Sounds Legit...

Okay, I think I may have almost made a telemarketer cry. I honestly, shit-you-not, just had this conversation. We'll call her Lisa.
Me: Hello?
Lisa: Hello, Mrs. Howe?
Me: Formerly, yes.
Lisa: oh, I'm sorry. I'm calling from Pristine Solutions. A few months ago you took a survey with us and we're happy to let you know that you've won a free gift with a value of $150.00
Me: okay.
Lisa: We just need to confirm your address and that you'll be home to receive your gift and answer a few questions. You still live at {redacted}, correct?
Me: For the time being, yes (that's for another post)
Lisa: Okay, someone will be by tonight around 8'clock, does that work for you?
Me: Are they going to try and get me to buy stuff?
Lisa: No, you're not under any obligation.
Me: But are they going to get me to buy stuff?
Lisa: No, we wouldn't want you to buy anything you didn't want or need.
Me: That's not what I asked. I asked if anyone is going to try and get me to buy stuff. Not being obligated to buy stuff isn't the same as not being asked to buy stuff.
Lisa: No, they're just going to ask your opinion.
Me (still skeptical): Okaaaay. So what do I get?
Lisa: It's a gift certificate valued at $150 dollars.
Me: Cool. For what?
Lisa: A business or service in your area.
Me: What kind of business or service?
Lisa: it could be any kind.
Me: You mean I get to pick what I get?
Lisa: No, you get a gift certificate.
Me: A gift certificate for what?
Lisa: $150 from a business or service in your area
Me: Yeah, but which business?
Lisa: You live in (redacted), correct?
Me: Yeah
Lisa: So, it would be a business or service near there.
Me: Yeah, but is it for a restaurant or a hairstylist or welding services? (yeah, Tess, I thought of you)
Lisa: No, it's a gift certificate. I don't understand what you're asking here.
Me: Well, I just want to know what I get for it. If you don't know, you can admit it. It's okay.
Lisa: No, it's a gift certificate. (She's clearly getting flustered, at this point. I'm starting chuckle)
Me: But a certificate for what?
Lisa: $150 for a business or service in your area. I.. I don't know what you want me to tell you.
Me: If you don't know what it's for, it's okay. You can admit it.
Lisa: Well, I don't have it, they have it. It can change from day to day.
Me: so it's a gift certificate but you don't know what for because it's always changing.
Lisa: It's not always changing.
Me: But you don't know what it is. It's okay. You can say it.
Lisa (sighing defeatedly): No.
Me: That wasn't so hard now?
So far, no one has shown. A few years ago, I received a gift of three night's hotel stay in one of about 12 different major tourist cities. Airfare wasn't included so I never ended up using it. But at the time, all I had to do was sit through a vacuum demonstration. Now, I have seen some of the demos that my parents sat through when I was kid, and I tell ya, vacuum sales men can be Wiley and vicious motherfuckers. This guy, however, was the coolest. He comes in, introduces himself, and just before he launches into his spiel he pauses (let's call him Ted)
Ted: Okay, level with me. Do you have ANY interest in buying anything from me?
Me: Honestly?
Ted: Yeah.
Me: Not. A. Chance.
Ted: I'll tell you what. I get paid regardless of whether you buy something or not, so let's not waste each other's time. Here's your gift certificate, have a lovely evening.
After that, I almost wanted to buy a vacuum. Here's to you, Awesome Ted, wherever you may be.

Just Hope That She Doesn't Have a Run-In with Magneto

My kid swallowed a marble last night.

Now, since I know you're probably going to ask, no I do NOT have a toddler running around that I've conveniently forgotten to mention.

This was my youngest child who is going to be all of nine years old in a few short months. My supposedly borderline-gifted almost nine-year-old swallowed a silver ball bearing from one of those Magnetix sets because she missed the memo that putting random shit in your mouth for no good reason is the kind of crap you're supposed to stop doing usually around the time you are toilet-trained.

There we were, almost ready for bed and as she was walking into the kitchen, she looked up at the ceiling and then suddenly started screaming, and coughing a bit.  But mostly screaming, while clutching her throat.

At least she's not choking, if she can scream like that is my first thought as I run over to see just what the hell happened to make her start wailing like a banshee.  In mere seconds she stops, calms down.

“What the hell happened?"

Perfectly calm, she answers “Apparently, I just swallowed a marble."


Awesome right?


I had no idea what to do.

Logically it seemed like the thing to do would be to wait it out, until nature took its course and the marble made it's way out via a route that would possible end up shattering my toilet bowl.  On my mom's advice I called Telehealth and after hearing that Reeg's was having some stomach pain, I was advised by the nurses to take her to the ER.  Which I did even though I had a feeling it was probably a wasted trip but good old Maternal Guilt™, that fucker, kept telling me that if I DIDN'T take her then I'd regret the hell out of it when said child, now affectionately and somewhat mockingly referred to as Marble Girl, died of a perforated bowel in the middle of the night.

Maternal Guilt™ is a bitch that way.  I think he feeds off the souls of the perpetually anxious and insecure.

So sending her sister off to Grammy's, I packed her up and headed to the hospital, making sure to bring a book because fuck wait times.  Two and a half hours and one x-ray later, we left Emerg with the sage advice that she would probably pass it and bring her back if she experienced ‘Severe pain'.

I feel like I should have cropped out my kids pelvis. That's weird, isn't it?

Thing is, ‘Severe Pain' is pretty fucking subjective.  Especially in a child who doesn't really know how to express gradations of pain other than by using extremities.  Which is why we ended up back in the ER again today to basically end up with the same set of sage advice, but from a different set of doctors. Even though the marble had NOT.  BUDGED.  AN.  INCH.

Last Night's Pain.

Today's pain, which led to another ER trip.  Yeah, that's right.  KANYE-SIZED PAIN.

This time before leaving, I made the doctor specify exactly what kind of pain I should be on the lookout for, none of this vague-descriptors-like-severe bullshit.  Vomiting, doubled-over, clutching stomach type pain.  

So we play the waiting game, and tomorrow I once again get to take her back to Emerg for another X-Ray because in all likelihood, it would take three weeks to get an appointment with my doctor.  

The girls stepmother remarked to me on the phone "I bet she never does this again."

I do too.  If the tedious amounts of time we've had to spend in hospitals with SWEET FUCK ALL to do doesn't deter her, the amount of ribbing she has received certainly will.  I have thoughts for a Marble Girl comic and possibly a halloween costume and a series of licensed merchandise and action figures.

Meet Simon, King Asshole of Felines.

I have an odd relationship with my cat. It's rather adversarial and frankly, a little weird.

He's kind of a dick.

Maybe it stems back to kittenhood trauma, when mama Chloe was forced to evacuate her babies from under my bed when an ex and I got a little too frisky. She sure as hell didn't like me much. Nor him, for that matter. Maybe in his little kitty brain he was traumatized by the late night flight and has been trying to get back at me ever since.

Maybe it's because I never intended to keep him. My status as his owner is a begrudging one. He was one of the last of a litter that I had a bitch of a time finding homes for. My girls, heartbroken after Chloe ran away (and who can blame her? I'd run away too if I had two nearly-grown sons who were trying to rape me on a daily basis), wrested a promise that if Chloe didn't ome back, we could keep Simon.

That's right. Cats have no natural incest taboo. Apparently that's totally a human social construct. Way to find that out the hard way.

But yeah.. We have a bit of a passive-aggressive thing going on. Some people treat their cats and other pets like children. Mine is more like a belligerent room-mate that wrecks my shit and doesn't contribute to the grocery bill.

He's kind of a dick.

Even other cats don't like him. I can hardly let him outside without him getting his ass handed to him by other neighborhood cats. And I get it, I totally get it.

Did I mention that he likes to 'lay claim' to stuff of mine, in that special, disgusting way male cats have of saying "mine!"? Yeah. My winter coat. My guitar case. Various pieces of furniture.

My children. Me. I don't think I need to elaborate, do I? Let's just say, I do a lot more laundry when he gets feeling territorial.

I decided to get on the ball and get all his shots up to date so I can get him snipped so hopefully he'll A) not be so damned possessive of everything, B) quit pissing off the other cats and C) shut up once in a while. Seriously. Loudest Cat Ever.

Plus, it's good for their health to have their Immunizations up to date. Hell, I'm nice enough that I even bought him the crazy vet cat food instead of friskies because I'm NICE and I don't WANT him to get crystals in his urine.

And how does he repay me for PROTECTING HIM FROM DISEASE AND TRYING TO ENSURE HE DOESN'T GET CRYSTALLIZED URINE ALL UP IN HIS URETHRA?

By unleashing and unholy torrent of every bodily fluid imaginable on the way home in the cat carrier, and rolling around in it for good measure. Which resulted in me having to figure out how to clean the carrier (which is out in my yard right now, on "low priority") and more importantly, how the hell to clean this cat?

I've mentioned I don't have a tub right?

So this involves me having to shut myself up in the shower stall with a very unhappy, piss-and-shit covered cat. You're enjoying this image, aren't you? Perverts.

Now I sit, exhausted and drinking wine and blogging and the little bugger is curled up next to me like nothing happened and like there isn't a gouge in my foot from when he tried to make a break for it. What a kiss-ass.

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

Jeezy creepy, I almost forgot! I Have an awkward guest post up at Best of Fates. If you haven't read Megan's stuff, I highly recommend it. Plus I have respect for anyone who abuses brackets like I tend to abuse ellipses...

And paragraph breaks.

Lies I have told, or intend to tell, to keep the Tooth Fairy alive.

I am, quite possibly, the worst Tooth Fairy ever.

Really, I am. I should really just give up the charade and tell the kids the God's-honest-truth and end the madness once and for all, for everyone's sake.

But where is the fun in that when I can just keep coming up with more and more elaborate lies and stories to keep the fantasy alive.

"Mom? Why didn't the tooth fairy come last night?"

(truth? I forgot.) "well honey, you didn't actually lose your tooth until it was almost bedtime. She was probably all booked up for tonight."

Next night: "mom, the tooth fairy still didn't come."

(crap, no spare change) "well, you know, the worlds population is growing exponentially, which means a lot of kids losing a lot of teeth, everyday. She clearly can't do it in one night. Fairies are small. It takes them a longer time to cover a greater distance. It's not like she's Santa Claus. She doesn't even have the religious exemptions Santa gets."

That weekend they are at their dad's so clearly TF isn't going to show while they're away. So by the time they come back, it's been a week and no TF.

Okay, here's the part of the story that not only makes me look like the worst tooth fairy ever, but possibly the worst mother ever as well.

I gaslit my own child in the name of tooth fairy face-saving.

Day five or six. I have once again forgotten to stick some change under the pillow. So I stick three bucks in my pocket and hang around the girls' room, grumbling dramatically about the disastrous state it's in. While i'm in there, very stealthily, like a ninja, grab the tooth and call out "hey Tierney! Did you check to see if the tooth fairy finally came?"

"No!" comes the call and I slip then money under the pillow before she makes it to the door in time to hear "...but Reagan did." Tee finds the money ("Wow! Three dollars? Last time I only got two!" "yeah, that's probably accrued interest.") and admonishes Reagan for not seeing that the tooth fairy was there after all.

Rees insists that "well, the tooth is still there!" which, no, it's not. It's in my pocket. She can't undstand it. It's actually fairly upsetting to her, especially as Tierney is insisting that she must be imagining things.

Finally: "Uh, guys... The tooth fairy is magic you know. You don't think she could have snuck in when neither of you were looking?"

Oh, total inconsistency for the win.

So I made my child question her own reality in order to avoid outing an imaginary tooth-peddling floosy. Go ahead and judge me.

My friend has kids of a similar age and has confessed to also being a terrible tooth fairy. I figure this is great, as it gives me plausible deniability (my catchphrase of the week) and a case to paint the Tooth Fairy as some sort of incompetent schmuck who generally just isn't very good at her job. We came with a few other scenarios that we can bullshit our way through:

Scenario: the last tooth garnered three dollars, this one only got a buck seventy five.
Truth: I bought an extra coffee this afternoon.
Explanation: the price of teeth is based loosely on the price of gold and the daily interest rates.

Scenario: how come {name redacted} gets more/less than us?
Truth: I'm cheap/overcompensating for not spending enough time with them and/or being a shitty tooth fairy
Explanation: property taxes.

I could keep this shit going until they are thirty-five, at least.

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

My second post is up at Different Paths, Same Destination. Go, read, love.

Everything I Ever Needed to Know About Canadian Geography, I learned from Twitter.

Hilarious trending topic on Twitter today - #badprovincialmottos  Let's all come up with the worst provincial mottos we can think of.

My contributions:

Ontario: It's where the capital is! No, not Toronto.. Ottawa.. No.. OTTAWA.. Otta.. Oh fr' chrissakes...

Quebec: Britain's Angry Step-Child*

Prince Edward Island: Our Dirt is RED. And yeah, Potatoes.

Manitoba: J-Lo came here once.

Favorites from other Tweeters

Alberta: We Gave you Nickelback.  You're welcome.

Saskatchewan:  As Flat as Your Nine-Year-Old Daughter

Labrador: Not technically a province, but we try!

Alberta: We're Not As Racist As We Used To Be

Newfoundland: where everybody knows your name but outsiders can't understand you when you tell them

Manitoba: It's not always this cold. Sometimes it's colder.

Nova Scotia: We've Got Crabs! 

By now, some of you U.S. readers (and those further abroad) may be confused and or bored and about to click to go find some porn or pictures of cats.  So you can laugh along with our blatant stereotypes, heres a province by province tutorial.  I hereby present:

Canada according to Twitter.

British Columbia:  Weed.  More Weed.  Will someday sink into the ocean.

Alberta: Oil, a fuckton of Conservatives and Nickelback.

Saskatchewan:  Flat.  Regina rhymes with Vagina.

Manitoba:  Boring.  Often forgotten by school children learning the provinces. Big-assed mosquitoes.

Ontario:  Self-proclaimed centre of the universe.  Is really big.  People don't know what our capital is.

Quebec:  French people. Still pissed about the Conquest.

New Brunswick: It's there, and it's not Newfoundland

Newfoundland:  They talk funny.  Weird time zone.  No jobs.

Labrador: Technically not a province.  Kind of like that family member that no one likes to talk about.

Prince Edward Island:  Really small.  And there's potatoes.

Nova Scotia:  Named after a bank. Had a big explosion once.  Shaped like a lobster/penis.

Yukon:  Cold

Northwest Territories: Not quite a province.  Also Cold.

Nunavut: Still Cold.  No one can pronounce its capital (Iqaluit)

For your convenience, I've compiled a map of our main exports, by province. Click to Enlarge.

Remember kids, knowledge is power!

*No, really.  Think about it.  In the context of Mother Britannia, the United States is the kid that ran away because they didn't like the rules.  English Canada is the kid that stayed at home until they finally got told to "..get the hell out, get a real job because you're not staying around here, playing your video games all day and get a haircut, ya hippie!"  Quebec is the angry stepchild who didn't ask to be there anyway and "...besides you're not my real mom!!"

The Singleton’s guide to VD fun!

Things to do to make this day if not more enjoyable, at lease more interesting:

1) Scope out one of the busier nice restaurants. Look for a happy looking-couple. Say to the guy/girl 'So this is your sick grandmother!' and storm out. Watch through the window to see what happens.

2) Report a cherub to the child labor board.

3) Wear a black armband.

4) Make numerous references to the Valentines day massacre

5) Four words - custom made candy hearts.

6) Rent 'Prom night' and 'my bloody valentine'

7) Canada Only: Run around wishing people a happy early Flag Day. It's even better if you wear red and white.

8) Call your best friend when you are pretty sure he/she is either about to/in the middle of getting some loving and just say 'Soooo, whatcha doooooin?'

9) Drink 26-40 oz of anything alchoholic you can get your hands on and listen to 'How Soon is Now?' seventeen times in a row. Not eighteen, not sixteen. Seventeen.

And yes. I am going to hell. My bags are packed baby.



Enjoy the VD, folks.

The evolution of what?

I saw a billboard on a bus today, and it literally made me laugh out loud.  Emblazoned across the top were the words "The Evolution of Rock95 [rock 95 being our local rock station]"

Underneath these words was a series of stylized photographs depicting, in this order John Lennon, Mick Jagger, Gene Simmons of KISS, John Bon Jovi, and Chad Kroeger of Nickelback.

I'm pretty sure the intention involved a sort of generational 'tying-together' - although the use of Jagger AND Lennon is problematic considering they were contemporaries, so that kind of blows the intergenerational thing.

The humour to be found here lies in the billboard's subtext.  They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but in this case it needs only about 10.  With this picture, they might as well be saying

"The Evolution of Rock95 - We used to be cool, but now we kinda suck."

For Chris...

So, I'm not much of a pot smoker. I don't like drinking/smoking by myself, I like it as a social thing. Thing is, pot makes me notably UN-social. I'm a sleeper, or I turn inwards to myself. Thoughts come to me at a rapid pace, but far too fast for them to reach my mouth, before I have another rapid thought. Either that, or I feel as though I AM actually saying things out loud, when I'm not. It's like the opposite of having no inner monologue. More like my inner monologue EATS my voice.

It is on record that I once, on one of the rare occurences that I do indulge in the weed, went for nearly two hours without speaking a word. My sister, and two of my friends, one child-free weekend (the sister and I used to co-ordinate weekends so we had the same weekends without kids) were sitting around as per usual, and this evening I had opted to partake when they offered the pipe, after probably around 8 months since my previous indulgence.

We were playing this card game we had dubbed '12-step' as it involves collecting cards in different formation, for 12 rounds. For 2 hours (because it's a godawfully long game) we sat, the sister giggled, both friends giggled, they made fun observations while I steadfastly concentrated on my cards, occasionally grunting in assent or uttering an absent-minded 'heh'.

It was a saturday so it was classic rock saturday night. Every song that came on my sister would cry 'oooooh I LOVE this SONG!' At one point a song came on and after her declaration of love for the song, there was discussion as to what the song was called

"Oooooh! I love this song! What's it called?"
"I don't know, who does it?"
"I think it's Jethro Tull, but I don't know the name!"

Blah blah blah the game goes on. I have remained in my silence for this exchange, while the wheels in my brain worked. After what seemed like 2-3 minutes to me, but what must have been closer to 30 minutes later, I have a brainstorm.

"Aqualung."

The table stops. Everyone is staring at me, like I have snakes crawling out of my eye sockets. My sister looks shocked and says "What?" I look her dead in the eye.

"AQUALUNG."

A chorus of "what the hell are you TALKING ABOUT?" I myself, don't see what is so difficult to understand, so I turn to the others and more vehemently

"AQUALUNG."

Now they're totally weirded out, thinking that, I can only assume, that I've totally lost my mind. I haven't spoken in two hours and now, a half hour after it's no longer relevent, I come out with this non-sequitor, single word phrase. Looking down at my cards I shrug.

"That was the name of the song"

Anti-love songs

It's valentines day, I'm pissy so I turn to my ONE true love, music, to find the songs that sympathize with my feelings about this day and the construct of 'luv'.

In no particular order

Lunachicks - Cumming into my Own

Girl gives up on the bs of relationships, and gives into the joys of masturbation. Thats my take on it though

Line that makes you go 'FUCK YEAH!' - And if I don't pick up the phone/it may not mean that I'm not home/I may be laying there alone/feeling fine, feeling mine

Screeching Weasel - Love

No, no I don't wanna don't make me do it

Line that makes you go fuck yeah - Love is for assholes/Love is for assholes, it's true/ and I don't wanna be in love with you

Tool - Prison Sex

Well you don't get much less romantic than forced sodomy, do you?

Metric - Patriarch on a Vespa

The dark side of the white picket fence dream

Lines that make you go fuck yeah - Are we all designed to be confined/buy ourselves chastity belts and lock them

Offspring - Self-esteem

I include this, because I have lived it.

Seven Mary Three - Home Stretch

Angry growly song with a catchy chorus

Lines that make you go FUCK YEAH - Theres only one sound to love/ Bye Bye Bye Bye Bye/ Ain't it good

Headstones - And

Let's get over it, lets move on, I don't wanna fuckin' talk about it.

Lines that make you go Fuck yeah - Lets not find the weakness/hit the bruise/ what good would it do/let's not drag out the details/salt the wounds/what good would it do

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

Listening to the song Rocket Queen by Guns N roses...

Listening to this song does anyone else get the idea that maybe axl had to do some things he was not too proud of upon arrival in L.A. This song screams male prostitution to me.