Conversations with my kid - 'Reaching'

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

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

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

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

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

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

I ♥ me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tootles, all.

I really hope I'm not a prophet

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

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

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

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

It seems interminably long.

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

No more banana bread before bed.

The people that you meet...

Christmas shopping in a small town at a major shopping center on a Saturday is an interesting experience, rife with opportunity to mix and mingle, and experience all sorts of interesting confrontations (and non-confrontations).

1. Ex-husband's ex-girlfriend. Duck and cover. It's just a good idea. Take small, petty joy out of knowing I look much better than she does. Old grudges die hard.

2. Guy I've had crush on for about 4-5 years. Asked out him out once. Was turned down on the basis of a messy divorce. Once bitten twice shy, I suppose. Is with his kid, so I forgo my 'Hey still given up on women? because I'd love to restore your faith in our gender' line for the incredibly suave "... Hi. How's it going? .... ". Slap myself silly for being such an obvious social retard and blowing an opportunity with this guy I see like once a year, MAYBE.

3. Sister and brother in law. again, and again, and again. Tell sister about incredibly awkward moment with number 2. Sister insists I should track him down. I probably should have, but on the other hand, I've already asked once. No point in being pathetic about it.

4. Out-of-town friend, visiting family. Invite to christmas party, since she's in town. Make idle chitchat, get in the way of numerous shoppers.

5. Sister and brother in law again. Suspect they may have gift for me in cart, since they are being elusive. May just be in a hurry.

6. Guy I once drunkenly made out with at a bar - with his kids and girlfriend, who happened to be his girlfriend at the time of said bar night. Gah, gah double-gah. Duck and cover time again. Time to get the hell outta dodge, methinks.

7. Sister and brother-in-law again, this time in parking lot. Sister, being the jokester she is, yells 'Stop following me!' from car window. Haw Haw Haw.

Okay, so it's been a few hours since I woke up, so my memory of the dreams I had are kind of blurry.

I'm in Toronto and I'm visiting with my sister in Law Gail, with the girls. Gail and her daughter kayla are there. I decide to go to the mall with Krystle and I bring Reagan with me, but for some reason, not Tierney. Reagan is dressed head to toe in a Bunny Suit. Think Ralphie in a Christmas Story. Pink Nightmare.

I lose Reagan in the mall, and Krystle. I'm frantically searching for Reagan, and crying.

After I finally find her riding the escalator in her bunny suit, I take her back to Gails and it's about 11 at night but we decide to all have some hot dogs. They've been waiting to have dinner until we got back.

I head over to Krystle's, and Melissa and her brother DJ are there. They're both having a smoke and I'm like "Whoa dude, take it outside. Krys is really allergic."

So they both ignore me. And I say again (meanwhile I'm still wondering where the hell Krystle went anyway) "You can't smoke in here, I don't particularly feel like rushing anybody to the hospital with huge asthma attacks"

And Melissa gets really pissed and we're out on the front lawn, just beating the shit out of each other. Not scratching, hair-pulling girl-fighting, but like full-on clenched fist Fight-club-esque fighting, but in that weird cartoonish dream way, where there is no blood or anything.

Then I woke up.

Conversations with my kid - 'Comprehension'

Me:  How was your day?
Reagan: *stretches arms wide*
Me:  This big?
Reagan:  Yeah.

Screaming lunchbags, Stolen bikes, pennies from heaven

This is not my morning.  I got half of this written out and I hit the back button somehow, and it ate the beginnings of my post.  Anyway, I can only chalk it up to a combination of work stress, money woes and sexual frustration as the cause for the dreams that haunted my sleep and woke me with a feeling of foreboding in the pit of my stomach.

Act 1, Scene 1.
I am at work, and the phone rings.  I pick it up and a man on the other end begins ranting and raving, asking why his ad is on hold, and he wants it released now, now, right-friggin-now.  Calmly I ask him for his email or the ad  number, so I can bring up the ad.  He gets as far as 'LV...' and then his voice becomes distorted.  He's screaming so loud that I can no longer hear him.  I repeat myself a number of times, trying to assure him that I'm happy to help, but he continues screaming and shouting.  On my end I'm going "I see sir... If you could... I understand..." but I keep getting cut off.  My boss comes out to see what is going on, and I put the raver on speakerphone so that Ken can see what I am dealing with.

He stands there and listens to the guy, and I try again to say "Sir, I cannot help you if you don't give me the ad number" and he screams "FINE FUCK YOUUUUUUUUU!!!!" at which point my boss nods and says 'Hang up'.

I hang up, but it hasn't stopped the screaming and yelling.  It gets to the point where the phone is dancing and shaking and moving around the desk.  I grab the phone, rip it from the desk and fling it into my lunch bag in an effort to contain it.  Now me, my boss and two to three other co-workers are sitting on the floor watching my lunch bag dance around the floor, spewing muffled obscenities.  As it's violence increases, I start to become afraid.  I force myself awake.
Act 2, Scene 1.
I am in London visiting Melissa.  We decide to go to McDonalds, and there we meet up with Eric (the friend from the Hamilton blog, not Melissa's husband).  He's got his mountain bike and we decide to take turns riding it.  Mel gets on, and takes a spin around the block, then decides to take the bus home, telling me she will meet me later.

As I awkwardly attempt to get on this huge monstrosity of a bike (keeping in mind that Eric's about 8-10 inches taller than me), he tells me to wait, that he's gotta go do something first.  I say "well, why don't I go for my ride while you're doing whatever it is?" and he says "No, just wait, I wanna watch, I just gotta do something first".

So I sit down in the McDonalds with the bike, and as I'm waiting, so begins monsoon season in London Ontario.  It's raining so hard that I can see that within minutes, the streets are ankle deep in water, and it's just torrential downpours.  I talk to some elderly ladies for a while, before I give up on Eric and decide to take the bus back to Melissa's, where she makes dinner and we shoot the shit.
Act 2, Scene 2
It is 2am in the morning, and I wake up at Melissa's house, realizing that I left my friend's $2K mountain bike at the McDonalds, unlocked, unchained, and I feel horrible.  I decide I can't wait until morning to take the bus, I have to take a taxi there at 2 in the morning, on the offchance that no one has stolen it.  I wake up Melissa, because I have realized that:

A) I don't know the cab number
B) I dont' know Melissa's Address
C) I don't know where the McDonalds is.

She's taking her time, and I'm contemplating how to tell my friend that I let his pride and joy get stolen, at the same time wondering just where the hell he went, anyway.  Then I am awoken by the cat.

Act 3, Scene 1
I'm at what I think is my parent's back yard, but it actually looks like the backyard of my ex-brother-in-law Curly's old place, and is located across from MSS where Ranville's live.  They are having some kind of children's party, and there are balloons and kids everywhere.  The girls are running around, and there are adults showing up with their kids.  I see two guys that I went to high school with, Adam and Dan, and I go up and give them hugs, tell Dan long time no see, and when I go to hug Adam he whispers to me 'you are looking amazing' and I tell him he doesn't look so bad himself.  Cleaned up, dressed nicely, etc.  I decide this is interesting, I'm sticking around for a while. 

Kids are running and playing.  I start to realize that the girls are horribly late for school, but decide oh well, it won't hurt them to pull them out for a day, they are having so much fun.  I have also realized however, that I haven't shown up for work, and haven't called or anything, and it's getting on 3-4 in the afternoon.

Act 3, Scene 2.
So it seems that this event my parents have held is a kind of fundraiser for the less fortunate, and somehow my friend Amber and I have won the two grand prizes.  I'm presented with a book full of checks for varying amounts, and I say "well this will definitely hold me over if I get fired for not showing up today".  We're both pretty much blown away.  I ponder the ethics of winning the prize when my parents ran the event, but eventually shrug it off and go to the bathroom.

Inside the house is some kind of converted mobile home.  The floor under the bathroom is rotting away and I have to step lightly to avoid falling through the floor.  I pull down my pants, and at that moment, I fall through the floor and manage to pee all over myself.  *sigh*
Phone rings, I'm awake.  And dry, thank god.

I fuggin' love my country...

Because our federal politics is like watching a season of 'Survivor'.

For the first immunity challenge, parliament's job was to pass a budget.  The Conservative tribe lost that challenge.

Now the tribes have merged, and the NDP and the Liberals are forming an alliance with the Bloq Quebecois to vote Stevie off the island.

Now PM Harper is trying to win immunity by getting the Governor General to shut down Parliament for the holidays.

I swear, this shit's better than hockey.  Tune in next week on "Survivor: Ottawa"

Conversations I never thought I'd ever have.

Counselling a friend:

"If you're going to have a fuck buddy, your husband is probably the worst choice ever.  Think on that."

On Accessorizing:

"'that's a nice eyebrow ring.'  'Thanks, it matches my friend's clit ring'"

Conversation Starters:

"So I have a friend that runs a fetish site..."

Friends don't let friends....

"If I ever find out, be warned, I will bitch slap you." "Okay but you gotta let me put it on the website"

Conversations with my kid - 'Literalism'

Scene: In the car, listening to "Blue Like Nevermind" by Kimya Dawson.

Eyes like almonds I've been told and friends are found when keys are stolen...

Reagan:  That's not really true, you know.
Me:  Sorry, honey.  What's not really true?
Reagan:  You don't really find friends when your keys get stolen.

{pause}

Me:  No, I guess not.