Getting the Damn Cat Out of the Tree

My cats are assholes. I mean, I love them but they do really assholish things, the biggest of which is running outside behind people when they are going out. I have tried several times to reason with them and tell them that they are indoor cats, but they just stare at me. The other day one of the cats ran out behind me and I said, "Screw it!" and didn't run to catch her this time, figuring I was busy and she would come back eventually. I was going out to my Grampa's house for lunch and was already running late, so I let the kids know that one of the cats was outside and to watch out for her.

An hour or so later, while I was at my visit, I got a phone call from my kids. Now the damn cat was in a tree. Great. They were freaking out, so I told them not to worry, that she would come down on her own. When I got home later, the cat was STILL in the tree, looking down meowing at me from 30 feet up.

"Indigo, what are you doing up there?"

MEOW

"Indigo, get down here"

MEOW

"Indigo! Quit fooling around and get out of that tree right now!"

MEOW MEOW MEOW

Great again. I got out my questionably trusty aluminum step ladder and put it up against the tree. She was way out on a high branch, and she would come to the fork in the branch but wouldn't come down the trunk to me. She would get to that fork and get scared as it was straight down toward me, and i could see she sure wasn't going there. After 15 minutes of begging and calling, I decided I needed a new plan.

I went inside and called the fire department.

Me: Yeah, hi, how much would you charge me to get my cat out of a tree?

FD: Ummm we don't do that anymore. Try some treats

Me: Done

FD: Oh. Well she'll come down on her own eventually

Me: I don't think so

FD: Here's the number for the SPCA. Maybe they can coax her down.

So I called the SPCA.

Me: Hi, I can't get my cat out of a tree and I wondered if you could help me

SPCA: Try some treats.

Me: Done

SPCA: I'm sure she will come down on her own. We dont' have the resources to help you so here's the number for a tree cutter downer

Me: *sigh* ok



Next, I asked my Facebook friends if anyone had an extension ladder I could borrow. And then I waited. The entire time there was a constant MEOW from the damn cat in the tree outside, and a constant  MEOW from the damn cats answering her from in my house. I got the ladder from a friend, and drove it back to my house with my four ways on while the ladder hung out of the back of the open hatch of my van, secured by the head rest of the seat through the rungs, and a seatbelt wrapped around the end. Once I got the ladder home, I put it up against the tree and got an athletic looking neighbour boy to climb it to try to get my cat. YES!! He got close enough to her to grab her by the collar! The special snap away collar that I bought so that if she ever got caught on anything, it would immediately come off of her neck so she wouldn't strangle to death. Yeah. It snapped off. He hung his head in frustration. By this time I had five other neighbours trying to help me, and athletic ladder-climbing neighbour boy had to go.

The rest of us tried to get her to move the direction we wanted her to on the branch by spraying her with water. I tried my little spray bottle. Surprisingly enough, the handy dandy spray bottle wouldn't spray thirty feet up. Soooo out came the hose. I squirted the water toward her bum to get her moving on the branch. Nothing. I sprayed her right on her bum and she moved the opposite way that I wanted. I tried to coerce her to go the other way with more spraying. She went the way I wanted her to, but now she was soaking wet and meowing at me with fear in her poor little eyes.

All during this, another handy neighbour had fashioned a hook to pull the branch down, since she was on the end of the branch now and closer to the ground. We set the big ladder up at the fence that was under the end of the branch she was on, and got the littlest neighbour lady up the ladder to try to get her. Her arms were too short, so the kitty was just out of reach for her. Next we got my somewhat athletic son up on the ladder. He couldn't reach her either, and as I told him to just climb up higher while little lady neighbour was spraying the cat with the hose, the fence holding the ladder gave a big crack and the top of it supporting the ladder broke, sending my son scrambling down in a big hurry. At the same time, the hook holding the branch down let go and the cat fell out of the tree, hit the ground and ran like Hell. We found her and picked her up and wrapped her in a nice fuzzy towel to dry her off.

For the next couple of days Indigo wouldn't sleep on my bed, but on the floor beside my bed. And she would continuously bring me her "baby" (a stuffed chick that she likes to carry around in her mouth), and drop it at my feet. And I cuddled her and kissed her head and told her I forgave her. Wouldn't you??

The Land of Self Acceptance

A little back story: I have been struggling with my weight since I was 12 years old and I noticed that my body didn't look the same as the other girls' at school. When I say struggled, I mean I fucking STRUGGLED. So many times I stayed home and didn't go out with friends because I was so uncomfortable with my body. By the time I was a teenager, I had tried several different kinds of diet pills from green tea capsules to ephedrine. Btw, I totally get why ephedrine was banned in Canada. It gave me crazy scary heart palpatations! I exercised for hours while everyone else in the house was asleep, or I didn't exercise and then chastised myself for being fat and lazy. I have been bulimic and anorexic, either vomiting up to 5 times a day, or rewarding myself with one apple to eat every three days, depending on how "in control" I was at the time. At my lowest adult weight of 145lbs (at 5'9"), I was a size 9 and I still felt I was too big. When I look back at pictures, I see that I was not big nor overweight. I cut pictures out of magazines and pasted them in a scrapbook in order of the thinness of the models. When I became thinner than a model in the book, I crossed her out with a great sense of satisfaction. I thought this was motivational, but now that I work with paediatric patients with eating disorders, I see how detrimental all of this was to my health and my self esteem.

Even at my ideal weight, clothes have never fit me right. Shirts have never been long enough, sleeves are usually too short, shoulders are too tight, waists pinch in too much or don't fit at all. Bras have always been too tight around my chest if they fit the front, or too baggy in front if they fit around my chest. At one point I went to 2 different plastic surgeons to have consultations regarding getting breast implants. I didn't end up getting the boobs I longed for because my bank loan was rejected. Jerks. Although I'm glad I didn't get them now, at the time it was slightly devastating for my 21 year old self.

Three years ago I got very physically active again and lost weight (again), being my thinnest in years. I worked out excessively, I counted every single calorie I ate and then used an app to figure out how many calories I had burned that day. If the results were to my liking, I gave myself a star in my calorie counting book. If they weren't, I gave myself a pig sticker. I was hard on myself. I was always hungry and always tired, but the more people complimented my weight loss, the more I wanted to hear the compliments, and the more entrenched in it I became. I was absolutely obsessed. Once again, I had no life. I couldn't go out to socialize and risk eating unplanned calories, plus I had to get up at 4;30 am to work out. On days I wasn't working, I would work out twice a day. Now, I have gained weight and I don't work out at all. I have this crazy all or nothing mentality. I either do it all or I do nothing at all.

So onto my story: I needed a new winter coat as my old one didn't fit anymore. I went to all of the places that would sell one at a price I wouldn't freak out about. Also, truth be told I didn't feel that my bigger body deserved to have much money spent on it (my poor body :( )Nothing that I could afford fit me properly (there's that problem again). Sleeves too short, coat too short, too tight to zip up over a hoody. My mom convinced me to go check out Penningtons. I'd never been there because I didn't want to shop in the "big ladies store" as we had always called it. We went in and I was greeted by Jess, who showed me some winter coats. I ended up buying one that not only fit, but it makes my bum look fantastic. The sleeves were long enough, I could zip it up with my hoody underneath it. What more could I want? I had always (even at my ideal weight) been a weird size. Just a snick above a ladies XL, but definitely not big enough for a 2XL. This has always made me feel crazy self conscious. I'm not self conscious about the width of my shoulders, but I'm devastated about the size printed on the tag on the inside of my clothing. How insane is that?  I went back to Penningtons a week or so later and met Sarah. I haven't worn jeans for a couple of years, opting for the stretchy yoga type pants, and I wanted to try on some jeans to see how they fit me from this store. They were too short (an easy fix), but Sarah could sense my frustration. She showed me how I should be dressing to make myself look my best, and I learned some tricks of the trade. As mentioned earlier, the hugest bane of my existance has always been not finding bras to fit me properly. I recently had one custom made that's primo, but other than that I wear something akin to an old cut off undershirt. No one makes a bra in a 42A, and that's just the unfair way it is. Then Sarah told me about bra extenders. You buy the bra that fits your front and then you use this thing that clips onto the back to extend it to fit your measurement around. AS IF!! No, it's true! And if they make these, that means that I'm not the only person out there with this issue. If, in this store, they make sleeves longer and shoulders bigger, then I'm not alone with my long arms and wide shoulders. I'm not the only person on earth who can't fit into "normal" clothes! The feeling of relief was so overwhelming that I got a little bit teary and gave Sarah a hug. Instead of the instant frustration of clothes shopping, I felt nothing but acceptance. It may seem like a small thing, but to me it opened a whole new world of self acceptance.

I Am A Woman of Inappropriate Actions

I admit, I am a woman of inappropriate actions. I most often times do these things without thinking. And by most often, I mean always. I always do these things without thinking. It's not that I'm a huge invader of personal space, it's more like, when someone enters my bubble of personal space there is the potential for all hell to break loose. Sometimes when I meet a complete stranger I will hug them and then kiss their cheek. Sometimes I fart on the cat. I think it depends on the waxing and waning of the moon and the tides. I recently had three instances of my issue happen within the span of one week, which is a bit more than usual:

#1. I was out for lunch with my bestie. We will call him Kevin. Because his name is Kevin and I have no need to protect his identity. We were out having a nice Thai lunch buffet on a nice, sunny afternoon. I was trying new things eating the same things that I always have at the buffet because I figure, once I find something I like, why fuck around with it? My cashew chicken was a bit on the spicy side, and I drank all of my water. The waitress came along and gave me a refill. Then, along with seconds of the cashew chicken, I drank all of that water too. At this point, the waitress was nowhere to be found and my mouth was hot. Burning hot. So I drank out of Kevin's water glass. It was the only reasonable thing for me to do since my mouth was almost literally on fire. After I drank half of it, I put the glass back down in front of him.

Kevin: Did you just do what I think you did?

Me: I don't know. What do you think I just did?

Kevin: You drank out of my glass!

Me: So?

Kevin: That's gross! Now I can't drink out of it. I need a new glass!

Me: Oh please! You left a bigger lip mark on it than I did. Grow up!

Kevin: You grow up. You disgust me.

I guess some people just don't like when you drink out of their glass *shaking my head*. It's not like I used my tongue as a swizzle stick and handed the glass back to him. Oh well. More water for me.

#2. I had been invited over to a boy's house to watch a movie. (I refer to men as boys. Don't panic, he was the same age as me), This boy shall remain nameless, as I'm sure he wants to forget all about this night. I knew who he was through mutual friends and Facebook, but I hadn't gotten together with him before. I was telling my work wife, Amanda, about how this boy never contacted me again after the night I had gone over, but I wasn't sure why. Not that we had anything in common but let's fucking face it, sometimes a girl just wants to feel wanted, you know?

Amanda: So you went over for a movie. Did you actually watch a movie? Were your pants on?

Me: Yes, we actually watched a movie. My pants were on, my shirt was on. All of my clothes were on. I had no socks on, but I didn't go there with socks.

Amanda: Oh yeah? What was the movie then?

Me: *rolling my eyes* Horrible Bosses 2

Amanda: Soooo what happened?

Me: He was a smoker. I didn't know that before I went over. He asked me if it would gross me out if he smoked in front of me and I said yes.

Amanda: The harsh truth. Ok.

Me: Then he asked me if I wanted a beer and I told him I don't really drink. He had a lot of beer in his fridge.

Amanda: Ok.....so far you have nothing in common....

Me: I liked his dog. I was cuddling on the couch with his dog

Amanda: Wait, you were cuddling his dog? Where was he?

Me: He was sitting in a chair, and he came over and sat beside me. Then I put my foot on the side of his face. Like, not just the tips of the toes. My whole foot on the side of his whole face.

Amanda: Your bare foot? On his face? Why??

Me: I don't know. It just felt like the thing to do.

Amanda: What? Why? What did he do?

Me: He grabbed my ankle and took my foot off of his face. I asked him if that bothered him and he said, "Umm yeah. A little bit."

Amanda: Did you reflect on any of this before you told it to me? Because I actually get why he didn't contact you again.

I guess some people just don't like when you put your foot on the side of their face *shaking my head*.

#3. I went in to work for the night shift. The areas are divided into paediatrics and the neonatal ICU on our side. Those two areas are basically separated by a door, so I wasn't aware of who had been working the day shift in the NICU. I sat down and was chatting with the paeds day shift person and my sweet little nurse friend Heather Murphy (I have no interest in protecting her identity either) came out of the NICU. I adore Heather, and I like to think she adores me, so we tend to show affection toward each other in a platonic, non lesbian way. She came up behind me and put her arms around me, hugging me from behind. Her face was pressed side to side with mine and I quickly turned my face toward hers and kissed her cheek. I will admit that I didn't initially know who I was kissing. But a split second later when I had figured it out, my brain said a kiss wasn't quite enough, and I immediately licked the side of her face. I could tell by her reaction of yelling, "PAULA! TOO CLOSE!!" that it had been taken one step too far. My brain's advice had betrayed me yet again. Oops. I guess some people just don't like when you lick the side of their face *shaking my head*. What can I say? I'm a work in progress....

My Journey to Optimal Health: Part 2

Ah yes, my continued journey to optimal health. It's been a bit of a struggle with the decluttering as I love my stuff. So much stuff. Stuff that is so everywhere that it is suffocating. I especially love my books. Not that I've read even half of them, but I love them. They smell good, they look good, they feel good in my hands. Once I put my mind to clearing them out, I had to be honest with myself and take a hard look at what I had in my collection. There were books I had no interest in even reading, but I felt like I should. To be considered well read, one is expected to read the classics, or those (usually sappy) books on Oprah's Book Club list. In the end, I pared down 160 books and one book case. I did the same with my collection of movies and got rid of another bookcase worth of those from my home. Movies that no one watched, but could be great entertainment for someone else. And clothes too, an entire dresser of clothes gone. Clothes that I have been saving as my "inspiration clothes" to lose weight (hahaha). That's fine with a couple of pieces of clothing. but not an entire dresser full! I sold some things, and what I did not sell I donated. I'm so happy and I feel so much lighter without those possessions possessing me.

Next I decided to go for massage therapy. Since my back has been feeling so awesomely amazing from my chiropractic adjustments, I wanted to get those muscles relaxed as well (plus I have a small amount of coverage from my employer). I asked around for recommendations and decided to go see Mara Wingrove RMT. I had only gone to one massage appointment ever before so I really didn't know what to do or what was expected, but Mara was very kind and patient and walked me through everything that was going to happen before we started. My first appointment ended up being a 30 minute bit of Heaven. I was even a bit light headed afterward, which is apparently happens sometimes. I've gone back twice since then, and never asked for anything less than an hour long appointment. When I leave, I feel like I'm standing up straighter and I feel lighter. There's that word again.....lighter. I love that my tension is completely gone by the time I leave Mara's.

Mara :)

Sooooo I'd heard that volunteering does a heart good. However, the type of volunteering I like doing is the type that makes you feel good without too much work behind it. I know, I know that sounds totally self absorbed and lazy, but I actually don't care. My friend Christa had recently started volunteering at the local cat shelter, and I thought it might be something I'd like as well. I told them I would be open to fostering cats until they are ready for adoption. I mean, there are about 80 cats in that house so I figured they would benefit from the quieter atmosphere of my home. I ended up taking home a mommy cat and her two kittens. The kittens were a week and a half old and their eyes were barely open. All I could think was, I don't know what to do with these little creatures!! Yes, I'm a nurse of small people and I don't feel competent to take care of some healthy wee kitties. I have had to consult some friends with their development at times, but overall it's been a really great experience. We have had them for five weeks now and they are like part of the family :)

Sophia 

Cordelia

They sleep on me and keep my up lots of nights

My last step on this part of my journey has been to do things as naturally as possible. I got rid of all of my room freshening sprays, aerosols, floor waxes and chemical cleaners. I took them all down to the depot at the dump and started fresh. I have made room sprays with essential oils, and cleansers from mostly vinegar and baking soda. I'm not going to lie, I still have my comet cleanser (mostly out of habit), but almost everything else is au natural, including my hair spray. I feel so amazing knowing I am putting less chemicals on my body, and when I run out of laundry soap I am going to try making my own. Wish me luck!!

My Journey to Optimal Health, Part...Unknown. It Will Take As Long As It Takes.

The age of 41 1/2 I've looked at myself and my life and decided I want to make a change. My goal? I want to have optimal health. Now that's pretty broad goal, so first I had to figure out exactly what optimal health is. For me it isn't necessarily running a marathon, or climbing a mountain. It's being able to function to the best of my body's ability, with good healthy habits in place. The short of it is, I want to feel good. Now, I'm the first person to have felt the defeat of my own best intentions when it comes to attempting to instill healthy habits. How many years have I carefully written out New Year's Resolutions to inspire me on my annual journey? I'd say a conservative 35 years. Of course I'd never just write one or two things to work on throughout the year that would better me along the way. Nope, try 10-25 things. I guess I thought I was a bit of a mess and needed to work out my unending pit of flaws, especially when I was younger. This past January was the first time I hadn't written any resolutions since I was 12 years old. I'm not sure if it has been liberating, or if it's made me disappointed in myself. Is it better to work toward too much and be disappointed, or work toward nothing and remain unmotivated and unchanged? Either way I feel a bit like a failure, so I am tackling different areas of my life on a staggered schedule, rather than attempting to do everything I'd like to accomplish at once.

Week 1: The first step in my journey was to deal with my back, as at times I can't even roll over in bed due to the pain. I'll try to stand up, and my back says, "Nope, lay back down!" and goes into complete spasm. This is especially inconvenient when I have to pee. My back pain has been an issue since I was in my early 20s, but has definitely gotten worse over the past 2-3 years. This obviously also affected my ability to do a lot of physical activity, as I never knew what would throw my back off kilter and land me in bed for days. This last bout of throwing my back out was precipitated by my coughing. The one before that, from picking a sock up off of the floor. Seriously? No one should have to put up with that. My long time chiropractor  retired a couple of years ago and I really needed a new one. I asked a few people who they would vouch for, and finally decided to go with Dr. Whitney Wihlidal after a strong recommendation from my awesome marathon runner friend, Christa Davidson.

At my first visit I was a bit skeptical, as I tend to be when money is involved. "How do I know if I really need the adjustments recommended?? How do I know this doctor isn't just saving up for a trip to Hawaii??" were the thoughts running through my head. Well, first of all, he has a handy machine. It's a like a metal door frame with bungee cords running horizontally and vertically through the centre of it. At the bottom there are two scales, one for each foot. You stand normally on said contraption, and Dr. Wihlidal takes photos to show you how much or little your posture varies from the straight lines of the cords. The scales show how much your natural posture leans to one side or the other. For example, I lean 29 pounds more onto my left leg than I do to my right. Not only that, but I was sent for x-rays of my neck and spine because of past accidents and traumas affecting my neck and spine. Dr. Wihlidal didn't want to do an adjustment on me until he knew what was going on in there (can't say I blame him). Turns out that pretty much every place your spine is supposed to have that nice soft curve, mine has a straightaway (I even got copies of my crazy back pictures!). Thus, the chronic pain. Yes, I absolutely needed the proposed adjustments! My back may not get back to the exact way it's supposed to be, but in the end it will be so much better than it is now.

My daughter, Trista, with the awesome
 Sheila at the front desk

Dr. Wihlidal with his cool machine that
lets you know how crooked you are ;)

In addition to the chiropractic care I am receiving, I am to do some special stretches targeting my neck and hip flexors, which are my problem areas. I made this into a bedtime routine, and added taking my vitamins and meds for my Crohn's disease (that I never remember to take) to that bedtime routine.

Week 2: I thought my girl and I should take advantage of the gift certificates we got for Christmas from my mom and have a girls day. I booked the appointments with Ron Hill at Shadows Salon for March Break so we weren't on a rushed schedule, cause I despise being rushed. If anyone out there has ever cut their own hair and then expected a professional to fix it afterward, you'll know the look on my stylist's face when I told him what I'd been doing to my hair for the past year. Kinda like telling your doctor you eat completely healthy and exercise every day, but you're 200 pounds overweight. Luckily, Ron is tactful enough to just smile and start cutting. When Trista was done (yes I cut her hair too), she said she felt like a new woman. I showed Ron two pictures of two very different hairstyles, one of which had the front part of the hairstyle up in a braid so you really couldn't see what the actual hairstyle was. I then said something to the effect of "do what you think is best". I mean really, if I can't screw up my curly haired mop I know he never would. And from my incredible power of description, I got a most excellent haircut. Now I just have to fix up that white streak at the front of my head....sssshhhhh.....

Ron and Trista (feeling like a new woman!)

My excellent new hair

Stay tuned for next week's update on my journey to optimal health!

My Son Has the Autism. This Is Some of the Shit He Says.

My son, Trent, has the autism. Or more specifically he falls under PDD-NOS, which stands for Pervasive Developmental Disorder - Not Otherwise Specified. I say he has the autism and not that he is autistic because it is something you have, not something you are. There is no need to be defined as a person by it. He is what they call "high functioning", meaning he goes to regular classes at his high school with only a few minor adjustments such as having a longer time to write class tests. He also has a learning disability called dysgraphia which makes it difficult to put his thoughts down on paper with writing, so he has a laptop with a very cool voice-to-text program on it. This way, he can simply tell the computer what he wants to say and it writes it all out for him. He has friends, but often misses social cues (but hey, don't we all sometimes?), and doesn't like to be out in public for long periods of time.

He has this unique way of thinking that tends to make me think as well. This was one of our conversations late last year when he texted me from school:

Trent: If I ate myself would I become twice as big or disappear completely

Me: Good question. you wouldn't become twice as big unless there was another one of you. You wouldn't disappear completely because you'd die half way through eating yourself, but then if you survived it, you'd have to shit yourself out

Trent: But I wouldn't disappear so there would be nothing left but my mouth because my mouth can't eat itself

Me: Right

Trent: But then there would still be the parts that I ate so I don't really know

Me: You'd die of blood loss before it was just your mouth left

Trent: But if I didn't die

Me: True. You can't eat your own mouth. You can't double in size though because it's still the same amount of mass. It won't double.

Me: Is this for class?

Trent: So nothing would really happen

Trent: No I was just curious

Me: I love the way your mind thinks

Trent: Thank you

Yes, that's right, I thought there had to be an actual reason for his line of questioning but he was just wondering. These are some of the other things he says to me:

-If I punched myself and it hurts, am I too weak or too strong?

-If you think about it, birthdays are like a satanic ritual. Think of it this way, a small gathering of people huddled around an object that is on fire (the cake), chanting ritualistically a repetitive song in unison (happy birthday) until the fire is blown out and the knife is stabbed into the object

-Fingers are weird, they are like your arm splitting off into smaller arms

-What if when you put on a shirt your belly button screams because it's afraid of the dark

-I wonder if the Romans called their buddies "Romies" instead of Homies

-I was thinking about when I played with plastic dinosaurs as a kid and I realized that plastic is made from oil which is made from dinosaurs from millions of years ago. So technically the plastic dinosaurs are made from real dinosaurs

-What if pop cans are alive and when you take one from the pack and open it, you're snapping its neck and drinking its blood in front of its family?

-Every book you have ever read is just a different combination of 26 letters

-How do your eyebrows know when to stop growing?

-In the Pixar intro who do we just ignore that the lamp murdered the "I" and then looks at us as if he was going to say "You'd better not say a f*cking thing or you're next"?

And my personal favourites:

-What if the only reason we can't walk through mirrors is because our reflection is blocking us?

-What if oxygen was like a drug and everything you ever saw is a hallucination?

-What if we are all characters in a book and when we forget what we were about to say, it was the Author backspacing

I'm not sure if it is the fact that I'm a grown up, or the fact that he has the autism, but I sure wish I thought the unique way he does more often!

I Always Get Dumped in January

As I reminisce on the past few years, I have come to realize that the last three men I have dated have each broken up with me in January. Is this more than mere coincidence? It is part of my fate to start out each new year with a fresh, boy-free slate? Do I give terrible Christmas presents? Let's take a look at the bigger picture and analyze the hell out of this, shall we?

Boy #1

I loved him but he didn't love me. I knew he didn't love me, but I stuck around because I thought if I acted the "right way" around him he would grow to love me. If I could go back, I would say to myself, "Oh Darling, get some self esteem. You can stay in his life at his convenience with the realization that he is NEVER going to love you, or grow a set and walk away from that. You are hurting yourself beyond belief." And FYI I made him cookies for Christmas. It might not sound like much, but they are the best cookies ever made. I don't make them very often because they make other cookies feel bad since they know they could never measure up. Seriously. Plus it was one of those things where I was trying to play it cool, since I hadn't professed my undying love to Boy #1 at this point. It was supposed to be a friendly, no strings attached type of gift. But it obviously came from my heart because those cookies were a bitch to make. He got me nothing. He told me I had gotten too attached and he didn't want to see me romantically anymore on January 23rd. I remember that it was January 23rd because I said something to the effect of, "Great. You couldn't pick any other day of the whole fucking year besides the one that commemorates the death of my grandmother. Fuck you fuck you fuck you." Okay, maybe those exact words didn't come out of my mouth, but I was certainly thinking them in my head.

Boy #2

I met this boy at a Halloween party and agreed to a date even though he was wearing a costume in which his entire face was covered in dark face paint. I didn't even know what he looked like. When we met at the movie theatre I saw that he was a beautiful specimen of a boy indeed. He was younger than me. He looked as if he should be in a movie, and he could sing beyond belief. I loved kissing this boy. A lot. He was here for a few months and then moving back overseas, which I knew from the beginning. I didn't get him anything for Christmas because we had only been dating for about 6 weeks at that point and I didn't really know what the expectation was. To be honest, this boy wasn't like other boys I had dated and I found him very difficult to read, but he was an excellent kisser. Two days before Christmas, he swept me away to a motel for a night, as we did not often have time that was 100% to ourselves. He also gave me a few random things for the night away. Okay, maybe I deserved that dumping. He obviously put a lot of thought into that gift, and did some planning. I didn't hear from him for almost two weeks after our night away, only to find out that in that time he had reconciled with his ex girlfriend. Ouch! She probably gave him good Christmas gifts.

Boy #3

This was the boy I thought was going to be my forever. We were inseparable for months. We said we loved each other, and it was true. We had made future plans, and they were good. We were comfortable together. We had so much in common, we were almost the same person. And damn it, I did give him good Christmas presents! He broke up with me on the anniversary of the day I met the father of my children, who has been absent from our lives (both physically and monetarily) for many years. I greeted this news with a huge, "Motherfuck!! Like this day in history wasn't bad enough already!!" Maybe those words didn't come out of my mouth.....oh who am I kidding, I said those words. Right out loud.

After I considered the following graph, I saw that the breaking up has definitely not occurred in the peak break up times. However I am still questioning my theory that I am a subpar Christmas gift giver, as realistically it was only with good kisser Boy #2 that I really put no effort into it. I suppose it has just been a random series of events, but it is true that starting the year with that fresh, boy-free slate certainly is liberating xo

Shine. Possibility. Radical Self-Love.

At the beginning of January I was browsing on the Pinterest, and I came across an interesting little blog post. The gist of the post was that at the beginning of each new calendar year, you choose a word that you would like to encompass that specific year. The word, or words, are to be directly tied to your goals, and would serve as a reminder of how you would like the next 12 months of your life to play out. In essence, this word would become your mantra for the year. I briefly read through all 100 of the "get some inspiration suggestions" to see what would jump out at me, and settled on two words that would compliment one another: Shine and Possibility. I looked at them over and over. I read them several times a day for a few days in a row. I wanted to see if they were something that resonated with me enough to carry them in my heart. I needed to decide if they inspired me to live up to them for a year. I was sure I wanted to let myself shine through my art and writing, and be open to the possibilities that doing this might bring. Last year was my "I'm going to write and make art and show the world" promise to myself, at which I fell miserably short. I wanted this year to be different. I wanted to "live up to my potential". Growing up, I'm sure I saw that phrase on my report cards about 60, 000 times as an elementary and high school student, although I could never figure out how any teacher could possibly know that I even had potential if I was determined not to live up to it.

A few days after I chose my mantra, my boyfriend made the decision to leave me. No face to face goodbye, and plenty of need for closure on my part. I will love him always, but deep in my heart I have come to terms with the fact that he was right, and that his leaving was for the best for both of us. Regardless, I felt angry, hurt, brokenhearted and absolutely blindsided. I looked at my mantra for the year again. Shine. Possibility. Seriously? How the fuck was I supposed to shine now? I looked at the list again, willing another word to jump out at me. Any word to reflect how I could possibly cope for an entire year with my unexpected newfound singleness. Not that I haven't been single before, and for long periods of time, but I honestly thought that Brian was The One. I had made future plans for us. I thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. I thought, I thought, I thought. I was wrong. I scanned the list again and again. Making Peace. Heal. Letting Go. These were the same words that I'd been dealing with for the past two or three years. I'd made peace with many things. I'd let go of just as many things. I had healed from numerous past wounds. I was so fucking tired of doing those things. I'd done those things with all of my being for what felt like forever. I'd conquered the healing process and the letting go process and although it's incredibly healthy, I wanted it to be background noise this year. I wanted those things to be automatic, not what I spent my whole year immersed in, goddamn it.

2 AM and I’m still awake, writing a song

If I get it all down on paper it’s no longer inside of me,

Threatening the life it belongs to

And I feel like I’m naked in front of the crowd

Cause these words are my diary, screaming out loud

And I know that you’ll use them, however you want to

                                     ~Anna Nalick

I looked back at my original choices. Shine. Possibility. Even though I was incredibly sad, those words continued to draw me to them like little beacons of hope. Words of forging on. Healing and Letting Go could be done as well, but Healing and Letting Go felt like they were holding me still until I was done. I have been treading water with Healing and Letting Go for a long time now. In my heart I didn't feel like being still anymore. I picked another phrase out of the list to add to my year. A word that encompassed those things with a different connotation - Radical Self-Love. Yes, I thought to myself, this time it feels right.

If you are interested in choosing a word mantra for your year laying before you, the above mentioned blog post has a lot of really great ideas: http://www.viviennemcmasterphotography.com/2015/01/02/100-words-of-the-year/

Unbreak My Heart

And suddenly it was over. Five days ago I got the news that my boyfriend, the man I considered my soul mate, told me he wasn't happy and then he just left. I'm not going to say I understand it or that I'm okay with it, but his mind is firmly made up and I can't change it. He is the only man I have ever been able to be 100% myself with. Maybe that was the problem? Do I have some unbearable traits that are unbeknownst to me? I can't answer that. I do know that although I am heartbroken and devastated right now, I am glad Brian and I met. I learned a lot from him, and I hope he learned a bit from me too.

What I learned:

1. You know when you buy onions and you put them in your fridge crisper or on your counter and all of those onion skins get all over everything? Keep them in an open produce bag and no flaky skins get anywhere.

2. I love cats. I used to think I hated them until I lived with one. Even though the cat was super jealous bitch to me, I still loved her. Now I have a wee kitty of my own :)

3. I don't need most of the stuff I have. A couple days after the break up, I went through my entire house and got rid of two vanfulls of "stuff" to Value Village. Stuff I had accumulated but didn't need, and kept for the sake of comfort and safety. I feel so much better with more open space in my home now.

4. If there is anything I shouldn't feel guilty about spend more money on, it's quality food. The Farmer's Market is awesome, and I love going there in the summer. I don't even mind getting out of bed for it. 

5. I need to write and paint more. It's an outlet for my overly emotional being.

6. Being bipolar is nothing to be ashamed of.

7. I don't have to cater to my children.  I pay the bills and I can make the rules. I need to ditch my single parent guilt at the door. I need to prepare them for life outside of my home.

8. A garage is for parking a vehicle in. This is my third winter in my condo and the first winter I've been able to park in my garage. Best thing I've ever done. 

Now it's time for me to let the healing begin, because even though in this moment it feels like healing isn't possible, it will happen. Eventually.

How To Appreciate a Good Man When You Find Him - Step One: Thank the Johnnys and Robs of Your Life For Breaking Your Heart

 

It's been a long time, no? It's like this: I was waiting for the light to change so I could cross the road and I met a boy who swept me off of my feet. Enough said? Oh, you want to hear more??

I was taking my daughter to the Canada Day parade (July 1st for all of you non-Canadians) when IT happened. But first, a bit of background information. I hate parades. You're right, hate IS a strong word. That being said, I hate parades buuuuut I still have one child who is young enough to love them. So on the morning of July 1st when it was all rainy and bleak I was ecstatic! YAAY! No parade! The closer it got to noon, which was parade time, the more it began to clear. Dammit! Why wouldn't the weather gods co-operate with me? I thought of just not going, making up a little white (black as the Devil's soul) lie about the parade being cancelled due to the impending rain, but one look into my daughter's big brown eyes and I knew I had no choice but to take her. I usually go right down to the park to sit, which is where the parade ends, but this year I decided on a less crowded venue on the main street where we could watch it sail by us and then go back home. We found a parking space as close as we were going to get at my last minute, feet-dragging pace to get downtown (we might as well have walked from home), and started making our way to find a parade-watching spot. As we were standing on the corner with a small group of other people waiting for the light to change, a boy (man) came up to wait as well. I had seen this boy around town before, since we were teenagers, actually. I thought of him as one of the "Downtown People" because that's the only place I'd ever seen him. I had tried to smile at him a time or two (or ten), but he walked right by me without acknowledging my presence, and I eventually just gave up. So here we all were standing at the same street corner, waiting for that red light to change when Downtown Boy looked at me and said, "I know you. I see you on Facebook." Now, before you all think this is a creepy stalkerish thing, it's really not. We have a lot of mutual friends and at times we had actually both commented on friends' Facebook statuses. So we didn't know each other, but we knew of each other, if that makes sense. He and I made small talk until the light changed, walked across the road together and then parted ways.

Now keep in mind, this man had my, admittedly shallow, attention with his looks from the minute he said hello. And yes, that's why I had tried to smile at him and catch his attention in the past. So of course as soon as the parade ended, I got on my beloved Facebook and "friended" that Downtown Boy. Conversation ensued, and we made a date to meet. At our first meeting (date), we got together at a local pub. We sat down at a booth and both of us put our cell phones and keys up on the table. We both had the exact same phone (iPhone 4) with the exact same black Otterbox on it. Each of our key chains had the same clip (you know, those clips that say "not for climbing") on them because we both have trouble keeping track of where we put them so we need to secure the keys to something (I use my purse, he uses his belt loop). We had a drink or two and went for a little walk afterward, and at the point that he reached his hand out to touch a soft looking plant as we walked by, I knew that there was more than coincidence going on. We both touch (caress) plants as we walk by them? Unreal. I mean, who does that?? We talked about how we both long to live in the country, and how we feel that the trees and the sounds of nature are truly healing for the soul. The more we got to know each other, the more we found we had in common. It was as if we were the same person split into two different bodies.

 

After this date, our mutual friend Christa called that boy up, in nothing but my best interests, to give him a talking to that any awesome friend would. She explained me to him, and how my love can run quickly and deep. She wanted him to understand what I was about before he got his feet wet, which was probably one of the greatest things anyone has ever done for me. It dropped the veil from my eccentricities early on, leaving him with only half of the work of uncovering these (sometime) oddities.

 

It was on that first date that Brian first told me that he was bipolar, but I said nothing about my own mental health experiences. I had been denying the same diagnosis for most of my life. The phrases, "They made a mistake" and "I was misdiagnosed" often came out of my mouth when discussing it. His acceptance of that part of himself made it safe for me to do the same, and his full acceptance of me has instilled more love in me than I have ever had before. He has made me feel that it's ok to be me -- fully me -- for the first time in my life.

I was discussing my relationship with Brian with a friend just the other day. This friend and I had had our hearts broken by the same man, years apart. I told her that I didn't regret my past hurts because without them I would not be who I am right now. Without the Johnnys and Robs that had completely devastated me, I never would have developed into the type of woman with the ability to love a man like Brian, and feel that I honestly deserved his love in return. I now know that those past loves were preparing me for my great love. With John (the father of my children), Johnny and Rob I questioned everything: my worthiness, the actual amount of their affection, why their words and actions didn't match, and why their ambiguity reduced me to tears on an almost daily basis.

There are two types of romantic relationships - the ones that prepare you for your one great love, and the other is your one great love. How do you know which is which? The ones who prepare you make you question everything, especially yourself. The great one does not question you and you don't either. ~Rebecca Lammersen

Brian, being the "nice guy" that women talk about, would have quickly fallen off of my radar if I hadn't learned from my past experiences how utterly valuable this type of man really is. He loves my kids and they love him (ok the oldest teenager is a bit of a harder nut to crack), and he treats them as if they were his own. After 10 years, I know this is an incredibly rare trait to find in a man and I am super thankful for it! With Brian, I question nothing. Not him, not myself and not the two of us together. Everything feels completely right and comfortable, and has from day one because our past relationships have prepared us for each other.

Brian makes me feel safe, and appreciated. I know when I am with him I am important, and when I'm not I'm still on his mind. And you know what? It's completely mutual.

 



The Micro Waves in Microwaves: Will They Kill Me Or Not?

I recently decided to get rid of my microwave. I'd been toying with the idea for a while, but got more serious about it once my youngest child turned 10. I was worried about them using the stove top to heat things up, you see. I know accidents can happen at any time and I just wanted them to have a bit more maturity under their belts before they took on the large household appliances.

So I'd been reading a bit about the dangers of those little micro waves heating up our food, and although I want to believe they're super dangerous, the World Health Organization says it's all a-ok to use microwaves. I tend to be a bit more skeptical of these things in my advancing age, and don't necessarily believe something like that is true just because I'm told it is. One website even called people like me "a member of the tinfoil hat brigade". Jerks. Anyway when all was said and done, I'd sent the microwave off to live out its life with someone else.

The problem with getting rid of my handy little appliance, was that I was used to it. There had been a microwave in my home ever since I was 7 years old. What a convenience! The first full day without it I realized how habitually ingrained it was for me to take a leftover out of the fridge and throw it in the microwave. That day I found myself wanting a bagel. Now. My chat with myself in my head went something like this:

"Oh shit I keep the bagels in the freezer. Yeah that one in the basement that freezes things really, really solid. Ummmm ok now how can I make this bagel less of a block of ice so I can cut it in half and put it in the toaster? No. Waiting is NOT an option. I want it NOW. I wish Siri could have made it for me. I would have given her the instructions five fucking minutes ago so I would've already had it. That's how fast I want it. Instantaneously. Ok, put it in the oven to thaw? Too long. On top of the toaster? Won't defrost right through. I know! I'll run it under hot water until I can pry a knife in there to cut it. Oh wow. Who knew frozen bread would get so soggy under running water?"

Yeah that happened. Luckily I was home alone at the time so there was no one to see my crazy chain of events. And so it has gone with almost everything I pull out to eat/heat up/cook. It's no longer an automatic motion, I actually have to think if the new best way to do it. There's a bit of a learning curve but I'm enjoying the new challenge. I wonder of micro waves (the actual waves, not the cooking machines) can travel through walls? Maybe I should go talk to my neighbour about the dangers of her appliances....

I'm a Bibliophile. It's Not as Bad as it Sounds.

 

 

There's nothing like reading a great book. My absolute favourite books are the life changing ones. You know, the ones where you take away a profound new thought or idea. Really, how can you not love that? I'm not a fast reader, and most times it takes me at least a month to get through a book unless I really, really adore it, only because I am easily distracted. Candy Crush is usually the main distraction, but other usual things that capture my attention are watching movies with my kids, laundry, playing with guinea pigs, texting until late at night, and painting random things as the desire hits me. If I detest a book I won't finish it. If I love it, I'll keep it close to my bed even after I've finished it and read passages from it as my whims dictate to me.

I have lists of books that I want to read, and I go searching for them on a regular basis. Ahhh but my searching is systematic. I try to check books out of the library when I can, but if it's a popular book and I'm not able to renew it once or twice it doesn't work for me (remember: slow reader). If that's the case, or if the library doesn't have that particular book, I search in other places. I start at the used book corner store at the library. Always cheap prices there but not a very high turnover. Next is the Salvation Army, where books are super cheap, but there is almost no turnover. Once in a while there are a dozen new books on the shelf, but the rows around them contain the same ones that have been there forever. The Goodwill is more expensive but still reasonable. The only problem being that they apparently have a book connoisseur on staff, because anything that's quite recent is marked up to the $8-$10 range. They've got you over a barrel there because although it's expensive, you can't get it for that price if you buy it new. Value Village sells their most expensive books for $5 each but if you buy four, the fifth book is free. Then there are the actual used book stores. After that, if I'm crazy desperate I order off of Amazon. At this point, are you wondering how often I go through this book finding process? Great question! Once or twice a week. Enough that it takes up a ridiculous amount of time that I could be spending actually reading the books I do have. Enough said.

 

The other day I was in the Goodwill purchasing some much needed (ok, not needed so much as wanted) books. I was at the checkout and the elderly lady behind me eyed up my armful of hardcovers and then informed me that she just LOVES her Ereader because she can just put so many books on it and take it everywhere with her. I wanted to tell her, "That's great, but what about the feel of the book in your hands? What about leafing back through the pages to find a certain passage or to clarify something for yourself? What about turning down the page corners on something profound that you want to be able to pick out instantly when you pick that book back off of the shelf? What about underlining paragraphs and putting your own thoughts in the margins? (yes, I do that from time to time)"

Instead, I smiled sweetly and nodded at her as I thought, "We'll see who's reading a book during a zombie apocalypse when there's not any electricity to charge your fucking Ereader, lady."

I Have 806 Rolls of Toilet Paper

I've been doing some spring cleaning for the past couple of months. I've also been taking that chance to reflect on the collection and consumption of "things" and why people are the way they are, why they collect the things they do. Looking around my house, I see a direct reflection of my grandmother. Although she came from a large family, they did not go hungry. They had what they needed but not a whole lot more. When my Gramma married my Grampa and started a family at the age of 15, I suppose knowing that times could be tough, she stored many things. Not things in the pack rat sense, or the hoarder sense. They didn't have a lot of material possessions, but there was always lots of food and other necessities to go around. My Grampa was an only child, and I grew up an only child as well. I don't think my Grampa grew up in the lap of luxury, but unlike my Gramma he didn't have to fight nine other siblings for the use of anything either. I suspect he appeased my grandmother quite a bit with her collecting of the essentials. Eventually having a total of seven children, family always gathered at their house and they were always willing to provide. Weekly Sunday dinners were the norm with everyone coming over every Sunday for years, usually totaling up to at least 10 people but lots of times more. Everyone was welcome and no one ever went hungry. I remember my grandmother having workers over one time which was very unusual, as my grandfather used to fix everything that needed to be fixed in the house. As the men laboured on, it became supper time and she had them come up and eat dinner with the family, even though they protested and explained they had to get their work done. She told them they weren't going to go hungry at supper time in her house, and eventually they had to comply. Her theory was, if you had an unexpected supper guest, it was no problem to just throw a couple more potatoes in the pot.

When my Gramma died and the minister came to the house, she asked us to tell stories so she could understand the woman my Gramma was. Everyone went on and told about her generosity and open arms into her home to those that needed it. And the fact that the pantry was still fully stocked, and among other things, there were 27 tins of salmon down there. It was the expensive kind that she would never pay full price for, but stocked up on when it was on sale. At that time, and at the age of 28, I didn't know this wasn't the norm in every single person's home. I thought that everyone went to a good sale and bought 20 or 30 of whatever the excellent buy was, even if it meant giving your kids money to go into the store because there was a limit on the item. I have inherited this trait, which I used to be embarrassed about and apologized to guests who saw the extent of my buying of necessities. Last week I had an electrician come over and when I saw him eyeing up my toilet paper stash I actually said, "Soooo I'm not crazy. I just compulsively buy toilet paper." I'm not sure if this habit is more compulsion or perhaps a deeply insecure fear that one day I might not be able to provide for my family so I keep things stock piled just in case.

Regardless, I am not going to analyze it too much and I am in my house, savouring that cozy feeling  with my 806 rolls of toilet paper, 420 serviettes, and enough laundry soap for 795 loads of laundry. That reminds me, I need to get more paper towels. I only have 27 rolls left.

Letters to Myself: Past, Present and Future

Dear 6 year old Paula,

It's ok to not fit in.

It's ok to like to play alone.

It's ok to not know how to play with other kids or not know what to say to them.

It's ok to just not understand people

If you try hard enough and believe strongly enough, you really can ride your bike as fast as the wind.

Your parents are doing the best that they know how.

Dear 14 year old Paula,

It's ok to not fit in.

Yes getting drunk is fun, but don't do it all the time.

It's ok to be unsure of yourself.

The people who make fun of you, or put you down are just as unsure of themselves as you are. In 20 years, 99% of them with either not remember what they said (or did) to you, or wish they hadn't done the things they did. Honest.

Try not to take everything so personally. It's mostly about them, not you. A bad day can offset anyone's mood. You have no idea what's really going on in someone else's life or in their head.

Suicide is not the answer.

Your parents are doing the best that they know how.

Dear 24 year old Paula,

It's ok to not fit in.

Some day you will look back on all the things you've gone through and realize how strong you were, even if you don't feel strong in the moment.

In the not so distant future you will find yourself vacuuming and be unconcerned as to whether that brown mark on the floor is chocolate or poop. Having children makes you that much less squeamish.

You really do accept the love you think you deserve. You don't have to settle. Ever.

You are a part of the universe, made of starstuff. You are an important part of this universe and the history of it. Without you, there would be many different outcomes for many different people.

Suicide is not the answer.

Your parents are doing the best that they know how.

Dear 40 year old Paula,

It's ok to not fit in.

Your identity is not the number on the scale.

Enjoy yourself. Don't be so serious.

Enjoy your children. They won't be with you forever, nor you with them.

The things that you worry about now will probably seem insignificant in 10 years.

I know you never thought you'd get this old, but you have. Wrinkles and silver hair are a natural part of aging. If you don't get over it, you are going to self destruct.

Don't forget when you're awake in the middle of the night thinking about what could have been, that broken hearts heal, and the things you think are going to haunt you forever often don't.

Your parents did the best that they knew how.

Dear 60 year old Paula,

It's ok to not fit in.

I hope your kids are not still living with you.

I hope you are finding more time for yourself.

I hope you are doing things that you love.

I hope that you wrote the book you had been pondering over for so many years.

Your parents did the best that they knew how.

Dear 85 year old Paula,

It's ok to have never fit in.

I hope you got to retire at a decent age, and I hope you're not doing anything right now but the things you love the best.

I hope that you call or see your kids often. I wonder if you have grandchildren now.

I hope you finally found true love and kept it. I hope you had someone to share your life with, and grew old with them.

I hope you forgave yourself for not ever feeling like a good enough parent, and I hope your children know that you did the best that you knew how.

How the Garage Mouse Became the House Mouse....Or Did It?

For the last few months of this winter, I've suspected that I've had a little mouse living in my garage. When I cleaned the guinea pigs' cages, I'd put the bags of dirty shavings out in the garage. A couple of times I'd seen some shavings on the garage floor, but I figured I had mistakenly used a bag with a little hole in it for the job. I'm usually very careful about using non holey bags for poop duty, so after a while I thought that the little "spilled" piles of shavings were odd. And truth be told it pissed me off  when I had to sweep them off of the garage floor too. When I looked closer I saw that the bags had little bite marks deliberately ripping holes in them. Since this winter was stupid cold, and my garage isn't heated, I had no interest in spending more time out there than was absolutely necessary to investigate, and I also didn't want little mousie to be homeless in that weather either.

On the first nice day that I had some extra time, I ventured out into the garage. I swept up the floor and rearranged things in a much neater way. While doing so, I looked in things, I looked behind things, I looked everywhere a mousie could be. I found nothing, not even the evidence of a nest. Huh, maybe he moved out.

Two days later, everyone else was asleep and I was sitting at the computer answering a few emails before I went up to bed as well. Connecting my living room to my kitchen is a large opening in the wall with a window sill on it. On the kitchen side there is a countertop with stools to sit at and eat. On the living room side there is nothing in particular, just that you can see into the kitchen and place things on the sill. As I was sitting at the computer that night I heard the dishes rattle in the kitchen. WTF....did I just hear that? I sat still and listened, just in case it was the guineas clinking their bowls together, but I knew it had actually come from the non guinea direction. I went out to the kitchen to see if the dishes in the sink had "settled" but they hadn't. I went to computer and sat back down. I heard it again. *Clink clink clink* Fuck.

I went to investigate...very quietly investigate. I opened cupboard doors. I was down on my hands and knees looking in small spots that a mouse could go. Nothing. I sat back down. *clink clink clink* Motherf-er. I went to bed.

As I discussed the suspected mouse events with my children the next day, I was given varying theories:

Me: I heard the dishes in the kitchen clinking last night while I was on the computer but I don't know what it was. I suspect we have a mouse.

Ty: I told you, this place is haunted. You never listen to me.

Me: Our condo isn't haunted. No one has ever died in this condo. No one has died in the condo next to us either so it's not like a ghost could even mistakenly go through the wall into the wrong condo. If anyone's condo could possibly be haunted it would be Gramma's because the lady next to her died. Her ghost could come through the wall, but she's not there either so no one's condo is haunted.

Trent: Did a mouse ever die in our house?

Me: I don't know Trent.

Trent: 'Cause it could be a ghost mouse.

Me: *sigh*

A little background about me and the mice friends:

A couple of summers ago, my kids and I were generously given the use of a cottage for a week, free of charge. A friend of mine was incredulous when I told him that on the second last night there I heard a mouse in the kitchen at 2am and I almost packed everything up and came home. I'd rather have a bear in the house. At least you can see a bear. With a mouse, you might be in bed as it runs over your face. They're crafty little fuckers.

Back to my house mouse.

The next day I went to the hardware store to get a mouse trap or two. I sought out the cute guy with the accent to help me. I asked him specifically because, in an unpleasant situation it's always nicer to be talked to soothingly by someone with an accent. Plus, looking at him really just made my entire day feel better. He showed me the plethora of mouse traps and poison. I explained that although I wanted little mousie out of the garage, I did not want to extinguish his wee life.

No problem, here are all the gizmos that live trap them.

Perfect.

I took three of them from Mr. Australian Accent and took them back home. I baited them with peanut butter, put one in the garage and two in the house, and I waited. And I waited and I waited. It's been at least two weeks now and I'm still waiting.

I guess it was a ghost mouse after all.

The Amusement of the Online Dating Scene

Wow just I realized I haven't written anything at all for my blog in over a month. No, no it's not what you're thinking. It's not because I've got a whole lot of nothing to write about. It's not because I'm so deep in the depths of depression that I couldn't dig my way out and make it to the computer. It's because I have a new job. Oh, I still have my full time nurse job, but now I have a second full time job as well. But first, a little back story:

I left the online dating scene a few months ago. Probably close to a year ago, actually. I can describe it as nothing less than a simply freeing experience; it felt wonderful. I spent less time sitting in front of the computer doing a lot of cyber chat, and more time out in the world interacting with people face to face. Last year while I was newly out in the land of the living, I met Rob at a Halloween party, and fell madly in lust with him. I mean, deeply, madly, crazy in lust. The kind of lust where you think of that person when you first wake up and again before you go to sleep, and more than a few times in between. I felt like a teenager again with that giddy, butterfly-y, always wanting to be together feeling. And we did spend a lot of time together, and we learned tons about each other. The more I learned about him and got to know him, the more I liked him. I was on the brink of the big L. I mean it was on the tip of my tongue. But I held back because if I know one thing about myself, it's that when someone catches my fancy I love hard and fast. I thought that I should pace myself and not come too quickly out of the starting gate. Then we spent a great night away a few days before Christmas that cemented my feelings for him. Shortly afterward he broke up with me, and I fell hard. Apparently he was not so much on the brink with me, as he reconciled with, and went back to, his ex girlfriend. We remained friends afterward, hanging out (in public places, of course). Him just obliviously having fun, and me self destructively soaking up his essence. In what I can only describe as something that was best for both of us, Rob moved to Taiwan. It was a preplanned move on his part and nothing to do with me, but I can retrospectively see the distance as a blessing. By then I had cocooned myself so snuggly and comfortably in Rob-land that I hadn't felt the need to socialize outside of our small circle of two in quite a few months. I was isolated, I was lonely, and I one night I decided to throw myself back in to the world of online dating. Again.

I signed up for Plenty of Fish. Mostly because, although I was lonely, I didn't feel that I was serious enough about meeting anyone to actually put out my hard earned money on Lifemates or Match.com to do so. Nuh uh...no way. My credit card was staying put, thank you. The free site would do me fine. I decided to be totally honest about myself on my PoF profile. I talked about how I'm socially awkward, I ask invasive questions without realizing they are invasive, I lose my keys several times a day, I love to write and paint, I love to hike, I don't work out as much as I would like to, I say random things that people think are funny but I'm being serious, my love for my plethora of tattoos. I laid it all out, my loves and my quirks. And then something happened that had never happened all the other times I'd been on the site. I started getting messages. Like, a lot of messages. A lot. I like to attribute them to my new short hair pictures, because my long hair pictures certainly never garnered this much attention.

My friends laugh at me because I refer to answering messages on PoF as my new full time job, which is exactly what it feels like. I'm not saying this as a bragging right, as much of the attention is certainly not appreciated. On one hand I am talking to a few nice guys who are definitely 100% respectful and sweet. On the flip side, I now have enough penis pictures to make an entire penis scrapbook. Not that I would make a penis scrapbook but if I wanted to, I've got the goods to do so. And it's not that I don't like penises, but certainly if I haven't spoken to you or seen your face yet, that's probably my first priority. I also thought about starting a notebook with the user names and life details of the men who contact me, as it is difficult to keep them all straight, especially when there is no picture on their profile. If it is not someone I've met face to face or that I am texting with I find myself asking, "Is this the guy from Barrie or the guy from Midland....or was he from Toronto? Is this the guy who loves rock climbing, or the guy who runs....or the guy who watches sports on TV?" It all gets very confusing after a while.

So far it's proving to be an intensely entertaining experience, and if nothing else I'm going to make new friends along the way.

PS: I may be hiring a secretary to answer my emails soon. Any takers?