Hot People Admit Defeat

Alright - so you probably noticed a considerable lack of activity coming from this little corner of cyberspace. There are a few reasons for that.

But first, I have terrible news. Plan Ab-Tastic was a failure. I cannot say that my abs were rock hard by my twenty-seventh birthday. I can't even say they were on their way. I'm certainly not ready to post pictures. Sadness.

The good news is that I know why this has happened. The bad news is that I am solely and completely at fault here. In an effort to integrate myself into this community, a community I'm still reasonably new to, I took on a little too much. And by "a little too much," I mean that over the last two weeks, I've had commitments seven days per week. As a result, I've had little to no time for a. cooking actual food for myself, and certainly no time for b. moving my body any more vigorously than is required for playing the piano. Probably this has contributed to the anti-hardening of my abs, because if I want to be really honest with myself, my abs actually got softer in the last month and a bit.

Admitting defeat is harsh. I don't like it. However, if I consider the overall cost-benefit analysis, I think I gained so much more in terms of spiritual nourishment running around to rehearsals for eight billion different concerts and performances than I ever would have by losing the fat around my middle. So many people know my name now, and that was really part of the goal. I exceeded the legal capacity of my apartment with a party I threw for my own birthday. In the past month and a half I learned to play (quite well, also) 30+ reasonably challenging pieces on the piano - a talent I'd let go to seed when I was in university. So the time hasn't been a waste, even though I did waste a month or so of my gym membership.

And, really, just because I didn't succeed right away with this ab-tastic goal doesn't mean I really have to quit it altogether. I'm planning some trips in the spring and summer. Trips where I might be wearing bathing suits. Hrmmmm.....And I've also learned some valuable lessons about time management and saying no to things that I don't absolutely want to do. I am armed for the future, and a sweet-looking midsection is headed my way. Eventually...

Hot People Are Big News

Ok - so I've been terribly errant in my posting. Please just believe that my life has been IN-SANE. I just did the dishes for the first time in about 2 weeks on Sunday, and the pile is getting big again. I found myself doing laundry after midnight last night. It's been that kind of November.

So, you can understand why sitting in front of a computer to hammer something out for you guys has been difficult. To put it in perspective, I'm totally at work right now (ok - it's a break - but I'm still at work.) To keep you all from chewing your arms off in anticipation, I have a hilarious story to break up the monotony of a lack of Miss T antics.

Big news: I have a boyfriend. A real live one. Last weekend, we had planned to enjoy the beginning of the festive season by watching the Christmas Parade in his very small hometown. We met up with a few friends and watched all the heavy machinery within a 40 mile radius of town drive down the main street decorated in lights and shrubbery while drinking heavily Bailey'd hot chocolate out of travel mugs as the first major snowfall of winter pelted down upon us. We followed this with drinks at friends', followed by drinks at the curling club, followed by drinks at the only bar in town. Needless to say, we were not in any state to drive the 40 minutes back home that night, especially given the snow. So we stayed the night at my boyfriend's parents' house.

In the morning, his mother insisted that we attend the local Christmas arts & crafts show. So, like good little children, we did.

On of the things that's making my life INSANE right now, is a play I'm performing in. My character is 9 months pregnant and, since I am not, requires some prosthetic costuming. I had a number of things planned for Saturday, and in my hungover stupor I needed to give myself verbal reminders. One of those things was to see the costume designer about my prosthetic. I told my boyfriend "Oh yeah, I need to go see that lady about my belly." The boyfriend looked at me, confused. "You know, my pregnancy belly." I remembered this AT the arts & crafts show. Beside my boyfriend's mother. Who looked at me aghast.

"Good God!" I exclaimed, realizing my tragic error, "For the play! It's for the play!"

She looked relieved. "Oh, you're in the play. The same one that he's in?" (I had roped my boyfriend into performing with me when our previous leading man dropped out).

"And do you play a couple?" We answered in the affirmative.

"And is the baby his?" We answered in the affirmative.

And then she SCREAMED "Oh my GOD! I'm going to be a grandmother!"

Six blue-haired ladies from around the arts & crafts show ran over. We tried to set them straight, but they were old and hard of hearing and we're sure that not everybody went home with the truth.

And that's the story of how an entire tiny town in Northern Ontario came to believe that I'm carrying the child of one of their favourite sons.

Further Miss T antics to come. I promise.

Hot People Unleash Their Secret Weapons

WARNING: This post contains photographs of scantily clad women (me), brightly coloured undergarments and some coarse language. Also, I'm really bad at formatting when there are lots of pics. So it's kind of a mess down there. Small children and (possibly) my parents and younger brother should exercise their discretion.
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My period started yesterday. I know, too much information. However, I think many of the ladies out there will agree that very few things can so reliably make you feel gross and fat like Aunt Flo. I am no exception. My monthly inconvenience decided to coincide its arrival with some kind of clammy-skin-plus-fever-and-sore-throat plague and the result is that I want to lay about in my not-oft-washed sweatpants and watch chick flicks all weekend. Unfortunately, I had also resolved to go dancing. The obvious answer here is an attitude adjustment.

This whole thing has been about confidence. I know it, and many of my very helpful readers have suggested the same. It won't matter how hot I look, if I don't believe it, nobody else will either. But it's really difficult to just decide to believe you look smokin'. Sometimes you need a couple of secret weapons to give your confidence a boost. Especially when you've asked yourself to dance your ass off like it's going out of style and you spent most of your day wishing you could curl up into a fetal position on the floor of your office instead of actually doing your job. This kind of emergency calls for significantly more than just a few secret weapons and happens far more frequently than I'd like. As a result, I've gathered an arsenal of "things that make me feel hot" for just such occasions. Here's my top 10, in no particular order.

1. Mascara. I have really long eyelashes, but they're skinny. Mascara is like instant sexy-eyes. I derive a certain amount of glee from complaining about how after I've applied my mascara, my eyelashes transfer it to my eyelids because THEY'RE THAT LONG. My friends and co-workers are kind of getting sick of that, actually. That's like saying my boobs are too big.

2. Speaking of big boobs, this bra is also an instant confidence booster. Almost a year ago, I'd decided I'd had enough of shitty, ill-fitting bras from Sears. So I decided to get a bra-fitting. I always knew I was well-endowed in the mammary department...but turns out I actually have REALLY BIG BOOBS. Those puppies are F cups. That's right, folks, my bra size is 34F. Bet many of you didn't know those existed. As it happens, bras in size 34F are kind of like endangered species. If you've got big boobs and a small ribcage, you can't even FIND a bra at Sears in your size. No, no - you have to go to a special lingerie store. And special lingerie stores have special lingerie prices. I nearly peed myself when I looked at the ticket price on the first right-sized bra I tried on. It wasn't until a party a few months ago to which I wore one of my old faithful Sears bras that I decided I needed a change. My bra kept making appearances in the cleavage area of my v-neck. A helpful (and very intoxicated) friend tried to rectify the situation by, ahem, fluffing my pillows. As in, she put her hands IN MY BRA and pushed my boobs together. In the middle of the living room at the party. If my bra situation was so dire that my lady friends need to PUT THEIR HANDS ON MY BREASTS, I figured that the $200 I paid for that red number up there was totally worth it. And it was. See for yourself.

<-Old bra

And new bra->







3. This dress:

I always feel fantastic wearing this dress. That's because it feels like I'm wearing a giant t-shirt, but the cleavage is fantastic and the colour is hawt. I've had men carry my catfood and potting soil to my car from the grocery store when I'm wearing this dress. I went for a walk with my friend a few weeks ago and 5 out of 6 of the men we passed paid me a compliment. This dress is confidence.

4. Also, this dress:

I recognize that this dress borders on shress territory, so I always feel a little bit guilty when I wear it. But it was the dress I was wearing on that fantastic sailboat weekend, and I think the fact that I was comfortable wearing it is a sign that I'm much more comfortable showing a little bit more leg - a body part I've never been super happy with. This dress is a milestone, is what I'm saying. And I'm proud of it. I'm slightly less proud of my modeling abilities. Is my hand glued to my hip? And where are my irises?!?

5. Straight hair. And curly hair. My greatest assets in the hair department are my (now antique) ceramic flat-iron, and a good-quality (not necessarily expensive) curling creme. And conditioner. I grew up in a house with hard water and no conditioner. I can't even begin to describe the clown-hair I had growing up. Things improved when I began to dabble with 2-in-1 shampoos, but truly, my life was changed when I discovered the glory of conditioner. Having great hair is a huge asset when it comes to upping the measurements on my personal hot-metre. It also helps to have kissed hairnets goodbye for (I hope!) forever.

6. Brownies. I got this brownie recipe from my grade 11 English teacher and they are the effing bomb. I rarely give the recipe away because they really are one of my secret weapons. Everyone's happy to see me, because I bring it with the brownies. If EVERYONE could bring the brownies, I'd lose some of my magic.







7. Lacy panties. Especially these blue ones (Don't worry, they're clean). These are really my lucky panties. I wear them anytime I want things to go well. And usually they do. Related secret weapon: brazilian waxes. Every appointment day I wonder to myself if I'm crazy. The next morning I remember why I'm not. It never fails. It doesn't even matter that I'm usually the only one who sees the results of my painful quadri-weekly appointment. I feel like a million bucks wearing those undies in the week or two after my appointments.

8. Kick-ass boots. For several years I've mourned the fact that my calves are too "athletic" to fit into most boots with a shaft that comes up much higher than my ankles. The last couple of pairs I tried actually WENT ON MY LEGS. And they're supah hot. I bought this pair in Scotland, just off Princes Street. I really dig all the buckles. Then, I bought this other pair from a local foot-covering merchant. Not bad for rural Ontario, I think. A few friends say they're fuck-me boots. I'm not so sure, but I do know that wearing these boots, even though most of the time the awesomesauce is hidden under my stovepipe pantlegs, makes me feel kinda badass. Which I, at least, think is pretty hot.








9. Dentistry. Remember that hilarious story about my tragic front tooth? Having a dental plan made everything better. Before (note that I'm making NO bones about using a totally unflattering pic for the before - I'm at once hilariously jet-lagged, unmade up and moderately intoxicated in this pic): And after: Now that I look at the pics, my front tooth didn't look so bad before. But psychologically, it's made a huge difference. You have no idea how awesome it is to be able to smile with abandon.

10. Dancing. I switch on a little motown if I'm feeling blue. If I want to pump myself up, I turn to Gaga or Ke$ha. And if I want to feel super sexy, I'll toss on some old-skool rap. And do this:

Actually no, that's a joke. The point is, though, if I'm dancing, I feel awesome-tastic. In fact, once I shook off the crusty feelings of my flu and my monthly inconvenience, dancing last night made me feel so awesome that my night was, in fact, epic. More on that later, though.

Hot People Play Along (And if at first they don't succeed, they try, try again)

Ok - so, I just commented on THIS blog because I thought I was invited to, and then got a comment back saying I had FAILED at accepting the invitation properly. I was supposed to post a selection of search terms that people use on google that wind them up here, my little corner of the blogosphere.

Most are search terms that have to do with my name or the name of the blog, which are clearly people who love me and my writing so much that they haven't added my url to their favourites. However, there are a number of super-funny ones that I'll share here.

1. Shress - Any loyal reader knows what this is. If you don't, just know it's the bane of my existence. A post about shresses early on in my blogging career brings continued traffic. Related search terms: what do you wear under a shress, wear stilettos and take it up the ass, 11 year olds wearing stilettos

2. Completely Hairless People - It makes me giggle a little to know that some poor schmuck looking for others who bear his terrible affliction of complete hairlessness happened upon my nascent concerns about waxing "down there".

3. White Tights Male Dancers - Not sure what this person was ACTUALLY looking for (or if it was academic rather than recreational interest that spurred their search in the first place), but I'm sure they were upset to find, not the answer, but the ramblings of a sexually frustrated 20-something who kept getting distracted from the skill and story involved in The Nutcracker Ballet by the bulges in the male dancers' tights.

4. Why did people ware capes - This person was so upset not to find the answer to his question that he felt the need to admonish me for my verbosity (rather than brush up on his google skills). On the up-side, talkin' ass bitch is my new favourite insult.

So...there...hopefully this time I got it right?

Hot People Keep on Truckin'

So yeah...things have been going pretty well, lately. Things going well is awesome for me...but I feel as though it's way more awesome for everyone else when things are going wrong. Because wrong usually means funny. And funny means more people are reading.

On the other hand, this "Don't Analyze, Act" deal has been working out for me. And I feel like that's going to mean more ridiculousness is on its way. I'm joining a running clinic tomorrow. That's probably going to mean a lot of doubled-over pain. Same with the weight training clinic I joined last week...with all the bodybuilders in town. It's like...8 bodybuilders and me....with 1/4 the weights and 1/16 the attitude. I'm planning on playing basketball this year too...which I haven't played in over a decade. I think things can go very wrong there.

At any rate, I think the blog is still a useful tool for me - it keeps me motivated, even if it doesn't always keep you laughing. For example, the plan ab-tastic countdown is on - I only have 74 days left. That's going to mean loads of hard work in the next ten weeks. I also have yet to learn to play the guitar with any REAL skill, or speak French without the aid of an alcoholic beverage. So there's still loads to work on...and fail at.

And if all else fails (or wait...fails to fail), I just got a kitten. I promised myself (and therefore, you) that I wouldn't be that person who writes about how their pets are retarded, but he is kind of...special. He specializes in running into things headfirst. Like, today, he jumped headfirst into the toilet. See? Special.

Hot People are ON A BOAT

It's time for some good shit, hey? I thought so too. It is for this reason that I am pleased to announce that I can conclusively say I recently experienced one of the top 20 weekends of life a few weeks ago.

So here's the deal. I have this friend. He likes to call me on the fly. This often works out for him because I frequently have very little to do. This one Saturday evening was no exception. I was all ready to settle in for ANOTHER night of DVD, wine and candy I don't need to eat. Then he called. Within 30 minutes we were speeding across the Ontario/Quebec border. Within an hour, we were eating delicious local food & wine under a giant tent.

The tent was hot, so we went for a digestive consitutional outside. My friend, while spontaneous, is also "a lifer," in that he's spent most of his life in the area. This meant we met lots of people he knew in and around the tent. One of them just happened to be a friend with a 29' sailboat. Well, you know how much I love sailboats? I love them even more when they have gallons of sangria on board.

We drank, we caroused, we went for a midnight sail...but that's really not the point of this story. I don't know if it was the sangria or my new "don't analyze, just act" attitude (probably both), but a lot of shit went down that I was really proud of.

1. I spoke French. For serious. Well...Franglais. But my friend said he was impressed with me, so I'll take it. I've discussed with my boss the possibility of keeping a jug of sangria in the insulin fridge at work so I can see our francophone clients (I think that's the magic). She's considering it.

2. I danced my ass off. I garnered what I think were genuine compliments about my dancing skill. This means I should keep doing it...which is good, because it really is my first love.

3. I made out with a delightful Quebecois stranger on the dancefloor. I saw him, he saw me, we had a moment, some skinny blonde chick (bitches!...they are my nemeses) tried to cut in on my moment and, for the first time ever, I said "NO! This my MY moment" and blocked her path.

Further to this, I declined his suggestion that we move on to more comfortable surroundings. And I'm proud of that. My usual attitude is that THIS might be the LAST guy ever to want to sleep with me so I'd better go for it (Dad, I know you're reading this and cringing...keep reading...I'm making progress!). THIS TIME I thought: what would I rather do? Have sloppy drunk-sex with an attractive guy I'm never going to see again or sleep on a sailboat? I made what I think is the obvious choice, SLEEPING ON A MOTHERF---ING BOAT! We exchanged numbers instead. Then I forgot his. I'm not waiting anxiously by the phone either, rest assured.

4. I went swimming in my underwear. The fact that I was willing to bare my midriff in front of people I just met made sleeping in my clammy undies totally worthwhile. I don't even care whether it was enjoyable for everyone around me. 6 months ago, I would never have let so many strangers at a time see so much of my skin. I guess that means I like it better. Huzzah!

...And the magic just kept on coming. Though I had to drive to Sudbury on 4 hrs sleep the next day, I got to see my cousin win gold in his event at the provincial canoe/kayak competition. Also, the radio keeps playing songs I dig.

Oh, and did I mention I went to Scotland right after that? No? Well, it was awesome. It had castles and shit. More on this later, I'm sure.

So, everything's coming up Miss T these days. Whoever's in charge of this: keep up the good work. Let the good times roll.

Hot People Like Diet Cherry Cola

I've had two things on my mind lately. Well...three things...but the third one is really more of a private conversation than a public mind-drool, so I'll wait until the time is right for that one.

1. Stuff that I want.

2. Stuff that I like.

So, I had a wicked jones for a diet Dr. Pepper tonight.

***This is not the point. This is that thing I do where I talk about something mundane and then relate it to some deep part of my internal being and then blow everyone's mind (or, maybe just mine)

Anyway, I had a wicked jones for a diet Dr. Pepper tonight. I was eating some homemade shortbreads (be jealous!), and they were a little too short for the hot weather and I needed to wet my whistle with something other than expired milk. As I walked over to the Mac's, I thought the good Dr. might have a delicious blend 23 flavours that would do the job. I was really hoping one of those flavours was aspartame. Unfortunately, Mac's milk could not deliver. I knew I was asking too much; who am I to think that I should be able to get a calorie-free beverage in my preferred flavour at the only retail establishment open after 10 p.m. four nights a week? I'm currently drinking the full-sugar version, which is, as we speak, boring tiny holes in my teeth and then somehow depositing the excavation materials on my waistline.

The same thing happened when I tried to make hot artichoke dip a few months ago. Canned artichoke hearts? Hilarious notion! I had to settle for hot spinach dip. It was tasty, but not exactly what I was looking for.

Ok...so, what I'm getting at, is that this town just doesn't seem to deliver on exactly what I want. I can get what-I-want-adjacent, or two complementary halves of what I want...but never the genuine article, it seems. And I think you know what I'm talking about here. I've been pretty relationship-focused lately. Even when I let good ole rational brain in to say something cogent about trying to make friends and have a good time, underneath it all, I'm really hoping that every interaction I make is going to lead to something lasting (by this, I mean, more than a few weeks) and, let's face it...coital.

Alas, I recently came to the conclusion that this isn't going to happen. At least, not in the foreseeable future. All signs point to the apparent reality that I have entered a period in my life that I've lovingly monikered the ERA OF EFFED UP PLATONIC RELATIONSHIPS. A bird's eye view of my recent dealings with the opposite sex will show you this: it's LIKE we're dating...except we're definitely not dating. This is despite the fact that sometimes their self-described physical type looks an awful lot like me. This is despite the fact that sometimes their self-described personality type sounds an awful lot like me. And for a long time, this was really confusing to me. WHY would people more or less describe me, to my face, as the kind of person they really want to date, if they don't actually want to date me?

So, on the weekend, a friend of mine clarified it for me. I described one of these effed-up platonic situations, and he said, "Huh, so you're the incase of emergency, break glass girlfriend."

And then the lights turned on. And suddenly, I was enraged. I am the safety girlfriend. When all other options have been exhausted, they know I'll do a reasonable job as a pinch-hitter girlfriend. And that's why these dudes keep dangling carrots in front of me and then pulling them out of my reach just before I grab onto them.

On to the stuff I like. In particular, I mean stuff I like about me. I've been thinking a lot about that question my friend asked back when I couldn't cry (Problem solved, btw. This song did the trick. Bawled my face off).

I think it's an important question to be able to answer. So important that I was discussing it with a few members of my family. My mother disagrees. She thinks that people shouldn't be able to answer that question unless they want to admit they're full of themselves. In fact, her response was so visceral that she had to get up out of her chair, to illustrate that she hates people who haven't got a problem saying "I am SOOO great! I LIKE myself! I'm good at walking (she marched on the spot to illustrate this point), and I'm good at smiling, and I'm a good person!" And frankly, I think I wouldn't like them either. Because I'd be jealous of them.

But that's because I'm not very good at smiling. Observe. (In the interest of full disclosure, the drink beside me is mine. And it was tasty. The bottle of pills is not mine. That's cat medicine. I don't know how it tastes).

Seriously, though. I'm already full of myself. I have almost 100 pages of text broadcast through cyberspace devoted wholly to myself. Wouldn't it be great if that full-of-myself-ness had a positive spin to it?

So, instead of thinking of all the things I don't like about myself (like my smile, and my acne, and my fat ass, and...wait, right...that's what I'm NOT doing this time), I really should think about the things I like.

So, at first I thought I liked the fact that I'm 100% genuine. I do not know how to bullshit. But then I remembered how my 0% bullshit policy gets me into trouble A LOT. So, I scratched that idea. Then, I realized that the thing I like best about myself is the fact that I'm pretty effing resilient. I've had a lot of shitty life, and a particularly bad run the past few months, but I keep getting up and coming out swinging. I like a lot of other things too. I'm looking pretty curvy these days, and I have really nice eyes. And hair. And boobs. (Please ignore the mess on my coffee table. And my shitty furniture)

Ok - back to that back-up relationship thing. Yeah, that makes me mad. And I'm realizing that I ought to like myself way too much to be THAT girl. So, while a small bit of me still burns a candle for some of these dudes, when and if whatever emergency arises and they decide they want to break that glass, I've gotta think long and hard about whether being behind that glass is EXACTLY WHAT I WANT.

And in the meantime, I'm going to have to resign myself to going without exactly what I want. I can compromise on my chilled cherry-flavoured cola beverages every once in awhile, but I'm pretty sure I don't want to compromise on this anymore.

So, good sirs, I am pleased to be friends with you. But there's no need to continue to lead me on. I'm going a different way.