T-Minus 3 Days and Counting.........

So with 3 days to go until the time P and I stand up in front of a room full of people and pledge to love each other until the cold hand of death parts us, I must say that things are coming together nicely...

I am alternating between "cool as a cucumber" and "psychotic breakdown" modes, but am also told this is pretty normal.

The Weather Network says it's going to be a lovely day on September 2nd - 22 degrees C with cloudy periods and only 10% probability of precipitation... Though these are the only people who keep their jobs after doing it correctly only 40% of the time... But I believe!!!

We have had to add en extra guest to the list because P's sister gave us a new niece yesterday at 4:30 a.m. but they can't decide on a name so for now we shall put her on the seating cart as "Peanut". She is one wedding crasher that is whole heartedly welcome!

I stopped biting my nails in time for the wedding som I am getting my second-ever manicure on Friday.

Totally random - this is how my brain is working lately.

There are 3 days until wedding. MY wedding. Okay, OUR wedding.

Goin' To The Chapel

For Mark, so he doesn't take me off his blogroll and for Jen who has been asking me to blog about the wedding for a long time....

As of right now, we are 8 days away from gettin' hitched. Almost 13 months after the night he asked and I said yes, we are finally going to take the long walk of a short plank into the wonderful world of matrimony.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!

That's an Eeeek of excitement, by the way, not chilly toes. I can't wait for Saturday the 2nd of September to roll around! The family members have begun arriving, I officially start my vacation from work at 4:30 p.m. August 29th, we're going to have a great big honkin' party, I get to pledge my heart for the rest of eternity to the man that I love and puts up with me every single day of his life (Evil laughter inserted here)...

Oh yeah, and did I mention that I get to be all dolled up, hair coiffed, nails lacquered, and wear a pretty XXXXXXX-colored (color omitted because groom-to-be will read this) dress?!?!

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!

The planning has gone surprisingly well and with just over a week to go, we're in the finalizing of details stage - which, consequently is perfect for yours truly: the obsessive-compulsive organizational genius/maniac who feels the need to plan and schedule everything to the last nano-second. It's a good thing I am marrying a man who smiles at me and pats my head and takes the day planner out of my hands for both our sakes, that's all I have to say!

My mom hasn't yet driven me to murder or suicide, which shocks me to the core of my being. She has been amazingly supportive and helpful and not too nuts and only once have I had to remind her that this was MY wedding and not HER dream wedding lived through me. It scares me a little that all the time we have spent together in the past few months has made me realize how like her I am slowly and ever so reluctantly becoming, but all things considered, our collaboration was a resounding success.

P and I are thrilled because it also seems as though we are fated to have the coolest of everything at our wedding:

The Venue
This great little place in the Old Port of Montreal dates back to 1754, is considered to be the oldest Inn in North America and is now a great restaurant. The sales lady we dealt with needed to be chased for everything including the 10 days it took me to get her to call me back about giving her an effing deposit, but other than that, it is perfect.

The Band
Squidjigger, a hugely talented band P saw at O'Reagan's Pub one night and wanted to book on the spot. They are a Celtic trio who play about 8 instruments between them and should be a perfect match to the kilted madness we want to enduce on the dancefloor. The tense negotiations for their hire went something like this:
P: "Hey, do you guys do weddings?"
Band: "Um, no. But we could..."
P: "Cool, 'cause we really like your music and we're getting married and we would love you to play at our reception."
Band: "Yeah, we could do that. How much does it pay?"
P: "I don't know, how much do you want?"
Band: "Um..... I don't know... I guess $$$ would do it.
P (ecstatic): "Really? Wow, you're hired!"
Band (hesitates): "Oh and food. You'll need to feed us."
P (no hesitation): "Yeah it's still a great deal, you're hired!"
End Scene

And that was it!

The Photographer
Ben is amazing and if he had a website I would give you all the link. He is a commercial photographer mostly now, but we were luck enough to book him before he left his day job at Michelin for a full-time photography gig working for himself. He even worked the Formula 1 this year and took pics from the pit!

We were very techie about our nuptials, so feel free to visit the site P built and bask in the cheesy-ness that is us.

More later....

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!

The voices in My Head

Sometimes I get anxiety over the dumbest things.

Example:
I was waiting in line at Subway during the noon rush today. It's Friday and many people are "eating fresh" these days so the queue was long, weaving through two sets of ropes right to the door. The man in back of me was in such deep conversation with the guy next to him that I had the time get through both sets of ropes and up to the Subway Sandwich Artist before he noticed.
The entire time a little voice inside my head was screaming, "MOVE!!!!"
I kept looking back, willing this man to see he could move up and bridge the gap between us.
"MOVE UP!!!!" I screamed in my head.
I began to worry about the annoyed faces of the people behind him, wondering if someone would get bitch and ask him to keep the line moving.
I kept expecting that normal social order would collapse and hungry Subway patrons would stampede this ignorant non-mover and crush his bones into the yellow linoleum floor.
When it was finally my turn the SSE asked me what I wanted, I mumbled my order and took another look over my shoulder. The man stood there another moment then FINALLY moved through the rope lines and took his place approximately 18 inches away from me.
Immediately, all was right with the world once again.

See, I told you it was dumb!


************

T-Minus 10 hours 'till lift off.....
feudally Deeeeeeeeeeeee
Arch, AYE!!!!!

Reality Bites

Take a look at this.
Sociological experiment or capitalizing on the potential volatility of people's emotions regarding Race?
You be the judge.

I Heart Hippies

No matter what is said on other blogs about these guys, you can't help but love their infectious energy, light-hearted attitude and general good humor through the first legs of Amazing Race 9.
I mean, they jumped out of the bushes and scared the Hell out of those creepy frat boys. They can't be all bad!!!
Conclusion: The Hippies must stay!!!!

Arch, Aye!

T-minus 4 sleeps until we once again travel to the land of Braveheart, shortbread cookies and Scotch.
The only land where P can get his beloved pint of hand-pulled 80 Shilling.
The land where fish and chips were born.
The land that begat golf.
The land where cars share the road with sheep.
The land of castles.
The land of islands in the sky.
The land of mountains so beautiful and awe-inspiring they made me cry.

Though my roots are not Scottish, I feel a great pull to the land of P’s childhood. The History, the architecture, the Pubs……..

Only 5 days ‘till we’re in Edinburgh again!!!!

Arch, Aye!!

In Her Shoes

Today was the first Spring-like day we have seen in Kanuk Land for some time. Though we had a relatively mild Winter by Montreal standards, this afternoon's +7 degrees celsius was like a breath of tropical air for the soul! So P and I decided we would hit the bricks and pound the pavement Saturday style: walking the downtown streets, peppered with stopping in to various boutiques, shoe shops and even a toy store.

Everything was going swimmingly until the shoe shopping... You see, I have a love/hate relationship with shoes:
I am a girl, therefore I love them: shiny shoes, shoes with bows and flowers on them; pink shoes, brown pumps, Mary Janes, strappy sandals, these amazing little black numbers with a rhinestone dragonfly lovingly shaped out on the straps......
*sigh*
Alas, I am doomed to walk the earth with Sasquatch-like clown feet, therefore I must apparently also walk the earth in sensible UGLY shoes. Therein lies the hate part.

We went to Winners and Payless, which are always a gamble. Sure, in the rows of shoes marked sizes 6 to 9, they had some pretty cute stuff. Once we got to the 10+ section, the pretty ones were gone. Flowered flats my aunt Pauline would love were abounding, but no cute shoes were to be found. Picture if you will a lush, beautiful forest turning into a deep, dark, dank pit of dead branches with creepy-crawlies where nothing beautiful could ever gorw and you will have some notion of what it was like.

We went to Tony's Shoes on Greene to check out the merchandise. P was there 5 minutes and found a great pair of brown leather shoes for $20. I kept picking up shoes and asking, "Do you have this in a size 10?" only to get my hopes dashed three times in a row when the poor salesman came back from the store room empty handed, shaking his head pitifully at me.
Only once was his quest fruitful and even then, the size 10 strappies he brought back for me were tight and pinched so much I could barely get around the store and back without whimpering.

Needless to say, we came home without any shoes for this Ginner.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.... Tomorrow, I hit the Quartier Latin to ask the drag queens where they get their size 12 heels!

Rackin' Frackin'......

At the risk of sounding like an old fuddy duddy - i.e. the kind of person I used to roll my eyes at myself - I need to address a problem that I feel has become rampant among those working in the service industry:

As it turns out, they just really couldn't give a shit!

Yeah, so I'm in one of those "I'm mad as Hell and I'm not going to take it anymore" militant moods. But really? If I work hard for the money I earn and elect to spend said hear-earned money at the retail outlets of my choice, shouldn't I be greeted, served and generally treated with care and appreciation?

Isn't it important to forge bonds with customers in the ever-increasingly competitive world of commerce by offering them the one thing that sets your business apart from the other guy - i.e. CUSTOMER FRIKKIN' SERVICE?!?!?!

Now let me preface this by saying that I am in Customer Service. I make my living at making my customer happy and doing everything within my power to make sure they get what they need, when they need it. I pride myself on being the go-to girl for the most gnarly, rotten, temperamental customers we have and I make it my job to turn them around and send them off with a smile. I take pride in what I do, I am damned good at it and I expect to be treated the same way as I treat all of my customers: I let them know they are special to me and that there is nothing I would rather be doing at that moment that serving them.

I am sick of walking into Loblaw's and busting my budget on the pretty red peppers and quality chicken breasts only to end up at the checkout, desperately trying to get the attention of the cashier who can't stop gossiping with the bagboy (or girl) about the latest employee affairs or complaining about how they have worked for three whole hours and not gotten a break yet.
Look at ME! Nod at ME! Say "hi there" to ME! At least acknowledge my presence for the LOVE OF GOD!

I am also sick of paying the price for the service person behind the counter who is in a bad mood. It is NOT my fault that your car wouldn't start this morning. It is NOT my fault you didn't get the raise you wanted. It is NOT my fault that the last three customers you served were bitchy to you. I KNOW it is hard to put on a smile and a brave face when you are really not feeling it. Hell, I'm so co-dependent that I even try to change their moods by being extra nice and smiling at them more and telling THEM to have a nice day.

FUCK!

I wish I was like my friend Kiki. She used to be like me and swallow the crap service; look the other way even when she felt she was being grossly mistreated. She attributes her new attitude to turning 30 and being too old to take shit from anyone anymore, but I have seen her in action and she's my hero.

But I am still dumb enough to look the other way. I feel bad asking to speak to an employee's manager and complain about shoddy service; it's like I would immediately and irrevocable turn into my mother. Or a NARC. Or "The Man".... I am too shy to interrupt the Loblaws cashier and her groupie bagperson and say, "Hi, I know you are having a conversation here, but would you mind paying more attention to your job and to your most important source of revenue: ME?"

After all, in the grand scheme of things, it is me paying their salary, right? So what if it's only minimum wage, does that give them the right to disrespect their job and as a result, me?

There would be no job for her if I didn't come in each week and pick the ripest, most pretty (and overpriced, by the way) peppers, right?

That's it. I'm not 30 yet, but I'm sick of paying to be abused.

I'm starting a revolution.

NO MORE CRAP SERVICE!