The Lamentations of a Limping Lizard

New Decade/New Blog

2011-06-03T21:59:00.003-04:00

Well folks, you might have guessed,...I haven't been here in a while. Somehow, while I love this blog dearly, the passage of time has brought me a new perspective and I'm not quite the same naive wonder that I once was.

Anyway, I am launching a fresh start at http://voracious4life.com for anyone who wants to follow along. I'm going to be putting a lot of living into this one, or die trying. :)

Hope to see you all there.

Cheers,
Liz

Death of an Aspiring Writer

2009-03-05T09:29:00.025-05:00

The verdict is in.

The roommate did it... In the local pub... With a pint of Keiths.

Well, that is at least is one of the root causes for my prolonged absence from my much loved blog.

An evolution has been taking over the last year that has left this Limping Lizard very little to lament about, and perhaps to much to celebrate. I'm barely even recognizable even to myself these days. I'm laughing, smiling, dropping pounds by the truck load and thanks to reconstructive leg surgery, I'm not even limping anymore (and only do so after incurring much enjoyed, self-inflicted injuries on the dance floor).

My one of my greatest wishes and worst fears have come true. After years of amusing myself by writing about the life I wish I had, I have finally started to live a life worth writing about, which unfortunately has left me with precious little time to sit down and put it into prose. Having finally embarked on a dating life that could perhaps make a Hilton blush, I no longer have been able to carve out time to wax on about my wee adventures.

And I even further impeded my chosen art by decimating any quiet time I might have found between dates by acquiring a roommate to help pay the bills thanks to the impending financial storm. It has worked out spectacularly well, and better than I could have ever imagined, because I never accounted for how much fun that a roommate would ultimately equate to. My roommate has turned out to be not only a financial buffer, but also an incredibly reliable and amusing 24/7 on-call "wing man", who regularly helps me terrorize my favorite haunts with. Oh, the stories I have to tell, were there time to tell them.

So here I am, on a perfectly good Thursday night before a long weekend, having declined invitations to join in on some light-hearted debauchery to instead enjoy a quiet moment, a glass of wine and a much overdue reunion with my computer.

How I have missed you. And where do I start?

Oh snap....the phone just rang. Gotta fly....have to get ready for a date. ;)

But stay tuned, with the long weekend ahead and an otherwise quiet weekend up north away from the sources of my new found distraction, the reunion may be very sweet indeed.

I Just Want Your Extra Time and Your....Kiss

2008-12-12T10:18:00.060-05:00

Oh, for the love of a kiss...

I was recently reminded of a silky and sublime line written by one of my greatest loves, Robbie Burns himself. "Love is the alpha and omega of human enjoyment." Does it get much truer than that? Thank God for all those who embody it in their very core.

But, if I may be so bold as to take some liberties with and expand upon Robbie's more noble meaning, I'd like to add that a great kiss can sure rock your world too.

I was driving into work with a friend recently and we broke up the monotony of the moving parking lot otherwise known as the Don Valley PARKway and drizzly weather with a light-hearted conversation about morning talk-radio shows. My friend then told me that the subject on her fave station this morning was about first kisses. "Cool", I thought to myself. "Who doesn't love a first kiss?"

But unfortunately, I didn't see where the conversation was heading and while I was distracted with some delicate navigating around the essentially parked cars and rain ahead of me, she asked me, "What was your first kiss like?" Unfortunately for me, my reflex response was "With who?"

Um, okay Liz. Nice move. Way to paint yourself with a brush of a different colour, a sharp hue of red at that. After I accurately read my friend's cocked-up eyebrow and quizzical look to indicate I'd made an embarrassing error in my understanding, I realized, whoops...got it...first kiss....period.

I could see that the only way to dig myself out of that particularly sticky situation was to come clean and tell her the whole truth about a far more crushing embarrassment; that which was my first kiss. (Not counting the litany of poor boys I used to chase around in public school telling them "secrets" as I kissed their ears or other unique strategies I employed to learn a little about the art of the kiss. But I digress, and shame myself further.)

My first "romantic" kiss is truly a unique story. Or at least I hope it is, for the sake of all the innocents out there who brave the unknown, the mortal dread of rejection and the all-out blinding white fear laced with a rushing thrill causing your heart to beat in your ears that is involved with taking that first step towards the alpha and omega of human enjoyment.

The best thing that came out of my first kiss was, well, the story. All due respect to the very poor soul who had to share that journey with me. I remember it as if it were yesterday, though there are many yesterdays in between. Tragically, I don't remember the kiss with the digital accuracy that I do because of the actual kiss, but rather the circumstance and the fallout thereof.

My first kiss came about during a summer of discovery in my 15th year. My family was staying up north at the cottage where I had spent every summer since birth, and since my family had a nasty nomadic tendency resulting in a procession of new schools each year, my girlfriends at the cottage were among the closest I had. They’d all been with me since the very beginning and shared a sense of history that as of yet I had not acquired anywhere else and the adventures that we got into together could easily rival those of our male counterparts in Steven King’s “Stand by Me”. Minus the corpse of course.

In any case, this was the first summer in which we all started to pay studied attention to the boys that also summered up north with us. And there were no shortage of venues in which to explore that whole new world. We teased them mercilessly at the tennis club. We shouted out flirtatious jibes their direction as we jumped off of “Red Rock” into the lake. We stood far, far away from them affecting as much disinterest as possible while watching their every move at the weekend dances and we “grudgingly” allowed them to skate beside us at the roller rink. It’s actually a small miracle that they paid any attention to us at all considering our behaviour, but somehow, our amateur attempts at reverse psychology worked and before we knew it, we had started pairing off, one by one.

My particular beau was a tall, gangly, metal-mouthed, nearly albino and acne-riddled 16 year old named Chris. But he made me laugh relentlessly and that has always been the surest way to cause the illusion of having George Clooney’s arresting good looks in my eyes. So I was smitten at the start. Plus I was a sucker for the attention, even if it did come in the form of love letters that had drowned in Ralph Lauren "Polo", so I was all over going out on a date with Chris like a fat kid on a Smartie.

Since my Dad was smarting from losing out on the battle to keep me from dating until I reached my thirties, I was given a strict curfew of 10:00pm. After traveling around with Marty McFly and Doc Brown in a suped up DeLorean, Chris got me home in good time and we sat on the porch to chat while my parentals had their friends over to celebrate the arrival of yet another Friday as a fine excuse to whoop it up yet once again.

The porch was on the front of the house, which was adjoined to the living room in which my parents and all their friends were sharing a few libations. It was extremely dark outside, so Chris and I felt secluded enough to enjoy each other’s company even though we were but centimeters away from the party. We both knew where it was heading, but struggled through the awkward niceties of polite conversation first. The whole time, I was anxiously wondering how the heck that mouth full of metal was going to work in the process. And finally, it was time.

Chris leaned in; the tin leading the charge for my mouth. I “braced” myself for the kiss and after a little clumsy tilting of our heads, our lips met. There was a quiet moment in time in which I was trying to figure out what all the fuss was about. It was kind of wet, sloppy, awkward, and had a bit of a tinny after-taste. Worse yet, neither of us seemed to really know what to do with our hands. As far as I'd been led to believe, (remember, I was extremely naive since I did not have the likes of Britney Spears and Brats to help guide the way) this was supposed to be a pivotal moment that would propel me in to womanhood faster than you could say underwire, but I was still trying to get my head around it.

In the midst of some bungling attempts at creating heat where there was only pure trepidation, we heard a sound as if a baseball stadium was just lit and then in that instant, where there was once darkness, we were flooded with light.

Holding Chris in my arms, my hands touching his back and head and engaged in a full on lip lock, we both became acutely aware that we were no longer alone. Pulling away to assess what had changed, I quickly realized that my brother was standing on the porch behind us with a couple friends and holding an industrial-sized flashlight, turned on us like a spotlight from the moon above.

My senses flooded back into sharp awareness and I realized that everyone in the room next to us had not failed to observe the game of tonsil hockey that was going on beside them. And to my horror....many were having a good old fashioned belly laugh at our expense. Perhaps it was the Johnny Walker they'd enjoyed or our feeble attempts at romance, I'll never know, but I'll never forget either.

And in a slow motion fallout of what felt like hours but was more like a nano-second, Chris released himself from our embrace and ran like Forrest Gump down the street to the safety of darkness and obscurity. Left on the porch with my Irish capillaries fired up crimson red and my heart pounding in my chest, I also started to run, but it was decidedly in the direction of my brother and with the keen intent to kill or at the very, very least, to pummel and maim.

Oddly, I never did see poor Chris again. But my brother now has a much treasured story that he never fails to share given the opportunity. And even better, so do all my parent's friends.

I am lucky my first kiss did not permanently scar me, in fact, it did anything but. I seem to have been hell bent ever since to get as many do-overs as I can. Because even though that first kiss was fraught with all the clumsiness that one would expect in young teens, I have had great fun learning that it sure gets better with practice. Miles and miles better. Alpha and Omega better.

And that is what leads me to this. One of the perks not pairing off too early in life has left me with many opportunities to indulge in that awful, delicious awkwardness of a first kiss, over and over and over. There is a thrill that will never be lost on me that involves someone new and a whole set of unique and sometime surprising circumstances. (And I wonder why I'm still single?)

Oh for the love of a kiss. And there are so many kinds. There's the one where someone caresses your face just before you both lean in for that awaited first kiss. Or that kiss that takes you by surprise because you had so much interest in someone, you spent most of your time avoiding eye contact so as to not give away what you're thinking. Or even better, that kiss that follows your probing stare of desire so as to ensure that there is no misunderstanding of your intent. There's the kiss of careful exploration of a friendship taking a new direction, and the kiss of urgent and heart-pounding need. The kiss on the cheek of a dear friend that's given almost as if a wish or a promise for the future. The kiss of comfort and solace given in sympathy or understanding. The kiss given to bring you back from a nasty shock like a fall from a pedestal. Or the kiss given after a competitive situation or a fight that gives way to the fire burning inside that got you there in the first place.

But I'll never forget that metal mouth and neither will any of my parent's friends or my pesky little brother. So when it's all said and done, it's just like they say, you'll never forget your first.

I may not be very lucky in love, but I'll never regret a single first kiss since they all keep the magic of life so very alive and exciting.

I'm interested. What was your first kiss like? Was it a buss, canoodle, snog, peck or smooch? Was it hot, cold, flat, or did it leave you breathless? Perhaps the brave will share a story or two. It'd be nice to have someone entertain me for a while! ;) And here's to hoping in particular that we'll hear from some of the Y-chromosomes out there....that's a perspective that would really be enlightening.

Don't let me down, I just want your extra time and your....kiss.

Muah!

If You're Happy and You Know It....

2008-12-05T13:38:00.020-05:00

If you're happy and you know it...hug a friend.

Apparently,...happiness truly is contagious and transmitted through contact with our social networks.

According to the British Medical Journal, in a joint study published this week by scientists from Harvard and the University of California - San Diego, one of the best predictors of our happiness is the degree to which our immediate social network is made up of happy people. Um...duh.....

Okay, admittedly, it's not something I find that surprising. It doesn't, (or at least shouldn't) take a brain surgeon to figure that out. But now that there's some science and data behind it, I'm going to completely submit to my chronically happy disposition, embrace my potentially annoying perma-grin, harness it's big ol' dimpled power and unleash a whole can of happy laughter on everyone I know.

The way I see it, I'm just going to do my part for the greater good. I'm spreading my serotonin and I'm taking no prisoners.

Consider yourself warned....I planning to infect my immediate network with a triple threat of bear hugs, boisterous laughter and giant smiles and I'm not taking no for an answer.

Cheers,
Liz

http://www.webmd.com/balance/news/20081204/happiness-is-contagious?src=RSS_PUBLIC

http://www.sciam.com/podcast/episode.cfm?id=happiness-is-contagious-08-12-05

http://www.latimes.com/features/health/la-sci-happy5-2008dec05,0,5449915.story

http://www.chicagotribune.com/features/health/chi-081204happiness,0,6297377.story

Completely Platinum with Kenny MacLean & Friends

2008-11-30T11:45:00.082-05:00

Photo credits to Tanya Humphrey-Anthony

A somewhat tardy celebration of an unforgettable and special concert on November 21, 2008 at the MOD CLUB and of the life and music of an extraordinary man, Kenny MacLean. Apologies if the exact sequence of songs is a bit off,...my enjoyment of the show entirely trumped taking exacting notes....but the magic I describe herein is about as accurate as I could ever hope to be. It was a night I'll never forget as long as I live.

Having managed to bury my extreme embarrassment incurred when meeting the wildly talented and disarmingly warm Kenny MacLean for the first time (http://lizardm33.blogspot.com/2008/11/dont-look-back.html) , I found myself spending the better part of the week allowing the combined stresses of the financial crisis, the harsh reality of my own mini financial Armageddon, the competing demands of family, friends, a rigorous industry course load and a rather complicated romantic carte-du-jour utterly melt away into unbridled anticipation for the extraordinary night that I knew Kenny's Release Party for his new CD "Completely" would prove to be.

I could barely contain it. I made it through a week of the regular drudgery and trials with a big ol' couldn't-be-wiped-off-of-my-face-smile solely on the keen expectation that I was going to top off my week with a Completely Platinum night, and it certainly didn't disappoint. In fact, instead, it left me in awe and grateful for the chance to witness such a fantastic display of raw, visceral and gargantuan talent on stage at the MOD CLUB. It was an unequivocally thrilling and unforgettable performance on so many different levels, and that was even before an extremely sad occurrence followed that made it all so poignant, tragic and historic in one.

My 80's flashback began when Steve Anthony, known most famously (though not exclusively) for being a gregarious Much Music personality / VJ in the late 80's / early 90's, took the stage sporting shorter hair, a handsome crinkled smile and a relaxed GQ look. Gone were the days of the untamed blond mane, the casual prints and the wild antics. The new and improved Steve, exuding controlled charm and wit, invited nostalgia for the dawn of new wave and glam rock when video killed the radio star and simulaneously provoked one to admire how the blast from the past was bringing sexy back.

With an opening remark about his new and somewhat arduous role of providing limo services to his dear friend Kenny MacLean (one could tell by the give away glint in his eye how much fun he was actually having in the process), Steve broke into an introduction of the opening act, a very big favorite of yours truly, The High Rollers. Joy! After a wee bit of a delay, and possibly more bevies than I should have had for fear I'd be forced to leave at some point to attend to mother nature, it was finally show time. My boys were taking the stage, and I knew I was in for some serious fun! Mother nature be damned....I wasn't going anywhere!

The High Rollers (Denis Martel, Joe Power and Sheldon Thomas) are among the surest and most consistent things I know of. I know that without a doubt, whenever, wherever I catch them in action, it's going to be a great show and I'm going to be leaving that night in a fair amount of well-earned and excruciating pain and popping Tylenol pills like they were M&Ms as a result of some very ill-advised, but compulsory dancing of my reconstructed and tippy leg right off. But I've kept on coming back for more for close to a decade now, so you know they're worth every single minute of it.

But one of the hazards of following a band so closely is that you get to know their set pretty well off by heart. You learn every tick, every opening line, and every trick. The High Rollers have never in my life left me disappointed, anything but actually, but it was a complete thrill to show up on November 21st to be treated to a few new tricks that took their set to a whole new spectacular and electric level. I'm close to 10 years in...and I was thrilled speechless.

First, it started with the lights, surround sound and a little smoke for that added touch of mystique....a far cry from what most pubs in T.Dot offer up to their talent. Then it was up to the boys to create their own brand of magic, which they did with the welcome addition of Jason Farrar and by launching into many of my favorites from their set including "The Walrus" and a particularly charged performance of "Ace of Spades". I still haven't figured out how those thundering vocals come out of Joe, but I love every minute of it.

But just as I was getting into their familiar set, they took a turn I wasn't expecting and mixed things up a bit, and introduced to my absolute amazement and incredible elation, some dance and disco. They started their turn of direction slowly with a bang-on cover of "Personal Jesus" which I've still got in my head to this day. Then they got the younger crowd energized and risking whiplash to their head-banging heads to a powerful rendition of "Basket Case". But that's when they brought in their big guns and got the whole place moving with spectacular performances of "Staying Alive" and the closest thing I'll ever see to Queen live with "Bohemian Rhapsody". I kept thinking,..."is this the real life, is this just fantasy...?" Whatever it was, I wish time could have stood still. It was truly astounding. The band was as tight as ever and Denis even somehow managed to channel Freddie Mercury's spirit that night. I'll never forget it.

But folks, that was just the warm up, the opening act. The main event was only just now about to start. I was finding it hard to believe it could get any better, but I knew in my heart of hearts, this show was about to really take off and leave me crying out for more.

It was now that the very charming and exceptionally gifted man I had met a week prior was about to take stage. I may not have put it together who he was at the time, but as he approached the stage this particular evening, I found myself overwhelmed with excitement to see Kenny MacLean in his true element and about to do that which he was very clearly born to do...entertain the masses.

Overjoyed to re-live some of the very best musical memories of my youth and looking forward to having a sneak peak at what lay ahead, I thundered my applause of Kenny as he took the stage, drowned out only by the thundering love he received from the entire audience. It was a booming and beautiful noise and warranted in every possible way.

Kenny joined the High Rollers and launched into a positively supercharged performance of "Whole Lotta Love". Kenny was seemingly possessed with the music itself and lept from corner to corner of the stage, singing, shouting and strutting, making sure everyone could feel the full and nearly nuclear power of his performance.

After this performance, Kenny took the opportunity to chat to the audience a bit and show why it is that everyone who speaks of him speaks not only of his mammoth talent, but also of his warmth, sincerity and unyielding interest in others. Kenny shared with the audience his great excitement that his mother was in attendance along with many others from his circle of dear family and friends. He layered compliment upon compliment to The High Rollers as a band who he clearly loved playing with and counted himself lucky to befriend; from which it was extremely evident that there was much ahead for this prodigious collaboration in the future. And finally Kenny's boundless delight that his former Platinum Blonde bandmate and lead vocalist, Mark Holmes would be joining him later on was at a near fever pitch. This was a musician far less interested in his own brag-worthy accomplishments and talent than a genuinely grounded individual unfalteringly connected to his outside world.

After Kenny had spent some time thanking everyone for coming and sharing his excitement that they were there, he took a trip down memory lane and played his award winning "Don't Look Back". It was such a thrill to hear him (and me boys) play a song that has lingered in the recesses of my minds for years. It was clearly a thrill for him too, since it was no hard task to see that there was a spark in his eye giving evidence to how very much in the moment he really was. For Kenny, it seemed there was no such thing as looking back, it was all about the now and the chance to embrace every glorious minute of it.

Kenny went on to treat everyone to a few of his other amazing numbers, including "In Pieces" and "Clear". His melodies were mesmerizing and his harmonization with the High Rollers was sheer perfection. Cell phones were out in place of lighters as the audience swayed and enjoyed the softer side of Kenny for a while. And that brilliant smile of Kenny's never quit as he clearly loved every minute of it too.

Finally, Kenny also treated everyone to a sneak peak to the great things ahead on his new CD, Completely, from which he performed "Deliverance". Upon hearing this, I quickly jumped outside to the lobby to buy my own copy, only to find out that the CD was not yet available, but that it was in production. Seriously???? I had to wait??? Well, since good things come to those who wait, I took my frustrated ambitions of taking Kenny home with me in the CD player of my car and got myself immediately back inside so I could enjoy the real thing some more....this was too good to miss.

It was at this time, that Kenny almost started to jump up and down with excitement for the next set as he introduced Mark Holmes, former bandmate and dear friend to help cap off the show. When Mark took the stage, he received the same thunderous applause that greeted Kenny a short time ago.

Now the last time I'd seen Mark Holmes, he had a unruly mane of blond highlighted hair cascading over about every inch of his head and face and was leading the way for glam fashion trends with bold colours and styles. Now, a more refined, brunette Mark Holmes took the stage, dressed in a subtle but undeniably mod look with a very tailored black outfit, sporting a sharp black cardigan and looking ever slightly more like a glamed up Mr. Rogers (and yet still devastatingly handsome) than the wild child I remembered tearing up the airwaves and Much Music. But as Mark approached the microphone with an air of staunch confidence, I knew that I had nothing to worry about. He intended to deliver where it counted.

And in the very instant that the crew launched into "Standing in the Dark" I reverted back in time to that teenage girl I once was, playing her newly acquired Platinum Blonde tape in her newly acquired Walkman, over, and over, and over, and, well, you get the idea. There's a reason I had the Walkman. The parental units were a little tired of suffering me using the stereo system in the living room and dancing about in a variety of fashion crimes including leg warmers, off-the-shoulder sweatshirts and teased hair and singing as loudly as I could along with Mark, Kenny and the boys. So with peace restored in the household once again courtesy of my Walkman, I was free to listen to Platinum Blonde as much and as often as my little school-girl heart desired. At home during breakfast, on my way to school, at school, in the Principal's office for having listened to it in class, on my way home and then over to the mall with friends, back home again, during dinner and just about all night long after that or at least as long as the batteries would last. It's amazing that I didn't wear that tape out. By the way, Energizer really does keep going and going....

But I never had the chance to catch the boys live in concert, and imagine my surprise when I fast forward 20 something years, and there they were, or at least some of them were. Unbelievable both to my eyes and my ears, they were there and they were FABULOUS. With incredibly sharp sound and vocals, in tune and in sync, they were more wildly entertaining and better than I could have ever dreamed of when all I used to have to listen to them was the backwards technology of a tape on my very unsophisticated Walkman. Like a fine wine,...time has only enhanced the experience and was it EVER worth the wait.

Just when my wee school-girl heart had started to adjust to the thrills that had ensued, the place erupted with a very familiar and treasured riff from "Doesn't Really Matter". I found myself caught between sheer elation and wishing I had paid due attention to mother nature earlier, because I nearly peed with excitement as the crew were "breaking down the door". The sound was electrifying, and Kenny, Mark and the High Rollers were absolutely on fire! The climax of the number came near the end with a monumental drum feature by Sheldon Thomas, followed by Mark Holmes ripping out the final vocals of "matter, matter, matter, matter....aaaaaahhhhhh"....as only he can do. When it the song was over, a stupefied audience took a silent moment in absolute wonderment and then tore into a deafening applause in recognition of a truly astonishing performance.

The band then thanked everyone and left the stage only to be called back again by endless, ceaseless applause; the crowd screaming out "more, more". Not given to disappointing the fans, the band returned and slid into a phenomenally elegant rendition of the Psychedelic Furs' "Heaven". It was truly an ethereal end to the evening and just as I had expected earlier on....I was simply left crying out for more. Would that it never came to an end.

I have chills still just thinking about it. It is without a doubt a performance of such caliber that I will remember it for as long as I live. It was Completely Platinum.

But sadly, and tragically, it turns out that the night was also Kenny MacLean's last performance; he died the following Monday from natural causes. My only guess is that the show was so spectacular, so gargantuan, that someone upstairs decided it was time to recruit the masterful Kenny into an even bigger act. I hope they know what a special person they just acquired.

From what I understand, Kenny was enjoying an exceptionally happy time with a myriad of exciting projects in the works. As this concert had proven, there were clearly many amazing things still yet to come. But since he was taken far too soon, and before he could do all that he planned, I plan to spend a whole lot of time celebrating and enjoying the musical legacy he's left behind. What a gift he was.

I had only but a moment in his presence and somehow he left enough of a mark on me such that I am greatly saddened for the loss for someone who made a fairly shy woman feel pretty damn interesting. He was singularly unique in his ability to touch you simply with his smile that began as his eyes crinkled up and ended with a full on frontal attack of his pearly whites. The fact that he was musically gifted was really only the icing on the cake of this beautiful and engaging person.

I'll be forever grateful and somewhat baffled by that gift of kindness from Kenny, but I am mostly left with a profound sense of sympathy for the very deep loss that must be felt by those who genuinely knew him and loved him. I cannot imagine what it will be like for them and wish them all nothing but peace and joy in the knowledge that Kenny lived a very large and full life, all the while managing to do it in such a way that we can all be envious of....with joy and with passion for life and music. And somehow, he was one of the lucky ones who managed to leave this world shortly after doing something he lived and breathed for, while surrounded by his family and friends who he held so dear. If you had to go, could there be a better way? I can't imagine many and take some solace in that while imagining him playing on a much larger stage than he ever dreamed.

As for me, I'm going to celebrate Kenny's life, musical gifts and unending spirit by listening for years to come. Kenny MacLean, may you rest in peace and rock through the ages forever! Thank you for the magic!

Don't Look Back

2008-11-15T12:58:00.012-05:00

Had an interesting experience a week ago. I went to a local pub to see one of my favorite bands, the High Rollers, and to enjoy a night of dancing and singing along with some of my fave tunes from the 60's to today. I may never fully understand it, but there is no place that I enjoy being more. When I'm out with my boys, I can feel all the layers of stress and chaos in my life melt away and I find freedom and joy as I kick up my heels on the dance floor. It's the closest thing to bliss that I know of (the obvious alternative excepted.) ;)

I ought to know. I've spent the better part of the last nine years following these guys around, and logging a colossal number of hours grateful for the chance to hear them nail fave cover after cover again as if I was listening to the original artist. They kill,...every night.

But even as I have logged all these hours and know their set off by heart, this particular evening held a new surprise. During the course of the evening, I had the opportunity to chat with someone who I've seen playing with the boys from time to time. His name is Kenny MacLean. A seriously wild man on stage, an apparent pussy cat off. He was disarmingly genuine and charming.

A friend of mine who has more pluck in her batting eyelashes than I have in my entire core, chatted up Kenny for a bit and suggested he should come as sit with us at some point in the evening. This went against every fibre of my long held personal code which dictates I must leave the musicians far, far alone. Do NOT cramp their style, do NOT impose too much fan oogling upon them, and DO either sit quietly to enjoy their mastery or get up and DANCE. With a strong emphasis on getting up and dancing. Inviting them to sit down and chat was a whole bold new world that I wasn't sure I was up for. What if they prove to be major jackasses? What if my nine plus years of enjoyment was at risk of evaporating into thin air in the instant that a musical hero turns out to be a megalomaniac?

Wow! Too bad I spent all those years worrying about the what ifs. When Kenny finally came around to chat, I was taken aback with how very unaffected, captivating and kind he proved to be. And god help me, all this with a Scottish accent. Did I die and go to heaven? And all this time, I thought for sure I was bound for a different destination in the after life. I've certainly worked hard enough at it.

In any case, Kenny seemed to be as interested in who we were as we were in him....hello???? Okay, I thought. Perhaps this multi-talented individual had no idea how amazing and special he truly was. Could be the only explanation for his warmth. And then...as if I wasn't surprised by him enough already...he looked me straight in the eyes and asked "Do I know you?". I assured him, through my sputtering shock, that we had not met before. Though as I said it, and knew it to be absolutely true, I had the strangest feeling that there was something there. I couldn't put my finger on it. But surely we had never met. I would have remembered such a man, for certain.

So we chatted a bit more, and Kenny invited us to come to his CD release party next week. How charming I thought. Always a sucker to support local artists, I said we'd be there without the tiniest hesitation. And then, in my ever embarrassing and immeasurable ignorance, and in trying to be as supportive as possible, I asked him if the CD would be his own originals. (Having watched Kenny join the High Rollers a few times now for covers of Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin and Platinum Blonde, I was pretty sure that this was his first original gig). Kenny didn't flinch. He just smiled back at me, put his hands on my face and graciously said "You're so beautiful". And then he answered, "Yes, it's all originals."

Not any of the wiser yet, we agreed to show up and support him from the sidelines. Kicking up our heels and cheering him on just as we do month after month for the High Rollers. Then, when I got home, I saw that I had been fortunate enough to be invited by Denis (one of the High Rollers) to go to Kenny's CD release party via a Facebook event invitation. Awesome! That made getting the deets, location, time, etc, all very easy.... And it also, interestingly enough, had a link to a website....for Kenny MacLean. Well, I'd be foolish not to check that out and learn a little more about this new up and coming musician who I was quickly becoming a fan of.

Except, once I got there, as a few things became much clearer, I quickly became mortified at my extreme naivety. Kenny Maclean was no new up-and-coming musician. In fact, he's been haunting me my whole life and I didn't even know it. Kenny MacLean is an institution in the Canadian Music industry and actually a former member of Platinum Blonde, (doing covers with the High Rollers....rich Liz!!!) a top producer and award winning solo artist for songs that have been running through the recesses of my mind for YEARS, like "Don't Look Back. He's bloody well been a big part of the soundtrack of my life. And when he asked me if he knew me, my answer clearly should have been, "No, but I certainly know you." And I wonder why I have a severe Bridget Jones complex. Does this shit happen to anyone else?

Anyway, my lingering embarrassment aside, I have to tell you, Kenny MacLean is absolutely fabulous. He kills on stage, and he's bringing the High Rollers with him as his guests to the CD release party, and they kill every time as well. If you're in Toronto on the night of November 21st, you're going to want to check out this show at the MOD Club. I will be moving heaven and earth (and quite possibly a mountain of snow) to be there. I couldn't recommend it any higher. But I'll be sure to brag about being there later for all you tragic fools who can't make it. :) Check out Kenny's site and definitely check out his show if you're lucky enough to be in town. You won't regret it. He's the real deal. Cheers, Liz

Kenny Maclean: http://www.kennymaclean.com/index.html

The High Rollers: http://www.thehighrollers.com/

I Would, I Will

2008-11-01T14:19:00.035-04:00

A friend and I were chatting this week and reminiscing about those magical years when ignorance was bliss and you could act your age without fear of consequence. However some of that liberty gave way to some bad behavior that we both agreed we would have modified given the wisdom and the chance to do so. But then I also got to thinking about how that same liberty also provided the room to take chances and risks that you no longer seem to find time for in your adult years once societal expectations, responsibility and just plain common sense take hold of you.

The conversation with my friend stuck with me for a while; the concept of do-overs and missed opportunities marinating and tenderizing in my brain like a New York Manhattan steak in an aromatic red wine reduction. There was something that was absolutely succulent about the concept, and something that was strangely familiar.

And then it hit me. The conversation was reminiscent of the article that Erma Bombeck wrote when facing her own impending demise: "If I Had My Life to Live Over" http://www.kalimunro.com/If_I_Had_My_Life_To_Live_Over.html

So in honour of Erma's astounding wisdom and perspective, I took the liberty to think about what I might do differently given the chance to do so. When remembering my teenage and young adult years, I hold them particularly precious as the best of times, but still somehow I just didn't appreciate them fully enough, because I didn't have the layers of perspective that only comes with age to help to heighten your sense of how good things were. And to add insult to injury, even once you have acquired all that wisdom and you're a full grown, responsibility-riddled adult, you still find that you forget to find the right time or excuse to do those things that could only serve to make life richer.

Given the chance, and with an allowance for a tongue-in-cheek reference back to several of my past blogs, I think my list would go something like this, with full apologies to Erma Bombeck for they pale in comparison to the flame that she lit:

I would have behaved like a child and enjoyed childhood longer instead of racing to the future. Nobody told me about the bills I'd have to pay.

I would have done my homework and assignments before the deadline passed. There was always something else I wanted to do more once I was in crunch mode.

I would have worn sunscreen. My "smile" lines may not be quite so indicative of my lifetime of laughter.

I would have stuck with my music lessons. How else better to torture my neighbours?

I would have taken dance lessons, so I would have tortured my friends less.

I would have treated many relationships with a great deal more care and recognized how precious and instrumental each one has been in shaping who I've become. Even the freakazoids can help you to better define what it is you're looking for (or what to especially avoid).

I would have nurtured romantic dreams less and worked harder towards obtaining real and tangible goals, like diamonds and real estate!

I would have learned earlier on to trust my instincts, that way, I may have kissed more Princes and fewer frogs, and have become a best-selling novelist rather than just another schlep on the street.

I will buy myself more flowers, and take time to smell the fressia. Carnations be damned.

I will be better at staying in touch with my friends when I move; they come in handy each time it happens.

I will manage my money a whole lot better, as must pay those damn bills that no one mentioned when I was a child.

I will take more chances and actively pursue adventures starting with sky diving. And if I live after that, then I may even try swimming with the sharks too. Can't be as tough as swimming with the ones that I have on Bay Street.

I will travel more, and extensively. How else will I live the dream of a Prince in every port?

I will be a whole lot more gregarious and risk people paying attention. How else will Matthew McConaughey ever find me?

I wear a lot more red and a lot more skirts. Both very useful when Matthew McConaughey finally finds me.

I will NO LONGER save that fine wine for a special occasion, but instead make an occasion special because of the fine wine.
I will ALWAYS make time for cheesecake....because it makes life taste sooo sweet.

But most of all, I will play more, laugh more, hug more, kiss more and love more. And not just with Matthew McConaughey. :)

So how about you? What's going to make your list of do-overs or new resolutions for a life filled with laughs and rich memories? I'd love to make a special occasion of reading your thoughts while I enjoy them with a fine glass of wine.

Cheers,
Liz

An Olive by an Other Name

2008-10-19T01:09:00.004-04:00

What exactly is an olive branch?

A friend of mine told me that she recently reached out to someone who was very special to her, to try to close the chasm between them after a really big disagreement caused them to lose touch. So, against her natural inclination to save face, she sent out a peace offering via a flirty little text message and called it an olive branch. The only problem with that was her friend, unfamiliar with the term, called her back later to find out what the heck an olive branch was.

But the point is, he called. Just as she had hoped he would. In the end, he was happy to receive any kind of invitation to renewing a lost romance. And she was more than happy that he accepted it.

So, does it really matter what it's called or even how it's delivered? It could have been a white flag, it could have been a letter sent with a hint of perfume. It could have been anything at all, so long as the sender and recipient both wanted a way out of the stalemate. It seems to me that an olive by any other name, still tastes as sweet.

The same thing just happened to me in a way. I met someone several months ago who I felt an instant spark with. That elusive X-factor if you will. It's a long story that remains utterly unbelievable even to me, but it involves me caught in the middle of a misdemeanor, some Tim Horton's coffee and digits handed over in lieu of an otherwise just fine to fit the crime. But as chance would have it, despite exchanging numbers and staying in touch, it was not meant to be because we both had timing issues and previous commitments. As time passed, we chatted less and less and the spark burned into a cinder that was barely perceptible. I eventually found myself chalking the chance meeting up to a very happy accident and expected nothing more than to be able to look back upon it fondly.

But fast forward six months later, no longer entangled in any commitments, but too pathetic to reach out to my guardian angel for fear that I might have been forgotten, I had given up any hope that the spark could re-ignite. Then somehow, on a Friday night, as I was sitting at home, in my laundry-day sluff wear with my hair pulled back in a raggedy pony tail and looking like I had wandered out of the woods, spending my evening cramming for a test and feeling sorry for myself for not being out living la vide loca somewhere, that's when the surprise happened. Just like the olive branch I had heard about earlier, my cell phone gave way to a tell tale buzzzzzzzz of an incoming text message. Quite certain that it was a text from one of my very dear friends telling me exactly how much fun I was missing somewhere, my jaw dropped and time stood still when I read the following simple but fantastic message: "Hey stranger, how have you been?".

Having devoured the likes of Shakespeare, Robbie Burns and countless other fellow high priests of prose, I am quite certain that these words were not the most musical, the most poetic, or the most expertly crafted, but at the very same time, these may have been the sweetest and the most exciting words I have read...in a very long time. And I grasped that olive branch that was handed out towards me without thought or hesitation and wrote my own little flirty response involving a faux apology for a disappearing act due to a misdemeanour gone terribly wrong without a guardian angel around to set it right.

And as I sit here and type this, enjoying a small plate of olives and all the sweet joys that they promise, I eagerly look forward to my chance to reconnect with an angel sometime next week and all the sweet fruit that may follow.

Être dans le Besoin

2008-10-17T14:12:00.043-04:00

Mon lapin, mon petit chou, mon trésor,
Tu me manques.
Mais, j'ai eu de te dire au revoir.
Je pense á toi toujours, mais je ne peux pas jamais te dis.
L'amour est une oiseaux rebelle que nul ne peux appriovoiser.
Je n'ai jamais recontre quelqu'un comme toi.

J'ai besoin tes yeux brilliant.
J'ai besoin tes lèvres.

J'ai besoin de tes bras.

J'ai besoin de tes baisers.
J'ai besoin de te tenir dans mes bras.
J'ai besoin de te sentir contre moi.
J'ai besoin de faire les choses risqué á toi. ;)

Mon petit loup, c'est toi que je besoin beaucoup.
Qu'est-ce que tu as besoin?

(I'm quite sure I've absolutely butchered a beautiful language here, but nothing else but French would suffice. My apologies to the French everywhere).

So This is What Love Is

2008-10-08T20:31:00.008-04:00

A week ago today, despite the fact that I am closing in far to quickly on my forties, I have only just now learned something about what it really feels like to love. Or at least a whole new kind of love. Because a week ago today, I saw my beautiful new nephew's face for the first time. And even though we are separated by thousands of miles, and all I could see was his sweet face on my cell phone at first, a base instinct kicked in upon sight and told me it was something altogether new, special and previously unknown to me. True Love.

And in my immense gratitude for the infinite blessings that life has just graced my family with, I find myself making promises to every untold spirit who cares to listen of eternal commitment and fierce, unwavering love towards that wee soul who is really only yet able to smile on account of a big gas movement within it's belly. What am I going to do with myself when he can smile on account that you just made him happy??? I have a sneaking suspicion that this is a whole lot bigger than anything I've ever encountered. I'm in for a wild ride here.....but God help me, I'm signing up for it whole heartedly! Bring it! Baby cake, I'm yours.

A Gentle Warning for a Bride to Be

2007-06-06T06:47:00.003-04:00

Written on the occasion of a friend's lingerie bridal shower. Said friend has been touched with an extreme case of the travel jinx and we thought she could use this gentle plea for caution before heading out on her honeymoon in Turkey.

For when you're feeling a little frisky,
For when you're feeling a little blue
Inside each of these bags
Are fancy little pressies for you.

They will make you look glam,
They will make hubby go mad
But friend, heed our warning
Public display would be bad.

It's not that you won't look smashing
In that, we know you won't fail
Instead we're far more afraid
Of you winding up in a Turkish jail.

So enjoy these little gifts
With all the abandon you can show
But for the love of God, dear friend
Make sure the curtains are closed.

A Romantic Fool

2007-05-30T21:57:00.002-04:00

Okay, I have to admit...this one's purely fictional, and definitely not anything resembling great literature. It was written sometime last year by special request, resulting in a brief and fun little friendship that lasted about as long as this story! But it was well worth it. ;)

As the rain pounded down on her window shield, severely obstructing her vision of the cars ahead, Eva wondered if she were destined for an untimely end because she just couldn’t seem to keep focused on the road. There was just too much flashing through her mind as if it were permanently stuck on rewind.

What a day. Work was a disaster. She should have known. It would have been better to call in sick, take a mental health day, whatever. She was so hopped up on Sudafed that she shouldn’t have been allowed to fake it at work today, let alone operate heavy machinery; a description that she figured her car would accurately fit, even if it was only a SmartCar. Anyway, the jig was up, her cover blown. Any fragment of control she had over her environment evaporated into a thin vale of dust.

Years of a carefully nurtured reputation of being a she-dragon to be feared...gone. It wasn’t a easy or natural disposition for her, but it was a necessary one in order to survive. She was in a leadership role in a largely male-driven industry, with countless frustrated and jaded direct reports, some who have worked more years than she’s been alive. Respect from this crowd was not easily won.

But she’d managed to earn it. That is until today. Now it’s all over. They’ve figured her out. They now know the truth and all of her power is gone forever. Now they know, that underneath it all, Eva is really just a romantic fool.

It wasn’t her fault. Usually things are much busier, manic really. But today was different. Today, it was Spring Break. Half of the office was away, and the clients didn’t seem to be dropping by. The phone stopped ringing, the emails stopped popping up, and her office door stopped revolving. Dangerous thing,….an idle mind.

So maybe it was the Sudafed, or maybe it was the down time. Either way, Eva allowed herself the luxury of a chance to daydream a little and have some fun. Lately, she’d been really enjoying the process in getting to know someone new, and even though it was very much in the early stages, it had that spark! The kind of spark that stayed with you to a point of distraction. So since she wasn’t able to beat it, she decided, what the hell, run with it. She couldn’t help herself.

This potential new beau had a magnificently developed playful spirit, one that Eva seemed to respond to in a very playful way of her own. There was no shortage of little daydreams to draw upon. Fond of the written word, Eva decided to randomly type her thoughts down on her laptop, letting the ideas form on their own as they spilled out of her gray matter. At least that way, she could look like she was working hard, instead of hardly working. In the end, it was her musings that lead to her eventual undoing.

Starting off by allowing herself to imagine their next meeting, Eva’s mind drifted to the sensory elements of attraction first. She pictured him moving towards her with the masculine elegance of confidence. She imagined the tiny crinkles in his eyes as his face lit up with his smile at the sight of her. She could even almost actually smell the light musky and sweet scent of his cologne as he put his arms around her as they came together. Then, drifting deeper and deeper into her thoughts, Eva imagined all the things that would race through her mind causing her knees to buckle while giving into the pleasure of his embrace.

His light and breezy mannerisms put all of Eva’s nerves at ease. Settling in to enjoy his company and conversation, she thought about to all the things she’d love to experience with him. Eva had always found laughter to be the strongest aphrodisiac, and true to form, his wily wit has having its way with her now.

As he rambled on about some adventure or another, she found herself sliding over a little closer to him. Taking advantage of a chance to laugh heartedly at a joke, she placed a hand flirtatiously on his arm. However, all at once, the feeling his biceps under the tips of her fingers momentarily overcame her as a wave of prickly little shivers raced up her spine. She let go, as imperceptibly as she could, and caught her breath. But the reaction had not gone unnoticed. Her friend enjoyed the affect that he seemed to have on Eva and he took the chance to capitalize on it. With a mischievous grin, he reached over to lightly touch her face and say, “Is it warm? You look a little flushed”

Trying as she might to save a little face and regain some power back, she put on her best coy expression and unswervingly stared into his eyes. “No, handsome, I’m fine. The temperature’s just right the way it is.”

As she reached out her hand towards him to pull him in for a kiss, she felt those prickly shivers come back. But this time, she was unfettered and determined on her goal. With lips locked, and the lingering scent of his sweet cologne, Eva felt her knees buckle once again, which was truly something remarkable since she was already sitting down.

Then, Eva’s friend started to whisper sweet suggestions in her ear; suggestions of how he’d like to go about turning the temperature up just a little bit more. Right then, right as she was losing strength by the second learning about his various warming techniques, that’s when it happened.

Her assistant walked into her office and loudly said, “God Eva, are you okay? You’re bright red.”

As if jerked away from a deep sleep by the sounding of an air-raid siren, Eva had to take a moment to determine where she was and get her bearings. It must have only been nanoseconds, but it was enough for Eva to realize where her mind had been. Feeling the deep flush of a crimson red burn in her face, Eva tried to quickly maneuver her computer screen to a harmless, everyday application. But in doing so, she accidentally hit the "Print" button, sending her lusty musings to the shared printer, which sat more than 15 meters away.

Jumping up from her chair, racing to rescue her private ramblings from unauthorized visitors, Eva tripped on the corner of her desk and lost precious time. Looking up from the floor, she watched in agony as one of the more chauvinistic Lawyers in her office picked up the sheet and glanced at it with curiosity. As Eva leapt to her feet and made for the printer, she could tell it was too late since he was already thoroughly engrossed. As she tried to feign calm and a casual interest in getting her printouts back, he kept her at bay with one strong arm held out at her shoulder. As he remarked loudly for all to hear “Now this is definitely more interesting than what the Canadian Bar Review’s putting out these days” he handed the printout to his Legal Assistant. At that point, Eva had to admit defeat. It was over. Her daydreams, public property. Her she-dragon reputation, up in smoke. She’d be lucky if they weren’t copied and sent throughout the entire Firm.

As the sound of the rain started to reappear, she realized she was in her car on her way home, still at significant risk of plowing into the cars in front of her if she didn’t get a grip. Practicing some deep breathing in order to calm her nerves and seriously considering a name change and a move to the UK, she pulled into her drive and parked the car. Walking up to her front door, in deep thought, wondering how things could possibly turn around for her,…there he was. Mr. Mischievous, standing right smack in front of her with that same roguish grin that she’d imagined only hours earlier, with a single rose. Once again crinkling his eyes, he leaned into kiss Eva and then said, “So how was your day?”

Eva, caught somewhere between the horror of her day, and the keen remembrance of her daydream, she looked him in the eyes and said “Well, it’s definitely looking up.”

To all the feckwits who ride bikes without helmets

2007-05-08T23:02:00.000-04:00

Seriously, what is your glitch?

Your brain, in a helmet.

Your brain, no helmet.

Any questions???

Karma Didn't Get Me...This Time

2007-04-21T09:21:00.002-04:00

Today, as part of my weight loss plan, I started a herbal cleanse. As it was "Day One" of my very first cleanse ever, I was expecting to really feel it. But I was amazed at how well I was feeling and I wasn't too aware of being either hungry or low in energy. In fact, when I got home from a very good day at work, I felt motivated enough to get myself over to the gym.

That's when I learned that cleansing and working out don't go hand-in-hand. At least on "Day One". I just didn't have the fuel inside of me to do the same kind of workout that I normally do. No steam to float my boat so to speak. But I didn't want to quit, so I kept pushing myself, and pushing myself. The way I saw it, at gas prices these days, since I drove my ass all the way there, I'd better make it worth it.

But in the end, the lack of energy caught up with me and I got pretty dizzy. I had to recognize defeat and go to sit it out for a while in the change room before I even thought of going back to my car to drive home. I was one Dizzy Miss Lizzy.

Anyway, once I finally got my head back together, I went back to my BRAND SPANKING NEW Toyota Yaris, which I love muchly and took great care to park in the farthest section of a ginormus parking lot, where I never thought anyone else would park. Once I got to my little beauty, I fell to my knees in shock of what I saw. Someone had apparently had hit my car and run, leaving it's beautiful untouched behind all dented and scraped. Having just blown all my fuel in the gym, I didn't have the mental capacity to deal. I started to cry on the spot, swearing and having a HUGE tantrum. I mean, come on!!!! Will Karma and Murphy and his stupid laws never leave me alone? I had literally just driven my car off of the Dealers lot THIS WEEK.

I was beside myself. So I just hung out by the back end of my all wrecked, formerly cute, new car and trying to get myself together when someone came up to me and said "Can I help you", with a slightly indignant tone. I turned, and through my tear-stained eyes, I looked at them and told them that someone had hit my new car and left.

After examining me for a moment and coming to the conclusion that I was not a total nut-job, they replied right back that unless I'd like to consider a trade, someone had actually hit THEIR new car and I would be better advised to start looking for where I had parked mine.

DUFAS!!! The car I was spending all this time crying beside wasn't even a Toyota. See, I was just a tinsy-bit on the dizzy side of things. This is when I came to my very clear realization that cleansing and working out don't mix.

I told them that I was really sorry for their misfortune as I happily skipped away to my pretty new car all in one piece in next isle over! ;) Karma, thanks for the by-pass this time.

Diary of a Limping Lizard

2007-01-10T20:25:00.004-05:00

I’ve just had an epiphany. I always knew how much I truly loved the story of Bridget Jones' Diary, but it wasn't until I found myself sitting at home, nursing a glass (or two) of wine, mourning over my voicemail-less voicemail and watching the movie for the dozenth time on TV on New Year's Day, the actual day that her story begins, that I realized, it went far, far beyond a deep appreciation. If I did not take drastic action, and SOON, I too, just like Bridget, was on the fast-track to spinsterhood and being eaten by wild dogs.

As such, without any resolutions of my own, (beyond having previously been firmly resolved not to do anything that would cause me further disappointment in myself) I have instead resolved to tell the story again from my own Limping Lizard's perspective. Then I can hope-beyond-hope that the exercise will help me identify my own patterns that aren't working (I’m sure there really aren’t THAT many) and move on to becoming the put-together wonder that I was destined to be!

MONDAY, JANUARY 1

It all began on New Year’s Day, in my thirty-fifth year of being single. Once again, I’d found myself on my own, recovering after yet another New Year’s Eve party where I was the only token single looking for someone to kiss as Auld Lang Syne started to play.

The night before was a quiet one. Normally, I really enjoy a chance to get out on the town and celebrate the ringing in of a new year with a couple hundred of my closest friends. Between New Year’s Eve and St. Patrick’s Day, there just aren’t any better nights for a single girl to go smingling her way around to a new beau. I call it smingling, because I’ve always used these occasions as a chance to mingle with a few singles, whereas the rest of my life seems to revolve around the Smug Marrieds that Helen Fielding so aptly describes in her literary triumph that tragically describes my life to a T.

However, on this particular New Years Eve, I was blessed to have a few married friends who took me in for their own quiet New Years Eve dinner party. Married they may be, smug not so much. Unlike the fictional Bridget, I count myself very lucky to have these people in my life. While they no longer relate to the chronic loneliness one can battle while at the same time being firmly resolute against settling in any way and equally for living la vie da loca, they are to be credited with the sincere attempt at believing they do. While they may have very small failings in their degree of understanding, they are also a big part of the fabric of my history. They’ve all been tested throughout the trials that only time can serve up and they stand with me still and will no doubt be there with me for years to come. You can’t find friends like that just anywhere, so you put up with the odd communication gap and develop a very deep appreciation of the foundation that they all provide. And since these people make up the family I have chosen, in my version of this little story, I will not be referring to my married friends as Smug Marrieds, but instead will now christen them all with a new term, unique to my own experience, my Best Married Wingnuts otherwise known as my BMWs. (Wishful thinking perhaps, but it may be the only way I ever get a Beemer).

In any case, I was exceedingly grateful for the chance to part-take in a somewhat quieter affair this year as I was in absolutely no shape to go smingling this year. I was still recovering from the remnants of a nasty pneumonia that left me with a hacking, wheezing asthma as a little gift to be remembered by. Call me silly, but my vast experience as a single has never proven that a hacking cough or an incessantly running nose were considered extremely desireable. So I was more than happy to let my BMWs take me in to help me ring in the new year at a slightly slower pace than normal, with the assurance that when the time came, there’d be someone who’d give me a hug and a kiss because they were required by the bonds of friendship to do so!

They did not disappoint. They served up the most incredible home-cooked meal of comfort food (something that a true Singleton intensely appreciates), they provided companionship and good cheer, and most surprisingly, they tolerated my ceaseless cacking and snorting with only mild and almost undetectable repulsion. And when Auld Lang Syne played, I was embraced along with everyone else. Friends like that are to be cherished.

But in the midst of conversations about family planning and buying / renovating houses, I found myself starting to weave in and out of daydreams of someone at my side chatting to me about current events, the markets or even just a sexy little banter about how my brand new bra had helped me to display my assets in a way that gravity had previously never allowed before. (Bridget had her short little skirt. I on the other hand have been blessed in a slightly different way, which usually gives me some grief, but with a new bra in tow, I was amused at the gravity defying act I was pulling off). But with no one to share a little sexy banter with and with my coughing getting progressively worse, I wandered out to the sundeck in front of my hostess’s house, for a quick hit of my new best friend, my puffer.

As I stood out there, it became quickly apparent that I was not quite alone. Looking out directly in front of me, I observed some of Toronto’s finest taking out of some of Toronto’s trash. My friend Nancy has had a cute little pink Tercel for as long as I’ve known her. That car has been with us both through many of our adventures together and I’ve developed a bit of a sentimental attachment for the car that is affectionately known as the Pink Pretty. But at this very moment, I was witnessing the Pink Pretty start the new year being violated in a very indecent way as Officer Friendly was patting down a suspected hooligan as said hooligan was spread eagle across the poor girl’s back-end. It was a very disturbing sight to start the New Year with. I’m not sure that the poor girl will ever be quite the same again.

In any case, things began to develop from there and a few more police cars pulled up, as did a Fire truck and Ambulance. Pandemonium ensued as Officers, Firemen and Paramedics wandered the street rounding up a bunch of young perps a stone’s throw from me and my puffer. I was momentarily concerned for myself (and the Pink Pretty) as I realized that this was escalating and someone could very well start shooting and I was very visible and unprotected in my very exposed sun-room. But as I examined the situation a little more closely, I started to lose any concern for my immediate well being and the sight in front of me began to take on a new meaning. Officers, Firemen, Paramendics, Oh MY!!!! I realized that with a plethora of our city’s finest in front of me, it represented my first smingling opportunity of the year and a very real possibility at landing a date. A singleton must to be able to think outside of the box and recognize, even in the midst of mortal danger, these opportunities for what they really are!

Then I coughed again, fiercely, and I managed to disgust myself entirely as, I’m sorry to say it, I threw up a little in my mouth. Quickly losing any interest in smingling for the moment, I ran inside to take care of the situation. Once I regained my composure, I told my BMWs about all the excitement they were missing outside.

We all went outside again to view the action and as my BMWs took pictures and were excited at the shocking drama unfolding in front of them, I joked, “Ya, but do you think I can get a date?”

Nancy turned around and laughed with me and said, “Sure Liz, all you have to do is go out there, cough up a lung and faint. They’ll all be in the palm of your hand after that, but you might find it hard to score digits after a display of drool and disease”

Knowing that she was quite right, I resolved to take my sorry self back inside and get my breathing under-control, and recover, permanently, so that when the next great opportunity came my way, I’d be in tip-top singleton shape to take full advantage of it.

After making this little pledge to myself, and after Toronto’s Finest had finished with their housekeeping efforts, we recovered the Pink Pretty from her recent injustice to make our way to our respective homes and prepare ourselves for what would hopefully be a fantastic new year ahead.

And after starting the new year off with a quiet day at home, literally trying to catch my breath and watching TV, I had my epiphany, a nearly religious awakening that things had to change. I realized that I needed to stop watching Bridget Jones turn her life around, but instead I needed to take action and do it for myself. If I didn’t take immediate action, if I may borrow directly from the Bridget Jones’ Diary movie , I was going to live a life where my major relationship was with a bottle of wine and die fat and alone and be found three weeks later, half-eaten by wild dogs, or turn into Glenn Close in “Fatal Attraction”.

Bridget chose Chaka Khan, Vodka and her little diary to help set her on the right course. For me it’s going to be Gloria Gaynor, an Italian Cianti and my blog.

So there it is. This is the year I’m going to make some changes and here are my resolutions. Wish me luck.

I will not spend the next year winding up alone watching Bridget Jones’ Diary and listening to Diana Krall. I will take control of my bad habits and tell the truth about this Limping Lizard. The whole exhausting truth.

Resolution number one, obviously will lose an inordinate amount of weight which I need not to disclose here at this time until slightly more decent.

Number two, become utterly successful and contented at work.

Equally important, and I may as well borrow directly again, because she said it better than I ever could. “Will find a nice sensible boyfriend to go out with and not continue to form romantic attachments to any of the following: alcoholics, workaholics, commitment-phobics, peeping toms, megalomaniacs, emotional fuckwits, or perverts.”

This may prove a fair challenge as have a major, stereotypical and inexplicable attraction to these traits.

But this year, it’s a clean slate and a new game plan. That includes being less self-involved and supporting family and friends more, improving my finances, my confidence, my charity, my well-roundedness, my health and my writing.

Failure is no longer an option. Those wild dogs are right around the corner.

NEXT UP: The Day After the Resolution

An Amalgamation of Christmas Pasts

2006-12-30T13:08:00.003-05:00

Okay, I did it again with the verbal diarrhea. If you're into the journey, grab a glass of wine and reminisce with me for a while.

It's amazing what that one little call did. I'm telling you, I went up north to visit my family in a totally revived state of mind and had an incredible visit with them. I found that spirit I'd so been missing and enjoyed myself immensely, drinking in all the sights and sounds and adding them to a mental tapestry of holiday memories that I have in my mind's eye for safe-keeping and remembrance.

This year was not one to disappoint. There was much in the way of big bold laughter and many special memories. Dinner was less a meal than it was an experience that lasted the whole day, from the smell of it turkey cooking to the pouring of champagne for our guests, to the yams drizzled with a sweet syrup to the the brussel spouts (and my thinly veiled threats to our guests about eating all of the brussel sprouts so that there were none left over for my mother to send home with me). Conversation spun from every subject from a "drag-em-out and take 'em down" contest between the elders of how many pills each of them had to endure in their daily regime of medicine, to a discourse of the merits (if any) of our current government to a sharing of admittedly weak but oddly funny jokes from our Christmas Crackers, or perhaps it was just the champagne talking.

The excess off the day was highlighted by my family dog throwing up in the living room after enjoying too many treats as well as the sincere enjoyment of a symphony of choral music, laughter and candlelight. Dinner was topped of with Trifle, coffee and the ugh, mandatory Christmas Cake (I still don't get it), and a chance to consider my own excesses in the enjoyment of too many "treats" just like my dog before me.

I'm not sure where my love-affair with the season started, but it's probably around the time that this picture was taken with two of my closest, life-long friends, David & Karen. Karen, as usual is looking just a little bit anxious as she critically analyzes the situation and tries to figure out exactly how Santa will logically come down that chimney. David on the other hand, again true to form, is looking a little bit like a deer in headlights. He's always been a superstar achiever, but he's never been one for the limelight or attention, no matter how often he seems to find it. Then there's me. Lay the camera on me! Lights, Action, I'm a Star. Santa who???? It's all about me, and how cute I'm looking with my entourage behind me! And if you ask really nice, I'll even show you how special I am by doing a little pirouette and curtsy for you! :) Who needs a big, tubby guy with an overgrown beard when there's a cutie-patoottie like me in the room. Plllaaaesse!

But I wizened up somewhat as I grew. (Perhaps it was the classic bowl cut that i sported...thank you Mom...that helped me to feel as those I'd aged a little beyond my innocent, but narcissistic 3 year-old ways)

In any case, I realized that I could be cute AND get gifts. Here I am, the obvious object of jealousy from my brother and cousin Michael, as they dearly wish that they could trade in their respective Spiderman WebGun and Superman Action Figures for my Uber-Cool No-Name Wannabe Barbie! My cousin Nikki on the only hand is blissfully oblivious to my major score of loot, because she too just can't help but get caught up in how cute she is. I'm mean seriously, who could blame her? Look at those eyes, and that smile. Absolutely brilliant. It's a family curse and our cross to bear! ;) Thanks Grandma! We loved your multi-million $$$ smile and we're all grateful that you shared it with each of us in your gene-pool and every day that we saw your happy face! Except for my brother of course. There's no explaining what happened there. Perhaps I shouldn't have dropped him on his head so often when he was a baby, but how was I to know that would have a permanent effect! ;)

Christmas' came and went and what it meant to me changed a little bit each year. After a misplaced attempt at mercy, my cousin Andrew tried to soothe my green jealous heart over the fact that my beautiful cousin Sheila got to be one of Santa's Elves one year, by telling me that the man posing as Santa in my living room was actually his father, my Uncle Jim, the things that once made the holidays magical began to morph into a deep appreciation of the lengths that our family and friends go to make us smile or feel special. Well that and a deep appreciation of turkey too. A little less fanciful perhaps, but absolutely no less magical.

Then after a while, the holidays started to take on a different kind of meaning to me. They meant I was coming home to visit with my family after surviving my exam period and many sleepless nights cramming away for them. Coming home meant a chance for relaxation and to regroup for the coming term. It also was a time in which new traditions began to form and new participants began to be included. It was around this time that I had the first pleasure of meeting the amazing girl who would one day become my sister-in-law, as she fussed over her knitting to keep her busy and distracted because she too missed her family over the last semester. Dad fussed of course over the turkey. It's quite a thing to watch him in action, but if you watch,...make sure it's at a reasonable distance. Otherwise it's a full on contact sport. He needs a lot of space and takes no prisoners. But is it ever worth the wait, as he's an artist at work.

The other thing I've come to love is how my parents decorate for the holidays. Part of the festive magic that I feel each year has a lot to do with the atmosphere they create at home. I haven't attached any of the pictures of the plethora of trees, garlands, wreaths, candles, nativity scenes and festive characters within the house, but I wanted to add a picture here of the type of light show they'd put on outside as well. It's perhaps not spectacular by Hollywood's standards, but it was all we needed to feel like home was the only place to be for the holidays.

Then there's the B Family. Cannot forget the B's as they have been an integral part of the holidays with our family over the years. Sometimes we'd celebrate together in Hawaii (which has given me a whole new appreciation and love for how they celebrate the holidays in the tropics) and sometime in California where the rest of them live. It got a little harder to get together each year as the kids grew and got jobs that didn't allow extended holidays, but every Christmas it was as if we were all there together in spirit. We may be the only household this side of the left coast that continually plays the Honolulu Boys Choir Christmas Album over the holidays, but it just wouldn't feel festive anymore without it.

But don't worry, it wasn't all music and sentimentality either. The B's were great at keeping things fun and festive and here we all are, a motley crew together in our own National Lampoon's moment together. My mom must be the one taking the picture...smart lady! :)

And this one will never be forgotten.... Boys will be boys, and were they ever being loud, obnoxious and absolutely hilarious boys at this memorable Christmas dinner with our lifelong friends, the H's. And it was all over a salt and pepper shaker that made a sound of a dolphin that drove my dog crazy.

And more and more, I've learned how very special our own traditions are with our friends. Each year I celebrate the holidays with old friends that I used to work with at Midland Walwyn (Merrill Lynch Canada Inc afterwards). Pictured below at this year's dinner, are from left to right, Teena, Deborah, myself (looking just a little less glamorous than when I was 3 years-old) and Franca. It seems that each year that we get together, the more important it was that we are there to laugh together and to help us from keeping from crying alone. I'm lucky to have friends such as these to share such special memories with. And everyone one of them have been special, except for the time that they told me Deborah was pregnant (and worried about it given that she's no longer in "prime" birthing years) and they let me stress about it for a whole day afterwards. They often to abuse my naturally pleasant, but gullible and worry-wart ways, but I'll forgive them for it on the grounds that no one else will put up with my corn-ball humour quite the same way that they do.

But if I were to be honest, while the holiday's have truly come to represent special times with friends and loved ones, deep down inside, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that at times I'm still a dorky kid, craving the magic of the season and a big ol' holiday window display at the Bay on Yonge St. Those were special times. And yes, Smurfs were very cool at one point. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. C'om, at least it's not Barney!!

And that dorky kid has always craved magic and special moments, it's only that the things that I craved changed a little. Which is absolutely why I had to add this little keep-sake. Okay, so this wasn't taken at Christmas, but I'm pretty sure that I asked Santa for a moment like this, so I had to include it, because it sure felt a whole lot like Christmas to me! Thanks to the L family for making this particular holiday dream of mine come true! It almost makes me want to forgive you all for being a bunch of Haughty Hab Fans, but then again,...I might need a do-over of this moment before I decide for sure.

And if you're lucky enough, just like my God-daughter pictured below, the magic of the season can take you by such a hold that you just can't help yourself except to celebrate the fury of your festive excitement by putting on each and every one of the 3 Disney Princess' dresses you received that year and insist on wearing them like that until you drop down into the kind of deep, deep, sleep you can only achieve after a fun-filled, joyous holiday and supplemented by a sugar crash! Now that's living!

Of course, not included here are all the pictures I have in my memory (and in my mother's photo album, far-to-far from here to be able to share them) of Christmas' past with my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins that I cherish so much and always look forward to with great anticipation. I am also very blessed to have a few close friends who I share time-honoured traditions, including the observation of a strict and mandatory library of movies that must be watched, appies and steak that must be devoured and wine that must be uncorked and enjoyed. Without these traditions that I've built with the "Family I've Chosen", I've learned I just can't get my festive groove on. For instance, I've been known to mope around each year, just a little, until one friend sends me a voicemail of her "Texas" Santa singing "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" for me. (Honestly, I just don't think you've really lived until you've heard that sung with a Texan-twang).

I may never be very good at remembering exactly who gave what to whom, but I'm more than certain that I will one day leave this world, with these memories close in my heart and as crystal clear as the day they occurred. Thanks Mom and Dad, for starting me of with a love of the seasonal magic at an early and and delivering it to me each and every year since.

Merry Christmas! Hope you have all had a special and memorable holiday!

The Meaning of Christmas

2006-12-22T20:10:00.002-05:00

I have been lying to you all for the last couple of posts. I'm generally a Grade A Holiday Junkie who should seek a 12-step program for assistance, because I'm the kind of holiday kook that makes everybody else cringe as they whisper, Bah Humbug.

But this year,...the holiday spirit has utterly evaded me. I've searched for it everywhere, but it wasn't to be found. Instead, all I've seem to discover over the last month or so is a deep sadness, the kind that takes the air right out of your lungs and the quick out of your step.

And the closer that Christmas came, the less and less I felt it and the more tangible the sense of loss became.

For whatever reason, things have just seemed very heavy recently and it has been escalating every day. I felt my own challenges building to a level at which I seriously doubted I could handle much more and adding to that I've been deeply affected by all of the very significant challenges my friends and loved ones have been facing recently as well.

I truly feared the shear weight of it would do me in if I gave into the sadness, which is why I've been "forcing" the Christmas Spirit on myself, even if it hadn't truly embraced me yet. But my efforts came to a grinding halt yesterday. I heard some devastating news from a friend that brought the tears to my eyes and the lump in my throat that I'd been holding back for so long, and they just didn't stop. I knew who I was crying for, who I was scared for, and who my heart was bleeding for, but in the midst of all of those tears, I shed a few for everyone who's pain I've been feeling lately and in mourning of a time when it was so easy just to enjoy the magic of a special time when people just can't help but to smile and treat each other just a little bit better than usual.

I watched the clock today at work. Not because I was excited about starting my holiday, but because I just needed to make it through to the end of the day so that I could go home and breathe. I stopped in a few stores on the way home, basically on auto pilot, picking up a few last odds and ends for the holidays, but without much heart and without the magic. I had just lost the joy of the season and had finally given up hope that it would find me.

And that, my friends, is when it will find you. Just when you give up the hope. That's why it's magic and that's why it's so brilliant.

When I got home, in an utter sense of despair and sadness, I put down my bags and looked up at my phone with a flashing, blinking red light. I was pretty sure that it was the trademark flash of the regular phone solicitations I receive, so I chose to ignore it for a while, as I milled around getting dinner ready with about as much empty enthusiasm as one can muster and still stand.

But after my bland dinner had been digested, I braved an attempt to check my messages to see who my mystery caller was, wondering how much money I owed them or how kind of new product they wanted to sell me on.

But I will probably never get over the surprise I had when I heard that voice on the end of the other line, a voice I hadn't heard in about five years, and a voice that really was a special part of my life over a decade ago. That voice gave me the best gift someone could give you at this time of year, because that voice just called me, out of the blue, and after years of being out of touch, just to say "Merry Christmas, I was thinking of you". Can you imagine?

It was the sweetest thing. That voice gave me back that which I missed so much, my Christmas Spirit. Because that's what it's about. Just thinking about each other. And right after I finished listening to that message of holiday sentiment, I received a call from my brother and sister-in-law (who may as well be a sister-in-kind because I love her so much) and they built on the happy gift that the first caller started. It really is a wonderful life people!

And now here I am, packing up my car to go visit my family for the holidays, and the air has filled up in my lungs with joy and the quick has bounced back into my step.

And that's when it hit me. It's not the carols, it's not the gifts, it's not the lights or tree. It's just a person reaching out to you, saying just thought you should know you're special to me.

So Merry Christmas everyone. I leave you with one little holiday challenge and that is to spread the joy and call at least one person who isn't expecting it and wish them all the best for the season and ask them to do the same for someone else. You never know who it's going to mean the world to and who it's going to brighten up. Here's hoping that one call can start 100's more just like it.

I'm starting with my old university roomate who I haven't seen in about ten years. Who's your call going to be?

Cheers,
Liz

Christmas in Kandahar

2006-12-17T19:18:00.003-05:00

I've been feeling very festive these last couple of weeks, and thankful for all of the good fortune that the last couple of years have delivered to me in the form of good health and happiness for myself, my friends and my loved ones.

However, as I excitedly prepare myself to head home for a much anticipated visit with my family, I wanted to take a moment to remember those who are serving abroad and do not have the same luxury this holiday season; even as they commit their time and lives to the preservation of the liberties which we and all others should have the freedom to enjoy.

I don't care to wax political about whether it's right or wrong that our soldiers are serving in Afghanistan. Instead I offer up my complete and heart-felt gratitude to them for the commitment and courage they show in the face of very troubling and often tragic circumstances.

To all of our soldiers serving abroad, I wish you all a safe holiday season and safe return home to your families as soon as your tour of duty allows.

To all of our soldiers who are home having returned from their tours of duty or those who are preparing to begin one or serving at home, thank you for your extraordinary commitment and sacrifice as well.

To the soldiers who I either know personally, or have come to know your families who miss you very much, you are all in my hearts and prayers, home or abroad, always.

In remembrance and in support of our troops this holiday season, I'd like to borrow an excerpt from an article published by CityNews on Remembrance Day in 2006, slightly modified by myself to make it current.

It includes a story of Sargent Major John Hooyer, who is the much-loved brother of one of my closest friends Nancy, and someone charged with the extremely challenging task, among others, of keeping the morale up for his battalion, the Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry, who've suffered some of the most losses of any battalion since 2002 .

I know how very much his whole family, including a wife, two children, parents, 3 siblings and countless others (this family is extraordinarily large in size and there are a great many who hold John in their hearts), wishes him home safely and soon, but they recognize also how very important his strong leadership must be to the other soldiers he is serving with.

I believe this article is an excellent representation of our troops' courage, commitment and resolve to "Soldier On" even in the face of great loss and sadness.

http://www.citynews.ca/news/news_5214.aspx

It was an emotional day for Canadian troops serving in Afghanistan who paid tribute to their fallen comrades. This Remembrance Day was particularly hard considering the number of Canadian lives lost during this mission - 42 soldiers and one diplomat have died since 2002 and 34 of those troops were killed since March. (NB: 44 soldiers and one diplomat have died as of the posting of this blog.)

Many soldiers held back tears and others wept openly as they pinned poppies to a wreath before a simple wooden cross in a rainy Remembrance Day ceremony in Kandahar. Many of the soldiers were from the A Company of 2nd Battalion, Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry, which has suffered many losses this year.

"They were like big brothers," Pte. Mackenzie Haut, 21, of Edmonton said. "I was an only child growing up in my family. In the army, the camaraderie is a lot like a brotherhood."

"It would be important to them to know that we can still be combat-effective and accomplish our missions without them. And then, when the mission's done, we can remember them and mourn in our own ways."

Sgt.-Maj. John Hooyer recited lines from "For the Fallen", written by British poet Laurence Binyon.

"They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them."

He also urged his troops to remember and honour their fallen comrades, but also to maintain their resolve.

Sgt.-Maj. John Hooyer pinning a poppy to a memorial wreath.

I wish all of our troops all the best this holiday season and that you'll all be home with your families soon.

Post Script:
Since 2002, 44 Canadian soldiers and one Canadian diplomat have been killed in Afghanistan. Here is a list of the those who have died in the service to their country. I wish to share my deepest condolences with their families for their respective losses and the extreme sacrifice they have endured.

http://www.forces.gc.ca/site/focus/fallen/index_e.asp

The Things We Do For Love

2006-12-16T03:24:00.002-05:00

On Saturday, I went to a Wedding of sorts. It was a very special event, with one unique catch,...the couple was already married.

A friend of mine decided that a really special gift for her mother this Christmas would be if she were to complete her confirmation in the Catholic Church. It really means a great deal to her mom that she be confirmed, but there was one little technicality in the way...apparently my friend was an unforgivable heathen! ;)

Turns out, you can't be confirmed in the Catholic Church if you're living in sin and with a child out of wedlock. Shock horror!!!! My poor friend thought all this time that she was already married for the last 6 years, but turns out that City Hall weddings just don't cut the mustard with God!

So, in order to be able to deliver the original gift of being confirmed in the Catholic Church, my friend had to get married, again, only this time in Church. Imagine! The things we do for love!

I was asked to witness, as it was a VERY small affair. While it may have been small, I have to admit, it was no less special for it. I really have to hand it to the Priest. He carried on the Catholic Wedding Ceremony with as much energy and vigor as if the church had been standing (kneeling/standing/kneeling/standing) room only. So much so, that the seasoned bride and groom seemed just a little jittery when exchanging their vows. Nice to know that 6 years into it, you can still get those fun little nerves and butterflies.

My favorite part of the ceremony was when it was time to exchange rings and they each took their rings off their hands and handed them to the witnesses, so the Priest could bless the rings and then have them "exchanged" along with the happy couple's vows. Definitely a unique take on an old tradition!

Anyway, so now they're hitched for real now, and she is well on her way to being confirmed. But when I asked her about her honeymoon plans, she just looked at me, shrugged her shoulders and said,"Honey, we may have just gotten married, but the honeymoon is long over!"

But the romantic in me thinks it was a cover and I suspect that as soon as the little bambino went to sleep that evening, the couple found new ways to exchange their vows, yet again! ;)

My Own Emergency Warning System

2006-09-15T08:00:00.000-04:00

Why do people persist in trying to get me to link together coherent sentences before I've been able to get one cup of java pulsing through my veins? Don't they understand it's an exercise in futility and is often more likely to result in an irrational outburst of anger versus the helpful response they're hoping for? On the flip-side, if they wait until at least one cup of coffee has been consumed, they're all likely to find me to be the absolute picture of calm and contentment and willing to help them in any way I can. Two cups and I'm a miracle-worker! ;)

I suppose it's not their fault. They can really only learn the lesson the hard way. So I've been thinking that if I were to be merciful, I should look into creating my own emergency warning system to help my staff and other unsuspecting people gage the degree of danger involved in approaching me in the morning.

So here goes. What do you think? Will it get the message across? ;)

SEVERE: Severe Risk of Head Biting. Avoid Contact at All Costs.
HIGH: High Risk of Crankiness. Approach with Caution.
ELEVATED: Significant Risk of Disinterest. Turnaround May Lag.
GUARDED: General Risk of Exhaustion. Results of Contact Unpredictable.
IDEAL: Calm Waters Ahead. Conditions Ideal for Contact and Results.

Cheers,
Liz

Speed Dating for Dummies

2006-09-02T11:42:00.000-04:00

**This is a long read, so grab a glass of wine and chill with me for a while.

A Kick at the Can

Having given in to the tragic reality that my love life was in need of some serious and possibly professional therapy, I decided to take an alternative approach and give speed dating a try. As I seem to go through dates about as quickly as I do my nylons, I figured putting some structure into the process couldn’t hurt, right? The way I saw it, it’s sort of like brushing a little clear-coat nail polish on your nylons to stop the run. It may not be an actual remedy, but it’s a hell of band-aid and it’ll get you through the day.

So, I gave it a shot. I have to admit, it was very interesting. Even though it was a bit of a challenge at the start, I sort of eased into it as the night progressed. All I can say, a healthy sense of humour definitely came in handy.

In any case, as I walked into the restauraunt, I was greeted by the speed dating staff. As they reviewed the drill plan for the evening, they handed me a nametag to wear. My first thought of course was, “I don't THINK so!” After spending two hours of primping and preparation in order to achieve my look for the evening, I wasn’t about to let a bland white label undo the carefully constructed impression that I must wake up each morning looking like a goddess! Seriously!!! What were they thinking? So, with a polite nod of gratitude for their efforts, I took my nametag and promptly tucked it into my pocket.

Excited about my next great adventure, I looked up to assess what lay ahead. Just then a sense of mortal dread swiftly overcame me. As I scanned the masses milling away near the bar, the realization that I was completely and utterly alone took an especially prominent place in my thoughts. It's quite possible that I could be blocking out a part of this, but I seem to recall that deep within my sub-conscious, there was a profound and mind-numbingly shrill scream of horror in reaction to an element of the evening I had not prepared myself for. WHERE, for the LOVE OF GOD, were my friends? Suddenly, in my mind’s eye, my carefully constructed goddess outfit vapourized into thin air, as I became quite certain that I had managed to arrive completely stark-naked. This could be the only logical explanation for why I felt absolutely certain that everyone was starring at me with downright amusement.

APPARENTLY, in speed dating, everyone mingles in the bar area first, BEFORE they let you take your places to start the evening. I learned that while it is one thing go to a bar full of strangers accompanied by at least one friend, it is entirely another to walk into a room full of strangers without any of your usual armour at all. Not willing to give into my fear just yet, I hung onto the thin thread of courage that prancing around in the splendor of my birthday suit had left me and I quickly sought out the only person that I recognized as safe harbor. I swear, I didn’t just cozy up to the Bartender because he was the most devastatingly handsome man in the room; I was simply after his merchandise! Well, okay, in truth, it was perhaps a little bit of both and a therefore a win-win situation, and in such desperate times, who am I to argue with good fortune?

Anyway, having enjoyed the blessing that fate served up ensuring that I had some liquid confidence pulsing through my veins, my clothing had mercifully reappeared and I was once again ready to embark into the unknown.

I started by looking for targets who I deemed likely to relate to my terror or at the very least, those who wouldn’t aggravate it any further. As such, before I knew it, I found myself walking up to a group of women engrossed in a conversation about high school dances. Funny how a night like this can bring back all those memories of frustrated youth. However, it was an extremely accurate comparison, because if you really took the time to examine what was going on, you’d see that everyone had neatly formed into about 5 or 6 little pockets of same-sex conversations. In an instant, all of my memories of chatting up friends at school seeking advice on how to get a certain cutie to ask me to dance came flooding back with absolute clarity. Minus of course, my big 80’s hair, ankle-warmers, an off-the-shoulder top and pretending that I was Jennifer Beals from Flashdance. And I wonder why I’m single?

So as luck would have it, by the time that the speed dating staff called us to begin the event, I had managed to collect a concerning number of digits from the female participants. I decided that the silver lining in this odd turn of events was in the spirit of 6 Degrees of Separation. I thought, what the hell, these women could possibly be closely connected with my Mr. Wonderful, if he wasn’t actually in the room that night. Why should I limit myself to making only 25 potential new friends, when I could possibly make 50 new friends and expand my network even further. It was entirely conceivable to me that the person I needed to introduce me to Matthew McConaughey could have been in the room that night and I was damn sure going to cover my bases!

With digits now tucked safely away with my nametag, I listened intently to the speed dating staff go over the agenda for the night. As I watched the staff in their animated presentation, (in which we were told that the women were designated tables and the men would rotate at the sound of a whistle every 3 minutes), I couldn’t help but be reminded of an Airline Stewardess advising passengers about nearby oxygen masks and emergency exits. I wondered for a moment if similar perks would be made available to each of us in the event of a dating emergency.

The staff then showed us how to mark your scorecard to identify dates who you’d be interested in meeting again and then advised that there would be about a 10 minute break in the middle of the event. YEA!! Translation, there'd more quality time with the Bartender. Okay, it’s possible that I was missing the point of the evening, but honestly, if you had seen him, you’d have understood.

The First Date

The Scorecard was a sheet with a list of numbers from 1 to 25 running down the right side of the page with a corresponding Yes & No column alongside each number. After meeting someone for only 3 minutes you had to decide whether or not you thought you could face at least another couple of hours with them for an actual date. Well, I wasn't sure how much you could really learn about a person in 3 minutes, but I was definitely sure that 3 minutes was either going to be far-too-short or far-too-long depending upon the "date" you were having. And with that thought, I looked up again to see if there were any oxygen masks or emergency exits in sight.

The whistle blew, forcing me to abandon my search, and we all took our places. The women sat in their designated seats and men roamed around searching for their assigned starting points. And just like that, in a matter of seconds, all 50 of us had a date. Were it only that easy in real life! I would have saved a small fortune on dating services and would never taxed my poor friends' collective psyches asking for their help in the search for an answer to my dating woes.

As I waited for my first date, I watched what was going on around me. The women were fidgeting, trying their best to appear attractive, crossing their legs, running their hands through their hair and positioning themselves in whatever fashion that best displayed their assets. Some of the men were posing stiffly and aloofly in a demonstration of their intense masculinity while others were completely in the moment, smiling, animated and engaging. Although, it could be said that some were even trying just a little too hard. I saw one guy actually hug a girl at the start of their date. I made a mental note to shake his hand as quickly as possible at the sight of him to avoid the same type of incident. My friends may tease me about being someone who is prone to hugging, but little do they know what an exclusive club they are in. I'm actually not very big on physical displays of affection. Again, I wonder why I'm single? In any case, whatever else the night held in store for me, it was clear that the people watching was going to be spectacular.

"Hi!"

Snapping back to attention at the sound of this greeting, I saw a tall, attractive man sitting in front of me.

"Hi", he continued with a sly grin, "I’m Mr. Right. Someone said you were looking for me."

At the delivery of this unbelievably cheesy line, I looked up to examine him further, and with one eyebrow cocked, I stated "Oh, a comedian I see. Well, I'm guessing that line hasn't done much for you, which is probably I why I get to enjoy the pleasure of your company tonight. So, on that note, do you have any good knock-knock jokes for me?"

"Knock, knock", the comedian retorted.

Willing to play along, I dutifully responded with "Okay, hot-shot, who's there?"

"Mr. Right."

Hmmmm. Sensing a cheesy theme for the next 3 minutes, I asked, "Mr. Right who?"

The comedian smiled at me and pointed to the white name tag on his chest upon which I saw the number 16 and his first name, Mark boldy displayed. With a wink, he answered, "Mr. Wright. Mr. Mark Wright. It's my last name, you see? So Ms. Mysterious,...do you have a name?"

In a flash, I remembered that my nametag, secured deep within my pocket, actually served a purpose beyond the destruction of my stylish appearance. How was I supposed to get any matches after all, if my dates didn't know my name and corresponding number? Reluctantly, I reached into my pocket, pulled out the hideous label and applied it to my shirt. With my name and the number 7 appearing now in a very loud, black print for the world to see, I sheepishly replied "My name is Liz. And I'm a recovering label-holic."

"Okay, weirdo, so what is it that you do for a living, when you're not busy being neurotic?"

Slightly bruised at his harsh, but justified observation, I responded, "I'm a Branch Administrator at an investment firm".

"You're a what?"

"A Branch Administrator. You know, I oversee the staff and operations of a branch at a investment dealer".

"Oh, I see, that must keep you busy."

"God, that's the truth. That's why I'm here my friend, how about you?"

"Well, I just came back from a stint in Cuba. Before that I was traveling Europe for about 6 months. I've been gone from home for so long that I thought it was high time that I met some good ol' Canadians upon my return.

"Wow, what a life, what were you doing abroad?"

"Mostly just seeing the sights. Drinking a little vino and enjoying a culinary and cultural adventure. "

"Sounds great. God, I'd love to do the same sometime. I've always wanted to travel but I could never take the time off that would allow me to really drink in the sights and places. How'd you swing it?"

"I was working the whole time. I'm a cartoonist."

"What? You're actually a cartoonist? Do you mean like a Stan Lee-type or are serials your thing?"

"Have you ever seen Tennis Elbow? It's a strip about tennis club members and how their interactions at the club and on court mirrors the struggles we all have in life."

"That's you? Definitely. I've always thought your strip was genius."

Then before I knew it, and far before I was ready for it, the whistle blew and signaled the end to the shortest 3 minutes I've ever experienced. My new friend Mark politely said goodbye as I marked down a resolute and firm "yes" next to number 16 on my scorecard.

The Dating Marathon

I jotted down a notation of “N/A” beside number 16 to help me to remember him by. However, my version of this well-known acronym didn't have the usual “not applicable” connotation, but it in fact meant something quite the opposite as I found myself admiring something very “nice” about him as I watched him leave.

“So how’d it go?”

Convinced that I was developing ADD since this event prohibited my being able to complete a train of thought, I looked up at the man who interrupted my appreciation of the scenery and at that very moment, time stopped.

Eventually coming to from my trance, I realized that standing before me was a man so gorgeous that he made my friend the bartender look like Steve Buschemi. He had a presence and confidence that was palpable. His tailored suit fell perfectly upon his frame, accenting his broad shoulders and muscular physique. His jet-black hair was styled flawlessly as though he had just stepped off of a GQ cover.

As the tiger slumbering inside of me started to wake up and pay attention, his ultra blue eyes pierced through me while waiting for some sign that I acknowledged he was there.

Finally finding my voice, I asked GQ, “How’d what go?”

“Your date with number 16. I can see you’re making all sorts of notes. It must have been a great 3 minutes.”

Looking into those deep blue eyes, I delivered my best smile, feigned innocence and asked. “Who?”

Smiling, as it was evident that I was quite taken with him, GQ went on to say “I see. Well, if you feel like taking some notes down again later, I’m a minor league hockey coach.”

“Oh yeah? Well you don’t get much more Canadian than that. Way to live the dream!”

Bristling with pride, GQ said, “Yeah, it’s a really great time right now too. We’ve just had a terrific season."

"That's great. It must have really been fun for the boys."

"Yeah. Also I’m starting to get a lot of offers from the NHL right now. It’s hard to say where I’m going to be a year from now, but wherever it is, I know it’s going to be awesome.”

I paused for a moment, letting GQ’s last comments sink in, and then I asked “Really, you may be moving soon? How exciting for you. But may I ask, what is it that you hope to find here, if you expect to move in the near future?”

“I’m not really sure. I let a friend talk me into coming with him and I suppose I guessed that anything was possible. Maybe, if it came to that, the right girl would want to move with me, wouldn't she?” Then gesturing to himself, he added, “I mean, look at everything I’m offering. Who’d pass up this?”

Perhaps this could have been enticing, had it been delivered with a sense of satire, but there was no element of comedy to be found. This guy wasn’t flirting, he was being serious. Then it came to me that we had spent all of our time together talking about him and he had yet to ask me a single question. He certainly knew his own value, but I wondered if it was more of an acquired taste for others. It was clear to me that a relationship with him, would be a relationship about him. Working in an investment firm, I already had enough egos to nurse, so I lost interest quickly.

After my date with GQ, I once again learned the ever important lesson that you can’t judge a book by it’s cover. This pompous, but deceivingly attractive egomaniac, ultimately had all the charm of a yeast infection. As we said our good-byes to each other, I marked down a “no” beside his number, grateful that there was no risk of a tricky “It’s not you, it’s me” explanation down the road.

“Hi Liz”

For a moment, I was surprised at the sound of my name, and expected to see someone I knew when I looked up. But then, upon the sight of someone completely unknown to me, I remembered my curséd nametag. That thing was definitely going to be the death of me.

In front of me was a lean man with skin like milk chocolate. He was elegantly dressed and had a presence of someone who was well educated. The only thing missing was a smile. While he was a polished and attractive man, his facial expressions gave evidence that he was somewhat uncomfortable in his surroundings. I could relate given my awkward start to the evening. I could only hope that, like me, he would eventually embrace this opportunity and its potential for fun.

Repaying the favor of his attention to detail, I inspected his nametag and replied to my self-conscious friend, “Hi Michael. Nice to meet you. So how’s your night been going so far? How’s my competition been treating ya?” I was sincerely hoping that a little lighthearted banter would help him to loosen-up.

“Oh, it’s been okay. I’ve met some nice women.”

Michael didn’t sound very convincing, and I got the impression that it didn’t have as much to do with the quality of the women he had met, but rather his own emotional barriers to enjoying the evening. Aiming for a little more understanding, I asked, “Have you done any of these events before?”

“No. This is my first time. I’ve just moved to Toronto and thought this would be the best way to meet some new people. I don’t enjoy the bar scene and my work keeps me pretty busy, so it’s been difficult to get out.”

“Well, it’s my first time too. Look at that. We’re both speed dating virgins. If we help each other through this, perhaps we’ll exit unscathed.” I was pleased that he seemed to relax a bit at this admission and my plea for mutual support. If I’ve learned anything in life, it’s definitely that misery loves company and it sure as hell makes the load a little lighter to bear.

I continued in my self-assigned mission to put Michael at ease and asked, “So, what is it that keeps you so busy and from enjoying all that T.Dot has to offer?”

“I’m a Doctor and I’ve just joined a transplant team here. I love it, but it can be very long hours. What do you do?”

“I’m a Branch Administrator at an investment firm.”

“What?”

Hmm, I thought to myself, as this reaction sounded vaguely familiar to me. I’ve always thought that my title at work did nothing to explain the finer points of what I do. It’s been a long-standing source of frustration for me. I have long believed that my title should be more reflective of the fact that I manage over 120 staff and the operations of in one of the top-producing branches in the nation, all the while having to baby-sit the fragile egos that ultimately pay my salary. It’s a constant and delicate dance to balance corporate objectives and internal stakeholder demands. Branch Administrator just doesn’t cut it. Diplomatic Emissary is much more precise as it speaks to the leadership and negotiating skills that the job requires.

In the end, we only had a short time left, so I summed it up with, “I manage A-type personalities for a living. It’s thankless, but someone has to do it and the best part is, I get paid next-to-nothing for it!”

That’s when it happened. My mission was a success, as Michael broke out into a brilliant smile and gently laughed in appreciation of my suffering. His pearly whites were in striking contrast to his chocolaty skin and he grew more attractive by the second because of it.

Knowing that the whistle was about to ring through our ears, I decided to share a little advice with the good doctor and said, “Michael, what you’re doing right now, that smile of yours, harness it. It’s a powerful weapon and you should use it at the start every single one of your dates from here on out. Your victims won’t stand a chance.”

Michael laughed again in gratitude and as if on cue, the whistle blew. On some level, I knew that Michael was not the man for me, as I would grow weary of having to work so hard for a smile, but he was an exceptional man who I knew was about to go into his next date with a much better chance. Mother forgive me for this, but the good doctor was just not enough of a live wire for me. And again, I wonder why I’m single.

“Hi there.”

Horror of horrors, it was the Huggy-Man, standing with arms extended waiting for me to embrace him. With great effort, I fought my natural flee response, mostly because I couldn’t see a natural escape route. So I stood up, smiled with grace and presented my hand with great hope that he would accept my gesture.

“Hi Phil, nice to meet you.”

Looking momentarily disappointed, Huggy-Man shook my hand, but he recovered from my social slight quickly enough to say, “I can tell you what you’re thinking. I’m psychic, you know.”

Ugh oh. "Here we go." I thought. Red light! Abort! Abort! This was going to prove to be the long 3 minutes that I had worried about earlier. As I heard sirens going off within my head, I thought to myself “Bartender! I’m going to need another drink and you’d better make it a double!”

When no drink appeared in response to my silent S.O.S., I decided to make the best of it. For the sheer entertainment value of it I asked, “Oh, I see. I guess we don’t really need to labour through this little exercise then, do we? You probably can already tell me if we’re going to connect or not.”

“Of course. We’re meant to be. I’m the Romeo to your Juliet. I’m the Richard Burton to your Elizabeth Taylor. I’m the Tommy Lee to your Pam Anderson. There’s nothing that can be done about it, we’re soul mates.”

Laughing in admiration of his moxy, I couldn’t help myself from pointing out the obvious. “Phil, you do realize that not one of those relationships had much of a happy ending? Particularly Romeo and Juliet. I’m just a little worried about the future that you see for us.” Deciding to enjoy this moment for all it was worth, I added, “But, having said that, given your special powers, you're probably well aware of my concern.”

Stumbling for a moment in the recognition that I had a point, Huggy-Man went for the save. “The endings may not have been ideal, but those were romances of iconic stature and that’s the kind of love that never dies”.

While I had to admire the effort on his part, I found it difficult to bank my future on the iconic romance of Pam Anderson and Tommy Lee as I had a distinct belief that their relationship had a lot more to do with what was below the belt than within the soul. So, I decided that a change in subject was in order so that I could make it through to the end of this date.

“My parents have the kind of love that never dies. They’re my inspiration. How about you Phil? What is the relationship between your parents like?”

“Oh, it was okay I suppose, at least until the end." Phil continued, laced with profound grief, "They’re both dead now though." Pausing for a moment, Phil added in a broken whisper, "I somehow still feel like,... like it was partly my fault.”

Way to go Liz! Nice diversion. Make the crazy man go to a dark place, why don’t you! That always works out so well for the pretty girls in horror movies. Really! Nice work! Stephen King never had it so easy.

“Oh, God Phil. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean, I was just trying,… I don’t know what to say.”

“Aw Liz, it’s okay. I was just kidding. They're both alive and well and living la vida loca in retirement. I was just trying to get a rise out of you. I figured that help to light a spark.”

I took a moment to catch my breath from the roller coaster that my heart just rode on. I was also intentionally pausing, knowing full well that the clock was ticking. Huggy-Man my ass!!! I was on a date with Phil the Psycho!

“Yeah, Phil, that was a good one. Boy did you read me well. You really do have psychic powers. I’m very impressed.”

“So, we’ll be seeing each other soon then I guess.” Phil said, delighted that his strategy had been successful.

“Without a doubt.” I said, not wanting to anger the monster. “Maybe we can go to the Psychic Festival that’s coming up. Then you can show off your powers for me.”

“Yeah, Liz, that’s a great idea! I think it…”

Phil the Psychic Psycho was cut off by the whistle. I quickly extended my hand to shake his, avoiding any risk of incurring a hug and said “Well, I really look forward to it. Nice meeting you Phil.”

Once again disappointed, Phil shook my hand and said goodbye. As I watched him leave, I thought that perhaps I had made a mistake in taking on this speed dating thing. I’ve felt safer at the Chick n’ Deli by myself, than I did in the last 2 minutes. The Deli is a seedy bar in Toronto filled to the brim with extremely hungry divorced men and anyone who knows it, knows that’s saying something.

The One

Since the tables at the speed dating event were all positioned in such a way that ensured a lack of intimacy for anyone, I was able to overhear Phil the Psycho as he began to weave his black art on his next victim. As Phil told his next date that he could read her mind, I secretly implored her to steer clear of any subject remotely related to his family. Psychic or not, Phil was one Fool card short of a full Tarot Card Deck.

Waiting for my next date to find his way to me, I evaluated how successful my night had been so far. After 4 dates, I had met a free-spirited Comic Artist , a narcissist who was far too big for his britches, an incredibly sweet Doctor too busy saving lives to effectively nurse my needy heart and a fugitive from a padded cell. So far, the night was not what I would've considered an unqualified success, as I still hadn't met Matthew McConaughey, but I was definitely amused.

"Is this seat taken?"

"No, absolutely not. " I was more than happy to move on to the next date and remove myself from the memory of the last one. "Please, sit." I said, gesturing to his chair.

The man before me wasn't as conventionally handsome as perhaps GQ was, but he definitely had a boyish charm to him. He was dressed casually in jeans and a soft grey lamb's wool sweater, and he kept his hair cut extremely short which accentuated his trim athletic build. Any woman would have already found this tall drink of water attractive at sight alone, but it was when he smiled causing his face to crinkle up into a symphony of smile lines and dimples that I had to admit utter defeat. It was over for me. I was smitten even before he had managed to take his seat.

"So, would you like to hear a really bad pick-up line?"

Thinking that I'd been served up enough cheese for one evening I was hesitant to reply in the affirmative, but my spidey sense told me to go for it. "Sure" I said. "Lay it on me."

"Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes?"

My new friend Dimples delivered this line with a wink and a saucy smile, nailing down the element of satire that evaded poor GQ earlier. It was perfect because Dimples was making fun of himself and maybe it's because I'm Irish, or maybe it's simply because I'm neurotic, but I absolutely LOVE self-effacing humour. So I did the only thing I could and replied in kind.

"Well, I seem to have lost my phone number. Can I have yours?"

Dimples laughed at my response with a great bold laugh that I swear made the floor shake. And there it was. Spark! Compatibility! X-Factor! Whatever you want to call it, this date was going to make up for the last one, in spades!

"That's a little forward, don't you think? We could get thrown into speed dating purgatory for bucking the system like that."

"Well, you're probably right, but I thought one good line deserved another. Besides, it was definitely worth the shot!"

Looking around the room in mock concern, Dimples then wrote down his digits on a napkin and handed it to me. With a grin, he said, "Well, what's the fun of playing by the rules anyway. The way I see it, the company's going to be way better in purgatory."

I laughed and accepted my little gift with great pride and satisfaction. "Check me out!" I thought to myself. "The anxious freak-attack who melted down at the beginning of the evening was going home, digits in hand. Not too shabby for a dating dummy."

I tucked Dimples' digits into my pocket where my nametag had formerly taken up residence and replied, "Oh God, a bad boy! I'm in serious trouble now. I'd almost suggest that we leave now, because frankly, I'm done. But I just couldn't do it. It not really fair to the other guys who deserve a chance to impress me!"

"Well, it definitely looks like we're a match made in heaven, because I'm crazy about a girl that plays hard to get!"

"I see. Well then, I'll think about maybe letting you catch me after this event's over. I'll be at the Starbucks around the corner, if you're looking to do some chasing."

"It's a plan. I mean, you have my phone number now. I better make good on it or I can probably expect the odd crank call."

"No way buddy. That's way too passé for me. I'll be selling your phone number to phone solicitors and let them do the dirty work for me, 24-7!"

"Hmm,...see you at Starbucks then?"

"It's a date!"

And with that, the whistle blew again, this time signalling the end to the best date I'd had so far. At the time, I had difficulty thinking that anyone could possibly top my date with Dimples, and as it turned out I was right. But in the end, I was only looking for just one date to work out anyway. Either that or just one to work out plus a naughty tryst with Matthew McConaughey on the side. Either way, I'd be happy.

My next date arrived, and the next one, and so on. It was a parade of champions and it was the Little Shop of Horrors all wrapped into one evening. In the span of 3 hours, I had the chance to meet men from every walk of life. It was the perfect melting pot as men from many nationalities and career paths were represented, including a Cartoon Artist, a Hockey Coach, a Doctor, an Accountant, a Financial Planner (looking to close me as a client), an Engineer, an Actor, a Crown Attorney, a Teckie, a Masseuse, a Tree-Hugging Radical, a Marketing Guru (a trail blazer from New York), a Paramedic, a Mechanic, a Student, a local Movie Producer, a Video Game Programmer and a token Psychic Psycho. If I didn't find a date out of this, at least I got some good career advise while I was at it. (Minus the Psychic Psycho)

In the same 3 hours, I had also witnessed a cavalcade of fashion choices from Hip Hop (with a sprinkling of Bling for good measure) to granola to academic to Bay Street to casual to GQ to grunge. Thinking back on it now, it would have made for a fantastic reality TV series and it could have been called "Teaching Canada's Next Top Bachelor What NEVER to Wear".

Finally, those 3 hours also provided one of the craziest emotional rides I've ever been on as I laughed, I wanted to cry, I was captivated, I was smitten and a little scared. It was without a doubt an amazing way to spend a night out as I got far more entertainment value for my money than I would have had I taken in a movie instead. While a movie can provide somewhat unpredictable results, I guarantee you that a speed dating event will never send you home bored.

At the end of the evening, I turned in my scorecard with a smile, resigning myself to the surprises that life held for in store for me yet. The fact that I had not yet met Matthew McConaughey aside, the night was no waste, as I had met a lot of incredible people, and with any luck, maybe just one who I might get the chance to spend a couple more hours with to see if the magic would stick. Whether or not it does, I know that I've just had a great night out on the town and I've met 50 more people than I would have sitting on my couch waiting for life to happen.

Upon final reflection, I realize that I have come away with a lot more than a potentially blossoming love life. The speed dating event was effectively dating bootcamp for dummies. There's no chance of survival if you don't learn a few skills and fast, including how to break the ice in lightening speed, how to present your best self in a non-generic fashion, how to sense if a spark exists and how to capitalize it, and how to gracefully exit a conversation when someone's interest in you is unreturned. I haven't practiced these skills in a while, so it was good to exercise them a bit and maybe now that they're part of my repertoire I may use them more in the real world when the same controls or safety nets do not exist. Having said that, I'm still a big fan of emergency exits, but perhaps that will change somewhat now that I've mastered the art of the speed date.

With my lessons learned, I'm off to Starbucks.

Singleton Woes

2006-09-01T14:21:00.002-04:00

Is it possible that I've past my expiration date? Has it been so long that I've had an actual romance that I've officially graduated from sassy singleton to old maid? What ever happened those crazy cougar years that I was so looking forward to?

I ask this because today, a really great guy I've gotten to know tried valiently to flirt with me and even went out of his way to buy me lunch. But with other distractions already weighing on my mind, I didn't think more of it than he was a really great guy being really nice. It wasn't until I returned to my really boring office with my really boring lunch that I realized that something really exciting had possibly just happened and that I really messed up! I mean REALLY!!!! What was I thinking?

For the longest time, I've been cautioned by friends everywhere, that if you don't use it, you lose it. Unfortunately, I failed to heed their warning.

So there it is. In casual disregard for the sweet moments in life, I forgot to smell the roses and now... my Flirt-dar's broke. bb:(

Can I get a do-over please?

And, again, I wonder why I'm single.

Head Games (or "For the love of cheesecake")

2006-07-20T22:39:00.002-04:00

Don’t you just hate head games? The kind that disturb your equilibrium and keep you off balance? The kind that leave you a little unsure about which end is up or what to believe? If you suffer through enough of them, they can force you to become a little protected, a little jaded, a little bit of that cautious, careful person who you swore up and down in your youth that you would never become. But experience is a very convincing teacher, and with time, we all learn a little self-preservation. Even a mouse in a cage is bound to learn a lesson or two about elements they should avoid, when they repeatedly receive a little shock for their efforts. It just takes us a little longer sometimes.

The thing about head games is that it’s very easy to point the finger of blame squarely at the person who dared to mislead you, the person who led you down a slippery slope that left you only with a collection of scrapes and bruises once you made your way down it. You tell yourself that it’s not your fault when you get burnt. What’s a person to do? Unscrupulous and unsavory people mask themselves in the clothing of everyone else all the time.

But even if that’s true, the most dangerous head games are the ones we can play on ourselves; the ones where we make tiny little rationalizations in order to ignore the teachings of our past and believe, just for a moment, in whatever it is that will help us feel a little bit better. You know the kind. The kind were we say “that small piece of cheesecake won’t set me back this week, I’m going to work out later and burn it off” only to suffer a sugar-induced burnout which impeded your way to ever finding your way to the gym. The kind where we say “that I don’t need to worry about studying today, I’ve got ages until the final exam and I really need a break” only to get caught up in life’s daily surprises and find out that the big day arrives a little sooner than expected. The kind where we say “This time, I believe it’s finally different, that there’s finally a real connection between me and my new man only to find out that he’s been making real "connections" with several others as well via a highly accessible internet dating service.

Perhaps, that mouse, once it’s figured out the cause and effect of its actions, is a little further ahead for not having to deal with little head games and rationalizations that trip him up along the way. Perhaps, if we all took a tip from our little furry friend, we could avoid those tempting rationalizations and steer clear from the dangers of cheesecake and the like. But then again, I suppose life would be pretty bland.

Head Games. It just seems to me that it’s not really anyone else’s fault but our own when we allow ourselves a rationalization or two, or when we to choose to believe in something that someone else is selling. We should really look in the mirror if we’re looking to find someone to blame for the nasty shocks we receive that leave a residual sting. Let’s face it, we won’t allow ourselves to be led to believe anything that we don’t want to believe in the first place. Not when we see a little prize at the end of the road.

So I guess we live with them, or give in to a very dim view of what lies ahead in our little cage. I have to admit, if those are the options, I’ll take my head games, but perhaps with a sprinkling of perspective and experience, just to help smooth out some of the shocks ahead.
In the end, I guess there’s really nothing that can be done about it, because when it’s all said and done, God knows I love my cheesecake.

A day in the life of Liz - A True Story

2006-06-22T23:12:00.002-04:00

Time and Place: February 2005, Toronto

Just a quick question. How many things do you think can go wrong before 7:30 am without losing your mind??? Well, I've managed to put that to the test today, and so far, I think I have kept my mind intact, but barely. So, if you're having a miserable day, I may be able to provide a little welcome perspective. Hang on, it's a bumpy ride! Literally!

I got up and was feeling great. I was looking fine, I felt energetic and I was happy about being able to start my way into work by 6:40am. Also, since there was no sense of rush or panic to get on the move, I was also enjoying a little time to think about the brunch date I had set up for the weekend with an Architect I’ve just met.

Anyway, while on my way to work, I realized that I was also going to need some cash and gas to see me through the day, so I decided to head over to the Esso, and I thought that while I was at it, for a bonus, I would also treat myself to a much needed Tim Horton's coffee while I was there.

I successfully managed to get my cash, but the gas seemed to be more problematic. I needed a full tank (insert your own joke here) but for whatever reason, the pump would only give me $8 worth. So be it! I got what I needed to get me to work.

I went into the Esso store to grab some coffee and pay for my measly $8 worth of gas, only to find out that they were all out of the brown gold I craved and were slowly brewing more. Double damn! I really could have used that coffee, but I needed to get on my way.

So I paid for my gas, got back in my car and continued on my merry way.

As I turned from the Esso Station onto Bermundsey, I stopped at a red light before I could turn again onto Eglinton. No problem, I decided to maximize my time and use it to place some of the garbage in my car in a plastic bag that was handy.

TRIPLE DAMN!!! Apparently multi-tasking is not one of my fortés as I forgot to keep my foot on the brake while I was doing my "housekeeping" and rolled quite nicely into the car in front of me. DAMN, DAMN, DAMN....

I got out of my car to see how bad the damage was and discovered that while I had no damage, the car in front of me suffered a very small dent in the bumper. The other driver and I began to exchange information, so I went back to my car to get all my details, some paper, etc, ONLY TO FIND THAT I LOCKED MYSELF OUT OF MY CAR!!!!!!! Did I mention how incredibly cold it was outside?

Boy, did I ever seem to be on the bad side of luck today. How did I manage to screw over my Karma so badly?

Anyway, I figured it couldn’t get much worse, so I apologized to the other driver and offered up my phone number. She then advised me that she's an RCMP officer, (DAMN IT!!! Was I ever going to catch a break today?). She offered to simply take my license plate and run me through the system.

“Great!! That'll work Ms. Officer. Boy, am I ever glad that it was you I bumped into or I'd otherwise be TOTALLY @#%^#'ed!!” In truth, Ms. Officer was very friendly, but I was feeling pretty sheepish at this point.

Okay, so Ms. Officer collected the info she needed from me and headed on her way, which left me with my stupid car, standing outside on a main throughway, twiddling my thumbs in the freezing and blowing snow, thinking about what to do next.

Luckily, my cell phone was in my coat pocket, so I used it to call CAA. That's what I have my membership for isn't it? Crises like these?

When I got through I gave them my information only to find out that my bloody membership expired.......A YEAR AGO!!! Oops.

"Okay, I get it God. I did something veryyyyy, veryyyy bad. I'm very sorry and I'll try to be better." After I finished this silent little prayer, CAA decided to help me out anyway by sending a truck out to me. They just needed me to give them my location.

Click! DAMN!!!!! I lost the signal. I really felt like crying now, but the fear of having my tears freeze on the surface of my icy skin held me back. The drivers passing by honking at me weren’t helping much either, but thanks to a well-developed and disturbingly whacked sense of humor, I started to find all of this a little funny. I mean, what else could possibly happen? This had to be the end of it.

I called back CAA and once again they agreed to send a driver, but I had to give them my credit card to renew my membership. This was of course no problem, as I have it memorized well. One of the fringe benefits of online banking I suppose.

By this time, I had decided that things were finally starting to look as though they were going to turn around for me. CAA showed up and helped me get back into my car. We then pulled off to the side of the street so I could pay for their one-off service and I paid the driver all the cash that I had just previously taken out while at the Esso. As I thanked him very much for being my knight in shining armor, my phone rang, and the caller was another CAA truck that they sent out to find me. Apparently after I got disconnected from my first call to CAA, they somehow managed to get 2 trucks out for me. Not too shabby, considering I wasn't even a member after all.

After I sent the second other driver on his way, assuring him that all was taken care of, I finished paying the driver who helped me out. Thanking him again as I stepped out his truck, I managed to fell hard and flat on my ass (with a significant thud I might add) as I had landed squarely on a sheet of ice. The driver leaned out of his truck to ask if I was alright. Once I got back to my feet and assured him of my well-being, he smiled at me as if very amused and reminded me not to forget my gloves as he handed them to me from his truck.

So, once again, I thanked him, said goodbye. I then cleaned myself off and hobbled back to my car to finish placing the rest of my garbage in the bag that caused all this trouble in the first place. As I was finishing my little errand, CAA called me again to advise me that my membership had not yet been renewed as my credit card was just rejected.

Speachless, I just sat there in silence letting it all sink in. I just couldn’t get over the last 30 / 40 minutes. I pulled myself together after my momentary mental breakdown and gave CAA another card. It was about this time that I began to think to myself,....I'm definitely going to church this weekend. I apparently have some serious 'splaning to do.

Anyway, even after all of this, I still managed to get in to work before 8:00am. If I’ve learned anything at all today, it’s quite simply that there's something very wrong with me.

So, I guess there goes my Sunday brunch with the Architect. Oh well, looks like I don't have the money for it anyway. Not to mention, with the luck I’ve been having, I’d be surprised if I didn’t wind up wearing a serving of coffee and eggs and that's not really the impression I really want to go for.

So, how's your day going?

Cheers,
Liz