Ezmara's Got Game!

Not gonna lie, I got drenched walking home from work tonight. The skies opened up and overloaded onto my umbrella. It wasn't just raining cats and dogs, it felt like the skies had every single OSPCA adoptee in Ontario pouring down around me.  Yikes-a-Bee!

Astonishment aside, I'm not sugar, so I certainly did not melt. Yet walking home, I really did witnessed Mother Nature doing her thang. Based on her past four days of volatility, I swear she's in need of two things; some serious aromatherapy, and the company of a good man that lasts well into our next summer season! 

Ezmara was Noah's wife...
Talk about a 50% share in a "BOAT THAT FLOATS"!
Taken: October 7th, 2013

Needless to say, as her and I reached the top of the hill (and I finally approached our driveway) her rant subsided. Yet, the damage was done. 

As I wiped the rain from my face, the weirdest question entered my head. As I snapped my pic, I wondered about another extremely strong woman.

Knowing the direction of my post, when I got into the house I yelled “GOOB! Google what Noah’s wife’s name was!!"

With about as much interest as someone having an ingrown toenail removed he asked 'why'.

“Because she's one gal that's got game” I said.

“Not only that... When Dad pulls in the driveway, we're starting to build a stinkin' Ark!”

Who am I kidding? The list on the fridge says we need to pile firewood tonight. Guess the overall emotion of my walk home got the best of me.

Nothing moving ten cord of firewood won't cure!!

I Know You Are But What Am I?

DUDE... QUIT BEING A BABY
I'M YOUR #1 FAN !!

Today an email/work buddy labelled me childish. 

Well, he's not really my buddy, but for all intensive purpose, let's place him in that 'lane' this evening simply for illustration purposes.

First off, if you're offended by my graphic offering this eve, you may want to stop reading immediately.

Not because I am going to be rude, but let's face it, if you find it childish, inbox me for my buddy's email address... You'll get along fine!

Most people get my overall personality and sarcasm out of the gate, others prefer to communicate like they're Joe Friday in an episode of Dragnet. "Just the facts Rhondi!"

Much to my dismay, I have tried, unsuccessfully, since December of 2011 to get this 'buddy o mine' to remove the very big burr he has lodged tightly up his ass. Guess the truth of the matter is, for this first time today, I realized that this person does not know how to have fun!

Which brings me to my point...

After him making his very observant offering of my persona this morning, it's officially time; time to stop trying to make someone embrace the circus, when they really wanna be workin' the local library circuit. 

What can I say? Just as I find comfort in laughter, I'm sure he finds the same in total control. Doesn't make me childish and him superior...  Just makes us extremely different.

Pfffffffffft... What the hell? Who put that very large whoopie cushion on my office chair?

I'm thinking it was FARTMAN!

It's Jamaica Mon!

It is officially official! We are heading back to Jamaica. Wanna know the best part? Our plane is scheduled to land 15 minutes ahead of our American friends we are travelling with. All I could process this afternoon was that this trip was meant to be...

I have mixed emotions about returning to the island. Tony and I knew we'd eventually return, but I never imagined it would happen this fast. We'd discussed other destinations: yet, the only travel prerequisite my husband had, was that we take a trip on our own. I understand why but I truly struggled with leaving the dogs.  They really have become an extension of us as a couple.

Dog whispering aside, I need a break. The hardest part for me to comprehend? That my break will be like 154 million sleeps away. I know I'll have time at Christmas but it’s not the same. I guess deep down inside, that was the real choice; forfeit the house on the ocean for two weeks at Christmas, and enjoy one week in the Caribbean in the winter.

Why do I fret so much about the logistics? It’s NOT because everything old is new again, it's not. I think it's part and parcel because we are going to spend (what I consider to be) an obscene amount of savings to offer me the ability to read and read and read.

Shoes are NOT allowed in Jamaica!
Riu Tropical Palace
Negril, Jamaica
Taken: March 3rh, 2012

It's no joke. When we travel, Tony completely morphs into the extrovert and me the introvert. He tends to go go go until he drops, and I am just totally comfortable to relax and watch. 

Just like me normally, he talks to anyone & everyone. Myself? I admit I am more selective about idle chit chat: probably because I am not being paid to do it.

Seriously? Why does the God’s honest truth always make me sound like such a total BITCH? Guess if the shoe fits?!?!

HA! It’s Jamaica Mon.  For one week next winter... I won’t be wearing any!

My Silly Little Hang Up

So it happened again.

“WOW, you don’t look 48” a business colleague said. Jerk!

Do men not realize that age may be a sensitive subject for some women? I don’t know about other women but for this cat, it’s like entering the sketchiest area of Detroit during a riot. 

DON'T go there!

Just like 99.9% of the people I know, I have a couple of quirky hang ups. I hate being late, I hate not having a plan, and I hate that I am getting old (them right thar are pretty much my top three)! Don’t get me wrong, I’m not asking Services Ontario for a wheelchair parking sticker anytime soon, but I would love not to have to dye my hair EVER again.

I am of the firm opinion that age is a mindset; you’re only as old as you feel, and as young as your imagination will allow. It’s a number, not a gauge of who I am.  I am active in both mind and body, and I don’t see either of 'em stopping anytime soon. Why would they? Why should they?

What did I say to the person that assessed who I was based on the number 48? “It’s been nice meeting you. You’re 45 right?... Ya don’t look a day over 58 1/2. Oh, and the deliveries? They are at the rear!”

That’s what I wanted to say. Instead, I just turned down his very generous lunch invitation. The loss is his.

What can I say? Us gray haired mamas gotta have some very high standards!

F Is For… FRENEMY

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I’m a good friend. Cross me and I’ll kill ya.

Because I deal with business people all day long, I rarely let them thar folks into what I would consider my "real life". I am very much a “this is my space; that is your space” kind of gal. For the better part of a decade, only twice have I allowed a professional acquaintance to truly (unconditionally) cross over into my personal life.

One of those two is my very best electronic friend. If I don't hear from them I truly worry.

The other, I met a couple of years ago. They are much closer in distance but that's not my point. We chatted (past tense) all the time, golfed together when opportunity presented itself, and leaned on each other for support as we both worked in the same industry.

At the end of the day, they were not what I would consider a true friend all; turns out they were just simply a FRENEMY. You know the type? Someone that you believe is your friend then they turn around and use you to get themselves ahead in business. A much harsher descriptive word comes mind in this instance, but frenemy will have to do.

April 6th, 2013 - FRENEMY

This eyes wide open moment is exactly why I don’t let business relationships crossover into my everyday life.

Business is business, and friendship encapsulates  a completely different level of my personality mechanics. I know from experience that it's trouble just looking for trouble. Hence the very solid boundaries!

I really hate two faced people, I mean frenemies. They always prove themselves by stabbing you in the back. I know what you’re going to say; in business, everyone stabs everyone in the back.

If we’re friends in business don’t you think I deserve a little respect? For crying out loud; stab me in the front!

At least I would see it coming.

Walk A Mile In Your Own Shoes…

On a scale of one to ten yesterday ended around a two. From a personal point of reference; I am only giving it a two because one is the loneliest number, and I refused to go below zero.  That said, I woke up this morning embracing my simple philosophy to “greet each new day” and by golly it worked!

I may be crazy busy at work but I am also transitioning at home. Follow the bouncing ball here; the nest was empty, the nest became partially full, the nest was really full, and now it's scheduled to empty again one final time April 1st. This time around, there isn’t any sadness associated with the transition, rather a more certain kind of relief.

Here's the final Jeopardy question. When do we push our young to strive for success on their own? Some would say never; but that’s probably because they no longer know their spouse, nor have an  identity outside their children. That use to be me. That is no longer me.

My oldest left for good a year ago last December. I always ask how he's doing and we continually watch him on YouTube. Out of the nest, he's made some very serious progress. Others pose their love to him and vent their frustration with me; so to this day, I am sure he feels the same way about me as the day he left, and I am okay with that. I've got big shoulders. I'd like to be able to say breasts but shoulders will have to do.

Hello my name is Rhondi...

I know absolutely nothing and
I am a great big hairy BITCH!
Taken: February 18th, 2013

One accounted for; two to go.

Well, it appears the other two are a wealth of life experience & fiercely independent. I'm sure you'll recognize the equation for their logic and key to future success. You know the one “I know absolutely everything therefore parents are total idiots and know a grand total of nothing”. 

That kind of math wins ya a prize every time. Just so happens to be a ticket to your very own personal accommodation located outside the family home.

Yes-sir-reee school is over. The partying and the trips are over. The bank rolled lifestyle is over. Both need to put their heads the hell down and quit blaming their parents (and others that hold them accountable) for all of their woes in their life.

My best advice would be that they take a long hard look at themselves in the mirror. The only person they can ever blame for not being where they want to be in life is staring right back at 'em... PERIOD.

I know you're probably pretty shocked in reading that right there but what the hell. I have been the bad Cop in this here town for longer than I care to remember...

Why stop now!?!

What’s Behind YOUR Fridge?

A couple of weeks ago we got a very sexy new fridge. Actually, we’ve had it for quite awhile, it's just been holding court in the garage for all to see. It seems Canada’s Worst Handyman has been overbooked with public appearances, so the task of installation never got crossed off my list. After a much heated Saturday morning chat (that ended with me bellowing “I am sick and tired looking at that piece of shit”) we established a plan.

In protest; certain kitchen cabinets were removed, others just moved, and a small counter top adjusted. With the opening prepared, out came ye ole fridge. After Bertha was in the middle of the kitchen floor we both looked down to find one lone soldier. It was a wallet size copy of our engagement photo.

Tony had hair and is totally rocking the 'Porn Stash'.
Me? Holy shoulder pads Batman. Nice mullet BTW!!
Taken: December 1st, 1987 

When I flipped over the grungy old pic, my hand writing identified it as just that. It was dated December 1^st, 1987.

As I dusted it off, we both admitted that we remembered the day it taken. I found it amazing that in the midst of all our frustration, we were brought together by a certain moment in time. 

That specific Saturday was the first time in a very long time our gloves were off.

What's the first thing I thought of when I picked up the only soldier under our old fridge?

Poppa reminding me to play nice.

He always was our best mediator!

Keep Calm and Carry On!

After an unexpected turn of events last evening; I ended up in my home office, with my Sirus radio cranked to the 70’s on 7. I don’t know about you, but no matter how freaking shitty I feel, music never seems to fail me.

Exhausted and asleep by nine thirty, I was wide awake from two until four this morning watching Love Actually. After falling back to sleep, I woke bright and early to discover one hot mess. The freezing rain outside was brutal and very dangerous; so text messaging over coffee, I decided my day off would be a bit of a chick flick/closet cleaning/get rid of a bunch of bullshit marathon.

Overall it's been a very quiet day. Every once in a while my eyes would get damp; but the blowing of my nose came primarily from the dust bunnies that I captured in whatever closet I was cleaning. Jumping into something big like rearranging furniture or reorganizing every single closet in the house is cathartic for me. It brings me a sense of balance as well as feeling of accomplishment. It's something I usually push myself to do especially if there happens to be a dark cloud hanging over my head.

As you can guess, yesterday was a productive day that very unexpectedly turned downright crappy. That said, I am proud of how I handled my latest challenge just the same. The glass half full part of me is impressed that it produced a bit of ah ah-ha moment. Which is something positive right?

Who knew after all these years, when I would raised my voice (with a compliment of tears) the people closest to me automatically presumed that "she's mad"? When that very statement was verbalized last night, for the very first time in my life, I confidently admitted what I thought was obvious; “I’m not mad… I'm hurt!”

I found this sign at a Vintage Store this summer.
Taken: August 2012

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I really don’t like being a bitch. In my mind, I have already approached something from a hundred different angles before I get dark (with a standard house volume that is far too loud). As you can expect, with my excess volume comes a painful razor sharpness to my words.

Almost 24 hours later all I can offer is an apology. I’m sorry if you missed my stellar performance last night. It wasn't my best and at the same token it wasn't my worst.

All I can say to those in attendance (for my one night limited engagement) ... REMEMBER IT.

Why? Because this theater is officially closed!

How Do Ya Like Me Now?

Again, my opening sentence is that I work with men. As a confident woman, I am proud that I don’t have a bunch of different personalities I parade around for the benefit of others. What you see, read, hear, is what you get. 

I would like to point out that at least once a week, I willingly disclose (to a varying number of the gentlemen I work with) that I am "unequivocally the single biggest bitch you will ever meet in your entire life." It generally makes them laugh but there is some serious truth to my statement.                                                        

Don't believe me? I'll prove it. Let's make a list.

Am I opinionated? Check. Am I stubborn? Check. Am I painfully sarcastic with a flair for condescension? Check check and check! 

Babe In Total Control of Herself?  Not in time HENS!

I'll admit that in this particular situation I was awful and my words have me painted into a corner. I am not making excuses but I wanted to be heard so badly it hurt. When that didn't happen, I just simply took my pail and shovel and went home. Definitely not one of my shining moments but at the end of the day a choice.

All of that said, I literally understand risk and reward better than most. At this point I figure I will just concede, suck it up, and move on.

I'm sure I will look back wishing there was some big scrabble word I could have used to describe my behaviour. Instead of reaching for it; I know I'll just skip my turn, change my tiles, and take the penalty.

Too bad really because this is the first time in my entire life I am moving forward with doubt...

Stop Talking and Keep Pouring….

Today was an interesting day for me; so before you start telling me about your day, I need you to stop talking and keep pouring!  It’s my blog so I’ll go first.

Well, it seems I went to bed on the wrong side last night and got up this morning on the very same side. I`ll give props to my morning wake up text which had me smiling, but when I arrived at work it was like the entire property had a storm cloud over it like the hearse belonging to the Addams Family.

Question: Why is it on the days you want to blend in with the wallpaper challenges arise making it impossible? From the time I started this morning`s meeting; no matter what I did or where I turned, I was frustrated and agitated.

I know it’s the compilation of ‘a lot of nothing’. But one has to admit sometimes we ignore the nothings until they amount to something. I think today was a toxic combination of months of nothing.

For my own reasons, I choose to rarely talk about what I do for a living. I am pleased to report that 99% of the time I can say “I am one of the lucky few that love what I do for a living” today just wasn’t one of those days. Suffice is to say, tomorrow should be interesting.

I’ll get off my soapbox now, give you a great big hug, and nicely ask… “How was your day?”

I'M BUSY NOW... Can I Ignore You Some Other Time?

I am pleased to announce that after a 70 hour work week, I am sitting in my home office, enjoying my "only day off ” cup of coffee. It’s raining outside, not to mention dreary, but the fact that I had a great night sleep makes my mood better than normal under the circumstance.

I had a crazy busy week. I had planned to head into the city last night (nice dinner with friends, see David for breakfast this morning) but it wasn't meant to be. Instead, I was summoned to the office, for a 'quick' Saturday morning meeting.

True to form, I had clients unexpectedly drive from Toronto to meet me and it was 2pm before I could say; “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want to work every Saturday!?!” 

Actually, I didn’t say that. I just screamed it out loud as I left the parking lot. Okay, so I didn’t scream it aloud. I just typed it firmly now, which to me, is equally satisfying!

It makes me worry that friends, the cottage,  not to mentioned small details like my eyebrows have gone neglected . Holy cow they look awful! (Note to self – get eyebrows waxed Monday lunch...)  As I constantly  struggle to find time to schedule everything in that I want to accomplish, I can’t help but notice how much I’ve changed. 

To quote Popeye “I yam what I yam, and that's all that I yam.” I’ve always been direct and comfortable communicating with others. That’s said, 10-12 years ago, protective wife & mother of three children, at times my words could be as sharp as a razor blade, that cut you so quickly, you were bleeding out before you knew it.

The last five or six of years, I have learned to walk away and be more matter a fact about my emotions and how to express them.  Which is code for “I may not be as big a bitch as I use to be, but I know what I want, and if I don’t see it, or it doesn’t feel right, I’m gonna let you know”.

My message nowadays is delivered in a more peaceful tone, and without drawing blood. Truthfully, at this point in my life; I'll tend to ignore you, offering you zero energy, positive or negative, and move on.

I’m not sure why I have the audacity to have the confidence I do. I just have it. I am me and completely fine with me. I’m outgoing, loyal, and I love to laugh. For all the positive energy I exude, I know that I can also be quite critical and stubborn. As gasps of disbelief reach for miles and miles, both are traits I willingly admit.

YUP, I am the first to admit that I have my mother’s stubborn streak (which I intend on getting surgically removed at the end of the year). I hope it doesn’t hurt!