The Magic of Giving

Remember when Christmas was that time of the year that couldn't come fast enough?

As soon as December 1st arrived and our first chocolate in our advent eaten, we were rosy cheeked angels on our best behavior lest our mother get on the phone with Santa (or was it just my mother who apparently had him on speed dial?).  Christmas Eve was TORTURE.  The gifts all shiny and wrapped under the glittery tree taunting us with their mystery.  Was it that new doll we had seen in the frosty window at the Bay?  Or our favorite Disney movie?  Or, in the year I was ten, a nintendo (old school) complete with Mario Brothers One, Two and Three?  

I could never fall asleep for excitement.  Especially because in my household stockings were placed at the foot of our beds so that I would wake up in the middle of the night and open it.  I actually still get just as excited for stockings!

Now days that burning excitement and thrill is barely a flutter in my tummy.  I must admit that I miss those days a wee bit - the only thing comparable in my adulthood has been the night before a big trip.  My grandmother was amazing at keeping the magic in Christmas alive until her dying day.  So I'm trying.  And I have found that there is a new sort of magic in Christmas as we get older:  the magic of giving.

As cheesy as that sounds, the 'magic of giving' has become almost, okay - as good as if not better - than getting.  This year I was a terrible gift giver.  I was terrible because I had no patience to wait until the big day.  My gifts were FANTASTIC!  They sat under my candy-like tree (it was covered in pretty pink and blue balls, snowmen on cupcakes, and ju-jube spinwheels topped with a star-shaped sugar cookie.  So cute!) taunting me as if they were my nine-year-old own.  I gave my parents gifts leading up to Christmas Eve, I gave the Engineer his big one on Christmas Eve Eve, and I made my girlfriend open her harmonica kit a week early.  In fact, I gave away so many gifts that there was almost nothing left for Christmas morning.  Oooops.

The days of not pouting or crying in case Santa might see,  butterfly filled sleep, and dreamy wishing while gazing at our presents are over for me.  But they have been replaced my finding joy in watching my mum's eyes fill with tears with her gift, or the Engineer actually showing excitement over his Disneyland pass.  And discovering a perfect present for the impossible father:  wine, wine and more wine.  It really is quite magical.

And that, my friends, is the nouveau magic of Christmas.  Happy Holidays!

How a Virgo Decorates for Christmas

I love the Christmas season with its’ sparkling lights, tree trimming, and wrapping of gifts. I just don’t love getting ‘help from other people – which clearly is not in the spirit of Christmas. It is technically a time for those you love to gather with glasses of wine and help you hang ornaments on your incredibly beautiful, lusciously green and robustly full Christmas tree. But screw that.
I am a Virgo, which makes me a slight perfectionist if being perfect means everything needs to be done according to Stella. I decided to get a real tree this year – and it is so incredibly beautiful. And incredibly against all Virgo rules. The things drops more pines that a Northern Boreal forest. What was I thinking? I can’t vacuum fast enough! I shleped it all the way from Ikea (which by-the-by has the best deal in town. $20 gets you a gorgeous tree, with that money going to Tree Canada AND you get a $20 coupon for Ikea! Hello! Other places are charging $60 for trees that would win Charlie Brown’s heart). Anyhoo, I stuffed the thing in my trunk (Volkswagens rule) and got it to my apartment ALL BY MYSELF. At this point I needed reinforcements in the forms of the Engineer, my girlfriend and her boyfriend who is also an engineer and best friends with my Engineer. Very cozy all around.
They were lovely and helpful, getting the tree up and trimmed so it stood just right. The boys had hockey so they left us girls to it – decorating my tree and drinking mulled wine. I thought this idea was great until she tried to wrap my lights around the tree – just wrap all helter skelter! The Engineer had done this to my mini-tree earlier (yes, I have two trees), which was appalling. Who are these people? You don’t just wrap your lights willy nilly – you have to place them in the branches so that they glitter like the fairies they are supposed to be. I don’t want to see the freaking cord??!!
And then – horror of all horrors – my friend started to hang decorations WHERVER. Just wherever??!!! GAH! No no no, you have to think about colour and size. You have to take into consideration what the ornament means to me, where I got it, and who from. Obviously the angel that I got in NYC has to have precedent on the higher branches. The bright green ball goes on the back of the tree – to balance out the balls but the colour is quite awful.
So I had to stop the madness by suggesting we wrap presents instead. Actually, she insisted on helping me with this too. I love wrapping presents. I love the precision of matching up the paper, the careful tape placing so the paper never moves, and the tightness of having a well-wrapped gift. None of that loose crap that men are really good at. And to my horror, my friend did just that! Double GAH! So I put her on bow duty, which to my relief she was amazing at.
Tthe moral of my story? If you are a Virgo and want to decorate for Christmas: don’t invite others over to help (except for putting the tree in the stand). Put on lovely Christmas carols, pour yourself some eggnog and go about making sure each detail is perfect to your own satisfaction. This is quite possibly the most rewarding way to decorate Christmas, alone alone alone.

Team Work

This weekend the Engineer and I travelled to Seattle for what is fondly known as 'Black Friday'. Firstly, I am an idiot as I had no idea Americans celebrated Thanksgiving on a Thursday. What an odd day to have Thanksgiving dinner? Why not Sunday or Monday like we do? But this is neither here nor there, as we ended up in the States on one of the busiest shopping days of the year and what day people eat turkey is of no consequence.

The Engineer has a new job and so has relented his highschoolesque/university student look for a more mature business type professional look. Praise the lord! And I am a Buddhist. While at Nordstroms I could no longer look at his baggy, torn and worn jeans so forced him to buy a new pair of Sevens. Well, I didn't really need to force him because once he saw what a good pair of jeans can do for one's butt it was a no brainer. It was glorious! The shops bussling with people vying for good deals and Christmas presents - it just put me in a wonderful mood. Or maybe it was spending someone else's money for once.

Back at the hotel, the Engineer and I snuggled in the king-sized bed with Indian take-out and a movie rental on the huge flat-screen TV. We watched a good old fashioned Hollywood comedy before getting down to the hard stuff. That's right - porn. I have never really seen a porn and thought it would be a fun way to spice up our 'life'. After purusing the very large selection, we decided on 'Bad Teacher Bad Student'. GAH! The acting and writing was HORRIFIC!!!! And the guy was so freaking ugly! I couldn't handle it (clearly I wasn't expecting an Oscar award winner but at least some decent sentences!) so I turned it off thinking we could still switch. So I called down to the front desk and said I made a mistake - he assured me it would come off of our bill. We pressed our second choice "Horny Cowgirls" or something like that. OH MY GOD. There was no speaking in this one, just bad fiddle music with out-of-sync pleasure noises. And once again, the men, yes MEN, were brutal. Horribly gross and wearing overalls (just for the record, I grew up on a farm and no farmer I have ever met wears overalls). Not that the girls were great either. The first scene was two man one girl action that looked terribly unpleasant and actually disgusting. I couldn't help but laugh and cover my eyes. The second scene was even worse - she was in this horribly awkward position standing up with her knees together but her feet apart and her skirt halfway down. And then they started doing IT. Quite frankly, the male body whilst thrusting is not the most attractive. Nor is the close-up of the . . . . well you can fill it in for yourself. I went from laughing to almost sick - the Engineer was also quite disgusted and lay on the other side of the bed. Needless to say, the film had the opposite effect.

But this is not the worst of it. When we went to check out, we had in fact been charged for both films. When we started to dispute this, the kind girl said 'no problem - can you remember the title?". We both answered no very quickly. Then she went to the back and said, "If I yell it out to you will you remember?" Oh god. The lobby was full and I turned to the Engineer and told him I couldn't handle this. Then I asked him for the car keys but promptly motored out of there not having the patience for the keys. And I motored with my little wheelie suitcase.

I was waiting in the car when the Engineer came out exclaiming how happy he was that he could count on me for team work in sticky situations. Apparently he looked like a creepy man by himself. But seriously, I just can't handle it - remember how I told the doctor I was getting married?? The girl must have seen the titles and didn't call out the name, thank goodness. Seriously, don't ever argue porn on the bill, just let it go. But the Engineer is too fiscally responsible for that.

Doctor Shame

I went to the doctor the other day with problems regarding my birth control pills. I just don't really want to be on them anymore so wanted to find out what my other options are. There aren't many that I like. In fact there are none that I like. Why can't men be on some sort of birth control pill? Anyhoo, that is not the point of this entry.

My point is that I am a big fat liar!!! These lies spill out of my mouth before I can stop them - and they come out of no where but suddenly I just can't seem to tell the truth. This happens when I bump into people I don't like or when my doctor asks me how long have I been in my current relationship. Why can't I just act like the adult that I am and tell her the truth: I have been with my current boyfriend, the Engineer, for nearly a year. But the shame of being in a pre-marital sexual relationship in the modern age makes me say: I have been with my fiance for two and a half years! FIANCE! TWO AND A HALF YEARS! Why am I ashamed? Why do I care if she thinks I am a slut (not that I am)? Why do I keep telling people I have a fiance? GAH!

I had a doctor filling in for my doctor once who tried to talk me out of birth control. She thought I should just say 'no' - and this wasn't when I was 17, try a few years ago. She was a mousy little git with brown stringy hair. Probably believed in Jesus and thought I was going to hell or she herself was so desperate for a date she tried to stop anyone else from dating. In any case, it was highly inappropriate.

But why do I feel so bad about being a non-married girl asking for the pill? I think it is the way the doctor says 'relationship' - why doesn't she just come right out and say "who are you screwing now". Vulgar as it seems, it is perfectly true. Relationship says to me dinners with wine, holding hands during scary movies, bringing ice cream over when I have a sore throat. But when the doctor says 'relationship' it brings to mind all those private things we do that have now just been made public because I am having problems with my pill. Suddenly my wonderful and happy relationship is scientific and going for an ultra-sound in two weeks.

Well, at least the Engineer laughed at my lies. Now it is two places he can't go with me . . . .

The Ring

Okay, I admit it. I am a coveter. There I said it. I - AM -A - COVETER. Of what? Oh god, the truth will set me free, the truth will set me free . . . . . I covet . . . I can hardly admit this let alone write it . . . . rings. Phew! There. Done. Oh wait. What kind of rings? Diamond rings. Are you happy? No? Okay, fine. I covet diamond engagement rings. GAH! Double GAH! Who am I? Crap, I can't help it. I love the goddamn freaking shiny rings worn on the ring finger of the left hand. I suppose I would love any diamond ring on any finger of either hand. But there is something about that damn solitaire on that damn ring finger. It says: I have a lover. I have stability (well we hope). I have a man who buys me pretty things. Shut up all of you feminist females out there!!! I am sure if I polled the Western world most women would admit that it is very nice to sport a shiny diamond that they got for FREE!!! FREE! That is the best thing about diamond engagements rings! We don't have to pay for them!!

I never used to care about diamonds until my first trip to Rodeo Drive when I was 21. On the corner of Rodeo and Wiltshire stands a three-storey Tiffany's. Being from the farmlands of Canada. I had never been into a Tiffany's - so I had to see what all the fuss was about. And as soon as that doorman/security guard opened the door for me and I stepped into the softly scented room filled with sparkle and glitter I knew my love affair had begun.

So today I may have gone shopping with some girlfriends. And we may have gone into Tiffany's. And I may have tried on a ring. Not my fault! My friend pointed it out to me as being perfect. And it is perfect - it is MY ring. No really, the ring was made for my finger, for my colouring, for my personality. And it isn't a diamond (okay it is encrusted with diamonds but they are small so who counts?) it is a 2.5 carat, PINK Sapphire. Oh god, it is beautiful. And the manager practically insisted I try it on (I screamed at it, I think he felt I should). And as priorly mentioned - I am a retard shopper who pretends I can afford the crazy price tags of things in cases. So when I saw the price of $33 000, I hardly blinked an eye. I mean the ring was soooooooo me. I have to have one (or a fake one very much like it). I think the manager thought that the Engineer makes enough money to buy me a $33 000 ring because he gave me his personal business card. I have NO idea where he got that idea.

My girlfriends supported me 100% in my love and need for the ring (okay, maybe not so much for the price tag) so what else is a girl to do but tell her Engineer? He was in the shower. The conversation went like this:
Stella: I love you
Engineer: Aww babe, I love you too
Stella: No, I really really love you
Engineer: What did you do?
Stella: I didn't do anything. (pause) not really

I won't tell you the end of that conversation. I think it ended somewhere between 'pressure' and 'don't drink wine while you are pregnant with my baby who is going to have cancer at the age of six'. All I know is that things got fuzzy and I don't have a pink ring. yet.

The Shop-over

I think I must be one of the world's worst shoppers. Right after my mum. My mum is a salesman's dream - if he says flattering things about his product my mother is putty in his hand. This is how my family has ended up with a pinkish tent, a pair of cross country skis, a Toyota CRV, and even a townhouse. I kid you not - I once got a call from my mum sounding all sheepish:
Mum: So today I went shopping
Stella: Oh yeah?
Mum: 'shy giggle' Yup
Stella: Oh god, what did you buy?
Mum: A house!

Seriously, who buys a house on a whim? The realtor convinced my mum that this was a dream home for investors and those about to retire - so she used her 'Fuck Off Account' - money she inherited from her father and keeps away from MY father - and put down a payment. I have to admit that it was smart buy - it is in Calgary and it is beautiful and it's price has tripled. But still.

Next in the retail idiot line is myself. I love to shop (what girl doesn't) but I really shouldn't as much as I do. Hello! I'm an actress/writer and things are quiet right now! It isn't so much that I suck at shopping - it is that I suck at saying no. For example, I have this problem asking how much things are, I hate appearing cheap. Which is ridiculous!! When things are in cases (ie pretty rings) I hate asking how much they are because when they say $900 I want to appear as if I have $900 to spend on a ring (not faint with sheer shock). I don't know why. So either I don't ask OR I ask and buy the thing even if I can't afford it!

Same with make-up counters. I walked into the new Holt's the other day, BIG mistake. BIG. It was all shiny and bright - how could I resist? Lead me not into temptation . . . . . but I was already there. At Bobbie Brown. Yikes. All the girls working were pretty and glossy. Could I help it if I wanted to be pretty and glossy too? So before I knew it I was up in a chair having my make-up done by a girl with pink cheeks. And I love having my make up done - it is right up there with massage. And she was putting nice smelling creams on my face that made my skin all dewy and silky. Then she had this blush that made me look fresh out of a walk in the woods, then the eye liner and shadow which made my blue eyes sparkle and before I knew it I had bought it all. ALL! GAHHHHH! And now I have to take it back - because it is Bobbie Brown and wonderful and very expensive. And I need to pay for car insurance. God I hate being grown up. Insurance over make-up, who thought of that stupid idea?

But I can't take it back to my new glossy store here, I feel like a retard. Like one of those women who shops everyday and spends thousands only to return her items the next day - we used to get them all the time in the retail store where I used to work. Luckily I am going to Calgary for Thanksgiving so I can return in there. HA! And I always make up a stupid excuse like: my mum bought me one already, it was a gift for my friend and she hated it, I suddenly lost 20 pounds so it doesn't fit, it didn't go with the pants like I thought it would (they went back too!), etc etc. Oh god, maybe I am that crazy lady??!!!

You know what it is? A shop-over. You know what the basic premise of a hangover is? - well a shop-over is very similar. But instead of your head hurting from wine, it hurts from VISA over-spendatures and moments of weakness in the bra department. You wake up with that sense of 'oh god, what did I do? What did I buy?" and items that seemed so perfect the day before are now just reminders of a weak moment in which you decided you just NEEDED a big purple purse (I returned that too). I hate the shop-over, but it is a really good cure for that shop-need (you know the feeling - when you just NEED to buy something. ANYTHING!) That is it. No more! From now on I vow to only make smart purchases that will not leave me heaving over the toilet or skipping off to other cities to return the items so I don't have to face girls with pink cheeks.

Being a guest . . .

So I just re-read some of my old entries. YOWZA! I do apparently hate weddings. But deep down, I really don't. If you read the entry below you will see that I enjoyed a wedding last weekend. And I enjoyed the cake (oh, god, I don't remember them cutting it? Did they cut it? They must have because I ate three pieces. It was YUMMO). I even think my boyfriend tried to catch the garter. I danced all night with my friends and it was so much fun. So therefore, I can't hate weddings as much as I think I do.

But I think I really like just being a guest - as long as I know the couple (I don't like being the guest of a guest when I have never met the bride OR groom). If it is a friend, then you get the fun stagette a few weeks before. As a friend, you know that other friends are going. And it is always really nice to hang out with your friends. It is nice seeing them all dressed up and pretty. And I love watching our boys playing with each other and becoming friends. And dancing is always fun. You can't ever go wrong with two-stepping in your bare feet!

Wow - two positive entries. What is wrong with me? Oh - I just realized that around July 19th I started taking my happy pink pills. Clearly they have kicked in :)

The First Kiss

I fear that my writing is reaching high proportions of bitterness and bitchiness. Read one entry and you may think ‘hey, this girl is sort of funny’ but if you read them all at once you may think ‘get this girl a cocktail because she needs to shut up’.

Therefore I am writing about something positive, and the sad thing is I can’t think of too many positive things that involve weddings. Sad isn’t it? When technically love is the most wonderful thing that exists in our world (puke). But love really is nice. It means backrubs, cups of tea and oil changes. My own Engineer is sitting in my tub right now with rubber gloves and a wire contraption he designed, pulling hair out of my drain. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.

I have to admit that I have a good one. A really really really good one. We started off friends and decided one magical night to be more. And when I say ‘magical’ I actually mean ‘drunken’. For just over a year, the Engineer and I had been pretty much inseparable - we used to joke that we were a mutant couple. In hindsight we were in fact mutant. We would rather hang out as friends than date other people. Our friends waited patiently for us to wake up and that beautiful day happened on Halloween.

I was dressed as a butterfly in an old formal gown that I had from my sorority days (that is an entry for another day) and he was a blow-up bull rider. My grandmother met my grandfather at a Halloween dance. She was dressed as a gypsy reading fortunes for all the kids and my grandfather couldn’t resist her beauty so had his fortune read. And his fortune was to fall in love (or that is how their meeting goes in my imagination – all I know is that she really was dressed as a gypsy). My Halloween story is not like that. At all.

When I say the Engineer and I were inseparable, it means that we basically went to the bar every weekend. Our bonding was over gin & tonics and a shared love of country music in sweaty bars (once again, another entry for another time). For over a year and a half, the Engineer took care of me at bars. He protected me if need be and always carried my lip-gloss. He would pick up my purse when I dropped it and he once gave me his runners when my feet hurt too much in my shoes. But not this fateful night. Oh no. The Engineer decides to hit on this girl dressed as a stupid super hero. Well this butterfly did not like the sudden attention he was spending on a random girl. So I did my darndest to deter her away.

At party number one I asked what she did for a living and found out that she never went to post-secondary school. Judgmental Butterfly told her the Engineer doesn’t like stupid people.

At party number two, Bitter Butterfly kept grabbing the Engineer away from her and shooting her dirty looks. I then made the Engineer fix my broken wings in a snuggly corner out of eyesight from the superhero. I also spent a considerable time telling him that I didn’t like her. I must say, that the Engineer and I spent most of this party together (I think) and excluded the superhero.


At party number three (I quite frankly don’t know why she stuck around), Belligerent Butterfly got mad at the Engineer because I told him that everyone thought he was in love with me but he wasn’t acting like he did. I then asked him if he ever thought that we should be a couple. When he said ‘yes’ I freaked out MORE – and told him it would be weird if we kissed. When he said ‘no’ I grabbed his face and kissed him. Then I yelled that his timing was off and that it was weird. So we tried again – but this time he grabbed my waist and the timing wasn’t off at all. And it wasn’t weird. Well, not really. I don’t know where the superhero was at this point but they still shared a cab and he saw that she got home. And in fact they went on a date a week later because we were both in denial about THE KISS.

And now that I write this down, I see the complete absurdity that was our first kiss and I can’t believe that I spent most of the time yelling at him – and that he still wanted to be with me. But we figured it out – albeit a month later. And now he pulls hair out of my drain. See? Now that is love. And as for the superhero? I don’t really care . . . . ..

To Prove that I don't really Hate weddings (that much)

Okay, now I feel bad for bitching about weddings as much as I do. Yes, I have seen too many weddings than I care to remember. But I have also been to several weddings where I had a great time and really enjoyed myself.

The first wedding in which I bridesmaided for was one of the lovliest. It was nestled in the mountains in the middle of August. it was not a $50 000 affair but something smaller and more intimate. The part I remember most is dancing under the stars on the grass in our barefeet. See? I can like weddings too!



TOP FIVE THINGS I LOVE ABOUT WEDDINGS

1. Being with your best friend on the day of their dreams.
2. The daddy/daughter dance. It always makes me cry.
3. Free champagne and lots of cake.
4. Seeing old people dance. It’s really cute.
5. The night before sleepover (if you have one) where you giggle about boys like a teenager,