The love for a boyband

When I was 8 years old, my father took me to my first concert. It was New Kids on the Block. I can clearly remember sitting in the 200 section of the Sky Dome (now Rogers Centre) and crying harder than I had ever cried before whenever Jordan Knights face popped up on the Jumbotron. I was 8 and I was in love. I fully expected Jordan to see me (all the way up on the second deck) and bring me on stage and serenade me. Of course that never happened, but that was my first and favourite memory of my dad and me spending quality time together.

I had every tape (kids go google what a tape cassette is) and poster and magazine dedicated to NKOTB and especially Jordan. I had a Jordan pillow and a Jordan doll and I would listen to the same songs over and over again until I am positive both my mother and my father wanted to strangle me. Now sometime in the early 90’s NKOTB broke up and stopped making music together. I was devastated, but I moved on because by that time I was almost a teenager and my hormones were taking over for real people, not just celebrities whom I didn’t stand a chance with.

I heard on Twitter (thank you Social Media) that Zayn Malik left One Direction (2015’s NKOTB). Little girls (and not so little girls) are destroyed. You would think they were just told their parents and best friends had died! They are crying, breaking things, threatening suicide (kids don’t play around with this word – it’s NOT cool) not going to school because they are torn up about Zayn leaving 1D. Now I have heard of 1D, I don’t live in a bubble, but I had no idea who this kid was so of course I headed over to google.

This was the first google image I found

This was the first google image I found

After scrolling through this sweet man’s photo’s I get it.  I totally, inappropriately get it!  He’s gorgeous.  I’d be sad too if I liked 1D and if I had been a fan/follower/stalker of this band.  If Jordan or Donnie (my second favourite NKOTB) had left the band just as they were reaching their prime, I would have probably cried in my corn flakes too.



Ahhh the boy band members – they have to know the drama behind their kind sweet, sexy eyes.

Good luck Zayn, I wish you all the best and hey – maybe you’ll end up with a Solo career a la Justin Timberlake from NSYNC

I remember these curls!

I remember these curls!

And ladies you are welcome for all the man candy on my blog today…




raccoon, possum ~ potato, patato

Remember when I wrote about my terrifying raccoon in my garbage can last week?  If you don’t, clearly you need to go back and catch up…it was quite the story.  Well, last night it was that time of the week, I needed to bring my trash and recycle bins to the curb and all was going well until I went to grab some cardboard boxes left over from my successful attempts at unpacking my basement. I reached down to grab the larger box (these boxes were right beside an empty garbage bin) and my face was {} this close to a furry pointy head staring back at me.

c8c0c64dd6a59ca7230d0dc87f18ed4f<——this was not my mystery animal

Screaming, I ran into the house and pulled out the number for Ajax Animal Control. The nicest lady (I can’t remember her name) called me back and said she’d be by me in an hour. 45 minutes later, I saw her pull up with her big city van. She walked into the garage and told me it was not in fact a raccoon, but it was a possum!

I started thinking quickly what a possum must look like and at first I thought it must be a cute little thing and how silly of me to be so scared.  The Animal Control lady told me that Possums can actually be quite vicious when scared or provoked – even worse than raccoons so it’s a good thing I called.  She tried capturing it but somehow it got loose and ran in my neighbours backyard.

After fleeing back into the house I peeked out the window and noticed she had gone with my neighbour out of my view so I stared aimlessly out the window until she returned – with the possum in her box – to release him (her?) back into the wild.

She apologized for the drama (of it escaping) and honestly at that point I didn’t care – he (she?) was out of my hair and out of my garage.  Unless invited nothing can live on my property unless it pays rent – taxes are high, I can’t afford to have random animals living in my garage!

It’s Spring, and while the weather may feel like a crisp cold winter day, the birds are back, the raccoons are scattering garbage from one end of my street to the other and now the possums have come out to play!  Spring is here.  Lord help me now.




The Wildlife in Ajax

I hate Mondays…especially in the Fall, Winter and Spring.  Mondays mean that when I come home, I need to put my recycle out and every other week the garbage needs to follow.  Tuesdays are my pick up day so Monday nights mean hauling the trash down to the curb.  This is pure laziness on my part.  I am well aware of this.  When I get home from work, I want to do nothing – especially not drag 3 – 5 bins down to the roadside.

Last night when I pulled into the driveway (it was still bright outside thank you day light savings!) I opened the garage door from inside the car and let Simba jump and run out ahead of me.  I giggled as he ran up to the front door and then bounced happily into the garage sniffing everything.  I quickly went in to grab the tall blue recycle bin when out of the corner of my eye, I saw it…

A raccoon was curled up (asleep?) in one of my large black garbage cans.  I squealed for Simba to get inside (he doesn’t get along with wildlife really) and quickly dropped the box I was carrying and ran in the house behind him.  After settling Simba down with dinner, I snuck outside and tossed one of his poop bags at the garbage can hoping I would scare the raccoon and he would run out.  No. Such. Luck.

I threw another poop bag and then grabbed my shovel and started banging the side wall of the garage.  Nothing.  I tip toed carefully to the garbage bin and peaked in and I saw the fur of this damn animal still chilling (dead/asleep) in the bin.  At that point, my fear radar was off the charts and I walked back inside determined that I had a new roommate.  I named him Jeff (after my friends husband who won’t come help me get rid of him).  I kept my garage door open until about 8:30 last night and then closed it and went to bed.

Waking up this morning, I completed my morning routine and after securing Simba and I in the car, I pushed the button to open the garage door.  Nothing.  The boxes that I had dropped there the evening before had been tipped over and messed up a little, but no signs of Jeff the raccoon anywhere.  I flashed my lights and drove up as close as I could, but either Jeff escaped last night or  he was well hidden (in my garbage can?).

Thankfully tonight I have my college class and won’t be home till late, so Jeff and I do not need to deal with each other – but if I see him tomorrow, well it will be him V. me and I pay the mortgage and property tax so his ass needs to vamous!




I hate bad news on a Friday

Bad news in general is a bummer, bad news on a Friday when you were expecting to be crying tears of joy, is a gut wrenching catastrophe.  Okay maybe it’s not a catastrophe. There are women being raped and murdered all over the world, animals are being abused, children are going hungry and uneducated.

But I am not pregnant. Today I am choosing to be selfish and feel sad because I am not pregnant and that hurts, despite my brave smile and comforting words.

My fifth round of IUI and I have failed to become pregnant again.  To add insult to agony – it was the nurse who I blame for not being pregnant that called and gave me the news (and yes I will be complaining about her to my doctor when I see her later this month and not allowing any nurse to inseminate me ever again).  The words “I’m so sorry your test came back negative” are still – an hour later – ringing through my ears.

What a disappointment – this time especially.  I have been a crazed woman with the new rounds of hormones and injections so I was really hoping it was going to have a happy ending.  Instead, my colleagues and family get another month of me being off my game.

I have one vial of sperm left.  I told myself when I started this that GOD FORBID I needed 6 vials I would ensure I had all 6 ready to go.  I never planned for after.  What happens if the 6 vials I bought don’t produce a baby?  I was so sure that it would take 2, maybe 3 attempts.  That I would be blessed with my own bundle of joy.  But this is it.  After my next cycle I am done.  I know I could buy more vials, have more IUI’s but I don’t want to.

So then what?  IVF?  Adoption?  Surrogacy?  I have options…none of which make me happy.  I really like the non invasive IUI strategy, but that’s not working.  If after my next cycle my final vial doesn’t work then I am forced to figure out the next step.  As of right now, I do not know what that step will be.  I just know it won’t be IUI.

Today I want to go home, lie on the couch with Simba snuggled up next to me and watch movies.  Tomorrow Agi is coming with me to Demetre’s cafe to wallow in my sadness with crepes and ice cream.  If that can’t cheer me up – nothing will.

And tonight I am having a glass of wine – maybe two!




A few more days

I have not taken hormones before to try to get pregnant.  In fact, this past month has been such an out of focus blur I cannot even remember the names of the medications I was on trying to encourage my little eggs to drop down the rabbit hole!  I know right now, now that I have been inseminated that I am taking a progesterone suppository twice-a-day every day until my pregnancy test.  I will have the results for you all next week.

I don’t know if it is the progesterone, the time change from the weekend past or the fact that I may well and be pregnant, but I am not me.  I am easy to anger, tense, annoyed, bloated, gassy (sorry), and I have not had a full night sleep in over in a week which is only intensifying the above issues.  All I want to eat is everything that I know me, as a large woman, is being chastised for.  And you know what – I. DON’T. CARE!  See – I’m annoyed just thinking of someone commenting on the fact that I had, and enjoyed, birthday cake frosting pop tarts for breakfast yesterday.

I am not drinking wine (or any alcohol) even though I know I am allowed to, because if I am pregnant I don’t want to.  But this weekend, if I find out I failed again (and yes I consider not being pregnant the most epic of failures) I will be enjoying a large glass of white wine.  I am not an alcoholic, I barely ever drink, but when I go out for dinner I want a glass of wine to enjoy right along with my lovely meal and I have been out a few times this week, including last night, and drinking water and iced tea doesn’t quite cut it – especially when WHO KNOWS??!!

My other problem is, because I am taking the progesterone, I am trying desperately hard not to take any more medication like Advil for my awful headaches I get in the morning, allergy pills to ease the congestion I get from Simba or ZZZQuil to help me actually get some sleep.  I am being good – really good – and my fear and frustration is that it could be for nothing.

I have lots of little signs that I haven’t had before with past inseminations…but being one week and a few days pregnant doesn’t give you symptoms, so most likely it’s from the hormones…I just wish I could have a big sign that says HEY LADY YOU ARE PREGNANT – KEEP ON KEEPING ON!  WOOT WOOT!  Wouldn’t that be awesome!  A little red-faced angel comes down with a card (or arrow) for you…and BAMN you’re pregnant.  Nature doesn’t do things quite so easily or even close to what I would call quickly!

It’s especially difficult when you hear of a woman who is pregnant – with twins and she is devastated.  She doesn’t want to be pregnant (uhhh hello birth control, condoms where are yoouuuuu??) and she’s miserable about it!  I have no problem with people getting pregnant and being surprised, shocked or confused, but when someone communicates pure misery at the situation (and obviously said woman has other issues at stake here) I want to scream and cry and yell at MY injustice!  I’m allowed to be selfish…I’m allowed to be angry.  I’m allowed to be sad.  I’m allowed not to respect certain people’s feelings.  Just like every other woman is allowed these rights.  Every situation is different, every situation is deserving of understanding, but at the same time – everyone, including me, is allowed to hurt.

A few more days.  I can’t wait.