sassyk - what the?!

Home is where your capacitor is

2008-05-03T16:04:00.002-04:00

Beau and I love to watch movies. A lot of them. We now have a large DVD collection and joined NETFLIX enabling us to watch as many movies as we possibly have time for. So last night when we went to watch our Friday Evening Movie we were stunned to discover our DVD player blinked a rude red light (a metaphorical "&^*% you") and plainly refused to open or accept a disc of any nature.

So this morning, after pulling out the DVD manual and garnering no valuable info on our DVD malady, the omnipotent words "fear not- the Internet lies before you" sprang to mind and away I went.

After a quick search along the lines of "Phillips DVD 646 blinking red standby light" I discovered we were not alone in our plight and, indeed, hundreds of Phillips users have experienced the same problem. I quickly discovered our C316 capacitor was the problem and set about unscrewing our sick little puppy and coming face to face with a circuit board filled with little round things, cables and numbers.

Now what?

But lo and behold - some lovely person had taken the time to post a photo of our DVD player with a little diagram clearly locating the little round part I needed to replace including a step-by-step guide on how to do it. Within 15 minutes I was at Radio Shack with a new 35v electrolytic capacitor in hand, staring at soldering irons and solder. Who knew there were so many?! I called my dad for his expertise but -alas-his answering machine was of no help at all.

Fortunately some techno-teenager was within earshot and, hearing my message to my dad, asked me if I needed some help soldering. He quickly told me exactly what to buy, gave me a few quick tips on soldering and the Radio Shack staff were more than entertained that some chick was trying to fix her DVD player.

As it turns out Beau is quite handy with a soldering iron (who knew??) and within minutes we were in the kitchen pulling out the old round-bit and replacing it with a brand spanking new one. I put the circuit board back in, screwed it back together and plugged the DVD player in - and yes, I did it away from all the other electronics just in case it exploded or something.

But guess what? Nothing exploded and The DVD player works. And I also learned Beau is kind of handy and I am completely convinced that the Internet really is omnipotent.

Visa!

2008-03-16T18:00:00.002-04:00

I flew to Toronto on Wednesday for the day - literally I arrived, had a smoke, then came right back to NY. Why? To get my next Visa!

Of course my little trek wasn't without adventure and irony. To begin with I am currently on the 10 day Master Cleanse (so no food, only lemon, maple syrup, cayenne pepper and water all mixed together like spicy lemonade) so I couldn't eat. However, as I was nervous about not getting up at 5:30am and missing my flight I decided to stay up all night and watch LOST. So by the time I got to the airport I was overtired, full of spicy lemonade, needed to pee and entered the airport with the unsettling feeling of needing to survive on an island. So when some poor fellow asked me for a light I responded suspiciously "Why?" before I handed him my matches.

While I was waiting for the plane a very nice lady gave me her flight coupon that she wasn't going to use so I could grab a bite to eat. I smiled at the irony that out of all the people in the airport she picked the girl on a fast to give this to. C'est la vie.

The trip to Toronto was uneventful and Toronto airport was fabulously empty so I managed to check-in early and onto an earlier flight and zoomed through customs. I think everyone gets nervous going through immigration in any country and I am certainly no different. I pulled out all my papers, degrees, passport photos, proof of Canadian citizenship, old passports, old visa records, my $131 fee, social security cards from the US and Canada, job offer letter and old pay stubs as required.

The immigration official looked at me and said "I'm sorry, it's 12:30 we only process visas until 12pm everyday, you have to come back tomorrow."

I almost cried and started thinking about where to stay, how much more this will cost to buy another flight back etc,,, and said in protest "No! No one told me that and I did all my research and I never saw any mention of that - can't you help me? I need to get back to NY today..."

The immigration officer smiled "I'm KIDDING. It's a JOKE."

Such witty repartee from an immigration officer - who would have thought? My little tired heart all full of LOST episodes and visions of trying to get on a plane melted and what little energy I had left went 'yipppeee'!

I smiled and said "I've never met an immigration officer with a sense of humor - thank you, you just made my day!"

He stamped my papers and off I went back to NY with a tremendous sense of relief that finally my next visa is completely and utterly sorted.

My Birthday!

2008-03-09T13:33:00.003-04:00

So today is my birthday. I don't know about you but I am not into the big fuss of it all but it is amazing how many people remember my b'day, always very touching. So thank you! I also tend to go through the usual stock of questions "What have I achieved? Where am I going? What do I want?" and I have come to the conclusion that this is a very Western thought process - I have to remember life is about the journey, not the destination.

And that is my deep thought for today.

And here is the coolest picture that my mum made for my b'day which really made me laugh...

Thanks mum!!

My Dad

2008-03-06T08:37:00.003-05:00

My Dad rocks. Really. He is the greatest and a 'best friend'. I would do anything for him.

My dad's 3rd wife died about 3 years ago and I have to admire my dad for moving forward, letting go and continuing to live his life. This has led him through a variety of new relationships (of which my sage counsel about women has come in handy), and taught me a lot about my father as a man. Another startling outcome of my step-mother's passing has led my father to devote his time and money to photography. The hobby is certainly surprising - my father who spent all his time through the late 80's and 90's as a business man with a fetish for gadgets and playing with the latest computers suddenly became an artist. I suppose now that photography has gone digital perhaps this creative pursuit appeals to his technological passion.

Since I have moved to NY, my dad has set up a professional studio/gallery and bought all the latest equipment and gadgets. The downside of this is all this stuff is much cheaper in the US than Canada so my father has decided to buy a arsenal of printers (very large ones), books, paper, lenses, cameras, gizmos, flashes, light readers and so on. Of course most of this stuff ships free of charge within the US and costs way more to have shipped to Canada so my father worked out that it is still cheaper to buy everything, ship it to me and have me ship it directly to him at my expense.

Now I hate the post office with a passion. I couldn't think of a more frustrating way to spend 45 minutes. And let me tell you they always send me back ten times with the forms because I have filled them out wrong, or stuck them on the left corners when they should be on the right... So for months the love I have for my dad has been weighing on the scale with my hate of going to the post office. To his frustration it does sometimes take me 2 months to muster up the strength to go to the post office and he has had to drool longer than necessary for his fancy new gizmos.

So yesterday I received an issue of LENSWORK (a photography mag) in the mail and I figured it was another thing for my dad that is free shipping to the US so I automatically repackaged it, stuck stamps on it and popped it in the box feeling very chuffed that I didn't have to go to a post office. I dropped him an email to let him know I mailed it and he replied that this was my birthday present. Oh. I gotta tell you as much as I love my dad and am grateful for any present I can't see myself reading this. I did breifly glimpse through it before I sent it off and thought "gosh this is all a bit pretentious really" and noted a series of portraits of naked women of various shapes and sizes and a flaky, pretentious comment from the photographer. My dad said he would mail it right back to me as soon as he gets it - oh well. It's the thought that counts, right?

Stowe Vermont

2008-03-05T20:22:00.002-05:00

Last weekend we went skiing in Stowe, Vermont with "Team Vage" (a moniker the 6 of us christened ourselves after I had to explain what 'camel toe' meant to 3 Swiss, a Japanese and a Filipino). Did you know the male equivalent is called a 'three ring circus'? Anyway, Team Vage squeezed into a saloon car for 8 hours (the SUV's were sold out) - fortunately the Japanese girl and her Swiss boyfriend are teeny tiny vegetarians and collectively took up 1 1/2 spaces in the back seat.

We stayed in a big house with 12 other people and Beau and I brought our trusty auto-inflatable air mattress to squeeze in - it was great, it felt like ski camp for 30+ year olds. The group was an odd mix of foreigners including a genius Indian mathematician, a cop, a few Filipino salesmen, a Korean business woman, her sister and a guy named Laverne Incognito. The majority of the group made up the LOSERS CLUB – 10 people put in $100 to participate and whoever loses the most weight in 8 weeks wins the pot.

After a few drinks we went to bed and the LOSERS CLUB decided to get up early and hit the slopes by 7:30am. I was thrilled that Team Vage were more of a 9am crew however I was woken from my blissful sleep at 6am when the genius Indian mathematician's alarm went off repeatedly for 10 minutes forcing me to stumble into his room in my leopard print pink pajamas and yell "DUDE - COULD YOU PLEASE TURN THAT OFF BEFORE I THROW IT OUT THE WINDOW!" I know – I don’t even say ‘dude’ not sure what that was about!!

By 10:30am I was in my brand spanking new ski outfit and felt ridiculous – I was officially one of those girls with the fancy outfit who can’t ski. Would you believe I even own a pair of goggles? And we also discovered it is much harder to squeeze 4 people into the backseat wearing ski gear. But the short drive and squished drive was worth it – Vermont is beautiful and the ski slopes were covered in fresh powder. On the first day Beau spent 2 hours getting me down the mountain and teaching me the basics. On day 2 I went off on my own and worked to conquer my fears on the beginner slopes. The rest of Team Vage hit the double black diamond slopes which I can’t help but think is insane. I am pleased to say that I finally have graduated from the kiddie slopes and had a ‘eureka moment’ where I actually understood how to ski. Now if I could just get over my fear of throwing myself down a steep hill maybe, just maybe I will be able to go down an easy blue ski slope… well, that was my goal until the Filipino member of Team Vage skied into her husband and fractured her clavicle.

Hmmmm – maybe I will just stay on those kiddie slopes a bit longer…

Swiss charms

2008-02-22T08:51:00.005-05:00

Swiss men rule.

There I said it.

Beware ladies, and boys with girlfriends you love - don't say I didn't warn you, the charm of Swiss men is certainly hard to resist. I am living proof. I have gone over to the other side. I am lost. Once you've gone Swiss you can't go back.

But hey - don't just believe me. Ask my lovely Sikh doctor friend in London - she is now engaged to a lovely Swiss man (who actually introduced me to Beau). And ask my English TV actress friend living in LA, Beau and I introduced her to a Swiss friend of his living in LA and she called me to announce that after 5 months of dating, they are moving in together (his suggestion).

Swiss men are terribly impressive. I mean seriously - appreciate chocolate more than any woman? Invite you up the mountains for a fondue and a cuddle in a snow covered ski lodge? They ask you to commit to them before you have even thought of it yourself? Introduce you to their parents before they can meet yours? Take you for dinner and open doors for you? Love their mothers with unabashed openness? Speak 4 languages just because? Seriously -

Oh and it doesn't stop there - the influence of the surrounding countries - France, Germany and Italy brings the best patchwork of cultural overlays: a love of fine wine, good food and romance (vive la France!); an innate sense of order and balance and tidiness (meine Damen und Herren); an inherent understanding of beauty and passion (la dolce vita).

I mean seriously. Look at their national flag - the writing is on the wall -

Red, White - it kind of looks like a first aid sign - first aid of LOVE.

Uh-huh.

I figured it out.

Hey guys from other countries - look on the bright side - there are only 7 million Swiss. That means only 3.5 million Swiss men to worry about. But don't say I didn't warn you!

I just have to tell you

2008-02-20T08:50:00.002-05:00

At my work many interesting, iconic people come by and yesterday I met this guy (click link - I hate writing names but one of the coolest playwrights/actors ever). He was in-house for a meeting and I bumped into him while he was heading for the elevator and we spoke about his elevator frustrations. Seriously. How ridiculous is that. One of the most interesting American playwrights/actors and that is what we spoke about. I wasn't star struck, I merely wanted to say something intelligent and profound about his work but I had no idea where to begin. And I really didn't want to impose. Or seem psycho.

I have to say though for the record, even with all our mundance elevator talk, this 65 year old oozes sex appeal. Seriously. I was quite surprsied. He has cowboy mannerisms, charima, charm, sparkly eyes and the silver best hair. Even our lesbian production manager was not impervious, as he walked away she came to me and said: Can I brag? I just had a production meeting with him and I drooled. He is one sexy mofo and I don't say that about old men. Ever.

V is for...

2008-02-17T21:41:00.007-05:00

Beau is away for Fasnacht (Basel Carnival where he drums for 3 days straight along with about 20,000 other people) thus leaving me all on my lonesome for Valentine’s Day. We aren’t really a ‘hallmark couple’ so truth be told this wasn’t such a big deal. So a friend (whose husband was also drumming his heart out for 3 days) decided to host a V IS FOR VAGINA Valentine's ladies night dinner. Armed with champagne, a Valentine’s balloon and a penchant for mischief, I went to join 3 other fabulous ladies for a girl's night.

After a delicious dinner and a bit too much wine (and trying to eat what we thought were chocolates but turned out to be bath bombs) three of us decided to go clubbing and we went to one of the hottest clubs in NY for their one year anniversary. Now the thing about hot clubs in NY, they are normally private guest-list-only places where even if you are a supermodel you will probably get turned away at the door. And believe me I am not that cool however one of the Valentine ladies is friends with a bartender and thus we managed to thwart the cocky “Bonnie and Clyde” bouncer wearing liquid liner, a pinstripe suit and a gigantic fur coat who wielded his index finger like a machine gun yelling “you- can’t get in, you three –in, you – no chance, you – get out of here, you – don’t make me laugh…”

The bar was decorated with an air of crumbling European aristocracy – with plush, faded velvet curtains, dim chandeliers, faded mirrors and ornate, cracking guild-work. The place was obviously an old theater – albeit a small and narrow one – and the place couldn’t hold more than 250. All the staff are fabulously dressed men in drag, some half-naked wrapped in feather boas and one in only a crinoline skirt and paint on his torso. A woman walked by with her voluptuous breasts exposed and painted, and another with wire cones on and not much else smoking a cigarette. The thing is here in NY if you can actually smoke in a club, you know this place exists beyond the mores of normal society and you have to be prepared for absolutely anything. Seriously, only the seediest and/or the most exclusive places let you actually smoke anymore – and somehow I think the line that separates 'the seedy' from 'the exclusive' is merely the depth of a pocket.

Fortunately I didn’t have to pay for any drinks, the champagne kept appearing in my hand from a variety of sources, but I heard that a table costs upwards of $1000 and a booth more in the realm of $4000. Drinks could easily be anywhere from $450 for a bottle to probably $60+ for a glass (certainly not in my budget). I was quickly introduced to some of the staff and met a magician from Moncton, NB of all places – our Maritime connection ensured he gave me his business card, plus it turned out he was the magic consultant for one of the shows for the theater I work at. The people in the bar were fascinating – (I felt incredibly underdressed still in my attire from work) - a girl in a head-to-toe gingham body suit with a gingham bubble on her head, a vampire, a dandy, a spangly looking woman who I would simply describe as mutton-dressed-as-lamb still nursing a hangover from Studio 54 in it’s heyday.

Then the stage show started - there was one musical act but the majority of numbers consisted of various stages of undress and sex acts presented in a theatrical way (i.e. fancy lighting, dry ice smoke and fancy costumes). Sort of burlesque-meets-Amsterdam’s red-light district with grotesquely fascinating performances ranging from men with boobs stripping and peeing in bottles to futuristically dressed twins bathed in blue light sticking assorted things into each others orifices. Quite simply put –a theatrical, fantastical sex show – the more outrageous the number, the more the crowd loved it, the more freakish, the more popular. All hosted by an MC with bleach blonde devil-horned hair who apparently left the circus to do this (Cirque du Soleil to be exact).

I quickly discovered this club is the kind of place where you might trip over someone famous (and indeed did) but what comes hand-in-hand with celebrity in this country is people whose currency is name-dropping. Indeed, one such dandy wearing a yellow fedora and a yellow pin-stripe suit offered to “take me upstairs to introduce me to Bono.” Now I might have been very drunk but I don't cheat on Beau and I am old enough to know that "upstairs" in this kind of club is code for sex and drugs - neither of which interests me. Mr. Fedora was persistent not taking 'no' for an answer and proceeded to try to fondle me while repeating Bono's name until I finally snapped "sorry sweetheart, but I am not that kind of girl. Meeting celebs doesn't impress me and doesn't really rock my trolley." (Yes, I actually said 'rock my trolley' - I was drunk, those were the words that tumbled out of my mouth.) Mr. Fedora left, I must have ruined his high.

Then I met an attractive, tall British guy, Hugh, who was an agent for the band that was playing. It turned out to be his first time in this club and he was a real gentleman and very normal. It seems he had come over to NY with the band because the band’s benefactor (none other than Damien Hirst) had insisted. It seems Damien and Bono were hosting an art fundraiser here in New York and that was why they were all here. Hugh asked us ladies if we wanted to meet Damien- and off he went to find Damien to bring him over to us to say hello. However it seems Damien and Bono were “upstairs” so I didn’t get to meet him and the private room (rumored to have it’s own strip show) was not exactly where I wanted to be.

Sometime later we decided to call it a night and we were each handed a poster role – turned out to be a limited edition print for the club’s birthday apparently of some value. I said goodbye to Hugh and the magician and the painted breasted lady and I walked home. I knew I was incredibly drunk when I decided to walk home and had a hard time walking straight. I tried to walk past the doorman in the most sober way possible but I’m afraid walking into the door gave me away. By the time I managed to turn the key in the lock it was 5:30am. I called the ladies to make sure they got home ok, called Beau to tell him I was stupidly drunk and confess I had been hit on but to assure him I really am a good girl then I had a shower and tumbled into bed.

I woke up at midday and stumbled into work 2 hours late and still drunk. Oh. Dear. God. Thank goodness my boss was away... that turned out to be a V IS FOR VAGINA Valentine’s Day I will never forget.

Karmic Timing and Synchronicity

2008-02-12T15:00:00.000-05:00

Good news:

I am THIS close to finalizing my papers for my next Visa to remain in the USA. Everything is filed, paid, signed, stamped, proofed, submitted and processed.

Really good news:

I declared my port of entry as Halifax so I can visit friends and family! Hoorraayy!! Trip home!!

Excellent news:

I booked my ticket ahead of time on air miles saving $ and getting great flights. I can even take a few days off because my boss will also be away.

I was literally meditating on all the above good points while brushing my teeth. I was thinking to myself "wow - this visa process has been kind of easy peasy." I was literally thinking about the whole idea of fate and that when things are supposed to happen they come together with great synchronicity. I was thinking how lucky I am. I was thinking that my life is usually littered with examples of bad karmic timing causing my life to veer onto different paths but maybe, finally, the bad karmic timing phase is at an end. Maybe it is finally moving on, taking a vacation and I should put a little 'welcome' mat out for good karmic timing.

I really thought of all of these things.

I go to work with a little skip in my step, glowing with my sense of inner karmic peace and the knowledge that things can and will work out for me. No sooner had I sat down to work then I get a call from the lawyer. My heart skips a beat - This is it! Hopefully today is the day I hear that my visa has been preliminarily approved! How ironic! How funny that I was just thinking about all of these things -

I answer the phone. The lawyer proceeds to tell me the US immigration will not accept my port of entry to be Halifax. I need to enter through another city. They have no more news on my visa until I declare another port of entry.

I have cancelled my trip to Halifax, instead I am going to Toronto. I am sad about that, Halifax is way better. The irony does not escape me though - maybe there is no such thing as karmic peace or good karmic timing. I rested for one second on my laurels and received the proverbial kick in my karmic pants. Ha! In some ways I love it.

Anyway will keep you posted about the visa. Fingers crossed!!

The return of GUNTER

2008-01-28T21:58:00.000-05:00

Gunter has returned! Hoorrraay! It's been far too long!!

For those who missed the initial discovery of Gunter - allow me to momentarily recap - when moving in with Beau we spent a great deal of time shopping for everything from furniture to cupboard handles. For the most part Beau has modern, masculine taste (clean lines with a preference for the monochromatic) however, on this particular day, while shopping for towels and bedding, Beau declared in his Arnold Schwarzenegger-like English:

"I love Laura Ashley floral prints for the bed, in blue - oh please? That's what I want..."

It was at this moment I met Gunter - Beau's inner gay man. Yes indeedy - Gunter rebels against the monochromatic and proudly defies the starched collars, pinstripe suits and sensible black shoes that make up Beau's every day. Instead, Gunter embraces blue floral print bedding with a vengeance, scatters silky brocade pillows with tassels willy-nilly wherever possible, buys the pink and yellow roses and comments on 'how pretty they are', cries more than I do at Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and whose favorite all-time movie is Casablanca.

Ah Gunter - he really is quite fun to have around when he comes out to play, and that's exactly what he did this weekend. As I lay on the couch on Sunday with an upset tummy and (admittedly) a bit of a hangover, Gunter came to the rescue and put on a DVD concert of Barbara Streisand (and he did get a little teary at points while Babs was crooning) and then proceeded to put on a DVD concert of Queen (which was when I pointed out the name of the band was actually quite telling).

Oh believe me, Gunter bought both of the concerts entirely of his own accord, and when we finished watching them, I watched him proudly put them next to his Shirley Bassey Concert DVD collection, alphabetically.

Phylum: Sassikys

2008-01-26T12:49:00.000-05:00

I don't know about you but I really do tend to err on the side of anthropomorphism with my plants.

They are my babies: I name them, love them, breathe on them (to give them a shot of carbon dioxide), worry about them catching a cold from a draft and feel an inane sense of proud accomplishment when they start sprouting new leaves, shoots or (joy upon joy) a blossom. Indeed I can't help but feel that the presence of a blossom means they are incredibly happy and deign me worthy of sharing their supreme moment of glory, like they're saying "Psst - look what I can do!" and choose to squeeze out a little fragile thing, spewing color onto their spindly personages.

To me they each have personalities and temperaments and can even become friends. Indeed, my sister and I were outraged when we discovered a few years ago that the people who bought our old house in Toronto cut down Mapely, the Maple Tree, because they just didn't seem to like him. Truth be told as adults we both used to make pilgrimages (whenever in Toronto) to our old neighbourhood just to drive by and see how big and wonderful Mapely had become.

In the same way when I see my plants suffering, or their leaves sagging or turning yellow or brown I will Google 'til the cows come home to try to diagnosis the afflictions of my little niddlers. Indeed, they are somehow so much mine that for the most part I have NO IDEA what kind of plants they are, just that they belong to me, Phylum: Sassikys.

So today when I spoke to Min in London and asked after my plants that I gave her when I left (almost 2 years ago), I felt incredibly proud when she informed me that despite her most concerted efforts at extreme negligence (especially to Spidey) they were all thriving, popping out blossoms and downright refusing to kick the bucket. She commented on the the red blossoms of the Christmas Cactus and I told her that was from my now deceased Granny who took a cutting from my mum's partner in Canada, who took a cutting from her step-father, who took a cutting from his now deceased wife. So in a way that Christmas Cactus was a bastard child of the nuclear family Sassikys which now included Min.

That was when Min informed me that she would take a cutting for me the next time we meet, and I liked that idea very much. It's nice to know that a plant can carry so much history somehow connecting past, present and furture. Then it occurred to me why I like plants so much because, like all friendships and relationships, with a little care they really will grow with you forever.

I don't get it

2008-01-24T08:56:00.000-05:00

For some reason one of my favourite things to do after a great workout is smoke a cigarette. (?)

Sigh

Sometimes I don't even understand me.

(and for the record - I don't smoke much anymore)

Putterings

2008-01-21T19:43:00.000-05:00

Today is glorious. It's an extra day of the weekend. Martin Luther King Day. A Day Off. A Day to Putter.

SIGH

Beau and I are avid putterers and really very skilled at it. And by 'puttering' I mean we are both incredibly gifted at filling our day with inane domestic activites that please us immensely - for example filing, color coordinating files, printing labels for our files, organizing and re-organizing our files on our shelves, potting and re-potting plants, moving the plants around, touch-up painting scratches from moving the plants, putting things away in boxes, sorting out boxes, moving the boxes, color-coordinating the boxes and so on and so forth. I would add 'baking' to my list of putterings which of course then illicits a 'lick the bowl' putter from Beau and the opportunity for us both to take a 'putter pause' and eat cookies and drink tea. And make no mistake, my friends, the 'putter pause' is serious business - it's the moment of sheer blissful happiness when you can bask in the glory of your putterings and eat hot, fresh baked, home made chocolate chip cookies.

It really is the simple things in life, isn't it?

New Brunswick, NJ

2008-01-21T19:41:00.000-05:00

Leaving the island of Manhattan is always an adventure and an opportunity to realize that New York really isn't like anywhere else in America. There are pluses and minuses to this, but most of all it is important to leave the sprawling, fast-paced city to get a healthy dose of perspective. And that is exactly what we did.

M&C, a recently married couple, moved to NB, NJ and invited us to check our their 'hood, dine at a local gourmet South American restaurant, dance the salsa and sleepover. Although our 'weekend away' was really only 50 minutes by train, it was SO NICE to get out of Manhattan.

New Brunswick, NJ is a cute American suburb town and home to Rutgers University. It boasts 3 theaters, a rocking gospel population, a local diner where a preacher comes to preach (if you are into that sort of thing) great restaurants and sidewalks (not always present everywhere - believe me). M&C's apartment is a corner unit in a modern building with the kind of amenities you never realized you needed - pool tables, saunas, a gym, an events room, a conference room, concierge service and a pool. They even have those minimalist flower displays all over the place - quite snappy if I say so myself.

We went for cocktails at a local bar/restaurant where they had rose petals on the doorstep (I'm still not exactly sure why) and a roaring fire reminding me of British Pubs. We then ventured to the restaurant and en route tried to buy cigarettes only to realize that in New Brunswick everything closes at the civilized hour of 8pm. The food was fantastic, the crowd eclectic and the band happening. I thought I could wiggle but was quickly put to shame by a short tubby old guy (not unlike Danny DeVito) who put Fred Astaire to shame without breaking a sweat. Did I mention he and his 'hot stuff' Filipino dancing partner danced as a foursome with another couple?

Well hey - I guess NJ gave us Saturday Night Fever and John Travlota - maybe NB, NJ can give us the all singing, all dancing Danny DeVito salsa foursome.

Plactic Schmastic

2008-01-21T18:50:00.000-05:00

The Land of The Sacred Plastic lied to us. Yes indeedy. In the country that invented paying with plastic I was incredulous to learn (the hard way I might add) that New Jersey Transit does NOT accept plastic onboard. Don't be fooled kids! Beau and I recently made the mistake of running to catch a train to New Brunswick, NJ, with the idea of buying our tickets onboard. No siree - as the surly ticket conductor approached we whipped out our cards to a prompt "CASH ONLY" response. (If you allow me to prescribe a font to his attitude believe me his words would have been in Arial, Bold, Triple Underlined, with Shadows, flashing in orange with many exclamation points in size 210.)

Emptying our pockets we quickly discovered that with all our change counted we were 3 dollars short. Mr. Arial/Bold/Triple Underlined/Shadow/Flashing Orange/Size 210 kicked us off at the next stop to buy our tickets. We attempted to buy our tickets quickly and hop back on, but the Gods Of The Ticket Machines were uncooperative and 3 machines later with tickets in hand we watched the train pull out of the station.

"See?" said Beau "that's why we should never leave the island of Manhattan."

Life is like that...

2008-01-19T13:17:00.000-05:00

Would you believe on Jan 12th (my niece's 2nd b'day) as I wake up bright and early to sing her Happy Birthday over Skype and the web cam I discover (shock, horror) that my INTERNET SERVICE IS DOWN! What the?!

After spending an hour on the phone with some guy in India whose scripted English responses included "Keep smiling and have a nice day" and "Ma'am what kind of service can I do for you today?" I discovered that there was something wrong with our line or modem and they would have to send a repair guy on Wednesday. However I highly enjoyed listening to the somewhat dated and awkward pre-scripted English responses and found myself wondering who exactly wrote these scripts and imagining some aging surfer from California who found a way to make some money while searching for the perfect wave.

After this frustrating discovery I resorted to the fail-safe old technology of the mobile phone and relinquished my brightly coloured party outfit and silly hat that I had planned to make the whole web cam birthday party event more fun. Instead I spoke to my niece and she told me all about the "shoklit cake" and "bawoon" and "pingu" that she was enjoying on her special day.

The good news is sis and fam are moving to the USA in early March 2008 so I am thrilled to be able to see her soon - it really has been far too long.

As for the Internet? Well let's just say four days without Internet made me realize how completely dependant I am upon it and how completely addicted we both are - but Beau and I were incredibly productive, finishing the shelves, touch-up painting the walls, hanging more pictures, cleaning out old files, re-potting plants, cleaning the house and going to the gym.

So all in all - maybe every cloud really does have a silver lining.

DIY

2008-01-07T21:55:00.000-05:00

We are finally getting around to finishing our office. Believe me, 'office' is quite a fancy term for a cupboard that has been turned into a spot with a desk and shelves for files. We recently ordered pre-cut shelves (very clean and minimalist) to transform one wall into floor to ceiling storage and decided to put them up ourselves.

Beau has a tendency to pretend not to know how to do things (to avoid having to get involved) and I tend to pretend I know how to do everything (to seem tough, intelligent and terribly capable). The truth is we both err on the side of folly for example:

ME: Oh my god - we TOTALLY can put up these shelves ourselves! I TOTALLY know what to do - we need to drill holes in the wall and put the concrete wall plug things in and THEN screw in the brackets.

BEAU: Hmm - wall plug whats? You what with them? How do you know the size? Will it hold it up? I don't know - well why don't you do it and I supervise.

ME: TOTALLY RIGHT ON! I can use my drill! Cool!!

BEAU: Great! I don't have to do anything, you can do it all!

So we bought the wall plugs, more screws and away we went. In reality the whole fiasco was a comedy of errors: I forgot to charge my drill (I was apparently too excited about using it) so we could drill one whole at a time, then wait 10 minutes for the unit to recharge, then Beau bent the drill bit by pressing too hard into the very hard wall, we didn't have a level so I improvised with a zip lock bag half full of water and a bottle of Dr Pepper (hey - it worked!), and I drilled a few crooked holes inspiring Beau to take over in all capcities and practically finish the job himself!

The moral of the story is that we can actually put up shelves and I discoverd that Beau is really very handy afterall.

Gym

2008-01-06T15:38:00.000-05:00

Beau and I want to run the marathon this year. A very ambitious goal me thinks.

So I finally persuaded Beau to join the gym and yesterday we went for the first time. I had to bribe Beau to come with me. His first road block was that he didn't have shorts, a shirt or sneakers (which I know to be an out and out lie) so I pulled everything out for him and packed him for the gym. When he started complaining that his white socks didn't match I knew my task would be more difficult than I anticipated. When I reminded him that there would be tv screens to watch the news (we don't have cable), hot chicks and how amazing he would feel - he finally came.

It's a nice gym - clean, a bit fancy, with a whirlpool, sauna and all those nice things that make working out all the more fantastic. Beau noticed Jim Courier the tennis player there which I am sure inspired him to try a little harder. I ran, he cycled and rowed and then we headed to the whirlpool. After about 5 minutes he realized the code to his new combination lock was still in his shorts and now soaked.

Fortuantely we could make out the numbers sufficiently enough to free his things from the locker.

Party chez nous

2008-01-01T14:49:00.000-05:00

Friday December 31st: My last day in 2007

0800 hours: start cooking for a dinner party of 20
0830 hours: notice I am not feeling terribly well
0900 hours: grocery trip for last minute necessities
1000 hours: turn on oven, start cooking the following menu:

100 mini spanakopitas
60 puff pastry ricotta and leek squares
3 Ibs of salmon/coriander ceviche
tomato and mozzarella salad
taramasalata and crostini
prunes wrapped in bacon
bruschetta
lamb shank stew (5 Ibs of meat)
ratatouille
couscous
salmon en croute
chocolate mousse
prep/cut strawberries
pecan pie
cheese on plate

1800 hours: finish cooking menu and set table
1815 hours: shower take flu medicine with champagne
1830 hours: first guests to arrive
2000 hours: force everyone to start eating
2100 hours: serve dessert and force people to eat more
2200 hours: polite facades washed away by magnums of champagne/first spillage occurs
2231 hours: flu starts really kicking in
2330 hours: Kate demonstrates THE WORM and break dance attempts ensue
2355 hours: we have no idea when midnight actually is so we count-down twice for the hell of it and wish each other 'Happy New Year' twice
0030 hours: laryngitis kicks in and I lose my voice completely
0130 hours: everyone wants to go out dancing to another party and I am so happy to go to bed

Technically I have started 2008 with a whimper so I will hopefully go out with a bang.

*whispered* 'happy new year'

If we have kids they are going to love me for this...

2007-12-30T09:20:00.000-05:00

Last night Beau and I went out with some Australian friends who were in town for dinner and drinks. The evening began with eating kangaroo (delicious by the way) and quickly turned into quite a few beverages of an alcoholic nature. After visiting a few fine establishments around NYC I suddenly noticed that Beau (who usually manages his alcohol consumption responsibly) was much more inebriated than even he realized. Believe me, I have never seen Swissy Beau that drunk, so after I got him in a cab and brought him home (weaving up the entrance to the building) I sat him down, gave him toast and tea, a couple of aspirin and attempted to put him to bed. What he doesn't know is that I am a girlfriend worth my weight in gold and I filmed him trying to take a pee before bed (I know, I know - I couldn't resist). Let me just say this: it was kind of like watching Superman trying to use his laser vision to melt through a 15 foot thick steel wall while standing next to ten truckloads of kriptonite. After 10 minutes, the Lois Lane in me had to save him so I turned on the tap and all was well with the universe.

Bali Movie Nights

2007-12-29T13:05:00.000-05:00

Beau and I like to watch movies. However, Swissy Beau speaks English as a second language so slang, innuendos and strong regional accents/dialects result in a complicated movie viewing experience for both of us. (Beau asks what something means, I need to reiterate the plot to explain the word in context, then we have missed 5 minutes of the film and have to rewind).

For the most part we manage quite well and watch all movies with English subtitles. However, Beau owns a large collection of movies from Bali which he bought a few years ago and we watch these every now and again in between Netflix selections. For the most part the quality of the Bali movies are good, however the English subtitles are obviously written by someone who doesn't speak English.

For example excerpts from "The Quiet American":

The Movie: "Open the door for Mr Phyle we don't want him to miss meeting the correspondent"
Subtitle: "Open door for mr piles we do want he miss paris the co responds and"

The Movie: "I said I don't want anything to do with you but thank you for saving my life"
Subtitle: "Ass end want an thing but do you with savings for my life"

And my personal favorite (I'm guessing the translator had a hard time with this one):

The Movie: "When the communists invaded Vietnam the French bore down forces"
Subtitle: "--Vietnam French breads --"

As you can imagine our movie experience was trying at best and there were a lot of Vietnamese characters in the movie so I spent a lot of time explaining the answer to Beau's recurring question 'what?'. So when the movie froze just before the climatic ending I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry, but at least the subtitles kept me laughing.

Rice Crispies fair'n'square

2007-12-28T12:12:00.000-05:00

Dating a Swissy -as I like to call them- certainly has it's perks. For example there are certain North American culinary delights that Beau has simply never encountered leaving me with no choice but to expose him to such wonderments as eggnog, Twinkies, Kraft dinner, surf'n'turf, Philly cheese steak, Denny's, steak'n'waffles, grits, apple pie and cheese, hush puppies, red neck platters, fried alligator, boiled peanuts, burritos, cup cakes, root beer floats, cornbread, corn dogs, tamales, pumpkin pie, onion rings, Ruben sandwiches, knishes, sweet potato mash with marshmallows on top and, of course, Rice Crispy Squares.

Rice Crispy Squares
Marshmallows
Butter - a smidgen
Rice Crispies

I made these at home the other day, Beau enters the kitchen and declares gross culinary misconduct and severe insanity - I was essentially red-carded in the kitchen. I shrugged and happily figured more for me! Two hours later I came into the kitchen and the entire dish was practically gone, I have since received official notice that my culinary misconduct ticket has been rescinded, red-card overruled and I am back into play especially if I include chocolate chips next time.

The Art of New Year's Resolutions

2007-12-27T21:05:00.000-05:00

New Year's resolutions are truly an art.

I can hear the cynics amongst you whispering 'psah -I never bother with resolutions.' Well, whether you admit it or not the end of year makes everyone prone to some kind of annual stock taking, reviewing of the markers of one's general satisfaction and happiness peppered with some general health and well being personal assessments. Go on, admit it.

However I am here to offer some thoughts and guidelines about the entire process. You see, I have come to the conclusion that New Year's resolutions can be productive and fun however steer clear of choosing resolutions that are about trying to be who you think you should be, as opposed to who you are.

Allow me, if you will, to present you with the idea of LIMBO (not the purgatory kind but rather the 'how low can you go' dance party trick). The dancer leans backward and dances under a horizontal stick without touching it - when you touch the stick or fall backwards this is GAME OVER.

Be wary of this LIMBO kind of New Year's resolution. If you catch yourself thinking 'I should eat healthier' or 'I should be a better daughter' - banish these thoughts from your head immediately, you are only setting yourself up for failure. The minute you forget to call you mother on Sunday or have french fries instead of a salad you will find yourself in LIMBO with your New Year's resolutions (and yes, this time the purgatory kind). Please avoid putting yourself into any ass-falling situations of any kind.

So this year I urge you to change your tactics. Choose things you would like to achieve, things you want to do or at least try to do. Steer clear of the garden variety resolutions and pick something that will truly inspire you and make you feel good about yourself even if you try and fail.

And so, this year I propose a list of things I would like to do over the next year:

Visit the Statue of Liberty
Visit more New York art galleries
Take a trip home to Canada with Beau
Obtain my next work visa
Start jogging
Run the New York Marathon with Beau (although this is dependant upon my knee and whether or not we can actually register to get a number for this year but I will start jogging again anyway)
Visit my sister a bunch of times when they move to the USA
Learn to make a good meringue
Read a trashy novel (it's been a long time)
Take a trip to London to visit all the people that I miss
Explore new job options (dependant upon the work visa or a promotion)
Re-pot my plants
Write a short story and enter it into a competition

You see? Like Aladdin and the magic lamp, pick wisely to set yourself up for success not failure.

Lions and Tigers and Skeletons - Oh my!

2007-12-26T12:22:00.000-05:00

I must confess I have a friend I have been avoiding. In a nutshell she lies. A lot. About everything. Indeed, her web of deceit is so intricate even she can't keep it straight and the longer I know her the easier it is to see.

However, here's the problem. She has now moved to New York for the winter and I have yet to see her. I suppose I am avoiding her, but truth be told our schedules are very different and she lives an hour away. More to the point, I have discovered her skeleton - she was a hard-core porn star in the 80's and she made about 50 movies in a 4 year period under a pseudonym and then completely disappeared. Oddly enough I had always suspected and then a mutual friend and I discovered that we both thought this so we did a little digging and sure enough found out everything.

Let me be clear - I don't care that she was a porn star, not at all. I suppose what really bothers me is who is this person? I find myself thinking if she doesn't trust herself how can I? I also know that if I confront her I would be cruelly stripping away everything she has spent the last 20 years constructing and I am not sure I want to be the person to do that. That would be akin to telling Joan Collins she isn't really Alexis Carrington in real life.

That was when I realized something-- perhaps friendships are about accepting people for who they are and maybe that includes who they want you to think they are- skeletons and all.

Merry Merry with Toast

2007-12-25T13:12:00.001-05:00

Me: Merry Christmas Honey!
Beau: What?
Me: Merry Christmas -
Beau: Oh yeah! I forgot!
Me: What should we do?
Beau: Didn't I win the bet that you are making me Christmas breakfast?
Me: Good point. Why don't I put some toast in the toaster for you and off you go!
Beau: Ok. I guess that could work, not quite what I had in mind.
Me: I know. But it's the thought that counts! I could make the butter look like some holly or something.
Beau: Ok. Cool.

Stay-cation

2007-12-24T18:22:00.000-05:00

This Christmas Beau and I are staying in New York. Beau has to work (such is the American work ethic) but I have a break until January 2nd. So Sassyk has decided to have a 'stay-cation' where I plan to visit Museums, galleries and get to know the city a little more. However I have to admit for day 1 of the 'stay-cation' I stayed in bed for most of the day nursing a hang-over. Ah well - the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.

To Don't Lists

2007-12-22T22:55:00.000-05:00

So I moved to a new address in the 'blogosphere' - I'm afraid, dear friends, I have been rather negligent of my last blog owing to moving to the Big Apple with Beau, working a new job and trying to carve out a life in a new city. It takes time and I find myself frequently composing blogs in my head which never quite make it to the keys. Frankly - I miss it.

However, I have been in Le Grand Pomme for almost a year and a half (egads) and it's about time I got back to the things I love. Perhaps it's the New Year's cliche of creating a New You in the New Year - or perhaps I really am settling in and finding myself in dire need of a creative outlet. So I am putting down the glitter glue (you think I'm kidding), putting away my half-finished papier-mache tree top angel, ignoring my 'to do' list and leaving the laundry for another day or maybe even two!

My thought for today: Are 'to do' lists ever supposed to be done? I have concluded that is a big fat negative. And so, I challenge all of you to make a 'to don't list' and put all the things that you can't really be arsed to do on there and crumple up that dastardly paper with great glee. Instead sit back, chillax, call your friends, tell your family how much you really do love them (and reitterate you haven't had anything to drink) because all we ever really have is right now - so Carpe Diem my little peonies! And remember like a flower you need three things to grow and blossom: sunshine, water and %$#&. So make sure you get an equal balance of all three.