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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To those whom read this, welcome.

I don't usually do this...

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

So Nice, So Smart

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


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


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


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


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

Strange Magic

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

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

But I digress.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The siege is over.

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

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

REJECT MATERIALISM NOW KIDS!

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

yeah. Go motherhood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then I woke up.

Consideration Blues - a rant

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

Where is the love, people?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seriously, what is wrong with people?

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

Nice.

Small Town Life...

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

Who you went to high school with.

Rant on the two-four.

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

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

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

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

What is up with THAT?

slightly disgruntled.

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

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

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

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

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