That would be Patrick and his brother Jason at a recent Blue Jays game. Note the plethora of fans all around.
27 Apr 2006
25 Apr 2006
23 Apr 2006
A few weeks ago, Jacquelyn and I giddily signed up to spend a Saturday afternoon getting some exercise, possibly learning some moves to show the boys back home and having a bit of a laugh. What we signed up for was Pole & Strip class. What we got were bruises - mainly to our egos.
The class was yesterday and was supposed to be a beginner class filled with women "of all sizes, ages and fitness levels". Instead, it was a room full of size 4's who took to the moves and pole swinging like K-Fed takes to a bag of Cheetos. The same could not be said of me to say the least.
Without question, I was the largest person there. Well, I had the biggest bottom-half anyway (very mirrored rooms allow one to analyze herself and realize how grossly out of proportion her top half is to her bottom half). Yayyyy.
Vanity issues aside, this class was hardly beginner. The first (and "easiest") move we were taught involved us grabbing the pole from as high as we could and twirling around with our ankles crossed and gracefully propelling ourselves around and around. The girls in the class mastered this within a couple endearingly cute tries. I, on the other hand, woke up this morning to discover a massive bruise on my inner thigh from having squeezed for my dear life to stay attached to the pole.
Very quickly, Jacquelyn and I noticed how out of the league we were. With each step of choreography given to us, our faces would twist into deeper looks of "WTF!?!" To make matters even sweeter, our pole wasn't the most snuggly installed and the fixtures would rattle loudly each time we threw ourselves at the thing. It was bad.
As we went through the routine, Jacquelyn and I decided we'd try to have as much fun as we could and would just make up our own moves to fill-in the parts that gravity and weak biceps wouldn't allow. The teacher and the fellow strippers-in-training looked at us as if we were committing ho blasphemy.
Two hours after we went down the road of uncoordinated ass wiggles in the Land of Waifs, it was over. We promptly ran to a local bar to soothe and cleanse our souls with beer and nachos, thus making everything better in the way that only melted cheese and liquor can.
14 Apr 2006
Today is Good Friday, and even though I am not even remotely religious, I think it's as deserving an opportunity as any to think about others and do some good. Plus, there was a certain discussion on a certain internet chat board that I frequent that also got me all hot and bothered to donate to some charities.
This year, I'm getting a pimped-out return on my income taxes thanks to some mad RRSP contributions, yo. So, I'm going to put half of it back into RRSPs, spend a quarter of it on whatever I like, and the last quarter will be given to help others. This quarter is a big step up from what I normally donate but if I can manage it, why not?
I have decided to donate to The Foster Parents Plan and The Canadian Cancer Society but I have some room for one more. If you were me, what would you choose?
11 Apr 2006
What I'm not so thrilled about is the fact that I can never make it there right when I'm supposed to. I can take the blame for this about 20% of the time but the other 80% can solidly land on the unpredictable shoulders of the Toronto Transit Commission.
Everyday there is SOMETHING that delays me. Today, it was the complete shut-down of the subway system for TWENTY MINUTES.
We're chugging along just fine until we get ONE station away from where I have to transfer. We stop. And stay. And sit. And then the subway makes that long airy fart sound that all public transit vehicles make when they're settling in for a while. For those sociologists out there, minute 15 of a massive subway halt marks the beginning of Group Tourette Syndrome. Ripples of "FUCK" start to echo throughout the subway car and people sneer angrily at the posters that smuggly boast the subway service.
Anyway, I got to my workout nearly 10 minutes late and had to use some of my paid personal training time doing my warm-up to the Maury Povich Show (Surprise: It was about freaks!). Gah.
4 Apr 2006
* New horrifying obsession with MTV shows Laguna Beach and My Super Sweet Sixteen. Patrick is disgusted, dismayed and likely already dating someone else.
* Too much computer time at work = repulsion toward computer at home. Except for online shopping.
* Not much has been going on besides my usual TTC rage and the city sending our landlord a letter complaining that we need to stop throwing plastic bags in with our recyclables or they'll send us a fine. You see, the City of Toronto hates waste!