The Best Mood For Writing

Hey guys. My bad on the whole non-blogging month of February. Busy and in no mood to write. Sucky. However, my mood has drastically changed as of a whole five minutes ago. I met my writing inspiration: Karen Kingsbury... in STARBUCKS. It's like 2 dreams in one.
Mom and I just landed in Miami 2 hours ago, and tomorrow we will set sail for the tropics. KK is hosting a group on the cruise, and we just happened to 'run into each other' (Side note: How many people can say that? 'Ya, so today I was just, you know, grabbin' a Tall Non-Fat Decaf Latte at the Buck and along walks in one of the women who inspired me to start writing in the first place. Like, obviously, a daily, casual occurrence that's no big deal. NOT. [the other woman shall remain nameless at this time]').

Most of you know me as the type who tends to speak her mind. Not today. Completely starstruck. I shyly approach her entourage, and quietly asked for picture. Boy, I'm sure glad I did because now I have solid proof of this encounter. This is not my imagination. I repeat, this is not my imagination. See:

Also, because I promised, here's a pic of the house. But this really doesn't matter to me at all right now. It's completely out of obligation.

Inter Office Emails

Sorry I've negleted you. I've been busy.

House. Dog. Job.

Anyway, this post will hopefully tie you over until I can post pics of the house, the dog, and maybe I'll throw one in there of me and the hubby.

So I've joined the world of inter office emails. So has Ryan. To sum it up, it bothers me. These emails are basically a device that allows one person to send a message to another person that could be a maximum of 10 feet away. Is it seriously impossible to just get out of your office chair and side step twice to give them the message in person? To me, this system is the equivilent of high school girls texting each other during class while they sit beside each other. You can't tell me there is no difference.

Another parallel: Receiving the text message 'K' from a person who decides that it's necessary to let you know they understand. Wouldn't they let you know if they didn't? Can't we just take silence as understanding sometimes? I'll admit, I've sent one or two 'K's in my time, but usually I send them while I'm in a state of ditz.

Have any inter office email stories for me? Share them, please :)

Christmas!

Hey, all. Sorry I've been ignoring your need to read my blog and realize your life is much more uncomplicated and much more relaxing. I'll fill you in quickly while I still have the internet connection I've jacked from my brother's wellness clinic.

The move went well. I'm so sick of packing, and I'm sure that when I begin unpacking I'll be finding barbeque tools with left over cereal boxes and a lonely can of tuna all stuffed in a box. Filling the left over boxes went by in a bit of a blur. My exams were 'meh'. There are only so many major Canadian historical events that took place after Confederation in 1867 that one brain can remember. Still don't have a mark, so I'm taking that as a good sign--he's probably in awe of my insight of how the Maritime Rights Movement impacted Canadians' outlook on decreasing tariffs. Take that, History 102.

We are so glad to be back home with our families (ahem...my niece) for the holidays :) We will be enjoying our stay at both family homes until our house finally arrives mid-January. And since I'm the most patient person on the planet (obviously), it will be a piece o' cake.

I've been found out and summoned off the computer, so enjoy your week or two of holidays and have a very merry Christmas!!

7 Reasons Why 11 Days Can't Go By Fast Enough

Did you get my title? 7Eleven, like the gas station? It was a stretch, I know. Regardless, let me cut to the chase. We're outta here in 11 days. Reasons why I'm impatient:

1) My niece. She's walking and pointing (apparently, that takes priority over learning to talk for her), and I'm missing it. For 11 more days.

2) History exam. I've had about enough of the impacts of the Quiet Revolution or the reasons why Diefenbaker was unfit to run a country, let alone a 1960s style washing machine. It's a wonder why I find the time to blog amidst studying those two rather important moments in history. A side of procrastination, anyone?

3) Research Paper. Not just any research paper, of course, but a research paper about the influence of collaborative learning in a post-secondary composition class on student motivation and the building of classroom community. Wow, I may have just found my thesis.

4) Packing. I hate it. I kind of just want to throw/give everything away and watch as all those wedding gift cards appear before my eyes again so that we can just re-buy everything when we get home.

5) Rain. Blech. Give me a foot and a half of snow any day. I swear my toes have started webbing together.

6) Neighbours. Upstairs. Downstairs. Upstairs we have 'the movers': one large dose of floor sander sprinkled with a bit of marital UNbliss. Downstairs we have 'one small UNhappy family': one large dose of lack of communication sprinkled with a little less holiday cheer than the rest of us.

7) I cannot stress this more. My NIECE. See 1. She counts for 2 reasons.

The Joys of Moving

We're moving! As you already know. I have exactly 20 days before we hit the road and a lot to accomplish in that short amount of time. 3 English assignments, 2 stupid exams, and a lot of packing to do *sung in the tune of 12 days of Christmas*. I've begun a small amount of packing: a box of summer clothes here, a box of nick nacks there.

Questions for you all: Do I seriously have to wait until two days before moving to pack kitchen stuff, winter clothes, etc etc? That'll drive me crazy, but I can't think of another way.

Actually, I can. They way our upstairs neighbours move. They've been 'moving' for 3 months now. They're moving as I write this. I can hear them. This list below is what we hear every other day (everyday sometimes if we're lucky):

-Multiple people wearing 10lbs hiking boots clomping around up there for at least 3 hours at a time.
-Dribbling of basketballs, we think.
-Floor grinding renovations that have been taking place for about 6 six weeks.
-The occasional marital dispute that heightens to vulgar language and lamp throwing, we assume.

That sounds like a way more efficient way of moving to me. You ask "How do you know they're moving if it has been going on for months on end?"

"Well," I say, "We know they are moving because we met her on a joyous elevator ride about a month ago. She was carrying a heavy box, and she stated, 'The joys of moving, eh?'. After that, the elevator got awkwardly quiet as we cursed our extremely slow ascent."

So yes, they're moving in the most prolonged and noisiest way EVER.

But seriously, where is a good place to find boxes?

Superheroes and Neglect (Two Different Instances)

I apologize, folks. I've been neglecting you. Do you feel neglected, or are you completely overwhelmed and excited that Christmas is a mere 37 days away?! You're probably excited about Christmas, which is why you should turn on your Christmas music this instant! (reread that with your best angry mother voice)

Aside from the fact that I am totally psyched about this holiday season, I have new (additional) reasons this year. Old and still extremely relevant reasons being: Jesus' birthday, same month my niece was born, wrapping all of our doors in wrapping paper (in that order). My new reason is that Ryan and I are permanently moving home right before Christmas! YAY! I know you've all missed us so incredibly much over the past 2 and a half years, but miss no more! We bought a house, Ryan has his dream job, and I am DONE school...for now. Don't worry though, I will still continue blogging regardless of my geographical location.

And now for the superhero part. Two things.

1. I have a professor named Robin. And I always picture him in the costume that Robin wore on the 90s Batman shows. You know, the ones with the animated letters that would take over your TV screen? POW! KA-BANG! and so on. Holy Kleenex, Batman! It was right under our noses and we blew it!

2. I'm incredibly proud of these people. I laugh hysterically at what they did but still proud. Click HERE and you'll see what I'm talking about.

Enjoy.

Don't Look!

It's November! So, look behind you at your calendars. Change the month so that I can have peace of mind. I hate it when calendars are left months behind. Last month, I spotted my parents calendar on the wrong month while Skyping with my mother. *shutter*That's not really where I was going with this post, but I just want to be sure that you have all changed your calendars to the right month. Phew.

Recently, as in our last grocery shop, Ryan told me 'not too look at something'. Don't you hate it when people tell you 'Don't look!'. For instance: when someone is peeing on the side of the road OR when someone is wearing a polka dot patter, stripe pattern, and a floral all at the same time? I hate it. So I looked. At what? you ask. I can't remember, but that's not the point. The point is that I broke out into a 1970s pop song: "The Streak".

I shouted: "I said, 'Don't look, Ethel!...Too late. She'd already been mooned.'"

Now, those of you 40+ will probably know the song I'm referring to. Ryan did not. I shouldn't, but I do thanks to my parents collection of 70s and 80s pop hits. Anyway, he doubted me. HE did not think that the song existed; that someone would actually write a song and that it would become a hit with those lyrics. I proved him wrong, everyone. Thank you, YouTube.

Take a peek (pun intended). Click HERE.

Kick Off Your Sunday Shoes

Kick off your Sunday shoes. For me that equals heels, thanks to my overly stylish mother always challenging me to at least look good enough to be in the same room as her. And gladly will I 'kick them off'. After doing so, I'll dance.

Last weekend, I had a bestie (that's what Amy Farah Fowler calls her friends) come visit me. I took this opportunity to see a chick flick with a GIRL instead of my oh-so-patient husband. I figured it would be nice to see a movie without the incredulous looks at the screen from my tortured spouse, so we went to see the remake of 'Footloose'. (Spoiler Alert) Aside for the death race of school buses intended to be somewhat of a coming-of-age challenge, the movie got my foot 'a tappin'. And since it's still sunny, surprisingly, down south, I've been quite content. Content enough that I've been enjoying some of my schoolwork, and definitely content enough to be groovin' all over our apartment. People, I can't stop dancing.

I'm not sure if anyone has had this problem before, but I'll describe it to you in a bit of detail. Currently, it is quiet and still in our place as Ryan and I both pretend to be filling our minds with knowledge thrown at us by overdeveloped syllabuses and underrated professors, and yet, my foot will not stop keeping a beat. At this rate, I'll have cankles by Christmas. Also, I've had the same song stuck in my head for approximately 42 hours and I'm still not tired of it, nor do I quit dancing to it. And the final straw: I feel the NEED to learn a new line dance. Please, any suggestions to make it stop or at least limit it would be appreciated. I'm fairly sure our neighbours downstairs are done with the foot tapping and would show no sympathy for my swollen ankles.

Pick My Pumpkin!

Alright, I'm doing it again. You get to pick my pumpkin again this year. I've narrowed it down to 3; however, I'm definitely open for suggestions. So cast your vote on the bottom of this post or on the facebook link!

The Oilers logo. I've got a cool idea on how to do this one, not to sway your vote or anything.





                                                         Tink! She never gets old.







Or do I tackle a NEW Disney character: Rapunzel!
 

                            You choose!

The Best Intentions

So I've been noticing lately how people have 'the best intentions', but it doesn't always work out. So let these few examples of 'The Best Intentions' be a lesson to you.

1. The Pumpkin Spice Latte.

Their best intention: For customers to feel all warm and fuzzy inside while they watch the seasons change and all the leaves disappear from the trees as a blizzard creeps in from the North to freeze them from the inside out.

The outcome: People are drinking milky gourds.

2. Charlize Theron's Red Carpet Look.

Her best intention: Draw attention away from her midsection.

The outcome: Well... I guess you could say she accomplished that with a little bit of coconut shell inspiration mixed in.




















3. Wii Fit

Their best intention: Get couch potatoes to exercise right beside their favourite couches using a television and a remote control. Seems practical.

The outcome: I now have a 'perfect' golf swing while sitting sideways with my eyes closed eating popcorn.

Case closed.

I Love Me Some Hot Cocoa

For one of my History assignments this semester, we were asked to look at The Globe and Mail newspaper dated 80 prior to the week of our birthdays. This would make my specific week during March 1911 (do the math, people, I'm 20). Anyways, it got me thinking that news of TV these days is too detailed, graphic, and literally, ALL bad.

I came across the news section of March 14, 1911, where the deliverance of bad news was done in a rather matter-of-fact way, leaving the rest of the newspaper open for good news, fashion advice, advertisements about homemade cocoa, and of course, 'recipes your husband would love'. This is what it said:

Day's Accidents in Toronto

Burned to Death. Mrs. Elizabeth McArthur.
Struck by Street Cars. Mrs. E.J. Boyd and Mrs. Adair. Mr. Martin Kennedy.
Fell Down Elevator Shaft. Mr. Joseph Tait.
Fell in Lake. Mr. John Gardner.
Injured by Explosion. Mr. George H. Hargrave.
Swallowed Poison. An unknown man.


My question is: Why don't we do this now? I need recipes, people!

Now I Smell Like 'Sunlight'

We're back in Abby. I still hate the weather. Today, it's 31 degrees, which if you know me, is just as bad as rain. I'm so sticky. Yuck.

Anyway, here are a few highlights of our first weekend back to school.

Our 'friend' comes over (let's call him Ned). Let me start over. NED comes over since we haven't seen him in four months. We get to chattin', watching Track and Field (since that's the only good channel we have until Shaw calls back...and we all become scared enough to pee our pants a little when we catch sight of the shot-put women *shutter*), and then we decide to play Wii. Neh. We decide to play Wii ARCHERY. So I gear up to get roasted. Obviously, I will lose because I'm playing against two nerds. Ryan and Ned. However, I was pleasantly surprised to have SMOKED Ned in Wii Archery. You may applaud.

Then we go check out another friend's place. Let's call her Sarah. This year she lives off campus in a sweet place with sweet rent AND has a sweet car. Sarah is SWEET.

THEN another friend, let's call her Nancy, shows up, hugs us, and then proceeds to tell us how she ran out of shaving cream this morning and had to use dish soap. She said to us: "Now I smell like 'Sunlight'."


We love all three of them.

5 Things Learned in 364 Days of Marriage

Since it's our 1st anniversary tomorrow, I thought it would be appropriate to do a recap of our first year as a married couple. For all you 'guys': Try and view this a sports highlight reel. For all you 'ladies': View this as a slow motion romantic reunion of a middle aged couple on a beach in a movie.

I thought I would maybe pair these 'recaps' with a little tidbit I've learned along with these experiences. (Feel free to click on the link to read the blog post to go with each tidbit)

1. Husbands absolutely HATE putting up Christmas decorations prior to December 1st.

2. Husbands can actually tune out things their wives say that would, in fact, be categorized as 'ridiculous'.

3. Husbands have more tolerance for government workers.

4. Husbands are not the only ones who forget anniversaries.

5. Husbands can, indeed, like IKEA given that they're taken at the appropriate time of day.


Cheers to continuous learning for the next 50 years of my life!

Dear Randy

I'm dedicating this post to one of my few, hmm...avid? readers. Randy.

However, I ran into a bit of a dilemma: what should I write about. So I took a moment (as in a literal moment) and decided it should fall under the realm of one of these categories. The educational system. Hunting. Or pig roasts. Sadly, pig roasts are obviously out because of my last post. So I'll just cover the other two to compensate.

Hunting

I have little experience with this subject. Although, I have shot several guns: 12 gauge, .410, .22, and a pellet gun (if that even counts). I accept hunting as a means to fill my freezer; however, I don't like imagining shooting a victim that is completely oblivious to their unfortunate fate. (Blech, say that sentence ten times fast) So all I will say about this topic is regarding the Olympic event involving a very elegant sport (cross-country skiing) and a very NOT elegant sport. In the words of Jerry Seinfeld: "Cross-country skiing and shooting. Why not make it the breaststroke and strangle a guy?"

The Educational System

I present to you a timeline of the way a student sees their principal throughout their years of public schooling.

Kindergarten: The President.

Grade 3: The guy who can't sing the national anthem in tune every Monday.

Grade 6: The guy who sent me home to watch TV for three days because I kicked a soccer ball out the window.

Grade 9: The guy who sent me home to watch TV for three days because he caught me tee-peeing his car.

Grade 12: The guy who's signing the papers to get me the heck outta here.


Randy, you know I was never this student. Just thought I would remind you, as you may be my future employer.

Lord of the Flies

Let's just take a moment to remember the book we all hated from high school: The Lord of the Flies. Ok, that's plently long enough. Try to get that nasty image out of your head of the boys dressed in leaves running around with a rotting skull stuck on a stick. Ah, high school, how I miss you.

ANYWAY, this weekend is our family's annual pig roast! And since it was canceled last year because of my marriage to my incredibly calm and completely sane husband, I'm doubly excited. My dad is the pig master. If he were a character in that horrible book, he would be Ralph.

Let me break this down for you because you're probably imagining one of two things:

Prespatou Style Pig Roast

A man shows up to school to pick up his children. Of course, he comes with the tractor. And obviously, it will have a dead, dripping, eyes-gaping pig hanging off the front. Yum. Not. (P.S.- This actually happened. Just sayin')

Townie Style Pig Roast

A man walks into Safeway and asks the butcher for a slab of ham. He greases it up and dumps it into a vat of boiling oil or something. Yum. Not.

INSTEAD:

A man, my dad, heats a 3 foot deep pit for 12 hours using a bon fire. He stokes the fire, heats up the rocks, and dresses the pig. The pig gets lowered into the pit at a brisk 7 a.m. and literally bakes inside the pit for 10 hours. Then we feast! YUM! YES!

Be jealous.

Inside Out

So I was paging through my old yearbook the other day, and I came across a short story I wrote in Grade 3 (age 8). I laughed out loud as I realized that I've kept the same style of writing since! However, my grammar, spelling, vocabulary, and sentence variety has much improved. I thought I would share it with you all:

Inside Out

One night I was sleeping and I had a dream. My shirt was inside out. My pants were inside out. Everything was inside out. The store was even inside out. I could not believe it. My pencil was inside out. "Mom", I called. My mom came into my room. My mouth dropped open. She was inside out. "Ahhhhhhh!" I screamed. Then I woke up. Boy was I ever huffing and puffing. "Mooom" I screamed. She said, "What happened?" "I had a bad dream." Then I put my shirt on inside out...


The End.

-Still not sure how a pencil, a store, and my mother could be inside out, but hey, at least I have an imagination.


P.S.- Still praying for Carly's family! Glad to see her mom is making a miraculous recovery!

Linguini, Martini, Bikini

Hi all.

I had an odd thought today (surprised?). Why do people name their inventions after other people, animals, or landscapes? Can't we come up with something original?

For instance, this is a Bobcat:

And what did we name after this cute, cuddly feline?


This:

Do you see the resemblance? I don't.














Another example: Ford.

 Name after this man:

...Wait. I'm not sure which one is older...










And finally, this invention:

...was name after the island where the first atomic bomb was tested. That should say something.

Linguini, Martini, Bikini.

Neon Coloured Time Warp

Today is my parents 30th wedding anniversary! Woohoo! Go Mom and Dad!

So I thought I take you all back to the place it all began: Prespatou....Kidding! How 'bout 1981?

Music: Jessie's Girl. (Mom, did you ever date a Jessie? Awkward)
Also, Journey's 'Don't Stop Believing', and obviously, my parents took that to heart :)

Fashion Trends: Everything you're NOT supposed to wear. Like this for example. Oh, Olivia, you look much better in 50's garb.

Additionally, hairstyles were, literally, at their biggest. And thanks to this lovely woman (you all know who she is), my mom was trapped inside her hair (exactly like this) on her wedding. But I'll save her the embarrassment and just show you this lady.











TV Shows: Three's Company, of course. 'Jack, eat your salad before it gets cold.' -Chrissy







I'll leave out snorkel goggle glasses for now. That picture would take up all the space for my wandering thoughts.

Anyway, it's quite a feat. Wishing you at least 30 more, Mom and Dad!

A-maze-ing

They've done it. IKEA has perfected their store.

Ryan and I ventured to Edmonton last week during FSJ's torrential down pour, and with that came our purpose for the road trip: IKEA. Ryan had never been there. NEVER. I questioned him. Please enjoy this short dialogue:

Whitney: You'VE NEVER been to IKEA? 

Ryan: Nope.

Whitney: I thought for sure you've gone with me at least once.

Ryan: You've invited me several times, but usually your dad and I get out of it with an excuse like, "We'll call Shaw and order UFC on PPV." OR "I ran out of beer."

(Notice how I don't realize that he's never been to IKEA with me, which means that I was paying too much attention to the furniture in my tunnel vision to disregard the fact that my husband was not accompanying me.)

Whitney: Hmm. Too bad. I think you'd really hate it. 

Ryan: Why would I hate it?

Whitney: Because it cramped and claustrophobic; therefore, you have to walk through the entire showroom to get to the exit. There's arrows on the floor. It's a bit like living vicariously through Hanzel and Gretel.

Ryan: Actually, you're wrong. A few years ago, IKEA was sued by a customer because they weren't able to find their way out of the store during a family emergency. They got lost, so they sued. They lost, of course, but now every IKEA has mandatory shortcuts throughout the whole showroom. 

(Please note: This quotation is about 98.76% word for word)

Whitney: Wow.

But I digress. We precisely arrived at 10 a.m. (I thought I'd break him in easy...avoiding the afternoon crowds and all) We found some great furniture, made decisions efficiently, and arrived at the IKEA cafe in approximately 47 minutes. Record time if you ask me. Before heading downstairs to fill up our cart with the desired items written on our shopping list, Ryan notices the menu.

"They serve beer?! This place is awesome!"

IKEA is not only perfect for the thrifty wives, but for the patient husbands, as well.

There's Pollution in My Tea Cup

It's raining. For all those in FSJ...duh. Anyways, I'm in an office for the next three days, and I wanted to share random/wonderful/obviously boring thoughts with you all.

First of all, I rock at loading coupons onto my Safeway card. I can save $2 on Tide-to-Go! SCORE. Also, I can $1 off US Weekly, so I can compare beach bodies of Miley Cyrus and Cameron Diaz. Not as cool, but it's still savings.

Second of all, I had pollution in my tea cup today. My short jaunt from my home to my workplace (about 37 steps...like average human steps, not big ones) ruined my tea. Tainted it, really. It was raining so hard that I could actually notice a rise in the water level inside my tea cup. Gross. So when I reached the office, wet, soggy, cold, and unusually happy, I set my tea cup down and just stared at it. I couldn't bring myself to take even a sip knowing that the OSB plant 18 kilometers away had billowed smoke (and whatever else kinda junk that comes outta that thing) into the sky, where it formed a cloud, then combined with the other rainclouds, and then dripped INTO my tea cup. Eww.

So I sit here, in my place of work (clocked out, of course) with tainted tea. Sigh.