The Shepherd's Pie incident...

So, I have been quiet for a little while, eh? (Note here effective use of local phraseology with the word 'eh?', which Canadians drop at the end of almost every sentence to encourage conversational participation. Much in the same way British gangsta wannabes use 'innit?' i.e. 'it's good that, innit?' becomes 'it's good that, eh?' Aaaaanyway...

The reason for this prolonged silence has been twofold - one, my darling hubby has spent the last seven weeks recuperating from his surgery. Which basically means he has been horizontal with his legs in the air (and not in a way that benefits me...) whilst I have taken on role of main breadwinner and domestic goddess. Never has cleaning the loo looked so effortlessly fabulous... Two - sweet baby Jesus and the orphans, my new job is utter bedlam. Remember that job I had in my previous life where I drove up and down the country in my top-of-the-range Audi, banging the steering wheel to the latest Kylie tune and occasionally stopping to give the odd presentation and take a prospective client out to lunch? Well, talk about total 360; last week I was the reluctant recipient of a MAJOR ear-bashing for sending a client a Shepherd's Pie by mistake ('I don't LIKE ground beef, you fucking cunt!!!!'). This is just one example of the kind of thing that constitutes my work-day. Oh, the glamour.

But for every Shepherd's Pie incident there is a random act of gratitude that makes it all worthwhile. Take yesterday, for instance. One of my clients, a lovely old guy with some HIV drug-induced mental problems stops by the office to give me a small gift. Chocolates? Jewellery? A three course meal at the restaurant of my choice? No. A jar of pesto sauce. That's it. No wrapping paper or ribbon, no wicker basket with a complimentary bag of novelty shaped pasta - just a plain old jar of pesto. Why say it with flowers when you can say it with ground pine nuts, olive oil and parmesan?

I had a smile on my face all night :-)

Curveball!

Well well well, it's a funny old world.

One minute I'm gearing up for a new career as a Recruitment Consultant, the next I'm being offered the position of Director of Operations for 'A Loving Spoonful', the AIDS charity I've been volunteering for for the past 12 months. The job itself is simply awesome. The organization runs a variety of meals programs to help men, women and children living with HIV and AIDS, and who have physical, mental or medical barriers to food and nutrition. Many of the clients are in palliative care. The idea is that no-one living with AIDS should live with hunger. Amen to that.

The job itself is simply awesome - full operational responsibility for the whole organization, which is one of the most highly regarded non-profits in Western Canada. The salary, as is always the case with non-profit, is not. Should I take this job I'll be earning a little over what I was earning at the age of 22.

What's a gal to do? A decent salary and excellent benefits package in a well established Recruitment Consultancy or a crappy salary and basic benefits in the ever-unstable world of non-profit? Arriving at work clean-shaven, suited and booted every day so I properly represent the company, or wearing what the hell I want and shaving only on special occasions? Working in an established role and being closely managed against set performance criteria or having free-reign to make a fantastic non-profit even better? Working long hours matching candidates to job opportunities and earning Randstad their next million dollars, or using all my skills and experience in operations to enrich the lives of some very needy people? Feeling tired and unfulfilled at the end of my work day or feeling tired and fantastic?

I start as Director of Operations for A loving Spoonful on March 5th. And I couldn't be happier.

New year - new career!

Well, my Canadian re-invention is now gathering pace; after a whole year of impatiently waiting for my work permit (and trust me, it's been a tough year - selfless acts of volunteering and hanging out at coffee shops can really be quite exhausting) , I am on the verge of a green light from Immigration. My work permit will be here in the next few weeks!

Not one to hang around and wait for the mountain to come to Moses (or whatever that saying is) I have been typically proactive and already managed to line myself up with a job. The offer is on the table, and imminently I will be... the new Customer Service Recruitment Consultant for Randstad Canada! Not quite as high-flying as my previous incarnation but, as Mikey would say, 'girl gotta eat' and all things considered it's a pretty decent start. Combined with the current paid Ops Consultancy work I'm doing for 'A Loving Spoonful', pretty soon I'll be able to resume my role as Spender Extraordinaire. Vancouver's shopping district won't know what's hit it...

The Geek Within...

Capt. Lee Adama (left) - my future husband. Once I get rid of that bitch Pvt. Starbuck (right).


Well, it's finally happened. I have lost the precious few remaining shards of credibility I had left and become the ultimate hypocrite in one foul swoop. No, I haven't converted to Celineaism, that brain-washing religion of worshiping at the altar of crap music (which would necessitate a self-inflicted bullet wound to the temple rather than a mere confession via the world of Blogging). Not quite so shocking, but almost as shameful...

So - after a whole year of inflicting my favourite things on Mikey (from endless Girls Aloud-athons and countless horror movies to a rather hilarious visit to a local theme park and some ill-advised roller coaster riding, not to mention a year-end climax of seasons 1, 2 and 3 of 'Footballer's Wives') I thought it only fair to show some willing and endure (sorry, 'experience') some of his dearest obsessions. After all, marriage isn't just about love and trust and fights over who sleeps in the wet patch...

Of all possible methods of torture (and trust me, the boy has many - listening to a whole 'Dixie Chicks' album, anyone?) I finally settled on giving one of his several geek DVD's a go. Now, I'd rather give Jo Brand a bed-bath than sit through even ten minutes of his 'Star Trek' collection so I opted instead to give 'Battlestar Gallactica' a go. I bought him three series's worth for Christmas (the is the new one, not the old one) and figured I could play the dutiful husband and at least sit through two episodes before playing the 'I tried my hardest but failed anyway' card. And there was also a hot guy on the cover in a tight uniform so I thought that might go some way to nulling the pain....

You know what's coming next, don't you?

"Look into my eyes, John... You WILL become addicted..."
.

Sweet baby Jesus and the orphans, I am hooked. I am a Sci-Fi geek. I cannot hide the shameful truth any longer. This is more than just 'liking'. This is full-on back-to-back episodes every night of the week, canceling social plans to settle in for the next installment and even - God, no! - spending hours discussing the 'philosophy of Battlestar' over cafe breakfasts. We still have an entire season to go and already I am feeling the cold stab of dread at the prospect of running out of episodes...

OK, seriously. Someone needs to come to Canada and rescue me. I have become this body-snatched version of my former self who actually has serious conversations about a race of human-imitating robots called 'Cylons' and whether or not it's feasible that they have a religious belief-system.

And you know what's even worse?

I kinda like it...

Merry Christmas, eh?

Ah, Christmas on planet John. 'tis a joy indeed. HRH Cheryl Tweedy (yes I know, she's now Cheryl Cole but in my heart she'll always be the lippy, cheaply highlighted, toilet attendant-abusing, deliciously common Ms Tweedy to me) sits graciously atop the tree this year, resplendant in her pink sequined boob-tube and gaudy white faux-leather jacket, whilst Mr Brittonfeld himself languishes on the sofa, snuggled in to the other Mr Brittonfeld (who, it emerges, has THE weirdest collection of Christmas music ever; Loreena McKinnet, anyone?) and chugging happily on a pint of Bailey's. You can take the girl out of Leyland...

Had a very nice early Christmas present as well - the man from Immigration... he say YES!

Well in theory, anyway. I've finally, after nine months of waiting, received my first stage approval from the Canadian Government! Hip hip friggin' hooray! What it basically means is, providing my drug-using, kiddie-fiddling, serial-killing past doesn't show up in my police checks, I'm guaranteed to be accepted as an official permanant resident. It also means I am now approved to work. Michael practically held a gun to my head whilst I filled out my work permit application and frog-marched me to the post box. I think someone is eager for me to start earning some coin...

So, by the end of January at the latest I'll be once again clocking in with the work slaves.

Oh shit.

Merry Christmas one and all!