Getting to know YOU

Good afternoon ghosts! Glad you could make it. I have wasted away my morning (or perhaps enriched it?) with blogging activities, including the changing of my URL (sorry, I should have warned everyone!), the addition of Blog Frog to my blog and other such networking practices. During which, I found a blog with Getting to know YOU on it, so I checked out the blog of origin for this fun little number, and I decided to make it something I do too. Yay trends. The kind of simple idea you could have thought of but someone else got it first, and the followers that came with it. Not that it's all about followers, but you know. Anyway, here's my first one.

1. Would you rather bungee jump or skydive?

Skydive. It's less restricted.

2. When using a public restroom do you squat over the seat or sit?

Sit, unless the seat has some kind of moisture on it that isn't absolutely, undoubtedly toilet water that splashes up upon flushing.

3. Favourite flower?

Yellow roses

4. Pedicure or Manicure?

Pedicure

5. How many siblings do you have?

Three: Oldest sister-Chloé

Second Oldest brother-Clinton

Second Youngest brother-Courtland

Then me, the youngest.

6. Do you pee in the shower? (gasp!)

No.

7. Bikini, tankini or one piece?

Bikini

8. Where do you hate to shop at, but go there anyway?

Sporting Life. The employees follow me like I'm a convicted con artist, waiting on my haunches to make the next kill (as in theft), and then they get way too pushy once you start trying things on. It's quite awful.

BREAKING NEWS

DEAR GHOSTS,
I have CHANGED my URL in order for it to coincide better with the title and email of my blog, to create a sense of unity. The other URL was all I could think of at the time that wasn't taken. My URL is NO LONGER:
http://www.planetindigo.blogspot.com/
It has been CHANGED to:
http://www.e-i-g-h-t-days-a-week.blogspot.com/
Sorry if this screws anything up, and I hope that nobody has any trouble getting here, but if you have, please refer to my facebook profile, where my NEW URL is listed beneath my picture. The DIRECT LINK is in my INFO under WEBSITE. I hope that this URL makes sense in your minds as well, but if there are any objections, please feel free to comment or, if your comment is particularly long, which I doubt, email me at the address seen above my posts, that nice handy place you can't miss.
Also, if you follow my blog, you MUST change the link you have for my blog in your listings, or unfollow and refollow in order to be following, otherwise you are following a blog that does not exist!
I also hope the use of capital letters in excess hasn't made you think I'm yelling, I just want to be clear and highlight main points.
Thanks for following, or if you aren't following yet, thanks for choosing to follow right now because you love what you see!
Thanks,
Callie

The Heat is On in More Ways than One

A wonderful blizzard attacked in the opposite of stealth yesterday! It continues to pummel us with fat snowflakes as I type. Yesterday we got over a foot of really, really cold snow, so powdery and fabulous. Today it's warmer so the snow isn't as ridiculous to walk in (as in you don't feel like your skin is being peeled off from the bitter winds), but it will be much worse to shovel. Ugh. Yesterday I shoveled for about twenty minutes, making it through all of six feet, and I practically broke my wrist (the one I fell on at work), so I woke Courtland up to make him finish and he gave up after about five minutes. Oh, and went back to bed.
The sidewalks weren't plowed at the time when I left for the day, so walking was more than a chore. The snow was at my thighs (no exaggeration) and I was actually getting a workout--I was breathing heavy! It's not even as if I'm out of shape, it was just that deep. Macaroni. I love it.
In other news, Canadian women's curlers make dumb mistakes in the game and lose to the Swedes again. Not that a silver isn't acceptable, because it totally is (plus it's curling so I don't have much of an emotional investment in the...sport?...game?), but really. Even I could tell that was a dumb move. Harper was in the audience of course, because he would be watching the most boring event of all when the Olypmics are in his own country. Naturally, he was unimpressed.
As for men's hockey last night, against the Slovaks! That was intense! Our boys were kind of just killing time at the end while Slovakia kept givin' her, which was disappointing, but it was high-stress and awesome. 3-2 for us and a whole whack of cheering to our all-star goalie, Luongo, who really held the game together at the end. Going for the gold against the US of A next! Sorry, my American followers, but your nation is my competition this time. :) May the best team win.
Now a shoutout to my loverly boyfriend, who has followed my blog for many months and has been with me for longer than that. You are the cherry on top, my darling. I love you!
Finally, I've just decided that I'm going to start thanking followers and non-following but daily reading people of my blog more often. I won't say in every blog, because as we can see I have only eleven followers (feel free to help me change that for the better), so that would be rather a short-lived project. Plus I might not remember or it might not fit into a given blog. At any rate, this blog goes out to my boyfriend, as mentioned. He follows with his Google account. You should do this too, non-bloggers!
And we'll all live happily ever after.

Icicle Stretchings, Bicycle Shoestrings

Some pictures of this intriguing icicle on my house. That eaves trough has had its day. The icicle population is in excess and the gutters look positively wretched.
My hip flexors are really sore from kind of over-stretching them today at the Y and I'm tired even though I slept in two and a half hours this morning.
That Coca-Cola commercial that shows a bundle of clips of people saying "(S)he scores!" is really effective and surprisingly enjoyable. It makes me appreciate how much hockey means to our nation, how it is the glue that holds us all together. I also like the commercial that shows the guy who dumps a bunch of chicks because they wreck his car.
And a shout out to my BFF Fro Joe, also known as Joe Crozier, who is going to follow my blog because I mentioned him in a post finally and he, naturally, loves me dearly. He must put that Google account to good use. You are awesome Joe. Following my blog can only make you awesomer.

Why Yes, You Are a Dick

I could just punch people.
I'm not surprised, seeing as it is Collingwood, that homosexuality is largely misunderstood and prejudiced against, but I am ever-astounded at the atrocious attitude our town's members openly exude toward people of this orientation. How can a person say, in all seriousness, that "faggots should die", intentionally within hearing range of a gay man, no less, without regret? Or feeling? What kind of home must one be raised in to have such ignorance and hate toward a person with no reason other than what turns him on? What kind of environment moulds a being into such a beast?
I hate walking down the hall with my gay friend and seeing people stare at us like we're freaks of nature--him for his sexuality, me for befriending him. What difference does it make whether he likes Daniels or Danielles? It's nobody's business but his, just as it isn't his business if they want to bang drunk chicks every Saturday night. I hate that everyone makes it theirs. It's absolutely sickening. Thankfully, my friend is intelligent and capable enough to blow their stupidity off and ignore them completely, but it just irks me. I don't know why people feel entitled to such behaviour. It's disgusting and frustrating and it just bothers me so much that anyone could ever have the cruelty of spirit to intend to hurt someone over something so very irrelevant. I could just explode. I get stared at enough as it is for my weird clothing/tree-hugging/nerd girl-ness.
I feel like the next Chloé of CCI.

And Then I Found Love

I splurged today! I bought really, really expensive mittens, but they were 50% off, so that's how I justified it. I went into the store to buy an Olympics sweater, but the only cool ones were guy sweaters and the small sizes were gone, so I looked around for something else instead. Lo and behold, there were the mittens! All nice and cheap. I tried on several pairs and had a few in mind that when 50% off would be about 30$, and then I found the ones.

I stared at them for about five minutes telling myself not to try them on because I knew they would be too expensive. I couldn't help but reach out and touch them, feel up the detailing and softness of the outer thumb. I hummed inside. The perfect texture. Feeling the inside couldn't hurt, I told myself. One thing led to another and before I knew it I had penetrated the glove with my eager digits. The warmth, the feel, the joy, it was all too much to handle. I quite literally closed my eyes with pleasure. I forced myself to remove my knuckle-deep hand from the depths of this happy place and gazed upon the mitten in awe. My muse. I looked at the sizes on the hook--only smalls. I sighed and thought sadly but reasonably, thank goodness, I couldn't buy them if I wanted to. I stopped touching them, ready to leave with a different pair, but on my last glance of the mitten rack I saw one pair of the mittens in large, just on the wrong hook. I hesitated, then I practically lunged for them.

I thrust my entire hand into the mitten, feeling the ecstasy once more envelop not only my hand but my very being. I've never felt such a way about so futile an object. I could not deny myself these mittens as my own any longer. I saw how it looked on my hand and fell in love all over again. I melted.

It was now time to see the price of such perfection. I lifted the tag to my line of sight and saw that it was 115$. Yowza. But then! Oh, joy of joys, it was 50% off! I hastened off with them, like someone might steal my prize before I could claim it.

I purchased them and felt the magic flow through me as I finally took them in my arms and called them my own, once and for all. I brought them home and they are now waterproofing happily on my desk. I love them. I cherish them. And those expensive mittens are going last me, dammit!

She Scores!

Well, the opening ceremonies for the Olympics were held tonight (and perhaps are continuing now?) in this my home and native land, and I was at work! I saw bits and pieces of it and it kind of just looked like a feeble Canada-ised imitation of Beijing's crazy ceremonies. We must face it, we are not the crazy Beijing Olympics. Plus it's winter. Of course, I didn't see them all, so if they improved from what I saw, let me know.
Anyway, it's pretty cool that the Olympics are in my country. I kind of want to say it makes it feel less distant and otherworldly, but it doesn't, really. The Olympics don't feel any closer to home even though they are. Someone from my school is going to be snowboarding. Ah well, that's the way it is I suppose. I like to watch the figure skating, speed skating, ski/snowboard jumping and ski/snowboard races. I like the other stuff too, of course, like the very Canadian sport that is hockey, but even though I enjoy winter as a season much more than summer, I like the summer Olympics more.
In other news, I fell at work today. It wasn't very embarrassing because the only one who saw was Greg and he is very polite and gentlemanly and didn't even mention it to anyone else as I am sure anyone else would have, which was awesome. He asked if I was okay and moved on with his life. Plus I saw him drop something and spill it all over the place later and didn't mention it, so we're even. The only downer was that I kind of hurt my wrist and it made my ongoing headache even worse, which really sucked. I've felt awful all night. Highlight of my night: Vince got my Sunday shift covered! Yes! I was contemplating faking sick if I couldn't get anyone to take my shift, but I didn't really want to be deceitful and I hate calling in. I feel bad because they need me there. Hence, I opted for honesty and just told my managers I needed Sunday off because I wanted to be with with my boyfriend on Valentine's Day. It turns out this was an excellent idea because Vince jumped on it and tried (and succeeded!) to get my shift covered all night. I was so grateful. So that is awesome.
Plus I was working with Jarred tonight and he's the bestest manager of them all. Also awesome.
If only I wasn't feeling so sick.

I LOVE FOOD

Don't you hate it when you take something out of the fridge and scoop it into a bowl to microwave it, and then when you go to eat the hot food you forget that the food on the fork is still cold and then it grosses you out because you have cold lumpy food on you fork you forgot about?
I hate that.
I also hate when you think you're taking chick pea curry out of the fridge and then you realise after you microwave it that it smells very different from chick pea curry and smells mysteriously like homemade rosé sauce with veggie meat in it, and then when you taste it you find yourself eating not the substantial meal that is chick pea curry but the sauce that goes on the pasta that would fill you but you eat it anyway because you're lazy and it tatstes good besides?
Well, I don't really hate that. It's kind of fun and unexpected.

Oh!

If I were a month, I'd be February.

If I were a day of the week, I’d be Thursday.

If I were a time of day, I’d be evening.

If I were a planet, I’d be Krypton.

If I were a sea animal, I’d be a whale.

If I were a direction, I’d be West.

If I were a piece of furniture, I’d be a couch.

If I were a liquid, I’d be frothy.

If I were a gemstone, I’d be an amethyst.

If I were a tree, I’d be a pear tree.

If I were a tool, I’d be a screwdriver.

If I were a flower, I’d be a snapdragon.

If I were a kind of weather, I’d be a blizzard.

If I were a musical instrument, I’d be a cello.

If I were a color, I’d be green.

If I were an emotion, I’d be introspective. If I were a fruit, I’d be a green grape.

If I were a sound, I’d be a marimba.

If I were an element, I’d be fire.

If I were a car, I’d be a sexy, sexy Porsche.

If I were a food, I’d be delicious.

If I were a place, I’d be a cave.

If I were a material, I’d be leather.

If I were a taste, I’d be red wine.

If I were a scent, I’d be musky.

If I were an object, I’d be a flute.

If I were a body part, I’d be a heel.

If I were a facial expression, I’d be skeptical.

If I were a song, I’d be a Neil Young song.

If I were a pair of shoes, I’d be snazzy.

Milk Tastes Gross

I hate it when guys feel they have this sense of entitlement to just hit on whichever girls they please. Some girls like it, I'm sure--the very insecure ones who have no decency, perhaps. Or are thirteen. However, I also know that it is extremely annoying to be innocently walking into a place and have some asshole who thinks he's the hottest thing since bhut jolokia peppers come up to you and "spread the love" when you'd really rather just be doing whatever it is you're there for without the bother of a narcissistic horndog chasing you around. There are probably men who are doing it in a decent if pathetic way to engage a relationship, but I doubt that in most cases.
And as much as being hit on alone bothers me, the way so many of them do it kills me too. They do it like every word they say has the deepest meaning to the listener and like we've never laid eyes on a more sexy human male. They smile smugly and act as if they already have you wrapped around their finger before they even hear a response. I suppose that's the confident attitude needed to go up to a strange girl and indirectly ask for sex, but there is a vast difference between confidence and cockiness. Plus, does it ever occur to them that perhaps I'm already involved in a relationship? Perhaps I have all those kinds of needs satisfied? Perhaps I'm single and I like it that way (plus I'm not looking for love with that kind of guy anyway)? Perhaps I'm career-driven? Perhaps my husband just hasn't come into the store yet? Perhaps I'm a lesbian? Perhaps anything, really? What difference does it make? There is no reason for men to just hit on people randomly like that. I am going to safely assume that most mature women are unimpressed by dickheads. Is it supposed to be like practice or something?
Plus, I don't know about anyone else, but I like humility. When a guy is confident enough to approach you, intelligent enough to compose a sentence and mature enough to respect you, that is when you'll notice him as a normal human being who is not trying to repress pitching a tent. Plus it's cute when they mess up and get embarassed.
I guess my point is that I would like to be able to go out into the world as a human, not a helpless female in need of some man power, and just buy my Gatorade in peace.
Plus, when was the last time a pick up line actually worked on a sober woman? Probably never. Save it for the wasted honeys.