I’m always astonished when people I meet casually remember me. I don’t think of myself as particularly standout-ish or memorable. So when someone I’ve only met once or twice sees me says hello and asks how I am doing, I have to restrain myself from looking over my shoulder to be sure they are talking to me.
As nice as it is to be remembered, it can be embarrasing at times. Like when you walk into the LCBO and a clerk calls out to you by name.
I love Canada.
I’m not overly political, my love doesn’t stem from the Canadian democratic processs. Though I love it.
I’m not overly sports-minded/obsessed. Though I love hockey, lacrosse and curling.
I’m not an overtly woodsy, camping, outdoorsy kind of girl. But I love the unpopulated areas.
I love Canada for the way it loves & nurtures me.
My country accepts those from the countries that find it hard to love their own - whether be because or religion, sexual orientation, or colour of skin.
My country accepts those who can’t find a home elsewhere in the world.
My country accepts those who can’t reconcile their beliefs with those their home countries hold as true.
My country - She’s a giver. She’s strong, beautiful and true.
I’ve driven from Vancouver to Toronto (and vice versa) too many times, and in too many cars, to count. I will never tire of the trip. This country is a vast, gorgeous, unforgiving land that we think we have tamed and own. Never have I felt as alone, or as alive, as noon on the Prairies in the middle of summer.
All I am trying to get at. I suck at writing - blame it on scattered brain - but all I want to say is that the world sucks right now. The economy is in the toilet. Jobs are being lost. People are afraid of their own shadows and the shadows they make up.
We’re all afraid for our future.
But we live in one of the greatest lands on earth and well, if you get the chance, you should go see it.
It puts it all in perspective.
I am Canadian.
Nothing will change that.
Cheers!
I cut my bangs today. In a rush this morning. With paper scissors. And no mirror.
The results are less than stellar.
And by ‘less than stellar’ I mean noticeable enough to have children do double-takes to stare at them.
I’m a muppet. Not even one of the good Jim Henson muppets but some cheap knock-off one that they didn’t have enough material to make a good wig for.
I just found this on my Blackberry and I can smell his layin’ in the sun too long stink just by looking at this picture.
Don’t say I never gave you nothing!
I’m a single gal, I go on my fair share of dates. Some are blind dates, some are setups, some are dates met online through dating sites. I’ve made a few observations:
- 3 seperate guys in the last 2 months have asked me if “..I’m meat & potatoes..”. Just like that “Are you meat & potatoes?”. The first time I was asked, I thought it was slang for some sexual act and I asked him what it was.
He hasn’t called back. Odd.
Next guy that asks I’m going to reply ‘Yes, my breasts are made of the mashed potatoes and my flank steak is to die for!” Flank *is* near the bum, right?
I wont expect a second date.
-to the guy who asked me if I wanted to have kids as his opening greeting: Dude! you to slow your roll. At least let me finish my drink first before we get down to it.
And a ‘Hello, you look lovely this evening’ would have been nice too.
-leaving your Blackberry on the table is ok. I’m on call as well and understand that something may come up.
Leaving your Blackberry on the table and checking each message that comes in and replying to it as I am speaking? I get it, I bore you. Just tell me and we can both cut our losses.
Leaving your Blackberry on the table. Set to the Loud profile for messages & phone calls and getting & TAKING calls from all your homies? Yeah, that bathroom break I’m taking - it’s really not that cold in there. I’m taking my jacket & purse ’cause I’m not coming back.
-I know first dates can be awkward. Small talk with strangers is hard enough on it’s own without throwing in the distraction of constantly evaluating whether or not you want this person’s tongue in your mouth at some point in the future. But chatting happens when you respond to a question with more than a one word answer.
Yes and no are great answers but using them exclusively in reponse to my questions will not get you into my pants. Unless of course the 2 questions are “Are you a super-duper millioinaire recluse who wants to spend gobs and gobs of money on me and will love me until the day I die?” (Yes is the correct answer to this one) and “Do these jeans make my flank steak look fatty?” (No is the correct answer to that one).
Talk to me. Please?
-I like sex. I do not however wish to discuss my favourite position, any toys I may have, preferred brand of lube or how many times I’ve done it this month, within the first hour of meeting you. Yes, all of these were questions asked by a date recently. My answers were ‘..alone..’, ‘..I do own Robosapien. He can whistle and pick shit up..’, ‘..WD-40..’, ‘..at least twice a day, every day. I use Crest *and* Listerine..’
Unfortunately, this one keeps calling.
Dating. Always entertaining.
Excuse me, I need to go wash my hair.
But I can’t shake the superstition that if I actually write down the myriad of little things each day that make me happy, that they’ll disappear. So I try to thank each of these items as I encounter them.
I’m sure at this very moment, there’s someone I’ve crossed paths with creating a post about being thankful (read: confused?) for seeing the slightly nutty looking girl who bowed to the toilet and muttered thank you!
What? I only do it with my favourite public bathrooms.
I just, JUST RIGHT THIS SECOND, realized that Prince is singing:
Or is it Miracle Rags?
“She wore a raspberry beret”
in the chorus of (funny this) Raspberry Beret.
All these years, I’ve been singing:
“She wore rags, miracle rags”
I always thought the raspberry beret was somehow just a part of her miracle rags ensemble. I wonder what’s *really* happening when the doves cry?
I forgot about this site!
Date was ok. His behaviour afterward was a little on the scary side with the 3 or 4 times a night calls and then nasty voicemails when messages weren’t returned. So no elopement here. Hell no 3rd date here.
Just so you know - and you don’t need to know the reasons why because when I write them down they seemn a little cuckoo but when I just repeat them to myself in my head, they’re ok, I’m boycotting Futureshop. Which is tough ’cause I love the big guy but sometimes tough love is needed to set the record straight.
Buddy
I ain’t got much else. I’ll try to remember to drop in and say hi again soon.
I got picked up in the grocery store this afternoon.
I know! You’re thinking this is going to be a post about how because the spray nozzles on the fresh herb cases aren’t aimed correctly and thus spray the tile floors in front of the display with a constant drizzle of slip-inducing slick that caused me to slip, slide and flail until I was unceremoniously dropped on my keister and how some kindly soul offered me his hand so I stand up with a small modicum of dignty intact AND I then called it being ‘picked up’ in some attempt to make my day-to-day chores seem more exciting and glamorous.
You’d be wrong.
Not wrong about the fresh herb nozzle and it’s crappy aim but wrong attempt at making my life seem more glamorous ’cause really, I just couldn’t. Ask my favourite chinese food delivery guy. I’m a Rockstar! And don’t get me wrong, those fresh produce spray nozzles are out to get me but that’s a story for another time.
Back to being picked up….
Nope. I was chatted up. Asked for and given a number and complimented. We have a date for later this week.
And yes, I did check out his basket.
Bananas, assorted veggies and pitas.
Oh and some dried prunes, but who am I to judge someone on their gastronomical needs?
No one.
Pepto-Bismol.
The drink of hypochondriacs and nervous nellies the world round.
