Wednesday, April 17, 2013

The Disappointing Pillow Story

You know what makes me feel like an adult? Buying things that aren't toys, books, clothing, food, or drink. Buying towels makes me feel mature, particularly if they are somewhat soft. Purchasing pillows makes me feel responsible, like an important member of society.

About a month ago I started hating my pillow. It was getting squishy and uncomfortable. Jealous, I asked le Boyfriend where he had acquired his glorious pillow of heavenly firm cloud poofiness. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure where it had come from as it was given to him by, SIGH, an ex-girlfriend, but he suspected Costco. (Note: he may had just told me Costco so I would stop asking questions about his pillow.) This troubled me. Not because it came from a former girlfriend, but because we don't have a Costco in PEI and I don't have a membership should I come across a Costco in my travels.

What is a lady to do?

So le Boyfriend and I decided to go pillow shopping. We went to Bed Bath & Beyond as pillows are generally associated with beds. We thought, "Let's splurge!" Instead of buying a $25 pillow that will last for a year, let's buy an awesome pillow that will survive the duration of our love (i.e., ETERNAL/FOREVER/OMG). Such a pillow would be an investment, but one that would bring us happy sleeps for years to come.

We wandered about the store, squishing pillows and trying to test them while standing up. We decided on the Brookstone BioSense Memory Foam Shoulder Pillow with Better Than Down® Cover (copy and paste party!). It even came in a box with a carrying handle - that's fancy, guys.

BONUS: Le Kitty likes to play in the box.

Unfortunately, breaking news: we bought the worst, most overpriced pillow ever. At first it seemed a bit thick, but one thinks, "The memory foam will 'break in' and remember the desires of my head and neck."

It doesn't.

If two people are snuggling or sleeping closely on the one large pillow, the weight of both heads makes it somewhat bearable. If one had extremely wide shoulders, this pillow would likely be fine. For me, it is so thick that my chin basically touches my shoulder. I tried to put le 10-lb kitty on it to flatten it out, but it was too thick in the middle and he fell off. He was not impressed and pranced away.

On the plus side, the pillow is wonderful to sit on when sitting on the floor. I'm also doing an experiment now as the pillow is essentially two parts: a foam pillow on the inside and a removable down pillow case/cover. I pulled out the foam pillow and stuffed my old floppy pillow in the cover. An improvement, but I still wish I could return the pillow.

Moral of the story: when pillow shopping, take the pillow to the bed section of the store and have a wee lie-down with the pillow. If you feel your heart erupting with butterflies, you have made the right decision. If you find yourself confused and becoming increasingly annoyed with the store's lighting, select a new pillow. Then repeat until the first reaction takes place. If you get stern looks from floor staff, know it's only because they are jealous of your wisdom and have made the mistake of purchasing a terrible pillow in the past.

Monday, April 15, 2013

Part I: Vacation! (An old one.)

Last year I went on vacation!

Not really surprising given I would probably give up many luxuries in favour of travelling. The upside of taking on as little responsibility as possible in the form of permanent housing, offspring, money sucking investments, etc., is that I've been very fortunate to travel to many wonderful places with friends, family, or solo.

This past November, a friend and I booked the ultimate family vacation (except we aren't family and we don't have any children) and went to Florida, followed by a cruise, followed by more Florida. I told myself, "I'm going to make brief notes on vacation so when I come back I can write a hilarious trip report, be loved by internet dwellers, and have a lovely record for years to come."

What I actually did was write a few notes about Belize on a Carnival Cruise provided notepad while napping by the pool. I then put that notepad in a book. So I have one day of notes, shoved into a book. I'm not 100 percent sure where that book is and, of course, I never wrote a humourous trip report that was to be a launching pad to my getting-paid-to-write-on-the-internet career.

So, in the interest of at least partially meeting a portion of my goal, here is a "brief" (I'm never brief! except in height) summary of Vacances du novembre, 2012. Or, since we were in Spanish speaking land, Vacacione de noviembre 2012.

Note: this is long and detailed. When finished, I'll add links so you can jump to whatever part might interest you most should you be looking for something specific. So far we have:

November 5 - Arrival
November 6 - Universal Studios
November 7 - Disney & Charlene's Birthday

Monday, November 5 - Arrival

"Up" with vacation!
Vacation! Lovely Boyfriend dropped me off at the airport at the beautiful hour of 5:00 am. I went through security and sat in a wee daze and realized I had forgotten my Disney World pass at home due to a last minute purse change. Luckily my parents get rickets if they don't go to Florida at least twice a year and were going to be arriving a week after me and would deliver my pass to our final accommodation. Annoying problem, simple solution. My parents saved me $100, and a lot of self scolding.

Upon arriving in Orlando, I took public transportation to a friend's house as, apparently, I'm still a backpacker at heart, i.e., frugal. (Quote friend who didn't know a public bus went by his house, "You know we have taxis, right?")

After eventually finding the door into his building (I got lost in the parking garage! Come travel with me! I'm so fun and responsible!), I ditched my luggage, changed into appropriate clothing, and took a short cut to a main bus hub for a late afternoon, public-transit adventure. My "short cut" indeed saved time, but involved walking on Orlando grass. The grass was weird and crunchy, as Orlando grass is. The road didn't have a sidewalk because trying to walk somewhere in America, outside of downtown cores, is hilaaaarious. LOOK AT YOU ON YOUR FEET! WALKING! LOLZ. WHERE IS YUR TRUK?

I took the public bus to Downtown Disney and ate at Earl of Sandwich, which is one of the not-well-kept secrets of a successful Disney vacation. I don't remember what I had, but it's safe to assume it was delicious and worthy of a high five.

Early supper was followed by a walk, contact with Host du jour, and an adventure to an outlet mall to find and surprise my co-traveller. It wasn't really that surprising though, since she knew I was arriving that day and would be meeting up with her later. A better surprise would had been dressing up in a bear suit, ambushing her, and tossing a delicious key lime pie her face. Surprise! Now you don't love me anymore.

Host Derek picked us up in the Lake Buena Vista's worst parking lot, and we went to a bar that somehow manages to squeeze by the smoking laws of Florida and allow smoking indoors. Although we smelled terrible afterwards, there is something very special about buying chilli nachos, a couple of beers, leaving a tip, giving the government its required tax, and having it cost only $15 instead of, like, $30 at home. Those are the memories that last a lifetime. Oh, and happy times with friends/ohana (less a missing member) who live far away. That is also memorable.

Tuesday, November 6 - Universal Studios

Harry Potter-land day!

Derek dropped Charlene and I off at Universal Studios before work because "chauffeur" is listed as a special talent on his resume. (He's so good at it!) Charlene is a travel agent and had acquired a free, multi-park ticket for Universal! I took advantage of her travel agent skills and got a slightly discounted single-park ticket.

Who will win the triwizard tournament?
The Magical Wizarding World of Harry Potter at Islands of Adventure at Universal Studios (to be called HP-land from now on), opened in 2010 and I had not yet visited. I had seen photos of it and it did indeed look rather impressive.

Surprise! It was impressive and a lot of fun. HP-land is set around the timing of book four in Hogsmeade. The addition of this land seems to have improved the park as a whole. Charlene and I looked at each other confused at one point wondering, "When did Universal employees get so nice?" Everyone we met was super friendly, helpful, and other positive adjectives. Apparently they now receive more training than Disney cast members. Additional plus side: HP geeks (and I use the term 'geek' lovingly) now get to live their dream by wearing wizard robes to work, selling wands, and claiming to be the conductor of the Hogwarts Express. Being a HP geek in Orlando pays (probably about $8.50/hr).

The park wasn't very busy, which is nice. Even the main HP attraction "Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey" had a line of only 20 minutes. We really should had rode it twice, I have no idea why we went on it only once. Most other rides had lines of 0 - 10 minutes. Wanna have a theme park heavy Orlando vacation? Go in early November. Weather was still mostly pleasant and crowds were minimal.

Other important Universal things that happened: I think Cyclops tried to hit on me. We also met Popeye and Olive Oil who are, perhaps, among the most entertaining character I have ever come across. Charlene and I watched the Sinbad stunt show as she had never seen it before. After finally experiencing this attraction, there is a good chance she'll never need to experience it again.

Post park, Charlene and I went to Bahama Breeze, a required stop for me when in select US states.

Wednesday, November 7 - Walt Disney World

A special day - Charlene's birthday! I gave her the most precious PEI gift of them all - chocolate covered potato chips. We also received a precious Florida gift - free entry to Disney! Hurrah for still having cast member friends! We were delivered to Epcot and jaunted off to Soarin' so we could smell orange groves. Since we were in the area, we went on Living with the Land. Line length? Six people. High five.

This turtle agrees that it is a big blue world.
We backtracked and went to The Seas with Nemo and Friends. Wait time: the length of time it took to travel through the queue to our seashellmobiles. This ride makes me smile, and also makes me hum "Big Blue World" for the next two hours. Sort of. I know, like, three words of the song: big, blue, and world. Then I just make musical noises when the other lyrics pop up.

Also awesome in The Seas pavilion? The sharks and turtles. More wonderful? The manatees! So large and gentile! They were floating about in their tank eating romaine lettuce. So, question, how much lettuce would one have to have per day when you weight over 1,000 lbs? A lot.

We eventually thought, "Hey, maybe we should do something else other than watch injured turtles and manatees float around and eat?" So we went on the Imagination ride (wait time: 30 seconds).

More hurrah for the day: it was Food and Wine Festival time! It holds a special place in my heart since I was one of the few (not bragging, pretty sure the selection was completely random) people who got to work at the Canada F&W kiosk. There I worked absurdly long hours, met wonderful people, somewhat got over my fear of hot things (although I turned out to be Health & Safety right when I correctly said the soup was too hot), and ate waaaay too much fudge and salmon. Also determined I am the only person who does not like the "famous" cheese soup.

We walked through Mexico and saw Donald (!) et sus amigos. When I was wee, I never had a chance to get my picture taken with Donald. It was like he had retired, was on strike, or was backstage suffering from a protein spill every, single, time. Now every time I see Donald somewhere I get giddy and HAVE to get a picture with him because I didn't as a tween/teen. Despite the fact that after 13 months of living at Disney World I have numerous pictures, you really can never have too many pictures with Donald.

Donald et sus amigas

I had my usual over-the-top debate in Germany about spending my life's savings on chocolate bars and eventually talked myself out of it. I would be eating lunch soon (and appetizer-ing on F&W food) and the chocolate bar would probably just melt in my bag, even though it was probably wasn't even 20C that day.

Fake Hawai'i
I didn't get much at the F&W festival, but I did have the Kalua Pork Slider with Sweet and Sour Dole Pineapple Chutney and Spicy Mayonnaise from Hawai'i (Hi, copying and pasting from the Internet). It was delicious and I probably annoyed Charlene by talking about it for the next thirty minutes. How I wanted to skip lunch, eat four of those instead, and then roll around in the fountain being all full of deliciousness. I can't even write this paragraph without making some sort of noise of desperate hunger even though I'm not hungry.

(Note: after looking back at Charlene's pictures I am reminded that I also had a perogie from Poland. Clearly it was not overly memorable. You really can't win when competing with Hawai'i.)

Instead of eating thirteen more pork sliders, we waited in a curiously cold queue to ride Spaceship Earth - the longest line of the day,15 entire minutes. More high five for short lines! The ride remains a favourite and brings forth happy childhood memories. It's also good for closing ones eyes for a rest at the end of the ride, although it can be startling when you suddenly panic and must rush to exit your wee space car.

Post Spaceship Earth, we departed and headed to the Disney Vacation Club portion of the Animal Kingdom Lodge. There, it was time to check another restaurant off Charlene's list: Sanaa. Although located in an African-inspired resort, the food there definitely skews Indian. Some random explanation is given on the top of the menu as to how Indian food totally belongs in an African theme resort. Regardless of awkward geography, the food was good, but I feel no better than your average Indian restaurant. However, not available at your average Indian restaurant? The opportunity to sit outside in rocking chairs and watch animals roam while waiting for a table. It was critical to sit in the sun due to the surprising dash of cold in the African/Indian air.

After lunch we had a very special destination: the Magic Kingdom with an intention of getting into a New Fantasyland sneak preview.

First we wandered through refurbed/repainted former Mickey's Toontown Fair, part of the New Fantasyland but not really that new. Not having children, the area doesn't really hold much interest. For some reason, Charlene and I separated briefly at this point. I think we were both tired and needed a solo wander. It didn't really last long though as we basically ended up taking different routes to the exact same destination and were excited to see each other again.

Solo, I decided to wander to "real" New Fantasyland. There was a rope up, with a cast member keeping
Cutest Ariel Ever
watch as people walked in. I rattled off in my brain the various means I would take to ensure I would get in. In the end, I just walked in along with everyone else. I had been completely mislead by the promotion of the Beast's castle. I thought it would be large and accessible, but it was actually placed on top of a 'mountain' in the forced perspective distance. The base of the mountain housed Be Our Guest restaurant, which was not yet open. Then, magic happened. I can't recall if we saw Gaston leaving, or if we saw his character handler waiting, but we were told he would be returning in a half hour. We became giddy. Sure he's a vain villain and we aren't supposed to like him, but he's so much more fun to meet than, say, Cinderella. (BORING.) We went to the new Little Mermaid ride. After looking up it's actual name, apparently it's "Under the Sea: Journey of the Little Mermaid". Despite The Little Mermaid having many memorable songs, I found myself humming "My Heart Will Go On" in the queue. Apparently anything to do with a shipwreck is now copyright Celine Dion.

The ride was good, but given we had already been on the Finding Nemo ride earlier that day, it almost seemed like a clone of that ride. We're in seashells! We're under water! SONGS! That being said, easily the worth the, like, four-minute wait. We also met Ariel afterwards, which turned to be very important as she was the cutest Ariel ever. Charlene and I contemplated bringing her to Key West with us. Unfortunately this was Mermaid Ariel (pre legs) so it would had been difficult logistically.

Gaston has unique taste in his decorations
We still had minutes to kill pre-Gaston, so we went to the merch shop and Gaston's Tavern for some browsing. Many photo ops and lots of new merchandise! The tavern was selling Disney's new drink (clearly inspired by Harry Potter's butterbeer) "Lefou's Brew". Charlene got one and I got a cinnamon sticky bun thing. The sticky bun thing smelled way better than it tasted, though it was still easily edible. The brew was good, quite sweet, and would taste excellent with a dash of vodka or amaretto.

We wandered back outside and got in line to meet Gaston. Not surprisingly, the line was mostly giggling women. We fit in very well.

Gaston emerged with much excitement! He also wandered around trying to build up more attention before tending to the line of giggling women. He walked into his tavern to declare his presence, stopped to check his reflection in a window, and posed a few times. People were walking up to him to get his photo and autograph, and the many women in line started to stress. "WHY ISN'T HE COMING OVER HERE?"

Because he's Gaston, and inconsiderate of your feelings.

Eventually he did come over and he was great fun to meet. I kept looking at his chin trying to figure out how much was real and what was make-up, but I couldn't tell. (I may had been busy giggling.)

Charlene has much better photos with Gaston than I. Self portrait!

And that's the end of the most important things that happened that day. The rest is less stand out. I believe we went to the Haunted Mansion, Pirates of the Caribbean  and I'm pretending Charlene bought a dolewhip even though I don't think she did. My memory was giggled out, I suppose.

So then Derek picked us up and we drove to Miami. End part one.

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Welcome home, Cuddly friend.

Recently le Boyfriend and I adopted a cat/borderline kitten from the Humane Society in Charlottetown. He was just a day shy of six months old when we adopted him and cats under 6 mos are considered to still be kittens. However, he weighed over 8 lbs at the last point they had weighed him at the Humane Society, so he isn't kitten-ish in the sense you sometimes grunt with surprise at his weight when you pick him up.

"My physique is purr-fect."

After le Boyfriend and I tried to come up with a name for Cuddly Creature, I now realize why humans have gestation periods of around nine months: to give adequate time to choose a name (and to allot for adequate time for the fetus to properly develop into a mini person, I suppose). So far, not-so-wee kitty has had the following names:

  1. I forget the first one, it started with zed. Ziko? It didn't really work because I could never remember it.
  2. The Red Baron. Dropped because it's hard to call for your cat when his name starts with 'the'. "Here, The Red Baron! Come here!". Although it does do well for other things, "The Red Baron scratched me pretty good."
  3. Klaus: The Red Baron. Dropped because Boyfriend got tired of it and people looked confused when I told him Kitty's name. However, this helped Kitty develop a hilarious Arnold Schwarteneger like accent when we pretended to speak for him. "Mummykins, the zoo called and they want their lion back."   See? Read it in an over-the-top Austrian accent and pretend it's being said by a giant, smug, orange kitten. It becomes HILARIOUS.
  4. Wylie. Dropped because I never called him that anyway and Boyfriend kept calling him Willie.
  5. Willie. Changed because of too many penis comments.
  6. Michu. Still his current name. Success!
Bath tub = Excellent hiding
place for hunting
Despite all this, mostly I call him Little Bear or Beast. Or, usually when returning home after work and finding things out of place or partially destroyed, Destructive Kitty. In a related note, if you come to our apartment and can't find the toilet paper, it's in the cupboard above the toilet where wee paws are less tempted to unroll the entire thing.

And now, some kind words about the Humane Society. Erin, the (I think) adoption counselor, was super nice on the phone when I chatted to her initially about adopting "Butterscotch". I submitted my online application shortly after and she called me back within a couple of hours. Le Kitty was mine! This was on a Friday, and we had an appointment to pick him up the following Tuesday. This gave us some time to purchase supplies and kitten-proof our apartment. On Saturday, I went into the Humane Society to play with "Butterscotch" and determined he was The World's Greatest Kitty. How lucky were we?! Note: I may had been biased due to new-family-member excitement. I also felt guilty for not adopting all of the cats, particularly one that I had played with a couple of weeks prior. Luckily she's adopted now, so kitty high five to her. Phew.

When le Boyfriend and I picked up Michu, Erin gave us lots of information and told us he had a "kitty cold" at one point while in the shelter and that it might flair up again.

Indeed it did.

After a few days of excessive cat sneezes, low energy, etc., I called the Humane Society and they told me to stop in and gave me a bottle of lysine to mix with his food and help the symptoms. It did help, but not quite enough. Another few days later, Michu and I made a return visit to the Humane Society and the vet there gave us antibiotics to destroy his kitty cold, which was possibly feline herpes. Apparently not uncommon when you gave a bunch of cats living in a cages in a smallish space. While this all sucked, it could had been much worse and the staff at the Humane Society were wonderfully helpful. Now Michu is a ball of destructive energy, enjoys running fast, hiding and then attacking from the bath tub, and playing with his toys. Unfortunately his new energy dictates occasional midnight play sessions and pestering for someone to get up early in the morning for snuggles or playtime.

Michu's Online Dating Profile Pic:
Sensual and Sophisticated
If wee Michu had an online dating profile, interests would read:

  • Putting my paw in my water bowl and dripping the water all over the floor. Nickname: Moby Dick.
  • Sometimes walking in the poop in my litter box, great fun for making footprints on the floor, toilet, and in the bath tub!
  • Miscalculating my own speed and colliding into things.
  • Hiding in the bath tub when stalking my pray.
  • Trying to eat with my hands, which is difficult and results in a lot of food on the floor. 
  • Very imaginative when it comes to finding new toys: toilet paper, socks, pineapples, shoe insoles, etc.
  • Excessive onion chopping in the kitchen makes my eyes water and my lady owner freak out and wonder why I'm crying and sick again.
Sadly for Michu, the Humane Society chopped off his balls so he doesn't have a lot of interest in dating.

(Additional thumbs up for the Humane Society: adoption fee includes various shots, neutering, a bag of food, a can of food, and an awesome mouse toy that your cat will love and lose at least once per day.)

Wait - did I just become a person who wrote an entire blog post about her cat?

Yes, yes I did. One, because he's awesome, and two, if you're looking for a furry family addition, I would highly recommend adopting a cat from the Humane Society. Meow.

Toilet Paper is Hard
When You Don't Have Thumbs

PS: Happy birthday to my lovely brother!

Wednesday, January 09, 2013

What they don't tell you about winter.

When I lived in Edinburgh I came home for Christmas.
This happened.
It's winter! Like, really winter. The light dustings of snow are no more; they have been replace with massive chunks of extremely solid snow that are beneath layers of crusty ice. Today marked two intense winter activities: the return to work after Christmas vacation and the first super cold day. Well, not super cold, but cold.

This time of year I always feel for the international students on campus. Not the students from, for example, Sweden or other winter countries, but the ones from the Middle East, Caribbean, or warm Asian countries. Did anyone provide them with a winter fact sheet before the students made the decision to attend UPEI? Not a fact sheet with things like "snow is flakes of crystalline water", but the actual important bits of information.

Two back stories as I'm pretty sure most of you are sitting in Canada, or have been through real winters at some point.

When I was living in Edinburgh I shared an office with, among many others, a woman from Australia. One day it started haling outside and she got excited and cheered, "It's snowing!" Lack of experience with snow made her error understandable. Note to the unwinterized: if it's not windy and the snow is hurting you as it falls, it's actually hale or ice pellets.

Story two was told to me in Edinburgh. I played lacrosse and softball with someone who was from the UK but had mostly grown up in other countries. The first time she saw snow falling from the sky she became super excited and ran outside - without shoes. In all she ever heard about snow, no one had ever mentioned to her that snow was cold and wet.

Sometimes winter seems endless.

So now, potential international students in warm countries who are thinking about attending a post-secondary institution in this great country, I offer you truths about winter that people will forget to tell you.

[With car] It will take longer to get anywhere.
If you are lucky enough to have a car while fulfilling your educational dreams at a Canadian post-secondary institution, you need to buy a special hand broom brush thing to sweep the snow off your car. It sounds magical and Cinderella like, doesn't it? Well, remember the shitty life Cinderella actually lead prior to losing a shoe and being lucky enough that no one else in the entire kingdom had the same size feet as her? You need the special broomy-brush thing to clean the snow off your car. That sounds light and fluffy and wondering, doesn't it? Except only one of five snowfalls will be light and fluffy and wonderful. Those mostly take place in December and March, maybe April, occasionally May. Sometimes the snow will be wet and sticky, in which case the brush becomes relatively useless. In this case it is much more efficient, and fun, to just climb on top of your car and slide off.

You will also spend 15 minutes scraping crusty snow and ice off your car, only to get inside and be disappointed. Since you don't want to waste gas, you hadn't started your car yet. Now you have to scrape ice of the windows on the inside of your car too. Then your boyfriend will comment about how shitty and drafty your windows are and sigh dramatically. You will point to his car in the next parking spot, which looks like it was parked at Target Antarctica for the last three years. Eventually you'll learn how to angle your car in the best position so the sun can at least melt a little bit of it - provided it is sunny.

[On foot] It will take longer to get anywhere.
You might be thinking, "Oh, that's fine about the car, I'll just walk instead."

BUT YOU CAN'T!

Well, you can, but make sure you have the proper footware. Ladies, most "winter" boots that are being sold at Aldo, etc., aren't really waterproof. They often don't have good grip. Sometimes they have four-inch heels. Walking somewhere is not the time to be beautiful, it is the time to be practical. Sidewalks are plowed here, but there is not enough foot traffic/weight to really pack down the snow. You will be required to dance around boulders that cover the sidewalk, wondering if you are on a snowy version of the moon.
Shovelling is a good cardiovascular activity
and helps build forearm strength.

Your clothes suck.
Just because it looks like a winter coat, doesn't mean it is.

Just because they're pants, doesn't mean they're warm. (Read: almost all female pants. I cannot comment on man pants.)

Those wee knit gloves that cost $1.00 are useful in temperatures of 5C or warmer only. (I have cold, delicate hands.)

Static electricity.
Surprise! You are a science experiment. Zap your friends! Be scared to touch things! Feel that spark with your lover - literally! Have a hair raising (!) experience!

But there are fun parts too!
Now for the better parts of winter. You see, I wrote the above one evening when I was cold and had "suffered" through the work day in shivers. Today is less cold, thus my heart is less cold. The weird, fun parts of winter include icy eyelashes, ascending piles of snow to cross a too-high fence, blankets being accepted as clothing, wooly socks with minimal friction that turn your hallway into sliding fun, storm days, red wine (I can't seem to get my head around red wine being a summer drink), and it being easier to spot dog poop thus reducing the possibly of unintentional pooh-on-shoe annoyance.

Two and a half months until spring! I'll wait until then to tell you spring secrets (sneak preview: it smells funny when it's muddy).

Friday, December 21, 2012

Turning 30 with a high five!

Recently I became 30 years old. Apparently this is monumental? If we were still using roman numerals to write out numbers, turning 30 (XXX) would be greatly appreciated after the stretch of space that was, for example, 28 (XXVIII). So much ink would be saved!

My plans for 30 varied depending on how old I was. And I never really thought "30", but more so "after I've been done of school for while".

When I was 16, my plans included being a CEO and making important decisions. This didn't pan out because I realized that would require too much work therefore I decided I would settle for being a VP of some random Disney division. Life and work visas lead me no where near that direction. Also, I am terrible at making decisions. My fallback plan was buying the Confederation Court Mall and turning it into an awesome club. I still think this idea has merit, although Charlottetown's population of "classy" clubbers would have to increase dramatically for it to be substanable. (Also, unlike the Globe, Charlottetown's club du jour, I wouldn't lose my patron's credit card.) Oh, and I also planned on buying the building the old Pat and Willy's was in. I would have two bars, and they would be connected by the overpass above Kent Street. It would also feature a bowling lane and staff would wear colourful wigs. This was my plan around the time "The Night at the Roxbury" was in cinemas.

Half a decade later at 21, a flatmate was talking about having children at some point. I decided I would have two by the time I was 30ish, because it seemed safe to say that with the "deadline" being a decade away . I determined that would be a good age as the adorable spawn wouldn't still be living at home while I was trying to retire and complete my snowbird training. What I failed to consider was the steps I wanted to take prior to having two off-spring and the time required: 18 months of production, at least a few years of dating/marriage, raising the first one for a little while before creating the second, etc. This meant the sort of deadline for step one was when I was 25, and based on who I was dating at that point, I'm really glad this "goal" wasn't met. Yikes.

And that's it. I'm not much of a goal setter and those are the only things I really remember thinking about, other than living in England and working at Disney World. England wasn't accomplished, but Scotland was geographically close and a most worthy substitute. Disney World happened, and will probably be brought up at every job interview for the rest of my life and make me a service snob. Yes, I will notice your shitty service and let my mind wander to my not-developed-at-all business idea of service awesomeness.

The actual day of becoming 30 was a good day. I woke up, tried to steal back some of the blanket that le Boyfriend stole over night, failed, and we went for breakfast. We were sat in our usual spot, which sounds much more romantic than it was as it actually means "we were sat at the same table as the one other time we went to the restaurant". Then we slowly strolled home. I, being tragically old, took a nap at some point. Then there was a bike ride, a phone call from brother bear, and an adventure to pick up boots I had ordered online.

TIP: If you order boots from Sears, order them 6 sizes smaller than you usually would wear, otherwise it looks like you are trying to run around in a giant's boots.

Upon return I spent about 15 minutes searching for grey hairs and gently ripping them from my skull. It goes along nicely with my poor habits of picking pimples, scabs, bites, disturbingly long ingrown hairs, anything that looks pickable, etc.

Eventually, le Boyfriend took me to a birthday party (for me!) and people were merry, ate lots of food, drank enough (not too much, but enough), danced, high fived, and, I like to imagine, marveled at the lack of grey hairs sticking out among the mess of brown strands.

After much primary research, I have determined the keys to turning 30 with grace are:

  • Alcohol (just a little bit, it's good for your heart, I hear).
  • Spending your 20s acquiring many wonderful friends. Make sure at least 60 percent of them are older than you so they turn 30 before you.
  • Acquiring a younger boyfriend. It helps you get used to cougar jokes earlier. It also helps if he's awesome. (Caution: Rachel tried this in Friends, and it didn't really turn out for her. However, she is a fictional character and she chose wrong.)
  • Being happy at 27, 28, 29, etc. Or at least when you're 29. If you're happy at 29 and 364 days, there is no need to be unhappy at 30.
  • Trying my new numbering system: turning twenty-ten years old was great!
  • Going on an awesome vacation a couple of weeks prior.
Hurrah! By following these six steps you will be guaranteed a smooth entry into your fourth decade. I wish you as much success as I.

Sunday, December 02, 2012

/hiatus

Something monumental has happened recently! It's so note-worthy that I am writing a blog about it.

Now, why am I writing a blog about it? [you ask]

Because I *can*! [I reply]

Seriously, le Boyfriend and I bought a laptop so I literally can write again. My laptop was getting to the point that I had to hold the screen at a very precise angle in order for it to work properly. Typing with one hand is not so conducive to blog posts. I could had been old school and wrote stuff on a sheet of paper and posted it on various telephone polls throughout the city, but then I'm opening my writing to weather destruction.

Speaking of destruction, I have had trouble spelling the following words this week:
- destruction (not distruction)
- occasion (not ocassion or occassion... seriously, it took me three tries and I'm pretty sure I just used spell check at that embarrassing point)
- embarrassing (it just happened in the previous bullet! I like to think I spell it wrong as I don't get overly embarrassed so I use fewer letters to represent that - I just get 'embarassed')
- tongue (I try to make it rhyme with lounge. It doesn't.)

So there we go. I am losing the ability to spell. That somewhat implies I was once a great speller, but I don't think I was. I was decent. My point got across. I spelled "phoque" properly on the board in French class during a spelling contest. However, I do remember asking one of my teachers how to spell 'mansion'. I was told to look it up in the dictionary. After too many minutes searching for 'manchon', I probably changed my story to read, "She lived in a very, very, very big house." Bonus points for creatively solving my problem by completely avoiding it. I will point out while I was not a ninja in spelling, I did get a special shout out on my report card for being very good at using expression when I read out loud. Nothing is more a sure fire way to win friends in elementary school than reading out loud with excessive amount of emotion. If I were reading this out loud to you now, that last sentence would had been dripping with well practiced sarcasm.

(Note: I spelled sentence wrong the first time I typed it in the previous sentEnce. Nice.)

Back to one of the original steams of thought above, le Boyfriend and I own a functioning laptop. That means between the two of us, we have one completely disassembled laptop (a learning experience pour le Boyfriend, for he will never be able to put it back together and it's currently 'resting' in a laundry basket), one twitchy screen laptop, and an actual functioning laptop with keys that press, a screen that works, and it doesn't take ten minutes for it to 'warm up'. I also like how opening a new tab in Chrome doesn't cause a glitch in the space-time continuum any longer. The simple things make me happy.

WAIT! [you ask] Isn't purchasing a laptop with someone an inextrodinate amount of commitment?

Why yes, I am glad you brought that up. First of all, I commend you for your use of the word 'inextrodinate'. The internet tells me it is not a real word. Apparently my bad hearing made it up and it's probably actually a completely different word. I'm glad we're on the same page.

We have been building up to this purchase. Not too long after we moved in together (some would argue that it also a big commitment, le Boyfriend would take that chance to point out we didn't sign a lease), we bought a toaster oven. The actual commitment test happens this weekend because I turn *hushed whisper* 30 years old on Saturday. Personally, I think my 30th b'day will be much more fun that my 19th birthday, which also occurred on Saturday. That night I wrote an Accounting 201 exam which was super long and we stayed past the allotted three-hour period. So I got home around 10:30, probably had another exam on Monday morning, and went out and had, like, two drinks. Crazy was not my middle name. My middle name was probably, "Holy shit this bar stinks."  This was pre smoking ban.

Back on track. Yes. Thirty. I shall hide le Boyfriend's bags so he cannot pack and secretly move out while I sleep. Besides, he won't do that... he can't  leave because then I would have no one to do the majority of my laundry and cook 70 percent of my meals. In return, he would have no one to bless him with the gift of laughter and wit. So. Much. WIT.

Blah blah blah. Now that I have a functioning laptop again and am not trying to compose my feelings on le Boyfriend's iPad, you can expect exciting posts such as, "I went on vacation and saw monkeys", "I turned 30 with so much grace that people mistakened me for Kate Middleton", and "No, seriously, I saw a monkey!!!"

Until next time!

Monday, September 10, 2012

Remove the x chromosome, replace it with a y.

One day last week, a lovely friend and I were out for a lovely stroll around the lovely city. We also had some lovely beer on lovely Victoria Row, where it was cold and the server provided us with lovely blankets. On the way back to the bear cave (I'm still trying to come up with an appropriate name for chez Boyfriend and I), we were talking about guys we play frisbee with. We were jealous that they are naturally faster than us, even the ones with perfectly placed late second trimester bellies. It's the opposite of girls: when we gain weight our legs get wider and then the chafe at the top and we can barely walk two kilometres without a tube of Vaseline between our legs, let alone spend the night sprinting up and down a frisbee field.

So then lovely friend I talked about what it would be like to be in a male's body for a day, in particular, a relatively fit male.

Things that would need to be done:

  • Bladder releasing. First off, I would pee. Everywhere. Into the toilet. I would miss because I would purposely be lazy. Then I would drink a lot more water and pee on the side of a building and write my name (not Jennifer, I would have a boy name for the day). After that I would pee in a garden, then in an alley, in the woods, on the way home from the bar - EVERYWHERE. My territory would be so marked the Romans would had made me Emperor back in the day.
  • Become fast. I would run fast, bike fast, swim fast (although I don't think men are as naturally buoyant as women so maybe it might not be an advantage at first), punch fast, drink fast, many fast things. Except walking. Most men don't walk fast.
  • Become strong. I would open difficult to open jars. Throw things further. Carry heavy things. (But since I'd be male for only a day people wouldn't catch on quickly enough so I wouldn't have to help people move houses. Nice.)
  • Look at my toes. I haven't been able to stand straight up and glance down at my toes since puberty. I need to lean over now.
  • Burp. Based on le Boyfriend, men need to burp often. I assume if they don't, their bellybuttons explode.
  • Cook. Mediocre cooking is so much more impressive when you're male.
  • Be funny. Although I'm already hilarious so f-bomb you sexual stereotypes that women aren't funny.
  • Pick up at the bar and not become emotionally confused afterwards. Although picking up as a male would be more difficult because women have standards.
  • X-rated things. Alone. And with other people. Multiple other people! But let's keep this a bit less R-rated.
  • Get bonked in the testicles. Just to see how much it really hurts.
  • Carry a guitar so university girls would think I'm hot. 
  • Not wear a shirt.
  • Be incredibly hairy.. and that would be okay.
  • Eat a lot and not think about the waist-line consequences.
  • Streak! Because male nudity is funny.
What would you do, bloggie friends?