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!