Like the Girl Guides

In preparation of the big trip, I have been making lists. So far I have:

THINGS TO BUY

• Backpack
• Khakis (just found out old ones have big hole in strategic place)
• Running shoes/hiking boots - cannot figure out which would be more comfy/apt
• Extra battery for camera
• Sunscreen - spray-on and waterproof
• Travel size shampoo/conditioner/lotion
• Cheap watch with alarm
• Wedding card (1)
• Christmas cards (10)
• Misc cards (5)

THINGS TO LOOK FOR

• Pendrive
• Moneybelt
• Travel journal
• Current converter/adapter
• Sleeping bag
• Pocket flashlight

THINGS TO DO

• Convert money
• Suspend gym membership
• Check if phone can be put on hold. Not! Bummer.
• Sell TTC pass
• Call VISA and sign up for online billing

I'm sure this post will be amended several times!

Holiday Plans

**Updated: New Zealand and detailed Sydney itinerary added in***

With exactly 3 weeks to go until my "Down Under" holiday commences, thought I'd share some of my intended travel plans.
Nov 29
Depart T Dot 09:35 am for LAX. Yey for friend's buddy pass!
Transfer to Quantas flight to Wellington departing 20:30 PT.

Nov 30
Loose it somewhere over the Pacific!

Dec 1 Arrive into Wellington, NZ - local time 0930 hrs.Chill out at friend's place, get over jet lag!!

Dec 2Wander around Wellington city

Dec 3Tongariro Trek - hopefully can be done as a day trip. (More deets needed)

Dec 4Catch ferry to south island (Picton); Transfer onto train to Kaikoura. Spend evening/night/morning exploring Kaikoura

Dec 5
Catch train to Christchurch. (3:30pm) Arrive Christchurch at 6:45.

Dec 6Christchurch

Dec 7
TranzAlpine Train to Greymouth on the west coast. I've heard that this is one of the top 5 most beautiful train journeys in the world, and having recently seen snippits of the same on a tv special, I'd have to agree! Arrive Greymouth 12:45pm.

Dec 7/8
Greymouth and surrounding areas.

Back to Wellington either late Dec 8 or early Dec 9.
Flight to Sydney Dec 9 at 3pm. Have to figure out best/quickest way back. Hoping I can fly back to save time.

Dec 9Dep Wellington 3pm. Fly to Sydney, NSW. Arrive local time 1650
Staying with cousin and hubby next 2 nights.

Dec 10-12
General Sydney sightseeing/exploring that could include all/some of the following:
- Walk in The Rocks
- Sydney Harbour boat cruise
- Climb the Harbour Bridge (if I have the gumption)
- Bondi to Coogee Walk (recommended by Sydney cousin) - start on Bondi Beach and then walk along the coast/beach line of about 5 beaches. Apparently the best views of ocean and (v imp) surfer boys?!! Cap off walk with meat pie and chips at the other end.
- Meet the Ant (friend from TO) and do some catching up.
- Find out about cheap/discounted tickets to see "Priscilla, the Musical" (apparently, very Sydney thing to do!)
- Find time to rehearse solo for friend Bitch's wedding. Ack!

Dec 12Move to good friend Bitch's place. Bitch is getting married to childhood friend/sweetheart and am tres happy to be part of it. Bitch's 2 bridesmaids also spending pre wedding night at her place. Huuum, can anyone say PJ party???

Dec 13Bitch's wedding! Yey!! (Dammit, need to find nice dress to wear. Bridesmaid dress too big and cumbersome to carry)

Dec 14Post wedding brunch with close family et friends followed by cruise in Sydney harbour.

Dec 15/16More general touring around Sydney organized by Bitch for out-of-town guests

Dec 17Fly to Alice Springs.

Dec 18Poke around Alice Springs

Dec 19Day trip to Ayers Rock

Dec 20-22Camping in the East MacDonnell Ranges. **Still have to figure out if I can join a group here. Don't fancy doing this on my own! Any ideas/suggestions??***

Dec 23Fly to Melbourne. From Melbourne, head out to Mansfield - approx 2 hrs north east. Cousin and wife and kids have a ranch outside of town. The entire clan is meeting up for Christmas.

Dec 24-26Mansfield with dad's family

Dec 27-31In/around Melbourne. Spending some time with various bits of mum's family
**again, accepting suggestions of sites to see, things to do, places to eat at***

Jan 1Fly to Gold Coast with cousin. (Did not feel like spending 2 days in a car with Aunt, Uncle and 3 of their grand kids)

Jan 2-6Gold Coast - wide open (Looking at you Jules!)

Jan 7Fly back home. Brisbane to LAX, then on to the T Dot.

Jan 8Back to work (and reality) Euck!

Wastage

15 year old Brandon Crisp had been missing since Thanksgiving Day (October 13) when he left home after an argument with his parents over his seeming obsession with his XBox. For more details on the story see here. Yesterday, the Ontario Provincial Police formally called off the search, after a body matching the teen's description was found in a wooded area just outside of Barrie - his hometown.

Like everyone else, I too had been following the developing story. With every passing day, the chances of finding the boy alive grew slimmer; and my anger grew bigger. I was angry with Brandon Crisp. So angry, that I wanted him to be found, and then sit him down and give him the talking-to of a lifetime. Then make sure he was grounded for the rest of puberty.

To me, what that boy did was not only basically stupid but more so supremely selfish. I cannot even imagine the anxiety that his parents and family went through while he was missing followed by the cruel pain of now knowing that even the slim hope that they had clung to for the past 3 weeks was all in vain.

I cannot imagine that they will ever be able to forgive themselves - even though they were not to blame for him taking off. They would have been called bad parents if they had not tried to curb his addiction. So, basically they were damned if they did or did not - either way.

Have they already started to turn on each other? It is well known that many marriages do not survive the trauma of the death of a child, especially accidental death. Will the other children (two girls, both younger) have to suffer the added pain and suffering of a split home over and above loosing their brother?

I do not know what Brandon Crisp was feeling in his last moments on this earth. I imagine that the days and nights he spent in the woods were not pleasant. I hope and I pray that he is now at peace. Certainly, no one else is.

Education

****Crucial Amendments********

The Irishman has been teaching me Irishisms - Irish words and phrases and Irish swear words and for good measure British swear words and lots of such words. Why is it that calling someone a "Wally" or a "Wanker" seems more refined than calling someone a "Arsehole"* or "Moron"? Sounds much nicer, and still has the same effect. Of course, if one wishes to properly and truly swear at someone, Hindi (more specifically the variety spoken in Bombay), is GREAT. But that's for another post.

Sidebar: I've decided that referring to the Irishman as The Irishman is getting rather tedious. Also, it is rather impersonal. Yes, he's Irish, but he's also so much more! And since everyone else on the blog gets to have nice snappy nic names, why not him? So, after much pondering here's the decree: The Irishman will henceforth be known as Beanpole. Yes, the name is quite apt as he is well over the 6ft mark and more so to me because I just about make the 5ft4" mark. Barely. And no, you durrty minded freaks, it has nothing to do with his *ahem* manhood, though let me just state right now on record that he's certainly not lacking in said area. ;)

Anyway, where was I? Right - learning new words.

And it's not just with words (swear or otherwise) that I'm trying. I have suddenly taken to reading all and much about the weird and wonderful world of Rugby. Beanpole is a big fan total nutter about that game, and apparently so is the rest of the family. Mommy Beanpole (who is actually rather wee), Big Brother Beanpole and Little Brother Beanpole are all apparently super addicted and they spend an extraordinary amount of time calling each other (long distance) to discuss recent games. (matches?) So far, my education has included
a) the teams he supports (Munster and Leinster - don't they sound like 2 of the dwarfs?)
b) their team colours and unis
c) the match between Munster and the All Blacks in 1978 was historic in every way (and some day I'm going to have to watch the bloody thing)
d) that Ireland generally loose to Scotland that Ireland is a damn good team
e) If Ireland isn't playing, you don't care who wins as long as England looses.

**In conversation with His Beanpoleness last night, he asked me what exactly I had said about my basic understanding of the sport, and so I told him. Apparently, even my "basics" are all wrong, hence the above amendments.** (Damn, I almost messed up the entire relationship there!)

My education is been sadly impeded by the fact that I am a visual learner and need to see/do/touch my way around something new, and so far most of the education has been him trying to explain things to me over Skype. Suffice to say I'm horribly confused about the sport and the only fact that I was able to fathom myself is that you have throw the ball (is it called a ball?) backwards. Beer Baron, in an attempt to help told me that I just needed to know about a Hooker (eh?), Lock and Scrum and that the person with the most broken bones looses. Beer Baron didn't however expand on those terms, so the concepts are still fuzzy.

As if long distance dating wasn't hard enough already!

*Spellcheck seems to want to change Arsehole to Arsenal. Even as a non soccer person I am thinking that is poetic justice!

*Thwak*

That's the sound of me slapping my hand against my forehead.


Why, you ask?



Well some weeks ago, I was chatting with a dance acquaintance about my upcoming trip to AUS. Said acquaintance is a pilot with Air Canada and often flies to Sydney. As we were chatting, she mentioned that it would nice if she could join me in Sydney and hang out for a bit. "Sure," I said. "That sounds great." Then she asked what I'm doing after Sydney, and I said that I was thinking of heading off to the Northern Territory to do some camping/hiking in the outback. "That sounds great," said she. "I've always wanted to do that. Perhaps I can take a few days off and tag along." Once again, I agreed thinking that it would be nice to have company on this rather desolate of adventures. It was agreed that she would check with the airline about getting time off and get back to me by the end of the week. 


Two weeks, two phone calls and three emails later, I still haven't heard from her and I'm getting antsy as I want to go ahead and finalize my internal travel plans. Logic (and the Irishman) tells me to go ahead anyway. If she was really interested, she'd connect with me. Anyway, I finally manage to touch base with her last Thursday and as I'm telling her about my plan to hike/camp out in the East MacDonnell Ranges, she's suddenly asking me about new year's eve plans in Melbourne. A bit confused, I say that I don't have a set plan but I'm sure my cousins will come up with something. She then proceeds to tell me all her ideas for new year's eve in Melbourne. Still a little confused, I clarify - XX, are you planning to going to Melbourne as well? "Well yes", she replies. "Melbourne for New Year's just sounds great, and so I've decided to go there as well." "But XX," I say with much trepidation, "I'm going to be spending most of my time in Melbourne with my family. In fact, I'm not even going to be IN Melbourne for Christmas as my cousin lives on a ranch in the country and the entire family is heading over there for a few days. But, hey, I'll be back on the 27th and we can hang out again - if you want."


"Oh" says XX. "You're going to be with your family. Hummm, I forgot about Christmas. Well, I guess I can come along to your cousins ranch and then we can come back to Melbourne together."


Totally panicking now, I mumble something about not being sure if my cousin has room for any more people seeing as how he's already hosting about 20 people at his place. Her reply; "Pixy, I don't do alone. I'm not like you. Christmas in the country is not exactly what I'd planned, but under the circumstances, it will just have to do."


Eh? Did I even INVITE you.... you spazzy self centered c*nt???? And what moron can't see that if I want to spend Christmas with my family, well then that's my prerogative??? This is MY holiday that you've just hijacked and now YOU want to make the rules???? GAH!!!!

Heroically maintaining my self composure, I tell her that I'm afraid I cannot impose on my family any more and that if she wants to join me in Melbourne, she will have to amuse herself for the 4 days I'm away, whether or not its what she DOES. If she is still interested in joining me, I will wait another 2 days and then go ahead and book my internal travel tickets.


Yesterday, I get an email from her and I quote:
"I forgot that i had already booked a ski trip with my club from Dec 12-14. So I'm not sure about this whole Australia thing. Why don't' you just go ahead and book your tickets, and I'll book my own if I still want to go."


Hence, *THWAK*

Already?

Went out to celebrate a friend's birthday last night at a bar downtown. As I stepped into the foyer of the bar what do I see but a FULLY DECORATED AND LIT CHRISTMAS TREE!!!!!

For Heavens Sake. It's only November 1st. We've BARELY gotten over Halloween. Some of us are still nursing the hangover and shame of the antics of the night before. (What IS it about a costume that brings out the slutty best in us all?)

BUT, I digress. As I was saying, November 1 is just too damn early to be seeing jolly old elves and hearing Bing Crosby carols.

And then, 10 minutes ago I was channel surfing and I saw the first Christmas themed commercial. God Help Us, Everyone.

Happy Bunny Thought for the Month

Paging Mother Nature - get a grip woman!

I was startled to feel light flurries hit my cheeks as I stepped off the bus last night. Still, we'd had flurries this early before, but always the kind that melted as soon as they hit the ground. Apparently Ma Nature was out partying late last night, coz obviously someone has been playing havoc with her magic. This was the scene in my backyard when I woke up this morning. For Pete's sake - it's not even November!!!!!

Are you speaka de Ainglish???

Trying to help me with new Internet reading material, the Irishman suggested I check Overheard in Dublin. Great idea I thought. And I figured I would also learn a little more about the place where he grew up.

Except that a lot of the jokes were totally lost on me due to cultural/local references. Even more bizarre was the fact that although I knew it was an English language site, it wasn't quite like the English I knew! After 15 mins of struggling with the posts, I was forced to email the Irishman to ask for a translation on the following words:

what's the craic
wan
lash her out of it
potnoodles
jungwan
howerya
DART
skanger girl
Ung Fella
Sheriff St lads
ASBO
D4 type girl
chipper

And that was just from the first page!

So much for attempting to connect culturally!

Making New Friends

With many of my regular blog buddies currently on hiatus, I've been lacking in online reading material of late.

Ok, so that may seem weird with the 1000s (10,000 perhaps?) blogs out there, not to mention all the random websites possible it may seem strange that I cannot find replacements.

Thing is, I don't like random blog surfing. Its too impersonal! I can't seem to get involved in the loves and lifes of complete strangers unless I have a background about who they are and what they're all about. Yes, reading the blog will tell me those things, but whatever - I'm strange that way!!! Also, given that I have the best blog buddies in the world, it would be hard for me to find pals just as great by simply hitting the "next" button.

So, can you my faithful reader(s?) recommend some new blogs for me to try out?

Turning over Leaves and Unearthing Dilemmas

Thanks to the gale force winds that swept though the GTA last week, much of the trees were "persuaded" to let go of their beautiful fall foliage. While raking the yard some days ago, I utilized the time to indulge in a little introspection. Many things were thought about - mostly involving work and relationship - and many little (and big) discoveries were made.

For starters, the realization that my job is getting better every day. Although at first this may seem like a something that would cause joy - not worry and introspection, the situation is a little more complicated. There are several projects poised for take off in early 2009 and I had a close hand in planning/proposing some of them. A few days ago, my VP mentioned to me that if we get the go ahead on a certain project, she will be looking to me to head it up. Normally, I would be jumping at the opportunity which would mean an expansion of my role, heading an internal team and interacting and liaising with some very interesting external partners. All good things, except that it's the worst possible timing!

The thing is, that I don't really want to tie myself to any long-term assignments right now because of the situation with the Irishman. Things have been progressing well since I got back after the wedding. He's decided to come over for a visit in February and I guess that will be the time when we decide just what we want from this relationship. I DO know that I cannot (and will not) do this long distance thing for any longer than absolutely necessary. Call me old school, but I feel that a relationship is not going to grow and thrive and mature if the two persons are on opposite sides of an ocean. And let's face it, I don't relish the thought of the possibility of sex with my boyfriend just twice a year, or thrice if Air Canada has a seat sale!

I had been thinking of moving to the UK for sometime now, even before recent developments involving matters of the heart. Very Best Friend had been trying to get me to come live in Glasgow for a while, and another close friend who lives in London had also been bribing me with ideas of how we could "explore the continent" together etc. etc. My initial idea was to move to London for a year (at first) and evaluate my long term needs based on my experiences and opportunities there. The fact that the Irishman lives in Glasgow has now of course pushed that city as the front runner in my "Live in Europe" plan.

The advent of the Irishman has forced me to think about my short and long term housing arrangements

For those not in the know, I bought a house with my parents in late 2006. The deal at the time was that I stay with them for at least 2 years before making a decision whether I wanted to continue living with them or get my own place. The deadline will be up next month.

I'll have to admit that living with my parents has enabled me to save up loads over the years and indulge in my # 1 passion - travel. The down side of living with one's parents is that one continues to get treated like a child no matter how old said "child" actually is. This is compounded by the fact that my family is traditionally Indian in the sense that it is expected that children will move away only when they get married, and not for any other reason. The notion of Adulthood is tied in quite strongly with Marriage and trying to be a "Single Adult" is almost a revolutionary idea. It matters not that I contribute a hefty amount towards the maintenance and running of the household, my parents still refuse to consult with me before making decisions regarding the house such as refurnishing the basement, doing up the backyard or repaving the driveway. My half of the mortgage and monthly payments pays for these changes - is it then so absurd that I would like to know about these things in advance? Heck, even be able to venture an opinion every now and then?

So, move out then, would be the response of many.

There's just one catch. But it's a big one!

All Indian parents are experts in Laying on the Guilt. Mine are doubly adept as not only do they have the benefit of years of Indian Guilt Laying techniques, my family is also Catholic. It is a vicious combination, not one for the faint of heart.

Every time I have complained about anything at home - and I submit the above examples of house renovations - I have gotten THE LITANY. (see, there's the Catholic tie-in)

THE LITANY consists of my mum and dad taking turns to remind me about all (and I do mean ALL) the things - material, professional, emotional - that my parents gave up to get us to Canada.

Dad: We gave up our jobs, good jobs,

Together: To bring you here

Mum: We gave up our family, my mother and father,

Together: To bring you here.

Dad: We gave up early retirement and our pension,

Together: To bring you here.

And it goes on.

Trying to fight that flood of emotional blackmail is like trying to drain a post Katrina New Orleans with a teaspoon. They're simply too good at it, and I'm simply too Indian and too Catholic to be able to withstand that tempest. Which is why I am dreading the thought of having to explain to them that a mere 7 years after we picked up and left India, I want to pick up again and move away - thereby "abandoning" them.

Fortunately, I don't have to have this discussion until February and who knows, it may not even end up being a hot topic.....

So, I'll just go back to raking leaves and this time think about something less volatile - the War on Terror, the current state of the Economy and Global Warming are all happy thoughts in comparison.

Why did I have a 2 day headache, you ask?

Not just yet, Miss!
In an effort to speed up the process of getting me a refund on the purchase of my Zoom tickets, Amex had asked me to fill out some paperwork and send it to them. There were 2 purchases - one for $704, the other for $148. I filled out all the paperwork and sent it back.
Yesterday, I get a letter to confirm that $148 will be shortly credited to my account. When I called to ask about the other $704 I was told that I have to fill out a whole other set of forms.
Gah!


Say WHAT??!!!
Got an email from a gym that I used to be a member at telling me that I owe them $701 in unpaid dues. Apparently they never filed the paperwork from when I cancelled my membership last April. I'll be damned if I have to pay for someone else's mistake.

Sweet Baby Jesus, give me strength
My colleague was on vacation and I had to man the general info email. Copy of actual email trail.

Email 1:
Dear Sir,
I forgot my password. I cannot login to the website. Could you please email me a new password.
Thanks,

My response: Your password has been reset to XXXX.

Email 2:
Hi, Even with the new password I cannot log in to the website. It's appeared that I am not registered with the program. Kindly resolve this
Thanks,

My response: Are you sure you went to the correct website? You are registered with program ABC. If you go to the website for program XYZ, it will not let you in. You need to go to http://www.abc.ca/
Regards etc.

Email 3: Yes. I went to the website for program XYZ. Then I clicked on log on. And I put my email address as user name and XXXX as the password. (Which you sent right now.)But it's not working. I cannot log in.

Me: Repeated thumping of head against cubicle wall. Did not help the headache.

This Ain't So Bad Afterall!

I came home from a particularly bad day week at work trying to deal with a headache that had lasted 2 days straight. I turned on the TV to watch the evening news, fully expecting to hear more bad things. Instead, I saw this.

And even though it made me cry, (yes - I know. Utter sap) I thought, with all of the crap news that's being going around of late, this seemed to be the perfect time to share some good.


Enjoy!

How to Get into My Pants

A problem that has been plaguing me for some years now. 2006 was the year of the expanding waistline and in 6 months I had put on more weight than I had in the past 5 years previously. Quite the record I would say.

Thanks to a combination of illness which forced a change in diet (no oily and fried foods AT ALL)
+ added impetus of Best Friend's Wedding and the fact that I had to wear a DRESS
+ additional exercise through dancing 3 times a week

= Me getting into a pair of pants that have not gotten past my knees in 3 years!!!

Hip Hip Hurrah!!!!

Happy Bunny Thought for the Month

Love, Forever True

While pondering thoughts of relationships and love and such, I think it would be a good time to mention that my Papa and Nana celebrated their 63rd wedding anniversary on the 1st of this month. When asked what he gave his wife as a present, Papa replied "Myself. Isn't that enough?"

How true!

Happy Anniversary Nana and Papa. You are an inspiration to us all.

Mr. and Mrs. M on their wedding day. September 1 1945

Celebrating 50 years of togetherness. Sept 1 1995

At home in Bombay. January 2007

Techinicolour Dreamcoats

Last night, I attended the Jays game with my colleagues as one of our Boardmembers hosted us in their Corporate Box. Although it was an eventful evening - extra innings, schoomzing with Boardmembers and Key Clients, dealing with rather tipsy colleague while trying to maintain professional face, and almost missing last bus home - the real excitment of the night actually began after I got home and got to bed.... and got dreaming. A rather strange story unfolded and even though I woke up twice, the dream persisted.

I dreamed that I was on a winter vacation with some friends. It looked like 3 couples and I vacationing together and we were driving to what looked like a winter cabin. My "date" wasn't in the car. The friends (who I didn't know btw) said that he was meeting me there. When we got there, The Ex was waiting. After we checked in, everyone else went off to do something or the other and The Ex and I were left in our room. I don't remember quite what was happening, I just know that I was feeling weird and uncomfortable and totally uneasy. The Ex seemed to be behaving in typical Ex manner and went about as if we were still dating.

At some point, the "friends" called out that they were going off somewhere and that we should join them. As The Ex started to make his way out the door, I turned to him and said something to the effect of "You shouldn't be here. This is wrong. I don't want you here." I then proceeded to turn away from him and and walked away. (very poignantly, I might add into the snow covered trail) I don't remember if there was anything else. It actually doesn't matter.

Cross my heart, there is a point to this rather round about narration.

I met someone on my holiday.

A rather VERY nice someone who appears to return the favour and like me and be just as interested in me as I am in him. We spent a great deal of time together and when I left, it was decided that we would try our hand at a long distance relationship.

Although I've just been sublimely happy these past 2 weeks since I met him, there's been a little nagging fear at that back of my head. I kept wondering if I was mistaking happiness for a relief from loneliness. He makes me the happiest I have been in a long while, but it was not so long ago that I was still wrapped up in my feelings for The Ex and I wondered if what I was feeling was not exactly correct. Yes, I know that my relationship with The Ex ended last year, but I never ever said I was logical!

It sounds silly, but although I spent a rather sleepless night tossing and turning trying to get that dream out of my head, I'm glad it happened. Call me a kook,(and you're probably doing so right now!) but I know better than to discount my dreams. And anyway, I think is a good sign that my dream self categorically told dream The Ex to "bugger off" and more importantly dream self turned her back on him and walked away.

So really, in spite of tossy-turney night (and consequently dark baggy eyes today), I loved my dream and more importantly feel its OK to allow myself to feel loved again.
OK everyone, feel free to commence laughing at me..................NOW!

GAH to the nth degree

We got onto the flight in Glasgow and taxied onto the runway. Waited on the runway for 45 mins. Got called back to the gate. Got held at the gate for 2.5 hrs (with everyone still inside in their seats)

Left Glasgow at 7pm local time

Got into Philly at about 11pm

Had to clear customs and immigration get baggage. (1 hr)

Got shuttled to hotel + information from US Airlines staff (1.5 hrs)

Had to wait in line (again) to check in (1 hr)

Got to sleep (2 hrs)

Back to the airport

Caught 8:30 am flight to Toronto

Dada picked me up from airport and took my bags home

I went downtown to work

Got to work 11am

Went straight into a meeting

Just got out of meeting.

Thoughts on a Wedding

As I sat by watching my oldest friend getting her bridal hair and make up done, I knew this was a moment I would remember for the rest of my life. Watching her, I was reminded of our very first meeting - the first day of school back in grade 1.

I remember my mum taking me up to my classroom. When I got to the classroom, I was faced with a room full of bawling girls. (it was an all girls convent school). This was rather perturbing as I couldn't quite figure out why everyone was crying. I was only too happy to going to a "big girl's school", the same one two of my older cousins attended. Suddenly, I didn't want to be left behind in a room full of emotional girls (something I'm still not comfortable with). My mum asked me where I wanted to sit and as I glanced about the room I spotted the only other girl NOT crying. "Her" I said, "I'll sit with her." That girl turned out to be Very Best Friend and we've been partners of sorts for the past 22 years.

The hairdresser asks me a question, and my thoughts snap back to the present. The chaos, anxiety, stress and drama that is the mandatory accompaniment to all weddings have settled down into a dull haze. With just a few hours to go until the ceremony we've done all that needs doing and can only hope that things will go well.

I wondered what I would feel as I watch my Very Best Friend walk down that aisle and take her new partner's hand. As she repeats her vows she will forever be bound to him and his life and on some level, she and I will never share the same sort of friendship ever again. Even as I rejoice in her happiness and that I know that her fiancé is a wonderful man who will make her very happy, I cannot but help feel a twinge of regret as I see a chapter of my life close forever. My friend will be stepping through the gates into a new world, and I will be unable to follow.

Happy Thought? Who has the time???

Just in case you were looking forward to seeing the September version of Happy Bunny's Thought for this month, you're going to have to wait a bit until this wedding-schmedding is all done. Life has been quite crazy these past 3 days since arriving in Glasgow. Very Best Friend is at her wits end as Hapless fiancé continues to bumble through life happily to do half of what he must.

VBF and I have taken God knows how many trips all around the city. We have been finalizing the catering, programming the church music, proofing, printing and compiling the church programs, meeting the hairdresser, coordinating with the ushers, picking up random necessary objects from VBF's home and bringing them to the city centre where we (her family and I) are staying, packing and wrapping the wedding favours, meeting with the church manager, organizing dinner so that the two families can finally meet AND coordinating with VBF's friends to throw her a surprise bridal shower/party tomorrow night. I'm sure I've left out some things, but you get the general idea.

I'm beat.

BUT - I have a GREAT dress and it will all be worth the while!

Nurse, more suction please!

The recent drama over my plane ticket almost made me forgot about the ORIGINAL wedding drama – that of DRESS! The story is too good to leave unfinished, so here is the final (I hope) chapter in the saga of being a suitably clad bridesmaid.

Some weeks after the initial meeting with the Dressmaker, she called back to let me know that she’d like me to come in for a fitting. I was instructed to bring along the undergarments I would be wearing. Shopaholic had been raving about this supposedly miracle control underwear – that Oprah herself wore – and persuaded me to buy a pair. $50 later, I found myself wondering if this honestly did what the salesgirl, Shopaholic and of course Oprah said it would do – take whole inches off your waistline and in other places. And if so, why on earth aren’t more people talking about this?

I got to the Dressmaker’s and there it was – THE DRESS! In all its beautiful purple Maid of Honorish splendor and glory.

Dressmaker snapped me out of my reverie and shooed me off into the washroom to change my underclothes. As I pulled the Spanx underwear out of the package a glimmer of doubt rose up. I held up the garment. It was – and I exaggerate not – the size of a bikini bottom. Kate Moss’s bikini bottom. Ah, well. Here goes nothing I though. I stepped into the left leg and then stretching the top I stepped into the right.

*WHAM*. My knees snapped together with the force of the elastic and over I went. I grabbed on to the first thing that made contact with my desperately flailing hand. That happened to be the shower curtain! Down I went with a resounding crash, knock kneed with Spanx underwear around my ankles and Dressmaker’s shower curtain and rod over my head.

Silence.

Then, scurrying feet and an anxious tap on the door and Dressmaker voice (in a very high register) asking if everything was ok?

I move gingerly. My head hurts from where I slammed it against the wall. My shoulder is sore as I have probably wrenched it. And my knees are still bound together by the seemingly super-elastic on the underwear.

I struggle to my feet and reassure Dressmaker that I am still alive (I can’t say the same for her curtain rod). Once upright, I brace myself and start to pull up the underpants. Slowly, painfully and with much grunting I get the panties up as high as I can. By now, I’m sweating profusely and I’m so hot that the mirror is fogging up.

I finally get out of the washroom to find anxious Dressmaker waiting in the hall. She peers past me to survey the damage. I’m trying to maintain my dignity here, but it is quite hard to do wearing nothing but a bra and control underwear. “I’m so very sorry,” I say. “I’ll pay for the damage.” Dressmaker smiles. “Honey, don’t you fret over that ugly mess of a shower curtain. I’ve been trying to get my husband to redo the washroom for YEARS. Now he’ll have to! You’ve just gone and done what I’ve been meaning to do for a long time.”

Well !

Dressmaker ushers me into the fitting room and chats away like nothing is more common that having someone wreck your washroom while trying on underwear. I’m too flabbergast to speak (yup, there’s a new scenario for those who know me) and meekly follow her directions re getting the dress on. As I’m about to step into the dress, she stops me. Stepping onto her little dressmaker stool, she reaches down and firmly grasps the sides of the underwear that are sitting just under my bust line and YANKS. I can’t but help let out a gasp as suddenly everything shifts and magically I have a waist!
Somehow the underwear has redistributed my fat so that I now have all the curves possible, but sans the fat rolls! Amazing! WHERE all the lard has gone, I’m not sure. But it sure is well hidden. So mesmerized am I that I have to be reminded to put my dress on, and when I do – whoa, I’m so impressed! The pattern makes all of my sins (and I have a lot of those) vanish and leaves me with all of the “good bits”.

As I twirled around the room in delight, I realized that I was finally at the end of this saga that began a distant 8 months ago. Although I will miss my daily prayer of, “Please Lord, deliver me from this evil” I am so happy to know that at last, I am a card carrying member of the Club of the Suitably Clad!

Amen.

An Explanation

I really think I should explain about the sudden need to password protect this blog and answer all the questions/comments that have followed. Who knew so many cared? Hell, who knew so many READ!

I've wanted to start a dedicated travel blog for sometime now. I'm always flitting about discovering new places and the idea of having a dedicated space to chronicling my travel adventures. The last time I went away on my mega 4 month journey, a lot of friends and family followed by daily discoveries via the blog. However, I wasn't quite sure I wanted (certain) people to have access to the blog on a regular basis. Some things I write about are NOT for certain eyes (read- family) and hence the need to go password protected.

But somehow (being the technically challenged wonder that I am), I screwed up the log in process and now the wrong email is associated with this account and for the life of me I cannot figure out how to reverse that!


Anyway, thank you for being patient while I figure all this out and I hope you like the new travel blog as well!

Not Very F*cked Anymore. Only Slightly.

So, after a whole morning of frantically calling around to various airlines, travel agents and people I know in the airline biz and scouring the Internet for any and all routes to Glasgow*, I was finally able to secure new tickets for my trip on US Airways. And I didn't quite have to pay with my first born and/or my right kidney, although the price is a whopping $400 more than what I initially paid. Ah, well. Guess that means not as many pints in Scotland!

Also, the credit card company has assured me that I will be getting my money back; it may just take a while to process and it seems like I have to turn in a bunch of supporting documents and paperwork for the same. But I will get it back. Eventually.

Now, let's just hope that nothing else falls apart between now and the wedding!



*At one point I even found a ticket to Edinburgh via Gibraltar for $900! Was tempted, but the return flights were for the wrong dates.

F*cked. So Very F.*.C.K.E.D

Found out this morning that all Zoom flights have been grounded due to outstanding fees. Although the airline has not *yet* filed for bankruptcy, it's just a matter of time.


My ticket to Glasgow for Very Best Friend's wedding was booked on Zoom. As soon as I found out what was happening, I called the travel agent.


The travel agent said to call the credit card company.

The credit card company says their waiting for further information from the airline.

My backup travel agent says that all flights for that period are sold out.

The flights that are not sold out are priced at over $2000.


I am utterly and miserably - F*CKED. 

Head's Up

To my faithful reader(s?)

I will be shortly switching this blog to being password protected as I need to add in a travel blog under the same profile. It will be one more step for you all, but I hope you will keep visiting and reading!

Update:
I figured out how to "add a blog" to my username, but I just realized that I cannot change the profile information. I guess I'll have to create a whole new username/password etc for the travel blog. Which is a pain, but I guess cannot be helped.

Blogger peeps, why can't I have 2 blogs with different profile information under the same username?

New Friends

I just love it when I am able to "discover" new things about this city. A few days ago I chanced upon a darling little second hand bookstore on Bloor - Seeker's Books @ 509 Bloor St. West. After spending a delightful 2.5 hours lost among the rows of shelves, I came away with these new friends:

The Colour Purple

July was drawing to a close and I still didn’t have a dress. A feverish desperation had taken over. Every time I passed a store window and saw even a glimmer of purple, I would throw myself against the glass willing it to be something that I could wear. I even tried to make an appointment at a bridal store, but the price tags on the dresses made me abandon that idea in a hurry. Then, just when I thought I was going to walk down that aisle in a purple dyed burlap sac, one of my cousins told me about this amazing (and relatively inexpensive) dressmaker who lived right by my house. Helpful Cousin was nice enough to call said dressmaker (a.k.a The Saviour) to make me an appointment and then was even nicer and agreed to go with me.

Helpful Cousin suggested that I go scout for fabrics before I meet the Dressmaker so that I would have sample swatches to show her. A quick call to friend, Shutterbug confirms that the best place for fabrics is Queen West. Shutterbug even offers to accompany me.

At this point I realize that not one person I know is confident in my ability to pick out a dress, a pattern or even a roll of cloth that will eventually be the dress. They are right of course, but it does sting to know that one is not trusted with fashion decisions. On the other hand, it does feel wonderful to know that my friends all have my back and just don’t want me to embarrass myself with having to wear a purple dyed burlap sac.

Confident that I will be able to just LOOK at fabric myself, I wave away her offer and the following day check out the fabric stores at Queen West. When I get there, I am a little alarmed by how MANY stores there are, all with seemingly never ending rolls of fabric in every hue and colour in the rainbow. Not quite sure of how one actually goes about buying fabric for a bridesmaid dress I stumble into the first store I see (tripping on the golden lab asleep on the steps) and trust the pattern into the hands of the shop assistant. “Help!” I squeak. “Make Dress. Need Fabric.” She wanders around the store for a bit and returns with a purple satinish fabric. I ask her for a sample and march out 10 minutes later marveling at my superior fabric choosing capabilities!

It’s not until I get home and compare the sample to the online pictures of the kilts do I realize that I have chosen an entirely WRONG shade of purple!

After banging my head repeatedly against a handy wall, I call Shutterbug and in a very small (and VERY humble) voice ask her to please accompany me to the fabric stores as I am obviously not capable of this task. So, accordingly, Shutterbug and I headed over to Queen West the following Saturday. She has come prepared with a colour palate for comparison that has the correct shade of purple, and then a scale of shades darker and lighter. When we get to the first store, Shutterbug sits me down at the counter and proceeds to explain to girl-behind-the-counter what we’re looking for using phrases like “overlay of chiffon” and “muted tones for best effect”. I am suitably impressed. Shutterbug is just as picky over the fabric as Shopaholic is with the finished product. The shop girl pulls out yards and yards of all kinds of fabrics in all hues of purple. Shutterbug expertly sifts through them all and finally selects some and asks for samples. We then go to 3 more shops and do the same thing all over again. In each shop, it is implied that I sit quietly in the corner and not touch anything. Finally, Shutterbug determines that we have enough sample and we leave.

Two days later, accompanied by Helpful Cousin I go to meet with the Dressmaker - who turns out to be the Dressmaker of my dreams! She patiently listens to my garbled descriptions of what I want and somehow pieces together a pattern that will be good for me. I leave with a renewed lease on life. In two short weeks, I will be dressless no more!

Huh?

I have looked at the link to the Groom's kilts a hundred times since VBF first sent it to me. Only today did I notice the legend besides the pictures listing all the items that are covered by the hire.


What in the blazes is a:
Sgian Dubh?
Ghillie Brogues?

And I don't even want to imagine what Garter Flashes could be!!!!!

Wedding Woes

The dress saga began way back in September of last year when VBF picked out her colours and told me that I would be required to be suitably decked out in a particular shade of purple to match with the groom's tartan. Groom, Best Man and Father of Groom would all be wearing full traditional Scottish attire and for once, the women had to match up with the men.

Sure thing, I said. No Problemo! Easy Peasy - and many more such phrases. After all, I was the only bridesmaid so I could buy virtually any style of dress and it would be OK since I didn't have to worry about any one else in the bridal party. VBF even went a step further to say that I could pick out a dress that had any combination of ivory, silver and purple and she'd be just fine with it.

Fast forward. Spring 2008.

Conscious of the fact that I know little or nothing about dress shopping, my colleague Ms. Shopaholic takes it upon herself to make sure that I am suitably clad for this wedding. Over the next three months she drags me every possible store in the downtown area - before work, on our lunch break, after work, on weekends - and makes me try on what seems like 100s of dresses. "Too long" "Too short" "Too tight" (implied - loose some flab) "Too skanky" "Not skanky enough"...... she dismisses each one as I amble out of the dressing room and take a walk around the store (as per her instructions). As each dress was cast aside, I see my dream of gaining a dress in a quick and painless manner fading away. The few dresses that DO meet Shopaholic’s high (HIGH) standards are the wrong shade of purple. We do find a few nice black dresses that I long to just buy. VBF won’t mind – she’s just thankful I’m able to make it to this twice postponed wedding. But I know that my mother will throw a blue fit when she finds out that I’ve picked out a black dress to wear to my VBF’s wedding. “Very inauspicious”, she would yell. “You want to be the cause of bad luck on their wedding day?” And then she would make me return it anyway – so what’s the point? The very Caucasian, very Cosmopolitan Shopaholic does not understand this aversion to the classic black dress, but on this point I stand firm. “Yes, I realize the only dress that does not make me look like a tub of lard is the black one, but I cannot wear it to this wedding and risk the wrath of my superstitious Indian mother.” I’m also assuming that the bride’s mother will also not be too keen on the idea – being an Indian mother as well.

I guess it's back to the drawing board.

Happy Bunny Thought for the Month

Book Review - The Penelopiad

Although not very familiar with the works of Atwood, I was attracted to this piece of her work because I love the book (and the myths) that the story is drawn from. Homer’s iconic poem The Odyssey is the basis for Atwood’s version of events told from the perspective of Penelope, wife of Odysseus. The book is part of the internationally acclaimed Myths Series that groups some of the finest present day writers as they provide a contemporary take on some of the oldest, most enduring stories in history.

When Odysseus went off to fight in the Trojan War, he left behind his wife Penelope and their newborn son to rule the island of Ithica. While Homer’s tale focuses on Odysseus and his trials on his journey back from the War, Atwood shifts the focus to Penelope. What was she really up to those 20 long years? Did she truly remain faithful to her king? As the narration in the book shifts from Penelope herself to the 12 maids that were cruelly executed by Odysseus on his return, Atwood opens our eyes and minds to the possibilities of what might have happened back home while the hero was away. Keeping with the ancient Greek art of storytelling, Atwood weaves this tale through prose, speech, musing, song and poetry - and even through modern day courtroom transcripts! The result is a modern day day time drama - set in ancient Greece! After all, the 20 years that the book spans is plenty of time for a soap opera run!

The Highlight Reel

Quiet Please!
Thanks to a pair of comp tickets from one of our Board members, I was able to go see my very first pro tennis match at the Rogers Cup on Wednesday. Even more exciting when I realized that I would be seeing the World Number ONE seeded player Roger Federer take on Giles Simon of France (and a total cutie as well). I found the whole tennis scene rather interesting. Normally, I'm used to the rowdy baseball stadiums where one can holler and heckle till the cows come home, and there's not a damn thing anyone can do about it (as long as you're not being profane). Here, I was almost uncomfortable with the imposed silence during the tennis match though the unnatural hush over the crowd causes a kind of electricity in the air which of course the players just feed off. Even during the most exciting rally, (of which there were a few) the tennis audience keeps their lips firmly shut taking in all of the action with the rest of their senses. I couldn't but help letting out a little squeak of excitement every now and then, much to the amusement of the fella besides me. He kept regarding me like I was this quaint little being or something.
Federer didn't win. In fact, when I came down to Match Point, half the crowd was still in shock over how the game had played out. Still, it was a great experience made even better by the fact that I didn't have to pay a cent!

Beer & Chili Fest '08

Every summer, my friend The Lady Killer and his girlfriend, Ms. Pink host a summer party. The year before it was a BBQ fest. Last year it was a luau (complete with grass skirts and coconut shell bras for some folk). This year, TLK went a little further and planned a Chili Contest coupled with a mini beer tasting event. The premise was really quite simple.

1. Anyone who wanted could make chili and enter into the Chilly Contest.

2. Folks who attended were asked to bring (at least) a 6 pack of a fairly uncommon beer.

3. Everyone would eat chili and sample beer. Merriment would follow.

The result. 4 kinds of Chili for us to feast on - The Classic. The Hot Stuff. The Turkey Chili. And, the Baconator Chili. And over 15 *new* kinds of beer for us to sample including some from as far away as Vancouver and the Scottish Isles!

Hiatus

Just found out that tonight is the last nite of WCS open dancing until September. Will miss my Westie pals, but thankfully will be able to supplement my need-to-dance with extra doses of Latin/Ballroom at Friday night dances and Sunday afternoon workshops over the next 3 weeks.

Wedding Woes

Before you jump to conclusions (I'm looking at you Jo) - not mine. Am referring to VBF's wedding that's slated for September 9 in Glasgow. It seems like this wedding has been in the planning stages since the dawn of time (well, April last year) and we're finally just a few weeks away from D Day.* I still don't have a dress - well not quite. But I figured that's OK because the bride still doesn't have her visa - without which she cannot travel back to Glasgow! In the whole scheme of things, the bride is more important than my dress. On the other hand, if the bride does get her butt to the church on time, she is going to be mighty pissed off if I'm not suitably adorned, right? And I would be VERY remiss in my Maid of Honour duties if I caused the bride to be pissed off on her wedding day. That is usually reserved for someone from the groom's side.

Book Review - The Tree Bride

Back in December, I picked up this book only because I needed one more book to get in on a 4 for $20 deal. I tucked it away in the basement and forgot all about it. Some weeks ago, a coworker who is also an avid reader – and is very interested in Indian novels and literature – happened to mention this book, and I remembered that I actually owned it. Went looking for it in the basement and spied it jammed between an Enid Blyton mystery and Jim Herriot’s Tales of a Country Vet.

Reading the book’s jacket synopsis, might lead you to believe that The Tree Bride is just another book about a person of Indian origin, now living somewhere in the US trying to figure out that fine balance between being true to where they come from and merging with where they now belong. To my surprise, it was more.

Not unlike many other Indians living abroad, Mukherjee’s protagonist Tara is searching for her roots. Her search is focused on a very interesting ancestor and her namesake; a woman who, as a young girl was married to a tree. What is unlike other such stories is that this book is not just about Tara and her quest, but also a look into one of the most interesting times in Indian history – the last days of the Raj. As the story swings between modern day San Francisco, Calcutta of the late 1800s and North Britain in the early/mid 1950s Mukherjee’s novel draws the reader into Tara’s journey of self discovery into her past and the amazing coincidence of connections that form her present life.
When researching the author, I found out that The Tree Bride is actually book two of a trilogy and having read this one I am quite eager to read more of Mukherjee's work. Most interesting would be the book that she co authored with her husband Clarke Blaise on the terrorist bombing of Air India flight 182 - The Sorrow and the Terror: The Haunting Legacy of the Air India Tragedy. Known as Canada's largest mass murder and the worst flight disaster until the September 11 attacks, the bombing of flight 182 killed all 329 passengers on board. 20 years later, families of the victims are still waiting to see justice.

Validation

As my gentle readers know, I've been dancing for some years now. Started out with exploring Salsa back in 2003, then moved on to a bit of Lindy and 20s Charleston before settling down with Latin/Ballroom in fall of last year. Still, it wasn't until I began with West Coast Swing that I truly found my "groove". After a hiatus from the dance for about a year, I went back to it in May when my teacher had a weekend of WCS dances, workshops and events in celebration of her 50th birthday. After 3 days straight on the dance floor - I was back in love with the dance style.

Then, a few weeks ago at one of the regular Friday night dances, one of my "Westie" friends persuaded me to sign up for the Toronto Swing Dancing Championships that were taking place in the city for the very first time. Before I quite knew what was happening I found that I had forked over $$ for the entire weekend's registration AND signed myself up to compete in the newcomer Jack & Jill* competitions! I figured, there were so many people in the newcomer category that no one would have the time to stare at just me during the competition. Later I found out who my "competition" was and seeing that there were some folk who had been dancing for way longer than I had (but had never before competed), I was even more reassured knowing that there was no pressure at all!


I was lucky enough to draw a good partner, and we went out on the Saturday afternoon and had a good time during the competition. When people asked me how I thought I'd done, honestly, I considered not nervously hurling all over the dance floor an accomplishment in itself! Even during the award ceremonies on the Saturday night, I was so sure that nothing would come of the competition that at one point I even considered skipping it and going to dance in the Salsa room next door!


It's time for the Newcomer category and they call out the 3rd place winners. And we know the guy! Cheers and clapping and hooting......
.....they call out the 2nd place winners. Another couple from our dance group!!!! But wait, everyone thought that she would win first place FOR SURE. I turn to the person next to me and indignantly vent about how I feel that S and L should TOTALLY have won, and how she's so good... yada yada. I'm so busy being indignant that I totally miss the fact that 
MY name is being called - as FIRST PLACE WINNER!!!!! Many hands yank me out of my chair and push me towards the podium where I stagger (in a very UN dance-like manner) to collect my plaque. My partner is giving me a huge hug (huum, he smells good) and everyone is shouting and cheering and all I can manage is a generally goofy smile and a "thank you" before I stumble back to my seat. As the realization of actually placing, let alone WINNING sinks in, I find myself literally trembling with happiness and OMG, I think I'm now actually going to barf!!!!

Yes, I forced the judges to stare at my ass!!! Brilliant move I thought!

Other than my frequent urges to barf on the dance floor, the weekend was absolutely filled with fun times whether it was trying out some new moves during the workshops, or dancing till 5am each night (morning?) or just hanging out with the "Westies" who I might add are some of the nicest people in the dancing circuit. I must have learned about a hundred new moves on the dance floor from people from all over Canada and the US; many of who I hope to see at subsequent events.


What was most special for me was that I finally felt that I "belonged" to the dance community; that I wasn't just a stranger who showed up for a dance every now and then. People knew who I was (not only because of the win) and knew my name and best of all, I knew who THEY were and was able to smile and nod and greet them back.

I've enjoyed dancing for as long as I can remember. This weekend just made me realize why I love it so much.





*For the non dance savvy readers - a Jack & Jill is a popular form of competition where participants sign up as individual competitors and partners are determined through random selection or a draw. The couple is judged as a unit with points for leading, following, music syncopation etc.

TMI?

In anticipation of this weekend’s big Swing Dancing event, I went off to an open practice session last night. At the end of the night I went out to grab a quick bite with two fellow dancers I’d just met. In the course of conversation over giros and pita, I found out that the one had once been arrested for attempting to illegally enter the US hidden away in on a freight ship and the other has an uncle who is currently in prison for war crimes.

All I could talk about was the time I got entangled in a ski rope at Lake Tahoe and consequently shut down the entire hill. Somehow it wasn’t in the same category of life stories.