Z is for The End! Woo HOO!

I felt happy this morning. Energetic even. I felt good from the get-go, having coffee on the back deck with my hubby, morning sunshine covering us with a happiness blanket.

I think it's the weather. We've finally got some spring going on here in northern Alberta and it's been driving me crazy, listening to everyone else in the world talking about putting in their tomato plants and complaining about the heat. There's still ice on Cold Lake. Our grass isn't green. It snowed on the weekend. Bah... can you blame me for being grumpy?

But this morning ... this glorious morning ... I've already made the bed, hung laundry on the clothesline, cleaned out the kitty truffles, emptied the dishwasher and talked to my friend on the phone. I'm even writing a blog post, as we speak, and it's barely eleven o'clock.

Is there anything better than the smell of laundry hung on the line? Mmmmm ... I took a picture of it, but I wish this was a scratch 'n sniff smell-a-blog, so you could appreciate it.

Oh! I also took a picture of our new patio set. We bought it last week, in a snowstorm (no kidding) and Dave finally got around to putting it together last night. Coincidentally, for the first time since we moved to Cold Lake (which is famous for its aurora borealis), we finally saw the northern lights. We put on our snuggliest jackets and sat out on our new patio furniture and watched the sky catch brilliant fire. It was pure magic. It's one thing to see a photo, but it's quite another to watch the lights flicker and shine, grow, stretch and shimmer against a backdrop of stars and black.

There's another reason I'm showing you our chairs. See how they don't have four legs? It's what gives them bounce; it's what makes them comfortable – but quite honestly I'm scared shiteless that my immense girth is going to break them some day. What's worse is our stupid little dog likes to sit UNDER my chair. I dunno, I think she has a death wish. One of these days she's gonna be a pancake and I'll be all up in her squished face saying, "I told you so, you dumb squished dog!" She can't help it. She's got a brain the size of a pea. One of these days it's gonna be a mushy pea if she doesn't watch out.

So glad this is the last post in the A to Z Challenge. I've had days where I just didn't care – it's what happens when you have depression. There are days when you don't care about anything. I've been taking anti-depressants for some time, and probably will for the rest of my life. It's OK – and I'm OK. They work. I'm good, so don't worry. Just lately, though, in the last few months, I have noticed that they're not working as well as they used to, and that's normal. I need to talk to the doctor about upping the dose.

I hate going to see the doctor about depression. It's like you have to put on a show, y'know? They want to talk about what's going on and if you're too matter-of-fact you won't get the help you need, so you have to be a little theatrical. Tears help. Personally I like to pretend I'm Debra Winger in Terms of Endearment and I manage to squeeze out a few. But meh, what a hassle it is. I'd almost rather go get a Pap smear than talk about my depression with a doctor. Ultimately the best thing to do is talk about it while I'm getting a Pap smear. That way you're distracting yourself from the fact there's a stranger with a speculum up your woo-hoo.

Yesterday I finally summed up my courage and popped into the doctor's office to get an appointment.

"The first date we have available is June Whatever," said the receptionist. (I forget the date but it was mid-June.)

"OK," I said, because I don't have a choice.

"Can I ask what it's regarding?" she asked.

"It's for depression," I replied, then realized this was my opportunity to kick things up a notch. "I've been feeling pretty down lately. Really down." I swallowed, like I was about to cry, and lowered my eyes in what I hoped was a sad velvet clown painting face. "I need a stronger anti-depressant."

The receptionist suddenly got all panicked and started rifling though her computer, mumbling something about cancellations.

I interrupted. "It might be a good idea if you mention this to the doctor," I said. "You know. In case."

I let "in case" hang in the air. She looked up from the computer and her eyes were the size of birthday balloons.

"Don't worry," I said hastily. "I'm not gonna jump off a bridge or anything."

She laughed, sort of, and looked slightly relieved.

Until I said, "I'm going to have to find some other way to do myself in because there just aren't any bridges in Cold Lake."

I know. I'm baaaaaad.

Hey, I hope you had a good time with A to Z. Thanks to everyone who organized it, and thanks to everyone who dropped by to say hello. I didn't get around to as many people as I wanted, but I'm hoping to continue to use the list and visit as many blogs as I can. You know. If I'm not scouting out local bridges ...

Y is for Y the Hell Not! (Also for Yummy)

The Scooby Snack as it's supposed to look - note the size of the glass...

Five days ago I shared a link on Facebook for a bowl-me-over completely deliciousified drink called a Scooby Snack. Since then I've been hunting down the ingredients, obsessed with tasting its pastel limey frothiness.

It wasn't easy. Even in a wild west town like mine where there's more liquor stores than gas stations. I'm from Ontario, see, a place that perennially has a pickle up its ass when it comes to liquor laws. The Liquor Control Board of Ontario (commonly known as the LCBO or the In And Out Store), which is run by the provincial government, dictates where booze can be sold, when it can be sold, and what kind of booziness the protestant-manifestoed, rule-infested people of that great province can imbibe. I came out to Alberta and was bowled over by booze stores on every block. Even Sobey's, a grocery store, has its own liquor store – and it even has its own FLYER. I mean, can you imagine a sale flyer for the LCBO arriving in your mailbox in Ontario??? It just wouldn't happen.

Not that I care, not really. I'm not much of a drinker and can't remember the last time I bought booze. Still, there was something about that Scooby Snack photo that sent me running. Here's the recipe:

SCOOBY SNACK
1/2 oz. (15ml) Midori Melon Liqueur
1/2 oz. (15ml) Malibu Coconut Rum
Splash of Pineapple Juice
Shot of Whipped Cream, the stuff in a can, of course
You put all the ingredients in a cocktail shaker with ice, shake, pour into a glass and garnish with more whipped cream.

I had a heck of a time finding all that stuff. Had to search for a cocktail shaker to start off with – found one in Canadian Tire. $9.95. Bargoon! 

The Malibu rum was in the first liquor barn I went to (suddenly I was no longer an Alberta liquor store virgin), but I couldn't find any Midori. I phoned around the other day to other liquor barns and was unsuccessful, but on a lark I popped into the crappiest looking store in town and, voila, there it was! I must say, the store was crappy on the outside – the fact that a pick-up truck drove through the front window a few weeks ago and it's all boarded up with plywood doesn't help – but the inside was funky and cool and kinda friendly. 

I was going to wait until Dave got home before I tried the drink, because you're not supposed to drink alone, right? A sure sign that I'm a raving alcoholic, right?

Pfffft.... I couldn't wait. And besides, my Y letter was Y the Hell Not!

So I made it ... except I didn't have a shot glass to measure the booze so I actually think my drink was three times a normal size – making it more of a Scooby Buffet than a Snack. But it was DEEEE-LIICOUS!!!! I slurped it down like nobody's business, felt giddy for about 10 minutes, than went upstairs and fell asleep.

My Scooby Snack - in an old-fashioned glass ... *hiccup*

X is for X-Nay on the Ost-Nay

Oh feck it. After three entire minutes of deliberation, I am calling uncle. I can not think of a single bloody interesting thing that starts with the letter x. I mean, I could come up with some completely boring shite that starts with x, but it would only be so I could say I completed the entire A to Z Challenge. So I might as well just say I have no x, which still qualifies as an x post. Right? See how that works? Are you following me? Is there more coffee required?

Since this is a space filler, you are under no obligation to comment. I am hoping the Y post is more interesting, but no promises.

W is for Weezie

Well, Saturday was my BIG DAY! It was my very first public reading of Green Eggs & Weezie! I have read it out loud before but this was the first "official" one – a huge step for anybody who has ever dreamed of writing a book.

There's a whole pile of work between thinking about writing a novel and doing a reading. There's the writing, which is excruciating, the editing, which is endless, the publishing, which is complicated and not for the faint of heart, and there's the promotion – which is a whole 'nother ball game. I thought I'd be good at promotion – I was a reporter for a hundred years, for crying out loud. I organized contests. I ran all kinds of promotions. I thought it would be easy. But you know, I'm kind of at a loss in the promotional department. I don't know what else I can do. Well, actually I do know, but to be honest I've lost all my enthusiasm. I should have been organizing readings all over the place but I just haven't had the gumption. I've been kinda living like a hermit.

Anyway, thanks to a pep talk from my friend Shauna, I finally talked myself into going to the library and asking if they would host a reading for me. Tanya, the absolute charmer who works at the north branch, seemed thrilled to do just that, so we set a date. Tanya promoted it on the library website and the Facebook page; I promoted it on FB, and the newspaper ran a couple of promotional blurbs. I didn't know how many people to expect, and I didn't want to run out of books, so I ordered 50 – 25 of Green Eggs & Weezie and 25 of my short story collection, Friday Girls. I hoped that would be enough, but I secretly imagined the library overflowing with people eager to buy my books. I imagined 100, at least, and got nervous about speaking in front of all those people ... and my hand getting sore from signing so many books.

Well ... things didn't turn out quite as I had hoped. Thank goodness for my Cold Lake friends – if it wasn't for them coming, there would have been three people at the reading: Theresa, the local reporter, who was assigned the story and had to be there; Tanya, the librarian who organized it, and had to be there; and one lady I'd never had the pleasure of meeting before ... I think her name was Louise, but maybe I'm just channeling some Weezie ...

My lovely friends, all of whom have already read my book, bought pity copies. Five in total. Dave helped me pack the rest back in the box and drag them home again.

It wasn't a complete disappointment. I did enjoy myself. I had fun talking with the ginormous crowd and I had fun reading out loud ... I've always enjoyed reading out loud and the thing with a reading is, there's no teacher to say, "That's enough, it's Jimmy's turn," when you're just getting to the good part.

Thanks to Shauna, Cassie, Michelle, Phyllis, Jenny and Dave for being my friends, buying my books and cheering me on. And thanks to all the people from far and wide who wished me well. Y'all mean the world to me. oxox

P.S. If you feel sorry for me and want to order your own pity book, here's the links:

Green Eggs & Weezie paperback

Friday Girls paperback

If you're in Cold Lake, I've got two boxes of the suckers! And you can read it for free at Cold Lake Library!

V is for Viper - and Vitality - and Stuff

Have you seen that picture/video thing going around, of the viper that ate a millipede and the millipede ate the viper inside out? Isn't that just the grossest thing since sliced bread? The viper apparently ate the bug alive, and then the bug ate the snake's innards until he got his head free about halfway. The millipede almost made it out alive ... can you imagine? Getting almost out and then succumbing to snake digestive juices?

Speaking of vipers, Dave's work got a brand new Dodge Viper. It's sitting in the dealership's showroom, looking just as shiny as a $150,000 car should look.

Dave says I'm too fat for the Viper. Actually, he says most people are too fat for the Viper. The cockpit is built for people who have asses like 12-year-old boys. Thin boys. I think it must be a drag for rich people who have double-wides attached to their hips. All that money and even a shoe horn and an economy sized jar of Vaseline won't put them behind the wheel.

I saw the most wonderful movie tonight: The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. Sigh. What a wonderful movie. Exhilarating. Exquisite. Beautifully filmed. And it has such vitality that it made me laugh and cry at the same time. It wasn't anything like I expected, in a good way, and I know it's one of those movies I'll want to watch again and again.

It makes me want to go outside and embrace the sky.