someone new and how he takes her out in public, I realize how invisible he kept me during our time together. It played hell on my psyche but did teach me the lesson that I am not willing to be kept like some canned good in case of emergency.
I learned a lot from that experience.
Indeed, today I overreacted to a situation, and completely pissed my date off, causing him to cancel our evening plans. Fair enough, and I can take the blame for that and accept the consequences. But what made me decide that I'm just not that into working things out was his insistence on describing me as a friend. After just over a month of dating, I don't expect to be his girlfriend, but I am not wasting one more second with some guy who can't admit that he's dating me.
Or does he make-out with all his friends during movies and plan date-like activities with them? [lol - he probably does - but unlike last experience, I'm not going to listen to arguments that I'm too close-minded to handle that. I learned from Rob that I'm fine with open relationships - I just need to be the main event]
The best part though is that these two experiences have taught me that for all my faults, and there are many, intimacy isn't one of them. I am able to love and am willing to let things grow without putting restrictions and labels on every move. As for today's break-up, I would actually love to be this guy's friend. We've only dated briefly so I think a fun friendship can be salvaged out of this. That friendship though will not involve kisses, vistis, or any form of PDAs beyond a friendly peck on the cheek. This woman is saving her lips for a guy who can use his to announce [to other people] that he's dating me.
More to the point, there's someone else I've been spending time with, and I can't yet tell if it ever will be more than friendship, but as long as I stay with my 'good friend' [which I was more than happy to do when I thought we were dating], I'll never find out.
Uh, I was about to explain why I love 2 Live Crew but I've been hitting the red wine tonight and I'm a bit trashed so I'll see how far I get. First off, when I say that I love 2 Live Crew, what I mean is that I love the three songs of theirs that I listen to on my way to work:
Me so horny
Face down ass up
Hoochie mama
I didn't always love them. In fact, ten years ago when I was with Dave I told him that I did not want to hear Me So Horny every time I walked into his place. At that point I was uptight and couldn't get over the depiction of women. However, since that time I have come to love the songs. In fact recently I've had the oddest urge to go up to adults on the subway (male/female/seniors/whatev...) and state, "My favourite time is 69. Bitch you know it's hoochie time!"
Luckily I resist that urge.
It used to bother me that I loved 2 Live Crew. After all, the portrayal of women in the songs isn't exactly empowering.
Okay, will write more later when I'm not trashed...
I so wish I could say that the above was the result of some dramatic moment like a car turning suddenly, but I just forgot to 'unclip' when coming to a stop. However, I felt so tough after the fall by having to cycle another 15km or so to complete the ride, and then later washing off blood and grease. I'll just pretend that I didn't have to sit at the side of the road for a bit in shock and trying not to vomit because of this mild flesh wound.
I forced myself to do a training ride on Saturday. Some points of note:
I am going mental at work today. Not much time to do anything but in these times of stress I need love. Lots and lots of love. Send me love.
I met someone really quite spectacular in January (yes, yes - the married guy). We only had a coffee together, but there was something so delightful about him. And yet, I went away to Wyoming and it all fell apart. He has disappeared into the ether, but really, I'm not going to lose it over some guy who I only met once, and who is dealing with his own life changes at present. Still, meeting him still makes me smile. Makes me realize that there are some incredibly unique and spectacular people to be met on cheesy dating sites. I'll find another who will be a tad more available.
I'm sharing some time with another person right now, and in his own way, he is equally as spectacular. I'm not sure how this is going to develop as I thought he was in an open but very committed relationship, but it turns out that he's single. Hmmm.
I'm glad that I can still love and praise Rob for what he gave to me and what I shared with him, but that I am able to move on. I can also accept that Rob didn't choose to maintain a frienship, for whatever reason. I used to feel so guilty because my depression caused me to be such a fucking energy suckage at the end, and so nasty in my pain - it was my terror that I would never be able to bond with anyone. Yet here I am, putting out positive energy again and although I have had to accept that I can't right past behaviour, I did get treated, and I did learn. Today this little moment is making me smile.
Today I got my hair cut. It's still the messy mop I always have, but my stylist allowed me to have the hair around my face cut shorter. I don't exactly have bangs, but there isn't the horrific hanging dead length anymore. Anyhow, this completely made my day. That, and having coffee with one of my brothers.
Confession: I'm babbling about my hair and I'm terrified because I just sent an email to my ex. It was meant as a happy memory of him and some sort of closure from my long and traumatic break-down after our break-up [some day when I feel up to it I'll describe the scene of me sobbing and declaring undying love to him over my cell phone as I walked through a lightening storm. Sigh.] I don't mind if he doesn't answer as really, our connection is lost, but I'm scared he'll react in anger as he did once before because he wanted more space than I had realized and I was annoyingly obsessive in wanting to 'talk things out'.
Last night I went to a workshop and I chose to wear my skinny jeans. Right now they are my fave jeans and I wanted to wear them. I had wanted to wear them to work, but my workplace was not that casual. As such, I was determined to wear them on my own time. They were not the appropriate outfit for the workshop though. It was a rope tying workshop (bondage ties, but we were all fully clothed and it was a fun casual atmosphere), and I was lacking serious mobility in my jeans. I hadn't really thought about it because I can walk fine in them. My main concern before leaving the house was in controlling my belly flab.
See, my skinny jeans look nice on [at least in my opinion and since I'm not providing a photo, y'all can just take my word for it], but I have to wear a longer shirt with them or else I look like the drunk old guy at a baseball game. You know the type - sitting right in front of you where you can't help but notice him slumped in the bleachers, t-shirt riding up to expose his pasty belly flab, and pants lowered down enough in back to give you a hint of his ass cheeks. In order to avoid this frightening look, I not only wore a longer t-shirt, I also wore a half girdle that held in my flab so that if my shirt did ride up, people would only see the black fabric of the girdle.
Like I noted, I was fine. I was walking fine, I'm flexible enough that I can bend over and place the palms of my hands directly on the floor in front of my feet, and I could sit. I figured I was good to go. Unfortunately the one thing I can't do in those jeans is anything that requires squatting down as jeans get too tight to fully bend my knees.
I was reminded of this when I reached the place and couldn't remove my shoes. One woman offered to untie my shoes for me, but I decided to get them off by that awful method of stepping on the heels and pulling my feet out without untying them. After that I was fine. At least for a while.
At some point in the evening as we were gathered around our instructor demonstrating how to fashion a new type of knot, I either lost my balance or was bumped into by someone. In any event, unable to quickly move my legs and adjust my weight, I completely toppled over sideways like some sort of tin soldier in a child's war game. Or perhaps more like the Leaning Tower of Pisa that leaned a bit too far. It was the most ridiculous fall but luckily the floor was padded where I fell and I didn't hurt myself. And even more fortunately, the girdle held the belly flab in place so I was able to readjust myself while lying on the floor, without exposing uncontrolled fleshage.
I don't think any woman needs bondage or rope when we endure such things as skinny jeans. And high heels. And tight skirts. And a million other fashions which render us immobile. Still, I love my skinny jeans. I wore them to a bike repair workshop tonight.
* Bib (or rather, Bibendum) is the name of the Michelin Man. I learned that from the host of this workshop who told the story of some guy who after a nasty divorce referred to his ex as Bib. I was definitely in danger of resembling Bib before I dug out the girdle.
I so wish sex work was legal. I mean, solicitation is illegal in Canada but sex work is not, so theoretically I could hire a sex worker; but I wish it was socially acceptable. Not so much because I'm worried about stigma, but then because it could be normalized and I could get a good recommendation of who to ask for. I remember back in high school, when I was a virgin, and my friends and I used to discuss who the best guys were to make-out with. Oddly enough, we were so much more relaxed with our sexuality then.
I miss the type of wild uninhibited sex I had with my ex. That's the thing - when you are in a relationship, and your partner is good, the sex is great and even if one of you is not in the mood, there are ample opportunities for you both to be in synch and have fun experimenting. Hell, when I'm in a relationship that's going well, even if the sex isn't technically great, I still love it. You're connecting to the person and it's wonderful.
On the other hand, I no longer date for sex. To me it's a complete waste of time. To just do the basics and get off - yeah, most people are adequate and that's fine and all, but I'd rather just pleasure myself. For those really hot sessions though, you need to have someone you've practiced with or it's hit or miss. I mean, I'm not wasting my time only to find out that the guy is not creative, doesn't know what the fuck he's doing, or can't get it up. Again, in a relationship, you have time to teach each other what you like and if the dude has a bout of erectile dysfunction or the woman's on the heaviest day of her period - fine, you wait it out. I also can't explore the full range of sex with someone I don't know.
For example, recently I've been craving anal sex and golden showers of all things. Of course I could go on the intimate section of LL and get offers to fulfill those desires within seconds. Again, not because there's anything particularly special about me, but I went on that site once before (and not asking for anything in particular) and within seconds of logging in I was inundated with IM messages asking me if I was into threesomes, black guys, young guys, 10 inch cock - - you get the idea. It was so obvious that the thinking was, "Oh. Someone female has signed on. Let me see if she's good to go." This so does not appeal to me.
I'm also not into fuck buddies. I am when I'm in a relationship, but I don't like constantly being the piece of ass on the side.
But I would love to hire a pro. It would be so great. When I was in Jackson Hole the best money I spent [even though I'm still paying it off] was for snowboarding lessons. My instructor made the days so enjoyable. He knew what he was doing and I benefited from his knowledge.
I would see a sex worker like that, and what's more, I would worry less about infections with a sex worker because I believe they would respect proper condom use, and my boundaries. With some guy off a fetish or dating site, you have no idea what quality you're getting. Ah well, a girl can dream. Besides, even if it was acceptable, my snowboarding trip set me back so much that I couldn't afford a top-rate sex worker. Next year I'll have to find a snowboarding instructor who gives happy endings.
I went to use my camera and a message popped up on the screen saying that my card is write protected. The hell? I have no idea what I did. All I know is that I can't take anymore photos. And I have no idea how to get the stupid card UN-write-protected. The last set of photos I took were of my DIVA cup. Perhaps my memory card was so traumatized that it refuses to work again? Or perhaps it was so excited that it never wants other images on it?
I'm uninspired for food. What are you all having for breakfast / lunch /dinner tomorrow? And especially, what are you snacking on?
Don't worry, I'll come back to navel gazing and describing my every sad moment, but because even I can't be all depressed, all the time, let's play a game! What bevvy is this?
Update at 6pm on Wednesday: Thank you to all who played! It is what I affectionately call the 'cooter shooter', and the recipe can be found here
I've written about my depressive episodes before. One thing that was obsessing me this past summer was how unfair it seemed to me that people living with depression are left out of the euthanasia debate. Even when I once read the book, "Final Exit" by the Hemlock Society, which is a guide to offing yourself effectively and relatively painlessly, that book stressed that the guide was for people in the terminal stages of a physical illness, and did apply to depressed people.
Yet true depression can be a biochemical illness. It doesn't just go away and pills don't always work. All I wanted was for the pain to go away last summer. It was thinking of the future of how I couldn't stand to wreck one more job, one more relationship, be incapable of normal happiness. The worst part was knowing it could get better - that's what people always say, right? And it is true - but equally knowing that it would likely get bad again at some point.
I hung on and fought again because I knew my parents would feel the loss so deeply. I also knew that no matter what I wrote or said, that they would blame themselves. That's also when I started thinking though - having depression is lonely in and of itself, but when people do get to the point when they commit suicide, it becomes even lonelier. I don't ever want to be the person jumping in front of the subway or flinging myself off the Bloor Street Viaduct (or whatever bridge is now possible since the construction of the steel suicide veil). I don't ever want my family to have to identify a mangled body and hope that I at least left a note.
I wish that there was an option where you could go to hospital and be injected. Like my sick kitty was at the vet, or like prisoners are who get a lethal injection. I wish that like with cancer patients who have recurring illness and are left with no options that at some point families could find the strength to say, "It's okay sweetheart. We know how much you're tried. Stop struggling. We don't want you to live in pain anymore." Then depressed people could die surrounded by those they love, instead of committing self-violence in secret.
I know for so many reasons this will never be an option, but I do wish that society could at least start talking about it. It's terrifying to even mention when you want to die because there's always the fear that someone will call the cops on you and you'll be dragged off and drugged up until you promise to keep living.
apologies if this sounds overly dramatic and whiny. I don't claim to be a brilliant writer and this is a tough topic to describe! For me, for now, focussing on my garden, family, and upcoming bike ride are working. It's keeping me going (that and my meds), and that for now is enough.
Today I bought a bike. OMG it's so cute. Which tells you all about my cycling knowledge. It's white with pink highlights. At first that annoyed me, but now I am enamored with my litte pink bike. It is a hybrid, and has clip-in pedals. I have to go back with the bike shoes I bought so that they can make sure the pedals match. And apparently not in a colour-coordinating way. When they asked me what my bike shoes were like thought, "uh, powder blue". Then when they asked me if I bought them for a road bike and I carefully explained that I bought them because they will match the team jerseys, we all decided that I had to bring the shoes into the store as the staff needed to see the shoes for technical notes. Apparently 'cute blue shoes that match a team jersey' isn't useful information for a bike store. Go figure.
[and yes CoffeeDog, I will post pictures when I find my camera, batteries, etc.]
We're in the midst of a recession and the federal representative from my riding is off in California checking in on one of the 'war resisters' who was deported from Canada and is now serving time in prison. Why? Does she really not think that maybe, just *maybe*, her constituents need help at this time? And let's be clear - the person was not sent back to the front lines, was not sent to Guantanamo, is not being tortured, but is instead serving time. For leaving the military. Sounds fair to me! In fact I have a friend, and I admire this greatly, who instead of spending two years in the mandatory military service in his country, chose to spend two years in jail as a pacifist. I admire that. This person VOLUNTEERED for the army and now MY POLITICIAN [sorry, I have to express this in all caps...] has to go and check up on them?
I'm just so disgusted. It's especially sad because Olivia used to be a very strong woman in her own right. She worked hard in local politics, but now that her hubby is the leader of a national party, she looks like nothing more than a puppet. I hope she actually does something for her own riding soon. There's a lot of lower income people in this neighbourhood. I'm glad she thinks that grandstanding by going off to - well, I'm not sure what she's doing besides enjoying California sun - is worth more than actually helping us while Parliament isn't in session.
Oh my goodness - all I did today was try to follow up with the bike store whose booth I visited during the bike show last week-end. They didn't have a bike in my size and I was so confused by all the info that I left completely exhausted. I had two invites to go out for drinks tonight, and one ongoing workshop I should have attended, but instead I am home capable of nothing more than having a nice hot bath. I'm not sure how I'm going to survive six days of biking and camping.
I have registered to cycle from Toronto to Montreal (6 days) as part of a fundraiser for an organization that supports people living with HIV. This will be quite the challenge for me as not only am I out of shape and do not take well to camping, but I don't like bike riding. Still, I think of all my close friends who face the challenge of living with HIV and all the stigma it still has, and I figure that this is nothing as far as a challenge goes. I have a little folding bike, but I have to go and buy a big-girl bike for this escapade. [And dammit, the rules actually state that you can't use an electric bike.]
I duly went to the bike show that was in town this past week-end and went to find a bike. I was too overwhelmed to purchase a bike at the time, but I found the booth for a bike shop that is near me and I'm going to go and visit them later this week. I won't get the lowest price that I could have gotten at the bike show, but I will still be able to get something in my range.
The upside of my trip to the bike show was that I the fundraiser I'm part of had a booth of its own. The guys there were awesome and they gave me a sneak preview of the team jerseys we'll have. The best part? They said, "and now that you know the colours - you can accessorize!" I may end up being sweaty and exhausted, but at least I'll be with people who know how to have fun and look good. Okay, but that's not even the bestest part. The bestest part is that then I found a pair of bike shoes on sale and they are powder blue and will match the team jersey! OMG!!!! I'm so happy now. And I also have the cutest biking gloves. I am dreading wearing hideous bike shorts, but I have a lovely wrap-around mini from Bali that I will wear over them. Sadly it doesn't coordinate with the rest of the outfit, but I do have a longer sarong that does.
Tomorrow I will check out the bikes. If I do indeed go with the one that I looked at at the bike show, it too will coordinate with my outfit. Yay!
And what's more my energy is back! I think I must have had a really mild flu. I had a brutal killer of a flu last year but I think this year my flu shot protected me from the worst of it.
The hell? Was I so evil in a past life that I'm doomed to suffer here on earth, at least when it comes to dating?
Christ on a stick, I have been corresponding with a guy I met on PoF. He seemed nice and we decided to meet. I invited him over for Indian food for our first meeting (and in doing so probably threw out every dating advice ever written). He accepted and we planned for tonight. I had my evening mapped out - I would order the food from work, pick it up on my way home, and do a quick clean before he arrived.
Like the taking-the-cats-to-the-vet episode, everything started out well: I was able to leave work on time, I picked up all the food (tons and tons because I'm having a girls' night on Friday and picked up all the food for that at the same time), and got home and was able to clean my place enough so that it looked good. All that was ready was for me to set the table and I was good to go.
The whole time I kept checking my email to see if he'd confirmed when he was arriving. It was odd - I had received an email from him this morning and he stated that he would check his email throughout the day for my response. I had responded, but hadn't heard again from him. Not a big deal though - this guy is highly reliable. Calls when he says he will, etc.
Then I thought back a little about the email. This guy works shift work and has to pick up shifts from time to time. I had assured him last night that if he picked up a shift that he wasn't to worry - we would just reschedule. The email this morning mentioned that first thing in the morning he had picked up a shift and was heading into work. But as it ended with 'see you soon', I thought we were still on for tonight.
In retrospect, I realize that he was being nice and meaning he would reschedule with me. I realized this only at 7pm [when he had been due to arrive] as I remembered that his shifts were 12 hours each. Duh!!!!! This would be bad enough, except that I had sent him an email earlier in the day saying, "Okay, see you after your shift", letting him know that I am obtuse.
This email was followed by a text message at 7:00 correcting my error. I texted him because I'm weirdly shy about phoning people I don't know well. That would be fine except the number I had is apparently his home phone and not a cell phone. I realized this when I got a text message from my phone company mentioning that they had read the message to his machine. Oh good grief. Now I seem like a freak.
I hope he sees the humour in it all and does reschedule. If not, I'll live. In the interim, I have double orders of lamb curry and dahl in the fridge, not to mention single orders of rice, eggplant, matar paneer, butter chicken, and chicken tikka. I called my landlady and invited her round for dinner when she gets home from work. No point in wasting good take-out!
There I was, all back from my snowboarding trip, all feeling empowered, all feeling cool - blah, blah, blah. Then on the Tuesday after I had to take my kitties to the vet for their annual check-up and shots. No problem. I left work at 2 and headed home to pack up the cats and go to the vet, located in my former neighbourhood.
First, I had to stop at the pet store near my subway stop in order to pick up an extra cat carrier. That was easy to find, and with a cool knapsack cat carrier in hand, I made my way home. The cats were happy to see me and one by one I lured them into the front entrance and stuffed them into their respective bags. They weren't happy, and Tasha in particular was vocal and miserable, but compared to other times when I've had to wrestle with them to get them in their bags, I had gotten off easily. Off I went to the end of my street to hail a cab. One came quickly, and me and the kitties were soon deposited at my vets. So far, so good.
I went into the waiting room, got settled, and then went up to the receptionist. She immediately noted that my appointment was in fact for Wednesday. Furthermore, they were booked solid and there was no way that the vet would be able to see me that day. Suddenly my miraculously easy vet trip was becoming hell. There was *no way* I could take another afternoon off work, and what's more, there was no way I was going to have an easy time tricking the cats into letting me get them anywhere near their cat carriers the next day. I fought back the tears and shuffled away, cats and carriers in hand. I ended up rebooking for a few Saturdays from now [I'll face that ordeal when I come to it].
However, not one to have a wasted trip, I decided that I would first go to the pet store right next door and pick up some cat litter. I knew that I couldn't carry two cats and a 40 pound bag of cat litter, so for some bizarre idea of logic, I opted to buy TWO fourteen pound bags of litter instead. The to compound the matter, I was going to pay for the litter with my credit card, but instead decided to pay cash - which used up the last of my cash.
What this meant was that I now had two cats, two bags of litter, and absolutely no money to get home. Moreover, I realized belatedly that I also did not have my bank card meaning no chance of going to an ATM. Apparently most cabs now take credit cards, but I didn't realize that. As such, I trudged toward the subway. Normally it would be an easy 5 minute walk from that pet store, but with all my baggage, it took more like fifteen.
Fur's cat carrier was actually a backpack, so in order to free up arms for carrying the litter, I had it on my back (on the way to the vet I had carried it like a normal bag). Tasha, in her bag, I had slung over one shoulder, and in each arm I carried a bag of litter. I looked completely insane. Not to mention that Tasha was howling non-stop so it was the equivalent of having a neon sign above me directing everyone to "look at the crazy person".
I made it onto the subway and had a brief reprieve before arriving at my stop and facing a fifteen minute walk home. By this time my arms had given out. I realized that with my current configuration I was never going to make it home. Fur's backpack carrier had a strap that went around my waist for support and security. In desperation, I attached Tasha's carrier to the strap. Now I had Fur securely on my back, Tasha in her bag swinging against my thigh, and both arms free for carrying the bags of litter. Alas, it was not enough. My weak noodle arms could not hold both bags.
My next configuration consisted of me placing one bag of litter on top of Tasha's carrier, and hugging the remaining bag to my chest. Tasha's carrier is soft-sided, but it has enough strength that the bag was not crushing her. Let's recap: I now had one cat in a backpack, one cat in a bag hanging from my waist, a bag of litter on top of that bag, and a bag of litter clutched in front of me - and Tasha howling incessantly, drawing all attention to me. I looked like such a loser and felt so utterly defeated. By miracle I did not run into any ex-boyfriends at this point. I staggered home and dropped everything at the door, including the cats. I let them out of their carriers outside, but they wanted nothing more than to get back inside.
This past week-end I once again took the kitties to the vet. This time I made sure that I was going on the correct day and that I had enough cash for a cab. It was remarkably painless and both kitties are in good form. I do learn.
I'm a hypochondriac, but I had the symptoms before looking up 'anemia' on the Internet. I had blood taken last week, but need to wait to see the doctor on Monday for results. In the interim, I am beyond fatigued and am having mucho trouble breathing properly [apparently 'shortness of breath' is a sign. Who knew? Okay, probably everyone except me...]
I'm eating chicken again but if on Monday they tell me that I have low iron and write me a nice prescription for heavy-duty iron pills, I will be most grateful. Low iron is pretty easy to fix!
As such, I have been doing very little beyond work and events I already committed to, and am behind on blog reading and writing.
Much love to everyone!
Coming back from my recent trip, I was in line at customs. When I approached the customs dude, he smiled and asked if I'd had a nice trip. Then he asked, "So were you just on the flight from Wyoming?" I stared at him, but figured they had some indication of what flights had arrived. He followed that question with, "Recognize me?"
He looked vaguely familiar. I wondered if we'd been to kindergarten together or something like that.
Then he said - "I was in the hot tub with you two nights ago!"
Indeed he had been.
I had stopped listening to my iPod. I had it cranked up so loudly on the subway that I felt like I was destroying my hearing, but I couldn't hear the music well anyhow. Last week I made a snap purchase in a store and bought noise cancelling headphones. Now I can listen to my music at a low volume, even when walking near traffic or while sitting on the subway. This is one of the best investments I've ever made.
Just before I paid for the headphones, I made another complete snap purchase at the store and bought a Macbook [or whatever it's called]. I don't have it connected to the Internet and have figured out absolutely none of the programs [or even cared to try so far]. Yet it has already served its purpose: the porn I bought last March and which wouldn't play on my DVD player due it being set for Europe, plays just fine on my new laptop.
Last night I went to a friend's house for a belated Chinese New Year celebration. Every year her family hosts this event and it's so much fun. Moreover, I know this friend from high school and she has kept in touch with some people I haven't, so it's also like a mini-reunion. Anyhow, there was one couple there who she knew from university, not from high school. Our high school group were going through old yearbooks (something I would rather not do), so this couple were just sitting to the side and I went to talk to them. They were a great couple, and they had the absolutely cutest 4 year-old boy. He never said a thing - but he was all smiles and contentedly sitting in the next room watching tv.
At one point I sat next to him and he and I bonded when he started jumping on the couch next to me and I kept picking him up and tossing him onto the couch. Later when we were all sitting again as a group, he stood in front of me and started pressing on my belly. A game I play with my oldest niece is that when she presses on my belly, I pretend to vomit on her. Then after a while we decide who I'm going to projectile vomit on. I decided to play the game with this kid.
He was right into it. It started with me saying, "If you keep pressing my belly, I'm going to vomit on you." Of course he did it again and I made suitable barfing noises. The I would say, "Shall we vomit on Jillian?" [who was sitting next to me]. He would press my tummy and I would turn my head and pretend to barf on Jillian. And so on and so forth. We were having a blast [and were discreet enough believe it or not that everyone else could continue with their conversations] until I said, "And shall I barf on your daddy?"
I that point his father clued into the game and came up to his son and said, "You do not press on a woman's tummy!" His father wasn't yelling or angry, but clearly the game was at an end. Then he looked at me and said, "He's at an age where he's figuring about body parts and everything is about poo or snot." And I thought, "But that's fun!" [not to mention that I was the one making the puking sounds]. Then I felt bad - I suppose I shouldn't have encouraged the kid to feel he could poke strangers, but I figured as long as he wasn't grabbing my boobs, it was no big deal.
All was well though. Undeterred the boy moved on to marching back and forth in front of us with exaggerated arm and leg motions - very soldier like. That game seemed to cause no issues. I'll just have to keep my special vomiting game reserved for my nieces.
My snowboarding buddy captured these action shots of me on the slopes. Note that despite 4 days of snowboarding at Jackson Hole which included three days of lessons, I am still on the beginner slopes. However, I now attack the hill with confidence and make awesome turns. Let's all just overlook how dorky my helmet is. I will get a new one at end of season.
It was such a wonderful day: bright, sunny, and full of fresh air and exercise. Also our group had a little apres-ski gathering so it was fun to catch up with others.
I remember last Valentines Day when Rob and I got completely drunk with a friend of mine, and then Rob and I went back to his place and had the most debauched, wild, drunken sex. It was a blast. I was worried that V-Day was going to hit me badly this year.
It didn't.
Two of my coworkers were planning big Valentine's celebrations this year: one is a newlywed and the other is getting married in June. I was so happy for them and suggested ideas for them. It in no way made me feel bitter or sad. Relationships have so many ups and downs - I was happy that they were enjoying the happy moments. At the same time, I know several friends who are in relationships which are either ending or in troubled times. My heart went out to them as even knowing that V-day is a commercial fabrication, you can't help but feel sad if your relationship isn't going well on the 14th.
The only time I began to feel weird was when a friend invited to a fun massage workshop event he was hosting. At that point I did feel like that would be too much for me - surrounded mainly by couples and having to pay someone to massage me on Valentines when last year I had so much 'touch' with someone I loved. I also wasn't sure who would be there and I don't like strangers touching me at all. If I were dating someone right now, it would have been ideal, but I thought the last thing I [or anyone else at the event needed] was to burst into tears at a party. Especially not when I otherwise was feeling great. It was at that point that I suddenly decided to take control of the situation and plan to do something I loved. That's where the snowboarding came in. I think I have finally found a group where I feel like I belong.
So, I hope that no one was down this past Valentines. If you are in a relationship and enjoying it, I hope that despite the 14th being a cheesy holiday, that you had fun together or just went for the fun of having a holiday where you can enjoy being a complete romantic sap! If you're in a bad patch or in a relationship that's ending, please don't make more of the day than is necessary. Don't feel pressured to be loving, but do remember to try and be kind to those around you - even an ex. And for those of you who like me are single, I do hope you didn't feel lonely.
Much love to everyone who reads this and contributes - you have given me so much strength virtually and on down days when getting out and interacting in real life was beyond me.
xo
Dear Fur,
I understand that my pill box looks like a cute cat toy to you but it is not. As such, please discontinue from knocking it off my desk. I did not appreciate returning from a day of snowboarding yesterday and finding the pill box knocked to the floor, open, with one pill remaining. I had no idea where the other eight happy pills had gone to, and initially worried that you had eaten them. Then I looked around the floor.
Appreciate that although it may be a fun game for you to bat the little white pills all over the hardwood floor, it is not fun for me to have to crawl around picking them up. This was made even more unpleasant due to the fact that both knees were bruised, scratched, and swollen from falling on icy hills. It was especially not fun hunting for the pills given that I hadn't swept that floor in ages, and might I just mention that although it is a highlight of yours to dig so violently in your litter box that piles of cat litter scatter in the vicinity, having to rescue one of the pills from one such pile was not appealing to me?
I now have all the pills back in the box and please leave them there. Content yourself to playing with your scratching post, walking on my head in the morning, and terrorizing Tasha. And never forget, as the human in this house, I'm the one who is able to work the can opener.
You need me. I need my happy pills.
Much love.
Thank you to my workplace which encouraged us all to go watch the inauguration of US President Obama. That was cool.
It's odd because most Canadians have this arrogant and very tiresome superiority complex to Americans. Yet now, now that it's President Obama, Canadians are all over the inauguration. It's like: We were part of this!
Meanwhile, we have a moralistic nutjob as Prime Minister and the most idiotic coalition of three parties, NONE of which the Canadian public resoundingly endorsed [well, maybe the Bloc Quebecois got many votes in Quebec - I can't remember, but as they don't run anywhere except Quebec and their goal is to separate from Canada, it's kind of silly that they are supposed to be part of a national coalition). And our parliament has been prorogued while the whole mess simmers down. The only upside is that all of us in Canada learned what "prorogued" meant.
There is no voice of the people here! My parliamentary representative is a well-respected politician in her own right, and also is the wife of the leader of the NDP [socialist] party. I sent an email to the party office stating [as one of her consituents]: No to Stephen Harper, but no to the Coalition. In the body of my email I noted that although I hadn't voted for Harper, I was not in support of the Coalition and wanted the chance to vote. Not to just have them overthrow the minority government and assume power.
The whole spin of the Coalition was that 64% -or something like that - of the Canadian population didn't vote for Stephen Harper. Yes, agreed, but I CERTAINLY didn't vote for the Coalition. Holy crap, faced with that freak show on the ballot, I would have voted for the Marxist Lennonist party. Anyhow, my email was pretty clear.
Now, I know that staff for an MP have no time to individually respond to constituent emails, but apparently they can't read either. I got back a form letter thanking me for my support of the coalition. It then went on to tell me to attend a rally for said Coalition, and listed every single online poll about the Coalition, and encouraged me to click the links and vote in support of the Coalition.
Yes... I could clearly see how this Coalition was going to be the voice of the people...
You know, many Americans were considering moving to Canada during the last of the Bush era. Can I go to the States now?
A is for adultery: for me and Hester Prynne
B is for the Bible that tells me it’s a sin
C is for the cheating, that causes much tumult
D is for divorce proceedings, that surely will result
And of course, S is for Sue who doesn’t give a crap about any of this because I’m not the one who took any sort of vow of fidelity. Also because nothing has happened yet except for a brief email exchange.
I’m slow, but I’m not a complete moron. When a guy is mainly only available during the day, you know it’s because he is in a relationship. I called him on it and asked if he was married, and yes, he is. He’s also apparently separated, and it’s mutual. I’ll see. I appreciate his candour though. I can decide now how to proceed.
I love pizza.
I had fries tonight and am over my fries fixation. I'm even over my -*gasp* - mocha fixation at Starbucks. It's way too sweet for me, and that's after asking for with only two pumps of syrup. But pizza still makes my heart beat faster.
Here are my fave toppings:
In a restaurant: Pizza margherita - just sauce, cheese and basil. Sometimes I like black olives (provided they aren't canned), and anchovies. Regardless, it has to be a thin crust pizza.
Homemade: I love cauliflower on pizza. Such a delight. I also love a pizza smothered in green olives - it has to be the ones which come pre-sliced in a jar. Sheer bliss.
Tonight I had homemade pizza with cauliflower and red peppers. The base was a cilantro/parsley pesto I had made in the summer, and the crust was whole wheat dough from Whole Foods. Their dough is delicious! I used plain old mozzarella for the topping, but it was perfect. Now tomorrow I can have my all-time fave breakfast: hot coffee with cold pizza.
What are your favourite toppings and is it different between take-out/restaurant pizza and homemade?
First of all, 2008 sucked.
I had a complete breakdown. Finally all those years of being depressed and dealing with it became too much. Partly crazy hormones as I get older, partly stress increases, and partly never really having had true depression. Instead I think what I've had my whole life is a major form of PMS, otherwise known as PMDD. I'm not going to bore you with details, but this is a public service announcement so that women can be aware of yet another condition we can all be subject to, and because it's basically a state that leaves you 'normal' for two weeks and then moody, irritated, and distraught for the other two weeks. Every single month. In other words, you seem bat-shit crazy to everyone around you.
So after crying for three months straight and going every lunch hour to the park near my work and crying my eyes out, I finally saw my doctor. By this point I did have true depression. I ignored every friend who suggested therapy [been there, done that - and although invaluable, if it's your hormones that are making you crazy, talking about your relationships is no going to help], and went and got a prescription.
6 months later and this is the first time in my adult life that suicide is not a viable option for me. I've never been actively suicidal, but I've always kept it as a good option. I don't even think of it now. My life is no better or worse than it was last year (ah hell, it's probably a bit worse), but mentally, I'm coping.
This is why I had to blog the small successes of 2009 so far. Up until mid-December last year, I was struggling to cope and faking my way through almost every social situation for about five months. Not that I didn't have some good moments, but over-all I was lost.
I so hope that this continues.
I ate apples. I ate oatmeal. I had a salad for the love of god. Yet my body still stubbornly clings to the five pounds I gained over the holidays. Does my body not realize what an effort I am making for it? I should be rewarded!
Okay, I broke down and had a chocolate bar today, but it was dark chocolate! And it had raisins in it! That's health food. Tomorrow morning when I step on the scales my body had better show some appreciation.
In my sorrow over turning 40, I decided to spoil myself and book a snowboarding trip. So, I went on my ski/snowboarding group's website and saw that there was still space on the Jackson Hole trip. A few glasses of wine and a credit card number, I'm contacting the trip leader saying, "Sign me up!"
All I knew about Jackson Hole was that it was supposed to be gorgeous and apparently has a lot of hot men. This was told to me by a friend who had been there with the [very wealthy] family she had been a nanny for. Notably, this friend does not ski or snowboard. But I figured that every place has beginner runs and never thought more about it.
This past Saturday I went snowboarding and during lessons, the instructor mentioned that Jackson Hole was known for its steep inclines and expert runs. I blanched.
Although my snowboarding has VASTLY improved, I still can only rarely do two turns in a row without falling. Me going down the small hills in Ontario consists of the following steps:
1. Dismount from chairlift. Glide forward and fall. Crawl out of the way quickly before next group of people dismounts.
2. Get bindings fully adjusted. Start to edge down the hill. Accept the fact that I need to try to do a turn. Fall on my ass.
3. Get up and try again. This time have one successful turn, followed by another, and then fall forward landing on my shoulder.
4. Get up and start another turn. Fall.
5. Get up and start again. Have a pretty good groove going. Realize that thighs are so sore I can no longer stand upright. Stop and sit on hill, to the complete annoyance of all the skiers.
6. Summon up the strength to complete steps 3-5 again until I reach the end of the run.
I went on the website for the resort and the pic I have at the top of this post is what greeted me. I suppose this is supposed to be a big selling point for their clientele, but for me it signified a complete loss of bowel control. I hurriedly looked up their trail map and scanned for beginner runs. There was one. There are several novice runs so I hope I at least manage a few of those. I can do the novice runs in Ontario, but you know, Ontario's 'expert' runs don't exactly look like that death drop in the promo pic.
My plan is to find a hot snowboarding cowboy who will give me private lessons. Maybe I'll come back knowing how to do the half pipe. And if that doesn't work, I'm going to sit my ass in the heated indoor/outdoor pool at the hotel and fully relax for the week.