Tuesday, March 28, 2006

"It's not a choice. It's not a lifestyle. It's an orientation."

Only recently have I found myself accepting my own introversion without self-criticism or defensiveness. And yes, I am a huge introvert. I play the game well enough that I think people are often disappointed to see how much solitude I really need; I deceive them unknowingly with my social skills, the fact that I can speak to a large audience, and the fact that I'm polite enough to reciprocate small talk, finding people "where they're at" and matching them like a chameleon. But Lord, do I need my down time, and no, that doesn't make me aloof or difficult or selfish.

I had read it before, but a friend of a friend has reminded me of Caring for your Introvert, a wonderful article. Do read it!

Granted, I'm not wild about how the article paints extroverts as clods with the sensitivity of a small yapping dog; many of the extroverts I care to spend time with are thoughtful enough to Get It. But otherwise, the article has helped me to stop beating myself up if I don't want to go to a party, or if I want to leave after an hour if I do go. And when people tell me, "Oh, you're going to such-and-such a place? You should look up my friend/cousin/etc", I wilt, and that's fine. I'm not a massive failure for not being interested. Contact with new people is not a treat for me. I'm preserving myself for smaller bouts of quality time with those I care about most, or simply honouring myself by feeding on alone time, just as an extrovert might refuel by reaching for the phone.

Now, back to my cats and coffee, and wonderful wonderful ME. :-P

Friday, March 24, 2006

Borje, baby!

I saw Borje Salming at the Eaton Centre today! He came out of Sears and went into Roots, walking briskly and swaggering ever so slightly. Our eyes met for a second and he looked a little nervous and harassed, so I left him alone to shop in peace. So, Mr. Salming, in case you're into Googling yourself, I was the slack-jawed pregnant lady in the striped sweater. Love me: I didn't stalk you, though I was sorely tempted.

Salming was my very first crush. I guess I'd have been about seven or eight, and I fancied him because my mother did, like I'd have known any better. So yeah. I'm a dork. I let a Hockey Hall-of-Famer escape without troubling him for an autograph, which my unborn son might have treasured someday. On the other hand, I avoided possible rejection from said Hall-of-Famer.

In other news: This will sound odd coming from a lifelong Maple Leafs fan, but....I'm glad they lost last night, and I don't want them to make the playoffs.

I want them to do miserably so they get a high draft pick, and then use the bloody draft pick to draft someone, you know, young and good, whose dream it is to be there, and keep that person in the organization rather than trade him for some old fart with five months left in his contract or two years left in his career.

They could look for a new coach while they're at it. And trade their captain for more young talent and get a really passionate player to be captain. If they did all those things, the team might mean something, being the product of years of good scouting and coaching. And I might like them again.

Yeah, yeah. Everybody's got an opinion. Sorry, eh.

Go Habs.

Friday, March 17, 2006

Erin go barf

Happy St. Patrick's Day. Ten years ago I'd have been loaded in a crowded pub. Twenty-five years ago I'd have taken my bike out for the first ride of the year, looking for leprechauns in the neighbours' gardens.

Now I'm old, bitchy and pregnant, and I would sell any one of you up the river for one of those gawdawful McDonald's Shamrock Shakes, if they still made them.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006


It's too early in the morning for real content (ignore the date stamp; I finished this on Thursday morning, before my coffee), so it's a beautiful thing, having been tagged by Kelly.

Without further ado, then, I present a random picture of Colin Firth and some lists of seven various and sundry things.

Seven things to do before I die:

1. Learn to make some great cocktails
2. Own a home I love and keep it clean
3. Learn to double-tongue (not as kinky as it sounds, sadly)
4. Win an audition
5. Visit Scandinavia
6. Raise awesome kids
7. Perform in England with a great period orchestra

Seven things I cannot do:

1. Double tongue
2. Circular breathe
3. Keep an African violet alive
4. Win an audition
5. Make an omelet
6. Speak another language fluently
7. Downhill ski

Seven things that attract me to my mate:

1. Kindness
2. Sensitivity
3. Humour
4. A touch of geekiness
5. Shy like me
6. Gets along with anyone
7. Has an imagination

Seven books I love – in no particular order:

1. Fall on your Knees, Ann Marie McDonald
2. An Equal Music, Vikram Seth
3. Gaudy Night, Dorothy L. Sayers
4. Possession, A.S. Byatt
5. The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Graeme
6. Fifth Business, Robertson Davies
7. That Scatterbrain Booky, Bernice Thurman Hunter

Seven things I say:

1. Excellent.
2. Cheers!
3. Who knew?
4. Happy days...
5. Dark rum and coke, please.
6. Awright.
7. Yay!

Seven movies I’ve loved:

1. Metropolis
2. Lost in Translation
3. Thelma and Louise
4. A Fish Called Wanda
5. North by Northwest
6. Bridget Jones' Diary
7. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Who am I tagging? Well, no one reads this blog except for Kelly, the already-tagged Kathleen, and some chick in Missouri. So, if you find yourself reading this, tag your own damn selves. I ain't your momma.