The Daily EO: April 6th, 2013

I like riding the sky train on weekends – when you can find a seat and its not so crowded.  I had a whole day planned.   From Waterfront to Edmonds – to accompany my grandpa to the bank – he was opening a TFSA and wanted moral support.  After lunch and things, I was going to take the train from Edmonds to Metrotown (I was considering not paying for those two stops – I’m a bad person) for a little shopping because I desperately needed some more shoes.   Then I was going to go from Metrotown back to Waterfront.

The first segment of my trip worked out perfectly – I managed to reduce my unread emails on m phone from 189 to 77 during the ride.  Then I got a bit of exercise walking from the station to my grandpa’s place.  Off to the bank – where the gentleman helping us was great and spoke to my grandpa, not to me.  Then Emile decided to join us for lunch.

This is where things went off the rails.  I was going to take the train back to Metrotown, but instead decided to get Emile to drop me there.  So, as I bent into our car – our low car – I felt loose and breeze.

April 6th, 2013 Extra-Ordinary:  My nice tight skinny jeans split right up the back!


The Daily EO: August 31st, 2012

Awake at 7:30 am, I tried in vain to return to sleep.  I am so tired, and I just want this day to be over.  Perhaps if I sleep through it, somehow Emile will complete everything and awaken me with breakfast in bed.  I was wrapped up in a coverless duvet on a sheetless mattress with naked pillows.  I had stripped and washed and packed the bed linen the day before and I certainly wasn’t packing dirty sheets.

I waited, but the smells of frying bacon did not waft under the door – considering we had no pans or bacon this would have been unlikely.  I threw on the first thing I found and wouldn’t wear normally – a bathing suit cover-up dress thing I had – and set about trying how to fit 2 complete wardrobes into 1 tiny Honda fit in a reasonable way to ensure general comfort while driving 3 days across the country.

The answer to this 3-D tetris puzzle eluded me for 24 hours and realized that it was the Kobayashi Maru – if I wanted to win this, I would going to have to change the parameters.  And so I set about sorting my career clothes from my casual clothes.  The work clothes went into cardboard boxes, the casual items into one of my suitcases.  The other suitcase was given to my husband the clothes horse so he could pack everything ready to start work on the 10th.  I then mailed my clothes to the coast.  Emile’s wardrobe takes the space in the car.

While I was in the middle of folding 27 shirts for Emile while still wearing my bathing suit cover-up, the new owners of the house arriving ready to move in.  “No Rush!” they said as they started moving boxes into the house.  Um, we haven’t finished packing or washed ourselves!  Good thing they were friendly people we had got to know a bit.

We quickly finished up with this weird friendly pressure, but this resulted in an uncomfortable and strange situation which I have diagramed for you:

One Thin Door

We pulled out of our house about 2 pm and all I felt is relief. The packing and deciding is done and now the journey begins.  First stop: Toronto to say goodbye to friends over a cooking table at a Japanese restaurant.  Then to my in-law’s friend’s home to say goodbye to their group of friends.

A restful long weekend at my in-laws is in sight – no tasks, just sleep.  Glorious Sleep.  And Sheets.  Sheets are good.

August 31st, 2012 Extra Ordinary:  Homeless and Unemployed, we leave our house.

The Daily EO: June 28th, 2012

The first suit I ever purchased was in Victoria, BC in a beautiful cream colour, size 10.  I bought it because I needed something for my MBA entrance interview at McMaster University.   I purchased the suit (more than I could afford, but my BFF Lisa convinced me it was the way to go), broke up with my boyfriend (dodged a bullet there), flew to Ontario (thanks Mom), and convinced Mac I would be a good fit.  I still have that suit actually, because despite it being 15 years ago, it’s classic.  Not Jackie O. classic, but it wasn’t the 60s.  Plus, at the time, I think it cost me 15% of my annual budget, so I can’t let go of it.  And I got in, so it must be a lucky suit, anyways.

They say that clothes do not make the person, but I don’t know about that.  I am woefully ignorant of fashion, do not read women’s magazines (they just try to make me feel inferior somehow, although I have considered a subscription to Chatelaine as of late), and am completely mentally handicapped in the application of makeup.   But when I have made the effort to find good quality, well-fitting clothes that perfectly match the occasion, a sheen of confidence envelopes me.  My 5’8″ stands tall, I walk confidently with my heels first and I want to shout “I belong here!”  Wherever here may be.

Over the last three years, I have reduced from a size 14/16 (yes, I was occasionally a 16, nobody would ever believe me, and that is yet another advantage of being tall) to a size 12 (with an occasional 10).  My closet is decimated.  I can fit into all of my career clothes certainly, but they hang on my waist, they sag in the front, and generally go not look good.  And no, a belt cannot fix ill fitting clothes.  Please spread this around.  I sorted through the closet a while back and created three categories:  too big – donate, too big-put aside for altering, and wearable.

My professional closet – once a decent sized – now consists of 2 pairs of pants and 2 shirts suitable for interviews and three boxes of “for altering”.   It just doesn’t make sense to purchase or alter clothes in potentially the wrong size.  And spending the money when I don’t need to is folly.   So, the alter boxes sit.  So long in fact, I probably will have to re-sort them to check for fashionability again.  Like I have any idea.  Sigh.  I am so hiring a consultant when I can afford to (Punch List addition).

But in this new life I am forging for myself, I have found confidence and a sense of power and ability to achieve more.  And it flows when I put on running clothes.  Often in the morning, I will rise and change immediately into workout clothes.  This is two-fold – if I see someone they won’t think “Look at that unemployed bounder, she is still in her pajamas” and it is one less barrier to getting out the door for a run.  It’s a public declaration of my intentions (for the cat I guess).  One cannot take off work-out clothes, one must peel off sweaty work-out clothes.

And as I type this (not in my pajamas), I have in a racing back Lululemon purple top, a Running Room racing back sports bra, and Adidas Climalite black snug fitting shorts.  And indeed I feel strong. And powerful.  And like an athlete.  And when nobody is looking, I will flex my bicep or admire the cut of muscle across my shoulder or sneak a peek at the curve of my waist to my hips.  After a run or work-out, I want to stay in these stinky clothes for a while as a reminder of what I have achieved for that day.

Do clothes make the man?  No, but the right ones match what you are feeling inside and help it come out.

June 28th, 2012 Extra-Ordinary:  I ran 4.0 km in 35 degrees Celsius (with the humidity).  What potential will this racing back unleash today?