Sunday, December 29, 2002
With a friend like you, you need nerves of steel.
I have been on the internet for quite a few years. I started out on BBS�s, back in the old days before the internet. (you youngin�s won�t know what that is) Anyway, it has been a while. One of my oldest online friends I met in Powwow (a chat program sort of like ICQ) is Ralph from Texas. I guess we clicked because A) he did not try and pick me up, and B) he has a goofy sense of humour like me.
One year his father was talking about wanting to come to Nova Scotia to see the changing of the leaves and when the time came he was ill and couldn't� make the trip. So, I boxed up some leaves and sent it to him. (here is where the goofy part comes in) Ralph decided to send me a picture of him and his father enjoying the leaves.
The first picture was him and his father holding up the box (pretty tame) the second was a picture of him, he had fashioned a sort of loin cloth out of the leaves. He was standing there in nothing but this leaf loincloth. Too funny! That is just the sort of goofball thing he does.
So, when he told me he was sending me a �headpiece�, I was understandably nervous. When the package arrived I checked the customs sticker and sure enough it said �headpiece�. (no help there) To make matters worse, there is an old guy at the post office that always wants me to open my packages there, so he can see what I got. You see I have a bit of a history with receiving weird parcels, I am an extreme eBay junky. I have bought some pretty far out stuff on eBay and he always gets a kick out of it, like the donkey that shits cigarettes to name but one.
So, I am standing there with this package and he is looking at me expectantly, �Ah, Joe? I would love to open this now, but the guy who sent it has a sense of humour that you might not fully appreciate.� (in truth I was a little scared myself) I am riding home with the box in the front seat hoping beyond hope that my son isn�t home so I can open it, the suspense was killing me. I finally get it home, and this is what is inside.
I laughed so hard I almost pissed my pants, mostly from the relief. You got me with that one Ralph. I will have to come up with something that says �Nova Scotia�, to send back. Thanks for bringing a smile to my face, you always do.
Friday, December 27, 2002
The mind is the first thing to go.
I ran across one of my ramblings and I am not sure if I have blogged it yet. And since I am super lazy I will not search through the archives to find out. If I am repeating myself, then I apologize to the two people who actually read this thing.
When I was small we used to spend weekends at the cottage. Locharbre Lake. I was very small so I don�t remember a lot, but I do remember getting there. We would be driving along and all of a sudden, it seemed, we would come over the top of a hill and �voila� there it was. I remember that as soon as we saw it we would all cheer, �Locharbre!�, a half dozen kids in a station wagon, loaded to the roof with fishing rods, inner tubes, and camping gear. It was a beautiful lake and one of the few left that is truly clean. My aunt still has a cottage there and I always marvel at how clear the water is. From the end of the dock you can see clear to the bottom.
We thought it was just the best place there was. We would swim and fish, my father had a boat. We would have bonfires at night where we would roast marshmallow till we were sick and barbeque during the day and there were always visitors. I am sure my father was probably drunk as a skunk but, thankfully, I never noticed. I guess I was too young, and after so many years I guess you only remember the good times. At any rate, we had a ball. Even if our late night �nature� calls were to a two seater outhouse in the back yard. I never remember being scared though.
Years later (30) I lived in a rural community for a year and I was scared shitless to walk to my car in the dark. I was sure something (a bear) would leap out at me, tearing me to shreds before I reached the door. I couldn�t really enjoy the country. I found it was too dark and too quiet at night. I guess when you are small, you don�t know what can happen so you aren�t scared of what might happen.
Wednesday, December 25, 2002
Monday, December 23, 2002
Sunday, December 22, 2002
Saturday, December 21, 2002
Ok, first apologies on the boring submission for day eight. But when I searched for maids milking I somehow got a lot porn sites. You can just let your imagination run with that one.
Anyway, here's the only tastefull one I could come up with. Happy Day 8.
Eight Maids a Milking
Friday, December 20, 2002
Thursday, December 19, 2002
Wednesday, December 18, 2002
12 days of Christmas.....sort of.
The last couple of years I have been sending goofy emails for the 12 days of Christmas. This year I guess I got bored. I will list the 5 so far.
On the first day of Christmas....
(ok....stop singing, your scaring the bird)
I guess I will post the rest as the days go by, if anyone has any suggestions, please feel free.
Friday, December 13, 2002
Is it just me?
I was at the grocery store today to pick up baking stuff. I also picked up some Christmas Crackers.
As I was going through the checkout the pre-pubescent checkout girl picked them up and squealed,
�Oh, how cute, what are they?�
�Uh, Christmas crackers?� I thought she was kidding.
�What do they do?�
Ok, she wasn�t kidding. �Two people each grab an end and when you pull it makes a cracking sound. Inside there is usually a toy, a hat and a joke of some kind.�
�How cool. What will they think of next?�
�How old are you anyway?� she didn�t hear me. One of her other equally youngish coworkers came sauntering by.
�Have you ever seen these?�
�Ya, they are Christmas crackers. I never tasted one but I heard they were good.�
I struggle not to lose my eyeballs in the back of my head. �You don�t eat them.� I again explain them to the second clerk.
�Cool, something new?�
At this point I give up on the two of them. I was hoping these kids were Amish or something but I guess this is proof yet again of just how old I am. Doesn�t anyone else know about these things or is it just me. (and the rest of the old fart population)
Christmas crackers were the best part of Christmas day when I was a kid. Everyone would get one as we sat around the table for Christmas dinner and we would help each other crack them open. The room would smell like sulphur when we were finished and we would all be wearing the stupid tissue hats, even my father.
I don�t ever remember a year that I didn�t have Christmas crackers, so how did these kids miss it? Makes you wonder what else kids today are missing out on.
Thursday, December 12, 2002
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Well the tree is up finally.
I went a little nuts this year, I think my trees get bigger every year. If that is the trend I think I might have to move next year to a bigger house.
Maybe this one?
I decided to add a train this year, it takes up room so under the tree doesn't look so bare. That can be depressing.
Thursday, December 5, 2002
Diamonds are forever
Have you heard of this? If you haven't, there is an article in the Philadelphia Inquirer about turning your cremated loved ones remains into diamonds.
Each 1/4 karat stone would run you about four grand. If you wanted a full karat it would be around 22 grand. Aparently you can get 50-100 diamonds from one stiff.
How fucked up is that?
And another thing... do you really want to wear a ring that is made up of grandpa's rotted corps?
I got one word for ya...
Saturday, November 23, 2002
I'm up, I'm up!
I woke up frightfully early this morning, 7:10am. No idea why, but just couldn't get back to sleep. It is a strange wet morning, I went out for coffee and sat for a while on the porch and just listened to the rain. I check the thermometer in front of me, it�s 12 degrees Celsius. (I guess that�s about 54F)
I am restless, puttering about in the house, cleaning (yes I said cleaning) not accomplishing much but puttering about. A little cleaning here, read a few chapters in a book, take out the trash, sit on the porch, print out some pictures of the new grandbaby for the shower tomorrow.
Maybe I am just enjoying this early morning. The house is quiet (the monster sleeps) and no one in their right mind would call to ask me to do this or that. It�s now after nine and it�s still quiet, as soon as the monster wakes I think I will dig out the Christmas decorations.
My friend Tracey�s birthday is next weekend. Every year we get together at this time, I make hot wings (she loves my hot wings) and we watch Christmas movies. It has become sort of a tradition. Of course as we get older, we tend to eat more and conk out before we see too many of the movies. Tracey has a collection of Christmas movies that we add to every year. The first few years we did this it was no problem for us to stay up all night watching It�s a Wonderful Life, Scrooged, Miracle on 34th Street etc, etc,. It was usually her husband who would curl up on the floor and be snoring about ten minutes into the first movie. But we are getting a bit long in the tooth, so we now pick our most favorite movies to watch first, just in case we can�t make it to them all. Although it is a bit early I like to have the Christmas decorations up by then. It just sets the mood for the evening.
So I guess my day will consist of fighting with The Boy so I can get the decorations out of the closet in his room. A closet that he has spent the entire year throwing stuff into so now it looks like we might cause an avalanche if we touch anything. Oh well it will all be worth it (keep telling yourself that Evel) once the decorations are in place and the festive season begins.
Have a great day all.
Wednesday, November 20, 2002
Am I ready for this?
The other night, my son had his first hockey game in which checking was allowed. It sort of snuck up on us parents because for the first few games of the season there were a few kids that hadn�t gone through the checking clinic so it wasn�t allowed. I think maybe our kids might have been a little surprised by it too. For the first period our kids weren�t checking and were getting creamed by the opposing team. I have to tell you that half way through the second period the parents turned bloodthirsty. To the casual observer it probably didn�t sound good.
�What are you doing? Check him!� (I think I was screaming the loudest)
Finally our kids clued in after 5 goals were scored against them. They began to play more aggressively. It was an exciting game but I am not sure I was (or am) fully prepared for it. You see my son is small for his age. He is probably one of the smallest kids in his division and there are quite a few kids that are big for their age. Seeing my �baby� slammed against the boards was pretty gut wrenching but his saving grace is that he is fast and because he is small, can duck under most checks. He is a tough little guy.
When the game was over, we stood up to leave and there, on the ice, we could see where someone had spit up blood. I turned to one of the other parents and said,
�Ya know, it just isn't hockey till someone spits out a tooth.�
I am so stoked! My son got a goal tonight.And then, my litttle man checked a bigger kid against the boards, it was stunning.
Monday, November 18, 2002
I was sitting at work when this song came on. If you can�t hear it you might not have the right plug in or most likely I screwed up the whole process. At any rate, its Tracey Lawrence �I see it now�.
When The Boy was very little it was �our� song. He would look up at me lovingly and say �Dance Mommy?� and I would pick him up and we would twirl around the kitchen, living room or parking lot (wherever we happened to be at the time) and I would sing to him. It was times like that that kept the little monster alive.
Now I sit here thinking of it and my eyes mist. Where does the time go? He won�t dance in a parking lot with me anymore but he does in the living room and never fails to say �love ya� before saying good-bye, even if his friends are around. I don't� care what anyone says, I think he turned out all right.
My sister said something to me the other day about how I �treat� my son. She thinks that the way I speak to him will scar him later in life. I thought on this, and later that night I sat down with my son and we talked about it. I told him my sisters concerns and asked him how he felt. Well, he looked at me like I was a nut bar freshly escaped from the loonie bin.
As soon as I saw that look I laughed. I realized that what my sister hears is how I talk to him in her presence (typically a couple hours every two or three months) and usually after he has pestered me for half an hour on when we are leaving. My son has a tendency to show off and be a pest when we visit her or when she visits me. He is usually stuck to me like a cheap suit so I can�t really have a meaningful conversation with my sister. At which point I get irritated and send him packing.
So now I sit back and write this. How do I explain how we are when we are alone. I never really sat and analyzed it. I just take it for granted.
We never part company without saying �Love Ya� and that goes for phone conversations. After work we always sit on the couch and discuss our day. I listen to his music and he tolerates mine and sometimes we discover that we like some of the same music like Aerosmith and Ozzy Ozbourn. On the weekends we watch movies while curled up on the couch. I know that every single part of his body is ticklish as he knows that only my feet and neck are. Even though he is almost 12 he still enjoys the �tickle monster� (a slumbering beast (me) that, when disturbed, wakes to tickle him till he screams �uncle�) Sometimes we just �take off� and go for long drives and talk. He never goes to sleep without me tucking him in and kissing him. This certainly doesn't cover everything, but you get the picture.
Since he was a baby it has been just the two of us. I guess we relate to each other differently because of it. We are buddies. I had to be both mother and father. I did all the mother things (taking care of him when he is sick, making sure he eats right, brushes his teeth etc) as well as all the "dad" things (teaching him how to hit a baseball, how to spit, and how to defend himself) We can talk to each other, not just as mother and son, but as equals too.
How do you explain to someone that the snippets of conversation that they hear isn�t the whole picture? You know what? In the grand scheme of things �they� really don�t matter. My son knows that I love him, that is what matters. I shouldn�t (and don�t) give a flying fuck what anyone else thinks.
Sunday, November 17, 2002
When do you suppose it would be too early to start decorating for Christmas?
I was sitting here all day watching commercial after commercial about Christmas. Christmas decorating, Christmas dinners, Christmas presents and I wanted to jump up and start dragging out the old cardboard boxes crammed with decorations and start spreading the joy.
Now I am sitting here thinking, �Was I just programmed? Was there some sort of subliminal message in all those Christmas themed commercials? Possibly.
Or this could have something to do with it. We are back to the white stuff, with a little added freezing rain. (just to make it interesting)
Monday, November 11, 2002
Lest we forget.
Mom and I went to the war memorial today. It was a good day for it. Warm but gloomy.
My mother's brother, Desire, served in the war and we lay a wreath for him here.
We should remember these men and women all year, but I am ashamed to say we don't. I guess we just take too much for granted these days.
Sunday, November 10, 2002
Who spends $50 at a thrift sore?
My sister, that's who.
Today I accompanied my sister to a second hand clothing store. I usually avoid this place. Not because the merchandise isn't good, because it is. It's just that there is so much of it, in huge bins that you have to rummage through. Your arms get tired from hoisting tons of material to get to the bottom of endless piles of sweaters and pants. I just get discouraged by the randomness.
This is the way I shop for clothes. I walk into the store, spot a color I like, move towards it, find a size and I am out the door in 5 minutes. I never try anything on. I just don't have the patience for it. And since I am also cheap, if I get it home and don't like it I am not out much money.
So today you can imagine how much fun I was having. (in case you are wondering, that was sarcasm) We were there for 2 hours. I gave up after about 10 minutes of digging through piles, but my sister has to carefully examine every inch of the place.
Through no effort on my part, I left there with $30 worth of stuff, all most all of it stuff that my sister held up and said, "Oh, look at this." So I guess you could call her my personal shopper.
Friday, November 8, 2002
Thursday, November 7, 2002
We are, at this very moment, in the midst of our very first snow storm of the winter.
This is the main street of our town just after midnight.
This is a shot of the tree outside my door.
And this is my poor car, which I just had washed today. By morning I will not be able to see that it is red.
It is pretty right now, but after a couple of months of it you really get sick of it.
Wednesday, November 6, 2002
Fired? or Quit?
I wasn't quite sure. Tuesay I arrived at work and things seemed to be going smoothly enough. Then "the boss" lost his mind and started screaming at me. I just looked at him and rolled my eyes. At this point he went completely out of his mind and started screaming even louder.
That's when I lost it. His actions didn't fit the "fit" he was taking.
"Ok, that's it! DO NOT raise your voice to me. Who do you think you are talking to? You have no right talking to me like this, so you can stop right fuckin' now!"
We got in each others face, literally. We were screaming back and forth at each other from about 2 inches away. Finally he says,
"FINE! I'M GONE"
"FUCK YOU!", as I slammed the door behind me. It was 10am.
So I am not sure if I quit or he fired me. I was going to wait till he called me to come back the next day, but I thought, what the heck I will go test the waters.
When I got to work, he acted like nothing happened. He was even pleasant. Ok, I can play your silly game. However, if he thinks that is going to happen on a regular basis, he really is out of his mind.
Monday, November 4, 2002
Saturday, November 2, 2002
Bob Vila�s got nothing on my sister.
My birthday is on Sunday and I
My sister in a building supply store is like an addict in a pharmacy. She examines every square inch of the place. As she approaches the craft displays she spots something, �Oh, look at that� ( a Santa made out of a 1 x 3). She examines it closely and announces, �How cool is that? 17.99? I could make that myself.� The sad part is, she will. And not only that, she will make 50 of them before Christmas. Then she will never make another as long as she lives because, of course, everyone she knows will have one in their possession.
We browse the lumber and see something that looks right, I notice a guy standing 3 or 4 feet away measuring the width of a board. �If we were smart we would have brought a tape like that guy�. At that, my sister bats her eyelashes and asks the guy, �Can you measure this one for us?� and in the sexiest Australian accent he says �16 inches, but if you need it in metric your asking the wrong bloke.� How fuckin� adorable is that? Now I don�t give a shit about the shelf, I just want to hear him talk some more.
Finally a man in a smock steps up and asks if he can help me. I explain to him what we want to make. As I am giving him the measurements I can see his eyes glazing over. You don�t exactly find rocket scientists in a building supply store. �How about if I draw it for ya?� He hands me a pad and pencil. Now he has a visual and starts suggesting materials. He really doesn�t know who he is dealing with, we have power tools. (URGH URGH). He directs us to the pre-surfaced shelving material. The pressed board with the white plastic coating. Yuck! Finally we ignore him and decide to go with MDF, figure out how much we need and hand it over to Opie so he can go cut it for us.
�I don�t know about that guy, he doesn�t look too bright� Turns out he wasn�t. I pay for the lumber and head out back with the slip to pick it up. No problem, till I get to the gate. Seems Opie forgot to put a couple things on the slip so now I have to pay the gatekeeper before I can finally be on my way. Now I worry if the guy even cut it right. But if I know my sister, no matter what Opie did to fuck it up, she will have it looking like something out of a cabinet makers shop. (I will post pics.)
Thursday, October 31, 2002
It�s slowly creeping up on my 37th birthday. All year I was under the mistaken impression that I was already 37, I was even telling people that. Turns out (when I decided to do the math) I was wrong. I inadvertently aged myself, gypped myself out of being 36 for almost the entire year.
No, I don�t have any special plans for my birthday, it�s not a big deal really. I already bought myself a digital camera and I am seriously considering a DVD player.
There are a few people that remember my birthday every year, so I always have a nice day.
My son, however, has still not figured out that it is ok to ask his dad for money to buy me a gift. He is still under the impression that I should give him money. It worked when he was 5 but now it just gets on my last nerve. Especially since he has no problem asking me for money to buy his dad something. (except this year, we both forgot).
Today in school he made a beaded necklace. After he showed it to me he said, �Hey, I should have made one for you.� (nice) I don�t get it. He lives with me and has his fathers sense (or lack there of) of consideration.
I am going to stop here, before I get into the whole nature vs nurture thing and give myself a migraine.
Tuesday, October 29, 2002
I woke up this morning to this.
I guess its all over but the cryin'. Winter is finally here. I don't know what it is, but when I was greeted with this sight this morning, I was suddenly stricken. Panic washed over me like a wave. I felt nauseous, my skin got all clammy and my mouth went dry. It wasn�t the knowledge that I would be seeing 6 more months of this stuff, or the uneasyness of having to drive on icy roads, it all came down to just one thing.
At that moment I realized, there are less than 50 shopping days till Christmas. How depressing.
Saturday, October 26, 2002
Friday, October 25, 2002
Wednesday, October 23, 2002
How do I tell my cult leader, �It�s over.�?
I sell Mary Kay cosmetics.
Ok, sell isn�t the best word to describe what I am doing with Mary Kay. I basically buy a whole lot of shit I don�t need and can never sell and then store it in my home. I suck at it.
I call her my cult leader because when she calls me I have absolutely no intention of buying anything and by the time she is done with me I have $400 worth of product making its way to my house before we even hang up. She can�t understand why I am not thrilled. I am just not Mary Kay material. To sell this stuff you need to be one of �those� girls. The kind of girl I used to make fun of in High School. Pep rally, cheerleader, glee club kind of girl. The kind of girl that �air� kisses hello and goodbye. Hell I don�t do that with my family, I am not doing it to complete strangers.
I couldn�t sell air conditioners in hell, and I�m ok with that. But my cult leader isn�t. She is hanging on to me by her fingernails but the deprogramming is working. Don�t get me wrong, Mary Kay is a great company and you can make a shitload of money (my cult leader is on her 5th car) but you just have to have �that� kind of personality and I don�t.
I am not the kind of person that should be dealing with the public. At least that is what I was told when I applied to MacDonald's back in high school. My mother couldn�t believe I didn�t get the job,
�Evel! They hire retarded people at MacDonald's!� (she wasn�t very politically correct but she had a point)
Tuesday, October 22, 2002
And I thought my brother was a pain in the butt.
I thought my brother was a pain to live with, can you imagine how this poor schmuck must have felt growing up?
Burial box offers proof Jesus lived
�Why can�t you be more like your brother? He's out there turning water into wine, you can't even finish your homework.�
Maybe his name wasn't James, maybe it was Judas. I know my brother used to rat me out all the time.Something to think about.
Sunday, October 20, 2002
Grandma in training.
The Boy has a brother and a sister. The best kind, the kind I personally didn't have to give birth to.
He doesn't see them all that often, although he sees them a whole lot more often than he sees his father. Now that his little brother Liam is a little older (he's 5 now) he comes and stays overnight. He and his brother are a lot alike. The good news is, they never act up when they are at houses that are not their own. That said, his little brother is a complete angel when he is here and I just love having him.
I have seen him in his natural habitat and I have witnessed him during a full blown fit. I looked at his mother and said,
"Oh my God, if I close my eyes, that could be Boy. You know what this means don't you? It's the 'Surname' gene."
It is nice to know that I am not the only one who gets to experience these fits. My son has one daily and since the only common denominator is his father, we can blame it all on him. ( I just love it when that happens)
But I digress, yesterday Liam came to visit. Later in the day he asked if he could stay over. He is so cute and talks like he is from Jersey, so you just can�t say no to him. So we load into the car and head over to meet his mother. She of course agrees and Liam yells,
�O day, yets doe. Det dome moobies and dunk!� (translation�Ok let�s go, get some movies and junk) He is too cute. I think half the reason he likes to come to our house is because I load him up on all the junk his mother doesn�t let him have.
One time he told me that I shouldn't buy him candy. I asked him why and he said , �duz my mom dunna let me had candy.� (I could just eat him) I look around dramatically, under the car and behind him and say, �Do you see your mother anywhere? I don�t see her.� Then he flashes me a devilish grin and we head into the store for the candy. Mind you he never eats much of it, but it�s fun anyway.
Well on the way home tonight, he mentions that he had a birthday, and I missed it. (I felt really bad, no one even mentioned it to me), �Dats oday,� he says, �you diddin no.� After a comment like that I, of course, had to take him to the mall and buy him a toy, and one for his sister since I missed her birthday too. We load up on toys, pick up some movies and junk and head home. He didn�t eat any junk and only made it through half of the movie.
This must be what it is like to have grandchildren, spoil them, load them up on sugar and then send them home.
Wednesday, October 16, 2002
Tuesday, October 15, 2002
Monday, October 14, 2002
Turkey induced flash backs.
I was laying here, stuffed to the gills full of turkey and stuffing and just about to doze off, when all of a sudden this popped into my head.
Every day on the way to school, our bus driver would turn up the radio at 8:15am to catch the latest episode in "the life of the most fantastic crime fighter the world has ever known..... BAWK BAWK BAWK BAAAAAWWWKK!"
He's everywhere, he's everywhere!
That shit used to crack me up. Interestingly enough, even though this was in the early 70's today is the first time I actually laid eyes on this picture. I am not sure if this is the creators original concept for chicken man or this was dreamed up for today's visual media. It is not how I always imagined Chicken Man would be. I suppose back then, he could be as funny looking as you imagined him.
I guess it's like everything now, leaves nothing to the imagination. Mores the pity.
Sunday, October 13, 2002
Happy Turkey Day!
I know it isn't until Monday, but I am having my dinner tomorrow (or is it today?) and I am so ready for Thanksgiving it isn't even funny. The veggies are peeled and cut, the cheesecake is chilling and the bird it stuffed and bagged.
All I have to do is pop that sucker in the oven and turn on the burners at the appropriate time. I love it when a plan comes together. Since I only cook twice a year (Christmas and Thanksgiving) I have lots of time to plan it. I even bought myself some flowers.
Tomorrow I can just laze around till its time to serve it all up. And since you all know I don't do dishes, the girl will come in and clean it all up. Who says it's a hectic time of year? I am woman, hear me roar. Wow, I can hear Helen Reddy in my head.
Saturday, October 12, 2002
Another sign of old age.
Well for all of you interested in my purchases with the new CC, I hope you are not too disappointed.
The first thing I did last night, as you know, was pay to have the banner ad taken off this site. I then headed over to eBay, but I couldn�t find anything I wanted so I decided to pay a few bills. I topped off my two cell phone accounts.
Today I couldn�t take it any more I had to actually go out and get something. I said to myself,
�Self? What is it that you would really like to have, right now?�
I headed over to Staples and bought myself a digital camera, camera bag and USB hub. As I was paying for the camera, my computer guy called and I dropped by his place on the way home to show off said camera and get a list of computer components I need to upgrade this beast.
I am will be ordering a new video card, ram, and 1.3 Ghz processor. After that I will be pretty much wiped out.
I have to say I thought I would go a little crazier, but I seem to be getting older. 10 years ago I would have partied till I puked (like I did with the student loan) but now, sadly, I am an old bag. As my purchases show. How the mighty have fallen.
Thank Fuck its Friday!
Well, technically by the time this is posted it will be Saturday, but that is just splitting hairs. What makes this a truly noteworthy Friday is that I got my credit card in the mail today.(whoo hoo!) Now it's burning a hole in my pocket.
Couldn't wait to get home from work today so I could activate the thing and begin the shopping frenzy. Ten seconds after activation, I made my first purchase. You will notice there is no banner ad at the top of this page. That purchase took the edge off.
Now I am planning my Saturday. I can't decide where to go first. I want to upgrade my computer and I just have to get my
I wish I were a geek, but whenever my computer guy starts talking tech, my eyes start to glaze over. I am like a lot of people, I want to just plug it in and have it work, I don't really give a shit how it works. I do give a shit, however, when it doesn't work.
I know enough to dazzle the truly computer illiterate, but not enough to carry on an intelligent conversation with a card carrying geek. I wish I were more like BigBadMan he is well on his way to achieving the ultimate in geekdome......total Microsoft certification. I think I'll wait for the neuro-implant technology, I don't have the attention span for school of any kind. (hey, it could happen)
Well, I am starting to go into the DT�s, so I think I will head on over to eBay and make a few frivolous purchases. That should get me through the night.
Thursday, October 10, 2002
I love it when a plan comes together
Well I thought I would update all my loyal readers (both of them) about the �hockey� thing.
There was a meeting of the executive this last Tuesday. It was advertised as a general meeting of the hockey association. When we got there this strange little man was standing next to an easle with the following on it.
The man turned out to be a big wig from Nova Scotia Hockey. He began to explain to us the divisions of hockey.
�In the rep league (traveling teams who represent the county in provincial tournaments) there are three divisions, triple A, double A then A. Then below this line is house league which consists of B and recreational hockey known as simply house.� (very little travel involved, play within the county)
We all just looked at each other, �Does this guy think we are morons?� Anyway, we just let that pass. We were there to get A hockey put back down to recreation. So we were all just waiting for someone to make that motion so we could vote. Then the executive started to talk and indeed they were under the impression we were morons. At that point, someone made the motion to return the A hockey to recreation. That�s when the shit hit the fan.
�We are not taking motions tonight, this is just an information meeting, because some of the parents were confused on how the divisions worked.�
What!? The room erupted. �No one is confused, we came here to vote, this meeting was advertised as a general meeting not an information meeting. There is a motion on the floor that has been seconded, will you take a vote?�
�No, this is an information meeting� (The sign on the door to the meeting said �general� but still this guy argued) They argued for an hour over what the meeting was, general or information.
Long story short. Two hours later, the parents got what they wanted. We vote in 4 weeks to make it official. Those who were forced to pay to have their kid tryout for A hockey will get their money back. No one will be forced to play A hockey if they don�t want to or can�t afford to.
What happens when you have some man who has to have an A on his son�s hockey jacket vs a mother who has to schlep that hockey jacket all over hell and creation in the dead of winter? The mother wins.
Wednesday, October 9, 2002
That silver lining is mercury.
Well we are now into the new fall shows and there are a couple of really good ones. And of course there are the ones I have been waiting all boring summer long for. West Wing, Survivor, Amazing Race, Angel, CSI and the Sopranos.
Wouldn't you know, just when all the new shows are back, someone decides they need a years worth of bookwork done, as well as two others who need quarterlies done. And they all land at the same time. I just can't win. The upside is that I will be able to afford to upgrade my computer before xmas instead of after.
The year is starting to look up. I am a scrotum hair away from getting the "EX" to sign a paper so I don't have to claim income tax on my child support, which is great because I owe the government about $4000 and it will only get worse if I don�t get that paper signed. Also Capital One in its
Jeez! Reading back that last bit, sounds pretty depressing. I should be depressed. Why am I not depressed? The way I see it, it could be a whole lot worse. I could be living in a cardboard box, or in a third world. So as long as I am fed and housed, life is good.
Saturday, October 5, 2002
Thursday, October 3, 2002
The other night we had a little birthday dinner for Kimmy, the old broad is 37 today. As we were waiting for the lasagna to heat up, I spied a blast from my past on the corner table in the living room. As I stared at it I was warped back in time about 25 years.
�Is that what I think it is?�
With a little giggle, her mother said, �Ya�
As I sat close to the machine, I was thinking to myself, �Its impossible, isnt� it?�
�Does it still work? Do you still use it?�
In this era of internet and cell phones, here sits a wonder of technology that people still actually use. A simple box with transistors and do dads, and at the end of a thick black curling cord, a speaker that fit in the palm of your hand and once you pushed that button at your thumb, you were �on�. The CB radio.
�Good God, that brings back memories� Kimmy and I exchange sly glances.
Late nights, sneaking out to the Bobcat with a flashlight. Two pre-teens making up exotic �handles� and talking to strange men (mostly truckers) into the wee hours of the night. I guess the CB was just the preamble to the internet chat rooms. You could be anyone you wanted to be, no one found out your 10-20 unless you told them.
Even then we were cautious, if anyone got close to figuring us out, we just switched channels, and handles. We thought this was the most wondrous thing and couldn�t get enough of it. Many a time we looked sheepishly at each other when her father pondered how his battery could go dead three times in one week. And if our parents had had any inkling , they would have put the kybosh on the whole thing.
Thankfully, they were blissfully unaware of our goings on. Don�t you wish you could say the same? I do.
Tuesday, October 1, 2002
If your gonna rifle through my pockets, at least buy me dinner.
I am being blackmailed by the Nova Scotia Minor Hockey Association.
"The boy" is in his second year of hockey. The first year he played recreational hockey, he had fun and he improved quickly. Recreational hockey is what we call house league, non competitive, no one will ever see them play except for their parents. Within this house league, children who are slightly better are placed on what is called a B team, competitive hockey, a little bit of traveling. It is where kids can compete and still have fun.
Now there is also A, AA, and AAA. These are the hard core competitive hockey teams, with provincial competitions. It costs more to register ($140 more than house) plus you have to pay ($45) just to try out for these A teams. Not to mention all the expenses of traveling. I am told it can cost a family with only one kid playing approximately $5000 per year.
There are a lot of really good players that never try out for the A teams, not because they can't make the A teams but for the simple fact that their parents simply can't afford it. They sign up for house and end up on the B teams, and are very happy to be there.
Well this year, the powers that be, have decided that if you do not try out for an A team, you cannot be considered for the B team. So now we all have been blackmailed into paying $45 to try out for a team that we don't want to play for, just so we can be considered for the team we do.
And here's the kicker. If by some chance our kids "make" the A team? They have to play for the A team or get bumped right back to the house league, and cannot be considered for the B team.
Here�s the back story. Last year one B team was filled with kids who were A material, but couldn�t afford to play A. After wiping up the ice the entire season, the other B couches complained and they ended up being classified as an A team. Since each division can have only 1 A team represent them in the provincials, the two teams had to play each other to see who would go.
The B team won. Imagine the egg on the coaches faces when they had to tell the parents, who paid close to $5000 that year for their kids to play hockey, that their kids were beaten by a B team and wouldn�t be going to provincials.
In order to avoid this, these coaches are going to bury these potential B players in house. You see if they make an A team and refuse to play, they are bumped straight back to house where no one will ever see that they are A material, they can't even be considered for the B team. Understand? And most of those kids who are bumped will simply not play hockey this year, it would just be no fun for them. It would be like Mark McGuire having to play little league. But that is what these coaches will do to keep from being embarrassed again.
So if my son makes this A team he is trying out for he is screwed. What the hell is up with that? What kind of message is that to give a kid? Now he is talking about screwing up the try outs on purpose, a lot of kids are talking this way. Is this the way we want our kids to view sports? You have to manipulate the system in order to get a fair deal?
Well let me tell you that if my son makes the A team, I am gonna tear someone a new one. You will be able to hear me from wherever you are on the planet because I will not be blackmailed. And my son will NOT be punished just so these egomaniacal coaches don�t have to look bad in front of the parents that they are extorting the big money from.
If you hear a scream in the night, it is me, grabbing one of those sons a bitches by the balls and squeezing.
Don�t fuck with the mother.
Sunday, September 29, 2002
Saturday, September 21, 2002
God love them.
Rick Mercer does this "Thing" on This hour has 22 minutes, its a Canadian thing. He goes to the states and talks to people about things that are NOT happening in Canada, to show really that Americans have no idea what is going on North of the border. This is taken from NETcetera..... He tells people that these things happened and asks them to comment or congratulate. Too funny.
My Ten Favorite "TALKING TO AMERICANS."
by Rick Mercer (with my coments in brackets)
10) In Chicago: "Congratulations Canada on having running water in all five states."
9) In Washington, D.C.: "Congratulations Canada on your first national railroad."
8) In Washington, D.C.: "Congratulations Canada on 268 consecutive days of snow."
7) At Harvard: "Yes, I believe the seal slaughter should be stopped in Saskatchewan." (he actually had a professor saying this)
6) In Chicago: "Congratulations Canada on making Beaver Balls your national dish."
5) At Mount Rushmore: "Congratulations Canada, our Eskimo neighbours to the South, on your new Mount Mulroneyuk." (he also had most of them convinced that they were going to sculpt the ass end of all those presidents on the other side of the mountain)
4) Governor of Arkansas: "Congratulations Canada on preserving your national igloo." (my personal favorite, this one made me piss my pants, he told the Governor that our Parliment building was made of ice and with global warming we had to put a huge dome over it so it wouldn't melt.)
3) In New York: "Yes, I think Jean Chretien-Pinochet should be charged with crimes against humanity." (Jean Chretien is our PM)
2) In New York: "Yes, I think it is time to bomb Gilles Duceppe." (he's the Bloc Quebecois Leader)
1) Texas Governor George W. Bush: I'm glad to have the support of Prime Minister Jean 'Poutine.' (he caught him in the hallway heading out of a press conference, btw for those of you who don't know, poutine is a dish of french fries with gravey and cheese curds)
More links for "Talking to Americans".
Talking To Americans
Rick Mercer: Talking to Americans - CBC This Morning
CBC 4 Kids: Daily
Thursday, September 19, 2002
There is a special place in hell for thankless children.
My son calls me yesterday. Wants to know if I can get paid early? Someone at the skate park is selling his board for $30 and he wants it.
�You have a board.�
�Mom! My board is crap, this one is worth $100 and he�s selling it cheap.�
�I�ll see what I can do�
Well I know how much he loves skateboarding and I get all mushy inside. I go ask the boss if I can get paid early, no easy task since I spent the better part of that morning in a screaming match with him. (it was a draw)
Now I leave work, check in hand, and head to my friends house to see if she can cash it for me since the banks are closed. Half way there I realize that I am nearly out of gas, running on fumes. If she can�t cash the check I am walking home.
Twenty minutes later I am on my way back to town, bank card in hand. I get the cash and call my son on his cell phone.
�Never mind Mom, the kid sold it to someone else. Later� Click.
GOOD GRIEF! Your welcome.
I am still sore from baseball last weekend, hobbling around, dragging my old bones home at last, its 6:15pm. I walk in the door, and I want to cry. I am by no stretch of the imagination an even mediocre housekeeper, but my son lost his mind today, and quite possibly his life when he gets home.
Before me lay clothes, papers and miscellaneous sporting equipment strewn in a path from the front door through the kitchen and living room all the way back to my bedroom. I can�t believe that that kid had the nerve to ask me for money.
One hour later my son comes rushing in, �Mom, can we put that $30 in the bank so we can save for a new board?� When he says �we� he means me. �Fine� I tell him, I�ll give you the $30, you clean the house.�
That�s when he really lost his mind. He starts to rant and rave and go on. His head starts to spin and he starts spewing pea soup. (ok that isn�t exactly accurate, but pretty close)
�I have to do everything around here, I can�t clean the whole house, God, I am only 11.�
My turn to lose my mind, �What all, exactly, do you do around here?�
He looks at me, �I take the garbage out to the basement and then to the curb.� He is serious. He thinks he has won the argument.
�Ok, when you took the garbage to the curb last time, how many bags were there?�
He is not sure where I am going with this but he raises his eyes to the ceiling, thinking, counting on his fingers, �6 whole bags!� he says. He seriously believes that this is a huge number.
�Lets break this down. The garbage truck comes every two weeks, so in 14 days you have taken out 6 bags. So if you only took one bag out on any given day, you would have 8 days where you did nothing. Hmmm. If it takes you, say, 30 seconds to take the bag out of the house, and another 30 to take each bag from the basement to the curb. That�s a minute a bag. $30 for 6 bags, $5 per bag per minute?�
�Sounds right.� He doesn�t really want to do the math, so he concedes.
�At $5 per minute, you want me to pay you $300 per hour. How do I get THAT job?!!!�
He is speechless now, and I am cleaning the house myself. I finally get to the end of the papers and I turn around, I can�t believe it, he has actually dropped his coat in the middle of the living room floor.
At that moment I understood how people, who were not wise to begin with, could kill their own children.
Calmly I look at him, �Just how long do you imagine I will consent to live this life? Where I go to work each day to a job I hate, so I can feed and clothe you and buy you skateboards when the whim takes you, getting nothing but shit on in return? Hmmm?�
I leave him to ponder this as I lock myself in the bathroom, just in case the urge to kill him truly takes hold of me.
Tuesday, September 17, 2002
Sunday, September 15, 2002
What the hell was I thinking?
Today my son�s baseball team had their end of the season party. Someone had the bright idea of having the parents play the kids. You know, for fun. Sadly, no one informed me of this turn of events until I arrive. To make matters worse, the field had been rained on the night before and was basically a mud hole.
I am completely unprepared in my old sneakers, the ones that have the sole ready to fall off, but I just can�t part with them. Oh well, I figure I will never hit the ball, so I don�t really have to worry about running in them, right? Wrong, I forgot about balls, I was walked the first time I was up at bat.
Ok, now the kids are razzing me. You know how 11 year olds can talk trash, �Don�t worry, we�ll get her trying to run to second."
So next up is one of the fathers. First pitch is high and outside, the catcher misses it. All hell breaks loose when they realize I am actually going to steal second. The look on their faces was priceless.
Now I am on second, and the batter hits the ball just past the infield. I run to third and see that the ball is now infield. I stop. But do you think the fool behind me stops? I look back and he is half way to third and I am screaming �STOP�. He doesn�t stop, now I have to run home, half way there, the catcher gets the ball. I pivot and head back for third. The kids are going wild, �Run her down!�
I am almost back at third, I�m going to make it! That�s when my choice of footwear proves to be my undoing.
Two steps from third, the sole of my sneaker shifts in the mud. I can feel my leg going out from under me and I take a nose dive right into third base. Had I not built up so much momentum running, I may have been safe, but instead I ended up going ass over tea kettle right past the plate. I think I even took out the third baseman.
As I lay there, bruised and battered, covered in mud, I reflected on my decision to pick up that bat after 20 years. The only thought that went through my head:
�What the HELL were you thinking?�
Thursday, September 12, 2002
If you don't watch BB3, you will have no idea what the hell I am talking about.)
Ok, Jason is HOH. He nominates Marci and Amy. Marcellis is very upset over being nominated and throws a bit of a private tantrum, with only Danielle (Jason's ally) witnessing it. Now Danielle thinks that Marci is a threat to Jason, that if he stays he will come after Jason. This is the first idiotic thing Marci does.
Only two people can vote, Lisa and Danielle. With Jason casting the deciding vote in the event of a tie.
New twist, Golden Veto. You can use it to save yourself. However, this crayon is so full of himself that he can't comprehend anyone choosing Amy over him. He goes so far as to tell Danielle that if she wins it NOT to take him off the block, to just leave it.
Marci wins it. Dani and Jason are sweating now, their plan to get rid of Marcellis may go down the drain if he uses it to save himself.
Now for the really stupid thing. Quite possibly the stupidest thing anyone in the history of anything has ever done. He DOES NOT use the veto to save himself.
Dani and Lisa vote and it is a tie. Jason has to cast the deciding vote. The look on Marci's face when Jason said "I vote to evict Marcellis" was precious. I laughed my ass off. He hadn't even packed all his stuff, and had to go into the drawers and grab a bunch of his clothes and carry them out under one arm. Too Fucking Funny!
You just know his mother was at home screaming at him,
"What the Hell were you thinking?"
Wednesday, September 11, 2002
Tuesday, September 10, 2002
Oops! I said it again.
After watching BB3 24/7 for the past couple of months you really start to notice that people latch on to a word and use it till its like an old shoe with holes in the soles and missing laces. I myself have noticed after reviewing old posts that I apparently can not go more than a day or two without saying "apparently". The following is a list of the last 5 people on BB3 and the words that they beat their dead horse with.
Danielle - Dada, Dada, Da
She says this incessantly, she really hates to waste time actually saying a whole sentence and just says the first few words followed by dada, dada, da. God love her, cuz most of her stories are boring enough without hearing all the gory details.
Lisa - Totally
Lisa never does anything half way, everything is totally. Not partially, always totally. Which when you think of it, is pretty impossible. But apparently (gotta stay true to form) it�s the only three syllable word she knows. Makes her feel intellectual.
Marcellis - Intellectually
He uses this word in every single sentence to try and convince himself and others that he ever thinks of anything intellectually. He probably heard some photographer say it one day on a shoot and thought it was a really cool sounding word and decided to implement it in his daily life.
Amy - Sugar
I think that anyone who uses the word sugar as a term of endearment must do it with a southern accent. This southern belle is the master. However, after the 600th time she calls Jason sugar, it starts to grate on a persons nerves.
Jason - Amazing
This guy is perpetually amazed. He no doubt has grown up under a rock or has been keep in a cage in his parents basement for the past 20 years, cuz paint drying is �amazing� to him. Surely to God everything couldn�t possibly be amazing.
You know that the show must be getting boring if I am counting words like some sort of maniacal typing teacher. Must be the clerical background. �Hands on the home keys, ladies.� And you did it too, or suffered a crack across the knuckles with a ruler. Ah, the good old days.
Sunday, September 8, 2002
Is anyone else surprised that Michael Jackson walks around in public?
I know people that wouldn't be caught dead going to the corner store without full makeup and this fool walks around without a nose.
This man is in serious need of a stylist. Those Sergeant Pepper outfits have got to go. And the gold shin pads, what is up with that? Who in Gods name told him that was a good idea.
I remember when he was a trend setter, now he is just sad. And to add insult to injury he is also apparently mentally ill. Exactly how do you mistake a birthday cake for an award? Read about all the pitiful details here:
Jacko's MTV 'award'
At least he has abandon the whole "get rid of the nose" thing. He went about as far as he could without scraping the back of the inside of his scull. I heard somewhere that the tip of it actually fell off. That must have been his wakeup call.
So now I guess he is going back the other way now. If he can pull another record out of his ass, and grow that nose back, I think he would deserve an award for that, don�t you?
Saturday, September 7, 2002
Friday, September 6, 2002
More, Eva is
Thought I would revisit this little game.
Google Search: "Eva is"
Eva Is......Inside Her Cat (my personal favorite)
EVA is....not a superior way
EVA is ...simply net after tax income minus a cost of equity capital
EVA is ...an alternative medicinal therapy
Eva is ....the consumate songwriter
Eva is ....starting to tire
EVA is ...better than ROI (good to know)
EVA is ...old school
EVA is ...the result of a research project
EVA is ...a fancy way of saying "outside the spaceship". (new favorite)
Eva is .....a ho
Eva is ....arrested
Eva is ....a self-taught computer expert
Eva is ....a female elephant and was born in the wild (ok, not the most flattering discription, but sadly, true)
Eva is ....one hell of a climax
I could go on forever (but I won't). Try it with your own name, its quite entertaining.
Thursday, September 5, 2002
Elvis has left the building.
Finally sold my car. She is gone, gone, gone! And it only took a month. JEEZ!
As soon as I was thinking about a new car, my friend told me that one of her friends was looking for a car, and wanted my old one. Well the guy phones and says he has been around to see it and he is interested. Great, that was easy. I was so wrong. I tell him that I won�t know for a week if I am getting the new one, will let him know. One week later, I run into him at the bank,
�You got your car? Great, will be over on the weekend to get the old one.�
Weekend comes and goes, no one shows.
The next week he calls, says he will be up at the end of the week. No show. Finally another week and the guy shows up,
�I don�t have all the money ($750) would you take a deposit and I will be up the end of next week to pay the rest?�
�Sure.� He gives me $200.
You guessed it, the end of next week comes and goes. I am getting really pissed now. Does this crayon think I am a bank?
Meanwhile, I have satellite problems, and when the guy comes to fix it, he is eyeing the car. We chat about my car selling woes and he says, �If that guy doesn�t show�.give me a call.�
By about Wednesday I am really getting stewed. Every time he doesn�t show, he also never even bothers to call and say he is not going to show. Then I hear that he told his wife that he gave me $400, and she found out he only gave me two. I think maybe she has killed him and has him stuffed in a trunk somewhere. I am sitting at work and decide, fuck it, I am calling the satellite guy. He says that he will be up at 4:30 to pick it up.
He comes, he pays, he drives away. The way God intended car selling to be. I am sitting there, I literally haven�t even put the money in my wallet when the phone rings.
�Ya, this is so and so, I just wanted to let you know that I would be over tomorrow with the rest of the money and pick up the car.�
�That might work for you, if there was a car for you to pick up. I sold it.�
�Look, I waited and you didn�t show, someone showed up with the money in hand, and I sold it.�
�Oh, so I guess I will come up tomorrow and get my deposit�
�Oh, I am sure you will.� I sneer sarcastically. I just know he isn�t going to miss that appointment. The sarcasm is lost on him.
So, the old girl is gone. A little sad, but also a lot satisfying.
I am in total love with my new car, and am driving people crazy. Going over it with a fine tooth comb, seeing scratches and nicks, wiping off fingerprints, tossing papers out the window (fuck the environment, it messes up the car), even going so far as to freak out at the gas station attendant for slapping that dirty old squeegee on my just washed car windshield. I made him wipe it off with a paper towel.
Who washes the windshield of a car that is clearly still dripping with water from the carwash?
I am back to being a one car owner and couldn�t be happier. Hope the old girl understands, she was just too high maintenance.
Wednesday, September 4, 2002
Why do I even answer the phone?
The boss called tonight, he was cordial and funny and he joked around about what he had done that day. We shot the shit about the fish and the lady that had called looking for sponsorship from our company on a school trip without realizing that the boss was the older brother of the boy who had had a fender bender with her and was now paying to have her car fixed as well as paying for her to drive a rent-a-car. So, she probably is not going to get any money from us. It was a very pleasant call and I hung up smiling.
After he hung up I thought, �That was too good to be true�. And it was.
Ten minutes later he called back, he is very disappointed with me, someone very important had called, and he didn�t get a hold of him and now he will lose time and money. Generally conveying to me that I was an incompetent fuck, that should be shot at dawn, or at the very least be drawn and quartered.
The caller told me he had the boss�s pager number and so I said you should take his cell number too. That way you can also leave a voice message. The boss tells me that the man took this to mean that he should only call the cell phone. Clearly it is my fault since I should have known how important this man truly was, and apparently how daft. (being psychic and all)
First of all, I think it was unfair that the man had not identified himself as important. Then again, I should have known this, (even if clearly he didn�t) after all I am psychic. And I should have then paged the boss just in case the man on the phone was not just daft but also trying to deceive me by saying would page him, which he clearly was, since he didn�t, in fact, page him.
Then the boss tells me, I should know that in certain situations he does not check his cell messages, he relies on the pager. Again I should have telepathically known that indeed that situation was afoot. He continues on saying that I should have to accompany him on the job next week, drive in the drill rig and get dirty and bug eaten, so that I can truly appreciate the hell this poor soul goes through in order to finance my incompetent fuckness. He is serious.
�I think you should have to drive with me in the rig for 3 hours and sit around in the mud and the bugs for hours with the machine going so you can�t hear yourself think. We�ll do it next week�
�Well then maybe you can just stay home?�
�Maybe I will.�
�We�ll talk about it later�
(oh no we won�t)
This man actually expects me to go with him on the drill rig. Like some child being punished. Indecently the rig only has a driver seat, the other seat is a upturned bucket. If he thinks for one minute that I am going���.he is in for a rude awakening.
And another thing�.
If he thinks he can fire me for not joining him on this idiotic venture, he has another think coming. I am pretty sure there are laws against that sort of thing.
Maybe I should just stay home, let him try and do my job for a week or two.
Saturday, August 31, 2002
Rosie the Riveter/Biker Babe
Finally got a pic of my sister on her Harley. (not the best picture of her, sorry Adah)
When my sister does something, she goes all out. It doesn�t matter what it is, and why bother having a bike if it�s not a Harley. True to form, she (and her Hog) are decked out head to toe, front to back, in biker gear. (she usually wears the leather chaps, not in this picture)
All she needs now is a tattoo, and believe you me, she is seriously considering it. And since my sister never does anything half way, her and her husband joined a bike club and recently attended the Atlantic Hog Rally in Newfoundland where she (of course) joined the Harley Davidson Club. He of course could not join because he doesn�t drive a Hog, he drives this:
My sister went from being a hairdresser to becoming a welder. Not sure what the segue was for that particular path in life, but I think she figured that if there was money in it...how hard could it be. Well she couldn�t just be a welder, she is now on her way to becoming a welding inspector. Come big or don�t come at all.
I can�t wait to see what the next obsession is. The tattoo thing is kind of scaring me, considering her pattern, she may end up looking like this chick.
Wednesday, August 28, 2002
It's definitely the car.
The other night Jeanette and I are driving through town in my new car.
Windows down, tunes turned up, cool night. We were driving along, minding our own business, when all of a sudden these three young guys yell at us,
�Hey baby? Are you kidding me?�
We laughed like nuts. It was hysterical. We couldn't believe that guys still do that. Did it ever work? I just figured they were yelling at her (it�s a blond thing).
Well last night I am driving through town, same scenario, only this time I am alone. I grab a coffee at Tim Hortons and just turn out onto the road, when these four guys start to cross in front of me. I let them cross and as I start to drive past they start screaming at me,
�Hey Baby! Where ya goin�?�, �Come back!�
I was really tempted to come to a screeching halt, get out and tell them.
�First of all, I am old enough to be your mother. Second I am NOT, nor will I ever be, your fuckin� baby.�
And another thing�
"The reason you are walking down the street with your 4 male friends (sans any baby whatsoever) is because you are a Neanderthal, and no woman in their right mind would walk with you while you are dragging your nasty, hairy knuckles along the pavement, screaming at perfect strangers."
But, of course, I didn�t say that. I just kept on driving. After all, I figure it�s not �the blond�, or me�..it�s the car.
Saturday, August 24, 2002
What is it? Never mind, I'll take it.
I woke up this morning early. Why? I have no idea, but suddenly I was wide awake. So, I decided to go "Yard Salin".
I am totally useless when it comes to flea markets and yard sales. I buy all the junk nobody else wants. I bought a bag of romance novels (don't read very often) and a broken fan, (no idea what I was thinkin' there).
I did however come across one yard sale that had cd's and movies for $3 a piece. Very good deal, I got Back in Black, Nazareth, Steve Miller Band (shit....dating myself with those selections) and movies, I got MIB and The Saint. Then I went out to Van Derpoles, a sort of indoor flea market that is open during regular business hours, not just on Sundays. I got lucky today and managed to snag some more 78's for my collection, and a connection on where to get my record player repaired. It will be very interesting you actually "hear" all these records I have been collecting, some 200 in all.
Anyway, back to why I suck at yardsales, I buy some strange things. Mostly, if I can't identify it, I buy it.
I had these two wooden things on display in my house for at least 5 years, when someone said,
"Oh! You have fishermen in your family?"
"Well you have fish net needles displayed on your mantle."
"Oh! So that's what those are? Cool."
My whole apartment looks like one big flea market. If it looks interesting, I buy it. Just as an example, these are just some of the items I have on display in my living room:
- an old pill box with jewels on top
- a sword that I think was used as a toothpick
- japanese false fingernails (at least I think they are japanese or maybe chinese)
- those fish net needles
- a donkey that shits cigarettes (don't ask).
- a manora (I am not jewish, which explains the christmas decorations)
- a brownie camera (the kind that takes 127 film and flash bulbs...it took me 6 months searching ebay to get these items, but I had to do it....I already had the camera. Of course I still can't use it because there is nowhere to get the film developed.)
- a champagne bottle from 2000
- wooden shoes
- wooden elephant bookends
- old beer bottles (the stubby kind)
- an old washboard
- a miniture saddle (my mom brought home from Alberta)
- some kind of mold (no idea what it is) If anyone can tell me, that will be just one more mystery solved.
- and last but not least, a hitching post made into an ashtray stand.
I know what you are thinking, but it makes for some interesting conversation.
Friday, August 23, 2002
Memories in color.
This is a picture of me, taken during the time I was in foster care.
There are only about a half dozen pictures of me when I was young. My mother tells me that I hated to get my picture taken. I still hate it. I know why I hate it now, I take crappy pictures. But I don�t have any idea why I didn�t like it then, I was adorable.
We had gone to a Christmas concert, I was wearing one of the �real� daughters� shoes and they were too small. I had taken one of them off and I was trying desperately to cram it back on my big fat foot, when a photographer from the paper snapped my picture. The caption read �Oh, my darn shoe�. I remember that to this day even though the actually newspaper article has been lost for years.
There is something else interesting about this photo. When I was in grade 7, our teacher decided that a fun class activity would be for the students to bring childhood photos of themselves and have the others guess who they were from those photos. When it was my turn to post my photo on the bulletin board, I looked up and there was the photo. Only it wasn�t mine, I was holding mine. Someone else had taken in the exact same photo. I showed the teacher and she was floored. The photo turned out to have been brought in by one of my friends. Heidi, she is the girl sitting on my left.
Its so funny because I can tell you everything about that little red haired girl sitting next to me, I know what color dress she was wearing, (red) and the shoes. (I couldn�t tell you a thing about what I was wearing).
I remember those shoes. They are the reason I had taken mine off. They were red suede with little bows on the top. As soon as I laid eyes on them I fell in love. I begged her to let me try them on, and of course they didn�t fit. I was so disappointed and that is why I look so sad in the photo.
Even though the photo is in black and white, I always knew that that little girl was red headed with a red dress and red shoes. My sister had always said, �you were five, you don�t remember what color dress some kid sitting next to you had on.�, but Heidi had also brought some color photos in from the same night. I was right.
Somehow that makes me happy and sad at the same time. Happy, of course, that I really did remember correctly things that happened to me during that time in foster care, and sad for the exact same reason.
Thursday, August 22, 2002
You never miss it......till it's gone.
I come home for lunch today to find a huge backhoe in front of my house, with the obligatory beer gutted, butt crack showing, armpit scratching, town engineers standing around discussing how to turn a 1/2 hour job into a career. They scrape their knuckles on the ground, beat their chests, and stroke their imaginary beards in contemplation. Bottom line, no water.
There has been a water leak in front of my house for the past 6 months, and they pick today to "fix" it. I use the word fix loosely.
The landlord has been trying to hook up with these guys for months, and they told him just last week that they wouldn�t be able to get to it till possibly next month.
Here�s the kicker, �they� are only digging up half of it, from the line to the connection. The landlord has to dig up from the house to the connection. Surprise, surprise, the engineers didn�t inform him that they would start today. He found out when the woman upstairs called to complain that there was no water.
So he calls me at work to inform me. Great!
�No problem� I say, �I can go a day without water, what�s the big deal�
I will tell you what the big deal is��.you need water for everything. You can�t wash your hands, do laundry, cook or even rinse out a cup so you can soothe your parched throat in this sweltering heat. Now I have to let �the boy� drink from the carton, and he back washes. YUCK! And I won�t even start about the obvious toilette flushing dilemma. The bathroom is gonna be good and ripe by tomorrow.
That old saying is so true, �you never miss it till its gone�. And let me tell you, I am missing it now.
I am sure, somehow, �the boy� will take this opportunity to have one of his power-puke/explosive-diarrhea marathons.
That is just the luck I have been having lately.
Tuesday, August 20, 2002
Something is .....off.
I feel really strange today. Like I am on some kind of drug. After about an hour at work I started to feel.....I don't know....weird. Dizzy, maybe a little nauseous? For a while I thought that maybe there was some unseen force, like carbon monoxide, but no one else felt it. I searched all around and couldn't find anything spilled or leaking. Perhaps I am getting sick again.
On a more cheerful note, "the boss" is G-O-N-E. He will be out of sight till Thursday. YEEEEHHHHAAAA!
That sounded cold. But "he" is the most stressful part of my job. Even when he is in a good mood, everyone is walking on eggshells wondering what little thing will set him off. But when he is gone, everyone gets a lot more work done, and it is a whole lot less stressful, even if he does call to gross you out.
It is a good week for his absence, it is just too hot to be picked on as well.
Monday, August 19, 2002
The mind is the first to go.
Just had a chat with Kimmy, and apparently my memory of the death of Elvis is slightly flawed. This is her recollection:
We were playing in my room, with some other neighborhood kids when �my� mother screamed down the hall,
�Kimmy? Elvis is dead!�
Now that I think of it, her story holds more water than mine, it sounds like something my mother would do. She wasn�t the most sensitive person on earth. Kimmy was the reason I was into Elvis, since her mother had all the records etc.
I suppose my mother knew this, so was more likely to inform Kimmy than of me.
Sunday, August 18, 2002
Too hot to fish.
Sweet Jesus it�s hot!
I have spent all of today running a relay race between fans. I have one set up in every room (bathroom included).
If I get thirsty. I just have to make it into the kitchen where there is a fan beside the fridge. I make a frantic run to the living room, first leg of the race. Stop in front of the fan to catch my breath. Onward to the kitchen.
Mad dash, gasping for breath. Whew, made it!
Now I just have to make it back to the bedroom to the fan in front of the computer, with a brief stop in the living room. As soon as I step away from the fan the heat hits me, the air is thick and humid, and beads of sweat start forming before I am even half way to the living room exactly 6 feet away.
It is HOT! And there seems to be no relief in sight. I hate summer. I much rather winter, it is so much easier to keep warm than it is to stay cool. I am still researching a place that is either all fall or all spring. There must be such a place. There are places that have summer all year round and other places that have winter all year round, so there must be a place that has spring or fall all year round. Don�t you think? The government is probably keeping it under wraps because everyone in their right mind would flock to the site. It would be an immigration nightmare. If anyone knows of this wonderful mystical place, please email me.
I have at least a little peace tonight. The �boy� has gone to his fathers for the night. The only productive thing that I accomplished today was that I colored my hair. I have finally hit on the perfect color.
For the past couple of years (since the gray hair has become unbearable) I have been coloring my hair various shades of black. What I really wanted was that awesome blue-black, but could never achieve it because my hair was so dark to begin with. I even tried to remedy this (foolishly) by bleaching my hair first. Big mistake. All I accomplished was making it worse. It still didn�t turn blue-black, just black. So I decided that I am just going to work towards getting my natural color of dark brown back. Slowly the black is growing out to be replaced with brown. I know it�s boring but you can only go black for so long, and since I am not a sun person it was starting to make me look like Morticia.
So all day I have been glued to the computer, watching BigBrother3 live feeds. I realized last night that I am addicted. Truly addicted. Once I sat down and thought about it, ever since I got the live feeds it is all I am doing. In fact the only time I leave the computer is to watch the episodes on TV. I wonder if there is a 12 step program for this? If there is I hope it is online since I can�t tear myself away from the computer long enough to attend a meeting. Oh well, its only on for a finite run, then I will be on to Survivor. Thank God there are no live feeds for that, otherwise I would never get anything done.
Saturday, August 17, 2002
Elvis has left the building.
Yesterday was the anniversary of the death of Elvis Presley, and the last couple of days on TV it has been nothing but Elvis. Elvis concerts, Elvis movies, Elvis Biographies, Elvis, Elvis, Elvis.
I guess the reason that everyone has held onto Elvis is because he was such a nice boy, loved his mother, sang like an angel, and was always the �good guy� in the movies. His fans forgive him the drug use, the divorce and the string of trashy girlfriends. He was just one of those larger than life characters.
I remember the day we heard the news that Elvis was dead. My best friend, Kimmy, and I were listening to records in her parents bedroom when her mother informed us that he had died. We were 12 years old, and we cried like babies. A few months later, when the heartbreak had subsided, her mother bought us the memorial posters, and that thing hung in my room for many years.
Kimmy and I used to stay up late and watch Elvis movies, there was one on almost every weekend, right after Charlie's Angels. Kimmy�s mother had all the records and we would listen to them and sing along. We had posters and clippings plastered all over our walls. Elvis was the King after all.
When I started to collect records this year, Elvis was one of the first ones I bought. His music still stands up. And he ain�t too hard on the eyes either.
Friday, August 16, 2002
A fine kettle of fish?
Josh was voted out of the Big Brother house and Amy was voted back in.
The HOH competition consisted of all the housguests sitting in a huge bathtub in the back yard. At regular intervals Chiara was instructed to dump a bucket of mystery items into the pool. Last one out is HOH. All kinds of fun stuff like eels, squid, cod liver oil, chum, pond scum and seaweed.
The first item was the squid, and I don't think that even one hit the water before Roddy was outta there. What a whimp. Long story short. Amy is HOH.
Things should really get interesting now. Chiara and Roddys' days are numbered.
Wednesday, August 14, 2002
This is my Dad.
I just realized that I missed the anniversary of his death. Funny, how time slips away from ya. He died on July 21, 1989.
This is my favorite picture of him, taken the year he won $5000 on the lottery. So he looks pretty pleased with himself. He was a serious lotto player. I am sure that even with that win he, like most people, lost more than he won.
I keep this picture on the wall in my livingroom, where I can see it everyday. He has that "cat that ate the canary" look. It always makes me smile, no matter what mood I am in. It also makes me cry, because I miss him so much. I know that doesn't make sense, but even when it makes me cry, it makes me feel better at the same time.
Tuesday, August 13, 2002
Can't complain about the weather?
OH YES I CAN! And here is why.
This is Canada. Land of extremes.
Hot as the hinges of hell in the summer, and cold as ol' get out in the winter.
These two scenes are within 15 minutes, and 3 months of each other.
Sunday, August 11, 2002
You�ll see me coming from a mile away.
Well, I survived the flu and have a nice big cold sore on my nose to show for it. It never fails, even though I prepare for it. I buy those expensive �lotion� tissues, just to avoid the red nose. But something always happens to sabotage it. During my runny nose day, I found myself in my car without my �lotion� tissues, and Voila! Cold sore.
Speaking of cars...I am officially the proud owner of a Red, 1997 Chevy Cavalier. And I have to say, I love it. Went out today and bought seat covers, car freshener and a paint touch up bottle. (for those small nicks in the paint) Now I am on the hunt for a bra for the front, since that seems to be where most of the nicks are, must have something to do with the sloped hood. I went to a few places in town, and they want $100 for them?
Cheese and Rice!
Luckily on eBay, they are going for about $20 US. It might take me a bit longer, but I will eventually get what I want. eBay is a great and wondrous thing, but you have to pace yourself, or you end up buying everything you see. It is quite addictive at times. But there are just so many cool things for my new car that I can get there. The coolest by far is this.
I must have them ;-) or these:
HYPERLED PLASMA RED
I will be so obnoxiously obvious.
Saturday, August 10, 2002
I am pretty sure my mother had six children.
I have been sick as a dog all week. I am sure one of my ex friends gave it to me. I hate being sick.
Tuesday, Day 1:
I get to work after a nice long weekend, and I am nauseous. The boss sends me home.
Wednesday, Day 2:
The first real day of the flu. It was that cough. You know the one, you can feel it coming and you know that if you let it, it will never stop. It saps all your energy from you. And you want to die. I was up all night. I make it till around 1:30pm then head home. The boss is already complaining about the half day yesterday. Even though the power went off just as I was leaving and didn�t come back on until the evening. So I couldn�t have done any work anyway.
Thursday, Day 3:
The coughing isn�t so violent, but it is constant. My head feels like it will explode and my ribs hurt from the impact.
Dave is here today working on the bike. I go upstairs, in a daze, to nuke my coffee and as I walk by the counter I knock something off and it crashes behind me. I let out a �HOLY FUCK� (it scared the shit out of me) and Dave comes flying up the stairs, �Are you alright?� In my weakened state this strikes me as hilarious and I can no longer breathe I am laughing so hard. I play the damsel in distress, (back of my hand pressed dramatically across my forehead), �My hero!� segue into racking coughs.
I make it through until lunch, then have to go home. Before I leave today, I tell the boys not to use any of the spoons, since I will be licking them all before I leave, and possibly the rims of all the glasses. These special gift I reserve for the boss alone. You would be safer if you drank from the toilette.
I head over to my sisters to pick up the papers for my new car. (I am not too sick to get my car squared away)
Friday, Day 4:
I am exhausted. No sleep, I feel like I have been hit by a truck. I can�t concentrate so I have to �fake� working. The boss leaves for parts unknown, making this easier. I muddle through until 4. Take home my crappy paycheck and collapse on the couch. I look like death warmed over, I am laying on my face, I don�t have the energy to roll over so I can breathe properly.
My mother looks at me and says, �So, do you want to take me to the funeral home tonight or the funeral tomorrow?� (someone she knows has died, she is 73, so every week there is a good chance that one of her friends bought the farm) When you are an old lady, that is your social life, attending funerals.
�Mom, you DO realize that you had six children, right?�
�If you can�t take me, that�s all right.� She gives me that "you'll be sorry when I'm dead" look.
She won�t ask any of the others, because she is tired of being disappointed when they can�t seem to make it. On the other hand she has no problem asking me when I am on my deathbed.
I know my mother had six children, I have seen the pictures. But ask them to do anything, and they are nowhere to be found.
Tuesday, August 6, 2002
Sunday, August 4, 2002
There actually is rest for the wicked.
I am finally done of the bookwork, I got a whole year done in just one week. Mind you I was greeting the sun every morning of this past week, but it was worth it. It means I will actually get the holiday Monday to myself. Not that I have anything drastic planned. Probably just lay around in my pj's and vegetate.
And another thing...
from August 2, 2002 (better late than never)
The bitter truth in advertising
I am sitting here slowly watching myself turn browner and browner. (is that a word?) Whodda thunkit? What a time to live up to the whole �truth in advertising� shtick.
I am not a sunbathing kinda gal. I have absolutely no patience for it. I could never commit the time it took to get a tan the �old fashioned� way. I buy mine in a tube. Over the years I have gotten quite good at it. There is a technique, you just have to get used to it and you can come up with a pretty decent tan. (as long as you don�t look too closely) I wouldn�t win any Coppertone bikini contests but at least I am no longer signaling ships with my pasty white thighs.
This year, like every other, they promised �new! Improved!� �deep dark tan���..Ya right!
I proceeded to slather it on, avoiding the knees, elbows, hairline etc. Thirty minutes later, a very nice even tan. The box says, �for a deeper tan, re-apply after one hour�. Previous years have taught me that their idea of �deeper� and mine are drastically different. So I go for it.
That done, I sit and blog for an hour or so, fighting with the ftp server to upload all those pictures. At 3am I finally finish. One trip to the can and I am off to bed. I pass the mirror and do a double take��.SHIT! �This is really dark� and as any of you who has ever used sunless tanning creams knows, it takes overnight to reach its full potential.
So much for looking sun kissed. I look like I have been baking in the sun for a week. So I am pretty sure this will not fool anyone who saw me yesterday.
Stick a fork in me�..I�m done.
In the morning I spent an hour in the shower scrubbing myself with a loofa. After tearing the first layer of my skin off, I reached the desired results of the tan. Who was it who said, �beauty is pain�?
Tell me so I can rip his heart out.