Muse. Ramble. Rant. Repeat

Thumbsuckers, landlovers and hookers

Last night CJ and I are getting ready for bed. Bedtime is my favourite time of day – it’s when CJ and I reconnect, we talk about our day, about random things, and all the naughty stuff goes down at bedtime. Last night was a talking night. I was, as usual, slathering lotion all over myself, concentrating on my hands and in particular my right hand thumb.

 CJ: I wonder why your hands get so dry in the winter. You’re the most paranoid person I know about wearing gloves.
Me: Well my right hand is trouble because of the thumbsucking.
CJ: Thumbsucking?
Me: Yah, I sucked my thumb until I was 7 or so an every winter since my thumb gets dry and cracks in the winter.
CJ: You’ve never told me that before…
Me: you’ve never asked.

 … (a few minutes later) …

 Me: we should switch sides. I don’t like sleeping by the heater. It gets too warm at night.
CJ: Can’t. Gotta face the water when I sleep and you always sleep turned in. And neither of us likes face to face.
Me: Face the water?
CJ: I fall asleep facing the harbour every night.
Me: (thinking of every apartment we lived in and realizing the side he sleeps on depends on the direction of the harbour) I never knew that…
CJ: You’ve never asked.

 …(random conversation, rather dull)…

 CJ: Do you have any cash? I want to get a coffee tomorrow morning.
Me: Yah, I have a $5 in my wallet. Take it before you go.
CJ: Thanks.
Me: You know, I am always giving you cash, I feel like a sugar mama.
CJ: Sorry, some of us don’t have time to do whatever we want during the day, like go to the bank*
Me: I should be receiving services for my money.
This launched a giant conversation of how much our sexual services would be worth, relative to each other and other people. Final decision: CJ would be $50/hour, $300 for the night. I’d be $100/hour, $500 for the night. I could go into a social commentary of the relative prices of male vs female hookers, but I won’t.

And they say you’ll run out of things to talk about after years of being together….

 *CJ appreciates my self-employment (and my pay cheque) but sometimes when I talk about what I read on the internet all day or groceries purchased at 10am or tickets received while getting coffee downtown at 2pm, he thinks that I don’t actually work all that hard. Which is kinda-sorta-true.


Don’t Fall for the Ninja Tricks of a Boy in Uniform.

(Alternative Title: When Chi reads this she’ll spit out her coffee and laugh and laugh and laugh)

In high school there was this boy. Let’s call him John.

John was an average looking fellow. Tall, blond, blue eyes. Nothing spectacular, nothing revolting…. until you got to know him. He considered himself a ladies’ man and would take any opportunity to hit on any woman he found attractive. Which was every woman. He was the type of boy that makes you shudder with his persistence. You know the type I’m talking about.

He spent the better part of grade 11 trying to convince Chi to go out with him. She refused. She had standards and didn’t mess with boys who didn’t. I, her best friend and closet confidant, made fun of her mercilessly about this until he stopped (which was because a friend of ours called him out for being a man-whore with no hope in hell of bedding the prettiest girl in class… in front of the entire class… BTW, JP your bitchiness was always awesome as long as it wasn’t directed at me).

A few years later in university when Lady and I met and became the coolest kids in our program we would talk about boys. We shared a mutual love of douche bags although I preferred hockey players and she preferred boys with criminal records. In second year Lady went on and on about this boy from high school who had become more attractive but was still sleazy. She even had a mild crush on this boy for a while. Once I found out who it was (John, naturally) I made fun of her mercilessly.

I should explain the phrase “I made fun of her mercilessly”. I’m a mean, sarcastic, funny person who loves to have fodder. Having anything that I can pick at until it bleeds is fun for me (don’t worry, my friends are just like me). We all have those boys in our past that we’ll never escape – those lapses in judgement (thanks tequila) that will haunt us forever because we don’t let each other live it down.

(You know what’s coming right?)

So a few years go by again and we’re all grown up now. The other day I get pulled over while driving to meet a friend. The officer looks vaguely familiar but in a good-looking perhaps I made out with him in a previous life type of way. Our conversation goes something like this:

Cop: “Hello miss, just checking paperwork today, could I have your license, registration and insurance?”
Me: “Yup, here you go”
Cop: “Sorry to inconvenience you like this, you must be headed to work, do you work at (local fashionable retail store)?”
Me: “Um, no… why would you say that?”
Cop: “Because you’re fashionably dressed”
Me: (confused about whether or not to be insulted or complimented)
Cop: “So where are you headed?”
Me: “Coffee with a girlfriend”
Cop: “At the place around the corner?”
Me: “Uh, yah”
Cop: “Ok, cool”

(I get a ticket for having expired insurance papers, although I do have insurance and can get rid of the ticket today).

A few minutes later at the coffee shop with my girlfriend the same cop shows up and waves at me. I just look away and ignore (I’m not in the habit of making friends with strange men).

 On Saturday night I relay this entire story to Lady– about my “hot” cop who hit on me. I’m feeling pretty good about being hit on while getting a ticket. I even say something like “If only I wasn’t taken, I totally would have hooked up with him!” and just as I’m about to laugh it off she’s all “But was it John(who had become a cop after school)? That sounds like something John would do, he’s sleazy like that”. And I’m all “No, I don’t fall for the tricks of douche bags.”

We checked the ticket. Signed on the bottom was “John”.

I am never living this down.

It’s spelt L-A-M-E for a reason. The accent doesn’t mean anything.

Current fashions (skinny jeans, leggings, empire waisted anything, neutral colours, flowing shirts, oversized sweaters and anything lamé, embellished or sparkly) are simply not made for a tall, curvy, pale girl.

Positive Thinking:
Well, I shouldn’t be buying new clothing anyways. I’ll take this as a sign that my current wardrobe is good enough and my bank account will thank me.

Negative Thinking:
Put down the carrot sticks fat girl. You clearly are not dieting hard enough. If you stop eating altogether you might lose a few inches in height, a couple of cup sizes and more than a few pounds. Then everything will fit you.

Delusional Thinking:
The clothing industry is out to get us… there is a giant conspiracy of trying to make people look as horrible as possible before the clothing apocalypse. This is when a giant sewing machine will come from the sky and judge those who jumped on the hideous fashion bandwagon. Those who stuck to classic lines and cuts will be rewarded with wealth and prosperity, those who disobeyed fashion gods will be forced to watch reruns of What Not To Wear for eternity.

No, my recent trip to the mall didn’t go well… how could you tell?

Consider this your sign.

This past week I had a silly problem that I didn’t know what to do about. I fretted and stressed about the problem. I talked about the problem. I made lists about the problem’s cons and pros (no, really, I do that). After much thought I had decided to take the worst possible solution because I have pride (which is just a nice word for being stubborn).

Then an opportunity literally walked by me this morning.

I believe in signs and meant to be. I believe in greater purpose and I firmly believe you can fuck things up when you are trying to do your best. I don’t know what will happen to my problem but I know I had a sign this morning and chose to do the right thing with it. It’s out of my hands now but it made me think on a grander scale.

It’s my firm belief that the universe will present opportunities and it’s up to you to decide what to do with those opportunities (call this “god’s plan”, “the secret”,” karma”, etc). I believe that you can only take as much as you give otherwise bad things will happen to you (for example, take from the Earth too much *cough*fossil fuels*cough* and bad environmental things will occur).

So, now this is where you come in. You, dear readers, have been presented with several opportunities in the past week that (most of) you are walking away from.

I’m not going to lecture (much) but there are real world problems going on. They are always there and the more I get caught up in my little petty problems I more I feel compelled to think of the bigger problems. Haiti. Love Harder. Your local community problems. It doesn’t matter where you put some thought but put it there today.
Stop reading about it and do something about it.

I want you to look at your bank account right now and figure out how much you can afford to give. It doesn’t matter if it’s $5 or $500, what matters is the thought. If you really can’t afford to donate any money (hey, I’ve been there too) please consider giving some of your time away. A Saturday afternoon means nothing to you but the world to an organization that is short on people. I promise Jersey Shore will still be there when you get back.

Also, open your cupboards and give some food to your local food bank. Be thankful there are such programs in place to help. You’ll never know when you’ll need someone else’s help and you’ll be thankful that you put just a little bit out into the world when you need to get some back.

Click here to donate to Love Harder

Click here to donate to the Red Cross

Free Fat Cat to Good Home.

This was my morning.

There isn’t enough coffee in the world to fix the lack of sleep.

“For a couple of hours, I actually thought I was Patrick Swayze”*

Tonight I’m going to Jon Lajoie.

Jealous? You should be.

He’s a comedian of internet fame. We’ve had these tickets for months and months now. Originally he was to perform in September but cancelled and moved the date until January. This actually works better for Nova Scotians because the only other activity we have to do in January is complain about the cold and snow. It’s actually a national past-time in the winter… except for those stuck up British Columbians. Don’t let the Olympics fool you folks, they only get snow in the mountains… on the ground it’s all sunshine and rainbows. A few years ago I went to Vancouver in February, we went skiing in the morning and sailing in the afternoon. Sailing! In February! It was almost tropical!

As an aside – yes, this entire country is laughing at those silly American cities that shut down for a few inches of snow. Also, I may or may not be exaggerating. Halifax weather is basically Boston weather except three days later (Now Ottawa – that is a cold place. I went skating last year on the Rideau in -35C weather (-31F) because I’m tough !).

What? I totally haven’t had too much coffee today.

Yah, so Jon Lajoie. Go forth. Watch his videos. Laugh. Unless you aren’t into twisted funny. Then go watch Dane Cook or something. But I’ll judge you. And I’ll stop being your friend.

Happy Weekend Kids!

*That title only makes sense if you watch the below video. Which is totally not work-safe unless your work is down with the word “fuck”.

Who’s on first?

Last night: Phone buzzes. I pick it up. Giggle, type something and put it back down.

CJ: Who was that?
Me: A, she just said I’d never guess who she was having dinner with.
CJ: Who was it?
Me: I don’t know. I asked.
CJ: What did you say?
Me: Who?
CJ: To A, what did you say to her?
Me: Who!
CJ: To A, what was the message you wrote back to her?
Me: I wrote who?!
CJ: (getting annoyed) To A! What did you write to A!
Me: (picking up the phone and showing him the text message which read “Who?”)
CJ: You didn’t even guess who she was having dinner with? Why not?
Me: We could be a comedy act.

Dear Drunk Me…

Dear Drunk Martina,

There a few things that I, sober Martina, want to talk to you about. I’m afraid you won’t listen very well but at least if I write it down I can tell you “I told you so” when you offend me again next weekend.

– Can we go back to the alternating every alcoholic drink with a glass of water? Or at least go back to drinking wine that we didn’t like the taste of so much? This new concoction we have for mango vodka is deadly and dehydrating*.

– When applying fake eyelashes could we lay off the eyelash glue just a little bit? While it’s all fine to want the eyelashes to stay in place for the night pulling off little pieces of glue and eyelashes is less than fun when our head is pounding the next morning. Also, all that burning from the glue cannot be good for our eyes.

– Please, please stop painting our nails after we’ve been drinking. Do you know how hard it is to get OPI’s Black Cherry Chutney off our cuticles when the smell of nail polish remover is making us nauseous?

– And about those $20 fancy spanx pantyhose you purchased – exactly how did we get such a huge run in them? We are not amused. Next time you are only allowed to wear the cheap Joe Fresh pantyhose out.

– Please stop thinking that when a strange boy asks you to dance it gives us an opening to critique his appearance. I am pretty sure there is a 21-year-old crying about his precious long hair in the dorms while telling his mommy how the mean older woman was a bitch. Although, the line “Let me put this to you in terms you’ll understand, you’re totes like that werewolf dude from Twilight in the first movie when you could really be like when he cuts his hair and gets all hot in the second one” is one of our better ones.

– High heels on an icy night? Really? Really? What were you thinking? Our calves don’t like you. Flats next time please.

I think that’s it for now, I do want to commend you on not eating greasy pizza after the bar – it made us feel much better about eating half a deep and delicious cake on Sunday.

Sincerely, Sober Martina

*2 parts mango vodka, 1 part diet ginger ale, 1 part ice cubes, sprinkle of strawberry-kiwi crystal light. Blend. Drink. Drunk. Die.

Quarter-life Rant

It’s my 25th birthday today. From what I’ve read and seen, I’m supposed to slit my wrists and write a suicide note about having a quarter-life crisis. I’m not really that type of girl, so instead I’m going to spend the day telling everyone how awesome I am (because you can do that on your birthday). I’ve also prepared a little rant for you pretty ladies who read my blog (all ten of you – six who are close personal friends who have heard this rant before) about why we shouldn’t get upset about turning 25. I hope you enjoy.

There is this stigma about turning 25 in my circle of friends (real, blog-real, and imaginary). We all tend to be of the same class bracket (over-educated and under-paid) and want the same general things from life. The things we want are the holy trinity of an over-educated, successful woman: Career, Husband and Children. All of my friends (and I literally mean ALL) have been struggling with turning 25 and not having realized this goal. Few of us are ready for marriage (if we have even met someone worth marrying), few have finished our education, few are in jobs that could actually be considered a career and except for a few “accidents” we are not ready for children. This causes a freak-out of trying to figure out how we are going to achieve everything before we are 30 –which is when we are told the world ends and your uterus starts to dry up.

Fifty years ago there was no conflict for woman. You got married out of school, gave up whatever “career” you had and started having babies. Then, the women’s movement happened and women decided we wanted more from life than to just be mothers (thank god). Flash forward to today and we lucky women can now choose a career, marriage, traveling, love affairs, children etc. And we want it all. Because we are told we can have it all from a young age. And we are told if we are really smart, pretty and talented we will have it all immediately. In our early 20s. We have unlimited choice of what to do with our lives and instead of being able to pick and choose what we want from it we are expected to choose all of it and be everything.

What we aren’t told, what no one wants to tell us, is that we don’t have to be everything. If we’re honest with ourselves, we don’t want to be everything. But because we are told we should be everything we stress ourselves out to do it and when we fail, we feel horrible.

Unlike earlier generations who fought so hard to be more than just a mother we get to decide what we can do. It’s not setting back the woman’s movement to choose what you want. In fact, isn’t the ability to have the choice exactly what our mothers and grandmothers fought so hard for? This is why I don’t understand what the problem is with spending your entire 20s trying to figure out what you want; while we still have the youth and beauty to waste time. If I take a long time to decide to have children that’s my right – I don’t want to have them just because I feel like society tells me I should. Also, why should you get married to that ok guy just because you’re getting older – why don’t you wait for the awesome guy so you don’t have to look for him when you’re 40 and you already have 3 children with Mr. Ok? And what if you decide you just want to be a mother and let your husband support you? Why is it wrong to want to do that instead of trying to juggle everything? I just don’t understand.

I have friends who are starting to feel pressure to have it all. They are running to the altar with men that I don’t think they actually like. They are working jobs that pay well but in return are sucking their souls dry. They are considering children when they don’t want them. They are buying houses and cars and stuff but can’t actually afford it. Some are so overwhelmed by everything they have stopped doing anything, petrified of making a decision that is the wrong one. And for what? Why are we doing this to ourselves? Because we are supposed to? Who says so?

And who the fuck is this woman who has everything worked out? Where is she? Point her out to me!

(Now before you point to me – I have an awesome career and soon-to-be husband, but remember I have done no travelling and children scare the bejebus out of me, also my bank statement is a joke)

I spent yesterday afternoon googling women and I couldn’t find one role model who had the holy trinity who hadn’t fucked it up at least once. Many had been able to work it out after taking some time off or taking a stumble but I certainly didn’t find one person who had it all worked out by the time they turned 25. What are we 25 year olds collectively smoking that we think we should have this shit in order by the time we turn 25? Maybe at one time your life was in order by the time you turned 25. You know, in 1962 when all that was expected of a woman was to get married and have babies. But to expect that now is unrealistic. Just do the math – it’s impossible.

I don’t know what the right choices are. I think I have mine figured out, but I don’t know. I certainly can’t tell you what the right choices for you are. I just know that making choices because we feel we should have it all figured out this early in life is the wrong one. We need to take our time and maybe have it all worked out by the time we’re 35. But not when we’re 25. We need to stop freaking out about our 20s and start enjoying them. Let things happen naturally and I swear it will all work out for us.

The “Poor you, this cake is delicious, ah nom nom nom” look.

I think the world is against me this week.

You see, I started one of those dumb New Year’s Resolution diet/exercise things. I seem to do it every January (and fail at it horribly) but it’s exactly six months until my wedding where lots of forever pictures will be taken and I could really use to revamp the entire how I view food/exercise thing (For the record – food is comforting and makes the sad go away. Exercise is the devil that should be spited at all costs).

So, with an iPhone filled with apps and all Christmas junk consumed I started counting calories, exercising daily and repeating that stupid mantra “Sugar will never taste as good as being fit feels”. I swear I’m not going to force you to read about my struggles with food but I’ve convinced myself the world is conspiring against me. I could also be extra paranoid because I’m also attempting to cut back the caffeine (for the bazillionth time in my life – it’s the one thing I fail at more consistently than dieting)

For example:

Sunday: Feeling good and proud that I haven’t eaten anything Oprah would approve of. I see a girl I haven’t seen in about 4 months. She runs up to me and gives me a hug – and says
“Wow, you look so good! Did you lose weight?”
I think:
“NO! DON’T TELL ME I LOOK GOOD! Telling me I look good at this point will only inflate my already inflated ego and I’ll determine that I don’t need to lose any weight! Tell me I look fat or miserable! That’s better motivation!”
I say:
“No, not really, thanks though”

Monday: I discover how many calories are in cheese. My world comes crashing down and I start crying on the inside a little bit because I had already promised CJ I would make him homemade mac and cheese. I do the good wife thing and make him the dinner I promise and then modify it for me (replace noodles with rice, cheese sauce with vegetables). As I’m slaving over the hot stove he wonders into the kitchen and we start talking about our day. Just as I’m explaining to him exactly how horrible cheese is for you and that I need to cut back my consumption of it, he is eating the grated cheese I have on the counter and says “Oh god, this is delicious, what kind of cheese is this? So much better than our usual stuff – is this cheddar from the market? I could make love to that man who makes it”. I give him THE look and he realizes that he probably should have been listening to me for the past 5 minutes and promptly leaves the kitchen.

Tuesday: My mother-in-law sends us a tin filled with my favourite homemade cookies because it’s my birthday this week. I watch bitterly as CJ consumes it. A side note: Why the hell does that man not weigh 700lbs – he seriously eats crap all day long and nothing happens to him.

Wednesday (as in today): My office is in a shared space where lots of other people have offices. There is usually something going on but today there was birthday cake and an offer that we could all have a piece of birthday cake. When I turned it down I got the “poor you, this cake is delicious, ah nom nom nom” look.

Apparently January is going to be all about willpower. And being hungry.*

*Now come on, you must know that I’m not actually crazy enough to be actually hungry. I’m dieting in the safe following Canada’s Food Guide type of way. I’m just cutting back on the good stuff – like sugar, white carbs and anything that is convenient (fast food, microwaveable food, junk food) – and planning my meals ahead of time. So, we can just laugh at the jokes and remember that I tend to exaggerate when it comes to this stuff.