Tickets and a Backstage Pass

This one's for Dave...my man with the connections! :)


I was busy typing away Saturday morning (well, actually it would afternoon to everyone else, but in my world morning is noon), trying to get all my work done so I could just enjoy the rest of the weekend when Dave called me into the living room. I figured he wanted to go out for a smoke, and I was ready for a break. “Do we have any plans for tomorrow night?” he asked. “No,” I said, thinking he was making plans to play video games or something. “Do you want to go to the Bon Jovi concert?” Do I want to go the Bon Jovi concert? Um, let me think about this. Hmmm. “YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I screamed as I proceeded to jump up and down and attack him.

We knew about the tour before it was announced because Hedley was opening for them. I totally wanted to go. I had never seen Hedley and how could I not want to go see Bon Jovi? After all, I spent my teenage years sleeping in a t-shirt with Jon’s face on it until said t-shirt literally disintegrated. Dave had tried to get tickets from Hedley’s manager Darren when the tour was announced, but none were to be had. So I had put the whole thing out of my head. Okay, I loved Bon Jovi when I was 14, but I didn’t love them enough to pay for tickets now. So when when Dave informed me that he had texted Darren again about tickets and Darren had texted back to say that there would be two tickets at will call for the Sunday night show, I was totally surprised and psyched! ”We’re going to Bon Jovi” was my mantra for the weekend. We didn’t know where our seats were, but I didn’t care…”We’re going to Bon Jovi…”

As I was getting ready for the concert on Sunday I realized that if I was 14 when I first saw Bon Jovi, 21 years had passed. That’s two decades. I briefly felt old. Very briefly. How old can I really be if I’m preparing to go to a rock concert? So there. As we headed to the stadium, trying not to get blown off the street by the wind (my hair was getting totally messed up here… how was I going to get Jon’s attention if my hair looked like a rat’s nest???) I was dying to know where our seats were. Dave told me that comp tickets usually aren’t the best seats. But it was like Christmas… I couldn’t wait to get to will call and get my hands on them.

So we arrive at will call and Dave signs for the tickets while I anxiously wait to rip them out of his hands and check the seats. I see section 118. I’m psyched! I have no idea where section 118 is, but I do know that if it’s a 100 number it’s on the lower level. I will not be getting a nose bleed. I am psyched! Then I see that Dave is also holding two patches that say “Special Guest” on them. He says they look to be backstage passes. I am now double psyched! “Are you sure those are backstage passes? Does that mean we really get to go backstage? Do we get to meet Bon Jovi? What do we do with them? Will you ask someone and find out?” I am pretty sure he is wishing I would shut up and be cool. Oh well, he may have been backstage all over the place, but I’ve never been backstage anywhere. This is soooo exciting!

We go through the “security” check with no problems. I’ve smuggled in a recording device for Dave by putting it in a big hole in my coat pocket. This damn hole that drives me insane finally comes in handy. So now we head off to find section 118. We find it and take a closer look at the tickets. Row 4. Row 4? OMG!!! The usher tells us to go down and to the left. I look right, expecting to see the stage on the other side of the arena. No, it’s left. We are in Row 4 to the side of the stage, maybe in line with about 15 floor rows in. We’re so close to the stage that the big screen for everyone far from the stage is past us! (Suckers!) I’m beyond excited. We head down to the stage before the show starts to say hi to some of Hedley’s crew, who are setting up for them. Confirmation that we are holding backstage passes is given. OMG!!! I’m going backstage! My mind is filled with images of rock stars and groupies lounging around in some swanky room full of drinks and food and people trying to get in and us just breezing by… It’s going to be very cool, I’m sure.

But first the concert. Hedley rocked. I had never seen them so I was really looking forward to it and they didn’t disappoint. And then Bon Jovi. They were awesome. It was an on your feet from the first song to the last song kind of show. Their new material may not be my style - I was really there for those old rock songs from the 80’s - but they put on an amazing show, playing for almost 3 hours. To me, seeing musicians that have survived the rock world for this long without dying or permanently damaging themselves, who can still perform their craft as if, say, 21 years hadn’t passed and keep a crowd on its feet for 3 hours is pretty amazing. Even if all I want to hear is the music that made them in the first place. So, Bon Jovi still rocks.

Okay, I know you’re all dying to hear about the backstage passes. At this point in the night, I was dying to use that baby to get me past those gates. Well, I’m sorry to report, it’s all a bit anticlimactic. First of all, in case you didn’t know (or are wondering about the picture), it is not cool to wear these passes (actually sticky patches) on your shirt. You wear it on your thigh. All right, so I make sure I’m “cool” and off we go. Here’s what I see: more cables going everywhere than you can imagine, making walking a little tricky. Then it’s a big open space where there are crew people everywhere packing up boxes and boxes and boxes of equipment. Basically, it’s the basement of GM Place. Extra seats and all that stuff. Then there is actually under the stage, where crew are packing up more boxes and boxes or equipment. I see cases labelled with names of band members and the instrument contained in the box. I see the dressing rooms for Bon Jovi, but the doors are closed and there is no sign of the band. I do not see any swanky rooms full of partying rock stars and their groupies. I don’t see any groupies at all. We had access to Hedley’s room, but since we waited until after Bon Jovi, Hedley had already left the building and their room had been taken down. We didn’t have any access to wherever it was that Bon Jovi was hanging out. So that, my friends, was backstage. Not quite what I was picturing. However, I can now say I’ve been backstage. And I did shake Richie Sambora’s guitar technician’s hand. So it wasn’t a total loss.

"Grande Awake?"

Since becoming a working girl last spring, I’ve been patronizing the Starbucks across the street from the office at least twice a day each day I work. Okay, I know what you’re thinking…I’ve become one of those “Starbucks people”. But it’s not like that, really! It just happens to be there and I need tea and my office has no facilities! What else can I do? Well, okay, maybe I have become one of those “Starbucks people”. But, hey, I live in Vancouver, my neighbourhood is a mecca of Starbucks, and really, they do have the best tea. I mean, what do you expect? So I stand in the longest line I’ve ever seen each morning for my Grande Awake Tea (at least I’m not ordering a seven word beverage!). And then again around lunch time, I break for my smoke and head into Starbucks for my second Grande Awake Tea. Over time, I’ve become a familiar face and am friendly with the staff.

At some point, when I stepped up to the cash register, there were one or two staff who just simply stated “Grande Awake?” as they punched it into the register, to which I would nod, smile (it’s nice to be remembered, even if it is only by a probably too low paid barrista working at Starbucks) and say thank you. Something that simple can make you feel like you’re special. Or at least it can for me. Or perhaps I am just somewhat pathetic. You be the judge. Anyways…as time went on, the majority of the staff were punching in my Awake tea before I even got to the counter. Soon, there were times when I could see my Awake tea being made while I was three or four deep in line. I’d get to the register, pay, grab my tea on the other side while the people who were ahead of me waited for their coffees. You can imagine how much I love this! Special attention in any form is what I’m all about! (sort of laugh here, but I must admit it’s true). New staff would be at the till and the barrista would be saying to them “she’s a Grande Awake, I’ve got it”. Oh ya, I’m feeling special! After awhile, this became pretty much the norm…I would walk in, get in line and I could see that someone was making my tea. Yesterday I came in, and when I arrived at the counter my tea was there waiting for me! It totally made my day. THAT is customer service!

So, it may only be a tea. It may only be one Starbucks. It may only be a handful of people working behind the counter. I may not know their names. They may not know mine. I may be just one person who frequents the place enough with the same order. But this one small thing can make my day, reminding me that it is the little things in life that can give me a big sense of feeling good. As my dear little brother always used to say to me (well actually, more about me, but that’s another story) “simple mind, simple pleasures”. Enough said.

Remote Control 101

Dedicated to Dave, for his love of electronics and for loving me enough to show me how to work them properly. :)

Note: this blog is based on true events and is NOT an exaggeration. This is Remote Control 101.

So, we got a new TV. After many months of research and debate regarding plasma versus LCD, high definition, blue rays, pixels, 720 something, 1080 another, boxes for cable, boxes for games, uploading dvd players, cables for this, cables for that, and all sorts of other considerations that I cannot recall at this point, Dave proudly brought home his new baby…a lovely plasma TV measuring in at 42 inches and boasting, I’m sure, a great many other features that I am just oblivious too. I thought the TV we had was great. But really, what do I know? So out with the old and in with the new TV, a variety of boxes and cables that are attached to it, performing one function or another and 4 or 5 remote controls to make the whole thing work. Seriously…we went from a TV, a DVD player/stereo/sound system and some kind of game box (that’s 3 pieces of equipment) to a TV, the same DVD player/stereo/sound system from before, a cable box, an Xbox, a Playstation, and an Xbox DVD player. We have doubled our TV experience equipment here people! Maybe I’m stuck in a time warp, but I find it quite mind boggling!

After two weeks of adding, subtracting, returning, and exchanging pieces of this whole set up, it was time for my lesson on how to work the whole thing. I would like to note that during this period of set up, I was managing to watch TV with really no difficulty. But Dave, bless his heart and desire for me to be proficient in the use of our new equipment (and probably wanting to prevent damage to his new baby) thought it best that he configure everything to make it “as easy as possible” for me to work the TV and all of it’s accompanying components. So we sat down, me with pen, paper, and a handful of remotes in hand, for a lesson. I came away from that lesson with 2 full pages of notes. And I don’t mean sticky notes or little grocery list notepad pieces of paper.

So here is the lesson I learned, taken straight from my studious notes (which, by the way, I keep beside the couch for easy reference). There are 5 remote controls. To watch TV I will need the following three: the Motorola remote, the Panasonic remote and the Pioneer remote. I can choose whether to use all three or just two. Dave has given me instructions on using the Pioneer remote for sound and the Panasonic remote for the TV. Although for some reason I still sometimes turn on all three, causing me a short bit of extra confusion. But I digress. To turn on the TV, using the Panasonic remote, I mush push the “TV” button and then the “Power” button. Then I must hit the “DBS/CBL” button, followed by the “Power” button. I should see a picture. If I do not see a picture, then I must hit the “TV” button, followed by the “TV/VIDEO” button, after which I will use the arrow keys to scroll up to “Cable” and then push the “OKAY” button. In order to change the channels, I must push the “DBS/CBL” button and then use the channel up/down button or enter the numbers using the numbered buttons. To view the channel guide, I must hit “DBS/CBL” and then hit the “Submenu” button. Here I can see what is on and select my program. If I would like to actually hear what is going on, I should turn on the Pioneer remote by pushing the “Power” button. To hear the sound of the TV, I must use the “TV/AUX” button and select “Digital”. I then hit the “Mute” button on the Panasonic remote and use this (the Pioneer) to control the volume (which is in surround sound by the way, and the reason for using this remote in the first place!)

Is anyone following any of this? Because I was definitely struggling, especially since I had been getting picture and sound for two weeks without any of these complicated instructions and using only one remote!!! It was at this point that Dave, surely sensing my brain going into to “Sleep” mode, said (and I quote) “The simplest way to remember is to push the button to control what you want to use,” at which point I burst out laughing and wrote that down, noting that this was good blogging material. “Basically”, he said, “the “TV” button is for TV functions, like selecting cable or choosing the aspect (I won’t even get into that!) and the “DBS/CBL” button is for cable box functions, like channels and music.” And if I make a mistake I can always hit the “Exit” button. All righty then! And then, he tells me I can always use the Motorla remote instead! Ah, ya, I think I’ll stick to what I have just been taught. At least I have it all written down. Deep breath. I think I’ve survived my lesson.

But wait, there’s more. How to watch a DVD. I am told our DVD player/stereo/sound system is no longer used for watching DVDs. I don’t ask why. DVDs can now be watched using the Xbox, the Playstation or the Xbox DVD player. High Definition DVDs go in the Xbox player. Blue Ray DVDs go in the Playstation. How I’m to tell the difference, I’m not sure and I do not ask. Regular DVDs I think can go anywhere, although Dave seems to have decided that the Playstation will be the main DVD player. I don’t know why. I am too tired to even ask. So, to watch a DVD, I will follow the above instructions to get the TV going. However, instead of choosing “Digital” for sound I will choose “TV” on the sound system (of course, this is so logical!). I will put in the DVD and hit the “TV” button (we’re still on the Panasonic remote here, in case you aren’t following this), followed by the “TV Video” button. I will then use the arrows and scroll to “Game” and hit “Okay” (again, so logical, choosing “game” when I am going to watch a movie!) Now I will choose the remote that goes with the box that the DVD is in. Apparently once I have followed these instructions, the movie will start and I can settle in for a Hollywood story. Suffice to say, while I am becoming more and more adept at controlling the television, I have yet to foray alone into the DVD scene. I have seen what comes up on the screen when Dave puts a movie in and I am certain that I would have no idea how to get to the movie and that the remote control would be hurled at the new TV. And this would be bad. Very bad.

Sigh. Does anyone remember when you had a TV, probably with about 12 channels, maybe some rabbit ears on it, and the picture and volume came out of that one box, the TV guide came in the weekend paper and if you wanted to change the channel you had get your ass off the couch and use the dial on the TV or order your children to do it for you? Who knew then the future of the television would become so complicated? By the time I get this all set up I’m exhausted and I don’t even feel like watching TV anymore!

And The Academy Award Goes To...

This blog is dedicated to my friend Maj for inspiring me to write it.

Recently I’ve been getting a lot of praise and encouragement about my writing (thank you, thank you…it keeps me wanting to write and yes, one day I do hope to write a book. It’s really the only retirement plan I can think of!) So perhaps I’m a good writer. But what many may not know is that I’m also a pretty good actress. While I may not have actually starred in anything formal and I have no real credits to my name and you won’t find me on the IMDB (mom, that’s the Internet Movie Database) most of you have seen my stunning performances up close and personal. And while I have had many memorable performances as a lunatic, I’m really referring to my stellar performances of me playing me. I actually spend a great deal of time (more than anyone would ever guess) acting like I am myself. Okay, let me rephrase that. I spend a great deal of time covering up the fact that I don’t feel great and act like I feel just fine. But really, at least in my mind, I pull off quite the performances!

You see, it’s like this. We all know I have this mood disorder thing. We all have our own understanding or knowledge about what it means. Everyone has some level of understanding that sometimes I might get manic or sometimes I might get depressed and that generally there are times when I am just not feeling well as a result of this mood disorder thing. What we don’t all understand is how I actually experience this mood disorder thing and how it affects me and my behaviour and my world in general. This is probably confusing and frustrating for everyone around me but it is even more so for me. Like right now, I just want to SCREAM to people, DON’T YOU GET IT??? But I can’t. It’s not easy to get. If you haven’t experienced it or been very close to someone who has you cannot fully understand it. And I guess I’ve sort of created this myself by being the fabulous actress that I am.

I think mania might be easier to understand because it tends to be a bit more wacky and my performances just happen. Right now I’m depressed, which is when I tend to spend more time actually acting, so that’s what I’m going to try to explain. If you look up depression, you will find that it is generally defined by the following symptoms:

depressed mood, inability to experience joy or pleasure, feelings of hopelessness, impaired thinking, concentration and memory, thoughts of death or suicide, preoccupation with feelings of worthlessness, inadequacy and one’s own shortcomings, sleep disturbance, and exhaustion..

Seems easy enough to understand I suppose.

What this actually looks and feels like for me cannot be summed up so easily. I can’t even do it justice on this short blog. But in a nutshell, I guess it’s like this: a feeling of drowning, of being underwater and being unable to rise to the top to catch my breath. I feel like am being weighted or pushed down, and although I raise my hand to the surface for rescue, I am never pulled out. It is a very grey cloud shrouding my entire world, as if I am seeing everything through grey coloured glasses. It is an overwhelming numbness to everything, to the world around me, to my friends, my family, to my life. I can see the joy around me but I cannot partake. I feel nothing. I have no interest in any of the things that I normally take pleasure in. I have no interest in anything at all really. My mission each day is just to get through it. It takes every ounce of energy I have to perform even the smallest of tasks and takes me twice as long. I’m talking taking a shower can be hard to do! I am riddled with anxiety, my thinking and perception of things becomes distorted, so that I start thinking things and ruminating on things that aren’t based on fact or reality. Tears flow freely for reasons I can’t even always explain. I’m tired, oh so very tired. I can’t concentrate, I can’t think, I am so un-present that I may as well not even be in the room. Having a conversation takes all my strength and even then, I may not pull it off, as poor Dave knows all too well. I am anti-social, I ignore my phone, I ignore my email and generally ignore whatever I can because whatever else I’m doing is taking my energy and exhausting me. I don’t want to see or talk to anybody. I just want to be left alone in my thoughts so I don’t have to concentrate, think of a reply to conversation or be “on”. Being social is hard work when I am depressed. In order to interact in a meaningful way, I often put on my acting hat and perform as if I am present.

So I may be in this depressed state, but more likely than not, when you see me, you will think I am doing well. Or you will think I am “better”. I’ll be as sharp, I’ll be as chatty as I always am, I’ll laugh, I’ll make jokes, I’ll be able to be shoulder to lean on, I’ll be having fun. I’ll be happy (“oh but you looked so happy the other night”). It will appear as though I’ve got my shit together and that I’m functioning just great. You may never know that I’m actually really not doing well. Or perhaps if you know me well enough you’ll know that under the surface I’m not totally well, but you’ll see me acting like my happy self and think everything is okay, or at least more okay than it actually is. I call this being “on”. And it is completely exhausting. And I probably do it too much. And it has probably created a bit of a conundrum for me… Because it is so hard to understand the swings of my mood to begin with, it must be hard to understand that you can see me looking and acting just fine and dandy one moment and then be told that really, I’m not doing well at all, that all of what you saw was just me putting on an act, or being “on”. Covering up how I’m really doing so that I can participate in life.

And so you see, that is why I think that really, somewhere along the way, I have probably earned myself an Academy Award for Best Actress in Her Own Bipolar Life.

To Not Be A Mother

This blog is dedicated to every woman who has brought life into this world and has dedicated and sacrificed their own lives to raising their children. I admire you all.

Note: I could write a dozen blogs on this topic, there is a lot to say and much to debate. How interesting it really is to anyone else (not mention the fact it's the third "serious" entry in a row), I don't know, so I tried to keep it short (although I know it's still long).

Here we go...on "To Not Be A Mother"...

It is not surprising, yet still somewhat unsettling (at least to me) that in an age where women are considered to be equal in society (emphasis on considered – I think actual equality is still up for much debate), where a woman may choose to do pretty much anything she wants, where a woman has the possibility to take control of her herself and her life in every aspect, there is still a very strong societal expectation that women shall reproduce. This expectation that women should both want and have children seems almost stronger that the expectation that women find themselves a husband. It seems to me that people are more confused about why a woman would not want children than why a woman would not want a husband. And here I am, not wanting either! Talk about having some explaining to do! (Dave, I love you madly, I just don’t desire that piece of paper.)

I am a woman who has chosen not to have children. My reasons are both simple and complex. Simply, I just don’t want children. I sailed through my 20’s never having that burning, yearning desire. At 30 I went through a brief period where I thought my biological clock had begun to tick, but in hindsight I think it was actually my biochemical time bomb ticking and the idea of having something to love forever sounded nice. In reality, I like kids, just not that much to want to be responsible for one. To me, it’s just too much responsibility. Yep, I’m selfish. I want to do the things I want to do, when I want to do them. I really don’t want to be one someone else’s schedule. I don’t want to give up my freedom. If it suddenly dumps snow and I want to ski, then I want to be able to do that. Without worrying about what I’m supposed to do with my kid. If someone suddenly throws me a couple of tickets to a concert, I want to go. Without worrying what I’m supposed to do with my kid. And what the hell am I supposed to do when I go on vacation? (Yes, I am one of those people who cringes when she sees a child seated nearby on an airplane and for life of me I do not understand why you would take a child to Las Vegas!) So, you get the picture. Don’t get me wrong. I think kids are great. I think parenting is the hardest most underrated job (yes, it is a job!) in the world. I have a niece and a nephew who fill my heart with so much love it aches. But it is all consuming. I don’t have it in me to fulfill that job. I admire every mother (and father) who does. Because really, that is what it is about. Don’t reproduce for the sake of reproducing. Bring life into this world because you know down to the very core of you that you want it, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself, and that you will give everything you have to your job as a parent. It has to be priority number one. So, like I said, this job is not for me.

More complexly, as I entered my 30’s and really began considering this issue, I had to factor in my illness. What does it mean to have a mental illness and bring a child into this world? For me, there were a couple of factors that really gave me pause for thought. The first being fairly straightforward: pregnancy and medications. Like drinking and driving, they don’t mix. If I were to become pregnant, I would not be able to stay on my medications without risking harm to the baby. I don’t know of any doctor who would allow a person to continue taking the medications that I take while they are pregnant. Right away, this is a no brainer. While I may toy with the idea of not taking medications, going off my medications is absolutely not an option for me. I cannot think of anything that would convince to stop my medication, including a child. The probably consequences are just too grim. This realization was probably the catalyst which lead to my recent surgery. What if I accidentally got pregnant? I’d be left with two very undesirable choices: 1. Abortion. I am very pro-choice but don’t know that I could make that choice for myself; and 2. Stop drugs and have a baby. I don’t want to stop my meds and I definitely don’t want a baby.

On top of this, I spent much time considering the impact of my illness on my ability to parent as well as its impact on a child, were I to have one. I thought of all the times I have been unable to care for myself. I have spent much time requiring other people to help me take care of myself. Could I ever put my child in a position where I may not be able to fully care for it? And what about putting my child in a position of taking on a caregiver role, which is very common in these situations. Could I put my child in that position? I realize that I have people in my life who would step in and help me, but at the end of the day, I know that for better or worse, my illness would have an impact on a child, just as it impacts those close to me in my life now. I think of how difficult it is for Dave to deal with me at times (such as now). How hard would it be for a child to grow up having to deal with my ups and downs? Don’t get me wrong. Many people with mental illness have children and are wonderful parents who raise happy, healthy children. This is not all about self-sacrifice.

But the bottom line is that I don’t want children and adding my illness to the picture just solidified that even more. So, I wanted to be totally risk free. Hence, the tubal ligation. Which brings me back to this expectation out there that all women should be yearning to give birth! Telling people you are choosing not to have children, and in fact are fixing yourself so that there is absolutely no possibility of same is quite interesting. Most common responses included: “are you sure, but what if you change your mind?” (as if I had just woke up one day and made the decision – this was some 4 or 5 years in the making!); some people seemed almost offended, particularly those single women of the “time’s a ticking” age group who didn’t have children themselves (this was particularly strange); some people seemed utterly perplexed at the idea that I would not want to have children (“what do you mean you don’t want kids?”); I’m pretty sure some people really didn’t take me seriously; I think many people questioned my judgement (or at least that is my perception) and I’m not sure how much explaining made it make sense to anyone; and of course, pretty much everyone said that Dave should get a vasectomy, to which I very loudly and repeatedly replied: MY BODY, MY CHOICE, I ALONE LIVE WITH MY DECISION!!!! Oh, and I can’t forget medical staff – everyone at my surgery and during my post surgery hospital stay assumed I had already had children (“so, no more for you, eh?”). I mean, I know most people getting their tubes tied have already had kids, but really, should we be making this assumption?????

Anyways, at the end of the day, the most important people got it. Actually, probably everyone got it. I love my mom the most for telling me she thought I was making the best decision for myself and that she admired me for it. Still, in this day and age, isn’t it interesting that we question this choice made by a woman. Or that we make judgements about it. Or that, as a woman, so much explaining has to be done about it. When do you ever hear anyone asking a guy why he doesn’t have a kid yet, when he’s going to have kids, or why he doesn’t want kids?

Only Crazy Knows Crazy

I want to preface this blog by saying that I well know I have a wonderful life, for which I am immensely grateful. I am fortunate in many, many ways, so many I can’t list them all here. I have family and friends who go above and beyond to support me, be there for me, and understand me. I have an incredibly huge ring of extended family who, while are not present in person, are supporting me from afar. I have so much love I know my cup runneth over and over and over……….

I attended my very first “mood disorders support group” this week. This is a support group run by the Mood Disorders Association of B.C. for people with, you guessed it, mood disorders. When I was first diagnosed my dad found out about these groups by way of a newsletter lying around the UBC Mood Disorders Clinic, I believe. He thought they might be helpful. I don’t remember exactly what I thought, but I don’t think I was too keen. Shortly after I remember a psychiatrist at the UBC Mood Disorders Clinic discouraging me from attending, saying that I was too high functioning and it might be discouraging for me. (When I think back, I’m not really sure what made him classify me as “high functioning” at that time… I was completely non-functioning!). So I never went to a group, although I did sign up for the newsletter and have been receiving them from the beginning of this journey of craziness.

Especially in the beginning, and from time to time over the years, other people have encouraged me to attend a support group, but I have never been able to get myself to go. Whether I have felt that I didn’t need a support group, or that it wouldn’t be helpful, or that I already had a good support system of friends and family, or that I already knew everything I needed to know through all the reading I had done, or whatever reasons that I have floated through my head, I think what I really didn’t want was to put myself in that category of people who belong in a mood disorder support group. I think what that psychiatrist said many years ago at UBC stuck with me. I pictured a group of people who were much sicker than me, way less able to function than me, way crazier than me. A group I didn’t belong in. I won’t even get into ALL of the IRONY in this (I’m trying to edit here!) other than to say we all know my background and I here I am shamefully contributing to the stigma that I so despise. Or maybe I am just fearing that stigma myself.

Other times I float the idea that maybe it’s more about not wanting to associate myself in a group like that because it just reminds me of what is wrong with me. It’s like I don’t want to be on a psych unit because I still cannot see myself as “one of those people”. I will never forget the first time I was in the hospital, in a locked room, standing at the door, looking out the small window. How many times had I stood, during my job as a social worker on a psychiatric unit, on the other side of that door? Until I was on the other side – the locked side – I didn’t truly get it. So if I were to go to a support group, I would have to put myself in a position where I have to acknowledge that I am “one of those people”. I think you can see where this thinking goes.

So, what changed? For the past couple of months I’ve been in a bit of a depression. I carry on, but my thinking is more negative, I feel more hopeless and life seems just a little harder to attend to. It’s very difficult to articulate my feelings. I often feel that I am drowning, that I am struggling below the surface with one arm flailing above, waiting to be pulled back up. But it is as if I am invisible and so I just continue to struggle below the surface. So that’s an idea of how I feel.

Two things have been at the forefront of mind these days. First, I have difficulty accepting that I am not “back to my old self.” I continuously struggle with the question “when will my life get back to normal?” As in – when I will be completely fixed and not have to deal with this anymore? Okay, something that is probably not a realistic goal, but one which I cannot seem to give up. And second, I have been feeling at times, and more so lately, an overwhelming sense of isolation in my illness. I have an incredible support network of family and friends, not to mention two fabulous doctors. Yet, I can’t help but feel at times that nobody really gets me. Like, if you don’t know, you really just don’t know. And that’s nobody’s fault. It’s just the way it is.

So after struggling with this feeling of being isolated, or alone in my feelings, I finally decided that maybe going to a support group was what I needed. Maybe it just took all this time for me to get okay with the idea. Maybe it’s just a matter of my depressed mood and feeling desperate enough for something more than I was getting from my doctors, family and friends. At the end of the day, I just suddenly felt like I really needed to be around other people who struggle with the same stuff as me. So, with a bit of trepidation and really not knowing what to expect, I attended my first group last Thursday. My expectations may have been low, although I was hoping harder than anything that this would be helpful – remember, my hand is waving madly, invisible, while I’m drowning below the surface. So I was thrilled by the actual experience.

Here was a group of men and women, of all ages, various backgrounds, various situations, various levels of functioning, all with one thing in common: a biochemical imbalance in their brains that produced fluctuations in their moods beyond the normal “ups and downs” of life. The group works like this. Each person has a chance to speak (or pass if they wish) and then everyone else can comment, ask questions, etc. As I listened to each person talk, I could relate with some aspect of what they were saying. And I mean EVERY person. I was humbled by some experiences in comparison to my own. I was overwhelmed with feelings of compassion, admiration, gratitude, and hope. Each individual was incredibly supportive of each other and I felt like I was surrounded by a group of people who, although may each have a different life, were connected by the struggles of their illness. We had all gone through (and continue to go through) similar struggles and difficulties, along with similar triumphs. These were people who knew what it was like because they knew what it was like. For two hours I didn’t feel quite so isolated in my world. Being "one of those people" was okay. My problems weren’t solved and it was emotionally draining, but I left feeling like “Yes! People who actually get it!” And for a time, my sense of isolation was diminished. I felt like perhaps someone had seen my flailing arm and had grasped my hand to pull me out of the water.

I look forward to going back next week.

The Dog Ate My Homework

This very long blog is dedicated to my cousin Cathy for it's content, for always reading and for ispiring me to write.

Note: This blog contains medical details that may be too much information for some people. You have been warned! :)


So, I was a couple weeks late with my last blog entry. I told you I had a very good excuse and then left you hanging. I guess I now must explain myself. My dog didn’t actually eat my blog. I don’t even have a dog and if I did it would mean that it had eaten my computer, in which case, I would definitely no longer have that dog. As always, there is no one or two line reason to give. I have a whole big story.

Let’s see, 3 weeks ago I had some surgery to fix myself from the possibility of ever getting pregnant (a more detailed blog about this to come). Yes, I had my tubes tied. Well actually, they weren’t tied they were burned! Okay, cauterized. But burned sounds so much more serious and it really means the same thing. Anyways…this is a run of the mill surgery, you go in, they put you out, they do their burning and Bob’s your uncle. You’re in and out in a few hours. Recovery time is 5 to 7 days and that is that. For most people. Of course, I am not most people and if anything strange or unusual will go wrong, it will happen to me.

So for the first 5 or 6 days, I thought I was doing great. I was up and about, felt good, no pain. Piece of cake. Then Monday comes and the pain starts. And then more bleeding starts. Tuesday, one week post surgery and I’m definitely in pain and the bleeding does not appear to be going anywhere. By Thursday night, it’s even worse and now I have a fever. This I think is not so good. I hum and haw about going to emergency. I don’t want to use up that resource if it’s really nothing, but then what if it is something? I call the Nurseline. After a long discussion the nurse really has no answer and tells me to go to emergency. All right, we are off to emergency. Now sit down, because this is a story of one good health care experience that I would never imagine possible!

We arrive and check in. I don’t even sit down in the waiting area and am taken in. I’m put in the “Pelvic Room” (yes, that’s what it’s called!) But NICE - a totally private room! This is all right. I have barely got my gown on and I have a nurse in to see me. Literally (and I do mean literally) less than 5 minutes later the emergency doctor is in to see me. I mean, the nurse hasn’t even taken the blood pressure cuff off yet! Not more than 5 minutes into the doctor’s exam and the lab person is there, ready to take my blood. I AM NOT EXAGERATING OR MAKING THIS UP! Border waits are longer than what all this took! So the doc says it could be a bladder infection, it could be infection from the surgery, it could be my appendix, it could be this, it could be that. First, rule out bladder infection and call in a gynaecologist. So off I go to pee in a cup. While I’m waiting a nice lady comes in and gives me warm blankets and adjusts my bed. Aside from the bright lights and medical supplies everywhere I’m starting to think I’m on a little vacation. So much so that when a nurse comes in with a cup of orange juice, I actually think “oh how nice, they’re bringing me something to drink”. Laugh out loud here because they are not bringing me a drink. They are bringing me contrast dye to drink so they can do a CT scan. Uh, apparently it’s not just a bladder infection. And a CT scan? Hmmm. Worry a bit more. Just as I finish gulping down the orange juice dye concoction (which I actually think is quite tasty) the nurse returns to tell me that radiology has changed shifts and I won’t be getting my CT scan done tonight. I’ll probably stay in the hospital.

At this point the gynaecologist arrives. As does someone from radiology to take me to get an x-ray. The gynaecologist says to get the x-ray first. I assume she will go off to see other patients. When I come back, she is WAITING AT THE NURSING STATION FOR ME. Maybe this is normal, maybe it’s my own opinion about our pathetic health care system, but I thought this was rather impressive. Anyways, the awesome gynaecologist is ready to examine me. I don’t know if she’s giddy from lack of sleep (she will finish her 24 hour shift in a few hours), giddy because she leaves for Paris that day (must be nice), or if she’s a crazy manic woman like me. Doesn’t matter she was great. She checks me out, tells me none of this is right, I should not have pain, I should not have all this bleeding and of course there are a long list of possibilities when it comes to what’s wrong. I will not being going home tonight, period. I think this means I’m staying in emergency. No. I’m being admitted to a medical unit. Uh, okay. So I’m thinking this is serious. The x-rays showed nothing but my white blood cell count is high, my blood pressure low and I’ve still got a fever. Even if I wanted to go home and come back in the morning for the CT scan (as Dave and I had sort of talked about earlier), this is now not an option. Period. Well, all right. I tell Dave (who has been with me this whole time, by the way) this is my “0 star” vacation.

I want to say that we arrived at the emergency department at about 10:00 p.m. I was in my bed on the medical unit at 3:00 a.m. Maybe 5 hours sounds long, but I was utterly impressed at how fast everything happened. I’m pretty sure I’ve waited 5 hours just to see a nurse on other emergency room trips!

In the morning I was told I couldn’t eat or drink anything (save for a bit more orange juice dye concoction). It also seemed like they were preparing to have me there all weekend. Um, okay I’m a bit worried. I had my CT scan. Not normal. I had gone out for a smoke and when I came back to my room I overheard someone on the phone using my name and “urgent ultrasound” in the same sentences. “Urgent ultrasound” was repeated several times. Okay, this does not sound good. So I stood in front of this person until they were off the phone. Turns out it was one of the gynaecologists (I’m pretty sure nurses book these things when the order is made so the fact that I had a doctor arranging this was both alarming and again, impressive to me). So we talked. The good news: my appendix is fine! Oh yay! The bad news: something is not right with my right ovary. I can’t remember all the details, but I would need this ultrasound to find out more. Urgent means urgent. Ultrasound would happen in an hour. More bad news, still nothing to eat or drink because they may have to do surgery. WHAT????? I'm starving!!! And everyone is still talking like I’m here for the weekend.

So, off to get an ultrasound. By the way, did I mention that every time I go for one of these tests I get picked up by an orderly who wraps me in a blanket and wheels me to the radiology department? AND, when I’m in getting the imaging, I’m given warm blankets. The whole warm blanket thing is a big seller for me. I don’t get warm blankets at home. Then after the test I get picked up and wheeled back up to my room. I know I’m in a hospital, but for a girl who loves attention, especially when she doesn’t feel good, this is sort of fun. Anyways…after the ultrasound I’m seen by the gynaecologist and the resident who happened to be assisting on my surgery. Nice luck, since she remembers the surgery and exactly what they did.

The Verdict: nothing serious is wrong. No infection. They did not injure my bowel or any other organ during surgery. There are cysts on my ovary but this is normal. Basically, for some unknown reason, there is still fluid and inflammation around my right side. They have no explanation, other than to say that it is very unusual and that it is nothing serious and will resolve over time. They have the head gynaecologist review everything and come to examine me as well (again, I’m thinking I’m getting all the top notch care here!). He repeats what the other doctors have told me. It is just very unusual, but as long as it does not get worse, I am fine to go home, get some rest, take anti-inflammatories and follow up with my own gynaecologist at the end of the week.

So all that for pretty much nothing? Not that I wanted something to be wrong, but, well, I guess I sort of wanted some specific diagnosis. Not “we really don’t know why this inflammation is happening, it doesn’t usually happen, most people recover from this kind of surgery with absolutely no problems, we don’t really see this…” This SOOOOO only happens to me. Seriously. At the end of the day me, my mom and Dave could only laugh that, while all the doctors agreed that something was wrong, there wasn’t any real diagnosis. If anyone is going to have some weird and unusual pain that cannot really be explained, it will surely be me.

So I went home. I stayed off work for another week. I did not write my blog. My fever finally subsided. I still have some pain and my gynaecologist said to expect two or three more weeks to pass before I’m really feeling better. 5 to 7 days for recovery? Ya right! Not in my world.

So that, my readers, is why I did not make my deadline for posting a blog last week!

Even Steven

I always joke that Dave is “Even Steven”. Like Jerry Seinfeld, things just always work out for him. Something may bring him down, but then there is always something else right there bringing him back up. Even Steven. I am certain he could throw money off the patio and it would show back up at our front door. Or even more likely, nothing happens to bring him down and something still happens to make his world even better (meeting me is just but one example of his astounding luck!). An example of this Even Steven phenomena, or incredible karma, follows.

First, a bit of background…For those of you who may not know this (although how you wouldn’t is beyond me since I’m always bragging about it), Dave has been designing the t-shirts and other merchandise the band Hedley since they started a few years ago (along with many other up and coming bands). If you don’t know who Hedley is, don’t worry…on my first date with Dave he was telling me that he did these t-shirts and at the time had been going on tour with the band as the Merchandise Manager. Me, being completely oblivious to the music scene, gave all the polite “very cools” and “that’s really excitings”, admitting I had no idea who Hedley was and in my head assuming he was travelling around with some small band playing clubs and bars. The day after this date, I was flipping channels and stopped at Much Music, where there was a one hour “In the Spotlight” show on the band. Okay, did I feel like a heel or what? These guys weren’t playing in bars and clubs; they were playing in bloody stadiums! And apparently they were pretty damn popular. But I digress, as this is not actually about me!

The band’s “merch”, as they call it, designed by Dave always sold very well. The band got bigger and bigger and the merch sold like crazy. So…needless to say, Dave continued to design all the merch for the band. Everyone was happy. Other bands started coming to him, although Hedley was by the far the biggest. The band continued to rise in success. It was a lovely arrangement. Until…Hedley got too big.

So, over the summer the band has been making a new album, not requiring any new designs. Knowing they would start touring in the fall, once the album was released, Dave had been waiting to get album cover artwork, etc. so he could start designing new stuff for the tour. When we heard that the fall tour had turned into Hedley opening for Bon Jovi, we were pretty excited. Great for Hedley. Cool for Dave. How cool would it be to have your shirts on sale alongside the merch of Bon Jovi?!!! As time passed and no word about what they needed was coming, Dave was getting anxious. Then the email: Sorry, the band has a new contract and the record label will now be in charge of everything, including merchandise. Basically, “ya, you’ve been here from the beginning, but we don’t need you anymore.” This was pretty devastating for Dave, although he knows the music industry and knew this was likely to happen at some point. Still, it hurt, both personally and professionally. A few days after the email, the band manager, Dave’s direct contact when it came to work for the band, called Dave to explain what Dave already knew…that with the band getting bigger, and with the record label owning a share of the company that produces the t-shirts, the new contract between the band and the label included all aspects of merchandise, and the record label would use its own design team. It was a positive call, reinforcing that they still thought Dave’s designs rocked but were at place where they had to give control of that to the record label.

How does this make Dave Even Steven? Well, the manager put Dave in touch with the record label designer guy, Dave sent over some samples of his work, the guy loved it and suggested they talk further about working together. SO…Even Steven. Dave loses his gig with Hedley, but gains interest from Nettwerk Records’ design team and may very well end up working with them for other artists. Very exciting. However as Dave’s life goes, there’s always more…when it rains it pours with good things for him.

SO… a few days later Dave gets a call from Tommy (Hedley’s bass player and a friend). Tommy and two partners are starting a clothing line. Separate from Hedley, an actual clothing line – Revolution Army - that they hope will be in stores next fall. So who does he want as the lead designer? Ya, you know it. Dave. HUGE excitement, as Dave’s dream is to work on a clothing line and this may be THE opportunity for him. Dave is beyond thrilled, although always with his cautious optimism. I have no caution whatsoever and now imagine myself travelling around the world with Dave while he attends trade shows, and fashion shows, scoping out the hottest new styles, seeking out materials, and generally doing whatever it is that clothing designers do. I imagine watching celebrities on TV talking about the new fashions they are wearing designed by Dave. And I am certain I will be checking out his designs in the stores on Robson Street, smiling to myself as people walk by wearing them. Ahh, yes….this is me, the big dreamer and more importantly the big believer. Dave may be Even Steven, charmed, lucky, or most likely just full of really good karma, but ultimately he is incredibly talented and it is that which brings him his success.

For now, he will design an incredibly cool logo for Revolution Army. Tommy will use his celebrity to promote it while he’s on tour. After that, well, I really have no idea how it works. However, I do believe it will work and I shall expect you all to be fully outfitted in Revolution Army clothing when it makes it debut.

It's Coming!!!!

I know, I know... I am well past my deadline for another post (good thing I'm not an actual writer or I'd be fired!), but I promise I have very good excuses to give that will exonerate me from my tardiness and make everyone feel very bad for thinking I can't hold up my end of the bargin!! You will have to continue checking to find out what they are. Ooooooooo - the suspense!

Well, I promise you that I do actually have some stuff that is almost complete and a post will be up by Sunday at the latest. Stay tuned for one of the following: "This Can Only Happen to Me"...the story of girl who has minor surgery and ends up in the hospital with "well, we don't really know" or "Even Steven" the story of a man whose life, like Jerry Seinfeld, "just always works out" and the latest installment of how one loss leads to an even greater gain in his charmed life.

Project Get Writing

(posted by ange)

All right. It's been over a month since I've written anything, mostly because I have felt that I haven't had anything worthwhile to write about. I guess you could say I've been feeling a little uninspired. Nothing exciting is happening and does anyone really want to read about what I'm feeling to be my mundane little life? (If you don't, you may as well head out here). Perhaps it is just my frame of mind...a bit of the fall blues. I'm feeling bored and boring all at once, yet just allowing myself to do nothing. Which just perpetuates my feelings of boredom and boringness. Which then just makes me long for a little bit of hypomanic energy, in turn making me both mad and sad and wishing I didn't even know what I might be missing. But don't worry - I won't go there personally. I'll save it for something to write about later. Because...

I was thinking about what I need to do to get myself out of this funk and one of those things is that I need to start writing again - regularly. So here I am, starting to write again. Now, I know that the best way to get oneself to follow through with things is to set attainable, realistic, specific, short term goals that one can be held accountable for. So, my goal is this: for the next month (short term) I will write one blog per week (specifc, realistic and attainable) and whoever is reading this will hold me accountable (the accountability part) by telling me to get off my ass and post something if a week has passed and there is nothing new. It may also help to comment on my posts, since we all know how much I like think I have many adoring fans out there! (ha ha) I will try my best to come up with interesting things to write about, but I'm open to suggestions if you become bored or perhaps just want to hear my opinion on something. We all know I have lots of opinions, so if you do put something out there, do remember that!

So there it is...Project Get Writing, as I have decided to call it. This, by the way, does not count as the first post. This is just the set up for this little project I've created for myself and hopefully for your reading entertainment.

The Vegas Diaries

(posted by Ange. Take note, it's a long one and I'm too tired to edit for spelling and grammar...so here it is...the summary - yes summary - of our excellent adventure in Las Vegas!)

Date: September 4 – 7, 2007.
Place: Las Vegas.
The players: Ange and Dave.
The games: It’s Vegas, what do you think?

Leaving Vancouver

Already feeling ahead of the game after buying our American dollars (which, by the way, should really be colour coded – particularly for those of us who take up the offer of free drinks from cocktail waitresses who appear at alarmingly short intervals!) and not losing half our money at the bank, we head off to the airport bursting with excitement. “We’re going to Vegas, baby!” is the line of the day. Through security, I’m feeling a sign of luck as I have my second full security screen and pat down in a row (remember Edmonton?)!!! Our flight is delayed by half an hour, but no worries, our pilot halls ass and lands us in Vegas only 10 minutes late. Nice!

Arriving in Vegas

As we are all standing, heading to the front of the plane, waiting for the doors to open, we are told to return to our seats for a security something or other. Much sighs and grumbles. Back to our seats. And on come two Homeland Security officers (or whatever the hell they call themselves), hauling someone off the plane for arrest or detainment or whatever. So a little excitement and we haven’t even left the plane! I’m, of course, left speculating like mad about what this guy is being held for, while also giving my own commentary on the whole Homeland Security and detainment paranoia-making issue, while Dave humours my overactive imagination (in hindsight, I believe this guy’s pacing up and down the aisles was somewhat suspicious!!!). Anyways…we’re in Vegas and the vacation has begun…

It’s a Hot One Out There

Walking out of the airport, we’re hit with a wall of heat. It’s a bit windy and so it felt like someone had a blow dryer turned on high pointed at your face. Dry heat. I was in heaven. Zero humidity, just hot, hot air. I think the temperatures ranged from about 36 at night to about 40 in the day. Or maybe higher. I don’t really know because I didn’t ever see a temperature reading until we went back to the airport on Friday night, at which time it was 37. Lying by the pool was great in this heat, but only for short periods of time and getting wet was a must. Thank God we had a gorgeous pool to lay around at the Paris Hotel! Walking around during the day must have been tough, but Dave and I didn’t make it out of the hotel to really walk anywhere until early evening. And it was hot then.

Damn it’s Cold in Here!

To make up for the heat, the casinos are fully air conditioned, aiming for a room temperature of, oh I’d say about 10. Well, maybe not that cold, but damn, bring a sweater because it’s bloody cold in there. Between the cold air and the oxygen, you have no problem staying wide awake, despite the copious amount of alcohol you are consuming. I’m sure some scientist was comped a nice room for the perfect formula of cold air and oxygen to keep people awake. So, what’s my point? It’s a real bitch to have to have to carry a sweater around and take same sweater on and off every time you go in and out.

“Mr. Priban, you are registered at Bally’s”

Surely you have read my previous blog entry regarding our accommodations. So, did someone just make a typing error or were we really supposed to be staying at Paris? You guessed it, typing error! As we’re checking in at Paris, Dave is speaking to the woman and I’m digging for the voucher that says “These people are supposed to be at Paris”. Dave is told we’re registered for Bally’s just as I find said slip of paper and we say “No, we should be staying at Paris”. As the woman goes to check things out Dave and I agree that there will be no mention of Bally’s and we will just insist that this is where we are staying. But, no need. The woman returns, all apologies for the error, “We’re so sorry Mr. Priban, they entered it into the computer wrong, sorry, sorry, sorry”. Off to our room we go, laughing all the way. Ha ha ha!

“You can do anything in Vegas, just don’t murder someone”

That is the response we got when we confirmed with a casino staff person that it was, in fact, still okay to take our drinks with us, even in glass glasses. All right then. Enough said on that front.

What Time Is It?

I think we probably all know this, but Las Vegas has no clocks. Whoever decided not to let people see the time is damn genius from the casino’s point of view. With all those flashing advertising signs on the strip, they don’t even show you the time when you’re just walking around. Actually, I’m surprised they don’t make you check your watch at the casino door. So, what’s my point? In Vegas, there is no sense of time. A concept I actually quite like. If you don’t know what time it is, there is no guilt for doing whatever it is you are doing when you should be doing something else because you don’t even know it’s time to be doing something else. Except when you see the morning people…which I will get to later.

Plans Out the Window

So what did we do? What did we see? Did we go here? Did we go there? Our pre-trip plans were pretty much tossed on the first night, as we crawled into bed at 4:00 a.m. In summary, Dave and I were the sleep by day, gamble by night type of Vegas goer. I did start writing a paragraph here about what we did and saw, but who am I kidding? Our exposure to sunlight was limited and our exposure to neon lights and air conditioned casinos was maximum.

Trips Are For Kids

Whoever decided that Texas Hold ‘Em should be a casino table game where each player is just playing the dealer is brilliant and highly responsible for much of our fun in Vegas. Creating a small area called the Party Pit, where loud music blasts as dealers wearing Hawaiian shirts dance, deal out cards and hand out mardi gras beads (who doesn’t want to be wearing beads???) is even more brilliant. Dave dived in first, and after walking away over $675, it was clear that this was the game to play. I waited, not sure. After watching enough I decided I could do it. Don’t know what the hell I was worried about. If I can’t figure out my hand, Dave can tell me what to do, or the dealer will, and how much fun is it to have your cards tossed recklessly to you, be able to pick them up and look at them as much as you want, be able to share them with everyone at the table, all the while grabbing drinks from that aforementioned cocktail waitress that clearly does not want your glass to be empty. Yep, after a few hands, I was sold. My new favourite Vegas game is Texas Hold ‘Em. And my new favourite poker hand is trips (that’s three of a kind in case you don’t know or couldn’t guess), of which I got many, many, many. I can probably count on one hand how often I’ve had trips playing at home. In Vegas, I was the queen of trips. (Not to mention 4 of a kind twice in less than 5 minutes!!!). Hence, my new favourite saying: “Trips are for kids”. Kinda like “Trix are for kids”, developed under the influence of alcohol after having a string of trips in a short period of time. But the way I say it is much more entertaining. Really. Ask Dave. Or Joe and John from Florida. They actually thought I should copyright it. But that’s a whole other story.

Zumanity

It wasn’t all drinking and gambling. Dave and I did act like mature adults and attend a Vegas Show – Cirque du Soleil’s Zumanity. This is an adult only show, part burlesque, part cabaret style show. It was utterly amazing. With sex as the theme, it was a cornucopia of entertainment, with audience interaction, a live band, live singers, acrobatics, ballet, comedy, contortion, girls in a champagne glass, guys in a cage, and everything you can imagine that might fall in between. I don’t know how to even begin to really describe this show, other than to say that if you thought of sex and sexuality along a big line, Zumanity touched on points all across this line, from naughty to nice, in an extremely entertaining and awe striking way. Very well done.

The Fremont Experience

We checked out “Old Vegas”, which has embraced the “new” concept with their Fremont Street Experience – some thousands and thousands of lights on a huge screen that covers the street over a few blocks with a sound system that all combine to put on a show every hour. All the casinos go dark during this show, which is quite cool and I’d be interested in the minutes of the meetings that were held as the Fremont Experience people worked at convincing the casinos to do this. Then again, the casinos probably are the Fremont Experience people. Aside from the show, you gotta love the old casinos…The Golden Nugget, Binion’s, Sam’s, The 4 Queens. Contrary to what many think, these places are fun, friendly and safe. They’ve obviously been renovated and the crowd is clearly tourists. Bring on the poker fun!

The Five Dollar Shake

John Travolta might have been a little shocked at the price of his shake, but a SIX DOLLAR iced tea???? Damn. It’s just tea over ice. I had to squeeze my own lemon into it and add my own sugar! But it did totally hit the spot while I was lounging by the pool, and the fact that the waitress gave me back too much change took away that ripped off feeling.  Speaking of which….

Winning Money at Fatburger

I guess the Americans have just as much trouble figuring out their money as everyone else. At Fatburger (yes, I had to have a hamburger, now!) I actually came up ahead, being given change for a twenty instead of the ten I had given. And my burger! Now there’s a deal!

So What About Those Morning People?

You know you’ve been sitting at a table too long when you start to see morning people walking around. Morning people have experienced the day before, gone to bed, and have now started a new day. Unlike you, who is still experiencing the day before (which has actually turned into a new day, you just haven’t realized it or are ignoring the fact). With your whole sense of time out the window, this can sneak up on you quite quickly. You know it’s getting late. There is a point where you are pretty sure that if you went outdoors it would now be light, but this is unconfirmed because you’re not going outdoors to see the light, you’re staying at the table, making a bet and ordering another drink. And then you see the odd person walking around with a coffee. Maybe they’re having a coffee to sober up before going to bed? Then again, they look pretty fresh and now there are more and more of them and yes, you are now one of the few people in the casino who has not showered since yesterday. Hmmm…this cannot be good. Especially if you have to check out today. What time is it????? You can only continue so long before you either run out of money or the guilt of seeing the morning people gets to you and you have to leave the table. Or maybe both. So I finally left the table at 9:15 a.m.

Leaving Las Vegas

There’s nothing exciting to say about leaving Las Vegas. We didn’t want to go home. After snoozing for a couple of hours, I had my bag packed, was showered and ready to go in an hour. Quite impressive and managed by simply gathering up all my belongings and dumping them into my suitcase in no order, not rolled or folded, shirts mixed with shoes mixed with toiletries, mixed with whatever…just gathered and dumped as quickly as possible. Dave is still impressed that I actually did this. We brunched and then decided that since we were both a little tired, it was best to stay out of the heat and lay low in the casino until our flight later that night. So that was what we did. We came home winners, neither of us spending even half of our money. And mostly, we came home having had the most fun 3 nights we could have asked for. Ange and Dave love Vegas and can’t wait to go back!

Viva Las Vegas

(posted by ange)

Dave and I leave for Vegas on September 4 and lady luck has already showed her pretty little face. When I booked our 3 night getaway to Sin City a few weeks ago, it went something like this. Dave away in Hong Kong for two weeks. Me thinking Dave always gets to travel. Me wanting to go on vacation. Me whining a bit about wanting to go on vacation. Me surfing the internet looking at vacations. Me thinking how fun Vegas would be. Me talking up a trip to Vegas and looking for deals to Vegas. Me talking about the great deals I had found to Vegas. Dave agreeing that Vegas would be great and we should go – I mean we would need a vacation after moving and painting and all. Me looking further into deals. Dave and I finally agreeing that we are going, setting a date and picking Paris as our Vegas destination. Me calling the travel agent 2 days later, only to find out the Paris deal had shot up an extra $100 each. Me deciding that $100 could be better spent at the blackjack tables and settling on Bally’s instead for the original price. Me and Dave being totally psyched to go to Vegas since the day of booking!

Our tickets arrived in the mail today. I have an itinerary and hotel voucher indicating we are staying at Paris. Same confirmation number as on our receipt for the package to Bally’s (which has been paid). I don’t know who made this mistake, but it’s a damn good one! Woo-hoo…I’m going to Paris and Las Vegas all at the same time! I can only take this is a good sign. Of course, the reality is that this is the sort of thing that only happens to Dave. If my name were on the receipt, I’m sure I’d have been sent tickets to stay at Whiskey Pete’s! I’m just lucky to be with my lucky Dave and hence, reap the benefits.

New and Noteworthy in the Land of Dave and Ange

(posted by ange)

Well, it's been some time since I've sat down to write about the goings on around here. Grab a coffee or tea, or maybe a glass of wine and make yourself comfortable. I'm in a chatty state, my brain's in high gear and I'm ready to write! Okay, I'll try to keep it short and just stick to the highlights, but I can't promise you anything! In no particular order, here's what's new and noteworthy (or possibly not noteworthy at all) in the land of me and Dave...

The new digs. Moving day is August 1. Getting ready for moving day has been a joy. HA! I always thought Dave was different from all the rest of the men out there, but as it turns out, not so much. To me, July is packing and getting ready to move month. Lots to do, I'm going to stress, let's try to be prepared and prevent a possible breakdown. For Dave, July has been 10 days in Hong Kong, come home for 3 days then go to a ranch to play cowboy for 4 days, then get ready to move in the final 6 days. I mean, really, it's not going to take long, everything will get done, no big deal. Uh, hello, has he MET me? The way I see it, I'm here packing, living in chaos, spending much too much time tryng to stay calm, while he's off half the month being treated like royalty in Hong Kong and living out boyhood fantasies of living on the range! Aaaahhhh, but we all know Dave and we all know how this works out, don't we? Prior to leaving he made every call necessary to arrange the move. He came home from Hong Kong and pushed through his jet lag to tackle the big list I had made for him while he was away and I was feeling abandoned in this project. He left for the ranch with so much done that there hasn't been anything for me to do while he's been away. He'll arrive home late tonight and be ready to tackle the final week with me tomorrow. And throughout it all, as always, he's been my rock, listening, supporting and not letting me fall into panic and off the deep end. I guess I should take it back - he's not like every other man out there! (Thank you baby!) So for now, I'm not too stressed and really excited to move into our new home! Once we get there and don't unpack right away because we're painting the entire place, we'll see what happens! :)


Camping. Tired of waiting for good weather, we said "f" it - we're going camping, rain or shine, on the July long weekend. Me, Dave and his friend Mike packed up and headed out early on Friday, no reservations, just figuring we'd be early enough to get a site. Decided to try Golden Ears. As we are driving up to the campground, in torrential rain, we are passing sign after sign "CAMPGROUND IS FULL". We keep driving. Maybe they will have a spot. How can they be full? It's only 3:00! As we drive up to the gate, it's raining so hard and hailing so hard all I can think is "these guys better not want to set up until it lets up!". We pull up and Dave pleads for a campsite. Questions: Do we have airmattresses? Do we need to spike our tents in? Hesitantly we are saying yes, we have airmatresses, no we don't need to spike out tents (but we will if you want us to - can we have a campsite??!!!) As it turns out they have one spot left, a handicap spot that is all paved. Sold! We'll take it! So we set up camp and found ourselves in the middle of familyville. Literally. We are 99% certain we were the only site with no children. So while everyone around us is spending quality family time, me, Dave and Mike are pouring drinks and trying to take each other's money playing poker. ha ha. It actually turned out to be a great weekend. The rain stopped. We had a bit of sun. We had some awesome fires and lively debates and just blocked out the 8:00 a.m. soccer game going on in the field across from us. Oh, and once you get over it, camping on pavement is really not so bad.


The new car. Dave has a new love in his life. It's called a 2007 Volkswagen GTI with all the bells and whistles. While in Hong Kong he was dreaming about his car. He did not mention any dreams about me. So what does this mean? Dave is like a child at Christmas. He did not sleep the night before he got it. He was shaking when he went to pick it up. He wants to go driving all the time! Which is really actually quite good because he'll run any errand at the drop of a hat! But really, he wants to go driving all the time. Did I mention that we are moving and he has been away half the month? Road trips aren't on the top of my agenda right now. However, we did have a nice drive to Whistler as the inaugral road trip and he has been very understanding that I don't have time for a lot of long drives right now. (He doesn't either, but since he makes it all work, what can I say?) I must admit, it's a fabulous car. I am sure I was somewhat disappointing when he was telling me every minute detail, about how it runs, how things work, showing me the engine (picture me with a blank stare), basically giving me every fact about the car, most of which meant absolutely nothing to me, while my real interest was in my cupholder placement, the fact that when i open the mirror in the visor the light goes on, and how comfortable my seat is! (Come on, this is what's really important in a new car!) But really, it's quite exciting and I am so excited for Dave. He has been talking and researching and wanting this car for a very long time. He totally deserves this car. And watching his excitement about his new love puts a huge smile on my face.


Airport Security. Okay, this is just a little story. So I go visit my dad in Edmonton and coming through security on the way back I'm "randomly flagged" for extra screening. I think this means they want to search my bag. Nope. They'd like to search me. As in spread your legs, spread your arms out, get fully patted down (and I do mean fully everywhere), then place your hands on the table, one foot up, then the next. My first full on pat down at airport security! I thought it was funny that they checked my shoes - I was wearing flip flops that are so thin they're practically invisible! I was so glad that I had decided not to pack my explosives on my body! So close! :)


Our new addiction. Well, I am still a CSI addict, but our latest addiction is 24 (Thank you Patricia and Michael). We were given 5 seasons to borrow and have finished one, we're into season 2 now. We were told it was addictive and hard to stop watching. I don't think we fully bought into what that meant. So, first time we watch it, sit down at 9:00 p.m., thinking we will watch a couple episodes. At 3:00 a.m. we finished the 8th episode and forced ourselves to bed. I cannot emphasize this enough: How do people watch this show on T.V., waiting week to week for the next episode and then enduring breaks for Christmas or specials, or whatever??????? I can barely wait until the next night to pick up where we left off. If it weren't for Dave's willpower, I am sure I would stay up for as long as it took me to watch all five seasons. I believe this show is the crystal meth of T.V. and won't be surprised if people have to enter rehab when this show finally ends. Thankfully I will have it on DVD and be able to feed my own withdrawals. Hmmmm. Do I need to get a life?


Pills all over the place. This makes Dave and I laugh so hard. So as we've been preparing to move, we've been moving things. You know how when you move something, you always find something back there? Well, we're finding pills. Yep. Move a shelf, oh, here's a couple pills. Take down the CD shelf, here's a handfull - this one must have been a toss, not a drop! (i've been known to chuck my pills across the room when i'm not well). We were keeping a little pile on the table to see how many we'd find at the end of the day, but I notice they aren't there now. Hmmmm. (laughter)


Well, I think I'm probably starting to include those stories that, while however new, really aren't all that noteworthy and are really just more amusing to myself than anything else. Since I wouldn't want to alienate my faithful readers (hmmm...do I even still have faithful readers?) I better end this update here. If you made it to the end, thanks for reading!!!!!

A Romantic Mid-Week Getaway...

(posted by ange)

NOTE: I started writing this right after our "weekend" in Victoria, June 13-14, but just finally got around to finishing it now, so it's long, probably a bit broken, but hey, I figure at least I'm getting something up here!!! So here it is....

Dave and I spent Wednesday and Thursday enjoying a most romantic getaway to Victoria, celebrating the fact that we are still utterly and completely in love after one year together. We started off Wednesday morning, rising oh so early at 8:00 a.m. with intentions, but little actual belief, of leaving at 9:00 and catching the 11:00 ferry. As we pulled on to the street at exactly 9:12, we congratulated ourselves on being on time (something we are not known for). Anticipating traffic and road work, we were pleasantly surprised as we smooth sailed up to the Tswassen ferry terminal at 9:50, just in time for the 10:00 sailing. Things were going our way. The half our delay due to a missing life boat (no explanation was given, but I am still trying to figure out a life boat goes missing) did not dampen our spirits. We were already early!

As it turns out, catching this earlier ferry was an extra bonus. We were treated to a pretty spectacular display put on by a pod of 6 Orcas. They were absolutely amazing, rising in and out of the water, at times all six jumping out at once. We were lucky to have sat ourselves down at a table on the view side, while most of the passengers were running to our side of the ship to see the display.


We arrived at our shi-shi hotel at 12:30, hoping for an early check-in but really just expecting to park the car and head downtown until the room was ready. But, continuing in the charmed fashion of the day thus far, our room was ready and we were able to check in and unpack before seeing the sights. Although we were only staying for one night and packed our gear in duffel bags (we’re so chic), Dave unpacked his entire bag, hanging things up, putting things in the drawers. Almost a week after our stay, when he couldn’t find his swim trunks, he realized he had left everything in the room! (insert doubled over laughing on my end). Anyways…

We wandered around Victoria, checked out the Parliament Buildings – much more impressive and interesting as an adult than as a 10 year old, which was the last time I was there on a school field trip. Note to the school system: save that field trip for grade 12! We had drinks in the Bengal Bar at the Empress and a great lobster feast at a restaurant on the water, the name of which I now forget. Upon returning to our room, we found a bottle of champagne, our bed turned down with a shower of rose petals, robes and slippers and a bath bar from Lush. It was so romantic I immediately started taking pictures of it all. :) The rest of the evening is obviously x-rated and cannot be commented on here.















We slept in (ask for a late check out and you shall receive it) before our room service breakfast arrived, complete with fancy chocolate and a rose. And then it was off to the Titanic Exhibit. This was so above and beyond what I expected. If you have a chance, you have to see it. Upon entry you’ve given a boarding pass with information about a passenger from the actual Titanic. Of course Dave ends up being some young rich guy in first class and I’m some lowly, poor, single, middle aged woman in the bottom class, not even allowed to set foot in Dave’s area!!!! You can guess who died and who made it out alive! (At the end you actually find out). We took our time heading out of town, stopping in Sidney for the best fish and chips ever at Fish on 5th before catching the ferry home to reality.

It was an absolute perfect getaway and celebration of our one year anniversary. Any time spent with Dave is good time and I can’t imagine us ever not having a great time doing anything, but this little getaway was extra special.

IT'S F***ING FREEZING IN HERE!

(posted by ange)

This is the current common saying in our apartment. It's fucking freezing in here! (pardon my french, but I think we're all adults here) We have the pleasure of living in one of those buildings that has central heating. Meaning, we do not control our heat. It gets turned on in the late fall and turned off in the late spring. When it's on, we can crawl onto the floor and turn a knob under the radiator an inch in either direction to control how "hot" it gets. When it's off, I can lay on the floor turning the knob for as long as I like in either direction and nothing changes. It's off. And right now, it's damn cold! We are relying on the weather to heat our apartment. And I need not point out that the weather is not cooperating. It is not warming up anything! So we are walking around in socks, sweatpants and hoodies. I actually went to bed in sweats and socks last night! Dave had to bring me a hot water bottle, my feet were so cold. Okay, he didn't have to, but he did. Allowing me to point out once again how lucky I am and how special he is. I mean, other than my mother, nobody has ever brought me a hot water bottle for anything, let alone for having cold toes in June! But I digress... We are now adding "Control our own heat" to our list of "Hello's" at the new apartment. Until then... I've got to go sip a cup of hot tea. It's fucking freezing in here!

Serious Stuff

(posted by ange)

June 13 is the one year anniversary date of Dave and I’s first date. One year. A year ago today we were talking on the phone, planning said first date. Neither of us ever thought we’d be able to hang around with someone for a whole year, let alone think maybe we could hang around together for a lot more years. This is serious! Recent signs of just how serious this is: 1. We have signed a lease for the aforesaid apartment in both our names (a two year commitment) and 2. We have signed up for a Costco membership together (a one year commitment). For me, this is serious because it will the first time in 10 or so years that I have wanted to actually sign my name on for something with someone for longer than, well, I can’t remember wanting to actually sign on for something with someone period. It is also serious because, the expected initial panic attacks having dissipated, I am excited, happy and content about it. I have no fear about this next phase of our commitment, no what if’s, no doubts. I feel safe and secure with myself and with Dave. I know Dave feels the same about all of this, but I won’t quote him here directly.

So to celebrate the fact that we have both managed to become part of a successful and healthy relationship and to celebrate how much we love each other on a daily basis, we are treating ourselves to a night in Victoria, in a nice HOTEL, where we’ll be tourists for an afternoon, have a romantic dinner and see the Titanic Exhibit the following day. How romantic is that?! As Dave and I always say to each other, “Our Love Is So Real” :)

Moving on up...

(posted by ange)

“to a deluxe apartment in the sky…” remember the intro to Jefferson’s? It’s been repeating in my mind ever since Dave and I signed the lease to our new apartment. Yes, we are moving on… up one floor… to a (what we consider) deluxe apartment… with at least a view of the sky. Okay, you get the picture, maybe we’re not the Jefferson’s, but seriously, our new digs are FABULOUS!!!!! As of August 1 we are the proud renters of 415 – 1080 Pacific Street. A great West End location only a block from Sunset Beach! We will have two bedrooms. Goodbye office in the living room!! Goodbye painting of Dave Mustane in the living room (those who have been here know what I’m talking about!!) Hello separate office where Dave and Dave Mustane can hang out, out of sight. Hello patio. Hello view. Hello BBQ. Hello HUGE kitchen with enough counter and cupboard space to make me melt. Hello DISHWASHER. Goodbye dirty dishes on my coaster sized counter. Hello fireplace. Hello dining room large enough to actually be given credit as one. Hello garbage chute! Hello gym, hello sauna, hello rooftop terrace whose steps are right outside our front door. Hello squash court. Hmmm. I sound like the lady on Romper Room.

All this is ours come August 1. After my last manic episode it became clear that something had to give. Dave could not work in our living room while I in a state like that. And in fact, at the time, had to stay with my friend Kim in order to get his work done. There were several options. Does he get his own place? (I was not impressed by this one) Does he get an office? (maybe, but I (and he) was concerned that how he works doesn’t really fit with having a 9 – 5 office space). Do we look for a two bedroom so we can have a separate room as an office, one with a lock so he can just lock me out should I ever go crazy again and not leave him be? Dave and I have always figured we would eventually get a two bedroom. I think my episode just pushed this point to the forefront. We weren’t searching hard while I was recovering, just talking and trying to figure things out. I would randomly check Craig’s List every once in awhile and one day came across an ad for this open house. Although we were supposed to be away on the weekend of the open house, we decided to stick around to check it out. I just had a feeling it would be the perfect place for us and the rent was hard to beat. We loved it and hung around for an hour talking with the landlords, hoping we had made a good impression. Apparently we did so, because we heard back quickly. They allowed us to sign a two year lease (woo-hoo! No rent increases for 2 years!!!) and have given us cart blanche on painting it however we want (at our own cost, of course).

So now I am busily sorting through paint chips, flipping through the Ikea catalogue, comparison shopping at Canadian Tire and Costco for vacuums and BBQs and counting the days until I can pack up and make myself a new home. Ourselves. But this is my blog and my thoughts, so you know what I mean. The words dishwasher and patio repeat over and over in my head, along with that damn intro to the Jefferson’s.

Whatever Happened at That Time Share Presentation?

(posted by ange)

I’m sure you have all been checking constantly to find out what happened when Dave and I went to sit through a time share spiel last week. Did our plan to get kicked out early and just take our gifts work? Or are we the proud new owners of a time share? And what about those parting gifts? Did we get everything they said we’d get? What was the catch?

Let me first apologize for keeping you all on pins and needles. I’d have reported sooner, but I’ve been busy. Busy planning my cruise! Ha!

Okay, we sat through the entire presentation and then some. We somehow forgot our “get kicked out” tactic and fell right into the criteria for “perfect match for time share purchase”. We did a lot of nodding and agreeing and generally became very enthusiastic at the thought of buying into something that would enable us to stay in luxurious accommodations practically anywhere in the world. Our faces read “Yes! Sign us up!” In all honesty, and without going into the details (you’ll have to sit through a presentation yourself) it was actually a pretty good deal and made a lot of sense for us, given our desire and plans for travel. In fact, we gave it quite a bit of consideration (or as much consideration as can be given while outside having a cigarette with the salesperson waiting inside for an answer!) However, given my ugly financial status and debt load, it just didn’t seem the right thing to do at this time (oh how responsible I was being!). I mean, I’m trying to get rid of debt and payments, not take on more. Sure, Dave might be in a position for a purchase like this, and I was very tempted to say “what the hell, I’m not getting out of debt anytime soon”, but ultimately, sanity reined us in and we said “No deal”.

The bottom line: I now know how these time shares work and it may well be something we will consider in the future. We got popcorn while we watched the presentation video. Who doesn’t love popcorn while watching a movie? And we walked out with our camera, $75 Visa card, and 2 for 1 Carnival Cruise. Okay, the camera is a piece of crap, not even worth selling and will be given to my 3 year old nephew Markus to play with (I think Dave hopes to inspire a photographer in him). But you can’t balk at the Visa card and the cruise. We’re thinking the 12 day to Hawaii. Aaaahhhh. We don’t have to buy a time share to go on a fabulous vacation; we just have to listen to the presentation.

Working Girl

(posted by ange)

Don’t tell my insurance company, but I have suddenly become a working woman. One day I was typing once a week for a surgeon, and the next thing I know, I’m working part time in a law office. Thanks to my dear friend Michelle, I have been hooked up with the perfect part time, flexible to my needs, my insurance company is none the wiser job. Michelle called me shortly after we returned from Portugal to ask if I would be interested in a temporary job doing filing for a couple of lawyers that she works for on contract. She thought it would be a couple of hours a day for a couple of weeks just getting everything caught up. Although I probably wasn’t in the greatest shape to be doing work, my need for money overruled and I said with as much enthusiasm as I could, YES!

She gave them my number and they called to arrange a meeting. As I would, I assumed this would be an interview and prepared as such. I painstakingly reviewed my wardrobe and tried on numerous outfits, looking for both “interview suitable” and “able to do up/ get on/somewhat fit”. I updated and printed my resume. I mentally practiced all variations of law office interview questions and appropriate answers. I prepared my explanation of why I was off work and required cash payment. I went to bed early and arrived to the interview early. As I walked into the office, I was ready. Too bad it wasn’t an interview. Nope. It was a “here’s where this is, here’s where that is, here’s what needs to be done, can you do it?” I was somewhat startled, actually asking “Don’t you even want to see my resume?” Apparently not. (Although they did call later to say they would take a copy to have on record.) So after about 10 minutes, I was told I could get started. Again, startled, I said I thought I was there for an interview and that I wasn’t actually there to work. No problem. When did I want to start? I would start the next day.

What started out as getting them caught up with the filing quickly turned into answering the phone, taking dictation, typing letters, and other basic tasks that wouldn’t mean anything if you didn’t work in a law office. 6 weeks later, I’m still there, about 3 days a week, a few hours each day and it seems that I’m not going anywhere (the lawyer has been referring to me as his secretary since about the 3rd week, so…).

So here I am a working girl. I go to bed early on work nights. I set an alarm and grudgingly get up after hitting snooze for 45 minutes. I dress in “nice” clothes (i.e. not sweatpants). I get sore feet because the shoes that go with my outfit are not made for walking to work. I stop at Starbuck’s for my tea en route. I work. I come home and call out to Dave, who is usually still in sweatpants “Hi honey! I’m home!” And best of all, I get a pay cheque every couple weeks! On top of all this, I’m realizing that my brain does function, I am remembering things I thought were completely gone from my memory and I’m gaining a sense of confidence that has been lost for some time.

Michelle, if you read this, thank you. You probably don’t realize how much this is helping me. :)

Cheap Date

(posted by ange)

Well, we’re not sure where they got our name, but we’ve been invited to another time share spiel in lieu of a $75 gift certificate for dinner at a restaurant of our choice, a digital camera and a 2 for 1 Carnival cruise. The first call came Monday, when they offered the camera and a $50 dinner certificate. As Dave spoke to the woman on the phone I was nodding furiously – “sign us up” – I mean, what the hell, I’ll give 90 minutes for a free camera and dinner out. Actually, I’d do it just for a dinner out. Dave told the woman we would love to come but could she call back the following day to set the appointment. Call back she did and now the dinner was $75. All right! So Dave booked the appointment and was transferred to someone else regarding the details, at which time he was told we would also get a 2 for 1 Carnival cruise. Sweet! So we were supposed to go today, but after a late poker night and with the rain and all, just didn’t feel like going anywhere. When Dave called to cancel I figured they’d say “whatever, forget it”, but nope, we’re on for next week.

Okay…so we can't stop laughing our asses off about this because all we can think of is our time share spiel experience in Whistler in December (if you can’t remember, we were asked to leave 20 minutes into the 90 minute presentation and given an extra $150 on top of the 2 night hotel accommodations we already had). Our plan: go with what we know and focus on our love of camping in the great outdoors, taking road trips, and Dave’s frequent free travels to classy resorts, all paid for. We’ll be sure to mention we are saving furiously for a U.S. road trip this fall, during which we plan to camp and stay at Motel 6’s. This tactic seemed to work well in Whistler and with any luck, they’ll decide to save their breath and set us free early. And if not, well, like I said, I’m a cheap date and I’ll give 90 minutes for that dinner alone!

I’ll let you all know what happens next week and where we plan to take our cruise!!! Oh, and if you're interested in buying a brand new digital camera, never used.... :)

Mr. Cab Driver

(posted by ange - a forgotten blog from Portugal)

Getting a taxi in Albufeira is so civilized. There is no standing on a corner of Granville Street, or Davie Street, or Broadway, or you name the street, competing with a gaggle of other pedestrians to hail a cab. No jumping in front of cabs to get their attention. No running to beat out someone else for a cab. No fighting with others who believe the cab that just pulled over is their cab (when clearly it is yours!). No trying to remember the phone number for the cab, no getting the phone number, calling and being put on hold for 20 minutes, or trying to find the number to another cab company, only to be put on hold again. No, here there is a system. It’s called the Taxi Stand. Taxi Stands are located throughout the town (i.e. outside the grocery store, around the town square) and involve a line up of cabs, where one goes to the cab at the head of the line, gets in and goes. If you go to a cab in the middle of the stand, or even try to hail a cab, you will be told to go to the first taxi in line at the Taxi Stand.

Your cab driver is friendly, helpful (if you have any bags he does all the lifting and unloading) and charges a flat fee. That’s right…go wherever you want inside the town limits and you pay one price (3.90 euros) If you call a cab from home there is a surcharge of 80 cents and if you have luggage, another small surcharge of a euro or two. This system was consistent throughout Portugal, including the bigger cities Porto and Lisbon. With petrol prices being what they are in Europe, I am left very confused as to why it used to cost me almost $10.00 to get the 8 blocks across the neighbourhood from my mom’s old apartment to my apartment! (It was raining!)