minutiae. REVISED.

I was tagged by my dear friend over in the Flying Buttresses portion of the blogosphere to write a list of 100 Things About Me. I’ve fallen slightly short, coming up with only 75. Kudos to anyone whose attention span can make it through the whole list. Perhaps, someday I'll complete the last 25. Anyway, here it is, the blondie’s attempt to step out from behind the strawberry: UPDATE: Alright, the list has been extended from 76-100, I feel like less of a failure now.

1. Growing up, I didn’t have a television because of my parents' hatred of American pop culture and commercialism.

2. I have a scar on my upper back from carrying my cat on my shoulder and accidentally shutting his tail in a drawer while I was putting laundry away.

3. My sense of direction is non-existent. I could get lost in a teapot.

4. The first time I smoked pot I came home to my parents’ house and decided a hot shower was in order. I don’t know how I long I passed out for, but when I regained consciousness, the water was really cold and I had tile marks on my face. Glad I didn't opt for a bath.

5. I’ve been a bridesmaid twice, both times for the same person.

6. I like disco. I was once advised to reposition my BeeGees album on my CD shelf so it didn’t get the shit beaten out of it by the adjacent albums by The Clash and Guns and Roses.

7. I have fictional crushes on Indiana Jones and James Bond.

8. In the past 8 years there’s has been only been only one man who has made me cry. That man is my brother.

9. Saturday Night Live makes me want to throw myself out a window and hope that my fall is broken by a large spike.

10. My most shameful moment in recent memory involves abandoning one of my best friends in the middle of the night in the middle of a small non-English-speaking European country. She has since forgiven me: I have not.

11. I think wedge heeled shoes are an affront to the fashion industry.

12. One of my best childhood memories is watching the Canada Day fireworks from our sailboat, The Red Dragon, in the Toronto Harbour.

13. Since I was 5, I’ve insisted upon having a single glass of ginger ale every time I fly. Now I follow it with a glass or two of white wine and a sedative, but the ginger ale is still an essential.

14. The first time my father and I hugged was in the reception line of a wedding. I was fifteen.

15. I love being around people but the thought of sharing accommodations with others is about as appealing as a frontal lobotomy.

16. I once screamingly called a Royal Military College student a warmonger.

17. None of the people I’ve ‘dated’ have the same national citizenship.

18. I loathe people who obstruct the sidewalk by holding hands and gazing into each others eyes and around them at the streetscape while meandering lazily about. You want leisurely romantic walks? Go to Paris. This is London, cupcakes, people have to get to work in the mornings.

19. I love swimming outside at night.

20. I think the best way to see a city is alone, in the early hours of morning, in a cab ride home after a night out. When the sun hasn’t quite started to rise, the streets are deserted, and the cab can fly down the normally gridlocked streets.

21. I have never seen The Breakfast Club or The Matrix.

22. I can’t watch people eat crustaceans (especially shrimp, prawns, or whatever you call them in your part of the world – the little ones that look like maggots) without gagging.

23. When I was 9, I circulated a petition around my school to protest having McDonald’s cater a school social event. I won, and my teacher despised me for the rest of the year.

24. My first job was an assistant counselor at a riding camp.

25. I am culinary useless and/or uninclined. The extent of my home cooking, and ninety percent of my meals, consists of pita bread or carrots dipped in hummus. I also buy pre-boiled, pre-peeled eggs without shame.

26. My toenails are always painted.

27. I can pretty aptly chase after a cab in 3 or 4 inch heels, but I cannot walk in flip-flops.

28. It usually takes at least two attempts for me to finish a one ounce shot.

29. The worst gift I’ve ever received was a gift certificate to a jewelry store on a one-year anniversary from my then boyfriend.

30. The best gift I’ve ever received was Daisy, a Belgian-Thoroughbred, for my fourteenth birthday from my dad.

31. I was terrified of E.T. as a child. To this day I still think he looks like an animatronic vacuum cleaner which does little to assuage my fear.

32. I eat pizza slices backwards and muffins upside down.

33. As the result of some unfortunate circumstances, I once ended up banging on a friend’s door at three in the morning with tears streaming down my face while dressed as a slutty Catholic schoolgirl and dragging a battered picket-style sign reading “Kiss me, Judas!” I have not attended a costume party since.

34. I don’t like Tim Burton.

35. I once badly burned my leg while ironing my pants. Yes, I was wearing the pants at the time. I was in a hurry and trying to save time.

36. I eat tremendously slowly and cannot stand to be rushed.

37. On a family vacation my father misread the nautical map and got our canal boat stuck under a bridge shearing most of the roof off it.

38. When I was ‘deported’ from the U.S., I cried the whole cab ride from East 14th St. and 4th Ave. to La Guardia Airport.

39. I don’t trust people who don’t like animals.

40. I was five when I first flew in a plane (Toronto Pearson to London Heathrow). I was fourteen when I first took a city bus (to the mall).

41. I hate olives.

42. My mother had surgery to have a ten year old tubal ligation reversed so she could get pregnant again and have a girl. She got lucky (in more than one way, I suppose) and had me. The boy name she picked, just in case, was Andrew.

43. I’m convinced that microwave popcorn drizzled with melted Becel is the food of the Gods.

44. I have been to 8 Canadian provinces, 13 U.S. States, and 13 countries.

45. The two pieces of advice I’ve actually listened to are as follows: “Life’s better when you let people in” and “Whatever happens, it will either be a great experience or a great story”.

46. Paul is the best Beatle, Charlotte is the best Sex and the City girl, Chandler is the best Friend, and Joey is the best Ramone.

47. If you’re not George Michael, you should not have facial hair.

48. I don’t like Led Zeppelin and I think Robert Plant looks like Kate Hudson on a bad day.

49. My first pet was a Golden Retriever named Sherman. He got his name because he was a very large puppy, which my family likened to a Sherman tank.

50. I’ve never been to a church wedding.

51. I talk in my sleep. One time I woke up shrieking but wasn’t aware of it until my mother appeared terrified in the door of the guest room asking, not unreasonably, what the bloody hell was going on.

52. Growing up I played the piano and the clarinet.

53. I usually only sleep 5 hours a night, but I sleep like a corpse. The downside is that I very rarely remember any dreams.

54. I’ve never been to a cottage.

55. My left pupil dialates uncontrollably when I get migraines, which makes me extremely photosensitive. It also makes me look like I’m having a mild stroke.

56. I don’t get jet lag.

57. I’ve never owned my own car. I tell myself that I shall continue taking the tube until I can get a hard top Audi TT Roadster.

58. I think curly hair is adorable on men.

59. I beat the genetic odds and am the only member of my family with blue eyes.

60. Extremely ticklish.

61. I think life would be better in black and white.

62. I am currently besotted with my job, flat, city, country and pretty much everything else in my life but would, stupidly, walk away from it all in a second for a gamble on love. I wish I knew how to tell him that.

63. I don’t understand fabric softener.

64. I’m convinced that the success of Christianity is largely due to whichever PR agency Jesus Christ was employing.

65. I’m much more at home in a cocktail dress than jeans.

66. I despise gold jewelry. I thought I had educated those in my life about this, but my mother recently gifted me with a gold necklace. Maybe she was thinking 24 carats – one carat for each of the times I’ve told her I don’t wear gold jewelry.

67. Brunch at Windmills tastes like home.

68. I didn’t attend my high school prom or my university convocation.

69. Both my siblings forgot my last birthday, my mother wasn’t speaking to me, and my father called me to tell me that I wasn’t welcome to come home to the guest bedroom anymore. I still had the best day ever because someone made cupcakes, someone offered to drive two hours to pick me up at the airport, and someone sent me a dozen roses.

70. Claustrophobic.

71. I’m pretty certain I’ll never have kids, but I have baby names picked out. Maybe I’ll use them for puppies.

72. Camera shy.

73. I think hippos are absolutely adorable. The pigmy hippo at the Toronto Zoo was always my favourite.

74. I aspire to have a mind like a diamond, shoes that cut, and eyes that burn like cigarettes. To get up early, stay up late, have uninterrupted prosperity and use a machete to cut through red tape. Fingernails that shine like justice, and a voice that is dark like tinted glass. I want to be the girl in the short skirt and the long jacket.

75. My favourite part of letter writing is addressing the envelope.

76. I tried cotton candy for the first time last year. It tasted exactly as I had expected: like asbestos. Between that, the clowns, and the carnies, I don’t know how circuses draw in any crowds.

77. Grace Kelly is my fashion idol. Halfway between Audrey and Marilyn. Perfection.

78. I experience severe “key panic” at the very least twice every day in which I spend about a minute certain beyond the shadow of a doubt that I’ve locked myself out of my flat. That minute usual begins with a burst of profanity, is followed by frantically rummaging in a handbag, and climaxes with an audible sigh of relief.

79. My first real date was as a plus-one to a wedding reception in Toronto. Before the reception we had dinner on the patio of an Italian bistro on King St. West with a centerpiece made of baby yellow roses and a waiter who did his best to make two awkward teenagers feel like grownups.

80. I’m half an inch below average female height. Take note, all you patronizing tall people who pat me on the head when I’m out of my heels. Laugh all you want: someday we’ll be flying coach together and I shall smile gleefully as I unfurl my little stumps and stretch them comfortably out in front of me while you contort yourself into a pretzel.

81. One of my life goals is to find a deaf mute hairstylist to avoid salon small talk.

82. Mildly put, I have trouble parking cars. Accurately put, I could not park a Mini on a football field. I blame this on a self-diagnosed lack of depth perception. If no one is around, I open the car door to check if I’m within the lines. I’m usually not.

83. I see no reason to eat cookies, especially Arrowroots, that have not been dipped in tea.

84. I’m an outcast living in a country of endless sandwich shops when all I want is a bagel. It’s fatty cheese spread over carbs: what’s not to love, England?

85. As a child, my brother did a high school kinesiology project on my hand eye coordination catching a baseball. Most people are more skilled with one hand over the other. Some people are equally skilled with both hands: they are called ambidextrous. It was ultimately decided that I was ambi-useless.

86. It’s not a gin and tonic if it doesn’t have a lime slice in it, and if it’s not a gin and tonic then I’m not tipping for it.

87. I blame at least some part of my disdain for Christianity on the little bastard child who stole my Glow Worm doll from my Sunday school class when I was four.

88. I’m the one person I know who has received a negative score in laser tag. The only person I managed to shoot repeatedly was myself, in one of the mirrors in the maze.

89. I don’t like pubs, especially pubs with sticky tables and kitschy junk like old license plates on the walls. I like lounges with overstuffed velvet couches, dim lighting, and skinny vases with individual fresh cut flowers in them.

90. I think you can tell a lot about a man by the type of scarf he wears and how he ties it.

91. No one biologically related to me has ever told me that they love me.

92. My favourite operas are Carmen and La Traviata. My favourite plays are The Merchant of Venice and The Importance of Being Earnest. I can’t whittle it down to one or two favourite films.

93. If I could have my dream dinner party guest list I would invite Woody Allen, Billy Wilder, Oscar Wilde, Bette Davis, David Sedaris, and Truman Capote.

94. I go grocery shopping at least every second day. I haven’t mastered shopping in advance for the week: it’s all done on a meal by meal basis. My dad once visited my apartment to drop off my cousin to stay with me and in an effort to make sure I didn’t starve the poor girl to death he had did quick investigation of my kitchen. Upon finding half a tub of hummus in my fridge and a bottle of vodka in the freezer he somehow came to the conclusion that I am domestically inept.

95. My kindergarden class had a pet rabbit named Cocoa. When he died I was so distraught that my mother got me my own pet rabbit. I had several more as pets when I was growing up and loved them all dearly.

96. I think the sweater vest is the most underrated, underused piece of clothing. Especially in argyle.

97. My dream job is at Vanity Fair. Glossy on the outside, gritty on the inside.

98. Other than bananas and grapes I won’t eat whole fruit, I need it to be cut up. This is especially true with apples.

99. I thought I was socially awkward until I experienced someone accidentally setting my hand on fire in an attempt to simultaneously light a cigarette and maintain eye contact. Apparently I’m less socially awkward, but more combustible than I had initially thought.

100. I have a fantastic memory for conversation and dialogue. However, after almost six months I still have not learned my 'new' phone number.

plush.

There are many things in life that I don’t understand. American foreign policy. The Brussels city metro map. Nickelback. Corporate men in tailored Italian suits carrying nylon backpacks. Teddy bears.

Of all the useless, unwanted gifts I have received in my life (and this is by no means a small number) nothing ranks higher than the teddy bear. Or plush animals of any species, in fact. I’m not discriminatory. I am proud to be an equal opportunist regarding my fervent disdain towards mounds of foam crammed inside polyester fur casings.

It seems that the teddy bear has become today’s go-to gift for any occasion. It’s a retailer’s dream: design one generic product and stick it into an appropriate costume and it becomes perfectly marketable for any season or event. Various little cleverly designed outfits and accessories make them chameleons instantly appropriate for birthdays, Christmases, graduations, baptisms, Bar or Bat Mitzahs, and naturally the promise land of consumer whoredom: Valentine’s Day. Of course I’m sure that not every attempt to universally market the teddy bear has been greeted with the same degree of success that the top hat wearing, rose-clutching Valentine’s Day bear has enjoyed. Easter teddy, for example. The real reason that we have the seemingly randomly selected Easter Bunny carrying a basket of eggs is because little teddy nailed to a crucifix wasn’t exactly flying off the shelves. The same is true for the doomed to obscurity ‘happy divorce’ teddy, complete with a tiny plastic cleaver jammed between his ears.

What exactly is one supposed to do with plush animals once maturing beyond (or at least running out of free time for) arranging stuffed toys nicely around a miniature table so they can mingle whilst presumably sharing tea, cucumber sandwiches, and hot stock trading tips? I was once given a plush pony which my cat quite warmed up to – if you can call his python-like stuffing of the pony’s head into his seemingly dislocated jaw and dragging it triumphantly around my flat “warming up to”. At least it had a use and gave someone some pleasure that didn’t involve than clawing up my sofa. Normally, under the pangs of guilt for relegating a gift immediately into the trash, one winds up displaying the furry object on a desk, or atop a bookcase where it proceeds to sit with beady eyes, menacingly staring down at you and all else it surveys.

In actuality, it’s probably doing much worse than playing the judgmental, albeit passive, voyeur. Not only is it wasting precious table top or shelf space, its soft furry exterior has become a veritable Hilton for dust, germs, candle or cigarette smoke, pet hair, and spores. It might well smile and look sweetly down upon you with glassy doe eyes, but I’m not fooled. Amass enough of these thoughtless gifts and I'm convinced, they will do their best to kill you from the lungs outward. I aspire to start selling teddy bears that double as air filters. The plush exterior would be capable of osmosis bringing all the air pollutants collected inside it so they can sit on a shelf being useful for a few months until their filtering powers are used up and they can be tossed guiltlessly into the trash. Now that’s a gift.

With the current state of the gifting market, if you live long enough and are popular enough with acquaintances and other meaningless gifters, the barrage of plush toys will eventually prove detrimental to your health. When buying someone a teddy bear as a last minute gift, few shoppers consider that the ultimate product for the end user is an appointment in their agenda for lying in a hospital room hooked up to beeping machines and dripping IV bags, breathing hoarsely through a tube in their trachea. Lying alone and silently cursing everyone who ever gave them a little germ bag sewn up in a soft furry casing. Death has come. Death, by plush.

cocoon.

Well, it seems that a new year is upon us. I actually feel as though a decade has past since I’ve written anything. While I’d like to say that I’ve taken a break for a spiritual journey of self-discovery and am returning from the hiatus bursting with profound things to say, the truth is, I’m forcing these words out of myself like toothpaste from an empty tube to appease my friends who have become not unlike an angry lynch mob of pitchfork-wielding villagers demanding a blog post in exchange for not burning me at the stake and making s’mores from sugar-reduced marshmallows and gluten-free graham crackers over my slowly charring carcass. I’m pretty sure the demand stems from the fact that the general absurdity and ridiculousness chronicled here makes their own lives seem better by comparison. Nonetheless, be it by way of silver-tongued persuasion or under duress, Strawberry Blondie has returned, and in an aptly tardy fashion, will kick off 2008 by reviewing the year that was 2007.

The year began at midnight on January 1st, as years are wont to do, and it definitely got things started with a bang. Unfortunately, the source of this “bang” was the sound of my crumpled body tumbling down the rain-soaked stairs of a Toronto nightclub. No major damage, other than a little stilettoing of the leg resulting in a bruise resembling a minor gun shot wound. After a night of debauchery out on the town, two good friends and I collapsed in a sleepy pile and awoke not quite ‘bright eyed and bushy tailed’ so much as ‘bleary eyed and hungover as all hell’, but nonetheless, ready to take on 2007. Looking back on those three sleepy ladies having brunch on New Year’s Day 2007, I can’t believe what a tumultuous year it’s been and where they’ve all ended up. I’m sure they wouldn’t have believed it either, or they would have spent less time bickering about homefries and more time fretting about how they were going to make it through the next twelve months.

It really was a year of metamorphoses and through the graduations, new jobs, loves, heartbreaks, triumphs, and assorted catastrophes, we changed enormously while still remaining frighteningly the same. We learned a terrifying amount about ourselves and ended up in situations wish you would be hard pressed to fabricate. In the name of being succinct, or (more accurately) cripplingly lazy, here are a few highs and lows (or just lows) of 2007 and what turned out to be some of the more formative moments shaping the various neuroses which we’ve added to our emotional baggage (which is edging closer to the check-in weight limit) for 2008.

1). Picking a recently hysterical friend up at the airport after an unfortunate bout of heartbreak and/or deportation becomes a regular occurrence and a new standard tenet of good friendship.

2). Cocaine was given the metaphorical finger in lieu of another trip to the bar. Let it be noted for the record that we’re not only responsible, but also economical.

3). Travel was enjoyed and endured. There’s nothing like entering into that tense game of Russian Roulette the moment you step foot on a plane, hear the first infantile wail and wonder which poor bastard is going to be stuck next to the screaming ball of flesh for the next eight hours.

4). We looked fondly back on the fictional time that Carrie Bradshaw was broken up with a post-it note and yearned for those good old days of chivalry and communicative endings.

5). We macheted our way through the real estate jungles of Toronto and London where standards were quickly reduced from “well-lit, with bay windows and a charming view, hardwood floors, a balcony and/or garden” to “something without rats and roaches, or at least not both at the same time”. You know you’ve landed a quality piece of real estate when you ask to change the terms of the lease to allow you paint and your landlord leans back in his chair thoughtfully taking a drag on his cigarette before replying, “sure, it’s not like anything you do can make it worse than it already is.”

6). Stories beginning: “He’s such a gentleman, he honestly just wanted to cuddle. So then, after I slept with him… “ which would once have elicited laughter and raised eyebrows are now greeted with a knowing smile and nod.

7). Wise parental words inspired and guided. Exhibit A: an exert from a conversation with my mother:
"My laptop died and they don't think they can save anything on my hard drive, so my whole portfolio is gone, my bank account is overdrawn and I'm being forcibly removed from the country by immigration law in two weeks.”
"Oh for god's sake, stop whining, we've all got problems. Those goddamn caterpillars in the garden ate all the leaves off the daffodils I just planted."

In haughty spite of the above list, the three of us have had a remarkable year. We’ve showed elite grad schools, multi-million dollar Hollywood productions, American immigration officials, long distance relationships/friendships, the cutthroat job market, and various international borders that we can handle them like a cake walk and are ready to take whatever else comes along in stride. If that’s the result of emerging from the cocoon of the hellish 2007 list, then I’m glad that’s how we spent the last year.

Although, at the end of the day, has that much really changed? Ten years ago we were passing notes in math class reading “do you like me?” with the obligatory “yes”, “no” or “maybe” options for ticking. Not being picked for dodgeball teams was a legitimate concern. Back then, we self-medicated with candy and shopping for sparkly lip gloss. Today, we pass comparably pathetic messages via high-tech mobile phones in between the times when we’re masquerading as mature adults in the rat race. The hopelessness may remain, but our vocabulary has improved and we now generally add more options and clauses to the question. We’re willing to fight tooth and nail to get picked out of a tough interview pool for a dream job. We’ve upped the ante on our self-medicating, too. Glasses of chardonnay have replaced the kinder egg and hour-long consultations at the MAC counter have pushed the sparkly lip gloss aside.

Alright, stick us back in the cocoon: we’re not quite done yet.