The F’n Darndest Things Little Kids Do.

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Part One: The Playground.

Do you remember some of the extremely weird and/or disgusting things you did as a child?  I do!  I can recall so many times when I rehashed a memory to someone and that person looked at me like I had a pus-filled zit in the middle of my forehead. When it comes to names, faces, encounters, funny incidents, etc. I believe I possess an above-average memory. However, ask me when your birthday is or how to get to/from an address (even if I’ve lived in that city for 14 years lol) and I will look at you like you’re pimple- faced.  Here I now present you with only a FEW of the un-ordinary things I can recall happening as a child. Apparently , I was “mean” and really strange (self-diagnosis). 

On the playground, kids don’t realize what they are putting in their mouths (nor do they care much) as long as their friends are doing it too.  I used to get a whole yearly supply of Rolaids from my uncle and so I exchanged them with my two best friends for Flintstones Vitamins, both of which we popped like candy.  Another of my favourite snacks was noodle soup – without the soup. Yes, I’m talking about the cellophane-packaged variety, and yes, I mean crunching some raw-ass noodles and dipping my finger into the flavour packet like it was Lik-‘N’Dip (don’t judge; I already mentioned before that I was strange). My mother told me I would get worms in my stomach.

Here I will segue into a little ditty about stomach worms. From the ages of 7-12, I was the scrawniest, shortest little runt of the family. No matter how much (junk) I ate, I never gained a pound. So family friends and my aunts (in addition to dear ‘ole momz) told me I must have tape worms in my stomach. I was appalled and so daily I’d stare at my little brown friends in the toilet and wait for them to bob up and down, swim, give me ANY kind of sign that there was life in there. I was told by said relatives that I should eat pineapple and that would flush out the worms. Alas, I hated pineapples (and still do), so until the little fkers moved in that toilet, I would be eating raw noodles for good! Twenty years later and close to no pineapples later, there is still no life swimming around in my excrement.

Back to the playground. I promised a friend I would tell her a story about eating grass because, well, I used to eat grass. I don’t mean pulling up clumps of it; rather, picking out the fat blades and, pulling from the root, nibbling the juicy white bottom part that tasted like cantaloupe.

Cantaloupes smell like garbage and I hate them.

Until I realized this was already a lengthy post, I was going to continue with the childhood stories. But for now, you must wait. You must come back again – REPEATEDLY – until my story ends!

Stay tuned for Part Two: Making Teachers and Other Little Kids Cry.

Weigh Back…

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I often struggle with what once was. “I once had” this.  I “once did” that. But more niggling than ever, I “once wore” that size.

The year before I had my daughter, I was 29 years old and in the best shape of my life. Granted, I weighed the most I ever had, yet I was toned and super fit. I ran my first (5K) race ever in 25 minutes flat without even training.  I worked out 4-5 days every week and ate healthy food (no desserts). And I wore a crop top or sports bra to work out (in a coed gym- brave!).
**side story!
Once upon a time on a Dominican beach, I was sunbathing topless and my companion had gone out on the sand for a run, leaving me alone in my half-naked glory. I was partially snoozing when a shadow blocked my sun and two locals stood in front of me with a gigantic snake (a python? all I know is it was a Britney-Slave-4-U-huge-ass-mthafka) and a camera. They were insisting I get up and take a picture with the snake – yes, the souvenir photo that gets put up on a very public wall that you can order at the photo desk.
I looked around for my companion (then long gone), covered my (then quite modest) chest with my hands and sternly said no, at LEAST three times.  Get the fk outta here!
So back to the story at hand.  I went back to the gym 4 months after having my baby. Less than halfway through my first Pump class, I got extremely dizzy and nearly passed out. It must’ve shown since the instructor took a moment to come by and ask if I was okay – embarrassing!  I skipped a few tracks and managed to finish the class, but I was sore for the next two weeks.  I was scared to return and when I did, I was just miserable to see such a slow, jiggly shape staring back at me in the mirror. But being as stubborn and determined as I am, I went daily, working my way up to two classes each morning, 5 days a week. Before 3 months’ time, I was back at pre-pregnancy weight.
I managed to keep up my workout regime all summer, until I returned to my full- and part-time jobs. Then I just couldn’t find the time or motivation. I tried to go before work a few times, but that meant getting up at 5 am after finishing work close to midnight the night before. As you can imagine, that didn’t last.
I’m on March Break now and as I type this, I should be getting dressed for my workout (I had pledged to attend every day this week). We’ll see if that happens.  I’m extra tired (I guess staying up til 3 am watching Prison Break didn’t help).
That last paragraph was written on Tuesday morning, and it’s now almost 11:30 pm Thursday. I haven’t been to the gym all week.  As my hubby reassures me, the new-ish introduction of studying has taken precedence over my workouts, and that is nothing to feel terrible about (which of course I do).  It never used to matter if I was tired, ragging, irritated – I ALWAYS made it to the gym.  Now, I have to put it on the back burner and give myself some time to physically, and most importantly, mentally, rest.
I can’t wait too long because, as I’ve mentioned in a previous post, I’m running a 10K race in May.  In June, a Spartan obstacle race.  And just yesterday, a co-worker approached hubby and I to form a work team to attempt the CN Tower climb in April.  I’ve referred to myself as crazy before, and I suppose I am, because I’m intrigued by the idea and I’d like to participate.  If not for charity, the street meat vendor in front of the Rogers Centre that I used to frequent when my company was situated there.  He owned this amazing three-nipple-like mayonnaise squeeze bottle and had bacon bits.  I digress.
Now I impose upon myself a new challenge which I call 3-4-5:  3 inches, 4 pounds, in 5 months.  The 3 inches I’d ideally lose around my spare-tire of a waist and 4 pounds self-explanatory, well in time for my trip to Europe in 5 months.
I generally find that in the summer, frequent outdoor runs, more sweating, and smile-inducing sunshine help to keep the weight off.  I’m disappointed in myself for slacking, but spring is around the corner and up open the many possibilities of outdoor activity.
Wish me luck.  Until the birds are chirping, however, I’m going to be eating Golden Oreo Cakesters, cashew- and toffee-swirl ice cream, and other sugary, highly caloric yummies.  I’m only human.

The Eternally Elusive Clock

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I don’t know what I was thinking.  I do love to write, and I have bunch of foolish/not-so foolish thoughts to share with the world, but did I really account for the time it would take out of my schedule?  Initially, I wanted to (re)start a blog to document my upcoming travels and experiences as a working court reporter (yes, yes, I was looking waaaaay ahead), but then I decided to start now.

Now, when I already have full-time schooling, a frisky and unrelenting toddler to mother, a part-time job, two crazy athletic events to train for, and sleep and more studying somewhere in between.  And now this blog.  WAIT – I forgot to mention the volunteer hours I hope to be logging at the zoo this summer and the continuous European vacation planning extravaganza that is to take place this August.  Perhaps I possess masochistic qualities, but I.love.having.a.full.plate.ALWAYS.  Hear me squeal and whine about it now but I fully intend to have every single item crossed off my to-do list!

My sincerest apologies for not writing sooner.  It’s review week and I’ve been catching up on some of the exercises I’ve been sort of neglecting.  I’m caught up now, so here I am!  Though I don’t attend class every day (we operate on a self-guided schedule, and I must attend class at least 50% of the time), that doesn’t mean I’m not working.  I have to account for at least 10 hours of online writing practice per week, plus daily dictation exercises and reports, and a very tricky grammar course that stumps even ME at times (if you don’t know me personally, I’m a spelling and grammar PSYCHO, so please proof-read your emails and comments before you send me any =P).

I once had a blog on which I posted almost daily, and in the mere 4 (?) months of its existence it accumulated over 1,500 visits.  I’d say that ain’t too shabby 😉

Please help me get there again this time – heck, let’s exceed that goal!

Thank you for your visit today, and hopefully tomorrow and several times after that!

One day I plan to do a post on cupcake reviews.  I like to call them fat cakes actually, because since I returned from maternity leave, stopped working out and started ingesting these little cups of satan, I gained 7 pounds 😦  For that reason, I am going to be running a 10K race in May and some scary-looking what-the-fk-was-I-thinking Spartan obstacle race in June, after which I expect to melt off the aforementioned poundage.  Then go on vacation.  YAY!

I digress.  Stay tuned, upcoming post is already in the works 🙂

alpha basis birth blastoff

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I once dreamt I found myself in a house and in one of the rooms was a dark shadow that terrified me so I tread lightly and eventually passed by it. I went up the stairs and in one of the rooms there was a psychic and her male associate and she was holding a handheld device with an LED display lit up with blue letters.  When she saw me there, she pressed a button and the words Preferred Fate appeared on the screen. With her head, she motioned towards the staircase and the dark room below it, and I understood what she was wordlessly telling me: my preferred fate or that room; the choice was mine.

This is how my blog came to be.