The Pooches

The thing about watching Oprah is that one is often inspired to change their lives.  This is how she has made billions.  I should have known to look away from the set one rainy afternoon when Oprah and Lisa Ling warned viewers that the content would be disturbing.  But did I?  No.  The end result?  I now have two dogs.

The show was about puppy mills - you can imagine the horror - and I was entranced. Oprah stated that from now on she would no longer buy purebreds but rescue dogs instead, and I too felt the call.  I spent hours scouring the Internet to find out about puppy mills and humane societies, finding a way to help.  My way to help came in the form of Mr. Mop.

I went to a website (www.petfinder.com) that matches rescue dogs in your area.  I love bichons and found an adorable photo of a little bichon mix up in the North West Territories.  In a patch of snow there stood a white dog, with long hair resembling a mop (hence the name), one ear cocked staring at the camera.  I could hear his little voice crying 'take me home'.  I melted.  I enquired about him and didn't hear a peep.

In the next few days, my then casual dog mission led me to a puppy that would later become Brooklyn.  A breeder saves mum dogs from puppy mills and this little guy was part of her litter.  I called her up, just an inquiry, and within five minutes I agreed to take him home.

The Engineer was more that perturbed (see:  'The Doglema') when I called him at work to inform him of my rash decision.  

The weeks went on and I prepared for the arrival of the puppy. I spent hours looking at his photo, reading dog training books at the library and going to pet stores in preparation.  I decided on the name Brooklyn to mark the move (see:  "My Apologies") and started talking about the new arrival with lots of excitement.  

Then one night I had a new message in my inbox:  Mr. Mop was available.  Oh god.  The idea of two dogs was ridiculous but my heart went out to this poor little mutt up in the Arctic.  I decided to call just to see what the chances were of his adoption.  It turned out that Mr. Mop had a bit of an unfortunate past.  His owner treated him like a husky, meaning he had been left to roam around the snow-covered tundra all winter with no love.  He had been caught by the dog catcher several times and finally his owner refused to pay the 'bail'.  Up north, everyone wants big dogs and Mr. Mop was having a hard time finding a home.  Gulp.

I called my biggest dog advocate, little K,  for advice.  She convinced me to take him and we would find a home for him here.  The stars had clearly lined up as the shelter could transport him to Edmonton but not all the way to Rainy City.  Luckily, Little K's mom was driving out from Edmonton the next day and was willing to pick him up.  Within minutes, Mr. Mop was organized to board the one plane flying out of his hometown and I was now a mother of two.

I know this story is long but hear me out.  

My intentions were good:  find Mr. Mop a home when he arrived.  He did find a home:  mine.  Mr. Mop turned out to be a bichon crossed with jack russell.  Adorable, sweet and with eyes that would make even the coldest hearts melt.  In fact, everyone, and I mean everyone loves this dog.  He is so full of personality and spunk.  I have offers all the time from people who want to take care of him.

At this point, the Engineer was ready to leave me (and the dogs) and things got a bit sticky.  I couldn't imagine giving Mr. Mop away as I had fallen so in love with him.  And when Brooklyn arrived, I couldn't resist his teeny tiny cuteness.  It was the Engineer or the dogs.  But luckily the pooches wormed their way into the Engineer's heart and I never had to make that decision.

Yes, two dogs is crazy.  Yes, I travel a ton which leaves things a bit difficult.  But I just got back from an hour long walk around the seawall on a beautiful sunny morning. I NEVER would have left my house before 8 (make that 11) if I didn't have to let my dogs pee.  Now I love it.  I love going outside.  I love meeting all the other dogs and their owners - it's such a community.  I love people stopping me to play with my energetic pups.  I love taking them to the lake and teaching them to swim.  I love feeding them and bathing them and playing with them.  I would even go as far to say that I love picking up their poop (only because I am so proud Brooklyn is finally housebroken!).  I simply love my dogs.

I think everyday should be a dog day - they just make life a bit sweeter.  So thanks Oprah for inspiring me to rescue two little guys who needed a home.

Where's your dog?

P.S. I have to give a wee mention to the dog that first made me love dogs: Molly Dog Groundwater - the best dog a girl could have growing up - I hope she is having fun chasing squirrels in doggie heaven 

My Apologies

Wow, I have really fallen off the bandwagon with my vow of writing every few days.  It's been a month!  I apologize faithful readers (mum) for being a lazy girl and drinking iced mochas rather than sitting at my laptop.

Granted, there have been a few distractions this summer that have made my life a little wacky (more so than usual).  Firstly, I solved the 'doglema' and got a dog.  Then I got a second dog.  If you can do math then you just figured out that I am a proud mama of TWO little dogs!  That means two walks, two bowls of food, two bags of POO (I obviously did not that that through)! It all comes down to Oprah; but that story is for another day.

Secondly, the Engineer and I are going through a big fat move.  He has decided to go back to business school in the Big Apple, which leaves me in Rainy City:  single once again.  I am going half time, however,  so all is well. 

If you are keeping score that means I now have two dogs, one Brooklyn address, two closets (!!), and an airpass that takes me from coast to coast.  The life I lead eh?

Thirdly, it has been wedding season.  A slow one for bridesmaiding  - the only one this summer has been in the tropics - but a busy one for guesting.  Three in one weekend!  THREE!!! GAH!

But enough of the excuses and back to the blog.  There is so much to catch you up on:  from friends that have turned into milking cows to the joys of decorating decisions with the Engineer to ethnic weddings.  Alas, now is bed but don't fear faithful reader (ie. friends who are bored at work) because Stella is back and the follies just got follier . . . . 

Stay tuned

British Boobs

Where do we get our boobs from?  I got my eyes from my mum.  My hair from my mum.  My skin from my mum.  My hips from my mum.  My boobs from my ?

I just watched an episode of 'How to Look Good Naked' - that British show that makes women feel good in their own skin - and learned a fun fact:  British women have the biggest boobs in Europe.  

Ummm, I disagree.  Well, actually I don't.  British women do have the biggest boobs I have ever seen.  

Why do I bring up the British?  Because I am 100% Rule Britannia, Anglo-Saxon, white-skinned, bad teethed (I had braces though), tea loving British.  My mum was born there, as was her mum, and her mum.  My father's family hails from Scotland, like northern, have never seen the sun, Orkney Islands Scotland.  I have a British passport.  But what don't I have?  That's right!  Big boobs.  

I have teeny tiny, albeit perky, A-cups.  So if British women have the biggest breasts in Europe, then something happened on the boat over here.

Both my grandmothers had incredibly large breasts.  I mean BIG.  Long after my maternal grandmother's death, my cousins and I were perusing photographs of her together.  After one or two shots we all paused.  I said, "Okay, who's going to say it?"  My older cousin said, "Grandma had huge knockers".  That's right, huge.

The British side that still lives in England are big breasted - maybe it's in the water?

But me?  nothing.  So where do we get our breast size from?  What gene?  Where did I inherit them from?

I haven't outgrown my bras that I first got at 13.  For a long time I was upset about this; and even am a bit sensitive today.  But watching the end of this naked show where they are showing lots of older women's boobs, I am sort of happy mine are always going to stay in the same spot.

Rule Canada via Brittania!  It makes everything smaller.  Except my thighs.  Now that is unfair.

Tropical Vows

I have just returned from Cuba where I was bridesmaid #7 to a very good friend.  This was my first destination wedding and I must say:  It was AMAZING!!!!

Seven days in a tropical paradise with some of your greatest friends while meeting new friends and family, is pretty wicked.  I don't know if I would want to get married at a destination though.  It was awesome for us, who had the freedom to do as we wished and eat dinner with who ever we wanted.  I am not so sure I would want to be the bride or groom (well obviously not the groom, they don't get the dress).  

Not only are both sides of your family with you for an ENTIRE week in ONE resort, but you also have dozens of friends with you who ALL want to see you.  The pressure we put on this girl was beyond anything.  She doesn't live in Rainy City anymore, so of course the rain girls wanted her to play with us.  The Cowboy people wanted to see her (even though they can see her anytime!! Clearly this shows how cool she is), her family wanted to see her (they live in China, I understand the need), his family wanted to see her (they also live in Rainy City and LOVE her) - so this poor girl was unable to just BE.  Or maybe she was and it is me making this up.

Anyhoo, our trip to Cuba was fun times had by all.  Although it was stinking hot.  Here are my top five of the good and the bad:

Top Five things AGAINST having a tropical wedding:

1.  It is really really really hot, so all the groomsmen look like they have run through a high powered sprinkler.

2. It is really really really hot so that when the bridesmaids cry, their make-up runs and it looks like a stream running down their sweaty cheek (okay, this was me)

3.  It is really really really hot so that the bride is dying in her dress and her good girlfriends make her 'spread em' (don't worry, she was standing up) and fan her nether regions (I discovered this technique in Havana while sitting at a table, that fan works wonders)

4.  It is really really really hot so that when the men sit in their khakis and spread their legs and a bridesmaid happens to look down she notices a sweat mark where she has never seen one before

5.  It is really really really hot so that a bridesmaid falls asleep in a lounger by the beach while all her friends are still dancing

Top Five things FOR a Tropical wedding

1.  Ummm, the tropics

2.  Saying your vows on a beach with aqua blue water

3.  again, the tropics

4.  Having an excuse to walk down the aisle to Bob Marley

5.  Being so hot that it is okay to end the night in the pool and/or ocean

All in all, having all your best friends, family and family friends begging to spend time with you for a week, bonding with each other so much that when they get off the plane in Rainy City they are all sad to say good-bye, and having the time of your life in the tropics outweighs the ball sweat.  GO TROPICAL WEDDING!!!!

Congrats T & L!!

My Blonde Roots

Sometimes I find that my brain malfuntions - and it is highly embarrassing. Perhaps the problem is that my mouth works faster than my brain and I should just wait until it catches up.

The worst habit I have is saying the wrong words. And with this I realize I have turned into my mother. My mother often says things incorrect. For example she has called 'La Senza' 'La STenza' for years. I correct her but she has failed to learn. 

I am similar - except it isn't the same word. Okay okay, maybe there are some words. Like facade.  I always say it wrong.  I have to say it three times before I get it right.  

On our recent trip to Cuba I made several mistakes.  On the first night I popped my knee out of its socket and I did it on a stage in front of people.  The next day, as the Engineer rolled me past the stage in my wheelchair (yes readers, you heard correctly) I said: "Here we are at the site of the problem".  But bless the Engineer's heart; he can somehow understand me.  He knew that I meant,  "Here we are at the scene of the crime".  

The whole popping out the knee and inability to walk properly made me even more klutzy than usual.  When this was commented on I replied by saying, "Yes, I am really tricky".  Tricky!  How do I confuse that with klutzy?

At Christmas I call the last present the 'Piece de renance", so now the Engineer always says that phrase to make fun of me.  

I am a clever girl, just not good with words at times.  

The worst and most embarrassing example unfortunately highlighted the fact I had been skipping theatre history.  During my days of theatre school, I may have skipped the 10am theatre history class after nights of performing on stage.  I copied notes from my friend and showed up on a Friday.  At the time we were learning about Goethe.  Notice the spelling.  So I had tons of 'Goethe' in my notes and suddenly my teacher can't shut up about a dude named 'Gerta'.  After about a half hour of this confusion, I turn to my friend and asked her who the hell "GOETHE" was.  Dear God, no wonder my teacher hated me.  *note:  he hated all the BFA actors for some reason

Numbers make me even more confused, I need to learn to shut up before I open my mouth.  While walking the dog tonight (yes, the dog-lema has been solved), we walked past a beautiful house that was for sale.  I picked up the brochure and scanned for the price.  The cost of the house was a whopping $9 498 399!!!  I stopped, confused, and then said, "Is this house almost a billion dollars?"  The Engineer nearly peed himself laughing.

I need to keep my thoughts to myself.

Signs to Stop the Wedding

Over the years of being a bridesmaid and being friends with other habitual bridesmaids, I have heard horror tales of weddings that are doomed. Therefore, I have compiled a list for my loyal reader of signs that you should not have a wedding (elopement yes, wedding no). If you are suffering from any of these signs, I encourage you to sell your wedding dress for two plane tickets to Las Vegas pronto.

Signs you should not have a wedding:

1. The stress of your wedding gives you IBS

2. The financial stress of the wedding puts your father on anxiety medication/panic attack medication/heart medication. Any medication really.

3. Just mentioning your groom-to-be's name causes you to burst into hives (reconsidering your relationship is a strong possibility)

4. The husband-to-be is a drug dealer (ummm, cancel marriage in general here)

5. Your parents plan on selling their generations old land in Europe on which cork trees grow in order to pay for your wedding.

6. Your parents plan on selling their home and moving into a one-bedroom condo in order to pay for your wedding

7. You are going into debt on top of the $25K student loan, car payment, and mortgage you already owe to pay for your wedding

8. All parents are divorced, some are remarried, all hate each other and your fear that your mother will attack your dad's new wife with the cake knife causes nightmares and an ulcer - this is a pretty good indication that you should not have a wedding

9. The groom's father is dying from a terminal illness but your need to walk down the aisle in a white dress overrides your husband's need to have his father see him get married (perhaps it is time to re-evaluate your priorities)

10. Your two families hate each other Capulet/Montague style and there is a possibility of gang/mafia/Godfatheresque warfare at the reception (how did you even get this far?)

To Have or Not to Have

Do you find that before the big day, the bride is on a quest to make herself as beautiful as possible? That she goes to extra lengths she would never ordinarily go because she is saying some old fashioned vows? Some brides are so ridiculous that they don't even look like themselves on their wedding day; practically scaring their husbands-to-be.

One bride friend grew her hair long, even though she has never had long hair in her life. And the day after the honeymoon she cut it off. True, she looked pretty but not what she looked like everyday. She regretted the hair growth.

I am a bridesmaid next week in Cuba for the loveliest bride ever. She is so sweet that she is terrified of doing what she wants for her big day in the fear she will offend someone. Cuba Bride is naturally very pretty and she doesn't wear much make-up. We did a field trip to MAC to get her a bride palatte that looked natural and yet 'done-up'. I thought this would be the extent of her bridal day beauty routine. But she called me the yesterday to ask if she should get fake nails. I practically screamed at her. Oh wait, maybe I did.

The point is, this girl is NOT a fake nail kind of girl. It would look absurd and she would never have them again. She just needs a nice manicure. Fake nails require ridiculous upkeep and they ruin your nails. My poor friend was a bridesmaid to a terror bride who insisted ALL bridesmaids have matching fake nails. MATCHING FAKE NAILS!!! WTF? She has naturally strong, healthy nails but for the next year she had to repair the damage that was done to them. Not to mention $100 down the toilet.

So why do bride's insist on changing themselves for the big day? I know I know, it's the same reason I am going to the tanning salon and have ended up with a purple bikini line (perhaps that should wait another day): those photos last forever. You want to look your best. I fully intend on shedding 10 pounds and getting my hair done when I get marries. However, usually when I get my hair done I look back at pictures and cringe.

Which brings me right back to my original point . . . to have or not to have fake nails? To cringe or not to cringe later in life?

At the end of the day, and after forty years, are you really going to care? Probably not. Cuba Bride - I'll paint your nails for you!

The Dog-lema

You are either a dog lover or not.  

I fall into the former camp.  I have always loved dogs - well there was a brief cat loving period but it ended when my cat got run over - and have always had dogs.  My first was a sheltie named McTavish who was with me in my early life.  He let me crawl all over him and pull his hair.  

Then there was my grandma's dog, Blackie, a border collie.  He was there for my walks in the wheat fields  and always wanted to be patted, which I would do even though he was a bit smelly and quite matted.  

Finally, there was Molly.  Molly Molly Molly.  I got her for my 11th (or 12th?) birthday and after a long and wonderful life, she passed away a little over a year ago.  

I begged my parents for her.  When they finally relented, I scoured the paper everyday for a dog (this was way before all those designer dog stores were around) and found her for $100.  I called all weekend with no answer.  On Sunday night, when the people finally picked up (after being away for the weekend - the paper ran the ad early) I hung up without saying a word.  I made my mum call back and we arranged to go over right then and there.  

As much as I like to think she was my dog, she was clearly my mother's.  It was mum who walked and fed her, mum who let her sleep with her, mum mum mum.  So Molly ended up being my furry sister.

Since moving to Rainy City, I have long wanted another dog.  But there were so many things stopping me:  I felt like I was cheating on Molly, I was broke, I had a crazy schedule, I travelled.

Well, now things are slightly different.  Molly is gone and I will always miss her, but I am no longer cheating.  Dogs are not that expensive and I am no longer that broke.  My schedule is actually okay, I am at home all the time, or most of the time - and if on set, dogs are welcome in the trailers.  I still travel.  But I don't leave for months at a time like I once did.

I am ready for a dog - but terrified at the same time.  My mother thinks it is too much responsibility, but the idea of a routine is actually exciting.  I should really start getting out of bed at 8 anyways (I need to train it to sleep in).  Dogs are great for depression, I can go off my little pink pills and use the routine and care of a dog to get through tough times.  Dogs can also travel quite well, and New York is a dog friendly city.

The Engineer is not a dog person.  And as much as he wants to be happy for me, he is not.  He is an Engineer after all, and engineers tend to think way more with their heads than their hearts.  They also tend to come up with all of the potential problems rather than the potential greatness.  I suppose that is why they pay him the big bucks.

I have a dog-lema.  I want one, I feel I am ready for one, but the big supporters in my life are not too thrilled about it.  

And then there is the traveling factor.  But I can figure that out can't I?  Besides, they let dogs in England now . . . . .  and every Best Western.

The Bridesmaid Types

There are several types of brides:

1.  Psycho bride

2. Laid-back bride

3.  Indecisive bride

4.  Bride with a wedding planner

5.  Forgetful bride

And just like brides, there are different types of bridesmaids.  I am on wedding #7, so I feel by this time I now know the different types quite well.  Here they are:

1.  Dictator Bridesmaid.  This is the maid who likes to do the job good and fast, with military precision.  She takes on the tasks the bride has given, barks out orders, and reprimands the others when they mess something up (even the grandmother of the groom).  She prefers to work in assembly lines or teams.  This is the girl who gets the job done.  Sometimes this maid may be worse than the bride and turn into a bit of a bridesmaidzilla.  But she'll calm down eventually.

2.  The Organizer Bridesmaid.  Not to be confused with the Dictator.  Although similar, this Organizer is the gal who plans the showers at her home, the stagette, and any other wedding related activities.  She likes to run around town, gathering the perfect little items to make her home wedding-shower-ready and planning menus.  She calls the Dictator often, who in turn will get all the cheese and fruit cut properly.

3.  The Fashionista Bridesmaid.  This is the girl who gives the loudest opinion on dress choice and colour schemes. But this is okay as the other ladies trust her in this department - they will listen to her when she convinces the bride to choose black dresses for a New Year's wedding for the glamour factor.  She is the one to pick out which colour parasols the gals will carry, what shoes look best, and she will apply the false eye-lashes on all the women for the Big Day.

4.  The Happy-Go-Lucky Bridesmaid.  This bridesmaid is just happy to be a bridesmaid.  She'll go along with whatever the bride (and the above bridesmaids) want.  She'll show up to showers and stagettes with ice in tow (or whatever they need her to pick up) and just smile lots.

5.  The Anti-Wedding Bridesmaid.  This is the girl who is a bit of a wild card.  The bride asked her to be in the wedding party because she is a good friend, both are excited in the beginning but it turns out that this girl could care-less about wedding talk/stuff/parties.  She'll be the last one to answer any of the emails or add her two cents.  On the day, she smiles and has a great time, but up until then she doesn't do much for the bride.  She will surprise you when she kicks over the MOG or flower girl to catch the bouquet.

Sometimes these ladies will clash.  They may even end up in different 'camps' and not really mesh well together.  This is what happens when you put females in tight-fitting dresses, you can't expect them all to love each other or be happy at all times.  

You can fall into one or more categories.  Or you may be type 1 for one wedding and type 5 for another, it just depends.

All that really matters is that you make sure you have nice hair on the day and get some cake.

The Tanning Salon

In preparation for my travels to Cuba to be bridesmaid #7, I have decided to forgo the tanning cream and hit the fake 'n bake.  Which is really stupid when you think about it.  I don't want to get a sunburn in Cuba so I am pre-heating myself.  If I was going to start smoking would I hang out with smokers to get my lungs ready?  Actually, maybe I would.

Anyhoo, I trotted off the the tanning salon in which I get my slightly darker-white fix in the stand up beds.  I like these bed because they are (a) fast (b) I can dance in them and (c) I don't feel like I am getting into a coffin.  If you have never been in a stand-up, I think you should try it.  You go in, the fan turns on and blows your hair like a rockstar, the  music is playing and you hold on to these handles to get an even tan - all the while dancing.  Very fun.

The one thing I don't do when tanning is use those tan creams.  I think they are ridiculously expensive for smelly cream and I don't think they do anything.  My friend told me that baby oil works just as well.  But isn't that what they used in the 60's to tan with and now all those ladies look like wrinkled prunes?  Well, I got some anyways.  And let me tell you frankly:  baby oil (I got baby gel actually) and tanning DO NOT MIX.

First, baby oil is oily.  Obviously.  It is heck to get off.  Not only was I sticky/shiney after getting out, but it wouldn't come off.  I rubbed myself with the towel. I showered. I went in the pool for crying out loud.  The stuff stays on!  I am a sticky, oily, baby-smelling mess.  

With a sunburn.

Oil + fake sun = sunburn

I am an itchy lobster skinned, oil slicked girl.

Back to the tanning cream . . . .