My bags are packed....

I'm ready to go - FINALLY.

I am the first to admit that I am a terrible packer. I always want to take EVERYTHING with me, you know, just in case. In case of what, I have no idea. But I pack an entire suitcase when I go home for a weekend, and I inevitably end up wearing one pair of old grey UofR sweats the whole time. So why should packing for a trip to NYC be any different?

I really thought I was packing light. I had laid out all my choices in my second bedroom and thought I was doing pretty good. The problem occurred when I tried to put it all in my suitcase. I soon realized there was no way I was going to get in my clothes, a couple of pairs of shoes and all my hair and make-up items. Of course, I didn't start the actual process of packing until after 5 pm yesterday (Sunday) and so there is not a bigger suitcase to be had in the entire city since EVERYTHING (including the evil genius Wal-mart) is closed for Labour Day. Something had to give.

Enter Jo. She talked me through this thing like a champ. She actually wrote down everything I had packed (bc this whole life-coaching session took place in one long distance phone call) and then told me what to dump. She barked things like "don't need that," "throw that out," "seven pairs of pants? Cut that in half!" Tough love's the best kind of love, I tells ya. But at least I've got a suitcase that closes now. For that in itself, I deserve a medal. As does Jo. And it's New York City, for gawd's sakes. If I need a pair of boot-cut dark wash jeans, a cute little top, and a pair of strappy sandals for going out on the town, I'll just buy it there.

My flight leaves at 7:30 am, I meet the girls in TO at 11ish, where we have a three hour lay-over (which I am betting will be one of the highlights of the trip given the last time I saw Whiskey was in May) and we'll be in NYC by 4ish. I think the plans are to walk down to Times Square to tell the city that we have arrived. Check out the rest of our itinerary at Flirty by Nature.

Wish me safe travels!

These are a few of my favorite things

Purple toothbrushes.

I insist on using a purple toothbrush. I'm told this is a little strange but I care not. I only buy purple toothbrushes.

Now, you might find this hard to believe, but it is not always easy to find a medium-bristle (which I also insist on using, against my dentist's advice and blessing, but my teeth just don't feel clean enough after a soft-bristle brushing) purple toothbrush. But yesterday, as I turned down the dental care aisle at Wal-mart (ugggh, I hate Wally's word and I should be rightfully mocked for venturing in on a Saturday before the new school year commences) the first toothbrush I saw was medium bristled and purple. It was perched on the shelf like the holy grail of plaque removal. Rays of light shone (is that a word?) down upon it and angels hummed a chorus of hallelujah times three. I scooped it up.

In a grand gesture of optimism, I am going to take this as a sign that things are looking up for me. NYC is going to be a great trip, 30 is going to be a fabulous year, and my overall mental stability and outlook on life is going to be restored. Yep, everything's coming up primaDonna. I know, there's a lot resting on this little puprle toothbrush, but why can't something as small as two-dollar piece of plastic be symbolic for something worth so, so much more (my happiness)? I find it kind of beautiful in its simplistic hopefullnes and come on, I need a bone here.

In othere news, apparently I have completely lost my ability to spell this morning as I have now had to look up a number of fairly straightforward words at an on-line dictionary. WTF is up with that? Must need Starbucky's....

*****

Update to the battle of the scissors post: I saw BJ yesterday and I am pleased with my hair. This, of course, is monumental for me. I look like kat von d. I think it's a good pre-NYC, pre-30 look for me.

Phil vs. Jill: Battle of the scissors

A few weeks back, I was at a friend's engagement keg party (it was a whole lot classier than that sounds, perfect backyard bbq actually) when the convo turned to that of hair. Now, I am forever indebted to this friend for referring me to a fine hairstylist in my new city. My friend was expressing her dissappointment in the fact that she couldn't get in to see our shared stylist, Jill, until her actual wedding day in October. I believe I scoffed and said something along the lines of "That's funny, bc I just booked an appointment with her on a Thursday evening two weeks from now." Apparenlty, that was a little something we writer types like to call foreshadowing.

Present day - the Thursday evening two weeks from now is upon us and today I arrive home to pick up a voicemail from the salon that says "Just confirming your appointment for a cut and colour tomorrow with Phil."

What? Did I hear that correctly? I'm sure that just said Phil.

So I call the salon back and say look, I have a message confirming my appointment with Phil, when in fact I booked my appointmnet with Jill. Please confirm that I am seeing Jill tomorrow.

Oh, no, you're seeing Phil. Dissapointment ensues. Turns out Jill is, as my friend had mentioned, teaching a class and only working Saturdays.

And who is this Phil? Will I like him?

I'm not going to lie to you, salon gal says. He can't do what Jill does.

Oh no, no, I say. That just will not do. I am going to NYC on Tuesday and I absolutely have to have my hair cut and colored. And I need to like it. I am turning 30 and my self-esteem is already at an all-time low.

Well, Jill is referring all her clients to Bobby Jo. She can get you in on Saturday morning.

Will I like Bobby Jo? Tell me the truth, between her and Phil?

Definitely Bobby Jo.

OK. So now I have an appointment with BJ on Sat morning, which while I am pleased that I am still getting in, it's just one more thing I've got to do this weekend before I leave, and will take a good three hours out of my day.

Woe is me. It's not easy being a princess these days.

NYC: Rules of Engagement

Since my cellular telephoning device tells me that we are now only 10 days away from departing for the big apple, I feel it is necessary to lay down a few basic ground rules for myself and my travelling companions.

1) Thou shalt stay hydrated.
2) Thou shalt not sleep with Derek Jeter (he has herpes)

I hope you read that last part in a whisper, it's pretty hush-hush.

Other than that, anything goes.

Lord help us all.

Operation Silent Thunder

Oh my gawd the Daily Show is going to Iraq!

This is so worth staying up late on school night for.

And since we're on the topic of JS now (read his books, dammit, he's funny!), this is a perfect time for a list of men-I-should-have-a-fling-with-to-cope-with-turning-thirty

In random order:

Colin Firth

Luke Wilson

Clive Owen (but only for dirty, dirty sex)

Patrick Dempsey

and always, always, Jon Stewart

This is a living document and I reserve the right to add or subtract from it whenever I see fit.

That is all.

~two posts in one day, you probably won't hear from me for another month now.

~wait, I'm not going to go to jail for posting Jon's pic, am I?

I envy the stupid...

who spend their days free of thought.

I pass a store called Katch 22 in the Exchange daily on my way to and from work. Today I noticed a big sale sign in the window (30 - 60 percent off) so I dropped in to check out a bag I'd been eyeing for a while. It's a colorful travel bag that would be perfect to say pack empty and return full of new pretty NYC purchases. I couldn't see the price tag on it so I asked the saleslady, a twenty-one-ish, doe-eyed thing, if it was on sale. She responded that it was always on sale. "Oh?" I replied. "How much is it on sale, then?" To which she said, "Oh it's not on sale." Confused, I say, "But you just said it's always been on sale. It's not on sale then?" "No," she replied. "I thought you meant was it for sale." Yes, bc I would be asking if an item prominently displayed in the window of your store was actually available for purchase in your store......why do I have to share my planet with these people?

The Exchange had a particulary odd (more odd than the usual odd) smell this morning. Like dead bodies thawing in the spring. Lovely, really.

Bitaemo!

Just returned from a super fun party weekend in GP. I went to Dauphin's National Ukrainian Festival with my madre on Saturday. The weather was somewhat less than co-operative. The afternoon grandstand show had to be cancelled bc of the rain and then the evening show performers got about half way through when ominous clouds came in from the west. People slowly began to retreat to the top of the hill. Then dark sheets of rain became visible and more people began moving. Finally, big, slow drops started falling and literally hundreds of people started making the dash for cover. Except it was Dauphin, and this was the Ukrainian festival, so it was hundreds of senior citizens slowly but hurriedly shuffling their way to shelter. Mom and I (and everyone else) got completely soaked.

But at least the cossacks got to ride in on their horses before the rain started, because that's always the highlight of the show anyway.

And, as my parents always say, now that the festival is over, summer is gone.....it's kinda sad.

On a brighter note, I got to spend some time with my niece, who is growing and sooooooooo cute. See the pic her very mature daddy took after supper at mom and dad's house on Sunday. And I had a super fun time at games night with Jo, Bean and the BSM. We played a farming game and I didn't come in last place!

All in all, a perfect weekend.

Bag lady

I recently saw a commercial for President's Choice green shopping bags - a durable, re-usable, shopping bag made from 85 per cent post-consumer recycled plastic. Then in the NY Times Urban Eye, I read about Anya Hindmarch’s “I’m Not a Plastic Bag” totes.

Now, apparently one billion plastic shopping bags end up in Canadian landfills every year. Americans throw away about 100 billion plastic bags a year. All these bags, made from polyethylene (petroleum product) require some 12 million barrels of oil to produce every year, and take as long as 500 years to degrade. In the meantime, they catch on power lines and trees, float on oceans and lakes and clog storm drains, and kill birds, fish, turtles and sea mammals that ingest or become entangled in them.

This got me thinking (always a dangerous feat), how could they (you know, "they", as in "they say....."), when plastic bags became widely popularized in the 1980s, not have foreseen what a huge, and totally unnecessary problem this would become? Like, there was NO inkling that we would eventually end up in the situation we're in now?

Amazing.

In other news, I had my groceries double bagged at Safeway last night.

I'm kidding! Sheesh, take a joke you fucking hippy.

Why am I such a lazy blogger?

Seriously? Last post July 6th? It's not like I have a life that keeps me busy.

Anyway, last week I noticed a sign in the ladies bathroom at work that read, "Please flush toilet completely." I raised an eyebrow as I had always thought this to be common knowledge and bathroom etiquette. However, the fact that someone needed to put a sign up was evidence to the contrary.

Later in the week, upon entering a stall, I noticed the sign now also appeared on the back of the stall door.

Ladies, I ask you, do we really have that much of a problem with this that we need not one, but two signs PER STALL reminding us to flush well?

Just one of those you-can't-make-this-shit-up (pun intended) workplace ditties. Ridiculous.

Kinda makes me want to lay a big deuce and walk away.

Things I want banned from my planet - vol. 1

Printed pants - you know, pants that have prints: flowers, cherries, kittens, etc. The only place you should be going in printed pants is to bed.

And never, never, under ANY circumstances, should you wear printed pants and the SAME printed top.

Enough said.

Rage filled diatribes

I saw a commercial for KFC's chicken bowl tonight - mashed potatoes topped with corn, popcorn chicken, gravy and shredded cheese. Seriously, is that not the most unhealthy entre you've ever heard of?

Let's break it down - starch, topped with starch, deep fried chicken, processed cheese and a thickened sauce made from extracts that run from meat when cooking, and probably a little used cooking oil.

I don't know why the kernel didn't just call it heart attack in a bowl.

******

I went grocery shopping today at Safeway in the village. The shelves were virtually empty and check-out line-ups were down the aisles. I began to think there was an impending nuclear holocaust that everyone but I was aware of. I waited in line for over 30 minutes (also known as a half hour). On the upside, I read an entire InStyle magazine. On the down side, I saw way too many couples being overly affectionate for my liking. I mean, I know you're in love, but is it really necessary for me to bear witness to the physical expression of your love while I am buying soy milk and cherries? I don't think so.

******

And finally, (and what's probably really made me so deliciously bitchy tonight) I ask - if you and your "friend" had a huge fight about another friend and the other friend's pick-up tactics, which at times border on stalking, would you be somewhat under-amused when said "friend" calls being all cutesy and "apologizing"/admitting you were right after witnessing other friend in action? I thought so. For the record, I was right, so choke on a fucking chicken bone, buddy.

Suddenly, I feel better. Night night.

Penelope the new tenant

July long weekend went by way too fast. And I only got a sliver of sun this afternoon.

For some reason, I find this SNL skit SO funny. I am going to start doing this to people at work and in life.

http://www.milkandcookies.com/link/63321/detail/

Must sleep now.

Why am I such an ass?

From: Jo
To: Treen; Donni
Subject: tired
Date: Wed, 20 Jun 2007 23:02:36 -0500

Hey gals! thought i would email you two since I had to come downstairs and clean the A/C vent. Also I apologize that I haven't emailed you two in a while, obviously I am the glue that sticks us together as I notice w/o me and my daily emailings, nothing goes on. You can't tell me you two uppity career women don't have time for your unemployed homemaker mother friend now?? Or treen are you just corresponding with all your facebook friends only? (which would NOT include you donni!!)

Anyhoot the real reason for the mail is just to let you know treen, donni's half of the gazillion dollar gift card has finally gone through (after some calls to the lending institutions) and the gift is now really from both of us.

Did you guys use it yet? Whatever you do, DON'T go to the sucky Home Depot on Bishop. Try and find the one where Trading Spaces is or where Andrew Bojumbo (or whatever the hell his name is) is. Let us know how you spend your gazillion dollars.

enjoy your day ladies.

love me, jj


From : Donni
Sent : June 22, 2007 9:10:13 PM
To : Jo; Treen
Subject : RE: tired

So anyway, Treen, as I was saying in one of our sixteen daily emails (or was it in one of our four daily calls? no? the nine texts, maybe then?), 9:30 am tomorrow in front of the St. Norbert Foodland sounds good.

After we buy premium priced, farm-fresh organic fruits and vegetables (and hemp-based beauty products!) from the farmers' market, we can have a (substitute) egg-white only and steamed mushroon omelet with a side dandelion salad (picked only after they wilted so as not to harm any of God's creation) brunch at a trendy bohemian-chic vegan bistro (maybe Sienna Miller will be there!) and have an engaging roundtable discussion on how we can reach our career goals and shatter the glass ceiling.

Woo! Let's hear it for CEOs with vaginas!

PS - bring your SUV. We'll pretend they're hybrids.

Disclaimer: Jo, for the purpose of, you know, THE WORLD reading my blog, I've taken the liberty of correcting your spelling errors (just the major ones) because, well, I'm embarrassed for you, really.

I'm camping!

I just busted out the screen in my second bedroom so I could run my laptop out to my balcony.

Most people? Would just get wireless. But that would be way too easy.

The great outdoors are much more tolerable when you've got the inter-web.

And wine.

In other news.....since I'm still keenly following Saskatchewan media, I have to say this - has Lorne Calvert officially reached the I've-got-nothing-to-lose stage of his premiership? I mean, suing the federal government over equalization? Have you gone mad?

I bet it went down like this: Calvert et al are sitting around the SK NDP war room (which in my mind is adorned with alot of hemp macrame) watching Harper dare disgruntled provinces to take the feds to court, also known as the bring-it-on-be-otch phase of his prime-ministerial career. LC takes a pregnant pause, shrugs his shoulders and says, "Hmm......ok," and launches a lawsuit.

Actually, balls to him for taking on the PM. And if things don't work out for him, he's got all kinds of options: gardern g-nome, leprechan, an extra in Willow 2.

I don't know why I'm lashing out at LC. Must be because I miss SK so dearly. We always hurt the ones we love......

Wait - did I just hang the first skeleton in my political closet?

They like me. They really, really like me!

I got invited to my first party in the Peg. I am super-excited about having friends.

I hope they like me. What if they don't like me?

Boy, oh boy!

Congratulations to my best friend Abby and her man Errol on the arrival of their son, Boston.

Talked to the new mom today and everyone is doing just great.

Can't wait to go shopping!

Countdown to NYC

My cellular telephoning device tells me that in just 77 days (17 hours and 50 minutes) Whiskey, Leslie and I depart for New York City. Flights - check. Hotels - check, check. Yankees tix - check, check, check, despite major pissing and moaning from the Big Stupid Monkey.

So now he's offered to cut a deal. He'll stop telling people I'm a lesbian (long story), if I forego the Yankees game. I told him I would abstain only if he handed over all of his Islanders cards, including the Mike Bossy ones he carries around in his wallet. What? Every 34 year-old man DOESN'T carry collector cards of his childhood sports heros on his person at all times, you say? Shocking!

Needless to say, we're at an impasse, which is pretty much status quo for us as of late.

Anyway, the BSM thinks, for some foolish reason, I'm going to ruin the Yankees. I don't know what gives him that idea. Just because I've managed to successfully ruin his beloved Cowboys and Islanders in the past just by watching them on television (you'll get yours soon, Lions!) doesn't mean I'll send the Yankees to their demise through my mere presence at the game.

Shit, I'm funny.

Yes it does! With all my foam-hand wearing, over-priced beer drinking (seriously, I'd have to be drunk at a baseball game to keep myself from lapsing into a coma), and ball-park frank eating, those Yanks are as good as done.

Now if I can only get Jeter to kiss me on home plate....

If I was a horse, they'd shoot me

Yesterday afternoon, I was going through a large Rubber-Maid tote of my summer clothes. When I was done, I lifted the tote off the bed and turned to put it back into the space between my desk and freezer, but I misjudged the distance and caught the corner of the freezer, interupting my fluid motion and jarring my back. I felt an intense jolt of pain through my entire left side, stood there for a second and then dropped like a tonne of bricks.

I stayed still for a moment, thinking ok, I just need a minute here and I'll be ok, but I was pretty much fucked. And the pain has gotten consistently worse since then. I took a hot shower, no help. Thought maybe if I walked around (and spent money) I might feel better but no luck. So I came home and spent the rest of the afternoon on a ice-pack and heavy doses of Advil gel caps. By nighttime, I was pretty much in some of the worst pain I can remember.

This morning, I can barley walk - yet somehow can blog. I am not sure if I need a chiropractor or massage therapist but I have to do something about this before I'm put down or start making friends with the dealers downtown here.

boy friends

Last night, I watched a new show on TLC called Mind Your Manners. The premise is that these two etiquette experts, if you will, and host of What Not to Wear Clinton Kelly, take the most ill-mannered, rude, under-refined people in society (who are turned in by their friends and family), give them lessons in decorum and then return them, much more polished, to the world from which they came.

This show? Is like pornography for me. I was shocked and appalled by its filth - savage brutes who burb, fart, talk whilst eating, chew with their mouths open and are just generally crass - yet totally turned on by the reformation. Seriously, a show about manners, combined with WNtW and Stacy London's new show Fashion Fanatics, otherwise known as Friday nights on TLC, is pretty much my idea of Heaven!

And just when I thought I could not love Clinton Kelly http://www.clintonkelly.com/ anymore, here he is yet even more fabulous. I really think me and Clint could be BFF. Well, him or Jay Manuel http://www.jaymanuel.com/ from America's (and embarassing as it may be, Canada's) Next Top Model. Actually, I would like to see the two of them girl slap eachother silly for my affection. The victor would get to walk off into the sunset with me telling me how fierce I am....

If I had friends I wouldn't be counting Friends

So I did a guide search and found that Friends, the Emmy-award winning American situation comedy about a group of six friends living in the New York City bourough of Manhattan, (that was for anyone who just woke up from a 13 year coma to find themselves reading my blog, and thank you, Wikipedia) is aired 16 times a day.

Sixteen times a day. Now I'm no mathimagician, but by my figurin' 16 - 30 minute episodes equal eight hours a day of Monica, Chandler, Rachel, Joey, Phoebe and that other guy. Eight hours a day! That's like, like a full time job.

If anyone knows how I can get a job watching Friends eight hours a day, call me.

Keeping with today's fun with numbers theme, piles of vomit counted on my walk to work this morning: four.

And seriously, I can only describe them as piles.

God, Winnipeg, what are you eating?

Losing my facial v-card

Ok Apparently? Blogs, like tomagotchis and children (so I hear), require regular attention. Thanks for pointing that out, Whiskey, and suggesting that it was time for an update. Obviously, I hadn't thought this thing through before I decided to share my life with the world.

And seriously? I have a blog? I am one of the most private people I know, hence all the bricklayer jokes. I blame my sudden need for attention (beyond my usual need for attention from my immediate social circle) on the pre-30 crisis I am going through. BTW, just 94 more days until my ovaries explode. But back to my pre-30 dilemma. Any of you who remember how I waxed poetic about how I would be fabulous at thirty may now want to take this opportunity to say "Caw, caw" (mmmm crow) as it turns out I am not so fabulous. What with father time doing those break stands across my face and all.

So last week I had my FIRST facial. I know you're all wondering how a girly-girl like myself could be such a spa neophyte. But I have really sensitive skin and I've always feared that I would walk out of there looking like Samantha before Carrie's book launch party (if you don't get the SatC reference, well you're just sad). Anyway, desperate times call for desparate measures, I am not about to grow old gracefully, but rather rage, rage against the dying of my youth....anyway, the facial was pretty meh. I thought it would be like angels doing riverdance across my face and I'd leave looking all dewy and doe-eyed and 21. I really didn't see much of a difference and a few days later thought I looked about 38 again. And as soon as my pop-tart is ready, I can throw that toaster in the bathtub......

Speaking of unstable, I went to the Magic Room for a pedicure on Saturday (ok maybe I'm not such a spa neophyte) where all the staff, who are lined up in a row working on ugly feet, speak non-english (as in chinese, or mandarin or something) to each other. Now, like my workplace where there are many french-speaking employees, I am convinced that when people are speaking non-english around me that they are, in fact, speaking about me. Yes, I am a VERY rational person. I am going to be SO multi-lingual, and SO freaking disappointed when I discover that no one, in fact, is talking about me.

So here's how mother nature fucked me over today. After waking up at a leisurely 10 am, I spent the rest of my mid-morning and early afternoon cleaning and such, periodically peering out the window to check how much sunlight was being cast on my balcony. Because I face west, I get afternoon sun and I wanted to catch the tail end of that 10 am to 4 pm when-the-sun's-rays-are-at-their-most-harmful period (yes, I've read the previous paragraph). I decided to run a few errands around two (Shopper's Drug Mart for ant-aging products). Of course, I also stopped at a few clothing stores. As I emerged from a dressing room empty-handed (Doh!) I saw that it was POURING rain outside. I was also wearing a very light, white cotton tunic bc it was like 30 degrees when I left (woo hoo, wet t-shirt! please, winnipeg, look at my ta tas). Needless to say, my plan to drink wine, sit in the sun and read my new Jen Lancaster book was foiled, and I had even bought an SPF four for the occasion....mother nature you be-otch.

I'm an aunt!

My niece arrived ahead of schedule last night at the Women's Hospital here in Winnipeg.

No name yet (they were caught a little off guard) but she was 5 lbs, 4 ounces and 19 inches long. She's in the NICU right now but things are looking up.

I saw her briefly last night and she was very alert. No crying and she appeared very contemplative, like she was doing long division in her head. She had a bit of a snooty look on her face that my brother says comes from me. That kid's gonna do alright....

I'll update you next week.

I choo-choo- choose me!

Hola!

Last week, my new job sent me to Regina for training. Seriously. Since my portfolio includes logistics, the rep I was travelling with saw fit that I should ride on a train, load producer cars with grain and tour an inland terminal. In our first conversation, he told me to wear clothes I wouldn't mind getting dirty (which made Whiskey's first question "you have clothes you wouldn't mind getting dirty?" Thanks for the vote of confidence.), steel toe boots (I said I thought I could find a pair of flats), and work gloves (I brought my gardening gloves. They were pink). Then I had to plan my look, which was particularly key since I'd be wearing ugly clothes - au naturel, no mascara, maybe a clear gloss (which Lesley was adamantly against - "no, she'll get wheat chaff and grain dust caught in it!" Thanks for the concern, babe.) and pig tails to add an element of cute.

The train ride was so much fun. Did you know the average engineer will kill two people in his career? Mine had struck nine pedestrians in his 28 years! My job was to clang, clang, clang the bell and sound the whistle at every crossing. I was VERY good at it. Picture it - me in my pigtails, blowing the whistle on a train - totally cute. Then I moved a producer car, which I'll have you know weighs 28 tonnes EMPTY - by MYSELF, while three men stood by. OK, I had the help of this train car moving apparatus called a pinchbar, but still. You know what didn't help? When the three grown men stood by with the car brake still on snickering at the head office girl in gardening gloves grunt and groan trying to handle this heavy and awkward new piece of equipment. I mean, I'd like to give them an emery board or tweezers and see how well they do, the bastards.

And then I met the presidents of the producer rail way and inland terminal. The end.

I stayed over the weekend in the Queen City and I say this with only a bit of shame, went to the Pump two nights in a row. Seriously, I think I've only been to the Pump twice in the eight years I lived there. But it was a great time, likely because I decided to test my theory that you can't get drunk on white wine. Turns out I was very, very wrong.

Spot the stars for the evening included Tim McGraw, Jeremy Piven and Doogie Howser (MD). Lesson learned - Regina is a way more fun place to visit than live!

Enough said.

PS - if you eat red meat and are in Regina, try the bison ribeye at Fireside. Best steak ever.

Welcome!

primaDonna - noun: A person who considers himself or herself much more important than others, has high expectations of others and becomes angry when their standards or demands are not met.

Yep, sounds a lot like me.

Ladies, ladies, ladies! Just because life and love has geographically segmented us, doesn't mean you should miss out on my funny. Sure, you say, but why do I have to share my life and its cruel little jokes with the rest of the world? I'm gunning for my dare to be great situation and a book deal, which are one and the same, really. And so should you. Go forth and blog, my dears!

Ok, so I've spent most of the evening trying to figure out how to create a blog. Memo to world - I'm not exactly a tech genius, or an early adopter, for that matter. Now, it's time to go to bed with Dr. Jon Gerrard. Easy, MB libs, I'm not skanking your leader, just reading his book.

And tomorrow, I'm going to tell you all about the adventures of last weekend when my new job sent me to Regina for some training and I got....eww, dirt...under my nails. Hilarity ensues.

à demain.