I was at work by 6:30, left at 5:30, hauled my butt home, changed into a more presentable (aka bar-type) outfit, then the husband and I drove 45 minutes outside of the city to my friend's social. A social, for all of you that don't know, is basically a way for a bride and groom to make some quick and easy cash - it's a glorified dance with prizes, in which they reap all the profits. And, being a bridesmaid for this particular couple this coming June, means that I am on duty for any and all such events. So last night the husband and I worked a shift at the door and then I was on kitchen duty for a good chunk of the night. It's been awhile since I had been to a social. I had forgotten the "charm" of intoxicated men, leering at you and thinking that everything they do will make you swoon and instantly want to hit the sack with them (shudder). But regardless of that little annoyance, it wasn't too bad, and I didn't have to worry about the husband, because as I've mentioned before, he has the gift of the gab as well, and managed to entertain himself all night - plus, his bottomless cup of beer was helpful. We didn't get home until around 2:30 this morning, and I didn't go to bed until 3 - so as I said, it was a long day.
Guess what time I got up today? Go on, guess.
Did anyone guess 1 o'clock this afternoon? If you did you'd be right. I can't remember the last time that happened - if ever. So I got up at 1, checked my email and then laid down on the couch. At 2 o'clock I went and had a shower. When I got out I put on fresh pajamas, pulled my hair into pigtails, and laid back down on the couch. At 3:30 I told the husband that I was tired and was going to have a nap. He said he was coming too. We crawled into bed and the next time I opened my eyes he was pulling on clothes because it was 6:30 and he was meeting his friends at the pub at 7. About 15 minutes after he left I got out of bed, walked into the living room and laid down on the couch. Is anyone noticing a pattern here?
Since then I've been intermittently watching tv, listening to music, reading blogs, laying on the couch, and contemplating going back to bed for the night. At about 8 I decided that I needed to eat some supper, and so I opened up a bag of Bugles. I ate a couple handfuls of them and then started putting them on the ends of my fingers like I always do.
Now this may sound like a terrible day to most, but it was wonderful to me. I didn't have to answer to anyone, I didn't let myself bring home any overtime, and I got to have an entire day in my pj's. I thought it was fantastic.
Tomorrow I may actually leave the house - have a wonderful rest of the weekend everyone!
Ahem, are we good in the back? Stan...can you guys hear me back there? Test, test...okay, just a quick announcement here people...we have another new blogger in town. I repeat - another new blogger. Her name isKrista and she works with me and Zig - she is a crazy designer too - and among her favourite pastimes are being an evil villain and looking at the geese. Her blog is called Dramatic Intensity and it would be wonderful if you could all stop in and say hi. Now carry on, and have a wonderful day.
This was another terrible day at work. This may actually be the worst week I've had at this job - and as you all know, I love my job. For starters, I have yet to have my 6-month review. On April 26th I will have been working there for one year. I have asked about this stupid review for months and am always told "soon, soon" and, surprise, it never happens. Second, I was actually hired at this company as an "Editorial Coordinator/Proofreader." However, two weeks into the job I was being introduced as "our new editor, Ali." Awesome, that's my dream job...of course I wanted to be an editor. Three months go by and I accumulate 5 of my own titles, with each one being published between 4 and 6 times a year. No problem - that's not too many deadlines in one year.
Then a bomb goes off. The other editor is quitting and I will be the sole editor. Holy Shit. In the space of two weeks I go from having 5 titles to 40. And each of those is published between 1 and 8 times a year. Now, by my rough estimates as I'm sitting at home, remembering all those dates - I'm facing at least 120 publishing dates that have to be met each year. If you know anything about publishing you will know that that is an insane amount of deadlines. Especially, because each and every one of those publications has about 5 deadlines of their own to hit. Oh god, I'm rambling here...sorry. Anyways, so at the age of 26 I am suddenly the sole editor for the western Canada branch of an entire company. For the past 11 months I have busted my ass at work, doing overtime, missing out on time with my husband, my friends, my family - all to make myself look good in the eyes of my superiors. I am a hard worker and have no problem with putting in extra time once in a while - honestly. One of my problems, though, is that I have never, ever turned down something someone has asked me to do at work. This is a major issue because I cannot make myself say no. It's ridiculous the things I agree to do.
However...I am working for literal peanuts. I should have gotten my raise when I got my damn 6 month review, and even if I had gotten it then, there is no way they would pay me what I deserve. Plus, I'm actually working for the wage of a job lesser than what I should be making. I went in today to ask my new manager if it would be possible for me to get my 6 month review before I hit my one year mark. He said to come see him in the morning and we'll talk about it. I've had about all I can take - I'm asking for a $10, 000 raise - minimum.
I'm not a total idiot - even I know that when you're so overwhelmed at your job that your head never stops pounding, you actually tear up at the prospect of another day, and your chest hurts each time you look at your workload, something's gotta give.
I had a crappy day at work - I was feeling so overwhelmed by the end of the day that my heart was beating out of control and my mind was racing at 100 miles an hour. Not good. So this evening I have a few activities planned to help me feel a little more relaxed. A very smart person made me calm down and realize that work is just work, and that I should take tonight to do all the little, simple things that will make me feel better. So after I finish typing this blog, I will pile my hair on my head, take a long, hot bath, then climb into bed and read one of my favourite books, and...I will actually eat supper tonight.
But, while I was driving home and dancing in my car, I looked over and saw the guy in the car next to me laughing at my dancing. Did I stop? Hell no. Shaking my ass to some "She Wants Revenge" was just what the doctor ordered. And that is what made me decide to do a dumb blog, about dumb things that make me who I am. So, without further ado or other needless introduction, here you go...
First and foremost...I am a dork. Always have been and always will be. I will do almost anything for a laugh, and even more on a dare. I have a problem with not being able to see the consequences of my actions until it's too late. The result? Complete and utter dorkiness.
I have a ridiculously loud laugh. There is never any question about who's laughing in a room of people - it's me. The other thing is that I laugh a lot. All the time. And usually a split-second before anyone else and at the top of my lungs.
I love to dance and will do so anywhere at any time. Anywhere. Enough said.
I've said this before, and one day I will write an entire blog about it - but, I have a terrible mouth. I swear like a trucker. I'm sure most women would cringe and possibly even tear up at the things that come out of my mouth.
I pout a lot. And this I really am going to blog about pretty soon (hmm, maybe tomorrow...). Man I love to pout. Even if it's not for any particular reason and there is no one else around, a good pout is a good time.
I am scared of bugs. I will scream and run away like a crazy person if any are flying around me. I love summer, but I'm a little leary about it because I know that it means I will turn into "Crazy Bug Girl."
I write my name on everything. I'm not sure if that comes from being a child and my parents writing my name on everything so I knew it was mine - but I have clothes that say my name, winter mitts that have my name across the tops in huge letters - I even have a letter "A" tattoo! And every scrap of paper that comes across my desk has some variation of my name scribbled on it.
I'm a pretty confident person. Why that is I'm not really sure - but it must have something to do with my upbringing. No - strike that - it has everything to do with my upbringing. My dad was awesome for making me feel good about myself.
When I like something a lot I tend to over-do it. No matter if it's food, music, wearing certain clothes, whatever - I will either do, eat, say or wear that thing over and over - until I make myself sick of it and end up hating it. I really wish I could make myself stop doing that.
And, regardless of how much I whine and complain on this blog, I am generally a very happy, upbeat person. Nothing makes me happier than being with people that make me smile and are not afraid to be a bit of a dork themselves.
After all, laughter (and love) are what make the world go 'round.
I've been thinking a lot lately about beauty. But more specifically - the ideals of what others, as well as myself, constitute as beauty. Granted, everyone has different views, but for the most part if some exotic, lithe, long-limbed, almond eyed woman walked by any of us on the street - we would all agree she was beautiful. However, we could be on that same street and see a "traditionally" good looking man; clean cut, nice clothes, chiseled jaw and a smile - and ponder over why he was holding hands with a rather plain, awkward, mousy looking woman. We would ask ourselves what he saw in her, and if you are a woman you might think "well I'm as good looking or better than her, I could go out with that guy." It's very rare that we might think of that situation reversed - like what does that intelligent looking woman see in that attractive man? Although, that could very well be the case - maybe she looked beyond the good looks and saw what a great guy he is beneath all that, or perhaps he did the same for her. But I'm as guilty of the more negative way of thinking as the next person - thinking catty comments in my mind, wondering why certain people are together, and I often wonder what makes me think that way...
One of the girls at work and I were talking about this the other day. She was saying how she thinks her husband is one of the sexiest, most attractive people she knows, but she realizes that other people might not see him the way she does. And I agree with her, I think the same way about my husband - but I realize that other people might not see what I see when I look at him. Just as maybe they look at him and think "why is he with that girl - he could do so much better."
Never have I thought of myself of a beautiful woman. I have occassional moments when I think I might be alright - but those are few and far between. For the most part I feel average, and even ugly on a particularly bad day. I think most women, even the typical "beauties" have ugly days - some of us just have them more often.
I wonder if most people realize that real beauty is in fact, not being physically beautiful at all - but rather a combination of other things. A beautiful spirit, a beautiful soul, beautiful ideals, and of course, physical beauty is just the icing on the cake. The old adage is true: beauty is in the eye of the beholder. It's one of the truest statements I've ever heard. And my friends, if you and I should ever meet, I hope that you like me on the outside, but more so because you think I'm beautiful on the inside.
This is me...at work...today...which by my calendar reads...Saturday. Blech.
Yep, I've been here since 10:30 this morning - attempting to catch up on the piles upon piles of work that have managed to accumulate on my desk in the last several weeks. It seems that no matter how much time I put in during the day, or how much overtime I do evenings and weekends - I just cannot seem to catch up. Zig is here too, trying to catch up from the days he missed last week. Alyssa is here doing marking - during her spring break yet, what a trooper!
Here is the sad thing about the whole scenario...I actually don't mind being here. I know - what is wrong with me, right? Well it's not necessarily that I like being here on a weekend, but rather just because of who I'm here with, and that I can listen to my music full volume (because Zig is down the hall listening to his the same way and Alyssa has headphones in) and that we went out to get coffee, and that we can take a break whenever we need one, with no fear of being reprimanded. And, as I've said like 25 times before, I love my job.
I love my office; filled with pictures and drawings, and little notes and plants. I love the actual work; correcting, reading, using red pen, yelling "what!?!" when something is right out of wack. And I love the fact that I can do it at my own pace on the weekends - naturally there are deadlines of course, but I can start and stop, and yell down the hall and crank certain songs and sing along, and laugh out loud at dumb things and work when I feel like it. Awesome.
So, yes, I may be literally buried beneath mountains of paper and 100's of emails - but it's fun just the same and I'm getting work done, so what's not to like about that?
Note to self: Do not mark the time it took to create the "masterpiece" above. Somehow, methinks the powers that be might not accept it as legitimate overtime.
Today was a great day in the life of Ali. Grabbed a coffee on the way to work, found an old cd that I love and now have renewed affection for, managed to focus quite a bit and got some work done. I got to have lunch with "the boys" today, as for one reason or another the other women in the office weren't around. That was fun - I was joking that I felt like I was about to get my ass kicked or something, since they were walking one on either side of me, both in their black jackets, and are both well over 6 feet - while I was toddling along between them in all my 5' 5" glory. I'm sure it made for an interesting sight. Anyways, this afternoon I dragged out my blanket (yes I do have slippers, a blanket and a heater in my office - it gets damn cold in there!), pulled out my desk drawers and laid it across them and made myself a sort of chaise lounge. Then I popped in my earphones and rocked out for several hours while I copyedited an entire magazine. A comfy and productive afternoon - fabulous! After work I grabbed another coffee, came home and poured over all the flyers that came in today's mail (oh man, I love spring flyers - I want to buy everything!), then ran out and got my nails done. It has been 6 weeks since I got them done and they were hideous, but now I'm feeling a little more girly, yay! So I came home, the husband told me about his long, crazy day, I threw in a load of laundry, then made myself supper...which consisted of a plate of strawberries, an orange, a couple pieces of cheese and pickles. Yum...and I ate it all! (I better get a high five for that tomorrow!)
All in all, it was a great day - productive, fun, entertaining, girly...I couldn't ask for anything more.
The relationship I have with my dad is one that I've come to realize is something quite special. I didn't always know that, but in recent years I've realized that not everyone has such a bond with their father. But for as long as I can remember we've shared a closeness that I've only had with 2 or 3 other people over my lifetime. When I was young and we had a wood furnace in our house he would wait until the weekends to chop wood, because he knew how much I liked to be with him. He would powersaw the trees, then throw all the wood on the tailgate of the truck and I would stack it all into nice rows closer to the cab. I remember going for walks in the summers with him. We would stroll along, and he would hold my hand, and I remember thinking that he was the most handsome man in the world, and that he was my one and only hero. Sometimes he would take me to the coffee shop with him when he was meeting his CN buddies for coffee. He would buy me any treat I wanted and would laugh while I called each of the railroaders by their nicknames like they were my own friends.
I remember when his father passed away - he was 34, which would have made me 8. He wouldn't talk to anyone about it - but I always knew when he was hurting, and I would ask him questions about his dad. He would tell me a little each time, but sometimes would just begin to cry softly. Each time that would happen I would climb up on his lap and tell him that everything would be okay. And he would pull me close and we would cry together. It never scared me when he cried like that because I knew he was hurting and sometimes you just needed to cry. To this day he has never spoken to even my mom about how he felt when his dad died.
He has always made me promise that during my life I would try anything once. Be it food, a new hobby, or whatever - he always says that you can't decide you don't like something until you've tried it once. That was a wonderful mindset to instill in me, because without it, I'm sure there are many things I never would have tried for fear of not liking them. Now, here is something you need to know about my mom's family, before you can really understand my dad and his. My mom comes from this large family of shy people. They are always worried about what everyone will think, or if they will hurt someone's feelings and that sort of stuff. They would rather stand around for 15 minutes, not deciding mind-boggling things like, oh, say, where to eat - than for someone to make a decision. That's when I will pipe-up and say "Okay people, we are going to The Chocolate Moose for dinner - if any of you want to join me, I'm leaving right now." And each time, they will all follow along and have a wonderful time, because someone else made the decision. These people are not what you would call decision-makers.
My dad's family, on the other hand, are polar opposites to that way of thinking. They will say "This is what we're doing, this is when we're doing it, and if you don't like it then don't come." My dad is a lot like that, but in a more subdued, nicer way. He will be matter of fact and to the point, and does not accept bullshit. Period. I happen to have been blessed with these same qualities. Loud, opinionated, direct, and honest. Occassionally my foot does get planted in my mouth, but for the most part I find that these are beneficial qualities to have. I'm rarely left in a situation with my mouth hanging open, I don't very often let people push me around, and things seem to run more smoothly if there is someone giving direction. My mom doesn't seem to understand the relationship that my dad and I have. When we're laughing about something ridiculous she will roll her eyes and walk out of the room. There are things she will ask him to do for years, and then I'll say "Hey dad, have you ever thought about doing this?" And he'll listen to me excitedly and say "Let's do it right now!" and then we'll go out and do whatever it was. This irritates my mom - but I honestly think he listens to me because I always suggest we do whatever it was together - instead of just telling him to do it. She has often pointed out to me that my dad is wrapped around my little finger, and it's obvious it drives her crazy. But besides that, I like a lot of the same things as he does - tools are one of the major things we have in common. Everytime he gets a new tool he knows I'll be excited too - and in the summers we spend hours in the garage and in his workshop - working on refinishing furniture or taking things apart to fix them. When I was very little I would go downstairs with him to his workshop while he worked on something. He would sit me down on my little stool with a 2x4, a screwdriver and a bucket of screws and tell me that my job was to put as many screws into that piece of wood as I could - he needed to test how strong it was. Some of the 2x4's he would sit me at were actually studs for the (then unfinished) basement walls. I spent so much time down there with him that I"m sure he had to replace some of the boards because I had put so many screws in. When I was older and pushed my luck with staying out late, or mouthing off, or not doing something I should have he would always yell. To which I would yell right back that he was the meanest person EVER, and that I never wanted to talk to him again, then would stomp off to my room crying. Usually within 10 minutes he would be in my room, softly explaining to me why I was being punished or why he had to get mad, and he always said "it's because I love you punkin, and if this is what it takes for you to learn your lesson, then that's just the way it has to be." And I would always calm down and know that he was right.
I always knew that my dad would be one of my favourite people in the world. He was very opinionated but would listen to me when there was something I disagreed with him on. And the older I get the more I love him. We get along so well, and he listens to me when I talk, comforts me when I'm upset, just sits with me when he knows I need quiet, tells me when I need to be told, and loves me unconditionally. We laugh about so many things that he's like a friend I've had my whole life - he will dance with me in the middle of a busy store, sing at the top of his lungs with me while we cook dinner, and just be there for me - whenever for whatever.
I have a laundry list of bad habits. (Oh that's good - "laundry list" - it fits in perfectly with the rest of the post.) They range in significance from things like not putting my coffee spoons in the sink in the mornings, to not returning phone calls, to hardly ever remembering to brush my teeth before I go to bed.
One of my worst bad habits is my inability to put away clothing. It doesn't matter if it's clean or dirty, or been worn for two hours or whatever, I can NOT make myself put it away. The real problem with this is that the husband is the same way, so we are constantly existing in a bedroom that looks like a clothing store puked in it.
When I do laundry I take the clothes out of the dryer and fold them in the laundry room, placing them on the dryer as I fold them. Do they ever move from there once they are all folded nicely? No. When I do the next load of laundry and take it out of the dryer do I move the first load into the bedroom and put the clothes away? No. Do I fold the next 3 or 4 loads on top of the first on the dryer? Yes.
So why not take the clothes out of the laundry room to fold them you ask? Sure, I'll bring them into the living room while I'm watching tv and fold them then. Do I fold them? Yep. Do I take them with me when I leave the room to put them into their proper place? Nope.
You suggest maybe I should take them directly into the bedroom and fold them from there. Sure, as soon as the dryer is done I'll carry the whole load in there and fold them right away - do I do that? Yep. Do they ever move beyond their neat piles on the bed? Nope. Well not until it's time for bed that is - is which case we throw all the clean clothes into a laundry basket because we're too tired to put them away right then and there.
The result is that we live out of laundry baskets until I finally get irritated enough to say "okay, let's just spend an hour putting all this away." Or else deeming that it is the husband's responsibility to do it on his next day off, because if he does, he will not be asked to do anything else that day.
And we're not just like that with clean clothes - oh no. We are just as bad with dirty ones. No matter where we are when one of us takes something off, we drop it right where we happen to be standing...or sitting, or laying, or whatever. Usually if we're in another room of the house it will be picked up in the next day or two - but if we're in the bedroom when the clothes begin to fly? Forget it. Those clothes will sit there until it's something we need, or we decide to finally clean the bedroom.
I'm ashamed to admit it, but I would rather dust the entire place, wash all the dishes, change the sheets on the beds and clean off the kitchen table then have to wade through all those piles of clothing and put them all in their proper place.
And, hmmm, isn't that convenient? The husband has the day off tomorrow...
Oh god - what have I done to the universe to make it hate me so? Over the last 4 months I have been bombarded with more bad news than I've ever been faced with in my life. Since December I have been thwarted with the likes of losing body parts, losing babies, loss of eyesight and potentially a career, threatened miscarriage, husbands having life-threatening heart attacks, friends ending up in emergency and others having life-altering surgeries. These have all either happened to me, my immediate family, or friends, and I am wondering how anyone can be expected to concentrate and be productive when they are faced with this kind of crap every day. Sigh...most of the reason this affects me so much is that I hate to see all the beloved people in my life suffer. What I would give to take all their pain away and put it on myself. And boys, aghhhh, sometimes they make me want to scream! Why is it such a difficult thing for you to call people and let them know what's going on? Or to admit when you might need help? Trust me, we'd rather drop what we are doing and help you, than show up when it's too late.
Listen up universe, I am a girl, and an emotional one at that, and I just can not deal with any more bad news. I've had it, and I've cried enough in the past 4 months to last anyone a lifetime. Let it be known that from here on in (at least for the rest of 2007) I will not accept any more health-related bad news. So there!
So the husband already wrote about this - he completely stole my idea by the way (after I took all the pictures and everything) and I can see how this husband and wife blog thing might become an issue - but, although he wrote about it I decided to do a quick run-down too. We drove back to the city soooo slowly because about 20 minutes before we decided to leave Mother Nature decided to unleash a storm directly into our driving path. The husband was fairly calm, cool and collected through the whole drive - which took an hour longer than usual - and I was my usual high-strung, gasping, gripping the seat mess. When we got to the roll-over above he said "Hey, I'm just gonna jump out and see if everyone is okay." While I just sat in the car, mouth agape and staring at the vehicle in the ditch, he ran over to the other car to check on the people who had been in the roll-over. A few minutes later he was back in our car and we were on our way. That's one of the reasons I love that man so much - never would he drive past someone who may need help, even if there are already others on the scene. He immediately goes into nurse mode and snaps into this no-nonsense action taker - assessing anyone who might be injured and telling me (if I'm around to help) what to do. We've been in some scary situations before, coming upon accidents, seeing people hit by cars; and he always knows exactly what to do. I'm always calm until we're driving away and then I lose it and bawl everytime, while he's all pumped and stoked about helping people out. Sheesh - it takes the right kind of person for that - let me tell ya.
Anyways, after 4 hours, many roll-overs, some Neil Diamond, Jackson 5 and my stirring rendition of "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" complete with air-Fiddle, we managed to get home in one piece.
And now it's time to go to bed and try to let my poor tensed-up, rigid body, relax.
I know I just posted about food yesterday - and my lack of it - but today I have a new spin on food...
Most of you have never met me in person - and therefore have never been out with me to have coffee or share a laugh over dinner. For those that have met me, you know that I am not much of an eater. Seriously, for what I eat I should weight about 110lbs - but of course, that just doesn't happen in the real world. Nearly everyday when I go out for lunch with the people I work with I am mercilessly teased for my inability to finish a meal. I have worked with these people for nearly a year, but still they are fascinated by watching me attempt to eat my entire lunch, only to fail miserably halfway through. The husband is used to my eating habits, and happily picks at my plate if he's still hungry, or delights in the fact that he now has lunch for the next day. I don't know why I can't finish anything - but sometimes after several bites I am full enough to leave 3/4's of my meal on the plate - or pack it up so someone else can eat it later. When the husband and I eat dinner at home together he is often done eating before I've even finished getting my plate ready. And it's not uncommon for me to still be trying to finish my plate an hour after I've started eating. I haven't eaten fast food in months - no that's a lie - I think I had a burger from A&W about a month ago - but other than that it has literally been months since I've felt like eating it. In light of yesterday's tragic dinner events, and because I won't be home to get groceries until Monday, I dropped the husband off at work and decided to run by Burger King to grab some dinner. When I got home I sat down and unpacked my meal - a bacon cheeseburger (to which I added pickles of course), onion rings and a coke. The first bite tasted like a happy burger parade in my mouth - yay! The second was good. The third one made me wonder why I had picked up fast food at all. The fourth had me thinking "ew, do I really want to eat this?" The fifth had me dreading any more bites. And the sixth bite was when I decided to give up. I ate some of the onion rings - went back to the burger for a couple more bites since I'd went out of my way to get the stupid thing, and then I threw in the towel. Sheesh! One day...one day I will finish an entire meal, mark my words.
P.S. In totally un-related news - the husband and I are heading to Dial-up Land tomorrow - so there will be no posts until at least Sunday night. Have a great weekend everyone!
Today was a very, very long day at work. I got in at 8, and at about 3 this afternoon I started to realize just how much was sitting in my To Do pile and just how much more was coming. Uh oh. I decided to stay late to catch up on some stuff. I stayed till 8:30, bringing my grand total of hours for the day to 12.5 - groan.
Last night I didn't sleep fantastically, and I've still got this nagging headache from last week - so needless to say - by the time I left I was exhausted. The husband is working nights so I was planning on trying to force myself to bed early - like somewhere before midnight. On the way home I was thinking about what I was going to eat for supper. We have NO groceries right now so I knew there was nothing much to eat in the house. But then Ding! I remembered the leftover pizza in the fridge from the other night. The husband had made his half with all these disgusting toppings and mine was just cheese - and he had eaten his leftovers yesterday. I decided to stop at the pharmacy on the way home to fill a prescription for my fertility meds and had to wait another 15 minutes - so by the time I was done dilly-dallying around and got my ass home it was 9:20. I walked in the door - changed my clothes, threw in a load of laundry, washed my face, went into the kitchen, opened the fridge...and nothing. No pizza.
What came next was a series of expletives so violent that I won't dare repeat them here for fear of causing someone a stroke. It seems that Christopher - my husband - had decided that even though he'd already eaten his leftovers, that he might as well eat mine too. He needed something to eat tonight - and he figured my pizza was fair game since I hadn't eaten it yesterday. After another couple minutes of violent swearing I decided that I was so hungry I just needed to eat - so...cereal it was - Oatmeal Crisp. I poured myself a bowl, went into the fridge for milk...and saw about 1/2 a cup of milk in the bottom of the jug. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the moment that I started to cry. It didn't last very long, and of course it was peppered with more swearing - but I actually cried about having no milk. I only had enough to cover some of my cereal - which I ate hungrily.
It was just one of those days you know? I felt tired, I was cold, my head hurt, I had a ton of work to do, I was feeling a particular breed of ugly today - and my husband ate my $#*@ing pizza!
So I know I've been going on and on about our new bed. I also know that most of you are probably going "Okay already, we know you got your stupid king size bed! Quit bragging and just get over it for god's sake!"
But I just can't. I'm sorry.
I don't think anyone is really feeling my pain with the whole "there is no body heat for miles and I'm nearly freezing to death every night because my husband is 13 feet away" scenario. (Well, maybe Alyssa- since she blogged about the whole 'dead feet' thing and having a husband who is a raging inferno as well - yet has no compassion for her heating troubles.)
Anyways - to give you a better idea - I had my inferno husband take a picture of me in the bed. (Please ignore the mess and the hideous shade of the wall colour - as soon as it's warm enough to have the windows open my bedroom is getting a makeover!) Now as you will see - I am taking up maybe an 8th of the bed...and I've actually moved in from the edge where I normally sleep, just for this pic. Under the duvet I'm curled up into a tiny ball, trying to generate enough heat to warm my frozen little body...........now do you understand what I have to contend with?
I'm sure you are all dragging out your violins and wiping the tears from your eyes saying "That poor girl! How does she even get from day to day with all her problems? She must be some sort of saint!"
To which I will smile and say "Nah - I'm no saint - just a whiny girl who has nothing better to complain about than her huge bed."
Hello all my lovelies! I was sitting at work today - trying to decide what I wanted to blog about, and came up with an idea that I was happy with. I took the required pictures just before I left for the day and decided that I would post after supper tonight. However, the husband had other plans in mind for that little scenario... Let's backtrack for a moment...last night he finally picked a title for his blog, which he has been assuring me was the only thing stopping him from starting it. That and the fact that he thinks he's too boring, and that no one will read his stuff. I told him that he was being ridiculous - do any of us really blog about anything particularly mind-blowing? Occassionally we all post things that make the rest of us go "Wow, that was spectacular!" But for the most part we all just post about our daily lives, and our opinions and our pet-peeves and the like...but that's what people enjoy reading about, so it works!
But I digress...a lot...so, yes - last night he finally picked a title he was happy with and I went about setting him up with a template and that sort of thing. He was working the night shift last night and would be sleeping today, so I honestly didn't think he would even look at it again until I hounded him about it for another couple weeks. But, when I got home from work he was excited to tell me that he had "worked on his blog today" and had even made his first post! I was so excited! So I went and checked it out right away, then started in with my usual "um, I'm just gonna fix this spelling mistake, and let's take a picture for your profile, and you forgot some of your favourite movies, and blah blah blah" trying to be helpful, but of course being more annoying then anything. He said "would you just like to make a second blog for me?" Ouch - okay, I can take a hint (but I was just trying to be a helpful wife...and I did help him do his profile picture, and I'm going to add some links for him right away....). Anyways, I read his first post, and his profile, and both made me laugh - not boring at all, so ladies and gentlemen...without further ado...the new blog in town....introducing...The Husband!
Ah, today was a great day! After feeling so disgusting last week, then being sick on Saturday, and working 5.5 hours of overtime yesterday - it was almost like a holiday being at work. Getting so much work done yesterday made for a much more organized day today - although it didn't seem like I'd even made a dent in my To Do pile. The husband got up to drive me to work today for 8 - I switched my hours last week from 8 to 4 instead of 9 to 5 - I can't believe how much nicer it is to be home at 4:30 instead of 5:30...anyways, yeah, so the husband drove me to work, which was great. As soon as I got to work I went straight into my office and got busy on the pile of "urgent" stuff, and managed to get a lot of little things that have been hanging around completed. When we left to go for lunch I was surprised to find that it had turned into a beautiful, warm day - and we opted to walk most of the way to our destination outside, instead of through the underground tunnels - spring is definitely in the air! This afternoon I got a bunch more stuff done, then decided to clear out my email inbox. I tend to get quite a few emails each day - and when my inbox was sitting at 1672 I decided that it might be time to clear some out. And that wasn't even including the 2000 or so I have divided into folders...wow, when I type that it seems pretty nuts - maybe it's time to clean out the folders too... Anyways, so on the way home the husband and I decided to make chicken on the barbeque instead of our plan to make it in the oven - a sure sign of warm days to come. It was so nice to see him in front of the barbeque, to smell that delicious smell, see the snow dripping from the balcony above, hear the birds chirping in the late afternoon sun - even if the husband was surrounded by 3 feet of snow. Keep on coming spring - I can feel that you're almost ready to make your debut!
So, I felt like ass pretty much the whole day. This afternoon I went for my third nap, right after popping 2 more extra strength Ty.lenol, and by the time I got up (2.5 hours later) I was feeling quite a bit better. My fever is gone and my headache has been downgraded from head-splitting to annoying. The husband got home from work at about 8:30 tonight and since I hadn't made anything for dinner, he took it upon himself to make grilled cheese sandwiches. He asked if I wanted one too, and when he presented my plate to me while I was sprawled out on the couch it looked like this picture. I laughed, it was so cute. That silly face made me feel even better.
All this week I've been feeling not so hot. Remember when I was trying to put my finger on it? I wasn't feeling sick necessarily - but just off? Very scattered and unfocused, tired, and then yesterday I woke up with a headache and it refused to go away all day. I've also been falling asleep every evening on the couch (which I never, ever do) and been in bed early every night - very odd. This morning I woke up at 8:30. The second my eyes opened I knew that this was not going to be a fun day. My head was pounding, I was sweating and I generally just felt like ass. I took my temperature before I got out of bed (have to do it every morning for the fertility stuff) and saw that yes, I do indeed have a fever - not seriously high, but just enough that my sickness suspicions were confirmed. So I dragged myself out of bed, pulled on my fleece jammies and then dumped myself onto the couch. Half an hour later I woke up...and what did my eyes fall upon? The 7-8 hour pile of overtime I brought home to do this weekend.
Groan.
I went over to the pile and started sorting through the different magazines worth of work, putting them into the correct piles. I decided that if I started working on one mag and really got into it, then I might forget how crappy I was feeling. Ha! I managed to sort the ads, spread my papers all out, pull out my red pen and stickies and then I thought - Dumbass! Why are you making yourself do this if you feel so crappy? This is work I brought home to try to make next week less chaotic, but I don't have to do it. Plus, maybe I'll feel better tomorrow, or even later today.
So I left everything where it was on the floor, got up and got a bottle of water and an orange, sat back down on the couch and stared at the pile of work in front of me while I peeled my orange. For about 10 minutes I argued with myself about it - that I should just quit being a baby and do the work already, the designers are going to be waiting for this stuff on Monday...but then the tiny part of me that is rational is yelling "No, how good of a job are you going to do anyways if you're sick? Let yourself relax for god's sake!"
This internal fight was raging when my phone rang. It was the husband. This is how the convo went: Husband: Hi baby, how are you feeling? Ali: Like ass, I don't feel good at all... Husband: Well what's wrong? Ali: I don't know...my head hurts and I'm freezing and I can't really tell you - I just don't know Husband: Did you take something for your head? Ali: Uh....no.... Husband: Well go take some Advil - and try to eat something Ali: I just had an orange Husband: And drink lots of water Ali: I am Husband: And don't do any work, just relax and try to feel better, and call me if you need me Ali: Okay Husband: I love you baby Ali: Love you too
And that's when I realized that he was right - of course I shouldn't be trying to work! Sometimes I am just so stunned...even if I forced myself to work I would have to re-do half of it anyways because I wouldn't be concentrating properly - but why is it that it takes someone else telling me that to actually get it?
Dumb, dumb, dumb.
So I left everything right where it was, turned on the tv, decided there was nothing good on, and put The Incredibles in the dvd player. And this, ladies and gentlemen, is exactly what I am going to force myself to do for the rest of the day. Lay on the couch and watch cartoons, drink lots of water, read blogs and chat with anyone that decides to call me...be it the Progressive Conservative party or my best friend.
When the husband and I were dating, I tended to be quite jealous. But don't forget, I was 14 then and everyone knows 14 year-olds are crazy! The boyfriend (aka the husband) was jealous himself, but a touch more so than me. As I got older I learned to be less and less jealous - unless something provoked me - and the husband did as well, though at a lesser rate.
Now, something you need to know about both of us is that we are very open, friendly and talkative people. Neither of us has trouble striking up a conversation with a complete stranger, and we both work in fields where that is important. Over the years we've both grown up a lot, and for the most part have come to accept this fact about each other. When the husband began working at the hospital I decided that I needed to let go of my jealousy once and for all. He works with 95% women every day, so all I would accomplish by being jealous is driving myself nuts! And I'm of the thinking that men and women should be able to be friends, so long as nothing inappropriate is going on. Some of the coolest people I've known have been men, so why not be able to enjoy hanging out with them? Enjoying being with someone of the opposite sex does not always have to mean cheating. So, besides the occasional "Oh, who's Jill? Your new girlfriend?" in a singsong voice, I've been very good in the jealousy department. The husband, on the other hand, still has some issues with his jealousy.
The fact of the matter is this - I always have been, and always will be, a flirt. An innocent one, but a flirt nonetheless, and there are times when it comes in handy - please see my blog from last month where I flirted my way out of a speeding ticket. At my job I work primarily with men, both in the office and over the phone, and guess what? Sometimes being a flirt can get you exactly what you need. When I'm calling the president of a company to explain to him why his magazine is going to be late, I speak just a little softer, giggle just a little more, and talk very soothingly - most of the time when I get off the phone the guy is telling me "no problem, whenever you can get it done is fine." That's not bragging - that's just a fact of life.
In my office I work in a ratio of about 75% men to 25% women. Each day I spend time with the women in my office, they are all wonderful and we have so much fun. But because of the surplus of men I have to talk to them as well, and I do. Some of them I work with more closely than others, some I just chat with once in a while, and a few I very rarely even say 'hi' to. Each day when I come home I am excited to tell the husband about everything that went on that day, including who I spoke to, about what, what sort of drama was going on - the usual. And for the most part he is fine, but there are moments when it is quite obvious that my little nemesis Jealousy is rearing his ugly head.
I don't know if everyone feels this way but here is one of my main concerns about it: if someone is continually jealous over minor, insignificant things, then it becomes harder and harder to tell the truth, always fearful of the other person's reaction. It was the same thing when I was a teenager and I used to get into trouble. I would tell my mom things that I had done, or that people I hung out with had done - and she would continually get mad at me for my lack of good judgement or my poor choice in friends. It got to the point that I didn't tell her things anymore - things I wanted to share but didn't, just because I was afraid of her reaction. The same rule applies to Jealousy. Get upset over innocent things, then maybe I will be reluctant to tell you about those things anymore - just to save myself the grief of getting the cold shoulder later on.
But, I realize something now that I'm a bit older. My husband will probably always be a jealous man, my hope is that it will become continually less and less, but I realize that it will always be so. However, I will not be made to feel bad for speaking to and sometimes socializing with members of the opposite sex. Never have I given a reason to cause suspicion about my behaviour, and since that will never happen anyways - I don't think it's fair that I bear the pain-in-the-ass of that little shite Jealousy.
As I mentioned yesterday, I've been feeling a little odd lately. Still haven't been able to pinpoint exactly what is causing it - but I felt a bit more myself today. However, focused and coherent thoughts are still a little tough to grasp for the moment, so today's blog will be blogish and scattered, with a little randomness for good measure - and will be brought to you by the letter F.
My desk at work looks like the picture to the left nearly everyday. There are actually days when it looks 10 times worse than this, so today wasn't really too bad. People that walk into my office often look frightened when they ask me for something, and are always cringing - thinking that I may never find what they need. But usually after several seconds of flipping through random piles I can locate exactly what they are looking for - I like to think of it as organized chaos. Whoa - back to today...so 2 of the designers were not in the office today, and our production co-ordinator was away for just over half the day, so the office was fairly quiet; by my standards anyways. It took me a little while and I was easily distracted, but I did manage to get myself into a little bit of a work groove - yay Ali! Tomorrow there will be one designer missing and our manager will also be out of the office - so hopefully that will make for another semi-productive day...and a long lunch!
St. Patrick's day is just around the corner - that makes me happy. Although the rest of the world "becomes" Irish on March 17th, I can take pleasure in the fact that I actually am. If you asked me why I thought it was so wonderful to have an Irish background I'd have a hard time telling you. Maybe because the Irish are so well known for their potty mouths and quick tempers, and those are both qualities that I have in abundance. Regardless, I will have a wonderful time this St. Patty's day - Cheers!
I realized that I forgot to post a picture of my tan from Mexico. The pic is my hand on the day after we got back. Now to most of you, my idea of a tan will be your idea of everyday colouring, but to me, I am tan baby! Well sheesh, as you can see from the other skin in the picture (of which I will not disclose a location) I am obviously a lot darker than the parts of me that didn't see the sun.
I am really enjoying our new king size bed. It is soooo soft and cozy and we have so much space. I tried so hard to fight off getting one, but now that we do - I absolutely love it. There is just one problem...I almost freeze to death every night. Usually the husband is in bed hours before me and is in the state of sleep where he never remembers me coming to bed, even if we have a full blown conversation. In our queen size bed I would strip down, shriek as I got between the cool sheets, and then cuddle up to him to warm up. But now when I get into bed I have to go over so far to find him (I can stretch my whole leg out and not touch him sometimes) that it's like going on safari. And if I actually make it all the way over and manage to warm up, then I have to move over to my side again to actually sleep - and the sheets are freaking cold! What a dilemma...
More than a bit though - I've been downright negligent.
Why you might ask? I have no idea. It could be just because there is too much on my mind lately, or not enough, or that I'm lazy or just unable to make myself sit still long enough to type an entry. I'm not entirely certain, but I think it may be a touch of all of those.
I've been feeling scattered lately. At work I'm having trouble concentrating on one thing long enough to make any headway with it. At home I'm simply too exhausted to clean up even the simplest of messes. In general I'm just feeling very un-centered.
Maybe it's the fertility drugs, maybe it's the fact that I'm desperately needing a dose of home, home, maybe it's because although I had a wonderful time on my vacation - I didn't really get to relax. I just don't know.
But I loathe feeling this way...I really need to figure out what's up and fix it - or I fear that one day I'll wake up too lazy to go to work, and too un-focused to remember where it is I actually work!
*Thank for letting me whine - it is much appreciated.
I don't know if a lot of people can say that and honestly mean it - but it's true, I love my job.
I worked really hard for a long time to get the job I have right now, and I hope I'm there for a very long time.
I've always enjoyed going to work, because I am in love with the human race as a whole. People are what make life interesting and without them, even the annoying, bitchy, depressing ones, my life would not be as complete.
Even when I was a secretary I loved going to work. I slowly won over each of the patients that would come into the office (and weren't sure about me because I was so talkative and peppy), so that eventually the doctor would have to skip over some of them because we were engrossed in conversation.
When I was a nanny I loved going to work because I had these two beautiful little boys to look after. I could teach them new things everyday and show them what an amazing place the world can be. It's an awesome feeling to be able to help shape a little mind - and to have them run to you for answers about things they want to know about.
When I was a reporter I loved going to work every day because no day was ever repeated. Each day I would have a new assignment, I would go into work whenever I had work to do - go out at night to do interviews, sit up in my pj's when I was really on a roll with writing a particular piece. I got to do my own photography and meet amazing people everyday - and learn about their lives. It's a wonderful feeling to start an interview very professional, and then end up spending an extra hour or two with someone because they've decided to open up to you.
I've had other jobs that were all great in their own ways too - but so far none has compared to my job as an editor. I've never had a job where I woke up every morning and was excited to go to work. More and more often I stay late when I can, partly because there is always work to do, and partly because I just love to be there. Zig has written about how much he loves our office in the morning when no one else is around. I love it for the same reasons at night, I'm often the last person left - and that last hour or so that I'm alone is wonderful. I take the time to clean up my desk, make a list of to-do's for the next day, finish up any projects that are hanging around, and basically just enjoy the quiet.
But what I love most about the job is during the day, when we are all there, and there are all kinds of music playing, and laughter, and yelling back and forth, and the printer going constantly, and phones ringing off the hook, and urgent deadlines having to be met. It's this wonderful blend of chaos that I am so happy to be a part of.
I’m a lover and a fighter. I’m extremely curious. I hunger for knowledge, but I’m hopelessly lazy. I have dreams nearly beyond the scope of imagination. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I adore curse words. I’m easy to read, yet amazingly complicated. Next to my daughter, belly laughs are the highlight of my day.
Essentially I’m a riddle, wrapped in an enigma, rolled in make-believe, dipped in immaturity, and sprinkled with sarcasm.
Yesterday was a long day. A long day.
