I find the giant digital signs on the highway a bit curious. They are the most amazing “stating the obvious” signs I have ever seen. I drove home the other day and it was extremely foggy. Fog everywhere, so traffic was understandably slow. And through the fog, a beam of light from this traffic sign saying, slow traffic, fog. And you are like, fucking thanks tips. Wasn’t sure about that!? One night I drove home, it had been snowing mixed with ice for hours but I figured, being from the valley, I can comfortably drive through anything (in my tiny, light Yaris with no snow tires). As I fishtailed up a ramp and thought for one second I may not make it up, that perhaps a car would come up behind me a give me a little boost. It was a skating rink so I was just taking it slow. As I merged onto the Queensway, the bright lighted traffic sign warned me of ice, snow and possible slick conditions. I thought, if I’m that fucking stupid that I haven’t figured that out by now and I need a fucking sign to tell me this, I should not be allowed to operate a motor vehicle. I should just wear mittens in a padded room for the rest of my life. Why on earth do we need a giant sign warning us of the absolute obvious. I wonder who thought this was necessary. Let’s get a giant sign that warns the masses of drivers stuck in traffic that it’s raining! Because they are total morons and can’t see the drops on their windshield?! Yikes. That it all. Yikes.

On Christmas eve we, once again, continued the family ritual of going to church. Not one year has gone by that we have not made some sort of spectacle of ourselves during this service. Mainly because I drink a lot before going, just to get through it, and also because once someone in my family starts laughing, everyone does and it’s uncontrollable. But this year we had the added variable of my 97 year old Grandmother. She has always been there but lately she has become slightly more outspoken in her old age. There was a new minister this year that packed an uncomfortable amount of hymns into one service.

And on a side note, who creates the melody for these hymns, they are so awful and do not flow. They would never make it in the real world of music. That’s why the church is losing the younger generations. Get some catchy tunes, maybe get T Swift to nail out a Jesus break up ballad and all the membership problems will be solved.

Anyways, for every hymn you are expected to stand up. After the third time my Grandmother states, rather loudly, “NOT AGAIN!?” Thanks Grandma for stating what we are all thinking. Then two more hymns/carols down the line and we were asked to stand again and she yells out, in an annoyed voice, “JESUS!” We just about died laughing. A guy, whom I used to babysit, got up to read a passage. He has grown into quite a good looking young man. My Grandmother thought so as well and loudly commented on his nice hair, it looked so slick she said. Another woman got up to read a passage then awhile later got up to read another. My Grandma was shocked and stated “Is she up there again!?” with no concern of the volume of her voice. Then finally, at the end of the service when I congratulate myself for making it through another service without making the holy water boil and or just spontaneously bursting into flames, they hand out candles in little drinking glasses. I try to avoid this because I can’t handle myself with an open flame usually after having that many drinks. Someone handed my Grandma one. We started to get our things together to leave when Grandma yelled that she had almost tried to drink her candle. Thanks Grandma for being a one person comedy show. Your filter is fucked and I kind of like it.

Happy New Year!! We left plans of New Years until the last minute this year. I had a bottle of gin, we had a cheese tray and a hundred bags of chips so we figured we would just stay in. But last minute we realized that may be lame and decided to find a place we could go to that we wouldn’t have to pay a $200 cover. Bingo! Singles event happening in the market! No cover! Sounds pretty perfect. Anyways after drinking for a few hours we decided to head down there. When we walked in, the venue was packed. After a quick walk around we could smell the desperation and sadness of singletons being alone on New Years Eve. We decided it would be fun and great people watching, so we ordered drinks and stayed. I started chatting with a very good looking guy, because I was feeling ballzy and he had a table that I wanted to leave my drink at and on occasion sit down at. After a few minutes conversation, to which he was struggling at, I told him to take a second and form a succinct sentence and then get back to me when he was ready. He told me he hated me. Ha ha. I went outside and these two smoking hot girls asked me if I was with that hot guy I was just chatting too. I said oh no no, he’s hot, but a dummy. I don’t know if it was the booze, or the fact that sometimes I think hot people think they are amazing and need to be taken down a notch, but I went in and asked him to buy me a drink. I could tell he wasn’t interested in me at this point (because I was being a dick) nor was I in him. When we went to the bar, I told him these beautiful women outside were interested in him but don’t worry, I told them you were a dumb dumb. As soon as it came out of my mouth I was like, wtf is wrong with me. Just because this guy looks like he could be in a teen movie does not mean I need to crush his spirit?! Or does it.

Anyways, I was on a bit of a power trip high when I recognized a guy who had messaged me on Plenty of Fish. I went over to say hi and he said I was just as gorgeous and looked just like my pics online. He said we should go home together because he really liked me. I stopped and looked right at him and said, you don’t know shit about me. He said I know that I’m sexually attracted to you. I said ok, but that doesn’t mean shit. Then the super hot guy brought me my drink and the guy looked down and told me he couldn’t compete with that guy’s looks. Blah blah blah. I’m not going to build up your confidence with a pep talk on new years eve in a bar, hammered. Anyhoo, the hot guy left with an unattractive cougar, we left with no one but we had fun and I threw up a little. Weeee New Years!!

I was on another date the other night (this is now what I do for kicks now kids). We ended up at the Carleton Tavern which I had only discovered the week before. It is a  dive bar in every classic sense of the phrase. You can go there and with a beer, get a free turkey dinner. It is dodgy adorable and the greatest place to people watch ever. After we got our beer we heard this extremely loud group in the corner. I, of course, cannot be in a conversation if there is something interesting going on in the room because I have the attention span of a squirrel. So when I turned around, I saw a bunch of plastic penises on a table and a few bed pans. They started singing a song that I recognized but the words had been slightly altered “roll back, roll back, oh roll back my foreskin for me, for me…” I asked the server what the fuck kind of group this was. A group that was singing dirty songs, loudly in a dive bar, with choreographed hand actions to match. She said it was a running group. I asked if it was a swingers running group. She said she didn’t know but they were shitty tippers. I sat there trying to be present on this date but then another song would start and plastic dildos would be waving in the air “well it’s 1, 2, covered in goo at the old ball game..” I looked at my date and said I was very sorry that I could not even remotely concentrate with this kind of magic happening. Then when it started to die down they gave the remote to a yokel in the corner. He changed the tv from football (which I can totally ignore) to wilderness fights (which I totally cannot). So after totally ignoring my date for dildos and dirty sing-songs I was now unable to look at him because there were puffins fighting on the television. PUFFINS FIGHTING!!! How can one not look at it! Anyhoo, I apologized and got a second date so I obvs didn’t come off as a total fucking moron.

I was walking back from the store last night, fairly late, when a car pulls up in front of me and drops a guy off. He starts walking to the student housing across the street and lets out a maniacal, evil laugh. Then he says, out loud, “just two more” and then evil laughs two more times. It was the weirdest thing ever. Our neighborhood is awesome. I am going to practice my evil laugh around this neighborhood, late at night too.

It’s Christmas eve!! No it’s not, but it is on my advent calendar!! Weeee #chocolateaddiction (I don’t know what a hash tag is but I like using it.) I almost went and bought another calendar but instead had a mini intervention with myself and put it back.

I had a guy message me on Plenty of Fish (dating site) asking if Poli Sci was a type of psychology. Ha ha ha!!! These are the winners you find with online dating. Other priceless messages include…”nice melons!!” “I have a big penis,” ”You are hot as hell!!!!” “You seem like a bit of a pig” (I think that’s what it said, it was in French), “You should smile more” (you should fuck off more), “Ever date a hung firefighter?” (yes actually, many) and my personal favourite, “Hey babe, wanna come piss on me?” Where the fuck has chivalry gone? What has happened to intelligent conversation, laughs, what one might even call courting. What I want to know is if these approaches have actually worked on the ladies and if they have, we need an intervention here. RAISE YOUR STANDARDS LADIES! There are lot’s of great sized penises out there that have cool people attached to them. Don’t go for the firefighter that advertises it?! When that message comes to me I think, if you can’t even attempt to intrigue me with conversation you are a bloody dummy…with a big penis. I almost feel like I could teach a course at Algonquin called Online Dating 101. Where we go over how to refer to something in their profile when you first send a message. Seem interested. Strike up a conversation. Keep it light. Try not to talk about your penis, I know this is a tough one. Get to know each other. Maybe ask to text. Talk a bit more. Feel like there is a connection, go out for a drink. This is basic kids. Basic. I’m disappointed at those that make no effort and just throw out a 100 general message and hope that one sticks. Raise your game. Ok that’s all…rant done.

Well I think I have surpassed putting on my winter 10 and have put on more like 15 lbs. Ahhh! But now is not the time to care. Not a week before Christmas?! Like now is the time to eat chocolate for lunch and beer for dinner only to be like every other loser when January hits and start some insane health binge that will only last a month. That’s my plan anyways. I had a bag of chips for dinner last week. Like when does that ever happen. THE (2) WEEK(s) BEFORE CHRISTMAS EATING AMNESTY! When baking and eating all of it feels right. When chocolate for stockings never, ever makes it to the stocking. When expired gluten free biscotti at works gets stolen and ends up in my desk drawer. When going to the LCBO and deciding a regular bottle of wine just won’t do, you are upgrading to the 1.5 litres. And then biking back with it in your backpack while you have a bad back is worth the sacrifice. When rewarding yourself after the gym with a chocolate bar twice the amount of calories you burned feels like balance. Don’t worry body, January is just around the corner. When clothes will fit comfortable again and getting dressed in the morning won’t take an hour because I look fat in everything. So hold tight little beer gut, you will be gone soon;)

Online dating…not for the faint at heart…this guy is nailing it jk

So I got a cat. I know, I know. I am not a cat person. Not really a fan of them. But on a whim, I thought it might be nice for me to adopt an animal in need (free from Kijiji) because I care (because I’m single and that’s what us ladies do). So I went to a woman’s house not far from mine to look at an overweight, orange cat. It was chubby, it bit me and then tried to fight me and I knew we were destined to be great companions for each other. The first night I had him we had to keep him locked in my room due to the fact we had another cat in the house. He spent all night crying and I figured I had made a huge mistake. Then, in the early morning, when I finally started to drift off, he decided he had seen something under the sheets and decide to attack it repeatedly…they were my legs. It only made sense to me that I had probably picked out the one special ed cat on the internet. Aren’t free giveaway cats usually winners?? Anyways, it came with the name Tiger but I have expanded it to Lil Tiger Pip…Esquire the third. After the first two days of talking about my new cat with my friends I wondered if I had got a cat so I could tell everyone about my ginger pussy all day long. People got sick of it at work pretty fast but it was such an easy way to make people squirm and then blame them for having their head in the gutter ha ha. Suckers. Anyhoo Lil Tiger Pip has evened out a bit and I think he will be fine here. He hates the other cat, always tries to escape, hugs me like he thinks he is people and has human size poops. Magic.

I was driving to the Glebe to meet Hennie at the Wild Oat for lunch the other day. I ripped onto a side street and power parallel parked into a tight spot. I was like, fuck I’m good. And as I walked over to pay, the lady standing at the car in front of me looked at me and said, that was totally amazing. And I told her I was just thinking the same damn thing. I have since done it a few more times am really impressed with my spatial awareness considering I smash my legs into everything I possibly could when I am walking and I am constantly covered in bruises. But give me a little toy car and I nail it every fucking time!

I did this training at work called conscientious leadership. It sounds cool but it really wasn’t. It was mainly Ted Talks and basic psychology for dummies and talking about feelings…lame. Anyways we had to bring in a picture that made us happy. I brought in a picture of my family where we all look pretty special. We had to explain to the group (my peers) why we loved that picture I said I was lucky to have been born into this group of helmets, the most fun people in the world ha ha. Love.

So I went down to Toronto a couple weeks back to attend the annual Canadian Health Food Association Show. Woooooh. And I know what you are thinking but those health peeps can party, for realz. Anyways, we got there and went directly to a training. It was a lady from Germany teaching us about a cosmetics line. I spent the training wishing I hadn’t been up all night drinking gin and watching SOA with my friends. At one point I felt myself fishing and I thought, fuck this is bad form. We then did a bit of shopping, ate lunch at Fresh (yayyyyy) and then decided to go sort our AirBNB out. Now my coworker, Sue, had thought this whole Airbnb thing seemed dodgy. I assured her many times that I had stayed in both Paris and London using Airbnb and it is the greatest thing ever. So when we get to the condo buildings right next to the water and the concierge refused to give us the keys I was shocked. What the fuck. We also could not get ahold of the host because she was in the States so for the next 2 hours we panicked, called Airbnb a million times until finally Sue took over the calling because she is way more demanding awesome on the phone then I am. The result was we were homeless in downtown Toronto, with a $150 credit that Airbnb was going to give us. Which is so generous! Nope, not when you are in downtown Toronto. So $150 could get you a sparkly cardboard box on Front street…OR 1/3 of a hotel room at the fucking Royal York Hotel. Which is what we decided to do. I have always wanted to stay there and this was our chance to stay in a hotel room that cost $500 for a minor discount, thanks to our Airbnb fuck up. They upgraded us to a room that as soon as we got into I said we needed cocaine and hookers. The room would not fulfill it’s potential unless we were snorting white lines with ladies of the night. Thank god my coworker takes my great ideas all in stride and ignores me. Instead we drank wine and stole fluffy Royal York house coats. And we did it right. I found the closet where they are kept so that we still left two in the room and they would never suspect us of hijacking the goods. It was kind of cool from going from homeless to fabulous in the matter of a couple hours. It felt right. And we stole shit, badass.

I was at the gym today and Rachel Ray was on. I have never seen it so I had never really formed an opinion of her. I watched her make a dish that had a pound of oil, cheese and sour cream in it which is always hilarious to watch when you are on a treadmill. But I don’t crave dishes much like that anymore because I tend to think the outcome of eating them will be me shitting my pants. I was a bit unimpressed with the cooking bit because I think everything will be good covered in fatty goodness but it takes a truly creative person in the kitchen to make something taste amazing that is healthy. Then came the kicker for me. It was like a holiday entertaining craft corner. But it was totally craft time for dummies. They showed a vase with flowers in it with lemons floating in the water and you could tell how they had created it in under 2 seconds and yet they still walked through how they cut the lemons up and put it in the vase. Duh. Then they went to the next craft…two champagne bottles covered in glitter. I am thinking glue and glitter, then they walked through it. Nailed it. Total crafts for helmets. Then the last one was balloons blown up with glitter in them and I thought, how does this woman have a job on this show and does she also teach kindergarten? It was the stupidest shit I have ever seen. Craft corner for fucking morons.

Well let me tell you a thing of two about online dating. It is a riot, it’s exciting, it’s easy and it’s disappointing. These are the feelings that every single girl cycles through on a weekly basis with every new man she meets. So after doing this for a little while it gets you down when you realize that the punch line is always, disappointment. It can be a letdown for so many reasons, because expectations were too high, because they are dumbs dumbs, because you aren’t attracted to them, because they are an arms dealer but worst of all, because you actually kind of like them. And you know, because you have met on an odd online mode of social media, the relationship you have created is completely fickle. Because both knows there are a hundred other vaginas and penis’ on the other side of their screen at home waiting for that quick, fun, witty connection that everyone loves, only to immediately move onto the next one. It’s truly fascinating. It’s a weird, non-comital sub culture of chat, drinks, laughs, sex, fun and….disappointment. And the greatest thing is that with texting and the internet, these people can just fade away and you never hear from them again. It’s bizarre, it’s a game, it’s a fucking gong show. Weeee.

So because I have technically been separated since early spring and after hitting rock bottom this summer, I decided the best thing to do was to distract myself completely by going on some dates. Because what can possibly go wrong by meeting random strangers you have found online…

I know what you are all thinking…too soon! And yep, probably right! Some hilarious events have occurred because of this mild oversight…

Firstly, and for those who know me, are aware I am not a public crier normally. I tend to have my shit together. Not anymore. I now have these out of control tear ducts that can spontaneously combust at any given point. Which makes a great first impression on strangers. Nothing says this fine young lady has her shit together like a casual first date cry! Lucky for me, most people have found it endearing or like they were special because I was opening up to the them. Which is sweet because that is simply not true. I cried at Chapters while buying a journal and told the sales associate, while I was on the phone with my doctor, that I was on a mental health call. Like I would basically cry on the shoulder of a homeless stranger so it’s hilarious guys think they are special because you are endearingly opening up to them. And man, if someone cried with me on a first date I would think they were an emotionally unstable nutcase and never return their text messages ever again. So anyways, that has made these dates an epic comedy in themselves.

Secondly, I don’t really realize how ridiculous and inappropriate I am until you can see a stranger trying to measure you up with their eyes and they are nothing but baffled. And it seems my normal talk is shocking for some people. I try to explain by saying I may have undiagnosed tourettes and definitely a problem with uncontrollable inappropriate hand gestures. I would love to hear the inner monologue of these people as I blabber away about stupid things, cry a bit, order another beer and then laugh. Ha ha! My favourite date thus far, because of the comedic value of it, has been with someone who was basically an arms dealer. It started off as international business development, then moved to the promotion of Canadian manufacturing. Then he named some places where he had lived and travelled to for work. And I am not a dumb dumb. So I asked what companies he promoted specifically. He named a few that could have been harmless but then said Lockheed Martin. My eyes widened as I yelled YOU ARE LORD OF WAR AREN’T YOU?! (And for those of you haven’t seen this movie, you must and obviously it is about an arms dealer). He laughed and said that is what most people called him. Ahhh! I couldn’t stop laughing about it in a maniacal, I think I am on a date with satan, kind of way. But he was actually very fun. We texted on and off for the next few days following the date but after about my third missile selling baby killer joke, he never wrote back. Which was disappointing because I wanted a second date just to say that I dated an arms dealer for 100% comedic purposes.

I was at a friend’s place the other night and we were picking a Songza playlist. I always find picking playlists stressful because Songza truly has a life of it’s own and you never know what it will offer. Explained perfectly when our host chose the playlist “90’s bachelor pad” and the first song that come on was Madonna. We looked around wondering which bachelor in the nineties hung out by themselves listening to Madonna. Then the next song came on which was Paula Adbul, whom I kind of love, but no big deal. Then we realized this was just not a 90’s Bachelor Pad playlist, it just couldn’t be. It was definitely a gay 90’s bachelor pad playlist. Mariah Carey confirmed it right after.

My roommate, Rachelle and I went out to mod night again. Because on a long weekend that place is fun packed. We danced our faces off, I drank cider like juice, we played spot the man bun (so many!) and then we decided to walk to Elgin street for dirty poutine. On the way we came across a guy passed out in the grass. As Rachelle went into Nurse mode checking his pulse and poking him, I grabbed his phone, lied down next to him and started taking selfies. (Obviously after Rachelle confirmed he wasn’t dead). Rachelle continued to try and wake him up as I took more photos of him to enjoy at a later time. When he woke up I was lying beside him in hysterics. I said morning lil’ pip. You ok little honey? I ruffled his hair and Rachelle patted his back and we both said, new student, bless and then left. It was hilarious. This morning when Rachelle drove me back to get my car it smelled like pee on the inside and there were tiny paw prints all over it…wtf?

I think I was propositioned while biking to the library today to return a book. A guy with an 80’s Will Smith fro biked past and I think asked if I wanted to hook up. Or maybe he asked if I had a hookah? Or maybe he was asking if I needed a hook up, like for drugs? I guess, while biking and sweating out buckets of alcohol, I looked like I could use some drugs? I don’t know but it was random. Last week on the bike path I passed a guy on way back from biking to the civic to visit a new baby. I was going up a hill so I got off my seat and really pumped to make it and he yelled you go girl! I nearly fell over laughing.

I’ve made this amazing discovery that packages of organic mango slices do not scan at Loblaws. Therefore if you get an adult at the cash they ask you how much you want to pay for them and I casually say $4.99 knowing full well they are a $10 product, but if you get a student? That’s when you really score. Because they don’t give a shit. Doesn’t scan? They just throw it in your bag and I leave the store yelling start the car because I just got a free package of dried, organic mango slices for like the 4th time that week…

Well I have officially banned myself from the library. I had been avoiding it for awhile because I definitely had some overdue books but worst of all, I lost a cd I had borrowed. I maintain it was stolen because one day I had it and the next day I didn’t. So I finally manned up and biked to the library to deal with this terrible situation. The two older ladies behind the counter were very sweet about my stolen cd problem and walked me through it. The best was when they asked me what cd it was that was stolen. The Thievery Corporation I tell them. They both burst into understated, stifled adorable librarian giggles. What are the chances the older Asian lady asks. They tell me that it is $20 for the cd replacement and a $10 replacement fee. Plus I had $20 in overdue book fines!! I go to the library because I can’t afford books and it is free!! So I walked over to the second hand book shop next door, bought 2 mysteries for $2, called it a day and went home.

So wtf Carlingwood. I know it’s always been the couch sitting mecca for the old and sick people but last time it was there it really seemed like a hot fucking mess. What the hell is going on with the vendor stalls in the middle? There was a stall of old lady craft fair items like homemade pinafores and knit dish clothes. Things you only ever need to buy if you are at a church bazaar. There was an odd table of random stone sculptures which felt very out of place and just when I was really wondering what fucking vibe Carlingwood was going for I saw a vendor stall for computer generated aura readings. Holy shit. I felt like I had walked into another dimension, quite often the same way I feel when walking into Wal Mart. Thanks Carlingwood for mesmerizing me with your weirdness every time.

Ikea is a tense place of upset Grandparents losing their shit with their Grandchildren they have been forced to watch for the summer.

The subsidized housing across the street has become student housing which indicates to me that we need to do some serious underage party crashing this fall. Huzzah!

As part of my mid-life crisis therapy self therapy sessions I decided to watch Sex and the City from start to finish. That is 6 seasons and a serious commitment. I watched a lot of it with my roommate as we prowled her POF account looking for her future man friend. I am telling you, SATC would be a completely different show if it was 5 years later and the only way to get a date in the city was to meet someone online. The show would be pretty boring;) No one would dress up they would all just sit on their couch, watch tv and click yes or no.

Quick Writing Infrequency Explanation… Let me just take a second to thank you lovelies who bug me for new blogs and enjoy reading them. It means a ton to me. This summer was a tough one for me. My husband, Hennie and I split up. We still love each other very much and I promise you kids, it is not your fault or anything you did;) But since our split the Universe has gifted me some hilarious and challenging presents. So for a good month this summer I was not able to even remember how to laugh, let alone writing in order to make others laugh. I hit pretty low, lower then I have ever remembered getting. Thanks to my friends and family who babysat me through it. I really did spend 5 days in the fetal position on my floor watching Sex and the City. I got through my tough times side by side with Carrie, Charlotte, Samantha and Miranda 😉 But I feel like I am almost back to full force, thank you chemicals, and I am definitely laughing again, so I promise regular and, more then ever, hilarious blogs as I re-start my life as a single gal. Thank you lovelies for the understanding! Alright, moving the fuck on…

So it’s that time of year again. Birthday. I can’t remember what I wrote about it last year. Something about probably having a nervous breakdown at turning thirty. Well I have decided I am definitely in the midst of a mid life crisis turning 31. Doing things out of the norm, making weird spontaneous decisions, buying a fake leather jacket and a Vitamix. I am now, on a whim, thinking of trading my car in for less of a clown like car. I have never had a problem with my clown orange car until last weekend when I was the third car down in a funeral procession and I thought, this is the first time I have regretted this ostentatiously coloured car. Nothing says I’m in mourning like a bright orange Yaris. And I was chaufferring the widow-ish. Ah geez. But my roommate got a car the other day, it’s a sweet ride and it’s a standard. I have been missing driving a standard for a long time, but after driving hers, I officially want it back. I swear I am not a stuff person, I tend not to give a shit about cars and houses and material things that make you feel like an adult, but I want a new speedy thing. I want a little, standard car that doesn’t have a 6 cd changer but a thingie I can plug my ipod into. A car that I can rev at stop lights, not casually listen to the sound of my manifold crumbling at every stop. Ok I guess I am into stuff. Ugh I suck.

For my birthday my friend got me tickets to see Jamie Cullum at the Jazzfest. We had seen Jamie Cullum the last time he was in Ottawa and he puts on an amazing show and I love him to bits. Side note- he is super short. Ok so we went to the show, I was a little buzzed as it was my birthday. I think my friend forgot what Jazz was all about because her face seemed confused when it started and I asked her if she felt like she was in an elevator she should be lightly dancing in. The crowd was all in chairs which felt odd. Jamie (first name basis of course) made a comment about how the next day was Canada Day so people did not have to work and my friend, Rachelle, yells out that everyone there was obviously retired, so that statement was redundant. She kept bringing me white wine, the only thing I could drink from the bar, which made me fit right into the old people crowd. Then Jamie asked everyone to get up and jump and they lasted about a third of the song and then sat down and Rachelle yelled that their arthritis had kicked in. It was totally brilliant. Rachelle was killing the witty comments all night! After the show I texted the boys to meet up with us and as I texted we are at Woody’s on Elgin it autocorrected to at woodstove on Elphin. What?

I hadn’t been back to Almonte in awhile. Before my appointment at the hospital I ran into Macs to grab a big water because I tend to spend my whole day there drinking Equator coffee and return home feeling dehydrated and dead. So a man with a giant beard, went out of his way to open the door for me and it felt weird because obviously I have been in the city for too long. When I come out of Macs he was taking his shirt off to drive his truck home which also was a solid reminder, I was back in the valley.
So I went to my first gyno appointment. I guess this is the beginning of your thirties? Your vagina starts falling apart? Dunno. Reading ear muffs for those who can’t handle vagina nonsense. I was a little nervous as I wasn’t sure what to expect and when they put a bracelet on me I immediately felt like a patient, like the mental patient I’ve always felt I truly was. I actually thought I was fine but then the nerves hit and when nerves hit me my stomach and bowels tend to lose all control and I thought this could be the worst day ever…mainly for the doctor about to see me. I had a wonderful nurse that I shot the shit with as I got into that sexy, figure forming gown. I bitched about certain doctors because, living with a nurse, I know they love that. We chatted about supplements and celiac and I decided this nurse was my new best friend. Then the doctor came in and asked me a load of personal questions that made me feel bad about myself and forced me to make some extremely inappropriate jokes. When the nurse whispered to me to lie back and put my legs up I almost felt soothed until I realized I could not understand how one’s feet fit into the stir-ups. Therefore I spent the next 10 minutes discussing the wrong ergonomics of it, how we needed to re-engineer them, perhaps with foot massaging pads attached to sooth the pain of a long metal rod being shoved up your lady parts. I was a champ though. My favourite part was just after I had spread eagled, I was looking around the OR trying to picture all the cast of ER. George Clooney was there, Noah Wylie, the bald guy, Juliana Margulies. But thank god someone like George Clooney wasn’t there because we may have had a totally different vagina issue if he was. Anyways, as I am trying to create a tv produced out of body experience for myself the doctor’s phone rings and he answers it. He is booking a flight for Monday to go on holiday. He is booking flights while I lay there casually exposed. It was the greatest thing he could have done. If he can answer a fucking phone while I lay here completely vagina vulnerable then I longer needed to be nervous. This was practically his office. An exposed lady part didn’t even phase him, I could have been a desk. I thought about asking him to re-enact my favourite family guy sketch of all time when the discount gynocologist calls Meg’s vag a bergina but I wasn’t sure if maybe that was something I should have called ahead to request, like that and maybe balloons. When the doctor was done he left. I looked at the nurse and said, so do you prescribe that I just eat advil like candy for the rest of the day? She laughed and said I was funny. Then she handed me the most giant pad I had ever seen. I thanked her for the small adult diaper. I got dressed and walked bow legged out of the back room telling her that I would be walking like John Wayne all day because of the giant vagina pillow she had given me. She laughed the whole way out to the waiting room. I hope I made her day a bit because scraping lady vaginas all day must kind of suck.

I drove by a sign on the highway in between Almonte and Carleton Place that read “Help Wanted – Professional Internet Person” all written in sharpie on a piece of coloured cardboard. I wondered if I could be considered a professional internet person, because what the fuck did that actually mean? That I could use the internet? Like I could open a browser in a professional manner? Sure I can google just about anything! Or did the want website stuff? I don’t know but I was extremely curious to the cailber of people that replied to the cardboard sign ad for professional internet people. I wanted to be a fly on the wall for those interviews. How do you even keep a straight face in an interview for a job that has a title that someone has obviously just created out of thin air? God that would be fun to watch.

I went out a few nights ago and after a few glasses of wine, decided it would be a good idea to own a Redblacks shirt because I work in the same complex as where the games are held. My friend who I was with actually bought it for me which was extremely generous. I texted my staff, whose husband is a Redblack, that I had bought a shirt so I would like tickets to the game the next day. She wrote back to say she had got me some. I was like what? She said she was considering it my birthday present. Amazing! So the next night two of my friends and I went to the game, only to discover our seats were 2 rows up from the field, right behind the players!! Which sounds amazing but actually means you can’t see any of the game but you can always see player’s bums so I was thrilled. We were sitting behind one of the player’s wives too and that was fun. The one things about that stadium though is if you are sitting on that South side at 6 pm you are getting absolutely fried. I practically have a ginger complexion so after 20 minutes and one beer I needed to leave my seat because I was burned and felt like dying. Nothing some water and fries couldn’t fix. I wandered around in a people watching haze until the sun went down then returned to the seat to watch the last quarter and Redblacks win! The player tat looks exactly like Thor is my favourite and I will now stalk him every time he comes into Whole Foods.

So I Saw it!!!! Magic Mike XXL!!!! (Sorry Lady T I couldn’t wait but I promise to re-see it with you whenever you are available;). My sister and I went on kind of a whim one night. I just decided I could not go one more night without seeing Channing Tatum gyrate so I called up my sister and she was totally up for it! We found seats in the theatre that was pretty full. When I sat down I realized I was sitting next to a couple in their sixties and I thought, for sure, I had the best seats in the house. About an hour into the movie I looked at Maggie and said, very loudly, not enough cock. And too much dialogue and plot. Like who gives a fuck?! TOO MUCH PLOT! I wish I had written it. Anyways, the couple did talk things out a bit which was adorable. Like he would tell her the lines she missed because she was old and a bit hard of hearing maybe? And then she would dance a little to the music. Adorable. At the end Maggie asked how I enjoyed sitting next to Mom and Dad, I laughed, it could have been them totally. So basically the movie is too long, not enough stripping, gyrating or anything. Then the last 10 minutes are worth your price of admission. The fucking hot guy from that vampire show rips it up to NIN’s Closer which made me race home and download it and reminisce. I think it was maybe less cheesy than the first but just so obviously not enough pelvic thrusting motions. Like ladies are going there in droves just to see that. Cut the shitty dialogue and bring on the dyyyeeecckkkk!!! Ha ha!

This is what Happy Birthday drunk looks like 😉

I went to get a new sports bra because I could no longer handle being stabbed repeatedly in the chest by my current one, with it’s rogue underwire trying to kill me. I went to Victoria’s Secret because I like how they have a bra expert or boob professional on at all times (young girl with a measuring tape). They also have doorbells in the fitting rooms so you can summon the measuring tape child while you have an insanely ill fitting bra, with pockets of flesh escaping in every direction and need her to access the massacre of Betty & Veronica situation. She will then scurry around to find you another one that will actually not suck your will to live. There was one she brought me that was a weird space age bra. She explained to me how to put it on then I spent the next five minutes trying to understand the front clasp then zip technique. When she came to ask how it went I told her it didn’t fit when in reality I had spent the whole time trying to figure out how to get it done up. I realized then why they had a bra specialist on at all times, you practically needed a fucking degree in engineering to get that damn thing on. It then got me wondering as to who these people were that sat around designing these breast supporting intelligence puzzles. I wondered if I was being filmed as part of a study on the average intelligence on a person who shopped at Victoria’s Secret and perhaps I had just brought the mean average way down. Anyways, regardless I did not buy that bra because it was too hard. I bought on that slid over my head and had hooks, two things I understood. Hurrah!

I told everyone I met my soul mate the other day, but I want to tell you the whole story. I had to go see a specialist in Carleton Place (it’s a blood thing, nothing to panic about). I got my number and waited in the waiting room, oddly surrounded by Harlequin romances, until being called into the Doctor’s office. The doctor let me in, shut the door and then casually turned to look at me and asked me what I did in life. I was completely caught off guard by that question. What do I do in life? I don’t know. I tell strangers I’m a writer usually, just for fun. I told him where I worked. He asked me about a particular product to see if we carried it at my work. I texted someone in grocery to find out. I told the doctor that we were wearing the same boots, yay! He looked at me and said, no we aren’t. “Yours are a fucking rip off and mine are the real deal. Yours are made in China, mine are not,” he told me. He dropped the papers he was holding and said shit like a thousand times. I was getting a little turned on. He then asked me if I had kids or plans on having them, I said no. He then asked me to marry him. I told him I was married so he told me to leave his husband and marry him. I think I said ok. I appreciated his confidence and boldness. We chatted more and he told me he really liked me and instead of coming back to get the blood work done he would get me in now. I think he swore again at something then asked me to run away with him to Australia. I think I said ok. Then he sat at his desk looking a little tormented. He turned to me and said, I really like you, so instead of making you come back to get your results I am going to give you my personal e-mail. In a month, just shoot me an e-mail and ask me to give you the results. I watched as he wrote his gmail address on a prescription pad and hand it to me. I thanked him very much as I left the office and felt like I had just had a kind of hot date with this doctor. Oh did I mention he was probably in his late 70’s or early 80’s? Yeah, his confidence and potty mouth transcended his age. When I went down to get my blood done I got a text back form my colleague with all the details of the product the Doctor wanted to know if we carried. So I wrote all the info on my business card and asked the nurse to deliver it to the Doctor who had propositioned me with marriage. They laughed and promise to bring it to him. I left the hospital wondering if I had just met my soul mate, it was a weird, hilarious feeling that stayed with me for quite awhile. I have yet to e-mail him but if I do and you never see me again, he has taken me away to Australia never to be seen again…

When my co-worker and I went to Chicago a couple weeks ago we had a moment on the plane where we realized we needed to talk about our hotel/sleeping etiquette because we would be sharing a room. My co-worker confessed, reluctantly, that she was a snorer. I was surprised but reassured her I always have ear plugs on me, no problem. I told her I saw her snoring and raised her the possibility of me shitting my pants if I ate gluten. She laughed because I think she thought I was kidding…

My roommate and I went to a bar the other day. We watched a server drop off the meals to this one table, one of which was in a bread bowl. I looked at my gluten free friend and said, remember when that bowl looked liked something fun to eat? Now it looked like a bowl of diarrhea.

We also went out to the market last weekend. I cleverly brought no purse just my debit card in my back pocket. We went to a couple of bars trying to see where the fun crowd was. We went to Pub 101 because we hadn’t been there since University and when we got in the bar it looked like the age of when we had been in there last, was still their current clientele. So young! The guy asked for ID from everyone around us except us. When we got in we realized we practically looked liked overdressed Mom’s in a sea of 18 year old underdressed Barbies. So we decided to try the Whiskey Bar because we had also had some hilarious memories of being there in University and there was a line up which meant there were people inside, yay! When we got to the front of the line the bouncer asked us for ID. I laughed and said I didn’t have any (because I actually didn’t) but it was okay because I was obviously not 18. He said he wouldn’t let me in. I looked at him and said, listen you look familiar, you are from my hometown therefore you know we went to high school together and there is no way I am underage, got it? He said there was no way he was letting me in. I was so mad! As we walked away I told my roommate all the reasons how there is no way I could be 18!! I have grey hair for God’s sake!! Bags under my eyes!! I have a saggy body that no 17 year old in the world could ever have!! That guy was just being a power tripping diiiiiick!! Anyhoo, next time we went out I brought my ID and no one asked for it once confirming the fact that I do in reality look like an old person.

I went away to Toronto last weekend to visit my friend who was moving away. It was a quick there and back trip. I had planned before I left to be back Sunday night in time for going to nineties night at Barrymore’s with my roommate. So we pre-drank at the house and took a traveller for the walk to the bus. I only ever take the bus late at night either on way to bar or on way back (this was my second time ever) and I am telling you, taking the bus is the best people watching fun a person can have!! There was a guy in the front telling us all kind of weird jokes. The rest of the bus laughed, mainly at us, because we had the joy of dealing one on one with this guy’s odd antics. There were people keeping to themselves, people joining in on the conversation and stupid good looking people that looked like Jax from SOA distracting us from fun mental health joke guy with the cowboy hat on. So much fun. Anyways, so we got downtown and lined up into Barrymores and started getting concerned as we seemed to be the youngest people in line. We then realized it was 80’s and 90’s night. The guy directly in front of us was in his fifties or sixties and was doing stretches while wearing zebra print platform shoes…he was STRETCHING before going into a club and wearing animal print PLATFORMS…we decided to give it a try anyways. We got in, they made me check my leather coat (not real) which I wanted to hold onto. Then when I went to get a drink they had no good rum, cider or anything that didn’t suck so I had a shitty rum and coke and then they didn’t accept debit so my roommate had to pay for it. Ugh. We walked up and down the stairs at Barrymore’s because I had had a lot of anxiety about going back and dealing with my stair nemesis. I had been kicked out of Barrymore’s 2-3 times in the past for tripping on the stairs, one time was because they were wet and I honestly just slid a bit but if you argue with bouncers saying you are not drunk, you come off as seeming like a belligerent drunk, so it never works. After going up and down and not tripping, sliding or falling down them I felt confident I had won this round. We went to the dance floor where it was a sea of what looked like soccer Mom’s wearing baby doll shirts (hopefully dressing for nineties nights?) drinking red wine… I decided to announce we were the youngest vaginas there and that we should go. My roommate agreed and we quickly left.

We decided to go to Babylon next door which ended up being stupid fun. Mod night on a long weekend was amazing. They had cider on tap, an interesting mix of people and awesome music. I was wearing the most non breathable clothing known to mankind (corduroy) so after two hours of non stop dancing and singing my hair was matted to my head and I was my own personal sauna. It was like hot yoga but wayyyyy more fun and with alcohol. It was more spiritual for me to power dance to music I loved then quietly watching sweat drip down stranger’s bodies. A guy outside the club asked me what I did in life (again?) I asked what he did to redirect. He said he was a writer so I said me too. I said I wrote comedy (this is my going out persona, in my head I pretend to be Tina Fey or Amy Poehler, I was two seconds away from saying I was on SNL but I thought that was less believable). He said he wrote philosophy so I went ohhhhh you must be unemployed! He said he indeed was and then I laughed uncontrollably back into the club. If I relied on my writing for a career I would also be unemployed so I was laughing just as much at my situation as I was his. Anyways, we danced another couple hours, best form of exercise ever!

Chicaaaaagooooooo

I just kept saying it like Oprah would have. I half imagined that I would see Oprah in Chicago, like she would greet me at the airport, hand me the keys to my new car and then take me on a tour of the castle she lived in then show me her favourite things. She did not. I was disappointed.

My work sent my coworker and I to Chicago for a holiday show and meeting. We got a flight from here to Toronto which had the rockiest. landing. ever. Everyone was holding their stomachs, a few people grabbed their spew sacks and I decided this might be the first flight I ever puked on. But we didn’t, yay! My coworker said she never understood why people clap when the plane lands, especially after a terrible landing like the one we just had. I said I always clap because we flew through the air in a giant, heavy, metal tube and didn’t die! I always clap for not dying!

We only had a half hour before our next flight so we raced to find a glass of wine, downed it, complained about the price and selection and then ran to where our plane was boarding. As we got there I saw all of our Ontario regional co-ordinators. So just as the glass of wine hit my empty stomach, I decided to dance over to them, sing to them a song about our workplace and introduce myself to one of the gentleman as the terribly annoying asshole that always e-mails him with the stupidest requests. He was very kind about it and told me I was not annoying at all but I insisted that I was. Then it went kind of silent so I casually moon walked out of there. We filed onto the plane only to figure out that the regional co-ordinators were sitting diagonally to us and we would have to be careful what we said the whole flight. At one point, my coworker, lets call her Sue, was telling me about the time she took her daughter to the hairdresser and was totally devastated when her daughter expressed the need to get an EMU HAIR CUT. I laughed so hard that the co-ordinators turned around to see who the crazy drunk cackler was. It was I, they didn’t look surprised. I was creating a fantastic impression of myself for these people. An emo haircut I corrected her. Emo, not emu.

Sue fell asleep and woke up 15 minutes later saying she couldn’t believe she had slept through the whole flight and then I broke the news to her that she most definitely had just had a power nap and nothing else. I watched some of Horrible Bosses 2 which I look forward to finishing some day as I was laughing out loud at the parts that I did see. The flight attendants told us they packed the wrong plane and there would be no food available on the flight. Perfect, as all I’d had to eat all day was a smoothie and wine. They didn’t even have snacks besides pretzels so I decided to just starve to death as opposed to risking crapping my pants. Flying into windy Chicago it was by far the worst.landing.ever. Everyone on the plane was green, holding their stomachs and had the barf bags out. It was so bad. It was absolutely gut wrenching. Anyways, we made it without spewing, barely. Hurrah!

Every time we got into a taxi in chicago we asked the taxi driver the population of Chicago. The numbers ranged from 300 000 to 8000 to 2 million. It was a running joke. We laughed so hard every time they answered confidently with a totally different, made up answer.

It was this trip that made me realize that my co-worker and I were obviously sisters or something in another life because as soon as we finished the show on the first day we both looked at each other and said it was time for wine. We had all the other girls come hang out in our room that night. Sue said the more I drank, the more I became a one woman comedy show with my language getting gradually more colourful. The next day we had a meeting, packed our things, shopped near the airport (bought a leather jacket!! Not real leather…) and then headed to the airport. We checked into our flight only to realize that our tickets were booked for 6:45 am and not 6:45 pm. The attendant then went on to tell us that all Air Canada flights were full except for one going to Montreal but we would have to spend the night there and get to Ottawa in the AM. We just looked at each other wondering how the fuck this happened, what the fuck were we going to do, holy shit this is such a fuck up! So I took my phone out and took a selfie of us and the Air Canada attendant because that is all I could think of to do…document this terrible moment. He graciously then offered us a direct flight on United for free!!! But it was leaving in a few hours so we would have some time to kill. Amazing!! He saved the day! I have documented evidence of what he looks like! Which sounds creepy. Time to celebrate with wine!

We went to what seemed like the only restaurant in the whole Chicago airport and ate some food and drank a bottle and a half of wine. We stayed there for over 2 hours chatting and mainly drinking. This is when I discovered I may have been a little bit of a light weight with red wine. When we got up to leave and go catch our plane I heard myself utter, I may be too drunk to fly. But then I pulled myself together and made the most of it. As we walked/danced up to the United desk a guy was yelling at the attendants there and getting very mad. He turned to walk away but as he did he came up to us and asked us how a fucking airline can lose your fucking luggage and I started dancing while singing MAGIC and doing jazz hands. He got frustrated and left but I felt I diffused the situation like a champ. I imagine all the passengers were officially getting concerned as I sang and made witty observational remarks about other passengers while waiting for the plane. When they started boarding the plane I moon walked to our seat at the very front! The flight attendant told me that I did not have a place to stow my luggage and I told her I would put my luggage between my legs and just squeeze really tight to hold it, like doing keigals, I yelled. She took the piece of paper she was holding and covered her face as she started to laugh. She eventually told me she would have to stow our stuff with her purse. I gave her my stuff and then yelled that I also had a bag with my new leather jacket in it!! When she came to get it I said, don’t worry It is not real leather, I can’t afford that. The guy sitting next to us turned around and said, you guys are going to be trouble, aren’t you. We both nodded and said yes. They brought the cart around and we bought wine, because thats what we needed, more wine. I tried multi tasking and threw a full glass of wine over my new Rolling Stones sweater I had just purchased a few hours before. That was annoying. Anyways we made it back to Ottawa, pretty hammered and decided we were the perfect travel partners ever! Yay work trips!

Hot Yoga

So I tried hot yoga yesterday. Here is how this happened. Firstly, I have wanted to try it forever because the people that do it are obsessed with it (and toned!) and because my boss has mentioned it to me a couple times to try it with her. So last week when she mentioned it and I said I would go next week, she rolled her eyes and didn’t believe me. That shit pisses me off. I didn’t want her to think I was flaky and said things that I never did. Fuck that, I do what I say y’all. So the next Monday I switched my shift around and showed up with yoga gear. We were going. I was a little worried about it because after not being at a gym for over 2 months, I was worried about being out of shape but I was also extremely concerned about how I would handle the heat. I am not even comfortable in a sauna let alone in a hot room doing weird stretches with a thousand strangers. We got there and I felt immediately intimidated, especially because the class cost $20 which was my last spare change in the bank and I couldn’t believe I had spent it on that and not beer. Ok no. I was intimidated by all the hot, toned yoga bodies and my soft, overdressed body gracing the toned people’s presence. But then when I entered the room and saw how packed it was going to be and how hot it was I definitely had a moment of panic. Could I do this? Will I die? Will I pass out? Will I vomit? Will I be never leave this room of death ever again?

To sum up the experience I found the whole thing pretty disgusting. I know you are supposed to quiet your mind and go inwards but I kept staring at the back of a man sweating so profusely his river of sweat was invading my territory. He was excreting so much sweat that I spent most of the class trying to figure out what he had for lunch because I smelled oregano and garlic so I assumed it was probably Italian? There were moves that I couldn’t even follow and when they did something I knew I had no right even pretending to do, I stood up and casually drank water while occasionally rolling my eyes by accident. Yoga has changed a lot. It used to be about the gong, the fountain, the om symbol, all about the atmosphere. Now it’s about who can shed the most liquids into a pool that slides around in a room of 30 people. It felt weird, uncomfortable and as I ran out of the room at the end, absolutely revolting that I was wading through people’s sweat. I thought to myself, the only way I would consider that room clean ever again was if they burnt it down and built it again.