Can you believe that once upon a time my chunky Momes looked like this? Wowsers.
Monday, November 07, 2005
Thursday, November 03, 2005
How Much is that Doggy in the Window?
Holy Mary Mother of all Things Cute. I just found this picture of The Momes from when he was around 8 months old and already able to slay me with his sulkiest sulk face.
It actually inspired me to try and learn how to put photos up onto this thingy. I hope it works.
Seriously though. I see this and I melt into a giant puddle of smoosh. Couldn't you just freakin' eat him up?
Also, look how nice the baseboards were in my old apartment. Missing those.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Smokin' in the Boys Room
I have not had a cigarette in eight days.
I'm only bringing this up because the smoking crew at work just got all bundled up and as they were heading out to the polluted, wet, grody smoking area downstairs they were talking about quitting and using all the same bullshit lines that smoker-me has said myself so many times:
"It's not about physical addiction, I just love it so much. I'm not ready to quit, that's all."
"It's really about learning WHY you smoke and then learning to avoid your own personal triggers."
"I don't really smoke that much anyway. Breathing the air outside is probably just as bad for me."
Now. I'm not saying that I'm quitting. Because to say that would probably send me hurtling downstairs to said grody smoking area to lick the nearest ashtray. Here's what I am saying. I got a little sick. The thought of smoking, even just my regular one a day, was absolutely revolting. So I just stopped smoking.
It's been ridiculously easy. Is this all there is to it? If so, yay! Last night, briefly I thought to myself, maybe I should smoke. Then I realized that Crown had taken the pack out with him and there were no butts in the house. Normally this would cause instant panic and end with me running out to the store in my pjs, swaering and moaning all the way and then smoking half a pack on the walk back home.
But no! Instead I was like, "Oh well." And I made tea and ate a few Halloween chocolate bars instead. Surely chocolate is better than rat poison, tar, cyonide and poo or whatever is in butts these days, right?
Anyway. Just want to share. Don't write to me and congratulate me on this, please, because as I said, I'm not quitting. Also, don't roll your eyes when you see me with a glass of red wine and butt on my roof next time you're over. Just take it for exactly what it is.
Eight smokeless days.
I'm only bringing this up because the smoking crew at work just got all bundled up and as they were heading out to the polluted, wet, grody smoking area downstairs they were talking about quitting and using all the same bullshit lines that smoker-me has said myself so many times:
"It's not about physical addiction, I just love it so much. I'm not ready to quit, that's all."
"It's really about learning WHY you smoke and then learning to avoid your own personal triggers."
"I don't really smoke that much anyway. Breathing the air outside is probably just as bad for me."
Now. I'm not saying that I'm quitting. Because to say that would probably send me hurtling downstairs to said grody smoking area to lick the nearest ashtray. Here's what I am saying. I got a little sick. The thought of smoking, even just my regular one a day, was absolutely revolting. So I just stopped smoking.
It's been ridiculously easy. Is this all there is to it? If so, yay! Last night, briefly I thought to myself, maybe I should smoke. Then I realized that Crown had taken the pack out with him and there were no butts in the house. Normally this would cause instant panic and end with me running out to the store in my pjs, swaering and moaning all the way and then smoking half a pack on the walk back home.
But no! Instead I was like, "Oh well." And I made tea and ate a few Halloween chocolate bars instead. Surely chocolate is better than rat poison, tar, cyonide and poo or whatever is in butts these days, right?
Anyway. Just want to share. Don't write to me and congratulate me on this, please, because as I said, I'm not quitting. Also, don't roll your eyes when you see me with a glass of red wine and butt on my roof next time you're over. Just take it for exactly what it is.
Eight smokeless days.
Monday, October 31, 2005
I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar
Who am I?
It's a tiny sentence with enormous weight. Three little words, one big ol' bag of worms. It's Halloween today, and thanks to Oprah, of all people, I'm sitting at home pondering what may just be the most difficult question in the world. Who am I?
Oprah challenged me again today (clearly I am someone who loves Oprah and is not afraid to admit it... just one facet of me, folks) by revealing that one of the themes of this season of The Oprah Show is to get people to think about that little huge question: Who am I?
Bare with me for a moment while I try to sort it out. Chances are, I'm not going to come up with an answer here and now, but it got me thinking, that's for sure. It got me thinking about Halloween and all the different costumes that I've worn throughout this life so far.
A clown? Yep. My very first Halloween costume, in fact. A big curly wig (sign of things to come?) and a puffy red nose that I refused to keep on. I am a clown still today, but only those closest to me get to see it. It's a silly little secret me that comes out from behind the seriousness and the dry humour every now and then and makes my nearest and dearest cringe because it's just so foolish. I can drive my sister crazy with my clownish behaviour, but truly she should be honoured because I love her enough to let her see it.
A baby. Well, aren't we all sometimes? I was an old baby and an old child. Serious and contemplative and wise beyond my years. I think that as I grow older, I also let myself be more babyish and childish. For me growing up means letting go of some of the restraint that I imposed on myself as a child and teen. Today I'm often blindsided by wonder and awe, the way that a child is when they begin to experience "firsts". I can only imagine that this childish behaviour will get stronger and more prevalent, particularly when I have children of my own, through whose eyes I can view the world all over again.
A witch. I sure can be. Cross me once and you'll sense her, lurking in the shadows. Cross me twice and you might catch a glimpse of the pointed hat and greenish pallor. Dare to cross me three times, something wicked your way comes. It's true I prefer to cast my spells from afar and I'm a docile, sensitive person by character. It takes a lot to set my inner witch flying off on her broomstick, but those very few souls that have summoned her out of me will take that haunting with them to the grave, I'm certain.
A cat. Outwardly, I'm a dog person. But I embrace my inner feline and revel in this side of myself. It's the side that allows me to stretch out long and proud in the sunlight and bask for hours without guilt. It's the fiercely independent side that knows that I can and will kill for my supper if I ever need to. My inner cat lets me see in the dark and ensures that no matter how far I fall, I'll always land firmly on my feet.
A candle. One of my stranger costumes, thought up by yours truly during one of my more creative childhood years. I'll always remember the look of panic on Mom's face when I told her that's what I wanted to be. Thank God for Commie who stepped up and helped us develop the biggest, bluest candle costume ever. Imagine two metal rings, a long tube of blue felt and a bright red toque with a giant red and orange cardboard flame stuck to it. I wore this to school people. TO SCHOOL. ME! Quiet, shy, reserved, me. Went to school dressed as a giant blue felt candle. I think this costume may well say more about who I really am than any of the others combined. There's a flame in there people, it's bright and it's hot. Sometimes it is so hot that is actually makes my outsides melt. I get so fired up with emotion that I cry big waxy blue tears at the simplest things. And I'm not afraid of that either. Those tears are what make me, well, me.
A fairy princess. I don't need to touch this one, do I? This has been my old stand-by costume for the last few years. It's a great way to release my inner girlie girl, throw on a tiara and wave my sparkly magic wand around at people. It's fun, it's frivolous, it's fancy. Enough said.
October 31, 2005. Possibly the first year ever that I've not done anything for Halloween. No costume (my black and white ghost pjs don't count). I'm 30 years old and sitting here, stripped of costumes. So where does that leave me now. Who am I?
I am a clown, a baby, a witch, a cat, a candle and a fairy princess. I am every costume that I have ever worn and every costume that I will wear from now on. If it seems convoluted, that's because it is.
Who am I? I am convoluted. And I wouldn't want it any other way.
Happy Halloween.
It's a tiny sentence with enormous weight. Three little words, one big ol' bag of worms. It's Halloween today, and thanks to Oprah, of all people, I'm sitting at home pondering what may just be the most difficult question in the world. Who am I?
Oprah challenged me again today (clearly I am someone who loves Oprah and is not afraid to admit it... just one facet of me, folks) by revealing that one of the themes of this season of The Oprah Show is to get people to think about that little huge question: Who am I?
Bare with me for a moment while I try to sort it out. Chances are, I'm not going to come up with an answer here and now, but it got me thinking, that's for sure. It got me thinking about Halloween and all the different costumes that I've worn throughout this life so far.
A clown? Yep. My very first Halloween costume, in fact. A big curly wig (sign of things to come?) and a puffy red nose that I refused to keep on. I am a clown still today, but only those closest to me get to see it. It's a silly little secret me that comes out from behind the seriousness and the dry humour every now and then and makes my nearest and dearest cringe because it's just so foolish. I can drive my sister crazy with my clownish behaviour, but truly she should be honoured because I love her enough to let her see it.
A baby. Well, aren't we all sometimes? I was an old baby and an old child. Serious and contemplative and wise beyond my years. I think that as I grow older, I also let myself be more babyish and childish. For me growing up means letting go of some of the restraint that I imposed on myself as a child and teen. Today I'm often blindsided by wonder and awe, the way that a child is when they begin to experience "firsts". I can only imagine that this childish behaviour will get stronger and more prevalent, particularly when I have children of my own, through whose eyes I can view the world all over again.
A witch. I sure can be. Cross me once and you'll sense her, lurking in the shadows. Cross me twice and you might catch a glimpse of the pointed hat and greenish pallor. Dare to cross me three times, something wicked your way comes. It's true I prefer to cast my spells from afar and I'm a docile, sensitive person by character. It takes a lot to set my inner witch flying off on her broomstick, but those very few souls that have summoned her out of me will take that haunting with them to the grave, I'm certain.
A cat. Outwardly, I'm a dog person. But I embrace my inner feline and revel in this side of myself. It's the side that allows me to stretch out long and proud in the sunlight and bask for hours without guilt. It's the fiercely independent side that knows that I can and will kill for my supper if I ever need to. My inner cat lets me see in the dark and ensures that no matter how far I fall, I'll always land firmly on my feet.
A candle. One of my stranger costumes, thought up by yours truly during one of my more creative childhood years. I'll always remember the look of panic on Mom's face when I told her that's what I wanted to be. Thank God for Commie who stepped up and helped us develop the biggest, bluest candle costume ever. Imagine two metal rings, a long tube of blue felt and a bright red toque with a giant red and orange cardboard flame stuck to it. I wore this to school people. TO SCHOOL. ME! Quiet, shy, reserved, me. Went to school dressed as a giant blue felt candle. I think this costume may well say more about who I really am than any of the others combined. There's a flame in there people, it's bright and it's hot. Sometimes it is so hot that is actually makes my outsides melt. I get so fired up with emotion that I cry big waxy blue tears at the simplest things. And I'm not afraid of that either. Those tears are what make me, well, me.
A fairy princess. I don't need to touch this one, do I? This has been my old stand-by costume for the last few years. It's a great way to release my inner girlie girl, throw on a tiara and wave my sparkly magic wand around at people. It's fun, it's frivolous, it's fancy. Enough said.
October 31, 2005. Possibly the first year ever that I've not done anything for Halloween. No costume (my black and white ghost pjs don't count). I'm 30 years old and sitting here, stripped of costumes. So where does that leave me now. Who am I?
I am a clown, a baby, a witch, a cat, a candle and a fairy princess. I am every costume that I have ever worn and every costume that I will wear from now on. If it seems convoluted, that's because it is.
Who am I? I am convoluted. And I wouldn't want it any other way.
Happy Halloween.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Waiting for the Night
Well, it may have finally happened. After 25 years, 19 albums, 14 world tours, Depeche Mode may have finally put out an album that (gasp, I can hardly write it)
I don't really... well... like.
That makes me so sad. Sad enough to sit in a dark room, blare "Never Let Me Down Again" and cry my eyes out. This is a band that has provided an ongoing soundtrack
to my entire life. I started out on album one, Speak and Spell, when I was probably around 8 years old and have never missed an album since, never mind not completely loved one.
In fact, I can hardly name any songs that I don't like. If I wanted to bother, I bet I could list the ones that I'm not fond of on my 10 fingers. Considering the amount of songs we're talking about, that's a pretty amazing thing.
Naturally, on October 17th when their latest album, Playing the Angel, hit the stands, I went out to buy it. Not loving it wasn't even an option. I'd already heard and loved the single, "Precious," so why wouldn't I love the whole album? But guess what? I don't.
Of course, I've only listened to it once all the way through, in the car, driving downtown in rush-hour traffic. I was distracted and not able to provide my full attention. Yet, there was no head-bopping, no turning it up at certain parts because of how beautiful it sounded, no skipping back to the beginning of a track because it was so good that I had to hear it again asap. None of it. None of the usual Depeche Mode reactions.
The fuck?
Could it be that they've gotten too old? Could it be that I have? I don't like either option. I'm going to give the album another try. Maybe it was my mood. Maybe it was the
SUV on my ass all the way through the city. Maybe it was the not-so-super speakers in the Mazda 3.
The real test will come on December 1, when me and the crew catch them live in the TDot. Full review to come after the fact. Until then I guess I'm just waiting for the night.
I don't really... well... like.
That makes me so sad. Sad enough to sit in a dark room, blare "Never Let Me Down Again" and cry my eyes out. This is a band that has provided an ongoing soundtrack
to my entire life. I started out on album one, Speak and Spell, when I was probably around 8 years old and have never missed an album since, never mind not completely loved one.
In fact, I can hardly name any songs that I don't like. If I wanted to bother, I bet I could list the ones that I'm not fond of on my 10 fingers. Considering the amount of songs we're talking about, that's a pretty amazing thing.
Naturally, on October 17th when their latest album, Playing the Angel, hit the stands, I went out to buy it. Not loving it wasn't even an option. I'd already heard and loved the single, "Precious," so why wouldn't I love the whole album? But guess what? I don't.
Of course, I've only listened to it once all the way through, in the car, driving downtown in rush-hour traffic. I was distracted and not able to provide my full attention. Yet, there was no head-bopping, no turning it up at certain parts because of how beautiful it sounded, no skipping back to the beginning of a track because it was so good that I had to hear it again asap. None of it. None of the usual Depeche Mode reactions.
The fuck?
Could it be that they've gotten too old? Could it be that I have? I don't like either option. I'm going to give the album another try. Maybe it was my mood. Maybe it was the
SUV on my ass all the way through the city. Maybe it was the not-so-super speakers in the Mazda 3.
The real test will come on December 1, when me and the crew catch them live in the TDot. Full review to come after the fact. Until then I guess I'm just waiting for the night.
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