Holy cow, it`s almost Christmas!

The snow is softly falling out there - it`s starting to cover the earth in a beautiful blanket of white.

There are Christmas carols playing around me.

There is a feeling of excitement in the air.

 I`m feeling FESTIVE, guys!

I'm trying to post as many of these as I can before Christmas! I've bee busy!

Although Halloween is my favourite holiday (I have 5 huge rubbermaid containers full of Halloween stuff, and half of one for Christmas), Christmas is still a super exciting time of year for me, and especially because I have so many fantastic memories of Christmas. Like when theGuy proposed.

I don't know what it is about Christmas, but it's always been such a magical time of year for me, and totally continues to be, even as I grow older!

There's something special about surprises, pretty paper, sparkling ornaments, Chrismas carols, and pretty trees. Don`t you just feel warm and fuzzy? I'm a kid at heart!

Also - theGuy and I get to have our first Christmas morning alone together, and I'm so excited, that I just can't hide it. Sleeping in on Christmas morning? I don't think I've EVER done that. It's magical!

My Christmas mornings as a kid were pretty exciting, and somewhat orderly, for the first few minutes. We would wake up so excited, and wait until 8am to go and go get my dad, who was a light sleeper. Dad would put the kettle on - we couldn't get started on Christmas morning until mom had a cup of tea. She would come downstairs in her housecoat, and we would try not to rush her. Try, being the key word, here. There were 5 very excited children to contend with.

The Christmas room was always set up in a room in the house that meant we wouldn't see everything when we got up. Dad would have us line up from youngest to oldest, and he'd go into the room with the camera.

While in there, we would wait eagerly at the door, excited with anticipation for what lied beyond it.

"Oh, wow, Patti!" Dad would say, from inside the room, "You're going to love this."

"Oh Turbo!" he would exclaim, "I might have to keep this for myself."

Our excitement would grow as he made these exclamations, and we'd beg for mom to finish her tea.

Finally, the time would arrive to enter the paradise of Christmas. Santa always left one gift unwrapped, so we would immediately see a surprise for each of us. We'd each get our own spot - our stockings would be set up with the unwrapped Santa gift, and usually one wrapped one, as well. We were allowed to dive into our stockings, and I think you could hear us two towns over. There was a lot of screaming with glee. We all would take turns opening, savouring the experience (and with 7 people, that meant it often took hours to open gifts). We would eat candy for breakfast, and it was the time of our lives.

Now, Christmases are a lot more quiet. TheGuy and I are kind of ridiculous, though, and we have our own traditions. After looking at the lights (the Christmas lights) on Christmas Eve, we leave Coca-Cola and cookies out for Santa, and crawl into bed. Something sneaky happens around that time, because every Christmas morning, when I wake up (first), and go downstairs, the cookies have been eaten and the coke has been enjoyed. I stealthily set up theGuy's stocking and make a tea, which I enjoy by myself on our porch bench. There's something about Christmas morning, when the streets are quiet and everything seems to peaceful. I love that moment - it's a moment of calm amongst a whirlwind of activities.

Then I go upstairs and jump on theGuy as he's sleeping and yell "SANTA CAME! SANTA CAME", over and over, and I'm sure he loves it.

What are your Christmas traditions?

I hope your Christmas is Merry and awesome!


Am I insane?

Hello lovely readers! It's Thursday!! Which means it's almost Friday, which means it's almost time for Christmas break!

I get 11 days off this year, and I will try to blog, but it may not happen, and you'll probably be all busy with Christmas and all that jazz anyway, so as if you'll even notice!

Um.. I drank a little too much caffeine today, so I wrote a super long post but it was basically gibberish and me talking about dentist appointments and chiropractor appointments, and then I re-read it and found it extremely boring, so I deleted it to save you from the whirring of my brain. My gift to you!

Speaking of chiropractors (here we go again - sorry! I tried to save it but the caffeine is hindering my impulsiveness), is anyone else out there like, hyper sensitive and self-conscious of themselves when going to the chiropractor? I mean, I'm hyper sensitive at the dentist, at the doctor, but man... the things I think of before I go to the chiropractor - I may be clinically insane.

Since my problem area is my hip, it means my chiropractor has to get all up in my trunk. Like, he's pretty much face-down in my butt. That may be a slight exaggeration, but.. there really isn't a polite way to describe the friendship that he and my butt have developed. And he practices active release, so he uses my leg, holding my foot against his leg, to apply pressure. All of this means that I'm super nervous.

Will I toot in his face?

What if I have to pee?

In the summer: are my feet clean, pretty smelling and smooth?
In the winter: are my feet too cold? Do my socks match? Do they smell bad? Are they sweaty?

Are my pants flexible enough? But will they stay up when he bends me in all weird positions so I don't accidentally moon him and then toot in his face?

Does my butt smell like roses?

And I'm not sure why I'm so concerned about tooting, really, since girls don't do that. And of course my butt smells like roses. Or maybe cookies, even. Yum, yum, that's my bum!

Oh my god, I hope he doesn't google search me and read this because that would be horrible. Hi, Dr. Colin! I'm really just looking out for your best interests! I'm kinda nice like that! Thanks for keeping me nimble!

So.. my question for you is this: do you have insanely neurotic worries and concerns when going to the chiropractor? Or doctor? Or dentist? I'd love to hear them. I'm not crazy, am I? Should I be adding a visit to the psychiatrist to my list of appointments?



I'm still waiting for the snow.

I think you can really tell that I'm really hoping it comes, because I posted my "Let it Snow" doodle, twice. Oops!

And now, it's time for a Christmas story. With barf.

I'm famous. I'm not sure if you knew that, but I totally am. I'm famous - an actress and singer. Bet you didn't know that!

I'm famous because, at the young age of ten, I was given the most lines in our family's church Christmas Pageants, as the Angel of the Lord.

A very exciting role! Though all of us wanted the coveted role of Mary (my reason was that the costume for Mary had a bit of a bustier in the front, and I so badly wanted something to 'boost' up - my "I must, I must, I must increase my bust" exercises hadn't started to work yet), the role of the Angel of the Lord was super exciting because it meant that you got to wear the fanciest angel costume, and you got to stand on top of the organ to recite your lines.

I loved being the center of attention (hey, I was the second oldest in a family of five).  I knew all the boys would be watching (I loooooved boys), and my parents would shine with pride. I'd master my lines and be scouted by a movie producer, who would take me to Hollywood. There, I would grow boobs and meet Andrew Keegan, and live happily ever after.

The night of my debut, I was giddy and excited. We had breakfast for dinner, and the only thing I could get down was a large amount of hash brown patties.

I was feeling a little queasy as we gathered in the church basement, getting ready, and going over our lines. The clock ticked by, and before I knew it, it was time to go on.

And I hid in the bathroom, and threw up.

It was curtain call - everyone was looking for me. Where could Patti be?

I was in the bathroom, revisiting my hash brown patties.

Finally, my older sister found me. She helped clean me up, and ran upstairs with me, right in time for me to take the stage... on top of the organ.

My lines that night were delivered in a squeaky, high pitched, wavering voice, as I fought off the urge to throw up on the angels and shephards below me. And I forgot my lines.

How that was possible, when I studied them so much? I still remember them to this day:

"Do not fear, for behold. I bring good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For onto you is born this day, a saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign onto you. Ye will find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger."

My sister had to prompt me. And so ended my career in the theater.

To be fair, however, I get it honestly. I think it's a genetic trait. Besides the Babester, who played the lead role in her highschool as many times as was humanly possible, and Dan Dan the Diving Man, we were all prone to pukage. Her twin, Turbo, threw up all over his principal's shoes at his grade 3 elementary school Christmas pageant (I guess pageants are not really good for us Adairs).

But the best story at all centers around my older sister, Did. The one who prompted me and helped clean me up. Aren't you happy I'm sharing this story, Did?

It was April, and we were.. oh, I don't know - it may have been Did's 11th birthday? Our church hosted a fundraising variety show, and man - it was fun times! They even had blacklights for special badass puppetry.

Anyway, Did was cast as the star role, with a solo, to "five little monkeys jumping on the bed." We were all so excited for her, and the variety show took place over her birthday weekend, so we decided to bring all of her guests to the variety show. That way, her closest friends and family would be there to see her take the stage. In her pajamas. Awesome.

We all lined up in front row seats. We were so excited! I was hanging out with the older girls, so that was fun for me.

When Diddy came out on stage, her face looked weird. I thought she looked green. You can read Did's mood like a book because she shows it on her face, and she was NOT happy. I debated on pushing her offstage and taking her part (middle child syndrome), but my mom told me it was Christa's time to shine.

"Five little monkeys, jumping on the bed," the five children sang, each one jumping off stage at the "one fell off and bumped his head" part of the song. At the end of the sign, Did's job was to sing "I've got the whole mattress, to myself," and she almost made it through, except "to myself" became "to my........ PUKE." She didn't sing 'puke', but that's what she did, right on stage, in front of the black lights (it was glowing), at the feet of all of her friends and family. Although I felt horrible for my sister, it was kind of marvelous. Especially when she went home and straight to bed, and I got to play with all her friends.

I think all of this explains my aversion to churches. They're barfaramas waiting to happen. Three out of five children have been sick to their stomachs when attempting to perform in a religious setting. 

Coincidence? I think not.


A public service announcement about food courts

I think it's important that I share this story with you because right now a lot of you are hitting the malls, shopping until you drop, and it is a dangerous place out there, you have no idea.

Picture this: It's 1997 in the local shopping mall. I'm innocently out, shopping with my friends. We had lots of stores to hit, our tummy's were rumbling, and there was a huge line-up in the drug store I needed to go into.

"I'll meet you at the foodcourt," I said to my friends, "and we can get some A&W".

I made my way to the drugstore.

And waited in line for about an hour.

At this point, I was sure I was going to die. I was extremely famished, absolutely parched, and overheating after standing in line with my winter jacket on, next to people with questionable personal hygiene.

Upon the completion of my purchase, I made my way to the foodcourt.

I found my friends, and sat at their table with a dramatic thud.

"Oh my GAWD," I said, "that was a crazy line up, and I'm so totally dying of dehydration." I saw their A&W cup on the table, and rudely grabbed it, taking a long, exaggerated drink to prove my point.

As I gulped down the syrupy goodness, my friends looked at me in horror. They must've thought I was so rude, enthusiastically polishing off their drink without even asking, but I was thirsty.

Delicious Root Beer.
 "Sorry," I said, gulping for air. "I was just sooooooo thirsty. I'll buy you a new one."

My friends looked at each other with disgusted looks on their faces.

"Patti," one said, sadly, "that drink was here when we sat down. It wasn't ours."

I drank random mystery A&W rootbeer footcourt WASTE, and down to the last drop.

Yeah. That happened.

I thought I should share my story with you, because that was an experience that still turns my stomach, and it'd be nice of me to ensure that you, dear reader, never have to share that fate. Consider it my gift to you. Merry Christmas.

Incidentally, I have not had A&W rootbeer, since.


Service with a smile

I was born and bred to be in customer service.

Seriously, I was. I was hard at work in my grandfather's store at the age of 8, if not earlier. Love it.

One of the tips I learned a long time ago, was that when you answer the phone, you should always do so with a smile, because customers can hear your smile over the phone, and you sound pleasant that way.

I totally do that, and agree that you can definitely hear a person smiling when they're on the phone.

So, I recently realized that I have also been smiling while writing emails to clients. Like, a big stupid grin, every time.

I'm not sure whether that makes me a weirdo, or the best customer experience provider in the WORLD, but that's how I roll.


Let it Snow

It's basically spring outside, today, and it's making me happy because I prefer warm weather, but it's also making me sad because, where is the snow?

Is it just me, or does it feel nothing like Christmas without everything being covered in a blanket of sparkling white? That's the key to Christmas! Everyone dreams of a white Christmas. No one sings "I'm dreaming of a Green Christmas", after all.

So, I decided to draw a little something something, to encourage the feeling of merriment of the season within myself. And here it is:

Happy Friday!!!


Superhero woes

Hello My name is Patti, and I have an aversion to doctors. And dentists. And appointments, in general. They make me uncomfortable. The appointments. And the doctors and dentists.

I don`t know whether it's that I'm a wimpy-doodle, or whether I've just had my share of crummy hygienists and doctors, but I'll tell you - I've had some run ins with the most unpleasant people in the medical field. Not like, American Horror Story Asylum unpleasant, that would be intense. Just generally poor-bedside manner, and, okay, maybe I am a wimpy-doodle.

It wasn't always like this. I adored my family doctor as a child, and even made him a Christmas card, once. I also really enjoyed going to the dentist. Maybe the fact that they had a treasure chest attributed to that.

Either way - I've been a little... shall we say.. hesitant, to book appointments with doctors or dentists over the past 2 years. Okay, maybe it's been longer since I've seen my doctor. Okay, I can hear you rolling your eyes at me and yelling at me because it's irresponsible, but I'm sorry. They scare me.

Last year I had some problems with my SI joint, rendering me unable to walk, so I had to go to a chiropractor for the first time, and I was terrified. When you're in excruciating pain, the last thing you want is for some stranger to TOUCH you and move you and crack you. But I went - 3 times a week for the first month - and it totally made me be able to walk down the aisle (YAY!) and also made me feel like, okay, maybe this healthcare thing is good to take care of. Like, maybe I should be better about looking after myself. Tomorrow I will call the dentist. And tomorrow I will call the doctor.

And then I had a nightmare that my chiropractor yelled at me for not coming in frequently enough, but followed that with "on the other hand, you're like a miracle. With your EXCESSIVE size, it's nothing short of a miracle that you can walk."

And that was horrible.

So I didn't call.

But then, guess what happened?

When I was at Design Thinkers, I took a really embarrassing little tumble, wedging my foot into a street car track. My friends were awesome about it, and I played it off like it didn't hurt at all because I'm superwoman, but guys, it friggen hurt. It didn't hurt as much as my SI joint issue, though, so I was all "okay, like.. it hurts, but it's not the end of the world." So I sucked it up. Like, superhero style.

It's bothered me from time to time. Like, when I touch it or anything else touches it. But for the most part, it's been  kinda like a string. Yeah. A string. You know how you tie strings around your finger in order to remember things? Well, the pain has acted like a jolt of "REMEMBER TO BE CREATIVE" and "REMEMBER THAT FUN TIME YOU HAD?" So then it kinda makes me smile. Also, because I'm a superhero.

It's been over a month since I hurt my foot, and I told my coworker I was pretty sure I'd broken it or something, but I can be dramatic sometimes, so I think he just thought "there goes Patti again, being all dramatic."

From time to time I would bring it up. It really didn't feel very good, but it was manageable pain (because it definitely didn't bring me to my knees). So, still a superhero.

The other night as theGuy and I were in bed, I turned over and winced as I knocked the one foot with the other. He asked what was up, and I told him I'd accidentally knocked my broken foot.

He laughed at me. He also thought I was being dramatic. So I made him sit up, and feel the huge pointy bump on the side of my foot, which did not exist on the other side (and by huge, I mean the size of like.. a large pea).

"Holy shit. You did break your foot," said he. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Oh, it wasn't a big deal," I said. "I'm kind of a superhero."

TheGuy is all about researching freak things and accidents and stuff, so he told me "Patti, you need to get that looked at. They're probably going to have to rebreak it so it can set properly."

Oh yeah, like that's not horrifying. I told him it was fine.

"I think there's something wrong with your nerves! You shouldn't be able to walk! If you leave it," he said, "you could even get bone cancer from it growing improperly. Or cauliflower foot. You know, like cauliflower ear?"

Who's dramatic now?

I rolled my eyes and ignored him. And then I couldn't sleep, because I was too busy thinking about how I was probably going to get cancer in the foot and how I would deal with that, and preparing myself for all the things that would happen, and trying to decide what kind of wig I would wear. And I'm not joking, people, this is actually how my mind works. So it was a sleepless night. And I decided I would get a bunch of different wigs, all in red, so I could switch it up. And then I started thinking about how I wouldn't have to spend any time doing my hair because I'd have wigs, and then I was scared that in thinking that, I was jinxing myself, and then I really couldn't sleep. And I was also craving cauliflower.

Anyway. It worked. The scare totally worked. Not only have I booked a doctor's appointment, but I've also booked a hair appointment (I don't like those, either) and am in the process of getting a new dentist.

I'm so totally grown up and responsible. And still a superhero.

Is anyone out there freaked of doctors and dentists? Or, are you in love with them? Please don't scare me more, but I'd like to know!                     

(Also - I booked my appointment at the dentist. Next week. If I don't ever return, it's because I hyperventilated and died o fright.)

(Also - my fear of the dentist does not mean my teeth are gross. I probably OVER-brush my teeth, if anything. Oh no, I totally do! They're going to yell at me! Ah!)


Soul sista

I asked the Babester if she would send me the beautiful speech that she wrote for theGuy and I and our wedding (she was our foxy, foxy Maid of Honour), and she did. Re-reading it, I absolutely love it, and I think that it's content worthy because it shares more of who I am with you, as well as just how awesome and hilarious my family is. We rule. Especially the Babester.

Plus, then I don't have to think of something to write today. I should probably pay her for this. Except that I don't get paid, so whatevs!

It's long, because we Adairs know how to gab! Also - she was trying to summarize a heck of a lot of person into a 5 minute speech.

"Hi everyone, first off I would like to introduce our hunky and handsome Groomsmen - [names deleted to protect the innocent].  I want to welcome everyone and thank you all for being here to spend this special day with us.  Patti, you look absolutely radiant –I can’t imagine a more beautiful blushing bride – and Guy – you’re looking a like stud muffin as usual.

I’m standing up here for two reasons: first to congratulate Patti and theGuy on their amazing day –You Guys DID it! And secondly – with every speech there is a toast, and for those of you that know me, know that I will take any excuse to have a drink and share the wealth. But not so fast; the kicker is you have to listen to me first.

For those of you who don’t know me – I’m Katie, I’m not only Patti’s Maid of Honour, but I’m her bashful little sister, also described as her “baby”. Patti is 10 years my senior and from my first memory she has always surrounded me with love and affection. I’ve been her doll my whole entire life - from painting my nails for the first time when I was a toddler – to dressing me up in her clothes, doing my makeup and coaxing me on dance moves while she videotaped me lip syncing to Lisa Loeb’s single “Stay”. Why our music videos haven’t made it to MTV still shocks me to this day.

I used to leave my diary out for her to read, tell her about all the cute boys I met and cry to her when I was sad – and that was all by the time that I was in grade two. That being said, you can only imagine the growth our relationship has had as the years have moved forward.

Patti is one of the greatest sister’s a girl could ask for. She is known for her beauty, her wit, her kindness, her artistic talent and her big laugh. She’s the type of girl that steals the show when she enters a room with her beautiful smile. It hasn’t always been easy walking in her footsteps – but she showed me that it is okay to make my own path and follow my dreams. She showed me that it is okay to be opinionated and speak my mind...something that I’m sure she regrets. She is the epitome of what a Big Sister should be – always protecting, loving and caring for all of us Adair kids. I can’t imagine my life without her because she has shaped me into the person that I am today. For a sister is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost. It couldn’t have always been easy having a mini-me clung to her side.....mind you, I’m much cuter than Dr. Evil. 

We share a lot of similarities – some being our loud voices and uncontrollable laughter – we quite enjoy harmonizing while we sing the Cabbage Patch Kid song and leave us alone and we’ll find something annoying to do– after all, we are Adair girls... and heaven help theGuy when he has to put up with our antics. 

These are all great memories – and I could bore you for hours on end about all of our craziness – not only because we have so many stories, but in case you haven’t noticed...I really like to talk - but...a special memory, and my favourite memory, is one that I would like to share with you all today. 

It occurred on a beautiful spring day while Patti and I were walking to our childhood home, probably after a mall trip, when I was around 7 years old. But on this day, Patti started to describe this boy from school that she thought was really cute. He gave her butterflies. I giddily asked her to tell me more before we got home because a high school crush was the jackpot when you’re 7. Not to mention, my cool, teenage, big sister was telling ME a secret. Never, did it cross my mind that this mysterious boy, 12 years later, who my sister was crushing on hard, would be the man to marry my best friend, my sister, Patti.  Soon, theGuy became the most incredible jungle gym and later let me nearly crash his car on my first driving lesson when I was 16.  His presence in my childhood has been so significant, and I know it is safe to say, that all of us Adair kids can’t imagine our lives without him.  I have fallen madly in love with this man I call my Big Brother. Any applications to date me must be sent by mail or fax to theGuy or Dan, directly.   

I am beyond happy that you two have chosen to spend the rest of your lives together. Your love is of fairytales – it is brimmed with happiness and hardships, compromise and appreciation. I have grown up watching your love blossom and bloom into what it is today.  I strive to achieve the genuine love that you guys share with each other. I hope that one day I find my Guy and that I can be someone’s Patti. I have never met two people that I find are more perfect and meant for each other.  Thank you so much for letting me take a part in your love story, I know this one has a happy ending.

On that note, I ask for all of you to raise your hefty glasses – and take a big gulp out of your drink, because just like Radiohead says “True Love Waits”."

Toot! Toot!

A note to all - if you ever want to get a big ego boost because it's been a while - get married! Everyone says nice things about you, and the glow lasts for MONTHS!

Come home soon, Babester! I miss you! 


A little rhyme to put in time!

Exactly like PeeWee Herman: I'm a poet, and don`t know it.

Except that I totally know I'm a poet, and seriously, you should hear my dope rhymes.

I am also without a penchant for public displays of self-love. Just to be clear.

Today, I thought I'd bring a little sunshine into your world with this poem I wrote when I was in grade 5. A big fan of Shel Silverstein, I really thought I was going to be a published writer. And now, every time I hit "Publish" on a blog entry, I get a giggle of satisfaction for making my dream come true, even if it is self-publishing. So what. I'm all about goals, people.


Sarah and her Pear

There once was a girl named Sarah Pott,
There were only two things she liked a lot,
She liked to share.
But never her pear.

She loved her pear,
It had yellow hair,
But beautiful, it was not.
It was  ugly, the fault of Sarah Pott.

She went to her mother and cried and cried.
She cried so much, her mother lied.
She lied about that yellow hair,
She lied about that ugly pear.

The moral of this is plain to see,
A wise old woman shared it with me,
To avoid a fate like Sarah Pott,
Don't hoard your pear, for it will rot.

 (In case you were wondering - her mother lied to her and said her pear was beautiful, when it was really a rotten, soggy mess. Also, when I wrote this, at age 9, I mixed up pears and potatoes, so the yellow hair would've been the growth of an old potato, but because pears don't work like that, I see a pear with fuzzy mold, instead - IMPROVISE, PEOPLE.)


If I had a million dollars..

For some strange, weird reason, I have the Barenaked Ladies in my head right now. Is that completely disfunctional, or what?

I have to point out to you that, my dad, who has always had excellent taste in music (he owns the White Album, and Harvest, on vinyl, so he's obviously cool), was so excited when I was 9, and the Barenaked Ladies came out. I can remember him pointing to the poster in the store "I want to buy that album. Then when people ask me what I'm doing, I can tell them I'm listening to the barenaked ladies."

He really got into it. I think that was his way of living on the edge as a police officer and father of 5. I can remember him taking extra loops around the block in the minivan so that he could listen to one more song. And we would all sing along in the car because we were weird like that.

At my Dad's wedding, we even kareokied as a family to "If I Had a Million Dollars." It was a horrible rendition, and I'm pretty sure it's why Steven Page turned to drugs. Not kidding.

This brings me to the question - If I Had a Million Dollars......

I would definitely still eat Kraft Dinner, but I would not put expensive ketchup on it because ketchup on Kraft Dinner is disgusting, and everyone knows that. Also, Kraft Dinner is to be eaten with a dessert fork, four noodles at a time - one on each tine. Just so you know, in case you're ever eating Kraft Dinner on a first date or at a fancy restaurant or something.

I would buy my dad a monkey, because that was his favourite line in the song, and, incidentally, he has had many monkeys, and one of them was even named after him because he threw poop at people. Just like Dad.

When I was a teenager, I thought that if I won a million dollars, I would buy a hippy van and throw loonies out the window at all the people on the street and they would love me and rainbows would shoot out of my butt and it'd be groovy. I listened to a lot of Simon & Garfunkle at the time (note - to those who don't know - Loonies are the Canadian dollar coin. Because a loon is the duck on the coin. Not because we're loonies).

If I won a million dollars, in honesty, I'd probably be sad that I didn't win more because a million dollars doesn't stretch the way it used to, and I know that I would be stressed out about managing it properly, so the first thing I would do is hire a financial adviser. I'm married and domestic, now. Super responsible.

I would definitely buy theGuy and I a modest home, because non-modest homes are very expensive and if a house is really big, that's just more space to clean, and I don't like cleaning. So I'd save the money and hire a housekeeper - but this would be fiscally responsible, too, because it's cheaper to hire a housekeeper to clean a smaller house. See? Responsible.

I would give theGuy money so he could buy all the tools he needs to make guitars, because he is an absolutely amazing guitar builder, but those tools aren't cheap! Then it'd be cool, because right now it feels very cool to be married to a guitar restoration and repair technician, but it'd be even cooler to be married to an acoustic guitar builder, and then everyone would wish they were me.

I would also find the recipe for the legit Bonkers - candy which was DELICIOUS in the 80s and is no longer made (there is another candy called Bonkers but it is NOT the same thing, at ALL). I would make it and eat it.

Then I would throw a party, and it would be so much fun and awesome, and there would be bouncy castles for grown ups, candy floss, bonkers and it would be a full weekend, and there would be music all weekend, and there would be lots of wine and beer, and I would maybe hire flamedancers because they look cool (but I could also just pay theGuy and his friend, Mike, to do the firedancing because they've done it before, and one of our friends is a firefighter, so that would totally be responsible, and economical, too). And the party would be free, BUT I would encourage donations to be made to a charity so we would all feel like philanthropists.

And I would pay off my student debt because that's what responsible people do, and I'd invest the rest.

Except that I would also spend a small amount on putting billboards up all over the city with my face, waving, and a speech bubble that says "You're totally awesome" or "Have a great day" because then I'd be spreading happiness everywhere people went, and that is awesome.

What would you do with a million dollars?


Miley Cyrus is one tough broad.

Happy Friday, people!

I don't drive, so I commute home from work with a lot of walking, and some bussing. People watching is the best thing to do on public transit. It's highly entertaining, and you never know what you're going to see. No one makes eye contact on the bus, so you can get away with it by employing some stealthy tricks. I AM THE MASTER.

Don't turn your head in their direction and stare! Peek out of the corner of your eye so that it's not obvious in the spied upon's peripheral vision. I have spent a lot of time mastering this technique, and when I have sunglasses on I'm like an undercover detective of hilarity.You thought no one saw you pick that wedgie!? HA! I appear to be reading a book, but I totally saw it.  MUAHAHAHA.

Maybe I'm kinda creepy, come to think of it.

On Wednesday, one of my favourite bloggers, Becky, wrote this post about a negative experience on public transit. She lives in New York, so she has to deal with a lot of people on her typical commute, and her post is hilarious and also, she is brave. Awesome.

Tonight (which is Thursday), I wasn't looking forward to my commute at all. Thinking about Becky's experience, and the fact that It's getting mighty cold out there, and it's really dark - I was tired and I just wanted to be home already. But in order to get home, I had to make the trek, so I found myself on the bus, listening to tunes, in my own little world.

The character sitting across from me was very interesting, to say the least. I was a little intimidated, even. A large, muscled dude, he was dressed in head-to-toe gangster-style, from the ice in his ear, to the bling around his neck (since when is bling not a real word, SPELLCHECK?). He was totally into his tunes, with his huge headphones, mouthing the words, and even gesturing wildly with his hands. I figured he was listening to some serious rap, because he was really, really feelin' it.

In between songs on my iPod, I realized that someone was blaring Miley Cyrus. I turned down the volume and looked around, only to discover that gangsta dude was rocking out to the big-toothed singer. His headphones must've been half in the jack of his iphone, because he had no ideas that he was blaring Miley clearly to all the patrons on the bus, while acting like he was Coolio (or someone more tough and badass, but I don't know any real gangsters, and Coolio sang the song so he wins).

Some other Miley-loving man. WHY? WHY!?

The only thing better than discovering that the big scary gangsta sitting across from you is iunknowingly, publicly exposing his adoration for Miss. Cyrus, while trying to look bad ass, is watching the other people around you discover this as well.

It was a fun ride home.


Merry Christmas, Happy Hannakuh, Seasons Greetings, Whatever

I have to rant a little today, because sometimes I just like to do that. It keeps things fresh, and I love a good debate - so feel free to throw your two cents in, too.

I apologize, because I'm totally going to rant about facebook a little, and really - what is more annoying than people ranting about facebook? Like, for realz. If one more person posts something along the lines of "WHY DOES FACEBOOK HAVE ADS! I DON'T WANT TO SEE ADS! STOP IT" or "I HATE TIMELINE, FACEBOOK SUCKS," I'm going to push them in the face. Yeah. FACE PUSH.


 Whether we like it or not, Facebook is kind of a big deal. And if they want to make more money on us drones who log in on a regular basis to get their voyeuristic kicks in, well then, they should be able to. And if it weren't for change and innovation, there would be no facebook, or internet, or computer, or electricity, or wonderful things like Coca-Cola. And seriously - like Timeline made such a big difference in your life. You're so friggen hard done by.

My topic of discussion is really about points of view, which were brought to my attention mostly, by the statuses people have posted on their facebook. You know the type:


Those kind.

Can I just start by saying: "You sound like an asshole."

People have the right to their own opinions, and obviously, I'm exercising mine with this telepathic post. Cool. That's not a problem.

But don't you kinda feel that it's sad when people feel so strongly about Christmas that normally sound-minded people (and, really, I'm using that term liberally, here), suddenly find they've got this soapbox and it's absolutely okay to basically discriminate against other people in front of a large audience of bosses, colleagues, family, close friends, and the guy they met at the bar the night before?

I do.

I think these people are missing the point. Whether you celebrate Christmas because you're all happy about baby Jesus and how he was born in a barn, or whether you celebrate it because it's a tradition, whether you're celebrating Hannukah or Festivus or whatever, is the real point of the holiday not to spend time with those you love and to be good to other people? The sentiment is "Peace on Earth and Good Will Towards Men", right? I mean, a song was written about it, so it must be true.

Who cares what it's called!? Who cares if you can't say "Christmas" at work because it's not politically correct? Peace on Earth and Good Will Towards Men, right? So, wouldn't good will mean NOT making other people of other beliefs uncomfortable at work, or at school? I mean, we basically vomit Christmas red & green on everyone from November 1st until the first week of January. Give them a break! There are certain religious ceremonies in the world, I'm sure, which would make me uncomfortable. If the workplace is an open opportunity for everyone to exercise their religious rights all the time, I think it would be a pretty uncomfortable place for everyone. Canada, for example, is a land full of immigrants. That's one reason why I absolutely love to live here. Why do you care so much? Is it really that hard to switch to saying "Happy Holidays?" Like, will it make your arm fall off, or will your tongue dry up and rot out of your mouth? I don't think so.

Maybe it's too difficult for people with small brains.

And here's the thing. Christmas was founded because of the birth of Christ. So, to all the people who are writing these ridiculous, nasty, thoughtless statuses, or even having these thoughts in their own heads - if you celebrate a fat man in a red suit coming down your chimney on Christmas Eve, you've bought into the trends and stories of recent history - Santa's relatively new, and he has nothing to do with Jebus. So if you're willing to take on this cultural norm, because it suits you, guess what? Get with the program. Times are a changing.

Facebook's Timeline and being politically correct can both involve extra effort, and sometimes it's a little frustrating. But keep that to yourself - it is discrimination, in my option. And! Evolve, people. You're acting like a caveman.

Maybe you disagree, and that's okay, too. But I'll just let you know right now - if you're on my facebook and post a status like this, I am TOTALLY judging you.

What do you think?


Sometimes I think I should've stayed in bed.

You know those days? Those days where it's like everything is more difficult than it should be, and in the end, you simply running around chasing your tail, and nothing really gets accomplished?

Yeah. Today is one of those days.

And it's all even better, truly, because I managed to give myself a black eye on Saturday (it's not really as black as it is super swollen - and also I am probably exaggerating a little bit but whatever, it's one of those days) - which means I have now officially had two black eyes in my entire life, and I gave both of them to myself. Yep.

So that brings me to  a story. A little comedic relief, if you will. I know I need some, and thinking of this will probably make me laugh, and that will be great! Except that, knowing me, and knowing today, laughing will probably make me choke on my own saliva and then panic because I'm choking on my saliva, and then I'll flail my arms and knock over my tea, all over my laptop and myself (I just made it, so it'll be nice and hot) and then I'll bash my head when trying to clean up the tea that is everywhere, and then I won't even be able to post this because I'll be unconcious, so I apologize in advance if you never read this, except that it's probably for the best, because I'm not making sense.

And OH MY GOD. I just wrote an entire lovely post, which ended up being pretty funny, if you ask me, and then when I selected "Publish", google crashed on Mozilla, and now it's sitting there as a stupid window and it didn't save the best part of the story and I have to use stupid Internet Explorer and if that isn't an indicator of my day today, I don't know what is. Grr.

Once upon a time, I was in Brownies. Yep. And Brown Owl was a nasty lady. Which has nothing to do with the story but I really didn't like brown owl, and now, as an adult, don't understand why anyone who clearly despised children would volunteer to spend any amount of time with them.

Which brings me to grade one brownie camp. A weekend retreat, where we'd spend two nights sleeping in bunks, where we would eat weird things (I had tacos for my first time that weekend) and where we would earn badges. They made me go into a swamp to catch tadpoles and that was gross and icky and there were mosquitos. Also, where a girl did a cartwheel right in front of me, knocking my grape juice out of my hands, which spilled all over my brand new matching short and top set, resulting in Brown Owl stripping me down in front of all the other girls, as I cried because when I told her that my outfit was new and I didn't want it to stain, she told me my mother was stupid because the weekend checklist said to wear "old play clothes". I knew my mom just wanted me to feel special, and it made me cry that someone would call her stupid. Brown Owl, you are evil.

WOW. I have issues with Brown Owl.
I was so excited about brownie camp because, for the first time, in my life, I got to sleep on the top bunk. And there is just nothing more exciting than staying on the top bunk when you are a kid. It is a serious priviledge! Things were looking up!

On Saturday night, as I slept, I rolled over and whacked my face hard into the wood railing around the bunkbed. I saw friggen stars. At 6 years old, it took all my strength not to cry out for my mom, and I stifled my tears and forced myself back to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up with a headache. One of the cool "older" girls (8 years old - woo) looked at me and asked me why I had marker on my face.

That's a weird question. Why would I draw on myself with marker? When other girls commented, I finally looked in the mirror.

I had given myself a black eye. And not just a black eye, like.. oh, it's kinda swollen and maybe pink. It was truly black - it looked like I'd gotten in a fight with a Sharpie.

Upon my arrival home, I was concerned about school the next day. What would I tell them? Black eyes were not cool!

My dad offered me some words of wisdom. "Tell them," he said, "That a bear punched you in the face."

Well, that was good enough for me! When sitting cross-legged in a circle for attendance the next morning, my teacher asked "Patti! What happened?"

I was so ready for this. My dad was so smart. I cleared my throat and proudly proclaimed:

"MY DAD PUNCHED ME IN THE FACE. Oh, haha. I mean, not my dad. That doesn't make sense. A BEAR punched me in the face."


I'm awesome.


Me, I want, a hula hoop

So, it's totally December. Yep. It came. In the past, I would both wishwishwish for December to get here already, and then also wishwishwish that time would slow down because I didn't have any money for gifts, and where was I going to find the time to buy for all the like.. 24 people on my list (for the record - that is a trimmed down number. Three years ago, theGuy and I were buying or 32 people. RIDONK.).

 THIS YEAR, I made a goal for myself, so I'm all shopped and ready to wrap, and that's pretty fantastic, because that means that December is here and I'm all like TRALALALAAAA it's CHRISTMAS PARTY TIME and I can relax and enjoy myself and do fun crafts and doodles because, well, because I can. Stress-free. It's pretty awesome.

And I doodle lots!
(Oh man, I really need to go in and set everything up properly. Blogger changed everything since I built this site, and now all the settings are weird and so, sorry about that)

Really, though, for those who are less prepared for December, I'm not trying to gloat. Trust me, I've so been there.

So this year, I am super excited.  I want to bake! I want to decorate (but need help from theGuy because there are spiders in the basement and I'm too freaked to haul the boxes upstairs because then what if a spider jumps out at me, and then I get scared and hide and then it runs into Pickle's cage and attacks him and I'm a horrible bird-mom because I would sit and watch making a weird high pitched squeal that only comes out when there are weird creepy crawlies around - or when I catch a shoe out of the corner of my eye and swear it's a rat or something, that would not be festive)! I'm going to make PEPPERMINT BARK! I'm going to be a domestic GODDESS and our house is going to smell like sugar and spice and everything nice and the gifts will be wrapped, and the stockings will be hung by the chimney with care, except that we don't have a chimney but that's okay. Basically - I just want to have a super fancy, awesome, wonderful, special Christmas.

Ooooh yeah. Special Christmas. And that's going to take some serious effort after Christmas 2010. This year brings new traditions, once of which I am just sooooo excited about.

I get to spend Christmas morning, casually, splendidly, calmly, easily, languidly basking in the glory of no timelines, no alarm clocks, no agendas... until we pack up and leave town in the afternoon.


Okay - first world problem, but every Christmas in the past we would try to CRAM.GAZILLIONS.OF.THINGS.INTO.ONE.DAY. Seriously. We would take up and already be late to get over to theGuy's mom's house for our Christmas morning. We'd rush though waking up, unwrapping gifts, getting dressed, and getting packed to go away for two days - after rushing  home from work on Christmas Eve to go for dinner and church, as is our very favourite tradition with theGuy's mom. So we'd finally show up as late jerks, all in a tizzy. Then I'd immediately switch gears to the other plans - our friends' mom's open house on Christmas Day. So we'd rush out the door, pop in there for an hour.. and pretty much upon arrival, I would start fretting about how we needed to get on the road to make the two hour drive to get to my Grandma's for Christmas Dinner.

Yeah. Real fun for theGuy. I'm so calm and poised at all times.

So this year, theGuy's mom has bumped her Christmas festivities to the Saturday before Christmas, which means that we have the morning OFF on Christmas Day. And our lovely friends' mom is still hosting the Open House, but I have not committed to making it because that way WE GET TO PLAY IT BY EAR! We get to take our time! It's going to be amazing! As long as we're on the road in time to make it for dinner, we're good to go!

And this is about where my mind starts going a mile a minute and I'm trying to plan new things - like making an elaborate brunch, or inviting over the entire world for Christmas morning, or going for a walk on Christmas Day and the light will shine into the house so softly, and everything will be aglow with snow and the world will be peaceful and the house will be spotless, and it will smell delicious and theGuy and I will smile quietly at each other in our matching robes, and Pickle will wear a Santa hat and PLAN.PLAN.PLAN.

What are your Christmas Day traditions?


Bad day? Theirs is worse!

I just had full blown giggles after visiting this page, and on a Monday like today - who doesn't need some giggles? So here you go - my gift to you. Get a laugh at someone else's expense! People who are having a worse day than you. #5 and the Boat are my favourite. Enjoy!