It's raining again

In constant fear that my internal organs are going to start tumbling out through my jitch, I’ve revived The Kegel Pole-ka^TM exercise regime.¹ 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.² I walked pretty far in bad shoes, sweating and turning a bright and melty shade of red that had my satellite-office³ employees diving for the phone to call 911 when I arrived there looking all heart-attacky-ish.

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.

“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.

“I’m sorry, you’d have to go up to Rosaria.”

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.⁴) And there’re A LOT of crows there that time of day.⁵

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.⁶ Actually it was more of a drizzle – one where an umbrella won’t even help⁷ 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.⁸

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.⁹

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:

Here it is up close:

That’s right. It’s raining rose petals.

Be open to the happy, my friends. It’s out there – rain or shine.

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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.

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.

3. Starbucks.

4. Please – no nun sex jokes, k?

5. Like, thousands. No joke.

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.

7. Not that I had the fucking foresight to bring an umbrella, of course.

8. By the time I reached Superstore, my hair had frizzed to such a size that I couldn't fit through the door.

9. Sorry – that’s the SAD seeping in.

Mwah! 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 Talking² (aka Now We’re Talking With Jodi³) shout outs. Word!

First of all, Now We’re Talking⁴ 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.

A Now We’re Talking⁵ shout out to the ultra-fabulous Halifax Broad. 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!

Another Now We’re Talking⁶ 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, Jon Tattrie and Jan Morrison, were particularly charming and clever, and I sat front and centre to listen to the lovely and delightful Sheree Fitch's keynote address. (I laughed. I cried. I’m not proud.) During the panel, Sheree⁷ 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.

So the next time someone calls and asks you to do something waaaay outside your comfort zone, try saying yes. You might have fun!⁸

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.

On a COMPLETELY unrelated topic (*cough*), did I mention my in-laws are staying with us for two weeks? *whistlesasherassgetskickedoutofStarbucksafterbeingthereforsixhours*

Mwah! Now we’re talking!⁹

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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!

2. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 1.

3. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 2.

4. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 3.

5. OK—last one. I swear.

6. I lie like a rug. Better for you to find out now, don’tcha think?

7. Who thinks I’m funny, by the way.

8. Hey Susan D. Rushdie, you can come out of hiding again! Mwah! to you too! Thanks!

9. Jodi Reid... carrying a joke too far... (David Spade voice)

Say “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.

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.)

The idea is that, as I walk, once I reach a telephone pole I squeeze my abs in and up and attempt¹ 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.² Then I repeat till I want to chew out my own eyeballs for the sheer distraction of it.

So if you see me out walking at a seemingly normal pace but I’m grimacing like I’m in the homestretch of a marathon³, keep in mind that, though you can’t see it, I’m actually trying to pull my jitch⁴ up to my navel, and my navel up to my cleavage⁵.

All that squeezing has to be good for something, right?

I’ll keep you posted.

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?

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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 The Girlfriends’ Guide to Pregnancy, 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?

2. Note to self, there are no telephone poles on one side of Macara Street. Holy tight twazzer, Batman!

3. ...or like I discovered Nickelback on my MP3...

4. Props to Brenda D. for introducing me to the BEST. WORD. EVER.

5. A distance that is, of course, shrinking with every passing year. Eventually I’ll have to aim for my chin instead.