I was going through some old papers on Sunday while looking for my final marks statement from the University of Winnipeg. I came across a lot of interesting stuff: unfinished writing projects, old emails, newspaper clippings and report cards from junior high. I found things that made me wince, made me cry, but there was one thing in particular that made me laugh out loud.
I immediately recognized the handwritting on the page ripped out of a notebook, but I had no recollection of the piece itself. It was some kind of profile on me that Michael M. had done, dated March 26, 2000. This is how he, one of my closest friends in that era, described me:
--Jillian B@rr0tt
--December 5th, 1981, Winnipeg
--Younger Sister (Tracy)
--Graduated 1999
--Attending University of Winnipeg 1st yr.
--Lives with Mom, Dad, Sister, Elmo (Dog)
--Easy Going--> Serious
--Humourous, Sincere
--Planning on entering Advertising @ RRC
--Life means becoming well educated, getting a good job
--Friends, Family
--Always happy--> in a good mood
--Lot of friends
--School days--> Friends, Computers
--Single...& loving it!
--Dates...see above
Future
--> Advertising Specialist
--> Family, Kids
--> Married
--> Successful
My favourite part that still has me laughing is, "Life means becoming well educated, getting a good job". Aside from that, apparently Mike had me pinned even nine years ago. I guess my future is still yet to come since I am not yet married with children, although I like to think I have found some success.
I turned the paper over in hopes of finding some explanation for the assessment, but instead I found my own description of myself:
--Quiet yet daring
--Counsellor for my friends
--Love my friends and family, everything else comes second
--I appreciate people who are mature, humourous and understanding
--Enjoy the simple things in life, sunshine, fresh air, friends, pen & paper to record it all.
I have no recollection of describing myself this way. It's weird, I thought I only recently figured those things out about myself. But nope, I am exactly the same person that I knew I was nine years ago. Dammit. I've not grown an inch.
Life these days has been busy and full of interesting surprises. More on those things later. Those stories are still in the oven.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
James McAvoy, Clueless Emma, Med School and Love
On Friday night my sister came over and we had a James McAvoy double header movie night--Becoming Jane and Penelope. My sister works shifts at the hospital as a respiratory therapist but she was off all weekend and her boyfriend was in Chicago for Lolapalooza. I was more than happy to be there for her to help pass some time.
When Tracy arrived I was on the computer. "Whatchya doing?" she asked.
"Finishing a blog post," I said.
"Do you ever write about me?"
I smiled. "Sometimes."
"What do you say?"
"Oh I just mention when we've gotten together and stuff." I couldn't actually remember the last time I mentioned her. The first post that was coming to mind was one that I did in 2006 on her birthday where I talked about our sisterly ESP joke. The next one was about when she came over on Valentine's day last year. It's one of my favourite posts but I'm not sure what she'd say about it.
For the second movie I made us buttery popcorn. We attacked a few of my stale fortune cookies (the cookies have gone soft, but the fortunes are still as ambiguous as ever) and she bugged me about cleaning out my fridge (she found some rather old orange juice in there...)
On Saturday night we got together again just to watch some episodes of Sex and the City. Tracy lamented about her dude not being able to phone or text her while he was away because he lost his cell phone a while back. Oh to be so in love.
She told me about her boyfriend's brother proposing in a restaurant a few weeks ago.
"Where would you want to be proposed to?" she asked.
"I don't know, I don't really think about it," I said. It's one of those things, like babies, that I just can't fathom at all until I actually have the person in place to fulfill the dream. "I used to want it to happen at a football game," I confessed.
Tracy scoffed. "I'd never want that." Well, to be perfectly honest I don't think I really want that anymore either. When I was 15, which is when I think I had this dream, I just liked the idea of a grand public declaration of love. I pictured it thinking, this man loves me and now 22,000 other people know that too. I guess now I'd look at that idea and say, people really should be so fortunate to witness such love. It doesn't come around every day you know.
During commercial breaks we also talked about her developing dream to go to med school. She's really getting serious thinking about it now. She told me about the costs and the requirements to get in. She just got her house last year and has another year left on her car payments. Aside from making a good 10 grand more than I do, she's in a similar situation. However, she also has this boy of hers who could move in and help pay the bills while she does her four years of study and four years of residency.
On Sunday afternoon we were talking about her plans some more while we sat poolside at our aunt's place.
"You're inspiring," I told her. I've been having serious doubts about this e-marketing program I have my eye on. It's the cost that really scares me. For med school Tracy figures she'd be looking at about $10,000 per year but of course she knows she's guaranteed to make back her debt quickly once she starts practicing.
"I'm scared," she said. "What if I don't make it in?"
Not make it in? In my mind, not even a possibility for my sister. She definitely has what it takes to do this. Hearing my smart and confident sibling admit to this fear was both surprising and comforting in a way. Even people like my sister get nervous about failing.
"Well, whatever happens, you'll get your answer." I told her. "If you do all the prep work, write the exam and go through the interview but don't get accepted, you'll know at the end if it's something you really do want to achieve and try for again, or if you're okay with continuing on doing what you're doing. You can't lose for trying."
I got kind of tickled thinking about us both going back to school, going for our dreams. If Tracy goes for it, why shouldn't I?
My sister is two years younger than I am, has a steady boyfriend she's know for four years, lives in a swankier part of town than I do, wears teeny bikinis to the beach and is thinking of applying to med school. Some days, yes, it is enough to make me want to bang my head against the wall. I also however remember staying up late at night with her to help her write essays on books I never read and papers on lung diseases I've never heard of. I love her to bits and pieces but maybe one day, just for a small moment in the sun, the pen will be mightier than the scalpel.
On Sunday night Tracy had pulled the New York Times crossword puzzle out of the paper. When she had given up on it I asked her to hand it to me. Right away I got two answers she didn't--Novel that the movie Clueless was based on was the downward clue and fictional character who lives in The Plaza was the across clue.
"You didn't know that Clueless was based on Emma?"
"No," she shrugged.
"And you've never heard of Eloise?" She shook her head. Somehow I don't think either of those questions will appear on an MCAT exam. They may however come up in a marketing class.
Tracy and I have always been close as sisters but this year I feel like we managed to get even closer which means so much to me. She has been there for me when I needed a hug and a Kleenex and she's even let me into her world a bit more which she used to keep locked up pretty tight. I think I touched upon it earlier this year, but it came to mind again this weekend that my relationship with my sister is really a good example of one of my most successful, loving relationships. Tracy and I are obviously very different. We don't always agree and we can get sick of each other. But we do love one another anyway, even now when mom and dad aren't there to tell us we have to. I think this is an interesting way to look at compatibility. Although it can make things feel easier, more comfortable and help keep conflict down, love isn't about loving the same things, the same music, the same food or even the same people. Maybe similarity can get you in the same room, but I think it's all that other stuff--respect, compassion, understanding, loyalty, along with a good helping of admiration and fascination, demonstrated over a significant period of time, that keeps you coming back to the same table. I have known Tracy for 25 years and I'm just now realizing the depth of my love for her. True love takes time.
In the hour of the setting sun and mosquitoes, outside on the backyard patio in St. Vital, Tracy, my aunt and her husband and I ended up working on the puzzle together. I had so much fun. Everyone had something to contribute from our varied pockets of trivial knowledge. It was a perfect summer Sunday in August.
When Tracy arrived I was on the computer. "Whatchya doing?" she asked.
"Finishing a blog post," I said.
"Do you ever write about me?"
I smiled. "Sometimes."
"What do you say?"
"Oh I just mention when we've gotten together and stuff." I couldn't actually remember the last time I mentioned her. The first post that was coming to mind was one that I did in 2006 on her birthday where I talked about our sisterly ESP joke. The next one was about when she came over on Valentine's day last year. It's one of my favourite posts but I'm not sure what she'd say about it.
For the second movie I made us buttery popcorn. We attacked a few of my stale fortune cookies (the cookies have gone soft, but the fortunes are still as ambiguous as ever) and she bugged me about cleaning out my fridge (she found some rather old orange juice in there...)
On Saturday night we got together again just to watch some episodes of Sex and the City. Tracy lamented about her dude not being able to phone or text her while he was away because he lost his cell phone a while back. Oh to be so in love.
She told me about her boyfriend's brother proposing in a restaurant a few weeks ago.
"Where would you want to be proposed to?" she asked.
"I don't know, I don't really think about it," I said. It's one of those things, like babies, that I just can't fathom at all until I actually have the person in place to fulfill the dream. "I used to want it to happen at a football game," I confessed.
Tracy scoffed. "I'd never want that." Well, to be perfectly honest I don't think I really want that anymore either. When I was 15, which is when I think I had this dream, I just liked the idea of a grand public declaration of love. I pictured it thinking, this man loves me and now 22,000 other people know that too. I guess now I'd look at that idea and say, people really should be so fortunate to witness such love. It doesn't come around every day you know.
During commercial breaks we also talked about her developing dream to go to med school. She's really getting serious thinking about it now. She told me about the costs and the requirements to get in. She just got her house last year and has another year left on her car payments. Aside from making a good 10 grand more than I do, she's in a similar situation. However, she also has this boy of hers who could move in and help pay the bills while she does her four years of study and four years of residency.
On Sunday afternoon we were talking about her plans some more while we sat poolside at our aunt's place.
"You're inspiring," I told her. I've been having serious doubts about this e-marketing program I have my eye on. It's the cost that really scares me. For med school Tracy figures she'd be looking at about $10,000 per year but of course she knows she's guaranteed to make back her debt quickly once she starts practicing.
"I'm scared," she said. "What if I don't make it in?"
Not make it in? In my mind, not even a possibility for my sister. She definitely has what it takes to do this. Hearing my smart and confident sibling admit to this fear was both surprising and comforting in a way. Even people like my sister get nervous about failing.
"Well, whatever happens, you'll get your answer." I told her. "If you do all the prep work, write the exam and go through the interview but don't get accepted, you'll know at the end if it's something you really do want to achieve and try for again, or if you're okay with continuing on doing what you're doing. You can't lose for trying."
I got kind of tickled thinking about us both going back to school, going for our dreams. If Tracy goes for it, why shouldn't I?
My sister is two years younger than I am, has a steady boyfriend she's know for four years, lives in a swankier part of town than I do, wears teeny bikinis to the beach and is thinking of applying to med school. Some days, yes, it is enough to make me want to bang my head against the wall. I also however remember staying up late at night with her to help her write essays on books I never read and papers on lung diseases I've never heard of. I love her to bits and pieces but maybe one day, just for a small moment in the sun, the pen will be mightier than the scalpel.
On Sunday night Tracy had pulled the New York Times crossword puzzle out of the paper. When she had given up on it I asked her to hand it to me. Right away I got two answers she didn't--Novel that the movie Clueless was based on was the downward clue and fictional character who lives in The Plaza was the across clue.
"You didn't know that Clueless was based on Emma?"
"No," she shrugged.
"And you've never heard of Eloise?" She shook her head. Somehow I don't think either of those questions will appear on an MCAT exam. They may however come up in a marketing class.
Tracy and I have always been close as sisters but this year I feel like we managed to get even closer which means so much to me. She has been there for me when I needed a hug and a Kleenex and she's even let me into her world a bit more which she used to keep locked up pretty tight. I think I touched upon it earlier this year, but it came to mind again this weekend that my relationship with my sister is really a good example of one of my most successful, loving relationships. Tracy and I are obviously very different. We don't always agree and we can get sick of each other. But we do love one another anyway, even now when mom and dad aren't there to tell us we have to. I think this is an interesting way to look at compatibility. Although it can make things feel easier, more comfortable and help keep conflict down, love isn't about loving the same things, the same music, the same food or even the same people. Maybe similarity can get you in the same room, but I think it's all that other stuff--respect, compassion, understanding, loyalty, along with a good helping of admiration and fascination, demonstrated over a significant period of time, that keeps you coming back to the same table. I have known Tracy for 25 years and I'm just now realizing the depth of my love for her. True love takes time.
In the hour of the setting sun and mosquitoes, outside on the backyard patio in St. Vital, Tracy, my aunt and her husband and I ended up working on the puzzle together. I had so much fun. Everyone had something to contribute from our varied pockets of trivial knowledge. It was a perfect summer Sunday in August.
Friday, August 07, 2009
A change for good
Sometimes when I think about it I can just feel a smile growing into a grin on my face. I feel all warm and bubbly inside.
And sometimes when I think about it, I feel like my head is swimming and I need to just slow down and focus on one thing at a time, one day at a time. While the dream seems in reach, I must remember to keep things in perspective and keep my feet on the ground.
Yes, it does feel a lot like love. But this isn't a boy story.
I told you a few posts back that I had some big plans for myself that would occupy my time. I'm exploring the idea of taking some more schooling. I got a pamphlet in the mail a few weeks ago for the University of Winnipeg Division of Continuing Education. I'm a U of W alumni and I took my french classes a few years ago through the Continuing Ed school. For the fall I'm looking at taking a creative writing class. It will be one night a week for 12 weeks. I'm hoping it will force me to put aside some time to work on my writing and actually produce a complete piece that I can send to get published in a magazine. It's a baby step, but it's a step.
When I went online to investigate a bit further I found two other programs that got my head in the clouds. The first one I looked at is for a Marketing Management diploma. I'd have to attend evening classes twice a week each term for about a year and a half to complete it. It would be intense but hopefully it would get me what I need to get my foot in the door for more marketing based jobs. I got pretty excited looking at the course list but then I stumbled upon the second program that really captured my heart--New Media Marketing diploma. It looks at social networking, blogging, podcasting, pay-per-click advertising, web design, search engine marketing--need I go on? I mean, the marketing management program looked good, but this, this looked like Matthew McConaueghey hot. The catch? The sexier program is a one-year full time program, meaning I'd have to quit my life as I know it to become a student again for 12 months.
I told my mom that I was selling my house and moving back home so I could go to school.
"Absolutely not," Dad said.
"Well, Dad will be retired next year so hopefully we wouldn't be home much," Mom said. She has this magical way of making anything sound possible.
I talked to Lisa about it all too.
"You could sell your truck," she suggested.
I clutched my hands to my heart and shook my head. "No! I most certainly could not!" Sell my house? Sure. Roommate? No, I am pretty sure no one could live with me. Sell Truck? No, absolutely not. I know most people would look at it and just see a large gas sucking piece of orange metal. But no, that Truck is my first born. My first love. It will take me further than any diploma will. No, Truck stays with me. Besides, I probably could only get 10 or 15 grand for it, helpful, but certainly not enough to live off of for a year with a mortgage and tuition.
"I think if you want to do it badly enough you'll make it happen," Lisa said. I believe in that too. Still, the idea seemed exciting but it was also really surprising me. I didn't really think I'd go back to school for a whole program, and certainly not full time. I couldn't help but think, is this really me we're talking about here?
I did some more looking into the program and found my heart sinking a bit when I found out that the tuition was $15,000 (I'm still not selling Truck). Fifteen grand is a lotta money for me, and a lot more money than I was anticipating when the dream seemed in reach. But I still believe in what Lisa said, if I really want it, I'll make it happen, I'll find a way. I told Michael about my school dreams today. He said I just need to find a Sugar Daddy. I've only been working for him for six months and already he can read my mind. I'm going to miss him.
I have about seven months left working with Michael. I know I want to move on to something else rather than going back to my old job, but there is no telling when I will find that something, and if I do find something, will I still feel like I need to do school right now? This is what makes my head feel like it is treading water. But it's exciting. I feel really really excited about it all. This is the kind of change I can embrace and celebrate. Even if it does mean some sacrifices.
Colbie Cailat, Bubbly
It starts in my toes
and I crinkle my nose
where ever it goes I always know
that you make me smile
And sometimes when I think about it, I feel like my head is swimming and I need to just slow down and focus on one thing at a time, one day at a time. While the dream seems in reach, I must remember to keep things in perspective and keep my feet on the ground.
Yes, it does feel a lot like love. But this isn't a boy story.
I told you a few posts back that I had some big plans for myself that would occupy my time. I'm exploring the idea of taking some more schooling. I got a pamphlet in the mail a few weeks ago for the University of Winnipeg Division of Continuing Education. I'm a U of W alumni and I took my french classes a few years ago through the Continuing Ed school. For the fall I'm looking at taking a creative writing class. It will be one night a week for 12 weeks. I'm hoping it will force me to put aside some time to work on my writing and actually produce a complete piece that I can send to get published in a magazine. It's a baby step, but it's a step.
When I went online to investigate a bit further I found two other programs that got my head in the clouds. The first one I looked at is for a Marketing Management diploma. I'd have to attend evening classes twice a week each term for about a year and a half to complete it. It would be intense but hopefully it would get me what I need to get my foot in the door for more marketing based jobs. I got pretty excited looking at the course list but then I stumbled upon the second program that really captured my heart--New Media Marketing diploma. It looks at social networking, blogging, podcasting, pay-per-click advertising, web design, search engine marketing--need I go on? I mean, the marketing management program looked good, but this, this looked like Matthew McConaueghey hot. The catch? The sexier program is a one-year full time program, meaning I'd have to quit my life as I know it to become a student again for 12 months.
I told my mom that I was selling my house and moving back home so I could go to school.
"Absolutely not," Dad said.
"Well, Dad will be retired next year so hopefully we wouldn't be home much," Mom said. She has this magical way of making anything sound possible.
I talked to Lisa about it all too.
"You could sell your truck," she suggested.
I clutched my hands to my heart and shook my head. "No! I most certainly could not!" Sell my house? Sure. Roommate? No, I am pretty sure no one could live with me. Sell Truck? No, absolutely not. I know most people would look at it and just see a large gas sucking piece of orange metal. But no, that Truck is my first born. My first love. It will take me further than any diploma will. No, Truck stays with me. Besides, I probably could only get 10 or 15 grand for it, helpful, but certainly not enough to live off of for a year with a mortgage and tuition.
"I think if you want to do it badly enough you'll make it happen," Lisa said. I believe in that too. Still, the idea seemed exciting but it was also really surprising me. I didn't really think I'd go back to school for a whole program, and certainly not full time. I couldn't help but think, is this really me we're talking about here?
I did some more looking into the program and found my heart sinking a bit when I found out that the tuition was $15,000 (I'm still not selling Truck). Fifteen grand is a lotta money for me, and a lot more money than I was anticipating when the dream seemed in reach. But I still believe in what Lisa said, if I really want it, I'll make it happen, I'll find a way. I told Michael about my school dreams today. He said I just need to find a Sugar Daddy. I've only been working for him for six months and already he can read my mind. I'm going to miss him.
I have about seven months left working with Michael. I know I want to move on to something else rather than going back to my old job, but there is no telling when I will find that something, and if I do find something, will I still feel like I need to do school right now? This is what makes my head feel like it is treading water. But it's exciting. I feel really really excited about it all. This is the kind of change I can embrace and celebrate. Even if it does mean some sacrifices.
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
I'm a customer and it is Tuesday, appreciate me dammit!
Last night I went grocery shopping for 10% Tuesday. The first Tuesday of every month Sobeys and Safeway offer a 10% discount on a minimum $35.00 purchase. They call it "Customer Appreciation Day". Most of the time I shop at Superstore because it is usually cheaper than those other stores with the mood lighting and fancy displays.
I am a single girl carrying a large mortgage and making payments on my Truck. Yes, I would love to belong to that elite crowd who can afford to pay extra to shop in a place where they have on-site butchers, free samples, shorter lineups, relatively clean floors and parcel carryout, but for now I save those special experiences for days when things are a little cheaper.
So yesterday I took Truck out to the western edge of St. James (which smelled like cows, by the way) and browsed the offerings at the Unicity Sobeys. I picked up two pints of blueberries when normally I would only take one, grabbed a box of Ritz crackers because in combination with the Nestea crystals and the Kraft salad dressing it meant I would earn 250 bonus Sobeys points.
I admittedly wasn't paying much attention as the young man rang up my items. I don't really remember where my mind was at. I had already pulled out my Visa and my Sobeys card and placed them on the counter. The cashier did not, to my recollection, tell me my total before taking the cards, but I happened to look up and noticed that my grand total was $34.89.
"Oh," I frowned. "So I didn't make the 35 dollar minimum?"
"No, looks like you were short by like a buck," the astute bagger concluded.
"So I could have made it if I added a pack of gum or something?" I asked.
The cashier just shrugged and handed me my bill to sign.
"Thanks." I said tersely while picking up the pen although the terseness was not caught by the young man cashier.
"You're welcome!" he replied.
I headed home mad. I turned up the volume to sing along with Papa Roach.
"I'm a reckless goddamn son of a bitch!" I sang at the top of my lungs and slammed my hand on the steering wheel. "God save me from this madness!" I didn't look, but I can only imagine the colours my mood ring was turning.
I unpacked my groceries and took a closer look at my bill. The total before taxes was $34.65. I was 35 cents short from being a customer worth appreciating! Would it really have been so hard for the guy to let me add a pack of gum to my purchases? Sometimes they are even so kind as to say, "hey, you're just shy of meeting the minimum requirement, is there anything else you need today?" Yes, I realize the onus is really on me to keep track of these things, and yes, I know I only would have saved $3.50 but I could buy a whole ice cream cone for $3.50! I could go to two cheap seat movies for $3.50! I probably spent $3.50 in gas driving the extra distance to visit that fancy pants store! I was not about to take this laying down. So I opened up Mac, found the Sobeys website and sent them a "comment". I assure you, I explained my complaint in a respectful and calm manner. I have had success before with complaint letters. Why, just last year I believe I wrote to Oral B to complain about my electric toothbrush and they sent me a $10 voucher in the mail for replacement heads.
Today, the manager of the Unicity Sobeys called me to explain how the computer system they have makes it difficult for the cashiers to tell if the discount has been taken off. However, to make it right, he offered me a $10 Sobeys gift card for my troubles.
Thank you Sobeys. That was the right thing to do.
Just call me Jillian B@rr0tt, the Couponed Crusader.
I am a single girl carrying a large mortgage and making payments on my Truck. Yes, I would love to belong to that elite crowd who can afford to pay extra to shop in a place where they have on-site butchers, free samples, shorter lineups, relatively clean floors and parcel carryout, but for now I save those special experiences for days when things are a little cheaper.
So yesterday I took Truck out to the western edge of St. James (which smelled like cows, by the way) and browsed the offerings at the Unicity Sobeys. I picked up two pints of blueberries when normally I would only take one, grabbed a box of Ritz crackers because in combination with the Nestea crystals and the Kraft salad dressing it meant I would earn 250 bonus Sobeys points.
I admittedly wasn't paying much attention as the young man rang up my items. I don't really remember where my mind was at. I had already pulled out my Visa and my Sobeys card and placed them on the counter. The cashier did not, to my recollection, tell me my total before taking the cards, but I happened to look up and noticed that my grand total was $34.89.
"Oh," I frowned. "So I didn't make the 35 dollar minimum?"
"No, looks like you were short by like a buck," the astute bagger concluded.
"So I could have made it if I added a pack of gum or something?" I asked.
The cashier just shrugged and handed me my bill to sign.
"Thanks." I said tersely while picking up the pen although the terseness was not caught by the young man cashier.
"You're welcome!" he replied.
I headed home mad. I turned up the volume to sing along with Papa Roach.
"I'm a reckless goddamn son of a bitch!" I sang at the top of my lungs and slammed my hand on the steering wheel. "God save me from this madness!" I didn't look, but I can only imagine the colours my mood ring was turning.
I unpacked my groceries and took a closer look at my bill. The total before taxes was $34.65. I was 35 cents short from being a customer worth appreciating! Would it really have been so hard for the guy to let me add a pack of gum to my purchases? Sometimes they are even so kind as to say, "hey, you're just shy of meeting the minimum requirement, is there anything else you need today?" Yes, I realize the onus is really on me to keep track of these things, and yes, I know I only would have saved $3.50 but I could buy a whole ice cream cone for $3.50! I could go to two cheap seat movies for $3.50! I probably spent $3.50 in gas driving the extra distance to visit that fancy pants store! I was not about to take this laying down. So I opened up Mac, found the Sobeys website and sent them a "comment". I assure you, I explained my complaint in a respectful and calm manner. I have had success before with complaint letters. Why, just last year I believe I wrote to Oral B to complain about my electric toothbrush and they sent me a $10 voucher in the mail for replacement heads.
Today, the manager of the Unicity Sobeys called me to explain how the computer system they have makes it difficult for the cashiers to tell if the discount has been taken off. However, to make it right, he offered me a $10 Sobeys gift card for my troubles.
Thank you Sobeys. That was the right thing to do.
Just call me Jillian B@rr0tt, the Couponed Crusader.
Monday, August 03, 2009
I can almost put my finger on it now
Now that is how to spend four days off.
Friday was a bit of a let down due to the monsoon that passed through Winnipeg. I had an appointment with the bank (met the lovely banking officer named Kurt who enjoys Starbucks, lists, travel and family, but alas, had a girlfriend. Would it have been inappropriate to ask him to direct me to the branch with the hot single men?). I am looking at possibly spending some big money in the next 12 months and I'd really like to get into the whole responsible adult thing of buying RRSPs and such. Oh look how our little Jillian has grown up, my oh my.
On Saturday afternoon I decided I wanted to cook. Not just cook, but cook for other people. So I started working on a plan to have my parents and my grandma over for dinner when I heard a loud knock at my door. Hoping that it was opportunity knocking I put aside my planning thoughts to open the door.
Behind door number one was an attractive young man who promised me he wasn't selling anything. Oh Lord, why do they tell such lies? I didn't see the Publishers Clearing House crew standing behind him so I figured I could safely assume he wasn't giving away anything either, at least not something I had any interest in. He was also wearing a wedding ring so I was already completely bored but let him do his spiel anyway. I don't like to slam doors in peoples' faces. They're just out there trying to make an honest dollar (well, quasi honest, since the opening line is always, "I'm not trying to sell you anything") so would it really do any harm to let them say their piece before I politely shoo them away?
I began to get quite tired of this guy after a good five minutes of nodding along and was hoping that he was on his way to wrapping up when he asked, "did I get you out of bed?"
Um, thanks dude. Now not only am I irritated by you taking up my time, but you have now drawn attention to the fact that my hair is messy, I'm not wearing any makeup, and my boredom is clearly showing. Good luck with that sell job now.
"The football game is on," I said, suddenly really wishing I could go check the score.
"Oh, yeah, I know. I wish I could be watching the game too, but I have to be out here," he smiled and then proceeded to continue with his "I'm not here to sell you anything" sales pitch for another five minutes. Actually, I'm guessing on all these windows of time. It felt like I stood there for twenty. I started to notice that his finger nails were disturbingly long. Perhaps they had grown in the time he had taken to try to convince me of the merits of his product.
I had lost my passion for cooking and entertaining for a while but I was happy to discover it all over again on Saturday night. I bought myself flowers at the same time that I picked up the ingredients. I like that I can make myself so happy.
On Sunday Lisa and I drove up to Gimli to see Judy and check out the Icelandic Festival. The day was lovely and Lisa said later that she really enjoyed herself, but I found that we spent most of the day waiting for something. When we got there we had to wait in line for the washrooms. Then we waited for Tonia and her friend, Britt, to join us. Then we waited in a line up to grab lunch. Then we sat on the grass and waited for a viking fight show to start. First, half of the fighters took their places and then we had to wait for the other troop to sail in from the lake in their viking "ship", dock the boat, possibly pose for pictures with tourists on the beach, and then join the rest of the show. The fight took about five minutes.
At one point during the day, while waiting for something I am sure, I browsed a jewelery kiosk set up on the main drag. I found a collection of mood rings that caught my eye. I suppose there isn't really anything more tacky than a mood ring, never mind the one that I picked up which had the word "LOVE" circled in the band. Something about it appealed to me though. Maybe it was the idea of having love wrapped around my finger or maybe it was the fact that when I put it on it immediately turned a deep royal purple, which, according to the key, meant I was actually "in love". It was four dollars so I made it mine. Who says you can't buy me love?
We walked the pier a bit. Britt wanted to go all the way to the end to take photos. The rest of us were not feeling into it and were ready to turn back.
"Maybe there is a pot of gold at the end of the pier," Tonia suggested with a smile.
"No," Lisa shook her head. "I've been to the end. Mostly there's just used condoms." I guess a few someones have found their own pots of gold out there, but I had a strong feeling that that was not the place to find mine.
More lines and waiting ensued and just when there was nothing left to stand for, it was time to go home.
And today? Today I let my mom talk me into buying another pair of shoes. They are for dancing in. I can hardly think of a good argument against buying a pair of shoes meant for dancing.
As I type my eye catches the ring on my finger. I have monitored it closely since putting it on, watching it change color from the blissfully happy color of love, to the uncertain yellow, green and orange hues of anxiety and mixed emotions. When I took it off last night before washing my face, I put it on the sink counter top and it turned black--which means "nothing" according to the key. Yes of course I know it is completely bogus. Still, it crossed my mind that perhaps I should have my next lover wear one. "Your lips say I love you, but the ring says fear, do we need to talk?"
In Canada engineer graduates receive their iron rings. According to Wikipedia, "The Ring is worn on the little finger of the working hand, where the facets act as a sharp reminder of obligation while the engineer works". For as long as I wear it (which may be a week or a month or so before I honestly get tired of wearing something on my finger again) my LOVE mood ring will serve to remind me to continue my personal pledge, my mission, to fill my days doing things in the name of love. I will think of this as I type out my words, prepare food or rest my head on my hands before sleep. Kasia sent me a link to an article she had found a while ago when I first committed myself to being a student of love. The article is titled, What would love do? It's a short article but the idea it proposes is simple enough. When going through your day, whatever it is that you are doing, try asking yourself, what would love do?
I am so happy.
Friday was a bit of a let down due to the monsoon that passed through Winnipeg. I had an appointment with the bank (met the lovely banking officer named Kurt who enjoys Starbucks, lists, travel and family, but alas, had a girlfriend. Would it have been inappropriate to ask him to direct me to the branch with the hot single men?). I am looking at possibly spending some big money in the next 12 months and I'd really like to get into the whole responsible adult thing of buying RRSPs and such. Oh look how our little Jillian has grown up, my oh my.
On Saturday afternoon I decided I wanted to cook. Not just cook, but cook for other people. So I started working on a plan to have my parents and my grandma over for dinner when I heard a loud knock at my door. Hoping that it was opportunity knocking I put aside my planning thoughts to open the door.
Behind door number one was an attractive young man who promised me he wasn't selling anything. Oh Lord, why do they tell such lies? I didn't see the Publishers Clearing House crew standing behind him so I figured I could safely assume he wasn't giving away anything either, at least not something I had any interest in. He was also wearing a wedding ring so I was already completely bored but let him do his spiel anyway. I don't like to slam doors in peoples' faces. They're just out there trying to make an honest dollar (well, quasi honest, since the opening line is always, "I'm not trying to sell you anything") so would it really do any harm to let them say their piece before I politely shoo them away?
I began to get quite tired of this guy after a good five minutes of nodding along and was hoping that he was on his way to wrapping up when he asked, "did I get you out of bed?"
Um, thanks dude. Now not only am I irritated by you taking up my time, but you have now drawn attention to the fact that my hair is messy, I'm not wearing any makeup, and my boredom is clearly showing. Good luck with that sell job now.
"The football game is on," I said, suddenly really wishing I could go check the score.
"Oh, yeah, I know. I wish I could be watching the game too, but I have to be out here," he smiled and then proceeded to continue with his "I'm not here to sell you anything" sales pitch for another five minutes. Actually, I'm guessing on all these windows of time. It felt like I stood there for twenty. I started to notice that his finger nails were disturbingly long. Perhaps they had grown in the time he had taken to try to convince me of the merits of his product.
I had lost my passion for cooking and entertaining for a while but I was happy to discover it all over again on Saturday night. I bought myself flowers at the same time that I picked up the ingredients. I like that I can make myself so happy.
On Sunday Lisa and I drove up to Gimli to see Judy and check out the Icelandic Festival. The day was lovely and Lisa said later that she really enjoyed herself, but I found that we spent most of the day waiting for something. When we got there we had to wait in line for the washrooms. Then we waited for Tonia and her friend, Britt, to join us. Then we waited in a line up to grab lunch. Then we sat on the grass and waited for a viking fight show to start. First, half of the fighters took their places and then we had to wait for the other troop to sail in from the lake in their viking "ship", dock the boat, possibly pose for pictures with tourists on the beach, and then join the rest of the show. The fight took about five minutes.
At one point during the day, while waiting for something I am sure, I browsed a jewelery kiosk set up on the main drag. I found a collection of mood rings that caught my eye. I suppose there isn't really anything more tacky than a mood ring, never mind the one that I picked up which had the word "LOVE" circled in the band. Something about it appealed to me though. Maybe it was the idea of having love wrapped around my finger or maybe it was the fact that when I put it on it immediately turned a deep royal purple, which, according to the key, meant I was actually "in love". It was four dollars so I made it mine. Who says you can't buy me love?
We walked the pier a bit. Britt wanted to go all the way to the end to take photos. The rest of us were not feeling into it and were ready to turn back.
"Maybe there is a pot of gold at the end of the pier," Tonia suggested with a smile.
"No," Lisa shook her head. "I've been to the end. Mostly there's just used condoms." I guess a few someones have found their own pots of gold out there, but I had a strong feeling that that was not the place to find mine.
More lines and waiting ensued and just when there was nothing left to stand for, it was time to go home.
And today? Today I let my mom talk me into buying another pair of shoes. They are for dancing in. I can hardly think of a good argument against buying a pair of shoes meant for dancing.
As I type my eye catches the ring on my finger. I have monitored it closely since putting it on, watching it change color from the blissfully happy color of love, to the uncertain yellow, green and orange hues of anxiety and mixed emotions. When I took it off last night before washing my face, I put it on the sink counter top and it turned black--which means "nothing" according to the key. Yes of course I know it is completely bogus. Still, it crossed my mind that perhaps I should have my next lover wear one. "Your lips say I love you, but the ring says fear, do we need to talk?"In Canada engineer graduates receive their iron rings. According to Wikipedia, "The Ring is worn on the little finger of the working hand, where the facets act as a sharp reminder of obligation while the engineer works". For as long as I wear it (which may be a week or a month or so before I honestly get tired of wearing something on my finger again) my LOVE mood ring will serve to remind me to continue my personal pledge, my mission, to fill my days doing things in the name of love. I will think of this as I type out my words, prepare food or rest my head on my hands before sleep. Kasia sent me a link to an article she had found a while ago when I first committed myself to being a student of love. The article is titled, What would love do? It's a short article but the idea it proposes is simple enough. When going through your day, whatever it is that you are doing, try asking yourself, what would love do?
Love may crumble in apology, love may weep with humility and grace. She may run into burning buildings. He may genuflect.I'm going to go make my lunch and then dance to sappy music in my pajamas in my living room now.
Love knows what's best for every situation.
Love transcends policy and history.
Love innovates.
Love is everything we've been asking for.
I am so happy.
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