He likes playing doctor

That is the salacious tagline on the cover of this month's Details magazine. The man they're referring to is the tantalizing Patrick Dempsey---perhaps most famous for Can't Buy Me Love, but I remember him for his performance as the wayward brother in Coupe de Ville, a wonderful sleeper of a movie that also stars Alan Arkin and Daniel Stern.

But I won't bore you with that. I really just wanted say how HOT I thought this photo spread was. You can see it for yourself. It's pretty amazing, this 11th hour fame in his late thirties. I thought for sure he was destined for the dusty archives of Teen Beat magazine.

So, I guess I haven't been "bringing up baby" much lately. I suppose it's because we're in that insufferably long period that occurs post-unsuccessful ovulation and pre-Cycle Day 1, when the fun begins all over again.

I took my Day 40 temperature today, examined my *so not* textbook example of an ovulation chart and decided to retire the tongue wand to my bedside table drawer. And besides, they only give you 40 days to chart. That's as "abnormal" as they let your cycle get.

I've decided I can't do this reproductive crapshoot much longer. 3 more cycles and then we move onto adoption. Thankfully, Don is cool with this. Three more cycles translates to about 5 more months which brings us to late July. So if my baby bottle is half full, it's possible with could have a little one by next summer. Biological or otherwise---we could very well have a small creature with more demands than our cat.

TV, why do I love you so?

Damn you TV!! You've done it again. Lured me in with American Idol.

Only this time it's different. There's a certifiably talented, seemingly bright, definitely attractive contestant that has me bewitched and bewildered with his old school ways.

Taylor Hicks is his name and blue-eyed soul is his game. He's a 29-year old white boy from Alabama with premature grey hair and a voice that harkens back to the days of Sam Cooke, Otis Redding and Ray Charles. I can't help but compare him to Michael McDonald, who I LOVE.

So, I have no choice. I *must* tune in to see what this mysterious, alluring anomaly will surprise me with next.

While we're on the subject of TV, is it odd that I depend on Breakfast Television on CityTV every morning? Kevin Frankish and friends have this comfy old sweater feel that I've grown to love. Frank the Weather Boy is particularly cute in that "let's go have a beer and talk trash about our co-workers" kind of way. At least that's the sense I get about him.

Enough talking. Trash.

*Above pic is of the captivating Taylor Hicks. The only reason I'll be watching Idol this season.
"I get my kicks on cute Taylor Hicks." (I made that up myself).

Priddy fleurs

My boy came home with a pot of tulips for me today.

I gave him a card with 2 bunnies on it. Inside, it said "Some bunny loves you."

I love how love can make even the most serious, sensible, cynical person all silly and gooey.

Back on top

Ok, so I'm not back on top, but I'm definitely not feeling like I'm scraping the bottle of the barrel like I was a week ago.

Things have eased off a bit at work (at least for now) and my urge to go postal has subsided.

This past week was relatively average. Celebrated my 34th birthday with a nice dinner at BOHO in Roncesvalles Village, threw in the towel on my baby-making cycle and chalked it up to yet another "learning experience.", watched the 2-parter "Bazooka episode" of Grey's Anatomy, went to Buffalo with my loverboy to catch a Sabres game, tried to live by the G.I. Way (and failed in Buffalo with the complimentary breakie at the hotel and a double fudge brownie sundae at the hockey game)....

Oh yeah, and I got meself an iPod Nano. Yippee. I revel in its beauty every day.

*Above is a pic of me taken outside the HSBC arena in Buffalo and one of Don at the game.

No. Clever. Headlines.

Just a quick note to say that I'm over run by the demands of my crazy 9-5 life and I don't know how people do it. One year off from the classic grind and I seem to have forgotten what a soul sucker it can be.

Actually, I think it's just a case of being hired for job that's actually meant for 2 people. I'm a bloody deck hand at this job. My perpetual to-do list has 19 items on it and roughly 6 of them are a high priority. I'm mopping the proverbial deck day in, day out.

I'm exhausted.

Did I mention tomorrow is my 34th birthday? Did I mention I have my first ever appointment with a nutritionist tomorrow?

All I want is a piece of triple layer chocolate cake and a glass of cold milk.

Approximately 2 in 5 Canadians...

... will be diagnosed with cancer in their lifetime. I've had this fact drilled into me during my first three weeks on the job at the Cancer Society.

Hailing from an immediate family of 5, I can safely say we're well on our way to proving this statistic correct. My dear Mom, as I've touched on in past posts, learned she had the disease just a couple of months ago. As I type this, chances are good that she's tentatively pulling the hair out of her head with the greatest of ease. No stinging. No snapping. Just a smooth exit. Hair that, in many ways, has defined her all these years. The long, glossy Breck Girl hair of the 60's. The shiny Dorothy Hamill of the 70's. The tortoise shell barettes of the 80's. And that chocolatey chestnut tone I've always envied.

She's going in for round 2 of chemo next week and they say her hair will likely be gone by that point. No matter how you cut it or coat it, this is one of the most harrowing aspects of being a cancer patient. And the truth is, you really can't know how it feels unless it's your own hair that's falling out.

I'm extremely proud of my Mom's courage. This experience that she's going through is inherently frightening and yet she's remained my same old Mom since she got the news. Naturally, she's had a few teary moments of weakness but who can blame her.

*The above photo of Mom was taken circa 1976. You can see she's picked a wild flower (looks like Golden Rod or maybe Indian Paintbrush)) and tucked it into her zipper hole. No doubt, I was sitting right next to her with a flower of my own that she had gingerly affixed to my zipper too.