Hurricane Sandy is expected to make landfall late Monday night or early Tuesday morning. But we won't know her full affect until Wednesday. Now Ontario has already been dealing with a peer pressure system of it's own and the dire combination could, apparently, be just that. Winds could hit highs of 150 km/h in some areas. That's like a bajillion times faster than the average sexy hair toss. Waves on the Great Lakes could be five to seven metres high. Or maybe even as high as a million mouse boats. It's not a good time to be a worst case scenario Sally or a Debbie downright awful. So, how does one prepare for being without power? In a flooded home? I am not sure actually. Plus weather like this really blows my mind.
Now, those of you who know me, know me to be a teeny bit high strung. A worry wart. Obsessive even. But for some reason, I am not one who worries about a little bit of weather. That's probably because a snow storm seems a more likely Ontario disaster than a hurricane blowing in off the coast. It's not the big problems I am nervous about it's getting to and from work safely- cuz people aren't at their best when they're panicked. Kevin forbid the film industry take a day off- as they say the show must go On! And as fun as being sent home early from work might be...it has a tendency to bring out irrational behaviour. Including but not limited to: purchase of multiple 72 hour emergency kits, stockpiling water, barricading windows, weird FB updates and waterproofing personal belongings. I am also expecting to hear a few Mayan calendar conversations. Predictions of the future and our impending doom. Nastradamus and whatnot. Panic effects people very differently, but most of it's irrational. Except the panic that I've lost my smartphone, that's totally rational.
Uncertain times call for certain adventures. I am planning on packing items together so I know where to find them, if I wake up in the dark. Placing a flashlight next to my bed, just in case. I am also trying to eat the contents of my freezer- for if the power fails- it's bye bye fish sticks. All in all I'm sad this possible disaster is wind and water. I was kinda hoping the apocalypse would be of the Zombie variety. And that the day after tomorrow would be a new start for those of us wiry enough to plan for an undead invasion. Though if you ask someone who uses the Mayan calendar, you'd know the apocolypse isn't 'til December. So, for now, even though the weather blows, I guess we'll just have to soak it up. Hurricane Sandy wants to keep us on our toes, even if they are soaking wet.
* Red Cross urges people in the storm’s path to have supplies ready in case hydro power is out for up to 72 hours.
My Grandma Far used to say "What's for you, doesn't go by you". And even though I try to remember that, it doesn't make disappointment any easier to deal with. In this business, well it's a calling really, Hubby and I have been pranked often. I am using that analogy badly. We both work so hard, trying to achieve a destiny we have no control over. We struggle and strive and encourage each other. Our families support our tough choice, though it's not an easy one to understand. People root for us, even if it's just on FB. We have a cheering section. Good people who want to see other good people succeed. But the sad truth of the matter is, no matter how much we want something or how hard we work for it or how perfect we (the collective Royal WE) believe we are for something, there is always a chance of being disappointed. So, I thought I might take a stab at teaching myself and y'all how to deal with disappointment.
Dealing with Disappointment 101:
When dealing with someone who is disappointed: Listen. They know the motivational speeches - closed door=open window and all that jazz- And the Disappointee wants to apply them, but first they must deal with accepting the disappointment itself. And we must accept that they aren't ready just yet to see the bright side.
Commiserate. We've all been there. Not gotten something we were hoping for. Been passed over for a raise. Been out bid. Out played and out schemed. There is nothing wrong with wanting something. And nothing wrong with being sad you didn't get it. No matter what that elusive thing is, it still hurts.
A hug goes a long way. And so does a shot of Jack.
A good cry can help with the healing. In this tough as nails life we're living, we can forget that tears are a cleansing tool. Both for the eyes themselves and the soul. Watch Braveheart or a Kodak commercial, and have a good ole fashioned cry.
Play with a Puppy or Kitty or Baby, these tiny creatures remind disappointed people that life is good and things move on without blatantly saying it. Plus who doesn't like a snuggle from something furry? Or the sweet smell of baby powder.
Cookies! A great tool for healing, especially when sandwiching ice cream. Chocolate is a natural mood altering food. So just eat it. Now, don't give them too many, because people tend to over eat at pity parties.
After listening to their plights and woes, remember to be thankful that things will get better. Or at least aren't going to get worse... I hope.
As for you my Hubby, my Prince. Love is the answer. Someone who loves you, will never be disappointed in you, if you gave it your best shot. Be confident that you did! And YOU DID<3
Plus, this means that everyone knows what you're capable of now and won't accept less. Which is great for this writer, cuz you're a beautiful canvas for me to paint upon. Together we'll prove that you needn't be disappointed, though I know I can't promise you never will be. I am so proud of you and will continue to cheer you on, like so many others. But maybe we should watch the first 5 mins of UP! just to clean out those ducts, before we get back to the daily disappointing grind. Of course, of course, of course.
For my first day back at it I decided to take it slow. I pumped my tires full of hot air, literally and figuratively. And this fat bottom girl got on her bike to ride. Huffing and puffing before my hula hoop class even started! And stinky with the shame of looking at myself standing awkwardly in a room with a solid wall of mirror. Trying to keep it fun and easy, I registered for a hoop burn class. How hard could it be to hula hoop? Not hard for the first 5 mins- then for the rest of the 55 mins- very hard. Add onto that the tricks and spins and doubles and turns and all that jazz I was out of my depth. But teacher says I am a natural- plus my classmates were nice! But I'd be surprised if hula hooping had drawn a bunch o'jerks. I mean it's a sparkly ring you dance inside- not exactly MMA. I am confident that my bum, abs and thighs will scold me tomorrow- but that's always a day away.
Getting back on my bike I headed to the rec centre for a swim. My non-athletic brain thought that if I doubled down on the fitness plan I was more likely to stick to it. I spent 15 mins in the fast lane being harrumphed at by men who wish they were Michael Phelps and 40 mins of arm and leg isolation in the medium lane, where I was the fastest and harumph-free. Until a fast- laner felt like slumming it in the medium lane and while passing people, he kicked them! Dude C'mon! Wouldn't you rather be challenged by the fast lane instead of shaming the mid tempo swimmers? But I guess he needed the ego boost or an excuse to kick people. My oh my, my neck is strained from only breathing one way during my strokes- ah hello, muscle memory, where were you on that? You were trained to go both ways. Either way I was pooped, my goggles were fogged up and I was sweating- in water- weird.
Then in the changeroom it hit me. An omg- I haven't used that muscle in a millennia arm cramp. Just at the moment when my shirt got twisted over my head, locking me in a kama-shirtra death grip. Standing there blind and topless, waiting for a helping hand when who should be the first responder? Why yes, it is a 64 year old naked polish lady. Asking sheepishly for a helping hand while trying to cover my totally exposed boobies, she drops her towel and brazenly untangles me. With a polite thank you, I dress myself and hop back onto my bike. My bottom feeling less fat and my body already sore. So much for taking it slow. I fully expect to wake up tomorrow with a sore everything, but I think I'll register for the noon hula class anyhow. If there's one thing I've learned is that I've told you that we won't stop. And now that I've got this giant rock rolling down the raider's tomb, it's time to get the idol, wait it's time to be the idol.
I have done it. I have measured. From where I sit it doesn't look good. I knew things had gotten off track but I didn't realize that they had gotten so far off track, careening down a steep rocky slope, spontaneously combusting, only to come to rest at the bottom, upside down; a swollen smoldering wreck. That sounds dramatic but that's how I felt upon completing my measurements. I then promptly had a panic attack.
I knew things were rough, the tell tale sign? Doing surface repairs; expecting to feel better about myself. Hair cut. Which was much needed and welcomes a chic blossom of blonde bangs. New boots. That make me feel like dancing and kicking sass, in equal parts. Schmancy new jeans- and herein lies the rub-they are a size bigger than I have ever been. Hello McFly! I've been eating meat and cakes and pies. Deep fried anything and butter soaked regret. And trying to convince myself that it's okay. For the last 9 months I have been bragging about my blog stick-to-it've-ness and how determined I am. Well, turns out writing a daily blog is easier than rearranging my diet or exercising. But enough is enough, the way things have been isn't working, quite obviously. I've promised to make things better. Why aren't I actually doing it? I think the thought of climbing this mountain is scary. So scary I've been grinding my teeth. Since the idea of this whole self-improvement thing started I have been putting off the numbers. Sizes, measurements and inches chasing me around-stressing me out. I've been losing sleep over it. The desperate need to pull myself up by the boot straps and pull myself together. But really who do you know that's really pulled together? We're all effed, at least a little bit. But I would rather be effed in the head, than effed in a pair of giant jeans.
What a strange way to feel- recognizing things need to change and knowing I am the only one who can do it. The very scariest part is that I might fail this experiment. Though it's not an experiment at all, it's an important part of my dream career path. Sadly, looking great is one of the crucial components. So, here we go- the hardest, scariest and most honest thing I have ever posted.
My numbers:
Height 68 inches or 5'8"
Weight 174.4lbs
Following measurements are in inches
Bust 40
Natural waist 33
Hips 44
Thighs sitting: r:25 l:25.75
Thigh standing r:24.5 l :25
Arm rest r: 13.5 l:13.5
Arm flex r:13.75 l:13.5
These are my starting measurements and I will keep you posted with changes periodically. My hope is to also find out my resting heart rate, BMI and endurance. I am hoping for a swift shift to being on track again. But first I have to put out a few smoldering fires.
It is fall. October specifically; the fabulous month of my birth. The month when our bodies acclimatize to the chill. School is in full swing. The trees are exploding in their festive autumn colours. Mist hangs in the air late at night and early in the mornings. There is a sense of something slightly ominous. And who can blame you for feeling this way? With Ghosts and Goblins, Witches and Jack-o-Lanterns in every shop window. The crispy crackle of leaves under your quickening foot steps; chasing your shadow across a deserted parking lot. The feeling that there is someone just behind you or lurking around spooky tree trunks. October should be Heart-pounding awareness month.
Ever since I was a little girl I have loved being scared. I was the proud founder of Scary Chilling Regional Enthusiast Association of Movie-goers or SCREAM, a club of warped teenage girls eating Combos and being scared by my Papa B when he suddenly flicked on the lights. Five girls wrapped up in blankets, sitting in the dark, clutching each other's hands in anticipation of the next big scare. Watching what were the hot horrors at the time. Suspenseful dramatic thrillers with a tortured leading man grimacing about something that, by the end of the movie ends up being trivial even as a side-plot. Only to be reunited with his average girlfriend with the straight A's, then cruelly ripped from her arms in the last shot, basically cementing a sequel~ I mean Squeal!
Let's talk serious Horror for a minute- who would you be? Horror characters: Sensitive jock who pushes his girlfriend a little too hard to go to 3rd base, Slightly nerdy girl who only got invited to this party cuz your parents are friends, Total loose cannon outcast with nothing to lose and no one to answer to, or the hostess- who really just wanted everyone to have a nice time but now they're all dying? At what point in the story would your character give up? I think, I would end up being the one who outlasted everyone. Clumsily and narrowly escaping the tragic end befalling every one else. Be it crushed by a garage door, thrown from 2nd storey windows onto iron fence. If you die in a horror, you're going brutally. But when the chips really are down on the table, do you want to be the one who witnesses all your friends and probably family die? That's almost worse. Being alive when they're all dead. I mean, you're obviously going to be a suspect, you're the reason they were all there in the first place and their only connection. You can never run away or start a new life. That tragic story will follow you where ever you go. Whispering about that girl- sad about that night- oh, haven't you heard- she's the Grundy Island survivor. And that would be awful. Nobody would ever be your friend or love you ever again, because you're cursed. Which is one of the reasons I don't like big parties at secluded locations, where I know everyone. Happy OctoBOOOer:)
There have been more than a few times this past summer when upon catching an image of myself in a shiny surface I've been disappointed. I look tired and worn out. All used up and puffy. My smile is tight and quite clearly needs a long winter's nap. And I look fat- not cartoon fat, and not obese, just scrunchy. So I harumpf and then take a deep breath and encourage myself to go on. Though thinking lesser of yourself is the worst kind of torture. Every step being taken is a drip in an already full bucket. Step- you're ugly. Step- everyone sees it. Step- you should be better. Step- you've given up. Until I turn my feet around and head back towards home. The only place I can hide away in my jogging pants and loose fitting t-shirt. I know where the mirrors are here and I can go for days without really looking at myself. Tricky part is, not every mirror is telling the truth, and not everyone can spot a lie.
I remember hearing that you're never as fat as you think you are. Which is as true for people with low self esteem as it is for prima ballerinas. But some people are exactly as fat as they think they are. I am just not sure which category I fit into. I know that my skinny jeans are tight...but that's to be expected. They are skinny jeans...how skinny they should be is a different question entirely. I know that I spend a lot of time yanking and pulling and arranging my clothes, but tiny little movie stars have a wardrobe person doing that to them as well. It's a strange and infuriating juxtaposition.
At Canada's Wonderland after a day of being soaking wet and half drying and then getting wet again, I dragged myself into the washroom as night fell. The harsh florescent lighting revealed that the fun I was having had taken a toll. My mascara had dripped and caked under my eyes trapped under the long day's sunscreen. My shirt was clingy and mishappen from being soaked by white water rapids. My skin looked greasy and yellow. The shorts I had on, welcome to Camel toe town. I was a nightmare. And just like that- all the fun I had been charging up on all day was drained. I felt stupid and ugly, fat and I wanted to go home. So, I walked my soggy running shoes out to the parking lot and said g'night with a growl. Looking terrible ruined my eve, and here I was thinking I wasn't superficial.
This past weekend after dancing my tail feather off at my bro-in-law's wedding and receiving compliments on my pretty dress and nice hairstyle and 8 Likes on a photo posted on FB; I was feeling alright about myself. That's when nature called again. So, heading from the dark dance floor where I was feeling hair-tossingly sexy, I went to the very bright bathroom. As I washed my hands I caught sight of a sweaty forehead, raccoon bandit style eyes, girl with hair stuck to her face and a flush that only colours someone with high-blood pressure after exertion. And after taking all that in, I realized it was me. Les Sigh. Even when I feel like I am at my best I fall below my lofty standards. BFF is quick to say that I expect too much of myself. But I am quicker to respond, Why would I allow anything less than my best self to be the person I am? So, starving for something can be good, but it sounds like it might be a bigger commitment than just change of diet. I need to put myself on a life diet, and cut out the shit. Because I am tired of feeling I can do better without actually doing it. And I know too many people who regret not being their better self, without knowing they can be. So, Mirror, Mirror, expect to see a lot more of me. I may not like you now, but soon enough magic will make you work for me. And we'll both see the change.
While trolling through my own FB page I noticed something...I still own most of those clothes! No matter when the photo was taken; I still got it. The turquoise wrap sweater, the black and white satin dress, the grey business suit from 1999; you name it, I still got it. Yesterday someone said I looked like a hoarder! Oh please! What does that even mean? I don't own more than my fair share of cats. I flush the toilet every time I go. I don't have a spare bedroom filled with fast food containers and old Reader's Digests. But man- have I got clothes. And most of them I've had for years!! I mean it, yee-ears. They are pilled and frayed and I keep clipping and tucking and yanking, stitching and hoping for the best.
Today however, I congratulate myself. I have culled the herd- again. Donating my too short t-shirts and throwing out ugly undies. Collecting uncomfortable shoes and mis-matched socks. Pulling out the shirts with missing buttons and skirts with dropped hems. Tossing anything stained, streaked or discoloured. In an effort to be seemingly more polished. I have given away my "party" shirt that's been a staple for 5 years. I'm convinced the only thing keeping those sequins attached was my wishing. I am sentimental about my Chicago and blue Batman tees, so I kept them, though now they're tucked away safely and quietly under the bed. My stack of work clothes keeps growing. Downgrading some of my 'nice' clothes to work clothes to make room for the new phantom pieces I should add. Now, I have only 3 casual tees and 2 skirts.
The real war being the cost vs the worth. Which brings me to another crossroad. Do the expensive products differ in value to the cheap stuff? The short answer is hell YES! Now, shall I continue with the long answer? Yes. You must've noticed the difference between the Payless pleather and the Steve Madden leather. The way your hair shimmers, shines and stays when using salon products. How the dermatologist tested and clinical skincare line is better; limiting breakouts, irritation and premature aging. With the adage of getting what you pay for ringing loudly in my mind, I've tried to KISS it. (Keep It Simple Sweet-cheeks) But how do you apply this when it comes to clothing?
Understandably, the fickle nature of fashion is a strange mistress. But I am a vintage lady with classic tastes. Maybe that's the reason I've kept so many untimely timeless pieces? Hoping that they will come back around style-wise, though they never will 'weather the storm' I will keep my fingers crossed that a white tee and jeans will never go out of style. Shopping vintage has it's advantages, it's also the toughest type of shopping. It might be easier to have clothing made...which brings me to alterations. I want my clothing to fit me, but I am between sizes on top, bottom and in the middle. The only realistic thing to do would be buy a bigger size and nip-tuck it. But why spend $25 in alterations on a $35 shirt? Because it will look way better!?! What's it worth to look better?
So, FB we've reached an impasse. I am sad that my wardrobe is on constant photo album repeat. What would it take to photoshop in a new look? Would it be cheaper to alter my photos or alter my wardrobe? Well when stacked up side by side I think: It all comes out in the wash.
Everyone hates you when you're happy.
I am a freaking ray of sunshine. I am a smiley, giggly happy go lucky lady. I want to see the best in people; even in people who aren't anywhere near their best. But you know, some people just aren't happy until they're unhappy. It is amazing to watch negativity spread like a virus. As I am immune to most strains I feel it is my scientific duty to explore it's effects on others. A task I believe should come with hazard pay.
One of the world's deadliest outbreaks of negativity must be the First World Worker Commute- both going to and coming home from work. Whether in a car, subway or on a bike the viral strains vary but the symptoms are the same. Aggression, impatience and projection. These symptoms have many side effects. Which include but are not limited to huffing a sigh of irritability, honking horns, loud complaining, tirade Facebook status updates and general gloominess. These symptoms and oh so many more are highly contagious; infecting others with a negativity sore. And let's be honest, nobody likes viral puss.
The negativity epidemic is nothing new but the way we infect and combat the symptoms is changing. The virus literally travels virally through internet connections and smart phones, infecting people originally immune to one another's discord. We share the good but revel in the bad. Tragedy and pain a mainstay in our shared information and the blatant disregard for the feelings of others (including strangers) becoming common practice. Your virus effects others, you should be taking precautions.
There's a woman at work who's mad because she's usually Miss Sunshine and I stole her thunder, or I guess I gave her thunder. And though her infection is minor, if left untreated it could spread to her sunny side. Which would be a shame. I feel like those who've managed to stay positive, especially in this business, should help create an antidote, not submit to the negative infection. It's a sad turn of events for a woman who's come so far fighting against this plague. I think she has forgotten that every little ray of sunshine helps; even if you aren't the brightest. Negativity can be a debilitating disease without hope. People suffering with it will wonder what your angle is. Why are you being so kind, so optimistic, so generous? And I say I am taking Vitamin Glee and Oil of Original to fight off my Negativity infection, though I wish there was more I could prescribe.
Dude! That's my daughter you're teaching! Urgh Girl, you drive me crazy. No- legit- you're driving me crazy. As a digital society I think we've forgotten how we affect the world around us. Influence is a very important word. Everything is influenced by something. Where you live influences what you wear. The weather, economy and social climate these are all factors. The kennel club's best in show rating influences next year's popular dog breed. Movies, music and social icons influence life and style. Anyone who knows me knows I am a woman of class. Emphasis on lass. Some might even go so far as call me a prude and I wouldn't argue. I tend to take the high road when approaching delicate situations. My influences include my Momma, G'Ma Far, Marilyn Monroe, BFF and Rita Hayworth. These are all ladies of mystery and dignity. Perhaps they didn't always make the best choices but even when things got crazy, they live or lived life with pride, humility and bravery.
But where are we now? On a daily basis I am surprised with the disinterest and disrespect we have. The blatant disregard, thinking only of ourselves, and not about the influence we have on others and the little eyes watching us. The public people influencing our young'uns are starting to raise some serious concerns. What kind of influence are they getting wasted and starting Shore-line fights? Or cheating on their significant other in the Twilight to lengthen their career. Or attacking each other with messy public divorces and cruel Suri-eal custody battles that amount to a greedy grabbing of dollars and no sense. With zero ramifications their actions are running rampant and highly publicized in our media. Easily influencing the teen-angst 'FB Like me's' begging for 50 thumbs up, while in the same post admitting it's for selfish silly reasons. These same teens hoping to be plucked from their 'meaningless' lives and thrust into the prying public eye for taking a photo of their dog sleeping. Starting each data day with hope that it will be the day they rule the viral world. They are under the influence of those drunken examples and being led astray.
Adulation without achievement. Where's the dignity in that? Social status without talent or virtue. When I was growing up we celebrated people for accomplishing something. For raising awareness. For making a difference. For creating something beautiful. It is my hope that with all the influence we have, we will start influencing change. We can use our influence for good. Changing how our 'Like me' teens see us and how they want to see themselves. I am ready to be treated with dignity, bravery and humility. Who wouldn't like to be under this influence?
There has been a rash of losses around me. Thankfully none have affected my life directly. Fingers crossed/knock on wood. There have been a few people who're moving away or leaving town but nothing as permanent as death. And seeing others go through that type of loss serves as a reminder that it is a constant possibility. A day without loss is a lucky day. There is also a big difference between the long drawn out planned departure and a tragic shock, though neither one is easier.
While awaiting a planned departure; watching an illness slowly erode the person we love. Waiting as your loved one drips away. This is not something I wish upon anyone, though it does allow for time to spend together, taking advantage of their final weeks, days and hours, telling them how you feel and saying your goodbyes. The projected timeline bleak and knowing that though the Doc said 5 months, everyday is a gift.
The tragic shock is hard to recover from. With all the unexpected events happening each day- people unwittingly putting themselves in harm's way just to get to work or take time off. People ripped away while trying to live their lives. Heart attacks, bike accidents, falls and many other momentary lapses in judgement can steal you from those you love. Leaving behind questions and unfinished business. A shocked sadness that fills a funeral home with unasked questions, never to be answered.
Two different poisons with the same effect. Neither way could ever be called: Better. So, my dear friends with burning eyes red from crying, with your loved one's memory in tow, I will celebrate your life today. Please love each other now for tomorrow may be too late. The sands of time wait for no man. After years of watching my Grandma Near slowly loose her memory. Each loved one becoming a stranger to her. Forgetting herself but knowing there's something missing. The tragic emptying of the human soul, as she lays impatiently waiting for mercy. On the other side my Grandma Far sat knitting, and drifted off to sleep; finding rest eternally. Dying of a broken heart and leaving the rest of us to mourn her abrupt departure. I hope for the sake of my family that the thing I lose will be my body- taking my mind with it swiftly and quietly. And when my time is finally through I want people to speak of me with honor, dignity and love. Which is how I wish them to speak of me today. Friends, family and loved ones: lend me your years. For it won't be long enough before we're gonna need each other to lean on.
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