Nobody Said It Was Easy No One Ever Said It Would Be So Hard

Friday Faff: I Just Realized That It's Not Friday Edition

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Dudes. Dudes! Thank you all for being rockstars. When I get tangled up in my own head I tend to forget that I'm not the only person who feels this way. Anxiety can be so solitary, you know? Thanks for reminding me that we're all a bit crazy. I tried to respond to each comment but a few were "noreply-comment@blogger.com" so if you didn't get a reply from me: Thank you! You rock! Change your account settings so people can respond to your comments!

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Chicago eliminated Nashville from the Stanley Cup playoffs this week so Vancouver and Chicago are headed for a round two match up. I'd like to be excited but I'm too stressed. The Canucks played the Hawks in round two last year and the result was devastating. I'm trying to get into the spirit this year but the harshest smacktalk I can muster is "watch out Chicago, we're so going to ... rematch you. We're going to rematch you so hard. You should just quit now because when we're through rematching you there will be nothing left." Weak, I know. I've been a Canucks fan for too long; I've grown to expect disappointment.

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This morning I was listening to my iPod on shuffle when a song came on that I haven't listened to in years. It took my breath away. One minute I'm on the train trying not to stab the kid across from me who is playing a video game with the volume loud enough that I can hear it over my music (seriously, rush hour public transportation etiquette exists for a reason and if you refuse to abide by said etiquette, I reserve the right to stab you) and then all of a sudden I'm flooded by memories of my ex-boyfriend. Not good memories, either. Horrible, twisty memories of lying in his bed, listening to this song on repeat because he can't sleep without music playing softly, not sleeping because how can I sleep when our relationship (which at the time is my whole world (barf, I know)) is ending? This song represents a painful time in my life and I should probably just take it off my iPod completely but it really is a lovely song (The Scientist by Coldplay, in case anyone is wondering.) I'm always surprised when music affects me so deeply because usually scent is the sense that knocks me on my ass (whenever I smell the ex-boyfriend's cologne it's like a punch to the gut.)

I'm taking my iPod off shuffle is what I'm trying to say.

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Shawn and I have decided to upgrade to a king-sized bed. Our tiny bedroom doesn't really have space for a king-sized bed but we're not wee people (he is 6'3" and I am 5'8") so we're going to try to make it work. We need to get rid of a dresser to make room for the bed so we're hoping to find a bed with drawers in the base. So far we've only been able to find queen-sized beds with storage underneath; does anyone know of a kind-sized bed with drawers? We're pretty specific in what we need so I'm worried that we won't be able to find anything that suits us. Our dream bed is king-sized, has drawers in the base, doesn't cost a lot of money, and is low to the ground so I don't hurt myself when I fall out of bed or sleepwalk. Someone please tell me that this bed exists.

And As Soon As You Have Rearranged The Mess In Your Head He Will Show Up Looking Sane Perfectly Sane If I Know Crazy

My anxiety is difficult for me to explain to most people. I get "what are you so worried about?" a lot. Also "you just need to relax" (stabby stab stab.) The thing is, I'm not worried. To be worried implies a thought process. When I walk into a room full of strangers, I am not worried that they won't like me or that I won't have anything to talk about or that I'll say the wrong things. I am not worried. I am not thinking, period. I am trying to remember to breathe because I feel light-headed and dizzy. I am trying to focus on putting one foot in front of the other because my knees feel like jelly. I am trying to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. I am in survival mode, trying to quell the flight and embrace the fight (though I know that walking into a room full of people I don't know doesn't necessitate a "fight," my anxiety feels very primitive to me.) I don't let my anxiety stop me from walking into a room full of strangers, though. I walk into the room and I die a little on the inside as I talk too quickly and laugh too loudly and drink too much gin and smile too widely and sometimes I think that I'm pulling it off, I'm fooling people into thinking that I'm just a normal person having a normal night out.

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Part of the review process at the sleep disorder clinic was an appointment with a psychiatrist. Before I could be admitted to the program it needed to be confirmed that I sometimes feel sad and blue because I am tired because of the sleeping issues, and not that I suffer from depression which causes sleepiness and lethargy in some people. So I met with the psychiatrist and we talked about how I sleep and the problems I have and the triggers I have identified. At the end of our appointment, the psychiatrist told me that I would be accepted into the program (happy face!) She also told me that when I am finished with the sleep disorder program, perhaps I should consider treatment for my anxiety disorder which she feels is unrelated to my sleeping issues but is obviously having a negative effect on my quality of life. And then I cried a little because I hadn't spoken to the psychiatrist about my anxiety. Sure she's a medical professional trained to identify mental illness, but I couldn't help feeling exposed. I thought I was quirky and maybe a little high-strung but after spending only one hour with the psychiatrist she could see that I am crazy.

Crazy: a word I use to describe myself to diminish the impact it has when others use it against me; a word that now feels tainted and wrong coming out of my mouth.

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I wanted to talk about TequilaCon and how fun it was and how fantastic it was to meet people I've long thought were rad, only to find out that they are ten times as rad in person as they are on the internet. I wanted to talk about how proud I am of myself for going to a pub, alone, to meet up with a group of people who aren't strangers but the majority of whom I've never met before. I wanted to tell you about the giggles and the mooosetashes and the poutine and instead I'm all angsty and wrapped up in my own head. I blame the rain.

I Don't Care Who You Are Where You're From What You Did As Long As You Love Me

I have known Robin since we were both seven years old. Her family moved to my neighbourhood and we ended up in the same second grade class. Proximity played a role in the beginning of our friendship but it was our mutual love of cheesy movies and 5 cent candies and cheap hair products that sustained our friendship through the rocky elementary and high school years.

Robin is a forever friend. She has seen me at my worst: she has held my hair back and let me retch after drinking too much, too many times to count (it should be noted that Robin has the alcohol tolerance of a drunken sailor and I have never had to hold her hair back, which is a very good thing because I don't have the stomach for it); she bit her tongue when I dated a selfish jerk and then picked up the pieces when he broke my heart (every time he broke my heart); she refused to abide by the hospital rule of "family members only" and sneaked into the emergency room and held my hand until I woke up after my ill-fated bachelorette party.

Robin never says "I told you so" even though I have deserved to hear it many times.

She has been there for me for twenty years. She has planned birthday extravaganzas, given fashion advice, been my wingwoman when anxiety got the best of me, made me laugh until my stomach hurt, introduced me to mojitos, told me when I was being an idiot without actually calling me an idiot, choreographed awesome dances to awful Backstreet Boys songs, talked me down off of many ledges, and stood beside me when I married Shawn.

Today Robin is boarding a plane bound for Africa. I am so excited for the adventures she is going to have and so proud of her for going on this solo journey. I am also feeling very blue.

I will miss you, friend. Be safe.

Love you bunches.

Turn Away While I Celebrate Will You Tolerate While I Waste The Day Away?

It wasn't a responsible decision, to go to a pub to watch the Canucks game on a Wednesday night, but it was a fun decision. The atmosphere was muted at the start but the back-and-forth momentum changes in the game soon had the entire pub whipped up into a hockey frenzy (upon reflection, I'll admit that the alcohol may have played a small role.) When the Canucks scored late in the 3rd and finally took the lead, the pub erupted in a cacophony of hoots and whistles that lasted until after the final horn.

I love hockey. I am a true fan - I root for my team when they're losing and I happily welcome back the bandwagon-jumpers when the team is winning. Tuesday's disallowed goal was ridiculous and I'll admit to unleashing a string of profanity when the call was made. That one call didn't lose the game for the Canucks, though, and the bitching and moaning that occurred afterward did nothing but make us look like poor losers. Last night's game was more than a chance for the Canucks to tie the series at two games apiece; it was a chance for the fans (whether long-term or short-term, steadfast or fickle, zealous or laid-back) to stop focusing on bad calls and conspiracy theories and just fucking celebrate. And celebrate we did. We stumbled home exchanging high-fives with random strangers, attempting to eat dirty pizza on the train, and laughing at the gems that came out of Shawn's mouth (my personal favourite: "Swedish power activate! I'm going to Ikea tomorrow.") (I guess that's only funny if you know that our top line consists of three Swedes. And that Shawn hates Ikea more than, well, anything.)

This morning I woke up with an inexplicably sore foot, a bruise on my wrist, a hangover that rivals my worst hangover ever, and a brother-in-law asleep on our couch. So no, it was not a responsible decision by any stretch of the imagination, but it was a decision I don't regret. Not even a little.

Now will someone please make me a baked potato and some tea? I'm pretty sure that a baked potato and tea are the only things that will keep me from dying this morning.

Oh If Only If Only Oh He Wasn't So Lonely

Today's post is unapologetically stolen from Kyla. (Unapologetic because her post gave me the warm and fuzzies and I want to spread it around, not because I'm a heartless thief.)

If I could wish a frivolous wish, it would be for a coffee klatsch. Every morning we would sit in overstuffed armchairs and sip our lattes and tell our stories. We would talk about the funny stuff and the difficult stuff, the things that scare us, things that make us stabby, and things that make our hearts smile. We would celebrate birthdays and weddings and accomplishments. We would wonder and discuss and share. There would be no shortage of fancy treats to eat.

There would be no hustle and bustle, no rush hour, no drinking coffee from the stainless steel travel mug with the leaky lid, no attempting to read your stories on my phone's tiny screen. There would be only laughter and friends and the thing that seems to be missing from all of our lives: time to enjoy it all.

So I Crawl Underneath My Blanket Where I Can Hide Away I Know I Can't Take It

So, we all knew I was going back to buy the Snuggies, right? This doesn't come as a surprise to anyone, does it?

Well, anyone apart from Wolfgang and Stella.

Stella has perfected her "wtf?" look.

Wolfgang is still working on his.

Surprisingly, Stella didn't protest the Snuggie. Perhaps she is becoming more accommodating of my crazy as she gets older, or maybe she didn't have any fight left in her after kicking Wolfgang's ass up and down the dog park for an hour. Either way, she stayed in the Snuggie for a good five minutes before completely losing her shit.

Wolfgang loved his Snuggie. He was so sad when I took the Snuggie away (Stella was trying to eat it off his back.)

It's a blanket! With sleeves! What's not to love?!

It was definitely worth the $10 and the drive back to the pet store (and the judgment of the pet store cashier as I slunk through making my purchase) to see my pups wrapped up in fleecy goodness. Now whenever I feel blue I can put the puppies in the Snuggies and it's like instant sunshine and rainbows.

Pull This Blanket Off Of Me

Friday Faff: Scattered (well, more scattered than usual) Thoughts Edition

I haven't faffed in a while and there are approximately a billion thoughts bouncing around in my head so here we go.

I have an appointment at a sleep disorder clinic this morning. Not a sleep disorder clinic, the sleep disorder clinic. I feel so much pressure - should I not be drinking coffee right now so that I'm not coherent when I go to the appointment? Should I not wear eye makeup so that I look extra sleepy? I am fretting. I thought that this appointment meant that I was accepted into the program but it just means that I passed the initial review process. Wish me luck!

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I forgot to post about my April resolution but I have been sticking to it. March's resolution was frustrating and vague. "Make better choices" was the stupidest, most frustrating, completely unsatisfying resolution I could make. How can you win that resolution? You can't, which is why my April resolution is to not buy a single prepared coffee. I can win that resolution. I will win that resolution. There is a shameful coffee admission to go along with April's resolution but it's a story for another day.

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The Canucks won last night's game against the LA Kings. It was only the first game of the first round of playoffs but I was a complete stressball. The energy in Vancouver is awesome but it's a nervous energy. If you've been a Canucks fan for any length of time you understand why. Things can go very badly very quickly for the Canucks.

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I was buying dog food the other day and I saw pet Snuggies in the clearance bin. It took an amazing amount of restraint to not buy the pet Snuggies. I kind of regret it. Should I go back and buy the pet Snuggies? My dogs' lives can only be enriched by the addition of blankets with sleeves, right?

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Happy Friday, peeps!

So Why Must You Always Dress In Black?

I have spent the last few days wrapped up in my own head, drafting ridiculous, long-winded, woeful posts about I'm not sure what exactly. I'm gloomy. I feel ... grey.


And then this morning I read Kyla's post about six months + six dresses (when math involves dresses it is math I can wrap my head around) and a tiny smile crept into my heart. It's a bit silly, I know, to be cheered up by material things but the thought of swirling skirts and colourful tights and feeling like a lady brings me joy. It reminds me of my last day in England when my two dear friends took me out for a proper cream tea. Never mind that we spent the afternoon taking inappropriate pictures with the (blatantly phallic) manicured hedges in the garden of the tea house, for a brief moment we were three ladies, tarted up in our dresses, enjoying an afternoon tea.

Will you be playing along?

Rock Robot Rock

A few months ago Shawn and I tried to find a way for him to quit his job and either go back to school or focus on his music full-time. We failed. There's more to it than that but what it boils down to is that it was a huge risk that we weren't willing to make right now. So for the last few months, Shawn has come home from work every night and tucked himself away in the den to work on his album. It's been difficult. I've gone to bed alone too many times to count, resorting to ear plugs so I could fall asleep. I've been on the receiving end of snarky looks when I interrupt "the process" and I've given many snarky looks when I've heard the same bass lick fifty times in a row. It was worth it, though, because the album is finally finished.

It can be lonely, watching someone you love be so immersed in something that doesn't include you. I would be lying if I said that I didn't feel resentful or envious or stroppy at times. "The process" can be an exclusive bitch sometimes. But now that the album is done and I have my husband back? I am nothing but proud.

Do You Ever Wonder What Happens To The Words That We Send Do they Bend Do They Break From The Flight That They Take

There is a tiny sushi restaurant attached to the building I work in; it's not the best sushi I've ever had but it's not the worst. It's cheap, fast, and convenient. I eat sushi for lunch at least once a week is what I'm saying. The restaurant is owned by a smiley Japanese woman and her husband. She is one of the happiest people I've ever encountered. There's a bit of a language barrier between us but every time I see her she's all smiles and laughter and happy chatter. It's difficult to be in a bad mood around this woman.

Today I go in for my usual and while I'm waiting for her husband to build my roll, the woman tells me that I'm beautiful. So I'm all "Thank you! I've had a rough morning but that really makes me happy! You're so kind!" She hesitates as she processes what I've said and I question my use of "rough" in place of "bad" (because I am an asshole who assumes that she is the one who hasn't understood part of the conversation.) "Yes," she says, tentatively. "Yesterday was rain. But today is so much sun!" And smiles.

Yes. Today is so much sun. Today is beautiful.

*sigh*

I shouldn't be allowed to talk to people.

Choose The Highest Bidder Was My Answer When They Told Me I Was Up For Sale

Birthdays are a big deal to me. It's the one day a year that the people you love celebrate you. What's not to love about that? (I'll tell you what's not to love: when the people you love think that celebrating you means taking you on a dune buggy ride in the sand dunes. Ahem.)

Shawn's birthday is in five weeks and I don't know what to give him. He needs a guitar for recording his music but I know nothing about guitars and the fact that he's a lefty makes the selection a: more difficult because of the limited numbers of left-handed guitars and b: more expensive (because of the limited numbers of left-handed guitars. *sigh*) We've been talking about getting rid of the computer desk (and PC) in our den and hooking up a mac mini to our home theatre system in the living room. The problem with this scenario is that Shawn would have to pull all of his stuff out of the den and into the living room every time he wanted to record. I know my husband: once the stuff comes out of the den and into the living room, in the living room it will sit forever. The other option is a weekend trip. Air Canada is having a seat sale right now but it ends tomorrow so I need to make my decision today. I like the idea of a weekend trip but I'm hesitating because of the amount of work involved. I would need to book time off work (which is a hassle), I would need to get Shawn approved to take time off work, Shawn's passport expired months ago so that would need to be renewed if we went to the States, and I'd have to figure out puppy care. Also, Shawn is going away for the May long weekend (the weekend after his birthday) so it would probably be too much to go away on his actual birthday (and that kind of takes a bit of the shine off, doesn't it? Taking a birthday trip after your birthday?)

Peeps, I need your help. What should I give Shawn for his birthday? It's not a significant-number birthday so it doesn't have to be over the top but I do want it to be awesome.

Don't Waste Your Time Or Time Will Waste You

This weekend was an amazing concert,

new cupcake toppers,

long naps and puppy cuddles,

and too much breakfast pizza.

It was equal parts draining and restorative.

This weekend was three days long but far too short.

Glaciers Melting In The Dead Of Night And The Superstars Sucked Into The Supermassive Supermassive Black Hole

I have been feeling blue all week. It takes a lot of energy to feel sorry for oneself for consecutive days, I have discovered. This morning I woke up and just ... couldn't do it. I couldn't maintain the funk. I'm not a morning person - at all - but I felt almost cheery as I got ready for work. The idiot puppies helped, of course. They fucking vibrate with exuberance every single morning. It's like they weren't sure that we were going to wake up and the fact that we did wake up and fed them breakfast is cause for major celebration.

My new necklace also helped my mood. I mean, look at it:

It's a moosetash!


Nilsa brought it to my attention last week after Christyn added it to her shop. I had an awesome etsy experience with Bead Up (I would just like to clarify that Bead Up was not the etsy seller causing me unnecessary angst) and I fully recommend you check out her other items. Or you could all buy mooooostash necklaces and we can form some sort of mooosetash mafia. Let's do this.

Also contributing to my awesome mood? Tonight is the Muse concert. I have loved Muse for a long time but have never managed to see them live. To say that I am ridiculously excited is an understatement.

And to top off my day of awesomeness, tomorrow is a stat holiday so today is my Friday, which means that I get to pick a winner of the mooooosetash cupcake toppers today (spreading the mustache love brings me great joy.) This winner is .... (trying to figure out how to screen grab my results from random.org on a fucking PC ... not happening) Katelin!

Happy Thursday, peeps! I hope everyone has a fabulous 3-day weekend (and if you are one of the lucky ones who gets a 4-day weekend, I hope it rains where you live. Sorry!)