Walking Full Circle

At the end of April, for the first time, I volunteered as the weekend coordinator for the MS Walk. While this may appear as a good deed (and of course it was that too!), this First was more about reclaiming something that I’d been unsettled by for a long while. Let me explain. I’ve mentioned that I was very unhappy at my former office job. I quit and took a parallel role for more money which subsequently didn’t last more than 3 months. A hard lesson in learning to pay attention to yourself, but it was necessary and ultimately led to this blog. That said, I’m totally comfortable with how everything rolled out, but I’ve always had this nagging feeling that I missed out on the best parts of running a charity event because I was too distracted trying to be perfect at a job that I wasn’t  meant for. So, returning as a volunteer was my way of appreciating the event like I’d always wanted to.  

The Orillia MS Walk where I was stationed is led by a fabulous committee of real, lovely people. I felt so welcome (see next post) and because I wasn’t wigging out about logistics and silly details, I was able to just absorb the day and visit with walkers and supporters.  

As I was reading through the coordinator manual after the event (cause who reads it before right?), I noticed a line in the “Steps to Running a Successful Walk” which funny enough, because I’m always so put off by regulating literature, speaks very clearly to how I think about a lot of things. “It’s not about getting it perfect, it’s about getting it done”.  

Workin 9 - 5

YIPPEEEE!! While my goal was to be hired by an Ontario school board, I’ve landed a teaching contract, for the first time, that I consider to be even better! The school is a private learning centre for students with multiple exceptionalities, most with Autism. Starting in September, I will teach a class of 6 (high school aged) students among a population of 55 incredibly unique, sensitive little people who fill my days with the most hilarious personalities I’ve ever encountered.

Autism is a developmental disability affecting 1 in 88 Canadian kids, most often boys. Children with Autism typically have difficulty in verbal and non-verbal communication, social interaction and leisure or play activities. Challenged in their ability to understand and make connections with others, living socially can be extremely stressful and isolating for people with Autism. I’m humbled each day I work with these kids. I do what I can to help students feel confident and comforted by the basic relationships they struggle to navigate as they jouney to discover their own awesomeness.

We take so much for granted.     

Hypno Hype

I’ve always had this uncomfortable memory of my high school boyfriend clucking like a chicken (or something stupid, I can’t actually recall the specific details) on stage in front of the whole school at one of those corny group hypnotist sessions. A complete sceptic at the time, I was pretty embarrassed with how far the “act” went. How could he be so phoney!?   

Over time however, I’ve become very open to exploring....well anything really....even the possibility of hypnosis. Where many people become more defined and narrowly pronounced in their routines and ideas, I seem to drift with each new experience. Not to say that I`m ambiguous, but for interests sake and to ensure I keep growing, I function best with a little randomness and a lot of grey. So, a while ago I went to a hypnotist for the first time to challenge my lingering teenage doubt.   

Not wanting to spend $200 for a private session, I joined a group workshop focused on enhancing personal prosperity through hypnosis. The objective was to unravel doubt (fitting, given my motive for being there in the first place) in order to dissolve sub/unconscious barriers to believing that anything and everything is achievable.

The fundamentals of hypnotherapy suggest quite simply that episodes in our life impact our subconscious (emotional), reside in our unconscious (immune system/auto response) and manifest in our conscious mind (logic/belief) as “reality”. Presenting a whole bunch of cool questions about how closely health is linked to thought, I started thinking about my own anxieties and times in my life when I felt healthy or unhealthy and what level of “prosperity” I was experiencing at the time. No surprise, there’s been a pretty direct line between the two.  Without going into the gory details though, I’ll jump to the juice...the session ended with a group hypnotism meant to lead us to acknowledge the core of our doubt (self, financial, success - whatever).  No one made farm animal sounds or fell off their chair, especially me, but it was certainly affecting. I cried.  Weird, I know.

As with all of my Firsts I try to suspend expectations and just live the moments, so while I won’t try to fake that I had some hypno-revelation, I will say that every time I visit a new experience, I feel less and less a tourist. I obviously accept that hypnotherapy is legitimate and finally take comfort in knowing that my high school hunk wasn’t a total dweeb ;) 

Gunslinger

Not going to lie, when my shooting partner and I arrived at the Silverdale Gun Club a few weeks ago to shoot 4 different guns for the first time, I was unexpectedly terrified. Already able to hear the shower of shots going off as we drove down the Niagara region back roads, the reality of how vulnerable I was sunk straight to my gut. It didn’t help that as we pulled up to the muddy lot we saw an old guy fly up, out and flat on his back from the kick-back of a shotgun. Jeepers. Why had I wanted to do this again?

As a kid at the CNE or annual Brantford Carnie, the game where you blew up a balloon or sent the ‘whatever’ to the top of the pole by shooting a water gun was my immediate go-to. Unlike the frantic tossing, squashing or ball rolling games, I liked that shooting was silent, steady, focused. Anyway, after we got set up and our incredible guide eased my fears with his endless knowledge, I was ready to light up some lead!

We started with a 10/22 semi-auto rifle which shot off 10 smooth rounds really quickly. This was my favorite gun of the day. Secondly, we shot a M1911, single action, semi-auto handgun designed by John Moses Browning. This model was used in WW1, WW11, the Korean and Vietnam wars. It kicked! There was another, lighter tempered handgun, a 9mm Lugar and finally the 22, semi-automatic, pump action shot gun that brought Duck Hunt to life! I didn’t manage to knock out a skeet, but by this time I was just so fired up that anything was a treat.

We ended the day with an appropriately gourmet meal at Swiss Chalet. We were sun soaked,
burnt out and blissful. Call me wimpy, but it really felt like I’d discovered some serious courage which is never a bad thing (unless you’re a psychotic egomaniac living in the US with access guns at your local Wal-mart!) While I’m now relatively fearless of shooting, I’ll reserve my killer skills for water guns and fuzzy prizes.

Turkey for Two

Turkey is absolutely wonderful. It gathers people together, marks celebration and kicks ass in the left-over department; enjoyed in so many ways. I’ll spare you the Bubba list. Better yet, turkey is by far the oddest looking meat and fully entertaining to play with while preparing. The wish bone adds a bit of magic as well.

For me, cooking a turkey has always represented a passage to some unspoken state of adulthood. When the honour of hosting turkey dinner was handed to Mom from my Grandmother, it was like the generations had officially rolled over. I’ve always wondered, with mild concern, when that would happen to me. I’ve got skills, but most do not relate to the kitchen.

Since my step-father passed a few weeks after Christmas 6 years ago, my Mom has not cooked a proper turkey. We now sit down to a pre-stuffed turkey loaf from M&M’s which I actually think is glorious in a coupon clipping, you-have-to-love-and-laugh-at-spam kind of way. For whatever reason, when developing my list of Firsts, I decided it was time for generations to roll and that true turkey be brought back to my family.

This past Christmas, we had Chinese take-out at my Grandma’s old-age home (long, funny story), so I didn’t get the chance to host turkey. Breaking the rule of ham, I finally received my “I’m All Gown-Up” badge today by cooking an Easter turkey. After an eventful trip to St. Lawrence Market, in my wee bachelor apartment drinking Sangria and Sapporo, my Mom cheered me on as I went through the motions of preparing my first turkey. It was the greatest day and the best damn turkey I’ve had in years!

My Mom won the wish bone pull, and although the superstition wasn’t really mine to participate in, I’m pretty sure we both wished for the same thing.

7 Songs too Long

Attraction for me, as with most women, is very cerebral. This is all wonderful and meaningful and yada yada, but in truth I've sometimes felt cheated that (most) men can become excited, at least thoroughly entertained, by simply gawking at a women’s bare body. The overwhelming strip club, porno and nudy mag industry are proof of this - not to mention that a dude will generally just say so. No shame, and why should there be? I wanted a little piece of this, so last month for the First time, I went to a male strip club. Here’s my story.

I sent out the FB invite as a rejection to Valentine’s Day entitled, “How to Avoid VD Ron Jeremy Style”. Get it? VD - valentine’s day/venereal disease, strip club…anyway. A small bunch of us gathered outside Remmington’s after dusk - prepared for a bit of stupid fun. Soon after claiming our creep seats and settling into the show, I found that I was actually, really enjoying the scene. The guys were hot and preformed some pretty outstanding tricks on the pole. It was still completely tongue and cheek of course, but the crowd wasn’t the pathetic chick n’ pom poms riot that I had expected, so all was good.

I made my selection. A very sexy young ginger covered in tattoos who dominated the pole like an acrobat. My friend set it up and before I knew it, I was being escorted up a black lit staircase to a private dance room. Hold on now - of course I was going to have a dance! It’s part of the experience! Nervous and unknowing though, I asked stripper X how it worked and what the boundaries were. I felt SO out of place. Would he touch me…with IT? What would we talk about (like talking was on the agenda! what an idiot.) I rambled on for a bit about completely dumbass stuff like the weather and my Sunday brunch plans until he finally shut me up with “everything is negotiable, let’s get started”.

I sat like a kid in a dunce cap on the small bench behind the musty curtain watching him pulse around as I tried to maintain my best “ooohh, I’m so turned on” face when in reality my only thoughts were "I’m such a cougar", "is being scared normalright now, and then suddenly, “Oh shit how long have we been in here?!”

Here’s where my lack of experience kicks me in the ass.
I politely thanked and complimented him (seriously Sarah?) as he dressed and we made our way to the pay counter. I’d been too nervous and forgot to ask the price prior to purchase so when I did and he responded - “7 songs” - I was confused. Ok…so…ya…what does that mean? Stripper X says “Well, it’s $20 per song”. GASP!!! Dance + tax + tip = $191.48 for (likely) the most unusually awkward experiences of my life. I can't even tell you one song that played....ahem, and I'm convinced they must have been 2 minute songs.

In the end, I no longer envy a man’s ability to enjoy primal, detached desires. Have fun with your peep shows and videos boys. This girl is happy to have strings attached - they’re free.

Granny Power

I think it’s pretty amazing that somehow in the late 90’s, it became cool to go Granny. Maybe it was always there and I’m just late in noticing, but all of a sudden things like baking (especially cupcakes which aren’t fully Granny, but kinda), crocheting, decorating with doilies (see Anthopology.com) and knitting spiked in popularity among the young female adult crowd. Granny glasses are now hip (and annoying at that), old ugly granny shoes and furs go for $50-$200 at 69Vintage and dare I say, I read a fashion article the other day titled “Granny Chic”.

My Granny Westman was the best. She lived well over 90 years and still regularly sent feisty political letters to city council. She wrote a children’s book, painted in oil and had her own a kiln in her wee downtown Peterborough apartment.

When I visited, she would play creepy organ music for me as I explored her home like a museum and begged her to remove her wig and/or falsies. She never did, she was a lady. She always smelled of musty moth balls and flowery perfume which was comforting in an unusual, non-threatening way. Her collection of home-made dried apple dolls however did cause quite a threat to my tender eyes and mind. She had this hobby of drying out old apples, molding faces in them, adding bodies and clothes and then display them as her dearest treasures. Seriously - the weirdest shit ever. Google image “dried apple dolls”, but don’t sleep alone that night.

Anyway, my Granny Westman was far from typical. In fact, I never saw her rock in a chair or knit a stitch - two very quintessential Granny traits. So, when I completed my First scarf ever (yes, on this first day of spring during the mildest winter of my life…how fitting) I thought of my Granny and wished I could give it to her. She would of course snicker and say that I'd knit a shawl, not a scarf, but she's dance around in it for a bit just to be sure I were entertained.

In closing, I'd like to point out that with my last name, if I’m ever fortunate enough to have Great-Grandkids, I will forever be referred to as Granny “Power”!

Ti adoro! Ecciti i mei sensi!

Someone recently shared a lil ditty that suggested “A perfect world is one where the cooks are French, the mechanics German, the Swiss bankers, the British police and the lovers; Italian. (yes, that someone is Italian). After seeing the opera for the first time this week with my Dad, I’m compelled to agree with the last point given that Wikipedia tells me the opera began in Florence, Italy in 1597. Italians in that respect do dominate the heart.

The opera was no doubt one of the most moving performances I’ve ever seen. The story of Tosca was of intense love, false assumptions brought on by jealousy, betrayal driven by lust and of course; death and tragedy over a lost lover. All of this, swirling amongst a ridiculously gorgeous orchestra and voices that penetrated so mighty I sometimes had to close my eyes (the 3 glasses of wine at dinner might have had a wee impact too). In short, it was glorious.

Something I didn’t expect was the translation screen. While knowing the detail of each lyric helped understand the story, I felt it stole from the rawness of the voices and being led by own imagination. I'd also kinda fantasised about having someone softly whisper the translation into my ear. Not this time 'round though. Next time, I’ll have go with someone other than my Dad.

Double D

Carrying on from my last entry on moral motivation; mostly the bit saying “there’s often an opposition between self-interest and morality” I am ready to confess that I’ve failed in completing a few important Firsts. While I KNOW that smoking is a direct, no stop-over, flight to a disgusting, pitiful death, interest and desire have dominated my moral logic. I'm sitting in first class nicotine addiction - unmotivated (just yet) to get on that damn moral highway.

Secondly, at the beginning of January, I set out to be booze-free for 30 days and failed at that too. HA! Really though, I’m not feeling disappointed about this one. In fact, I feel pretty comforted in being able to say; “Oops, overshot that one, no biggie”. Sometimes the things we harshly label as failures; were just unreasonable expectations.

It's all about having a good balance of Deviance and Devotion.

Just Hangin' Out

I’ve been thinking a lot about motivation lately. Simply, what makes us want to do, and then keep on doing things to the point of developing into hobbies and even “passions”? Inspired by my attempt to revive a career in teaching, where we endlessly talk about “motivating” and “engaging” students in a “meaningful” way, I’ve been observing myself work through this list and question: what motivates me and what do I REALLY like to do (and why). Young learners are most often motivated by a reward (tangible or abstract). Is that it then? Do we only do things contingent on feeling awesome in some way?

To gain a little perspective, I did me some reading about “moral motivation” which simply says that people are moved to “do” through their beliefs and desires and act/respond based on judging something to be good or to have rational reason (reward) to act in a particular way. Pretty basic and boring, but what I liked was the statement that “morality is widely believed to conflict, frequently and sometimes severely, with what an agent most values or prefers to do…that there is often an opposition between self-interest and morality.” So deviant! I’ll come back to that in a later entry….

So, I resign to understanding motivation as a very intricate place being that beliefs and desires are accumulated from every miniscule moment, interaction, experience, encounter, learning etc etc that we each, individually happen to stumble upon or seek out in our short or long lives. That said, no blanket discovery here today folks. I do know though, that while I’m not “into” anything in particular (certainly not passionate about anything) I do enjoy being surrounded by pretty things, brunching on Sunday, revving up the ol’ adrenalin (in various ways; usually with others) and laughing till I cry. I’ve decided that my greatest motivation is to share time with the people I like & love and that this means my most desired, overall interest is to - just hang out.

A few weekends ago, for the first time, I hung out in a new way. Literally. With straps and rope and fancy buckles, I climbed a man-made, indoor wall and hung there, at the mercy of my dear climbing partner, who faithfully lowered me to safety each time. You really gotta like and trust a guy who can do that.


P.S - that little girl is obviously more "passionate" about climbing than me. Nothing to do with skill at all.....

Dippity Doo Dah

Enough said!! It's been done! And yes, I went fully in, up to my neck anyway.

Thanks to my lovely helpers, you've already made my year ;) And Cyn, you're simply amazing! I'll see you guys next year!

Bas n' Blades

It`s amazing to live in such a vibrant, available city and yet - I find that I don`t always appreciate or take advantage of the simple things it offers. As a small example, I`ve considered Toronto my home for over a decade, but have never bothered to do one of the most Canadian, Torontonian activities of all…ice skate at Nathan Phillips Square. Until this week.

For the past 3 years I`ve helped support a young gentleman with Autism. Much of that time, he spent each Monday & Tuesday overnight at my place becoming a significant fixture in my world. While we no longer have a formal arrangement, I still get together with him and his family and adore his company as much as ever. So, when we made a plan to hang out the other week, this fine man and I agreed to do a little skating.

Keeping in mind that this guy is 6`5``, 200 (and something) pds, I was immediately concerned that he might just collapse on the cold ice and that would be it. As always though, his spirit and ability humbles me. Alongside the show-off teens and random wanna-bee Olympic ice dancers, Mr. W was a smashing success on blades! Me however…well, thank gawd I held the camera!

A first, but not a last. Thanks Bas-a-roo!

Sexy Beast

The Supremes said “You Can’t Hurry Love”, but c’mon that was 1966! While the fabric will never change, the rules, the playground and especially the timelines of dating have certainly put on a newer, more dynamic dress. Online, blind, double and of course, the remedy for the impatient and/or thrifty seeker; SPEED dating. A few weeks ago, I went speed dating for the first time.

I recently heard a radio segment claiming that an adult break-up typically costs between $500 - $1500. Sometimes there`s a moving truck, the new gym membership, the mani/pedi, a haircut, some new outfits, new perfume/cologne and of course the expense of dating itself. Unlike 1966, ladies are paying their share of the bill. It sure adds up.

I tried to keep persepctive as I cursed the ticket price for the FastLife Speed dating event my friend and I signed up for. 16 dates for $55, ok ok…not that bad. I wish the cliché had occurred to me sooner though; you get what you pay for.

Teamed as the “Sarah’s”, we scurried up to the Office Pub downtown already late. Remembering that chomping gum can come off a bit crass, we quickly and carelessly spat our wads onto the street and plowed through the front door full force.

I’m not exactly sure what I was expecting, but the scene was far from my overactive imagination. There were some random guys and gals mingling about, but for the most part everyone was seated awkwardly in their respective spots; waiting.

Soon enough, the gong bonged and the succession of 6 minute meetings began. There was Harry from Holland who could barely stop giggling long enough to finish a sentence. Prashant, Rommel, Hamil, Rohan and Murat were all consultants from Dubai. Jonnathan`s first question was ``what are your secret passions and what really turns you on``. Gulp. Don had on a shirt 3 times too small and a hair cut like Jim Carry in Dumb and Dummer . Leroy had Cuban drug lord written all over his jeweled fingers and fancy clothes and I can`t really remember the rest to be honest. In the end, I put an X in the NO box next to each fine fella - reminding myself that the intent was never anything more.

The night definitely brought out some good laughs and interesting people, but it's certainly not the avenue for me. The best part of the entire experience is that now, according to FastLife, I`m a certified ``Sexy Beast``! Ha! And, the host turned out to be pretty cute. That story...to be continued.

Bye Bye Belmont

Dare I say it? At what point does an addict merit the moment to exclaim “I QUIT!” Perhaps it’s not in the moment, but the decorum. My ideal is to defeat this mighty task with dignity - meaning the absence of a relapse of course - but who can predict the future? Like anything we wish for, plot and plan, a segment of completely unaccounted for circumstances seems to bud its cunning little head. In my world anyway. So, being true to the possibility of anything, I’m already fawning as I write this entry.

This week, for the first time, I quit smoking. Forever.


Pause. Are you kidding me? A song lierally just came on my internet radio signing out “I’m jealous of your cigarette.” Who writes that garbage?!!

It’s been 11 hours and 5 days since you took your love away.
I stay in every night and busy myself all day.
Since you been gone I eat whatever I see.
I can go wherever I choose.

But nothing
I said nothing can take away these blues.

Farewell Belmont Ultra Slims

Behind the Scenes

We went, we watched, we clapped on cue and wondered the whole time, “did the camera just catch me making that face!” Thanks for the tickets Phelps!

And yes, the guys look as plastic in person as on television.

Poll Clerk Duo

If I could know more about one thing, without having to do homework on the subject, I would definitely elect international politics as my winning topic. I’ve tried at a few different junctures to educate myself on political matters, predictably around the time of an election, but always find it somewhat cumbersome to really get into. It all seems a bit of a day time soap opera; a corny dramatization spilling with ego and insincerity. He screwed her and they said that and blab bla bla. I know ignorance isn’t serving me, so I shouldn’t complain.

Anyway, for the first time ever, I decided to do something “political” (tee hee). I signed up to works the polls.

Soon after completing the online application (requiring only my name and address) I was scheduled for a drawn out 3 hour training session where I was given a 120 pg. how to handbook and instructed on every bitty detail of a day in the life of poll clerk. Feeling more than ready, I showed up to manage my appointed poll on October 6th, 2011 with my colleague for the day, 70 year old Vera. We were stationed in the games room at a Polish Retirement home in Parkdale. Amazing. We had 200 electors on our list, 75 of which bothered to brave the elevator to visit us and cast their vote.

In the 15 hours that Vera and I hung out, we got to know about each other quite well. She shared some Trinidadian recipes and didn’t mind when I took a nap. I played the organ for her and didn’t mind when she insisted we recount the ballots every 20 minutes or so. Most of the time we just laughed at how sneaky we felt to be getting paid nearly $200 each to just sit around. Then, we got angry at how stupendously wasteful and offensive it was for us to be getting paid $200 to just sit around, especially after learning there were 2 other polls on the same street!! What the F?! How much money can one government throw away?

As we parted ways at the end of a long day, Vera and I hugged and agreed to both keep in touch and get more involved in the next election. Neither are very likely, but what a delightful first (and last).

Derby Downer

All right, I confess. I saw the movie and was drawn in to the idea of being a rebellious punk rock misfit on wheels. Only in my better-than-real-life imagination though. An old neighbor of mine was on a RD team and used to invite me out to practice, but I never went. I bruise easily and have never broken a bone. Truth is, I’m no misfit. Despite having a wicked derby girl last name “Power”, the most realistic option for this first was to go see a game. So I did.

The Toronto Roller Derby has been around for some time. They’re well organized and seem to have a loyal following. At the beginning of October, I recruited some friends to join me in seeing CN Power vrs. Hammer City Eh! Team. When we arrived however, (punk rock rebel late of course), I was immediately deflated by the scene and found myself slinking into the bleachers to avoid eye contact with my friends. The venue was an oversized, brightly lit warehouse that echoed wildly as the announcer shouted out the good and bad plays that really didn’t make much sense to anyone.

“There goes DefiCaitlin knocking over Sin D Drop-Her and Mia Culprit as she whizzes past Sail Her Poon on her way to knock off Lady Gag Ya. But watch out! Sinade O’clobber is coming up behind and it looks like Panty Hoser is going to join her in taking down Miss Carriage!”


The score board was something of an overhead projector and the track was a confusing mess of spray painted lines on cement. Had I better understood the game, maybe my impression would have been better. Sorry TRD, I think what you’re doing is fundamentally a good thing, but to me it felt a lot like watching a cheeky cheer squad in a high school gym. I almost wished my can of Coors were a bag of Whoppers. At the end of the night, we all drove back to the city pretending that it had been worth checking out a bunch of chick on skates knocking each other down. And then we went dancing. A bunch of chicks jumping around.

KD & Catch-up!!

I warned you from the beginning; I'm a procrastinator. My saving grace is upfront honesty no? It appears I'm behind about 3 weeks. Truth be told, I've been keeping up with my weekly doings, just not writing about them. This is going to be a big catch-up entry, so get cozy.

HELLO TITTIE
In grade 4, I was fit for my first "training" bra. I remember thinking, "apparently tits aren't very skilled at hanging on if they require training. this is serious stuff. What would happen if I didn't oblige to strap them down, hoist them up and decorate them with bows and lace? Would they disfigure? Could others tell? And why did I need to go through such efforts to make a pretty display if them anyway?" I didn't put bows on my knees. Although I guess I did put pom-poms on my ankles. Anyway, these strange, confusing thoughts plagued me for months.

Fast forward 100's of bras. Strapless, seamless, corset, criss-cross, convertible, padded, push up, nude, adhesive, demi, racer-back, sports and cup-less (oo la la). A secret underworld rarly noticed by anyone but me. I've spent countless hours posing in front of change rooms mirrors thinking; "does this make me too perky? too pointy? full enough?" Or, "impressive, I have a cleavage!" Most often though, "drat! why doesn't anything fit!?"


Last week, for the first time I went for a professional bra fitting. Secrets From Your Sister is an exclusive boutique in the Annex that specializes in fittings. The staff is lovely and very knowledgeable. After some initial measurement and discussion, in came the 55 minute parade of bras eager to prove themselves as my perfect match. "Girls, meet bra #1, she's a red lace underwire demi cup with daisy stitching and silk inserts who promises not to pinch or cause double boob. She's made in Paris, ooh."



While I didn't buy anything (prices ranged $124-$189), I picked up some valuable tips and most importantly, learned that I had been sizing myself incorrectly for the last 25 years! My mistake had been thinking that cup ( A B C D...) and torso size (32" 34" 36" 38"...) were unrelated and that size is static. Apparently this is not the case at all. Measurement is relative and every bra has a "sister" size. As cup goes up, torso goes down. So...B34 = C32 = D30. You got it? Essentially this means, that for every new style a new size should be considered. Otherwise, it's likely fitting improperly. What a wonderful excuse for all those awful bras I’ve abandoned!

Here are some bits and bobs to ponder.



The Guinness Book of World records credits 53 year old Norma Stitz for having the largest natural breasts on the planet. 56 pounds each!

Maxi Mounds, a model, stripper and porn star (no surprise) is noted for having the largest implants. 42JJ. I'm guessin the size scale doesn't apply here..







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LET'S BOGEY !!

I've had an unusual crush on Bill Murray for a long time. Somewhere between Groundhog Day, What About Bob and Lost In Translation, I decided that he was the funniest, most endearing man in film. And, in some odd way - super sexy. Recently, I saw Caddyshack on t.v and decided that I was going to learn how to play golf. There were many other factors of cooooourse, but this first is for Bill ;)

Keeping things simple, I started out with a 9 hole, par 3 course. I've done the mini-put and driving range thing several times, so no big deal right? Oh so wrong. I discovered that golf requires much more intensity, focus and technical accuracy than I'd ever imagined. After losing 4 balls, tripping through 2 sand pits and cheating on several accounts, I still only mastered an average of 6 strokes each hole. (or however you term it).

However, I will golf again Bill. I will not let you down.

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HARD WOOD
Ever have those days where you wake up and think, "how can I bring purpose to my day"? It's a bit crazy, but I often find myself in that frame of mind. I love projects I guess.


This is a pictorial entry. Last week, I made a bench (from scratch) for the first time.

Some Like it HOT!

It seems there's a minor theme developing in my life. Looking back at some recent entries, I noticed that I'm fairly focused on making good friends with my body these days. Exercise, acupuncture, and now, for the first time, hot (Bikram) yoga. When I get around to 52 First #22 (going to confession), I'll be sure to include a chapter on how negligent and abusive I've been to my body for most of my conscience life.

Indulgence is a creeper of a habit. Not usually recognizable until it explodes with ugliness all over you; it seduces you with incredible flavors and great thrills that (temporarily) disguise the dirty consequences. Indulgence is a promiscuous little devil and one that I've made an effort to tame in the last while by following some simple advice from my Dad: "eat less, move more and sweat everyday"

I've chunked out twice in my life. Both times were during the beginning of the end of my 2 most important relationships. This round, I've made better choices and continue to harvest healthier experiences to transition. Thanks to a friend's persistence I gave hot yoga a try and, despite being a cynic about urban-yuppy-hipster lifestyle crap, I think it's something I could really get into. Unlike other styles of yoga, which frankly I find completely lack luster, hot yoga leaves you drenched in sweet, well earned sweat....a welcomed token for a good, cathartic workout.

Drop the Needle

Typically when someone is coming at me with a needle, I pant a bit, whimper and never fail to whine out loud "is it going to hurt?!" I've survived 2 tattoos, a nose piercing and countless medical needles, but always felt near panic about it. Why then I wondered, have people been turning to acupuncture since 200 BCE to relax and promote good health. What is it about having a needle jammed into numerous points on your body that brings a positive sensation - and does it really? When I saw the Team Buy coupon for a $30 acupuncture session in my inbox one morning, despite my anxiety about needles, I had to check it out. So, last week, for the first time, I surrendered my delicate self to 10 piercing needles for 25 minutes...and lived to tell the tale!

My chest was a drum circle of a thousand angry hippies. My hands were clammy as I meticulously answered each of the 50 life/health questions and told myself I wasn't stalling, I was just being thorough. By the time I finally got into the treatment room, the practitioner had figured out that I was a newbie, and that I was scared. She was wonderful. She briefed me on the process, explained that acupuncture activates meridian lines in the body through stimulation points and promised that she had never witnessed anyone pass out or vomit; as per the release form I had just hesitated to sign. She went on to say that everyone has a different experience and that it's important to allow any feelings, during and after (whether positive or negative) to just be had. Great, so if I wanted to yelp and run, I could. Sweet. I like open benchmarks, anything is normal.

First, the belly. Our body's core and my stress centre, apparently. It was fast and painless. Within minutes she was done the full installation including one right between the eyes! "So, now I just lay here and try to rationalize this?" Yep, that was it. "Enjoy" she said as she left the room.
I'm not sure if it was my nerves, but something definitely felt different throughout my body. It was subtle, but I felt...heavy. A bit like having 3 glasses of wine, but not the headiness of it. At moments I would feel a bit like being on a slow wave and others, sleepy. I was sure not to move and at one point felt some pain in a specific spot on my leg. Later I learned that there hadn't even been a needle there, it was ghost pain. weird. When it was all over, I felt calm. It wasn't anything drastic, just nice.

So, there you have it. With regular sessions at $100 a pop, I won't be retuning, so unfortunately will never know if acupuncture could cure my smoking addition, but I did enjoy the experience. I do hope that the next time I get a needle, I'll be able to channel the feeling of acupuncture and just let the doctor drop the needle in. Doubtful.