Rose's Cantina

In November, I will graduate from Carleton University as part of the Class of 2019. As always, I'm a bit late. Forty years late. Oh well, I was busy back in the late 70s forging a new career for myself. I didn't have time to finish that journalism degree. To the taxpayers of Ontario, who bankrolled my education, I offer my sincere apologies. I was just so excited to get out into the world, I had neglected to complete my "thesis". And I meant to finish it, I really did. But life got in the way. Career. Motherhood. Singlemotherhood. Yadda, yadda. Never got around to it. Kids, take this as a lesson. You can't go back. After I lost my job due to my lack of educational credentials this past spring, I realized that I needed that degree. I couldn't qualify for all the jobs I was qualified for. That piece of paper was a deal breaker, the difference between me being a bona fide public servant, and a Walmart greeter. Truth is, I don't have my Grade 12 d...

In the end, I should have listened to my mother. And I shouldn't have trusted him, that's for sure. But the person I married, the person my friend Katie now refers to as "the bad man" became my everything, and then I became my nothing. Choosing love over career was a bad decision on my part. Having his children was an even worse one. "But look," said the bad man. "At least you have these beautiful children!" "Yeah," I said. "But I could have had these children with someone who didn't leave me." I was thinking about this conversation reading the New York Times this morning, a feature about women like me who "opted out," then, when their marriages fell apart, wanted to opt back in. I am one of those women, albeit a little older than the ones featured in the article. When I met the bad man, I was having a relatively successful career in Ottawa. Back in the 80s, before mandatory enforced bilingualism, I could ...

Watching the news last night, I was stunned to see one of my former female colleagues holding a press conference. She is now the CEO of a major consortium, apparently. A Master of the Universe in silk stockings. The last time I saw this woman, the police were at her door after my buddies and I launched fireworks off her balcony in the late 1970s in retribution for her having stolen my boyfriend. I was pissed. I really liked that boyfriend. Of course, she dumped him soon after – he was only attractive to her because he was my boyfriend -- and she probably moved on to another girl’s boyfriend, or so I like to believe. I hope I’m not the only girl who has been chronically left with a face like a slapped Nancy. She was the first of many women who have stolen my boyfriends and husbands, all women characterized by uniforms consisting of black pencil skirts and white lace push-ups under cream silk blouses. This woman is now a Harvard MBA and a CEO. A millionaire, I’m s...

More evidence that I am shallow. Scott: Are you going to the gym today? Me: No, I have a doctor's appointment. I can't do both. Scott: But the doctor's only to renew your blood pressure meds. Me: Yeah, and discuss the results of my mammogram. Scott: But your mammogram was clear. Me. Still. Scott: I don't get it. Most people hold down jobs, look after their little kids, have hobbies. And you can't go to the gym and the doctor in one day? Me: Exactly. I am not a well person, headwise. I cannot multitask. If I have more than one thing to do in the day -- other than walk the dogs and do the dishes -- I become a complete shipwreck. I'm recovering from last week. I edited the copy for my magazine, helped Scott shoot a music video (by hanging around and suggesting cool shots while playing Angry Birds) and took in an audiology conference, all in French, a language I do not speak. I'm exhausted. So I need a couple weeks off. Seriously. I have to co...

The other evening, Scott and I had a tequila-fueled discussion about my nature. "Don't blame me," I said. "I'm shallow." "Yes you are." "What do you mean by that?" It was one of those discussions that man and wife should never, ever, have. Like, do I look fat in this dress? The dishes are piling up. Do you think I should do them? But I admit, in the brazen light of day, that I admire his courage under fire. He always tells me the truth. And as an enlightened human, I understand that I am the fool for asking. My intellect is of the fast food variety. I don't read anything that will expand my universe. My favorite books are written by the sick, the twisted and the insane. Currently, I'm devouring Darrell Hammond's book, appropriately called God, If You're Up There, I'm Fucked . Previously, I read Chelsea Handler's book, Dear Vodka: It's Me, Chelsea. And, of course, the classic, Running with Scissors...

There was a story in today's paper about a talk Barbara Walters gave to a Jewish fundraising dinner in town last night. I thought: good for Barbara. She's 82-years-old and still going strong. She continues to work on a regular basis on two television programs: The View and 20/20 . And she continues to be a gadabout in New York, seen at all the swish parties on the arms of some very powerful men. Oh yes, and she is a grandmother. That's not usually heard in her introductions. Last night, she told the gathering about a conversation she once had with the late, great Katherine Hepburn. Asked about her life's accomplishments, Hepburn said this. "I made enough money to support myself and I wasn't afraid of being alone." Oh, Lord, I thought. How sad. Barbara has certainly followed Hepburn's lead. She has been much married -- and badly, as she admits -- but Barbara has always been an independent soul, supporting her parents and her sister ov...