Update on 'Tanned, Toned and Totally Faking It'!

Well, this is the moment we've all been waiting for. Well, maybe not THAT moment yet. That will be the moment I'm holding 'Tanned' in my hot little hands. That moment won't be for a few more months.

But...

My fabulous editor, Karen Gowen, just emailed me this morning letting me know that she is just finishing up a final run through of my book, after which she will send me a pdf.arc for my review. If I approve it all, then the arc will be sent to a handful of reviewers I have asked to read and comment on my book.

This is super exciting!! So by mid-August people can be reading and reviewing my book!

So the hard thing is... who should I get to review it? Well, it needs to be big names, names that other people will respect and know and listen to. And they need to be people who like chick lit. Yes, I know, that narrows it down somewhat. :)

I have a few people in mind already. I will begin contacting them tomorrow. But... if any of you, my beautiful blog-readers, know anyone famous, you know, Britney Spears, Marie Osmond, Stephenie Meyer etc, let me know. Shifty eyes.

Anyway, it's time to par-tay! Not party. Par-tay. This is exciting news.

And so I will par-tay the only way I know how. By sitting at work, drinking bottled water and typing up the report that is due in a few hours. Huzzah!

I'll try to stay sober.

Watery hot chocolate and other woes...

Here it is, a cold, rainy Tuesday... and it is absolutely freezing in my cubicle. Frigid. I'm talking Narnia-pre-Aslan-returning-days meets Antarctica plus a little smudge of Canada-at-Christmas. Cold. Since it is still the middle of July, I did not expect it to be so deathly icy here. So I wore my usual summer outfit of pants, a T-shirt and slip-on shoes.

Thank you, workplace, for cranking the AC. My shivering body appreciates it.

So, what is the only logical thing to do on such a cold day? Get some hot chocolate, of course. Genius plan, I told myself. Up I got, went to the kitchen, pushed that beautiful "Hot Cocoa" button on the coffee machine and waited. Thirty seconds later I had a cup full of frothy hot chocoalte.

I returned to my desk, clutching my mug and allowing my body to leech all heat from it. Then, after enjoying the heat for about five minutes, I finally took a much anticipated sip.

And wanted to gag.

I like water. I do. I even like the taste of water. But I do not like water-flavoured hot chocolate. Would it be that hard, coffee machine maintenance employees, to keep the hot chocolate filled?

So now I am stuck here, sipping my brown coloured hot water and wishing once again that I was at home, in bed, warm.

Oh to be warm again. I'd even take my sunburnt, crispy days from a month ago. I think...

Can there be no happy medium????

What I can't live without...

So last night I was hungry. And not just normal hungry. I was in full on, starvation mode. And the only thing to save me would be a double cheeseburger from McDonalds. But then, alas, problems struck. It would be impractical to go to McDonalds at 10:30 at night for a cheeseburger, even though my ever-wonderful husband offered so gallantly to get me one. No other food sounded delicious though. Meh, fruit. Nah, vegetables. Ugh, macaroni. Blech, leftovers.

I only wanted a cheeseburger. That was all I wanted.

And so I went to bed hungry.

I know, wise decision on my part. It's better to not stuff 490 calories (yup, that's the amount! I checked...) into your mouth so late at night. That's how you get fat. I know. So it's probably a good thing.

But still... at 10:30 on that Tuesday night? A cheeseburger was the only thing on my mind, the most important thing in the world to me right at that moment.

Could I live without it? Obviously, yes. I survived. I went to sleep, slept all night and woke up feeling significantly skinnier than I am sure I would have if I had chowed down on that burger. But still... my quality of life for that brief window of time definitely suffered.

So the real question then is, if I can live without a cheeseburger (albiet a little sadly), what are some things I CANNOT live without?

Here is my top 5 list:

1. My Stephen. Not really a thing, per se, but definitely someone I cannot live without. And not only because he is the *potential* provider of all things cheeseburgers. I just could not imagine my life without him.

2. Chocolate. Yes, a cheeseburger I can do without. But not chocolate. When I need chocolate, I actually NEED chocolate. Some call me addict. I just call myself a normal, functioning human being with a slight dependence on caffeinated bars of coco and sugar (NFHBWASDOCBOCAS for short). Life without chocolate would be a life not worth living. (For the record, my mother has sworn off all chocolate for the past 4 years. Not a speck. No coco, nothing. My mother is insane.)

3. Cheese. Make that melted cheese. Melted cheese is delicious. Not fully melted, like fondue cheese. Just half way melty, like cheese on a grilled cheese sandwich, or the gooey cheese in poutine. Melted cheese is not replaceable.

4. A toothbrush and toothpaste (preferably mint flavoured). I am not a clean freak. Showers I can do without. My hair sees better days. But bad breath is a killer. When I have bad breath, I am miserable. A toothbrush and mint toothpaste is key for a happy life. And I like the newly brushed, smooth, slimy feel to your teeth after too. Yummy.

5. Hair dye, specifically bleach filled hair dyes. My natural hair colour has been described as "pumpkin pie coloured". My mother calls it "strawberry blonde". I dislike both references as they make my hair seem like it is a food. My non-natural colour is blonde without any copper highlights. And so, hair dye is on the list. Not hair dye from a box. No, this has to be quality salon dye. But I cannot live without it.

So... what are your things you can't live without?? :)

The interview... :)

You asked and I answered. Oh wait. You didn't ask. I asked and I answered. You can tell when I am bored and have absolutely no blog ideas in my echoing and hollow brain. Still, all the most important celebrities in the planet have Q&A sessions. Even lame celebrities like, I don't know, rejects from 'The Bachelorette' have Q&A sessions with people. And I am not even half as lame as some of those people, I swear! *shifty eyes*

And yes, I know what you're thinking, 'Whitney, you're not a celebrity.' I know. I know. But I am my own my VIP. So I think I deserve one interview. :)

So, drum roll please, here goes my interview with... uh... the Questioner. It sounds kind of like a game show host, doesn't it? :)

Questioner: If you could spend a year anywhere in the world, all expenses paid, where would you go?
Whitney: Spain. No question about it. I was a Spanish major in university and the most Spanish place I've ever lived is Florida. (What up, Puerto Ricans and Cubans who pretend to be Puerto Ricans!) So Spain is the place. First up, running with the bulls. Or at least, watching others run with the bulls. I'm not sure how well my bladder would hold up while watching a million pound beast race down crowded metorpolitan streets toward me. I might be safer on the other side of the fence. Then I will tour all the historic places, probably register at the university in Barcelona so I can be a student again and feel smarter, and I will eat all the Spanish food I can find. Plus, the siestas in the afternoon have always been calling my name. Oh Spain... one day!

Questioner: What is your biggest accomplishment to date?
Whitney: Hmmm... probably I would say my largest accomplishment is in regards to my New Years Resolution to give up chocolate all year. I lasted approximately five hours, which is five hours without chocolate. I know. Impressive, right?

Questioner: Wow, that is impressive. Five hours. Good for you. So speaking of New Years Resolutions, do you typically break them so rapidly? Why bother making them at all?
Whitney: Why make New Years resolutions? Um... I don't know. It looks good on paper. Do I keep them? Sure, I keep them. Ahem. Let's move on to the next question.

Questioner: Alright, new topic. What would win in a fight to the death, a bear or a shark?
Whitney: A shark. Definitely a shark. They've got those teeth and that tail that can just swack you. Plus they have Jaws theme music. Na-na Na-na Na-na. No bear has that.

Questioner: It is the year 2025. You are living your ideal life. What does that look like and what did you do to make it happen?
Whitney: I am living in a fairly large house, gated and with armed security guards patrolliong the perimeter, somewhere in Spain, or possibly Arizona since my husband doesn't speak Spanish and Spain might be a tough sell for him. I am an internationally acclaimed best selling author and I have my very own stalker. Hence the security guards. (Every celebrity/famous rich person has a stalker or two. I want to join that club!). I have adopted a baby from eight different countries around the world (in your face, Angelina and Brad! I win!) and I am super skinny. Yes, it is partly due to exercise, which is what I will claim in magazine interviews. But it will also be partly due to my monthly liposuction appointments with my personal doctor. What will I have done to make this happen? Hmmm... well, I think first I write the next Harry Potter book (notice I did not say Twilight, shudder), and will soon be penning movie deals for my book rights. Seems fairly do-able. Now, to just come up with the next Harry Potter idea. Hmmm... maybe I can call it Mary Cotter? She'll be a... goddess. Or something. I like it. I like the concept. Next time you see me, I'll be on the cover of Forbes.

Questioner: Well, folks, that's all the time we have today. Whitney Boyd, author of Tanned, Toned and Totally Faking It, ladies and gentlemen. Let's give her a round of applause.

Clapping. I wave. Blow a token kiss. Smile.

See ya!

PS - if anyone actually has any questions for me, just ask below. :)

Oh the foolishness of people...

So driving in the mountains. Suddenly on the highway ahead of us there is a traffic jam of cars. Break lights, slow down.

What is this? Oh, it must be a car accident or something.

Nope.

Drive closer and see instead a big mama moose and a baby moose just chilling on the side of the road. And all these genius tourists have stopped their cars and are climbing out and taking pictures. One man is walking closer and closer to baby moose, holding his hand out as if he were offering food to a puppy.

Do people not realize that these are WILD animals? In fact, a mother moose can do more damage to a person than a bear. Especially when her baby moose is in danger.

Wow.

I mean, I know the guy's license plate says Florida, but still... when I am in a foreign land, like FLorida, I do not run around trying to pet the alligators and giant snakes that I see along the road. No. I stay in my car and think "Cool!" and then drive away. But really? Mr. Florida clearly didn't learn in kindergarden not to talk to strangers or pet strange animals.

Quick...keep driving. I do not want to watch as this foolish man from the States gets mauled by an amgry she-moose.

Fun times.

If I were a boy...

Plato once said: Of all the animals, the boy is the most unmanageable.

If I were a boy for a day, the very first thing I would do is race to the bathroom and pee standing up. Oh the freedom of it! In fact, I wouldn't stop there. Later, through out the entire day, I would seize the moment (Carpe Diem and all that jazz) and pee in the bushes at the park, write my name in urine in the snow/dirt/dust on the side of a car, pee on an electric fence and all the other awesome things boys can do with their urine. (This is the most essential thing to do as a boy for the day because, trust me on this, girls can't pee standing up, no matter how hard we try. Things get, uh, messy... shifty eyes...)

After I relieve my bladder, I will shower and get dressed in about five minutes and still look amazing. I won't even use conditioner in my hair, because I don't need it. Then I will dry off, throw my towel in a crumpled heap in the corner (because my ever-patient wife will hang it up later) and strut around, watching myself in the mirror. I will grunt and flex my muscles while saying things like "Who's your daddy?" and "Yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about." After fifteen to twenty minutes of my incredibly intense he-man routine, I will do to my hair. Blowdryer? Never heard of that. Curling iron? Maybe as a weapon of self defence. For me, a man, I will simply run my fingers through my hair once (combs are for sissies) and I'm good to go.

What to do next? Well, by golly, I will do what any self respecting male would do.... I drive my pimped out convertible around downtown, whistling, cat calling and honking at women. As a woman at heart, I know that this irritates the crap out of girls... but I really want to be on the non-receiving end of it for once. I especially appreciate all the dirty looks the women throw at me. Except for the slightly skanky women who check me out after I holler (pronounced holla!) If only they knew I was a secretly a chick.

At least once during the day I will belch and fart in public (preferably in a large, crowded area, like the food court in a mall, for example, or in a deathly silent meeting at work) and not apologize. In fact, not only will I not be ashamed, but I will laugh loudly, nudge my friends and probably fart a second time, just because I can. I also will, at some point, burp the alphabet while trying to impress a cute girl. Dude, I'm a guy!

Towards the end of the day, I will strip down to just shorts and no shirt, and walk around in flip flops. No shirt, no problem. I won't wear any underwear either. I do, after all, enjoy an unfurnished basement. I will call my friends and go hang out at a bar, openly hitting on women. Who needs chocolates or flowers or romance? I'll creepily hit on all the women I can find.

On the other hand, maybe I'd be a little more attracted to men. I mean, since I am still a girl at heart, but a boy everywhere else, maybe I should go to a gay bar. That way, I can finally hit on all the gay men I've known who just aren't that into me due to my femininity. Gay men are typically the most thoughtful and good-looking after all. I've always secretly wanted to kiss a gay man. Now is my chance.

When I only have a few hours left, I will go to McDonalds and order two Big Mac meals and eat them in my pimped out convertible, secure in the knowledge that nobody judges a man who buys two Big Mac meals, but if I were doing it as a woman, the cashier would frown and mutter things about my butt as I walked away. I will wipe my hands on my shorts (because real men don't use napkins) and will quite possibly eat the fries without even chewing. Gulp, gulp, swallow, gone.

The final thing on my to-do list as a guy, as the clock nears midnight and my Cinderella man story is coming to a close, I will rush to the nearest Walmart, buy a cheap smiley-face tie that no self-respecting woman would ever be caught dead wearing, and tie it around my still-shirtless neck. I, of course, as a man, will be able to tie this in five seconds and without any issues. The ability to tie a tie, I'm sure, has something to do with the chemical makeup of men. The Y-chromasome does look sort of tie-shaped, doesn't it? And since, as a woman, I will never have this opportunity again, I will tie it, take it off, re-tie it just for fun, and then waltz around the street until midnight, showing off my manly fashion sense.

Seriously... if only I were a boy, even just for a day... :)

People on the Bus

The bus brings out the worst in people. Transit in general, actually. It really does. When the bus is late (almost every day), people who climb on are already in a grumpy mood. And then the bus is crowded and people have to sit next to other people (human contact often creeps me out) and the bus is either way too cold (January) or way too hot (July). So you're sweaty, annoyed, tired, and just having a brutal ride to work.

So it's no wonder that the people who ride transit are an interesting group. You rarely see CEO's wearing their Armani suits on a bus. They just don't ride it. Who cares about cutting costs when you make a bazillion dollars a year. No, the people who are usually on the bus are not the CEO's of the world.

For example, here are just a few of the people I watched (from behind dark sunglasses) on my bus ride today.

1. An asian guy, skinnier than an anorexic model, wearing a T-shirt but with a gigantic pot belly. It literally looked like he had shoved a beach ball up there. He also was very shifty, couldn't stand still in the aisle. Kept twitching and moving from side to side.

2. A woman who looked approximately fifty, who was holding onto her belly and rubbing it every couple minutes. If she had been about thirty years younger, I would have sworn she was pregnant. But she looked like a grandmother! Still not sure if she's preggo or not.

3. A man with a bowler hat on (and a moustache!), who sat in the center of his seat and wouldn't let anyone sit next to him. Not even when a lady stood next to him, looking down at the seat and clearing her throat. He just looked up at her, made eye contact and then looked away. Didn't move an inch.

4. A normal looking woman with glasses who kept trying to initiate conversation with the people around her. They would nod and move closer to the bus wall in an attempt to disassociate themselves with her. She didn't get the hint and kept talking. She wanted to know everything about them from their names and chosen career path to what plans they had for the summer. ** As a little disclaimer with this one, every time people ask me personal information on the bus, I tell them my name is Emily and I live out in the country on an acreage. Is it a lie? Yup. Do I feel guilty? Not even a little bit. People freak me out. **

Where was I when all this was going on? Oh, you guessed it. The usual place... squished up against the wall with the BO man beside me. He seriously follows me. When I sit in the front he finds me. When I sit in the back, he finds me. I think it's because I am quite small and he is quite large so we equal out the suggested weight limit for the seat. Or he just likes watching me breathe through my mouth and wish I were dead.

Oh transit, what would I do without you?

My first Blogger Idol Assignment!

Well, week one of Blogger Idol is finished and I was NOT eliminated. In fact, I was not even the bottom three! Hurray! :) If you are curious about what I wrote for my first week, I have pasted it below. I have also (keener-like) already submitted my assignment for this upcoming week. The topic was... If I were a boy... and you can ch-ch-check out my current posting at http://writersarethenewrockstars.blogspot.com. Actually, you can't check it out right now. It won't be posted until Wednesday. But then you can! :) Vote for Boyd!

And, ladies and gentlemen, drum roll please. Here is what I wrote last week. It was a 'get-to-know-you' assignment. So... time to get to know me. Enjoy!

HI everyone! My name is Whitney Boyd and I am a chocoholic. Seriously. Case in point? I have been known to run 10 km on my treadmill while eating a King-sized Snickers bar. Just sayin'.

When my husband proposed just under three years ago, he sweetened the deal (no pun intended) by first offering me some Bernard Callebeaut chocolate. Now, I'm not talking your average Hershey's chocolate, no. This was a seriously delectable taste-sensation. Needless to say, I accepted his proposal. You know the saying: 'The way to a man's heart is through his stomach'? Yup, that's me... only it's through chocolate.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not an addict. I would never, say, sell my first born for a chocolate fix. No. Of course not. Although I could possibly sell my second child for it. First borns are always the favourites, after all.

I, my friends, am not a first born. Nor am I the spoiled baby of the family. I am right smack in the middle. And, because of that, I have middle child syndrome (MCS). Have you never heard of MCS? Gasp. It's a shockingly lethal disease, known to afflict all those who are born in the middle of the family. Never the first for anything, never the doted upon child. Parents usually take a million pictures of the first baby and then by the time their last baby comes along they want a million pictures of that one too. It's the middle child who doesn't have many photos taken of them. Tragically, MCS affects nearly 10,000,000 people worldwide* (*legitimate numbers may vary), and there is only one cure: Attention. Lots and lots of attention. Attention given them by overly eager babysitters, attention by cookie-wielding grandparents, and attention showered upon them by loving friends, husbands, and blogger-idol readers. *Cough* Vote for Whitney *Cough*

What else is there to know about me? I was named after Whitney Houston and when he found out, my grade eight math teacher called me Houston for an entire year. I became curious about my namesake. I knew her only from the Bodyguard soundtrack that my father played incessently on family roadtrips. So I googled Whitney Houston. Apparently we only share our first name and there our resemblance ends. Boyd: Canadian, blonde, addicted to chocolate and running, questionable singing talent, non-abusive loving husband. Houston: American, black hair, addicted to who knows what, amazing singing talent, quasi-abusive husband.

Interesting. Amazing what google can teach you.

I don't know what I did before google. Google assisted me ever step of the way while I completed my Bachelor of Arts degree (University of Calgary, 2010, yay!). Google also assisted me while writing my first novel and getting it published (It's called 'Tanned, Toned and Totally Faking It' and is going to hit stores sometime in the next 6 or 7 months... currently finishing up the editing process). Google also answers every question I have about geography, recipes for cooking and giving me the latest gossip on Jennifer Aniston (love her) and Angelina Jolie (do not love her). The inventor of Google is probably the person I most want to meet in the planet, simply so I can give him/her a big kiss and say "thank you!". And then hug him/her.

I am a big hugger. I love getting hugs. Hugs = safety.

I only don't like getting hugs when I am sunburnt to a crisp the way I am right now.I am a naturally very pale person (reddish blonde hair does that to a person) and so I really only have two shades... pale white and burnt red. After the burn subsides, I return to my pale state. There is no tanned, happy medium for me. Sad, I know. Right now? Burnt red. Yup. So nobody is allowed to hug me at the moment. My shoulders are a little too crispy to take it.

I am excited to be part of Blogger Idol 2011! Please vote for me! (My MCS needs it! Doctor's orders!)

Until next week, that's me! Check out my blog at whitneyjboyd.blogspot.com!

Peace and love!