High noon at the blood pressure corral

Beginning on Monday, I have been instructed to monitor my blood pressure daily, then report back to Dr. Ben with the results.

To get ready, I ordered Chinese food for dinner and stocked up on the makings of some very nice gin martinis. Instead of going to the gymnasty yesterday, I went to the Slots to blow two hundred bucks and raise my pressure to blood curdling levels. By the time, I got home, my head was swimming and the beaded sweat had frozen to my forehead.

Today, again, instead of going to exercise, I went to the laundromat.

I'm considering making chocolate fondue for dessert.

Maybe a nice margarita, extra salt.

Dr. Ben might say that I'm being a bad patient.

Oh, contraire, mon ami.

I am the very best patient.

I am getting in all the bad behavior before the blood pressure tests. Starting tomorrow, it will be back to lentil soup and the treadmill. The martinis will have been drunk, the Chinese food consumed, and the cupboard will have been re-stocked with all manner of broths of the low sodium variety, beans, and sodium-reduced tomatoes.

The Haagen Daas ice cream will no longer smile at me from the freezer. Instead, frozen yogurt pops will have their day. The barbecue will be put down in favor of a crockpot full of heart healthy soups.

And the liquor cabinet will be as bare as a Byward Market stripper.

I know how to do this.

I am the Yoyo Queen of New Orleans, the dogged dieter, the Girl who Kicked the Seven Day Merlot habit.

As Dr. Phil has said, this won't be my first rodeo.

I take on this new challenge with gusto, like the prisoner suddenly given a reprieve from a death row.

Why?

Let me explain.

I am a person who, left to her own devices, would kill herself with the pleasures offered by this wonderful world.

I have no brake. I have an addictive personality.

The only way I've survived this long is to know when to hold 'em. I take myself to the very brink like Thelma and Louise, but have the good sense to listen to the nice police officer who can show me the way back.

Truth be told, I need someone in authority to tell me what to do.

I've been given the tour of the death row cells and I've decided to change my ways.

Now listening to this, you might think I'm a candidate for the Biggest Loser, a 300 pounder who drinks Starbucks caramel macchiatos for breakfast and scarfs Big Macs, extra sauce, for lunch.

I am not that person. I'm overweight but not obese. I'm very active. I eat well.

I just have a few bad habits, that's all.

Unfortunately, that's all it takes for a middle aged woman to have high blood pressure.

I don't want to take pills. I also don't want to be a drooling vegetable sitting in the corner because I drink too much and have a penchant for salty sauces.

Oh, my. Poor Rose. Look at her sitting there. Wipe her mouth, won't you? She was always wonderful, wasn't she? So full of life. Now look at her. She's been reduced to a bobblehead.

That's not me.

No way.

I'm not only going to make Death Wait.

I'm going to boot his ass out the door.

Ashley Simpson: Conversation with Derek Favell Revealed

On April 2, 2017, a family friend of Ashley Simpson opened her Facebook Messenger and got the surprise of her life. Cathy MacLeod had been trying to correspond with Ashley's boyfriend, Derek Favell, who was the last person to see the St. Catharines native before she disappeared from her home in Salmon Arm, B.C. a year before. She wanted to know more about what happened to Ashley, and why Favell had refused to take a polygraph test when many others close to the missing woman agreed to do so. "I wanted to poke the bear," she said, and sent several messages to Favell pleading with him to talk to her. " Please help us," she wrote. "It's been 10 months of pure hell. A lie detector would help if you have nothing to hide. I beg of you, help us, take the test to clear your name if there’s nothing to hide." Many, including members of the Simpson family, found Derek's behaviour, at least, curious. Ashley had disappeared on April 27, 2016. Yet it took

Ashley Simpson: A Father Remembers

I have asked Ashley Simpson's family and friends to give us a glimpse into the life she lived before going missing nearly a month ago. Here is how her father John remembers his sweet girl. Ashley was a treat when she came into this world, a smashing 9lbs 8 ounces with a head full of hair and nails that needed to be clipped. She has made many friends in her journey of life and continues to make them as we speak. She has made this world a better place by her love of mankind and this place we call Earth; unfortunately this life she has lived hasn't been the best for her. She has suffered through unbearable pain and suffering through her menstrual cycles. She has cysts on her ovaries that make those 10 days a living hell. She had one of her ovaries removed when she was just 14; the other they won't take out till she is 40 or older. Years of hell for my Ashley. I so feel her pain every month but she doesn't quit, doesn't give in. That's my

What Bell isn't telling you about Fibe TV

Update: This week, we switched back to Rogers after spending far too long using Bell's crappy television service. For those with Bell, read and weep. For those considering Bell, think twice even if you hate Rogers. RS I've always been an early technology adapter. I had a Betamax. That tells you everything (if you're over 50 at least). My first computer was a "Portable". It weighed 40 pounds and I had to lug it around town on a gurney. I've been through probably 15 computers in my lifetime. Apple is the best. It's also too expensive so I have a piece of shit HP, the one I'm writing this blog on. I've had cable, internet and now Netflix. American Netflix . That's how far ahead of the curve I am. I get all the newspapers for free. How? I disabled my cookies so they can't track me when I'm on the newspaper sites. Even the New York Times hasn't cottoned on to that trick. Hahaha. That will be a fifty buck consulting fee. Bein

Rose's Cantina

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