Monday, December 21, 2009

Conversations with my Kid: Comedy

Tierney: I have a joke for you mom
Me: okay shoot.
Tierney: What would you call a Santa Claus that farts a lot?
Me: uhm... what?
Tierney: Saint Farts-a-lot! Get it?
Me: I get it. I wouldn't go on the road just yet, though, your act still needs some work.
Tierney: I could have sworn that was funny.
Me: I'm sure you believed it was hilarious.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

an arbitrary number of Canadians Shows you Should check out

Road to Avonlea

Based on L.M. Montgomery's books, this show followed the life of Sarah Stanley, who is sent to live with her mother's family on Prince Edward Island after her father gets himself in some financial hot water and various legal troubles. The show eventually focuses less on Sarah (played by Sarah Polley) and more on the King family and other residents of Avonlea. This show was a sunday night staple in my family and a great period piece. I give special note to Michael Mahonen who played Gus Pike - one of my personal favorite characters.




Degrassi Junior High/Degrassi High

It was often referred to as the anti-90210. Meaning, the kids were not glamorous, not rich, and most importantly, Not in their 20s. Name an issue, and these kids faced it. Drugs, teen pregnancy, AIDS, abortion, child abuse, eating disorders, they were all over it. The stars of the show were local kids and the show's producer, Kit Schuyler was previously a school teacher I believe. The Series finale, a full length tv movie titled "School's Out" has been compared to "The Empire Strikes Back" as far as having one of the best 'Downer endings'. I won't ruin it for you though. It also has the distiction of featuring the first and second actors to say Fuck on the CBC.

Vid includes wicked fight scene between Erika and Liz, who was mostly a cool character but was unusually self-righteous and bitchy when right-to-life issues came about.


Corner Gas

This show just ended its run on CTV after about 6 seasons. I think out of the whole series, my favorite scene is still the very first scene of the first episode of the first season, which pretty much sets the tone for for the series. This is definitely one of those shows where you have to know the characters to get it. However, if you can find them, be sure to check out 'Hook Line and Sinker' and 'World's Biggest Thing' from season 1, and 'Doc Small' from season two.



Kids In The Hall

Sketch comedy at it's very-near finest. Often cited as our Generation's Monty Python, the Kids (unlike other Canadian sketch comedies such as This Hour Has 22 Minutes and Royal Canadian Air Farce) shied away from political humor and focused on more absurdist humour. Some of my favorite regular characters include the Chicken Lady and Sir Simon Milligan and Hecubus.




The shows mentioned above are my personal favorites but some others worth mentioning include:

The Littlest Hobo - Airing in the late 60s up until the mid-80s, the littlest hobo was a German shepard that wandered the country helping people in need, then moving on to the next place.

This Hour Has 22 Minutes - Political/current events based news satire. Launching pad for Rick Mercer, who is often cited as Canada's answer to Jon Stewart (until he started whoring for the goverment during the 1-ton challenge.

The Hour - Weekly celeb/politico interview show, starring one of my very favorite ex MuchMusic veejays EVAR. One day, I will marry George strombolopoulous and have little strombobabies.

The Beachcombers IMDB synopsis - "The adventures of a professional lumber salvager and his friends in Gibson, British Columbia, Canada." Honestly, my parents used to watch this when I was a kid, and I never 'got it'.. but it just seems wrong to leave it off the list. It'd be like going to Paris and not visiting the Louvre.

There is an episode of the cartoon Kevin Spencer called Bruno Gerusi Must Die that I wanted to post a clip of, as it involves a hostile takeover of American network television as hatched by Beachcombers star Bruno Gerusi, who has been living in the Spencers wall. Alas I couldn't find a good clip, so I leave you here.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Santa Claus is coming to town Redux

I love my kids, for sometimes they can really make me chuckle.

My youngest while getting dressed, sings this interesting rendition of Santa claus is coming to town

"He sees you when you're sleeping
He sleeps you when you're not asleep
He sees you when you're naked
And when you're going to the washroom
Santa claus is coming in his underwear"

Wait, what?

I really hope she means 'arriving'.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Stink. Stank. Stunk.

Ugh.. With the holiday season approaching rapidly, I'm finding I have little to no spirit for it this year.

I wish I had some good excuse for disliking this holiday, such as a wholly dysfunctional family and such that fights all the time so I spend my christmas merely putting up with them and praying for it to be over. No, that's not the case at all. Actually, in honesty, I LIKE my family. They're pretty awesome people, and I'm glad to be a part of it.

So why the hell am I so bummed out about it all?

Guilt. That's about the gist of it. The kids, I hate saying no to them. I don't spoil them by any means, and I'm not one to give into their every whim. I just can't stand it when it starts to feel like I have to say 'No' to EVERYTHING because I'm trying to A) keep the bills paid and B) have something for them under the tree for Christmas this year.

I sat down with both the girls (but mostly the oldest because she not only understands better, but also seems to have a greater need) to show them our budget - how much comes in, and how much goes out every month. I don't know if it entirely got through to them, considering the amount left over every month, the amount that marks 'panic-time' for me, seems like a FORTUNE to a kid that gets two dollars a week for an allowance.



I let the 'money' and 'material' issues become too much, I know. And I KNOW that's not what it's all about - I know all the good stuff about family and friends and love and sharing and caring.. but I wish I could bypass all the other crap. Because the guilt and feelings of inadequacy as a provider really really make it friggin difficult to enjoy all the 'good stuff'.

Somebody spike me an egg nog, knock me upside the head with a Yule log and bring me Bing Crosby's head on a platter.

Please.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

they just keep coming...

Last night's dream:

I'm in the playground of an elementary school and there are people milling about all over the place. Out of the corner of my eye I spy a former flame, who I had been off and never-quite-on with for quite sometime. My first instinct is to flee, safe under my cloaking device, but in a moment of illogical empathy and understanding I decide to say hello.

Disarming my cloaking device I approach him. Within moments, I'm regretting my decision and wish I had my cloaking device again so I could sneak away. I find myself disappointed and vaguely disgusted with the self-absorption and arrogance, not to mention the lack of remorse or even recognition for harm done in the past. Instead I feign a need for the bathroom, and duck around a portable and make my escape.

Later, I am on a break from work and taking my daily walk. The point of view is sketchy, I am looking only at my feet as I carefully make my way along a steep embankment. My eyes close and flutter open - I am suffering a case of narcolepsy. I wake in front of the Bay Street building, looking up at the darkened glass and realizing that not only have I been sleepwalking through town, I've also Rip-Van-Winkled myself right through the five-o-clock whistle, and everyone has gone home for the night.

Just as I start to panic, wondering how I'm going to get home with my keys locked in the building, I happen to notice them hanging from a nail near the entranceway. On one hand, I appreciate the gesture, however on the other I know this means that my absence has definitely been noticed.

It is daylight again, early winter, and I'm back in the Bay street lot with a couple of non-recognizable friends. I run up the street to meet up with a very Irish looking young guy - red hair (in dreads and a kerchief) very pale, freckles and a sort of fu-manchu type facial hair. It seems my faceless friends are trying to set me up with
this gentleman. He has a sort of adventurous 'back-packing through the mountains' type air about him. However, he also seems completely disinterested in any type of conversation with me, and walks along rather stoically, responding only with the occasional grunt.

Back at the lot we're met by a friend from far away and his wife and new baby. I'm quite excited to see them, it's been a while. While we are all socializing, night falls suddenly and a snow whips up out of nowhere. the group of us decide to take shelter in a small indent in the side of the building.

Then I woke up.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Oh Subconcious, why must you mock me so...

This is what I've wanted and it's happening here, now. Sweet merciful Christ. I can feel tears of happiness springing to my eyes. I'm joyous. My heart feels like it's going to explode. All the pain, frustration, confusion is wiped clean with a few simple sentences. The wait has paid off. The time has come today (young hearts will go their way). My mind races with the possibility of things to come. In all my life, I've never felt such excitement for the future, never so high.

It's dark. I'm alone in my bed.

Oh No. No. Dammit, no. NO.

I remember the scene and pick out details, all the little details that didn't quite make sense.

Yes. *sigh*

Close my eyes, try to sleep. I want to go back, I want to go back.

Returning to sleep I'm rewarded only with a bizarre mishmash of images and scenarios that can only be described as odd.

A friend's former flame asks if he can 'call' me - I am conflicted.

Picking my children up from their dads, the couple that used to live there are creating a fantasy world out of Legos. There's a popular sitcom playing on the television, but today's episode features hardcore nudity (and No, it's not The Simpsons) so I try and shield the childrens eyes and hurry them out.

I'm in a Zellers, and having made one small purchase, I try to bypass the huge crowds by going through the vestibule to get to the registers, and I am stopped and accused of 'stealing' a Discman that is A) quite obviously used and B) a good ten years old. I'm told to pay for it despite my argument that I've not only bought it somewhere else, that I also bought it second-hand. The other employees cheer as the first berates me.

The narrative is sketchy, at best. Haw Haw Haw.

Monday, November 23, 2009

My first obscene work call. NSFW

So it's about 4pm this afternoon and this call comes into the HelpDesk

Me: Thank you for calling ****, this is Andrea speaking
Perv: Yeah, hi. I'm stroking my c**k and I was hoping you could help me.

That can't be right. He did NOT just say what I thought he said. I must have misheard him

Me: What can I help you with?
Perv: Well, what do you look like? Are you a blonde? A brunette?
Me: Uhm.. sir. Do you have any questions about the site?
Perv: Nah, I was just stroking my d**k and ...
Me: Hrm. YEah. I'm hanging up on you now.

*click*


*****************************************************

This weekend was a twisted trail of mayhem and debauchery and grotesque mischief. Allow me to sum it up in a few words:

  • Porn
  • Formal wear
  • Street frisbee.. erm 'titsbee'
  • Last Call
  • coffee
  • Drunk dialing


I bet you're all curious now, aren't ya?

Thursday, November 19, 2009

wishes really do come true..


So a little bit of bizarreness today. This morning I found myself reminiscing about one of my favorite childhood novels - Freaky Friday by Mary Rogers. Aside from Paula Danzigers 'The Pistachio Prescription', this book was probably the most-read in my collection. I read it about once a year from age 10 until about 17. Maybe more than once a year.

My oldest daughter is an avid reader, and was already into 'chapter-books' at the end of grade two. She's got a fair collection of books, and whenever I see something I liked as a kid I try to pick it up for her. She brought home 'Tales of a fourth grade nothing' from school this week and I was ecstatic.

ANyway, here I am reminiscing about Freaky Friday this morning. Tonight after work I had to take the girls grocery shopping, so we took a jaunt through the mall. DOwn by Staples they were having a Two-for-a-dollar book sale and lo and behold, there it is. Same edition I had as a kid and everything.

Needless to say, I scooped it, and tonight I listened to the girls giggle as we got through the first three chapters. It's just kind of funny how these things happen. I actually said to myself "Man, I wish I had that book again"

Boom. Kismet. Now I get to share something I loved with my girls. Wishes do come true.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

I am a pacifist, this is why I remember...

November 11th is not a celebration of war.

It is a solemn reminder of the devastation that can occur when apathy and ignorance allows oppression to spread like a disease.

It is a reminder that all these things we take for granted, our freedoms, our comfort, can be snatched away in a moment.

Now with two generations of whom most of us have never known the fear or the loss of loved ones through war, it is more important that ever that our young be educated, and that those of my own generation educate ourselves. By forgetting our past, we are destined to repeat it.

I choose to acknowledge that we cannot fully appreciate peace without recognizing the atrocities of war.

I wear the red poppy out of respect and to educate. I wear it for my grandmother who lost not one but essentially two brothers in battle - one never returned, one returned, never the same. I will wear it ever November 11th so long as our battles are fought in defense, never in offence. In the name of freedom, not in gain.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Scraps

Received a compliment at work today. A long time user said we have excellent customer service. Being customer service, I was flattered.

Watched Paranormal Activity tonight. I screamed like a little girl. I am not afraid to admit it. A friend mentioned watching it at home and I can understand how it would be infinitely scarier to watch at home than in a theatre.

I've decided that Tony Danza Tapdance Extravaganza is one of the best band names ever, even if the band itself kind of sucks.

It has become necessary to move my art supplies inside if I want to get anything done over the winter. I lack the proper motivation to let the space heater get warm enough to work in the shed. Room may be an issue, but I think I can find a corner in the kitchen for the little cart.

working on songs for open mike nights. Going to get the nephew a regular sitting gig so I can get out during the week more often, meet some people with similar interests. Just get out more.

In line with the Tony Danza TapDance Extravaganza, here's some fun song titles (no comment on the actual songs themselves)

The Best Ever Death Metal Band In Denton
Daft Punk Is Playing at My House
If I Were John Cusack
Cliff Burton Surprise

Lastly, I have to mention that how adorable it is that my six-year-old, upon being lifted to go back to her own bed after crawling into mine, will occasionally still startle like a newborn. Maybe they don't grow up so quickly after all.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Cabin Fever

The children have been sick with something (h1n1? Generic influenza?) since Saturday. Well, the oldest has been sick since Saturday, the youngest since Sunday afternoon, off and on. The oldest is getting better now, and with better comes BORED, as she, like myself, has been cooped up in the house for the last three days.

The little one fights it, whereas the oldest was totally complacent in her illness. She goes through periods of sleeping, and crying and fever and nausea, and as soon as it subsides a little, she's up and insisting she's fine, and I have to make her lie down and rest. The oldest was content to sleep and watch movie after movie and not move if it could be avoided. For this reason, I think the little one may have a longer recovery time, if only because of her refusal to accept that she's actually sick.

I'm looking forward to getting out of the house tomorrow again.

Another Halloween has come and gone. I narrowly escaped being sick for the Hallows weekend with a heavy offence of Vitamin C, warm fluids and Cold FX. When the oldest fell ill I resigned myself to staying in and shelling out while the ex-hub took the little one Trick or Treating. We had a distinct lack of revellers on our street - maybe 20 in all. I attribute this to my street's distinct 'dark-and-gloomy' atmosphere. It's an older area, and not well lit, so it has a tendency to be fairly creepy. One would think this would be a GOOD thing this time of year, but I guess not.

Preparing for Christmas this year.. I'm feeling the pressure. I picked my sister's name in our draw this year and her reaction was 'OHHHH! I'm gonna get something AWESOME!' Not to make her out to be a materialist, she's just speaking from experience. Two years ago, a search for a discontinued Starbucks coffee mug (a mug that held a great deal of sentimental value, eventually located in Thailand through an eBay auction) resulted in possibly the best gift-reaction face ever.

At any rate, that's gonna be a hard act to follow. One of my main irritations with the holiday season is the emphasis on material goods. Someone once said, "It's about giving.. not recieving". Bull. Unless you're referring to being charitable and helping others, that statement just kind of emphasizes the feeling of obligation. I prefer to place an emphasis on time spent with friends and family, but every year despite my best intentions I get sucked in. I don't mean to be a drag, but I shudder when I enter stores the day after halloween and the Christmas marketing machine is already in full swing. It's enough to make me want to be a hermit. Don't get me wrong though.. I love gifting people, when it's something I've had time to put thought into. I'm looking forward to coming up with some inspired (but budget-friendly) gifts for my loved ones this year.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Shvitzing on the dock of the bay

Short but bizarre dream this morning. It basically takes place at work. I'm on the phone with a customer. I'm standing up and looking out the window where it is raining. Okay, that might be a little simplistic. It is raining that kind of rain where you can't see crap and you wouldn't be surprised to see a menagerie floating by on an ark.

Outside, in place of the usual parking lot full of cars, is a lake with one or two rickety wooden docks jutting out into the swirling gray water.

The gentleman I am on the phone with is telling me about the dreary weather in Ohio. In the middle of saying "I'd rather be in Ohio than here right now" I look out the window to see one of my more recent exes standing out on the edge of the dock attempting to play an acoustic guitar, but continually being bowled over by the wind and the waves crashing up on the dock. He's in head to toe black (which is none-too-odd) and a black fedora, along with a white scarf/towel around his shoulders so as to appear like some kind of odd singing rabbi/30s gangster.

The customer on the phone is trying to get my attention, and I watch the rain and wonder how I'll get to Huntsville in such a torrential downpour. In typical dream fashion - Then I Woke Up.

**********************************************************************

Ugh. Feeling not so good. Hoping to fight it until Sunday when Halloween is over. Considering quarantining myself now. h1n1 paranoia ftl. Better safe than sorry I suppose.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Gross generalizations that will likely annoy and/or offend, Part two.

Gonna let y'all in on a little secret, that I think most guys have secretly suspected for eons.

Women don't want nice guys.

Yeah, I said it. And before any of my sisters jump on me and call me a heretic/lunatic/any other manner of 'ic', hear me out.

What we are actually look for, only most of us don't realize it, are decent guys. The difference, you ask? The label of nice, over the past 20+ years (authors note: I am pulling this number out from a certain orifice located near the base of my spine) has come to imply a certain level of spinelessness. Basically the difference between decent and nice lies here:

Decent guys are the type who generally try to do what is right. Sometimes this involves pissing people off, and although a decent guy probably doesn't like pissing people off, he knows that sometimes it's a necessary evil.

Nice guys will try and do what will make other people happy. This is where the 'Nice guys finish last' idea comes into play. There is nothing wrong with trying to make people happy, but the reason nice guys finish last is that they tend to put themselves last, behind those around them that they are trying to please.

Meanwhile, you can put your own interests first and still be a 'decent' guy.. as long as your basic set of ethics comes into play. Guys who are not decent put themselves first without maintaining a level of morality or ethics.

I think the other universal that women are looking for is a guy who is interesting. I don't mean the type of interesting where you feel the need to make "air quotes". "Interesting" (the type with air quotes) sometimes can be interchangeable with sociopathic, emotionally fractured and in some cases downright psychotic. No, what I mean is just plain interesting.

I offer absolutely no advice on how to be interesting, because what interests women is an entirely personal thing. It varies widely from person to person. The good news is, is that with such variation, the odds of being interesting to some woman is pretty good.

In actuality, I think this theory can be applied to men as well, as well as both female and male same sex relationships. In the end I think what everyone is looking for is someone who is both decent and interesting. Those of you who have found it, hold it close and appreciate it, for it's a rare thing indeed. For those of you, like myself, who are still looking, good luck to you. We're all in this together.

Gross generalizations that will likely annoy and/or offend, Part one.

I happened to noticed something the other day that got me thinking, as I was having $30 worth of gas put into Betty, my little Aveo. I noticed that most full-serve stations I go to are employed by a number of late-teen/twenty-somethings, most of whom are sporting a wide selection of facial jewellery, tattoos and asymmetrical hairdos.

Now first, let me point out that I'm generally a fan of these things, so this is by no means a rant against self-expression or 'whatever happened to decency blah blah blah'. One has nothing to do with the other in my honest opinion. But it struck me funny that of all the different types of service-sector industries, gas stations are the only ones that seem to employ no dress code whatsoever. (although there have been times when I've wondered if maybe there IS a dress-code that specifically states the requirement of silver appendages. Either that or the hiring managers have punk fetishes)

Some might argue with me "well, what about CD stores, and used clothing stores?" These places are different, as the clientele are most likely the types of people (like myself) who tolerate, if not encourage, such adornment. The people in front of the counter making their purchases are most likely not much different from the folks ringing them up.

Fuelling stations (thank you, Thesaurus) however, cater to pretty much every walk of life you can imagine, with the exception of the homeless (who, one would assume, don't have vehicles, unless they are living in them) and shut-ins (who generally lack need of vehicles, as they don't really go anywhere anyway). With such a wide clientele, one would expect that there'd be many who are not at all sympathetic and even hostile towards such forms of self-expression.

What does it mean? It seems to me like an interesting indication of the type of hold that the fuel industry has on society. It's a neat little 'fuck-you' type of aesthetic, really. "We don't have to make our employee adhere to some kind of socially acceptable dress-code or uniform just to please you, the consumer. I mean, what are you going to do... NOT BUY GAS???"

Frankly I think most consumers are too pissed by the prices to care, anyway.

Ladies and gentlemen who are or have been in the industry, please feel free to tell me to STFU if you feel I don't know what I'm talking about. but please, elaborate on why. Discussion is FUN.

Friday, October 23, 2009

One Day I'll make some honest rock and roll...

I've been invited to sing and play at the community center tomorrow night and frankly, I'm freaking out a bit. It's been a while since I've played in public in any venue bigger than an open mike night.. and even that was months ago. I've tentatively picked out a song to play. I know I will change my mind seventeen times in the next 36 hours before I finally settle on the song I was going to play in the first place. I have mixed feelings about getting a one-song 'set'. On one hand, I only have to practice and memorize one song. On the other hand, if I fuck that one up, there is no redemption.

On the other hand though, this is a very small town, and I'm pretty sure that the audience will be devoid of record label talent scouts. So it basically comes down to shits and giggles, right folks?

Had an enjoyable evening out for dinner tonight. Learned that there is such a thing as an over-attentive server, but hey, it's still preferable to someone who ignores you all night. I've got to almost wonder if our server at one point got written up for inattentiveness and was trying over-compensate? Just every time we turned around *BAM* there she was.

I had a few hours to kill between work and dinner, so on my break I took a cold and soggy jaunt up to Cottage books, and was reacquainted with the reason why I generally avoid that place. Simply put, I cannot go in there and buy ONE book. Before I had taken 10 full breaths in the place, I had a handful of books. Not that I'm complaining about having extra reading material. The book I'm reading right now is called 'Rage in Harlem'. It's about.. guess what... rage in harlem. Now, not having any experience with 1970's inner cities, for all I know this could be a dead accurate depiction, but to me it reads like it was written by a white guy who watched too many blacksploitation films. Whole lotta 'Lawds' being thrown around.

So now I'm about four chapters into 'Fargo Rock City' by Chuck Klosterman. Everytime I read anything by this guy I want to hunt him down, marry him and have vaguely nerdy babies with great sarcastic wit and fantastic taste in music and other pop culture. His books tend to ignite in me an intense desire to travel and/or start a rock band and indulge in any number of vices.

I also picked up a copy of 'Sophie's world' and just in time for halloween, a copy of the complete works of Edgar Allen Poe, complete with insanely fun 60's inspired cover.

Books stores are one of the few retail type stores that actually produce a physiological response when I enter them. I quickly become overwhelmed when I step into one. My shelves at home are become packed again, and I fear I may need to invest in another set of those lovely particle board cheapies. One day I will divest myself of any and all particle board furniture in my home. I've grown to loathe it. One day will come where I look around my home and see only real wood.. that will be the day I know I have made it. Particle board seems to represent to me everything I hate about mass consumerism. Cheap. Shoddy. Artifical. Lacking in craftsmanship. The thought makes me shudder. So does going into debt for furniture. Damned if I do, and so forth.

Oh my.. seems I've rambled on for more than my share this evening. sleep sleep, breakfast, oilchange, coffee with The Danno, rehearsal, and the stage await.

Night, all.

Monday, October 19, 2009

"I'll drink the water that you leave..."

Although I love my little house, there is one thing it lacks that i knew I would miss, especially in these coming winter months, and that is having a bathtub. Although I must openly acknowledge how much time I save by spend 10 minutes in the shower as opposed to an hour in the bath, on chilly quiet nights like these, I'd kill to be able to pop in the plug, run some scalding hot water and sink down beneath the surface.

Please, I ask, do NOT start in on the whole 'sitting in your own filth' thing. If you're bathing/showering often enough, there should only be a minimal amount of filth to soak in, and I think it's safe to say it would be well diluted. My god, I work in an office, not a coal mine. How much dirt can I possibly accumulate in one day??

Hooboy. If the kids weren't in bed, I'd consider sneaking over to my parents place with a good book and some bubbles and soaking over there. Their's is one of those fantastically deep tubs with the slanted back. Ohm. There's nothing worse than a bathtub that isn't deep enough.

Back when I was hospitalized with my first DVT, I was in the hospital for a good four weeks. Although I received or gave myself (depending on how I was feeling) a 'wash' each day, there eventually came a time when it was decided a real wash was needed.

Three weeks bedridden makes one a little ripe and uncomfortable.

Since i was not able to stand or walk at this point, I was given access to the special whirlpool bath in the hospital. It's a tub that lets you remain in an upright sitting position (similar to a kitchen chair) and fills to roughly shoulder-depth.

And there are jets EVERY-FREAKING-WHERE. Oh my god. The thought of this tub almost makes me want to get sick again. Almost. Since then it has been my dream to have something similar built when I eventually own my own house. If not, just one huge whirlpool tub, or a old-fashioned clawfoot tub.

I won't lie and deny that pretty much every place i have lived, I have sabotaged the emergency drains by turning them upside down, stuffing plastic bags in them, encasing them in dollar-store contraptions, all in an effort to make the deepest bath possible. I've also on occasion, allowed myself to nod off in the tub while reading, only to wake cursing after I've dropped my book in the water, or shivering because the water temperature has dipped.

Nope, nothing would please me more at this very moment than to slip into a hot bath.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

For the sake of writing something.. anything


So, after about a week of trying to get my cat back after she ran away and eventually ending up back at her former owner's place, I managed to get her home.

Saturday night, the oldest girl left the back door open and both cats got out. Spartacus came back, Pantera did not. She went back to the old owners place again. This cat is not happy here. So I made the decision to let her stay and see if she can be found a new home, with people who have more time to dedicate to really taming her.

I use the word tame in a particular context here. I've been reading 'The Little Prince' to the girls at bedtime lately, and I'm moved by the passage between the little prince and the fox that he meets in the african desert. The fox asks the little prince to tame him, and the little prince asks him to explain the meaning of 'tame':

"To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world."

I feel like I've failed her in some way, but not having the time to dedicate to becoming unique in all the world to this troubled little feline. It's silly perhaps, but I do.

***************************************************************

Took the girls to Value Village yesterday to gather stuff for halloween costumes. Last year I totally wussed out and for the first time actually bought them costumes, which pretty much goes against everything I stand for, Halloween-wise. Costumes, in my world, are to be made or gathered together from various components scavenged throughout the house, garage etc.

This year I've managed to put together what should be some pretty decent, unique costumes for the girls. The older one is getting more open to the fun and scary side of halloween, which pleases me to no end. The younger one took some more convincing, and although her costume isn't a scary one, it's a nice departure from the swirling Disney Princess/Hannah Montana vortex I usually have to wrestle my way out of.

I've long discouraged the girls from these unimaginative and corporately-sponsored options, mainly because there will be a good dozen other Disney princesses in the classroom, and if you can't stand out at Halloween, then well, what is the point?

I will note though. Taking on Value Village on a Saturday, two weeks before halloween, with two small children in tow, is not something I recommend, unless you're a big fan of migraines.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Betcha thought...


You probably thought I was upset. That I fled the scene with tears in my eyes.

You probably thought I was crying

As I turned my head, and stifled a giggle and a smirk.

Wonders never cease.

Monday, October 12, 2009

I woke up this morning...


... with a sense of foreboding and an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Man I hate that. I think too much.

*shrug* It'll pass.

********************************************************

In other news, our local radio station is holding a contest to win a 'Mid-Life Crisis Camaro'. The sounder (you know, that thing that tells you go be the fourth caller) is Bruce Springsteen's version of Pink Cadillac.

In what universe does that make any sense?

They dropped the ball on this one, as the obvious choice would be the Dead Milkmen's Bitchin' Camaro.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

This heavy pen.

I want to start writing more. A friend convinced me this evening to start work on a film script based on a premise that another friend and I had cooked up long ago. It's very loosely based on actual events, and fodder for one of those zany comedy films. Production rights go to the first who can get Tina Fey to play me.

I make various attempts at writing but find I have a difficult time finishing anything I start. I have an excellent middle, or a beginning, then struggle to make the other parts fit. A story I started six months ago, borne out of much rage and hurt that I was feeling at the time, started out strong, but as my feelings towards the people in my real life whom the characters were based mellowed, I've lost the emotions that drove my inspiration and as a result the direction that I was taken changed and kind of stalled.

Maybe this is why I'm feeling restless lately. It could be strictly hormonal, but I feel as though I'm on the verge of breaking out of what could be described some days as a rut and others as a comfortable routine. I think it's because winter is coming soon and I need something to occupy me during the long months when I tend to become depressed and feeling invisible. Last winter I had a lot of drama and such on my plate, but for the first winter in a long time, I was anything but depressed. Sometimes boredom can be worse for the psyche than stress.

Boredom = Nothing.
Stress = Something.

Remember that movie, the NeverEnding Story and how the Nothing was slowly destroying Fantasia? I've always interpreted (as I imagine many others have too.. it's not exactly a subtle metaphor) Fantasia as a metaphor for the imagination. 'Nothing' destroys imagination, inspiration. Drama, though at times unpleasant, is something.

Boredom = Nothing
Drama = Something
Boredom destroys imagination, Drama, whether positive or negative, is inspiration, if properly harnessed.

Not that I'm going to go out seeking it. But I want something that's more than nothing. I'm restless is all.

**************************************************************************************

My pants don't fit. Again. This is fabulous. Except that I'll probably need to go shopping for new pants AGAIN in a couple of weeks. Thank Christ for thrift stores.

The long, often frustrating struggle with the weightloss is paying off. I'm in better shape than I've been for years. I need to work on this body dysmorphia I seem to have developed, because I still see the same person in the mirror that I was 2.5 years and 50+ lbs ago. Although I've gained some level of confidence... it's still based on what people have told me. I don't see it, unless I look really really hard.

Frankly, I get annoyed with myself anyway for not always liking how I look, because the intelligent part of me knows that there are so many other things that are more important in life. But I still want to feel beautiful in my own skin. It comes and goes, fleetingly. Mostly I still feel like an awkward 14-year-old most of the time. It's something I'm trying to work on.. I'd love to be one of those women that no matter their shape or size, will walk into a room knowing that they are sexy as hell, inside and out. I know it, I just don't KNOW it. I'd like to realize it before it's no longer true. :-P

Monday, October 5, 2009

of marriage and babies and such.

I came to the conclusion this weekend as I witnessed two very dear friends of mine pledge themselves to each other before friends and family that although I love the idea of weddings, in reality, when it comes down to attending I'm not a fan at all. I just seem to forget this when not there in the moment.

I'm infatuated with the idea of getting dressed up and the joviality and the romance of it all. This fantasy tends to shatter in the moment when I am faced with the grim reality of my own social awkwardness. That awkwardness was compounded this Saturday by a grinding headache resulting from a not-so-pleasant encounter with my car door. Imagine if you will, there I am feeling rather sexy and sophisticated, dressed to a tee, and as I lean into the car to place the gift in the backseat.. WHAM! Head meets door hard enough to draw blood, tears and a few choice obscenities. Life likes to take me down a notch every so often.

That said, it was a lovely ceremony. My own grumbles about social conventions aside, it's heartening to witness the hope and optimism that weddings bring, especially when you can see excitement written on the faces of the newlyweds as clear as though it had been written in sharpie marker.

*******************************************************************************

Yesterday while picking the girls up from their father's place, I ventured up to the highway to get gas and return some movies. It was there we had the unsettling experience of happening upon a pro-life demonstration that was taking place in front of the mall. My girls, both competent readers for their ages, began asking about the various placards reading such things as 'Abortion Kills Children'.

I can only imagine what was going through their heads. Was this something they should be concerned about? Was it perhaps some monster that eats small children in the night? What a subject to be broached on a Sunday afternoon in the car. *sigh* I attempted to handle the situation as diplomatically as possible, explaining as simply as I thought necessary for a 6 and 8 year old to process.

Being what I consider pro-choice (not the same as pro-abortion) I had a fantasy of running into Staples for bristol board and magic marker and creating my own placard in the name of presenting a dissenting opinion. (for some reason this fantasy involves me in a lawnchair smoking a cigarette - there must be some subconcious association between smoking and rebellion at work here). It could have been an opportunity to teach my children about speaking out on your beliefs. It could have also been an opportunity for my children to witness their mother in the midst of an idealogical melee, which wouldn't have been quite so cool.

So I drove home, feeling somewhat impotent and disappointed in myself. For as much as I may disagree with the folks out on the highway, they had the conviction to stand which was more than I could say for myself that afternoon.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

It Figgers

I start anew, and get back into blogging and my internet goes down at home.

I think they want money or something. Bastards.

*sigh*

FML.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

A vinyl fixation.


Thanks to my good friend Lori, I was recently able to procure a working hi-fi - one of those fancy vintage cabinet types, you know, the ones that will not only play 331/2 and 45rpm but 78 and *gasp*deargod* even 16rpm albums. The kind with a changer you use to play a number of albums at a time without having to get up off yer lazy arse. Or a least, once upon a time you could. For a while it was on the blink, and in my attempts to fix the problem, I kind of fubar'd the auto-play function. Totally fixable, but requires the assistance of someone with nimbler fingers and far more patience than I myself happen to possess.

The small collection of records I've held in storage for the last ten or so years consisted mainly of three subsets of records:
  • Albums hand-picked for me by my best friend and her husband when they were forced to leave the bulk of his 1500+ album collection in London when they moved to the Great White North. These include some of my favorites from the time, such as The Doors and Blondie and 54-50, as well as some 'Here-you-might-like-these's' like the Patti Smith Group and Alice Cooper and the Cult.
  • Duplicate albums culled from my parents collection - those which overlapped when when they got married. These are mostly typical of what you'd find in teh collection of young Newlyweds in the mid-70s - Elton Johns' Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, Rolling Stones 'Hot Rocks' and one of my personal favorites, Harry Chapin's Greatest Stories Live (incidentally, this album contains two particularly awesome fuggin' tracks that can't be had on the CD version)
  • Albums given to me, via my parents, from my Grandmother when she decided to clean out HER collection. This is an interesting bunch. First, therein lies the lone set of 78's in my collection - Ruth Wallis' Holiday Party. I've been told that as a child, my father was not allowed to listen to this one, as it was 'too racy' for little ears. There's also 'Music to Strip By', a number of 'Sing ALong with Mitch Miller' albums, and an absolute fuckton of Christmas Albums. I could celebrate Christmas 8 months of the year and not run out of holiday themed tunes.
The difference in sound between digitally recorded music and this analog format is one I never appreciated when I was younger and my parents were constantly playing records. They just sounded scratchy and skipped a lot. I find now (and whether this is the format or the player itself) that the sound is fuller, deeper.

Today, I happily discovered that my local pawn shop also carries a small collection of LP's, at the not unreasonable price of $2 a piece. For this evening's listening I've picked myself up the following:

  • The B-52's -
  • The Pretenders II
  • The Go-GO's - Beauty and the Beat
  • 25 Old Tyme Fiddle Hits
Was on a bit of a new wave kick, yes. I enjoyed discussing the fun of having eclectic musical tastes with the new counterguy at Uncle Bucks, and was quite excited to get home and throw one of these babies on. I've covered side A of the B-52's and I'm digging it. It's pretty weird and out there, but makes pretty cool 'getting dinner ready' music, as it carries a decent beat for dancing around the kitchen.

Off I am now to sample some more of these delectable audible goodies, for the place is an unholy disaster and there is much to be done.

Monday, September 28, 2009

It's like a type re-birth, but not.

So I'm shutting down my MySpace account soon, or dismantling it, at any rate. The blog is the last thing there of any importance to me, since I don't browse the forums, and my groups are dead, and most of my MS friends have migrated to Facebook which is frankly, just fine and dandy by me. I'm in the midst of the massive task of archiving all my MySpace blogs dating back to 2006, so that I can keep them on record. Already had 145 pages worth of bloggage from my MSN spaces blog before that.

I still feel I need a place to vent, bitch, moan, contemplate and be overall just kind of goofy so this is why I'm here. Do I know who's going to see it? I don't know. I'm on the fence about how open I want to be in this particular forum. We'll see.

Names shall be changed to protect the innocent. The guilty can feel free to bite me.

I'm back and single once again, but in a better place about it, since it was my own decision this time, and things ended amicably. I've been taking some time working on forgiveness with those who have also hurt me in the past, and feeling better for it, if somewhat guarded.

Still loving my little cottage, my little home. I feel at peace here. The winter will tell though, when the freedom to escape to the outside (read: my comfy spot on the futon on the porch).

My little one lost her first tooth today. I should be feeling those pangs of the imminent growth of my youngest born, and the knowing that this is the last 'first loose tooth' and yeah, it has struck me to a certain extent, but I'm not heartbroken or anything. Maybe if I was more maternal, it would. Reminds me though, gotta scrounge up some change for the tooth fairy, that cheap, mooching wench.

To those whom read this, welcome.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

I don't usually do this...

I'm not generally one to post other people's song lyrics in a blog, but it's also rare that I come across a song that completely describes how I am and am feeling at a particularly space in time. This is from one of my current favorite artists, Kimya Dawson. I highly recommend checking her out. I know a few of you out there who would probably really enjoy her.

So Nice, So Smart

I was quiet as a mouse
When I snuck into your house
and took roofies with your spouse,
in a nit, and out a louse
Lice are lousy all the time
They suck your blood, drink your wine
Say 'Shut up and quit your crying
Give it time and you'll be fine'


You're so nice and you're so smart
You're such a good friend,
I have to break your heart
I'll tell you that I love you
Then I'll tear your world apart
Just pretend I didn't tear your world apart.


I like boys with strong convictions
And convicts with perfect diction
Underdogs with good intentions
amputees with stamp collections
plywood skinboards ride the ocean
salty noses, suntan lotion
Always seriously joking
And rambunctiously soft-spoken
I like boys that like their mothers
and I have a thing for brothers
But they always wait until we're under covers
to say "I'm sure glad we're not lovers"


You're so nice and you're so smart
You're such a good friend
I have to break your heart
I'll tell you that I love you
then I'll tear your world apart.
Just pretend I didn't tear your world apart


I like my new bunny suit
When I wear it , I feel cute.

Friday, September 4, 2009

Strange Magic

I feel as though I must be putting some odd energy into the atmosphere as of late. My dreams have been exceptionally vivid and vaguely disturbing, which leads me to believe that subconciously I'm into my 'waiting for the other shoe to drop' state of mind.

Things are well, over all. I've been enjoying the easy comfort of actually dating someone who is neither a douchebag nor a complete headcase. It's drama-free and relaxing. I love my new home, my fortress, my yard and my street and all those lovely things. I still sit back so often and marvel at my girls and how they're growing up so fast, and how lucky I am that they are healthy and well-adjusted and just plain nice little girls.

But I digress.

My dreams and the day-to-day seem to co-mingle in a way that stems beyond mere coincedence. Lately life is made of any number of odd coincedences.

I check my cell phone for messages (since I rarely hear the alerts go off) only to have it ring in my hand.

I dream of a friend I haven't seen in months nor spoken to in weeks, only to have her call the next day.

A former lover, again not in seen in months, comes up in conversation. The very next day I pass him in my car as he is walking down the street.

I'm feeling incredibly creative and motivated for reaching goals lately. Some of this may stem from being in a place I can call my very own (even if it does still belong to my parents). Some of the energy may stem from being in the company of someone who likes making me feel like an extra-special person (and I thank him for that).

Whereever it's coming from, I'm getting much accomplished, in spite of, or perhaps in conjunction with all the craziness of summer, the same craziness that seems to be stretching into the fall.

Next weekend, I have absolutely nothing planned.  NOTHING.  The sheer excitement of having no previous obligations is too thrilling to even describe fully.  

Thursday, July 9, 2009

The siege is over.

It's done. My children's room is clean. It's clean because I finished cleaning it, mind you. But my contribution to cleaning it was scooping up everything that was left on the floor and putting it in the laundry room downstairs, so it's all up for grabs for the other people in the building (more than likely that spooky family down the hall from me -- apparently their apartment is full of stuff gleaned from the laundry room).

So yeah, four grocery bags full of toys and clothes, and one of garbage. Did my kids bat an eye? Nope. Sigh. Oh well, if I do that enough times that it starts to seriously deplete their supply of toys, it'll start to matter to them. Either that or it will be a signal to me that I don't need to buy them quite so much stuff. 

REJECT MATERIALISM NOW KIDS!

Not only have they lost a bunch of toys, but a lot of their privileges have been taken away. I'm pretty sure there are prisoners in Guantanamo Bay who have more privileges than my kids do right now. No TV (that wasn't a punishment, we just don't have one right now), no computer, no treats, no colouring (not since Tierney coloured her pillow and wall).

yeah. Go motherhood.

**************************************************************************

Does anyone know a chinese, or arabic symbol for good health? Getting a tattoo probably next week, and I have a design picked out that incorporates a chinese symbol in it and the symbol in this is supposed to represent strength or power, which was cool when I designed it (right after the boy and I split) but I think health would be a better talisman for me now.

***************************************************************************


I'm reading a book called "Useful Idiots" which is a criticism of liberal views of the cold war. It's making want to gouge my eyes out for reading such a bunch of shit. But still I read on.

Friday, June 26, 2009

Celebrity Death Machine (originally posted on facebook 06/26/09)

No it's not a new Nine Inch Nails album, so don't get excited.

Judging by the 50 some-odd or more status updates from yesterday evening on, most people have gotten wind of the news of the demise of Michael Jackson, once known to the western world as 'The King of Pop', following on the heels of the news that Farrah Fawcett, actress and former pinup best known for being the most well known of a number of Charlie's Angels, succumbed to cancer.

And because these things come in three's, a day earlier we heard that Ed McMahon who was a long-time sidekick to Johnny Carson and also had the dubious distinction of being 'The Publishers Clearinghouse guy' (when Dick Clark wasn't being that guy) passed away from an number of health issues.

I'm left once again to question the morbid fascination we as a people seem to have with the lives and deaths of celebrities. I, for one, feel pretty much numb to it. I never knew these people, and while I can acknowledge the tragedy to some extent, my life goes on as normal.

I think it's the disproportionate level of grief society shows these people... some of whom seem famous for being famous, and may or may not have contributed much to their art in years, but happen to get caught up in the celebrity scandal machine. Immortality acheived through constant exposure.

On Ed McMahon.. well, he was 86. He had a long and full life with much success, so I don't think it's any sort of tragedy. I'm sure his family is sad, and I hope they get to grieve in peace. But I have a feeling that in the next few months, there will be at least one unauthorized biography with tales of a) sordid love affairs, both female and male, b) drug use c) pick your own. I hope not, though.

Farrah Fawcett, I honestly don't know what she has done for the last 30 years. except get married and look pretty. I'm told she's done some movies, some of which could be described as 'good' or even 'very good'. Again, it is tragic that she developed breast cancer at a young age, but I can't really fathom why her death is more tragic than any number of beautiful women (inside and out) and men who have been taken away by cancer.

I do think Michael Jackson's death is a tragedy, but not for the reasons by many. The general concensus is that we've lost this great musical icon.

I'm sorry folks, he was lost to us years ago, when he got caught up in the cogs of the gossip machines and the pressure became too much. Had it not been for his eccentricities, he may not remained in the spotlight as long as he did. Sadly, from another perspective, perhaps without the pressures of being constantly scrutinized by the media's eye, he may have continued to be the creative genius he once was, if a slightly eccentric one.

In my humble opinion, the tragedy lies with his children, who are already standing a good chance of growing up profoundly effed up. Now they've lost a parent, and my fear is that the youngest child, who I believe is only about 6 years old, is going to grow, and the few memories this child will have of his father will be tainted by 'wacko jacko' caricature painted by the media, including some of the uglier allegations. The older children will have clearer memories to counteract that picture but at the same time, it must be easier to deal with the media picture if there is an actual person there to compare. The self-doubt and questioning these children stand potentially go through is mind-boggling.

I sincerely hope the media leaves these poor children alone, and that they are allowed to go on with life and fade into obscurity. I think we all know that's not going to happen.

If I've pissed off or offended anyone, my sincere apologies. Just utilizing a public forum, is all.

This dream's a party and everyone is invited...

I'm at some sort of outdoor reunion/fest thing, and I'm in a small boat with an older, rather robust gentleman, and Joel from work. Joel's trying like hell get the motor started and I'm contemplating the weight restrictions on our craft, figuring that between the three of us, it's gotta be holding about 600 lbs. The water is almost up the top of the boat. People are cheering us on. I'm about to suggest that one of us get out and go on the next trip, when the motor starts, and we start to chug around the small lake. Relaxing, I stretch out across the bench on which I sit, which causes the boat to shift about an inch further into the water and the motor conks out, having been drowned. I get up, and the large old man is gone, but I decide it's probably best to skip the boat ride anyway.

So I'm at what seems to be a family reunion of sorts. It's outdoors, in a rather large venue somewhere in the Bancroft area. Tarps and tents are set up, as well as some vendors, so it kind of looks like a concert, but there's no band anywhere.

Out of boredom I decide to check out the vendors, which basically seems like a small convenience store. I circle the place, with an intense craving for a chocolate bar, namely a butterfinger, but there are none to be found. However, each time I circle, the wares change ever so slightly, and I notice something new that wasn't there on the first go-round. So I keep circling. After about 5 rounds I notice a magazine rack and a number of trinkets hanging off the side. I'm distinctly disturbed by the lack of comic books.. the selection is an odd combination of fashion magazines and psychology texts, so along with my chocolate craving, now I'm determined to find a comic to read. As I keep circling, the candies go from your run of the mill convenience store products to more exotic, imported fare.

I eventually realize that the sun is setting and people are packing up to go home. Michelle's stepdaughter Dominique comes up and asks me if I can give her a ride to Bendale. I say sure, not having any idea where Bendale is. I whisper to my mom and dad 'Hey, where is Bendale, I told Dominique I'd give her a ride there'. Their eyes widen, and they tell me it's about 2 hours north of where we are. So I ask Dad how I'd get home from there and he hesitates and says 'well, you can take 141 over to the 400...'

'Oh' I say, now realizing what I've signed on for, but not wanting to back out after saying I would. My auntie Lyn mentions 'Oh yeah Bendale's a little Christian town', which seems like a bit of a non-sequitor. I look pleadingly at my parents but they have to drive Lyn home and mom mentions doubling-back to pick up Kansas.

So I pile into the car with the girls and we start driving. It's fully dark now and we're driving through a small town with railroads and covered bridges. For some reason I decide to call my Dad telepathically and ask 'Hey, isn't Bendale the name of the school you went to as a kid?'

I'm looking for directions in what appears to be a journal belonging to Jovita, kind of flipping through the pages looking for a map, but all I'm finding are several entries and letters which look interesting enough but are not what I need at that point in time.

I decide to stop at a hotel for the night. For some reason, I haven't noticed that Dominique is gone and it's just me and my girls now. I end up sharing a small room with two beds with the older woman that lived on the ground floor of my building who was always walking her friend's dog. I should really learn people's names. She seems to be having a difficult time getting into her bed, but I hesitate to offer assistance, in case I come across as patronizing.

The girls and I go to explore the hotel/motel whatever it is. Outside I see a large dock, and at the end, someone has erected a swing set, with the front supports reaching right down into the water. I say to the girls 'Wouldn't that be fun to jump off?' then I notice that there is a thin layer of ice over the lake, and mist is hanging in the air.

Going to turn back, the section of the dock that we walked out on has disappeared and we're on a sort of floating raft... we have to walk across the exceptionally thin ice to get back to the building. I figure I can swim back (hypothermia is a concept that apparently doesn't exist in this world) but what about the girls? I call across the water to Anthony (although I call him by a different name, can't remember what) to grab Tierney's arm, so that if she falls through the ice one or the other of us can haul her out. The ice does break and I reassure Tierney as she starts to panic that the water is not deep. She is able to thrash her way over to the shore.

When I go to send Reagan over, I call over again but Anthony's gone. Looking out I realize that the ice on the lake has turned into laminate flooring.

Then I woke up.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Consideration Blues - a rant

In the past 36 hours I've dealt with two situations that bothered me to no end, for this reason:  excessive rudeness from total strangers in situations where I was trying to be considerate.  In at least one situation, I reacted badly, and thus continued the cycle of negativity.

Where is the love, people?

Scenario one:  I'm at Edgefest this saturday, and I'm a little peckish, so I go to get a hotdog.  Now, being that this is an outdoor concert at a large venue, I'm fully prepared for the prospect of paying stupid-high prices for something as simple as a hot dog.  So I'm only a little surprised when I ask the hot dog vendor the price and he says 'five bucks'.  However, at the time he was handing another customer a sausage and said 'Sausage'.  I was not sure if he had misunderstood me, so to clarify I say "That's five for a hot dog, right?"

This guy, looks me straight in the eye with a death stare and says "Did I stutter?"  I'm absolutely taken aback. 

I'll admit, my response was not-so-eloquent.  I put my wallet back in my pocket, gave him the finger and told him to fuck himself.  But really, I'm already paying five bucks for a hot dog, I don't need a side of attitude.

Scenario Two:  I'm driving through Victoria Harbour, on the way home from my parents place, and there's a ... hrm... gentleman on a bike riding along the road. He has a number of cleaning supplies strapped across his bike, so it's basically like following a large letter "T".  I'm going to need more space than normal to pass this guy.  However, I'm travelling up Albert street, approaching the crest of the hill, where there's only a three-way stop (the opposing traffic has no stop sign) and I can't see what is coming in the opposite direction, due to the steepness of the hill.  So I decide to stay behind the cycler, until I have a safe place to pass, as like I mentioned, he's fairly far out on the road, and he's got all this stuff strapped to his bike.

Before we hit the stop sign, however, he pulls onto the curb, so I have room to pass.  Because my windows are open, I wave and yell 'Thanks' as I pass to the guy for letting me pass.  However, he's also yelling something, that is not terribly discernible, I'm 90% sure contained the word fuck.

Pardon me, sir, for not wanting to hit either you or an oncoming car.  If I ruined your day by NOT whizzing by you and knocking you off your bike or sending you careening into a ditch, please accept my sincerest apologies.

Seriously, what is wrong with people?

Oh and to add to this, today while on the Livechat at work, a guy from Pakistan told me to fuck off when I said "I'm sorry sir, I don't understand the question."

Nice.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Small Town Life...

Means walking into your local coffee shop (not mentioning any names, but it rhymes with "Jim Morton's") and standing in line in front of one ex, being served by another ex, and standing behind the sister of the guy you picked up in the bar 5 years ago.

Who you went to high school with.

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Rant on the two-four.

So as my friends south of the border may or may not know, we here in Canada have a long weekend in May commemorating the birth of our longest reigning monarch, Queen Victoria, who ruled Britain and its colonies for somewhere in the ballpark of 67 years.  Her birthday is on the 24th of May, and every year we get a statutory holiday the Monday preceding the 24th.  Due to the fact that in recent years, Victoria Day weekend has signified the official start of cottage season, and is largely associated with drinking in great quantities, it is often referred to as "The May Two-Four" - as in, a two four (24 case) of beer.

What bothers me are two things.  One.  Because the holiday is always the Monday before, this means that if Queen Victoria's birthday occurs on a weekend (such as it does this year), the holiday is celebrated the weekend before.  So in essences, the 24th weekend and the TWO-FOUR weekend may be two different occurences on the calendar, which is obnoxious, confusing, and just plain silly.

Secondly, no one for sure knows exactly when Jesus' birthday is, although historical evidence points to a greater likelihood that Jesus was a spring baby (please don't ask me to back this up.. I'm just going by what I've heard.  This is a blog, not a university paper.)  However, we celebrate Christmas every year on December 25, regardless on where in the work week it occurs.

Meanwhile, we KNOW when Queen Victoria's birthday was, yet here I am, a little tipsy from having celebrated it a full week earlier than it falls.

What is up with THAT?

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

slightly disgruntled.

My baby girl is sick.  Fortunately, it's only a throat infection.  I've been having a number of heated discussions with my sister regarding the seriousness of the Swine flu, me being on the side that thinks it's probably being over blown. From a liability standpoint, the WHO has to overplay it to a certain extent, because if they underplay it, and it really does become a worldwide pandemic, then holy hell are people getting fired.  There'd be inquisitions and investigations and tribunals aplenty.

So yeah, after a week of me naysaying the seriousness, my oldest wakes with a fever this morning, and by this afternoon, the ex-hubster is calling me at work asking me to take her to the ER, seeing as I'm the one with the car, and he has other children that must be picked up.  It's my kid, so naturally, I have no problem with this.  I was on my break at this point, and ran back to work to get my stuff (well, I ran part way.. which is more than I could have done a few years back).  But yeah, I'm thinking 'oh man, I didn't take it seriously and now she's sick and blahhh' but yeah it's a throat infection... possibly tonsillitis or strep.  So phew.

My issue is this.  The parking at our hospital SUCKS.  There's about 20 or more spaces reserved for doctors only, of which maybe 5-6 of them are in use at any given time.  Meanwhile, there are only 4-5 parking spaces for the ER.  God forbid one should be able to take her sick child to the ER without not only having to carry them across a huge parking lot (since all the closest spots are either handicapped, which I have no issue with, or for other 'non-doctor' staff), but to also pay five friggin bucks for such a privilegde.  If the poor kid had been well enough to walk, I would have parked at Blockbuster and walked.  It's not much further than where I ended up having to park.

Would it be such a big deal to free up a few of the doctor only spots? 

**********************************************************************

In other news, I may be moving soon.  To a house.  Not my own house, mind you, but a house nonetheless.  More to come.

Thursday, April 30, 2009

MOthers day.

From my daughter Tierney, age 8.  It's a little early, yes.

"Dear mommy.

You are my mom.  I love you.  You rock.

I smile because you.

You rock because you are special and cool and you have funny funs that are funny and you are other things.

Love Tierney."

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Same as it ever was.

Here's what's going on with me:

Karma has bit me in the ass in regards to that little bit of badness I was engaged in.  After a brief reunion, I've been left high and dry.  I suppose if that's the worst in store for me, on a karmic level, well then I'm okay with that.  I miss the guys friendship (he's been rendered persona non grata in my realm) but in reality, a friend wouldn't show the disregard for my feelings that this one did.

And that's all I'll be saying on that subject.

As for the other one, well it's a little meh.  I've been sensing a decline in interest, and after seeking the advice of a few male friends who were of the opinion that even the most phone-phobic of guys wouldn't let a full week of non-communication go by if they were really interested, I've decided I should maybe just back off.  It's not just that, but the last few times we've talked and hung out, there have been, well, red flags.  So I'm thinking I'll quietly let this one go.  Out with a whisper... maybe a bang, if the mood strikes :-P

I"ve basically pulled back from the dating scene and am throwing myself into other endeavors this summer, such as continuing with my painting, trying to develop some photoggraphy skills, and doing more, musically.  And let's not forget, spending time with the girls when I can.

I've been spending a lot of time driving around, getting lost, and taking pictures.  Baseball starts soon, and there's still dance until the middle of May, so my days are pretty busy as is.  If the nights are lonely, so be it.  I'll adjust.  It's nothing new.

Same as it ever was.

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Conversations with my kid - 'Reaching'

Me: "That nightgown is getting too small for you"
Reegs (age 5):  "That's because I'm getting bigger.  I'm almost seventeen."
Me: "Orly?"
Reegs:  "Yeah.  *counting* five... six... seven...eight, nine,ten,eleventwelvethirteenfourteenfifteensixteenseventeen.  See? I'm almost seventeen."

Monday, February 16, 2009

Best V-D/Flag Day/Family Day weekend EVER.

So, as many of you may know, I am not a fan of the greeting card industry sponsored sham of a holiday that is Valentine's Day.  Much like Christmas and Halloween, any spiritual meaning has long ago been sucked dry, although the latter two I still manage to enjoy - Christmas because I'm lucky enough to have a loving, mostly-functional family to share it with, who don't turn it into a soul-sucking greedfest, and Halloween because well hell, I enjoy any excuse for candy and the combination of sexy clothes and fake blood.

(don't ask me about Easter - it doesn't even register on my radar)

For the last few years, the period between Boxing day up until around the end of February has generally been pretty rough for me.  Call it one part seasonal affective disorder, two parts shitty memories associated and one part holiday letdown, it's generally a time for depression, bad thoughts and withdrawing into myself, big time, especially in these recent years since splitting the ex-boy and finding myself perpetually single around the holidays.

This year, I was determined NOT to let all this get me down.  Surprisingly enough the drama I've been dealing with lately has actually helped, because even though it's stressful, it's also been exhilarating.  Life is definitely not boring.  But yeah, back to the story.  This year, to make it though this snot-rag of a holiday, I decided I was going to be my own Valentine, and utterly friggin spoil myself.

I ♥ me.

Friday night, I had a friend over for movies and chitchat and whatnot, which was fun.  The girls were at their dad's, which on a weekend such as this, is probably a better environment for them, especially if my plan failed and I did get all butthurt and sad and mopey and human-faucetty.

Saturday I got up at a decent hour for a weekend anyway, did my helpdesk emails and took my car up to the dealership for a much needed oilchange, which gave me a good hour for a walk up to wal-mart in the gorgeous sunshine and crisp, cool air.   Coming back I discovered that cutting through the woods takes time off the trip, but that breaking through the crusts of the snow every 2-3 minutes is annoying.  But I was feeling adventurous and outdoorsy and it was all good.

Next I went to gather Lori and Amber, a couple of dear friends of mine who were also flying solo this year, because we had booked some manicures and pedicures at a semi-posh salon/spa in Penetang (which is why I say semi-posh).  I drove out to Vic harbour to get Amber, with the windows down and the music up.  I can't even begin to describe how fantastic the weather was this weekend.  Definitely a huge difference from past February's.  We hit Subway for some lunch (as I am being health-concious once again - broke 200 last week :-) where I discover that I've left my bank card at the dealership, so double back where my card is being kept safe by the very nice, very attractive manager who is a family friend and looks like Gary Sinise.  Mmmmmm.

After picking up Lori, we head to the salon, and are escorted up the stairs for our pampering.  There were only two esthetician's (holy hell, I think I actually spelled that right) on that day, one of whom was booked, so we went one after another.  They have a private room for the mani-pedi's with little whirpool footbaths built into pedestals on which one sits.  Royalty, I felt like.

We were sharing the room with a late-forties executive type who seemed none-too-pleased to be in our company, as we are excited and rowdy and generally loving life at this point.  I once read in a book, 'The pistachio prescription', one of those young-adult adolescent-angst type novels that women see tile and it's true-confession time.  A joke, but not too far off the mark.  Bathrooms, hairdressers, spas... these environments just seem incredibly conducive to conversation.   Some of my best conversations with my mom/sister have involved at least one of us on toilet/in the bath and another on the counter/perched on the edge of the tub.  I've told hairdressers things I wouldn't confess to a catholic preist.

I digress.   We worried from time to time that maybe we were too chatty and rowdy, between the irritated exec and our own girl who was very quiet and subdued.  That is, until exec-lady left for her facial and it was just the four of us, then she came out of her shell and was laughing and giggling along with us.  It goes to show, the level of professionalism required is dictated by the customer.

After we were all pampered and taken care off, they wrapped my toes up in moisturizer and cellophane so I could put my socks and boots back on, and Lori helped Amber with her boots as her nails were still a little wet, and we went to the Rye for coffee.  We had planned to browse some of the nifty little shops on P-tangs main strip, but it was after four and a lot of stuff was already closed.  Yeah, I know, what is up with THAT?

Took Amber back to her house and hung out with her and her mom for a bit, then decided to visit my parent's just to say hi.  I'm quite proud of my dad right now, as he quit smoking two weeks ago, and from what my mom says, he's NOT driving her nuts with it.  They had some friends up and were getting ready for a country-themed dance.  Mom invited me to stay for dinner, so I had what was probably the best batch of spagetti I've ever had of mom's, and that's saying a lot as she makes some damn good pasta.  After we clean up I decide to head home, debating whether or not I want to try and go out that night, or stay home and paint and watch movies.

Amber and I had discussed going to the rippers, and although I was intrigued, never having been, it just wasn't really appealing to me.  Lori gets on MSN and convinces me to get all tarted up so we can hit the bar, and go dancing, which is what we did.

Now, in the time that we've been hanging out, Lori and I have discovered that we tend to doppelgang (can that be a verb?  I'm making it a verb) each other.  So it was quite the laugh when I showed up to the door to discover we're both in the exact same shirt ready to go out.  Incidentally, a similar thing happened when my friend came over friday - we were wearing sweaters that were frighteningly alike).

Hitting Bleachers, we discover that we are there entirely too early, showing up at 10, and that there is about a dozen people there.  Positioning ourselves with a view of the bar, we're almost immediately approached by some adorably socially-awkward barely-legals who have dared each other to approach the two women at the bar.  Giggling uncontrollably we make conversation with these two for a few minutes before they make their way to a booth.

The bar was full of young bookish types that night, and we had nicknames for them all - 'Weedy-shy-guy', 'Sloan-guy', 'Adonis' (a tall drink of water with a head full of blond curls), Punk-boy etc etc etc.  I ran into my former co-op student and told him we were out ooogling attractive young men and that he should consider himself oogled.  Ran into a friend from high school who told me with an appreciative look that I was looking really good.

We danced until my feet were killing me, closed the bar, all the while being chatted up by several randoms, or being made eyes at etc.  The belly dancing lessons have been a great help to me as I felt like I knew what I was doing and not just A) flailing wildly or B) half-assedly swaying back and forth.  Yes, we were a sight to behold on the dance floor.   After closing the bar we headed home, each on our own as planned but with an inflated ego and sense of 'Damn-I'm-Hawt'ness.  Well, I did.  I can't speak for Lori, but all in all it was a hell of a night.

Sunday morning I got up, either hung-over or strung from lack of sleep (I was fairly moderate the night before), drank a butt-load of water, ate a banana and headed out for yet another beautiful, sunshiny walk (although more sore than the day before) walk to retrieve my car from Bleachers' parking lot so I could drive down to Barrie for some thrift store shopping and all-you-can-eat sushi with Sam.  Again, I'm feeling in love with myself, and rather extravagant.  I pick up some incredibly cute finds at VV, including a flowy green and black type blouse-thing, a cute black and white striped sweater, a very flattering tank, striped t-shirt and a pair of adorable hippie jeans with a bunch of emrodiery and designer holes worn in the fabric.  The jeans are a bit tight, but if I get down another five, should look Fabulous.

Sam and I meet up at Aji Sai and I have the Rock'n'Roll, which I have been aching for for almost two years now.  We talk and I catch him up on all my recent happenings and I come out of the conversation feeling good (or better) about some of the stuff I've been feeling not so good about. 

Go to pick the girls up at the ex-hubsters and find myself grateful that I can go there and be relaxed and chill out while they get ready to go without hostility and drama.  I wouldn't say we're friends, but we get along and can hang and chit-chat without issues.

Now I'm waiting for the girls to get their room cleaned.  It's the second annual 'Family Day' and I'm not working today... Good times.  If the rooms get cleaned, there's the possibility of swimming at the Y, or tobogganing (provided there is enough snow left on the hill) or something fun like that.

All in all, despite one or two dark 'poor me' moments (coming home tipsy and alone is not always fun) I'd have to say this was one of the best 'Day before Flag Day's (which I have been referring to it as, to avoid the dreaded V-word) I have had in many years... definitely in my single years (although 2004 was close with the Nickelback/Three Days Grace concert - back before Nickelback sucked ass) and even rivaled some of the married years.. which incidentall, I don't remember many of those.

Tootles, all.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

I really hope I'm not a prophet

It's 4am.  I'm a little freaked out right now. This is my dream

It's the apocalypse is the best I can guess.  I don't remember when I started worrying, but I've checked facebook, and unread messages is climbing rapidly. A friend has written a note telling us to hug our families, we don't know when they will be gone.

One of my neighbors, the woman I spoke to in the laundry room last night is insisting that she can see UFO's in the sky.  I've been telling her that's silly, it's a trick, a cloud formation.  But, no, this time I've gone outside, and the sky seems full, and the clouds are becoming fighter jets.  I try to call my parents, but there's no answer, there's no service.  The sky is teeming black with these flying mechanical monsters.

I frantically trying to reach my parents on my cell, I start to scream and cry "They're all dead!" I gather the girls and run inside, and my family is there.  I start to sob with relief.  My dad informs me that a woman outside (for some reason I can see her, she's a waif, half-crazy, dressed in white with wild hair) has told him that 'we're all going away, we're all going away'.  I picture concentration camps.  He says we should all be able to stay together, except for him, as a media figure he's 'too influential, too dangerous'.  I can hear explosions outside and we are all clinging to each other, crying, wondering what it will feel like to die.

It seems interminably long.

I've gone back to the friends blog, and in it they are urging people to write, write, write whereever they can, on whatever they can, to maintain a record, in anyway to remind whatever, whoever, of the world before.  I comment that I'm scared, so scared.  One comment out of thousands.  I'm searching for a pen, the only one i have is dead but I've managed to scribble my kids names on the back of a photograph, just to prove they were there. 

No more banana bread before bed.
There was an error in this gadget