when did they put that there?

I always thought I was an observant person. Really. I was totally proven wrong this morning.

I always walk to work on Yonge Street and walk home on Bay. Yonge anytime after noon makes me crazy. Like stabby crazy. Anyway I had to go to a CIBC bank machine, so I’m planning out my route – makes me less anxious. I decide ‘okay Yonge to College then over to Bay and down to Dundas where I can use the one at the Atrium. Will the doors be open this early? What if I can’t make a deposit? I can go on my lunch but...' Oh sorry you probably don’t want a tour of Clara’s head. Well not that part anyway.

Moving on….

So as I’m approaching Bay via College I see what appears to be a CIBC right there on the corner of Bay Street. Wha? Can it be? Yes it is! I have walked by this thing every day for the last two months and had no freaking clue it was there. Honestly. So I do my business and continue on to work. I walk about a block before I feel like I’ve been dropped on Mars. It seemed so alien and new. Again, I’ve walked by all these things daily for a few months but I was coming from the other direction. I had to keep looking at street signs to see if I passed Dundas and didn’t notice. I finally do get to Dundas and my jaw drops – they’re building a CANADIAN TIRE!!! Okay now of course I did notice the massive construction going on but I thought I was another office building or something. How could I not notice!?!?!? There is a huge Canadian Tire sign! I could see in the windows and the shelves are fully stocked and everything. Really now. Wake up Clara. The best part of my story, and the only interesting bit for those of you not acquainted with downtown Toronto (for which I must apologize for this seemingly incoherent ramble), is that I will soon have easy access to a Canadian Tire!

As disgusted as I am with myself I can’t help but be excited. I freaking LOVE Canadian Tire. I could wander around there for hours and never be bored. So many treasures…..sigh….a whole new world.....

I have always loved my name. Felt it set me apart, in a good way. Sure I get called Claire and Carla on occasion. Well usually those people who call me Clair or Carla do so only a regular basis. I try correcting them but it never lasts. Ah well, c’est la vie.

You’ll notice that the famous Clara’s of the world are special too.


Clara Rockmore, Theremin player extraordinaire.
Clara Bow - sex symbol and also a third child….
Clara Shuman - composer and pianist.
Clara Barton - founder of the American Red Cross
Clara Cluck - Disney’s diva.


When I was in high school we had to make a ‘creative container’ out of clay and I made a globe with oddly shaped continents and countries all named after me. Clarasia, Claranada – you get the picture. Remember when you would get a crush on someone and write their name over and over in your notebook? I always did that with my name. I’ve always considered naming all my children after me. Clarissa, Clarabell, Clarence. What fun! I’ll bring it back. The name hasn’t really been popular since the 1900’s. But then that’s one of the things I like about it most. Of course when someone calls out “Sarah” I think they’re talking to me but really it must be worse for all you Sarahs out there. Poor mites.

Have a clariffic day!

who me?

Hey!

Wha?

What do you think you you’re doing?

Innocently What? Just going for a stroll! Is that a crime?

Really. Just out for a stroll?

Nods, smiling sweetly.

No mayhem? Chaos? Destruction? Hmmm?

Gasp Wha? You wound me!

I try…

C’mon I’m just looking for a little fun, I’m bored….

Well I guess that’s fi…

….Is that a severed head behind the couch!?!

Is it? How peculiar.

Get back in the painting.

But –

Do it! Or so help me there will be smiting!

Dragging feet I just wanted to see Titian's nude ladies… snicker...Tit-ian..

Art by Mark Lang

switchbitch

Wow a new term for myself.

Top Ten Rules on how to treat your receptionist:

1. Always greet your receptionist with a smile & a "hello"
2. Don't ask stupid questions e.g. like asking the receptionist to man the phones when there is an emergency like a fire!
3. The receptionist is not your maid or waitress
4. The receptionist has a name so use it
5. Use social etiquette - please & thank you
6. Remember receptionists need toilet breaks too!
7. Remember receptionists do have a life outside the office
8. Now here's something "How about treating them like they are the face of the company"!
9. Always be nice as they are the ones that make your coffee & you never know where that roach leg may have come from.
10. They know a lot more than your realise - especially who's having an affair with who!

(via radarblog comments - Elaina)

Check out Receptionist’s Revenge and remember that the individual on the front lines is the last person you want to piss off. Honestly.

happy bday em

The eldest of my sisters celebrates her day of birth today. The director of my childhood. The moderator of games, enforcer of rules. Wrestling went from grappling on the living room floor to scheduled matches in a specially designed area with safety cushions. We received costumes and personas – Jackie the Snake and Andrea the Giant spring to mind. There was even play-by-play commentary and post match taped interviews! The managerial skills that probably prevented many injuries due to over exuberant childhood games now ensure smooth family vacations and delicious meals. And she spawns well…adorable children. Bit of the nudist in her though. I think I wasn’t yet born when this story took place but there is photographic evidence so I know it’s true.

My parents own a chocolate shop. Every year at Easter it’s a mad house and there is a line out the door. As I understand it my mother noticed that the people in line were staring up at something and pointing. I don’t know if someone told her or she went out to check but there was a nude child dancing in the window above the shop – facing the road. Right up against the glass, standing in the windowsill. Ah, Em. Happy birthday you wildly organized diva you.

appledeath

Jeremy’s computer died.

Gone. Kaput. Toast.

I was at a very good part of my book when he told me the news so I believe I grunted in acknowledgement and continued reading. It wasn’t until later that evening that the gravity of the situation hit me. I went to go check my email and instead of seeing my moniter I saw the back of a large head. Jeremy. Quickly calculating how his lack of computer affected me, I leapt into action, quickly clicking the on switch. Nothing. I don’t have a problem sharing but I do have a problem with patience so I proceeded to throw a tantrum of mass destruction demanding that Jeremy get off my computer because it was “MINE’ and he didn’t like PCs anyway. This led to wrestling and ‘tunnel Clara’ (a variation of tunnel puppy, where Jeremy would put the family dog under a blanket and box it in with his arms until it wriggled it’s way to freedom.). Suffice to say I was NOT amused.

By all that is holy I need to get this boy his own computer or one of us will end of dead. If it's me, by asphyxiation, then you know that 'tunnel Clara' went horribly, horribly wrong.

spa day

Every so often I’m able to talk Jeremy into something he would normally have no part of. Sometimes it's a spa day. Micro-dermabrasion, Mani pedi, full out makeover, whatever. It’s a bonding experience. So I picked up some facemasks with just this purpose in mind. After putting me off all weekend I finally got him to submit to my beautification last night. I was so high on having Jeremy give into my demands that when he went out for a late night Rabba run (at my insistence – I needed pop dammit!) I couldn't help but crow 'I love you baby - cuz you do what I tell you".

Yikes.

Look. Of. Death. Shudder.

I would have been more apologetic if it hadn't been so hilarious. It was totally worth it.

clarapee

I had to go to St. Mike’s this morning for my routine blood work (see below). I was told we were going to start adding urine tests, because I’m taking so much freaking calcium. Okay, well that’s annoying but you gotta do what you gotta do – better that then kidney stones. So I waltz in and give them my forms, and hospital card, which I have all ready to go - old pro that I am by now. And she gives me a jug. A HUGE ORANGE JUG.














This is my jug next to a LITRE water bottle - for scale. Awesome.

“Um, what’s that?”
“It's for urine collection.”
Panic
“Uh, I really don’t have to go that much.”
Wan smile

Okay okay it wasn’t exactly like that. The lab tech gave me the jug and my panic must have shown because her voice softened and she asked if I’d ever had a 24-hour urine test before. Um, no. How could you tell? I think I was gripping the counter at this point, white knuckles belying my distress.

My number one concern?

“Um, do you have a bag for that?

I started laughing as soon as I got in the elevator. I was still laughing while I walked to work, clutching my big orange jug in a brown paper bag. I was sure everyone knew what was in there.

So I have to pee in this thing for 24 hours. I think I’ll start Saturday, as I really don’t relish the thought of carrying this thing with me every time I need a potty break at work today. Here I was worried I would have nothing to do this weekend. The best part, in my mind, is the thought of taking it in on Sunday. Riding the subway with a quart of my own pee sloshing about.

That or having a big jug of pee in my fridge all weekend. I can’t really decide which thought tickles me more.

thyca bo byca

I went to a focus group on Monday. It was for thyroid cancer survivors.

Wow. I’ve never spoken directly with another person who had thyroid cancer and here I was in a room with 9 other people with smiley face necks. I had a sudden insight into why support groups are helpful. After a few awkward minutes of silence someone (the only guy there) said we should all be comparing scars and the ice was broken.

“Who’s your endo?”
“Really you’ve never seen an oncologist?”
“2.3 cm”
“Yeah I was over 3cm”
“I was 18 when they found it”
“Going hypo is the worst”
“And the no salt diet? Barf”
“You lost your parathyroid function? Sucks.”

Ahhhh. Music to me ears. I felt this instant kinship with 9 total strangers. I rode the subway back with a girl, Sarah, and we chatted at length. I’m surprised no one exchanged emails or something. When it was time to leave I felt like I should have hugged everyone. I can’t be the only one who had that cross their mind. C’mon, hug it on out.

I was shocked to discover that only one other person had heard of the sites I go to for support and information. Just in case one of you – or anyone else who’s got the thyroid cancer – swings on by the ol’ victory dance.

ThyCa
Thry'vors
Thry'vors - Yahoo Groups

There are more in the sidebar, under Thyroid Cancer Links. Um, der.

So that was great. And they gave me $75!

Which is already gone. Heh.

What fun. I spent the weekend camping with my family. Due to availability problems we stayed at Tipper’s Family Campground, which is a little tamer than we usually like when camping - but considering we had a 2 and 4 year old with us that was probably a good thing. Jeremy immediately tried out the slide and was quite taken with it, though he did get a little stuck at the top there. We had the entire place to ourselves. We ran wild. Except for the raunchiest outhouse I have ever been in (and I’ve been in my share let me tell you) it was just luverly.



I took some great shots and though I adore my little dimage g400, it really made me want a more professional camera for those moments. Maybe I’ll buy me one for my birthday. Hee.




We spent Saturday at the nearby Bon Echo Provincial Park. Wow! Gorgeous but totally packed. We took the Mugwamp ferry over to Mazinaw Rock and hiked to the top. Spectacular view, I can’t believe I made it all the way to the top. It was about 2 km, and every time I felt like turning back some 5-year-old kid would pass by me on their way back down and I’d just have to keep going. I couldn’t let some kid out hike me. C’mon now.



It was freaking COLD at night and like an idiot I didn’t pack warm enough clothing. I just wasn’t expecting it. Jeremy luckily had a mummy style sleeping bag and was just toasty. That boy is truly claustrophiliac. He could barely move and in fact couldn’t get out of that thing without help and he was deliriously happy. He’s always like that though. When we’re home he’ll wrap the sheet around his head so he gets a good night sleep. I on the other hand will drape a small portion over my rear end and fuss if I’m covered any more than that. I need freedom to kick. Poor Jeremy.

clarotic personality disorder

Aerik had this fabulous personality disorder quiz on his blog. I was SHOCKED at my results. Not at having high levels of avoidant behaviour, that was a given. But Histrionic? What? What makes them think I seek attention and praise? Is it because I have post pictures of myself and write about my life and opinions as if everyone actually wanted to hear it? Even going so far as to ask people to describe me in a word so I can moon over it later and think about how awesome I am? Pshaw! Poppycock! I’m simply a blogger folks. What do you mean same thing? Screw you.

That’s my borderline disorder kicking in. Mood swings and all that. I was surprised to see the moderate Schizotypal in there. What up? A girl can’t believe in fairies and dragons without being labelled crazy? I just read many romance and fantasy novels. See there’s a logical explanation for everything. If it involves portals to other dimensions - so be it. And just because I believe I’m a little claravoyant doesn’t mean I’m a fruitcake. The difference between clairvoyant and claravoyant is that with claravoyance you think of every possible scenario before it happens so that when it does you can say ‘I totally knew that was going to happen!. You can really freak yourself out. It’s just a mystical form of worrying.

Disorder	Rating
Paranoid:	Low
Schizoid:	Low
Schizotypal:	Moderate
Antisocial:	Low
Borderline:	Moderate
Histrionic:	High
Narcissistic:	Low
Avoidant:	High
Dependent:	Moderate
Obsessive-Compulsive:	Moderate
-- Personality Disorder Test -- -- Personality Disorder Information --

So as you can see, these so called ‘crazies’ I have can all be explained quite logically. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to flick the light switch 20 times or a meteor is going to fall on my apartment.

I hate it when that happens.

what is the i that has a body?

This question came to me and now refuses to leave my head. And by came to me I mean I eventually fished it out of my brain after staring at my blank e-paper for 10 minutes trying to think of something extraordinary to blog about. Pure Clara and all that. When I was in university I took a lot of interesting classes. I think that subconsciously I knew I wouldn’t make it all the way through (so close though) and after first year I pretty much just took classes that interested me, with no particular goal in mind. To this day I am so glad that I did. One of those classes was Eastern Religion. Go figure. I did end up dropping this class I believe, as I have no recollection of the final exam. Which doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Anyhoo, the first thing that the Prof said to us was ‘what is the “I” that has a body’.

Huh.

For some reason this sentence pops into my head now and again. Like I said I dropped this class within the required timeframe for it not to count against me so I’m surprised I even remember that this class existed, let alone this enigmatic phrase. I believe this sentence was trying blow our minds and make us realize that our bodies are simply flesh and we shouldn’t get wrapped up in it. I totally agree. Now. But up against newly unsupervised first year students experiencing the deliciously corporeal sensations of food, sex, drugs and alcohol – good luck buddy. I’m just thrilled I didn’t lose a limb or end up in Tijuana with a cheeky donkey and no money. Thanks for trying though. Really.

listen up ladies!

Denise graciously shared an essential font of information with me. The Good Wife’s Guide from Housekeeping Monthly 1955. Though I’m not a wife it never hurts to start good housekeeping procedures. So come on gals, subs and bottoms – read on and learn how to keep that man happy!



If you follow all of these lovely steps I’m sure you will have a long, long, neverending relationship. Just remember to ball up your rage and push it way, way down to your toes. Then, to reward your wrathful tootsies treat yourself to some new shoes!

Ah, the fifties. Makes me crave spam and pineapple hor d’oeuvres for some reason.

lady hare and dog revisited

I have discovered the Galerie De Bellefeuille.

Magnifique!

Remember my forbidden love post awhile back? Well the much pondered Lady Hare and Dog were featured at this gallery and thus led me to many other wonderful works of art which I will eventually share you. First though I must mention that the disturbing/enthralling Lady Hare and Dog have made a reappearance – this time astride a horse. Last time I questioned the embrace that artist Sophie Ryder portrayed. Was it maternal? Passionate? This new formation adds another piece to the puzzle. Perhaps it was a passionate embrace and this is the end of the relationship. The awkward conversation that takes place when everything has burned itself out or one has moved on. Maybe it’s just a friendly jaunt through Rose Petal Place or some such thing. Or perhaps the Horse and Dog are kidnapping the Lady Hare, the Dog’s watchful posture preventing escape. Again, we can only speculate but brother that is one of my favourite things to do. Mmm boy.

I wanna lay around all night, and eat bamboo every day

I ate bamboo once. Well sugar cane. Close enough. My Grandpa was a missionary and he brought me back some from a trip. I think it was from Narnia. I gnawed on that thing till my eyes glazed over and I started bouncing off the walls. What a marvelous thing to give a seven year old. I'm sure my parents thought so too.

Thanks Boppy.

freudian skid

I found this portrait machine on the generator blog. It is very cool. You answer some questions and it makes a portrait of you. Well not a portrait of “you” per say, but your inner self-maybe. Well at least yourself at the moment you answer the questions. I think you can really get a sense of the real Clara from mine.

“A messy child, Clara shows tendencies to run and hide in the mountains – evidencing her hillbilly origins. She can be quite cheerful and sunny at times, but has demonstrated a proclivity towards the dark and macabre. Truly chilling.

Also she spills ketchup on everything, which cannot be avoided because she eats half a bottle with any dish you place in front of her. Remarkably odd. We recommend a steady diet of ether and poetry, substituting short fiction on occasion."

I wish.

maiden mystery

Last night on the subway I was standing by a young girl and she had on an armful of colourful bracelets. Could these be the fabled sex bracelets I wonder? Now these were not the thin jelly bracelets that seem associated with the exchange of sexual favours but the flat ones that support various charities. Such as my oh so stylish teal thyroid cacner one. However, there was no writing on the black, red and green ones but the blue one said HEAD. Now this could indicate any number of things but where I went to high school it had only one meaning. So was this a brazen strumpet proudly displaying her sexual repertoire or a naïve child simply wearing pretty baubles? Alas, we'll never know, although I was very tempted to ask her. “Excuse me miss, but do those mean you performed or took place in various acts of a sexual nature?” but no, that would be rude. It’s right up there with “Do they pay you to screw that bear?”. Couldn’t be done man.

Anyway I couldn’t take the chance that she was an innocent 12 yr old and I would be scarring her for life. There was another possibility, that she was advertising sex acts but hadn’t actually done them. Y’know to be "cool". Tsk tsk . Be sexually liberated, chaste or somewhere in between but be proud, and stick to your guns. Just NOT IN PUBLIC SCHOOL. High school is right around the corner and they have football teams there for the highly ambitious vixen of today.