Nothing to see here, just a wardrobe malfunction

TGIF

That's all I have to say about THAT. It has been a long weekend, and I'm so glad that today is FRIDAY.
Yesterday I had a wardrobe malfunction. I don't know how else to explain it - so I'll call it that.

I didn't really get any much sleep on Wednesday night, so I was kind of a hot mess when I was trying to get ready for work yesterday. In my rush to get out the door, I forgot a KEY part of my outfit. Unfortunately, I didn't know that this article of clothing was missing, until I was mid-conversation with my boss. Awwwkward.

What is this key article of clothing? Only a white tank top... to go under my completely see-through white shirt that I wore to work. This probably would've been fun, but I also happened to wear a bright pink bra yesterday. Queue the 'OMG what am I going to do?' mini freak-out.



Luckily, my co-worker, Nivedita, came to the rescue and gave me her big scarf to wear for the day. I strategically wrapped it around my neck in a way that would allow the two ends to come down and completely cover my hot pink bra.

Side note, before I found out that Niv had a scarf that I could borrow - I totally tried to cover the pink parts of the bra with white paper towel. Unfortunately, I just ended up looking like I had tried stuffing my bra to make my boobs bigger and they were much 'lumpier' than normal - ha ha. This is how I walked around the office for the day:


Please excuse my super awkward face.

All I have to say is THANK GOD IT'S FRIDAY! Obviously it's time to #backthatazzup with my love, Whitney.

I Wasn't The Teacher's Pet, I Just Have An Easy Name

Disclaimer: This post is long, sorry about that.

So yesterday - instead of working at the office all day, like I normally would be doing, I spent the day taking a First Aid course so that I can protect the fabulous people on my floor at work. No seriously, I'm not even kidding.

Lets be honest here guys, if somebody has been injured at work I'm pretty sure I probably had something to do with it (we all know how clumsy I am). So why on earth would my company trust me to take care of other people and be in charge of their fate? Who on God's green earth thought that this was wise?
I know how I am, you know how I am, they know how I am, yet they still chose me. Idiots. I digress.

Luckily, I got to spend the day with one of my favorite colleagues, Christina. Seriously - yesterday would have been 10x worse if I didn't have Christina. For the sole purpose of this post, I will call her the most important person in the world (Christina, don't let that go to your head).

At the start of the class/training course/whatever you want to call it, I noticed that we were most likely going to be practicing the different movements, maneuvers, and life saving techniques on each other. This freaked me out. We had 18 people in our class, and I didn't know 16 of them. Normally I don't mind contact with strangers... but I have zero desire to be groped by strangers if I'm not actually dying. I look over at Christina and tell her that I absolutely don't want to touch anyone else, or have anyone else touch me and that she must be my partner for the entire day. She laughs and tells me that I'm going to have to get over that feeling reaaaally fast because I've got 8 more hours to go, and we hadn't even started learning anything yet. Seriously? Kill me now.



For the first 10 techniques, we had to be in groups of three. Christina and I are only two people (just helping you out in case you couldn't do the math), so we had a lovely gentleman (we'll call him Michael) join our duo. I'll have you know, we didn't have many attractive men in our class, but Michael was one of the two good-looking guys.
All is fine and dandy, we have to take turns doing the technique in each of the positions: being the first aid, being the helper, and then being the casualty.
When it came time for me to be the casualty, I had to lay on the ground (not moving) and Michael was my 'first aid' who had to grope me. Our instructor told the guys to delicate when giving girls the pat down, but Michael was pretty thorough from head-to-toe. Thanks, Michael... Meanwhile, the entire time I'm laying there - pretending to be unresponsive and not moving - Christina is laughing her butt off, the entire time. Jerk.

For some reason, I have my theories, the instructor decided that I'd be the teacher's pet for the day. Cool story, bro.
It's either because: A. I wore red pants to class and stood out like a sore thumb, or B. Faith is the easiest name to remember when you have class after class of Michael, Kyle, Jennifer, Stephanie, or any other 'common' name.

At various times throughout the day, our instructor would say things like 'Faith got in a terrible accident when the rogue forklift came barreling through the factory and struck her', or 'Faith cut off a chunk of her arm because she didn't know how to use a table-saw', or my favorite 'Faith has diabetes'. Seriously, these are pretty close to his actual statements, or something. Anyway, after about the second or third time he used me as an example, Christina told me I was the teacher's pet. Whatever, it's only because I have an easy name.

Remember how I told you that I had a fear of being groped during this course? Well Mr. FancyPantsInstructorMan decided to use me as a DEMO for the entire class. He got Michael to assist him, and together they performed a technique while I had to lay there awkwardly and pretend to be hurt. That was about as fun as it sounds. The look on Christina's face during my entire demo was priceless.

After I got over my fear of being groped, I remembered that we had to end the course by taking an exam. For some reason, exams terrify me. They always have, and I'm sure that they always will. You can tell me everything I need to know, and I will absorb it like a sponge. However, the moment that you question my knowledge and make me do an exam on said information, my sponge dries up and I'm left with no information in my head whatsoever.
At 4:00pm the instructor tells us that it's time for the exam and we have to put our books away. He tells us that we need a 70% or higher to pass - queue Faith's minor anxiety attack, which Christina can vouch for. I did my best to look as cool, calm, and collected as I could on the outside, but on the inside I was freaking out.



In case any of you are wondering, I ended up getting 100% on my exam and passing first aid with flying colors. I suppose my minor anxiety attacks were completely unnecessary. So if any of: you people in blogland, my colleagues reading this, or anyone else in my life; happen to collapse, have a seizure, have a severe allergic reaction, get anything in their eye, or just need a bandage put on, I am legally allowed to assist you... and I'll probably save your life. You're welcome.

Also, I couldn't NOT take pictures when I got home. Obviously I handled my new-found authority in such a mature way:


See? This is legit. I can SAVE YOUR LIFE. #justsaying


This is obviously what I look like when I study. (Did you even noticed that the book was upside down?)


I was amused by my name tag.

Fun fact: Since my roommate wasn't home, I decided that being pants-free was the way to be... you can see the red pants that I was wearing all day, laying conveniently on my bed. So yes, I'm pantsless in these pictures. Enjoy that visual, friends.



Last but not least, you may have already seen this on Instagram, but this is what happens when you give me a name tag. I do weird things.



If you're still with me - God bless your soul. Seriously, I know this post was long... Buuuuuut I have a special treat for y'all. I'm participating in Erin's Giveaway, and there are some awesome prizes to be won. Check it out, and please visit these 13 other ladies :)

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Why I'm Still Unsure If I Want To Be A Mom...

Someday I may or may not have children, and that will be swell. However, there are some things that I've realized that I'll never do when I have kids.


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• Seriously, this picture couldn't be more accurate. I don't know who thought this was a good idea, but it's not. I don't need to know that in your little mini-van you have a dad, mom, a boy who plays baseball, two little twin girls with curly hair, and a cat. You have a mini-van, I've already assumed that you have children and that's you're happy as clams. Maybe I'll even call you the Happy-Clam Family. Yep. Either way, I refuse to be this mom.



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• This is a fact, for sure. I love glitter, and I'd say that it's definitely my favorite color. If I have children, I will want to do all kinds of arts and crafts... with glitter. But I fear that my love for glitter will quickly turn to hate for glitter. Come on, they call it the herpes of arts and crafts for a reason.



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• Yes, I'm sure I'll love my child unconditionally... or so they say. But I'm not going to be happy about waking up at 1:00am, 3:30am, and 4:45am before my alarm goes off at 5:00am. Thank goodness I'll have a husband - he will have to wake up with our spawn of satan that wakes up at ungodly hours love child.



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• No, I can't even. Just no. I know that I probably did this when I was a child, actually I'm pretty sure I remember doing something similar to this. However, if my child does this, I may or may not disown him...



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• I feel terrible that my child will end up being this girl pictured above. You know why? Because I am this girl. I trip every day, I walk into walls/doors/tables/desks/people every day. If I jumped off a dock with my friends, I would trip and fall into the water. My son or daughter will most definitely inherit this fantastic trait from me. I almost feel like I shouldn't have children so that they don't have to deal with this fate.

{Source}

Lets be real though, guys. I'm single and don't see that changing any time soon. I have a while before I need to worry about the terrible things that could happen if I became a mom...

10 Reasons Why The Backstreet Boys Rock...

Guys, Guys, Guys...


After I wrote yesterday's blog post about 8 Things that I learned from O-Town, I received an e-mail from my dad. He didn't think that my O-Town list was good enough, and he was insulted that I didn't talk about BSB.
Geez, Dad, I'm so sorry that you're upset about my choice.
I had no idea that you had an opinion about which boy band from my childhood was better.

Guys, I have no other words... I'll just leave this to my dad:


I now know that this is the kind of thing that dad will say to my kids.

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10 Reasons Why the Backstreet Boys Rock … like nobody else

OK, since my daughter wrote her very disturbing blog about O-Town, I'd like respond by sharing my top-ten reasons why BSB (Backstreet Boys to those less ignorant) make O-Town look like a bunch of dweebs
(Dad, I don't think anyone says dweebs anymore):
FYI, Dad numbered these himself



1. 10. They are the original O-Town band … and were so a full 7 years before those wanna-bees called O-Town.

2. 9. They are the MOST successful boy-band in history … data to justify this? 130 million albums …. But really, they’re a vocal harmony band first, the boy-thing was just a passing stage while they actually just happened to be BOYS.

3. 8. A.J., aka, “Bone” … nuff said (Whaaat? Dad, who told you his nickname is Bone?)

4. 7. Collectively, they are the love child of Boyz-II-Men and New Kids on the Block …. You gottta love great lineage (hey, the horserace industry says that the 3 most important things are: pedigree – pegdigree – pedigree). Just saying

5. 6. The Unbreakable Tour …. Absolutely the best tour of any musician in human history (well, there was this one English minstrel in the 13th century, but let’s keep it current). (Good job on the random fact, dad. I like it.)

6. 5. NKOTBSB … the coolest acronym ever. (hahaha)

7. 4. They are secretly adored by Queen Elizabeth, Piers Morgan and Jim Belushi (I know because I’m part of a very exclusive fan club of famous people who love them). (Why am I just hearing about this now?)

8. 3. 20 years and going strong.

9. 2. I Want it that Way … seriously, can ANYBODY listen to this song and not feel driven to flick your bic and hold it high while you sway.

10. 1. Everybody …. Could be the national anthem for any music savvy nation. (I'm legitimately at a loss for words here.)



Since dad seems to have such a huge love for Everybody, that is what we are going to #backthatazzup with the fabulous Ms. Whitney today for some #backthatazzupFriday

8 things that I learned from O-Town

When O-Town became a band on the oh-so-fabulous show "Making the Band", I became their #1 fan.
Tied only by one other person - my best friend, Amanda. There were four of us stalkers girls who were obsessed with Ashley, Jacob, Dan, Trevor, and Erik... but Amanda and I were hardcore about it.

Our obsession was so bad, in Junior High, that most of the kids in our class (and some other classes) knew how much we loved them. We had pictures of Ashley Parker Angel in our locker, all over our binders, walls of our bedrooms, etc. We had various doodles on our notepads saying things like "Mrs. Faith Parker Angel" or "I love Ashley", etc. Amanda may or may not have even named one of her guppies, Ashley Chang, because Ashley had a dog named Chang. She's creepy, I know. If she reads this, luckily she probably won't, she'll kill me.

We may have only been 12, with limited access to the interwebz, but we were definitely stalkers knowledgeable about their lives. You could have asked me literally anything about them, and I would've known it. For some reason I still remember Ashley, Jacob, and Erik's birthdays... I know Ashley's favorite chocolate bar. I know where Trevor went to school. I know a bunch of useless crap various random facts about their lives... and I don't think it'll ever fade away from my memory.
For this, I'd like to give thanks to Tiger Beat, J-14, Bop, and various other 'teen' magazines.

I was thinking about O-Town the other day (I have no idea why), and I started thinking about the various ways they have influenced my life... or at least what I've learned from them.


Love this scene from Veronica Mars.

8 Things that I learned from O-Town

• One. Liquid Dreams are real.
  
  They aren't just somthing that your Sixth Grade health teacher tells you about. Maybe I was the only girl who thought this way, but I thought this was a lie. I didn't believe that boys experienced this.
  Thanks, O-Town, for clarifying this.



• Two. All or Nothing, baby.
  
  If you can't have it ALL, then you better have nothing at all. So, yes, I grew up with the mindset that I could have my cake and eat it too. Wait, I JUST HAD AN EPIPHANY (mom & aunti jay, no I didn't get any on me and it didn't hurt, everyone else... please don't ask what that means).
  This is probably why I'm fat. Clearly, it's because O-Town said that if I couldn't have it all, I should have nothing at all. Obviously, I always got it all... I could've used with a little 'nothing' if you know what I mean. I digress...
  Anyway... It's like they say - there's nowhere left to fall when you reach the bottom, it's now or never. That's a deep lyric when you're 12...





• Three. You can be famous if you make it through various rounds of a reality show.
  
  These boys started on Making The Band and were catapulted into fame really quickly. This was before Youtube, American Idol, or The Voice even existed. Watching this happen gave my twelve year-old self such huge hopes/wishes/dreams of becoming a rock star. All I needed to do was win a reality competition show. I still have time to make... my time isn't up just yet.



• Four. O-Town is a fun way to say Orlando.
  
  Shout out to my girl, Whitney, who lives in Orlando.
  This nickname is inappropriate for any other city. Don't try and nickname your hometown "blank-town". Seriously, it only sounds cool to say 'O-Town'. If you walk around saying H-Town, V-Town, J-Town, K-Town, you might get kicked in the balls.





• Five. You can't launch a solo career after the band splits up.
  
  I'm looking at you, Ashley. As much as my 12-year old self would hate me for admitting this: Ashley, you are not J.T. As far as I'm concerned, Justin is the only boy band member who has successfully launched a solo career (and surpassed his previous fame).



• Six. These Are The Days.
  
  These are the days between your hopes and fears
  These are the moments that are still locked here
  It's still uncertain if she will appear
  But, like it or not, this is what I got
  
  Guys, this is deep. This is probably the 'deepest' that O-Town ever got in a song. There's still a slight under-tone of sex in this song, however, I'm opting to only focus on the lyrics "these are the days."
  I'm pretty sure it's boy band lingo for 'Carpe Diem', or something.
  Whether you're 10, 25, 50, or 400 years old, this applies to you. Okay, so the part about waiting for 'her' to show up doesn't apply to me (or the 10 and 400 year olds) but I'm reading between the lines here.
  
  
• Seven. We Fit Together.
  
  I wanna go knock knock
  Our bodies to the beat
  And when the morning comes
  we're letting the sun shine
  We'll stay in bed
  You can't separate us
  We fit together
  
  Whether you like it or not, we fit together. Okay, hopefully if we 'fit together', you like it as much as me. If you don't, just don't tell me about it. Wait, I think I just took this in a completely different direction than I had intended. Oops, haha - Mom, if you're reading this - just pretend I didn't write this point.
  I don't feel like re-writing #7, so I'm leaving it...



• Eight. Boy bands Boys are perverted
  
  This one is pretty self-explanatory and also pretty obvious. When I was 10-15 years old, I had NO idea that my favorite songs were about sex. Who'da thunk it?
  

For the record, it is 100% acceptable to have an O-Town jam session and listen to every song you can think of while you write a blog post like this.
Don't hate.

These are the days where we fit together like liquid dreams because it's all or nothing.

A Not So Flawless Plan

My parents got home yesterday, after being away for about 6 weeks.
Today I've got a guest blog post written by my dad... in honor of them being back on Canadian soil.
Today, Peter is sharing a story from my childhood, so without further adieu..
My comments in dad's post are in this color.
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All kids have some word or skill that simply eludes them.
For my sister or I (can't remember who), it was the word "Montreal" … it used to come out "UntreeMall."
For a friend of mine, he couldn't snap his fingers.

For Faith, it was knowing her left from her right (she got that from her Mom - Deb still can't tell the difference).
We worked with Faith for months on this, but to no avail … left and right were just a jumbled concept in her head that never found a place to root.
Until she went to school.

When Faith entered Grade Primary I was like most fathers, wondering whether she would fall victim to the emotional trauma that had besieged her mother. I couldn't wait to hear how she made out and was grateful to hear stories about how much fun she had with the other kids and how great her teacher was. But I was completely unprepared for what followed; she had learned something.
Not just anything … but something of staggering significance. She learned how to tell her left from her right.
Of course I was skeptical because Debbie and I had worked tirelessly for months to do, what some stranger had supposedly done in one day of diluted time.
FYI - student:teacher ratios then were about 30:1.

"Really?" I challenged. "Show me."
"It's like this, Daddy. You hold up your hands like this."

(I've asked Faith to take a photo of her 24-year old hands demonstrating the pose … pretend you are looking at 5-year old hands).


Please excuse the most ridiculous picture... my dad "voluntold" me to do this.

"The hand that makes the letter "L" is the left … "L" for left."

This was brilliant. No, it was genius. I couldn't help but notice the gleam in my wife's eye. Simply because she now found, for herself, an absolutely flawless technique to help her escape those embarrassing moments when she betrayed her Faith-like ignorance of this essential life skill.
Whoa dad, that was the longest sentence, ever. I refused to re-write it, haha.

For the rest of that evening, I would ask Faith "show me left and right" to which she would robotically flip up her hands into position and nod at the letter "L" and then raise her left hand declaring, "This is left." We were so proud.
Deb was quietly excited for herself.
I absolutely love how much you keep calling out mom. I'm sure you're winning brownie points for this, good job.

What I haven't told you is that we had done a lot of reading on the subject and apparently this is a not-so-rare challenge out there. Thousands of people struggle with knowing their left from their right. And hundreds of authors have sought the holy grail of handedness … a foolproof way of establishing orientation.
As a physicist, I can appreciate the importance of understanding things like directional or rotational orientation.
There are basic laws which appeal to knowing right from left, such as the right-hand screw rule (look it up if you are interested). In weather we use terms like "cyclonic" to describe rotation but have an anchoring standard to resort to for explanation … counter-clockwise (I pity the coming generations who will never see an analog clock).
But for right and left there is no anchor … there is no standard reference to help us. Or so I thought, until now.
Faith's teacher was simply a genius … this was flawless.

The family had a good night sleep. Upon waking the next morning, I couldn't wait for Faith to wake up and take a pop-quiz to ensure that she retained her newfound knowledge (how could she not). Dad, would you have still loved me if I hadn't remembered? (just kidding)
The moment she emerged from her bedroom I called her to me, with proud chest, outstretched arms and an ear-to-ear smile, I said "show me your left."
In Pavlovian response, her hands flipped up into position as she declared "The hand that makes the letter "L" is the left … "L" is for left."


Too bad I was too dumb to remember how to hold my hands properly.


Oh dad, thanks for this. Don't worry, I still love you.

There ain't no party like an S-Club party

Happy Monday, friends!
I'm a little late to the party today because it's a Canadian Stat-Holiday today... which means no work. Which means I slept in and had a lazy morning. Even though I'm late to the party, it's better late than never. For some reason when I just typed that I'm 'late for the party' it reminded me of S Club 7.


No? I'm the only one?


Today's post will be brief and I'm just going to post pictures to summarize my weekend... because who doesn't like pictures?
Before I get to the pictures though, I just want to say that this is my 100th blog post. Holy moly. I started this little blog in December and only planned on using it for the month of December to chronicle my lame little Christmas jokes. I didn't expect to continue blogging once that was over, but here I am. One hundred blog posts later. I know that's not a big deal or anything... but I'm going to let myself have a moment of happiness about this. If i had a trampoline in my backyard right now, I'd honestly probably do an S Club 7 'S' in the air:


Don't try and tell me that you don't didn't want to do this on a trampoline when you were a kid.

Obviously I'm going to link-up with Sami today:



One. Amanda and I saw Star Trek on Friday night. It was amazing, and I looove me some Chris Pine.
Two. I'm the best at taking selfie's. You should be jealous.
Three. Amanda and I were shopping in East Van and passed this Korean BBQ place. BBQ duck, anyone?
Four. Strawberries and bananas are the best dessert.
Five & Six. We had so much gorgeous sunshine, I had to take advantage of it.
Seven. FaceTiming with my brother - he'll kill me if he ever reads this blog and sees this.
Eight. I'm lactose intolerant, so this is my version of a grilled cheese. Goat cheese, avocado and a piece of turkey bacon.
Nine. More FaceTime with Christian, Mackenzie, and Ashley. I love my family. That is all.