K-town. Kurtis. Kurty.

Ah, Kurtis. The current subject of my blog. A friend like no other. The giver of a good ass-smacking. And the dealer of opinions on all things fashion.

Kurtis Wright. What is there to say about him, other than the fact that he's a diva.
Don't get me wrong, he's a diva in the best sense of the word. Look it up.
*ahem*
di·va  noun \ˈdē-və\
plural divas or di·ve\-(ˌ)vā\
Definition of DIVA
1  a : prima donna 1 b : prima donna 2 (a vain or undisciplined person who finds it difficult to work under direction or as part of a team)
2: a usually glamorous and successful female performer or personality <a fashion diva>; especially : a popular female singer <pop divas>

Mind you, Kurtis is not a female... but the first bit, the "prima donna" bit - that one is good.
Ok - that doesn't sound like a good thing... but let me explain. He is a teeny bit vain (adj: having or showing undue or excessive pride in one's appearance or achievements) - and again that comes off as awful - but, to quote the subject himself "More people should be vain, we would have a more confident world."

So - explanations, compliments and definitions aside, Kurtis is great. He's that friend you go shopping with if you want a brutally honest opinion about whether or not those jeans make your butt look fat, or if that shirt suits you at all. It's good. It's brash. It's useful. It's ever so fabulous. It's Kurtis.

Kurtis moved away to Calgary a couple years ago, but keeps in touch through BBM. He checked in often when my dad was sick, that made me pretty stoked to have him as a friend. He's hundreds of kilometres away and still cares, still checks in, still wants to know what's going on here in my life and the life of my family. He's awesome like that.

Everyone needs a Kurtis in their life. I've got mine :)

Traffic, parking and road rage... oh %@^$!

So, like many Winnipeggers, I have the unfortunate ability to drive. I say unfortunate because if you've ever been stuck behind that person driving 25 clicks in a 60 zone and are unable to pass due to oncoming traffic, or you're forced to swerve into said oncoming traffic because the person in front of your slams on their brakes and starts sliding on a patch of ice, you know - like most of the drivers out there (if not all of them) - that something unfortunate is bound to happen. You'll end up late for work, school or an appointment, or - if you happen to find that amazingly sneaky patch of ice, you'll end up injured, or extremely frustrated and possibly end up shelling out a pretty penny or two (million) on repairs to your poor, sad vehicle.

This morning, for example, I was driving to work and had the opportunity to travel in a 50 zone, behind someone clipping along at a miraculous 25. That's right folks, twenty-freakin-five. Not only is that far below the speed limit (or suggested minimum as a certain relative of mine would say) but that's HALF of the speed limit, and quite dangerous. Don't get me wrong, it's not quite as dangerous as going double the limit, but still, you force people behind you to take drastic measures (occasionally) to make it to work on time. Do the limit - MAYBE 5 or 10 under/over - and we'll all get along fine. If you can't manage that, maybe you should be re-tested... just saying.

Another transportation peeve of mine - and I know many of you out there have experienced one of these critters - the people who don't know how to park. Be it parallel parking on a street, or parking in a lot (diagonally or otherwise). A little gem I found the other day, was at Safeway on Henderson and Kimberly. A brilliant motorist decided to park HALF in the parking space, and HALF in the driving lane, leaving little more than 3/4 of a car's width for navigating through the zoo that is that lot. On this particular occasion, I was with my cousin who, upon noticing this lovely parking job, pointed out to me that she had encountered a worse parking lot experience. She had started off her day on not only the wrong foot, but the wrong side of everything. That particular day was going downhill fast, like a runaway train. She had gone to almost every hardware/handy-person's store possible, and could not find what she was looking for. Her last stop was Safeway, hoping that they might - on the off chance - have lock-de-icer. When she left the store, she found that not only was she blocked in from ALL sides (yes, front, back and side to side) but there was no one in the vehicle. In to Safeway she went, hoping to page this bright young lad out to his vehicle. Alas, no such luck. As she was leaving, again, she found that he was just pulling away. She ran up to him, and said "you blocked me in, I've been waiting for you for half an hour, and had your licence plate paged through the store". Now, is it asking too much to expect an apology, or at the very least a sympathetic - even half-assed - "sorry"? Apparently. This fella, just said "bummer" and drove off.

Yikes. Parking lots = hazards and should be left to skilled drivers only. Especially only those that know how to park. I'm not saying I'm excellent at it, I know I've had my share of bad parking jobs. I'm just saying we should leave this to the professionals people.

Parallel parking on residential streets... wow. That's another beast entirely. Why, oh why, would you park in a space that is large enough for two trucks - not in the middle, which is bad enough - but with 3/4 of a cars length in front of you, and the remaining 1/4 behind you? Pull up all the way, or tuck yourself in properly so that someone else can use that lovely space, please!

That's enough from me on that... for now.

You know you've got bad road rage when it presents itself on a blog post, or in conversations not even remotely related to anything transportation at all. I need to chill out and get a chauffeur. Jeeze.

15 years and counting - thanks

So, I've got this friend who I've known since we were "snot nosed little brats" as her father would call us. She and I have fought more times than I can count, and have always reconciled. 15 years of this folks, 15 years.

Anyways, she sent me a letter the other day. A bonafide letter. Hand written, on loosleaf, addressed by hand, stamped and sealed... mailed away. Who gets mail like that anymore? Why have we stopped?! Sheerly for convenience sake, because e-mail is THAT much faster? Well, that's lame. People should bring back the hand-written correspondance. It's much more personal.

Who doesn't like receiving a letter in the mail, addressed personally to them, that isn't a bill, or a solicitation... or junk? What if, instead of a message on your facebook wall saying "Happy Birthday" you got a call, or someone took the time to plan ahead and mail you a card?

Now, I'm not trying to sound like I'm all high and mighty, and I already do this stuff - cause in reality, I'm just as bad as, if not worse than a lot of people out there. I am simply posing questions.

Could society go back to the "old ways" from before e-mail, before texting, WAY before facebook? Remember what cursive writing is folks? It's not where you shove the f-bomb in every six or so words, it's certainly not writing out "bad magic" spells. It's where you wrote, in pen or pencil (remember those big fat red ones?) and all your little letters were smooshed together, and conjoined. I know I remember writing in my little scribbler in grade three, practicing my letters, two finger-widths apart. Line upon line of lowercase 'e's followed by rows upon rows of uppercase 'e's. And then we started with the words, "cat", "dog", "elephant". Oh, those tricky little letters - "zebra", "yellow", "queen".
*side note* has anyone ever wondered why on earth the uppercase Q, when written in cursive, looks like a 2?

Anyways, back to the story about my friend who wrote me a letter. I found it on my bed, where someone had placed it when they brought in the mail, and I got so excited. Mail. For me. Personally addressed, hand written... it's gotta be good! The only way it could be a bill is if MTS or VISA started hand addressing all their envelopes - sneaky little ...

Personal mail. Sweet! I opened it up, and upon reading it, learned a lot about my friend, and apparently, something about myself. She wrote about what my friendship meant to her, why it's so special, and how she felt that it's so very rare to find someone who you can tolerate for this long. And then, the dams broke. She had included a letter that she wrote to my dad. She wrote it the day she found out that he passed away. She thanked him for raising me and my sisters so well, and for taking care of her when she was over at our place. She thanked him. For anything and everything that he did for her. For being him.

When was the last time anyone - I'm including myself in this - sat down and really thought about who they're thankful for, and then told that person? I know it's been an awful long time since I've done that.

I know it's no where close to Thanksgiving, but maybe that's a good thing. We shouldn't have to wait for a certain day to tell people we're thankful for them. Do people wait for a certain day to do grocery shopping, even though the cupboards are long since bare? No, if it needs to be done, people go and do it.

Someone out there needs to be thanked, for all they do, and maybe they just don't know it yet. I'm challenging myself (and whoever wants to join in) to actually think about that. Who in your life needs to be thanked for something? Write it out, or just call them up, or take them out for coffee and say it. I think, as a whole, we all need to be a bit more thankful for people who affect our lives, and make it known to them that you're grateful for what they've done and/or still do.

Ahh... chocolate

A quote I recently found about chocolate has inspired me to get at least one thing done a day:

"Put "eat chocolate" at the top of your list of things to do today. That way, at least you'll get one thing done."
-"The Rules of Chocolate"

Ah, such simple rules. Eat chocolate. Easy enough, right?! To make this a lot easier, my dad - amazing man that he was - decided to keep his women happy and create a "chocolate drawer" or what we lovingly call "the medicine drawer". Oh the convenience. My dad would come home, and occasionally skip filling the drawer - take out the middle man - and bring it right to us. There was always a choice too - he'd always buy one or two more than "necessary" so we could choose, and there would be an Eatmore or a Crunchie in there for him (provided one of us weren't eye-ing it) but he'd give it up to make one of his girls happy.

Eat chocolate. Done. I've accomplished at least one thing today. I've eaten some chocolate - courtesy of my big sister. Last night, she hucked a bunch of mini chocolate bars into my purse. A snack for later - Yay!

What's next on my "to-do" list today? Work on my mittens... get at least one done by the end of next week. Hopefully both are done prior to when they need to be given away. Yikes! I've got a grand total of 3 weeks, including today, to have them finished.

Alright - after mittens comes.... dinner?? No, that should come first. Get home, eat dinner then knit mittens. Then soothe my poor little hands by eating some chocolate. There's logic behind that, irrefutable logic, I promise. I just can't explain it. It helps.

So, I've eaten some chocolate, placated my craving for the moment, and I'll probably need to placate it again later. We'll see.

I've lost all sense of where I'm going with this chocolate idea, so I'll end the post here.

Stay tuned for a Mo-vember exclusive. I'll harass my brother-in-law until I get my answers. If anyone wants to participate in the Mo-vember post - shoot me an e-mail or comment with your e-mail and I'll send you some questions!

Check me into the loony bin

Oh deary, deary me. I was sitting at my desk today, laughing to myself. Audibly. Why? Cause I think... I could be going a tiny bit crazy... OR it could be the fact that I recalled a joke shared between a friend and myself on our way to pick up a third friend. I'm that goofy, laughing person you don't want to sit by on the bus. It hits me at the most inconvenient times. Like today, sitting at my desk. Oh - and the best part? I was recalling something that wasn't even all that hilarious. To us, sure, it was hysterical... to someone else listening in? Ridiculous. But that's how we roll.

Anyways, I'm sitting here, thinking about Coke Zero of all things... and that's when it struck me. A giggle fit. Crap. See, Coke Zero led me to remember a conversation we had about Coke Zero in my car... and what it does to us. Oh boy. Naturally, I try to hide the giggles, making them more obvious. Awesome, now, not only will my co-workers think I'm nuts, they'll have proof!

Of course, this led me to text said friend about my giggle fit, and hopefully... hopefully send her spiralling into one of her own. We'll see.

Have you ever been hit with the mysterious giggles?? Has it ever happened on the bus? by yourself? surrounded by people?? That, that is just an experience in itself. At least, when these strange fits hit and I'm in my car, I can pass it off like I'm listening to the radio, or on my phone - bluetooth people - and not look so crazy. On the bus, no such luxury - unless you happen to have your phone out and open just before it hits, and pass it off as a hilarious text.

Anyways, the point of my little rant, I think I might be losing my mind. That is, unless other people are afflicted just like me...

Is anyone else just as crazy as I feel???

Are you winning?

This is something I wrote, 19 days after my dad died. I was back at work, and missing my dad a LOT.  I found it again, looking through my sent e-mails, and thought it needed to be shared again.

We had my dad cremated, and when we picked him up and brought him home, we had a container ready for him. All his life, everything we found for him was too big. The sleeves on shirts were too long, pants were too long, jackets came down too far. Everything was too big. Low and behold, the container was too small. Oh, my mom and I couldn't help but giggle. For 53 years, everything was too big - or at least the last 25 or so. Still, that's a long time to have to alter clothing etc. 53 years. So, just to spice things up, he decides that something has to be too small. What's it going to be... the decorative container we were going to keep him in. What. A. Turkey. So, because of the dad-container debacle, he now resides in a manly-looking hat box on top of my piano. Front and centre. My biggest fan. Just where he'd want to be.

Onward to my aforementioned e-mail:

            My Dad had a love for puzzles. He liked crosswords, Sudoku, those Crypto Quotes you find in the papers, and especially those mind-numbing 3-D puzzles that you could get from Hans Christian Toys – the ones with the ring that you had to somehow get off the metal contraption, or the homemade ones that his Dad made. Any kind of puzzle. He liked games too, solitaire, Tetris, any kind of game that made you think. I would come up behind him while he was playing a computer game, be it Tetris, solitaire, one of his little gem matching games like Bejeweled or various knock-offs, or even if it was while he was doing a crossword puzzle, I would rub his head and ask him “are you winning?” His reply was the same every time: “always.” That’s the same attitude he had towards a lot of things in life, he was always winning, as long as he had his family and friends – and possibly a glass of good wine or a bottle of beer. He was a happy man, always looking at the more positive side of things. I don’t think I have ever heard him say that a puzzle was too challenging, maybe that he’d made a mistake and messed it up somehow, but never that it was too hard. If I did hear him say it, it was very infrequently – a rare moment where my dad wasn’t the smartest man I knew, he had been bested by someone.

            People sometimes say that when they were given the diagnoses of cancer that it wasn’t a death sentence, but an opportunity to live their life as well as they could in the time that they were given. I’ve always thought that, as logical as that sounds, it’s rather hokey. I could tell that my dad thought the same thing as those other people. He didn’t let cancer bring him down, didn’t let it get the best of him. He grabbed life by the horns and did things he wanted to do – as much as he could in the time he was given. He took 4 amazing vacations with his wife – my mom, and one was with his family and his might-as-well-be family. He went in every direction, first it was east to Halifax and P.E.I, then west to Vancouver, north to see where my mom worked in Wasagamack, and then south, to sunny Florida, on a whirlwind trip to Disney World with his family, and some of the best friends a person could have. He made a table, a beautiful table that expands to fit a great number of people, exactly what he wanted for his family. He started to make hope chests for us girls, and he made a lasting impression on his family. He showed us how to live life, and how to deal with death. One of the few times he was bested.

            A good chunk of my memories of my dad are of him laughing, or making someone else laugh. Whenever we had people over, there were frequent bouts of raucous laughter, the best kind. We would be in stitches at the dinner table often, more than likely because of Bryn or me making ridiculous faces at each other, or recalling previous jokes, and having our dad egg us on. One day, we were sitting around the table, bobbing our heads to the music that was playing, and my dad all of a sudden said “Look at us, a bunch of bobble-headed Dycks!” Oh, there was no end to the laughter that ensued. We were literally on the floor, clutching our sides, trying not to choke on our drinks, crying from laughter. The references back to that little joke have never ended, all it takes is for one of us to bob our heads to the music, and someone will chuckle.

            All of my memories have music tied to them. There was always music in our house, and still is in one form or another. First it was records, we could have easily worn out the two Smurfs records we have if we were allowed to. CD’s were next, followed by Bryn taking piano lessons, and then in the more recent years, my singing and piano playing along with Bryn’s piano playing, CD’s, and constant laughter. Laughter will always be considered music to me. Aside from my mom, who constantly is trying to get me to either play piano or sing, or both, my dad was always my biggest fan. I asked him to sing with me in church one time, his reply was “are you sure you want me to sing with you?” He was worried that he wasn’t good enough to sing with me, when all I wanted was to sing with my daddy. One day when I was playing the piano, he and Bryn came up behind me as I was playing “Your Song” by Elton John, and they both joined in. We moved on to “Hallelujah” by Rufus Wainwright, and “Tiny Dancer” also by Elton John. It was probably the most fun I’d had playing piano in a while. A rare treat to have the three of us singing together. One of the things my dad wrote to me in a little letter was that he always enjoyed my piano playing and singing, wanted me to keep it up. In the beginning of April, I got the chance to record a couple songs professionally. I chose “Hallelujah” and “Dream A Little Dream”, two songs that I know my dad liked, one that he had told me numerous times that he wanted me to sing, and a jazz standard, a genre he loved. It was a surprise for him, and I know he loved it, he told me so. He showed it off constantly, brought it to his friends place, played it in the car, and brought it on a family vacation to show it off. He was very proud of his family, beamed with pride. He was the king in his castle, surrounded by four women. Just the way he always wanted it.

Warning Sign - No excuses

Coldplay has a song called "Warning Sign". I was just playing it on the piano, and when I signed onto my computer, I found it on YouTube - I needed to hear it played the way it was written. I take far too many liberties when it comes to playing piano and singing.  Anyways, my point - this song has some awesome lyrics. Now, I could take bits and pieces and make the song mean what I want it to mean, or I could take my favourite bits and pieces and share them with you, share my reasons for why they're my favourite... what makes them special to me.

Their first stanza:

A warning sign
I missed the good part and I realized
I started looking and the bubble burst
I started looking for excuses

All I can get from this is that, chances are, I've missed something awesome. I've missed the good part...when am I going to realize it? When am I going to find out what it was? or what it is? And when I start actually looking, am I going to get my bubble burst? Is it going to be one of those things where I was probably better off not knowing what I missed? Am I going to be extremely put out when I realize what it is that I missed?? And then that next line "I started looking for excuses". Shoot. I'm going to make excuses for missing out on something, for missing something. Wait... don't I already do that? I make excuses as to why I am late for something all the time. "Traffic was horrible." "I almost got sideswiped by some moron." "I woke up late." Why can't I just own up to it? "Yeah, I'm late, I'm really sorry. It won't shouldn't happen again." Jeez, am I that person? The one that makes excuses for everything? I certainly don't want to be that person.

They go on to say (sing):

When the truth is
I miss you
Yeah the truth is
That I miss you so

Oh boy. This part of the song gets me every time. There are so many people that I miss - in varying degrees and for various reasons. I miss my dad, because, quite frankly, who wouldn't miss their parent if they passed away? On top of that, I was a daddies girl through and through. Proud to admit it. I loved my dad a LOT, still do, always will. I miss friends that I don't talk to as much as I used to, or at all. I'll admit it, it's partially - if not mostly - my fault. I have no excuse for it. It just is. It takes two people to start a conversation, and two people to make a friendship work. In those cases, I was the one person who didn't try hard enough at some points... many points... all points. In those cases, I helped the friendship fall apart, and wither. I could have stopped it. No excuse. I miss them. I miss ex-boyfriends. Not necessarily the relationship we had as boyfriend and girlfriend - as awesome as they may have been - but I miss their friendship, their companionship. I miss them as a person, not as a significant other. As. A. Person. I miss some old jobs, the people I worked with there, the work I was doing. At the time, I may not have enjoyed it all that much, but I miss it now. Ironic, huh. Again, I left those jobs. My doing. No excuses. I miss relatives because they're far away. Not their fault I don't visit. It's mine. My own fault. No excuses. What's really stopping me from driving out of town on a weekend to pay them a visit? Heck, what's stopping me from driving across town to pay them a visit? My own ideas of what's "more important" for me to do with my time. What is wrong with that picture? When I go in for my knee surgery - whenever that might be - who is going to be the one visiting me? My computer? My TV? My cell phone? Nope... my family. So why can't I, while I'm still relatively mobile, and able to get around, and while I have free time, why can't I pay a visit to my family? Because I'm lazy. I'm unable to motivate myself to make a phone call to see if they've got time for a coffee, if they've got time to go to the movies, if they've got time for a chat? And this doesn't just apply to my family. What about my friends. What on earth is stopping me from picking up that phone, calling my friend and saying "hey, what are you up to tonight?" or "what are you up to this weekend?". Not a heck of a lot more than my own, un-motivated self.

Maybe this song is my warning sign. Maybe what I'm missing are all these great relationships I could be having. Maybe, what I'm missing is a fellowship-filled life with people who I care about, and who - I would think - care about me too. The song is right. I started looking, and look, I burst my cozy little bubble. It's not fun pointing out the fact that you're failing at something... especially when you're pointing it out to yourself. Try it sometime. Find out what you need to change, and point it out to yourself. Out loud. On paper. In an e-mail that you'll send to your work account, or right back to the same account you sent it from. In a blog like I'm doing. And again, the song is right. I started looking for excuses. I did. "Maybe it's not just my fault." Sure it's not just my fault, but in reality, could I not say it's mostly my fault? After all, I'm the one sitting here saying how much I miss them, and doing nothing about it. It's time for me to change that. No excuses. I need to change that. I think everyone can find something that this song could apply to.

What are you missing out on? What is going to be your warning sign? This blog? Awesome. What are you going to do about it? I challenge you to do this, find what you're missing, what you're missing out on, and quit making excuses for why you're missing it. Burst your cozy bubble. Get uncomfortable. It's the only thing that's going to get you working towards comfort. For me, it's the comfort of those relationships that I'm striving for. Who knows, maybe I'll stumble upon something else that I've been missing. This isn't just a one-shot deal. This could apply to millions of things. Maybe you're missing out on a relationship with someone who is just such and amazing person, but your excuse for not being their friend is that they're too awkward, they're too weird, they're too different. Maybe you're missing out on a job that you would love to do, but your excuse is that you'd have to go back to school. Maybe, you're missing out on the opportunity to try and reach people through a blog, or song, or sermons, but your excuse is that you're too scared, not talented enough, not good enough. Get uncomfortable. No excuses.

Try it out. It feels a lot better once you're uncomfortable.