And I've already eaten all the chocolates in my advent calendar

I was looking over my past "status updates" on Facebook (yes, I was bored) and I realized that I have somewhat of an unnatural obsession with food. A lot of those status updates were food related. I mean... a lot.

And then I realized that a lot of my blogs are about food, too. And you know what? This one's no different.

A very thorough list of the mass quantities of food I have consumed thus far this holiday season:

• Mom's raisin cookies
• My own raisin cookies (they pale in comparison)
• Oatmeal chocolate chip cookies
• Rice salad (the only slightly healthy thing eaten this season)
• Sausage rolls
• Festive Special from Swiss Chalet (not once... not twice... but thrice!)
• Turkey and stuffing (an early dinner at the hubby's grandfather's house)
• A selection of Spanish tapas
• Butter tarts
• Beer and wine

In addition to this, I've wisely eaten until it hurts each time we've had any type of a holiday gathering. So yeah... the fat pants? Even THEY'RE getting tight now.

These are a few of my favourite things

I have to admit, I haven't had too much to say this week. Which is why there's a lack of new blogs each day.

However, I also know that I'm sorta disappointed when I go to the few blogs I read every day and find they haven't been updated, either.

So, I will not let you down, dear readers. Here is the latest installment of my blog. A schmultzy tribute to Christmas (as if I haven't done that enough already!)

Hez's favourite things about Christmas:

• Mom's raisin cookies
• The smell of my REAL tree
• The Swiss Chalet Festive Special
• Dozens of gatherings with friends and family
• Whiskers on kittens and red wollen mittens (okay... not really... but I do like that song)
• Boney M Christmas CD
• Those little clementines (must be seedless though)
• Christmas morning: with orange juice and coffee as we open gifts and then eat a delicious brekkies of eggs, bacon, toast, etc. etc. before we play with all our new "toys"
• Endless games with the fam
• Movies on Boxing Day

I love this time of year. Love it. Love it. Love it.

So what are a few of your favourite things?

Oh no they didn't!

My parents have gone over to the dark side. And I'm very frightened.

My Mom called me yesterday to tell me that they couldn't get their (real) Christmas tree to stand up straight after trying for 2 days to set it up. So what did they do? Well, they did what anyone would do in this situation.

They threw out their beautiful real tree and went to the store to buy a fake one.

A FAKE ONE.

This, from my Dad who SHAMED my mother and father-in-law into getting a real tree when they bought a fake one for the first time.

From my Dad who LOVES the whole tree-selection process.

From my Mom who whole-heartedly agreed with me when I claimed that a perfect Christmas tree just could not come in a box.

I feel like I must mourn now. Christmas just isn't the same now that my parents have a tree that they can open up like an umbrella and switch on (because it comes with the Christmas lights ALREADY ON IT!)

Sigh.

Mom and Dad - I love you... but I'm worried about you.

Sleep. How I miss you so.

Good lord, am I tired.

And this is despite the fact that last night's work party was quite tame. We had a nice meal, a few drinks, chatted and then everyone went home. Of course, since I live in the burbs (and my cab ride took FOREVER), I didn't get home and in bed until 2am.

When hubby got up at 5:30 this morning, I also woke up and couldn't fall back asleep. Which means, I got a grand total of 3 and a half hours of sleep.

And thusly, I feel like a badger's arse.

Now I've got to sit through a day at work, trying my hardest not to look like I don't want to be here AT ALL (even though this most certainly is the case), and pretending to focus, when really - I just want to take a nap.

Hi. Complain much?

All things holiday, all the time

I guess I truly have gotten out of my non-Christmas funk. All my blogs of late have been Christmas-focused. And this one is no different.

This blog is the one in which I talk about one of my favourite things about the holidays: the food.

Tomorrow night is our work holiday party. We're going to a fancy restaurant in the Yonge and Eglinton area of Toronto for a sampling of delectable goodies: Grilled pear with arugula, asiago and walnuts in a vinaigrette. Porcini mushroom ravioli in a brandy-chive cream sauce. Rib-eye steak with frites. You name it.

Are you drooling yet?

But wait! That's not all. On Saturday, I'll be heading to my Mom-in-law's house with my Mumsie for our annual Christmas baking. Raisin cookies, peanut butter chocolate chip, oatmeal chocolate chip, butter cookies... droooooooooooooooll... It just don't get much better than that.

And then, THEN - I'll be heading to hubby's grandfather's house where his grandfather and his grandfather's wife will be serving up an early hot turkey dinner with all the trimmings. Score.

So, yes. It's safe to say that a big part of the holidays for me is all about the eatin'.

I'm getting my fat pants out now.

***Editor's note***
All this talk of food was making me hungry. So, I just devoured my "lunch". Somehow I thought black beans and salsa on rye crackers would suffice as my lunch-time meal.

To that I say, "Ha ha ha!" and also "How silly I am!"

Verdict on said lunch: Filling? Yes. Satisfying? Oh, no, no, no...

This ain't no Charlie Brown tree

Just in case you were all wondering...

We did it. We found the perfect Christmas tree. It's the perfect height. Perfect width. (Or, perfect bulbous-ness, as I've been saying). And it's all decorated up and shining in our living room.

Christmas may commence now.

PS: Charlie - come over to our house. You'll be in awe.

O Christmas tree

I don't normally blog on the weekends (why would I when I can do it on company time??) But here I am, on Saturday, just back from a run with Mom, all high on endorphins and junk. Thought I would blog. 

Today is sure to get me out of my non-Christmas funk. And that's because today, hubby and I are on the hunt for: The Perfect Christmas Tree. 

Growing up, it was always my "job" to go and find the tree with Dad. I say "job" because I took this role seriously. And so did Dad. (We are very much alike). We would never settle for an "okay" tree. Oh, no, no... We had to find the most perfectly shaped and sized tree that would sit in the corner of our living room in all its tree glory.

And, of course, bigger is always better. 

I would follow Dad around as he eyeballed the trees, until we both came across one we considered worthy of our household. Next, Dad would hold the tree upright so that I could take several steps back and scrutinize it from a respectable distance, getting an idea of how it would look in our home from a variety of angles. (When I got a bit older and could actually hold the tree up myself, we would reverse so Dad could also do some serious scrutinizing).

As I said, this was serious. And it always paid off. Because we always, always had an awesome tree. (So awesome one year, that we actually had to tie it to our wall. Its giant, bulbous shape and height made it a bit too much for our little tree stand. It was wicked.)

So, after moving out of my parents' home and moving in with hubby, I've realized that my Dad has continued to find amazing trees every year. Ours, on the other hand, have been merely satisfactory.

Until this year.

Christmas 2008 marks the year that Hez's tree no longer pales in comparison to Dad's tree. It's a total tree-off this year. I'm taking this as seriously as I did when I was a little girl. 

That's right. Bring it, Dad. I'm so ready for you.

You're a mean one...

Hello all. A few housekeeping issues that need to be taken care of:

• I've been playing around with the settings on my blog and you can now leave a comment without having to sign in or have an account. Yay!
• I've recently learned how to include links in my posts - but I don't know how to get those links to open up into another window. So... if you click on the link, just click "back" when you're done to go back to reading my lovely post. (I'll hopefully figure that one out soon).

Now. Onto my daily rambling.

I have something to admit that my Mom isn't going to like to hear. (Well, technically, she'll be reading it. Whateves. Semantics). Anyway, here it is:

I have no Christmas spirit as of yet.

(Pause for collective gasp).

It's true. I'm finding it very hard to get excited about the holidays. I don't know if it's because I'm feeling kind of tired and run down lately. Or maybe it's because our house isn't decorated yet. Or maybe it's simply because I haven't watched "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation" as of yet. Whatever it is, I'm feeling quite blasé about it all.

Even the Festive Special didn't get me in the mood. Now, that just ain't right.

Anyway... in an attempt to not be the total scrooge that ruins Christmas, I'll be working on growing my heart by 3 sizes. Wish me luck.

Blah blah blah blog

Sometimes, I write a whole 2-3 paragraphs of my blog, read it over and then completely delete it all. Like I did just 2 seconds ago.

You see, there's a fine line between updating my readers on my life and the inner workings of my mind, and pure boredom. This is the effect my deleted post was going to have on you, I'm sure of it.

I have to admit though, there are often times when I just don't know what to write about. But I love writing something just to say that I wrote for myself. And, much to my chagrin, it's during these moments that I enter into a Woody Allen state of neurosis... Do I write something so that I don't lose my loyal readership? Or do I not write anything because there's nothing to say? I don't know. What do I do? Should I? Yes. But maybe no. But then again...

You get the picture.

Anyway. So, to avoid boring the pants off of you anymore, I'm going to end it right here. There's not much to say today. I'm kinda tired (which makes it hard to be witty). So, I'll just try and find some other way to entertain you this morning.

Chicken and stuffing and chocolates... oh my!

I'm off my soapbox and ready for another insallment of "Fun Hezzie" blogs.

Last night, I kicked off the holiday season with my family in one of our favourite Christmas traditions of all time. Yes, that's right. I'm talking about the Festive Special at Swiss Chalet.

It happens but once a year. This fine dining establishment comes out with its delightful meal in November, but my family waits. Oh, we wait. Until December 1st (or the closest date to it in which we can all make it), to truly celebrate the holiday season.

Last night, we indulged in the perfectly formed ice-cream scoop shape of stuffing. And the jiggly, gelatin-like cranberry sauce. With the chicken and fries. And then topped it off with a whole house-full of chocolates. (I'm still bitter that they took away the toblerone bar, mind you).

So now, it's official. The holiday season has started. And I couldn't be more excited. It's the most wonderful time of the year, after all.

Woman... Whoa - man!

I was all prepared to write about my trip to the nutritionist last night (to help me with my digestion issues - another sign of getting old). But now I'm all fired up and need to vent.

The topic: Women. (One that I'm well-versed in, having a vagina myself).

Anyway. As I said... women. Now, I consider myself an indpendent woman. I'm intelligent, have a good job, make good money, know how to support myself. And at the same time, I'm married and would like to have children one day. And - yes, I'm admitting it - I'm an emotional being. I cry at sappy movies. I get irrational sometimes. It happens.

In my opinion, there's no conflict between these two things. I'm independent. And I may also one day be a stay-at-home mom. (Who knows? This is all speculative... but if it were financially possible, I would).

I'm sure many of you are nodding your head right now, thinking "Yes? And your point is??"

My point is this. There are many women out there who feel like you are no longer an independent, strong woman if you take your husband's last name. If you want to have children and want to stay home. If you get emotional and irrational at times and can't seem to help it. If one of the most important things in the world to you is the love of your husband.

Somehow, you would be a much "better" woman if you didn't act this way. If you were, quite simply - more like a man.

Do you see the problem with this? I do.

I consider myself a feminist because I am a woman and I don't feel I need to be like a man to be seen as a strong, independent woman. I want that corner office one day - but I won't sacrifice raising children and family to get it. We shouldn't have to. Fathers don't. We should be women, who we are, in all our emotional glory and still be considered equals. We should be taken seriously and treated properly and loved - in the words of Mark from Bridget Jones' Diary - just the way we are.

So - the point? (I realize I'm rambling). The point is - as long as women put each other down, as long as we stand divided (between those that think the only way to be a more evolved woman is to be like a man and those that are okay with their roles as women), we will have a long, long way to go to being equal.

Yes, we're close. But we're not there yet.

Please know - this is not a rant against the evils of men. It's actually the opposite. I'm trying to express that I feel I can have my life involved with a man and live the role of a woman and still be a woman: Strong. Smart. Independent. And completely at peace with who I am.

Let's do this together, ladies. Not apart. We need each other.

Back to work for a rest

Things that happened over the weekend (in order from start to finish):

• I began consuming wine at 3pm on Friday afternoon
• A piece of work that my co-worker and I created won a gold award at the Canadian Marketing Awards (and a bronze!)
• More celebratory wine was consumed
• "Dancing" (if it can be called that) occured for several, several hours
• I left the awards show in a cab. My purse did not.
• Woke up feeling less than stellar
• Went back to the scene of the awards to find said purse (met a kind man named Attila who had it for me)
• Ate a greasy breakfast at my favourite diner at 2 in the afternoon
• Went to an engagement party and avoided the wine at all costs
• Was in bed at 10:30 on Saturday night
• Slept until 10:45 Sunday morning
• Saw a movie
• Did the "good little wife" thing and made a baked penne dish for dinner
• Ate 14 chocolate balls
• Went to bed

I think it's safe to say that I had a very productive, responsible, mature weekend.

The one where I blog about everything and anything, much to my friend Jay's chagrin

So. As promised. Here I am... about to let you all in on my life. A day in the life of me. Everything I do and think about and say. Exciting stuff, huh?

Don't stop reading yet. You never know - you might just find me fascinating. (Please?)

Anyway. The week so far has actually been kinda interesting for me - and not only because I was compared to a piece of bacon. (I'll get to that later).

Bit of a back story: last week I didn't work out at all, and as a result, I felt cranky, tired and I didn't sleep well. So, this week, I vowed to head to the gym as much as possible. Now you're up to date.

Okay. So. I headed off to the gym Monday morning to attend a class called "BodyPump". I don't know if you've ever tried this... but basically, it's working out in a group, doing a LOT of reps of weights with a barbell. Not too bad sounding, eh? Yeah... well my muscles? Were shaking like a little kid after seeing a scary movie. (Hoo, boy were they shaking!) And only half way through the class, too.

As I walked out of the gym, kind of zombie-like due to immediate stiffness, I knew that it was going to be a long week for me and my poor, underused muscles.

On to Tuesday. Monday's adventures didn't discourage me, so after the work day, I decided to test out a spinning class. Was feeling good. Speeding in spot, pedalling as if my life depended on it. Thinking "Look at me! Am spin goddess!" And, I'm pretty sure the instructor thought I was pretty spin goddess-esque too, cause I caught him looking my way once or twice... if ya know what I mean??? (Hint, hint... nudge, nudge...)

Of course, then I looked in the mirror and saw a giant band of boob sweat stained onto my t-shirt and I was pretty sure he wasn't looking my way in admiration.

Wednesday. I've got my running clinic on Wednesday nights, so off I went, all bundled up, to run in the cold/rain/wet snow. We were taught the "proper" way to warm up before a run. (Read: walk around, jump, and run in place like morons). So, as I was doing my dynamic warm-up, I felt like a royal asshole.

At least I got to spend some time with Mumsie. Which brings me to the bacon story.

This past weekend, I brilliantly managed to spill boiling water on my leg, leaving behind a huge-ass, painful thigh-burn. (No wonder my friends think I need sippy cups!!) And 4 days later, it was STILL incredibly red and big and oddly-shaped. I was actually strangely proud of my war wound.

And since my Mom stopped by my place after our run, (as did my brother), I thought I would ask them if they wanted to see it. Sort of like a car accident that you just can't turn your eyes away from. (Of course they said yes. Curiosity got the best of them).

Upon first glance, my Mom's face contorted into an image of revulsion as she exclaimed "Oh! Oh! Gross!!" And my brother's reaction?

"It looks like bacon."

That has been my week so far. Aren't you glad you stayed until the end?

Blog like you mean it

I've been reading a lot of blogs lately (see yesterday's post to explain why). And whilst reading said blogs, I've noticed quite a trend. Professional bloggers? Yeah, they're seriously long winded.

Now, being an avid reader and a writer and all, I really enjoy reading these novellas-that-pass-for-blogs these days. Which got me to thinking: perhaps I should start blogging more "professionally". Perhaps I should join the ranks of these "serious" bloggers and follow their lead. Perhaps one day I'll be discovered by a fellow blog reader who happens to think I'm brilliant and wants to publish me!

I digress.

Anyway, here are a few key things I've noted about "real" blogs:

1. They're quite long.
2. No detail is spared.
3. The blogger's entire life story is revealed.
4. They're funny, well-written and engaging.

I'm pretty sure I can follow through on numbers 1 through 3. Number 4 might be a bit tougher to deliver (personally, I think I'm hilarious, but I've been known to get caught up in that horribly awkward story-telling situation, where you preface your story with "this is REALLY funny", then start telling it only to realize that it's not going to get the laughs (or even the smiles) you were hoping for, but you're too far into the story to stop telling it, so you just continue on, praying that someone will giggle or something, and when you finally get to the end, you can tell that everyone's still waiting for the punch line and you're kind of embarrassed so you just finish it off with "you sorta had to be there".)

Yeah. Number 4 might be tough.

Anyway, so for my next blog installment, I'm going to reveal more details of my life - right down to the minute details of what I did the day before, the conversations I had, even what I ate for dinner.

Hold on to your hats everyone, this is going to be one exciting-ass ride.

Break me off a piece of that kitkat bar

I'm unmotivated.

But just at work.

I'm pretty sure that only one of my coworkers reads this blog, so it's okay for me to spill the beans here. But yeah. I'm kinda feeling burnt out.

And I feel so guilty saying that because I'm not over-worked. I'm treated really well. There are other people working longer hours. The economy is shite right now, so I should just feel lucky to even HAVE a job and steady income. And yet, I can't shake the feeling.

I come into the office every day and find it hard to think fresh. To come up with something innovative. To focus. Hell, I have trouble even getting my timesheets done.

I so hope that only one of my coworkers reads this.

Anyway, I think it might be due to the time of year. When the holidays are about to roll around, and all I can think about is that much-needed break to rejuvinate. Long evenings. Sleeping in. Relaxing. Slippers. And tea. Books. Home-cooked meals and baking. Ah... bliss.

In the meantime, if anybody at work wonders, I'm working really hard. Really.

3:30am

Is the time I think I finally fell asleep after lying awake for TWO AND A HALF HOURS last night.

Welcome back, insomnia. Make yourself at home.

This not-being-able-to-sleep thing is totally screwing with me. I have never, ever had a problem sleeping. Ever. I love my sleep. And, as a morning person, I can drift off at night as soon as my head hits the pillow. So, to face this problem is all-new and all-baffling for me.

And now, despite the morning latte and afternoon can of pop, I'm still groggy and feeling kind of blah. How fun I'll be tonight at our friends' cottage!

Anyway, enough with the pity party. I'm off to get me some heavy doses of chocolate (chocolate has loads of caffeine, right??)

Seriously. I needs me some beauty sleep!

Guess what 4:00 in the morning is like? Dark and cold. You know how I know? For some reason, I've developed early-morning insomnia.

When my eyes popped open this morning, I assumed they would close back up and I'd fall into a deep slumber. (Seriously. It was only 4am. I still had 2 and a half hours to sleep!) But alas, my brain started working. And thinking. And thinking. And before I knew it, it was 6am and I was still awake.

Sigh.

At least I had time to mentally plan my outfit for the day, come up with witty retorts to the insults hurled at me yesterday, and think about what I would be doing in 5 years from now. You know... useful stuff.

Anyway, so on my way in today, I grabbed the high-octane latte (as opposed to my weak, homemade substitute), in an attempt to wake me up and get me going. Feeling good right now. We'll see how long this lasts.

And if any of you dear readers want to offer me some advice or let me in on what's going on with me and my screwed up sleep schedule... I'll be forever in your debt.

Food. Again. (Seems I'm always talking about food).

Last week at my Wednesday night running clinic, a nutritionist came to talk to us. She gave some really good advice, including: everyone should keep a food journal.

Now, I've long despised the idea of keeping a food journal because I thought it would lead to an obsessive, calorie-counting lifestyle. A lifestyle I just can't deal with because, for me, it eventually leads to low self-esteem, bad body image and slight depression. Just ain't worth it. "Besides," I thought, "I already know how to eat well. And, I eat my meals at 2-3 hour intervals throughout the day."

So, I'm not quite sure why I actually decided to keep a food journal this time around. But I did. And the result? Is pretty interesting.

I pride myself on eating well. But, I'm learning that I'm not getting enough veggies in my diet (at all!), I'm consuming more sugar than I thought, and that dreaded alcohol? Yeah, it's being consumed at least 3-4 days a week by me. Not so great.

Turns out that this journal is good for me. I'm not obsessive... just keeping track and watching patterns. And, it's funny, but the whole "writing it down" thing makes me more accountable. There's a certain amount of shame I feel as I scribble down "chicken wings, fries and gravy and 2 bottles of beer" for dinner on Friday night.

And since I'm not down with self-inflicted shame spirals - here's to a healthier me.

F-I-B-R-E... find out what it means to me

I tend to joke quite a bit about getting old and all of the signs of aging I'm facing. And I can kind of tell that people older than me sort of poo-poo what I'm saying, because I'm still a "young'un". But the thing is - this aging thing baffles and scares me. Completely.

Here's why.

Up until the past year or so, I've felt invincible. I could party late during the week, eat a variety of fatty foods whenever I want, do any form of exercise or movement to my body - all without any side effects whatsoever. There was very little that I could do that would make me feel run down or tired or wrinkly or old.

This is no longer the case.

Now, when I party late on a work night, I feel like hell the next day and it actually takes me 2-4 days to fully recover from the lack of sleep. When I eat fatty foods, I develop intense indigestion. (And gall bladder issues at the ripe old age of 29). And when I spend the morning running 8kms and then the next 4 hours cleaning my house, I hobble around my house all evening and wake up the next day with lower back pain. Yay me.

On top of all of this, I've noticed SEVERAL grey hairs on each side of my temples, fine lines under my eyes and little veins surfacing on my legs. Oh, and even scarier: I now base my cereal-purchasing decision on fibre content.

The horror. The horror.

I'm too young for all of this, aren't I? I'm not even 30 yet!! This is why I'm scared. If all of this is already happening to me now - what the heck will I look like when I'm 50???

Anyway, for now, I'm a marketer's dream. Give me all the "youth-in-a-bottle" solutions you can... 'cause I sure as heck ain't ready to grow old gracefully yet.

Boooooooooze

Good morning, world!

That salutation was probably deceiving. I'm actually not all alert and cheery and feeling fabulous. But hey - sometimes persuasion works. Just ask Austen. (Wow. Nerdy book reference much?)

Anyway, last night I went out for a few pints after work with some old colleagues. We all had to go our separate ways at a respectable hour, but of course, I'm like Frank the Tank and once the beer hits my lips, I can't say no to it. So, I went home and met up with my brother and some friends for a few more beers. And before I knew it, I was feeling pretty good.

Fast forward to this morning... my eyes pop open at 4am and I can NOT fall back asleep, no matter how hard I try. This happens to me every time I have a few drinks the night before. I can't sleep the next morning and then spend the rest of my day tired and cursing the demon rum.

When will I learn?

Later on tonight I'm sure I'll relive more moments that happen to me every single day-after-drinking. You know: on the Go train home, my head will start doing the "nod and bob" as I try to keep my heavy, heavy eyelids open. Or, at home, I'll wake up completely startled, unsure of where I am, what time it is, or even who I am, only to find that I'm on the couch in the very same spot I've been in all evening.

Ah, yes. Drinking is so smart.

Work and tea and books and more tea

I had the opportunity to work from home yesterday. Usually, I do the old finger quotation mark gesture to emphasize the "working from home" part of that sentence. Meaning, I say that I'll work from home, but then I actually end up doing other stuff instead.

Yesterday, I actually had to work. Damn work. Getting in the way of my "from home" time.

Anyway, it wasn't too bad. Because I actually got a taste of what it would be like to freelance and work from home for a living. And I've got to say... me like.

I set myself up at our dining room table, with a mug of tea and my slippers warming up my tootsies. I had my trusty mac laptop in front of me, all connected and junk (thanks to our wireless internet). And I worked away. And then, when I needed it, I took a break and chatted with hubster (who works shifts and was off yesterday).

After I had completed everything I needed to do, I decided to give myself a bit of a late-in-the-day lunch break and headed off to Chapters with hubby. We drank our mochas and teas (in the festive Starbucks cups, I must add) while snuggling in to comfy chairs and chatting about everything from becoming an uncle and aunt soon to what we want for Christmas. Then, we browsed the books. Slowly and leisurely.

Can you ask for more in a day? I don't think you could.

Live, feel dawn, see sunset glow

I feel very strongly about Remembrance Day. If you consider yourself a Canadian, you should, too.

Every year on November 11th, I'm reminded of one summer day in Ottawa. I was visiting a friend from university at her home. And, after just completing a course in Canadian Military History, I asked if we could stop by the Canadian War Museum.

We wandered through... reading... quietly learning. And as I stopped to look at a photograph of a an injured soldier being taken care of by a nurse in a hospital, I felt someone approach beside me. Before I had time to acknowledge the person beside me, I heard an old man's voice say "Just checking to make sure I'm still here".

He was pointing at the photograph. That injured soldier was standing right next to me. Smiling warmly. And I was absolutely speechless for a moment.

This man fought for our country. He gave up everything to defend a country that I can only imagine he loves and is proud to be a part of. There's something so incredible about that act that just makes me well up with tears every time I think of that moment.

I really don't agree with war. But then again, I'm sure many of those men who fought don't either. And yet, they did. For us.

Remember that. Today.


In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
— Lt.-Col. John McCrae

Let's talk

Another Monday morning is here. And I'm tired. And not quite sure what to blog about today.

Should my topic for today be about my adventures in DD'ing (designated driving) on Saturday night for my bro's birthday? (A few wrong turns and a few pieces of pineapple in the back seat later, we ended up at home safely).

Or maybe I should let you all in on how great my Sunday morning run was (7km) and how nice it was to sit and chat with my Mom over Timmy's afterwards.

I could talk about the quality time I got with my hubster and how grateful I am for that. (Love him, love him, love him.)

Or, I could discuss the really nice chat I had with the Dad of one of the hockey boys that hubster plays with. I love those kind of talks (the ones where you just leave all smiley and happy to have met someone new and learned something about them).

Hmm... let me think about this one and get back to you.

Me

Quick, mini-update on me:

• I went to hot yoga last night and it was INTENSE. I was quite light headed for some of it - and feeling totally beat afterwards. However, I was told by the instructor that I've got a sweet cobra pose. Nice!
• I won an award this week for some work I did with my partner. I would appreciate it if everyone would refer to me as "award-winning copywriter, Hez" from now on.
• I'm going for a run tonight and a run on Sunday morning, in an attempt to counter-act the cupcakes, cake and other fatty foods I've been consuming for my hubby and brother's birthdays.

That's about it. I know... very exciting life I lead. Interesting blogs will hopefully be reappearing next week... stay tuned.

One for the books

History has been made. Before our very eyes. The good guy won. The Americans got it right. Now it's time to wait and see what the future holds.

Good luck, Obama.

Reality vote

I know this U.S. election is HUGE-ARSE important. And, if Obama gets elected, history will have been made before our very eyes. Seriously important.

But... (you knew there was a "but")

...I find the election thing a teensy bit upsetting for a few reasons:

1. Canadians everywhere are reading, watching, talking, blogging and facebook-status-ing about the U.S. election. Yet... when it came to our own election, there was a record-low interest. Of course, the U.S. election has a wide-spread effect on the world and, therefore, on us as well. But our OWN election has a big outcome on our lives. And people really didn't seem to care.

2. The whole election process is on the verge of going "hollywood". Case in point: "American Idol judge Simon Cowell has been so inspired by the theatrics of the U.S. election campaign, he plans to change the way British politics is covered... Cowell is determined to change the way political messages are delivered in the U.K. insisting he could create a TV show to help revitalize Britain's political culture".

Cowell was quoted as saying: "Politics is showbusiness these days. More and more so."

This is kind of sad, no?

How I love my husband

Recently, I've become obsessed with the sitcom "How I Met Your Mother". I discovered it one day, found it pretty damn funny, and now I try to catch it whenever I can. Much to my delight, I came across a marathon one lazy Sunday. Only problem was, it was season three. I'm the type that can't throw caution to the wind and start watching in the middle of a show. I need the back story.

So, I went to Future Shop, bought season one on DVD and spent my recovery-from-my-cold weekend watching every single episode. It was awesome. 

Now I'm really hooked. And hubster is working nights this weekend... so I'll probably have a whole lotta time to myself again. Enter season two. Right?

Unfortunately, season two is $45. (I checked when I popped into HMV on my lunch hour.) And I sort of felt bad for potentially spending $50 on a DVD for myself while my hubby worked all weekend. So I didn't get it. 

Anywho. I was out tonight. Hubby was home. And when I got home, he was leaving for hockey. So, I said bye to him and headed down to the basement to catch a little TV before going to bed. And what did I find sitting in the middle of our coffee table?  Yep... "How I Met Your Mother", the complete second season on DVD.

Hubby is too cute.

I know it doesn't seem like much. It's just a TV show, after all. But the fact that he bundled up and went out at night in the cold, when he didn't have to, just to make me happy... just so I could spend my weekend in my fleece pj pants, lounging on the couch, laughing my arse off and being entertained... well, I tell you - it just warms my heart. I mean, that is cute!

And, to top it all off, he found it for $2o! Nice.

Kids, that's just the beginning of the story of how I love my husband.

Just a quick note...

...to let everyone know that I can't get on to any .blogspot sites while I'm at work. That means I can't read some of my favourite blogs, and I can't update my own blog. (Right now I'm at home and only have 2 minutes to quickly type this out between mouthfuls of cereal). 

I'm not quite sure if this is permanent. And I'm also not quite sure I want to bring this up with the IT guy. "Um... yeah. So, I can't waste time doing non-related work stuff on non-related work websites during business hours. What's the deal??"

If it doesn't get changed - my blogs may be quite sporadic. We'll see. Just want to keep you in the loop.

~H

If you're feeling sickly...

I spent my entire weekend in exile. Just me, my pjs, a box of kleenex, orange juice and dvds.

I started feeling sick on Thursday. By Friday it was getting worse. Come Saturday, it was a full-on cold, and I just wanted to be alone.

You know those times when you're sick and you really want someone to take care of you? This was not one of those times for me. I wanted to be all alone. I didn't want to have to be "on" in front of the in-laws or my family, or even my hubster (who doesn't ever require me to be "on", but I feel bad when I'm cranky around him).

So, even though there was a big party going on Saturday night with all my friends - and I absolutely hate missing good parties - I stayed home. Hubby offered to stay home with me. But I kind of just wanted to lie on the couch and not have to talk. So, off he went. And I was alone.

Now, when you combine a few really bad days at work with a cold AND ample amounts of time to be alone with your thoughts, the result is not usually a cheery, happy, sunshiney one. Which means, I spent the weekend sick, sort of miserable, and feeling sorry for myself.

Thank goodness that's over with. New week, new outlook. And as my good friend O said, "Fresh possibilities over fresh cups of tea". Amen.

A sigh for a Thursday afternoon

I'm not trying to have a pity-party where I'm the guest of honour... but honestly, sometimes I think I expect too much out of people.

It never fails. I go through stages: I get to know someone. I start deciding whether I think they're "good peeps" or if they're not quite my cup of tea. Once I get to know them and decide I like them, I start opening up to them. I start trusting them. I start truly liking them and thinking the world of them. And (I suppose, stupidly) think that they think the same of me.

And then something happens and reality comes into focus and all my thoughts are crushed into tiny, little, itty-bitty pieces. Much like some bird, smashing a crustacean onto the rocks in order to get inside to its fleshy goodness.

Sigh.

I guess the world isn't full of people like me. But, damn it, it should be! Or maybe I'm just a sucker and I need to master the art of not caring.

Two years

Today marks 2 years to the day that I walked down the aisle, ugly-cried my face off, and married my hubster (a very wonderful guy). Of course, knowing that he'll be reading this at some point, I feel like I must poke fun at him too, so his head doesn't get too big. (I thought you were perfect... and then I realized that perfect people don't leave the toilet seat up that often!!)

In the past little while, he's been quite romantic. Why, just today he said: "Wow. 2 years of us driving each other crazy eh?" And last week, I woke up to my dear, dear hubby telling me that I had bad morning breath. Now, if that ain't love, I don't know what is.

Anyway, despite his "romantic nature", I do have to admit that I've never been happier. We seem to just fit together. We balance each other out. And, at the risk of sounding like a MAJOR cliche, he completes me. (I had to do it! Don't roll your eyes at me!!)

So, tonight we'll celebrate by dining out at a fancy restaurant. Just being together, talking, and, most of all, having fun. That's who we are and what we do.

And I have to say, it's pretty friggin' amazing.

Burnt tongues and other things that have happened to me

After the whole mullet-debacle, I spent the weekend eating and drinking in excess.

Now that I'm reading that sentence back, I realize it sounds like being told I had a mullet sent me into a shame-spiral in which the only relief was to drown my sorrows in beer and nacho dip (by the way, thanks Emily... it was deelish!)

Anyway, in reality, the two subjects in that sentence are actually unrelated. I was on the unfortunate end of the mullet debacle - and also - I ate and drank a lot this weekend.

And, as it often happens to me on Mondays, I'm a little grossed out by myself right now. I mean - I woke up with an acid reflux feeling in my throat on Sunday morning. Ew. That ain't right!

As a result, I'm eating only organic cereal, fruit and soup today. And I was so hungry from my "punishment" breakfast this morn, that I could hardly wait for my lunchtime soup to cool before eating it. Hence, the burnt tongue.

I'm such a smart cookie, aren't I? Mmmm... cookie.

Damn it all to heck.

Well, this is even more embarassing

I decided on a whim yesterday to get my hair trimmed. I had needed one for a while, and I didn't want to wait until the weekend. And one of the advantages of working downtown Toronto is that I'm close to some swanky salons.

So, I called one up, managed to get an appointment over the lunch hour, and off I went.

I met the stylist, sat in the chair and told her what I wanted. Trim up the layers. Take an inch off. You know, standard stuff. My hair wasn't in horrible shape, so I didn't want much different. The stylist looked at my hair, surveyed the sides and the back, and then said:

"Do you mind if I clean up the layers so that it doesn't look like you have so much of a mullet?"

Ummm... ok.

How do you respond to that?? I wasn't aware that I was walking around town, sporting a mullet for the past few months... but that's certainly what this young woman thought.

Anyway, she gave me a good cut, but I doubt I'll be going back there. If I'm going to pay good money to get my hair done, I'd like it to be insult-free, thank you very much.

PS: I so don't have a mullet. I would NOT allow myself to be seen with a short-long. I'm not all business in the front and party in the back. Nope. No achey-breaky-big-mistakey hairdo for me.

Well this is embarrassing...

Remind me never to ask for audience participation again. It shows me how few people are actually interested in my blog.

Okay, enough with the "woe is me" bit. On to bigger and better things.

My Mom and I have decided to start going to a running clinic again. Even though we're seasoned pros now (yeah right), we're doing the 10k clinic again with the Running Room. I took the summer off and since September have only been running approximately twice a week. And now, I'm all ready to start "training" again.

Wish me luck! In the back of my mind, I have this fear that my leg pains are going to start up again and prevent me from really enjoying my runs. Fingers crossed that this isn't the case.

On a side note (back to the whole "lack of interest" thing), I've actually set up "Google analytics" for my blog, which shows me stats on how many visits my blog gets on specific days, the average time spent on the site, visitor loyalty, etc. So I know that 34 of you readers (from yesterday) have a complete lack of interest in polls. I hope you voted at least!

Writer's block

I honestly can't think of anything to write about today.

So... I'm taking a poll. What would you like to read about? Send me your ideas. I'll put them into words. And then we'll all be happy!

Let's hear them, people! What do you want to read about?

Turkey for me and a turkey for you

Turkeyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!

Sorry. I'm a wee bit excited for the Thanksgiving long weekend. This has got to be one of my all-time favourite holidays. And why is that? Well, because it's an eating holiday, of course. The whole thing is designed around eating. There's no other purpose. You get together and eat.

And I'm going to be stuffing my face not once, but twice, this weekend. Bliss! (So it's probably a good thing that I'm going for a run with Momsie Sunday morning... hopefully it will make me feel a little less guilty about gluttony.)

Anywho... bring on the turkey and taters and stuffing and gravy. I'm ready.

Oh, and... Happy Thanksgiving to One and All!

Good one, Gary

My dad claims he reads these blogs from time to time. So, this one's just for him. Some humour for your Thursday morning.

Koo-roo-koo-koo-koo-koo-koo-koo!!

If you know what the title is in reference to before reading this post, you win! (My respect and admiration).

Last night I went out for dinner with some friends to a great Italian restaurant in the city. The pizza was a-freakin'-mazing. But that's actually beside the point of this blog.

The point (and the reason for the title) is that, as we were dining, I saw Dave Thomas. Of SCTV and Bob and Doug McKenzie fame. My brother and I absolutely loved watching SCTV growing up. So, to see Dave Thomas in the flesh was kind of exciting. And I felt a wave of Canadiana nostalgia wash over me.

Which led me to do a little research. Wikipedia had this to say:

"'The Great White North' (originally known as 'Kanadian Korner') was a panel show that played upon Canadian stereotypes. Bob and Doug, two dumb beer-swilling brothers wearing heavy winter clothing and tuques, would comment on various elements of Canadian life and culture, frequently employing the interjection 'Eh?' and derisively calling each other a 'hoser'."

Ah, Canadian stereotypes... so funny. My favourite tidbit of info that I did not previously know about those hose bags is this:

"The sketch's signature 'koo-roo-koo-koo-koo-koo-koo-koo' theme, according to Dave Thomas in an interview on CBC News: The Hour, is based on the flute music used in Canadian television nature vignettes, such as Hinterland Who's Who."

You learn something new every day. Have a good one, my fellow Canadians.

The daily grind - take one

Without trying to sound ungrateful for everything I have and all the people in my life and all that... I have to admit that sometimes I get bored every once in a while with the daily grind. Day in and day out, getting up and going to work, taking the train, coming home and eating and watching TV, going to bed early. Trying to figure out "what to do" or "what to eat" or that kind of stuff. Does this make any sense?

Anyway, so yesterday I took the advice of my good friend O. and decided to treat myself in order to lift my spirits. So, I went out to a late showing of a movie with my hubby.

First of all, I love movies. And going to see one at the theatre is one of my favourite things to do. Secondly, I love my hubby and missed him very much last week. So - it was pretty much a combo of my two favourite things, last night. Perfection!

Now I'm feeling better. And ready for the rest of the week.

It's the Four Seasons kind of life for me

I lead a pretty good life. 

Right now, I'm in an upgraded suite at the Four Seasons in Vancouver. I'm guessing that this is the room that celebrities (or very rich people) stay in when they're in Vancouver. There are 2 (yes, 2) full bathrooms in my suite.

Anyway, so I'm lounging on the couch in my living room (yes, my hotel room has a living room), wearing the fuzzy Four Seasons bathrobe, drinking $30 wine (no, not the usual $8-12 wine I purchase). And I just finished my room service meal, that was wheeled in on a cart with a white tablecloth and fancy silverware. (By an extremely polite gentleman in a white jacket and gloves).

I think I'll flip through the free Vanity Fair magazine, watch some TV, then retire to my king size bed. Seriously. I won't find myself in this situation again, I can imagine. 

Yep, I lead a pretty good life. 

Hez goes to Vancouver (again)

I'm off to Vancouver for work again. But, as was the case last time, I probably won't see much of the city. I get there tonight around 7ish, have an all day meeting tomorrow, then head home Saturday morning.

When you travel for business, there's really not a great opportunity to actually see the place you're going to. And, call me a sissy, but I'm not the type that would stay a few extra days and wander around by myself. For those of you that know me, imagine me wandering through Stanley Park all on my own. I would never come out alive.

Anywho - the thing I'm MOST excited about is that the account person I'm going to Van with has a sister-in-law who works at the Four Seasons. And, as such, I managed to get in on the "friends and family rate" at the hotel. I'm totally going to swank it up tonight and tomorrow.

Ah... the life I'll lead for two days. Hanging out with rich folk in the lobby bar... chilling in my terry-cloth robe in my deluxe room... perhpas ordering a little room service.

Pretty sweet for a girl from the 'burbs.

Crisp and cool

October is here. And suddenly I'm thinking, where have the past few months gone?

I'm not trying to sound overly philosophical. I'm just kind of amazed. It's suddenly fall and time has flown by faster than you can say "turtleneck". Goodbye summer.

So now, dear readers, we must prep for the change in weather. Stock up on your hand cream as the cold weather approaches. Get out the socks, abandon those sandals. But never fear. This doesn't have to seem grim. Think about all the benefits there are to the cooler, crisper season.

What's that? You can't seem to think of any, you say? Let me help you out with this handy little list.

Benefits of the cooler, crisper, fall weather:

1. Turtlenecks. These lovely inventions cover pretty much every inch of your skin and thus, leave no pale skin or wobbly bits exposed. You're absolutely covered. And can therefore feel much more confident than you do when wearing an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny tank top or the dreaded bikini. (This kind of applies to women only. Men don't seem to care if their wobbly bits are exposed).
2. An array of knitted sweaters. So comforting. So soft. And again - keep you completely covered. They just make you all warm and fuzzy feeling. Who doesn't love a good knit?
3. No more dreaded humidity. You no longer have to fear sweating when you enter into the outside atmosphere. Hurrah! Maybe this just applies to me, but with even a tiny hint of humidity in the air, my hair curls into ugly, ugly shapes and I start sweating as soon as the air touches my skin. Not fun. Give me a crisp morn any day.
4. Pretty colours. Yes, I know it sounds simple... but those reds and yellows and oranges really are gorgeous. They make me happy.
5. Cuddling. Due to my dislike of heat and humidity, there ain't much cuddling going on in the summer in my world. I'm all "Do. Not. Touch. Me" when it's hot and sticky and gross. But, with a chill in the air, all the more reason to snuggle up to someone and keep warm. Mmm... warm and snuggly.

What's your favourite thing about fall?

Commuters

I think I should be a hermit.

Sometimes I really, really f'n hate people. Wait... sometimes I really, really hate morning commuters (specifically those that ride the subway). That's more accurate.

My morning commute started off grim. I stood around in the rain waiting for a GO train that was 15 minutes late. So, of course, when it did come, everybody and their mother crammed themselves in like sardines. Which means I spent my morning ride (normally a nice, quiet time for me to read), standing on the stairs, doing a balancing act and trying not to fall into the man in front of me.

So, fine. I made it through that ride. Then I walked down to the subway platform only to find it was also crammed full of people. Which means there was something going on with the subway.
Delightful. At this point, I'm kinda grumpy... but not too bad... trying to roll with it.

Crammed myself on to the subway. Stood and waited for my stop to come up. (Entire subway is still crammed at this point). Thought I would be polite, so let everyone else around me off first. Which means - as I made my way to the doors to exit the subway, I was met with a gigantic crowd of people trying to get on. And, it was at this point that the subway doors started closing. So what did the lovely Torontonians do?

They charged me.

I kid you not. They friggin' charged me! Grown men and women were so afraid of having to wait 1 to 2 mintues for the next subway to come, that they actually, physically tried to run me over. One woman literally took her forearm and shoved me as hard as she could so I would get out of her way. I guess she didn't realize that I was TRYING TO EXIT THE TRAIN and thus, get out of her way.

Seriously. Some people make me fear humanity.

So that was my lovely morning commute. And that's why I'm considering moving far, far away from people. I may find some remote island to buy. Only you, dear reader, are welcome to join me. And that's cause I like your smile.

All on my own

My husband is out of town for the week at a work conference. He’s the cook in the family. And I ran out of cereal yesterday morning. I’m about to enter a full-on state of panic.

It’s sort of funny what happens to me when hubby’s not around. I mean, I consider myself an independent woman. And we can be apart from each other and not whine and moan about it like one of those annoying couples that has become one entity. Yet, I slightly fall apart when he goes away. I have issues falling asleep without him next to me (what can I say, I’m used to my hot water bottle). I suddenly find my little house scary at night time. And, if he’s gone too long, I border on malnutrition. (There will be no food whatsoever being prepared that could be considered a traditional meal. At all.)

All joking aside, I really miss my pookie when he’s gone. So, thankfully, he’s only gone until the end of the week. When he gets back, I’ll be ready with a big hug.

And an empty stomach.

One fine night

Monday morning. 8:49am. And I'm still recovering from Saturday night - one of the most fun weddings ever.

I've come to realize that as much as I love to rock out until 2 in the morning to various gems such as "Livin' on a Prayer" and "Rock you like a hurricane", I really, really pay for it afterwards.

Yesterday, I spent the day going from my bed to the couch, only facing the cursed daylight to get my greasy Harvey's lunch and equally as greasy thai takeaway for dinner.

But, as I look back on the photos from the night of my friends and I with giant grins on our faces, I really can't help but think it was all worth it. A night where good friends demonstrated their love for each other in front of everyone. Where brothers gave heartfelt speeches. Where a loving father and daughter, and a mother and a son, danced together. And a night where my friends and I laughed and danced and joked and were simply... happy.

Yep... the Monday morning bags under my eyes are totally worth it.

On writing (part two)

I've been thinking a lot about writing lately. I write every day as a copywriter in advertising. And I write my blog pretty often. But I haven't accomplished what I really want to as a writer yet.

What I mean is, I haven't written a story from start to finish. I haven't written the screenplay I know is inside me (even though I have no idea how to write a screenplay). I haven't written that novel that makes you laugh and cry. I haven't written my collection of essays.

And even though I do find it difficult to fit personal writing into my daily schedule of work, working out, running errands and not neglecting my husband, I know if I really, really wanted to, I would find that time to write.

So, what's holding me back?

I think there's a large part of me that suffers from what a lot of "creative" people suffer from. It's the whole self-doubt thing. What if I'm really not good? What if my writing sucks and nobody ever wants to read it? It's too embarrassing to have someone else read my work... it's personal. It's part of me.

I remember reading a collection of letters between Canadian author Carol Shields and her friend. Shields discussed her nervousness about her work and her worry that she wasn't any good. This was coming from a respected, already published author. I guess it never goes away.

Anyway, I'm doing my best to overcome it. I feel it will be a long journey, though.

Stress and the City

I read in the paper this morning that Canada is the 3rd most stressed out country in the world. That's kinda sad, isn't it? Only the Portugese and Americans are more stressed than us Canucks in the whole entire world.

It's also somewhat surprising, considering our tendency towards an easy-going, polite nature. (Of course, I think that's one of those generalizations about Canadians that just ain't true, but that's neither here nor there.)

So, to get my fellow Canadian readers into a relaxed state of mind, I offer you this collection of thoughts:

"Nothing is permanent in this wicked world - not even our troubles." ~Charlie Chaplin

"Sometimes the cure for restlessness is rest." ~Colleen Wainwright

"Besides the noble art of getting things done, there is a nobler art of leaving things undone. The wisdom of life consists in the elimination of nonessentials." ~Lin Yutang

"There is no need to go to India or anywhere else to find peace. You will find that deep place of silence right in your room, your garden or even your bathtub." ~Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

So fab

Monday morning. I'm back from my fabulous weekend, feeling good.

Just call me high-rollin' Hez. Why? Well, that would be because Momsie and I went for a day of pampering at a very "posh" spa. As we sat around in our robes and slippers, waiting our turn to be molded into jelly, we nervously eyed the other spa patrons, wondering if they could tell that we were 'burbs people. We came to the conclusion that they couldn't tell we weren't one of them. And so we gave in to fully enjoy our massages and facials.

Afterwards, we went to Lee Restaurant and had The. Best. Meal. Of. Our. Lives. This is a restaurant for people who love food. Again - very swanky and "Toronto".

And now, I'm feeling very posh and fabulous and swanky. (And quite a bit poorer). But it was so worth it.

Time for a change

Seems like absolutely everybody hates the new Facebook. Which makes me wonder why... Is it because it's really difficult to navigate? Or is it just that people generally fear change?

Over the past year, I've gone through a whole boat load of change at work. And I'll admit, my initial reaction was to freak out. I hated change. It made me paranoid. And I didn't like a shift in my happy little world I had made for myself.

Then I came to realize that with each change, things got better. It wasn't so hard to take. We pulled together at work and not only got through the period of change, we all came out happier. We couldn't believe how much better things actually could be.

I know the new Facebook is a different situation. And I do find it rather annoying, too. But I'm giving change a chance.

WWMD?

Hubby was teasing me last night. I was going on about how great M., our intern-turned-junior writer, has been doing at our agency - and I made the mistake of confessing that I think I've had a somewhat significant role in her success. Then, when I asked hubster what his thoughts were on a project I'm working on right now, he said "Hon, just ask yourself: What Would M. Do?"

All kidding aside, M. has been doing great because she's very talented. No doubt about that. On the other hand, I think back to the kind of guidance I had as an intern/junior, and I don't think I had the same kind of creative attention that M. is getting now. I mean - I didn't have anyone telling me to work harder, keep pushing the ideas and keep thinking (thus, making the end result stronger). I didn't have the opportunity to get involved in brainstorms on major client work - and have my actual written headlines/copy presented to the client. I didn't have the opportunity to "own" a job (that was bigger than writing a buckslip) so I could feel proud of what I had accomplished.

That's not to say that I didn't have a great experience at my first agency. I did. I absolutely LOVED the people. And I learned from the writers I worked with. Definitely. It just took a lot longer for me to get where M. seems to be already.

I'm proud of M. I'm happy for her. I want to see her grow and develop and have a great career. At the same time, (at the risk of sounding like I'm conceited or bragging), I'm happy with what I've been able to do for her. So, I'm kinda proud of myself, too.

If the shoe fits

I had an interesting discussion with my Mumsie this morning (after our morning run - which was lovely, even in the cold morning air!) Our discussion was about shoes. A very popular topic, as shoes are one of those things that women go absolutely nuts about.

Mom is a shoe girl. She loves shoes. And, as she told me this morning, if she were 20-something again, she would have gone crazy at the Nine West store she visited with her sister this past weekend. "The heels were all beautiful! To die for, I tell you" Mumsie exclaimed.

And, even though I could see the excitement in her smile as she discussed those gorgeous pumps, I couldn't get into the discussion. I'm really not a shoe girl. They just don't do it for me.

Don't get me wrong, I like a nice pair of shoes to complete the outfit... but comfort usually wins out for me. And, as my hubby so embarrassingly put it one day, that means most of my shoes are "sensible". (Hubby was actually complimenting me with this statement).

It all comes down to what makes you happy in life. I don't begrudge any women being shoe-crazy. If that's your thing - go for it! Buy those Jimmy Choo's! Life is too short to not feel fabulous, right?

After all, it's the little things that matter most. So go on. Get out there and find your shoe.

The clothes make the man

I hate my wardrobe. Seriously. Hate it. (I'm not trying to be dramatic here. Just telling it like it is).

This morning, I tried on 4 top/pant combinations before finally settling on something that I thought made me look less-than-frumpy. However, I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror once I was just about at the office... and I looked full-on frump. Like, dishevelled. Already.

So, I started my day off feeling kinda blah at how shite everything seems to look on me lately.

Since I've felt this way for a good 3 months (or more) now, and since I'm all about being "solution-oriented", I figured the answer would be to go shopping and get myself some new things to wear. So I did. I got myself 4 new tops and one pair of shoes a few weeks ago. Which cost close to $250. Ack!

Anyway, they're nice. And I feel good wearing them. But with only 4 new items, I've got to space them out so I don't reveal all my new "looks" at once and then spend the rest of the fall/winter being embarrassed that I wear the same few shirts to work week after week.

Sigh. The things I must deal with in life. Woe is me. Woe is me.

Everybody's a writer

Okay, this shit just makes me angry.

Apparently, Lauren Conrad, "star" (I use that term very loosely) of the reality show "The Hills" has recently signed on to write a series of young adult fiction.

And now, My Rant About Why This Is The Stupidest Thing I've Ever Heard:

1. Lauren Conrad is a young, 20-something privileged chick who's only claim to fame is being on a reality show that should really be called "Pretty white kids spending Daddy's money". This does NOT make her an excellent candidate to be publishing books.
2. Qualified, talented writers try for years and years and years to get published, while dealing with little-to-no income because very few authors are rich (unless they become huge, which is hard in the literature world). And suddenly, someone just HANDS a deal to this girl to write not just a book, but a series of books!
3. Living in "The Hills" has very little to do with reality for young adults, despite the category that her TV show falls into. So - the fact that someone completely out of touch with real young adults is about to write books for them just baffles me.
4. Writing for youth is acutally even HARDER than just writing for a general audience. Everyone thinks they can do it, but only really talented people actually have the ability to write something relevent to young adults that isn't absolutely riddled with clichés.

Sigh.

Friday at long last

Friday!!

It's rainy. But still... it's Friday.

Not much going on in the life of Hez today. Went out last night. Drank a little too much wine. Discussed the meaning of “eschew”. And listened to a co-worker try to explain eBay to another co-worker for approximately 45 mintues.

On to the weekend. Enjoy it, everyone.

Funny stuff

I woke up thinking today was Friday. Got into work, still thought it was Friday. Looked at my daytimer, was shocked and dismayed that it's actually only Thursday. I'm recovering now though. Thursday ain't so bad. (Not as good as Friday, mind you. But still not, so bad).

Anyway - so for this lovely Thursday morning, I thought another installment of funny Simpsons quotes were in order. (These never, ever get old). Enjoy!


Call this an unfair generalization if you must, but old people are no good at everything. ~Moe

Homer: Aw, twenty dollars! I wanted a peanut!
Homer's Brain: Twenty dollars can buy many peanuts!
Homer: Explain how!
Homer's Brain: Money can be exchanged for goods and services!
Homer: Woo-hoo!

Uh, no, they're saying “Boo-urns, Boo-urns". ~Smithers

I'll keep it short and sweet - Family. Religion. Friendship. These are the three demons you must slay if you wish to succeed in business. ~Mr. Burns

…And the fluffy kitten played with that ball of string all through the night. On a lighter note, a Kwik-E-Mart clerk was brutally murdered last night. ~Kent Brockman

“Thank the Lord”? That sounded like a prayer. A prayer in a public school. God has no place within these walls, just like facts don't have a place within an organized religion. ~Superintendent Chalmers

Fun with photoshop

I'd like to take a moment and show you what people at ad agencies do when they're not busy.

But first, I must introduce you to the creative team at my current place of employment. (Clockwise from the top: Tall writer, happy art director, gangster art director, gang-sign-flashing writer.)
(We were at an "offsite" which is code for: drink lots of booze and act crazy).

Next, let me introduce you to German pop sensation, Tokio Hotel:

And finally, how we spend our down time at work...

(Click on the pic for a lovely close-up!!)

To the Admirals

I have this group of friends. Whenever I refer to them I call them "the hockey guys and their wives". It sounds very
"Mystery, Alaska" or "Slap Shot" when it's put that simply. You can almost picture a bunch of unshaved, brute men and their puck bunny wives following them around.

It's really not like that. (Even if the boys would like to think so).

On the surface, they are the typical "hockey boys". They make crude jokes. They play hockey and then immediately drink copious amounts of beer afterwards. They like having the girls around, but you can tell they prefer those "just the boys" moments. They still do keg stands at parties - even though many of them are in their 30s.

But then you really get to know them. And you discover that they're just really cool guys. They're loyal friends (many have known each other since they were in high school). They come together and show support when something big is happening in one of their lives. Many of them are brothers. Supportive, caring brothers who are protective and proud of each other.

And on top of that, they're really fun. They like having a good time and don't take themselves too seriously. And even as the group changes and you see less of them - especially the guys that are new fathers - there will always be hockey that brings them together.

So, every once in a while (I don't like to overstay my welcome in "boy time"), I go watch them play. Not because I absolutely love to watch hockey - but because I just like being around them. I like listening to their jokes and catching up with what's going on with them.

To me, those Admirals are pretty amazing. (Unshaven or not).

Age

My 30th birthday is 5 months away.

I really don't have any strong feelings one way or another about turning 30. But I am pretty damn excited for some kind of a blowout. (Which can be quite problematic, actually.) I tend to build things up (like birthdays) and get all excited only to find out that not many people care as much as I do about me turning another year older. Naturally so.

Anyway - so if it doesn't turn out to be a big blowout, I hopefully won't be let down. I'll probably be too sauced up to remember. Haha. (Kidding, Mom).

Actually, if I were rich, my dream 30th would be to take a bunch of people with me on a trip to Ireland. All my friends. Me. A pub in Ireland. It would be incredible. The culture there pretty much ensures you're going to have a fantastic time. We could be singing Danny Boy at the top of our lungs, drinking REAL Irish beer, talking to the locals. Bliss.

It's fun to daydream.

Shame

Things I'm slightly embarrassed to admit, but will admit anyway:

• I picked up yet another "fluff" book yesterday. Couldn't help it. It called to me from the shelf at the bookstore, with it's brightly coloured jacket, characteristic of all good chick-lit.
• I'm kinda bummed about missing the "new 90210" premiere.
• After admitting to a close co-worker that I don't want to be seen as too much of a "party-er" at work, he started calling me "OD", for "Office Drunk".
• I've already started planning Christmas holiday stuff with the families. It's September 3rd.

Back to school

In honour of the back to school buzz going around right now, I offer my dear readers this little quote for the day:

"Time is a great teacher, but unfortunately it kills all its pupils" ~ Louis Hector Berlioz

A bun in the teenage oven

While listening to the news this morning, I heard that republican presidential candidate John McCain's running mate, Sarah Palin, has a 17 year old daughter. That's not really newsworthy. But then I heard that she's 5 months pregnant. Now that's news.

The family has assured the general public that's she's keeping the baby (papa, don't preach!) and that she'll marry the father of the child. Poor, poor 17 year old.

Now, I may be wrong in assuming that she probably doesn't want a kid and a wedding at 17 years old. But if she's anything like I was at 17 (or any 17 year old girl I know), she so doesn't want to become a grown-up so quick.

The first thing I thought was "there are 2 lives that will definitely never be the same". No prom, no dating, no living the student life at university, no being a DINK (which I so love).

I guess that's the price you pay when you're a republican's daughter. Well, if you're a republican's daughter who hasn't quite figured out birth control yet.

Lovin' it.

In the spirit of my new found love of hot yoga and oolong tea, I feel like listing off several other things that make me happy. (Also, I'm kind of lazy today and just feel like writing a list, rather than a long, rambling blog).

Things I love just as much as hot yoga and oolong tea:

• My hubby. Last night, he was willing to sacrifice and give me the LAST pita bread for my lunch today so I could enjoy a delicious chicken souvlaki. Now that's love.
• Jeans. I know some people find them uncomfortable, but I have a love affair with the denim. Never want to wear anything but jeans.
• The fam. Yes, I've gone on about them in previous posts, but it's cause I have a pretty great family. Me Ma, Da and brother all rock. And the best part is, they think I'm great!
• The fam-in-law. They may be quite different from my family (they can actually have lengthy discussions about waste management and not get bored) but when it comes to how loving and caring they are, they're right up there with my fam. It's nice to have two families and so much love to go around.
• Goat cheese. I recently had a salad that had goat cheese in it and it further confirmed my absolute love-on for the stuff. It's good on crackers, in a salad, with garlic... basically, it's just damn good.
• Books that you can't put down. I'm currently on the lookout for another one of these. Love reading. LOVE it!
• Parties involving beer. Anyone that knows me well, knows that I loves a good party. Add beer into the mix and it's pretty fan-frickin'-tastic.
• Parties in general. (See above).
• Lists. As you can probably tell, I enjoy the list-making. Nerdy, I know. But what can I say?

I could probably continue on for quite some time. But I'll save it for "Things I love just as much as hot yoga and oolong tea: Volume 2".

Product rave

I've made a new discovery. Well, new to me, anyway. I'm pretty sure it's been in existence for a looooooong time. Anyway, this discovery is oolong tea.

Wikipedia describes Oolong as: a traditional Chinese tea somewhere between green and black in oxidation.

I was reading about it in one of my Mom's "You: Living until you're 175 years old" books. And apparently, 2 cups a day of the oolong has incredible health benefits. Or, so says some doctor (backed up by a study. Or so he says).

And of course, me being a sucker for all the new health trends (hot yoga... need I say more?), I hustled out to the nearest specialty tea store and forked over 8 bucks for a teeny tiny package of the leaves.

I'm just imbibing now. And let me tell you, I'm quite pleased with my purchase. It's delicious and nutritious. I can feel myself getting more youthful with each sip.

Who am I?

Lately, I've been thinking about who I want to be. Not so much in a "what I want to be when I grow up" way. More of a "what kind of a person should I strive to be" way, I guess.

I've come up with a few versions of Hez:

Super zen-like/healthy Hez
This type of Hez is the one that's all about healthy eating, working out and living the clean life. I think it's been brought on by my recent discovery (and love) of hot yoga. I'm becoming one with the universe. (Okay, maybe not). But I definitely find myself more focused on eating well, drinking lots of water and respecting my body. I like this Hez. Just not sure if I can forsake all other facets of my personality and let this be the real me forever and ever, amen.

Party, just-wanna-have-fun Hez
Many people already see me as this type of Hez, I think. This is the Hez that likes going out with friends on the weekends, or going out after work with co-workers to enjoy a few bevies of the alcoholic variety. I absolutely, 100% love beer. And this is why I can see myself as the Party Hez. However, as I get older and older, I realize that after a night of partying, I'm pretty much a write-off. Not so much fun.

Suzy-homemaker Hez
This variation of Hez is definitely brought on by my recent obsession with the show Mad Men. The wives stay home and make dinner and look all done-up and pretty and have all the time in the world. Nah... this so is not me. If I stayed at home, I'd live in my sweats and prepare cereal for dinner when the hubby got home.

Anyway... I guess I don't have to be one Hez or another. An amalgamation is always nice. And perhaps, I'll find that I'm many different people (in a non-schizo way, of course).

Musings on necks

Several months ago, I bought my Mom the book "I feel bad about my neck" by Nora Ephron. Not because I think my Mom has a neck that she should be ashamed of. But because the book made me laugh out loud while thumbing through the pages. And I'm not even the target market.

Nora (I say "Nora" as if we're on a first-name basis. You know... Nor and I... we're tight) writes things like:

"Sometimes I go out to lunch with my girlfriends - I got that far into the sentence and caught myself. I suppose I mean my women friends. We are no longer girls and have not been girls for forty years. Anyway, sometimes we go out to lunch and I look around the table and realize we're all wearing turtleneck sweaters. Sometimes, instead, we're all wearing scarves, like Katherine Hepburn in On Golden Pond. Sometimes we're all wearing mandarin collars and look like a white ladies' version of Joy Luck Club... Oh, the necks. There are chicken necks. There are turkey gobbler necks. There are elephant necks. There are necks with wattles and necks with creases that are on the verge of becoming wattles..."

I could go on and on, quoting Nora and her funny, sarcastic, natural and friendly writing. She takes the topic of aging and doesn't use any old, tired gags to make it fresh and hilarious.

I strive to be like Nora one day. Not to have Nora's neck, of course. But, to be able to write a funny, relatable book that lots of people want to buy.

Hez goes to Vancouver

I've just heard that I'm going to Vancouver on Friday for business. My partner and I are heading off to brainstorm with the creatives at the general ad agency out west. I feel all lovely and important right now.

Of course, at this important moment in my career, I am reminded that my wardrobe just isn't up to snuff in the "trendy/cool/creative" realm. My dirty converse sneakers, while generally considered a staple among creatives, just ain't going to cut it.

Perhaps a shopping trip is in order. Yes... must find an outfit that says "I'm trendy, yet it comes naturally to me, so I didn't even realize I was so hip when I got dressed this morning."

My neuroses is in overdrive.

Short n' sweet

All of my blogs lately have been really long. So I decided to write a nice, short one.  And here it is, in all it's glory.

Enjoy the weekend, everyone. Tomorrow, I'm heading off to hot yoga: round 2. I'll let you know how it goes.

Me

Here are a few interesting things I've learned about myself lately.

I'm no longer the "young pup" at work.
In the past, if it came up in conversation, I would tell co-workers how old I was. The immediate response was always "Oh, you're just a pup". And so, despite my yearly birthdays, I've always felt like the young one around the office. Imagine my surprise when I was discussing the movie "Jerry Maguire" with a co-worker and she mentioned that she was "too young" for it. WHAT?? And there are several, several other co-workers who have made comments like "Oh, I was in grade 8 when you were starting University" and "What's 'He-Man'? I've never heard of it". Sigh. It's a somewhat sad realization. Which leads me to the next point...

I'm no longer young enough to be considered desirable by male celebs in their 30s.
I was listening to the radio the other day and heard that Michael Bublé (aged 32) has a new girlfriend (aged 23). 23??? That just seems so young to me. And Leonardo DiCaprio (34) has been dating a 23 year-old girl for a long time now. Oh, and while watching TV one night, I saw two characters have this conversation: "I need to set you up with my friend, she's great!" Response from male with slight look of disapproval on face: "Isn't she nearly 30?" Now, I know it's just TV... but still. When did age 30 become too old for men in their 30s?? I think I'm just sad that my chance with Leo is shot. You know, cause if I was a few years younger, I'd totally have a shot.

I'm old enough to know better.
All this being said, I know that no longer being in my early (or even mid) 20s is really great. Because I like where I am in life and who I am. Yes, the grey hairs might have frightened me at first, but I'm growing to be more and more okay with them. And with each year, comes more maturity, which just makes me feel smarter. Take last night for example. I went out for drinks with co-workers. And, instead of drinking myself silly and feeling like a badger's arse all day today, I went out, had a few drinks, had fun and still got home to bed by 10:30. And today I feel great. Ah... such wisdom with age.

That's a rap

Because this is my blog, and I feel it's a safe space, I can share a little anecdote about myself that I still (at 29 years old) find quite painful to recall.

Anyway - it's about rap. Rapping is not an art form I care for.

When I was 12 years old, I filed into my grade 6 music class one day. And it started out as any other normal class did that year. But about half way through, our teacher announced that we would be doing something different that day.

“Class, I’d like you to prepare a rap about yourself. You know, that music you young kids are all listening to.” She had a proud look on her face. A look that said she thought she had “done good”. I was mortified.

“At the end of the class, you will each stand up at the front and ‘rap’ about yourself.” That was it for me. I couldn’t think of a worse death.

So, I begrudgingly wrote my rap. And it rhymed. It was even kind of funny. But when I got up to the front of the class, something went wrong. I thought to myself “Start rapping now. Go on... just start saying stuff and try to make it sound cool.” But nothing, except for a panicked little breathing noise, would come out of my mouth.

I remember calmly sitting down in the front of the room, partially hidden by the teacher’s desk and not moving for the rest of class. I remember the confused looks on my classmates' faces. I remember starting to cry. And I remember the unfortunate moment when my nose started bleeding. I also remember the kids laughing at me for the rest of the year. I didn't realize it until quite a while later that I had my first ever panic attack.

And to this day, when I hear anything by Snoop Dog or P. Diddy, I get a kind of sick feeling in my stomach.

Damn, that's HOT!

I've recently discovered that my leg issues (from running) have not gone away. And because I have no intention of quitting running, I've got to figure out a cure for these leg problems.

I went to physio. Didn't help. I went to a reflexologist/chiro dude. Was sort of helpful... but not enough.

So now, I've turned my hopes to yoga. Not just any yoga, though. I'm talking about a new-fangled type of yoga that may or may not be considered just a trend among the latte-drinking-downtown-dwelling hipsters. Either way, I tried it out last night... and I loved it.

I'm talking about Hot Yoga. You've heard of this, yes?

This is where you, and many other people in very little clothing, file into a small-ish room and do various stretching and balancing and posing, all in a heated environment. Now, when I say "heated", I don't mean a snuggly warm, toasty, feel-good room. I mean a "feels like you're in the nexus of hell" heated room.

Last night, as I was twisting into a downward dog, listening to the instructor exclaim: "Wow. Like totally just stretch to the sky. Wow. Yes. Reach with all your energy and spirit", I had a moment where I thought to myself "What am I doing??" The sweat was literally (and I really, truly mean literally) pouring off of me. I've never felt my eyelids sweat before last night. My shins were drenched. I didn't even know shins could sweat!

Anyway, at some point in between getting used to all the sweat and wondering if I was going to vomit or not (due to the heat), I started feeling really good. My body felt... good. At the risk of sounding like Moonflower the Instructor, my body felt light. And at ease.

If you think about it, I had been stretching for about an hour. In a heated room, so my muscles were instantly warmed up, meaning I could stretch further for longer. No wonder I felt so good.

Anyway, so now I'm hooked. And I am totally putting the "hot" into "hot yoga", baby.