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Ugh

September 18, 2009

got-a-cold

Apparently it’s going around. But, this cold is making me feel whiney and sorry for myself. I’m a delight to be around, really.

I had a really interesting night out last weekend. It involves an underground gay club. But I’m too weak and witless to finish writing about it right now.
I repeat: delight.

Whimper.

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Say Yes to the Dress

September 15, 2009

picture-19I was married one month ago today!

I’m not going to get all mushy about being married for a month – after all, I was engaged for 4 years. Trust me, I’m patient. But, it’s still pretty great to know that I am a Mrs. And completely in love with my husband.

I’m currently attempting to get Thank You cards written and out. I hear there is a 2 month time frame for these things, but Bahamian mail is SLOOOOOOW, so I hope people will forgive me if my powers of organization have slackened after the wedding.

As an anniversary-related treat (wow, hello ego. Lets tell all 2 readers of this site that they are getting a real ‘treat’ by reading my opinions on the mundane.) I’m going to tell you the story of my wedding dress:

I have a confession to make.
I love TLC’s say yes to the dress. Well actually, I love to judge Say Yes to the Dress.

I talk to the screen when it’s on. “NO! Not that one!” , “What the hell are you thinking, you look like a cupcake”, “Did they skin Big Bird and then bleach the feathers to make that hideous catastrophe”

… and then, once in a while, breathlessly, “Oh! … so beautiful…”

But the cost!

The brides are always convinced to go well over their budget. They go in saying they will not go beyond $2000 and walk out glassy eyed, open mouths, looking like starving baby birds that just caught a glimpse of mama – all because they’ve found The One. The mystical dress made just for them – at only $6000. A steal.

Give me a break.
It’s ridiculous.

What I’m about to say may shock some people. The superstitious will cringe…
My dress was… used. GASP.

I’ll pause while you get your breath back.

Like any other bride I looked through magazine after magazine. I have hundreds of pictures saved on my computer and was pretty hands on in every aspect of the wedding. I wanted the perfect dress, shoes, flowers, hair, table arrangements etc. etc. roll out the fondant. But, this girl was on a budget. I had just moved to the Bahamas, my father is a notorious pinch-penny (“It’s the Scotsman in me”) and Hubby and I were planning to pay for some of the wedding.

I originally found the dress online about a year before the wedding, and saved the pictures in my wedding file for inspiration. I fell in love. It was champagne, A-line, halter with an elegant sprinkling of Swarovski crystals along the neckline and cascading down one side. A sheer modesty panel at the bust was covered in the crystals.

But the creme de la creme, the element that made me gasp was the back. Ribbon laced up the dress and the tie at the neck was a soft ribbon with two swarovski’s that dangled in the center of the back.

But…

It was around $1200, which is a fairly reasonable price, but still more than I wanted to pay for something I would wear once. Think of the shoes I could buy with that dough! I wanted to be beautiful, of course, but I was budgeting $5-800. I had found some in that price range – just not “The One”. I kept looking.

A few months later my roommate had decided to sell her old Tiffany prom dress on Kijiji, an online classifieds site in Canada. While browsing with her I took a look at the wedding gowns. I had never planned on buying a USED gown. It seemed so passe. But there it was, on the first page. The exact dress I had saved pictures of. A woman in my city had worn (and loved) the dress, but after a few years of hanging onto it decided that it was taking up too much space in her and her husband’s apartment.

Thank goodness for small city spaces!

The dress was perfect – and a steal.

I bought it for $125 and had it fit for $40 (a family friend is a seamstress for a local wedding shop).
In this day and age a bride needs to know how to budget. I had a dream wedding that could easily have been a $25,000+ wedding… but I planned well and budgeted.

And when I look at those photos, I am so happy. I didn’t need to pay $6000 for a dress to be happy, but I didn’t settle either.

I may not have Daddy’s last name anymore, but the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. The Scotsman in me made him proud.

picture-165

My Husband the Sleeptalker

September 11, 2009

Smiling Baby

“Good morning, sweetie”, my husband mumbles as he leans over and kisses my forehead.

I’ve just reached over and turned off the alarm – it’s playing Bon Jovi’s “I’ll Be There for You”, which I love, but isn’t exactly a soothing song to wake up to.

I hate to wake in a panic; music  playing too loud, someone knocking on my door, a loud crack of thunder – all these things cause me to wake with my heart pounding. It is the most unsettling feeling, and Hubby knows how much I loathe it.

I groan and turn to glare in as dramatic a manner as I can muster with my puffy, sleepy eyes, “Don’t you suck up to me now Mr!”

“What’dIdo?” He pouts. He’s good at pouting, and actually pretty adorable when he does, but that isn’t going to work this time.

“Don’t you remember last night? When you woke me up yelling at me?”

A momentary look of confusion flashes across his face and is then quickly replaced by recognition, and to my chagrin, a hint of amusement.

A bit of context:

Hubby talks in his sleep. He has always talked in his sleep, and occasionally he also sleep walks. It happens almost every night. It wouldn’t be so bad if he just muttered a few incoherent words each time, like the time he said, with a dreamy look on his face, “sugar toes”, and then fell into a contented sleep (I’ve never let him live that down). But, no, most times he sits up (which wakes me up), turns and stares at me (a little creepy), and then says something which makes no sense. And then, THEN he has the NERVE to be annoyed with me for not understanding.

Yes, he can actually tell, in his sleep, that I don’t understand him. He will also often respond to my confused, “What?”, by either repeat the same thing, or adding something else – which makes even less sense.

But, last night I didn’t wake up when he sat up. Evidently, this bothered Mr. Sleepy as he shook me awake yelling that I had to turn on the lamp because of “the TEXT on his WEBSITE. Don’t you know? THE TEXT! Just turn on the light! It’s NOT THAT HARD!”

He was actually mad at me for not turning on the light. Mind you, this is 2:00 am. Did I mention I don’t like being woken up in a panic. I was a bit annoyed, which did not help the situation.

“What the hell are you talking about? Go to sleep!” I spit back.

“Just turn it ON!” he yells.

Clearly this is going nowhere. I try to remind myself that he is asleep, technically. I reach over, turn on the lamp, and look back at Hubby.

He is now hanging with his head over the side of the bed, looking underneath it.

“What are you doing?” I demand.

“I thought there was a baby under there. There’s not. Turn the light off!”

Half an hour later I finally get back to sleep. Did I mention he sometimes remembers bits and pieces of his sleep-talking?

That boy is in trouble today.

How should I punish him? I was thinking I might start saying I want to have a baby. Now. Screw that whole getting careers on track and moving out of his parents place. He started the whole baby talk, didn’t he? We can just keep it under the bed.

“History is Herstory too”

September 10, 2009

I’ve turned into a right little Martha Stewart. I’m not actually proud of that, the crafty side of things aside. Martha isn’t exactly representative of “I am Woman, hear me roar!”.

I’m independent, liberal-minded, and stubborn. But, now I find myself doing the laundry, cleaning, and cooking most nights for a family of 7 (the eldest sister in-law is away for school). I have no job… for the first time since I was 15. And I caught myself putting on a little concealer and lipgloss before my husband got home from work the other day.

I am official a 1950’s housewife.

What the hell!? No wonder those women drank martinis at noon.mt1133616038

Freakonomics and Labour Pains…or, What Economic Crisis?

September 10, 2009

maar01_millardBare with me, this isn’t as boring as it sounds.

Economics is apparently BS.

This is a statement to which one might reasonably be expected to go, “duh”, given our current global economic ‘oopsie-daisy’ situation.

However, I’m the daughter of an Economic Policy Analyst. I like to think his job is somewhat important – he’s been doing it long enough – and I also tend to feel that he does some good with it – if it weren’t for him, and those he works with, the finances the government puts into tourism could end up going to palm tree planting (you can probably see how, in Canada, that might not be the best invesment).

Granted, I don’t know much about economics (I once found Daddy’s masters homework. The yellowing pages had his tiny neat numbers and words like “macro” and “microeconomics” followed by explanations of deindustialization and monopolistic principles. That’s how I found out what he did, and that I would never be following in his footsteps), but, I still like the idea that those in charge of figuring out where the money goes are going to take care of us artsy minded folk who are more interested in how pretty the things we can buy with it are than whether or not we have enough.

That brings me to the following article.

The Coast, “Another Round of BS!”

If you are not inclined to read it, I shall summarize.

Essentially, the Golf industry in Halifax claimed that $650 Million was generated in revenue in a year. As the article aptly says, “Six hundred and fifty million dollars is a hell of a lot of money.”

I think that deserves capitals and a few exclamation points.

$650 MILLION – from GOLF!!!!
In a climate where we have snow for over half the year!! BS! Apparently, if you have a degree in economics (I am only assuming that the people in charge of such figures have degrees) you can kinda make stuff up. Take the real number, then lie. Sorta. Gas to drive to the course? That counts. Martini at the club? Counts.

Ok, lame, but fine. I can see how that goes into the economy, even if not directly through golf stuff.

This is the real clincher:

“Induced spending” also counts. That sounds made up , even for mathy words. Induced spending, like induced labour, sounds pretty forced, don’cha think?

It is. Here’s how it works:

If a golf club is made for $100, then sold to a wholesaler for $150, who sells to a shop for $200, who then sells to Mr. McCullan for $400. Would that club not count as $400 worth of “Revenue”? (and only if it were made in the province).

Not according to economics! That club is worth $85o! Just add up all them-there numbers, and voila! “Gross production”. Otherwise known as lies with a side of creative wordplay – just enough pain-killers to make us less aware of the enormous pain of labour.

Even I could do that math. Remind me again why the economy is failing?

Jelly belly

August 31, 2009

I like today. Perhaps not the most exciting statement, but true. I don’t have any specific reason for the overwhelming like-ing that I feel. It just is. Lame statement, I know.

My new husband is back to work today after a two week honeymoon. One week on a cruise, one week at home drinking wine and buckets of coffee, stewing in our own delicious laziness. I felt sad seeing him off to work this morning. Actually, I didn’t so much “see him off” as grunt a goodbye and kiss him with about as much aim as a blind newborn kitten running from a growling dog. I got near his mouth. I think.

I thought I’d be bored today – in fact, I tweeted for the first time in months about how I still have 10 toes. I counted. Twice.

But then I made lunch and took it out to the porch to eat. Can you honestly tell me anything better than salad with fruit? Especially when said fruit is fresh mango? Maybe you think that good healthcare or a particularly hot sex session are better. You’re wrong. Salad with mango wins.

I was going to write about how I have been hit by a little bit of the post-wedding slumps. No more stress and planning; no more excitement – just real life. But then as I ate my mango salad, I looked out over the beautiful turquoise waters and tropical fauna of my Island home. I’ve only lived here for 5 months and already I have begun to take it for granted. It is beautiful here. I have a wonderful husband.

And I also have a bag of jelly bellies. Mmmmm – grapefruit, my favorite!