I moved… again…

Blog now lives at: www.thatwhitegirls.com

I know, I know, I’m not going to make it in this world if I keep changing my URL every 6 months, but I swear this is the last time I’m moving… God, I hope so anyway.


Where’s Waldo?

I keep swearing to myself that I will write a post that does not involve dancing. It’s hard because it’s all I think about lately. That’s why I haven’t posted anything. So, I’m left with writing about random things that have happened to me lately. I know how much you love those.

I got a new camera. I’m really fricken pleased with it, even though I haven’t had much of a chance to really test it out. I’m waiting on a case before I start taking it out of the house. With this new camera, I’ve been reminded about how much there is to know about photography and how I don’t know about any of it. Oh well, such is life, good-a-time as any to start learning.

I recently bought a new top that looks good… until I start moving. Then the neck line starts moving up until the part that’s supposed to cover my boobs is choking me. I decided that I was going to fix this problem by adding in an elastic band to try and prevent the upward migration. Three hours later, I was reminded that I’m not very good at sewing. Luckily, I’m very good at undoing sewing, so I’m left with the top as it was when I bought it… well, with a few thousand extra holes of course.

I had my brother over today; we went out for lunch and spent several hours catching up. Which was really nice; it’s been awhile since we’ve been able to do that. The first thing he does when he walked in the door was say “I have something for you” and then he dropped three packages of ‘ResoraLAX’ onto my coffee table ‘just in case’. Um. Thanks.

I’m not that into Christmas decorating, but decided to go all out** this year, since I was having people over for dinner. It’s almost February and my decorations are still up. In my defense, I’m not turning them on anymore.

Several months ago, I gave myself a goal to write 600 word posts, four days a week. I went full-on-strong for the first six weeks or so and since then have petered out. I no longer count words and don’t post nearly four times a week. So in an effort to not drop the ball, I’m changing my goal post to twice a week and however many words I want.

This will hopefully limit the amount of posts like this one that I put up. Fear not, they will still exist. I’m not changing my personality after all. It might be a good idea to post consistently on certain days, but it also might lead to giant failure on my part, again. So, let’s say I’m going to post on Sundays and Wednesdays and if I don’t, I’ll do it some other day, I swear.

I think that’s about all I got for this random post. I’m sure I could come up with something else to say, but it wouldn’t be nearly as interesting as writing about cameras, clothes or constipation medication.

Until next time… See ya folks!


**”All out” includes a 3ft Christmas tree, two sets of lights, a stocking and a Santa hat.

Buenos Nachos

I’ve officially been dancing Salsa for three weeks now; last night I went to the Salsa club for the third time. I’m by no means good, but I think I’m getting better. One guy even told me that I was a good dancer… and I don’t even think he was drunk.

At first, I was seriously awkward and uncoordinated. As opposed to now, when I’m only moderately so. I didn’t know what I was doing and, even to me, it felt wrong.

Heather - dancing - wrong

But, every so often, I would get a partner that was less serious and would just let me have fun, even if I wasn’t technically dancing Salsa anymore. Basically, he would just turn me a lot and that would make me happy.

Heather - dancing - fun

Since my first time out, I’ve learned the steps and have less of a hard time keeping up. I actually know what I’m supposed to be doing, even if I don’t always do it.

I’ve also learned how to properly turn, instead of just shuffling clockwise, and I’ve learned the “cross body lead”. That’s when you switch places with your partner. Up until last night, I had no idea what my partner was trying to get me to do when he led me into this move. Now I’ve got it, and I really enjoy it.

Despite the fact that I’m learning the moves and understanding the cues from my partner, I still have a lot of areas to work on (obviously, I’ve only been doing it for three weeks!), but some of them are very, very basic.

For instance, I have a habit of putting my left hand on the bicep of my partner. (It should be on their shoulder, or on their back). I usually have this problem with partners that are significantly taller than me. I guess I’m lazy and don’t want to hold my arm up. I’ve been corrected numerous times by numerous partners, but still continue to make the mistake.

Last night, I was danced with this guy. A lot, probably a dozen times. He’s a very good dancer and could obviously tell that I was just learning, but he seemed to like helping me get better. Good dancers will either do this (show you things, give you pointers etc) or they beat it and will never ask you to dance. Needless to say, I was very thankful that he asked me to dance again and again.

But he was significantly taller than me, so my bad habit kept cropping up. The first few times, he physically corrected me by putting my hand where it should be, but that takes time and takes away from the dance. So, after awhile, he started giving me physical cues to remind me to correct my posture: he would pat my back twice.

The first couple times, I didn’t catch on, so he would pat my back harder and look down at my hand.


After that, every time I felt the gentle reminder, my hand would shoot up to the correct position and he would nod approvingly.

Much better

He left that night by giving me the name of an instructor that is very good (Giovanni); he asked me for my email address so he can send me the information/link for the drop in lesson.

He said that he was also thinking of going to the Sunday lesson. I questioned his reasons for wanting to take a beginner lesson (since obviously he doesn’t need it); he said “just for practice”. I’m not sure if he was talking about my practice or his. Regardless, I might have found someone that is willing to take me under their wing.

Down Syndrome

I always have a hard time hitting publish for posts like these. But it’s something I’ve been thinking about lately and I drew pictures and everything, so here it goes…

Depression is a bitch. It seems like it affects everyone at one point or another. Some people are clinically depressed and others just get a bout of it every so often.

I consider myself a pretty upbeat person, despite that, I struggled with depression a couple of months ago. Interestingly enough, I didn’t realize what I was struggling with until I got out of it. That’s probably often the case with rookies, such as myself.

A few months ago, I was super busy with school, spending time with family and friends and just generally maintaining a social life; I had no time for myself whatsoever. When school ended, I crashed.

Back to bed

At first, I thought I was just being lazy. I would spend entire weekends in bed; not because I was sick, I just had no drive to do anything. I wasn’t seeing my friends, I wasn’t calling anybody, I would leave the house only if someone dragged me kicking and screaming out of my comfy little rut.


This laziness quickly took over the work week and I found myself doing nothing 7 days a week. I thought I was burnt out, I thought I needed some time to regroup. After a month, I started questioning what was wrong with me.


I started forcing myself to go out and do things, to not go to bed as soon as I got home at night and to leave my house (and my bed) on weekends.

Thats it

At first, I went through this schizophrenic battle every weekend, but eventually, I looked forward to going out and doing things. I kept up with it and soon enough I was back to my regular self. It was at that point that I realized I had been depressed.

Which has got me thinking about depression in general; a few people in my life, including my brother, struggle with it on a daily basis. My bout of depression was measured in weeks; my brother’s depression is measured in years. I got out of my funk by giving myself a pep talk and making myself go out and do things. Danny is on medication and sees a psychologist; something tells me his depression is a bit more complex.

I could have used someone to give me a kick in the pants in order to get me out of my rut. But I think I’ll get kicked to the curb if I become that person for my brother. He’ll likely think I’m harping on him and no one wants to be around that. Can you blame them?

Where’s the happy medium? How much is too much and how much is not enough? How do you know if you’re making a difference, or making them distance themselves from you?

Sometimes I shouldn’t be allowed to leave the house…

Sometimes I surprise even myself about how ridiculous my life can be. Usually, nothing too crazy happens, but every so often, weird stuff happens. Stuff that only ever happens to me. This New Years Eve was no exception.

By NYE standards, my night was pretty tame. I went to my dad’s place, had a few drinks and was in bed by 4am. Even though I started drinking on an empty stomach and even though I didn’t make a point to drink copious amounts of water, I didn’t get completely plowed and I woke up feeling fine, albeit a bit tired.

The next morning, I’m gathering up my gear and putting everything by the door so it’s all in once place when I leave. As I’m putting everything downstairs, I look for my shoes; they’re not there but I knew they were last night.

My dad has a shithead of a dog that likes to take shoes from the door and chew on them upstairs. But it’s weird even for Dusty to take both shoes; he’s usually content with destroying only one.

As I’m finishing my visit, I keep an eye out for my shoes. I finally find them; by the back door, arranged neatly side-by-side. I found it strange; I didn’t think I’d gone out the back door and Dusty doesn’t leave anything neatly side-by-side.

Regardless, I put on my shoes and left. On the drive home, I started noticing that my shoes were tighter than normal. I decided my feet were swollen; after all, edema is probably a symptom of excessive alcohol consumption.

A couple days later, I went to wear the shoes and remembered the ride home New Year’s Day. I thought to myself “I wonder if the swelling has gone down yet”, kind of chuckling to myself at the ludicrousness of that thought.

I slipped on the shoes and they didn’t fit. What the….?

As I kick off one of the shoes, it flips over and reveals the size of the shoe. A whopping 2 sizes* smaller than the ones I bought. Mother Fucker. I guess I shop at the same store as someone else at the party. I guess that same person left thinking that their feet had shrunk.

They left while heavily intoxicated; I did not.

And then I had the pleasure of making an embarrassing phone call to Bev to tell her I stole her friend’s shoes. 😐


*Note – I can’t remember what size I bought… it might only be one size, in fact, it probably is only one size, but “whopping 2 sizes” sounds more impressive than “a whole size”, so I’m leaving it in there.*

Video [games] killed the radio star

I’ve come to the conclusion that video games make me a bad person. And not in the fun way.

I don’t play them all that often, so when I decide to turn on a game, it starts out innocently enough. I enjoy myself with the running and the jumping and whatnot. I question my reasons for not playing them on a more regular basis.

Theyre fun

Eventually, I start dying; my once-healthy amount of lives start to dwindle and I become more critical of my actions.


I start becoming more and more serious and more and more frustrated (because I keep dying!) . In no time, I’m cursing at the TV (yes, it’s the TV’s fault) and chastising myself for being a loser.


Jump higher… not that high!

Run faster… wait, slow down!

Okay, calm down… why’d you walk right into him – what’s wrong with you!?!?!?

I’m pretty sure my neighbours think I’m insane because, I tell ya, I’m not quiet about it. After awhile, I decide a break is in order; my blood pressure is probably higher than is good for me. I start puttering around the house, but if I need to use any kind of electronic device, I have instant frustration.

Boot up faster, computer! I said…. Internet, is that so hard? What? Do I need to click you four fucking times all of a sudden?

Hello?? I said eject. Why aren’t you ejecting? Just give me the movie, blu-ray, why do you want to hold on to it so badly? Are you in love with it?

I pre-heated you like an hour ago… why aren’t you hot yet? Oh, get over yourself, oven!!

Once I walk away from the computer/dvd player/oven/my life with frustration seeping out of my pores, I realize I might have a problem. I’ve become a meaner person; I’ve become a complete and total rager. It’s best that I don’t get behind the wheel when I’m like this; I’m liable to murder someone.

Luckily I only have two more worlds of Super Mario Brothers to get through.

Happy New Year!

I know I haven’t posted all year; I just wanted to let you know that I am in fact aware of it. Since my last post Christmas and New Year’s have come and gone. It’s now 2012 and the start of another year.

I’m not really into New Year’s resolutions; I think that they are mostly a recipe for failure. But I do have things I would like to do; it’s just that they’re not much different than the things I wanted to do last month. But, sometimes a fresh start is enough to give you the kick in the pants you need to actually start doing things.

One of the things I wanted to do was to get more active again. I feel like I’ve become a bit of a slug over the past few months and want to get back into the routine of going out and doing things again.

And I have. Over the past couple months, I’ve started going out for walks; I go out for live music nights; I even went ice skating for the first time in months. Like I said, I’ve starting picking it up over the past month or two, so where does the talk of New Year’s resolutions come in?

Well, there’s this little pub/restaurant that I go to on a semi-regular basis. And by semi-regular, I mean, pretty much once a week, every week for the past 3 years. You could say I’m a good customer.

Across the street from this place is a dance studio. On my way in and out of my favorite hole in the wall, I see this place. Every time. Being that I lack much to be desired in the body-movement-coordination arena of life, I’ve always looked longingly towards this studio with a mixture of curiousity and apprehension.

This longing has only grown stronger and over the past year or so I began to seriously consider doing something about my desire to be able to dance without looking like a spastic spider. Then I went to Mexico, where I learned that dancing can be very sexy, when done properly, that is. So over the past two months, my curiousity has nearly overcome my apprehension.

Last week, on January 1st, I was on one of my walks when I walked past the studio. It was closed, but I stopped to peek inside. I noticed that they had a pamphlet on the outside of their door. I grabbed one. Being the new year, they have a New Year’s special. I gave it some thought and the next day, I went in and signed up for a salsa class.

The two days later, I was discussing it with someone at work; she said that she was going salsa dancing on Friday and I was welcome to come. That same day, I got an invitation for a 2 hour salsa lesson for Saturday night.

I signed up for the two hour lesson immediately, but I was hesitant to accept the invitation for Friday night; I knew absolutely nothing and wasn’t sure if a club was the best place to start. A quick glance at the website showed that they provide an hour long lesson before opening the club for dancing.

It seemed that everything was falling into place. I went out to the club on Friday night and followed it up the next night with another lesson. With two night’s of lessons under my belt, I feel much more confident going into my class. I think I’ll get much more out of my 8 week class, then if I was a complete newbie.

Now, I’m not the most coordinated person on the planet on a good day. In fact, I can be such a klutz that sometimes walking without falling down takes more of an effort than I’d like to admit.

So, it’s safe to say that my dancing skills are somewhat lacking. And that my moves, as of right now, are awkward at best. All things considered, I feel like this is something I can do. I think I can get it. It’ll take practice and determination, but those are two things that I am not lacking in my life. Pure determination has gotten me many things.

Coincidently, this falls in line with being more active and going out and doing more things. In fact, after two night’s of dancing, I am sore. My feet hurt. My legs, from hip to ankle, hurt. My hips and back hurt. My neck and shoulders hurt. And I feel great.

Happy New Year, Everyone!

Karma is a spiteful bitch

My pixilated pictures on here don’t show it, but I wear glasses in real life. I’ve been wearing these particular glasses for about 9 years or so. In that time, I’ve replaced the lenses, but that was 6 or 7 years ago, so not by any means recently.

The lenses desperately have to be replaced, but over the past year, I’ve held the notion in my head that I was going to get laser eye surgery and I don’t need to invest in a new pair of glasses or lenses. It would be a waste of money, after all.

I was recently talking with a friend about this and he told me about ordering glasses online; he’s done it and has had success. Plus they’re cheap – two pair for $100 kind of cheap. And they’re not crap-pieces either. I thought this was a great idea and decided I was going to get an eye test and order them online in the new year, once I recouped some of the money spent on Christmas.

Last night, I went for a walk in the rain. Normally when I do this, I either bring an umbrella or wear my contacts so that rain doesn’t get all over my glasses. For some odd reason, I decided I didn’t need to do that. I ventured out into the night and walked around for over an hour. Practically cursing myself the entire time seeing as I repeatedly had to stop and wipe my glasses. No easy feat when you’re bundled up to protect yourself from the rain.

I was on the “heading home” leg of the journey when I stopped under this tree to wipe my glasses. Almost instantly, I felt the lens pop out of the frame. These are not lens-popping-out-frames. I knew it was bad. I inspected my glasses and discovered the metal holding the lens in had completely snapped off the bridge of the nose.

My first thought, aside from “Oh no!”, was “I should have worn my contacts”. I lovingly put the pieces of my glasses into my pocket and started the blinded walk home. I figured I’d bring my glasses to my dad’s place the next day (I was going there for Christmas dinner anyway) and have him look at them. I figured he could solder it, or glue it, or something, so that I could last into the new year, or at the very least, last until I could get myself to the optometrist.

As I was walking home, I became increasingly paranoid about losing the loose lens. I started constantly routing around my pocket to make sure the lens was still there. As I approached my home, I went into the same pocket to get my keys. It felt like something was missing, I made sure the lens was still in place, which it was. I took an inventory of my pocket contents and everything seemed to be right.

I was walking up my driveway when it dawned on me; I spun around and looked into the night from the direction I just came. I made a half-hearted-blind effort to retrieve my lost goods. I knew I’d never find it; I didn’t know where I lost it and I couldn’t see anything because of the dark and the fact that I broke my glasses.

All I have left of my journey in the rain is regret, shame and a single eyeglass lens. Guess I’m going shopping sooner than I thought.

Christmas at the White House

Growing up, Mom was a bit of a hard ass. About a lot of things, but especially about Christmas. There were a lot of rules surrounding this holiday; it’s a wonder we got any joy out of it at all.

First of all, we had to decorate the tree “as a family”, while listening to Christmas music, drinking egg nog and eating her Christmas baking. It was a rough life, I tell ya.

But one thing that was actually hard, was the time between the tree decorating and Christmas morning. The time that dragged so slowly because everyday the presents were there, staring you in the face, just begging to be opened.

Must not cave

Probably a week before Christmas morning, once we were off school and stuck at home, the begging began incessantly. My brother and I would bug Mom constantly.

Can I Open one

Every time we asked the same question, yet expected a different answer. The answer never changed.


The outcome also never changed.


Eventually, Christmas Eve would roll around and we would have dinner at Granny’s place. We would get to open the presents from Granny, Uncle Jim & Uncle Keith. You’d think this would satiate our hunger, but in reality, it only fueled it.

By the time we got home, we’d be hell bent on opening our presents. We would beg and we would get the same answer. After enough time, we’d convince Mom that it was Christmas Eve; the day has the word Christmas in it and we were allowed to open Granny’s presents, so therefore, it is Christmas.

Mom would cave and allow us to open one present each.


Mom got to pick which one we opened and it was almost always clothes. Kids love getting clothes. Technically we opened presents, even if they weren’t good ones, so we would go to bed and wait for Christmas morning.

Nowadays, Mom lives away and we don’t see her on Christmas. She ships presents to us and we ship presents to her. Typically, I get her package in the mail about a week before Christmas. Since, most years, we celebrate Christmas with my dad on the 23rd, I never have anything to open on Christmas morning except for the present from Mom.

And since she engrained it into my soul, I never open her present early. Even though I’m an adult and I can make my own decisions, thank-you very much. Turns out, I would like a little something to open on Christmas morning. Otherwise, it’s just another morning.

Tonight, Mom called to let me know that she got my package (I received hers a couple days before). Every year we have the same conversation:

Mom: Have you opened your present yet?

Me: No, I haven’t.

Mom: Why not?

Me: Because it’s not Christmas yet.

Mom: Well, why don’t you open it now?

Me: What? No!

Mom: Oh, come on… just open it!

Me: No way!

Mom: Why not??

Me: Because then I won’t have anything to open on Christmas morning.

Mom: Oh, man…

Talk about role reversal. I know why she does it. Since she can’t be here to watch, she wants to hear me open my present. Every time, I say no, I can hear the disappointment in her voice. This year, I decided to compromise:

Me: If you want, I can wait until you call before I open it…

Mom: Oh… alright….

Me: But you have to wait to open yours too, so we can open them together, okay?!

Mom: OKAY!!!!

All traces of disappointment were gone; all that was left was excitement and happiness.


Merry Christmas, Everyone!

A Beer For the Shower

One of my favorite blogs is having a contest. This post is my entry into said contest. I must be funny and/or creative. We all know these are not my strong suits, but here’s my attempt so that I win a prize.

Ironically enough, the prize is having my picture drawn in MSPaint.

Heather - Smiling - Hi!

I’m oddly excited about potentially winning the prize… So it’s pretty much like every other prize I’ve been in the vicinity of. I should really stop being so damn excitable.

Anyway, back to the post… I don’t quite recall how I first came to read A Beer For the Shower (ABFtS) , but within reading a post or two I decided to go back to the beginning of time and read their entire blog. I got through it and I’m still reading to this day, if that’s a testament of their awesomeness.

It probably isn’t. But it should be!

The blog is written by two dudes and started out as purely prose, but it eventually became a comic-laden blog. The difference between these guys and someone like, oh… let’s say… me, is that these guys are actually writers. Like professional writers. They make books and stuff.

This is where this post comes in. They recently released an e-book available on Amazon. The book is called The Missing Link and it’s cover was drawn in, you guessed it, MSPaint. It’s about the day the internet died. They released it this way because the publishing world is a crock and they got tired of being dicked around.

It makes me glad that I don’t have those sorts of goals.

So why am I doing this? Well, for one, the prize (duh!); for two, they too have asshole neighbours. Mostly though, it’s because they they like drinking beer in the shower, so they’re okay in my books. In fact, they actually have instructions on the best way to enjoy a beer in the shower. Tips that you don’t want to learn through trial and error; after all, trial and error often results in wasted beer.

Very few people know, that drinking while bathing is a guilty pleasure of mine. For a long time, I deprived myself of this luxury. I thought it made me a bad person, or an alcoholic. It’s not that I can’t bathe without a drink, but sometimes, I simply choose not to.

I don’t really drink beer anymore; I switched over to vodka and never really looked back. But every so often, I get a hankering for drinking while bathing, and a vodka cocktail does not do it justice. Trust me, I’ve tried. When this happens, I go out and buy a case of beer just so I can drink one while I bathe.

Heather in the Tub jpg

Which results in me having nice, long, relaxing baths 6 days in row. I’ve always enjoyed it while in the bath, as opposed to the shower, however, this was before I read their tips; I was always afraid of watering down the precious nectar. Not anymore.

So there you have it. Read their blog, buy their book and convince them that this is the funniest, most creative entry they’ve received.

And… … … GO!

Big thanks to EliseArt for providing the [good] illustration!