A Christmas List
by Karla ° Thursday, August 25, 2005
Last weekend, Mark and I had a bit of a falling out. In as many ways as we are eerily the same, we are just as jarringly different.

Quite simply, I’m very detail oriented, and he is much more big picture focused. Day to day chores and responsibilities are his weakness, and long term goal setting and strategy planning is not my domain. Stuff like taking out the trash or emptying the dishwasher, quite frankly, do not fall into his big picture mindset, and therefore, without some gentle reminders eventual turned to nagging, little mundane household chores can fall by the wayside.

Overall, our personalities work quite well together. Since our focus and strengths are on such spectrum extremes, we have a unique way of communicating our differing ideas to each other, while raising points and suggestions that the other may not have thought of. We’ve always enjoyed working as a team together because of the different qualities we bring to the table.

Last weekend however, our personalities clashed. A discussion turned sour, and turned quickly into a heated argument.

I was upset that I needed to constantly remind him to do something, and he became upset that I am so adamant that stuff gets done.

Being big picture focused, he has never been a list maker, and being detail oriented, I won’t rest until those list items are taken care of. He forgets, I nag, and then I nag some more. Sometimes, he turns up the charm and does stuff like
this to divert my attention.

As it’s happened before when I am frustrated, (remember “
Because when you feel like a big bag of shit...”), I decided to terrorize my powder room to let off steam. (Hence, the story behind my recent post, Home Decorating 101).

If you’ve ever painted, or attempted any sort of redecorating project, you know that nothing ever goes as planned, or falls within the anticipated time line for completion, and most definitely, never ends up on budget. The bathroom project, for whatever reason, didn’t help my sour mood, and I may as well have sprouted horns and walked around blowing steam through my nostrils because my disposition was like that of a ranging bull with a vice on his nuts (or as mad as I can imagine that would make any male).

My temper must have scared the living shit out of my husband because I think he saw “the light”. This morning, when I woke up, there was a list tucked away, ever so not discreetly, on the side of the fridge!

It was my Christmas list!

Oh joy!

I decided to sneak a peak.

I mean, how wonderful is that? He took what I had to say to heart, and decided to make a list to make sure he remembered what would make me happy!

There was one item on the list.

A Pineapple Slicer


I mean, I do love pineapple….but I love puppies more….

Maybe…just maybe…there will be two tickets to Jamaica or Mexico tucked inside. Then again, probably not.

Merry Christmas to me!

Pineapple anyone?


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Home Redecorating 101
by Karla ° Monday, August 22, 2005
Are you looking for ways to make your home redecorating project simple and easy?

Is the cost of expensive contractors turning you off?

Does the thought of painting make you cringe?

Does the thought of inhaling evil chemicals to strip wallpaper off the walls make you gag?

Have you discovered your own attempts at redecorating your powder room left you in a mess like this?

Or do you find yourself wondering how to fix holes in the walls, and not to get electrocuted in the process, remind you of this?

Do you often wonder how all the hard work will ever get done?

I have a solution for YOU!

You won’t be disappointed you took the time to sit through my advertisement my friends. The solution is simple, cost effective and requires nothing but sexual favors* in return.

What is this answer to making home redecorating projects simple?

What is this miracle product I am endorsing?

Why, it’s a husband!

Here are my tips to soliciting help from “the husband” or, whoever else happens to live with or near you, for help.

1. When the going gets tough, throw a temper tantrum and go to the garage, find a drill (anything big and loud that makes holes will do), and turn it on and makes lots of noise with it until “the husband” gets concerned about the amount of noise and massive size of the drill bit you are using, and takes care of those nasty wall plugs for you.

2. When unsure how to turn off the electricity, innocently ask if you can die trying to take down a light fixture.

3. When you have managed to convince “the husband” to handle the electrical aspect of your redecorating project, and he decides to fix the faulty wiring in the light switch, do not exclaim over and over again that the tools he is using look just like the tools you make your own jewelry with.

4. Apologize profusely when you get the evil glare signaling your jewelry making tools serve no purpose and are not required in the realm of manly stuff like “rewiring electrical outlets”.

5. When spraying harsh chemicals to remove a wall paper border start to bother your throat, try to draw attention to yourself and cough incessantly. If “the husband” ignores your coughing, wonder out loud if the chemicals affect your libido. Watch him spring into action.

6. When your own attempts to putty and fill drywall holes leave the wall looking like they are oozing snot and melting, sigh loudly. If your sighs go unnoticed, sigh louder!

7. For fun, while “the husband” is inside doing the real work, prance around outside making noises with the drill in your bikini. Not only will the the neighbors think you're psychotic cool, but you can work on your tan at the same time.

8. And to top the whole project off, blow the budget completely through the roof and order a custom made mirror because you want it. When “the husband” questions your choices and ability to make decisions, inform him that if he really loved you, he would understand. Also remind him that the custom order is contingent on receiving sexual favors*.

9. Follow through with sexual favors* to build trust and rapport for the next home redecorating project.

* please provide sexual favors responsibly

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Ankle Rankle
by Karla °

I have been off of my ankle for almost two weeks now. I’ve been antsy, agitated and annoyed that I can’t run. Running has been an important way to release steam, and literally pound my pent up anger and emotions into the ground. Not having that outlet to unleash and set myself free like that has been difficult. I can feel the shift in my mood. I've turned into a sour puss.

Since I was left with no choice but to take it easy while I let my swollen ankle heal, my husband convinced me to use this down time as an opportunity to get started on some on resistance training (I think he just wanted to find a way to help unleash the "antsy beast" that overtook his wifes mind and body, but regardless of his intentions, it sounded like a good idea).

Mark helped me develop a simple routine on our bowflex machine. Aside from discovering I’m a complete and total wimp when it comes to weight training, I have actually found myself enjoying it. I was so opposed to using it while I focused on my endurance and running abilities (and especially didn't touch it when I was pregnant) that I was shocked to discover how fun weight training is. Using the bowflex adds a certain level of variety that running doesn’t give you, and requires much more concentration to ensure you have proper posture and breathing.

Before my doctor’s appointment to get my ankle looked at last Monday, I lugged my sorry ankle to the Running Room to get my feet properly fitted with some shoes built for running. As embarrassing as this is to admit, I haven’t had a new pair of running shoes in over nine years. I have been running with an ancient pair of shoes that apparently, aren’t even considered a running shoe (I guess the old expression, “If the shoe fits…” does not apply to running shoes or anything that looks like a running shoe).

Much to my own defense, I never wore running shoes for anything before I actually started running. After college it was steel toed shoes, and then when I ditched the field work for a lazy office job, it was heels, heels and more heels.

Now that I actually require some proper gear to keep up with my activity level, I am finding it astounding (and sorta dorky) that there is such a science behind how you walk and move your feet and how that impacts the type of running shoe you need.

Apparently, after some embarrassing monkey acrobatics on top of a bench in a busy store, it has been determined that I Pronate.

If I understood the running shoe expert correctly, my right foot pronates a bit excessively and it is causing stress on my ankle and causing it roll over more when I run as the ankle tries to absorb the shock and impact of my feet hitting the ground.

This new word that described the underlying issue for my ankle predicament sounded terrible, but I was assured that all of us pronate or supinate, and the extend to which we do this and how much pressure and shock we are applying to our bodies will determine the proper shoe to wear.

I also discovered that the proper running shoes size I require is a size 9. I regularly wear an 8, so that just sounded ginormous to me, but he assured me that if I don’t buy that size my toenails will go black and fall off from rubbing on the tops of my shoes. ‘Nuff said. Comfort and practicality, before style and daintiness! Got it!

The running shoe expert, of course, finished up by chastising the socks I brought with me to try on shoes with. Apparently my socks do not meet space age running socks standards because they aren’t designed to assist in the evaporation of sweat and moisture. He tried to sell me their “technical socks" at the ridiculous price of $12.00 a pair, but when asked if he could give me written guarantee that any pair of socks he sells me wouldn’t be sopping wet and stinky after running 10km, he backed down.

The following day, I drove to the doctors, and much to my expectations, my doc suggested that I probably tore a ligament, and told me to keep icing it, supported and elevated as much as possible.

So, all that being said, my ankle is feeling much better now. I am still off my foot until my new shoes arrive on Wednesday. I don’t remember the last time I was so excited about a pair of shoes that didn’t have 3 inch heels spiking out the ends of them.

Oh how I miss running. It’s as addictive as chocolate, only, much healthier.


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Meeting Julia
by Karla ° Friday, August 19, 2005
Meeting Julia was the absolute best! She was a complete sweetheart and her children were two of the most darling little angels I have ever met.

I awoke at the crack of dawn on Wednesday, all bright eyed and bushy tailed. I felt like a little kid at Christmas because I was so excited to meet her and her family. Although we weren’t scheduled to meet until 11:00, we had a good couple of hours of driving ahead of us, most of which was through rush hour traffic in Toronto. We wanted to get an early start.

We were scheduled to meet at Niagara Falls. It was a gorgeous sunny day and I actually found it to be quite warm at 28 degrees Celsius (82 degrees Fahrenheit). To Julia however, who lives in the sweltering hot south, our weather was probably closer to a mild fall day.

We made our plans to meet up at the legendary
Maid of the Mist. I was nervous that I wouldn’t recognize her, but knowing that she would be with her two little ones and having seen at least 14 million pictures of them, I kept reassuring myself we wouldn’t miss each other.

At around 11:00, our cell phone rang. It was Julia and she was wondering where we were. Deciding to go and take a look around the corner, I immediately recognized her little daughter Alison. As she was talking to Mark on the phone, facing the opposite direction, I told Mark to ask her if she was wearing a pink shirt. She immediately started looking around and when she turned around and saw us, it was like I had known her for years.

Her smile immediately put me at ease. Her eyes had the same warmth that I remember seeing in pictures and her children were even more adorable in person. After hugging, and chatting for a few minutes, we decided to grab some lunch together before heading onto the Maid of the Mist. We found a little cafeteria style restaurant and we all proceeded to find what we wanted to eat.

It was nice to know I would be having lunch with another vegetarian. I have no veggie friends and eating out usually leaves me feeling just a tad bit silly at times when our choices are limited by my vegetarian eating style. Julia is also a vegetarian, and for once, my meat eating husband was the minority. It was great.

We of course, finished up lunch by devouring some yummy ice cream before heading onto the boat to get up close and personal with the powerful falls. I’ve ridden the Maid of the Mist before, but being on the boat with Julia and her two kids made the ride extra special. Children have a unique way of infecting us with their enthusiasm when something thrills them. As we approached the Canadian falls, and we began to rock back and forth and get soaked from all the mist spraying into the boat, the excitement and laughter was absolutely contagious. It was so wonderful to be a part of that experience.

Upon exciting the boat, we stopped at a souvenir shop. Her darling daughter chose a little toothpick holder, and her son chose a bow and arrow set. I won’t reveal what Julia bought for
Christi, but let’s just say it will be a special treat from a certain animal that is national symbol of Canada.

While sitting down to rest in the shade, her son started experimenting with his new toy. After a few failed attempts of aiming and shooting his rubber arrow, Mark stepped in to help him out. It just melted my heart watching Mark play with Andrew. He is going to be such a great dad, and I know if Ava was with us today, she probably would have been saying his name already at only 4 months old because he would have blown her little socks (booties) right off.

Although I totally expected Mark and me to have Canadian accents, just like I expected Julia to have a southern accent, I found it very interesting that, although I do have an accent, Mark’s was much heavier. Of course, I can’t tell the difference, which makes it so funny. So what does our accent sound like anyways eh?

Walking around all day at Niagara Falls is no small feat for children (even if they are two of the cutest and smartest kiddos on the planet), and by late afternoon, Andrew and Alison started to tire. I didn’t want to say goodbye, but all good things must come to an end.

Meeting Julia was definitely a good thing. We had such a fantastic day together, and I hope we get to see each other again in the near future.

Have a safe trip home tomorrow Julia. Thank you for gracing us with your presence and sharing in such a wonderful afternoon with us.

Here are some photos from our day.

Me and hubby

The Maid of the Mist approaching the falls

Hubby in his stylish rain coat on the Maid of the Mist (before we went near the falls)

Me in my stylish rain coat on the Maid of the Mist (up close and personal with the falls). Can we say wet, wild and windy?

The picture perfect end to a perfect day

Out of respect for Julia, since I never asked if I could share photos of her online, I’m not going to post any.


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Crossing Over
by Karla ° Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Tomorrow, Hubby and I are making the cross over from blogdom to reality. Our dear sweet blogging friend, Julia, from South Carolina, will be in Canada.

I must admit, I am quite nervous, which is odd, because I don’t tend to find meeting people nerve wracking.

Meeting Julia will be different. We have known each other for almost a year now from meeting through our blogs. I'm sure there will be some to argue this, but I truly to believe that relationships develop through what we share about ourselves online. It is the online factor however, that makes blogging such a strange dynamic. Blogging is real life, with real friendships, real people, and real words, yet at the same time, it is real life censored to uphold a certain level of anonymity and edited reality of ourselves.

Face to face relationships are different. I can’t choose the most flattering photos to upload, I can’t go back and edit what I’ve said, and attempts at adding wit, intelligence or humor to a conversation can’t be mulled around in my head for a few hours before they get spewed out into words.

Blogging is much the same as reading a novel. When you read, your mind is able to paint its own picture of the words in front of you. You begin to conjure up your own images of the characters and places in the book that ultimately help you relate to them because your own mind has helped shape their identity and personality. When finally get to see the movie on the big screen, there tends to be an element of disappointment when you find out what the character is really like (or at least how someone else has portrayed them).

What if, in real life, I am totally different and not the same person I have portrayed through my words?

I am very excited to meet Julia. I just hope I’m not a big old boring bum with a bumbling blog who is an even bigger bumbling moron in real life (unedited).


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If vegetables were made of meat…
by Karla ° Friday, August 12, 2005
Mark would be a happy boy and I would starve…

Dinner time at the Cadeau residence is always very interesting. We are quite the pair. One of us won’t eat meat and the other dislikes vegetables. Neither of us likes to cook (unless it involves the BBQ), but we both like to eat.

No matter what way you slice it, there is always a clash of tastes when it comes to food around here. I love my veggies, and Mark loves his barbeque. I tend to graze all day and never was one for an “official meal time” but Mark loves when dinner time rolls around and he can stand proud and tall in front of his barbeque grilling up a chunk of meat to sink his carnivore teeth into.

The other night, while Mark was grilling up his steak, I made some nice salads to go with dinner. I even conceded to buying the plane jane boring iceberg lettuce to appease Mark because my favorite mesclun medley of mixed dark greens and baby spinach just creeps the meat-a-tarian in Mark right out.

Once his dinner was ready, Mark proudly brought his prey meat to the table. His eyes were glazed over with lustful thoughts of steak permeating his brain until he noticed the salad bowl staring him the face. His dream like steak bubble suddenly burst and he almost looked panicked. (Nothing kills the steak mood like a big bowl of greenery I guess). Pushing the salad aside as nonchalantly as possible, he tried to distract my "you better eat it or else glare" by making me compliment him over and over on the perfect grill lines he made on his meat slab before putting his knife and fork to work and devouring his masterpiece.

Once the steak was happily tucked away in his tummy, he begrudgingly plunged his fork into his big bowl of greens. He ate a few bites, gazing at me with each one to make sure I saw him eating his salad, and when he thought I might be happy with his efforts, exclaimed he was full.

While tidying up from dinner and dumping the remains of his half eaten salad in the garbage, I heard some crinkling in the other room. I thought the cats had gotten themselves into something, and upon entering the living room to investigate I found hubby, snacking away on a bag of nachos.

Trying to glare and look stern while I stifled back my laughter I accused, “You didn’t eat your salad because you said you were full! You just didn’t want it. You wanted treats!”

He shrugged nonchalantly as if I should know better than to feed him vegetables and in between mouthfuls of nacho chunks reminded me that if vegetables were made of meat, he would be more than happy to love eating them, but since they aren’t, he can’t make any guarantees (expressed or implied) that he will ever love eating vegetables. He just can’t bring himself to pursue an endeavor he isn’t passionate about, eating vegetables included.

How can you argue with that logic?

Veggies made of meat! What will my charmingly witty genius of a husband think of next?


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Jogging in the rain: Not so mundane, but oh so much more pain.
by Karla ° Thursday, August 11, 2005
In training for the 10km run this fall to help raise money for the Perinatal Bereavement Services of Ontario, I have been spoiling myself with central air conditioning and a treadmill in the comfort and coolness of my basement. Let’s face it; it would be insane to run outside mid day in the heat we’ve been experiencing.

I much prefer running outdoors though. The scenery and fresh air is so much more invigorating and engaging. I find myself more bored of staring off into space and running in one spot before I actually tire myself out on the treadmill. Running outside is so very different. There are cars, people, houses, flowers and fresh air. I’ve mapped out a nice 5km run that hubby and I like to do in the late evenings when the humidity levels aren’t as intense and intolerable.

Last weekend, hubs and I took advantage of the slightly cooler weather on a sunny and warm Sunday afternoon, and instead of the regular 5km evening jog, we decided to attempt a 7km jaunt in mid afternoon heat.

Shockingly, the extra 2km and hilly terrain didn’t seem to hinder my (lack of) running abilities at all. I found a comfortable speed, and let the momentum of my feet take me the full distance in about 50 minutes. I felt ecstatic about my new accomplishment, despite the throbbing in my right ankle.

The ankle throb is nothing new.

My ankle issue began when I first started running. After a run, it would throb a bit, but I have just sort of shrugged it off as par for the course for running so much, and since it usually goes away within a few hours anyway, learned to ignore and forget about it. Lately however, it seems to have gotten progressively worse, and every now and then it will start to hurt while I am actually running.

When I physically hurt, I like to play tricks with my mind, and this ankle corundum is no exception. When it starts to hurt, I tell myself how silly I am for being a little sissy, and for letting a little ankle tenderness affect me when I had just been through something as invasive as a c-section, or how ridiculous I am for letting a sore ankle hinder my ability to progress when the pain of losing Ava is on a much grander scale, and so much more intense. If I look at the level of pain critically, and through my new bifocals of perspective on life, the ankle pain seemed like a small fluff of nothing, so I just tried to tuck the pain it was causing deep inside somewhere and not think about it.

Tucking all discomfort away, we decided to attempt the 7km run we so proudly completed on Sunday again the following evening. I should have known better from the way my ankle was aching, but I pushed ahead anyways despite it's appeals and screams to let it rest. Finally, with about 2km left in the run, my ankle gave out and I was left hobbling and dragging my sorry ass the rest of the way home.

Still not ready to give up (or still stupid, I'm not quite sure which yet), I took advantage of the stormy weather that swept into Ontario this past Tuesday as a chance to jog outside in the rain in an attempt to keep cool. It was the worst run of my life. I may as well have carried a cane with me I was dragging ass and a dead right ankle behind me most of the way.

Hubby tried gently massaging the tender ankle for me when I got home, and his touch left me hollering and screaming for mercy. Last night while laying in bed after taking the day off from running, it was still throbbing. I haven’t run again today because all I can do is hobble even while walking. My ankle is totally out of commission.

So dear friends, I know you’re cheering, and I know you’ve sponsored, but I’ve rendered myself useless until this ankle heals. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’m going to give it a few days to mend, and then hubby and I are going to get back on track this weekend and get our butts in gear for our run.

On Sunday we’re scheduled to run 8km.


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When I'm 65
by Karla °
I just knew all these years of worshipping the sun would catch up to me.

If I don’t die of cancer, getting struck by lightning, mad cow disease from that hamburger I ate 15 years ago, or the heartache I feel from Brad and Jen splitting up, this is what a super duper highly credible and accurate
computer program predicts I will look like at 65.

Thanks for the link
Humor Girl. I'm so relieved that now I know! I may need to reconsider that whole issue I have with botox...


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100 things about me
by Karla ° Wednesday, August 10, 2005
My husband just posted 100 things about himself, and I thought it might be fun to try it out as well.

100 of the first things that popped into my mind about me!

1. I drink too much coffee
2. I am a vegetarian.
3. I haven’t eaten meat in over 14 years.
4. I go to tanning beds in the summer
5. I hate watching TV
6. But I always make an exception if it means I get to cuddle on the couch with my husband
7. I love my husband more than words can ever describe
8. I have a daughter
9. She sprouted wings seven hours after being born
10. Mourning her loss has brought my husband and I closer together
11. I wear a perfume called Happy
12. It doesn’t make me happy
13. I only wear Clinique makeup
14. I have very long fingernails
15. I have a freaky ability to calculate tax in my head
16. I am embarrassed to sing out loud because my signing voice is terrible
17. I sing to my cats
18. I love to eat
19. but I am a very picky eater
20. Tim Horton’s in the best coffee on the planet
21. I am Canadian
22. I don’t like hockey
23. I don’t like sports
24. My wedding band was custom made with 7 diamonds to symbolize the number of years I was with my husband before he proposed
25. I wear white gold
26. My favorite feature are my eyes
27. But sometimes they reveal emotions I want to hide
28. I gained 28 pounds while pregnant
29. and lost all but four pounds withiin three months
30. I love how pregnancy changed my body.
31. I wasn’t being sarcastic about # 30.
32. I really do love the fact that I now have curves and hips.
33. I have conceded to becoming a Liberal. Our new Conservative government uses Religion as a way to woo its followers and that makes me sick. Holy words should never be used like whips.
34. Really, I am a Progressive Conservative, but that party no longer exists
35. If I was an American, I would be a Democrat
36. I run at least 5km every day
37. Although I was born and raised a Catholic, I don’t believe Jesus is the Savior.
38. Western Religions are fascinating
39. Easter Religions are even more fascinating
40. I think religion is a unique expression of people’s individuality and cultural background.
41. I am not religious, but I am spiritual
42. There is a difference to #41. Spirituality does not require membership to organized religion and a requirement to uphold the ethics and teachings of one particular religion. To me, spirituality is a more of a personal journey that has not already defined and outlined for me.
43. I still honour those with one true faith and respect their right to uphold it
44. I avoid discussing religion in real life. It’s way too touchy.
45. I like thunderstorms
46. I hate folding socks
47. I hate when socks go missing even more
48. My favorite breakfast is a bagel with peanut butter
49. I have a hard time seeing a baby without crying
50. I miss my baby girl everyday
51. My mom and I share the same birthday.
52. I used to smoke
53. I have two cats
54. Between them, they only have three eyes
55. But at least they still have all their claws
56. Even if that means they’ve ruined clothing and furniture to keep them sharp
57. I like the smell of fresh cut grass
58. And I like to watch my hubby mow the lawn without a shirt on
59. I don’t like muffins
60. but I bake them because my husband likes the smell of baking muffins
61. I have a rock and mineral collection
62. I sold my Archie Comic Book collection to buy food in college
63. I have participated in researching the earths magnetic field and collecting and analyzing data to prove how it correlates to the geographic location and intensity of those who suffer from Multiple Sclerosis
64. I performed an electromagnetic survey on a 40km grid at Dow Chemical in Sarnia in two days.
65. I had to carry a 30lb, 12’ long EM31 the entire survey
66. I was so blistered I had to duck tape bubble tape around my hips
67. I once performed a radar survey is a sewage tank to check for leaks
68. Thank goodness it had not yet been used
69. I believe there is life on other planets
70. But I don’t believe in alien abductions. They could bring home a strand of hair and learn about my entire makeup through DNA
71. I don’t like corporate lifestyle and expectations
72. I hate worrying and get annoyed when people worry too much
73. I secretly wish I would get ID’d at the liquor store again. I want to look young.
74. I still crave cigarettes all the time
75. I’ve performed a geophysical survey to search for a fault line near a nuclear power plant.
76. I had a c-section after dialting to 7 cm
77. I think recovering from the c-section was worse than labour
78. Labour doesn’t really hurt that much.
79. I use my credit card to purchase everything
80. But I make sure they are paid off every month
81. I’m a terrible cook
82. and an even more terrible baker
83. but I’m an excellent driver
84. I’ve never had a speeding ticket, parking ticket or been in an accident
85. I have road rage tendencies
86. My husband taught me a valuable lesson
87. Ideas are up for debate, but people are not
88. so I welcome Jehovah Witnesses into my home and listen to what they have say
89. I don’t believe in their ideals
90. but they are people with an opinion and belief system just like me, and I like understanding and listening to what others have to say, even when I don’t agree
91. I find it entertaining that I can’t imagine life without internet now
92. My geological background has led me to believe the change in intensity and direction of the earth magnetic field means a pole reversal could occur in the near future
93. if that happened, electronics would cease to exist
94. but near future in geological terms could mean 50 million years from now
95. I believe in Evolution
96. I never did grow my top wisdom teeth
97. Maybe that explains my lack of wisdom
98. I used to think I wanted a high powered career and lots of money
99. until starting a family and raising children became my passion
100. I will realize that dream someday


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My Cat is a Diva
by Karla ° Tuesday, August 9, 2005
My black cat is having a sexual identity crisis. He really needs to understand that I will love him no matter how inclined and drawn he is to drag, but he refuses to just sit down and frankly discuss his disposition and desire to wear makeup and don feathers.

It started out quite cute and simple.

Makeup sponges!

He would steak, lick, kick, caress and sleep with my makeup sponges. I should have realized he was beginning to manifest drag tendencies, but honestly, I thought he just liked the spongy texture and found his desire to cuddle with sponges cute.

Next, he started stealing my eyeshadow brushes. He would steal them and hide them, and when no one was looking, attack and suck on them until they were frayed and mangled beyond use.

Feather LickingRecently, he started bringing my red feathered slippers out of the closet. I’m not sure if he is desperately trying to emanate symbolism here, but he drags the red feathers all through the house (sorry B$, I know they were a gift from you, but my cat just can’t stop himself), and sometimes poops them out as if to prove how much he loves soft feathery stuff.

The other day, after I went out on a limb and actually wore lingerie for hubs after his long week away from home, my cat somehow found my lace nighty, and nestled himself right next to it in the laundry. I swear I saw a grin on his face as he drooled over my lacy under things.

He even has a thing for strappy, sexy shoes. The other day, he stole my pointy toed heels and drooled all over and chewed up the pointy toed end of them. I mourned the loss of my sexy shoe purchase as he gleefully rubbed his nose up and down my leg expressing his new found desire and lustful fetish for the strange smells in my shoes.

He even makes me sing to him every day while I dump kibbles in his food dish. I need to chant and harmonize “It’s dinner for da cats” over and over and over before he wills himself to eat. Some days, he even refuses to eat unless I hand feed him kibbles.

Either he secretly has a crush on me and wants to wear my makeup, under things, and slippers to be like me, or, he has hit a defining moment in his life where he just really needs to honest with himself and admit he likes drag. That’s cool with me. He can love make up, feathers and strappy shoes, but I just need to understand these things so he stops stealing all of mine and I can buy him his own stuff to slurp, bite and droll on.

I’m sick and tired of all my makeup smelling like cat breath, discovering red feathers all over the house (and intermingled with cat poop), finding my cat cuddled with my laundry, and trying to entertain his persistant meowing and insistence to join me every time I sit on the toilet to pee.

Really, he just needs to be frank and discuss with me how he feels about his sexual identity because when I started finding red feathers in his poop, the cuteness of it all sorta lost its charm.

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Apple Juice
by Karla ° Monday, August 8, 2005
I’ve hated apple juice my entire life. I hate the smell of it, the colour (it looks like pee), and I especially hate the taste.

When I was in the hospital after giving birth to Ava, all I was allowed to eat or drink for four days straight was apple juice and morphine. Once I asked for the intravenous morphine to be removed (I know I know …what WAS I thinking…) all that was left was apple juice, apple juice, and more apple juice.

I don’t know what happened along the way, but somehow, apple juice became etched in my memory bank and associated with those four days in the hospital and I just can’t stop drinking the vile liquid.

It was there with me through all the tears, drug induced sleep, hours and hours of pacing the halls where babies cried while I wept, and it was the last thing I remember taking a drink of when my husband and I finally asked the nurse to take Ava’s lifeless body from us and let her rest in the silence and peace she deserved.

Maybe I’m clinging to apple juice in hopes of never letting myself forget those memories at the hospital. A strange way of making sure I never forget…

The sad thing is, some of the memories have already started to become a blur, and although I know drinking apple juice doesn’t help keep those memories alive, I can’t seem to stop drinking it despite how much I detest it.

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En route back to the .ca
by Karla ° Friday, August 5, 2005
After four long days away from home, Mark is finally on a flight back home to the .ca.

I’m a needy person and I miss so much about him when is gone.

I miss not having him next to me when I sleep.

I miss when he sleepily awakes in the middle of the night and curls up behind me in a loving embrace until he falls asleep again.

I miss when he sneaks up behind me and kisses my neck.

I miss listening to him breathe at night.

I miss hearing him tell me about his day.

I miss the spark of life his presence feeds me with.

And most of all, I miss hearing him speak the words, “I love you” before falling asleep every night.

Even the cats are at odds without him around. They’ve just been lying around all week (oh wait, that’s all they ever do…nix that. They don’t care).

That being said, it’s time I go and get myself ready before he gets home. I’ll even make the effort, when shaving my legs, to get those oh so hard to reach hairy patches around my ankles (the ladies in the house will understand this one).

The paint that’s been in my hair for the better part of this week will have to stay put for now. If I blink the wrong way at my hair it either falls out or turns gray, so I don’t want to be messing with picking paint out of it.

I’ll dust off the old makeup bag and dig out my clinique mascara which extends my eyelashes to scandalously daring lengths that hubby loves so much, and while I’m at it, I think I’ll paint my toenails hot pink.

I’ll make sure not to wear any lip gloss, because hubby hates it when he gets it on his lips, especially if it’s tinted, then he looks all girly and that’s a no no.

It’s like Christmas for me today. My present will be home later this evening and he’s all mine to unwrap enjoy.

Needless to say, there will be no posting this weekend while I enjoy my early Christmas.

Sending my best wishes that you find some Christmas cheer this weekend as well.

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by Karla °
I posted a blog a few days ago and removed it. I don’t know why I felt compelled to do so, but part of me felt silly for lashing out and whining.

I feel like I’m supposed to just “get over it” and spewing and venting is “getting old”. I feel like I need to put my happy clam suit on because I’ve overstayed my welcome to grieve.

The truth of the matter is, I’ve been struggling to keep my head above water lately. I’m in a slump. I’ve hit bottom again. I was rising above everything for a while, and then I crashed. I don’t know what happened exactly. I’ve been really upset that my hair is falling out in chunks, I’m starting to get really bored being at home alone all day and I just feel downright miserable.

I don’t know what the right answer is to when you ever get over losing a baby, but I realized that the way I feel is the way and I feel, and suppressing or denying myself from venting and communicating is not the right path to follow.

The post I removed detailed something that happened that was extremely difficult for me to do. I had to take a pregnancy test. If you know my history, pregnancy and bearing children is all I live for. It took too long for Ava’s miracle to grace my life, and although she is not with me, I still want children so badly.

Here is the deleted post.

Getting pregnant right now would be about as smart as playing russian rullet with a loaded gun pointed at my forehead.

Am I emotionally ready to go through another pregnancy…probably not, but grieving Ava’s death and dealing with my own insecurities and fear about losing another baby is an emotional journey I know I will have to take whether I am pregnant tomorrow or five years from now.

Am I physically ready to support another pregnancy…NO!

My body has not had time to heal from being sliced open to retrieve my baby from my womb three months ago.

Dealing with actually losing a baby because I didn’t give my uterus proper healing time would send me right over the edge. If something happened as a result of my own stupidity and another life was lost because of it, I might as well pack my bags and go ahead and commit myself to the loony bin because that would be the end of my already short rope of mental stability.

Thursday was a defining day and a day that put the stability of my mental rope to the test.

I had to take a pregnancy test.

I want children so bad I can taste it. I dream of starting a family. I tried so hard to get pregnant and nearly lost my mind in the process (I certainly lost a lot of friends when I became neurotic about trying to conceive), that being pregnant again should be a time to rejoice, and be happy.

Rejoice and be happy perhaps if it’s physically safe to do so. I am not in that place right now. I can’t be pregnant now. I can’t! I would be putting myself and my unborn child in danger.

Taking that pregnancy test was one of the hardest and most mentally challenging things I have ever had to do.

I've taken what feels like hundreds in hopes for a positive result. I want a child so bad. I’ve been aching to mother and nurture a child for well over two years now. I live and breathe starting a family. That is all I think about, yet when I took that pregnancy test, I had to hope for a negative result.

How bittersweet is that?

It sickens and saddens me to no end knowing how bad I want something, but how important it is that my desires and needs aren’t granted right now.

The test was negative.

So too, has been my ability to rationalize and care about much else.

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Ten Minute Mile
by Karla ° Thursday, August 4, 2005
You will find no modesty or humbleness in this post.

Today, I finally achieved a goal I’ve been working my butt off (literally…it’s helped me loose weight) to achieve the entire summer. Today, I finally ran my ten minute mile. I ran three miles in 30 minutes (ok, 31 minutes, but close enough).

I was able to keep a consistent speed of about 6mph the entire time. I must have required 14 litres of water to keep myself hydrated. Even my earphones wouldn't stay in my ears I was sweating so much.

I'm so excited for this 10km run in the fall.

If I could move my legs to do a happy dance I would.


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by Karla ° Tuesday, August 2, 2005
I swear my sole purpose on the earth was to be a constant reminder to the rest of humanity to “don’t do like I do”.

The last time my husband and I painted, we had a little mishap of him stepping off a ladder into a tray of paint. Although annoying, it was funny as hell watching him hop about so as to not to leave his footprints all over the carpet.

This time, we didn’t get off so easy.

I was finishing up our first coat in the main entrance closet. Our front door near the closet was open to help air out the paint fumes. Like clockwork, whenever there is any window or door open to the outside world, the cats rush to sit there and lounge, hoping to catch some sunshine or a cool breeze across their furry bodies.

One of my cats happens to very skittish. The day I met Simon my heart just went out to the little blue eyed wonder. He had endured some horrible abuse, and as a result, had a serious eye deformity and needed to have it operated on and removed. Hubby and I fell in love with the brave little guy and adopted him the spot. We cared and nurtured him back to health after his eye removal surgery, and although he’s a total darling, whatever cruelty he endured earlier on in his cat life left him totally traumatized. He, to this day, remains extremely wary and untrustworthy of his surroundings. (hey…if you had one eye and bumped into walls all the time, you would too!).

Basically, he jumps at everything. If you sneeze, he jumps. If you cough, he jumps, In fact, if you look at him the wrong way, he jumps.

While I was happily painting away, my skittish cat was quietly louging in the porch sunning himself. My husband decided to go mow the lawn. He started up the mower right beside the window where my cat was relaxing. The noise startled him something fierce, and he jumped and ran like a bat out of hell, directly into and through the paint tray laying near the entrace way to the house. His entire back end and paws were covered with a lovely shade of willingtan tan taupe paint as he darted directly up the stairs, depositing little painted paw prints everywhere he stepped.

Here is the little freak show after an attempted clean up. He had issues with me rubbing around his back side to remove the paint. I can’t say I blame him. I would have issues with someone rubbing latex paint off my bum hole too.

So remember, don't do like I did, and keep all loaded paint trays clear of doorways.

Painting Update:

Here is how the paint job is coming around. We still need to apply another coat, but the main wall colour (thankfully) does not look like poo!

The accent diarrhea wall has dried a bit darker of a colour, but it wasn’t exactly the look I was going for.

We plan on replacing the carpet with hardwood floors, adding some nicer baseboards and we have to paint the back wall leading up the stairway, but that will be a much lighter colour to match the living room walls.

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Because when you feel like a big bag of shit...
by Karla ° Monday, August 1, 2005
....why not paint to reflect your mood?

When I get mad, I have been known to err on the side of irrational at times (but only sometimes). After the events that transpired Saturday (and the emotional week we already endured), I needed an outlet to deal.

My outlet: Repainting the Living Room and Dining Room.

My poor husband is very patient with me while I have my little tantrums and rampages of anger. On this particularly wild spell of mine, he committed his long weekend to patching and sanding walls and painting like a wild man in order to get our room finished before he left for the week on a business trip.

While hubby patched up a storm, I taped up a storm. Eight hours of mundane, time consuming taping. Whoever decided that a room should have more than one colour, or even straight clean lines for that matter, obviously was conspiring with the tape companies to drive humanity insane.

You know that old expression that people use when you can’t contain your emotions? Something to the effect of “wearing your emotions on your sleeve”.

Apparently, just wearing my emotions wasn’t good enough. I had to paint my wall to reflect how I felt too. This, ladies and gentleman, is my diarrhea coloured accent wall.

I've learned the hard way, that just because you feel like a big bag of shit, doesn’t mean you have to paint your home to reflect your mood.

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