Princess of the World

Today I am hungover. It’s mostly my fault, although surely some responsibility should be assumed by someone else, as a general rule it’s nice to spread that out. The danger signs were pretty evident, at one point GB went to get me a diet coke and when he came back I had a glass of red wine in my hand and NO IDEA how it got there. Genuinely. No idea. Still.

However I didn’t fall over and I didn’t puke on my fur stole. Hurrah!

Now I am trying to pretend I’m not hungover so my husband doesn’t look at me with those I Told You So eyes. I hate that look. The look that can only truly be mastered by someone who is not a big drinker. Whose friends sing to him on those special occasions where he hits the big 5 mark (to the tune of My Sharona), ‘da da da da da FIVE CORONAS!’

However, I got my one up on him last year. After a morning of giving me the look, he went to have a shower and so I puked in the kitchen sink and never told him.

Joke’s on YOU jerkface.

Puke.

Nap.

My back hurts. I am old and crippled and GET YOUR FUCKING BALL OUT OF MY FUCKING YARD.

A couple of hours of tennis on Saturday and a mountain bike ride with the fellas on Sunday, followed by an enthusiastic spin class this morning (“Hey team! For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Scott! I have two kids! They are my inspiration and the reason I have a smile on my face all day! So let’s try to get a smile on your fac…BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!” Asshole. Monday morning. Fuck. Off.)

Anyway. My stupid back hurts but I’m too lazy to do the stretches I know will help. Instead I will eat sausages.

Also, my sleeping is bad. I promise to tell you about my sleep again next time. Tomorrow say? After tennis…With my achey back… And I think that my new tennis coach doesn’t find me hilarious, which clearly means it’s going to be a lonnnnngggg fucking hour. Like, let me tell you my friends, if you’re gonna spend an hour with me in culottes, you’re gonna wanna find me hilarious.

I shall report.

If my government turned off the internet to stop me from communicating I would be in the streets, screaming til I couldn’t scream any more. If that didn’t work I wouldn’t stop there, I’d do what I needed to to make things right. I would be angry, so angry.

I can’t imagine a world where I never had a say in my future – Egypt’s ruler has been in place for THIRTY YEARS.

So heads up assholes, you choose not to vote when you have the right? Shame on you, and whilst I’d like to say you don’t deserve to live in a free country and should be immediately sent to a dictatorship to see how you like that (assholes), it’s not true, you do have the right to live in freedom. Everyone does. That’s the point, even assholes who are too lazy to be a part of democracy have the right.

Finally, on a tangent from my first paragraph about taking to the streets, in all the footage I see online or on tv, there are no women on the streets. None, except foreign journalists. Strange, creepy and sort of depressing. Religion and equality, my two favorite casual fireside bees in bonnet. Equality? HA! We are all so far from it that the carelessness with which my generation treats their feminism (‘oh, I’m not a feminist, like I believe in equal pay and stuff but I’m not a feminist…’ ‘it’s just really important to him that I change my last name and you know, I don’t mind…’) enrages me. Fuck that.

Anyway. Good luck people of Egypt, I’m with you.

Update! Not sure if this link will work, but someone has posted a Women of Egypt album on facebook which is heartening, women are there, just not making the newspapers. (no photo credits sorry, just the facebook link)…

Welcome! Looking for work can be absolutely hideous, can’t it? The excruciating slowness of redoing your resume to tailor it for each application, crafting your words to be concise and effective, spell checking until your F7 is worn out and sticky… Nightmare!

Oh. What? You don’t…? Huh.

I KNOW YOU DON’T, IDIOTS. HERE IS MY IDIOT GUIDE TO GETTIN’ A JOB. Use it.

Be wary of putting your photo on your resume. That lady at the club (you know the joint, the place in the industrial estate just near the end of the subway line?) may wanna bone you, but it’s pretty unlikely I want to bone you. Furthermore, looking at your teen stache can be very confronting and raises all sorts of questions for me about you and EVERYTHING YOU BELIEVE IN. Obviously I maintain the strictest standards of employment fairness, and will not discriminate against you for any reason, including your prepubescent pubic hair lip, it’s just harder when your wiggly caterpillar lip is all starin’ at me from the top of the page.

Don’t tell me that you are looking for an exalting, exhilarating, excellent exercise to exhaust your excitement! I will have to punch you in the face for sure.

Be careful with your adjectives and hyperbole. If you are in fact unquestionably and masterfully relentless in your pursuit of the best and thus can GUARANTEE A PRODIGIOUS PERFORMANCE, I will hopefully figure that out by your RELEVANT FUCKING WORK EXPERIENCE. If, for example, you are a financial analyst applying for a job in my arts organisation, perhaps you could shut the fuck up about your dick and tell me WHY your skills apply rather than how fucking great you are.

If the person posting the job is kind (and foolish) enough to give you their actual name and email (because they’re a big sucky pants and can’t get in touch with the web admin to set up a temporary one) then SPELL THEIR NAME RIGHT. That said, it saves a huge amount of time if you call me Sasha or add an e to the end of my surname, because I don’t need to bother to read your resume. Don’t bother to check your own application? Why should I?

Using acronyms is optimistic. Whilst I am thrilled that you were tapping the SMERF market, you must understand that what I’m picturing is not what you’re going for. Probably.

Overlooking your staff is quite different to overseeing them. Heads up. (Ha! See what I did?)

Capitalising Every Word Is Pretty Creepy. And If You’re Going To Track Your Changes Please Be Very Sure I Can’t See Them. “I am diligent and punctual (lol! You? Punctual?)…” Good to know, thank you mystery editor.

That’s all folks. I would love to give you all a chance to show me how great you are in person, because I know that you (most of you anyway) have spent time working on your resume, going to school, doing courses, volunteering and that everyone deserves to work. I love my job and I love having the opportunity to learn, succeed, grow as a person and, on another level, buy shit that I like. I wish you the best in your job search and even if you’re not quite right for me this time (and with close to 350 applications the odds are long), you’ll be right for someone, for sure. Thank you for applying.

For those of you who couldn’t be bothered to tailor your resume, to address it to me or include the job title, let alone address the description I posted, you’re. doing. it. wrong.

And finally, for the resume that said “I successfully mastered flower arrangement techniques” I fucking love you. That is the absolute greatest line I’ve heard this week and it absolutely tickles me. Thank you.

So I have face leprosy. I don’t know what’s causing it but it’s up there with lulu lemon pants and people who don’t bring wine to parties (way to go Canada, who the fuck are you people?*) for being pretty gosh darn annoying. First it was just my forehead, then it moved down to my neck and throat and now my PERFECT SHELL LIKE EARS ARE TRYING TO KILL ME WITH ITCHINESS. It’s been over a week and I feel like that’s quite long enough, thank you very much.

I assume I’m now allergic to my own dreadfully good taste, as what else could be setting me off other than my constantly delightful surroundings? Is it that casually placed coffee table book on the Golden Age of Handbuilt Bicycles? The carefully arranged art? Or the vintage cigar boxes with jewellery in them? Sigh. Who could say? Probably a doctor. The one I went to however (who had me in and out in under 30 seconds FOR REAL, and who may or may not have gone to an actual medical school) claimed it was probably due to the change in weather. That diagnosis is the medical equivalent of scratching your crotch and nodding when someone asks how to get to the bus station… um, what? And whilst I am sort of intrigued by having a weather beacon face, I think (and I’m basically a doctor having watched the Biggest Loser on TV a bunch of times) it’s probably due to terrible diet, lack of exercise, busyness and a hint of stress. Shall work on that… tomorrow.

How are you? Are you well? Me? Oh, a little leprosy, nothing to worry about.

*Now, here’s the thing guys, you’re supposed to bring a bottle of wine (or whatever you drink) every time you come, not once every two years. Also, if there are two of you drinking wine, you should probably bring two bottles, or one really nice one. Here are some tips from the nice folks at the globe and mail.

So one of the reasons that I haven’t posted much this summer is that work has been eating up my whole life. Actually, that’s only partly true, I haven’t been posting much because work was nuts, I’m pretty lazy and the longer you leave it the harder it is to post. Anyway, don’t make a big deal of it internet. We’ll never fight again ‘kay?

The short story of the whole summer is I have been promoted and am now the Manager of Events at the square. Hurrah!

The longer version… I started as a Seasonal Event Coordinator at one of the City squares here about two and a half years ago. Through the power of persuasion (Boobs! Wine! Fantastic competence and appropriate resume!) I convinced them I should be full time and they agreed and made me a permanent position, so for the last two years I have been a full time Event Coordinator.

When the old Manager left in May I took over his position (as the Acting Manager) whilst continuing to do my old job. Still all of my events to shout at and cajole, but now a squillion other things at the same time. It was pretty nuts and I worked my ass off with not enough hours in the day to get things done (except for mastering the margarita, there seemed to be enough hours for practicing that). It was a frantic summer for everyone in the office and everyone worked their butts off to get us through.

Many, many people (like STOP already people!) applied for the job when it was posted a few weeks back so I’m thrilled to have gotten it (and I had to apply and interview for it like everyone else, thanks City regulations, that’s awesome of you). It was a logical step in terms of my career progression and when it looked like the opportunity might arise I grabbed it with both hands and worked like a mother fucker to make sure my skills were shiny and my eyebrows plucked (that is not true, my eyebrows are, uh, Rubenesque?)

But now my weeks are less frantic, my days a little less endless and come January I’ll have a chance to sit back and think about what this all means, what I can do with the extra hours in my day and with a little more routine.

Top of the list for next year:
A trip to Mexico with my lover in the winter, to sit on a beach and drink tequila and read trashy books.
More tennis lessons so I can serve the stupid ball with a little less humiliation.
Weekends away at a cottage in summer with lili and other delightful masters and margaritas (ha!)
Good hair, SURELY it’s my year for good hair.
Have a fan-fucking-tastic 5th wedding anniversary with my sweet ass husband.

I know there’ll be so many more adventures and I look forward to discovering them. It’ll be another busy year (when is it not?) but I’m looking forward to it. Can’t. Fucking. Wait.

Feel the Ruben my friends, believe in the majesty...

Dear fucking asshole who stole my credit card number,

Princess of the World

PS – Seriously? You’re buying fucking petrol? THAT’S YOUR CHOICE? At least buy something fucking interesting and awesome. A trip to Chile to watch the miners come out? SURE! A prancing Russian pony? Fuck yeah, I’ll chip in for some fucking jolly prancing music. But Petro-Canada doesn’t really cut the fucking mustard does it? I hate you.

PPS – That’s RIGHT Petro-Canada and Esso, I did email you to ask what the fuck you’re doing letting some asshole use my credit card number with no card, no pin, no signature to buy some shitty Canadian cigarettes and some gas for their asshole SUV. Assholes.

PPPS – Starbucks also doesn’t make you sign or enter a PIN if you pay by credit card. Rest assured people of the world, I have also emailed Starbucks to ask them what exactly they’re doing to protect my privacy.

Peeeeeeeeeee- Visa were fantastic and had already cancelled my card last week even though I only realised today (due to the lag before charges appear online). Thanks Visa!

Assholes.

I will cut you when you sleep. Motherfuckers.

So, inspired by GB’s cousin making her own muesli, I thought I’d give it a shot. We have been paying just under 6 bucks for a tub of organic muesli that lasts us around 4 or 5 days. That, my friends, is shitty economics. Especially as the stuff we were buying (low fat) tasted like a mouth full of punches. Bland punches.

I looked around at the internet for some recipes and they’re all relatively similar. Firstly it had to be flavorsome enough to not need nuts (as the husband would die) and I wanted it to be relatively low in calories and sugar but have a bit of bang for buck nutrients wise. Whilst all the ingredients are actually quite high in calories, they’re pretty good for you. I started figuring out the calorie count and my estimate is around 120-140ish calories per 1/3 cup. I know 1/3 cup sounds like not much but there are a lot of grains and fat and some protein in the seeds, and it fills me up just fine before I go to the gym in the morning.

So I took the bits I liked from all the recipes and did this…

5 cups rolled oats
2 tbsp maple syrup (I used dark, so Grade 3, it’s a little less sweet)
2 tbsp wildflower honey
1 tsp vanilla extract
0.5c sunflower seeds (raw)
0.5c pumpkin seeds (raw)
0.75c dried apple
0.5c thompson raisins
good sploosh of cinnamon

I warmed the syrup and honey in a little pot to make it runnier, then poured it over the oats with the vanilla. I found that amount of liquid enough to coat everything.

I added the seeds to the oats and mixed it all together.

I lined a baking tray with tin foil and put a layer of the mix on it and popped it in the oven at 140C. It wasn’t a super thin mix, about half a centimetre or something. I shook it every fifteen minutes or so to allow all the bits to get toasty, and after 45 minutes took it out. I had to do it in two batches as my oven and tray are small.

Once that was done, I stirred in the fruit and cinnamon and let it cool.

And that’s it!

There are definitely a few things I think I’ll try next time I do this. Firstly, I might toast it slightly less, maybe half an hour? It is pretty toasty flavored, which is not bad, just, like, toasty. There are quite a lot of seeds in there, maybe a few less of them? Also, the apple became very dry very quickly, and I prefer the chewiness of dried apple. Given that they are pretty high in calories, I feel like they don’t add enough to the mix to be worth it (just another dried thingy in there) so I feel like maybe I’ll add them separately on a day to day basis? I think the flavor of the apple will be stronger then, and add some texture.

Most of the recipes I found use more syrup and honey (between 1/4 – 1/3 cup). This would probably be WAY MORE DELICIOUS but in order to eat Cadbury Creme Eggs every day, I gotta cut calories in other places. Consider adding more deliciousness if you are not a big dork who likes Creme Eggs, it’ll probably be worth it.

All the ingredients (and they were all organic, as well as the maple syrup and honey which were bought from the farm last summer and live in our pantry) came to about $10, and I certainly have enough for another batch. This batch has lasted two of us a week so far, with probably 4 days left?

It’s definitely cheaper and more delicious than what we were buying, so my next step is to improve on this and to start making my own yoghurt. Wheeee! Please send me amazing ideas for improvements and additions if you have any, this is by no means the end of my quest for muesli satisfaction. Good luck!

I don’t care if you find it outrageous that I can have the February blues having just spent a month in Australia (guys! we got back SIX WHOLE WEEKS AGO, get over it already). It’s true I think. I am sad and mopey for no good reason.

I am getting enough sleep, I am exercising, I haven’t given up wine… so it must be the miserable month. It has been forever since it’s been sunny here, there was really only that one week last September when it was nice – the rest of the year was chilly. I feel far from my family and despondent about how impossible it will ever be for GB and I to both be near family. I feel unsure about where my future is going to take me. I feel like getting back to being fit is so hard and my clothes so tight (DAMN YOU AUSTRALIA).

Today a telephone system salesman came calling into work. He was German or Eastern European, I couldn’t quite make it out, very smartly dressed. He was cold calling. Our new office guy told him we had a system and that it was fine. The man asked politely what system it was, nodded and then said ‘Thank you, have a nice day’ and left. He was incredibly polite, not pushy and I felt so sad. I had an image of him going outside and pulling up his collar against the miserable day outside. I imagined him heading into the subway and not getting a seat as rude, fat women with bad hair put their bags filled with polyester walmart clothes on the only empty seats. When he eventually made it home, he would hang his hat and sit at the kitchen table with his shoulders slumped as he wondered how he was going to pay his bills, why life was so hard. Eventually he would sigh and hope that tomorrow is a better day. I hope it is.

So that’s not normal thinking, I can’t cry for everyone or I’ll never be able to leave the house.

I remarked to Jenny that I just want to go live in a village in a beautiful, grey stone house with flowers overflowing from pots. I will bake bread and eat it with freshly churned butter from my neighbour and drink great wine. I wouldn’t mind being fat if I lived in a village. Life would be so easy… But only in my imagination.

That’s all. I’m going to go to bed early so I can get up early, go to the gym and trudge through the middle of the week.

It’ll pass.

On Saturday night we went to a fundraiser at the Danforth Bowl. There are 6 lanes, it’s 5 pin bowling and the centre pin may or may not be anywhere near the centre (but probably not). You score yourself on paper and press a reset button after every turn to make the pins reset, it is bowling 1.0 and it is THE BEST. As a natural athlete, I won the prize for highest game score for a female (OBVIOUSLY). I got to choose my prize and because I’m not a proper Canadian I didn’t choose the Keg voucher – pretty lame of me right? I got a book voucher to the evil empire and I shall use it to buy biographies about other elite sports people like me, to see if anyone understands how lonely it is to be so great at sports. Like me. Sports.

Also, 5 pin bowling was apparently invented because 10 pin bowling was so strenuous, how hilarious is that? I feel like that was a sport made by someone with whom I would get along jusssssttttt fine.

I’ve been watching the Olympics, despite all the sports involved being very stupid. The opening ceremony was a total dog’s breakfast but perhaps I’ll go into that another time, to give my husband a small break from hearing me go on about what a travesty it all was. Despite feeling most of the sports are a bit boring (ice skating? Puh-lease, foofy hands and wildly gesticulating eyebrows do not make for riveting television), I do cry every time anyone wins a medal in anything, no matter where they’re from. I cry when someone falls, I cry when they don’t. I cry when their families cry and when their team mates are happy for them. So the story of Alexandre Bilodeau has pretty much ruined me. My emotions are being played like a fiddle by goddamn CTV. Oh man, he and his brother keep popping up in 5 minute “inspirational stories” and they just (sob) love (sob) each (sob) other (sob) soooooooooooooooo much (sob) so when he won that gold I was an absolute wreck.

Anyway, it’s been a rough couple of days as there’s a lot of medals being given out and a lot of proud families for me to weep at. The only other things that have made a splash for me at this ‘lympics are that the Olympic flame has been fenced off with a big chain link fence so the public can’t get close, nor get a good photo. Good one Vancouver. (Update, apparently the Olympic Committee have asked VANOC to get rid of the stupid fence, hilarious).

The biggie is of course the awful tragedy of the Georgian Luger dying on the day of the opening ceremony. A terrible tragedy that will hopefully never happen again. The thing I found most upsetting was that the footage and images of Nodar Kumaritashvili hitting the poles was shown repeatedly on CTV (who are broadcasting the games here in Canada), and was front page of the NY Times and the Toronto Star. I’m all for freedom of the press, of course, but I don’t really think it’s an issue of that. For me it is an issue of respect and decency. I felt that watching him die over and over, and the shots of his bloodied face as they failed to revive him were gratuitous, and added nothing to my understanding of the situation. We shouldn’t have to watch it, nor should we be able to as it served no purpose other than pandering to the (very) human instinct to ogle the dead. Sure it’s natural but that doesn’t make it right. I didn’t want to see it, I imagine his family and friends and the other athletes felt similarly.

Anyway, that’s it really. I wish everyone all the luck in all the sports and look forward to my own budding prospects in professional sports. I think I’ll be more of a Federer than a Tiger, but I’ll keep my options open.