So Long, Pine Valley

For many people, Friday September 23, 2011 was a regular day. But for me, it was the end of an era. Part of me knows this is silly. The other part of me knows I am dead serious is being un-ironically sad about the end of All My Children.

It was on television for 41 years. It gave us the greatest daytime diva in history in the form of Susan Lucci and her alter ego, Erica Kane. It gave us Tad and Dixie, Angie and Jesse, and Haley and Mateo. Some of Hollywood’s prettiest people started out as residents of AMC’s fictional town, Pine Valley—Sarah Michelle Gellar, Josh Duhamel, Amanda Seyfried and Kelly Ripa. It was the first soap to feature storylines about rape, abortion and transgender persons. And although many of its other storylines were topics overdone by many soaps, AMC did them so well. I still get goose bumps thinking about when Paul switched Babe and Bianca’s babies at birth or when Gillian was shot and Ryan painfully chose to donate her heart to save Laura.

I know. This all sounds so over dramatic. Talk about first world problems, right? But seriously. This show was a daytime legend, part of television history, and now it’s just been buried six feet under and ABC barely fronted money for the funeral. Thanks for airing a commercial of the stupid new show you’ll be replacing AMC with during the soap’s finale episode. Really? You think all those die-heard soap fans are going to watch that? I don’t know if you know this, ABC, but soap fans are loyal. We seriously can’t be friends with people who think Jamie and Babe are meant to be if we are rooting for J.R. and Babe. I can’t even look people in the eye without being a ball of rage if they tell me they like The Bold and the Beautiful the best. Because I’m all like OMFGhaveyouevenseenGeneralHospital? BEST. SHOW. EVER! Soap fans are nothing if not devoted and mental about our favourite shows and characters. In other words, no, we will not be tuning in to your dumb cooking show. If we did, we might as well be stabbing Susan Lucci through the heart.

TV shows are meant to end, I know, but it’s still sad to me. It’s like saying goodbye to a close friend. And yes, most successful primetime shows only make it roughly six to eight seasons, so technically 41 years is over staying your welcome on the airwaves, but soaps were always different. They were meant to be around forever, cycling characters and storylines time again, trying every combination of romantic pairings, turning babies into teenagers in a matter of days and bringing people back from the dead until the end of time. That’s just the way it was. I took comfort in knowing that my soaps would be around forever. Then they just started dropping like Lindsay Lohan on a Friday night. Four years ago, there were nine soaps on the air. Passions was first to go (and I admit that its cancellation was a relief. It did nothing good for soap operas’ image). Then CBS cancelled Guiding Light- which had been in production for seventy-two years....SEVENTY-TWO YEARS PEOPLE!- followed by As the World Turns, and then this year ABC announced it was getting rid of AMC and One Life to Live. That leaves only four soaps still in production. How are we supposed to continue the Daytime Emmys? It won’t be an awards show anymore, it will just be like little league baseball. A shiny ribbon for everyone! Hurray!

I understand that most people don’t like soaps because the storylines are slow and clichéd. But for us fans, none of that matters. We understand why writers do what they do. Story arcs move slowly so that we can tune in from time to time and still know what’s happening. And killing characters off only to bring them back later is done all in the name of an interesting story twist. We don’t care how many times you bring Dixie back from the dead; we will still be excited every time. Because it just means we get to see her again, and gosh, who knows what she will do this time! Okay, we know there will be a love triangle involving Tad and David, and her loving maternal side will help to pull her son J.R. out of another tailspin, but who cares? It’s Tad and Dixie. Together Forever! Again! Anyway, the point is, everyone is entitled to their opinion and it’s okay that not everyone likes soaps, I guess. But I just don’t want them to become extinct. Because despite how many people hate them, there are still so many fans who love them and count on them and are still waiting for Luke and Laura to be reunited. Networks don’t cancel all of their sitcoms when one or two don’t work out. Why can’t soaps be like that? I’d feel less sad about the death of my shows if I wasn’t shitting my pants thinking that General Hospital is next and that in another four years, soaps will be gone forever. If you’re going to get rid of a medium, it should probably be reality TV. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t “dislike” reality TV, but if I’m being honest with myself, it doesn’t add anything to my life. If I want to see young people getting drunk and fighting, I can go to a college dorm. And if I want to see rich people being rich and having dinner, I can watch The Golden Globes. All I’m saying is, when was the last time Snooki brought someone back from the dead? Or gave birth to a baby who four episodes later turned into a brooding teenager with daddy issues? At least soaps offer story twists that real life can’t. And you know what else? Soaps may take months when it comes to big story reveals, but at least they don’t wait seven full seasons (and potentially two more) to tell us who the freaking mother is.

But alas, all of the crying and whining and petition-signing in the world couldn’t change the fate of these beloved shows. The light finally went out, the world stopped turning, and now all the children will be put to rest. Soon, there will be no more lives to live either. But we’ll take this one day at a time. So, so long sweet, dysfunctional, incestuous Pine Valley. Thanks for the memories. But most of all, thank you for sharing the many wardrobe changes and marriages of Erica Kane.

-Alice

Tips For Surviving a Bachelorette at Camp

Let’s start with the obvious. I know that a month ago I went to Miami for my bachelorette, but this month I went to camp for my bachelorette. Yes, I had two parties! You could say it’s because I am doubly awesome so I needed double the parties, and that would be nice of you, but the truth is that most of my friends couldn’t come to the party that was being held in a whole other country, so we decided to have another one closer to home and much easier to afford.

You’re probably wondering why I would spend my second bachelorette party at a camp. It’s not because I like the outdoors, because although I wouldn’t say I fear the outdoors*, I definitely do not like the outdoors. But this camp offered real toilets and beds, showers that didn’t require you to leave your cabin, and all meals were provided for you. Plus they were offering a bunch of extra activities, you know, stuff that outdoors-y type people love, like an aerial park, hikes, horseback riding and so on. All things I was too busy sleeping or drinking to do, but was impressed that they offered nonetheless. And obviously there were no kiddies at the camp that weekend (women's retreat only!), so drinking wasn't exactly encouraged, but let's just say it wasn't discouraged either.

*I do not fear the outdoors per say, but I am very, very afraid of things in the outdoors that move. Things like, but not limited to, spiders, snakes, ants, and raccoons. What? Raccoons look cute, and yeah, the 80’s cartoon made them seem both polite and approachable, but when you’re sitting at the campfire and one of those fuckers starts sniffing you, you’ll realize they are not, in fact, polite or approachable and they do not respect personal space.

This time I brought along four friends, three bridesmaids, and one Social Caterpillar. We brought the house cabin down, and now these are the golden pieces of advice we’d like to pass onto you:

It’s okay to take your sleeping bag into the bathroom. You know that when you’ve got nothing else good to puke in, a fishbowl will come in handy. But what about when you’re back at the cabin, trying to pass out in your bunk bed and feel the pukes coming on? Just hooker up, and take that sleeping bag into the bathroom. I know it sounds gross but let’s be honest. You’re going to end up sleeping on the floor by the toilet anyway, so you might as well be comfortable. Well, as comfortable as you can be while puking for the next 24 hours.

Don’t freak out if you lose a shoe in the cab. If the kick-ass but slightly inebriated bride accidentally leaves one of your shoes behind in a cab, don’t fret. A quick call to the cab company, using your most sweet and sober voice of course, will not only locate the missing shoe but a morning recovery mission will be arranged. In small towns, people are nice and actually care if you lose something. This of course differs from bigger cities like, oh I don’t know, Miami where I’m fairly certain that had the same situation happened, my sweet and sober voice would have been met with a ‘so what?’ and a dial tone. P.S. Sorry to anyone reading this that lives in Miami, but it’s true. P.P.S. Sorry that I temporarily lost your shoe, Wendy.

Don’t let the Caterpillar be your guide. As I mentioned, having your bachelorette at a camp means that there are various cool activities happening throughout the day. Your friends may sign you up for one without your knowledge, and it might be called Low Ropes. It might involve using a carabineer to attach yourself to a rope and be led around a mini-maze/course/thing while blindfolded. If this occurs, you should probably make sure that the Social Caterpillar is not your partner. The girl is charming, sure, but she will accidentally guide you into a tree. Twice.  

Costumes are the key to everything. If your friends are already awesome, there is only one way to make them more awesome. Dress them up in 80’s clothes. It is a sure-fire way to increase your ability to have fun by one thousand percent. ONE THOUSAND PERCENT! With those statistics, you can’t afford to not dress up 80’s. So get out the leg warmers and bright tights, hot pink scrunchies and your crimper, and tease the shit out of your bangs. Your hair might hate you but even the next morning’s rats nest won’t make you regret it. By-standers may even clap when you enter a room. That’s how awesome you will be.

Always assume there is a person behind you holding a tray of shots. When you’re at a bachelorette, it’s a pretty safe assumption that there will always be someone near you holding liquor. If you’re with the Caterpillar, it’s safe to assume at least 25% of every drink she has will end up on her clothes, your clothes, the floor, or all of the above. So between these two things, you should try to always be on guard against spillage. But when you’re at the bar, it’s best to kick that up a notch, and perhaps assume that not only is there easily-spillable alcohol everywhere, but there may be someone carrying a tray of shots right behind you at any given moment. So when you’re fist pumping, try not to flail around too much so as to not punch a tray of Porn Stars into the ground. This is especially true when the tray of shots is meant for you and your friends.

Don’t go to Dollarama if you want to find an over-sized wine glass. If you and your friends agree to all find some sort of novelty glass to use for the weekend, and you are trying to copy Jules from Cougar Town by using an over-sized wine glass and calling it Big Joe, don’t go to Dollarama. Or Wal-Mart. Or the Great Canadian Super Store. Or JYSK. Or any of those little party shops. Because they do not have what you’re looking for. All they will have is vases that do not resemble wine glasses and wine glasses that resemble wine glasses. Boring! And over priced for something that has a high rate of being dropped over the course of the weekend. Also, don’t leave this task until the last minute because instead of an over-sized wine glass, you will end up bringing along a pink flask that, while pretty, is not as efficient or time effective at getting the job done.

Avoid sad people at the bar. Listen, I understand that shit happens and sometimes you just need to go get your "drank" on at the bar, even when you might be well over the typical or appropriate age to be at a bar. However, it’s in everyone’s best interests to avoid these people unless you came with them. If you do come in contact with them, you might find yourself privy to the intimate details of their life and though you sympathize with them, your drunken self will likely not know how to respond when someone congratulates you on your upcoming wedding and immediately tells you his wife asked for a divorce that day. And then this sad person might get a little grabby with your friend, and things will have quickly escalated from hella-awkward to oh-hells-no. I repeat, it is in everyone’s best interests to avoid sad people at the bar.

“Will you have sex with me” is not an acceptable pick-up line. This one is for the boys. I think it’s pretty self-explanatory. You should also not repeat this line to nine consecutive girls who are all friends and not afraid to call you out on being sleazy, creepy, disgusting, and a host of other adjectives that even I won’t write on this blog. However, if you’re lucky, one of these girls may take pity on you and try to be your wing man. If this happens, try to stop being a douchebag. Otherwise all of her efforts to help you pick up are in vain.

There. Now you are fully prepared to drink your face off at camp and party on the beach in the middle of nowhere til the break of dawn. 

-Alice

Ordinary Days

It’s amazing how one day can change your entire life.

September 13, 2008 was a regular day. I don’t even remember what I was doing or where I was. It’s not that particular day that is interesting; it’s that in the months to come, my whole life was going to change and on that day, on September 13 2008, I had no clue that any of it was going to happen. I had no idea that in two months I would come across my future husband after coming to work for what I thought would be just a regular Wednesday shift. I had no idea that in four months I would be in my best friends' bathroom peeing on four different pregnancy sticks in order to fully believe that I was pregnant. I had no idea that in exactly one year, I would be in the hospital giving birth to a baby who would grow into an adorable, hilarious and rambunctious little girl. I had no idea that those three days, those three ordinary days, would turn out to be three of the most important days of my life.

Now it’s September 13, 2011 and that itty bitty screeching baby I gave birth to has become a walking, talking, jumping little blonde two year old. She is a girl, people, not a baby. This is insane. She pees in the potty (sometimes), she climbs the ladders at the park without falling (most of the time) and she knows the lyrics to five different pop songs (at least). This time last year, she was just figuring out how to say her first word. Now her sentences have a four-word minimum. 

Besides wishing my daughter a happy birthday (Happy birthday, Thumper!), what I’m trying to say is that life is fucking crazy. Sometimes it’s crazy-good, sometimes it’s crazy-bad, sometimes it’s crazy-awkward, like the time this regular came into the restaurant when I was six months pregnant, and being that this was the first time he’d seen me since I got pregnant, said “Holy sh*t! What happened? Did you fall on a penis?”* The point is, today might be a day that you’ll never really remember. But maybe in a few months or years something will happen that will turn everything upside down and you’ll think about today, about how you watched seventeen back-to-back episodes of 30 Rock, or went to work like you always do, or treated yourself to an extra-large Starbucks on the way home, about how you did whatever it is you do without knowing all the things the universe was planning for you. Hopefully when that day comes, you can pour yourself a drink and think about what used to be and what it all became, and know that whatever it was that happened ended up just the way it should have.

So here’s to cute strangers who leave their numbers on napkins, and here’s to best friends who will gently but firmly tell you that four pee sticks is enough proof that you’re preggers. And here’s to all the future September 13’s, where I’ll sit around thinking about how it all began.

Happy birthday, Thumper.

-Alice

*If you’re wondering how I reacted to this ridiculously awkward question, I think I tried to laugh but was so horrified and embarrassed (because he said it in front of three other regulars who weren’t in his party and were just as mortified as I was, which meant I couldn’t even pretend it never happened) that it sounded more like a hyena crying while being beaten to death. And then I went to sit in a corner to rock in the fetal position.

More Adventures in Doctorland

Remember when I gave you advice on finding a new family doctor? I should have added “ask if the doctor plans on leaving the country any time soon” to the list. You may wonder how in the world I’d think of a question like that. Well, when your fiancé calls up the doctor’s office to make an appointment and the receptionist says your doctor no longer works there, and your fiancé asks why, and the receptionist says it’s because she moved, and your fiancé asks where, and the receptionist says out of the country, then suddenly the far-fetched piece of advice “ask if the doctor plans on leaving the country any time soon” doesn’t seem all that far-fetched anymore, does it?

I know what you’re thinking. “But Alice, didn’t you get rid of Dr. Suckypants? Didn’t you replace her with the greatest doctor in the history of ever?” Yes, I thought so too but as it happens, the greatest doctor in the history of ever’s husband got transferred out of the country and she went with him. Pfft. So much for doctor-patient loyalty.  It also just so happens that the notification letters went out to patients during the mail strike, which for some of us apparently meant we never got them. Hence our surprise on the phone this morning. Hence why I have the over-whelming urge to punch the mailman*.

*I’m kidding. I know the rules. Don’t punch the messenger. BUT STILL!

I know that this is not a tragedy. I know it’s not the worst thing that could ever or will ever happen to me. I know that we still have it pretty good because even though we  don’t have a family doctor anymore, we still have free health care and can go to any walk-in clinic if need be. But this still sucks.

I know that there are good doctors out there. I know that I will find another one eventually. I know that this could be a blessing in disguise, or at the very least another lesson learned. But this still sucks.

It sucks because the new doctor I have to try and find will be the fifth doctor that Thumper has had since her birth and she isn’t even two yet. Here’s a quick recap of my adventures in doctorland: Doctor One retired so we were automatically transferred to his replacement. We left Doctor Two because we moved, which led us to Doctor Three, a.k.a. Dr. Suckypants. And when she turned out to be a grade A moron, we did some searching and found Doctor Four, formerly known as the greatest doctor in the history of ever. Now that she’s peaced out, I’m on a search for Doctor Five. This series of events doesn’t sound all that bad but keep in mind, this all happened in under two years. Plus Dr. Suckypants was, well, a disaster to say the least – she didn’t receive her name for nothing. So to say that I’m tired of meeting new doctors and even more tired of having to sit through handfuls of crappy interviews in order to find even one doctor I feel comfortable with is the understatement of the year*.

*It’s probably not the understatement of the year. The understatement of the year would be “Justin Bieber fans are sorta crazy” or “This economy sucks” or even, “That girl from Twilight is awkward**.”

**That girl from Twilight is hella awkward.  

Alas, whether I’m being overly dramatic (which there is usually a 50% chance or higher that I am) or not, the simple fact is that I have to hooker up suit up and find a replacement. In preparation for this, I’ll have to review both my list of advice on finding new doctors, as well as dealing with the shitty ones because let’s face it, there are some crack pots in this world and a bunch of them have medical licenses.

I had better start practising my stick drawings. Wish me luck!

-Alice