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).

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.

Hot potatoes and Valentine's Day 2010

Yesterday I was without hot water for a few hours, set off the smoke alarm repeatedly while roasting lemon potatoes, couldn't put together an outfit and lost my cell phone, twice, before having to venture to the far east side of the city to celebrate Valentine's day with three other single women. I was not exactly a bucket full of cheer.
Lisa invited me to join her for dinner with one of her running buddies on Sunday night. I hesitated about going, first because I wasn't sure if I was going to be working on my novel still that night, and secondly because I wanted to ignore V-day this year in favour of watching the Olympics, washing my hair, scrubbing the bathtub and alphabetizing my soup cans. I've done the single girls' support session thing and I've done the sweetheart thing. The only things I really love about Love Day in February are the pink and red hearts. I used to decorate my cubicle at work with them but I've heard this is forbidden in the place I'm at now, so grey padded walls, 365 it is. But some other force won out against my hesitation and I found myself assigned to bring roasted lemon potatoes for the Greek dinner.

My dad came over in the afternoon to flush out my hot water tank. It's been rather unreliable lately so we thought we'd try to get the crud out of it in hopes of improving its performance. Sunday really didn't seem like a good day for him to do this--Dad was watching the Daytona 500 and I needed to be showered and out the door at a specific time to make it to dinner. But he came anyway, showing up as I was reorganizing my linen closet. While he did his thing I worked on laundry and the pucker up potatoes.

I had asked my dad if I was going to have hot water by five, when I would need to be in the shower. Yes, he said. I had some concern when after the first flushing he ran the water and decided it needed more work. He went back to the basement while I folded clothes and watched speed skating.

Just before five I took the potatoes out. I had lined my glass baking dish with foil to make the clean up easier. I was foiled alright, the roasting juices bubbled over and got in-between the foil and the glass and burned black. The potatoes were fine, great actually, but the burning lemon juice and olive oil was what kept setting the smoke alarm off and resulted in a black mess in the pan. I transferred the potatoes to another dish for transport and quickly put the glass pan in the sink. I squeezed in some dish soap and cranked on the hot water to let the pan soak. The water felt barely warm.

"This is ridiculous!" I yelled. "I need to have a shower now and there is no hot water!" I knew it wasn't my dad's fault, I knew there was nothing he could really do. I was just mad. He left and I said I would be following close behind to shower and change at his place. I grabbed, and stuffed into a duffle bag, every pink or black top I had that, in combination with my new black skirt, might form an outfit that was pretty yet not overly formal. I figured that likely the other girls would be in their jeans but if I was going to be going out and celebrating this day, damn it, I was going to feel like a million bucks. I was running late and went to grab my cell phone to let Lisa know. I couldn't find it. I looked all over the house, tore apart my bed, searched through my purse, my gym bag and my work bag but couldn't find it. So I pulled out Mac and went online to send myself a text message.

I heard the phone vibrate and chime. It sounded to be coming from the kitchen so I went back there and sent another message to myself. It wasn't coming from my purse (though I checked it, again) and it didn't seem to be coming from the counter or the table. I went back to my bedroom, sent another message and listened. It still couldn't place it but then the bell went off in my head and I flung open the linen closet. There it was, on the shelf, with the towels. One of these days it will end up in the freezer. Remind me to make a donation to the Alzheimer's society, for me it would be an investment.

I went into the bathroom to wash my hands and noticed that the water felt a little warmer now. I decided to try the tap in the shower. Hot, steamy water droplets soon rained down and started to wash away the afternoon's frustration.

I happily accepted a glass of white wine when I arrived at the hostess's apartment. I apologized for being so late that she and Lisa were probably ready to eat the curtains, but they assured me all was good and we nibbled on appetizers while dinner heated up.

"Did you finish your novel?" Lisa asked me.

"Yeah, I finished on Friday night," I said.

"Congratulations!" She said and then told her friend, Joanne about my project, who also offered her congratulations. They were genuinely excited for me and this caught me off guard. I had finished the project two days ago and didn't have anyone around to celebrate it with me so I put the moment away and turned my thinking toward the next steps, namely how I was going to print off this 168-page manuscript to start editing it. Joanne asked me about the subject of the novel but I wasn't ready to talk about it yet, so maybe I'm not ready to celebrate it yet either. Is 50,000 words really such a big deal? I thought so once. Lisa and Joanne think so. My Valentine would think so.

I confessed at dinner that I'd had some reservations about accepting the dinner invitation and explained how I didn't want to celebrate V-day this year. Joanne, divorced with a 10-year-old son said she celebrates her old wedding anniversary every year with a steak dinner and wanted to do something similar for Valentine's. We drank pomegranate martinis with red heart ice cubes floating in the glasses--melting hearts, Lisa said. It made me think of my own cryogenically frozen muscle of affection and laugh.

The conversation turned to love and lack-there-of. Another one of Joanne's single friends joined us for dessert and more drinks. As I spoke and listened, I thought about how it felt like a moment you'd see on TV or in a movie. There was the woman who felt she had come to terms with her situation, the woman who had be hurt but still had hope, the one who had wisdom and faith but still some fear, and the one who felt all of those things and was perhaps one miracle or broken heart away from getting off the fence.

"Maybe it all happened so we could end up together, here tonight," Lisa said. There was something right feeling about it all. I don't know what my story will end up being, but this scene seemed to have its place.

Sparkle and Shine

I got to the Good-Wooden Leg Dinner and Dance on Saturday night and double checked the sign on the door because I figured I had to be at the wrong party. The room was decorated with black, white and silver balloons and everyone in there appeared to be wearing black and/or white attire. I thought this was supposed to be Dancing Under the Stars, not the Black and White Ball. I was expecting some hot red salsa dresses and other colourful, fun frocks. The most colourful thing I saw there was a man's festive Christmas tie that was red with a big green tree on it. Trust Good-Wooden to take a holiday party to dulls ville. I myself was wearing The Dress which was silver sequins with splashes of colour. I could feel eyes on me. Making me feel like I stuck out even more was the fact that I was there alone and the rest of my gal pals hadn't arrived yet so I didn't even have anyone to stand around and chit chat with. To help matters I bought myself a drink and walked around the place trying to find someone wearing colour. I relaxed and smiled to myself when a girl walked by me and then turned to her friend and said, "I love that dress." My girlfriends eventually arrived, all dressed in black, of course. To be honest though, it seems that there isn't much out there right now.

The most colour I saw in the room was burgundy. Even the few younger folk there were in their little black dresses. Once again I walked into a Good-Wooden Leg crowd and did not fit in at all. I am getting used to being outstanding.

The event actually was disappointing. I'm glad I didn't fork any money over to attend. When I walked in, after first being overpowered by the black and white colour scheme, I was next thrown by the unmistakable scent of lilies that were the centerpieces at every table. My word, in a world where they ask you not to wear perfume or cologne in the office out of respect for those with scent sensitivity, who's brainwave was it to fill a room with those stinky things? Just throw some geraniums in there and you'd have me keeled over. Yuck.

The best part of the dinner was the vegetables. I could have eaten a plateful of the cauliflower, carrots and red potatoes. The chicken was dry and stuffed with blandness. Standard fare I suppose for these things. The service was quick and efficient though and dessert was tasty.

Seated at our table was one of the corporate lawyers. I remember being in a meeting with her with Head One and Head Two in January. The first thing I noticed about her that day was the awesome shoes she was wearing. She was blonde, fashionable, obviously successful and smart. I learned at the table that evening that she recently moved to a different team as she had been finding it difficult to work under her manager who was rather inflexible and didn't appreciate differing opinions or people who took initiative (Really? At Good-Wooden Leg?). If I was still at Good-Wooden Leg I think I would have called her up on Monday, asked her to join me for lunch and see if I could adopt her as a mentor. She is the woman I want to be. She apparently also has a sizable shoe collection.

After dinner the band came on. I remember the woman who was organizing the dinner and dance had gone to check out a few bands and was really excited about this one. Maybe they were good and it was just the songs they were playing that turned me off--a mix of 50s and 60s stuff. The girls in my party were equally unimpressed though. I don't remember whose idea it was but someone said "maybe we should go check out the other Christmas party down the hall" and I replied with an emphatic "no"






One of these things just doesn't belong here...

I'm an alien, I'm a legal alien

--The Police, Englishman in New York

The kickoff to the big goodbye

I was out for drinks tonight with my soon to be former co-workers. The outing was supposed to be in honour of me and Elizabeth, another girl who is leaving but I think I completely lost track of the purpose. It just felt like a get together with some of my favourite people.

Judy drove me home. In my driveway I remarked that I didn't think I'd ever had a goodbye party and so this felt very special. Then I remembered that there was a bit of a celebration for me when I left The Agency. We were only an office of three though so it was considerably smaller.

Ah yes, The Agency. I was 23, young and green as grass, still living at home, no Truck. I have some very distinct memories about that place. I remember working long hours. I remember trying my best to keep up with the party-hard client. I remember looking up to one of my co-workers as a mentor and then finding her half a bottle of wine past being able to save me from the unwanted advances of one of the Saskatchewan franchisees in a hotel room. I always talk about that job with great fondness, but it was probably for the best that I didn't get to stay any longer than I did.

I had dinner at my mom's and dad's last night. They toasted me and my new job.

"Yup, three jobs in one year," I said.

"Yeah, geeze Jill, can't you hold down a job?" Dad teased me.

"I'm proud of you," he said.

"You've worked hard to get to where you are now," my mom said.

When you're full of happiness, surrounded by friends and people who love you and there are things to look forward to, it is very easy to forget about the crap you went through to get to that point.


Last time I talked to you,
You were lonely and out of place.

You were looking down on me,
Lost out in space.

Laid underneath the stars,
Strung out and feeling brave.

Watch the riddles glow,
Watch them float away.

Our Lady Peace--Somewhere Out There

I was tired

Look at me with the 1am blog posts. Little Miss Jillian has been busy this week. Christ I am exhausted, but the fun just doesn't stop. I'm expecting next week to be back to its normal, slower pace and you'll get to read more enthralling posts about work and me entering contacts into my cell phone and such. I know, I can't wait either.

I had another shift at the Writers Festival on Friday night. I was scheduled to work the Hospitality Suite. I was looking forward to this one because it's the place where all the writers hang out when they aren't reading. Since the reading that night was for the science fiction genre, I wasn't really feeling like I was going to be missing out on much by not being at the Mainstage.

I dressed up. I put on one of my favourite outfits--skinny jeans, shirt dress and my grey Rocket Dog heels. Really good hair. Being a hospitality suite hostess is like being an ambassador to the city and I was taking that responsibility very seriously. That, and, you never know who you're going to meet and hope to be memorable for.

Imagine then, my slight disappointment then when I arrived to find the room empty, save for my fellow host--a middle-aged, flamboyantly gay man, and an 11-year-old boy who was playing the "why" game. Why indeed.

The kid eventually was picked up by his mother, one of the festival workers, which left me alone with my hosting partner. Neither one of us were really striking up a conversation.

"Do you mind if we turn off the TV? I just find the noise so bothersome," Host asked.

Turn it off? Dear God it was the only thing that was going to keep me awake for the next three hours. What else were we going to do, read a book? Oh, right, Writers Festival. When in Rome...But instead I switched the channel to the cable weather station so at least I could listen to the soft-rock music. Ahh, Journey.

Okay, so the hospitality suite wasn't turning out to be the shmooze fest I was hoping for and the company I had wasn't looking like he was going to be a new best friend. But I knew I could sit there in my cute outfit and pout the hours away while thumbing through every piece of literature in the room, or, I could make the best of it.

So I started a conversation. And it got interesting. And then Host got interesting and I kind of started to like him. We talked about work, blogging, my haunted TV, writing. He had many stories and thoughts on things. All I had to do was ask him a question and he went from odd to interesting and amiable. Simple. I think I should try talking to people who I don't think I like more often. Yes, and then I will become that annoying woman on airplanes.

I slept a good, deep sleep that night. I was tired. I had another shift to work, my last one, on Saturday afternoon. After that I went to my mom's and dad's, had dinner, watched the end of the Edmonton/Saskatchewan football game (I'm cheering for SK these days) and then picked myself up off the couch and headed to my next social event: Nigel's 32nd birthday party.

I was tired. I did not dress up and I was only planning on staying for one drink. But then I got talking with a friend of Nigel's and his wife, and then a friend of Nigel's friend joined us and he happened to be a drummer of a local rock band that was mildy successful a few years ago but has since broken up. He's now got a new gig.

"John Mellencamp or Jessica Simpson?" I asked when I heard the first few bars of what would either be "Jack and Diane" or "I think I'm in Love".

"Mellencamp," the drummer answered. Well of course that's what it was going to be. I knew that. They would not be playing Jessica Simpson in a place where they serve beer and nachos. But that was my smooth way of demonstrating to the drummer I was more than just a cute blonde in a blue hoodie. And it worked, because suddenly, when he talked, he started looking more at me.

I had just said something about how I was going to the Keith Urban concert by myself on Sunday because I had bought a single ticket while in my Strong, Independent and Trying New Things phase sometime in June. While Drummer was in the washroom, his friend turned to me and said, "Tony's single."

What exactly do you say to that? I knew what it meant. Tony's friend seemed to think I was a nice girl, and obviously he thought Tony was a nice guy, and hey, shouldn't two nice people who are single get together sometime and talk on a more one-on-one basis? But I couldn't very well respond to this guy, who I had only met an hour before, with, "oh, that's great! Please set us up!" So instead I said, "aw, well, I only have the one ticket to Keith Urban." Yeah, I know. Total fail. Tony ended up leaving before I did. He gave me a wave and a, "nice meeting you." Ah well. Maybe I'll go check out his new band some time.

I'm supposed to be doing breakfast at my aunt's house tomorrow morning, er, later this morning. I've got some good stuff coming up but I'm saving that epic story for later in the week. Epic, yes. I'm thinking it's going to have to be a three-parter. Life has been a whirlwind these days. Weee.

Monkey business

Michael is on vacation this week which means I am the boss. Since we are a team of two that means I am the boss of me, which gets kinda boring after the first day. Thankfully, he left me with some important responsibilities such as watering his plant and babysitting the Sea Monkeys.

Yes, the Sea Monkeys.

Just after our big department move, Michael bought a Sea Monkey kit. They were slow to start but now he has seven monkeys swimming around in there. Today I decided to take a picture of them and name them all.

Yes, name the Sea Monkeys.

I have been studying them carefully. I've been watching them grow since they were the size of a period, so I have gotten to know them pretty well. First there's Macro, who I will also affectionately call Big Mac, or just Mac, for short. Next there's the fraternal twins, Tuesday and Wednesday. I was originally just going to assign them all a day of the week, since there was seven of them, but then I decided I only really liked the names Tuesday and Wednesday. I call them twins because I had a hard time telling them apart. They both like to hover near the bottom and stare out of the tank at you, kind of like a puppy in a pet store. Wednesday has a longer tail and Tuesday often has a bend in hers as if she is trying to imitate the pose of a mermaid. Tuesday is my favourite. Next is Edgar, a funny, squat little monkey. Chico is also a smaller monkey but with a really really long tail. Perry and Pixel are the smallest of the group, Pixel being tinier than Perry. I actually just discovered Pixel this morning.

Big Mac is pregnant. You can tell because when Sea Monkeys are pregnant they show two black dots at the base of their tails. Michael says sometimes they give live birth. Maybe I should set up a Monkey Cam.

I had to feed the monkeys today and oxygenate the water. Before he left, Michael made me do a trial run of the oxygenating duties. To do this, you have to pour the tank out into another container and then back into the tank. Repeat once or twice. I was nervous about this trial run. The Sea Monkey aquarium is small and oblong. The container I was to pour the contents of the aquarium into was a wide mouth water bottle. I have problems pouring things without dribbling. Sometimes it seems the best way to avoid the dribbles is to do it quickly. So nervously this is what I did, but I still managed to leave a rather significant puddle. Michael, Mr. Laid Back himself, looked aghast (maybe I'm exaggerating, but I think he at least gasped). I felt awful thinking of the tiny baby sea monkeys that were now floundering in that puddle. But at lunch time Michael went out and bought a measuring cup which has a much larger opening, making it much easier and less stressful to pour into. So far, no stress. Oh yeah, and work is going fine too.

Today after work a bunch of us met up at Earl's on Main for drinks on the patio. I do NOT recommend the Bellini there unless you are a humming bird looking for a glass of syrupy nectar. I was going to tell a story about our good time at Earl's but I can't remember any of the quotes except for when Cindy was driving us home and she noticed a rotten egg smell and she said, "that wasn't me, that's my car."

"It's probably from your catalytic converter," I said.

"You know that stuff?" Judy said. "Wow, you're a smart little blond."

Ignoring the dumb blond reference because I was in a good mood I said, "yeah, that's what makes me hot." That's right lug nuts, I know your grease nipples from your drive shaft and I can bake a cake. Hm, should I start using this as my pick up line?

Birthday cake and Oreo ice cream

I met Nigel and his girlfriend Susan at E&C tonight for drinks. I was meeting up with them because Nigel's best bud Edward was also supposed to be meeting us and bringing someone he thought I should meet.

I met Edward at Nigel's birthday party last September. Apparently, Edward remembered me and thought of me for his friend. When Nigel told me this a few weeks ago, I was truly touched. I really thought it was sweet that Edward thought enough of me to want to introduce me to his friend. I was given next to no details on this guy but hey, I'm a good sport and always up for the chance at a good story, so I figured there was nothing to lose.

I was looking super cute. I mean, I rocked the look. I was wearing my new shirt dress over my new skinny jeans and those cute grey, Rocket Dog heels I also got in America. My hair is getting into its summery blonde colour again and it was actually full and fluffy looking.

The guys were supposed to arrive at 7:30. I think Nigel spotted Edward coming in around 8:00. I realized when I saw him that I totally didn't remember correctly what he looked like. If I had passed him on the street I never would have recognized him. It was odd so I kept looking at him all night trying to jog my memory. As for his friend? Oh goodness no. No, no, no. It was awkward sitting beside him all night. But really, he didn't even try to talk to me. His name was Bill, like my goldfish.

Shortly after Edward, his girlfriend and Bill arrived, a tallish guy with 80s style long blond hair joined our party. Edward introduced him as Sammy, a guy that he and Bill worked with. Sammy sat at the end and didn't say a whole lot but I gathered from some comment that he possibly had a motorcycle, which made him somewhat interesting to me.

At the end of the night I got up to pay for my drinks but Edward thought I was headed to the washrooms. "Just follow Jill," he said to Sammy, who was asking where the washrooms were. "That's where you're going, right?" he asked me.

"Actually, I was going to pay, but I can show him where the washrooms are," I said. I had only just learned myself where they were that evening.

I led the way and Sammy followed. I tried to slow down my pace a bit and let him catch up, but he just kept behind me, which felt odd, until we got to the lobby and then he walked a little nearer to me. From there I guided him to the appropriate hallway. I went into the washroom and texted Judy to tell her about the night. I still appreciated the gesture from Edward to want to introduce Bill to me, but I was left wondering why exactly I came to mind.

After squaring up the bills, Nigel, Susan and I headed outside. Edward and Bill were out there for a smoke already. Bill shook my hand and said, "it was nice to meet you." I responded in kind and then they made their way toward the doors. Sammy came from around the corner.

"Good to meet you," he said and shook my hand. It wasn't all sweaty like Bill's was, which was nice, and he let his hand, and his eyes, hold onto me a bit, which was also nice.

"You hang out with these guys often?" he asked.

"Yeah, well, with Nigel and Susan anyway. I only see Edward at birthday parties," I replied. I don't remember if he said something back, but for a good 15 seconds my cute outfit didn't feel like a total lost cause.

Susan and Nigel walked me back to where I parked.

"So no, eh?" Susan said smiling.

"Yeah no," I replied.

"Yeah, I knew as soon as he sat down," she said.

"Yeah, but that Sammy guy, I think he has a motorcycle and it's my summer dream this year to ride on the back of one."

"Oh God no, Jill. Not him. He wouldn't let you on his bike without you performing sexual favours for him first."

It wasn't the impression I got, but what the hell do I know anyway? My judgment in guys has proven to be sub-par to say the least.

When I got home I pulled out a piece of birthday cake from the freezer. Not mine, someone else's thankyouverymuch. You know how I like to keep that stuff around for random occasions and cravings. I also grabbed the Oreo ice cream and dished myself two scoops beside the cake. I'm not one who eats when she's depressed (no, depression actually makes me stop eating) I just had a craving for something sweet on my lips. I went online to tell NYF about the night since I had already briefed him on the set-up. NYF wasn't around and Vince wasn't answering so I ate my cake and ice cream while blogging in my super cute outfit that I wasn't really ready to take off.

It's now almost 1 am. I have a 10am hair appointment and then I plan on spending the day pool side, nowhere near any boys or prince charmings. I really should get some reading and writing done this weekend anyway. And go for a run.

Sigh. Goodnight cute clothes and hair. Hope to see you again sometime.

A total write-off summer starts here

Friday afternoon finds me sitting on Judy’s front lawn with Judy and Cindy, eating pretzels and drinking red wine out of two different bottles. Later, Cindy’s friend Erica joins us adding prosciutto, aged cheddar, Portuguese water bread and a bottle of white wine to the picnic. Erica doesn’t have to say much before I decide I like her. I get the vibe right away that she’s smart, no-nonsense and confident.

This is my first time meeting Erica, officially. She was with Cindy on Wednesday night at George’s going away drinks thing at The Tavern but the entire time I assumed she was Carol, Cindy’s on-again, off-again girlfriend. Apparently they’re off again. Cindy figures this time it’s for good. When I ask her why she thinks they keep going through this cycle she says, “because we know we don’t have a future together”. I wonder what it is like to have a future with someone you don't think you have a future with.

We all take turns talking about relationships. Judy has this “it’s complicated” thing going with a guy she calls Knucklehead (and he is one). She complains about not being able to find a guy she actually wants to have a relationship but she can’t figure out why she hangs on to Knucklehead.

“Because he’s familiar and easy to fall back on,” I say.

Pointing at me Erica says, “She’s exactly right”. I now know why I immediately liked Erica. I can feel myself in her shoes though because I know her story. Smart and good-hearted as she is, she wants someone who cannot want her back. She breaks my heart.

Cindy drives me home on a flat tire that we don’t realize is flat until someone pulls up beside us at a light and tells us. This happens twice. It really is flat. I get into my house, slip off my shoes and go crash on my bed. I have an hour before I have to get ready to meet up with Lisa for 9. My eyes flutter open at nine. I’m not ready to move from my bed yet but how do I tell Lisa, “sorry, can we skip tonight, I was drinking on a front lawn after work this afternoon and now I’m ready for two Advils and my PJs”?

When I get to Lisa’s she moans that she’s exhausted. She had a rough day—some family stuff to deal with—and she has to get up early in the morning. She had considered calling the night off too. We laugh at our pathetic-ness as we walk to The Academy where we plan on seeing Matt and his band play. Unfortunately, we’ve managed to miss Matt. By 11 Lisa says she can’t keep her eyes open anymore so we head home. I crawl into bed and I can’t sleep. Of course.

On Saturday I get up with some ambition. Feeling like I poisoned my body the night before, I decide I am going to go for a run to try to sweat all that crap out. I grab Nan (my iPod Nano) but she’s dead. Of course. She’s always dead when I want to take her anywhere. Such a flake. So I have to run listening to traffic noise and the music in my head. Usually I run in the park but this time I just go around the neighbourhood. It’s a good run. I feel really good, and surprised, considering it’s been over a week since my last run.

When I get home I change into old shorts that used to be my favourite but now don’t fit. I then get out the lawn mower and cut the grass. I don’t know why, but after coming home from a run I am always in the mood for grass cutting. I guess it’s like doing my cardio and then some weights. I know I'd pick grass cutting over snow shoveling any day.

A guy on his bicycle wheels by on the sidewalk. I notice him and he notices me. He looks familiar but I can’t for the life of me figure out why. He smiles. I don’t because I am trying too hard to figure out if he’s just being friendly and neighbourly (or flirty, although in the sweaty and grassy state I’m in, I can hardly imagine this to be true), or if I am supposed to acknowledge him as an old friend. I am also wrestling with the lawnmower that is pissing me off because the wheels are too low causing it to keep getting hung up on every little hump in the lawn. Maybe he was that guy from the bus I exchanged a few words with last week? I don’t know why, but this sticks in my head for a while. I think too much.

Lawn taken care of, I shower and put on fresh clothes. My last weekend purchases from JC Penny are making their debut—denim capris and a periwinkle blue t-shirt. Before I leave a song comes on the radio that makes me want to dance so I practice my moves I learned in Yoga Booty Ballet class. You are fun and funny, I tell myself. I get into Truck and head downtown. Destination? The downtown library.

Lisa thinks the fact that I use the library is something that makes me interesting. She told me this on a day when I was feeling particularly un-interesting. I find this evaluation interesting.

I want to pick up some back issues of literary magazines. I recently decided that I am going to try to get something published so that when I call myself a writer, I actually have something of merit behind that statement. I have given considerable thought to this goal and formed a real plan for it. This week I compiled a list of lit magazines to send short story submissions into. All of them suggest reading back issues to get an idea as to what they look for when considering a submission.

I know that to be a writer you have to be a reader. I haven’t been reading much lately. Ironically, I think school turned me off of reading, especially off of “literature”. I don’t know if I can actually be literary. I don’t even know if I care to be. I just want to be a good story-teller. Does good story telling really need metaphors, allegory and symbolism? Can’t I just hook you in and make you laugh? I think that’s where the real money is. Not that I’m doing this for the money. Fame maybe, but certainly not money. Anyway, by reading what actually gets published, I figure I’ll also be awakening my underdeveloped literary mind and maybe, just maybe I’ll be able to squeeze out a metaphor or two.

I pull two copies each of two different magazines. Sadly, there just isn’t much to choose from. One of the magazines is clearly for aspiring, amature writers while the other is for the ones who have not only arrived, but established themselves. This is great. I have picked out where to begin and where I want to end up. I make my way to the fiction section of the library and browse. I let my eyes settle only on the books with a maple leaf on the spine, a marking reserved for Canadian writers. I pull out a few collections of short stories and a few novels. I check out my armload of literature, load it into a reusable shopping bag, and head for a rooftop patio to start my self-directed studying.

The idea of sitting alone on a rooftop patio, in the warm sun, getting lost in self-discipline was appealing to me until I actually did it. It takes forever for a waitress to come over and take my order because it seems that the couples and groups that walk in after me are the more appealing customers. I had forgotten to reapply sunscreen after my shower so I can feel the heat of a sunburn building on my arms. Also, I am the only person up there alone. Everyone else comes in pairs or trios. I wanted to feel cool and independent but I kind of just feel dumb for paying to do what I could be doing at home for free. An hour later, I collect my readings and head home.

That evening I build an outfit around one of my new pairs of shoes and head out for dinner to help celebrate Tonia’s birthday. I talk to one of Tonia’s friends who shocks me when she tells me she’s 37. She honestly looks like she could be 10 years younger. She’s beautiful, smart, funny, well-traveled, and yet has so far struck out in the love department.

“It’s Winnipeg men,” she says. “Anywhere else, the guys approach the girls in restaurants, clubs, on the street. Here, the few good guys know that they are in high demand and that they can have their pick of great women. They don’t even have to try.” This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this theory. I don’t know that my buddy Rob, definitely one of the good ones, would agree though. Then again, he wasn’t born here. Stupid Winnipeg. On a pessimistic day if you ask me, the guys of this town fall into one of three groups: those who go to Folkfest and eat three square meals of granola, those who can open beer bottles with their toes and those who idolize Peter Pan and will never never get their shit together and grow up.

After dinner there is talk of going down the street to Billabong for more drinks and merriment. I don’t know what is wrong with me but I don’t want to go. I know that after Friday I certainly had my fill of alcohol for the weekend so that part of the plan isn’t winning me over. I’m kind of tired too. I know on Monday I’ll probably hear about how this whole crew of fireman came in for drinks and everyone went home with someone, but I take my chances on heading home early anyway.

I notice how comfortable my new shoes are as I walk down the sidewalk to Truck. I acknowledge two guys with a small smile as they walk past me. As I write this now I know two things that matter: summer has arrived in Winnipeg, finally, (or at least for a few days) and I am going to write something great.

Choose your own adventure

On Friday after work a group of us headed to Carlos and Murphy's for drinks and food. It was a great time. I laughed a lot. We talked about books, jobs, run ins with celebrities. Nigel accused me of having a sex change. I think that's the weirdest thing anyone's ever said to me.

I honestly don't remember how it came up, but Kathleen, who I went to college with, said to me, "You should contact Duane!"

"Duane?"

"Yeah, Duane W. He's in Vancouver now." She was referring to a guy in our class but it was so weird that she brought him up. I remember that I didn't realize how interesting of a guy he was until near the end of school. He seemed like a sweet guy and a very talented videographer. I have a picture of us from grad night. We even matched.

"What made you bring him up?" I asked Kathleen.

"I don't know, " she said. "I just think you guys would look cute together."

I think he has a girlfriend and make a mental note to confirm via Facebook.

"That's funny, Vancouver just seems to keep calling my name," I said. It has been, really, for about five years now. It's weird that way. As I was reflecting on this, the whole table jumped onto a "Move Jill to Vancouver" bandwagon. Apparently there's someone out there that a few of the people at the table know and they think with a well-written email I could get myself a job pretty easily. I am wary of things that seem easy.

There is a part of me that secretly wishes I could just pick up and move away for a while. I mean, what have I done with my life so far? Went to school, got a job and bought a house. I know for some people that's a pretty big deal. But I like to think I'm capable of a little more. Look at the company I keep: Lisa spent a year touring Canada with a praise and worship band and is now working on her master's degree. Vince moved away to Toronto to go to school, get his PhD and has interned with Google and Microsoft. Adam went to Africa and now is going to study Journalism in New York. I need an adventure. I need a cliff to jump off of (figuratively, well, at least for now). It's the perfect time for me to do this. I have my house and my family here, but that's about it keeping me. Next year I'll be looking for another job anyway.

On Saturday I was telling my mom about all this.

"There's a part of me that would really like to move away. Even just for a year," I said. "The only thing keeping me here is my family and my house."

"Well Jill, you know, family is kind of portable. With so many ways to stay in touch now it's a lot easier. And besides, dad will be retired next year. We'd take the motor home out there and visit you." She was sounding excited for me about this idea.

"I guess I could look into renting my house out." For some reason the idea of saying goodbye completely to my house bothers me. I guess it's because it's the last thing I really worked hard to get. Letting it go so easily just doesn't feel right.

I looked over at Elmo, sleeping on the floor. Oh how I love that dog.

"Well when I move to Vancouver, I will definitely need to get a dog," I said.

When I move to Vancouver. I was trying out the sound of those words, like a pair of shoes I really wanted but wasn't sure I could afford. But I deserve something like this. I'm worth the chance, worth the adventure, worth the risk and the sacrifice. And hey, new girls in town are always a hit with the guys. Especially cute, prairie girl blondes.

Later, I was out with Lisa for post-birthday celebrations. Over dessert and slushy, boozy drinks I told her about my Vancouver idea.

"I'd miss you," she said.

I was surprised, as we talked more I didn't get the impression that she thought this was a good idea. Maybe she didn't think I was doing it for the right reasons. Sure, maybe some of my reasons aren't exactly right ones, but there are at least some good ones. Earlier in the week she said to me that she's realizing, after running her very first half marathon, that people are capable of doing much more than they probably think they can.

"We put a lot of limitations on ourselves," she said again to me on Saturday night.

The thing is, moving away from the home I've known my whole life does scare the pants off me, but that kind of seems like a good reason to do it. In the last several months I've been trying to do things that either scare me, or that I haven't done because I didn't think I could do them alone, or that people didn't believe I could do. The last one really puts fire in my belly to do something. I have this idea in my head that people underestimate me. Every time I get that feeling from someone I just want to give them a cool stare and say those famous words, "watch me." One of these days I hope I grow out of this phase of feeling that I need to prove myself. Then again, it sure does earn me some interesting experiences.

I have a few months yet before I really need to think seriously about what I want to do with myself next year. For now, this idea is just one of several that I will keep in the back of my head. They say that life happens when you're busy making other plans. Let's see how that theory works.

In a league of my own

I always look forward to the fifth of the month. I claim it is my lucky day. Today, being the fifth day of the fifth month, I was hoping for something extra special. It didn't rain men, money or shoes today but it wasn't too bad.

Irene picked me up and took me to Joeys for drinks. I told my mom I was going and that I planned to look fabulous. "What is there left to do, Jill, you are already there!" she told me. So many times a family member has said something sweet like that I would just brush it off. Of course they would say that, they have to, they're my family. Today I took the compliment at its full face value.

I put on my new pants and a cute top. I wore one of my favourite pairs of shoes. I did feel fabulous. As we walked in, I caught the eye of a cute guy, looked away, and looked back to find him still holding my gaze. Huh. I didn't know I could do that.

Later, I spot a guy I know from school. He's a server and apparently working tonight. I wave and he comes over to chat.

"What about that guy?" Irene asks after he leaves.

"Him? Naw, I've known him for years, he's always been friendly, but I think he has a girlfriend. And besides, I think he's out of my league."

"What? Out of your league? What are you talking about?"

I realize how awful that phrase sounds and I want to take it back. Who am I to say that to myself? Who makes these leagues anyway? Isn't it stupid? If you think you're beat, you've already lost. If you think you don't deserve to be there, you probably don't.

"Do you have his email? You should find an excuse to drop him a line," Irene tells me.

I shrug. In yoga today we focused on the idea of letting go of control and letting Fate take her course. I liked this idea. I am forever trying to take control of things, drive them in a new direction. I think it's time I sit back and wait for opportunity to come to me. The fighter in me is uneasy about this. She likes to see opportunity in everything and jump on it. However, I have learned that whenever I have lost something that causes me great grief, a much better fitting opportunity comes along quite quickly. Lately it's been about a one month turnaround time. Not that I'm looking at the calendar or anything. Patience and Fate and all that. Well here I am Fate. Sock it to me. I'm interested to see what you've got planned for me next.

Spring in my step and a cramp in my calf

I'm so pleased with myself.

I exercised every day this week. My muscles were in dire protest by Thursday, but a little self-inflicted, physical pain was a nice change.

I had a doctor's appointment on Friday morning. I hadn't weighed myself in a good while and was pretty curious as to where I was at these days. I nearly fell off the scale when I saw a number that was about 20lbs less than the one I had in my head. So that's why the pants do not fit. I just figured they had stretched out in the wash. Time to buy some new and romantic ones.

I went out last night with friends and had a really good time. Sorry, I forgot my camera. I didn't have to pay for a single drink. Hey, my charm still works (Happy guys buying rounds for a table are a pretty easy mark though). It was too bad I was also a designated driver.

Plans for the rest of the weekend? Maybe some shopping. Maybe some park walking in a cute outfit. Maybe some ice cream. I have a whole spring weekend to treat myself to all I deserve. How romantic.

Tell me the story again about the guy at the urinal...

I went out tonight with Rob for drinks at Joeys. He told me some funny stories from his trip to Vegas last week. I laughed a lot. As I looked around the bar I saw guys everywhere.

Hello world, I am happy to see you.

Bar fly

I’m at the Palomino Club with Judy, Cindy and Cindy’s girlfriend, Carmen. It’s my inaugural visit to the Pal. Judy’s connections got us on a list, so we walk in through the kitchen.

They were surprised when I said I wanted to come out with them. They’ve been planning it all week but I never really know what I’m going to feel up to doing on a Friday night so I don’t commit.

“You’re going to leave with a handful of phone numbers!” Cindy said on Friday afternoon.

“I’m going to buy you shots!” Carmen told me before we left. I was being awkward and shy for some reason. People always want to fix me by feeding me alcohol. It bugs me.

We stake out some bar stools in the back end. I love watching Judy talk to random guys. "Do you know him?" I ask every time. She doesn't. It's hard to believe she was nervous about the date she had earlier that day.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Cindy says to me after we’ve hung out for a bit.

“Where?”

“Just around. You know, so guys can check you out.”

Oh. Right.

“You have to walk slowly, and bop to the music.”

I lead the way but soon feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s Cindy.

“Slower!”

I feel weird. I’m not really into the whole point of the mission but I make an effort to look around and make eye contact. I catch one guy looking so I smile back but keep moving. Again, a tap.

“Didn’t you see that guy? He was totally checking you out!”

“I know, I saw!” I nod with enthusiasm but continue my way to the front. I don’t remember how it happened now, if Cindy co-ordinated it or if I just walked into it on my own, but suddenly I am talking to a short blond guy. He has a drink in hand and looks like something you’d catch on spring break in Florida. I am pleasantly surprised and go along with it.

“I’m Ryan,” he says.

“Hi, I’m Jill.”

He is there with friends. It is his second bar of the night. He had just come from The O.C. (not California, but the Off Campus bar in the south end, near the university. Definitely spring break type.) I might have been more interested if he wasn’t already hammered.

Cindy is on the floor dancing the boot scoot. We watch. I used to know the steps. Ryan makes motions like he is trying to show me. I can’t catch what he is saying exactly though because of the music and his alcohol-induced speech impediment.

And because the country songs always come in pairs, the Boot Scoot is aptly followed by the instantly recognizable sound of the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band’s Fishin’ In the Dark. I actually like that one. Every time I hear it I think of my old friend Michael Maryk and his loud clapping. I’m 18 again, singing along with my friends, but with better hair.

You want to dance? Ryan asks. I think to myself, why not? This is what I came for.

So I do my own little Jillish version of two-stepping but Ryan just kind of rocks back and forth and stares at me. Some guys are better dancers with a few drinks in them. Evidently, some are not.

After the song Ryan asks if I’d like a drink, so I follow him up to the bar and order a dark rum and coke.

“Dark rum eh? That’s awesome. I’m just drinking rye and seven,” he says.

“You want a shot?” He asks.

“No, that’s okay, I’m good with this, thanks.” But he’s already ordered two dirty hookers, or whatever those common pink things are. It goes down like Kool-aid.

We move off to the side to chat. He’s 25 and working as a plumber, which I admire, actually. I tell him if I could do it over again I’d take a trade. He’s from the country but moved to the city when he was 16. He’s working on starting up his own business with a friend and spent his summer working on his uncle’s farm. He spits a bit as we talk and he has a nervous laugh. I think he could be interesting in another place and time. He really likes my hair.

“It looks really good. Not many people can rock the short hair thing,” he says. “But you look great. You’re the only girl here who can do it.”

They’re playing rock again. I think I recognize the song as Fire Woman, but it’s actually She Sells Sanctuary. I’m really disappointed in myself. I should know better.

“You want to go dance?” He asks. I lead the way. On the dance floor he wants to get closer and I tolerate it a bit. At the time I am thinking that I owe him something for buying me a drink and a shot, but that’s just stupid. This isn’t my thing. This isn’t my place. This isn’t my guy. I’m not about to tear down my defenses to make others feel more comfortable.

At the end of the song I excuse myself to go "look for my friends". I end up bumping into Terry, my pizza guy. He's been our waiter for as long as I can remember at this little Italian restaurant my family has been going to for years. At one time I had a school-girl crush on him. He recognizes me instantly and I feel warm, like I've been hugged.

Cindy and Carmen are ready to go. Some guys have been acting like jerks towards them. I'm a bit disappointed because I've just spotted a guy whose hat I'd like to try on, if I could only get to him. I'm finally feeling into it, but now it's too late.

We cap the night off with some McDonald's. I get the small fries and an orange drink. It looks like half of a Happy Meal, minus the toy. Cindy, Judy and Carmen are talking into their cups and giggling, but I feel awkward and weird again. I'm 18 again, but with better hair.

The day that was not perfect

Okay, if you haven't read the post before this one, please do, because I should have posted that one yesterday but I was on vacation and I didn't get a chance to. Done? Okay, continue.

So today I arrived in Winnipeg. I have never visited the city before, but the flight was just so cheap I couldn't resist. My family is here and my best friend, so I figured I could have a good time even though it wasn't an exciting destination like Toronto or San Francisco.

While I was in the area of the airport, I decided to register Mac with Customs. I plan to take him with me to the States next week and figured it would be a good idea. I phoned my dad in the morning to ask him what the process entailed.

"Well they'll give you a green card," he said.

"A Green Card? For Mac? Aw, so that he can legally work in the country?"

In a way, that is exactly what it does. You take your laptop or camera or whatever in and they write the serial number down on a green card. The card says "Identification of Articles for Temporary Exportation", and it just validates that your item was produced or lawfully imported into Canada so that on the way home they can't say you got it on your trip and charge you duty on it. There's no cost and not really any hassle. The card is good as long as it is legible.

With that little chore taken care of, the next activity on the itinerary was meeting Lisa for lunch and shopping on swanky Academy Road.

I met her at Fusion Grill. I paid with gift certificates I had received from my real estate agent. We had a lovely meal and split half a litre of white wine. It was enough, for lightweights like us, to feel a little buzzy. We clinked glasses to that. Lisa always likes to remind me, "we're getting paid for doing this right now".

We walked Academy Road (a bit of a swanky shopping area) and made a few purchases.
We stopped in at the Bernard Callebaut chocolate shop and I bought a very touristy chocolate airplane. The package was even sealed with a label that said "Winnipeg".

One of the last stops was a ladies shop that had just acquired a new shoe collection. The assortment of mostly boots were just piled into two cardboard boxes. I found one particularly delicious pair of butter-soft, chestnut brown, knee high homewreckers. There was no price on any of the items but the saleswoman assured me everything was heavily discounted. They were hot and fit like a dream.

"I'd have to look up the price for you, but they would normally retail for about $1200," she said. I don't know what made me think that any kind of "heavy" discount on $1200 would bring the boots into an affordable range for me, but I dared to ask anyway.

"$435" she quoted me.

I quickly pulled them off and tried to forget the whole love affair ever happened. Once outside the store I lamented to Lisa, "that's more than one bi-weekly mortgage payment. Only slightly less than one Truck payment." I sighed. "We really do need those rich husbands." Reality had hit and the fantasy day was coming to a close. We were not the ladies of leisure we were pretending to be. We were still Lisa and Jill, single girls with a passion for fancy shoes, yet a sobering sense of practicality.

As I walked back to where I had parked Truck I took out my chocolate airplane and noticed with some dismay that one of the wings had melted a bit in the heat of the day. Then I looked up at Truck and gasped.

There was only one person I could call who could tell me it would be okay and what I should do next, and it was not husband or even a boyfriend. I pulled out my cell phoned and dialed frantically.

"Daddy, a tree fell on Truck! It hit the box and dented the rail!"

"Where are you?"

I had no idea the name of the cursed street where the horrible horrible accident had happened, but I gave him the best directions I could.

"Do you have your camera? Take a bunch of pictures. Can you move it? I can come with my saw if you need my help."

"Well it wasn't really a tree, just a limb, I was being dramatic." (which he must have known, yet understood.) "Lisa's here, I think we can manage."

Stupid tree!

We agreed that maybe I wouldn't have to pay a deductible, that the accident would be considered an act of God or something. (Dear God, why did you have to hurt Truck?!) As I think about it now, I'm not so sure. Do you pay a deductible on damage from hail? And then won't my premiums go up? Oh geeze this is getting depressing.

I ran my hand over the injury. The dent would be easy to push out, I figured, but I wasn't sure what it would mean for the spray in liner. "I'm sorry, Baby," I said and stopped short of shedding tears. Truck would not want me to fuss.

Despite the blemish on the day, Lisa and I were determined to finish it off on a good note. We went back to my place and watched Sex & The City before heading out for ice cream. Home once again, I phoned my mom. I hadn't yet told her my ghost story from Monday.

"Maybe it was a mouse," she said.

My stomach dropped. I had never even considered mice. In my house. Ohhhh.

"Well, it's better than a ghost, isn't it?"

I really didn't know the answer to that question.

I had told Lisa on the way home from ice cream that the perfect ending to the night would include some time spent blogging and talking to friends far and away. After talking to Mom I turned on Mac, changed my online status to "I'm so sorry Baby!" and got to work.

"I forgive you," Vince joked.

"Did Truck tell you to say that?" I asked before telling the whole awful story.

And coming in a minute late, Adam popped up to say, "Quickly", at 12:01.

And now, I bid you all a good night.

Hello, Vacation

I am on vacation.

I was preparing all week at work for my two-week absence. I didn't get done all the things I had aimed to. With only 30 minutes left in the day, I was feeling pretty anxious trying to get together all my files to leave for Head Two to look after while I was gone. The work just kept coming in, I couldn't keep up. This was why I desperately needed a vacation. Frankly, I'm scared about what I might come back to.

I was late getting out and missed my bus home. Boo. But I did eventually get out of there. When I swung open the door to my house I smiled and said, "hello, Vacation."

There was work to do.

I threw some things into my overnight bag in preparation for my weekend with the girls at the family cottage. Then I swung over to my parents' place to pick up a cooler and some things from my mom's garden.

I got the rest of the food together and had about an hour to go before Lisa would arrive to pick me up. Lauren had invited me and Gus over for drinks to celebrate her last day at IG. It was our last day taking the bus together. I'm going to miss her.

I had started to relax once I left the office, but as Lisa and I hit the road to the lake, I could feel the anxiety levels creeping up again. I love spending time at the cottage, and I love having other people up there, but I was worried I was forgetting something, or that my keys wouldn't work, or that Judy and Tonia would get lost, or that there wouldn't be any toilet paper out there.

"We have food and vodka in the car," Lisa pointed out. "If worse comes to worse, we can live off of that."

The keys worked, Tonia and Judy found the place okay, but believe it or not, there was a toilet paper shortage. Luckily, the corner store only charges $.89 per roll.

That may have been my last trip up to the cottage. My grandma keeps talking about selling the place. It was supposed to go this year, and now it's supposed to go next spring (but my mom says she's waffling again). I tried to take it all in, just in case. So much has changed though.

For one thing, technology has moved in. When I went to turn the power on at the panel, it was too dark to see which breakers were on and which ones were off. There used to be this big, old flashlight by the door, but it wasn't there. So I improvised and grabbed my cell phone. Together with Lisa's we managed to figure out which switches needed flipping. (It wouldn't have been so dangerous if it were not for the fact that the hot water heaters are electrical and can't be turned on until they have been filled with water.)

Later, we walked to the corner store, which, to my surprise, has been totally rebuilt. There's a little corner now where people can sit with a cup of coffee and surf the Internet or check their e-mail on their laptops. Yeah, the corner store at the lake where I used to buy a Ring Pop for a quarter now has WiFi and a flat screen TV.

On Saturday we walked down to the beach. It was super wavy, but the water was high and there wasn't much beach left to walk on. Hopefully it's just a bad year.

I decided that I cannot speak freely about this girls weekend here. For one thing, some of the best moments were "you had to be there" funny. I also want to respect the fact that maybe my girlfriends who also happen to be my co-workers, would rather I didn't post all the details.

Here are the anonymous highlights:

• "You have to turn up the volume with a knob?"--watching DVD movies on the ancient 25" TV.
• Look, a heart-shaped potato chip!
• and in response to the find, "if it looked like Jesus you could sell it on eBay"
  
• "This is what happens when winemakers and engineers hang out together"
  
• "Grab the dangley bits"
• And after the discussion about "dangley bits", the line, "well what did you think we'd talk about on a girls weekend? Knitting?"
• Officer Mike--"and yes, I'm single"
• Watching Knocked Up while playing a drinking game where we had to drink every time someone swore:

"Hey, Doc Howard. Ben Stone calling. Guess what the f***’s up? Alison’s going into labor and you are not f***ing here. Now, where are you? You’re at a f***ing Bar Mitzvah in San Francisco, you motherf***ing piece of sh*t! And you know I’m going to have to do now? I’m going to have to kill you. I’m going to have to pop a cap in your ass. You’re dead! You’re Tupac! You are f***ing Biggie, you piece of sh*t! I hope you f***ing die or drop the f***ing chair and kill that f***ing kid! Hope your plane crashes. Peace, f***er!"

I nearly choked.

I heart ?

Once upon a lousy day...

A twenty-something year-old girl nearly had a breakdown. It was just one of those days really, that everyone has, and that looks not so bad when reflected upon from the bottom of a few glasses of alcoholic beverages. Work was overwhelming, she had lost a pearl from her ring, and a transit strike was looming but she was left without a plan B. She was cranky, oh yes indeed. Thank God she has supportive friends.

11:48 AM me: You're having an overwhelming day at work, don't have a plan B for when transit goes on strike next week, and just realized you lost a pearl in your ring. While in the grand scheme of things, this doesn't add up to much more than a rough day, you're looking for some kind of quick relief. What do you do?

11:49 AM he: One-night stand, definitely.

She laughed, and then thought about how much work it would take to find a one-night stand that was A) not scuzzy and B) not clingy on her lunch hour. Impossible.

She met The Girls for lunch outside and clunked her head on the table. Someone had a bag of cherries, a very Jillish thing, and suggested she try shooting the pits for distance. She blew, and frankly, sucked. At 12:30 she announced she was going for a walk. She had an idea that some music therapy would help, and headed for Music Traders, the Village used CD store.

Judy kindly (oh so kindly, given the girl's foul mood) joined her. The girl picked out Collective Soul to sooth her soul, paid, and headed back to the oppressing office.

Upon her return, she smiled at the cupcake on her desk. Someone, not even consciously knowing she was having A Day, had thought of her. That was super nice.

Choosing to spend a few extra minutes obsessing over whether "set up" was one word, two words or hyphenated, she missed her bus home.

Finally, she arrived home, grabbed a beer, popped in the new CD, and told the world about her day. The sun was shining, it was the weekend, and Monday, although she was already dreading it, was a safe distance away.

Key in the door plus many more

After the blog post I forgot all about the significance of the day. I got caught up in an online conversation with Adam and then before I knew it, it was time to head out to Lisa's.

I got home around 10, changed out of my clothes and grabbed Mac to check life in the online world. I went into the kitchen to put away the fresh figs I bought at the farmer's market and I noticed two bottles of wine and a red rose on the ledge. Then I remembered the day again. My parents had dropped by to leave me a little something in honour of the anniversary. I grabbed the bottle of wine I had put in the fridge, the J wine, and I cracked it open.

I went online hoping to find a friend to have a virtual toast with, but no one was around. Bummer. So I poured the wine, and toasted with Jeff. (Kasia did leave a note for me here though, so I felt that she was here in spirit some how). It felt a little sad, but I guess it's another tribute to my independent party status. I phoned my parents' house and my mom answered. She pointed out that she told Dad to pick out wines of the 2007 vintage, in honour of the special year. If anyone should be here with me, really, it's them.

Vince logged on and I jumped on him. "Drink with me!" I said.

"I have no booze...I can drink water."

"That's fine, just put it in a glass so we can clink."

I swear, those last 365 days just flew by, and yet so much has happened. This was such a huge step for me. Then I think about how I got here and it seems like it's been a journey five times longer.

Well, I've just poured myself another generous glass of my J pinot gris. Wherever or whenever you are reading this, I hope you can raise a glass or a shoe and give me a little nod. Join the party at the Little House on the Prairie.

Love you all.

One year baby!

I was looking at some e-mails today trying to figure out how long I've been working on that website project. The first e-mail was sent on July 5, 2007. Wow, I could hardly believe we've been working on this thing for a year now. Tidal wanted to schedule a meeting with Head One but she told them she wanted to wait a few days as I was away. Away? Why was I away last year in early July? I looked up the dates on a calendar and it finally hit me. I was taking possession of my house.

Last July 3, I became a homeowner, jillstory fans. It has been a year of sacrificing shoes for utilities and groceries, finding new joys in cooking and yard work, adventures in dating and learning to enjoy my own company.

Kat was the first person I told when I realized what day it was.

"You should do something to celebrate, like take it out for dinner," she suggested, as an appropriate way to celebrate a first anniversary.

"Oh, but I'm actually going to my friend's place for dinner tonight." It's Thursday and Lisa's turn to cook. "I'm stepping out on my own house! Maybe I'll bring home some dessert."

Kat laughed. "If it involves whip cream and strawberries, I don't want to know."

I do have that bottle of J wine I've been saving. Maybe today would be a good occasion to open it up.

Cheers. Drink up.

Friday was a flurry of fun. At the last minute I found myself with a ticket to the Winnipeg Wine Festival. The evening had a very fun throwback to high school kind of feel. I got a ride to Amara's house and found her putting the finishing touches of her make-up on, with the radio blaring Flo Rida. We discussed shoes and Veronica Mars. Amara's husband, Christian, was picking up their friends, Gwen and Chad. Once all together, we walked down to the corner of the street and waited for the bus to pick us up.

We sat at the back. I was on the very back bench and despite my cute, 1 1/2" black, open-toed heels, my feet didn't quite reach the floor. Later in the evening they would be blistered, sore and tired, but while having so much fun, it was like they didn't touch the ground the whole night.

The festival is the second largest of its kind in Canada. This year it featured over 585 wines from over 115 wineries. Inside, it was nothing glamorous to look at, but I literally wanted to drink it all in. I had no strategy. My first sip was a rookie mistake--I tried a sparkling white that hadn't had a chance to chill yet. From there I hopped around from booth to booth, sometimes following the lead of my friends, sometimes just sampling on a whim. I favoured the reds but when I wanted a change I would throw in a chardonnay or a Riesling. And when my tongue was feeling overwhelmed I visited the bread station. I think it only took 90 minutes before my head was swimming.

Jill: Look! That one is called Trius (pronounced try-us, according to Jill), it's practically an invitation!

Amara: I think that's supposed to be Tree-us.

Nope, I'm sure it's try-us. And I think I will!

It was fun, probably some of the best fun I'd had in a good long time.