WorldWideWaterCooler

Those who know me at all know that I am not what you’d call “kid friendly.” I’ve been known to make small children cry just by looking at them, and I wish I were exaggerating even a little bit about that.

So it was with only a little apprehension that I went over to Neil’s friends Ben & Julie’s place for dinner last night.

Thankfully Ben and Julie are extraordinarily lovely people, because they are also parents to a not-quite-two-year-old.

Also helping matters was the fact that Louis is one of the most charming not-quite-two-year-olds I’ve ever encountered.

Although when the clock struck bedtime for dear Louis, I was tested as I’ve never been tested before.

Kiddo was pushing a big box around the table, as the over 3-feet tall crowd sat and digested. Suddenly, Neil decided he’d see what happened when he took the box away.

Disaster struck.

Thanks Neil.

Poor wee Louis erupted into a fountain of tears and reached for the closest adult.

Me.

What could I do?

I picked up the child (oh god - I touched one!) and he buried his face in my shoulder.

I thought, miracle of miracles, that would be enough.

But not unlike dogs, small kids can also smell fear.

Louis pulled back, and instead of his mom, there was some strange woman’s face looking back at him.

Realizing his terrible mistake, Louis “kicked it up a notch,” contorted his face a la Jim Carey in The Mask, and let out a wail that would shatter crystal and send every dog in a 6 block radius running.

I sat paralysed for what felt like forever (read: 4 seconds) until Julie stepped in and whisked him off to bed.

Between that, and dressing the dog as Snow White, it’s a wonder that the Ministry of Children hasn’t pre-emptively sterilized me yet.

When you misdial the last four digits of your esthetician’s phone number as -0300 instead of -0030, the woman at Atlas Yachts will be very confused when you don’t listen to her greeting and just launch into a request for a Brazilian Wax appointment.

Why is it that the very second you’re trapped in an elevator (no matter how short the entrapment) your first two thoughts are “I’m thirsty” and “I need to pee” even though the concepts contradict, and neither statement was true 3 seconds prior.

Getting rid of my festive halloween shirt in a fit of “I’m sick of packing” pique last summer seemed like a good idea. Now, not so much. Not because I want to wear it myself today, but because I’m pretty sure it would have fit the dog.

I have a really fun blog post to share, but it involves scanning and uploading and clever commentary, and I’m always just a bit too tired when I get home to bother with it. I need some motivation.

And because I’m so good at following through with my blog promises (I don’t do it on purpose, I just forget!), I figuredperhaps the appropriate motivation will come if I sign up for this. So I did. That’s right - one post every day. Even weekends! Oy. We’ll see if I make it past November 2nd.

According to some, my blog is “dead boring” now that I don’t have men puking over my balcony every other weekend. Here’s to a month of quantity over quality, hopefully something amusing also comes out of it!

I’m surprised I haven’t seen this on Craigslist yet, so I figured I’d put it here myself.

You: Hot, short-haired girl in grey slacks, black pumps and a black sweater, carrying take-out across the intersection of Broadway at Oak.

Me: Dude on the bus stopped at the intersection.

That was a pretty fantastic trip you took, getting the pointy toe of your shoe caught in the opening of your opposite pant leg. Even more fantastic was the fact that you managed to not quite fall on your face, or spill your sushi.

Nice recovery. Drinks?

Another thing I love, Love, LOVE about living where we do is that the people are freakishly friendly and neighbourly.

Our asshole dog (she’s officially an asshole until she accepts the fact that she WILL poo while attached to a leash and WILL NOT do it as far as she can possibly get into some neighbour’s front yard) has decided that she hates the dog next door. He did nothing to her, and she snarls and leaps at him every time she sees him.

This despite the fact that she is otherwise usually terrified and will run, tail between legs away from: the inactive vacuum, Neil or I moving on the couch (while she’s on the floor), something being dropped in the kitchen, air, nothing at all.

And still the dog’s owner is patient and kind and insists that it’s ok and the dogs will eventually come to like eachother and be friends.

But this isn’t about them. This is about the guys across the hall.

Dan and Andrew are a couple of 3rd year UBC students originally from Toronto and Portland, studying Art History and Poli-Sci, respectively. It all started when they moved in about a month ago and Dan knocked on our door asking if he could borrow a screwdriver to assemble his newly acquired Ikea bed. The screwdriver was returned with great appreciation a couple days later, and an invite for dinner followed shortly after.

So over we went, armed with our charm and a bottle of wine, and the guys treated us to a fantastic meal of chilled green salad, tabbouleh, chicken in peanut sauce and Naan. And dessert waffles that put my waffles to shaaaaaame (though in all fairness, I believe that’s more about the waffle maker than the chef).

We spoke of East vs. West (coast), American vs. Canadian Politics, movies, books, wine, women and song.

After dinner we retired to the living room, painted in a dark blue-grey, covered in posters of Che Guevara, James Dean, Jimi Hendrix and the Blues Brothers. Thumbtacked Art prints by Escher and Dali. We sat on couches draped with tye-dyed blankets, and smoked a hookah by the glow of the lavalamp and a few candles, and continued to chat.

As the night grew long, and we all realized we had to get up for either work or school in the morning, we said our goodbyes and make the long, 2.5 step journey back across the hallway.

The moment we stepped back into our own apartment, nearly the same layout as theirs, except flipped left-to-right, and gazed upon our taupe walls and Asian/Scandanavian minimalist design, framed artwork and too-big for the space TV (Dan & Andrew opted against the idiot box, and use their rolling stand for the hookah instead) - it hit us immediately.

Without warning, and certainly without permission, for the first time in our lives, we felt OLD. Sigh. It’s only a matter of time before we start eating dinner at 4:30pm and yelling at those crazy kids to quiet down and get off our lawn!

Those who knew me well last year know that it was the “Year of Excess” (or YOE if you like acronyms).

In changing jobs from Corporate Cog to Spelunking Coordinator, I managed to swing myself a 30%-ish pay increase and I was fun, fabulous, and single! So you’d better believe I was livin’ large. After all, that sounded much more fun than paying down my student loans faster.

Oh what a year it was!

An approximate count of ticket stubs, photographs, and things in my closet indicate that I:

-Acquired J’Lo (and all of her expensive repair issues)
-Attended about 18 concerts, many at major venues, most of which included acquiring overpriced concert merchandise
-Cheered my way through at least 12 NHL hockey games (and consumed an average of 3 NHL priced beers at each)
-Had my hair done monthly, at an approximate cost of n-$1, where n = the cost to sponsor a half-dozen starving African children for a month
-Acquired enough wardrobe additions to shoe and clothe those starving African children - none of which are appropriate for the new job of course.
-Succumbed fully and completely to my new mistress, the TiVo.

Then all of that culminated in a 10-day Carribean Vacation.

And just when I thought it was all over, we went to Korea.

Aah, the good ol’ days.

And now this year (and don’t all new years really start around September? I far prefer it as a time of new beginnings to January, where after the clock strikes midnight there is nothing new, it still gets dark at 4:30pm, and no more vacation until like… Easter, so welcome to the most depressing 10 weeks of the year… but I digress…)…

This year is the Year of “oh holy hell, we bought a damn house and someone’s gotta pay for that shit (along with the last of the shit Visa paid for toward the end of the YOE) and I can’t believe I’m still making student loan payments.”*

Otherwise known as the “Year of Fiscal Responsibility”, because that other one seriously got way too long.

So steps are being taken to ensure that I can still be fun and fabulous, and acquire new shoes, on a slightly more realistic budget.

And this is where you, lovely readers, come in! If you’d be so kind, please be leaving your answers to the following questions in the comments box:

1. I’m no longer so keen on paying what I do to maintain the bleach beach blonde. What do you suggest I do for a lower-maintenance colour that isn’t just my boring, basic, natural, mousy, ash brown? Note that all drug-store dyes to date have turned my hair varying shades of orange. Current regimen for those who know/care: Full head of foils alternating with top-layer-only of foils every 4-6 weeks.

2. Do you know of any amazing and fabulous and CHEAP concerts coming to town that I can not miss? Because last year I simply bought a pair of tickets to everything - and that is just not gonna fly anymore. Some strategic planning is in order.

3. What are your favourite ideas for some fun, cheap things to do around town for the boy and I to entertain ourselves as the weather gets cooler and the beach becomes a less-viable option? Wanna do a book club? Movie Night? Games Night? We’re in.

4. What are your favourite recipes or meals to make yourself? Because we’ve definitely put the kaibash on going to Chambar or Tatlow’s “because we’re hungry” or “don’t feel like cooking.”

5. What do you feel is an acceptable number of pairs of new shoes for a fiscally responsible woman to acquire over any given season? I happen to think three is appropriate - however there are others who disagree.

6. If I were to have a kissing booth, what would you be willing to pay to pucker up with yours truly? Of course, kisses will be above the neck only, 10 seconds or less, with no tongue. Downside: if Neil gets wind of this idea, the dog may have to stand-in for me. Upside to that? LOTS of tongue.

Thanks all! Best answers get the fantastic prize of…. my undying appreciation!

(What, you thought it would be a prize worth something? I wasn’t kidding about the saving money thing!)
(more…)

Please consider this a formal request to have a hair/makeup/photography team follow me around for always.

If you can promise me this, I promise that I will never be as ubiquitous-for-no-good-reason as Paris Hilton, never be as annoying as Jessica Simpson, never dress like Mary Kate Olsen, and never marry my ugly underling a la Britney Spears.

Also, World, I would like to let you know that if you can accommodate my humble request, I will spent my days looking like this:

Instead of like this:

Which I’m sure is best for everyone involved.

Thanks in advance.

Champagne Kisses & Caviar Dreams!
-Jen

Tagged by Raspberry, I present:

Eight things you (probably) don’t know about me

1. I don’t like Cilantro. But I eat it anyway, because it’s mostly impossible to have Mexican food without it.

2. I don’t actually work better under pressure - I’m just such a procrastinator that I’m used to doing it and have become just as effective working under deadline stress as not.

3. I start most days by picking my nose. It gets dry and crusty in there overnight, ok! Don’t judge - I know you do it too.

4. I regularly conduct my life as if I have an audience, like I’m some character on a sit-com or something.

5. My house never looks as clean as it does when you see it. But I won’t ever let you see my mess, so you can pretend it looks that good all the time!

6. I didn’t actually lose that 35lbs a couple years ago by monitoring my diet and exercise. I did try Weight Watchers, and put a lot of their suggestions into practice for matintenance - but I only actually lost about 8 lbs on the program. The weight loss actually came from a result of changing the way I conducted my entire life because I actually started liking myself again. I became more socially and physically active, stopped worrying about food or what other people thought of me, and suddenly the pounds just kinda melted away. I don’t usually tell anyone that, because it’s hard to explain, and I don’t think they really believe me anyway.

7. The real reason I hate flying is because it really messes with my digestive system. The combination of dehydration and being wedged into an uncomfortable seated position is so bad that every 3 hours on a plane is one day on the ground that I don’t poop (just imagine what that 11 hour flight to Korea did to me!) Then my body spends the next week being bloated and trying to regulate itself. Usually just in time for me to get back on a plane to fly home and repeat the entire process.

8. Those days when I tell my boyfriend at dinner I’m “not really that hungry” it’s not usually because I’m just generally not hungry - it’s probably because in the 40 minutes between when I got home from work and when he got home from work, I ate half a dozen cookies or a KD Easy Mac. Because I was hungry, and went and did something about it. I really can’t help it! The cookies… they call to me….

Hello. My you look lovely today! Your hair is so shiny, and have you lost weight?

I know. I haven’t updated in a while, so here’s a summation life in recent days, in bullet points, since nothing has been exciting enough to write about on its own:

And that’s pretty much got you caught up. Anything you think I forgot? How are all of you doing?

I had a strange fixation when I was a teenager about turning twenty-six. For some reason I always thought that was when life would really start for me. I imagined myself living in a great little apartment either downtown or near the beach, being successful in a career I loved and in a relationship with a man I was crazy about (and who was just as crazy about me). I longed to be old enough to be taken seriously, but still young enough to not take myself seriously.

Apparently I’m either clairvoyant, or that’s the power of visioning and positive thinking for you. Though truth be told I never actually believed my fantasy world could be a reality.

In any case, the first few days of 26-ness have been great.

I had a few dinners with various friends and family, was spoiled just the right amount with cash & gifts, including the Chicago Manual of Style from the parentals and some sparkly trinkets from the boy. Good to see people are starting to take me seriously when I claim that my favourite colour is Diamonds and my birthstone is Money.

One of the aforementioned dinners was at Cassis Bistro - you can read my foodie review at Metroblogging Vancouver.

And one of the best presents of all - today is day 1 of the mere 10 left I’ll be working at the Spelunking Club. It was time for a change, and it appears that this’ll be a good one, allowing me to do a lot more writing and productive problem-solving and a lot less putting out fires and pandering to people’s personal agendas.

Of course the next birthday is a big one - I’ll turn 27 on 27-07-2007. If any numerologists out there want to give me any predictions for what that year will hold, bring ‘em on.

In the meantime, I’ll try to enjoy 26 as much as my 16-year-old self hoped I would.

I have a fashion dilemma at the moment, and am turning to the internets for advice.

This is probably a mistake, since (from what I can figure) most people who comment here are guys. And I would feel confident putting money down on the fact that if the guys haven’t already tuned out after reading the words “fashion dilemma” they will as soon as they realize I’m not about to divulge any sort of wardrobe malfunction.

However, the situation is dire, so I am soldiering on with the faith that someone out there will offer up a solution.

Like most people in the world, I have a finite amount of disposable income. When I am not busy spending it on hookers and blow, I occasionally buy new clothes. In the coming month, I feel I must purchase two distinct kinds of clothing, and can only afford one. Which to choose?

Situation A: I’m attending the wedding of an acquaintance of my boyfriend. This is a fancy schmancy wedding requiring cocktail attire. I, being the princess I am, feel I need a new cocktail dress to wow the pants off of the acquaintance and other friends, showing off the hotness that my boyfriend has snagged all for his very own.

Case For Situation A: I will be stunning and hot and fancy schmancy, just as I feel the need to be.

Case Against Situation A: I already own a little black dress, and will shortly own another semi-formal dress that’s been ordered for another wedding (arriving too late to wear to this one) which would bring the items I have in my closet that I don’t have nearly enough occasion to wear to a somewhat critical mass.

Situation B: I’m going to be moving into a more professional job than the one I’m currently in. The last time I had to wear business casual clothing on a regular basis, I was 35lbs heavier. Of course as soon as I lost the weight I also lost the clothes, so I’m now in a position where I need to acquire more.

Case For Situation B: I actually need these clothes, bottom line, and will have to buy them sooner or later. I’m really just wondering how far I can push the “later” before a client clues in that I’ve worn the same tired black pants the last three times we’ve seen eachother.

Case Against Situation B: I do have some business casual clothing that will be perfectly appropriate for my new job. More than a week’s worth of outfits even. And shopping for cocktail dresses is just plain more fun than shopping for suits.

So, gentle readers, what would you do? Or should I just give up entirely and ask Amalah?

This entry would be far better if I scanned some high school photos to accompany it. Instead you’ll have to just imagine, and hope I dig some out later.

In my 1997/98 yearbook from Hope Secondary School, that from my graduating year, there is a single line entry from one of the guys in my class.

Sorry to hear about that lesbian thing, Marc thought you were hot. Keep kickin’ it - Scott.

“That lesbian thing” he referrs to was the scandal of the prior school year in my small-town. Not that I have ever been (or think I ever will be) a lesbian. No, I do like the boys. But I did get my 16 year-old self drunk at a party, and kissed a girl on a dare.

Big deal you say - you see girls do that at nightclubs for attention all the time. You attend, or maybe even participate in the pride parade. You went (or considered going) to WET. Yes I know. But remember, this was from nine plus years ago. Before Will & Grace. Before Ellen and Rosie even had daytime talk shows, nevermind actually coming out publicly. And this was in a small, homophobic town, where we didn’t even have a token gay hairdresser.

So yes. That lesbian thing. A defining moment in my youth, and a damn funny story to look back on. Especially since I’ve kept in touch with exactly no-one from High School and I’m kinda curious if anyone will bring it up at the reunion in a couple years.

Now hop back in the Delorean and fast-forward to yesterday. I’m driving across the Granville bridge, and a vaguely familiar-ish girl honks and waves at me. I deal with approximately 500 students over any given summer, so random people stopping me to say “hi” isn’t unusual - and I rarely manage to match a name to the face anyway, so I smiled and waved and turned right off the bridge while she continued on straight.

And then it hit me. My lesbian thing. That was Kim Shaughnessy.

I’ve heard through the grape-vine and Google that Kim’s doing well, is a spoken word performing champ (quite literally), and was (though I’m unsure of their status at this time) dating a friend of a friend.

Unfortunately, neither Google nor the grape-vine were terribly forthcoming on any sort of contact information for her. So I can only hope that perhaps she Googles herself someday and see this:

Hi KimKim! It was neat to see you the other day, even though I wasn’t quite quick enough to recognize you. I hope you’re doing well, and should you have the time and/or inclination sometime, it’d be cool to have coffee, reminisce about the past, and catch eachother up on how our lives have turned out so far. *kisskiss* -JenJen.

I’m back from the weekend’s regatta, plus medals, a racerback tan line, and a whole lotta muscle ache, minus sleep, sleep and more sleep.

I don’t speak too much about rowing on this site, since frankly, it’s pretty boring to anyone but rowers. However, for the few people who may be interested/curious, I particpated in a Women’s Quad, Mixed Quad, Women’s 8 and Mixed 8. I’m most proud of our Mixed 8, since the crew was a last minute throw-together, and we actually won the entire event (in a borrowed, very heavy boat no less!). That’ll be good for some bragging rights for a week or so.

As for the bit of news I alluded to before I left, I’m one of the newest members of the Metroblogging Vancouver crew. My first piece is currently up. Pop on over and check it out, and if you’ve got any ideas for other city-centric content you’d like to see me contribute, let me know!

As work gets busier, social events and obligations pile up, and I seem to have generally less time for everything - including sleep - I’ve decided that I need to take a page off of my friends Jen & Luke’s fridge and abandon my “to do” list for a “could do” list.

You know, all the things I could do if I had the time and inclination.

This tactic immediately frees me of the heavy oppression of the things I am absolutely “to do” and instead reminds me of all the things I would do if I weren’t using my precious little free time to play at the beach with the dog, or rollerblade along the seawall, or eat gelato in my underwear while catching up on the TiVo.

And what’s on this riveting list? Glad you asked…

What I could do: Buy a strapless swimsuit to manage the tan lines on my shoulders, neck, chest & back.
What I’ll probably do instead: Keep wearing the same ol’ swimsuit, and try to fake’n'bake to even things out at some point.

What I could do: Upgrade WordPress from version 1.5 to try and combat some of the comment spam I’m getting.
What I’ll probably do instead: Just stop reviewing the comments that get filtered, and start deleting them all in batches.

What I could do: Finish packing my apartment so I can clean it and move everything easily at the end of the month.
What I’ll probably do instead: Show up in a frenzy, throw away 80% of my belongings, and throw the rest haphazardly in the back of my car.

What I could do: Get my filthy car detailed.
What I’ll probably do instead: Wait until it’s unbearable, or convince someone that I really need a car detailing for my birthday (July 27th if anyone’s counting), at which point it’ll probably cost a mint to have someone else scrape the layers of filth off the interior and exterior, and hopefully evict the ‘mystery smell.

What I could do: Clean the bathrooms at home
What I’ll probably do instead: Better spend my energy convincing the boy that we need a maid sooner rather than later (not a hard sell - we’ve talked about it already, it’s just a matter of finding one - any recommendations?).

What I could do: Stop blogging and get to work…
What I’ll probably do instead: Ok, maybe that one does sound like a good idea.

I’m sure more than a couple of you noticed that I up and disapeared mid-last week and only reappeared yesterday.

I just plumb ran out of time to tell y’all that I was whisking myself away to the middle of nowhere (just outside Vanderhoof) to a family reunion over the long weekend.

The trip was fairly uneventful, and everyone was far better behaved that anyone expected. Except me of course. I went and put my foot in my mouth within 30 minutes of arriving, and managed to say something that sounded like me calling someone fat right to her face. (Obviously I was trying to say something completely opposite.) Oops.

I think my attempt at damage control worked - and there wasn’t really any resulting drama that seemed to linger over the rest of the weekend.

There was one funny incident however, that never would’ve happened before the internet.

If you google my full name (which some family member did) one of the first results that come up is a letter to the editor that I wrote to The Peak - the SFU student newspaper - when I was still in University. It was in response to an article featuring another female student; I was disagreeing with her entire point, and the fact that she used the plight of a marginalized group that she isn’t a member of to help make it.

Turns out the point-maker I berated in my letter is my 2nd cousin’s niece.

Or, if anyone would like to do the math and figure out the relation, she is my dad’s mom’s sister’s daughter’s (dad’s cousin’s) husband’s sister’s daughter (dad’s cousin’s niece by marriage).

I don’t think that technically makes us related.

Good thing too - because after everyone had a laugh, and her aunt confirmed that she is indeed still the basket case I assumed she was in my response, the conversation dwindled and a comfortable hush fell over the crowd.

And in the silence, Neil - looking contemplative and a little creeped out - volunteered that when in university, less old and certainly less wise, he had dated her for a not insignificant period of time.

All in the family indeed. Thanks Google.

During my dearth of content, Josh commented with

Stuck creatively? Write about creativity!! It’s a topic I love to hear about…what inspires you? How do you like to express your creativity most? What are the biggest obstacles to your creative expression?

It’s taken a while to figure out how to write about what inspires me… where my ideas come from. How do I find the content for my stories?

Life.

Simple as that. As soon as I start thinking about how ridiculous a situation is, and the words, phrases and gestures I’d use as I describe them to a friend, I start translating that to text in my brain, and at the end of it all we get a blog post.

Of course, the old adage comes out at this point that if you have a great experience, you’ll probably tell 2 or 3 people about it, but if you have a horrible experience, you’ll gripe about it to everyone you possibly can. And boy oh boy did dating provide some great fodder for that! As did the roommate and car troubles and taking transit, etc. etc.

Eliminate those, eliminate the easy content. Finding a soapbox and ranting about something is easy. Finding humour in my own or others’ misfortune is equally so. Finding stories in living the good life though, bringing the love and passion and zeal for family and friends and life in general into a story and making that compelling and entertaining to the reader is a whole other beastie. One that writers such as dooce & Julie Leung have managed to excel at. One that I am just getting used to.

Choosing to write personal stories that way makes it doubly hard. It requires not only writing well, but approaching life from a whole other angle. It requires living and capturing the golden moments, instead of taking them for granted and glossing over them. It requires opening up and revealing personal emotions that are far more sensitive than generic annoyance and fits of impotent rage.

So while I soak up all the shiny happy, I’m doing my damndest to figure out a way to bring it all to you, gentle readers, in a way that doesn’t make you want to throw up in your mouth a little.

Of course if you’re getting impatient with all that, you could do something like wear leggings with a mini-skirt and kitten heeled plastic flip-flops in my presence and watch my head explode.