This is how we deal.

You guys. This week.

Okay, not just this week. The past two weeks. This YEAR, even.

Well, no. That might be a little dramatic.

But I’m pooped.

I’m so behind on Downton Abbey that I just finished the first episode last Friday. And it was exhausting.

Maybe it’s just me getting used to spending Sunday night without Nathan Fillion or the Walking Dead, but Downton was thoroughly underwhelming. I mean, I’m not giving up on it yet, but it was a rough week. I’m not sure if I need to give the show an “It’s not you, it’s me” talk or just redefine the boundaries of our relationship in a “You entertain me while I knit and drink tea. Your job is to keep me interested, or at the very least awake. Okay?” kind of way.

Speaking of the Walking Dead, guess what the first baby  of the year here was named? Darryl. After you know who. I think it was pretty ballsy of that couple to admit to the world that their baby was named after a character off a zombie killing show. I mean, the kid has a lot to live up to. At the very least he’ll have to learn to hunt squirrels with a crossbow.

I totally understand wanting to name your children after fictional characters. Who else would you name them after? Parents? Grandparents? Friends? Friendly grocery clerks? I guess, but that gets awkward. How is the person bagging your groceries going to feel? Totally left out.

Be honest, the names you like the most are totally ones from books or television. Or possibly old elementary school crushes. My nephew’s name is Michael, a name I love, but not because it’s Karl’s dad’s name, but because of Meg Cabot. Anyway, there are already enough Michaels in this family so that’s out the window. When I name my kid Ron, I’ll pretend I chose it because it’s so nice and old fashioned. But really? Weasley all the way.  

I got acupuncture last week and I don’t get weirded out anymore when she unhooks my bra and does it up again later. Maturity, folks. I might actually name any future children Kristy after my acupuncturist because I love her so much. I mean, she has chickens and undresses then redresses me, but she might be magic. Actually for realsies. It’s been 18 and a half WEEKS since my last migraine and, believe you me, I have had enough stress in the last month to give me one every day. That’s over four months in case you’re keeping track.

I’m doing a little happy/victory dance right now. On the inside. I want to do a cancan or something. Maybe some sort of Russian dance that involves lots of squatting, kicking, and yelling “HEY!”. Yep. That’s how I feel every time I think about how long it’s been since my brain tried to kill me.

HEY!

Anyway, at my last appointment she tried cupping on my back and it left me with some freaky-deaky  back bruises. My back looked like someone had hit it with a two-by-four in two different places. Or, as I prefer to think of it, my wings were coming in. She also put some teeny tiny little needles in the top of my ears. They look like those little round Band-Aids that you put on your toes when they rub in new shoes, but they’re on/in my ears and have been for over a week. I plan on taking them outMonday.

In other words, I’m getting acupuncture RIGHT NOW. Jealous?

HEY!

On January 2^nd Karl asked me why the tree was still up. I asked him to move out, but told him he could stay when he flexed his manly arms. Not in a menacing way, but a manly way.

Confession time. My Christmas everything is still up. I was going to take it down on Sunday for sure, but I can’t even remember what we did that day except that I was exhausted when we got home at 9 and there was no way I was going to stress about putting away my beautiful, lovely tree. Then the rest of this crazy week happened and here we are. But tomorrow. For sure times a million. It’s not something you can rush, though. The tree needs to be taken down as contemplatively and lovingly as it was put up. Treat that sucker with respect and its plastic needles will never wilt and its lights will always shine brightly.

I’ve been drinking so much decaf coffee the past two days you’d think I was confused. I’m not confused, just sucking every meager drop of caffeiney goodness out of that stuff that I can without actually causing myself physical, mental, and emotional damage by reverting to my hopelessly caffeine addicted ways. Because I can quit decaf anytime I want. I can even drink it before bed! It’s just a comfort thing. A bitter, bitter comfort thing. It’s addicted to me, okay? Enough with your judgement. Who’s the one with the plank in their eye, eh? AMIRIGHT?

Go home, Anna. Go. Home.

It's the end of the world.

It snowed today. We don't get a lot of snow here, so when we do it's usually a snow apocalypse. We had 2-4 cm. Snow. Apocalypse. Last year we were really lucky and only got a very light dusting one night. This year we doubled that by 10 a.m.

Today at about 4:35 the power went out. I was excited because this meant that I'd get to go home early. A whole ten minutes early. I take what I can get.

My mom was coming to get me, so I had to wait outside for about 15 minutes. It was cold. The sun was just setting. 

My phone was dying so I only got this one picture, but this is downtown at rush hour. About ten minutes later it was too dark to take a photo. I wish I had. Chaos ensued.

It took Mom an absurd amount of time to come get me. Traffic was insane. My phone wasn't working properly and I could barely make a phone call. I'm going to chock that up to everyone losing their minds over the beginning of the end of the world. It was the perfect time for a zombie outbreak to start.

What if the power never came back on? The whole city was out. I'd called home, but the answering machine didn't kick in. I knew the power was out all over.

When Mom did show up, the drive home was insane. The power came on for about five minutes, then went out again. What should have taken no more than ten minutes took a half hour. 

People were losing their minds. Traffic was gridlocked, it was getting really dark. Pedestrians were trying to cross the streets, but loose four way stop etiquette didn't really leave any room for them. The roads were getting icy. I was so glad that I'd been picked up. Walking home would have been a nightmare, down pitch black, slippery streets.

Other drivers wouldn't let us in, almost rear-ending each other in an effort to keep their place in the slow moving lines. It was human nature at its finest.

We drove down a side street and passed a parked police van. A block later we came across a man laying in the road. He'd fallen off his scooter. There were a couple pedestrians there with the guy, but Mom stopped and put her fourways on to stop anyone behind us accidentally running him over. I jumped out of the car and ran down the street, waving my arms to try and flag down the cop. I must have looked like a crazy person, because the officer didn't notice me until I was right up next to his window. It was all good though, because he thanked me and put on his lights to go look after the fellow on the ground.

Power was starting to come on at this point, grid by grid behind us. By the time we got home it was like driving into a black cave, leaving civilisation behind us. We were only inside long enough for me to get my headlamp on before the power came on for good.

All this got me thinking, though, as to how we would survive in a crisis. Earthquake, zombie apocalypse, global power outage...  And I came to realize a few things:

First, Karl and I have enough toilet paper and paper towel to buy protection/barter for food.

Second, some people need to work on loving others enough to let them merge into traffic. I'm pretty sure you have to be a team player and work with others to survive some sort of global crisis.

And, third, not to toot my own horn, but I think my mom and I would do pretty well in a crisis. We'd make friends and gain a crew by helping people and flagging down cops. And if that failed we'd barter with bathroom paper products.

I've totally been doing my Couch to 5K training, though, so I think I could outrun a few of the selfish hoard. That or Karl could just fix us up some pretty tricked out cars so we'd make it. 

One last thing...

I always thought that living on an island would be a huge benefit when the end of the world came, but I'm starting to doubt that. I mean, zombies can live under water so they could totally make it over here eventually, and if everyone handles themselves like they did today I so do not want to be in a well populated area when it all hits the fan. There's nowhere for all the crazy people to disperse to.

I'm 85.

I'm not exactly "average" for my age. I mean, I'm average looking through and through (brown hair, 5'8"), but I don't act like your "average" mid-twenties person. I'm not a big drinker, I've been married for three years, and my coffee is decaf. I go to the chiropractor on a regular basis. I spend my evenings knitting, watching TV, and I love listening to audio books while I walk to work and attempt to exercise. Right now I'm rocking Anna Karenina. Because reading it would probably cause me physical pain (or sleep) but listening to it is totally fine.

A couple weeks ago I made a purchase I have been dreaming about for the past year or so. I bought a new soap dispenser and toothbrush holder. And there was great rejoicing. It was a huge victory for me versus the ugly mouldy and broken old ones. It was basically Christmas.

Thursday afternoon work threw us a little bit of a shindig to say thank you for getting through the big event and we each got a drink ticket. I've had an irrationally grumpy past couple days so I thought a 2 p.m. glass of wine would be a nice way to wind down after a stressful morning of over-reacting.

After the party wrapped up (at 4...) some of us young and fun folks decided to go and have another drink at a restaurant. I stayed for 45 minutes before I had my mom pick me up so I could go watch Karl's baseball game that night. It was cancelled in the end due to rain, so I took a nap. Afternoon drinking, even to a moderate extent, is a weird idea and not one I recommend.

That night, as I sat at home learning a knew knitting stitch and drinking a smoothie, I checked out Instagram and found that my coworkers were still out, and had moved onto the tequila shots. I was so glad I'd gone home. Even a glass of wine at 2 in the afternoon confused my schedule. Needless to say, I felt great at work today and some other coworkers didn't.

My point? While I'm not averse to a social drink or two once in a while, especially as a way to get to know my coworkers better, I don't have it in me to keep going. Financially or physically. No judgement on my coworkers, but my place is at home, watching The Killing with Karl. In my sweatpants. It's my happy place.

I'm also really, really awkward. It's my comfort zone. If that even makes sense.

You may not know this, but I've never dated anyone other than Karl. That wasn't my intention, it just happened. And by "just happened" I mean it was a lot of work and took a few years, but my first boyfriend became my first husband. (Kidding...) As a result, I'm not exactly an expert on the whole dating scene. I'm actually totally clueless as to how dating really works. Especially non-Christian dating.

Just to be clear, I'm not judging, I'm just not exactly sure what the dynamics of dating people that don't hold off on the nitty gritty are. I didn't understand what "hooking up" was until much later in life than normal. I'm also still not totally clear. It's just a general term to generalize any number of activities, isn't it?

Dang, I'm worldly.

Anyhow, I got to passively participate in the most awkward of mating rituals this week. I got to observe a friend ask the barista at my favourite cafe if he was single, on behalf of another friend. Did you follow that? It was like elementary school. There was even giggling and blushing. Mostly done by me, the passive observer. It was so awkward that I kept blushing about it at my desk all afternoon. I'm so awkward that I feel other peoples' awkwardness, too. In this case I think I held everyone else's awkwardness for them because my friend was totally fine with everything. I couldn't stop cringing!

Yesterday was the continuation of the awkward elementary school encounter. This time, though, I was in my element. Maybe it was because I was ready, but I think the real reason was because all three of us were super awkward. He was awkward, my friend was awkward, and I stood there basking in it. For some reason, other peoples' discomfort in social situations makes me feel less like an outsider. It was glorious. Especially since I wasn't the one asking the personal question of the guy that makes my americano.

For the first time, possibly ever, I felt like I wasn't too awkward to contribute to the conversation and that I actually knew what to say. Because lately I've been feeling like I don't know how to talk to people (and yes I just started a sentence with "because") and maybe other people not knowing how to talk helps that.

I also think blogging gives me my voice back. 

I've been feeling so awkward and out of place lately and maybe it's because I'm not word vomiting as much as I used to. It might also be because I'm hanging out with people that are way cooler than me. At work. At home I just watch TV with Karl and knit (kitchener stitch, suckas!) so I don't need to be articulate. 

It's past my bedtime, I'm word vomiting, and I refuse to proofread tonight. I hope this makes sense. And if it doesn't? I hope you feel as awkward as I do in social situations lately. Embrace it.

These are a few of my favourite things.

When I find something I love, I want to shout it from the rooftops. No, I'm not talking about men, although I guess I found one of those, too, but rather things. I want to tell people about all the things I like and how useful they are and want them to discover how marvelous they are, too.

Now, I do this out of the goodness of my heart as my gift to you. If you think there's any kind of compensation attached to this post that's very sweet of you and you have an excellent sense of humour.

TOMS

Who doesn't love brown herringbone?

I love my TOMS. I bought them in the fall of 2011 and have never once regretted their purchase, even though they were pushing $50 with a coupon. I'm not sure if they're popular everywhere else, but they're kind of an essential part of west coast living. As in everyone has them and they're amazing. We're blessed with warm enough weather that they can pretty much be worn year round. Ironically, they don't do well in water (being canvas), but one of my friends sent me instructions on how to waterproof them. I'm not entirely sure why I haven't done this yet.

Even though they don't look like much, they are my favourite shoes to walk in and all I know is that when my TOMS eventually die I'll be investing in a new pair. 

If my stunning review isn't enough motivation for you to get a pair, they're also pretty "ethical." For every pair bought a pair gets donated to a child in need. At least it's something.

Joe Fresh

Joe Fresh has long been a staple at Superstore here in the good old Canada but, like Tim Hortons once did, it's now branching out into the states. Where exactly I have no flipping idea, but according to the Twitter it sounds like JC Penny is involved.

Last week my good old home town even opened up its first Joe store and had 20% off opening day. I went after work and it wasn't crazy busy like H&M was three days after it's opening when it arrived a couple weeks ago. In other words, Joe is the best kept secret of the clothing world. 

I guess because it originated in a box store, Joe Fresh is a little underrated and mostly popular with the middle aged crowd. For the record, the designer Joe Mimran was the original designer for Club Monaco. It's ironic because Club Monaco sale items are still hundreds of dollars whereas Joe items are not even close. Sure, there's some "higher fashion" clothes that are in the $40-$100 range, but I'm thrifty and half my wardrobe is Joe so that's got to be telling you something.

I was curious how much Joe I actually owned. This photo is missing some pj pants, a sweater dress, a couple sweaters, a shirt, and a pair of pants. And some snow boots. I might have a problem.

For example, Joe tights are the most mind-blowingly amazing things ever. They are also $6. They will not run on you and I finally had to throw away a pair after almost a year and a half when they had a snag that I cut off, leaving a hole. I am anything but gentle with my tights. My mom loaned me a pair of expensive Jockey tights that I killed in one wear. My equivalent Joe tights are not only more comfortable but way, way more durable. Their nylons, however, are like nylons everywhere and not exactly what I would call "comfortable" but I have yet to snag a pair. 

When I went to the grand opening, I picked up a shirt and a dress for $19 each. Before the 20% off. I have sweaters ranging from $5 off the sale rack and dresses up to $50 from there, but I don't regret any of it. I have a least ten dresses (one was a clothing swap item, okay?) and the average price I've paid is probably $15. I have the same shirt in two different colours I bought there sometime before I got married (at least three years ago, in other words) for $16 each that are still in great shape after regular wear.

There is also Joe makeup but I've never tried it. The nail polish isn't the best, although the colours are pretty, but I've heard that the makeup is even good for people with ridiculously sensitive skin (aka me).

Avon Eyeliner

Avon has the best non-liquid eyeliner I have ever used. Now, I'm not much of an eyeliner guru but I have tried a few pencils and I always feel like I'm stabbing myself just to get it on thinly enough/properly/attractively. I feel like if the pencil isn't sharp enough to kill someone it's just going to make a  big mess (I speak from inexperience experience), but when it is that sharp it only stays that way for ten seconds and my eyeball starts to hurt from the sharp pointy object on the other side of my eyelid.

Enter the glimmerstick. It's one of those twisty types of eyeliners where it stays thin because it's not a pencil. Like lipstick. Or something. It's also softer than a pencil so no eye stabbing feelings need occur.

Glimmer-tastic.

My favourite colour is the glimmersticks diamonds brown glow. If it sounds a little rave-glam it's really not. I don't even noticed this colour's sparkle. I like it because it's light enough that I don't give myself hooker eyes even if I overdo it when I'm in a rush. Like pencil liners it's pointiest when new and loses that tip pretty quickly so you do need to be aware of what you're doing. I have other colours, and I do love them, but the brown glow is my signature colour. If I had a signature colour.

Did I mention it's cheap?

Batiste

Now that I have reverted to shorter hair, dry shampoo is even more important than it was with my long, flowing locks. Since I have bangs, it's kind of essential, but the short hair looks nasty pretty quickly if I'm not careful. Enter Batiste. I've tried baby powder/non baby smelling talcum powder to get my roots less oily on days I don't shower, but failed miserably. I could never find anything that was unscented so I always ended up smelling like an old woman. I also looked kind of like one, too, because that stuff is hard to rub in all the way.

Tresemme also has a dry shampoo that I've tried and, while I really like other Tresemme hair products (including their hairspray that doesn't stink!) their dry shampoo was just disappointing. It made my hair feel gross and like it had product in it. Not with Batiste!

With that lighting it even looks like God endorses this stuff. How angelic!

Batiste is nice because it blends in really well, even though I have dark hair, and I don't even really notice I've used it unless I put way too much in. Actually, thanks to Batiste, I sometimes feel like I can go days without showering or washing my hair. Common decency dictates that I don't do that but at least I know I can without looking weird. Well, weirder than normal.

It's about $10 a can, but worth every penny. There are also differently scented ones, as well as ones for dark hair. Personally, I feel like the regular one fits my needs just fine.

Diva Cup

Dad, if you're reading this, please skip this section and move on to the next item. Men in general, actually. Do us all a favour.

The Diva Cup is like the best kept secret of being a woman. They market it as a "menstrual cup" but I like to think of it as a silicone shot glass for your lady bits. Basically, it's safe, it's easy, it's environmentally friendly, and it's only about $40. You can even wear it if you think you're going to need and don't need to worry about dying from strange acronym diseases. It also saves any kind of awkward monthly trips to the store to stock up on supplies. Unless those supplies are chocolate and wine because the only thing that makes those trips awkward is the quantity.

The only downside to the Diva Cup is that Walmart and my drug both don't sell it but, oddly enough, my grocery store does. Karl was horrified when we bought it alongside his lunch meat.

(I did not include a photo for this section because 1) that's gross, and 2) I can't find my Diva pin that came with my cup. Yep, you get swag. What's not to love?)

Tupperware Can Opener

One of my best friends, Caity, sells Tupperware and, as a result, I've had some serious exposure to it in the last year. I never before would have dreamed of buying fancy Ziploc containers that cost more than a night out on the town until I had a connection telling me about the sales, and giving me perks for having parties. I mean, everyone gets perks for having Tupperware parties, but I didn't know about them until Caity started selling.

It's expensive, no question, but Tupperware definitely has its perks. And the best one? The can opener.

Look at that pose! I think it's trying to seduce you.

This sucker doesn't actually touch the contents of the cans so it will never need to be cleaned (unless you drop it or something) and, as a result, never rusts. Like our gorgeous Kitchenaid can opener started to do after less than two years of use. The can opener also makes a smooth edge on whatever its opening so you won't cut yourself. You can lick that sucker and be totally fine. No joke. When it's opening cans, the can opener also has a really good grip. You can spin that can upside down while you're opening it and it won't even drip. It's basically the king of can openers.

It's $40. I initially wasn't going to get one because $40 for a can opener is straight up insanity, but I hosted a party and Karl talked me into it as my 50% off item. $20 for a can opener still felt expensive, especially when our pretty red Kitchenaid one still did the trick, but since I had Karl's support I did it. It's not very often you get to buy a ridiculous kitchen tool for half price.

And you know what? I've never once regretted that can opener.

Every time I open up a can of beans I'm so grateful for a can opener that doesn't smell like beany death afterwards because, as yummy as beans taste, they smell like farting corpses.

Epicure Microwave Steamer

To add to the Tupperware train, another one of my friends sells Epicure. I'm basically a housewife with all the bells and whistles. Except for the whole, having a full time job and not actually love to cook thing. Epicure actually sells some things that are quite similar to Tupperware items, with prices that boggle my mind. In the best way possible.

Now, Epicure doesn't come with a lifetime warranty like Tupperware does, but it's certainly got some perks. Like price. Epicure is also mostly a spice company so it's got that big difference, too.

Epicure has a microwave steamer for $20. Tupperware has a microwave steamer for something like $160. Naturally, the Tupperware steamer has quite a few structural bells and whistles, whereas the Epicure version is just silicone, but I'm quite proficient at steaming veggies on the stove the old fashioned way (with a metal steamer in a pot). It may take a little while, but I never would have dreamed about buying a gadget to help me steam my broccoli. It's a waste of money.

I did, however, develop a taste for popcorn this past summer. Cheap air poppers are at least $20 and come with terrible reviews, but my Epicurean friend wooed me with the microwave steamer. No oil needed, just popcorn and a couple minutes in the microwave. I was sold.

By the time I brought home my microwave steamer I had already mastered he stove-top popcorn making in a pot. It involves oil, unlike the microwave steamer, but it makes so much more popcorn. I also found that my microwave is a little too efficient and can't perfect the art of popcorn making in a steamer. It either burns the popcorn or doesn't pop it all.

Well, one night I was in a rush to make some pasta and, feeling unmotivated, decided there wasn't enough time to make veggies for the sauce. Enter the microwave steamer. In a minute or two I had perfectly steamed peppers and onions for my sauce.

Basically, the microwave steamer has made my lazy meals less tragic and more healthy. I feel like a better wife and human being. At least during the ten minutes it takes to eat dinner, anyway.


So what do you think? Have I inspired you to become a Diva or possibly switch can openers? Or are you just too busy judging my Joe addiction? Let me know!

Kicking it old people school.

You know, sometimes Europeans do things differently. Like everything. They pretty much do everything differently. When I was on Santorini, the public bathroom was a hole in the ground with designated spots for your feet. Imagine that at the local baseball diamond here. Never mind, it might actually be an improvement.

I spent seven months in England when I finished high school. While there I didn't have many friends and was incredibly homesick. I'd spend my free weekends either in Bath or one of the other surrounding cities, visiting Starbucks and writing letters or reading over my coffee. I felt about as classy as they come. Except I was paying practically double for my drink because prices are so inflated there. Go figure.

Anyway, coffee in the UK is not what it is here. Instant coffee is the norm and people don't simply drink drip like they do here. Here it's like a life force. There, I guess, that's what tea is.

Well, when I went to Starbucks I'd usually order a latte or London Fog (once I explained it to them), but sometimes I'd go for a good old cup of coffee. Back when I didn't think Starbucks drip coffee tasted like burnt death. Well, in England, as probably with everywhere else in the world but North America, white coffee is a thing. Every time I'd ask for a coffee, they'd ask me if I wanted it white. Which means with milk. It would make sense to ask if there wasn't a milk/cream/sugar station right beside the bar, but there was.

The first couple times I said sure, just to be culturally aware, but eventually I figured out how stupid that was. I also felt like people looked at me with a little more respect when they figured I drank my coffee black. Which, for a period in my life, I did. Now it's creamer, eggnog, or nothing. Milk just doesn't cut it. Coffee Mate is an acceptable substitute when necessary.

I used to think that instant coffee was an abomination, but in order to get me through my horrible elementary school days of  teaching swimming lessons and counting grapes, I learned to love it. Maybe I thought if I put enough of it in my glass I would eventually grow wings like a on a Red Bull commercial and fly home. I think it just made me grumpier.

Well, when I got back to Canadian soil I reverted to my old opinions of instant coffee: abominable and only appropriate for my grandfather. Now, though, things are different. Decaf instant coffee is like my happy juice. I feel like a classy grown up drinking it and, jokes on everyone else, it's super easy. It also never goes stale. No pre planning, no big dishes, just me, my kettle, and a mug. And, since eggnog is not longer in season, some Coffee Mate. Mmm, dehydrated chemically goodness.

I even put some decaf instant coffee in my smoothie the other day. Nothing like a little decaf kick to make the banana, chocolate, peanut butter, milk, and spinach combo more mature.

I can now honestly say I drink it for the flavour. Like a granny. Like a decaffeinated, 24 year old granny boss.

Back to work.

I've been at my new job since December 9th. Today is December 27th. That's two and a half weeks. I am the only person in the HR department today and this part of the office only has one other person here, from the finance department. It's a little quiet.

I don't have a lot of work to do, so I think that after lunch I'm going to find myself in the familiar situation of boredom. Being bored at a new job is the absolute worst because I have no idea how they feel about slackers. And when I say slackers I mean people that are so hyper efficient they've done everything they possibly can, with a full day and a half ahead of them. 

Since I'm the only HR person her today and tomorrow I have to be here between regular business hours: 8:30 - 4:30. Hard life. No half hour lunches for me this week.

A couple hours ago I realized that it's boxing week. That means sales. I figured I'd invest in a new pair of half price dress pants to celebrate. Since my new job has the same dress code as the last (business casual) but seems to be more "business" than "casual" (except on casual Fridays) I don't really feel like I can get away with wearing jeans on a daily basis. Hence my interest in another pair of dress pants. The thing is, the only dress pants I found that seemed okay were brown tweed. I'm not sure how I feel about brown tweed.

Brown tweed is one of those things you could probably get away with once in a while but it's not, you know, totally versatile. Plus it's polyester dress pants. My monitor is making all the blacks and greys look like browns, so I'm not really trusting its interpretation of brown tweed.

My life is hard, okay?

Okay, I'm still on the brown tweed fence. I want to look young and hip, not cheap and awkward. You know what I'm talking about. Polyester pants are hard to wear, and gross ones are like wearing sandpaper and Walmart all at once. I don't care that I've gotten some decent stuff from Walmart, it's still not a feeling I want to have.

I need to watch how I present myself, what with already rocking the mom hair and everything. I was at the liquor store buying my father in law his traditional gift of Baileys, and there was a sign that said they ID under 25. I didn't get ID'd. I wanted to ask the guy why he thought I was over 25, then shove my ID in his face and yell at him that I'm 24 and he deserves to be fired for not ID'ing me. Instead I didn't.

I guess that wasn't so bad. The place that had a sign saying they absolutely ID anyone under 49 that didn't ask for my license was the worst. That was even when I had my long, luscious locks. Yeah. Pretty sure I haven't been back since. They must have seen my one grey eyebrow and though "grandma."

I guess the logical thing to do would be to tell you how wonderful my Christmas was. It was wonderful, but I'm not going to. I'm at work. The Christmas Spirit isn't really a thing here.

I did, however, discover that the finance lady working today is basically the most amazing person ever. Instead of saying "awesome" or some equivalent, she says "beautiful." It's so sincere that I want to hug her. If I'm not careful I'll end up telling her my life story just to feel affirmed. Seriously, I'd like to keep her in my pocket for every bad day I ever have just so she can say "beautiful!" about everything and make me feel better about my life.

Even though beautiful's one of those words that doesn't get thrown around too much, having someone tell you that your New Years plans are beautiful really is something. Especially when those New Years plans sound to you more like "chaotic and sleepless" than anything else. Seriously. Love.

I will now go eat stocking chocolate and pretend to work. Sounds good.

Super Powered.

Today I made 118 cookies. It was a lot of cookies. They involved 2 cups of chocolate chips and 2 cups of Reese's Pieces. They're my gift this Christmas. I'm kind of excited.

This afternoon all I thought I had six hours to myself, all to myself. I was going to tidy, clean the potty, make cookies, wrap gifts, and do a little craftiness, hopefully even fitting in some knitting. I can't remember the last time I had that much time to myself, just to get things done and enjoy some time to myself. It more or less happened, except for a mid afternoon hiccup that really put a wrench in things. I was not impressed, but eventually got over it.

As a result, I think I need to be more gracious and loving. Scratch that, I know I need to be more gracious and loving. It's always the hardest thing, isn't it?

Moving on.

Yesterday I did my second 25 minute run. It went really well. The one before I stopped a minute early because my ankle had shooting pains, and I figured I need to respect my body enough to not break it. Especially since I have no other way of getting to work. I decided that new shoes were on the agenda, but after yesterday's run everything was a-okay. Shoes are now on my "when I find time" list. It's a pretty big list, and a lot of things get lost on it.

So while I was running yesterday I realized that I have an intense sense of smell. Seriously. (No, I'm not pregnant, but thanks for stopping by.) As I ran (jogged) down the street I could smell dinner, laundry, dinner, garbage, dog poop... It was crazy. The smells were also making me a little nauseous. Because apparently when I'm running I do not want to think about anything edible or not. I just want to run.

I think the reason my nose is becoming so in tune with the smells around me is because I'm no longer focussing on not dying as I run. Don't get me wrong, there are times when death is imminent and I just have to remind myself that it'll all be over soon, but it's starting to get to the point where I find it laughable that 5 minutes of running used to be difficult. Five minutes? I run five times that now. Five minutes is kid stuff!

I'm just going to come out and say it, though, that I think my super powers are starting to really manifest themselves. You might recall that a few months ago I found out that I'm not only low on iron, I pretty much have no iron in my body. My doctor was impressed by my ability to function without dying of exhaustion. I'm pretty sure that constitutes a super power. Because, like I said before, if I'm going to lack something at least it's not super powers. Iron? Psh, there's pills for that. Super powers? You couldn't pay me enough to eat a radioactive pill with the promise of super powers. I feel like they usually come with a pretty high price. I've seen The Amazing Spider Man  three times this year, so I know what I'm talking about.

So my iron-deficiency super power/coping mechanisms and my incredible sense of smell are my current super powers. Who know what will happen next? My amazing ability to dominate board games? Who knows. I already have that power, but do you think it's a recognizable super trait? Hard to say.

Alright, my late night blogging has taken me way past my bed time. I'm hoping to get another post up tomorrow (today) but, alas, my super powers do not include an eye into the future. For that I'm actually grateful. I'd never get out of bed, otherwise.

Stay safe out there.

Where I'm at.

Confession: Blogging is not the same when I'm not doing it at work.

Other confession: I have less interest in reading blogs/blogging this week. There are only a couple I'm still reading dailyish. I'm failing at commenting, too. Basically I'm anti social.

I'm tired. New jobs are exhausting, even when they only involve filing for the first couple days. I like to eat my lunch in my cubicle because if I only take half an hour I get to go home at 4. The sun is still out at 4.

4:30, when I get home. Sun. More or less.

I did some deep thinking today and realized the difference between younger me and mid-twenties me. Younger me wanted lots of friends and would have wanted to be friends with all the cool people at work (because everyone there seems pretty cool). Mid-twenties me doesn't want friends, she just wants to go home and sleep/knit/watch Christmas or zombie movies simultaneously. Friends get in the way of that. Besides, I have some friends. Why do I need more?

Don't worry, come summer when life slows down I'm going to be all sorts of lonely and wanting more friends. But who needs real friends with close proximity when I have blogging friends? I will now hide my head in shame that I just admitted that.

I now walk to and from work everyday. No parking does that to me. I think it's going to be my mental break from the day. I also just figured out how to get audiobooks from the library. Tomorrow's walk is going to involve a book I fell in love with as a pre-teen. We'll see how that goes.

Fact: I'm still filing. The finance department is now using my insane filing skills. Yep, I'm breaking out of my HR mould already.

Other fact: I wanted to go to bed at 10. It's almost 11. I still need to shower. My new hair is surprisingly low maintenance. That's unrelated. I got distracted by catching up on a couple blogs and fighting with my computer to download an audiobook. Apparently it wouldn't go onto my phone but would go on my iPod. So much technology! First world problem.

I decided today that I'm going to buy my brother in law that hates everything and needs nothing one of these for Christmas. This was going to be our first married year without giving to Blood:Water Mission, but I'm weak. I think that's okay. For the record, my brother in law is still going to get a Toblerone or something, too. I hope he doesn't throw an ungrateful fit. If someone gave me a latrine for Christmas I would probably die of happiness. But I'd still want a Michaels gift card because I'm greedy.

I just get so tired of buying people things they don't want. I hate buying for the sake of buying.

Tomorrow Karl and I are going to finish our Christmas shopping. I'm going to wrap everything on Saturday, I think, so I'm just... ready. Life is nuts. I want Christmas to be ready.

I missed recycling day today. It's not usually a big issue but since the next one is in two weeks it might be. Because Christmas will just be over by then. And that's why I'm wrapping gifts this weekend. Now you know. I'm also going to distribute Christmas photos on Sunday. It's time.

This morning I thought it was Friday. Yeah, that was a shock.

Now you know where I'm at. I'm going to go to bed now and get up earlier than I want.

I dreamed a dream.

This dream isn't new but I had to share it. Mostly because I was just thinking about Glee.

Whether you like Glee or not (and I am officially on the fence now) you have to admit that it used to be pretty fun. The first half of the first season was kind of like television took everything I ever loved (minus space westerns and cheesy sci-fi/zombie things) and rolled it into a 60 minute time slot on television. Singing? Check. Hilarity? Check. Awkward high school mockery? Double check. So good! It was like the high school I almost wish I'd gone to. Except some of the characters intimidated me. I'm realistic here. I also can't sing.

The point is, when Finn and Rachel sang "Don't Stop Believing" it was pretty epic. Don't tell me you didn't want to dance around your living room singing along to it. Because I just won't believe you. Mostly I just don't want to believe we live in a world like that.

Anyway, I liked Finn. I know he's fictional but I thought he made the show. He was so good with the being kind of dumb (which you're allowed to say about television characters because it's true), totally sincere, naive, and kind of charming thing. I liked his voice. I guess I still do.

Anyway, one night I dreamt I was laying the middle of my friend's cul-de-sac, singing a variation of the beginning of "Don't Stop Believing" with Rachel and Finn. You know, the part with the "ba ba ba ba" "da da da da da" or whatevers? Yeah, that part. We were doing different variations of it. It was basically music making awesome. It was just us, the night time sky, the middle of a moderately well-trafficked road, and our music.

It was a very happy moment for me. Even though it wasn't real.

I hope we can still be friends now that I've bared my soul from four years ago to you.

Okay, now you get to share your weird television singing dream or equivalent thereof. I dare you.

I'm that person.

Our budgeting is kicking it up a notch. I know, you love reading about budgeting. Um, who wouldn't? Just kidding. I just thought I'd share with you that even though we got home just before midnight last night from a supplementary budgeting software session how-to it didn't end there. I woke up at 6:10 this morning and rolled over to look at the clock only to realize that not only did I only have less than an hour left of glorious sleep but that I had also spent the entire night reconciling bank accounts in Quicken. In my sleep. Yeah. And then because my brain loves me so much, once I'd finished reconciling our own bank accounts I volunteered to do other peoples'. Subconscious me is very giving with her time.

The best part of all that? While I slept and reconciled until the cows came home it didn't actually accomplish anything in the real, waking world. So tonight I get to reconcile my buns off, too. Good thing I'll watch Castle before bed to cleanse my brain palette. Hopefully.

This weekend I reconnected with my bed and my husband. Before you get freaked out, I'm just talking about sleep. For the first time in practically three months we both got to sleep past seven am. And it happened two days in a row. I'd forgotten how amazing it was to actually be on a normal person's schedule.

Mom met with the surgeon on Wednesday and she's now taking Furlo out in the mornings. Karl and I are now rotating evenings. Let me just say, starting the day without having to pick up massive dog poops is kind of amazing. 

Because of extra sleep and less dog poop in my life I kind of felt like a superhero this weekend, even though I'm coming down with some sickness. Thanks to Echinacea, Vitamin C, iron, and gummy multivitamins I haven't succumbed to germ city yet. It was close on Friday night when I went to bed before 11 because I felt like crap. Saturday morning I woke up more or less refreshed and renewed.

I'm still a touch on the germy side but I'm going to make it through unscathed I think. My yoga attendance and running schedule are going to be taking a bit of a hit, though. This is the fourth or fifth week I haven't gone to yoga but I'm not too worried. I've been diligently running so I feel like that kind of makes up for it. That and getting massages. Totally the same thing, right?

Actually, my running has been put on hold since Thursday. I ran Wednesday night and it was my last under 25 minute run (run ten, walk three, run ten) of my program. Yeah. Saturday afternoon was going to be my first 25 minute run. I was going to do it, die, then go celebrate with birthday cake at a friends' kid's birthday party. Makes sense, right?

I guess I hurt myself during my Wednesday run through too much impact on the right ball of my foot. It's all speculation, but I can't imagine how else I might have done it. By midday Thursday I was limping around the office on what felt like a bruised ball of my right foot. Sports related injury! Since then I've been taking it easy and wearing comfier shoes. 25 minutes will be hard no matter what, and limping through it isn't likely to add to the fun factor. It's almost back to normal now, though. Midday Thursday I also got hit with a case of the super tireds and slightly achy. Because who doesn't want to come down with the sickness right before starting a new job? For the record, I don't do exercise when I'm not feeling well. I power walked to work this year right before I got the flu. I thought I was going to die thousand deaths.

I already talked about my sickness. Because following a logical time line is just absurd. It's Monday, after all.

Overall the weekend was good. I got in more relaxing time than anticipated, and spent my entire Saturday morning knitting and catching up on television. Part of that was planned because of the aforementioned birthday party Saturday afternoon. I opted out of buying presents and instead made a toque for the two year old birthday boy. Which, by the way, blows my mind. How have my friends gone from being pregnant to having two year olds? It isn't logical.

It turns out, giving two year olds clothes isn't as popular as giving new borns or even one year olds clothes. Who knew? I felt kind of like "that person" after everyone else gave Clark (two years old!) toys and I presented him with a questionably sized toque. I have no idea what toddlers heads' are shaped/sized like. Apparently I nailed it. (Answer: Wider than you'd think, but also kind of shallow.) Good thing, too, because I finished a ball of yarn I'd had hanging around for awhile.

Even though Clark ripped the toque off the second his mom put it on him, opting instead to play with his Thomas cake topper, apparently he likes it a lot and wore it today. No big thing. And you know what? I guess I don't mind being the person that gives clothes when what you really want is Thomas the Tank Engine everything. It just means I got to break the bank to buy some Superman wrapping paper. And by break the bank I mean spend $5 on a glorified bag. Totally justifiable. That and I get to watch an obscene amount of Once Upon a Time and Revolution on a Saturday morning. 

(Is anyone else totally blown away that Thomas the Tank Engine is still popular? I was never big into Thomas but apparently he's been around forever. Now that's what I call good marketing.)

I also had a decaf coffee today from Tim's. Decaf coffee is just as potent to the non-caffeinated as the real stuff used to be. Without the brain explosions. I have since crashed. Is it bed time yet?

Today is my last Monday of actually watching Douglas street. Let the countdown begin.

In which I ramble on.

Me today:

Just kidding. That's me 5 1/2 years ago. That's me how I feel today.

This morning I woke up and was more tired than usual. On the bright side, it felt more like Wednesday than Thursday. If that's not good news, what is?

I also seem to have a bit of a bruise between the pointer finger and middle finger knuckles on my right hand. I think this might have something to do with my rigorous running. Because I'm secretly training for the zombie apocalypse (laser eyes, toiletry hoarding, running, etc) I can only assume that I unwittingly took it to the next level last night maybe punched a few trees in the tree faces.

Or I might have just clenched my fists a little too tightly at the dentist yesterday. Whatevs.

I also feel like the ball of my right foot is bruised. I've actually done that before by jumping in a lake and landing on a rock. It was one of those shake your head and wonder how on earth that even happens moments. Since I haven't been jumping into any lakes lately I'm going to assume that it's the running. I'm also going to assume that it's not a bruise but that my foot is just tired. So I've been hobbling.

All I really want to do this afternoon is sit at my desk, nap a little (under the desk), knit a little, drink a little decaf coffee, and eat. There is so much food in the office right now but I'm not even hungry. Doesn't a shortbread cookie with a chocolate chip muffin for desert appealing? Washed down with a little coffee? Massage my feet and I'm in Heaven!

So you know that we're going through Financial Peace University. It's amazing, for the record, and I highly highly recommend it to everyone. Even if you're like us and have never struggled with debt and have been pretty money smart you could still benefit from it. Like actually. If you're not really money smart, well, you could benefit from it even more. And Dave Ramsey's funny. Who doesn't like funny?

Well last night at FPU (as I shall now refer to it because it's a heck of a lot less typing) we were given some homework. For Sunday. Tonight is jam packed of busy and so is Saturday, so that leaves Friday night. Friday night is no longer dedicated to an intimate living room screening of Love Actually. It's going to be an evening of fun in the form of budgeting, Quicken, and making a practice stock portfolio. Sorry, it's invite only. Someday we'll be living in a house that we own which will make it all worth it. Until then, we'll spend our Friday nights arguing over finances. Lovingly.

Okay, I added a little sanity check in there in the form of a Skype date with my favourite Edmonton family. Because Calvin must never forget who we are. It's hard to buy the love of a 7 1/2 month old when he doesn't remember you. I'm hoping his baby brain does. We may need to tape a picture of us up in his crib. Our Christmas card, maybe? Too far? Just throwing ideas out there.

My boss has been out for lunch since noon. It's now 3. If I were a boss I would never come into the office except to interview people and fire them. And maybe to sit in my boss' chair and "supervise" while I was really playing Angry Birds Star Wars. What up, Piggy Death Star!

Right. Speaking of interviewing, people have been coming in to drop off their resumes for the past two days, and will continue to do so tomorrow. You know, to replace me. I should have thought a little bit harder about how I wanted to present myself to them, just to screw with their heads. Really mean? Really nice? Really busy? I dunno. Sobbing silently behind my monitor, telling them my dog just died but my boss won't let me go home to drag him out of the street? Maybe that's too far.

In case you're wondering, I've been playing the nice/busy card. Because I am nice, really I am, and I'm not actually busy but if they noticed that I was looking up Breaking Amish reunion special recaps it might look unprofessional.

My new position will involve a bit of screening candidates, and I just remembered how much fun that is. Recruiting and trying to steal companies' employees not so much, but weeding out resumes and people? So fun. People just walk in and usually right away you can tell whether they're worth talking to. I mean, it's all about how you carry yourself, how you say hello and whether you awkwardly throw your resume at me and sprint for the door or are happy to sit and chat for a minute with the boss. I think that's why I excel so much at interviews. Or something. I mean, my last two were raging successes. Thank God.

Is it strange that I compare myself to new candidates? I've had a couple people tell me they don't want me to leave. Then I have to pick my heart off the floor because it just melted. New me has some big shoes to fill. Just kidding, I don't think it'll be hard. Less than seven work days left here. Insanity.

Christmas preparing and dead fish visiting.

Okay, I am officially ready to go home and get all Christmas on our place. Except that our floor needs to be cleaned (again/still), the pile of unfolded laundry looks like it might actually be migrating from the laundry room to our bedroom without help (it's actually disturbing that our laundry might be getting a mind of its own that involves spreading out into a bigger mess and not just folding itself like I've been hoping), I have errands to run tonight, Christmas knitting/TV watching (woe is me), and possibly dinner to make. I'm also grumpy with life in general. And by life in general I mean I'm frustrated with my house elf's inability to get the job done/exist and would simply like to immerse myself in sparkly Christmas things.

But, you know, I'm at work instead.

Karl and I went for "lunch" today and had eggnog lattes and other Starbucks fare. My eggnog latte is seriously affecting my ability to cope with reality. Why is everyone on Twitter at home and having Christmas preparing fun while I'm staring out at a gross and wet Douglas street? Woe is me.

I think if I plan my life appropriately I'l be Christmasified by Monday bedtime. Tomorrow will involve sleeping, running, massaging (as in, being massaged), cleaning, budgeting (ARG, I'm struggling here), and more Christmas knitting. Actually, when I put it that way I might have time to decorate my tree, make my home warm and cozy and lovely, and have a celebratory glass of amaretto before watching Love Actually.

Nevermind. I'm going to an engagement party. I knew there was a problem with my plan.

Sunday is a bit of a write off. We're going to church, having a college and career lunch, helping set up for an evening function, then possibly going to watch the salmon run. My friend Caity has never been before. As someone who plans on being a teacher, I'm not sure how she expects to get away with that forever. Better to go with us that a bunch of five year olds and face a potential breakdown. Except it's science so she should be fine. It's a lot like going to the grocery store except the seagulls got their first. Don't worry, if we go I will take lots and lots of pictures. You have not experienced West Coast life until you've experienced a salmon run. We even raised salmon in my grade three class.

Annnnnnd Sunday night we have a going away/appreciation night for our former pastor. Him and his wife were instrumental in keeping so many of us engaged with and going to church as kids in youth group. Christmas decorating will have to wait for that one.

So Monday. After yoga and my run, of course. I'm seriously not as hardcore as I sound. Or maybe I am hardcore and just don't know it yet. What's more hardcore? Knowing it or not knowing it? Or maybe I don't even sound hardcore.

This eggnog latte is taking me in a whole different direction.

Anyway, Christmas. It's going to happen soon in my house and in my heart. I'm also thinking that I want to do a little bit more this year. Karl and I are going to send out Christmas pictures (essentially cards, but pictures instead) which is new and 110% my idea, but I'd also like to maybe do something a little craftier. I guess I'll have to wait and see because I've already kind of overloaded myself in Christmas knitting that I'll be watching a whole lot of Christmas and zombie movies to get done. I also hate craftiness because I'm terrible at it.

I just realized I also need to do some work on our bathroom. Oh me, oh my. Not this weekend. Christmas doesn't happen in our bathroom, anyway, so I guess it can stay chaotic.

If you made it this far, you're a superstar. Happy weekending. I hope you don't have to clean your floor and, if you're lucky, I hope you get to check a salmon run. Now go enter my giveaway. Because I'm an only child and bossy like that.

PS If I had a house elf, I think his or her name would be Globby.

Is that... the Christmas spirit coming my way?

To share or not to share. That's something I struggle with. I don't want to over share. But heck, today I just might do that a little.

I applied for a job a couple weeks ago that I want with every fiber of my being. It is a step in the direction of what I think I'd like to do with my career. It is a position that combines my education and what I have been doing for the last year of my life. I want this job so, so bad. There is a also a pay moderate pay increase, but in the grand scheme of things that isn't what motivates me.

I have never had a job before where looking for other employment is encouraged. I've always felt like I'm doing something naughty applying for other positions. When I got a call last week inviting me for an interview, I almost died. I didn't tell anyone at work because I felt like they would treat me differently and start thinking about replacing me. Let's be honest, I'm awesome but my job is not difficult.

My lady boss (second in command) was chatting with me today at lunch and asked me if I'd thought about the future. I had to tell her about my interview coming up on Wednesday. These people here are good people that genuinely want the best for each other. She encouraged me. My boss came and congratulated me later on my interview and told me in no uncertain terms that if this is the job for me I need to go and do it. If they need me to start in 24 hours no to risk that for two weeks notice. He also told me that if this isn't the job for me, I'm staying here.

Seriously. I almost got choked up. I have the warm fuzzies all over.

Tonight is our staff Christmas party and finally I'm starting to feel that season of love. I don't care how cheesy that sounds.

I also just bonded with the new girl over what we're going to wear tonight. God is good. It's the little things.

I'm thrilled that I work in a place where I'm encouraged to go after my dreams, but I'm also terrified. So, if you don't mind, maybe you could pray for me. This is not a job that will come up again for another year. The industry is small, and I want this position so badly.

Wednesday, 1 pm pacific time. I'll be trying to charm the job right out from under those people. Think of me?

Of clubs, running, and zombies.

Operation "Clean that Freaking House" (the working title for every single weekend of my life) is going really well. Actually, after the three day weekend it's been going splendidly indeed. If you ignore the fact that I have five loads (yes, there are only two of us...) of laundry to fold and have been completely neglecting in order to knit for myself while watching zombie shows and Glee, our house is basically clean. Clean! That means that the only goal I have for myself this weekend is to fold laundry. Once I'm done knitting my scarf, that is. That, my friends, is the secret to happiness.

I won tickets last week to seem Diamond Rings tonight at a local club. I can count the number of songs I know by him on one finger. I can also count the number of times of been to clubs on less than three fingers. Because I've been 2 1/2 times. (One wasn't really a club, it was more of a pub turned into a club for the evening. And I was wearing full out winter gear. We're talking fuzzy boots and everything. How club-tastic!)

I'm taking my lovely friend Stephanie who has, incidentally, been with me for every other club experience of my life. Go figure. She might be my awkward clubbing security blanket.

The thing is, clubs are out of my comfort zone. I have no clue what to wear. Since it's November, I am fully into the cardigan, scarf, boot, wooly sock, and occasional toque kind of clothing. Because I'm West coast like that. Last time I tried to wear a cardigan to a club I was told to coat check it. Bye bye protective shell...

I think I've got it figured out that I'm going to just wear jeans (woo! pockets!) and a tank top and deal. And by deal I mean feel like an old person. Because 24 is clearly really old. Seriously, when I found out it was an early show (doors at 7, curfew at 10) I might have wanted to click my heels together. Steph may be one of my favourite people, but I might be having a love affair with myself, my knitting, and my television. I guess Karl's around somewhere, too.

Going to bed at a reasonable time tonight is actually imperative to my weekend plans. Even though cleaning is not anywhere on the priority list (neither is making dinner, for the record. Thanks to Twitter, I now feel no guilt in eating bean dip and salsa for dinner. I am freaking addicted to my bean dip. Because I'm awesome and it is too.), tomorrow I have a massage at 11. My second, real RMT massage. Bring it. It's also 80% covered by my benefits. Before my massage, though, because I hate myself, I'm going for a run.

I didn't run on Wednesday like I planned, and haven't since Monday. I figure if I'm not feeling well, running is not going to help or go well. I need to be realistic. I'm really worried, though. I know I'll survive tomorrow's run (once I drag myself out of bed at 9), but it's my first run 5, walk 3 and repeat three times run. Three 5 minute runs. I've done two 3s and two 5s together, but I'm worried that five full days off is going to really kill me tomorrow. I'm also worried because this is the first week my running program steps it up. I stop doing repeats of the same run 3 times in a week. The next run  involves two 8 minute runs (the longest I ever made it to running before. Ever. In my whole entire life) along with one 5. Then, and I cringe to think of it even though I know it's been coming for weeks, is a full 20 minute run.

So that's what's happening with me soon. Pretty much death. It's okay, though, because if I do survive my 20 minute run I will basically be ready for anything that life throws at me. You know, like a zombie apocalypse. Assuming my immune system holds out (which it should because I take a lot of Echinacea and Vitamin C) I'll be able to outrun any zombies that come my way. Even with my slow run those suckers aren't going to get anywhere fast. We also have an impressive stock of toothpaste and toilet paper in our laundry room to barter for protection.

I think I'm digressing...

To recap: I'm going out tonight and am unsure what appropriate wear is (I even thought of raiding my mom's closet for a brief moment until I realized she's even older than I am); I am going to run longer than I want to, earlier than I want to, and do it all in the name of showering before a stranger touches my naked back; I am also going to survive a zombie apocalypse because I know the rules, have laser vision, and can outrun the rotting walking dead.

That is all.

Enjoy your weekend!

Tupperware isn't just for your grandmother.

I sent away my first Christmas present this week. That's really early for me, but Larissa's sister in law was visiting them in Edmonton and I couldn't pass up the free shipping. It was actually a present for Tim and Larissa's son Calvin (whom Karl I LOVE and would steal if that wasn't weird/illegal/something that involved cleaning poop). I told Larissa that they were welcome to open it now or at Christmas time, whatever they wanted.

It didn't take much convincing for her to cave and open it. Except Larissa is a wonderful mother. She does not open up Calvin's presents, instead letting him enjoy the experience himself. At practically seven months old Calvin needs to man up and do things for himself. These pictures made my day.

I obviously didn't take those photos, but I wrapped that bad boy up! Do you like the wrapping paper? I know it's very out of character... The box was actually a jumbo sized Cheerios box if you can't tell. I just cut it down the sides and folded them in to make it smaller. When did I get so artistic/crafty? The answer is never, but it's nice to know I can make whatever size box I need now. I could not for the life of me find a box that would fit what I got. Which was...

... A Shape-O! You know, the Tupperware toy that every kid had but no one knew was Tupperware.

A what in the what is this thing?*

It's Tupperware? That's food stuff, right?*

Om nom nom.*

This is actually the limited edition Christmas Shape-O. In case you think the colours are a little off that's because they are. Normally it's red and blue with yellow pieces. The Christmas one is very Canadian (or Japanese, whatever) in nature and was on sale. My Tupperware lady (also known as one of my best friends) informed me that never happens. Getting a good deal and buying Calvin's love combined to present me with an opportunity I could not pass up: buying Calvin's love for a good price. That's what's I'm talking about, people.

It got even better because the best part of the whole Shape-O to Calvin experience was that Larissa, who is notoriously impossible to surprise, had no idea. She assumed it would be this vest or something I knit. Boom. Victory is mine.

I hope you enjoyed looking at cute baby pictures of someone else's baby. You know, sometimes you have to blog about other peoples' children and take their potential blogging opportunities away.


*Might not be Calvin's actual thoughts.

My lips are like Britney Spears.

I am having an allergic reaction. On my lips. I'm allergic to chapstick and all other forms of lip coverage so I usually use Vaseline. If you're scratching your head right now wondering what the heck a chapstick allergy means I'll enlighten you. A chapstick allergy means that you start become dependent on chapstick. It starts off as an addiction. You need to moisturize your lips ALL THE TIME. If you don't, your lips will dry out, crack, bleed, and generally hurt like the dickens. You're like a zombie, but instead of needing brains to live you need chapstick. You're a chapstick zombie.

Somewhere in the midst of this agonizing NEED to apply chapstick every ten to 15 minutes your lips start to react. They might peel a little, but what they'll really do is swell. Like breakfast sausages. Angelina Jolie will have nothing on you and your juicy juicy lips. Her's probably won't hurt and throb and peel, but they'll be miniature compared to those bad boys sitting in the middle of your face. Have you ever sunburnt your lips? I have and the reactions are pretty much the same. Breakfast sausages.

My lips decided to rebel against the chapstick and beauty industry when I was in grade 12. Since then I've only used Vaseline and the occasional Burt's Bees or body shop lip gloss. I'm careful, though, and don't use it very much or very often. No body wants peeling breakfast sausage lips if they can help it.

We hung out with some friends a couple weeks ago and she is allergic to everything. Seriously. She's allergic to pretty much everything. She was telling me that putting petroleum on your face is kind of insane (read: SO BAD FOR YOU) so I should probably try to break the habit. Because she's survived longer than I have being allergic to everything I figured she probably knew what she was talking about so I tried to give up Vaseline. I figured Burt's Bees would be my substitute.

For nearly two weeks I almost exclusively used Burt's Bees. Sure the tube was a little old, but it seemed to be in fine working condition. On Wednesday I realized that I was started to get addicted again. Every half hour or so my lips would start to dry out and I'd need more chapstick. Although my lips actually seemed a little smaller than normal, they were starting to feel gunky and like they might start peeling, which is gross. I switched back to Vaseline and now I'm all torn up inside. Everything still feels like it's reacting, but I think it's probably just going to take a few days for things to get back to normal. Oh the joys of having diva lips.

That cussing inner voice.

I need to stop reading things that make me laugh. More specifically, I need to stop reading those things while I'm at work. And sitting at my desk. People are going to start thinking I'm insane.

I also need to work on not over sharing as much. With random people. I get a compliment on something and I feel the need to give a two or three sentence story about its origins. Or something that someone else said to me about it. No one cares, they just want to admire my pretty thing I'm wearing. They don't need to know that Mom doesn't think yellow's a great colour on me. I'm not joking, I told my boss' wife that when she complimented me one day.

I also need to be careful about what I read. Reading books with lots of swearing are making my inner dialogue (You know you have one too, it's the same thing that makes it hard to pronounce someone's name until you know how to spell it. Or is that just me? And is that even related?) rather crass. Since I find inner swearing hysterical for reasons unknown I guess that's okay. It's when it comes out in my outer dialogue that I need to watch out. I teach Sunday school, after all.

I think God might be disapproving of all my inner cussing because it's so dark in here I can barely see my keyboard. And there's a lamp on over my shoulder. I sit on front of seven floor to ceiling windows.

I also managed to pancake my pinky between my arm rest and my keyboard tray this morning. I didn't scream or yell anything in front of the UPS guy who was just leaving when it happened, but I knew, in the moment delay between realization and pain, I had done more damage than it's cool to admit. My finger lost the sumo match between the arm of my chair and my keyboard tray. Wuss.

I think it's okay now, though. Sure it's throbbing a little every time I hit "shift" or "enter" but what doesn't kill me makes me stronger. Like a trained killer. And even though my finger nail feels a little... flatter than usual I'll survive. If the zombie apocalypse comes it's going to take more than my laser eyes to help me survive. It's going to take enough strength and toughness to rip off my own finger nails and kill zombies with them. Or at least suffer through a bruised finger nail.

Okay, seriously. I just snorted at something I read on Twitter. I need to get a handle on this. I blame the darkness, it's breeding insanity.

I have also had "Hoops! There it is!" stuck in my head all week. I have no idea why, and no idea where the "hoops" addition came from. Anyone?

Okay, happy Friday, everyone. I hope your weekends are as waffle filled as I intend mine to be.

Getting it done.

Lately I've been feeling like I'm drowning in the amount of stuff I have to do. It's not a particularly obscene amount of things, but it's just been weighing me down. We're teaching Sunday school, getting through Financial Peace University and all the homework/budgeting/money conversations that entails, trying to eat, exercise, sleep, do dishes, maintain our sanity, and keep our home livable. Not to mention spend some amount of quality time together that doesn't involve sleeping or talking about money.

It's been a balancing act, and since my stress level catapulted through the stratosphere (side note: I'm not even really sure what the stratosphere really is) in September I've been really consciously trying to take it easy and make time for myself. My brain tells me that if I keep stressing and powering through everything it's going to try and escape. And you have no idea how many migraines and auras I've dealt with in the past 60 days because I've even lost count myself.

The past two days I've just been feeling this crushing sense of commitment to get things done, budget, clean, sleep, exercise, time mange and do better. Well if that's not stressful then I don't know what is.

Yesterday I felt like an absolute hobo. I've been doing so well trying to feel good in what I wear, motivating myself to stop caring what others think and wear my clothes with confidence. If it sounds cliched that's because it totally is but it's working. People really don't care if my jeans are a little too faded or if the shoulders of my blazer are a little square. I bought that blazer for $20 knowing that it wasn't the nicest one out there, but that it was the only one in my price range. No. One. Cares. And if they do they're probably not worth worrying about anyway.

But yesterday I failed. My house is too messy and my laundry is turning into some sort of swirling vortex of fury that will only spit out clothes a week after I want them. I'm pretty sure my black dress pants are somewhere in the Delta Quadrant right now. Maybe the Caretaker is living in my laundry pile. That would explain a lot...

(If you understood that reference you are my favourite person right now. It made me really happy to make it, too.)

Since I couldn't find anything I wanted to wear, most notably my black pants, I ended up wearing an odd assortment of things that are nice on their own but didn't do so well together. You ever try wearing dress pants with boots that just keep wanting to bunch around your knees? That was me. I was cursing my grey polyester pants long before lunch time ever rolled around.

Today, though, everything just feels... better. Without even realizing it our budget is set up and I have hardly any more work to do in Quicken before we're reading to start using it to control and track our ever financial move for the rest of our lives (do it for the house.... do it for the house... do it for the house...). Not to mention I'm wearing one of my favourite dresses and it's hard not to feel good when that happens.

I thought the next couple weeks were just going to be a marathon of trying to get by with the bare minimum but I realized that all of a sudden everything is now manageable. I have about an hour left of money stuff to figure out and then I can get back into the normal everyday life things. Like cleaning the toilet.

I actually have a confession to make. I just realized it this morning, but I honestly do not remember the last time I folded laundry. I have no idea. None. I think it was in September. Judge away.

Tonight Karl is going out so I'll probably be home by myself. I am SO excited. There's just something so liberating about being able to do things on my own time, how I want, when I want, and in front of whatever TV show I want. The plan is to go for a run, eat something at some point (likely pop chips and quinoa), finish up the sweater I've been seeming and maybe even tackle folding the laundry from the past month (not to be confused with the pile of gently worn laundry that is taking over our bedroom).

Don't tell me you don't get excited about a night at home, too, with the laundry pile. I know you do.

Interlude.

Thumper said that if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.

Today's one of those days.

Award winning me.

For today's lighter, happier, fluffier note, Angi over at Backroads & Microphones nominated me for a blog award. I hope Angi and all the other new blogger readers out there don't judge me for this, but I'm not going to pass it on. Because I'm lame like that and no amount of pressure is going to change my mind today. I'm new to the whole other people than my two breast feeding friends (that sounds really weird) reading my blog thing and not sure where I want to go with the whole big, bad blog networking thing. Today I just want to write about what I want and by gosh golly I will.

So if you want to judge my laziness go ahead, but do it with love and warm thoughts and as little actual judging as necessary. Because this is a place of love. And polka dots.

That said, I may not pass on the blog award loving but I will answer Angi's questions because she's nice and I like her. I also don't feel bad because she went the lazier way out on her's, too (but she at least passed it on).

So you want five random facts about me? Allez-y!

1. I get migraines. Wait, what? You already knew that? Well, my doctor prescribed me some magic migraine medicine (my words not his) yesterday but warned me they would be expensive. The girl at the counter actually cringed when she told me how much twelve of them would cost. $210. Two-hundred and ten dollars. Holy COW. The story gets better, don't worry. I have pretty good prescription coverage from work and, while it doesn't cover my iron pills, it covered $168 dollars of my migraine meds. I only had to pay $42. It gets better, though, because Karl's medical will cover 50% of that remaining balance. Feel free to do a little happy dance with me.

2. I have toe thumbs. My thumbs look like toes. If you know me up close and personal you know this. They freak some people out. You know what, though? God didn't give me ugly hands to go along with them. I'll never be a hand model or anything, but as far as hands go mine have never bothered me. This is coming from a girl who in high school didn't want to wear shorts because she thought her knees looked like potatoes.

No, that is not my foot.

3. I love me a dense cheesecake. Mmm cheesecake. Fluffy cheesecake doesn't do it for me, though, and neither does fruit topping. I like berries (not blueberries) but I hate berry topping. It's like sugar liquid goo and ruins a good cheesecake. I won't order cheesecake if it relies on a fruit topping to be successful. Chocolate, however, is totally fine. The best cheesecake I ever had was a hedgehog one the office got me for my birthday. In Heaven I bet they serve hedgehog cheesecake.

4. I have had thirteen jobs in my lifetime. I didn't realize it was that many until a few weeks ago when someone asked me. I didn't include the random few times I babysat and did or didn't get paid. That list does, however, include the one day I worked at a bakery/deli and the two weeks I spent working at a cafe the summer we got married. I got fired for the first and only time in my life. Fainting and throwing up on day one of a job is never a good first impression.

5. I don't mind cleaning my house (aka our basement cave) when I'm in the mood. I especially like to do it listening to Kelly Clarkson and jumping around. Because I'm cool like that. Lately, though, it's been Audrey Assad. If you haven't heard her before please go listen to her right now. She's amazing.

Now comes the moment where I answer Angi's questions.

1) What band do you listen to the most? What band? Lately it's been either Mother Mother or Mumford and Sons. Audrey Assad and Matt Maher have been in the CD player for well over a year, though, and I listen to them weekly. They aren't bands, though, just people playing with bands. Surprised I didn't say Jars of Clay? I still love them the most.

2) If you could change careers to anything in the world, what would you be/do? Backup singer. Or Bono. It's been the same answer since I was a teenager. Or, more realistically I'd either like to work in elections (I LOVE me some non-partisan right to vote) or in some sort of non-profit. I don't know what I'd do in said non-profit but who wouldn't want to have a job that not only pays your bills but does the world some good?

3) Describe the best vacation you've ever taken. When I was twelve my dad and I went to Disneyland. We stayed in a hotel, ate at McDonalds and IHOP everyday. Every fat kid's dream. Was this the best vacation I've ever had? I don't know, but I will never forget when Dad and I were in the Disneyland parade one night. We wore tutus, may or may not have danced with hippos (it was a really long time ago) and people were literally cheering me on. "Way to go, Anna!" I did not know them but I was wearing a name tag so they knew me. It was amazing.

4) Are you a cat person, a dog person, or a no-pet-person? I am definitely not a cat person. We had a cat named Ottis who did his darndest to ruin our lives for ten years or so. We were his slaves and he was our terrifying master that peed on everything (no exaggeration) and left poo skids on the floor every day. Now my mom has Furlo (the 100 lb dog) and, living in her basement, we kind of do, too. I love Furlo even though he doesn't like other dogs and farts when he's walking up the stairs in front of me. Looking after a dog is a lot of work, though, and I have a big enough job keeping two adults alive as it is. I like dogs, but I'd have to say I'm a no-pet-person. Except for baby pugs. Because I just want to snuggle them all the time. ALL THE TIME.

5) If you could steal the style of any movie or television star, whose would you steal? This question is hard because I'm not really in touch with the stars so to speak. So I'll say Zooey Deschanel. Honestly, who wouldn't want to look like her? Except somehow I don't think I could pull off her super short stuff and still look cute. Ah, the beauty of "ifs." And I have hair envy.

And now, since I've been doing my own thing with this blog award all morning, I figured I would tell you about my absolute favourite blog out there in the entire world written by my wonderful friend Larissa. You may not care about her blog as much as I do because I actually know her, but you might because it's awesome. She started it when she took her lovely family and moved away. Just kidding, her husband did the family taking and moving but we still like Tim anyway. Just a little bit less. No, no, I'm kidding. Tim is lovely.

Larissa's been blogging about their new life in Edmonton and it is my favourite read. Not only does she update it all the time, but she also puts up pictures. My favourites are the pictures of their son Calvin, the first baby I ever really loved.

Oh, and Tim has a website, too. If you like short stories or superheroes or really really short stories, I recommend checking out what he does. He writes short stories, has a superhero thing going on that is amazing, and also makes fifty word stories.

And, finally, since I'm breaking the blog award rules I'll share a couple other ladies (in no particular order) with you who've seemed to like my blog enough to read it: Kim, Jen, Jane, and Angi who you've already met.