When Death Us Does Part

Four months ago, I sat curled up on the couch watching snowflakes swirl outside my window, turning the streets of G Town into a winter wonderland. Two days later, it hadn't stopped snowing and the wonderland had fast turned into a monster vale. The freezing rain hit after that, and thanks to the total lack of grit and salting, the entire city turned into one giant ice rink. It was one day soon after, as I gingerly made my way to work one morning, watching people all around me falling over like skittles, that I was keenly aware of just how easy it would be for me to fall over and badly injure myself. Especially since I was a major calamity on even regular roads. From falling over and getting hurt, my thoughts turned to more darker outcomes such as just one false step spelling disaster, and leading to my head being cracked open on the curb.

Lights Out. Curtains. The End. Without the possibility of an encore performance. THE BIG FINISH.

And although I found myself rather unperturbed by the entire concept of my life coming to a sudden (and tragic) halt, it was the idea of my send off that started to bother me even more.

Coming from a large family, I've been used to celebrating all manner of events from a very early age. Birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, christenings, graduations; they've all been attended with gusto. Funerals on the other hand have always been an alien event. My family tended to keep children away from funerals and death in general. And the one time I did attend one, I was too stressed out by the overwhelming atmosphere. The person in question had been a rather aged member of the family and had died after a good long life. Yet, there were people all around wailing and beating themselves with grief. Literally. Many years later, I found out that those women who had been weeping copious amounts of tears were what my dad referred to as "professional mourners." They regularly attended funerals of all and sundry and made sure that the overall atmosphere was rank with grief and despair. At the time, I did not know this, and I was scared and uncomfortable with the whole situation. And, as I often do in such times, I began talking and joking. Inappropriate sentences tumbled out of my mouth and I was powerless to stop myself. My grandmother and aunt who were the relatives closest to me promptly marched me out of the room and into the custody of a random cousin with instructions to take me home at once. Said cousin has often thanked me for getting him out of a claustrophobic room and uncomfortable suit. It was later decided that for the sake of the family, I was not to attend any more funerals; a decision I was more than happy to abide by.

But now, I was consumed with thoughts of my own sendoff. I knew what funerals are supposed to be and I also knew most certainly that I wanted mine to be nothing like a "regular" funeral at all. I didn't want sadness or grief or tears. Not unless they were going to be tears of laughter. Because, let's face it, when thinking about me, most of the time you're going to remember some sort of crackpot thing that I've said or done and that's just going to make you giggle.

And that's what I want. A room full of people who I love and who hopefully love me in return all sitting around sharing their personal stories about me. No one is to wear black, unless of course it is for the slimming effect and you have a LBD that you've been dying to wear. I would like folks to bring along their favourite picture of me. That way, everyone can see just how great my hair actually was!

I want music playing. Not some somber ponderous rendition of Amazing Grace either. But music that is reflective of me, of my life. Pink's Raise Your Glass comes to mind right now. So too Glee's Loser Like Me. Both terribly apt I'd say! These are the notes I want blasting through that room. And I DO mean blasting, so there's no way this is going to be in some stoggy funeral hall or prim and proper church. The party room of some pub would be a far more suitable venue.

If there is to be a eulogy, then I want it told by the three people who I know will do me justice. My cousin Scribbler, my big brother Beer Baron and the love of my life, Maestro. They know all the good stories spanning my childhood, my teenage years and in to adulthood. Also, by picking 3 writers, I'm increasing the odds of them being around after I've kicked it! I can count on these guys to leave off the flowery tributes and focus on the really and REAL stories instead. Even the ones that made me look like a complete tit. Especially those ones!

Please don't bother with flowers. Wreaths especially. Take that money you'd spend on lilies or carnations or whatever and instead put to towards some concrete way of remembering me. Plant a tree. Put a bench in park so that people can sit down and read on a fine summer's day. Donate it to a charity. Whatever. Just don't waste it on an ugly wreath that costs too much and will just wither away in a few days anyway. 

I guess what I'm saying is, don't treat as the end of my life, rather, a celebration of it. Make it a great big party and by golly, I want people to be hungover as hell the next morning!

And if you are going to play Amazing Grace, at least make it a damned good version!

Cold Hard Truths

Me (to friend): So, how’s the new job going? Like it better than the other place?

Friend: Yeah… its good. This place is much… um… swankier than the last though.

Me: Oh? How do you mean?

Friend: Well, for starters, they’re really picky about their staff and how they look. The waitresses are totally stunning!

Me: Ah well.. makeup does wonders. If I knew how to wield a mascara brush, I’d have a job there as well.

Alleged Friend: No, you don’t understand. They want REALLY beautiful women.

Me: (thinking) Time for some new friends.

On Dating

While chatting with a girly pal the other day, we got talking about the murky world of dating. We'd like to think that we are both smart, savvy and moderately good looking lassies. Yet, between the two of us we have amassed a rather alarming number of dating horror stories. Our conversation lasted for about 2 hours and over that time we made some very interesting observations.

For starters, we figured out that guy time is a lot like dog time, just in reverse. Every minute to a girl is about 7 hours to a guy. Which would possibly explain why when they say, I'll call you soon, and then don't call for about a week. And also why when they do finally call, they they wonder why you're so mad that they've seemingly ignored you for a good many days. Even when you're on a date, the canine like behaviour tends to persist. Chances are, about mid way through the meal they're just going to want to doggy bag the rest, go back home and get you to play with them.

Then again, I've been so far removed from the dating game that I'm not even sure where to begin. Unfortunately life is not like a game of Monopoly with a convenient start point at GO. Incidentally, if you could collect £200 at the start of each new relationship it would certainly help with all the drinks you sometimes need to consume just to be able to get through the some of the dates!

Boy speak, like boy time is another mystery. Men are always going on about how women are cryptic; honestly, they can be just as bad. For example, I was recently at a bar with this guy I fancied, and who by all accounts fancied me as well. The conversation throughout the night consisted of him trying to break down a computer program for me followed by a long analytical discussion on why the TV in the corner had a blinking light. If ANY of you out there can interpret if I am to take that as a " I like you", please, let me know.

I did try to consult my handy dandy pocket dating book, but again because its been so damned long the copy I have is hopelessly outdated and missing a few chapters. An order has been placed for a replacement - with an entire chapter devoted to computer geeks as well! However, knowing my luck by the time it arrives, I'll have met an artist or musician or space cowboy and will need a whole new edition.

Been There, Done That!

Almost 3 weeks later, and I'm still receiving birthday prezzies which, I have to add is totally awesome! My friend Penguin Pal is all about the "birthday month" and I'm rather liking the concept. A package just came in with all sorts of goodies from my besties in the T Dot. The accompanying card has a list of things that was titled "30 Things to do for 30". Here's a reproduction of the same. I am happy to report that I have been able to cross a fair few items off already!

Shop till you drop - HATE shopping with a passion, so this one might never get done.
Eat cookie dough
Quit your job
Buy some bling
Speed date - Was signed up for it once, then genuinely fell ill on the day so had to drop out.
Sing karaoke
Do the birthday dance - Not quite sure what this is, but am up for all/any kinds of dancing!
Streak - Am rather surprised that given my group of friends this hasn't already happened.
Wish for something outrageous
Party! Party! Party!
Eat Cake
Play spin the bottle
Take a hot air balloon ride - Actually want to do that here before I leave. Virgin sometimes does really good discount offers.
Bungee jump from a bridge - Was all set to do this in New Zealand, then my busted knee put a kibosh on those plans.
Date online -Probably another thing that will never get done. Can't seem to get into the zone for this kind of stuff.
Moon somebody
Pimp your ride - Have never owned my own car, but does glitter and stickers on your bicycle count?
Get shot out of a cannon - Um, NO. I am accident prone as it is! But, would like to try trapeeze swings at some point.
Kiss a stranger
Splurge on something frivilous
Go skinny dipping
Runaway and join the circus - So wanted to when I was little and reading about Mr. Galliano's circus!
Go crazy
Drop it like its hot - Again, not quite sure what is required of me here. Anyone reading this who speaks Snoop Dog?
Play strip poker
Write your memoir - This blog kinda counts, doesn't it?
Go skydiving - Dunno about solo, but a tandem dive seem like a piece of cake! (I say, with my feet planted on terra firma)
Call a party line - Again. No. Waste of money that I can spend on pints and chatting/flirting with someone in person.
Cry over lost youth
Live it up!

Tribute Act

Five weeks of hyper intensive planning activity all came to a head on Thursday night at the charity gig. The last week of planning was especially difficult. Ticket sales were nowhere near where they should have been and my supposed "helpers" were doing anything but. Three days before the event, the compere called to say that he wasn't going to be able make it and a day later the headliner sent me a message on Facebook (on Facebook!!!) to say that he'd gotten a paid gig and so couldn't do the event.

Suffice to say, by the time the day came around, I was stressed out of my mind and trying to desperately to juggle everything that had to be done all the while attempting to give off an aura that I actually everything under control. Thankfully, I have the world's BEST friends and they all rallied round to help out in every way that they could, even making sure I got a bite of a sandwich every time I ran past them!

The turn out wasn't as large as I'd hoped, and we had to wait a half hour to start the event so that the room looked filled out. Still, once it actually got going the crowd all seemed to be loving it and the acts were all in top form. We raised a tidy amount on the night from ticket and raffle sales and donations are still coming in.

It is two days later and I feel like I'm still recovering. But, it was worth every minute of anxiety and stress and I'm going to be a very happy bunny on Monday when I hand over the money to the charity. The evening was dedicated to the memory of the two grandparents I lost to that bastard disease. One was taken when she was barely 50; a life only part lived. The other I watched as the disease ripped through his frail body making the last months of his life a living hell.

This is the only way I know to honour them. Make them proud. 

The Aftermath

 The last guests have just been ushered out the door and I turn back to survey the disaster zone that is my flat. If there is a direct correlation between how great the party was as compared to the mess left behind, the I'm thinking this was the party of all parties!

The clean up will take a while, especially since I'm feeling rather tender right now. But it was one helluva night. A fitting close to a week of birthday celebrations, and a terrific start to wonderful new decade ahead.

On Turning 30

As the clock struck midnight, there was the epic noise of a door slamming shut as I crossed over the threshold and landed firmly into the third decade of my life. My friends decided that making an announcement over the mic and getting the entire pub to sing for me would be appropriate. There was a rousing cheer of "Happy 30th" at the end of the song and hearing that out loud was a very odd feeling indeed. I knew this moment was coming. In fact, the entire evening I kept checking my watching thinking, Just 4 hours left in my 20s.... just 3..... and so on.

I am now about 8 hours into my 30s having just stumbled home after the comedy night at the pub which was followed by the post comedy night at another bar. And if these past few hours are any indication of how the rest of the decade will follow, then Mercy, this decade is going to be even more manic than the last!

To commemorate the awesomeness that has been my life thus far, I've put together a list of what I consider my top 30 moments of glory. Begging your indulgence with this little piece of self promotion, I give you (in no particular order):

30 Things I did before 30

1. Learned to tie my shoe laces and ride a bike all on the same day. Or so my mother says. 
2. Won a dance competition. Toronto Swing Dancing Championship, 2008. West Coast Swing Beginner Category - First Place! 
3. Saw wild elephants up close. A little too close actually.
4. Took part in almost every extra curricular activity my high school had on offer. Art, music, drama, sports, science fair - did it all. 
5. Completed the Tongararo Crossing; a 21 km alpine trek that climbs as high as 1900 mts. Ok, so I had to be carried down the last 1.5 kms by six German guys coz I'd fallen and twisted my knee. But it still counts. 
6. Been carried down a mountain by six German guys. Hey, how many other people can claim that? 
7. Sang the National Anthem at a major league sporting event.
8. Was bridesmaid at my Very Best Friend's wedding. 
9. Quit my job. Twice. 
10. Took a six month sabbatical and went travelling. Then carved a niche for myself in the new career path. 
11. Tried both skiing and ice skating. Both were epic FAILS. But hey, at least I tried. 
12. Moved to a new country and started from scratch. Twice. 
13. Led a successful boycott of my high school Christmas pageant in protest of exam dates clashing with production rehearsal times. Have I mentioned that I went to a catholic school run by Carmelite nuns? And that my aunt was a teacher at said school? It was my very own Norma Rae moment. 
14. Slept outdoors under the canopy of stars in the Australian Outback.
15. Skinny dipped in the ocean.
16. Watched the sun rise over sand dunes in the Thar desert. 
17. Posed nude for a charity shoot. No Photoshop was involved! 
18. Eaten at least 5 kinds of "mystery" meats. And lived to tell the tale. 
19. Was the youngest person ever to sit on her Parish Council. And boy did I shake things up during my tenure! 
20. Graduated debt free. Not even a library fine to worry about. 
21. Held my own for 4 years working as the only female in a department of 47 men in a testosterone dominated industry. Helped that I could drink most of those pansies under the table.
22. Fallen hopelessly, passionately and totally in love. Because no matter how it ended, it was an incredible feeling while it lasted. 
23. Dragged myself out of the cold bleak well of heartbreak and clawed my way back to the top. Three times. 
24. Presented at an international conference on youth leadership. Again, one of the youngest presenters there. 
25. Learned how to cook well enough to have friends around for dinner and cook yummy goodies for them. Hardly award worthy I know, but sometimes the company of good pals is worth more than a million dollar prize. 
26. Taken a chance. On life, on a job, on love. 
27. Nurtured and maintained several long lasting friendships that have stayed strong even through years and miles have separated us. 
28. Co-produced a book chronicling the lives of two of my personal heroes - my grandparents. 
29. Introduced a fair few people to the wonderful world of dancing as a Dance Instructor. 
30. Made a cameo in a Bollywood movie. It was for about 3 seconds and I am barely visible, but I know I'm there! 

 

Censorship

In a world where so much is already going so very wrong; where wars and violence, famine and floods, murder and mayhem all seem to take centre stage, do people post pics of their truly ugly babies??? I understand if you have an adorable, cute, rolly polly, wee oompa loopma like kiddo; who doesn't like to see pics of that?

But if you have somehow managed to give birth to something that looks a bit like that thing that popped out of Sigourney Weaver in Alien, then WHY WHY WHY would you share that face with the rest of the world????

For anyone who is even remotely confused, let me illustrate. Bellow is an example of a cute kid.

This, on the other hand is most certainly and definitively NOT

And ok, even if you have just reproduced and produced something that looks like it supports Darwin's theory of the missing link, that's why useful programs like Paint and Photoshop were invented. Just saying.

Now, I realise that some of my readers are mums and two in particular with brand new wee men and it may be that this post unleashes the Mommy Dragon in them. Understanding that beauty is in the eyes of the beholder and that parents especially see cuteness where non exist, I might come across as an ogre right now. But seriously, give us a break. Just as Picasso doesn't appeal to everyone, no matter how much the critics gush over his work, it is the same with babies. There are some of us who refuse to play along with this "all babies are cute" charade. I'm just vocalising what a lot of people are thinking. Perhaps that makes me the bad guy, but even bad guys have a right to their own opinion.

**In response to Elli's comment, I'd like to say that yes, the reason I chose the pic of the new born is to lay emphasis on my point. That no matter how thrilled you are with the little leprechaun that you've just squeezed through your vajayjay, do not share these first pics with us, the rest of the uncaring world. Give the child a few days to get over the trauma of the close encounter with your intimates, let their heads get to the normal size, let all the swelling and redness subside.... and THEN post the pics. The one's where they are about a second old should be tucked away in an album marked PARENTS ONLY. 

All I'm saying is, don't force me to share in your delusion.

Raining and Pouring

No reference to the weather. It has actually been rather bright and sunshiney over the past few days. I am instead talking about the tendency that just as soon as you are busy beyond belief, the universe, like a cruel and sadistic boss will turn around and make sure to pile on a couple of extra tasks into your already overflowing in basket.

Like right now. As if working two jobs plus planning a charity fundraiser that's happening in just about 3 weeks wasn't enough, I've just gotten an offer to write an article for a travel magazine. 2000 words on travel in Scotland by the end of the month. Additional problem, the magazine caters to the luxury travel clientele. So not my forte at all! And since I don't have any time to do proper research, I'll just have to go with the places that I've already been and try and write something that will turn my budget backpacking experiences into an article that will appeal to folks looking for that uber chic holiday extravaganza.

And yet, how can turn down the amazingly fantastic offer? Finally the opportunity to write about something that I am passionate about, and get paid to do that as well! And, if they actually like my work perhaps this would mean the start of a long term business relationship! If I can get it written in time. And get stuff done for the charity event. And go to work at my two part time jobs as well.

Pressure, much?

You've Got Mail

Heard a tap at the door this morning. Opened it to find the postman there. Grinning from ear to ear, he handed me a postcard. Odd, I thought. He could have just pushed it through the mail slot. Then I looked closer and saw the address, and realised why he wanted to hand deliver this particular piece of mail.

Scheming Governments

It has been widely acknowledged that the Scotland has one of the highest percentage of obese people in all of Europe thanks to deep fried anything being on the list of your 5-a-day. The Scottish Government has been doing its best to combat this problem with a multitude of campaigns and initiatives to get the population to think and live healthy. Apparently, they have also recently teamed up with Royal Mail on a rather unique "get fit" scheme.

At least, that is the only explanation I have as to why the postman would leave a package notice at a time when both flatmate and I were home. He didn't tap at the door, just pushed the note through the mail slot in the door and took off. By the time I got to it, and opened the door he was gone. That meant I had to walk 20 minutes up the road and over the hill to the post depot, stand in line for 10 minutes, collect the package and walk back another 20 minutes home.

On the other hand, it DID get me out of my jammies and out and about on a particularly lovely sun-shiney morning.

Who knows, perhaps the Scottish government might have hit the nail on the head after all and this cockamamy new idea might just work!

Foresight

Last summer, when I told people about how we disciplined kids at camp through manual labour, I was sometimes met with shock and outrage. Yeah, sure. YOU spend 8 weeks with a bunch of rowdy teens and see if you'd react any different!

Apparently, us Activity Leaders weren't the only ones who'd thought to go with that kind of plan. The Scottish government have similar ideas. 

Mammoth Task, meet Pixy.

Somewhere in the latter months of last year, after attending a couple of Tuesday night comedy gigs in a row I was bestowed with the dubious status of "Comedy Groupie". Considering some of the things I have been called in the past, this wasn't all that bad! It also meant that I had a brand new - and ever increasing - circle of friends all networked into Scotland's comedy circuit.

It was a chance remark by one of my comedian pals that got me thinking about pairing up my new found friends with my energies as a fundraiser to get another event going. This time, it would be one that the "regular" folk could actually attend; no black ties, no £100 a plate tickets!

I approached the charity I'd worked with on all of the past eventsand outlined my plan to them. To me, it was a no brainer. If they covered my initial costs like venue hire, I could make sure they get that downpayment back.... and then some. However, they didn't think so and came up with every excuse in the book as to why they weren't able to support me and my idea. It was a stark reminder of my disaster interview from last year.

Not wanting to give up on a good idea, I went ahead and emailed a couple of other local charities. One of them got back to me and set up a meeting for this morning. We met, we chatted and in about an hour we'd worked out most of the details on how the charity could support my fundraising efforts. March 3rd is the magic date. And now I have the mammoth task of planning and executing a comedy nightcharity fundraiser in little over a month's time.

*Gulp*

And, for the record. I really prefer Band Aid as opposed to Groupie!

Busted!

While waiting at the cross walk on the way home from the underground station, I happened to glance at the couple standing next to me. I remembered that they had been on the same subway car as me. The lights changed and we crossed, they a few steps behind me. I could hear snatches of their conversation. It IS.... I'm sure....just ask, why don't you?... Because its weird, that's why!....Do you think so?.... yes, I'm positive. 

Odd conversation, I thought, but didn't really think too much about it. As I turned off the main road onto my street, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the couple. Excuse me, but do you live in the first block of tenement houses on this street? A little bemused, I nodded; the girl hastened on. You live on the first floor don't you? Again, I nodded. Do you live in the same block as me? I asked. I didn't know we had new neighbours come in! 

The girl looked at her partner and then back at me. I could see she was blushing slightly. Actually, we live across the road at number 9. But we can see into your living room..... and we can see you dancing around most days. We've always wondered who you are.... and well... now we know! 

It was my turn to blush.  

New Year's Revelations

Berlin was a spur of the moment decision. A question of, where can I go for a few days at minimum cost? Two days after I booked the tickets, I found out about the lay off. Panicking slightly, I wondered if I should go ahead with the trip. The wander lust won out in the end. And besides, the tickets were non refundable.

Being in a new city was always a time for discovery. This trip, the biggest discovery was all about myself. Well, not so much a discovery as much as a confirmation of a lot of facts!

For starters, I have figured out that I am socially outgoing AND socially awkward both at once. I am also too old to play the pickup game. And I'm a wee bit afraid that I may just be too old for the entire travel/backpack/hostel experience in general.

Let me expand.

When I travel its all about seeing a new place; visiting the sights and taking in the local culture and history. I truly cannot be arsed with staying up late and partying till the ass crack of dawn. Its far too expensive - and very often for a single girl traveller at least - a wee bit dangerous.

It is almost a direct throwback to my high school days. Through 10 years of primary and secondary school, I pretty much had the one constant pal. I got along with a ton of peeps, but they were all largely generic. When VBF wasn't around, I would tend to flit around the periphery of other groups; always on the very edge, never quite in. There were times when I was hugely bothered by this and I was acutely aware of my solitary status. As I've grown older the solitude has become more and more like an old pal in itself. We are very comfortable together and there no pretense of false popularity is required.

Back to the travel, I get the distinct feeling that most other travellers don't quite know what to make of me. I do wish that social conventions allowed me to just state my agenda (or rather, the lack of one) loud and clear. Dear Fella at the bar, I have zero interest in snogging or being snogged. You seem like nice enough blokes and I just want to have a few laughs. 

I am painfully aware that most times I come across as a right weirdo. Like a mirror of my high school days, I am sure that most of the time first impressions are that of eccentric kook who will probably end up like Mrs. Haversham. Fifteen years ago that might have upset me. Today, its not so bad. Heck, Mrs. H got to dance around all day and did exactly what she wanted without a care as to what the world thought. Not a bad life eh?

Paving the Road to Hell

Got back from the very awesome and totally manic New Year's eve party at about 6am yesterday morning. How's that for a banging start to 2011?

There were a lot of surreal moments during the night. For starters, the air in the room was so thick with smoke I could have carved out a centre piece sculpture. And I wasn't talking about just cigarette smoke either. Then there was the boy who decided to get his hair shaved right in the middle of the living room. Half way through the event, the clippers broke and the boy ended up with a most unusual look. And let's not forget the pair of hussies that had taken it upon themselves to play an interesting game of Pass the Chlamydia as they made a lot of fellas very happy in the early hours of the new decade.

Regardless of all those shenanigans, or perhaps because of them, it was one heck-of-an-interesting night. Even the walk home at 5am was fun as I met a bunch of fellow west enders all heading home and it was a case of each one helping the other along. Now that's called being neighbourly.

Since I got home yesterday morning, I've been installed on the couch in the living room watching whatever has happened to be on TV. That has included Two Weeks Notice, Bridge Jones: The Edge of Reason and yes, that ringleader amongst flims of heartstring tugger variety - Love Actually. Also, it is now PJ wearing hour number 36.

So much for the good intentions!

Good Intentions

And so we arrive at the very last day of this year. As always, there is that feeling of Where ever has the time gone by? I swear, we were *just* doing this last year......

Although I'm a not a resolution type of gal, I decided to go ahead and make some erm... guidelines for the upcoming year. And so, in no particular order, here they are:

1. Try something new as often as possible.
Beer Baron once told me that according to his grandma, trying or doing something new added an extra 72 hours to your life. We are still trying to figure out how that would work when it comes to sampling new brews; would the extra 72 hours cancel out the 72 hours we were probably loosing due to liver deterioration? In any case, actively seeking out new experiences seems like a good way for me to ensure that the adventures continue. And hey, they make for very good blog posts as well!

2. Don't spend more than 48 hours at time in my PJs.
Please note, I'm not saying that lounging around in one's PJs are not a good thing. I'm just attempting to put a cap on the number of days (at a time) that I remain in them.

3. Do NOT keep watching sappy movies like Love Actually or Sweet Home Alabama. They do nothing other than shine a very large and bright spotlight onto the fact that I am (and will probably continue to be) in a state of singledom.

4. Dance. All the time. Anywhere. Everywhere. Even if people are watching. Especially if people are watching. Something like this.

Happy New Year Readers. I've loved having you follow along on my mad little journey so far, and hope to see you again in 2011.

The Mega Christmas Wishes Post

Some years ago a friend came up with a very unique idea for a Christmas email. This year, when sitting down to compose mine I remembered his plan and decided that the statute of limitations on the rip off had expired and went ahead and created my own version of a Christmas message.

When thinking about Christmas, its always the memories from your childhood that tend to take centre stage. Good and bad... they come tumbling to the forefront. Whether it is that horrible dress your mother forced you to wear (Bandra girls on this list... you know the one with the bows and itchy fabric) or the excitement of making Christmas sweet with your Nana and the cousins or the thrill of the first notes of the Christmas choir. 

I could have written a deep and insightful (and sometimes humourous) account of my best Christmas memories... but that's not going to be any different from the rest of the festive greetings is it? So, thanks to the wonder that is You Tube, this is going to be an audio visual trip down memory lane!

When you sing in a Christmas choir, the festive season begins long before Advent Sunday. In fact, I remember one year when it was not even Diwali and we'd already begun with weekly practices. Through trembling tenors and shakey sopranos and with 80% of the singers not even able to read music, we somehow each year managed to pull off a fantastic performance the Christmas Eve service. Unfortunately, there are no recordings to share with you, so instead I give you The Carol of the Bells

 performed by a very unique ensemble.

Anyone growing up in North American will be very familiar with TV Christmas specials such as the Peanuts Christmas and A Christmas Carol and How the Grinch Stole Christmas. We didn't have TV specials in Bombay. What we DID have were uncles and aunties and random relatives and family friends who lived in various parts of the Middle East who would tape (yes as in video) various programs and pass out these cassettes to their India based rellies. And thank goodness for their unabashed bootlegging and totally infringement of copyright because otherwise I would have never ever known about The Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton, A Christmas to Remember.

There are so many wonderful songs from this program, both the old and well known as well as new (well, for 1984) ones that Dolly and Kenny belted out in true country style. My all time favourite that I'd like to share with you is a song who's lyrics are so apt, even all these years later. And yes, I Believe in Santa Claus!!

Whatever your personal Christmas traditions, the season is all about getting together. Friends and family from near and far. And over the years, Christmas has been the reason for some amazing musical collaborations that have produced some of the finest tunes ever. There's one such match up that I absolutely love. Here's David Bowie and Bing Crosby and their take on

 The Little Drummer Boy

To all of you on this list that have kiddos (or are about to pop some out), I say to you: Make sure your kid is introduced to the wonderful world of the Muppets as early as possible. Heck, I'd say that EVERYONE should know about the Muppets. The world would certainly be a much better place we all just did things like they do in Jim Henson land! (manamanah!)

So, I end this with this, the best of Christmas wishes to you and yours. May it be merry, may it be bright, joyful and triumphant!  But most of all, may it be filled with the joy and laughter of loved ones. Here's hoping that 2011 brings you the best experiences and wonderful times to look back on at this time next year.

Kermit, Miss Piggy, Fozzie, Gonzo and the rest of the gang have this special wish for you. 

Cheers to a wonderful today, and an even better tomorrow.

Pink. Not my Favourite Colour.

Pretty much all of Scotland has been getting slammed with the worst kind of winter weather. Snow, sleet and ice is all that the weather fairy is offering on the menu. It has caused the worst kind of chaos as this country is so not prepared for the ravages of winter storms.

And yet there were a small group of us that still managed to trudge in to work every single day. From 6pm to 10pm every night, we toiled away. There were at time anxious glances out the window as the snow started to accumulate to alarming proportions. Over the radio we heard repeated announcements for folks to get home early as there was fear that most main highways would soon be shut.

Last Monday, as the snow was gathering to alarming proportions, we asked if there was the possibility of getting off work early. After a lot of hemming and hawing, permission was given to leave 30 minutes early *only* if we made up the time later on in the week. Very thankful, we scampered off. The next day, we each got a call from work telling us that the back shift (that's us) was to be temporarily suspended due to the weather.

I must admit that I did enjoy the unexpected night off. It was actually the night of the epic foot-in-mouth moment, but hey it was still a night off and it felt wonderful to out and about like a regular person! But as the days went past, and the snow and ice melted and we still didn't get a call back to work, there was a stink in the air. It wasn't until last Wednesday a whole week later that we were finally recalled to action.

By this time, I had a sinking feeling about the whole situation. And right enough. As we all sat down at our desks, the manager came by and handed us all a letter. It's just about your contracts he drawled. It sure was. And the fact that this was our one week's notice of termination as the back shift was being cancelled.

Its not the fact that we've been laid off. Its not the fact that I've lost a job that I was counting on to see me through the next six months. Its how it was done and the really lame reason (change in company dynamics) that we were given. The reality is that we were asking too many questions, making too many "demands", actually bothering to question how things were done.

Today was our last day. Not one person from management stayed behind to acknowledge that 12 people were leaving. Perhaps even to thank us for our efforts? Wish us good luck? A Happy Christmas?

I'll miss the fun times with my colleagues and the security of a regular pay. But I cannot say that I'm sad to be out of there. I've been working for 10 years now and that was truly an interesting experience. But I am slightly thankful that I do not have to be part of that environment any more.

I am instead, going to focus on spending Christmas with my friend and everything else that the holiday season has on offer.

Pixy out.

Kiss and Tell

Every year in the run up to Christmas, I always have that one special moment that seems to define the season for me. Its something, often a tiny and mundane act or event that is the trumpet blast The Holiday Season is on hand!!!! This year's was just a little extra special.

Last night I was at a bar with some friends when someone pointed out that I happened to be standing right under a bunch of mistletoe. All conversation came to a screeching halt as every single person in the group (and some from adjacent groups as well) turned to see who was going to do the deed. The seconds ticked away feeling like an eternity and I stood there just looking into my drink and wishing that the earth would open up and swallow away my public embarrassment.

After what seemed like an eternity and as people were starting to feel bad for me, my pal leaned over and gave me a loud *muuuuuah* on the cheek. Everyone laughed and the tension was broken and people were turning back to their conversations. Then, the unthinkable happened. Another guy - the undisputed charmer/bad boy/man whore of the group - turned to my pal and loudly exclaimed, Terrible! That's no way to kiss someone under the mistletoe. This is.....and before I or anyone else could react, proceeded to kiss me long and hard and if I'm utterly honest, very very well.

When he finally broke it off to the loud cheers of the bar, I wasn't sure if I was dizzy from the beer, the embarrassment or the fact that I had just had a total overdose of Christmas cheer!