About Marriage and Honesty

If there is anything I have learned in the last year of following along the lives of some of my favorite bloggers, it's that the best way to ensure your blog is successful is to be honest.

I think nearly all of my favorite blogs (this one, that one and the one over there) have posted at some point or the other about the difficult task of being honest and sharing some very personal and sometimes private feelings. And thoughts. And emotions.

So here goes.

I am a married woman. I like to think that all other married women experience the same things: the growing pains of learning to live along side this strange, new creature -- your husband.

There are times when I laugh at the things he does, times when we laugh together even. There are times that I am frustrated with what feels like an inability to communicate what I feel. There are times when we learn something together, about the other, and it's all beautiful and Hallmark-y and this-is-what-it's-all-about-y. And then there are times when I have this overwhelming, all consuming feeling that from the outside, my marriage has to be perfect.

I think that all married women feel that at some level at some point in their married lives. I would hazard to say that it falls somewhere after the "honeymooning" and  your 20 year high school reunion. Or maybe it's when you have kids and everything changes. I don't know. I'm just guessing.

At any rate, as likely every married woman feels, I feel like it's especially true for me. Mostly because I met my husband on July 29th, 2011. It's now July 20th, 2012 and we've been married long enough to have grown a baby. You do the math.

So I guess know what it is for me. It's that I am shouldering the load of what I think everyone else is thinking. It's a dangerous and slippery slope, lemme tell ya!

But even knowing that I don't know what everyone else is thinking, that I'm just assuming that's what everyone is thinking, doesn't stop the overwhelming desire to shed some serious crocodile tears out of frustration or exhaustion or just plain 'ol disappointment. I think what's worse, though, is that I feel like I can't tell anyone when things are not-so-sunny because I feel like my marriage has to be be perfect and that no one must know about the times -- which let's face it, there are a lot of little times -- when we are not perfect.

Or maybe it's the fact that I had someone really close to me call me up and spit venom at me for the better part of a half hour with particular emphasis on my serious lack of judgement in "rushing" in to this marriage. And a minor amount of emphasis on the fact that she was the only one that cared about me enough to be honest with me about it all.

Whatever it is, I seriously need to get over it 'cause my marriage isn't perfect. And it probably never will. And worst of all? Trying to gloss over that fact is exhausting.



LC

Some People's Children !!

A couple weeks ago, I had one of the worst weeks I'd had in a long, long time. I won't go in to the sordid details of it all, but suffice to say, I was pretty down in the dumps and definitely feeling that "woe is me", mean reds kinda feeling.
Amongst the issues I had that week, someone parked in my parking spot at home. Let me give you some context here. I live in a small-ish building with four floors of apartments and 7 apartments on each floor. We have a small, underground parking facility attached to our building. There is currently a waiting list to get in to that holy grail of parking.
Behind my building is a parking lot. It's surface parking, exposed to the elements, narrow and limited to about 10 spots. Most of those spots are occupied by various tenants and it's obvious which cars are assigned to which stalls. It's not secure or underground, but still, it's a guaranteed spot every time I come home.
Most of the time, that is.
I've had the misfortune, on occasion, to arrive home to find that my spot has been occupied by an unwelcome guest. I usually leave a note, park on the street where the parking is FREE and generally available, and move my car once the offending party has left.
It's happened more than once and my patience has worn thin on this issue. This is an assigned parking lot. You can't just park here.
That week that was so terrible was capped off by one such event. I came home to discover a black Ford F150 with a severely cracked windshield had parked in my space. Fuming, I considered boxing him in, but settled for writing this note:
This parking lot is assigned parking. You cannot park wherever you like. You are parked in my spot and I don't appreciate it. 
Not really rude, not really nice but very informative. I mean, maybe this guy didn't know? (I'm all about giving people the benefit of the doubt ...)
I was parked in the lot in a spot I knew was unoccupied and I kept a watch on the offending vehicle. When I saw someone get in to the driver's seat, I grabbed my keys and headed out to move my own car, assuming this guy was leaving.
Assumption Incorrect.
He moved his truck from my spot to someone else's.
(WTF!?)
The next day while driving home from work, I noticed something under my passenger windshield that I hadn't noticed earlier. I asked my man to pull over and lo and behold there was a note on my car. Under the far side of the windshield wiper as though the note's author didn't really want it to be seen. (When I leave notes on people's cars, I put it right under the driver's windshield so they can't miss it)
I pulled the note off and read it:
IGNORANT
Really? You parked in MY spot and I let you know that you can't do that and I am the one who is ignorant? Really?
Needless to say, I was livid. I knew where the owner of the black pick-up had visited. Knew which apartment he had been in. Conveniently, it was a main floor apartment that backed on to the huge concrete slab behind the building. I considered taking sidewalk chalk and writing the dictionary definition of "ignorant" facing the sliding doors to ensure it was seen.
I considered writing up a definition and posting it next to the mailboxes.
I considered writing a note that explained that it is ignorant to assume you can park in a parking lot where you don't live and posting that note at the mailboxes.
In the end, I decided to
just
let it
go.

Until last night.

I had been out with my man and a few of our friends to see the Muppet Movie (go see it it's awesome!) and arrived home around 9:30pm to see that there was a black Ford F150 parked in my spot.
Are
You
Kidding?

I was livid. Absolutely livid.
This time, I DID box him in. And left him the following note:
This parking lot is assigned parking. I am not ignorant for pointing that out. If you would like to be let out, you can call me. 
I signed the note with my phone number, snapped a few shots of the way I was parked and his license plate in case he decided to ram his way out and went inside.

2.5 hours later .... 
I was snoozing on the couch along to the movie Elf, when I heard my phone ring. I roused Timo with now success.
"Hey, it's probably that guy that wants his truck out," I said, "Will you come with me to move it?"
It was nearly midnight and I needed reinforcements - just in case.
I went out to the car to see that there was a passenger in the truck and it was running. I got in to my car and my phone rang,
"Hi, I think I must have parked in your spot"
YOU THINK!?
I told him I'd move the car and started it up, Timo in the passenger seat. As the driver ascended the stairs, I rolled down my wind.
"This is TWICE!" I said, holding up two fingers. He came right up to my driver's window and shoved a box of cookies in to my face.
"Merry Christmas," he said.
"What?" I asked
"Merry Christmas," he repeated, forcing the cookies all the way in to the car. I took them from him, muttering my thanks.
"I'd rather you just didn't park in my spot!" I called after him.

So now I'm left to wonder, did he park in my spot out of spite? Did he really just forget? (unlikely, IMO, since he parked on the opposite side of the lot when he moved it the first time) Did he really feel badly about his poor decision? So many questions that can only be answered with chocolate covered lady fingers.

L

Sharing Funny Stories

A long time ago, in a galaxy far away ... a galaxy called London, in a place called Blockbuster in the year 2001, a funny thing happened*....
I was young and still in high school, working part time at a video store to earn some cash to put gas in the family guzzler so I could have some independence get to work (it's a vicious cycle). I had a number of regular customers at the now-defunct-once-rental-giant; I could recognize most by face and some of those faces even sparked a synapse that caused me to remember their names. The particular fella I'm about to tell you about, though, was one of the few that I knew by face but not by name.
He was a blonde, stocky character that would come in to the store on Friday nights and Sunday afternoons. On those visits, he was always either fighting with his girlfriend on his cell phone or fighting with his girlfriend in person as they walked through the doors. She had a ring on an important finger and had told me previously that they were engaged on one of her solo visits to our location. Though they usually started out rocky, by the time they'd toured the New Release Wall and sauntered up to my counter, snacks in hand, they had reconciled.
One sunny, Spring morning I was on my way to school - High School - wearing a favorite outfit that showed off my erm ... shapeliness. It was second period (I had first period spare ... amazing) and there were few people on the road and no one on the sidewalk. I saw a car coming towards me and heard some brutish comments as the driver passed me. Then the car turned around and pulled up alongside me.
"Hey!" the guy inside shouted
"Hi," I turned and smiled, but kept walking. He slowly drove -- the wrong way on the shoulder -- beside me.
"You're pretty fine,"
"And you're pretty white, to be using that expression," I thought to myself.
"Gimme your number," he demanded.
I smirked and shook my head.
"Okay, then take mine, hold on, I'll write it down,"**
I waited patiently and politely. The man was a young twenty something that I thought looked awfully familiar. He had peach-fuzzy, blonde hair and a round face. He was smoking, holding the cigarette between his lips while he wrote his number down on a matchbook. He looked up at me and handed me the matchbook and I realized -- this was the guy from Blockbuster. I waited for him to recognize me, though he did not. I smiled, took the matchbook and continued on my way. I folded the matchbook up and realized that this classy guy - a guy whom I had seen on several occasions with his girlfriend/fiancee - had written his number on a matchbook that he'd picked up the last time he'd been at The Forum -- the most notorious strip club on the West Side.

Elsie P

PS - He came in to the store several times after that day and never once recognized me from that day he stopped me on my way to school.


* Well, actually, lots of funny things happened. This is just one that sprang to mind today when I was walking to work and saw a matchbook on the ground.
** This was, after all, 2001. Not all of us had cell phones and smart phones and bump capabilities.

Growing up

Over time, people change.

We all change.

It's a brilliant and exciting time we live in where all of us are in a constant state of evolution.

We are growing in ways we may not realize right now or ever. 

We are growing in ways that are ... obvious.

Painfully so. 

Having survived my early 20's (a period I define as ages 20-23) and subsequently conquered (with mad skill) my mid twenties (that would be 24-26) I am, in a few short weeks, preparing to embark on my late twenties. (27-29 for those of you playing along at home). As we all know, the late twenties is a march whose end lays in first real milestone of adulthood: Thirty.

Now, when I say that there are ways that we see -- painfully -- that we've changed, I do, in fact, have an example for you. 

It involves a shot glass.

A piece of glassware that has been instrumental in my life over the last 9  years. (Yes, I realize the math on that has me drinking shots before the legal age. Get over it! But don't tell my mum, k??)

So, you ask, what integral part has this 1oz wonder played in my life? 

I shall tell you. 

In my (almost) early twenties, I learned how to do shots. 

And I did lots of 'em. Y'know, For practice...

I would have to say that the shot of choice for me then was Tequila. The reason was that I had been brought in to the world of shots by hard liquor. And for those of you out there who have ever shot hard liquor, you know it doesn't come much harder than Tequila.

The guys I used to hang out with liked to drink it and more so liked to make girls drink it when they were obnoxious at the bar -- obnoxious in the form of asking the boys to buy them drinks.  A girlfriend of mine was behaving in such a manner as to deserve the purchase of said shot and I was merely a by product of this particular night. Subsequent events turned me in to part of the boys' group. Subsequent events meaning that they set the shot in front of me, I'd never done it before, and I just ... shot it. No salt, no lemon.

Straight

Up 

Tequila.
Apparently that was impressive.
Especially considering I thought it was quite tasty and didn't make that nasty "WTF!?" face afterwards. It endeared me to them and I was immediately welcomed as part of the group.

In my early-to-mid-twenties, I took a bartending course and found that I loved to be behind the bar. The boys from my early twenties owned a house that they all lived in together that had - you guessed it - a bar in the basement. One night, after I completed my course, they stocked the bar and threw a huge party. And yours truly was the bartender. At the time, I was using shot glasses to make money, so to speak. Tips for bartenders - especially hot, blonde, twenty-something ones - are pretty good. Usually. In this period of my late-early-twenties-to-early-mid-twenties I also learned the art of the body shot.
Ahhhh the body shot.
I will leave it to you find out the intricate details of the body shot.
Or the hooter shooter.
Ooohh to be a young, twenty-something.

Yesterday, was my birthday. I have officially (in my mind) entered my late twenties.
And you know what I use my shot glass for now?

 Eggs.
A softboiled egg in the morning, and a cup of herbal tea (thanks Tink!)

Oh, how the times have changed.

Elsie P

PS - What do you use your shot glasses for?

Sad monkey?

So, as I mentioned in this post, a very wonderful friend of mine has headed off to Japan for a few months and then back "home" to work and re-group.

But not before spending a week with me. A WHOLE WEEK! In my apartment, enjoying my life with me. And you know what? I really enjoyed having someone around. It was nice to feel like a part of a whole, y’know?

We had some great chats and spent a lot more time than I would have expected, in the mall of all places.

We enjoyed massages at the spa and good meals at home and a few drinks on Friday night. A few too many, I should say...(that's another story.)

I was absolutely okay as we drove to the airport.

I was absolutely okay as we checked him in and sorted out his bags.

I was absolutely okay as we walked to security.

I was moderately okay as he kissed me goodbye and headed to his gate.

I was less-than-moderately okay throughout the day as I got text updates from him before he left North America.

I was definitely not okay when the workday closed and I realized I was going home to an empty apartment.

I was less-than-definitely-not-okay as I got in the car.

(I cried. A lot. All the way home! I can admit it!)

And I was sad when I got home.

I couldn’t eat.

I had a beer, but it didn’t help.

I talked on the phone, twice, with my best friend (who happens to be his very dearest friend as well).

I toddled off to bed around 8PM after contemplating writing sad, emo poetry.

I fell asleep instantly.
I am sure that this had to do with the fact that I hadn’t slept well the night before and was up at 5am.

I let myself be sad on Tuesday. I let myself feel the weight of his absence and grieve the loss of having someone to hang out with.  I let myself feel sorry for myself and I let myself sit on the couch in sweatpants watching trashy MTV Reality shows.

On Wednesday, I pulled it together. I got up early, I made breakfast, I styled my hair and I put on a cute outfit (I promise I’ll start doing outfit pics reallyreallyreallysoon) and I went to work. And I smiled. I checked the time in Tokyo three or four times, wondered if he’d made it all okay and whether or not he was safe. I texted with my best friend and we had some laughs. I teared up a few times during the day and my nose had that prickly-I’m-gonna-cry feeling twice. But I didn’t cry.

This is a really exciting adventure for him and a truly wonderful opportunity for me to refocus and re-centre myself for the year ahead.

But I was a bit of a sad monkey.

And that, friends, is okay.

Elsie P

PS – How do you deal with being sad?

When I grow up ...

I don't know how many times I've written about this since it happened. 

But +1 to the total, I suppose!! 

When I was a freshman in High School, I had a fabulous Honors English Teacher. Mrs. N was not only my teacher but also my softball and basketball coach. (I used to be an athlete, neat, huh?)

Anyway, Mrs. N had this great IDEA...a TRADITION she planned on starting with the kids in our honors class. She was going to force give us a chance to preserve our teenage selves. 

All of our hopes, dreams, favorite bands, favorite moments; our ideas and thoughts and most importantly,

how we viewed the world and ourselves. 

It became an ongoing Independent Study Project. 

We had a list of a hundred or so topics and things to write about 

Make a list of your 10 favorite movies

Write a letter to your graduating self from your present-day self

Make a list of 10 things that make you smile

Write an Essay about what you would change about yourself and why.

.That one hit me. 

Write an Essay about what you would change about yourself and why.

That's a task, isn't it? 

I wrote the essay and turned it in and as was the fashion, Mrs. N read all our submissions, gave us a grade out of 10, wrote comments (at least on mine she did) and sealed them. 

The agreement was, you would receive your time capsule on Graduation Day to open before the ceremony. I wound up moving my Junior Year and thus was given the Time Capsule to take with me. 

On graduation day (June 2nd 2001) I opened up my capsule and dove in to its contents. 

It really wasn't all that eye-opening. 

In fact, I remembered 95% of everything - word for word - that I had written. 

(I have a wicked awesome memory, you see) 

But the best part was reading Mrs. N's comments. 

I remembered during the course of that year, Mrs. N had singled out "someone" who was going above and beyond with the project.

She described how that person not only completed the mandatory 16 items from the list, but also completed several more - with incredible enthusiasm. 

In front of our whole class, she would read a few of the things that people had written. 

Nothing so much as to give away who the author was. 

But I always knew when they were mine.

And often, they were. 

She singled me out (anonymously) by telling the class that not only had one person written a list of things that made them smile, but had gone from 10 to 100 things and given the explanation as to why they made the list. Impressive, she had said. 

I, of course, blushed fiercely from the middle of the room. 

However, I digress. 

The essay. 

Do you know what I wrote about? 

(Of course you don't)

I wrote that if I could change just one thing about myself it would be the fact that I wanted to change anything at all. You see, I wanted to strive not to change who I was in to something else, but rather to accept who I was and not only be happy with that but also appreciate how awesome a thing it was to be me. 

Mrs. N wrote some pretty nice comments in her lovely purple penmanship. 

Here it is, approaching ten years from my graduation from high school (!) and I still feel the same way. The only thing I would want to change is that I want to change things. 

I don't really want smaller thighs, I want to love the thighs I have and accept them for all their glory. 

I don't want thicker hair, I want to cherish the hair I do have (while I have it ...)

I don't want a smaller bust (oh, wait. Yeah, that one I do want....back to the drawing board...)

But you get the idea. 

We ask this of our kids, ourselves, our friends ... what would you change about yourself? 

How about this year, we try accepting ourselves for who we are? Continue to grow, continue to become the people we are meant to be and when we realize who that person is, love them for it. In spite of it. Because they.are.perfect.

Elsie P

PS - what have you learned to accept about yourself?

So long, 2010

As seems to be the popular fashion today, everyone I know is writing their "goodbye" to 2010 and reflecting on the year they had. 

Never one to buckle to peer pressure (haha) I am going to follow suit. 

Only, though, because I want to.

Not because everyone else is. 

I swear. 

So, one of the Blogs I read belongs to B.A. and you can find it here

Today, she posted a great lil post about the year, broken down by month, and what happened in each month, complete with links and photos going back to her posts that she's done over the year. 

I love this idea. 

But, as I have not put nearly enough thought in to the year to break it down by months, I will merely attempt a chronological retelling of the year. 

Without cool links to my previous posts. 

So, to recap my year ...
Winter...the first half of the year started out a little rocky. I split with my longtime boyfriend whom I complained about quite a bit on this blog. He was messy, lazy and didn't work consistently. 

We went through some pretty major financial ... shit. And it sucked. And at the time, I blamed him. A lot. For everything. Whether that was right or wrong, at the time that was how I felt. 

Looking back on it, you know, it probably wasn't entirely his fault and I was a little hard on him. But at the time, that was how I felt and there was precious little he was doing to change that view of mine. 

So, we made the decision to split up. 

Actually, truth be told, I think I made the decision when I woke up on "Christmas" day to find that he had left in the  middle of the night and wasn't returning my messages, answering my calls or emails. Oh, and did I mention he took my car, to boot?
Thus, the new year began with me at my folks place, and found me in the coming months looking for an apartment of my own.

Spring...And I found one.
Coincidentally enough, in a little building my father had lived in when he first moved out here. It was furnished and paid for by his company and served as "home" before he and my mother purchased their new house.
Funny how that works ... just about 4 years to the day, I moved in to a brand-spanking new apartment. And I live there still. Though I still haven't made it my own. Yet.
That was April.

May found me on a plane to visit a very dear friend that I hadn't seen in four plus years. The rest of the summer found me on that same air-route to the same destination to see that same friend ... and as it turns out, her fiance's best friend with whom I had developed somewhat of a romantic relationship.
Those first few months on my own were tough. Really tough.
So tough, in fact, that I spent the first night in my apartment not in my apartment at all.
I was lonely and scared and sad and just. couldn't. do it.
So I packed up and spent the next few nights at my mum and dad's.
When I finally thought I had the nerve to sleep in my own place, I realized I was wrong and begged my little sister to stay the night with me. It wasn't until night 5 that I slept there alone.
But I started a lot of searching for me and doing things for me and spending money on me and made those first few months about me. A lot about me. And it felt good.
I started walking to and from work and also going for walks on the weekends and in the evenings. Long walks. Like more than an hour long walks.
I felt great.

Summer...A really good friend of mine got married in July and I spent two weeks away from work, away from home, vacationing back east, capping my trip off with her wedding.
Her fabulous, beautiful wedding that I was so honored to be invited to.
Though it was only fitting, considering 5 years before I had introduced her to this man that she would eventually marry.
Matchmaking success!!

Fall... came, and with it some decisions about my life. I was given the opportunity to plan this fabulous event. Well, really, it was just an event until I took it over. (haha) then it became fabulous.
It gained me some international recognition within my company and put me in a position where I was offered a job in Houston. Sadly, once I had made the decision that I could uproot my life and start over and that it was a good time a great opportunity, etc etc, I was told that the company had decided to go in a different direction.
This got me started thinking about a new tattoo. (Odd? sure. Left field? Definitely. But I promise, in a year, when I finally decide whether or not it's something I actually want to do, it will ALL make sense.)

Winter...got me thinking about my worth within this company and what I wanted to be doing in the next five to ten years. So what do I want to do?
Well, the opportunity for me to take on a bit of a Human Resources Role was presented. After a chat with the president of our company (where he told me that he appreciates everything I do and that he sees a greater role for me in the coming years...!!!) I decided that I needed to head back to school to gain the knowledge to succeed in this potential new role.

And here we are, on the precipice of a new year which will bring with it some new opportunities, new friends, new experiences and new heartaches. I greet it with open arms having blown my kiss to 2010.


Your closing night has come, 2010. Take a bow.
It's time to strike the set and get ready for the next show.

Elsie P

PS - what did you learn in 2010?

You're lucky I'm your Ex.

I suppose that title could be taken a few ways.

One being, I'm so bat $#%! crazy you're glad you're rid of me.

That's not the way I mean it today though.

Or any day.

I'm not bat $#%! crazy.

Am I?

I digress.

So, little known fact

(I may not have blogged about the dissolution of my relationship)

I own a house with my Ex, MC Jammie Pants.

No, he's not a rapper

or a DJ.

It's an inside joke.

Anyway, JP and I split in April

but we still own the house we bought together.

He lives in it.

In July, we had a wicked hail storm that caused lots of damage

to lots of peoples cars.

And, apparently, to our house.

Little did I know, JP had filed a claim through our home insurance.

Thus resulted in an investigation,

an assessment,

a decision,

and a cheque being issued.

Again, UNBEKNOWNST to me.

So imagine my shock and surprise

my elation and delight

the heart rate increase I felt

when I opened a letter from my insurance company

and saw a cheque.

A big cheque.

With my name on it.

In the amount of

$6894.06

When I picked myself up off the floor, I began to leaf through the information attached.

"Dear Elsie and JP,"

Blah blah blah

"...claim from hailstorm dated..."

blah blah blah

"..has been assessed..."

blah blah blah

"...cheque enclosed..."

blah blah blah

"...notify us when work is complete."

blah.

Well darn!

I had really, really, REALLY hoped that this was going to be one of those days where the Monopoly scenario comes true...

The day that I land on the Community Chest square,

drawing a card that reads:

"Bank error in your favor! Collect $6894.06!"

Today, sadly, was not that day.

Elsie P

PS - The reason JP is lucky he has ME for an ex

is because I immediately called him and left him a message.

I also texted him to tell him I urgently needed to speak with him.

When he called back, mere minutes later, I told him about the cheque.

Because it was made out to Elsie AND JP

(as opposed to Elsie OR JP)

it had to go in to an account that bears both our names.

Luckily, we have such an account.

(courtesy of this smarty pants that occasionally thinks two steps ahead)

And I have access to that account through my bank card.

(The one I didn't lose.)

And I deposited said cheque this AM

Without just cashing it and pocketing the money.

Like some people's exes would have done.

Because that thought didn't even cross my mind.

(more than once)

Trick or Treat!

In case you were living in a hole

and didn't know

this weekend was Halloween.

And lots of funny things happened this weekend.

Let's work backwards based on what's freshest in my mind.

Last night, as I was leaving my mum and dad's place after our weekly dinner and Amazing Race evening,

the trick-or-treaters were out in full swing.

As my mum walked me to my car, a threesome of

terrifying twelve year olds left the neighbour's house

and headed across the lawn to our front door.

Right.

Through.

The Garden.

While we were standing

RIGHT THERE.

I mean, c'mon kids!

So of course, mum let's them know that she doesn't want them cutting through the garden!

Please.

As they headed to the door mum also told them that

Uhhh, we're not trick or treating this year.

And away they went on their merry way.

Until they got to the grass between our house and the next neighbour.

Where they promptly mocked my mother by saying,

"Don't walk thruuuuuuu!"

"We have to go ARRRRRROOOOOOUUUND"

To which my mother whispered in my ear

"I EFFING hate kids!"

Hilarious.

Elsie P

PS - I censored the full on F Bomb mum actually dropped....

The War on Type A

eBay is waging psychological warfare on all Type A personalities.

As someone who has recently been pegged as “type A” and told to “put down the planner” more than once, I feel that it is my civic duty to inform you of the consequences of not only signing up for an eBay account, but pressing that dreadful “confirm bid” button.

I used to love eBay. I searched for things hi and low. I even bought a pair of boots on eBay! (that’s another story, make sure you ask me about it because it ends with me in tears and my father stifling laughter from the computer)

Over the years, I lost touch with my online shopping self. (This, in hindsight, was a good thing) However, a guy in my office just purchased a silicone keyboard cover for his wife’s Macbook.

It only cost him $3.00.

And no shipping costs.

Thus my passion for eBay was rekindled.

Having learned my lesson about purchasing things that need to fit something that isn’t standardized (i.e. me) I steered clear of my one true love, shoes. I did stay in the realm of accessories.

First I checked out purses and handbags. There are tons of adorable, underpriced gems I’d love to have arrive at my postal box. However, when we’re talking about $228.00 for a $1200 Louis, “underpriced” still isn’t cheap enough for this girl.

I was looking more for the $1.00 or less items.

Chanel just hasn’t cornered that market yet.

So what did I find??

This:

And this:

And this:

And this:

And this: ( I know it's the same as THAT but in a different color)

At the risk of giving away just HOW addicted I became to eBay, I won’t tell you which ones I purchased.

I’ll show you which ones I didn’t:

So how is this eBay’s fault, you ask? Well, there’s an APP for that.

No, seriously, eBay has an app for my iPhone.

And it buzzes me when things I am watching are about to end.

It sends me this message: "Don't miss out! XX Item is about to end!"

Or when people outbid me.

My competitive spirit thrives.

My adrenalin kicks in.

I literally watched an auction for 3m46s as it counted down to my victory.

This has TROUBLE written allllll over it.

Elsie P

 

PS - I mean, do you know what the SELL on eBay??

EVERYTHING.

2010 Telus Terror

If you were following my FB today, you would have noticed a few updates (ha!) about my mobility provider, Telus, and soemthing I had dubbed the "2010 Telus Terror". Call me over dramatic, call me crazy, call me what you will. But if you had opened your monthly cell phone bill and saw the following numbers, you'd have behaved as I did.

$2175.03

I'll give you a minute to get over your shock.

(1 one thousand, 2 one thousand -- DEEP BREATH -- 3 one thousand) feeling better?

Need me to grab you a paper bag??

I know what you're thinking.

Elsie, WTF!?

Trust  me, I was thinking something incredibly similar.

I'll save you the gory, boring details and jump right to the bullet point meat and potatoes of the story.

1) I got a new phone in June and the guy at the store didn't add my 5 fave numbers that I am allowed to call and text for free.

2) 4 of those five numbers are LONG DISTANCE

3) I talk a lot.

4) Like, a lot a lot.

5) Like, over 2500 mins in a month.

6) That's roughly 42 hours a month, or an hour and a half a day  

7) I told you it was a lot.

8) Telus had a system upgrade, conveniently timed to begin the MOMENT I opened my $2000.00 bill

9) Their system upgrade went awry and they were unreachable for 3 days.

10) I spent over 3 hours on hold today.

11) I heard more than 19 times that I should try back tomorrow

12) I tried back several hours later 18 times.

13) I finally got a hold of them

14) I no longer have a $2000+ cell phone bill.

15) Telus and I are (almost) friends again.

The end.

Elsie P

PS - Moral of the story : Don't just pay your bill as it comes in. Check it out, scrutinize it. You'll thank me.

What smells??

So, last time I was at the grocery store (roughly a month ago) I picked up some new laundry detergent because I was running low-ish and it was on sale and it was pay-day. It was buy one get one free. Sunlight, which I've never used before. But it looked okay and smelled good in the store.

Sidebar: I have been loving the Spray and Wash aka Resolve lately. I add it to all my wash loads and I not only love the smell but I also love the job it does!!

I've washed all my clothes with this new laundry detergent. (Sunday is laundry day at my maison) And I started wearing said clothes on Monday. The scent is called, Warm Summer or something. So of course, I had visions of invoking the following feelings with this new detergent:

And This:

And maybe even this:

Ahhhh Summer.

Instead? I keep getting whiffs of this:

What gives????

Elsie P

PS - It still reminds me of summer....

Ideas are like ...

...bums. Everyone has one. And a lot of them stink.
There is nothing worse than having an idea only to find out that someone has already had it, registered it and begun making it a reality. Sheesh!

My idea required me to register a domain name. After many conversations and much (un)solicited advice, I decided to see if anyone had my domain name. When I plugged it in to my address bar, it was already registered. Darn. Then I tried a variation. Taken. The [ .ca ] version was available, however, I was told that I would want to make sure I registered the [ .com ] because anyone going to my site may be accidentally re-directed to the other site. Which is porn. Oooops.

Is there any domain name out there that hasn't been bought up!??

Sheeeesh!!


Elsie P

PS - I am not giving up on this one. I know I've got a good one and I am going to keep think sideways to figure out how to make it work!

PPS - Moral of this story is DON'T get discouraged when your idea is already "taken". Take comfort in knowing that it really was a good idea 'cause great minds think alike...

The difference between men and women.

Who does this? It's difficult to see, but, the two eggs on the far left? They are whole eggs.

Everything else in the carton? Used eggs. Shells. Who does this!?

It was nice of him to cook dinner. It was not nice to wake up on Sunday morning to this:

That would be Kraft Tuna Casserole (way better than you  might think)

Kind of like that nursery rhyme..."Some like it in the pot....nine days old"

I am not that SOME.

$11 Jugs

Need I say more??
I went to an art show yesterday after work. It was a student show-and-sale where basically, all the art students trot out all the art that they've produced over the last school year and sell it off.
Some of it was really, really good.
Some of it was not.

We elected to go on the day the art show opened; the art is more plentiful and less picked over. Well, the day it opened happened to be a Thursday - a work day. I went armed with my Visa and just a few bucks, I dind't want to go overboard. I also thought ahead and grabbed a pair of jeans to wear to the show. I work in an office and on that day, I was wearing a dressier outfit than most of the other guys in our office and seeing as I was going to the show with one of those guys, it just made it a little more casual.

Well, the show was great. It was - for lack of a better word - fairly inspiring. I have some great ideas for stuff I want to throw on the walls at my new place. It also gave me an idea for a textile I'd like to create to make a hoodie out of. Neat neat neat! I love art!

It turned out to be just one guy from the office and myself that went out to the show. As we were headed back out to catch a train home, my colleague asked if I wanted to maybe grab a drink or something before we headed home. Never one to refuse booze (and also being particularly parched at that moment) I agreed. Enthusiastically.
Luckily, we were at the School of Art and Design...and we all know what that means: Campus Bar.
I can't recollect the last time I was at a student bar -- likely because of what transpired whilst I was there -- but I do remember what they are all like: Big, open space. Cheap tables and folding chairs. A stage. Students. And that smell : dirty draught lines, pencil lead and a serious need to visit the laundromat. Magical.
The special? $11 Jugs of Pilsner.

The conversation was great, the beer was good (and cheap!) and I was really, really enjoying myself. I haven't been getting out lately or really talking to anyone - mostly as I don't have that many friends - and I found myself just genuinely having a great time. So, when my accomplice asked if I'd like to order another round, I of course said yes. To the second, third and fourth jugs. (For those that don't know, a jug is about 60oz of beer).

Here the story gets a little fuzzy. I will highlight what I remember:
I needed something to eat. The beer was sitting in my stomach making me very, very inebriated.
We had to leave to get something to eat.
We walked in - trashed - to a restaurant. (I feel sorry for that waitress - it was only about 9pm)
We ordered another beer. (not my idea)
We ate something called 'tri tip' beef. (I thinkit was good, I don't remember how I was able to hold the fork and knife...)
I couldn't finish, we left and caught a train. Back to his place.
Wait, wait, wait. Before we got ON the train we ran in to two homeless guys. Ted and Gary. I know their names were Ted and Gary because Ted was, apparently, a graduate of some sort of Dale Carnegie Course. He kept saying, "I'm Ted, he's Gary you're Elsie and he's _______" over and over. We reasoned that this was because he was trying to remember our names. In hindsight, I think it may have been the schizophrenia...
We bought candy - Japanese Candy - from Gary and ate it on the train. Delicious. It was like Starburst, almost.
We got to the train station and called a cab.
I spent the night at a co-worker's house and wore one of his sweaters to work the next day.
It was a psuedo-walk-of-shame.
I was super hungover.
For the first time, at work.
It was ... bad.
If anyone noticed I was wearing his clothes, they didn't say.
They did notice I was ... a little worse for wear, let's say.

Elsie P

PS - As the day goes on, I am remembering more and more about last night...good thing or bad?

Stuff you learn as a kid.

Let's talk about stuff you learn when you're a kid.

1. When you take a shower, you either open the door or turn on the fan. (and when you're done, you turn the fan on for at least 15 minutes to avoid moisture issues) 
2. When you finish with the toothpaste/deodorant/lotion you put the cap back on.
3. After you use something in the shower, you put it back where you picked it up from.
4. When you're done with your towel, you hang it up.
5. Once you're finished supper, you put your dishes in the sink/dishwasher.
6. Upon entering the house, you remove your shoes...and place them out of the way of the door.
7. As you leave a room, turn off the light!
8. If you're done with your cup, put it in the dishwasher/sink.

Remember this stuff??

Sewing Emergency

I received a frantic phonecall yesterday at work. It was the middle of the day and highly unusual for her to call and not e-mail.
When I answered the phone, we barely had a the hellos out of the way before she conveyed her reason for calling.
"I have a sewing emergency."
Not going to lie, the first thought that came to my mind was, Why aren't you calling mom? but I was thrilled to be the top of the phone tree for sewing emergencies.
"Lay it on me," I said, "Did you blow up the machine? Is it smoking or on fire?"
I asked those questions first because if the answer was "yes" I knew the problem was beyond me.
She laid out the problem for me - short version is that the spool of thread she had been told to purchase was gargantuan and thus did not fit on her sewing machine spindle and she did not have an empty normal person spool to re-spool the giant on to - and the first thing I asked her was "Did you Google?"
I'll admit, I had only one solution for her: Re-spool the thread. We tried that (by we I mean she, but I offered an excellent level of moral support over the phone while googling to see what other people have done in this emergency.) I found a solution, a spindle adaptor. But upon further investigation this proved to be something you'd find if you were in the proximity of someone with plumbers butt...no good.
She told me that solution would have to be able to be fixed by one of three stores: Mac's Milk, A&P or the Library.
Easy.
Go to the library and find this book: Sewing 911.
Not a viable solution, apparently. Need something a little more immediate.
After a few false starts - and several INGENIOUS suggestions by moi, such as create a spindle out of papier mache - I could not find the solution she was looking for...aside from picking up one of these for future use:

This is what I came up with:
1. Hand wind the thread on to a bobbin, fit the bobbin on to your machine and use it for the main spool.
           This did not work because apparently, the bobbins she bought were spy-quality and self-destructing
2. Hand stitch the item you are preparing.
           This did not work because the amount of hand stitching would have caused carpal tunnel in anyone
3. Call Mum.
           This proved to be the most appropriate solution.

So tell me, what did you wind up doing? What would you do?

Elsie P

PS - I have it on good authority that the options Mum presented were similar to mine. WIN!!

Girls Don't Like Boys

Girls like cars and money. Or so the song goes.
I will never, ever forget being out with my boyfriend at the time.
I should have listened to what my joke was telling me.
We were out bowling. It was myself, my B/F at the time (Dave) and another couple.
It was a Sunday nite, all you can bowl extravaganza! It was $5 for the night plus $2.50 for the shoes. Talk about a cheap date!
There was a song that came on and we all laughed at the video that played in the screen above us. It was something about someone's mom. Volvo driving or otherwise. The next song that hit the waves was Girls Don't Like Boys, Girls Like Cars and Money to which my boyfriend said, "It's so true".
Well, maybe it is true. I am sure there are a lot of you out there who are dating someone because of the nice stuff he buys you, or the dinners he takes you to or the way you feel in his flashy car with the top down and everyone staring at you as though you were a movie star. (Let's be honest, if I could find that, I'd milk it for at least a month. Okay 2...years...)
However, Dave was not one of those guys. So I appropriately replied: "Yes Dave, I am with you for your EI cheque and your [10 year old] Purple Accent."
Looking back, that should have been a warning sign and maybe even a deal breaker.

Elsie P

PS - the guy I am currenlty dating? No vehicle. No cheque...not even EI!!

Girls Don't Like Boys, Girls Like Cars and Money - Good Charlotte

Panty Hose

What is it about the fashion industry? They insist on mocking women and seem to have made their money making it difficult for women to look good and feel comfortable doing it.
Normally, I wear stockings. But this morning I couldn't find the garters - and as I am writing this I just remembered where they are - to hold the stockings up. (The other trick I have is to just tuck the top of the stocking under the super hold of a pair of Spanx...but I am Spanx-less ATM) So I am stuck with a pair of panty hose. Ill fitting panty hose.
The top keeps rolling and insists on transforming in to something Britney Spears would consider stylish - ultra low rise. Normally, I'd be down for that, but as it happens, ultra-low-rise-panty-hose are not as comfortable as you'd imagine.
I was walking down the hall in my office - side note, my office has 90% glass walls...there is no where to hide - and I could feel the rolling start and gain momentum. Then it happened: The panty hose wave kept going...not bothering to stop at the top of my underwear, not bothering to stop at the bottom of them either. Nope, the hose have decided to head straight for my ankles. With every step I take, the roll gains another 2 inches in the race to the finish. It's now me vs them: a battle to the bathroom. Who will make it to their destination first?? With my money on the 'hose, I discreetly hide behind my desk and pretend to be changing my shoes while I tug, furiously, at the unruly hose-roll and put it back in to place.
Slightly flushed and out of breath, I compose myself and head back to what I was doing.
This isn't the only time this has happened. I have had to excuse myself to the ladies' 3 times today due to Panty Hose Related Malfunctions. No amount of clenching and flexing while I walked had any effect. Forget sitting down and standing up, either. Anytime I stood, I had to incorporate a trip to the ladies' with every trip.
Sheesh!

Elsie P

PS - The crux of the malfunction may have been that the 'hose I was wearing were about 2 sizes too small...God Bless my sister (who purchased them for me) for thinking I was either thinner or taller than I actually am..!

Lookin' Good

It's amazing what a little bit of eyeliner, a pair of heels and some bangles can do to a tired pair of jeans and a black, fitted T.
Just a few weeks ago, I made an investment in some new accessories. Mostly bangles, a few rings and the lovely girl to hold them all for me. I am floored by how different one can feel with a little bit of a spit polish, if you will.
I have been a fan of wearing heels with jeans for a little over five years. I guess it's been for as long as I have been a fan of wearing heels; a day I remember quite well. I was working in a call centre and as any former call centre employee can attest to, you tend to stop caring what you look like a little more every month you work there. This proves especially true if you are dating someone and not trying to impress any of the potential in the pool of germs and recycled air.
I was in a relationship with someone when I bought them. Steve Madden. Silver. Open toed. Gorgeous. And best of all: 75% off. HOW could you go wrong with that winning combination? I reserved the wearing of these heels for M-W wear, as Fridays were casual and Thursdays were special - that's another story. However, one Friday afternoon, not long after I had been surreptitiously dumped, I thought I'd try the Steve Madden's in all their glory with a pair of my favorite Mavi jeans. (It's amazing what wanting to make your ex jealous can do to you..) I will never forget the sound of walking down the pavement towards the door to the "office" with my heels on. If you've never done jeans and fancy heels, you should try it!
So yesterday, I decided to spice things up and for the first time in a few days, I put on makeup. I'm talking a little eyeliner, some shadow, foundation, powder, bronzer on the cheekbones and of course, mascara. I threw on a little clear lip gloss, three of my new bangles and a pair of heels. We are rockin! I could not get over how great it made me feel! Those little efforts were for no one else, this time, as it was just my mom and me hanging out and grocery shopping, and she would love me whether or not I had on eyeliner, heels or clown make up and wedge shoes. (ew).
Moral of the story: do it for yourself. It always feels good to look nice for someone - special or not - but it feels even better to look good for no one other than yourself.

Elsie P



PS - Here is an almost replica of my first pair of heels...they were silver, though and these are black.