Blog Dog: A Post by Portia

Seeing as my mother, Mummy Margarita sees fit to put my dirty laundry up on the web (mmmmmmm dirty landry) I thought it was high time I had a post of my own to tell you how things really are around here.

You see what I’m lying on in this picture? This is Mummy’s bed. Look how comfy! How cozy! She has six pillows and a heated blanket! Do I get a queen size bed like this? NO! I’m forced to share with her, getting only a small corner of the bed, unless I take my sleeping elsewhere. In which case I either have to sleep on the couch (yes, sad but true!) or sometimes even the hard floor (although the hardwood does get warmed up by the sun and sometimes you can find a nice hot spot and zone out for hours).

Mummy treats herself once a week to McDonald’s but am I allowed to order anything? NO! I have to wait for the bag to be emptied when Rocky and I get to share the fries that fell out of their carton. Imagine, sharing with the Sock! Oh, the humiliation.

And while I’m on the subject of food, it’s kibble for breakfast, kibble for dinner, kibble for a treat. Do I ever get a nice T-Bone steak? Okay, once at my grandparents house I got a bone, but I had to eat it outside. Grandma said I was fine out there as it was 20 degrees and sunny, but let me tell you! Eating outside is for savages!

Mummy drinks coffee every morning. I only get water. And sure, she cleans the water bowl every day to make sure it’s fresh but nothing tastes as good as a beverage that isn’t yours. Which is why I drink exclusively from Rocky’s bowl. I don’t even care when Mummy puts ice cubes in my bowl for a treat. It’s the Sock’s bowl or BUST!

She makes me pose for ridiculous pictures which she then takes and does something called ‘scrapbooking.’ I had to pretend to read a magazine once and then she thought it would be funny if I looked like I was drinking Starbucks coffee. But I’ll let you in on the dirty little secret! The cup was empty! I only got to lick the milk bubbles.

And once I got a hold of some yummy smelling yarn and I got in trouble! I mean, it was lying around on the counter, not doing anything. How was I to know she was making a blanket with it?

And the time I ate the remote, well I was only trying to turn the tv on. They leave it off when they go out. What’s a dog to do to pass the time?

She tells everyone stories about me. Embellishing them to make her sound like the hero. I was feeling under the weather a couple of times, and she took me to the vet. Big deal. If I could drive a car, I woulda taken myself! She says she cleans up after me, but really, it’s the other way around. She leaves things lying on the counter all the time and it’s my job to jump up and get it. To show her how messy she is. I will then rip it to pieces to teach her a lesson. You can’t just leave your stuff out!

I mean, I guess she’s okay. Sometimes she buys me special bones. And with her long nails, no one gives a back scratch like her. Or sometimes I will stand next to her, because I am feeling lonely, and she will pat my head and tell me I’m a good dog, scratching that one place behind my ears that I can’t reach.

But if she puts another sweater on me, I’m outta here!

Where have all the good bands gone?

As I listen to the radio these days, I’m forced to ask, where have all the good bands gone? Who is the next U2? I don’t like the Rolling Stones but I can appreciate that they have stood the test of time and have legions upon legions of fans. Let’s face it, Keith Richards prolly made a deal with the devil for them to keep on going. How else do you explain the fact that he is still alive?

But I digress. The radio these days are full of catchy pop tunes and bands churn out a couple of good hits but none of them really have any staying power. I thought Matchbox 20 was gonna be the next U2 but then Rob Thomas went solo (although, Mr. Thomas if you’re reading this, you are a STAR!! Love your record).

But what’s with all the thirtysomething bands singing teenage looser songs? Sum 41, Blink 182, Simple Plan. . . There is only so long you can go on bee-atching about how mum and dad don’t understand you and school sucks before your fans will realize that you are 35, making millions off them and didn’t actually have an angst filled adolescence. But they prance around in front of the mike in their short pants and whine that no one understands them. Short pants, by the way are how you tell guys who are stuck in the teens vs guys who finally grew up. Men wear shorts, boys pretending to be grown up are wearing capris. I know that boys don’t call them capris, they call them board shorts (I think – I’m kinda out of the teen loop) but I’m sorry, honey, they are capris. If I would wear them with a pair of strappy sandles and a cute purse, it means they are capris.

I have some good bands I listen to, but I don’t know if any of them have the staying power I’m looking for. If you want to make a long term committment to a band these days, your choices are pretty slim. If you ask me, Green Day has the best chance. Dookie was a smash hit and after some good follow ups, they released American Idiot which I think has the most staying power. Don’t get me wrong, I like the guys of Green Day, but they are not U2. They are a poor man’s U2. A substitute for a U2-less generation.

So who do I listen to despite the fact that they don’t have legions of followers? Well, I’m a big My Chemical Romance fan right now, I like James Blunt (but he’s not rocking enough to be a rock band), I love Rob Thomas, I like Garbage (despite the fact that they have been in a popularity decline as of late). I miss Econoline Crush in their Sparkle and Shine days – Trevor Hurst where have you gone! Sob. And we’ll have to wait for the next Maroon 5 album to see what the verdict is. I like my Michael Buble and The Killers, but once again, we have to wait a couple years to see what’s gonna happen with them. And I miss my early 90’s Depeche Mode. Sniff.

Maybe I’m too outta touch with the music world. For all I know, there are millions of people out there ready to rip my throat out because I just trashed Blink-182. And don’t even get me started on Coldplay. Yes they are good, but they aren’t as good as everyone is telling you they are. Now they are just overexposed.

So I’ll keep trolling iTunes for the next band to keep me going.

For Sale: Mint condition Uterus! Never been used!

So I was on Heidi’s blog today (Completely Barking Mad,) and she had a link to another blog called Nine Pound Dictator. Sounded like a good title, and I’m a sucker for a good title so I decided to check it out. I only made it to the post titled Mommies Rule before I had to stop.

What’s that sound you ask? Well, that’s me having an aneurysm. In the article, she says that people look at her differently now that she’s a mother. It’s the respect, she claims. Respect for her, and her respect for life. She also claims that women are nicer to her when they find out she’s a mother, she’s no longer the Competition, apparently.

You know what? You know what!!?? (the Double ‘You know what?’ from me is a sign that you have just unleased Evil Margarita. She doesn’t get to come out and play very often, generally because I’m left to apologize for whatever she does while she’s out, but I’m letting her out this time because she has a point)

(continuation of Evil Margarita’s tirade . . . ) Just because I haven’t pushed a nine pound human being out of my uterus does not mean that my life is a total waste of time. I’m tired of being constantly informed by the media and anyone else who has a baby that I just don’t understand the meaning of life. You know what? I don’t understand the meaning of life, but I doubt that having a baby will make everything crystal clear for me. Some of us aren’t wired that way. Some of us don’t have a burning desire to procreate. And just because you have procreated, you do not instantly deserve my undying respect.

Don’t get me wrong, I think motherhood is a great thing, and if you choose to be a mom and that makes you happy, then I’m happy for you. My sister is a great mum to two beautiful boys and she works hard to be a good mum to them. It’s a hard job. The pay is lousy, the hours worse, and nine times out of ten, you have to be the bad guy.

But for those women out there that have a baby and then instantly start propogating the urban legend that the rest of us childless freaks are missing out really irritates me. I actually had to give myself a cooling off period before I could even write this blog. I know alot of women who don’t have kids. Some don’t want kids, some just haven’t had them yet, some aren’t in a position to have them, but none of them feel like they are missing the boat on life because they don’t have mini-me’s running around.

What about the woman who can’t ever have kids? Is she less deserving of my respect because she is incapable of having children? What about the women who choose definitively not to have kids? Should I disrespect them for their heinous choice? Or what about the women who knowingly have unsafe sex with no regard for the consequences and get unexpectedly pregnant? This is instantly deserving of respect? I think not.

I tell you what I do respect. I respect people who make the right choices for themselves. I respect anyone who chooses to live their life in the manner which suits them. I respect people who live their lives every day making a conscious effort to be good people. They pay their taxes, they are nice to the coffee barista, they are kind to their friends and they love their family. Some of them have kids, some of them don’t. If they have kids, they are working hard to make those kids good people too. That is worthy of respect. However, you can have a child and be raising him or her to be a royal pain in the a$$ to the entire world. Chances are, you’re a pain in the a$$ too. And you don’t get my respect for that. You get my ire.

I don’t want to rain on anyone’s parade. I’m just tired of getting my child free parade washed out. Live your life, I’ll live mine. Neither one of us has to like the other’s, but don’t tell me that you are instantly a better person because you procreated. Or that I can’t possibly understand what it’s like to be a mum. I don’t have to know. It’s not your job in life to show me the way.

Evil Margarita has left the building.

Movie You Should Rent Right Now!!

I am always amazed at some of the great movies out there that no one seems to rent/know about. I have yet to figure out the hollywood machine, what makes some movies hits even if they suck, while other movies don’t even make waves, but they are really good! I guess it has to do with the marketing and who the mucky-mucks are buddy buddy with. So, in an attempt to turn the tides, here is the first installment in an on-going feature: “Movie You Should Rent Right Now!”

Equilibrium (2002) – starring Christian Bale, Taye Diggs, Emily Watson

I have Heidi to thank for this one, she mentioned it to me one day and I had never heard of it, so I went out and rented it and then I went out and bought it. Equilibrium is about a future where emotions are outlawed. Anything that may cause human emotion is contraband: art, literature, music. Christian Bale plays John Preston, a cleric, whose job it is to track down emotional offenders and contraband and dispose of them/it. The entire society takes daily doses of Prozium (hmmm, I wonder what that’s supposed to stand in for. . . ) to keep their emotions in check. This is the price that society decided to pay to rid themselves of war, crime, etc. When Preston’s partner turns out to be an offender, and he terminates him, it starts Preston on a journey toward finding out whether the price society is paying is worth it. Great action scenes, great dialogue, and great twists in the plot to keep it going. If you like your sci-fi with a bit of brains, this one is for you! Plus Sean Bean is in the opening section of the film and I am such a Sean Bean fan!! Why is he not in more blockbusters!!

I’ll try to bring ya more good movies!!

Chuckle Worthy moments . . .

So here are a few of the things that made me chuckle this week:

Thursday morning I burnt my neck with the curling iron, dropped it two minutes later and biffed myself in the face with it while trying to catch it, giving myself a really cute fat lip. I then tripped on my way out of the bathroom. But then on the way to work, a busload of highschool guys gave me the thumbs up and waved madly at me. So I must be hot stuff after all . . . . at least I hope they were in high school. Did ya notice that the older you get the harder it is to tell the junior highs from the high schools?

My nephew had to have a minor medical procedure done and proclaimed that the laughing gas smelled like his brother’s feet. Two days later and I’m still laughing out loud at this.

I was trolling knitting pattern sites and somebody has gone to all the trouble (psychotic trouble no less) to make a fuschia representation of the female reproductive system. No joke. Check it out.

So I was sick on Wednesday and stayed home and I committed the ultimate mortal sin. I watched Maury Povich. It’s been 5 years since the last time I saw Maury and nothing has changed. Freakishly loud and rude people are arguing on his show about whether or not some lame-a$$ punk with no prospects is the father of some baby. The women always proclaim they are 1000% sure he’s the daddy (who’s your daddy?) despite the fact that they were, ahem, friendly with several gentlemen around the time in question. And then this guy proclaimed he couldn’t be the dad because he had GREEN eyes and the baby had BROWN eyes.

Okay. It’s time to go back to Biology 10/20 and pay attention this time. Better yet, let’s go back to ‘Health’ class (aka Sex ed – which was covered in religion class at my Catholic Junior high. HA!) and review a few concepts.

But it still couldn’t beat the episode I saw with Donna 5 years ago when some young punk declared he was “One hundred and fiddy percent sure he wannunt the faddah of dat baby!” and then he told his sobbing ex to get his name outta her ‘mouf’ (I kid you not! He yelled “Get my name outta your MOUF.”) Maury, Maury, Maury. Stay at home, raise the kids and leave the newscasting to Connie. At least I can take her partially seriously.

Okay I can’t take her seriously either, but there has got to be someone else we can find to fill this time slot!

My whole life, I’ve been pretty good at anything I’ve tried. I’m smart, a quick study and able to pull of pretty much most of the stuff I’ve done by the seat of my pants. Case in point, Engineering class on circuits. I sucked at that class, it was at 8 in the morning and I nearly fell asleep almost every day. I studied here and there, did my assignments, got by and woke up two hours before the final, crammed and passed. Exhibit B: Physics 269 – optics. I was so lost I didn’t even know what the class was really about. I got a tutor, learned how to derive my own formulas and got my C-minus (required to take the next level).

I can count pretty quickly the times I’ve absolutely bombed something (PMAT 451 the first time around – Got an F. Take two I got a C, but by PMAT 453 I pulled off an A minus). I came thisclose to bombing PMAT 491 but since the rest of the class was sitting at an D average, the prof said whatever we got on the final would be our final grade. Despite the fact that he put two concepts we had never taken in class on the test, I got a B (it was an open book test and I was able to teach myself out of the textbook and get the gist of it).

But all this leaves me with a paralyzing fear of failure. I don’t mean to come off as a jerk saying that I’m good at stuff, what I’m saying is, I’ve always been able to pull it out of the fire (as my mum says). Consequently, I absolutely fear failure. I don’t know what to do with it. A by-product of this is that, now that I’m older, I rarely try new things. Knowing that the coin I’ve been tossing has been pretty consistent in coming up heads, I’m sure that there are a number of Tails with my name on it. I’m a math major, for crying out loud. I know the stats.

So what’s a type A squirrelly girl to do? I’m trying to embrace the failure. In baby steps. So I have been working on my issues s-l-o-w-l-y. I’ve purchased a new pattern for knitting, and while you’re thinking this does not exactly sound like bungee jumping, for me, it’s been a learning process. I’ve started and pulled it apart 10 times now. It’s been VERY FRUSTRATING! Knitting is supposed to be relaxing but right now I can feel my blood pressure skyrocket as soon as I pick up the needles. My head bent over, my shoulders hunched, I’ve GOT TO KEEP TRYING! No matter how many times I fail. It’s getting better. I may not even have to rip out the stitches this time. We’ll see. But the urge to toss it aside and declare it MORONIC is overwhelming!

So, it may not seem like much to you, but to me, this is the first lesson in Failure 101: How to fail and move on. We’ll see if I can get back on the Roller-blades this summer. I haven’t fallen yet, so I know that there is a massive wipe out with my name on it. There’s got to be, I’m a total klutz.

I wasn’t always like this. As a kid I used to ride my bike super fast and then hard brake on gravel. I would ride it all over the place with my friends and never gave a thought to getting hurt, but two massive wipe outs has me fearful of gravel ever since. I have some lovely scars on my knees that are still purple to prove it, and they are over 20 yrs old now.

So I guess I have to try and find the girl that used to jump down 6 stairs at a time, despite being told it was dangerous. And if I fall, I’m just gonna have to get back up.

Looking for the Cheese. . . .

You know, most days, we’re too busy to stop and think about what we’re doing. You get up, you eat breakfast, you get ready for work, you go to work, you work, you eat lunch, you work, you drive home, you eat dinner, you space out in front of the telly for a few hours and you go to bed, you get up, you eat breakfast. . . .

I was on the treadmill the other night and I suddenly realized how symbolic the treadmill was of my life. I’m going at an okay clip, not as fast as I could go or I’d be uncomfortable, not as slow as I’d like since it really wouldn’t be worth it, but I’m not really going anywhere. I ended up exactly where I started. Was this a metaphor for my life? For all our lives?

Sure, there are people out there that are living it up, loving every moment, carpe diem and all that, but aren’t most of us just mice on a really big treadmill? We’re putting it out there, but where are we going? Are we even going anywhere? Aren’t we all just looking for the cheese?

But what’s the cheese?

I’m saving for my retirement, which while financially a sound idea, seems ludicrous at times. While I work, I save for when I won’t have to work. I save so I can do all the things I want to do, but I don’t get to do all those things now, because that wouldn’t pay the bills. Is my whole life transferring imaginary money on Scotiabank? Is retirement my cheese? That seems dumb because I may get hit by a bus tommorrow, or be too old to enjoy it. Retirement is old cheddar, you have to wait for it.

Is vacation the cheese? Those two weeks you take off work to go someplace, see something, do something? But vacation goes by so fast, and you never get enough. Vacation must be cheese fondu.

Is family the cheese? I’m not married, I may not ever get married, and I don’t really see myself having kids so if family is the cheese then it’s my blue cheese, some people think it’s great and others just pass it by.

But is any of that my cheese? They say life is a journey, not a destination, so does that mean that looking for the cheese is the cheese?

It’s too deep for me! I don’t have time to sit around and figure out what the cheese is! And isn’t that the whole problem? And your cheese is probably not my cheese so even if you figure it out, you can’t tell me.

So, I guess it’s back on the mouse treadmill tomorrow.

photo from Flickr

The Art of the Nap

Why do we shamefully hide the fact that we are creatures who require sleep? Why do people brag about being able to get by on only four hours a night? The hold it up to your face like a badge of honor that they can fully function on minimal quantities of sleep, while you are left to feel shamed and guilty because you cannot function on such little rest.

Why do we lie if someone catches us sleeping?

Ring-ring, the phone intrudes on your slumber, you groggily grasp for it and hit the ‘talk’ button while faking your best, “Nope, been up for hours” voice.
“Did I wake you?” They ask, feigning politeness but underneath it all, there is that oh-so-snarky tone.
“Nope. I couldn’t find the phone.”

I gave up lying like this years ago. Anyone who knows me knows that sleeping is my favourite thing. I love crawling into bed at night, sliding under my pile of blakets, arranging my pillows, snuggling down, and then with a sigh, I close my eyes. When you call me and I answer the phone with a slurred voice, I am not drunk. It wasn’t that I couldn’t find the phone. It’s that you woke me up! I don’t care if it is 11 am on a Saturday. I get up with Portia and Rocky at 6.30 for them to have breakfast and a pee break and once doggy bellies are full and bladders empty, it’s back to snooze land I go!

I also try to nap at least one day on the weekend. It’s my not-so-guilty-pleasure. For those of you who don’t nap, you are missing out. It’s the highlight of my day. Here is my guide to the nap.

Start off earlier in the day if you can, to avoid disrupting your nighttime sleep. Although, I require so much sleep, I can generally nap for three hours and it won’t affect me. Not even if I chug a latte right before bed.

Turn off the phone.

Make your room dark.

Let your roommate know you are napping (Jenge knows that when I am napping, someone better be crying or dying before she wakes me.)

Never nap for less than 45 minutes. Whenever I read those books that say have a 20 minute nap, I snort. C’mon! It takes me that long to go through my left-side, right-side, left-side routine to get comfy. Nap at least 45 min, but keep it under 3 hrs or you start to feel too groggy when you wake up.

Now, some of you might be saying, I can’t nap! I have kids! I have housework! I have yardwork! I have to do my taxes! Go grocery shopping!

To which I say: Sucks to be you. Thems the breaks. I don’t have kids, the housework can wait, the yardwork can wait, my taxes are done, and I’d rather have no food in the house than forgo the joy of napping.

Bonus tip: Get an electric blanket! So great to crawl into a warm bed on chilly days!