Best TV Shows Ever

I’ve had a writer’s block for the past two weeks, which is intensely annoying and really doesn’t provide very interesting writing material. Now that I’m pretty content with my life and not all broody and depressed, it turns out that I don’t need to write all the time to get my emotions out. And I think that’s for the best. I was freaking myself out with the way some of my posts were going.

I’ve decided instead to write about my top TV shows, in no particular order. What you may deduce from this post, and which is very true, is that I’m a TV junkie. It’s entertaining and a nice escape from life’s havoc (okay, my life isn’t filled with havoc, but a lot of people’s lives are, and these shows provide a reprieve from that).

Friends
I know this show isn’t on anymore, but I couldn’t NOT mention it. It’s one of my all time favourites. Chandler, Joey, Ross, Rachel, Monica, and Phoebe saw me through my formative years. My high school best friend and I would watch this show so much that our humours began to resemble theirs (and, to be honest, I think they still do). They went through their ups and downs on the show as I went through them in my own life, and Friends saw me through some tough times. It’s the best show to put on when you need a good laugh and a sense of normalcy. I still put it on when I need a show that relates to my real life in a humourous way. I know it’s a weird attachment to have to a TV show, but these “friends” became my friends. Does anyone else feel this way about a TV show or character? No? Yeah, me neither…

Dancing with the Stars
A fantastic combination of drama, comedy, and dance. Every week, “stars” (I use this term loosely, as Kate Gosselin was on this season, and we all know that she is hardly a star) try their hands at dancing with their professional partners. Lots of sequins, lots of really fit men with their shirts off, and lots of women in fantastic costumes (with fantastic bodies, the bitches). They fight and they dance, and we, as the viewers, get to see the relationships flourish (Maks and Erin – if they aren’t together now, they better be soon or they might spontaneously combust) or flounder (Tony and Kate – no explanation needed as to why).

The New Adventures of Old Christine
Elaine from Seinfeld now plays Christine Campbell, a divorced mother of one whose ex-husband is dating a much younger, fresher Christine. We watch as Christine falls in love (with every man she dates), runs her business (a women’s gym, ironic since she eats everything she can get her hands on), constantly tries to live up to the expectations of the rich moms at her son’s school (usually failing), and continues a love affair with wine (can’t blame her there). She’s self-deprecating and seriously defeatist, but in a way that makes it impossible not to love her. I can see myself as her when I’m in my 40s. I refuse to consider whether that is good or bad.

The Office
Anyone who works in an office can relate to this show – the mundane lifestyle of sitting at a desk all day and the often tiring task of trying to work with people that, in reality, you wouldn’t fraternize with in any normal situation (I’m lucky enough to work with a really good friend of mine, and she is the only reason I haven’t pulled an Andy Bernard and punched my fist through the wall). Dwight Schrute might be the funniest character on the show, with Andy and Michael following closely behind. The whole cast is beyond talented, and they portray office life perfectly, if at times somewhat far fetched. The love affair between Jim and Pam adds romance to this show, and makes you (read: me) think it’s possible to meet someone as great as Jim in a little office. I keep wearing those cardigans, but my Jim has yet to find me!

True Blood
Yet another vampire show. There are so many of these out there that they’re starting to lose their novelty. True Blood, however, is everything that you love from Twilight and Vampire Diaries, to name two of the most popular, plus the sex, drugs, and danger that is left out of the shows aimed at teens. While Twilight and Vampire Diaries are entertaining and carry their own danger and sexually charged tension (Vampire Diaries more so than Twilight – that’s what happens when a book is written by a Mormon woman), they stop short at delving into the “good stuff” for the sake of network television and pre-teen drama. True Blood leaves nothing to the imagination, and I love it for that. All the taboo drugs, vampire sex, murder, blood, and vengeance are rampant in this HBO television show, and it makes for some great TV. Watch as Sookie battles her feelings for vampires Bill and Eric, while Jason experiments both with vampiric tendencies and religious battle for vampire death. Questions are brought forward in every episode. Are vampires bad or misunderstood? What other creatures are out there, bringing danger to the residents of Bon Temps, Louisiana? And WHEN do we get to see Vampire Eric with his shirt off again?

House
This is the ONLY hospital drama that I watch. I can’t do Grey’s Anatomy, with their over the top drama and minimal doctoring. Most doctor shows use the hospital as a setting for other situations. With House, the hospital and medicine IS the show, and the other situations are based around what happens in the hospital. And Hugh Laurie, Dr House himself, is fantastic. He’s mean, granted, but he’s mean when people are stupid and sarcastic at the most opportune moments. His dry sense of humour is exactly that of Sherlock Holmes in the new movie of the famous detective – funny and endearing. House and Wilson play off each other like an old married couple, and House is one of the few title characters that actually make the TV show. I often find that the title or main character isn’t the one that is the funniest or most likeable (Seinfeld, anyone?) but that’s not the case with Dr Gregory House. His smarts, his humour, and his rugged good looks make him the sexiest doctor on television. Yes, that’s even above “McDreamy” and “McSteamy”.

How I Met Your Mother
It’s like the new version of Friends. I was never interested in it until my University roommate brought the seasons to our apartment. I sat on the couch and watched two full seasons in a couple of days (I never said I was a good student). The characters are hilarious, and Neil Patrick Harris (NPH!) rocks my world. The situations that he gets into with women are so extreme that, despite him being a player, you can’t help but love him. Ted is the good guy, Marshall is goofy and funny and way too cute, and Lily and Robin are you and your best friend. They are so relatable and, honestly, they make you realize how important friends are in your life. Friends are like your family, and these guys are the friends that everyone wants. Or at least I do (really, I have friends, and great ones at that. It’s starting to sound like I just sit at home and pretend that fictional characters are my best friends. That is not the case).

Glee
What’s not to love? Singing? Check. Dancing? Check. Reliving your high school days and realizing it’s ok to be nerdy? Priceless. I mean, check. The Glee Club is the culmination of the nerds at McKinley High, along with some cool kids who are there by force. They sing, they dance, and they try to figure out how to live in the cruel world of high school. It’s a show for all the underdogs and for every person who was bullied in school (I was one of them. Surprised? Probably not). And really, who doesn’t love musicals? It’s like High School Musical, but you can watch, and be really excited for, Glee without feeling ashamed, like you do when you buy tickets a week ahead and line up with all the 12 year olds to see High School Musical 3 in theatres. It happened. I’m not proud.

Modern Family
There are a lot of mockumentary shows on networks now, and some are better than others. Modern Family is the best, in my mind. It follows three families – the patriarch, Jay, and his new wife and stepson, Gloria and Manny; Jay’s daughter Claire and her husband Phil, with their three children; and Jay’s son Mitchell and Mitchell’s partner Cameron, with their adopted Korean daughter, Lily. They are three normal families. Painstakingly normal, really. And that’s what makes the show so hilarious. It’s relatable, heart warming, and hilarious. You’ll see your own family in their craziness, and realize that no one is perfect and everyone has problems. This show helps you see the humour in your own problems and realize that, maybe, whatever you’re so worried about really isn’t worth it when you have your family behind you.

Castle
This is one of my most favourites. I’m not one for dramatic television that is NCIS and CSI, but Castle brings drama amongst hilarity. The perfect combination. Richard Castle, wildly famous mystery novelist, teams up with Kate Beckett, a hard nosed NYPD murder investigator, in order to get material for his latest series based on a female NYPD detective. The sexual tension between the two main characters is palpable and they play off each other fantastically well. Castle mixes cop drama with comedy, keeping the show light yet suspenseful. It’s interesting, sexy, and funny. It’s like my perfect man.

Chuck
I just came across this show recently, and it is what I consider to be one of my greatest discoveries. This show is genius. It follows a computer nerd who happens to get all of the CIA’s secrets uploaded into his brain (and they make this seem completely possible) and is now one of the government’s most valuable assets. To protect him, the CIA sends two agents, sexy John Casey and gorgeous Sarah Walker. Together, the three of them fight bad guys, fall in love (Chuck and Sarah, with whose relationship I am far too invested for it to be considered healthy), and carry guns. I want to be Sarah Walker. I want to fall in love with Chuck Bartowski. It’s funny, romantic, dramatic, and full of action. It’s so exciting that it makes me want to be a CIA agent. I actually applied. Still waiting to hear back.


Love,

Bella

Harmonized Sales Tax: Calm the Eff Down!

People all across the province are enraged at the latest developments of the Harmonized Sales Tax process, which deal mostly with the severance package that the impacted employees will receive before they move on to the federal government.

I completely agree with them.

However, perhaps we should recap. It’s no secret that the provincial retail sales tax is being combined with GST to create a tax of 13%. Crazy, right? I don’t even pay that much attention to taxes, and I know that that’s a lot of tax. People have had some time to get used to that idea, and I think that it is now accepted, albeit begrudgingly.

The big problem with Ontarians is the money that “laid off” employees will receive as severance. The media took the highest amount that is projected – $45000 – to be the average amount of money that the employees will receive as severance. Yes, they will receive some money for their time with the provincial government, but no, it is not nearly as much as $45000. They will receive a week’s worth of pay for every year they’ve worked. Assuming that the average amount of years that a laid off employee has worked with the provincial government is around 7 years, and the average weekly wage is around $1000, the average employee will receive around $7000 in severance.

Granted, this is a substantial amount of money that will be provided BY tax payers TO tax collectors (who, by the way, are tax payers themselves), but it’s not as much as the media likes to portray.

I understand why it seems unfair that these employees are receiving money to, essentially, move to a new position with the federal government that is guaranteed for 2 years and will ultimately pay more than they made at their provincial government position, but that’s not some new stipulation that the government has decided to put into affect. Leaving out the fact that the employees are going to the federal government, it is part of the agreement from the 1970s that states that all laid off employees will receive a severance package from the provincial government. That can’t be changed over night.

No one will ever be happy with anything that the government does. But come on people. Cut them some slack. Despite the general perception that government employees are lazy and get paid insane amounts of money for a minimal amount of work, that isn’t the case with every single employee. And don’t tell me that there aren’t the same types of workers in the private sector. There are. There always will be those types of workers in ANY company.

Contrary to common belief, the government works really hard to ensure that employees are treated as fairly as possible, and they aren’t out to make Ontarians’ lives miserable.

Oh, and those critical people who judge the government? Yeah, they work IN the government, as well.

Give it a rest, people, and don’t criticize what you don’t know.

Love,

Bella

CrossFit – Their Warm-Up Is Your Workout

Anyone who knows my family knows that Brother Bella is a fitness enthusiast and, more specifically, a CrossFit disciple. He just finished 4 months of intense training that culminated in his 38th place finish at the CrossFit Games (check out his blog to hear and read about his training). That’s out of 100 people. He’s that fit. He’s also recruited Momma Bella to join him in his training, and she is now a dedicated CrossFitter and way more fit than I am. It’s a little embarrassing, but that’s a whole different topic.

Daddy Bella and I are the two members of the family that have yet to start drinking the CrossFit Kool-Aid, though not for lack of trying on Brother Bella’s part. He got me to start CrossFit at one point but, due to my shockingly short attention span, addiction to chocolate, and belief that light weights and endless amounts of cardio are the way to workout, I quit CrossFit before I had the chance to really see any results.

Well, it’s clear that my current workout and nutrition regime aren’t doing anything fantastic for my bootylicious (not in a good way) body. And, as the cruise I’m taking with girlfriends in May looms ever closer, I’m dangerously close to resembling a beached whale in my tankini (I will not be donning a bikini unless I’m out of my mind drunk, which will more than likely occur).

I asked Brother Bella to get me training sessions with him for my birthday this year, and he agreed not only to give me a month of unlimited sessions with him, but to give it to me early so that I would be at least a bit fitter on the cruise. Yeah, he’s a pretty good brother.

Turns out, Brother Bella is also a fantastic trainer, and acted nothing like the taunting, teasing brother I have grown up with (us being in our 20s does not mean that we don’t still fight like we’re 5, and though I’m being nice about him because I like him right now, our affection for each other changes with both of us on a daily basis). He’s supportive, fun to work out with, and pushes me in a way that makes me want to go past my limit to really see how far I can push myself. In the CrossFit world, you haven’t worked out hard enough if you’re not dangerously close to throwing up, and throw up I almost did after that first workout since quitting CrossFit about 6 months ago.

That first CrossFit workout in months took place at my gym around the corner. I thank the Lord that I was alone when doing it, because my lack of athleticism and lung capacity that matches a 2 year old’s was embarrassing even to myself. I clearly have a long way to go before I can compete in the CrossFit Games next year and win (which I have no doubt will happen – I will be awesome).

To start my foray into the CrossFit world, Brother Bella has agreed to train me at CrossFit Oshawa so that I can get a feel for a real, honest to God CrossFit environment, which, by the way, is terrifying.

The gym consists of back to basics equipment. There are no treadmills (we have to run outside), no StairMasters, no dumbbells (where the hell are my usual 2 pound weights?!), and no mirrors. It’s like they want you to actually work out.

My fears were dashed, however, when I met the owners and members of CrossFit Oshawa. They’re extremely supportive, incredibly knowledgeable, and always willing to help you out with your workouts. The camaraderie is unlike anything I’ve experienced at a gym before, and I can actually say that I enjoy going there to work out.

Brother Bella put me through a warm-up that resembled a usual workout for me (ok, it was probably more difficult than my usual workouts), and I was sweating and panting by the time we were done our pullups, pushups, dips, squats, rowing, and stretches. Seriously, that’s what a CrossFit warm-up consists of. I could barely hold myself up on the rings without my arms shaking uncontrollably, and I almost fell over backwards when trying to do an overhead squat with a fifteen pound plastic rod. But I feel great when I’m done, and isn’t that what’s important?

Everyone is always looking for that workout that will give them the results they’re looking for. I now honestly believe that CrossFit is the workout that will give anyone the results they want, whether they want to slim down or build muscle. It’s tough, but it’s worth it.

I’ve finally come to the point where I will not go back to my former, out of shape self. CrossFit is now my workout of choice, and my current goal is to compete in the CrossFit Games this time next year. After that, who knows?

Excuse me while I go submerge myself in ice cold water to alleviate the pain in my muscles.

Love,

Bella

Hot Yoga = Hot Body

Okay, so I have yet to actually prove that hot yoga will result in a hot body, but I’m willing to experiment. Plus, if the bodies of the women in the class are any indication of hot yoga’s fitness benefits, then I’m going to be yoga-ing it up every day.

Anyway, today was my first exploration into the world of hot yoga. Seeing as how I start sweating from walking from my desk to my supervisor’s – just across the hall – I was slightly concerned that I would create a puddle around my mat. Nevertheless, I decided to give it a shot. I mean, you’re supposed to sweat. Surely no one can make a comment about it when they sweat, too. Right?

I was intensely annoyed as I stood around waiting for class to begin, perhaps because the waiting room is the size of my bathroom, or rather because the regular “yogi’s” chatted with each other all yoga doer-ish. They literally sounded like this: “oh haw haw haw, yes hot yoga blah blah blah, I know the instructor we are best friends, haw haw haw.” I think it’s a safe best to assume that it was a combination of the two.

I walked into the studio that is kept at a steamy 100 degrees Fahrenheit, and was promptly enveloped in the practice of meditation. I’ve never been good at meditation. I have the attention span of a small bug and I really don’t want to go that far into my mind. Sometimes its dark in there, and then I get scared.

Anyway, hot yoga practice equipment is comprised of the following – a yoga mat and a large towel to prevent soakage of the mat. A great idea, and one of which I was unaware until I entered the studio with my very orange yoga mat and a small hand towel to dab at the lady-like streams of sweat that were already starting their way into my eyes. First mistake #1 – never assume that I will not excrete 50% more sweat than the average person. I also discovered that I am not the quietest person in the world, having slapped my mat onto the floor, which resulted in a rather gunshot-like noise. Meditation over, everyone! No senses of humour, these people. No one even smiled encouragingly as I giggled and express my apologies quite sincerely and with astounding wit and intellect.

The class may have started off uncomfortably; however, it was clear, as I manoeuvred my body into a pretzel, that I am awesome at hot yoga. I could do every pose gracefully, balanced and with little to no exertion.

You weren’t there – I can say whatever I want.

With the amount of heavy breathing and sweating going on in that room, it honestly sounded like we were in a giant orgy. Perhaps not the thing to be thinking during the meditative practice of asana yoga (don’t look that term up – I am fairly confident that it has nothing to do with hot yoga and I’d rather not be called out on it) but I can’t help where my thoughts go. They have a mind of their own.

Ha ha. Get it?

As it turned out, hot yoga is actually really good. I sweated out of every pore, but felt cleansed, energized, and so healthy – that is, after I left early and had to sit down for a good 5 minutes before the overwhelming urge to faint passed.

I’m going back next week.

Love,

Bella

Monday Work Woes

Another Monday already? Come ON. I was so enjoying my makeup-less, yoga panted, wine and chocolate infused, doesn’t-matter-if-I-shower weekend.

Mind you, I have a job that is usually done by middle-aged, overweight, bitter family men who have to make money for their 4 kids in University, so it’s not very enjoyable. I make reports (with numbers, no less) so that management can make super important decisions about whatever the data reflects. I have two problems with this (well, okay, I have 100 problems with my job, but I picked these as the top 2):

1) I am an English major. This means that I spent four years reading classic and modern literature, writing essays on what the flower in the pot represents in a Keats poem, and analyzing conversations between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett in Pride and Prejudice. Numbers are not my thing. I still add things up on my fingers. True story.

2) My mental stability is questionable. The amount of tension that these people carry with them is shocking. They stress out, which in turn stresses me out, and then mistakes are made. The fact that mistakes would probably have been made on my part regardless of the stress level is neither here nor there. I never said I was good at my job. The amount of responsibility put on me and the Senior Data Analyst is suffocating. Like, everything depends on the numbers that are presented in our reports. That is WAY too much on my shoulders at my young age of 22. I can barely send an email to higher level management without sweating a questionable amount. Make me generate a report that decides someone's livelihood and I'm ready to assume the fetal position and cry for my Mommy.

The project is about to make a huge turn that will affect a lot of people and the data has to be absolutely correct. Therefore, my nerves are really high, interfering with my regular eating habits (I only ate one chocolate bar today – if it goes down to none, I’m going to have to quit) and my trips to the bathroom become more and more frequent.

I’m terrified of my boss right now. Seriously, I hear people walk near my cubicle and freeze, hoping to God that it isn’t my manager wanting more data or asking me questions to which I most likely won’t know the answer. You’d think I’d be a lot skinnier with the stress that comes from avoiding my manager and supervisor on a regular basis, but no – my metabolism sure is a trooper.

I mean, I know I’m awesome and everything, but what makes people think that a 22 year old English major can handle the responsibilities of an important data job? I had a hard enough time writing my own essays on time in University.

4:19 pm: As you, my dear readers, get the pleasure of me writing this post while at work, you also get the pleasure of reading what happens to me on a minute to minute basis. A prime example? I was called into my manager’s office with my supervisor to talk data, a mistake I made (it’s the stress, I tell you!), and the fact that another manager here says that my friend and I spend too much time chatting in my cubicle. This is the same manager who acts like she loves us and are the best people in the world (we are, though). If you’re going to bitch me out, Manager Who Looks Way Older Than She Is, then say something to me first. Despite my maturity level being far below what it should be, I would appreciate being treated like an adult. Add to the fact that Colleague Bella and I don’t actually talk as much as some people here (I know because I eavesdrop all the time), and she’s just being a PMSing, power hungry bitch.

If nothing else, this job does show me what I don’t want for my career. No desk job. No boss. No numbers.

I’m going to be poor.

Love,

Bella

Vancouver 2010 Olympic Winter Games

Not everyone gets to experience the Olympics live, and even fewer do so their own country, but I was lucky enough to have that experience this past week. My friend and roommate from University is a hardcore Olympics fan, and we went to Vancouver, B.C. to take in the event that showcases the best athletes in the world. While Buddy Bella, as I will dub my friend, went to take in the action and the sports, I had a decidedly different agenda: to meet one of the athletes and get him to fall in love with me in a week. I didn’t think that it would be so difficult. I mean, I’m pretty awesome. While my sights were set on Sidney Crosby, I wasn’t too picky on which athlete fell in love with me.

We arrived in Vancouver on a rainy Saturday morning and were greeted by Buddy Bella’s cousin and his girlfriend, both of whom quickly became two of my favourite people and two of my best friends in Vancouver (I have a lot). Not wanting to waste any time, Buddy Bella and I set out with her cousin’s girlfriend to take in the sights (many people, many Asians), sounds (fucking cowbells), and smells (beer) of the Olympics in Vancouver.

I quickly realized that not only was I going to have some serious competition from women from all over the world vying for my future husband’s attention, but also that I had a pick of some really good looking male athletes (most of whom were displayed on the side of the Bay). I began to seriously reconsider my wardrobe options for the coming week, as most of my clothes were either stretchy (to allow for copious amounts of chocolate and wine) or extremely modest in the boobular area. Luckily, I packed a few pairs of jeans and a couple of decidedly low cut tops. Thank God.

Fast forward to Monday, the day of the Molson Canadian Hockey House. Buddy Bella wanted to see the Olympic medals at the Royal Canadian Mint. Sure, I thought, that might be fun. It was not. We stood in line for FOUR HOURS. In my heels. And for what? To hold the medal in my hand. I couldn’t even put it around my neck (I know because I asked the guy twice and he said no twice). Apparently, you can’t do anything with the medals that would insinuate that you won them. I assumed that also meant inappropriate gestures.

What is the fun if you can’t pretend to win the medal? All I got was a stupid glove that said “I touched a gold medal.” Or something. It was in French. It’s like one of those horrible t-shirts that people get their friends for souvenirs that say “My [blank] went to [blank] and I all I got was this stupid t-shirt” (I do not mean for that to sound suggestive). “I went to the Royal Canadian Mint and all I got was this stupid glove.”

After that excruciating wait, I was one moody bitch (and that’s saying something, as even my best moods are usually accompanied by some sort of pessimism or irritability), especially having to walk 800 miles to get to the Molson Hockey House. In her excitement (and her normal person walking pace), Buddy Bella was 50 feet ahead of me the entire walk. I, however, was limping along in my “sexy” shoes that made me look like a numpty.

Finally arriving at the Hockey House, we were greeted by a bevy of Molson Hockey Girls. You know, the ones in little white dresses, with perfect hair and perfect bodies. Extremely aware of my gigantor self and the amount of sweat pouring down my face, I was ready to beat them up. Luckily, wine was readily available and I drank until I felt better about myself. One of the Molson Girls told me I was beautiful, and she became my best friend.

It was at the Hockey House where we (okay, I) met who we now refer to as Creeper Jason, a 34 year old accountant that, after taking my (fake) number, texted me as I was sitting across the table from him. Things became awkward as he asked if I got his text and I tried not so smoothly to tell him that I have him my old number (not true). I asked what the text said, and his response was to smile, wink, and say, “it said, ‘You’re cute, thanks for hanging out with me’”. What? Who does that? I was RIGHT THERE. You know he’s insecure when he has to text me to check if my number works (which is what I can only assume is what he was doing). Dude, you’re 34. Please act like it. However, if you were to replace Creeper Jason with Crush Bella (that means the guy I LIKE like), then I would be a very happy girl. I mean woman. But that is not the case.

Anyway, Buddy Bella and I spent the next event trying to avoid him at every possible turn. It was kind of like being in a movie chase, except it was very real and he wasn’t exactly chasing us, though I wouldn’t put it past him.

I met all sorts of people, from Texans (so nice) and Russians (not so nice) to really young people (17 months) and really old ones (dude with gray/balding hair and who looked really old). I had the most fun when meeting and talking to people, and I know they benefited from my intellectual witticisms. Take, for example, my conversation with a man on the street dressed entirely in Russian clothing:

Me: Are you from Russia? (Not the smartest question, in hindsight)
Russian Dude: Yeah. (Clearly unimpressed)
Me: Oh. Cool. I’m not.

See what I mean? Brilliant. However, while my words get me a lot of things (my boobage does the rest), neither one got me into the Athlete’s Village. I tried to explain to the security guard that he “had to let me in, because my future husband is in there and I have to meet him first”. He explained that I was not allowed in but perhaps they would come out the entrance. Sensing the improbability of this, I asked him if they didn’t let people into the village because of creepers like me. His answer was a resounding yes. Maybe wise, but still disappointing. By this point, I am beginning to realize that meeting an athlete (that is, Sidney Crosby) is a lot more difficult than I initially thought.

See, I knew I could count out Alex Bilodeau because, despite my complete confidence that he would fall in love with me at first sight (or at least after making him laugh hysterically, because I am that funny), the fact that he now has a gold medal severely limits my access to him. That, and supermodels will now be all over him, and while I may be overconfident to the point of arrogance, I know I can’t compete with THOSE women. Bitches.

Sidney is so guarded that I don’t think I get through his bodyguards even if I looked like Megan Fox, and the other hot athletes from around the world all stayed hidden. Very disappointing, and I failed at my attempt to get anyone to fall in love with me (except Creeper Jason, but I didn’t even try to get him to fall in love with me, he just did, unfortunately).

I realize that this post was hardly a recap of my week at the Olympics, but if any of my three readers have a question, please do not hesitate to post one in the comments section. I will be checking back for them every 15 minutes.

Until next time, Sidney Crosby.

Love,

Bella

Teacher's College...when common sense apparently isn't so common

All I have to say is, 'Thank GOD it's almost over!"
For those of you in the program, chances are you'll know what I'm talking about; but for those who have been blessed with other institutions/programs/jobs...this is a day in the life of a soon-to-be teacher...the pity party can commence now.

The day starts usually around 8:30am with a strong cup of tea and an intense small-group conversation about how it's going to be yet another ridiculous day. Come to think of it...maybe I should try putting vodka in tea, it may make the day a little bit more bearable...I’ll let you know how it goes. Anyways, the “curriculum classes” last for 2.5 hours (which just so happens to be 2 hours too long on the best of days). During that time, we are “educated” about things that we can do to help kids learn, lesson ideas, and all that teacher-y stuff. Doesn’t sound too bad, right? It would maybe be somewhat tolerable if the professors didn’t have such a Utopian-like view of what our future classrooms will look like.

Some of the activities we do in say, science, are fantastic! Truly...they’re fun, hands-on, exciting...but sometimes completely inappropriate for today’s classroom. Are you REALLY going to give students in grades K-6 a saw, drill, and a hot glue gun to put together a catapult? Yeah, I didn’t think so, either. Great ideas in theory often do not work in practice...the instructors don’t seem to get that. On a sidenote...I would even be scared to give a grade 8 a saw and/or drill for fear of my life. They could come at me with it and “technically” I can’t touch them. I guess I’d better get that cardio up to outrun them in preparation. In another class (just so happens to be my focus and the best class I have, although completely irrelevant to primary students) I made a paddle/oar from a plank of wood. Again, sweet project...but why am I spending $6000+ dollars to learn how to make a paddle? Will it create units for me? Or will it teach me how to deal with exceptionalities? Rant over.

If we are lucky enough to have a faculty-wide hated course, we would endure things such as being assigned to do group work with complete strangers. Let me elaborate on this a little bit. Looking back, it is rather humorous how disorganized the instructor was. In a class of 375 students, the instructor read out last names in groups of three (i.e. Harrison, Arsenault, Cleary). Then, we were sent out into the hall, or “Student Street”, to meet with our stranger group members, exchange emails, and complete a group assignment from hell. Where the disorganization came from was when they called out the names so quick that either a) you didn’t hear your group member’s names or, b) you got out to Student Street to find 300 other confused, lost students trying to find their group members. It was CHAOS if I’ve ever seen it. Way.to.go.Queen’s. That caused a lot of unnecessary work for the TAs who probably received 200 emails from lost souls.

Either way, teacher’s college is the most ridiculous, albeit easy, time of my life. I wish practicum/placement was the entire 8 months...at least I learn something there and get to interact with my future career. I only have one more week at Queen’s before I leave on a two month placement block...bring on the celebrations!!!

I initially thought that writing in this blog would give me an outlet for my highly intellectual opinions and ideas on a wide range of topics. That was until I reread most of my posts and realized just how depressing they were. Thank the Lord for those little white pills (they gave me more!). Granted, it still is a good way to express my feelings, but I have one question.

Why the hell isn't it gaining popularity and making me famous?

Okay, so being famous isn't everything and neither is being rich, but come on. I would at least like to have the opportunity to know what it's like to have money. It's the same with being skinny. I don't have to be skinny forever, I just want to know what it's like to wear skinny jeans without my thunder thighs creating incessant noise that echoes in the atrium of my work building.

I've read so many books and other blogs that have hundreds of followers and this one has...two? Three at the most.

Is it too much to ask for someone in publishing to see my blog, become amazed at the astounding wit and intelligence that comes through in my posts about chocolate and men, and offer me a writing contract? That happened to Jen Lancaster, author of Bitter is the New Black (and other books, but I just read that one - highly recommended, by the way). She was on Oprah! Okay, I don't watch Oprah, but being on Oprah to some people would be like being on Ellen Degeneres' show for me (Ellen, I am available for interviews at your convenience).

Her blog gained popularity quickly and she has fans and literary agents and book deals! I could write a book. I'd write the best damn book in the world if someone paid me good money to do it (if anyone has read Bitter is the New Black, you'll see that I learned very little about what greediness can do to your life).

Of course, one of the reasons that this blog hasn't gained any popularity could be because I'm not as funny as she is...

No, who am I kidding? I'm hilarious. And smart. And pretty. I'm awesome.

In the mean time, I've figured out a sure fire way to get more people to read my blog. I'm going to tag the shit out of this post.

Love,

Bella

An Unbiased (Not Really) Account of 'The Bachelor' Women

When I watch a reality TV show, especially one such as The Biggest Loser, I often try to analyze the contestants to figure out why they act the way they do and maybe unearth some underlying insecurities or issues. I know. I’m that good.

So, when I tried to do the same with the contestants on this season of The Bachelor, I was instead faced with the task of trying to console myself that I am not like these women. I am not. I promise.

As I watch the women shriek, scream, and giggle uncontrollably whenever Jake says “hi”, I can’t help but wonder why women act so stupid around good looking guys. Granted, I act like a numpty when I have to talk to a good looking guy as I can’t even put a sentence together, but that’s a topic for my therapist to work on (once I find one to talk to me – they never return my calls), and I don’t want to take any work away from him or her by self-analyzing.

I am actually embarrassed to be a woman when they start screaming and running everywhere, most recently toward a big bus. It is a BUS. Or towards the water. Or towards the bar (wait, no, I can understand that one). My point, however, is that there is no need to scream and run and jump with joy at every God damn thing that happens.

And playing hide and seek? I don’t even play that anymore, and I played kid games a lot longer than was considered normal for kids my age.

The only reason I could understand their actions is if these women are just perpetually drunk. I sure as hell would be. They seem to have access to unlimited alcohol, and I know for a fact that I would spend my time beside the pool with a huge bottle of wine and a smutty novella that details all the good stuff. Screw getting to know the other contestants. Who the hell cares about being best friends with the other women when you’re secretly hoping that the skinny bitch in the size two bikini puts on 50 pounds and develops incurable acne all in one night? I put a lot of energy into hating pretty, skinny girls, and I sure as hell wouldn’t throw that hard work away just to gush over a man with them on TV. No. I would spend my time making up stories about Candy’s liposuction and Britney’s Botox injections. Is that bitchy? Maybe. But that’s how I’d play the game when I wasn’t winning Jake over with my wit, intelligence, and Hollywood worthy good looks.

I can’t help but wonder if these women are as mortified about their actions as I am when they watch the show. But, since I’ve never been in this situation (and never will be, because you have to provide your weight to apply, and we all know that my self-proclaimed 120 lbs looks different in real life), I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt.

There must be something about the California sun, warm weather, and sexy smile of Jake’s that make these women’s brains turn to mush. So he rides a motorcycle, wears a really hot pilot uniform, and has a great body. Okay, and he has a sexy Southern accent. He’s not THAT great. Not that I wouldn’t try to seduce him with the promise of alcohol and sexual favours if I ever met him. But I’d rather use that magic (it would take all I have) on Gerard Butler.

Love,

Bella

Let's Reflect, Shall We?

So. New decade. Who's excited?

I used to be the resolution type, but then I used to be an extremely optimistic, cheerful person. Things change. Why make resolutions when, let's be honest, they're usually broken by the end of January? (To all of you who are thinking, "But I keep my resolutions all year!": goody for you. Go celebrate with a celery stick). I can think of better things to be doing at the start of a year than killing myself at the gym, starving myself of my favourite foods, or trying to be nice to every single person I meet. Please. I spent my New Year's Day sleeping off a hangover and eating copious amounts of chocolate. Suck it, resolutions.

With my strong dislike for my job and general discontent with where I am in my life, I've been spending the beginning of 2010 "reflecting". Not about one specific thing, and not even about just me, but about everything that affects me and the people around me.

I don't want to say that I've had an epiphany about life, because I don't believe in epiphanies. Those are what happen at the end of movies where the characters realize what their lives mean, and then they live happily ever after. I love those movies. But life isn't like that. Epiphanies in reality are simply moments of clarity that come when you think enough about your life to realize that some things need to change.

In my current situation, I've had a lot of time to think about happiness. Sure, there's "sunshine and rainbows" happy, but whoever is that happy is either on some strong drugs (and, if that's the case, I want some) or they're faking it. Either way, they're really bloody annoying. I think a lot of people get the impression that I'm a bitter and cynical person, but I'm not. Sure, I'm unhappy with some things in my life, but I know that I have it good and I'm grateful for that.

Thing is, life is too damn short to be REALLY unhappy. I've been there, and it's like a personal hell. Waking up every day wondering what the point of living is isn't really an ideal mindset to be in. Now that I'm out of that, I want to live my life as full and as happy as I can. I could settle with what I have now and play it safe, but that's not something that I want to do. I want to travel, have amazing experiences, meet wonderful people, do something that I love and get paid for it, and have passionate relationships that maybe won't last forever but will leave me with fabulous memories for the rest of my life.

When I look to the future, I can't really see what it'll be like, because when I try to figure out who I am and what I'm meant to do, I don't honestly know who or what the answer is. And I think that's okay. I'm still young, and it's exciting to think that I have all these options (once I figure out what options I want to take).

So, ask yourself...are you happy? When you think about your life, who you spend it with, what you're doing, and who you surround yourself with, is it what you want? The people in your life make or break it, so I know that, in any relationship that I'm in, I want to love the person that I'm with so much that it hurts. Sure, there's a great chance of having my heart broken, but I've been so afraid of that in the past that I've never gone after the guy that I really want. I don't want to live my life with "what if's". That doesn't mean that I'm going to go after him right now, because I'm a major coward when it comes to that, but I am going to stop shutting myself off towards him and stop hoping to God that he doesn't realize my feelings for him. That's not going to get me anywhere with him or with anyone else in my life.

Tell people how you feel. Fall in love. Get hurt. It'll probably make you stronger and happier with yourself in the end. If you're not happy, do something about it. Don't live with stress and tension, because it affects your life and the lives of those around you. Work your stuff out with people that you have stuff to work out with. Do yourself a favour - create your own definition of happy and be the example of it. Go for what you want, in any capacity, and change what you're unhappy with. And don't be complacent. You are the only person in charge of your own happiness, so figure out what will make YOU happy and make that your focus. Your future self will thank you for it.

Love,

Bella

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.