Monday, October 31

day 10560: dear chickie

Fcuk. This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever written and probably will ever write. Hell… even after I write this, I don’t know if I’ll send it to you. It is harshly worded, not very pretty, but hopefully, my message will come across and you’ll take to heart what I say.

Let me preface this by saying that while I know that we’ve had our differences over the past year, and while our friendship has suffered as a result, this letter does not stem from any ill-will, misplaced anger, resentment etc or anything else that anyone might project upon it. Rather, I’ve sat back for the past few months, kept my mouth shut, and just observed, hoping that you’d be the one to realize that the choices that you’ve been making are not necessarily the right ones and that changes need to be made. I don’t like confrontation. I tend to leave it to other people, but soft words and quiet suggestions don’t seem to be enough in this situation. I didn’t want to be the bitch. I still don’t want to be the bitch. But things need to be said, and because for some fcuked up reason, I still care about your general well-being, I have one thing to say…

Drinking and driving don’t mix.

I’m not saying that you have a drinking problem. Far be it for me to say something like that. I really couldn’t care less how much you drink. Hell, you could drink until you pass out, and it doesn’t really matter to me… as long as I don’t have to be the one to hold your hair back when you’re puking your guts out all over the bathroom… as long as I don’t have to be the one paying a foot long bar tab… as long as you don’t confront me at yet another bar… AS LONG AS YOU DON’T INTEND ON DRIVING HOME AFTERWARDS… you can drink as much as you want and I really don’t give a flying fcuk.

But the second you put your hand in your purse to pull out your keys, that’s when I get worried. You see, you, my friend, are little. One drink for a 100lb female in one hour will put them at a 0.026% blood alcohol percentage. Two drinks in an hour at 0.067%. Three drinks in an hour at 0.107%... legal limit is 0.08%. Three drinks over two hours puts a 100lb female at 0.092% which is OVER the legal limit. You don’t even weigh 100lb. And when you factor in things like physical health (yes, fitter is better), and the fact that you drank those drinks on a completely empty stomach so the absorption rate of the alcohol into your blood stream was not slowed… do you see what I’m getting at here?

(fyi: the effect of alcohol is the same for a bottle of beer, a glass of wine, or a 1.5 oz glass of spirits)

You can argue until you’re blue in the face that you feel fine, or that you have a high tolerance and therefore are capable of driving, but it won’t change my stance on things. Your body can only eliminate 15 mg of alcohol per 100mL of blood per hour. Tolerance doesn’t change your blood alcohol percentage. Tolerance just means that you’re a slightly better actress than anyone thinks, and that you’re able to mask the signs of intoxication. Of course, it doesn’t help that you act increasingly “goofy” with every sip you take whether or not you actually are intoxicated. I’m sorry, girl, but if you act intoxicated, we actually think you are intoxicated. It’s simple.

Did you know that there have been cases where someone’s been charged with DUI the NEXT MORNING because they thought that they had slept it off, but they really hadn’t? Alcohol and its effects can be deceiving.

Part of drinking is knowing yourself – your physical limitations, your judgment capabilities and being responsible for who you are and what you do. When you think about it, legal limits actually don’t make a difference in the big picture. Really, any slight intoxication while driving should be a no-no. I hate to say this, but if you’re not the world’s best driver when sober, what makes you think that you’ll be able to drive when you’re not? What makes any of us think that we have the right to drive when we’re anything but sober? Driving is a privilege that many of us are guilty of abusing.

Friday night, you were probably ok to drive by the time you wanted to leave. Had you not gotten so defensive and started arguing illogically about how everyone else has been drunk at one point or another and how you’ve never been drunk to the point of passing out or puking, I probably would have agreed that you were fine to go. But you couldn’t understand that the situations weren’t the same and that where the rest of us have drank to the point of passing out or puking we have never, ever intended to drive. Most of us, if we know that we plan on drinking will leave our cars at home or arrange for rides… even if it means a $40 cab ride. Yes. I have paid $40 for a taxi before and I would do it again. There is always an alternative to driving, even if it means staying over, or someone driving you home and someone else following with your car. And yes, these options were all being discussed when you and Posie were sitting on the couch.

We’ve all had to make the same decision, and sometimes maybe we haven’t made the right ones either. There are times when I know I’m not over the legal limit, but I know that I probably shouldn’t have driven. There are times when I think I’m stone cold sober, but I’m really not and thank God I didn’t drive on those occasions. I’ve seen you go out with the intent on getting buzzed and then want to drive home afterwards. I’ve seen you do shots with us on top of having drinks with dinner and still drive home afterwards. Friday night, I saw you sitting by yourself giggling to yourself hysterically while running a remote control car back and forth between two chair legs. I can only judge by observation, and that was what we were all doing the other night. Waiting an additional half an hour should not have made such a big difference. We insisted for your own protection and for the sake of the other people on the road. We did not insist on it because we wanted the pleasure of your company (grumpy you is no fun) or because we wanted to prove a point. We definitely did not want to fight with you about it.

I sound like a parent. I don’t want to be condescending. I don’t want to be the one to lay down the law and say that I’m going to take away your keys and shove it into my underwear if you insist on driving. I like to party just as much as anyone else, if not more. The difference is that I know how to do it responsibly and when not to do it. I learned the hard way. I drove once when I obviously shouldn’t have, and I risked not only myself, but someone else I care very much about as well. But I, too, was working on emotion, and somehow managed to fool everyone into thinking that I was ok. Nothing happened that night, and for that I will be eternally grateful, but the thought of what could have happened will stay in my mind forever.

Know this. Life is about action and being responsible for your own actions. You have to understand the consequences of everything you do. What if you got into an accident? What if you didn’t die, and you were only paralyzed for life? What if you hit a pedestrian and killed someone? What if you hit another car and killed a child? Could you live with yourself then? Is it worth it to leave that extra 30 minutes earlier?

I know I run the risk of alienating you because of what I’ve written. But it’s a trade off I think is worth it if you even contemplate what I’ve said. Ultimately, the decision is up to you what you chose to do you with your life, but I know that had we not stopped you on Friday, and if we don’t continue to try to stop you, we wouldn’t be able to call ourselves your friends. And should something ever happen to you, and we didn’t try to stop you, many of us would have a very difficult time dealing with it.

Think about it. Life is too short as it is to do something so stupid. It’s time to stop being selfish and start thinking about everyone else in the world instead of just yourself.

Wednesday, October 26

day 10555: blub glub...

...glub... Posted by Picasa

fly the ocean in a silver plane
see the jungle when it's wet with rain
just remember till you're home again
you belong to me ~ lifehouse

Tuesday, October 25

day 10554: forgive me…

What would you do,
If you could read my mind?
Think all the thoughts that I do?
Would you still be my friend,
Could you take me as I am?
Or second guess my actions, too?

Why is it more difficult to forgive myself as opposed to forgiving someone else? Even if the situation was not of my making, why is it that all my thoughts and actions run through my mind. Something said, something done... something silly, something stupid… things other people have already forgotten.

I accuse myself of stupidity; stupidity in my thoughts and the things that come out of my mouth. But really, the stupidity comes in not being able to forgive myself… and thus not being able to forget. I must exorcise my mind’s demons. I cannot let this ruin me.

Monday, October 24

day 10553 ½: *blush*

“Who’s Bacon?”
“You mean special friend. See how she smiles when you say his name? Bacon… Bacon…”
“Oh my God, you’re right… Bacon… Bacon… Bacon…”
“Ok guys, stop already!”



*slightly longer pause*

day 10553: scummed…

As a rule, I don’t like spending money buying things unless it’s absolutely necessary and would much rather suck it up and spend money on going out with friends or doing something else instead. That’s why my snowboard boots for the past three years have been hand-me-downs from beloved cousin Bo, my winter jacket fits XL and I’m still fiddling around with my minidisk player from a pre-Ipod era (yeah, yeah… I know… woe is me… I’ve gotten over it, so should you.).

The great thing about bonus week is that all the little necessities that need replacing can finally be replaced without so much a glint of guilt. I finally bought a pair of great Solomon Ivy boots for only $150 (no more black toes… yay!) and yesterday I finally, finally replaced my 21 month old cell phone with a brighter and better model.

Now, before you go off on a tangent thinking “what the heck is that girl thinking? It’s less than 2 years old… Spending $350 on a cell phone… she must be made of money… why didn’t she just get a free phone from *service provider not to be named*!! Ai-ya… such a waste of money,” think about this instead: my Panasonic G52 (which I absolutely loved, btw… so small… so compact… so girlie-girl cute) was about a month shy of death’s door. A month. At most. The connection between the screen and whatever the heck it was supposed to be connected to was not connecting properly. Fuzzy lines, hazy screens, no backlight… and to top it off… the phone was possessed by a demon that would turn it off in the MIDDLE of calls. Fantastic. I put it off as much as humanly possible (note self-justification going on here). It was time to retire the old girl.

Now think about this…

My key criteria with phones is that they be small and have good battery life… reception quality notwithstanding, of course. Of all the phones that *sucky service provider* actually offer, only one really matches the criteria and it isn’t cheap… $349 with a $100 rebate IF I sign a THREE year commitment and then they charge me a $35 administration fee to “process my hardware upgrade.” Yeah right. Do the math. I really get only a $65 discount for a three year contract. No way. For an additional $23 dollars, I bought a PacMall unlocked phone; free and clear of any weird and wonderful red tape commitments. Of course this phone might only last 21months, but at the rate I’m going, hey who knows what I’ll be doing in two years time… maybe I’ll move to Hawaii and be a burger flipper somewhere.

I’m a wee bit commitment phobic… can you tell?

Oh, and the new phone. It’s black. I couldn't wait for the pink one.

Sunday, October 23

day 10552: the next seven days

Ok, so if the boy tells me to “be good” while he’s away in Montreal and Ottawa this week, am I really expected to sit here twiddling my thumbs? Cuz twiddling the thumbs… it ain’t so fun. The only thing running through my head is “PARTY TIME! Call the boys. Break out the boozies!! Someone call for pizza.”

But then I remember that I’m supposed to “be good” this week anyway because I have a hideously skimpy bikini that I’m supposed to be looking amazing in next week while I’m sunning myself on a beach. In Hawaii.

So, sorry to disappoint, but the only thing I’ll be doing this week is gym, gym and more gym, not boys, boys and more boys…

Hawaii… countdown… starting now…

Thursday, October 20

day 10549: the little things

remembering them…

Cabbie: Sorry Miss, do you have anything smaller? I don’t have any change.
Schmassion: No. Only this $20. Let me dig around… no… nothing…
Cabbie: Don’t worry about it then, Miss.
Schmassion: That’s not right… just keep the $20.
Cabbie: It’s ok. Someone else will give me a $5.
Schmassion: That’s not right… here…
Cabbie: No Miss… you have a nice day…


Timmy Ho girl: See what this nice lady gave me? She tipped me a whole dollar…

sweating them…

Today’s massive email:

“Trust is a BIG, BIG issue for me. I take trust and commitment very seriously. My number one pet peeve is people saying that they will do something and then not doing it. Yes, I have discontinued friendships because of it, or have seriously affected friendships because of it. Some have recovered. Some have not and never will. If I say that I will do something, I will do everything I can to do it. Only in the utmost of circumstances do I back down from something. Again, I give to people what I would expect back from them. I learned a long time ago that if I am not a person of my word, then I am nothing. What is a person if he/she cannot be trusted? So if I make a commitment, I keep my commitment. That’s why I continue playing football every week even though I don’t really like it.

I understand completely where you are coming from and while I agree with many of your points (and facts), I also learned a long time ago that not everyone is like me. If I continue to set my expectations too high, I will constantly be disappointed by people. Not everyone lives to the same standards that I hold myself to. Not everyone can because this world does not exist in an absolute state of being and not everyone has the same values and morals as I do. But does that necessarily decrease the level of trust I have in them… no. I trust different people for different things. I would trust some people with my life, but I would never trust them with a secret. I would trust some people with a life-changing secret, but never trust them with my life or my physical well-being.

This world is full of shades of grey. Not everything is black and white. If you hold everything as an absolute, even the people closest to you will disappoint you from time to time. I’ve learned not to sweat the small stuff and only make an issue of it if it is a really big deal. Even though I try hard to hold myself to my principles and standards, I’ve dropped the ball on a ton of things, usually on really big things, and that mostly impact my immediate family (i.e. the people that matter the most). And even so, no matter how many times I’ve disappointed them, they find it in their hearts to forgive me. That is the true meaning of love and friendship. I can tell you now that at one point or another, I will drop the ball on you. I won’t mean to, and I won’t like it, but it will happen. I’m not perfect, and neither are you. If you expect me to be, as a condition of our friendship, then I’m sorry, but I will disappoint you.”

Tuesday, October 18

day 10547: mmm... motorcycles...

... mmm... bike... Posted by Picasa

Monday, October 17

day 10546: meeting the ‘rents

I blame it all on a drunken hazy night a couple of weeks ago. I don’t remember when. We had bantered back and forth about meeting the parents etc etc, but there were no plans… no commitments… nothing would happen unless I was certain that I was ready to meet the ‘rents. I wasn’t ready. I was drunk. I said yes.

I dreaded meeting parents. I’m not very good at it. Be it someone I’m dating or one of my friend’s parents, it always feels awkward and uncertain in the beginning. Will they like me? Am I good enough for their child? What the heck do people really think about me? Do I make a good first impression? I’d ace it if it was a job interview. Parents, on the other hand, completely absolutely terrify me.

I have no idea where my fear comes from. Maybe from the spit-and-polish-stand-up-straight a la Sound of Music style dating back to my early childhood years. Just joking… no… not really. First impressions were always a big deal in my family. You are nothing if your reputation isn’t good enough.

But I had committed and I had to follow through. Granted, it helped that I actually really met them for the first time last week when we stopped by to pick up the roasting pan, but here was THREE hours of Q&A over DINNER… AHHHHHH RUNNNNN!!!!

*insert panic and hand-wringing here*

Of course, My-boy-Bacon, being the perfect sweetheart that he is, decides to send me this.

Ouch! Family dinners Schmassion style is nothing like that. There’s no plate passing, or polite conversation or anything… food gets thrown into the middle of the table, and it’s a virtual free for all. You scoop what you want, you scoop for others what you don’t want. Ok, it’s not that bad. But FORMAL FAMILY DINNERS? (In case you’re too lazy to click on the link and watch the thrilling 10 minute how-to on the perfect family dinner… there is no joke at the end… it really is about Father coming home to a perfect family and perfect Mother cooking dinner for the perfect kids.)

*insert more panic and hand-wringing here*

Sunday afternoon, I get back from an awesome afternoon of riding (mmmm… motorcycles), and OMFG I have NOTHING TO WEAR!!!

”Um Babe. I hate to go all girlie-girl on you… but… um… I don’t know what to wear…”

“Do you have jeans?”


“That's a good start. Do you have a t-shirt?”

“Yes. But they all say something…”

“Do you have a t-shirt that’s not obscene?”

“Yes. But I can’t wear those… They’re too… me-me-me…”

Clothes were scattered all over the bed. I ended up wearing a work dress shirt with jeans, a blazer and the boots that I went riding in. We bought a bottle of wine. I panicked. Stopped by my ‘rents place to pick up more goodies. I panicked.

But we ending up having a grand fabulous time at dinner… with… his… parents… didn't panick.

And afterwards… the all important text message…

BTW… the family approves…

Wicked. :)

Friday, October 14

day 10543: doghouse

Here’s the scoop on the maternal unit. She tends to overreact about things. Not just little overreactions, but big, BIG overreactions…

She hated it when I got my hair highlighted in first year university. I was nineteen. She didn’t talk to me for a week.

She hated it when my sister got her belly button pierced. She was twenty-one.

She hated it when I got dawg... she didn’t talk to me for a month. Fun times.

She absolutely hated it when I moved downtown last summer instead of to her house… I’m still feeling the repercussions of that one.

Over the years, we’ve learned how deal with her overreactions. Quite simply (and I’m not advocating this method, by any means...), we just don’t tell her things unless it’s absolutely necessary. Or we tell her scaled down versions of the truth (i.e. my bartending courses and Smart-Serve license was an “industry knowledge” course, etc. etc.).

What she doesn’t know doesn’t hurt her. What she does know hurts us.

I’m not a confrontational person. I don’t like dealing with things until absolutely necessary. Hence, to save myself heartache (and earache) I never told her about the motorcycle course. Nor have I told her about wanting to purchase a motorcycle with the full intention of riding it as much as possible.

Long story short… she found out today. Shit hit the fan, and now I’m in the doghouse. And as usual, I will ride it out in typical stoic styles. Time usually heals everything... I wonder how long it will last this time.

Monday, October 10

day 10539: oh. my. god.

It started off innocently. And went downhill quickly.

Googling for Thanksgiving recipes turned into Googling for how-to's on deboning turkeys.

Googling for how-to's on deboning turkeys turned into Googling for turducken recipes.

Googling for turducken recipes turned Thanksgiving into one huge gong show...

and one big ass bird...


three birds...

a chicken stuffed inside...

a duck...

stuffed inside a turkey...

... a helluva huge turkey... and duck... and chicken... Posted by Picasa

It was hell to shop for... (Thanks bunches babe!)

I met the 'rents a week earlier than anticipated (yes, I panicked)...

Woke up at 8:00 Monday morning and cooked until 6:00...

But it was worth it.

... with all the fixings... Posted by Picasa

Thirty stuffed and satisfied people lolling around Thanksgiving evening...

Life don't get any better than that.

Hope you had a good one too... :)

ps... pix courtesy of digital di because I was too busy running around like a chicken with my head cut off...

pps... I wish I had a picture of the SEVEN pies that we ended up with... there was almost as much dessert as there was dinner...

Thursday, October 6

day 10535: some things you just can’t make up…

she-who-will-not-be-named: gaaaaah!
she-who-will-not-be-named: so first i broke the tampon
she-who-will-not-be-named: so i had to try & fix it by stuffing back into the applicator
she-who-will-not-be-named: then cuz i was standing there so long
she-who-will-not-be-named: and there's toilet water on the bathroom floor (which there ALWAYS is)
schmassion: standing? ew
she-who-will-not-be-named: now my pants are wet!!!!!
schmassion: gross...
she-who-will-not-be-named: it's easier for me to stand up....
schmassion: ok... whatever works for you...
she-who-will-not-be-named: clearly it doesn't
schmassion: poor chickie...
she-who-will-not-be-named: i wanna go home
schmassion: go then...
she-who-will-not-be-named: my tummy hurts
schmassion: say you're not feeling well and leave
she-who-will-not-be-named: can't
she-who-will-not-be-named: i - EW!
she-who-will-not-be-named: i just felt the wetness of the pants again
schmassion: gross...
she-who-will-not-be-named: EWEWEWEWEWEW
schmassion: :(
she-who-will-not-be-named: this is so bloggable
she-who-will-not-be-named: except you're not allowed to
schmassion: oh yeah... you can't believe how hard i'm trying not to...
she-who-will-not-be-named: hahahaha
she-who-will-not-be-named: well, you can
she-who-will-not-be-named: if you do not refer to me AT ALL
schmassion: crappers... i don't have a history of our conversation... i'm going to have to paraphrase...
she-who-will-not-be-named: yes, just paraphrase
schmassion: with lots of "gahhhhhh's and ewwwww's"
she-who-will-not-be-named: hahahaha
schmassion: oh god... this is going to be hilarious!!!
she-who-will-not-be-named: oh no....
she-who-will-not-be-named: don't even say it's a friend
she-who-will-not-be-named: say it's a female acquaintance
she-who-will-not-be-named: so it could be a coworker
schmassion: as if a male acquaintance would be asking me
she-who-will-not-be-named: hmmm....
she-who-will-not-be-named: you know just in case
schmassion: of what? sexual ambiguity?
she-who-will-not-be-named: no
she-who-will-not-be-named: just in case you say it's a friend and people think it's me
schmassion: ahhh... cuz i just grossed myself out thinking how a guy could use a tampon.
she-who-will-not-be-named: EW
schmassion: exactly.

Monday, October 3

day 10532: awwww… fcuk it… my life is an open book anyway

Me and my big mouth always get me in trouble… In telling My-Boy-Bacon about DigitalDi’s pic of me from this weekend’s bachelorette party, I let it slip that I have this blog. Whoops. Oops. Ouch. Somehow, I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. And while I’m not sure he’s going to find this, somehow, I suspect he will… after all, if the King of Google found turd twisters, he can find anything…

Anyway… more about the bachelorette party...

Bachelorette parties in all honesty are really, really, really tame compared to bachelor parties. There are no naked ding-dongs, no visits to the whorehouse, no strippers, teasers, or strange drunken house guests to wake up to. All there is a lot of food, maybe a well-oiled six pack here or there (if you’re lucky), a couple of raunchy presents, special cupcakes, and depending on the bride-to-be, hopefully a lot of drinking.

Maybe I’m getting old. Or maybe I like to be in the company of men (no offense girls), but the all-girl bachelorette thing… yeah… that doesn’t really do it for me. While it’s fun to go traipsing all over downtown looking for a club that we actually don’t feel like we’re robbing the cradle of, I think I’m getting tired of the scene. The last couple of months have been wedding purgatory (never hell)… back-to-back bachelorette parties, wedding showers, bridal parties, house-warming parties, jack and jills, and topper of all – two weddings in one weekend…

It’s been a tiring couple of months. I’m completely broke from doling out spa packages and lingerie. And I’ve come to the decision that hell… if I ever get married… I’m eloping…