December 15/13

Oh boy!  We're already half way through December, and I'm just amazed that we're looking at the end of the year so quickly!

I follow this Twitter account called Emergency Kittens, in case you haven't already guessed from previous blog posts which have featured some of the tweets, and honestly, sometimes it's a welcome respite from the cynicism, apathy or ire I endure sometimes.  If I share these photos of cats and kittens doing cute or funny things, it's because there was that moment in the day when things weren't looking particularly good, and then some little tweet gives me a reason to smile or laugh.  Often it's the text of the tweet that makes it funnier...

like this one...

The toilet paper was talking smack. pic.twitter.com/JGpj013LBD
— Emergency Kittens (@EmrgencyKittens) December 16, 2013

Cats...

...Wish you were here.

December 14/13

Oh.  My.  Gawd.

This.  So much This.

I love Blood and Cornettos...

...Wish you were here.

December 13/13

IT'S HERE!  IT'S HERE!

MY OFFICIAL 'THE BUGLE' FUCKEULOGY MUG IS HERE!



I'm so happy!

When I figured out that no one would buy it for me this holiday season, I treated myself, but it almost didn't happen.  I got all the way through the entering the information on the US merchandise website only to get the message that the mug was not in stock.  I was momentarily discouraged until I had the bright idea to order from the UK merchandise website, and sure enough, they had it!

I'm worried about ordering online from other countries because of Amazon.com.  Amazon.com are jerks and won't ship to Canada...you have to order from Amazon.ca, which doesn't have the variety, and sometimes you can't even get products in Canada.

But who cares!  Because I got my Fuckeulogy mug!

It's the little things...

...Wish you were here.

December 12/13

I have this prickly personality flaw that I am conscious of, but I'm torn about whether I can or should do anything to ameliorate it...I hate being told what to do when it involves something I don't want to do.  It's a problem only when I can't see the point of doing (or in some cases, not doing) something; otherwise, I'm generally cooperative.

For instance, during the holiday season, I find that my response to holiday celebrations entirely depends on my enthusiasm for the activity and/or the likely level of fun the activity will achieve.  When I have no interest, or I suspect the activity will be lame, I become a pain in the ass.  And I don't respond well to suggestionsfalse hopes that it will be fun and morale-boosting.  I was a cheerleader...and I'm the absolute worst at buying into the rah-rah-sis-boom-bah someone tries to sell me.

In other words, I'm a crank.  A Curmudgeon.  A Scrooge, if you will.

So I was relieve today to find out that I'm not alone.  Yesterday's New York Times featured an Op-Ed which I didn't see until today.  It's about how it's actually a morale-killer for some people when they are (okay, I am) forced to take part in activities to "make work fun."  Not because people like me don't want work to be fun, persay, but rather because I often find my sense of fun incompatible with others around me...particularly those who sit on social committees and plan "fun" activities.

I'm grumpy because I recently had to sit through an event that tried to make everything fun, but I spent most of the time rolling my eyes at bad attempts at jokes.  And I am not looking forward to the holiday party at work because it's a potluck that will happen during work hours.  I don't cook or bake, so potlucks are generally a pain in the ass for me.  Okay, if I'm honest, I hate potlucks.  I'd rather pay for a ticket to an event where there is socializing, some beverages, music, and if need be, a non-required activity for people who like that kind of thing.  I remember the private sector parties, where people come together after hours and have dinners, and people make an effort to look festive/nice.  Standing in a boardroom with a plate of tapas while wearing my work badge and listening to work chit-chat is not my idea of fun during the holiday season.

When I'm basically forced to have "fun" I'm afraid my eyeballs will roll right out of my head, and I will die of utter sarcasm.

But thanks to the editors at the New York Times, I know I am not alone, particularly during this holiday season.

Solidarity...

...Wish you were here.

December 11/13

Well, that settles it...I will never be a project manager.  I have a lot of respect for what they do, as they have to be on top of every thing, both great and small, but after three days of this class, I've figured out that I am not this person.

It took me years to figure out that I love the challenges of policy precisely because it involves research, data collection, and most of all, the puzzling out all variables and considerations of both the problem and the potential options and recommendations.  I think the project manager is more about the nuts and bolts, timelines, and deliverables.  All important, but not where my talents lie.

Oh well...back to consultation as a possible future career.

Lifelong Learning...

...Wish you were here.

December 10/13

All cylinders aren't firing today, I'm afraid.  I was up way too late last night playing with my iPad, and up way too early this morning to make it to Day 2: Project Management. 

I think because I'm tired, I wasn't exactly keen to go into the dry, technical world of effort x duration estimates and the vagaries of MS Project, and I am now less excited about pursuing the possibility of the Project Management certification, something I had considered in order to augment my career options and improve my chances of success in getting into new sectors.  I'm also not enjoying the way this class is taught, which would dramatically dampen my enthusiasm.  It lacks meaningful case studies and proper introductions to PM planning software that is frequently alluded to throughout the lectures.  Instead of screen caps from MS Project software from 1993, why not plug in dummy variables and timelines to show us?

And there were no brownies at the U of O Starbucks.

Wahh, wahh, wahh!

Maybe I just need a better night's sleep...

...Wish you were here.

December 9/13

HOLY CRAP WHAT A NIGHT!

We were up too early this morning because we both have Project Management training at Ottawa U this week.  This means we were downtown instead of at work, and at lunch, I had commented to Etienne that we had to avoid the Apple store because of the temptation to buy an iPad.  And how, given that I am always so broke, would this be possible?  Well, my band's yearly annuity payment was deposited in my account on Friday, and it was quite a bit larger than I expected.  Knowing that I was likely facing a stiff tax bill from the reassessment mess of last month, I knew I had to set aside most of that windfall to pay off the debt.

After class was over, Etienne was very excited, and asked if I wanted my xmas present now.  I already let him give me my Birfday present early, so I decided, 'what the hell, might as well.'  After all, he really was so excited.  Well, he steered me right into the Apple store, right to the iPads tables!  Da-amn!  I got an iPad!  In return, I steered Etienne over to Trust Fund and bought him one of his presents early...A Matt and Nat briefcase that he's had his eye on for months now.  I already had planned to withhold some of the Mikisew money for xmas, so it wasn't like I was ruining myself.

When we got back to the building, I went for the mail, and it was all for me.  I recognized instantly the envelope from Canada Revenue Agency, and gave a sigh, but there was also a piece of mail from the province of Ontario for me, and I thought, 'what now?!?'  I mean, this can't be good news.

I went upstairs, and after shedding my winter layer, I went first for the Ontario letter.  It turned out to be the Cancer screening agency for the province letting me know that they are now tracking me, and will start sending me letters to notify me when to do my cancer screenings.  Oh hell, welcome to 35, I guess.  As my Gramma had breast cancer, I guess I'm in line for earlier screenings than many women.

Anyway, I was still ebullient from the iPad, so this didn't dampen my spirit.  I decided to just get it over with, open the CRA letter, and hope for the best.  I knew the error was in the magnitude of almost $900, so who knew what that could mean to my reassessed return.

I couldn't believe my eyes.

$112.

Holy fuck!! 

Did I read that right?

Did I just luck right the fuck out and get an iPad and a tiny tax bill?

It turns out, yes.  Yes, I had.

I needed this break.  When it comes to money, 2013 has not been as kind as I would have hoped.

Yay Me!

...Wish you were here.

December 8/13

I am just dumbfounded.

I just read about the death of a 12 year old boy here in Ontario because he was having a severe asthma attack while outside on break, and his rescue inhaler?  It was locked in the school principal's office. 

I didn't even know that Ontario had a policy of locking up the medications (including urgent life-saving rescue inhalers and epipens) in schools.  I need to do some research into why that policy even exists, because on the face of it, it's dumbfounding.  If you have to take away a child's life-saving medication, why the fuck would you lock it up and make it inaccessible, thus reducing the chances of getting it in time?  Who designed this fucked-up mess of a policy and what criteria went into the decision to design and adopt it?  Policy shouldn't increase the probability of death.

 Bad policy disturbs me to my core...

 ...Wish you were here.

December 7/13

This...definitely this...

No one has to heart to tell him he's not a dog. pic.twitter.com/9GgHyZrso2
— Emergency Kittens (@EmrgencyKittens) December 7, 2013

Cats are awesome...

...Wish you were here.

December 6/13

There is an upside to being home sick still.  Sure, I can't go out into the world, but the world was beamed into my living room this afternoon, as I watched the FIFA World Cup Draw unfold. 

It was an awkward show...athletes generally make pretty terrible performers, and the "banter" exchange between Brazilian president Dilma Rousseff and FIFA head Sepp Blatter was positively painful to watch.

But it wasn't all bad.  I was just delighted when it was announced that the Netherlands had drawn the second spot in Group B, setting up the second match of the World Cup to be a rematch of the World Cup 2010 final!  If that's any indication, this is shaping up to be a fun-filled tournament!

Counting the days...

...Wish you were here.

December 5/13

Nelson Mandela has died.

Madiba gave the world so much more than people realize.

Almost immediately, the world reacted with resigned sadness, but there were those who couldn't help themselves--they have to offer snarky commentary about how he was convicted for crimes of violence.  In particular, one person tweeted that they wondered how long it would be before liberals "erased" his militant past.  This person obviously misses the point to what made Mandela a leader...

His past as a militant isn't supposed to be erased or ignored.  Mandela fought the inhumane system of Apartheid with some force, and he was convicted and given a long sentence in an isolated prison.  Most men would see their anger fester in an Apartheid penal institution, maybe even grow worse.  Mandela possessed a strength of character I believe few in life ever have possessed, which he used to overcome the anger and promote peace, partnership, equality, humanity and hope.  It's a source of inspiration.

The guiding light of Mandela has gone out.  It's time to celebrate his life by doing something to make your light shine a little brighter.

Goodbye, Madiba...

...Wish you were here.

December 4/13

I've been home sick today, likely the flu, but honestly, despite the discomfort which even included regurgitating bile, the worst part of my day happened at 5:30 am.

Apparently, my dream was so upsetting and so incredibly vivid, I was awakened by chest pains and palpitations.  Quite literally, I was raging on in my dream hard enough to cause a shock physical reaction strong enough to wake me and make me wonder if I was having a heart attack.  That's really scary. 

If I'm honest, I was dreaming about work.  Not my actual job so much as the stress that certain relationships put on me.  I know it's totally irrational, but really, lately I've been getting advice and signs that I need to move on...is this just another one?

Sweeter dreams...

...Wish you were here.

December 3/13

Ugh, it's not my day.


I rushed to get out of the house early because I had a dentist appointment at 9 am.  And ended up waiting for about 15 minutes for a bus.  I made it to the appointment with my butcher/dentist (I'm still working through some emotions from March), and had a particularly harsh cleaning.  Then I went to work to a meeting that I wasn't even really supposed to be at (long story), and to top it all off, I was starting to feel sick.  I know that tickle in the back of my throat when I feel it.  Well, by the end of the day, my body was sore, and I was tired.  It didn't help that I stayed late to make up for the time for the Dentist appointment.

It's not even 8 o'clock, and already I want to go to bed.

A cure for the flu...

...Wish you were here.

December 2/13

HAPPY BIRFDAY DADDY!!

Hey, guess what, everyone!!  It's my daddy's birfday!  He turns (redacted) today!

I've always been close to my parents, though there were times you'd have to look closely to see if I was more the Momma's girl or the Daddy's girl.  Obviously during the perils of high school, I would say closer to neither.  There were screaming matches and displays of mutiny during that period of time, and I know Mummy would be bothered that I said this, but she took on the task of reaming me for bad grades and my career aspirations, being the bad cop, so that my dad wouldn't have to, and he could be the good cop.  Isn't that the way of it here in North America!

Anyway, once we all grew out of that, it was largely smooth sailing with my parents again, and even though my dad has sometimes really questioned some of my decisions, he's been stellar in supporting me anyway, letting me rise and fail.  Over our insane mad dash of a drive across the country, we got to talking about some things, and learned to understand each other better.  I think we've come to the conclusion that he is proud of me, and that no matter what, he understands, as his mother was beginning to grasp before him, that my journey is my own.  I appreciate the support more than he could know.

Thank you, daddy...

...Wish you were here.

December 1/13

Well, the morning started off fantastic.  Then it fucking awkward quickly, and then we waited the rest of the day to go to the hockey game.

I don't want to get into the awkward part, but be assured, all is well here.  No, instead, I want to get into my hockey game!

I have a friend at work who decided to buy Senators' season tickets this year (although I don't understand why...so far as I can tell, she's not particularly a fan), and she has sent out the message earlier this year if anyone would be interested in buying tickets.  Well, Oh.  Hell.  Yes.  This is the first season that Detroit is back in the Eastern Conference, so OF COURSE I would buy those tickets!  I was going to get Etienne tickets to the Montreal games, but he didn't want them because last time he went, he was up in the 300s and the Sens' fans there were apparently total dicks.

Anyway, I did the deal on Detroit...and shortly after, Detroit did the deal on Alfredsson, which dramatically bumped up the potential for fans being dicks to me because I'm a Red Wings fan.  I'll admit, it worried me a lot.  All this afternoon, I was worried about it.  But given that the Sens had beaten Detroit twice this season, I realized that it would probably be a loss for me anyway, and just decided to go and have fun.

We got on the bus downtown, and as is now customary, we spotted a car accident in the ditch beside the highway.  I've been to what is now the Canadian Tire Centre in Kanata precisely four times now, and all for times, we passed a car accident on the highway or on the side.  Well, might as well keep up the tradition.  This one just looked like a couple of cars slid into each other, likely just lost control while going too fast for the road conditions, no significant damage, so that's why I can speak so breezily about it.

My spirits were further bolstered by how many Red Wings fans I saw.  Surely, we were outnumbered to a ridiculous degree, but we were strong in numbers, our little cadre!

Of course, it's Detroit's first time back since the Alfredsson signing, and Etienne and I conjectured a few days ago how it would play out.  He anticipated booing, and I anticipated a lavish show of respect for their longtime hero, even if it was grudgingly.  We split the difference.

When the loud speaker blared that Alfredsson was in the starting line-up, a cheer went through the building.  When there was a special tribute to him, the building erupted into a lengthy standing ovation.  After all, he was their hero.

But thereafter, every time he touched the puck during the game, he was heartily booed.  It was so weird, seeing people wearing Sens jerseys with his name and number emblazoned across the back who were booing him.  I guess there will be a booming business in Sens Jerseys this year, as everyone retires their replica Alfie ones in favour of a new hero, likely Karlsson.  I was also struck by the two high-priced  luxury boxes filled with Swedes, waving their flags with great pride at Ottawa, yet booing Detroit.  Sure, Ottawa has three prominent (okay, used to be four) Swedes in its organization, but shit!  Detroit has 9 in its current roster, and a helluva lot more in development thanks to its recent tradition and taste for drafting from Swede.  Like, really? 

I just don't get "fans" sometimes.

Anyway, I was on edge all throughout the game; it wasn't until Detroit scored the first goal of the game that I relaxed a little.  And like a good little fan, I didn't boo Ottawa, I just spent my time cheering Detroit.

The Wings won 4-2, with Alfie scoring an empty-netter to seal the deal in the dying minutes. 

Welcome back, Alfie...

...Wish you were here.

November 30/13

After yesterday's bleak preponderance of the human condition, it's only fair (if not a bit disassociative) to follow up with something to smile about.

This morning, I did a bad.  I'm broke, but I went ahead and ordered two records and a book online for my birfday (no, it's not my birfday today).  I hesitated, but it's the Black Friday weekend sale at this particular site, and these are records that I cannot get locally, or even in Canada (as my online hunt bore out), and I wouldn't want to miss these records.

So I went ahead, and looked away as I clicked okay, but then I looked back.  There, on the screen was the Josh Ritter Merchandise website's message letting me know it was processing the payment.  'So what?' you'd think, right?

Here's what...instead of the typical "Please wait while we process the payment" message you'd expect, I got this:

"OMG so excited!"

I was instantly charmed!  But wait, there's more!

The payment went through, and instead of the normal notification, I got this:

"OMG it worked!  Yay!"

This sealed the deal.  Whatever remorse I had for buying something I couldn't afford (on this pay period, anyway) was gone.  It's too charming not to smile about!

I decided the only thing I could do was share it with the world, so...

Thank you to @joshritter for a merchandise website that exudes effervescence like no other! #OMGYayItWorked #Giggles
— Fancy C. Poitras (@Fancysez) November 30, 2013

To which I got this...

@Fancysez @brianstowell @dariuszelkha Thank you! We aim to please!
— Josh Ritter (@joshritter) November 30, 2013

Well played, sirs, well played!

You should try it (because Josh Ritter is awesome anyway)...

...Wish you were here.

November 29/13

I just don't see how it's possible that one could be all family and holiday spirit one minute, then line up for 12 hours and beat to a pulp someone who wants the same cheap DVD player as you.

That's right, folks, it's Black Friday in the US, the day after everyone was being all thankful and shit, and following it up with displays of just...gross human indecency.  I know a majority of people aren't like that, but the media has certainly caught on enough to really poison the well, so to speak.  And we aren't immune to it here in Canada, as our retailers have started to import the event.  I saw a picture on Twitter today of Metropolis at Metrotown this morning?  I recognize those hallways...one leading to Chapters and Club Monaco, the other to the McDonald's?  Yeah, at 9 am, I'd estimate there were about 500 people there.

And every year, the media outdoes itself with even more stories of violence.  So depressing.

And this coming from a shopper.  Really, there is nothing I would want to buy that I would ever consider punching someone over, or worse.  I just really want to know *why* someone would? 

The tangles of human complexity...

...Wish you were here.

November 28/13

Happy Turkey Day to our American friends.  Otherwise, happy Thursday to everyone else.

It's been a tough night here.  We finally sat down to catch up on some TV shows we missed last week, and it includes the sad Family Guy episode where Brian dies.

There are just some things that are too soon or too close to home, and when I see it mimicked on TV shows, it makes me sob.  The episode where Marshall finds out his father has died is an example.  The earlier seasons are in syndication on some channels, so for time to time that episode comes on.  It's too close to home for me, remembering Rod getting that call.  I never not sob.

Well, now I can add the episode of Brian's death to my list.  I knew Brian died (and I don't like it one bit...he was a favourite character, and now it just seems that Stewie will be without a foil), but it turns out the scene with the vet just guts me.  Reminds me to Max's last moments, and I broke right down and sobbed while Etienne held me.

Art imitates life...

...Wish you were here.

November 27/13

Social media can be such a pain in the ass, and due my neurotic relationship with it, it's not always my friend.  I frequently self-censor because there might be jerks from you-know-where monitoring what I put out there, and it irritates me to no end to think of the reasons why I do it (the people from you-know-where know exactly why).  Yet, I have to also praise social media because there have been times of stress, irritation, anger, boredom, ennui and outright apathy where a well-timed post on the two social media sites I primarily haunt will save the day by lifting my mood, be it ever so slightly or enough to perk me right up.

Not that I was in any particularly bad mood today, but some precious gems of laughter and joy landed in my Twitter feed today, and I can't not share them.

THis first one, well, you'd have to know me well enough, or it won't make sense why I loved it so much:

What am I looking...ah. Now I see. pic.twitter.com/DQf8vEOBa6
— George Takei (@GeorgeTakei) November 27, 2013

Do you see it yet?  Hint: I am over the moon about Winnie the Pooh and I think I've managed to establish how much I enjoy Star Wars.

This next one, well, this one had to be shared because it touched my heart and reminded me its good to be a people sometimes.

READ: Wings supplied smiles at @ChildrensDMC Hospital yesterday - http://t.co/VM5WERYwAE pic.twitter.com/dUVy0YgBJs
— Detroit Red Wings (@DetroitRedWings) November 27, 2013

Members of my beloved Detroit Red Wings visited the Detroit Children's Medical Centre today, and here are two of the sick kids, including one overwhelmed young lady, sharing a moment with Henrik Zetterberg and Coach Mike Babcock.  The girl's tears as Henrik has his arm around her are both poignant and heartwarming, and hopefully it reminds us all that doing a nice thing for someone can be its own reward.

Click on...

...Wish you were here

November 26/13

This...

they love the snowman pic.twitter.com/ns8sz3IzNL
— Emergency Kittens (@EmrgencyKittens) November 26, 2013

Possibly the cutest thing I've seen all day, I couldn't not share this happy with everyone.  Sometimes the simplest things are the best.

Lighthearted joy...

...Wish you were here.

November 25/13

Update: R. replied  :)

I had sent the email in a way that just implied I hoped all was well; I know she's a busy person, and I can't take it personally if there are other priorities in the lives of people I care about.  However, I took it as a good sign when the first line of her email was something to the effect of "OMG IT'S FANCY POITRAS!"

We've sent a couple more emails back and forth, trading quick updates, and there's talk of coffee when she is in town next time (she has family in the area).  I had to laugh...of course it would be a coffee date.  There isn't a lot for teenagers to do in Yk unless they are in sports, clubs or have jobs.  Back in the day, those who weren't big joiners would head straight for the local coffee shop or restaurant du jour and spend hours talking and joking over endless cigarettes and bottomless coffee.  As long as someone ordered some kind of food, the booth could be ours for hours.  R. was a central figure in the coffee movement, and I'm happy to hear that she still as addicted.

In the summer before I went off to college and she went off to Europe, we actually started going out for coffee in the evenings after work, quite frequently just the two of us.  I enjoyed that time spent together, but by the end of the summer, I was getting caffeine sick, and unlike most people who pick up the coffee habit in university, I quit the stuff altogether and went off coffee for almost 15 years, not picking it up again until Easter Sunday 2010 (don't ask how I know the precise date).

I wonder if she's been guzzling oceans of coffee in the intervening years, or if she similarly went off coffee at some point.

Bonding over coffee...

...Wish you were here.

November 24/13

Fuck my life, how much more can go wrong tonight?!


Who is the dumbass who set off a liquid Tide bomb in her bedroom, setting in motion a scrubfest accompanied by an enormous amount of self-loathing?  This girl, right here!

Etienne tried to comfort me by saying that all things considered, I had dropped the second best thing possible (soap, after water), but it got all over the bed, the light-coloured carpets, and various items and furnishings, and believe me, that dark, dark blue soap?  It's not something you can just rub out of the carpet.  I gave up and I admit defeat.  On my next pay cheque, I'll need to go get a steam cleaner and hope that the blue soap will just dissolve and come out.

Due to the soap landing all over the bed, I then had to wash the bedding, which meant having to put the duvet back in the duvet cover.  It was during this process that I managed to scrape and cut my finger on the ceiling.  Yes, you read that right.  The ceiling.

I'm a special little snowflake...

...Wish you were here.

November 23/13

In recent months, I've been a little preoccupied with loss of contact.  Until we started planning our trip to Yk, K. and I hadn't actually spoken for some months.  Until his birfday last week, I hadn't spoken to D. and I hadn't spoken in two years.  And as for my other brother, I don't think I've spoken to him since 2005.  Rod's mother called me last month for Thanksgiving, and I hadn't spoken to her since last xmas. 

Are you seeing a theme here?

I've lost touch with great people in my life.

Well, in last night's drink-induced stroll down memory lane, I was overwhelmed with the feeling of wanting to reach out to an old friend from high school.  R. is one of the few who isn't on facebook, and I've had news of her over the years from other friends (Hello, Speedy!), but we lost touch about 15 years ago.  After high school, I went off to school and totally drove my life off a cliff, while R. went to spend a year abroad.  We still kept in touch despite the distance, but in the mean time, I had started dating A. who was older and didn't really mix well with my friends.  When R. came back, we spent very little time together because of A.  R. and I caught up again when I found Speedy a couple of years later, but despite all of us living in Edmonton, we just didn't spend time together.  R. ended up marrying a local professional athlete, eventually moving away from Edmonton, and I went about my ridiculous Post-Secondary Odyssey that eventually brought me here to Ottawa.  These things happen, right?

Well, this afternoon, I decided, 'what the hell, I'll google for her.'  I didn't know if she still went by her maiden name or married name, so I started with the maiden name, and BINGO!  Found her!  There was some back and forth with myself about the propriety of emailing her, just out of the blue, but once more, figured, 'what the hell, just do it!'  At least I can say I'm making an effort.

So, if I've fallen out of touch with you, and you are googleable...be warned.  I might get imbibing and drop in on you too.  But then, if you are reading this, shame on you for not contacting me!  Chances are either I'd be really excited to hear from you, or far more rarely, I've been wondering what I would say to you, and this could be a real gong show worth witnessing.

Stay in touch...

...Wish you were here.

November 22/13

Sorry, folks!  I'm taking the night off to enjoy some drinks and the company of my lovely partner, Etienne!

Good times...

...Wish you were here.

November 21/13

I hate surprise tests.

This afternoon, literally seconds after I told my friend R. that I wasn't going to be doing testing for my levels after this term in French because the situation with the teacher switch really messed up the confidence I was slowly building up, I arrived to class to find today (indeed, this week) was the day we'd be put through the mock oral test.  Life sucks!

The reason I started to panic is because I'd missed last week because I was sick, and I hadn't studied up on what I missed because the teacher had failed to get back to me to tell me what was covered.

I can say at least that I was definitely taking the right level of class, at least in relation to my oral competency.  When I was tested to determine what level of class to put me in, they hesitated between putting me in Advanced A-level (Not a beginner, but not intermediate) and beginner's B-Level (Intermediate) before deciding on the A-level course.  The interlocutor made it clear that she felt that if I thought A-level was not advanced enough, I should switch into the B-level class in the first week.  Yeah, that didn't happen.

Don't get me wrong, I think I've been relearning rapidly, but the fact is, I haven't had a French class since high school... like, 16 or 17 years ago.  I'm not going into a room with people who largely have been taking French for some time now, or are there to refresh their skills ahead of mandatory periodic testing.

Besides, the snap mock test proved I have a long way to go, in terms of catching up in French and in terms of managing my stupid anxiety. 

More confidence...

...Wish you were here.

November 20/13

This morning, I woke up and as usual, I checked my phone for emails, news, etc.  But when I checked the old ball and chain (facebook), I was pleasantly surprised by an unusual invitation.

I have this friend, and he goes by the screen name of Ernie Goodguy, so I'll refer to him by that name.  Ernie made a momentous decision a few years ago, and he picked up his life and relocated to Cambodia.  Ex-pat Ernie settled and made a life for himself, including a lovely little family and a good little business.  It's been amazing watching his life from afar, and I'll admit I'm frequently jealous.  I'm also not blind to the troubles of being an ex-pat, thanks to Ernie (and Gail!), as I've watched his struggle to get documentation so his family can come to Canada, and I suspect if I were to ever venture into the ex-pat community, the lessons I've learned from his experience (and Gail's!) would be my guide.

Anyway, the invitation was this: Ernie turns 50 in March, and in advance of that, he's invited friends and family to come celebrate with him. 

First of all, I'm flattered to receive the invitation at all...have I mentioned that I've never actually met Ernie in real life?  He and I got to know each other through contact on a website (no, it wasn't a dating site) some years ago, and we've just sort of stayed in touch.

Second, I'm not kidding, I've always wanted to go to Cambodia.  I think I've admitted here (or on the other blog), that as a kid, one of my favourite pastimes was to spend hours studying my atlas book, and this place, I'll admit, captured my attention the most when I'd come to the pages of Southeast Asia.  There was just something fascinating...it stood out because this atlas was of a time when the country was labelled 'Kampuchea' but had in brackets under the name "Cambodia."  Also, it actually included a notation that I didn't understand at the time, but now find so tragic, about the locations of where towns, cities and villages used to be.  I was just too young to understand the horrors of the Khmer Rouge regime at the time. 

But my interest intensified as I got older, and I just know that if I were ever to venture into that part of the world, I would likely not go unless I could ensure that I went to Cambodia in addition to wherever else.  Sure, I'll go to Thailand or Vietnam or Malaysia or The Philippines, or wherever, but I'd better be going to Cambodia too.

However, despite the moment of excitement and wishful thinking, the fact is that I'm too broke to go.  In a moment of wishful thinking at lunch today, I checked the travel websites for deals, and the best I could get was just under $3000 for two tickets.  It would be doable if I really, really cut down on my expenses, to pay for the tickets, but with a laptop on the verge of failure, my debt still weighing me down, and the holiday season coming up, I just can't swing it.  Total bummer.

I'd hate to end this entry on an "I wish I was there" note, because that's not in the spirit of this blog, so instead, I will end it with hopes for more opportunities like this in the future.

Keeping hope alive...

...Wish you were here.

November 19/13

Today, I realized that my Masters' degree was an epic challenge for me.

All Masters' programs are challenge, and I tip my hat to any of us who has survived one, but it occurred to me after I scouted another Masters program I'd like to pursue (yes, another...) that the SFU Master of Public Policy degree is not for the faint of heart, though my experience of fainting at school which in a roundabout way leads to two and half weeks of bedrest might suggest otherwise ;-)

This other Masters program requires 47 credits as part of completion, and so to get a frame of reference about what that meant, I went back and checked in on my SFU transcripts, and I was shocked to see that the MPP required 70 (yes, 7-0) credits.  That translated into 14 courses at 5 credits each, plus a project on BC priorities, plus a required co-op work term which you might have to travel for (READ: how I came to be in Ottawa), plus a Masters Capstone project.  And that doesn't factor in jobs, lives, and hobbies.

Our first year was a gong show of wretched economics assignments, brutal overnight political assignments, hours spent in computer labs fighting with ordinary least squares regressions and SPSS analysis, tense arguments with or between professors and guest lecturers, and the stressful process of interviewing and running down co-op opportunities.

There is almost no break between the last exam of spring semester and starting said co-op experience, and in my case, it meant that in less than 24 hours, I went from going to Dhaka, Bangladesh for the summer to going to Ottawa.  Most of my cohort were fortunate and had co-ops back in Vancouver, but for a lot of us, we had to travel and be away from home all summer.

Again, barely a break before we dive right into year two, where we hit the ground sprinting to begin data collection, ethics reviews, and ultimately writing our Capstone projects while going to classes, though the assignments tend to take into consideration that we're building major projects that need to be defended.  Plus, again, the stress of knowing that we need to find jobs, so we have to constantly be monitoring the job opportunities.  In my case, I had a job offer before I even left Ottawa, so this didn't worry me as much, but I know others were under the gun to find jobs to start paying back their loans.

And then...The Defense.  That scary-as-all-get-out moment which sees the culmination of your year's work judged and questioned and scrutinized, and you just have to hope that you get lucky and come through with a "passed with minor revisions" or "passed with no revisions" (which is rare, so good on you, Sammy!).  Mine was very early, on March 8th because I needed to pack up and move to Ottawa before the last week of April.

Against the backdrop of all of this, I got married, had temporary guardianship of my niece, had two and a half weeks of bed rest, spent the summer away from my home and family, had significant family problems, was sick a lot, got divorced, and prepared to move across the country.

The credit structure of this other program is quite different, and it looks like the demands on time and resources are just as intense as the MPP experience, but after I looked back on those two years, I realized that I am so ready to begin again.

Wish me luck!

...Wish you were here.

November 18/13

Oh my kee-rist, there was just too much going on today, and I was really spoiled for choice in stuff to share with you, and this created a bit of a problem for me.  How do you pick just one thing to share?  Well, I couldn't, so I decided to short hand the runners-up, and long hand that one thing to share.

In no particular order of significance:

Toronto City Council votes to strip Rob Ford's budget - I watched the live stream, including the moment when raging bull Robbie barreled down on and took out councilwoman Pam McConnell.  My thoughts: this man is seriously deranged.  Even if your brother is in a shouting match with someone, you don't go ripping in intent on letting fly the fists of fury, and you don't do it in City Hall Council Chambers, and you especially don't do it while taking out older ladies.  If you seriously think Rob Ford should stay where he is and shouldn't take a leave of absence to deal with his obvious issues (and there are many), can you please explain to me why?  Without parroting his reasoning or the speaking points of embarrassed conservatives?  Just in your gut...what is it?

Wal-mart holds a canned food drive--for its own workers - A Wal-mart in Ohio put out a bin in the employee lounge, asking employees to donate canned food to help their less fortunate co-workers have a full Thanksgiving meal.  My thoughts: this is just gross.  I don't think I need to get into this any further, other than to say to Wal-mart, 'hey, how about you just simply pay them a LIVING WAGE instead, jerks?'

An Alabama school is in trouble for a historically and racially insensitive banner at a football game - The cheerleaders demonstrated a saddening lack of empathy or understanding when, as a taunt to the competitor, the Indians (don't need to get started on this again--it's also just dumb), they created a rip-through banner that said "Hey Indians, get ready to leave in a trail of tears. Round 2."  My thoughts: No.  Just, No.  I get it, I was an ignorant, apathetic, self-centred teen once and I guarantee that I said and did hurtful things, but I've had to take my lumps and learn about empathy, often the hard way.  To turn a shameful, harmful, dark chapter of American history into a "cheeky taunt" shows that their collective sense of empathy is as yet underdeveloped.  Just, No, girls.  No.

Lifelong Adventurer and fellow Blogger Gail at Large tweeted today about how creepy she finds the term "Thought Leader" - She found it in a Forbes article about 46 overused, tired business jargon terms that need to go away, and I won't lie, in general, Government is painfully slow at adopting trends, and the age of these buzzwords has arrived, certainly in my department.  My thoughts: I'm guilty of a few on the list myself, but otherwise, if you use any of most of them in any sincere fashion, I roll my eyes at you and automatically deduct IQ points.  Most of the time, these buzzwords and phrases are meaningless, and show that you either have sipped the kool-aid (tiptoeing on use of one of the phrases on the list) of Corporate, or you lack creativity in expressing yourself.  I seriously never want to hear anyone tell me a document needs to be more "blue-sky thinking" ever again.

I could elaborate on my thoughts or feelings about any of these worthy items noted, but instead, today, I chose to share with you a moment of mirth and merriness.  I know, don't die from the shock, please!

Today, a cat in Bonnyville stole the show with his intense desire to be on camera...literally.  Please click through the CBC link, and enjoy not only the photo gallery (includes 12 pictures), but also the video too.

To the lighter moments in life...

...Wish you were here.

November 17/13

Holy crap, I have a brother who is 46 years old! 

The age gap between me and the rest of the kids is fairly sizable; from oldest to youngest, there's 11 years.  And I've always conceived of that difference in age as being this 11 year window, until today, when I realized that I will be 35 years old this year, which means not just that I have a brother who is 11 years older than me, but for the first time, I conceived of it as meaning that I have a brother who is 46 years old! 

Daaaaaamn!

We OLD!

While I wrap my head around this fact, I do want to put out a big Happy Birfday wish to DB, and let him know, I'm cheering him on from far away!

Brother...

...Wish you were here.

November 16/13

Last night was not fun, but the troubles settled down once I dosed up on the pepto and just rested.  I was early to bed, and this morning, I woke up feeling hungover, but otherwise it looked like the trouble had passed.  Which is a good thing, because I was determined to go to the Bytowne Theatre to see In a World... come hell, or high water.  I wanted to see it back in September, but the timing never worked out because of the moving preparations.  It was on the schedule for late this afternoon or tomorrow night, and Sunday nights rarely work out for going to the movies, so it had to be today.

I took another dose of pepto this morning, steered clear of foods that would aggravate my tummy, and hoped for the best.

The movie did not disappoint.  It's a great little indie film written by Lake Bell.  She plays a voice coach, struggling to get into the voiceover business and trying to manage the relationships in her life.  It was a smart, funny film, and the supporting cast included a fantastic line-up. 

Unfortunately, Etienne's health didn't hold up, and we're turning in early because he has a headache.  I guess it keeps things balanced...now we're even on tummy troubles and headaches.

Better health...

...Wish you were here.

November 15/13

So guess who came home from work early with tummy troubles?  Me.  Not Etienne, he was home from work already, still recovering from the bug.

Pass the Pepto...

...Wish you were here.

November 14/13

....Aaaannnndd we're both home sick today.  Etienne's got some gross stomach bug, and I am fighting off both a sinus problem and a persistent migraine. 

So it was because we were home that we were treating to seeing and hearing the Rob Ford 'eating pussy' remarks pretty much as they happened.  The most comical part was not that he made the statement that he did; honestly, the most comical part was watching the news anchors and reporters trying to explain the situation without actually referring to or using the word "pussy."  It's one thing to explain the expletive-laced taped from last week, but it's entirely another to try to report on the very specific remarks Ford made in a delicate way, and you can't NOT report on it because the remarks ARE the story.

Naturally, the best reporting on the remarks came from The Daily Show with Jon Stewart because it is a comedy/satire show, but for sheer comedy-because-it-is-so-painfully-awkward value, I'm giving this one to the established professional television and audio media presenters for the use of ever so many "delicate" euphemisms and workarounds.

This whole Rob and Doug Ford sideshow is just amazing...it's live, unscripted reality television.  One might make the argument that it's what Jersey Shore or The Real World or Gene Simmon's Family Jewels strives to be: edgy, provocative, and a ratings juggernaut.  But this situation seems to go beyond that.  It's almost an unexpected reversal of "Reality TV imitating life."  I believe this is Life imitating Reality TV.

Who knows what is going to happen next and how it will be reported...

...Wish you were here.

November 13/13

It's the Wade Hamer Challenge Cup today in Yellowknife.  If you aren't from Yellowknife, you have no idea what this even means, I know.

There are only two high schools in Yellowknife.  There is the public school, Sir John Franklin High school, where my father went for a year back in the stone ages (Love you, daddy!), and where my sister went to high school once we moved to Yellowknife, back in the Industrial Revolution age (Love you, K!), and then there's the Catholic school, St. Patrick High School, which I attended some time last century.  To be clear, there was no Catholic fervor leading to my attendance at St. Pat's...when we moved to Yellowknife, it was only two blocks up the hill from where we lived, and I think sheer convenience won out over any religious considerations.  As I got older, it was just easier to keep me at St. Pat's with my friends rather than transfer me over to Sir John. 

So there was a rivalry between my Sir John Alum Father and Sister (and later my brother-in-law who taught at Sir John), and me, the lone Fighting Irish ("fighting" dropped during my high school years in a gross abuse of School Board power over the wishes of the students).  Naturally, with only two high schools in town, there is an innate sense of rivalry focused on sports and competitions, but because of the small population and the relatively isolated location of Yellowknife, the rivalry is not sustainable in real life terms. 

ANYWAY...some 29 years ago, there was a challenge to a hockey game between the two schools, and of course, it became an annual event.  Back in my day, the game was played on a Thursday night, and there were pep rallies and cheerleaders (and yes, I was one), and we'd all crowd into the hockey arena to watch our teams battle it out for supremacy.  There would be a rally on the Friday to celebrate either the win or the team, and then life would get back to normal for another year.

I'm told in recent years, the timing has changed to midday on a week day, which might have something to do with preventing delinquency, which I guess I understand, but I find less fun.  My first year as a cheerleader, I was grabbed by an older boy from Sir John who intended to take me outside for a snow wash, but ended up being attacked by a St. Pat's mob, and in the process, he dropped me head-first onto a concrete floor, resulting in a slight concussion and a bump on my head that remains to this day.  So yeah, I guess the administrators have some good reason to make this a daytime event.

This year is my second nephew's first year in high school, and he is going to St. Pat's.  Why?  Because my sister now works there, and she's converted from Falcon to Irish!  My brother-in-law is still in the Public School system, but he now teaches at one of the elementary/middle schools (in fact, the one that nephew attended from K-8), so things just sort of worked out that he would go to school at St. Pat's.

What does all of this babbling have to do with the Challenge Cup?  Well, this nephew and his brother are star athletes, and both excel at hockey, to the point where both play on teams with older players.  Their father was on the NHL track, and it seems the sons are too, if they choose it.

St. Pat's Boys' Team WON!!  In O/T, my nephew scored the winning goal AND completed (get this) his Hat Trick.

Who is one proud Aunt?

...Wish you were here.

(GO IRISH!)

November 12/13

Back in August, I had my first madeleine ever.  The madeleine, a French concoction, is a small, shell-shaped sponge cake, lemon-based in flavour, with hints of shredded nuts or fruits.  They are very fatty, as melted butter is a key ingredient, and they are just the perfect treat.  You could have one, or lots.

Since August, I've been craving them hardcore, but they are a little too complex and time-consuming for me to make, what with my other activities and work, so I've been suffering withdrawal for some time now.  I know Starbucks sells packages of them, but I found them so industrial tasting, they were immediately disappointing.  Well, back in October, we were in Gatineau to drop off our moving boxes at a friend's place, and we needed to buy some stuff, so we stopped at a local shopping centre.  We went into the massive Loblaw, and I was overjoyed to find a bag of madeleines in the bakery section.  I wanted to buy two bags, but we are talking about perishable foods here, and no matter how much I want to stuff my face with the cakes, I knew I couldn't get through them all before they went bad.

Now I'm suffering major withdrawal again, as I can't find anything but the gross Starbucks ones in Ottawa.  I spent quite some time this evening scouring the internet, and all I can come up with is that there is a bakery over near Little Italy that does them...no other bakeries indicated they do them.  So without a car, these delicious little treats will continue to elude me, driving me mad and making me cranky.

Good madeleines in Ottawa...

...Wish you were here.

November 11/13

This weekend, it's become clear that I just haven't been taking care of myself.  First, it was the hair.  Then it occurred to me that I really don't have much in the way of sleepwear.  I have old shirts I wear, a few nightgowns good for warm weather, but for colder days, I have nothing but an old, worn pair of flannel pajama pants with Winnie the Pooh on them.  Money is always tight, and a good pair of pajamas doesn't come cheap.  Nor do I buy cheap because I don't want to waste my precious resources on stuff that will fall apart quickly or easily.  I need to invest in products that last.

So after lunch with S. and M., I headed to The Bay to meet Etienne, and after we ran a few errands, I decided, despite having spent my expendable money for this pay cheque on my hair, I needed to put an end to the silliness and buy a proper pajama set.  I chose a good quality shirt and good quality pants, and I came home.  Because I didn't try them on in the store, I decided to try them now, this afternoon, rather than do it at bedtime and find out they were the wrong fit or uncomfortable.  That way I could exchange them if there was something wrong.

I may never wear anything else ever again.

These pajamas are insanely comfortable, and grown-up cute.  I won't be getting rid of my Winnie the Pooh pajamas any time soon, but it's nice to know that I have pajamas that won't embarrass me should I be seen in them.

I'm not kidding.  I can get rid of everything else in my wardrobe, I just need these jammies only and forever.

Comfort...

...Wish you were here.

November 10/13

I guess the soldiers and veterans of war fought and died for our freedom to be total assholes.

My respect for the poppy as a symbol was diminished when I found a Reddit (discussed earlier this week) page where the Canadian Legion had threatened the Reddit page administrators because they were using a picture of the poppy, which the Legion has trademarked.  The comments about the fight were enlightening, as veterans weighed in, and were decidedly split...many had no love or respect for the Legion and think it's a self-serving, selfish organization for its jealous protection of its trademark, while others just asked for the poppy to be changed out of respect to veterans and don't have much to say about the Legion itself.  These are veterans...being told that a picture of a poppy is enough to instigate a lawsuit.  Is that not perverse?  These are people who our leaders tell us fought to protect our freedoms, and that includes the freedom to be a pacifist in a white poppy or to say things we don't agree with.

I've watched this year's battle over the white poppy unfold on my social media, and really, instead of seeing anyone try to understand the history of the white poppy, or why some would choose to wear it, I see defensiveness and name-calling on both sides.  The last straw for me was very early this morning, when I was checking Twitter, and found a tweet by a Canadian singer/songwriter which called everyone who wears the white poppy, assholes.  Similarly, I'm seeing old friends use the language of name-calling and 'hate' and it angers me.

The thing is, I've seen and read about veterans who wear both: they wear the red to remember and pay respect to their fallen comrades, and they wear the white because they want to remember that what they went to war for was peace.  These people are few and far between, but they seem to be growing in ranks, if testimonials are any indication. 


The white poppy is not a new thing.  To the contrary, it has endured for nearly as long as the red poppy, but most people don't know that, thanks to shitty, biased reporting by "news" outlets like Sun News.  The white poppy began after a group of British WWI widows started wearing them and handing them out.  They lost husbands, brothers, sons, friends, and family members to war, and they wanted it to end.  It's important to remember the context: WWI was supposed to be the war to end all wars.  Those women and men wanted no one else to suffer the same kind of loss. 

So, if you see someone wearing a white poppy, before you start shouting sacrilege and calling them assholes, maybe stop and ask yourself if perhaps they haven't already sacrificed to the gods of war, and want everyone to remember it was all done in the name of Peace.

A little understanding...

...Wish you were here.

November 9/13

Holy crap, I really needed a hair appointment.  My hair was is bad shape.  I honestly can't remember the last time I went to the salon.

This morning, my hair was very long, going halfway down my back, and it was a blah, nondescript blonde colour.  It was very dry and damaged, and my split ends had split ends which had split ends. 



Step 1: have my stylist indiscriminately hack off eight or nine inches of hair

 


Step 2: colour process

Step 3: get a *fantastic* scalp massage from the talented young lady shampooing the colour out

Step 4: spend about 45 minutes sitting there while my stylist works very carefully to ensure a high, straight bob.

Step 5: swing head wildly about because I am free of about 11 inches of hair.

By noon, it was bobbed and deep, dark brown.  Unfortunately, I couldn't donate the hair this time because it was so damaged, it wouldn't be good for anything, unless wig makers are developing bad hair day wigs.

I really need to remember to take some time and money and take care of myself.  I can't believe I was walking around with fucked-up bad hair for so long.

Remember to take care of yourself...

...Wish you were here.

November 8/13

I don't know what Reddit is, or how it works, or what it does.  No clue.  Nor do I know anything about Tumblr and the like, but that's neither here nor there.

So, I was messing about online during one of the rare breaks I take at work, when I came across a Reddit that I was just glued to, and I have to admit, it sparked a lot of witty thoughts, but I had no outlet for them.  It's not like I could tweet them in 140 characters, and few people would understand anyway.

But in my frustration, I did tweet about missing Orkut, and the Yahoo! Books and Literature Chat/Group people I spent much time with online.  I developed some great friendships filled with humour and laughter and tears and cheers with people I'd never met in real life, and it really challenged me to keep and sharpen my wits.

Rather quickly, Gail at Large reminded me that it has been almost 10 years since Orkut went online, and that meant that Gail and I have known each other for about nine and a half years!  That's mindblowing, because she's such an amazing person, I can't imagine that I haven't known her all my life.

We have a lot of complaints about technology and social media and the like, but quite honestly, moments like today, when I realized I'm lucky to have ever met Gail and so many others, they remind me to savor how rich my life is for knowing these people.

Web connections...

...Wish you were here.

November 7/13

I'm sorry, but I'm just dragging hardcore today.  It was barely 10 am before I was feeling like I really needed a Friday pick-me-up, and I spent the morning pretty much dreading French class this afternoon.

The school that I have my lessons with has really done a fuck-up.  I mean, really.

I started the classes, my first in 17 years, in late September, and I was extremely apprehensive to start with.  My comprehension is moderately good, but I can't speak because of my limited vocabulary, my current inability to think in French fast enough, and a lack of confidence.  This is normal.  A lot of people I know feel the same.  And it goes without saying that I can't really write in French either.

Well, I started with a teacher, Joanne, and she was quite patient and understanding with me.  We didn't just run worksheets and such...she jumped around, she encouraged vocabulary questions, she made us carry on simple conversations about what we did with our weekends or at work.  I was gaining confidence.

And then the school done fucked up.

It had bid on a contract for language lessons with another department, stating that it would provide teachers with the required security clearance (it's common, particularly if the teachers give lessons onsite), and it won the contract, but then the department made the decision to move the start date up to October instead of January, which meant there was no time to hire new teachers and get them cleared in time.  So the school did what it thought was best...it took the teachers with clearance it already has from their current classes.  We were understandably pissed, and it causes no end of problems for the teachers as well.

Well, two weeks ago, we were given a new teacher.  A youngish woman from France who had been in Canada teaching French to kids in Aboriginal communities in Northern Quebec.  She seemed nice, if a little nervous, but we didn't think anything of it.

We arrived to class last week, and fuck if we didn't have yet another teacher.  NO explanation was given for why this was the case.  I had to find out from a girl in another class in the same time slot--the teacher didn't think she was cut out to teach adults.  The new teacher seems professional, but all we did was worksheet after worksheet, with no chance to let what we learned soak in, so by the end of class, half the people had left, and those who stayed were in rough shape.  This is not the way I learn.

This whole episode does not instill confidence in the professionalism of the school, particularly since they have made no efforts to reach out to all the affected students.  We're all in the dark.

Well, today, things were moderately better, but it took a much-needed breakdown in decorum in the classroom to loosen things up and finally relax.

At this point, I can't say that I will be in any shape to do my levels testing by the end of the term, and I just abhor the colossal waste of money invested in my French training where I can't produce a desired result (taking the tests)...it's so frustrating.  And all I can do is show up, week after week, and hope that there will be some semblance of continuity so that I can rebuild my confidence and pick up where I left off before this whole debacle.

Fun with learning...

...Wish you were here.

November 6/13

So, I've been trying to avoid it, but it's not fucking possible.

The News.  It's a real shit storm, folks.  Between the Senate shining a spotlight on the colossal errors in judgment Harper shows for appointments, the Rob Ford Crack Cocaine Sideshow, and the Quebec Charter causing people to feel unsafe just walking around the streets, there is literally no relief from how fucked up reality is, and there's just no need for fictional shows and "reality" tv.  I'm exhausted just thinking of everything that is happening, and there are new revelations by the hour, so it should come as no surprise that as some point this afternoon, I stuck a pencil in my hair bun in a moment of distraction, and ended up going home with it there.  I was sitting on the couch for almost an hour, just flipping through TV channels before I noticed it.

We need a break...

...Wish you were here.

November 5/13

So, I just finished watching New Girl, and tonight it featured guest star Taye Diggs.

Ladies...use protection...

Aaaaaaannnnnddd I think I'm pregnant.


Let's be honest...people like this make us feel all schlumpy and underachieving because if it's possible for them to look like that, then theoretically it is possible for us as well.  But fantasies are made of stuff like this...



Never forget the value of fantasies...

...Wish you were here.

November 4/13

This...

na na na na pic.twitter.com/uuZIspy9hH
— Emergency Kittens (@EmrgencyKittens) November 4, 2013

Keep cheeky...

...Wish you were here.

November 3/13

Daylight Savings Time ended at the ungawdly hour of 2 am this morning.

You know how I know this?  Because my Twitter and Facebook-light feeds are awash with friends and family members complaining about their young kids or family pets waking up insanely early for a Sunday morning, not giving any consideration or thought to their poor parents or human companions.  There were no end to the complaints that included gentle threats of retaliation in 15 years.

And as one of those people who

a) suffers seasonal affective depression; and
b) never adjusts well to the time changes,

I have to say that I understand the confusion for kids and pets.  Why do we do this stupid thing again?  Because anything that throws off my circadian rhythms even just a bit does me no good, and society certainly doesn't benefit from my confusion.

I don't know that I will ever forgive the world for DST.

Going back to bed...

...Wish you were here.

November 2/13

Holy shit!

I just saw this tweet:

This boy is 22 years old. If you know who he is then you are officially old pic.twitter.com/ist7QjWN5D
— Frank Paul (@Mad) November 1, 2013

And I know now that I am officially old.

For those who may be a smidge older than me and not in the know, this boy man was once the baby swimming after a dollar bill on the cover of Nirvana's MONSTER debut album, Nevermind, the second studio album of the band, and by far one of the biggest albums of my generation.  I first heard Smells Like Teen Spirit in Amanda Dei's basement on MuchMusic, and it blew my fucking 12 year old mind.  That's right...I wasn't even 13.  And there was this awesome music that we thrashed around to wildly, shouting the nonsense lyrics...I had no idea what they meant, and to be honest, I didn't care. 
That album was a turning point for me...in almost an instant I outgrew the bubble gum pop (though not totally abandoning it), and the flannel shirt craze that Seattle grunge exported to the world gave me a place to hide my skin-and-bone frame.  The insecure, awkward, skinny, ugly, little duckling in me felt a little more okay about myself because here was this band, this music, this album that said 'FUCK YOU' to the cutesy, California blonde establishment that had no time or place for people like me.


And now that chubby little cherub symbol of my generation is all grown up and has a biggest album of his generation, though as an old fuddy-duddy, I'm at a loss as to what that might be.

Time marches on...

...Wish you were here.

November 1/13

First of all, yay me for surviving another October.

Second, it is November 1st.  Inevitably, that means that people I know are going to embark on the crazy adventure of writing a book in 30 days.  There's this little thing called the National Novel Writing Month on the internet, though it is more popularly known as NaNoWriMo. The idea is that you sign up, set a target of writing a 50,000 word novel in a month, and you get to track your progress and get encouragement and the like from fellow writers.  It's been going on since 1999, and according to the website, over 100 of these books have been published by the traditional publishing houses, while hundreds more have been put out by smaller publishers or self-published.  And actually, if you look at the list of titles published by the large firms, there are some fairly well-promoted titles in there--ones I've seen in my local Big Box Book Store.

I can't believe it's that time already.  Last year, my social media sites were abuzz with updates from friends and family members taking part, but this year, I haven't heard a peep out of anyone that they are taking part.  I don't know if they are, but they are choosing to operate on the stealth, or if the stars are not properly aligned this year, or if maybe the insanity of the venture was just something they had to do once and now they are done.

If, by some chance, you are known to me and you are embarking on NaNoWriMo this year, I bid you good luck...now get to work, you're losing time reading this.

Creativity on the clock...

...Wish you were here.

October 31/13

I think the thing we hate most about death is that no matter how much we try to control for it and accept that it happens as a part of life, it leaves us helpless and feeble when someone does die, and we can't do or say the right thing to comfort a person who has just lost someone they love.

The right words...

...Wish you were here.

October 30/13

Okay, it seems another celebutante has sparked an internet furor by posting a picture of herself in a halloween costume that is, well, uh...rather foolishly planned out, to put it mildly.

The person in question chose to dress as Big Chief from the Disney classic film 'Peter Pan.'  And this person's rather unfortunate defense in less than 140 characters was that "A Native American costume was AN OPTION at a Halloween store."  In other words, it was there, so it must be legit.

Well, you can imagine this went over like a lead balloon among the internet-savvy politically-correct, and, well, actual Native Americans and First Nations (as we're known north of the border).

The next line of defense was that she was dressing as a Disney character.  This could be a fair point, except for the part where this character comes from a time and context that plays on the rather unfortunate understanding of the Indigenous peoples of North America, which disastrously translates into a caricature of a prominent position in a cultural and ethnic group.  What she's failing to account for is that Disney took something significant or sacred to a specific class of individuals (an ethnic group) and turned it into a profane object of mockery.  To put in into situationally-comparative context, it's the equivalent of saying it's okay to wear Blackface if what I'm really dressed as for Halloween is a Vaudeville actor or Al Jolson.  .

The next line of defense, proffered by someone I believe is a cousin of the young woman in question, is that the family of said young woman has a historical claim to some descent from a particular tribe.  I know that in the US, actual claims to Native American heritage often have to meet a blood quantum rule before being considered legit, and I can't speak to the eligibility of this young woman to make that legit claim for membership of her tribe or nation, but I would ask her and her cousin if either young woman really, really, really believes it honours her ancestry and/or family members of Native American descent to mock the sacred, ceremonial headdress of a Chief, made with the feathers and skins of sacred, honoured animals by wearing a fake headdress made of cheap, coloured, plastic, manufactured feathers (not blessed by a shaman, holy person or tribal elder).  Because I have to say, I don't think that is how I would defining "honouring." 

Miss M. went of a Twitter rant about the whole episode, to which I responded that I was proud of her.  This led to a friend questioning me about why dressing up as something (e.g. a Native American) is viewed as something disparaging rather than honouring that thing, and made a guess that I dislike Disney and the Pocahontas movie and costumes.  Yes, in fact, I have a strong dislike for Disney and it's gross portrayal of a historical figure in the name of a quick buck.  I'm also not digging the Mulan thing either (though I do like Cricky and the Dragon).  What sets those apart from most other Disney characters is that by and large, the Disney pantheon is made up of characters from myths and fairy tales, figments of imagination and folk tales from yore.  These are not based on real people recorded in history.  If you need to know why it's disparaging instead of honouring, see previous two paragraphs.

By these feckless pieces of "logic" strung together, I guess that tomorrow, I can get away with dressing like "white trash" and call it honouring Caucasian American culture because I'm dressed as a Trailer Park Boys character.  Yet somehow, I don't think my mother, brother and sister would find it all that amusing.  I think it would be seen as a little ignorant and even mean-spirited because the intent is to make a point in an inconsiderate way.

I'm a member of a First Nation.  I don't dress up as "an Indian."  I don't put on a fake headdress and call it honouring.  I don't even put on a real headdress...because I'm not a Chief or a shaman or holy person or respected elder.  I just don't do it, because I honour what those positions mean in that culture.

I think the more interesting question to ask my friend first is this: Why do you think doing it could be considered an act of honour towards a culture?  What intent could exist to justify the act of dressing as a caricature?

A respectful end to this debate...

...Wish you were here.

October 29/13

There are people who just push my buttons and bring out the worst in me.

The other day, I reaffirmed my belief in and commitment to allowing for end of life choice on Twitter.  It's my personal account, and I'm free to express myself there. 

It led some random woman to tweet at me about her opposition, painting it all as euthanasia, and we ended up in a Twitter fight, with her being irrational and me being rude, which ended after I blocked her this evening. 

Why did you block her, Fancy?  That's not your style, normally you fight it out to the bitter end. 

Well, the decision was made after she tried to threaten me through my career.  At that point, I knew it was a waste of time to continue with this farce. It was going nowhere good.

However, it got me thinking.  In her warning, she pinpointed my job and location.  The job is no big deal, it's right there in my Twitter account profile:

"I am under construction. And I kinda like it that way. By day, a loud-mouthed policy analyst, by night a mild-mannered human being."

But how would she know that I live in Ottawa, when my Twitter profile lists my location as being "Tiptoeing on the Edge"?  

The only conclusion to draw is that she's visited this blog and/or google-searched me.  Meh, it is was it is, I've made no bones about how I feel about dividing my personal and professional life.  During working hours, I am a professional, and I conduct myself accordingly, but I still maintain that off-hours and unpaid periods during the working day, I am a Canadian like any other, entitled to my beliefs and opinions.  I maintain a strict silence on my file and those of my colleagues, not commenting on them.  Period.

The whole episode bothers me.  That neither of us could conduct ourselves in a way that is conducive to actual debate is regrettable; that it devolved into this is just frustrating.

Regardless, I'm back to where this all started, I still affirm my belief in end of life choice and my commitment to push for the right to a good death for persons who choose it.

The perils of internetting...

...Wish you were here.

October 28/13

I'm afraid I need to keep this short tonight, as I tweaked my wrist a lot at bowling.

Yes, bowling.  It was a United Way event at work, and I sort of expected it would happen, as old pains and woes from my youth bowling days revisit.  My wrist started falling apart near the end of my YBC days, and ultimately, I gave it up because I was losing my delivery.  My form is still as solid as ever, but the wrist just can't support my delivery anymore, at least not without stabilizing support.

There was an awkward moment when I berated my ADM (my boss's boss's boss's boss) for using my personal bowling balls.  Everyone who has been in league bowling knows and respects the convention: you don't play with another player's personal balls.  It's just not done.  Sure, in some circumstances, when there is a personal or intimate relationship, there is some possibility of wiggle room, but for strangers and near-strangers, there is not.  But this fella, well, he's used to things that are set apart, and when he say two balls that look different, bearing at least one of his initials, well, I don't think he even gave it any thought.  And I'm not shy about my stuff.  I charged up there and told him he could at least ask.  I don't think he's used to being challenged much.  Especially by some rude employee.  But tough.  We're on our personal time, and on the lanes, he is not my ADM, he is a work colleague attending a work function, and he is still messing with my stuff.

Bring it on...

...Wish you were here.

October 27/13

There are just some places that I would rather not go.  Like Legends Records on Wellington.

This place is in a basement, which doesn't actually bother me.  This place sells ridonkulously over-priced records, but it's got a massive inventory thank includes things I'd never find around here, to that's something that can be overlooked for the right album.

No, what bothers me is the whole joint stinks.  Etienne thinks it was just the lunch of the sales guy, but I did ask him if it smelled bad the last time he was there, so I don't think the lunch had anything to do with it.  The place smells like old chives and rotting onions.  This does not encourage me to return.

Beware the stinky record store...

...Wish you were here.

October 26/13

Do you ever eat in a restaurant alone?  I do.

There are times when Etienne is busy or out at work, and I just don't want to cook (or I don't have proper groceries to do so), so I'll find a place to go that we don't normally to (usually because of a lack of food items for his special diet), and order food that I don't tend to have at home.  Like bacon.  I know that the smell of bacon is the one thing that triggers him--he likes the smell of it, but won't eat it, so I don't torment him by having bacon for myself in the house.

This afternoon, I needed food, and he needed to go to the store, so we went our separate ways.  I headed straight to Zak's because I can get all-day breakfast and indulge my desire for bacon.  It didn't matter that I don't want the rest of the breakfast in particular, especially because my normal breakfast of tea and toast covers 25% of what I'm served at Zak's--I just wanted my bacon.

But enough about bacon.  Because this is supposed to be about dining out alone.  I don't actually mind it.   I tried bringing a book a couple of times, but I just felt weird, like I was trying to live up to some goofy stereotype about dining alone.  The truth is, I'm good to just sit and hang.  Watch the world go by.  In my little shorty booth for two.  Hey, how's it going?  So, you got the rye bread, huh?  Yeah, I'm a white bread girl.  Hey, are you divorced?  Are you just spending time with the kids before you have to head out to the hockey game while the co-parent takes care of things, or is this your scheduled visit time?  Yeah, I know...it sounds weird, but honestly, people-watching is just amusing.   

So yeah.  Obviously, it doesn't bother me to be alone at a restaurant. 

A bar, on the other hand...well, hell, that's just awkward...you feel like the lone gazelle at the watering hole, wondering not if, but which one of the starving predators will pounce.

Next time, I'll have to try the new Pho place (or hell, the old Pho place) to see if it's to my liking before I try to take Etienne there.

Still, in spite of all of this...having company is nice too :)

Let's grab a bite soon...

...Wish you were here.

October 25/13

Fancy, where the fuck have you been?

Well, living a half-life of unsettling and resettling.

We've moved.  With little fanfare and a lot of headaches, stress, aching backs and strained muscles and patience, we stopped being residents of the Golden Triangle, and became residents of the Market.  It's a long, complicated, rage-inducing story, but if we could write the book on how NOT to do a move, we would.  We spent most of September in packing and painting mode, and most of October in unpacking and settling-in mode.  I've thought about coming back to the blog on many occasions, but by the end of the day, I'd usually be tired exhausted and it's taken a lot of energy to try and settle into the new place with a new routine.

So it's strange that I have so many things every day that I could share here, but the one that pushes me back is my non-relationship with my father-in-law Etienne's dad.

I'm a difficult person, and admittedly, I set high expectations for people in my life, so I have trouble dealing with it when my expectations have created problems.  I own my part in this failure, and I'm often sorry for it, though there aren't usually opportunities to say so.  So if we've had any rifts in the past over it, I'd like to apologize.  I'm a work in progress, and I hope that I'm moving in the right direction.

Etienne's father and I haven't connected.  The fact is, our personalities clash. I always tell myself that I should work on improving the relationship because I don't want to be the cause of any troubles or rifts between father and son, but then something happens to upset me, and I'm back where I started.  There are so many reasons why I would not receive a seal of approval: I'm older, divorced, don't want children, and that's just for starters.  I'm also an atheist, an anglophone (to be fair, these are more about my own insecurity than anything that has been reflected in interactions with the father), and I'm strong-willed.  Ultimately, we come from different worlds, and there isn't much common ground to build a relationship on.

I want to encourage father and son to maintain a relationship--I know that as people age, they find comfort in their relationships.  I've also seen enough fences mended around me to know the benefits.  Furthermore, I was pretty traumatized when Rod's father suddenly past away, knowing that theirs was a close, loving father-son relationship cut short.  Family matters a great deal to me.  Mine, though not the model of a Norman Rockwell painting, is my rock, and I know despite the distance (both physical and emotional at times), we'd walk through fire for each other.  I don't want Etienne to have regrets about family, which compels me to work on bettering my relationship with his family.  Hopefully the French lessons will help bridge a lot of the gap (Oh, yeah, BTW, I'm in French classes), but the rest comes down to there being enough to at the very least build a creditable, polite relationship.

So all of this to say that in recent weeks, things have been said or inferred which indicate that I am facing an enormous amount of work with the father, and I have to be aware that because I can't "convince" his son to get married, I might be facing a doomed task.

Knowing I can't win them all (and frequently don't), there's not much more to do or say...just have to get back to work.

Because family matters...

...Wish you were here.

September 4/13

So much aching.

I'm exhausted.

Can barely bend over anymore.

Last night, I was in the office for a few hours, just trying to pack the books, but damn if my progress got stopped by an assessment of my box stock.  You see, when I moved here to Ottawa, I packed all of my stuff and labeled my boxes (mostly so as not to confuse my things with my ex's).  And when I moved from my apartment in the building next door to our current place, my packing was almost completely contained.

Etienne's...not so much.  He didn't move with boxes.  He moved with bags.  And suitcases.  And tupperware storage containers.  And bags.  And bags.  He didn't have as much stuff as I did, but it was not fun trying to move him out of his place because of the lack of boxes.  Last night, I was coming to the realization that I probably needed an additional 10-15 boxes to properly pack his stuff.  I abandoned my efforts and decided to re-group and finish today.

You might be wondering why I'm packing so early, given that the move is still three weeks away, so I refer you back to posts from the last week of August for an explanation.  Basically, it goes like this: we painted our walls, and in order to avoid some stupid, way over-priced charges, we're priming the walls ourselves myself.  So I need to pack up each room just to get the stuff out of the way so I can prime the walls, and I decided in order to preserve some sense of sanity, I'd do a room per week. 

Bathroom?  Check!
Kitchen?  Check!
Closets?  Check!

I slave away because I'm cheap and poor, I hope that my labour will reduce the bill for moving out.

So, tonight was Part II.  And it kicked my ass.

I went downstairs and pulled all the unmarked boxes I could find, and brought them upstairs.  Then I went to the Pub.  Hey, a Hypoglycemic Girl's gotta eat.

As soon as we came home, I headed in.  I'm still estimating the need for another 5-6 boxes, but I know where to find those.  The only ones I'm not in charge of are the ones Etienne will use to transport the vinyl collection. 

The office is approximately 95% complete.  After a poorly scheduled viewing appointment tomorrow evening, I will put Etienne to work moving furniture, and then bust out the primer.  A second coat if needed on Thursday, and the Office?  (Will be) Check!

I'd love to pay a professional company to do this, but I'm so broke!

I need a massage...


...Wish you were here.

September 3/13

I didn't have a solid sleep last night, so when 7 am rolled around and I had to get up and go to work, I wasn't the most alert camper.  In fact, I'd say on a scale between alert/aware and state of R.E.M. sleep, I'd say I was somewhere around the state of a three year old fighting off a much-needed nap.

This was the state I was in as I sat there in my cubby, trying hard to concentrate on finishing a big project that I've been nerding out on for a few weeks now, when at 10:35 or so, the power suddenly went out.  It's almost as if the universe was telling me I had no business being at work when I was operating like a cranky toddler.

This isn't the first time the power has gone out at work, but when I went to the windows to scope out the situation, I noted that the other buildings in the complex also didn't have power.  This meant that there was a problem with the whole grid, and not just an isolated incident, as has been the case in the past.  The outage lasted for almost an hour and a half, and in that time, we all did what we do best in a power outage.  Chat and wait for news on whether we'll be sent home.  It's not like we could do much work; the computers were out, and the lighting wasn't exactly conducive to studying, reading, or doing boring stuff like filing and sorting. 

I think that senior management was getting close to sending us home, because in a massive complex like that, it's not just the lack of computers that affects our ability to work; there's also the loss of the air circulation system, which makes the air quite warm and stale, and lunch starts to become a real concern, whether brought or bought.  If the whole grid was indeed out, there'd be nowhere to go get food, except across the river in Ottawa, and packed lunches made of perishable items stored in the fridges would be imperiled if the outage is lengthy.

But damn if the power didn't come back on just at noon, and after lunch, it was back to work.

I just couldn't catch a break today...

...Wish you were here.

September 2/13

This afternoon, we fled the apartment briefly and headed for the Market, the only place where things would be open today. 

As an aside, I really miss being out west where a lot of places are open on holidays.  I know the arguments, about hourly staff having to work, etc. and I've worked my share of holidays in retail, and I know it sucks, but at least I was raking in the time and a half (or on some occasions, double time), so I put aside the suckiness and enjoyed having the extra cash on hand when needed (and it's always needed!).

Anyway, before we even left, we were both aware, courtesy of the Weather Network App, that storms were heading our way.  Hell, the app even told us that we should expect the show to start after 3 pm.  So when we walked out into the darkening skies, we both had our umbrellas.  I'm from Vancouver...if the weather forecast tells you there's a high probability of rain, you bring the umbrella or a rain jacket. 

Well, we were among the only smarty-pants in the Market apparently.  At 4 pm, when we were in Road Trip, and the sales girl was talking to me and another customer about how scared she is of storms and that she didn't bring an umbrella.  She gestured at mine and told me I was smart.  Excuse me for sounding arrogant, but duh.  We were just about to walk out the door when the sky opened up and all meteorological hell broke loose.  Nature turned on the fire hose, and for good measure, put on a hell of a light and sound show too.  At that moment an enormous flash of lightning and booming crack of thunder let us know the storm was directly over head.  It made a family of four walking by actually jump and they bolted into the store, but not before the youngest girl freaked out and ran elsewhere, causing the parents to have to run after her and bring her in, already soaked after 10 seconds in the rain.

Etienne and I just looked at each other, said, "We have umbrellas", and walked out into the chaos.  While our feet and legs got wet, the rest of us was quite dry and comfortable, and seriously, only hip-waders would have protected our legs at that point.

Storms amuse me, not just because of the awe they inspire, but also because I just can't believe how many people I see unprepared who then seem so surprised when these storms actually happen.  As predicted.

You silly, soaking wet souls...

...Wish you were here.

September 1/13

Happy First Anniversary, The Daily Wish You Were Here! 

And to celebrate, I've dumped my heavy-ass, stupid filing cabinet!

Several years ago, my ex and I purchased this filing cabinet because, while I'm somewhat more organized, he was a clutter-bug, and his papers lying about were getting to me.  We selected one based on looks and how it would fit into our apartment at the time.  When we went to buy it, we learned that we were buying the heaviest fucking filing cabinet known to mankind.  While this shouldn't have been a problem for us given my ex's unusually large stature, it turned out to be an enormous pain in my ass (and shoulders and legs and arms and all over) because I was dumped off at the lobby with it, and had to struggle hard to get the large, awkward box upstairs and its contents put together.

When we divorced, I guess I "won" the damn thing because I was the more organized of the two of us, and so it got on the truck with me and wandered across the country to Ottawa when I moved here.  Since then, it's been a heavy fucking reminder of how much I hate moving.

Well, this time, I decided the big bastard wasn't coming with us.  So very early this morning, I got up, reserved a Vrtucar, and by 10:30 am, I had purchased file boxes and binder, ready to sort and pack the contents of the cabinet, and kick the beast to the curb (literally).  The emptying part wasn't even easy.  The beast only locks at the top drawer, and the position of it slopes slighting down in front, so bottom three drawers have been known to slide open.  Almost as its parting revenge, the drawers were in full throttle, and one of them caught my knee in a way that I'm not sure a piece of bone hasn't chipped off in there.

After it was emptied, it sat in the hallway for a while, until we decided to get it over with.  Except we live on the second floor, and if you think hauling that beast up is a bitch, try hauling it down.  With Etienne at the bottom bearing the weight, I tried my best at the top to guide/carry it, but it's enormous size and weight weren't compatible with my slight frame and stance.  I was useless.  We got it to the bottom, and just as I feared getting it down the small stairs and over to the curb, some 15 feet away, one of the downstairs neighbours came out and asked if we needed help.  He's a taller guy, stronger, so of course I took up his offer!  In a matter of seconds, the damn thing was on the curb.

Because of it's size and weight, we wondered how long it would be out there.  For small things we've put out, they've been taken before we even have a chance to blink, but this beast can't simply be picked up and carried off.  Well, within 3 minutes, I noticed a couple out there, examining it with serious intent.  The man tried to pick it up to test the weight, but he found out quickly that it was a challenge, so they walked off.  About an hour later, we looked out the window, and it was gone.  Fair thee well, you big, heavy bastard.

The joys of moving...

...Wish you were here.