A trip to Superstore and the resulting epiphany

This weekend David and I were walking into Superstore and another couple sped in front of us to go in the doors. The reason they "sped" is because the female half of the pair was really tall and her legs naturally carried her really fast. I mean, she must have been six foot six or something.

I looked at David with wide eyes. He made an "ew" face because let’s just say the woman’s clothes weren’t exactly flattering. (She had on the mom shorts jacked up to here and I think there was even a fanny pack involved.)

Me (whispering): "She’s really tall!"

David (looking from me to her): "I think you’ve got her beat, babe."

Me: "No way!"

David: "Yeah, by about an inch or so."

Me: ........... (at a loss for words)

And that was the epiphany. Truly, it was. I finally realized how out of the ordinary I look in a crowd. (One of these things is not like the other...)

After a short bout of shock, David calmed me down by mentioning that particular tall woman closely resembled a "behemoth" and I looked nothing like her.

Nevertheless, the Superstore trip will forever be burned in my brain:

• Her long, droopy bum
• Her ill-fitting clothes
• Her stick-like appendages that were so long they looked like they were too far from her torso for her body to control and they just hung along for the ride
• My realization that no matter how tall she looked, I look taller.

Unorganized thoughts about Toronto from a girl raised in McMurray

Looking out my hotel window, I spot Penelope Cruz putting on mascara, a buff, shirtless guy sitting beside a snowy mountain range and a very large silhouette of a hip hop dancer wearing an iPod. Standing at the airport baggage carousel, a very large live image is projected on the two-storey sized wall near me. On the airport shuttle bus on the way downtown, there are never-ending billboards flying past at 120 km/hr. Even the strip of grass along the freeway is cut and shaped into logos for banks, stores… the United Way??

A presenter in the conference I attended said that North Americans are bombarded by 5,000 images and brands daily. That is true. If you live in Toronto.

There are over 200 restaurants within a three block radius of my hotel. That is just cool. Last night I only walked one block and couldn’t make up my mind so I chose the very last restaurant on the block and scored the best butter chicken takeout I’ve ever had. And only for $18! I can’t help but wonder if this could compete with the other Indian food place I passed a half a block ago.

When the sun sets through the smog, an eerie orange-pink light settles over the city. The orange palm tree lights illuminate at the Hooters on the corner, and – hey! Another silhouetted dancer with an iPod!

I was embarrassed to admit there was a bad odour following me around the whole time I was in Toronto. Then I realized the garbage-like smell was actually the smog. Yuck.

The Muchmusic building looks much smaller in real life. And Queen Street is way skinnier than even Franklin Avenue. The city builders must have decided one thoroughfare through downtown was no longer meeting the traffic needs, so they built a freeway right over top of it. Literally, on top of it, like held up by pillars. It seems so futuristic to me.

Maybe I’m some small-town hick from the west; Toronto was a cool place to gape at for a couple days and eat some good food, but I would probably not live there. When I got back to Fort McMurray, I sucked the fresh summery smell into my lungs like I never have before and appreciated it more than I can put into words.

I finally understand why moms have such big purses

When I started my job last August, my mom handed me a monster-sized purse. She said, "I bought this but I haven’t used it yet, so you can have it for your new job." I laughed SO hard. Why would I ever want/need/use a purse that large?

In fear of hurting her feelings any more than I already had by laughing, I started using the purse. Once I found out how much stuff it could hold, I never looked back! I finally understand why moms carry such large purses – because they hold all the shit they have to take with them, plus a bunch of other shit that they might end up needing that day.

To demonstrate the awesome handiness of my mom purse, I will now list the current contents:

• Salad for lunch
• Bottle of salad dressing
• Container of grapes
• Two cans of Fresca
• Travel coffee mug (the large size)
• Wallet
• Phone
• Perfume
• A necklace
• Notepad
• Chequebook
• Various papers
• Compact (the large kind)
• Lip gloss and lip stick
• Hand cream
• Deodorant
• Lint roller

Honestly, a lint roller?? I only use it like five times a year. But if I need it today, I will have it.

I should also mention there is room left in my purse for at least one more salad, or perhaps a jar of peanut butter.

Imagine how big my purse will be when I actually have kids?

The first attack of the year

Today on my way into the grocery store, a large, black flying bug with a surrounding silhouette of wings and antennae flew in dangerous proximity past my shoulder, this-close to my hair. Any girl who grew up in Fort McMurray and experienced a June-bug-in-hair incident can relate to my panicked feeling, complete with a jump in my heart rate and urge to run to safety with flailing arms.

On my way out of the store, the bug was on a revenge mission after missing me the first time. My eyes darted around the parking lot and suddenly, there he was – flying straight towards me. Using my mom-sized purse as a shield, I awkwardly dodged the bug like a really tall ninja, going, “eeeeeee – yuck – yuck – yuck” and so forth. With the whole scene seemingly in slow motion, the five second attack seemed to last minutes until the exhausted bug back-flipped and landed on the pavement. I ran with flailing arms to safety in my car.

June bugs. I love to hate them. Funny the first attack should happen today – June 1st.

So uncalled for

The day of the Edgewater Court fire in April, the Regional Emergency Operations Centre (REOC) was activated. That means people from all over the municipality (fire, police, family services) meet in one room in response to a disaster, and stay there until sufficient disaster relief has taken place.

Anyhow, I had to cover Communications for a half hour or so. I walked into the room of about 25 people, and upon my entrance, an older, shorter fire guy happened to be walking by. He stopped in his tracks, looked up at me with bulging eyes and yelled, "JESUS CHRIST!"

Now the running joke is whenever you are caught by surprise or astonishment, you must yell, "JESUS CHRIST!" as loud and as fast as you can get it out.

Someone throws you a surprise party... "JESUS CHRIST!"

You accidentally choose the Hard level on Dance Dance Revolution... "JESUS CHRIST!"

You open your electricity bill and it is lower than expected... "JESUS CHRIST!"

Your favorite song comes on the radio... "JESUS CHRIST!"

You get my drift.

Springtime in the ‘hood

I planted seeds in a mini-greenhouse in my living room and within a few days they had grown into baby plants! They won’t have flowers for a little while yet, but I am in love with them, with their fragile yellowish-green stems and mini leaves. A few days ago I also planted tomato seeds so I’ll see how those turn out.

The warm weather has increased pedestrian traffic on my condo block - specifically, a few mentally challenged individuals from a few houses down. I’m not just saying that – they are in fact mentally challenged. One particular individual named Terrence has developed a crush on me so he feels it is necessary to come to my door at least once a day to say “hi”. Or follow me from my car to my door, and try to follow me inside my house. If I am in the backyard, within five minutes he drives up on his bicycle and lets himself in through the gate.

Now don’t get me wrong. I am nice to him and my roommates and I let him hang out with us sometimes, but once is all it took for him to feel welcome enough to barge in any old time he wants. So now we are faced with a dilemma: how do we set boundaries without being mean about it? We’ve told him nicely a few times, “not today Terrence, we are just about to have dinner,” or “Nicole isn’t home right now,” but he is very persistent.

Even when big ol’ Monte said in his naturally intimidating voice, “Terrence, it is time for you to go home now” and Terrence hung his head in disappointment and slowly walked out of the yard, he was back the very next day with the same hopeful grin on his face.

Sigh. I guess that’s what happens when you live in the ghetto. I'm an educated fool with money on my mind… okay, enough of that.

The delicious smells of barbequed hamburgers and steak in the neighbourhood that we all envy are now coming from my house. No longer will my roommates, The Boy and I sit in the backyard breathing in the mouth-watering scents of these delectable foods with discouraged attitudes – I am a new barbeque owner! The Boy bought me a kick-ass meat-cooking machine for my birthday and I actually learned how to use it! The push-button flame starter is a gift from heaven, as are the tasty meals we have been cooking up ever since.

Add to all this the disappearance of snow and fresh smells in the air, then subtract the amount I’ve been working lately, and all-in-all it’s been a great spring so far.

And we all lived happily ever after. The End.

Life and Times – Part I

Most of my posts have been about a particular topic, so I decided it’s time for a good old fashioned general update. You know – the kind people send in Christmas cards.

First, I’m happy to announce that regional council has accepted a motion to review the model non-smoking bylaw presented to them last night (as per my previous post "I hate smoking"). That means within as little as six or eight weeks we might have a decision “yay” or “nay” to a 100% smoking ban. That could mean no more rolling over on your smoky hair the night after going out for drinks! Oh, and I guess I should also say ‘no more dangerous exposure to second-hand smoke’!

I love my new place. I really, really love it. Even though my uninstalled dishwasher is serving as a mail-collecting kitchen table, and most of my dinners are eaten on the couch due to a lack of other tables, I still feel at home. Furniture will come with time. I made a commitment and put up one piece of artwork on Monday night… hopefully with time I will make the commitment to others, but I have to wait until I’m ready. As the snow melts I am getting introduced to my sidewalk and back patio cement blocks (ewww). I can’t wait to whip my yard into shape and grow some flowers!

The boy… ah, the boy. What a great man. He can drive on the highway AND give me back rubs at the same time; he compliments my cooking even though sometimes it’s honestly not that good; and he voluntarily does fix-it stuff around the house. What more could I ask for?

However, life is never always roses… I also have some really sad news: my best friend’s mom passed away. I flew to Victoria last Friday to attend the service, and it was an immensely sad day. Kory was like a second mom to me when I was a kid and the family lived right across the street. She was very creative, fun, quirky and probably the liveliest person I’ve ever met. It deeply saddens me that she is gone, and I don’t think I’ve yet accepted I will never see her again. The worst part is that she will not be around to see Kristen fall in love and get married, or meet her grandchildren. The best part is that Kristen possesses the same good qualities and tremendously positive energy that her mom had, and I’m lucky to have such a fantastic person for a best friend.

And now for some materialistic bad news… say “good bye” to the midnight blue grand am you remember me driving since I was 17 years old. I got rear ended by a truck three weeks ago and just received the news on Friday that they’re writing it off. She was still in such good shape, too, besides the hole in the back bumper that had yet to be repaired from four weeks before that when someone backed in to me (see “No parking in the driveway” post). It’s funny how life works:
(1) move into a house that you can afford, but only because you already own a car;
(2) get rear-ended the very next day;
(3) soon get forced to choose between driving an older, used car so you don’t have car payments, or stretch your monthly budget to its limits and buy a newer one.
Ha. Ha.

Food is starting to take over my life again. (Could it have something to do with the stress?) I’ve been lucky so far and limited my weight gain to a measly two pounds, thanks in part to the two bouts of A&W. When I got back to Edmonton from Victoria on Sunday, I was dying for Maurya Palace; however the people I was with hate East Indian food, so it was a no-go. I settled for Earl’s Jeera Chicken Curry when I got back into town, which is not nearly as delicious, but satisfied my craving nonetheless. Wish me luck on curbing this evil thing called hunger.

Who loves spring time? I know I do! It’s very sunny outside right now, and the sun streaming in through my window is making me look forward to when, in a couple months, I will be floating down the Clearwater River on a floatie with the sound of good friends surrounding me and the smell of sun tan lotion in the air. It could very well snow again in the next four weeks, but the melting snow and re-appearance of pavement is making me ache for camping, barbeques and the smell of dusty Fort McMurray summer air.

Okay, seriously! No one’s life is interesting enough to keep a reader’s attention for this long. Especially without pictures. Thanks for hanging in there, dudes. <3 Nicole

I hate smoking

Everyone knows this... smoking sucks. And second hand smoke is a bitch to deal with if you’re a non-smoker. That’s why I’ve voluntarily joined the Wood Buffalo Tobacco Reduction Coalition (WBTRC), and for those of you who know me are probably thinking, “that’s right up your alley, Nicole!” The goal of this non-profit organization is to rally council to ban smoking in all public places in Fort McMurray.

Tomorrow night (Tuesday, March 27) the WBTRC is presenting the model bylaw to regional council to review and adopt. This would mean no more smokers’ voice after a night at Paddy’s, or any other bar. If you want smoking banned in all public places, show your support by joining me and the coalition at tomorrow night’s council meeting. It’s at 6 p.m. sharp in the council chambers at city hall, and you’ll be out of there by 6:20. Basically we want to get as many people at the meeting as we can – your presence will be a strong visual indicator of community support! For all the shy people out there – don’t worry, you won’t have to speak or anything – just be there!

And if you can’t to make it tomorrow night, at least sign the online petition: www.wbtrc.ca



Click here to see the newspaper advertisement

Hidey Ho, Neighboroonie

I guess I had a pretty naïve idea of my neighbours when I moved into the Beacon Hill condo blocks. My dad warned me months ago when I was looking at buying a place, “You’ll hate your neighbours if you buy there,” but I shrugged him off. Sorry to say, Dad was mostly right - I don’t hate my neighbours, but I dislike them very much.

There’s just one guy, really: my next door neighbour who is attached to me. His name is Bob. The first time I laid eyes on fifty-something Bob was the day after I moved in and I was leaving to go get some groceries. I was locking my door as he approached his entrance right beside me. I turned around with a smile to introduce myself, but he quickly barked, “It would be nice if you didn’t slam your door in the morning.”

I looked at him. Blinked with astonishment. Did he really just yell at me like that?

I don’t know what prompted his next comment, but I guess it was because I was staring at him with an angry, distorted look of disbelief... probably for a long time. “So, how’s school?” he asked.

“I don’t go to school,” I replied, and snobbishly explained that I worked in the Communications Department at the municipality.

“Oh, that’s good. The guy who used to live here was a teacher... (blah) (blah) (blah),” and he clumsily rambled on for 30 seconds longer, all the while slowly entering his house and closing his door.

I managed to cut in with an awkward, “Nice to meet you?” before the door closed. The whole interaction left me disappointed that my first meeting with my closest neighbour had gone so poorly, and outraged at the judgements he made about me in just 24 hours of me moving in.

The next meeting went a lot better. I caught him shovelling his sidewalk while I was walking home one afternoon, and I took the initiative to formally introduce myself. He was surprised but happy to hear that I owned, not rented, the condo. Then I pretended like I cared about the shit he was nattering on about and even ventured into his basement with him so he could show me the basement suite he was building. Eventually I broke free from Babbling Bob and went home.

The next day there was a note stuck in my door, from Bob, warning me not to back my car into the driveway because “kids around here like to smash headlights.”

A few days later I was getting ready to leave when my doorbell rang. It was Bob. “Just wanted to tell you not to back your car into the driveway because kids around here like to smash headlights,” he explained.

ME: “Yeah I got your note. Thanks.”

BOB: “I wanted to tell you again because I noticed you backed in last night.”

ME: “Yeah I had to get a desk out of the trunk when I got home, so backing in was easier. Thanks again.”

BOB: “Oh okay, bye bye.”

A few minutes later my doorbell rang again.

BOB: “Oh I forgot to tell you to be careful when you unlock your door because once I lost my keys...” and he proceeds to tell me how there’s some kind of four foot hole that swallowed his keys and he couldn’t get them out. I can’t give you the dialogue on this because I had no clue what he was on about.

NICOLE: “Oh okay, thanks Bob. Well, I better get to work.”

Who is this guy? I hate feeling like if I back into the driveway that my doorbell is going to ring. When I approach my house and I see that he’s home, I cringe because I feel like he’s staring out his window, testing me to see if I’ll back in and defy his orders.

On the bright side, there’s a drug rehab house on the other side of Bob. And the bright side is that it’s not a drug house, “rehab” is slapped right there in the middle. Don’t even get me started on the crooked-eyed aboriginal fellow who constantly enters and exits this particular house, obviously brain damaged from drug use and/or inhaling aerosols/gasoline. (This is not a racist remark by the way – I talked to the guy so I know he is/was fucked up on something.)

Anyhow, I guess my visions of smiling neighbours carrying over pies or other tasty treats to welcome me to the neighbourhood was in fact extremely naïve. I guess this is how things go in the 'hood.

I'm an educated fool with money on my mind
Got my tin in my hand and a gleam in my eye
I'm a low down gangsta, set tripping banger
And my homies is down so don't arouse my anger
Fool, death ain't nothing but a heart beat away
I'm living life do or die, what can I say?
I'm twenty-three now but will I live to see twenty-four
The way things is going I don't know.

She is glowing

"Yes, Nicole - I'm pregnant. Now get that #$!% camera out of my face."

Isn't Jill beautiful? I can't believe there's a baby in there! Jill will be mad at me for posting this picture of her, but I don't care. I think everyone is going to be as amazed as I am. Unless, of course, they've been pregnant before... which I'm quite sure most of my friends haven't. Except for maybe Ryan.

In all seriousness, Jill is going to be a fantastic mom. She has already prepared the baby's room (including the cutest Finding Nemo light switch) and she's not even due until July. I can't wait to meet her baby and buy baby clothes for him because he's going to be so cute. I mean, look at Jill - she's adorable and she's the mom.

Jill and Dave already have a couple names picked out, but does anyone have any suggestions for a male name? I'm curious to see what you guys will come up with.

Does anyone else smell baby powder? No? Just me? Okay.

I'm not going to wish you luck honey, because you don't need it. You're going to do awesome.

Cutest puppy in the whole world

Meet Radar, Ross and Jamie's dog. Couldn't you just die?

Dick in a Box

Okay, I'm posting this because it's friggen hilarious. If you haven't had the pleasure of already seeing this SNL short, proceed with caution if you are at work, unless your boss is not offended by numerous repeats of the word "dick".

Pictures of my new place

I've included a close up of my kitchen countertop because I would love some feedback as to what color appliances I should buy. As you can see, the cupboards are white. I'm leaning towards black appliances... what do you think?

Whoever said size doesn't matter hasn't had one this big

Are you calling me fat?

The new boy really has something against fat chicks. This bothers me, but not that much, because I’m not fat ... anymore. When seeing pictures of the “old” me, he feels the need to remind me that he would have never talked to me if I still looked like that.

I can only appreciate his blunt honesty. And hope that most guys think this way, and my boy isn’t an exception - he just happens to speak his mind.

Yesterday I ate some peanut butter, and by “some” I mean about 1 cup. I love peanut butter – and because I can’t eat it on crackers, I simply eat it out of the jar with a spoon. (Judge me all you want – the other peanut butter lovers will understand where I’m coming from.) Anyhow, peanut butter makes my stomach puff out substantially like most sugary products do. (I should also mention that I pigged out on chips at mom’s party this past weekend.) When The Boy came over for his weekly steak dinner last night, he made a comment that my “stomach has gotten bigger.”

I can only assume he saw the look on my face and quickly added, “Just kidding.” I calmly and honestly explained to him that I was a chubby kid and a fat girl, and I’m very aware of my physical appearance and do not need to be reminded. And, just like how I will never understand his deep-seeded passion for Oilers hockey (or why he gets so grumpy when they lose), he will never understand the pressure that girls feel to be physically perfect or the extreme self-consciousness that comes from it. I added that if I gained 10 pounds and he chose to dump me because of it, he should lie to me about why he’s ending the relationship and not scar me for life and tell me that it’s because I’m fat.

Now I’m off to do some sit-ups.

No parking in the driveway

After I graduated from high school, I bought my Grand Am. It’s a great car and it’s been wonderful to me, despite the time I crashed into a tree. But that’s not what this post is about, so I’ll move on.

The same year I bought my car, every single member of my family also had their own vehicle. Five people. Five vehicles. Despite the long length of our driveway, we three kids had to park on the street. Why? Simply because Monte didn’t like us parking in "his" driveway or the potential hassle of rearranging vehicles. He did, however, reluctantly allow my mom to park in the driveway. I mean, she owned the driveway, too, right?

Anyhow, when I moved back in with Monte last July, he ruled once again that my permanent parking spot was in front of our house on the street. A friend of mine had his truck damaged by a Diversified bus because he parked on the street, but Monte didn’t care. He still didn't let me park in the driveway.

A few months ago, our across-the-street neighbor had her car stolen. The thief rolled the car down our neighbor’s steeply inclined driveway and hit my car. The damage was minor: a small chunk of my wheel well fell off. However, to replace the whole side panel because of a damaged wheel well would set me back a few thousand dollars.

Just roll with the punches, Nicole. Just roll.

Tonight I was on my computer at home working and I heard a loud crunch and my car alarm start to go off. All I could think was, “Fuck. Not again.”

Yes, again. Some newfie was dropping her kid off at our across-the-street neighbor’s house and failed to notice my car in her mirrors when she reversed down the driveway. I stood in the dark in our front bay window and stared at the flashing alarm lights on my car and the newfie in the yellow mid-sized SUV pulling into my driveway.

Click here to see pictures of my damaged car.

Upon giving me her insurance information shortly thereafter, she said, “I don’t know how I didn’t see your car behind me with those flashing lights!”

I said, “They started flashing after you hit it! It’s an alarm, dummy!” Well, no, I didn’t say that. But oh man did I want to!

I have to give the flake credit for actually stopping and taking responsibility for her mistake. I appreciate that this time it was an honest person who hit me, not some bum car thief.

Hmmm... I wonder if Monte will let me park in the driveway now?

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!” That’s the sound of my dad laughing at my thought and crushing any hope I have of ever enjoying the luxury of a driveway.

Just roll with the punches, Nicole. And don’t park in the driveway.

Daddy's Little Girl

A post for all my girls: I am seriously deprived of girl chat so I am going to write this as if I had your gleaming, attentive faces looking at me while I tell this story. I have no way of gauging if it is interesting at all, but I hope at the very least it will serve to update you on my recent adventures with The Boy.

Last Thursday evening, him and I were hanging out at my place because Monte (my dad) was out drinking. A plan was put in place due to Monte’s serious aversion to any boy being home alone with one of his daughters: we parked The Boy’s car a few houses down the street so when Monte came home he wouldn’t know The Boy was over; that way, I could sneak him out after Monte passed out. (We had successfully done this once before so assumed it would go smoothly again.)

Well, Monte came home around 9:30 pm so The Boy and I quickly went into my room, as if I were already in bed sleeping. But for some reason Monte - and if you knew him you’d know how odd this is – invited a friend over to have a drink with him. “Monte” and “friend” are not usually two words you see in the same sentence, but alas there were two old guys up drinking whiskey in the kitchen, blocking any escape routes.

I don’t know how long they were up - all I know is that The Boy and I fell asleep to their voices between 1:00 and 2:00 am. “Don’t worry,” I whispered in the dark before we fell asleep. “I’ll sneak you out in the morning when Dad’s still sleeping.” (As an aside, I will mention how happy I was about having The Boy sleep next to me, in all his good-smelling-ness and furnace-like warmth.)

Unfortunately, fear sank itself into my brain that night: my dreams were scattered with scenarios of Monte finding The Boy in my room. Some of the outcomes were good, but most were bad. When my alarm went off at 6:30 am, I woke up in full mission-mode: get The Boy out without waking up Monte.

Well – Monte was already awake. If anyone can drink whiskey until all hours of the night and then wake up for the 6:00 am news, it’s my dad. With Monte in front of the TV in the living room, there was no way The Boy could sneak through the kitchen, out the back entrance, then past our front bay window to get to his car without being seen or heard. Now it was time for some creative thinking.

After a shower and several whispered changes to the plan, he successfully snuck out of the back entrance, walked along the neighbor’s property in the opposite direction of his car, and to the corner where I picked him up in my car. Since he still had to get his car, which was on the other side of the house and required passing in front of Monte and the bay window with no curtains, we grabbed a coffee then parked back at the corner on the edge of my block and went over the final stages of the plan. I handed him some clothing: “Put on this toque and then this hoodie – and put the hood up,” I instructed. The disguise had to be believable – he couldn’t look anything like himself because Monte would see him walk by the house. “Walk kind of like this, with your hands shoved in your pockets and like it’s really cold,” I demonstrated. (I was truly hoping The Boy didn’t think I did this kind of thing all the time.)

Luckily this time Monte didn’t catch us, and I was still Daddy’s Little Girl.

Unfortunately that image didn’t last long because the next time The Boy slept over, our scheme wasn’t so successful. But I’ll save that story for another post.

Interesting facts about giraffes

• Giraffes measure 16 to 18 feet tall and weigh up to 3,000 lbs. The record-sized bull was 19.2 feet tall and weighed in at 4,400 lbs.
• Every giraffe has a unique pattern of spots.
• Their tongues are distinctly blue-black colored to protect from sunburn.
• A giraffe’s heart can weigh up to 24 lbs. and measure 2 feet long.
• Male giraffes determine female fertility by tasting the female’s urine in order to detect estrus.
• Giraffe mothers carry their fetus for 14 to 15 months, and when the calf is born it is around 5’10” tall.
• Life expectancy for a giraffe is between 20 and 25 years.
• Males engage in necking, which is described as a combat function. These battles can sometimes be fatal, and occur as a process of sexual selection.
• Same sex relations among male giraffes are more frequent that heterosexual behavior. The above mentioned necking can also be affectionate and sexual, in which two males will caress and court each other, leading up to mounting and climax. At any given time, one in twenty males will be engaged in affectionate necking behavior with another male. Females on the other hand, only appear to have same sex relations in 1% of mounting incidents.
• A giraffe can eat up to 140 lbs. of twigs and leaves a day.
• The giraffe defends itself against threats by kicking with great force. A single well-placed kick of an adult giraffe can shatter a lion's skull or break its spine.
• The giraffe has one of the shortest sleep requirements of any mammal, which is between 10 minutes and two hours in a 24-hour period.

This is one tall chick

And she's stacked, too. Lucky bitch.

Anyone want to take a guess how tall she is?

It's a slippery slope

I am fighting an internal, invisible enemy today: Hunger.

Hunger and I have not had a substantial clash since way back in October before I started Atkins. Atkin’s allowed to me to re-gain the power struggle I had previously lost with Hunger by providing me with the weapon of balanced blood sugar levels.

However, last night I made a terrible strategic move by eating garlic mashed potatoes. While they were delicious and I enjoyed every bite, the high-carb slip has cost me heavy losses in artillery. Hunger immediately went on an offensive attack. I have been able to hold it at bay, but not easily.

Hunger began its assault when I woke up and continued past breakfast. It then recruited an ally in the form of a co-worker’s chocolate cake, but fortunately my troops stayed strong and the aggressive front switched in my favour after my club salad at lunch. Hunger has since gone on the defensive, but I’m not out of the woods yet.

I have faith that fear will make me brave and keep me strong. Wish me luck.

I'm saving up for a nose job

*Watch the picture closely.* Don't miss the before and after.

I take donations, you know.

Breakfast Grill isn't enough for dinner

I’ve always prided myself in being a responsible drinker. Coming from a family of heavy drinkers, I like the fact that I can drink moderately… or a lot… and not do anything too stupid or embarrassing.

That all changed on New Year’s Eve.

On the way down to Ange and Kelsey’s, David and I stopped at Wendy’s for dinner. Unfortunately it was closed, but I was SO excited to get my party on and play Dance Dance Revolution that we didn’t bother looking for another place to eat. Upon arriving at the party scene, I whipped up some bean dip whilst imbibing my first drink: vodka/water garnished with berries.

Classy, right? Not for long.

I happened to have some Breakfast Grill (Turkey’n’Bacon) in a cooler in the car. (Hey, a low-carb girl has to come prepared.) Andrea baked about six slices for me and after I was finished eating them, I was full. What I didn’t know was that I was actually full of vodka/water and not enough food.

As the night progressed, I can honestly say I only remember bits and pieces. This is very bad, because I know I had lots and lots of fun. I remember:

• sucking at Dance Dance (but still loving it of course);
• playing a kick-ass game of Cranium Pop 5 and giving and receiving lots of high fives;
• missing the countdown by a couple minutes but doing a half-assed “Happy New Year”-now-make-out-with-your-date episode;
• meeting someone who looked like Clay Aiken and who couldn’t get over how tall I was;
• speaking to Craig on the phone but having a hard time getting the words out in an audible manner, so passing the phone on to someone else;
• getting trapped in Ange’s bathroom because I was opening the door the wrong way;
• slipping sideways on the kitchen floor and hitting the ground really hard;
• crawling into bed only to find the heat suffocating, then;
• going to the bathroom and getting sick.

It was inevitable. I’m going to get graphic here… it was pure water/vodka. So clear I could see the bottom of the toilet. The only bit of food present was a few berries for garnish. Not so classy now, right?

I don’t even want to know what David thought of me. I guess that’s the risk you take when the first time someone sees you drunk you're at a New Year’s Party and you haven't eaten a proper dinner. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Out of pure fright and shame, I am not looking forward to seeing the night's pictures. But I will post them here, anyway. Stay tuned.

Props to Ange & Kelsey for throwing such a wicked party. Despite my embarrassment, I had loads of fun. You guys rock.

Cheers to a great 2007!