Saturday, December 10, 2005
So, this is an emergency post.
I just found out, with the help of Wikipedia.org that yesterday Friday December 9th was the 45th anniversary of Coronation Street’s premier on ITV in England. There has been 6180 episodes.
I also learned that while some characters have been on the show for like 30 years, only one has been on since the first episode. Ken Barlow, played by the same guy. Imagine. What a gig! I winder how much money he makes?
All hail The Street
Friday, December 09, 2005
So, I’ve decided that my personal trainer is indeed the master manipulator I thought he was. Last night we worked out a brand new program for me. You know, we are taking things to the next level. We gotta focus my power and further tone my muscle groups. We’ve worked out a plan of several steps that include some power lifting and time on the stability ball. We aim to further develop my quads and glutes while building more strength in my delts and pecks. We’ve planned for some intense anerobic training. You know, really power up heart and go for a high calorie burn. There will be some special attention paid to my core. At this point you should all realize that I have no idea what I am talking about.
While on the elliptical trainer – also known is the machine of choice for dumped girls the world over – my trainer asked me to pick up the pace to a breakneck speed for the last 15 seconds of every minute. So, I did what he asked. Then he said “Wow, Debbie, you are in great shape. I mean you are super powerful.” I know that he is saying this cause he knows that I respond to positive reinforcement better than most people. I almost broke that elliptical machine.
Then, toward the end of the work out he said “So, how is the eating coming.” So, I said “Great, I am currently packing back about a pint of ice cream a week, but I am falling behind on my cookie and chocolate intake.” He looked at me confused. So I said, “I never said I was on a diet, dumbass.”
I’m getting a cold.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
My Year In Review
So, today is my one year anniversary of my blog.
Happy blog day to me,
Happy blog day to me,
Happy blog day,
Happy blog day.
Happy blog day to me!
Yes, folks it has been a year since I started chronicling the meaningless aspects of my life for all the cyber world to read or ignore. It’s been real fun. I’ve gone through my whole blog, a year’s worth of prattling and I have some comments.
1. I started the blog thinking that it would help me to talk less. OK, in all honestly I started the blog because a cute boy has one so I copied him (We can call him “the Blogfather” - http://www.milkaudio.com/web/blogger/). But, I also thought that by getting the random thoughts out of my brain I wouldn’t talk non-stop about those thoughts.
My assessment: Total failure. I still talk non-stop. Back when I was living with GRC she used to joke about having “Live Streaming Blog” at home. I have come to realize that random thinking is like desire, you can only quench it temporarily, but then it rises up anew. However, GRC still read my blog and listened to me talk. So, now I am under the dangerous impression that I am deadly interesting. Watch out. I will blog with impunity.
2. I have a number of unhealthy obsessions.
In no particular order, they are: coffee, stolen candy, DJs, cute boys of all descriptions, coffee, a book about rats, martinis, Latin American soap operas, Coronation Street, human interference in the mating habits of jungle cats, martinis, bras, panties, my own hair and Patrick Swazey,
3. I have had one passionate blog affair.
We met on another blog and then you followed me here.
I just want to thank you. It is a special kind of flattering to have someone chase you, even for fun, attracted by small a glimpse of personality. How did you make a silly blog so exciting? How did I get so caught up? I don’t know the answers to those questions, but I know that I loved it.
You may no longer read my blog, but I used to rush to read your comments on the inane details that make up my days and nights. I liked flirting with you and sometimes I would write a post specifically designed to grab your attention. You probably noticed, I know everyone else did, but I couldn’t help myself. You made me shameless.
When anyone asked me about “That Dust guy” I’d smile. When some other girl responded to your teasing, I was jealous and when you stopped leaving your comments, I didn’t know how to get you back. I missed them, and people continued to ask me what happened to you. I told them you were thrilling someone else.
Alas, you were more complex and sensitive than I gave you credit for and perhaps you took my flippant attitude for a lack of appreciation. It’s my loss, I assure you. Should you come back to me…should you come back. Oh darling, make it happen.
4. My last job was a serious problem in my life. I successfully solved that problem by quitting and moving to Montreal. Among the problems with my last job I list, my bosses, the job tasks, the flood, the stench, the hygiene, the pay and lack of job satisfaction. Good riddance.
I suggest that everyone unhappy with their job quit, just walk away. It’s not worth it. Do it. We are only young once and we are ALWAYS to young to be miserable at work.
5. I have named several syndromes and I should become an editor at the New England Journal of Medicine.
Those syndromes are: CTS (Camel Toe Syndrome), VNS (Visible Nipple Syndrome), MRS (Mall Repulsion Syndrome), FVS (Fat Vagina Syndrome), FVC (Fat Vagina Complex), and BPD (Bottomless Pit Day).
6. Some very interesting people read my blog and have blogs of their own.
They are as follows:
To those I have missed, I apologize.
7. I’d like to thank my contributors. You guys have been great to read.
The regulars are as follows:
GRC, Vijay, Anne, Nadia, Angel, Dave, Notsoweirdguy, Gani (and the times you just wrote ‘g’ and the times you called yourself ‘assman’ but I know it was you), Ruben, Truecraig, Miss Anon, Marta, Erin, Sara, and of course, Dust. If I missed you, I apologize. I also want to thank the people who don’t leave comments but I know are reading. That means you, Sandra and Liz.
I have tried to keep other diaries, but I always think back to that day when I caught my mother reading the diary I wrote in grade seven. Yes, that gave me some deep seeded trust issues, and yes, I felt betrayed, and no, I will never forget it, but perhaps she was on to something. I mean I got in trouble for swearing in it, but look what she created.
You know, a few years ago a good friend and I started a picture book. It became a diary of hand drawn photos. The events of one year as represented in pencil crayon. I loved it, and I still look at. Yes, one drunken night, in a fit of rage, I ripped out the pages with the image of a certain red-headed man and handed them to his girlfriend while saying “I think you need these more than I do.” But, still I think it was a useful and healthy exercise.
Anyway, the internet is much better for this sort of thing. I can’t rip it apart in a drunken stupor and the people reading it can tell me when I’ve gone off the deep end without betraying my trust.
Monday, December 05, 2005
So, last night I had a conversation with the guy I broke up with about three weeks ago. We were just chatting, we haven’t spoken since that fateful day in November. Anyway, we were talking and laughing on the phone.
I mentioned that I had been spending more time at the gym and getting a lot stronger. You know, three times a week on a program designed by my personal trainer for general fitness and toning. I'm a powerhouse. So, I said to him “You’re missing out because I’m just getting hotter.” He laughed because that’s funny. Then he tells me that he has started boxing and now spends 16 hours a week boxing or training for boxing. In his two-hour-long session at the gym he does 15 push-ups every 3 minutes. He also jumps rope and spars. He has lowered his body fat percentage and has gotten much fitter. He was always muscular, but now, he is finely cut.
I feel like Jennifer Aniston watching Troy.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
So, last night I went out dancing to The Goods at La Sala Rosa. We had a fun time but the real party was at my friend’s place before hand. It was a small group, just us four girls drinking gin and talking about what everyone talks about before they go dancing. Fat Vagina Syndrome (FVS being the clinical term). Due to the side effects of FVS – difficulty shopping for pants, increased instance of camel toe, and the unfortunate social stigma around camel toe, those you have FVS often suffer from Fat Vagina Complex (FVC) the sense that everyone always looking at your pants and thinking, “Oh my god, that girl has a fat vagina.”
Some of you may remember my post about FVS from August 30th. Back then it was just a joke, but now, it has an emotional aspect. I wonder if there is a support group.