Anger Management August 28, 2009

*If you have a sensitive stomach and enjoy pesto, please consider losing your love for pesto after reading this entry. I will not be held responsible for those who can no longer eat pesto.

I have a problem. I can be really negative. Negativity has begun to consume my life. I find I’m always complaining about something or someone and I can’t stop myself.

I had a breakdown and cried to Boy a whlie ago. I went on and on about how I wanted so and so to change, this and that to change, everything needed to change… but me. He suggested I look at my situation and grab hold of issues I can control. Reluctantly, I took inventory of the issues at hand: People, I cannot control how people act, so not something I can control. Things (aka work), I cannot control what goes on at my company. Me, I have total control over me.

Now that I knew what I could control, I tried to come up with ways to change. It’s tough. I mean, when someone or something irks me, how am I supposed to change my reaction to something other than my natural reaction (anger, complaints, general blahness)? I thought maybe I could have a go-to song that I’ll play on my iPod when I’m upset. This didn’t work. I hate that song now. Early one morning, I unexpectantly woke up to my solution…

First, some background. There’s a boy on my street (my old street that is… Roomie still lives there so I run into him from time to time) that I really just can’t stand. His hair upsets me and his squeaky, lady-like, projected voice makes me cringe. It also doesn’t help that he’s always around.

On this specific morning, I woke up at 5am to someone shouting in the neighbours backyard. It was annoying boy I don’t like. I sat in bed trying to make out what he was screaming.

“Make sure you cook the penne just right!”

I thought to myself, is he talking in his sleep? I didn’t hear anyone elses voice and what 13 year old (boy, at that) is cooking penne at 5am? He then shouted (stop reading now if you love pesto),

“I don’t want the tomato sauce, cook it with the shit diarrhea sauce”

“Shit diarrhea sauce!”

“Shit diarrhea sauce!”

“Shit diarrhea sauce!”

“Shit diarrhea sauce!”

This went on for a good 30 minutes before it suddenly went silent.

Now how is this the solution to my negativity issue? Well, every time I’ve seen that boy since, I can’t help but laugh. Laughing is better than crying or complaining  or hating, n’est pas?

Now if only my nemesis were a sleep talker.

Lame August 27, 2009

Lame billboard in B.C. poking fun at Torontonians:

Photo courtesy of Kathryn Morton

Even lamer retaliating Bud Light billboard, showing B.C. posers that we care:

Photo courtesy of Ian S.

The result? Beerboard fight from one coast of the country to the other. They say: Torontonians are cold, think their province is the best in the country when really they’re the ‘have-not’ province right now. We I say: Quiet posers! Winter’s approaching, shouldn’t you be hitting the tanning beds with your boarding goggles? So you can show tourists that you’re the king of the Rockies (this tidbit was shared by a B.C. resident).

Issues aside, these ads don’t make these beers taste any better, they still suck.

The Mystery of the Missing Book Collection August 24, 2009

It’s official! I’m in my new place! I’ve spent the last week unpacking and organizing and last night Boy and I unpacked our last boxes.

Up until last night, the office was a complete disaster. The only room you couldn’t walk into, was cluttered with boxes and a total eyesore. We didn’t realize how many books the two of us had collected over the course of our lives and just didn’t have the space for it all. So last night we purged. Our unwanted/less important/don’t make us look smart books.

I came across my collection of Trixie Belden books. Back in the time when the majority of my friends were into Nancy Drew, The Hardy Boys and Sweet Valley High, I dug my nose into Trixie Belden mysteries. My aunt had read them as a young girl and stumbled upon them at a second-hand store when I was but 11 years old. I fell in love with these books. They were clever, quick, and fun. Much better than that Nancy girl (ironically, that’s my aunt’s name).

An old cubemate of mine enjoyed this series as well and even purchased this adorable Christmas tree (see 3rd from top) for me a few years back. And once, when my life was turned upside down and I had an unwelcomed visit from and Green-Eyed Girl, we made this:

This website allows you to create your own Trixie cover. I still have this baby in my cube today.

I swear I had the majority of the published collection but when I was sorting through them last night, I found that somehow my collection had dwindled down to a mere 12 books (and not in order of publication!). I’m on this case and will find out what happened to my missing books – or just find them on ebay or convince Roomie’s (awww, ex-Roomie) boyfriend’s Mom to give up the collection in her basement. Regardless, the Mystery of the Missing Book Collection will be solved.

My First Time August 7, 2009

Disclaimer: I’ve taken some time to write some short stories, so just so you know, this story is real(ish), exaggerated to give the impression that I lead a fairly exciting life.

I tuned in to an episode of That 70’s Show that centered on the first time Eric went errr numero deux at Donna’s house. It got me thinking, have I ever had that first time with a BF? It’s a big step to be able to toot or numero deux with someone close by. You have to have a very high level of comfort (or not a care in the world) to expose yourself and not worry of any insults that may be headed your way.

Up until now, I’ve told past BF’s that I don’t do that because, like, you know, girls don’t have butt holes. I guess it’s time to come to terms with the truth. My first time…

It was my 20th birthday, I met my boyfriend of 2 years at his house, where he gave me my birthday gift. Excited to start the night off right, I hurriedly unwrapped the girl (rather, pulled it out of the bag) and what did I find? A lame cordless phone. 2 years and that’s the best you could do? He asked what was wrong and I just shrugged it off blaming illness for my attitude.

Frustrated, I asked, “Where are we going for dinner?”. Bracing myself for his response – meals out usually consisted of 2 can dine for $9.99 at McDonalds, explains why I got so fat within that 2 year span – he says, “Hunter’s Tavern”. This is the type of place you meet your buddies for a beer, not a place you take your girlfriend for her birthday dinner. The walls are decorated with wild animal heads, there’s rustic wood everywhere and the menu reads fried everything. I was a 20-year-old-suburban-girl-trying-to-impress-a-boy-and-convinced-herself-that-she-could-live-in-the-country, so I really didn’t know any better.

I ordered the chicken parmesan, a large enough to feed a 500-lb man, far too heavy for my sensitive stomach. Immediately upon completion, I felt bad. Really bad. Fortunately, my crappy gift had me feeling crappy and I had already began to feign illness. Phew. Now just to remind him that I wasn’t feeling well.

We arrive at his house to watch a movie and I had to go, I tried to wait out but there was no stopping this high carb/high fat/high fried/high sauced/cheese covered meal. No way, no how.

I casually head downstairs, to the washroom. It’s a rickety old room, the floor is falling apart and I have to balance myself on the toilet. It’s resting on one of the support beams and when I look at the “floor” I can see into the basement, which is more of a mudroom. I’m working up the courage to do this and my confidence is shaken by a noise. I realize that his brother (who’s room is sharing the bathroom wall) is likely to hear this all go down. I do what, I think at the time, is the most logical thing… I make pukity puke puke noises as I get down to business, covering up for my bowel movement. Oye.

I think I overdid it, I hear a knock at the door and BF’s mom asks if I’m alright. Shit, I’m caught! I quickly rummage through my purse and dig out a pack of matches and light as many as I can and throw them down the toilet. I wash my hands, open the door and am greeted by the entire family with very concerned faces – BF, Mom, Dad and brother. I turned to BF and said, “Thanks for dinner. I’m going home.” Off I went on my hour long ride home through the bush.

It was never brought up again. Phew.