Cheers to Conquering Fears.

This is my first post in a long time. I feel that the topic of returning to high school just a few months shy of my 30th birthday is worthy of putting down in words.

It has been a month since my classes began...a month of juggling a full time job, night classes four evenings a week, volunteering at the cat shelter once a week, a social life, my live-in cat Hooligan, and my live-in boyfriend.

Let me begin with the reason why I've returned to high school. When I was actually in real high school, a co-ed boarding school to be more specific, I was terrified of math class...so terrified in fact that I never asked for help and subsequently failed my grade 10 advanced math course. And science went down the drain too. Luckily for me they just moved me up into grade 11 bobo math! Or so I thought I was lucky at the time...

Advice to all who plan on having babies: make sure they do their advanced math and sciences in high school! There's always time for finger painting and drama, but having your math and sciences from high school is such a door-opener as I'm now learning. So, I decided that 2012 was a "face my fear" kind of year and I jumped in head first. Just a side note: I did attempt to get these classes done in adult ed when I lived in Toronto, but it proved to be a disaster when I discovered that I couldn't read my teacher's handwriting or understand what was apparently the English language coming out of his mouth. I dropped out after my first class.

So, to face my fears I decided to pick up math and science again, to challenge myself and to pretty much push myself to the edge of insanity. I got myself a whopping 50% on my first math test which almost made me throw up from fear, but since then I have very slowly been improving and wrapping my brain around radicals, polynomials, factoring and so on. I raise my hand at least 5 times every class...I'm that annoying person who you hate, the one that doesn't understand something until it's explained multiple times over. I've heard a sigh or two behind me, but I don't care! At least I can ask questions now, without the fear of God in me.

Science has been interesting to say the least. In our first class, our teacher went around and asked each of us a series of questions: name, why we were there, and one word to describe science, which he then jotted down on the blackboard. I was about fourth in line to introduce myself, and my word to describe science was "intriguing", which of course had just been said by another student as my teacher so kindly pointed out. Great, my first science class and my teacher already thinks that I don't pay attention. I was so wrapped up in having to speak in front of the other students that I tuned everything out to try and find a good descriptive word for science. Yes, it's like high school all over again.

I got off to a shaky start in science because the first part is all about math, but then I found my groove. I also managed to land myself a hilarious lab partner who tells me about his food adventures every time I see him. Actually, during the first week of classes he pulled out his snack at break which happened to be two hamburgers, straight from his duffle bag. Phenomenal. Anyway, yesterday in our lab while I added more Zinc bits to the triple beam scale and he talked to me about his experience ordering a flurry from MacDonald's with bacon in it, our teacher came over to chat with us.

He asked us if we had taken the class recently because he noticed that we were doing well. Thank the baby Jesus! A complement on my school grades! I told him that I had done horribly in high school and that I was redeeming myself, putting my mind at peace, and succeeding in an area that I had seriously failed in 13 years ago. I went on to explain that I went into fine arts after high school, then got my BA in Political Science, then worked for the World Wildlife Fund, that I currently work for a charity focussing on the health of diabetic children, and that I'm now getting my grades in math and science to see where they can take me. He laughed and said that he found it so great to come upon a perpetual student who has such a diversity of interests and capabilities.

The word capabilities (notice the plural) is key here. I have many capabilities as opposed to the many who have very few capabilities ie; zero life experience. I took my teachers words as a compliment and it made me realize that my ever-changing path isn't such a bad thing. I've always thought about my past as a series of unplanned and confusing choices, jack of all trades and master of none. Now I know that there are people out there, even science teachers, who appreciate the randomness of life choices and ever changing plans as much as I do!

So, cheers to challenges, to conquering our fears, to being brave and to working damn hard. Cheers to experiencing as many different aspects of life as you can, and a big cheers to the people out there who support and appreciate the adventurous souls!

And cheers to passing math.

High Five to Highlights 2011.

Christmas lights and holiday cheer always make me reflect on what has happened in my life in the last year. Below is a list of my 2011 highlights, in no particular order.

New favourite Ray-Ban glasses: I can see now, especially when I'm driving. This definitely deserves to be a highlight.

Moved: I got a little chubbs off of Montreal bagels when I first moved here (still considered a highlight).

New car: This one is a highlight for the fact that I can get from point A to point B when I want to and I can bring Swagger along. That being said, my excitement may have been premature as naming the car Shi-Ra Princess of Power has been a bit of a letdown.

Became the proud new owner of my very own Selk-Bag: My boyfriend bought me one for my 4th Annual 26th Birthday in November (see photo below). I have been wanting one for two years now, and my wish finally came true! I know you want one.


Selk Bag for life.

New friends: They came with the new boyfriend and they're pretty nifty. I like them.

New man: Okay, so this one just fell out of the sky and I'm still asking myself how it all happened. Remember that Interweb Dating blog post that I wrote a while back? Turns out that OkCupid had it right for once. I have yet to write them a thank you letter....thank you OkCupid for your relentless matching suggestions and super advanced love algorithm system. My heart has grown three times its size since you dropped the tall handsome man into my lap.

Threw my first kegger: This kegger brought to an end a two week bender that I had been on before moving away from Toronto. It was a flurry of wine, beer, music, friends, packing tape and boxes, tears and laughter, people coming together, people moving apart...a lot can happen in two weeks! Those last days in Toronto were by far the best out of the 6 years I was there.

Attended what I'm sure is considered the best wedding, with the best bride and groom ever: Cheers to you both for throwing such a great wedding weekend jam-packed with everything from paddle-boarding to campfires to the most lovely wedding ceremony in the books. Thank goodness I was wearing giant sunglasses, I got emotional.

Attempted to watch LOTR outside on the back deck: This is a highlight simply for the attempt part. It all lasted about 25 minutes before our neighbours lawn mower turned on and the sunset made the TV screen into a mirror. My last roommate is brilliant, and we still praise her for the ingenuity and craftiness she showed on this particular day, but eventually we were watching ourselves getting grumpy and had to move it inside.

LOTR on the deck.

And last but not least, I managed to make it to New Orleans for the Railroad Revival Tour to see Mumford and Sons, and then I saw them again 6 months later: Oh yes my friends, I flew into 'Nawlins, met up with a friend a couple of days later, stayed in a crazy hostel, ate a shit-ton of seafood (didn't like seafood before New Orleans), and made some awesome friends. I bought a ridiculous pair of leggings with the words Hip Hop written in neon colours all over them, purchased some multi-coloured sunglasses and then watched the best concert of my life. I can't go into detail about this trip because it was too awesome to convey, but let's just say I had so much fun that I'm pretty sure Mumford is now following me and that's the reason I saw them again 6 months later in Montreal. It's true.

All in all, this has been one of my favourite years yet! I may still have time to add to this list with the last 12 days remaining of 2011. Ahhhhhh 2011, within your days and weeks and months I managed to find myself a mode of transportation, an appetite for seafood, my vision, a sleeping bag with built-in limbs, everlasting memories and true love.

2012 has big shoes to fill!

A Jerk, a Free Spirit and a Couple of Moochers.

Moving from one city to another can take up a lot of one's time. This blog post comes to you in a time of chaos and change...and some hilarity of course.

My moving plan: get up in the morning, pack up the 14 ' U-Haul, and drive from Toronto to Montreal. If you've read my previous blog posts you would know that I am by no means a seasoned driver. This being the case, it actually took 9 hours for me to get to Montreal, pit stops for eating and for walking the animals included.

When I was looking for a place to live in Montreal after having accepted my new job offer, I found a delightful ad on Craigslist for a 1 bedroom apartment up on the mountain. I couldn't get to Montreal to see it so I sent a friend in my stead and voila. I rented the apartment from a distance without having seen it. So...after a 9 hour drive in a U-Haul, I got to my street and started driving up the hill to my new place. Who knew it was on a damn cliff. The gas pedal was to the floor, I was sure we weren't going to make it to the top. The U-Haul was so heavy, jam packed with all my crap, and I was trying to conquer a ski slope. It was 11pm by the time we unloaded, safe and sound in my new place.

After getting settled in, I started to observe the stuff going on in my building on a cliff, listening to what people talked about, watched the way people acted and reacted, and tried to figure out what was going down in my new community. Well, it turns out there are some real crazies in my building, and it also turns out I live in the middle of nowhere...on a cliff in the forest.

These are the characters that I face on a daily basis:

We have the kindest soul who just wants to be loved and showered with recognition. She's in her 40's and she's a free spirit with nothing but good intentions, except I think she's bipolar. The first time I met her was at 6:00am when I was taking Swagger out for his morning walk. As I was going down to the lobby I could hear someone crying, and I mean pillow crying, bawling, crying her face off kind of crying. Lo and behold the lovely free spirit was leaning up against the wall with a party dress on. I slowly walked by and asked if she was okay, and she just looked at me and bawled even more and sobbed an inaudible 'yes'. I walked on. Next time I saw her was in the backyard, and she was probably the happiest person I have ever met. I'm a little afraid of her.

Then we have the grumpiest bugger you could ever imagine, who tries to recruit you to be on his side when you first move into the building. Oh yes, there are alliances in my building. This guy is probably in his 50's, and he HATES dogs. I feel it's important to mention that apartments on my street are sought after by people who own dogs. Every building on the street is dog friendly, and people move there so that they can have access to the mountain where off-leash dog walking is permitted. So this man hates dogs, and if he catches your dog off-leash in the massive backyard he calls the police. I've seen the cops at our building 3 times thus far, and I've been living there for a month and a half. So I'm falling asleep one fine summer evening, and my bedroom faces the backyard. I sleep with the windows opened for the summer breeze and for the peaceful sound of the leaves in the wind. I literally have a forest in my backyard. I was right on the point of being completely asleep when I heard a booming male voice yelling at the top of his lungs "I'll call the police if you let your damn dog off the leash! I'm calling the police!" The guy was sitting out in the backyard on his lawn chair, facing the apartment building, at 11:45pm, waiting for people to come outside with their dogs so that he could yell at them and call the police. Forget about the weirdness of that, what about the fact that he was sitting in the backyard in the pitch black facing the building? I now turn out my lights before getting into bed, that wasn't the last time I've seen him in the backyard after 11:00pm. The next time I saw him was at the BBQ in my backyard when I ran into the free spirit. He was sitting by himself across the yard, taking pictures of us with his phone. Oh, and he also takes pictures of dog poop. He's building a pretty strong case for the police.

After the weirdo jerk that sits in the backyard at night we have the old crotchety lady...the one that looks like she's going to break in half. This special lady walks through the backyard smoking a pack of cigarettes in an hour. She is thin and haggard, and tries to be super friendly. So friendly in fact that she came to my apartment door, knocked on it, and asked if I could give her some dog food. Lucky for me I had been warned by my normal neighbours about her habits as they had all been asked for dog food by her before. So, when she came to my door, I gave her some dog food (at least she actually has a dog, although I wouldn't have been surprised if she didn't) and I promptly told her it was the first and last time I would be giving her dog food as I couldn't afford to feed two dogs. She hasn't been back since, nor is she friendly with me anymore. I hope her dog is okay.

Last but not least we have the lovely elderly lady who has been in the building for many many years. She's so sweet and she calls me "the very nice girl". She shuffles along the hall in her knitted slippers, fully depending on her cane to get around. I just love her, but unfortunately I've started to avoid her because every time I see her she asks to use my phone. Apparently her Videotron isn't working and she has to call her nephew before he goes on vacation. She has said this line to me at least 4 times now, and it's always followed by "oh! You're the very nice girl down the hall!" When she uses my phone, she always calls a different person, a person that is not her nephew. I've inquired about the phone thing, and it has been confirmed to me that she does indeed have a functional phone of her own.

So this is what sometimes happens to me on an unlucky day, or as I now call it, an "entertaining day". I get up and sit on my balcony with Swagger for a morning coffee and I have a stare-off with the bastard dog-hater sitting in the backyard. Then I get ready and take Swagger for a walk only to be given the stink-eye by the old dog food lady who sits on the couch in the lobby early in the morning. She really doesn't like me anymore because I don't feed her dog. When I get outside, I'm greeted by the free spirit standing on the lawn in her bathrobe and head scarf admiring the morning sunrise and the amazingness of the moon that's still out from the night before. "Chelsea! Look at the moon and the sun! It's all so beautiful! I bet we were created by aliens, and I'm sure there's a portal nearby! It's so beautiful!". Okay...walk on, enjoy my time with Swagger, get home and make a quick dash upstairs so I don't bump into the old lady that eats up my phone minutes.

Can't we all just get along?

Seems a little strange, right? These people are NOT fictional, and I have not exaggerated any part of this. I moved in on July 8th, and I'm moving out on September 1st. Weird people and the fact that I live on a cliff have convinced me to move...again. 7 moves in 5 years, that has to be some kind of record. And you want to hear something really crazy? Yesterday my current landlord told me that there's a production company that wants to pay me $500 a day for two weeks to use my apartment to film a movie. They will pay to move all my stuff into storage, and they will also pay for a hotel for me for two weeks on top of the $500 a day. Unfortunately I had to remind my landlord that I am moving out in 6 days. There goes $7000. Lucky bugger that's moving into my place; he's delaying his move by 2 weeks, and he's getting the $7000. Little does he know that not one, but many nut cases live in the building!

Life. And so it goes.

Ode to Montreal.

Change is such a strange thing. I wake up in the morning with a feeling of nervous energy in my tummy, a tug at my heart, and a leap of excitement out of bed. It's like something big and beautiful is coming my way and when I finally reflect on what the feelings are, I remember that I'm leaving Toronto in 3 weeks, bound for the greener pastures of Montreal! I'm picking up my life, putting it in a box, and moving to a city that I adore. I'm driving a U-Haul there, with the cat and dog, and I can only hope that I make it in one piece.

It's time to get the real stuff started and I think my new beginning lies in the freshness of Montreal. For me, Montreal is a place where I feel wonderful wearing sparkles and where there's a twist of culture that simply doesn't exist in Toronto. It's a place where I can make friends on the street at 3am and a place where I can buy beer in a corner store (forget corner store, I get to say 'depanneur' or 'dep' again!) until 11pm. Montreal doesn't feel the need to nickname itself (just for the record, El Toro never took off in any way, shape or form). It's a place where I can find original and independent boutiques that don't charge a fortune just because they're unique. It's a city that doesn't muzzle their pitbulls and it's a place where I can actually get to work on time. That's right, it has a better transit system than the TTC.

Winter Wonderland

In Montreal it snows for real and people don't panic if it does so for over two hours: schools stay open and people go to work. Real ski hills surround the city and a gym membership doesn't cost an arm and a leg. In Montreal school is cheap and the croissants and bagels are heavenly: something that has been lacking in my diet for too long. There's something in the air in Montreal, something that makes me smile and gives me a spring in my step, even in 5 feet of snow.

I will miss Cherry beach, my friends and my family, but I'm finally free from trying to make my life work here. Toronto was a shaky stepping stone but I made it to the other side and off I go!

Au revoir!

Swagger vs. T-1000.

May 2-4 Saturday was like any other day, except for the fact that the infamous Apocalypse was to happen, but alas we were all fooled. Anyway, it was a beautiful sunny day that started out with a delicious breakfast on my deck, sun shining and birds chirping. Happy me.

After about 2 hours of lounging, my dog started getting ants in his pants, fidgety and grumpy...it was time to take him to the park for some good old tennis ball throwing.

For the past week and a half or so, my dog has had spring fever. The symptoms he's displaying are the following: not walking properly on the leash and being distracted by every flower, blade of grass, squirrel, bee...everything. He has cut me off twice now, sending me into a tizzy as I half trip/jump over him to avoid falling flat on my face. Also included in spring fever symptoms: excessive peeing on stuff outside. Because everything smells so yummy, Swagger wants to claim it for himself so he pees on it. He owns half the neighborhood...even the large concrete fountain in the community square at the end of my street. It's his. He also has heightened selective hearing, which is actually an ongoing occurrence throughout the year but spring time is extra special for him and he pays more attention to pebbles on the sidewalk than he does to me. Sometimes when I'm telling him something, like sit or heal, he does a fake yawn and pretends like he's tired and can't hear me. The last thing that Swagger's spring fever syndrome bring on is his high level of male dog displays. As in...his lipstick. Ew. He's just so damn happy with the weather that whenever he sits down, pop goes the weasel and there's the lipstick. In public too, like on street corners and in the subway. It's embarrassing and there's nothing I can do about it but walk on.

Yesterday was the first time his spring fever was truly at it's peak. We had been in the dog park for about half an hour when Peanuts came along and stole Swagger's heart. She's about half the size of Swagger and a real firecracker. They were running at full speed and all the humans were delighted at the exercise they were getting. Then they just kept on running...in a straight line towards the top of the park. I called out his name in a nonchalant way, usually he does a wide U-turn and comes back...but no. This time, he came to a screeching halt (as did Peanuts), turned and looked at me for about 5 seconds as I called his name, and then he bolted in the opposite direction alongside Peanuts. He ran for his life that little bugger did, across Logan Avenue and into the maze of streets they call Riverdale. I could hear car horns honking and people yelling. Peanuts' owner jumped up and started running as did I, in pursuit of our rogue dogs. I'm a jogger and not a runner but yesterday was different. I took off like the speed of light, left my flip flops in the dust and ran Terminator 2 style.

I ran up the hill, across the street and had people point me in the right direction. Peanuts' dad was far behind, so I was yelling for both  dogs, and just for the record, "Peanuts" sounds very close to penis when you're yelling it at the top of your lungs while running. I got to the point where I didn't know which direction they had gone, and the people on the sidewalks hadn't seen them. My heart exploded and the anxiety washed over me. I got tears in my eyes as images of the worst came to mind. All I could think of was the busy Danforth and how many cars there were up there. Peanuts' dad caught up to me and said something along the lines of "I don't know why your dog made Peanuts leave the park", and I almost poked his eyes out but there was no time for that.

I walked the streets of Riverdale for about 20 minutes when I heard the jingle of a dog collar. I looked up the street and there he was, my big sorry ass black dog walking at a slow pace towards me, his head hanging low and is tail down. He knew how much shit he was in, but I knew that this was no time for getting angry. It was too late though, he could sense my anxiety and anger and he turned around and started heading up the street again. Normally I wouldn't actually run after my dog in the hopes of catching him, but I broke into my T-1000 run again and I caught up to him (albeit he was a bit overheated and tired, a little slower than usual). I clipped on his leash and didn't say a word to him. We still had Peanuts to find. The humans split up to comb the streets, one with a dog the other still without.

I find human behavior to be ridiculous. I'm running around with Swagger like a headless chicken, asking people if they've seen a dog running through the streets off-leash. Do you know what every single response was? "What does it look like"? Does it matter what the hell the dog looks like!? It's running loose in your damn neighborhood...HAVE YOU SEEN AN OFF-LEASH DOG RUNNING AROUND OR NOT!? I have no time to waste, I need to know which way the dog went! It's a yes or no question, and then point me in the right direction you fools. One lady asked me what Peanuts looked like and when I took the time to give a brief description: "small and brown", she said "well, I did see a light creamy colored dog with no leash, but he was in the dog park when I was walking by". Thanks for the help lady.

Anyway, I never found Peanuts and I never reconnected with his owner. I went back to the dog park thinking that Peanuts may have gone back there, but she was nowhere to be seen, nor was her owner. I can only hope that he found her and that Swagger never meets Peanuts in the dog park again. I'm giving my dog the silent treatment, but he remembers yesterday like a fart in the wind. Dogs only really know right now, and at the moment he's snuggled up to me on this rainy Sunday, fast asleep, dreaming about God knows what.

Interweb Dating.

I never pictured myself as someone that would venture into online dating. In my mind the online dating world was instantly associated with crap like online predators, perverts, terrible and strange encounters etc. I always felt like I was cool enough, or hip enough, or outgoing enough to meet someone in a book store, a coffee shop or even while out on the town with friends. That cute romantic encounter  you wish to have as your own story: "oh, we made eye contact on the street and then he stopped me in my tracks and told me I couldn't go any further without at least considering having a coffee with him. Out of the blue, just like that! The rest is history!" Yeah...no.

Being out of a long term relationship now for nearly two years, I know it's not that easy especially in a city where, let's face it, isn't as friendly as some other city's: New York (I made 3 friends on the sidewalk in the first 2 hours of being there!), or even Paris for that matter. Agree or disagree, but the proof here is that almost every person I know in Toronto without a significant other is taking part in online dating because it's, and I quote, "too hard meeting someone in my every day life", "people aren't approachable", "the bar scene is for drinking and hanging with friends", and my personal favorite pulled straight from a Bay Street boy's profile: "I work hard and play hard, so I don't have time to meet people". Ugh. Anyway, all this to say that online dating has piqued my curiosity.

Messages come at you left right and centre, alerts of matches, chat requests, personality comparisons, a list of those who have viewed your profile...it's a whole other Facebook! I decided to go the 'free online dating' way, I figure that there are "normal" people on the free sites too, seeing as I'm there...no? Well, it turns out there is a very low ratio of what I would consider "normal" to "abnormal" people online.

At least three times a week I get a message in my dating inbox with the word "hi". That's it. Just "hi". Really though...are you expecting me to say "hi" back to you? What is it that you're doing? Waving to me through my dating inbox? "Hi". These messages, if you want to call them that, come from different people too so it's not like there's one "hi-guy" out there, they're all over the place. The last one I received, I simply responded with "bye" hoping that I wouldn't receive anything further from that particular user. I was wrong. I actually got a response to my "bye" saying "why"? Kill me now.

Then there are the RUDE messages that you receive. When you open up your dating inbox you close it with such haste that you nearly break your mouse because you feel like you've violated the internet space in reading such a message. I won't go into further details about this, all I can say is thank goodness for the blocking option.

Then there's the wordy guy, or the "question man" as I like to call him. I know this might be a violation of privacy, and I would hate it if this dude just happended upon my blog, but check this message out:

hello bella
hello what's up how are you and what are you doing tonight I honestly think you are very interesting and I honestly would like to know more about you and I am very interested in getting to know you alot better only if it is okay with you well I honestly would like to hear back from you soon okay bella

1.what is your favorite music

2.what is your favorite movie

3.what is your favorite thing to do on a first date

4.what is your favorite foods

5.do you have any siblings

6.do you have any tattoos

7.what is your background

8.what do you look for in a guy

9.what was your longest relationship

10.what is your favorite season

11.what is your favorite romance novel

12.what is your favorite animal

13.do you like cats

14.what is your favorite vacation place

15.where do you like to travel

16.would you like to talk on msn or would you like to text

17.do you have a blackberry

All in all, this message is completely overwhelming to say the least.
A) Bella? What the...that's not even my online name.
B) Honestly? Honestly. Honestly!
C) What really threw me off, and I mean made me laugh so hard that I almost had tea come out of my nose, was the question about the favorite romance novel. Enough said.

Although lots of junk comes through online dating sites, there are those rare moments where you virtually meet someone with a great sense of humour and a face that you think is pretty sweet. A first date comes along and you're full of nervous excitement mixed with the fear that you won't recognize the guy. Fortunately, I have yet to experience a bad first date. The two people I've actually met up with are wonderful and have become friends. Nothing more, but how fun is it to make new friends!? I'm willing and able to sift through the endless, shirtless, mirror self-portraits and find some genuine awesome guys out there.

Still waiting for a spark, but having fun in the meantime!

Not a Word of a Lie: I'm Lucky to Have Diabetes.

Okay. I know that title might sound a bit weird to some, but it's the truth. I actually feel LUCKY TO HAVE DIABETES, and here's why.

I just came back from a snowy weekend in Haliburton, Ontario, which I spent with 42 other people living with Type 1 diabetes. This is the third year I've attended the Winter Slipstream put together by a most awesome organization: Connected in Motion. Basically, Winter Slipstream is a weekend long bonanza filled with everything from an Inuit blanket toss to playing a life-sized Diabetes Cranium...Diabetium to be specific!

A few other things that went down this weekend: sleeping in bunk beds, reaching way down and pulling out my inner musician while sitting in a drumming circle, learning what not to do while belaying someone on a high ropes course (sorry for dropping you Mike, won't happen again!), testing my blood sugar while snowshoeing (using the glucometre in mouth technique, thanks Michelle!), waking up unnaturally early, lots of high fiving, a night ski across the lake (final destination: campfire and hot chocolate) and a discussion of diabetes topics that taught me a truck load of interesting tidbits. All of these moments are fresh in my mind and I'm still high off of the fun and physical activity. In the forefront of all these moments are the many people that I shared my time with.

I got to spend my weekend with some old friends that I've met through past Connected in Motion events, as well as some new people who came out to see what Winter Slipstream is all about. Every time I walk into a room filled with friends and strangers alike, all of them with Type 1 diabetes, there's something that happens that's really hard to describe. I feel a mixture of nervousness and apprehension, sandwiched between comfort and familiarity. I can feel my walls coming down and my guard wavering. People usually tend to retreat when this happens, but in my case it's a bit different.

Instead of the impulse to retreat, I can physically feel a burden being lifted off my shoulders and disappearing into thin air. All of these people, the one's that share the same full-time job that I have, make me feel like I'm me. Wholly and completely, diabetes and all. I have something in common with these people, something that those without diabetes couldn't ever possibly understand, no matter how much they may know about the disease. I felt like I could be entirely comfortable in my own skin, every second of every minute of every hour over the weekend because I knew that every other person there was dealing with a non-functioning pancreas. All of us were testing our blood sugars a billion times a day, constantly monitoring our food and trying to count carbs, thinking about how much insulin to take throughout a physically active weekend, dealing with lows and highs, and trying to keep our pumps and glocometres from freezing in the cold winter air!

Every time I take part in a Connected in Motion event, my positive attitude is fed to the point of self combustion. I get so excited and pumped up to live my life; the wheels turn in my head at exponential speeds and I want to experience anything and everything that I can. Connected in Motion inspires me to take part in my life and to be open and accepting of new experiences. It makes me want to be around healthy and happy people that are challenging themselves physically and mentally, pushing their limits and living on the edge of their comfort zones. I aspire to be one of those people and I truly believe that I'm on my way there...or maybe I've already arrived. With the help and support of these fantastic people who live their lives every day with diabetes, I'm aspiring to be the best version of me that there is. Winter Slipstream gives me the annual dose of motivation that I need to become a better person. Without diabetes I would be going through life on cruise control. With diabetes my life is infused with colourful people and I'm challenged to reach for the best parts of what life has to offer.

Christmas, Bailey's and a Phenomenal Stocking.

First thing roommate and I had to do was to get a Christmas tree. The first place we spotted them was at the Loblaws about a 20 minute walk from the house. I met up with roommate at the subway, me in my snow gear and her in her work clothes wearing a lovely black work coat, her Goretex ski mitts, a hat and her scarf wrapped around her neck...the fattest most chunky scarf you could possibly imagine.

We picked our glorious tree and carted it home in the freezing, biting, harsh, cold winter wind, all along the Danforth, roommate struggling with her purse while keeping a tight grip on the tree and me with my backpack full of groceries. Of course we had to get groceries at the same time as a Christmas tree...we would rather struggle through the pain of the heavy items weighing us down than have to go for a second trip to Loblaws.

We got home, I set up the tree stand and we brought the tree in. Swagger was extremely skeptical and very confused that the item he so frequently pees on outside was now entering his home. I held the tree in position as roommate tried to get the base of the tree secured in the stand. It was no use. "We have to do some sawing, the tree is too big for the stand". Oh roommate. Did she want me to go and grab the saw we had in our kitchen cupboard? As soon as she said it, she knew it was impossible. We don't own a saw. Nice try though roommate. So, a new tree stand it is.

Decorating the tree was magical, making sure we put nothing on the bottom part of the tree as Hooligan is mesmerized by lights and tree ornaments. I occasionally find an ornament on the floor and can sometimes hear her tinkering with the branches. I have a glass bell ornament that alerts me to her attack on the tree, it urgently chimes if the tree makes any kind of movement. Last year my tree took a tumble when she tried to climb it. Luckily I hadn't decorated it yet, and she narrowly escaped being squished.

Finally the tree was decorated, eggnog  and Bailey's bought, wreath hung on our door, stockings over the fireplace and garland hung. Since roommate headed west today we decided that we would have our Christmas last night. We did each other's stockings and seeing as her childhood stocking is with her family, i had to buy one for her. Unfortunately the thing is quite heinous. It was the only one I could find. A red felt thing with "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" written across the top and three plastic bubbles on it with images of the classic Rudolph claymation film inside them.

Anyway, all cozied up in our jogging pants and hoodie attire with some wine in hand (and Bailey's too...), we began to unwrap our beautiful stockings:

Me: "Guacamole dip mix! I love guacamole!"

Roommate: "After Eights! I love After Eights!"

Me: "Organic animal crackers!? Amazing! I love animal crackers and they're organic!"

Roommate: "Oooooohh, Flake Away! For dryness! My scalp is so dry, this is perfect!"

Me: "Nooo! That doesn't go in your hair. It's a skin exfoliating wash! Please don't put it in your hair".

Roomate: "Oh, hahaha, imagine!?"

Me: "Yay! A Peel & Stick Chalkboard! We can put it in the kitchen and I can leave you a funny message every morning!"

Roommate: "Yeah, we have to find the other half of that gift. I couldn't find any chalk."

Me: "I love it!"

Roommate: "Oh my God...is this what I think it is!? Oh my God!" (Roommate is holding the yellow banana case I got for her). "Open that one! The one shaped like a banana!" she points to my pile of unwrapped stocking gifts.

Me: "No way! I got a banana case too!?!? Holy shit it's pink! I love it! And we'll know which one's mine and which one's yours because they're different colours!"

This was just phenomenal. There had been no previous talk from either of us about wanting a banana case for Christmas. We just knew. We knew it would be the best gift to give, and apparently it's the best one to receive too. No more bruised bananas, ever.

I was so excited for the last item roommate had to open. It didn't quite fit into the Rudolph stocking, it was on the fireplace mantle waiting for her. She unwrapped it and her eyes lit up right away and I could swear her head exploded when she recognized what it was.

Roommate: "NO YOU DIDN'T."

Me: "Yes! Yes I did! Ha!"

Roommate: "I was missing this! It's my favorite!!!!!"

Yes, I bought her the Dirty Dancing limited keepsake edition DVD. It comes with 2 special features DVD's and a book. It really is something. She loves it, and we decided right then and there that we were going to watch Dirty Dancing immediately. You can't just put that kind of thing on hold, but first I had to open my final gift. A beautiful pair of black leg warmers with buttons along the sides! I can't even explain how much I love these leg warmers. I knew right away they would be a perfect match for my black sparkle Christmas shoes. We really do know each other well.

Christmas is awesome, even if the lead up is chaos. I went to the mall last week, went into about 8 different stores and immediately turned on my heel and left. Too many crazy people. The Christmas music started on my favourite light rock station 98.1 the day of the Santa Claus parade, which was back in November. I hate radio Christmas music. That being said, I love curling up on the couch with roommate, the Christmas tree all lit up and sparkling, a hot chocolate and Bailey's in my hand (and a glass of wine!?), content after having opened the best stocking ever, munching on organic animal crackers.

Dirty Dancing starts, and our early Christmas couldn't have been more perfect.

After Christmas, we plan on making a giant snowman on top of all the empy bottles on the back deck.

Sailing School Chaos.

I love to sail. My parents signed me up for sailing lessons at the age of 8. Off I went with my lifejacket, my bathing suit, my boxers with hearts all over them, my Hypercolour cap and my brand new Teva sport sandals.The amazing thing about learning to sail when you're 8 is that they don't put an instructor in the boat with you. You pile into the bathtub-like boats with 3 other kids and away you go with minimal knowledge of sailing, let alone actually skipping a boat. You get a theory lesson or two, and then they just throw you in head first.

I went pretty far with sailing. I graduated from the bahtub boats, or as we called them "sea cows" and moved on to a Laser II. This was the only time I actually enjoyed wearing a diaper. The wire that comes down from the mast (trapeze wire) hooks onto the diaper that you're wearing and then you 'hike out' as the below picture displays. The feeling of trapezing is awesome, especially when you put both hands behind your head and stretch out over the lake, your body parallel to the water.

It's not me, but it's what I looked like when I was a cool sailor.

I got up to Silver Sail VI but when I was sent to boarding school, my sailing dreams came to an end. Taking sailing lessons was a thrill, and racing gave me a competitive edge that I didn't know I had. This being said,  there was also a kind of chaos that went on behind the scenes at sailing school. A couple of incidents that I'll never forget...

I think I was about eleven or so, and being that age you sometimes forget to do important things. It just so happened that all four of us forgot to put the plug in our boat. About an hour out, in the middle of the lake, we noticed that our boat was sinking. Slowly but surely our speed decreased and the gunwale (pronounced / "gunnel" to rhyme with "tunnel"- a nautical term describing the top edge of the side of a boat) was almost underwater. The emergency sign to hail the instructors over is to stand on the deck and flap your arms like a bird. We were in total panic mode and by this point we could swin in and out of the boat without any effort, meaning the whole top side of our little sailboat was under water. I flapped my arms, flapped and flapped until the instructors saw us. The zodiac turned in our direction and came at us full speed. I sat down/floated in the boat with a sigh of relief (and terror as I didn't know what the consequences would be for sinking a boat).

The zodiac approached really quickly and it was almost too late when we noticed the instructor putting up a battle with the steering shaft of the engine. He was freaking out, flailing his arms in every direction, yelling at us, making crazy hand gestures...and then... WABANG!!!! He ran us right over. Did you know that the bottom of a zodiac dinghy is made of fiberglass?

I think we all semi got out of the way when we realized he was going to run us over, but we got pretty pummeled. Four hysterical crying children swimming around in lifejackets, trying to figure out which way was up. I sprained my wrist, one of the girls broke her arm, my other friend got a concussion along with a HUGE egg on her head, and all of us were traumatized. The bruises were pretty hefty as well. Apparently they had the wrong motor on the zodiac and the driving shaft got locked. Don't ask me why the motor wasn't just turned off, but the instructor was all of 17 years old and probably wasn't thinking. I'm surprised the motor didn't chop anything up. We were legendary, and I'm sure this story still circulates at my sailing school.

'Chopping up' leads me to the next best sailing story that I can remember. I was about 13 years old. As we drifted along in our boat, my sailing buddy and I noticed something white floating in the water. It turns out it was a GIANT catfish. I'm not kidding, it was about 3 feet long, white, and super bloated. It was just bobbing along, belly up, and it stunk to high heaven. We poked at it a bit and every time we sailed by we tried to get a better look at it's face. This is what teens do, okay? Finally the sailing instructors (their nicknames were Toast and Jam, so you can imagine what kind of hooligan teen boys they were) came over to see what had peaked our interest.

They got so insanely excited about the catfish...they hauled it out of the water and started throwing it around. It was putrid and it smelled terrible. Toast and Jam thought it would be funny to throw it in the water and run it over.

Fish explosion. They took to that catfish at high speed and the thing got shredded in the motor. Fish guts flew up into the air for miles and our sails were sprayed with fish parts. Goo all over us, rotten fish, stinky fish. I can't even explain how gross this experience was. Toast and Jam pretty much died laughing and of course they didn't get one ounce of fish guts on themselves. We were unfortunately in the line of fire and we were shunned by the sailing community for the rest of the day.

I sometimes wonder where I could have gone with the sport if I had actually climbed to the top. For starters, I would be in wicked shape and I would probably be way more cocky than I am now. I would also have a great farmer's tan, calloused hands, blistered feet, a sense of invincibility, and advanced knowledge of cloud formations and wind changes.

And maybe I would even have a sailing medal or two hanging in my bedroom.



Blackberry Blackout.

I don't care how important you think you are. When you're in a meeting, get off your blackberry. Unless there's some kind of emergency like your wife is in labour, there's really nothing that can't wait for an hour. What ever happened to manners!?

I walked out of the subway a couple of weeks ago and joined about 20 other people at a bus stop. I waited and waited and after about 10 minutes I looked around and noticed that everyone, and I'm not exaggerating here, everyone was either talking on their phone or texting. It was super creepy, everyone was in their own little cell phone bubble and it just looked so strange. Like a bunch of robots lined up talking into mini robots, with robots responding back through the mini robot. Bizarro. Surprisingly enough, I can understand how we got here, how everyone is all wrapped up in technology and afraid of one another. I think it's ridiculous, but I get it. Insecurity, boredom and an addiction to technology makes us turn to our phones. But in a meeting? Isn't that basically like turning your back on the person that's speaking? You might as well just get up, turn around and stand there with your back to the world.

When someone is doing a presentation, don't sit in the front row of an all-staff meeting and start clicking away on your Blackberry. They aren't silent, and that damn clicking/typing noise drives me bananas. Why are you even in the room when all you're going to do it hang out on your Blackberry? It sends a really bad message, I don't care who you are...high up in the organization or not. Actually, if anyone lower down on the ladder (such as myself) were caught using their Blackberry during a meeting, there would be trouble. So why is it okay for the "higher-ups" to do it?

You know what's worse? Being in a meeting with three other people, two of them paying attention and the other one typing away on their Blackberry. I actually have a really hard time speaking in front of people especially when it's something prepared, like a presentation or leading a meeting. I start talking and you start texting!? Please save me the uncomfortable feeling of inadequacy and at least pretend to pay attention to what I have to say. If the topic of the meeting isn't important enough for you, then don't attend. Easy peasy.

I have a Blackberry, it was a free offer for switching over from Rogers the Hellraiser to Bell the Beast. I still hardly know how the thing works and my email isn't connected to it. I use it respectfully aka; it isn't my lifeline. I would die laughing if there was a mass Blackberry Blackout, it would be a good way to go. Come on people, get it together and stop disrespecting one another.

It's Not Cool to Pray All Up in My Face.

I won't go too far into religion here but there's one incident that I just have to share. It has to do with The Praying Lady at work.

There's a lady in my building that likes to pray out loud no matter who's around. I've been stuck in the elevator with her alone...pray pray pray. I've been stuck in the bathroom with her alone...pray pray pray. I've been on the bus with her surrounded by a million other people packed in like sardines...pray pray pray.

For the love of God, don't you have enough time to pray on your own? One particularly rainy morning, day before yesterday to be precise, I was waiting for the elevator in the lobby at about 8:30am. I was still groggy, clutching onto my coffee for dear life and a bit bitter due to all the kids and their backpacks on the bus. Two other people were standing around waiting for the impossibly slow elevator when in strolls The Praying Lady. She's quite a beautiful woman, very well put together and stylish, and always looking happy with a slight smile on her face.

Our lobby is quite big and the two other people were standing a fair distance away from me. I suppose The Praying Lady felt the need to get into my personal space. She came in and parked herself right next to me so that our arms were about an inch apart. And then it came...a strange kind of whispering with the only recognizable word being 'Lord'. Mumble... pssst...tretttt...mumble...LORD. Okay fine, I had heard it all before, but this time she was looking at me while chanting and she was way too close for comfort.

I took an exaggerated step away from her and told her she was in my personal space. She said nothing and continued to look directly at me while doing her weird whisper/chant thing. Then the elevator arrived. The two other people and The Praying Lady walked into the elevator and I hung back as the doors closed. What the hell...did she cast a spell on me!? Some kind of hex!? She freaked me out alright, and now I don't tolerate her presence anymore. I saw her in the bathroom again today and I actually left without washing my hands. That's how badly I don't want to see her or be in the same room as her.

Pray if you must lady, but don't come up into my personal space at 8:30 in the morning and start pushing your prayers onto me. And don't for one second expect me to be okay with it. You're freaky and I want nothing to do with you, not even shared air. Until next time Praying Lady, and maybe I'll prepare a chant just for you. A "get out of my personal space" chant.

Throwback to the 80's.

This pretty much made my day today. I enjoy a good flow chart and 80's love ballads are my favourite.

Total Eclipse of the Heart is now stuck in my head. I'm sure my cubicle neighbour will be sorry she sent this to me as I randomly belt out the tune every so often. This is the pinnacle of flow charts, hands down the best one I've ever seen. Kudos to the genius who created it.

I'm fairly certain that my love of the 80's stems from having a sister who is 7 years older than me. I wanted to do everything and be everything that she was. For example, when I was in grade three I printed a huge Poison banner (Poison was a pretty heavy rock group who used a skull and bones wearing a top hat as their logo). My teacher was concerned and the other kids thought it was weird. I didn't care though, I thought Poison was the coolest band in the world because my sister listened to them. I also knew all the words to all the AC/DC songs ever written and I would bring my cassette to class and dominate the ghetto blaster during lunch hour. Can you picture an 8 year old girl with missing front teeth and a mushroom cut belting out "You...shook me all night long!". There's also a home video of me somewhere lip syncing to "Like a Prayer" by Madonna when I was about 6 years old. When I find it I promise to post it.

I also had a pretty great wardrobe. Awesome hand-me-downs from the 70's and 80's ensured that I was a cool kid. Hairspray, polkadot sweaters, Keds, black gummie bracelets, LA Gear, jean shorts and even the occasional body suit. I also used to wear this fantastic leather bomber jacket that my dad gave to me. There was a Tom Cat patch sewn on the sleeve. How I miss that jacket.

I went through many styles and phases growing up but I always returned to the 80's. To this day I have to control myself when I go shopping. I'll get really excited when I find something I want to buy but when I show it to my shopping buddy I usually get a laugh and a "that's hideous". I play it off like my suggestion was a joke but in actuality I really like it because it's sparkly and colourful. I bought a sweater in my second year of university that was brown with little pink polkadots on it and turquoise hearts sewn along the neckline. My friend laughed at me when I bought it but I wore it all the time and I pulled it off with style. I recently bought a romper (one piece shorts and tube top) and wore it while bike-riding in central park. I own a Ralph Lauren original 80's shirt...it's pink with green stripes. I have bright blue tights, an original red and white Adidas winter pom-pom beret and I have more than one shirt in my closet that has sequins or sparkles all over it. I'm wearing sparkly green nail polish right now.

My music collection consists of, among others, Tina Turner, Guns N' Roses, Def Leopard, Queen, Chris de Burgh...love that Lady in Red! Embarassing? Sometimes, especially when I have friends over. But whatever. I'm old enough to know what I like and I can't deny it. I'm actually hoping to get a bit more bold with my style in the new year. I feel a shopping spree coming on and this time I'm not holding back. My wardrobe's gonna be bitchin'.

I need to get a karaoke machine to appease the 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' diva that's raging in me. It's either that or nothing, and 'nothing' simply won't do.

My Third Annual 26th Birthday.

Remember when you turned a certain age and you were completely blown away by how quickly time had flown?

That happened to me this morning. I turned 28 today but I like to call it my Third Annual 26th Birthday. Usually I don't have this extremely profound feeling of crazy time travel on my birthday, but this morning I did. I mean, I really felt it. Perhaps it's because by this age I had hoped to have a child with two legs as opposed to having two children with four legs. Perhaps I had hoped to be an artist or to be living somewhere in the tropics. Who knows why I got the feeling. I woke up this morning another year older, actually feeling the rush of life and the quickness of it all, for the very first time.

I woke up and zombied my way upstairs to get Swagger's collar and leash on, made a cup of coffee, got my toque, boots, winter coat and mitts on and off I went into the pitch black morning. There wasn't a soul around. This is actually my favorite time of day, it's when I do most of my thinking and most of my big decision making. While walking through the open field with the cold wind on my face, I felt very, very bizarre. I got the sweeping feeling that my time here on Earth doesn't even compare to a mere grain of sand on a beach. I'm one person, and the planet doesn't need me here at all. I felt insignificant, irrelevant, my being was trivial.

Well...what a crock! I could go on and on about life being short so "live every day like it's your last, dance like no one is watching"...blah blah blah barf. I woke up feeling funny, walked through the park for a bit feeling funny, and then the eerie, BS thoughts and feelings were quickly disolved when I noticed Swagger was eating something rancid again. I ran across the field yelling "OFF! SWAGGER OFF! LEAVE IT! SIT! OFF! SIT!", breaking the morning peace with my shrill voice (which Swagger pays absolutely no attention to).

I finally reached him and discovered he was gnawing on a crab apple. Thank the lord (the time I caught him eating a baby deer carcass almost sent me over the edge and I was nearly blinded by the stench). I burst out laughing and I rolled around with my pup on the frosty grass for a good ten minutes. Then everything became less heavy again. Life is short alright, and there really is no rhyme or reason for my existence. I pretty much think that humans were a mistake anyway. Am I supposed to mope around thinking about how fleeting life really is? Nope, I shall enjoy every day as it comes, taking pleasure in the little things: my cat's paws, a bright orange maple leaf, catching someone's eye on the subway, wine with a best friend, tobogganing, avocados, my sister's laugh...there's just so much. And plus, I'll want to check-out at some point anyway, so leaving this place a happy human being is important.

Lucky to be alive I say!

Band of Broads.

About 11 months ago I started taking djembe drumming classes. They were every Friday evening for 2 hours and it was one of the most entertaining and fun things I've ever taken part in. I don't look like the typical djembe playing person...I don't have dreads, I'm not a hippie and I don't have any African roots. I just love the sound of a bunch of djembe drums being played, the rumbling beat that moves through the ground and the happiness that everyone feels while listening to them. I figured I would give it a whirl, and I was right. I loved it.

I was the only girl in the circle with 9 guys. Ha! High five to me, I looked pretty awesome and courageous coming in for my first lesson with a bunch of people that had been there before. I was extremely nervous and the fact that the teacher is a beautiful, tall, beautiful, black, beautiful man from Guinea didn't help. He was intense too...no kidding around, although he did crack up when I told him I was in fact a diabetic wearing an insulin pump and not some kind of new cell phone as he thought. I did as he instructed, followed along as best I could, made my place in the circle and learned a hell of a lot. The sound of us all in unison gave me goosebumps and I was grinning ear to ear while tapping away on my drum. This went on for a few weeks and then I got a puppy. My friday night drumming lessons have been put on hold ever since.

While in the lunch room at work today, my little friend S told me that she was starting ukulele lessons. She's small and ukulele's are small, so I think it will be a match made in heaven. This got me thinking about my love of the djembe. I've decided that I'm going to pick it up again, and maybe even buy myself my own drum. I'm sure my roommate and neighbours will be thrilled. I'm going to get back into drumming and I'm going to get good at it. Good enough to join a drumming circle.

My friend S and I are then going to start a ukulele/djembe band. Oh, and her friend plays an instument too, so it will be a trio. Her friend is Korean and plays the electric guitar, my friend S is Jamaican and will be playing the ukulele, and I'm a plain Jane whitey who will be banging on the djembe. Maybe I'll wear some big beaded jewelry or some awesome, flowing, colourful clothing to make myself look a little more exotic, to fit in with the group and all. Don't worry, I won't be braiding my hair.

We're going to be the most eclectic music group around. It's pretty amazing when you decide to step forward and take part in something you've always been interested in but never had the courage to try. A brand new beautifully hand-crafted djembe will be my Christmas present to me. Cheers to trying something new!

Holy Crap! Is That Edible!?

This completely blows my mind.

After my mind is blown, I'm totally thrown over a cliff when I read this:
"Don’t worry vegetarians, Baconnaise Lite is 100% Vegetarian and certified Kosher."

Please explain to me when and where we went so wrong? I don't have the most perfect diet, but to mix vegetarian bacon with mayonnaise, and then to make it "lite" on top of that...it's just so wrong. If you're a vegetarian, do yourself a favour and don't eat fake bacon mixed with mayonnaise. You may wake up in the morning with a third eye, or some other unwanted body part like a tail, or maybe even an extra set of teeth. If you aren't a vegetarian, then make yourself some good old fashioned bacon in a frying pan or the microwave if you must, and then lather on the mayonnaise afterwards. You can even purchase organic, local bacon these days, so go for it!

While on this topic, let's look at a few other items that throw me through a loop and make me question my existence as a human being.

Marshmallows are weird enough as it is, but this? 

Fluff. Otherwise known as "spreadable marshmallow substance". This terrifies me. What the heck is marshmallow made out of anyway? I'm too afraid to look up the ingredients. I enjoy a marshmallow about once a year but I make sure it's sandwiched with chocolate between a pair of graham crackers. This way, my taste buds are so overjoyed that I'm unable to think about what I'm actually ingesting.

I believe that this bad boy is the culprit of quicky food creation. The one that started it all.

Did you know that SPAM was born in 1937? That's quite a while ago for such nouveau age canned quickness. Are ya hungry kids? Shhhloppppp...the SPAM comes out of the can, cut off a few slices, fry er' up and there's dinner.  Anything to make life easier and more convenient! I just realized that all of the above items (SPAM, Fluff and Baconnaise) can be spread onto a lovely slice of white fluffy:

Wonder Bread! Who doesn't love Wonder Bread!? All this talk of delicious healthy wholesome food is making me crazy! We have come so far...who in the world needs to plant a potato anymore? Potatos come from a bag and now they're called chips! Chicken? It comes from the grocery store, silly. Where did you think it came from!? Orange juice? It comes from a box..obviously. All I have to say is watch out kids, your parents might take advantage of this convenient life and you might just get picked on in school:

Poor souls, they never saw it coming.

My Nemesis Tula.

If you've never had an encounter with a tarantula, congratulations. You've managed to avoid a most unpleasant experience, the kind that makes your toes curl and your skin prickle. When I was living in Roatan I had a faceoff with a tarantula. Because I picture my tarantula to have been a bitchy, fat, spiteful, female spider, I will refer to her as Tula.

After having watched the entirety of Garth Brooks live in concert on DVD with my mom, I was exhausted and ready to hit the hay. It was a balmy evening as usual and I was already a bit jumpy and nervous about stepping on a random living creature because the crab migration had begun. I was tired and walking to my bedroom when right in front of my foot sat big fat momma Tula. I didn't notice her there until the last second. To this day I thank my lucky stars that I did because either my foot would have been eaten or I would have smushed the hairiest most plump spider in the universe. If I had actually squished Tula, I'm sure I would have some weird OCD obsession with wearing a sock on that foot every minute of every day for the rest of my life.

Tula was about 7 inches in diameter and I could see every one of her eyes staring back at me. If I moved a foot to the right, she would shuffle and readjust her body to look at me. Two feet to the left...shuffle shuffle shuffle...there she was, staring at me. I almost threw up from fear that she would pounce on my face at any moment. I was too scared to jump over her because I knew she would jump 4 feet in the air and cling onto my pajamas, catching a free ride into my bed with me.

I screamed for my mom and she came running over with a broom and a bucket. Mom and I were both at the end of the broomstick trying to gently nudge Tula into the bucket without causing her to sprint towards us. She wouldn't budge. I'm sure that if we had put some real force into it we could have moved her but we didn't want to take the risk of her darting towards us or walking up the handle to where our hands were. This would have resulted in one or both of us fainting, and then Tula would have had a free for all with our limp bodies. After several failed attempts of trying to get her into the bucket, we stopped to rethink our strategy.

We wanted nothing more to do with Tula. We especially didn't want to anger her to the point where she would feel cornered. Our idea was to call my sister's boyfriend at the time, who was a local Honduran guy that knew what was what. He came over half an hour later, walked into the house, up the stairs to my room, picked up Tula by a leg, walked back downstairs, out the door and across the lawn. He put fat Tula in the grass and she just slowly walked off into the night. Great, I thought. She would just do a lap around the garden and then come back to guard my bedroom door again.

Tula returned to me, but only in my dreams. In the end she always pounces on my face. My experience living in Honduras was filled with Tula-like stories. There was the time when I woke up in the middle of the night for a glass of water and upon my return to bed I found a rather large centipede in the fold of my sheet. There was also the time (and this will sound like some kind of urban legend) when I got out of the shower and dried my face with a crunchy towel. It turns out there was a scorpion clinging onto my fluffy fresh towel, and I had just exfoliated my face with its body.

A tarantula saw into my soul that day so many years ago. The result of this is that my biggest fear and archenemy remains the spider. Scorpion, centipede, bat, iguana, crab, barracuda. None of these measure up to Tula.

This is why they scare me.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow.

Once again, I've just cut all of my hair off. This is a pattern with me. I get to a point in my turbulent life when I need a change and the first thing I turn to is my hair. I'm a wanderlust changing paths from day to day and my hairstyle follows my mood, wherever it may go.

I had a mushroom cut until the age of about 6 years old. I can still remember the day when a kindergarten classmate asked me if I was a boy or a girl. As you can imagine this was quite a traumatizing experience for me so I freaked out on my haircut and wanted nothing more to do with mushroom shaped hairdo's. My mom took me to the hairdresser as a result of this boy/girl comment, and it was just a few days before I was going to see Phantom of the Opera with my class. The mushroom cut turned into a hideous pixie cut that made me look even more like an androgynous little being. I was so upset that I convinced myself that the Phantom from the play would be looking into the crowd while onstage, spot me due to the hair, and burst out laughing while pointing directly at me. I cried myself to sleep that night. I've blocked the rest of my childhood haircut experiences out of my memory.

The teenage years were filled with angst and rebellion. I went through short hair, long hair, green hair, red hair, yellow hair, purple hair and attempted dreads. When I was 19 I got extensions. My hair was about 2.5 feet long, and it was all braided with added-in fake hair. It weighed about 30lbs, but it was cool. I used to wear it up in a massive bun and strut down the street like I was some kind of awesome exotic person from another country. I really just looked like some white Canadian girl wanting to have an excess amount of hair. I found a picture of myself the other day with this mass of braids on my head and it truly looked ridiculous. It took about 10 hours to get the braids done, cost me over $200, and it lasted for about 2 months before I actually started to have neck pain from the weight of it all. I took them out and I was free once again.

In my second year of university I started to date a guy who broke up with me after two months. My reaction was to break up with my hair. I went into my room after the boyfriend talk, looked in the mirror, took the scissors out and chopped off my ponytail. Two hours later I was in the salon being tisk tisked by my hairdresser. She fixed it and made it look awesome. The next day I had a class with the ex boyfriend and he got to take a good long hard look at the new me. Ha!

In 2008 I went to Iceland on a little trip and I immediately fell in love with the platinum hair blue eyed look that all the ladies were sporting. They are a stunningly beautiful people and if I couldn't have the blue eyes I was going to get that hair. I got back to Toronto 3 weeks later, went to the hairdresser, got my hair coloured platinum blonde and cut it just below my chin. I did this without warning anyone, including my boyfriend at the time. There it was! That beautiful platinum colour! I loved it...for about 3 months. Then my roots started to grow and my hair started to break and I started to want to shave my head. I killed my hair with chemicals, it was dead. I sucked the life right out of it and the maintenance was overwhelming. I dyed it back to brown and until two days ago I hadn't cut it in a year. Completely unacceptable.

Two days ago I was ashamed to take my hair out of the elastic it had been hiding in for a year. Two days ago I was growing it and it was well passed my shoulders. Two days ago my hairdresser pulled the elastic out and gasped at how damaged my hair was. She gave me a sharp bob with a little fringe, and I love it. It gave me back the pep in my step and I've actually booked my next hair appointment already. The next time I go I'm cutting it boy short and dying it blonde again.

Sometimes I think the life of my hair is almost more exciting than my actual life. Then I remember that it's a bizarre reflection of the life that I lead. Right now my hair is looking pretty darn good.

It's fun being a girl with guts.

Growing Young.

For some reason, I've started going backwards in my life. There are things that I missed out on when I was younger, and I don't mean fun things like learning how to ride a bike or getting your first Nintendo. I mean things that you should do when growing up so that you don't have to face them when you're older.

Let me start with getting my licence. If you've read my older post called A Long Time Coming, you know that I'm working tirelessly to be able to drive a car one day. I have yet to get the road test done. It would have been much better for me to have started driving lessons at the age of 16, but I was dropped off in boarding school for my teenage life so the driving thing never came up.

The other really important thing I neglected to do was math. I've always struggled with that subject, and I passed grade 9 math (the second time around) by the skin of my teeth. Actually, I'm positive I failed it the second time but my math teacher Mr. MacDonald took pity on me and gave me a 64%. Since grade 9 math was a complete disaster I was only permitted to go into low grade 10 and 11 math. I took the art stream and I much preferred finger painting anyway. When would I ever need math?

Well, now that I'm in my late 20's and I do that 'pondering life' thing a lot, I've decided that being a vet would be splendid. What am I passionate about? Animals. I love them, I understand them and I want to know more about them. Apparently you need to be a superstar in the science and math world to even attempt vet school applications. I enrolled for grade 9 math with the Toronto District School Board at the beginning of October. Twice a week from 6 until 10pm, for 4 months.

A lot of free time would be taken up with this endeavour and my dog would probably resent me for the rest of my life but it had to be done. I had to face my math demons and conquer the fear of possibly being called upon in class and not knowing the answer. I was so nervous but excited to know that I would finally pass math with flying colours and not have to be ashamed that I don't really know my times tables anymore. Everyone would be in the same boat, right? I was sure that the other students would be people like myself looking to further their education. Turns out I was wrong about that and the whole experience was a massive disaster.

1) My teacher's name was Mr. I4rf??savx12387#$5, and he was from Sri Lanka. I couldn't understand him...could't even make out his name. I was more focused on trying to make out the words and numbers he was saying and I completely missed ALL of the math concepts.

2) When the principal came in to introduce herself and explain the school policy and rules, she stopped after the 'no hats' rule and looked at one of the young students. He was wearing a hat, and he was peeved. What followed was an 11 minute argument with him not wanting to take off his hat and her threatening to expell him. Really? Did we just waste 11 minutes on this? Where the hell am I?

3) My calculator stopped working mid-class.

4) At least 80% of the class was in the 17 year old range. I was mistaken when I believed most people would be in my age bracket. All of them were there because they had messed around in math the previous semester and now they were messing around in adult ed. Great. Chatter in the back of the class, giggles to my left, some kid sleeping to my right, and there I was squinting my eyes and straining my ears so much trying to discern what the heck the teacher was going on about. I got a beast of a headache as a result of over-squinting/straining.

5) I lost all motivation and hope for success. I never went back to night school and now I'm waiting for my math book in the mail after registering for grade 9 math online. It cost me an arm and a leg, but I would rather suffer from a financial amputation than have to go back to that classroom. If my child ever wants to be an artist, he/she will also be a math genius. Never will I make anyone go to math class as an adult because it's plain wretched.

The last thing I missed out on as a teen was getting my teeth fixed. I had a few retainers here and there, but I didn't wear them often enough so my parents just figured I didn't want to put the effort in to having perfect teeth. The last orthodontics step was skipped, and I never got braces. My teeth aren't horrifying, but they aren't straight either. January is around the corner, and that's when the braces are coming. I want straight teeth so now I have to pay for it and have the train tracks put on my face for 2 years. My roommate is getting braces at the same time as I am. We shall live in metal harmony, complaining together, cleaning our teeth together and cursing our youth together.

I'm doing everything backwards. When I complete these tasks I shall give myself a big pat on the back and throw a glorious coming of age party. I'll let you know how the next few years go.

One Helmet, Two Swimsuits and a Lot of Courage.

One of my favourite people in the world is my roommate. She's a lovely, wiry, blond little gal with a joie de vivre that's unmatched. She's a yes person, up for anything, anytime.

We decided that we wanted to get active in our new community of Greektown and find a sport or recreational activity that we could both enjoy for the remainder of the summer. We thought that swimming in the evenings would be a super idea. My roommate is still learning how to swim and I love the water, so we agreed that this was our best bet. Just for the record, my roommate grew up in Calgary which explains the fact that she's only now getting comfortable in the water. She has come a long way and I'm very proud of her.

We got all geared up for our first swim, and then decided that it was a huge inconvenience to walk to the pool which is about 17 minutes walking from our apartment. We figured that bikes would be the best mode of transportation. It's not always good to have two people living together that sometimes think they're using their better judgement when nobody's there to tell them otherwise. We only have one bike. I will try and paint a picture for you.

My roomie is a petite person and I'm an average Joe, so we decided that she would be better suited to ride on the handle bars. I figured I'd give her the helmet because she's quite uncoordinated, she'll tell you that herself. Safety first! So she climbed onto the handle bars while I held the bike in place, comfortably (but for the bell slicing through her thigh) facing forward. I had the giant backpack on containing our towels, goggles and other swimming paraphernalia, so the backpack and my roomie were balancing each other out. With as much strength as I could muster up, I pushed off the ground with one foot and got my body onto the bike seat.

Although the roommate is small, it's extremely difficult to stabilize a bike that is both front and back heavy. It takes 100% longer to make a turn when a bike is packing as much weight as ours was. I think we probably looked like a shirpa load going down the street. We live in a great neighbourhood filled with lots of families and some children here and there, so the streets have multiple speed bumps. To my surprise, the first one we went over made my roomie yelp "Bebop!" I guess it was because the bell jabbed her thigh and swearing just isn't that cool anymore, so "Bebop" it was.

"Bebop!" turned into our horn since the bell on my bike was out of commission. When rolling down the street while doubling on a bike, you want people to get out of your way quickly because breaking just doesn't work. Momentum is up, steering control is down. "Bebop! Coming through!"...and the crowds would part. It was phenomenal. I'm pretty sure we looked like a pair of 'special' people trying to get to their swimming lessons. We didn't care, we were on fire! "Bebop"!

It took us about 7 minutes to get to the pool every night for a whole two weeks. We enjoyed the bike ride there, getting into our swimsuits, putting on our pink goggles and jumping into the cool summer water. We swam laps for 30 minutes a night, gasping for air and stopping here and there to listen to the awesome tunes the lifeguards were always playing. It made us feel good, we were part of the community and we felt super courageous for getting to the pool on our bike.

Then the air got colder as fall approached and swimming days were coming to an end. We were losing our motivation. Lucky for us the bike had two flat tires on our last attempt to head out. Poor thing, it was so abused. You've served us well bike, until next year. Now we're trying to get into running and I'm pretty sure the helmet will come in handy along with the use of "Bebop!" when jogging up behind someone. Love that roomie o' mine. We have fun.

Things Said and Done, Betes Style.

Being a person that has diabetes, I've discovered many things about myself that put me in a category of my own. These are a few things that I've experienced over the years that a non-diabetic would probably never see (or do) during their lifetime:

1) Watch your finger spray a line of blood across your best shirt (this is after taking a blood sugar of course, my fingers don't just spontaneously combust).

2) Chug a HUGE glass of water mixed with about a cup of sugar.

3) Out of nervousness, tell your skydiving teacher (just before jumping out of the plane) that you're diabetic and that your sugar may drop severely while in the air and expect him to be okay with it.

4) Eat everything in the fridge in the middle of the night due to a low blood sugar, while staying over at your friends parents' place.

5) Pee in your bed (and I mean really pee your bed, like a litre of pee) in the middle of the night due to a high blood sugar. I was 21 years old when this happened and my boyfriend at the time was sleeping soundly next to me. Let me tell you, it was mortifying.

6) Tell your dentist you have diabetes and that's probably the reason why you have a cavity (didn't get away with that one).

7) Use your diabetes to get out of an oral presentation in boarding school and then have to sleep in the infirmary for two days so the school nurse could keep an eye on you.

8) Argue with your university professor about his use of Type 1 and Type 2 diabetes terms in front of everyone during a lecture. He was actually embarassed, and I felt bad...after the fact.

9) Become acutely aware of the amount of carbs in a banana, a pancake, a bowl of pasta, a slice of pineapple, a Starbucks hot chocolate, a cube of fudge (changes depending on size of said cube), anything really. I'm a whiz at carb counting yet I failed grade 9 math. It's still a mystery to me.

10) And last but not least, karate kick a co-workers chair while yelling "NO FOOD!?!?" after having run across the office to a department that usually has some snacks on their filing cabinet. It was very inappropriate and I got a few grumbles after doing that. Sometimes I get a bit aggressive and mouthy when my sugar is low.

All this to say that my diabetes has added a dash of colour to my life. 18 years of having diabetes can get tiresome at times but I keep on trekking and karate chopping, and I'm just fine. There are many more things that I've said or done while under the influence of too much insulin or too much sugar, but the ones listed are some of my favourites.

And for all of you non-diabetics out there: the next time you ask me if I'm going to go into a 'diabetic coma' right before I bite into a lovely piece of 'Death By Chocolate' cake, please watch yourselves. My sugar may be low right in that very moment and I won't be able to refrain from calling you a dolt and then eating my piece of cake, and yours too.

My insulin pump has been wrongly identified as a beeper among other things, on more than one occasion.