The hottest trend for holiday events this season is "The Ugly Sweater Party". If you are not familiar with the concept it's pretty self explanatory, but here we go. Scour second hand racks for the ugliest Xmas sweater you can find, and I mean the ugliest! Bedazzled, adorned, appliquéd and flair-ed to the max. Hubby and I were invited to and attended an Ugly Pub Crawl, an Ugly Sweater Holiday House party and 2 late night burger runs which were accidental Ugly Sweater destinations. There are so many things I love about the ugly Sweater epidemic, so here we go.
- It levels the playing field. Being clad in an ugly sweater is similar to being in a school uniform. No matter who you are you look ugly. It's actually better if you look like a tacky shack, wrapped up in a bad idea, tied with a yuck bow.
- Santas, Snowmen, Angels, XmasTrees, Elves, Bells are the images we wrap ourselves up in. Forcing the Holiday spirit. And I mean forcing. Even a Scrooge looks holiday season happy.
- You are hot. I mean you are warmer than you think you could ever be. It also encourages consumption of beverages, including eggnog and spiced rum. At house parties there is the possibility of overheating and passing out...from heat.
- Matching sets of sweaters are the cutest ugly looking pair a couple can be. Unless of course you count the holey sweats those same couples wear at home.
- There are bonus points available for ugly sweater skirts,ugly knit tights and other ugly add-ons including but not limited to- elf shoes, reindeer antlers, light up brooches, red plaid tights, Xmas earrings and uber-long Rip van Winkle style hats.
- When everyone looks silly, stupid and sweater-ed, there's a sense of camaraderie. Fighting the good fight in the name of the Tryers! (Tryers: a social group that strive to participate at the cost of their own ego)
- It's just plain fun to see people look ugly and be able to make fun of them as such
This busy season, take the time to be ugly. It's a warm, warped and wonderful way to spend time with friends, both old and new. In the name of the Ugly Sweater, I wish you the very best these Hideous Holidays have to offer. Oh, and if you see me coming, ring your bells and light those brooches, cuz it's about to get ugly.
Please find attached 2 relatively related rants:
Rant the First
Hubby and I are chronic renters. We prefer small cozy city living. Snuggled up in tight quarters. Small spaces but with great windows that on a clear night can see all the way to Bloor St. But to make way for progress our panoramic view is quickly depleting. It is a sad day for open space loving small townies like us. I liked the view from here. It's a great location... Location, location. Real Estate has never been my forte. It sounds really interesting at first until I realize the stories I hear about these amazing gems with nob and tube aren't in my future. I don't want a fixer upper in the city that's been lived in by 15 different people and none of them cared. Bleached and barnacled and tired from city living. It's not my cup of T.o. There is a dream though, a teeny little quiet dream. The wish is to have a house that's been in someone's family for generations and, this is silly; it's been deemed historically significant. Our house would be a part of the history of something bigger. Our very very very fine house, would have 2 cats in the yard. A story to tell. A song to sing. Our house would have personality. The stairs would creak and the wind might whisper on occasion but it would hold the secrets of history. Of course, it would be a pain to maintain all the structural integrity in accordance with the local historical society bi-laws; a challenge Future Me willingly accepts. But for now we live in a city shoe box, without a story. And the wide screen we were watching life on is shrinking. I guess I'll really have to go outside.
Rant the Second
The giant hole that is my backyard is a muddy disaster. Clay and gravel and slick squishy mud coat my pathway home. Covering my boots and imbedding itself in my tread. Stomping and dragging my feet the whole way. Trying to shake off the filth. When I do get inside the view is like an exposed root after the tooth has been ripped out. The bottom which is almost 4 stories down is dotted with tents to protect the men working in these conditions. Giant flood lights click on at sunset and push the crew to quitting time. The holes have been drilled, the rebar impacted. Cranes have been brought in to move the cranes in. The skeleton structures floating over head. Suspended and riveted. They are sleeping giants. Not quite ready for action. But I can hear them practicing their shriek, stretching for the long job ahead. I get why people want to live in the city. I mean obviously I do, it's just that how many more of us does there need to be? In such tight quarters and with all this mud and dog pooh, you can't ever wear nice shoes. Fancy city night living shoes. Shoes you hoped to look nice in, ensemble shoes. Been a long time since my feet were fancied up. Also down side, there is a lot of stomping in my building. Mud clots dot the hallway carpets. But winter is coming. The anticipation of frozen clay is killing me. Though, I don't think it will be a respite. By the time it gets cold enough to freeze everything's gross and soggy anyway. The once dirty route now becoming treacherous. It will be a slippery layer of icing on top of the so-hard-it-hurts-to-fall when you fall on it permafrost. (Notice I said when. I accept I will fall. It's slippery) At least while I am hibernating this winter, trying to pick the pooh out of my boot tread, I can watch the cranes spin and twill and finally grow up to be elevators. A dirty festering hole like that? The dentist would recommend a filling, at least 9 out of 10 of them would.
My Parents have done a great job of keeping me off the pole, until now. I was taught that the reputation is a lifetime to build and a moment to destroy. The road to a bad reputation is a quick and slippery one. But it can also be athletic, sweaty and a lot of fun.
Things I learned about pole dancing
1. Wedding rings and brass rails are natural enemies
2. The pole is slippery, wide and wet
3. The pole burns with the friction of a thousand suns
4. Just when you think you're spinning too fast you get stuck
5. Whiplash can be caused by an almost kinda sexy hair toss
6. Sexy arms are way harder than they look
7. It helps your dancing to keep your high heels on
8. Doing the robot isn't sexy
9. Either the boobs lead or the butt leads but never both
10. Leg warmers are cute and functional
11. Big steps=feet too far apart
12. Move slowly, at least then you don't have to fake as much sexy time
13. Watch your high kicks
13a. Watch where you're aiming those not so high kicks- they reach your classmate no prob
14. Poise-ture: it's an attitude thing
15. A smile distracts the watcher, even if you're wrapped around the pole like an origami snake
16. Furrowed brows aren't hot
17. I was tempted to have a Flashdance style ending to class- but the bucket of water is tough to rig and slippery to continue dancing
18. Public groping, short shorts and gyrating are encouraged but not automatic
19. Climbing the brass rail is new recruit hazing
20. Striptease class isn't about sex, it's about confidence
21. Bruises are expected and celebrated by these tough tight ladies
22. Six inches are starter heels
23. My body is sore and I love it.
I may not be ready for a 3 song night shift, but with a little practice I'll look forward to relinquishing the crown of world's worst dancer. And for that, I know my Momma will be proud, cuz we have the same dancing shoes.
Growing up in a small town, there's lots of time for reflection. Time to sit by the river and wait for your enemies to roll by or read the Art of War. It's up to you. There is always more time and it's never to late to write your wrongs. My Grandma Far was a fan of two nuggets of truth. 1. What's for you doesn't go by you. Which means, if you're destined to have something or you've earned it, you'll get it. And 2. The whole world can't be wrong. Meaning, if you're the only one to see things your way, you're probably wrong. And I am. I have been wrong a lot lately. Which is not to say I haven't been trying, I've just been trying the wrong things the right way and ignoring the right things the wrong way
The strangest part about being wrong is that you don't realize it until it's too late. Sad, but true. If l had stopped to listen to the oh so very many voices of reason while on this tunnel vision express train, I probably wouldn't have F*ed things up...quite so badly. There were warning signs- I ignored. There were beacons of information- I ignored. How about the pony express telegrams I received, but instead of reading, I did what, oh that's right- I ignored them. Hubby says that people need to go through a selfish faze, especially when their goals are as lofty as mine. Here is the problem though. I am double crossing myself. Hedging my bets. By putting in the effort for the things I need to be good at to achieve my goals, I risk losing the things I am already great at. And I don't like that, it feels wrong.
When it feels like the world hates my guts, there is special person I turn to. The man behind the curtain. My Papa B; renowned grump and philosopher. Plus sometimes I just need to talk to my Daddy. As I wept onto my smart phone, my Papa B apologized for giving me his guarded and easily aggravated genes. He is convinced that he is responsible for the not-so-social quirks my Bro and I share. Which are many and widely varied. This might explain why the only person the 3 of us really trust is my Momma. I know he's wrong about giving me all my quirks cuz I got a few from my Momma as well. But where things really go wrong is when the two gene pools collide. My Papa B's shrouded mystery with my Momma's need to shout it from the rooftops. My Papa B's grumpiness with my Momma's need to please. Papa B took an hour on a windy almost winter day to talk me down from a lonely breezy, freezing ledge and what I needed to hear most was the last thing he said: "No matter how wrong you are. If you apologize and mean it, there will always be time to right what you've wronged, if that's what you want." And I want to. Living life right is about maintenance, it takes work. You're never wrong for wanting to better yourself. But there is a right way to do it. As for their genes, they may never fit me and look flattering. But my Mom's genes will sure look good with my New Balance *insert coy wink for my funny little play on words*
The Script: Are you satisfied with your long distance plan? Would you mind if I called during dinner? Is there a better time or number that I that I can reach you? I am not going to call, I am just asking. There are just a few things I would like to discuss with you for the next 2 hours but we're not going to sort anything out or save you any extra money. This will only be a short survey, and when you accept; my first question will be to ask you if you understand what a survey is. Would you mind being recorded so we can play this conversation at our national convention when we can all laugh at you. And joke about how irate you get talking to our customer retention manager; who 's actually just the guy in the next cubicle. Please listen to this slightly untuned white noise music station from the world's last dial radio. You're call matters. To you.
Uncle. I give up* Insert waving of white flag. Mr. Phoneman, you make me pay monthly for using my computer; which I also had to pay for. It's just bytes of life for Rod's sake. You throttle the amount of information I receive. If you think it's too much, you unplug my encyclopedia. You tell me I can't have all the channels that the really great shows are on. The specialty channels are where everything well, for lack of another word, special is, just share it, would ya'please? Are you always going to be the meanest and most expensive bill that lands on my step? The most controlling member of my private life? Would it kill you to give me a break? I mean how much more do you need?
Big Bad Businessman, would you mind if I stole your social identity? How would you like it if I were to come into your office and told you no more? Just straight up tell you that I wasn't going to tolerate this treatment anymore. What would you do then? I mean, it's hard to do anything about the fact that large corporations are a joke. The 23 top employees get paid like rockstars and then you screw the rest us. This is the reason we now have to live in a Twinkie free society. I'm excited for the day when my outrage will affect more than my status on FB. And as far as long distance is concerned, I know Hubby and I have the most cost effective package for talk & text with a premium price tag for the Ultra light-super-maxi-high speed internet. Obviously, we have to have the best, I mean what are we cavemen?
Dear Teenage Angst,
First and foremost I want you to know I love you. I may not always like you but I do love you. There are so many things I want you to know. Like once upon a time long, long ago, I was your age. Believe it or not, but I was. Things were different then. I made mix tapes and passed notes that would go on for days. I lived in a small town, where everyone knew my beeswax. We didn't have FB. I took keyboarding class on a typewriter for crying out loud. Things have chaged, and I know that, but the more things change the more they stay the same. There are always going to be people who are mean. There will always be people who are different.
Being in highschool stinks. All those hormones flying around. Teenagers unable to express themselves in a clear and direct manner. Which often means they will lash out and hurt each other because they don't know any other way. Somedays it will feel like you're doing everything wrong. But here's what you should remember. You're so lucky to be loved. Lucky to be alive and lucky to live here. Things may seem hard, and somedays they will be, but trust me when I tell you. The adult you want to become is inside of you. Waiting for their chance to grow up. This is not an order for you to stop being a kid. Heck, I am still a kid. This is the suggestion to step back, and really look at the world around you. The people you've got. The way you live your life. Are you the person you hope to be? The person you want the world to see? Perhaps instead of complaining about the things that are wrong with the world; you suggest ways to change it. Be the change you want to see in the world. Maybe you could spend some time helping others, like your mother, your father, your neighbour or dare I say it your little brother.
There is a whole wide world out there. And soon you will be sent out into it to fend for yourself. Trusted with the information you've gathered to make your own way. I know you can do it, people less brave than you have, and they seem, well, alright. Angst, we know that under all those wacky teenage emotions, the sweet child we all want to take care of is still there. But you make it tough for people to love you. And really, that's all we've ever wanted to do.
Yours Meliciously,
The Adults in your Life
P.S. I have a few tricks for dealing with tough people, when you finally admit you don't know everything.
My face needs a break. This realization was quick and blemished. I've loved the same products for so long. But when BFF brought out her new cleanser, smelling of lemongrass and spring water; I was jealous. I have been using the same 12 step program for the last 5 years.
People have asked me how I manage to do all 12 steps everyday. The reply? Reverse packing it into the cabinet, so I have to move all 12 steps to get to step one. And I know that I have a very special case of OCD because if I have to touch it to move it, I will use it. It's there, paid for. It's got to be used up before I can buy something new. It's the rule in my house. It applies to everything, except for a few things.
There is something so predictable about my love for shoes. Something so Muriel's Wedding. I love My shoes. But there are shoes in every doorway. Hanging in mock organization. Hiding under the bed. In boxes stacked inside suitcases. The Comissioner hates it. *throat clear*game systems. To the uninformed observer it may seem like overkill but there are shoes for every occasion. I have costume boots and flimsy sandals. Green and brown and suede. Shoes for dancing. And peep toes fancies. How could I get rid of any of them:$ I might need them any day now.
Another jam packed buried treasure. My make up box. Every shade of the rainbow a piece from a different Mac collection. The shade variations and the exclusive colours tickling my fancy. Painting my face and changing my story. I am addicted to green mascara from the Amazon. And my sleepy time rose water nigh-night cream, a dreamy pre-bed ritual. Sephora calls to me like a siren in an otherwise ill fitting mall. Floating on a sea of serums and balms, gels and oils. Longing for the spice of life. Though my 12 steps remain the same.
With my tight fisted-ness and ability to deny myself the pleasure of shiny and new; I am boldy marching toward a new regime... Well, skincare regime. I am freaking psyched for the bright smelling clean feeling of brand spanking new! Having completed my 12 step program. One out, one in. So, without any of the potential hoarding episode my other collections are becoming, I will start anew. With that in mind this holiday season I will be giving bottles of wine wrapped in boots and makeup painted greeting cards. That doesn't sound sanitary...but it does sound Eco-nomical.
Baby steps, taking your time and half measures- I can't say I'm a fan. I have been told once or twice *insert throat clear* I mean a lot, that I put too much pressure on myself. Expecting to achieve life long dreams in dog years. C'mon Melicious get it together! Yesterday's appearance on a National morning show was exhilarating. Being invited to a movie premiere, picked up at the Breaking Dawn (Twilight reference) in a schmancy car and broadcasting my smile across the country was amazing. So, why, as soon as I finished did I feel like I was under-achieiving? Why couldn't I just allow myself one day of gratitude and celebration? Oh, that's right, because I put a lot of pressure on myself and never quite live up to my own insanely high standards.
There are so very many reasons that I should celebrate. I have a loving Hubby, a great group of friends-that I don't see often enough-wicked family, a steady job, a few great ideas and my health. Plus the Puppa tink and Bucy goose, which goes without saying. So, why is it I can't just be happy with what I've got? There is a theory floating around that it may be genetic. Allow me to elaborate: My Momma opened a retail store this past week, before finishing her current term as Councillor, while still working a full time job. My Papa B who builds bathrooms on the weekend, while digging up the front and side yard and runs a company with 5 fulltime staff. Of these lists I have also left off their volunteer habits, their assorted groups and clubs, oh yeah and sleeping/eating- a highly undervalued commodity in our household. I am not blaming them- it's better than being raised by some no-good-lay-abouts with a reputation for no-good! But watching them strive to better themselves has challenged me to do the same. Only worse, because I do it Artistically.
While attending performing arts school I learned to express myself. To climb every mountain and dream the impossible dream. Well, here's a surprise, artists don't get paid much, so to supplement my pro-bono art, I work really hard at other things. But this leaves me tired and uninspired...and a bit pouty. My big fat bottom lip hanging out just waiting for a bird to perch. Don't get me wrong. I am of course grateful for all I have, I just thought I would be further along on this journey. Closer to having a vacation. Closer to finishing my book. Closer to being thin. And just closer to not being so far away from my-sometimes unrealistic- goals. Here's the thing, I know that half the fun is getting there, I just wish the directions were a little more clear. Though, I guess I am to blame for that too, as I keep changing the destination...but that's a story for another time.
You have high blood pressure, you need to lower your cholesterol, try a no sodium diet. It's like you spend your childhood being told not to eat candy, cake and french fries. Then you grow up and your doctor says don't eat candy, cake and french fries. Well, then why do they even exist? Pure torture. Tempting devils (food cake) that ruin my mind and body. Walking across the city I can smell the grease and fire smoked goodness wafting out onto the street. Teasing my nose with those tantalizing fingers of smell. While undertaking the Starving Artist I have been trying to up my game. Sadly, I am now at the point where I want anything but those crisp and delicious veggies, followed by a cool glass of spring water. I want some garbage.
Hubby and I consider ourselves foodies. Though not the culinary adventure type Foodie, we're more a "Find your favourite and only ever order from there" kinda Foodie. If you want something, we know where to get it. We know what we consider to be the best place for that particular dish. We are open to exploring new places; brunches being the preferred time slot. The comfort of eggs accompanied by coffee and booze. The glamour of dinner in the light of day. Brunch is also way more affordable. And it's the closet you can get to having all the food groups in one meal. But having a partner who loves eating well and tasting good things, while I am on a plan is: Terrible. I am following a health and wellness plan to strengthen myself. But he's just as tempting as those city smells and what's worse, he knows my weaknesses.
So, in an effort to find a happy medium after a night of pizza and beer. I am nibbling on celery. Eating natural peanut butter on 86 grain bread. I am drinking a Delta (Burke) of water. Exercise and clean living. Who would've thought they'd be equal parts great and awful at the very same time. I am not really sure how people become obsessed... but then it could also be my view from here. My gym is on P1, the pool is not even a whole lap, the weather has been spitty and sharp. My dog hair covered floor, the guy at the pool with the heel cracks, my tank top that rides up over my muffin top. These are the things I see when I am sweating. Now, after working out on a Sunday, I am stretching, hoping that one day I'll look into the mirror, at the gym, the studio, in the change room or my bathroom and finally see a girl I am proud to be. The girl my Hubby sees. Plus I would like to get rid of my high blood pressure; the flush is really not a good colour for me.
Everybody I know is looking for a little Me time. You'd think that with all the blah blah about timesaving this and yak yak about efficiency that, we'd actually have some time left over. When I started working in this industry I sent and received faxes. Snail mail was how I was paid my commissions. Now we have email transfers and texts. Even just typing those words saves time. So, where does all that extra time go?
I can choose a digital playlist. Send evites and order decorations online for a party; that no one has time to come to. I can search recipes and movie reviews for food I don't have time to cook and movies I don't have time to watch. Research a new fitness regime? Start a collection? Stalk a superstar cyberly? Yup I can do all those things online, but I can't actually find time to do anything in my real life. Zoinks! Then it hit me. I am spending all my Me time online planning for Me time. Oh what a Melicious cycle.
Join me in celebrating the realization that my Me time can be uploaded to real life. Suddenly I have found 2 free hours. When hubby is at work. When the house is quiet and Jilly is excited to snug. A Me time quiet enough to read, but awake enough that I won't fall asleep after 2 pages. A Me time with a rejuvenating face mask and newly painted little piggies. Me time with a chitchat and chinwag with my Besties. But by the sounds of it my Me time is quickly filling up. If you're interested in finding some You time; Please submit your application for Me time. I look forward to considering your nomination and seeing a happier You, with bright new digits:)
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