Happy Leap Day!
Officially this is a day off for all Blog365 participants, but I'm too proud of my unbroken posting streak to skip today. And besides, I won't get another chance to date a post February 29th for another four years. It'd be like missing Halley's comet.
In honour of this unusual day, I present to you a brief sampling of strangeness.
The World's Ugliest Dog of 2007:
and the Vegetable Orchestra:
(This one's a little slow in places. I recommend fast-forwarding a bit to get a sampling of the various sections.)
Friday, February 29, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Type A to Type B
I used to be incredibly goal-oriented. It was my way of coping with a mostly miserable childhood. I survived by focusing all my attention on where I'd like to be in the future. Even when I only had small change to put in my piggy bank, in grade school, I was already saving up to move out.
I took the same approach to school. I was extremely self-disciplined, always putting off pleasurable activities until all my studying was done. I came first or second in my class all the time. I thought hard work would ensure that I could achieve approval, love, money, and a glamorous lifestyle.
But things didn't turn out how I'd envisioned. I didn't have the greatest social skills, nor a good understanding of myself. Starting from the age of 15, I had some disastrous experiences with boys. My first serious love affair ended badly, leaving me in a depression. Still, I soldiered on, gamely pursuing my agenda.
I put in 200% effort. And yet each of my dreams ended in bitter disappointment. My determination to become an engineer ended with disillusionment. Several other careers went down in flames, consecutively. My marriage, of which I had been so proud initially, also crumbled in my hands until I felt I must leave or I would lose my mind. (I'm not exaggerating. I actually had episodes of spontaneous, uncontrollable screaming because of the stress. I literally thought I was going crazy.)
At that point, nothing was working for me. I spent hours weeping every day. The dynamics of my marriage seemed unfixable. My job was driving me nuts. So I took one last big leap of faith and left my ex, moved out on my own for the first time, and left my job all within a period of a few weeks. Logically I thought it made sense to change everything at once and go for a fresh start.
Initially I got a high from the empowerment involved in making all these changes, and it seemed that my plan was working.
However, within the following year, I was laid off from the great new job I'd found. I had a breast cancer scare, around the same time that my therapist suddenly dropped all her clients because she'd been diagnosed with breast cancer. I don't mean that I imagined I'd found a lump because of my therapist. My doctor found it and I had to have a biopsy. I thought I might be dying.
A grey cloud descended. One symptom of the deep depression I sank into was an inability to imagine the future. I could barely get through one hour at a time, even five minutes at a time, sometimes. How could I even think of tomorrow? The idea of having goals was completely perplexing.
I stayed in that one depression for around two years. Since then, I have a tendency to sink into the greyness when things get tough. I recovered my ability to enjoy life, on good days. The grey fog is not the permanent-seeming feature it once was. But I never recovered my ability to have goals, or dreams. I have given up on trying to write the next chapter of my story, because all my efforts to do so only ever resulted in bitter failures.
Now I live as best I can day to day, following my heart and my genuine interests. My life progresses, but not because I planned it. In a way, I'm living like a child, growing because I can't help but grow. I figure that if I live each day with as much integrity as I can muster, I'll be headed in the right direction even if I don't know where I'll end up. And honestly, I'm as happy as I've ever been in my adult life since I started living this way.
What about you? Do you live for your dreams and goals? Or are you living in the moment too?
I took the same approach to school. I was extremely self-disciplined, always putting off pleasurable activities until all my studying was done. I came first or second in my class all the time. I thought hard work would ensure that I could achieve approval, love, money, and a glamorous lifestyle.
But things didn't turn out how I'd envisioned. I didn't have the greatest social skills, nor a good understanding of myself. Starting from the age of 15, I had some disastrous experiences with boys. My first serious love affair ended badly, leaving me in a depression. Still, I soldiered on, gamely pursuing my agenda.
I put in 200% effort. And yet each of my dreams ended in bitter disappointment. My determination to become an engineer ended with disillusionment. Several other careers went down in flames, consecutively. My marriage, of which I had been so proud initially, also crumbled in my hands until I felt I must leave or I would lose my mind. (I'm not exaggerating. I actually had episodes of spontaneous, uncontrollable screaming because of the stress. I literally thought I was going crazy.)
At that point, nothing was working for me. I spent hours weeping every day. The dynamics of my marriage seemed unfixable. My job was driving me nuts. So I took one last big leap of faith and left my ex, moved out on my own for the first time, and left my job all within a period of a few weeks. Logically I thought it made sense to change everything at once and go for a fresh start.
Initially I got a high from the empowerment involved in making all these changes, and it seemed that my plan was working.
However, within the following year, I was laid off from the great new job I'd found. I had a breast cancer scare, around the same time that my therapist suddenly dropped all her clients because she'd been diagnosed with breast cancer. I don't mean that I imagined I'd found a lump because of my therapist. My doctor found it and I had to have a biopsy. I thought I might be dying.
A grey cloud descended. One symptom of the deep depression I sank into was an inability to imagine the future. I could barely get through one hour at a time, even five minutes at a time, sometimes. How could I even think of tomorrow? The idea of having goals was completely perplexing.
I stayed in that one depression for around two years. Since then, I have a tendency to sink into the greyness when things get tough. I recovered my ability to enjoy life, on good days. The grey fog is not the permanent-seeming feature it once was. But I never recovered my ability to have goals, or dreams. I have given up on trying to write the next chapter of my story, because all my efforts to do so only ever resulted in bitter failures.
Now I live as best I can day to day, following my heart and my genuine interests. My life progresses, but not because I planned it. In a way, I'm living like a child, growing because I can't help but grow. I figure that if I live each day with as much integrity as I can muster, I'll be headed in the right direction even if I don't know where I'll end up. And honestly, I'm as happy as I've ever been in my adult life since I started living this way.
What about you? Do you live for your dreams and goals? Or are you living in the moment too?
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Scary things
I had the amazing luck to snap this picture of a heroic young girl, moments after she had performed an emergency appendectomy on her friend in a public washroom.
Just kidding!
For whatever reason, she was colouring her hair in the ladies room at the College Park Mall. When I saw the "bloody" surgical gloves I was momentarily horrified. Then I figured out what was going on. She obligingly let me take her photo.
Also, I had a scary dream last night. Remember my new pyjamas? Last night I went to bed wearing the red pair. I have never before felt so stylish on my way to bed. But I digress...
So I went to bed wearing the red pyjamas. Then I dreamed that I woke up wearing the pink ones. This may seem like no big deal, but I got really upset. I was like: Someone changed my pyjamas while I was sleeping! Who could have done that? Under any normal circumstances, it wouldn't have been possible without waking me up. There's only one explanation. Aliens abducted me in my sleep and changed my pyjamas while I was helpless in their grasp!
I mean, that's really upsetting stuff, right?
Or is that the lamest nightmare you've ever heard?
Just kidding!
For whatever reason, she was colouring her hair in the ladies room at the College Park Mall. When I saw the "bloody" surgical gloves I was momentarily horrified. Then I figured out what was going on. She obligingly let me take her photo.
Also, I had a scary dream last night. Remember my new pyjamas? Last night I went to bed wearing the red pair. I have never before felt so stylish on my way to bed. But I digress...
So I went to bed wearing the red pyjamas. Then I dreamed that I woke up wearing the pink ones. This may seem like no big deal, but I got really upset. I was like: Someone changed my pyjamas while I was sleeping! Who could have done that? Under any normal circumstances, it wouldn't have been possible without waking me up. There's only one explanation. Aliens abducted me in my sleep and changed my pyjamas while I was helpless in their grasp!
I mean, that's really upsetting stuff, right?
Or is that the lamest nightmare you've ever heard?
Monday, February 25, 2008
My Kind of Fast Food
When I'm too lazy to cook, my fallback is the noodle joint around the corner. You can get a bowl of wontons, noodles and broth there for an even $4. A plate of mystery "veggie" with oyster sauce is $2. That's all it says on the menu: "veggie". It's some type of dark, leafy green.
Beside the dirt cheap menu, the coolest thing about the restaurant is the hot-water dispenser built into each table. There's a little spout that sticks out of the tabletop. Press a plastic lever, and you can fill your teacup as many times as you like. You get one free tea bag and a plastic, Asian-style tea cup as part of your place setting.
This means that the tables are immobile, since each one has plumbing running up the central supporting leg. It's a good thing, actually. The tables are always perfectly spaced and lined up, and none of them wobbles.
The building is owned or leased by a young couple. He runs the restaurant; she's an optician and sells glasses from the second floor. Last time I spoke to him, their second child was due to arrive anytime. That's probably why he wasn't there last night. I hope he has baby pictures to show off next time I'm there.
What's your fallback when you're too lazy or busy to cook?
Beside the dirt cheap menu, the coolest thing about the restaurant is the hot-water dispenser built into each table. There's a little spout that sticks out of the tabletop. Press a plastic lever, and you can fill your teacup as many times as you like. You get one free tea bag and a plastic, Asian-style tea cup as part of your place setting.
This means that the tables are immobile, since each one has plumbing running up the central supporting leg. It's a good thing, actually. The tables are always perfectly spaced and lined up, and none of them wobbles.
The building is owned or leased by a young couple. He runs the restaurant; she's an optician and sells glasses from the second floor. Last time I spoke to him, their second child was due to arrive anytime. That's probably why he wasn't there last night. I hope he has baby pictures to show off next time I'm there.
What's your fallback when you're too lazy or busy to cook?
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Interior Design Show 2008
Guess where I was yesterday? Here are some photos from the show. I'd love to get your opinions on these.
This is the first thing I saw when we entered the show:
Sometimes I don't get designers. What's the point of having chairs hanging from the walls? I guess it's one of those arty things that I can't hope to understand. There was a lot of that type of thing at this show.
Then again, there was also some really cool stuff. Like this wacky furniture from Alaine Belanger.
The bent-over chest of drawers was actually functional. The drawers on the front were fake. The side panel on the left flipped down, and there were three level shelves on the inside. The craftsmanship on these pieces was excellent. If only I had around $10,000 lying around so that I could buy a couple of pieces of his furniture...
There was also Sorrentino Sanche who made chests of drawers that actually had chests, as in boobs. There were all manner of ladies represented, but this big red dame was my favourite.
These hand-blown glass lamps: I would like a few of them when I get my mansion.
In the plumbing department, I did not see anything that impressed me. The bathroom and kitchens presented at the show were minimalist to the point of sterility. I don't want my kitchen to look like a morgue, than you very much.
Two very fashionista men passed me as I was leaving one of these displays, and I overheard one say to the other:
"I am so sick of brushed steel!"
Hurray! You and me both, brutha. I like my kitchens and bathrooms to be inspired by tradition. (At least the imaginary ones I design in my head, considering I've never renovated in my own home.)
I definitely don't want my faucet to look like one of those little sinks you spit into at the dentist:
So, there you go. You're all updated on the latest trends in interior design. What do you think?
This is the first thing I saw when we entered the show:
Sometimes I don't get designers. What's the point of having chairs hanging from the walls? I guess it's one of those arty things that I can't hope to understand. There was a lot of that type of thing at this show.
Then again, there was also some really cool stuff. Like this wacky furniture from Alaine Belanger.
The bent-over chest of drawers was actually functional. The drawers on the front were fake. The side panel on the left flipped down, and there were three level shelves on the inside. The craftsmanship on these pieces was excellent. If only I had around $10,000 lying around so that I could buy a couple of pieces of his furniture...
There was also Sorrentino Sanche who made chests of drawers that actually had chests, as in boobs. There were all manner of ladies represented, but this big red dame was my favourite.
These hand-blown glass lamps: I would like a few of them when I get my mansion.
In the plumbing department, I did not see anything that impressed me. The bathroom and kitchens presented at the show were minimalist to the point of sterility. I don't want my kitchen to look like a morgue, than you very much.
Two very fashionista men passed me as I was leaving one of these displays, and I overheard one say to the other:
"I am so sick of brushed steel!"
Hurray! You and me both, brutha. I like my kitchens and bathrooms to be inspired by tradition. (At least the imaginary ones I design in my head, considering I've never renovated in my own home.)
I definitely don't want my faucet to look like one of those little sinks you spit into at the dentist:
So, there you go. You're all updated on the latest trends in interior design. What do you think?
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Post Number 111
Don't ask me what happened at post 100. I must have had an attack of apathy that day. "Meh, Post 100... everyone has 100 posts. Who cares?" Anyway, celebrating post # 111 is just as good. Hurray! I made it this far!
This also marks my 61st consecutive daily post. I've been daily since December 25, 2007. How much longer can I go on? Only time will tell.
My step-dad is back in town. Good news - he didn't get eaten by alligators. He invited Ken and I out for dinner again, but this time he's not trying to include my mom. That's a relief. I guess the reality of the situation finally sank in.
My mom is still bravely carrying on. She's now comfortable enough on her computer to be sending me e-mails. I can't tell you how shocking it is for me to receive e-mail from my mom. She's not even entirely comfortable operating a DVD player, so it's amazing that she's managed to learn Outlook. I'm proud of her.
Tinker and The Dude (my mom's cats) continue to misbehave in spectacular fashion. Last week one of them climbed up to the shelf that she'd had specially installed to keep her houseplants out of the reach of Bad Kitty Paws, and SMASH! Her favourite ceramic flowerpot was in pieces on the floor. Earth flew everywhere - down the back of a cabinet, and all over her kitchen countertop. It took her ages to tidy up.
Tinker (a.k.a. Stinker, in my books) has developed an oral fixation. He chews everything. He's gnawed through 2 phone cords. He took a chunk of wood off a carved, antique table. The other day she forgot to hide the rubber band from her daily newspaper, and he ate half of it before she realized what was going on. And last night she caught him nibbling at the filler between the wooden slats of her hardwood bedroom floor.
There is food in your dish, Stinker. Eat that, and leave my mom's stuff alone! You're driving her to distraction. Bad cat!
This also marks my 61st consecutive daily post. I've been daily since December 25, 2007. How much longer can I go on? Only time will tell.
My step-dad is back in town. Good news - he didn't get eaten by alligators. He invited Ken and I out for dinner again, but this time he's not trying to include my mom. That's a relief. I guess the reality of the situation finally sank in.
My mom is still bravely carrying on. She's now comfortable enough on her computer to be sending me e-mails. I can't tell you how shocking it is for me to receive e-mail from my mom. She's not even entirely comfortable operating a DVD player, so it's amazing that she's managed to learn Outlook. I'm proud of her.
Tinker and The Dude (my mom's cats) continue to misbehave in spectacular fashion. Last week one of them climbed up to the shelf that she'd had specially installed to keep her houseplants out of the reach of Bad Kitty Paws, and SMASH! Her favourite ceramic flowerpot was in pieces on the floor. Earth flew everywhere - down the back of a cabinet, and all over her kitchen countertop. It took her ages to tidy up.
Tinker (a.k.a. Stinker, in my books) has developed an oral fixation. He chews everything. He's gnawed through 2 phone cords. He took a chunk of wood off a carved, antique table. The other day she forgot to hide the rubber band from her daily newspaper, and he ate half of it before she realized what was going on. And last night she caught him nibbling at the filler between the wooden slats of her hardwood bedroom floor.
There is food in your dish, Stinker. Eat that, and leave my mom's stuff alone! You're driving her to distraction. Bad cat!
Friday, February 22, 2008
Climbing
This piece is a sequel to yesterday's post, Falling.
I never intended to become a climber. My ex got into it first, loved it, nagged at me endlessly to go, and yet I had no interest in the idea. I expected climbing to be scary, difficult, tiring, and generally unpleasant.
Eventually I gave in to the nagging. I was like "Fine, I'll go - ONCE". The unspoken other half of that sentence was "... so that I can prove this climbing business is not for me, and then you'll shut up about it and leave me alone." I showed up at the gym feeling sulky, ready to hate every second of it. But he was right. One lesson, and I was hooked.
I started going to the climbing gym two or three times a week. If you're serious about making progress, you have to build up your strength. Within a few months, I put so much new muscle onto my upper body that I grew out of my fitted shirts. My pencil arms got ripped. I was a mini Incredible Hulk girl, minus the green.
Climbing requires grace, balance, focus, and endurance. You can't just barge up a wall. You have to plan your route. Even your power moves have to be controlled. You also have to know how to rest on the wall, so that you don't exhaust your strength. Shake out your arms one at a time. Breathe. Reach back into your chalk bag and take care of those sweaty palms. Then make your next move.
The worst fall I ever had at the gym was from this crazy route that went up and across the ceiling. It wasn't a flat ceiling- it was a series of angles, built to mimic the inside of a cave, with holds attached. At the highest point it was around 45 feet up. Terrifying! I had been climbing for two years, but I had never climbed the ceiling route. I hated angled walls because there was too much swing and spin in the harness if you came off. It made me dizzy.
A bunch of climber friends got on my case one day and started pushing me to do the route. I didn't want to, but I felt I had to prove myself to them. I tried to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. I got halfway across the roof when I grabbed for a handhold and missed. I yelled "FALLING!" and plunged headfirst.
Because I was climbing scared, I was unfocused and hadn't properly kept the safety rope clear of my feet. When I fell, my right leg got tangled and I ended up hanging from it. I was lowered to the ground with that leg stuck in the air, upside down. I had a spiral bruise up my thigh for weeks.
I was lucky I wasn't hurt worse. Ken was on the other end of the rope, and he caught me properly. I wouldn't have trusted anyone else as my partner. If some joker was on the other end, not paying attention, I seriously could have broken my neck.
I'd go back to climbing if a gym ever opened in my neighbourhood. There are only three good gyms in the city, and they're all really far away from where I live now. If someone opened a serious gym, not just for kids' birthday parties, but like my old one with 60 foot climbs, clean holds, and challenging routes, I'd be in like Flynn. I just wouldn't climb the ceiling.
I never intended to become a climber. My ex got into it first, loved it, nagged at me endlessly to go, and yet I had no interest in the idea. I expected climbing to be scary, difficult, tiring, and generally unpleasant.
Eventually I gave in to the nagging. I was like "Fine, I'll go - ONCE". The unspoken other half of that sentence was "... so that I can prove this climbing business is not for me, and then you'll shut up about it and leave me alone." I showed up at the gym feeling sulky, ready to hate every second of it. But he was right. One lesson, and I was hooked.
I started going to the climbing gym two or three times a week. If you're serious about making progress, you have to build up your strength. Within a few months, I put so much new muscle onto my upper body that I grew out of my fitted shirts. My pencil arms got ripped. I was a mini Incredible Hulk girl, minus the green.
Climbing requires grace, balance, focus, and endurance. You can't just barge up a wall. You have to plan your route. Even your power moves have to be controlled. You also have to know how to rest on the wall, so that you don't exhaust your strength. Shake out your arms one at a time. Breathe. Reach back into your chalk bag and take care of those sweaty palms. Then make your next move.
The worst fall I ever had at the gym was from this crazy route that went up and across the ceiling. It wasn't a flat ceiling- it was a series of angles, built to mimic the inside of a cave, with holds attached. At the highest point it was around 45 feet up. Terrifying! I had been climbing for two years, but I had never climbed the ceiling route. I hated angled walls because there was too much swing and spin in the harness if you came off. It made me dizzy.
A bunch of climber friends got on my case one day and started pushing me to do the route. I didn't want to, but I felt I had to prove myself to them. I tried to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. I got halfway across the roof when I grabbed for a handhold and missed. I yelled "FALLING!" and plunged headfirst.
Because I was climbing scared, I was unfocused and hadn't properly kept the safety rope clear of my feet. When I fell, my right leg got tangled and I ended up hanging from it. I was lowered to the ground with that leg stuck in the air, upside down. I had a spiral bruise up my thigh for weeks.
I was lucky I wasn't hurt worse. Ken was on the other end of the rope, and he caught me properly. I wouldn't have trusted anyone else as my partner. If some joker was on the other end, not paying attention, I seriously could have broken my neck.
I'd go back to climbing if a gym ever opened in my neighbourhood. There are only three good gyms in the city, and they're all really far away from where I live now. If someone opened a serious gym, not just for kids' birthday parties, but like my old one with 60 foot climbs, clean holds, and challenging routes, I'd be in like Flynn. I just wouldn't climb the ceiling.
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