History Lesson

Wait for it.  The silence is unbearable.  If that was me in that situation, what would I do? What would I say?  How do you react to that?  Is normal ever going to be possible again?  And I’m waiting, waiting to see what happens.  Paralyzed in my seat, eyes focused intently on the big screen.  Fade to black.  Waiting for that one last scene that’s going to tie it all together, answer the questions left running through my head and then nothing.  Well, the credits.  What, did they run out of tape? Forget to change the reel?

Tonight, Marti, Crazy Mike and I went to see The History of Violence.  It left the viewer with more questions than answers.  I can’t get it out of my head.  Not even a little.

I actually liked the movie.  It kept me guessing a lot of the way through.  A little gory, and a little graphic at times, but overall well done.  Well, done in the way it was different, and I do like different movies.

There were a few things that bothered me in the movie, some things that seemed improbable, but given the end of the movie I’m starting to understand them in the greater context.

So, yep, this is vague.  I don’t want to ruin any part of the movie.  I would say though, go and see it.  Then I can tell you what I really think.  But truthfully, I need to find the clues… I need to see it once more.

A Hero of His Own Accord

He sounded disappointed.  But really, I just don’t think he understood it completely.  He was a hero.  In a round-a-bout way, or more of a squiqqly line, cross over, interchange, on ramp, overpass and underpass kind of way.  Exit on the left and enjoy the rest of your day.

There was no method to the madness that predicted his final practicum placement.  It was a computer.  Randomly, or maybe not so randomly, it chose 2 placements for students.  The College of Pharmacy is in Halifax, the placements, were here there and everywhere.  Even past Ecum Secum.  Who knew.

Life changing events are now decided at random by a computer.  Well, I guess this has been happening for quite some time now.  One would hazard a guess, anyhow.  So Andy is getting shipped out to Ontario for 3 months in order to complete his Pharmacy Degree.  And you’re probably still wondering how he is a hero in all of this.  Well, I have a feeling that computer may have looked at the person’s province of origin.  Given that Andy is an Upper Canadian, it probably felt that there would be less chance of culture shock.  And really, it was protecting good, friendly Martimers.  Upper Canada is much to scary for the likes of them.

So yes, it’s unfortunate, but at the end of the day, you’re a pharmacy hero! And if nothing else, I’m sure you can find a pharmacy company willing enough to sponsor your airfare, board, and food while you’re there.  Goodluck! And don’t forget to pack your tights and cape.

I'm not calling in sick, I'm just too stupid to come in to work today

Earlier this week, I felt that work would be a safer place if I didn’t go.  I wasn’t sick, so calling in ‘sick’ wasn’t an option.  I just woke up stupid.  Very stupid.Anyone who knows me knows that morning is not something I do well – not even a little.  But this particular morning, it was worse than usual.  I sat up straight in bed and waited for the radio and the digital display on my cell phone to confirm what day of the week it was.  I couldn’t remember where I was working, let alone what time I was supposed to be there.  Funny enough, nothing had changed.  I’m a 10-2 Monday to Friday kind of girl.

I managed to remember how to work my legs – sort of.  As I untangled myself from my blankets, I stumbled and bumbled till I found the shower.  Just before turning on the water, I realized I’d come a lot cleaner if I took off my pjs.  I never have liked being naked.

I was feeling a little more optimistic and ready to tackle the world after my shower.  Teeth were brushed, last night’s makeup finally removed.  Aside from rainy day clothes, I had nothing to plan my outfit around.  I took my time, wandering aimlessly around my room.  I decided that my face needed moisturizing so I opened up the Fridge (the wardrobe one), and squirted the first pump I found into my hand.  I lathered it between two hands then smeared it all over my face.  It smelled precariously like my hair stuff… oh wait, that’s exactly what it was – sticky straightening balm.  I retreated to the bathroom to try washing my face one more time.  

Finally, I double checked myself.  Both shoes were the same, I had underwear on.  I matched (after 3 or 4 attempts).  Skirt- check. Top – check, shoes – check.  And I left.  Thinking about nothing but making it to work where Tim Horton’s always has a pot of coffee.  Although, this day, I think I needed an IV of coffee.  

It's for you

The phone woke me up for a nap.

“Hello, Mrs. Shand?”

Red lights go of in my mind, telemarketer obviously.  Not feeling like arguing, I answer with a simple “She’s not in right now.”  

“Ok, is Mr. Shand available?”.

“Umm, there is no Mr. Shand.”

“When do you expect your mom back?”

“I dunno”.

“A couple hours maybe?”

“Sure, why not.”

“Thanks, we’ll try again then.”

“Okay”

I guess having a young sounding voice isn’t so bad after all.

Self Worth

My blog is worth $564.54.
How much is your blog worth?

There you have it folks. I now have a dollar sign attached to me. I need to find a way to raise my dollar value. This could be a money making venture yet. Stay tuned. And all you other bloggers out there, comment me what you're worth. Not for comparison, but curiousity. And this way, we can rise up together. Damn the man! Save the Record Store.... errr, blogs!

The Man Crush

It’s nothing more than exactly what it is. It’s not like a usual crush, with its hidden agenda and hopeful daydreams. It’s nothing but adoration, infatuation, and admiration topped off with a little desire.

For the record, this post isn’t about a current infatuation. In fact, and scarily enough, there isn’t one. (I’m thinking it’s just got to be a phase too, don’t worry). This post isn’t about me. It’s about men, and the crushes they develop on each other.
Please don’t stop reading. It will all make sense in due time.

It was Jen who was able to add the insight of a term for this. It started with her telling me about a friend and how he acts around a certain other person. Now, there is no question of sexual orientation. It’s not about that at all. It’s about him pretty much worshipping the ground the other Man walks on. Its admiration, adoration, and the burning desire to be just like him.
I had thought this about another one of our friends and the way he acted around someone else. The constant search for approval and the desire to impress. The way he was constantly telling me what the other person said, or did, or would think, or would say. I began to feel inferior and unhelpful. My woman-thinking brain didn’t get it. I couldn’t bond on the same level. He didn’t want me to. He had a man crush. When this was happening, I thought that if the person he went on about was a woman, it would definitely be a crush. But in this case, it was two men, both straight. Both just friends and really growing close as friends. Women do it all the time, it’s great to see Men venturing in that direction too. And don’t worry guys, it’s just a little crush.

Diamonds on the Soles of My Shoes

Men. They toy with your emotions. It’s a skill they learn somewhere along the way and it has got to stop.

The intention was sincere. He looked at me with a look that said, “that’s right, you’ve picked up the hottest pair of boots we have in the store.”. I smiled right back, and said what has to be one of my favourite lines : “Size Eight, please”.

The look was skeptical. The doubt practically poured out of his voice and collected in a puddle at my feet. “I’ll see if I have them”.

Panic. Franticity.

This isn’t the first time that he’s done this. A girl cannot easily forget a man that knows how to toy with her emotions on such a serious level. Rewind to the middle of summer. Pink suede walking shoes. I had bought them, then returned them. Then absolutely had to have them and went to buy them again. The tone he used today was complete déjà vu. No sympathy, no empathy, just skepticism and doubt.

I wander around and look at other shoes, while I wait anxiously. Then finally, I see him coming around the corner, just like last time. Box in hand, grin on his face. I sit and slide out of my brwon leather mary janes. I hold my breath as he opens the box. A gorgeous wedge heel complete with 12 inches of beautiful, soft black leather. The moment the first one is on, and zipped up, he confirms it. “Gosh, those are great boots.” The second one is in his hand.
“Can I have that, please?”.
He holds it away from me. Dangles it—like a carrot. Teases me a little longer, then hands it over.
While I’m zipping the black leather up, he reminds me that they’re a great pair of boots. And also throws in the fact that they’re guaranteed waterproof for the next year. Like I needed convincing. The second the zipper was zippered I knew, they were mine. All mine.
No thinking twice. No doubt. Just mine. All mine.
I feel like I have Diamonds on the Soles of My Shoes.

The buzz

Roomie:  How is beading going ?

Me: Not so good.  I just can’t make it work today.  I’m feeling not so Queen Bead like.

Roomie: You’re still the Queen Bead.  Somedays, there’s just not as much buzzing.

Franticity : The Sequel

There are drugs for people like me.  I’ve been told that once or twice.  Not that I’ve ever decided to investigate that further… but somedays I think something is horribly wrong.  

Not with me, I get by just fine, thank you.  

Things aren’t horribly wrong.  In fact, everything is great.  

But today… Franticity all over again.  And I’ve mixed up the order I do things after work, and now I’m confused.   I worked late, so everything was off kilter to begin with.   And that is causing me to feel a titch discombobulated.  Then I came home, and having just eaten a banana and a Raisin Bran bar in the 8 hours I had been awake and running around, I was so hungry.  So I ate.  Then I did the usual run through checks of blogs.  Normally I choose to either start from the top or the bottom and go in sequence.  Today, I play hopscotch.

For the record :  I’ve only had one coffee today, but I feel like there is caffeine and sugar running through me…like little jolts of electricity.  And in defense of me, I cut down on the amount of sugar in my coffee.

Maybe today is a day to try jogging again.  See if I can burn off some of this energy.

Cordially Invited

Mom and Dad sat across from me.  Dad sipped his beer, I sipped a martini, Mom was happy to sip her water.  We talked and worked through the plans of the next day.  Dad asked if they needed tickets to attend the graduation ceremony.  Yes, actually. They did.  The problem was, I didn’t know where to find them.
Admittedly, I was worried.  I had done a quick check for the tickets before we left for dinner.  They weren’t where I remembered leaving them.  Not that I remembered at all.  I hadn’t seen them in a while.  A long while.
I got home from dinner and was greeted by Holly and her cousin Brittany.  They were hanging out in my living room.  They came to help me look for the tickets.  I assigned Holly the task of emptying my overflowing garbage bin.  Meanwhile, I proceeded to ruffle through the basket of miscellaneous papers, the top of my dresser, the drawers and anything else I could think of.  Holly was smart enough to know that if my garbage bin was overflowing with paper that maybe, just maybe, we should check through them.

It takes a real friend to rifle through your garbage.  Most of the ‘garbage’ was receipts, unopened mail, work schedules, notes to self, flyers and other miscellaneous papers.  After the first layer of paper was removed, we found some earrings and a bracelet.  Things that weren’t supposed to be there.  It must have been the cats, I thought.  They jump on that dresser all the time, they probably knocked the things off the shelf into the bin.

She kept rifling.  And finally, on the back of a ‘list of things to pack’, was an envelope that said “Dal Convocation”.  Inside, were three invitations.  Found near the bottom of the bin.  It’s a good thing that that bin is only for paper.  And lets just say, the rest of it got checked for important items as well.

Three Invitations, two parents. That last one didn’t go to waste.  But that’s a whole other story for just a little later.

Nutshell

Holy Crap.  If there were two words that could to sum up this past weekend, that’s definitely it.

It was Graduation weekend.

There are many a story to be told.  But right now, I must sleep.

Control Freak

Some days, I like to be in control.  Some days, no so much.

This morning, definitely not so much.  

The day started a little later than it was supposed to.  I planned my outfit carefully based on what was clean and not so wrinkly.  Black sweater, grey knee length skirt, and black shoes.  The shoes had given me problem crater sized blisters the past few times I wore them because I had no socks on.  Given the chilliness of the weather and the soreness factor, I decided to wear pantyhose.  I hate them.  Most women do.

Now, I know I have a bit of a male readership out there, and guys, I’m sorry to talk this.  I know, you won’t understand it completely.  You might think that you do, but until you’ve been forced to spend 16 consecutive hours in them, you don’t.  If you have spent that much time in them—I don’t think I need to know about that.  Ask the women in your life, significant other, friend, or even your mom or sister.  They’ll tell you.  Don’t go stealing their pantyhose though!

My problem with panty hose is this – control top.  It’s overly controlling.  Apparently, it’s supposed to suck things in and smooth things out, but really, totally movement inhibiting.    After ripping the first pair while trying to wiggle into them, I took extra caution with the old pair I found in my drawer.  They went on easier than the first pair and without rips.  Then I remembered what I hate about them… control top.  In other words, the top part from hip to mid thigh made movement feel ridiculously unnatural.  

It kind of made me glad that I slept in and didn’t have time to walk to work.  I’m not sure I would have made it.  Control top.  They’re controlling my life.

Havoc, indeed

I was surprised to see an email with her name on it in my inbox.  I read it excitedly—so excitedly that I more or less skimmed it.  The message however, came through loud and clear.  She was in Wolfville.

We bonded through trials and tribulations, giggles and random silliness.  Nine months exploring Canada together.  We learned about ourselves more than anything else.  We learned to use each others strengths while helping each other overcome their weaknesses.    

There were moments of extreme laughter.  Moments where someone knows you better than you know yourself.  And moments, where you’re glad that if someone had to witness something that embarrassing, it was her.   She taught us how to laugh at ourselves – simply because she did it too. She used to be a girl of Havoc.  Now she’s just another wise copper vixen.

At the end of nine months, saying good-bye to Anne was a challenge.  I knew I would miss her.  And although I knew that girl would always be mobile, I knew she would also be back.  Four years ago she came for a visit.  We hung out just like old times.  We laughed so hard my roommates thought we were drunk.  Only off of silliness though.  

I don’t know when we lost touch exactly, but we were each pulled different directions.  Different set of busy lives, in different countries.  They left us in a lurch.  Until yesterday, when she emailed to see if I’m still in Halifax.  She’s in Wolfville.  Just under an hour away.

I’m restraining myself from going and knocking on people’s doors until I find her.  I’m waiting not so patiently for her to phone.  She asked if she could come visit.  And I’ve been grinning from ear to ear since.

Defuse

The bathroom light turned itself off without warning.  As I fumbled my way out into the hallway, it was dark.  The microwave had switched itself off.  The lights all refused to come back on when I flicked the light switch a couple of times. Nothing would work.   No big deal, a power outage.  
I find my way to the kitchen, and by the glow of the pink nightlight, I light a candle. I use the candle as my light source while looking for my mini Maglite.    Come to think of it, the living room has a faint glow to it as well.  Laptop – go figure.  The difference is, the internet is still working.  Strange.  It’s then it dawns on me.  If this is a power failure, then why is the nightlight still on?

I wander around and try to turn on every light.  The living room is aglow by the screen of my laptop.  In the kitchen, we have the nightlight.  No lights in the hall, living room, bathroom or even my bedroom.  I use the flashlight on my key chain, make my way to the fuse box and reset.  I’m back in business.  Let there be light – and microwaves.  

Self Preservation

Every once in a while it takes someone else to remind you who you are, where you came from and what you may or may not be about.  Not that they’re **always** right, but sometimes they can help you remember something about yourself that forgotten.
Self preservation is a full time occupation.  We all need a little help once in a while.  This weekend I got a double dose.

All she said to me was, “I wrote a new blog last night, I think you’ll like it”.  Like it? I loved it!  It was so thoughtful and sweet, and encouraging it made me feel so much better about everything.  Life, the universe and everything.  I’m still speechless.  (and we all know that takes a lot).  I consider myself lucky to be able to hang out with you!

The right card is hard to find.  That’s why I started The One Odd Sock Card Company back in the day.  I haven’t been making cards as much lately.  Certainly not as many as I used to.  But Joan was looking for a certain type of card.  I knew it would be a challenge, but I offered my services anyway.  I do love a good creative challenge.  Thank you, Joan.

After searching high and low (literally – top shelf of the closet and under the bed), I was able to piece together my card making supplies.

Colour. Paper. Stamps. Embossing Powder. Ink. Ribbons. Bows. Glitter. Pens. Glue.  Colour.

The idea came without much work.  I had to work on some new techniques to get exactly what I wanted, but eventually it all came together.  I scaled back on the usual finishing touches like ribbon and bows.  This was a card for ‘hurley-burley’ men.  I kept it on the toned down side.

Now it’s 2:30 am, and I’ve just finished cleaning up.  Having spent the last few hours creating, I’m reminded why I started doing all this in the first place.  It’s fun.  I love it.  It clears my head.  And most of all, it just makes me happy to create.  Especially when I know it’s all transferable happiness.  I know, I’m One Odd Sock.

Dancer in the Dark

An hour ago, I started one of my favourite kind of posts.
It’s the “I can’t sleep” post.  It comes after at least an hour of tossing, turning, tangly blankets and wandering thoughts.  At least tonight my safe haven of sleepless felt safe.  Some nights, it doesn’t.

The hour long timer on my Ipod had long shut itself off, and I even tried listening to silence.  Tonight, the silence felt comfortable, my bed felt comfortable, but something wasn’t right.

Eventually I gave up the fight.  I really could go crazy on a night like tonight.  Mystery.

Trying to reason it is useless.  And maybe it really was just a fluke.  But now, it’s all so much clearer.  As I logged into MSN, a few messages popped up instantly.  Yes, I’m really signing on at 2 am, is what I said.  
Conversations took a different turn than usual.  Too many people unable to sleep means an uncanny level of honesty.  Or maybe it’s the chance to unload some of those thoughts that plague the mind when really all you want is to put it to rest.  So now, feeling strangely comforted through having spent more time ‘listening’ than ‘typing’, I’m ready to try sleeping again.  
And of course, the “I can’t sleep” post is my favourite.  Because for some strange reason it’s always easier to be honest in the dark.

Through my looking glass

If only they had used practical or interesting examples of science I might have paid attention, and taken a course in science past grade 10.  But I didn’t care to listen in class and I certainly didn’t care to study.  Everything was so abstract, nothing had a context.
Tonight, I wondered if my glass bead making teacher doubles as a science teacher.  I think the answer is, no.  He’s an artist.  But he knows his material well.  He knows the physics and chemical properties involved in making beads.  I suppose when you’re heating gas past 1000 degrees and manipulating it to form a bead, it’s good to know what you’re dealing with.  He tries to instill this in all of us, but to people like me, we watch.  Follow instructions to the best of our abilities and hopefully end up with some funky beads at the end.  My beads are especially funky.  Some may refer to it as lack of skill, but actually, who always wants perfectly round beads.  Certainly not me.  And to think, we’ve only worked on different techniques of solid colour beads. Next week, we go two colours. Then the real fun begins.

On a totally other note, I just noticed I started out with ‘if only’.  I’m trying to drop that and start working with what I’ve got.

Hide and Seek

I’m not sure how much longer I can handle mundane.  It’s starting to wear thin.  But lately, I can’t seem to find adventure.  I can’t find a story anywhere.  They used to jump out and stop me dead in my tracks.  Now I feel like everything is playing hide and seek.  And some days, I’m really not that into seeking.

The dust has begun to form crop circles in the carpet.

With a Cherry on Top

Sometimes they bring you cherries, sometimes they don’t.  This time, they didn’t.  
Theoretically, cherries have no business being in my Sour Apple Martini.  But I like them.  I like them a lot.

The waiter noticed I was almost ready for round two.  He stopped in to check on me on his way by.  Feeling slightly ‘something’, I said “Sure, but can I have a cherry in it this time, please?”  He smiled, and immediately, I knew he would oblige to the request.

A few minutes later, he came back.  As he laid it on the table in front of me, he smiled, winked and said “I even gave you two cherries.”

5 Girls
4 Appetizers
3 Martinis,
2 cherries
1 fun Friday night.

Stephanie

I wonder who she is.  Now, you’re wondering too – I know you are.  

Stephanie.

That’s the name of the wireless network I’m connected to.  My network is called Larch.  It’s secured.  I think it is so secure right now, I can’t even get on.  It’s been copping out on a frequent basis.  But no worries, Stephanie is around to pick up the slack.  It switches automatically.  Lately, I check to see if I’m on my own network or someone else’s.  Lets just say that more often than not these days that it’s someone else’s.  

That was humorous enough, but this afternoon, it got to a whole new level.

There were two new playlists in my Itunes.  Under Shared music.  One was named Gary.  I clicked on it.  No go, password protected.  The other, you guessed it – Stephanie.  Surprise, surprise.  No password needed.  So I perused her playlist, and listened to some of her music.  I hope I didn’t give myself away.

Stephanie, I don’t know who you are, but thank you. Thank you for providing me with internet when my own is too fickle.  Thank you for your musical selections and although they vary from my own, it was a nice treat to try something new.  But most of all, because of you, I haven’t been kicked off the internet in days.  Now that’s friendship.