Sometimes things just really need to END

Yesterday was supposed to be the end. Finally. After 9 months and 26 days (enough time to get pregnant, have a baby and just about die from lack of sleep). It was supposed to be over yesterday.
I called. They said the paperwork was ready. And I cried. I cried all morning. I cried AT WORK. I DON’T CRY AT WORK.

I called my mom. She didn’t know what to say. I called my twin. She knew exactly what to say. I left work early, and went to finally end this chapter of my life.

And it didn’t end.

Stupid retard government workers just can’t do shit right. 15 minutes after arriving, and jumping through hoops and waiting in lines and filling out forms and dealing with cranky bitch behind the counter (why do I always get some cranky bitch behind the counter?), cranky bitch tells me I have to wait till June 2.

There’s a day I don’t want to think about.

All the paperwork is in, everyone agrees that this thing just needs to END, but for some reason even the stars can’t figure out, I have to wait until June 2.

Looks like it’s a day I’m going to have to think about after all.

The First Thursday Night…

Of what I’m sure will be many, many Thursday nights…

“My name is Anne.”

“Uh, hi Annie.”

Did I really expect him to get it right? Whatever. We only have three minutes. Let’s get on with it.

Question #1: Do you smoke?

If Yes, direct him to please move on.

If No, proceed to second question.

Question #2: Are you dumb?

If he understands that this question is rhetorical since THEY ALL ARE, then proceed with mundane small talk till the bell rings and I have to start all over again with bachelor number whatever.

If he starts getting defensive and saying that women, in fact, are the dumb ones and men are just trying to get by in the flurry of the nagging and the hounding and the pantyhose in the bathroom, then the answer is clearly a resounding YES and once again, direct him to please move on.

At the end of it all, I am quite certain that I would have had a more productive evening at home watching LOST with Swiss Chalet takeout.

The Biggest Crybaby

Confession: I love The Biggest Loser.

It is one of my all-time favourite reality shows, right next to the first Paradise Hotel. (Shut up each and every one of you – you loved it too.)

I feel so inspired watching these people work out hard, lose weight, feel better and better about themselves each week. It makes me want to work out, and lose weight, and achieve something major in my life.

And, as an aside, I have a huge crush on Bob Harper. He’s hot, and he does yoga, and he has a beard (at least, he does this season).

My favourite episodes of all reality shows are the ones where family members come to visit, or the participants get calls home, or something to that effect. They make me cry like a baby, every time.

In today’s episode, the contestants are getting makeovers at the 12-week point. I’m not going to get into the issue that they’ve each lost somewhere between 60 and 110 pounds in 12 weeks, and how utterly ridiculous and unsustainable that is, but they all got fabulous makeovers. And then they all walked a catwalk in their own little fashion show. And each time a contestant came out, he or she had a family member there to greet them.

Cry cry cry.

You’d think I could stop crying after the first two or three. I mean, I know what’s coming. Contestant comes out, looking fabulous. Struts down the runway. Family member shows his/her face. Contestant yelps in delight. They run into each others arms and hug and kiss and cry and fuss over how much weight has been lost and how great the contestants hair/makeup/clothes are and on and on.

But no. I simply couldn’t stop myself. Each reunion for me was a flood of tears as fresh as the first.

I truly am the biggest crybaby.

Something’s Gotta Give…

I love this movie.

I LOVE this movie.

I planned my afternoon and evening around watching this movie (in fact, I’m watching the last hour of it right now).

I love Diane Keaton’s character. Erica Jane Barry.

I love Erica’s Hampton’s home, decorated as if Sarah Richardson herself were on set, staging the home with flowers, wall sconces and Restoration Hardware bedsheets (hospital corners optional).

I love Erica’s wardrobe, which matches her house perfectly. All whites and off-whites and oatmeals and khakis and baby blues. She never wears aubergene. She never wears red. She never wears orange. She does wear black, which even though it is in complete contrast to her house, seems to fit perfectly.

I love the beach that Erica’s beautiful Hampton’s home sits on. (I keep putting that apostrophe in Hampton’s. Is that correct?) Anyway, I love the beach. I love the sound of the ocean. I love that it’s right outside her doorstep. I want to live in that beautiful Hampton’s home, with all its windows and white and baby blue and light and walk outside my home and be on that beach.

I love Erica’s desk and chair, where she does her writing. It’s a writers desk. A writer’s chair. Unlike my desk, which I got from the “Take It As It Is” room at the local Ikea. Pitiful.

I love that Erica wears reading glasses. I wish I wore reading glasses, instead of stumbling throught the world half-blind with my serious near-sightedness and astigmatism.

I love Keanu Reeves’ charcter – Julian. I love that Julian is a hot, young doctor who is completely head over heels for an older, intelligent woman.

I love the rainy scenes as much as the sunny scenes. The home, the beach, the whole thing is equally as beautiful in the rain. And so meloncholy, which suits my mood just fine.

The only thing that kills me is that at the end of the movie, Erica dumps Julian (who took her to PARIS for her birthday), for Harry, who showed up and crashed the party. Why does the smart, sexy, sassy woman always dump the smart, available, loving man for the playboy who jerked her around until he felt like he was ready? So. Not. Cool.

All this makes me wonder about my life. I realize that in my own life, something’s gotta give. The hard part is figuring out exactly what that is, and then letting it go. But in the meantime, it’s a great movie…


So I finally start this blog. I’ve been a coward for so long – letting my fear wrap around me, envelope me in a warm, secure, vacuum-filled space. Funny thing about fear – it will suck the life right out of you if you let it linger long enough. But it’s so hard to let go of…

Fear says, “I’m here, I’ll keep you safe – you can’t get hurt as long as you hang on to me.”

Courage says, “Let go. Discover the unknown. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

Fear says, “You don’t need to know. Keep things the same, and you’re always prepared. You’ll never be caught off guard. You won’t be judged. You won’t FAIL. Not in your job, not in your relationships, not in life.”

Courage says, “Let go. Follow me. I don’t know where, but we’ll find out together. I promise, it will be okay.”

And back it forth it has gone, for over 30 years. Almost always, Fear won. But not anymore. Because guess what I found out – let Fear win, and you can still fail. In your job, in your relationships… So this post is the start of something new for me: Courage. Let’s see where it goes.