Terrible Twos

Well blog readers, the time has finally come.  I am the mother of a two year old (dog).  My baby turned two on April 1st, forcibly shortening my birthday celebrations.  My birthday is my favourite holiday.  April 13.  In case you wanted to get something in the mail, there is still time.  But be quick!

When I was a very small child, I must have gotten out of hand with birthday celebrations because right before my own second birthday I was given the glorious gift of a little sister.  In mid-February.  No longer could I start planning my own parties and themes and joyous celebration in January.  She had stolen my spot light.  Understandably, I hated her for many years.

Then, right after I turned five, ANOTHER SISTER!  This one in mid-May.  Do you see how they neatly curbed my creative process?  My birthday party was effectively cut down to be slightly under eight weeks.  How is a girl to live like that? 

Then, almost exactly two years ago, I did myself in.  Adopting a dog/son whose birthday was practically the same as mine.  It must have been his snuggly little body, his puppy dog eyes, his slobbery little self, only true love could ever infringe on my favourite holiday and get away with it the way he has.  (I know, you are asking yourself, how much attention could a dog birthday get?  I am getting to that part.  Please be patient.)

If seeing dogs treated better than most of the humans on this planet makes you feel ill - well you better skip these next few pictures because it got a little out of hand!

A trip to the cottage for the most spoiled dog in the world.

His cage was decorated!

Dog cupcakes of course!

He might be all grown up, but he will always be my little baby!

With the dog's birthday as my benchmark, I hope you have a birthday that is at least this good, and maybe a little bit better.  Rainbow chip cupcakes anyone?? 

Punch in the Face #3

This is going to sound like a petty complaint...  you will think, "Karen, you do nothing with your life, you have nothing but time to waste every day, shut up already."  Now you have been warned.  If you still want to hear my sad story, please continue reading.  *Cue very tiny violins*

This has been an especially busy move in/out month in our apartment building, I was told 40 apartments are changing hands for October.  Do this math for me, will you?  40 apartments, 4 elevators, minus 2 elevators that are broken, minus 1 elevator on service for the cleaning staff, minus 2 elevators that are on service for move ins, minus 4 elevators that once they go to the basement skip the ground floor, leaving crowds of people stranded waiting on the ground floor while they carry on up to floor 26 with only a single person.  To top it off, today was flea and heartworm medication day for my puppy.  To put it gently, this medicine makes his sensitive stomach 'upset' the day he takes it.  There is absolutely no time to wait fifteen minutes for the elevator to dilly dally about, being repaired and cleaning floors and moving in new people.  This is especially frustrating because it has been going on since Wednesday and shows no sign of stopping.

I am giving this face punch to the higher powers in this building who have allowed so many new people to move in and take over our elevators.  Who are these new people?  We don't know them.  They could be serial killers, or loud music players, or people who throw items off their balconies.  We have no reason to trust them, no reason to give them our precious elevator space.  This is simply madness.  To inconveniance good, rent paying, quiet, perfectly lovely tenants for the sake of these unknown strangers simply doesn't make any kind of sense.

I am also face punching the elevators themselves.  Elevators, why must you break down?  Why do you always need to be repaired and even after being repaired are still broken?  I can't understand why you continue to torture me.  Remember the time you locked me and my dog in your moving coffin of a body?  Must I really endure more than that?  Is it because my New Year's Resolution was to take the stairs every day and in the last ten months I have taken the stairs approximately twice?  Is this my punishment?  I apologize.  I will try harder.  I promise.  But for now I must punch your face, don't take it personally.

Finally, this one is where it gets personal.  Today, after waiting an obscene ten whole minutes to get on an elevator, a man who was clearly moving in, filled an elevator, taking enough room for at least two people, with his foot stools and clear plastic container.  You are the new one here, show some respect, do the right thing, don't start on the wrong foot.  BOOK A GODDAM ELEVATOR!!!!!!    Consider your face punched sir.  Welcome to the building.

Balcony Garden

First - I was going to take today off from writing because it is Saturday.  Then I remembered every day is Saturday to me!  And I had a horrible nightmare last night that I have to share. 

When my husband Jesse and I first moved in together my Mom gave us a little plant.  Our love plant (he doesn't know that I've call it this and have come to superstitiously believe it symbolizes our love and relationship, god help us all if it dies).  Which, three years later, is miraculously still alive.  I am not known for my gardening skills, in fact I am known for my lack of gardening skills.  I was once described as having a 'brown thumb'.  Pretty much any plant that comes too close to me dies. 

Despite this, I often have ambitious dreams of gardens, flower and vegetable even strangely citrus fruit gardens where people will marvel at how I have managed to help them survive in such an inhospitable climate.  Okay, I have one over the top fantasy where I am never employed but instead turn a giant backyard into a vegetable garden and am able to grow all of my own food.  I then turn into a 1950s housewife and learn to can and make preserves and homemade baby food (also in this dream I have a lovely little troupe of children who enjoy homemade preserves not McD's).  I see now this is rather unrealistic, especially since my only gardening space is my balcony.

I have had some recent gardening success.  My love plant has not died.  I have had a bamboo for about a year that is still going strong.  I have also had a baby tree for a year and a half that is only brown around the bottom, so I still have faith it might make a comeback.  Inspired by these successes, as well as having the fall and dying marigolds bring back childhood memories of helping my Mom pluck off all the dead flowers on marigolds, I plucked some off for myself (aka stole from the neighbours gardens).  I then took them home and planted them.  In shocking news they have since started growing, enough that I feel as though they might be in a state to flower next year (oops I may have gotten carried away already picturing beds of flowers overflowing, an entire balcony covered in brilliant oranges and yellows and maybe even a hint of red).

Baby Marigolds growing on my balcony.

This, of course, all leads to my nightmare.  I woke up this morning with a vague but horrified recollection of seeing all my baby marigolds being swept up into a massive flood of water and the more I tried to water them the more they kept disappearing into the soil.  Obviously, Regis and I ran out to check on them first thing in the morning and they are all still fine. 

Regis humours me with a trip out to our garden.

My lazy weekend morning question is, what should I grow next?  How do I care for my baby marigolds over the winter?  Can I have the majestic garden of my dreams on my balcony?  I suppose the answer to these questions are - will I ever get a job?  Let me assure you, the second I start working I will toss all this stuff in the garbage and never dream of gardening again. 

One final confession - in case you think from this story I am in fact some sort of flower growing expert  - I had assumed my marigold success was because I had chosen the proper location and soil mixture combined with my loving attention.  Then, I noticed the extra pot on my balcony for leftover dirt and dead plants and garbage had also sprouted some marigolds, presumably ones I had just thrown away.  Maybe I should just give up now.

A Day in the Life Of.....

Here is how I assume most people's lives go - wake up early, get ready for work, travel to work, work, maybe lunch, some more work, travel home from work, dinner, time filler until bedtime, sleep.  Repeat.  There is a simple and rewarding routine to this, especially on that day every week, or two weeks, or the first and fifteenth when money appears in your bank account to reward you for the time you have spent working. 

When you are unemployed there is no certainty.  This is not a vacation in the way that scheduled time off of work is relaxing.  Think of unemployment like the crappiest vacation you have been on, it rains every day, the mosquitos eat you alive, the ocean is full of jellyfish, and worst of all, Cuba runs completely out of rum (or Mexico and tequila, or Jamaica and joints, you get where I'm going with this).  It is such a bad vacation that you are in fact looking forward to sinking back in to the comfort of what you know, working half assed at job that is fairly meaningless.  This is preferable.

Don't worry - I have the perfect solution!  Here is my guide on how to spend your day, and various ways to feel productive about doing nothing.

8-9am - wake up.  Sometimes this is earlier, if you have spent the night tossing and turning sleeplessly, it is fine to wake up with the sunrise.  Pretend you like it.  Say things like, "I'm really a morning person" or "I'm most productive in the morning" or "I don't want to get used to sleeping in, soon I will have a job and have to be up early".  You don't have to say these things to other people, just repeat them quietly to yourself until you believe them.

9am - Regis and Kelly!  This is the highlight of your day.  Don't miss this for sleep, you can catch up on sleep during naptime.  It is Regis' final season.  You might think this is some sad addiction I have developed during my long period of unemployment, but that is not true.  Even when working I used to prefer afternoon shifts so that I could watch Regis.  My boxer puppy is named after him because they share the same adorable wrinkly old man face.

 

 10am - feel free to continue watching tv, whatever is on, especially reruns of Rich Bride, Poor Bride you have already seen, or any of the Housewives.  I won't judge.  Usually this is when I switch from tv to internet.  I check my email, facebook, other email, job postings, blogs.  I pretend to be looking for jobs, but I know that nothing new has come up since I last checked around 10pm the night before.  I don't actually apply for anything yet, I go back to facebook and look at some random pictures.  Finally I might work up the emotional strength to write up a cover letter and apply to a few jobs.  I might also leave this for the afternoon internet session.

12 - walk the dog.  Stretch this out as long as possible, it is perfectly acceptable to walk the dog for up to three hours.  This is good exercise for you both.  You are a wonderful dedicated owner.  There is absolutely nothing sad and pathetic about having three hours in the middle of the afternoon with nothing to do except wander around.  Try not to actually cry while doing this, the neighbours will start to wonder.  Let them think you have an exotic job that allows you to be home in the afternoon.

2-3ish - lunch, whenever you return.  I often consider skipping this meal, but the more elaborate a meal you make the more time you can use up.  Consider having more than one course.  Get out that cookbook you never thought you would have time to use.  Start eating strange things from cans - for example stuffed vine leaves, no name brand, are delicious!  Food poisoning can be a great way to spend a few days.

After lunch is usually when I start to get desparate.  I read entire books during this time of day. I try to make social appointments with my other unemployed friends.  Make friends with people on maternity leave, or students with strange schedules.  Start calling your grandmother more often.  This is often when my obessive compulsive cleaning streak starts to show itself.  This is also a good time to recheck your email, or to take a nap.

6ish - normal people with real world jobs are home!  If you are not too deep into the scrubbing out the fridge or already out for coffee, start calling these people.  Begging and crying is permitted if it helps get you an invite to dinner.  No level of desparation is too low at this time.  Tell them to come to your house, serve them vine leaves and left over KD. 

Night time is easiest - sleep, as soon as it gets dark this is acceptable.  Go to bed at 9pm if you have to.  Take a hot bath, or a gravol, or both, whatever gets the job done.

Good luck!  Let me know if you have any tips or tricks to fill in time.