There has been no official announcement or anything mainly because I am still far too nervous to shout it from the rooftops and also, how would I even do it? I would never post a picture of my belly. I look 5-6 months pregnant normally, so I think if people saw a picture of my belly they would think, she has really committed to beer and bread during this pandemic and not, wow, life is forming. My belly is still two very distinct rolls that are just exaggerated. I often sing the Spice Girls song when 2 become 1, hoping this encouragement will blend it into a single bump.  Will I just be blessed with baby rolls instead of a bump? Not great for photographs.

I also could not post a picture of the ultrasound. Our technician had a hell of a time getting any visual of this pickle and when I asked if it was because there were so many layers of fat, she stayed oddly quiet. When she finally told us she was getting a visual we looked close to see a little hand nub! And then a terrifying alien face that morphed into a plague mask and then morphed again into a cartoon count chocula. It was pretty scary. When she asked if we wanted a photo we both yelled no! No, thank you. We would not like evidence that a demon or alien has taken space in my uterus. No thank you indeed.

I promised myself I would never blame baby brain for anything because it sounds stupid. But then it became very real and I wondered if I needed a handler to leave the house. I have called it uterine alien dementia. Things like saying a sentence that made perfect sense in my head and then having my partner tell me 3 words in the sentence had no right to be there and did not make sense. Or putting crackers in the fridge. Or losing my phone or remote every 5 minutes. Or my personal favourite, getting into my car to drive somewhere by getting into the backseat. I was downtown and needed to move my car up so I was not blocking a driveway and I legit got into the backseat. I really hope no one saw me. If a cop had seen me I would have def had to complete a breathalyzer.

I also requested a quote from a moving company and called them back 3 days later irritated they did not respond and they told me they did. When I asked them what email address I had given them, I had literally made up an email address that was a combination of my work email and my gmail and most definitely was an email that did not exist. Like angelacanada@gmail.wherethefuckamI.com. Classic uterine alien dementia.

Also, hormones. I can be a bit of a hormone roller coaster at the best of times, so that has just intensified x 100. Everything makes me cry. When I was driving downtown (before pretending to be Miss Daisy in the back of my car by myself) I passed outreach workers handing homeless people sandwiches and water and just started balling. Basically any Olympic event where Canada wins, I am a mess. I tried to watch Sister Act yesterday and from the time she entered the convent and started working with the choir, I quietly and lightly weeped until the end of the movie when the pope arrives. I am a party right now.

I am scared about labour for a whole host of reasons but the thing I am most scared about is how I will act. I am not great in most medical situations. I don’t realize how nervous or scared I am until stupid shit is coming out of my mouth. But this seems to be the worst in medical appointments. Not only do I get white coat syndrome where it appears by my blood pressure that I am just casually having a heart attack but I also lose all ability to maintain appropriate boundaries or language. Here are some of my stellar medical faux pas-

·         I was once getting a pap test from my older, South African doctor. After I got up on the table, he asked me to spread my legs and I told him this was not the first time I had spread my legs for a South African and winked. I knew immediately I had made a grave error when I saw the look of horror on his face. He later told me I needed to get to know my breasts in order to give myself a breast exam. Oh, I said, I know them! Please meet Betty and Veronica as I pointed to each boob. He looked at me stunned and then said he was going to pretend he didn’t hear that.

·         This example was removed because my editor (partner) thought it went too far? Can you imagine?? Things I have said to medical professionals is too much for the internet?? Yikes. OK I will admit it, it was pretty horrific. As soon as it came out of my mouth, I wondered if I was ever going to be allowed back into the chiropractor office ever again.

·         When I went for my massage yesterday and I told my massage therapist I was pregnant she asked me how it was going. I told her that I have felt like I have had the worst hangover ever for 3 months and that my belly pickle was already addicted to carbs. And she laughed and said, perfect! Already an addict. And then I took it one step too far and said, yes the baby is definitely doing lines of flour in my belly. She looked stunned and then said she had an amazing visual and had a good laugh. Saying the babe is doing lines? Not necessary. 

I won’t go into the inappropriate shit I said at my first midwife appointment but I was immediately flagged by the office as high maintenance for the amount of times I called back to confirm what had been said in the appointment. Because I also suffer from white coat strokes syndrome where I 100% black out in medical appointments, then leave and have NO FUCKING idea what was said. I told my midwife that I know COVID rules do not allow for my partner to be here but seriously, someone needs to be here with me so that they can follow the bouncing ball while I zone out. Also none of my inapprops jokes landed which made me feel very weird and that maybe I was just being too much (entirely possible!).

I have been listening to Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth audiobook whenever I am in the car. It is a collection of stories from this woman, the mother of midwifery, and her experience of being a Midwife on The Farm (a commune). I always think I am a hippie at heart until I hear these actual hippies and realize I am so watered down I cannot lay claim to any hippie status. But my partner got into the car one day and I thought it would be fun for him to listen to some stories. This was a mistake. After listening to several women’s birthing stories, he picked up some new words I now have to hear all the time. He now frequently checks in to see if I feel Gaia’s energy in my vagina. Wonders how my yoni is doing. If my lady flower will open to let out life. I wish I was as connected and spiritual and cool to feel the Gaia energy but I have basically just been dry heaving, sleeping and plagued with migraines for months. I also know he has basically no idea what he is saying when he asks me this so I find it pretty amusing. When he brings another ice pack into the black room where I am lying down with a migraine and he moves my barf bucket closer to the bed, I am sure he is thinking about how magical and special my Gaia energy is. 

I am super grateful for gainful employment throughout this quarantine and additionally being able to work from home. Super lucky. So by now,  I have experienced a thousand zoom calls and phone calls with colleagues (and perhaps stakeholders) while in my abode. One afternoon, after my walk, I kept my noise cancelling headphones in because my partner came home. On this occasion Bohemian Rhapsody came on and I really committed to wailing it out. Halfway through the performance I took off one of my headphones so I could get my pitch better and I heard the boy taking a work call. Holy Fuck. I shut up immediately. Jesus. Had I just been the background to an important conference call? I hope so. The noise cancelling headphones also are crazy sensitive and pick up every bloody sound around me when I am using them for phone calls. One time I attempted to participate in a last minute call during my lunch walk. I asked my coworker before the call started how my sound was and she said fine. When we got on the call the person from the company we were speaking to complained about an intense screeching wind sound. It was definitely me walking down the street. I went on mute immediately and only took it off when absolutely necessary to add my two cents. Even at home it is super sensitive to noises. I was on an important phone call with upper management and the boy went into the kitchen and opened a bag of crackers and my manager yelled about the intense noise probably sounding like tinfoil attacking her eardrums. So I ran into the kitchen to try and act out the issue without saying anything because of the call and it was a hideous mess. 

For Zoom calls, my office is setup so that I am completely back lit. So on the calls I am basically completely in the dark. I almost fixed it but on our first Zoom meeting I remembered that I am not great at hiding my facial expressions and on a Zoom call, everyone can clearly see your face. So I left myself in the dark, giving myself that buffer for my fake smiles, eye rolls and constant staring at my double chins and readjusting. 

My friend was recently let go from their job. As a friend does, I immediately offered to go to their previous place of employment and slash some tires. This would not be the first time I have participated in some bad ass protesting. I was reminded of the time my friend and I decided to spray paint the billboard announcing the new American box store coming to our small town. We dressed all in black (easy for my Gothie younger self) and waited until dark to walk to the sign, spray paint in tow. My friend was in charge of the actual spray painting which was to read “CONSUMER WHORE.” After he finished we backed away and read our street protest art. Unfortunately he was slightly over zealous and and completed rounding the bottom of the R and the billboard read “CONSUMER WHOBE.” This giant sign was available for all to see who entered into this small town for months. Nailed it.

I really find that homemade masks look like face underwear. 

I am currently living for Mandy Patinkin on Instagram right now. That is right. Living for it. 

I am officially getting old. I know I say that often but it is truly happening. The highlight of my birthday this year was getting orthotics and a new fitbit. Because all I do is walk and excitedly record my steps. But now my feet are elderly and require arch crutches just to hold my body up. Awesomeeeeee. I have also decided to write a diet book on how to walk for like 2-3 hours of the day and still gain weight. It’s a super power I have that I would like to share with the world. You too can listen to every podcast under the sun, while sweating profusely and power walking to gain those extra pounds you were looking to add to your current weight repertoire. Good times. For these reasons, I cannot enter into the dating pool again – I have hideous flat feet, I am completely lopsided, my body retains weight if I look at a cookie and I am seconds away from a colostemy bag. Line up all the interested suitorssss. (My boyfriend thought it might be worth mentioning I also do not need to enter into the dating pool, because I have a boyfriend…fair point sir).

I feel like in my past I have had enjoyed unique, interesting and often odd fashion choices. I know vintage polyester was a key staple in my wardrobe for many years. So I am depressed when my list of fashion requirements now include; elastic wait bands, boring t-shirts that adequately fall on my rolls in a certain way but also allow me to sweat profusely during my walks, shoes that will fit my orthotics and the largest undergarments known to mankind. Gawddddd. My underwear is probably bigger than most people’s shorts – legit. Mama loves her organic oversized hipsters. Shut up about it. I would like to create a fun, colourful, flattering, full of trendy patterns line of elasticated, work from home, comfort/casual wear called “I guess this is it now”. Moo moos for the hip at heart. I guess basically Old Navy. 

I believe I mentioned awhile ago that I did sign up for work out videos at the beginning of the lock down but I never really got into them. I tried to explain to my friend that I do not hate exercise, I just find it boring and uninspiring. I told him my plan to make workout videos that I enjoyed. I then cranked Limp Bizkit loud and make an impromptu workout routine in my elastic band leggings and boresville t-shirt. I also attempted to twerk to Korn, which definitely hurt a little. I have decided that there is a market for middle aged women exercising to angry, loud rock music. It made me recall when in highschool we were learning dance in gym class (my favourite subject…jk). Everyone picked current pop hits to dance to. But not my group. I picked the other angsty chicks in my class and we choreographed Metallica’s Enter Sandman. So really, it comes naturally. Stayed tuned for angsty old lady body workouts my with new sweet ass orthotics and middle aged nostalgic emo rage. 

I have become obsessed with garbage day. We get garbage picked up every 2 weeks and rotate the recycling so if you miss something or forget to take something out, it’s a big fucking deal. Times that by the fact that we live in a one bedroom apartment. So if we forget to take out that cardboard box on it’s proper day, it will most likely sit in the the middle of a room for the next 2 weeks with no place to go. I have become so crazy I will empty containers that are low just to get them into this week’s recycling. Oh, only a couple pickles left in the giant jar? Better eat them so that jar can make it into this week’s recyclinggggg. I will also empty all the garbages leading up to garbage day repeatedly ensuring I do not miss one thing. This is bored ass adulting at its fucking finest. I need to get out moreeeee. 

I never really thought anyone would ever really know me and understand me the way Spotify does. But it had me at Your Daily Mix. It HAD ME at Your Daily Mix. 

I am obsessed with these new scooters everywhere. I want to hate them but I love them and I need to try them. But I 100% know I will hurt myself. I have bad balance, I am not capable of gracefully falling and I always have headphones in. Weeee! Stay tuned. 

I am a bit of a busy person. Those who know me, know I am not often great at doing nothing or relaxing or just sitting still. I also do not have a long attention span. So being asked to stay at home is a little rough. I was reading about someone who was making little activity stations for their kids and I was like, I kind of feel like I do that for myself. 

1. Trying not to drink too much coffee station
2. Secretly snacking station
3. Obsessively cleaning station
4. Quietly reading station
5. Always cooking station
6. Looking out to see if any parcels have been delivered to my front door station
7. Trying not to drink too much wine station
8. Pretending that the 20 minute workout I am doing is burning major calories station
9. Mind numbing Netflix station
10. Continually making grocery lists and online phantom shopping carts station
11. Compulsively walking around my neighbourhood and becoming obsessed with mansions station.

I do this all day long (oh and working). I am constantly cycling through these things. And I know people say they are exhausted running around their kids all day…I can be a bit much too.

I have washed my hands so many times that my iPhone no longer recognizes my thumb print to unlock the phone. 

Is everyone else just constantly online shopping or making phantom carts that you never actually purchase?! I guess phantom carting is the new window browsing. The major danger is after a couple of glasses of wine, actually committing to the phantom cart. I like to have several phantom carts on the go at all times. I also phantom cart take out sometimes, until somehow a phantom carted Shawarma ended up on my front door step…

Somedays I feel like I am on a vacation resort where I am really just killing time until my next meal or drink. Like oh, it is 3:30? Should I start thinking about dinner? Is it too early for a drink?? Oh am I still technically working and on the clock? Who knows. 

I was making a grocery list, while sitting on the couch yesterday and I somehow lost my pen. I finally found it IN MY STOMACH ROLLS.

I have now officially listened to so many podcasts that I am listening to different podcasts that cover the same subject. I scared myself when I was cooking in the kitchen, listening to a podcast and I shouted back at it about a fact about the DC killer. Everyone knows that the DC Killer was in fact married to someone else when he met Mildred, his future wife. Gawd. Like I cannot remember one sentence my boss has ever said to me, ever, but now, for some reason, I am memorizing fun facts about serial killers. I am also now an armchair expert about Monica Lewinsky, the Rolling Stones, Robert Pickton and Tonya Harding. I have listened to over 10 podcasts on the OJ trial. Ask me anything. If there was a serial killer and scandal Jeopardy, I would fucking nail it.  

And let’s circle back to why I have never been able to retain anything my boss has ever spoken to me. I was explaining this phenomenon to my coworker recently. My boss is a busy lady. She is an important lady. And she knows A LOT about our branch and processes. So when she comes up to me to talk about anything, I spend the whole conversation pep talking myself to pay attention, to look smart, to LISTEN TO EVERY WORD SHE IS SAYING!! She is giving me information gold. LISTEN!! And then she walks away and every fucking time I realize I have missed everything she has said. Instead I was listening to my inner monologue telling me to fucking pay attention. It has come to the point that if she says anything to me I freak out looking for something to write it on so I can read the words after and be like ah, that is what she said. Interesting. I did not catch a word of that, at the time.

Pandemic Easter! I bought some treats for my nieces and my sister online and anxiously waited until I could bring them over Easter weekend. We drove up, with my nieces playing on the front lawn. We walked over a bag of goodies and I sat at the end of the driveway, put on rubber gloves and pulled out wipes and as I pulled out each goodie from the bag, I wiped it down. What an odd sight to see. Auntie Angie with rubber gloves slowly wiping down a plastic wrapped easter bunny or a bottle of wine. Very serial killer-esque weird pandemic Easter.  

I’ve been to the post office a couple times to pick up boxes of wine I have ordered from the wineries. The last time I went I had my ID out to show the post office clerk and she she told me she didn’t need it. She recognized me. Hoo boyyyy. 

I was explaining to my partner that I was being quite active but I have definitely gained weight. How could this be happening? I realized as I asked this question I had a piece of Strawberry Blonde cream egg brownie in my hand and mini eggs in the other. I mean it was Easter but…Mystery solved. It was this same weekend that every time I would get another glass of wine I would pair it with something sweet. Mmmm this chocolate chip cookies pairs delightfully with this boxed cabernet sauvignon. Or these Hershey Eggies pair delightfully with this Ontario Baco Noir. It was around this time I realized if I kept this up I would have diabetes before the end of this quarantine. Also, Facebook literally just started sending me plus size clothing ads. OKAY FACEBOOK! FUCK YOU! I GET IT!!

My Friday hit a new low last week when I spent it watching Chantal Krev-however-you-spell-it live on Instagram walk around her L.A. garden showing the viewers different kinds of hydrangeas, ferns and bamboo. I am not even really a fan of hers but I have become a bit obsessed with watching her live on Insta. And if she is with her husband, Raine, even better because they are a weird couple and so uncomfortable to watch. They made a doc about their relationship recently and maybe it was just me but it was so hard to watch because he is obvs not into it and she is constantly more involved and annoyed about it. It was also during this Friday when I got up from the couch and realized there is a very significant dent in the couch where I spend most of my evenings watching telly. Living my best life. 

I was a little surprised how intensely people focused on fitness when this whole quarantine thing went down. Maybe because “fitness,” per se, wasn’t overly in my daily vocab before this happened. I mean I walk, I bike and occasionally go to a gym. But on top of that, we are in a crisis. My focus was on sustenance like food and how I would mentally cope, with like maybe wine. I’m an extrovert. Staying inside feels like a prison sentence to me. What activities may fuel me? Writing? Reading? Stuff like that. But when I realized how working from home basically removes any of movement at all, I figured I could try some of this so-called “fitness” out. I joined a gym down the street that was doing online classes. I finally worked up to doing a class and after 20 minutes I thought I was going to die and despised how excited the woman was about doing repetitive movements, over and over again, to terrible music. Then I obsessively walked several times a day before trying a class again. P.S. walking for me is just as much about clearing my head and listening to podcasts as it is about keeping my old creaky body moving. For the next class, I lasted another 20 minutes and realized there were muscles in my body that I just may have never ever actually worked in my life. But I get so bored with these classes. What generally ends up happening is they get me going and then I turn them off, put my wireless headphones and dance around my apartment, violently throwing myself around and singing loudly. I am performing. That, my friends, is the greatest thing we could be doing in all this. Dancing and singing at the top of our lungs around our homes. Enjoying it, letting loose. Not feeling guilty about eating or drinking or not being fit. Just be! A side note of doing some of these workout videos is that I thought I may jokingly make some super fun, body positive, dancing work out videos to inspire my Mom to dance, move and lip sync her heart out. Like uncoordinated, karaoke aerobics. Stay tuned. 

My friend called me to say she went on a walk and after her walk she tried doing one arm rotation and hurt herself and couldn’t believe how out of shape she was. I could not stop laughing. One arm rotation and she called it. Ha! I hear you sister!

I mean in all of this I have become an olympic athlete…in baking banana bread. Hot damn are my baking skills on fire right now. Cooking and baking makes me feel useful and productive and I can listen to my podcasts while I do these things, so I am basically reaching for a podium position in the next baking olympics. I am training hard. 

I am working from home full time and my significant other goes into work most of the day and works from home for several hours in the afternoon. So there are often times we are both on conference calls or phone calls. On Friday I had put my noise cancelling headphones on and was listening to Spotify and Bohemian Rhapsody came on. I decided to give it my best and really belt it out. About halfway through I took one ear bud out to check my volume and realized I had been next level yelling it out and the boy was on a business call. Weeee! You’re welcome for the free background entertainment. 

My sister texted me to say that quarantine could go on until the end of June. I told her this would cause me to become an obese alcoholic. Like similar to now I guess…but worse…?

I recently realized that I take great comfort in older Jewish men. Now that sounds super insane, but hear me out. Everyone knows that Mandy Patinkin’s beard is my safe place. He just seems to have his shit together and he is so damned trustworthy, smart and reliable. I have that same feeling when I hear Bernie Sanders. I want him to talk to me about socialism as he tucks me into bed at night. Of course, Jon Stewart is the other man who also feels extremely comforting to me. Smart, strong and funny. So when I was watching the Hilary Clinton documentary and she slammed Bernie Sanders, I felt a bit wounded. I texted my sister and I explained what she said and told her I felt the same about as Bernie as I did about Mandy. My sister let me know she heard Patinkin was a total diva to work with on set. I told her this was all too much for me because I had created this Jewish man security blanket in my head and it was BEING RUINED BY REALITY. I told her not to say anything about Jon Stewart. Please just leave him be. I can’t take anymore. 

We knew we were going to need one more Costco run before really hunkering down, pandemic style. I had been making fantasy grocery lists for weeks and going over them in my head . I was picturing how amazing it would feel when we had enough organic eggs and gluten free crackers in the house to feed a small army. We drove by Costco once last week and I was all ready to mentally go in and we saw the line a quickly drove off. Couldn’t do it. But this week we had to commit. I could not fully relax in my apartment until the freezer was packed with fudgesicles and the cupboards filled with nut butter and Made Good bars. When we pulled up today, the boy looked at the line and said no way. I knew this was our last chance, we just had to do it. We watched the line for a minute and and it seemed to move so we ran out. My list in hand, my face scarf up and my gloves on, we got our cart and lined up. I was nervous. I was nervous because it was like our last chance. We would not be coming here for a long time. We could not fuck it up. I felt like someone who had been training for an event and it was here. When we got in, I was highly focussed and on point. We stuck to the game plan. When we got to the coolers and we saw they had our eggs I yelled, this is what we have been training for! Go! Go! NOT A DRILL! I feel ridiculous that a fridge full of food makes me relax a little in all this but it does. Tonight I will sleep well. 

My constant motto these days is – what can I do right now that does not involve 

1. putting food into my mouth
2. drinking 
3. baking 
4. cooking 
5. going on my 4th OCD walk of the day?   

This is my general daily loop. Weeee!

My happy place –

I’ve become a little bit obsessed with my local Buy Nothing group. The massive plus side of paying higher than average rent for being in an affluent neighbourhood = the best damn freebies I have ever seen. “Someone please take these new MEC children’s snowsuits off of my hands. Worn once — was not feeling the vibe.” Like what??? That is some expensive shit. So because I have had some major scores from this site, I try to give things away equally. We recently upgraded our duvet and duvet cover and I thought I should give away the old cover. Someone showed interest and I left it on my porch for pickup. The woman sent a message back thanking me for the duvet cover and noted that she found a pair of my underwear in the cover itself. Sweet god above, at least I had washed the duvet before handing it off. Clean underwear or not, kind of fucking awkward. Then she offered to come back and put them in my mailbox. Goddd. I was so embarrassed. It totally reminded me of the time my parents were collecting items in the house to take to a church fundraising garage sale: I was in my twenties and had grown out of some earlier fashions and handed my Dad some clothes and several purses. I was pretty sure I had done my good deed of the day. My parents returned and my Dad came down to the basement and quietly told me that when they dropped off the purses they found some pot, condoms and a broken cigarette in them. Maybe something to check before you give purses away. I wanted to die. Ya know… Kind of like how I gave my Glebe neighbour a pair of my fucking undies.

I have also been a bit obsessed with my Fitbit. During the first week, I was so intensely focused on getting in my steps that if I noticed I wasn’t wearing it, walking was meaningless. One time, I realized I wasn’t wearing it and actually sat on the spot thinking about how to get the watch without wasting invisible steps that would not be recorded. When I realized you could do walking competitions with your Fitbit friends shit got real. For weeks I was involved in a competition with my brother and all of his coworkers. I have never met them but dammit I needed to beat those bloody strangers. After that stopped, my significant other bought one. And those competitions got heated and intense. Occasionally he would say he was going out to get something and then would do a sneaky walk around the block to get ahead. I started walking home from work, which took just under an hour, to make myself impossible to beat. Once during a disagreement I started aggressively walking in spot to make sure my steps topped his. Aggression release, competition and fitness all rolled into one neat little package. 

After shopping recently, these were the things that made me feel old:

1. The first floor of Simon’s. Yes, I thought the clothes were cute and trendy and had signs describing them like “fit and flare style, abstract shirtdress.” I have no idea what that is, but it looks like it might drape over my buxom body nicely. When I tried them on…  they did not. When I gave all of them back to the sales associate, she told me I would do better fitting into clothes upstairs. Which is the adult, beige section. Ok, ok I get it. My body doesn’t fit into your fun clothes section. Noted. (And rude!)
2. I went to many, many stores looking for cotton Capri leggings. Why is this so hard? Why is every Capri some kind of sporty, synthetic garbage that is going to give me next level crotch rot because the material doesn’t breathe? COTTON! Whyyy is this so hard!?
3. I was confused by the bathroom signs. I had to triple check to ensure I was not entering a family or male bathroom. When basic signs confuse me I get a vision of my future as a scared, confused older person is right around the corner. It is happening. 

I guess we are in the middle of a pandemic. When I even remotely got a whiff of this my first trip was to the liquor store. I have my priorities. I always knew if we ever got to the apocalypse I would just grab a book, a bottle (ahem, box) of wine and sit on my porch to watch it all happen. If I can’t control it, I can’t stress about it. And by not stressing about it I mean I will be drunk. 

But in the wake of serious panic about the current crisis, I have been surprised by what I have felt has been necessity. Here is my list:

1. Wine – I grabbed 5 bottles at the beginning when there was just even a hint of this. I have since had 3, maybe 4, bought one more, and have purchased an emergency gin. If I need to be stuck in my apartment for weeks I am ok, but I will also be having a party. I can be pretty fun by myself.
2. Cookies – Once in a blue moon do I feel the need to buy cookies and when the panic was hitting and we were grocery shopping, I just kept grabbing all the gf cookies I have always wanted to try or knew I enjoyed. Like when the virus comes for me, don’t worry, I will fight it with my obesity. 
3. Mac and Cheese – The only time I EVER buy mac and cheese is when I am very hormonal or very depressed. There is never a casual purchase of mac and cheese. I am neither of the above, so I guess I am just craving the ultimate comfort food.
4. Expensive water – Like at no point do I have the idea that we are going to have issues with our water supply. But when I went to Healthy Planet and saw they had Flow water on sale, I bought a case. And then went back for another. And don’t worry, I am drank most of them. They are not being kept for the point where water becomes scarce or unclean. I am so into them right now I am not sure I will be able to go back to peasant filtered tap water. 
5. Chips, cereal and crackers – I guess what I did was think comfort foods for the apocalypse, I mean quarantine. And comfort foods for me are carbs. I am going to fight the pandemic with my chub rolls and I don’t care. 
6. Face cream – Now before you judge me… no, it’s okay, go ahead and judge. This is ridiculous. But in fairness, it also lined up with a sale that had been planned and I had set them aside before shit hit the fan. But I definitely walked to Whole Foods the day of the official quarantine to buy $150 worth of my Hauschka moisturizer (that was the price that included two discounts). I had a reality check when I realized I was in the aisle speaking to another woman about the benefits of different moisturizers when I saw a message from my friend saying Trudeau has said not to leave the house. I read it. And then I looked up to this woman and said, “Do you use an eye cream? Should I be using one?” To be fair, I also went for other essentials — like overpriced coffee. 
7. Coffee – After they announced Bridgeheads were closing I really started to panic. I wished my next destination had not been Whole Foods for the face cream because I only bought one bag of Equator coffee since the prices were so goddamned high. I then went to Shoppers and also bought a bag of Kicking Horse coffee. Even during the pandemic I need decent coffee. Now I was panic hoarding. It was in this vein that before I hit the cash I grabbed 4 packs of Mini Eggs. Just in case. JUST IN CASE.

Good News Items From The Pandemic:

1. We are all going to gain weight together, as a quarantined community. It won’t just be me for a change. Come along everyone! I will show you how!
2. We totally get to keep our library books that we currently have out, for a very long time. I may actually read this one — woot!
3. I FaceTimed my family for a cocktail hour — like when have we ever had a cocktail hour before and now we do it. Amazing. I have also had a FaceTime girl’s night. And no one had to pay for an Uber home — amazing!
4. I am going to get soooo caught up on Podcasts because I am doing so much walking, because what the fuck else is there to do.

The Ups and Downs of Working From Home:

Ups

1. My own bathroom – Oh my god. I cannot tell you how amazing this is. If you have read my last blog, you will understand how seriously magic this is for me. Having my personal bathroom is all I ever really need in life. That and my supply of 3 ply toilet paper. It’s a fucking game changer. I am never going to work again. 
2. Music – Man do I enjoy cranking out the 60s and 70s playlists while I am working. And because I am here by myself it is okay for me to get up and dance and singalong whenever my heart desires. Okay, let’s be honest, I do this at work too but I am less judged here. 
3. Lunch – Instead of being herded to the cafeteria like sheep, the possibilities are endless! One day I went for a walk and another day I did yoga (what!? — Like when was the last time I did yoga ever…turns out it is still boring). And I don’t have to commit to a giant meal, I can dainty snack all day long. Wheee!

Downs

1. Being on camera all day long – I gave myself a headache the first 2 days of working from home because I think I strained my neck from trying not to double chin on the video meetings. I also realized after the first day, which included meetings with my boss and director, that there was a picture over my left shoulder that read “I’m too sober for this shit.” Greeaat.
2. Easily distracted – I was like this in school too. If I had to write an essay, I would find every last thing to clean before I got started. Last week I definitely took a forced break to clean the windows on the door behind me because once I noticed them, I could not focus on anything else. Oh should I wipe down this desk again because I see dust? Yes, yes I should. 
3. No steps – I did not realize that I got most of my steps walking to and from bus stops and wandering around work. So now I have to go for long, daily walks in order to get my steps in.
4. My cat – Tiger, who can be in chair comas for days, has magically come alive since I start working from home. He is so active that he has participated in three of my conference calls to date. I feel like the guy whose children walk in when he is on his live broadcast except my child aggressively nuzzles me, meows, sheds to an extreme level and drools. 

Overheard before the pandemic: “If we get to stay at home and I have all this time on my hands I am going to live my best life! I am going to workout! I am going to write! I am going to finish my online classes! I am going to become famous!” Fast forward to last night where I spent 6 hours on the couch watching Homeland and sipping the cheapest wine, right from the bottle, thinking: “I am going to live my best life! Like right after this episode…”

Dominican 2020

Pre Game

This was the first trip where we have ever used the Park and Ride. This was semi necessary as we were flying out of Montreal at an ungodly hour. We parked our car and then ran towards the bus. When he asked where we parked we looked at each other and pointed in a general direction, realizing we would never see the car again. 

When we got to the airport, I had my general airport stroke where I have no idea what I am doing or where to go. We managed to magically check our bags, go the wrong way, find the right way and then try and go through security with an over ripened banana and a bottle of water. And I don’t waste water y’all so the whole line had to wait for me to chug my precious Flow water. 

After we circled every food stand for the next 20 minutes, complaining about prices, lack of gluten free food, the lines and being generally indecisive, we sat in our flight area, casually staring at other people that would be on our flight. When I took off my coat I realized that my hoodie (which read – “Ok, but first kombucha”) or something health trendy was so covered in cat hair, I had an OCD meltdown. I had obviously tried to nap on the couch (Tiger’s couch) before we left and not realized that every inch of my black sweater was now an orange sherpa sweater. I started trying to pick off all the hairs and then got so into it, I took it off and tried to continue to pick each and every hair off one by one. I looked so insane, an older trio pointed and laughed. I did this for more than 45 mins. I cursed that I had packed my lint roller into my checked luggage and vowed to never be without one again. EVER!

I am always gently reminded as I sit down on a plane that they are, literally, the most uncomfortable modes of transportation I have ever encountered. You cannot move your legs, you cannot rest your head on anything to sleep, you cannot get comfortable and then, during the flight, random things on your body go numb and then hurt for no reason. No? Just me?

After sitting in our seats we were accosted by a gentleman telling us we were in his seats. Well no sir, we are not in your seats. And you know why? Because I know the fucking alphabet and can put the letters J and K together and match them with a sign. So fuck off. He called a flight attendant who showed him he was sitting on the other side of the aisle. Imagine that! There are two sections with the same number! Wild! Gawd.

My boyfriend leaned over just before taking off and loudly asked what that intense smell was. I leaned over and quietly explained that it was the woman sitting next to me and apparently before leaving for the airport she had been performing ceremony with 1000 lit incense sticks. He nodded in understanding and then we spent the next 6 hours being molested by Nag Champa. 

Game Time

When we landed, everyone clapped. You know how there are weird triggers in your life that you autopilot cry or tear up for? Like some nobody you have never heard of winning some olympic sport you give zero shits about, but they are up on that podium so you just cry? (Maybe this is just me.) But when a plane lands and people clap, I just totally tear up and have a little moment. Is it because we are alive? Maybe…

We piled onto our bus, taking good looks at all the characters that may be coming to the resort with us. I had already pointed out all the sketch people and was positive they would probably be in the room next to us for the whole week. As we drove to the different resorts, dropping off people, I was starting to have a full fledged panic. Each resort we had been to looked like total dives. I started explaining to the boy that I had researched ours and the reviews were pretty good and I hoped it wasn’t a bug infested dumpster fire. I checked my Fitbit and my heart was racing. They announced that EMOTIONS was the next resort (possibly the worst name for a resort that I have ever heard, felt very French Canadian) and I closed my eyes and just prayed to the beach gods we hadn’t booked a shit hole. We stopped, we got out and, deep breathe, it looked nice. Thank the sun and sand baby Jeebus. 

When we got there our room was not ready for us. They told us to go down to the buffet and help ourselves while we waited. Picture this, I am dressed in a half covered in cat hair black hoodie, jeans and Blundstones and holding a giant winter coat, walking into a restaurant where everyone is basically wearing bathing suits. Just blending right in. No big deal. I felt like I was representing a winter biker gang on the set of a beach party music video. We ate, drank a few margs and then went to our room. So up until this point, the resort is amazing. 

When we get to our room, it gets a little less amazing. The couch has enough dodgy marks and stains on it to guess it may have been a prop for a porn shoot and we instinctively knew we would never sit on it or else we would absolutely contract a disease. The other desk and table were white and also showed a thousand stains and scuffs. The bathroom is trying to be fancy but has obvious issues. There are gaps in the caulking, there are chunks out of the wall and the drain in the shower is basically there for show. There is no door to the bathroom, it is just part of the suite – awesome. The toilet has a decorative glass door on it, so when I start reacting to something stupid that I eat, I am basically doing it in the middle of the room. Weeee. When it came to the bed, we just had to disassociate. Every night I took my little lint roller (that was in my fucking checked luggage and not my carry on for my bloody kombucha hoodie travesty) and went over every inch of the bed. Mainly for foreign hairs (gag). The first night we had a thousand daiquiris and stayed up late brainstorming about the different diseases we could be contracting just by being in the bed. 

The bed was so hard it was like basically getting a spinal adjustment every night. I enjoy my spine being punched into submission, so I was fine.

This resort had a coffee shop in it. Did this play a large part in my interest in this resort? It did. I DRANK ESPRESSOS EVERY DAY. It was glorious. We had them every morning, we had them whenever we felt tired in the afternoon or when we felt like we were a bit too day buzzed to carry on. It was magnificent. It was all included too except for the luxury coffees. My favourite luxury coffee on the “Berevage Menu” was a cup of Tim Horton’s Coffee for $5 USD. Hahah! I wouldn’t take a free cup of Tim Horton’s let alone pay that much for it. I secretly prayed the whole trip I would see someone order it so I could speak to them about their life choices. Purely out of curiosity. 

On the first day we decided we were not going to fuck around with sunscreen (I usually chose one day to Russian roulette it). We stood out on our tiny balcony and sprayed and slathered every inch of our bodies. This took forever and made the balcony floor a terrifyingly dangerous, grease skating rink. At the precise moment we decided we had enough sunscreen on, we had packed our beach bags with all of our necessary things and decided to head to the beach, it started to rain. It was the perfect comical timing.

The beach was lovely. Although, walking into the water was a solid test of how much pain you could endure on the bottom of your feet. It was like walking on a bed of nails in order to swim. Which meant that by the second or third time doing this, I basically just jumped in swimming after 2 steps regardless of how badly I bottomed myself out and beached myself. It was just less painful. 

We spent the day (everyday) reading our books on the beach. At around 5, the boy wondered if he had drank too much and also considered the fact that he was having a stroke from possibly drinking the cheapest, off brand booze all day (Like Gin was called Gem, shit like that). I asked him why he thought that. He said it was because his eyes were randomly hurting and hard to focus. I explained that he was reading at dusk and that was just his eyes desperately trying to adjust to the light. Not a stroke. We has a good laugh. 

The entertainment that night was a terrible magic show where I considered tipping off PETA to the amount of tricks that involved a dove up the magician’s sleeve. RIP magic show dove. RIP. 

On one of the days that we were sitting next to the pool (because it was raining randomly every half an hour and we kept trudging back to the room every time it did) a man approached us about their spa services. I took a look knowing full well I was probably not going to the spa. I took out my phone and took a picture because one service interested me the most. “Linphatic Dreinage.” Because the services were phonetically spelled I could not possibly trust this spa. 

There was an interesting mix of people at our resort. There were the country Canadians that stood in the pool for hours every day with their hideous Big Bubbas in hand. They were there everyday, all day. Who comes that far and doesn’t prioritize the beach?! Anyhoo, there were also a couple groups of very young boys. Like disgusting teenage boys and they seemed be by themselves. Watching them eat dinner made my stomach turn. Plates and plates of food basically being thrown at their pimply faces. And I vowed then and there that I could never raise teenagers. One night at dinner, a DJ setup on the beach and started to play dance jams while we ate. When Usher’s Yeah came on, an anthem of my generation that no matter what effing music you are into, you dance to. And as I paid my homage to the song with a quick pursed lips and back slide, I saw the young boys didn’t move and had never heard of the song. Ho boy. Babies.

Going on vacation for me is half about reading and drinking and half about people watching. I could people watch for dayssss. Which is what I did. I become obsessed with groups of people, like the 2 couples that brought a full bottle (or two) of premium booze to their dinner tables each night and finished the whole thing while the boy and I looked on drinking the free paint thinner off-brand Rhem and coke. I even took notes of what booze they brought and looked them up after. One night the man’s phone rang like 16 times at the dinner table so the boy and I loudly joked about how important he was to have his work phone going off every 8 seconds while on vacation. You are SOOO importantttttt. 

I won’t bore you with every second of the trip (also, it is about at this time where I stopped writing notes and just drank more). But I will tell you about the day trip that was infamously the most harrowing day I have experienced in a long time.

For those of you that don’t know this about me (and how could you not, I talk about it regularly to try and normalize it) but I have some wacky digestive issues. And by wacky, I mean my stomach  basically runs its own program, completely unbeknownst to me. I try my best to repeat what has worked in the past and has produced positive results but there is no telling if it will work a second time. So on the day of our day trip that we booked, I woke up early to slowly whisper sweet nothings to my intestines in hopes that a full evacuation would occur before we got on a packed tour bus and drove for 2 hours. Lucky for me it worked and then right before leaving, it worked again! Yes! Do other people in their mid thirties cheer when they BM in the morning and pray it is the last of the day?? Probably not. But this gal does!

On the bus we sat next to chatty, young couple from Ontario. They introduced themselves as Annie and Adam from Oshawa. We laughed and said we were Angie and Alex from Ottawa. They said they were there for their 4th anniversary and asked how long we had been together I looked at the boy and said uhh, maybe 3 years? He replied that it was our fourth anniversary last week and I smiled and nodded pretending I was agreeing with the information or confirming my knowledge of it. An hour into the ride I wondered why we signed up for something that had us in a fucking tour bus for so long. I was starting to feel a bit queasy from the trip, which is a bit unusual for me. The boy from Oshawa also didn’t look great either. I let him know I had a couple medical options with me if he needed them. The couple asked what I had. As I started to rhyme off my list, I realized I was old. I had Advil, Tums, Gravol, Robaxacet, ginger, Imodium and digestive enzymes. For a day trip? Yes, I know, I know. Did I also have my expensive Hauschka cream? Yes! Because even in the fucking backroads of the Dominican, my face would be moisturized. He took an Advil, she took a Tums and I took both. Weeee. I am sure you are wondering why I did not take a Gravol at this point. I have taken Gravol once before in my life and I basically fell asleep in bumper to bumper traffic, while driving, having not read it makes you drowsy. So I have generally avoided it since then.

We made a couple stops on the bus, but I was generally feeling more and more car sick, which is not my normal ailment. They passed out baby bananas for everyone, which is great, because that is usually a safe food for me – yay! When we had been in the bus for over 2 hours, I knew we had made a mistake. We stopped at a school and I asked how much longer it would be until our destination. He said about twenty minutes. Ok, we can do this. I avoided the school because it makes me feel like such a white tourist trash watching impoverished children like a spectacle. I just can’t do it. We stopped once more to look at something and then as we returned to the bus, I felt that hideously familiar feeling of my tummy turning. I sat on the bus and I tried to relax. We pulled over again and I was annoyed. Will we ever get to our fucking destination?! Everyone got off the bus to see some plant farm and I run to the driver and ask how much longer until we are near a bathroom and he says 10 minutes. I can do this. I can do this. I start panic pacing while everyone has walked to these makeshift greenhouses. I look at the boy and tell him I am hitting emergency level. I don’t know what is going to happen, but I do know my body is rejecting something. When my tummy performs the dance called the rejection roll, I have a small window to find a private shelter for my body to remove the evil. I don’t know how much detail I should go into, but while everyone was looking at plants off the main road, passed the front of the bus, I raced down the country dirt road until another road intercepted it which was protected by a fence and bush…This, ladies and gentlemen, will be the place where I leave my dignity. This will be where things you only dream about in your nightmares, occur. This will be the day my body violently rejected the baby banana a thousand times over at the side of the road in the Dominican. A special shout out to the boy, who at this point is standing about 20 feet from me keeping watch while pretending we are taking pictures of a small houses. Like we had, for some reason, emergency ran in the opposite direction of everyone for this special chance to take a picture of this one, non-descript blue house. He hero’d out while I died. 

After the most hideous moment of my life, we quietly got back onto the bus. I looked like I had just had my body taken advantage of…by my own body. When the others got back on the bus, the Oshawa couple asked where I had been. I said nowhere, brushing them off and then looked out the window with dead eyes. When we got to the first destination which had a waterfall, a tree house and some mining activities, I spent most of the time in the bathroom being sick. At one point, the boy asked our tour guide if they could get a vehicle to take us back, because I was not feeling well. The tour guide didn’t seem convinced he could, but he said maybe. After a solid 45 minutes of me being sick and crying and wondering if they could casually hire a chopper to get me out of the fucking back country, my body stopped being an asshole. I quietly emerged from my jungle outhouse and nervously ate a bit of rice. I looked at the boy while tearing up, saying that tomorrow we would find all of this hilarious. After 20 minutes, the rice remained in my body and I knew the ordeal was over. I had survived. And thank fuck because we got back onto the bus for another hour, to get to the BOAT that was taking us the rest of the way. 

The only thing I could think of for the rest of the day was, imagine if this had happened when I was on this small boat packed in with all these people. I would have just thrown myself off the boat and risked death. The only funny thing that happened on the boat was when we passed another boat that looked the same as ours and everyone had life jackets on and then I realized none of us had life jackets on. As we motored past the other boat, the Oshawa guy and I both called the life jacket boat a bunch of pussies. As we laughed I remembered that the boy couldn’t swim, so I quietly whispered him the plan if the boat capsized. When we got to the caves we were boating to, the drawings on the cave walls were obviously put there by someone with a crayon, like a couple weeks ago. I was so confused that they were selling these as ancient drawings from the ancestors. I am like, this is basically shitty, modern grafitti done by children. Glad I nearly died to make it here to see this.

We made it back to the bus without flipping the boat or me jumping off it. When we finally got back to the resort, I cried, got a stiff drink, kissed the ground and vowed never to go on a tour bus ever again. The next morning, the boy marched to our tour guide contact and cancelled our other trip, demanding a full refund because well, I wasn’t getting on another fucking bus.

The next day I realized that not only had I lost every ounce of dignity on my trip, but I had also lost my Hauschka face cream. I guess my coping mechanism on the way home was to quietly curl in a ball and moisturize my face and then throw it on the ground or something. God dammit! No moisturizer for the rest of the trip?! Cancel it. Pack it up. Time to go home. 

The rest of the trip was just us reading on the beach and drinking all day long. The boy tried not to bring up the bus ride incident which I brought it up every minute because that’s how I deal with embarrassment. I shout it from the roof tops and then have a good laugh. My stomach was fine for every day of the trip except the one where it mattered.

The end.   

I am so out of touch with current music. I am never more aware of this than when I am at work or when I watch The Voice. At work, my cubicle mate is a real singer. I’m a hobby, shower singer. So we sing a lot. Or silent disco (we sync our playlists and put on our wireless headphones and give’r). Whenever we pick music I ask that it be at least 10 years old or else I won’t know it. Legit. When I am watching The Voice I realize I haven’t listened to new music in years. But when I hear these amazing up and coming singers sing them, I am glad I don’t know the songs. Am I old and turning the corner into curmudgeon? Yes. I just listened to my first Demi Lovato, Ed Sheeran and Jessie J song and they were an epic level of shit. Am I deluded and old and don’t understand the next generation? Quite possibly. I listened to Drake the other day for maybe the third time in my life and I wanted to abort my eardrums before they had ever been birthed into actual eardrums. Like wtf is that garbage? It’s gross, shite song writing with shite beats – no? Someone tell me I am crazy. Also, while watching The Voice, they called Taylor Swift one of the greater songwriters of our time. Is this my time? Because I am going to not associate myself with this “time” if this is the case. The maybe 2-3 songs I have heard from Taylor Swift are repetitive and shallow. If Taylor is the voice of the next generation I am saddened by this. Maybe I am still and forever will be a rocker at heart and pop still is foreign to me. Who knows. But more often than not, I am ether listening things that could be played on Chez 106. I understand I am nostalgic and secretly 100 years old, but man, new music to me is totally cringe worthy. Legit don’t get me started on Kanye. 

I was reminiscing with my friend I was known since grade 3. She is super into figure skating and in grade 4, we all were. I was trying to name off the figure skaters we use to pretend to be during recess. Remember us reenacting Isabelle and Lloyd Eisler, Michelle Kwan or Monica Lewinsky? My friend stopped me and asked if I mean Tara Lipinski. Yep that’s the one. Unless Monica did a dance singles in a stained blue dress about the dramatic events? Yes. I probably meant Tara Lipinksi. 

I love that onesies or rompers are a style trend right now. (Like I think, wtf do I know about fashion). But let me tell you something. Anyone with hips, a tummy or an ass have a hard time wearing those rompers and I for one am amply blessed in all three of those categories. I have tried so many on and they are never, ever ok to ever be worn in public. They fall in all the wrong places, hug all the places that I am trying to hide and do not adorably drape over any part of my body. So I adore that they are in fashion, but I unfortunately cannot comfortably participate. 

Back to music – I went to a Moist concert last week. Yes Moist! The word that everyone hates! Moist was most definitely my favourite band growing up. So much so (and I know I have written about this story before) but when the internet was just being invented (yup, that old) my screen name was Moistgal. To pay homage to my band and love of my life at the time, lead man, David Usher. How sweetly naive to think that this couldn’t possibly be misconstrued! Obviously it means I am a gothy, alt rocker, full of angst, wearing too much eyeliner and mod robes. Not a porn star. At one point my Aunt was so offended by my screen name that she spoke to my Mom about it. Which was hilarious because her screen name was Herb lady, which to me sounded like a full on drug dealer. Anyhoo, so my friend Rob and I went to see Moist at my least favourite place in all of Ottawa, The Bronson Centre. How sad are we as a city when all the best acts, in my opinion, get banned to a glorified school gymnasium!? The last band I saw there, I was horrified at how terrible the sound was that I think I left early. The same thing happened to the opening band at this concert. Everything was all wrong. The guitar was too loud, the vocals were too low, there was feedback yada yada. Last concert I vowed never to return to this hall of musical sadness. But when a string of 90s bands all announced concerts here, I knew I had to suck it up. When Rob and I got to the show, we were told not to use the main entrance as that was for the meetings and they ushered us into a side doors that went right onto stairs of death that were covered in water and slush. Also what meetings were so important that they trumped the several hundred people going to a concert? At the bottom of death stairs we entered a smaller high school gymnasium with a massive line, coat check and a make shift bar. I looked around and was really taken aback by the crowd. I have seen Moist probably 6-7 times and usually the crowd looks like, you know, people like me. But this crowd was very different. A very different vibe. I was trying to put my finger on it and then someone did a shout out for HAWKESBURY and half the crowd cheered and I was like ohhhhh well this makes sense. Apparently this concert doubled as all of Hawkesbury’s night out. In lovingly typical Rob fashion he took our coats to the coat check and returned empty handed. I was unaware of this until 10 minutes later, when I watched him casually walk over to the coat check table and take 2 tickets that had been sitting there the whole time. Yay we will be able to get our jackets back! We grabbed a drink and then went as close to the front as we could. Because when I go to concerts I am a flailing, dancing, crazy person that likes to be right in the thick of things. When the band got on stage and I started my interpretive dance entitled, “moves I could do when I was 19 but will now result in pain and an emergency massage appointment and an ice pack.” Partially into the show I got a whiff of the most hideous, digestion crisis gas I have ever smelled. I immediately had the urge to tell the person in front of me he may not be able to digest cruciferous vegetables because all I could smell was a field of rotten broccoli that had anally exited a body. I looked at Rob who was casually dry heaving while he also bopped to the music. The dancing must have loosened something up in the person in front of me because once about every song we were sprayed with the most foul, evil scent I have possibly ever encountered. I told Rob after the show that it was a lot for me to take in. Me, gazing lovingly at the man who had been my first love, the music that defined my youth and brought me to a place of nostalgic bliss, all while chewing on someone else’s farts. It was an overload for my senses. We did power through and I was thankful that for once I was not the one with the worst digestive tract in the room. Little victories!  

A trip to Whitehorse, in the middle of the summer, for my friend’s brother’s wedding I was not invited to, can only be a plan that resulted from drinking several bottles of wine, with said friend, on a rooftop terrace. This is how crazy trips are born. 

About a month before the trip I become obsessed with a CBC podcast series which surprisingly prepared me nicely for this adventure. One season was about a serial killer and the next was about a plane that blew up on its way to Whitehorse. Perfect pre-trip listening. We were headed to the great North where 2 serial killer fugitives were currently on the run after killing several people and we were going up there on a smaller plane. How much more of an adventure could we have gotten ourselves involved in. This is the first trip that I have ever felt compelled to pack a very sharp, buck knife (which I did). Heading to the land of serial killers and bears, this felt necessary. Before I left work for my Whitehorse vacation, I started a count down on the whiteboard in my cubicle indicating the amount of days I was safe on my vacation (from serial killers, bears, plane crashes, whatever really) and asked my coworkers to update it daily. 

As we left for the airport I checked my passport, wallet and cell phone 17 times. My travel buddy, Katie, started to worry. I was, of course, so hormonal, that my brain cells were all napping in preparation for my monthly lady purge. This is normal. In the Uber I checked everything another 100 times in a very intensely OCD manic cycle. I also prepared Katie for the fact that even though I had worked at the airport for a short time, I tend to have no idea what to do when I get there. Do I check in? Have I checked in? Where do I go? It’s one of those places that I walk into, have a mini stroke and just hand my passport and travel information to anyone even remotely interested in taking it (or wearing a vest, vests are rare unless you work for an airline).

Since we had already checked in (apparently), all we had to do was a self service luggage drop off. The first way I put my bag down on the conveyor belt, the machine could not read the tag. The Air Canada woman can over and helped me. It still didn’t work. I rearranged it again and she came over again to help. It would not go. As we started on the third and really only last possible suitcase position, I asked her how this self service area was working out on saving labour as she had just spent more time with me now then if I had just lined up and they had done it for me. She confirmed that this station was not working out as it was intended.

On the other side of security we grabbed a quick glass of wine. We wanted water but it was so expensive that we problem solved. We could buy wine AND get free water. Win. Win. And fairly genius. Sure we hadn’t eaten all day but wine was the priority as we had a long day of travel ahead (and I of course had several emergency travel scones in my purse, as per usual). While we were having a drink I told Katie that there had been a hole in my $15 Joe t-shirt I was wearing but I was committed to wearing it for the trip because it was extremely comfortable. So as I had packed and listened to my murder podcasts, I made a solid attempt at sewing the hole in the cheap shirt, which was consequently very obviously located on my chest (in a third nipple kind of way). It looked terrible but I figured it was travel day and looking mildly homeless was acceptable as long as I was comfortable. During the drinks I started reacting to something. My eyes became red and endlessly itchy. This terrible shitless version of shit eye (red eye) had taken over. So I started the trip tipsy, wearing I shirt I had tried to mend terribly and with what appeared to be red and leaky shit eye. Let’s do this!!  

We flew to Montreal, ate a meal (with more wine) and then boarded a flight to Vancouver that had been delayed several times. Three quarters of the way through the plane trip we realized we were cutting it very close to our connecting flight to Whitehorse. We were on a plane that was packed, had a thousand babies on it and had the slowest drink cart service known to mankind. This was our vacation. Having to wait 2 hours into the flight for a glass of wine was rough. 1st world problems indeed. Katie wondered if she could order several at a time but was too embarrassed to ask, as was I. The guy sitting next to me slept the last half of the plane but kept breathing in my direction with the most atrocious breathe I have ever smelled. It smelled like a mouldy fart. It was horrendous. What had he possibly eaten?!

We ended up purchasing the magical in flight wifi so we could get the Air Canada updates on our connection. It was perfect. As we started our descent into Van, we watched on the AC APP as our connecting flight took off. Yay!

When we landed we ran over to the Air Canada customer service desk. As we neared the front of the line a man yelled out that he had two more Whitehorses left. I replied by yelling, we are the last Whitehorses!! And lovingly galloped to the front of the line. 

They were going to have to put us up in a hotel in Van. I was so pumped! Vancouver! Yassss. Let’s go out!! Adventure! By the time we got our vouchers, got to the hotel and finally checked in, it was past 10pm and it registered that I was too old and too tired to go discover downtown. WHAA?!! Lame. We were tired and hungry, but luckily they gave us some food vouchers for the hotel. We asked the concierge what we could use the voucher on. He replied food and drink. So we threw our luggage in our rooms and came back to the bar. We ordered wine and then were told we were too late for food. But…we were handed this food voucher like 5 minutes ago. At least it would cover the wine. The waiter explained to us that the voucher did not cover alcohol and the only way to order food at this point was through room service. Could we not just order room service food here? Or did we need to be in the room? And we were told this voucher covered drink. He continued to explain that yes we needed to be in the room to order food and that the concierge was Buddhist, so food and drink to him meant something non alcoholic. We were dumbfounded, paid for our wine and ran up to my room to order food. When I reached customer service I ordered a couple things for the room. The voice on the other line said it would go perfect with my pinot. I was talking to the exact same guy who would not let us order food at the bar. Hilarious. So we waited, regretted out decision for ordering food because we were so tired and ultimately had to be at the airport at 6am. We were laughing about how there seemed to be only one person working in the whole hotel when there was a knock on the door. And who was it? The bartender, the guy who served us wine, then took our room service order and here he was delivering it. It felt like we were in a scene from Fawlty Towers and John Cleese was playing every character that we encountered. 

The next morning we raced to the airport late. We were cruising on about 5 hours sleep. We took a cab instead of the shuttle and when someone asked if they could go in front of us in the airport line to stay with their tour group we hard no’d them. We were LATE. As we lined up for security we realized we were looking at the boarding time and not the flight time and had PLENTY of time. After breakfast we finally boarded our plane to Whitehorse! My seat was in the row that divided first class from the peasants and it was the craziest amount of leg room I have ever seen. I couldn’t even reach my screen – weee! The whole flight the guy next to me watched Two and a Half Men and very loudly laughed out loud to it. Really? Weird. I sensed that show does not actually provoke lol moments. The couple in front of me (miles away) had 3 kids with them…in first class. I wondered most of the flight what they did for a living. Like how??

As we started our descent into Whitehorse I got a good look out the window. It looked like a typical, Canadian, small rural town. I am from a small rural town so I had a quick pang of, I am so glad I just spent an uncomfortable amount of money to travel to a different small town a million miles away – yay! But I would soon get over that. We landed, went into the tiniest airport I had ever seen and picked up our shitty Nissan rental car that lacked all acceleration balls and made me angry. In our overly tired, semi delirious state we went right to the wedding venue to be helpie helpers. When we arrived the bride and groom asked how comfortable I felt setting up a bar. Do you know who you are asking? Could I have had a better job?I have managed bars, bartended and am a full-time bar attendee. I took my job very seriously, demanded that all alcohol was laid out before me so that I could see what I was working with and went to work. I was so proud of my setup that I took the soon to be groom on a magical tour of my tiny, canteen size bar. He was impressed. I asked if they needed help bartending the reception. They told me they had a liquor licence where people could help themselves. What? I immediately texted my significant other to say not only was it an open bar but it was a serve yourself. He wrote back that I no longer had to be concerned with the serial killers because I would probably kill myself at this open bar. I agreed. Katie would set something up and then casually try to nap, but I would call her out and she would get back to work. I spent the next hour cleaning all of their wedding favour glasses that I knew I would steal several of, after the wedding. 

When we both felt so tired that we might die, we ventured off to go find our Airbnb. This, unfortunately, would be the theme of our trip. Missing the flight to Whitehorse and having very little sleep would ruin us for most of the trip. There was no bounce back. There was just many guilt naps and lie ins that would take place here. And thank god the lady that lived on the first floor (above) our Airbnb was not there. Not only were we terribly tired but we were also loud, drunken assholes followed by hungover, tired assholes. We had come to the land of nature, mountains, hiking and wildlife and we napped and drank a lot. #nailingit. To be fair, it was also a family events. It was like a family reunion for someone else’s family that I was not invited to but just casually watched on the sidelines while trying to chameleon in like a distant, loud, fun cousin. By night two I had adopted Uncle M and Aunt C as my own. At the family BBQ we all took turns leaving the huddle to find more wine. They were my people. That BBQ eventually resulted in late night drinking, emergency pizza delivery, a drunken facebook video and a rude hangover. Then the day of the wedding came. We were still hungover and slept in and, for the third day in a row, cancelled our day plans to bum around our AirBnB.

We called a taxi to get into town for the wedding. He showed up blasting traditional African music with the windows rolled down. All good. We were dressed to the nines. The whole way into town he kept changing the music until he landed on the most vile gangster rap I have ever heard. So we entered the town, looking super cute and all done up with a cab blaring the music that was detailing sexual acts with the windows all the way down, which was also 100 percent ruining our hair. Weeeee.

The wedding was not only at a ski hill, the ceremony was taking place at the top of the hill. This would require all the guests to ride up on a ski lift. I, for one, was terrified. I do not partake in winter sports. Winter is for giant sweaters and fireplaces and hot toddies, not outside sporting events. No sir. Especially the kind where you go to a mountain and throw yourselves down said mountain at warp speed with little control. Hard no. So I was stressed about the ski lift. I am also afraid of heights. This was going to be great. At least I was not the worst ski lift rider that day… As we went up I quietly sang sound of music to myself that no one really appreciated and attempted to take a video on my camera but I was shaking too hard. I sounded like a person trying to disassociate into their happy place, where Julie Andrews was quietly stroking my hair and singing. When we got to the top my dismount off the lift looked more like I was being chased by a chair that was trying to kill me. We walked over to where the ceremony was being held. The view was spectacular. It was very high up, basically on the edge of a cliff, but beautiful and very, very cold. As it was sinking in that my polka dot dress was not adequate clothing for the top of a mountain I saw the ski lift stop. Something had happened. I saw someone run over and put a coat on someone. I looked closer and then yelled to Katie that something terrible had happened to Uncle M!

This would turn out to be the story of the trip. Somehow, as Uncle M got onto the chair lift, he kept his feet under the chair lift and as his wife and son also sat down onto the chair and it crushed both of his ankles. This was not immediately apparent so he had to endure going all the way up the mountain with the painful notion that something was terribly, terribly wrong. When he got to the top, he was going into shock. A wedding guest who was a paramedic took him down and called an ambulance. What a crazy way to start a wedding! What a terrible way to lose my favourite wedding drinking buddies! These things should happen after you have drank too much!

The wedding was great. I drank just enough to adopt a German woman as my new Grandmother. She spoke no English so I sang Sound of Music to her which she recognized and then said the name of my German face care which she also recognized. We were practically soul mates. I drank just enough to cry out loud when a woman I was in a random conversation with told me I should never have children. I drank just enough to take a shuttle home that was full of people but blast Queen on my phone and scream along to it (you are welcome for the free entertainment shuttle guests). And I drank just enough to casually steal the glasses (as planned earlier) and additional bottles of wine from the wedding. 

Sure we never got the natural hot springs like we planned. No we did not canoe down the beautiful Yukon River like I wanted. And no we definitely did not hike the most beautiful wilderness in the world but by god, we did however get to visit the Whitehorse hospital. How many people can say they have done that? As we entered Uncle M’s Room, before I could say anything, he says, I think I might just make it into your blog. Which to me sounds like permission so yayyy, you were correct! This story needed to be told! But really…RIP your ankles Uncle M. RIP. 

We rounded out the trip by actually getting out and doing something – yes! We don’t suck! We got in our little sad sack rental and made the great trek to Alaska. And let me say something now. Fuck Alaska. The one town we went to was a commercial, tourist pit of satan where tons of gross cruise ships docked slowly leaking their fossil fuels into the beautiful waters. The real magic was the Yukon and BC. Holy shitttttt. This is all. Oh and we saw a bear and were not killed by serial killers. Yes!

On our way home we had a layover that was long enough to leave the airport so we made a beeline for downtown Vancouver. We saw nothing of the city but ate an incredible lunch (more wine) and then we booted it over to the Whole Foods…BECAUSE I NEEDED TO SEE IT. I know, I know. I no longer work for that corporate health food store on steroids but I needed to see Cambie. And then we went back to airport.

On the flight home I was behind an older lady and her son. They got into a weird fight right before taking off and then the son started hitting on the girl sitting next to him. Classy. The older immediately put her chair all the way back and then flipped her over the seat so that it looked like my tv screen was wearing a wig. Then the lady across the aisle from her took off her shoes (why does the always happen) and then took her reading glasses out of a crest toothpaste box. Godddd plane etiquette people! Why is everyone crazy? I had a hard time reaching for my shit under the seat because this woman was basically lying in my lap but I needed to retrieve my wallet. I precariously reached down and put my face hard against my screen (the back of goldilocks chair) and reached down as far as I could and that was when I guess the son decided it was time to use the loo and used the seat back to steady himself which in turn smashed my face and my awkwardly strained neck. We made it through the wilderness, the land of serial killers, windy mountain roads, abundant alcohol and bears and I nearly died getting my neck broken by an airplane chair. Don’t worry Uncle M. I didn’t want to top your medical emergency story. Not this time.   

I  have been trying to live my life and not obsess over any kind of diet. Which has left with me just obsessing about my size, while eating whatever I feel like. My Mom said she doesn’t like to buy me clothes because she is never sure of what my style is. I told her my current style was anything that could possibly cover my sausage body in any way shape or form. I generally tend to feel like I’m busting out of almost anything I wear now. And then today happened. As the bus pulled up to my work stop I got up to go out the front door. Everyone else was headed to the back door. The bus driver stopped, saw me coming and then LOWERED THE BUS FOR ME. Like was he concerned my joints might buckle under the weight they were trying to hold up while going down a tiny step? Did he think I was planning to roll/shuffle off the bus due to my obesity? Like wtf buddy! I am chubby and can’t step a foot down? GAWD! Day ruined. 

I have taken great interest in the legal pot shops because I am familiar with the industry these days and I find it totally fascinating. The day they opened I took my brother Ben to the one downtown. We were greeted by some over zealous millennial, ID’d and then walked into the store that 100% resembled an Apple store. Ben and I openly cringed. I ran to the product on display to check it out while Ben sort of looked around, unimpressed and uncomfortable. After we left I asked Ben what he thought. He said the whole experience was upsetting. He said if he were going to buy pot he wanted to get it from a weird dude, in a dark alley, with no idea whether the product was an upper or a downer or just garbage. Just anonymous ditch weed really. A couple weeks later I went to check out another pot shop with my colleague. We walked in and the guy asked my coworker for ID. I wasn’t sure if he had asked me as well and I had just missed it, so I asked if he required mine too. No he replied, no, that’s ok. Ummmm rude. This shop was cute and fun and retro diner chic but when I left I turned to my friend and said, man we have come a long way from buying pot out of garbage bags in someone’s trunk, right?! Like it’s cute but it really takes the fun out it. 

Everyone who knows me, knows that I have a pretty decent work ethic. Like yes I’m a bit of a joker and occasionally a space case but I get shit done. Since I am at a new job, I still feel like I have to prove myself. We have discovered a family of Groundhogs that reside next to our office. Naturally we have named and each adopted one of the babies. So one morning I was kneeling on my desk, staring out the window watching the babies outside, while moisturizing my face and drinking coffee when my boss comes in and walks by. I just look at her defeated and as I open my mouth to explain myself, she stops me and says you do not need to explain a thing to me, smiles, and keeps on walking. I think that means she trusts me to get my work done and that I may just be on a groundhog baby, face moisturizing, coffee break. You know. Those. 

My friend Katie and I recently went to Nineties night at House of Targ. Nineties music is my happy place. I try to get to Targ for these nights whenever I can. I know all of the songs, I know all the lyrics (Editor’s Note – Actually closer to 50% but bless you for trying on the rest) and they remind me of a simpler, more emotionally confusing and exciting time. My youth, really. The crowd age range was quite large but we definitely were on the top end of that scale, especially with our wine spritzers. Every time I go to Targ they make fun of what I order. I guess that’s why I love it. I know, I’m old. I think it’s funny too. Let us laugh at the fact that when I order my drink I take into account the sugar content, the gluten content, how much heart burn it will give me and to what degree of hangover it may cause. Let us laugh. The band that played that night was amazing. They played the best 90s alt hits and even some amazing gems I had forgotten about. I was in my element. I was a bit drunk, I was with my bestie, the music was loud and I was right in the middle of the crowd sing/screaming and dance/headbanging. It was the best night out in a long time. I was dancing so hard some girl offered me a hair elastic. When the evening ended we went outside to get an Uber. It was then that we realized we couldn’t hear each other. The ringing in our ears was so loud we literally had to yell at each other and mime everything out to get ourselves sorted. When we got into the Uber I screamed at our driver to confirm if in fact we were yelling at each other or speaking in a normal voice. He laughed…so yes. The next day I texted Katie to tell her I was doing a demo at a store (my side hustle) and still had very intense ringing in my ears. This was leading to a very aggressive demo of me yelling at people to sample veg burgs without realizing it. I had also completely thrown out my neck. I basically couldn’t move it. As I thought back to the night before I realized part of my nineties dance moves is a like a full upper body head bang while occasionally throwing up the odd devil horns. While speaking to Katie I embarrassingly mentioned that I think I had pulled something in my neck. Her response was to tell me she has popped out one of her knees but they both were in pain. So this is it team. This is aging. All nights of extreme fun are followed by DAYS, even weeks of recovery. No wonder aging is depressing. I can’t dance all night without needing 2 massages, a visit to the chiropractor and 5-7 days of intense epsom salt baths and cold neck pillows every night? Kill me now. A few weeks later I was at another concert, dancing away and then stopped and yelled to my friend – “fuck I just saw my massage therapist! She would not be happy with this!” I stopped and heard myself and then followed it with “said the oldest person here.” I rolled my eyes and then continued wrecking my fragile, decrepit body. 

Since swearing off diets I have noticed that I have developed weird back fat. I imagine this is also due to my age. I have decided they are back boobs and I think that it is time that someone constructed a bra that lifts the girls in the front and contains and flattens the sneaky ladies on the back. I am currently seeking investors. 

My birthday is this week and as like most birthdays I am just try to cruise through it in a gin haze so that I don’t spend too much time thinking about my life. As my friend and I were lining up for drinks the other night at a concert, I was trying to explain to him that aging is very different for a woman. “Like, my uterus is looking up properties in Boca Raton and I just have no idea if I am ready for the Florida track suit life yet!? Ya know?”

Next blog – stay tuned for the trip to the COTTAGEEEEEEE.