Conversations with my sister's kid: defining masculity

My sister has a giant Newfoundland dog.  Giant puppy, actually.  So all the playful exuberance of a puppy in a package roughly the size of a mastodon.  The kids, I'm sure, love her, but it's pretty safe to say the novelty has worn off.

R: I think when I get my own place I'm going to get a cat, just so I won't be lonely.

R: That's not too gay is it?

*facepalm* (He's a teenager, so I try to have patience, but really?)

Me: No, I'm pretty sure having sex with men makes a guy gay, not owning a cat.  Besides, who cares?  Are you worried your masculinity is going to be called into question if you live with a cat?

R: Yes, kind of.

Me:  Just make sure to give it a really hyper-masculine name.. like Machine Gun Larry.  Even if it's a girl.

R (in suavest manner a 16-yr-old can muster): "Hi.. this is my cat, Machine Gun Larry." 


In other news, I'm totally making plans for the imaginary cat that my nephew doesn't even own yet.

Quick and Dirty Photo Post.. but not actually Dirty Photos.. sorry.

So excuse this moment of vapid attention-whoring, but I got new glasses and I want to show them off.  On previous trips to purchase eyewear I was torn between lighter or thicker frames.  Last week I went in and there was a sale...

So I got both.

That is, indeed, the newly-detesticled asshole cat on the chair behind me.

Pair number two

Oh and in case you were wondering, I also got myself a little bit of a giftie.

Sexy, right?

I'm now tasked with the.. uh.. task of giving him/her/zie a name.  I haven't even assigned it a gender.. most of my other guitars I've given guy monikers.  This one is a little prettier, a little sexier that I'm inclined to lean towards a more feminine signature.

I'm thinking of naming her after a song name.  I've always been a little fascinated by 'name-songs' and always a little jealous of people who have songs with their name in the title.  At least, I was jealous until I found out that one of my favorite alt-country (I really can't lump them in with regular country, but they're not *quite rock*) bands, Blue Rodeo had a song called Andrea.  It's an odd little tune, sung by Greg Keelor, and sounds like some kind of 'My Drug Buddy' type tune.

Andrea I'm so happy that you called 
Just to hear your voice 
Helped dissolve 
The paranoia 
Until the drugs wore off


The name Jolene, after the Dolly Parton tune, is jumping out as a possible option.  It's a fairly unique name and seems to match the vibe I get from this particular instrument.

What are your favorite "Name-Songs?"  Do you share a name with any songs that you know of?

I wanted to upload a video to christen my new whats-her-face, and was inspired as I wrote this post so here you go.  Be warned, I hate seeing myself on video, so I haven't watched this.  If it's terrible, you have my sincerest apologies.



Isn't that one awesome thumbnail image?  I WILL EAT YOUR SOUL!!!  I need a haircut.

In other news, I went to Guelph yesterday with my friend Tess for her birthday.  We loaded up the car with all of our respective children and her SO, and went to see A Suessical Musical along with her sister and grandma.  Was a very late night as showtime was 6:30 and Guelph is about three hours away from here.  The children were extra "F.U.N." (read: Fucking Unbelievable Nightmare) to get up this morning but all in all it was worth it, a fun time for everyone involved.

One last picture.  Although most of the time he's kind of a dick, as I have mentioned, occasionally Simon manages to break out the cute.

It's like a kitty-vampire coffin.  Kind of.  If cats were shaped like guitars.

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.

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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.

My Motivation is Playing Ferris Bueller Today..

I've done too much driving this weekend and not really gone anywhere.  Yesterday, in driving my children to a birthday party I came to a few conclusions (that you may have already seen if you follow me on Twitter):

• Barrie's south end embodies everything I absolutely hate about everything
• Goodwill has better prices than Value Village but is an infinitely more depressing shopping experience
• My knit hat is likely the culprit that is causing my forehead to break out like that of a 13-year-old on chocolate and high-dose oral contraceptives
• On the rare occasions I break down and go to Wal-Mart for something, I feel better if I can't find it.

Something I learned after a night of dancing and some drinking:

• After a night of dancing in heels and drinking beer, if you go to sleep in your pantyhose, you will wake up feeling like sausage.

Today I drove twice to Midland to take the cats to get weighed so I get them all flea treatments for the next few months.  Then, instead of napping, I decided to drive to Orillia (because two trips to Barrie - one for the birthday party, and once for dancing - and two trips to Midland didn't feel like quite enough driving) to go see my battered and bruised Nanny in the hospital.  She's currently there due to a fall where she managed to break herself in many places in an attempt to clean the top of her refrigerator.   Thankfully she is recovering well, and is in better spirits and more mobile than when I saw her last week.

Needless to say, I will be using this incident as justification for the utter and complete neglect the top of my refrigerator suffers at my hands.  Better safe than sorry.

For cheap amusement, here's some of the search terms people are using to stumble upon my lovely little piece of the blogosphere here:

"i'm reminded of light beer"
'schrodinger's rapist'
dory
ghost world
hidden staircases
margaret atwood's inspirations
she's the kind of woman that'll make you forget about hiroshima

I'm excited about the first one, because I can only assume that it means there is someone out there who loved those Blue Light commercials with Tom Cavanaugh as much as I do.

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".

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. 

My cat issue as a metaphor for family planning

Hey!  Guess what I learned today!  Cats have no natural aversion to incest.  Isn't that lovely?  Do you know what that means for me?  It means that my remaining kittens have spent the last day or so trying to bugger their mother.  Gross.  So I've sequestered poor Chloe to the bathroom until I can A) find homes for the boys and/or B) set her up an appointment to get fixed.

I've got ads in Craigslist, Kijiji and on Facebook to find the not-so-little ones homes, because frankly, four cats in this tiny house is too many.  Going to make a poster tonight as well.  I've kicked the boys outside for an hour or two so Mama Chloe can actually roam the house in peace until i decide to go to bed.

But isn't it typical that I have to lock the girl away so she doesn't get knocked up?  Of course, it is easier when the males out number her 3-1 (although Spartacus isn't a problem, having long parted ways with his wee baby-makers before he joined this household) but yeah... She suffers cause the boys 'just can't control themselves'.  Typical.  Of course, they ARE just cats.  Not people.

Quick post then I'll finish the vacay blog.

My children are cute.  Reagan wrote this story last night.  It's based on true events.

Two Cats Eyes on Valentines Eve.
Once Two cats went out on Valentines eve.  The Two Kittens eyes met and they're names were Spartakuss and an unknown name.  They almost kissed.  One cat went in and the other left and he went back out and she was gone.

I really am a girl sometimes.

Generally I pride myself on being fearless as far as all the normal things that scare people go.  Creepy crawlies? Meh.  I squash my own spiders, thanks. 

Horror movies?  I laugh in the face of Jason, Freddy Krueger and whatever other crazed ax murderer or thing that goes bump in the night you can put on celluloid.

Mice?  Cute, aren't they?
Well, guess what....

NOT WHEN THEY HAVE FRICKIN' WINGS!!

Shortly after getting home tonight, the eldest child had let the big Tom outside.  She's not well known for being aware of her surroundings, which is how, we figure, it occured that a few minutes later she goes 'Oh!  there's a bird in the house!'

I go "What the.. (looking up) oh yeah, there IS a bird.. oh SHIT.. it's a BAT!!"

There's a bloody bat in my house.  FFFFUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!

The ladies don't quite know what to do, so I immediately usher them into their bedroom before they have a chance to panic.  I fling open the front door and try to telepathically direct this bat to the door.

Outside, it's where you want to be, bat.

Mind you, vocally translates as "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! SHIT!! AHHHHHHHHHH"  as the little bugger flies drunken-like back and forth between the kitchen and the living room.

ZOOM flap flap flap

"AHHHHH!!!!  OH SHIT OH SHIT!!"  look at closed bedroom door "I'm OKAY!! MOMMY'S OKAY"  *swoop* "OH DEAR GOD, AUUUUGHHHH"  *ducks*

I realize the door is wide open and one of the kittens has made it's way to the front porch, so I make a dive a throw the cat into the bedroom with the children, and proceed to bat-duck and gather the other cats (other than the giant Tom, don't really care if he gets out).

So I'm in my living room, screaming and throwing kittens into a room, while this poor confused bugger flies back and forth with increasing panic, all the while trying to reassure the children between eardrum-piercing screams as they muffle giggles (Yes, GIGGLES.. frickin' sadistic little...)behind their bedroom door.

The little one, the more helpful of the two, suggests the butterfly net.  "Quick Where Is It??" I ask, frantic, as I try to keep an eye on the flying rodent.  In the mudroom, she tells me.  That's fantastic I think, considering I'm at the front door, on the opposite side of the house, and getting to the mud room requires me to cross directly into my little friend's flight path.

I scream some more.  "It's okaY!  i'm Fine!! AUUGHGHGHHGHGH  MOTHER OF GOD" *flapping of bat wings*

Some how I get a hold of the butterfly net, but keep in mind, I've never wielded a butterfly net against a living being before.  I'm surprised there was very little breakage.  So, I manage to get the bat into my net.  Unfortunately I got him in there when I grazed him with the rim of the net, knocking him to the ground senseless (my aim isn't great).

It's important to note that this whole time I am still screaming and yelling obscenities peppered with half-assed attempts to reassure the kids, who obviously needed no assurance as they continued to LAUGH at their poor mother, from the safety of their bedroom.  grr.

So having knocked the bat to the ground, I throw the net over it and scoop it up, rushing to the front door to free him.  The little bugger won't let go of the damn net!!  So I shake the ever loving hell out of that net until I see something haphazardly flutter off into the night.

I need a drink.  Apparently, I am not friend to ALL animals.  I'm kind of a jerk to some of them.

I want to drop-kick these kittens.

I have two kittens left that don't have homes.  My attempts at home-finding were thwarted when Spartacus the giant tom brought home fleas and effectively spread them to the rest of the cats.  For some reason, no treatment seems to be working with these last two.  So I don't feel right giving them away, unless someone is fully prepared to deal with this themselves.

In the meantime, they're driving me up a friggin' wall.  I can't eat in peace, because they're on me trying to get at my food.  I can't cook or make lunches in peace because they're constantly up on the counter.  The other day I was putting away groceries, and as I was trying to section up the ground beef I had bought in bulk, I had to push Simon off the counter roughly 27 times.

I wish I was exaggerating for the sake of comedic value, but I'm not.

They get up on my dresser, pick up my earrings and other things with their teeth and drop them off the edge.  I can't let them in my room at night, because they try to attack the string for the  blinds.  If I put the blinds down in an attempt to keep the string out of reach, they still try to get it.

They've turned the computer modem off three times this week.  I was ready to call Rogers Cable and ream them out for their crappy modem until I realized the culprit.

I've been giving the kids hell for making messes around the house.. I'm starting to think they're not the problem.

Mama Chloe keeps trying to get out and it's driving me nuts as I have not had time to get her into be spayed.  I CAN'T GO THROUGH THIS AGAIN.  Bob Barker, HELP ME! 

The OSPCA is so over-run with strays that they charge you to bring animals there.  But I'm ready to suck up that charge just to save my sanity.  This is a small house and not sufficient to deal with three wrangy indoor cats and one Giant Tom who stays out most of the time.  When he is home he pretty much just eats, shits and hisses at the kittens.

I don't blame him. They're a pain in the ass.

My other option is to drive them out to the country and drop them off.  It's still fall, the survival rate is good. Hell, that's how I got Mama Chloe in the first place.

PETA reps, this is sheer hyperbole. I'm not going to ditch them out on some concession somewhere.  But a girl can dream can't she?


I'm not even allowed to do laundry, even. No, they've taken over the dryer.

Where did my weekend go? - Sunday/Monday

So waking up Sunday morning, all I really wanted to do was hide under my duvet, watch movies and wallow in self-pity. For real. Unfortunately, I have cats. Many cats. And with many cats come many fleas. So because the next two days were the only ones I would have to effectively deflea my house and all seven kitties, I couldn't afford myself the luxury of a big ol' pity-party. So I dragging my arse around the house, I gathered all the clothes and bedding and lugged them down to the laundromat, pulled out the furniture and vaccummed, check on the kitties that had been exiled to the shed for the last week or two and then proceeded to spray the ever-loving hell out of the house.

I swear, I felt like I was moving through water... just no motivation whatsoever, and completely irritated at having to perform such a daunting task.

Once I had the house good and toxic, I got the hell outta dodge with a small overnighter and my guitar and headed to a friends place for her 30th birthday party. It was a nice pleasant time, and I hadn't seen this friend for a while, so we chit-chatted and caught up. I told her about the show at the end of the month and mentioned that I was thinking of picking up a nice performance guitar since for all intents and purposes, mine is an absolute beast. I swear, this thing is pretty much indestructible. It's had it's guts ripped out, pickguard torn off, the nut is held on by the strings, the headstock has been broken off and glued back on, and it's been through a house fire.

This thing will exist long after people and even the cockroaches have been wiped off the planet.


Many years and many less stickers ago.

Being the doll she is, she offered to lend me her guitar for the show, and up until then so I could get used to it. Hers is an antique Hummingbird acoustic left by her uncle and it's not only in gorgeous condition, but it sounds beautiful. I'm so excited at the prospect of having a decent instrument to play, even though, in all fairness, mine has been a faithful companion to me for many many years now.

After some cake, some pictures and a drink or two, I headed out to some other friends place, where we had some drinks, played a super fun dance game on the Wii (not sure who it was more fun for though.. the girls playing, or the guys on the couch watching). Headed to the basement to do some jamming, and I got to pick up a bass and tool around with it. Apparently I am 'part of the madness' now. Haha. I was appreciative of being able to spend some time with a good group of friends. It really helped pull me out of the funk I had spent most of Sunday in.

Monday morning brought a lot of coffee, the traditional hangover breakfast and then home to give seven cats seven flea baths. In all, I think I sustained two injuries with no significant blood loss, so that was a bonus. The kittens were easy, not having any real concept of water at this point. Spartacus, the big old beast, proved most difficult, having greater fear, greater strength and greater surface area than the rest of the cats.

Once I completed the baths and had all the cats in the house I headed into town for Kickboxing. The store was closed so we did our lesson in the park, which is a neat experience if you can manage to avoid the biting insects and gooseshit.

So yeah.. It feels like i haven't stopped, and frankly I don't see it ending until school starts again.

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.

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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.

My weekend in rewind...

I'm gonna talk about my past week in reverse chronological order... go me :-)

Today:

Tierney woke up sick -- so she says -- so I call the school and tell them she won't be attending. By 10am she's running around and wanting to play and stuff, so I'm like, get your stuff on, you're going to school.

Got my laundry money and hit the bulk barn, picked up molding wafers to make little candy lollipops with the kids, maybe tonight, haven't decided yet.

Got home sorted laundry, watched some of the Muppet show. Just clean out my utility closet, and had to throw out a giant box of cat-pee contaminated halloween clothes. Bright side is, the cat didn't get the carpet, and now I have a lot more room in the closet with that box out of there.

Yesterday:

Woke up around 1:30 in the afternoon with a cold/hangover. Myspaced for a good three hours, because I was just NOT feeling at all productive.

around 4:30 I finally decided to get off my ass and wrap some christmas prezzies so they wouldn't all be sitting out in the living room when the girls got home. ran out of tape and tags so had to hit walmart before getting the girls.

Somewhere in this time my parents came over to drop off my car, as I couldn't drive it home the night before. They commented on the odor, and I told them about the closet. Mom recommended picking up some febreze.

Picked up the girls, came home, read some Ramona and put them to bed. Never got around to wrapping the rest of the presents.

Saturday:

Woke up around 8:30ish, and despite my best intentions, only managed to get out of the house around noonish, after running around gathering gifts for the friends I was planning to visit, consoling a friend on MSN on some personal matters, and gathering candy canes for those who were getting only cards.

Stopped by Lori's on the way out of town to pick Sammi and my goodies from two weeks ago. Lori had thrown her back out, so I didn't want to make her stand around for too long, plus I was already running about 2 hours late.

Headed down to Barrie and picked up Joe, with plans to go shopping together. It was nice, especially since we hadn't hung out together since Sammi's going away party. Three and a half month is a long enough time to let dust settle. So we're cool, and just friends. The party made it very clear that there was no future there otherwise.

Dragged the poor guy to Toys R Us, where we had two have spent a good hour and a half, if not two, while he laughed at me while I agonized over what to get the girls, and whether I was spend too much, and whether it would look like I was favoring one over the other. He also got to laugh at my hipocrasy as I criticized parents who spent too much on their kids, then proceeded to have a near-coronary at the check out. Meh. I don't get to spoil them too often, and I still spent less on the both of them than some parents spend on one child. Not to mention, the biggest gifts were bought with the money nanny sent them, so technically it's Nanny spoiling them, not me. :-P Still justifying, all the time justifying spending money. It's post-poverty flashbacks, from times when I had to justify buying gum.

After fighting the hordes at Toys R Us, I told Joe he could pick the next store, so we headed to future shop where he searched for a GPS system and I drooled over TV DVD sets. So many box sets. I had to laugh at the 'Jennifer Aniston' Collection. Who actually said "You know what would be handy? A whole bunch of Jennifer Aniston movies in one collection." They're not even the good ones. They're the crappy first couple movies she made during the Friends early years.

Finally got done shopping and dropping Joe off at home around 6:30ish.. again, about two hours later than I had planned, leaving me very little time to do the visiting I had planned to do... as it was, I had to cut out Jenny's place and Sam's place, but since they didnt' know I was coming, it wasn't a huge loss to them.

Got over to Jamies place so I could give sammi her toy and her holiday gift, and Jamie a card... me the social retard I am didn't bother to bring a card for his roommate Chris though. Sammi got me a new coffee maker, the sweet <3. Good thing I had refused to let Joe buy me one in the walmart. Narrowly avoided a potentially awkward situation as I was leaving Jamie's as his friend showed up. Because I was on the way out the door, I only had to deal with a slightly awkward hello. Still wondering what the reaction to seeing me was. tehehe.

Picked up some food and headed over to Erics place to drop off a prezzie and see a few minutes of Fatal Frame 3, which seems like a fairly freaky game, but I have a hard time getting excited over video games. Maybe it's just me.

Got home around 9ish to get ready for my parents party. As I'm getting all dolled up I realize I can hear a faint meowing, and I look around for Spartacus. Shaking the kitty treats, I realize that he's stuck somewhere. Utility closet. Must have snuck in there why I was grabbing the candy canes. Opened up the closet and there he was, along with a terribly foul odor.

Got myself sexy and went and picked up Dan and we headed to my parents place where we drank, mingled, my sister took a kajillion pics on my camera, and people sang bad karaoke, and I fielded numerous questions of 'Is that your boyfriend? No?! Why not?' Gah. Good times though, I'm a bad influence and let dan Drunk text message, still waiting to hear what the fallout from that was.

Friday:

Took the girls out to lunch and tobogganning. Spent twenty bucks on snowpants, to go down the hill ONCE before one child started crying because she got snow in her face and the other one announced that she had to go pee. Good times.

Went to the Kings Wharf to see the childrens production of Tom Sawyer. My nephew had a part in it as Ben Rogers, and I was surprised to a net friend in the production as well. We had gone out once, really sweet guy, but it wasn't 'there'. Picky picky I know. It was nice to go up and say hello again though.

During the scene with Tom Huck and Becky in the gold mine, after they find the Gold, when becky said her line about dying in the cave, my sisters BF's son, who is five, pipes up "Meh, They'll die rich." Too funny. Really good production. Again rekindled my interest in community theatre. Maybe next year.

All is well... well as far as fish-related things go.

Otto is okay. Yes, apparently it WAS too cold by the window, because now he is on the back of the stove and active as ever. And I will be sure to move him to another part of the counter when I am cooking LOL. Man. that was close. How shitty would I have felt if I had killed my kid's FISH? well, probably as shitty as I did the last time that happened. Go with God, Nate.

Otto can you hear me?

Something is wrong with my fish. I think he may be dying. He's not belly up, but he's not moving, gave him food, tapped his bowl.. Nothing. I'm thinking that once winter came that the windowsill may not have been the best place for Otto. I have moved him to the back of the stove, and we'll see how he is in the morning.