Hypocritical Slogans

We've all heard, in some form or another, the constant bashing of non-Canadian made products, especially in the latest manufacturing economical disaster in Ontario. The auto sector is arguably the largest part of this, with General Motors and Chrysler standing on an uneasy surface a few months back. This has brought about the abundant "Made in Canada Matters" slogan; which, in my opinion, it definitely does!
In Canada, we are blessed to have wages that are well above the world average, and we have human rights and labour laws, just to name a few.

Being part of the manufacturing sector for nearly five years now (2 in a "box factory" and just over 3 in "The Motors"), I think I have at least a tiny understanding on where things like this slogan stem from. The autoworkers get portrayed as the money-hungry jerks of the universe, but I dare anyone to spend even 4 hours in a factory, not even an automotive one, and tell me those guys don't deserve the money. There are tons of other jobs out there that get more money than autoworkers, do less, and get less flack.

Okay - now that I am pleasantly off topic, let's get back on track.
People have adopted this "Made in Canada Matters" campaign in full force (or so it seems). BUT - do they actually understand it? Some people do, others don't. I have found that some of the autoworkers do not even understand it. What am I getting at here? I get so frustrated when I see a "Made in Canada Matters" bumper magnet on, for example, a Chevrolet Cavalier.

There is a difference between a made in Canada, and made by a "Canadian"/North American company. The Chevy Cavalier was made in the US, but also in Mexico. They were never made in Canada. Another common one that makes me want to scream is the Chevy HHR (the PT Cruiser look-a-like). The HHR is also made in Mexico, but yet people seem to put "Made in Canada Matters" magnets on it. It doesn't make sense! Either people are just plain ignorant, or they think that they can be a hypocrite because noone else will know the difference. Maybe they won't, especially if they are not involved with the auto sector or know something about the origins of products. People just assume that because a company headquarters is stationed in a particular country that all of their products are made there. The Chevrolet Optra is actually made in Asia (YES! And it's still GM!). Some Optra drivers are also guilty of showing a proud "Made in Canada Matters" magnet. Get a grip.

Thank you to the many Chevy Impala, Ford Edge, Ford Flex, Dodge Caravan, and Pontiac Grand Prix (2004-2008) owners who actually use this slogan correctly!

Since the Canadian and American economies are so tightly bound (as is, really, the rest of the world) maybe the slogan should be something like "Made in North America Matters". It would make more sense; when sales in the U.S. dropped drastically, we here at the Oshawa plant were laid off. When the U.S. started up a Cash for Clunkers campaign, we had Saturdays of overtime booked to keep up with demand.
Personally, if a product is made in the U.S. it is still far better than something that has had to come thousands of miles across the sea from workers who make an absurb amount of money to support their families, and who have to endure impossible working conditions.

I am by no means trying to say that everything I have said here is right, but it is something that I feel is escalating and deserved some attention.

For a listing of products (clothing, restaurants, cars, etc.) that are "Made in Canada," the link is here.

Oh...also, MERRY CHRISTMAS!

- Heidi

Saying Goodbye

I never thought that saying goodbye to a family pet could be so heart breaking. My wonderful little dog, Broedie, passed away last night at 15 years old. He was one of the best dogs in the world - the best, if I have anything to say about it - and I consider myself and my family so lucky to have had the privilege of being Broedie's family for the past 15 years.

When we went to pick out a dog at the breeder's, our aim was to find a female dog and name her Hannah. We had one picked out, but it was Broedie who decided that no, we would not be taking Hannah. We wanted him and he was determined to make that known. He took hold of the towel we brought for Hannah with all of our scents on it and attached himself to us. That was it; he was ours.

He was so easy to train, was never yappy, and was always there to make me smile and laugh. When he was a baby, he was so small that going down the stairs was a daunting task for him, so he stood at the top of them and barked until we rescued him from the top. As he got older and going down stairs proved to be too difficult on his little body, he would start with a sneeze that would again escalate into a bark if we weren't moving fast enough to come and assist him.

I loved that little guy more than I thought it was possible to love a dog. I took every opportunity I had to kiss his head and cuddle him up, so much so that he probably got tired of it after a while. Grandma and Grandpa Bella had custody of Broedie during the week, while we got him on the weekends, so that he was never left alone for long periods of time. He was the most loved dog ever. He ruled the roost, so to speak, and we all catered to his needs. He was such a good boy that it just seemed natural. Even my seven year old self's relentless cuddles and fussing didn't deter him. His love was unconditional, as was mine for him.

He had his blanket - his girlfriend, as we dubbed it - that he loved to play with, and he and I spent countless hours playing tug of war and just "fighting" in general with it. Whenever he came home from my grandparents', he was in a fighting mood. I would come up the stairs and his little body would start to shake and his tail would wag as he crouched down in attacking position. I loved to cover him with his blanket and watch him try to get out, lifting up his blanket just a little so that his tiny, sniffling nose would peak out. My favourite thing to do was go up to him really slowly and act like I was going to grab him so that he would bark and jump around like crazy.

If Broedie happened to get really excited and try to take a bite, any connection he made was followed by his immediately slacked jaw and lick to the hand. I loved it. I always made sure to give his back a good scratch whenever I saw him because, aside from his belly, that was his favourite place to be scratched, and he rewarded me with a kiss every time (and then I had to reward him - for what, I don't know - with a treat).

Treats - or t-r-e-a-t's - were his favourite thing. We had to spell it out while he could still hear, because saying it meant that he HAD to get one. He wouldn't leave us alone until he did. Actually, all he had to do was look at me with those big brown eyes and he would get whatever he wanted.

Whenever I felt down or sad, he could always lift my spirits. His contentment - shown through little sighs or tiny licks of his lips - made me content. Even as his health got worse over time, he was always there to make me laugh or smile. He was a trooper right until the very end, still trying to play and act like himself. Not only was he the cutest little puppy in the world, he was also the best. We really lucked out that Broedie wanted us to be his family.

Losing him has been one of the hardest things that I've had to experience, though his passing was very peaceful and he just went to sleep. Grandpa and Momma Bella and I were there with him as the vet administered the drug, and I know that he knew he was really loved. He will live in our hearts forever and I will never forget him or what a fantastic, loveable, wonderful little "brother" he was.

I'll love you forever, Bubby. Sleep tight, sweetheart.

Snow: A Blessing or a Tragedy?

Do you remember that glorious, white, undeniably beautiful, white stuff we call snow? Well, it’s back for another Canadian winter, though a little bit later than I would have liked. Who doesn’t like snow? Well, sure, I know some people who despise it for various reasons (i.e. driving, the frigid cold, having to dress warmly)... but I always brushed it off saying it was a lame reason to dislike the amazing form of precipitation. If you haven’t noticed, for me, snow is the gift from the Gods.

I have now experienced first-hand one group of individuals that DESERVE to dislike the snow: teachers. Personally, I believe that it takes a special type of person to be a teacher (i.e. one who can put up with 20 kids running around, tattling on their “best friend”, and later hiding under desks...but let’s not get into that bit of the profession). The kids themselves take on an entire dynamic that makes the career a neverending maze with new turns. Snow, however, is possibly the teacher’s worst nightmare.

We had our first bit of snow yesterday (Monday, December 7) while the students were learning about subtraction in math. Now, let’s do some critical thinking here: do you think the students actually learned about subtraction? Or did they possibly add up the amount of snowflakes coming down in the student-claimed ‘blizzard’ that was occurring outside? If you guessed the latter, you are correct, minus the adding up of snowflakes. It was more like, “Miss Harrison! Miss Harrison! Did you know that it is snowing? Did you know that there is a BLIZZARD going on outside? At recess I’m going to make a snowman!”

If I could have turned myself into a snowman, maybe, just MAYBE those students would have heard one single word that I said instead of staring out the window. I am going out on a pretty sturdy limb here, and am going to say that snow is the direct cause for students turning into complete unfocused, wall-climbing...students. It is like sugar that kids just have to see in order to feel the immediate effect.

This morning I was informed 15 minutes before the morning bell rang that my teacher was sick and was not coming in. Instead, a supply teacher would be in, but since I have been here for 2 weeks I was asked if I could teach the entire day. I had to teach the entire class today for the wholeeee day; not just the math and media lesson I had to have planned for the afternoon.

Snow covered the ground this morning. The kids were bonkers – you would have thought that Santa himself made himself visible on the school roof that very morning for all to see.

We’re supposed to get a huge snow storm tonight. There is rumour that my teacher will be away tomorrow, too. I may call in dead. FML

A very stressed Heidi

‘Tis the CHRISTMAS Season

Given that my place of work is getting into the Christmas spirit with decorating and carol singing, I wanted to look into the issue that people of different faiths have with Christmas being the prominent holiday among all of the others around this time of year.

One of my colleagues is in the work choir and, despite being able to sing Christmas carols, they have to leave out the line “war is over” in John Lennon’s popular Christmas tune “Happy Xmas (War is Over)”. Really? I am well aware that there are still wars being fought around the world and in no way do I think that we should be oblivious to that fact, but this song was written many years ago to protest the Vietnam War. It’s a Christmas song, people, and it’s from a different time. Be happy that that particular war IS over.

I definitely think that everyone should be proud of who they are and where they come from. I certainly am. I’m very proud that Canada is seen as a safe haven, and I am happy that we give those who are running from volatile lives some freedom.

The problem, though, is that so many immigrants expect to live the same way in Canada as they did in their home country, and Canada bends over backwards trying to let them. This isn’t India, Pakistan, China, or Afghanistan, to name a few. We celebrate different things here and we have a different language and different laws. If they want to come here, then accept Canadian culture (or what is left of it) and adapt. In a predominantly Muslim country, for example, I would conform to the custom of covering my head and face in public (I wouldn’t even have to wear makeup!) and I certainly wouldn’t object to not having Christmas celebrated because I know that Christmas isn’t their major holiday.

Canada is a primarily Christian country – a majority of people claim to be Christians and, therefore, celebrate CHRISTmas. Others are free to believe in and celebrate whatever they want – that’s what makes living in Canada so wonderful. But it’s a different story when people make a huge fuss about Christmas being publicized and act they’ve been insulted to the nth degree. I would like to tell those people to go back home where their religion is the major faith if they want to celebrate their holiday.

It’s ridiculous how Canadians are so accommodating to the minority when they complain that Christmas celebrations are discriminatory or whatever their problem is. This is CANADA. We celebrate Christmas – we have for years and we will continue to do so for many years to come.

Listen. People don’t have to agree with our customs, our beliefs, and our celebrations. All I ask is that they are respected, and that people respect that things are different here. Well, and I also ask that please, for all that is Holy in this world, learn our bloody language.

Love,

Bella

Organ Donation Should Be Assumed Unless Otherwise Stated

I’ve been reading a couple of blogs lately that detail the struggles and triumphs of those affected with Cystic Fibrosis (CF).

A few weeks ago, I came across an article in the Toronto Star that detailed a blog written by CF fighter Natalia Ritchie (pictured with her daughter, Scarlett). She not only writes about her disease and its effects on a personal level, but also about her new baby (born with a surrogate), so that her daughter would be able read about her mom if Natalia didn’t receive her new lungs, by way of a double lung transplant, in time. (During my reading, I’ve decided that, at some point in my life, I want to be a surrogate. I also wanted to give Natalia my lungs, but I didn’t really think that through…)

After reading only a couple of her posts, I was hooked on Natalia’s story of her trials and tribulations, her zest for life, and her unconditional love for her family. She has become a true inspiration to me because she lives her life so fully and is determined to fight this disease to the very end. It would be so easy for her to become depressed and give in to the pain, but she stays strong for her family, her daughter, and her husband.

Recently, Natalia had taken a turn for the worse and was admitted to ICU at Toronto General Hospital and, through her blog, her family and friends were updating Natalia’s “web supporters” about the different options that were available to keep Natalia alive.

Of course, the best possible option would be a double lung transplant. (One of the most inspiring things about Natalia is that, while she prayed that she would get healthy, she never once prayed for lungs, knowing full well that someone’s life would have to end in order for hers to continue. That is amazing – I would think that it’d be so easy to purely focus on the chance of new lungs and detach from the idea that a donor would have to die in order for her to receive those lungs).

On Saturday, I logged onto her blog (then being written by a family friend) to see that she had received the call that lungs were available. I didn’t think I could be so relieved for someone that I had never met. Since then, I’ve been logging on her site as much as possible for updates, and so far she is doing well. To think that she will actually get to be a mother to her daughter and have many more years with her husband as a result of organ donation is truly incredible.

I’ve always opted for organ donation, as have most members of my immediate family. The thing is, organ donation has never been front and centre with me because it has never affected me personally. This is not to say that Natalia’s story is in any way personal to me as I have never met her, but I’ve become invested in her journey and her health – her character and her journey has touched me so much that I now am determined to spread the word about organ donation.

I focus here on CF because of Natalia and Ronnie Sharpe - whose story and blog are truly inspiring for those with CF, and also for those without - but there are so many other diseases that people must endure and that can be cured or, if not, then lessened, by organ donation.

Both Natalia and Ronnie feel blessed by their disease because it has given them the opportunity to love life and change the lives of others through their optimism. I want to join in that attempt to change the lives of others by advocating organ donation. Let me ask you this: what are you going to do with your perfectly good organs if, God forbid, you die? You can’t use them anymore, so why not donate them to someone who can? Saving one life through the death of another is one of the most powerful gifts that can be given by a human being, and modern day science can make it happen if people take the time to sign their donor cards and/or express their wishes to loved ones.

While organ donation is a personal choice right now – it is not considered an option if people do not sign their donor cards or tell their families of their wishes to donate – it should be the assumed choice unless a person states otherwise. If a person is strongly opposed to organ donation, you can bet that they will make that known. Otherwise, with one person’s death, eight lives could be saved – this is reason enough for organ donation to be much more common than it is. I encourage everyone to visit these blogs and really get a sense of what organ donation can do for those with incurable diseases, to get to “know” Natalia and Ronnie, and to appreciate their journeys as they fight for their lives.

Love,

Bella

If you wish to be an organ donator, please visit this site to make it official.

Momma and Daddy Bella

Too much of what I write about is about me. Sure, I write about my life, so these posts are bound to be about me to an extent, but all this Bella talk gets annoying, am I right? I don’t use nearly enough of this space to write about the important people in my life and the influence they’ve had on me. As such, I want to give a “shout out” to two of the best parents to thank them for being there for me during everything I’ve gone through, constantly supportive and always loving.

As is usually the case with my writing, I started off talking about my latest weight loss adventure and ended up delving into my emotional issues that I not so fondly experienced for almost my entire University career (and maybe a bit before). I don’t know why my posts always turn so self-evaluating – really, I want to be funny, but I guess that’s the writer side of me coming out. It’s therapeutic and cathartic. I have an essay on the therapeutic tendencies of writing if anyone would like to read it! (No?...)

The purpose of this post is to express my gratefulness towards my parents, but also to reach out to anyone who may have gone through what I did. In no way is this intended to be a pity party – yeah, it was hard, but I got through it, and I’m a lot stronger now than I was then. Don't get me wrong - I had and DO have a great life. My experiences in life didn't have anything to do with my depression and, despite the general consensus that it’s easy to “snap out of” or that people just say they’re depressed for attention, believe me, if I really wanted attention, I would get it another way. Depression is nothing to be ashamed of and not something that is in anyone’s control. For the most part, it's a result of a chemical imbalance in your body that can be stabilized with medication (and I LOVE my drugs). I want this post to not only be about my parents, but to also reach out to anyone who’s experienced the really low points that come with depression and to let them know that when all else fails, go to anyone who you know will listen and will try to understand as best they can, whoever that may be.

My parents were front and centre for my few years of debilitating depression. Now, I don’t mean that I was physically unable to get on with my life, and I won’t get into details about how exactly it’s debilitating (trust me, you guys do not want to become that familiar with my mind), but suffice it to say that I feel like I lost a few years of my life to that God forsaken “chemical imbalance”.

Just a wee bit of a digression (it does have a link to my topic in general, I promise): I’ve finally come to terms with why I’m fat. Ready for it? It’s going to be a shocker … I eat too much. Wow, right?! Did not see that coming. Who would have thought that eating too much contributes to weight gain! What a novel idea. Something tells me that second and third helpings are what are preventing me from prancing around in a bikini every day of my life. Yeah, I’d do it.

Anyway, as a result of this revelation and my incessant need to become hot at some point in my life – preferably, like, tomorrow – I’ve recently started doing Herbal Magic, and so far so good. What really motivates me is how on board my parents were when I told them what I was doing. They think it’s great. My mom makes me special fruit salads for lunch so that I am getting the proper amount of fruit servings that I’m supposed to, and my dad sets aside extras of dinner for me to prepare the way I want it to be so that I’m following my meal plan correctly. They’ve been amazingly supportive and helpful, and I firmly believe that their support and encouragement will not only get me to goal, but will also play a huge part in my maintenance success.

I don’t think we give our parents enough credit for what they do and the love that they provide when their kids (ok, me) are hellions to live with. My parents always let me know that they would do whatever they could to help me get better. My mom, especially, was always there to talk and cry to and boy, did I ever do that. I can’t imagine how difficult it was to live with me when I was so irritable, cranky, cried all the time, and wouldn’t leave my room. I mean, hell, I didn’t even want to be around me, so I can’t imagine that anyone else would have wanted to be. I would snap at both of them for no reason, yet they were always there with open arms to give me a hug when I hit those points of indescribable melancholy (thank you for that word, Thesaurus). It was the thought of them that kept me going when I didn’t want to exist anymore, because I knew that, no matter what, they loved me for me, issues and all.

My parents have been constants in my life, always delivering unconditional love and support and forever reassuring me that I can do whatever I put my mind to. They’ve always tried to boost my confidence and tackle the negative self image that I continually project in my every day life (which isn’t easy, because I am very pessimistic – although incredibly hilarious, if I do say so myself). I will be forever grateful to them for everything they’ve done and continue to do for me. I don’t want to say that my parents are better than all the other parents out there but, well, they are. I guess they’re just really good at it.

Love,

Bella

Overcoming Obstacles

This blog, which I thought was going to be a place to detail my weight loss triumphs and failures with great wit and astoundingly intellectual insights, has become more of a place for me to write through the emotions that bounce around in my head as I sit at work and come up with new ways to get a boyfriend.

(Maybe I should rename my part of this blog "The Emotional Vomit of a Fat (Albeit Gorgeous) Girl"...)

It's no secret that I want to lose weight, with my ultimate goal to look like Megan Fox or Marisa Miller from Victoria's Secret, but there are many other factors that surround weight loss rather than just the physical. What many people don't seem to understand is that there are a lot of emotional factors that hinder one's ability to finally drop the weight and be the best person that they can be. Sure, the main part of weight loss is consuming less than you burn, but food takes on an entirely different meaning to those people who are unaware of how to work through their emotions, and instead they turn to food and eat their feelings.

My weight has been on my conscience since I was 14 and a freshman in high school. I remember lying about weighing 125 lbs, instead claiming to weigh a mere 115 lbs. Oh, to be there now! But I've been struggling with my appearance ever since. I'm a self confessed emotional eater, and I know exactly when it started. I was 15, and I was working in a grocery store with people that I didn't like, doing a job that I didn't want to do. Every night after work, I would come home and eat probably 500 calories worth of junk. It was my comfort during a time when I didn't know how else to deal. And it never stopped.

Now, at 22, binge eating has become so much a part of my life that I immediately turn to food when I feel the need for comfort. The high fat, high sugar snacks feel like a big hug (pathetic, eh?). When I'm eating alone, I don't have to delve deep into my subconscious to determine why I feel the way I do, because the act of eating distracts me. It's hard to admit the addiction that I have to food and the way it makes me feel, but I think that a lot of other people deal with the same issues and, speaking from experience, it helps to know that others understand.

Usually, understanding the cause of weight gain - binge eating - is the first step to overcoming it, much like an addiction. I've done enough research to know that binge eating is as much an eating disorder as anorexia and bulimia, but much less known. Perhaps this is because over eating and obesity is a source of shame and embarassment for many people, myself included. General consensus is that binge eating can be stopped, whereas anorexia or bulimia are diseases. Binge eating is just a result of someone who cannot practice self-control - or so people may think.

When one becomes so used to dealing with their emotions in a certain way - or not dealing, as is the case in my own circumstance - it is difficult to change one's thinking and habits. I know what my problem is, but after having gone through 2 months of therapy, I also know that people can push themselves down so low that they develop a sort of "persecutor" who continually "tells" them that they aren't good enough. When one hears that in one's own mind, no one else can tell that person otherwise. It's difficult to fight a battle that is against yourself. (I know a lot of people probably think that this way of thinking is a load of shit, and that's fine - I'm merely presenting my own thoughts on the issue).

The thing is, when you're told you're not good enough either by your persecutor or by someone in your life (such as bullies - thanks for that), that belief is internalized so completely that it's incredibly difficult to change one's frame of mind. This is where the problem lies with people that claim to have emotional barriers that prevent them from losing weight. I can't speak for everyone, obviously, so I can only detail my own experience with these emotional barriers. For one, I've been binge eating for the better part of my teen years and early 20s. It's part of my lifestyle and, as much as I hate it, it's comforting. Changing that habit and pushing myself outside of my comfort zone is terrifying, because I know that I will eventually have to face whatever it is that I am trying to stop myself from facing (and I honestly don't know what that is).

I'm comfortable where I am and, despite my strong desire to be thin and garner attention from the opposite sex, it's also terrifying. Right now, with a few extra pounds, I'm safe from ogling men that see women as their ticket to sex. Right now, when a guy doesn't like me, I have a reason, as opposed to him just not liking who I am. Right now, I'm safe and hidden and have an excuse as to why I'm not taking risks - "I'll do it when I'm thin".

That's why it's hard to lose weight for emotional reasons, because extra pounds are usually a result of some underlying insecurity or sadness that food fuels and covers. It takes a lot more than willpower and physical determination to lose weight. It takes soul searching, confidence building, and bravery to look deep within yourself and not only find out who you are, but learn to love that person.

This post turned out to be deeper and more revealing about myself than I initially intended, but that's the point to writing a blog. It's therapeutic and, hopefully, it'll reach people who deal with the same things. Maybe, just maybe, it will encourage them to delve deeper in their emotional state of mind to finally see the wonderful people that they are.

Love,

Bella

In Shameless Promotion of A Writer Almost Up to Par With Me...

As a result of my life taking on a certain quietness at the present time, I've had a difficult time creating topics that are interesting enough that I won't fall asleep while typing about them, and you won't fall asleep while reading about them.

Unlike my "gifted" (a term I use loosely) older brother, who has been blessed with the ability of writing semi-interesting posts filled with mediocre humour and polluted with uncomfortable sexual nuances and references, I am not as intuitive to take something out of nothing in order to entertain the masses (of our hometown). Thus, I've taken this opportunity to promote Brother Bella's (whom I will reference as Tewks from here on out) new blog. I have to give him credit where it's due - his posts that aren't about sports (I tend to bypass those ones as I couldn't care less what A-Rod and whoever else is of any importance in the sporting world is doing) are entertaining, enlightening, and surprisingly deprecating for someone who thinks so highly of himself. I especially enjoyed his post where he answered questions asked of him by readers of the blog, mostly because my two questions were the most entertaining of the bunch.

Tewks has branched off from his weekly blog posts with his buddy Gretzpo, leaving me to wonder if they've had some sort of lovers' spat and are no longer interested in sharing blog space to detail their failed attempts at having any sort of meaningful (or otherwise) relationship with women. A new blog site has been born from Tewks' misconstrued notion that his legions of followers contain those outside of our immediate family, which you can find at Talkin' with Tewks.

I know what you might be thinking: "Bella, aren't you jealous of your brother and his attention grabbing ways that cause people to tell you how amazing he is?" Tired, maybe, but never jealous. On the contrary, I'm extremely proud of my brother's successes and I hope that he makes it in the entertainment business so that he can live out his dream of being a famous actor (or at least his dream of appearing on the cover of "Star" magazine as the latest womanizer on "The Hills"). Maybe I'm feeling particularly loving towards my big brother, but I prefer to think that I am choosing to dedicate my blog post to his endeavours because, as a writer, I am able to recognize talent when I see it (even if it isn't comparable to mine).

So, there you have it. I encourage you all to read his new blog and be entertained by his warped sense of humour that I, myself, am still shocked by to this day.

To Tewks, I have one thing to say: "Oh, I remember her. Was she a great big fat person?"

Love,

Bella

Some people, including myself, never learn...

Leafs fans. We're pretty awesome, right? Well, we can also be just plain stupid, or stupidly loyal. I'm going to say it's a little bit of both, depending on the game.
I actually have a bone to pick with this team (Thanksgiving, turkey - get it? ha...ha...ha...GONG!) How can one team, who looked SO incredibly promising in the preseason (winning 6 of 9 games), be going into the start of the ACTUAL season which actually COUNTS with a record of 0-4. Some of the games haven't even been close - the game against Washingston was 6-4, and Pittsburgh was 5-2. Dammit Leafs...just dammit!!

This year we have some body on our team. Just look at Colton Orr! The guy is amazing! He wears my idol, Tie Domi's, former number 28. He makes me pretty proud, and I'm sure Domi is loving it, too. It's the first time since Domi retired from the Leafs and NHL in 2006 that the Leafs have had a real enforcer. Only two minutes into the game against Pittsburgh Orr took on Eric Gondard. Not even five minutes after, he's thrown in the box again for roughing. That was only in Saturday night's game. That record has been continuous all season so far. Love it! At least there is some excitement to watching the game that doesn't involve either a) balling my eyes out, or b) dying a little bit inside with every passing second.

It's probably a good thing that my body has had since April 11, 2009 to rebuild my blue blood count. It looks like it's going to be drained realllllllllll early this year. I feel like deleting my previous post about how awesome this season is going to be. If anything, I jynxed them myself. It's only natural that a good looking team will fall apart when it counts (and we're not even fighting for a playoff spot, yet!), and a brutal, bleak outlook team would blow you away.

Please, please, PLEASE win against the Rangers tomorrow night! All I am asking for is one win this season, hopefully sooner than later!

A very teary-eyed, broken-hearted Heidi

There's No "I" In Team

I may or may not have forgotten my plan to document my diet and exercise goals through this blog, as I haven’t done so in quite a while. Nothing of any great consequence has occurred in the past couple of weeks, except my venture into the world of team sports.

I decided to join a recreational volleyball team to add another form of exercise to my repertoire, meet some people (read: new guys), and improve my athleticism. Unfortunately, I can’t say that any one of these goals was met in any respect.

After arriving at the centre where volleyball was to take place an hour and a half early, I should have realized that the not so great start was an omen of the events to come. I walked into the gym filled with people wearing knee pads and bumping and volleying the ball back and forth to each other. I don’t even own knee pads, and I was wearing yoga pants and a shirt that displayed the name of my University on the front. I think I was the epitome of preppy girly girl (though I guess that isn’t too far off what I am).

Everyone seemed to know each other, and as they all gave each other high fives, I frantically sent Brother Bella a text asking him what the hell spiking was. I think he was scared for my life, and I can’t say that I was too far off that same fear.

Then the part I dreaded came to a head – the game began. I took my place in the middle back of the court and cracked jokes the entire time on the court while watching the ball fly over the net but never actually going for it. I’m pretty sure my team hated me. I’m pretty sure the other team hated me, and I was working to their advantage. Hell, I may have even hated myself a little bit in that moment.

Ha, who am I kidding, I thought I was hilarious.

In high school, which was also the last time I played volleyball, I was relatively good at serving the ball. I thought that talent (a word I use very loosely) would have carried with me through the years, so I was fairly confident as I took my stance behind the red line. I got all set up, put on my I-am-the-best-server-in-the-world face, tossed the ball a couple times for good measure (and to look like I knew what I was doing), and promptly hit the ball straight into the net.

My teammates were actually very supportive, but by the end of the game I told them that they didn’t have to tell me “good try” after every failed attempt at serving – it just sounded pitiful by that time.

I’m fairly certain that I danced around the court when they told me to rotate, completely involuntarily. I don’t even know why I did it.

Since our two games ended quickly as a result of my team’s loss – okay, my loss – we were allowed the opportunity to play “for fun”. Yay? I could think of many other things that I would have rather done than play more volleyball. My arms hurt and I was getting dizzy from spinning in circles as I kept an eye on the ball. (I’m starting to think I looked like a major retard on the court, which is probably not too far from the truth). My volleyball skills definitely wouldn’t have helped me pick up guys, and from my realization that I looked like an idiot, I think I may have more things to worry about than I thought when it comes to attracting the opposite sex.

All in all, volleyball isn’t for me, so I withdrew from the league. Actually, team sports aren’t for me. I take the saying "There's no 'I' in team" to a whole other level. I’m a yoga/pilates/pole dancing kind of girl, and I’m okay with that. I'm pretty sure my teammates are, too.

Love,

Bella

In Support of the Canadian Troops

I’m deviating from my normal, witty discourse that usually graces this blogspot to talk about an issue that is not only more serious, but important to me. The Canadian Troops in Afghanistan get a lot of flak for their involvement in the Afghan mission for peace, and the government’s consideration to remove the troops from the Middle East in 2011 has been met with a great amount of controversy. I’m going to avoid a lot of the political issues that surround the Canadian Army and their Afghanistan presence because, truthfully, I don’t know enough about it to really debate whether their involvement is right or wrong. I’m merely speaking from a personal level, taking into consideration that one of my friends is currently “over there”.

I couldn’t be more proud to say that my friend is part of the Canadian Army and is serving over in Afghanistan, but I’m also terrified that one of the times he goes will be the last time I ever see him. It’s a morbid thought, but it’s valid. I feel sick whenever I see the crowds gathering on the bridges over the Highway of Heroes to catch a glimpse of the cars carrying fallen soldiers, and I pray that, every time I hear about another young soldier’s death, it won’t be Buddy Bella (I’m not sure that he would love that nickname, but since he doesn’t read this blog, he doesn’t really have a say in what I call him). I can’t imagine what the families of those fallen soldiers must feel when they hear about the death of their loved one – I would be devastated, and Buddy Bella and I are certainly not as close as he and his family.

It breaks my heart to know that he sees things that no one should ever have to see, and that he has lost more friends in the war than most people lose in a lifetime. He’s changed since being over there, which is no doubt due to the experiences that he endures, and I hate that he has to live with horrible images forever in his mind.

While I can’t say that I completely agree with the Canadian Army’s involvement in Afghanistan, I am behind it because the soldiers need as much support as they can get for the dangerous work that they’re doing. It’s important that those soldiers don’t die in vain, and that they know that their country’s people are behind them and are proud of them as they go about their mission. I just want all the soldiers, Buddy Bella in particular, to have gone through what they have for a purpose.

Every soldier is a child, sibling, parent, spouse, relative, neighbour, or friend – appreciate that they are fighting for our country and for the peace of another, much more volatile country, and don’t let their involvement be in vain. Even if you don’t agree with the Canadian Army’s involvement in the Afghan mission, please support the Canadian Troops and, if you get the chance, thank them for the sacrifices that they make. Even give them a hug... Actually, on second thought, don't do that. They're trained to kill and any physical contact may make them go a little crazy (so I couldn't deviate completely from humour, it's just how I do).

Love,

Bella

Oh Camp, How I Love Thee...

What do you get when you combine a camp, ridiculously rustic cabins, a ropes course, a session that tried to cram in too much information to process on canoeing, and a session on how to make fire primitive style? The answer would be the 2009 COEO conference (Council of Outdoor Educators of Ontario).

Now, where do I start? How about the part that perhaps sucked the most: the incredibly freezing weather which we experienced Friday night, into the wee hours of the morning. How cold? Freaking COLD. Granted, my sleeping bag is not rated to cold weather, but I thought that my extra blanket that I brought, my super warm (usually) track pants, and two sweaters would keep me toasty. Wrong. Oh SO wrong. I was up at least every hour because I was shivering. Did you know that you can't sleep when you're cold? Or at least it's really difficult. I'm sure other members of the cabin were cold, too. The cabin had screen netting, but no glass for the windows. It also had rather large holes in it, just welcoming the wind to come in any time it pleased. What the heck happened to the weather we had just two weeks ago? Hot, humid, sunny...nights when you couldn't sleep with blankets because it was much too hot? It's still September, Mother Nature! It's not October, yet! We should have built a fire with the wood that our cabin was made of (actually, if we had of had the primitive fire session yesterday instead of today, we just might have). Apparently the cabin beside us had a heater. I should have acted on my thoughts that I had last night to do a one-man ambush on that cabin. I could have fought off those lucky campers with my hands made of ice!

In the early minutes before breakfast I was finally able to coax myself out of my slightly-warmer-than-the-air sleeping bag. That's when the day started. the first session was a rope course. I've heard of them from my roomies and from people at other camps, but never have I actually done any of them myself. It was interesting, good team work is required for some of the things, though. I went rock climbing for the first time, which was pretty amazing, and scary at the same time. There was another element called the "Vertical Playground" where you had a climb a canoe hanging from a tree with ropes and ladders etc. Can you imagine being asked what you did on the weekend, and getting to say that you climbed a canoe? I didn't get around to doing it, as we were running pretty short on time.

Past that, let's go to the canoeing portion of the day. Aka the time that I felt like I was going to crawl into a hole and not come out. This session said that it was for all levels, including beginners, so I thought, "Hey, cool, why not? I went canoeing two weeks ago, I'm pretty much pro, right?" Again, wrong. The instructor wanted to see what type of levels he was dealing with, so asked a question about who could do something called a J-stroke, and they were asked to go to one side of the room. That was Chinese to me at the time, so I assumed that I couldn't do it. At this point in my life I curse my parents for not showing me or signing me up for canoeing earlier. I was one of 2 people who were left on the apparently VERY beginner to canoeing. Everyone laughed as we huddled together with fear in our eyes. I was told afterward that my dear, dear friend felt bad that he had left us alone and should have stayed with the beginners (even though he is CLEARLY wayyyy past that stage...). I can take the heat, though! (Not really, but we'll pretend!) I thought that we were going to be in the clear, since they were talking about some pretty intense strokes and only volunteers were being used. Naturally, I tried to act super small so as not to be seen by the instructors' eyes. Just as we were about to go outside to attempt solo canoeing, the other beginner and I were called upon to "practice" the strokes in front of all of the superior canoers. F.M.L.

Now, while we were in the room being embarrassed by pushing around "roller canoes", the wind picked up pretty heavily. The instructor then said that there is a combination that he doesn't like for canoeing: Solo, Beginners, and Wind. DING DING DING! We have a winner. In my case, we had all three. So, solo was out for me. I've only ever been canoeing once before, and now they want to get me going solo? PUH-LEASE! The water was a little cold for me to want to go swimming (which is what I'm sure would have happened once the canoe had to be tipped to do solo paddling). Anyways, that was a horror for me, and was possibly the longest three hours of my life; waiting, just waiting to make a fool of myself.

Now, after I arrived back on shore with dry clothes my heart rate started to go back to normal compared to the previous hours' experience. On our way to our next session we saw a group of people throwing spades and knives at a dead tree stump. Way to go, educators! Anyways, after being amazed by a new take on anger management we went on to the last session of the day that had to do with fire. The session was in a very old, very wooden building. So, it's only natural that our presenter gave us materials to try and start the process of making a fire in the wilderness on the wooden floor. No matches, no gasoline, just a few pieces of wood, a knife, and string. Very normal, right? If you agreed with that you may want to seek out psychiatric help, just a suggestion. I'm pretty sure the camp councellors were waiting to see flames engulf the building at any moment. We got the main jist of it! We didn't light the place on fire, though, we felt it would be irresponsible. But apparently our ancestors knew what they were doing at one point in time! Those cabins are lucky we're not there tonight...

Anyways, we came home after a long day. Bring on the warm, windless house with nice, sturdy glass windows!!
Currently snug-as-a-bug-in-a-rug,
Heidi

Let's Re-evaluate...

I don’t have anything to do at work this week besides think about my weight loss goals while constantly trying to fight off cravings. I actually think my job may be hazardous to my health, as I eat in order to stay awake and to avoid boredom as much as I can. Seriously, today, I ate my lunch BEFORE lunch, and AT lunch I ate my snack because I had nothing else to eat. I am getting so sick of having to think of things to make for lunch that I bring hardly anything – not smart, Bella, not smart.

Anyway, one of the main thoughts of the past week has been this whole “quitting chocolate” thing. Thing is, if I tell myself I can’t have something, it makes me want it more. I have a major issue with “no one can tell ME what to do”. Apparently that includes what I tell myself, as well. So, after much deliberation, I have decided that I will seriously limit my chocolate intake, but I will still allow myself to have it.

I bought a bag of Lindt chocolate squares and a box of those 100 calorie Cadbury Dairy Thins, which I have stored in my freezer, in the back, only to be enjoyed in moderation. I have a Dairy Thin after lunch and a Lindt chocolate square after dinner. This is my first night doing this. I’ll let you know how it goes – that is, if I don’t end up in a sugar-induced coma as a result of bingeing on my beloved chocolate that I haven’t had in…one day. Please don’t judge me.

I got my foot tattoo touched up this past Tuesday, so I can’t workout for about a week. Apparently it’s not good for the tattoo to rub against anything as much as it does when I workout – found that out after half of it rubbed off about a week after getting it done. Contrary to what some of you may believe, not going to the gym is maddening!

Anyway, that’s where I am right now on my journey to being lovely and thin on my first trip of 2010 – the Vancouver 2010 Olympic Games.

Send skinny vibes!!

Love,

Bella

This Is It...Who's With Me?

I’ve decided to use this blog to document my diet and fitness adventures as I attempt to lose inches, tone up, and eventually look like Marisa Miller. Hey, a girl can dream, right?

I recently came across a fitness blog written by Toronto Star columnist David Bruser, who is fantastically sarcastic and hilariously true in his accounts of entering the world of fitness. He’s my inspiration to start chronicling my own endeavours, if only to coerce my readers (read: my family) to read his blog. It really is that good. And, okay, I won’t lie, I have a bit of a crush on him. He’s cute, funny, sarcastic, and he can write well – what’s not to like? But I digress…

Two of my work friends and I have decided to make an honest attempt at eating well and exercising in order to lose weight, feel better about ourselves, and maybe show up a few guys that snubbed us in the past. In order to really devote myself to this lifestyle change, I need to have some sort of accountability, and this blog seems to be a good way to get that. Granted, I have my girlfriends to talk to, but writing down my trials, tribulations, and successes is a good motivator and a good way to cure the writing bug that I’ve had since graduating from my English Literature program and starting my job as a Data Analyst. My ideal job would be one where I could write all day about things that interest me (that was a hint to anyone who reads this and has ties to a newspaper or magazine that is looking for a new columnist…just sayin’).

Along with my fitness and diet issues, my posts will also chronicle my efforts to quit chocolate. I know, chocolate? Just stop eating it, right? Not so much. There’s definitely an addictive quality to chocolate and I am a full fledged addict. Hi, I’m Bella, and I’m a chocoholic.

It’s not going to be easy but I’m hoping that, with this blog, I’ll be stronger and more determined to quit chocolate if I’m held accountable by my readers. I don’t hope to be perfect and, as Bruser states, I don’t hope to quit gracefully, I just want to quit.

So, that’s my plan thus far. I know it won’t be easy, but it WILL be worth it. I’ve got two, maybe three, vacations coming up in 2010 – Vancouver, a Caribbean cruise, and a Contiki tour of Scandinavia and Russia. I do NOT want to be the fat one on those vacations, trying to figure out ways to get thin, or wishing I was one of those fit, beautiful girls that always plague my vacations. I want to be one.

God damnit, I will be one.

Here goes nothing.

Love,

Bella

For the Love of Winter...Hello Fall!

It's back to posts that I initially wanted to start writing a blog about! My Leafs have returned! And it appears that they have returned with a vengeance! The glorious preseason of the Toronto Maple Leafs started up last Wednesday (September 16) against a fellow Original Sixer, the Boston Bruins. Congrats to all of those lucky Coke fans who ended up scoring free tickets to the game. I will be forever jealous of your lives.

The Leafs lost to the Bruins 3-2, which may have deflated the hype a wee bit. However, they came back in the next three games (twice against Philadelphia, and once against Pittsburgh) to win 4-0 and 5-4 against the Flyers, and 5-4 against the 2009 Stanley Cup Champions, the Penguins. In the first four games of the 2008-2009 preseason launch, the Leafs lost 3 of the 4. Looks like we may have reason to be somewhat optimistic this year. *knocks on wood* Then again, once you hit rock bottom (or close to it) there's nowhere to go but up.

Possibly most impressive, besides the newly-Leafed players contribution to the scoreboard, is the powerplay goals that have been rounded up. In the game against Pittsburgh, all four of the goals were on the power play. Now, at first you may think, "yeah, well that's the only way they scored the entire game..." which is indeed very true. That's not the point. In the first game against Boston, 1 of the 2 goals scored were on the powerplay, and against Philly in one game 2 of 5 were PPG. For whatever reason they don't have the scoresheet for the second Philly game posted. The search for that will continue and will be added upon being found. For a team that had an average power play percentage (PPG) of 18.83% for the entire 2008-2009 season (16th in the league), this is quite the improvement. I have a feeling that Ron Wilson is pushing for this type of play, and for good reason!

Anyways, to my great dismay, my current landlord does not subscribe to Leafs TV. I have not been able to watch any of the preseason games to actually see how the boys are playing, but I'm hoping the scoresheets are representitive of a team with some kind of improvement since March. Stepdad Heidi subscribed to Leafs TV, just for me, and I'm not even there to appreciate it at this point in time. Looks like my TV watching hours will have to go through the roof in two weeks time when I am back in Oshawa doing placement.

On a sidenote, I would like to formally welcome Autumn back into our lives, which starts tomorrow! May all of the summer humidity (or lack thereof), rain (maybe it's now a summer thing instead?), and ridiculous number of insects and bugs have a great vacation. Welcome colourful leaves, shorter days, warm sweaters, hockey, and cool, crisp mornings. <3

Ciao!
Heidi

Weighing In On That Fancy Gym Membership

You know those gyms – like the one in “Dodgeball” – where you have to work out before you go work out? The ones where everyone wears really cute workout clothes, has all their makeup on, and barely breaks a sweat for fear of looking or smelling anything less than impeccable? (I’m referring to the women, obviously – it’s not THAT kind of gym). I love those gyms. I know – weird, right? But I do. I love the fancy machines and the saunas and the hot tubs and the beautiful people (oooh, those yummy guys) that go there. It’s motivating! Why would I want to work out next to a girl wearing fabulous clothes and looking fantastic while I have a baggy t-shirt on and a beet red face? Granted, I don’t cop out on my workouts – I push myself pretty damn hard and I make sure that I work up a really good sweat, but there’s a social aspect at those gyms that’s so inviting. It’s infectious. I want to be friends with everyone there (though they don’t seem to share the same wish – maybe there’s something to that smelling impeccable thing).

I joined one of those gyms about a month ago, after I bought a day pass to workout with a friend. I was hooked. I bought my membership from an extremely good looking, young (coincidence? um, nope) membership salesman who is now my boyfriend (unbeknownst to him). Having a model-type sell memberships is brilliant – very few things besides that will increase the membership sales, especially by women. Hell, they probably have some hot girl to sell memberships to the guys – it’s just good business sense (so to speak)! Adding to his looks, he was nice, funny, and engaging and, well, it’s no wonder his job is to coerce people into buying a membership. He totally knew how to play it up. He was flirty, sweet, and made me laugh, and I totally fell for it. Wouldn’t you? Flattery will get a guy far with me. I fully admit that his demeanour was a deciding factor in my choice to join, and I’m perfectly fine with that. If I said it didn’t play a part, something would be wrong. I mean, I’m a 22 year old female, come on now.

On my first venture into my new gym, I was greeted by my new boyfriend, and luckily I had kept my makeup on from work that day – like I said, you gotta look good (though it doesn’t look so good when it’s running down my face from the sweat – again with the positives of not sweating)! I was there by myself that day, and I decided to do some cardio. Five minutes later, I was off the treadmill and searching for something else to do – I get bored easily, apparently. I thought squats would be a great workout – I wanted to build some more muscle in my lower body to make my butt look awesome in my new yoga pants bought especially for this gym. I walked over to the squat rack to see it in use by one of the metal heads that doesn’t even squat properly. Amateur.

That’s one thing I don’t like about these gyms – a lot of the people there don’t know how to workout properly. Brother Bella, a Certified CrossFit trainer, has drilled it into my head that a workout must always be done properly, and that if I can’t use a higher weight because it hinders my form, then I’m not ready for it. Something those guys should learn!

The weight area of this gym is rather tiny, and I can’t say that it smelled particularly fantastic. I’m pretty sure that my face gave my disdain for the smell away, and with the snotty look I had on my face (I call it my you-can’t-judge-me-because-I-look-like-I’m-judging-you look) I think people just figured that I’m a huge bitch. Woopsy.

As I stood at the weights, looking around and staring at the guy using the squat rack in the hope that I could make him move with my mind, I decided that I should probably do SOMEthing to avoid looking even more like an idiot than I already did. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do because I didn’t pick out a workout before hand, so I went back to the tried and true workouts of CrossFit, a circuit based training program that is made up of the most intense workouts I’ve ever done. I decided to do a workout that I came up with myself, but that incorporates some of the CrossFit exercises: 21-15-9 of deadlifts at 135 lbs and push press at 55 lbs (I’m thinking about calling it the Bella, so I’ll have a pole move AND a CrossFit workout named after me). So much for wanting to seem feminine and pretty – I’m fairly certain that I could deadlift more than some of the guys there. Attractive, right? I have no doubt that all the guys there were thinking, “oh yeah, look at her, she’s stronger than I am and her arms may be bigger than mine, too – she is SO hot”. That’s right, boys – if you want to be emasculated by a 22 year old, I’m the one you need to see! ;-)

Stay tuned for more posts detailing my adventures at the gym – I’m sure I’ll have plenty that will be based around the situations that my friend and I get ourselves into. For a little preview, she and I reverted back to children and took turns on the water slide at the gym’s pool. As we scrambled out of the pool to go down a second time (woowee! but seriously, it was awesome), a man walked into the pool area to hear her exclaim, “me first, me first!” and I, in turn, shriek back with “ok ok ok!” There wasn’t any way to make ourselves seem cool after that. But really, what fun is being cool? If I was cool, I wouldn’t have nearly as much fun as I do now making an ass of myself on a regular basis, usually in public places. It’s just how I do.

Love,

Bella

So this one day...in teacher's college...

Well, the days and weeks have come that I was dreading all summer: the arrival of yet another school year. Not only was I completely hating life the few weeks before September 1st, but I seriously considered not going at all. How has everything worked itself out? Amazingly.

I figured that I would spend ridiculous hours a day sitting and listening to 100-year-old veteran teachers tell us how to teach our soon-to-be students, the do's and don'ts, and how to pick the curriculum apart thread by thread. Okay, so I'll admit: some classes ARE like that, and are really tedious. Apparently common sense isn't so common as once thought? So, what do our "teachers" do to us in the mystery of teacher's college that has completely made my outlook do a complete 180? Most of them are incredibly down-to-earth, believe it or not! Sure, quirky, but definitely in a fun way. Of my 8 teachers, 5 of them bring in coffee, tea, and hot chocolate to class for students to devour. I think they're being paid by Tim Horton's, Maxwell House, and the like to get us hooked at an early age to secure the businesses future...

The one class that blew my mind is my focus: environmental education. When I first read the course description I thought, "hm, may be cool...it kind of fits in with my undergrad...". I didn't know that the course would turn more into a hobby than a class. This past weekend we went on an overnight field trip to the Queen's University Biological Station (QUBS) where we completed a Project Wild! course by playing numerous games and running around like grade 3's acting like deer, muskox, wolves, etc. Remember: growing old is mandatory, but growing up is optional! Aside from unleashing the inner child, I went canoeing for the FIRST TIME EVER and didn't even tip the boat! I was quite proud, especially now that I can say that I am truly a Canadian. During the evening we went owl calling. Apparently a large bard owl flew overhead. It was only natural that I was looking the other way in the sky. Everyone says it was cool, though. After that, we learned some basic astrology. Heck, we even saw an entire other universe! It kind of looks like a smudge in the sky if you look close enough, where the light that we saw was over 2 million years old. Call me crazy, but that's my kind of course!

What else? Well, we went butterfly catching today. Now, let me paint you a picture.
Imagine 34 kids, each armed with their own sturdy bamboo and silkscreen net.
Imagine a teacher unleashing those kid upon the wilderness of a trail, on private property.
It screams excitement, don't you think?
Now, I'm going to get you to make some changes:
Make those 34 kids be between the ages of 21 and 30.
Also, in that picture, did you actually see butterflies? You might want to erase them, because we didn't see any...apparently it was too cold and windy. Safe travels down to Mexico, Monarchs! May your journey be free of hijackers.
But really, that truly was the only difference between a class of grade three students and us. Some people came back to the meeting place covered in burrs. Actually, maybe the grade 3s actually would have found a butterfly?

What's next on this courses agenda? We will be visiting the Queen's astrology observatory in two weeks, where we will again look at the marvelous burning balls of gas and rock that are further away than you or I can fathom. It has been proposed to go out for dinner beforehand, and to go for some drinks afterhard. Seriously, is it starting to sound more like an outdoors group than a classroom?
Next, we will be making our own canoe paddles from a plank of wood! Again, crazy awesome!

In two weekends from now I will be heading to a weekend-long outdoor/environmental conference with teachers and teacher candidates alike. Apparently Saturday night is a wicked party. Guess it'll be a sweet introduction to weekends away as a teacher...*cough*

Anyways, this B.Ed student should probably get some shut eye, playing with math manipulatives in the morning may be draining!

-a teacher in waiting,
Heidi

"I pole dance on a regular basis." "Really? Can I, like, watch...?"

Telling my male friends that I take pole dancing lessons often results in the question that I have included in the title of this post - something along the lines of wanting to watch the routine that I learn. I won't lie - I love telling guys that I pole dance because I love to see their reaction. There's a sense of intrigue that guys display after learning this bit of information about me, and I like the way that feels.

However, this post isn't about a guy's reaction to pole dancing. Rather, it's about the way that it makes me feel when I do it and the freedom and sense of possibility that I experience whenever I spin around that pole.

Okay, so maybe I'm starting to sound like a woman who just experienced an epiphany about the miracles of feminism or something, but I'm serious! Pole dancing gives everyone who does it, I would say, a totally motivating sense of confidence that makes her think, "hell yeah, I'm hot and any man would be damn lucky to have a shot with me."

When I went to my first class, I was nervous, I'll admit it. But that nervousness went away when I saw the instructor do the first move I would learn - the swing walk. It's a pretty simple move, just holding onto the pole and pivoting around it on one foot, but that one move made me feel like I could flip upside down on that pole (a la the girl in the photo) and it would look effin' awesome. Not that I can't do that now...

Soon, I was doing moves like the Firefly and the Butterfly without any feet on the ground. Those took a bit longer to master and, ya, a few times I looked like a fireman rushing down the pole to answer a call rather than a sexy exotic dancer, but it was FUN. And, better yet, I learned to laugh at myself. What's the sense of being serious about it and getting upset when I have trouble with a move? Hell, if I did, I'd have quit long ago.

I'm on to level 2 now, and the move we've just learned is the Tinkerbell. I've discovered that not only do I not have enough upper body strength to hold myself in a static position on the pole, but I also have the ability to shoot myself off the pole. I think it's a very advanced move, and I'm thinking about calling it The Bella. No one else in the class did it, and I think that if I decide to do the routine for someone, he would think I am extremely talented. Better yet, when I did manage to swing around the pole, my feet would hit the ground and make a nice slap sound that, I believe, is actually very sexy!

Contrary to what most people believe, my class isn't taught by a stripper, but instead by a regular woman who took pole dancing classes and then became a teacher. It's fun, and you learn all sorts of sexy moves, including lap dances. Really, though, the best part about pole dancing is that you feel pretty damn good about yourself. What could be better than that?

Love,

Bella

Believe It or Not...There ARE Advantages to Being Female...

First of all, I should apologize to Bella and the very few (if any) readers besides our parents for my hiatus. Bella has done a good job making up for my lack of writing creativity in the past few extremely busy weeks.

Onto the topic of rockin’ females!

Time and time again, the infamous quote that goes something like “MENstrual cramps, MENtal illness, MENopause…ever notice how all of women’s problems begin with men?” leads us to believe that men are the luckier of the sexes. Not only do they not have to deal with the misfortune that is a menstrual cycle and all of its lovely affiliates (i.e. child birth…), or, when they’re older, deal with menopause. Sure, they may have to put up with the rapid mood swings and hot flashes, but compared to being physically agitated by the symptoms, I think it’s safe to say that they’ve got it pretty good. Men don’t have to worry about what their hair looks like on a bad day – usually it’s so short there’s only so many different ways it can go. Once you get into longer hair, bed-head, blow dryers, straighteners, and ten different types of brushes become part of the daily repertoire. Nor do men have to care about masking the smallest of imperfections on their face, or making their eyes ‘pop’, or their lips ‘pout’…or whatever you want to call it. Arguments between the sexes occur on a regular basis as to who has it worse off. However, I have recently discovered that being of the female sex has wicked awesome advantages, too! Let me explain…

I work at General Motors; a HUGE proportion of the workers are male. When I am in on Mondays and Fridays, I am the only female in my group, which consists of approximately 30 people plus 3 students (myself being one of them, the other 2 being males). Now then, not only do I get more shifts than the other students (strictly due to seigniority and the odd bribe), but when I am on a job I get more attention than one can possibly fathom. I have team leaders that came from across the group just to say “hi” or to chat and see how the weekend went etc.etc. I tend to feel sorry for my partner, as other than on breaks, the full timers don’t go and “visit” their coworkers. On my shift on Monday I had 3 different team leaders come and talk to me, on top of 2 people I didn’t know, and a few other coworkers of mine. Makes me seem pretty popular, huh? Not really. It’s just the estrogen at work, which seems to help with passing the time rather quickly. During these conversations it is pretty obvious that the main underlying agenda is for them to “make a pass” at me. Naturally, who would have thought otherwise? Recently I was told that Guy A was “single for the week, as the wife and kids are at the mother-in-laws *wink wink*”…uhm, thanks…? But no thanks. Another time I brought in Amish Friendship Bread for the group…and I got told that I was lucky that Guy B wasn’t married. Hallelujah. It’s all fun and games though. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. Being female in a primarily male dominated atmosphere does have another advantage, though. When it comes to the actual work itself if I goof up (which rarely happens…I mean, come on, it’s me afterall) either my partner or team leader will be around to fix it before I can even say anything. If it’s a full timer or a male student…they’re pretty much on their own until they ask for help.
Females 1: Males 0.

A more recent example is equally awesome, and can be connected to other experiences in life, too. Today I bought a BlackBerry Tour, the same phone Dadda Heidi had bought less than two weeks ago. While in the store, the male sales associate helped me set up my e-mail account so that it goes to my phone, as well as put all of my SD, SIM, etc. cards in my phone. Then, as I was going to pay, he goes to the back and brings out a skin for the phone, “Pink?....or black?” he asks…I say “Black” of course…nothing pink will ever touch my phone/Internet/texting device/new life. Meanwhile, in my head I’m asking myself, “Oh dear, what is this thing going to add to my already rather large bill?” Moving on, he goes back again and gets a 2GB SD card, “Oh dear, do I really need this?” I think to myself again. I get the amount which I had to pay, which worked out to ~$282. “Hm, Dadda Heidi said he had to pay closer to $300 for his…” I thought to myself…but I wasn’t going to ask questions. When Dadda Heidi originally came home with his Tour it was in a black holster, so I thought that maybe they replaced the holster with the skin and memory card. Off I go with my new BlackBerry to meet back up with Dadda Heidi, happier than a pig in poop.

I see Dadda Heidi, and the first thing he notices is the nice black skin my new phone is encased in. “What did that cost you?” he asks. “Uhm, nothing?” I respond. He asked if I bought the SD card, and replied that indirectly, it had been given to me. After that he got frustrated. He had to buy his own SD card, and did not get a skin for his phone; he paid more for his phone, and received less. SUCKER!!! Later on I found the black holster in the BlackBerry box. Score! The girl that sold my dad his stuff gouged him, whereas the sweet, sweet guy who dealt with me gave me some pretty awesome (free) deals. Looking back, apparently V-necks are a females’ best friend. I should keep that in mind for the future.
Females 2: Men: 0

This can probably be extrapolated to situations with the police and tickets. I have never experienced or tried this out, and I don’t plan on it anytime soon *knocks on wood*. Guys, just hand over your drivers license and registration. Girls get a little more leeway on this…providing it’s not a female cop…then you’re screwed either way.

So ladies, when you get down about the so called crappy life of being female, think of the advantages that pay off (however small in comparison to the disadvantages). It’s not the whole world that’s against us, just a large proportion!

Ciao!
- a very texty Heidi

Self-Inflicting Pain

I'm a big fan of tattoos - I love them on guys (provided that the guy isn't completely covered in them) and I love getting them. Actually, let me rephrase that. I don't enjoy getting them - really, they hurt like hell - but I love having them on my body. So far, I have three. The first two are a shamrock (which Momma Bella and I got together, and is a replica of the charm that my Grandma wears on her necklace), and an English rose and intertwines with a heart (a symbol of my time that I lived in England). I love telling people that I have tattoos because I'm really not the type of person that one would assume to have any.

My latest tattoo, which is only about two weeks old, is the saying by which I try to live my life: "Live. Laugh. Love." One of these days, I'll get around to taking a picture of it. Getting that tattoo was one of the more painful experiences that I've gone through in my life, and it made getting my other two feel like having a feather lightly caressed on my back.

I took Momma Bella with me to get my tattoo so that I would have someone there to help me through the pain and to laugh with at the craziness of voluntarily having something so painful done. She was with me for my other ones, too, so she knew the drill.

Craig, who did my tattoo, was absolutely wonderful. He's very talented, especially since I changed the design that he had made about two minutes before the appointment. After telling him where I wanted the tattoo to go - the side of my left foot - he took one look at the design and said, "Oh, that's gonna fuckin' hurt." I must have looked at him with sheer terror, because he quickly laughed and said, "I'm just kidding!" He then went on to explain that he was super tired and hadn't got much sleep the night before, so I can't say that I was too calm going into the appointment. (Of course, he was just saying that to get me riled up - it worked! - because he did a fantastic job). To add to that, another artist came up to see what I was getting and promptly said, "You're getting that on your foot? Yeah, that's gonna fuckin' hurt." I was almost in tears and Craig hadn't even started doing anything.

Well, the guys were right. The tattoo fucking hurt. Mommy Bella let me squeeze her hand the entire time and kept reminding me to breathe (sort of resembled how I imagine she'll be when I have a baby), which helped immensely, though any joke that she made really didn't have any sort of affect on me. By the end, Mommy Bella couldn't even extend her hand.

Craig was wonderful through the whole session, always asking if I was okay, if I needed a break, and trying to keep me laughing. Everytime he went close to a nerve, my leg would jerk but, in his words, he "must like [me], because [he'd] be yelling at anyone else right now." I told him that I would cry if he yelled at me.

The tattoo looks fabulous, though I'll apparently have to get it touched up quite a bit. Not looking too forward to that! It was totally worth it, though - I love it!

In a shameless bit of promotion, I got my tattoo at Sinful Inflictions in Whitby, which I would highly recommend to anyone wanting to get a tattoo. **Disclaimer - this website scares the hell out of me, but it's got all their information on it!**

Love,

Bella

A City Girl in a Wilderness Setting

I've never prided myself on being a camper - in fact, it's safe to say that being out in nature 24 hours a day with bugs, dirt, and no electricity or running water is not my favourite situation to be in. I camped a good deal when I was younger because my Dad loves it and my Mom went along with it, but as soon as I grew old enough to realize the joys of an easily accessible toilet and showers, the camping excursions ended.

Well, this past weekend I went camping with my friends to experience the more adult side of camping - for me, the drinking and telling inappropriate jokes part. We ventured up to Algonquin Provincial Park where we had a really nice campsite that Heidi's friend secured for us, and proceeded to pitch the tent. I was pretty confident in my ability to set up the tent, as Daddy Bella had taught me the night before, but about 2 minutes into the setup I ended up standing beside the tent while Heidi and our friend set it up. Worked for me!

Perhaps one of the most eventful things to happen this weekend was my experience with fire. Daddy Bella supplied us with a lantern that is gas powered or something like that, so I thought that I would add a little more light to the campsite by turning it on. After many attempts at lighting the lantern, our other friend took over and discovered that I hadn't even turned the lantern on (however you turn on a gas lantern), so if the flame wasn't catching it was because there wasn't any gas to ignite a flame. Oops. This revelation came after I decided to fill the lantern with more gas because I thought it may have been empty, and then I spilled the gas all over the place because it was full. Oops again. Pretty excited to have the lantern ready to go, I put the flame into the hole where it's supposed to connect with the gas and, well, it did, except that the flame also connected with the gas on the outside of the lantern, causing the actual lantern to go up in flames, along with gas residue that had dripped onto the picnic table. Major oops.

After screaming and throwing the lantern onto the ground, I blew out the fire on the picnic table and started to frantically throw dirt on the fire (Heidi said to put dirt on any gas that spilled on the table - obviously I missed some spots - so for some reason I thought dirt would also put out the fire). That didn't work. Eventually, I just stood there watching the flames engulf the lantern, trying to get it to stop with my mind, apparently. Thank goodness for our buddy, who ran up and threw water on the lantern and turned it off (I didn't want to try to turn it off, the button or whatever it was under the flames!). Essentially, if it wasn't for my friends, I would have burnt down the forest.

Add to that incident my igniting my marshmallow on fire, and I was not allowed around open fire or anything that could potentially be set on fire for the rest of the weekend.

I have to admit, though, that camping WAS fun. The not showering/smelling bad part was not so much fun, but hanging out with my equally dirty and smelly friends in a chill setting and laughing and talking was pretty awesome. This, however, does not mean that I will camp all the time (that's directed at Heidi). I was extremely worried that my nails were going to break, and that stress is not something I can handle on a regular basis.

Love,

Bella

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly of Party Night Sleeping Arrangements

Heidi already detailed a good deal about her fantastic party on the weekend, but she left the story of my sleeping arrangements to me. I have to admit, it's pretty funny, albeit a tad discouraging for my love life. Then again, what else is new?

At around 3am, I fell asleep with my friend, who is a male, on Heidi's couch. This is where the interesting part begins (no, not interesting like oooh interesting *wink wink* but interesting as in funny and slightly pathetic, unfortunately). After sleeping for about 2 hours, I woke up extremely uncomfortable and decided to move to the bed that I was originally supposed to sleep in. No such luck with that bed - one of my other guy friends had decided to take that over.

Okay, no big deal, right? I just went back to the couch. However, in the 30 seconds that I had left the couch and walked down the hall, my friend had sprawled out completely. Hm. Couch is out. (Clearly he didn't miss my presence!).

I then decided to mosey on down to the basement to see if there was somewhere to sleep there. I tried out the loveseat, but it was uncomfortable (ironic?), so I grabbed blankets and a huge pillow and stretched out on the floor. The pillow was so comfortable that I fell asleep instantly. It smelled a little, well, like dog, but that wasn't a big deal.

Later that morning, as my friends and I gathered in the basement to chat about the previous night's events, I asked Heidi what that big pillow was. Her response, in the midst of uncontrollable laughter (I'm actually surprised she didn't pee her pants, she was laughing so hard), was that it was a dog bed. I slept in a dog bed. By myself. After being essentially kicked out of two other sleeping places by human males. Awesome.

What's more is that Brother Bella had his latest chicky over at our house the previous night, where I suppose he got up to...well, I think we can all guess. I can't even get a date, and my brother has someone stay over. My brother sleeps in a human bed with another human, while I slept on the floor, in a dog bed, by myself. Have we grasped that pathetic-ness that was early Sunday morning? Brother Bella - 1, Bella - 0. If I had been in the dog bed WITH a member of the opposite sex, I would have been fine. Even better if there had been little sleep going on (sorry, Mom and Dad), but, alas, that doesn't happen in my world.

This past weekend's events just further highlight the differences between the romantic lives of my brother and I. At least I can still hold on to the hope that I will be the one to get married while he still spends his weekends at bars trying to pick up girls that are far too young for him.

All in all, though, Heidi threw a fabulous party - a great time was had by all!

Love,

Bella

A Night I Don’t Remember, With Friends I’ll Never Forget

Partying. It’s a pretty common thing. In any given group there is always the one that drinks too much, the one that’s absolutely hilarious, the one that gets a little too open due to the immense amounts of liquid courage…you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about. But, when friends come from near and far to get together for one amazing night, there’s bound to be more than just a party happening. However, in everyone's partying life there is always “that night” where maybe you had a little too much to drink, not enough food to absorb it, and, in the end, not enough water to drink. That, my dear reader, was me at my ‘09 Summer Bash. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

Maybe it was to de-stress about the current school situation, but maybe it was because I have an amazing bunch of friends who I just wanted to drink with and have a great time. Clearly, I didn’t watch how much my bottle of vodka was becoming increasingly empty with every drink I made, as I (probably) put more in my drink as the night went on to make it not taste so much like water. Looking back, that may have been a bad idea.

You see, I have always been “that drunk” that caters to everyone else's needs; the one who clears away beer bottles when they start getting in the way, who keeps everyone in line, helps people when they’re not feeling too hot, and generally just keeps things flowing nicely. Not at this party. Not even close. If anything, I turned into that “nuisance drunk” that apparently fell a lot, and laughed at the dumbest things; that damned high maintenance drunk that I so often grit my teeth at. Vodka is the devil. I’m going back to my Malibu, which I don’t get sick from, don’t get a hangover from (often), and don't get NEARLY that drunk from. Vodka…peace out. It’s over. Bella can keep you. The restraining order I am setting up will become effective immediately, this includes you in the form of anything from shots, mixing, and/or jello shots.

Now, do you ever have one of those mornings where you wake up and ask, “What the h*ll happened last night?” Again, that was me…and Bella. Bella and I always remember the night. What are the chances of us both being so incredibly incapacitated that we both don’t remember? That either spells out “great party” or “you were just way too drunk.” All day we tried to pry from the other drunk-but-not-that-drunk friends that had the misfortune of being around us the previous night. However, apparently our memory wasn’t the only bad one. Numerous other people could only give generalizations, never specifics (which was what we were after.) “Well, you guys were rather amusing, happy, and fell down a lot.” My bruises tell me that, thanks.

Since Bella and I converse about our increasingly single life on a daily, sober basis, as much as I have tried denying it, the topic came up last night…apparently multiple times. Bella recalls me complaining, saying that “I’m so LONELY!!” She responded something along the lines of “Aw, Raych….” when I snapped back “Well, so are YOU!” Not going to lie, I BURST out into uncontrollable laughter when I heard that, picturing it in my head so vividly clear. Apparently I asked another friend to be my temporary boyfriend. FML, and eff you vodka. Other than that, our specifics on the night are nonexistent, or at least very vague if they do in the slightest way exist. The puzzle will never be put together, but the pictures do claim that everyone had a wicked awesome time.

I also love the “morning after” so that you can converse with the unfortunate souls who stayed the night. It was during one of these conversations that we discovered that Bella slept on a large, extremely comfortable pillow…my dog’s bed. I’m sure she will write a post about that, so I’m not going to spoil her fun.

Anyways, I have learned that a) you cannot rely on other drunks to reconstruct the previous night, b) best friends will always be there, even in the sticky, gross situations, c) my summer parties apparently kick ass, and finally, d) Vodka is my poison that may as well be lethal.

Adious!
- a very hungover Heidi

If I hear the "Apple Tree" Analogy One. More. Time...

I think that this may be more of a rant than a post, but I hear that it is good to change things up a bit. Not to mention this is my first blog post about anything to do with dating. I hope that there are others out there who can relate to this, or at least feel similar to me in the situation. I know Bella and I banter back and fourth on a continual basis about this!

The daunting question that I am asked more than I feel necessary is, “Do you have a boyfriend?” and, my favourite, never failing, follow-up, “But WHY?!” It’s actually ridiculously annoying, as Bella would agree, mainly because we don’t know exactly “why.” Sure, families have to tell you that you’re too independent, educated, and all of that fancy stuff. But, wouldn’t that exactly be the reason why you wouldn’t be single? Alas, after saying that, you are often suffocated by the dreaded “apple tree analogy”; where noone wants to spend the time to pick the “good apples” from the top of the tree, and instead go for the easier apples on the bottom. It gets VERY annoying and old after you hear it about ten times per month.

Another one of my favourite parts in the entire conversation is that often people don’t believe that I’m single. Take, for instance, my recent trip to Connecticut. While out on a dinner with the show promoter, he asked if I had a boyfriend, and when I responded the obvious “no” he looked at Momma Heidi, as if I was lying right to his face. Sad, but oh so true. It wasn’t until I told him that I was going to a wedding alone that he actually believed me, and I think that he still in doubt.

It’s situations like these that I always think about my bestie, Bella, for I know she goes through the exact same thing on a constant basis. I feel somewhat normal, or what Bella and I consider “normal,” only because I know there is someone else who has to experience the same thing as I. Then again, we have found ourselves to be similar in other odd things that other people probably deem as unusual and quirky.

I just tend to stick with the “I don’t know” aspect of it because I don’t feel like bringing up the history that seems to haunt my dating life. What I have found, or experienced, is that it seems more of a game to people than anything else. I’m not one to openly admit feelings or emotions that I may have for another person unless I’m absolutely certain there is something on the other side of the fence. I’m not bold enough to pursue anyone, let alone talk about what or how I feel. It seems like once they crack that barrier, that they find out that I do have feelings for them, that that’s the end of it. Game over. Within the week, IM’s, text messages, and random Facebook messages disintegrate and everything ceases to be seen again.

It’s not until I hop onto Facebook a little while later that new notifications come up that __________ is now in a relationship with _________. Or, even better, that doesn’t happen and then they try talking to me a while down the road after, I assume, the supposed “relationship” went sour. They try to act like nothing happened, and that I had been oblivious to the apparently drop of communication. It’s pretty obvious when someone enters into a relationship, and I’ve pretty much become pro at being able to decipher the signs. Not like I should be talking like that’s a good thing, because I’d personally rather not have the experience to be able to tell before it happens.

If I may be so bold to say, between Bella’s and my own personal life, we could make a pretty tragic sequel to one of our favourite films, “He’s Just Not That Into You.” Watch out Hollywood, here we come!

Ciao,
Heidi