I have no patience for bad drivers.
I'm not saying I'm the best driver ever, but I make safe choices when I drive.
I just finished a year of an auto merit program with my insurance company and I am now saving 5% off my car insurance.  Good(ish) driver.

Every good story has a setting. Picture this:
Driving down the street, first beautiful day of the year.  Sunroof open, windows down.  Tom Petty Free Fallin' on the radio.  Nobody is in front of me, nobody behind me.  I'm all alone in my little red VW Beetle - oh and the wind is totally blowing through my hair.

Suddenly, a man in a silver BMW pulls out of the TD Bank parking lot right in front of me totally wrecking my vibe. He then decided to look around his car and slow us down to a steady 20 km/hr. There was nobody behind me, had he waited an extra five seconds he could have had the whole road to himself as I had. Instead, Mr. God's Gift to York Street decided he was going to aggravate my face and bring out my alter ego: Naughty Nikki the Road Rage Queen of York Street.

Before I continue with this story, I have to give a little bit of a back story.  I came in to some extra money this week.  I was *supposed* to buy contact lenses. However, I decided to buy myself a fancy Apple Watch instead.   I can't explain these things - it just happened. Because of my poor life decisions, I no longer have access to contact lenses. This puts me at a disadvantage when I go in hot tubs, watch a 3D movie in the theatre or wear sunglasses. 

Because I can't wear sunglasses properly right now, I found myself pulled up beside Mr. BMW like this:







...and his face was like this:

Disclaimer: BMW man was not really Kanye West.

I forgot that I was wearing my heart-shaped sunglasses directly over my big plastic-rimmed prescription glasses. Safety first people. There was sun! 


The moral of the story is: When given the choice between contact lenses and an Apple Watch - you should probably pick the contact lenses so you don't give someone the finger looking like a maniac.

I woke up sobbing.
I had one of those dreams where you are in another reality.
It was a horrible dream where my mother died. 

I felt like I was completely lost.
Honestly, I don't see or talk to my family very much.
I'm working on it.
My anxiety makes me feel like nobody wants to hear what I have to say.
I never call.

So I come here and write about my feelings to complete strangers.
Makes perfect sense, somehow.

Most of the time my dreams take me to amazing places. 
Things happen that could only ever really happen - well, in my dreams.
Sometimes my dreams even come true.  Usually when this happens it's just an extreme sense of deja vu (example: I've been in this bowling alley before).

Sometimes I have dreams about Freddy Krueger under my grandmother's bed.
Other times I dream of giving birth in strange places.
and then there are those dreams that are just too real.

I told my mom about my dream.
She was curious what she died of.  I had asked that in my dream, and just as it was being explained to me I woke up.
I was just glad to know she was okay - even if I annoyed her asking when her last doctor's visit was.

I remember in my dream that I was buying a bed from my aunt and we were working out the details when I found out about my mom.  When I texted my mom she was telling me all about the new bed she bought from my aunt *cue X-Files theme song*. 

My mom is okay. She's getting a new bed and she's really okay.
but my dream made me realize I have to reach out to family more often.
but I was still troubled as to why I would have such a horrible dream.
I did watch a scary movie before bed - but to dig a little deeper, I checked out dreambible.com.

According to dreambible.com:

"If your mother dies in a dream it represents feelings of having lost your sense of intuition or consistently making bad choices. Feeling that you have poor foresight. You are unable to solve a problem, get away from negative life situations, and problems you have stay unresolved. If she dies it's very likely you have powerful fears, or moral dilemmas that you need to overcome. You may feel a permanent sense of bad luck or that you can't stop yourself from making a bad decision with something very important."

...and it all completely makes sense now.  

Hopefully tonight I dream about being a millionaire again. I like that dream.

I guess I've never really been the life of the party.
I attempted it a time or two. The night usually ended with too much to drink, smeared makeup and accessories that made me look like a Kindergarten classroom Christmas tree. It was awkward and weird. Good times.

Me being the "life of the party"

As I age, I find I've become more of a corner type. You'll find me there with a couple good friends, hoping nobody will notice my nervous hand wringing or my crooked smile. I have a good time in the corner.  I drink socially and talk about things like puppies and the X-Files Revival. I meet new people, and get this, I actually remember their names the next day! Sometimes we even become Facebook friends.  It's magical. Also magical: not having my eyes glued shut from sleeping in glitter mascara.

A lot of people won't remember me even being at the party.  I might show up in a photo or two (awkwardly of course). I might be remembered as the girl who made an awkward comment or two out loud (usually about the time my mom sold dildos).  I might not be remembered at all - but I worked on relationships. I learned some things and I woke up without glitter in my eyes. It may not seem like it, but I had a great time!

I'm not saying that being the life of the party is wrong. It's okay to be glittery and fun every once in a while.  It's just hard to make lasting friendships while you are beer chugging and adjusting your push up bra.


Sincerely,
Party-Pooper.

I read an article "The girl who gets gifts from birds" recently about a little girl who receives gifts from the birds that she feeds.  That article made me realize that all my life, all I've ever really wanted is for animals to love me. I mean, I want a wild animal to show it's appreciation for my love by leaving me a gift every now and then.

Domestic animals kind of love me.

I have a bird feeder.  It's not the greatest bird feeder.  Although Mason made it at Home Depot on one of their kid workshop days.  It's just a little feeder that I've strung up against a wall that I fill (when I remember) with bird seed from the dollar store.

Every now and then I see a bird or two stop in, spill seeds all over the ground and take off. I'm sure they are a little apprehensive about the two felines who watch them intently as they mess up my balcony, but they always come, eat a few seeds and leave a mess.  A mess in which recently the mice have come to appreciate.  How on earth a mouse made it up six floors is a whole other story, because if you happen to know I might want to hear, although if it has to do with a tiny little mouse couple scaling a wall up six floors and then having a whole mouse family who has never seen the ground - I probably don't want to know.


Another time I looked out the window to see a squirrel appreciating my dollar store feed and Home Depot freebie Rio 2 bird feeder.

This is why the feeder is always tipped over.

So, although there is not much effort in my offerings to the wildlife in my area, they do stop by and stuff their faces or beaks.

What do they leave me in return?

A mess on my balcony and a mouse infestation.  Great. Thanks a lot.  I didn't get a "best friend" charm or even a dirty old bead.  They don't even let me pet them or make me a gown for the ball or come to live in my house and greet me when I walk in the door.

There's one part of the article that completely blew me away:

Lisa, Gabi's mom, regularly photographs the crows and charts their behaviour and interactions. Her most amazing gift came just a few weeks ago, when she lost a lens cap in a nearby alley while photographing a bald eagle as it circled over the neighbourhood.

A few years ago, I lost my whole lens in the grass at the park.  I'm not even joking...the whole thing fell apart and the middle glass part was lost in the long grass.  I never found that lens.  I mean, it was probably broken anyway, but when I heard those birds brought back the mother's lens cap I became increasingly jealous.

Had the crows returned it? Lisa logged on to her computer and pulled up their bird-cam. There was the crow she suspected. "You can see it bringing it into the yard. Walks it to the birdbath and actually spends time rinsing this lens cap."
"I'm sure that it was intentional," she smiles. "They watch us all the time. I'm sure they knew I dropped it. I'm sure they decided they wanted to return it."

They even washed it for her!  I mean come on! I figure it's probably those British birds. They must be smarter and more polite than our North American birds.

Some of the gifts Gabi received.

You might think I'm finished with this unappreciative bird story, well I'm not!  Last week I actually rescued a bird from a vent in our office.  A co-worker and I chased that little guy all around the kitchen until we caught him in a pop-up hamper and carried him out to the parking lot.

When I returned to my car following the work day I discovered that a bird did leave me a gift - a big pile of crap on my passenger window.

Thanks.  I think.

Theresa Caputo is coming to town.  She's going to be five minutes from my home. When I heard the news I totally did this:
The thing is, I believe she is legit.

Now wait, I know you're thinking her show is edited to make it look like she can hear from the beyond.  I realize the show is edited.  After all, nobody wants to watch a show in which messages from our deceased loved ones include "I saw that time you got drunk and made out with my brother" or "you really shouldn't use that soap to wash your nether regions" (nether regions? That is a first for this blog!).  Maybe some of it is even staged and edited in ways to intrigue the viewer, but the message is always the same - I am okay and you will be too.

There is always so much left unsaid when someone passes away.  When R. died we had been fighting for weeks. We basically lived in the same home but existed in different worlds.  The day before he died we made up and my naive 23-year-old self thought that everything would be okay.  I really didn't know that he would wake up, eat a tuna sandwich and die just hours later.

For some reason I only remember bits and pieces of that day.  I remember seeing the nurse's car in our driveway.  I remember my mom and my aunt coming from hours away in what seemed like minutes. I don't even know how they knew to come. I remember my aunt suggesting I apologize, so I did, for what? I don't really know.  All I know is that it made me feel better about him leaving us.


I want to know if he heard what I said.  I want to know what he thinks of our son who he had only just begun to know. I want to know if I'm making the right decisions. The truth is I've been terrified since the moment he died.  I remember turning to someone and asking what I was supposed to do now?  Of course there was no answer, just a shocked face. 

I would love to attend Theresa's show because I believe in her message.  I would love to experience her gift in person - not just for myself, I would love to listen to other people's stories and hear encouragement from their loved ones.  With my luck, my loved ones would point out something embarrassing about me in front of hundred (thousands? *gulp*) of people.

PS - I know the commenting system is still broken.  Truth is, I'm so tired of fixing up blog stuff. I was kind of hoping one of my super awesome designer people would have pity on me and help me out. That didn't happen so when I'm not so tired of blog stuff I will fix it myself so the one person who wants to shout out pharmacy ads can get back to spamming. I got your back dude!

This little guy has been hanging in my foyer for a week now. I think I'm finally starting to like him a bit.  I mean, I feel terrible that this skull glued to a board, at one time, was a living creature. I don't know his unfortunate story but I can say hi every morning when I walk by him to my kitchen and give him a good home...and maybe even dust him every few months!

I meant to post this yesterday, but as usual, life got in the way...