Flying High

Byron and I are flying home to Dartmouth this evening. I cannot wait! My family finally gets to meet Byron, we meet Nicole, Dave's girlfriend, we get to spend time with Jane and Craig. And, best of all, we will be there when Jane and Craig have their baby! They are due on Saturday, but there's no movement and Jane is asking for a c-section today. She'll go in early next week and have her baby. How exciting!

My birthday was earlier this week, and it was the best one ever. You know why? Byron. We didn't do anything spectacular, we went to dinner. He gave me incredibly thoughtful gifts, but being with him made turning 32 wonderful.

It's got me thinking... what a year. Quelle annee! This time last year, I was getting ready to go home for Christmas, to spend the holiday with my parents and Big Fat Blanche. No Jane, no Craig, no Dave or Nicole. I was alone, and single and sick of it. I was in a job that was somewhat satisfying, but with a manager who made me crazy, which deleted any and all job satisfaction. I also wasn't making good money. But that all changed in May.

I met Byron. We went out a few times, he went away for work. I went to Victoria for Stacey's wedding in June, had a job interview. He came home, I got the job in Victoria. I moved to Victoria, he came for a visit, we got engaged. He moved in with me in September, and the rest is history. I have never been so happy in all my life and I have Byron to thank for that. Byron and a really good job that I like and that pays me well. Well, my job blows sometimes, but it's all good, babies! I get to come home to an amazing man who is going to be my husband. The world can throw whatever garbage it wants to me - I end my day with Byron.

A lot can change in 12 months. When you think of the intricacies and surprises of life, you have a new appreciation of the world. I know I do.

Awe-struckingly Yours,
xoxoSally

Not so nice

It's my Friday ritual. On my walk to work, I pop into a Starbucks and get myself a coffee. I see it as a reward for yet another work week knocked off. But this morning's treat was tainted.

As I walked in to the shop, this woman was humming and hawing over the baked goods and skittering back and forth between the case and the cash. In a thick German accent, she started asking the barista about what a scone is. Really?! See, it was 5:45am, and I had to be at work for 6. I was cutting it close, so I didn't really have time to listen to a bakery lesson. She got her shit, I got mine, and we ended up at the cream station together. She lookes up at me like I was Shrek when I reached for the cream and I scowled at her for being in my way, which she was. She made me angry. As I left the store, I had an epiphany.

I am a bitch.

Really, I did not want to be like this to her or anyone else. I just wanted coffee and be on my way. I'm going to try to be nice today, even to even the people who aren't nice to me.

The other day, Byron and I were walking along the streets, and I realized that no one here in Victoria says hello. They don't smile at people they pass, they don't say hi to the people they recognize from the 'hood. Maybe because this is a tourist town, people living here don't bother with niceties. I don't like it. When I smile at someone on the street, don't pretend I am not there. If I say hello to you it's because I see you every frigging day on my way home from work. Say hi back, you fool! It's even worse at work, when I see the same people day in and day out. No one talks in the halls, the elevator rides are eerily silent, and no one will hold a door open. I can't stand it! I also can't stand being the idiot saying hello fruitlessly to people.

It's time for a vacation. Speaking of which... two weeks from tonight Byron and I are flying home. Yippee!

Greetingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Tis the Season

In two weeks, Byron and I fly home for Christmas. It's been years since I was this excited for Christmas! But this year, Christmas has a different meaning to me.

Sure, when you're kids, it's all about Santa and presents. As I got older and moved away from home, it was about being around friends and trying not to be homesick. This year, it's about family. All about family. It's not about buying this for that person, or parties, or decorations. It's about being near family and the ones I love the most.

My family has yet to meet Byron, so that's the highlight of my Christmas right there. Plus, Jane and Craig will have their baby by then, so there's another present. Maybe the gifts of Christmas aren't the sweaters and books and things to unwrap, but the people you love.

After all, God is love, and then maybe those people who fight so hard to keep religion in the season can appreciate that the greatest gift out there is love. Whether it's the love of your life, your new niece or nephew, or your family, those are the greatest gifts anyone could ever give.

Merry Christmas,
xoxoSallyt

Bracing for Winter

It's my very fist winter in Victoria. I've been told there is practically no snow, and when there is some white stuff falling from the skies, the city shuts down. It does rain, though. They say it rains a lot, and it's gray everyday. And it's warm. I'm kind of looking forward to winter for a change.

Byron and I will be watching tv, and we'll see a clip of a snowstorm in the prairies. Or we'll be watchign the Weather Network (which, admittedly, we do a lot) and see that Edmonton is -3 that day while we are baking at +10. His dad always asks about the weather, his sister always tells us there's snow on the ground where she is. And we get kind of smug about it all.

But I have to admit, I think I might miss the snow. A bit. I miss that crisp chill in the air after a good snowfall. When the sidewalks are fluffly with white snow, and the sun is shining bright. It makes me want to go for a long walk and while a pot of homemade soup simmers. To see images of snow-covered trees and fields makes me yearn for big coats and hats and cuddle warm in my parka when it's cold outside.

It's weird to think that I'm not going to get that deep freeze this year. Instead, we'll be soggy and gray. I picture pruny skin and pasty cheeks - not the rosy ones of winter. But then I give my head a shake and remember the icy roads, the snowbanks to climb over, and the constant hat head.

You take the good, you take the bad, and there you have the facts of life.

Soggingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

I just have to say...

... I have a good man. A wonderful man. A loving man. And I thank him for that.

I just have to say I am a lucky woman who is in love with the greatest man.

Swooningly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Hold me! I'm scared!

Byron and I went to our very first, and last, wedding expo. It was free, which was the only way we would go to such a thing. But it was 30 minutes of my life I will never get back.

It was pointless, really, for us to go. We have all the big things booked for the wedding. And we have the little details like tags for the favours or attendents' gifts lined up in our heads. We did not need to see a ball cap with pink embroidery that reads "So Loved". Or some glass trinkets trying to pass itself off as a diamond necklace. Byron and I were stunned and shocked, and sickened.

It was almost precious. Someone actually greeted me with a "Congratulations" instead of saying hello. The idea of being a princess on your day was heavy in the air. Women were catered to and acted like they had won a prize for getting engaged.

I did get a prize in Byron. I got a wonderful gift in knowing him, loving him, and now marrying him. I don't need some second-rate vendors to tell me that. And this whole idea of being a princess of "your big day" drives me mental. I am not a princess, never have been and never will be. And to me, it's not "my day". It's our day, as in my and Byron's day. It's our day to share and cherish forever. And wearing some tacky tiara isn't going to make it any more special.

During the fashion show, we bolted. The dresses were heinous. All glittery and backless and sparkles and strapless. It was ugly, and our wedding is going to nothing like the load of crap they tried to shovel onto us yesterday.

I no longer fear hell for I have been to a wedding expo.

Conqueringly Yours,
xoxoSally

Growth Spurts

My family is growing.

Jane and Craig are having a baby in December. My brother will be getting married to Nicole, someone he met in New Zealand. I can't wait to meet her - the woman who makes my baby brother so happy. Byron's family feels like mine, now, too. His brother and sister feel like my brother and sister now... without all the history. You know, decades of quarrels, animosity, childhood traumas, and fist fights. Even Byron's aunt and uncle feel like family to me now. It's shockingly nice.

Jane and I have talked about this before, and we would both like to live closer to each other now that she's starting her family. We never grew up around cousins or aunts or uncles. Well, in all honesty some aunts and uncles of ours deserve to be in local loonie bin. We would like to be near each other so our babies can grow up knowing one another. I'd hate to have my nieces and nephews be strangers to me.

Babies and marriages and in-laws... oh my!

Expandingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

I'm Gonna Call It...

Mark my words, Britney Spears will be dead within a year.

After much consideration, and after years of celebrity-watching, I am going to go out on a limb and say Britney is going to go the way of Anna Nicole pretty soon.

Foretellingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Heinous!

I walk past a tailor everyday on my way to and from work, and everyday I wonder what they might be able to do for me and my wedding dress. (You see, I am back to the drawing board with the dress. I have a tattoo across my back that, although I love, I want to hide. Plus mid-September in Alberta might not be the warmest and I don't want to be a blue goosebump in all my photos so a strapless dress might not work best. But I digress.)

So I stopped in yesterday. I was greeted by a semi-friendly gal, who asked me right away how much I wanted to spend on my dress. "$1000, $5000, $10000". I lied and said a grand. She asked why I wanted a dress made and I said I have a very specific idea in my head of my dress and I cannot find it, but I have a pattern.

Then, a weasely old bat from the back came flying out of nowhere and pounced. She said they don't "do" patterns and they make their own on site. And if I took my pattern to a dressmaker, I will only end up with a "homemade garment", she said. And she said the last phrase like she was spatting bile.

I wanted to say to her "what do you think your homemade garment is", but I didn't. I just spat out a vitrious thank-you and huffed out. I was just inquiring, and if you want business, hoochie, you need to be nice... is what I wanted to say.

I found some lovely dresses online and some nice patterns. Now I need to find a nice dressmaker who won't spat at me.

Come home, Cuteness! I miss you!

Nakedly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Happy Birthday, Sweetness!

It's Byron's birthday today. Sadly, he's in Alberta working, so we can't celebrate yet. I know he doesn't read this very much, since his computer is in Victoria now, but I wanted to put it in the ether that I wish my Love a very Happy Birthday and that I love him.

Bonne Fete! J'adore Sugar...

xoxoSally

In one year

This time in one year, I will be Mrs. Byron Stuike. How exciting! Right about this time, in 364 sleeps, I'll be dancing with my new husband and enjoying one of the greatest nights of my life. I cannot wait!

People say this next year will whiz by, which spooks me. There is so much to do before the wedding... picking a dress, booking a venue, getting a florist, picking flowers that won't make Stacey sneeze, and on and on and on. But that'll all come into place. I'm marrying the love of my life! All is well.

I went for dinner with my cousin, Katie, her daughter, Mae, and her boyfriend, Kyle. She wondered if someone could be too independent for a mate, and at one time in my life, and not too long ago, I thought so. I figured since I had been alone for so long and taking care of myself, I didn't need anyone. Shortly after meeting Byron, I knew I needed someone. And that someone was Byron.

Come back soon, My Love! Our home is empty without you...

xoxoMrs. Stuike

Alone Again... Unnaturally

It's rainy and cold and lonely today. Byron had to go back to Alberta for a few days for work. Which is great, since he can make some quick and good money. But it blows, since I miss him. Today was my first day alone, and it was so so so sad!

In such a short amount of time, it's shocking how much you get attached to someone. The house seems empty and hollow. The day crawled by since there was no one to be with. Boo hoo! Poor, poor pitiful me!

Ten more days to go... I hope. He should hear soon when he can get back here. Hopefully it's soon. I miss him!

Come home, Cuteness! I miss you!

Longingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

My Apologies

I have been very bad lately on posting. Between work and getting up at 5 am, and my fiance moving in, and life in general, I haven't taken the time to muse on important things such as Britney.

She licked, by the way. As if you had to wonder what I would think of her MTV fiasco. She was heinous. Byron said it best when he commented that she looked like she didn't rehearse.

When I have a moment to think, I will post something again. But you know how it is when the love of your life moves in... you have way better things to do than type.

Lovingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

It's not a Cupcake

I found my wedding dress today. I should be full of glee, and I was at one point today, but not so much anymore. I have some Buzzkills around me.

I can't post a picture, since Byron knows about this pretty pink site, and he might see what I would like to wear on our wedding day.

When I started looking at dresses, I was certain I did not want a strapless dress, a halter dress, nor one with a train or beading. Well, I found a strapless one with some delicate beading and a small train. I love it! I tried it on and I cried. I tried others, too, and, while they were lovely, they did not compare to My Dress. It's a bit more expensive than I wanted to spend, but that just means no more lunches out and I'll have to tighten my purse strings. It's a sacrifice I am willing to make. I look pretty in it, and feel lovely in it. It's My Wedding Dress.

But, like I said, I have some Buzzkills around me.

One would think that if a loved one called with glee in her voice, that you would be excited, too. Instead, I was met with a tone of disappointment and ennui. It's the tone I usually get greeted with from this person when I do something with which she does not agree. Or when she's having a pissy time elsewhere, and I happen to call, I get all the pissiness taken out on me. Either way, this person was not happy for me when I called to tell her I found My Wedding Dress. I also had news that Byron found our church, but I had to get off the phone before I could tell her that. She wouldn't have cared, anyway.

How do you eliminate Buzzkills from your wedding plans? Ideas?

Sadly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

I Don't Understand

I have never been one to watch serial television. Sure, there was that semester in university when my friends and I scheduled our classes around Days of Our Lives. But Stefano and his antics got to be too much, and life resumed as it should. Since then, I have never been able to get hooked on shows where I had to watch the previous episode. I prefer the kind of tv where I can plop down and understand right away what's going on.

Until I stayed a couple weekends with Stacey and Trevor.

Trevor loves Coronation Street, and watches it every Sunday morning. For two weekends in a row, we watched Coronation Street. And once I moved into my own place, I craved that show. Now I have a mild addiction.

But that addiction has NOTHING on my new obsession.... The Hills.

What the hell is that show? I have googled it, looked it up on IMDb, and I still cannot figure it out. Is it a reality show? Are these people actors? What is "scripted reality"? Do people really live like this?

I have MTV now, and stumbled on it the other morning. Ironically, it was during a commercial break from Coronation Street last Sunday. I had heard of the show and seen the "characters" posing for People magazine. But I got drawn into the vapid mess. And I cannot get out!

Conversations go like this...
"So I feel like I lost a friend, you know?"
"Yeah."
"Like, I just don't know."
"Yeah."
"It's just so, like"
"Yeah."
All said with vacant stares and lipgloss.

Do people actually hold conversations like this or is someone pulling a colossal joke? I must do more research.

Umm, like, you know,
xoxoSallyt

I Hate Hippies!

Well, I did it. I horrified Byron last night. I took him to a Farmers Market, with the hopes of getting some good local produce, maybe a homemade loaf of bread, perhaps a chunk o' fudge. Instead, we came away with gaped mouths and shocked senses.

See, Byron is a simple man, in that he's not a granola or pretentious. He's a good guy from rural Alberta and I adore him. He, too, thought we were off to get some green beans and a cookie. We did not bargain for what we got.

Instead of stalls of colourful fruits and vegetables, we got tables teetering with homemade purses and homemade books. Someone was selling hunks of honeycombs. There were crystals, naturally. We gravitated to a table with some vegetables, and we found some small yellow plums. He found a bag of "Jips". "Jips" are chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. Why the hippies called them "Jips" is beyond me, but the name makes me laugh.

The piece de resistance, though, was the sight in the field next to the market. A gaggle of grubby hippies sat in a circle, singing/moaning, strumming a guitar and swigging from jugs of wine. What was missing was the unmistakeable stench of patchouli and weed. I am certain it was there, but I wasn't cozying up to confirm.

All the while, Byron was silently stunned. He was confused and disoriented and his face held the look of horror. He grew up in the country, on farms, no less, so he knows what a farmers market is and should be. This was no farmers market. This was a band of hippies selling their shit, and I do mean shit. We clasped our hands tighter, grabbed our bag of Jips, and hightailed it out of Hippie Hell.

There are lists of farmers markets all over Victoria, and I am hoping one of them holds promise. I just want some cheap, Okanagan peaches!

Longingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

I am Betrothed

It's been less than a week since I got engaged to Byron. My ring isn't even on my finger! (It's coming back to me on the 15th... resizing) Finally, the idea of being married is starting to settle in. Perhaps because I have the greater part of our wedding mapped out in my head.

I never realized how traditional I really am. If anything, this courtship and engagement with Byron has shown me just how much of a traditionalist this one-time, self-declared non-marrying type is. You see, since the word has started spreading that I am getting married, I have gotten several emails from people expressing surprise. Many an email have started with "YOU!?!". When word got out that I was in a realtionship, I had a similar reaction. "YOU!?! In a relationship" was a common phrase in my inbox. I was offended! What am I? The billy goat's gruff? Then a friend pointed out that I have been squawking for years that I am not getting married and I will be independent forever. So, he said, I shouldn't be offended that people are surprised I am engaged, since I projected the image of the non-marrying, career-gal, independent chick for ages. In reality, that was never really me.

Another friend of mine, Janet, is getting married just a couple weeks before Byron and I. She's having a alterna-wedding. See her blog http://communities.canada.com/saskatoonstarphoenix/blogs/weddeddiss/default.aspx
Janet is incredibly funny and the wedding is totally going to be "her". Me? I'm going more tradtional.

We're getting married on Friday, September 19th, 2008. It's going to be an evening wedding in a small country church. The Friday day is probably going to be the only "alternative" part of this union. You see, I think if we get married on a Friday, the people who are travelling have a couple days to relax and enjoy themselves afterwards. We may not be there, but they can make a weekend of it. As plans are made and ideas tossed around, my tradionalist side gets stronger. I am addicted to looking at wedding dresses. I know what I would like my bridesmaids to wear. I can envision what the reception will look like. I can see in my mind what the church will look like. And it's ALL very tradtional. Very etiquette-driven. Very proper and tasteful. But it's going to be LOADS of fun. After all, we're celebrating our love.

Engagingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS
(I have to get used to dropping the "T". My traditional side says to take his name. So I am.)

Pssst.....

I'm getting married.

I cannot believe it, so I say that phrase aloud to myself to make me believe it's really happening.

I am getting married!

Wheee!

Boobs That Bounce

Have we met? If so, you know that I have a good set o' knockers on me. Some have said they are huge; I say they are jealous. But here is a tale that will kill that jealous streak.

I went to the Bay yesterday on my lunch break to get sport socks and, hopefully, a sports bra. You see, I joined a gym, since a Curves is no where near my new place. I loved Curves, and actually enjoyed some modest success. But instead of loafing around and doing nothing, I joined the YMCA in my 'hood.

As I searched the bra section in the Bay, I realized it ws in vain. The rack of sports bras made my blood boil. I could find my cup size, no problem! But I couldn't find the band size. I saw rows and rows of 32DD, 34DD, 36DD, and one38DD. Any size after that, we heftier gals are left swinging in the wind. Which got me thinking...

If you are a 34DD, you are stick-thin with massive boobs. Which probably means, and I will put money on this, those tits are fake! You can bounce and jump and carouse with nary a worry about excessive flopping, embarassing movement, or hurting yourself! Those mamms are not moving an inch! And I put a pox on you!!

So I guess if you're "big-boned" with a decent set of breasts, don't even think of getting a sports bra. Which licks, because you need one to work out. It's like a vicious cycle... I cannot get the gear I need to work, ergo my confidence is bruised, hence I sit on the couch. Well, nuts to that! I'll just wear two bras and hope I don't hurt myself in the process.

Bouncingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Housekeeping

I'm jealous of Megan. She can whirl and whiz around the blogosphere like no one's business, and the result is a slick and kicky blog. Mine feels kind of archaic. So I added a picture. And if you scroll all the way down, you can find the sites I visit daily. Such as Megan's. Or Cindy's. Or Glen's.

Sighingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

My Maliciousness

Some of you already know that I used to work at CBC Radio. I was all over the country, working as a reporter and producer and anything else I could do to stay with the Mother Corp. But I left four years ago, and have never looked back.

But in those four years since I left my abusive relationship with the Cheeb, I find myself gloating secretly when I hear blunders on-air.

Such as the one right now. I'm listening to CBC over the internet, they just played a song by some local artist, and in the first line, the word f*ck was sung quite audibly. I could almost hear the fluttering of shocked hosts and techs on the speaker. Hee hee! I love when that happens! I also love when I hear news readers flub and dead air. I love it! Relish it! It's mean and malicious, this I know. But from someone who lived in the trenches at countless stations across Canada, it's the sweetest sounds to my ears.

Gloatingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Etiquette?

I knew what I was getting into when I chose to move to Victoria. I knew there'd be countless days of rain and mist and fog, and that, in turn, would make my hair a mess. I knew I would have to get a raincoat or an umbrella, neither of which I have owned since I left the east coast years ago.

Yesterday was rainy, natch, and as I walked a few blocks from my office to meet Stacey for lunch, I broke down and bought an umbrella. I originally wanted to get one of those big, colourful ones with the wooden handles and tips, but chose a small, black one. And am I ever glad I went small!

As I walked back to the office, and then home, I got confused. Is there some sort of umbrella etiquette I need to learn? The day before, I walked home umbrella-less, and got scratched in the head by someone's umbrella. As I walk the streets, oceans of umbrellas come at me and I don't know how to navigate that sea! Do I lift the umbrella up? Do I make room for those without one? Do I let me spokes hit other umbrellas?

I know it's silly, but I don't want to scrape stranger's scalps as I walk by. I want to stay relatively dry and hide my wild hair under my umbrella...ella...ella...eh...eh...eh...under my umbrella (the new Rhianna song that I once loathed is now my theme, I love that song!).

Shelteringly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Halfway Home

My belongings arrived yesterday. My mover, Dov, came through for me. Although at over a grand, bastard better have! I was talking to Candie when I saw the big truck pull up. I was almost hysterical! I slept on the floor the night before and slept very little. I was stiff, and stressed, and anxious to get my life back in order. Two weeks of turmoil was enough for me!

Doc unloaded my meagre belongings, and broke the frame to my coffee table, which can be fixed. I spent the next several hours unloading and unwrapping and setting up. Only to crash at 8pm.

I am anticipating this Friday like never before. I get home around 230 in the afternoons. I plan on coming home on Friday at 230, getting in my pajamas and no one will see hide nor hair of me until Monday morning.

Tiringly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Hello from Victoria!

It's been almost two weeks since I reluctantly pulled myself away from the love of my life and moved to Victoria. No, I do not mean Edmonton. I mean Byron. It was sad and incredibly hard to leave him. Harder than I could ever imagine. And I cried.. a lot. I have never missed someone as much as I miss him. He'll be here soon, and then we won't ever have to be apart like this ever again. It's that anticiaption that is keeping me going these days.

You see, I'm homeless. I was told several versions of my move-in date. It was going to be the 15th, then the 10th, now the 15th. I have my keys and I'm moving in tomorrow. Well, I'm taking my suitcases there, since my belongings aren't coming until Monday. For the past two weeks, I have been crashing on couches and appreciating my friends' unending generosity. I'm tried, my back hurts, and I just want to unload my bags and set up a home for me and Byron. But no. My movers are tools.

Word of advice... do NOT choose a mover because their name is cute. "Mini Movers" was not a good choice. Cheap, indeed, but it's been a headache getting my stuff here. I had to leave my apartment with everything still inside, waiting for the movers when I flew here. They delivered it to the north part of Vancouver Island. I could not find my mover all week, and when I finally did find him, he asked "What can I do for ya?" Ummm, how's about your f*cking job!? His truck is broken and he's not coming with my things until Monday afternoon. Oh yeah, and he reminded me several times that he's on vacation. Who cares! I'm freaking homeless!

Something like this was bound to happen. The plans for getting here, the flight, the apartment, and especially Byron came together so quickly and smoothly that it was almost surreal. So this is just the other shoe dropping.

Once I move in, I can blog more. Until then, enjoy your beds.

Lovingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Fare Thee Well

As I type, these are the dwindling minutes of my time at this job. It's bittersweet, and I never thought I would think that. I have been dreaming of this escape for months. Now that it's here, I'm kind of sad. I'll miss a few people here. Not everyone, I can do without Jesus Freaks and Pious Pricks, but there are a few people here who made my time sweeter.

I'll miss the 2 gals I went for coffee with everyday. They've listened patiently to my troubles, and offered shoulders on which to cry, and stories to brighten my days. I'm going to miss the one lady who was always kind to me, and shared in my joy about Victoria. I always felt a bit out of place here, in a way, since I am so much younger than everyone else, and sometimes I felt like someone's daughter, or hyper little cousin. But in the end, this place has been a source of support and stress.

I've tidied my desk, filed away my things, and passed on as much as I could. There's nothing more to do except go home and pack.

Sadly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

For the Love of All Things Holy

How un-sweet is this...

In recent weeks, I have raised my blood pressure with my hatred of Rebecca Eckler, now known as Icky. I even went so far as to reserve her book "Knocked Up" from the library. You know, the book she thinks Judd Apatow ripped off for his hit movie? See previous posts, or Megan's blog. I am too tired to rant again.

In the meantime, I have had a lot of shifts in my life. Little things like a new job, moving, a new man, a new city... shall I keep going? So I wasn't really paying attention to any books I had reserved at a library. Well, I got the notice today. Icky's book is waiting for me. DAMMIT! I don't have time to read her shitty-ass book! And I sure as shootin' am not buying it. I'll have to wait until I land in Victoria to become a library memeber there, and reserve the book again.

Or perhaps the fates are telling me to make the "L" and let it go.

Busily Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Screwing the Pooch

This is how I spent my Friday afternoon...

You know how it is at a job you're leaving. You just came back from lunch, it's a sunny Friday afternoon, you're excited about plans for the evening, you're winding down your current job. The last thing you want to be mucking with are letters. So you find ways to entertain yourself. I just happened to enterain myself by Photoshopping my boss' head on David Hasselhoff's body. What's the harm in that? It's not like I have a million pressing projects to finish.

Wastingly Yours,

xoxoSallyt

Awe

It's awesome how the universe unfolds sometimes, isn't it? One minute, you're at your wits end about something, say a job, and the next, you have an idea of what's to come.

Less than 48 hours ago, I was facing a future of uncertainty about my career. Then I got the call I dreamed of and was offered a position with the BC government doing communications for the Education department. Otherwise known as my dream job.

Less than 48 hours ago, I was freaking out because I couldn't see how I was to move myself to BC on such short notice. Now, I have my flight paid for, a rental car, moving expenses paid, and a hotel to stay at. AND the gem at HR has asked every other communiations officer in the BC government if anyone knows of an apartment for me. I have 15 leads!

Besides that initial evening of stress and tears, this has turned out to be a smooth move so far. Things are coming into place quickly and with the greatest of ease! Even a guy I just started to see is cool with me going and says he's coming for a visit! Life is looking rosier every day!

So in a week, I am moving to Victoria. Not sure how much I'll be blogging about the move and my take on the city. But I'll be back. With curly hair thanks to the rainy days, a better job, and a brand new spring in my step.

High Kick of Happiness!

xoxoSallyt

A Whirlwind

I am moving to Victoria next week.

I found out late yesterday afternoon that I have a job as a Public Affairs Officer with the Education department with the BC government. A dream job. I start July 4th! EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

I am so excited, yet so scared. So relieved to get this job, yet so frightened of moving again. I have to ship all my stuff there, and I don't want to scrap everything and start all over again. I did that when I left Yellowknife a year and a half ago. I'm too old to do that again.

I have to think more and let this all sink in. I am moving to Victoria next weekend. I am moving to Victoria next weekend. I am moving to Victoria next weekend. I am moving to Victoria next weekend. I am moving to Victoria next weekend. Perhaps if I say it enough, I will stop being dizzy.

Excitedly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

I Met Chip and Dale

I jus had the best lunchtime treat.

I was out for my daily walk, and in the neighbourhood my office is in, it's quite old with big, lush trees. I walked along and saw these two little brown blurs come towards me. They were two little squirrels chasing each other! They ran up one old oak tree and back down again. They ran to the next tree, up and down and all around. I heard their giggles, and their tiny claws scratching as they ran around and around the tree trunk. They were fascinating to watch! And their little giggles made me giggle. I named them Frank and Steve.

They were a children's book just waiting to be written. And the book would be way cuter than Chip or Dale.

Adoringly Yours,
xoxoSally

My New Crush

Rodney MacDonald.

God help me, I am crushing on a politician, simply because he's willing to take Stephen Harper to the mat for renegging on deals. I am totally turned on by that!

You could tell Harper was going to get in trouble somewhere along the way as Prime Minister when he called the Atlantic provinces whiners a few years back. I'm surprised this backlash hasn't happened sooner.

I grew up in Nova Scotia, a "have not" province, and I live now in Alberta, the fat cat of the country. The differences are astonishing. Out here, people complain about wait times in emergency rooms and medical procedures, they cry about crumbling infrastrcure and pressure on the education system. I can understand that... to a point.

See, in Nova Scotia, wait times for anything medical is shockingly long. I, at 31, went in for a routine mammogram a week after my initial doctor's appointment, even though there was nothing wrong. My mother has a pain in her breast, and has to wait until April 2008 before she can get a mammogram. There is no money out east for anything. No development, no sustainability, nothing. The health care and education systems are stretched beyond capacity, and there seems to be no end in sight.

It makes no sense that when a have-not province has found resources that could potentially restore them finanically, the federal government would swoop in and take most of it away. Isn't that just perpetuating the poverty these provinces face?

So to Rodney, I say bravo for fighting for what's ours. Take that smarmy bugger to the mat for perpetuating the poverty cycle. And don't forget, Harper, that your forefathers did come from the east coast at some point. Your family didn't just pop out of the ground like Alberta oil.

Patriotically Yours,
xoxoSallyt

I Thought I Was a Goner

If you read this pretty pink page, you know I live in a sketchier part of town. It's not that big of a deal and it doesn't scare me, even when I am woken up at 4am by a SWAT team screaming "Get down, mother f*cker" as they tackle a criminal outside my bedroom window (true story from last summer).

But I was scared on Saturday morning.

I was walking to meet a friend at 8am, and I walked along the path next to the LRT (Edmonton's ghetto version of a subway). I had my MP3 on, I was jitterbugging to Wham, life was good. I saw a man ahead of me pushing a cart full of cans, and he was headed my way. As we got closer to each other, I veered to my left. He veered to his right. I shuffled to my right, he shuffled to his left. I saw a bat in his hand, and I froze. All I could think was "Christ, I am going to meet my end next to the tracks by a hobo with a bat". I stood still, scared. I have no survival instincts whatsoever and am rendered helpless in situations like this. He lifted his bat to hip waist and swung it a couple times. Then he started laughing. "I wouldn't hurt you, baby", he said with his toothless grin and he wheeled past me. "Not with a big bum like that!" I ran away and never looked back.

Was I saved by my big bum? Who knows. But that big bum scared me, and made me a little more leery of my hood. Damn him!

Hesitatingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Loving This

I want to preface this post by reiterating that I have a weakness for celebrity gossip.

As I got my haircut yesterday morning, my hairdresser, Marcy, and I discussed at length Paris Hilton. I feel dirty just typing those two names on my blog, but I am too full of malicious glee to stop myself.

SHUT UP! How priceless is that photo! I saw it on Friday and hooted with laughter. Justice is sweet! When a waste of skin and total boor doesn't get her way and then is photographed crying like that, life is great. It restores my faith in humanity to see Paris locked back up in the clink and for the full sentence.

Am I crossing a line if I hope she can't take life behind bars and chooses to hang herself instead? Meh, I thought so.

Maliciously Yours,

xoxoSallyt

This Little Piggie Went to Market...

I am grappling with a love-hate affair with Farmers Markets. I love going there, seeing the local produce, and supporting local farmers. I hate them because they are riddled with ignorant fools who push those monster strollers or zig-zag aimlessly with bikes. In short, they are filled with people who get in my way.

All I want is some inexpensive cherries, some saskatoons, if they're out, some bread, maybe a cookie. I don't want to have to get run over by an inattentive mother pushing the equivalent of a Sherman Tank. Seriously, folks, someone ran into my ankles this afternoon! There weren't even any cherries or berries or bread out. I scoffed, scowled and stomped home.

I just want some saskatoons! Is that too much to ask!

Wantoningly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

It's an Obsession... and I'm Wiped.

Where's MY book deal? Huh? Why am I not getting paid to write trite phrases about the kickiness that is my life?

Here's my confession... I read Leah McLaren's book last year. When I heard my numero uno imaginary enemy wrote a book, my green-eyed monster roared it's head and I had a hissy-fit. I wanted to read her crappy book so badly, but I refused to buy it. Re-frigging-fused. I was NOT going to pay money that I worked hard to earn to line the pockets of the likes of that snippet. But then I heard McLaren's book wasn't doing too well. Since it was Canadian chick-lit, I thought her publisher might send her on a nation-wide tour to drum up interest in the pre-Christmas months. And since I was living in a real city by then (farewell, Yellowknife!), I figured she would be stopping in Edmonton. So my plan was this... get the book from the library, read it, hate it, and when she came to town on her junket, I could go to the reading and scold her publicly for writing such cack. I realize this took a lot of effort and brain power on my part, and wasted precious time, but it soothed the savage beast inside me. I read it. I hated it. I waited for her book tour in vain. And I still hate the book.

I doubt Icky is going on a book tour, thank god. But I have just reserved "Knocked Up" out of the library, just in case. I am number 5 on the waiting list. Number 5!?! Really? Are there that many people who want to read this? Or are they like me and have this sick urge to read what Icky thinks is her own original tale?

On a happy note... The mangiest window washer is perched outside my office window right now. I thought he was a goner for a second there, when he splashed himself in the face with the washing water. I think he got his mullet wet.

Hysterically Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Talking 'bout my generation

Call it jealousy, call it cattiness, call it brilliance, call it what you will. But I would slap Rebecca Eckler AND Leah McLaren, if I could. I am infuriated each and every time I see them touted as the "voice of my generation", or promote themselves as such. Because they are not. They are prissy blowhards who deserve a kick to the box.

Thankfully, Little Miss Know It All (http://stevemegan.blogspot.com/) and I are on the same page with the same amount of vitriol for Ickler. I think I harbour way more than is natural for Leah M.

Both women are my age. All of us have similar education (although with two degrees, I have more, but I digress), and we all worked at some point as journalists. Except when I was at news conferences, press galleries, and crime scenes, Icky and Leah were sampling shit from cosmetics companies and prattling on about that. I am also more modest than those cows, hence I didn't moxie my way into a column in a national paper. But I can guarantee I would have made you more sense than those two.

Jealous? You f*cking bet I am! I have loans and responsibilities and jobs to maintain. I don't have the time to devote to promoting myself as the "voice of a generation".

Here is my voice... I was raised in the Maritimes, in a household with two parents and a mediocre income. I put myself through school, I moved all over the country, I have lived in almost every corner of Canada. I have close friends, and dear enemies. I have tried everything from food to drugs to crazy men. I have one of many voices of my generation.

To Leah and Icky: The women of my generation, nay - my whole generation does not spend their days worring about toe nail polish, sip martinis in posh downtown Toronto bars, or sue people for stories that vaguely resmeble my own. We worry about buying homes, paying student loans, finding someone decent to spend our lives with, how to balance life and a career. We live in and make homes all over the country, in far-flung places well beyond the limits of Toronto or Calgary. We have survived and seen and handled more than you could ever imagine. Our stories would shock, enthrall, entertain, and pretty much blow you out of the water. You're just the saccharine voices that leave us aching for something more substantial.

To you, Icky and Leah, I say good day!

Scribingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Oh, for the love of Jesus, shut up!

http://www.cbc.ca/arts/film/story/2007/06/04/eckler-sues.html

For god's sake, Rebecca Eckler, drop dead! Really, I think we've all had enough of your gal-about-town, look-at-me-I'm-pregnant schtick! Are you really that self-absorbed to think that a movie ripped off your life? Are you the only woman to ever find herself pregnant unexpectedly? And just because you happened to write a book about it, and someone made a movie about a similar, and may I add ficticious, event, does not mean you have sole rights to that story. If that was the case, darling, there would only be one book about a bored housewife, instead of the volumes written and hours of movies filmed since Madame Bovary.

Are you really that self-obsessed to think that a big Hollywood writer and a huge movie studio would rip the likes of you off? Really? You're going to go there? Becuase, if you think about it, Becka, you were a so-so "lifestyle" writer for the National Post. And you happened to have enough moxie to work that mediocrity into a book that not many cared about. So to flatter yourself into thinking that Judd Apatow and the movie execs saw your trifling book and thought to themselves "this is incredibly fresh and must be made into a movie" is sad on your part. Because I can guaran-fricking-tee they did not.

The wheel you did not invent. You just put new treads on it and wore the wheel out... again.

Loathingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

High Kick of Happiness

I am limber as a gymnast these days, since I have been doing my High Kick of Happiness (tm) since Friday. Why? Because I saw The Police!

Sweet Glen and I had floor seats, for which I am forever grateful to Sweet Glen. Floor seats! At an outdoor concert! To The Police! Quelle thrill!

When he arrived on Friday evening, we were grinning foolishly, still incredulous that we were going to the concert. All day Saturday was sort of a daze, and it still felt like a dream even when we listened to the sound check from my balcony. Mind you, throughout the incredulousness, I was still kicking out my joy.

As Glen and I took our seats and got comfortable for the show, four people sat in front of us. We all but high-fived each other when we saw they were tiny people. Not one was over 5"5. But when the show started and The Police took the stage, everyone jumped to their feet. After the first song, the little people left, supposedly for higher ground. I wonder, if you are tiny like that, WHY would you spend good money on floor seats at a rock concert? Surely you don't think everyone is going to be sitting, do you? It's not a Yo-Yo Ma concert, it's The Police and some of us have been waiting all our lives to dance to "Every Little Thing She Does is Magic"! Which I did, by the way. Who am I kidding.. I danced all night long!

I live shockingly close to the stadium; like I said, Glen and I listened to the sound check from my balcony. So after the concert, it took us ten minutes to get home. Along the way, we met these two "good old boys". They thought the effin' concert effin' rocked and Sting is still effin' god. Effin' right! One of them, the quieter of the two, went on about Stewart effin' Copeland and how he effin' keeps effin' good time and he's effin' one of the effin' best effin' drummers of all effin' time. I couldn't help myself. I declared that he had a Man Crush. To which his first response was getting a hooker for the night to show he ain't gay. Glen and I agreed - he doth protesteth too much. They wandered off, effin' into the night.

I still cannot believe I saw The Police. Glen has videos and photos to prove it. I feel another High Kick coming on....

Rocketteingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

A Muse for Me

I have been lacking in the blogging world lately. I haven't found the inspiration to wax poetic on any topic in particular. That's because I haven't done a lot lately. I had a chest infection last week. I spent Saturday in bed, hallucinating from a fever. I had a job interview this week that I wheezed through like a hair ball infested cat. I made spaghetti sauce from scratch this weekend. That's about it. A lot of phlegm and a whole lot of nothing.

Forgive me for my lack of words. Once I can take a deep breath again without collapsing into a coughing fit, I'll type again.

Wheezingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Know When to Hold 'Em

If there is one thing I have learned over the past couple of years, it's what battle to fight. Before, I would drop the gloves and fight over things I had no control over or business being involved in. Now, at 31, I am learning which battles to pick. Or am I...?

Several things have been brought to my "attention" lately when someone thinks I messed up. When I do mess up, I'd like to think I stick my hand (and neck) out. But in most of these recent cases, I am being criticized for things I have no control over or involvement in. I don't understand why I'm being chastized for a grown man not showing up to an event. Or why my knuckles are rapped when a stranger doesn't respond to an email. This is when I think I should stand up and throw the gloves off.

But I don't.

Instead, I wait. For what, I am not sure. Perhaps a better battle field? In the meantime, my knuckles are bloodied, my brow beaten, and my spirit crushed for no good reason.

I am afraid, though, that one of these days, I am going to get called on the carpet for something I have no invovlement in, and I will lose it. And I mean wall-eyed fit, riot-starting, throat-grabbing lose it. It won't be pretty and I'll probably lose my job. But I guarantee I'll feel a million times better!

I need to find a happy medium.

Straddlingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Ode to My Landlord

If you've read any of this blog, you will quickly learn that I live in a sketchier, although very colourful, part of Edmonton. I am pleased to update that the drug dealers next door have, in fact, moved out. And there has not been a crack head sighting in well over a month. Ka-za! I call that progress.

If you read any newspapers, or heed the media, you will hear all about the "Alberta Advantage" where there are hundreds of jobs and thousands of dollars just sitting here waiting to be earned. Yet, with that Advantage comes high prices, low vacancy rates, and people crying foul. I certainly can cry foul. Although I am gainfully employed, I am not raking in the big moolah like other Albertans, transferred or otherwise.

There has been a lot of coverage lately about landlords who are jacking up rents, sometimes doubling the rent. Some of these landlords have the audacity to raise the rent ridiculously for rat-traps. Oh, I understand they're in a business, and they have to raise rents according to the market. But to charge someone $1000 for a slummy bachelor? I think not! Plus, a lot of landlords are turning their buildings into condos. Most of my 'hood now has gone condo. Tiny apartments that are gross in the first place are now selling for $250,000. Nuts, I tells you, nuts!

So imagine my nail biting this spring when my lease was up. Was my building going condo? How much more would I have to pay a month in rent? Could I afford it? If it did go condo, would i want to buy my apartment? Fret fret fret...

A couple weeks ago, while sitting in my living room, I heard the shuffle of paper under my door. I scurried to get it, and saw the doom. My landlord was indeed raising my rent. My heart sank as I read the notice. My rent was going up $95 a month! Come August I'll pay $645 for a HUGE one bedroom. So big, that it could easily be a two bedroom! $95 month?! That's nothing!

My landlord deserves this ode for this... When I went to pay my rent last month, she opened the door with teary eyes. She apologized profusely for the increase, and said she agonized over it. She said it was the last thing in the world she wanted, but she had to raise it, just to cover the rising costs. How refreshing! Her tears and apology made me realize I am lucky to live in the place I do, even though I live in the quasi-ghetto.

I don't live in an Elvis song after all! Hurray!

smooches!
xoxoSallyt

Imagine My Horror

I am not a joiner. Let me clear that up right now. I don't join groups, or teams and I never have. It doesn't make me anti-social, I just loathe the idea of a company softball team, or a club of any sort. I have dabbled in that in the past, to tragic results. In fact, I joined a Scrabble club in Yellowknife once. I love the game, there was a club, I thought hey- this might be fun. Until I went to one "meeting" and some geek with ear hair and visible ear wax was the only one there. We played a couple games, he asked me how competitve I was with the game (not at all... I prefer the game with a few drinks, a joint and a few good friends), and then he re-arranged my letters to make better words. To thwart him, and to ensure I was never invited back, I blocked all the triple word score squares. Indeed, I was never asked back.

So imagine my horror with Corporate Challenge. I am the organizer of this for my work. In a nutshell, Corporate Challenge is when dozens of companies enter dozens of sports. This project has me stumped. I don't give a flying fig about these sports, yet I have to entice people to play. I have to make sure there is spirit and enthusiasm, yet I have none.

I went to a meeting last week, and it hit me why I loathe this project. Everyone there was the grown-up version of the people I loathed in high school. See, I hated high school. I hardly went, I spent my time smoking on the side of the building, or at the malls. I didn't join a team, a club or committee. I kept myself at arms-length from everyone and I liked it that way. The kids who joined everything and brimmed with excitement over sports and cheered for seemingly nothing annoyed me. And they still do, as 30 year olds. The room was full of the kind of people I loathed in 1992. The organizer said the word basketball, and there was a roar of cheers. She said the word games and there was whooping. The crowd clapped and cheered and hurrayed everything. Why? What is to cheer about? Why all the whooping? It boggled me, not to mention bothered me.

In a couple weeks, it's the kickoff. I have to go to a luncheon where there will undoubtedly be cheering galore. The opening ceremonies barbecue is a couple days later, and it'll be a repeat performace. At least at the barbecue, there is a beer garden, but too little too late.

Don't get me wrong, I love camraderie and carousing. I just don't like organized sports. Or maybe I don't like the people associated with organized sports who act like it's 1992 and we're back at Prince Andrew High. At least now, I don't smoke and no one is in danger of having a lit cigarette thrown their way. And for the record, I apologize to anyone I may have hit. I've grown up a lot in the time since.

Begrudgingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Hello, My Fans!

Thank you, sweet friends, for your words of encouragement of late. They, and you, mean more to me than you will ever know. Thank you for reading this pretty pink page, and thank you for telling me you like it.

When I started blogging, I did it simply to get my thoughts out of my head. I have a million of them, and this was my way of clearing my head, and spouting off on the absurdity of the world. I told a few people I had the blog, and then posted it on my Facebook page. And since then, I have gotten several messages from you saying you like my words. That makes my heart sing!

I got into journalism way back when as a way to write stories for a living. Foolish me didn't realize those stories came after years of slogging in the field, covering crime and crap. Now, I write for a living, but it's brochures and websites and not the things in my head. I wish I had a job where I could write creatively for a living. Hey now... that would make me a writer!!

That's my only desire from this life... to write as much as I can for a large audience. I have books in my head, complete with chapters and characters and plots! I have a children's book series in my head. I can see the characters as I write the tales. Maybe I will get my stories illustrated, and print them off myself for my little niece or nephew coming! I have short stories, and this blog, and words just spilling out of me all the time! If ONLY I had an avenue to get those words out and someone pay me for them!

Hmmm... I need a husband who will work to support us, while I write. I will keep a clean house and make supper and make sure he has clean underpants. But I will write and write and write. Are there any takers? Anyone? Anyone?! You'll be married to a future best-selling author! Anyone? No...? Okay. I figured as much.

But I thank you for your words of encouragement. Thank you for being my muse, my sounding board, and, most importantly, my audience.

Taking a Deep Bow,
xoxoSallyt

I Have So Much Love

MY SISTER IS PREGNANT!'

Jane and Craig are expecting their first baby in December, and I am so excited to become an aunt! My dear friends have known this news since I came back from Abu Dhabi, but I am shouting it from the rooftops! My sister is going to be a mom! It was the best souvenir I could bring back from Abu Dhabi.

On my last Monday there, Jane woke up and was still not feeling right. She keeps a very close eye on her body, so she knew there was something amiss. We went for coffee, and she stopped and got a home pregnancy test. We came home, and she did her thing on the stick and we waited. She sent me to the bathroom to check for her, and sure enough, there was the pink dot. I closed the cap and calmly walked to the living room and said nothing. She raced past me, to the bathroom and saw the dot for herself. I will never forget her face that day. Ever. She started laughing and crying at the same time, she started jumping and hugging. She called Craig and he came home to be with her. In that one moment, I saw what true love and pure happiness is.

I have never been so full of love for something that isn't even born yet! That tiny little baby growing in Petite's tiny little body is loved so much already by the people around it.

To Jane and Craig, I promise to be a good aunt. I will love for and care for your baby. Will babysit and give you a break when you need it. I promise not to give you toys that make noise, but promise me this... do not call me "Aunt" or "Auntie" or any variation thereof. That's tacky.

Familially Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Strange Currencies

Summer is here in Edmonton. For the time being, at least. And with it brings a host of strange and annoying habits of my fellow city-dwellers.

On Sunday, the temperature broke the 20 degree mark, so I whipped open all my blinds and windows and my stale apartment breathed fresh air again. I sat on my patio to get some sun on my now-pale skin, since I lost any tan I got in Abu Dhabi. But I got roared back inside. I have a neighbour with a big motorbike who loves to rev it in the parkade. The motor reverberates in the parkade, and then in the alley and drowns out all coversations going on in my head. Do you think I can get away with poring a bit of sugar in his gas tank? I'd like to.

Then yesterday, I was walking home, and I saw a homeless man in the middle of the road. Seriously, in the middle of an intersection on one of the busiest streets in the city. He had a cart full of cans and his life. He was struggling to put a shirt on in the middle of the road. Cars would inch past him, no one honked, and no one was trying to get him off the road. I shouted at him that he would get hurt but he drunkenly gave me the finger. But he was so drunk he pointed the finger in the opposite direction. I turned back after I crossed the street, and a man had grabbed his cart and shuffled him to the sidewalk. I've seen things similar to that before, but to see him weaving in the middle of the road was a bit strange.

Welcome, sweet friends, to the world of blogs Ms. Candie B-A. My best friend of 14 years (we met when we were 10) started her blog. Ch-check it out at www.oksothisisthedeal.blogspot.com. She is funny and talented and smart and you will love her world. I do.

On the not-so-strange front.. I have two stories written for the Slam-Off next week! Two! I am putting the finishing touches on them, and will decide soon which one to read. Two stories! Yay!

Head-Shakingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Writers Block!!!

Ugh! I am suffering from a case of writers block. Sever case, in fact. I have a big story writers thing coming up, and I need to wow the crowd with my words. But I have no words right now.

I go to this thing every third Wednesday called Story Slam. Writers from around the city gather and have 5 minutes to read a short story in front of the corwd. You're judged, graded, and given points. I have won three times already. And I'm not going to lie, folks, I love winning!

So on May 16th, it's the Slam Off, where all winners from the past year read their best work. It has to be original. I have some ideas, but nothing is coming to mind.
I like to write stories in the vein of David Sedaris. I take something that has happened in my life and blow it up into comedic proportions. Lots of crazy things have happened in my life, and I have no qualms about writing about them. But my well of ideas has dried up for the time being.

This is how I write... I walk. I walk around, and as I'm walking, usually the first paragraph comes into my head, and the rest of the story just tumbles into place. I'll walk around with a story in my head, and then one day, usually on my lunch break, I write my story. All the stories I write for Story Slam have been fermenting in my head for a week or so, and then I write them on my lunch on the day of the contest. But Slam Off is a big deal! I just can't let the stories mull in my head for a week. I have to start writing now! But when I do, nothing comes. Or if anything comes, it's cack.

I do have a story written already, about my desert safari. But I'm not sure it's the one I want to showcase at this event. I also have a collection of children's stories stored up, but that's not the proper venue for my children's tales. I need something funny, something innovative, something that has hidden layers, something with a delicate play on words, I need a grip!!

Thank you for allowing me to vent. I'll let you know how it all goes. Maybe someday, I will even publish a story right here on this pretty pink page.

Scribblingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

But I Didn't Do That Many Drugs!

I have a problem remembering some things. Candie is witness to my problem. I can remember recipes after reading them once, I kick ass at that Memory game, and I can recall who won what award for what role. But ask about my past and I just shrug my shoulders.

Every now and then, while talking with Candie, something will trigger us back to the strange days at ABC. That's Atlantic Baptist College for you uninitiated. And yes, I was there for 2.5 years. Those years sucked ass, and the only good thing to come out of it was a desire to want more from my life than a weak husband and a slew of children. Oh yeah, and my friendship with Candie. But I digress.

Anyway, something triggers a memory of ABC for Candie and she asks me if I remember when so-and-so did this and I said that. Huh? I usually do not. I honk "what" to her and wonder if I, indeed, ever threatened to throw someone into a field. I can't remember old friends who, at the time, meant the world to me. It's all a blur. And I was at Baptist College!! It's not like I had access to hard drugs there to erase my memory!

Which brings me to Facebook. Or what I like to call "Online Heroin". I love it. Love it, love it, love it! I have connected with old friends, lovers, and family. But every now and then, and it happened today, someone made a reference to something that apparently happened. It was from an old friend from high school (!) and I had no clue what she was talking about. None. When it comes to high school, the only thing I remember is hating every second. That's about it.

So I wonder... when I'm an old woman, will I tell my grandchildren how to make this zesty sauce I made once back in 2001, or will I be able to tell them about the woman I was? Thank god for blogs and journals!

Thoughtfully Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Quelle Weekend!

I have been going through a bit of a hibernation phase lately. When I was in Yellowknife, and even when I lived here before, I was a bit of a party animal. I loved the bars, I loved going dancing, and my weekends included copious amounts of eye makeup and alcohol. Not so much anymore. I am quite content to spend my weekends doing errands and chores and relaxing at home. Sadly, that often icludes doing that by myself. But that's another post.

This weekend, though, that was tossed out the window. I had visits from two, count 'em TWO old friends! Glen came in on Friday night on his way back to Yellowknife. We caught up, went for dinner, watched the Devil Wears Prada, and lounged. Time with him always includes good conversation and incredible laughs. And lately, it also includes gleeful squealing over the Police concert. 33 more sleeps! And I promise, you have Sting's leg. I'll fend Trudy off for you.

On Saturday, I went out with Becky. Well, we went to lunch on Friday, which was an ansolute delight. I've prattled on about her before when I saw her at Christmas. She's one of those friends who you can pick up where you left off when you see her again. Plus, she's the funniest person I know. She has coined phrases used in my vocabulary such as "PWT". We went to a comedy club with four other people, including her youngest brother, and they were all couples. We joked that we looked like a lesbian couple. I haven't had so much fun out in a long, long time.

It was a great weekend, albeit tiring since that was the most excitement I have seen in a while. But it got me thinking. I have been here more than a year, and a roaring good time only happens when friends from out of town visit? That's horseshit! I need to make friends. I think my couch and I have to part ways on the weekends. I can do without the copious amounts of booze, but I am sure my eye makeup would like a workout again.

Must strategize...

Plottingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Fugly

Aren't you all so lucky! TWO posts in one day... I was so traumatized by my mid-day bus ride, I forgot to relay this little tale of horror.

I have noticed of late there are some men in Edmonton who go out of their way to be quirky-ugly. Qugly? No. Just plain ol' fugly. They sport ratty moustaches like Brendan Flowers, they were outrageous vests and hats. The often have a penchant for cowboy boots and strange-fitting pants. Check, check, and check! This guy today had it all.

We hopped off the bus at the same time, and as he sauntered up behind me, I could hear the clack-clack-clack of his boots. I am pretty sure they were second hand, and I would bet a bottle of Fresca they were too big. He wore a super tight black tank top under an even tighter gray pleather vest. His pants were a miracle of science. I think he jumped from the 10th floor into them, they were so tight! They were also a purplish hue. And they were Mom Jeans. No pleats, thank god, but they were Mom Jeans nonetheless. They gave him hips! And his ass was huge in them. Oh, don;t forget, he had a thin, white belt on. I couldn't help but stare! But I figure these guys dress so outrageously just to stand out and get stared at. He succeeded.

When I see these guys, I play out a little scenario of their Alberta-bred pappies clapping eyes on them when they return to Stettler on spring break. Their fathers would be heartbroken to see their son strut around town with ironic fringed vests and tight jeans. Pappy would sit on the edge of the bed at night, distraught that Junior would come home from his learnin' all citified and fruity. Pappy would cradle an 8x10 of Junior in his rodeo gear, wondering where he went wrong. When I think of that mini-drame in my head, those hipsters in their hip-creating jeans look even more foolish.

Cattily Yours,
xoxoSallyt

All Aboard the Peasant Wagon!

I made a greivous error this morning. I took the bus in the late morning.

I take the bus everywhere. I don't have a car and although I want one, cannot afford one so I get on the Peasant Wagon. On weekdays, I am on the bus in rush hour. So in the morning everyone is fresh and showered and deoderized. In the afternoon, everyone is a staler version of their morning selves. But it's the bus at mid-day and late night that is scariest. The late night crowd are freaks and drunks and look like they'll make lampshades from your skin. Thus, I avoid late night bus trips at all costs. But it's the mid-day crowd that drives me crazy. It's because they are crazy.

This morning was especially ripe with fruits. One woman was yammering about the new art gallery being built here in Edmonton. She talked like she was in the know. To her, it is a waste of money and it's going to be ugly. But her biggest complaint was that the architect is from the States. Crackpot thinks the architect should be from Edmonton. It's not the unique shape of the building that's so offensive, nor the millions of dollars it'll cost, but that Joe Schmuck the Architect from Edmonton didn't design it.

Someone else was talking about what the government should do about housing prices. He went on and on how he's being gouged and he's on a fixed income and the government should help him. According to him, because he's on a fixed income, he should live where ever he pleases for free. Yeah, buddy? Well, I want to marry George Clooney but we all don't get what we want, now do we?

Now you know why I call the bus the Peasant Wagon.

Buses in the mid-day are full of weirdos; the mentally unstable, those who think the world owes them everything, and they all smell bad. And now that it's hot out, they're all wearing shorts and sandals and it's getting grosser. I have never seen such a wide array of thick, yellow toenails attached to pale, palsied legs in my life! I'm angry now, and taking it out by insulting appearances. Must end here before I go too far.

Next time, I will not forget my MP3.

Transitingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Like a Teenager

I was reading the paper this morning while having breakfast, and I almost choked on my coffee. In the Culture section, tucked away next to the movie listings, there was a list of upcoming concerts. Tacked on to the end was the announcement that Justin Timberlake is coming to town in August. Justin Timberlake! I squealed with glee! I would would have screamed but I have neighbours, and I AM 31 years old. Screaming over JT would have been a little over the top.

You know I am there! The chance to hear "My Love" live(my favourite song from Future Sex/Love Sounds, by the way) makes me giggle. I realize that except for the parents chaperoning the concert, I will probably the oldest person there. But dammit, I will be the happiest and most likely the loudest.

Justin Timberlake! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Adoringly Yours,
xoxoSally Timberlake

Kicky Old Women

If you read this blog, you know I have a soft spot for kicky old women. The ones who couldn't give a damn what people say or think of them. I love them and secretly yearn to be like them. One day, in about 30 years time, you will see me hitting the streets with glittery glasses and capes and paunchy hats. I will throw my head back with pride and say "suck it"! I cannot wait!

To hold me over, I will spot and relish the kicky old women of today.

To wit, I saw one this afternoon that killed me! She was across the street from my office, sitting at a bus stop. It was warm out today (double digits, no less!) and she had on this long, purple coat and white tam. A tam! Could it be any cuter!? Then she had on these massive sunglasses, but I already own a pair, so no big deal. She had a walker and while she was waiting for her bus, she was mowing down on chips. Just ramming them into her mouth. She licked her fingers with glee. She was smacking her lips. She was truly enjoying herself! I loved her for her sheer abandonment of what others may think!

Don't even get me started on old men. I love them. LOVE them. Not in an Anna Nicole way, but I love them nonetheless. When I see an especially feeble one, I just want to wrap them in blankets and feed them soup. My dad is going to be one. My grandfather was one. So was his brother.

But I can't grow up to be an old man, just a loony old lady. Cannot wait!

Agingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Under Pressure

I have weathered several queries about my single status lately. I am on Facebook and am harbouring a nasty addiction to it, and when contact is made with old friends, the question invariably comes up. "Are you married?" Or my personal favourite, "Why are you still single?"

My creative flair flares up and I want to make up some cockamamie tale of widowhood or divorce or a marriage to a criminal. But I just sigh and give the usual pat answers.

My sister got married last summer and it was a lovely ceremony. But throughout the reception, at least 10 different women came up to me and offered their advice and condolences. I would be dancing and a strange woman would grab my arm and with tears welling in her eyes tell me "It's okay, dear, your time will come." At first I was confused. Who was she and what am I waiting for? But as more and more women came up and offered similar advice, I realized they pitied me for being single. Turns out my mother, who was in South Africa for a month and a half before I got there, went all Pimpalicious on me and tried to set me up with any man under the age of 40. She asked these women about sons, grandsons, nephews, cousins, neighbours, anything with a penis that she could introduce me to when I arrived. Up until then, my mother had been very good about having a single daughter. Now she dispenses Dr. Phil's dating advice. As if I will listen to dating advice from a balding middle-aged man.

My nanna, on the other hand, has always questioned me. Years ago, she came from Newfoundland for my graduation from Saint Mary's. She grabbed my arm one afternoon and asked me if I liked boys. My 82 year old nanna was wondering about my sexuality! When I came back from Abu Dhabi last week, I called her. Her first question was "Did you meet any men over there?" Apparently, I was on a husband hunting tour. When I said no, she informed me it's time that I "settle down and take a man's name". I kid you not. Those were her exact words.

I am not dating anyone. I haven't met any decent men to spend a considerable amount of time with. I will not marry for the sake of marrying. I would love to meet someone and settle down and take their name. I would love to get married and have babies. I just haven't met anyone worth doing that with yet.

Are your questions answered now?

Yours,
xoxoSally

The Horse Races, Dhaling

Here are a couple more pictures from my trip. The day after I landed, Jane, Craig and I whizzed up to Dubai for the World Cup horse races. Jane and Craig make fun of their little car, "The Lancer", but it was a fine set o' wheels to me. Craig wanted to get to the races in the late afternoon so by the time we made it to our hotel, he was in a mad rush. Jane and I still laugh at the thought of the three of us screeching up in front of the Crown Plaza in La Lancer, piling out like fools, and rushing around the lobby.

We made it to the races and had a lovely day. It was bizarre, though, to see these people all dressed up in their finery eating shwarmas off styrofoam plates in a big field. Craig got a free bottle of champagne with his ticket, so we indulged in the champagne area called "Bubble".

Jane and I have similar voices, and very similar senses of humour. Both of us were looking around Bubble and appreciating God's humour (read: making fun of people). At the same time, we both clapped eyes on this tubby British guy and his chubby gal pal making out. We both saw tongue. And we both started screeching and screaming and laughing. We called him Jabba the Hut. We figured that Jabba was going home to have sloppy drunk sex with his poor girlfriend and imagined what Jabba would look and/or smell like in the morning. Seriously, it was the highlight of the races for me. I hope Craig wasn't too embarrassed.

Sarcastically Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Jane the Camel Molester

This is my favourite picture from the Desert Safari Jane and I went on. She's dismounting the camel, but looks like she's humping it from behind. We howled when we saw this picture.

I love her little legs!

xoxoSally

Sally the Camel

I told you I was going on a camel ride! It was the most embarrassing and frightening 3 minutes of my life. I had bruises on my inner thighs from gripping that stinky beast!

Achingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Back to the Grind

... and I am not happy about it.

I came to work super early this morning, since I still get up at dawn (hats off to you, Circadian Rhythms). As I came in and no one was here yet, I could sense a change. Then as people trickled in and news was exchanged, I could tell something was up. I have a few meetings this week, so maybe something will come of my spooky spidey senses. Or perhaps I am full of shit.

I am not thrilled to be here. At all. It's kind of making me sad, really. All weekend, I was alone. All alone, and that's a shock when you have just spent 2 weeks carousing with your sister. But even that sick sense of lonliness feels better than what I have going on here at work. It's time to move on, I think. Maybe this is just the post-vacay blues. Or maybe I'm just full of shit.

On a funny note, my 92 year old grandmother asked me this weekend if I had met any men in Abu Dhabi. It was her first question about my trip. She also advises me that it's time for me to "settle down and take a man's name". At least she's not questioning my sexuality anymore.

Blahingly Yours,
xoxoSally

Stranded in the Desert

Oh, it's not as dramtic as I make it sound, but I am stranded in the Abu Dhabi airport waiting for a connecting flight from Bahrain. The captain of the plane thought it was a brilliant idea to land the jet in a thunderstorm and now a couple hundred people are waiting for that plane here. We're four hours behind now, and last check 15 minutes ago, the plane MAY be leaving Bah-frigging-rain in 20 minutes. So any foray into Amsterdam is off. I may have 2 hours to spend there. Enough to shower, change, and get on the next plane.

I have, in the past, been in situations like this before, and it was always in Canada. I must say, it is quite civilized here. No one is screaming, no tempers, and the only tears are from tired toddlers. There are no ranting Americans, or screeching Canadians. Everyone is very calm about it. Very "que sera". Even when I could feel a wall-eyed fit brew in my guts when the barely-speaking-English steward failed to answer my question, I stepped back and realized I would be a huge cliche. The ranting, raving North American.

Oh, I see some movement at my gate. Must run before they leave without me!

Tiredly Yours,
xoxoSally

Where am I?

I am in Abu Dhabi now, and am flying home tomorrow at midnight. What a weird and lovely trip. Jane and Craig have been the best hosts, and I have seen a lot. Dubai is mindboggling. The desert is hot. Camels are hard to ride. I don't like sweating profusely. Haggling over prices is common practice here. And "Inshallah" means "if god wills", and my sister uses it a lot. My sister is also very lucky and has a wonderful husband. I love them both.

I have pictures and stories to share, but I will do so after my 30 hour flight tomorrow.

Soarlingly yours,
xoxoSallyt

OCD or Just Anal

I leave tomorrow morning for Abu Dhabi. And today, I have a million things to do. So many, in fact, that I an overwhelmed and writing this instead of taking care of business. Hillie would be so mad.

So I made a list. Actually, I make lists all the time. For everything. Things to do, things to get, CDs I want, books I want, boys I like, and tasks to accomplish. So of course I have several lists on the go for this trip. Clothes to pack, shoes to pack, toiletries to pack, a list for the checked-in luggage, another one for my carry-on, household tasks to take care of, trinkets and gifts to bring with me; there are literally dozens of lists fluttering around my home this morning.

I have accomplished several items on my task list already. Now I must run to the gym and go exchange some money. What a sense of relief to cross out a line on my to-do list. I still feel like I'm missing someting. Perhaps if I give in totally to my OCD, I'll lick a few doorknobs and pull a few hairs for good measure.

Busily Yours,
xoxoSally
(PS: For the record, I do not lick door knobs or pull hair. Please don't report me. Smooches!)

In the Ghetto

I had to kick a crack whore out of my apartment's foyer last night. I came home and she was perched on the ground, sans shoes, digging in her purse. I asked if she was waiting for someone and she looked up at me with glazed and unfocussed eyes and mumbled something incoherent. I went inside my home and tried to get her face out of my head. But then I got mad.

Hells bells! I am not having a crack whore smoke up in my home! I was about get all indignant and bitchy to her as I hustled her out the door, then I stopped. She's someone's daughter, I reminded myself. I work at a social services agency, and my colleagues help women like her all the time. So I was nicer. As I went down the steps I saw her hauling on a crack pipe. I went down and told her the landlord is on his way and if he finds her, he's calling the cops (I did no such thing). She packed up her bag and scurried off into the streets.

I live in a somewhat sketchy part of town, if you haven't guessed already from previous posts. But the 'hood is getting better. More people like me (read: employed and can pay rent) are moving in and a lot of the scummy apartments are being cleaned up and turned into condos. It's going to get better and safer.

It's just sad to see things like that. One Sunday morning last summer, I whizzed open my blinds to see a woman in the dumpster. She was looking for clothes and food. She was younger than my baby brother, but looked as old as my parents. It's a sad state of affairs, and I am trying not to get all NIMBY on the sitch. After all, these girls were someone's baby at some point.

Yours,
xoxoSally

Introducing... Sadness

I just read the Rheostatics are disbanding. They are hands down one of my favourite bands. Their 1993 album, "Whale Music", would be one of my desert island discs. I love them live, I love them on my stereo, I love them period. I have a serious crush on Martin Tielli. I have seen them live several times. I have run across a coffee shop I once worked at to tell the bassist, Tim Vessely, I loved his music. "Shaved Head" breaks my heart every time I hear it. To me, the Rheostatics are the quintessential Canadian band. Their soaring melodies and intricate lyrics embody this country.

And if you have no idea who or what I have just raved about, please look it up. Trust my, sweet friends, you will fall in love, too.

I need to go home and soothe myself with the Rheostatics.

Distraughtingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

"I wanna checka you unda-pant!"

I live next to a corner store run by a Chinese couple. The woman is very nice, even though she is there every single day. Whenever I go in, she makes small talk with me, usually telling me how "code" it is outside. Lately she's been complaining about the kids coming in and stealing. Last week, she ranted like a loon to me about kids gypping her out of 14 cents. But today took the biscuit.

I was walking up my street, when I saw a gaggle of people on the sidewalk ahead of me. I realized it was the tiny Chinese lady confronting the teenagers she thought stole from her. They were just kids, albeit the kind that look like they know already what jail looks like. Little Chinese Lady was fighting with one girl in particular. The girl had a puffy jacket and white track pants on. The Chinese lady was yelling that she has things in her pants. The kids yelled back. Then the Chinese lady yells "I wanna checka you unda-pant!" Such passion over a freezie, or bag of chips. Chinese Lady is thinking though, by keeping the big ticket items like crack pipes and bongs and pictures of holographic waterfalls behind the counter. I kid you not - I can buy a crack pipe with my diet pepsi at my corner store.

Right about now, I should hear Elvis' "In the Ghetto". It plays in my mind as I walk around my 'hood anyway.

Thuggily Yours,
xoxoSally

Sweet Jesus

I leave for Abu Dhabi in a week, and I am sick. Not the sniffles or a tummy ache, but the flu. I am dizzy as a bat and climbing into bed is a chore when your legs feel like cement. I don't even have an appetite, which is the clearest sign I am not well. I went home yesterday and crawled from my bed to couch all afternoon. Dammit!

I couldn't even go to Story Slam last night, which I love going to and reading at. On Story Slam days (3rd Wednesday of every month), I usually write my story to read that night on my lunch break. I have an idea or two floating in my head, and the first paragraph comes to me as I walk around town. But yesterday, I was a mess and couldn't write my own name, let alone a short story! As I lay in bed shivering, my heart was at Story Slam. I'm also starting a Writers Circle with some other writers from there.

This better clear up before I fly out next week. You hear me, flu bugs!? You have seven days to shape up and ship out. You are NOT coming to Abu Dhabi with me!

Phlegmingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

The Stand Up Artist

I was stood up for a casino this weekend. A CASINO!!! I was supposed to go to dinner on Saturday night with someone I dated for the briefest moments of time, and I was really looking forward to it. At 8pm, dizzy as a bat from hunger, I called him to see what's going on. As soon as he answered, I could tell he was distracted. He was at the Casino. He said he'd call later and he never did.

That was the second time that day I was stood up. A friend from work was supposed to come by and fix my computer. But he "got a better offer" (his words, I swear) and didn't come at all. I am paying mondo bucks tonight to have a professional come to my home and fix my computer.

What is it about me that screams "stand me up!"? Do my pheromones tell others that I love making plans with someone only to be ignored at our meeting time? What gives?!?! I cannot tell you how many times in recent months I have been stood up. It's a shocking number for one person to endure. It's disheartening and defeating, and I am this close to declaring hermit status.

Do I smell? Am I mean? Am I socially retarded? WHAT is it about me that attracts people who are stander-uppers!?! I am at a loss...

I am Lonely,
xoxoSallyt

I am Jealous, but also in Awe

I love Radar magazine. I mourned the day they announced they were folding. I squealed with glee when they brought out the online version. I did a High Kick of Happiness (TM) when I read they were publishing again. The magazine is smart, fresh and incredibly funny.

Yet I am jealous.

I love to read the Review section online every morning. There is some facet of pop culture that a writer takes on. It might be a new singer, an old singer, khaki pants, a tv show, or, in today's case, a video game. As I read, I hear my own voice in those words. And on the mornings when I giggle at the Review, I also rage inside. I wonder why I'm not doing that for a living. To get paid to write about the insane and silly world of pop culture for a living, SHUT UP! That is a fantasy of mine. I could do it. I know I could.

I suppose I could use this blog for my own little Radar Reviews. But that is so overdone, in my opinion. Plus, I wouldn't be getting paid like I would if I wrote for Radar. Perhaps if I label this post as "Radar Magazine" and "jobs", some angel of mercy will find me. Or maybe I should stop whinging about it and submit myself to an editor. I have ideas, yes I do, I just need to share them with someone other than the five people who know about this blog.

Covetingly Yours,
xoxoSally

I am a drooling fool

How I manage to survive in the world of computers is beyond me. How I can be 31 years old and be so shaky with software and gadgets and technical stuff is absurd! Text messaging? Pfft! You got me! I just got an mp3, and I love it, but know the very basics on how to use it. I don't have a cell phone, I have basic cable, I just got a DVD player, and the computer I just got came second-hand (I love it, Stace, and thank you for it!). I am not a techincal gal.

So what made me think I could fix my own computer?

It went on the fritz on Saturday. I couldn't turn it on and it just kept rebooting with the same message... I could choose Safe Mode, Last Good Configuration, or Start Windows. I tried all of them but with no luck. I patiently waited until a computer whiz I share my office with once a week came in yesterday. He suggested I had to fix it from a disc. So I ran home, found the stack of discs that Stace sent with the computer and flicked the one I saw that said "Repair"into the machine. It was sitting right next to the handbook with "Installing Windows XP" on it. I clicked a few times, hit enter and ta-da! I erased my computer. When the time came to install the Windows disc, I searched fruitlessly for it. I erased my computer without having the right disc to get it all back. DAMMIT!

Shitballs! Do I have to go out and buy Windows XP? And then how do I get what's in the box into my computer? I wish I had a brainy boyfriend (or a friend) to do this for me. While he's fixing my computer, I could fix him a lovely meal.

I just want my Limewire, my MSN Messenger, and my email back again! Is that so much to ask!

Stupidly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Couldn't Come at a Better Time

I have a vacation coming up soon. On March 29th, I'm flying over to Abu Dhabi to visit my sister and brother-in-law for 2 1/2 weeks. It cannot be coming at a better time.

My life feels in flux at the moment. My head is fuzzy with deadlines, needs, commitments, and uncertainties. A potent cocktail. I have the ever-nagging feeling that something has to give soon, that life as I know it cannot chug along the way it has lately. I am hoping that time away will clear those feelings and I will come back refreshed, with clear head and a clear conscience, ready to tackle the next phase.

For now, though, I need a good cry and a hug.
xoxoSallyt

Anger Management

I have an anger issue. I will get angry at something or someone, and instead of letting it out I will rage and seethe to myself for hours, days, weeks! If I am mad at someone, I will not talk to them but let rage boil in my guts. I fantasize about all the things I want to tell them, and I usually cry while doing so. Either my rage dissipates and turns into ennui for that person, or I walk away. I have ruined friendships, relationships, and working partnerships with this behaviour. It's not healthy and I know it! I want it to stop, but what leap to take - from seething in my wretched head, to letting someone know they've hurt me. But it's a step that's coming soon.

My mother acts the same way and I learned all her good seething tricks. I can slam a cupboard door with the best of them. I can give someone the silent treatment like no one else. I grew up hating her seething rages. I hated knowing she was angry about something, and I always thought I did something to make her rage yet again. I hated her behaviour when I was a child, yet I cannot stop myself now as an adult. But I am trying.

Ironically enough, when someone else around is mad and I can sense their seething rage, I wish they would just let it out and get it over with. I am seething right now and full of rage about something I can easily heal by letting it out and getting it over with. Is this the big step? God, I hope so.

Grringly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

The Agony and the Ecstacy

I have to get my wisdom teeth out! I went to the dentsit today and he sees decay (ick and eww) in my wisdom teeth and I have to get them pulled this summer. I have heard nothing but horror stories about getting these teeth pulled! At least I can look forward to being stoned legally. Hazy summer, indeed.

I saw Rod Stewart last night and loved it! I burst out hysterically laughing at times, though. He can be a shade ridiculous. He had this mini-film called "The Rodfather" before the show started. Tears streamed down my face from laughing. And I quote... "One man had the choice between kicking balls or kicking ass". I kid you not. For some reason, he felt the need to lay on the stage at one point (he is 62, after all) and when he sat up, his hair, never the pinnacle of tidiness, was stuck straight in the air. But the "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy" number was nearly the death of me. At least he had the graciousness to segue into the song by saying it was time for the absurd. There were Rod Stewart thongs for sale.

Sexily Yours,
xoxoSally

Do not loosen up your buttons, Hoochie!

Are they effing with me? Are they effing with the world in general? WHY are the Pussycat Dolls having a reality show to find a new Doll? What's that pounding noise I hear? Why yes, it is the the Seven Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

The show is airing on MuchMusic this week and you KNOW I will be watching it. If only for the chance to feel smug for being a normal woman who does not hump chairs and the air recklessly in my bra and panties. You should all thank me for that, by the way.

The reviews I have read on this trash have not been kind. Quoi? Je me shocque! As if this show will be groundbreaking and critically acclaimed! It's just a vehicle for 13 year old boys to further explore their newfound woodies, and misguided little girls to start acting all sexed up. The piece de resistance is that the PCDs like to tell us they are promoting "confidence" and "feminism" and "girl power". If feminism means squat dancing and slapping my own ass, then I politely decline.

Little girls these days haven't got a chance...

Sadly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Every Little Thing (S)He Does is Magic

Gorgeous Glen...

I got an excitable phone call yesterday morning from Gorgeous Glen, telling me he got us tickets for the Police! Yipee! AND the tickets are floor seats. Bravo, Glen! Bravo.

I love the Police, but probably not as much as Gorgeous. Years ago, while I was at the Baptist College, I had joined that Columbia House CD scam. (I was 19, back off!) In the mail one day, I got the Police's Greatest Hits. I was thrilled and couldn't wait to hear it. But I was mocked relentlessly for it. I felt shame for loving Wrapped Around Your Finger. So I sent it back, red-faced. Stupid!

Forget those fools who don't realize brilliant music when they hear it! I am seeing the Police! And I will dance and sing and try not to crawl to the front to hump Sting's leg.

Thank you, Glen. The gin is chilling as we speak.

Lovingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Take My Breath Away

I've had this happen for a while, and it just happened again. I think I saw someone I once knew well. Since moving to Edmonton more than a year ago, there have been many times where I think I saw someone who once meant a lot to me. It takes my breath away. And then I realize it's not them. One of them was a giant mistake, and the other one is my kryptonite. I knew both of them in Yellowknife. The mistake lives in Edmonton and the kryptonite moved to Edmonton the same time I did.

It happens like this... I'll be walking down the street, or on the bus, or (in the most recent case, and the inspiration for this post) sitting in my corner office looking out the window, and I'll see a man who looks just like one of the aforementioned. I gasp, do a double take, stare very creepily, and realize that it is not, in fact, the man who broke my heart.

The mistake was just that... a giant mistake. He decorated his own leather coat for god's sake, what was I thinking!? The kryptonite turned me into mush everytime I was near him. I lost all sense and sensibility around him and usually made a fool of myself.

Sometimes I wish I could run into both of them, confront the ghost of men past and move on. But knowing my luck, I would do so on the day I looked like a hairball. I would take a deep breath and walk away.

Heart-breakingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt