It's been a few months since I wrote an ode to earhairs. It's sad but I long for the mysterious intrigue of earhairs. A tickly, thickly curling wisp that flutters in the wind. It's hooked and I can't stop starring! Of course, there have been a few memorable chin hairs and a mole hair or two, but nothing worth a dedicated blog to my outspoken affection for such furry occurrences. I have been trying to rise above the physical foibles of those around me. But what is it they say about the best laid plans?
Upon returning to my regular cop shop gig I have seen a few wily whiskers, but have taken the high road- for the most part. Ignoring a hair collar sticking out above shirt necklines, and avoiding eye contact with caterpillar brows. Honest I was trying to be good. Until yesterday, I discovered a giant ear hair...you will never guess where. In MY own EAR. I couldn't believe it. It was awful. Possessed by a tickle I felt in my ear canal. A creepy crawling, fluttering feeling that I couldn't shake. Literally I couldn't shake it off. Heading to the loo, I thought I would discreetly pull all the hairs from both ears, you know, all those tiny fine hairs that cover a human. The fuzz that reminds us we're not too far from being the animals we were. And trust me if I'd had a razor I would've shaved myself from the eyebrows down! Getting to the washroom I studied, inspected, looked and leered at my ears- seeing nothing, but I knew it was there. I started plucking blindly. Oh did I mention that I carry tweezers with me? Cuz, yeah I do. Everywhere I go, just in case. That's when it happened. The tweezers clamped down on something. And like deep sea fishing, it was a struggle to reel that hair in- or out as the case may be. When I finally triumphed over my well rooted foe, I was .5lbs lighter and my hearing had amplified 4 fold. How long could it have been growing there? As far as I am concerned- any length of time is too long. Now, I must turn my obsession inward, I have become my own earhair-enemy.
But it could have been worse, I guess. The group I associate with at work are a mature crowd. Their eyesight isn't like use-ta-be and most have earhairs of their own, earhairs they can be proud of. So, I figure as long as I can still see, feel and pluck my own unruly rogue hairs I am ahead of the social grooming curve. But maybe we could all use a little help from our friends. One of my colleagues has asked for a lady's agreement. Using my 20/20 vision I am to alert him to any strays I may spy...though to prevent hurt feelings I have been collecting a few hairs to alert him of all at once, instead of a daily hair check-in. It's better for us both that way. I get to marvel at those wiry wonders for a few more days, and he gets to think his super power is growing multiple magnanimous hairs in an afternoon. So my fair earhairs- it's been a while since we wrote, but you are a familiar friend. Honestly though, I could do without you whispering in my ear. Literally.
Do people ask you favours? Do they want your advice? And thank you for your outlook? Do peers admire you? Does every other problem come before your own? Has something felt off? Are you behaving in a way that you're proud of? Is your karmic scale in balance? These are important questions and even more important- are your answers. In recent social interaction I have noticed people straying from the person they tell others they are. This is so brutal. It is your responsibility to try and be your best. Being an optimist gal, I want to see the best in every person I meet. Even the ones who've hurt me. I want people to want to be their best selves. It has gotten to the point people, where material goods aren't good enough. I want the fabric of our lives to be the woven of strong moral fiber.
Being less than your best can make you feel guilty. And there are so many kinds of guilt. Guilt for doing something wrong, or the guilt of wanting to do something wrong, without actually doing it. But then there's that feeling. You know one? That something is not quite right. Something is off and the universe is taking it out on you. I call that Karmic Guilt. When you feel guilty about something that isn't your fault. Or you think that things beyond your control are out of whack. It's full-moon-mania even though it's waxed and waned. This karmic imbalance is the worst. Nothing you did -directly- created it, but you're suffering with it none the less.
What posible control can you have over the whims of Karma? Well, Hubby is a fan of saying that intention is the most important part of doing anything. If you're intending something evil, karmically you will receive something evil. Conversely if you intend something fabulous, it should manifest equally so... But this is never my luck. I am an even-Stephen. So instead of one big fabu cosmic gift, I receive thousands of teeny weeny fabus. But I can't complain...because karma is listening. What can we do to rejig the karmic balance, if right now it's not in our favor? Do you give the waitress a big tip? Tell someone you love them? Compliment a stranger? I can only hope that by trying to be good, karma will see how hard I'm working at it and recognize that sometimes I fail, but I still deserve to get some points for effort. So, Karma, if you're listening; I hope to tip the scales in my favour and reach my ideal Karmic weight:) but I'm willing to put in the workout.
Growing up my Momma convinced herself (and the rest of us) that making our costumes was a cost effective and easy way of celebrating a devious holiday. But every year we'd get to the day before the School Halloween Parade and those costumes wouldn't be ready. Then, it was crunch time. Frantically breaking out the markers and glue gun... Taking short cuts and crossing fingers that the safety pins would hold. Side note: This was typical of bake sales, science projects and term papers too. Now, it was not entirely Momma's fault we didn't finish our costumes early. She's always been a busy lady and as a family unit we're not great at prioritizing, except by which project is the most fun. Which explains a few things about my genetic inclination towards procrastination. But you can't call it procrastination if you're too busy doing other things.
The most memorable costumes my Bro and I had growing up include, but are not limited to: Robin Hood, Black & White Harlequin clown, Lydia from Beetlejuice, 3 years in a row being a blue FryGuy, Beaten up Robin Hood, and an 'I don't do mornings' lady with slippers and bathrobe, curlers in her hair, Cup a'joe and green overnight mask.
In our family though, there is always one clear winner. Drum roll please, and the award for the Best Worst costume goes to my Bro as the Orange masked- nun chuck whipping Pre-teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle- as he was only 8. He was covered head to toe in green with an orange face paint mask cuz at that point masks had been deemed unsafe for children. The kicker though? My Papa B (infamous for his sheet ghost costume) fashioned a homemade shell and being a woodworker; choose wood. Forgetting a giant wooden shell might throw all 45lbs of 8 year old Bro off kilter. But Bro being so excited for Halloween, gave that hulking shell his most valiant effort. An attempt that his rat Sensei would've been proud of. More than once he toppled over backwards, splayed and unable to flip himself over, in typical turtle fashion. It wasn't many houses before my teeny Bro collapsed under the shell's weight, my Papa B and I doubled over with laughter, de-shelled my teeny-weeny Bro. Exposed the way he was, my Bro was determined to continue his trick or treating. Without a shell he was transformed into a Pre-teenage Mutant Nun-chucking Slug. Not as intimidating, but just as green. You know, I think we still have that shell, maybe he could go out this year as a turtle, though that Weeny is still only 78 lbs full grown;) Here's hoping your Halloween is flippin' awesome!
P.S. If you've never seen my Bro's mad fuk-coo skills, they're really something.
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.
Dear Mean People,
I think you know who you are. Why must you be so mean? Also, if you fall into any of the following categories please consider yourself addressed: Judgemental, Grumpy, Pessimistic, Rude, Impatient, Disrespectful and Intolerante People. It has come to my attention that you are the worst. I am talking to the people who don't thank strangers for holding the door. A smile is not a target. Just because I am laughing doesn't mean I am laughing at you. It wouldn't kill you to share the sidewalk a little. The poop your dog makes is something you should pick up. Elevators are not a personal toot shack. Get your fingers out of your nose and get underwear that doesn't bury itself so deep in your bum crack. Which isn't really mean, it's just gross. But still.
The Canadian national average hovers at Pleasant, and I am alright with that- but if your group could make a conserted effort we could raise it! We really could. Being a nice person is not difficult for the rest of us. We live in Canada, a wonderfully diverse and sympathetic country. It's pretty darn great. A country full of apologies and those saying it have nothing to be sorry for. It sucks that nice people are nice to mean people, even though they're not nice back. I would never treat you that way, which I guess is why I am the nice one and you're not.
Signed,
The Unhappy Doormat
Dear Nice People,
Please, please, please never give up on being nice. I know that sometimes the world can get you down. I know it's gray outside and being sunny when it isn't can be hard. You can be brave. You can be the better person. Please keep opening doors for people. I will thank you. Please tell me if I've dropped something. I will thank you. Help an old lady with her walker onto the streetcar or a young mother with a stroller off. Hopefully, they will thank you. If we can stay strong together we have a better chance of not feeling so bad when the Meanies don't do the things Nice people hope they will. After a Rude Meanie tries to ruin your day, look around for a Nicey-nice, they're never too far away and share a secret smile. A knowing wink to the fact that things will get better.
If we can just keep trying to help the Meanies see that it takes so much more energy to be mean, maybe they'll stop. Now, change like that doesn't happen over night but it can happen. All those Sunday night classic movies and after-school specials can't be wrong. It's gotta be true that sometimes the Nice Guy does finish first, even if it is just a Hallmark moment. I am going to keep hoping for a theme song, a ray of sunshine and a miraculous turning of the tables. Not so that I can be mean to the Meanies, but so that the Meanies can see how much more fun it is on this side of the net.
As for you Niceys, I am looking forward to seeing you at the next meeting of the Canadian branch of the #1 Awesome Sauce Club. When I hope to pass a jolly new bi-law: Singing, not just for showers anymore. Until then keep your chin up little birds. Those mean old winds are strong, but this flight is a nice one.
Yours in Kindness,
The World's Nicest *itch
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.
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.
Is lying to yourself really lying? I mean if you truly believe something about yourself, could it really be wrong? Growing up things are black and white. Stealing is bad. But the older you grow, the greyer things get. Stealing to feed your hungry family is bad, but not for the same reasons. It has been a long time that I have been telling myself I am a better person than I might actually be. I have been telling myself (and you) that we can be the people we want to be. It’s just not as simple as I hoped. Being a good person is the most difficult thing I have ever tried to do. The effort required to make the person you are on the outside into the person you dream to be on the inside is an ongoing struggle. With obstacles rising up to meet you every single day. Temptation to be mean. To be selfish. To be too tired to be the best friend you hoped to be. To be strong in the face of adversity. To really stand up for what you believe and what you’ve told yourself to be true. To gossip. Being a good person is the most challenging person to be, it's a never-ending battle. That’s what makes a good person so special.
People say that life is short. And all you have is today. Though there are times when you feel you’ve lived this day before. The hours dragging before it's even time to start. Starting something and sticking to it. Sounds easy enough. But I feel like I’ve been waiting to start my whole life; I just didn’t realize that actually doing it- this whole living the good life thing- would be the hardest thing I’ve tried. It’s exhausting. High kicking and selfless giving and trying, I mean really trying. It scares the crap out of me. Living like you're dying is tiring. I am tired. I have been lying to myself, thinking that I was doing this just for me. And I am not; I am doing this for you mostly. And also how I feel about me when you’re happy. The fear of disappointing those who believe in me is greater than this weariness. I started this brand new me in hopes that I could force myself into believing that it was true.
There are days when I can’t bring myself to smile. Days when life has piled up and things have started falling. Dropping, despite my efforts to catch and juggle everything. This blog has benefited from my tenacity. But my body has suffered because of my laziness. My Hubby doesn’t get the attention he needs, because I am too busy working at a job that doesn’t help me feel good about myself. My Puppa-Stinkeroo misses me 5 days a week. My Kitty is back to being aloof- because I am not there to wear her down. My friends haven’t seen me. My dream is in a holding pattern. Well, I guess I lied to myself that this steady job was worth all the things I wouldn’t have time for. The very best thing I found is that I have learned so much about who, how and why I yam what I yam. I need to have the freedom to live life as the best me. Stop lying to myself and stop lying. Period . Everyone is all to fast to remind me of what a great paycheck it is… Yeah, but c’mon wouldn’t you rather I be a happy broke ass instead of lying to yourself that money is what you want? It’s never been about the Fame, the Fortune, the Fanfare. It’s all a lie anyway. The only thing that I am not lying about is how great I feel trying to be the best I can be, even though it’s the hardest thing I’ve done. But you know what they say: Fake it ‘til you make it. And I am gonna make it this time. And that’s no lie.
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