The only thing I've ever loved about Halloween

I've never really been a fan of Halloween. Even as a child I felt it was a whole lot of hoohah for some tiny chocolates and chips you never ate anyway. The only time in my life I ever loved Halloween was during my years at BU.

Halloween at BU is like nothing else on Earth. Yeah, you get dressed up, and yeah everyone goes out and parties, but Bishop's likes to keep a little tradition that makes Halloween a little more interesting.

This is the part where I find out if my mother actually visits my blog.

At Bishop's, on Halloween night, everyone does shrooms. I mean everybody. The only people who might not are the people who had a terrible trip the year before, and they usual come around again by Halloween anyway. I don't even like smoking pot, but I still took part in Halloween.

My first year I made the mistake of not really dressing up. My friend AnnaBanana was a vampire, so I dressed up as her victim, aka painted my face slightly white and put two blood-dripping puncture wounds on my neck. We ate our shrooms with pizza. I felt really mellow that year, and spent most of the night dancing with my friends from residence. We ran into another friend, who had been adventuring in the woods, and refused to part with his "Magic Stick", a giant log that he claimed had magical powers. I'm surprised they let him bring it into the bar.

In my second year, I dressed up like a honey bee. I wore all black and had a little yellow and black striped tummy, and big wings that were basically nylon stretched over wire, and I wore my hair two high braided ponytails with pipecleaner antennae sticking out. We ate our shrooms with peanut butter sandwiches, and I spent the entire time at our apartment before the bar laughing my ass off. I just couldn't stop laughing. Everything was hilarious. I even pretended to be a dog at one point, trying to make somebody, anybody, laugh as much as me. At the bar, I mingled around. I got kissed by a guy dressed as a nun, and was told by a British viking that I was "absolutely lovely". Then I got gut-rot and had to leave early. On my way home, some strange guy walking by randomly bit one of my wings, making a big hole in the nylon. It made me mad and I pushed him down the hill in front of the school.

In my third year, I dressed as an angel with a bright red wig. We ate our shrooms with Oreo cookies. I didn't make it out to the bar with everyone else - the costumes scared my dog half to death, and I got caught up lying down in the dark with her listening to Daft Punk. For what felt like forever. That is by far the best album to listen to on shrooms. Ever. Eventually, I hauled my ass out of bed, to find that everyone had left my apartment. I wandered to the building next door, and found some random people partying, so joined them, then I actually ran into Sexy Boyfriend, which was convenient, and we walked to the bar together. But then the line at the bar was way too long, so we went back home.

So, even though I dislike children (for the most part) and am not really into sweets (most of the time) and can't stand dressing up (unless I'm on drugs), I'm glad that I can still take part in the holiday in some way, in that I have at least some fond memories of Halloween.

We were meant to be together

I think I mentioned that last weekend Sexy Boyfriend and I went to dinner with his brother, R, and his girlfriend D. I also mentioned that I had a veal stuffed pasta thing that was not so great.

But, D got the dish that I usually order, a spinach fettucini in a tomato and mushroom sauce (with big chunks of cherry tomatoes and portobello mushrooms), with a big slab of brie cheese and a big slab of goat cheese on top. I sat through the whole meal with my icky veal-stuffed pasta, with a tasteless sauce, while she twirled the yummy, gooey, semi-spicy noodles around her fork. I was so sad.

At the end of the dinner, Sexy Boyfriend, D, and I all got leftovers for take-home, but I was pretty sure I wouldn't eat mine. I put it in the fridge on Saturday, along with Sexy Boyfriend's leftovers, and went about my weekly business. On Wednesday, Sexy Boyfriend took his portion of Veal Scarolies (veal stuffed with cheese in a gravy sauce, with spaghetti) to work for lunch. It just so happened that R also brought D's leftovers for his lunch.

I got a phone call.

"Open the fridge, look at your leftovers."

Score!! The stupid waiter, (or maybe the ingenius waiter who saw my displeasure, or my lack of enthusiasm, or whatever) mixed up the packages, and I got D's leftovers, which would have been my leftovers anyway if I hadn't stupidly ordered something new to try.

I can't remember if I've ever enjoyed leftovers quite so much.

The Extraction

In the winter of 2004, Sexy Boyfriend and I both found out we had to get our wisdom teeth taken out. As I was still in school and had Spring Break coming up, I volunteered to go first.

I already have serious anxiety about going to the dentist. Not so much that I break down or cry when I have to go there, but enough that all of my muscles tense up from the moment I sit in the chair until I walk out the front door. I have also never seen the needle they use to inject the freezing cause I keep my eyes cemented shut.

My dentist doesn't seem to believe in making The Extraction as easy as possible. He got me to show up half an hour early for pre-medication, which was Ativan, and which I didn't find that relaxing. When he came out a half hour later to ask if I was relaxed, I said "No, not really" with every muscle in my body contracted, tapping my feet to non-existent music. He gave me another Ativan, and brought me into the room to get ready for The Extraction.

He said I would feel sleepy, but I never did. He said I wouldn't remember anything, but I do. He's such a mean big liar. A lot of people I know say their dentists actually put them to sleep for The Extraction. That they woke up and it was over, and all was wonderful in the world. But not my dentist. He just makes sure you are "relaxed", which I wasn't, then he goes about his freezing and drilling and cracking and pulling. It's not like there was any pain, or discomfort even, but just the anxiety of the whole situation was SO unpleasant.

After all four teeth were thoroughly extracted, I went out to the waiting room and waited while they called Sexy Boyfriend to come pick me up. I was very thirsty, so I went into the little bathroom to take a cup of water. Suddenly, standing there, my mouth felt like it was full of cotton, which is wasn't, but I just couldn't get enough water. I took a few careful sips, but I just felt more thirsty. So I tipped the little cup back. Then I practically choked to death. Because of all the freezing, I couldn't judge how much water was in my mouth. I had thought that the fact I was getting any water in my mouth at all instead of dribbling it down my chest was pretty good, but I forgot about how much water I was actually getting in there. I started to cough, tried to hold it in, but you know when you get that little tickle in your throat, and it just won't go away, and your cough becomes uncontrollable? That was the problem. So I coughed, and all that water in my mouth sprayed all over that tiny little bathroom sink, and it was mixed with blood from The Extraction. I know, gross, gross, but even in the moment I saw that it was one of the funniest things that has ever happened to me.

I managed to sop it all up, or at least my drug altered brain saw it as sopped up, maybe I left huge splotches everywhere, hell if I know. Then they knocked on the door to tell me Sexy Boyfriend was there.

On the way home we chatted about how it went - more like he asked one question then I rambled on and on cause I find it funny how your voice sounds when your mouth is frozen. At one point a song I knew came on the radio, and I started to sing. To this day Sexy Boyfriend thinks I was singing cause of my altered state, but really it's because I find the Frozen Mouth Voice absolutely hilarious.

My Masochist Dentist also decided to let me leave the office without a pain prescription. He said that Advil would be enough. He lied. I have never experienced pain like this. Just a constant, dull, throbbing pain that wouldn't let me sleep, wouldn't let me concentrate, wouldn't let me get off the sofa. I have never taken so much Advil in my life. But the worst part was the stitches. He had hooked the stitches around my back molars, and they began to pull and tighten. So not pleasant.

I spent a good week on the sofa, writhing in pain. I had them out on Monday, and only went back to work on Saturday, still eating partially or fully softened foods like oatmeal, french fries, milkshakes, etc.

All of this to say that Sexy Boyfriend still has not gotten his out yet. It has been almost two years, and my chipmunk-cheeked episode seems to have disuaded him from having The Extraction. Even when he gets little bouts of pain so bad he can't eat, he still puts it off. My mission is to get him to the dentist in the month of November.

We will not be leaving the office without a pain meds prescription.

Irony is a bitch

Usually, when I am working, I have the car. As I explained in my last post, public transportation to my work is pretty friggin' excruciating. Sexy Boyfriend, however, works downtown, so although he still has to deal with the stinky, drunk, scary people who take the bus, the trip only takes about 45 minutes compared to a half our car ride. When we are working at close to the same time in the morning, I will drive him to work, then come back and pick him up after.

Yesterday, we were running a little late getting out the door, and after work I had an appointment so I said "Hey, Sexy Boyfriend, how about you drive me to work, so that I am not late since I am opening and it would look pretty friggin' bad if I was late and all my associates were there waiting for me, and then you can come and pick me up after my appointment, since it is close and I will be able to just walk there."

"Okay, that would be great to have the car for the day for once"

So, he dropped me off at work. However, traffic from the West Island to Downtown in the morning can be pretty crazy, and it took him over an hour to get in. Then, at around 4 o'clock, his friend called him.

"Dude, a client gave me his tickets to the hockey game tonight with free food and drinks - I'll pick you up at 6:30"

And my Sexy Boyfriend, because he is sweet and good, said no thanks.

Actually, I think he was more scared that the chances of him getting any in the next little while would go from their present practically non-existant state to nil. But nonetheless, he said no. He could have told me to take a cab again. He could have sent his brother to get me, then I would have to go drop his brother off, and then drive all the way home from downtown, but he didn't do that. He said no. And he picked me up after my appointment, and was even there early.

Sometimes it's the little things that make us happiest.

I didn't really feel bad about it until later, when we were watching TV and he flicked over to check how the game finished and we found out it went into overtime. And when we watched some guy go on a breakaway or something and score with like two minutes left in overtime. And when he practically jumped off the couch. Then I kinda felt bad. But, he always talks about how he hates to take the bus, and how it sucks that I always have the car, and I really thought I was doing a nice thing by getting him to drop me off then come get me.

And that kinda makes me find the whole thing pretty funny in the sick "I'm going straight to hell for laughing at my boyfriend's misery" kinda way.

Taxi!

I got a visit at work today from one of my ex-colleagues at The Job From Hell. It was so nice to see her, since we worked very closely for a long time, and when I started my new job, she brought flowers on my first day to say congratulations. I haven't seen her since, which is very sad. Every time we try to get together, the bunch of us that worked together, someone can't make it, or no one can make it, and it doesn't work out. She looks great!

Sexy Boyfriend has a business dinner tonight, so I am all alone. So sad. We also have zero food supplies, so I brought sushi home which was fun. Since he has the car, I had to take a cab, and $45 later, thank goodness it was paid for by his company.

When I used to work in St. Laurent, which is a 10-15 minute car ride when there's no traffic, and about 45 minutes with traffic, I did several public transport test runs. Each time I took public transportation to get to the old job, it took me no less than one hour and forty five minutes, and in one case I had been travelling for over two hours when I finally gave up and took a cab.

So, since my new job is even further west, there is no way in hell I will be taking the bus to or from work anytime soon. Hence, my cab ride this evening. No matter how boring it seems to ride for 35 minutes with a guy who barely speaks English and doesn't play the radio, it's a whole world away from 3 hours on the bus with smelly people who talk to themselves and play their iPods too loud and don't give up their seats for old ladies.

Give me back my crossword!!!

Yesterday we decided to venture out for a shopping day, with a fresh dose of DayQuil in me - it made me dizzy, but I made it through. We walked all along Ste. Catherine, and I didn't even buy one thing - I must be sicker than I thought! Actually, the only thing I tried on was a Columbia parka, which was kind of tight, and it made me sad about my chubby state of being, so I didn't feel like trying on anything else. Sexy Boyfriend tried on a bunch of jeans and cords and stuff, but couldn't find anything that fit right, or was the right color, or didn't look too worn in.... so picky. Everyone knows when cords are $40, plus a 30% employee discount, you buy them. Nuf said.

After shopping, we went for dinner with Sexy Boyfriend's brother, R, and his girlfriend, D. Had yummy Scarolie's, which was pretty good, although I got a veal-stuffed pasta that wasn't as good as the dish I usually get. That'll teach me for trying new things. We then went to their apartment and had a rabble-rousing game of Scrabble, which was fun, although I am suspect of R's ability to keep score, since the boys beat us, but Sexy Boyfriend and I are both unsure how that could have happened what with mine and D's multitude of 20-30 point words. It was still really fun.

Today is rainy and gross outside, so I got up at 10, picked up breakfast, and some movies. I love spending the whole day inside when it's yucky out, cuddled on the sofa with the duvet, especially when I have even the slightest hint of sniffles. I am a bit ticked off though since several sections of yesterday's newspaper have gone missing including: Homefront, the section with all the real estate info for the week, which is particularly interesting lately, and also section F, which I'm not sure what section it is, but I know the front page says the Crossword is in Section F and I love the big fat Saturday crossword more than any of the other crosswords for the whole week and I wait all week for the Saturday crossword and when it goes missing, I get really really angry. Saturday has the big fat Tribune Crossword puzzle that takes at least an hour to work through, and usually I have to set it down and come back to it later so I can allow my brain to refresh. I'm not sure if someone tampered with our newspaper, or if Sexy Boyfriend accidentally threw these sections out, but I'm ticked. I doubt he would EVER throw these sections out because he is so paranoid about throwing out my favorite sections of the newspaper he will often leave the paper lingering for weeks until I throw it out. So, to whomever messed with my Saturday paper this week:

I will find out who you are, and when I do, oh you had better watch out. You have never seen the likes of my wrath when Saturday's crossword is missing, and if you know I'm talking about you, then I suggest you do one of two things: Run. Run far far away and never look back. If your family is at all important, than you should definitely take them with you because I will use them against you. Or, please return Section F of the Gazette from Saturday, October 22, 2005 to my doorstep post-haste. Thank you.

10 Steps to Sick Day Success

I love sick days. Besides the whole being sick part, which if you are an expert in over-the-counter drugs, as I happen to be, doesn't really affect the whole sick day experience. Here is my step-by-step guide to making the most out of your sick day:

1. The night before, tape lots of TV shows or rent some movies. Daytime TV SUCKS for the most part, unless you are into soap operas, or are a three year old. There is nothing worse than being bored on a sick day, and books are just too much effort. I, for example, taped ER, Alias, and CSI last night.

2. Also the night before, it's important to take some NyQuil. This will knock you out and give you a good night's sleep, and chances are you won't wake up stuffy-headed. This morning I woke up with a bit of a sore throat, and a sinus headache, but my nose was not runny. Nothing ruins a day of laying around like a stuffy nose - that means you have to switch positions pretty often when one side of your nose gets plugged from laying on that side.

3. The first time you really wake up in the morning, you should get up, use the washroom, walk the dogs, and re-medicate. Whether you choose NyQuil, which will put you in a stupor for most of the rest of the day, or DayQuil, which does everything NyQuil does except knock you out, it's up to you. I find that DayQuil still makes me pretty whoozy, so if I have the opportunity, I usually take NyQuil when I'm off.

4. Drink lots of fluids. I find that any kind of medicine for colds leaves me dehydrated and pasty-mouthed. I like drinking orange juice, and sometimes gingerale (I know it's for upset stomachs, but it makes me think of being sick when I was little). If you have a sore throat, it's especially important to drink lots.

5. Unless you have to, try not to get out of bed. This is not possible for me, since my VCR is in the living room, so if I want to watch my taped shows, I have to move out there. Lying around on the sofa can sometimes give you cramped legs, or twisted back, especially when you have to share the sofa with one or more 65 lbs+ dogs.

6. Keep all remote controls and telephones as close as possible. For obvious reasons.

7. Try to watch any taped shows with the time-stamp display on. For example, I started watching CSI today, and the show started at 2:47 hours into the tape. Within the first five minutes, I fell asleep, but since I remembered when the show started, I was able to stop and rewind, instead of rewinding while watching the show, which could ruin things cause then you can see everything you missed, but in reverse. When I fell asleep again, like ten minutes later, and then every ten to 15 minutes, it came in handy.

8. Eat noodle soup. Not canned chicken noodle soup, or Chunky chicken noodle, the Lipton Chicken Noodle Soup that comes in packets and has those tiny noodles. You need to eat that soup when you are sick! It is best to scoop all the broth first, or scoop and dip bread in it, and then when it's all dried up, eat the noodles.

9. When you find yourself with another headache, re-medicate.

10. Make sure you have a duvet to snuggle into. I have a duvet on each bed (ours and the spare bed) and one for the sofa. None of those wimpy "throws" - a real-live king size down duvet. Anything else and you are cheating yourself.

My kitty is a chatty cathy.

It's that time of year again - I thought I was going to escape, but it seems I have been struck by my first cold of the winter. I've been feeling a little drained this week, and had a little bit of a cough, and when I woke up this morning it had hit me full-on - stuffy nose, big bad cough, achy, fevery, yuck yuck yuck. People at work have been dropping like flies, but I thought I was going to make it through.

I had an appointment this morning out by my work, so I got up, took some medication, and went to my appointment. By the time I got there, I knew I was too sick to work, so I called them and told them I wouldn't be coming in. But, I'm closing, and they are only two managers today, so I have to go in at 6:30 to cover. I came home after my appointment and went to bed, slept for two hours. I still feel groggy and now I have a headache. Ugh.

My kitty cat has been very chatty lately. As I've been writing this, he was walking around the kitchen going "Meow! Meow? meow. meOw." All different tones of meow, like he's having a whole conversation by himself. It makes me want to cuddle him all day long. I think tomorrow I will stay home all day and do just that.

I really just want to buy a hot new parka

I have been thinking about taking up snowboarding this winter. I have had very limited experience on skis in my life (I've skied maybe five times ever), and I heard that if you don't ski it's easier to learn how to snowboard. Also, Sexy Boyfriend used to be quite an avid snowboarder, but since I don't snowboard, and we spend most of our free time together, he hasn't gone snowboarding in quite a while. When we were at Bishop's, he would go once or twice a year with some buddies, but that's it.

I have tried snowboarding a few times - once it was actually quite fun cause I went with some friends who also had no clue what they were doing, and we spent most of the time laughing our asses off, when we weren't actually on our asses from falling.

The first time I tried to snowboard, I went with Sexy Boyfriend. He tried to be patient with me, I know that he did, and he meant well too, I know. But after a few tentative runs down the bunny hill, he decided it was time we go try a real run. So we got on the chair lift. This was the first issue. I have a CRIPPLING fear of heights. Like, I got severe vertigo once from hiking up a hill and fell - I would have tumbled all the way to the bottom if it hadn't been for the joint efforts of my friend Shawn and a very nice, large, spiny tree, which scraped my shoulder and left a scar that I still have.

On the chairlift, I'm gripping the bar and squeezing my eyes shut and trying to remember to breathe, and Sexy Boyfriend is twisting all around like some three year old on crack saying "Wow, look how great the view is. Turn around Babe and see the view. The view is spectacular. I can't believe how HIGH UP WE ARE." And I'm gripping and sweating and hyperventilating. When we finally reached the top, I of course did the whole arms pinwheeling thing trying not to fall flat on my face in front of all the other people trying not to ram right into me who are being shot off the chairlift behind us. I made it pretty far out of the way, but of course still fell. Whatever.

Then Sexy Boyfriend said: "Let's go down this run. I went down this one this morning while you were (peeing, having hot chocolate, waiting in line for my rental, etc - all the things I did to avoid actually snowboarding) - it's not so bad."

Me: "Is it steep, because I don't feel comfortable with steep. I don't like when you can't see the path in front of you." (you know, when it feels like you are about to fall off the face of the Earth cause you can't see the bottom of the hill)

Him: "No problem, you'll be fine on this one."

I was so not fine. Not even a little bit fine. I was wobbly and bobbly, and it was really cold up there, and the hill was so steep - I couldn't see the path in front of me, not even a bit. I could have hit a tree. Or a person. Or I could have gone tumbling all the way down the hill. So, after I started crying and shaking and inched forward about ten feet down the hill, then fell, I unstrapped that snowboard and started walking. Sexy Boyfriend kept on snowboarding, (show-off) and took big huge slow curves. He would come close and try to talk me into getting back on the board, saying that it didn't get any worse than this, and that I could do it. But I didn't budge, and when we finally got to the bottom I turned in my equipment and had some hot chocolate.

So, after this wonderful experience, I didn't go riding again for a while, and then went with my friends, and we had a lot of fun. Now I'm thinking that I would like to really try to learn, with an actual instructor who will probably have more effective methods of talking me down. We'll see when the snow comes.

On a more important note, I really hate it when my dog throws up, but I especially hate it when he throws up near the sofa/coffee table area. I have cleaned the floor and sprayed Febreeze like eight times, and I can still smell it. And we have hardwood floor. I don't understand!!! Yuck!

The news is serious business

I love to watch CTV news. I don't find it particularly informative, or useful, because usually I'm not listening to the news because I find it depressing and I have my own issues that make me depressed enough, I don't need to subject myself to someone else's issues. However, I do find the CTV news extremely entertaining.

I'm pretty sure Lloyd Robertson is a puppet. I love him to death, but that man is either 200 years old, or he's not human. He has been the anchor of the news since I can remember, and some days he just doesn't look like a real person. I don't know who does his make-up, but they are not very good. Sometimes he has too much rouge, sometime his eyebrows seem invisible. His hair alternates between silver, white and a yellowish color. Sometimes he looks like he's made of wax. When he does "Ask Us", and they have him standing in front of a giant screen, we ponder whether they have propped him up with something or whether he is supported by strings that we just can't see.

Then there is Craig Oliver, the Ottawa political correspondent. We call him the Bird Man, cause he looks like a bird, and after he makes his comments, it never fails that one of us will make a squawking sound and then we both laugh like idiots. It just never gets old.

Lisa LaFlamme is also fun to make fun of. She seems like a pretty normal person, and is a pretty good reporter and stuff. But god, I wish they would cover that woman's neck. I don't know if it's cause she's pretty tanned and has white non-tanned lines in her neck, or if her neck is exceptionally wrinkly for a woman her age, but it looks like it's saggy and made of leather. I feel like writing a strongly worded letter to CTV telling them that if they don't either force her to wear buttoned-up collars, or turtlenecks, that I am going to have to quit watching CTV news.

Sometimes I feel bad for making fun of the news people, because they're just hard-working schmos trying to enlighten the masses and distribute information in timely, efficient ways. But then I remember that watching the news makes me depressed, and making fun of them is fun, and that they pay professionals a whole lot of money to make up and dress these people, and if they can't make them look good, or at least less funny, then it's not my fault at all.

What the hell is a District anyway?

Wow, so I just realized that I have had over 1000 visitors to my little Bloggo! How exciting! One day, I will find myself on Google. So far, no luck with that, but one day.... A girl can dream, can't she?

It was my weekend to work, and I am exhausted as usual. Tomorrow I'm only working at noon, so I finally get a little sleep-in action. Lots of great TV on tonight, so I'll cuddle in and watch that, then go to bed at a decent hour.

I spoke with Mummy yesterday, who told me some stories about my sister's roomate at university - apparently she is extremely spoiled and not very self-sufficient. I had a roomate like this once, too, but at least we didn't share an actually physical room, we just lived in the same house. Her parents had shipped her to Canada to do her degree cause her dad worked for the World Bank, and they apparently pay part of the tuition (or all or whatever I don't even know) if their employees' kids study abroad. She was from Washington DC, and her parents were divorced and so each of them spoiled her rotten in different ways.

Her mom used to call several times a day, and when I say several, I mean like a minimum of once every hour. For the first week we all tried sharing a phoneline (there were four of us total in the house) but her mom freaked out cause sometimes she couldn't get through (cause other people use the phone, you know) so they paid to get a second line installed. She also had a cell phone, so her mom could reach her when she wasn't at home. And they installed internet for her, so they could email.

Her dad paid all of her expenses, and gave her a Visa for groceries etc. She used to try to say "I'll pay for (booze, food, booze, pizza, booze, taxi, booze, poutine, booze) with the Visa and you guys can just pay me back." Basically trying to double her money, cause her dad was paying whatever was on the Visa, regardless of what it was. I should have told her I would mail the check to him.

Anyway, one time we were filling out forms or something like that, and had the following conversation:
Her: "What is the abbreviation for the state of Washington"

"WA, why?"

"Cause it's asking for my state, but I usually just write it out." (Totally serious look on her face)

"But you're not from Washington State." (chuckling on the inside)

"Then what state am I from?" (totally puzzled look on her face)

"DC - Washington DC, you know, the District of Columbia. Washington state is on the West coast. Seattle is in Washington."

"Don't tell anybody about this conversation, okay?"

"Ya, whatever." (laughing hysterically on the inside)

Nothing like a shot of the red stuff.

The dinner did not go so badly - I only wanted to cry like two or three times, but I didn't cry at all, so that's something. My outfit turned out great, but I am very tired today from all the shopping and then all the eating and drinking, and then I had to get up this morning for an appointment.

I have to work this weekend, and it is supposed to rain, so I'm sure it will be crazy busy. Yuck. I don't mind when it is steady, but when it is super busy I get really overwhelmed cause I'm still learning. Tonight was my first close by myself, and it actually went okay, but now I'm paranoid that something went wrong that I didn't even think to check and that I'm going to get in big trouble tomorrow. We'll see.

After mentioning our Cuba trip in the last post, and realizing that it is only three months away, I am SOOOO excited now! We went to Cuba last January as well, and had a really great time. For those of you who didn't see the photos, you can find them here. I felt so relaxed while we were there, and would have felt relaxed afterward as well if I hadn't contracted SARS and if Sexy Boyfriend hadn't caught the Bird Flu.

Actually, Sexy Boyfriend got a cold on the Tuesday, and was full of boogers and coughing a little, but it passed by Thursday, and he was still able to lounge on the beach and drink, so it was all good. On Wednesday, I started to feel a little down, Thursday I was coughing a bit, and by Friday I was snotting everywhere (I actually had to blow my nose in public, constantly. I hate blowing my nose in public.) By Saturday I was really dragging my ass around, but was still able to lounge and drink. I was only concerned about travelling while sick, cause I used to work for a travel insurance company and people are getting their eardrums busted all the time.

I have over the counter drug issues, in that at the slight sign of a sniffle I am all over NyQuil like white on rice. If my toe hurts sometimes I take NyQuil. NyQuil is my friend and cures everything. But for some reason, on this trip to Cuba, on this trip which I brought with me: Benadryl, antidiarrheal, tums, aspirin, advil, and probably like five other drugs, I did not bring even one dose of my good friend NyQuil. Not even a liqui-cap (which I don't find work as well, but maybe it's all psychological).

So, I got progressively worse, but still travelled home coughing like a horse and periodically clearing my ears so they wouldn't explode and deafen me. The day after we landed I went to the doctor and found out I had bronchitis, which I've never had before but apparently once you get it you are more susceptible. Great.

The payoff was I got an extra week off from my crappy job. But this year, we will NOT forget the NyQuil.

You know the bouncy-ball head who doesn't feel quite like himself?

The guy from the Zoloft commercials? Ya, that's me right now.

I'm having another really low day today - everything was going great until I went shopping for something to wear to a business dinner hosted by Sexy Boyfriend's company tomorrow night. I thought I had a handle on this dinner, that I had found something to wear that would be fine, and that we would have fun. But then while we were shopping I was stricken by this anxiety that when we go to this dinner not only should I look half presentable, but that people might ask me questions about what I've been up to, and I'm not altogether happy with what I've been up to. And, if I don't look presentable, or if I feel like I stand out, I'll feel like people are scrutinizing me, which will maybe make me burst into tears in public, which has previously been known to happen in large chain pharmacies and also in my car.

I found a nice outfit, but cannot find shoes or boots to wear with this outfit, and this makes me upset. More upset than it should make me. Shopping for boots makes me realize how chubbed up my calves are (as they are proportioned to the rest of chubby old me) which makes me even more depressed, which then makes me think not only will people be scrutinizing my accomplishments (or lack thereof), what I say, how I dress, but they will also pay very much attention to how much I am eating in comparison to the other, non-chubbed out ladies at the table.

I don't think I want to go to this dinner anymore.

Meanwhile, earlier in the day, I started my campaign to lose some weight. How timely, huh? We are going on vacation to Cuba in January, and from now it is about three months until we leave. I would like to shed about thirty pounds in this timeframe. I think this is altogether possible and realistic, so today I started to get back into my running routine. Of course, for the first couple of weeks it's combo run/walk. It felt really great to get back to it, but I do feel a bit of tightness in my legs tonight.

Too bad that my mini-anxiety attack drove me to the freezer and a big bowl of maple walnut ice cream.

There's something in the water

Our dogs used to share a regular water bowl that held maybe a liter and a half of water. Usually it was fine, and they had enough water for the day, but sometimes we would come home to an empty water bowl. So, Sexy Boyfriend decided to buy the dogs a water-cooler type device. It uses a water bottle that is about half the size of water-cooler sized bottles, and it sits upside down on a little bowl, so as they drink, it fills.

Gabby is used to this type of apparatus, since my mom had one at her house when Gabby lived there. Charlie, on the other hand, has had no experience with this device, and is also the resident scaredy-cat. When he goes to drink, we listen. He lap lap laps, and everything is going great, but when the bowl empties to the filling hole area, it sends a giant air bubble into the tank, which makes a big "glug glug" sound. This sound causes Charlie to almost shit his pants, which I'm sure he would if he ever actually wore pants.

He has resorted to hoisting himself up to drink from the toilet with his tiny little Bassett Hound legs. I'm not opposed to dogs drinking from toilets, I know it's not the best thing for them, but hey, they lick their own asses, so if they want a cool drink from the can, more power to them. However, Charlie is a slobbery dog, and I am opposed to the remnants he leaves on the toilet seat.

Sexy Boyfriend is paranoid that Charlie is too thirsty, that he isn't drinking enough cause he's so scared. So, we have resorted to diligently putting the lid down, and praising him for drinking water out of the water cooler. I bet he thinks he's a friggin' genius now with all the praise he's getting.

Some things I am thankful for.

1. My health - though mentally rather unstable, my body itself is healthy and strong. Well, relatively healthy and strong.
2. Sexy Boyfriend - when I see him, he is what keeps me going more often than not.
3. My family - when I don't see them, I cherish them more than life.
4. My pups and kittycat - when they're not crapping and puking all over the place, they put joy in my heart.
5. My friends - give me laughter, support, and don't make fun of me too bad when I've had too much to drink.
6. The roof over my head - but not the people who live over my head cause they are heavy and sound like elephants up there.
7. The food in my belly - mmm turkey mmm pie
8. The clothes on my back - especially my new silk sweater from Banana Republic
9. Red red wine - self explanatory.

Gobble Gobble Gobble

Tomorrow, I will spend the afternoon peeling, boiling, basting, mashing, basting, seasoning, and more basting. Yes, folks, Thanksgiving has arrived.

We were going to do Thanksgiving today, with Sexy Boyfriend's brother and his brother's girlfriend, but when he extended the invite, they already had plans. So, instead we went shopping (sigh!) and had takeout for dinner. This evening I have been planning my extensive menu and making sure I won't have to run out for anything. We bought an obscenely large turkey for a two-person feast, so chances are the doggies and Simon will be partaking in the festivities as well.

I have to say, I am quite proud of my turkey-roasting abilities. I have roasted several turkeys in my day, with the help of Martha. Her Perfect Roast Turkey and Perfect Turkey Gravy recipes are the secrets to my ability to throw a perfect holiday dinner for two to ten people. I even did Christmas dinner for my mother and sisters one year cause she had to work, and I was quite a hit. Or at least I think I was. Maybe they just didn't want to hurt my feelings.

Probably my favorite part about holiday dinners is the leftovers. This year could be record-breaking, so I've been pulling some recipes I can do with 8 tons of leftover turkey. We are also huge fans of the MoistMaker sandwich, as seen on Friends. It is a sandwich made of leftover turkey, and bread of course. But the secret is, you soak an extra slice of bread (preferably without the crusts) in gravy, and put that in the middle of the sandwich, so you have regular bread-turkey-gravy bread-turkey-regular bread. They are to die for, but you have to be careful not to soak too much gravy, or they become extremely messy. It's also especially good if your gravy is very flavorful, so Martha's gravy is perfect.

I will also be making mashed potatoes, East Coast style potato dressing (or at least I think it's East Coast style - I don't know anyone who doesn't come from the East Coast who makes it this way), sweet potato, squash, a sweet potato/squash combo puree, and we bought a pumpkin pie (hey, if I had to make everything from scratch, I'd have to get up at like 5 in the morning!)

I can't wait!!!

A thing or two about my favorite vices

I have two major vices in my life - food, and shopping. When I am low, depressed, sad, sleepy, I turn to one of these two things. Sometimes it can go bad. (I go out and eat a QuarterPounder and fries, with Coke, or I got out and drop $100 on clothes I don't really need, or on gifts, or on shoes). Sometimes it goes much worse than bad. (I go out, try on clothes for hours and hours, maybe buy a pair of shoes or something, then get depressed because I'm unhappy with my body, then go out and indulge in foods I shouldn't).

I just get this feeling when I spend money - it's hard to explain. It makes me happy, almost giddy, and I can't wait to show everyone and anyone what I've purchased. When I buy people gifts, I can never wait until the day (Christmas, Birthday, etc) of the occasion - I want them to have it NOW. And I pester and pester until they give in and open it. And then, once they've opened it, I pester and pester to make sure they actually like it and aren't just trying to humor me. And once we've done that little dance, I get low again, and start to think of some other little surprise I could get them to open on the day itself.

Usually my good feeling lasts a week or so, then I need to go out and spend more, or have a big dinner out. Between outings, I will generally do my research, looking into things I would like to purchase, or restaurants I would like to visit (although, with the restaurant thing, we usually end up going to the same place everytime because we are not very adventurous). Every once in a while a purchase will be spur of the moment, though, and those are the best ones. The finds. The surprises.

I wish I could get a job as a personal shopper. Or a food critic. Or some old rich guy's mistress.

Now that's a baby!

Sexy Boyfriend is officially trying to sabotage my life - case in point: Sunday he tried to kill my dog.

He actually thought he was doing the dogs a favor by taking them out. But instead of the usual spin around the block for a #1 and a #2, and of course Charlie's infamous #3, he decided to walk them all the way to the big park (at least ten blocks away), and back, so it took like an hour and a half.

Our dogs are not pups. They are not even adolescents. They are full on geriatric cases, and extreme exercise is not a good idea. Let me refresh your memory:

So, on Monday morning, I had the opportunity to wake up to Gabby, whining, laying on her bed. Usually Gabby wakes me up whining, but it's because she wants to get up on the bed, so she is usually standing there, waiting for me to say "Get up on the bed Gabby." And then she jumps up and goes back to sleep. But not on Monday. Monday, when she woke me up, she was still laying in her bed. So I called her, and she could barely stand up. I had to give her big fat behind a boost so she could get up and cuddle. All day long she hobbled around, and didn't want to put weight on her back leg. I gave her some aspirin, cause I read on some websites that it's okay and relatively safe, and she seemed to feel better. I hope she doesn't have arthritis, but I'm pretty sure that's not the case. I think that, just like people, when animals exercise and they are not so used to exercising that much, they get all creaky. And when they are old, it is even worse. I think that's probably it.

In other news, I saw the fattest baby I've ever seen today. I mean, my little sister was pretty friggin fat when she was born, but grew out of it quickly enough (or grew into it, if you prefer). But this baby was like 4 or 5 months old, and his (?) head was like three times the size of mine. and his little face was all smooshed in from the fat. And he was grunting, so I'm pretty sure he was taking a dump. When he left the store, I approached one of my co-workers and asked if she had seen that baby. She said "I thought he was going to eat me!"

I did a Google image search, and this was the closest thing I could find to the monstrous baby i saw today. Except this baby looks older, but the head is about the same size.

I just find tampons really moving

I worked all weekend, which was pretty sucky - we were very busy and I am very tired. Every muscle in my body is tight from making some changes in the store last night, so today, my day off, instead of shopping for groceries, and going to a birthday dinner, I am laying in my bed alternating the heating pad locations from my back to my legs, to my back to my feet. I am very surprised that my shoulders and neck feel fine. It makes me feel old how creaky my body is!

I am feeling a little better about life in general than I was last week, or at least less emo about everything. My friend Ems called me on Friday to say she and Barbie were worried and don't want me to be sad. She asked me if I was doing okay, and I started crying right there in Pharmaprix. Right there in front of the antibacterial handsoap and the toothpaste. I had to do a few laps of the store before going to the cash so the cashier wouldn't think I was crazed. It's bad enough feeling low, but I've never cried so much in my life. Songs make me cry, commercials make me cry, Ems makes me cry in Pharmaprix. I'm surprised I don't drink more!

Also, last week, my ex-boss and friend, Bry, was offered a package to leave my hellhole ex employer. I didn't want to blog about it last week cause I wasn't sure what he was going to do. I can't understand what that bitch is thinking. When I met with her before leaving, before she knew I was leaving, she (the call centre manager) was "committed to finding a place for everyone" in the restructuring that was taking place, because it wasn't about cutting positions, it was about "reappropriating resources". I understand that businesses need to restructure, and was willing to hear out the options she was willing to offer me. But she didn't offer anything - she told me I could apply for jobs (jobs I did not want) and see what happened from there. She told me that she valued me as a resource, but that she didn't have a place that suited my skills for the moment, but that didn't mean in a few months there wouldn't be something there. She was feeding the same line to my boss.

The funny thing is, she was basically demoting both of us. Neither of us have records of corrective action, our performance reviews were always excellent, signed by Queen Bitch herself. We were managers, managing the business, and all the problems and obstacles that came along. Now she wants to put the focus of the call center on monitoring alone - but this was not the focus for either of us. It was part of the puzzle, but not the center, because believe me, that company is cheap, so logistically, they have big problems. These problems affect the customer, and thus affect the agents taking the calls. So, she was basically demoting two people who have been there for three years, have skills and knowledge in all departments of the call center dealing with sales, with the ability to make decisions and give information quickly and efficiently, in favor of one person, who has been there for less than 6 months, who just happens to be a friend of hers.

I made my choice - I saw what was happening and cut my losses when the politics started strangling me in my sleep. But what is really burning me? That the week after I left, another manager left abruptly because she had had it with the bullshit as well. Then, the HR adjoint approached my ex-boss, who by that point had been removed from his position as manager and had been exploring what would happen were he to leave the company, and was asked "do you think you could stay on a few evenings a week as an agent? We're really losing a lot of good people lately." and then, a week later, the new HR Manager, who was just hired, and coincidentally, is also a friend of Queen Bitch (how one person can have so many unemployed friends is beyond me) calls him into his office and offers him a package to leave, and "Oh, can you let me know by 4 o'clock today what you've decided?"

I apologize for the rant, and I know I should be over it by now, but I really feel like the people who work there deserve better. They should have some kind of support from the head office who notices what the hell is going on there, but it's like they've been forgotten about altogether. And anyone internal who tries to fight the problems gets penalized or threatened. I guess that's what happens when the people running the show have no degrees or credentials, and the company is too cheap to put money into proper training and development of these people.

Bry, love you, and things will work out fine!

The Devil Inside

Where I work, we get a lot of kids coming in with their parents. Young kids, in huge Hummer-type strollers with moms who seem over-pepped or underwhelmed. I have started getting used to them, and make goo-goo faces, and say "So cute" when the baby smiles at me. I also find it easier to take a few seconds making them laugh than it is to listen to the wailing and the crying and the screeching.

But sometimes, they come through that door all smiles. Their tiny bodies lounging in their oversized mobile LazyBoys, eyes big and round, little fingers playing with a sucky, or a sippy cup, or some other attention distractor provided by their mother. Then, at some point, the demon surfaces. Out of that tiny body, a noise that crawls from your toes and erupts out of the top of your head is emitted. It burns your eardrums. It makes your eye tick. It makes me want to run for the door and never look back, or at the very least pull that baby's sweatshirt over its head hockey-fight style to muffle the noise.

What kind of creature out of Hades makes these noises? Do their parents know that these children are possessed by demons? Do these babies make these noises all day long? If so, why, oh why would these parents subject us innocent bystanders to this wrath? Do they take some kind of pleasure out of torturing others? And I can tell the parents who feel bad, who shoot apologetic looks all around, ask us to put their merchandise aside, and head to the baby-station equipped bathroom for a diaper change, or to a more private space for a feeding. But what is with these people who just keep pushing their bohemoth prams around like they own the joint, browsing and fiddling and acting like nothing is going on at all. Are they wearing earplugs?

I dread the day that more than one of these babies comes in at a time, and that first screech sets off a chain reaction. I think it would rattle all the clothing from their hangers, shatter our glass storefront. I'm pretty sure that will be the day I quit. Or at the very least am committed to an insane asylum when the demons possess me too.