Little Bow Bleep

pretty bows

The bows I cut off my new bra in a fit of rage.

Pretty bows, aren’t they? Sure, they’re pretty until they are sewed in a “strategic” place on a bra; right in the armpit. Don’t bother moving your arms because you will end up with chaffing from hell. Why do they even put those bows on anyway? Do they want me to say, “Hey, look at my armpits, aren’t they beautiful?!” In general I look for two things: comfort and practicality. In a bra, all I need is something to support the girls and maybe give the illusion that I actually possess them. Jack of Most Trades obviously knows my chest situation, so the push up bra isn’t going to succeed in tricking him into making debateable decisions and later disappoint. I need the push up for more practical reasons, like keeping my clothes up and preventing strangers from shuddering.

I could technically walk around all free bird-like; it’s not like they’re going to sag on me. I think that’s frowned upon though so I wear these stupid wired cup things with a tight strap that hugs me uncomfortably like a long lost Great Aunt that either doesn’t comprehend the “hug’s over tap” or just doesn’t give a damn. I can’t breathe. This gives me anxiety just thinking about it.

I can’t tell you the number of times I have set out to find the PERFECT BRA. As mentioned previously, I’m not interested in the lace, bows, bells, whistles or otherwise. I don’t care if it is the ugliest thing on this planet. If it stays put and feels like a Care Bear cloud, nothing else matters in this world. But alas, I have come home each time empty-handed, braless, hopeless, or the odd time, whipping a pretty-in-pink sexy lace number complete with armpit bows in circles around my head.

With determination and a strong will to live wild and partially free, I will prevail.

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The Weight Maintenance Secret That Will Knock Your Socks Off

hallway

The reason my body is in constant fight or flight mode. I swear it’s scarier at night and even then, it’s about half as intimidating as the one at my parents’ house.

I think people wonder how at nearly 30 years old I’m the same size I was in high school. I don’t have a regular exercise regime and I hardly watch what I eat. With this being said I prepare healthy meals and choose wholesome snacks the best I can. Lately, the chocolate and baking addiction has overcome me with a once a day slip up. I’m going to tell you a little secret about my weight. Brace yourself; this skinny bitch is about to blow your mind.

I RUN* EVERYWHERE. I don’t go for an organized jog or anything, I just run. Why walk, when you can possibly get to your destination more quickly? My resting heart rate is always above 80 because I’m never resting. That burns a lot of baking.

This all started when I was very young and living at my parents’ house. They had a dark hallway that gave me the creeps and my bedroom just so happened to be at the end of it. Aside from sleeping on the shag carpet in the living room, which still haunts the floor of my parents’ house, my only option was to face my fear. I am not known for my courage, so I started running up and down the hallway. Now that I’m grown up and possess logic, I know I could have turned the light on, and maybe I’d be a few pounds heavier in consequence. Coincidently, Jack and I live in a house with a dark hallway. I make it seem like I’m being playful running from him to get to our bedroom at the end of the hallway. It’s less childish that way and maybe somewhat romantic? But you have to know that I’m sprinting down that same hallway when Jack’s not home; a little faster and with more purpose.

It isn’t just dark, shady situations that make me run for my life. It gets beyond cold in Alberta and I only just discovered Long Johns a couple of years ago (not to mention the fact that Long Johns bunch up under my pants and make for awkward wedgie picking moments throughout the day). That’s a lot of winters with only one pant layer thus; you can see why I would run places. Have you ever had your jeans freeze to your legs? Me neither; I’m too fast for that!

Lastly, I get doing things, like writing a blog post and lose track of time. I’m not sure if it’s called irony because I wrote through that English class, but even though I’m Lady Leisure, I still have to get shit done. I have appointments where I have to be somewhere at a specific time which is rather inconvenient for someone like me. I now have 10 minutes before I have to be somewhere 12 minutes away. I make that time up by running.

So there you have it. The ultimate secret to weight maintenance: being a procrastinating princess living in a cold climate.

*More like power-walking than running. Well, a brisk walk with arms flailing.

Lady Leisure Off a Yacht

A Bucket List –> something I never knew I had until I had signed up to do something crazy.

On February 16th, 2014, I set off on a journey of a lifetime. I quit my Oil & Gas job in Alberta with hopes of leading a more simple life on a boat in the British Virgin Islands. Each of my family members had their own way of objecting, but they eventually understood I have to follow these random opportunities just in case one of them turns out to be the one true passion I have been hoping to discover. Jack of Most Trades was the person who pushed me through the fear and supported my every move. He wanted me to go if I wanted to; our window was closing and he didn’t want me to pass up the chance to do something potentially awesome while said window was still open a crack. To put it in perspective, he was willing to give up marrying me this year so that I could chase mania.

Jack of Most Trades has always been rock solid – physically and emotionally. The most manly man I have ever known and, according to him, “Practically Ryan Gosling.” Until the night I left, I had never seen him cry. He drove me to the airport and waited with me until I absolutely had to go through security. He gave me a kiss and after a long embrace, we parted and I saw the tears in his eyes. I have always joked with him that someday I would make him cry, one way or another. It was a bitter sweet moment but next time, if there is one, they better be tears of joy. That night, Jack quickly turned and walked away so I could not question or comfort him. When I saw him again I asked him about those tears. His answer surprised me. He didn’t say he was going to miss me or that he was worried about me travelling alone. He simply said, “You were leaving me and I knew you were never coming back.” If only he could see less than a week into the future.  

After a long day of travelling via road, air and sea; 3 flights, 3 boat rides, and 3 countries later, I reached my destination. Exhausted and cranky, I was given the grand tour of the diving boat. Here is your coffin and here’s your sink shower. Telling a claustrophobic they are going to have to sleep with their face an inch away from the ceiling is like placing a bee hive beside an anaphylactic wearing a flower costume; shit is about to get unpleasant.

I will not go into the details of me deciding to leave a yacht sailing the Caribbean Sea to come home to -30C and snow, because any way I put it, it’s going to sound ridiculous. Three days, the number of flights and boat rides I had endured and countries I had visited in order to get to the boat and also the number of days I lasted below deck. Let’s just say I blew the previous record out of the water which was departing after only 10 days on board. As terrible as it sounds, this experience was nowhere near a “bust”.

It isn’t about the money I spent to be away from home for a mere five days. It isn’t about the career I gave up or the pain I put myself and my loved ones through. It IS about being able to check that one off the ol’ bucket list and being able to tell myself I gave it an honest whirl and it didn’t work out. The “worst case scenario” happened and I’m still here. I’m alive and I’m home with a fiancé who loves me. When I told him I wanted to come home, Jack sent me an email that went something like this:

 “Just come home and put your ring back on; we have 50 years ahead of us. Don’t regret anything. I’m —-‘n lost without you here anyway. We will be fine. You will be fine.*”

And I am, we are – fine. I would say we are more excellent than fine. I have the ring back on my finger that I’ve missed dearly and I’m planning our summer wedding in the mountains.

Just because something is scary, it doesn’t mean you can’t still do it. Go for it. You can’t fail. There is no such thing as failure if you’re learning something you wouldn’t have learned by not trying it. The worst that could happen is you fall down and get a little embarrassed. What do you normally do when you fall down? First of all, I’ll bet you look around for witnesses. It’s almost better when someone watches you fall because then they get to witness the motivational part. Get up, dust off your butt, paste a silly grin on your face and act like nothing happened. Or throw that victory arm in the air – like you just don’t care.

*Check out the photo Jack sent me on my short stay in the British Virgin Islands. See? Ryan Gosling.

 Image

 

Lady Leisure on a Yacht

It turns out I am going through a 1/4- 1/3rd life crisis. In less than two weeks, I’ll have my last day at my new Oil & Gas job and I’m headed to the beautiful British Virgin Islands to cook and clean on a chartered yacht. If you just said, “Wow”, you’re not alone. I would say about 95% of people I have told about this last minute adventure have had that same word slip out of their bewildered looking mouths. I can’t say I didn’t think it once or twice myself. Sometimes I can’t believe it’s happening.

You might be wondering, “Why you?” Popular question; my Mom posed the same one. Thanks Mom, it’s a wonder I have any self-esteem at all . . .

Without asking the Captain of the yacht, I can’t give you a definite answer of why I was chosen. I can only provide my take on the situation. If you have been following my blog at all, you know I like being a housewife and in my opinion, I’m a great one. The yacht adventure gives me the opportunity to pursue this and of course, the wonderful climate doesn’t hurt. I am not a risk-taker; I have always been very calculated in making all of my life decisions. That’s a good thing, but taking this leap could mean an even greater future.  Yesterday, my doctor told me, “You never hear older people complaining about doing too much travelling in their younger days, they are always saying they wish they’d have done more.”

I think this is a big reason why I’m leaving my fiance, friends, family, and job to pursue this new experience. I’ve never done that one big, once-in-a-lifetime thing just for myself. Some may view it as selfish, but this is something that could change my life in a very positive way.

And the other reason I’m going? To get away from this awful thing they call the “Rat Race”. Afterall, I AM Lady Leisure.