The Good Life

I'm embarrassed.  I'm beyond embarrassed; I'm ashamed and astonished.  I can't believe that I ever thought, even for a split second that my life is not a good life.

I had an amazing career, and friends who became family in Red Deer.  I was living more than comfortably in a condo overlooking the river, with a new vehicle parked underground.  With all of that and still no fairytale feeling, I uprooted my world with the notion that rainbows and unicorns awaited just south on the QE2.  I accepted a job in Calgary.

Only 3 months later, I made the decision to remove myself from what felt like an abusive relationship; I quit my job. 

Luckily, I had a friend in the service industry who hired me on as a bartender immediately, and in the blink of an eye I found myself working 10 hour shifts pouring beer and mixing drinks.  Frequently I would arrive home past 3am with aching arches, sore shoulders, and exhausted eyes.  I'd often sit in my car for a few minutes just delaying the climb of stairs to my apartment.  And in those moments I would think...

Here I am.  In this sketchy little lot, where my vehicle barley fits.  About to enter my million-year-old apartment building with the lingering smell of Indian food and weed.  I have to let my dog outside after likely wiping up puddles off the floor.  Then I need to scrounge for food in my empty cupboards, and try to fall asleep minutes after because in less than twelve hours I will be back behind the taps.  And my whole...body...hurts.

Where were the smiles and sunshine?  What happened to making fat paycheques and fabulous friends?  Had I traded in my 5 dollar bill and been short-changed in nickels and dimes?

So you're thinking this is where my story ends, right?  I'm ashamed that I left my wonderful world in Red Deer, and now have a crap life in Calgary?  Hang on....

Today I learned of not one, but two tragedies that have recently devistated some old friends of mine.  A mother of six lies in a coma after losing oxygen to her brain for forty minutes, with her husband left holding their six week old girl and praying for a miracle.  Meanwhile, one of my best childhood friends has to face the fact that her four year old son has been diagnosed with a neurodegenerative disorder, and seems to be progressing (getting worse) each day.

My heart cries for these families, and the millions of others who I don't even know.

I...am an asshole.  I am embarrassed that it took the learnings of other's misfortune to give me perspective.  I am ashamed that I ever thought less of what I have.  I am astonished at my own ignorance.

My life, is a GOOD life.

My family is alive and well.  I have a job that pays my bills, and a place to call home.  If it were the middle of October maybe I would go into detail listing all of the things I am thankful for.  But it is not Thanksgiving, it is December 10th and I am not just thankful...I am aware.

I will be excited to go to work tomorrow to see friends and meet new people, I will re-arrange my furniture to play fetch with my dog indoors at 3am, and I will pull up the blinds in the morning even if I go back to bed after.  

Fairytales don't exist, unicorns don't either, and you will never find happiness if you keep chasing rainbows.  But if you can simply open your eyes by opening your heart, you will see what is real...

and recognize what is good.

Break Me Off A Piece of that Kit-kat Bar - 2012 NHL Lockout

I have a friend who works for Canada Post.  He was actually my postman when I lived in Red Deer.  How cute.  I don't think he looooooves his job.  His knees are already wearing down at the age of 24, and I have literally heard dogs growling and barking when I've called him while he's on rout.  Of course with being a postman, the most interesting thing that has happened so far for my friend was a strike.  They refuse to work until the union figures their shit out and in the meantime the guy who was making a modest living struggles to make his rent.  We don't seem to pay too much attention these days when Canada Post goes on strike, but seriously how am I going to get my mail!!!?

It's September 2012.  The NFL season has started, and normally we'd be gearing up for hockey as well, but we're not.  The boys aren't heading down to camp, they're still negotiating or for most...still golfing. This is what we call a "lockout"?  The term sounds a little harsh if you ask me.  I guess I see it as an extended vacation, but then I'm reminded of the old Kit-kat campaign ("-But how do you know you're taking a break if you weren't doing anything?" - "'Cause I'm having a Kit-kat").

Why does this whole ordeal seem so ridiculous to the average Joe?  Because he isn't rich.  The average Joe doesn't care whether all the money goes to the players or to the owners, because he is lucky to gross $75,000 annually.  Joe works Monday to Friday at a job he hates, hoping to not see an e-mail from his boss over the weekend.  Average Joe just longs for his 2 weeks vacation, which will probably be wasted visiting in-laws because he can't afford a real trip.  Maybe the average Joe works for Canada Post...and maybe, he just wants to watch hockey.

And these hockey guys are fighting over a pay cut from say 2 million down to 1.5 million?  An absurd amount of money to do something that they love for 6 or 7 months of the year, and a number with enough zeros behind it to allow them a pretty lavish off-season.  I don't think any of those guys are hurting too bad from this extended vacation (lockout).  Even a 4th liner like Paul Bissonnette recently tweeted the reply, "Well how about in your next life you dedicate it to something that pays more..." only days after tweeting, "Jager race on the golf course".  Yeah, he sure is hurting.  Probably deserves an extended summer anyway for how hard he works and how many minutes he plays during the hockey season.

Here's what's really alarming...

You know what else happened this month?  The anniversary of 9/11.  Anyone know the average salary of a firefighter?  What's the longevity of their career?  Is there a risk of their whole career ending due to one accident?  Hey @BizNasty2point0, what if one of those guys dedicated their next life to something that pays more?

And all this fuss over the NHL?  Play hockey, don't play hockey.  Be rich or don't be rich.  Take an extended vacation from 'doing what you love' until you can figure it out.  Have a damn Kit-kat while you're at it, but GIVE ME A BREAK!

I'm more concerned about receiving my mail on time.

Fake Fanatics

Bobby Orr is the best hockey player of all time.  I know this because my dad says so.

I am a girl.  What I know and care about in regards to hockey, comes from how I was raised.  My dad is a REAL hockey man.  He isn't interested in memorizing stats, and he couldn't care less about placing bets.  He doesn't prance around wearing his favourite team's jersey on game days, nor does he declare his love for the game with an obnoxious mini flag stuck in the window of his truck.  But that man, actually knows hockey.  He played it...he loves it.

Tonight marked the beginning of the 2012 NHL Playoffs.  As I was preparing to cook supper, I turned the T.V. on and clicked to a hockey game.  Philly at Pittsburgh.  Sure, Sidney Crosby is cute, but I mostly just like to have a game on in the background while I do other things around the house because it reminds me of my dad.  My roommate had a man friend over for some kind of visit, and as he does have quite good manners he decided to strike up some small talk.

Dude: "Did your team make it this year?"

Me: "I don't have a team."

Dude: "Well, who do you cheer for."

Me: "I don't really cheer for anyone.  I just watch, or listen."

Dude: "I know Sydney Crosby."

Me: "I know Jesus Christ."

OK, so I didn't really say that last line, but I wanted to.  I'm confident that my statement would have had more truth to it than his.

The point isn't to tear into the poor boy mentioned above.  He is kind and innocent, and surely couldn't have been super comfortable around me.  Bless his little heart.  He simply reminded me of all the fake fanatics out there.  Please, give it up.

Offender #1: The Stats Reporter.

This is the guy who knows every number of goals, assists, games played, ect. from every player in the history of the game.  It doesn't stop there either.  He knows the injuries, the trades, and the tabloid headlines and rattles on about it all to anyone with a pulse.  Don't put it past him to know the names of player's pets.  This guy is essentially a stalker and a creep and in no way whatsoever is he a functioning part of society.  He has never played hockey, and wouldn't know how to tie a pair of skates if his life depended on it.  Unless it is specifically in your job description to know all of this crap...it is not OK.

Offender #2: The Vid Kid

He has blood shot eyes and it's likely a combo of weed and AE Sports NHL 2012.  This guy may or may not have blisters on his thumbs from mashing buttons, and definitely has a weird ring around his head from his live-gaming head set.  That hair will also be greasy, because he chooses video games over general hygiene.  To sum it up, if he talks the talk, but the only playing he does is done while sitting on one of those oddly shaped rocking chair things...he is an offender.

And finally, the most frustrating fake fanatic of all...

Offender #3: The Chick with a Stick

We all know of one.  May god have mercy on your soul if you have to deal with more than one.  This girl "Totally loves the shit out of hockey".  She claims her 'happy place' is watching the game with beer and pizza, wearing sweats and no make-up.  You will notice her nodding her head and agreeing in all conversations about hockey.  She doesn't know shit.  The reality is, this chick cares just as much about hockey as the rest of us...minimally.  She simply wants guys to think she is super cool so they will marry her, at which point she will likely give up the facade and go back to chick flicks and Arbor Mist.

Here is the truth: I take an interest in hockey because it gives me and my dad something to talk about that my mom and sister can't.  I turn a hockey game on, because I like the background noise.  I PVR Oil Change because I was once told that there was a millisecond glimps of my friend near the end.  I will go to a hockey game if the tickets are free, but I won't wear a jersey because...I'm not a fanatic.  Plus, those things don't do a damn thing for my figure.

*To my male colleagues: PLEASE take me off your mailing list for "Playoff Picks".  I'd honestly much rather receive those e-mails from Russia explaining how to collect my inheritance.

The Balancing Act

My mother always said...well, a lot of things; "one or none", "because I said so", "Danny, the garbage is full!", and "chin up", are just a few.  There is one though, that I find myself understanding more as I get older.

Such is life.

This simple statement seemingly applies to the downs in life; the days, moments, and mistakes that you need to let go of.  Realizing that not everything goes your way, and well...such is life.  Letting go is usually easier said than done, but what if in taking the good with the bad we could also learn to leave the good with the bad? 

Last week, I had a really good day.  An excellent day.  A full 24 hours on Cloud 9.  First of all, I LOVE the Christmas season.  The time of winter when cold and snow are almost enjoyable, the lights glow, hearts grow, family and friends reunite, and smiles are just more common.  I had a super satisfying day at work with the radio family that I love, and a successful meeting with an important client.  A perfect day followed up with an even better night.  Top-notch entertainment, visiting with a few of my favourite friends, and unexpected catching up that felt like a long time coming.  The next day I was left thinking, "Yes.  THAT was me.  THAT is my life.  THAT is how every day should feel!".

The problem with landing on Cloud 9 is, you can't stay there forever.  You want to, but you can't.  Just like that prime VIP parking spot at the bank...it usually has a short time limit.  You have to let it go.  AND THAT'S OK!  Life can't be awesome 24/7.  Such is life.

I spent the next few days almost dwelling on how fantastic I had felt that day.  Wishing that day hadn't ended was like wishing the current day hadn't began, and that left me feeling...NOT so fantastic.

Stephanie!  Give your head a shake! 

I had ruined that good feeling of a good day by not just letting it go!  Now, I'm not saying to deprive yourself of happiness.  Be as happy as possible as often as you can!  By all means, when things are going your way, be ecstatic!  Live it, feel it, remember it...but don't hang on to it.  The benefit?  Balance.  So when those bad days, weeks, and individual moments happen, as they inevitably will, you simply do the same: Live it, feel it, remember it...and then let it go.

Such is life.  A simple statement for sure, but I'm learning there is an undeniable power in simplicity.

Another thing my mother always says? "Please write another blog, Stephanie!"

:) Such is life!

Hurry Up and Wait

I've heard that patience is a virtue and virtue is a grace, but where do you draw the line between practicing patience and losing with laziness?  What ever happened to going after what you want...being aggressive, proactive, and persistent?   When did the early bird stop getting the worm?  Is he getting beat out by the guy who strolls in late, lights a smoke and just "patiently" waits for the worm to come to him?

I work in an industry that requires me to play a lot of the Waiting Game (which has severely contributed to my skill level in the Tetris Game, the Solitaire Game, and the Facebook Game).  My sales reps sell air time, I contact the client, and then I WAIT for the client to send me commercial info.  Some clients operate lickity split, while others are slower than molasses.  I have learned to step lightly when trying to rush a client, as they might get nervous from the pressure and decide to cancel their buy completely.  But as I sit at my desk clicking through pictures, texting on my phone, beating high scores...being patient...I literally want to SCREAM!  Don't these people know that the more time I have to write their commercial before it needs to air, the better the final product will be!?

Now, work is work.  I get paid the same amount whether I am writing or waiting, and I would surely lose my job if I started screaming at my clients.  BUT...in my personal life I am the boss, and slow and steady just isn't going to win the race.  I can't sit around and wait for things to come to me.  I mean, it's a real nice thought that if I just sit by my phone Cosmo Magazine will call up with a job offer; and if I think about a sandwich, one with appear on a plate in my hand (along side a cold glass of milk).  Does life work that way for anyone?  And how does being patient apply when it comes to guys?  How long are you supposed to wait before it's considered a waste?  I think that one is a slippery slope where patience can turn into humiliation much too easily.

In life, anything worth waiting for...is more worth going out and getting!  It just makes sense.  The early bird gets the worm because he is hungry enough to set his alarm and haul ass out of bed...I have to keep sending out my portfolio if I want to write a column...If I want a sandwich I guess I'll make one, or at very least cruise over to Subway to pick one up.  And when it come to the numerous games we all inevitably play with the opposite sex...it may not always need to be a race, but you sure aren't going to win if you stand still.  We all need a little action.

And when you absolutely MUST wait, I suggest trying this new quote that I find more realistic; "The secret of patience is doing something else in the meanwhile.".

But, whether it's computer games, or men...just make sure you can minimize or exit with a simple click of the mouse*

Casting Call

Well, it's no secret that I haven't written in my blog for a while.  It's been about 5 weeks actually.  YIKES!  My excuse?  I've been a bit...distracted.  Distracted by summer!  I'm sure the majority can relate that once the summer season is in effect, all priorities are thrown out the window.  Now, I can still make it to work Monday to Friday, but every minute I spend indoors I also spend wishing I was outdoors.  As soon as 5 o'clock hit this past Friday I was hastily grabbing my gear and heading southwest.  Rain or shine, I was going camping...and FISHING!
I didn't grow up in a fishing family, in fact I can say with confidence that my dad never took me fishing.  He just wasn't that guy.  A bike ride or a game of catch for sure, but fishing didn't interest him so it was far from a priority in my childhood summer plans.  Who would have thought at age 24, I would suddenly find the act of casting a line and hook so intriguing?  At first glance (and as my sister would suggest) it's easily chalked up to my choice of company as of lately; an individual admittedly in love with the sport.  The excitement in his voice when telling tales of great catches...the disappointment I can sense when the river is too high or muddy...the energy he had this past Saturday morning when we set out on our hike to the lake.  Sure, he enticed me.  His size of enthusiasm alone could likely convince a fish that biting the hook is a good idea, but upon closer inspection I've discovered that my new passion did NOT just blossom.  I have been fishing since puberty.  I'm talking men now of course.
A couple means 2, a few is 3, and plenty implies 4.  Well let me tell you, the term "plenty of fish in the sea" is the wildest understatement in the world!  There were literally hundreds of fish swimming about in the rather small lake I found myself at this weekend, so I can assure you that there are more than 4 fish in the sea.  And much like fish, men are seriously swarming us!  Like I said...I've only been around for 24 years, and I feel like I've already come across more than my fair share.  There are those who show no interest in your presentation, those who are so dangerous they're sure to bite back...some ugly...some smelly...some with no appetite...and some too small to keep. ;) But that's the beauty of the male creature; there is an abundance of them in a variety of flavors all around us at any given time.  Any one of them can be hooked with the right bait, so we keep on fishing.  It's almost a sport or a game, one that doesn't have to end until you feel like you've won.  But how much time and energy have you wasted trying to figure out which lure catches which species?  When is it time to look in a different stream, river, lake, or even ocean?
We can dress ourselves up, colour our hair, and apply make-up.  We can laugh at dumb jokes, pretend to like rock n' roll, and root for their favourite team...but since there really are so many fish in the sea, why pretend to be anything you're not?  Whether you're a Dardevle Spinnie, Rapala, or Curly Tail Grub, odds are you're going to catch a fish.  Perhaps our time would be better spent locating the right body of water that has the fish we're looking for.  Maybe all it takes is a hike to the right spot.
Now, I'm sure it's not like shooting fish in a barrel, and I'm not saying I've completely won yet...but I went fishing for my first time this past weekend, and I caught a beautiful Brook Trout on my first cast!  I was definitely at the right lake.
*FisherWOMAN'S Advisory: If trying to catch fish OR men, please be warned...the Red Deer River is rough!

The Gag Reflex

There are a number of things that make me gag.  Expired sandwich meat, my ex-boyfriend's stinky feet, seeing someone barf, smelling barf, thinking about barf...I have a seriously weak stomach so, I could go on forever.  Surprisingly, one thing that does not provoke my gag reflex is having a camera fed through my nose and shoved down my throat!  Where is the logic? 

For the past 4 months I have had an unusually scratchy voice.  I have to admit that it began when I started working at Cowboys.  At first it didn't bother me.  Actually, I kind of thought it made me sound tough like, "What?  This voice?  Pfff!  No big deal.  I work a lot.  I strain my voice and don't sleep.  What of it?".  Some people even thought it sounded cute like, "Awe!  Poor little Stephie just doesn't get enough rest, and now she has a small ouchie in her voice!".  Whether it was bad-ass or baby-like, my voice was draining more and more each week.

After a couple of months I almost got used to it.  But while I may have not noticed it as much, in the back of my head I still wondered if I was actually injuring myself.  After 3 months of listening to my scratchy/whiny/super annoying voice, my sister Jody (she's a nurse) scared me into going to the doctor.  

You could need surgery Stephanie.  What if your voice is messed permanently?  You know you could have throat cancer!

As alarming as these possibilities were, they were also pretty easy to ignore when coming from my sister.  A talent I had perfected many moons ago.  So although my doctor had referred me to a ENT specialist, I still chose to brush it off as no big deal.  But as the appointment drew closer and closer, I started to think about how important my voice really is to me.

Last night I laid in bed, tossing and turning at the traumatizing thought of losing my voice.  Not being able to vocalize my opinions, and needs, and wants...to state what I am thinking, my ideas, my reasons.  No singing, laughing, shouting, swearing...not having my personality heard!  The simple suggestion of such was enough to make me hurl.

BLEEEEECK!

I literally threw up.  Just a little...in my mouth...but it happened.  My gag reflex was shining a whole new light on the situation.  This was a big deal.  A big freaking deal.  This was MY voice.  This was ME!  It was the thought of losing myself that made me physically sick.  Although I'm sure that I was pulling a classic Stephanie by over-thinking the situation, it made me at least in that moment a little more thankful for my voice and the right to use it.  I even re-considered voting next time around, just because I want to be heard.

When I met with the specialist this morning, the first thing he asked was, "Stephanie, are you a talker?  Do you like to talk a lot?".  My answer, accompanied by a huge grin, was not just "yes", but "hell yes!".  So I let that doctor shove that camera up and down and around my nose to take a look at my voice inside.  I didn't gag.  I didn't shake.  My eyes didn't even water.  I felt like a Born Again Vocalist, and no procedure is too intrusive when it comes to the sanctity of MY voice.

Thankfully everything turned out just fine, because I have my doubts that any sign language professional could teach me to sign at the speed that I speak.