And what better way to celebrate my first weekend off work in more than two years than … moving really slowly?

Oh, I had things to do. But whether they were getting done when I decided I was going to do them was another matter.

So there I was at home, padding around, when I heard someone knocking.

I looked through the peephole. I really shouldn’t have opened the door. But I did anyway.

A young guy – maybe 15 or 16, tops – was selling a newspaper subscription as part of a program that would earn him some money to go to school. And as I listened to his spiel, really, how could I refuse.

So I gave him the subscription payment, and as he double-checked to make sure all the fields were filled out, he arrived at “method of delivery”.

As he wrote in “to door”, he mentioned that one of his previous subscribers actually requested a little rainbow symbol to be drawn on the top of his newspaper … because he was a fan of My Little Pony.

As in, the cartoon I used to watch when I was 8 years old, and one of the toys that I used to own (complete with comb to maintain its lavender mane).

As in, the cartoon that was recently rebooted in 2010 as My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.

As in, the cartoon that my young newspaper salesman asked if I had heard of it, to which I replied, “Yes, I used to watch it years ago”, to which he responded, “Yeah, but it’s way better now,” as his face lit up like a Noma Christmas tree.

Even as I shut the door, I could hear him talking to his little friend about how awesome My Little Pony was.

Yep. I just had my first encounter … with a Brony.

What the hell are you talking about, you ask?

I’ve only just recently heard about this myself … but apparently there is a legion of males (and females, who call themselves Pegasisters) over the age of 10 who LOVE these pretend cartoon ponies with a passion. And unlike other fanboys and girls, these folks are in a league of their own.

If you don’t believe me, read this or even this. I mean, they even have their own lingo, and their own CONVENTION. I’m not kidding.

Now, to be fair, I looked up an episode online to see what the big fuss was about. I attempted to watch … for about six minutes. But like the quinoa I tried to cook this evening, I couldn’t get into it. I had to give up.

I mean, I know why the eight-year-old me liked the show. But the 34-year-old me is slightly bemused as to why teenagers and grown adults (without children) are so fixated on the show.

Call me a parasprite, but this one (of probably many) I will never understand. Sorry.

Sniff. Cough. Yaaaatchoooo! Snooort.

Ugh.

Oh January, you cruel mistress. You couldn’t leave your oh-so-draining boyfriend Rhinovirus behind, could you?

Guess a combination of late nights, the recent cold snap, and a circulating holiday virus has finally nabbed me.

Over the last couple of days, I’ve been throwing vitamins and oil of oregano down the hatch when I’m awake, and knocking myself out with cold-and-sinus medication when I sleep.

I’m also trying to drink lots of fluids and get some reasonable amounts of sleep. It’s been tricky now that I’ve returned to work. But hopefully I can get over this sooner than later.

Hack. Sniiifffff.

Actually, it’s almost apt that it’s been raining – as if to partially cleanse some of the filth off of the city before the snow, ice and sleet arrives.

It’s also the perfect weather to start thinking a lot about what I’d like out of this year.

I looked back at last year’s list. Overall, I somehow managed to achieve about half of what I wanted to see happen last year. But – it seemed - things only started to cook in the last few months. And even then, it was a simmer.

Not that that’s a bad thing. But I feel as if I want to take that momentum of accomplishing small personal goals, and kick it up a couple of notches.

And at the moment, as I’m coming down off of last night’s heart-and-soul-busting euphoria, I’m feeling a sense of anxiety about how to make thinngs happen.

All I can think is: Will this be the year I start getting it right? And how the HELL am I going to pull some of this off?

As I try and make the most of my days off of work, here is my wishlist of what I would like to see for 2012:

Start taking better care of myself. Yes, this was on my list last year (phrased a different way), but I would like to seriously try for this one. In the last couple of years, I’ve had a four-day, 40-plus hour schedule, which had me working on weekends. It’s a weird life to get used to. And up until late September, it threw me out of whack. In that time, I’ve packed on about 20 pounds – 10, for sure from the past year alone. It’s all well and good to say that it doesn’t matter what one weighs, and that skinniness shouldn’t a goal to strive for. But I’ve noticed myself feeling a bit out of breath going up stairs or escalators, my clothes becoming increasingly tighter (sometimes to the point that I’ve split my pants), and even how the weight feels on my back and knees. And I’d like to finally dig deep and find the motivation to go and exercise, even if it’s after a frustrating day at work. Who knows? Maybe that can be my motivation.

As well, I realize I’ve let my personal appearance go a bit, because I’ve had such an alternative schedule, so I figure, who cares? But I need to roll up my sleeves on this one. I’ve started trying to do small things. Perhaps I can improve on this ten-fold.

Start feeding my mind. Somewhere between early summer and now, I think I somehow gave up on reading. I mean, I still read the weekly magazine I subscribe to (and I’m still about two to three weeks behind), but I haven’t really read anything else. No newspapers. And definitely no more books. I have to make a renewed effort not to be a walking zombie when it comes to these things. I’m surrounded by so many smart people in my life daily, and yet I’ve let things slide. Bored? Perhaps. (Maybe I was just bored this whole year in general.) Hopefully I can find it within me to be more diligent.

Start making things happen at work. Yes, I say this every year. But maybe this year, it’ll be different. Last summer, I finally got the chance to verbalize to my boss that I wanted to do something different (without crying from frustration). In about a week’s time, I’m returning to a Monday-to-Friday schedule for the first time in 26 months, and I’d like to think that my conversation 6 months ago was the catalyst. My hope is that – once I master the gauntlet of assignments that are heading my way – I can find the niche I want to occupy, and perhaps transition to another area of my workplace in the next 6-8 months. That last part of my goal is probably the loftiest, considering how long it took me to get off weekends. But a working girl can dream, right?

Start travelling again. Last year, I left Toronto (and the GTA) once – to visit a friend in Ottawa. Which is well and good … but I have other friends in Ottawa, and in OTHER places, that I didn’t get to visit. I also had two chunks of time during the summer and early fall to go travelling. And then life happened. In July, my mother had surgery. That was a no-brainer. In September, I spent time I’d hoped to use travelling, moving myself up and out of my parents’ house. So this year, I REALLY want to make up for this. And I’d like those locations to be warm ones. I have three destinations in mind, so I hope the universe will rule in my favour and let me go there, as well as throw in a couple of small side trips.

Start making my apartment feel like home. I’ve had a few people over, but I’ve felt a bit sheepish about it, because there’s really nothing special or “homey” about it. I mean, I understand it’ll take time, and some people take months, even years, to completely unpack and organize their lives. But I’d like to make an effort in the next few months to make things a bit homier. A picture here, a rug there, maybe a couple of nice lamps, would definitely help. And I’ll probably be relying on my friends, since my decor saavy is virtually non-existent at the moment.

Start figuring ME out. By age 35, a fair number of people usually know who they are. I think I know who I am in general. My outline doesn’t need work. It’s … my inner self, I guess, that needs the makeover. I feel that now that I’ve moved out, it’s not just a new chapter of my life. It’s me starting from scratch, in a way. What do I want? What am I passionate about? What am I willing to put up with? What will I absolutely not tolerate? What parts of me need work? I don’t expect to have it figured out in a year. But if I can start creating the conditions under which I can blossom, it would be a start.

Start finding ways of being creative. That could probably start by writing – and blogging – more. I said tthis last year, and didn’t deliver. Maybe I can try a bit harder this year. And perhaps there are other ways to tap into my creative side. Perhaps it’s taking an African dance class. Or working on learning to cook. Or getting involved in friends’ projects in some way. I can only hope I get to experiment.

Start having more fun. I consider myself to be quite social as it is. But maybe once in a while I can do things I wouldn’t normally do. Don’t ask me exactly what that might be. I can only hope I can seize the opportunities if/when they present themselves.

Start being a bit more uncomfortable. I kept things pretty safe this year. The last thing I wanted to do was put myself out there, in uncomfortable positions. I think this is something I need to start doing, because I’m aware I tend to act immaturely in some cases, depending on the situation. Perhaps it’ll help me grow up a bit.

Finally, one secret wish I have for this year:

I’d like to see more ”OMG Moments”. By this, I mean the anecdotes you can’t make up, that just make you smile or give you happy goosebumps. The stories I’ll tell my kids (if I decide to have any) and grandkids. I mean, it could be ANYTHING. Who knows what I’ll get to see? Will I get to witness seeing something like this? Will I get something as small as, say, an upgrade to first-class on a flight? Or will I be in the right place at the right time, and bump into someone I admire? (Which would be cool. But I’d probably soil myself, and/or say something utterly ridiculous.) The thing is, my life is pretty good without having crazy stuff happen to me. But everyone likes a red cherry on top of their sundae once in a while.

The year is young. And anything can happen. I can only hope that those things are BIG.

Happy New Year, folks! Here’s hoping there are big things in store for you, too!

Unfortunately my grand plans for barfing up multiple posts this month has been waylaid a bit by Christmas gift shopping and good cheer.

But with exactly a week to go before Christmas, maybe I’m not doing too badly after all!

Heeere we go:

0: Number of times I’ve seen snow since my last tally

0: Number of decorations hung/bought for Christmas

29: Number of Christmas cards mailed

6: Number of gifts bought

3: Number of gifts left to buy

1: Number of gifts already delivered

0: Number of remaining gifts wrapped

1: Number of remaining gifts wrapped by someone else

0: Number of mall hours spent buying gifts (WINNING!)

6: Number of holiday parties I have attended/dropped in on

0: Number of ugly Christmas sweaters worn

0: Number of food-related comas suffered

1: Number of times I have rescued friends who drank themselves sick

TOO MANY: Number of cookies and other treats eaten

1: Number of ugly ornaments left to buy

If I have time, I will try do better with the posting in the next little while.

Everyone’s favourite colour institute is boldly looking forward – emphasis on the world “boldly”.

Today, Pantone has announced its top colour for 2012.

People Who Could Care Less, meet Tangerine Tango.

Yup. Really.

Apparently THIS is the hue that will colour our new year.

I’ll spare you the details here, since you could easily read this article for more on why the Pantone folks are all seeing red(dish-orange).

But if I’ve said it once (and I’ve actually said it twice), I’ll say it again:

Periwinkle deserves a chance. It’s calm. It’s charming. And it’s been long overlooked. Just sayin’.

*Picture courtesy AP, via The Toronto Star.

Yes, I’m alive.

And extremely apologetic for taking so long to post ANYTHING.

Truth is, settling in has taken longer than expected. So has getting my behind to the computer store to buy a new laptop (which I just purchased on Monday). So please forgive me.

But I’m (periodically) back in time for the last month – and busiest holiday season – of the year.

Now on top of normal everyday adult shizz, I have to now balance Christmas duties – presents, parties, good cheer, etc. 

I know – first world problems. But, still.

I’ll try to be more consistent with the posting – when I’m not tired or drying out, that is.

I can’t really think of anything to pontificate on (mainly because I’m in a location other than in my apartment in front of my laptop). So for now, I’ll kick off this month with my first random holiday tally of the month.

Ahem ….

2: Number of times I’ve seen snow this week (and lamented the end of fall)

0: Number of decorations hung for Christmas

4 (possibly more): Number of mandatory gifts to buy

0: Number of gifts bought

3: Maximum number of hours I hope to spend shopping at the mall for Christmas

0: Number of Christmas cards written, stuffed and mailed

30: Number of stamps I’ll probably need for aforementioned stamps

300: (Probable) Number of address labels with my old address on them

1: Number of Christmas CDs purchased*

7: Number of holiday parties I have already been invited to**

0: Number of ugly Christmas sweaters worn

3-4: Number of drinks I told my doctor I consume on average, per week (at my recent physical)

4: Number of drinks I’ve already consumed this week

0: Number of those drinks being of a holiday nature (ie. egg nog)

0.5 : Number of Christmas specials watched**

TOO MANY: Number of times I’ve heard Christmas music in stores of any kind since mid-November

That’s all, y’all. I’ll post again soon.

* Hey! It was a Putamayo World Music CD … AND I got it for $1. This is probably the ONLY time this year I’m voluntarily buying Christmas music.

**I might be crashing a party (with a friend of the host’s blessing), which would bring the unofficial number to 8.

 ***Picture courtesy of Good Enough Mother

But I’ve finally moved.

I know I should be excited and doing cartwheels.

But I have to admit, I feel weird. A bit uneasy. And a bit overwhelmed.

I’m trying to undo years of old suburban habits and get used to being within walking distance of EVERYTHING for the first time in my post-university adult life.

And I’m adjusting to being by myself.

Technically I’ve only been in my new place a week. But it’s been a huge adjustment … and admittedly, a little bit lonely.

I’ve seen very few people from my building, and I haven’t met any of my neighbours, so it’s been a bit isolating.

Inside my apartment, the number of boxes have diminished. But it still feels a bit empty and incomplete, despite buying a bunch of things. (My freezer’s got more stuff in it than my actual fridge.)

I’ve got no TV or Internet yet. So when I’m not sleeping, eating, cleaning or playing Angry Birds on my phone, I’m out (mostly going into stores and trying to figure out whether something’s overpriced). 

Yes, I lead an exciting, single life.

I know I’m starting at “the beginning”. I know things will get better.

I just wish that sense of “home” would come a bit sooner.

A time of changes and beginnings.

Students return to school. Some people get new jobs.

Others move.

If all goes well, I’ll be adding myself to that third group of people, shortly.

Yep, I am moving. (Yes, I know, what took me so long, etc., etc.) But not in the way I’d planned.

I gave up the search for that piece of real estate I hoped I stumble across and fall in love with … in favour of a just-as-suitable, decently-sized, one-bedroom apartment for rent, in a decent part of town, MUCH closer to work.

I’m scheduled to do my initial move next week, and then move more things over to the new place – and purge things as I go - over a two-week period.

Right now, I’m not so much excited as reminding myself of the things I have to do, while stuck at my final week of work before my upcoming three-week vacation.

But perhaps once I’m sleeping in my new bedroom and I’ve started exploring my new neighbourhood, I’ll be giddy with excitement.  

I also won’t be posting a whole lot (not that I have been, this year) until I get a new computer. Which may be a while, considering that “sofa bed” and “dining table” rank a little higher on the “need to get” list.

But I hope the change in atmosphere and this beginning of this new, small chapter gives me the fire in my belly to get back to posting more, and doing so more frequently.

Stay tuned.

*Image courtesy of Fort Moving.

My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.”

Dear Jack,

You don’t know me. But – like many people – I know you.

We’ve actually met, albeit in a professional capacity – you, speaking out on an issue you felt strongly about (as the exuberant leader of a political, party trying to make a dent in the political landscape); me, as a young ‘un in the TV news business, doing my job in getting your reaction to whatever story I happened to be helping with.

I remember once having to escort you to an interview. And as we strode down the hall (and I think using “stride” is appropriate; you weren’t a “walker”), I tried to engage you in small talk – pertinent to the subject which brought you to the building, of course. And you engaged me right back.

Whenever I remember that short encounter, I’ve always assumed you were just humouring me. Most of the guests I’ve had to handle or interview, do. But given all the things I’ve heard people say about you over the last five days, I’ve thought about that instance often, and I wondered if maybe you weren’t. Maybe you WERE actually talking TO me.

And on a handful of occasions, I was sent on assignments, to go to your news conferences and small scrums, and ask you questions. Even when you were just doing what you did best, you obliged, with that trademark energy, looking all of us dead in the eye with every answer. Every so often, I could have sworn I saw your eyes twinkle.

For the longest time, I seriously thought, that can’t be real all the time – that’s gotta be just showmanship.

Apparently it wasn’t. It was ALL you.

There was one time – possibly the last time, months and months ago – I got to interview you on a reporter’s behalf. Near the end, you asked me how much longer it would take; you had an appointment to get to. I was taken slightly aback, because it seemed a bit uncharacteristic. But you weren’t rude about it. I figured you had a function to get to.

Maybe it was just that. Or it was a foreshadowing of the personal battle that was to come.

I think my respect for you blossomed into full-blown admiration while watching you on the campaign trail this past April. It was hard NOT to watch you win over parts of Canada, one stump speech or walkabout at a time. And I’m sure the reporters following you loved getting the chance to do so.

And on election night, as I watched the results from home, I felt the goosebumps on my arms as history was made before my eyes. I actually couldn’t believe it! And I was genuinely happy for you, Olivia and your party. FINALLY.

You’ve been such a fixture, it’s difficult to comprehend that you physically are no longer here. I realize that death is a part of life. But it’s still surreal.

I know a lot of people – yourself included – did not believe your work was done.

But perhaps this was it. This was your two-fold masterpiece: to punch, not dent, a hole in the Canadian political establishment; and to inspire young people (by whom you were inspired) to answer the call to service that you answered a few decades ago.

What has personally moved me more than your contribution to federal politics, has been the number of anecdotes from people with whom you’ve worked, whom you’ve helped, or who you’ve taught.

I never had the chance to pay you my final respects at City Hall. I never got to leave my thoughts in chalk at Nathan Phillips Square. And sadly, I won’t get to witness your funeral in real time. As it happens, I’ll be at a wedding. (I’m sure you’d understand.) But I’m sure it’ll be big and grand, with many a tear shed, but also a few laughs and a lot of music.

And when the pomp and ceremony is over, when your ashes are spread, and when your family and friends get a chance to privately mourn and heal, I truly hope for a couple of things emerge from your passing:

First, that all of us who respect you and your vision pick up where you left off, and continue striving towards what you wanted – for this city, and for this country, in all sorts of ways. I know here in Toronto, the election of this present City Council has angered and energized people enough to take an interest in city affairs. I hope we can find a way to expand upon that.

Secondly, that in your death, we can see the lessons you left behind. You were a professor, right? Did you ever stop being one? Perhaps people already see that. At least, I hope that people see that. And I hope we can apply those lessons to our lives and the lives of those around us.

Goodbye, sir. I hope that wherever your spirit is now perched, it’s a good place.

And I hope we don’t let you down.

*Editorial cartoon, courtesy Patrick Corrigan, for the Toronto Star.

For reasons I can’t completely get into, both my mom and my aunt (who lives state-side with my cousin, in Milwaukee) have been dealing with some personal medical issues.

Needless to say, it’s dredged up the subject of thinking about one’s own mortality.

I think I’m arriving to the point in my life where it no longer makes me feel queasy to hear about it. Time flies faster during adulthood, and one day I’m going to have to deal with it.

There’s just one thing that has gotten me annoyed.

Twice, while having this conversation with my mom, she’s somehow managed to utter the following phrase (with a big sigh):

“I just want to see you settled.”

This irritates my thirtysomething brain, probably way more than it should.

The rational side of me know that, obviously, as her child, she’s just showing concern for my well-being.

But really. What does she mean by ”settled” ?

“Settled”, as in, “I just want to see you get your own place (translation: move out, buy a piece of real estate and start paying a mortgage like everyone else)” ?

Or: “settled” as in “I’d like to see you move out, meet a nice young man, get married, have a child (or two)” ?

It’s the meaning that’s unclear. And that makes me UN-settled.

If I had come to my senses several years ago, I’d probably have already moved out, maybe be on my way to being married.

MAYBE.

But then, it makes me think of my friend, Darlene.

A year and a half ago, she took a look at her life and decided what she most wanted to do – more than anything else – was move to Paris and make a go of it.

I remember going to her apartment – which she hurriedly had to vacate, since her landlord had, not-so-nicely, told her she had to move out because they had plans to renovate the house she was living in, and handing her living space over to a family member (barely within the regulation two months needed to notify a tenant).

In conversation with her mom, I had mentioned off-hand that I was still living at home, trying to save up to find a place.

I don’t remember the precise answer, but it was obvious THAT’s what Darlene’s mom wished her daughter was doing. (Which, in hindsight, wasn’t fair and embarrassing to Darlene, and uncomfortable for me.)

Needless to say, months later, moving to Paris was the best thing Darlene could’ve won. And I’m willing to bet dollars to donuts that – if given the chance – she’d make the same decision.

And she’s not the only one that’s living her life, on her terms.

Just last week, my mother and I paid a visit to our accountant.

Before we got down to business, he and my mom played catch-up, and filled us in on his daughter – whom I can only guess is probably in her mid-to-late twenties – who’s currently living a quite successful life as a chartered accountant (just like her own man), but abroad in Paris as well.

But his worry? That she wasn’t married with kids. After all, 23 or 24 is about the right time for one to be thinking about marriage, so that by 30, you’ve got a couple of pre-schoolers and Grandpa is happy. Why wouldn’t she settle down?

My mom tried to counter that by telling him about a new friend she recently met on a cruise – who’s 87 years old, never-married and happy, and frankly, from what I hear about her, someone I HAVE to meet – but I don’t think it sunk in for him. Some outlooks and values are set in stone.

I get it, and yet I don’t. I understand that people’s upbringing can influence their values, which include what they think their children should strive for.

But why do they think that THIS is the storyline for everyone?

Why does being “settled” have to involve working for one employer one’s entire life, pouring one’s savings into a dwelling, to put down roots? Why is THAT the benchmark?

Why can’t it be a state of mind – of happiness, of contentedness of where one’s life is at?

It’s something I’m slowly learning. I can only hope that when I put those lessons and observations into practice, I don’t have those feelings of anxiety over whether I’m doing the right thing, or that I’m missing out on something.

The goal? Reaching a point when I have that sense of confidence about doing things on my own terms, of getting on with life, or writing my own storyline, with no regrets.

THAT’s what “settled” means to me.