Alberta Finds Self Respect

Dear Big Oil Companies,

Well last week was a tough one for you wasn’t it? Yes Alberta is raising its taxes on each barrel of oil. Wait. Is that you freaking out over there? Are you starting to bluster and threaten Canadian jobs? Oh my, Big Oil Companies, I feel so, so, not very sorry for you. Really.

Okay let’s look at some facts shall we? Oil is a finite commodity. Alberta has the cheapest oil in the world. Alberta is the safest place to purchase oil in the world. You do not have to pay exorbitant fees to ship oil to the United States. The fact is, we have it, you want it, and you should pay for it.

Albertan oil has been the cheapest in the world and has never been in line with the other oil producing countries. The Government of Alberta has finally put a stop to that and put two and two together. One day there will be no oil left in Alberta. It takes three barrels of water to make one barrel of oil and guess where the oil companies are getting that water? From rivers in Canada for FREE. Scientists predict that when the tar sands are empty of oil there will be a crater large enough to been seen from the moon and Alberta will be suffering a major water shortage. Oil production also leaves a not so lovely end product of sludge that is currently residing in large reservoirs. The sludge has begun leaking into the water table and as Erin Brockavitch can attest to; this is bad, bad, business.

Let’s look at some other advantages of getting oil from Canada. Would you rather deal with the Government of Canada or a large number of dictators from the Middle East? Would you rather have your people running to Tim Horton’s or running from I.E.D.’s? I’m sure the cost of risk-pay for a worker in the Middle East must be insane.

Alberta will never be the same after the oil sands are depleted. It makes sense for the people there to get some money to assist in their problems in the future and by bringing their oil prices simply in line with the rest of the world is totally understandable. I know the oil companies are threatening jobs etc. but the fact is that they are not in a place to take their ball and go home. Companies pull hair and rent garments about the cost of R&D and oil extraction but the fact is that this tax wouldn’t be invoked until the company starts showing a profit. How sweet a deal is that? We are the only game in town and they need us. I actually believe that all Canadians should benefit from this tax but if I said this aloud in Alberta there would most likely be a bar fight. That’s a discussion for another day.

So Big Oil Companies I don’t feel your pain because as the richest companies in the world you really don’t have any. Lastly, if you want to take Alberta to the dance the least you can do is buy her dinner.

Kindest regards,
Stephanie Smith

I Lost a Friend Over the C-Word

Okay I don’t mean THAT C-word. Let’s face it, that C-word is really just very nasty. (I'm talking about the word that rhymes with hunt.) I never really understood it either. I mean it’s just a body part. Imagine if I got really really angry at someone and started calling them a ---- big fucking aorta! Take that you big aorta! You’re such a nasty aorta! Bah! It’s also demeaning to women so why the hell would I want to use it and sort of beat up myself at the same time? In order for me to freely use that word it would have to be for something really, really bad. Something like, ummmmm, ethnic cleansing! Damn those ethnic cleansers, not only are they big c’s but also huge aortas!!!

The word that cost me a friend was, cervix. You heard me. Cervix. I kind of like the word cervix. It sounds like a name from ancient Greece or Rome. “It would please the Senate if the great Cervix Maximus would cast his vote.”

Let me start at the beginning. I met Caroline (not her real name) at work many years ago. She was nice and very ladylike. We were both single back then and would often go to lunch together. We chatted about things that would interest twenty-somethings such as work, clothes, family, perspective boyfriends etc. Over the years, even though we no longer worked together we emailed and went to dinner three or four times a year to catch up. We both got married and bought houses etc. and we started to grow a little apart in that our interests were different. I then got pregnant with my first child. Caroline emailed me to ask how the first ultrasound went. I reported back that the baby was fine but they found something that would result in me having to have a c-section and I was pretty upset. She emailed me back and asked me exactly what the problem was. Well I emailed her and told her about my issue and it included the word cervix. This is where everything went terribly, terribly wrong.

She sent me an email whereby she said that my using such detailed anatomy made her feel uncomfortable. She went on to say that this is not the first time this has happened. I'm sorry but what the hell? Please know that I had NEVER discussed my sex life or any other bodily function with this woman. This was a one off where I said cervix and dammit she ASKED. I felt horrible. Here I was worried about this female plumbing situation and I couldn’t even tell my GIRLFRIEND. Not only did I feel like I was a bad person what with all that cervix talk but I felt she was rather harsh. I asked another friend about it and she was horrified. She told me to phone Caroline and scream, “Cervix! Cervix! Cervix!” and for good measure to yell vagina! Vagina! vagina! Seriously, what are girlfriends for if you can’t discuss this kind of stuff with them?

Now Caroline never used a swear word. Ever. This should have tipped me off. As I said before I don’t usually swear in public but with my best friends, in the privacy of an email or phone call one likes to get a bit peppery. After feeling so badly I then went to the inevitable anger phase. I was thinking that the pretty, pretty, princess couldn’t handle words about basic anatomy. After I cooled down I realized that she most likely did nothing really wrong, she just wasn’t one of MY people. Most of you will get what I mean. No, I don’t mean that my people are white, Irish, Catholic. They are just the type of women you meet that you know are like you. I like women who can laugh at themselves. Women who fight the daily fight like I do, with a husband, children, work, dinner etc. I think most of us innately know who our people are.

Well Caroline and I had some words, and made up and we went to dinner and so forth but things were never the same. We both, I think, sort of let things slide and just went our separate ways. It’s strange because I miss her, yet I know that I could never be my real self with her. I would always be minding by p’s and q’s (and c’s) with her and feel like I was lacking in some way. I’ve grown too old for that.

Conversely, I met my girlfriend Ollie just about nine years ago or so. I knew instantly that Ollie was one of my people. Not only did we share the same nickname as children but we both don’t eat eggs. Need I expound on that? Ollie is a veritable encyclopedia of medical knowledge and is one of the kindest people I have ever met. Almost weekly Ollie and I have medical summits on some issue or other. I could call and say something like “cankers – how do I get rid of them?” Then there will be discussions, internet searches and book references. It’s almost a sport. “Quick – conjunctivitis – can a toddler take polysporine drops?” I know that men probably don’t get this but women relate by shared experiences. There is nothing I couldn’t tell Ollie. Nothing. This is what makes a friendship I will have for life. I do miss Caroline and I wish her nothing but the best. I hope she finds her own people and feels safe and happy too.

I only have one more thing to say – brace yourself – cervix!

Puttin on The Ritz

Well it is a whole day later and I have finally calmed down from the whole lost post debacle. I am sitting here demurely in the corner of the lobby of the Ritz in Montreal trying to look like I am typing an annual report or some such thing.

On Sunday night upon my arrival at the hotel they were sorry to say they did not have the type of room that I had booked months ago. Before I had a chance to even get a little snitty guess what they had the unmitigated gall to do? Yes dammit they had the sheer audacity to upgrade me to a large corner room with four windows, a lovely chandelier and I kid you not, a fireplace. French bastards!

Please don’t go thinking that I hang at the Ritz very often. I usually get a couple of nights away for a conference or board meeting about twice a year. This is my first business trip after coming back from my Maternity leave. My boss, my lovely boss, apologized that she would be out Sunday evening and would I mind terribly getting room service, taking a bath and watching a movie. Could this GET any worse?

The conference went well and was interesting and I felt pretty snappy in my new pantsuit. Unfortunately I had to wear the dreaded knee high nylons and as any woman can attest they always squeeze the bejesus out your legs just below your knee. Also eleven hours is a very long time to be social and keep introducing yourself adnauseum. Those damn name card necklace things rested at about chest height so while everyone was peering at names they looked like they were checking out each others racks. Highly disturbing.

After a long day of being social and engaging I came back to my hotel and guess what those damn French did now? Once again they pissed me off by turning down my bed and putting four chocolates on my pillow. Yes. Four.

On the flight home on Tuesday night I had the bad luck of sitting next to someone who was highly annoying. He was blackberrying away like crazy and sighing over his VERY IMPORTANT emails. He kept muttering to himself such things as “gotta plan a meeting” or “that’s not the report I want” etc. What really bothered me is that after the stewardess, pardon me, Flight attendant lectured us about not using electrical devices he kept doing it. Just before taking off the flight attendant asked him again to shut it off and he scoffed, “oh puuuuuuhlease”. I for one gave him the hairy eyeball because I really didn’t feel like dying. I swear to God mister if we all end up at the pearly gates I will call you out. If everyone from flight 439 is lined up waiting for St. Peter I will point you out and start screaming “He did it! He did it! Mr. Proctor & Gamble here just had to email Luc in Brussels about a market survey” “Don’t let him in! Send him the other way!” God must have been listening because Mr. Blackberry’s touch screen entertainment panel froze up and he couldn’t watch the news. Heh. Heh. Nothing like a little Schadenfreude to make my day.

Getting back to the whole French thing I think I must explain my history with the French language. When I started learning French everything was going great. Rouge, Chat. Chien. Good times. Once we hit the whole “Tue es, Elle a” stage things went downhill rather quickly. It didn’t mean anything to me. This wasn’t conversation. It was just a list of words that half the time didn’t even look like words. I also was very self conscious about speaking it aloud in front of my peers. I believe I sounded much like Pepe Le Pew. I also really couldn’t stand Georges, Nicole and Xavier stories. They are much like the Dick and Jane of the French world. I took umbrage with their eurotrash clothes that were garishly coloured in a Caillou like fashion. Also I found Xavier to be condescending to the others as he was forever telling them to go pick up a ball or go climb the stairs. But I digress. I’m a digresser.

In grade ten we were able to be exempted from final summer exams if we earned 68% in the course. I pulled in a mighty 66 and begged Monsieur Blackburn to give me extra work or something to get me exempted. He thought for a bit and then gave me the classic Gallic shrug. He told me I didn’t have to write the exam if I promised NEVER to take French EVER again. Jackpot!

This is why I am uneasy in Montreal and French speaking European countries. Well that and I’ve met quite a few French bitches. (Apologies to any of my female French friends who clearly are not bitches.) I like to communicate and not being able to makes me feel stupid. I hate feeling stupid. This is why I would love to hate the French and then they go doing things like upgrading hotel rooms and giving me extra chocolates on my pillow. God.

Speaking of God, he clearly wants me to make up for the room service and everything because when I got home my son had a viral infection and my daughter had an ear infection. The good times never end.

Oh For The Love of God

Hello Friends.

I just spent an hour and a half writing a blog entry. But here at the hotel the internet connection is not so great. So guess what? I lost the damn thing. I am so flipping frigging mad I cannot stop swearing. So instead of my witty repartee and such please just enjoy a picture of Chloe in her natural state. Little hussy.

The Weight of a Stare

Well darn it. It’s now 5:03 am on Saturday and I am up with the early riser who seems to have mistaken herself for a rooster. If you haven’t read my first entry please go do so now. Really. I’ll wait. This is the way this whole blog thing works. Welcome back.

My darling Chloe used to be an early riser that would babble quietly in her crib for about an hour before demanding release. I’d still be awake but at least I could doze a bit. Now with her newfound grasp of the English language she has become rather insistent. She now stands in her crib and calls out “Helllloooooooo” at an alarming volume. She raises her voice and sounds like either a parrot or an old lady. I haven’t yet decided. This morning, my morning to get up, she started trilling at four friggin thirty in the morning. Thomas did the whole grunt and angry rollover and in my head I was saying “dammit Hazel go back to sleep for the love of god”. Nothing doing. With the added pressure of waking the other child I had to get up. Fabulous. I hope the Globe delivery man has been here so I can at least be entertained somewhat.

I must confess to doing something quasi-creepy last night. When I went up to go to bed at 11:00 (woo, wild thing). Henry was thrashing about in bed and sort of whining. I went in and settled the mighty head sweater, (don’t know where that came from) and lay down beside him for the requested snuggle. He has a queen size bed so we fit easily. He fell fast asleep and I just stared at him for about five minutes. I think he’s pretty darn beautiful but then again, Thomas and I thought that about him when he was born and all photographic evidence points to the fact he looked rather like a frog. I was pretty impressed that he could sleep so deeply with someone staring at him so intently.

The fact is that when I can’t sleep I get to feeling sort of lonely so I do the creepy stare at the nearest sleeper thing. I love the fact that if I stare at Thomas for any period of time, even if he is fast asleep, without opening his eyes he will say in a monotone voice, “stop staring at me”. Heh. It’s as if the weight of my stare wakes him up. I’m heady with power. I did this too as a child. I went through a bout of insomnia when I was about five. I must have been stressed about learning to tie my shoes or some such thing. I would toddle down the hall to my parent’s room in my footie pajamas with the trapdoor on the back. Wouldn’t it be great if they made those for adults? I digress. I would go and stand about five feet from my father and begin the intent stare with the goal to will him awake. I must admit he handled this with great aplomb and over time became used to my nocturnal wanderings without jumping six feet into the air. The weight of my stare affected him too. After a minute he would wake and fling his arm out so I could hone in for a quasi one armed hug. I would then go back to bed by myself most likely with dad thinking, “damn creepy, needy kid. Back to sleep goddamit”.

I’m a night worrier. It’s become worse as I age. Now if I am tossing and turning and bothering Thomas he will once again pipe up in his sleepy monotone voice without opening his eyes and report, “you’re fine, I’m fine, our relationship is fine, the kids are fine, the house is fine, our finances and health are fine now stop thinking and go to sleep”. He just doesn’t get the night worries. He has reasoned that he can’t do anything in the middle of night so one might as well just sleep. Ah if it were only that simple. Men.

Everything Has A Beginning.

Look! I've been talking about doing this for over a year and my husband never believed I would do it. I like nothing better than proving him wrong so I am now officially taking the plunge.

I will be writing about things in my life and things that are of interest to me. This is something that I am doing just for me. As all parents can understand, something for yourself is a bit of an anathema so I have decided to try to let go of my people pleasing nature (lordy am I ever a pleaser) and just write to please myself. If you find things you don’t agree with then feel free to say so or if you find something offensive then please feel free to just go away. Really! Also please stop reading now if you can’t handle swearing because god almighty there shall be swearing. I’m not a big cusser in real life but in my thoughts I can be as salty as a longshoreman after a particularly bad catch. Please know that I do know how to be socially appropriate and not swear in front of polite company, my grandmother, and my children. Wait. I do swear quietly behind my children’s backs when they are being particularly difficult but they are none the wiser. I actually once flipped my son the bird behind his back after a heinous display of selfishness on his part but he never saw that either.

I should mention that I will be using my real name but I will be changing the names of my family members and maybe some others because why should they have to suffer at the hands of their talkative wife, mother etc.

The following are the people who play a large part in my life:

Thomas my husband is a whole four months older than I. He has worked for the same company for eighteen years and has only ever called in sick once. This must tell you something about him. Sometimes I secretly call him hospital corners. He is tall, dark, and handsome in a good way because he doesn’t know it. I find this comforting. He also is a newshound as am I and we love to try to scoop each other. Just yesterday he called me on my cell and said, “Calgary School bus crash, and bombs in Karachi aimed at Benazir Bhutto, I win!” We also both love reading and history and we have a very strange affinity for historic battlefields. I think this is a good thing as we will have something to talk about when we are eighty whereas some beautiful people will have nothing once everything starts to go south.

Henry my son is 5 years old. He is loving and chatty and challenging and our secret nickname for him is sweet bastard. My son’s victories are very hard won. This child never stops speaking from the second he wakes up until the second he falls asleep. May I take a second to apologize to my late parents whom I must have put through unadulterated hell because I never stopped talking either. I know Karma when I see it and my parents are laughing with glee somewhere in heaven. Henry is ahead of his peers in verbal expression but is behind in terms of emotional development. We have had this damn kid tested every which way till Sunday and all the professionals report that he is totally fine but is a bit behind emotionally and has a persistent personality which makes parenting difficult. No kidding. As tough as it is being his parent he comes out with things that are pretty darn delightful. Just last week he ran up to me and reported that we are upper middle class and then skipped upstairs in search of goldfish crackers. I recently found him colouring a yellow face and trying to be the engaged interested parent I asked him if he was drawing a smiley face. After straining himself with a huge eyeroll he said, “no mom! It’s the death mask of Agamemnon.” We’re totally screwed.

Chloe is 16 months old and a delight that lurches around our house like a drunken sailor and bumps into walls all willy nilly. I don’t know if it is a girl thing or a second child thing but she is much more relaxed and easy going. Then again she is not yet two and has never done anything to really tick me off but I’m sure that will come in the future. In the meantime I will enjoy her chubby sausage arms and drooly kisses.

Well this is a start and on some level I feel I need to explain why I am starting to write a journal. On second thought, in the spirit of trying not to always be a people pleaser I shan’t explain, I’ll just write.

Hopefully I will have some interesting stuff to report as I am off to the Ritz in Montreal on Sunday for a conference and oh what a treat that will be.