Tuesday, 3 December 2013

Making Things Awkward is Kind of My Specialty

One of the most profound and hilarious moments of my life happened while sitting in the office of my plastic surgeon discussing my impending mastectomy in 2009.

I'll give you a little background as to why I am writing about this moment. Today I had a consult with my plastic surgeon. The same genius (and I don't mean that in a sarcastic way at all) who helped me come out of all the breast surgeries I've had. I met with him today to talk about that one time I made an adult decision and decided to have a prophylactic mastectomy of my left breast (also I just have to point out that it's really weird to talk about my left breast when all I talked about for a really long time was the right) so I can basically eliminate my chances of getting breast cancer ever again. This was an entirely different experience from the first time I sat down with him to talk about mastectomies. The first time, I had no control. I was told what to do, where I had to be and what it was going to be like. For a control freak like me, this was an awful experience. I was angry and sad and confused that first time. I wasn't able to play much of a part in the decision making process. I was told what kind of mastectomy I was to have, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. But this time it's different. This time I get to make all the decisions. I was the one who decided to do this. It was on my own terms that I called up my surgeons to get the ball rolling. This time, I get a choice of how I want my breast removed and I get to weigh the options that have been given to me. I am almost drunk with the power that I currently  hold in my hands.

Going through this process, albeit a somewhat different process, has got me thinking about I dealt with it the first time. My conclusion is that I dealt with it very poorly. This time, instead of the anger and sarcasm that I pulled about myself like cloak to sheild me from the cold reality that I was faced with, I am excited. I know that sounds weird. Who could possibly be excited about removing their breast?! I've had a lot of questions, and I find that for the most part, people understand, or at least they really try to. Some people look at me like I'm crazy. They wonder why I would ever want to do this again if I don't have to. I don't have cancer in my left breast so why mess with a good thing? To them I say that I am being proactive. It's not a matter of if I get breast cancer again, it's a matter of when. I could be one of the lucky ones and never have it come back, or I could be entirely unlucky and have to deal with far worse consquences that I did before. So, to reduce the odds of bad things happening, I am taking the steps to go under the knife, and as I've said before, I am completely, 100% okay with this.

In November 2009, I first met my amazing surgeons. They have been absolutely wonderful throughout this whole thing, and I am happy to say that I have a very good relationship with all my doctors. They have been incredibly patient with me, even when I was being particularly bratty. When I was first faced with the prospect of a mastectomy, they told me that I was to have an immediate reconstruction. That was awesome. Not awesome at the time, for me anyway, was the fact that I had to have an implant put into my left breast. I never wanted to be that girl. I always thought that breast implants were silly, and if you had asked me if it was something that I would ever consider, I would have vehemently told you otherwise. When I was told that I had to have an implant I lost it. I lost my shit, and threw the biggest tantrum I have ever thrown (which was surpassed by that one time I yelled at this awful woman for 20 minutes in the hospital). I cried, and shouted, and was a complete and utter asshole-ish bitch. I wanted to know why. I wanted to know why my breast, a breast that while on the smaller side, I had always found to be perfectly fine. I didn't want to have to go up a few sizes. I liked my small A cup. I was happy with it. I'm a tiny person and the last thing I wanted was giant boobs. I ranted, I railed, and through it all, my plastic surgeon sat there, patiently waiting for me to finish. After what had to have been the 100th time of me asking why he couldn't just leave the left one alone, he turned to me, with a straight face and said "because they don't make implants small enough to match your natural breast". That stopped me dead in my tracks. Just the way he said it, and the way that it came about made me really stop and think. It was one of the funniest and most profound moments of my whole cancer experience. I don't even know why, but it was.

Sitting in his office today, as he drew all over my chest with coloured sharpies, I couldn't help but be reminded of that moment. Reminded of how it made me sit back and take a look at what he was really saying. I think it was at that moment that I just decided to go with it. If I couldn't have any control, why fight it. The was to fight is by not fighting at all right? At least that's what I tell myself.

So what's the moral of this story? The moral of this story is that this is actually real now. It's one thing to talk about doing it but it's a completely different thing to actually go through with it. I know that this topic might make some people uncomfortable, but making things awkward is kind of my specialty.

Here's to many many more awkward moments!

Love Always,

Thursday, 10 October 2013

I Did An Adult Thing

Hi Friends!

So, I know it's been a while. Life has been busy. I've been trying to get my shit together and figure out my life which is easier said than done. But I did make a kind of adult decision. Well it was an adult decision that is kind of a big deal. It's something that I have been thinking about for a long time. It's also kind of a serious thing, so if you came here for funny and lack of a filter, this might not be the best post for you to read. So what's this big decision you ask? Well, I haven't really told many people yet. Just the really important ones know. You know, the ones that if they were ever bitten by zombies, you would shoot them in the head before they turned because you love them so much (I've been watching The Walking Dead like it's going out of style). Those ones know. But very few other people do. I know a bunch of people might be mad that I choose to tell people in this way, but you have to understand that it's just easier for me this way, and it means that things are less awkward for you.

I've always been, and have actually made it kind of my mission to be as transparent, up front and in your face as can be with that whole one time I had cancer. Breast cancer isn't pretty and pink and a pair of mittens or a t-shirt you buy in the month of October, because some corporate entity decided that this particular cancer needed it's own month, as if it doesn't already take some much from so many people. Breast cancer is not a business. It's a real thing. It takes and takes and takes, and you can never get away from it. Even when you're done, you're never really done. There are always the appointments, the mammograms, the MRIs and the worry. The worry that one day, at one of these appointments your going to not get the two thumbs you. Instead you're going to get furrowed brows, hushed tones, and the words "tests" and "biopsy" are thrown around a lot. I never want to feel that feeling, or have that happen to me ever again, even though it's a lot more likely than I care to admit. I'll admit it. I have a gene. It's called BRCA2, and it's a sonofabitch. Basically, this means that my chances of getting stupid cancer again increase by a bunch. It's not really a matter of if I get it again, it's just a matter of when. Like a fucking ticking time bomb, that has no wires and no way to diffuse it. Well there is a way, which brings me to my adult thing. I have decided to have my other breast removed. A prophylactic mastectomy.

This isn't because of Angelina Jolie, or anything else. It's because it's been weighing heavy on my mind for the past almost 4 years. When I first got sick, and had genetic testing, my geneticist highly recommended that I get it removed right away. She was quite insistent actually. But at 23, I was completely ill equipped and totally unable to deal with it. I was bombarded by information and had more than enough hang-ups about this new part of me, or lack there of, to think about it. At 23, I cared more about how I would look, how it would make me feel and how other people would feel. I couldn't see past that. When people would bring it up, and by people I mean mostly my family and doctors, I would brush them off and tell them that I was waiting until I had a family, and then take care of it. But I've been thinking. What happens if I keep putting it off. Maybe I have a family. What if I get sick again, and what if it doesn't go that well for me this time. I could lose more than just a breast. And that really scares me. So, I've been thinking, and thinking, and I'm at a point in my life, I guess you could call it a crossroads, where I'm not sure where life will take me. What I do know is that I want to be around long enough to enjoy what ever direction that life decides to take me.

So I made this adult decision. Kind of funny if you think about it. The girl who is chronically fighting adulthood makes an adult, kind of life changing decision. All I can say is that I am just as surprised as you are. But in my surprise, I am strangely happy and really calm about my decision. I always thought that making this decision would be hard, but it really wasn't. I would like to say that I had a moment of clarity when I realized that I want to do, but I didn't. It just kind of happened. A natural, organic, logical process that I have finally decided to act on.

So ya, that's that. That my adult thing that I did. Sorry this is kind of serious shit.

Later days my doves!


Sunday, 1 September 2013

Ikea, the Place Couples Go When They Want to Break Up

I am a firm believer that Ikea was created as a form of gladiatorial games. Except, instead of having some poor, brawny savage (at least according to ancient Roman standards), pitted against another poor brawny savage, slave or criminal, or against a lion, it's for couples. Ikea was designed as a really sick, sadistic form of couples therapy, and I 100% believe that this form of relationship Darwinism either makes you stronger or makes you want to kill one another.

My Gentleman recently acquired a lovely little place. It's quite nice and I like it. However,  he needed new everything. New dishes, a new television, and new furniture. So, being price conscious 21st century kids, we went to Ikea. Now I don't live with him, and I fully understand that it was his money we were spending, but I wasn't about to let him go by himself and pick out something completely god awful. No, my input was required. So off we went. On a good day, I only get mildly irritated by Ikea and their whole concept of herding people through their entire, ginormous store like cattle. My trips there are quick and dirty, in and out in no time at all. But this trip was not like that. We actually had to look at things and compare them to one another. One of the things about Ikea is that they try to make their customers as self sufficient as possible. This is either a really smart idea, or a really bad one. I'm going with a bad one. They try to make it as idiot proof as possible. The tell you where you can go to pick up your 12 million boxes, they give you handy instructions on how to put it together, but, and here's the kicker, they only give you instructions in pictographs. It's a good thing I minored in classics and have at least some experience with hieroglyphs. If I'd had known that Ra and Horus were going to show up on Ikea assembly instructions I would have studied epigraphy instead of ancient art and architecture.

Once you finally manage to get all the pieces laid out in what you think is the right order, comes the gargantuan task of actually putting them all together . But then you are faced with the fact that there are either too many extra pieces or too little, which then leads to bickering between you and your significant other. You bicker because one of you always swear up and down that you know what you're doing and that in the box, there are exactly enough pieces needed to assemble it. So you sit back, and watch in amusement as he tries, in vain to put together whatever cheap piece of crap he has before him. But soon, the novelty of hearing the swearing and the look of frustration gets old, and you just want the whole ordeal to be over so you can get on with your lives. Then you step in proceed to help in whatever way you can. This is the point when the strength of your relationship is tested. Either it goes smoothly and the two of you can sit back and enjoy the fruits of your labours, or, you end up fighting about why it just won't work, and that crappy piece of furniture comes to symbolize you relationship. 

Luckily for me, my Gentleman and I managed to actually build several pieces of Ikea furniture, however, we pretend that it never happened.


Friday, 2 August 2013

Is This Supposed to be a Joke?

Dear Relient K:

I have a question for you: is your new album Collapsible Lung supposed to be a joke? I have three words to describe my feelings when I first heard it. What. The. Fuck? What have you done?!

Gone are the clever lyrics and actual music, played by actual people, playing real instruments. You've replaced all your hard work with electronic drum beats and a boy-band-esque sound. I should point out that you are not Justin Bieber (thank god),  nor are you One Direction (again, thank god). Your new album is ridiculous and not in the good way that, The Anatomy of Tongue in Cheek, and Two Lefts Don't Make a Right... But Three Do, was. It is devoid of any real musicality, or emotion. It's terrible, and it really saddens me.

You have undone all the work and progession that you put into Mmhmm, Five Score and Seven Years Ago, and Forget and Not Slow Down. I was so excited to listen to your new album. Forget and Not Slow Down was so good, and it was the one album I listened to over and over again throughout my cancer treatment and surgeries. Your lyrics resonated with me, and I so hoped that you would come out with something that was just as good, if not better. Instead, what I heard made my heart hurt. You talk about "hoodies in my car", with music that sounds like something Bruno Mars would come out with (and that's not a compliment). Why are you trying to be something that you're not? I understand that bands and artists need to evolve over time and that tends to change their sound. You proved that when you came out with Mmhmm. It was exciting to listen to because everything after that showed a real maturity. It seemed like you were more interested in putting out good music, and less interested in appealing to 13 year olds, and being main stream, top 40 artists. But your new album doesn't embody that progression. If anything, its a devolution. You are regressing, and that's really sad. I understand that people change, and that the band is going through some changes at the moment, however, that doesn't mean that you had to sell your musical souls to the autotune and electronic back beat gods. I'm just so utterly and truly disappointed, and I question whether you have the ability to redeem yourselves after producing this disastrous album.

I think the my main issue is that I don't understand why you put out this album? Is it part of an elaborate set up, in which you release the actual album and yell "Got you!" on all your fans who question how you could have produced the mess that is Collapsible Lung? Or, do you actually believe that it's a solid album and that it's what your fans wanted to hear? I certainly hope it's the former and not the latter. This album is insulting to both your fans and to the music industry. It's with a heavy heart that I skip over almost every single song on your new album with the exception of Don't Blink, which I think is its only redeeming quality.

All I can hope for is that you take a long hard look at your future, and hopefully come to the realization that you fucked up in releasing this, and that you go back to Relient K we all know and love.


Monday, 22 July 2013

Call Centres: Another Circle of Hell

Two words: F*ck. You.

Hi Duckies,

I sit here and write you this as I am on the phone with Apple, and by on the phone I mean, waiting and listening to sub-par music and some automated mans voice that is telling me to be patient and wait for an adviser. You know what, maybe I would have more patience if you actually made your products compatible with each other, and  better yet, if your wunderkind program that is iTunes, didn't have so many goddam problems. Was it not just a mere 3 weeks ago when one of your poor employees felt my wrath because your shitty program wasn't actually downloading the album that I wanted? But wait, you still charged me for it. Going back and forth with some poor kid from God knows where was irritating, but not as irritating as listening to this shit. Seriously, I get that "all Apple advisers are still busy". No shit Sherlock. If they weren't I would obviously be talking to one by now instead of listening to dead air, which has replaced whatever crap they were playing. You know, if your shit actually worked properly I wouldn't have this problem. I would be calmly listening to all the new music that I have, instead of having to restore my iPod because no matter what I do, it won't show up on my actual iPod. And again, I've been charged for this. Next it's telling me that about 100 or songs that I purchased cannot be found. Isn't that just awesome. Something that I have bought and paid for is no longer in my possession. What a complete fucking joke. Get your shit together Apple, you're drunk. Go home, or back to Cupertino and fix yourself up. Have a cup of coffee and get your heads out of your asses.

Call centres were designed to bring a circle of hell to earth. Designed by some ungodly creature, who thought they would be helpful, they actually create mayhem and destruction. Usually by the end of a call centre call, one is left feeling discouraged and filled with rage, wanting to smash the closest breakable thing into a billion little pieces. This is how I am already feeling and I haven't even spoken to whatever useless twit that will take my call.

Oh wait! Can it be! A human voice! Good lord! That took forever. And he's a mumbler. Great, just great. Well duckies, wish me luck. or should I say, wish him luck? If I could I would reach through the phone, grab him by the collar, and yell "enunciate!" I have a feeling that I'm in for a frustrating night!


P.S. I'm sorry that I've neglected everyone. I know I've promised it multiple times, but this time is different (this is actually a whole other post). I'm back now.

Monday, 3 June 2013

Do All the Things, or Do None of the Things: A Vicious Cycle

Sometimes I just don't know what I am doing with my life. One minute I'm like, "maybe I'll do this thing", which lasts for all of 5 minutes, and then I'm like, "no, this thing is the thing I want to do", and then you  have people telling you that you should do things A, B, and C, and it's all just so confusing and circuluar, that by the end of it, the only thing you want to do is sit on the couch, not wearing pants, and watching re-runs of Maury Povich (because watching the train wrecks that are other peoples lives makes it better, doesn't it?). Sometimes I feel so much pressure to be all, and do all the things for everyone and everything that I can't deal. Usually when this happens I get weird and intorverted and shut down and binge watch my favourite television shows instead of doing all the responsible adult things that I am supposed to be doing. This makes people like my lovely Gentleman worry about me and ask me if I'm fibbing when he asks if everything is fine. And technically it is fine, except for the fact that I can't seem to get my shit together. It's very counter-productive to being a functioning member of society. On the one hand, I'm afraid to miss out on anything and disappoint myself, and on the other I am afraid to disappoint the people around me. But then I think that all that matters is that I am happy doing the things that I do, and screw what everyone else thinks or expects me to do, and then I feel bad for thinking that. See, it really is just one giant, vicious cycle that you can't escape.

Come on Leah, get it together.

Friday, 17 May 2013

Being an Adult is Hard

I have the day off today, and I honestly have no idea what to do. It's really throwing me off. Sure the sleeping till 8 am thing was great, but now what do I do? The possibilities are endless, and therein lies the problem. There are some many things that I can do today, and things that I need to do today, but I don't know where to start or how to start. Perhaps it's because I don't know how to relax, and I've just been so busy at work lately that I don't know what not being busy feels like. Either way, I don't like this, not one bit.

Being a grown up is hard enough, and we all I know that it is a daily struggle for me. Do I have something healthy for dinner, or do I eat cereal? Do I go out and buy gas, or that new really cute shirt from Anthropologie? Do I sit on my ass all day watching reruns of Downton Abbey and catching up on Game of Thrones? Or do I sit here railing about the crimes of Hollywood writers who decide to be amateur historians (which I actually do in this post)? These decisions plague me every single day. Functioning in the real world is hard enough, and now I'm expect to do the complete opposite?! What is this garbage? You mean to tell me that after weeks of trying to be a functioning member of society, that I am just supposed to throw it all out the window on a day off? Madness I tell you. Complete madness.

Speaking of madness, the little Historian inside of me is enraged at the moment. Apparently The CW network has released the list of their fall shows. Normally I wouldn't really care about this because I don't watch The CW network. However, I feel compelled to talk about why I all of a sudden do care. I care because they are coming out with a show this fall called Reign. "So what?!", you say. Well, I'll tell you what! It's about Mary, Queen of Scots at age 15. This is a travesty. A complete and utterly horrible thing. I really want to know who came up with this idea. Mostly so they can be publicly shamed and made to feel like the idiot(s) they are. This just has bad news written all over it. From preliminary research into the show, it appears that a 15 year old Mary is leaving Scotland for France and looks nervous and she is about to embark on her marriage to Francis, who would later become Francis II, King of France. This is just so wrong on so many levels, and it physically hurts my brain and soul. Don't get me wrong, I'm all about getting people, especially young people, interested in History. But I am not for outright lies and taking creative liberties with history. Kids who watch this show are going to get the wrong impression of the 16th century and what's worse, is that they are likely to take it at face value. At the end of the day we are going to have another historical tragedy on our hands, as the great work by many historians and aspiring historians, is unraveled by moronic Hollywood writers who think that they can turn history into a television without so much as consulting anyone remotely knowledgeable on the time period. Julian Goodare would be outraged I'm sure! If you're going to do period pieces, do your research. Use successful shows like Rome, The Tudors, Downton Abbey and The Borgias as examples of how to properly do history. I can tell just from watching the trailer that virtually no research was done into the costuming, or MQOS' life in general. It's time to dig into my vault of Early Modern Scottish knowledge to try and right these wrongs. I died a little on the inside.

I'll let you watch the trailer and decide for yourselves, but I am pretty sure that I am not going to be the only one who feels this way.

Anyway friends, I need to go and figure out how to be an adult who has a day off. I also need to work on a post about my recent St. Lucia vacation, which is proving to be more difficult than I imaged. I hope everyone has an amazing long weekend!


Saturday, 27 April 2013

Who Knew You Could Get a Brand New Passport in an Hour and a Half on a Saturday!?

I have a feeling that this will be one of those stories that I'm still telling people when I'm so old that I'm basically being held together by a combination of Jesus and black magic and duct tape.

I don't think I've really shared my excitement at my wonderful vacation that my Gentleman and I planned. We researched forever and looked at reviews and went back and forth about where we wanted to go and then in early February, we settled on the lovely Caribbean island of St. Lucia. Needless to say, I was pumped. I've never been to he Caribbean before and neither has he. We were both excited but February was still a long way from the end of April.

Flash forward to now. This past week couldn't have gone fast enough and with the craziness of the Budget Estimates meetings ending and whatever else work decided to throw at me this week, I was more than ready for my vacation. I had basically packed (throwing all your clothes in a pile in your suitcase and then staring at is with disdain counts as packing right?!) and I was ready to go. I had even made sure that my passport was still valid, but that's mostly because on Wednesday morning as I was drying my hair, I had this horrific thought that it wasn't good anymore and that I wouldn't be able to go. Friday I tasted the sweet sense of freedom, left work early to finish my shit because functioning as a real adult during the week proved to be too much for me, and get ready to leave. We left the house and picked up my Gentleman to take the red eye to YYZ.. We got to the airport and said or goodbyes to my lovely father and went to check in. Everything was splendid. We were excited and happy and couldn't wait to spend a week int the sun and relaxing with each other. Life was grand. Until it wasn't.

We went to get our boarding passes and I was told that I wasn't allowed to fly. What do you mean I can't fly?! What kind of garbage is this?! Apparently, your passport needs to be valid for at least 6 months to the day of when you travel to St. Lucia. My passport was 12 days short of that 6 months. 12 fucking days. I was shocked. I cried. A lot. And I'm not one of those girls who are blessed with being pretty criers. So here I was with the Andre the ticketing agent who was so lovely and helpful, crying with snot running down my face, blubbering and asking what I should do.

I got on the phone, woke up my parents, got on the phone and was told that I needed a new passport. Well that's really fucking great. It's Friday at 11 pm. The passport office is closed and won't reopen until Monday. This only served to increase my level of hysteria. Then, magically my mum found an emergency passport number and called it. She was told that someone would call at 9 am. Se also decided to contact foreign affairs , so there's that. It's kind of hilarious.

The only thing to do was send my Gentleman on without me. He was not happy about that. I went home and waited for that call.

They called and somehow, by some stroke of luck and baby Jesus, told me to go to the passport office at 1pm with all my documentation. An hour and a half later I had a brand spanking new passport and am on my way. I'm actually writing this while siting at my gate.

I couldn't make this shit up if I tried!

I promise to share how St. Lucia was with everyone!


Thursday, 11 April 2013

Musings on Men with Mullets in Spandex


I experienced my very first Wrestlemania last Sunday. While my Gentleman shares my questionable taste in really bad television, I do not share his love of wrestling. It's more than a like for him. It's pure love. He knows the name of every wrestler, and all their signature moves and the words to their theme songs. I actually find it quite endearing and kind of cute. It's something that helps me know him better. A part of his childhood. He had wrestling, I had a massive collection of Ty Beanie Babies (we all had them, don't judge me). Apparently these two mutually exclusive obsessions make for a good relationship.

The whole art(?) of wrestling wasn't completely unknown to me as a child. All I knew was that Hulk Hogan was a monster of a man, with an ugly bleach blond mullet and incredibly creepy facial hair, who had a penchant for spandex pants and speedos. And I knew this only because my grandfather loved WWF as it was called in the '90's, and would always watch it with my male cousins. As a child, I scoffed at it. I just didn't understand the appeal of watching two grown men grab at each, locked in an epic fake battle to win some gaudy belt that looks like the contents of The Situation's stomach after a hard night of drinking and fist pumping. My ignorance was not lost on me when I discovered my Gentleman's love of the sport(?). One Monday (Monday is RAW night, much like how on Wednesday's we wear pink), we were hanging out and RAw came on. This was very early in our relationship and I tried my hardest not to scoff and openly mock this kind of awesome guy. But as I sat there, watching this spectacle with him, I couldn't help but get sucked in, and this was slightly disturbing, but not altogether surprising. Boiled down, wrestling is really just like any other trashy televsion show that we both watch. There are epic rivalries, friendships that span decades, evil villains with a mind on the bottom line, romance, fights, and last but not least, Donald Trump. Now, a year later, I watched (at least part of ) Wrestlemania 29. I still don't know most of the wrestlers, or their handlers or even their story lines, but I do know that if it involves The Rock or John Cena, I like it. Sure they still wrestle in tiny spandex pants, and yes, there are some very questionable fashion choices, but it's quite a spectacle and I couldn't help but enjoy it.  I think me watching it was also probably both entertaining and mildly irritating at the same time. I also don't really know how to digest what I saw. I'm still thinking about it, and it's quite puzzling for me. I know for an absolute fact that this was not the last wrestling match I will ever watch, but I think that I'm okay with that.

It's more than just men with mullets in spandex. It's men with mullets and spandex and fireworks.



Monday, 25 March 2013

Move More Than Your Feet!

 Team Cancer Is My B*tch, BaM 2013!

This past weekend was amazing!

You have no idea how excited I was so excited for last week to end. I was thrilled for two two reasons: 1) because my work week had been nothing short of insane. I think I spent more time in my office and at Committee estimates meetings at the Legislature this past week than I did at home. Work is one of the reasons why I have been a terrible slacker here. It's just very hard to want to sit down at a computer at the end of the day to write a blog post when I have been staring at a computer screen all day, and running around to a million meetings. Being an adult is hard. 2) I was super pumped because this weekend was Bust a Move for Breast Health Edmonton! I was fortunate last year to have been a part of the executive committee that helped plan and pull off  this event, and for some strange reason, the Alberta Cancer Foundation wanted me back for second year. Bust a Move for Breast Health is a 6 hour work out event, in which participants sweat and shimmy and shake their way to a cancer free future.

The event this year was even more amazing than last year. The only way that I can describe how awesome it was, is by saying that it was pink and sparkly and so much fun. I was also super happy to have my lovely mother and gentleman beside me. It was awesome to sweat and laugh and have a blast with two of my favourite people in the whole world. Even better yet, we raised a whopping $430,000 for the Cross Cancer Institute. I still find it hard to believe that I get to a part of such an incredible movement.

I just want to take a moment to thank everyone who supported me and donated to my team for this wonderful event. I couldn't have done it without your generosity!

If you want to see what Bust a Move really means to me, you can watch this promo video I did. Maybe it'll be what gets you to join this amazing movement!

Love Always,

Tuesday, 19 March 2013

I Win. Again.

Nothing gives me more joy than to point out when people are being idiots. I just love it. I mean, there are a lot of stupid people in this world, and I like to think that by telling they are being stupid and showing them how to correct their mistakes that I am actually doing the world a favour. However, nothing gives me more joy than ripping someone a new asshole when they deserve it.

A little over a year ago I wrote a post titled "Spirit Hoods: You Look Like an Asshat". I even included a handy flow chart to help you determine if you're a giant douche canoe. Now, this is just my opinion. You don't have to take it as gospel, and please feel free to disagree with me. But if you do decide to disagree with me and decide to articulate your feelings about it, at least have the decency to form a proper argument as to why do you don't like what I had to say. Case in point: someone who chose to remain anonymous decided to leave some rather disparaging comments about my personality on said post. In Dutch. Well one comment was in Dutch, but their second comment was in English, with spelling mistakes. I'll give them the spelling because there seems to be a language barrier. But with that being said, this piece was my opinion. I'm allowed to have an opinion about something, especially if I think that thing is ridiculous and a complete and utter waste of money and time. The beauty about an opinion is that anyone can have one, regardless of whether it's right or wrong. People may disagree with you, but that's okay. That's how meaningful discussions come about. I don't take offense to the fact that this person disagreed with me. On the contrary, I'm quite pleased that someone does. It isn't often that people will straight up tell you that they think you're blowing hot air out of your ass, so it's rather refreshing. However, if you disagree with my opinion, tell me why. Present me with evidence and counter arguments as to why you think  I'm wrong. Don't throw around words like "stupid" and "ridiculous", and then proceed tell me that I am a "nobody" and that there is something "deeply wrong with me" and that I am a "sad person". I can assure that while I may do stupid things from time to time, I am not a stupid person. My GPA and the fact that I have been published several times can attest to that. I will also fully recognize that yes, I am in fact a ridiculous person, however, not in the context that you are referring to, and I take great offense to that. Also, I most certainly am a somebody, unlike you, and your cowardly choice to remain anonymous. You are the nobody, literally. If you're going to say all these things about me, at least have some proof to back it up, and as far as I can tell, you have zero evidence. God gave you a brain that has the ability to think. I suggest that you use whatever critical thinking faculties you possess to form a logical, rational argument, free from excessive emotion and name calling, and then we'll talk. I don't know  who you are are, and I am fairly certain that we have never met, which means that you know nothing about who I am or what I do. Basically it seems to me that when you came across this particular post, you were in all likelihood, sitting at your computer wearing your favourite Spirit Hood, and realized by the end that you look completely moronic. Next time you decide to pick a fight, have the balls to show me who you are. Don't just hide behind anonymity. Coward.

Like I said before, I welcome feedback, and opinions. I appreciate them even. But, if you are going to pick a fight, make sure you don't bite off more than you can chew. Otherwise I will write a blog post about you to show the world what an idiot you are, and in the process, rip you to shreds. Don't try to pick a fight with me because I can guarantee that you will lose. Every. Single. Time. I hope this is exactly what you wanted.

Have a lovely day Duckies!



Friday, 1 March 2013

That One Time When I Took My Clothes Off for Cancer

Well hello there friendships!

It's bee a while. That's entirely my fault, or at least sort of my fault. I have been very busy pretending to be a real adult. But I think I'm going to take a break from that and regress to an age when it was perfectly acceptable to sit on your couch in sweat pants all day watching the Price is Right and Maury Povich.

Work is promising to become extra stupid busy in the coming months, so I will try to be better at posting things that I only find amusing, and hope that I haven't lost your affections forever. If I have, I'm not above bribery and/or extortion to get them back.

Today is the first day of March and that's kind of awesome for 3 reasons. Reason #1 is that I am Miss March in the Pink Ribbon Pin Up calendar. I think that's pretty rad. It could also be slightly awkward because I am wearing nothing but bubbles.

Reason #2 as to why March is spectacular is that Bust a Move is happening in both Calgary and Edmonton! I myself will be shimmying, shaking, and sweating to the oldies on March 23! It's going to be so much fun and I can't wait! This weekend is Bust a Move Calgary and I am so pumped that funds are being raised for the Tom Baker Cancer Centre! If you're in the Calgary area this weekend, you should totally go check it out!

And the third and final reason why March is the best, is because it means that I am one step closer to my Caribbean vacation with The Boy. We are heading to a lovely, tropical destination for a week of sitting by the pool, frolicking in the surf (at least he will. We all know that I think the ocean is basically a toilet for the whole world and won't actually go into the water), and just relaxing. Needless to say, I think I'm going to need this vacation after all the extra hours I will be putting in because of Session.

Anyway, I should probably get back to pretending to be a real adult and get some work done, sadface. I hope you all have a wonderful Friday filled with unicorns and rainbows!

Later days duckies!


Monday, 11 February 2013

Of Course a Bear with Chainsaw Hands is an Appropriate Way to Express My Feelings

I've never been one for Valentine's Day. I think it's a silly, pointless "holiday", and I don't really understand why people make such a big deal over it. I personally believe that we should tell and show the people we care about that we love them, every single day of the year, and not just one arbitrary day in the middle of February. Sure it's nice to get gifts, and believe me, I love getting presents, but wouldn't it be awesome to get a present on some random Tuesday, rather than something that someone was forced to buy because they wanted to fit in? But here's the rub, you almost feel obligated to get your significant other a present, otherwise you end up looking like an complete and utter asshole when they give you a present and you've got nothing for them.

Now, my Gentleman and I have briefly talked about Valentine's Day, and haven't really decided if we are going to celebrate or not. In past relationships I didn't do the whole V-Day thing. One guy I dated hated Valentine's Day so much that he actually got angry that I said "Happy Valentine's Day" (needless to say that didn't work out). At least with him I knew were I stood and I knew that I wouldn't have to get him a gift, but let's flash forward a couple year to now. My Gentleman is the bestI have expounded on several occasions. But the thing is, he is just cheesy enough to throw me a curve ball and actually do something on Valentine's Day. This is a problem for someone who doesn't deal well with surprises. So now I have this predicament. Do I risk not getting him something and looking like an even bigger asshole than I already am, or do I get him something and risk looking like a complete fool because he actually listened to me when I said I wasn't super pumped about Valentine's Day? In my eyes, it's a lose-lose situation. In the end, I wind up looking like a fool.

I think maybe I'll give thim this Valentine, because I think it accurately describes how I feel about him on any given day. Wish me luck?


Friday, 8 February 2013

This Could Be a Slippery Slope to Bad Decisions

Is it terrible that I kind of like this?

I mean, perhaps her music would be tolerable if all her songs sounded like this. I might go to musical hell for saying this, but I actually don't mind it. I actually might kind of like Ke$ha stripped of autotune and artificial beats. I really hope this isn't a slippery slope into actually listening to top 40 music. That would be a bad decision. Quick! Someone promise to slap me if that actually happens.

Happy Friday Lovelies!


Monday, 4 February 2013

A Healthy Sense of Fear

I learned at a very young age to fear the dentist. He was always the one who put sharp objects in my mouth and made me cry from the giant ass freaking needles. I've had a lot of needles in my 27 years, and the ones at the dentist are by far the largest. Because of this, I came to see my poor, sweet, patient and kind dentist as a serial tooth kidnapper, something akin to that guy who offered Anne Hathaway money for her teeth in Les Mis. This healthy fear has lead me to have a very, well, let's just say, special relationship with my dentist. He's the only dentist I have ever known. I've been seeing him basically since I grew teeth. I guess you could say he's also the longest relationship I've ever had. I always joke that my dentist has to prepare for a week before I come and visit him, but it's not really a joke. Just like every other health care professional in my life, he knows that I am not an easy patient to have. There are almost always tears, and yelling, and petulance, and a little bit of bargaining. At the end of the day, he is the only one who has never given into my demands, which is actually quite surprising. He's also the only who looks genuinely terrified when he sees me, but that's usually because I am yelling about the fact that I have a cavity or some other dental malady.

Today I saw my dentist. And he came in with that same deer in the headlight fear in his eyes as he does every single time I go to see him. But this time, there were no tears, only light banter that I thought made him really uncomfortable. He looked like a poor cornered animal, or someone who knew that they were dealing with a potentially volatile situation and all he wanted to do was back away slowly. Which is exactly what he did after he told me that I have no cavities. That's a freaking miracle considering all the things I consume on a similar basis.

How am I celebrating you ask? By consuming as much sugary crap as I possibly can. And trying to plan a trip for my gentleman and I. Except that's hard and I just want to go, not have to plan it. I'm failing at adulthood right now. Here's this instead.

Hugs and rainbows!


Thursday, 24 January 2013

Thanks for the Christmas Present. Sorry You Got Elbowed in the Head by Dusty Rhodes

My Gentleman is pretty swell. Ew affection. It's gross I know. But it's true. He puts up with all my bullshit and the fact that I am most definitely not the grown up in our relationship, and he buys pretty awesome presents. I am of course referring to that time he bought me tickets to The Tragically Hip for Christmas because he knows that they are one of my all time favourite bands in the history of ever. He even came with me to said concert, even though he's not that big of a fan. His musical leanings are more towards to British hipster variety, like The XX (which is basically hipster make out music and every song sounds the same), Richard Hawley, The Arctic Monkey's and a whole slew of other bands and artists that I have never heard of. So he really took one for the team when he came with me to The Hip concert last night. And I give him mad props for what he endured just so I could listen to all of my most favourite songs.

Concerts are always interesting, and one of the best places to people watch, which leads to one of my favourite activities: judging people. I basically got a million shows for the price of one. What I mean is, that the people around us made it just so...memorable? First, there was the redneck family sitting behind us, who decided to bring what I can only assume were their freshly legal children. The son complained the entire time that he hated drinking beer because it's gross, and that the line ups for the other liquors were just too damn long. Then you had the parents who couldn't go for 2 hours without what had to be 5 cigarettes. To top it all off, the father complained loudly for the majority of the concert that "this was the worst concert ever!" and that they "needed to play the classics". I'm sorry sir, but you are a moron. They played almost all of their hit songs, with only a handful from their new album. It was their loss at the end of the night as they left at the beginning of Blow at High Dough, and they missed the enitre encore which included both Courage and Little Bones.  While listening to the rednecks was entertaining enough, then there was the woman beside me who was shocked and horrified that they sounded different from their studio produced albums. I too remember my first concert, where I came to the same horrifying realization. It was a sad moment that will haunt me forever. I'm sorry, but if you're too dumb to realize that of course a band is going to take some creative liberties with their live shows, and not play a cookie cutter version of their album, then you shouldn't be there. She was entertaining because every time a new song would start and Gord Downie would start singing, she would sigh and slap her forhead and just be so disappointed. It was hilarious.

I have of course saved the best for last. The man that my lovely Gentleman had to put up with all night. This guy was not a small man by any stretch of the imagination, and was probably in his 50's or 60's. He first stood out because he was dressed in a Canadian Tuxedo (if you don't know what that is go here) and an Edmonton Oilers hat. I bet you're thinking, so what? He was just a guy trying to enjoy some music in a comfortable outfit made entirely of denim. And you'd be 100% correct. What made this man even more memorable were his dance moves and the fact that he was an exact replica of Dusty Rhodes. The only way I can describe it is to ask you all to imagine a walrus having a seizure. There was also headbanging. I won't lie, there were points of the evening where I thought that this guy needed medical attention. Of course the Boy thought this was hilarious. So funny in fact that there were parts of the evening were I had to stop singing along because I was beside myself with the giggles because I saw him laughing. Then, I believe it was at the end of Eldorado, that this Dusty Rhodes doppleganger realized that his pants were slipping precariously off his ass, and decided to pull them up in the most violent fashion I have ever seen. Again, so what? Well, not even 20 seconds before the Boy turned to me and said he was probably going to get elbowed in the head. And that's exactly what happend. In his attempt to prevent a serious case of plumbers crack,  he full out elbowed my Gentleman in the head. I feel kind of bad because I laughed. This probably makes me a bad girlfriend. I just couldn't help myself. Even funnier was that the guy was like "oh sorry man" and continued to pull up his pants in the same violent way.

All in all it was a really good night. Thanks for the Christmas present. Sorry you got elbowed in the head by Dusty Rhodes.

Until next time lovlies.


Sunday, 20 January 2013

Oh Hello Hockey...No One Cares

Pretty sure that this post will get a whole bunch of hate. But I don't care. I need to say it. You know how hockey is back? No one actually cares. At least I don't. Seriously, this whole lock out thing was basically billionaires fighting with millionaires over money that could have been used to, oh I don't know, feed a third world nation for a year. Seriously, fighting over a $65 million dollar salary cap? Give me a fucking break. The fact that people are actually willing to pay these losers that much money is beyond me. If you think about it, most hockey players offer nothing of value to society, beyond being able to appeal to neanderthals everywhere with the ability to hit one another, while wearing skates. They aren't doctors who are trying to find a cure for cancer or heart disease. The doctors should be the ones to make that much money, not giant goons who can't form a proper, grammatically correct sentence.

I sit and think that perhaps I could like hockey. But then I remember that a good chunk of professional hockey players are a bunch of greedy, self entitled whiners, who have been told that their shit doesn't smell for the majority of their life.

Sorry hockey fans, but I can't wait until this silly little season is over.


Monday, 7 January 2013

Maybe Today is the Day I Get Booked for Aggravated Assault

Do you want to know what kind of day it is? It's a "might get arrested for aggravated assault with golf clubs" kind of day. Honestly! Let's use our critical thinking skills people and problem solve! God gave you a brain with the ability to figure shit out, so use it! He also gave you eyes so you can read those emails I sent before emailing me 5 million times asking me something that I answered in said emails. Those eyes are also really great at looking at things properly to avoid me wanting to punch in you in face from your stupid questions. As you can probably tell, I have very little patience for idiots, and today was filled with idiots who need to have their hands held.

Anyway, I'm sure you all know what kind of mood I'm in now. How do you think I'm choosing to combat this sudden onslaught of extra bitchiness? I'm re-watching Lord of the Rings for the umpteenth time. I loved the books as a kid and having recently seen The Hobbit on a date night with my daddy, I decided that it was high time to watch the movies again. And now I remember what frustrates me about these movies. No it's not things Peter Jackson omitted, or took liberties with. It's the simple fact that Frodo Baggins is the most annoying little fucker I have ever watched on screen. I'm not even kidding. Please tell I'm not alone here. He's even annoying in the books. I remember that I would always read through the parts with Sam and Frodo as fast as I could, and with as little annoyance as I could, to get to the meatier and quite frankly, more entertaining parts. The same is goes for the movies. I just sit there and hope that the little Sam and Frodo moments don't last forever, and make me consider violence. I mean how many times does Frodo almost fuck it up for everyone?! How many times does he put that stupid ring on even though he knows its a bad idea, and even though some super powerful magical wizard says not to. I mean, he lacks common sense and is such a useless, helpless little asshole, who can't do anything for himself. If Sam had been smarter he would have just said "see you later loser" and go back to gardening. Again, I have very little patience for idiots, and in my books, Frodo Baggins is a Class A idiot. Also, the Steward of Gondor is an asshole. Just saying. Perhaps these aren't the best movies to be watching when particularly irritated.

Anyway, I'm going to leave you all with something  awesome before I actually end up putting my foot in my mouth and enrage the Nerds, Geeks, and Dorks of the world. Please don't be hating! I am also a nerd etc.

Remember Walk Off the Earth, that awesome band I shared with you all a few weeks back. Well they did it again. Like their incredibly cool cover of Somebody I Used to Know, they have now covered Taylor Swift's I Knew You Were Trouble. It's simply awesome, so enjoy.

Later days lovlies!