WorldWideWaterCooler

I am the easiest, and the hardest person to buy gifts for.

I like receiving practical gifts. I will give those who request it a detailed list of what I want, including brand names, stores you can find them at, and approximate cost. People rarely like to buy me the practical gifts. Practical gifts are boring.

On the flip side, I don’t like it so much when they buy me the frivolous, shiny things. If someone feels obligated to get me a thing, I’d rather they get me a thing I need. (Yes, I understand some of you have eschewed the commercialism of the season - in my family we gift. That is the way it is. Rant elsewhere.)

Here’s my reasoning: I like to buy myself the expensive things. The gizmos, gadgets, designer clothes, shoes, wine… it’s a bit of retail therapy that I like to engage in. If I’ve met a personal or professional goal I set for myself, or just made it through a really shitty day/week/month, I use these as motivators and rewards. That whole system loses its charm when I start getting them for no good reason at all (other than someone felt obligated to get me a “something”).

And it really chaps my ass when I have to divert the money I’d rather be spending on shiny things, to practical stuff.

So, things I won’t be asking for this year because I’d rather spoil myself with them: an ipod nano, a digital piano, an LCD monitor, diamonds.

Things I will be asking for, that nobody (including myself) wants to get me because they’re boring: a network adaptor for the TiVo, a new hairdryer, a crock pot, a car-charger for my cell phone, socks, an emergency roadside kit.

Seriously. I’ve asked for socks every year for the past 3 years. I have yet to receive, because nobody wants to be the “sock giver.”

Sometimes it’s tough to be me.

ps. While I am stubborn with the gifting, I am a veritable Holiday Card Whore. I’ll give up the greetings to anyone and everyone. So email me if you want one already!

This one’s for the boys. Hear that boys? I have a problem! This is where you solve it in the comments! Isn’t that what your species does when us wimmens complain? Ok, hop to it…

In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a girl. The other thing you may not have noticed is that I like nice things.

I like nice things that girls like, like fancy flatware and china and diamonds and exotic flowers and designer shoes.

I also like nice things that boys like, like aston martins and surround sound audio systems and kajillion inch LCD Displays and cool gadgets.

And I like nice things that nearly everyone likes, like great food and good wine and live music.

The problem seems to arise when I talk about nice things with boys. They seem to assume that my appreciation for nice things means I want them to buy me nice things. This is absolutely not true. While I like nice things, and I sometimes acquire nice things for myself, I don’t expect anyone else to supply me with nice things.

At most, it’d be nice to find someone who shares my appreciation of nice things, so I don’t get slack for acquiring them from whoever becomes my significant other (as has happened in the past).

I usually avoid bringing the nice things into conversation, but if someone shows up with a nice car, I’d like to be able to say “hey, nice car!” without them thinking it’s anything but appreciation for a nice car, or that it actually matters in terms of what I think of them as a person.

So, what do I do?

November hair

Originally uploaded by peechie.

In lieu of actual content, I bring you my latest and greatest hair creation. Well, not my creation - I pay someone else exhorbitant amounts to create my coif.

Still, I’m diggin on it.

Also, my stylist (Lisa @ AXIS) keeps handing me cards for 50% off a cut or colour for new clients, so if you like what you see, leave me a comment and I’ll hook you up.

I woke up a couple days ago with a headache that would. not. leave. I figured it was just because I’d dehydrated myself partying a little too hard or something - what with the hockey games and concerts and work and rowing and bad weather and not going outside and yadda yadda yadda.

I figured that was still the case when a giant volcanic zit appeared on my forehead (I rarely breakout).

Then today I woke up in a funk. Capital UNK. Life stinks. I am alone. Nobody wants me. I have no boyfriend (true) no lover (a lie) no friends (a definite falsity). I am puffy and undesirable. AND WHAT IS UP WITH MY BOOBS THESE DAYS… GAHD!

It was then I looked at the calendar. And it all made sense.

Goddamn PMS. We (me, the mood, the boobs) are not amused.

I am a morning person. Sortof.

I do love being up early, making coffee, watching the world start to wake up around me. In fact, I strongly believe that a road trip isn’t a road trip unless it begins before sunrise.

I only wish I could actually FUNCTION in the mornings I love so much.

Which brings me to my latest complaint, a Catch 22 if you will: Ordering Coffee in the morning.

I only want one thing when I walk into a coffee shop in the mornings. Caffeine. LOTS of it. As Soon As Possible.

It never works out that way.

What I expect from a coffee shop when I go in is the complete, total and utter attention of the person taking my order. Because I can only say it ONCE. Not because I’m an elitist snob. It’s because my brain isn’t working yet. I have queued in the lineup, retrieved the necessary paper or plastic currency from my pocket, and carefully rehearsed my order in my head. So when I say “Venti Americano With Room” do not look back at me quizzically and say “Sorry, venti what?”

My brain was only wired to say that ONE SENTENCE before the life-giving caffeine will allow it to do much else.

So Barista that I grunted at this morning? I’m sorry. Except I’m not. It’s just the way it is. I will do my best to open my mouth and form the words that you require to make my beverage, and you will listen and not ask me to repeat myself.

Of course, if it were less complicated to order the damn thing in the first place, we may not have this problem at all!

Remember a while back when I asked readers to comment regarding images they thought of when they saw the word “Indepencence”?

I was fishing for ideas that struck me as unique, useful, or interesting for a tattoo. I’ve been specifically trying to think about something that would go with a Lion image, or any of the representations of the Leo zodiac sign.

It’s always amazed me how strongly I represent the personality traits that allegedly come along with being a leo, and I’ve always admired these qualities about myself: passion, drive, independence, loyalty, and a strong drive to care for and about others.

And I wanted to ink that somewhere. I believe I’ve come to the conclusion that it’ll end up on my shoulderblade - since the lower back is just out.

And, despite not getting any feedback on that particular post that I ended up using, I’ve finally figured out what I want! No you don’t get to know what it is yet!

What I need now are recommendations for artists. I know the urge will be strong for the decorated out there to say “so and so did mine and s/he is great but disappeared off the face of the earth!” - and while I’m happy you have good looking art, that does me NO GOOD. So try to at least say something useful about prep or aftercare if you don’t have any relevant artist recommendations. Thanks.

If the TiVo post didn’t tip you off, I have an unhealthy relationship with TV. I watch a LOT of it.

Case in point: My Sunday Night Lineup.

5:00pm - 6:00pm West Wing (Eastern Broadcast)
6:00pm - 7:00pm Desperate Housewives (Eastern Broadcast)
7:00pm - 8:00pm Law & Order CI
8:00pm - 9:00pm Cold Case
9:00pm - 9:30pm Family Guy
9:30pm - 10:00pm nothing, killing time, brushing teeth, getting stuff ready for Monday…
10:00pm - 11:00pm Grey’s Anatomy

THAT’S NEARLY SIX SOLID HOURS OF TELEVISION.

Of course, there are other nights of the week when TV is absolute shite. If I had TiVo I could spread out my watching habits somewhat.

Don’t even get me started on taping stuff… I’m completely retarded about remembering how to set the VCR, and never have blank tapes around anyway.

Update: SONOFA….! I just realized that Crossing Jordan is also on Sundays, at 7:00 and 10:00 - and both of those timslots are already occupied with other viewing commitments, meaning I need to tape at least one show anyway! Grrrr…. When my next bonus cheque arrives, LOOKOUT BEST BUY!

…I re-joined the ranks of single women.

So far it’s been one of my best years on record.

This is the longest I’ve been single at one stretch in 10 years - pretty much since I discovered boys - and holy hannah the fun I’d been missing!

So I celebrated this morning with nookie and pannekoeken.

Here’s to another fabulous year - whatever it brings.

While I’m not ready to say that it sucks being single (because HELLO! It’s kinda fabulous!), occasionally it’s inconvenient. One of those inconveniences is attending weddings.

I’ve got an RSVP card for myself and “guest” that I need to get back to the betrothed in a week. Do I bother with a guest? Even though I’m not really dating anyone specific, I know many lovely gentlemen who I’m sure would be pleased as punch to don a suit, and accompany me to what promises to be a rockin’ good time of a wedding.

But there’s also that part of me that doesn’t want to bring a “random date” to what will be a pretty small and intimate wedding, where most people will know most other people. As good a friend as the date may be, there’s a 99.9% chance that he’ll have zero connection to anyone there but me - and that just has a whole gigolo vibe about it. So there’s a big part of me that thinks I may as well fly solo - these people are fun, and I always have a good time with them anyway.

But what happens if, in a month, there’s someone in the picture that I really would like to go to the wedding with? Do I RSVP with the +1 just in case? That way it leaves things open? Do I ask a friend to be a backup date (I know, nobody wants to be that person), in case I’m not with anyone by the time the wedding day rolls around? Do I be like this guy and find someone cute from craigslist to bring along (at least then I can make sure I pick someone who can dance)?

Then there’s the problem that Richard describes (which he wrote about concerts, but I think applies equally well to weddings):

Going to events “alone” when there are hundreds, sometimes thousands of other attendees sucks. A lot. Before is boring with nobody to talk to to pass the time. During is boring with nobody to dance with or steal a glace to see how they’re enjoying it. After is boring because there is nobody to compare notes with. It still beats sitting at home the day after wishing I had gone, but it’s not all it could be.

I feel like I’m stuck in that episode of Sex and the City where Carrie is trying to figure out what to do with the +1 on her invite.

So, what would you do? Feel free to also throw in a “get over yourself because someone else’s wedding is in no way about you at all” as well. But if there is even one snarky comment that says “I don’t know what I’d do because I’m blissfully in looooooooooove and never go anywhere alone,” well then as happy as I am with my current state, I will still cut you, bitch.

To Pleat, or Not to Pleat. That is the Question!

Here’s the answer: FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY, NO!

Ok, so the answer is a bit more complicated than that. The wearing of pleats by men (because women should really never wear pleated pants, period!) is a tricky art that should only be attempted by those who know what they’re doing, or have a woman around to help them.

The pleated pants that Darren referenced in some earlier comments (pictured here) are ok. However there is a certain male body type that can get away with pleats, and if you’re not a Gap model, chances are you’re not it! Do you have anything that might be construed as a “belly”? NO PLEATS! Do you have large thighs (due to muscle bulks or body type)? NO PLEATS!

The thing with pleats is that they add extra fabric to to the front of your thighs. If they’re not able to lie absolutely flat from waist to mid-thigh, they’ll just pucker and pooch out and look silly. This means that if your beer-gut prevents you from actually wearing your pants on your natural waist, or means that your body does not have a flat surface from navel to crotch, you can NOT wear pleats.

And if you have large thighs - either because of your genetic makeup, or from a lot of muscle bulk in the area, having pants with extra fabric there will likely make you look somewhat disproportionate. See how there’s some extra bulk of fabric on the thigh of the model? If you have large thighs in proportion to the rest of your body, your pleats will either stretch out over your quads and look like spandex (if you buy the pants to fit your waist), or billow around your body like the MC Hammer pants of yesteryear (if you buy them to fit around your legs). Try poufy sleeves instead (and if you didn’t get that I was kidding with the poufy sleeves, you’re beyond any fashion help I could give).

The other issue with pleats that makes most men wearing them look ridiculous is that they require pressing. And not just running the iron over them hoping for the best - but actual proficiency to get them to lay flat. Most guys I know will just wash their pants, and either hang or fold them, then put them on without even going near the iron (do you even own an iron?). This usually results in the pleats not being flat, and doing the poochie-outie-thing right below your belt, making it look like you’ve got a really low-hanging spare tire. Either that, or the act of folding the pants will result in the creases being mangled, resulting in your pants making it look like Picasso attached your legs to your body.

Either way - unless you’ve got perfect waist to knee body proportion, AND the desire and knowledge to properly press your pants (or someone around who will do it for you), please just say no to pleats.

Holy crap, I am crazy amounts of busy these days. Seems like I’m not the only one though. I just made a dinner date with a friend, and we had to make it for nearly two weeks away! Sheesh. I don’t really mind it though, having things to do and people to see makes me feel really alive and vibrant - something I went without for a few too many years.

Except when it takes a toll on my health. I realized when I only managed to stay awake for about 7 hours on Sunday that maybe I needed to be a little nicer to myself.

So in the midst of all the craziness, I have actually found some time to take care of myself a little better. My fridge actually contains food - real food, not the processed convenience type. I’m setting up workout dates with a friend starting this week. I’m also journaling my diet and exercise, just to try and keep me honest about how I’m treating myself.

Unfortunately, this means that my house is falling apart. I can probably handle most things without bringing in a cleaning service, but oh my god the laundry. I’m at the point where I’m feeling like it’s probably easier to just go shopping, rather than find time to wash anything.

So here’s where you come in, dear local readers: Do you know of any drop-off laundry services (preferably Downtown or in the West End) that are a) reasonably priced and b) won’t steal my panties for nefarious purposes?

Barring that, do you know anyone who wants to make a few quick bucks doing my laundry for me? I’ll drop it off, sorted, along with detergent and fabric softener. All they’d have to do is wash, dry, and fold it. I’ll come pick it up within a day or so. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

I am not the most well endowed girl in the world. In fact, I am a card-carrying memeber of the IBTC. It used to bother me. A lot.

Thankfully, growing up has also come with a healthy dose of body confidence. I now don’t give a damn about my breasts, or lack thereof. And thanks to miracles of science like the wonder-bra, I can still play in the big-leagues if I wanna.

In fact, on days like today, I am EXTRAORDINARILY GLAD that they’re proud, perky A cups. Because in this ridiculous heat, I can wear a racer-back v-necked shirt with NO BRA and not look completely indecent. In fact, I don’t look the least bit indecent at all. I look kindof like an 8-year-old boy from the waist up. And I’m not sweltering under an extra layer of fabric.

I think if you get close enough to my chest, you can even hear my boobs shouting…. ‘FREEEEEEEEEDOM!”

One of the more prevalent fitness questions I get asked is how I manage to maintain the “Ass that Doesn’t Quit.” A lot of it is just plain good genetics, but a big part of it is that I almost always take the stairs.

Usually I don’t mind the stairs, a lot of the time I’ll run up them just for fun. However, sometimes enough is enough. At work, there are 3 flights (no elevator) between me and the rest of the offices. This can have its perks - I can pretty much hide away and not be bothered for 90% of the day, which means I get a lot done. However it’s painful when it comes time to make photocopies or grab lunch.

So to make my life a little easier, I figure I need to be gifted with a portable fridge for my desk! This one can even plug into the lighter socket in the car to keep my beer chilled on long road-trips and maximize the drinking & driving experience!

Of course, that means I’ll have to find some other supplemental gluteal exercise - but that’s the kind of sacrifice I’m willing to make if you really need to buy me this present!

I’ve been meaning to write about a couple things - but neither is really significant enough for their own post. So I figured I’d just combine them.

First off, I’ve been thinking that with the upcoming birthday I’ll dump a few ideas of the things I’d like to be gifted with on these pages. This is in no way a request for any of you to actually purchase these things for me. I couldn’t possibly love you any more than I already do, or be more of a spoiled princess than I already am, so buying my love is an exercise in futility. Unless of course you can’t help yourself, in which case feel free to splurge!

For the second thing, I confess my deep, dark secret: I have never even read so much as the jacket notes of a Harry Potter book. When the whole thing started, I couldn’t be bothered to buy into the fad. Then it got bigger and I refused to succumb to the machine. And now, well truth be told I’m just plain afraid of the machine.

So here’s where I combine the two and say maybe, maybe I’d like to get my hands on my own copies of the Harry Potter books. So if anyone wants to draw me into the phenomenon and render me addicted to all things Potter, I might be willing to succumb. But I am not doing this of my own volition! It would have to be a gift, so I’d feel obligated to read them. Until then, I’m 100% Wizard Free.

I put 200kms on the new car today. I am drunk on mobility. It’s amazing how small the city just got.

It was quite fun to show up at the home of the parental units randomly. They live about 70kms away, so they were very surprised when I showed up without warning. They were obviously a little perplexed about how I managed to get there; when I told them “In my car!” they were shocked to say the least - they had no idea I’d made the purchase.

After eleventy frillion rounds of “No Way!” “Yes Way!” they (mom, dad, brothers) all took turns driving it around the block, then mom made me dinner. I could get used to that.

Also, I do believe I now totally need this.

The Safety Girl Roadside Emergency Kit contains serious roadside emergency supplies like an emergency blanket, first aid supplies and instructions to change a flat tire, but it also contains other “emergency” items like chocolate, nail file, aromatherapy headache remedy and more!

Yes, the shameless gift-plugging continues. It’s available at Beauty Mark on Denman for those inclined.