Kickin it Old School

Last month, I got the feeling… The feeling that I should go to Greece to see my dad’s family. I hemmed and hawed, but when you get that feeling, it’s hard to ignore, and if there’s one thing that Uncle Carmie’s death taught me, it’s that you can’t wait. You have to go now. I waited to long to go to Nova Scotia, so when Carmie died before I got a chance to get back out there, I thought to myself “That’s it. You waited to long.” So I didn’t want to have that feeling again.

I got a last minute deal and off a went for two and half weeks in Greece. Seeing the peeps, spending time with the Silverbacks [as I affectionately call the people I see over there – I only saw three people in my family under the age of 40 – One of them is my new cousin, baby Maria, in the photo].

And I guess I went just in time. This blog was supposed to start out about what I did and how I brushed up on my Greek, but sadly, Uncle George passed away last week, and his wife, Marika, just the other day. What a shock. I know they were older, but I was still surprised. I mean, I just saw them. But it seems like that’s what you say whenever someone dies, as if you somehow just laying eyes on them recently should offer them some sort of supernatural protection.

So I’m definately glad I acted on my feeling and went to see them. Somehow I feel strangely better knowing that I saw them and they saw me and we spoke briefly [okay, really briefly since my greek is not so hot]. But it makes a difference.
Going to see my family in Greece is definately different from what most tourists experience. They aren’ t on the islands. We are from a small town in the north, in the mountains. I stay with my Thea [Aunt] Freida. She has a tv with antennas, and only gets 3 channels. She has a rotary phone. She doesn’t know who Harry Potter is, and had no idea if Veria [the town] even had an internet cafe. She makes everything from scratch, including her own pita and she somehow thinks I can learn it all by watching her once. I took notes, but they are sketchy at best. She doesn’t use measuring cups. She uses 1 teacup and a saucer to measure everything. when I asked her how hot her oven had to be, she said that the numbers were broken and it’s only On or Off. When I asked her how long it took to cook, she said, “Until it is finished.”
My days there are spent visiting friends of my Thea, or of my late father, or other relatives. We have greek coffee and some cake, or maybe a chocolate or two. We napped in the afternoons, and had dinner late. I ate only fresh food [no preservatives! me!] and walked everywhere. If push came to shove, Thea could kick my ass. She’s 72 and in better shape than I have ever been. Every morning she hikes it up the hill to the town to buy her groceries. On Tuesdays, she goes to the bazarre. She hates it when I carry her bags. She likes to show me off to her friends which I find amusing and embarrassing at the same time. She tells them all I speak Greek wonderfully, a GROSS exaggeration. She was VERY impressed that I knit. In fact, all my relatives were.
Thea prays every day for me to find a good husband who will take care of me so I don’t have to work [true story]. I think she hopes that since she taught me how to make cake, pita and cookies, this will somehow magically happen. Although she did tell me several times that if I found a man, and he turned out to be ‘bad’ I had to ditch him to the road. Her exact words were “If he is bad…. ROAD!” and then she would swipe her hand out like she was smacking someone. All her lady friends agreed wholeheartedly.
I had my teacup read several times, although my greek was not so great, so I didn’t get all the details, but I was assured that my future looks very good. Shamefully, I hardly paid for anything. All of my relatives bought me something. I had barely to glance at something in the window, and someone was at the till purchasing it for me, despite my protestations and my flashing of a Mastercard. Shoes, dresses, rings…. I felt really bad until I talked to Doxa about it [my greek aunt who lives in Canada] and she reminded me that they just want to show me how happy they are I came. That gave me a nice warm fuzzy.
I’m still sad that George and Marika are gone, but when I think of them in my head, I can see how happy they were, and how they just lit up when I arrived to see them last month. Which is just another reminder, if you get the feeling, you have to go.
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Understanding Wile E. Coyote

Number of mousetraps set off by Portia: 0

Number of mousetraps set off by me or Jenge: 2

I finally feel sorry for that damn coyote!

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Entrapment

The Bait…

The Mark…

And now, we wait….
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The Urge to Purge
I’ve never been much of a cleaner, let alone a spring cleaner. But this year, something has shifted and I have the sudden urge to spring clean my entire house. Maybe it’s the fact that Char decided to reno the office and purge all our old stuff for new. Maybe it’s just time. I’m not sure.

I’ve started with my office/scrapbooking area. I’ve already taken out two bags of garbage and ordered some shelves and storage for my stuff. I’ve cleaned out the closet and neatly stacked the things I want/need to keep.

I went through my clothes and have about a bag and a half for charity. I’m foregoing my usual method of packing it up for a year, taking it out again, deciding if I missed it and then taking it to charity. This time, the bag is ready to go, and it’s just going to go.

I find myself wandering around the house wondering what else I can purge. I open drawers, cupboards, checking to see if there’s anything in them that I can clean, junk, pack away or file. I’m sure there’s tons more I could do, but I really don’t know where to begin. Jenge and I already had the Junk guys here in June and we purged a bunch then [in preparation for our basement renos] but I still feel like there’s more to go and I’m not sure if the feeling is coming from a physical need to purge or an emotional need.

I do know that Portia gets very nervous when I start tossing stuff. She follows me around, watching everything go in the bag. And then she sighs loudly before padding off softly, her head low.

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Feel the burn!
So, I had my first chemical facial peel on Friday. I’m new to this whole thing, having only had two facials in my entire life. I kinda expected it to be like them. About an hour, a lot of stuff going on that I don’t see since my eyes are closed, some facial massage, some cream, dorky hair from a hairband and there you have it. In the interest of those who want to know, here is the skinny:

It took about 10 minutes, burned like a mofo and left me yellow for the rest of the day [which I worked, thank you very much!]. Apparently, I was yellow from the retinol A which is to be expected. From Friday at 2pm onward, I looked like I had a moderate sunburn. By Saturday night, I had started to peel. I foolishly thought that the one layer that peeled off by Sunday would be it.

On Monday, I returned to work somewhat self conciously, wishing I could wear a sign that said “I had a chemical peel.” However, by today, I was doing much better and someone actually commented on how nice my skin looked! [NB – they did not know I had done anything, so this was a genuine compliment]. By tonight, I think [hope!] I am done peeling. I must say, my skin tone is almost totally even, except for a few red patches, but it is much better than my pre-peel face which was kinda dull looking and blotchy. I feel like I have a really nice glow now. In three weeks, I have another one scheduled, and then a microdermabrasion after that.

Am feeling very diva-ish this week, since I had my peel on friday, I have a pedicure tomorrow and my nails are getting done on Thursday. Hey, when it’s just you and the Portiacakes, you can spend your money how you want!

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An Open Letter to Management – a post by Portia

Condishuns r unakseptable. Bed to small. Today, therr was almost no kibbble. Mummy sed she was stuk in traffik. Don’t no what that meens. Therr must bee kibbble. Getting yelled at 4 jumping on counter. Want door left open at all tymes, don’t care how cold it iz outside. Want more snow. Want more sqweekee toyz. Mine broke.
But thankz for the choclut on the counter. It wuz gud. P

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Chachi?

‘Scott Baio is 45…. and Single’ is a reality show staring, you guessed it, Scott Baio as he meets up with former girlfriends and asks why they broke up. He is joined in his journey by a life coach.

Seriously. I’m a writer, and even I can’t make this stuff up. I got the pic above from his official website.
I know.
I must say, Scott Baio is part of an elite group in my brain. The ‘I wouldn’t touch you decked out in a full CDC Hazmat suit with radiation gloves and a dedicated oxygen suppy’ group. This group is populated by: Colin Farrel, Richard Greico and Scott Baio. Group memebership is open, so I can add new/old celebreties as they become available/popular.
When I heard about this show, I thought, nah, can’t be! When will I learn that in Hollywood, there is no bottom of the barrel, there is just another barrel beneath the one they are working on and when they get to it and start to scrape the bottom, they find a secret hatch with a whole other barrel underneath.
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An Open Letter to Telus

Dear Telus,
You suck. No one likes you.

People have cell phone contracts with you because it’s too hard to switch to someone else, and everyone else is just as crooked. But you… I hold a special place in the hatred corner of my heart for you. You charge $3.50 for a downloaded ringtone that is a PORTION of a song. I can get the WHOLE song from iTunes for $0.99. why are you ripping me off? You told me I needed a warrenty for my new cell phone because 70% of cell phones fail in the first year. You should be ASHAMED of yourself? WHO SELLS CRAP THAT FAILS ALL THE TIME? [Other than informercial people]. and if your phones DON’T fail 70% of the time in the first year [for which I have seen no proof as no one I have ever known has had a cell phone that failed] then you LIED to me to SCARE me into buying the warrenty. You try to entice people into savagely long 3 year contracts, saying that the phone they want will cost $300.00 on a one year contract but only $49.99 on a three year contract, yet you forget to point out that in a three year contract you are GOUGING them for OODLES more. When I have problems with my v-mail at work, I call the number. I speak to the disembodied voice. I spend 5 minutes telling her I am a business account and that I can’t access my v-mail. I tell her this THREE Times. Then I finally get a REAL PERSON and the first thing they want to know is: WHY AM I CALLING? I just spent the last FIVE MINUTES pushing buttons and telling the computer why I am calling.

And apparently, the issue is NEVER your fault. It’s always the people who put the phone lines in my building [newsflash – it was YOU] the people who installed my jacks [newsflash – also you] or the people who originally set up the v-mail [you guessed it – you].

You SUCK. No one likes you.

Squirrelly Girly.

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Dear Santa,

I have been a very good dog this year. Except for when I ate my mum’s laundry. And the times that I stuffed my face into the kibble bag when she opened the pantry. And the times I beat up my pack mate Rocky. And that time I jumped up on the counter and took the whole bag of bread. And that time I tried to take a sandwhich right out of my mummy’s hands.

Other than that, I have been an exceptionally good dog. Except for that time I growled at my mum. And when I had explosive diarrhea on the carpet, the wall, and the baseboards. And when I peed in her bedroom because I was mad at her. And I ate that book she was reading. And… well, never mind all that now. The point is, I am really good looking and look like I should be a good dog, and so I am a good dog, and if you don’t give me what I want, I will pee on your sleigh. Here is my list:

  • Bones
  • Kids
  • Meat
  • Yarn
  • Another dog
  • More Kibble
  • My own queen sized bed with pillows and a blanket
  • Did I already say meat? In case I didn’t, meat.

As I said, I have been a very good dog. I snuggle with my mum on a daily basis and even though I squirm and whine when she cuts my nails, I don’t bite her. I only make her put me outside 4 times an hour, and I only take up two thirds of her bed. I eat all the crumbs off the floor.

Most importantly, I make my mummy smile.

Love, Portiacakes.

PS. I was going to leave you cookies, but I ate them. I know you’ll understand.

PPS. I drank the milk too. It was very good.

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On the missing list
It’s not like I’m the kind of person who takes her clothes off wherever she goes and then finds herself waking up naked not knowing what transpired the night before. So I can’t really figure out where some of my clothing has gone. There are a few things I’m troubled by on a regular basis:

The white hooded knit sweater from the Gap – if you know me at all, I’ve bemoaned the loss of this sweater to you. It was fabulous. It was a spring/summer sweater. Loose fitting and slightly hole-y. It went over tank tops. I looked great in it. I felt great in it.

The burgandy striped top and matching cardigan that I wore when I went to Paris – how annoying that everytime I look at my pics of my first trip to Paris, my first thought is always “Where IS that sweater set?” followed by “I look really good in that sweater set” followed by “Oh look. Notre Dame.”

My pink keds – technically, I am only missing one. But how did THAT happen?

My dance shorts – I used to be in dance in highschool and I had a pair of shorts that I bought for our big routine. I used to wear them all the time as they were super comfy. One day, they were gone. never saw them again.

Socks – Don’t even get me started on socks. I should just learn to buy all the same socks so that when I lose one from a pair, I do’nt really notice. But no, I like to buy socks with patterns, with kitchy stuff on them. I used to keep the Lonely Sock Box – a place to put all lonely socks until I found the other. It got too full and I had to throw it out.

If there is someone out there that is stealing my stuff as a weird way of stalking me, and you are taking things and building some super creepy shrine with candles, pictures and my stuff, come talk to me. I’m sure we can work out a swap. I really want that white hooded sweater back.

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