I’m sitting in my living room, thankful that my cold has plugged up my ears because Boy is just a wee bit loud watching Canada vs. Switzerland in the World Juniors. I’m trying to work up the energy to take down my Christmas decorations but really think they can stay up just one more day, after all garbage day is on Tuesday.

2009 was a great year. I grew, learned and loved. It all started off with pre-teen Ivana’s dream come true:

Went to jail (well, not really).

Travelled to Newfoundland.

Got sick and forgot about the icebergs and whales surrounding me.

Hiked a mountain. Stepping in moose droppings, with a terrible cold/sinus infection.

Learned that you CAN swim in Lake Ontario (without growing a third eye).

Discovered that there is such a thing as too much pizza.

Took in a Cubbies game at Wrigley Field. Did not eat peanuts but indulged in some Cracker Jacks.

Moved to the Beach with Boy and Pennysnacks. Participated in a 60km walk for Breast Cancer research and cried a whole lot of the way, because I’m emotional like that. I’m likely taking a deep breath here, willing myself not to cry.

Had one of the greatest birthdays ever with two of my besties.

Felt like I was in Europe while shopping along the oldest street in Canada in Quebec City.

Went dog sledding through the woods on a cute little island in Quebec.

And rang in the new year with my love.

I’ll have more about Quebec City in the next little while but for now, I must recover. Happy 2010, friends! xoxo

I sometimes feel like I put too much pressure on myself and get extremely disappointed when things don’t go quite as I had planned.

For instance, this week I found myself saying, “It’s only Monday and I’m already wishing it was Friday”. Bad times. It was only when I reached my lowest point that night, slipping in the office parking lot and landing right hard on my bottom, where I found myself in tears asking WHAT THE FUCK?! A stressful day turned to a stressful, bad news day. Even boot camp didn’t make me feel better. I went home to see Boy before my dodgeball game that night and balled yet again. I know, I’m totally playing the victim… which I hate.

So after enduring a fairly painful day, did the heavens above grant me peace for the remainder of the night? Yeah, right. I’m now gimpily typing this post after spraining my pinkie finger during dodgeball on Monday. Who the eff sprains their finger with a foam ball?

Post dodgeball game, my team and I went for beers, I deserved a beer after the day I had. Beers were great, company was better but of course I could not end the night on a happy note. Did I not find a parking ticket waiting for me? Granted, my own fault, but seriously there’s 1 hour parking rules on side streets in the Annex after 6 and before midnight? Since when?

Fortunately, I was able to crawl into bed and end the night with Boy whispering positive words of wisdom into my ear, as I read David Sedaris. Obladi oblada. Life goes on, rahhhh.

Also, discovered new photo that will take the negative Nancy out of anyone. I can’t believe I’m making this public.

Me, as Dwight, this Halloween

Frightening! Peace out.

Not a premature New Years post. I promise. The day I interrupted my Mother’s peaceful birthday night that consisted of her watching The Sound of Music (her favourite movie, ever) by sending her to the hospital in labour. Best. Birthday. Present. Ever. Translation: My birthday’s coming up in a couple of weeks. I’m not looking forward to it.

Yes, I am too young to be saying that. However, this year I’m the big 2-5. Meaning, I can no longer check off that desired 18 – 24 box anywhere. I’m officially 25 – 34. That’s rough.

I’ve taken some time over the past few weeks to reflect. Am I where I want to be? Physically, yes. I’m working hard on living a healthy (or healthier) life, I’m living with a dude I adore, I have an amazing pet and a job. Am I where I hoped to be career-wise? I’m not sure. I had this idea when I finished high school that I was going to be ahead of all my high school friends in terms of career. I finished high school a year earlier and got out of college a year before them. I had two years to work before them, I was expecting big things. I was thinking I’d be a manager at some ad agency by the time they finished school. I wanted to be successful. Unfortunately things haven’t gone as planned. I suppose I didn’t account for my age holding me back. I’ve been a coordinator for 4 years and although I know my stuff and go above and beyond, I feel like I don’t get the respect of someone older, or even a male my age. Maybe it’s my bubbly personality, perhaps it’s the tone of my voice. Whatever it is, it’s holding me back. Am I happy? Relatively so. I mean I can’t really complain but things could always be better, right?

So, my post-reflection conclusion/resolution?

a. Don’t compare myself to friends (or anyone for that matter). It only allows for self-sabotage.

b. I’m smart and totally awesome. I will reach my career goals soon!

c. Cut out the uptalking.

d. Start pronouncing my name the way it should be pronounced.

K, so d. came out of nowhere. I was talking to a lady at reception this week and she said my full name and it sounded like the most disgusting thing ever. You see, most everyone (aside from Boy and my very Croatian family members) pronounce my name the English way, I’ve always introduced myself that way. Like this:

I (like the ‘i’ in igloo) – von (think von bondies) – a

From this day on, I’m pronouncing it the real way, it flows so much better:

E (long e) – va – na

Hmmm, must figure out how to record my voice pronouncing both, it may make more sense then.

Alright folks, so get to it! E (long e) – va – na! You’ll get used to it, trust me.

You must know by now my sick obsession with infomercials. I think they hideously great! I’ve found my new favourite, are you ready?

The Snuggie has expanded to the pet market. Please tell me you watched the infomercial, if not… see it below. Watch it. I’ll wait.

Let’s break this down:

0:04 – I think this is what dogs do when they find some poop. At least, that’s what my aunt’s dog has done in the past.

0:07 – ummm, looks like the dog doesn’t mind the sweater so much, although I do appreciate the voice over whining.

Wait, must stop and discuss talking dog tag. I suppose you could use it for it’s intended use, “Hi! My name is Tilly, I live at 123 Main St. Please take me home.” Or you could have fun with it, “Meow, meow, meow” or “butter, milk, eggs“.

Now, must find reasonable excuse to buy dog.

Again with the bashing.

I have half a mind to flag all of the comments following that story as inappropriate.

Although, I’m sure if Vancouver fans saw the commercial that plays prior to each Leafs home game, which depicts the Leafs as “Canada’s Team” and “the only Canadian hockey team with 6 home arenas” there’d be more where this latest article came from.

Come on, boys. Shut these Vancouver folk up and win a game already! You’re making it too easy for them.

p.s. Go Yankees!

Fine. The cat may have won more fights than I have  but it doesn’t matter how many fights one wins, it really comes down to who wins the war. I’m confident that I’ve won the war.

Penny’s scratching has been an issue for me in the past. She’s torn up the leaves on my little palm tree, scratched up one of the couches and has done quite a number to my arms. In preparation for our new (expensive) couch, I’ve decided to teach her who’s boss. I bought softpaws.

I set up shop in the living room. Attempt: unsuccessful

Alright, so my first attempt at applying the caps ended with a gash across my cheek and I only managed to clip 2 claws. I had to leave this one to the professionals. She went to the vet tonight et voila:

Pennysnacks showing off her manicure

super close up

They seem to be working, although it has only been a few hours. These softpaws may be the greatest invention ever. My couch may owe it’s life to them.

I’m home sick today. What’s better than surfing the net on a day alone at home and diseased? I was checking out my Twitter and unofficially approving my followers when I came across a strange little French man.

His photo caught my attention, it’s kinda creepy. Little did I know what I would come across once I clicked on his profile:

“What are you doing? As ivano nothing. I just enjoy to read what the ivanas are doing around the world.”

“Kisses to all the Ivanas. You have the most beautiful name in the world. la “grâce de Dieu” ou le “pardon de Dieu”… Jewish origin.”

“I be happy to talk with all girls you have the name of Ivana. My mother wanted to call me Ivana…but I born as a boy…Ivano. Funny”

This is just a sample of what he’s tweeted. I then clicked to see who he’s following… ONLY IVANA’S. What to do? Allow him to follow me and entertain me with these silly tweets? Or block the crazy?

Remember a while back, I was desperately seeking donors to support me in my walk for breast cancer, benefitting The Princess Margaret Hospital (which happens to be one of the top 5 hospitals for cancer research… in the world). Through numerous (desperation soaked) emails to friends and several fundraising events at the office, I met and (just barely) exceeded my goal.

The walk took place this weekend, starting at the Direct Energy Centre aka Exhibition Place, day one ending at Downsview Park and back again the next day, totaling 60 km (just over 37 m for those of you down south).

When I had first registered for this event, I was told that training was important. I thought, who needs to train for a walk? Nonetheless, I had gone out for a few long walks to prepare. One of my first attempts was walking home from work (I don’t live there anymore, so stalkers back off) and although I did make it home in 2 hours, I was hit by a car. Nothing dramatic that required medical attention, a man had reversed his car and failed to see me, then failed to apologize for hitting me… although the way I had confronted him may have startled him.

Team Harlequin met at 7am to get ready for the opening ceremonies. It was amazing to see a crowd of 4,616 walkers work together to raise over $11 million dollars for women’s cancer research.

I really didn’t know what I was getting into, I didn’t know what an emotionally and physically draining experience this was going to be. Those who know me well, know that I’m a cryer. And boy did I have the water works on high this weekend. This walk challenged me, it challenged me to get creative – baking over 100 cupcakes for a fundraiser and it challenged me to push myself and not give up.

Day 1 went well, I had excellent company which helped make the 30+ km walk go by quickly. As did games like, spot the nearest Starbucks to nurse my caffeine withdrawal headache and get to know you better questions such as, If you could own any kind of business, what would it be? We made it to camp around 6pm and I dug right into my free booze (thanks Steamwhitsle and Yellowtail!) and dinner. Come night, only 5 of the 9 team members staying overnight made it past dinner. We got to know each other better, chatting the night away over a few beers before I retired to my tent.

Day 2 started early, I arose at 4 am (thanks to the early birds in the tent next to me) and spent a good hour stretching out my sore feet, breakfast and packing up before our 30 km trek back home. My Day 1 walking mates had gone home (they were participating in the one-day walk), so I rejoined the rest of Team Harlequin. Day 2 took us through downtown and I was looking forward to it, seeing as TIFF is going on, I was hoping we could get some stargazing done – in the least obvious way possible. Although I didn’t spot anyone, I could’ve cared less. The only thing that concerned me at that point was the monstrous blister that had formed on my heel and had developed a limp in my step. Ack!

I had one breaking point, it was after lunch on day 2, the limp was taking a lot out of me, it was hot as heck and I had reached my breaking point. I was ready to call it quits and have one of the sweep vehicles pick me up and take me to the finish line. It was at that point that I spotted a man and his daughter sitting out front their apartment and clapping for us, saying, “Thank you!”. I was overcome with emotion, tears began to fall and I got my second wind back.

Crossing the finish line, was amazing. Boy and Olgie were waiting for me, cheering me on and the waterworks were on again. I even made it on the local news, even if it was for 2.43 seconds (click on news from Sunday September 13th and skip to the 11:47 mark – I’m in the pink tank top and the next shot is of my team members).

This past weekend was a life changing experience. Whether it was at the opening ceremonies when family members of those who have fallen victim to breast cancer carrying the running shoes their loved ones were to wear on the walk before cancer had claimed their lives. Or walking down King St. in Weston, where a loving community was very much alive. This street was lined with neighbours supporting us with a hose to give us a light mist on a hot day, watermelon slices, lemonade, chocolate, applause and even… shots of beer. Walking through Downsview, where cute Italian families handed out freezies, pannetone, popsicles and fresh fruit.

The most inspiring part of this walk was having breast cancer survivors cheering us on and holding signs saying, “I’m alive because of you”. It’s so overwhelming. People thanking me for raising money and walking 60 km? It seems so bizarre to me. Needless to say, I cried a lot, laughed loads, shared stories and am really proud of myself for completing the entire 60 km. Congrats to all who participated.

Here are a few more photos from the weekend:

A clever sign an optometrist had up for us.

My favourite team logo... so hilariously creative

Me, Tripetripeandmoretripe.blogspot.com, and another friend at the pirate pit stop.

Team Harlequin heading toward the finish line

Thanks again to everyone who supported me in my walk. I really appreciate your help and thank you for giving me the opportunity to experience this.

I was eighteen, dating a boy, T here on out, in a small town about an hour north of my house and was using my Dad’s car to get me there. My Dad (well both of my parents, actually) really didn’t care for T who took their lovely daughter and turned her into a punk with a new (terrible) attitude.

When I got my driver’s license my Dad did not let me drive his car, a large 1994 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. Her name was Beastly, she roared like a monster and had a sexy sunroof, that’s all that mattered to me. The first night I actually got to drive on my own my Dad was out bowling, I had managed to break down my Mom and went out for a couple of hours. It went downhill from there. For my parents, that is.

I was a selfish teenager who began taking the car without asking, my parents eventually caught on to my game and started asking my permission to use the car. It was great. That is, until my parents met T.

Making time to see T was beginning to cause some real tension between the three of us, Pops would put up a fight whenever I’d leave the door, threaten to take the car away from me. Not good. So what was my logical reaction to this? Buy my own car.

I had first revealed my plan to T, who loved it. I’m sure it was because he loves cars more than me, than this huge financial step I was taking. We visited a dealership in his town and I found THE car I wanted, a Mazda Speed Protege. I took it for a test drive, well, T drove since I didn’t know how to drive standard (smart, Ivana, buy a car you can’t drive). I wanted that car. I had planned to get my financing in order and come back with an offer the very next morning.

Next morning, I’m all smiles and drive to the dealership only to find out the car had been purchased. Who purchased it? None other than T!!! I freaked because I knew he didn’t secretly buy it for me, he wasn’t that thoughtful (or rich). He bought the car for himself, behind my back and didn’t have the decency to tell me. What a monster.

I promptly drove over to his place and immediately transformed into doormat. I tried to confront him but took it back the second he turned the confrontation on me. He knew I was afraid he was going to dump me at any moment, so I gave into whatever he wanted the moment he got upset. This was the young, dumb, fat girl in me (I’m much meaner now).

I settled for something similar but not nearly as sporty. A peppy Mazda Protege5. When I was signing the papers, the salesman asked if I had something to trade in. Without thinking, I had just blurted out, “Yes. A ‘94 Cutlass Supreme.” Eeeek. Not. My. Car. He explained to me that I’d have to have my Dad sign over permission to trade the car in. What the eff was I going to do? My parents didn’t even know I was buying a car.

I thought long and hard about how and what I was going to tell my Dad and every scenario I had thought up ending up with me, dead. So what was my decision in the end? I chose to write my Dad a letter, explaining the situation, leaving the filled out paperwork with the signature line highlighted and placing it on top of his lunch bag for him to complete before he left for work that morning.

I came down to the kitchen hours after he had left to find… the signed form, no bloodshed and no complaints when he came home that night. Had I finally cracked my Dad? Figured out how to ‘ask’ permission? Maybe. I’ll be honest though, I seriously thought he would take the day to think up all sorts of mean things to say but they mean things never came. He was actually ok with me trading in his car. Bizarre.

I’m still driving my peppy baby, named Baby. She let me ride shotgun through many of life’s adventures, when I got rid of T, got my full-time job, moved out of my parents place and met Boy. Boy and I love her and her hatchback and have had many adventurous (and extremely humourous) moments with her, like a happy little family. I’ll be forever grateful to Pops for not freaking on me. Maybe he knew that my buying a car of my own would make me grow up, learn how to budget and be responsible?

What was your first car? Did you ’steal’ it like I did mine?

*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.