Monthly Archives: November 2011

Movember Madness

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Yesterday as I was driving the kids to school, Maneater came on the radio.  You know it’s going to be a great day when Hall and Oates is on the radio! 

Oh oh here she comes.  Watch out, boys, she’ll chew you up!  Oh oh here she comes.  She’s a MANEATER.
Now THAT’s what I call a moustache.  Is it me, or is anyone else relieved that this is the last day of Movember?  Don’t get me wrong: I have a very personal connection to prostate cancer and so I am very happy at the funds and awareness that are raised every Movember, but nevertheless, I will not be unhappy to see clean shaven faces tomorrow.  All those moustaches are just so…startling.  It took me well into the month to get used to seeing men – who I see on a near-daily basis – sporting moustaches of various lengths and thicknesses.  The other day there was a news story on our hurricane-but-not-really-a-hurricane windstorm, and every single man interviewed was sporting a moustache.  I completely lost track of the story, I was so distracted by the moustaches.  I kept wondering if the interviewees were participating in Movember or if they had moustaches all the time.  I kept wondering if the moustaches were charitable, ironic, or earnest in nature.  I couldn’t concentrate at all.
What is it about moustaches?  They have the ability – with the exception of Magnum, P.I. – to make any man look extraordinarily creepy.  They make normal men’s faces into that which would bring to mind the warning “Do not approach”.  They bring to mind “70’s porn star” – although when I noted that recently, a Movember participant asked why and how I would be aware of that comparison, to which I respond get off your high horse.  There’s no porn like 70’s porn, and we all know it.  Also, regardless of porn, didn’t everyone in the 70’s have a moustache?  They were as common as gold medallions nestled in chest hair. 
Look!  Moustache, gold medallion, AND chest hair!  It’s the trifecta!
It’s funny how styles change.  These days, I associate moustaches with seedy criminals and/or a few select members of my extended family.  I’m not anti-facial hair.  I can pretty much get behind most facial hair styles, the exception being a soul patch, but moustaches?  They are the mom jeans of facial hair.

Okay, I’ll grant an exception for this guy.  I’m posting this picture for my mom, who thinks he is the bee’s knees.  What a fabulous daughter I am.  Even if I am now clinically insane from We Need A Little Christmas.

****Thanks to all the guys who participated in Movember, and thanks to all the people who donated to someone brave enough to make themselves look like a person who would make small children cry.  Prostate cancer research is important, and you’ve helped.  Thank you.****

Maybe we actually ARE in Kansas, Toto.

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Yesterday I was driving my kids to their yoga class when I came into a standstill traffic jam.  As the 140 km/hour wind gusted around our minivan, I wondered if, perhaps, the insane weather had anything to do with it.  The question was answered as I finally manoevered past the firetruck filled with men cleaning up the streetlight that had blown over onto the very busy street.  Are we in Kansas, Toto? 

I nervously drove home past downed trees and signs only to hear news updates that a) the entire downtown core had been shut down since windows had blown out of two high rise office buildings, and b) police were urging everyone to stay indoors.  OKAY. 

In other words, it was the perfect day to spend the afternoon putting up the Christmas tree.

The day before we had put up the various decorations – my husband had taken advantage of a mild day a few weeks ago to put up the outdoor lights – but the children could not wait another DAY before putting up the tree.  And here’s the thing about Christmas tree decorating with young children: while it is a wholesome, lovely, family activity, there are moments within the wholesome, lovely, family activity where I fear my head might explode.  Or something.  Because I answered “Not yet, lovey” approximately one thousand times in response to the question “Can we start decorating yet?” while I held a giant string of lights for my husband to very exactly wind around the tree.  Once the lights were just so, I let the kids loose on the decorations, to the detriment of a couple of them; nothing, however, that glue wouldn’t fix.  Things started to spin out of control as little wire hooks got lost, (fortunately) shatterproof balls bounced on the hardwood, and the dog flopped sadly in front of the tree, his spirit apparently broken by the upheaval and change in his life.  There’s a tree.  In the corner.  And the table moved.

The result, of course, is that we have a very Christmassy house, and two boys who will not stop talking about the tree.  Which is cute, of course, but a little tiring.  “Mom Mom Mom Mom Mom Mom what’s your favourite decoration Mom Mom Mom Mom Mom?  Let me show you what mine is.  Mom?  Mom?”

Mark was super excited about decorating.  I was slightly worried he would spin off the planet.  I was also worried if he stepped outside he would spin and blow off the planet.  See that little snowman and tree on the coffee table behind him?  My mother gave that to the boys last year.  It plays “We Need A Little Christmas”.  Is it possible my mother hates me?
Jake put every single one of his favourite decorations on three adjacent branches, including the one he made in kindergarten featuring him in a Santa hat.  Sadly, some of the decorations keep slipping off the overweighted branches, but I don’t have the heart to move them.  He wanted them all to be together, so they wouldn’t be lonely.
Every year I buy an ornament that represents something we did this year.  Since we went to Disneyland, I bought a Buzz Lightyear-and-Woody-in-a-stocking ornament.  “Everyone loves Woody!” Mark said happily.  Hehehe.  Woody.  Remember Mark’s obsession with beavers, and his stuffed animal named Beavery?  Jake has, apparently, caught beaver fever, as he received a large – very large – stuffed beaver for his birthday.  He named it Woody.  I love when the boys play so nicely and calmly together with their stuffies, especially when they talk about how much Woody loves Beavery.  I bet he does.  I just bet he does.
Don’t they look like they just calmly spent the afternoon sitting serenely by the Christmas tree, playing quiet card games?  As opposed to spastically running around the house, shrieking about Christmas?

These are a few of my favourite things

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Every year, my very lovely friend Beck writes a satirical review of all the items on Oprah’s Favourite Things For The Holidays.  It’s one of MY favourite things, reading her review.  This year, she did not stop there, no, not Beck.  She instead created her very own dream team of bloggers to write about their own favourite things – a Christmas Gift List.  Guess who is on that team?  ME.  So go on over to Beck’s blog and check out what I want for Christmas (and no, I did not say “world peace” or “an end to hunger”.  Those are implied.)

A little note about the beautiful Beck: she is one of the reasons I started this blog.  Way, way back in the day, I was inspired by her very funny, very beautiful, very thought-provoking writing.  I started my blog, very shyly and quietly, and she was the very first person ever to comment on it.  Her support spurred me on, and here we are today.  409 posts and counting.  Beck and I are now friends, even if we are long-distance ones, and one of these days we are going to get drunk on wine together, wear black sweaters, and blog all about it.  xoxo Beck.

Enough mushiness!  Go over to Beck’s and read the gift posts – there are many talented writers over there and I am honoured to be one of them.

PSA: Don’t be a dick.

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Do you remember back in the day when you were trying to get pregnant, and it wasn’t happening very quickly, and everyone you knew was getting pregnant, and you were sad and frustrated and felt like stabbing every single person who asked “So when are you going to have a baby?” or who carefully examined what you were drinking to see if it contained alcohol or who had some unsolicited advice about getting pregnant or who said things like “You’re not pregnant yet?  Can’t wait forever!  Tick tock tick tock!”?  Remember that?  I know it wasn’t just me. 
I was reminded of this the other day and here is my public service announcement of the day: It’s really fucking insensitive to ask a woman of childbearing age about their fertility.  So don’t ask.  Related PSA: Don’t be a dick.  Actually, that should be a lifelong public service announcement. 
Segueing from PSA’s to PDA’s, yesterday I went to pick the boys up from lunch and a friend quickly walked over to me in the playground, asking if I noticed the teenagers on the hill behind the school.  There, lying on top of each other on the frozen ground, were two teenagers passionately making out and, um, grinding.  Soon the two of us were joined by three other mothers picking up their kids; the five of us staring at the oblivious couple.  Aw!  Young love.  It reminded me of that day last summer when a young couple started making out passionately in front of my house, groping each other eagerly.  The guy made it to second base.  Sometimes it just can’t wait, I guess.  
Following the advice of several people, I decided to check out Staples in my seemingly endless quest for Christmas printer paper.  I should note that this is NOT a sponsored post, but maybe it should be because even though prior to Monday I had never set foot in Staples and now I am a little bit in love with it.  This is what I saw as I entered the parking lot.
Do you think it is NOW available due to my whining?  Probably NOT but I will take the credit anyway.  I walked into Staples and – as usually happens when I’m in a new and large store – I felt completely overwhelmed.  I stood for nearly five minutes looking around, wandering into one of the aisles, having no idea where to look or what to do.  It’s almost like I’m practicing to be a senior citizen.  What’s that?  Where is the paper?  The pretty paper?  No, not THAT paper.  The only thing worse would be going into Future Shop or something like that.  Five minutes in Future Shop makes me want to huddle in a corner in the fetal position, crying and rocking back and forth.  Finally, a super friendly guy with the biggest smile ever asked if I needed assistance.  How could he tell?  He directed me to a display that was almost right in front of me. 
Squee!  Not only was there a large selection, but there were also pretty little seals in the shapes of snowflakes and seasonal address labels!  I finished my shopping on the weekend, but I could not resist what was in front of me: 
Angry Bird stuffies!  Thanks to my husband and his new iPad, the boys (and my husband himself) are now into Angry Birds.  The three of them played it together for much of the weekend while I re-read Sense and Sensibility.  It is exactly like what I thought life would be like when I had two boys.  The three of them play a video game, I do something girly.  Maybe on the upcoming weekend they will play it and I can give myself a pedicure or something.  Anyway, I thought these would make cute stocking stuffers.  Then I saw the cutest little snowman Pez dispensers with a really excessive amount of Pez refills:
They needed a home too.  Clearly the boys’ stockings are going to be VERY WELL STUFFED.  Then – then, OMG – I saw something that I am hoarding just for me:
Peppermint Lindor!  These are really, really hard to find, in my part of the world anyway.  They are EVEN BETTER than After Eights.  They are even better than frozen York patties.  They are even better than Swistle’s Died-And-Gone-To-Heaven-Mint-Chocolate-Brownies.  They are the G-spot-orgasm-plus-he-gave-me-a foot-massage-and-unloaded-the-dishwasher of mint chocolate.  I bought the above three boxes but I would have bought the whole damn display if I knew where the carts were kept.  However, as it was I had items slipping out of my arms every time I took a step, so I limited it to three.  I don’t care what Kate Moss says, peppermint Lindor taste WAY better than skinny feels.

Yes, John Cusack too.

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Okay, okay.  I wrote my last post and then had an avalanche of people ask me WHY John Cusack wasn’t included.  Even my husband – my husband! – read the post and asked why John Cusack wasn’t on the list.  Here’s the truth: I forgot about poor John Cusack.  Poor Lloyd Dobler.  I blame the book fair. 

There.  Now I feel better.
As of Saturday, I am officially finished my Christmas shopping – including stocking stuffers and the photo calendars we order for the grandparents and various others who I think need to look at a photo of my children every single day.  Look at them!  They are adorable!   I normally try to get my shopping done by mid-November for the simple reason that I loathe the mall, especially at Christmas.  All those people shopping for Christmas cheer that have a decided lack of it, who would drive over their own grandmother for a parking space.  I like to keep my festive happiness intact, and so I finish my shopping early.  This does not mean that I won’t be visiting Staples today, in an attempt to find the elusive Christmas-themed printer paper.  Why is it so difficult to find?  Nan not-so-gently suggested that perhaps I am having a difficult time finding it because it is no longer 1996.  Oh Nan!  But how am I to send out my annual super boring Christmas letter if I have no Christmas themed paper?  My relatives and in-laws depend on my super boring updates.  Must I write them on plain paper?  Must I draw my own poinsettias?  This is wrong on many levels.  BRING BACK THE CHRISTMAS PRINTER PAPER.
Speaking of shopping, this morning I was in the grocery store and it is a miracle I made it back alive.  I knew I was in trouble when I was choosing a cart and a busload of old women swanned in.  I live in a senior-heavy neighbourhood, and once in a while there will be a little shuttle bus bringing people – women, mostly – from the seniors complex to do their grocery shopping.  This is not a good day to be in the grocery store.  The aisles were crowded with very slow moving old ladies carefully looking at the different types of baked beans (more than usual), complaining about the lack of mandarin oranges, and crowding the deli counter looking for a particular type of ham.  Sadly, there was only one checkout open, and the lineup of old ladies behind me was quite long.  The old lady directly behind me persisted in pushing her cart into the back of my legs, causing me to develop a severe case of grocery store rage.  Push.  Push.  Push.  I could hear her complain, as I unloaded my perfectly-reasonable amount of groceries, about the fact that the bus driver would be back at ten o’clock, and she would never make it out of the lineup on time, due to my excessive number of items.  I glanced at my watch.  It was 9:35.
I remember my grandma being like that as well.  Once when we were visiting, my brother and I were supposed to take her to church, which was directly across the street from her seniors complex.  And by directly across the street, I mean that it was a two minute walk away, at the very maximum.  My brother and I showed up at her building thirty minutes before church was to start, only to find her sitting in the lobby, steaming.  “We’re going to be LATE,” she reprimanded us. 
I briefly considered letting the old lady go ahead of me, as I often do.  However, a) she was with a gaggle of other old ladies, and I didn’t really want to let five of them go ahead of me, and b) I was seriously irritated with the fact that she was still repeatedly, but possibly unwittingly, pushing her cart into the back of my legs.  However, karma hit me right in the face when the very slow witted but super chatty carryout guy started to bag my groceries.  I took a deep breath and braced myself for the usual onslaught of chat, and it exactly covered the topics I expected: my children and their school, the cold weather on the weekend, and Stampede Wrestling.  My status with the slow witted carryout guy is quite high since I once told him that I know a former Stampede Wrestler.  It’s a rarefied existence I lead.

Nicole’s 10 Sexiest Men Alive List, or the post where I shamelessly objectify males

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The book fair is finished now, much to my relief.  By the end of it I pretty much hated children, a sentiment not unlike the one I used to get when I waitressed in university and would, after working a certain number of shifts in a row, hate the entire human race.  By the end of that certain number of shifts, I burned with internal fury.  You don’t care for those choices of salad dressing?  FUCK YOU.  You think that an appropriate way to get my attention is to pat me on the butt?  I SHALL NOW STAB YOU WITH YOUR STEAK KNIFE.
Not that I wanted to stab any children with a pencil in the shape of a paintbrush, mind you, but I was fairly tired of explaining that yes, $7 is indeed greater than $5, and no, $0.50 is not the same as $5.  We ended up raising significant funds for the library, and next to that, the fact that my sanity and nerves were shreds of their normal selves is nothing.  Right? 
Apparently People magazine came up with their “Sexiest Men Alive” list and though I haven’t read it or even know who is on the list, I decided – because all the cool kids are doing it – to make my own list!  At first I was going to top the list with my husband, because he really is one sexy guy.  Hoo boy, do I have a sexy husband.  But then I thought that would be boring and lame because who really wants to read a lusty letter to my shmoopie?  Also, saying that MY HUSBAND is the sexiest man would make me like one of those people who say that all they want for Christmas is world peace and an end to hunger.  Those people are assholes: a) we ALL want world peace and an end to hunger, and b) saying that makes the listener feel like a selfish idiot for saying that they are wishing for a Pandora bracelet.
A note about my own personal taste: I heard recently (from a source I cannot remember, if you know, can you help me out?) that if there were Hooters-style restaurants for women, they would contain men walking around in business suits flashing their perfect credit scores.  I heard that and thought YES.  You are speaking to me.  Another note: I have a shameless tendency to objectify actors.  I tend to be attracted to the character they are playing, well aware that they may be complete asses in real life.  I do not care about real life.  I care about how sexy they are playing a particular character.  I don’t want to get to know them, I just want to fantasize. 
Without further adieu, here is my list of Nicole’s 10 Sexiest Men Alive:
10. Jonathan Crombie
Who is that, you may ask?  He was my first crush; he played Gilbert on the CBC production of Anne of Green Gables.  I was ravenous for the Anne books, and when the CBC aired the television special, I very carefully taped it and watched the VHS recording many times after that.  I wish I still had that VHS – not that I have a machine that would allow me to view it – but it must have some awesome mid-eighties Canadian Tire commercials.  You can give like Santa, and save like Scrooge.  I actually only included him in solidary with Hannah who had Almanzo Wilder on her list, but it turns out he actually evolved into a very attractive man:
  

Hey Gilbert, I have (artificially) red hair.  Want to call me Carrots?

9. Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy

Mr. Darcy is – by far – the sexiest man in literature.  Possibly this is due to his massive wealth and aloofness, who knows.  All I know is I swoon when he can bear it no longer, he must tell Elizabeth how much he loves and admires her, and Colin Firth brings it to life, baby. 

8. Gabriel Byrne

When I went to see Little Women – in the theatre! – I was absolutely enamoured with Professor Bhaer.  He is bringing sexy back in an impoverished German professor kind of way.  Normally I don’t find poverty attractive, but when he sneaks Jo into the opera and then translates….rawr. 

7. Christian Bale

Again with the Little Women reference, Christian Bale is very saucy as Laurie.  And, although I’ve always wanted to be a Jo, the reality is I am probably a less-artistic Amy.  Also, Christian Bale is Batman.  BATMAN!  The superhero who is actually a highly trained martial artist, and a billionaire.  Sign me up.

6. Eric Dane

Doctor, doctor, give me the news.  Whenever I watch this with my husband, I say “Ooooh, Dr. Sloan.”, and my husband, who is a very confident man, says “Damn, he’s a good looking guy.”  Yes, he is.  Yes, he really is.  He is also much sexier with grey hair and a beard. 

5. Ralph Fiennes in The English Patient

Ralph Fiennes is so sexy he is explosive as Count de Almasy.  Remember when he gets all drunk and dances all intensely with Mrs. Clifton, or when they have sex in the closet?  It just doesn’t get hotter than that.  He would be horrible to have a relationship with, as I’ve discussed before, but who cares about that?  We don’t have the Sexiest Men Alive list to think about them taking out the garbage, now, do we? 

Look at him!  He has been walking.  For three days.

4. Val Kilmer as Ice

“That’s how he flies.  Cold as ice, no mistakes.”

He’s also pretty hot all oiled up while playing volleyball.

3. Hugh Jackman

I think Hugh Jackman is sexy in every role I have ever seen him in.  I wouldn’t mind seeing his Reel Steel, if you know what I mean.  But I think he is the best as Wolverine.  Or really, the guy who turns into Wolverine.  He’s a tough Northern Canadian guy who has claws coming out of his knuckles!  How sexy is that?

The lady will have two tickets to the gun show.

2. Ray Lewis

Let’s take a break from actors for a moment to focus on professional athletes.  RAY LEWIS.  His intensity and physical stature are breathtaking.  Can you imagine if this passion for football took place in other areas?  HOO BOY.

Now, anyone who has been reading my blog for any length of time should be able to guess my number one sexiest man alive (other than my husband).  Drum roll….
1. Jim Cuddy
That voice!  That talent!  “Oh, she loved the lines around his mouth.” 
She also loved the fact that he very patiently posed with the fan who did a frantic run-walk, new acquaintance in tow, to ask for a photo.  I’m not a stalker!  I swear!  But I lurrrrrve you.

LIVE IN THE NOW, Oil of Oregano, Lots of Links

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I have a little something something up at the Yummy Mummy Club – and I would be so happy if you popped over there to read it.  If you were so inclined to leave a comment, I would be VERY happy.  xo

I wrote all about living in the moment and enjoying the present, which I think is a very important thing to do.  I also think of – get ready for a dated reference here, people – Wayne’s World.  Remember the scene when Wayne visits a guitar store and looks longingly and lustily at a very expensive guitar (“Excalibur”) and Garth freaks out: “Stop torturing yourself, man.  You’ll never afford it.  LIVE IN THE NOW!”

I also have a lovely recipe for gingersnaps up at my cooking blog. These are my husband’s favourites, and I baked a batch last week, despite the fact that I normally only bake these around Christmastime.  Yesterday, he went out to run errands and came home with an iPhone!  For me!  I highly recommend you bake these cookies.  You never know what could happen.  They are magic!

How was your weekend?  I had an amazingly productive one: hair was cut and coloured, Christmas shopping was nearly completed, much writing was done, photos were chosen for the annual calendar given to the grandparents, dinner with my girlfriends was consumed, Christmas lights were hung, a jack and impact gun were purchased and the snow tires put on the minivan.  Full disclosure: the Christmas lights and tire change were NOT done by me, obviously, but they are DONE.  Then, Sunday morning I woke up with a sore throat, headache, and general fatigue and lethargy that did not bode well for the busy week I have coming up – a week of running the school book fair. 

I jumped into action.  I took oil of oregano several times, which was extremely unpleasant and probably ranks in the top five worst tastes ever.  I drank Vitamin C drinks, I ate two giant slices of chocolate zucchini bread (file under “Feed a Cold”), I swallowed a few spoonfuls of honey, I took Tylenol Cold Nighttime Relief and went to bed at 8:45.  I woke up eleven hours later feeling, if not 100%, much, much better.  I feel like patenting this combination for my very own “nip it in the bud” prescription.  I have a feeling that the eleven hours of sleep probably counted for more than the other home remedy/ over the counter/ homeopathic antidotes, but I hope that the oil of oregano did something.  I would hate to think I took that horrible stuff to no purpose. 

And now I am off to set up the book fair.  I wonder if there will be much Justin Bieber paraphernalia, or will his possible thirty-seconds-of-action-leading-to-a-lifetime-of-paternity-allegedly indicate the demise of those “Future Mrs. Bieber” stickers?