Category Archives: I love my friends

Feeling the love

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It seems we all have very strong opinions on skinny jeans!  I do feel that we should have learned lessons from the eighties.  I will say this, my very worst hair decision ever – and this is even worse than my 1985 mullet that my mom had home permed – was to cut my hair like Madonna’s in her Papa Don’t Preach video.  And not when she’s dancing in her sassy little black outfit, I mean when she’s wearing her “Italians Do It Better” t-shirt.  Check out the video and you will understand why I will never again cut my hair short.  That very bad haircut took forever to grow out. 

Today I feel extremely self-satisfied.  Between the hours of 7:00 and 11:15 this morning I accomplished the following: showered, dressed, makeup and hair, baked two batches of blueberry muffins, made breakfast for the kids, cleaned the kitchen, cleaned the bathroom, walked the kids to school, walked home, walked the dog, baked brownies, and finished a task I have been working on for months – editing, uploading, and ordering photos.  I have not done this task in over a year.  I had Jake’s seventh AND sixth birthday photos to develop.  Good grief.  Now I only have to go pick up the developed prints and put them all into photo albums!  Perhaps if I didn’t put this task off for months and months I wouldn’t find myself going blind, editing and cropping 500 photos. To keep myself from going insane, I put youtube videos on to listen to while I cropped and cropped and cropped.  I somehow stumbled on this video and was reminded again why I watched The Fighter – I was sure hoping to see a lot more shirtless Mark Wahlberg than there was in that movie.  It’s such a good vibration!  Swweeeeeeet sensation!  I have probably watched this ten times already; there goes my productivity.  HE’S LIFTING WEIGHTS AND PUNCHING BAGS.  ONE OF THOSE WEIGHTS IS MADE OUT OF CINDERBLOCKS.  HE HAS NO SHIRT ON.  GRACIOUS.

I had to stop writing and watch that video again.  At this rate I will never finish this post.

Here’s a picture for my lovely blog friend Ciara, who would listen to him read the phone book (does anyone still use phone books?) in his Boston accent:



I KNOW, RIGHT?  If you ain’t in it to win it, then get the hell out.


Goodness, I am so distracted now, I almost forgot what this post is all about!  I’m supposed to be thanking Kerrie over at Family, Food, and Travel for the Liebster Award, and Rhiannon over at Happy Little Feet for the Versatile Blogger Award!  Thanks girls!  As part of accepting the award, I am supposed to give you seven or eleven facts about myself – but I’ll take the average and give you nine.  It’s a little daunting – don’t you all know everything about me by now?  I guess you didn’t know that I once had one of the very least flattering hairstyles ever and that I also have a thing for Mark Wahlberg.  So there are two facts, let me think of seven more:

1. Giving up cheese has made me so very sad.  But it also has pretty much made my premenstrual symptoms disappear.  I hardly ever want to mur-diddly-urder anyone during that special time of the month.  So, call it a break even?

2. I still kind of want to mur-diddly-urder people who misuse statistics or fail to understand that correlation and causation are not the same thing.

3. I am a huge nerd.  

4. The year my little brother was born I read A Little Princess over and over again, and wondered what it would be like to live a) in an attic in London, and b) in a gigantic palace-like place in India.  That summer I also read The Bobbsey Twins Visit The Farm many, many times and pretended that our backyard was a farm. 

5. I don’t ever want to live on a farm. 

6. I was an extremely anxious child, and I bit my nails until I was 24 years old.  Now I’m obsessed with having all my nails groomed to the same length.

7. Since giving up cheese, my standard lunch now consists of a tomato and pickle sandwich.  The humanity!

Thanks for the awards, Kerrie and Rhiannon!  Feeling the love!  It’s such a sweeeeeeet sensation!

It’s Coming From Inside The House!

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How was your weekend?  Normally my weekends are fairly uneventful, but this weekend was the exception to the rule.  A while back, the CBC was having a fundraiser for the Calgary Food Bank, and my girlfriends and I managed to purchase an evening with local celebrity and food goddess extraordinaire Julie van Rosendaal, from Dinner with Julie!  Squee!  It was so much fun.  There’s nothing like drinking wine and hanging with the girls, am I right?  The thing is, it never really happens much.  Friday nights normally see me in my pajamas, drinking wine on the couch – and during the golf season, often that means I’m drinking wine on the couch by myself, watching NYPD Blue, which is a teensy bit depressing once I see that written down.  So, it was so much fun – we all dressed up a little bit, and I think we probably startled Julie with our zeal (WE LOVE YOU, JULIEEEEEE!).  Although, my girlfriend who hosted mentioned to me this morning that she could see me visibly fade after nine o’clock, and I was the first person to mention that it was now time to go home.  Could she blame me?  By ten o’clock I had been up for over seventeen hours, and after a few glasses of wine…zzzzzz….

Saturday dawned grey and rainy; of course – it was Super Soccer Saturday!  There’s nothing quite like having a soccer tournament in the pouring rain.  Fortunately the rain tapered to a drizzle and eventually let up.  Unfortunately the field in places was just completely sodden.  The kids had fun, I had enough layers and rain wear on that I didn’t freeze, and my life as a soccer mom is now over, so happiness all around.

How can you resist such a face?  He is also my hero of the day, and here’s the story.  First, I need you to understand, dear reader, that a phobia is a phobia.  Some of us have fears that may or may not have grounding in reality.  They may seem unreasonable or silly to others, but they are very real to the phobic person.  I have a phobia of moths.
They are such freaky things, and they flutter so spastically.  I am TERRIFIED of them, and as far as I can tell they do nothing of particular merit in the insect world.  They are just gross and ugly and I hate them the end.  Anyway, since we have been having work done on the house, the doors are frequently left open, and on Saturday afternoon I was calmly cleaning up the kitchen from lunch and a MOTH FLUTTERED RIGHT IN MY FACE AND THEN FLUTTERED AROUND THE SINK.  I don’t know what you would do in that situation, but what I did was scream my husband’s name over and over at the top of my lungs.  His lack of response then spurred me to run down the stairs, where the kids were very calmly playing and were disturbingly not at all bothered by my hysterical screaming.  “Where’s your dad where’s your DAD?” I shrieked, not waiting for them to answer before I burst into the bathroom where he was showering, effectively putting him into cardiac arrest.  By the time he dried off (slowly) and made his way upstairs, the moth was nowhere to be found.
The only thing worse than having a moth in the house is not knowing the whereabouts of said moth.
“It could be anywhere!” I whispered to my husband, as he walked from room to room, looking.  The moth was nowhere to be found.  A guy was actually working on our bathroom at the time, a huge and quiet guy referred to universally as “D”.  My husband explained the situation to the somewhat bewildered fellow, who reassured me that he hadn’t seen a moth, but if he did, he would squish it immediately.  After a while, my husband gave up the search, although I continued to creep suspiciously from room to room.  “It must have made its way outside!” he said cheerfully, although I thought, darkly, that he was saying this to placate me. 
This morning the moth showed up.  It must have hidden under the food processor.  I moved it out of the way to plug in the blender this morning, when the moth made its appearance.  I was making a smoothie for Mark’s breakfast, and he was fairly alarmed when I started screaming.  I took a deep breath, told him I needed him to be really brave, and to get the moth.  He grabbed a tissue, ran to the window where the moth was fluttering, and squished it!  My brave, big boy! 
And here I was, fretting at the speed at which children grow up.  There’s nothing quite so satisfying as having a big kid who can squish moths for me.   

Fear Leads To Anger, Anger Leads To Suffering

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I had a fairly eventful weekend, social-wise.  On Friday I had dinner guests, and I made a roasted vegetable lasagne – look for the recipe over at the cooking blog in the next couple of days – and it was absolutely delicious.  I was raving to a friend over the pure delight that is roasted zucchini, and it is so delicious, and had she ever tried it, and her response was “Of course!  I’m Italian.”  Aha!  The lightbulb goes off.  I am just going to say this: the popularity of cookbooks based on Scottish and/or Norweigan cuisine is very low.  In fact, I’m not sure there ARE cookbooks based on those cuisines, with the possible exception of the Lutheran Ladies’ Family Favourites, which I have in my possession. 

Then, on Saturday, I attended a baby shower.  I haven’t been to one of those in YEARS.  It has also been years since I was the lone stay-at-home mom in a room.  Represent!  It made me realize that the overwhelming majority of my friends are also stay-at-home moms, and the overwhelming majority of them have at least one child older than mine.  But in this situation, I was the seasoned mom in the room, with my cares of feeding/diapering/sleeping/swaddling far, far behind me.  I felt wise, like Yoda.

Have I mentioned my children are very interested in Star Wars right now?  They are watching the movies in order from 1-6, and they have finished Attack of the Clones.  A few things occurred to me while they watched it: a) they have a way better idea of what is actually going on in those movies, while I’m like “Who’s that guy?  Is he bad?  Oh, he’s GOING to be bad?  Oh.  Who’s that guy?”, and b) they were actually not at all upset when Anakin’s mother was killed.  WHAT?  Mark, especially, surprised me since he was quite distraught when Anakin left his mother in The Phantom Menace, and also almost every movie upsets him if there is some kind of sadness or unkindness displayed, i.e., Ice Age, Shrek, Cars 2, Lion King.  But Anakin’s mother being brutally murdered?  He’s okay with that.  HEY NOW.

There has also been much talk about fear leading to anger which leads to suffering.  Good times over at the Boyhouse!  Not to be all check out all the wisdom in Star Wars, but honestly, that is kind of true.  Fear DOES lead to anger; often I notice the angriest people are the ones who are the most resistant to and fearful of change, or new people, or the world in general.  They’re all out to get me. Yoda is wise – just like me, dispensing all my parenting knowledge at the baby shower. 

I kid.  I kid.  I dispensed no knowledge at the baby shower, except when asked specifically about a topic.  I didn’t want to be one of those moms, especially since I can’t really remember all that happened when my children were babies.  Hey, I had my kids really close together, I essentially am missing everything that happened between 2005 and 2007.  Hell, I didn’t really sleep through the night until 2010, due to various reasons, and given that my first child was born in 2004, that is a lot of sleepless nights. 

But who wants to talk about that, am I right?  I do not like to even mention my sleeplessness in a room full of non-mothers or soon-to-be-first-time mothers.  The voice of terror…I had a baby, and then I never slept again!  Not super helpful information, in my opinion. 

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how women can get pretty judgy and condemning of other women, especially when it comes to children and parenting.  Honestly, I hate that, but I think that it’s much more ubiquitous among new, first-time mothers, possibly because everything is so new and scary that we tend to get angry about issues (see also: Yoda).  This is why we tend to get all worked up over breastfeeding and co-sleeping and cribs and crying and baby-wearing and toilet training and rice cereal versus pureed vegetables, and it’s because everything is new.  New to us, I should say, because the human race is pretty much doing fine in terms of procreating.  But parenting is scary, and newborns are, quite frankly, terrifying with their wobbly giant heads and their flailing skinny arms and that cry that pierces every mother’s soul.  I have found as I have gotten older and have found a circle of beautiful mothers who I am blessed to have as friends, things get so much less scary.  As we grow into motherhood we realize that each day we can start anew.  Each day we can change something if we don’t like it.  We can wipe the slate clean and do our best every day, and if we have a bad day, it is not the end of the world. 

I feel a bit sheepish that I am actually using Star Wars as parenting wisdom, especially since I STILL don’t really know who Count Dooku is, but it’s true.  Let’s try to be less fearful, and therefore less angry.  And tell me about your weekend!  Unless you are going to tell me it was beautiful and warm, because it snowed here, and that is enough to spiral me into anger.

Nicole’s Gone Kind Of Wild

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I got home at 8:00 last night from a weekend at the in-laws’, home to a mountain of laundry, an empty refrigerator, and the need to detox and/or go on a cleanse.  My poor body.  That is all I am going to say about that.   

This morning I reluctantly went to the grocery store, extremely dissatisfied with the continuation of my regular Monday routine: you see, during the spring break I went grocery shopping on a Saturday night.  Nicole’s Gone Wild!  People, I may never be able to happily go back to the old way again.  I have glimpsed perfection.  On Saturday night, I was the old person at the grocery store.  The place was filled with students: making complex decisions about prepared salads at the deli counter, cavorting through the produce section with just little handheld baskets, texting in the checkout line.  I felt like I had boarded a spaceship and had been planted on some far-off, strange planet where no one was complaining about the lineups or the price of eggs.  I eavesdropped on a young couple in the produce section, having a tense argument about which kind of tomatoes to purchase.  Which kind, field or roma?  There are pros and cons to both.  The discussion got a bit heated, and I headed to the cereal aisle, feeling footloose and fancy free since no one ever argues with ME about which tomatoes are superior.

I’ve been to paradise but I’ve never been to me.  It was hard to go back to the old way this morning, but, as I said, the cupboards were bare.

Have you heard about the Naked Face Project?  Here is what the women involved in this project are giving up for sixty days:

For sixty days, we will give up wearing any makeup, removing any body hair, altering our hair from its natural state (dying, curling, straightening), wearing uncomfortable feminine clothing (high heels, tight skirts), wearing jewelry (with the exception of wedding bands), painting our nails, using anti-wrinkle or anti-acne lotions, wearing deodorant, or styling our hair for reasons other than function.
I will not be partaking in this project, obviously.  Do not get me wrong: I deeply admire these women for doing so.  I have a number of friends who never wear makeup, who have hair that they wash and then leave it to dry naturally, and they look fabulous.  I peeked at the photos of the women involved and let me tell you, if I looked like they do, naturally, I would maybe – MAYBE – think about going sixty days without my regular grooming habits.  However.  I do not. 
1) Makeup.  The one time – the ONE TIME – I went to the school drop off with no makeup on, I had five separate people ask me if I was all right or if I was about to drop dead.  I prefer the general public does not immediately associate my makeup-free face with tuberculosis.
2) Body Hair Removal.  Oh, ha ha ha!  HA HA HA!  I can’t even go six weeks without a bikini wax, let alone not shave my legs or underarms!  I am a partial Scottish lassie.  Evidently my body was meant for the Highlands.  Not shaving for sixty days would pretty much have my neighbours wondering if a Yeti moved in.  Not to mention the unibrow and handlebar moustache that would result.  If ever I am incapacitated for some reason, I am going to need to hire out for a hair removal service so as not to terrify the children. 
3) Altering Hair From Natural State.  My hair right now has one-inch grey roots, and it’s only been five weeks since my last hair appointment.  My hair’s natural state is not good.
4) Wearing Uncomfortable Feminine Clothing.  Well, I might be able to do that one, but it depends on the definition.  I have lots of comfortable high heels – but would they be verboten?  They are comfortable but less comfortable than flats.  And what about tight jeans?  What about a bra?  The years have not been kind to my breasts.  Think partially-deflated water balloons.  Going braless is only acceptable to me if I am wearing a tank with a built in bra, but would that be included in the uncomfortable clothing category?  I have the depressing feeling that, with the exception of my pajamas and yoga clothes, ALL my clothes have some level of discomfort associated with them, yet I am so used to them that I don’t notice the discomfort.
5) Wearing Jewelry.  BUT I LOVE JEWELRY.
6) Painting Nails.  BUT I LOVE PAINTING MY NAILS.  Plus my nails are so brittle and dry that they peel right off without a good coat of lacquer.
7) Using Anti-Wrinkle or Anti-Acne Lotion.  Hey.  I’m almost 37.  I am at the awkward periomenopausal stage where I am in need of BOTH products.  I just found some miracle products that I love and that staved off a pimple prior to my in-law visit.  Since my mother-in-law is famous for gasping and pointing out any blemish that I may have, I am devoted to these miracle products and am planning an entire blog post to show my love for them.  (Spoiler alert!  Aveeno and Burt’s Bees!)  I would make out with these products if I could; that is how much I love and admire them.  In vain I have struggled.  It will not do.  My feelings will not be repressed.  You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.
8) Wearing Deodorant.  I think my yoga teacher would die, and I do not want to be the cause of it.
Naked Face Project: FAIL.  Nicole will never Go That Wild.

Up The Irish

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Today, in addition to making three dozen cupcakes and a loaf of banana bread, I am going to try my hand at Irish Soda Bread, in the festive spirit of the day.  I am also making kale chips and roasted asparagus, which count as festively Irish because of the green colour.  I am in general not a fan of potato dishes, so green veggies and soda bread is about as far as I go in the St. Paddy’s department.  I don’t even wear green, which is due to the fact that my wardrobe is almost exclusively grey and black.  This brings me to another point: it’s all the rage these days to wear a certain colour on a certain day to show support for various causes (purple for gay rights, pink for anti-bullying, etc.) and I’m sorry to say I almost never partake.  It’s not that I don’t support those causes – I am all for gay rights and anti-bullying, of course – but I don’t actually have the appropriate clothes.  So here’s what I’m wearing on St. Paddy’s Day:

Festive Irish wear – complete with fluffy dog!  This is also week four of my “growing out my goddamn hair” and I’m feeling pleased with it.  It’s growing!  Hair grows!  Regretsy no more!
It has been a very, very shitty week in the Boyhouse, but I am TIRED of being a little black cloud of sadness.  Last night I drugged myself and slept ten hours, and today I am filled with optimism! and cheer! and so instead I am going to transform myself into my usual ray of sunshine and tell you all the happy things about this week, as well as a few things I find cheering. 
1. Mark’s birthday party is tomorrow and of the fourteen children invited, thirteen of them RSVP’d by the date specified on the invitation.  This is surely a new record.  I’m taking an extra goody bag just in case but hooray for people adhering to basic societal expectations!
2. The boys’ class put on a play about the history of Calgary, and Jake was genius – GENIUS, I SAY – as Inspector Brisbois, head of the Northwest Mounted Police and builder of Fort Calgary.  He even wore a handlebar moustache.  Perhaps he is a future Movember participant? 
3. Report cards came out yesterday, and much to my surprise, Mark is apparently gifted at thermometer reading.  Several sentences were devoted to Mark and his ability to accurately read a thermometer.  He is the go-to person when classmates have questions about temperatures. 
4. This makes me laugh every time I look at it:
Although the other explanation is “rich” and/or “titled”.
5. I found this picture of Barkley when we first got him:
CUTE!!!  Wook at his widdle face.
And…that’s it.  I have been in a bit of a funk, so I would love, love, love it if you told me some cheering/happy things going on in your life.  xo

Just settle the fuck down already, it’s just Pyjama Day.

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It’s Pyjama Day at the boys’ school today and – this may not seem significant to you, but it IS – Mark is wearing pyjamas!  Not once has Mark ever worn pyjamas on Pyjama Day.  He has always preferred to wear just regular clothes, despite the pyjama clad children everywhere.  His refusal to conform to Pyjama Day bothered me a bit when he was in preschool, then less and less with each year.  I figured, in my chillaxing way, that he as he grew he would become more interested in festively wearing nightwear to class, or if he didn’t, that was okay too.  I was pretty sure that somewhere out there were perfectly functional adults who also opted to wear jeans on Pyjama Day, so I was not too worried.  When he told me he was going to participate, I tried not to make a big deal about it.  This morning he was a bit concerned, telling me that he was worried about what the public would think – his “public”, upon further investigation, was discovered to be our neighbours.  He reassured himself that our neighbours probably would not laugh at his pyjama clad legs, and in any case, he was wearing snowpants.  In the car he fretted that no other children would be wearing pyjamas – what if it was just he and Jake? – but then we saw my friends’ children, all of them in Division Two, and all of them wearing pyjamas, and he was vastly reassured.

I have known parents to get upset if their children choose not to participate in an ostensibly fun activity at school – it’s FUN, we say, why don’t you TRY it?, just TRY IT. – but sometimes kids have reasons of their own, and what’s wrong with that?  Wearing your pyjamas to school is an odd concept, after all, and in any case, certain quirks can be outgrown.

All of which is to say, I really like my friend Nan’s plan for a parenting magazine section entitled “Just Settle The Fuck Down Already“, indicating that we cannot control every single facet of our children’s lives.  Once we all realize this, we will be much more at peace.  Not everything that happens to our children or every part of their personalities is a direct result of our actions.  We can all point to parents who, to all appearances and with all the available information, did everything right and yet their child’s life turned terribly, horribly wrong.  See also: Nancy Spungen.  We also can point to parents who adopted the “Feral Child” method of childrearing and yet produced functional adults who contribute to society.  See also: Jeannette Walls.  I’m not saying parenting doesn’t matter: of course it does.  This is not license to guzzle whiskey and smoke while pregnant or allow your toddler to watch TV for twelve hours a day or to feed your children nothing whatsoever other than Coke, Chicken McNuggets, and Pop Rocks.  I mean, that’s really going to fuck shit up.  Obviously we need to do the best job we can and use our brains and our instincts and reliable, researched information, and YET, we still cannot control and shape our children exactly to our specfications.  Nor should we want to.  They are little people, in their own right. 

I have a post on my mind right now that I want to write – not that Pyjama Day is not important stuff – but I’m just not ready.  I realize this is kind of like one of those vague Facebook statuses that people probably mean to be enigmatic but instead turn out kind of flaky.  You know what I mean.  Today was the worst (or, alternately, best) day ever!!!!! with no explanation to what happened, spurring questions and concern from all fronts.  Or an inspirational quote to show that there is drama going on in your life right now, but you are making peace with it.  Or – and this is my favourite – I’m going through my Facebook and deleting everyone who is not a true friend.  If you are NOT a true friend, GOODBYE.  Those always make me feel uncomfortable.  If you are going to unfriend me, I guess I would rather not it be part of your Facebook status, you know?  Not that I should talk.  I mean, my Facebook status today had to do with the fact that I’m wearing compression stockings and jeggings at the same time.  I’m melding the part of myself that wants to be stylish and hip with the part of myself that is next door to drinking hot water and lemon on a summer day.  WORLDS COLLIDING, OMG.  

I also really, really want to talk about the New York Times article about yoga and all the fallout from the yoga world and all that and throw Jim Fix and running into the mixture, but I have run out of time talking about PYJAMA DAY and so I will have to save that topic for next time.  In the meantime, I came across this “Shit Nobody Says” video over at Hilarity in Shoes’ blog, and I love it even more than the “Shit Vegans Say” one (is there HONEY in your bread?).  Maybe I should make my own video.  But I’m not sure what it would say.  My hands are cold.  Barkley is the cutest dog EVER, you should totally get a Labradoodle.  Please don’t fart at the dinner table.  The secret ingredient is love.  Mmm, cheese.  Please don’t talk about your penis at the dinner table.  I used to have a nice rack, now I’m totally deflated.  Chickpeas are awesome!  NO FARTING AT THE DINNER TABLE.  Inhale, exhale.  You have to use your breath.  Do not talk about poop at the dinner table.  Barkley want to go for a walk?  Walk?  Walk?  I think I’m going to have a glass of wine.  STOP TALKING AND FINISH YOUR DINNER.  NO.  NO MORE FARTING.  I made this kick ass stirfry.  Do you want to go to Costco with me?  I have a phobia about it.  Okay, just clear your plate and get started on your home reading.  Yes, it’s okay if you have to poop first.  Wash your hands.  Asana is only one PART of yoga.

There’s the foreshadowing – for the next post!  No, not the farting and pooping part.

I’m so excited! And I just can’t hide it! I’m about to lose control and I think I like it!

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I’m a whirling dervish of excitedness today because it’s my husband’s work party tonight!  Squee!  I have a new dress and everything.  I know a lot of people hate going to their spouse’s – or their own – work parties because, yawn, boring.  And don’t get me wrong, I’m sure this party will also be a bore – they are foregoing a DJ in favour of a jazz band.  How will things get started in here if they don’t play the Black Eyed Peas? – but I get to wear a new dress!  And have cocktails!  And eat food that was not prepared by me!  That’s pretty much the top of the top, you know?  I am not cooking dinner.  And I’m going to be wearing not-jeans.

So now we are in December, and all the confusion around moustaches – who is a Movember participant and who is just a misguided moustachioed man – is gone, which is nice.  In my last post I said that moustaches were the mom jeans of facial hair, but upon deeper consideration, I have decided that they are more like the camel-toe pants of facial hair.  Much skeevier. 

In my university years, I was a terrible flirt (actually, I have always been somewhat of a flirt…but let’s just say university years for illustrative purposes).  I was in the bar with some girlfriends when I noticed a guy from one of my economics classes, who had a moustache.  This was in the early 90’s, so it was NOT the style of the time – at the time all the guys were shaving their heads and growing goatees.  Anyway, I had been enjoying a few drinks with girlfriends when I decided to ask that guy why he would possibly think a moustache was a good idea.  This was my thinking, but the actual words that came out of my mouth were the following: “Why do you have that moustache?  Do you use it to tickle the ladies?”  Suffice it to say that this moustachioed fellow found my sauciness intriguing in a way that I had not bargained for.  I had to spend the remainder of the semester giving the poor guy the cold shoulder, which brings me to an important life lesson: never ask someone if their moustache tickles the ladies.  Another lesson learned during my university years: in the deeply intelligent and insightful words of Harry in my very favourite movie of all time, When Harry Met Sally, “Men and women can never be friends, because the sex part always gets in the way.”  Truer words were never spoken.  Ladies, if you have any male friends, remember those words of wisdom and it will save you much awkwardness in the future when your “pal” wants to “take things to the next level.” 

Harry: No man can be friends with a woman he finds attractive.  He always wants to sleep with her.

Sally: So what you’re saying is that they could be friends with a woman they find unattractive?

Harry: No, we pretty much want to nail them too.

Speaking of entertainment from the 80’s, I wanted an addendum to my thoughts on Magnum P.I.  I have only ever seen one episode of Magnum, and it involved Magnum being stranded in the ocean somewhere and having to tread water for a very extended period of time.  My husband, being significantly older than me, was a Magnum watcher in the 80’s; any time he hears “In The Air Tonight” he says, in a very serious and emphatic way, “Best. Magnum. Ever.”  He also does the air drums – but who doesn’t?  Really, you have to be dead and/or armless to not perform the air drums when listening to that song. 

There was a point to this, but I seem to have forgotten it.  I may have had a little too much coffee today.  But I’m going to a party tonight!  I have to NOT fall asleep at 9:00.

Oh yes, I remember now.  Apparently “In The Air Tonight” was playing while Magnum showed his badass side by shooting a guy.  Shooting him dead!  You go, Magnum!

Remember when Hawaiian shirts were popular, and not just worn by the same guys who wear “Bikini Inspector” t-shirts and/or those t-shirts that depict an outline of a very fit male specimen, in sharp and ironic contrast to the actual body type of the wearer? 

The 80’s were really responsible for many poor fashion styles.  I could just say the mullet and the Hawaiian shirt and leave it at that, but really, there are so many other terrible examples.  I am going to take a deep breath and show you how brave I am by posting my eighth-grade yearbook photo:

Ack.  Ack ack ack.  I have no idea why I am actually wearing my glasses in this photo, because I normally only wore them for board work at school and then wandered around in a myopic fog for the rest of the time.  Even then, I thought those glasses were ugly.  Until I got contacts at age 15, I stumbled around in the blurry, blurry world, squinting when necessary.  But this photo is proof that things were bad in the 80’s – those glasses were ubiquitous, as was the spiral permed, teased hair that required a bottle of Salon Selectives hairspray a week just to maintain.  But how about this:

You can say that you didn’t have that couch in the 80’s, but you would be lying.  What I love about this photo is that I am wearing a Daisy Duke styled shirt over a tank top with a long denim skirt AND I am wearing lace-up white Keds.  There are so just many fashion faux pas in this picture, and yet – AND YET – this was not unstylish in 1987. 
One last photo:
This photo is less to illustrate how Garfield horoscope sweatshirts go with Levi’s jeans, and more to illustrate the decor of the 80’s – which was probably held over from the 70’s, really.  Panelboard!  Spider plants hanging from macrame plant holders!  Lamps that had built in side tables! 
This is a very long and rambling post, and so I shall conclude.  In conclusion:
1) Moustaches are skeevy. 
2) Men and women cannot truly be friends.
3) Magnum P.I. was a badass.
4) Clothing, hair, and home decor in the 80’s was extremely misguided and should never be replicated.
If we remember these things, the world will be a greater place.