Yesterday I celebrated the big 2-8. What's that you say? I don't look a day over 21? Oh, why thank you! What, you don't believe I'm actually 28? Bless your little heart!

I certainly don't feel 28 and I didn't have the mild panic attack that came with last year's birthday--the one where I cried in my car at lunch time because, for the first time in my life, I felt old. I'm looking forward to 28. I like even numbers, and 8 is my lucky number, so I'm feeling pretty optimistic about the next 364 days.

Birthdays seem like a better time to make resolutions and goals than New Year's for me. Nobody really expects to keep a New Year's resolution. You kind of know it's going to fall by the wayside in the first three or four weeks. But before I turn 29 (omgomgomg) there are a few accomplishments that would be pretty great that I'm going to aim for.

I considered making one of those "30 things to do before I'm 30" lists but that's a lot of pressure. Have you seen some peoples' lists? They're going to see the entire world, run a marathon, learn sixteen languages, save the whales, write a novel, cure cancer, find and tame a unicorn, and so on. What the hell is left to do after they turn 30? And why is 30 some kind of cutoff for getting shit done? Why not make a list of things to do AFTER 30 to keep life interesting?

If I can accomplish the following things over the next year, I'll be happy.

-Run a 10K. I'm signed up for a 5K in May that should be pretty easy, and over the summer can train for a 10K in the fall.
-Visit a new country. Again, shouldn't be too tricky what with the honeymoon and all.
-Relearn piano...at least to the point of mastering basic chords. I completely forget everything I used to know.
-Shop for a house (after the wedding).
-Read at least 10 books.

My goals for May look like this:

-Order new glasses
-Finalize wedding music (both ceremony music and a DJ)
-Do a photo project: either one photo every 60 seconds for an hour or a day in the life
-Bluenose 5K
-Find a blog template I'm really happy with and stop changing the effing thing

Swine flu, huh? Isn't there some sort of flu pandemic every year? Panic ensues. Hospital masks are donned en masse. I have my fingers crossed for a big benefit concert here in Nova Scotia, where we now have four (count em!) cases of swine flu confirmed. Remember the SARS concert in Toronto? I'm thinking Halifax could top that.

At first I thought swine flu was a joke. It sounds so stupid. I went to teh interwebz for help, since it's the information highway and all.

Swine flu is common in swine and rare in humans. People who work with swine, especially people with intense exposures, are at risk of catching swine influenza if the swine carry a strain able to infect humans.--Wikipedia

That sounds pretty positive, right? I don't work with pigs. Or, maybe that's up for debate? Anyway, I kept reading, unfortunately:

However, these strains rarely are able to pass from human to human. Rarely, SIV mutates into a form able to pass easily from human to human. The strain responsible for the 2009 swine flu outbreak is believed to have undergone such a mutation.

Boo-urns.

I know it's no laughing matter, by far, but I can't help but wish they could come up with a better name for this illness than "Swine Flu". The name conjures up images of Porky Pig in bed with an ice pack on his head and a thermometer sticking out of his mouth.

On TV this morning the viewer question was "What do you think should be done to prevent the spread of swine flu?" Tons of viewers wrote in to say all flights to and from Mexico should be grounded. Does this make sense? What about the thousands of people who have already been to and from Mexico in the past month? I was in Toronto's Pearson Airport last week and I guarantee I was in the same space as someone traveling from Mexico.

What is the point of worrying about it? Wash your hands and hope for the best...and for God's sake, now is not the time to start experimenting with bestiality south of the border.

When I turned 16, my mom hauled me off to Service NB to apply for a social insurance number, and I knew my sunny days of laying out on the patio reading Stephen King books, adjusting my schedule around Days of Our Lives, and practicing layups in my driveway while blasting C103 on the garage radio all summer were over. It was time to join the ranks of the working stiffs and get a job. Sloth-like laziness Childhood innocence was out and workin' for the man was in. The first and only place I half-assedly applied for work that spring was the McDonald's in Sackville, only because I had lots of friends working there, so I figured it would be a great opportunity to socialize and eat Chicken McNuggets. I was called in for an interview one super hot July morning and before I'd made it home, the restaurant had called to let me know I had the job--and just like that I was a member of the workforce.

My starting wage was $5.60 an hour which was a big deal because minimum wage in New Brunswick was only $5.50 at the time. Already I was making better money than my peers slogging it out at, say, Wendy's across the street. Losers. Plus we had free uniforms. My first uniform consisted of a turquoise golf shirt and matching visor, black pants, black sneakers, and a hair net. So sexual.

I believe everybody should work at least one shift in a fast food establishment. There is truly no better way to learn to deal with the absolute scuzziest, rudest, most ignorant people in the universe. If you're having a bad day at work, I guarantee that getting second-degree burns on your arm from a hot fry basket*, cleaning up someone's post-Big Mac explosive diarrhea remnants in the customer washroom**, or being sexually harassed by someone twice your age and with half your IQ*** is probably worse.

I think people are really quick to pass off fast-food industry employees as slow, unmotivated and dumb. In many ways, McDonald's was one of the hardest jobs I've ever had. We were on our feet all day and at our store we hustled. Our managers were like hawks; there was no swiping free cheeseburgers on breaks or spitting in burgers or slacking off in the break room building towers out of hot mustard packets. Work was exhausting and challenging. It was also fun. I made new friends at work quickly--nothing brings you close together like working eight hours for forty bones and coming out smelling like a sweaty greaseball at the end of the day. I especially loved opening shifts. I'd get to the store at 5:30 AM, when it was still dark, and get to set up for the day--putting out the breakfast stuff, setting up, getting the first pot of coffee brewing...early mornings before any customers rolled in were the best.

The best things about working in fast food, for me, were being cured of any lingering shyness and getting into the habit of working quickly and hard. I learned to appreciate money--you're a lot less likely to spend $100 on a pair of jeans when you'd slaved all week to earn that amount. After two years of part-timing it, I left for my first "real" job that didn't involve a name tag with a considerably fatter ass and plumper bank account, and never looked back. But I definitely have a huge appreciation for my many hours worked at Rotten Ronnie's. There are lots of first jobs I could have had that would have been worse. Wendy's, for example.

*This happened in my first month of work. I had a grid pattern burned into my forearm for the rest of high school.
**This happened too. It was sick. I wore six pairs of plastic gloves and gagged the rest of the weekend.
***A guy in his mid-30s wearing sweatpants and a jean jacket pulled the waistband of his sweatpants dangerously far out and asked if I wanted a treat of the week. Me: "Ummm...would you like Coke to drink?" Him, slurring: "It would be more like a treat of the century." Ooooh baby.

I'm amusing myself in my hotel room this evening by reading my old "blog" on LiveJournal. It's all private so don't even think of trying to creep. My entries were so funny...I sound so little!

May 17, 2004:
i want to go back to school...work sucks. i'm going to need a new car soon too and i HATE car shopping. i love getting a new car, but looking for one sucks. especially considering all the cars i like best and can afford turn out to be standards...wtf are they still even making standards for. cars should be accessible. to everyone!

i think my mirror at home is a trick mirror. in the morning when i'm getting ready i think i look pretty skinny. however, i just caught my reflection in another mirror and i looked about 30 pounds fatter. stupid mirrors.

May 18, 2004:
I bought some suntan lotion with an SPF of 4. ha. My reasoning is this: I'll get a tan BUT I'll still be blocking the harmful rays. Right? It says it has a UV filter. Gaaah, I wish I was lean and bronzed and gleaming. Fuck being a pale face.

May 21, 2004:
TMI but...wearing a thong today which I don't normally do. I don't know how people do this every day. I want to keep picking it out. LOL

June 4, 2004:
yesterday we played beach volleyball and went to hannah's and i met this guy, anthony, who is obnoxious as hell. i said something about not liking brad richards (hockey player) and he said he was going to hit me in the face with a shovel...wtf. brad richards is from PEI so of course all the islanders think he's their best friend and/or relative now that he's doing so well.

June 9, 2004:
i wish my skin wasn't fish belly white. ahhhh i need to TAN!
oh, guess where i was before I came to the library? pap smear...LOL...you really wanted to know? hahaha. my doctor is such a tool.
i don't have much else to say other than i hate tampa bay and especially brad richards. because of that little turd, i lost the hockey pool. fucker!!

July 1, 2004:
For the boys: DO YOU WEAR MAKEUP? BE HONEST! WHAT DO YOU THINK OF MEN WEARING MAKEUP? WHAT TYPE OF MAKEUP IS APPROPRIATE FOR MALES TO WEAR, WHO ARE NOT PERFORMING ARTISTS, DRAG QUEENS, OR CLOWNS?
The issue of men wearing makeup has been coming up a lot lately and I want to know what you all think.

July 13, 2004:
Right now there's this DIRTY kid named Cory on the computer across from me and he's literally stinking up the joint...he comes to the library every day to go on Yahoo Chat and talk to girls! This is the dirtiest kid ever, I hate using the library computers because I don't want people to think I'm as pathetic as this little grease monkey. Like the kid seriously doesn't bathe. That's one of my pet peeves. I don't care how stupid or hillbilly-esque you want to be, EVERYONE has access to water, EVERYONE can wash!!!

September 21, 2004:
horses love french vanilla cappuccino. i let patches lick out my tim horton's cup the other day and she LOVED the stuff...now every time she sees me walk by the fence she runs over looking for cappuccino

This is probably not remotely entertaining to anyone but me but I love reading stuff from when I was young and innocent...ahhh. It's good fun.

I flew to Toronto this afternoon for a workshop I'm taking part in tomorrow. I love Toronto and was excited to come to the city for a visit. It's a pretty quick flight, a little over two hours, and I'm quite familiar with the city so it's not like being thrown into a scary situation. After the workshop tomorrow I'll get to do some shopping, sightseeing, and visiting which I'm really looking forward to.

Aaaaaaanyway, that's not the point of this post. The point of the post is to highlight how effin' weird people are, how these tendencies tend to present themselves more when you're traveling, and how strange things happen in bunches.

I get to the airport, make out with H2B at the security gate like I'm going off to World War 2 and will never see him again, manage to avoid a cavity search or excessive frisking and am off to chill at Gate 20 and wait for ye olde boarding call. I get comfortable and am just starting to do some work on my laptop when the voice over the pager says,

"Air Canada Flight 619 paging Passenger Wang! Passenger Wang, please proceed to gate 20!"

Of course I laugh out loud, look around, and realize no one else is laughing. I slink down in my seat. At least I'm working on a Mac, Mr. 10-Year-Old-Dell giving me the evil eye. I peer around at my gatemates (?) wondering who's the Wang.

Pager goes off again. This time: "Air Canada Flight 619 paging Ross Fuck! Ross Fuck, please proceed to gate 20!"

I sit bolt upright and look around wildly. NO ONE is reacting and I'm shocked. HELLOOOOO...OUR FLIGHT CONTAINS BOTH PASSENGER WANG AND ROSS FUCK AND NOBODY'S REMOTELY AMUSED??

I should not have been surprised when the next passenger summoned to Gate 20 was none other than Ron Melons. I check my calendar. It's not April Fool's Day. I wait for Hugh Jass, Harry Bird, Mike Hunt, or Cream of Sum Yung Guy to be called next because clearly I am flying in the company of porn stars, but it didn't happen.

We boarded the plane, left ON TIME!!!! and off we go. My seatmate starts groaning. "Unnnnnngggghhhh..." The stewardess came by. "Miss!" moans the seatmate in a super thick British accent. "Do you have any boiled sweets?"

The stewardess looked like she had just come off a six-day bender and maybe a 12-hour shift of straight hooking. This woman was seriously rough. "What? I can't hear ya," she snaps at Prince Harry. Not even pleasant. Mama's cranky when she's coming down off her crack pipe, I suppose.

"The altitude is bothering my ears and I'm wondering if you have any boiled sweets," Prince Harry repeated.

"Naaaaaw, I don't got any sweets but do ya want a glass a' water?" Miss Air Canada 2009 replies. Prince Harry didn't want any water. Even gum wouldn't help. Only a boiled sweet would do. I don't know about anyone else, but I don't know WTF a boiled sweet is. If someone asked me for a boiled sweet I'd probably slap him.

We landed in Toronto without incident and I made it to my hotel in superbly fast time. I folded and hung up all my clothes from my suitcase, lined up my little shoes in the closet and checked e-mail. My room is on the 11th floor, and the gym's on 17th. I went up to the gym for a little quality treadmill time. Question: Why are hotel gyms always so bloody hot? It was about 40*C in there and I was sweating buckets and wanting to vomit. I slugged out my run and went back to the bank of elevators with sweat like literally pouring off me and stinking uber bad.

There was a middle aged guy waiting around the elevators, too, and obviously really agitated. An elevator came but it was going up. Clearly, he wanted to go down. "Fuck! FUCK!" he shouts like a kid having a tantrum and starts kicking at the elevator door. Um, sir, you're obviously physically capable...if it's that much of an issue take the stairs?

I don't want to be trapped inside an elevator with this angry freakazoid so I frantically jab at an elevator button and avoid eye contact as he fumes around the hallway. I realized a moment too late I'd hit the wrong button--up instead of down to get back to my floor. "FAAAAACK!" is the exaggerated sigh out of the elevator assclown.

Rather than waiting around for a down elevator, I jump into this one to avoid him. Too late, I realize that it's full of university age guys and older couples. So I'm stinking like an absolute dirtball and crowded amongst all sorts of people AND going to the wrong floor. Faaaantastic. I leap out at the 18th floor and trot right for the stairwell, where I descend back to 11th, where I belong.

I love people with pervy names, boiled sweet fetishes, and elevator rage. Having such "characters" in the world makes writing blog posts a lot easier while reminding me that maybe I'm not so strange, after all.

Side note: anyone have any suggestions for things to do while visiting Toronto?

When I was in elementary school, I'd get what I called "Sunday headaches". Nine out of 10 Sunday afternoons I'd have a headache that was more often than not accompanied by an upset stomach. My parents had a weekly ritual of going for a Sunday drive with us after lunch, and I assumed my Sunday ailment was carsickness, even though I never got carsick during any other car ride. I'd sprawl out in the back seat, kick the seat, and whine about wanting to go home.

Finally, someone had a brainwave and deduced that my Sunday headaches were stress-related, caused by me freaking out about having to go back to school on Monday morning after the weekend. The prospect of the weekend ending was so devastating to me that I'd get physically ill, week after week. I didn't even particularly dislike school. I just enjoyed the weekends so much that the idea of them coming to an end was enough to make me sick.

Lately I've been experiencing Sunday sickness again, and I'm not talking about hangovers. By the time I've shifted out of work mode, it's generally Sunday morning and I'm thinking, Oh shit. Back to the grind tomorrow.

Then the symptoms start. A little headache. A little indigestion. I start watching the clock...ten more hours until I need to go to bed...nine hours...eight hours...

I add more and more items to my Sunday to-do list. Gotta get one more thing done! Need to clean the bathroom! Should take advantage of the nice weather!

I'm working, cleaning, doing errands and basically panicking for the latter half of Sunday until I fall into bed feeling more exhausted and less rested than I did at the end of the work week, and totally unprepared for Monday morning's craziness. Don't get me wrong--I'm not a 9-to-5er and I'm completely OK with getting work stuff done in evenings and on weekends; in fact, that's when I am often most productive. And what sucks more than coming home from a full workday and having to get groceries, clean the bathroom, or do a mountain of laundry? At the same time, I can recognize when I need a time-out.

For example, yesterday started off splendidly...brunch with Peter, kickboxing class...but quickly went apeshit when I spent six hours working on a strategic plan for a client, doing laundry, and trying to plan my upcoming work week, all the while doing that annoying clock-watching and trying to cram in one more task. At 10:00 p.m. I collapsed into bed totally zonked and sad about how I'd spent the latter part of my day. I got a lot done, sure, and I was happy about my progress. But I felt like I needed another day to recover.

This has got to stop! From now on, I'm taking back Sunday. Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest, after all. It shouldn't be a day of stressing and rushing around and to-do lists WITH ALLOTTED TIMES FOR EACH TASK (have I mentioned I'm anal?) That's disgusting.

New Sunday Rules:

1. I will not do anything work-related on the laptop on Sunday between the hours of 12 noon and 9:00 p.m. If I want to work on something in the morning or do a last-minute email check later in the evening, that's OK...but that's it.
2. I will not venture into a mall or grocery store on Sunday.
3. I will spend a maximum of two hours on chores--be it housecleaning, baking, or errands.

This coming weekend is going to be deemed Weekend of Fun and Frolic. I'm making zero plans and I don't even care if I get out of my sweatpants for two whole days. I might even boycott showers. The point of a weekend is to relax, refresh, and above all, not work. This weekend, I will be enjoying a full day of not working. Sunday is going to be my new favourite day of the week.

Nestled in between a few innocent emails from friends and family I spotted the E-MAIL SUBJECT LINE OF IMPENDING DOOM. "6 Months To Go!"

No matter how you look at it, six months is a horrible amount of time. Looking at October 17 as a looming deadline, the whole-grain Mini-Wheat planner side of me says "six months is going to fly by. October 17 is not that far away". The fun, frosted Mini-Wheat Amy says, "Burning in hell for six months feels like a pretty effing long time and the next half year of my life is going to kill me."

Let's get some perspective on this situation:

Ceremony location-confirmed/booked
Reception location-confirmed/booked
Photographer-confirmed/booked
Music for ceremony-needs to be done
DJ for reception-needs to be done
My dress-hanging in my closet
Bridesmaids' dresses-en route from J Crew
Tuxes-not ordered
Flowers-no clue
Food-not chosen
Guest list-draft is done; not final
Invitations-have started working on designs
Rings-still don't know if we'll buy new bands or have our existing bands engraved
Engagement photos-not done
Engagement announcement-not done
Colour scheme-picked
Centrepieces and decorations-idea list is growing

Thanks, TheKnot.com, for throwing me into a flap and effing up my TGIF mojo.

So...2009 marks 10 years since my high school graduation.


Who is that emo boy? OH WAIT IT'S A GIRL?? No wai.

I'm shocked and appalled by this for a number of reasons.

1. I'm old.
2. It has been a decade since I was in high school.
3. I have only 8 months until my reunion.

According to Facebook, the TRHS Class of '99 plans to reunite on Boxing Day. Way to kill the holiday buzz. It's all Christmas cheer, fun and frolic, and then *BAM* realizing how old we are and how unaccomplished I am and how it's amazing I made it through 12 years with these people without taking a plastic fork to my wrists in the cafeteria. Isn't the Christmas season the worst time for depression of the entire calendar year? Perhaps this should have been taken into consideration before planning a December 26 10-year reunion?

I kid, I kid! In fact, school was decidedly un-angsty for me and I'm anticipating the reunion with mild interest instead of apprehension. On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being refusal to attend and 10 is me seizuring with excitement, I'm precisely a 5. High school in particular was fun and I don't have nightmares about the drama and tears that plagued many of my peers from Grade 9-12. I mean, I had my share of hormone-fueled moments. I remember flipping out in gym class and screaming at my volleyball team for losing a point and bawling my eyes out because my clothes all looked stupid and my hair wouldn't cooperate on more than one morning before school (exhibit A: grad picture above). I remember accidentally-on-purpose missing the bus so I wouldn't have to get someone's leftover lunch ground into my hair. Craptacular experiences for sure, but I'm not scarred for life.

Since 1999, I haven't gone on to become a brain surgeon, travel the globe, build schools for starving orphans in South America or win a Pulitzer Prize. I didn't get fantastically hot after graduation. I didn't embark on any life-changing adventures or have any mind-blowing experiences...and I'm fine with that. I don't feel particularly nervous or disappointed in my life as an "adult" and there's really nobody I graduated with whom I feel the need to impress.

I'm looking at the reunion as a work assignment, one of those schmoozy networky events. Show up, have a few drinks, make pleasant conversation, try not to get embarrasingly smashed, identify and avoid potential ass-grabbers early on and sneak away quietly at the end of the night. Let's be frank: I've kept in touch with the people I care to keep in touch with. I'm not expecting to become BFFs with my lunch table girls again or spark up a romance with Mr. Quarterback (confession: if we had a quarterback from my grade I don't know who it was...the class of '99 was notorious for shitty athletes). I don't plan on leaving the reunion with a whole gaggle of rekindled friendships. Sadly I think Facebook kind of negates the need for physical reunions at all. I can go online and see everybody's kids, spouses, homes, vacations and jobs without having to stand around George's Roadhouse clutching a Coors Light and making awkward small talk.

But seriously. 10 years???!!!! I feel like I'm 21.

A couple of weeks ago I had the freakiest blast from the past ever. It came to me out of absolutely nowhere--I remembered this show I used to watch (or at least thought I watched) in the 80s that I haven't thought about in years.

"Do you remember a TV show from when we were kids where this girl's dad lived in a glowing box next to her bed, and she could talk to him through the box, and he was, like, an alien?" I asked H2B. He stared at me blankly and then proceeded to tell me about Sir Mix-a-Lot's video for Put 'Em On the Glass, which apparently was his and his brother's favourite.

I forgot about my mystery show until a couple days ago when I discovered retrojunk.com. I did some hunting around and realized I wasn't hallucinating--the show was called Out Of This World and it aired from 1987-1991.

The Out Of This World television show was about a young girl with unique special powers. She could stop time by placing her two index fingers together. She also has an alien father which no one gets to ever see. She talks to him for advice at the start and end of every episode outside a window in her room, he appears as some kinda rubix cube and you can only hear his voice.--RetroJunk.com

I'm happy to realize I'm not crazy after all.

So then I got digging around the RetroJunk site to make myself feel even more old and decrepit.

Behold...Dream Glow Barbie. I had her!



I basically crapped my pants when I got a Pogo Ball for Christmas one year.




I think my parents still have my Lite Brite



I wanted Castle Greyskull sooo bad but "it's for boys," my parents said. Boo-urns.



So I had to make do with Lady LovelyLocks instead.



Scarily, this feels like five or six years ago, instead of twenty-plus. I'm so old.

Ginger set up a blog carnival of accomplishments. She had a great post recently about how she often feels underwhelmed by her accomplishments in life so far and got lots of response from her readers, prompting a blog carnival enabling people to celebrate the big and little achievements they are proud of.

One of my biggest accomplishments is finishing school with no student loans. This past weekend, my friends and I were talking about finances. Both of them have student loans they'll be paying off for several years...and we're not talking $100 a month; this is $500-$800+ per month...not an insignificant amount for anyone. It's hard enough getting started in life, trying to set up an apartment/house, pay bills, cover the mandatories and have a little left over for fun.

I'm really thankful I managed to graduate with zero debt. This is in huge part to my parents, who told my sister and I early on that we'd have to work part-time and save up what we could to pay for school and they'd pay the rest. We both had part-time jobs through high school and full-time summer jobs between years at college and learned to be really careful with our spending, and when it came time to pay tuition or rent, Dad covered the rest of the bill. It's not that my parents are wealthy and could afford to just pay for us; it took lots of saving on their part too.

We also didn't choose programs at the most expensive and recognized schools. We chose courses that were really targeted for what we wanted to do career-wise--journalism for me, marketing for her. There was no period of "finding ourselves" during a bachelor's degree and then beefing it up with something else and spending 6-8 years at school. We got in, worked hard, graduated and went right to work. Maybe we missed out on the full university experience--my sister lived at home vs. in residence, for example, to save on costs, and we didn't do a year off backpacking in Europe or building schools in South America--but now we're debt-free and both pretty pumped about it.

In addition to avoiding a ginormous financial burden, paying for part of our educations instilled some good common sense about spending and saving in both our heads. Laura and I aren't miserly but we aren't big splurgers either. We both look at the sale racks first when we go shopping and we email each other Gap and Old Navy 30% off coupons whenever they come around. We both drive cars that are paid off in full and that we paid cash for. For that reason we both drive pretty modest cars-she has a Cavalier and I have a Mazda 3. There are probably flashier vehicles we could afford monthly payments on, but we both prefer to have something we own outright. We both pay off our credit card balance in full every month and between us, our debt is a big fat 0.

As much as I complain about being "po'" , 27 years without owing a cent to anybody is a pretty noteworthy accomplishment so I'm giving myself a pat on the back.

I can't get my layout to look quite right. I keep frigging with my layout modification options, but I still can't settle on a custom template for my blog that I like. I've also tried downloading templates from online but the xml codes always seem to be wrong, and I don't want to spend an arm and a leg prettying this shiz up. I also don't want to abandon ship and vamoose to WordPress...not a very Christian thing to do. If you have any good, free sites with nice Blogger templates available for download that do not contain the Jonas Brothers or song lyrics or Hello Kitty, and code that actually works, please pass them along either in a comment or via email. It'll be easier on the eyes for all of us. Thanks in advance!

It's been a craptacular week thus far. Weatherwise, we seem to be entering a rainy season of biblical proportions. Coworkers are crabby and stressed. I've had a headache for two straight days (thanks, mother earth, for that nice "barometric pressure" feature you installed...bitch). My 28th birthday is looming in the not-so-distant future and I'm looking forward to that like a pap smear. I've been doing the gray-hair check almost every day (all clear so far!) but can't shake the feeling that my eggs are drying up faster than a goldfish that jumps out of his bowl and falls behind the stereo cabinet* and that support stockings, an old-age pension and daily three-hour jaunts to Tim Horton's are just around the corner.

In a desperate attempt to shake the woe-is-me blues, here's a list of things that are making me smile today**.

1. Honeymoon Daydreaming
H2B and I are getting wedding details out of the way before we book the big H-moon. We were thinking Greece, which I casually mentioned at work, and some coworkers introduced me to the idea of visiting Croatia instead. Essentially the same scenery, culture, activities and feel for a fraction of the price. I Googled Croatia since I had no idea where it was or even that it WAS a country and kind of thought it was located in South America and am kind of in love now...



2. Short Weeks
I love short weeks. This is a four-day work week, which I keep forgetting, and soon it's going to be like, BAM!! Weekend's here! Big props to Good Friday.

3. "Shootin' some b-ball outside after school"
Just like the Fresh Prince, that will soon be me. When I'm in No Funswick this weekend for Easter I'm going to help myself to a basketball from Mom and Dad's garage and after work I am gonna be kicking it old-school in the park. So excited to have another way to get outside and enjoy the fresh air and sunshine this spring (after the Great Flood, that is).

4. OMG Spencer
A new season of The Hills has begun and there's drama aplenty. Spencer Pratt has been acting like a prime douchebag and I'm sure there'll be more issues to come. Will Lauren and Heidi become friends again? Will Audrina's ceiling eyes finally roll all the way back into her head? Will The Hills editors get better with the sequence editing so Brody's hair doesn't go from short to long to short again within one half-hour episode? Stay tuned.

*This happened more than once when I was little. I had a goldfish whose bowl was on top of my parents' enormous, heavy wooden stereo cabinet, and he was suicidal. Every few days he'd jump out of the bowl and ALWAYS end up in the crack between the wall and the back of the cabinet. If we noticed right away, we'd drag the cabinet out and save his life. One day, it was a few minutes before we realized he'd escaped. Result=one very wizzled and dry fish.

**You might not be able to see my smile but that's because it's hiding behind a mask of Advil and PMS. Trust me, I'm smiling on the inside.

Today I looked out the window to see an ambulance, a police car, and the coroner's van in our apartment building's parking lot. There are a lot of elderly people living in our building so we presumed that since there weren't any sirens or flashing lights, someone had passed away in their apartment this morning.

Even though I have no idea what happened, or to whom, it has been bothering me all day. The fact that someone died in the same building as me today is making me all kinds of uncomfortable. What was I doing when it happened? Did they suffer? Was it expected? Were they alone?

It's surreal to think that while I was eating my breakfast or putting my laundry in, someone down the hall or on another floor could have been dying. Somebody could have been finding their spouse or their parent or neighbour and realized they weren't breathing. Today is the worst day of somebody's life. Today is the day someone had to say goodbye to their best friend, their husband or wife, their mom or dad or brother or sister.

Thousands of people die every day and I never really give it much thought but now I've been thinking about death all day and it's making me kind of crazy. I hate thinking about it. I hate the finality of it. I hate saying goodbyes to anyone, ever. I've cried over pets dying...I think I've cried over plants! I can't stand the thought of losing someone close to me. I can't stand the thought of complete strangers losing people they love. I hate the powerlessness of it most of all--the fact that no matter what, when your time is up, peace out. I hate the fact that no matter how you choose to live your life, how well you take care of yourself, how much you try to be healthy, it's set in stone when you're going to die. When that day comes, you could literally trip and fall while you're walking down the sidewalk and hit your head a certain way and *poof*, you're dunzo.

I really hope that whatever happened in my building today was painless. I hope whoever died didn't suffer, that they had a good life and no regrets. I hope their family and friends have a good supportive network and that they're OK.