(I Had a Fabulous, Witty Title but I Forgot It)

I hate my bad memory. I try and make up for it with emails to myself & post-its everywhere. My memory is so bad sometimes that I don't recognize my own reminder notes. I noticed an email at home with the subject "BRING BACK CORDS". My first thought: "motherfucker, who the hell is sending me some internet petition to restore corduroy pants to fashion A-lists?" Looking further, it was I, reminding myself to return the recharger cords for my phone & headset to the office. I had brought them home to be able to use them during my holidays.

If recalling something bugs me, it really bugs me until I remember it. I recall phoning my dear husband and screaming "HE'S OUR DENTIST!!" I'm sure he would have said "who IS this?" if not for call display. Even then...

We had seen a very familiar man completely out of context and it tortured me all day. I was quite ashamed as I got to the point of picturing this man in various forms of garb "suit & tie?" No "jeans & T?" No "safety vest & hardhat?" No.

I was starting to question my motivation for this avenue of thought (it's possible that some may consider the gentleman to be hottie hot hot perhaps somewhat attractive) except that I said to myself "it's not like I've imagined him in a Speedo" except – dammit, there it is. Sorry self.

I made it to "scrubs?" (don't ask why, I don't remember) when, wait a minute, there's something there… The "out of context" was at the funeral of the parent of a friend. A friend who used to work for that dentist. Her recommendation was how we had hooked up with him.

Do you have any tips for um... what was I talking about again?

Remembrance

His name was Charles Raymond Bradley and he was a Petty Officer with the Royal Canadian Air Force. He was my Grandmother's baby brother and the youngest in the family. I don't know exactly how old he was, because even though I had the presence of mind to pay some attention when my Grandmother spoke, I did NOT have the presence of mind to write these things down. He looks pretty young here.

He was a navigator on a bomber, and part of a fairly successful team – at least according to my only (possibly somewhat biased) source. My Grandmother told me frequently how after every successful mission, the crew each got an egg for breakfast. This was a big deal, as eggs were a rare commodity at the front. Reserved for the elite. Once you had twenty-five eggs, your tour was done. He had eaten twenty-one eggs.

When he was shot down over Germany, my Grandmother said that it ripped a hole in my Great-Grandmother's heart. She became embittered and angry at them for taking her baby. I wouldn't be so sure she even knew with whom she was angry.

I can't relate to the horrors of war. My heart lets me dabble at the edge of what it may be like to let your baby go off to an uncertain future, with odds further against them than you care to fathom. For obvious reasons, it doesn't let me more than dabble. More importantly, the only thing of which I am certain is that it would be nothing like one could ever imagine. Never mind the visit.

It's BECAUSE I can't relate that I am so grateful. I have not had to consider the possibility of such a hole ripped into me for the greater good.

I am so deeply indebted to the men and women who have served and continue to serve to protect my privileges as such a comparatively spoiled princess. Is there really any more that I can say than: Thank you?

----------------------

Max and I went yesterday to the Remembrance Day ceremony at the kids' school. The Principal makes a very sincere effort to beat the kids over the head with this. I believe it's pretty much provincial curriculum to not let this solemn day pass by un-noted, but I get the impression our Principal would not have to be asked. I was slightly disappointed at the parent turnout to this (what I think is an) important occasion, but noted that it was not specifically sent out as an invitation. I was extremely impressed at the children who sat silent and mostly (amazingly) still for a very long time. There are glimmers of hope.

Out of Water

I was born at a very young age in a galaxy far, far away – not a Ford Galaxie, that's probably where I was conceived (did you see what I did there? Ford actually made the Galaxie, and they existed at the time of my conception. That's called "research".) Actually, it wasn't all that long ago, and it was less than a mile from where I sit right now (crap, it's more like 5 km. What is that in dog years? I'm tired of research). I've lived here about 99% of my life (sunovabich, you're going to make me calculate this, aren't you? K: 3/41=7% of my life *not* living here. I'll take this opportunity to say "look waaaay up. What does that banner say?")*

Alright, so you'd think I belong here. But some of the typical conduct of my fellow citizens leaves me flummoxed. Here are but a few of the things that highlight how I may not belong here.

I:

• Don't vacate the city for the lake every summer. Yes, I need a second whole household to maintain and manage, because clearly I have too much time & money
  
• Hate the Guess Who. As in, *hate*. Can't stress this enough. It may or may not be that I've manufactured this entire post in order to be able to state that.
  
• Don't hate Toronto. More indifferent. And pity. They *so* want to be a world city. Not going to happen. This is Canada. That would be grandstanding.
  
• Didn't swoon over IKEA's announcement to open here (disclosure: already own everything, which makes me a good, cheap Winnipegonian; disclosure #2: I'll be there - with my paycheque in hand – the day they open; disclosure #3: I may have emailed them about it back in the day)
  
• Don't hijack any discussion of Neil Young with "he's from Winnipeg, you know". He left. I'm over it.
  
• Know where my turn signal lever is and know how to use it. And do. But not for hours at a time.
  
• Can use an acceleration lane.
  
• Don't make monthly shopping trips to Grand Forks (disclosure: Girls' GFF Weekend. Not my choice destination, but hey, I can spend money. And hey, it's my GFFs!)
  
• Don't pine for the Jets and hyperventilate when the league utters the word "expansion". They're gone. Get over it. In fact the only *possible* way to get them back is to let them go, move on and grow as a community until we earn them on our own merit. And for the love of Christmas, don't fucking call them "The Jets" if that miraculously happens. How about: The Wholesalers? Eh? Eh? Nice ring to it.
  

I've got about 15 or 200 more ways that I don't or haven't fit in to the various groups and communities I am either forced to, or really want to be a part of. What of you?

*And, ok further: a goodly chunk was spent just outside the city – some might call it "the country" – but really, our community was here, as it sure as hell wasn't out there. I have a long history of not fitting in. Also: damn right I double count that time as time toward my God-given right ability to call myself a country-girl. It probably landed me a husband, so I can't let it go now.

Paring

Pepper's last soccer game was Wednesday evening. The previous evening was Norah's last game. Both were, for some reason, the continuation of the spring soccer season.

That was it for the programmed activities for our kids for the foreseeable future. At least until the New Year, or until I scream "FUUUUCK YOU NEED TO BE SOMEONE ELSE'S PROBLEM FOR AN HOUR!", whichever comes first.

Last year's activities included:

Norah: Piano (half-hour lesson once a week, plus practice every day), Guitar (half-hour lesson once a week, plus practice every day), Dance (one-hour lesson once a week), Squash (one-hour lesson once a week), Soccer (one-hour practice once a week, plus two one-hour games per week at various locations around the city)

Pepper: Piano (half-hour lesson once a week, plus practice every day), Basketball (one-hour practice once a week, plus a one-hour games each week at various locations around the city), Dance (one-hour lesson once a week), Soccer (two one-hour games a week)

Stewie: Soccer (two one-hour games a week). For some reason (probably him NOT constantly badgering to join things), we didn't have him in much.

It was too much. We were constantly going. We started using Google calendar because between Max and me and one car, we had to strategize and analyze the logistics of every single evening. Including weekends. The kids – separately – said "Mom, we're too busy".

How did we get into this? We're not "those people". We always swore we wouldn't over-program our kids. We mock "those people". But there's just so much that's interesting. So much that we feel they should learn. Dance for flexibility and coordination. Basketball / Soccer for team-building and discipline. Music for brain-wiring and math skillz. And they asked for it all, were enthusiastic (at the beginning) for everything.

But while they liked dancing, they didn't love it. The team sports were fun, but none of them (so far) have the bloodlust I can see in other players the same age (as soccer players, they'll make great cellists). Maybe they will later, but I'm not willing to tear at their little souls to get it now.

Music is even more difficult to ditch, as both the girls have actually been advancing fairly rapidly. Plus, we bought a whole mother-fucking expensive piano. Norah, after (Guitar Hero induced) begging to take guitar lessons all summer last year, got exceedingly belligerent and ornery (I mean more than normal) after only about a month. We forced her to stick out the entire year (until June – acquiring Guitar Hero at Christmas may or may not have bought a little time). She was (and is) actually amazing. Her teacher – a local rock-star himself – commented on her skill and potential (I think he was also secretly a little jazzed to have a nine-year-old girl asking him to teach her Metallica's "One" and AC/DC's "Thunderstruck")

So, we quit. Everything. This fall and winter we are going to do some one-off family stuff. Skating. Movies. Skiing (hey, we may be in the flattest area in the FREAKING WORLD, but we've got a lump or two suitable for kids. And me. And there's always cross-country) And looking forward to some unprogrammed time. There is much to do to regain control (assuming it's "regain" and not just "gain", but either way). I hope to be able to document some of it here, but don't hold your breath. Cleaning up and gaining control of this cluster-fuck we generously call a blog is unfortunately not terribly high up on the list. But since I enjoy whining sharing here, look for continued, random brain-farts!

Paring down is only step one. I hope it works. What do you think?

Reflections

Why is it on birthdays we find it necessary to reflect on the past present and future? And then again on New Years? And ultimately at funerals?

Well, with my birthday eggs benedict at the ready (the day was yesterday, the 18^th, but with jobs and school, today is the special breakfast, though I got my bling yesterday – that's a given) I'm not here to answer that question – especially the funeral one (though with the dearth of posting of late, there is cause to wonder) – just to do it.

I am now 41. It happens. It will happen to you! It might have already. It's not a bad thing. It beats the alternative. I believe the problem people have with aging is usually a feeling that they didn't appreciate 20, 25, 30, 35, 40, when they had it. To paraphrase the tree-hugger thing: the best time to appreciate your youth was 20 years ago. The second best time is right now.* You are still young compared to when you'll be saying "I'm so old" in 10 years.

Last year on my birthday (a "milestone"), Max asked me, not if I was "happy", but: "if you could go back 20 years and look ahead to where you are now, would you like what you saw?"**

Without hesitating (well, after I quickly sorted through the ** below), I said YES! I would have been ecstatic to see us still married, both healthy and relatively fit (he IS, I might be skinny, but not necessarily what I'd call fit), three beautiful healthy children. We are in a nice house in a wonderful neighbourhood. I am gainfully employed in a job that still provides challenges and opportunities (I think that might even be in a vision statement somewhere). Great friends and extended family – who are all still talking (hey, these days, it has to be counted!).

Are there provisos and "well, if I were to really look into it I'd change (a), (b), and (c)"? No freaking doubt! I constantly feel as though I am one crisis away from spiralling out of control on most fronts. The grand irony is that every aspect of my life is *exactly* where I want it to be, but I sometimes feel as though I have it held together by string and gum.

[The one exception is the marriage. I guess it is proof that when you meticulously and systematically replace string and gum with trust and communication, the result actually can be pretty robust. (The funny part? At EVERY stage of this relationship, we have thought this had been achieved. I fully expect to read this at 60 and mutter "pfft. Amateur.")]

So I/we are in a period of regaining control. Fortunately, there are very small changes to make. Unfortunately there are a lot of them.

What about YOU? Would your 15 or 20 year-old self be pleased with what s/he saw now?

* The tree-hugger thing: "the best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago. The second best time is right now"

** Here, I have to put in that the enginerd in me can tend to get hung up on the details: Do I just see a picture? Do I just get to observe interactions, but not be seen (a la Scrooge's ghost tour-guides)? Do I get to ask questions? Do I get to be INSIDE my person, feeling what I feel? I talk myself from the ledge by reminding myself that the answer is the same regardless of the observation made (just some of the details maybe?)

Dreams

I am at a schwanky party at a stone castle on the Riviera. I've stepped out onto the terrace for some air (the inside air was getting a little weighty with pretension).

"You've never looked more beautiful" the voice behind me says (a fleeting thought doesn't disagree, as my dress cuts a perfect silhouette in the moonlight). I turn and gaze into his eyes and his arm gently slips around my waist and pulls me closer. I find myself fully lost in those eyes.

"MOOOOOMMMMM!!!" The shrill voice rips through the brisk night air. I ignore it. Probably someone else's mom.

"MOOOOOMMMMMMMYYY!!!" As the veil that was my happy place gets shredded into little wet bits, I catch a fleeting glimpse of my Danny heading off to catch the next most beautiful perfect silhouette. Likely one without a muffin-top too, fickle bastard. And I get up to tend to the offender.

I've done a lot of reading and observing, considering and ignoring, trial and error, laughing and no doubt shuddering on various parenting techniques, tricks, strategies philosophies and tips. Dealing with nightmares is the one thing that I have to say I've not really read much about, but actually reached my own conclusion, based a lot on things not specifically related to parenting. So it's probably wrong. But I've never claimed to be good at any of this. Read, consider, and let me know what you think of my approach.

Part I – The [ahem] "Science"

I took a "Leadership" course through work several years ago. Sounds very "Dilbert", but it was an excellent course on responsibility, delegation and a bunch of other corporate stuff. It was a brief, shining moment when I had some faith that my organization was heading in the right direction with something [ahem]. Throughout this course, the instructor spouted off several bits of wisdom that just made plain sense.

(1) We retain [The actual number is less relevant than the scale between them - I'm going to say -] 10% of what we hear, 50% of what we write down, and 80% of what we explain (either back or to someone else). Your brain puts information into different compartments depending upon what it's doing with it. Writing and explaining require more processing.

(2) Something bothering you? Talk it out! This was the "traditional" format for trauma counselling (talking dangerously close to out of my ass now). He stated that there has been growing evidence that making someone talk about a traumatic even can serve to only freeze the event in their memory, when their own coping mechanism may just be to suppress it. In such situations, “they” have found, the individual should actually dictate how they need to cope. Some people need to talk about stuff, others need not to. Or they do, but a little later (again, several years ago, this may be mainstream now. Or entirely shot down. I mention it because in my context, the basic notion still makes perfect sense to me)

Of course he provided references, but I didn't write them down... or recite them to someone else.

[if anyone locally ever has the chance to take anything with Linton Sellen, I recommend jumping at it]

Part II – The Personal Experience

Whenever I am awakened by a bad dream - it seems my conscience would prefer I waken and play-out the worst semi-consciously - I cannot go back to sleep until I fully waken myself and flush the images. Fully reconcile the logistics of yes-that-frightens-you-but-the-likelihood-of-the-earth-opening-up-and-swallowing-your-car-is-low-enough-that-you-do-not-have-to-have-an-escape-plan

On the flip-side, ever have an awesome/funny/interesting/bizarre dream and want to tell about it at breakfast or work later? Or when some seemingly random image reminds you of it?And all you can get out is: "it was really weird... there was.. something about... I was dating Tintin, and uh, Bea Arthur* was vacuuming my curtains, but it, uh made total sense in context and actually was, uh, I think a subconscious commentary on social justice in a world dominated by um... velociraptors... No, really. Don't walk away!"

..

The Actual Advice (disclaimer: don't take this advice without engaging your own brain. You do have one. I know because you've read this far!)

Based on the above (they relate! Shut up, they do!), I never, EVER prompt the offender child to recite what has caused the distress no matter how much I want to punish them for ruining my evening with Daniel Craig

-- Gently wake the child (not all the way). A hug and "Mom/Dad's here" to test the waters

-- Preferably get them to sit up to apply the hugs

-- Acceptable statements: "It's mom/dad/Aunt Fanny"; "You're safe, in your house"; "Mom & Dad are right here in our room" (maybe leave out any explanations for the noises that probably woke them up - now's probably not a good time for that)

-- If they want to talk about it, BY ALL MEANS! but reassure with every statement "you're here now"; "everything's alright" and such and such.

..

This has seems to work for my kids so far, but I haven't been faced with night terrors or any other really complex middle of the night issues. Tell me what you think of this approach.

My next bit of psychological parenting advice has to do with monsters. Stay tuned for more talking out of my ass!

..

*I really wanted to put the whole picture in here, but it's a very big image, so it's just linked

In the Beginning...

Inspired by Rude Cactus, Wyliekat, and possibly some other "how we met" stories [I surf & scan & bump & jump around a lot & can't don't keep track of it all], I began thinking of The Beginning of it all. While I enjoy every one of these other tales, I laugh to myself because the beginning of it all for Max & I was not textbook; not romantic; There was no "I gazed into his/her eyes & knew instantly"; was not "I saw him/her across a smoky room & knew I had to sabotage his/her relationship & make him/her mine"

To make this fair, I've asked Max to provide his perspective as well.

She Said:
by Harmzie

The most fate-soaked part of our sordid tale is that we met on the first day of first year engineering. It was daylight. Probably first thing in the morning. We were part of a group of first-years that were assigned to a "big sister" i.e. second year student [I'm not sure what exactly we were supposed to learn, but regardless, I still keep in touch with my big sis].

We didn't even hate each other. I remembered his name because I thought it was an odd name for someone my age. He remembered me because I was a chick. One of about 3% [nice odds, no? And still, that wasn't why I went in to this field! Shut up. It wasn't]. That was all.

But somewhere, toward the end of first-year, we began hanging out. Doing homework [did I mention that I didn't do very well in first year? that I had to repeat several courses? No? OK, never mind then]. Only we were *actually* hanging out an doing homework! It was slow and it was excruciating.

It was even more painful to watch, apparently, because another "new" couple we knew said to us: "We're going to a social Saturday. Why don't you guys come too?" Translation: "ENOUGH!!! go on a goddam date already!!" (I originally had "fucking" there, and for emphasis, it works better, but I didn't want to redirect the meaning)

That wasn't even enough. We both wanted to go. With each other. But neither could be the first to put it out there. We ended up with "I'll go if you go". And that was The Beginning. To this day, that is what one will say to the other when the other is being non-committal or wishy-washy on something. It garners darts sideways out of the eyes...

Epilogue: We went. We got hammered. We made out. It took a lot of booze to kill the bug up our combined asses [still the best part of Terms of Endearment was Jack Nicholson delivering that line], but kill it we did, in one shot. We both still shudder at our recollection of The Beginning. But we Began.

He Said:
by Max Power (he's the one with the name, and that name is 'Max Power')

My mission assigned to me by my lovely wife, Harmzie as you know her, is to write a post about how we hooked up. I was initially a little confused by this request, as her blog is not of the erotic variety. She then clarified her request, pointing to the calendar to remind me of our dating anniversary (as if I needed reminding, like duh), and that I was to write a post of how we got together. She also informed me I was not to use the words: heaving, throbbing, knockers, member, and honey pot in the post. Well, these restrictions are going to make this task a little harder than I thought.

I can vaguely remember the very first time Harmzie and I met. It was the first day of university, orientation I believe they called it; as it turned out, disorientation would have been more accurate, as my throbbing head the next day could attest. All the frosh were put into groups of 5 or 6 “sisters/brothers”, and led around the campus by 2nd year students on a tour of what were to be the important sites in our “higher” learning (i.e. arcade, bar, lounge). It so happened that Harmzie was a “sister” in my group. I do not know why, but I can remember that we first met in the lounge, and she was wearing a jean jacket. I also remember that she was a little standoffish and was completely uninterested in striking up any conversation. I do not blame her, as she was in a faculty that was at the time 95% male. I could not have imagined that next year at the same we would be going out, I also could not have imagined that next year at the same time I would still be in first year.

I do not recall any more instances or mental images of Harmzie until a few months later at a Valentines social. We ran in similar circles of friends – alcoholics in training (did I mention I failed first year?) – but we hardly spoke. I do remember that we sat with each other at the social for a while and had a pleasant conversation; that image is frozen in my mind. It was then that I realized that I had an interest in this lovely lady and she was not a total bitch (bitch = girl who does not talk to me). I had to come up with a plan.

My opportunity to ingratiate myself to Harmzie came one day in the lounge, a place where our circle of friends would spend a lot time. Harmzie was among the group when a question came up: “What would you do if a gorgeous girl with big knockers would show up naked at your door?” The usual response form the nerdy-sex-starved-males were something like, “I would grab her by the hand and drag her in my apartment and bang her brains out!” Seeing my opportunity I responded, “Well, I would give the obviously disoriented lady a bathrobe and find out where she lived and give her ride back to her mom and dads house”, or some BS like that, I do not remember exactly, but I do remember I had to fight all instincts I had, to come up with that answer. Of course, I suffered a great deal of ridicule, but I stood my ground. When I brought this up with Harmzie years later she admitted that my honey pot had worked, and I had managed to differentiate myself from those other Neanderthals as someone not entirely controlled by their member. I love it when a plan comes together.

The school year was coming to an end, so there were a bunch of assignments coming due. I somehow convinced Harmzie that if we worked together we could get more done, so we spent many late nights together working on our assignments. After a couple weeks of heaving her books about campus, I still was not sure she liked me. I would need some kind of sign, like a notarized copy in triplicate of Harmzie's romantic feelings towards me. Finally, some our mutual friends must have gotten tired of our lame mating dance, and suggested that there was a social which we could attend. Seeing my chance I boldly stated, “I’ll show up if you show up”, not to be out done Harmzie stated she too would “show up if I showed up”. I was so sly and smooth I arranged to pick her up to make sure that she would actually show up. As it turned out, it was the best move I could have ever made.

[me again]
Unedited. Just cut & paste, baby.

The night of that social was 22 years ago tonight. While we always make note of it, we generally don't celebrate it. It just seemed like a good opportunity to force him to talk about me force him to read my damn blog already invite him into the fold.

[also: you thought I was long-winded...]

Um... What?

Someone told me today that I should write a book. For the purposes of this discussion, we'll call him Brad Pitt*. This sparked some discussion at my home this morning.

Me: Would you let me write a book?

Max: Absolutely not.

Me: Brad Pitt says I should write a book.

Max: Brad Pitt doesn't have to live with you [hmm... this moniker isn't working, as I seem to be temporarily obsessed with distracted by this notion]. You would go insane. Thereby driving me insane.

Me: What about a short story?

Max: Have you ever even read anything you've written? You'd say "short story" but it would turn into a novel.

Me: Hmmm... you're right. Well, what about a screenplay? [just throwing crap out there at this point. I'm not sure I even know what a screenplay is.]

Max: --- [contemplative expression]

Max: --- [contemplative expression, continued]

Max: I guess there aren't very many women pr0n directors.

Me: ---

Me: Um... What?

Max: Sorry, I guess I jumped a couple of steps there. I just suddenly had this image of you going to Hollywood to pitch your screenplays and after weeks of pounding the pavement ending up directing pr0n films.

So I took that as an endorsement and will quit my job tomorrow.

*Partly to protect the party-in-question from being accused of *actual* crack ingestion (as opposed to the social-media variety). Partly because I'm still not entirely sure I haven't imagined the whole interaction and don't want to embarass myself. I mean, further.

Twitter High

it's not what you think...

Update: Feeling much better today. Just needed to vent. Thanks for listening!

Here's a picture of something sparkly:

Interview with an Umpire

My dear friend, fellow nerd-girl, and growing presence in the blogging world [seriously, if this keeps up, it's going to be left up to me to keep her down to earth & remind her - and everyone - who was there to expound the virtues of her splendiferous rack at her wedding reception. I'll do it, too. Don't think I won't. And it is splendiferous. And real. As far as I know. But I'm not going into the sauna to find out for you], Nenette at Life Candy succumbed to my begging has asked to interview me.

Here is the plain truth and nothing but the truth [lies by omission exempt]:

1: If you can go back in time and relive one moment in your life, which one would it be and why?

I think I'd go back to my wedding & really enjoy the moment a whole lot more. My "moment" would stretch to include the whole planning phase. I recall being really concerned about the danger of making it all about the wedding and not focusing on the marriage. Now that I know (and am cool with) how it has panned out, I'd like to go back & be bridezilla. You know, in a good way.

2: If you had to kiss a female celebrity, who would she be and why?

I'd put a dress on Adam Levine. If I have to explain, you haven't been paying attention.

3: You've been forced to move back to any one of the cities in which you've already lived. Which one would you choose and why?

I've been to a lot of places, but upon reflection, I haven't lived in any other city. The only possible exception would be Bangkok. I let it slip on a technicality, because we (my parents, actually, since I was 10) rented an apartment instead of living in a hotel for three months (I didn't go to school there).

I've actually only lived in one other place, and it wasn't a city. I was a rather remote place on a rather remote island off the lower mainland of BC. It was pretty exotic, but upon reflection, extremely isolated. The hospital was - on a good day, and if they held the ferry for you - an hour away. My adult freakish neuroses fears sensibilities wouldn't allow me to live there again. They barely allow me to stomach the notion of visiting there.

So, thanks! I was spending most of my life feeling rather worldly until I considered it in this context. [sigh]

GAH! Fuck it! Time for a technicality. I received mail in Saint-Georges-de-Didonnes, France (yes, I had to look it up, but I recognized the name when I saw it) for the month that I stayed vacationed there when I was sixteen. St Georges was pair-of-dice. It was on the Atlantic coast of France. I would sit on the beach [topless, no less. The beach, not me. I tried it but balked mostly because I can deal with sunburn on my shoulders & shins, but wasn't will to take further risks. I was sixteen, right? I'm not sure sunscreen was invented yet] and gaze out at the expanse of the ocean in the direction of home & wish my friends were there with me to ogle the hot eurobabes surrounding me. Anyway. I'd live there. And I'd still probably not bother with the whole topless thing. For different reasons, these days. At least not on the beach.

4: You’re at a dinner party with Adam Levine, Brad Pitt, Oprah, Charlize Theron, David Suzuki, Clive Owen, George Clooney, Naomi Watts, Harrison Ford, and Lindsay Lohan. You only have time to chat with four of them. Who do you snub, who do you befriend, who intimidates you too much to approach, who do you smuggle out the back door for one night of passion when the sweetheart's not looking?

Shun: Oprah, David Suzuki, Lindsay Lohan (although I've just heard there's a warrant for her arrest, so she might be good for a laugh), George Clooney. "Meh" to all. I mean I'd be polite & keep the door open to the possibility that someone could pull it out of the fire & interest me. You didn't specify if Dr Suzuki would be wearing his fig leaf. That might change things.

BFF: Harrison Ford (perhaps too "advanced" to sneak out, but I'd still keep my options open), Clive Owen, Brad Pitt, & because the list of those whom I'd befriend is starting to make me look cheap easy trampy narrow-of-focus, I'd try to include Naomi Watts [hopefully, I wouldn't have to own up the fact that I had to Google her to find out if she was the one who keeps throwing phones] and Charlize [can I call you "Charlize"? Because that actually determines whether you stay here].

Now, as for the matter of Mr Levine: I'd probably start off being too intimidated, but then be totally cracked up by the fact that he was wearing a dress, so I'd be all like, "Dude! It's a dinner party! That's totally inappropriate!" And that would break the ice, and because, while I can make freebie lists until I'm blue in the face, I can't get around the fact that there's no such thing as a real freebie, I'd just toss him on the BFF pile. If someone had to go, I'd get Brad to drive Lindsay home. He'd be a gentleman about it.

5: If you were a character on The Simpsons, who would you be and why?

My hope: Lisa - a smart kid who sees the bigger picture, but can still be bought with a pony.

More likely: combination of Professor Frink & Crazy Cat Lady.

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If you would like to participate in the ME interview, here are the rules...

1. If you want to be interviewed, leave me a comment, or e-mail (harmzie.m[at]gmail[dot]com) that says “Interview me”.

2. I will respond by emailing you 5 questions (I get to choose the questions).

3. Update your blog with the answers to the questions and let me know when you have posted it.

4. You will include this explanation and offer to interview someone else in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

The Heartbeat

I may have mentioned that Norah is taking guitar lessons. Or not. But she is. I may also, then, not have mentioned that Max had decided to take up the guitar "with her". That is, he was going to try and practice along with the songs she was learning. He has.

He quickly became hooked. For Christmas, for example, he announced that he wanted a real (read: full-sized, since we had picked up a 3/4 sized one for Norah's use). Then my dad caught wind of that and said "Hey! I've got one of those kicking around the farm!" (he's got one of *everything* kicking around the farm - it's a wonder he's still married. But he cooks too... hmm... I'm getting something... nope. Gone.) He brought over a swanky looking cherry-red guitar (ahem) AXE c/w the receipt from Eaton's, 1971 ($129.99 I think). He also brought over an amp from about 1874. Did they make amps then? I don't know, but I think it has vacuum tubes in it. And the area around it is NOT any cleaner, I'll just say...

So anyway, they've been nagging me that I should be cool like them. I have maintained (OK, besides all the "lazy it's too hard" and "obsession preoccupied with blogging, and Facebook and Twitter" and something else... Uhhh... Oh yeah! job!" oops) that I have always been drawn to the bass-line and drum-beat of a song (and the back-up vocals too for some reason). He says that if I learned to play guitar, it would be easy to switch to the bass. I don't even know why we have these discussions, since guitar/bass is in a line right after tap-dancing and decoupage (to be fair, I'd probably actually enjoy tap-dancing, it's just not going to happen).

In this regard, here is our conversation on the way out to the in-laws (an hour away - we were listening to something by The Tragically Hip, I think. They have great bass-lines):

Me: "You see? The bass and the drums. They carry the song. They are the
heartbeat. The very lifeblood of the song."

Him: "But the guitar IS the song. It's the brains and the presence."

Me: "NO no! That's just the fancy stuff. The make-up. Curly
hair!"

Him: "Maybe. But it's what gets the song laid."

I'm sure he meant "played".

I'm not going to reiterate my "problem" with memes

I'm not going to reiterate my "problem" with memes. I'm just going to do it. I have to get to one first just to get back at Nen...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
Ever heard of the Beatles? Yeah. It's been a tough slog being named "Strawberry" all these years. When I pick their nursing homes, I tells ya...

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
I cried "Get the hell back in bed" just 10 minutes ago [ed: I may have pulled these answers together over several days]. Before that, was five nights ago. Have I ever mentioned that I never left the maturity of a 12 year old behind?

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
My handwriting varies. Sometimes it is pristine and I love it. Sometimes it feels like I'm writing a drunken "sorry-I-barfed-on-your-shoes" note. I've never actually *written* one of those notes, but it looks like that's what it could be. I don't like it then.

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
I'd say bacon, but bacon's not really a lunch meat. I've had it for breakfast, lunch, supper, snacks, whore's doovers, cravings, clean up (that is, bacon which landed on the floor - I'm not proud)... Lunch meat? Ham (bacon's high-end cousin)

5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
No. I have future Powers-of-Attorney, who will select my nursing home. Fortunately, they don't realized that (yet) and I can still torment them. That time is running thin.

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
Who wouldn't? Actually, if I were that other person, I'd want to be friends with them. Yeah... Figure that one out. [Stupid hypothetical questions...]

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM?
Whoever said "sarcasm is the lowest form of humour", hasn't sat around my dinner table when The Boy lets one rip. No, in my life sarcasm is considered high-end. I've heard tell that kids can't detect or deliver sarcasm until they're about seven. When Norah was about two or three Max and I gave each other the did-she-mean-what-I-thought-she-meant? look. Sure enough. She did. Do I use sarcasm? Like an artist uses clay; like an engineering student uses descriptive geometry to make an L-shaped gingerbread house; like a gyno uses a speculum... [too far? sorry]

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
I think so. I've never really understood tonsils. I'm told they're a blob of skin on the sides of the back of your throat, but what happens if they're missing? Is it just less skin? A hole? Please inform me if you care & I'll try to come up with a good rant about tonsils [disclaimer: I won't].

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
People closely related to my field spend entire careers building perfectly good bridges. Why would I want to jump off of one? It would be a professional slight, really. And deadly. Stupid deadly.

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
I'll choke down some Honey-Nut Cheerios now and then.

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
Yes. Unless they don't have laces. Or unless they have to come of RIGHT NOW. Although if it's that urgent, they often just don't come off at all.

12. FAVORITE LOCAL RESTAURANT?
Wasabi Bistro

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Chocolate. And not that Breyers one since they changed the secret formula to include creamed crap. Haagen Dazs Coffee ice cream is pretty freakin' awesome and when I was pregnant, Ben & Jerry were my secret lovers. Maybe not so secret. "Cherry Garcia": I found it remarkably easy to get over the reference to the creepy dead heroine addict.

14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
Whether or not they are looking at me. And then if they have a flicker of a sense of humour. If they do, I'm in. If not, screw you, I don't even want in.

15. RED OR PINK?
Red or pink what? They each have their place.

16. WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
My inability to pass on a meme [it's almost starting to sound like a word]

17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
Pedestrians. But I'm trying to (really!), so I'm not sure if it counts.

18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO COMPLETE THIS LIST?
No. People need to be more productive with their time than this.

19. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
Flesh. Yeah... feast on that.

20. LAST THING YOU WATCHED ON YOUTUBE?
Pearl

21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
Beck.

22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
I wouldn't be a crayon. I'd be a felt marker. A Sharpie. Black.

23. FAVORITE SMELLS?
Bacon. Citrus. Red wine. [Not at the same time - gross]

24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
A lady at the studio that Norah's having her birthday party at to confirm the numbers. Boe-ring.

25. DO YOU HATE KNOW THE PERSON WHO INFLICTED THIS ON SENT THIS TO YOU?
I love her. Even when I'm not drunk. Even when the men aren't watching. Even though she didn't send this to me, I harvested it.

26. WHAT SPORTS DO YOU LIKE TO WATCH?
5-7 year-old-basketball. Seriously. I hate sports. I don't get sports. I've tried. There's lots of stuff I like about sports - the psychology, the training, the business. But I can't follow the strategery.

27. HAIR COLOR?
Yes. I'm not shy about it.

28. EYE COLOR?
No. I don't know how you would do that. Is it painful?

29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
No. They're too much trouble and I don't find the glasses trouble at all. Plus I get the added bonus of the sexy-librarian look. That's still a look, right?

30. FAVORITE FOOD?
sushi... and it should also be everyone else's favourite food (thank you Nen)

31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
One that isn't challenging, mentally. I've enjoyed both. But come on: scary like Jaws. You know, no actual shark?

32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
Semi-Pro. Loving Will Farell more every day (maybe not every day, but every time I see him in something). I'm considering stalking him. I'm pretty tied up this spring though, so I might have to put it off until fall.

33. WHAT COLOUR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
I'm not wearing a shirt. [It's a tank, pervert]

34. SUMMER OR WINTER?
Summer.

35. HUGS OR KISSES?
Depends. Are you offering or do I have to beg?

36. FAVORITE DESSERT?
Gobi.

37. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?

38. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
I don't care

39. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
Love the One You're With - Emily Giffin. I read her other three last summer & my girls picked out the fourth for Christmas for me (I was being cheap & waiting for paperback). It's taking me a while because I really need to be on a deck chair in the sun & those are in short supply right now. Silently mocking me for the chick-lit? Screw you! At least it's intended for audiences over 12. Like what I'd have to put down if I was being honest.

40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
Funny story: I went out & bought an elaborate computer desk that was tres chiq - glass all around. I thought that with the general smallness of our abode, the clear wouldn't chop up the room. Got it home set it up & found: (a) You can see how desperately the floors need refinishing; (b) you can see how desperately the floors need sweeping; (c) you can see the tangled spaghetti of wires required to keep me plugged into the rest of the world (despite my obsession with cable organizational tools); (d - and the original point of this question) the fucking optical mouse wouldn't work on glass. So, I have a highly classy piece of paper taped to the desk.

41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT?
I did not watch TV last night. I cannot remember the last time I watched TV. I have intentions of watching "Arrested Development" which DVD I stole from my parents at Christmastime, but...

42. FAVORITE SOUNDS?
The sound of someone at the door (you know, that's not a home invader).

43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
Pretty narrow choices. Why couldn't it be "Whitesnake or Salt 'n' Pepa"? I'd still have trouble. I just listened to both on the iPod & didn't skip either. Turned them both up. ("Slow & Easy" and "Push It"). So anyway. I'd have to say the Stones. The Beatles annoy me. I mean, sure they were musical geniuses, but there are actually a lot of musical geniuses (OK, maybe not statistically). They happened to be in the right place at the right time with the right brand of musical genius. Then I think they just started to put out whatever crazy crap popped out of their LSD-enhanced selves and see if people would buy it & gosh-darn-it, they did! [End Rant] Oh, and I actually like the Stones early stuff. Not after they started just seeing what crazy crap they could crank out and still sell [End Rant For Real This Time]

44. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
Bangkok, Thailand (second only to Lake Titicaca for the funniest place name). I was 10. I may have mentioned it.

45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
None that I'm sharing on THIS site. I will say I've stayed married for 15 years, I don't cook and I can call him "house-bitch".

46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
Here - Even though I've lived all over and been around the world, I was born just about a 2 miles away.

47. WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?
Anyone. Really. I'm desperate for affirmation of my existence in this electronic world. It's rather sad, if I think about it too much, so I try not to.

48. IS THE CUP HALF FULL OR HALF EMPTY?
Neither. The cup was designed too large.

49. IF YOU COULD SIT DOWN TO DINNER WITH FIVE PEOPLE WHO WOULD YOU CHOOSE?
Jesus - I'd ask "how'd you pull off that one?"
Queen Elizabeth I - Ass-kicking, take-charge chick who didn't take crap from men OR women, unless that was what was required, and then she was a master at that. And still with a decided weakness for a pretty face. I think it would take more than dinner to get what I really needed to know from her.
Leonardo daVinci - although I'd not be surprised if he didn't stop for dinner.
Kenneth Cole - on the off chance I'd get some nice party favours. Still kicking myself for walking away from that black leather jacket to "think about it". That was four years ago [sniff].
Eric Clapton - do I have to elaborate? Plus, maybe he'd give Norah (and yes, you too Max) some tips for "Sunshine of Your Love", so they don't have to rely on youtube.

Realistically, I'm pretty happy with the five I usually have dinner with!

They're trying to ensure I never sleep again...

Did I ever mention that I am a slave to stupid effin' memes? No? Well I am.

What I should have mentioned yesterday as No 26 was that I am incapable of not replying to an email or other form of message. Memes are included. Stupid, effin' memes. Back In The Day, they used to be called "chain e-mails" and your boobs would fall off if you didn't forward it to 200 friend within 48 seconds. I always do what I am told to do. Except I would delete the threatening part. And I don't (didn't and still don't) have 200 friends that I would burden with this crap. Just a select few of you! :-)

Here's what I was told to do: Google “[your first name] needs” and share 10 results. There was no threatening part, so I had to rebel by including, well, not 10.

SCREW YOU, MEME-DOM!!!

I put my first name in, since "Harmzie needs" came up blank. Believe it or not, "Harmzie" isn't on my birth certificate.

Things in [--] are my add-ons, the rest are cut-and-paste. I can't make this stuff up:

"[Harmzie] needs":

• a new baby daddy
• 2 pee
• 2 exercise her right to shut the fuck up [uncanny]
• to be more careful with her voodoo. lol
• to keep her legs closed [um... what?]
• How do you say [Harmzie needs] to go poop in different languages?
• to Focus on Herself [I'm so sure. Really, now. Don't encourage her...]
• a bone marrow match. [ouch - good thing I'm in the registry... I'll use this opportunity to say: get YOURS in there]
• bail
• to post to her blog [somebody was watching last week]
• to hang out with some peeps tomorrow [after someone posts bail]
• to show some a$$ [ok, Max... careful what you wish for, we're talking the www here]
• A Crotch Post [nobody needs that. Well maybe sarcastic mom does]

Now, I need some sleep. Really. I mean it this time...

25 Things

Argh. So I was tagged with this on Facebook about six months ago. OK so it was less, but the pressure... THE PRESSURE!!! It's hard to come up with 25 things that are remotely interesting about yourself, but I figure if it's cool enough for Danny...

1. I do not enjoy eating for sustenance. I enjoy all sorts of foods when eating a meal is the excuse to sit down with friends or family – obviously usually family. I hate interrupting what I’m doing for something as bothersome as eating a bowl of cereal. Or the meat & taters variety. Give me soylent greens in an IV any day. Or bacon (no IV necessary). There: I have revealed two secrets – (1) why I am I-hate-you skinny; (2) why I have an I-hate-you-because-you-don’t-have-to-cook house bitch (Max just got hungry first and then discovered that it was fun! That’s a subject for a post of its own)

2. We have two sets of plastic glasses, and plates & bowls from IKEA – you know, the ones that come in a six-pack (coincidence, I assure you) of six different colours. I have to sort them into the pairs of colours *every* time I see them mixed up. I don’t correct others, or suggest anyone else should do it this way. I do it because it gives me peace. Some times I think Max mixes them up for fun.

3. I have written about 3,500 postings...in my head, putting my batting average at just under 0.001. Not good. Just wait till I get the voice notes going on my crackberry.

4. I can't deal with barf. I could wipe up & sanitize a room & three kids smeared stem to stern with poop (that’s not an offer, btw), but one whiff of the hurl & I’m joining the fray. Hate to stray too far into the poop topic, but when the kids were in diapers (remember, there were three), I proved well beyond faking it that I didn't have a particular sensitivity to No. 2. Those poor kids. You’d think they’d have toilet trained themselves well before it took bribery of epic (and escalating currency from #1 through #3) proportions. So, yeah. No barf.

5. I can't sing “O Canada”. I know all the words and can hum the tune, but I cannot utter the words because my voice gets all chokie, and my eyes well up. Don’t fuck with my country (um, please?)

6. I feel like a creepy stalker on Facebook, but do it anyway. So far it’s just IRL (and a couple of former RL) friends & family, so it’s not TOO crazy. But look out Marshall, I’m coming for you… (you know I mean on Facebook, right? That's all. Just Facebook.)

7. I lived for three months in Thailand as a 10 year old. I strongly believe that this is where I got my attitude towards North American panhandlers. Because we were there for so long (my dad was working), we did not hang in the more “touristy” areas. We got to see *real* Thailand. We walked the real streets. The beggars there had twisted arms & missing legs, few or no teeth and had real pain in their eyes. Not a lot of social assistance ‘round those parts. From the time of 10 on, back in Canada, any discussion of poverty here made me gag. My favourite was a news story about the “poor” financing their necessities like heat & cable (Oh yeah, I grew up in the country where cable wasn't an option – pre-satellite dishes. Yay CBC! <-- tongue firmly in cheek). Anyway, I also couldn't figure out why my parents were still so “soft”. Recently, when I asked them about it, they had no idea what I was talking about. Guess being at eye-level made a huge difference…

8. I don’t particularly enjoy going to the movies. Don’t get the whole pay-$200-to-sit-shoulder-to-shoulder-with-your-friends thing. The big-screen, sure. Sometimes. But, meh. I recall that being the one time I slipped on my personal parenting boundaries & told some new parents that, no, movies WAS the one thing that would have to go. I soon learned that they *really* liked movies and they would swap showings & baby. I revised my parenting mantra: you make your own rules

9. I hate crowds

10. I hate loud and/or conflicting noises. Max can have the radio & TV & iPod & computer on & still try to have a conversation. I run around the house screaming & turning things off (don't point out that the screaming doesn't help. It's not really screaming. It just seems like it in my head).

11. I am a perfectionist - but lazy. Too lazy to continue with this item & explain it, because it would take me too long to perfect it.

12. I have lived in Winnipeg for the bulk of my 40 years but only this year have adopted good snow pants & Sorels. What the hell was I thinking? I love my snow pants.

13. I get freaky, psycho worried when Max is more than 10 minutes late. I build scenarios about how I’m going to cope without him, and for how long I’d quit my job to be with the kids and what else I’d give up to help them cope, and the things I’d do to defer my own depression & misery [and the schadenfreude part: how I’d go about getting a decent contractor to finally finish the fucking basement, BUT then how miserable I’d be with a beautiful basement, without him to share it with]. And then he comes home. With coffee. For me. “I was just picking up coffee”. It’s usually too crazy to go freaky on him. That and I'm too relieved and feeling silly to be mad.

14. I feel horribly guilty when I grow weary of Aspergers. Maybe I’ll go into this another time, but I've got one kid officially diagnosed with it. Another that I’m fairly certain should be and yet another that’s just nuts. (OK, she’s probably normal, but she comes up with crazy shit that makes me ask “where did you come from???? Oh yeah. Me” Yesterday she made up a new language she called "Coo"). Sometimes I’d just like to not have to deal with it. Then I leave the pity-party & remember that it’s actually pretty predictable & easy, & the slip-ups are usually mine.

15. I am pretty sure I should have been diagnosed myself with Aspergers. Hello? Engineer anyone? Going through the diagnosis process (hey that rhymes!) above, every step of the way I was like "Me. Me. Me again. I remember doing that..." I notice patterns in license plates. And floor tiles. Ooo ooo.... don't get me started on odometers!!! Nothing really cool or marketable. Just nutty stuff.

16. I really like working for the government. Impunity aside (it’s fun to have impunity at the same time that everything is your fault!), I relish the idea of being a steward of the public trust. Sometimes I feel I have to be careful & not unlike Galadriel, drop the ring, lest I get too full of myself & the whole public trust thing. So far, so good! :-)

17. I hate getting wet. Swimming is a rare treat. Water gun fights? “Don’t point that fucking thing at me” (I may or may not have cursed at my kids last summer. I can’t be held responsible for what comes out of my mouth if I’m threatened with a water pistol)

18. I hate being cold. Same deal.

19. The one single person I love & respect & learned more from than anyone else (the kids & Max are giving her a run for her money, but I think that’s a different kind of love/respect/learning and she’d be down with that anyway) is my grandma. She died - OMG four years ago, and I haven’t shed a tear. While I think it’s really weird and sort of wonder why, it doesn't really bother me.

20. I might just have a teensy-weensy problem with sushi. With many things if I plan, I can maintain self control. At my burger place, I can say "I will not buy french fries" before I walk in, and I'm good [they smell SOOO good, but I end up eating about 1/4 of the bag & the grease does me in]. Not with sushi. All pep-talks are forgotten, all decorum lost. Who the hell drops $36 on lunch? Me. Loser (delicious loser). [Man, I could use some sushi right now]. No, it doesn't happen very often. But it happens. It's Nen's fault. She hung this monkey around my neck.

21. I usually can't be bothered with TV anymore. Even CSI doesn't motivate me to get up. Maybe it’s because I can’t figure out the new digital TV remote.

22. I don’t get the whole chicks & shoes thing. I have a pair of black heels, brown heels, black flats & boots. I have what seems like a couple of dozen pairs of sandals, but I can quit any time I want. Now jackets, I have a thing about jackets.

23. I *missed* grades 2 and 4 (not skipped – won’t go into why) I took grade 6 in BC, and learned math that I wouldn't learn in my current province that I am now currently in and took high school & university, until grade 10. When I mentioned negative exponents to my grade 8 math teacher, she looked at me like I had two heads. And then paid attention to me in math class, and made sure I kept being stuck with the smart kids in future classes (small town – there weren't too many smart kids but I was lucky enough to count them as my friends!)

24. I actually thought maybe I could sing (y’know, with some training & filters) until I saw American Idol.

25. Toilet paper must roll over, not under. I don’t know why I even include this since it's such a no-brainer.

Crackberry Rules of Engagement

I've gone & done it.

I'm not proud, but less-than-secretly, I really am. It's just sooo pretty... [swoon]

[Composure regained] I'm not going to go into a whole lot of justification, etc. Suffice to say: it's for work & I had to make a case for it & I expect it will make a difference, if only for my organizational peace of mind. [Shut up. It will. Shut up.]

After approximately a week with my new toy tool [don't want to be associated with that one] baby office assistant, I have to say that I'm totally hooked. A co-worker told me that he was waiting to see how it worked for me before he took the plunge. I had to say that it was not without its frustrations (it's new & I'm old), but I likened it to when desktop computers first became normalized, but people were still using them as replacement typewriters (e.g. retyping letters for changes). It's a cool tool that can do some good stuff for you but you have to be open to it, and not a slave to it. It's a fine line. [Famous last words from a N00B]

So. That said, everyone has their tale of horror of the out-of-control crackberry addict in their life - or the periphery. I've seen them. Held up meetings for them. Driven behind & beside them. I don't want to be "that guy", so I've come up with:

Harmzie's Crackberry Pledge

I will:

• NOT whip it out & wave it around. That's so 90s [FAIL - I'm talking about it right now. That's kind of like waving it around]


• NOT talk on the phone whilst driving w/o the headset [FAIL - I don't have the headset yet & I've done this already]


• Avoid talking on the phone whilst driving even WITH the headset


• NOT wear the headset out of the car [I'll be leaving it in the car - that's what it's for]


• NOT text while driving [OMGWTFBBQ!!???]


• NOT dial while driving [yay voice dialling! my old phone had that too, but y'know, the learning]


• Avoid "Crackin' thru StupidStore" (almost direct texted quote from my first CB text buddy!) But hey, if I'm bored & someone interesting texts me, what do I care about strangers around me who I don't have to interact with [hmmm...starting to see the source of the whole "doesn't let many in" issue]


• Switch everything to vibrate or even [gasp] off in a group or meeting. If I forget, you can believe that I'm actually very embarrassed. This isn't too difficult, since I usually wear it & usually leave it on vibrate. [Relax, it doesn't feel that good]


• NOT be drawn into its attention vortex during a meeting. It will be out of sight as a symbol of my full attention. That goes for lunch meetings, group meetings, one-on-ones.


• Have a ringer that is a RINGER DAMMIT! Not a thrash metal song (tempting, mind you, but no), not a "classy" Vivaldi lilt. A phone should ring. Mine will [and it will be on low]. I'll save the personal branding for my iPod.

I reserve the right to:

• Check it when it buzzes. There's something vibrating on my hip-bone, for crying out loud! You try and ignore it! I'll be discrete and/or I'll wait until there's a moment.


• Answer it if it is one of about five people who shall not be named here (duh). Max is not always one of them (I'll always call him back)


• Send the caller to voice mail if I'm having a conversation or meeting with real live people [I'll do that with my desk phone too, by the way]

I'm sure I'll learn more as I go, but the learnin' was one of the reasons I was open to the idea. Comments? Suggestions? Hints? Remember, I don't want to be that guy, but it's just soooo pretty!

[UPDATE - Feb 21: Yesterday I was busted checking my email during a presentation. A collegue standing beside me - happening to be one who is on the fence about the whole CB thing, so I'd been talking to him about it a lot. Anyway he leaned over & elbowed me. I looked over and whispered "I can quit any time I want!" He laughed. And then gave me the "you're so doomed" look.]

8 freakin' hours

So I've decided to give something crazy a shot:

8 hours of sleep. Funny how having a conversation out loud makes something seem so obvious. "Just go to bed earlier" he said. So I am.

For one week, I am working backwards from my get up time and making every moment from the time I get home about getting in bed at the magic 8-hour mark. Keeping up with this whole blogging thing is suffering, but I keep jotting down ideas & fleshing them out little by little.

Planned for the near and possibly distant future:

• Fish Tails (we've kept some of them alive for over a year!)


• My To Do list (everybody's got em)


• My Crackberry Rules of Engagement (I'm a n00b, but I don't want to be "that guy")


• Flashbacks (ooo, there's an original one. Don't eat the brown pixie stix)


• My Filters (you have no idea what's stopped at the gate. Be thankful)


• Fambly Intros (they've never been properly introduced!)


• Any other brain farts that come my way.

I'm off to bed. Goodnight!