I feel pretty

Yesterday was the first day after a haircut. Women know what this day means. It is the big test to see if they can recreate in their tresses all the bounce, shine and fun that their hairdresser did. I armed myself with hair product, my blow dryer and two different brushes to try to coax my locks into showing volume, shine and sleekness. I was nervous but felt prepared and had a tactic in mind so I set to work.

I had already done my make up and was pleased that my face was not red and cranky much. I had managed to apply just the right hint of eye shadow to enhance my peepers in natural shades. If I could get my hair to do what I knew it could, I'd be set.

I started off with good volume, but I couldn't get the hair to lay in the right place and stay. My bangs fell hopelessly infront of my eyes, no amount of sticky paste or hairspray could convince it otherwise. On top of that, I had over-done it on the product. My strands looked heavy and greasy. I was dismayed.

Stephen had just arrived looking cool in his green hooded sweater, jeans and a moto jacket and suggested that we start our afternoon out with a drink.I stood in front of the mirror and assessed. My hair was a small fail. My outfit, comprised of a red t-shirt layered over a long-sleeved white and black striped t-shirt and dark jeans, which had seemed fine a moment ago now showed a frumpy side. I frowned and the little red balloon in my heart that carries my spunk and confidence completely deflated. I felt un-pretty.

I don't think guys can really understand when a girl says she doesn't feel pretty or what difference it makes. I know Stephen looks at me and sees the same blue eyes he saw on our first date. The clothes I put on don't matter much and he has told me he still thinks I'm beautiful with my face all washed off for the night. He says lovely things but still, I want to feel pretty on my own terms. 

It didn't really matter before Stephen, but now it does. I want to feel kissable when I am with my beau. I want to feel like the girl he wants to plant one on in the middle of the produce section at Safeway. A frumpy outfit and bad hair doesn't make me feel kissable. It makes me feel like the friend who is tagging along on the outing.

It's hard to give love to someone else if you're not feeling in love with yourself first.  To do that takes care, time and a strong effort at being gentle to one's self in front of the mirror. It starts with appreciating your bare skin and loving all the freckles, lines and scars. Then it means loving the hug of the clothes on your body and seeing the features that are so striking they command the world's attention. A smile, vivid eyes, a beautiful neck, legs that go on forever--anything. It is seeing all this and knowing it comes with the soul of someone with beautiful, loveable qualities and quirks. When I lose touch with these things I need time and space alone to find them again, which is hard when your boyfriend is standing there looking la-ti-da amazing himself and you have about 15 minutes to get out the door so you can get your to-do list done.

On top of feeling un-presentable that afternoon, my house also felt like a mess. In the kitchen I started to spin out from it all, This climaxed with me trying to find a place for the microwave plate cover in the refrigerator.

"AHH! What am I doing?" I slammed the fridge door shut and threw the cover on the toaster. Stephen grabbed me by the shoulders, spun me around, and hugged me. Bad hair, frumpy outfit, messy kitchen me. 

I did end up changing my outfit and I covered my hair up with a cute hat. I smiled in the mirror when I was done with the transformation. I felt pretty and when Stephen and I walked hand in hand out of the restaurant, I felt happy, beautiful, and loved. 

Spinning Wheels

"At least they're blue," I said. "Why do they all have to be so ugly?" I fixed my eyes on the funny looking shoe in my hands, trying to find something about it that I could love. Velcro? Ick. Synthetic materials? Ick. On sale? Redeeming quality. Then I noticed an inscription etched into the shiny black plastic sole: Step Into The Future.  Was this my future? Am I really going to do this? Is this love at first shoe?

I put the very technical and practical shoes back into their dilapidated box and with a shrug said to my mom, "well, if I change my mind I can always sell them on Kijiji."

I handed the box to the sales guy to put on the counter for me.

"Great," he said. "Now let's get you on a bike."

Finally free of homework assignments from my interior decorating class, I have weekends to myself again. For this one I went looking at new wheels. No, I am not putting Truck out to pasture. I'm looking at buying a road bike.

I don't know anything about bikes except that they have two wheels, handle bars, pedals, breaks and options in gears. I suppose that is pretty much everything to a bike, but for all of those components of course there are variables in materials, which essentially dictate the numbers on the price tag. That's what I learned this weekend.

Joe, one of my volunteers is an avid long-distance cyclist. I found out that there is a team cycling across Canada this summer in the name of organ donation awareness. When I shared this news with Joe I suggested to him that it would be neat if we met up with the team when they got to Winnipeg and rode with them out of the city. Some how Joe thinks that I said we should meet them at the eastern edge of Manitoba and ride with them to Saskatchewan. On Monday he came into my office with a Sportchek flyer and a grin that probably reached down into his transplanted kidney.

"Jillian, I am going to go check out this bike for you," Joe informed me. "It's just as good as one you would find in a bike shop but about a hundred dollars cheaper," he said.

I met Joe on Saturday afternoon to look at the bike he'd found. It was white with blue accents. This is what I noticed right away. Joe pointed out to me the gear components and brand. I looked at another bike that appeared pretty much identical to me, except for a lower price tag, and Joe explained the differences in the components and total weight of the bike.

"One pound can make a difference of a minute on every kilometre," Joe said. "Which adds up when you're doing a hundred kilometres."

I am amused that Joe seems to think I have a 100 kilometre bike ride in me. But hey, he's a senior guy living on a spare kidney and he rides probably 50 kilometres every day once the snow is gone.

At a real bike shop, one of the bike experts tried to explain to me the difference in frame construction and materials and how they work to make for a better ride. I tried to understand it all, really, but the guy may as well have been giving me a restaurant review in French for all the information that I actually comprehended. I trusted that the bike he was chatting me up about was a good bike, but all I saw was an eight hundred and forty dollar price tag for a red and black frame.

"Does it come in blue?" I asked.

"No, they use a different colour each year. For this year it was red. Is there something wrong with red?"

I like red shoes. I like red Lifesavers. But I am also a girl who would only buy an orange truck because she knew that that was what she wanted. I don't want a red bike. Nothing about a red bike says "Jilly Bee".

At the bike shop I visited on Sunday they had white bikes with aqua, pink or grey accents. They looked much more like something I would sport, although I recognized that I had no idea if the brand, gears, or frame were worth the pretty paint job.

After I had picked out the shoes, Josh the sales guy grabbed one of the bikes we'd been looking at, adjusted the bike seat to my height, pumped up the tires and handed it to me. This was to be my first venture on a real road bike.

"Do you want a helmet?"

"Okay," I said. Clearly he had me figured out because he came back with a cute pink one.  Josh sized the helmet for me and then I wheeled the bike out into the spring sunshine. I put my feet to the pedals and zipped around the parking lot. The bike was fast.

"How did it feel?" Josh asked when I brought the bike back into the store.

"Like a bike," I said.

I walked out of the store with my fancy ugly shoes and no new wheels. Today my mom emailed me one of those group discount deals for a cycling tour in Italy.

"Hey Jill: This will get you wanting to take up cycling!"

I do have a desire to see Italy and a desire not to come back 20 pounds heavier due to eating pizza and drinking wine all day, every day. Maybe this would be a good plan.

"Human wheels spin round and round
While the clock keeps the pace"
 Human Wheels -- John Mellencamp

Run!

I am home, by the way. They didn't keep me at the border.

On the bus ride home they played chick flicks. The second one of the ride was The Lake House with Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves. I almost turned to Amara and said, "Sandra Bullock always reminded me of X." X was a girl I went to school with, long before I met Amara. She would have no idea who I was talking about, but I had forgotten in that moment that she and I haven't known each other since we were small, it just feels to me like we have.

On Saturday night we went to Tucci Benucch, an Italian restaurant in the Mall of America. The dinner started off well, but our server changed her disposition halfway through the night and did a number of things to make Amara and me feel like the meter was up and we needed to move along. When we asked if we could take our desserts home in a box, the sour peach dropped a to-go box in front of each of us and walked away. Amara lifted and plunked her cheesecake into the box fairly easily, but we both looked at the glass dish containing my tiramisu and wondered how the girl expected me to make the transfer.

"I double dog dare you to just put the thing,  dish and all in the box," Amara said. I grinned and swiftly boxed up the dessert, dish and all. As we walked through the mall on our way out I randomly broke out into a giggle thinking about the dish I'd swiped. I don't know why, it was just a deliciously funny thought for me.

Tonight Lisa and I went for a run before supper. When we finished she said, "you're ready to do a 5k." How did I get here? When did I become someone who can run 5k? So cool. Could come in handy next time I swipe something, huh?

I like the glass dish I swiped better than I liked the dessert it held

Forgot to show you these shoes I got at DSW. I think they were $32. Not fit for running.

And miles to go before I sleep

I am in America. Hello, Black Friday weekend. Just a quick note, mostly for Gwen, to say that we are in Fargo at the truck stop. Dinner tonight for me is Puffcorn (popcorn twists in Canadian) and chocolate milk.

We expect to be in our hotel room by 1:30 for a few winks before we have to get on the bus at 9 am to depart for the outlet mall. I have no game plan, no lists, just $500 American, a pile of coupons and my walking shoes. Wish me luck.

Never a Doll Moment

Came home today from shopping for a Halloween costume with two options: Raggedy Anne or Sugar Plum Fairy.

I love the socks that came with the Raggedy Anne outfit.

I always thought I'd be cuter if only I had dimples

The outfit was fun but the skirt was super short. I wish the costume had come with bloomers. I tried on the Sugar Plum Fairy outfit next.

The package made me laugh. "Secret Wishes: Costumes for playful adults..."

My boobs don't look like the model's. I doubt that there is any ballerina out there with boobs like the model's. But she probably has different ideas about first and second position.

Trick or Treat?

I got new shoes today

First class is September 13. If I make it to the recital, you are all invited.

You were always on my mind

I had a funny day on Monday where everyone seemed to have me on his or her mind. I got emails from people I hadn't heard from or seen in weeks and months. It felt like it was my birthday. One of the people who thought of me was my manager, who had some boots she needed to unload.

Brazilian leather.

Halston Heritage.

$47

The boots had been purchased last year on sale at The Bay. She never wore the sweet things because when she put them on they felt too high. Shopper's regret. It happens.

I drooled. I swooned. For freakin real? I put them on and made one of my co-workers hold up her 4 x 6 desk mirror so I could steal a peek. I claimed them. They will be best friends with the Betseys when they get home.

How in the world am I going to begin to pay back the good Karma that came to me this week? Lemme put on my thinkin' boots and work on that.

Business Class

When I found out I got approval to go to Toronto for a meeting I was in my kitchen and got the email on my work-issued Blackberry. I jumped around the house like a girl who just got invited to prom by captain of the hockey team.

My first business trip ever. In my very first job, working for the agency, my two co-workers were always flying off to the Vancouver office or Toronto. That was back when flights were cheap and budget cuts had not yet made it to the travel line. Now many employers have put travel bans in place so the team in head office that you talk to more than your own family remains faceless. Or at least legless if you enjoy the luxury of video-conferencing. I did a job interview that way once. What a waste of a perfectly put together outfit.

So the excitement over this trip had nothing to do with the destination. I'd have been bouncing around if they were sending me to Saskatoon. It was about getting on a plane for business instead of pleasure, checking into a hotel room downtown instead of a Super Eight with a coupon, having a per diem to buy food with, taking a taxi instead of having a relative pick me up and getting to be Jill, who flew in from Winnipeg. So many new fun hats to try. Also, a good excuse to buy new shoes and a suit when I was in America the weekend prior.

My mom took me to the airport on Thursday morning.

Briefcase with laptop? Check. Cute flying outfit? Check!

From Toronto Trip 2011

Okay, now one with the sunglasses. Cheese!

From Toronto Trip 2011

My boss came on the trip and it was her first business trip too, so we were both excited. The flight down started us off on getting to know each other better outside of the hospital walls. We bonded over blistered feet and a quest for all things heart shaped.

From A Heart for Kristin

From Toronto Trip 2011

At 9:30 we retired to our rooms. I launched myself backwards onto the king bed and was disappointed that it felt like landing on a sheet of plywood.

From Toronto Trip 2011

It felt kind of lonely sitting there in my room. I read all my emails, perused my usual news outlets, sent a few texts out and wondered how the football game I was missing was going back home. Missing. Something was missing.

I eventually gave in and slid myself into the left side of the bed. The pillows were weird. Too soft. I doubled up and my head sunk into the synthetic feather mound. In retrospect, I'd say this was where my trouble may have began.


I dreamed that night repeatedly of being smothered in that bed with the extra pillows by a woman and a man on either side of me. It was really creepy. Sleep that night came in fits. I got up at 7:30 with only shreds left of my excitement for the meeting that day. I felt like a wreck.

Look alive, girlfriend. You've got a meeting to attend!

From Toronto Trip 2011

The meeting was great. We were done by four but my flight home didn't leave until eleven which left me me a lot of time to kill. My boss was meeting a friend for dinner so I was on my own. My feet protested, but I set out on a walk in search of some green space. I settled for a bench by a fountain where I pulled out my journal and let my soul flow through my pen. I play around with the various pieces of my life with a sense of determination like someone doing a Sudoku or crossword puzzle. On the one hand, life is chaos, but on the other, so many people and things have come into mine lately, just when I needed them, that I feel certain there is a melody and a chorus.

I closed my journal and put my puzzle away for a while to rest in my subconscious. I headed back toward the hotel and stopped in front of a $20 psychic reading place. My boss and I had noticed it the day before and decided we should try it for fun. The neon sign said OPEN but when I pulled on the door it was locked so I carried on down Dundas Street. I would try again later, but with the same results. Fate doesn't like cheaters. Or she wanted to save me 20 bucks.

I wandered in a circle, sometimes in the crowd sometimes out. I felt trapped and lost like a fish in a tank. Toronto is alright, but I don't think it's my city. But that could have been the blisters, exhaustion and dehydration talking.

It's just an expression

While getting ready for the gym today I noticed a multi-hued bruise just above my knee cap. I touched it. It hurt. Hm. When did I get that? Must've been recently. How? Mysteriously, as you often do, silly girl. I had a hazy memory of hitting myself with the heavy ramps I used to wheel my lawn mower into the back of Truck yesterday. My dad needed to borrow the mower, so if that was the cause of the bruise then at least it was in an act of love and not just poor coordination, as is the usual case.

The most unfortunate part of the bruise was that I was scheduled to do a portrait session with my photographer friend, Doug (affectionately known as Delores here). I worried about the bruise ruining the pictures. I made a mental note to check the rest of my limbs for unsightly blemishes. Later I would fret that the humidity would mean my hair would be limp and gross looking and that my workout would mean my face would be extra red. Gah. Pictures stress me out.

Last Sunday afternoon when NAF was here we were wandering around at the Forks. He snapped some pictures of the river for his blog.

"Wait, there's one more picture I need," he said and pointed the lens at me.

I made a face and groaned. "Not today."

"Why not today?" he asked.

"I was prettier yesterday," I said although I have no idea what that meant. If anything I was "prettier" on Friday when I was sporting my new frilly dress. On that particular Sunday I was wearing a typical weekend t-shirt with some black, easy-breezy, wide-legged pants and, the biggest fashion faux pas that I allowed myself to indulge in, my tired and worn black runners (the ones from New York that I cannot bring myself to toss. Not ever).

"You're one of those people," NAF said as we headed up the river bank.

"One of what people?"

"The ones who never like how they look in any pictures of themselves when really they take beautiful pictures." He showed me the image. Well if I hadn't have made such a "please don't take my picture now" face maybe the photo would have turned out lovely. Great. Now that is going to be his lasting image of me from this visit. You see? Pictures are so stressful!

When I was a kid, no, for my entire life I've wished that I could express myself physically through dance, gymnastics or figure skating or taking really great photos. I understand the concepts of beautiful  and expressive lines and postures, but I am so freakin' awkward and uncoordinated, like a baby giraffe who has no awareness of the length of her limbs. That's why I am constantly bruised. I am forever flailing my arms out and getting my legs in the way of unyielding objects. If I can practice and go slow, sometimes I think I can look graceful, and then I feel beautiful. But that takes some work. It's not natural to me like the flow of words onto a page is. Meh, everyone has their thing.

I've always been good with words. I know how to place them to communicate what I want to say. I know how to play with sentence length, diction and imagery to create something for my readers or listeners to understand and react to. If I can make someone feel something, I have succeeded in my expression.

When it came time for goodbye on Monday morning, NAF and I didn't have much to say. All weekend we had traded stories and laughs but now we were both quiet.We'd look at each other and I'd search his eyes for something that would tell me what he was thinking. Perhaps he wanted to say something but the words were locked up in his head. Me, I had words, all kinds of words. But I didn't know which ones to use just then. Instead I hugged him and hoped that he could read in my eyes that I understood and I wasn't mad, hurt or feeling regret. It was a hard goodbye for me, harder than I thought it would be, but I wanted to show him my most beautiful self--a girl full of grace, poise and strength. That was the picture I wanted him to take with him on the rest of his journey.

At my photo session with Doug today I put on my favourite songs and my favourite outfits. None of them showed the bruise. I tried my very best to show my heart, the whole happy-but-scarred, beat-skipping thing.
 
"Let's make sure we get a real smoldering shot," I told Doug. I wanted to have evidence that I could tell a whole heartbreaker story in one, unblinking look. With the very last head shot he did he said, "your eyes are really blue."
 
I leaned over to look at the preview screen on the camera and smiled. That's the look that makes for hard goodbyes.
 
Now I know.

And I thought I was lucky YESTERDAY

Note to self. When you think you have hit some kind of luck jackpot, do not blog it without the expectation that you will pay for it thrice when Luck's version of the taxman finds out what you scored.

Today I had a meeting with the workplace health and safety nurse to review my immunization records and see if anything was missing. Working in a hospital, they want to be sure employees are not at risk for contracting anything from exposure to patients.

"Did you have chicken pox as a child?" Her voice was soft and she was round with child. She had a spacious, bright office with a sink across from her L-shaped desk.

"Yes," I said, sitting in the chair beside the desk.

She asked me what I remembered about the chicken pox and how old I was when I had them. I told her I had the itchy rash and that I thought I got them when I was in or around grade five.

"I have the scars," I told her, ready to point out the one above my right eye if necessary. It wasn't.

She looked up my records on her computer and then turned back to me. "Your records show that you only had one dose of the measles, mumps, rubella vaccine. We require that you have two."

At this point I expected her to hand me a letter or direct me to a secretary to pick one up that I would then need to take with me to my family doctor.

"We do have that in stock here so I can give that to you today," she said. Oh thank you! A surprise needle! I am so pleased! I am totally not busy at work and had no plans to use my arm at all today, so that is fine that you will be sticking a needle into my arm, which, according to past experience, will render the appendage achy and tingly for a good 24 hours.

She presented me with a form that I had to sign to indicate my understanding of the risks of the shot. One of the questions asked me to disclose if I had any current illnesses or was feeling un-well at all. For some reason, perhaps a last ditch effort to delay the needle, I noted that I had a scratchy throat.

The nurse reviewed my sheet and asked me about the ailment.

"I might be coming down with something," I said. She nodded, filed the form and went over to her mini fridge to retrieve my inoculation. "Left arm or right arm?"

I picked left as the lesser of two inconveniences and rolled up the appropriate sleeve.

The needle felt fine and less invasive than the flu shot. I don't think she had to put it into muscle. Maybe I wouldn't get the side effects after all.

A few seconds later I felt the cold touch of cotton ball soaked in alcohol and then the stick of a Band Aid. That wasn't so bad.

"As a standard procedure we'll have you stay here for a few minutes just to make sure you don't have any kind of adverse reaction to the shot. Since you've had the shot before and didn't react I'm sure you'll be fine."

I sat in the chair and twiddled my thumbs. Everything was normal for probably two or three minutes and then my head got light and my vision cloudy. I put up my right index finger and said, "um, excuse me? I'm feeling a bit light headed."

Just like the last time I fainted I had some wicked but unmemorable dream. I felt like I was having the best, deepest sleep ever. When I woke though there were three people in the room and I had no idea who they were or how I had gotten there. I thought I was still dreaming. I kept trying to wake up and get "home". I guess my head finally cleared and the nurse asked me if I knew my name and where I was.

"Jill" was my first answer. "At work," was the second. They told me to take deep breaths and put my head between my legs. Good Lord I felt awful. So awful in fact that I passed out a second time. Again, I woke up confused but this time also sick to my stomach. I was freaking out.

I had actually tweeted this morning that I had discovered when you make a peanut butter and jam sandwich with Melba Toast the jam reverses the "toast" status of the Melba. It was like a mini, soft bread sandwich. Well, delightful as that was for a ten a.m. snack, it was most certainly NOT delightful in reverse.

The three people in the room kept telling me I was going to be fine.

"The colour in your face is looking much better!" one said. I'm sure, with such close proximity to the grey tin garbage can I looked positively glowing. I was absolutely freaked out though.

"Is this normal?" I asked. Nobody answered that question.

"The ambulance is coming," they said. In retrospect now, I wonder just where it had to come from in order to pick me up and drive me literally around the block to Emergency.

I looked down because they again instructed me to put my head down. I noticed a puddle on the floor. At first I thought it had something to do with the wet facecloth they had brought me but then I noticed I was uncomfortably damp.

"Did I pee myself?" I asked.

"Yeah," someone said. Then the paramedics arrived, a blonde pony-tailed woman and two attractive guys. Perfect.

Still feeling nauseous I got onto the gurney and laid down as instructed. They asked me more questions. How are you feeling? Did you eat anything this morning? Have you ever reacted like this before? They wheeled me out into the hall and I had to close my eyes because the moving ceiling above me was not agreeing with my stomach which was now cramping severely.

"Can someone call my office please and let them know what happened?" I asked. This was my first thought. My next was that I wanted to call my mom. The nurse and her entourage assured me they would.

So they put me in the back of an ambulance and asked me more of the same questions. The Pony-Tail one asked if she could put an IV in me for fluids.

"What are my options?" I asked. I had just had a violent, freaky reaction to a needle, unless the IV was going to be a life-saving measure, I was not having anyone stick me with anything at that moment. She told me either she could put the IV in or that they would probably put one in me when I got to the hospital. The hospital. Where I had just walked over from forty-five minutes ago, upright, in heels and feeling super. Weird, weird, weird.

I arrived at Adult Emergency around the block and they parked me behind another guy on a gurney. A nurse came up and asked me for my next of kin. There were no beds open so there was a line up at triage. One of the paramedics asked the guy in front of me when he got here. Quarter to nine, he said. Good grief, it was now eleven o'clock.

"Looks like we're going to have a bit of a wait," my attending paramedic said to me. "You can go ahead and take a nap."

I watched the other paramedics checking their cell phones so I felt that it would be safe for me to pull out mine. I sat up as much as I could, buckled down to the gurney, and reached into my bag for my Blackberry, Assuming that someone had called my parents already I went to my email and sent The Doc a note. We were supposed to have a meeting today at noon.

"Don't think I will make the 12pm meeting as I am getting the first hand tour of the er. Stupid mumps and rubella shot reaction!"

I was really mad I was going to miss the meeting.

Finally, I got moved to the triage desk and they put me in a wheelchair.

"I know people here. Do you think I could drop some names and maybe get ahead in the line?" I half joked.

The paramedic wheeled me into the Emergency waiting room and parked me beside the security desk. Then she left and I was alone.

I decided to try phoning my parents. My mom picked up.

"Did anyone call you and tell you what happened?" I asked.

"No, what happened?"

So I told her about the shot and the reaction and the ER waiting room and I told her I was now sitting in a wheelchair in wet pants. And then I started to cry. So she said she and Dad would come for me with a change of clothes. The security guard, a young, attractive guy, approached me and gently let me know that I couldn't be on the phone in the waiting room and that he would wheel me to the back, by the vending machines. So he wheeled me in my pee pee pants to the back where I finished my conversation with my mom.

After hanging up I scooted myself back into the waiting room to watch for my parents to come for me. I was sitting beside a street person who had been brought in for intoxication. I sniffed and wondered who smelled worse, him or me.

Settling in for the wait, I started texting people. I saw that NAF was online, which struck me as odd since I though he would be peddling at that time. Still, I knew NAF would be a good distraction and could probably give me a reason to crack a smile.

Me: Are you really taking messages right now?
After a few moments I assumed he wouldn't reply. But then this popped up.
NAF: Depends on the message :-)
Me: Just looking to kill some time while I sit in the er (as a patient, not a work thing, oddly enough). Stupid measles mumps rubella shot knocked me out.
NAF: So sorry.
Then he added, I sorta want to avoid getting run over so I oughtn't chat long.

Well, who can argue with that? So I replied with a sign off.

Me: Keep ridin' upright. Talk later.

NAF added a few more words about the disappearing view of the rockies and then mentioned the package he was mailing to himself for pick up at my house next weekend.

NAF: And there may be some energy bars in the mail too. Please don't eat them all.

Finally, I smiled and forgot about being scared. Tongue in cheek, I replied.

Me: I will if you become roadkill from cycling and texting.
NAF: Deal. Good luck! Get well!

My parents arrived and were prepared to sit with me and wait but I was ready to go home (after changing). The nausea was gone, the stomach cramps a memory. I figured whenver I finally got to see a doctor there wouldn't be much that they could do for me at that point anyway. My dad was hesitant but followed me up to the admitting desk where I was stopped by security.

"Well I guess you're old enough to make that decision on your own," security said when I explained what I was wanting to do. I pointed back to my parents. "Yeah, and if not I'll make them sign me out."

I was sad to have to get my hospital bracelet cut off. It said "Holister" on it. I didn't know the sister store of Abercrombie and Fitch was also in the business of making medical equipment. "It's designer," I told my Dad when I pocketed the yellow band. It's going in the scrapbook: Jilly's First Trip to the ER

I led my dad back up to my office to retrieve my things and head home for the day. My team was back from lunch.

"It's take your dad to work day," I announced as we walked in. "Everyone, meet dad. Dad, meet everyone."

"Hi Dad!" one of my co-workers said. I told them what happened. Have I mentioned that my co-workers are all nurses?

"Oh, you should have called us, we would have come sit with you in the Emerg!"

"Make sure you eat something. Eat some protein. Drink something."

"Are you going home? Do you have someone to stay with you?"

They really are sweet people. I don't care, I'm going to say it, I'm a lucky girl.

So my parents took me home and my mom stayed with me for a bit. I had some lunch and some water. My appetite is healthy and I am feeling fine. I made an appointment with my doctor on the way home for Monday afternoon. Given my history of fainting I do want to be sure I get this all checked out. The other weird thing? My ankle, the bad one that I sprained two years ago which led to my first fainting spell, is very sore. I was sitting down the whole time so I don't know how I would have hurt it. Aliens. I'm pretty sure.

Riel Fun day

Stat holidays are precious and not to be squandered, especially when one has no other means of taking holiday. On Monday morning--Louis Riel Day in Manitoba--I started the day right with a breakfast of carrot pancakes with my mom. The recipe for carrot pancakes is one of many delectable concoctions in my new Cooking Light cookbook. Think carrot muffin but lighter and flatter with pure maple syrup on top. So very good.

After breakfast I sat in the sunbeam in the living room. I had nothing to do for an hour when I was planning to head to the gym to work off the maple syrup.

I don't remember the exchange of words that took place, but some how I proposed an impromptu shopping trip across the border as a way of spending the rest of the day.

"Bye," my dad waved.

I looked over at my mom, my travelling mate. Surprisingly, she was game although I think she thought I'd have sober second thoughts. I drove back to my house to pick up my passport and pack some winter driving rations (protein bars and almonds). When I got back my mom asked if I had changed my mind.

"Nope, I still want to go," I said. So my mom hurried to get her coat and purse. We got in the truck and got started on the twelve-hour adventure.

Knowing that whatever I bought would be eligible for duty charges I exercised some restraint. I passed up shoes and some good Bath and Body Works deals. My resolve crumbled a bit though at TJ Maxx where I couldn't pass up a great deal on jeans ($29.99 for 7 jeans and $16.99 for Levi's). I also indulged in a gift box of soap that smells like a boozy cherry-vanilla dessert and one litre bottles of shampoo and conditioner that are paraben and sodium laurel sulfate free. They too smell delish, somewhere between lemon meringue pie and the yellow Mr. Sketch marker. Before checking out I added to my haul a new journal ($4.99). It has a Paris-themed cover and features the sage words, "Follow your dreams" in black script. My friend "Delores" told me the same thing not long ago after I poured out my heart about my career woes. I like to set an intention for every journal I begin and I believe these words will do nicely for the upcoming chapters of my life.

"In for a penny, in for a pound," I told my mom when she cautioned me about the likelihood of us getting charged duty on our purchases. They usually only assess the GST on the Canadian value of the total. With the dollar flirting with parity these days this is little more than a service charge. My total at that store alone was $86.

I thought we would be heading home by six or seven because A) the stores would be closing early in honour of President's Day (they did not) and B) because my mother would fret about driving home in the dark. Mom was happy and carefree though so we didn't leave town until 8:30.

My total for the day was $143.28 and my mom's was $55 but we sailed through at the border. Perhaps it was because I assured the guard that most of our purchases were clothing and a quarter were "soap and stationery". He asked me if I realized that we were over our limit. I nodded and answered affirmatively, not at all shy about the touch of pride in my voice. We shopped, we had a great time and we were fully prepared to be hauled inside to pay our few dollars in duty in exchange for the brief vacation from the mundane. But he just handed me back the passports and sent us on our way. Woo hoo!

Other highlights of the day:

• Eating at Five Guys Burger and Fries, a first time experience for both Mom and I
• Finally putting a check next to my to do of trying a Culver's frozen custard flavour of the day (it was marshmallow Oreo, very yum)
• $2 knee high socks with a big red heart on the cuff that I found at Kohl's

Minnie Trip: Entry 6: the one where she returns home

We got to Fargo and had 2.5 hours to do as we pleased. I took the drop off at Wal-Mart and hiked it over to the liquor store on the same parking lot to pick up my two bottles of wine. I was hoping to get another bottle of J wine but settled instead for Cupcake (it's not only cutely named but tasty too) and a German Riesling that I picked purely for the label--Fünf 5. Fun and my lucky number, how perfect for upcoming birthday celebrating.

From there I carted my bag of liquor to Kohl's and then to the mall. After buying my brown printed skirt and my creamy white skirt at the MOA I had spent the rest of the weekend looking for white or cream coloured opaque tights. At the MOA the best I could do was some cream, polka-dotted nylons. At the mall in little ol' Fargo I found tights in every store I popped into. I bought them all which means I came home with about $25 worth of tights in various shades of beige.




Before heading home Amara and I got someone to snap this picture of us. Notice we are sporting the same t-shirts. These were $5 specials at Old Navy. It was Amara's idea for us to pick out identical items as mementos of the trip. The shirts say Hope in sparkly lettering and the O is made to look like a diamond ring.


 

For the ride home Amara and I snacked on the second bottle of $4.50 wine, $3.50 cheese from Ikea and some Naan bread and olive hummus. The border was mostly uneventful. I claimed $409.31 and passed. The second bus in our convoy had some problems though that delayed us a bit.

And now I am home. I loved this trip. I remember feeling so happy and relaxed (the mojitos may have helped, sure). I purposely ate my steak dinner slowly on Saturday night to help extend the evening a bit more. I am glad I paused to take those few pictures of holiday decorations in the mall, but I wish I'd stopped to enjoy the atmosphere a little longer. I remember at one point dodging shoppers on my way to Lady Footlocker, just past Godiva Chocolate where I'd sampled something scrumptious, and hearing a beautiful rendition of Ave Maria--one of my very favourite Christmas songs--and wishing I could stop to catch the singer perform on the stage a level below. Did anybody else realize how fortunate they were to be in the mall that day and have the opportunity to take in the sights and sounds of the season? I have most of my Christmas shopping done now, my baking done, perhaps that means I will get to pause, listen and see the season unwrap here at home. I hope so.

Minnie Trip: Entry 4: The one where she goes to the biggest mall in America and buys a lot

When Amara and I were talking about the itinerary for this trip we didn't think we'd spend much time at the mall. I figured I'd do all my shopping at the outlet shops and would have no money left for full-priced mall purchases. WRONG-OH! Um, it's Black Friday weekend, it's America, and specifically it's Minnesota, the land of zero sales tax on clothing, so yes, Jillian, there is a Santa Claus at the Mall of America. You know what else was a treat? Walking around sans jacket. Go figure, just eight hours south and you can find near tropical temperatures. Let me give you a visual of what we left behind in Winnipeg:



Today's high in Minneapolis was -3 Celsius.


Here is the Mall of America dressed up for the holidays. I've seen it on TV and always wanted to see it in person. This was a dream come true! Happy last days of 28 to me!





And here is Amara enjoying her custom made Freeziac frozen yogurt sundae, or as we called it, lunch.




Here are my treasures. Two skirts for about $30 a piece, a pair of $25 shoes, and yes, no trip to America would be complete without something from Abercrombie. Mmm.



Here's a better look at the cute white skirt and white nylons I picked up. Also included is the black sparkly sweater tank I got at the Gap outlet yesterday.



And another pair of runners. These are by Aisics. They were on sale for $60 cheaper than I could ever get them at home so I said yes.



After the day at the mall and a trip through Ikea, we came back to the room, cracked open a bottle of $4 wine and package $3.50 Ikea cheese (super yum).



We dined at the Outback restaurant attached to the hotel. Amara ordered another big beer.



I ordered another mojito. Today's was tastier than yesterday's.



After dinner we dressed down in our jeans and t-shirts again and hiked over to Wal-Mart where I found the birthday cakes I wish I could cart home and toss into the freezer until Sunday (my birthday).

Minnie Trip: Entry 3. The one where she goes to a big outlet mall but only spends $155

First day of shopping. I was left feeling uninspired mostly, but I did pick up a few things I had on my wish list. My first purchase? Underwear. How guy-ish of me.



At the Adidas store I found the runners I needed along with a new workout top and the traditional Adidas sports bra. I am Sporty Spice for a cool $77.



And at Nine West Amara gave me a nudge to go ahead and buy these black boots for $53. I just realized now that I forgot to capture a photo of the sparkly sweater/tank I picked up at the Gap. It wasn't a bargain, but it looked good.

For dinner we went to Chevys for Mexican. Yum! Amara and I ordered drinks and got ID'd.

Here's Amara and the $4.50 beer that was the size of her head:



And here's me and my not so bargain-priced mojito:




Okay, my eyes are drying up like raisins so that's all I'm posting on today.

Minnie Trip: Entry 1

 It’s ten pm*. We are on the bus, just past Grand Forks and due to arrive at the hotel at four am. Just thinking about that makes me cranky so let’s move on. In about an hour we’ll stop in Fargo at a truck stop for a gas and go—the third stop of the evening already. I’m pretty sure there will be free Wi-Fi which will allow me to post this entry.

Amara and I have cracked open a bottle of wine and snacked on cheese and chocolate and have not yet run out of topics of conversation.

Tomorrow the bus will leave at 10 am for the outlet mall. We’ll have about six hours there—not enough for me, but Amara is confident we can do it. I need new runners, a brown skirt and Christmas presents for the family. People would be disappointed if I did not bring home at least one pair of shoes so I am hoping Nine West has something.

We are on the old people bus. Wow. These ladies don’t get out much. They talk like truckers when away from the hubbies.

*It's 11:26. We got off at the trucker stop so the driver could gas up. People were instructed to grab food and go, but most people are pretty leisurely. I anticipate further delays. Boo. 

Point me to the shoe sales

Over the river and thru the woods to the Minneapolis area I go...

I've got my clothes packed, my American money bought and snacks for the ride. Tomorrow my Fashionista Friend Amara and I are getting on a bus and travelling to America for the Good-Wooden Leg Ladies' Shopping Trip. Outlet Mall. Mall of America. Black Friday. Bring it on, America, show me your discounts.

I may not sleep tonight. I doubt I'll be able to sleep even on the 8+ hour bus ride. I'm bringing Mac and my unreliable camera in case I have the time and energy for some blogging updates on the super buys. Also, I may pretend it is my birthday on Saturday so I can get a free piece of cake when we go out for dinner. Let the countdown to 29 begin!

Kiss my cotton candy

My day started with my closet having a temper tantrum that resulted in clothes scattered all over my room. I dashed for the bus in heels and a pencil skirt that didn't match. Ugh. I need a new brown tweed skirt. The old man in the mall still told me I looked very nice.

Work is chaos right now and that stresses me right out. I recently introduced a new process for getting work done and today started a numeric and colour-coded filing system. I went to my manager holding the pink and orange files close to my heart and said, "filing soothes my soul."

For lunch I thought I had packed a container of my spinach and lentils casserole but upon opening the lid discovered that I actually had cream of cauliflower soup. I dumped the 3/4-full, tall yogurt container of soup into a large bowl, heated it up and grabbed a spoon.

Just before lunch I'd slicked my lips with some lip gloss because they were feeling dry. The gloss was supposed to be cotton candy flavored, or rather, Christian Dior's interpretation of cotton candy flavour. Do you know what cotton candy is called in French? Barbe à papa, literally, Father's beard. Christian Dior took all this and cleverly named their light pink, sparkly lip gloss Cotton Daddy. Do you remember reading the Barbapapa children's books with the big pink fluffy character? That's the color of the lip gloss. Anyway, the flavor of the gloss is not very tasty and does not at all complement cream of cauliflower soup. I doubt that it would have improved upon the flavouring of the lentils dish either.

Look! Fireplace!

These shoes

"I'm having a shoe crisis," I announce, standing in K's office doorway.

"What are you talking about? You look great," he says.

"I can't decide if I should wear these ones or some plain black ones," I say. The shoes I am wearing are black with white top stitching and a buckle across the toe.

"Those are great shoes," K assures me.

"I used to have girls who I could go to in times like these," I say. "You're my girl now." K does not appreciate this role but he laughs.

"What's with the crisis? You got something you're trying to look good for?"

I just smile and reply, "Always."

What I didn't tell K was that these shoes were to take me to two important rendezvous. I'm not sure if they had the desired effect, but I can't imagine they hurt my cause. I wouldn't call these shoes one of my favourite pairs but they do seem to collect compliments easily. Walking into the venue for my volunteer shift at the Writers Festival tonight one of the festival staff, who I met last year, calls out to me, "I love your shoes". Earlier in the day when I was at the late afternoon book talk some random woman gave me the same compliment.

They're not even real leather or a name brand. I bought these shoes at Winners and there is a stamp inside that I love--it says "Vegetarian" and around that says "All Man Made Materials". Clever.

I'm falling asleep at the keyboard here. This story doesn't have a nice neat ending but I just wanted to document my day with These Shoes, in case today becomes a significant part of my bigger story.

28.5 years of service with Humanity

Last weekend after my house sprung a leak my dad came over with his ShopVac and sucked up the puddle in my basement. He took a section of paneling off the wall and didn't find rotting wood or moldy insulation. Mike Holmes wouldn't have been satisfied but we decided that the puddle was likely not to be seen again for another 50 years.

I packed up all my books and took them to my parents' where my mom let them bake in the sun on the deck for a day. Dry basement, dry books, everything is as it was again, although for a while there I still got pretty nervous whenever rain was in the forecast.

I am 28.5 years old (oh boo, I missed my half birthday yesterday) and to date I've:

• had my one and only snow day off from school due to the '97 Blizzard of the Century
• missed classes again to help sand bag during the '97 Flood of the Century
• waited for a bus during the coldest temperatures in 25 years ( −41.7 °C [−43 °F] on February 5, 2007)
• sweat it out during the hottest temperatures in 25 years (38.7 °C [102 °F] on August 6, 1988 and again on August 1, 1989. The highest humidex reading was 48 on July 25, 2007, although just 64 km [40 mi] southwest of the city, the town of Carman, Manitoba broke Canada's all time humidex record, with a high of 53)
• been 40km west of the worst tornado ever recorded in Canada (F5 in Elie, MB on June 22, 2007)

 and now I've also experienced the city's worst rain storm in 50 years. Good golly, what could possibly come to us now? (Did I just poke a stick at Mother Nature? Whoops. Guess those mosquitoes are coming...)

During my research I also found this interesting: according to Environment Canada, Winnipeg is the coldest city in the world with a population of over 600,000 (and don't forget, the world's Slurpee capital). We Winnipeggers like a good challenge. Not just anyone can live here, y'know.

Last Monday I had an important meeting I wanted to look extra stylish for. I chose my outfit carefully and the shoes to match. As on most days, I packed those shoes in my bag and walked out of my house in shoes more appropriate for riding the bus. When I got to work I pulled out my shoes only to find that I had packed two different shoes for the right foot. I had a spare pair of neutral coloured shoes in my desk drawer (a good fashionista is always prepared). They worked, but it just wasn't the same. So I called my mom, who was going over to my house anyway to check on the basement, and asked her if she would bring me my other shoe. Sometime around 10:30 I met her in the parking lot and she handed to me a single shoe: my left black heel with white top-stitching. In a span of four days I had my dad ShopVac-ing my basement and my mom delivering me a shoe. If I am not a Disney Princess I don't know who is. Is there really a Prince C. who will fix my castle and deliver me my shoe upon request? I don't know, but I do have some wonderful people in my life who already do this. Only thing is, I think they want to retire soon. It's been 28 years already and they'd like to go travelling.

I am using this weekend to be mostly lazy. Last week was a bit stressful and this week coming up is stupendously busy. Hopefully it will be bloggable when I have a moment to spare again.

That was fun, I think.

When I was in journalism class sometimes we'd have to cover an event and then turn in the assigned story by midnight the same evening. I remember part of the challenge of the assignment was finding the story because things like three-hour school board meetings aren't always terribly interesting. I am challenged today to report on the story of the events of last night. Not because nothing really happened, but because I'm a bit fuzzy on the details. Yes, the wine show was in town again. It was my third year of attending and apparently I still don't know how to do it properly.

I went out for pizza at lunch with a friend from work who was also going to the show. She suggested we load up on the carbs in preparation for the night of boozing. I had two pieces of pizza with lots of crust. I felt crazy full for the rest of the day. When I got home I was not hungry. I went to my mom's and dad's to get ready for the night and still was not hungry. Not that I really left myself any time for eating anyway. So my mom dropped me off at Amara and Christian's place with nothing but a fresh baked cookie in my tummy. You can clearly see where this is going.

"Mandatory coat check! Ladies and gentlemen, please head to the coat check room over this way before going in," a volunteer woman instructed us as we waited in line to get in. I had scored a cute new blue dress for the ocassion. It was a bit rainy/drizzly out but I just wore a large black cardigan because I don't have a trench (totally on my must-buy list). I checked out the other girls in line and saw a lot of jeans. I mentioned this to Amara but she told me not to worry, the fashions would show up soon and then I'd be glad I dressed the part. I followed my group to the coat check room and chose to ignore the lady when she said, "Ma'am, s'cuse me ma'am in the black sweater, you don't need to check that. It's okay, it's very cold up there. Ma'am?"

The coat check was free and um, hello, she clearly did not understand that this dress was not meant to be covered up. I handed my sweater over to the person on the other side of the coat check table.

"Are you here for the wine show?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Christ people, when did fashion become the crime?

I looked around the room when we got in and was satisfied to see that there were some people who embraced the opportunity to bare some leg, some arm, some chest. We've been enjoying some great temps and an early spring in Winnipeg this year, I thought for sure everyone would be excited to pull their spring frocks out of storage. Sadly, there was a lot of black. Last year the colour was purple but I think I was in black.

Right at the entrance there were a number of ice wines and champagnes/sparking wines. I'd say this is where my troubles began. From there, I just remember looking at the time on my cell phone and realizing that after only about an hour I was corked.

Amara had snuck in some packets of old white cheddar so she gave me two. Her dear friend Gwen offered me a granola bar from her purse and instructed me to make sandwiches with the cheese and the free slices of french bread. It was no use. My entire head tingled. I felt like I had just come from the dentist. They organize the wines alphabetically; Rosemount was my last drink.



We walked to the E&C for a post-sloshing meal. Christian ordered beer. I can't remember if everyone else did too, but when the waitress got to me I said, "Can I have some tea?" and she nodded at me sympathetically.

We ordered standard pub fair--nachos, fish and chips and wings. I noshed and started to feel better. Chad, Gwen's husband said to me, "you're way better this year than you were your first year, Jill." I don't know about that. There is a bit less of me now than there was two years ago. I think I ate some cheese and crackers for dinner that year and it was enough to keep me going through the whole show.  When I got home I thought to myself, I think next year I want to go and not even really drink (not that I want to think about drinking at all in the near future right now). I just like the part where I get to dress up and go out with my friends.