Wow! Is it Really that Time? So I realized I have been flogging this blog for 3.5 years! That is a long time. I don't even like to make that kind of commitment to a pair of shoes. But it got me thinking, I must have said something remotely interesting in that time, right?

And, indeed it appears I did, once or twice. So while my top post widget says what have been popular over the last 7 days, I thought I would actually see what I though was good that didn't have the words: cabana boy in it. And after combing through my archives I am listing a few of my favorite hits for your weekend enjoyment.

1. I totally forgot about this commercial. I even amaze myself by some of the things I have put up on this blog.
   
   
2. Got Education? Brain Insurance is what you need.
   
   
3. If you have cats, you have gone through this.
   
   
4. I know you know someone who is getting divorced and wants a party, benefit from my experience.
   
   
5. Have you thanked the Canadian Navy lately?
   
   
6. Admit it, Nancy Drew kicks ass.
   
   
7. What Mark thought of Banff when he first moved here.
   
   
8. When you live in a tourist town this is bound to piss you off.
   
   
9. Can you believe Canada Post used to be a Crown Corporation? They are so with it now.
   

Labels: favourite posts

  ¶ 11:49 AM 0 comments links to this post     

  Julie Child's Love Affair Many would think that Julia Child's love affair with fine French cuisine was the overwhelming passion of her life. They would be mistaken to think her real life loves weren't as all consuming. Julia, you see, had a lot of love and support on the home front.

Julia was a woman that things came to late in life. She found love and married late at 36, an age that in 1946 made you an old maid. She went back to school in her forties, and became a TV personality at a time when her peers were considering retiring.

Some might be mistaken to think that her love affair with food eclipsed her personal life. But they would be wrong. Paul, Julia's husband supported and encouraged her, and was probably the main reason she bloomed so bright in the second half of her life. He encouraged her when she decided to become one of the few women to enter Le Cordon Bleu, France's famous culinary school. He embolden her to write her opus, Mastering the Art of French Cooking. He stood beside his famous wife when her TV show made her a celebrity. He loved and encouraged her until his death at age 92.

Sometimes in our instant gratification, super sexed-up, reality TV world , that kind of soft persistent, unflagging love; the kind that quietly weathers storms of taste, age, and weight; gets forgotten. People lose sight of it between workout classes and fixing school lunches. But it doesn't devalue this type of serene love, it just means we need to be more open to realizing it when we have it.

And for a little fun here is the trailer from Julie and Julia. Or read her biography, My Life in France.

-- Post From My iPhone

Labels: love affairs paul julia child

  ¶ 1:15 PM 1 comments links to this post     

  Where Upon the Author Continues to Bitch About Her Height
I hated it like how all tall women wish they were cute and tiny like kittens, and those with no breasts wished they were Dolly Parton. Well I wished, and begged, and bargained for 2 more f%cking inches, but I never got them. No idea why. My sisters are 5'4 and 5'5 respectively. But not me. I will resemble a hobbit until the end of my days. Which would be fine if I got to live in a round house and hang out with great Wizards, but that doesn't seem to be my lot either.

Obviously, I am not ever going to be thrilled about the fact that I'm short. Nor will I embrace it by buying a T-Shirt that says, 'Have you Kissed a Short Person Today' or insist that people refer to me as vertically challenge. Being short is not like having a disability or being gay, their is no way to make it cool or to raise money to correct it. In fact, generally I would prefer that it never be brought up.

So, I guess you could say that I have come to deal with it in my own maladjusted way. It's not like I have a choice. Though I would love to be taller then I am, I'm afraid cosmetic leg lengthen surgery is where I draw the line. So I do what women have done through the ages, I wear heels.

I rarely leave the house without them. I need those inches. They are my armour. They make me more attractive, smell better, and kick ass at reaching highly placed objects. Or they did.

See for the past 5 weeks I have been nursing an Achilles tendon issue. Can't run. Might not every be able to run again. Which in its self sucks, because running is the easiest thing in the world to do, and burns the most calories. Now to add insult to injury I am being told I should stop wearing my heels. And start wearing something like these beauties to the left.

I mean aren't they just cute as a button? Looks and function all wrapped up in beautiful brown Naugahyde. Wearing these, I am sure, will not only make me healthier and more appealing, but with a full length paisley A-Line skirt and the handbag my grandmother left me, will rock the world!

I don't know what I did in my past life, but I must have been one miserable bastard.

Picture of heels from http://www.flickr.com/photos/markusram/1419673188/
Picture of orthopedic shoes from http://www.flickr.com/photos/al_herrmann/1345686092/

Labels: achilles, heels, height, high, injury, running

  ¶ 11:20 AM 1 comments links to this post     

  Chocolate Brazilian Wax I have discovered the greatest marketing success in history. Perpetrated upon visa-holding dim wits the world over. The marketers have created a great myth, and it has been swallowed, regurgitated, and accepted as holy writ. Behold the Brazilian wax.

My epiphany happened two weeks ago. My beautician was telling me her last client threw up in her waxing room. That's terrible, I said. I honestly, felt bad for the women until I found out what had happened. It appears, the barfer as I will refer to said simpleton, is 6 months pregnant. And had come in for her monthly Brazilian Wax, which requires you to lay on your stomach. I was shocked and said so. Why a woman nearly to her due date cares about the hair in her ass was unfathomable to me. However, I was soon to learn that many women do it right up until the contractions start.

This got me thinking. Just exactly, when did people become convinced that they needed to be smooth from front to back? For thousands of years people existed with hair in their derriere and no one died from it. I realized that this is the BIGGEST, and BEST marketing gimmick I had ever seen.

Somewhere out there, someone whose whole world is about hair removal was having a bad day. Damn it all, they said to themselves, they had run out of places for people to remove hair from! They had conquered the brow, the chin, the legs, the pits, the bikini, backs, and hairy moles. With horror it dawned on them, they had reached the final frontier of hair. There was no where else to go....Or was there?

I mean it's an area that doesn't get much attention, except from Charmin. And if you have seen one, you are most likely in a medical profession or into S & M. Most people, with the exception of three year olds, don't usually want to discuss it, let alone anyone to come near it. I've seen adults grab it and run away if they even think someone or something, is getting too close to it. And let's be honest most of us worry, a lot, that it might smell. Given all these detriments, somehow, women who are 9 months pregnant feel they MUST maneuver their enormous girth onto a waxing table, hold back the surge of bile and just get it done. And to this I say Bravo, you cleaver marketing professional. For never has a more useless reason for spending money been known to the world since the pet rock. Take a bow.

Labels: brazilian wax stupid marketing ploy

  ¶ 2:31 PM 2 comments links to this post     

  Katya Sings Tribal So I have a little ditty for you today. It is a little bit Maria Carey, a little African war song (at the end), some French (at least is sure sounds like it), and a lot strange. It is Katya singing her own composition.

I have promised her parents to save this for perpetuity and play it at her Wedding reception. It will bring her such joy on such a wonderful occasion.

Please enjoy the sweet sounds. I have been. Katya Sings Tribal (click on the bottom link, under, unknown).

Labels: african, bff, katya, singing, songs

  ¶ 7:13 PM 0 comments links to this post     

  The Exam Marking Spy According to the Telegraph, MI5 are recruiting teachers to join the agency.

It appears teachers have those oh-so-special characteristics and skills that make good spys. Like punishing enemy spys by making them bang erasers.

But Teachers are also highly sensitive to others. Like pigs snuffling for truffles, teachers can quickly identify when someone is hiding something. "Dog ate your homework? Maybe a little water boarding will help us find out if that is the truth!"

Teachers are adept at discovering and interrupting an enemy's lines of communications. "A note Richard? How original. Apparently, Meagan, you will have to check the box beside 'I like you' after school."

But Teachers are also very comfortable using technology. "Give me that phone! Don't Tweet that I smell like feet!"

And finally teachers have the ability to humanely extract information from the enemy. "Right, so I think 1000 words on the central lie in The Stone Angel is where we will start. Then we will do a series of short answer questions focusing on how dystopia is achieved in The Handmaid's Tale. By which point , I think you'll want to talk. If not, I'm just itching to do a little calculus!"

All in all, a wise choice, I think, by MI5.

Labels: teachers spys skills

  ¶ 1:37 PM 3 comments links to this post     

  Like, the Sweetest Ever! I can't help marveling over these crazy Sweet 16 birthday parties they keep showing on TV. These kids get lavish parties and luxury cars as gifts. Which you'd think would make them happy. But no sooner are the keys deposited into their grasping little hands then there is crying and histrionics. Because, you see, Connor just showed up with Meredith, when everyone knows that his destiny was to kiss the birthday girl at midnight beneath a fake sky of streamers and Christmas lights. Like, duh!! I mean, its her party and she'll rage at Daddy over this injustice, and the fact he didn't spring for Valet parking, if she damn well wants to!

And all this brings to mind my 16th birthday. The only thing memorable about it was the fact that my father grudgingly decided he would stop answering the door with a shotgun when I had a date. Not much to celebrate, unless you wanted to date me.

But it has got me thinking. If my parents were fabulously wealthy, slightly senile, and not a little bit tipsy by 10 am what would I ask for? Well, I think you will all agree a party, especially a Sweet 16 birthday party is about the theme. Picking the perfect theme ensures a great party. So knowing this, and knowing that my fantasy Sweet 16 has an unlimited budget anything is possible.

So I have to ask you dear readers, which would be the perfect theme?

Labels: 16, birthday, fantasy, party, sweet, themes

  ¶ 10:55 AM 0 comments links to this post     

  Saying What We're All Thinking I was looking at pictures of Victoria Beckham today. All I could think is, 'no wonder her husband keeps cheating on her.' Because let's be honest, how much fun can it be grinding up against a sharp object. She looks great in pictures, but there is not much to cuddle up to there. She is a woman almost completely lacking in all the qualities that define the feminine. Even her fake tits look hard and unwelcoming. And this is supposed to be the ideal?

I don't know if it is because I am getting older, or just more set in my ways, but when I open up magazines like Elle and Flare I just get pissed off. These magazines purport to be about fashion. But I think what they are really about is teaching you to hate yourself and anyone else who is not a size 0. The message is clear, you can't be attractive, let alone fashionable if you aren't a stick.

I can't contain my shock at how the woman look in these magazines. They women are so thin. What happened to Cindy Crawford like bodies? Are we really buying what Hollywood and these magazines are selling? That women should resemble little boys? No hips. No tits. Protruding bones?

But from this, can we infer that men find this attractive? Is this sexy? Or is this what women think is attractive? And to who? It can only be to other woman. Because I don't know too many men who have pictures of fashion models and Victoria Beckham hanging on their walls. Buxom swim suit models, Victoria Secret models, yes. But hot pics of skeletal girls gliding down the runway, no. Are we forced to see these images because woman want to one-up other women? Because what I have been seeing is not only unrealistic, and unachievable for anyone who wants to eat, it is just downright horrifying. I am all for being a healthy weight, emphasis on healthy, but when I see some of these women, so painfully thin, I am turned right off. Just thinking about what you would have to do and give up to achieve this look makes me wonder, what is the point of living if all you eat is steamed vegetables and workout 2 hours a day everyday? I think I would rather be dead.

Labels: bodies, skinny, unhealthy, unrealistic, weight

  ¶ 11:16 AM 0 comments links to this post     

  Facing Down Martha Stewart I recently wrote in my birth mother letter that when Mark and I decided to get married I became obsessed with Martha Stewart. In fact, I was obsessed with having a perfect Martha Stewart wedding. And that having a perfect Martha Stewart wedding usually cures you of wanting to have a perfect Martha Stewart life. I am happy to say I remain disease free to this day. There are no sharp corners in my house, no objects that can't be touched, no off limit rooms with white carpets. Yet, while I escaped the worst of the contagion, I some how don't seem to have any inclination to do any type of interior design at all.

At one time in my life I loved the idea of purchasing cool floor lamps, fabulous prints for the walls, getting the perfect throw cushions, and finding the right coffee table book. Ikea was a mecca and I could happily wander through it for days. Now I can't stand the sight of it. It is on my 'only if you have to' list. My approach these days is more like: is it on sale? Do walls need pictures? Why do I need a magazine rack when I can just create a tower of magazines beside the couch. Sadly, I have become the anti-decorator. My weapon of choice is sloth.

Not that I don't like having a beautiful house. I just don't want to have to be the one making it that way. I get annoyed with the cost of designer paint colours, irrationally possessive about parting with my couches, and snarky about the perceived need to have to have leather furniture. Leather furniture is to my age group what avocado appliances were to the 70's.

Oh, won't someone come hang a coat rack for me? My banister is sagging under the weight of all my jackets.

Labels: design, interior

  ¶ 2:40 PM 2 comments links to this post     

  Stabbed with their Steely Knives For the past 2 nights I have had the worst sleep. As soon as I fall asleep my stomach seems to erupt. It's really painful, and keeps waking me up. It is almost impossible to find a position that doesn't hurt. When I finally find one, I fall back asleep to be woken up a short time later by the same thing. At first I thought it was food poisoning, and cursed the ham I ate for supper. But when the pain wasn't followed by vomiting I realized this wasn't the problem. Then I thought I might be having a gall bladder attack, but those go away after about 10-15 minutes and this just dragged on, and on. Finally, I realized I was having a sting of very emotionally upsetting dreams. Whatever they were about has been lost in the night, but this is what has been effecting my stomach and causing me so much pain. It is the equivalent of finding out you forgot your Physics exam multiplied by the realization you are in a crowded room naked. My stomach is a clenched fist that just keeps squeezing.

I don't know why this is effecting me in my sleep. I have suspicions. I suspect it has to do with trying to get our adoption profile done. I think I may have snapped something emotionally trying to push to get it finished over the last week. I suspect this, because the desire I had to complete it, or even ever look at it ever again, makes almost every fiber of my being revolt. I think the pressure I put on myself, and all the emotions of this whole process have reached a tipping point in my brain. The ridiculous and unwarranted ideas I placed on myself regarding timeliness, or lack of it, about getting through all the steps the agency requires of you BEFORE YOU CAN get on the live list have cause my dreams to start hating me. Which in turn has turned my stomach into a round steel ball of a million knifes poking me in my sleep and making me queasy during the day.

Jesus, I am tired of emotions. Maybe the Vulcans have it right. I doubt their dreams attack their stomachs.
  ¶ 10:32 AM 0 comments links to this post