LC and the City: March 2011

P.S.

Just a tiny reminder to check into my other blog from time to time. It's a visual blog that takes little to no time to peruse. But its purpose hopefully will last longer than your visit to it.

Tiny glimpse into tonight's post:

http://lookingdownwithconfidence.blogspot.com/2011/03/ray-of-sunshine-ma-lumiere.html

LCxo

Get Smart: Undercover with GGM

LCpod

Juliette by Hollerado
Wasteland by Augustana
Coney Island by Good Old War

This business of working 9-5, even though I love consistent hours, is tough on the social life. Here it is, St-Paddy's day, I am Irish (not full fledge but enough to wear it proudly) and Catholic and yet I cannot express my joy of being either by participating in the green beer rituals and crazy attire. While the rest of the city has been lining up outside of pubs since the early A.M, I am in a different kind of line: at my local market buying my tomorrow's fresh produce. The only green I'm sporting is the lettuce and green pepper I'm about to scale. No beer. No barley. No buzz.

However, the night was not a full waste. Like a rebel in the night, I drank alcoholic beverages with Gym Guy Matt, at the gym no less, while he worked his midnight shift. He longed for my companionship, so much so, he was on the verge of creepily finding my phone number from the database and calling me to hurry the heck up. "I was so bored I was going to creep you in the system and call you to come over now". Awww, I am wanted.....only to kill his boredom mind you. Silver lining people, there's one in most things. The way I look at it, there are people who can actually make you bored. But me, no, not me. I am a cure.

I don't show up empty handed. We have to be discreet. Inconspicuous is my game and I know how to play it well. So I shove multiple vodka crans into an empty gatorade bottle. I've never been one to make excellent drinks so that bottle could very well have been 80% vodka, 20% juice. He's a big boy (as he likes to retort, "that's what she said"), so he handled the high ratio of alcohol just fine.

We both chugged back our drinks. I don't know what that says about either of us. All done. No more booze. Not so fast, lucky for me, I have a bottle of wine in my purse. If that doesn't bring me back to my highschool days, I don't know what will. Actually, I wasn't mature enough for wine back then, so switch the bottle of wine for a mickey of anything I can get my hands on and that's a more accurate depiction. Add to that depiction a cigarette flimsily in my right hand taking fake puffs and you really have me down to a tee.

Undercover drinking brought me back to the good ol' days of no responsibility, spending my days at Ecole Secondaire Catholique Champlain and then burning the midnight oil in the back of an elementary school, grocery store chugging back crown royal, bush parties where pretty much the whole town's teenage population would come together, maybe even contemplated cow tipping; or when my gf's and I, all 9th grade post pubescent dudettes, hid and drank a beer in a friend's closet as her dog Belvedere watched on. One beer split between four. That took up a whole what, 5 minutes of our night. Nerds.

I was easily persuaded by Gym Guy Matt and friends to go out with them. My plans to have a couple undercover drinks with him and retreat to my bed by midnight were well intentioned. Technically, I had the choice to go with or stay back. But realistically, I didn't have any choice at all. The decision making was bigger than me. Going out was in my cards. I didn't have a say and so that's why when Gym Guy Matt and Verissimo demonstrated their power of persuasion, almost immediately, I acquiesced. Also what helped was Verissimo's intriguing accent and his no non sense "I have to be at work earlier than you tomorrow morning, so get your ass in my car" argument. So in his sports car we went.

No matter the mode of transportation, I'm never comfortable with heavy accelerating, breaking abruptly, sharp turning, unless I am behind the wheel. It's a control thing. So when I was thrown around in the back seat like a rag doll, I may have been a tiny bit uneasy.

I also didn't have a say in the tequila shot first thing upon arriving at The Madison. Great. I have a shit dinner, I go to the gym and put in a superb cardio session, go home, have some blueberries, then head back to the gym, drink a very potent vodka drink, some wine and all of this is followed by a dirty tequila shot ?! I can already predict my morning: rough. Added to all of this are three pints of delicious beer.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder, I press my glass up to Gym Guy Matt's. Well what do you know, I'm nearly finished mine and big tough guy to the right of me is more or less nursing it like a sucker.

HA ! He's not the sucker. I am, for taking on a 200 pound man in a now very heated drinking competition. In one corner we have LC, standing at 5'7", weighing in at 130 pounds, fiesty, cheaky and ready to rock. In the other corner, we have Gym Guy Matt, 6 feet and however many inches, weighing who knows, alot, solid as a rock (seriously, solid), excited, happy and ready to party. Next thing you know, he stares right at me, both eyes locked and chugs an entire pint. So, what do I do. I chug mine as well. Dumb. The only breed of girl who would chug a beer to impress a guy s one from northern Ontario. I blame my place of birth for my exceedingly heavy buzz and for what is about to go down here.

The evening was great. I walked away from it composed, not sloppy. Fast forward to the morning and you would have thought otherwise. I wake up frantic at 8:04am. I seldomly drink during the week so hangovers are exclusive to weekends. Hmm, are we saturday? SHIT ! I should already be in the subway on my way to work by now. Instead, I am tangled in my blankets in a pitch dark room, my mouth is a desert, my breath tastes like last night, my coat and boots are scattered around the room, and my body is not listening to my central command station that is telling it to get outta bed ASAP and get to work !!!!!

Believe it or not, I get to work on time. I packed myself a breakfast which was too healthy for what my body was craving: grease. So it did nothing in terms of helping me through this morning. I had the spins while standing, walking, sitting, bending down, carrying heavy boxes, hoarding files. I called on St-Patrick to relieve me of this hangover for it was in his honour that I drank. That was the least he could do. My request was not fulfilled.

If I'm going to get through this day without barfing, I need to get some dirty food in me. So lunch time comes around and I b-line it for a restaurant. I don't know what I want but I want it all. I am a bottomless pit the day after I drink. I still can't get myself to eat a big fat, dirty greasy burger. So once again, my inner health nut butts in and what do I do, I go to Longo's to grab a healthy lunch. They have freshly made foods in a buffet set up and you pay per weight. Another mistake of mine.

In one single container, I slabbed together: strawberry salad, zesty chicken, spicy quinoa, curry chicken, chow mein. teriyaki tofu, crisp chili tofu, crab salad, hunks of feta and a kaiser bun. It cost me a small fortune too. Freg.

What I should have gotten was a dirty shwarma or that calorie intense smoked rib poutine at South of Temperance. But nooooo, I have to exercise will power even when I'm hungover and opt against the foods that will almost immediately inject life back into me.

I devoured the first few bites but once my taste buds caught on to what I was shoving in my mouth, my devouring came to a screeching halt. There were too many flavours and the gag reflex was triggered. I mixed alcohols the night before and look where that got me. So I should have known that mixing all these different ethnic foods was not going to do me any good either.

The "I can drink you under the table" champion was not crowned between Gym Guy Matt and I. He says he showed me who's who in that respect, I say I held my own pretty well against a man twice my size. We both want the title so round two is the only way to go about this. I'm sure I'll have tons to tell about that occasion. I can see it now on a score board:

LC: 1
Gym Guy Matt: 0

Now as I eat my goat cheese, walnut, apple chicken salad and treat myself to a biscotti with my coffee (my one indulgence during my training) before I go torture my body at the gym, I leave you with this, food for thought.

Thoughts?

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/the-hot-button/selling-push-up-bikinis-to-girls-age-7-is-it-too-young/article1952706/

Inspiring

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PVbri3k31LY

LC Cam - Week in Photos

Drunk Irish or just a drunk ?

Creeping closer and closer to us

On the verge of barfing

Verissimo doesn't like his close proximity

My day-after-drinking lunch. Ew.
Makes me gag just looking at it

My sis and I always choose the best dress out of the three.
This time, they're all ugly.

LCxo

Legacy in the Making: One to be proud or ashamed of?

Lcpod

Window by Good Old War
Tell me by Good Old War
Ho Ho Hopefully by The Maine

On the evening of March 12, 2011, I received the highly anticipated news:

She's heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrreee !!!!!!

Like the labour pro that she is, my eldest sister delivered, without a hitch, her fourth child, a beautiful little baby girl to whom I am the Godmother.

To be a Godparent doesn't mean much these days. It really has lost its inherent intentions. The perception of the role is nothing short of wrong. Whether that's a result of poor practice, not enough practice, or simply not really knowing, who knows. But it means a great deal to me, even more so because I know it means a great deal to my sister and brother-in-law to have this sort of figure present in the lives of their children. When they ask someone to be a Godparent , it's a decision well thought out, one with great care.

I actually lost a friend over this exact topic. I don't know how the conversation came about but he struck down the definition of Godparent, saying that it was the person that would look after the child if the parents passed; and things of that nature. I kindly reminded him that a definition is a definition and it didn't matter what argument he presented, by definition, a Godparent is what it is. Quoting a character from my favourite criminal investigation show, CSI Miami,

"It is what it is. It ain't what it ain't. Don't make it what it ain't".

It was by no means a heated argument. Both adults, I figured a conversation could take place and no matter the topic, no matter the opinion, no matter the passion, upon completion we could both walk away from it either stronger in one's stance or more in agreement with agreeing to disagree. But apparently his temper was flared and he then deleted me from MSN and Facebook. It's rather tragic that we've lost touch. We shared a great 4-5 months together, hand in hand, emotionally and physically available to only each other. Just thinking about it now saddens me.

I already feel extremely protective over my nieces and nephew. I take my job as an auntie very seriously. I am by default hired to be their arts and crafts buddy, their play mate, their personal beanbag, another shoulder to cry on, an imagination pusher, and what I can't get enough of, a provider of overwhelming kisses and all encompassing hugs.

But on the heel of this little gal's birth, I really got to thinking. What is it about me that will make me a great auntie, but more importantly, a great Godmother, and what is it about me that will make me falter? What do I have going for me and what is working against me?

What instigated these very deep questions was the responsibility bestowed upon me via the request for my Godmotherhood. I feel a great sense of responsibility over her.

How can I proudly lead this child?
By example.
Am I exemplary?
That's debatable.

She is a blank slate. She is faultless. She is so innocent. Weighing in at 6 pounds 9 ounces, she is blindly trusting us to steer her in all the right directions, if not at least the best ones. Such purity calls for the best of the best and I cannot, and will not, deny her that.

I am not a blank slate. I am with faults. I am not innocent. Weighing in at 130 pounds, I am no longer being steered through life. I make my own choices, aware and candid.

So this is where all my self reflection comes in.

I need to know that what I say, what I do, what I stand for, are all things she (and the 3 other little munchkins I love so much) can be proud of. Most importantly, that they are things I can proudly share and exude.

It shouldn't have taken the birth of a little angel to kick me into high gear in becoming the greatest person I can be, but that is the truth of the matter. I, and many others alike, seek out motivation, a catalyst of some sort, to get the ball rolling. It's a subconscious decision but I need to look forward to something in order to give purpose to what I'm doing or about to do because without it, my actions and the efforts supporting them seem less gratifying.

I relate it to the major clean sweep of your house before a family gathering or before a guest, especially one of romantic interest, comes over. There's this cluster of hours that is wholly dedicated to cleaning up and making everything pristine, as if it always is. Wouldn't it be easier to just keep up with the upkeep and save ourselves from the misery that is last minute cleaning?

Do we put things off because, deep down, we don't want to start them, we want to avoid them or because deep down we know we will not follow through? Why do we wait for the first day of a new year to make a life resolution ? Ever notice new eating regimens always start on Monday?

All this then means we're all talk no action. I don't want to be that. I want to take action. When I talk of myself and my life, I want to use the present tense of a verb, not the future. Let me rephrase that, I will use the present tense and I will not use the future.

I can kind of understand, on a much smaller scale of course, what parents go through with the birth of a child: this complete character overhaul to ensure that your person, what you are, stand for, believe in, say, do, will rub off well on your child.

You have to have all your beliefs in check. There's no swaying. You are the child's foundation. You must be solid. In order to do that, you really need to know yourself and you really need to figure out your basis, your center, your virtues, your deeply rooted morals and then you can stand firm in all of that.

I believe that children are a blessing in more than one way. They're miraculous in the way they are created, and they are a blessing because of the changes they produce in us.

Life breaks you down. Not intentionally. But don't let it break your legacy. We are each entitled to leave a great mark, and there is no better time than the present.

Thank you baby girl (she's still nameless) for lighting a fire in me that will make me the best Godmother in town, the greatest auntie to each of you angels, and a fine person for the world.

LCxo

Knock Knock ! Who's There ????

Lcpod

Stereo Sun by Lupe Fiasco

ME!!!!!! Did you really think I would keep myself away from this blog forever ?!?!? Silly readers !!!! My schedule became busy. Work became hectic. Life happened. My computer was handed over to the trusty hands of a friend who installed the greatest of all great photography softwares and as it turns out, my piece of garbage laptop is infested with thousands of spyware and the next thing I know, weeks go by and I haven't written a single word on this blog.

I've had to apologize to a few people for my lack of blog posts on my life stories or my self proclaimed awesome psycho babble over the last few weeks. Apparently I'm funny ?! Apparently I'm witty ?! Apparently what I have to say is insightful, of some humour and of some help ?! Whether you can relate to me or you use and abuse my stories as a time filler, I'm just happy that I have some viewership so I don't feel like too big a nerd who's writing for an audience of zero. Ideally, I would like to think that there is a certain je ne sais quoi about me that draws you in, seemlessly captivates your attention and with little effort, sucks you into my world; emphasis on the word ideally.

Whatever the reason, thank you for reading. So in the wake of this blogosphere injustice, I give you this:

Dear Readers (I capitalized you guys, you like that ?!)

However many, however few, in Canada, United States, Denmark, United Kingdom, Singapore, Germany, Italy, Russia, Austria and France, please accept my most heartfelt condolences over the loss of your daily/weekly read of LC and the City. I promise to never subject you to a draught of this magnitude. I promise to feed you, at regular intervals, entertaining accounts of the trials and tribulations of a single, classy, quirky, driven woman trying to make it in the city, in every sense of the word. From my struggles to make my dreams reality to my adventures from one schmuck to the next, you'll be front and center. Through the good, the bad, the ugly, the lame, the weird, the awkward, the unacceptable, the victories, the losses, the laughs, the tears and much much more.

To end on a lighter note, I forgot just how distasteful instant coffee really is. I drank it this morning in spite of the chicken bone/ fried food taste it left on my lips. Also, I've renewed my love for Skittles. What a delightful little candy.

Now if you don't think those are two of the most random things someone can say, you have me beat at the art of randomness.

LCxo

Today's Theme: Mindless

LCpod

Light Love by Free Energy

If you're looking for some deep conversation, you've come to the wrong place. Well, for today that is. I am unbelievably tired. I did not get any sleep last night. Up, staring at the ceiling from midnight to the first round of alarm clocks, has drained the life out of me. So much so I can't think. I actually spat on myself today. I know right, who does that. I do. I lost control of my mouth while talking and also temporarily forgot how to swallow saliva. Put both those things together and what you have is a hot mess. It happens to the best of us.

While the roomies just had a deep enough conversation around the dinner table, I'm extremely limited in what I can offer. Hence why this post is senseless. For the most part it contradicts my usual writing style of authoring something of substance, but I'm so addicted to blogging now that I had to post something, even if it was lackadaisical.

It's nice to shut my brain off from time to time. I suppose that explains my inexplicable love for Jersey Shore. A-HA ! Tricked you. By explaining my inexplicable love for JS means it's inexplicable no longer because I've just explained it. Do you follow?

I barraged my sisters facebook page today with the most useless posts. I introduced it as "My lunchtime rants of awesomeness." Sharing is caring so here goes it.

Don't fret my pet, even Victoria Beckham has an oily complexion.