For Hire

I applied for a job last week. This is monumental for several reasons. Firstly, it's the first step of action in admitting that the brazen career move I made 4 months ago isn't working out. You may have noticed... I really hate when things don't work out. I made what I thought was an excellent career move. I had hopes for a long term career with a great company. I took a risk. And now I'm trying to not focus on what I've lost and, instead, forge ahead and not let this mistake consume or discourage me.

Secondly, this job I applied for? Completely different from what I've been doing. I really want this. I think I really need this. And I think I'd be really, really good at it. It's a people person kind of job. A job that focuses on newsletters and conferences, writing and networking. How fun is that?!?

I've been extremely lucky in my professional life. People have taken chances on me. I've been given opportunities I haven't always been qualified for. I've always known I could do the job... I've done the work to catch up to speed and made the effort to live up to the belief people have had in me. And I like to think I haven't disappointed. I am forever grateful for people taking a chance on me when they didn't have to. The only question is... how many more people will be willing to do that?

I kind of feel like I'm pushing my luck. Like the last career move I made was the point of no return... and it will all be downhill from here. I hope that's not true. I hope for another chance. But I fear I may have uttered those very words 4 months ago and my 'one more' chance has already come and gone.

This is the first job I've applied for since this blog went public and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't terrified. Sometimes I wonder if I'm making bad decision after bad decision... and if the very things I've done to try and improve my life will actually be its downfall. Thing is... if I don't get this job I won't be able to tell if it's because I'm not qualified or if it's been something I've written or because if who I've revealed myself to be.

I really want this. But I will understand if I don't get so much as a call. I know I've asked for a lot. And perhaps I don't deserve chance after chance... but one more would be nice.

And, just between us, I really, really hope I get that call.

To Sleep, PerChance to Dream

I spend a lot of time in bed. Not sleeping, mind you. You see, I'm a dreamer. Asleep or awake. Dreams of slumber or day dreams. Always have been, probably always will be. I could live my entire life within the confines of my mind. And while I may not be living my entire life in a dream world, I definitely spend a large portion of it with my eyes closed and my mind wandering.

It may seem like a waste but, really, why wouldn't I? When the alternative is to spend my days alone trying to get the motivation to do the things I should do as a 'responsible' adult- by patching the cracks in my walls, redoing my hardwood floors and getting a handle on my house's out of control exterior- only to have none of it really matter anyway (until I go to sell my house, of course). What's it all for, anyway? Me? Or everyone else? Sure, I would enjoy all those things, once done, but it's so much work and it never seems to turn out as well as one would hope. I'm on my second house. I've done the work before. It was one thing to paint a house, redo flooring and tidy up the yard when having a counterpart... but I'm overwhelmed when it comes to doing it solo. So instead of figuring out where to start... I don't.

I've always wanted something bigger for my life. I've dreamt (literally) of bigger places, better things. Of a job in show business or working for Google. Of being a writer. A wife. A mother. And while 'real' life may have disappointed, my dreams have not. I realize the patheticness of my life. I do. I spend 1/3 of my life at work, 1/3 on the internet and 1/3 in bed (although I'll admit there's often overlap, as I've been on the internet in bed). If the younger me could see the older me she would definitely utter the word "loser".

I do have my moments. My writing, and the opportunities from it, has come along (I hope). I've stepped out of my comfort zone to try and meet new people, make new friends and go new places. I've become braver, more confident and even self-assured, on the good days. I push myself (and I sometimes do have to push) to try and make things better. I made a, albeit failed, attempt at a new career and have now begun the search again, determined to find a job where I can make an impact and a difference. I sew, I knit, I do stained glass (although not as much as I should, given the neglected grinder in my basement I'm too unmotivated to take proper care of) and I volunteer. I have great friends. And I even get out of the house, from time to time. I know there's a lot to be thankful for and, if I could get my butt in gear, have endless opportunities open to me. But until I do and my life matches my dreams there's one place you can almost be guarunteed to find me.

My bed.

Good Advice involving a 'Bottle' of Beer

In case you're new to this blog, or completely oblivious, I am the Last Girl Standing (LGS). All my friends are married and almost all of them either have kids or are trying to have kids. Sometimes this leaves me with not much to contribute to conversations and I sometimes wonder how long it will be before I become obsolete. After all, nobody wants parenting/marriage advice from the single chick.

But every now and then I do have something to add.

Take today, for insance. A good (no, great) friend of mine was lamenting on the fact her little one doesn't enjoy milk. My idea? Mix it with water and, over time, gradually increase the milk-to-water ratio until, voila, it's all 3% dairy goodness.

Impressed with my wisdom, I had to confess where I obtained such knowledge: it's how I taught myself to drink beer. Yup, that's right... I hated the taste of beer, but am too lazy to mix coctails, so I cut the taste by adding 7-Up, gradually reducing the pop until I became a full-fledged beer lover.

That's me... providing parenting advice in the form of cocktails. You're welcome, babies who will inherit the earth.

You're welcome.

It's in the bag

I bought a new purse. That's not to say I needed a new purse. That's really not the point. The point is... I needed THIS purse. It's different from my other purses. I have my standard over-the-shoulder every day purse, my glitzy silver clutch fancy occasion purse, my bowler that needs some minor fixing but I love it anyway purse, my knock-off couture purse... but I didn't have a Franco Sarto green paisley purse. And? I love it! It has so many pockets. A spot on the outside for my iPhone (never mind the fact I don't have one... the important thing is I want one and now I have a pocket for it), two compartments that are easily accessible where I can just reach in and grab keys, chapstick, grocery bags, etc. and a zippered compartment in the middle, with many of it's own pockets.

It won't be my every day purse (hello, I already have one of those!) but it sure will be my 'I'm feeling girlie and it's the closest to brand name I've ever had' purse. Besides... it came with a matching umbrella so, really, how could I not buy it?!? After all, it is raining today...

feliz navidad

This is the week. The week Sex and the City 2 comes to theatres. To say I'm excited is an understatement. And I do not excite easily, so that really says something. I have tickets to see it Wednesday with my oldest friend (I don't mean 'oldest' in terms of age, I mean 'oldest' in the fact we've been friends since grade 1). That's right, the day BEFORE it comes out. Because that's just how influencial and well-known I've become... or maybe that's the day of the 'preview', which is open to any member of the public yielding $11. Whichever.

I've actually been counting the sleeps. I lay in bed this morning thinking "not today... not tomorrow... but the day after". It's like Christmas... for 30-(something)-year-old women.

And, so, in honor of this event I've written an article over at Chic Galleria, dedicated to Carrie and the girls. Please stop by and say hello.

LOST and found

In case you haven't noticed, I don't particularly handle it well when things end. Relationships, lives... tv shows. Yes, I said tv shows. When Friends ended I mourned. When Studio 60 ended I was in shock (I mean, really, how could such a show be cancelled so prematurely and unfairly?!?). And now LOST has ended. Perhaps I'm growing as a person (I mean emotionally, not physically... although both may be true) or perhaps it's the fact it was all so anti-climactical... but my feelings tonight? 'Meh'

I don't think I have trouble with the show actually ending... I have trouble with the little family created by such a long-running program being dispersed. I feel bad for the actors. The cameramen. The craft services staff. I mean, really, if I miss my old co-workers and I sat in an office every day for 4 years writing computer code (which I loved doing, by the way) I couldn't imagine working on something so amazing, spending endless hours of endless days with people... sharing so many experiences and triumphs.

And then having to walk away and leave it all behind.

The Empress posed the theory on a recent post that perhaps some people just feel more than others. I couldn't agree more. I've always been able to empathize. Put myself in someone else's shoes. Feel people's joy... and heartache. Heck, Hallmark commercials make me cry. And I have books I'm pages away from ending but can't bring myself to finish, as though prolonging it will somehow stop the inevitable last page from having been written.

My mom once told me her biggest regret was raising such emotional children. I wonder... is that something she had any control over? Given the childhood my brother and I had we should be anything but emotional. We should be cold and void of feeling, full of anger and angst. Instead, we are saps. Emotional wusses. Sure, I may come off as a bitter, heartless bitch... but I assure you I am anything but. Give me an episode of Grey's Anatomy (circa Season 2) anand I don't stand a chance. Tears will flow. Sobs will be had and noses will run.

I don't really care that LOST ended. Although excellently filmed and written, I found the last season mildly boring. I'm tired of hearing everyone's theories (it's like my introductory Univeristy English class all over again) and it had a good run. But when I read Jorge's article on what the end of LOST means to him, it makes me incredibly sad. Sure, people had to say goodbye to their long-running, high-paying jobs but they also had to say goodbye to their friends. Their home. Everything they've known for the past 6 years is no more. What used to get them out of bed in the morning is over. And as inevitable as it may be, that can still be tough.

Trust me, I know.

So I hope all the people who worked on the show are okay tonight. Because I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be the first day of something different. Something that is perhaps long overdue but a little bit scary. Perhaps even lonely. And definitely never quite the same. I'm sure they'll all be fine. But, still, sometimes it's sad when things end. Even if you saw it coming, years ahead of time.

Trust me, I know that too.

*That* house on the block

I spent last weekend doing yardwork.

You know what I hate? Yardwork. In truth it's not that bad once I actually get started... I listen to my iPod and, based on the amount of pain my legs are in today, it's an awesome workout. But I sure do dread and avoid it. Whay? Because my yard is xeriscaped... meaning instead of a lawn I have plants and flowers. Apparently it's supposed to be better for the environment, what with not needing to be watered (so they say) or mowed and maintained. I'd like to state, for the record, this was NOT my idea. The yard was like that when I moved in. And just how 'great' is xeriscaping?

Well I'm glad you asked!

First off... if you're thinking of xeriscaping your yard I have only one piece of advice: DON'T!!!! Seriously, it is a pain in the ass. Sure, the first year it great... with everything in it's place, it looked lovely and strategic and really seemed to impress the 80, and older, demographic. But then? Things went awry. It's hard to tell what's a plant and what's a weed. The plants that should be in my yard have found their way into my neighbour's (which *really* fosters a good relationship with said neighbours... to the point where I avoid going outside at all costs, which means I'm getting the most out of my wonderfully landscaped yard, yes?) and the grass from my neighbour's yard has ended up in mine.

Secondly... good for the environment? Doubtful. Given the endless soil erosion that occurs and the amount of pesticides a person should use (I don't, I'm lazy) to contain the plants, kill the weeds and stop the grass from growing. I'm pretty sure mowing a lawn once a week using one of these would be more environmentally friendly.

Thirdly... the worst is when fall comes. I never know which plants to pull and which to leave. Speaking of leaves (now that's what I call a segway!)... when they fall what's a girl to do? I tried a leaf blower... it was like tornado-ville. Tried a leaf sucker... and got more rocks and dirt than leaves. So I usually end up picking up the leaves by hand. By hand! Words cannot describe how much this sucks.

Lastly... it's a mess. Everything has spread, nothing is where it once was. It's like the vast praire landscape threw up in my yard, tumbleweeds and all. And nobody enjoys praire vomit. Nobody. And the *best* part is? Because of the root structure it can't be undone... unless, of course, I want to dig up all the dirt and replace it, to the tune of thousands (and thousands) of dollars just to get what was there to begin with... a lawn. The alternative? Flatten the whole damn thing, cover it with tar and have a rock garden. Ya.... both options are *so* environmentally friendly.

So, beware, if such a notion as xeriscaping cross your mind, consider yourself warned, lest you end up with a yard that looks like this:

Small Town Dating: Sex and the City it is not

I've got another article up at Chic Galleria. This one details one (of the many) reasons why I am more like Bridget Jones than Carrie Bradshaw. Check it out and enter a contest (or two) while you're there.

Ode to a Friend

The internet is a very big place. Sometimes, though, it can seem minute. Sometimes it feels like you've been to the end of it and back again. Like you've seen everything there is to see and know everyone there is to know.

Sometimes the internet is so small that somehow, in all the world, a person can find you. Or you can find a person. A person you never would have met had it not been for the millions upon millions of websites... and the path they lead to your own. You may not even know how it happened... perhaps you both commented on something, perhaps one of you followed a link... and sometimes you don't even know when it happened. But somehow, one day, that someone was just 'there'. And, like any good friendship, it can't be tracked to a single moment in time. You can't recall the exact day. And you can't really remember what life was like before them.

And you never, ever think there will come a time when they won't be there.

I have had such a friend. She's been here since almost the beginning. I don't know how, I don't question why. But, my goodness, how lucky I am! How grateful I am to have found such a kind soul. A selfless soul. A person who read not one but both of my blogs... commenting again and agian, reminding me she was there, telling me that she cared and that I was needed and loved. She did all this without asking for anything in return. Lord knows there were times when I was too 'busy' to stop in and say 'hello' on her own blog. Yet she always made time for me. Especially when I needed her most. I could count on her in ways she couldn't count on me and not once did she ever complain, not once did she ever point out the lopesidedness in our friendship. When I wasn't going to BlogHer I told her we'd have our own party. When I found a way to go I forgot, in my excitement, that I would be leaving her behind. And not once did she let on of any of the emotions I would have had, had the roles been reveresed... not once did she express the sadness she must have felt. Not once did she mention the fact I must have disappointed her.

That wasn't her style. Despite all her obstacles, she was a ray of sunshine. An example for all, but especially for me. I promised her that, next year, we'd find a way for us both to go.

I never once thought next year would never come.

She was one of my first blog followers, first Twitter followers and the first 'online' person I've ever let into my 'real life' world on Facebook. She's been in my life for what seems like forever... but what turned out too be not long enough.

I was trying. To be more interactive. A better friend. Especially after this post. I felt bad for complaining for my lack of popularity... only to realize, thanks to what she- and others- had written in response, that when it comes to the people in my life quality far outweighs quantity. I wanted to reply to everyone's comments... letting everyone know that they understand me... that I understand them... and that I am so very, very grateful for having them in my life, virtual as it may be. But I didn't have the time, couldn't find the words. And then it seemed too late... too 'after the fact'. Life passes by so quickly. Too quickly, in fact.

My friend, Mary Jo, passed away suddenly on Saturday.

I am in shock. I know I am. I don't think I fully comprehend what it means. Of course I do, in theory, but I have to stop and remind myself- force myself- to put it in perspective... that she will NEVER be here again. Even as I've tried, all day, to write this post in a way that would make her smile I keep thinking, in the back of my mind, that I can't wait to see what she writes in response. Then I remember... there won't be one.

I find myself, in my everyday world, talking about this person or that person... and I never know what to call them, these people I've met online. But I do today. The world has lost a beautiful person. The kindest, sweetest person. A person so full of love. And I am so lucky and eternally grateful to have known her. That she found me, or I found her. This person... who I call 'friend'.

So, Mary Jo, I'm sorry I wasn't half the friend you were to me. That, somehow, I felt I needed you more than you needed me. That I always expected you to give, only to occasionally return the favor. I thought there would be time. When I was better. Happier. Healthier. But you have taught me not to wait. That life's not a game of waiting for one thing to pass or improve... it's all or nothing. And, my friend, you did it all... and you did it well.

You'll be missed. There won't be a day I don't log in, expecting and hoping to see a comment from you.

This song's for you, kiddo. It's YOUR song. I hope wherever you are you know you are so much more than notamomma... you are a wonderful wife, an amazing mom-in-training and the most wonderful person and friend I could have ever hoped to have met.

*hugs* and love,
k.

Aging Gracefully (or at least trying to)

Today I spent $100 on oils and lotions that promise to keep me from looking my age... thus proving my age is 'old'. Technically I actually spent $98, as I also purchased a bag of chips, despite the fact I am still on a diet. A diet, mind you, that has not been going well as of late (gee... I wonder why?!?)

I will be the first to admit: I've looked better. My chest has seen better days, but not for the usual gravity-related reasons (not to say that's not an issue, of course). I have a red blotch of skin that has been around for nearly a year that my doctor says is normal "for someone my age". I think that's his way of saying it's an age spot... and that he's lacking some serious bedside manner.

And my eyes... Oy, my eyes! Or, as I like to refer to them, those-sunken-things-located-right-above-those-big-puffy-black-bags-of-rottenness. If Matthew Perry and I ever procreate our children will surely look like raccoon babies: Cute, excessively hairy and dark circles around the eyes.

And let's not forget that birthmark I had removed... which is now a red bumpy scar that itches like crazy and looks like a zit in photos, thus ruining what once was my 'good' side. I regret having it removed every day, my one decision of vainness. I can't imagine ever getting plastic surgery... what if, afterward, you decided you actually prefer your old nose/chin/chest/butt?!? It's not Microsoft Word... there's no 'undo' button (although believe you-me, I have wished there was on more than one occasion).

Sadly, with all these attempts to look young I find there is added pressure. After all, it's not only biological clock that's working against me... the clock to ugly-ville is also ticking. Sure, I sometimes look in the mirror and think "I don't look bad for someone who's had kids". The only problem is... I don't have kids. Not only do I worry about grey hairs and wrinkles bit I also find myself thinking that I better hurry up and find a man before I'm completely 'gone'. Ironically, it's also the first time in my life where I'm actually not in a hurry to find a man. Yes, I have officially reached that point in life where my age (and my looks that are changing because of it) is a drawback. I now feel as though I, somehow, have to have more to offer in order to compete with women just a couple years younger than me. I'm not sure what those things would be... but I do have a motorcycle. That's hot, right?

Never mind the fact I also have a scooter (not the medi-chair kind... yet), sewing machine and knitting supplies coming out of the wazamazoo (ouch!)

I should've seen this coming. After all, I did get my first white hair when I was 21. And, no, I don't just say it's white because it makes me sound more distinguished (George Clooney/Jon Stewart, anyone?!?). It is actually white as white, blinding as the snow, white. In comparison to my jet black hair it's actually somewhat intriguing to think I may one day be a silver fox, giving me a blank canvas to finally be able to dye my hair any colour of the rainbow. With my luck? Blue. Ironically... I'm going to get blue streaks just before BlogHer.

But the other day? I found a white eyebrow hair. People... they are moving south!!!

I fear for my (dating) life.

Adventures in Babysitting

I've got a post up at Chic Galleria, please come visit! And while you're there, enter the giveaways. Your chance of winning is quite high and these duct tape-like boob lifters are both intriguiging, yet concerning. I even checked and, yes, all North Americans are eligible to win... that means you, Canucks!

A Mother's Day Wish

With each passing year it becomes less probable but I still can't help but wonder if there will ever be a Mother's Day in which I get to partake in the celebration.

And, so, my Mother's Day wish is not for all the woman who are mothers but, rather, for all the women who long to be mothers but, for whatever reason, are not. Because it is you, on this day, who need love and hugs the most.

The Bucket List

I have had this list, in some form or another (including in my head and on a napkin), for years. It has changed greatly, over time. It once consisted of 'get married, have children, go on an all-inclusive vacation' and while those are all wonderful things I tend to think I have since se my sights a tad higher. It is, after all, a bucket list. And while those previous items are still things I would like to accomplish I've come to realize they're not necessarily things I can control. Granted, there are sperm banks (or bars and alcohol) and mail-order husbands but there's a difference between doing something and doing something the way I want it to be done. So, alas, going to the Oscars just might be less of a pipe dream then getting married at this point in my life. And you know what? That's okay! Because almost everyone can say, at the end of their life, that they've been married but how many can say "I've been to the Acadamy Awards"?

And, for the record, I fully believe everything on this list is achievable. I did not pick, nor do I take, the things on this list lightly. This list is a reflection of how much I've grown and changed as a person. It's evolution shows how much I once wanted out of life in comparison to how much I now think life has to offer. And that, my friends, never ceases to astound and amaze me. Because if I can make a list such as this... shouldn't everyone?!?!

1. Meet Tina Fey. There is a reason why this is at the top of the list. She is, undoubtedly, my hero. My mentor. My girl crush. She is everything I want to be. As a comedian, as a writer and, most importantly, as a person. I adore her for her work... and for herself. And while she has brought me to tears endless times from laughter it is this speech which has affected me most. In one simple sentence she summed up everything that I have ever wanted out of life and everything I could ever hope to be and do as a parent and person. And even if our encounter is in passing, on a busy New York street, I will try my best to convey how much she has inspired me these past few years, when I needed inspiration the most. If all I ever get to say is a simple "thank you", yelled over the hustle and bustle of times square, it will be the most sincere thank you of my life. Two words will have never held more meaning than those two words I hope to one day speak to her.

2. Go to the Emmies. But only if Tina is going. And primarily for the sitcom portion of the evening. It would be super if Steve Carell or Neil Patrick Harris could be hosting. Or both. But I'm not picky. Much.

3. Attend the Oscars. This is something I've dreamt for as long as I can remember. In case you haven't noticed, I love award shows. I love listening to the speeches, giving thought to each person that is mentioned, hoping I can one day affect and inpsire someone so much. I used to want to be the one giving the speech... I've since learned that the really important people aren't necessarily the ones on the stage... they're the ones who lead the way for the person to get there.

4. See Dave Matthews play "Ants Marching". I have attempted (and been unsuccessful at) this twice- once back in 2002 and then last December, when I thought I had scored the motherload when I found out Dave Matthews was playing with Tim Reynolds in Vegas. I went the distance... travelling 1100 miles to go to the Thursday concert. And you know what? I went BY MYSELF. That's how dedicated I am to this (and the list) and I refused to sit at home, bemoaning the fact I had nobody to go with. And when the first song started playing tears welled in my eyes. I had come so far, literally, to get to that point. I was so proud of myself in that moment. And do you know what song they didn't play? Ants Marching. Do you know what song they played during both the Friday and Saturday night performaces? Ants Marching. I was hearbroken. It took months before I could bring myself to listen to another Dave Matthew song and even now I can't listen to my favoritest song in all the world without feeling a slight tinge of melancholy and frustration. I could have gone to any of the concerts, I was in Vegas all weekend. But, for whatever reason, I picked Thursday. Heck, I could have had FREE tickets on Saturday, but I had plans (turns out I could've gone to both) and didn't want to risk being disappointed again. I try not to take it personally but, sometimes, it's hard not to think the fates align against me. Bucket lists can be hard, people... they can knock you down, chew you up and spit you out. I haven't given up on this one. No matter how many tries it may take to do this, or any item on this list, I'll keep trying. Would I have said that 5 years ago? Hell no.

5. Go to a Counting Crows concert

6. See Joe Purdy live. I love Joe Purdy, I think he's fantastic. I found him the way I find most of my music... by hearing a song in a tv show, movie or commercial. (What can I say, I don't listen to mainstream music. Or the radio.) I first heard Joe on LOST. Then Grey's Anatomy. I listened to Joe's song, Can't Get It Right, when I moved from the house I shared with my Ex to the one I now live in. I didn't really want to move but I was desperate for some sort of change that would help make things better. I listened to that song, on repeat, as I painted the basement... tears streaming down my face, listening to lyrics that fit so perfectly by saying "It's nearly been a year since he's been gone... and she knows, she should move on... but she just can't let him go. No, she just can't let him go". And it was Joe Purdy I decided to email late one night, after perhaps a little too much self-reflection and a lot too much wine, only to get a friend request on Facebook days later.

7. Go to Oprah. If my friends win the Ultimate Job, this could become a reality.

8. See the sun rise over Machu Picchu. Or set, I'm not picky.

9. Visit the pyramids, ride a dune buggy in the Sahara, sail down the Nile and see the city of Petra. I've been eyeing up a tour that would let me do all these things this October. Sadly, my current job has very strict vacation restrictions so, as it stands, this is a no-go. That being said, I'm fairly certain that when on my deathbed, refleting on my life, I won't find myself saying "gee, I'm so glad I didn't go on that trip because I had to work". If I worked at Google or NASA or on the set of 30 Rock (see items 1 and 2) my work would be my vacation but, as it currently stands, if I'm forced to choose between my current job and my bucket list... I think it's fairly clear as to which I'll choose. There will always be other jobs but there are only so many opportunities to see a the wonders of the world. And, last time I checked, my cubicle was not one of them.

10. Learn to play Chopin's Prelude in D Flat (aka 'Raindrop') on Piano. I loved University. Absolutely loved it. I was in a very small department (there were only 6 of us in my graduating class) and I had the best classmates ever. One year, when we were studying for finals, we came across a little room on campus that had a piano in it. We would study and, when taking a break, my friend would play that song for me. I would request it, over and over. It calmed me. Motivated me. And filled my head and heart with hope and wonderment. Mind you, that was also the same year we decided to name our children after Physics terms, with me deciding to name my future offspring 'Ampere' so that when I got really upset I could yell "Coloumb per Second, get over here!" so perhaps I think my college years were a tad cooler than they actually were...

11. Learn to play the fiddle. Yes, that's vague but, really, I just want to be able to 'play'. Besides, it's probably best I keep expectations of this task low, given the fact when I was looking to purchase a fiddle I went to a music store, asked to see their violins and, after pretending to be very knowledgable on the subject, proceeded to turn to the person helping me and say "very nice... now I would like to see your fiddles". How was I to know they're the same?!?! They should really have mentioned that in kindergarten. Needless to say, I never stepped foot in that store again. Thank goodness for the internet! It's hard, yet not impossible, to embarrass myself shopping online.

12. Write a book. The caveat? Write a book that gets published. And I don't mean self-published. After all, I used to photocopy my stories as a kid and sell them around the neighbourhood for 10 cents a pop so I'd like to, this time around, publish something that gets purchased by someone other than my mom. Extra, exra... my brother still smells!

13. Be in Chicago on St. Patrick's Day, to see the river turned green. This is scheduled for 2011. Come hell or high green water!

Sure, there are other things I'd like to do and accomplish but I'm trying to be realistic. No, really, I am! You can tell because you know what is not on the list? Matthew Perry! I also don't want the list to become too daunting. That being said, I'm sure this list will continue to progress over time.

My only hope is I do too.

Freaky Glee-ky

I have only seen 3 episodes of Glee, one of which was the series premiere. I thought I'd be into it more but I'm just not. Maybe because I like to sing the songs and do the dancing, albeit neither very well. Perhaps if they made Glee for the Wii (patent pending!)...

So one of the other episodes? I just happened to have the tv on when a friend was over. The thing is... it's kind of freaking me out because you see this sweater:


Ya, that one. The one seen here:


And here?


I totally have that sweater (I apologize about my hair and (lack of) makeup. In my defense I had just finished working out):


So the next week? I decided to watch it because, hello, bitch has my sweater! And you know what happened? She was wearing this:


See it?


Ya... I have that too:


Needless to say, I phoned my friend and had a bit of a freak-out. I've stopped watching the show. My heart, and wardrobe, just can't take it. Because apparently I dress like a 15 year old high school student. And not even one of the cool, popular ones.

That seems about right.

And??? As I type this Lea Michele is on Jimmy Fallon (it's true, you can see it on the tv behind me). And earlier today she was on ellen (note the small 'e'... ellen prefers it when I write it like that. It's true, she told me. When I was at Matthew Perry's house. What... it could happen!). Clearly she's stalking me. I should really get a restarining order. Or at least some sort of compensation.

Royalties would be nice.

Goal Setting Sunday

I try to set goals for myself but they normally consist of getting out of bed by noon and not getting up in the middle of the night to eat chocolate. Or cheese. Or bacon.

I will openly admit that I met neither goal today.

I haven't been very good at setting goals lately. So I'm (hopefully) going to rectify that by publicly announcing a new set of goals for myself every week.

Without further ado, this week's goals are:

1. To write at least three blog entries and one magazine articles. And, yes, this counts towards one of the three... don't judge me.

2. Sew some blankets and put them on Etsy. I may (or may not) have a mild addiction to ribbon. Riboon is so pretty and fun! And, yet, not all that useful. So I've decided to make some taggie blankets. Becuase you know what else is fun? Fabric! Unless, of course, you're trying to find fabric to match ribbon (or vice versa). And since the baby boom amongst my friends has settled down (for the moment) I figured I may as well try to sell my wares. After all, I could use some extra spending money for BlogHer!

3. Start thinking of a stained glass project (foreshadowing for next week's goal!)

And, finally, the last goal of this week (and I'm hoping every week) will involve learning to play a song on one of the various musical instruments I've amassed but, sadly, have not mastered. This week? That goal is...

4. Learn to play 'Blackbird' on the guitar.

We'll see how this goes. Perhaps I'll even vlog an update on it next Sunday. I smell a regular segment coming on....

What's a Brel? (The one with all the links)

A couple of years ago I went to Paris, Amsterdam and all over Turkey. I met many wonderful people who,through the power that is Facebook, I've kept in contact with. There are a couple (literally) in particular with whom I have not only stayed friends with online but also offline. I went to their wedding and recently stayed with them while on a work trip. When I met them they were on a year-long trip around the world. Needless to say, they are fun and adventures.

I am lucky to know them.

Roughly a month ago I saw a story on CNN about the 'Ultimate Job in Ireland'. You may remember a similar contest last year, with the winner living on an island in Queensland, Australia. Could you imagine... getting paid $150,000 to live on an island and snorkel/blog (albeit not simultaneously) for 6 months?!?

Well when I saw the Ultimate Job in Ireland my thoughts immediately turned to the friends I met in Turkey, Brendan and Mel. A simple shared link on Facebook and the rest is history... they made it into the top 50 and are now in the Top 10. They leave for Ireland on Tuesday.

They'll find out if they win on May 9th.

If you're a friend of mine on Facebook or a follower on Twitter you might already know all this because I spammed you a LOT to drum up votes for my friends. And while I fear I was overly annoying and pushy and may have even lost a friend or follower (or twelve) I can't really say that I'm sorry. After all, I have ulterior motives... besides the fact that 'Brel' (yes, they are like Brad and Angelina, aka 'Brangelina', and Ben and Jennifer, aka 'Bennifer') will be on Oprah if they win (and, yes, I'm hoping to be in the audience... after all, this was my idea) but I will also have the opportunity to live in Brendan and Mel's house while they're away for half a year. May not sound that exciting except for the fact they not only have a cute little puppy but.... have I mentioned they live in Toronto?!?

So, yes, this contest is all about them. And I hope they win, I've even stated it for the record by guest blogging for them. I am giddy with excitement for all the opportunities this will give them, each of which they greatly deserve and all of which I plan to live, vicariously, through them. But this contest could be an opportunity for me too. The perfect chance to try life in the big city, without actually having to move. It would be a much-needed break. From my life. From my job. From my social life (or lack thereof). It would give me a chance to perhaps work on my writing and would, surely, provide plenty of new material.

I would lie if I said I wasn't just as nervous as I am excited. There are logistics that would need to be worked out (on that note... does anyone want to rent my house, or just pay my mortgage, while I'm gone? Or do I sell the house I love in the perfect neighbourhood, thus forcing me to make a move at the end of the 6 months?) and decisions to be made (would I be committing career suicide by taking a 6-month break? Would anyone hire me if and when I return? I think I'd be refreshed, renewed and ready to start a long-term career... but would potential employers see it that way?).

Needless to say, the best approach has been to not even think about it. At least not yet. Not until the winners are announced. Otherwise there is just too much to think about and it is too overwhelming. For someone who doesn't believe in fate (something that I find myself reconsidering these days) this is one time I'm definitely leaving it up to nothing but.

Trust me, it's just easier that way.


PS... follow Brel's progress here. They're wonderful bloggers. You can even click to show your support (yes, that is me asking... please and thank you!)