When my 26th birthday rolled around this past April, I came to the realization that I'm now the other side of 25. Officially having begun the descent on the slippery slope that leads to thirty, I sometimes find myself thinking about where my life is going and what I want out of it.
Recently, McDonald's is featuring more and more prominently.
Allow me to explain.
I picked up a summer job thinking that I could make a little money, get back into shape and generally keep myself busy. It seemed like a great opportunity to learn more about sport horse breeding from a reputable and highly renowned place and, really, what better to do for a summer than ride and get paid for it?
However, now that I'm older, I have a greater sense of self-preservation. I still consider myself to be relatively young and stupid, just not as young and stupid as I once was.
I now have a problem with not being told vital information. Information that could, well, save me from dying or being horribly maimed while at work. My current employers apparently have no such qualms. Over the past few months I have fallen off more times than ever before, been cornered by a pissed-off alpha mare and been kicked in the head by the same horse that almost crushed me in cross-ties, all because no one thought it necessary to tell me about certain horses'... quirks...
During this time I have also witnessed a co-worker being kicked in the face by a feral foal and another who was almost crushed by a round bail; I've seen a foal euthanized because of a broken leg caused by unsafe barn design and generally been placed in unsafe conditions time and again because of managerial staff that have absolutely no horse or, for that matter, commonsense.
One day I was talking to a horsey friend about the BS that is my job when I admitted that I would rather work at McDonald's than spend another day at my current place of employment.
Her response?
"Ya, at least you know that the deep-frier is hot. You don't find out three months into your job when it finally tries to burn you."
Score one for Ronald.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Ladies of the Feline Persuation
I'm not much of a partier.
Don't get me wrong, I like to go out with my girls and cut the occasional rug. I can even hold my own with the liquor when the time's right (if, by "hold my own with the liquor" I mean "have two drinks before I'm intoxicated enough to forget what tomorrow's going to feel like", then I can most definitely, unquestionably, "hold my own with the liquor").
Anyway, it had been quite some time since I had cut a rug, or any other form of floor covering for that matter, so this past weekend I opted to accompany Loren back home to Barrie for a much needed, well-deserved nocturnal adventure.
While we were getting ready, the girls began chatting about clubs, bars and boys. Or the lack thereof in our respective age group.
Here's the thing: we have now attained a new rank. We have moved up a box on the census age bracket. We are all, for the most part, hanging out in that grey area that is 26-30.
And while our friends are settling down, getting hitched and contemplating the finer details of procreation, we are, well, not. But that doesn't mean we wouldn't like a member of the opposite sex to peak our interest from time to time. It would be an added bonus, and so much more acceptable, if those guys had, say, graduated high school. Even better? Had a degree, diploma or work experience to add to the resume.
This of course lead to the inevitable question, the inescapable query: given our recent descent on what can only be described as the slippery slope toward 30, are we, or are we not, potential cougars?
Come on ladies, from the moment you first walked into the club and realized that that guy you were chatting up at the bar was, in actuality, your grade 6 reading buddy, you've been asking yourself the exact same question.
So when, exactly, does one become a cougar?
Well this particular group of friends are true philosophers and so, on this fateful night, I was introduced to yet another important theory. While we may not have solved the age-old cougar riddle, I was informed that we, without a shadow of a doubt, are NOT cougars.
We are pumas.
That's right, pumas.
Although the exact reasoning of this distinction has been lost in a fog of Tom Collins', white wine and deliciously girly martinis, it stands to reason that, while we may be older than some of the guys out at the club, we are no where near old enough to be their mothers.
Which I suppose would qualify as a definition of a cougar...
Two birds, one stone.
This coming from the ladies who decided long ago that every woman must have a "dick match" somewhere in the world, and that she should neither give up nor give in before she finds it.
Solving the world's most pressing issues, one case at a time.
Don't get me wrong, I like to go out with my girls and cut the occasional rug. I can even hold my own with the liquor when the time's right (if, by "hold my own with the liquor" I mean "have two drinks before I'm intoxicated enough to forget what tomorrow's going to feel like", then I can most definitely, unquestionably, "hold my own with the liquor").
Anyway, it had been quite some time since I had cut a rug, or any other form of floor covering for that matter, so this past weekend I opted to accompany Loren back home to Barrie for a much needed, well-deserved nocturnal adventure.
While we were getting ready, the girls began chatting about clubs, bars and boys. Or the lack thereof in our respective age group.
Here's the thing: we have now attained a new rank. We have moved up a box on the census age bracket. We are all, for the most part, hanging out in that grey area that is 26-30.
And while our friends are settling down, getting hitched and contemplating the finer details of procreation, we are, well, not. But that doesn't mean we wouldn't like a member of the opposite sex to peak our interest from time to time. It would be an added bonus, and so much more acceptable, if those guys had, say, graduated high school. Even better? Had a degree, diploma or work experience to add to the resume.
This of course lead to the inevitable question, the inescapable query: given our recent descent on what can only be described as the slippery slope toward 30, are we, or are we not, potential cougars?
Come on ladies, from the moment you first walked into the club and realized that that guy you were chatting up at the bar was, in actuality, your grade 6 reading buddy, you've been asking yourself the exact same question.
So when, exactly, does one become a cougar?
Well this particular group of friends are true philosophers and so, on this fateful night, I was introduced to yet another important theory. While we may not have solved the age-old cougar riddle, I was informed that we, without a shadow of a doubt, are NOT cougars.
We are pumas.
That's right, pumas.
Although the exact reasoning of this distinction has been lost in a fog of Tom Collins', white wine and deliciously girly martinis, it stands to reason that, while we may be older than some of the guys out at the club, we are no where near old enough to be their mothers.
Which I suppose would qualify as a definition of a cougar...
Two birds, one stone.
This coming from the ladies who decided long ago that every woman must have a "dick match" somewhere in the world, and that she should neither give up nor give in before she finds it.
Solving the world's most pressing issues, one case at a time.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Roma
Rome was, as always, beautiful.
We did it right this time and opted to do a walking tour of the city and of the Vatican Museums. Even with a background in History, so much eludes me and I didn't think that it was fair for me to never have answers whenever Mum asked "What is this?". What can I say? My memory's crap.
We did the tours with the same company we used for the bike tour in Florence. It was a good decision, seeing as they have a 10 person maximum to their groups and you get little earphones to better hear your guide. Our guide for the city tour was knowledgeable, but was feeling the effects of the party the night before and was therefore less than enthusiastic. I get it, you're hung over, you see this stuff everyday, it's not a holiday for you, it's work but SERIOUSLY?!?! We're standing in the freakin' Coliseum and you're talking about FOOTBALL? At least PRETEND to be a little awed or interested or...something...
Our guide for the Vatican Museums and Saint Peter's Basilica was the COMPLETE opposite of lackluster Massimo from the Coliseum. Guido (ya, that was his real name. You can't make this shit up) is an archaeologist who is currently excavating underneath the present city of Rome. He was knowledgeable, enthusiastic and, in my opinion, a complete rockstar. I'm telling you, if he weren't a married, 50-something Italian national, I'd be off the market by now.
I learnt a lot from Guido, had a grade 11 brush-up from Massimo (although R.C. was SO much more thorough... she would have been disappointed, no doubt) and enjoyed my over priced gelatto as I looked upon the Trevi Fountain for the first time.
So that was day one. A combined-total of eight hours of walking, plus a trek from the Vatican City back to our hotel by Termini Station in the pouring rain. We were pretty much exhausted, but it was well worth it.
Day two saw us wandering around the city and hanging out at the Spanish Steps. I know they're a big deal and all, but I just DON'T GET IT. They're STEPS. Well designed, picturesque, beautifully adorned with flowers...but a staircase nonetheless. Mum says I just don't appreciate art. Who knew?
On my birthday (which I might add, is today...) I got to choose what to do (and rightfully so!) so we hoped on a train and got off in the middle of nowhere in Tarquinia.
As you all know, this was basically the home-base of the Etruscans. I mean, everyone who's ANYONE knows that.
You should all therefore also know that this is where the National Etruscan Museum is, as well as where some of the most beautiful and well-preserved tombs can be found.
It took us a solid day, but in the end we managed to visit each and every one of the tombs that was open to the public in the booming necropolis, including the "Tomb of the Flogging". Kinky kinky. (see below)
We also hung out for a time in the museum where I got to see some of the most creative and educational flatware I have ever seen! The Indian's may have created the kama sutra to bring couples closer together, but the Etruscan's sure do know how to educate the public on the finer details of a hot and steamy quickie! I tried to get some pictures, but the guards there are very good at their job...
And so my travels have just about ended. Our flight leaves tomorrow at 6 am and 24 hours from now I will be back at home, eating delicious food, chatting face to face with my closest friends and breathing in the ever comforting smell of my horses. There is always a sense of sadness at the end of a trip, but this time I'm also ready to go home, to find a base and begin a "life".
I'm almost certain that within a month I'll be eating those words.
We did it right this time and opted to do a walking tour of the city and of the Vatican Museums. Even with a background in History, so much eludes me and I didn't think that it was fair for me to never have answers whenever Mum asked "What is this?". What can I say? My memory's crap.
We did the tours with the same company we used for the bike tour in Florence. It was a good decision, seeing as they have a 10 person maximum to their groups and you get little earphones to better hear your guide. Our guide for the city tour was knowledgeable, but was feeling the effects of the party the night before and was therefore less than enthusiastic. I get it, you're hung over, you see this stuff everyday, it's not a holiday for you, it's work but SERIOUSLY?!?! We're standing in the freakin' Coliseum and you're talking about FOOTBALL? At least PRETEND to be a little awed or interested or...something...
Our guide for the Vatican Museums and Saint Peter's Basilica was the COMPLETE opposite of lackluster Massimo from the Coliseum. Guido (ya, that was his real name. You can't make this shit up) is an archaeologist who is currently excavating underneath the present city of Rome. He was knowledgeable, enthusiastic and, in my opinion, a complete rockstar. I'm telling you, if he weren't a married, 50-something Italian national, I'd be off the market by now.
I learnt a lot from Guido, had a grade 11 brush-up from Massimo (although R.C. was SO much more thorough... she would have been disappointed, no doubt) and enjoyed my over priced gelatto as I looked upon the Trevi Fountain for the first time.
So that was day one. A combined-total of eight hours of walking, plus a trek from the Vatican City back to our hotel by Termini Station in the pouring rain. We were pretty much exhausted, but it was well worth it.
Day two saw us wandering around the city and hanging out at the Spanish Steps. I know they're a big deal and all, but I just DON'T GET IT. They're STEPS. Well designed, picturesque, beautifully adorned with flowers...but a staircase nonetheless. Mum says I just don't appreciate art. Who knew?
On my birthday (which I might add, is today...) I got to choose what to do (and rightfully so!) so we hoped on a train and got off in the middle of nowhere in Tarquinia.
As you all know, this was basically the home-base of the Etruscans. I mean, everyone who's ANYONE knows that.
You should all therefore also know that this is where the National Etruscan Museum is, as well as where some of the most beautiful and well-preserved tombs can be found.
It took us a solid day, but in the end we managed to visit each and every one of the tombs that was open to the public in the booming necropolis, including the "Tomb of the Flogging". Kinky kinky. (see below)
We also hung out for a time in the museum where I got to see some of the most creative and educational flatware I have ever seen! The Indian's may have created the kama sutra to bring couples closer together, but the Etruscan's sure do know how to educate the public on the finer details of a hot and steamy quickie! I tried to get some pictures, but the guards there are very good at their job...
And so my travels have just about ended. Our flight leaves tomorrow at 6 am and 24 hours from now I will be back at home, eating delicious food, chatting face to face with my closest friends and breathing in the ever comforting smell of my horses. There is always a sense of sadness at the end of a trip, but this time I'm also ready to go home, to find a base and begin a "life".
I'm almost certain that within a month I'll be eating those words.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Santa Maria Del Fiore
I just realized that I forgot to blog about one of my favourite places in one of my favourite cities!
Santa Maria Del Fiore aka "The Duomo".
She's this absolutely stunning thirteenth century cathedral boasting a nineteenth century pink, white and green neogothic marble facade that miraculously managed to survive the Second World War (relatively) unscathed.
She's also one of the most secular cathedrals I've ever been in, thanks to the majority of her funding coming not from the church, but rather from the lay people of Florence. But that's about all of the history I'm going to write about here (I promise)... if you want to know more ask my cousin Emma, who, as it turns out, is a huge geek too and actually wrote a history paper about Santa Maria Del Fiore. At least I'm not alone in this vast wilderness...
It was love at first sight in 2006 but unfortunately we didn't get to climb the 463 steps up to the dome back then because one of my traveling buddies managed to break her foot in Ireland and we didn't think it was fair to make her trudge all the way up and back.
As it turns out, that was probably a great idea seeing as the steps are, in and of themselves, an adventure.
I could handle the confined, narrow, winding steps. I enjoyed the spectacular view of Florence from the top of the dome. What I was not prepared for was the walk around the INSIDE of the dome.
When you get halfway up the stairs, the path leads you to a narrow ledge that encircles the dome. It's about the same width as a person and has a railing and a plexiglass wall/ guard-type-thingy. The purpose of this walkway is lovely: you can see the beautiful depiction of the Last Judgement on the dome up close and personal, take pictures, admire the art. It's an amazing thing to partake of.
Unless you happen to suffer from vertigo and make the startling discovery that you are, indeed, claustrophobic when tightly confined on a narrow walkway some bazillion feet above the ground, being pushed along in a seemingly endless current of tourists while nothing but a thin sheet of plastic prevents you from plunging headfirst to a gruesome death.
It could happen.
Inevitably, as I made this discovery I was stuck behind a couple who, obviously unaware of the danger (and therefore blind to my clammy hands and crazy eyes), had to stop every two steps to admire the painting and take pictures while I clung to the wall and looked longingly at the exit.
On this day, I almost committed murder. But, you'll be happy to know, I (narrowly) managed to refrain. (GO TEAM!)
Eventually I did manage to look up. My effort was rewarded with a glimpse at a demon's rather large (and, of course, beautifully painted and anatomically correct) penis.
Magnifico.
**Seriously though, it's probably one of the most beautiful churches I've ever been in (narrowly beaten out for top spot by Saint Peter's) and well worth the trek to the top of the dome (even if you are a claustrophobic, vertigo-prone individual with a vivid imagination and a touch of the crazy).**
Santa Maria Del Fiore aka "The Duomo".
She's this absolutely stunning thirteenth century cathedral boasting a nineteenth century pink, white and green neogothic marble facade that miraculously managed to survive the Second World War (relatively) unscathed.
She's also one of the most secular cathedrals I've ever been in, thanks to the majority of her funding coming not from the church, but rather from the lay people of Florence. But that's about all of the history I'm going to write about here (I promise)... if you want to know more ask my cousin Emma, who, as it turns out, is a huge geek too and actually wrote a history paper about Santa Maria Del Fiore. At least I'm not alone in this vast wilderness...
It was love at first sight in 2006 but unfortunately we didn't get to climb the 463 steps up to the dome back then because one of my traveling buddies managed to break her foot in Ireland and we didn't think it was fair to make her trudge all the way up and back.
As it turns out, that was probably a great idea seeing as the steps are, in and of themselves, an adventure.
I could handle the confined, narrow, winding steps. I enjoyed the spectacular view of Florence from the top of the dome. What I was not prepared for was the walk around the INSIDE of the dome.
When you get halfway up the stairs, the path leads you to a narrow ledge that encircles the dome. It's about the same width as a person and has a railing and a plexiglass wall/ guard-type-thingy. The purpose of this walkway is lovely: you can see the beautiful depiction of the Last Judgement on the dome up close and personal, take pictures, admire the art. It's an amazing thing to partake of.
Unless you happen to suffer from vertigo and make the startling discovery that you are, indeed, claustrophobic when tightly confined on a narrow walkway some bazillion feet above the ground, being pushed along in a seemingly endless current of tourists while nothing but a thin sheet of plastic prevents you from plunging headfirst to a gruesome death.
It could happen.
Inevitably, as I made this discovery I was stuck behind a couple who, obviously unaware of the danger (and therefore blind to my clammy hands and crazy eyes), had to stop every two steps to admire the painting and take pictures while I clung to the wall and looked longingly at the exit.
On this day, I almost committed murder. But, you'll be happy to know, I (narrowly) managed to refrain. (GO TEAM!)
Eventually I did manage to look up. My effort was rewarded with a glimpse at a demon's rather large (and, of course, beautifully painted and anatomically correct) penis.
Magnifico.
**Seriously though, it's probably one of the most beautiful churches I've ever been in (narrowly beaten out for top spot by Saint Peter's) and well worth the trek to the top of the dome (even if you are a claustrophobic, vertigo-prone individual with a vivid imagination and a touch of the crazy).**
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Chianti Wine, Tuscan Oil and Naked (Marble) Men
Wow. That last post was pretty brutal.
I pledge to do better.
Well, to try to do better anyway.
My love affair with Florence has continued and, thanks to a whole lot of wine, may actually have intensified some.
On Friday Mum and I went on a bike tour/ wine tasting/ olive oil tasting. Despite my almost non-existant cardiovascular fitness, I had an amazing time. Chianti is a gorgeous area and the wine (and olive oil) we sampled were pretty much to die for (even the white, and I'm not usually into white!).
The only downside was that Florence is in a valley, so no matter what, if you want to get out you need to go up. And up. And up. All the way up to the Piazzale Michelangelo, to be precise. And then further up. This was all fine and good (I figured that I was doing my heart some good while at the same time crawling out of the carb coma I've been in for the past week and a half) until about seven pm when the lactic acid started to attack my poor quads. A word to the wise here: don't forget to drink loads of water and walk it off! I'm fairly anal about following this rule with my ponies but for some reason I figured that I myself would be immune. As it turns out, this is not true. Eventually (thanks to watchtvsitcoms.com) I fell asleep and (thank God) when I woke up, no pain remained but that which was caused from sitting on a man's mountain bike seat for seven hours.(which is, I may point out, not a great idea either...)
We met some pretty great people in our small group (almost all Canadians!) and it was great to watch how the sunshine, the "Tuscan Sun" and, primarily, the wine, took an already cheerful and chatty group to the next level of comaraderie!
Today was our last day here so we decided to take a quick trip out to Siena after an even quicker visit to the Galleria dell'Academia. Siena was very impressive, but I with I could say the same for the gallery.
Housing a respectful collection of thirteenth century paintings (think, "Madonna and Child" or "The Crucifiction", multiplied by ten on every wall of almost every room), a room chock full of nineteenth century plaster moulds of original marble statues and a hallway of *possible* Michelangelos, the main attraction is, not surprisingly, the original David.
Traditionally, thirteenth century art is often shockingly grotesque, however it creates an impressive contrast when coupled with David. He is at once bright, self-assured and pensive in a room surrounded by paintings which are dark and condemning. Although I found the overall collection a bit disappointing, I enjoyed analyzing the museological aspects of the gallery. Because I'm a huge geek. Check.
Anyway, as I'd mentioned, Siena was lovely. There's nothing that's a "must see" so to say, it's just that the entire city is beautiful. It's one of those laid back, relaxed, picturesque sort of places (despite the bus loads of tourists) that makes you wonder about the Italy of times long past.
I'm a geek, we've already covered this.
So we're off to Rome tomorrow; our last stop and another of my favourite places. Although I doubt we'll have free internet access in our room, I will blog at least once about The Eternal City. Pinky swear.
ps: it's Sunday by the time I actually got around to posting this and, because everything's closed, we headed to good old Mickey D's for coffee (which is sacrilege seeing as we're in Italy, but who am I to demand decent coffee on the day of rest?) and, much to my surprise, what do I see but MacDonald's CAFE?!?! That's right, a cafe. With real coffee and pastries and an espresso machine... I think my brain just exploded...
I pledge to do better.
Well, to try to do better anyway.
My love affair with Florence has continued and, thanks to a whole lot of wine, may actually have intensified some.
On Friday Mum and I went on a bike tour/ wine tasting/ olive oil tasting. Despite my almost non-existant cardiovascular fitness, I had an amazing time. Chianti is a gorgeous area and the wine (and olive oil) we sampled were pretty much to die for (even the white, and I'm not usually into white!).
The only downside was that Florence is in a valley, so no matter what, if you want to get out you need to go up. And up. And up. All the way up to the Piazzale Michelangelo, to be precise. And then further up. This was all fine and good (I figured that I was doing my heart some good while at the same time crawling out of the carb coma I've been in for the past week and a half) until about seven pm when the lactic acid started to attack my poor quads. A word to the wise here: don't forget to drink loads of water and walk it off! I'm fairly anal about following this rule with my ponies but for some reason I figured that I myself would be immune. As it turns out, this is not true. Eventually (thanks to watchtvsitcoms.com) I fell asleep and (thank God) when I woke up, no pain remained but that which was caused from sitting on a man's mountain bike seat for seven hours.(which is, I may point out, not a great idea either...)
We met some pretty great people in our small group (almost all Canadians!) and it was great to watch how the sunshine, the "Tuscan Sun" and, primarily, the wine, took an already cheerful and chatty group to the next level of comaraderie!
Today was our last day here so we decided to take a quick trip out to Siena after an even quicker visit to the Galleria dell'Academia. Siena was very impressive, but I with I could say the same for the gallery.
Housing a respectful collection of thirteenth century paintings (think, "Madonna and Child" or "The Crucifiction", multiplied by ten on every wall of almost every room), a room chock full of nineteenth century plaster moulds of original marble statues and a hallway of *possible* Michelangelos, the main attraction is, not surprisingly, the original David.
Traditionally, thirteenth century art is often shockingly grotesque, however it creates an impressive contrast when coupled with David. He is at once bright, self-assured and pensive in a room surrounded by paintings which are dark and condemning. Although I found the overall collection a bit disappointing, I enjoyed analyzing the museological aspects of the gallery. Because I'm a huge geek. Check.
Anyway, as I'd mentioned, Siena was lovely. There's nothing that's a "must see" so to say, it's just that the entire city is beautiful. It's one of those laid back, relaxed, picturesque sort of places (despite the bus loads of tourists) that makes you wonder about the Italy of times long past.
I'm a geek, we've already covered this.
So we're off to Rome tomorrow; our last stop and another of my favourite places. Although I doubt we'll have free internet access in our room, I will blog at least once about The Eternal City. Pinky swear.
ps: it's Sunday by the time I actually got around to posting this and, because everything's closed, we headed to good old Mickey D's for coffee (which is sacrilege seeing as we're in Italy, but who am I to demand decent coffee on the day of rest?) and, much to my surprise, what do I see but MacDonald's CAFE?!?! That's right, a cafe. With real coffee and pastries and an espresso machine... I think my brain just exploded...
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Quick Notes on Italy
I've rekindled a great love with one near and dear to my heart today-- Florence.
We arrived this afternoon and it was definitely like coming home. I say that a lot, so I guess there are quite a few places that I've grown to love in the past few years...
Florence is just one of those cities that you can't help but love. It's bright and busy, but infinitely in touch with its historical side (which, obviously, is important to me).
The train ride from Venice didn't hurt either. There's something comforting about the Italian countryside-- I think it may be that only rich, earthy tones are to be found, no matter where you look. It's beautiful and soft and, well, comforting...
Apparently I'm not at my most articulate today, so perhaps I should keep this short...
Venice was a quaint city and definitely nicer than I had anticipated (I had heard a lot of negative comments prior to my visit). It rained the whole time we were there, so it was cold and wet, but that didn't really detract from the whole experience.
It was beautiful but, like I said, it's great to be back in Florence.
We're here for six more days, so I'm sure I'll have more to write about (and hopefully I'll actually be able to express those thoughts and feelings by then...)
ps: the food has most definitely improved too!
We arrived this afternoon and it was definitely like coming home. I say that a lot, so I guess there are quite a few places that I've grown to love in the past few years...
Florence is just one of those cities that you can't help but love. It's bright and busy, but infinitely in touch with its historical side (which, obviously, is important to me).
The train ride from Venice didn't hurt either. There's something comforting about the Italian countryside-- I think it may be that only rich, earthy tones are to be found, no matter where you look. It's beautiful and soft and, well, comforting...
Apparently I'm not at my most articulate today, so perhaps I should keep this short...
Venice was a quaint city and definitely nicer than I had anticipated (I had heard a lot of negative comments prior to my visit). It rained the whole time we were there, so it was cold and wet, but that didn't really detract from the whole experience.
It was beautiful but, like I said, it's great to be back in Florence.
We're here for six more days, so I'm sure I'll have more to write about (and hopefully I'll actually be able to express those thoughts and feelings by then...)
ps: the food has most definitely improved too!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)