When I die I plan on being an organ donor. I decided this when I was about 10, and since I've had a license I've always been quick to sign my donor card every year. It's not like I can take this physical body with me when I go, so why not give someone else the chance at life, or at least at a longer life?
Weird though, I always wrote on my card that they could harvest anything except my eyes. I have no idea why that is, but for some reason the idea of someone cutting my eyeballs out really freaked me out. However, once my mom explained to me that they actually transplant the cornea (they leave your eyes in your head), and that they can help blind people to see?!?!? I changed my mind - quickly. Can you imagine?
Besides, I plan on being cremated, so why not take out the good stuff before I go up in flames?
One of the local radio stations is holding their annual Sick Kids pledge drive, raising money for equipment for the hospital and that kind of stuff. Of course, the stories they're telling over the air are the most heartbreaking, tear-jerking stories you've ever heard, and it's hard for me not to pull over, call, and donate our rent money on the spot.
So as I'm driving, listening and crying (of course) I decide that I need to donate. I mean you never know when something horrific like that is going to strike, or who it's going to strike.
Then this mom comes on, talking about her 6 year old son having to get a bone marrow transplant, after fighting off cancer, and having tumors removed from his head. She tells about her gallant little boy, and how after him fighting for 5 years, he died. But that it was all the nurses and doctors on the paediatric ward that made every day with him in the hospital bearable.
And then, my thoughts bounced over to smokers. Don't ask me how I got there, my brain works in crazy ways. I think it all tied in to the transplant part, but I'm not entirely sure...
ANYways, so I started thinking about how of course, anything Ellery might ever need from me, I would give her. And about how I was so glad I had quit smoking, so that if she should ever need part of my lung for a transplant, mine would be healthy. And then I started thinking, wouldn't that be a great ad campaign for parents to quit smoking? I mean really! What kind of crap would you feel like, knowing you were a match for your sick child, but that you couldn't donate a lobe of your lung because you had been sucking back nicotine for 15 years? You'd feel like total shit, and probably never forgive yourself.
So yeah, I need to scrounge up some cash and donate. Or better yet, I need to save up over the year, and make a considerable donation next year. Thoughts? Are you going to be an organ donor?
*Sorry for this being such a spastic post - I just feel very strongly about these things, and get a bit wild with my thought process...or lack thereof.
Sometimes there are things I want to say on here, but I can't (or am scared to), so I don't.
There are various reasons for that. Sometimes it's because I'm worried about how it might change people's views of me. Stupid right? I mean, this is my blog, and I should be able to write whatever I damn well please! But I don't know, I guess it's because I've developed relationships with some of you, and I'm worried about how it might change if I suddenly write about how I've decided to quit my job and become a traveling dominatrix...
...which I haven't, by the way, that was just an example...probably...
Anyways, there are other times I don't write what I want to because of...I guess, legal reasons? You know, things that might get me into trouble with my employer, or about how I poured sugar into some CEO's gas tank, because his company jacked up my insurance rates...
...which I also haven't done...yet.
And at the moment, there are so many things that I want to share, but can't!!! Which is why I've been so quiet lately. Oh well, maybe I'll just share one tiny little thing with you...I've developed a serum that, when applied to the left elbow of the male species, drives them to pick up their own underwear, never leave their socks inside out, and ensure every moment of the time spent with their significant other is like the cover of a Harlequin romance novel!
And if that were really true, I'd be a kajillionaire right now. Happy Wednesday lovies!
This coming weekend we'll be heading to the homeland for a party. Not just any party, but my dad's retirement party from CN Railway. He made his final trip on Friday, and now never has to sit by the phone and wait for them to call ever again. He's ecstatic, as am I, since now when I go home, he'll always be there. No more hoping to see him a couple hours one day because he's getting called, or because he has to go to bed because he's been up for 42 hours.
Freedom 54. Can you imagine? I'm looking more along the lines of Freedom 70 for myself.
So, now what to get him? He doesn't want me to get him anything (don't parents always say that?), and I have no idea what I'd even buy! I mean, he's got every power tool known to man, he's not into music (beyond Cat Stevens and the occasional oldies mix I make for him), he doesn't golf, hunts only on occasion, fishes about the same amount as hunting...the guy just doesn't have a lot of hobbies, since he's never had time for them before.
But I feel that for such a monumental occasion, I should give him something. Ideas? Anyone?
*Ahem, Rock Chef and Ookami, you two are making it difficult for me to have a couple of emo kid, rant filled days here...no cocky comments today, kay? Just nice, supportive, "Oh! Poor Ali!" kinds of comments ;)
I live in Manitoba. Not necessarily the technology mecca of the universe, but not the boondocks either.
I have a Blackberry Pearl. Like about 462 thousand other people in Canada.
I hate it. It's a piece of crap.
Or it might be my cell phone company - Telus. I dunno.
The thing is, I've always been with Telus. Since I got my first cell phone when I was...20? Yeah, I'm not cool like all the 8 year-olds that are strutting through the malls in their short shorts, chatting with their bff's - I got mine when I was all old and stuff.
Anyways, with every other phone I've had with them, I was happy.
Now, however, my blackberry randomly doesn't work, quits sending me texts, shuts down its receiving capabilities entirely, etc.
And tonight, as I was padding around the house, trying to send texts, and having to keep moving an arm-length here, a toe-length there, just to get enough stupid signal strength to send them, I realized that I really and truly hate this blackberry.
Too bad I've got two years left on my contract. Boo.
Last night, 12:47am, I turn off the tv, log off the computer, finish cleaning the kitchen, and hear the all too familiar sounds of a chainsaw running in my bedroom. The husband is snoring. Loudly. I sigh, and head to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. As I walk into the darkened bedroom, I kick the bed on the off chance this will wake him up enough to get him to roll onto his side without me having to result to yelling and/or violence. It doesn't, and I sigh again as I slip into bed beside him. I tell myself that maybe I can fall asleep anyways. I begin thinking about other things, trying to block him out, and let my body relax. This lasts for about 30 seconds. Finally I whip my head in his direction and whisper:
Chris! Can you roll over? snore Baby? Roll over, kay? snore Can you roll over baby? I can't sleep. snore snore *I reach over and shake his shoulder gently. Christopher...seriously, roll over... grunt...snore *I sigh loudly and kick the mattress hard with one foot. Chris! For f*cks sake! Roll over! incoherent mumble from him...snore Chris! Yeah? Roll over! You're snoring really friggin' loud! Okay. He moves his head and lifts one arm above his head. *I watch him in exasperation. That's not rolling over, you just moved a little! You can't trick me, you know, I'm right here! (I'm sort of laughing a little now) snore Christopher...I swear...if you don't roll over... I heard you! So roll over! I will... snore *I kick the mattress harder. What?! You only told me once! I did not! I told you 10 times! And who cares? You still need to roll over. snore Don't make me stoop to kicking you, because that's where we're headed...
Then do you know what he did?
He giggled. Like a little kid.
Then reached over, slapped my ass, and said:Alright! I'm rolling over, love you baby!
My mouth fell open, and I laughed, and was out two minutes later.
Will Some Intelligent, Cute, Single Woman in Winnipeg Please Date This Guy?
I absolutely have to set this post up with a precursor, otherwise people are going to get the total wrong view of me.
So...I've been doing extra freelance lately, and a lot of what I've been finding is coming from Craigslist. Now I've read other bloggers who have talked about it in the past, but until about 2 months ago, I was a virgin. Craigslist wise that is. Turns out? You can find pretty much anything you want on there! A couple weeks ago I decided to check out the rest of the site, and I came upon the personals. Initially I was looking for stay at home moms in my area, the kind that want to set up play dates and stuff - but a little farther down the column was the rest of the ads, and one caught my eye - it said "I'm Not a Rocket Surgeon..." So me, being the grammar geek that I am, was immediately rolling my eyes thinking "It's rocket scientist, idiot!" I figured the rest of his ad must be just as brutal, so I decided to read it for my own torture and amusement. What I read amazed me. Not only was this dude hilarious, but he actually explained why he said rocket surgeon!!! I wish I had a single girlfriend I could set up with this guy, because even if they didn't hit it off, he is sure to be fun to hang out with! I saved his ad to share it with you guys. And I swear, I wasn't searching the personals for myself...
Want to know about me? I wear contacts. More? Yes? Tough. You'll have to message me.
**Gonna start this off with a warning, please do not stalk me. It's happened to me before, it's not fun, and I will call the police. Thanks.**
I know what I want in life, and I'm looking for someone who knows the same. I'm sick to the teeth of dating girls, what I'm really searching for is an attractive woman, either a young professional or student, someone who's going somewhere, and with whom I can discuss such diverse topics as politics, religion, philosophy, psychology, social issues, and coffee/tea. No, that was not a typo, I truly enjoy hot beverages. Or hot beverages which have been cooled, mixed with milk or fruit juice and blended with ice. Perhaps we could discuss the above over said drinks. The ideal applicant is between the ages of 18 and 30. No older than 30 please, I'm seeking someone I could realistically build a life with should the fancy strike us. Intelligence is mandatory. I don't do drugs, and I would prefer if you don't either.
I will be attending the U of M in September. My long-term goals, at the moment, are attaining a degree in law, finding a woman whose company I enjoy, and with whom I would like to invest a substantial portion of my life in, owning a massive beach-house, and sky-diving Everest. Maybe flying a modified MiG fighter to the edge of space and seeing the curvature of the earth. I don't know, I'm not a rocket surgeon.
You know, a lot of people think that a rocket surgeon is someone who performs surgery on a rocket. This is not the case, such a person is no more than a glorified mechanic. No, the job of a rocket surgeon is far more complicated than that. A rocket surgeon is someone who performs surgery whilst aboard a rocket. The turbulence makes it that much more difficult.
I would describe myself as fashionable, adventurous, compassionate, thought not a bleeding heart, confident in myself, my choices, and my course, self-reliant, and someone who really likes East Indian food. Seriously, if you haven't tried it already, email me and that'll be date number 2. Number one is is something where we'll invest a little less in each other, so if you're a total freak I can feign remembering that I had to floss my cat or some other such nonsense and cut it short.
I suppose I should throw you some stats. I'm white, and I'm clean. That is, sexually, hygienically, and narcotically. Which I don't think is a word, but what the hell.
If you've read all this, congratulations, I'm not actually looking. Just kidding. Email me a tidbit about yourself, and a picture. You know, so that I can confirm that you're not an eighty year old homosexual named Timmy. Because that would make relations with my neighbor really awkward. I'll reciprocate. Deal? Deal. Oh, and don't even think about asking me to sign up for any dating websites.
P.S. Brownie points if you can tell me what defenestrate means without looking it up. Double brownie points if you send me money ;) just kidding.
Easter was great. Ellery looked adorable. Only had to go to church once. Family was good. Dinner was good. Both sets of grandparent spoiled Miss E - which is good, because I got her this tiny set of Little Tikes people that cost $2.50 - not exactly a fortune, is it? Our fridge died last week, which resulted in the loss of about $250 worth of groceries. So yesterday when we got back to the city, I made a dash to the grocery store because we literally had nothing to eat. While I was standing in line to pay, Gigi called me. I told her what I was doing and explained that our fridge had died, and that we had been out of town over the weekend, and that now I was having to buy groceries galore. Then I heard Gigi say "I'm so sorry Ali. Sorry to hear about your friend..." I was confused for a sec, before I started to laugh. "No, our fridge died!!! Not our friend!" The teenage checkout boy started to laugh while I was explaining to Gigi that we had been out of town for Easter, not for a funeral. Poor Gigi. I'm sorry for being Slurry McMumblepants!!!
In under a month my baby girl will turn one. I'm both excited and on the verge of tears just thinking about it. Her latest thing? Talking. She says go, good, duck, and hi, and she tries very hard to say "light", though right now it's just coming out as "ight".
It's supposed to get up to 18 degrees today. In honour of that, I'm wearing my new green sundress and a pair of flip flops around the house. The fact that it's freezing in here isn't deterring me at all. Dammit, I see the sun outside, and there is barely any snow!!! I'm wearing this dress if I catch pneumonia! Went to visit my friend Rachel and her four kiddies on Monday - haven't seen them in months! The kids were in and out of the house all day, except for the youngest, Alia, so I didn't get to take many pictures. E really took to the dog though, following him around the house and squealing at him. It was only too close for comfort when he licked her.
First things first - I have to wish my husband a Happy 31st Birthday. He's spending the day at work today, while E and I are hanging out at home, making him dinner and wrapping presents. I even let her have at some of the wrapping paper with her own marker - and I think we may have a little artist on our hands. But husband, even though you're away from us, we hope you're having a great day anyways. Love you like crazy.
Someone save me...from my to-do list. It's extensive. Like 35 items kind of extensive. And Ellery is a cling-monster. And I have freelance with pretty much the tightest deadline in the history of the universe. And we're leaving for the land of dial-up first thing in the morning. I don't even know if my parents have Word on their computer...yeah, please, save me.
Easter?!?!? How the hell did it already get to be Easter? I am so not mentally prepared for the 14 thousand church services I will have to attend over the weekend, being that I am Catholic. Ah well, it gives me a chance to show off the babycakes :)
Hope you all have a great weekend - Happy Easter to all!
Happy Birthday...To Me? Maybe? Possibly? Husband? Are You Reading This?
I love my family. I really do. And by family I'm referring to my husband and daughter. I love the rest too - but this really isn't about them, since we don't live together.
Some of you may remember me mentioning a time or two - okay, who am I kidding...I mention it every second day - that my husband snores. But he does. Incessantly.
And my daughter, who is generally a pretty good sleeper, does wake up a few times a night. She usually just requires someone to locate her soother, and goes right back to sleep, but still - as anyone who is a crappy sleeper knows, waking up for any reason is still disruptive.
But every month or so, she seems to be having some sort of night terrors. Waking up scared out of her wits, and screaming bloody murder like the devil himself is after her. And then she doesn't want to be left alone in her room - and if she does fall asleep, she wakes up every 20 minutes, and we do the whole dance all over again. Once she's woken up like that one night, it takes about 3 more to get her back on track.
Essentially what I'm trying to get at here, is that I need sleep. Between the husband snoring, and the baby waking up, I am seriously lacking in the slumber department. While thinking about it the other day, I realized that I haven't had a full night's sleep since before I was pregnant, which is going on two years now. That is one long ass time not to sleep through the night.
A while ago I started joking with the husband that maybe I should get a hotel room one night, just so that I can sleep - he didn't seem as excited about the idea as I was.
But I have to admit, the more I think about it, the more appealing it sounds. I just want a nice big bed, perhaps a jacuzzi tub (which I would totally be willing to forgo), and a night all to myself, where I don't have to worry about anyone but me. Just to be able to snuggle down in those comfy blankets, with just my face peeking out, and to go to bed at about 8pm after a nice long, hot bath, and sleep till 8 the next morning. Ooooooooh, heaven.
Please, no one be jealous of my mad Photoshop skills. You too, can learn how to create the illusion of a luxurious pillow behind your head. After years and years of practice. Also - I don't know what's up with my hair-do in this picture. It seems that the luxurious pillow has decided to give me a pixie cut. Perhaps the pillow is on to something...
At least, when it comes to me standing at a till it does.
*sigh*
The season has started (not that I think it ever truly goes away) when every store I go into has some cause they are raising money for. You know the scenario....you go up to pay, are there minding your business, debit card in hand, cell phone buzzing in your pocket, applying lip balm while you listen to the cashier ask you if you found everything you were looking for, and then they drop the bomb: Would you care to make a donation to the Canadian Cancer Society/ Easter Seals/ Arthritis Society/ Alzheimer's Fund/ Connie's Bachelorette Party/ Help Kevin Pay For the Dermatologist Fund?
Or, my favourite, any kind of Literacy Fund, which I can never, ever say no to.
The truth is, I want to help everyone, and I do. I always say sure, donate 2 bucks, 3 bucks, 5 bucks, whatever - because I think all of those causes deserve the cash. Except maybe Connie - I don't really give a shit about her bachelorette extravaganza.
I always feel compelled to donate. Always. Once, last summer, I said "Um, not today," and I felt so guilty about it that I think I gave 10 bucks the next time I went. And I felt like everyone from the cashier to the 5 people in line behind me were thinking about what a horrid person I was for saying no.
But you know what? Other people say no all the time!!!! I don't know how they do it - it boggles my mind. Does anyone else have this dilemma? I find that if I say no to some and yes to others, I'm playing favourites, when really, the cancer cause is just as important as the Alzheimer's one.
Ah well, unless you're Connie, you can be sure I'll be ponying up at the till for your cause.
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.
