Spilling My Guts

Alright, I didn't spill 'em. But a piece of them that was here last time I posted is gone now.

Last Monday, I woke up at 4AM with horrid abdominal pain, which, after a rushed trip to emergency, an hour and a half of ultrasounds by three different doctors, and a few bags of morphine, turned out to be acute appendicitis. I had surgery the same day and spent the week in and out of sleep, on and off of percocets, tylenol 3s, morphine, gravols, and naproxens, and antibiotics for one post-surgical infection, which had me in and out of the hospital again.

In any case! I've been healing since then. It's a pain in the ass when you're impatient to be a... sickly patient? (That was tragic writing, I apologize. Ridiculous. Yeesh.) So, yeah, here's what I've been doing: Lying on the couch. This includes sleeping, trying to do weakass exercises, pointing and flexing my toes, watching bad TV, reading gossipy magazines, and (again) sleeping. I've sat in the shower. I didn't get to shower for the first four days. I am so unproductive and sad, it's just not right. I feel like an elderly person. I'm embarrased!

However, despite all the suckiness of doing absolutely nothing productive and guilt for missing work and terror of missing school, I have discovered one most excellent thing: my husband is even more darling, sweet, dreamy, wonderful, and awesome than I had suspected before this. He's been a most excellent caretaker.

He's made me laugh so much it hurt when I wanted to weep from the pain. He's coined the Helping Hug, a crafty manoeuvre that helped me get up to standing position when I couldn't by myself. He's held my hand, pushed my hair out of my face, provided me with a big ziploc container to vomit in (and cleaned it afterwards without vomming himself), and set me up in bed so my abdomen would be in the least painful position. He's made me breakfast in bed, sat with me for entire days in the hospital when I was so drugged up I was the least entertaining company evah, and made sure my lip gloss, painkillers, at least one crappy magazine, and water were set out beside me and within my reach wherever I was. I love him!

Truly, I knew he was le best boy evah. But this? This is like level of best boy evah that I didn't really even realize existed. Aw, l'amour.

Between this and the five pounds I'm sure I'll have lost by the time I'm really back on my feet, I guess spilling my guts wasn't so bad after all.

On Girlfriends

I am going home in a few weeks for a short but very-much-looked-forward-to visit. As I counted down the days tonight, it occurred to me how very much I miss my few favourite people.

My two closest friends and my sister -- all home in Halifax, enjoying the prettiness of the city and the kindness of the people within its walls. Then there's me -- here all by myself, not really knowing many people despite many efforts to get to really get a few. And I love the city, it's not that I'm not happy in my new home. Truly, it's been so good to me -- I don't know how I got so lucky with the progress in my academic and professional lives. And I've met some really great people here that I feel pretty lucky to know. It's just that... no matter how many times I try, I just can't seem to get to know anyone like I know those girls from home -- clever, interesting, charming, and just basically wonderful in about every way possible.

My most brilliant friend -- we used to get beers after philosophy class, mock boys who recited bad poetry, and talk way into the night. We would go see bands and flirt with the boys in the worthwhile ones. We would hang out in cigar bars so we could smoke cigarettes for hours on end while chatting about everything under the sun. She would talk about things I knew nothing about and was spectacularly knowledgeable about everything that mattered. She's still it, baby.

My most darling friend -- it wasn't a night out without giggling, mocking, and sharing a plate of nachos (and beer with lime cordial). She is probably the sweetest person ever made and everyone I know loves her endlessly for that guileless charm. There are few people in the world you never want to let out of your social circle -- this kid is definitely one of them.

And of course, the sister -- it started with harassment over Barbies and moved into the terrain of cheap pink champagne. She's more sensible, honest, ethical, and brainy than anyone else I know, yet miraculously just as fun as I am (hah). Truly, there wouldn't be anything worth doing without her around and if she'd just move here, my life would be complete.

So? Only 22 days 'til I see the lot of them again. And what a weekend it will be!

Ka-CHOO.

Holy crap. I wish I'd kept track of how many times I've sneezed today because I'm pretty sure it would be a record.

My nose is so grossly red and runny, I am mortified that even my husband to has to see this hideousness.

I don't feel sick, per se. Just frustrated and fluffy-headed. And slow. And, um, okay. It hurts. Why?

I can feel the sinuses behind my cheekbones!

My right ear will not pop!

The puffiness level of my eyes cannot even be fixed with Clinique!

I am patiently waiting for the Tylenol Cold to kick in, but I fear that I should've taken the night remedy instead of the daytime dosage. It's been nearly two hours and, um, nothing is happening.

This'll be gone by tomorrow, right?

Right?

Damn you, ever-changing weather, lacklustre immune system, and overly-jam-packed lifestyle.

Bah.

Farewell, Old Chum.

When I started my MBA program, I knew I'd be placed in a group. This group was to be my team for the first four of nine semesters of the program. We would do all collective projects together and be responsible for helping each other keep up if any of us had to miss a day of notes. I was terrified by this prospect -- in the months preceding our program's beginning, I had an impending fear that I'd be stuck with business-y jackasses who felt superior to me, lazy people for whom I'd have to do all the work, or anti-social, competitive maniacs.

Then school started. And my group was -- in layman's terms -- the bomb.

When the school set us up, they did so via some statistical analysis, based on goals, personality, and achievements to date. Most groups had six people, but ours only had five. And what a group of five we were. We had an architect from Columbia, who had the most fabulous sense of humour and tended to look a bit like U2's Bono. We had a computer programmer from the Phillipines -- a little shy and incredibly sweet in his modesty -- with such innate understanding of financials that I was constantly in awe. We had an engineer from India -- currently working as a pharmaceutical consultant -- who played the group father figure with incredible brilliance, diplomacy, and one of the kindest hearts I've had the pleasure to see. We had the adorable marketing whiz-kid from Hong Kong, whose organizational skills and sensibility towards stellar teamwork kept us all on perfect track. And we had me: brand junkie, paper-writing fiend, presentation dynamo, and overall Perky Pollyanna.

We worked exceptionally well together. We had similar styles for putting projects together and highly connected attitudes on learning and teamwork. Each of our skills really complemented those of our teammaters, and I'm certain that we learned as much from each other -- if not more -- than we did during our lectures. We spent time together outside of the classroom, discussing life, politics, entertainment, and aspirations. It was an amazing relationship and I was thrilled to have the lot of them in my life.

Then first semester ended and second semester began. Our architect disappeared. He sent us an email saying he'd withdrawn for personal reasons. It was an unusual exit, but we respected his need for privacy and carried on. We often chatted about him, wondering if his family was okay, hoping the best, but never heard from him again. We went through another semester, reassembled our skill sets to cover what he'd contributed and continued kicking ass.

The second semester ended and third semester began. Next thing we know, we're getting an email from our engineer/consultant. He's been offered a position as associate VP at his company -- a huge honour and a real testament to his talents and kind personality! -- and will have to leave the program, as his new position requires him to live in India and spend a good deal of time in Europe. He met with our classmates for the final post-lecture beer-fest on Thursday night, then met with just our team today for our final post-group-meeting lunch at our favourite cafe by school. We reminisced, laughed, talked. He told us that his wife is newly pregnant and that he expected each of us to come visit him in Delhi.

We really do miss him already. It's quite incredible the close relationships you can form with people when you work so very well together. So to one crazy-exceptional friend: good luck, congratulations, and stay in touch. We all feel lucky as hell to have known someone as fantastic as you!

All I Want Post-Christmas Is...

Okay, so it's official. We are loft-owners.

After years of dreaming about having my own place (or our own place, once Dave was in the picture), and a year and a half of hardcore skimping, debt reduction, and saving, we finally got it together. It's been total torture waiting for the whole thing to be real, but this afternoon it turned from foggy fantasy to black-and-white life-owing.

So! Now comes the good part. The home-making! The following is my list of home necessities:

(1) Painting. I've been visiting the Benjamin Moore site like it's keeping me alive. I want to pick my colours for every room and hire some painters. Since we get in there on March 23rd, but don't have to move 'til the 31st, we have a week to get it all prettied up. Dave is somewhat hesitant on this one, as he thinks we should live there and feel out what it should look like first, but I'm pushing for it.

(2) Bedroom set. When we got married, my beloved aunt and uncle gave us the gift of a new bed. If by new bed, I mean cash to cover a new bed. Needless to say, that chunk of change was better used elsewhere at the time and we never got the cozy boudoir of which I dreamed. Now? Oh, hell yeah.

(3) Office stuff. We took a small apartment to save money as part of the scrimp and save strategy. Dave has made the corner of our wee bedroom his office. He works from home. This has been majorly harsh for him. At the new place, he has a good sized bedroom to turn into his office. He shall get whatever his heart so desires for his hideous sacrifice. As someone who has worked from home in the past, I can't believe he's been able to handle it for this long.

(4) Front bench. When people walk in, we want a place for them to sit their things down. I don't know what it will look like, but I will find it.

(5) Living room mirrors. The people who live there now had 'em. I loved 'em. I want 'em.

(6) Above-range microwave. Okay, this isn't exactly a necessity. But I really, really love those babies, and I'm going to get one. Maybe not immediately, but within a few months.

(7) Bosu ball. Okay, this isn't house-related, but I really freakin' want one.

Um, I think that's it. I made this list last weekend and thus far, I've bought a chocolate coloured curtain for the ensuite bathroom and some stainless steel salt and pepper shakers. It's going to be just way too much fun.

Kids Scare Me

So today was my adorable niece's birthday party. And what a party it was. I think that maybe I just don't get the whole parenthood thing.

So we arrive at 11AM at the Gymboree party zone. First of all, I have to take off my boots, and my feet are instantly cold. This disturbs me. I have to leave my jacket hanging on a rack with hooks at children's height. This makes me suspicious. We're quickly escorted to a room of small slides and barrels and tubes and bubbles. I'm looking around suspiciously, and next thing I know, this crazed lady start singing all her thoughts. "1-2-3, play a game with me! Let's all play, it's your birthday today!" My ovaries aren't twitching a single iota (as women with maternal urges often joke). My stomach is clenched in the most hideous zone of discomfort.

There are yuppie type parents and kids in clothes that probably cost more than mine. But the truly weird part? Everyone is just so... happy? It feels fake and creepy and cult-ish. "Row, row, row your boat!" The parents grin at each other as they swoosh some bizarro parachute up and down with the kids under it. "Skinamarinky-dinky-dink!" The children totter about as they're pushed to beat on the rubber tube while music plays -- though not to the beat. "I went to the store to buy a bike!" Everyone oohs and aahs as children smoosh cheesies into their soft skin. "The wheels on the bus go round-and-round!" We are the only two people there without children of our own -- other than the children. "Let's all sing along-along! Let's all sing alonnnnng!"

I am not singing.

I am sitting on a tiny bench with my arms crossed. I am feeling anxious and uncomfortable and just want to get away from the creepiness and singing and weird activities. I am hiding in the corner during lunch. I am avoiding the parents with their incessant cooing and their endless talk about their kids. I am wondering why they all ask me the same question -- "So how was your holiday?" -- and then sort of mentally exit the conversation halfway through my response.
I am wanting to leave and get the hell back to my real life.

And I am wondering how the hell I will ever, ever be a parent.

I don't know about kids. I totally love hanging out with them one-on-one for specific time periods, but I am not drawn at all to this cult of mommyhood. I don't like the idea of hanging out exclusively with other parents and finding children to be my most interesting conversational topic and listening to the Wiggles and all that crazy stuff. I know that not everyone does this -- and, to be fair, my in-laws and few friends with children are great examples of normalcy when they're not around other parents; they're relaxed and laid back. However, this doesn't make the possibility any less likely, nor any less frightening. And my brother-in-law made a joke this weekend about how we say right now that we plan to live in a condo for five years, but just wait 'til I pop out a kid. I responded with a dry "Um, that sure won't be happening in the next five years." His reaction? "You don't think you'll have a kid in the next five years? How old are you, anyway?" I laughed it off. Besides, I get this kind of thing a lot from people with kids. (They generally think I'm missing out on life.) And, yes, I am pushing 30.

I just wouldn't be that parent. I wouldn't be able to handle bad music and fakery and competition and mommies, and I wouldn't be able to abandon my old life. I would want to make a newborn listen to real music. I would probably be snobby about hanging out with mommy cults. I would want to avoid group stuff at all costs and make the kid a cool part of my life instead of its star. Is that unfair to be that wrong kind of parent to a kid? Cripes.

The idea of never having a kid (and a is the key word -- there would never be more than that) seems a little sad to me, but the idea of actually doing it? I fear it's not for the best. What if that maternal thing that everybody else seems to have just never kicks in? How am I supposed to know what to do, or when to do it, or whether I should just trust my gut and stick with life as regularly scheduled?

So It's Eight Days Later...

And we bought a place. It's a conditional offer, they accepted it tonight. Should be official by Monday. Should be official by Monday?

I am dying. Dying!

I am so excited, I am calm. I feel jittery and quiet and it's terrifying to spend that much money and it's thrilling to see your dollars finally turning into equity.

And the place is lovely and dreamy and central. It's a loft and it's spacious -- two good sized bedrooms, two great bathrooms, and a big living room. Beautiful kitchen, upgrades galore, gym, billiards room, all that good stuff. You know what sold me, though? The built-in bookcases. There is even a ladder. I will be living in a lovely library. And the washer and dryer are super capacity. And there are sensor lights! And the closets all have built in shelving and drawer systems. It's crazy. And it will be all ours on March 23.

I called my sister right after we signed the papers. She was exuberant. I was serene. I just can't get my head around it.

It's not that it happened so fast -- we've been saving our asses off since moving to Toronto so we'd have a good chunk of down payment. It's that once we had the dollars in place, we got straight to business. It just feels like it happened so quickly. And it doesn't feel real. It's kind of unbelievable.

But I know it's not, really. People everywhere do this every single day. It's just... we haven't done it before and if you'd told either of us a year and a half ago, when we were in Halifax, that we'd be buying something like this in only eighteen months, we never, ever would have believed you. Moving to this city has really made everything kick ass -- it may be the dastardly centre of the universe to my east coast self, but to my future homeowner parts, it's a freaking dream.

Goddamn. I guess the countdown begins here.

(ETA: I removed the pictures for now. I guess I should wait 'til Monday when it's all official. Also please note that it's 6:30 on Friday morning, I totally woke up at 6 with all the excitement and haven't been able to get back to sleep. Losah!)

The Waiting Game

I am a woman obsessed.

We met a potential real estate agent on the weekend. She was cool and super nice and we instantly knew that she'd be a good match. She specializes in the area we're searching in, and the type of property we're seeking. In any case, she sends us a few properties to look at every day. We've seen some almost-exactly-right places thus far, but no match worth going to see since the weekend (Perfect But in a Totally Sketchy Neighbourhood).

In any case, even though we are still on the hunt, I feel like moving day is just around the corner. I've taken to this cleaning spree thing like a duck to water. In the last bunch of days, I've scrubbed, swept, pledged, mopped, cometed, decluttered, and re-organized like it was going out of style. I am just beyond psyched about getting the heck out of here and having a place. A place where I can do laundry every day if I want. A place where our equipment would be in closets or lockers instead of our living room. A place where the bedroom and the living room are separated by more than French doors. A place where the office has its own room. A place where the kitchen doesn't take over the bulk of the house. A place that's ours.

I'm on a countdown, man, and the waiting is going to put me out of my mind.

Smell Ya Later, 2005

Alright, I could just see you later. You weren't so bad. In fact, you were pretty darn nice to me -- moving to finally start to feel like a grown-up, letting me start grad school, meeting my first niece, really getting down with my job. Not so bad. And thus I bring you: This Year in Review.

Dee-doo-doo-dee-dee-doo-doo-dee-dee-doooo-doooo-deeeeet-dooooot. (A la This Week in God.)

January 2005:

• New Year's Eve in Toronto with the boy, his dear friend, and my coworker who calls me because her much-older man broke up with her. A night of many eyeliner reapplications and pitchers of beer ensues.
• Alex is born! I'm scared to hold her, but I think she's damn cool.
• I have some lame obsession with ponchos.

February 2005:

• I plan an event in Mexico for work and Dave and I get to go care of the company.
• I continue with the stupid poncho obsession.
• I see the Mexico pictures upon getting home and go obsesso style with WW.
• I get to go to my first welcome-to-grad-school initiation thing and feel thrilled and lucky.

March 2005:

• After the Mexico thing ends, I get really frustrated with work.
• The poncho obsession is dead.

April 2005:

• I get a surprise promotion at work with small bonus -- there are challenges left.
• I start school!

May 2005:

• School is nuts!
• Work is nuts!
• I love it and never want to be bored again.

June 2005:

• I get a fun raise.
• I barely have time to think about how much it rules.

July 2005:

• We go to the cottage!
• My mom and dad come to visit and love the city, pleasing me endlessly.

August 2005:

• I miss my final exam when a plane crashes puts me at a standstill on the 401, and don't get to rewrite for three whole weeks.
• We go to Halifax for ten days. It rules, and how. We see everyone and have an absolutely killer time.
• Ruby Foo and OMM get hitched! They have the nicest wedding evah, and I get sixties hair for the occasion.

September 2005:

• Second semester begins. I find myself loving statistics for the first time ever. My professor is a flipping saint.
• I am now a first-time manager.
• I think this is when I went to San Diego? The stopover at the creepy Atlanta airport is totally bizarre, but it's otherwise dreamy.

October 2005:

• My sister comes to visit! We have drinks, gossip, eat bad Chinese, and trek up to the cottage for Thanksgiving leftovers.
• I hire the first member of my new account team! She is a star.

November 2005:

• I visit New York City for work for the first time -- though it's fun, I am a little let down due to way over-the-top expectations.
• I visit Dallas for work for the first time -- though it's not terribly exciting, I actually have a spectacular time with my coworkers!
• I have a fantastic 28th birthday and am ever-so-thrilled with where I've come thus far in life.

December 2005:

• I hire two people in a row for a position someone has majorly fucked up and been fired over -- they both quit (one within ten hours, one after four days). I hire a third person who stays and works hard for the money.
• I am charmed by my husband's spending more time teaching me on the bunny hill than boarding himself when we go to Tremblant (aw).
• I spend the holidays in the sun but kind of can't wait for next year with my family.

And what are my resolutions?

1. Start looking for a condo/loft of our own as soon as we get back home. I've already stalked down a real estate agent, we're meeting her mid-month as soon as we get all our ducks in a row.
2. Learn to cook -- and seriously do it this time. Not just for a few weeks, like forever.

How I Spent My Christmas Vacation (And the Weeks Preceding It)

Gads, has it really been two weeks? Okay, here's a quick rundown of what happened since I posted last:

(1) Studied for then wrote exams. Macro and stats. Two classes, same professor. Nearly effing knocked his head off after the first, wanted to kiss him after the second. Made it through both alive.

(2) Went to Tremblant. Left at midnight to arrive at 7AM. Actually arrived at 3PM due to weather issues. Stayed at lodge on bottom of hill. Despite strike, managed to learn to snowboard on the bunny hill. Looked damn adorable in Burton gear. Ate delicious lamb and had creme brulee for the first time. Stopped using people's names, right hand, and numbers all at once. Enjoyed lots of beverages. Fell even more. Hands, knees, and jaw terribly bruised. All worth it.

(3) Finished up insane amount of pre-vacation work in hopes that nobody would be burdened during holidays. Miraculously completed commercial that should've taken three weeks in just over seven days. Removed the word Olympic from more phrases than seemed possible. Crashed into a non-work frenzy. Gossiped with the receptionist.

(4) Went to work holiday party. Gambled on the ponies. Came up even. Ate salmon and pate. Enjoyed more drinks.

(5) Flew to Montreal for a night. Ate incredible sushi at astonishingly empty restaurant. Went to bed early.

(6) Hit the airways for Barbados. Landed in jeans and a sweater, nearly passed out within fifteen seconds. Saw how the proverbial other half live. Hung out with sister-in-law's family. Dropped jaw at grocery prices. Ate way too much heavenly food. Understood the meaning of chichi while sadly dressed in Gap shorts and Tshirt. Cracked up at adorable niece. Slept in a bedroom whose French doors should never be shut. Fell in love with Banks Beer and rom-ponch (nutmeg!). Took too many self-portraits (note: see below for exhibit A). Ate heaviest sweet bread of all time. Learned what jug-jug was. Went wild for fan-say boats (note: see above view from patio for prime reason). Read a bunch of books. Saw an incredible number of British mummies in bikinis with flat stomachs and Chanel sunglasses. Befriended both locals and fellow visitors. Theoretically high-fived voice on radio saying parents should search kids' rooms. Told boss I would be happy to run international office (yes, in jest -- for now). Babysat. Swam. Snorkelled. Kayaked. Surely gained ten pounds. Vowed to never do White Christmas again.

And there's still a week to go. Sometimes, a girl just can't really complain.