A thing of beauty

Is this a beautiful picture?

It makes me proud to see Janie holding her little girl. She's an amazing woman.

Look how good she looks here! When taken, she had just given birth five days earlier!

Oh Petite, I miss you!

xoxoSallyS

Happy Birthday, George!

It's a day late. He turned 2 on the 21st. Where does the time go? It seems like yesterday he was this little bundle of joy turning people into bundles of nerves. He was so big and so sweet and so cuddly. He was soft and warm with the sweetest little head of reddish hair.

Now look at him!

















He sings, he dances, he talks, he plays, he talks and talks and talks. He's smart and loving and fun. He also has good parents who are doing an amazing job of raising a ball of energy.

Take count, please. George is the fifth birthday in December. Five. Five! March is apparently a good month for fertility in my family. Dave and Nicole bucked the trend and are expecting in May. So for now, we put away the cake and party hats for a few months.

Happy Birthday, Georgie!

xoxo Auntie Sally

Happy Birthday, Evelyn!

My sister had a baby this morning. Evelyn Clare Salter.

(pronounced EVE-lyn)

I am so happy for Jane and Craig and I am dying to see how George reacts to her.

Waiting for pictures from my parents... hint hint hint.

My sister had a baby... what a peculiar and delightful phrase to say. Jane had a baby girl.

Congratulations!

xoxoAuntie Sally

I want one

Recent months have been rather fruitless on this wee pink blog. I felt I didn’t have anything of worth to say that didn’t make be sound like a bragging douche or a whiney brat. So I kept my fingers still. November turned out to be a bit more productive, and sometimes I think I have something of worth to say.

But I want more.

I want to get nominated for a Canadian Blog award next year. I suppose that means I have to write more, and I need to have readers besides my family. I need to build a following. The funny thing is that I have gone to several social media courses since being in the GoA for the past six months. I have been told how to build a following and how to make blog postings sexy. But that is making blog postings about government stuff sexy. Not making me and my life and my musings sexy. They are already naturally sexy, don’t you know? No? Now you do. My life and my musings are sexy. (psych!)

Do I start a series about how progressively annoying our upstairs neighbours are? Do I blog about our house hunting experience? Do I blog about future attempts to become a mother? Now, there’s bringing the sexy!

I don’t want to do political things. Everyone has their opinion and I don’t think I’m invested enough to care to blog about Iggy or Eddy. Besides, I work in government, and when I am home, I could give a rip about politics. Religion? Hells to the no! I think organized religions are a farce and I don’t want to invite the kooks of the world to bombard me with their “truths”. (Starting right now. If you read that line and get all uppity, take it elsewhere, sister.) I’m not going on some weight loss journey because to me, that’s setting myself up for failure. I have no real hobbies except for cooking, reading and watching TV. Which may explain my need for a weight loss journey, but re-read the line two sentences earlier, please. Do I blog about the weirdos I see on the bus? Because I see a lot of them. A lot.

My head hurts from this existential crisis. So may I be so lazy to ask my seven readers… What do YOU want to read from me?

Satre-esque Yours,

xoxoSallyS

December 8th

I was four, almost five, when my brother was born. I strangely remember chunks of that evening.

My sister and I were at my Granny and Papa's house but I don't remember for how long or when we got there. All I know is I was watching Little House on the Prairie when we got the call. Being four, three-days-short-of-turning-five, I was mad that my show was cut short by a trip to the Fredericton hospital.

I think we were in the waiting room with my grandparents for a while, then we found out that David James had made the scene. They brought my sister and I to the bassinet that held him. I remember very clearly looking at this perfect round head with scrunched eyes and down-like hair, "That looks like my father." And sure enough, he does, even to this day. A little taller and broader than David James I, but they look the same.

Then they brought us to see our mother, who had just had a c-section and was high as a kite. It was 1980, after all. She scared me as she loopily asked us to give her a kiss. I just wanted to go look at the tiny creature who looked like my father.

Dave was a cute baby, with the nastiest diapers ever but a strong sense of self. He was a strong little boy and a talented young man. Now, he's a husband and soon to be a father. I wonder if, when I see his baby, I will think "that baby looks like my brother"? I just hope his baby's diapers show mercy to him and Nicole.

Happy Birthday, Dave.

Reminiscingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS

Look! Over There!

I am so over this Tiger Woods thing and I'm not even watching/reading!

Why do people care if a guy cheats on his wife with some skanks? Men do it all the time, and yes they are dicks for doing so, but it's his family's business and not ours. I'm not saying forgive Tiger, or any man who cheats, but we should let the affair lie with that man, his wife and thier family.

Why are the media and the public seeking a confession or an apology? He didn't step out on us. He should not have to atone for his sins in public. He should be begging his wife and family for forgiveness and make amends to them for not being a good and honest man. He should be apologizing to his wife for not respecting her, himself and their relationship the way it should be respected.

It's hard enough for a marriage and a family to heal after affairs. To be in the media glare would make that healing all the more harder.

Look away, folks. There's nothing to see here.

Look Awayingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS

Happy Birthday to my Little Titter

Jane turns 32 today. Scissor kicks!

I like to brag about Jane to anyone who will listen. She’s a determined and willful woman, who takes on whatever she puts her mind to. She’s also indefatigable. Jane is a bundle of energy – always talking, walking, talking, cleaning, thinking, talking and moving. She’s also incredibly strong. Jane can take on a lot and come out the winner.

For example, this fall. She is pregnant (due on December 15^th), has George to care for, a husband to nurture, a house to tend to, AND she’s working on her Masters in Education. When I tell people this, they are impressed. Pregnancy, a toddler and a husband are enough. Add a Masters to the mix and you have Jane. She knows what she wants, knows how to get what she wants and just does it. No complaints, no pity parties, no hissies. And if there is a hissy, you know it’s warranted.

Craig is lucky to have her as a wife. George is very lucky to have her for a mother (she’s a great mom!). PBS 2.0 doesn’t know how lucky she/he is yet. I am blessed to have her as a sister. There was a time we were far apart, physically and spiritually. But not anymore.

Happy Birthday, Janie. I love you and am very proud of my little titter.

xoxoSallyS

Nurse Hillie

My mother was a nurse. And a very good one at that. When we were kids, my mother would bandage and balm our cuts without so much as a squeal. We could puke everywhere and my mother would not wretch as she cleaned it up. Poop, pee, puss, bring it on – my mom never wavered. But when we’d be at a friend’s house and hurt ourselves, the mothers there would squawk and balk at the sight of a cut finger. Not my mom.

Jane and I call it “Nurse Hillie Mode”.

To this day, if we have any medical question or have something weird to show her, her voice changes, her demeanour changes and Nurse Hillie comes on the scene. Her voice gets more even and she talks just a little slower and a little deeper. Her brow knits a bit and she very efficient. Blood pouring out of a cut? She’ll calmly and firmly wipe it away and see how bad the cut is. Ingrown hair? She’ll firmly wipe the area and efficiently pluck that hair free. There’s a picture of my mom on her graduation day from nursing school – she must have 19 or 20. She’s wearing one of those old-fashioned nursing caps and the crisp white uniform. Whenever Nurse Hillie comes on the scene, I picture a swish of a nursing cape and Hillie in her nursing cap zooming in close on the malady.

So when I sent her this link yesterday, I expected Nurse Hillie to love it. NOTE: If you are at all squeamish, do not look. It is disgusting and is still haunting my thoughts and making me gag. That's why it's not embedded. If you're a masochist, you will click on the link.

Nurse Hillie loved it, natch. In her Nurse Hillie voice, all deep and clam, she tells me that it is not a zit but a blocked sweat gland and then tells me how they develop. She said the goo coming out is thick and …I cut her off, switching the topic to her favourite – George.

“So how is George,” I asked, trying to direct her away from the horror.

“Cute,” she said curtly, as if George was a nobody. “The stuff that comes out smells like sour milk.”

Oh Hillie. When she said that, I pictured the swish of the nursing cape as she ran off to the next medical dilemma. Her voice got animated and bubbly as she talked on an on about George. Nurse Hillie left the scene and Hillie was back in full force.

I miss her.

Medically Yours,

xoxoSallyS

In Defense of the Snuggie

Mock not, my friends, when I say the Snuggie is one of the greatest inventions of our time. I was once a mocker, too. I laughed uproariously when the commercials aired. I declared that someone wearing a Snuggie looked and was ridiculous. A blanket with holes? Who could be so dumb? I am. Except that I am not dumb for owning and proudly wearing a Snuggie.

Byron’s and my quest for comfort drew us to the Snuggie. In early October, Edmonton had a freakish cold snap. We had just moved back there from the balmy shores of Victoria, where the average temperature in the winter is about 3 degrees. When this cold snap hit us, we chattered our teeth and wondered how we could possibly survive in Edmonton. Never mind that Byron grew up around here and I had been living there for years before we moved.

One Saturday, in the middle of the cold snap, we decided to brace ourselves for winter. I have rented since I left my parent’s house so whenever it was chilly, or I got a chill, I would crank the heat. In the two years we were in Victoria, By and I kept a very warm house. For the first time, he never had to pay for heat, so he also cranked the heat whenever he wanted. Here, we have to pay for our heat. We are very reluctant to turn the heat up. How could we remain comfortable and warm, while not bankrupting ourselves?

One word.

Snuggie.

We got provisions for a long winter that weekend. We got flannel sheets, a kettle, slippers… and Snuggies. They are tan. They go past our feet and the sleeves extend well past our fingertips. They have a high neck and are fuzzy. They are the best things ever. We care not if we look silly sitting on the couch, all Snugged up. The shame has disappeared when we walk around the house in our Snugs to get a book or a drink. It’s like a warm, body-length hug. The thermostat has not gone past 20, even though it’s frosty outside and there’s a nip in our house. We no longer care, for we have our Snuggies.

Seriously, if I could, I would give a Snuggie to all my family and friends just so we can share the joy of wearing, curling up under, and snuggling under the Snuggie.

Comfortably Yours,

xoxoSallyS

I'm kind of gross.

It’s true. I am kind of gross. Strike that – full-on gross.

My office is on the 9^th floor and right across from my office is another office building. My desk faces the window so I can see all the workers at their desks toiling away or eating lunch or talking with people or looking out the window. Knowing they look out the window, and that they can probably see me in my office does not deter me from my gross ways.

I floss at my desk. If I have a bat in the cave, I will dig for that bad boy – with Kleenex, of course. But still, I pick my nose at my desk. I will re-adjust the girls. I will re-arrange my pants. I eat lunch and take advil and apply balms and salves. I act as if no one is watching, as long as my back is turned to the door.

I wonder if they see me and think “who is that narsty girl in the window”. Does anyone else do this? Or am I alone in my gross office ways?

Flossingly Yours,

xoxoSallyS

Toodle-ooo

Oprah is leaving her show in 2011. And not a moment too soon, if you ask me. I loathe Oprah. She’s number one on my Celebrity Assassination List. Right before Nicolas Cage and Celine Dion.

I hate Oprah’s sense of self and how she thinks that what she thinks is what everyone else should think. That stupid “Oprah’s Favourite Things” show? Silly. Sure, she can spend $400 on a bath robe. The rest of us schlumps have to make do with our paltry $40 robes. When Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s book “Love in the Time of Cholera” was on her book list, that’s when I loaded my rifle. How dare she call him Gabby? Should we call her “Opie” or “Ra-Ra”? No, because she’d eat us alive, like she did recently with those corn dogs in Texas. And what is she doing eating corn dogs, anyway? Didn’t she not just 20 years haul a wagon’s worth of her fat onstage to celebrate her weight loss? And she unleashed Dr. Phil on the masses. For that alone she should burn in hell. Is Dr. Oz her fault, too? Come to think of it, isn't Opie responsible for the scourge that is Rachael Ray? Damn her!

I can’t go on about the many ways Oprah is a drain on our culture. Mostly because I refused to watch Oprah years ago. It was around the time she did “Beloved” and she screamed, with out-stretched arms, “I AM the beloved!!!”

So to Oprah I say this: Don’t let the door his you on the way out.

Talk Showingly Yours,

xoxoSallyS

Who's Coming?

The Company’s Coming headquarters is just around the corner from my house. Imagine my glee a few weeks back when I saw a sign outside their building advertising their annual cookbook sale. I got up early last Saturday and went. The books were on sale for 50-80% off because of scratches and dents, but the ones I picked up looked fine. Besides, I would do enough damage on my own just using them.

The warehouse was packed with books, and Jean Pare herself perched in a corner, autographing books. There were older women, women my age, strollers and old men. You could tell we all shared a love of these cookbooks and strangers consulted strangers on the value of a certain cookbook over another. It was very civilized as we got into an impromptu line and snaked around the perimeter of the warehouse, poring over stacks of books. It was bliss. I even got Mrs. Pare to sign the book of cookie recipes for my mother.

I picked up a copy of the casserole cookbook for myself. My mother had this book when we were growing up and I mocked her relentlessly for it. Some of the recipes from that book are just downright gross. Carman’s Caper is just wrong on so many levels. Hillie loved it and it remained a staple in our meal rotation for years. I had forgotten about (blocked out?) that meal until I flipped through the book and was reminded of the bland, mushy mess of Carman’s Caper. Then I flipped through the book again, looking for one of the more heinous culinary creations – Fish Stick Casserole. Rice, layered with a can of tomatoes, fish sticks and cheese on top. I hated that meal, and loathed it more whenever my mother made it, she would load a forkful into her mouth, smirk and tell me it was wonderful. Thankfully, the editors of Company’s Coming realized that dish was disgusting and edited it out of my version.

I picked up six books in total for myself, and am looking forward to next year. I saw some women with lists of books they wanted to get, and dutifully checked them off as they picked them up. Good idea. Does anyone have a cookbook they want next year? My list is being crafted…

Sauteeingly Yours,

xoxoSallyS

Sugary Shake

I am very excited. Very excited. I am doing Christmas baking this year. In the past, a few cookies and some chocolates would come out of my kitchen, but nothing much. This year, I am around family and we're not travelling, so I can bake non-stop. And I intend to do just that.

Bulk Barn is opening near my house. I am so excited and I realize that makes me a tool. But seriously, I am a whore for bulk sections. Byron can attest to that. Why would I buy my oatmeal in a bag when I can scoop my own out of a bin? Why pay for a can of cocoa when you can just refill the old one? I save pennies, people. PENNIES! The fact the Bulk Barn is opening near my house just before my Christmas baking bonanza begins makes me happier than George stories.

Well, maybe not that happy – my apologies Jane and, more importantly, George. No offense was intended.

So what am I making this year, you ask? I have been collecting recipes and ideas for weeks now. I have made list after list and revised said lists. It’s a mix of old and new recipes. Old as in coconut chocolates and whipped shortbread and ginger cookies. New as in mint chocolate wafers and mint chocolate bark. Obviously, I am a whore for the chocolate-mint combination, too.

The irony of all this hoopla on my part is that Byron lacks a sweet tooth. The man hates icing on cake. He finds sweet and sour meatballs far too sweet. He can turn away from a plate of cookies. How are we married?!?! All my teeth are sweet. So this baking bonanza I am embarking on is all for naught with him. He wants me to give it all away. I will. I have co-workers and family to give my wares to. But I have to taste everything first, you know.

Expandingly Yours,

xoxoSallyS

Digital Vomit

I posted yesterday for the first time in months. My dad got on the phone this morning with me to say he was glad I posted something. I don't know what to write these days. Life is very good. I am happier than I have been in ages, and my gripes seem silly. But if I go on about happiness, I feel like I'm bragging. And I have no life-changing experiences going on to blog about.

But this did strike me as funny. This is a comment from my last post. Megan calls it digital vomit...

Hi friend, peace...
Your blog very interesting.
If you willing visit my blog, and read my article at ****
And... if you love books, read The Holy Qur'an please...

I like books - a lot. But to pick up the Holy Qur'an for shigs is not an option. I don't read holy books for fun. Ever. Peace, friend.

Hesitatingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS

Where am I?

Edmonton is a very cosmopolitan city in many ways. Sometimes, it’s downright Hicksville. And it’s reverted to Hicksville this week now that the rodeo is in town.

At lunch, I went for a nice walk. Walking towards me, I saw a man in bright blue jeans, a big ol’ cowboy, carrying a lasso. I stared at him while we walked towards each other. There was the obligatory large belt buckle. There was a shearling vest. There was a plaid shirt. And there was a lasso. In downtown Edmonton. Among highrises and office towers. It was the most out-of-place item I could have come across at that time of day in that location. What was he roping? A lamp post? A mail box? A newspaper box? As we passed, I was still staring, so he gave me a nod of his hat and said hello. If he said “howdy”, I would have died laughing.

The rodeo also brings in a lot of oversized pick-up trucks. They are huge, loud and there are far too many fake scrotums hanging off the back ends.

The bright side of the rodeo in town is that we are allowed to wear jeans all week. It’s Rodeo Week, after all!

Howdy-dooingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS

Thank you, Sarah Palin!

I went to a media relations training course yesterday. And Sarah Palin deserves a round of applause. Her gaffes, missteps and poor behaviour on camera were used in pretty much every example of what NOT to do.

So hats off to you, Sarah P.! If you didn't hold a press conference in front of turkeys being slaughtered, or get lost in your own ideas, well, gosh darnit, I might make the same mistakes next time I talk to them pesky media folks!

Maverickly Yours,
xoxoSallyS

I'm Baaaack

Well, the move is over. Byron and I have moved back to Edmonton. I know, I didn't say much to anyone about it, for fears of jinxing. But here we are, in one piece, settling into our new place.

The move went swimmingly, until Tuesday afternoon when By got into an accident with his uncle's truck. He's fine, but the driver's door is worse for wear. And our phone was out for two days. Other than that, all is well.

I start work on Tuesday. The day we moved in here, I got the call that I got the job! Huzzah!

This move and transition has been smooth. Well, as smooth as a move can be. The loading of the truck went well, the drive over was good and we were ahead of schedule on things. There's been no major catastrophe with the new place (in suite laundry, a dishwasher, 2 bedrooms and a pantry?! I have arrived!). And the stress levels have been under control.

Byron knows that I hiss and snap when under stress, and I have tried very hard to keep the hissing to a minimum. Victory is mine! And then it hit me. The last few moves I made were under someone else's deadlines and needs. When I went to Victoria, I was given less than two weeks to end everything in Edmonton and haul ass over there. The move before that, I was in a desperate rush to get out of Yellowknife and took whatever I could get to get out. I did nothing but hiss and spit and snap during those moves. This time, it's totally different. Byron and I did this on our time table, on a schedule that suited us, and we didn't feel rushed into anything.

Go Team Stuike!

Since we've been back, things (like jobs) have fallen nicely into place. Heck - I even get my own office! Toodle-doo cubicle world!

God, I missed Edmonton.

Moving on uppingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS

Dear City of Edmonton

Quit pussing out on your jobs.

I have gotten this notice a few times already:

"We regret to inform you that we have cancelled this job opportunity or selected another candidate whose qualifications more closely align with our requirements for this position."

Well, which is it? Has the job been cancelled or do you not like my qualifications? If the job was cancelled, then I suggest you get your shit together before posting a job, since this is the third time I've applied for a job that mysteriously gets cancelled. If you don't like my resume, then say so. Seriously, I've had worse said by better.

I realize this blog posting may eliminate all chances of me ever getting a job with the City of Edmonton, but at this point, who cares. Three of those bullshit notices leads me to believe that maybe a job with the City might be bullshit, too.

Fed-Uppingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS

Too far?

I saw something bizarre in the liquor store this morning.

Mike's Hard Lemonade has their booze for breast cancer. There were cases with the pink ribbon on them, promoting breast cancer awareness. Huh? Isn't that like having Lay's Chips sponsor an anti-obesity campaign?

Stupid marketing.

And for clarification, we were in the liquor store this morning to get boxes for moving.

Marketingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS

In defense of Science Fiction

Many of you who know me know that I have little interest in the Science Fiction genre. Star Wars passed me by for 32 years. Star Trek has never been on my TV for more than a nanosecond and I click on by. Any book by Asimov or Adams had never held space on my book shelf. That is... until two years ago when I met Byron.

Byron loves Science Fiction. He loves Star Wars and reads Star Wars books voraciously and can talk for hours (it seems) about the characters and plots and developments. There is an Asimov book on my shelf now, because it's now our shelf, and Douglas Adams has a place in our home.

By and I have very different tastes when it comes to music, movies and books. I have (but am aiming for the past tense of have) a bad habit of brushing off and poo-pooing things I have never seen and declare that it is not worth my time. I caused my grief with this attitude when we were meshing our lives.

So we made a deal.

For every movie in his genre that we watch, he sees something I like. The result has been me liking Star Wars movies (the new ones, I don't care for the original ones. Luke Skywalker bothers me. He's a pussy.) and Byron liking The Sea Inside. We even did an experiement where I would read one of his favourite books, and he read one of mine. I like "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy". He hated David Adams Richards' "Nights Below Station Street".

But I digress.

In my limited experience with Science Fiction, I have come to admire the genre. The people who write Science Fiction are some of the most creative people out there. You have to be incredibly creative to think of universes, cultures, species that are beleiveable. You have to build a world that makes people suspend their disbelief for a moment and accept that this is reality. Which brings me to the Science Fiction fans. They are some of the most creative people, too. It's easy to read a book from a different historical era, or another country. It's a human experience that can be somewhat universal. But to read a book, or watch a movie and understand that while it's all fake, that world does exist for that moment is unique. And then to talk about the Horax like it's real is stunning to me.

So thanks to Byron for opening my mind to something new. Maybe I'll find a book of mine that you'll love one day, too. We're going to see Star Trek soon. Please, pick your jaws off the ground.

May the Force Be With You,
xoxoSallyS

What the...?

I think I was ogled the other night.

We ordered pizza (I was a lazy wife that day), and I think I was ogled by the pizza guy. I am not bragging, I am just stunned by it. It was blatant and it made me feel squicky.

I thought I heard a faint knock, so I looked out the peep hole to see this dumb-looking kid in his early 20's staring up at the ceiling, mouth agape. I opened the door wearing my at-home attire - a grubby over-sized t-shirt, sweat pants and fluffy slippers. The kid had this moony grin on his face and creeped me out. As he pulled the pizza out of his bag, he was blatantly staring at my chest. At first, I thought he was trying to figure out the worn out lettering on the front of my shirt, but no. He was ogling. Blech. A few years ago, I would have been slightly flattered, but that night, I felt gross.

A couple years back, I ordered Chinese food one night. The delivery guy thought it was time to tell jokes while I paid him, so he told me this gem.

Q: Why did the walrus go to the tupperware party?
A: He wanted a tight seal.

The door was quickly shut on Shecky.

The moral of this tale? Quit ordering delivery and make your own damn food.

Peversely Yours,
xoxoSallyS

Whew?

I always knew something was wrong with CBC when I was there. Not the programming, well at least not all the time, but management. They always seemed sketchy and greedy to me. And now my suspicions are proven true.

Management will sacrifice 800 jobs, but only 70 of their numbers. Those cuts affect those who work to put the CBC on air. Management, meanwhile, goes on a lot of courses and meetings at Niagara. They are thick in numbers and cowards for not taking a cut when needed.

I'll wait to see how it all shakes down at the Mother Corp and see who is getting fired, what stations are being downsized, what shows will go missing and who the casualties are. All the while watching management rake in obscene amounts of money, taking an obscene number of trips for useless training course. And I do mean useless, because after this hit, they won't have anyone left to manage.

Sign-offingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS

Inappropriate Talking

Are you allowed to talk during aerobics?

I ask because I am in an aerobics class, and there are several people who use the class like the local coffee shop. Is that normal?

They do their routines, half-heartedly may I add, and talk loudly over the music and the instructor. Even scowls from others and the instructor do not deter them.

Does anyone else have this problem? Am I on glue thinking these people are rude and annoying? Advise, please.

Grapeviningly Yours,
xoxoSallyS

Homesick

These are the days when I wish we lived closer to family.

Byron's uncle is sick and is not long for this world. The plane ticket for the two of us to fly off this island is more than $1,000. Yowza! We could drive, but that is scary and long and we'd show up exhausted and delirious. We'd both like to go, but can only really afford for one of us. This is so frustrating!

As soon as I could, I left home. Sure, I came back a couple times but never stayed for long. Both my grandmothers died when I was away. I would have loved to go say goodbye to them both, but the cost was far too much. It was almost justified. You would think that a wee 1.5 hour trip would not break the bank, and now that it's proving that really is the case, it's harder than I thought.

I can't bear to think what it's going to be like when my parents pass. My dad has had cancer, my mom has MS. What if the cancer comes back? What if my mom takes a turn for the worse?

Longingly Yours,
xoxoSally

I can't stand dark roast coffee

I have had the luck of working the 6am - 2pm shift for the past few days. I say luck because I miss this shift. I miss having the office to myself for a couple hours, and just when the stress and drama of the day is hitting its peak at 2 pm, I leave.

So this morning, being my last early shift, I thought I would treat myself to some Starbucks. Plus, even though I was in bed at 8 last night, the 4:45 am alarm was too much and I needed some help.

I went into the Starbucks I usually pass and it looked disheveled. I asked for a grande house blend, and the titmouse behind the counter says they don't have any - they just opened. Do I want dark roast. Blech! I think Starbucks' dark roast is like tar mixed with shit and I did not want to spend the day with gut-rot. I do believe I made a fussy face, refused and walked out stunned.

How the eff does a coffee shop open with nothing brewed?

I used to work at coffee shops, and sometimes I even opened the store. The first thing we did was brew the popular blends. House blend and dark roast. The flavours and the other brew could wait, but at least the house blend was ready to go.

That was just bad customer service this morning. Thankfully, on my regular shift, I can get my morning treat at a gazillion other coffee shops I pass. Victoria is bizarrely riddled with coffee shops.

Caffeinatedly Yours,
xoxoSallyS

My precious eyes

Oh, George, George, George. How I once loved thee. I thought you were so cutting-edge and witty and just dee-lish to watch on The Hour.

And then you go and do this.


Playing hockey in skinny jeans? Really? So you realize how much I hate skinny jeans? Do you? Apparently not. And where's your helmet?

Now I have nothing but disdain for you. You look stupid. You look like you're skating in tights. And your legs look terribly stumpy. You are dead to me.

Foresakingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS

Holidaze

I cannot believe it's Friday and my Christmas vacation ends on Monday. Boo! I don't want to go back! Sometimes, I consider eating some raw chicken, just to get a wicked case of salmonella so I can extend my stay on the couch.

I have spent the past week and a half indulging. Indulging in TV, in sleeping, in not wearing makeup, in a decadent lifestyle I normally deny myself. I have been wearing stretchy pants since Christmas eve and it's divine.

Thankfully, I have not gained weight. I haven't lost any, but with my sloth-like ways recently, I figured a few pounds would have slipped up on me. But no. Unlike Christmas at my parent's house, there isn't endless boxes of chocolates and bags of chips handy. There are no canisters of my mother's baking waiting for my grubby hand. I may have done jack-squat on my time off, but I did not spend that time eating. I know! No one is more shocked at that phrase than me.

What did I do on my time off? Abso-smurfly nothing. Perhaps going back to work will be a good thing after all. Maybe. Maybe that tray of chicken looks better.

Lazingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS