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.
This past weekend I had the pleasure of being the best-man's date to my Bro-in-Law's wedding. It was a split crowd; people I knew and total strangers. People who love me and people I will never see again. There is a wonderful duality when you're popularity is rumoured and unconfirmed. And it's amazing what you can learn.
Things I learned about weddings this past weekend:
1. You get to dance to the summer's top 40 pop songs, and somehow everyone knows them
2. It's a celebration of love. Everyone's love
3. You don't mind offering to get drinks at a venue where the booze is free
4. There are so many people, it's not offensive to only spend a little time with someone
5. Everyone tries to put their best food forward
6. Family inside jokes are in play
7. Even the grumpiest of men has a smile on their face
8. It's okay to shed a tear over the people we love who couldn't be there
9. You know at least 1/2 the people at this party
10. It's one of the 5 times a year you can convince your Hubby to dance with you
11. A beautiful venue really can reflect the love a couple has for one another
12. Bridesmaids' dresses can be beautiful enough to wear again
13. Fall weddings rock!
14. It's okay to eat the meat at a wedding when an environmentalist plans the menu
15. Watching pretty bridesmaids share inside jokes about the bride makes me miss my bridesmaids
16. There is no such thing as a stress free wedding
17. Photographers need to take charge and shrink the lengthy posing process
18. DJs should be pretty or handsome to invite requests
19. Caesars for apps, wine with dinner and beer for dancing is still a deadly combination
20. No matter how I protest, I always work at every event a little bit
21. My 2nd Momma was just as nervous the 2nd time around
22. Feathers are so hot right now
23. A pit bull off his leash will go straight for the bride in the frilly shimmering dress
24. A great DJ will sometimes play the same song twice
25. Even if you can't hear or understand what someone is saying, you can assume it's something nice
26. A great speech can come in many formats
27. A blended family is the only kinda'family that exists anymore
28. No matter how early you leave there's always a chance you'll be late
29. A flowing 70's chiffon dress with a wide belt is a great choice for a three course meal
30. Deciding to be the most fun person in the room is not a tough decision to make
31. A cordless mic encourages pacing
32. McDonald's is the best at midnight
33. Summer Loving is still the best air-band song ever
34. A wedding brings a family together with so much more happiness than a funeral
35. A wedding vow takes love and laughter to sound appropriate to the couple
36. After planning your own, you know how much love was poured into every other wedding you attend
37. A night without Jilly doesn't mean a dog won't keep us up all night
Congrats Bro-in-Law and Sis-for-life, welcome to the club! We're new members but the hazing hasn't been too bad and the old members are happy to have us. I look forward to seeing our lives grow together. Enjoy your honeymoon.
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.
With my 5 month summer standing contract drawing to a close, I thought it pertinent to explore my employment history. I have always been highly employable. I have been a secretary, a baker, a masseuse, a mortgage sales girl, an event coordinator, a retail therapist, an actor, a marketing rep and promoter, a coach and just all around glad hander. You name it I have tried my hand at it. And even if I didn't like the company or my job or my boss or all of the above; I always gave one hundred and ten percent. But 110% at $8.50 an hour doesn't work out to a whole lot in the end. Also my bosses have always loved me; with the exception of two of the craziest most hurtful women I have ever met. They were practically perfect in every evil way. Congratulations! It's tough to be the best at being the worst.
In my entire life I've only been fired from two jobs- Job 1- My boss was one of the previously mentioned crazies and I truly believe I was fired because of my great performance and her inability to follow through with commissions promised. The second was as a teenager I was denied my Bronze cross, though not a job exactly it would have led to my becoming a lifeguard, getting a wicked tan and ultimately getting a free ride at Penn State as a high-diver and all this because I wasn't serious enough... Chaw. Please. Like anyone has ever taken the Hoff seriously.
Having a steady job can be great. That solid stream of income. The sense of community you build with your coworkers. It's nice. though doing something you don't love can be hard on you...but as an Optimism Expertise, I decided to take what I could from the experience and create my ideal job position.
The dream job description:
A job that has me traveling. Travel can be continental as well as global and even astrological. Going to strange places for interesting reasons. A semi-full-time position attending fun events to promote having a great time. Where I talk to media about something really cool that gets people excited. And inspires them to start and keep doing something. I want to meet with people and discuss fascinating new ideas about global issues and I want to host really great events. I want to ambassador something. Something special. I don't think that's asking for much. I am free to start as early as Monday. Is there an opening in that department?
P.S. Is it weird that I didn't even quote salary? I guess a job you love is its own payment. Ha!
I've got friends in low places... But I've got high rolling friends too. Being the middle man ain't so bad. Being the happy medium. The bowl of porridge that's just right. The main stream. A medium sized fish in an appropriate sized pond. It's great to be able to go up or down. But people in the middle are generally regarded as those with the most to loose.
Seeing both those above you and those below you; it's tough not to worry about falling. Or being taken down a few pegs. But it's also a great place for brave optimism aimed at a station beyond your current reach. People are quick to say there is no rank to life, but I believe everything can be quantified. It just depends on how you choose to do so. You know that saying 'worth it's weight in gold?' You can measure everything; in time, in inches lost, by distance, how it makes you feel, a paycheque, in smiles, or daily blog hits- everything is quantifiable. It just depends on how you count it.
Sadly, someone has to be on the bottom of the pyramid, not because they want to be, or they deserve to be there, they are there to support the top. The foundation must be strong for the structure to remain sturdy. In high school we didn't have cheerleaders in the typical sense. We had a Spirit team. A group of rag tag girls and one high kicking boy that really only performed at one talent show and an air band competition. In Spirit squad I was literally the bottom of the pyramid. Being there wasn't so bad, as long as I kept hoping and trying someday to make it to the middle. And then when you get to the middle, that's the day you start hoping to be the gal on the top with the sparklers and the killer smile. The only thing standing in my way is that high kicking boy, but he's worked so hard to get himself up there, so maybe the middle is alright, for at least a little while longer:)
Singing, humming, toe tapping and moving to the beat. Not everyone hears the music of life. In everything we do there is rhythm. The sound of your heartbeat, the pace of your breathing. The rustle of the breeze through autumn's crispy leaves. The sound of footsteps on the subway stairs and the whistle of the wind through the tunnel. Music is all around us.
Everyday starts as a new symphony. There are days when you feel like an oboe- Forlorn and lethargic. There are days like a lute- high strung and hurried. There are days you're an accordion- moaning and squeezing at various paces. But the best days, the most fabulous days are the days that ring like a Ukulele. Now I may be prejudiced but there is no emotion a ukulele can't convey. By strumming, chugging and finger picking; I decide how my symphony sounds and feels. I am master of my musical domain. The sheet music of my life is becoming more harmonious as I play.
With music all around us it should be no surprise I can't stop dancing through life. The fact that I have begun writing my own music is however, a surprise. When I began playing music again, I couldn't have imagined the impact would have been so great. Great- meaning both vast and amazing. I had resigned myself to the fact my voice was my sole instrument and I wasn't prepared for the ease with which I slipped into holding a new one in my hands. Since learning uke I have been invited to teach others, which I am excited for despite my inexperience. The ukulele lends itself to your every whim. And having a tight circle of local ukeists is very tempting. Bit by bit my opus is being composed and I can't wait to share it with you. But for now we should listen to the sound of the music all around us. And sway to the rhythm of life:) Happy Thursday from this strummy Uke-lady!P.S. Toronto's very best Ukology teacher is one of my fav blondes Judy Marshak
While attending my second industry TIFF party of all time I realized. There is a lot of really great hair in here. Great hair, great outfits and huge egos. The ego though I think is inflated by nerves and the constant fear of making an ass of yourself. People celebrating at these events are typically over-anxious about their art house film that took them 11 years and their entire line of credit to complete- not to mention their parent's money and a friend providing craft services just to keep it going. A labour of love will give you painful contractions.
Watching the potential success of others can be inspiring and disheartening at the same time. With the limited implied value of that little movie your making it's an emotional pregnancy. From conception to birth and even after; all through the awkward teen years until they go off to university. And even then your grown up little baby will always be your baby. The sad thing is that if it took 11 years just to birth it, that is a slow growth rate. The worst part is that my concept zygote is still awaiting fertilization- and by the time that bundle of joy arrives I will be 41! And I never wanted to be an older mother.
Little baby film idea, your Mommy and Daddy have been waiting so long, wishing for you, dreaming of your future and how you'll complete our lives. So TIFF I promise you, you don't know me now but within the next 11 years I will be ready for you to meet my baby. Baby Movie concept: You'll be smart, witty and full of surprises. You're already keeping me up all night and have spoiled my figure, so I have nothing left to loose. It would be great to have an amazing hairstyle though, but I guess I have 11 years to get it right.
It occurs to me that I don't write much about my Papa B. I think it's because we're both such private people. Don't get me wrong; we're not happy if someone else is the center of attention either. We're not great at second fiddle. We like things on our own terms. In an effort to be private, I have ensured that no one individual has enough incriminating evidence to become a problem. Strategically placing my hair-brained endeavours across a multi-platform support system. Weaving a spiderweb of planned events and past delineations. My Papa taught me that. A social strategy is important if your livelihood depends on your reputation. Though if I was honest I really think it's a power struggle. Not between good and evil, but just to feel powerful enough to bend destiny to my will. Okay that's a bit dramatic...but you get the idea.
Papa B and me also know everyone else's beeswax. Nicknames- which we've probably given, their relationship status, or if they have anything unusual protruding from their body. I guess we look interested. And really who doesn't like a gross medical story? But that may be more my Momma. People who have gossip, love sharing it with us, and even though I do love a good chin wag-I forget most of the secrets I'm told as soon as they're told to me. Cuz for the most part they aren't that juicy a secret to begin with. Except that thing oh, with the Ewww yeah- that was juicy.*insert dreamy eye roll.
My Papa and I are simpatico. Same strange tan lines and deadly baby blues. He gets my jokes- the first time- no explanation. And it helps me to have a strong voice on my side especially since some of the voices in my head put up such a fight. I know he's proud of me. I've almost bankrupted him because he thinks I am talented and wants to support me -literally- in all my endeavours. Which reminds me Papa B, can I borrow $500 bucks?*wink- half kidding. But Papa B, the very best thing about you is that you gave me the creative flu. Symptoms include verbal diarrhea and a sensitive gag reflex with nil filter. I hope it's contagious- cuz Hubby and I would be lucky to have a mini Papa B someday-well, mostly lucky.
Once upon a time there was a little boy. This little boy didn't like fun; he thought it was no fun. Everywhere he went he wore a big red baseball cap, pulled down low to hide his grumpy eyes. He didn't like other people having fun and he didn't like people trying to get him to have fun. His least favourite things were cheering, smiling and laughing. One day his having-no-fun Mom took him to the carnival where he sat stone faced on the bumper cars. Hearing all the fun the other kids and grown ups were having he got mad.
'I don't like it when you laugh so loud!' he shouted at them as they banged his car and giggled on to bang another. After spinning and swirling on the Zipper and Scrambler; he still didn't like fun. The only time it looked like he was smiling was when he was hung upside down but as soon as he realized he flipped it back around. His having-no-fun Mom took him to the shows- where she yawned- watching a highflying trapeze, a tightrope and lions. Death defying acts and not a shriek or an Ooooh, not even a hoot or a clap. The stone faced pair didn't crack a smile. Walking out into the midway he ate popcorn, cotton candy and corn dogs. He even finished a pound of maple fudge but he still wasn't having any fun. His red baseball cap pulled down so far, his eyes were covered when he heard a happy fun sound. Ugh, Music. Tipping his head back to get a look past his pulled down brim. Seeing his no-fun Mom was busy texting on her phone- complaining no doubt- about the perfect weather, the happy music and her no-fun Son, the boy walked towards the music eager to put an end to it. The music was coming from a parade with a marching band and a waving crowned queen riding a float with clowns strolling alongside tossing candy and beads into the crowd. He took his cap off for the first time all day and the sunshine hit the boy's frowning face. Upon her float a crowned Queen saw his un-fun face and taking pity on the boy waved to him. The clowns were dispatched, honing in on his unhappiness, picking him up, swinging him around and putting him up onto the waving Queen's float.
'My boy,' she cooed in her queenly way, 'why so sad?' Looking up to her smiling eyes and sparkling crown, then back down to the ball cap in his hands he sighed.
'I don't like fun. I don't like cheering or chuckling or secret handshakes or games. I just don't like it. Not one bit.' The Queen looked sad, forgetting she was part of a happy carnival parade, how could it be that this little boy didn't like fun?
'Little sad boy, if you had one wish what would it be?' she asked. The boy thought as the parade cut its way through the happy dancing crowd. Deep in thought, he forgot about hating fun so much. Sitting with the Queen as she waved, he couldn't help but start waving too. At first it was just for something to do as the pondered his wish- then he started feeling a feeling he'd never felt before. A single tickle under his chin. So, he waved harder watching the way the Queen waved. The crowd watching saw the un-fun boy start to change and the louder they cheered the bigger he waved. The tiny tickle under his chin scurried it's way up to the corner of his mouth. The sad clown noticed it first. The start of a smile. The first smile the boy who hated fun ever had. The crowned Queen asked the boy again,
'If you had one wish, what would you wish?'. The boy remembered suddenly about his no-fun Mom, his first smile fading. As he put his cap back on with a sigh, he turned unsmiling to the Queen and said,
'I wish my Mom could have more fun. I think most grown-ups forget how.' With that the no-fun Son climbed down from the float and ran back through the crowd towards his no-fun Mom, who was looking for him.
'You little scamp! I lost you. What have you got to say for yourself?'. With his brow furrowed underneath his hat brim, the little boy said:
'Mom, I want you to know that fun is not my thing. But you shouldn't miss out. Life can be hard on grown ups.' Taking off his baseball cap the little boy who didn't like fun, opened up a clenched fist and offered his palm to his mother, but it was empty.
'I brought you a smile fit for a Queen, and it's perfect for your face.' handing the unseen smile over; the un-fun Mom took it and used it right away. Holding out her hand to the little boy in the red baseball cap who didn't like fun.
'Well kiddo,' the now-almost-fun Mom said, 'how about we go home and leave the carnival to the people who like fun things.' And they walked home together making sure there was no more funny business. And the now-fun Mom was wearing her queenly smile the whole way.
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