Holla back girl

I am not such a phone person and in fact, there are few people who I will humor with long conversations via telephone- if you want to have a long chat, I would rather see you- or never see you- you know what I mean?

I hate the phone for several reasons;

First, although you are not doing anything, you cant do anything. Last night I received a phone call while writing my thank you cards and I could not continue with this mundane task (how many different words are there to express gratitude- even a self proclaimed writer feels the struggle in this one....)- so you have to just sit there and doodle or something mindless while you listen to this voice on this box put up to your ear.

Second, it is rude to pee, even ruder to number 2, and rude to eat ion the phone so while doing nothing, you also have to starve and incur bladder infections. Mmmmm-k.

Third, are we friends?
Do you live in another city/town/country? No, you don't? Then why should I have to catch up with you like a robot. I have tons of friends who I do check in withs via the phone just to say hi, to say that everything is ok, to make a plan to see each other to actually catch up- call me to catch up- you suck.

But these qualms don't even begin to sum up my hatred for the phone-

I hate wrong numbers or people who call and ask who they are speaking to (um, really?).

I hate dial tones and ringtones and ringbacks.

I hate voicemail. I hate when people ask me if I listened to their voicemail- no, I didn't- I can't opt out of having it but along with it comes call display so trust, I know if you called.

I hate obligatory phone calls, I hate random calls that you answer and then wish you hadn't.

And, above all, I fucking hate call-blocking.

Who invented call blocking? For sure a psycho stalker right?

I got a blocked call the other day and of course answered it out of sheer curiosity- it was a service that has been trying to get my business and has been calling me nonstop all week.

So, now, I digress slightly to say that my number one most hated phone thing is the multi call- if I don't answer my phone, I am not available- I may be screening, I may be busy, either way, I am not there. If we know each other, I will see you called and call you back when I can, if we don't know each other, leave a message and I will also call you back when I can- unless someone is dying or going into labour- don't just fucking call me incessantly- I won't answer on principle and I will deem you mega hyper annoying.

And then, if you dare to stalk me- don't you DARE block call me to try and get me on the phone after I very obviously did not return your call. Now you are blacklisted.

So there you go.

- Oh, and all this being said, when I get no phone calls, I cry- there is just no pleasing me so don't be afraid to dial my digits...
xo

Got a Dyson?

Vacuums on crack.

This past weekend as the wedding settles down and life goes back to normal, my hubby and I went to start collecting our amazing and generous gifts from the Bay.

First- Bay is the bomb. Fer Realz- this place is not to be overlooked. I have done 90 percent of my everything shopping there for the past little while and I back that joint hard. Am I sporting a feather necklace today purchased at the Bay- and on Bayday no less for a 25% discount- Hell ya I am. And each time I get a compliment, I kvell.

So Saturday we went to the Bay to grab our new stuff- getting married rules. We have a full stocked wicked kitchen and all the gizmos and gadgets that go with it. Number one on our wishlist, however, was the Dyson so we bit the bullet- used our gift card and spent almost 1000 dollars on a cleaning product. I have never been happier.

You see, we have a bad history of vacuums- which, you would think, would make us not purchase the same brand time and again up to now- but that's another story- well, it is actually the same story- but different- you know? (mind.blown)

We originally bought a Dirt Devil mini- we reveled in the size and power of this little sucker (pun intended). It took us about a month or so to break it- and by break it I mean that one day we plugged it in and gasped at the sound of a broken machine chain and the smells of burning.

We replaced it with a Dirt Devil regular size and it took us about a month or so to break it- and by break it I mean that one day we plugged it in and gasped at the sound of a broken machine chain and the smells of burning.

Dear Dirt Devil- you suck.

We then borrowed my mom's vacuum- had it for 1 day- plugged it in the next day and gasped at the sound of a broken machine chain and the smells of burning. Are you following the pattern here?

So perhaps it isn't Dirt Devil that sucks, maybe it is us? But let's blame Dirt Devil- way more fun.

Of course, since we break every vacuum that comes within a 90 foot radius of us, we thought it responsible and obvious to buy the Dyson- thank god for the 5 year bonus warranty- just saying.

So here is what we discovered about Dyson so far:
1. we bought the "Animal" version- it had an animal grooming attachment. Dyson has taught us to buy a dog- soon- value for your money people, value.
2. Dyson vacuums are recognized by the Asthma society- they fucking clean your air as they clean your floor- the air that comes out of them is actually cleaner than the air in your home. And then they wipe your ass in the bathroom and emit a light floral scent. BOOYA.
3. They clean. We vacuumed one tiny spot and it is hella cleaner than anywhere else in our home.
4. They cuddle- we love ours so much we let it sleep in our bed- it gives one mean spoon.

So what? You think I am super lameity lame because I just posted about a vacuum? Go get one- I dare you to NOT talk about it endlessly when you do.

Or, enjoy your unasthma society approved air. sucka

Happy wife happy life

I am simply put- not cut out to be a housewife.
Here's why;

First, as you may or may not know- I can't clean for shit. I can iron, I can do laundry and my skills end there. Washing dishes- only if you want to eat off dishes with old semi caked on food. Get my drift?
I also reject ideas about cleaning such as wiping your plate off before putting it into the dishwasher.

Ok, Dish-Washer- by name, would suggest that it does that job for you- not that you have to do it and then it will do it again. It is like when my husband asks me to clean the house before the cleaning lady- again- would name alone not suggest that the cleaning would NOT be my job?

One would think- but isn't that just our funny English language...

Anywho- cannot clean- first problem

So, yesterday, trying hard to take my wife duties seriously, I got home and spent the next 2 hours preparing a wholesome, full meal so that my hubby would have something delicious to come home to. He went to play dodgeball. How can I even try to be the cook I could be when I have such bad scheduling issues?

I am doomed to a life of every-time-I-bother-cooking-my-family-wont-be-home. Like Polkaroo- "oh Shit hunny, I made dinner, and you missed it again"

Soon enough (next time), I am just going to pretend I cooked a feast and then shovel KD into my pie hole while watching Slice TV. It will be like "Oh, you are working late? Well shoot, I made this wicked rack of lamb- guess I will just eat it all"- I can mess up a plate or two to make it seem like there was a rack of lamb once on it- right? right? that seems totally viable right?

Finally, heaven help me that I should have to fill my days with nonsense. Aside from loving my job, it gives me some purpose, something to make sure my days are functional, meaningful, and full.
Here is what happens on my days off:
I wake up at 8am- as I promised myself the night before I would- then I think to myself, self, why are you up so damn early- go back to bed
then I wake up at around 11am and feel like shit for having overslept
Then I eat breakfast and continue to eat my morning away.
Then I run and errand or 2 or go to an appointment
Then I come home and kill 2 hours
Then it is dinnertime and I go back to "cooking" dinner

How on earth could one do that everyday?
And I don't even have friends to enjoy the days with since all of my girls are smart, self sufficient working women who would prefer nothing else than to stay that way.
I think it helps to be surrounded by people who view staying at home as akin to torture. Go getting women- hear us roar

roar

My final reason against being a housewife- I love sweatpants. Like, I seriously love them. I am almost 30 and will still wear them in public with no personal shame- not withstanding the shame felt by those with me when I wear them.

Can you imagine the gross human being I would turn into if I could wear sweats all the time?

It would be bad. real bad.

Want to be a housewife- fuck, all the power to you- that is what feminism and all that shit is about.
not.for.this.plantain.

holla

Public Service.

So in the aftermath of the wedding I vegged out a LOT- recuperation was more than needed. Of course, vegging out means watching the Food Network in abundance with my husband- clap clap clap for the Chopped marathon.

Chopped, you rule.

Seen it? 4 chefs battle through Apps, mains and dessert- one being kicked off at each stop until 1 remaining person is crowned chopped champion. They get this basket filled with 4 random ingredients and set off to create culinary masterpieces. holla. so wicked.

Anyways, brings me to my point- watching Chopped the other night and the introduce the chefs. Chef Smith, Chef other-generic name, Chef Jones, and Chef Dickinsheets.

Yes, you are reading it correctly, and I know because I rewinded twice to make sure I was reading it right. Dick-in-sheets. That was dude's name.

So, married- changed my name right away- I have a new last name- and this made me think, when I saw Dickinsheets, that being that I now know first hand how easy it is to change your name, why would he leave it as that?

You could be Dickins- and just loose the heets- trust, people would respond far better to a dignified English name than a totally sexual one.
And what? He doesn't know that his name makes people laugh?? He must.
And how can he justify having kids with that name? There is no good first name to justify that last name and the lifetime of giggles and torture you will incur with it.

Anyways, point. Dickinsheets- terrible last name- makes me think of cutting a hole in a sheet- or that dick in a box skit.

Save the future of all generations to marry into or gain the name. No one should have to go through life as a Dickinsheets- literally.

Thank you.

A wedding memo.

I have spent a grand total of 13 month planning my wedding- and I really was the planner. I chose everything and did so with a meticulous eye and uncompromising vision.

This past weekend I got to see the fruits of my labour.

So here is my debrief.

First, I have to say that my memory is a bit hazy as I felt like I was high on the best drugs available in all of the world all night long. It was like floating through a dream.

But this brings me to the second thing- all that bullshit I spent hours agonizing over didn't matter at all.
Sure, I was happy to have the details as I wanted them but I probably wouldn't have even noticed if the whole room was glittery and white instead of rustic and dark. Wouldn't have cared if the band played Sesame Street all night instead of my carefully orchestrated set list. Could have served late night anything instead of shwarma- none of it would have mattered.

The thing that makes a wedding is not the venue, nor the food, nor the flowers, nor the dress- it is the love- and not just the love between the bride and groom but the love that surrounds them in their journey.

This is something I of course knew, but didn't realize just how immensely important it would be until I saw and felt the night.

First of all, people gasped when I announced 10 bridesmaids. Best decision I made. 10 girls who would have ensured I was having the time of my life regardless of the fact that I was. 10 girls who I got to share all the nuances like a rehearsal dinner and showers with and who I now have an even stronger bond with as a result. 10 girls who got a deeper glimpse into not only my life and family but also the lives and family of my HUSBAND (what what). That was one of the best parts about the wedding- having all my friends there right beside me through all the different parts.

Second,We were so so so happy to watch our parents actually like each other and it made the wedding so amazing. Throughout the year we have all done so much stuff together that by wedding time, all our family and their friends were familiar with both sides- no strangers. My parents have spent time with his parents friends and vice versa- that is wicked.

Finally, marry the right person. I had ZERO fear, nervousness, or anxiety on that day. ZERO- and this is coming from the girl who didn't sleep for days before, riddles with a million thoughts and worries- they disappeared the day i woke up and knew I was marrying him. Everyone had told me this would happen- that I would feel so serene and peaceful once the day came but I never expected it to be so true. I guess when you are marrying the perfect person there is nothing to worry about. My wedding planner said that jitters always make her worry that there is something wrong with the bride and grooms relationship- I understand that now. It was the calmest I have ever felt and the easiest decision I have ever made and the most perfectly worry free moment I think I will ever get!

So, overall, though the details of the night are a blur, it was perfect.

I am so happy to be a married woman and can't wait for the next adventures to come. and future brides, relax, marry the right guy and I promise you will also have the perfect day.

One Fine Day

This past weekend was like a dream come true- spring weather in November! (much nicer than next weekends predicted rain- not that I am dying inside at the thought of it).

So after a mega morning sleep-in on Saturday and a delicious Boom breakfast with my man, we picked up some friends and headed out of town to enjoy the day.

Finding people who you like to hike with is a challenge unto itself. Like vacationing, you need to be able to really get along through the course of your adventure and while I love all my friends, I would take few on vaca with me, and maybe fewer to Georgetown Ontario to hike it up. (Did you like what I just did there? Hike it up... Making hiking cool since 1999).

BUT, to our fortune, we have been blessed (yes, blessed) to have 2 friends who we love to do everything with, (less watch pseudo porn all together on the couch at the end of a long night- that happened. It was as awkward as it sounds).

The 4 of us have hit up a lot of paths together in our time..... geez is there any way for me to write this without sounding SO lame?

Anyways, they are moving to a new country (fine, it is only the US, but it feels far and scary) so we decided to take hem to our special spot that I discovered a few years back on the Bruce Trails.

Tucked away off a long long road and in a baseball diamond is a path that leads to a good hour trail that passes amazing rocks and caves as well as remnants from when the area was a Mill so it is basically amazing.
It was like Choose Your Own Adventure- but in rocks....
and our adventure was epic.

So, what is a requirement about your hiking friends? like I was saying before, is that they be good shit. My fiance and I once travelled with friends who we LOVED. I don't think we ever used the word LOVE about them again after said trip. Nothing went wrong but it also wasn't right and subsequently, I think we secretly hated them both.

So the first thing I need in a hike mate is good conversation, and then- just to confuse you, I need someone who knows when to shut the fuck up and enjoy nature. You must also have a plethora of random facts about flora and fauna, specifically Canadian.
To much to ask? You wouldn't believe. But our adventure duo partners in crime are the fucking bomb. I would seriously go for months of travel with these 2. So low maintenance and lots of environmental knowledge to share. (Don't leave us).

After spelunking around the caves (we totes didn't speluk, I just like that word) we headed home to keep the good times rolling ( I have given up trying to sound cool here ok?).

Did you know that if you go to the Market late in the day they just give you shit for free?
Like bones. Animal bones. For soups. And sword-fights.
and then all the little grocery store people offer you fruit and veg for a dollar- AND, you can haggle the seafood people. Pretty sure we bought enough seafood to feed 10 and about 25 too many octopus tentacles. 20 bucks, all in.
We made an amazing seafood bouillabaisse, stuffed our faces with cured meats.

Moral of the story- make friends you can hike with.
Amen.

Passport to Prana

Oh hi. Happy Friday everyone.

I want to begin this post by reminding you that I am still about 600 plus views away from my 3000 goal by end of next week. Time is ticking people.

Anywho. I have had a really crap few days. Having some yucky things happen to me coupled with the fact that I am not drinking and or eating carbs is making me an insane person. To me, the only remedy to sadness is pasta. Different shapes for different sadnesses.

I'm kidding- I don't eat my feelings (except sometimes when I do) but I am just moody to begin with, and have been going through dramz.

My point is that today, despite complaining about money endlessly, I took myself on a feel better shopping trip. Guess what? I feel much better. A blazer, tank and blouse was all it took to wipe the scowl off my face. A pair of shoes and I would have been humping lamp posts.

It also doesn't hurt that the weekend is here!
What are you doing all weekend?

Holla

Holla bitches. Read this blog.

So, I plan to change my name when I get married. I totally hate hyphenation and I am happy to honor the old school tradition of taking my man's name. Doesn't bother me in the slightest and I have no strong feministic feelings or notions about being a modern woman and practicing less than modern rituals.

So why am I sharing my ambivalence with you all today?
Here goes. I have about a week or so left as who I am now- this name I have carried for almost 30 years and while Jane Plantain will always remain the same, the girl behind it won't.

And so what? You are saying again....

So, before I become the brand new-named me I want to have 3000 reads on this blog. Holla bitches. Read this blog.

A while ago I illustrated some points about why reading my blog would be good for you to do. Now, here are some more reasons why you should, subscribe, read, follow, and comment.

In no particular order:

1. My wedding is in a short while and that means that oh-so soon I will have so much more free time to actually have a life. Having a life= more stories to share with you that do not involve anything wedding related (unless it's someone else's hilarious story). You want to read my random thoughts, I know you do.

2. You deserve a break. What do you do for a living dear reader? Are you the CEO of a major company? Are you homeless and reading this from the public library? I don't discriminate. I think you all deserve a good break in your day. I can be that break you take. Think about that.

3. If you promise to read my blog, I will put up more pictures. Pictures of funny things that will make you smile.

4. I won't bash that awful super subway anymore.

5. Until I hit this 3000 number I will harass you endlessly. Ever been harassed by a tropical fruit? It ain't pretty

Are these not reasons enough???

3000 is a wicked number and I would totally do this for you if you asked*

*actual likelihood of me doing this for you is minimal.

Thank you for your time, 3000 by end of next week- Let's make this happen

Say yes to your dress

So in the now days leading to my upcoming wedding I have heard some real sweet pearls of wisdom.... perhaps from people who have totally forgotten their experience getting married.

My favorite so far is "enjoy this last little bit of unwedded bliss, it is the funnest time"

Are you a fucking sadist or what?

If by funnest you mean most incredibly stressful-don't have time for this shit-too much to do-I still have a full time job that really is way more important. Then yes- barrels of fun.

Now, I watch Say Yes to the Dress and all that crap and I know how annoying a self- righteous bride can be- and most are, right? SO self absorbed, everything is hard, poor me... all that shiat- finding a dress= not hard, booking a venue= not hard. Managing the stress levels of your entire family while trying to get your notes ready for your 9am meeting at the office knowing that after a late day of work you must go home and reorganize seating charts because someone is unhappy that Aunt Mildred isn't sitting front and center by the dance floor where she will likely look away from the whole night=not hard, but SO SO fucking annoying.

Ok, ok, boo fucking hoo to my stupid problems- a girl just needs to vent sometimes ok?
Thanks for that folks.

Ok, to the nitty gritty- and semi on-topic, I bring you back to bridal shows.
I watch them like they are crack. I watched them way before getting engaged so you can only imagine how my love has grown since.

I think I get off a bit on watching these self important women (not unlike myself in the above blurb) women go insane about their wedding dresses- and the ones that throw tantrums. O.M.G. I LIVE for that shit.

I saw one the other night where the woman had a full out temper tantrum because she had ginormous boobs and wanted the skimpiest dresses available and was then fully shocked that these dresses couldn't hold her boobs.

Wedding gowns are pretty dresses ladies, not miracle workers.

A long time ago I used to design custom wedding gowns- a career I recommend if you long to lose your mind in poufs of Shantang silk and Swarovski Crystals. Just saying. Anywho, I actually was fortunate enough that most of my brides were lovely- like, really lovely people. Pleasures to work with and gracious beyond belief. However, there is always one rotten raspberry in every basket (if you buy them at Sobeys at least).

So this bride was fat. She was also hella ugly but obviously someone wanted to marry her so her physical misfortune was not dire- just pretty ug-o. Anyways, she was as I mentioned, a large large large girl and since she could not find a dress in her size she wanted a custom dress. Amazing- that was exaclty why I wanted to make gowns- to make all brides feel beautiful regardless of their size and shape- and this bride would have been beautiful- except that she was a horraneouos bitch.

Anyways- we designed this dress that was really pretty, made it, fit it, it was so pretty and at the end she informed me that it made her look fat and she didn't want to pay for it.

uh.uh.

You don't mess with my money. It occurred to me then, as it does when I see women like the boob monster that many women have this irrational notion that the dress makes the girl- not so ladies, you make the dress. You don't look fat in the dress, I yearned to inform this bitch, you are fat. And the truth is if she had felt skinny, she would have instantly looked 20 pounds lighter.

So, as you know, I long have retired my sewing machine- this woman being the real catalyst to my distaste for working with psycho brides- and now I just laugh at them on TV/am one.

Isn't it ironic? Doncha think? (totally not ironic- but def funny)

And so, if I may impart some words of wisdom that are actually relevant to the bride to be- know yourself. Take inventory in what you have and what you don't. We are all really beautiful in our own ways and if you can focus on the beauty, no one, including you will ever notice the flaws....

and elope. Seriously.

Manic Monday

Oh Hi,

Sorry for my absence in your reading lives but I have been taken with this really annoying and really overbearing cold, or flu, or flold, or virus, or infection...who knows really? Needless to say, I am sick- and moreover, sick of being sick.

Being sick does many things to me, the least of which is that it turns me into a little baby. I am quite possibly the whiniest, sniffliest sick person to ever grace our germ rideen planet. A normal person might take a pill for a cold like this and go about their days normally, I wince my way through and end with a bedtime of 7.

Did going to bed 4 hours early help me in this case? Not at all folks, not.at.all.
Being sick also makes me acutely aware of anyone who is around me within a 40000 mile radius who is capable of making me more sick.

This morning, aboard the rocket, I found myself unable to hear anything (except the ridiculously loud Persian women who seemed to only be able to converse by screaming at each other despite sitting right next to each other) except coughing. If you coughed from 8 cars over, I heard you and cringed each time.
I imagine your tiny germ molecules making their ways into my mouth and reinfecting me.
I also hate the movie Outbreak- are you surprised.

Anyways, thanks for letting me vent that out- more non sick related nonsense to follow- soon...