tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14255620097741364772018-03-06T16:04:11.443-05:00TesseractAzarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.comBlogger254125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-16304322439510159622014-03-14T23:37:00.000-04:002014-03-14T23:37:02.403-04:00It gets betterI went to visit a friend and her two-day-old daughter, a tiny pink bundle topped with a full head of thick black hair. After <a href="http://inthetesseract.blogspot.ca/2012/11/the-wind-in-trees.html" target="_blank">a sad end to her previous pregnancy</a>, it was wonderful to see my friend's tired, radiant face as she adjusted the nursing baby's latch. I re-heated the take-out Italian food I'd brought for her and her husband, positioned it so she could eat with her one free hand, and filled the air with laughter and warm words. Remembering my own exhausted attempts to interact with the stream of visitors following the arrival of my first baby, I said my final congratulations and headed home a half hour later.<br /><br />I don't remember the last time I've been so happy for a friend and at the same time so happy for myself that I'm not in her position. Little man is 18 months old now, Sass is starting junior kindergarten in September, and I'm finally starting to feel <a href="http://inthetesseract.blogspot.ca/2012/11/the-bad-mother.html" target="_blank">the black hopelessness of early motherhood </a>lifting. It was hard to believe when more experienced mothers whispered it against my tear-stained cheek, but they were right: it does get better.Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-30264684666196514162013-11-09T23:56:00.002-05:002013-11-10T01:46:38.170-05:00Nobody cares! (but we're still listening)After listening to friends complain about types of facebook status updates, I noticed that social media etiquette seems to be a hot topic. Huffington Post recently ran a <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/wait-but-why/annoying-facebook-behavior_b_4081038.html">scathing article</a> mocking facebook users who post about any of the following:<br /><ul><li>good things in their lives</li><li>bad things in their lives</li><li>love for a significant other</li><li>feelings/emotions without thoroughly explaining in minute detail the reason for said feelings/emotions</li><li>daily activities</li><li>benign messages to friends that others can see</li><li>expressions of gratitude</li><li>support for any opinion shared by others</li><li>any philosophical comment/quote</li></ul>Apparently people who post these things are insufferable, narcissistic attention whores who should be ostracized like the social lepers they are. <br /><br />Do you know who I find insufferable? People who maintain a facebook friendship or follow a blog only to make fun of the author for exhibiting the qualities of your average human being anywhere. I'm curious as to what remains that is acceptable to post on facebook according to the etiquette police, since it seems designed for precisely the topics listed above. Any substantial discussion is more easily addressed in a blog or personal conversation, which leaves the trivial to find a cozy home in facebook status updates. <br /><br />I like the alleged "image crafters" that I've previously known as my friends. A friendship may have drifted apart emotionally or geographically, but I'm still interested in what that person is doing and enjoy the casual chats about their latest projects and plans. Then again, my facebook friends list is limited to people who I like and whose thoughts and activities do interest me. It's a bold concept that others might consider implementing in their own facebook lives. <br /><br />I don't want to mess up the image I've been developing in my well thought-out facebook posts, so I'm working on getting the wording just right for my next status update:<br /><br /><em>Stop taking social media so seriously, precious. If you have a problem with everything everyone else posts, maybe the problem is you.</em><br /><br />Now to sit back and wait for the applause! #lol!Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-74079159445078064892013-11-05T23:49:00.002-05:002013-11-05T23:54:18.430-05:00A nice clean-cut holeMishaps find me wherever I go and it's rare that I get to write a funny post where I'm not the punch line. So when the opportunity comes, no way am I letting it slip past me. A few months ago Jay was in the garage helping me load up the kids for the morning day care drop-offs; we were running late and both frazzled as we tried to make sure everyone had their supplies for the day. A second of lip contact and I was speeding down the street without looking back.<br /><br />If I had glanced in my rear-view mirror, I might have seen my husband running after me, waving wild arms in a futile attempt to catch my attention. On safety auto-pilot, I had locked the garage door into the house, not realizing Jay hadn't brought his keys outside with him. So there he was, standing in the garage in a ratty tank top and shorts, twisting the stubborn doorknob in the hopes it would magically unlock itself and let him in. <br /><br />Now what would be a reasonable solution to such a dilemma? Our neighbor two doors down runs a home daycare, so one option would be to walk the 30 seconds to her house and call your wife to let you back in. Just a thought.<br /><br />Or!<br /><br />You could climb into the unlocked back of your truck, take out your drywall tools, cut a man-sized hole in the wall between the garage and the house, pull out the insulation, push aside the wiring and crawl through the wall into the house. <br /><br />Later that day you could call your wife and casually mention the giant hole in the wall, as if this were no big deal and really the only logical way to deal with your unfortunate situation. When she tells you that just because you do drywall for a living you can't go around bashing holes in walls, you would be justified in taking offense and informing her that you did not "bash" a hole: it was a nice, clean-cut hole. What else could you have done? Go over to the neighbor's house in a grungy tank top and ripped shorts? Well, that's just crazy talk.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i1323.photobucket.com/albums/u589/azara8/DSC02072_zpsdacee0f8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://i1323.photobucket.com/albums/u589/azara8/DSC02072_zpsdacee0f8.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-8078640547941671242013-11-03T21:56:00.000-05:002013-11-03T21:56:00.882-05:00Where are the instructions for this thing? Some people have a knack for making friends. I am not one of them. The casual chats I've had with schoolmates, co-workers, gym acquaintances, etc. never seem to turn into the social invitations that come so easily to others. Any attempts on my end to make plans have met with busy signals and I've stopped trying. My inability to make friends has been a bruise that never heals, a steady ache that pulses underneath my busy life of work, fitness, husband and babies.<br /><br />Yet somehow in the last two months I've stumbled into the alien territory of new friendship. It's exciting but scary, because I really like my new friends but have no idea how to keep them. If I text them and they don't reply right away, I immediately think I'm pestering them and I've confused politeness for friendship. But I've also been told I can seem cold and unfriendly, so I've been trying to reach out more even though I feel stupid doing it.<br /><br />It's a good thing I'm happily married, because clearly if I had to date I would be alone forever.Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-69383782566216450182013-06-22T22:47:00.002-04:002013-06-22T22:48:45.256-04:00A proud member of the snitch clubSo I stupidly ventured onto Yahoo's general comment boards, forgetting the degree to which these types of online forums attract cretins and bigots. I was still shocked when <a href="http://ca.shine.yahoo.com/blogs/shine-on/gorgeous-controversial-class-photo-retaken-child-wheelchair-205302297.html?bcmt=1371770239642-945f7b1b-c97e-40b5-8873-081b56e7a5fb_00007b000000000000000000000000-77fdeac8-f5f7-47a3-bc4a-6cc29e1df482&bcmt_s=u#mediacommentsugc_container">a commenter posted the following about a 7 year old disabled child whose class picture was retaken to include him with the group:</a><br /><br />"What a joke. What is next? The same kid fails a subject and they pass him anyways because "it may be wrong"? Get a clue world. This kid is now going to use his "situation" to get everything in life. My hope? Life stops for him and no more freebies."<br /><br />Of course no name, because people who write things like this aren't usually known for courage in publicly standing by their words.<br /><br />Usually I just roll my eyes at the stupider members of our societies, but musing about your hope that a little boy dies was far enough outside Yahoo's comment guidelines and normal human morality that I reported his comment to Yahoo's customer care centre. This was the response thread that followed:<br /><br />"Ted Owens: I hope life stops for you Azara, just for the sake of saying it, report me as well<br /><br />NordicOrchard: LOL just wonder what happens now to the guy she "reported"? Will life stop for him? Will he be prosecuted, sued, jailed, fined? What exactly? Oh BTW to what authority did she "report" him? To FBI? To Obama? My #$%$ God, some people are so full of S**t nowadays it's hilarious! LOL<br /><br />Original poster: She tried to "report" me to the thought and freedom of speech police, I guess they were on lunch when she contacted them.<br /><br />NordicOrchard: LOL are we that close to Orwell's 1984? Just wonder what is the official title of this thought police... Do they accomodate every snitch online or one needs to be a member of the "snitch club"? Anyways, I had a good laugh! keep me posted LOL<br /><br />Me: No problem, Ted. Done. If you can't converse in a civilized manner, keep your mouth shut."<br /><!-- end .ugccmt-info --> <!-- end .ugccmt-bd --> <br /><div class="ugccmt-cmt-item" id="ugccmt-comment-b_00006b000000000000000000000000-a5e79a70-f23a-45fc-8cf2-49e11792dd14">And now that we're on my personal blog, not a public moderated forum: Kiss my ass, fuckers. You suggest a little boy should die on an online news comment board, I report you. You want freedom of speech, use a different forum (like say, a blog, dumbass). If an online space sets rules for its community's maturity level of discourse, you follow them or you get out. Period.</div>Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-16322427192514782762013-05-25T01:37:00.004-04:002013-05-25T01:44:23.039-04:00As sexy as I wanna beI probably shouldn't start my first post in awhile by ranting, but fuck it. The whole point of this post is my impatience with censorship and prudishness, so taming my thoughts in said post would be a bit ridiculous. I'm trying to understand why such a flush of rage swept over me when I received a notice that Pinterest had removed one of my pins for "nudity". The pin in question is of a partially shirtless man with his finger hooked in his belt loop to pull down one side of his jeans to show his nicely defined hip flexor and some hair. GASP! No breast. No penis. No vagina. No buttocks. <br /><br />I asked Pinterest to clarify their policy and they sent me an incredibly self-righteous generic note about how people look at their site around their families and at work, so they don't allow nudity. I pointed out that they had not answered the fucking question (I left out the f-bomb) and where exactly was the nudity? No reply. I don't know why this makes me so angry or why I feel so judgmental about all the Miss Prisses out there, but I just want to moon and yell a big FUCK YOU to all those uptight preachy people I've run into over the years. <br /><br />Actually, I do know why. I've belonged to a zumba studio for the last few years and will start teaching a class in two weeks. Zumba is sexy. That's part of why people like it: it gets us back in touch with our inner 20 year olds, before parenting and full-time careers and the never-ending banality of daily life left us tired, old and fat. We've built a wonderful community at our studio and call each other our "zumba family." <br /><br />Last week, a woman came to the studio for her second class and insisted that we keep all the doors closed (it was 30 degrees Celsius) and shut the curtains, because her religion doesn't allow men to see her. So the whole zumba "family," including at least two pregnant ladies, sweltered through the workout because Miss Priss wants to gyrate and writhe around in public, but only if no men can see her. What.the.fuck. I should note the studio is co-ed. Does this mean if a guy comes in we'll have to kick him out? Why does one person get to come into an established group and insist everything be rearranged to suit her, no matter how uncomfortable and in the case of the pregnant ladies, downright unsafe, it makes everyone else? <br /><br />Usually I'm a more the merrier person who tries hard to be respectful and inclusive of everyone. Apparently I have a limit and this is it. I'm not a fan of strip clubs, so I don't go to them. It never occurred to me to go in and tell everyone to put their clothes back on and stop hooting and hollering because it made me uncomfortable. <br /><br />And a partially shirtless man is NOT "nude". UGH.Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-33202346885644040592013-05-08T23:29:00.002-04:002013-05-08T23:29:34.040-04:00Still not deadOMG! Allie from <a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.ca/2013/05/pre-post-transition-post.html">Hyperbole and a Half</a> is back! I'm ridiculously excited - she is hands-down my favourite blogger ever.<br /><br />Also, I'm not dead.* Just crazy busy and when it's 1:00AM and I have to be up in five hours, somehow I keep making the wild decision to sleep instead of doing blog stuff. After I write my fitness exam on May 24, things should lighten up a bit. Fingers crossed.<br /><br /><em>*I really should stop saying this, because I'm sure there's some poor blogger out there who has died and my jokes</em> <em>about it are in incredibly poor taste. Then again, I've said far more controversial things on this blog, so I suppose there's no point in worrying about this one.</em>Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-55461365791041489472013-04-16T23:20:00.000-04:002013-04-17T10:00:15.981-04:00Head in the sandSomehow I haven't been kicked off the A-Z Challenge list yet, despite missing a rather large section of the alphabet so far. In keeping with my less-than-perfect performance to date, I'm deviating from my lost words theme again for the letter "N." <br /><br /><center><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://i1139.photobucket.com/albums/n547/Jeremy-iZombie/A%20TO%20Z%202013/A2Z-2013-BADGE-001Small_zps669396f9.jpg" /></a></center><br />N is for News. Several years ago in my pre-kids life, a mom friend told me that she didn't read the newspaper or watch the news, because she didn't care what was happening in the rest of the world. I struggled to keep my surprised disdain from my face and wondered if this was a special type of parental stupidity, or if she had always been so clueless. <br /><br />Then I had my own two kids, and although we get a daily newspaper and a weekly news magazine, I skip most of the "serious" news. It's not that I don't care. It's that I feel completely exhausted and bruised by the viciousness of our world. I want to gather up my little family and huddle under the blankets in the hope that the random demon of fate will pass us by. My babies are growing so fast and as difficult as I find the task of parenting small children, at least their universe is contained. <br /><br />Sass goes to school next year. It terrifies me to think of her tiny legs entering a world where going to see a movie, eating an ice cream cone or sitting in a classroom can be fatal. I don't know how to cope with this fear other than preparing her and protecting her the best I can, and I don't need to gorge myself on real-life tragedies to do that. Sometimes it's impossible to look away, because the shock and grief is so deep, and the least we can do for the victims is hear their stories. But I try to avoid reading about every horrible event that happens across the globe. My head is full of enough sadness already.Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-13356369503458056222013-04-13T00:21:00.002-04:002013-04-13T00:24:04.198-04:00It's a wonderful lifeI have to say that I'm not enjoying the A-Z Challenge as much as I expected. It's my own fault. I didn't write my posts in advance like I wanted to, and between my full-time job, two sick kids under the age of three and studying for my fitness instructor certification, blogging is the last priority on my list. I'm not reading as much as usual, which means no one is visiting, which means when I'm trying to motivate myself to write a blog post instead of going to bed for my four hours of sleep, I think of the one or two people who might read it and find I don't want to spend so much time for so little return. Ugh. <br /><br />I'm supposed to be doing <a href="http://inthetesseract.blogspot.ca/2013/04/aging-well.html">lost words</a> for the Challenge, but I don't like the word choices for "L," so I'm going rogue and using a normal word instead. <br /><br /><center><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://i1139.photobucket.com/albums/n547/Jeremy-iZombie/A%20TO%20Z%202013/A2Z-2013-BADGE-001Small_zps669396f9.jpg" /></a></center><br />L is for Love. I'm so in love with my life right now that I feel disoriented. Jay and I have a great routine going where I drop the kids off at daycare in the morning and he picks them up in the evening. This means I can go to zumba several times a week after work, which means I'm steadily losing the baby weight and seeing a hint of my old self in the mirror. Work is going well, mainly because I've stopped worrying about losing my job (my company is going through a series of major transitions) and just do the best I can each day and leave it at that. Que sera, sera and all that jazz. <br /><br />I dropped a volunteer commitment that was taking up more and more time and feeling like a chore. I don't keep reading books or watching TV shows that don't thrill me. Sass is slowly growing out of the terrible twos, Little Man continues to be a happy, mellow little baby and Jay and I are in a smooth phase of married life. Outside of my job, I've distilled my life down to people and activities that fill my soul and deserve every precious moment of time they get. It feels fantastic. <br /><br />Maybe this is why I'm less into blogging right now: my life is perfectly in balance, and blogging is such a time hog that it throws off that balance. Then the vicious circle of visiting less, so fewer people visit you, so you think "what's the point of writing when no one's reading," starts again. And then you quit. I hope it doesn't get to that point, because I do love reading blogs, writing my own posts and the resulting conversations and friendships. But I have other things to do too. All blogging and nothing else makes me a bad wife, mother, friend and employee. That's not OK.<br /><br />Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-54741366236208951222013-04-10T20:53:00.003-04:002013-04-10T20:53:53.627-04:00Tipping tyrants<strong><em>INOBLIGALITY</em> (noun): Quality of not being obligatory</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><center><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://i1139.photobucket.com/albums/n547/Jeremy-iZombie/A%20TO%20Z%202013/A2Z-2013-BADGE-001Small_zps669396f9.jpg" /></a></center><strong></strong><br />Service staff, ready your pitchforks!<br /><br />I don't understand why I have to tip you. <br /><br />Oh, the fury! I can feel you screaming and frothing at the mouth from here. But I don't get it. Who decided a sub-set of jobs should be exempt from minimum wage legislation, forcing hapless customers to bribe people to do those jobs properly? If I sulked and did everything half-assed unless my co-workers slipped me a $20 along with their requests, I would get fired. What's the difference? <br /><br />I guess it's a not-very-subtle consumption tax, but why? Perhaps it's to encourage us well-fed, well-groomed folks to start cooking our own food, cutting our own hair and sleeping in our own beds, instead of gallivanting about town dining and boozing it up before smushing our well-coiffed heads into fluffy hotel pillows. Why the government objects to the little people enjoying ourselves and stimulating the economy at the same time is a mystery to me.<br /><br />The expectation that I tip on the <em>after</em>-tax amount is especially effective in making me think twice about doing anything I have to tip for. Ontario recently took another huge swipe out of our wallets by introducing the HST (neutral, my ASS! BWAHAHAHA!!). I love my hair stylist, but when my $150 haircut turned into a $203 haircut ($150*13% tax*20% tip), I started stretching those root touch-ups out as long as possible before abusing my credit card again.<br /><br />What I find fascinating is how angry people who receive tips get when customers complain about tipping. All the anger is directed at the cheap, miserly customer instead of their low-paying employer or the government who lets the employer get away with it. But again, why is it the customer's responsibility to directly subsidize an employer's payroll costs? Yes, poor you that without my tip you don't make enough money to survive and would have to live in a box on the street. Isn't that your employer's fault? Shouldn't you be out lobbying your local politician to ensure you're paid a living wage? Why is it my problem?<br /><br />There also seems to be no logic at all to who gets tips and who doesn't:<br /><ul><li>Taxi driver, but not bus driver</li><li>Bartender, but not fast food worker</li><li>Wedding planner,but not garbage man</li><li>Hotel maid, but not front desk staff</li><li>Hair stylist, but not registered massage therapist</li><li>Coat check person, but not drycleaner</li><li>Manicurist, but not gynecologist</li></ul>What the hell?<br /><br />You can untie me from the stake: I tip 18-20% where expected. I just don't understand why.Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-28961660598430207942013-04-09T23:57:00.000-04:002013-04-13T09:17:05.081-04:00Life code<strong><em>HECATOLOGUE</em> (noun): Code consisting of 100 rules</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><center><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://i1139.photobucket.com/albums/n547/Jeremy-iZombie/A%20TO%20Z%202013/A2Z-2013-BADGE-001Small_zps669396f9.jpg" /></a></center><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><br />My life code, in no particular order:</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">1) My alphabet doesn't include the letter "G," because I fell asleep at 8:00 last night while I was supposed to be writing my "G" post for the Challenge.</div><div align="left">2) Workout pants are black. No one needs to see vagina sweat, as revealed by light-coloured bottoms.</div><div align="left">3) Signalling is mandatory. I will never be so lazy and obnoxious that I can't be bothered to flick my pinky.</div><div align="left">4) A day without ice cream is a sad day.</div><div align="left">5) An animal that greets you by burying its nose in your crotch is not your best friend.</div><div align="left">6) Having your health and a happy family are the most important things in life.</div><div align="left">7) People who think money is irrelevant are people who've always had enough.</div><div align="left">8) Going braless is painful for you if you're busty and painful for others if you're not. Just because they're small doesn't mean we want to see your nipples.</div><div align="left">9) There's a right and wrong way to eat Skittles.</div><div align="left">10) Being all bony is gross. I'd rather have some cushion for the pushin'.</div><div align="left">11) Taking my anti-depressant isn't optional.</div><div align="left">12) Merging must be done as soon as possible. In fact, all lines are respected, because my time is not more valuable than everyone else's. I learned this in kindergarten.</div><div align="left">13) I wash my hands after I use a public washroom. Again, a kindergarten lesson that not everyone has learned, to my great disgust.</div><div align="left">14) Life is too short to spend time with people who don't make me feel better when I'm with them.</div><div align="left">15) Answering the phone is to be avoided at all costs. It's usually a telemarketer anyway.</div><div align="left">16) Any diet that involves removing entire food groups or eliminating sugar completely is the wrong diet.</div><div align="left">17) When something is on sale, you should buy more of it so you end up spending the same amount you would have if it weren't on sale.</div><div align="left">18) Water is delicious. No need for other beverages (except an occasional strawberry daiquiri).</div><div align="left">19) Capital punishment should be in place everywhere. Pedophiles, rapists and murderers have forfeited their right to live on this earth with the rest of us.</div><div align="left">20) A good book sale is worth taking the day off work.</div><div align="left">21) The passing lane is for passing. Stay out of it if you're not going faster than the cars in the lanes to your right.</div><div align="left">22) Diet pills result in very shaky hands, and that's it.</div><div align="left">23) Tampons, not pads.</div><div align="left">24) Long hair doesn't look good on me. Stop trying it.</div><div align="left">25) Being in love with another single, consenting adult is always a beautiful thing.</div><div align="left">26) Paying a cleaning person is money well spent.</div><div align="left">27) Blogging is free therapy. Enjoy it. When you don't enjoy it, stop doing it until you do again.</div><div align="left">28) Getting up early when not required for work is crazy.</div><div align="left">29) Buy clothes in the size that fits you, not the size you wish you were.</div><div align="left">30) TV shows are better when you can watch the whole season at once.</div><div align="left">31) Cuddle your kids as much as possible, because they won't want to be cuddled forever.</div><div align="left">32) Heels make every outfit look nicer.</div><div align="left">33) You don't need to finish reading a book that feels like a homework assignment.</div><div align="left">34) An amazing Caesar salad and perfectly grilled steak are worth the calories.</div><div align="left">35) Do not make any important decisions or talk to anyone in the three days before your period starts. This is for their safety and yours.</div><div align="left">36) Reading a daily newspaper is part of being a global citizen.</div><div align="left">37) There will be no minivans. Ever. Under any circumstances. </div><div align="left">38) A Mazda6 is not big enough for two adults, a toddler, a baby and their diaper bags and strollers. An SUV is rearing its ugly mammoth head.</div><div align="left">39) Sunday morning is a great time to sleep in.</div><div align="left">40) Ceramic hair straighteners are the best thing ever.</div><div align="left">41) Having flat feet doesn't have to stop you from dancing.</div><div align="left">42) Don't congratulate a woman on her pregnancy unless you're afraid you may need to deliver the baby at any moment.</div><div align="left">43) Enjoy life now, because you don't know what tomorrow will bring. Retirement may never come.</div><div align="left">44) White pants do not belong on this booty.</div><div align="left">45) I don't carry cash. That's what credit and debit cards are for.</div><div align="left">46) When you wake up in the middle of the night, it's better to just get up and go pee rather than trying to go back to sleep while holding it. You won't sleep well.</div><div align="left">47) Zumba and cardio kickboxing are like happy pills. Doing them daily means I don't have to take as high a dose of my actual happy pills.</div><div align="left">48) Lotteries are a tax on stupid people. But you can't win if you don't play.</div><div align="left">49) Getting exactly what you wanted online without having to leave the house is totally worth the shipping charge.</div><div align="left">50) Spiders are the devil and must be killed in multiple ways (by someone else) to ensure they're really dead.</div><div align="left">51) Never wake a sleeping baby. But you can poke him to make sure he's still breathing.</div><div align="left">52) Don't waste a movie ticket and babysitting time on a movie that doesn't look best on a big screen. Save the comedies for DVD.</div><div align="left">53) Best quote ever: "I do not spew profanities. I enunciate them clearly, like a fucking lady."</div><div align="left">54) Do not ask a couple when they're planning to have their first/second/any baby. There is nothing ruder, more intrusive and possibly hurtful than prying into someone else's reproductive life and choices. Don't bring it up unless invited.</div><div align="left">55) A cooler room temperature with lots of sweaters and comfy blankets is better than a room that resembles a sauna.</div><div align="left">56) Always back in. There's no cross-traffic in the parking spot or your driveway.</div><div align="left">57) Your shorts-wearing days are over.</div><div align="left">58) The clock needs to be set 20 minutes ahead to ensure you're only a little late for everything.</div><div align="left">59) Don't drop in on us unannounced. We're naked.</div><div align="left">60) Sometimes a hecatologue only goes up to 60, and that's OK.<br />61) Baths, not showers, and only at night.<br />62) Mental health days are a perfectly valid use of sick days. <br />63) Hover rather than sitting while wiping. I don't even understand how wiping while sitting is physically possible.<br />64) Always leave a buffer seat, parking spot, washroom stall, etc. when possible. There's no need to get any closer to strangers than necessary.<br />65) Until grocery stores start offering a discount for self-checkout, use the line with a packer. <br />66) An eye mask is required for a restful sleep.<br />67) The Lipsmacker supply must never be allowed to run out.</div><div align="left">68) Since there are other cars moving in the parking lot, do not drive wildly across it like it's your personal stunt driving course. There are rows with lines and everything, just like a real road. Use them.</div><div align="left">69) Don't take yourself too seriously.</div><div align="left">70) Find out about the special attractions/events at a holiday destination in advance so you make the most of your time there, and get to see what the place is famous for.</div><div align="left">71) Turn all the lights on. It's like a freakin' dungeon in here.</div><div align="left">72) Pets are too much work. We already have two wild animals, aka our toddler and baby.</div><div align="left">73) Don't form close friendships with your neighbours or co-workers, unless you're OK with moving or finding a new job when the drama inevitably starts.</div><div align="left">74) No more than one drink if driving. Period.</div><div align="left">75) Never let fear of offending someone interfere with your instincts regarding your child's safety.<br />76) Don't ask your partner questions that have essentially harmless but hurtful answers, and serve no constructive purpose in your relationship ("do you ever think about anyone else when we're having sex?" "are you less attracted to me at nine months pregnant?" "does my period gross you out?")<br />77) Let the grass grow as long as municipal by-laws will allow.<br />78) You have nothing to prove. You don't have to go sky-diving, bungee jumping or ride roller coasters. That trapeze class was pretty awesome though!<br />79) Tossing and turning all night on the lumpy ground before waking all cold and wet, covered in spider and insect bites and filthy from the lack of running water, is not fun. You don't need to pretend it is. <br />80) People who talk about sports or obscure indie bands all the time should be avoided like the plague.</div>81) Don't buy non-organic apples. <br />82) Tans come from the sun in the summer and nowhere else.<br />83) Toilet paper over the top of the roll. I'll turn it around if I have to.<br />84) "Spots" in fitness classes<a href="http://inthetesseract.blogspot.ca/2013/01/whats-that-puddle.html"> are to be respected</a>.<br />85) Don't read or watch the graphic details of horrible crimes. You already know how evil the world can be.Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-40960461994301542452013-04-06T23:07:00.002-04:002013-04-06T23:07:59.315-04:00Flosculation free<strong><em>FLOSCULATION</em> (noun): an embellishment or ornament in speech</strong><br /><br /><center><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://i1139.photobucket.com/albums/n547/Jeremy-iZombie/A%20TO%20Z%202013/A2Z-2013-BADGE-001Small_zps669396f9.jpg" /></a></center><br />One of the problems with being a voracious reader from an early age is that your vocabulary expands precociously, well beyond what is socially acceptable. As a baby bookworm who had a penchant for theatrics but no exposure to TV, I had an unfortunate tendency as a child to speak in a formal way that was like catnip to bullies everywhere I went. Under the influence of L.M. Montgomery, I would moan at recess, "My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes" (<em>Anne of</em> <em>Green Gables</em>), after discovering our class had lost the competition for a pizza lunch. <br /><br />Winning a jump rope competition was met with this solemn quote: “That's the worst of growing up, and I'm beginning to realize it. The things you wanted so much when you were a child don't seem half so wonderful to you when you get them” (<em>Anne of Green Gables</em>). My mother was used to such pronouncements, but my teachers raised a skeptical eyebrow upon hearing a nine-year-old wax nostalgic about her distant childhood past.<br /><br />The icing on this ridiculous cake was that I had no idea how to say my flosculations, because no one else on the playground was in the habit of describing the old K-car in the school parking lot as "a hideous jalopy". Since I never heard anyone actually use my big words, my parents often heard such compliments as, "Daddy, you are so AM-ee-CAY-bull" in response to being given a dollar to buy candy. "Am I a cable what?" asked my bewildered father before my mother whispered in his ear, "She means amicable. Just humour her."<br /><br />In my teens, we got a TV and in university I moved out and was introduced to the world of cable television. Fourteen years later and the boob tube has done its job: I'm officially, like, flosculation-free. OMG! It's, like, so ironic. I think. What does ironic mean again?Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-29287747954553173772013-04-05T23:44:00.001-04:002013-04-05T23:44:44.091-04:00A long dayE is for Exhausted! Today I was in my Zumba Basics 1 instructor training from 8:30-5:30 (moving most of the time), before starting the 2.5 hour drive home. On the way home I stopped at an outlet mall, so I didn't walk in the door until shortly after 10:00 this evening. After eating supper, kissing the sleeping kids (who I haven't seen since yesterday morning) and catching up with Jay, it's now time for a serious bubble bath.<br /><br />Back to my regularly scheduled <a href="http://inthetesseract.blogspot.ca/2013/04/aging-well.html">Lost Words posts for the A-Z Challenge</a> tomorrow!<br /><br /><center><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://i1139.photobucket.com/albums/n547/Jeremy-iZombie/A%20TO%20Z%202013/A2Z-2013-BADGE-001Small_zps669396f9.jpg" /></a></center>Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-10154398255029777992013-04-04T00:00:00.000-04:002013-04-04T06:37:39.614-04:00Too much of a good thing<strong><em>DODRANTAL</em> (adj): Of nine inches in length</strong><br /><br /><center><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://i1139.photobucket.com/albums/n547/Jeremy-iZombie/A%20TO%20Z%202013/A2Z-2013-BADGE-001Small_zps669396f9.jpg" /></a></center><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Well, come on. You can't put a word like that in front of me and expect me not to go there. It would be cruel and unusual. Don't worry; there are no visuals. I don't want to have to slap an adult content warning on this baby. However, if unillustrated penis ponderings will offend your sensibilities, now's the time to click away. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Growing up as a Christian teenager, it crossed my mind that waiting until you were married to have sex could result in a wedding night that was...surprising. While I'm not recommending going on a penis-sampling rampage, I'm not sure waiting until you've committed to a penis for its whole life before making its acquaintance is the best move. What if you don't get along? That's a long time to live with a roommate when you were expecting a lover.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">For example, the poor couple where the woman asked when she would be able to fully meet her new friend, only to be told he was already in the door. Partners can learn each other's bodies, but it usually helps if they can feel the happy parts in the first place. Just sayin'.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">On the other hand, I have very limited penis experience since I married my high school sweetheart and have no interest in meeting other penises. So this may be pure ignorance talking, but it seems to me there comes a point at which Mr. Big becomes Mr. Too Big (just like when my bra size went into double letters). </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Several years ago I went with some girlfriends to the Everything About Sex trade show in the big city and saw a male stripper on the main stage. Thankfully he didn't take it all off, but he might as well have, since wrapping up his party equipment in a tube of fabric didn't leave much of a mystery: this thing was as long as my forearm and as wide as a pop can. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">It was horrifying, like seeing an unedited vaginal birth for the first time (<em>excellent</em> birth control, by the way). Although my sister-in-law became hysterical with lust and rushed the stage, the rest of us pretended we didn't know her and ran away, shielding our eyes from the prodigious penis. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Average Joes, take heart. As long as we can tell it's there and it doesn't cause an eclipse in the bedroom light, we're good to go. No dodrantal tools necessary.</div>Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-86261929919631494002013-04-03T00:00:00.000-04:002013-04-03T12:22:52.148-04:00A cibosity monstrosity<strong><em>CIBOSITY</em> (noun): Store of food; plenty of food supplies</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><center><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://i1139.photobucket.com/albums/n547/Jeremy-iZombie/A%20TO%20Z%202013/A2Z-2013-BADGE-001Small_zps669396f9.jpg" /></a></center><center> </center><div align="left">I'm pretty sure if I had been born in the Middle Ages they would have killed me. Between the dreadful eyesight, the sans make-up resemblance to a ghoul, and my utter disinterest in cooking, cleaning or children, I suspect I would have met an early and fiery end. While I've mellowed on the children since having my own, I remain bemused by the domestic divas swarming the blogosphere and reality TV.<br /><br /></div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">The TLC show <em>Extreme Couponing</em> was especially confusing because in Canada we don't have "store coupons," you can't use two kinds of promotions at once, and the grocery store flyers all say "We reserve the right to limit quantities" in the fine print at the bottom. The retail environment isn't structured to let you buy 1,000 tubes of toothpaste for a grand total of 25 cents.</div><br /><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Still, as I watched yet another determined housewife wheel her loot out of the store, flushed with triumph, I felt that tiresome twinge of gender guilt. Maybe I should be doing more to stretch our family's budget than buying clothes off-season and choosing the ice cream flavour that's on sale.</div><br /><div align="left"></div><div align="left">But as the camera panned over rows upon rows of gleaming soup cans filling a proud couponer's oversized garage, I realized I wasn't jealous of her dedication to thriftiness. I was angry. This family's cibosity was larger than they could possibly use in their lifetime, and while they were hoarding non-perishables in their comfortable middle-class home, struggling families in communities everywhere were going hungry. The local food bank could have put 100 jars of peanut butter to better use than decorating a garage wall. </div><br /><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Perhaps food banks should hire their own extreme couponers. Now that would be a money-saving spree to be proud of.</div><div align="left"></div>Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-28189150191523428992013-04-02T00:00:00.000-04:002013-04-02T00:00:08.127-04:00Taste the (OCD) rainbow<strong><em>BUCCELLATION</em> (noun): The act of dividing into small morsels.</strong><br /><br /><center><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://i1139.photobucket.com/albums/n547/Jeremy-iZombie/A%20TO%20Z%202013/A2Z-2013-BADGE-001Small_zps669396f9.jpg" /></a></center><center> </center><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My sister and I couldn’t look away, despite an increasing urge to vomit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A pleasant lunch had veered into horror movie territory in our schoolgirl minds. Paralyzed with shock, we watched in silent disgust as our three-year old brother plunged his slice of apple pie into the bowl of chicken noodle soup, before grabbing at the soggy mess with chubby hands and smearing it across his face. A small amount of the abomination made it into his mouth, eliciting a chortle of delight. The noise snapped me into action. “MOM!” I yelled. “Tyler’s doing it again!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is the earliest memory I have of the wrongness that is Mixing Food Together, a dinner table scourge also known as the casserole. No. That’s not how you do it. Let’s all remain calm and eat our food in an orderly fashion, vegetables first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This applies to snacks too. No one wants to see you throwing a handful of Skittles or M&M’s into your mouth all willy-nilly. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s OK; maybe you weren’t taught the right way to eat candy. I’ll show you:</span><br /><br />1) <span style="font-family: inherit;">First, dump all the Skittles out of the bag (let’s not kid ourselves – you are going to eat the whole bag at once).</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yoem8vJaH1A/UVpNfMKkx2I/AAAAAAAAA1U/xUp1YwBPDgs/s1600/DSC01976.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yoem8vJaH1A/UVpNfMKkx2I/AAAAAAAAA1U/xUp1YwBPDgs/s320/DSC01976.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div align="center"><em>what a mess!</em></div><br />2) <span style="font-family: inherit;">Organize the Skittles into their colour groups. </span><br /><br />3) <span style="font-family: inherit;">Put the colour groups in order. Be reasonable and try to follow an actual rainbow/the colour wheel. What’s red doing next to green? This isn’t Christmas, friends. Pull yourselves together.</span><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SElMRxzLYEQ/UVpN3kKaqMI/AAAAAAAAA1c/hrf7x3ck244/s1600/DSC01972.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SElMRxzLYEQ/UVpN3kKaqMI/AAAAAAAAA1c/hrf7x3ck244/s320/DSC01972.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">At this point you do have the option to remove a colour group you aren’t comfortable with. For example, my friend Andrea has an aversion to blue candy, because “blue isn’t a real colour.” Apparently the sky and blueberries don’t count.</span><br /><br />4) <span style="font-family: inherit;">Arrange the Skittles within their colour groups into two lines (bonus points if you turn them so they all have the "S" facing up). Eat the stray Skittles until you have an even number in each colour group.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gk0TprEcUJo/UVpOOQ_00uI/AAAAAAAAA1k/C2F-KSo5RRA/s1600/DSC01973.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gk0TprEcUJo/UVpOOQ_00uI/AAAAAAAAA1k/C2F-KSo5RRA/s320/DSC01973.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />5) <span style="font-family: inherit;">Starting with the largest colour group, eat the Skittles until you have the same amount as in another colour group. Then alternate until you reach the same amount as in the next group. Add that group in.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EsVIP6DMzl0/UVpOe1pCAiI/AAAAAAAAA1s/g_ebW3OPWTM/s1600/DSC01975.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EsVIP6DMzl0/UVpOe1pCAiI/AAAAAAAAA1s/g_ebW3OPWTM/s320/DSC01975.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />6) <span style="font-family: inherit;">Lick your lips. Isn’t buccellation fun?</span></div><br />Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-10116090838690896172013-04-01T00:00:00.000-04:002013-04-01T00:00:02.279-04:00Aging wellA good word rolls across your tongue, bursting with flavours sweet and sharp and strange. You want to taste it again and again, whisper it to yourself until you've sucked it dry of every nuance, its juices resting warmly in your belly.<br /><br />Imagine stumbling across a graveyard of lost words, delicacies the world squirreled away and forgot to retrieve when spring came. The <a href="http://phrontistery.info/">Phrontistery</a> is such a place, offering delicious nuggets to savour each day on <a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/">April's A-Z journey</a>. Let's eat.<br /><br /><center><a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://i1139.photobucket.com/albums/n547/Jeremy-iZombie/A%20TO%20Z%202013/A2Z-2013-BADGE-001Small_zps669396f9.jpg" /></a></center><br /><strong><em>ACRASIAL</em> (adj): Ill-regulated; ill-tempered</strong><br /><br />When I was younger, I used to look forward to being elderly. It seemed a time when I could indulge my anti-social whims with impunity, free from the tyranny of good manners and make-up. I had grand plans of driving 80 km/hr in the fast lane on the expressway, meandering through the grocery store express line with too many items, and railing against the good-for-nothing world to everyone around me. <br /><br />The seniors of my limited acquaintance were relishing these perks of advanced years, so I was surprised to read a study that suggested they were an unusually acrasial bunch. <a href="http://www.economist.com/node/17722567">According to researchers</a>, people get happier with age. It's not a coincidence that silver hair is a rare sight in the prison yard. <br /><br />Since it appears I'm unlikely to lose all sense of common courtesy and turn into a menace of society after all, that just leaves the make-up. One of the best parts of aging must be the freedom from measurement against an impossible standard of beauty. At 80, you can be considered a pin-up if you've put on matching clothes and a little lip gloss. You can enjoy a blue sky day at the beach in your bathing suit without worrying about anyone comparing you to a Victoria's Secret model. <br /><br />Looking at the wreckage of my figure after two babies in the last three years, it strikes me how lucky I am that the only standard I've ever been shooting for is "reasonably attractive." After an unfortunate ugly duckling phase from age 8-17, I enjoyed a brief few years where guys actually whistled at me on the street. <br /><br />But I always knew that I was no competition for the silky smooth haughty blondes stalking past me on campus and in the club. An escalating eating disorder was arrested in its tracks when I saw a girl so tiny that I knew I'd have to remove ribs to look like her. Since I don't like playing when there's no hope of winning, that was the end of my hunger headache days.<br /><br />When I watch The Real Housewives of Anywhere, I feel sorry for the women trying so desperately and unsuccessfully to freeze time, with no end in sight. It must be awful to have your entire identity and self-esteem invested in an inevitably fading beauty. I'm glad I live in a world where I'm allowed to age with happiness and grace, wrinkles soft in the sun.Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-37158838148748454322013-03-27T21:29:00.000-04:002013-03-27T21:44:29.005-04:00I'm not deadJust conserving my energy for the A-Z challenge, which starts in (yikes!) five days. I can write 26 posts over Easter weekend, right? Because it's highly unlikely to happen on the actual days of the challenge, seeing as how I'm already running on about four hours sleep a night. I'm loving being back at work from mat leave, but I'm exhausted on a whole other level now that I can't rest with the kids during the day. <br /> <br />The other day Sass and Little Man took turns getting up all night, and I came thisclose to falling asleep in a meeting the next day. As in, I had to stab myself in the leg with a pen under the table so the pain would keep me awake. The bruising has gone down, but I'm still tired. <br /><br /> I'm starting to really miss blogging, so I'm excited for the challenge. I've already chosen my theme and planned each day's general topic. It's just the actual writing that I haven't done yet. Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-56293082612566884332013-03-06T20:43:00.000-05:002013-03-06T20:59:01.616-05:00The violent bookwormAhhhhh. That felt so good. The problem with being a passionate person is that I sometimes don't notice my love of a new hobby sickening into disgust until it's too late. I'm glad I realized I was beginning to hate blogging in time to take a break. Nothing personal to my online friends; sometimes I just get sick of hearing myself talk and I need to take a short vow of written silence. Can't keep this chatterbox quiet forever though!<br /><br />A few weeks ago someone asked me if I was excited to be going back to work from maternity leave. I'd been having a bad day and said, "God, yes! I can't wait to go to work where I won't have to listen to whining all day and no one will crap on me." Yeah, walked right into that joke. Three days in and I'm still in the honeymoon phase, so it's been pretty awesome so far. Little Man is adjusting well to daycare, which doesn't surprise me since he's such a happy, mellow little guy.<br /><br />Sass, on the other hand...not so much. My mini-me flew into a rage last week when a little boy tried to take the book she was reading. As a result, Jay walked into the preschool room and found the teacher leaning over the little boy on the floor, icing his bloody face, while Sass kicked at the wall from her perch in the time-out corner. Apparently Miss Cage Fighter 2013 (Toddler division) had slugged this boy before clawing him up. Who knew bookworms could be so violent?<br /><br />After Jay scolded her, Sass gave the little boy a big hug and kiss, told him she was sorry for beating him up, and gently patted his head. This was encouraging, but now we need to teach her that abuse is not acceptable just because you apologized and were really nice afterward (at least until you got mad again).<br /><br />Geez, I hope I don't end up visiting this child in juvie in ten years. I don't have to worry about Sass following along with the bad crowd: I'm more concerned she may end up leading it. She did get her temper and attitude from me though, and I grew up to be a suburban accountant married to my high school sweetheart, without so much as a speeding ticket to my name (they wipe them off your record after seven years, so I'm all good now). Maybe there's hope yet for a future that doesn't involve my baby girl slouching around in an orange jumpsuit.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowFullScreen='true' webkitallowfullscreen='true' mozallowfullscreen='true' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/vimZj8HW0Kg?feature=player_embedded' FRAMEBORDER='0' /></div><br /><br />Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-85970700299171744392013-02-18T13:44:00.001-05:002013-02-18T13:49:45.723-05:00Jumping for joyI blame it on the Zumba convention. A 3-day extravaganza held annually in Orlando, Florida, it's like catnip to a Zumba addict such as yours truly. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowFullScreen='true' webkitallowfullscreen='true' mozallowfullscreen='true' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/E-i8oRAayFA?feature=player_embedded' FRAMEBORDER='0' /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>Pitbull performing at the 2011 Zumba convention</em></div><br />Imagine my extreme disappointment when I discovered that simple obsession with Zumba was not enough to procure a ticket to the party. You have to be certified as a Zumba instructor to go to the convention. <br /><br />If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you know where this is going.<br /><br />On April 5, I will be licensing as a Zumba instructor, which consists of an 8-hour workshop. Never one to do anything half-assed, I decided a 1-day workshop without a test was not sufficient to be qualified to teach a fitness class and I should get my Canadian Fitness Professionals (Can Fit Pro) Fitness Instructor Specialist (FIS) certification too. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-g2x8O0PFmVA/USJ3tlJHp9I/AAAAAAAAA0k/mAGHM7lf4aU/s1600/origin_2594318333.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="293" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-g2x8O0PFmVA/USJ3tlJHp9I/AAAAAAAAA0k/mAGHM7lf4aU/s400/origin_2594318333.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">photo credit: </span><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mugley/2594318333/"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">mugley</span></a><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> via </span><a href="http://photopin.com/"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">photopin</span></a><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">cc</span></a></div><br />This is how I ended up spending every waking non-child-care minute of the last week reading about bioenergetics and the anatomy of the heart, in frantic preparation for my three-day FIS course starting this Friday. The written exam is on March 14 and I go back to my actual job as an accountant on March 4, so I don't have much serious study time left. <br /><br />Once the written exam is done, I have to design a fitness class and teach it to a bunch of my friends for my practical exam. It occurred to me I will need an iPod for this, so a few days ago I bought a very pretty red iPod touch. Swoon. I then further abused my credit card by having an input jack installed in my car, since apparently Mazda didn't feel a 2007 mid-level sedan needed to be compatible with an MP3 player.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-g4jOsAGvc_E/USJ2NjLN8tI/AAAAAAAAA0c/xYQBsUsJQrU/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-g4jOsAGvc_E/USJ2NjLN8tI/AAAAAAAAA0c/xYQBsUsJQrU/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>Ooh la la!</em></div><br />These shenanigans haven't left much time for blogging, so I'm glad to be joining up with Stasha at Monday Listicles for a list of 10 little things that bring me joy. This week's topic was chosen by Wendy at <a href="http://www.stampingrules.com/">Stamping Rules</a>.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.northwestmommy.com/category/monday-listicles" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.northwestmommy.com/home/Listicle3.jpg" /></a></div><br />Here they are:<br /><br />1) The fresh smell of my baby's soft, downy hair against my face.<br /><br />2) Putting the next season into the DVD player right away after a cliff-hanger season finale, because I waited to watch the show until several seasons in (ahem, Dexter).<br /><br />3) My toddler's shriek of excitement and wild dash across the room to jump on me when she sees me for the first time in a few hours.<br /><br />4) When the bass kicks in, purring down my spine.<br /><br />5) Slowly waking up with the late-morning sun in my eyes to complete, blissful silence.<br /><br />6) Putting on a non-nursing bra for the first time since the baby was born.<br /><br />7) Seeing the first Christmas carton of Candy Cane Chocolate Fudge Crackle ice cream sparkling at me through the grocery store freezer door.<br /><br />8) Being so enthralled by a book that sleep seems unnecessary (<em>Gone Girl</em> or <em>The Thirteenth Tale</em>, anyone?).<br /><br />9) Moving in perfect time to the music.<br /><br />10) Sex. By myself, with my husband, it's all good.Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com54tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-15456433496369766032013-02-08T00:16:00.001-05:002013-02-10T21:57:45.379-05:00Keep it insideLast week we finally got some proper Canadian snow and a temperature below -5. I packed up Sass and Little Man for a trek over to my mom's house, since she had miraculously agreed to watch them for an hour so I could go to the gym. Both of them at the same time. For an entire hour! I couldn't believe it and knew I had to get over there quickly before she changed her mind. <br /><br />The ice gleaming through the thick ruts of snow on the road had other plans. After slipping around a corner a little faster than I'd planned, I stopped looking at the clock and focused on keeping the car off the sidewalk. In the back seat, Sass scolded her Hello Kitty doll on points of etiquette: "No, Kitty! Unh unh! Be nice." Little Man peered around him in serene contemplation of the dirty cars sliding past his window.<br /><br />As I turned the corner onto my parents' street, I noticed a mailman removing envelopes from a large green deposit box. He was decked out in full Canada Post winter gear: huge blue boots resembling fishing waders, snow pants and a navy hooded parka, complete with fuzzy ear flaps peeking out from the sides of his head. Sass started singing "Wheels on the Bus" while the mailman closed the box and shuffled through the snow toward the curb. Then time turned to sludge as, without looking and without hesitation, he stepped off the curb into my path. <br /><br />Because I had been watching him, I had an instant to think, "He's not stopping. He's not actually going to walk right in front of me, is he?" before the car was careening across the road, steering wheel shuddering as I yanked it to the left and stomped the brakes to the floor. When no body thumped into the windshield, I slammed on the horn and yelled uselessly through the closed window at the guy, my heart pounding. Sass and Little Man were silent as I straightened out the car and crept down the street to my parents' house. In my rearview mirror, the mailman stood in the middle of the road and waved a glove at me, no doubt giving me the finger inside his cocoon.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It takes a long time to get an infant, toddler and their two diaper bags out of a car. I could see the mailman several houses away as I hurried the kids into my mom's warm kitchen. Hoping to leave before the mailman got any closer, I rushed through my drop-off instructions: </div><div style="text-align: left;">"Hejusthadabottlefreshdiapershe'shadtoastbebacksoonthanksbye!" I'd made it down the porch steps when I heard a gruff voice booming at me across the lawn. I ducked my head and pretended I hadn't heard it, jabbing at the car key fob in a staccato rhythm.</div><br />The voice thundered again, closer this time. "Sorry 'bout that!" Horrified, I looked to my right to find the jovial mailman grinning and nodding at me from the house next door. My cheeks heated around my weak smile as I nodded back and slid into the driver's seat, desperate to get away.<br /><br />Driving down the street, anger swept over me again before cooling into confusion. I knew I'd done something wrong, but I wasn't sure what it was.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://yeahwrite.me/moonshine/"><img src="http://yeahwrite.me/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/moonshine.png" /></a></div>Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-4781878259908209032013-02-06T12:56:00.001-05:002013-02-06T20:29:01.017-05:00Beautiful<strong>TRIGGER WARNING</strong><br /><br />You'd think triggering would feel scary, out of control. It doesn't. It feels fantastic. Maybe because it's been so long and I can't remember the downsides? Right now all I can think of is the taut curve of skin and bracelets shimmering on a delicate wrist. All those dusty clothes sliding smoothly across my body again. That rush of power as I fall asleep, having fought off the snarl inside for another day. Taking control.<br /><br />I'm going to be beautiful. So beautiful.Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-79729315739447031222013-02-05T23:45:00.003-05:002013-02-06T08:50:33.628-05:00She's a princessI'm struggling with an overwhelming sense of failure in every aspect of my life. I feel the familiar curling in on myself that precedes a major depressive episode, a warning sign that I've overestimated my emotional and physical resilience, and the needle's in the red. <br /><br />If I act fast, I should be able to ward this off, but it means treating myself like a petulant princess for a week or two. Ruthlessly slashing all non-critical obligations, getting enough sleep and moments of solitude, doing the minimum to get by until I get my emotional footing again. I hate that I'm this person who has to be babied just to cope with daily life, but ignoring this feeling leads to a bad place that my family doesn't deserve to have inflicted on them. <br /><br />Over the last month, I'd already started cutting back on blogging activities that stressed me out and that felt so good that I thought I was ready for a daily posting challenge. Oops - four days in and I'm out. I need to spend some pressure-free time playing piano, reading (books, not blogs), writing for myself alone whether I post it or not, and exercising without my heart rate monitor smirking a score at me. I need to stop giving myself a report card filled with "Fs" at the end of every day. <br /><br />I can't believe that after all this time, I still don't know how to do this. <br /><br />Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-82816064532554283782013-02-03T21:31:00.001-05:002013-02-03T21:47:20.974-05:00Playing hookyJay took the kids downstairs this morning so I could sleep in. I went to a strength training class, picked up my copy of Gillian Flynn's <em>Gone Girl</em> (LOVE it already and I'm two pages in), came home and kissed my family, then went to a 3-hour zumbathon. It was so awesome! I burned at least 1500 calories and was so drenched in sweat when I got home that I could wring out my clothes. I was in the front row so I got to see some amazing instructors (including the people who teach the instructors) up close and personal. Wow!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://0.gvt0.com/vi/RTp6_-6YYNg/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RTp6_-6YYNg&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RTp6_-6YYNg&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>This guy (Carlos Henriquez) was dancing 5 feet in front of me!</em></div><br />On the way home from the zumbathon, I used my last reserves of strength to grab groceries before collapsing into a nice hot bath. Next on the list was lounging on the couch with Jay, Sass and Little Man while enjoying some well-earned fajitas and ice cream, then laughing through <em>America's Funniest Home Videos </em>and <em>You, Me and Dupree.</em><br /><em></em><br />It was a perfect day and the next thing I knew, it was 9:30PM and I hadn't written the post I had planned for today's prompt at the <a href="http://www.weworkforcheese.com/2013/02/a-true-story/">We Work For Cheese</a> February writing challenge. I'm not going to write it. I'm just going to sit here and keep smiling at my perfect day.<br /><br />* * * *<br /><br />Unless this counts? The prompt was "And the next thing I knew..."<br /><br />Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1425562009774136477.post-71771826978922030372013-02-02T22:08:00.001-05:002013-02-02T22:11:20.480-05:00A cold revenge<em>Yay!! I'm awake! I can read, I can play with my toys, I can have a peanut butter and apple butter sandwich, I can dance to Mommy's aerobics records in the living room. The possibilities are endless! I can't wait to get started.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Hold on. It's still dark outside. What did Mommy say again?</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>"Azara. You are NOT to get out of your bed before 7:00AM for any reason. Period. You may get up at 7:30AM if you play quietly in your room, but you may NOT get out of your bed before then."</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>But I want to get up. There's so much to do and I'm just lying here, missing it all! Maybe she won't notice if I just read in bed. How is that hurting anyone?</em><br /><em> </em><br /><em>No. Last time I read in bed Mommy took my book away, right after the Pevensies found out Tumnus the Faun had been arrested, and I had to wait two days to get it back.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Grrr. I'm so BORED. Why doesn't Nicole wake up? At least then I could talk to her. I could kick my heels on the mattress until she wakes up, like last time. </em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Better not. I don't want to be banned from carob chips for the next week. </em><br /><em></em><br /><em>I'm bored. I'm bored. I'M SO BORED. What time is it?</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>7:07AM. ARGH!!!!</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>And I have to pee. I really have to pee. </em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Stupid Mommy. Why is she so mean? I'll show her...</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Hahaha!</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>That'll teach her to tell me what to do. It's not even that uncomfortable.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>OK, now the pee's getting cold. Maybe this was a mistake. What time is it?</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>7:11AM.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>7:16AM.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Ugh. I'm freezing cold, soaking wet and I smell like the recess washroom. Fourteen minutes to go.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Mommy's going to be SO mad.</em><br /><br />* * * *<br /><br />She was mad, alright. Whenever I talk about the antics of my 2.5 year old hooligan daughter, I can see my mom smirking beside me, no doubt remembering this moment among many others. <br /><br />Karma's a bitch, y'all. A stubborn, pee-stained bitch.<br /><br />* * * *<br /><br />Day 2 of the <a href="http://www.weworkforcheese.com/2013/02/ready-to-go/">We Work for Cheese</a> writing challenge - the prompt for today was "hold on". Betcha thought I wasn't going to make it. Puh-leeze. Azarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472061794664458543noreply@blogger.com29