Dream Recap: Travel Prep.

It's what I am guessing is a Friday. I am supposed to leave to go to the Dominican Republic with my friend Kaylee but there is so much to be done.  I sit at my computer trying to finish up last minute work stuff.  With each email I check off, I discover or remember one more thing left undone.  Finally, realized I have but scant minutes to pack and leave, I decide to say screw it, leave the stuff unfinished and silently hope I still have a job when I get back.

While I am packing I snap at the girls to clean their rooms up so we can go.  When they ask where we're going it occurs to me that I haven't actually told them I am going away.  When I tell them I am going to the Dominican without them they whine and complain and are ever so slow to move.

I bribe them with the opportunity to go to the store if they just hurry up.  This puts a bit of speed into their step, but not much.

As I am about to rush out the door, I remember "Oh shit! The tickets!" and search frantically for them.  I find them on the dresser, two boarding passes.  Once again at the door I am struck with the thought that I'm going to need stuff to read, LOTS of stuff to read, what with all that time on the beach.  Scrambling, I stuff a pile of books into my bag with no regards to the titles.

All this time I am reminding myself to text Kaylee "Happy Dominican Day!" when I get a spare second.  I get the girls in the car and we get down to Barrie where I make a stop at a store, as promised.  My sister and brother-in-law are there, with all their kids, in two cars.  My girls, without saying good-bye, jump into my brother-in-law's vehicle, who drives away without a hi, hello, how-are-you.

At the counter I tell Nicky how ridiculous my day has been and mentioned that the kids just up and took off with Frank without even saying good-bye to me, even though I'd be gone for a week.  Nicky says something along the lines of "Yeah, a while back I told them to stop hanging around this store all the time."

This confuses me, since we don't live in Barrie.

While I am paying for my purchases (having bought a royal eff-ton of Coffee Crisps and Reese Peanut Butter cups for the plane ride) I count out my change.  I ask the clerk if she will take a Canadian silver dollar but before she can answer it disintegrates in my hand.  The thought that I should text Kaylee starts nagging at me again, before I realize with horror that she was supposed to ride down to the airport with me and I am already half-way to the city, and it will be a full forty minutes back to go pick her up.

I decide I will just drive back to get her, but first I decide to untangle the giant pile of dangly earrings that have accumulated in my purse.  I gently pull each earring from the clump and sort each pair on the counter of the convenience store.  Just has a I have the last pair lined up, that's when I wake up.

SOURCE

Humility is for suckers.

I got called out yesterday morning by a friend I hadn't talked to for a while.  I fully deserved it.  It was in regards to a facebook post I had made for a recent post on the art blog.

He pointed out that I seem to preface every post with a negative comment about my work.

Fair enough.

Not having ingested enough coffee at the time, I thought this observation to be mainly in reference to the blog post itself, which being a post about one of my first painting attempts, I thought was critical but fair.

It hadn't occurred to me that on the Facebook post, I had included the words "Be prepared for terribleness."

Okay, that's pretty negative.

Although I created the art blog with the intent of sharing more of the stories behind my artwork, I also wanted it to be a place where I could examine and critique my own work:  where I've improved and where I'd like to see improvement.

But I'm not going to lie. I tear myself down, a lot.  I've been using self-deprecation as a defense mechanism for a ridiculously long time, and it's a tough habit to break.

I know there one major thing at play here: there is the desire to point out my own flaws before anyone else can.  It's as though if I don't let anyone see that I might actually be taking this somewhat seriously, then I don't have to live up to the expectation of being any good at it.  It's the thing that keeps me referring to myself as a dabbler, or a hobbyist, as opposed to an artist.  I feel like if I act like I take it too seriously, then I'm at risk at becoming the living embodiment of the insufferably pretentious art snob.  So I fall back on "Ha ha, I suck."

I've always felt rather mediocre at most of my endeavours.  Perhaps I've only ever been mediocre because I won't allow myself to immerse myself in anything enough to be more than 'just okay' because if I do, then there will be expectations.

And let's face it.  Pride is still considered, in many circles, to be a vanity, a sin.  Women especially are expected to downgrade their accomplishments, to deflect compliments with phrases like "Oh, you don't mean that," and "You're just saying that to be nice." 


It's bullshit. The idea that people should be humble, should not draw attention to their strengths, is a great way to keep people down, to keep them from realizing their full potential.  We don't know the things we are capable of if a fear of pride or appearing immodest drives us to downplay every single accomplishment we have.  We internalize the message that those things we learn and do and become good, great, or even experts at (outside, of course, of those things we do to earn money, because capitalism.. you are your job, in this system) don't matter, that they aren't a big deal.

You, my friends, are a big fucking deal.  If you tried something new today, that's a big deal.  If you did something today that you love and did it even the teensiest bit better than you did yesterday, that's a big deal.

From today, I am going to try to work extra hard not to be so self-deprecating when it comes to my art, my music, my writing or myself.  I am a big fucking deal.

SOURCE

The Obligatory Year-In-Review and New Years Resolution Post

2014.  This was not my favourite year.

I dealt with a lot of stress, mental health issues, physical health issues, house stuff, money stuff, relationship stuff.

The high point of my year?  NOT having Cancer.  Which is a really, really awesome thing, but a pretty low bar to measure a whole year by.  Also, this last month the last remaining portion of my colon decided to get its shit together, figuratively speaking, and push my colitis back into a state somewhat resembling remission.  At any rate, the daily ass-bleeding has stopped for the most part.

Not having Cancer was Ay-Oh-Kay in my books, as was the reprieve from daily ass-bleeding, but quite frankly, the rest of the year just felt like a god-damn struggle.

I know it's not been all bad.  The change in mood between this post and this post from a few weeks ago can probably tell you how all-over-the-place I have been. I've been making efforts to maintain some level of positivity.  Some days are 'be thankful and count your blessings' days.  Some days are not.

On a side note: I had a pretty decent Christmas. Got to actually see my family and eat turkey.  And then every single member of my household got sick as shit for the next four days (not from the turkey, from the flu).  So while Christmas was much better than last year, the universe did it's damndest to make sure Boxing Day blew chunks (metaphorically).

So basically, 2014 can fuck right off for not being the vast improvement over 2013 it was supposed to be.  You're fucking fired, 2014.

So, now that we've got all that bother out of the way, some plans and resolutions for 2015:

1. Be more active, whilst remaining actively body-positive.  This will include: 
• Continuing to swim at the Y three mornings a week
• Returning to kick-boxing once a week
• Using my lunch-breaks to walk each day, or taking evening walks after dinner
• Refraining from negative self-talk and avoiding the "D-word".  Riots, not diets, folks.
• Eat more system-friendly foods that will keep my fucked-up digestive happy
• Drink water. Lots of water. Because dehydration is a bitch, yo.
2. Finish working on The Table Formerly Known as the Penis Table
3. Blog more, both here and on The Art Blog. I also have a plan for a third blog that has been in the works for a while.
4. Paint. Draw. Craft.
• Submit work to art shows. Try not to get frustrated if not accepted. Keep trying.
5. Write.
•  Look for opportunities to write outside of blogging.
6. Make music
• Find a conveniently-scheduled and receptive open mic to attend.  Attend with some regularity
7. Audition for plays
8. Continue to practice good self-care, for the benefit of both my physical and mental health:
• Take my blood-thinners and butt-meds regularly
• Get my blood work done regularly, as required
• Continue seeing my counsellor for as long as work will cover it/I can afford it
• Bitch-slap the jerkbrain when she starts getting too loud.
9. Make friends, and make time for friends.
10. Make time to keep being a good mom, girlfriend and person, overall.
11. Make time for me.
12. Breathe.

So that's all from this end for this year.  Here's to new beginnings.

I look slightly deranged. I kind of like it. Cheers, y'all.

Tech, nostalgia and the coming generation.

Once a week the household gets together with my friend Tess and her family for a 'dinner-and-a-movie' night.  We often revisit old family classics or newer family-friendly fare. On occasion the kids all decide to screw off to my eldest daughter's room to do kid stuff, so at those times we get to enjoy more grown-up fare.

A video came across my Facebook feed called "Kids React to Walkmans" where a group of children are given an early 90's style portable cassette player and asked to figure out what this contraption is and what it does.  As a whole, they're pretty much flummoxed and by the end of the video they have proclaimed modern MP3 technology to be far superior.

Well, duh.  Anyone who has ever had to repair an unspooled cassette with a pen could tell you THAT.

Image Source

My kids are fairly savvy with some of the more time-withstanding technologies of the past.  Our cabinet hi-fi sits in the front hall and occasionally gets some play when I get the urge to pull out my limited collection of LPs.  The thing has GREAT sound.  Thank you, Lori.

Watching these kids in the video struggle with what seemed like the relatively simple concept of popping a cassette into a walkman so music comes out the earphones made me think of some of the other near- or completely- obsolete tech that my generation takes for granted.

A few weeks ago for family movie night, we watched The Secret Life of Walter Mitty which, by the way, is now one of my favourite movies ever.  Surprisingly kid-friendly, too.  As we watched, the thought came to me that it was entirely possible that none of the children present even had any concept of film-based photography.  To the best of my knowledge my kids have only ever used digital cameras or at best disposable cameras.  They've not been exposed (ha!) to the fumbling involved in loading film in to a 35mm camera.

Okay, maybe other people found that sort of thing easy, but I have ruined many a roll in my time.

My kids would not be able to point out or name any of the equipment that used to sit in my dad's home-made darkroom when I was a teenager.  Negatives, slides, spools, washes, fixatives.  All completely foreign.

I wondered how much of this particular film went over their head, not being familiar with the process of photo development.

It's not only technology.  We also take the cultural references for granted.

A week later, we gathered and watched Saving Mr. Banks.  About two thirds of the way through I came to the realization that my kids had never actually seen Mary Poppins (Tess's kids had).  We've got an extensive collection of movies, some dating back to the early 20's, but somehow this one had gotten by us.

There's always this misconception that children and especially teens don't have appreciation for things that pre-date, well, them.  However, it's an appreciation that can be built up, with exposure.

One day in car I popped in a Mountain Goats CD and my eldest rolled her eyes and went "Ugh.. old people music.."  (Seriously?  The Sunset Tree came out in 2005!  Old people music.  Psh.)  My response was to put on The Complete Robert Johnson Collection.

You want to call something "old people music?"  There's your old people music.  Sorry, Grandma.

I dunno.  I guess I grew up with an appreciation of my parent's generation of music and film, because I was regularly exposed to it.  When other kids were listening to New Kids on the Block, I was into The Guess Who, Harry Belafonte and Stompin' Tom.

But there are some things that I guess we can't quite recreate, like the excitement of getting a custom-made mixed tape, or seeing animated penguins dance on screen with Dick Van Dyke and Julie Andrews for the first time.

Myself, I haven't seen Mary Poppins in years.

I think I may have the soundtrack on vinyl, though.

Post-Script:  Holy crap! Typewriters! I didn't even mention typewriters.  What kind of crazy old-timey shit is that, amirite?

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Dream journaling: Those who work in glass office buildings...

I woke up oddly disoriented after this one. It's been a while since I've been able to recount the details of a dream vividly.

I'm in a kitchen talking to one of my best friends about a party she's throwing for her daughters. She's freaking out a bit because in this reality, it's custom to purchase gifts for party guests, not the other way around. I'm not on the phone but I'm not really sure I'm speaking to her in person either. While we talk, I'm trying to get at a small CD player on the counter because I am determined to make my ex-husband listen to "Lovecraft in Brooklyn" for nor reason other than it's a pretty awesome song that I think everyone should listen to.

Having given up, I drive into work. Downtown is jam packed busy, so by the time I get there, it's after dark. My friend is there with her daughters. She is meeting me since I decided to give her some money to buy my kids present, since I don't really get why she's buying them anything when it's her kids birthday.

Getting out of the car, I notice that a huge crowd has gathered outside made up of my co-workers, Tim horton's employees (in this reality, Tim's hasn't moved down the street yet) and other various people who also work in the building. There is the sound of commotion and crackling electricity. Lights in the windows are flickering off and on and I vaguely recall that the building is scheduled for demolition. It seems odd to me that we all showed up for work anyway, and distressing that we're all standing in the parking lot instead of getting the hell out of there.

There an eerie silence as suddenly all the lights in the windows flicker and go black. I start to turn and run, but not before each individual glass pane starts shattering and blowing out wards. Shards and bits of glass rain down on the crowd and I run, admits the screaming, eyes closed against the bits of glass that have blown into my face and hair. Blind but aware of my friend and her girls near by I run across the street, oblivious to oncoming traffic, until I reach the opposite parking lot.

Once across the street, I carefully brush the glass off myself and pick it out of my hair and turn to survey the damage and wait for the eventually collapse, expecting something like what you see in those stock-footage reels of collapsing buildings.

I look over and a group of people have picked up my car and have managed to fold it like one of those collapsible laundry hampers. No, no no, I tell them but they carry it across the lot, unfold it and lovingly dust off the debris.

Later I am at an outdoor cafe, run by the guy who hosts our open mike. I can't get to my guitar, the place is too crowded. My Nanny is there and I'm trying to have a conversation with her, but my phone rings. A voice on the other end speaks in a muffled voice in a language I can't understand. The voice sounds apologetic, so assuming they have a wrong number I try to disengage, but each time I do, the voice on the other end gets belligerent and threatening. Finally I tell the voice that I am not paying to listen to this and hang up, but I worry after that the voice will call back to berate me some more.

Weekend Update... but sadly, not the one with Tina Fey or Norm MacDonald even.

This will be a much shorter post than I had originally anticipated as I have roughly five minutes to throw a quick post up while I finish my coffee before I have to head into the bathroom, pretty myself up a bit and head out for another FUN-filled week at work.

Friday night, after getting the Sunday newsletters to bed, I went for a quick drink with my fellow co-workers.  Fun, and something that should be done more often I think.  Couldn't stick around long as I had a previous engagement to go thrift-store shopping with one of my best friends.  I scavenged for parts to my halloween costume, which came to me through Pinterest at the last second and managed to pick up a winter jacket and some curtains for my front window so I can stop flashing the neighbours.  As per usual, K and I ended up reducing ourself to giggling fits to the amusement of the Goodwill staff with our running commentary regarding some of the more... um... 'unique' and 'vintage' finds.

For dinner we went to a nearby East Side Mario's where my menu had gunk on it and our waiter threw coasters at us and hovered while we tried to decide.  It was disconcerting, this manner.  He was not an incompetent waiter.. all our order arrived in a timely manner and as requested.  But so aggressive! It was like he was waitering AT us.  Not the most impressive restaurant experience I've had.

Saturday was a day of coffee and cuddles and relaxing and not getting much of anything done.  Wouldn't have done it any other way.  That night I travelled to Toronto with Tess to Toronto to see the Mountain Goats in concert.  I have written previously my love for this band so you know this was very exciting for me.

See the excitement? My phone is shit and I don't have a working camera right now, so this is what you get for pictures.

The show was not disappointing (aside from the fact that the Phoenix is sorely lacking in seating of any kind so my legs were not happy the next day).  John Darnielle - with whom I got to meet and speak briefly - comes across on stage as someone who not only is happy with what he does, but genuinely excited... like 'Holy shit I can't believe I get to do this for a living' excited when he performs.

They played a number of newer songs, along with older tracks that I recognized as well.  J.D. also manages to engage the audience, telling stories and interacting and improvising.  There were a few tunes I got the impression had been made up on the spot.  If that's the case... wow.  Just wow.  Amazing.

The night ended with 'No Children' which, anyone who goes to Open Mike night knows, is probably my favorite tune of theirs.  An excellent choice for the end of night sing-along.

Oh dear.  I've gone way past my time limit.  Gotta go throw my face on.

Tootles, all.

Well, I guess it's that time again, isn't it?

2011, amirite??

I really don't have whole lot to say about the past year, to be honest. I spent most of it just kind of laying low and enjoying life. There were a few high points, such as my trip to the Dominican with two girlfriends back in January and my trip to quebec with my girls in September. I got to go to a few concerts, including Finger Eleven, A Primitive Evolution and a few more from The Schomberg Fair - two in one week from those guys.

Although, I did date a bit, and had fun while I was at it, I spent 2011 pretty much single. I've spent a lot of time sorting out my issues in the aftermath of most-recent-ex, whom I had made one final attempt at friendship with before deciding it was best for everyone involved if we just cut off all contact. Not easy, but I'm working on it.

My car got written off but it was a situation that ended up working out well for me as it allowed me to get out of my car loan.

Compared to last year, spent most of this year on the periphery of other people's excitement - some good, some bad. For myself, in retrospect, the year was kind of mundane and uneventful.

Maybe that's a good thing.

2012 looks like it could potentially be quite the roller coaster. That is, if we aren't all blinked out of existence by mid-December. However, I'm sure that much like Harold Camping's prophecies of doom this Mayan calendar issue will likely turn out to be just a lot of hooey.

Please feel free to make fun of me for using the word 'hooey'.

As I was saying, the coming year already holds a lot of promise for excitement and/or crippling anxiety... Wheee!

This year's to-do list includes:

• Buy a house. Yup, that's a big 'un
• learn my ukulele
• compete in the Warrior Dash
• find a way to make some money with all this writing
• keep working on staying in shape
• My kickboxing instructor has thrown around the idea of holding some demos, in which case I want in on that. Yeah, I've been doing this for over a year now, and still love it

So I guess that's my year end wrap-up. Time to start getting myself dolled up for this evening's festivities. Cheers, y'all.

Crying the Ugly Cry

I woke in a terrible mood this morning.

Actually, that's not entirely true.  I woke up in a half-decent mood, having had a fun-filled night of music with an awesome group of people, and a new prospect of some fun people to jam with.  The girls had stayed the night at their dad's so I woke to a quiet house and no one I had to worry about getting out the door but myself.

Since it had been about a week since I had done so, I decided to step on the scale and immediately my mood went to SHIT.  You see, I've been keeping fairly vigilant over the last week or two and aside from a slip-up with an order of cheese wontons and some toaster strudels, I figured I've done rather well.  My scale disagrees, the bastard.

Some people allow themselves a 'cheat day'.  I, apparently, cannot have a cheat MEAL without thoroughly fucking up my progress.

You know how sometimes one thing will set off a domino-effect of hating everything in the world and ignite a desire to kick puppies and tell small children that there is no Santa Claus just because why should they live in a world of happy innocence when everything around you so clearly sucks?

Anyway, the immense frustration of making no progress in spite of over a month and a half of effort (and being very good the last three weeks, Wonton day notwithstanding) snowballed into a spiral of loathing and general resentfulness of all the things in my life that are not as I would have them... being consistently broke, not having clothes that fit and refusing to give in to the recent gain and buying new ones, being perpetually single.  For the first time in five years I RSVP'd to my staff Xmas party as one, hoping to avoid the yearly conundrum of trying to figure out who I can bribe with a free meal to be my date (I used to be able to bribe with a free meal and an open bar, but after last year's Xmas party, I'm not sure that I wouldn't be lying about that).

I got thinking about people who are no longer in my life, and about hurts that people have inflicted on me in the past and I found myself getting very, very bitter.  It was all I had in me not to call in sick and stay home all day, mournfully playing my guitar, feeling sorry for myself and crying the ugly cry.

Yeah, I have one of those.  The puffy-eyed, red-faced, scrunched-mouth couldn't-possibly-hide-that-I'd-been-crying-if-my-life-depended-on-it ugly cries.  It's kind of like this sketch below, but with less Adele and more Neutral Milk Hotel.  And no damn ice cream.



I have nothing against Adele, she's great. I just can't reach the same notes she does.

Anyway, as one does in these days of social media I reached out via the Facebook and posted a (rare I think, anyway) poor-me post in search of support.

And I got it, in droves.

Usually I like to think I have a fairly positive outlook on life, albeit wrapped in a vaguely cynical and sarcastic candy shell.   However, I'm not half the pessimist I used to be, and on a good day I can usually count my blessings and run out of toes.

Sometimes, for a moment, when things like the upcoming holiday season, get overwhelming I lose sight of these things and focus on what is wrong.

The wrong stuff still sucks.  Being poorish sucks, and so does the loneliness. I have a lot to be happy about as well.  I'll get back to that place, at some point.  Today was a low day, admittedly, and I'm not entirely over it, but at least I know that when I find myself in a dark place I have people in my life to hold a match for me.

I've got some red on me...

Oh Toronto Zombie Walk, how I adore thee.

Yesterday marked my second time at the Toronto Zombie Walk and I'm still washing blood out of my hair today.  Last year I went with a good friend of mine, and found the whole experience thrilling.  This year I got to take my two girls as they are old enough not to be too freaked out by the.. well.. freakshow. Reegs, the little one got right into it.  My oldest is getting to that 'too cool for school' age and it took some cajoling to get her into the spirit.  I was also accompanied by two of my oldest friends and my 16-year-old cousin who sometimes scares me with how much like me at that age she is capable of being.

Part of what I enjoy aside from the opportunity to engage in some imaginative, poor-taste, grotesque humor is that it's a very uncommercial, organic event.  It has yet to be bought by corporate interests and seems truly to be a home-grown community event.  Participants are generally well behaved, the cops that help to make sure no one is impeding traffic are, beneath the gruff exterior, generally well-meaning.  (as one cop tried to corral us out of a busy intersection by yelling 'clear the way' myself and another guy responded a few times with "We're working on it!" to which she replied with a sympathetic "I know..")  Non-participants seem to enjoy the event as well, gathering in doorways to watch the parade go by.

I also love how people manage to take one unifying theme (ie.. zombie apocalypse) and come up with what seems like hundreds of different ideas, even if some do show up year to year.  I have come to the conclusion that each walk will have, invariably, the following (amounts are approximate, and probably exaggerated):

• 1 Zombie Waldo
• 2-3 Zombie Jesus'
• 21 Zombie Brides
• 3-7 Zombie hunters (that is, Hunters of Zombies, not Zombiefied big game hunters)
• 118 Shaun of the Dead characters.
• 1-2 Thriller-Era Michael Jacksons
• 275 Zombie Nurses
• 314 Zombie Schoolgirls

Each year I go, I tend to get a little gorier.  I haven't done a theme costume.. mostly I just go with generic zombie.. Some nasty fake scar tattoos, light makeup, and a shite-load of fake blood.  Everywhere.  It generally does the trick.

Product Shot! Where's my damn money, Tim Hortons??

The girls had a bit of a theme.. Prom-Queen Zombie (making good use of the dress from last year's Carrie costume) and Hobo-Clown Zombie (I was reminded of Sol the Clown from my TVOntario childhood)

In front of the house.  Yes, That's a dead baby on my porch.  I put the ass in class.

At one point during the walk, I thought they may have been getting tired out, until i realized that Reagan was not getting tired.. she was TOTALLY in character.  Foot-dragging and all.  That's my girl.

So before I post some random pics, I'm going to take a poll.  Which of the following is a bigger dick move.

Entering a small, classy type restaurant (half hour away from the parade) in full Zombie Regalia, minus blood and makeup after crowding into a single stall bathroom to clean it all off, however still wearing aforementioned gaping headwound tattoos due to not having the necessary rubbing alchohol or baby oil necessary to remove them without taking a layer of skin with it.  Sitting down in said restaurant, practically ass-cheek to ass-cheek with other diners, all of whom are staring, some in amusement and some in disgust, and potentially disturbing their dinner...

 - Or -

Entering a small, classy restaurant in full Zombie Regalia, piling 5 people into a single stall washroom to wash off blood and makeup, thus occupying said washroom for a good 15-20 minutes and using all their paper towel and then walking out again, having decided that as a group you'd feel much less guilty about ruining people's dining experiences at a Kelsey's or a Boston Pizza?

Survey Says?

No matter, what is done is done.  At least we cleaned the blood out of the sink first.

Anyway, here's some more pics:

Lots of OWS themed signs. This guy told us he was headed down to Bay Street after the walk.

Group Shot, me the girls and my cousin

Reegs doing her zombie face

This year's family Christmas card portrait

Kiki, who made up for a lack of make-up with a very convincing and chilling zombie-stare

Tierney looking frighteningly gorgeous

Amber*, who took most of these pictures

So much fun and Hallowe'en isn't even over yet!!

*Sarah, this is the friend that I said looked like you in the post with the picture of you and your daughter on the pony.

No Title Fitting.

Your beauty kindled envious green flames
You were the wanted, and I was stunned and shamed 
but the laughter, in writing was infectious
and something like a friendship born

Troubled and hopeful, youth cased in wisdom
Too much spirit to be held by a mere human form.

One day, one pill, one phone call
That spirit exploded and touched across the miles
Drawing strangers in flesh but friend in words
To the place where you lay

I wept tears for the broken
As your pedestal crumbled
Crushing the spirits of those who worshipped at your feet
Falling into madness and bottles and nothingness.

Four years, holding a vigil to your silent photograph
We left messages, until the day you became a Cause.
They took your face.
They took your voice and spoke for you.
Strangers, and I could look no more.

Copyright 2011 Andrea Lyn Cole

"Excellent" she says, fingers steepled in classic C. Montgomery Burns fashion...

Must post quickly before I head home.

Great News.

Recall a while back when my car got totalled, and the friend who was driving (in one of those 'can you move your car I have to go to the store' 'Oh, just take mine' moments) got a bogus careless charge despite the fact that the woman she t-boned was trying to make a U-turn out of a parallel spot and was not looking where she was going?

Well, her court date was today and the charge was thrown out.  As it should be.

Huh.  ZAH.  Vindication, y'all.

There will be some calls to my insurance company, and there will be drinks in celebration.  Today is a good day.

The Good, The Bad and the Delightfully Cheesy.

Been a little quiet the past few days, I know.  Going through some stuff.  Had to cut off contact with someone who was very important to me in order to save myself a whole lotta time going through the emotional wringer and would you know it pretty much blows?  Big time.  Running the gamut of emotion, angry, sad, self-righteous and well.. you know how it is.  Boys n' such.  So I've been disgustingly emo over the last 24 hours.  I've had a few of my closest girlfriends be super supportive as I got all weepy and snotty and introspective about it, even though over the last 12 months or so the "I swear this time it's really DONE" has been nothing new to any of them.

But I swear, this time, it's really done.

Hit the local Party On The Dock this past weekend, which proved to be quite the raucous affair.  There was much beer, much dancing to all-ages friendly (as in 9 to 99) cover bands.  Okay, this is something that gets me every year.  The headliners are a group called Northern Harbour, who bill themselves as

The Ultimate Jimmy Buffet Tribute Band!

But.. if it's true as some say that Jimmy Buffett is essentially a cover artist himself, then wouldn't a Jimmy Buffett cover band really just be a generic cover band that happens to play Margaritaville and Let's Get Drunk and Screw? (which, incidentally, Northern Harbour DID play much to my amusement).

Anyway, was a fun-filled evening.  We closed the party, headed to the local bar, closed the bar, got food, ended up at the park and next thing you know it was all "Oh hey.  Hello, 5 am! Fancy meeting you here!"

A word of advice: Sitting down by the water in the wee hours of the morning may sound like an awesome serene idea, but you change your mind quickly when you wake up in the morning with goose shit on your pants.  Had awesome Karen-Walkeresque moment the next day as my bestest and I sat in her backyard feeling rather rough and a small child was driving around in one of those Power Wheels dealies.  Shielding my eyes from the sun I asked "Is it really necessary for that kid to be driving that thing this early in the afternoon?"

I'm fucking witty when hungover, I tell you.

My shitty mood after last night's drama nearly resulting in an ass-kicking today as I got a wee bit snarky with some folks who insisted on ignoring the giant No Loitering sign on the front door of our building and wound up with a rather frightening woman up in my face because apparently I'm doing a huge disservice to their hanging-around-in-front-of-Tim-Hortonsing by not-so-subtly suggesting her friends try standing 2-3 feet to the left or right AND NOT IN FRONT OF THE FUCKING DOOR.

How silly of me.

And then some guy got his ass handed to him in the parking lot about an hour later.  Cops and everything.  I have a great view from my desk.  And YES, I DID call 911, as buddy was taking quite the beating but I guess someone beat me to it because all I had to say was the address and "Fight" and they said "Yeah, we're already on our way." at which point the cops pulled up.

I swell with absolute pride at my town, which is NOT AT ALL white-trashy in ANY WAY.

Today my geek worlds collided.  For about 6-8 years I was a soap fan.  To be clear I was regular follower of the Guiding Light.  It started when I was hospitalized at 18, after which I drove my ex-husband nuts with it for years, and when the Sister and I lived together we watched religiously.

I stopped watching after I moved out on my own in 2005, as I wasn't home when it was on and I didn't have a VCR.  The show was cancelled in 2009 and a little part of me was heartbroken that I never saw the last episode.  I found out today that in 2006 Marvel Comics did a Guiding Light crossover based on a halloween storyline where Harley (one of my favorite characters) gets super powers and becomes a heroine by the name of 'The Guiding Light'

Har Har.

So this evening I wasted a whole lot of time looking up clips from this story arc on YouTube, and trying to find out where I can get my hands on the comic portion of the storyline, which apparently included Spiderman and the Avengers, as well as GL characters such as Buzz Cooper and Gus Aitoro (*drool*)

Beth Ehlers and Ricky Paull Goldin

Harley all Comic-fied - Source

 The link to the Comics Alliance page has a preview where you can see some of the other drawings.  I enjoy seeing the characters rendered in comic style.

The story arc on the tv side is atrocious, but what do you expect? Part of the fun of soaps is the groaningly bad melodrama and improbable story lines.  Hell, that's part of the fun of comics too.

They have so much in common.

Watch, and giggle.

It had already been a strange day to begin with...

This is a post for Studio30plus weekly challenge.  This week's prompt is 'The Storm'.  If you're over 30 and not already a member, I encourage you to go check it out.

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It had already been an odd day, June 23rd.  That was when we had the earthquake.  It was at some point in the early afternoon that the computer screen in front of me began to waver.  I wondered if I was having some kind of spell.  Dizzy, I tried to focus but the screen kept swaying.

After a few seconds, my co-worker calls over from the next cubicle "Is it me, or are we shaking?"

You see, we inhabit a pretty sturdy chunk of the Canadian shield.  Discernable earthquakes are not an everyday occurrence.

So it had already been an exciting day.

I left work to go weigh in and get some groceries.  While in the RCSS, I noticed the sky had darkened and rain had began to fall.  I cursed as I remembered the windows I had left wide open as a result of the days earlier warmth.  Rushing out with my groceries in tow, I found myself struggling against the wind to get to the far end of the parking lot where I had left the car.  I had been 'adding more steps to my day' as they encouraged us in the Weight Watcher meetings.  

Approaching the car the wind gained more speed and the sky opened up.  Veritable buckets of water fell from the sky as I hastened to get my groceries into the car although I could barely see.  Water sluiced down my face and glasses, distorting my sight.  Back in the car, I was unable to even wipe my glasses dry as my clothing was absolutely soaked.  I rummaged for an old napkin, which nicely did the trick.  Water squished in my shoes.

Arriving at the ex-hubster's place to pick up the girls, I grumbled impatiently at them, admonishing them not to dawdle, as I was still drenched and by this time, quite cranky.  The ex and I made small talk about the storm's ferocity, but being on south end of town we did not yet realize how serious the situation was.

Driving up the main drag to head home, traffic was unusually slow.  Under an eerily calm purple-pink sky, residents were leaving their homes and walking, dumbfounded up King Street towards Highway 12.  Confused as to why the mass exodus, I grumbled while I sat in the traffic that was so uncharacteristic of our little town.

Phone.

Normally I don't answer the phone in the car, but since I had been at pretty much a full-stop for the last five minutes, I figured what the hell?

"'yeeello."

"Where are you?"

"Hey Dan.  I'm on King, heading home. Why?"

"Turn around if you can and come to our place.  12 is closed.  You're not getting home anytime soon.  Tornado struck down."

Whole.  Leigh.  Shit.   Come again?

"uhh, okay.  Sounds good.  See you soon."

The mass exodus turned out to be hundreds of people who were in the vicinity when the funnel touched down on the north end of town and cut a swath through a chunk of farmland, most of our industrial district and in true cliche form, the local mobile home park.

Source

Arriving with the ladies at the home of Sean and Dan, where my other friend Kaylee had already arrived, we were greeted and informed that power was out all over, but cellular networks were still intact.  We sent the children upstairs to play and for a while we all made attempts to call or text loved ones to check in with them or warn those in the tornado's path.  I got in touch with my dad who informed me that other than a small downpour, the weather near our place had been uneventful.  My mother was away visiting my grandmother but promised to stay put until the warning was lifted.  I made numerous attempts to contact the then-boyfriend but the storm had knocked his phone out.

I realized I was still in sopping wet clothes, so I borrowed some clothes from the Danno, him being the obvious choice as at the time I had about 50 lbs on Sean.  As friends were assured, families contacted and stomachs were starting to growl.  When in Rome, do as the Romans do, and when in Canada during a natural disaster that knocks out the power, you do as Canadians do best.  Barbecue and Beer.

We should be in a beer commercial

Driving home that night as night fell and the clouds still hung low in the sky I took the back roads, as the radios were advising people to stay home and off the roads (sometimes i have a problem with authority).  The main highway was still closed.  I was tense as each time the rain started to fall I would scan the horizon for funnels, white knuckled on the steering wheel.

Down one concession the rain fell harder, and I hit a stretch of road littered with leaves and branches.  Along the ditches fallen power lines hung in trees, and I could where the funnel had cut through the brush and across the road.  Ahead in the dark, two figures ran through the rain.  In my hurry to get home to my house (at 105 years old, no storm could take it out) I drove on, but after about 200 meters I turned around to see if the runners needed a ride somewhere.  They were no where to be found.

At home, I was amazed to find that in spite of the destruction that occurred a mere few kilometres away, at my own home, rakes that were left beside the shed stood, completely untouched.  

Stop touching your crotch, sir, and an update on the vehicular situation.

Last night I went to a show/cancer benefit down in Toronto at the El Mocambo with some friends.  The venue was pretty cool, I'm told it was quite the rockin' place in its time.  Since my friend worked until 9, we ended up getting into the Tdot around 11ish, in the middle of one of the bands sets.  I don't know what they were called, but they were fronted by a very small woman with a very big voice and they ended with a pretty kick-ass cover of the Beastie Boys' 'Sabotage'.

Second band was a group called BlindRace, and hell, I didn't know what to make of these guys.  I wanted to like them, but they couldn't seem to make up their mind as to whether they wanted to be Creed or Sepultura.  I'd like them for a bit, then get a distinctive Creed vibe and I could see that although I may enjoy them now, they were probably destined for Creed-esque future suckitude.  And the singer came across like a rather mysogynist douche of Scott Stapp/Chad Kroeger proportions. 

And he kept touching his crotch while he was singing.  All.  The Fucking.  Time.  It's distracting as hell.  After the show I went up to him and told him "Good set, but you need to stop touching your crotch when you sing."  He laughed at this and said he couldn't help it and without considering the awesome double entendre I said "Yeah, I imagine it's probably hard."  He then proceeded to try chatting up T. and I we were just like 'Eep, okay let's get out of here.'

The headliners, Goldie Luxx I found fairly unimpressive.  I think the singers vocals threw me off.  They weren't laughably bad like the previous band, just kind of didn't do anything for me.  Maybe I'm just getting old, who knows.

On the way home we stopped at the King Road truck stop for gas and coffee and some guy in a Corvette came up to us and was trying to sell my friends car parts (They're both Neon Racing enthusiasts and do a lot of customization to their respective vehicles).  Out of nowhere, at a gas station at 3:30 in the morning.  Totally random.

Then between the south end of Barrie (you know the place, where all things good and pure go to die) and roughly Horseshoe Valley road we were being tailed by a douchebag in a giant pick up truck who was, I don't know, trying to goad E. into racing or something?  Slow down until we pass him, then zoom past us, then hit the brakes and slow down until he was beside us again, riding along side.  At one point I wondered if the jackass was going to try and run us off.  It was pretty scary.  A couple of times he pulled over until we passed him, then would speed up to pass us again.

Finally we got up right behind him to take down the licence and call the cops.  I guess he figured it out because soon after that he got off at Horseshoe Valley Road.  Some people.

So with that segue, a quick update on the car buying situation.  I put a deposit down on a 2007 PT Cruiser, after much deliberation and meeting with more car sales people than I could ever possibly want to.  I plan on having a giant bonfire with all the business cards and brochures that I've amassed over the last couple of weeks.

New wheels-to-be.  Tentatively named Petey.

I still stand to be vehicle-less for a few days, since I haven't gotten the insurance money back yet and the rental is due back on Monday.  I'm waiting on a check, which I then have to send to my loan people so they can take their chunk, then they put the remainder in my account.

Then i am motherlovin' CAR-LOAN FREE!!

So, I tend to anthropomorphize my cars (previous vehicles being Bessie, Lurch, Betty and Mabel the Sable) and my friend suggested the name Petey, relating it as a tribute to another friends late rabbit.  I didn't quite get what that had to do with anything.  Being the quick one I am, it took me a full 24 hours to make the connection

PT=Petey.

Today, I questioned a cartoon's manhood.

I received a text from the Danno today.  He likes to send me the occasional brain teaser, like the one below.  I am convinced he's absolutely batshit insane sometimes think he might have some issues (you know I'm just kidding, right?).

Danno: Question: Which one of the looney tunes do you suspect had the biggest penis?

Me: Well, Elmer Fudd and Yosemite Sam are out.  The violent temper and affinity for firearms indicate insecurity and a need to over-compensate.

Me:  Based sheerly on the laws of proportion, I'd say the abominable snowman.  Biggest character=biggest penis.

Me:  Incidentally, my phone forces me to spell out penis.

Danno: Yeah, I was in the same boat, combining Pen and Is, but my phone learned it after the first time I used it. :-)

Danno: Your insights into this sensitive matter are much appreciated.

Me: Hey, I'm here to help.

This is a man with some masculinity issues to work out.  Source

Car shopping is bullshit.

I have a confession to make.  My close friends and family will already know this about me.

I am cheap as all hell.  Stingy.  It's sad.  I could give you all the reasons why, but here's the long and the short of it:  I just don't like putting down large sums of money for anything.  I don't like being in debt, so I try to live well within my means.

My means, meanwhile, are not fabulously abundant. 

There's food on the table, my rent is paid, my bills are (mostly) caught up.  There's not a lot left over, but it's not dire.  But it has been.  So now I'm extra careful not to get to that point.

I have to buy a car. 

*cue massive coronary*

I got the call back last week in regards to Betty's ultimate fate and the insurance company's final decision was to put the poor girl out to pasture.

Now, it's not all bad.  On some levels this helps me, financially (when you put aside the potential to get screwed on my next insurance renewal).

You see, I have a cunning plan.

"You wouldn't know a cunning plan if it painted itself purple and danced naked on top of a harpsichord, singing "Cunning plans are here again!"

I've looked it up and since I have full-replacement coverage, and my loan is half-way paid off, I should be able to pay it right off, thus ridding me of a $300+ monthly car payment (which can then go towards my downpayment fund and paying down student debt) and have a decent amount left over to buy a good used car. 

... did I just say 'Used' car?  As in.. driven by others?  As in, potentially unknown maintenance records?

*hyperventilates*

Fuck. 

Thing is.. me with cars?  They're not my strong subject.  People know this, friends and family know this and God Bless 'Em.. they seem to like me and have concern for my safety and even want to help me.

Thing with cars and buying cars is, everyone seems to have differing opinions.  Where to buy; where not to buy; what make to go with (and NO ONE will have the same answer for this, TRUST ME ON THIS ONE); which one's not to go with; Private sellers are a rip-off; used-car dealers are a rip-off; get an extended warranty; no don't they're a waste of money.

Sensory motherfucking overload. 

And I start worrying that I'm going to make the wrong decision and pick a car that will:

• Rust out within a month
• Spew flames upon ignition
• Refuse to start at any temperature lower than -5 celcius
• Randomly shoot lugnuts at my children when my back is turned
• Secretly change all my radio presets to Country, Talk Radio and Contemporary Christian stations.   

 And I'll discover that it's the car rated most likely to spontaneously drive itself off a cliff so my insurance premiums will be 500 dollars a month, and all the parts will need to be ordered in from Kazahkstan.

"Dammit Thelma, I told you that wasn't the I-95 exit!"

You know what happens then?  My brain, the car-buying portion of my brain SHUTS DOWN, and the only thought I can process is "Ooooooh.. pretty.  Is it certified?  E-tested? Within budget?  Let's just drive this fucker home NOW, thankyouverymuch."

"But it's PINK! and it's great on gas!"

I do want to point out to all the people who have offered to help, I DO appreciate it greatly and I love yas for it and I will definitely be taking some of you up on your offers of assistance (because God knows, I'm probably going to need it).  All I'm saying is, I'm not good with large purchases, so if we're talking cars and my eyes start to glaze and my bottom lip starts to tremble and I keep glancing at the door like I'm going to make a run for it.. well, don't take it personally. 

Just change the subject.  Trust me.  We'll both be better off.

Photo Sources:
ShareTV
Living Stingy
Bin Bin

The upside is I've been having fun with my 'Car-Shopping Music'.

 



Ahh, Blind Melon. Still so under-rated, in my humble opinion.

When Life Makes Decisions for You

I don't even like chicken wings.

After the demise of our respective marriages, my sister and I shared a house for about two years.  For the first year, she went to school while I took care of our four children while I was on maternity leave.  I was not well suited to daycare, so when my one-year leave was up, my good friend Crystal, who has much more patience for children than I, joined our household as a live-in nanny as it was a hell of a lot easier than shipping four kids of varying ages out to daycare.

After the ex-hub and I split, I immediately got my name on a waiting list for subsidized housing, knowing that it would be difficult at best to raise two children on a convenience store clerk, and later student budget.  We lived in the house for a little under two years, until fate unexpectedly set in.

It was an unusually warm day in April.  I had finished writing my first year Psychology exam that morning and had rushed home to look at an apartment, as my name had finally come to the top of the housing list.  Here, you are allowed to turn down three available units before they drop you back to the bottom of the waiting list.  I had already turned down a place six months previous on account of our obligation to the unspoken 'lease' we had with my parents.

The apartment was lovely... three bedrooms, two bathrooms, well kept building.  But I was unsure about moving to Midland, when I would be going to school in Barrie.  Would it be better, perhaps, to hold out and see if a place became available in Barrie?  The building manager told me I could think it over, as there was one other person looking at the place, but they too were unsure for whatever reasons.

That evening, we sat out on the front porch, debating what to do for dinner that night.  It was a warm, lazy Friday and no one much felt like cooking anything elaborate, but pizza seemed well.. blah.  The suggestion of chicken wings was brought up.  Inwardly I groaned, but being self-aware of my picky eating habits and how they might be unfair to others, I just kind of shrugged and went 'meh, whatever'.

I was downstairs with the smaller children when I heard the sound.  Nicky was on the front porch studying, and Crystal and Steve (my sisters boyfriend at the time) were in the kitchen, along with my oldest nephew.  My Reagan, about 18 months old at the time, had wandered up the stairs. In a house with four adults and three older children, I figured she couldn't get into too much trouble.

It sounded like a splash - a horrific, sickening splash - and my first thought was that my beautiful toddler had pulled the pot of hot oil down on herself.  I paused in sheer terror, waiting for the screaming... there was a scream, but it came from my oldest nephew as he ran out the front door.  I believed the worst.  I heard nothing from Reagan and  it then to me that not only was she horribly burned and disfigured, but that she was dead.  I broke from my paralysis and came up the stairs to the front landing, and heaved a sigh of relief upon seeing her standing at the front door, babbling to herself, completely unharmed.

However, out of the corner of my eye, up the second short flight of stairs, I saw the flames.

I grabbed Reegs and quite literally picked her up and tossed her onto the front lawn, before running back down to the basement to herd the other children out the back door.  I ordered them to go around to the front of the house and wait there.  I ran back into the house and into the kitchen where Crystal stood in front of a giant flaming stock pot of doom, flames licking the ducts over the stove.  She was already on the phone with the fire department.  Steve had grabbed the birdcage and met Nicky outside with the children.

Panicked, I grabbed a box of baking soda, because they say to put baking soda on grease fires to put them out.  This, however, was less a simple grease fire and more an raging inferno at this point.   Like a lunatic, I threw handfuls of baking soda at the flames that were now licking the ceiling.  The soda sizzled as it hit the flames.  Crystal stayed on the line with the fire department as long as possible, but gave up when the portable phone's cradle caught fire.   As cupboard doors began to blacken and ceiling tiles began to curl and drop to the floor, there was nothing left to do.

We ran.

From the street we watched the smoke billow from the windows.  I could hear glass popping as the immense heat shattered mugs, drinking glasses, and windows. The roughly three and a half minutes it took the volunteer department to arrive stretched out like an eternity.  We stood in the road and stared.  And cried.  We called our parents and told them of the fire and we cried some more.

Later, scrounging through the wreckage, I found a lone pink circle amidst the otherwise soot-black carpet where our cat had curled up in the smoke when she couldn't find her way out.  And I cried some more.

Needless to say, I took the apartment.  And I still don't like chicken wings.

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This post was written for Studio30Plus weekly writing challenge.  The prompt is "Irony".

Do other people refer to their vagina as Betty?

Because I don't.  But people seem to think I do.  But no, as I've mentioned previously, Betty is my cute little 2008 Aveo.  This doesn't negate the fact that when  I say that I've hurt my Betty (or in this case, a friend hurt my Betty) there is a decent amount of inappropriate giggles that go around.

But yeah, she's hurt.  Hurt bad.  It may be terminal, we don't know yet.

Long story short.. Last evening, there was a car, a what-I-would-believe-to-be-a-rather-illegal U-turn, a swerve and a slam of brakes, a crunch, a sketchy eyewitness account that has led to a possible conflict over fault, and now my car is waiting to be appraised to see if it's worth fixing or if it's a write off.  I wasn't driving, it was my friend that had my car at the time.  No one was seriously injured, although my friend is rather sore today.

So it's been a long day of talking to my insurance company, talking to the rental company, and trying to get a copy of the police report that hasn't been filed yet. 

I'm not going into great details, well.. because.. well you know when something happens and you just get sick of re-telling it over and having people offer their well-intentioned but often conflicting and rather overwhelming advice?  Yeah.  Since there's not much to do until the adjuster gets there Mondayish and until the actual police report gets filed I'm just going to try and enjoy the pretty rental car and wait and see what happens.

*sigh*

Luck of the Irish, indeed. 

my poor girl

"Mom, this was the best day ever."

I've lived a lot longer than my seven-year-old, so I have a longer frame of reference, so I could possibly argue that.  But who wants to argue with a happy-seven-year old?  Besides, it was still a pretty darn good day.

We saw family.
We saw more family.
We saw friends.
We stood at the top of the world and looked down into the clouds.
We ate ice cream.
We splashed in puddles.
We listened to old mixed CD's in the car and got excited to hears songs we hadn't listened to in years and sang at the top of our lungs.
We explored the city in the rain.
We ate pizza from a mediterranian restaurant.
We played I Spy and tried to trick each other.

My youngest has fallen in love with the city.  The lights, the buildings, the people.  Her excitement brings a smile to my face, but saddens me as well, because part of me knows as soon as she's old enough she'll want to leave our little town for bigger things.  She marches to her own beat and I fear small town life will not hold her for long.

My oldest is much more cautious, much more leery to try new things.  She likes routine, doesn't like risk. But like a trooper, she stood on the glass floor, and even bounced a little.  And, as she proudly told me later, she 'didn't puke.'  There was never any doubt, babydoll.

They really are something, these girls of mine.

Opportunity is knocking and I'm dripping wet, scrambling desperately for a towel...

Phew!

This week has been a bit of a shit-storm in that I've just been ridiculously busy.  Tonight is the first night that I'll actually be home in time to make a decent dinner for the children and I.  Between dinner with friends, kick-boxing classes and play practices, I've not gotten home before 7 a single night this week.  The house is a wreck, as the demon kitties have pretty much taken the place over.

Tess picked up my coat yesterday and made a valiant attempt at getting the cat smell out of it.  It smells like vinegar now, but vinegar is known to eventually dissipate, so my hopes are high and I'm grateful to her for trying.

Source

Next week is bound to be even more hectic as I have two full rehearsals and the performance of the Vagina Monologues Thursday night.  Exciting! I'm so glad to be a part of this. Local folks, I still have tickets available.  $20 bucks and the proceeds go to the women's shelter.
In other news, a few other opportunities may be cropping up that I'm kind of excited about, some that I'll mention here and some that I'm going to hold off on going into detail about until I know more. Next Friday marks my first night as a karaoke host at our local Legion, Branch 523, or I'll be getting trained at any rate.  If I don't suck, then I'll be slinging and occasionally singing on my kid-free Fridays.

In other news I got contacted by my friend Mike last night and he told me he's organizing a team for the Great Strides walk for Cystic Fibrosis in Barrie this May.  As I've mention, his brother and my friend Sean just went through a double-lung transplant after living with CF for most of his life (Educate thyself).  Which is awesome, because we all like Sean, and are pretty darn glad to have him around for a while longer.  So Mike asked me to join his team and I was all Sure! even though I kind of suck at fundraising.   But here, I'll get a head start on it now.

Give Me Money Or I Will Send Sarah McLachlan After You.

Maybe it's my approach?  *shrug*

I'm feeling, to quote that human-internet-meme-slash-trainwreck-of-the-week-who-shall-remain-nameless, like a "bitchin' rockstar from Mars."  The next few months hold quite a bit of promise and I'm excited about new possibilities on the horizon. 

Grabbin' life by the short-and-curlies, yo.