Wednesday, 31 January 2007

Pack vs Purge - A Diva's Dilemma

If you're at all like me, you have a house/apartment full of stuff. Important stuff, not so important stuff, other people's stuff (oops!), ancient stuff, brand new never opened stuff, and stuff you never unpacked during your LAST move stuff. All adds up to a lot of stuff.

I've lived in my current place for almost seven years. Before that I moved quite often, so much so that I never really got into the real spirit of the purge out of sheer desperation to get everything packed and have the process completed as soon as was humanly possible. One particularly heinous move I actually took a plastic bag and emptied the entire contents of the junk drawer into it, dropped it into a box, taped it up and moved it along. Ouch.

Seven years later, I came upon that box in my latest round of packing. This time, however, I had the foresight and intestinal fortitude to open it up and dispose of the extraneous mishmash of single playing cards, twine, old candles, scotch tape, errant nails and other objects that escape my memory at this time.

In fact, I've been disposing of so much extraneous mishmash it's a wonder I have anything left to pack at all! I'm purging with reckless abandon, and am loving every minute of it. So far, I've four bags of diva wear to be donated to charity, as well as five boxes of books, two boxes of videos, and a box of old dishes - again, three sets ago. You know you have too much crap in your house when a box of dishes goes undiscovered in the walk in closet until you excavate the top layers and dig down - deep. Scary stuff.

It's not like stuff just piles up and up... We did manage to do a decent kitchen purge following our June wedding since we were fortunate enough to get lots of new stuff. Yep, more stuff to take up the relatively small amount of space we called home. So it was out with the old, and off it went to my little sister, Hubs' neice, and charity yet again to make room for the new.

This fortunately means we have very little to purge from the kitchen. But there are still six other rooms in the house - and seven years worth of crap in every nook, cranny, bookshelf, hutch, closet, armoire, and drawer in sight. Packrats of the world unite!!

Over the past few weeks we've been going at it with both guns blazing. The living room is done, the kitchen cupboards have been cleared out (an entire bag of recycling, a full garbage bag worth of organic material for the green bin, and another bag full of not organic/non recyclable waste - insane), and both bathrooms have been purged of the half full bottles of raspberry bubblebath purchased for me five Christmases ago by a kind coworker who knows little of my bathing habits.

All in all the purging process has been wonderfully cathartic. At least I know that what we're taking with us will stay at the new place, and the true junk has been separated from the quasi-junk that I simply can't force myself to part with just yet.

We haven't been the best friend of the landfills though - we've made more than our fair share of contributions, unfortunately - but we're doing the best we can by donating and recycling where applicable, and leaving the bigger pieces outside for the ghetto scavengers that troll by and pick up the detritus of our lives. Absolutely fascinating to put out a wide assortment of blankets, ugly photo frames, old stereos and the like, and watching how fast they walk off down the street. Then again, who wouldn't want a piece of diva history? ;)

Tonight the obstacle of choice was the filing cabinet last used in first year university. Four blue bags full of paper later, I'd finished and had yet again unearthed all sorts of treasures - my high school transcripts, university report cards, photos and letters from old boyfriends (Hubs got a real kick outta those), and best of all, five 5x7 black and white photos of my mom when she was five or six years old. Adorable! What a fantastic find. After the move I'm going to get them reframed and give them back to her. I'll also make copies for my sister and me so we can hang them on our respective walls for all the world to see.

Moving or not, I highly recommend you all set aside some purgin' time in your lives. I realize it's not spring yet (I seem to harp on this fact, don't I?) but there's nothing wrong with a little winter cleaning. You never know what treasures of your past you may unearth. Or you could find yourself confronted with a big box of crap. Fingers crossed for treasures.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Tuesday, 30 January 2007

Of Divas and Groundhogs

What a day! Drama somehow seems to find me wherever I shall roam, and today was no exception. Well, today's was not the life altering, ground shaking drama, it was more your garden variety oohs and ahs, a-few-things-of-note kinda day.

As always, it was more than a challenge to haul my carcass out of bed this morning. This whole winter thing continues to get me down. At least Groundhog Day is just around the corner - and if the worst thing than can happen is six more weeks of winter, the countdown is on, my diva friends!!

Thank god it's not called Divajen Day. As much as I'd love (I dare not say deserve, mind you) a day dedicated solely to honouring moi, if the whole 'groundhog's day' rules applied, we'd all be screwed. See, they pluck those damned things out of their safe, warm, furry burrows, drop them unceremoniously on the snowy ground and watch for a shadow. If it was Divajen Day, the first guy who crawled anywhere near my safe, warm, furry burrow looking to get me to go to the frozen outdoors would sorely regret his decision but a few moments later. I don't do mornings, I'm not good with snow, and yes, being diva-esque in not only attitude but stature as well, the shadow I'd cast would cause all the locals to head to the closest Loblaws for supplies. Spring would be a looooong time a comin.

Fortunately we live in a world where Groundhog Day is now and will continue to be associated with the woodland beasties - and perhaps Bill Murray. And all is right with the world. But I digress.

After I managed to get out of the house, boots and all, I actually had a relatively decent day at work. We had some productive meetings, I got a lot of things crossed off my to do list, spoke with our lawyer to finalize the details on the closing of our house (woo hoo!), and it was a day of great success for our team in the office. All and all, not a bad day in work world.

I managed to finish up right at 5 and was home a mere half an hour later. Yes, I am looking forward to our new house, but I can tell you this - doubling my commute does not fill my heart with joyous anticipation. As much as I'll be excited to never have to walk up my street again once we're gone, when 5:30 or so rolls around and I'm only half way, maybe less into my jaunt to the 'burbs, I'll be sad to have said goodbye to our ghetto apartment.

Then again, I'll be riding the GO in style, and not subject to the great unwashed masses on the TTC. I'm all for public transit, have Metropass will travel, but I'm growing increasingly weary of the so-called Better Way. I will stop here because if I get on a TTC rant, I'll never quit, and Hubs is giving me the "I'm sleepy" eyes which can only mean one thing - he's tired. And wants to go to bed. To sleep. Such a nighthawk, my husband.

Wow, I'm all over the place tonight - That Scatterbrain Booky is me (snaps to those who caught the reference). I blame fatigue, and the increasing sense of dread that's taking over my body. I have to be at work for 7:30 tomorrow morning...I know, it's terrible. I'm in need of your positive vibes and good thoughts, girls. I can get through this if I know you're with me in my time of need. I know I can count on you.

So it's off to Bedforshire early for me, tonight. But before I go, I wanted to thank you all yet again for reading and for your fantastic comments. It's very heartening to know that I'm not the only one who goes straight for the pj's upon arrival from work, or takes wicked wipeouts (snow or no snow), or that likes to get pressies from a fantastic husband.

Speaking of which, I was asked in one of the earlier comments if I would post a picture of the adorable bracelet Hubs brought home for me yesterday (don't you love how I make it sound like a kitten or other furry, loveable pet?). Never one to disappoint, please see photographic evidence below. Please excuse the sad attempt at photography - we did the best we could with what we had. And isn't that what it's all about?

If you look realllly closely, you can see the little ladybugs and the pink bling. What a lovely, thoughtful man. Who just happens to have excellent insight into my most discerning of tastes. Yessir, that's my baby! Night, all!

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Monday, 29 January 2007

I like presents...

I'm a very lucky gal. I have a wonderful husband who loves me, does laundry, makes dinner and buys me little presents from time to time. How much more can a gal ask for out of a spouse? Not too much!

Today started out kinda shaky...I was feeling rather sick to me ole stomach thanks to a piece of cake I ate in error last night. Nope, body just can't take that kind of sugar on an empty stomach, especially when you're supposed to take your pills with food - and despite the numerous ways I've tried to convince myself, cake just ain't food enough for medicine.

Felt pretty darn rough getting out of bed this morning, but all I could think of was our 9am staff meeting and how I would get there on time if it killed me! Well, it darn near did - killed my wallet, at least.

You see, since I got my hair done on Friday, I feel I must devote more styling time to it for my triumphant return to the office. This means no more quick dry and hairbands to keep the raging mane at bay, no no. Now one must carefully blowdry and attempt to tame hair that wants to curl but just can't commit with one of those nasty, wirey, round brushes that just about rip your ear off should you happen to flick your wrist the wrong way.

The combination of stomachache and added styling time therefore necessitated extraordinary measures. While I might have been able to make it via the Better Way (if all the deities in the universe collaborated to get me there) I decided that it wasn't worth taking the chance and hailed the first cab that crossed my path. Thankfully the 15 minute ride gave my aching belly the chance to settle down a smidge AND make it to meeting with seconds to spare. All for the low low discount price of $15. Yeesh.

After the meeting I dropped Hubs a line and made him promise to stop me the next time I feel like devouring a piece of chocolate cake. To remind me of the terrible state I then found myself in due to the devil's chocolatey goodness. And god love him, he agreed to stand by me and make it so.

Poor guy was worried about me - very sweet - but I assured him that with time and lots of water, I would feel better. And yet again (how I love to say this), I was correct.

The rest of the day passed with little incident as our team was at a retreat planning for next year. Thankfully my stomach did improve shortly after arriving on scene, so fret not my dear diva readers - I'm feeling much better now.

At the end of the day I came home and was greeted by a smiling Hubs who was already in the throws of preparing dinner. Oh how I love this man. I gave him a kiss and went about my after work ritual - enter bedroom, strip off the clothes of the office, and slide into my happy pink housecoat. Yes, I put my housecoat on at 6pm. Anyone have a problem with that? That's what I thought.

Yet on this evening, upon entering the bedroom I discovered a little silver box on my pillow. Who doesn't love a little silver box? So with glee and great anticipation, I call Hubs into the room (he likes to see my reaction, so why deprive him?) and carefully remove the lid. Inside is a beautiful silver (I love silver - hate yellow gold, completely clashes with my skin tone) bracelet, with dangly little silver ladybugs and pink bling. Sounds a tad hokey when I describe it here, but believe you me, it's adorable. I absolutely love it. It sparkles, it moves, and it reminds me of my hubby every time I look at it - what more could a diva ask for? did I get so lucky? I like to believe that being loved by this wonderful man is karma, my 'reward' for doing my best to be a good person, trying to do nice things for other people where I can. 'Cause god knows, I sure did have to suck face with a lot of frogs before I finally found my prince. And the presents? Well, they're just icing on the kind of cake that will never give me a stomach ache.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Sunday, 28 January 2007

Just another snowy Sunday.

Today was delightfully non eventful. I'm quite thankful for that, actually. An all around decompressing day is nothing to shake one's head at. And the fact that the only time I left the house today was to put a load of laundry in the dryer rocks, as far as I'm concerned.

It was much more a Suzie Homemaker than diva day, but that's life - as I've learned, the place won't clean itself. I've waited and waited and waited and nope, never happens. So I broke down, hauled out the vacuum and attacked the dust elephants that lurked in every corner and beyond. I even moved the furniture out from the walls - gasp! - and got rid of that creepy dust that lurks there for years. Goodie.

DeeDee and I baked cookies (don't faint or have a heart attack - they were the Pillsbury Valentine's Day ones, pre-cut and everything. We just had to put them on the freakin tray) they we watched My Super Ex-Girlfriend. Such a pain to have to censor oneself when choosing movies because there will be children present. Bugger.

But it turned out to be a pretty decent movie. Some great one liners, Luke Wilson who I often enjoy, and it's set in NYC, so I got my fix of my favourite city on earth. Ah someday my pretty...I'll be back to frolic in you soon.

The rest of the day was laundry, more laundry, more cleaning, uploading photos for our free honeymoon photo book (love me the free!), and catching the crap of the crap of Sunday night tv. Studio 60 excluded of course - a fantastic show. I'd always dreamed of being a Saturday Night Live regular one day, making people laugh on a weekly basis, living the life in aforementioned NYC, so I totally dig this show.

Yeah, so that hasn't happened and at this stage, and sure doesn't look like it's around the corner, so I've kinda moved on. Or tried to at least. I've done my five years of Second City improv courses, did a show, and that did a pretty decent job of getting the whole thing out of my system. Until Studio 60 came along. Brought all those feelings to the surface yet again. Damned, stinkin television.

Wait, what am I saying? Cursing television? Travesty! Mamma's sorry, my precious. She didn't mean it, you know she loves you. There, there. That's better.

Okay, breathe. Aaaaaand, I'm over it.

So that was pretty much my day. I feel as though I've let you down - there's not much meat on today's blog bones, that's for sure. I apologize - I'll do my best to make it up to you tomorrow. It's Monday after all. Bound to be rife with all sorts of excitement. Yeah, right.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Saturday, 27 January 2007

Saturday Smack Down!

Wow. What a day.

It started off great. Totally awesome. Faithful readers will know that we had to make a trek out to the 'burbs to take DeeDee to a birthday party. Fun - three trips out there in three days - more than 600 kms on our leased car. Dag. Shoulda bought. Anyway...

We had no real breakfast food in the house to speak of, so decided to start our trek out west and have breakie at a greasy spoon next to Hubs' work. We arrive at the Route 401 Diner around noon, and settle in to a delightful meal. The ladies that run the joint smile and wave at Hubs as he comes in, calling him by name. Hmmm...methinks he spends a good deal of time here! Great food, very friendly people (they even brought us over a waffle, fruit and ice cream combo on the house after the meal - thanks ladies, just what I need!! but it was sooo good)...all in all a great way to start the day.

Then it was off to Zellers at the ghetto mall (shudder - how many times must I be subjected to this horror?) to purchase the birthday present for the party she was off to. $40 and a florescent-lighting headache later, we dropped her off at the party and went to our next scheduled event of the day.

Fortunately for me, that was hooking up with the wonderful and fabulous WB'er baronessk. You see, in thinking about what to do when in the burbs this aft I had a stroke of brilliance. Baronessk and I had always talked about having a coffee when I was out there picking up/dropping off DeeDee and to date, timing hadn't really worked out in our favour. But here was this fantastic opportunity - so I hurriedly sent her a message and much to my delight, she was free!

Shortly after two she joined Hubs and I at Starbucks (another good thing that happened that day - latte) and for the first 20 minutes, the poor gal was regaled with tales of video games (her fiance plays too) and snakes. Wow. I'm sure that's exactly what she'd had in mind when meeting a girlfriend for coffee. Hehe. Hubs decided it was time to go off in search of manly like things and we were left alone to chat in true diva fashion.

And chat we did! She's a great listener...she had to be, 'cause all I did was talk! Talked her poor ear off. Are the dear things blistered, baronessk? They must be after an hour or more with me today! Yeesh. She got to hear all about Sludge's latest designs on how to make her world a better place, etc. Another verbal avalanche, and she happened to be right in its path.

Fortunately, at least I hope, she's escaped relatively unscathed and isn't cowering at the sound of another human female voice. If our roles had been reversed, I can't say that I wouldn't be rocking myself back and forth in a now-lukewarm bath, but hey - that's just the great person she is.

The onslaught of converstion was mercifully (for baronessk, I'm sure) ended when Hubs and DeeDee arrived back at Buckies to pick me up. We bid each other a fond farewell, and I really hope it won't be long before we can do it again. Next time, I promise to attempt to try to not talk so much about me and my assorted life shit. :)

From there, it was shopping time. As there is a Benix in this vast outdoor array of box stores (god loves suburbia) and another of my WB compatriots had kindly mentioned the availability of the hot stone cooking set for a fantastically low, low, diva approved price of $17.99, we made a beeline over there, and I was successful in my pursuit. One of those babies came home with me and I was delighted with my purchase. So delighted, in fact, that I didn't want the poor thing to feel lonely in its bag, so we bought a lovely chip and dip set to keep it company. Who wants to come over to our new house for raw meat and chips? Yummy!!

After our shopping expedition came to a close, I was starving. And for some reason, all I desired was Lonestar. MMMMMMMMMMMexican. And when I desire, I must have.

So we went.

To the one in Richmond Hill. OMG... Hubs didn't want to go to the downtown one because you have to pay for parking, so we spent at least the equivalent in gas going from one end of the GTA to the other for fajitas. At least they were freaking good. And fast. And...well, that's about it. Good and fast - when you're that hungry, what more do you want in a meal?

**observation - why is it that when you leave Lonestar, you freakin stink? I can barely stand the smell of myself right now. Fajitas scent barbs are permanently stuck in my clothing and the bad news is the smell kinda borders on b.o. Not cool. And it's everywhere - right down to the unmentionables. Everything in the wash just to rid me of this vile smell! Good thing the food is worth it**

After dinner we picked up a few groceries and finally, FINALLY, were on our way home. 8:30 by the time we walk in the door. Yeesh.

And here's where the bottom drops out and the Saturday Smack Down really begins. Are you sitting comfortably? Okay, we'll begin.

To set the stage: in November or December (the date, while not important at all, completely escapes me), Hubs talked to me and told me that DeeDee really wanted tickets to the Pussycat Dolls/Christina Aguelieraieragiera (who honestly knows how to spell her name anyway?) concert for Christmas. Okay. So we look online -they'd just gone on sale and were going quickly - if we were going to get some, we'd need to act fast.

At that very moment in time, I was the only one capable of securing those tickets. I asked if he was going to take her to the concert and his reply, and I quote, "hell no. That shit is crap. I have no desire to set foot anywhere near them." Message received. So I said, "well, if I put the tickets on my credit card and pay for them, then I'm going to be the one to take her. I have absolutely no problem paying for DeeDee, but with everything else going on, I categorically refuse to pay for Sludge." May sound harsh, mean...bah, whatever. I don't care. I didn't then, and I don't now. I ended up opening my home to this woman for Christmas eve and morning so she could be with her child, for pete's sake - but I refused to stand there and pay for her to be entertained. Not gonna happen.

I clicked 'purchase', paid for the tickets, and that was that.

Fast forward to Christmas morning. The tickts haven't arrived by mail, so I design fake tickets on the computer so Hubs can put it in a card for her to open on Christmas morning. She opens, and freaks out. She's so excited. Thanks daddy - yay!!!! Everyone smiles, all happy, she loves it, and can't wait to go.

Then Sludge pipes up. "Guess who's going with you? Me!!" Uh, whut?

Hubs and I look at each other and he doesn't have to worry, I'm not going to say anything about it, it's neither the time nor the place, we'll deal with it later.

And we're back to the present. DeeDee asks Hubs in the car yesterday if the tickets have arrived yet and he says yes, they came last week. She says cool, and that mom said if they were in, he should send them home with her so they'll have them.


So tonight, Hubs gets on the phone to have what we KNOW will be a difficult phone call. He tells her that I was the one that bought the tickets and that she had never talked to him about her being the one to go with DeeDee. And so, I was going to be the one who would take her to the concert. If she wanted to buy the tickets from me, I'd be happy to turn them over to her. But I was going to stand my ground on this.

She freaked out. We knew she would. To some extent, I see where she's coming from. She wanted to be the one that took her to the concert, etc. But what really pissed me off was her complete sense of entitlement, thinking that she was just supposed to be the one who would go and the universe was going to hand her the tickets, that Hubs should just shell out $150 and hand them over because she was the mother. Drives me crazy!!

Hubs, obviously growing increasingly flustered as he's being yelled at, says, 'diva bought the tickets so they're hers - do you want to talk to her?' Of course she says yes. Gee, thanks.

Hubs looks at me, thrusts the phone in my direction, and I look at him with dagger eyes. This is the last thing I want to be doing right now. But there was no way around it, so I reach for the phone and prepare myself for the onslaught.

Saturday Smack Down! She goes off, saying that she never would have asked him to buy the tickets if she knew it would be me getting them, that she wants to be the one to go with her, that I/we always throw the fact that we have money and she doesn't in her face...

I kinda lost it a bit at that point. But you see, my most leathal weapon is my way with words. I can lose it and stay completely calm and rational - but I will slice you to ribbons with my words if I so desire.

For once, I stood up for myself. Finally, this was a battle that I could fight, because it truly involved me. I didn't back down, and I forced her to retract a statement or two, but I stood my ground and told her that I was not going to be paying for her to go. She didn't like that much.

I was fuming inside - my heart was pounding and at one point I actually sucked up all of the saliva in my mouth (TMI?), I almost had to gum my words to get them to come out.

I handed the phone back to Hubs - I'd said what I needed to say. She's now said that if she doesn't go, DeeDee doesn't either. Nice. Way to sabotage your daughter's happiness because you're selfish. I KNOW you want to be there and I KNOW you're her mother and I TRY to put myself in your shoes before I do or say things - but for the love of god it's a concert, not her wedding day!

So instead, her solution was that Hubs take the cost of the ticket off his next support payment and hand them over. Diva says WHUT???? Uh, no. I don't think so. He's not going to take $150 in food and clothes out of her mouth and off her back just so her mother can take her to a freakin concert. GET REAL! She complains about having no money, not being able to do things for DeeDee, and she actually has the balls to suggest this? Right out of the what-were-they-thinking column. Christ on crackers.

Verbal vomit. Thank every diety above for blogs. I swear, this is the longest entry yet, and if you're still reading, you're either a glutton for punishment or your cable's out and you can't figure out what to do with yourself. I'm almost done, but why not pause here and pour yourself a glass of wine? You MUST be thirsty by now.

Okay. You back? All better? Good.

Blech. To sum up a very long story, she's pissed. Still pissed. But she's so afraid of people thinking badly of her and/or hating her, that 20 mintues later she called back to apologize to me. That's right. I'll give her props for that, I really will. Can't be easy, but she did it. A half an hour later, we finally hung up, and I felt great - I got to say, but this time in a nice and controlled way, all the things I wanted to say about this situation. Did I get my point across? Who knows. Will DeeDee get to go to the concert? Who knows.

What I DO know is that there's no way I'm bending here. Yes, I want DeeDee to go - it would really suck if she didn't get to, especially since she was so charged about it on Christmas morning. That's why I bought the fu(king tickets in the first place!

But I will tell you this - on Sunday, March 25th, my butt will be in one of the two molded plastic Air Canada Centre seats I've purchased for this crazy concert. Only time will tell if DeeDee is beside me or my good buddy CJ gets to come along for the ride. No matter what, this diva will be in the hizzouse, and Sludge won't. And thus I am the victor in this installment of the Saturday Smack Down.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Friday, 26 January 2007


You know what that first f is for.

Wowie, what a week it's been. I'm quite glad it's over, truth be told. Too much working and doing stuff and packing, and not enough sleep. Ah looking forward to the prospect of sleeping in tomorrow.

So, did you like that snow today? Awesome...just in time for the evening commute home. And of course, today is the one day I decided not to wear my boots. Guess I didn't pay enough attention to the weather forecast this morning. Blech.

At least it ended on a high note - the visit to my fantabulous hair dresser David. Got a great cut and a lovely colour upgrade. Closer to my natural colour (say it isn't so!) with some buttery highlights around the face. And, as always, I got to vent about all the crap in our lives, and show off the photos of our new house. David and Lisa [his lovely and talented assistant, who has excellent taste in music (Journey rocks!!)] truly are better than most in the 'tell me your troubles' department. They listen, make the right I'm-paying-attention noises, and remember the details of your woes when you show up for your next appointment months later. Pretty damned impressive.

What is it about your trusty hairdresser that provokes the verbal avalanche? Hairdressers really do seem to know all about they teach psych while they're waiting for their test colours to set in beauty school? Or is it just something inherent in the personalities of those that chose a life of scissors? Are all hair professionals destined to be great listeners? Talk amongst yourselves...

DeeDee is with us this weekend. She found a way to book yet another half day off school by complaining that she wasn't feeling well, so of course Sludge let her come home. Second or third day this week. It's wonder that child learns anything at all, she's so rarely there. She's feeling just fine now of course. She's off in la la land, fast asleep for her last weekend in this apartment.

She's got a birthday party to go to tomorrow close to where she lives. So poor Hubs has to make that drive three days in a row. Crappy. And of course, Sludge didn't mention anything about this, so it comes as a surprise to us all. What DOESN'T come as a surprise is that she expects us to buy the birthday present for this kid before the party tomorrow. Who didn't see THAT coming? I called that one from a mile away.

So looks like another trip to WalMart tomorrow. And Hubs and I have to find a way to kill two hours in craptastic 'burbville. Goodie. It's not like we have any packing to do, or anything like that. Argh.

Ah well. You take the lumps life gives you, I suppose. Poor kid didn't have any say in when the party was going to be, and just because it falls on a weekend when she's with dad doesn't mean she should have to give it up. Trying to maintain a sense of normalcy on these weekends here is only going to get more challenging as she gets older and her friends want to do things on weekends. Guess we should be thankful for this dedicated time now - 'cause it's only gonna get uglier as time goes on! So much to look forward to. I remember how much fun it was for me when I was a kid in this situation. Ah, how ignorance really is bliss when you're nine.

It's after 11 and as I've said all week, I'm pretty sleepy so I'll bid you all a fond farewell. Best wishes for a wonderful weekend, and I'm sending you all happy sleep-in vibes. I'd appreciate it if you could kick some back - I have a feeling we'll be awakened by the knocking of a wee 9 year old sometime around 8 am. Goodie for me.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Thursday, 25 January 2007

Stockbrokers and apps and beer...oh my...

Another tough day in my work life. Had a busy one generally speaking, my frozen lunch entree brought for lunch was total crap so I threw it out, then I had to leave around 4 to go with my boss to say thank you to a group of stockbrokers that were donating some money to us. Yawn...just another day in the life. Poor me.

Stockbrokers...yes, it really is what you see in the movies and on tv. Testosterone central, ladies. You walk onto the trading floor and the pheromones dang near knock you back against the wall. Man oh man. That's what it was - wall to wall men. Almost overwhelming at times, kinda like looking directly at the sun on a brilliant blue sky day. You just can't look too long 'cause your retinas start to burn. But it sure is fun to test your limits!

What a den of frenetic activity - all yelling and screaming and rapid gesticulations of the hand. Kinda like baseball signals, but with a vocal track laid over top. How these guys (and I say this because there is ONE woman working there - ONE) do it on a day to day basis we just couldn't fathom. Hell, WHAT they do on a day to day basis was beyond our comprehension, and we're a couple of very smart gals, if I do say so myself! One of the more comedic moments involved a rep from another charity attempting to explain to us ladies what was going down. Uh, nice try buddy. Really, valiant effort. Just smile and take your cheque and no one will get hurt.

At the close of the market, the gang did what every seasoned veteran of buying and selling multi-millions of dollars worth of something each and every hour does: head to the bar for a pint. Why I never considered a career in stockbrokering I'll never know. I blame my guidance counsellor. Obviously she didn't take enough time to really get to know me and my skills.

It was a really great group of people at this reception. More women (reps from other charities) arrived en masse, the booze flowed freely, and the apps were plentiful. Watching my intake as I am, I was somewhat relieved to see the first tray to make the rotation contained veggies and healthy-esque stuff. Relief! I wouldn't be tempted too much, but could actually have a snackie since I was a tad peckish.

I should have known it was all a trick, a clever rouse, deception at its finest. 'Cause before I could finish grinding down the last bite of carrot stick - out came the spring rolls. Then the crab cakes. And bruschetta. And fresh, hot, homemade potato chips. With a delightful dip. And cocktail weenies. I kid you not - cocktail weenies. On toothpicks. How can you resist a cocktail weenie? I couldn't, I simply had to sample, mostly because I knew it would likely be years before I'd have the opportunity to sample a cocktail weenie again, and I didn't want to look back on tonight and feel regret for not seizing the weenie.

I did pretty well, all things considered. Didn't go off the rails entirely, but had a snack or two. Managed to keep my alcohol units down to two (technically one and a half, as my second drink was a white wine spritzer), shook some hands, met some people, smiled when the boss picked up the cheque from our benefactors, then said my goodbyes, hopped in a cab, and slid through my front door shortly after 7pm.

Then we had to spend an hour with the insurance broker guy, getting our policies set up. That was not fun, and I will not bore you with the non-funness in my life my dear readers. You deserve so much more than that.

And now, here we are at bedtime. Another busy day tomorrow, then it's off to see my favourite hairdresser and get a complete overhaul. Very exciting. I'm sure I'll have lots of fun things to report tomorrow after our visit. If nothing else, at least the gray hairs will be gone and I'll feel slightly more like my diva self.

And for the Grey's Anatomy fans, here's my prediction: Christina yes, Callie no. Take THAT to the bank. Or your friendly neighbourhood stockbroker...whatever's easiest.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Wednesday, 24 January 2007

Me soooo sleepy

I'm tired. Not much longer before this diva hits the sheets for some well deserved rest. Last night's search for the illusive Coach briefcase (still no sad) had me up much longer than I'd anticipated, so I was already behind the proverbial eight ball before I even got started on the whole sleep thing.

I finally rolled into bedforshire sometime after midnight and was dismayed to hear the rumblings of Stompy and/or Giggles directly above my head. I think they're vampires. Or creatures that never sleep, 'cause they, well, never sleep. Doesn't matter how early or how late I happen to be up, they are too. How does that happen?

And how can one person have such a serious case of the dropsies? I mean really!!! Every two minutes something drops to the ground and causes my heart rate to spike. The curse of hardwood floor - no carpet to buffer the sound. And she has a rolling desk chair - of course! Nothing like the sound of another human being hurtling themselves across the room on casters to lull you to sleep at night. Brutal.

So back to last night. I finally get to bed, then have to endure the symphony that is Stompy upstairs and Hubs snoring beside me. He's had a two hour head start on me, so he's way off in la la land, sawing logs at a rate that would humiliate any logger worth his salt. So I lie there, frustrated to no end, knowing how much I need my sleep and how it's already slated to be an abbreviated rest since we have to get up at 6am. About an hour later I somehow manage to drift off amidst the racket all around me, and what seems like a millisecond later, my dreaded friend the alarm clock snaps me into Wednesday.

Then the real fun of the day is under way - I'm off with Hubs for his sperm analysis collection! Woo hoo! As I've previously mentioned, we're attempting to become 'in the family way' and are requiring some assistance. I've had all of my fun tests done - now it's Hubs' turn to submit a sample or two.

Poor guy. No, my tests have not been fun. They've been invasive, painful at times, embarrassing, time consuming and repetitive. But I've never had to 'perform' on command - and then bring back the output to prove that I've gotten the job done.

From the beginning he's wanted me to go with him. Some find this strange - this is something that apparently he should be quite used to doing on his own. And that my presence, while appreciated, was by no means a necessity. True, true. But he's been there for me at my appointments so when he asked, there was no question - of course I would be there to lend a hand, if that's what it took.

The process for the collection of specimens for sperm analysis proves to me without a shadow of a doubt that God is a woman, and this is Her way of beginning to balance the gender scorecard since we gals have to deal with periods and all that other fun stuff. Of course this one moment of humiliation doesn't come anywhere close to a lifetime of pads, cramps and 'accidents', but hey - at least She's trying. And yet again, I digress.

I won't go into too many details of how it all went, but suffice it to say that the cup was not returned in the same condition in which is was received, and on we went. It's funny - his appointment was one of the first of the day so there was only one other person in the waiting room when we arrived. My following Hubs into the wee little exam room garnered no reaction whatsoever.

The same can not be said for the status of the waiting room upon our exit. Packed. Oh yeah, to the rafters. And only one other woman there, sitting back, reading a book.

The human face is a miraculous much can be interpreted by the smallest of movements. I choose to believe that the vast majority of the emotions I witnessed on those male faces was jealousy. That's what got me out of that room, head held high, right behind a very proud looking Hubs.

So now, 15 hours later, I'm ready to hit the hay in an attempt to secure eight plus succulent hours of desperately needed diva beauty sleep. And like clockwork, Giggles and Stompy are at it again. They have company over tonight even - another voice and pair of feet to disturb my precious peace. Sigh...another 22 days until we move. That's what keeps me sane. Our new house is most definitely my mental happy place - it nothing else, at least it's quiet there.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

PS In my selfish haste to fulfill my Coach dreams yesterday, I forgot to wish my dear friend JBJ a very happy birthday. I hope you had a wonderful day, and that you took it upon yourself to celebrate another year with a little melon lube. :)

Tuesday, 23 January 2007

Calling all divas - help needed!!

I have an urgent appeal for all you divas out there. Divas in training or lurking diva wannabes are also more than welcome to assist in this mission. I'm all about being inclusive, after all.

I know you're all busy with your own lives, etc, but this is so important, so essential to my future happiness and well being that I simply must seek your assistance. Via this blog I now attempt to channel our communal knowledge of all things - designer.

Yes, that's right. I'm shallow, and I don't care who knows it right now. I'll revert back to my do-gooder self as soon as my prey has successfully been caught, killed, stuffed and safely installed on my mantle. Not that I have a fireplace let alone a mantle, but you get the point.

My holy grail of the day, the object I seek, shouldn't be that hard to find. It really shouldn't, but it's proven more elusive than I'd ever though possible. This treasure I speak of is none other than the beautiful briefcase sported by Lynette Scavo on Sunday's episode of Desperate Housewives.

At first I though - Coach! Elementary. As soon as it's loveliness appeared on screen I gasped with glee, actually clapped my hands together (delicately though - my nails were drying) and said, 'I must have that Coach briefcase'. Hubs, always one to indulge my shopping fantasies, if only via online viewing, headed straight to their website to seek it out.

And it's nowhere to be found.

Then I thought I was seeing things incorrectly, that those telltale 'C's were in fact 'G's, so my enameled digits flew over the keys as I made my way to Gucci. Not there either. In hindsight, now that I've gone back to check the tape, I should have trusted my instincts. Of COURSE they were C's and not G's. I know these things, I do. Sheesh. Never second guess your gut when it comes to designer goods! *slaps self on hand*.


Never one to be beaten in an online hunt, I traveled next to eBay, home of collections of years gone by. At least here, I was sure, I would find a photo to match what I'd seen on telly and convince myself that I hadn't lost my 'identify the designer in less than 6 milliseconds' mojo, but no. Not to be found there as well.

But I didn't rest there. Oh no.

I googled it. Can you believe it? I actually typed the following words into Google: desperate housewives briefcase lynette used. And Google failed me. No luck.

So off I head to ABC's website. They have message boards, so I skimmed through there to no avail - but man, those folks reallllly know their show. And not a whole lot of them are liking tattletale Kayla right now. Eek... I slowly backed out of the room and retreated here to the safety of my blog.

I've always believed that I can find what I need and or want on the internet, and this evening my belief system has been shaken to its very core. I have not yet been able to locate the item I desire. This both scares and saddens me. I beseech you - have you seen this bag? Can you ascertain its whereabouts? Perhaps find me a price, a name, dare I ask - an online retailer?

I realize the photo is not the best - hell, desperate times call for desperate measures. I had to pause the show and take a freakin photo of the tv screen. Yes, I want it that badly. I think it would be the perfect housewarming present to myself, and a fantabulous accessory now that I'll be joining the high flying world populated by my fellow commuter train travelers. It would beautifully cradle my wallet, token paperback book, iPod, lip gloss, cell phone, BlackBerry and many other miscellaneous items commonly found in a diva's briefcase, all the way to Union station and beyond. And damn, would I look fine carrying that baby!

Any and all leads would be greatly appreciated. Thank you, my dear dear diva friends, for your love and support during this challenging time. With your help, I know this fine piece of Coach-ery and I can be reunited and live a long, happy, fabulous life together.

And as a special thank you treat, I'm posting a photo of my 'diva dish', painted by mine own hand more than a week ago at the ceramics place. Stunning, isn't it? Yes, I know...don't quit my day job. But I did promise I'd be back to paste it, and it's the least I can do for all of your anticipated help. :)

Yeesh...looking at the photo of my dish I realize that I should definitely hesitate to list 'painter' amongst my list of talents. It really ain't that great. But it's cute and it's pink and it says diva - and most of the time it'll probably be full of stuff, so you'll never see the bottom. Yeah, that's it.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Monday, 22 January 2007

Not a huge fan of Mondays...

Here we are again. Monday. The only thing that's good about it? It's over. Well, almost anyway.

Yes, I don't like Mondays. Tell you why? Okay. First, adjusting from sleeping in to the clamour of the alarm clock...well, you've already heard my position on the alarm clock, so this isn't really news, but still. I hate it. What a crappy way to greet a new day. In my world, it's the inane banter betwixt and between Roger, Rick and or Marilyn. Yes, I wake up to CHUM FM. Mostly because I'm too lazy to switch stations in the hope of finding something better. And mostly because, beneath it all, I'm not convinced there is anything better. Such is the state of Toronto morning radio.

So yes, having to rise via alarm clock is one reason I don't enjoy the Monday. Want more? Happy to oblige. Everything always seems so frenetic on a Monday morning. You're back at work, and all the sudden all of the crap you just couldn't mire through on Friday afternoon is demanding attention, slapping you in the face. Before you've even begun, you're behind.

Then come the inevitable meetings...every second week we've an all staff meeting, and as you now know how challenging I find it to arrive at work for 9am on the dot, you can imagine the extra pressure I feel on those staff meeting days. Eek. Once in a while I get it right and actually make it on time, but more often than not I'm cursing Monday yet again and slipping in at 9:03 when the meeting's in full swing and I'm nothing if not inconspicuous. Sheesh.

I've read that you should try to avoid buying cars built on Mondays, because more often than not they're craptasticly assembled. All those linesmen (and lineswomen, must be correct here - *interesting side note - linesmen is a word but lineswomen does not pass muster with the spell check. And I was the one worried about being inclusive...*) don't like Mondays any more than I do.

I've also heard that more heart attacks occur on Mondays than any other day of the week. Yes, the stress of returning to work is tough on the ole ticker. But you know who I feel for the most in this situation? Emergency workers, doctors, etc. Like it's not bad enough to have to be at work in stressful situations on a Monday - but now you've got an increased workload from all those heart attack people! Eek...sometimes it's better to just stay in bed and sleep allll the way until Tuesday. If only. A girl can dream, right?

The ONLY redeeming quality poor, maligned Monday possesses (right now, anyway) is that on Monday nights I can whip up a decaf on the Tassimo, plop my pajamaed self onto the couch, and enjoy two solid hours of tv hunkiness. Yes, Prison Break and 24 truly make Mondays worth enduring. Wentworth Miller...something so primal about how that name rolls off the tongue, ain't there? There is in my world, anyway. Yummy.

And Jack Bauer...poor traumatized Jack Bauer. We've a love affair that's lasted five seasons long and there's no end in sight, providing those crazy terrorists don't get him in the next blast radius. There would be pure hell to pay were that to happen, I tell you what.

So yes, the best parts of Monday are those tv shows - and when it's over. And since there are but 21 minutes of Monday left I think I'll sign off and enjoy them from one of my favourite places - bed!! Night, all - bring on Tuesday!

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Sunday, 21 January 2007

Congestion sucks.

Yes, I'm back. Attempting to be back, anyway. Please bear with me if today's post is not as witty or ripe with life-changing diva advice as you've come to expect from me in my few short weeks of blog life. But I'm sick. And I still feel like crap. But I CAN type, so here we are.

Before I forget, I must send happy birthday shout outs to my Scottish pal G - she turns 29 for the god-knows-how-many-times today. Sorry I missed your fete last night, but I'm a big snot ball. And no one wants to party with the snot ball.

So yes, it's been a pretty low key weekend. I've slept in until noon both days (usually this would be soooo indulgent but right now, it's pure necessity), went out to my sister's place for dinner last night as my parents were in town (and I'm always up for someone else cooking dinner), then we came home and it was back to bed for me. Exciting, eh?

One noteworthy aspect of the day - we scared the living crap out of the woman who currently lives in our house (well, what will be our house in a mere two weeks. Technicality.) With momsey in town and able to see the place for the first time, we did a drive by viewing and as we were staring the place down, the current owner came home and piled out of her mini-van with her two little boys. Hubs sees this as an opportunity to say hello and introduce ourselves (it's nice to be polite - and I want her to know that we love the place and we'll take good care of it - I'd like to know that someone will love my house when it's time for us to move up) so off we shuffle towards the sidewalk in front of the house.

Hubs says a simple, 'hello' and she replies with a smile, a quick 'hi', then pushes her kids in the door and attempts to shut it as quickly as possible. Hilarious. Now, a few of you know what Hubs looks like and many of you don't, so allow me to assure you that he resembles neither a serial killer nor a Jehovah's Witness, two things I believe we all should avoid like the plague when milling about our front door. From the look on her face, you would think Hubs was a little bit of column A and a dash of column B.

Her dog slipped out the door and, picking up on her bristling discomfort, starts to bark at Hubs' approach. But that all ended when Hubs stuck his hand out, bent down, and started his own patented form of dog whispering - seconds later the pooch was putty in his hand. Snaps, puppy. Way to protect the fam!

Anywho, she opens the door again to try to retrieve Drooly the guard dog, and Hubs tosses out a quick explanation - 'we just wanted to say hi - we bought this'. Uh, right. A man of many words, my husband.

Well, at least that set the defrost in motion as far as the homeowner was concerned. Her tune totally changed, the smile became real, and she elected to bestow a few precious minutes of chat time on us. Lucky!! So we had a lovely chat, introduced ourselves, and were somewhat relived to discover that the reason they're moving is to get her boys closer to their school. Much better explanation than they're starting to feel uneasy about their house being built on an indian burial ground. Proximity to the school I'll gladly take - the opportunity to play a leading role in a dramatic re-enactment of Poltergeist, not so much.

And that was pretty much the dramatic highlight of my weekend. We've managed to get some more packing done (have I mentioned how much I HATE packing?) which will never be the highlight of any weekend but here we are. We also went to pick up our paint your own ceramics items and my diva dish turned out okay. If I was feeling better I'd snap a pic of it and post it here for you - but I'm not, so you'll have to wait a day or two. How's that for drama? Can you handle such an intense cliffhanger? First an entire day with no post and now this? My poor I torture you.

Fret not, I'm being repaid by a vengeful god - I'm stuffy, sniffing, feeling like crap...and watching football. Karma's a bitch.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Friday, 19 January 2007

Sorry, kiddies..

No big long blog post for me today. I'm feeling like complete and utter crap - the stupid cold bug that's spreading like, well, the common cold, has taken me down. Just feeling icky and sleepy and stuffy and all that good stuff.

Hope y'all are feeling better than me, and hopefully we'll be able to return to our regularly scheduled programming tomorrow.

Have a great weekend!

And that's your abbreviated daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Thursday, 18 January 2007

And now, I have officially seen everything.

Turkey in a glass. Yes, you read that right. Turkey in a glass was on the menu tonight. Not at home, no no, we don't try that stuff here. No freaky deaky, fancy foul under this roof. Mashed potatoes, sliced turkey breast, a sliver of stuffing and gravy, garnished with a sugared cranberry skewer and served in a stemless martini glass. The turkeytini. As I said, now I have officially seen everything.

So where, you might ask, did this collision of bird and barware transpire? Seven floors above street level in a downtown hospital, to the sheer delight of hundreds of guests. Intrigued? Follow me...

My job sees me spending the odd evening or two schmoozing at or around a makeshift bar. Nothing untoward about that - the bars are always dressed in fancy linens, the wines are generally respectable, the bartenders wear solid black, and there's nary a tip jar in sight. I'm surrounded by the well to do and/or the well intentioned, and we're all gathered together to learn about/celebrate/raise funds/raise awareness for the cause at hand. There are fabulous people, fabulously dull people, and people I don't know - yet. But give me time, give me time.

If you love what you do, you'll never work a day in your life. This is one of Hubs' favourite sayings, and I subscribe to his line of thinking, 'cause let's face it, I've got one of the best gigs going. Yes, my job is work. Yes, I can't just come and go as I please. But loving what you do makes life that much more sweet, more rewarding. And since I'm no morning person, it's the only thing that gets me out of bed five out of seven days of the week.

I am one of the lucky few who can state with all sincerity (and a straight face) that I am making a difference because of the work I do each day. And that appeals to this diva's ego - big time. And while fetes like this one do indeed cut into my all-too-precious 'me time', I'm willing to let it go, for the greater good.

So what if I have to watch Grey's Anatomy a little later? I've pvr'd it and can now skip all the commercials. So what if I've worked 11 hours straight? My office is hardly a run down sweatshop with mud floors and searing heat. So what if I have to cut my blog entry a bit short today because my eyeballs are burning and my bed is singing its siren song? Again...water under the bridge, all for the greater good.

Hell, if I didn't go I would have missed out on the turkeytini. And that's a sacrifice I'm not sure I'm willing to make.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Wednesday, 17 January 2007

American Idol: wake me up for round two

I love tv. I truly do. I have the digital cable, the PVR, my shows are set to record all on their own so that I never miss a moment of warm, moist, tv goodness. I'm especially fond of reality tv. That's right - I said it. I loves me the trash tv.

Survivor, The Amazing Race, The Bachelor/ette, Big Brother, The Apprentice (more Donald than Martha, not that that matters anymore), You're The One That I Want, and, of course....American Idol.

Ah yes, a new year has only truly begun when Simon, Randy and Paula pop out of their fancy cars (notice how they never show up together? Strange...) in front of the big convention centre/sports arena/superdome in insert-city-here, USA. Smiles, bottles of water, and mugs for the camera, they're then whisked away into day upon day upon day of nauseating renditions of top 40 hits by the Idols of yore. Don't get me wrong - I love the concept of the show. Hold auditions nationwide, give everyone their shot, discover raw, hidden talents and mold them into solid gold.

It's every singers' dream, being discovered. Hell, when I was ten years old and in the car with my parents, I'd roll the window down and sing along with the Annie soundtrack at top voice in case, just in case, a big time record producer also happened to be on his way to Peterborough...and had his window down. Could happen. He'd hear me, flag down my dad and convince him to stop the car, and life for me would thereafter never be the same. A hard knock life no more.

Obviously, that never happened. Poor 10 year old me. Tragic. The failure of the universe to as-of-yet notice my talent adds more to the diva mystique though. All true divas must triumph over some degree of adversity in their lives before they can become truly successful (seriously - check the rule book), and I've almost managed to convince myself that my lack of a record contract by the age of 11 was mine. Sure as hell felt like it at the time!

Funny though - when I sing now, wherever I may be, I still wonder if someone out there in my 'audience' is secretly harbouring a brother in law that works with a guy who went to university with someone who works for a recording studio of some kind. After the performance (read, 'me getting off stage at karaoke dive') this someone will be so blown away, so utterly moved by my rendition of I Will Survive, that they'll vacate their seat, leave their beer behind, and walk (okay, stumble) my way to congratulate me on a job very well done. They'll tell me of this friend of their brother in law's friend, ask for my number and say this guy just totally has to hear me.

And thus, my 'how I was discovered' story would be born. I'd relate it to Cheryl Hickey (start small - ET Canada's a good jumping off place), and by the time I had my appearance on Letterman or The View, I would have perfected it down to the most minute nuance. Dave and/or Babs would be eating out of my hand. Toss in a hair flip or two for good measure, and the whole world would fall in love with little ole me. Teacher says, every time you see a hair flip, a diva gets her wings. Awwww.....

I'm surely not the only one out there to have these delusions of instant fame and fortune just 'cause I can sing. If nothing else, American Idol has taught us that. 16,000 people show up for the Memphis auditions, coming up on the next episode. Thousands upon thousands showed up in Seattle (dag, did you see some of those people? Mental note - do not breed in Seattle) and something like 14 made it through. 14!! Yeesh. Hope this picks up a bit, or there will be some seriously slim pickins as we whittle down the truly talentless that happened to squeak by in round one.

I sometimes think I'd be much better off starting my American Idol experience after they've picked their Hollywood crew from the ragtag bunch of 'I just wanna be on tv, who cares if I can sing' contestants. It actually causes me physical pain to sit here and watch some of these people publicly humiliate themselves. Hubs actually had to ask me if I was okay during one particularly awful showing this evening - and that's not right! The only time tv should cause you genuine physical pain is if you drop it on your foot while transporting it (another good reason to hire people to do these things for you). Definitely not during something like American Idol.

I'll have to think long and hard before I decide to tune in to next week's two hour nausea-fest. I don't know if I have it in me to watch again. I'll probably have terrible dreams tonight...sigh.

On the plus side, there were some real gems on the show tonight, and I look forward to hearing more from them as they continue on and the singing just gets better. I'll watch and smile as they get their chance at fame, the opportunity to work with a renowned vocal coach, and the spotlight shining down on them as they perform in front of millions upon millions of people.

And I won't be, not me. My time to shine will come. Spring will eventually arrive, and I'll get back in my car, turn the music up, roll the window down...and pray for the car next to me to have 'somebody important' behind the wheel.

Somethings you never grow out of. Except the Annie soundtrack, that is. I think I'll belt out a something a little more contemporary.

And you, you, you - you're gonna love me.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Tuesday, 16 January 2007

Does trudging through snow count as cardio?

Does it? I really think it should. You know what I'm talking put on the heavy boots (kinda like small ankle weights come to think of it, yeah) and you hit the sidewalk. If you live in the concrete jungle as we do (for the next 30 sleeps, at least) you must traverse many a sidewalk until you reach your final destination, and you can bet your sweet bippy the vast majority of those sidewalks have yet to be rid of the latest dustings. Add a chilly evening to the mix, and you're faced with some very rough goings as you make your less than merry way about town.

As today was the first time this winter that I have faced said conditions, I had a momentary memory lapse - I'd forgotten how challenging in can be to walk in snow. Running late as I was (shock of shocks), I decided to pick up the pace in an effort to hit my office chair before the clock struck 9:15.

You see, in my world, at 9:14, you're late. But at 9:16, you're treading on very dangerous ground. The keeners have come in, turned on their computers, and are by this point returning to their cubes from the first coffee venture of the day. At 9:14 you're safe...they're still in the elevator on their way back up. But by 9:16 they're gliding past your still-dark office, glancing at the closed door and then at one another. Hmmm....late. Again. Tsk tsk tsk. Bugger.

Back to trudging. I've picked up my pace and I notice my breathing has galloped into high gear. Interesting. I'm walking, I'm walking, and I'm huffing and puffing? How very strange. Then it hits me - my heart rate is up, I'm sweating a bit - this could be a workout! I'm getting cardiovascular exercise!! Whoo freakin hoo! Who needs expensive treadmills and gym memberships? I've got the great outdoors and mother nature! I've got to go this way anyway, so watch me multitask, world! I'm getting to work AND getting into my target heart range! And before I know it, I've made my way to the subway station, a train shows up right away, and I'm whisked towards St George station and my happy office chair.

In that moment, I actually deluded myself into believing I could be one of those superwomen, the ones that get up, work out before they go to the office, and actually make it to their desks before the keeners glide by. I had visions of myself doing this and more every morning. And then I shook my head and snapped out of it.

Come on. I know myself. I mean, I detest exercise, I really do - as evidenced by the fact that I have now devoted an entire post to an attempt at rationalizing a 5 minute walk to the subway as a bona fide cardiac workout. No superwoman status for me anytime in the near future. But hey, any exercise is good exercise, right?

It may not have burned great quantities of fat, but picking up the pace did get my still-diva-sized butt into my chair for 9:12. A whole three minutes ahead of schedule, and avoiding those glares is worth all the huffin and puffin in the world.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Monday, 15 January 2007

Ice, ice, baby

Man. Winter is here! Looks nasty out there! I haven't left my house since Sunday night so not really sure how bad it is but dang does it look slickery. Woke up this morning feeling not so great so decided the universe was telling me to stay inside, sleep some more, and not venture into the icy world that awaited me. I'd probably slip and fall on my ass yet again. Yes, I have a bad habit of falling and/or tripping over minute specks of nothing, so why tempt fate with sidewalks covered in ice!?

I had visions of myself getting ready, putting on the warm coat, the hat, the mitts, the scarf (all colour coordinated and in sync with my beautiful deep pink peacoat) and, of course, the boots that I detest but actually protect me from nature's spoils. I'd open the door, pull out my purse-sized Radley umbrella (a birthday giftie from a friend) in a rather vain effort to protect the morning's do, and step out into the crunchy blue yonder. I'd be set, prepped, ready to go - and then I'd take three steps and fall on my ass.

You see, it's happened before. I'm not just some ice-phobic paranoid girl who shuts down at the mere sight of the slashy triangles The Weather Network uses in its inane attempt to visually represent freezing rain to the masses - I simply can't stay on my feet.

Case in point, April 2004. Yes, I said April, and yes, my memory extends back as far as 2004. Didn't think I had it in me, did you? It's amazing what sticks when you become domesticated and start cutting back on the martinis. Bah ha ha. And again, I digress...

April 2004, I'm taking my fine self to the subway station. I follow my regular route, one I've traveled hundreds, nay thousands, of times. It's April so spring is coming, you can almost FEEL it, but it was a bit chilly that fateful morning, so what was melted in the sun was still ice in the shade. Today's bit of advice - keep away from the shady ice bits...go towards the light, my diva friends! The alternatives are quite nasty.

Being April, I'm not wearing boots. I detest boots in each and every form. In fact, while it might result in some of you feeling the need to turn me in to the dastardly diva gestapo for what I'm about to say, I feel it's important to be true to you, my loyal readers: I'm not really a fan of shoes, either. Not a footwear afficionado.


I know, I know. I feel shame that I can not truly embrace this key component of diva-hood but alas, I have to be me. I've tried, I really have! I have an extensive collection of shoes...but they're more for function than form. I've tried to keep up by having at least a decent number of pairs, but I can't get overly excited and all googley eyed at the latest pumps, etc, no matter who puts them out. Maybe it's because, as a diva sized woman, the psi (pounds per square inch) rating on those tiny heels is too much for my poor ankles and soles to handle. Maybe that's it.

I don't know, I can't explain it - I just don't have it in me. And as a result, quite often you will find that my footwear, be it sandal, boot or heel, has a slightly utilitarian look to it. You know that look - the 'that shoe could go with so many outfits, but will never really stand out in a crowd' look. My shoes will never be special. And I have learned to live with that. My name is divajen, and I am not a shoe-aholic. Sigh. Now back to April.

If nothing else, I am most certainly the queen of tangents. It would appear as though I have that market covered.

So yes, being April, I'm not wearing boots. It's almost spring dammit, so I'm ready to get right into that spring thing. And that's why it happens. I see the sun, I see the shade, I see the ice, I look down at my shoes and then...I'm slipping. My feet come out from under me, I flail around like the proverbial headless chicken, and all I can think is 'please don't let me hit my head', just before I hit my head. Boo.

I'm lying there, limbs akimbo, conscious (thank god), and trying to figure out how to extricate one leg from under the other. Slowly I begin to bring myself to a sitting position, exceedingly aware of the pool of brown water now seeping into my coat (protect the good stuff!!) and the delightful old couple now coming my way to make sure I'm okay. Why, oh dear lord why, must we have an audience when these mortifying moments befall us? The woman must have watched my head make a speedy acquaintance with the pavement, because the next thing you know, she's whipped out her cellphone and is poised to come to my rescue - or at least to call someone else to do it for her.

Now, one of my biggest fears is having to be taken anywhere by ambulance (so little control over how you go in, ya know?), so I quickly stumble to my feet so as to assure her that yes, I am fine and no, no need to bring in the big guns. All is well. Thank you, I'm fine. Yes, I'm sure. Thank you, no - I can get home on my own. Yes, thanks again - I'm really fine. Bye! Yeesh. I slink home, tail between my legs, limping a bit and nursing the ever rising lump on my back of my noggin. Poor me indeed. I pull off my coat and into the laundry it goes. I change my pants (I skinned my knee!! What, am I four?) and, emboldened by my now dry wardrobe, I venture out anew. But this time I take an alternate route, avoiding that patch of sidewalk altogether.

This was almost three years ago, and I STILL approach with caution when stepping on that particular square. I have, of course, returned to my original route since the incident - back on the horse and all that - but every winter I eye it with great trepidation and, on days like today, all those fun falling memories come flooding back to me. So tomorrow, when I do head back out into this icy winter wonderland, I'll don my none-too-sexy black boots with killer treads and I'll take my sweet ass time getting to the subway. No falls for me in 2007! I like my pink peacoat too much to get it all wet. Besides - it's dry clean only.

Tread safely, my diva friends!!

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Sunday, 14 January 2007

Props to my girl, amongst other things.

So as promised I did get my sleep in this morning. A bit abbreviated, thanks to DeeDee knocking on our door at 8am, but we managed to eek out an hour or more of sleep thanks to the tv in her room, a banana and a glass of milk. Bribery rocks.

Today was pretty laid back, all things considered. Lots to look forward to - 24 starts again tonight (damned football is pre-empting my long awaited reunion with Jack Bauer....soon Jack, soon...), and the possibility of a big snowstorm looming over our heads and the snow day that might accompany it has me all a twitter. But I'm jumping ahead of myself.

This afternoon we decided to go and paint ceramics - DeeDee was totally into it, and I'm always game for an arts and crafts project. Well, all things in moderation, I say. We headed north, we painted (I painted a dish with a crown at the bottom - my 'diva dish' if you will. It's pink...what a surprise), and we took DeeDee home. Stopped at our favourite pub near the airport and had yummy wings (bad for me, sooo bad, but sooo good), then it was a race home to be sure butts were firmly planted in front of the telly for the triumphant return of Jack. And here we are.

Meanwhile, somewhere in (hopefully sunny) Phoenix, Arizona, one of my bestest friends CJ was gearing up for a huge day - something she'd been working and training for for months. You see CJ, an athelete but not traditionally a runner, decided she wanted to do something big, something meaningful in her life, so she joined the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's Team in Training and signed on to do a half marathon. In Pheonix. In January. She'd never run before - ever. She plays soccer and hits the gym on a regular basis, but to her own admission, she's no runner. And now she was going to run over 21 kms, all at once.

Oh yeah - and she also had to raise more than $5,500 for the opportunity. Eek!

So here we are on Sunday, January 14th and it's race day. She's down there in Arizona with her boyfriend who went along for moral support and a little sunshine - and she did it! I got a text message with a great photo, all smiley and happy, with her race bib and her medal for finishing the race. I'm so happy for her - this was a huge undertaking, months of training, hours upon hours of fundraising, stressing over how it would all come together and now she's all done! Snaps to her for setting a goal, working hard and seeing it through. She should be very proud of herself, as I am of her.

I have great respect for you runners out there - my knees groan at the thought of having to run for the freakin bus, let alone keep going for another 21 kms. So to CJ today I say - congrats on an incredible feat! And to everyone else out there thinking they can't do something, never sell yourself short. Six months ago CJ would have laughed at the thought of running a half marathon - and today, she has the hardware to prove that she can! Rock on, sister friend!

And that your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Saturday, 13 January 2007

Finally! A diva-worthy Saturday.

Too often lately my weekends have been full of doctor's office visits, time in the car, non-fun shopping trips, house-related nauseating errands, and jaunts to Wal Mart. Don't get me wrong, I love a good hunt at my local WM, but not every weekend. For the love of god, I need a little variety in my shopping destinations! Ya feeling me? I'm sure you are.

Today, my friends, was divine. While I may not have slept in as I truly love to do, this lovely Saturday deserved to see me up and about at 8am. Well, it was supposed to be 8am, but a few well directed slaps to the snooze button allowed me to indulge my sleepy ways for an extra half hour, and at 8:30 I shuffled off to the shower and began the daily cleansing ritual. Btw, I love the smell of Body Shop coconut soap in the morning. Did you get that? Take notes...this is good stuff. And there's more to come.

We have DeeDee again for the weekend, so once the three of us were presentable and ready to head out, we were on the road. We piled into our wee Kia and, since I decided to straighten my hair this morning and ate into valuable breakfast dining time, we caught a quick breaky at McD's. Very healthy, I know, but alas.

Then it was down to The Ten Spot for a very well deserved and extremely long overdue manicure with my good friend JBJ. We went to grad school together and while we both lead very busy lives, we are committed to getting together and indulging our diva selves in one of the truly decadent indulgences out there...having someone else be responsible for the filing, shaping, soaking, and polishing of your fingernails. Ah, to sit, chat, gossip, catch up, then saddle out of there all sparkly like (from the wrists down, at least!) is a fantastic way to start or end a day.

JBJ was off to work later in the day - she works way too hard, yet promised me today that things are getting better - but she did have some extra time on hand so I invited her to join me on my shopping expedition to Come As You Are. She said sure, as long as I went with her to Rommi Wools. And there's the difference between JBJ and I - I'm heading down the street to buy some good lube, and she needs to get some more wool for the shawl she's knitting for her aunt's 60th birthday present. Love her!

So she finds her wool, and on we shuffle to the sex shop. I think poor JBJ is traumatized at the prospect. Not that she's a prude by any stretch of the imagination, but she and I have this running joke over our five years of manicures together - she gets the Antique Rose coloured polish, and I get the onces named Wicked and After get the point. So we toodle around, I find the special lube I need (Hubs and I are trying to get knocked up and this 'PreSeed' (sperm friendly lube) is supposed to do the trick - yet is very hard to find) and I shamelessly dare JBJ to take some melon flavoured O'My home to her hubby. She rises to the challenge (I'm so proud, and no pun intended). To her husband I simply say, you're welcome. :) I've attached a visual for those of you wanting to follow along at home - I told you to bring a pen and paper.

A few other little treats later and we're back out on Queen Street, enjoying the sunshine and not quite ready to part ways so we head down to the Gypsy Coop for some lunch. It's gone! So sad. But never one to be deterred by a simple 'for lease' sign, we pop into the cute place next door and proceed to enjoy a lovely lunch/brunch. It's great to just be out with a fantastic friend, catching up, drinking yummy coffee.

Lunch over, we head into one of my fave stationary stores in search of the perfect pink notepad for me to take to work. I have no luck, but she scores something and we're off to Starbucks. More coffee!! has simply been too long since I've indulged in my grande lactaid one splenda latte. I grab it from the bar, then head outside where Hubs and DeeDee await my return. Kisses and hugs to JBJ (poor thing heads off to work) and we're off for the second half of the day.

A trip to Shoppers Drug Mart and Costco later, the three of us then head off to see a movie (Happily N'Ever After - crap). All things considered, a wonderfully indulgent day, a 9.5 on the diva scale. I highly recommend it to you all.

And it's not over yet - once DeeDee is in bed, I'll re-examine the spoils I purchased earlier today, and, well...some things are probably best left un-blogged. But use that imagination, girlies. Then go have some fun of your own!

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Friday, 12 January 2007

My number one pet peeve...

Greetings, all! It's Friday, it's after 5pm, and I am in a right jolly good mood!

First, to put all your minds at ease, my stirrup inducing trip yesterday went pretty much as expected...she was an hour late (so late that I finished my book before it was my turn - drats!), there were indeed oven mitts over the evildoers (sunflowers on a green background - no cartoon cats in sight), and most importantly - everything appears to be a-okay. Just have to wait for the pathology to come back, but she says all looks good. Yippee!

Update over. Now on to my rant of the day.

We all have pet peeves. Things that really irk us. I have a few of them, and most of them are grammatical - yes, how snootish of me, I know, but deal. I hate it when people say 'youse guys' for example, or 'alls I want to know is'. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up when 'a lot' appears as one word. *shudder*. Like nails on a chalkboard! (Sludge is guilty of all of the above, I will add. Makes me mental).

But my number one pet peeve is people complaining about things they have complete control over - then doing nothing about it. Let's use Sludge as an example, shall we?

More info on Sludge. She's 34, the middle child, and her two siblings live down the street from her. Her sister is a ranging thunderc-u-n-t (can't even spell it all out properly but she deserves the moniker) and her brother is nice, but can't do much to help. Her mother passed away last summer very suddenly of a stroke, and her father...well, let's say her father is married to another woman, and has been since before she was born. She and her brother are the product of an adulterous relationship so needless to say daddy wasn't really around all that much.

Sludge has OCD. Not a huge, raging version, but enough to impact her life. She also has early stage breast cancer. She doesn't work (quit her evening job when her store manager wouldn't let her bring DeeDee in with her anymore), didn't finish high school, and has lied on her taxes in the past in order to qualify for social assistance. And she's on the verge of being evicted because she hasn't paid rent in over two months.

All in all, it's not the greatest life. At times I find myself feeling pity for her...her childhood growing up was one of struggle and she learned from her mother and her sister how to take advantage of the system (both found a way to get onto disability so they wouldn't have to work for their money) to survive. She was never given a strong work ethic by example, and so I realize that she had the chips stacked against her from the get go.

The problem is - she refuses to do anything about anything. When they first split up, Hubs offered many times to pay for her to go back to school, to train at something, to help her become self sufficient. She declined. She refuses to take the medication she requires for her OCD, and she suffers as a result. She rarely if ever goes for the cancer treatments her doctors have outlined for her - she's just too tired or it's too far or DeeDee wanted to stay home from school. We give her telephone numbers of volunteer drivers from the Canadian Cancer Society to get her to the cancer centre and back for free - and she doesn't call. We beg and beseech her to seek out programming for low income single mothers - the very people much of today's social policy is designed to help - and she just won't.

So my pity dries up rapidly when I hear her playing the 'poor me' card time after time after time. Yes, your life does suck right now. I get that. Yes, you are entitled to some 'feeling sorry for yourself' time. Wail, kick, scream, cry, fill your boots...but move the hell on! DO SOMETHING TO MAKE IT BETTER! Accept people's help. Let them point you in the right direction. But for the love of all things holy, nothing and I mean nothing is going to get better because you just sit there and complain. No one is going to come along and hand you a job/money to pay your rent/a cure. And the sooner she sees that, the sooner she can be on her way to a new start.

I work hard for my money. I went to school and studied and worked towards my degrees. I have put lots of time into my career to get me where I am today - no one handed me anything! Yes, I had more advantages thanks to my family situation - but at least I answered the door when those opportunities knocked.

And that's all I ask of others in return. Take what life hands you and try to make the best of it. At least try - no one will fault you if you fail 'cause at least you tried to do something!! But the pity party ends the second you refuse to take control of your own life and expect the world do save you.

So, my dear, dear diva friends...the next time something truly crappy happens to you, complain, freak out, get pissed off, and cry. Then once you're done your waah waah routine, pick yourself up and do what you can to fix it. Don't come cryin to me unless you do. 'Cause I think you now have a pretty good idea the kind of response you're likely to get from me. And no one wants to see that, ya know?

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Thursday, 11 January 2007

No one looks classy in stirrups...

It's Thursday. I like Thursdays. Tomorrow's Friday (always something good to look forward to), it's my last day wearing business attire 'cause tomorrow I get to pull out the jeans, and there's a new episode of Grey's Anatomy on tonight. All in all that ain't bad.

Too bad I still have to get through the most fun part of my day.

In just under an hour, I'll be hoisting my diva-esque carcass onto a pleather slab o'fun in the colposcopy clinic of the hospital I work for. I will then proceed to do the butt shuffle slither to the end of the slab until it feels like I'm going to fall off, then I must firmly plant my tender tootsies into the most humiliating of inventions - the stirrup. I don't care how cutesy you make them by dressing them up with cartoon cat oven mitts - they're still metal torture devices designed to give me nothing but leg cramps and a serious case of the embarassments.

You see, a few years back I got one of those calls - your pap results came back and they were abnormal. Please come in for some more tests. Gasp. I work in a cancer hospital for pete's sake, I understand the process, but that only happened to other people - NOT ME!! And horror of horrors, they referred me to my own hospital, to a doctor that I work with on an almost daily basis! Lemme tell you, it sure does change a working relationship when your co-worker gets an up close and personal view of la cooch, both inside and out, every six months. Just as soon as they've started to erase the visual from their brain, you show up for your next appointment! But, as always, I digress.

So I showed up, had more tests done, and was diagnosed as having one of the high risk strains of HPV, the human papillomavirus. Say it with me kids. Stupid virus. I couldn't believe it! How was this possible? While 'chaste' would never be a word used to describe me, 'safe' would. I'd always been good, always been careful, and here I was with an STD? Diva says whut?

I've since found out that 80% of women will contract HPV by the time they're 50, and that even if you use condoms, you can still get it (apparently the little buggers can hang out at the base - of the penis, that is, not military - although I'm sure there are a couple of them there). Good times. Many of us will get the virus but fight it off just like the common cold - but after 30, that's not as likely, so if you get an abnormal pap and you're over 30 years old, ask them to do an HPV DNA test to see if you have the virus and one of the high risks strains.

You see, my fellow diva ladies, HPV is THE cause of cervix cancer. Yep, you heard me. Now, there are well over 100 strains of this beast and only 16 or so can cause cancer - the others cause genital warts. So it makes sense to find out if you have one of the high risk types, or just a regular, lower risk strain which will likely not develop into anything anyway. Helps make you vigilant, like me, and keep going for the checkups every 6 months if you know you're at a higher risk.

So I'll march over there, health and hospital cards in hand, in time for my appointment. I'll also bring a book because I know this great doctor I'm seeing will likely be running late, and I hate being bored and staring at walls. And then I'll begrudingly shed the clothing currently covering the lower half of my body, hop up onto the pleather, and quickly drape the powder blue modesty blanket over myself to stop from catching a chill.

And then the real fun will begin!

Fortunately the procedure's relatively quick and this should be just routine, making sure that all is well (I had the bad cells lasered off a year ago, you see) and I can go on with my day. But no matter what happens, at least I know that I'm on top of it, I'm taking charge of my own health, and no cancer cells are gonna get past me!

So my lovely diva friends, get your pap smears every year. Be an advocate for your own health. Don't let the stirrups intimidate you and keep you away from getting screened, 'cause while no one looks classy in stirrups, we'd all look a hell of a lot less classy in a pine box.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Wednesday, 10 January 2007

Time crawls when you're back from vacation...

It's Wednesday. Yes, only Wednesday. Hump day. Still 2.5 days of the week before we glide grinning like mad people into the weekend. Ah, Friday at 5pm is one of my favourite times. 'Cause it's the longest time before more work.

As I've penned before, I do love my job. I find it energizing, refreshing, challenging, and very rewarding. But I really must be self-motivated to get things done, and I must say, at this very moment I reallllly have to push myself to make sure I keep my head in the game. There are sooo many things going on right now - especially with the upcoming residential relocation - that at times it's hard to keep one's eye on the proverbial ball from 9-5.

To top it off - I'm tired. Just sleepy. I think this whole non-winter is getting to me. All the darkness with none of the snow drama. Don't get me wrong, I am most certainly not praying for snow - no siree - I like walking to work in my leather shoes, not strapping on the sorry excuse for boots Roots co-erced me into buying a few years ago. But getting up when it's dark and leaving work when it's dark really does take a toll. As fellow weddingbeller Corrie said - I'm just not a winter person. I can't freakin wait until spring!

Spring's my favourite season, it truly is. The air is crisp, the snow is melting, and there's the faint scent of crap in the air as the grass and other assorted vegetation struggles to come to life once again. Kinda like me, without the crap scented goodness, though. I always smell sweet! Aqualina Pink Sugar, thank you very much. But I digress.

I feel as though I go through my own re-birth come spring (in the most non-existential way, that is - no fru fru gobbledy gook for me) and the real me is set free yet again. I wish I could hibernate during winter, just sleep through it all, and wake up refreshed and energized in April, my paycheques kindly deposited in my bank account desipite my lack of attendance at work, and all household bills conveniently paid so I can still enjoy my gold card after my long winter's nap. I'd need some new clothes for spring, especially since I didn't really eat for months so I must have lost some weight during my sleep....this is sounding better and better as I type, no?

But alas, I can't hibernate. Can't just disappear for the winter, as much as I'd like to. Maybe someday, when I'm old and retired, Hubs and I will jet down to Florida to hang out with all the other Canadians fleeing winter. Ahhhhh....someday. Guess I'd better start increasing the ole RRSP contributions if I want that to materialize. Damned realism.

But what a pleasant mini-mental-journey I just took myself on! I had a nice nap, did some shopping, and saw spring all in a few paragraphs! If only it were that easy.

Until then, I guess I just sit here, continue to toil away, and count the days until spring officially arrives. Meh, that's too far away, too depressing. Instead, let's just count the days until the weekend. 2.5 and counting! Hopefully the second half of the week goes by faster than the first! Bring on the weekend!

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?

Monday, 8 January 2007

Oh, why must I toil for my daily bread?

So it was back to work today. I love my job, I really do, but having had some time off made me realize, more than ever, that I most certainly could be a lady of leisure. I'm sure I'd miss that whole working thing (after a while), but I'd enjoy myself allllll too much, sitting at home doin stuff. Non work stuff.

I like sleeping in. I'm not a fan of alarm clocks...devil's instruments, in my most humble of opinions. And you simply cannot sleep in when you toil for your daily bread. Is it Friday yet?

Spent most of the afternoon and evening with a raging headache - stupid weather systems. Tylenol just hasn't cut it for this puppy - might just have to let the incredible healing power of sleep take care of this one. Poor Hubs came home early today after going to the doctor - he's got a sinus infection and he's feeling like crapcakes. Poor baby. And the scariest thing of all - he's cold. He's NEVER cold! We're talking about a man who wears shorts and a tshirt every hour of every day in this meat locker of an apartment, and loves it! And now, he's in the one pair of sweatpants he owns and, get this, my sweatshirt, trying to keep warm. Gotta love it when your man can wear your clothes.

I think between the two of us we won't be long before bed. And then it's off to toil again tomorrrow. Blech. Hopefully something more exciting will happen to us then. Hehe.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin?

Sunday, 7 January 2007

Another promise broken - can you ever forgive me?

So, I said yesterday after missing a day I'd be back later to post some more. And once again, I let you down. Bad diva. Begging your apologies. That should do it.

My weekend has been anything but diva-esque. I spent the vast majority of yesterday in a car driving all over hell's half acre to get Hubs' daughter, DeeDee, to a doctor. You see, she's had this ingrown toenail (ewwwwww) thing goin on for almost six months now, and despite many phone calls from Hubs to Sludge begging her to do something about it, nothing has really been done at all. When Hubs saw poor DeeDee's mangled, black, puffy big toe, he just about died. And so he decided to do something about it, since Sludge surely wasn't going to.

But of course, we don't have DeeDee's health card. So it's pay $50 to see a doc, or go out to Sludge's 'hood (a 45 minute drive on a good day) to pick it up. We chose the latter. Happy day.

Those of you living in the GTA realize it's not all that easy to find a walk in clinic open on a Saturday, especially after 2pm. So we ended up at the place Sludge usually takes DeeDee, a clinic in a ghetto mall near their home. We show up and are told it's going to be an hour and a half wait to see the doctor. Goodie - let's kill time in this bad throwback to the 70's mall, where this diva feels shamefully ill at ease. Blech.

After killing some time in Zellers (sigh) we decide to grab a bite to eat. Since the only options are the food place in Zellers and a hamburg stand in the mall, we quickly rule out the Zellers due to the close proximity of a police officer having a quiet conversation with a crying lady who's clearly out of meds, and saddle up to the padded stools of the hamburg stand. Yippee. Is it time to go yet?

A gulped burger later we're finally being seen by the doctor who, of course, tells us we need to take her to the hospital emerg to get the nail taken care of as they can't do anything from there. An hour and a half of my life I'll never get back, but now we know.

So we shuffle off home, overjoyed by the prospect of getting up at 5:30am to get her to the emerg by 6 so we can hopefully get out of there before sundown. And then Sludge calls.

Outraged, freaking out, can't believe it, she needs to be there, etc. Tell the doctor to wait, don't go at 6am, all that fun stuff. Now, I totally understand a mother's desire to be at her child's side when they're hurting and undergoing a medical procedure. I most certainly do. But how she was planning to get from her place to the hospital near us in time for 6am boggled my mind. She wasn't taking no for an answer, despite assurances that DeeDee would be just fine 'cause Hubs was going to be right there. Even though she's had nothing but time to get this taken care of from her side but nooooooo.

Okay, I digress. To make a long and now rather boring story short, we got up at 5:30, were at the hospital by 6:10 and we were done and out of there by 8am. Pretty impressive, all things considered. DeeDee's toe is much better, the offending piece of nail having been extricated from its fleshy prison, and she's revelling in the 'I've been through something traumatic today' type of spoiling that happens only rarely.

And of course, Sludge phones at 8:10 am saying she's at Yorkdale, how does she get to the hospital.

Uh, we're done. We're eating breakast, then heading home.


Of course, nothing is open anywhere at that time on a Sunday morning. Nothing. So where does she end up? Our house. Yep, chez nous. And that's how she's come be taking up space on my couch. Breathing my air. Watching my tv. Invading my comfort zone. Goodie for me.

And today will only get better - we get to spend the entire day togther, practially! Friends close, enemies closer, all that good stuff.

You see, we're heading out to our new community this afternoon. We've bought a place there, and it's twice the distance to DeeDee that we currently deal with. So of course, we're attempting to introduce this new community to Sludge as somewhere she and DeeDee should move as well, so daddy and daughter would be closer together and he could have a much more positive influence on her life on an almost daily basis.

The plan was, therefore, to have Sludge meet us at the corresponding GO station at 3pm. Hubs would give her a tour of the town, and DeeDee and I would hang out with my sister and nephew, who DeeDee is just dying to see. All well and good...until Sludge shows up on our doorstep at 10am and now has to stay with us for a good five extra hours. Oh what fun.

I'm tired. I was up at 5:30, and while that's bad enough, to make matters worse I had some bad chinese for dinner last night that left this diva feeling mighty uncomfortable in her little ensuite in the wee hours. So I think I'm going to take a nap. Not usually a napper, but I'll never make it through the day at this rate.

And something tells me I'm gonna need all my strength to survive beyond sundown.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?




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