tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56966091726106528502024-03-12T23:17:44.856-03:00Now We're Talking!Conversations about life, work, parenting, relationships, money, housework, sanity, food, drink, feelings, sex, divorce, health, hobbies, affairs, friends, school, writing, silliness, etc., etc., etc...Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-40016426327645249092011-09-10T22:00:00.001-03:002011-09-10T22:02:05.803-03:00Random Ramblings(TM). Alternate title: Why it’s so frikkin’ hard for a chatterbox to work at home by herselfI’m a talker. And I think I’m hilarious. I dream up about 50 funny things to say A MINUTE! <br />
<br />
OK—maybe not <em>every</em> minute. <br />
<br />
But anyway, it’s lonely here in my head. Other parents hate to see me coming when I pick my daughter up from school or skating or wherever because I always wear these big Parent-Catcher Arm Extensions<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>TM</sup></span>,<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1 </span></span></sup>and then I corral them into a corner and wrap myself around them and scream funny things in their ears and won’t let them leave for a good hour. <br />
<br />
It’s not that I don’t like working from home (who needs a kitchen table for eating anyway?). Self employment is wonderful—what’s not to love about working your ass off all the time and getting paid completely unreliably, if at all? Awesome in a sack, right there. <br />
<br />
What concerns me is that I spin this comic gold like Rumpelstiltskin’s gonna steal my kid and there’s no one here to benefit from the hilarity.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2</span></span></sup> Brilliant bon mots and witty rejoinders—said only in my head or to the cat (who, while lovely and fluffy, has a really poorly developed sense of humour)—just dissolve into the air like this morning’s fog.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">4</span></span></sup> To top it off, my husband is out of town for most of the week, so I don’t even have him to share my funnies at the end of the day. <br />
<br />
But really, the jokes don’t last anyway, for a couple of reasons. It’s sort of like when someone interrupts you in the middle of a joke and then you eventually deliver the punchline and it just fizzles into awkward silence.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">5 </span></span></sup>That’s sort of what happens when you try to relive the funny thing you thought of at 10 am when you get to the playground at 3 pm. <br />
<br />
And then there’s the fact that I’m 41.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">6</span></span></sup> I can’t remember shit anymore. Nothing. I have to take at least seven minutes to recall any fact that is not in my immediate short-term-memory bank. That can be a problem for...<br />
<br />
Uh... Where was I going with that? Just hang on a minute, ok? <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*crickets*<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*tumbleweeds*<br />
<br />
<br />
Uh... Can anyone remember what else you’re supposed to use to signify—oh wait! I’m ready to to hop back on my train of thought!<br />
<br />
OK, so if I don’t write something down immediately, it’s gone. Like this morning’s fog.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">7</span></span></sup><br />
<br />
So to to address these issues, I am going to start writing Random Ramblings<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>TM</sup></span> here. They won’t be part of a larger post necessarily, just throwing it down here to ensure these droll tidbits don’t disappear into the ether, FOREVER, to the detriment of all humanity. <br />
<br />
I will also include non-funny things.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">8</span></span></sup><br />
<br />
<strong><em>Random Ramble</em></strong><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>TM</sup></span><strong><em> #1:</em></strong><br />
<br />
So I had to send a story to my writing group this week. I think I’m ok at writing dialogue, so almost everything I write is dialogue. (Like this blog—it’s just me talking. OK, technically that’s a monologue. Quick—someone say something! ... Thanks! Like I said, dialogue.) I suck at description. Plus I’m lazy. Anyway, I send them the piece with an accompanying note to explain my overall writing suckage (they know about that already though), then I realize<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">9 </span></span></sup>what it is about my descriptions that doesn’t work. It’s like my characters talk and talk and talk just fine, but then when I try to describe how they look or what they’re doing, all of a sudden they start doing a bad version of the robot. Hot teenager while talking, C3PO whilst being described.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">10</span></span></sup><br />
<br />
<br />
*crickets*<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*tumbleweeds* <br />
<br />
<br />
*Stillunabletoremembertheotherthingthatsignifieswhatcricketsandtumbleweedssignify*<br />
<br />
<br />
That ramble is way funnier with my accompanying arm gestures. You'll just have to trust me, OK? <br />
<br />
I promise there will be less lead up for the next Random Ramble<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>TM</sup></span>. I actually had two for this post, but I seriously cannot remember the other one. Not. Even. Joking.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">11</span></span></sup><br />
<br />
f<br />
i<br />
z<br />
z<br />
l<br />
e ......<br />
<br />
*****************************<br />
<br />
1. Patent pending. <br />
<br />
2. If a joke crashes to the ground in the forest, does anybody laugh? Well, I KNOW animals find me funny.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3 </span></span></sup>Can’t you tell when they’re laughing? I can. And they laugh at me ALL the time. <br />
<br />
3. Except for my own cat. <br />
<br />
4. Halifax, baby. <br />
<br />
5. Jokus interruptus. <br />
<br />
6. If you’ve ever met my daughter you would know that already, because she feels compelled to tell everyone she meets that I’m 41. It’s like she has weird obsession with the number. 41. 41. 41. She keeps saying it over and over and over again. That’s not annoying at ALL. She’s as funny as the damn cat.<br />
<br />
7. That sounds familiar. Why does that sound familiar? I can’t remember.<br />
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8. CMA, just in case my jokes don’t fly. <br />
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9. Three hours later, natch.<br />
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10. For those of you who know my husband, this is not meant to diss him, by the way. C3PO’s great. But he IS a robot. <br />
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11. I know, I know—I can hear your thoughts screaming, “Uh, you were joking before?” Listen closely—there are animals in a forest somewhere laughing their asses off. <br />
<br />Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-37497112620771206592011-08-15T05:01:00.001-03:002011-08-15T05:03:54.462-03:00You're not my target audience!I belong to a wonderful group of writers<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>1</sup></span> who meet monthly to give feedback on our fiction writing, with the occasional poem and non-fiction piece thrown in for variety. We’ve been together for years and have become very good friends. <br />
<br />
We generally like each others’ writing. Sure, we have plenty of suggestions and ideas for how to improve each piece, and the discussions can get pretty lively with lots of points of view. But, overall, we like each others’ work. <br />
<br />
Most of the time. <br />
<br />
Sometimes one of us will dislike<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>2</sup></span> the odd story or chapter. The discussion always starts out slowly, but once we get warmed up, the inhibition goes down and we can be pretty ruthless. It’s all in the interest of constructive criticism, but when you’re on the receiving end of negative commentary, even seemingly benign stuff can feel like an quick jab to the solar plexus.<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>3</sup></span> <br />
<br />
To deal with these awkward, organ-crunching instances, we’ve created the <strong><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: orange;">“You’re not my target </span></span><span style="color: orange;">audience”</span></strong> defence mechanism. When you’re on the verge of crying or punching a good friend’s critical lights out, a <span style="color: orange;"><strong>“You’re not my target audience”</strong></span> through a clenched-teeth smile is our safety tap. Our “Back off, motherfucker, or you’re going to have my hari-kari on your conscience.” <br />
<br />
I think it takes incredible balls to send your work out for critique. Even to people you trust and like. Even when you know the critiquers<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>4</sup></span> have your best interests at heart. <br />
<br />
Sending your work out to complete strangers? Now, that’s just nuts. <br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_1273207591"></span><span id="goog_1273207592"></span><br />
Several months ago I sent out my sort-of-finished novel to the <a href="http://www.writers.ns.ca/website.html">Writers’ Federation of Nova Scotia’s</a> Atlantic Writing Competition. The contest is unique in that every entrant receives feedback from the judges, win or lose.<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>5</sup></span> <br />
<br />
I was confident sending in my novel. I knew I would never win, but I was happy to finally have something semi-worthwhile to submit. As we came closer to receiving the judges’ comments, however, I got more and more nervous and embarrassed. What was I thinking putting my piece in this competition? The comp skews heavily in favour of literary works, and my piece is about as non-literary as one can get. Despite my terror, I did eventually open the envelope when it arrived. <br />
<br />
First judge’s comments:<br />
<br />
“I totally enjoyed this story and read it in one day. I love the relationship between the women—reminiscent of Candace Bushnell does the Maritimes. However, lose all the extra e-mails, forwarded jokes, etc. It bogged down a great piece of work. With some work this could be a great take on chick lit. Don’t give up on this one!”<br />
<br />
Well, colour me stunned. That was worth the $30 entry fee alone.<br />
<br />
Second judge’s comments:<br />
<br />
“Fiction is an art form.<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>6 </sup></span>It transforms and heightens reality to make a particular author’s perceptions and view of life interesting to others. What you present here seems like a direct copy of text messages between people we don’t know. In fact, some of the “forwarded messages” I’ve received myself. If you use a format such as this, it would be advisable to condense and refine it, to avoid the endless repetitions and useless markings and spacing. Also the profusion of typos and misspellings,<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>7</sup></span> even though they do appear in many text messages, become quite annoying in a written work. The Prologue and Epilogue are intended to give this some structure, but the characters are not sufficiently developed or described to give them any individual identity, and unless these people become real to the reader, their lives do not evoke much sympathy or concern.”<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>8</sup></span><br />
<br />
Yikes! <br />
<br />
Knowing what an oversensitive stress-bag I am, you must be wondering why this one didn’t elicit the afore-mentioned ritual self-disembowelment. <br />
<br />
Well, it’s mostly because I read the other judge’s comments first.<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>9</sup></span> Not only did the first judge’s comments make me all warm and glowy inside and out, but the juxtaposition with these comments also highlighted in storey-high neon letters that, Judge #2? <span style="color: orange;"><strong>NOT MY TARGET AUDIENCE.</strong></span> <br />
<br />
I mean, it’s like they didn’t even read the same book. And that’s perfectly OK. I know my book won’t appeal to A LOT of people. But those who like it, seem to like it a lot. This poor soul clearly did not get what I was trying to do or say and I feel for him/her—it would be torture to have to trudge through an entire book you hated or didn’t “get.” I know, because that’s how I feel about a lot of literary fiction. Luckily, I am not contractually obligated to finish a book I don’t like. These judges—volunteers who make a huge commitment of time and energy to help aspiring writers like me—have to read whatever they get handed. This judge must have been ready to rip his/her eyeballs out after the first chapter. <br />
<br />
Point #1: Not everyone will love everything you do. When you’re feeling battered and bruised by rejection, repeat this saying in your head or aloud (as the situation permits) to your rejector: “I fart in your general direction.” <br />
<br />
No, no no. That’s not it.<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>10</sup></span> Rather, say, <span style="color: orange;"><strong>“YOU ARE NOT MY TARGET AUDIENCE.”</strong></span> Say it whether you believe it's true or not. Trust me. Just say it. <br />
<br />
Point #2: Congratulations and respect to the <a href="http://www.writers.ns.ca/AWC%2034.html">winners of the Atlantic Writing Competition</a>.<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>11</sup></span> But, really, all of the entrants are winners. Not because we all get desperately coveted feedback, but because <u>we had the courage</u> to send our babies out there into the cruel, merciless world of the Judgey MacJudgersons. <br />
<br />
I know I’m proud.<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>14</sup></span> I hope all of my co-entrants are, too. We did it! Well done! We rock! We write! We rebound! <br />
<br />
And the-e-en, we write again...<sup><span style="font-family: Calibri;">16</span></sup><br />
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<strong>*****************************************</strong><br />
1. I call us “The Fictionaries.” Admittedly a little poofty, but, damn, don't I think I’m clever sometimes. <br />
<br />
2. Loathe.<br />
<br />
3. Like <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MciLrVWcP8w">this.</a> With the bad hair. And the people laughing at you as your writhe on the floor. Yep, making you stronger. <br />
<br />
4. Is “critiquer” a word? Critic seems too Roger Ebert-y. <br />
<br />
5. It may not sound like much, but in an industry where feedback is practically non-existent (unless your book/story/article is picked up/signed by a journal/publisher/agent), this can be gold. <br />
<br />
6. Uh oh. This ain’t gonna be good.<br />
<br />
7. The typos and misspellings are on purpose. Seriously.<br />
<br />
8. This critique was typed, by the way. And I left in the two spaces the critic used between the sentences. Just sayin’. <br />
<br />
9. Props to WFNS for ordering the judges’ comments appropriately. Methinks they’ve talked more than one destroyed writer down from a ledge and thus know what they’re doing! <br />
<br />
10. But, after all, no one expects the Spanish Inquisition.<br />
<br />
11. I hate you. I fart in your general direction. With a French accent.<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>12</sup></span> <br />
<br />
12. Just kidding!<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>13</sup></span> <br />
<br />
13. Except about the French accent. <br />
<br />
14. And eternally grateful to the judges. ALL of them.<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>15</sup></span><br />
<br />
15. But especially to my Judge #1. XO!<br />
<br />
16. Caper inside joke. :-)<br />
<br />
<br />Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-48136290436839595602011-07-29T03:27:00.000-03:002011-07-29T03:27:34.210-03:00The unbearable lateness of being... me<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span></div>
So, tonight I inadvertently cured my daughter of ever wanting to be early again. <br /><br />You see, I can’t seem to be on time for ANYTHING. I actually once used the <em>wind</em> as an excuse for being a half hour late to pick up my daughter from school.<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>1</sup></span> <br /><br />On this allegedly blustery day I went for a walk with a friend (good for me) and completely misjudged how long we would be gone (bad, but typical, for me). It normally takes me six minutes to walk from my house to the local Starbucks,<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>2</sup></span> but it took fifteen minutes to do the reverse that day. Now, according to my mother-in-law, there <em>is</em> an incline on the road to my home.<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>3</sup></span> Plus this was the end of an hour-long walk and I’m pathetically out of shape. The hurrieder I’d go, the behinder I’d get, so I deduced that the wind must be impeding my progress. <br /><br />Since I was already fifteen minutes behind schedule, I started to panic. Daughter’s school is at the top of a hill<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>4</sup></span> that generally boasts some absolute gale-forced gusts,<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>5 </sup></span>but on this particular day (of all days) there was nary a breath of air to be found atop the hill. I arrived at the school to find a beautiful, breezeless sunny day. An observation I, of course, did not make until after I told the other parents I was late because of the wind. <br /><br />Oh well. I’m sure they’ll be nicer to my kid if they think her mother’s developmentally delayed. <br /><br />At any rate,<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>6</sup></span> my point with this idiotic digression is that I tend to be late a lot, seemingly for no good reason. Or rather, whenever I try to explain the reason, I further reinforce my DD designation.<br /><br />But tonight we were <em>early</em> for soccer. Well, actually, we were late picking up hubby after work which somehow made us a little bit early for the game. We wanted to have plenty of time because daughter and four of her Under-10 teammates had been called up to play for one of the Under-12 teams. <br /><br />We were the first to arrive for the 7 o’clock game – we were just in time to see another U-12 team from our club get to half time. They spotted my daughter in her striped game shirt and ran over, begging her to play or they’d have to forfeit the game because they didn’t have enough players. Only eight years old but already showing promising signs of the full-fledged guilt of a grown woman, daughter agreed to play even though she was absolutely terrified to play alone with these big girls – some of whom were four years older and about a foot taller than she is. <br /><br />My point? <br /><br />Uh.... Who the hell knows by now? Maybe it's that I’m always late because I never shut up? <br /><br />Oh wait, I remember now. My point is... sorry I’m late with my blog. Again. :)<br />
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*******************************************<br />1. Don’t worry, there are usually other parents around, and she knows to go to the office if the others leave and I’m not there yet. She knows this because, well, I’m late a lot. Or at least I used to be. I did ok this past school year. Most days. Except windy ones. <br /><br />2. A fact determined once when my in-laws visited us for three weeks. <br /><br />3. Albeit a slight incline. A really slight one. Like, not visible to the naked eye nor detectable by anyone who walks more than the length of themselves twice a week. <br /><br />4. A bona fide hill this time, I swear. <br />
<br />
5. Lemme esplain how frikkin' windy it is up there. If Chicago showed up and challenged the St. Stephen's hill to an arm-wrestling contest, the home of Oprah would henceforth have to be re-nicknamed the Gentle Tropical Breeze City. <br /><br />6. My father’s “time-to-end-this-conversation” catchphrase.Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-63133227149293135222011-06-30T03:53:00.000-03:002011-06-30T03:53:45.024-03:00It's raining again<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
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In constant fear that my internal organs are going to start tumbling out through my jitch, I’ve revived <a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><a href="http://nowweretalkingwithjodi.blogspot.com/2010/11/say-squeeze.html">The Kegel Pole-ka<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup><span style="color: purple;">TM</span></sup></span></a> exercise regime.<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>1</sup></span> You'll recall this involves a fair bit of walking, so I wisely decided to start yesterday, which happened to be the hottest, sunniest day we’ve seen for what seems like forever.<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>2</sup></span> I walked pretty far in bad shoes, sweating and turning a bright and melty shade of red that had my satellite-office<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3 </span></span></sup>employees diving for the phone to call 911 when I arrived there looking all heart-attacky-ish. <br />
<br />
So today I was working at Mount Saint Vincent University. (Note the name.) I didn’t have the car and had printed off a bunch of bus schedules so I could take the bus home. Unfortunately, in my printing frenzy I forgot to bring money or tickets for the bus, so I set out to track down some change. It was after 5 pm, and it’s summer, so the only thing open in the Seton Academic Centre complex was the library.<br />
<br />
“Is there a bank machine here or would I have to got up to Rosaria?” I asked the friendly librarian, who must have been bored stiff and miserably lonely because she jumped up and ran towards me as soon as I opened the library door. <br />
<br />
“I’m sorry, you’d have to go up to Rosaria.”<br />
<br />
Rosaria is behind the library. It takes about three minutes to get there. But it’s up a hill. A steep hill. (This is where you recall the university’s name. The MOUNT.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">4</span></span></sup>) And there’re A LOT of crows there that time of day.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">5</span></span></sup><br />
<br />
So instead, in my infinite and ever-surprising wisdom, I opted to take the half-hour walk to the grocery store instead. In the rain.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">6</span></span></sup> Actually it was more of a drizzle – one where an umbrella won’t even help<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">7</span></span></sup> because the drops don’t fall down, they just sort of hover and slide around through the air, making them impossible to escape. If you’re stunned enough to venture outside. Which I clearly am.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">8</span></span></sup><br />
<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"></span></sup><sup><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></sup><br />Do you know what was going through my head as I walked? Yep, you guessed it: the theme music from Sex And The City. It’s not that I think I’m anything like Carrie Bradshaw (I wish), but it sure makes the walk more fun if you strut a little and pretend like you don’t know the bus with your picture on the side is about to come along and splash mucky water all over you and your pink-leotard-and-tutu dress.<sup><span style="font-family: Calibri;">9</span></sup><br />
<br />
So I’m prancing (yes, prancing) down the Bedford Highway during rush hour, and it’s not the most picturesque sight – the railroad tracks on the left mar the view of Halifax Harbour and giant concrete retaining walls flank me on the right. But then I see this: <br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-R0MikBTZmnc/TgwSG4XXNoI/AAAAAAAAAAw/S8OeAvOdHk8/s1600/roses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" i$="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-R0MikBTZmnc/TgwSG4XXNoI/AAAAAAAAAAw/S8OeAvOdHk8/s320/roses.jpg" width="239px" /></a></div>
<br />
Here it is up close:<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZJBequHsBzQ/TgwSP1dtoNI/AAAAAAAAAA0/bCOljifF4xc/s1600/roses+up+close.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" i$="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZJBequHsBzQ/TgwSP1dtoNI/AAAAAAAAAA0/bCOljifF4xc/s320/roses+up+close.jpg" width="239px" /></a></div>
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<br />
That’s right. It’s raining rose petals. <br />
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Be open to the happy, my friends. It’s out there – rain or shine. <br />
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*****************************************<br />
1. I’m also concerned that if I don’t start losing some weight, I’m going to need a new postal code now that Canada Post is back in action. <br />
<br />
2. It’s been raining incessantly here for the past few months. We all have Seasonal Affective Disorder and want to kill each other. I’ve even taken to sniping at strangers on other people’s blogs and FaceBook about the stupidest things. I haven’t been this bitchy since I made a girl cry in Grade 10 debating. The topic was “smoking in bingo halls.” I have no idea if our team was pro or con. All that matters is that we won, bitches. <br />
<br />
3. Starbucks. <br />
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4. Please – no nun sex jokes, k? <br />
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5. Like, thousands. No joke.<br />
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6. Did I mention that the hot sunny weather was short-lived? Mother Nature has a serious hate-on for us right now. I blame the NDP. <br />
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7. Not that I had the fucking foresight to bring an umbrella, of course.<br />
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8. By the time I reached Superstore, my hair had frizzed to such a size that I couldn't fit through the door. <br />
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9. Sorry – that’s the SAD seeping in.Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-84616211907220518952011-06-25T21:40:00.000-03:002011-06-25T21:40:56.585-03:00Please, Sir, may I have a shower?I had an interesting conversation with a good friend today about how as wives and mothers we feel compelled to ask permission to do – well, anything. <br /><br />Even in this age of the enlightened husband/father, we still have our unhealthy doses of mother/wife guilt that somehow seep into everything we do. <br /><br />And we do a lot. A <em>helluva</em> a lot. <br /><br />There has never been so much pressure on women to do it all and be it all. With a smile. With time to spare. And yet we feel guilty when we have a night meeting. Or when we have a volunteer responsibility (often undertaken for the benefit of our children and their peers). Or when we go to a movie or for supper with a friend. Or when we don’t balance the books. Or when we get a shower. <br /><br />Wait now – guilt over a shower? <br /><br />We all need to shower, right? Isn’t the world a better place when you don’t stank up the joint like a rotting cowpatty? <br /><br />So why do I feel the need to check that it’s “ok” for me to get a shower before I do it? I can’t remember the last time my husband asked me if it was ok for <em>him</em> to get in the shower. <br /><br />Oh yah – that’s because it’s never frikkin’ happened. <br /><br />It’s not really asking permission directly, as in “May I get a shower?” It’s more like “I’m going to hop in the shower, ok?” It’s the ok that I tack on the end. It seems like an afterthought but it is, essentially, asking permission. <br /><br />And that makes me throw up a little on my twin set and poodle skirt. <br /><br />Now, granted, we put a lot of this pressure on ourselves. Sure our worser halves can be jerks about stuff like this, but I believe that we (ok, I) can be paranoid about reprimands and reproachful glances that sometimes don’t exist. (Sometimes. Not all the time.) <br /><br />How did we end up with this guilt and need to get sign-off before we do things? What would happen if we did as our husbands do most of the time and just said “I’m doing this right now.” The “Deal with it” would be implied. <em>We</em> deal with it. We may grumble, but that’s what we do. (That’s usually what they do too, but the grumbles are more whiny – at least at my house.) <br /><br />But seriously – would the world fall apart without female guilt? Would shit just not get done without it? <br /><br />Ugh – this topic makes me feel dirty. I’m getting a shower. <br /><br />OK?<br />
<br />
<br />
<em><strong>P.S. </strong>RIP Peter Falk... As you wish. </em><br />
<br />Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-36356150674394973582011-06-18T16:00:00.000-03:002011-06-18T16:00:02.677-03:00It's not you, it's me...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xxydsv5Jlp4/TfzcVOthT-I/AAAAAAAAAAo/Kjx_wbPvaYA/s1600/query+letter+badge.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" i$="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xxydsv5Jlp4/TfzcVOthT-I/AAAAAAAAAAo/Kjx_wbPvaYA/s1600/query+letter+badge.png" /></a></div>
Thank you <a href="http://badger.dinorodeo.com/2010/08/query-letter/">Merit Badger</a> for so beautifully expressing what it means to query. <br />
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For you non-writers out there,<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1 </span></span></sup>querying is when you think your novel is finished and you start to fish around asking agents to consider representing you and your little project. The main thrust of the process is the query letter, in which you must convey just how frikkin' awesome your work is, without telling (showing only, of course) and by somehow encapsulating the plot, characters, voice and genre in about 250 words. You research agents and figure out which ones might be interested in your work and try to find some tidbit of information that links you to them<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>3</sup></span> or to work they've represented and/or admired.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>5</sup></span> Then you you do a few (63) test runs to make sure your formatting is going to be ok when you send it, you double, triple and quadruple check your spelling, grammar, sentence structure, contact information (yours and theirs - no Dear John when you are sending to Jill), blind copy yourself so you can prolong the torture after you actually send it by finding typos and /&*20/ weird formatting codes that pop up despite your best efforts and then - press send. Then throw up. You do this individually for your dream list of agents. <br />
<br />
And then you wait.<br />
<br />
And wait. <br />
<br />
And wait. <br />
<br />
And hit refresh. <br />
<br />
And wait. <br />
<br />
And wait. <br />
<br />
And repeat this process 68 times per hour until...<br />
<br />
The first form rejection.<br />
<br />
And then you wait.<br />
<br />
And wait. <br />
<br />
And wait. <br />
<br />
And hit refresh. <br />
<br />
And wait. <br />
<br />
And wait. <br />
<br />
And repeat this process 68 times per hour until...<br />
<br />
The second form rejection.<br />
<br />
And then you wait.<br />
<br />
And... well, you get the picture. <br />
<br />
Rejection is an unavoidable part of most writers' lives. The form rejection is where you get to see how nice and creative your dream agent is (and get reminded how much you really, really liked them before they smashed your tender little dreams into a million little rainbow sprinkles, peed on the sprinkles and then flushed them down the nearest toilet), or how they were probably an arsehole and you were lucky to dodge them. (Hey - we have to protect our fragile egos somehow.) <br />
<br />
"You're work is interesting, but I'm not the best person to represent it at this time."<br />
<br />
"Thank you for your interest, but I'm not looking for this type of work." <br />
<br />
"I'm going to have to pass at this time - this is not a reflection of the quality of your work; I'm sure some other agent will love it and make you millions of dollars. I'm just too stunned to appreciate your brilliance and earn you the money you so richly deserve."<br />
<br />
"It's not you, it's me."<br />
<br />
A response to a query letter can take anywhere from an hour to never (many agents have a "no response means no" practice thanks to the gazillions of queries they now get in this delightfully convenient age of e-mail). <br />
<br />
Occasionally, so I've heard, writers will get a request for a partial (50 or 100 pages) or full (the entire manuscript). A precious few will get offers of representation. I'm at two form rejections now, so I'm just getting started. There will be many, many more rejections before I get a nibble. If I get a nibble. Eventually I will tire of stalking my e-mail and pacing a hole through my living room floor and will get back to what we are all advised to do when querying:<br />
<br />
Keep writing. <br />
<br />
Actually, that's what we're advised to do all the time. Because writers write. And if you love it, you have to focus on the writing and not on the business side of it or you will surely go mad.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>7</sup></span><br />
<br />
Just keep writing. <br />
<br />
And so, here I am, blogging again after an embarrassingly considerable absence and hopefully giving you a taste of an unpublished writer's life. And perhaps a hint as to why I am so fucking crazy half<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>9</sup></span> the time. <br />
<br />
Wish me luck! <br />
<br />
************************************<br />
1. The writers, upon seeing the Q word, have long since retreated to a corner and are balled into fetal position, rocking back and forth, humming and sucking their thumbs. Or petting rabbits.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2</span></span></sup><br />
<br />
2. And by that I mean the John-Malkovich-playing-Lennie-in-<em>Of-Mice-and-Men</em> style of rabbit petting. <br />
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3. She's a Quidditch Seeker too - match made in publishing heaven!<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>4</sup></span><br />
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4. I'm not really a Seeker. I'd be more of a Beater. But not in a dirty way. <br />
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5. She loves Helen Fielding and Ernest Hemmingway - what a coincidence - I write like their long-lost love child!<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>6</sup></span><br />
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6. Not really. But maybe I should...<br />
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7. I know, I know, Most writers are a bit loopy to start with.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>8</sup></span> But this whole trying-to-get-published stuff is like a hyper-warp beyond your previously slow, measured descent into madness, fo' shizzle. <br />
<br />
8. Sort of like city councillors. <br />
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9. Jodi. Being generous with the fractions. (Think Rob Schneider making copies again.) <br />
<br />Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-71802633188848391322011-05-07T18:24:00.000-03:002011-05-07T18:24:02.734-03:00Psst...Call Crimestoppers!So my daughter’s friend told me yesterday I could play a witch in some production they were concocting.<br /><br />“Is it because of my ginormous streaks of white hair?” I asked. She nodded. <br /><br />Yes, indeed, I had a bit of the old Bride o’ Frankenstein action going on thanks to a number of factors: my advanced age, the lack of haircut since before Christmas, the lack of any sort of colour treatment since Jesus wore short pants,<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1</span></span></sup> and my advanced age. <br /><br />Since it’s tax season and I am therefore one bounced cheque away from debtors’ gaol, I decided to colour my hair myself. <sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2</span></span></sup> My daughter and I had picked out a colour last week—it was sort of reddish brown on the model, but on top of mouse brown hair like mine, it should have turned to a rich brown with a tinge of auburn. <br />
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Operative words being “should have.” <br /><br />You know when someone with dark hair robs a bank and goes on the lam and they dye their hair so NO ONE WILL EVER RECOGNIZE THEM? And they won’t stand out at all now that their hair is a colour that CANNOT BE FOUND IN NATURE? Or in mob movies, where there’s one guy<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3 </span></span></sup>who tries to go all Hollywood and he dyes his hair “blonde”? Or my grandmother, who is Lebanese and (presumably) has black hair and whose main desire in life is apparently to be a blonde so she keeps trying to dye her hair “blonde”? <br /><br />Aside from if you pour a bottle of peroxide onto your hair <span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">à</span></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"></span> la Ponyboy Curtis, or if you know that Jose guy who does celebrity hair,<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>4</sup></span> chances are you’re not going to get blonde (or in my case, rich brown with coppery undertones) in any of those cases. No. You are going to get a surreal orangish colour that is just—weird.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>5</sup></span> <br /><br />So that’s what colour my hair is right now. At least in the front. I have no idea what it looks like in the back—it could be stripy clown hair back there for all I know.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>6</sup></span><br /><br />Now, as I sit here trying my best to make comic blonde out of my Pesci-head situation, I think to myself, “It’s not as bad as I’m describing it.” So I go have another look. <br /><br />It is. It is, in fact, THAT bad. <br /><br />Frigg it. I’m robbing a bank. <br /><br />********************************<br /><br />1. I don’t really know what that means, but it sounds funny so I say it all the time. <br /><br />2. Back in the days before self employment/destitution, I would go to a shop to get lovely multi-colour highlights that cost a bloody fortune and took two hours. Time and money. Or, two things I simply can no longer afford to squander. <br /><br />3. Usually Joe Pesci or that Joey Pants guy. <br /><br />4. But who apparently doesn’t have access to a mirror to see his own lid.<br /><br />5. Sorry Grandma. <br /><br />6. Don’t colour your hair alone. Case in point: “Rinse until the water runs clear.” Uh, you just told me 6 times that if I got this shit in my eyes I AND MY FUTURE OFFSPRING WOULD GO BLIND. How the hell am I supposed to keep my eyes covered/shut tight AND watch the water drain off? Phone a friend, people.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>7</sup></span> <br />
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7. Of course, not only did I NOT phone a friend, I didn’t do the 48-hour allergy test either. That’s the kind of crazy gansta-bitch I am. Word.<br />
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<br />Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-7272445878032660742011-05-07T10:49:00.000-03:002011-05-07T10:49:37.299-03:00My hair looked fabulous yesterday...for about 15 minutes.<br />
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More blogging soon, I promise. <br />
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That is all.<br />
<br />Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-47085021188200011652011-03-30T17:06:00.000-03:002011-03-30T17:06:25.290-03:00Charmin’ CarmenAnd now for something completely different... <br /><br />This morning my eight-year-old daughter came downstairs for breakfast wearing a “Carmen Young Annual Track Meet” t-shirt, one of the medals she won at that track meet a few years ago<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1</span></span></sup> and her usual gorgeous, morning smile. <br /><br />She stopped me in my tracks. It wasn’t just the darling little jack-o-lantern grin that gave me pause. You see, Carmen Young is my sister and she died ten years before my daughter was born. And today would have been her 34th birthday. <br /><br />The logical/scientific part of my brain really doesn’t want to believe in religion or an afterlife. But in my heart, I know that Carmen and my other loved ones are out there, in some form, somewhere. <br /><br />For me, it boils down to this: when you lose someone you love, it’s a comfort to think they still exist beyond our mortal existence. But when you lose someone so very young (Carmen was 15), you <em>have</em> to believe they go on. It’s the only way <em>I</em> can go on. <br /><br />And how beautiful is it that Carmen has some cosmic connection with my daughter?<br /><br />I miss Carmen every day and will for the rest of my life. She was larger than life—vivacious and pretty and smart and passionate. She knew how to find your weaknesses and drive you crazy with them—a talent she possessed from a very early age. (Like, 2? No joke!) She was dramatic and hilarious and loved her family and friends with every molecule of her being. She wanted to be special and be a star, while being just a normal girl doing regular girl stuff. She would have been a professional actress had she grown up. She would have loved my daughter beyond all things. <br /><br />She loves my daughter beyond all things. <br /><br />Carmen was a fighter—sweet Jeebus, was she a fighter. She fought for her life and never gave up, and she fought for other people’s lives through her advocacy of organ donation. <br /><br />So when my daughter comes down in full Carmen regalia, with no clue whatsoever that it’s her never-met aunt’s birth date, I have to cry a little and smile a lot. And I know: she’s still here. <br /><br />So, in honour of Carmen’s birthday, please sit down with your family this week and discuss organ donation. As she used to say, I promise someone will take good care of your gift. <br /><br />And you’ll make one tough little Cape Bretoner very proud, wherever she might be... <br />
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1. Some days she wears a purple rose or peacock feather in hair, some days she wears a medal around her neck. Yesterday she went on a field trip dressed as an Lebanese immigrant.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2 </span></span></sup>She’s eight. I love it.<br /><br />2. Which was a bit tough to pull of with the blond hair and blue eyes, but she performed admirably. <br />Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-66972457739022509132011-03-28T11:56:00.000-03:002011-03-28T11:56:37.651-03:00Don’t drink and cleanEver see that historic moment vignette about women getting the vote?<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1</span></span></sup> The bit I always remember about it is not the classic “Nice women don’t want the vote” line,<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2</span></span></sup> but rather when the trusty narrator says, “It did not go well for Mrs. McClung.”<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">4</span></span></sup><br />
<br />So... I decided to have a glass of wine while cleaning the kitchen yesterday. <br /><br />It did not go well for Mrs. Reid. <br /><br />It started out innocently enough. I waded through the stacks of dirty dishes, got the first load in the dishwasher, hosed down one busy counter and started rearranging things in the fridge. I decided to organize and replenish the juice boxes, so I grabbed the cello-wrapped pack of Five Alive from that one clean counter, jabbed a hole in the packaging, then struggled mightily to get the stupid thing open. And, when it opened, oh boy, did it open—busting apart sending juice boxes flying in every possible direction. One ambitious<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">5</span></span></sup> box kamikazied for the aforementioned wine, sending the glass spinning and tumbling in spectacular lawn-sprinkler-like<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">6</span></span></sup> fashion. <br /><br />To which I responded, “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? THIS is EXACTLY why I don’t clean!”<br /><br />The area where the wine—spilled just doesn’t do it justice, so let’s go with—EXPLODED is the stupidest corner in our very small house of unusual spaces. It’s a catchall counter that faces the side of the fridge, which is less than a foot away. The lower cupboard’s doors had to be jerry-rigged with hinges in the middle because the space is too small to open them straight out. It’s a perfect place to put the cat’s food and water.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">7</span></span></sup> However, because I can only wedge myself in there sideways, it is an absolute horror to clean. I can’t tell you how much time I spent wiping up the GD mess, because I think the part of my brain in charge of telling time was the precise part I kept poking with the idiot fudgestick.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>8</sup></span><br />
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At any rate, it took a very long time to clean.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>9</sup></span> So long, in fact, that I decided that I had had quite enough for one day and I gave up. That’s fair, right? <br /><br />So here’s an interesting side lesson: you know how some things turn green and mouldy when they go bad? Remember how I was organizing the fridge? Well, I had taken a huge bowl of leftover macaroni out and placed it on the counter (thankfully not the crime-scene counter) and, since I had given up, there it sat. Till the next day.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>10</sup></span> Imagine my surprise when I discovered the macaroni had, in that short time, started to ferment! <br /><br />Noodle wine anyone?<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>11</sup></span><br /><br />*************************************<br /><br />1. I'd provide a link to YouTube, but every few months our YouTube shuts down all the other open programs and freezes the computer. We forget it’s happening for about a week and have to keep rebooting, then we remember and complain bitterly for a week about it because—hey, who wants to live without YouTube, am I right? Then we accidentally fix it but can never remember how. Then a few months later, every time we click on YouTube we end up having to reboot, lather, scream, repeat...<br /><br />2. Other classic lines that only fellow Canadians who watch waaaaay too much TV would appreciate: <br />“Patience, Jenny. Patience!” (Make sure you spit a little and rip off someone’s fig leaf.) <br />
“Burnt...Toast... Dr. Penfield! I Smell...Burnt...Toast...!” <br />“The train!” <br />“Persons, under the law.” <br />“ka-NAAAAH-da,” point, point. <br />And, of course, “No one’s going to read a story about a man in tights, Joey! It'll never fly!” As we, once again, in typically Canadian fashion, grasp desperately to be linked with something that’s famous in America.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3</span></span></sup><br />
<br />3. Please note, this list was created without the assistance of YouTube OR Google. Permanently. Etched. I’m pretty sure if Dr. Penfield poked the brains of Canadians-of-a-certain-age, we wouldn’t be going on about pouring cold water on our hands but would instead start spouting these vignettes by heart. <br /><br />4. Or Mrs. MacPhail. Or whichever important change-making Canadian woman was featured in this one. <br /><br />5. Malicious?<br /><br />6. You know—the three-pronged twirly one. Maximum lawn-soaking coverage. Perfect.<br /><br />7. In a related story, Snowdrop has been a little stumbly-Jack lately. Hope she doesn’t get the DTs when she finishes this wine-soaked batch of kibble.<br />
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8. Anyone have Dr. Penfield’s number?<br /><br />9. When hubby and daughter returned from their several-hour-sojourn-out-to-give-mommy-a-chance-to-clean adventure, they’re like, “WTF? Why is it still a mess here? What have you been doing?!?” Sniff, sniff. “Oh nevermind. Obviously you needed to get hammered instead. Lush.” <br /><br />10. I know, you’re shocked.<br /><br />11. Note to self—no cleaning!<br />Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-46685555933374227732011-03-21T05:10:00.000-03:002011-03-21T05:10:01.130-03:00Enough already!As I was fishing socks out of the kitty litter, it hit me: I really need to get my shit together.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>1</sup></span><br /><br />There’s a delicately teetering balance in my life. Most days it works out just fine. Slide out a jenga block or two and, sure, the structure looks precarious, but it’s still solid. Then someone comes along and removes that piece—you know, the bottom end piece—and I’m suddenly overtaken by a thousand blocks of wood.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>3</sup></span> And because I’m so disorganized, I can’t find the plastic guide-y thing to help me rebuild my tower.<br /><br />It might start when my friend calls to ask if her daughter can hang at our place before walking to school with us. I might say, “Sure—I’ll clear a path to the living room. She’s up to date on her tetanus shots, right?” I’m only partially joking.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>4</sup></span> She might laugh.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>6</sup></span> <br /><br />It might start when I realize I’m late to pick up my daughter after school and I must, therefore, change out of my pyjamas,<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>7</sup></span> so I might run upstairs and grab my jeans off the floor,<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>8</sup></span> run back downstairs and snatch my keys and coat, and then I might reach down for my scarf, which might have fallen to the floor,<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>9</sup></span> which might unleash a cloud of dust and cat hair, which might prompt a huge MF sneeze, which, if you’ve been following this blog at all, can only mean one thing: time to change my jeans.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>10</sup></span> I might then rush downstairs and try to liberate the pair-two jeans from the piles atop the jerry-rigged laundry shelves, on the floor under which<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>11</sup></span> I, in all my infinite wisdom, might have placed my three kitty litter boxes.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>12</sup></span> <br /><br />What the fuck did I think was going to happen? <br /><br />I’m guessing we all have these days when everything seems so out of control that you end up spending 95% of your time whining about about what a mess everything is, or about not being able to get anything done, or about not being able to find anything amongst the detritus of your life, which has somehow exploded in such a spectacular fashion that it’s left socks and underwear in the cat pooper.<br /><br />And that, my friends, is what spurs me into action: it’s not the cat poop, or sneeze pee, or the biohazard in the kitchen sink, or the need for a tetanus booster. No, it’s me whining incessantly about how out of control everything is. Eventually I will get sick of it and say ENOUGH ALREADY! Time to stop whining and get moving—unearth the child and pet, create a clean environment, put those clothes away, update that to do list<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>14</sup></span> and ACT. <br /><br />I was tired of listening to my own pathetic excuses, so this was the day I vowed to GET THINGS DONE. <br /><br />So that’s what I did. <br />
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Errr... well, actually, what I did was write this blog post.<br /><br />Hmmm. Never mind.<br /><br />OK. TODAY is the day I GET THINGS DONE! <br /><br />Wish me luck!<br /><br />****************************************<br />1. I mean that figuratively—yes, I had dropped laundry in the kitty litter, but, miracle of miracles, I had actually scooped the kitty poop just prior to the sock incident. Small victories.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>2</sup></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span>2. But still—ewww. <br /><br />3. Lazy writing alert! I feel the need to point out again that this a metaphor—not because I doubt your intelligence, but because I doubt my ability to pull off said metaphors. <br /><br />4. True: I need to literally clear a path from the back door to the living room. Oddly, kids seem to take this in stride. Joke: Tetanus query. Most kids get tetanus shots at some point that are good for about 10 years, so we’re safe till they’re, like, 15. It still elicits a laugh though, so I keep it in my repertoire. However, I stopped making jokes about allergies to dust and cat hair/dander because, well, it’s not a joke here. As you will soon see.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>5</sup></span><br /><br />5. Foreshadowing. Just sayin'.<br /><br />6. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8DYje57V_BY">Homer knows.</a><br />
<br />7. Frigg off—I work at home. What would <em>you</em> wear?<br /><br />8. I shift between two pairs of jeans, wearing one pair till they get to the point where they walk themselves to the laundry room. This pair, while on the floor, had still not made the laundry dash and could thus be considered the “clean” pair. Everything being relative and all.<br />
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9. I know, you’re shocked. <br />
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10. ‘Cause we’re not talking a few drops of pee here. It was like one of those fem hy commercials, without the blue dye. Or the fem hy. Which, really, could have made this whole post irrelevant. <br />
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11. With apologies to Winston Churchill. <br />
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12. I only have one cat, but whenever we go away and have friends looking after her, I put out three litterboxes so my kitty-sitters don’t have to change the litter while we’re gone and Snowdrop doesn’t have to claw her way into the crawl space to find a fresh place to take a poo. Hey—I may be a slob, but I’m a considerate slob. I just haven’t gotten around to consolidating the boxes since our recent trip,<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>13</sup></span> so my laundry-dropping target range is still vast. <br />
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13. I know, you’re shocked. <br />
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14. My to do list requires it’s own dedicated blog.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>15</sup></span><br /><br />15. Hell, my to do list requires its own bloody postal code. <br />Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-7396354761631741542011-02-09T16:39:00.000-04:002011-02-09T16:39:25.406-04:00Fly, snowbird, fly!Sure, I’d love to fly south, but unfortunately I can’t because I’ve adhered to my chair thanks to an errant glob of wax soldered to the back of my thigh. That’ll be pretty later. <br /><br />Yes, it’s that time of year again, when seasonably hypothermic Canucks (including me) make a break for the border and the warmer climes to our south. Which can only mean one thing:<br /><br />Pedi-waxi time! Yay!<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1</span></span></sup><br /><br />Normally, I love a good pedicure<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2</span></span></sup>, but winter presents a whole pile of problems I hadn’t considered before.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">4</span></span></sup> The main concern was that in the summer you wear flip flops so as not to squish the polish, which can take up to a day to really set. I did come up with a solution though that did not involve me suicidally wearing flip flops into the slush and ice: I wore my big-ass rubber boots instead. Worked like a charm, so long as I remembered to keep pressing my toes down. Awesome! <br /><br />But, sadly, my glee at finding a solution to one of the more pressing issues of our time was vastly overshadowed by the pain and discomfort of part deux of the snowbird combo. <br /><br />Remember the 40-year-old virgin? Steve Carell getting his chest waxed? Remember squirming in discomfort at his anguish? <br /><br />Well direct that anguish at your crotch, and the tender, bendy bits where your thigh ends and your body begins. I know many of you are familiar with this particular form of torture and I think we can agree it’s a necessary evil for most to avoid disgusting-smelling hair-removal creams or—horror of horrors—shaving.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">5</span></span></sup> <br /><br />It’s not a surprise that it hurts like hell—I mean, a stranger spreads hot wax on your skin, then presses a cloth on it and RIPS hair and wax away. How can that possibly be good? But at least you know it’s relatively quick, and the results are generally worth it. And I’m not talking anything fancy here—just a little tidying up along the edges so the kids at the pool don’t think the Yeti’s escaped from the Everest ride or something. A little off the sides. You know? <br /><br />Apparently my aesthetician didn’t know. Even though I clearly stated that I wasn’t going to be doing any bikini modelling or porn starring any time soon, she attacked her task with a passionate gusto that I might admire in an Olympic athlete. Or a car mechanic. Or a civil servant. <br /><br />Yes, I realized just a little too late that this lovely lady was the type who inevitably ended up with bald Barbies because she just had to keep cutting to “even things up.”<br /><br />It’s like going in and asking for a sideburn trim and walking out with no sideburns, no beard and just an Addams Family mustachio left behind.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>6</sup></span><br /><br />I dunno, maybe I looked like the string bikini type to her.<sup><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">7</span></sup> Whatever her deal, I’ll tell you this—she’s cured me of waxing ever again. Yep, no more candle’s are getting sacrificed for my beautification, folks. <br /><br />Whatever your spa status, do enjoy your winter break if you get one. I’ll be sure to say hi to Mickey for you. <br /><br />Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to take a call—some Ron Jeremy fellow wanting to make me a star or something? <br /><br />Seeya in the movies! <br /><br />****************************************************<br /><br />1. NOT. <br /><br />2. At least while I’m having the pedicure. Afterwards it’s bloody awful when you’re trying to walk but you’re all full of lovely cream so you’re sliding around in your flip flops and every speck of dirt between you and your car finds the aroma of said cream to be absolutely irresistible and so they thrust themselves at your flip-floppity feet and, thus, by the time you get home your feet are filthy and sore from sliding awkwardly around your greazy<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3</span></span></sup>, silty shoes. <br /><br />3. Props to Patrick Swayze and John Cougar. Mellencamp. <br /><br />4. A major problem today being what to do with my child who was home IN THE BLISTERING SUN due to another SNOW DAY. Yah, I popped a vein or two over that this morning. At least I found out about the closure before I walked daughter to school—but not before we were all dressed and ready to go. I mean, seriously, the thought of checking for school closures never entered my mind at all this morning. Due mainly to the, you know, BLISTERING SUN. <br /><br />5. Ugh—I’m scratching just at the thought. <br />
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6. I mentioned Sports Illustrated hasn’t been calling for several years now, right? <br /><br />7. Which leads me to conclude that she needs some serious cataract surgery. Or a cochlear transplant so she can HEAR me saying NOT TOO MUCH.<br />Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-88525544708150635222011-02-04T11:00:00.000-04:002011-02-04T11:00:25.094-04:00Can someone PLEASE get this sticker off my ass?Know what’s funnier than a dog chasing its tail? <br /><br />A cat chasing its tail. Seriously. Cats are smart,<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>1</sup></span> so it doesn’t happen that often. But my cat got a sticker stuck on her tail recently and spent a full half hour in a white-and-gray blur of fluffy frustration, chasing and chasing a petite piece of post-it that was making her unclean, dammit!<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>2</sup></span> <br /><br />So, today, as I look around my hovel, I have to wonder,<sup><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">4</span></sup> is there someone out in the cosmos<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>6</sup></span> ROTFLHAO<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>7</sup></span> as I run around and around and around getting, well, nowhere? I mean, I’m smarter than a cat, right? Or, at least, a dog? <br /><br />Maybe it was the frustration of two snow days in a row.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>8</sup></span> There’s certainly a missing housework chromosome or six. But I swear I spent so much time taking a step and saying “I should do <em>this</em> now,” then turning around and saying “No, I should do <em>that</em> now,” then turning towards something else and saying, “No <em>that</em> is definitely the priority,” that I got precious few of the one million<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>9</sup></span> things that needed to get done this week, done. I literally<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>10</sup></span> found myself running around in circles. Chasing the post-it notes from my massive colour-coded to-do-list board that had somehow gotten stuck to my ass.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>11</sup></span> Ugh.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>12</sup></span><br /><br />So, do me a favour. Help me climb up the evolutionary scale a wee bit and, if you see a post-it note on my ass, just take it off, OK? Or clean my house. Or make my kid’s lunch. Or write my article. Or pay my bills. Or get my kid’s skates sharpened. Or pitch my story. Or shovel my driveway. Or finish my novel. Or attend my seminar. Or...<br /><br />I think I’m gonna lose my kibble...<br /><br />
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1. My loyalty in the cat/dog dichotomy of life becomes blaringly obvious right—here. <br /><br />2. I eventually stopped laughing long enough to take it off for her—I was worried her head would explode or she’d chuck her kibble.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>3</sup></span><br /><br />3. And, lest you think I am the kind sort, I later I tried to duplicate the scenario for others by sticking something on kitty’s tail. Didn’t work—I couldn’t find that one little inaccessible sweetspot of hilarity, and, as mentioned, cats are smart. <br /><br />4. With apologies—I’m certainly not cool enough to channel Carrie Bradshaw, but sometimes I have to pay homage.<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><sup>5</sup></span><br /><br />5. Go ahead—you know you want to say it out loud... “Homage.” <br /><br />6. A totally accidental homage to SATC. Mmmm, cosmos. Ohhh-maggge. Hom-idge.<br /><br />7. Rolling on the floor laughing her ass off. Pre-empting Muzzah's inevitable question. <br /><br />8. The fact that I invited four little girls (in addition to my one) into my house on the first snow day makes me seriously question my place on the mammal smartness hierarchy. A cat would NEVER do that. A dog definitely would, though. <br />
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9. Figures rounded to the nearest ten.<br /><br />10. I am using this term correctly, my friends.<br /><br />11. That was figurative. Well, the board is real. But, they were figuratively stuck to my—oh, I don’t need to explain this, do I?<br /><br />12. Is the ridiculous number of notes making you feel like you’re reading in circles? Sorry—I just didn’t want to feel alone here between the pets.<br />
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<br />Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-83152706330514906052011-01-19T04:38:00.000-04:002011-01-19T04:38:24.634-04:00One Tack at a Time… or Why I Haven’t Been BloggingI just organized my thumb tacks<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1</span></span></sup> into the pretty ones I really like (neat purples and turquoises and corals and such) and the boring standard utilitarian ones you see everywhere (primary colours and greens and whites). I then put them in these neat hexagonal glass jars that are soooo cute. And I’m recycling because the jars are from a spice set I got a while back: as I empty the jars I clean them out. This takes a fair bit of time.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2</span></span></sup> For months I have had little groups of colourful things (like thumb tacks) cluttering my workspace, just waiting for new homes in the charming-and-someday-to-be-cleaned jars. So, today, what I am really doing is organizing and reducing clutter and recycling and beautifying.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3</span></span></sup><br />
<br />And why not? It’s not like I have much on the go. All I have to do is finish a massive copy edit that has taken waaaay longer than I ever thought possible<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">4</span></span></sup>, write several articles, chase other people to interview… You know—things that will eventually result in me earning money. The sooner I get them done, the sooner I get said money and can look for more work. There’s also that drafted novel that needs finalizing to go out to agents/publishers. And the new novel I’m four chapters into writing… <br /><br />So what am I doing? Well, the boys in Cameron House had a charming term for it: fucking the dog.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">5</span></span></sup> Wasting time. Making dining reservations for my trip to Disney next month. Sorting thumb tacks. <br /><br /><em>What</em> is wrong with me? <br /><br />As Ron Weasley put it, “She needs to sort out her priorities.”* <br /><br />Sigh. One of my priorities is to blog more regularly. <br /><br />Right after I find the coloured paperclips that go in the other (finally) clean hexagonal jar… They were on my desk yesterday… <br />
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Hmmm—this could take a while…<br />***************************************************<br />
1. The Canadian Oxford has thumbtack as one word. I don’t like it. (This in no way changes my deeper-and-gushier-than-a-BP-oilrig love I have for my CanOx though...)<br /><br />2. Because the labels are practically soldered on, I have to soak the jars, then scrape them, then soak the jars again, then scrape them again, and since there are always dishes in my sink waiting to go in the dishwasher, the stuff that can’t go in the dishwasher sits on the counter waiting to be washed in the sink once the sink gets empty, which doesn’t generally happen till my daughter wants to have something in her thermos for lunch and I have to clean it so I make an extra-special effort to empty the blasted always-full sink—only <em>then</em> can I soak the jars. So when I say a fair bit of time, I mean several months.<br /><br />3. I mentioned how sweet these little jars are, right? And hexagonal? <br /><br />4. And I haven’t even gotten to the 450 footnotes—450! Fifty pages of 10-point, single-spaced, name- and number-crammed detail! And not fun detail like in my footnotes. Nooooooo. <br /><br />5. Obviously this term is meant figuratively, but can’t you just picture terrified Cameron frosh losing sleep dreading a Welsh/New-Zealander-sheep-style coming-of-age initiation ritual?<br /><br />6. Ron made this comment after Hermione said they could get killed, or <em>worse</em>—expelled. I might not get work done, or worse—I might have a mix of cool and uncool thumb tacks in the same jar. Sorted priorities, indeed…<br />
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<br />Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-63549568881613722692010-12-06T14:54:00.000-04:002010-12-06T14:54:07.980-04:00Rescue Pounds<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
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<br />Wanted: Good, loving home for four pounds. <br /><br />I have enjoyed bringing them into the world, raising them, nurturing them, carrying them close to my heart (they love to nestle right into my belly—so sweet!), but I no longer have the energy to keep them. Plus, I already have so many pounds to take care of already—these lumpy little sweeties need someone with fewer pounds of their own so they can get the attention they so desperately crave. <br /><br />I know there has to be somewhere out there for them, but I must say, it won’t be easy parting with the little buggers. <br /><br />Truth be known, I’ve been trying to find a better home for them for years, but they refuse to stay anywhere I leave them. I’ve walked for miles and miles and miles to find them a good place, yet they STILL manage to track me down and cuddle right back on to the Buddha belly they love so much. I’ve tried leaving them at a lovely Pilates studio, the Dalplex pool, Point Pleasant Park—they just don’t seem to be happy anywhere else but with me! (And who could blame them—am I right?)<br /><br />But I know there must be a forever home out there that is willing to rescue these darling ones. I’ll be honest with you, they do take up a bit of space and they love to be fed lots of rich, fatty food. But the return is worth it—I mean, is there anything better than cozying up to a few extra pounds in the winter? And, it’s soooo delightful when they line up around your waist, end-to-end: it looks like—I don’t know—like the top of a muffin! Or a life preserver ring! ADORABLE! <br /><br />I’ve thought long and hard about this and I feel this is my last resort. I can’t stress enough how much I love my little poundies, so I only want them to go to a home where they will be appreciated for how special they are. These aren’t work pounds or show pounds (although everyone will definitely see them—they don’t like to hide!), so that perfect someone needs to be willing to lounge around on the couch with them, or bring them right to the table and hand-feed them the delectable goodies they so love. I guarantee if you do these two things alone, they will love you for LIFE! <br /><br />(I may be kidding myself but I think if I can find a good home—or homes even—for these fellas that it might be easier to start finding homes for the rest of their siblings. My selfish goal is to be an empty nester—oooh, but I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet! I get chilly just thinking about it...)<br /><br />I can deliver them to you as soon as you like—let me know where and when I’ll be there lickety-split. <br /><br />Right after I finish this snack.<br /><br />Thanks—you won’t be disappointed! <br />
<br />Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-48207875593222106972010-11-29T14:55:00.000-04:002010-11-29T14:55:49.485-04:00LoMyFuMiMo<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
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Many writers rejoice (or shudder) as November approaches, for our favourite cold damp month brings with it <a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/">NaNoWriMo</a>, AKA National Novel Writing Month. During NaNoWriMo, some crazy writer types in the US and beyond commit to writing a 50,000 word novel (each!) over the course of one month. <br /><br />After a slow start (I did a bit at the beginning, then nothing for three weeks), my NaNoWriMo is looking a little like LoMyFuMiMo (Losing My Mind Month) at this point. However, progress has been made. <br /><br />Since I’ve already got one novel drafted and another started, and there was no way in hell I was ever going to write 50,000 new words this month, I committed instead to a serious schedule of revising and writing. So JoReWriMo (Jodi’s Revising and Writing Month) broke down into 5,000 new words and 72,000<sup><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">1 </span></sup>revised words. Or, in other words<sup><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">2</span></sup>, a couple of chapters in the new novel and a few blogs for the new, and a completed second draft of the existing novel for the revision. <br /><br />To me, NaNoWriMo is all about just doing it. Getting ‘er done. Ass in chair, hands on pen/keyboard. Making some goals and sticking to them. Staying up late and shunning paying work for the dream. <br /><br />And for the past week especially, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. <br /><br />So why am I boring you with this poopstorm of decidedly unfunny facts and numbers? Because JoReWriMo is precisely why I haven’t been blogging lately. Yes, after only a month into production, I had to take a hiatus from blogging to make a sincere run at draft two. Plus my daughter turned eight and my in-laws visited for two of this fine month’s fours weeks.<sup><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">3 </span></sup>Life gets in the way. <br /><br />But the cold November rains will soon be gone, I’ve got 2,750 new and 67,000 revised words in the can and I am going for the win. <br /><br />So stay tuned and wish me luck—we’ll be talking again before you know it... <br /><br />******************************<br />
1 - Yah – you read that right. 72k. Although it’s turning more into 80k because of the stuff I’ve added in.<br /><br />2 – Jodi’s are punny. <br /><br />3 – Yah – you read that right. Please see Now We’re Talking! <a href="http://nowweretalkingwithjodi.blogspot.com/2010/10/some-people-me-never-learn.html">“Some people (me) never learn...”</a> re: not blogging self out of wills. Also, see this blog. :~)<br />
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<br />Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-58301817267219229362010-11-19T17:38:00.003-04:002010-11-19T17:52:32.458-04:00Mwah! Mwah! Mwah! (1)So I was going to do a post about rejection (in all its many forms), but I’m feeling pretty damn huggy this week, so I’m going to instead do some Now We’re Talking<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2</span></span></sup> (aka Now We’re Talking With Jodi<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3</span></span></sup>) shout outs. Word!<br />
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First of all, Now We’re Talking<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">4</span></span></sup> shout outs to each and every one of you who have stopped by, shared a link, made a comment and showed unfathomable support and love. I am touched and humbled. <br />
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A Now We’re Talking<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">5</span></span></sup> shout out to the ultra-fabulous <a href="http://halifaxbroad.blogspot.com/2010_11_17_archive.html">Halifax Broad</a>. This super-talented graphic designer by day and blogger by night (or vice versa) talked about (and expanded beautifully upon) the Kegel Pole-ka™ in her amazing blog and I’m sure is responsible for the handful of new followers I have who are not my friends or relatives! Yay! People I don’t know! Now YOU are my friends too! <br />
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Another Now We’re Talking<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">6</span></span></sup> shout out to the organizers of and participants in the MSVU Celebration of Writing. After all my angst, I ended up having a fantastic time. My panelmates, <a href="http://www.jontattrie.ca/index.html">Jon Tattrie</a> and <a href="http://labanan.blogspot.com/">Jan Morrison</a>, were particularly charming and clever, and I sat front and centre to listen to the lovely and delightful <a href="http://www.shereefitch.com/">Sheree Fitch</a>'s keynote address. (I laughed. I cried. I’m not proud.) During the panel, Sheree<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">7</span></span></sup> and a few awesome buddies of mine were kind enough to ask me questions that made me feel like a real writer, rather than the poser I am on most days. Now, someone may burst my delusions of grandeur, but I believe I didn’t make a complete fool of myself. And sometimes that’s all you can hope for in this world. <br />
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So the next time someone calls and asks you to do something waaaay outside your comfort zone, try saying yes. You might have fun!<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">8</span></span></sup><br />
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That's quite enough treacly sweetness for today. I promise a funny post when this insanely busy week is over. Plus all this happiness—well, let’s just say I’m funnier when I’m agitated, so I’ll work on that. <br />
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On a COMPLETELY unrelated topic (*cough*), did I mention my in-laws are staying with us for two weeks? *whistlesasherassgetskickedoutofStarbucksafterbeingthereforsixhours* <br />
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Mwah! Now we’re talking!<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">9</span></span></sup><br />
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1. Those are kisses, in case you didn’t know. Onomatopoeia is not a strong suit for me. Nor are metaphors and symbolism. And here I fancy myself a writer. HA!<br />
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2. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 1. <br />
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3. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 2. <br />
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4. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 3. <br />
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5. OK—last one. I swear. <br />
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6. I lie like a rug. Better for you to find out now, don’tcha think?<br />
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7. Who thinks I’m funny, by the way. <br />
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8. Hey Susan D. Rushdie, you can come out of hiding again! Mwah! to you too! Thanks!<br />
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9. Jodi Reid... carrying a joke too far... (David Spade voice) <br />
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<br />Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-49998650192533087722010-11-11T13:24:00.001-04:002010-11-11T20:41:44.805-04:00WTF was I thinking?More advice for you, my friends. <br /><br />Say you receive an e-mail that says something like this: “So-and-so’s going to call and ask you to do something. Please say yes.”<br /><br />My advice? <br /><br />Run the other way. <br /><br />For reasons I’m still trying to suss out, I did say yes when the call from so-and-so eventually came. And now my leg has a repetitive stress injury from continuously kicking my own arse over my own sheer stupidity. <br /><br />What in the effin’ jay was I thinking? <br /><br />Part of it was that, like many women, I have trouble saying no and an inexplicable need to help and/or please people.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1</span></span></sup> All the time. Part of it was that I was flattered to be asked. <br /><br />Ahhh, yes—pride. We all know what that comes before. <br /><br />What I foolishly accepted was an invitation to be part of a panel of speakers at one of my <em>almae matres</em>, Mount Saint Vincent University. They are <a href="http://bit.ly/cZCrtP">celebrating writing</a> next week and asked me to be on the “Writers Talk Publishing” panel. Which is rather frigging hilarious when you consider that I am completely and utterly unpublished. Absurdly so. (Perhaps because I use too many adverbs? But I digress. Predictably.) <br /><br />The line-up for the day includes Alexander MacLeod (yes, <em>that</em> Alexander MacLeod), Crystal Garrett and Chris Benjamin on the morning panel (“Writers Talk Writing”); uber-author-extraordinaire Sheree Fitch as the keynote speaker; and Jon Tattrie and Jan Morrison on “my” panel in the afternoon. <br />
Well cluck, cluck!<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2</span></span></sup> Look at Miss Fancy Pants on the fancy panel! I’ll fit right in, right? <br /><br />F*cking idiot. <br /><br />You see, what all of these other people (with one exception<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3</span></span></sup>) have in common is that they are published authors. Some ridiculously prolifically so.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">5</span></span></sup> <br /><br />Apparently, <em>someone</em><sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">6</span></span></sup> thought <em>I</em> could add to this discussion amongst these distinguished and accomplished people because I’m flailingly submerged in the lengthy, soul-wracking, ice-pick-to-the-brain process of trying to get published. I’m in the research phase—sorting out the mysterious and sick and twisted labyrinth<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">8 </span></span></sup>that is the publishing world. <br /><br />There’s just so much information out there. Of course, the same could be said for anything these days—everything is on the information-overload highway somewhere, so there’s no excuse anymore for not being able to find out about any conceivable topic. “I didn’t know” just doesn’t cut it. Read publisher websites. Read agent blogs. Read author websites and blogs. Learn how to fix your plot, your characters, your dialogue, your jitch—whatever. It’s all “out there.” In overwhelmingly choking detail. <br /><br />So, WT<em><u>F</u></em> can <em>I</em> possibly bring these people that they haven’t already found out for themselves or heard from one of my learned and published co-panellists? <br /><br />Ummmm... Comic relief? <br /><br />OK. So I’ll try to bring the funny.<br /><br />Wish me luck—I’m gonna bloody well need it. <br /><br />***********************************<br /><br />1. Hubby says WHAT?!?!? Where’s the line for that?<br /><br />2. Props to my sister and her crazy friends for one of my favourite phrases ever.<br /><br />3. I don’t think Crystal Garrett has a book published, but she’s a professor at Kings and the Mount, a broadcaster whose work has appeared on CNN, and she’s represented Canada internationally as a long-distance runner. Show off.<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">4</span></span></sup><br /><br />4. Just kidding! About the show-off part. Yah. Kidding.<br /><br />5. Adverb theme! Adverb theme!<br /><br />6. ..who shall remain nameless here but is emblazoned permanently on my brain in the radically overdeveloped “revenge” compartment...<sup><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">7</span></span></sup><br /><br />7. Just kidding! About the dish best served cold. Yah. Kidding.<br /><br />8. Polysyndeton, just for <em>someone</em>. <br />
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<br />Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-67329202965509083832010-11-05T12:53:00.002-03:002010-11-10T04:39:51.715-04:00Say “Squeeze!”There are few things I dislike more than walking. One of those things happens to be Kegels. Oh dear God, how I loathe them.<br />
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The other day I decided to see if two wrongs could possibly make a right, and so I combined these least favourite things into one activity I coined “The Kegel Pole-ka™.” Surprisingly, it’s not nearly as fun as it sounds. (Trust me.)<br />
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The idea is that, as I walk, once I reach a telephone pole I squeeze my abs in and up and attempt<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><sup>1</sup></span> to do Kegels at the same time. (I am woman. I am nothin’ if not a multi-tasker.) At the next pole I relax and just walk.<sup><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2 </span></sup>Then I repeat till I want to chew out my own eyeballs for the sheer distraction of it. <br />
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So if you see me out walking at a seemingly normal pace but I’m grimacing like I’m in the homestretch of a marathon<sup><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3</span></sup>, keep in mind that, though you can’t see it, I’m actually trying to pull my jitch<sup><span style="font-family: Calibri;">4</span></sup> up to my navel, and my navel up to my cleavage<sup><span style="font-family: Calibri;">5</span></sup>. <br />
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All that squeezing has to be good for something, right? <br />
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I’ll keep you posted. <br />
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How about you—do you do Kegels faithfully? rarely? ever? Do you not feel the need or (as one character in a book so brilliantly witty is just HAS to be published some day says) can you pretty much drive a Mack truck through there? Do you hate Kegels as much as me? <br />
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1. I say “attempt” because who the hell knows if they’re ever doing the dastardly things right anyway? The best description I ever read was in <em>The Girlfriends’ Guide to Pregnancy</em>, by Vicky Iovine: “The way you know if you are doing [Kegels] correctly is you begin to feel anxious and uncomfortable...it makes you feel slightly nervous inside. You can even feel lightheaded.” Enticing, no?<br />
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2. Note to self, there are no telephone poles on one side of Macara Street. Holy tight twazzer, Batman!<br />
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3. ...or like I discovered Nickelback on my MP3...<br />
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4. Props to Brenda D. for introducing me to the BEST. WORD. EVER. <br />
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5. A distance that is, of course, shrinking with every passing year. Eventually I’ll have to aim for my chin instead.<br />
<br />Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-15031427567922710522010-11-02T10:00:00.001-03:002013-07-10T22:59:12.540-03:00I get WAY more now than I ever did...<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dear God, or whoever is in charge of shit like this:</span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m 40. Enough with the acne already. </span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh, and world peace, massive weight loss and a lotto win would be great too.</span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Thanks in advance!</span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Love,</span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Jodi</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">PS: Before my smarty-pants readers say it, I wrote this BEFORE Hallowe’en and the 26-snack-per-day diet I undertook following our fave pagan celebration. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"></span></span></div>
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Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-84802799794554968832010-10-31T03:08:00.000-03:002010-10-31T03:08:42.552-03:00Some people (me) never learn...<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">A fact of life. A truism, if you will. A word (or 500) of advice:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">If, say, you decide to dress up as static electricity for your kid’s school’s Hallowe’en sock hop and you, therefore, tease and back-comb your hair with approximately half a full can of the modern-day equivalent to the Aquanet<span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">™</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"> of the 80s to make said hair stand completely on end all static-electricity-ish</span><span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">, and if, say, the next morning you take your visiting father out running errands, including looking for a Lebanese food wholesaler that he SWEARS was just around the corner on Kempt Road in that strip mall thingee but when, after several minutes of staring at and driving around said strip mall, you call your spouse (who took him there last visit) and are told it was at the OTHER end of Kempt Road<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><sup>1</sup></b>, and if, say, after you find the store and take a look around you then decide to stop at a grocery store for a fruit tray for your kid’s CLASS Hallowe’en party (yes, the day after the SCHOOL sock hop that you stayed till 10 pm to help clean up after) because they want frigging healthy snacks<sup>2</sup>, and if, say, you’re waiting for the shuttle to pick up your Dad to take him back home and you decide, in all of your infinite wisdom, to cut the fruit up into smaller pieces and skewer them on little pirate sword swizzle sticks since the fruit kabobs went so quickly at the school sock hop canteen you volunteered at last night and, also, PRESENTATION IS IMPORTANT TO YOU<sup>3</sup>, and if, say, the shuttle ends up being a half hour late because the driver got confused because all the streets parallel to yours have a 5537 too<sup>4</sup>, and if, say, you realize you no longer have time to shower before flying over to your kid’s school to drop off the God-forsaken healthy snacks but, so you don’t look like a complete and utter moron and/or idiot, you drag a comb through the half-can-of-hairspray-teased-and-back-combed-within-an-inch-of-its-life and now slept-on and pulled-out (see note 1) hair and scrub futilely at the cheap Hallowe’en makeup that now looks like dirt and darker-than-usual bags under your eyes, and if, say, your reckless, hasty and sad excuse for hygiene falls woefully, WOEFULLY short of the desired result of not looking like a complete and utter moron and/or idiot, then I can GUARANTEE you, my friends, that you WILL, in fact, run smack-dab, face-first into at least one person<sup>5</sup> that you really, really, REALLY don’t want to see you looking like a crack-ho after a long hard night without crack.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Not that that would EVER happen to me. No. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">If this ever happens to you, however, I beseech you</span><span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">—</span><span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">plunk your parent in front of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Murder She Wrote</i>, drop the stupid swizzle sticks and GET THEE INTO THE FRIGGING SHOWER BEFORE YOU LEAVE YOUR HOUSE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Love,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">*************************************</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">1. As we drove down from the “wrong” end of Kempt Road, Dad kept saying, “I don’t remember this</span><span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">—when </span><span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">he took me we just turned the corner and it was right there!” Me: “I know Dad, you were coming from the other end.” Dad: “But I can’t remember any of this</span><span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">—</span><span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">he just turned onto the street and it was right there. I don’t remember seeing this when we came before!” Me: “That’s because you came the other way</span><span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">—</span><span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">you DIDN’T see this last time.” Dad: “IT MUST BE THE NEXUS OF THE UNIVERSE!” Me: “DAD</span><span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">—</span><span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">STAY ALIVE! I WILL FIND YOU!” (Luckily, Kempt Road is not long, and, in an effort not to blog myself out of the will, I’ll leave it at that.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">2. It’s frigging Hallowe’en for frigg’s* sake. I am so much better at gifting with sugar than wholesomeness. Ugh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">*My Dad says frigg a lot. It takes a few days for me to stop saying it myself and to switch back to the “f” word that my mother and I vastly prefer. (Sorry Mom</span><span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">—</span><span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">I promise I won’t out you on the booze and crack! xo) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">3. And <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i>, Ms. Morissette, is the true meaning of IRONY. (Just keep reading.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">4. NO JOKE</span><span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">—</span><span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">TRUE! TRUE! TRUE! I SWEAR! Ask my Dad!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">5. Potential employer, ex’s perfect girlfriend, priest, crush, archenemy</span><span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">—</span><span style="font-family: "Times", "serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">pick your poison...</span></div>
</div>Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-76271324399393955682010-10-26T11:39:00.000-03:002010-10-26T11:39:30.088-03:00The Monthly Airing of GrievancesSo my mood’s been up and down like a whore’s drawers* for the past 48 hours. I just ate barbeque chips for breakfast and had half a tub of PC Loads of Chocolaty Carmel Treats Ice Cream for a 2 am snack. (Yah, I know I spell it differently every time I write it. Got a problem with that?) I have been up for three hours, spent about five minutes with spouse and have allowed the word “divorce” to enter my brainspace approximately 67 times. <br /><br />Diagnosis? <br /><br />HA! Like I have to tell you. <br /><br />In keeping with being a living, breathing cliché for a few days, I will now proceed to rant. <br /><br />Along with the usual happy days histrionics, I also have the shakes and hallucinations thanks to my Blackberry DTs. Yes, my BB took a Dantean tumble and no longer calls (pun intended) the land of the living home. Bell Aliant has been most helpful in solving the problem. (That particular device is called SARCASM in case you don’t recognize it or have never been a Bell Aliant customer.) I really can’t talk more about it without running the risk of adding many buckles to my fall fashion statement (who says no white after Labour Day?). Suffice it to say, if you have a spare BB you’re not using, please holla. <br /><br />Now, our old computer is slow. I get that. But I loathe when I get the “This program is not responding, wait or end now?” message, and I press “end now,” and then it runs an hourglass for twenty minutes before shutting down. I’m sorry, but what part of “end NOW” did you not understand, mofo? <br /><br />I move on to shiny new (less than one-year-old) computer. Start to open things and then get the WHITE SCREEN OF DEATH. WTF? Have I dropped into José Saramago world or something? Who has a white screen of death? Blue, yes. Black, yes. White? NO! Argh.<br /><br />I restart and pray the new computer hasn’t followed my Blackberry to its final reward. In the meantime, I revisit the old computer, press a button and—just so I know the entire universe has not gone completely pearshaped—BLACK SCREEN OF DEATH. Seriously. <br /><br />EPIC ELECTRONIC FAIL. <br /><br />That’s sooo enough for today. <br />
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Happy Effin’ Festivus everyone. I’m off to enjoy the PC Loads of Chocolatey Carmel Treats Ice Cream course of my breakfast.<br />
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*<strong> </strong>Props to my friend’s dad Bill, who used to shout this at us as we pounded up and down the stairs of their house. <br />
<br />Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-15913167002787464992010-10-22T12:18:00.001-03:002010-10-22T12:22:18.979-03:00Chocolate chip pancakes are absolutely disgusting...<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">... and it only took me three of them to figure that out, all by myself. I am literally sitting here making gag faces as I choke down the third. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What’s that? Just don’t eat it? Pfft. CLEARLY we haven’t met. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, I’m dieting. Or rather, trying to get to a weight that is 30‒40 pounds (or even 3‒4) below the biggest I’ve ever been, INCLUDING WHEN I WAS PREGNANT. Yes, I weigh more now than I did while I was pregnant and carrying an excess 30 pounds of amniotic fluid. Seriously.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Those who have had kids, remember that nice round bellyful of baby? I loved that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Oddly enough, an extra 30 pounds of—oh, I don’t know, let’s take a wild stab here—chocolate chip pancakes, sausage, syrup and PC Loads of Chocolately Caramel Treats Ice Cream (real name, btw) don’t have quite the same effect on the old physique. You still get the itchy underbelly and stretch marks, but it’s all lumpy and disgusting instead of smooth and lifegiving. (If my belly emitted a “Helloooooooooo” in a cartoony English accent, it would look like a chubby Bryan Adams talking. You know what I’m sayin’.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Back in the day, I was a stick person. I ate like a pothead on a bender and never gained much weight. I was a buck‒oh‒five soaking wet when I headed for university. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ahhh, Beaver Foods. (Which was the name of our cafeteria food provider, not code for some exciting university-sexuality-experimentation adventure.) </span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> All-you-care-to-eat three times daily</span></i></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> +</i></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Obscene amounts of alcohol</b></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> + Not having to walk three miles to someone else’s house to smoke because you can smoke in your own room</i></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> *</i></span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> = The Frosh 15</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now granted, that extra 15 pounds worked well for me as I was relatively scrawny. The extra 20-30-40-50, etc.? Not so pretty. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now I have engaged my sister in a weight challenge: 20 pounds before Christmas.** </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And I’m winning—I’ve gained three already! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What’s that? I’m supposed to lose them? Ah crap. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What’s a girl who hates exercise and loves food to do? Well, I do have a great idea that should make me skinny AND rich—I’ll fill you in on that later. In the mean time, I’m open to suggestions. (And please, no “Eat less and move more” garbage. I’m fat, not developmentally delayed.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’ll keep you posted on our progress as we head toward the holidays. Weigh-in is tomorrow!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">* </b>Yes, I’m so old that I predate several “no smoking” policies—at least we couldn’t smoke in class like in my mother’s era. (Sorry Mom, I think my hard-earned #coughdrunkenfiestacough# psychology degree would refer to that as deflection or distraction or transference or “Look over there! Chippendales!” or something. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">** </b>A note about my efforts at weight loss: I think we should all be happy and healthy and comfortable with our bodies. I am not a fanatic dieter (obviously) or even a lukewarm exerciser (shocking). I don’t do unhealthy fad diets. I have done Weight Watchers before with great success (lost 25 pounds). I don’t want to be super skinny. Or even skinny. But the BMI jumped up recently and bitch-slapped me across the mouth with an obese label. Not overweight, mind you—obese. Plus I’m getting old, so I think it’s time to stop dickin’ around here and do something that will help ensure I’ll be here for the major events in my daughter’s life. First goal: Overweight. (How messed up is that?) Second goal: At risk. Final goal: Just a squeak inside the normal BMI limit. I’m not looking for much here people. </span><br />
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></div>Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5696609172610652850.post-80913837571286307122010-10-19T13:12:00.000-03:002010-10-19T13:12:43.393-03:00Release the hounds!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
I promise to have at least one pop culture reference in every blog I post. Pinky swear. Not a day goes by that I don’t think, if not utter aloud, a Seinfeld reference that’s applicable to my current state of affairs. Does that say my life is really about nothing? I don’t know. Does that matter? Not so much. </div>
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Is it possible to digress before you even start? I believe I just did!</div>
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So, this blog. I used to think it was just me—that I was the only loser doing the Red Green version of life held together with duct tape and fishing line. But the more I talk to my friends, even acquaintances, it becomes apparent pdq that most women feel like this sometimes. (Some of us all the time!) </div>
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You just have to ask the right question to trigger an avalanche of laments, which pick up speed as the narrator warms to her topic. </div>
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Nine times out of ten it starts with “TELL me about it!” in response to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my</i> complaint, followed quickly with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her</i> telling <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me</i> all about <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her</i> thoughts on the topic. It could be about anything—cleaning, behavioural problems in kids (or husbands), boredom at work, gaining weight, etc. Almost every woman I know has at least one trigger that releases the hounds. </div>
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Whilst listening empathetically and nodding till my head threatens to bobble right off my neck, I wait, patiently, for the inevitable intake of breath (damn those synchronized swimmers though) so I can jump in with my own litany of complaints. Then we go back and forth trying to outdo each other with tales of woe and injustice like a real-life Monty Python sketch:</div>
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Serve: “The in-laws are descending like locusts this weekend so, of course, my cleaning lady chooses this particular juncture to get appendicitis and, just as I’m elbow deep in toilet cleaner, Missy hands me—at 9:45 pm—the list of materials she needs for her science project, due tomorrow!” </div>
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Volley: “Oh yah? Well my in-laws have been here for three weeks feeding Millicent a steady diet of candy and new toys, making backhanded comments about the successes of my husband’s ex-girlfriends, while my barracuda boss—single, of course—wants me to work morning, noon and night on the Stupid Co. campaign that we’ll likely lose anyway because of her incompetence. Oh, and my cleaning lady died three weeks ago—how rude!—so my toilet has been pink for ten days already!”</div>
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My wish is to extend the funny, sincere, poignant conversations we have on the playgrounds, at work, at lunch, at Chippendales (do they even still exist?). You get to listen to me bitch (lucky you), but you can complain too. You can even say something obnoxious like, “Well, Jodi, if you got up ten minutes earlier, your entire life would change. You lazy ho’.” (My inner editor is convulsing right now over the correct way to punctuate "ho" inside the quotation marks and all. Shudder.)</div>
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This could be our own modern-day red tent. (Without the polygamy, of course. Unless that’s your thing. Who am I to judge?) We can share our woes and frustrations and, hopefully, the odd bit of wisdom and advice. We may only have one worthwhile trick a piece, but hey, if we put them all together, that’s a lot of frikkin’ tips! First and foremost though, let’s have a good laugh. (That’s my special trick...)</div>
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Whaddya think?</div>Jodi R.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06112711654628387634noreply@blogger.com16