Something I Can Never Have

Back in September, I was fawning over a pair of stretch cord jeans I saw in the Land's End catalogue and I didn't buy them. Yes, I get the Land's End catalogue and I've gotten many good things from them, namely bathing suits for the very, very long torsoed and the softest, warmest, most-puffiest blue parka ever, so stop judging me.

Anyway, I wanted these cords in lake blue, but at the potential time of ordering thought that something like walnut would ultimately be more practical. So the walnut ones are backordered until November and I say "Meh, I'm sure I'll find stretch cords before November," and opted not to backorder.

Here we are at the end of November and my cord search has been far less than fruitful. There were attempts made, one of which witnessed by Tash at a Jacob Connection, where she was kind enough not to giggle hysterically at me in what looked like high-water pants. No cords for me there sir. No sir indeedy.

I've admitted defeat and I returned to Land's End today. The people sympathetic to body types small are large, short and long. And I opted to follow my initial attraction to the lake blue cords and I am betrayed.

"We're sorry, this item is no longer available."

Now don't be confused. It's not that the cords aren't available at all. You can still get them in all kinds of other colours... just not in lake blue, dark chartreuse or true navy. I'll be honest here, I was going nowhere near the chartreuse or the navy, but why did my beloved lake blue have to go away? I blame the photo. It's a good photo. Makes you want to don a chestnut coloured sweater, walk in the country and be one of those natural beauties.

It's entirely possible that I am far too susceptible to the persuasive powers of advertising.

I also blame the other tall girls for getting there first, and I admit that I'm totally in the wrong with this blame, but that's not going to stop me. It never has before. These pants are totally available in the "short people" sizes, but again, being tall has bitten me in the ass. I guess I used all my size karma up with those boots this weekend.

I am saddened by this, but I am going to re-frame it. I have saved money, and that is always a wonderful things. Also, this could be the universe's way of telling me that buying pants on the Internet is just a plain bad idea. I may have completely dodged a bullet on that one.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Corduroy" by Pearl Jam

HRH

My Left Hand

This weekend I was overcome with the need to play my double bass again. There are still several elements of it that need to be fixed, but I decided to get crafty and see what I could do in the way of interim solutions. It needs a new bridge, as the old one is very warped from high-tension strings and a new endpin, another high-tension string casualty. And as I have secured a benefactor (aka Mum) I will go and get them fixed as soon as possible.

You see, my makeshift craftiness can't fix the problem I have whereby my E string isn't high enough off the fingerboard. So it rattles and buzzes, creating very un-E string like noises. Which is a shame because the E string is the BEST string on a double bass. That said, I still have 3 other strings I can play around with.

So I tuned them up today, put a ton of rosin on my bow and started playing. Oh bliss and oh joy it was nice. That warm low tone filled every cell in my body. Holding it while I played felt like the most natural thing I've ever done. It was great. It didn't sound great. Oh heavens no. There's no way you can pick up an instrument after a 5 year absence and even touch any of your former glory.

However, all was not lost. While I wasn't amazing, I still knew what I was doing and I feel fully confident that I can get it back. That is, after the searing pain in my left hand goes away. If you've ever had your hand pulled apart horizontally by the index finger and the pinky you have an idea of what I'm feeling. Apparently if you don't use certain muscles for 5 years they get a little hostile when you catapult them back into action. I honestly haven't felt pain like this in my hand since I started 18 years ago.



But I will not be deterred. I got back into running, I taught the muscles in my knees how to behave this year, so why should my hand be any different. And just like I love my time running, I can't wait to get back to playing music.

Today's play-a-long song: "L'elephant" by Saint-Seans

HRH

MAC: Prep + Prime Skin

I have my friends so well trained that when they hear the words "makeup" or "cosmetics" they immediately contact me with the new information they've procured. It's just too awesome and I love it. After years upon years of pavlovian conditioning my dream has been realized. I know have a highly intelligent army of discerning and beautiful women reporting back their discoveries to me. Mwaa ha and ha.

I was able to enjoy the fruits of all my evil work with Tyla last week, when she very generously invited me to attend a MAC event with her. Tyla is an excellent makeup buddy because she has super-librarian powers. You wouldn't typically think that librarian would mesh with cosmetics-lust, but you just wait until you need concrete information on sunscreen and are without a makeup obsessed kindred professional to guide you through the piles and piles of literature. You just wait.

So we're at MAC and they're plying us with drinks, cookies, cheese and chocolate dipped strawberries. Already I'm in a great place, but then I get a good 10 minutes with "The Foundation Guy" who gives me the lowdown on Prep + Prime Skin. I'd heard raves about it from other members of my highly intelligent army of discerning and beautiful women. but wanted the first hand pitch and tester experience.

MAC is really good at things like foundations, I'm still afraid of their lip products, but I've been a devotee of their creme concealer from the age of 14. People think I have great skin. I don't. My skin is terrible. I have MAC creme concealer and a MAC concealer brush. Thus, people think I have great skin.

My rouse is that much better with the Prep + Prime Skin. Primer gives you a lot of lasting power. I'm sure that most women these days are like me and are fortunate if they have two minutes to spare to check their face. I'd gotten used to the 4 p.m facial meltdown with other primers or no primer at all. I have oily skin and serious primer is needed. Tyla made a reference to Paris Hilton in House of Wax as I pled my "my god I need primer" case to her, describing my face at the end of the day.

So here's the deal with Prep + Prime Skin. It makes the skin very soft and smooth. It fills in "character lines" beautifully and blush holds it's colour a good three to four hours longer. There's also less of the face melting. Prep + Prime Skin has a very subtle amount of sparkle in it as well. Just enough to give you a nudge of glow, but not so much that it would be inappropriate for the office.

All in all, it's a great addition to your makeup rountine. It takes a second to put on, but gives you hours more good face time.

HRH

Very much of the good

My mother is in town this weekend, which means copious amounts of food are being consumed, a copious amount of shopping is being done and a general overall feeling of joy and goodness has infused my days.

Also, I have more boots. I was slightly scolded by the salesman at Brown's for leaving boot shopping so late. According to him, I got lucky, since all the size 11s are usually gone in October. He even told me what months I should start my shoe shopping for summer (March! Can you believe it). However, it found exactly what I wanted. A pair of warm, lined, water proof, stylish and barely heeled winter boots. They are heavenly.

To add to all this joy, I had sushi for dinner and M is further proving that he is the best boyfriend ever by letting me watch Grease 2 on TV.

HRH

Semi-cold kind of life

I am trying to find a way to actually physically wrap myself around my cup of tea. I'm fighting off a cold of some sort, a cold that is taking root in my chest, with copious amounts of Chamomile/Lemon tea. I find it highly unlikely that there is any kind of medicinal value in fighting a cold with tea, but it makes me feel better.

At this point I am winning the battle. The occasional cough, a smidgen of chest thightness and my "just a little bit more insane than usual" sick demeanous is what I'm experiencing. I have no yet been beset with the oozing symptoms that make me want to tear my nose clear off my face, which is good. I'm trying to keep all that a bay for the weekend at least as my mother is coming to visit.

Maybe I'd have more success at keeping the cold away if I tried to actually tried to fit my whole being into this cup?

Today's sing-a-long song: "Sick" by the Sneaker Pimps

HRH

And you thought it couldn't be measured

Chel: I've proven over and over again that when left to thinking about a problem on my own I always jump to the wrong conclusions. I'm fortunate that I have good friends to talk me down from the heights of stupidity I reach sometimes.
Christopher: 5'11 -- the height of stupidity
Chel: That's awesome.
Christopher: I'll get you a t-shirt

HRH

The hazy shade of winter

Every year as the first bits of snow fall, we all act like it's the end of the world. Maybe it's because I got paid today, making Christmas shopping less scary, or because I was able to wear my sherling coat with a matching hat, mitten and scarf combo, but when Shaver and I came out of a delicous lunch at Salad King to a fully snowing sky, I wasn't really upset by it.

Sure, it seemed a little early and I would have preferred a little more time to enjoy super-cute fall fashion, but seeing the snow made me feel good. I sometimes forget how much fun winter can be until it starts.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Winter" by Tori Amos

HRH

Stila: Smudge Pots

We used to have a cat named Roxanne. We was this adorable fluff of calico fur with a puffy tail and these eyes that were rimmed in black. My mother used to jokingly say to the cat "What time did you get up this morning to put your eyeliner on, Roxy?" She was a gorgeous cat and part of what made her so attractive was the drama of her eyes. She was like the Brigette Bardot of cats.

Now, human women are never born with automatic eyeliner like some of nature's fluffier friends are, but we were born with opposable thumbs and cosmetic counters. As such we can, with relative ease, give our eyes drama.

For this Stila Smudge Pots are an excellent product. I am a woman of many eyeliners. I've tried them all and I thought I had found my favourite until I found this. It's a gel/cream which means it goes on smooth and lasts. A good brush is a must for this kind of application and please, please, please try your hardest to get it on as close to your lash line as possible and get that line straight. It will take practice, but will be well worth it once you've mastered it.

Now as much as I loathe to say this, dramatic eyes should not be an every day thing, that is, unless you are a Hollywood starlet or something like that. You can't make an impact with a look if you do it every day. As such, do a toned-down version of the dramatic black liner for work/daytime. Otherwise you run the risk of looking a little tramp-ish. Try brown, try less, try a modest line versus a big fat line straight from a 1960s french film. The fun is in the trying and the variety of ways you can get eyeliner to flatter.

HRH

N is for Neville who died of ennui

We have this poster on our kitchen door. A macabre little thing called The Gashlycrumb Tinies, all witty and victorian, that wryly details the way 26 little children came to meet their maker. It's wrong but funny and charming. My favourite is Neville. Mostly because the accompaning image is the top of a head and some dark little eyes peering out a huge bank of windows on what looks to be the rainiest day in all time. That and the idea of actually dying of ennui... well that's just so decadent and so victorian.

I sometimes look at the poster and poor Neville and have a chuckle. A self-effacing chuckle. I think it's healthy when you've been holding your own pity party for a couple of weeks too long to step back, compare yourself to a little goth cartoon and just laugh at yourself. I think that's what's been lacking in my quest to cure this case of ennui I've got.

You see, things have not been exactly ideal. I've become so tense and uptight in the last few months, I'm concerned that pretty soon my head will just pop right off. And that's a sign that I'm not dealing.

This week I lost the ability to control what I wasn't dealing with and, for a moment, the uptight facade lost all stability and the problematic emotion came busting out. Anger. I was so angry I felt like I could spit bile. I achieved the height of misanthropy wherein for a fleeting moment I thought that I really and truly hated everyone. I felt like I was choking on hate. The feeling gave me a terrible headache and made me feel ill.

All of this took place internally. To an outside observer it would have simply appeared that I was just standing there (which furthers my curiosity about what random people I see are thinking about). The event that sparked all the anger is completely insignificant out of context. In context, it was ripe with the kind of irony I'm not big enough to share with the whole world as it was just so very cliche.

It lasted for maybe a minute before I started laughing at myself. Because the reality is, that I don't hate anyone. Not even the people who really deserve it. The anger had just been making me toxic and clouding everything.

This might be a good place to toss in a metaphor about the passing of dark storms or about how it can't rain all the time, but I'm trying to keep the cheese at a minimum.

So right now, I feel fine, even good. It could rain for the next week and I'm sure I could fend off any fatal attacks of ennui. At the very least, should I catch myself looking out a bank of windows on a rainy day, I can have a good laugh.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Only" by Nine Inch Nails

HRH

Child's Play

Here's the deal everyone.

Back in 2003, the brilliant minds at Penny Arcade set up a charity called Child's Play. For those who don't know, Penny Arcade has a readership of around four and a half million gamers across the world and is arguably the largest community of gamers on the Internet. Also, it brings the funny and brings it hard.

The charity works like this: With the help of hospital staff (ahem) they set up Amazon Wish Lists full of video games, books and movies. Then the kind people of the world go to the wish list of their hospital of choice, buy a toy or a book and it is sent directly to the Child Life program at that hospital. I don't think I need to explain why having a good book to read, a funny movie to watch or an engrossing game to play is important for children, nor do I need to explain why it is imperative for kids who are sick and admitted to hospital. You're all smart. You get that.

As Penny Arcade reports, "through Child's Play the gaming community sent nearly a million dollars in toys, games, and cash to children's hospitals around the United States," over the last two years of the project. Pretty awesome. This year time they've expanded Child's Play to more hospitals around the US, Canada and the UK. The Canadian ones being SickKids in Toronto and IWK in Halifax. Which means that Canadians now have a chance to be part of this incredibly cool project.

What makes this kind of charity really amazing, is that the hospital is able to select the items that they really need. While any donation or gift is appreciated and cherished, contibutions of this kind do so much because they are meeting a genuine need. I won't say much more at the risk of Doocing myself, but if charity is on your mind and gaming is your thing, this is a great way to merge them.

HRH

Can't take my eyes off of you

I ran today. Not the way I run most days. It was different. No matter what I listened to on my ipod I couldn't get "Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You" out of my head after someone put it there. And I kept thinking about that movie Conspiracy Theory and how Julia Roberts' character would run away from the photo of her dead father every night on the treadmill in her livingroom.

With every step the chorus of "I love you baby and if it's quite alright I need you baby to warm my lonely nights" spun round my head. The thing is, I wasn't running away from anything today. I was running right at an image of myself.

The treadmills at my gym face out onto patio where I can see the towers of Toronto's many hospitals and research labs. Usually I can just barely make out my silhouette in the reflection as the windows all face west. Now that daylight savings time is over, it's pitch black by the time I get out of work and for the first time I could fully see my reflection. And I just ran and ran and ran towards the reflected me. Like if I managed to have perfect running form the person and reflection would merge.

I have no idea what this means, but I do know that I'm really tired now.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Can't take my eyes off of you" the Lauyrn Hill version.

HRH

Stila: Fiber Optics Mascara

Mmmm mascara. The mighty tool that women wield to make everyone they encounter powerless. Some may say it's might or wit, but no; it's mascara.

I'd been going through a deceptively natural phase of late, using volumizing brown mascara so it wasn't patently obvious that I was using it, yet there was oomph. I'd nearly forgotten the power of lash extending black mascara until the recent Stila makeover experience. Oh the power is back.

The scoop on this variant of mascara is that it's formulated not to turn into the hard crusty mess that mascara usually dries into. You know what I'm talking about. You've had your eye makeup on for 12 hours and the mascara reaches a point where it can do nothing put irritate your eyes with it's dry crusty evility. Yes I just made that word up. Fiber Optics Mascara claims to stay soft for hours and generally speaking it does. In reality the fact that it stays soft at all is pretty impressive. Touch your eyelashes a couple of minutes after they've dried and you'll see what I'm talking about. Deceptively soft, full and thick. Evil in the good way.

HRH

Sitting in an empty room with all the windows smashed

I really don't like having my feet touched. Like REALLY. While I understand the necessity of a pedicure, I can really only endure them once a year. The results are lovely, but 45 minutes of of someone touching my feet is enough to make me lose my mind. My life has not been without it's moments of discomfort, but one of the worst was having my feet put in plaster molds for my first set of orthodics. Having happy feet was well worth it, but goodness did that plaster ever make me want to scream, kick and cry.

So why am I sharing this with the world at large? It's not like I'm having to fight off random foot massages on the street. I'm giving everyone a little context so that you all won't yell at me for the slightly stupid thing I did this week.

Tuesday morning, while putting away the clean dishes I broke a glass. It was early, the hand-eye coordination wasn't there, these things happen. I wouldn't say that glass got everywhere, but it was damn close. I wasn't fully awake, so I did a poor clean up job. And how do I know this, because I got a nice shard of glass in the ball of my right foot.

Now it didn't hurt all the time. I would only feel it once in awhile and it would hurt like hell, but it wasn't constant and I could walk on it pretty easily. Why didn't I remove it? Well, it was clear glass and I actually couldn't find it. I could see where it was irritating the skin, but despite my efforts I could not extricate it. I must add that as the seasons are changing my feet are peeling like a stripper from Montreal. With all these variables, I wasn't having much luck and I could walk, so really, intervention was not required. Foot touching could be avoided.

So we come to the end of the day Thursday and Jenn catches me in a moment where I can really feel the shard. I'm wincing and limping a little and she asks me what's up. I tell her and she, rightly, scares the crap out of me by using words like infection, fester and stupid girl. She wisely walks me over to a walk-in clinic near work and moves a step closer to sainthood and now has my eternal gratitude for waiting with me for my turn with the doctor.

I eventually get into the exam room and start apologizing profusely for how horrible my feet are and how bad I feel about exposing the doctor to my peeling in the hope that he will be so afraid of my feet that he dares not touch them. He's a pro and he's wise to my game, tells me my feet are fine and that it's not a problem. So much for that tactic. Still I don't give up and proceed to apologize for my feet every time he touches them, like saying sorry makes it feel less wrong.

Basically he has to use a razor to get the shard out of my foot. He's not totally confident that it will come out today and I may have to come back next week when the glass has worked it's way further out of my foot. Like I was going to have to go back to have my feet touched again, HA! Silly doctor.

The poor man had to scrape many, many layers of skin off (layers of skin that wouldn't not be an issue if I was a good girl who got pedicures and wasn't afraid of her pumice stone), but then interrupted me mid-bad-foot-apology to tell me that something came out. Praise your deity of choice, I was free of the glass, no one was touching my foot anymore and I had managed to avoid most of the scary words (infection and fester). Boo and ya.

The wisdom garnered from this tale is simple. As Confucius (or as his buddies knew him K'ung-fu-tzu) would say: "Person afraid of glass in feet, should always wear shoes."

Today's sing-a-long song: "Walking on broken glass" by Annie Lennox

HRH

Like I really need a reason

Yesterday I saw yet another reason why having kids would be really cool. Hallowe'en. As I was making my way home a little late from work I made my way through our neighbourhood at the apex of all the trick or treating. My heart welled with pride at all the Darth Vaders I saw. It was awesome. The best were the older kids around 10 and 11 years old who were just giving it all with their lightsabers. Then I realized if I had baby, a baby that's too young to protest when I dress them up in whatever I deem adorable, I could dress them up as Yoda! (Yes I am the person who would dress up a child who can't trick or treat. My yen for cuteness knows no boundaries). Just imagine the cuteness. And I would finally be vindicated for the time when my family vetoed my bid to name our new cat Yoda. The whole thing just looked like so much fun. Boo!

It also segues nicely into the fact that Episode III is out on DVD today. My saga collection will be complete. Now I just need to find a spare 12 hours to watch the whole thing...

Today's sing-a-long song: "The United States of Whatever" by Liam Lynch

HRH