Raised Eyebrow

So I was feeling a little weighty and bloated and cranky this week. And what better way to improve a warped self-imagine and 'tude than a little salon therapy? One hair cut, lash and brow tint and brow wax later I was starting to feel like myself again. Until...

My esthetician turned to me and said, "I've never done this before in my whole career" followed by a l-o-n-g pause. I didn't know what was going to happen next. For some reason I thought she was going to put the moves on me or something. Instead she confessed that one third of my left eyebrow was inadvertently waxed off.

Part of me was relieved. Part of me was horrified. All of me couldn't stop laughing. I mean what could I do? It's not like she MEANT to make me look like a Romulan.

I guess technically I'm 10 eyebrow hairs lighter now...so yay me.

Being Erika

I do not make New Year's resolutions. Period. Unless of course you count not making a New Year's resolution as a New Year's resolution itself. But you're not counting, right?

In the words of Undercover Mother, 2008 was a "banner year."

Example #1: I got engaged! Again. But this engagement was different. Is different. Paul's proposal was unexpected and romantic. Sure, he proposed on New Year's Eve (which was his plan for popping the question to another paramour before they derailed at Splitsville). But still, it was sweet when he said he wanted to start the New Year off right by making me his wife. As opposed to my now ex-husband, who popped the question (when we got back together after I left him to date his best friend) by saying, "If I take you back, it's not as my girlfriend. It's as my wife." Ah...isn't it romantic? And somewhere a banjo plays.

Example #2: I got a new job! Sure, it's completely sucking out my soul. But it's new! And it enabled me to set up shop in Paul's city. Which brings me to...

Example #3: Paul and I bought a house! After lots and lots of househunting we're finally livin' in sin. No thanks to my credit rating. If it were up to my bank we'd be in a cardboard box, or a slightly more upscale dumpster. But with Paul's financial finesse...the sky's* the limit.

Example #4: I no longer cook! No more apron-wearing for this chicka. Dreams really can come true. Which brings me to...

Example #5: I've gained 40 pounds! Yes folks, you read right. 4-0 as in forty. Apparently it's not entirely impossible to gain this much in a year (like, if you're pregnant and carrying around the weight of an extra human being growing inside you). And apparently, Paul is also a really really good cook.

So we decided to make a life-style change (which is soooo different than making a resolution *wink wink*) and drop some poundage. And by poundage, I mean I'm dropping all 40 pounds. We bought a fancy scale and everything. I've never even owned a scale in my life (In retrospect, this probably didn't do anything to help me know how much weight I was gaining).

The weird part is, when I look at myself, I still see me. Regular me. And not the 40-pound plus me. But the numbers don't lie. No matter how much I try to make myself lighter at weigh-in time.

Not surprisingly, Paul has also packed on the pounds. He's so supportive that way. So I'm making a point to be supportive back. When Paul weighed himself, he turned to me and said, "I don't understand, how could I have gained [censored] pounds. So I said, "Are you kidding me? You ate like 2 litres of ice cream this week alone." See? Supportive. That's me.

I was worried about falling off the eating/exercise band wagon within the first few days. Paul's parents were visiting on the weekend. They were checking out our new fancy scale (which we keep in our bedroom because nothing says sexy like a scale) and Paul sat down on our bed...then it broke. There's nothing like breaking a bed to motivate you. Trust me.

Paul's mom suggested we not do anything "too athletic" until we got a new bed. So I suggested we go bed shopping ASAP. And we did. We picked out something nice and sturdy. After all, we plan on putting it through it's paces. You know, in the name of weight-loss. *cough cough*

*Sky = 1/4 of a million dollars

The Blogs They Are A-Changin'

I've made a few minor blog changes that kick ass. Mainly, I've added the "In The Neighbourhood" feature under the "Classic Rehead-Next-Door" best-post picks. Now you can follow me and get the latest R-N-D news...without even looking through my garbage!

So come on, follow me. Please. I don't want to be a follow-less icon.

Today's Post Is Brought To You By the Letter D (as in Detox)

Today is my last vacation day before I head back to work. A real enjoy-your-last-day-of-freedom kind of day. This must be how one feels before being carted off to the clink or forced to watch a Surreal Life marathon.

Unfortunately I've spent almost half of it asleep. My sleeping beauty tribute was [partly] due to watching a scary movie before bed and then needing to have all of the lights on in the house. "Bob, we can't hack her up into bits, look, she's got all the lights on."

I was half tempted to sneak into the office and sort through the piles of stuff on my desk so I could arrive tomorrow morning feeling...not so overwhelmed. Fortunately the non-tempted half of me won out.

Instead, I'm going to go jogging in the dead heat. I've been eating quite a few bagels over the holidays. Bagels are my weakness (second only to cheesecake and men in uniform). And I've got the carbo-loading ass to prove it.

Normally I wouldn't bat a tinted eyelash but I have a potential date on the horizon. Perhaps I'll need more than a jog. Something more "full-scale".

Like detox (it's not just for celebrities anymore)! I knew I bought "The Detox Book" for a reason [other than to look cool on my bookshelf]. I was so excited that I began preparing at once: downing coffee, noshing on sour cream and onion chips, and salivating at the thought of the Hoof Prints ice cream in my freezer.

Leafing through the book, I decided what's more "full scale" than the ominous sounding "Seven-Day Detox". But wait a minute...there's a section on "how to prepare" two days before. Oops. So stockpiling all your naughty food indiscretions is not how you prepare for a detox. No coffee or alcohol? Shit arse.

Looks like I'll need to make a trip to the grocery store if I'm to cook up a delicious pot of "Seaweed Broth with Lemon and Walnut Noodles".

TV Therapy

Ok. Brace yourself. I'm about about to reveal something you will not believe. Something so incomprehensible, you will be dumbfounded. Are you ready...

I have never seen an episode of "Sex In The City." Yes, that's what happens when you don't have cable folks. You miss out.

I told several people this little tidbit over the last week and was met with several astonished looks generally followed by "What?" or "You haven't?" and even one "Oh my god you could BE on that show!"

Undercover Mother's daughter Bridget owns Season 6 (Part 1) and offered it to me to check out.

I watched all 12 episodes in one sitting. It was like spending a year in therapy without it costing me thousands of dollars or without me sleeping with my therapist. I learned so much. And not just about teabagging. Although that was an ear-opener. I was definintely deficient on my sexlinguistics. Well not any more!

I feel like a new woman. Completely re-energized my dating mojo. Seriously. It feels like I've had a semi-religious experience. Minus the virginity and cruxifiction.

Now I'm addicted. I must have more Sex In The City. More more more!

Karma's a Bitch

Dating is like a box of chocolates, you never know what kind of a guy you'll end up with, or what's in his juicy center unless you take a bite.* [See what happens when I drink more than two cups of coffee in the morning, I get all philosophical and shit].

Whether you enjoy every second devouring that piece of er...chocolate, or spit it out because it's not caramel (your favorite) affects the next bite of the next piece of chocolate.

Before you toss it in the trash you owe the truth to that little (or big) piece of not-the-flavour-you-had-in-mind chocolate. Afterall, chocolate have feelings too. [Just go with it ok].

I do try to tell the truth (in a not-so-harsh way) really I do. I have hurt many a man's feeling over my dating career. And they mine. But sometimes, occasionally, I chicken out. And you know what, it gives me the worst feeling. I like to call that feeling dating karma.

I know that my actions or in-actions/non-truths/non-talking will come back to bite me in the ass. And unfortunately, not in the literal sense. But sometimes I can't help myself.

My latest victim was Ben. He emailed me late Monday afternoon following his 5 days away sans-communicado. His email was light and airy, asked about my weekend and whether I was playing softball that night. Ben made no mention of why he didn't call. And no apology for not calling. He was testing the waters.

I didn't even bother to reply, I just let the email sit in my inbox. Not because I was mad. But because I felt that we both wasting each other's time. He had the looks, the witty, but had zero passion for life. I like someone who can think outside of the box. Clearly all Ben had on his mind was the *ahem* box.

What could I say without sounding like an asshole? "Dear Ben, I'm just not that into you. PS: I took the liberty of signing you up for a "how to please a woman in 3 easy steps" class."

I was hoping Ben would call me that night when I didn't reply and I could at least tell him over the phone. But he didn't. He willingly accepted my silence. True, I could should have called him. But I didn't. And now, I've got some bad dating karma coming my way.

[* The Redhead-Next-Door does not recommend biting metaphorical chocolate].

Ah-ha!

The Great Canadian Coffee. The name says it all eh? This brand of coffee has caused men to fall hopelessly in love with me [ok, 80% is probably due to my top notch coffee preparation skills and non/appropriate coffee brewing attire].

So I'm not surprised this coffee could also inspire multiple "ah-ha" moments on the inner workings (or un-workings) of one's self. That self being me. Since this is my blog.

One of my many obsessions has centered around getting a new car. If you recall, I have been obsessing about cars since April. I am no closer to making a decision now than I was four months ago. And it's not because I lack decisiveness. I already have the make/model/color/options picked out, and a price quoted for my trade-in. It's about commitment. Or in my case, lack thereof.

I will have this car for 5 years. It's a big step for me. One that increases my rate of breathing and heart rate. With the exception of my son, I have not had anything for 5 years. Not a job, not an apartment, not a relationship, not a marriage. In fact, I have not had anything longer than 3 years. Except a few choice pieces of furniture. I like furniture. It is very stable.

I joke that it's because I get bored easily. Which I do. But I suspect it has more to do with the fact that I am a raging commitment-phob! And like the Littlest Hobo, [singing] maybe tomorrow I'll want to settle down, until tomorrow I'll just keep moving on.

It's all starting to fit together. This is why I don't own my home. Stick with one hair color. Or have a gym membership. Ok, maybe not so much why I don't have a gym membership.

Last night I signed up for the Blockbuster Reward's program - it was a big step for me! You never know when you might want to move to another continent...

Whether it was the coffee or all these dating books I'm reading, I'm beginning to see things in a different way. And, the best place to start is admitting you have a problem. "My name is Autumn and I'm a committment-phob." Oops. I mean, "My name is Erika yadda yadda yadda."

Use Your Library Voice

In order to keep busy for the summer (i.e. not focus on boys) I've requested about 20 books at the library - all focused on dating and relationships.

Yesterday I picked up "How To Set His Thighs On Fire: 86 red-hot lessons on love, life and men (especially sex)" and "DSI: Date Scene Investigation - the diagnostic manual of dating disorders".

When I stepped up to the counter, I was somewhat embarrassed about my book choices. It didn't help that there was a cute guy standing within ear shot. I loudly stated the books were "research" for an article I'm working on. The librarian gave me the "Sure dear, poor thing" look.

My quest for dating enlightenment, was not helped by this article published (on the front page no less) of today's newspaper.