Prescription For Attainable Happiness

Dr Jen But Never Jenn has ordered it.

Your Rx:

1. Put on some make-up and do your hair.
2. Slap on a dress and tell yourself that you are adorable.
3. Make reservations at a nearby restaurant.
4. Order a bottle of wine, appetizers, dinner and, most importantly, dessert.
5. Enjoy them slowly over lovely conversation and flirting with the man you love.
6. Come home, have more wine and dance to the song that was / will be "your song" at your wedding.
7. Take a picture.
8. Repeat, at minimum, every 28 days - ideally, every 7 to 14 days.

Relaxation Interrupted

Today we discovered our condo's rooftop patio (just re-opened yesterday!). It's a wonderful thing - it has some pretty flowers, two beautiful BBQs, deck chairs, patio sets - all so nice. A total urban escape! We live in the downtown core of Toronto among very tall buildings, so while our view from the 9th floor patio was very nice, one can only imagine what the view would be from the 24-floor building next to us. In any case, I'm not complaining. Yay patio!

After my morning's workout, we opted to check it out. Put on some yummy tropical-like sun lotion, grabbed my copy of Chatelaine (my god, this magazine is good), sunglasses and a protein shake and headed up. Awesomeness.

Until ... the phobia kicked in.

I've never discussed this, but ever since 9-11, I've had "a thing". Not crippling, mind you ... just ... a thing. Like most people, I was effected by 9-11 in the usual ways: gutted feelings of horror, a constant nausea that followed me for about two weeks straight, walking around feeling like just a shell of you was left ... Anyway, once that initial stuff passed, I was ok. I went on flights. I took elevators up tall buildings. I visited New York. It was all fine. Didn't bother me.

One thing, though, still gets my spine tingly ... my throat clenched ... anxiety shooting through me: a low-flying plane. Or at least, what I perceive to be a low-flying plane. For whatever reason, I feel like I'm about to witness the plane going into a building. My workplace is near an airport, so I deal with these sightings constantly. Gradually, I've gotten better.

But today did me in.

Imagine, if you will, you are in a downtown area filled with supremely tall buildings, all surrounding you. Coincidently, you also happen to live near an area where tourists can gather. To watch things. LIKE AIRSHOWS.

SWEET JESUS.

Even Patrick yelped when one of them came in, I swear, down our street, making a big u-turn in our faces. It didn't help one bit that a few of these were WWII bombers - because if I could have a Number 2 Phobia, it would probably be Nazis. Nazis in low flying air planes cruising by my head = Jen's heart shitting itself.

We Googled, and this was just a practice day for those in an airshow. I will certainly be in my room, rocking myself gently in a corner when the real deal goes on.

I Really Should Stop Talking To Strangers

Today on the subway, a very frazzled-looking woman boarded with a large cardboard banker's box that had a couple little holes punched into it randomly. I guess this woman was rather distracted this evening, because she apparently forgot about this little thing called inertia. As the subway lurched, so did she and so did her box, right out of her hands.

The box hit the ground hard, the woman yelped and snatched it up quickly, looking quite distraught.

Girl next to me, talking to her friend: OMG, it would be so horrible if there was a puppy in that box.

Me: But if it was a cat - that would be AWESOME. [Note: Not being sarcastic]

Girl & Friend: *Stoney silence and look of disgust on their faces.*

Me: Ahh ... hehe. *Getting off subway one stop early to flee situation.*

Maybe They Should Make A FaceFamily?

So, in case I haven't mentioned it, I'm planning our wedding.

We decided early on that we would invite our extended family, up to the first-cousin level. We also made a decision that we wouldn't pick-and-choose relatives within this scope but invite them all. Nice, fair, feelings intact, and no one's left out. Aunt and Uncle [Pretentious Wankers]* remain oblivious and Cousin [Even GRANDPA doesn't like you]* still feels the love.

This theoretically works unless you are marrying Patrick. You see, until a few recent Facebook Friendship Requests, Patrick had COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN THE EXISTENCE OF AT LEAST THREE COUSINS. Now, I have cousins that speak a different language than me, cousins that I'm two decades older than, cousins that I've met only a small handful of times ... and they are most definitely on the invite list. Patrick's cousins, on the other hand, live in the same province, speak the same language, are the same age and share memories of summers spent racing each other on BMX bikes. And yet he forgets.

I have now had to resort to going through our list, pointing to the name of his aunt or uncle and quizzing Patrick on their reproductive histories. We haven't even gone through the entire list yet, and we're already looking at SEVEN new people now.

Le sigh.

* Sidenote: I know a few of my family members read this, and be assured, I'm all too pleased to invite you and am looking forward to seeing you. Really! And Grandpa does indeed like you. At least, I think so. It's sometimes hard to tell.