London Lament

A few weeks before my scheduled trip to London, an unexpected parcel arrived in the mail; in it, I found gifts from a person I'd never met. At the time, I was distraught at missing out on all the fun everyone seemed to be having, so you can imagine the utter shock I felt, opening the box to discover this:

Holding something this tangible, made the anticipation so very real to me, I hardly wanted to speak about my trip in case speaking of it, somehow caused it to be taken away.

I have been back in Montreal for nearly two weeks and have started to write this more times than I care to count. Truthfully, I started to write it that Friday night after the play, but found the experience too emotional, too personal.

My week in London, was, for lack of a better word, magic. It may sound cliché, in fact, I know it sounds cliché, but that’s how it felt.

I had the opportunity to meet wonderful people, see beautiful sites and be a small part of something I’d dreamt of for nearly half a year. In a nutshell, that’s the problem. Putting so much emphasis on something, and using it as a touchstone, is a dangerous game.

Truthfully, I’m not going to bother with the intimate details of the trip, for they are mine, and I’m not going to name drop to justify my place in the fandom. I’m not even going to review the play. I was blessed to be able to see it on two occasions, and both performances were refreshingly different and deeply captivating.

Moments sparkled. I felt peace for the first time in years. I told myself the trip was a gift to myself, but it was oh so much more than that. Even now, I find myself unable to fully articulate what I want to say. How much I want to say thank you. I don’t consider myself an emotional person, but I find myself fumbling to find the words I need to express the myriad of feelings in my heart.

"Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.”~ Epicurus

Why Tom Hiddleston Did Not Make Me Shave My Head

Today I shaved my head. Or, I suppose more accurately a lovely stylist from a local salon did. Still, you get the gist of it.

I've wanted to participate in my local radio station's 'Shave to Save' for Breast Cancer research for years, but I was always too scared, and my workplace was always too corporate.
This year, though, I have a new job and new personal reasons. Now, this is not going to turn into one of those 'My -insert close relative/friend here- has cancer and I did it for/him her' pieces; all true, so no offence to anyone who may be offended. Cancer sucks and I see no real value in repeating it. Though...Cancer Sucks.

I did it because I wanted to. After speaking with my CEO and agreeing that the campaign in no way impeded the messaging of www.TheFashionHero.com it was decided that I could participate and the company would back me.  It was a great feeling, being supported by a company, and really, when I think about it, I don't think I've ever felt that way before.

Sometimes I think the Big Green made a game out of seeing how many times they could say no. Memorial plaque to my friend who died at 48 on their property? Denied; too upsetting for existing employees. Mitochondrial Disease Fund raising? Denied; they'd never heard of it, it could have been a scam. Below the Line? Denied; UNICEF is a corrupt organisation. [Hello Pot, meet Kettle]

So as an office we fund-raised, and as an office we took part in the shave; right down to the girl who decided to do my makeup at the last minute. It was a great feeling...the inner core of www.TheFashionHero.com working together for a common goal.

So, over donuts and coffee and jokes about the hardness of my head, we did it. As much as I'd like to spin this into yet another of my 'Tom Hiddleston makes me want to be a better me' pieces, I can't, because it simply isn't true. Tom Hiddleston did not make me shave my head.

Loki did.

Mommy Moments and Letters to Loki

Today I had one of those Mommy!Moments.

Things have been utterly wretchedly crazy at work the past few weeks and I admit I've been kinda snarky on the home front. I always swore I'd never let work get in the way of me enjoying time with my Littles, but at the end of the day, I admit that their daycare teachers see them more than I do. It breaks my heart, but that's the way it is, and unless I win the lottery [which would mean I'd have to play the lottery], they have to stay in daycare. I know they love their teachers, but I always worry I'm missing out on key moments in their lives.

At any rate, today I arrived late to pick up Goose [which by proxy meant I was going to be late to pick up Roux as well] so I came flying into the school, when the director asked to speak with me. Heart sinking, I thought I was up for another lecture about a) My lateness, b) Goose acting out, or c) Both.

My Goose is a special boy, and I try to avoid labels when talking about him or writing about him, because I want people to get to know him, for him, and not pity him because of some label concocted by another [myself included]. But I digress...

When we got into her office she pulled out what I recognised as Goose's big notepad; he struggles a lot with printing so he likes to practise on this, where he can write as big as he likes. I immediately thought I was in for a repeat of last year's notepad incident which involved older boys and four letter words, but instead she opened it and handed it to me.

Here is what it was:

 In Case you don't speak Goose I'll translate:

Dear My Mum's Favorite Actor Loki,
Please come to her birthday party.
She will be very happy and buy me toys. And make you cake. Love, Goose.
*Please note the lovely illustrations where Loki is twice the size of Thor*

Turns out she was concerned that I had let him watch Thor and The Avengers; I haven't, but he doesn't live under a rock...and I admit I buy early reader Avengers books to try to tempt his reading. I assured her that I would not be inviting any Frost Giants to my birthday in May, tempting though it may be.

I may be the mother of one of the sweetest Gooses in the history of Geese. My beautiful boy.

Beaver Unplugged

Okay, so tonight I had my first true troll experience on Twitter. Now, I've been involved in online fangirling for nearly fourteen years now [yes, I'm THAT old ;)]...ever since Buffy came along, so I'm no stranger to trolls. When I was younger it always seemed like some extra excitement to shake up our message boards.

But now that I'm older, and not necessarily more mature, I found the experience rather upsetting. Not in a you-hurt-my-feelings kinda way...just sort of, really, REALLY? Did you really just send me not one, but FOUR DMs?

Tiny bit 'o personal information; I work in a high security environment...nothing terribly interesting, but still security is involved. I'm also the Social Media and Communications Champion so I'm in charge of the company's Twitter etc. among other things. What this means is, as an individual, I'm not supposed to be on Facebook, Twitter...or Blogger [oops].

After much back and forth with the company, I got permission to use Facebook, provided I didn't post or join inappropriate things/groups.  When I wanted to join the Hiddlestoners group I had to draft a memo...yes, an actually memo, outlining why I wanted to join the group. Which, I'm positive my VP didn't actually read, because the first response came back, 'Rejected. Relates to Drug/Alcohol'.

Ah, bureaucracy at its finest! 

Now, I make no secret of the fact that I joined Twitter [without my company's permission] largely because I found the Hiddlestoners  group to be such a glorious bunch of people. They were the first people I spoke with on Twitter, and everything has always been great. I love participating in my own little way, even though I don't really have much to say.

I'm very aware my handle isn't pleasing to some, but it's close to my heart as it was a nickname given to me by a coworker who died two years ago...

I can honestly say in all my years, through various fandoms, I have never come across a more diverse, creative, giving group of people than them. I owe then alot. I was going through a really rough patch in my life, and they made me smile every day...even if I was just lurking in the corner :)

Wow. This is getting long.

At any rate, tonight, who should happen to tweet just as I logged in? Dear Mr Hiddleston.  Now, this never happens...I can't post from work and I don't have a phone, so I have to make due with reading about it after the fact. But tonight I was determined to post! In my eagerness {I am a beaver afterall} my tweet made absolutely no grammatical sense...I was so embarrassed, but my pride kept me from deleting it.
I moved on, made dinner for the kids, started a load of laundry...then the first DM arrived. It detailed my insulting behaviour and advised me to apologise immediately. Er, okay. But then the second arrived, more insulting, more demanding...plus two more which I wouldn't have wanted my kids to read.

I didn't realise until that moment how ferociously possessive some fans are. I didn't realise the sheer nastiness people were capable of venting to complete strangers. I won't name the person in question, but I've heard of her before.  I've never had to block a fellow fan, and the Mom in me hated doing it.

A great big thank you to everyone who wrote me afterwards; I never really thought anybody knew I was there. Thank you. It means alot.

The soul does not surrender to despair without having exhausted all illusions

"L'âme ne se rend pas au désespoir sans avoir épuisé toutes les illusions." ~Victor Hugo

"The soul does not surrender to despair without having exhausted all illusions."

I haven't read 'Les Miserables' since grade nine, but over the past two weeks found myself pulling out my tattered old copy and revisiting it. I was an angry young person and it suited my mood at the time; nobody made me read it, and I learnt to read in French before English so it only made sense that I would read it in its original form [that, and I was a terrifically pretentious Goth girl].

Something about Tom Hiddleston's visit to Guinea really touched a nerve, as I'm sure it did with alot of people following his blog posts. I've spent the better part of two years, though only five months on this blog, complaining and wailing to anyone who would listen how hard my life had become. I did it over, and over again, like some kind of bad country song...first we lost the job, than the car, than the house...

But I never really stopped to think about anything other than what was happening in my little corner of the world; I never realised how selfish I was being. Now, this isn't about to turn into a 'He changed my world' type post, but something has changed and I'm not sure if I can quite put my finger on it. I have come to the realisation that I'm not putting enough good into the world; I want to give more.  I've spent the better part of ten years working at the Big Green making mounds of money for one man. My unit alone pulled in nearly half a billion dollars last year. Half a Billion Dollars...for one man. When I think of all the things that money could be doing I feel ashamed. I want my time and energy to matter, to mean something. Something other than a bottom line in somebody's ledger.

So I'm going to dig deep and see if I can make some changes. So I'll end with the words of another great man: " If you want to make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and then make that change". ~Michael Jackson

Hats off Hiddleston Fans

I can’t not say it, even if I come off sounding terribly Mom-ish. I’m so very, very proud of the Tom Hiddleston fandom right now. Tom’s upcoming work with UNICEF is just plain glorious, and the fan response trumps it a million times over.

Now, I’ve been involved with various fandoms for an awfully long time, but this is the first time I’ve seen fans actually working together to create, share and give to others without a thought for their own personal gain. A fandom where we’re not all trying to trample each other to be first or prove who the ‘better’ fan is.
I love, love, love that I can stand up a little straighter when a coworker says ‘What good has that actor you like so much actually done?’

Hats off to Tom and his Fans

Insert Year End Summary Here

This is supposed to be where my year end summary would go, and if I'd had a remarkable enough year to warrant such a thing I would gladly post it. This year was, in many ways an exercise in futility, in lows and lower lows [yes, I'm being melodramatic] in loss and betrayal...looks like it has all the makings of a romance novel or after school special.

To be fair good things did happen this year: the Wog publishing his book, Goose starting grade one and Roo finishing her potty training [okay, that one was for me] and Hiddleston did give us the brilliant Henry IV and V this summer [also for me].

But we did have to [try] sell our house, lose all our savings and scale back so much that we couldn't function without help from our families, and the Wog did lose out on three truly brilliant jobs that would have turned everything around. Topping the year off with a big ol' blah, we still haven't heard from the consolidation folks so it seems we're just where we started.

The holidays have been lack luster at best, with Goose spending Christmas Eve hunched over the toilet and Roo hacking like a two pack a day smoker...good times all around.

I'm trying to stay positive as we move into the new year; I keep thinking it has to get better because it can't get any worse. People say that to us a lot; 'It will get better'...is that what people say when they don't know what else to say?  Do they really mean, 'I'm glad it's you and not us'? Not that I blame them, some days I wouldn't want to be us either.

Happy New Year to anyone who took the time to read this and any of my other [never-ending] rants. All the best to you and yours this holiday season.

The Road Goes Ever On and On...

Well surprise, surprise...the tidal wave of lack I was expecting hit, and yet here I am [and here you are].
Perhaps it will just be my lot in life to keep keeping on [thank you NKOTB] no matter what, perhaps because I've never taken loosing well, and perhaps because I firmly believe, that nobody can ever, EVER, successfully tell me what to do.

I dusted myself [or wrung out my clothes if we're keeping the tidal wave metaphor going], got up and applied for a consolidated loan...it felt awful, laying all our debts out there for strangers to pour over, but the Wog and I did it and I'm terribly proud of him. We're still waiting to hear from the money lending folks, but maybe, just maybe the Lack will remove its claws from us and we'll be able to move forward. Maybe.
It's terrifically hard to keep hoping, pining for something I don't know will happen. Bullheadedness I've got in spades, but I've never done well with uncertainty. The unknown and uncontrolled terrify me...

So I focus on the trivial, the mundane...and yes, I often focus on Hiddleston [and no, he is most certainly not being lumped in with the trivial or mundane]. But he is achingly lovely and somehow focusing on him alleviates the pressure I can feel bubbling up inside me. I can't explain it, and I won't. He's lovely.

Replace Klonopin with Beer and Get...This

I'm beginning to realise that I should have subtitled this blog, 'I'm ranting again, just wait, I'll stop shortly' because, let's face it, that seems to be what I do. If this were a proper Mommy blog it would be full of sunshine and kittens and breastfeeding, and if I were younger it would include a myriad of sexual innuendo and mildly profane remarks about the Divine Mr Hiddleston and anyone else of note.
But this poor blog is neither of those things...that's why I named it what I did. It's everything and nothing and all over the place, with no rhyme or reason. Just like me. And I loves it, Precious.

This is where I should get all philosophical and talk about what the Lack has taught me about the true meaning of life. This is where I should submit myself to a public flogging because I once bought my husband a one hundred and eighty dollar t-shirt. I know I should, but I can't and won't. The Lack sucks. I'm sure it doesn't just suck for me, it sucks for alot of people. But this is my blog and not the world stage.

I love my life. I love books and plays, movies and my kids [in no particular order]. I love beer and sex and looking at pictures of Mr Hiddleston like some starry-eyed fifteen year old. What I don't like is loosing my house, my car and everything that sews the fabric of my life together. I don't like where I am right now. I hate it.
Tomorrow is the day the Lack will become a tidal wave and drown me, us. I've ducked and weaved and wheeled and dealed...I've even borrowed and stolen. But as of tomorrow none of it will matter...because of the way the dates fall my beautiful monstrosity of pick up sticks will crash and be washed away.

Yes, the melodrama is flowing...I've replace the klonopin with beer for the evening...feel free to disregard.

It's Roux' birthday in less than two weeks; she'll be three and it's all she can talk about. I feel like the worst Momma in the world because I know I won't be able to live up to the party she has planned in her head. Yes, before you point out that she's only three I will clarify: I don't even have the money to invite the family over for cake and chips...that's how badly the Lack has become. I can't find money to buy gas or groceries, how on earth can I find it for balloons?  Yes, I'm a thrifty person, so yes she has gifts [mostly second hand, but cute and clean] I started buying them months ago [hey, Christmas is only a few weeks away].  But still...it hurts, you know?

It hurts a lot.

A St Crispin's Day A Rant in Three parts

So begins a St Crispin's rant in three parts.

First of all, the Lack continues to rear it's very ugly head. The amount of self loathing I feel about even talking about it...well, I loath in a variety of mediums...alot. Birthdays for classmates have become an issue; how many birthday parties does Goose have to go to? I swear he has one every other weekend...
His school has an 'All or None' invitation policy; heaven forbid a child know what it feels like not to be invited somewhere! They might learn that life isn't fair or something...
At any rate, having to buy gifts nonstop for other kids isn't really my cup of tea, but I hate the idea of Goose being the kid that brings the less than stellar gift...and then I hate myself on all sides. I hate the other moms, then hate myself for not being the other moms.
Secondly, I need to address that dratted Hiddleston and his antics, which are beginning to inter fear with my day to day life. That man is far too lovely for his own good...I just like to watch him...again and again.
What becomes of fangirls as we age?  Are we supposed to retire?  Or go underground? Am I now a fanwoman? Now, I'm not terrifically old, but given how young most fangirls are I feel positively ancient...and rather creepy.  I still remember my glory days of James Marsters and Michael Rosenbaum  [some of you may have to look them up...please do. They were-and still are-lovely].  
But yes, Hiddleston...too cute for his [and my] own good.  No man should ever be able to sneeze like that and still be sensual; it must be criminal.

Today I happened to overhear several of the uppers at Big Green discussing the salaries of the incoming newbies. Image my surprise to discover that their salaries match mine. Interesting considering I've slogged away in this place for nearly nine years...four of which I haven't even been granted the standard 'cost of living' quasi increase companies give you to keep you quiet.
Well, I'm not sure if I can stay quiet [like I ever could]. I have an honors degree from one of the best universities in the country, I arrive early and stay late, I take on other jobs outside my comfort and training, I fill gaps when people leave, I put up with more shit in a week than most do in a lifetime.
All for, [wait for it]
36 400 a year.  Before taxes. 
Now, please realise this isn't intended to be one those I'm edumecated/hardworking/rescuekittens type rant, but rather a flailing of hands. Eat me, Big Green. Eat me.

Is it Thursday? Also, Porn

I don't know where time is going, but it must be going somewhere because it seems to be hiding from me. I feel like I've barely gotten out of bed and arrived at the Big Green before its lunchtime and I'm frantically trying to do errands, then suddenly its dark and I'm trying to ensure my kids are actually clean and fed before I put them to bed.
Then I read 'Avengers' porn for an hour or so before bed...okay, sometimes I branch out and read 'Supernatural' porn too.  And Hiddleston. Don't get me started on Hiddleston.
The Wog has gotten himself a job at an ultra high end steak house where people in sweatsuits and gold chains pay extra for crowding and toppling tables. This makes the lack feel like it's waiting, lurking in the corner, about to pounce and make its presence known. The house is still for sale, and the bills are still unpaid. So I read porn. Porn is simple, safe and easy. I feel like after the last two years I've earned the right for easy.
Logically I know that nothing is really easy, or simple. I know this the way I've known since babyhood that life isn't fair. But the power of self delusion is good enough for me. I'm a realist, but reality has never really suited me. Give me elves, vampires and demi-gods anyday.  Pinky and the Brain can keep their world; I've got my own.

Whines and Worries

Well, we're four days post-surgery for Roux and I think she's doing great. I know in the grand scheme of things tubes and adenoids aren't a big deal, but they were a big worry for me. That's sorta my thing...or one of my many things; I worry, alot. I worry about things that I'm sure most people don't even spare a passing glance to. From the moment my eyes open from my klonopin inspired slumber I worry through my day.
Thanks be to my years of teen aged therapy so I function perfectly well to the casual [or even not so casual] observer, but inside my mind moves in ways I can't even begin to explain. My worries range from the mundane, 'is summer over?' to the chronic 'will my kids/me/myhusband get gastro?' to the things that probably should be worried about, 'will we sell the house before the bill collectors knock down our doors and take all we have?'. I still wait for the wonderful. Oh how I wait, and worry.
Is it any wonder that I try to will my spare time with things as far from my actual life as possible?
I read more fanfic than any human should, and still crave more...so I delve deeper, darker, naughtier, and branch into things I never would have considered five years ago.And for the record, there's pretty much nothing I wouldn't have considered five years ago...I consider my tastes t run towards vanilla but have been told my self assessment is flawed. Perhaps vanilla with nuts, and gumdrops, and bourbon sauce...
I'm currently obsessed with fandoms that I never even glanced at before, both Panda and otherwise, and I love/need/crave my Panda world...
And don't even get me started on that dratted Hiddleston.