Saturday, 28 January 2012

I'm leaving I'm leaving I'm leaving I'm leaving!

I'm leaving! Hubby and I leave today for our southern resort holiday with our three friends.  Needless to say, it's gonna be a bit of a par-TAY. 

I have been looking forward to this vacation like no other.  I've been antsy and desperate for it.  And now it's here and I CAN. NOT. WAIT. to get there. 

I am going to wake up tomorrow and get my fat ass down to that beach so damn fast.  I won't even be visible - I'll just be a flying blur headed in the direction of the ocean. 

I am going to drink beer. 

I am going to play frisbee, and try a trapeze, and maybe even go check out some dolphins. 

I am going to drink beer. 

I am going to lay in the sun, and read books and magazines, and bury my friends in the sand. 

I am going to drink a lot of beer. 

I hope you all have a wonderful week.  If I can get some wifi access, maybe I'll post some pics.  Or at least maybe I'll tweet.  Either way, please don't forget about  me while I'm gone.  I'll bring y'all home a coconut or something. 

Wednesday, 25 January 2012

My Uncle Chong

I had a crazy Uncle Leigh.  Well, he wasn't really "crazy", as much as he was, um, high

Uncle Leigh, my mom's brother, was a bit of a nomad.  From what I hear, he took off from the family at a young age and travelled around North America pursuing a relatively lucrative career of importing and exporting

He ran into trouble now and then, and he had to take advantage of seek help from the family on a few occasions.  But generally, he kept his distance.  He got married and had two kids, and then eventually found himself alone again. 

As the years passed, he set up a little apartment in a small town, became the building manager, ran an antique furniture refinishing shop out of the storefront below, befriended the kind blind neighbour, and took care of his beloved parakeet. 

This is how I knew him.  Making furniture, smoking dope, and talking to his bird. 

Uncle Leigh wasn't perfect.  However, we learned to accept him for who he was.  We left him alone.  Sometimes we saw his kids, and then their sweet kids after them (my first cousins, once removed, for you ancestry freaks out there).  But that was it. 

Until he got cancer.  Throat cancer of course, given all the smoking.  So Momma and I started visiting more often.  Just a few minutes now and then, but plenty of time - time for me to get to know him. 

As it turns out, Uncle Leigh was friggin awesome.  He was funny, he was honest, he was straightforward, he was genuine.  Just like Momma and her siblings.  Just like all of us. 

So I took this time to ask him questions. 

What was his best story? Well, he was driving somewhere in the southern US, and somehow convinced the cops to not inspect the red convertible that was so obviously not suited for a "roughneck like him".

Did he have any regrets?  Nope.  He lived his life his way.  Sure, he wished some of it had turned out differently, but he tried to make up for some of that now, and otherwise he didn't dwell on it. 

What was the worst part? Well, imagine being radiated to shit until you couldn't produce any saliva, and therefore had to survive on Boost. Boost and pot. Imagine how much time you'd have if you didn't have to shop for, prepare, cook, or clean up food. Imagine if the only way anyone knew how to socialize was to 'go out to eat'.  ...Well, you'd have a LOT of lonely time on your hands, wouldn't you?   Luckily, you could still smoke marijuana. Especially when you had cancer, because even your straight-edge niece can't possibly say 'no' when you ask her if you can light up.

What will he do with his remaining time?  He'll buy a bright yellow sports car and plan one last big road trip, even if he never drives it.  He'll get a pardon and get his European citizenship restored.  He'll show off his new medical marijuana license to his buddies.  He'll play with his grand kids.  And talk to his bird. 

And when I come visit, he'll hug me and call me sweetie; he'll show me pictures of his grandchildren; he'll give me an antique wedding gift from his shop; he'll laugh his gravelly laugh; and he'll make me smile

And when he dies, he'll harbour no anger.  He'll not much care how it all turns out.  He'll ask nothing of anyone.  Except to be cremated with his already-dead bird that he sat on top of last year, and to be saved in a nice wooden box on someone's mantel. 

Sure Leigh.  We can do that. 
xo

Tuesday, 17 January 2012

Are we sure *today* wasn't Friday the 13th?

I was running an hour late this morning.  No different than every single other morning (because mornings are assholes), but still, it sucks. 

When I finally got going, I tried to drive to the bus station with a frosty windshield and summer tires (becasue I've been to lazy/cheap to get the winter tires switched). 

Despite the impending snow storm, I finally got to the bus station.  And immediately proceeded to fall UP the stairs.  IN FRONT OF PEOPLE.  

I picked my ass up off the floor, just in time to see my bus pulling away.  So I took off up another set of stairs to run - and I mean RUN - across the pedestrian overpass to catch the bus at the next stop. 

Note:  Running when you've not done any cardio activity in several months is a problem. 

But I made it!  I basically suffocated, but I made it. 

Unfortunately, I then spent what felt like 20 minutes trying to dig my bus tickets out of my coat pocket while the bus driver sat there and stared at me.  And so did everyone else.  He wouldn't drive until I handed them over.  He just sat there.  What did he think? I was pretending

I found the damn things and apologized.  He seemed to perk up, and expressed his concern that bus tickets are a pain in the ass for everyone.  Including him.

The bus started moving and I made my way to my seat.  And then I began to DIE.  It was 150 degrees in there and the heat was blowing RIGHT ON ME.  Plus I was all hot and bothered from running a mile at top speed. 

It took another 20 minutes to get my coat, scarf, and gloves off, to blow my cold runny nose, and to situate my kickass new iPod and kickass iPhone within reach. 

Sigh. 

And then this. 



And then all of a sudden all was right in the world again.

Fucking r-tards.  Don't ring the bell until your stop comes.  And if you ring it early, you better damn well get off at the next stop if nobody else does because if you make my bus stop moving for no effing reason I WILL kill you.  Amateurs. 

Monday, 16 January 2012

Crazy neighbours, shoveling, and other cheesy things

It's my week over at Cheesy Bloggers.  It's my week every third week, actually.  And if you're not already following me (and my genius friends Ms Sarcasm and Ang) at our WICKED ASS bloggy site, you are missing out on some seriously cheesy/hilarious stuff.

Simply because I love you, and I want you to partake in the pure hilarity that happens over there on a daily basis, here is my post from this week. 

But I insist that you go check out Cheesy Bloggers.  Because it's cheesy.  Enough said. 

*******

I hope you don't have a special shoveling method.

Who has a crazy neighbour?

I do! I do!

Actually, most of my neighbours are nice, some are even super fun, but there are inevitable quirks that show up from time to time. Obsessive compulsive quirks, for example.

Last week we got a shit-ton of snow. Not as much as we're used to up here in the Great White North, but still. It all came at once. In one giant dumping on Thursday morning. The whole sky was white with big fluffy flakes falling at a rapid pace. I thought it was nuclear winter.

Anyway, it was falling so fast that there was really no point in shovelling it. Unless you're crazy.

I was getting ready for work and I pointed out to Hubby the funny neighbour across the street, shovelling away. Only, the whole driveway was already covered in another layer of snow by the time she got to the end.

And of course I thought this was HILARIOUS.

But then Hubby made it even funnier.

Hubby: "Oh my god. No. Keep watching. Watch what she does."

Me: "Really? What?"

Hubby: "Just watch."

And I watched, from behind the bedroom curtain my window, while nutbar across the street finished the end of her driveway. AND THEN STARTED OVER AGAIN.

She just started at the top.   Again.

Me: "No!"

Hubby: "She does that all the time! Watch! She even has a special method."

Yep. She sure did. She first shovelled down a layer, and then over. And then down, and over. And so on, until the whole giant driveway was RE-shoveled. Which was clearly the funniest thing I'd seen in weeks. So I obviously ran downstairs to take a picture. Obviously.



I love my neighbours. But man, sometimes people are nuts.

******

Have you got a crazy neighbour story? Email it to CheesyBloggers@gmail.com  and I'll post it for all of us to enjoy. Also, please check out this week's Spreadable Cheese. It's totally worth it. I'm super clever and I found some funny stuff for y'all to look at. So go ahead. Now is good. Go!

Wednesday, 11 January 2012

Maybe don’t assume strangers are crazy. Maybe.

This week has not been ideal.

There’s something about the week after the holidays in which “getting back to normal” is a bit of an asshole.  Trying to return oneself to a normal sleep schedule, a consistent work schedule, and a regular bowel schedule is tricky.  Not to mention all those pesky new year’s resolutions getting in the way. It’s tiring, frustrating, and a general pain in my recently fatter ass.

Click here to read more of this post at A Nervous Tic Motion. 


I write at this wicked-ass site once every few weeks and you should totally read, follow, and comment.  Try not to be lazy, people.  Nervous Tic covers a cornucopia of topics - nothing is off limits.  Which is why I like it. 

Plus, I write for them, which means everyone should trust my damn opinion because I totally wouldn't associate with losers.  At least not voluntarily. 

So go forth and enjoy...

Monday, 9 January 2012

Diets. Yea or nay?

How many people like to go on a diet?

Ummmm....

NO ONE.  NO ONE LIKES TO GO ON A DIET. 

Let's be clear.  I'm not a dieter. I watch my diet, but I don't slash it six ways to Sunday to achieve some sort of disillusioned goal.  Diets don't even work, do they?   Aren't we supposed to just improve our diet habits, not go crazy cutting out staples? 

All I've ever wanted was to be semi-healthy and therefore not feel like a total effing loser.  I watch what I eat, but there are no official  "rules" - because rules are ditch pigs.  I simply avoid shoving a shit-ton of crap into my face on a daily basis.  (Weekly, maybe, but not daily.)  I like my sweets and I eat them, but I like my veggies and I eat those too.  I'm ok with my choices.  I usually only feel like a loser when I haven't counteracted the crap with veggies or some type of - uh, what's that stuff called? Oh yeah.  EXERCISE.   

None of this was a problem when I was a gym-goer.  I was a big time yogi and kickboxer and I loved hiking too.  I watched what I ate, but it all balanced out.

Until Depression. 

When Depression first hit, I couldn't eat anything, and then I ate everything in sight, and now as much as I try to be active, motivating myself is problematic.  I'll get there.  I'm on the right track.  But in the meantime, I still eat all the same crap and I've lost all my counteractivity

So I'm trying something new.  I downloaded a calorie-counting app for my kickass iPhone.  Based on my weight and my beach-vacation exercise goals, it sets a daily calorie limit.  I track my food intake and energy exertion and then it shows how well I'm doing.  

Or in my case, HOW FUCKING BADLY I'M DOING. 

Thanks to this asshole app, I get to see that even a glass of milk (which I always loved) is a "problem."  MILK.  Which is GOOD for me.  Healthy milk.  Milk that prevents Osteoporosis.  Milk that Canadian dairy farmers make for me.  Milk that provides a cute mustache.  Milk, that I used to like, has become the enemy. 

So I need your advice, folks. 

Should I:

a) keep counting the calories for a few weeks to achieve my bathing suit health goals and to become more aware of what I'm eating (knowledge is power, and all that);

OR,

b) stop adding apps to my kickass iPhone that essentially just piss me off?

OR,

secret answer c) Liposuction?

What do y'all think?

_

Tuesday, 3 January 2012

Day 6 - Yeah, I've been to some places.

This is Day 6 of my 100 (more like 200) Day Blog Challenge.  I'm supposed to share a picture of somewhere I've been. 

I've been a lot of places, y'all.  I mean, just this morning I went to work.  And yesterday - well, yesterday I never left the house, but I did go to the laundry room once. 

I've been to some other places too.  Winnipeg, for example.  Random example, but there it is. 

Actually, Hubby and I like to take a trip every year.  Usually every summer for our anniversary.  The first year we went to our nation's capital (which we now live in, so that's less exciting), then to Montreal, Niagara Falls, Toronto (that was a no-money year), NYC, Boston, PARIS and NICE (honeymoony!), Chicago, and finally New Orleans. 

Did I have a favourite? 

Hmmm...

Well, every trip was wonderful.  Except Toronto.  So many things wrong with Toronto.  I think France was the best.  You can't argue with France.  There's something so special about a honeymoon - even when your wedding changed nothing about your exisiting relationship.  I've never been more relaxed than laying in corpse pose on a rock beach in Nice.  Seriously.  I channel that feeling on a regular basis. 

But last summer we didn't go because I was still recovering from my Crazy.  So we went in October instead! 

N'awlins was awesome.  There's a whole post about it here.  But here are two key photos.  Just because. 


I made Hubby take this photo with the boobies. 
He wouldn't put down his beer-in-a-bag though. 

Then I made him take this one of me with Mr Peeny.
Say cheese Mr Peeny!


You can link up your Blog Challenge posts here if you want - I want to know how many people are beating me at this challenge. 


Sunday, 1 January 2012

Words of wisdom for you, grasshoppers

My dear friend LB sent me this link today: It's So Involved Being Me, which has inspired this post. 

Marianna Annadanna's Lessons Learned in 2011

Wow.  Where to start.  2011 was a big year. 

The year I got depressed, stayed depressed, got anxious, didn't get out of bed, took a month off work, got meds, got a psychologist, got a bit better, had three grandparents die, got a new job, got a new start, went to New Orleans, got to keep my amazing husband, got much better, and booked a southern resort vacation.  And only a few of those were resolutions from last year.   

As for lessons?  Yeah, you could say there were a few. So I've summarized them here, in general chronological order.  Take these to heart.  I don't give free advice often.  Well, yes I do, but still. 


An important life lesson - put your effing shit AWAY. 

If you are not a baker, don't try to be. 

If mornings give you panic attacks, avoid them.  And I learned this before I knew that mornings actually do give me panic attacks. 

Winter is shitty all-round.  Especially when you're depressed but you don't know it yet. 

Some days SUCK ASS.  But blogging helps.  

Actually, blogging is the SHIT.  In a good way.  And blog renderings are HILARIOUS.  And blogger friends are the best part. Especially the cheesy ones.  And when one blog isn't enough? Start another one!

Some people will save you.  Hubby is my saviour.  The best thing that has ever, or will ever, happen to me and the reason I've survived the last year.  My favourite

Shopping is an ASSHOLE.  Online and in-person.  Avoid it.  No matter what. 

Sometimes an open letter makes you feel better. 

It is possible to stay happily married for 60 years

Sometimes all you need is a day of FUN.  And/or a death coffin waterslide.  And a Diversification Plan. 

Don't ask me for directions.  I don't know. 

Sometimes it's just time to have a baby.  Ok, first maybe it's time to get off the Crazy Pills, but then, THEN, it's time to have a baby.

Sometimes you just need a fresh start. A clean slate.  If you need it, find it.  Soon. 

You might be bad at something.  It's ok.  I'm a terrible cyclist.  Seriously.  It's not good. 

Some habits can't be broken.  You have to get over it. 

Commuting is a miserable harpy, and it's not goetting any better.  You have to accept the hell that is commuting and move on. 

You don't have to take on EVERYTHING.  You can just do what you want.  Huh.  Novel idea.   



So there they are.  Pretty much everything I learned about life - about me - over the past year.  You're welcome. 

_