I AM WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR (especially during a wax job!)

I am coming back as a man in my next life.  Yup, you heard it here first.  I am so over being a woman.  Being a woman has just become way too much maintenance for me!

You know, last night I was sitting there covering up my grey roots, yet again, when I got to thinking about how super easy men have it.  As a kid, I use to always feel sorry for my Dad and his daily shave of his face and neck, but now that I am in my early 40's, I can see that he has absolutely nothing on my daily routine.

Oh its starts off innocent enough. First you start shaving your arm pits in your preteen stage and then you might as well start shaving your calves, and what’s that you say, all your friends are doing their thighs too?  Well I guess I better start mowing the lawn up there as well, and before you know it, there isn’t a speck of hair on your entire body, well of course, with the exception of your head and a nameless area (after all this is a family friendly blog) and even that nameless area is debatable with some women.

But you think that this would be it, wouldn’t you?  Oh no, then we have the joys of entering in our 40's and you get up that one morning and you pull out your magnifying mirror (because let’s face it, you are starting to loose your sight and can no longer see the flaws without 200x magnification) and OH MY GAWD, horror strikes!  “What’s that at the corner of my mouth?”  Oh my lord, is that the beginning of a Foo Man Chu moustache.  And, if that isn’t the icing on the proverbial cake, upon closer inspection, I start to wonder if I am now sporting a full goatee.  Eeeek!

My esthetician thinks I am crazy.  She says there is nary a hair on my face. I think she is just being polite. Could also be the fact that she is in her 40's too and may well be as blind as a bat.  But personally, I think that she is worried that if she tells me the truth, I will go screaming off into the night and reside with the rest of the apes, and she’s probably right, you know!  But I’m no fool. I can see it in her eyes and I know what she is really thinking!  I know secretly she wants to grab my face and say to me “Look Bush Baby, stick your entire face in that vat of wax because you are beginning to look like the hairy woman from Borneo!” 

And if this isn’t the worst possible news, I now spend my free time with my face glued to the mirror looking for strays that have sprung up somewhere new in the middle of the night.  I swear that while I am sleeping there is a Hairy Fairy that comes and spreads “instant growth” manure on my face!  I’d certainly like to catch that little bugger and clip her wings! 

And then the other day, another woman said to me “wait till you start growing nostril hair.”  WHAT?  Are you kidding me?  I certainly thought that was only reserved for men, but in any event, I spent the next two hours inspecting my nostrils for any indication that I might have had a reforestation going on!  Ugh I say!  UGH!

I am at a loss on how to beat the fact that I am starting to revert back to one of my ancient ancestors.  I have thought of buying bulk containers of Nair Hair Remover and filling up my bathtub and just dipping myself in. Or, I could just give up and starting swinging from the trees like the rest of the primates.  In the meantime, I am packing up my bags... I have just been sent my invitation to join the Gorgades, a Tribe of Hairy Libyan women.  Don’t laugh, I hear your invitation is in the mail too!

Until Next Time.

Smooches

YEARNING

They are calling for snow tomorrow, but I am hard pressed to believe them as delicate crocuses and snowdrops beneath the aged maples are desperately bursting forth with the colours of early spring.  Robins mark their territory by singing their beautiful lyrical tunes and I feel a stirring deep within me.  It is the bursting of life all around.  Gently, I run my hands down the vine of my honeysuckle and feel the beginning of its blossoms forming.  I softly tilt my head towards it and breathe deep willing the little buds to tantalize my senses with their fragrant scent. I resign myself to the fact that several more months of patience will provide me with the perfumed benefits of my abundant foliage. My heart pitters and patters quickly as I know in a few short weeks, I will be deep into the beautiful grace of the season of spring.

The crispness of the air, the blueness of the sky haunts me with childhood memories I just can’t seen to grasp.  Cloudy images dance before my mind and I feel melancholy but am not quite sure why.

Old 80's tunes break out on the radio and I see myself in my youth full of wonderment and anticipation on what the years will bring.

She does this to me, spring that is. She washes me with a sense of happiness followed by a deep unfulfilled longing and a small heartache.  Every year as far as I can remember, my soul yearns.  I am never quite sure of what I am searching for, but I feel that I have lost something precious. Perhaps it is just the simplicity of innocence.

My eyes flick towards the vast sky drenched in my favourite colour of  cerulean blue and it beckons me, and for a brief moment, I shelve my thoughts as I stand outside with my face upturned to the warmth of the sun with my feet strongly planted into the earth.  I am connecting.  I am growing.  And I am waiting.  For her that is... for the lovely joy of Spring.

Until Next Time.
Smooches

TIPPING THE SCALES IN FAVOUR OF ME

It’s been about 8 years since I had a weight scale in my house.

Dealing with the fact that I get a little OCD with my body mass, years ago I felt it was detrimental to my health to have one of those pesky nuisances sitting around staring and beckoning to me.  I swear it spoke these words “oh come Average Girl, get on me, show me your numbers baby”.  Followed by “GET THE HELL OFF, YOUR KILLING ME WITH ALL THAT POUNDAGE.  I CAN’T BREATHE WOMAN!” Other days, that little bundle of grey joy would say “What?  Did you eat that whole bloody pound cake by yourself?”  Offensive as it was, I just couldn’t tear myself away from morning and evening weigh ins.  I had developed this love hate relationship with my scale, whom I had affectionately named Oscar, as in Oscar the Grouch.

Finally, on one cloudy day when I had taken enough abuse from him, and without the slightest bit of remorse, I dropped kicked Oscar to the curb and never looked back.  After that, the only time I ever weighed myself was when I attended upon my doctor for my yearly physical, at which time I would stand on the scale backwards and say to her assistant “I don’t need to know, ignorance is bliss.”  Yes, I would venture to say I was a tad in denial, like an ostrich with her head in the sand and I was enjoying it.

I figured that as long as my clothes fit, life was grand.  However, I forgot to factor in that I wear a lot of cotton fibre that is forgiving and stretchable.  And I came to the realization that even cotton can stretch only so far.

So, in January of this year, I decided to give myself some tough love and a dose of reality. I broke down and bought one of those fandangled, fancy, schmancy electronic scales. Shiny and new, I decided to make friends with her.  I called the scale a "her" because lets face it, women are a tad more sensitive in the weight gain area. I handled her gently and secured her battery and lovingly caressed her stainless steel exterior.  Thin and sleek, she was all that I wanted to find within myself.

Stripping down to all my glorious nakedness, I stepped upon her with hopeful eyes.  In that moment, I watched as the numbers moved fast and furious liked I had just pulled the arm on a slot machine. Had I won the jackpot? I almost could not bear the anticipation. And then in bright blue neon lights, I realized that I had won a jackpot alright, a jackpot full of fat and I was horrified.  That number couldn’t be right?  No bloody way, could it be right!!! So, I stood on one foot and that damn thing didn’t move in numbers. Then I balanced myself on the side edges, nothing moved again.  What was with this stupid scale?  Finally, in a desperate attempt, I hung my heels off the back edge while balancing precariously on my toes.  Weebling and wobbling, I held my breath, looked down, and you know what, it did not move one bloody ounce!  She was brutally honest and she screamed those electronic numbers in my face. I was perplexed.  I did not understand. I wanted to be her friend. Hadn’t this always been the way with Oscar.  I would hang off edges and he would take off a pound or two just so I felt better.  But not her, she gave me the truth and she was mean.

And it was at that moment, I longed for Oscar.  He may have been old, a tad crabby, a little bad for my ego, but on those rare moments when my self confidence was wavering, he always tipped the scales in my favour.

Until Next Time.
Smooches

BACK TO BASICS

Do you know why you started blogging?  Did you have a pivotal moment? I did. Back in March last year, I discovered this blog created by this wonderful person named Jain.  Her blog was beautiful.  In fact, I would go so far as to say “breathless”.  It was mostly just photos and tablescapes outside, but honestly her blog should have become a book. I loved her blog so much, that I would look at it several times a day. Some days, I almost felt like I was stalking her, I wasn’t of course, it’s just that her photographs were so charming and calming, and quite frankly, portrayed a life that I wanted to lead.  Based on her, I had hoped to create my own little piece of beauty in the blogging world.  I think I have failed for the most part.  I was so haphazard with the content, I went from goofy, to inspiring, to photographs, to goofy, to discussing intimate parts of my pain, to goofy and to finally wanting to help all bloggers achieve more followers.  My blog constantly changed in appearance and I was never satisfied because I just had not chosen a direction.  Together, my blog and I have become a little lost lately.  It’s okay tho, because everything is a learning process for me and I have never been a girl with a proper plan.

So you are probably wondering why I am babbling on about this, well this new challenge in our lives with my sister-in-law’s health has made me take an abrupt step back and look at what is important to me, as sometimes my priorities become a tad askewed.

I really love my sis n law, she is wonderful and it pains me to think of her life being in such a precarious position.

She is doing significantly better, surprising since her organ is so damaged.  She is so scared and we are scared for her.  By the way, I really appreciated every single kind comment from you, including CWMartin for putting a prayer on his blog.  Thank you.

The only way I know how to help my sis in law is to stand beside her  instead of stand behind her which means that I am going to change my life as she changes her.  She has to be in optimum health if they go ahead with a transplant, so I am going to do it with her so she is not alone.  In fact, I started on Monday with my cleanse and let me tell you something, I lost 6 pounds of crap in two days.  I didn’t realize I was so full of crap, okay I did know I was full of crap (unfortunately, in more ways than one).

Although I have always known this about myself, I am not sure you do, but if you haven't figured it out yet, I am an all or nothing type of girl who has never been able to strike a balance.  I give my all to something until it absolutely exhausts and drains me and then I walk away from it. However, I am hoping to change that personality flaw.

Which brings me to blogging, I have to say that I put this crazy undo amount of pressure on myself to constantly blog 4 or more times a week.  Crazy huh?  Scared that you might leave me if I didn’t.  I felt this need to assist everyone in finding new followers, which was really exhausting me.  And worried that if I didn’t help you, that again you'd leave me.  I don’t even know why I worry about such trivial things except that perhaps I am a far too sensitive for my own good, am a people pleaser and suffer a terrible personality trait when it comes to dealing with rejection.  Yes I know, who cares if people come or go off the blog, apparently I do, because I constantly get my knickers in knott over it. On top of that I follow like 150 plus blogs and I was killing myself to get to each blog to read their updates and leave comments, not too mention the fact that in my real life, I work full time, write a column for a newspaper, suffer from chronic pain and share my life with my better half and a sweet but demanding pooch. These past five days made me realize that you would all go on if I didn’t read you daily and you probably care less if I comment or not and I had to wonder why I was putting this inordinate amount of pressure on me.

So this is what it has come down to, it's time for a change for me.

I am not going to blog a zillion times a week and I hoping that you will happily kick my ass if I start to do it again because I have realized that there are just so many hours in the day, and if you let it, blogging can sneak up on you and take over your life.

I am going to set some ground rules for myself on my blog and get back to basics  with it and what I am about and what it is I want to write at that moment. You are either going to like or not, and I have no control over that and that's okay.

I am going to get back to basics in my life with just simple pleasures, like less tv and computer, more reading and walking and smelling the roses.

And I am going to focus on mine and my sis in law’s health.

In other words I am going to live up to to my words earlier this year of going from average to memorable.

But mostly, I am just going to find Tracy. She is actually pretty awesome when she isn't in a tizzy and being all obsessive compulsive. 

Until Next Time.
Smooches

HAVE YOU SEEN MY PASSION?

I have no Passion anymore!  There I said it and I can’t take it back.  Yup, I have become a passionless dried up, in serious need of a good exfoliation, prune.  Is this something that happens when you hit your 40's?  It’s a question I have often asked of myself in the last two years.

Sometimes, I wander around my house searching for my Passion.  I look in the kitchen cupboards (nope not there), under the rugs (nope), in the hallway closet (nothing), upstairs (not there either)  and then I go outside and I say “here Passion Passion Passion... here girl, where are you girl?”  Sadly, she never comes.  I did notice in my 30's that she would sometimes wander away for short periods of time, but eventually, she always came back. And now well... she seems to be gone and I can’t find her.

There are days that I actually think about putting up posters on the telephone poles or taking out a newspaper ad that says: “Looking for my Passion, she’s pretty witty, incredibly feisty, drawn to the colour blue, loves to dance in the rain, let’s her hair go loose in the wind, can’t get her to stop talking about art... If you have seen her, please send her home.  Signed Shell of my Former Self!”

And, before you say it, no I have not hit menopause, but I am seriously wondering if I am starting to hit the dreaded mid life crisis.  It’s not that I want a younger man, why would I?  Have you seen my better half?  Good looking arab man with his dark, brooding eyes and his squeezable, yummy butt.  It’s not that I want a fast car, I have new red jeep and although its not a little convertible, it is kind of smoking hot looking and practical to boot.

So what is it?  And why did Passion leave me?  Adventure I think..  I have lost the art of going on a good adventure.  I tended to blame Passion for leaving me on many things: the amount of pain I live with, the fact that my better half loves being a homebody, the town I live in, the job that I do, but the fact remains, that Passion has left me because of me.  I never kept her fueled up enough.  I stopped taking her for nights out on the town.  I replaced spontaneity with complacency.  I forgot to learn new things that would have really got her mojo revved up.  Ultimately, I took her for granted and she got tired of it, and she left me.

I feel sad without her and at a bit of loss.  She was the very best part of me and now everything feels mundane.  She made me want to get up and go each morning instead of throwing the covers back over my head.  She made me fight back when I knew things were wrong, instead of standing there nodding my ahead in order to avoid confrontation. She made everything feel like it was in technocolour.  She forced me to do crazy, stupid things that gave me such an exhilaration that it would leave me on a high for days.  She could take any old grey sky and turn it blue.  Oh how I love her.

What I wouldn’t do to get my Passion back, and secretly, I am afraid that she is gone for good. I am holding out hope though that she will realize that there is still a flame that burns in me and that together we were and could be a good team again.

In the meantime, if you happen to see my Passion, I would really appreciate it if you could kindly tell her that her best friend is really very sorry and that she will never take her for granted again.  And then dive on that little bugger will ya and ship her collect to me via Fed/Ex!

Until Next Time.
Smooches

HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PROBLEM!

My forty second year of life is starting to shape up to be a somewhat body altering experience in many more ways than I actually want it to be.

Gravity has struck me at the most inconvenient time. It’s a time in my life where I am really starting to embrace the sisterhood of womanliness and now, I am actually enjoying, intellectually and mentally, the art of growing wiser. It's like being 20 but having 40 years of wisdom and I like it! It is amazing what my brain is absorbing and what seems to be leaking out as well, and in all honesty, I am really loving this new found wisdom and exceptional perception that my fool hardy youth was unable grasp.

Unfortunately, it seems to me that I have traded the perkiness of my body for the power of wisdom.  Things are falling down at an alarming rate and all over the gawd forsaken place.  Damn the invention of the fully body mirror!

It seems that my butt now walks in sync to the steps of my feet and my once upright breasts are resembling hip waders more each day as oppose to the shoulder flotation devices they once were. What's worse is that this morning, I woke up to the horrible realization that not only do I have a double chin but there is something awkwardly dangling where my jaw line use to be!  Yup, I think it’s safe to say that I have officially entered into the “Jowl Zone”.  I suppose it is payback for all the years where I use to make fun of elderly women with their unfortunate folds of loose skin flapping in the wind.  And I suppose I made one too many jokes about their jowls being used as instrumental devices and now the Fates have decided its time for my face to play a few musical tunes of it’s own.

The wisdom of my brain is saying “it’s called growing old, just embrace the changes you weirdo” but the heart of my youth is saying “GOOD GAWD PEOPLE break out the vacuum cleaners and start sucking the danglies off my body before it’s too late!!!!”

And if that isn’t bad, I also seem to have awoken up with permanent pillow lines etched on my face (at least that is what I am calling them).  Oh the sheer horror I experienced this morning.  First I threw cold water on my face, and nope, they did not go away.  Then I stood in a shower with the water pounding on my face in the hopes that my skin would suck it all in and it would reinvigorate my youthfulness.  Nothing.  Then I pulled out the big guns and slathered on my “money back guaranteed” instant wrinkle remover. Five minutes later, I looked in the mirror and slathered on some more.  And as I was laying on my bed on my back admiring how my face was regaining its sweet innocence of youth (even though my breasts had silently rolled to the sides and fell underneath my armpits), I unfortunately sat up too quickly and was slapped literally in the face while it distorted back into the reality of looking like the beginning of a city road map!  Eeee Gads!

Wasn’t it just last year I was mistaken for the mere age of 34, and then only a couple of months ago, I was asked if I qualified for the senior’s discount at my local drugstore (although, I was asked this by a very bitter geriatric cashier, mind you).  So what gives?  And what am I doing wrong?  Have I spent too much time rattling around in my brain and nourishing it with facts and deep meaningful thoughts and new things to learn and have forgotten and neglected to spend time on my body?  Tis true, I am afraid to say.  What’s more heart wrenching is the realization that no matter how sharp your brain is, it can only go so far if the body is broken. 

In any event, while the wisdom of my brain is blaming it on my sheer lack of neglect, my youthful heart is blaming it on too much chocolate and not enough broccoli.  Maybe there is something to be said about the naivety of the youth.  Yup, too much chocolate and not enough broccoli, I like that, and that my friends is my story and I am sticking to it!  But, in the meantime, if you need directions to New York, just check out the left side of my butt cheek for road directions, there is a pretty clear indicator of which route to take!

Until Next Time.

Smooches

TO THONG OR NOT TO THONG.... that is the question my friends

This has been a question that has floated thru this addled brain of mine for years. Last night the controversy was stirred up again when I was sitting with one of my younger family members and we got to talking about them.

Oh sure, I have had my share of thongs, but I have to be honest, I have found I partially preferred thongs when they were actually a shoe you stuck on your foot as oppose to a piece of dental floss stuck between your butt. Beautiful, enticing and lacey, they always seem to call to me when I am in a lingerie aisle, those along with incredibly pretty bras have always caught my breath. And sadly, I have a whole drawer full of lace which if I calculated the cost altogether, I would venture to say that I could buy a small remote island and retire!

Anywhooo, it came to my attention last night that I may have reached the age and body where a thong should be hung up and retired. Not that it probably every looked cute on me any time in my life, but I am pretty sure that when I wear one now, I look like I am sporting a European Flag between two very large hamburger buns! Ah yes, thongs are for those perky, youthful derrieres, you know the ones I am talking about, still smooth and unblemished from years of sitting on them, from years of exercise neglect or years of exposure to sun. No matter how womanly you feel, there comes a time in every girl's life to reassess the thong and it just might be the right time to hang up that thong especially when your patooty starts to take on the distinct look of a large brick of swiss cheese.

So it is "without" great remorse that I hand over the thong torch to the next generation. I am done with the friction between my poor butt cheeks. They have done their service and now deserve comfortable cotton briefs. Besides, its not whether you wear something lacey or something cotton, just as long as you know how to rock the panties... And this chickalet can rock anything, even granny panties!

Until next time

Smooches

I AM HAVING A PARTY AND "YOU" ARE MY HONOURED GUESTS!

I am having a party on my blog for you, my fellow bloggers, in the hopes that

• you can all meet each other,
• check out each other's blog, 
• get to know each other,
• and hopefully click one or two follow buttons. 

Nope, you don't have to bring anything but yourself, a little diddy about your blog and your blog site! 

Easy Peasy Lemon Squeezies!

For the next 24 to 48 hours, I am handing over the keys to my digs! Yup, that's right! This party is for EVERYONE. And I mean everyone. From beginner bloggers to seasoned ones, from those without followers to those with thousands. Everyone is invited.

Here's the house rules:

• Leave a comment to this post with a small description of what your blog is about along with your blog address;
• Be kind and come back periodically and check out other blogs and their addresses: and
• Meet and greet and support each other.

And when you're said and done, please leave your dirty dishes by the sink, turn off the lights and lock the doors!  What?  I'm not your mother for gawdsakes!  Pick up after yourselves! :)

I so can't wait to come and meet you all too!

Oh, and why am I doing this you say? Because, sometimes we all need a little help from our friends, and every single one of you deserve to be read, appreciated and followed!

Oh, by the way, stay out of my underwear drawer while you are here! I don't want to hear about any of you running thru my place with my delicates on your heads!

And for gawd sakes, don't be shy!  Now go... meet.... mingle.... be merry! Well not too merry. Oh what the hell, be SUPER MERRY!

Smooches

PS If you have other blogger friends who wish to meet other bloggers, tell them to come and post here too. They don't have to follow me. This party is for everyone!

TIED UP IN KNOTS

I have a knotted butt cheek.  My right cheek to be exact.  And I have to say, it is driving me bonkers.  Now, I am no stranger to knots or aches or pains.  When you live with fibromyalgia, connective tissue disease and osteoarthritis, you are well versed on the subject of pain.

But I have to say, I am completely uncomfortable.  I sit all day at my job and I am wiggling around like a squirmy two year old who has to go pee.

It’s been four longs days with this goofy affliction. Last night in an attempt to get some relief, I laid on the floor with a tennis ball stuck under my buttocks.  Me and my butt rolled around on that tennis ball for a good half hour trying to release some trigger points, or any trigger point.  This was no easy feat as my pooch thought that I was playing some type of game with him and kept digging at my ass to try and retrieve the ball.  Needless to say, he won and I have the paw prints to prove it!

Later, I asked my better half to kindly take his elbow to my butt cheek in attempt to work out the dastardly knot.  And you know, you soon discover that a man really does loves you when he takes an elbow to your butt and he doesn’t considered it foreplay.  Unfortunately, the elbowing didn’t last long because, well ummm... I had eaten a bean salad for lunch and him pressing on my butt may have triggered something.  I won’t say the dreaded “f” word that so many of my followers now detest.  I will just repeat what my better half had to say: “Oh gawd gross!  Again?  What did you eat woman? Where the hell is the Fabreeze? You should have come with a warning label!”  Yes, perhaps I should have.  And then he left me lying there and went and lit a scented candle.

The rest of night kind of went like this: sit on couch and change positions every minute or so, soak in a bath tub until my body looked like shrink wrap, lay on the floor with ice pack and fight off the slobbery tongue of an adorable pooch, go to bed and sleep on heating pad until my rump roast was thoroughly cooked!

Oh yes, it’s so much fun to be me!  Now aren’t you jealous?

Until Next Time.
Smooches

GHOSTLY ENCOUNTERS

The things that are going bump in the night are starting to drive this girl batty.  For those who don’t know, I work in a haunted building.  An old Church, to be exact, that has been converted into offices.  Long lost is it's former glorious original charm, only to be replaced with screaming 70's interior decor.  Hang a disco ball, play some Bee Gee’s music and John Travolta could call it home.

Almost eleven years of working here, and I can say that I have often made peace with those who seem to live here in a shrouded form.

Usually calm and collected from my frequently and reluctantly received ghostly visits, last Friday was a reminder that even the most accepting individual of unexplained incidents can come close to peeing her big girl panties when presented with a scary moment.

Once again, I had closed up the office and waited in the downstairs foyer of the building for my better half to pick me up.  I had turned off all the lights in the building including the foyer light so that cars rushing up and down the street would not see me standing there thru a glass pane in the door.

It was, unfortunately, a big mistake.  As soon as I clicked that light switch off, I instantly heard my office chair rolling around on the floor above me.  And if that wasn't enough, filing cabinets were being opened and slammed shut at an alarming rate.  Sounds of running up and down my office hallway had me quaking at the knees.  Knowing that the building was empty and my office was alarmed, only confirmed the fact that my ghostly counter parts were having a Friday night party at the expense of my instantly greying hair.

It took all my strength to remain in the building until I was picked up.  With blustery weather and torrential rains, I weighed my option of standing outside and getting soaked to the frightening sounds above me.  Deep chanting of “come on honey, come on honey, come on honey” did nothing to soothe the multitude of fine little hairs standing on the back of my neck.

And, as if someone heard my pleas, my better half arrived.  In a matter of a second, I was out the front door and running across the street shrieking like the banshee I can be.

Sitting in the car, my better half and I witnessed a spectacular light show from my office on the top floor. Lights flicking on and off thru the entire office, left us both paralyzed with fear and wondering where the nearest drug store was for a purchase of adult size diapers.  And then in a blink, it all stopped.

Can you say future Ghost Hunters episode?  Because I can!

Until Next Time.
Smooches