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.

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!�

�What?�

�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.

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?"

"No, why?"

"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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

How cool is this?

INDUSTORIOUS CLOCK

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.

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.

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.

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.

Neon *TireFly*

I must have them ;-) or these:

HYPERLED PLASMA RED

I will be so obnoxiously obvious. I even considered buying a set of those fuzzy dice. But opted for good ole Kermit hanging from the rearview mirror. I think this is going to be really fun.

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.

...next stop, the twilight zone.

Ok, this is just fuckin' freaky! Especially when you consider the domain name. What are the odds?

Don't Bother Me With Trifles

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.

Update:

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.

Please God! Make it stop!

The Lord has heard my prayer. Gerry has gotten HOH on Big Brother 3 and has put up the "bonehead" (Eric) and the "gross out queen" (Lisa).

90% of their time in the house is comprised of endless sessions of Eric laying back, like a big lazy dog in the afternoon sun, while Lisa goes over every inch of his body plucking hairs and popping zits.

SWEET DYING JESUS!

And to break up the monotony, every so often Chiara will join in. Then we have to listen to the complete play-by-play of them discussing in graphic detail the color and consistancy of the gore they are squeezing out of this dumb fuck.

Well at least now one of them will be gone and not soon enough for me. I have a very short gag reflex.

Yor mamma brotcha up right.

I had a great day at work today. Not only was "the boss" away, but he was also unreachable. God bless MTT for their crappy cell phone service.

And another plus, I was not alone. Most days I spend completely alone at work, not another living soul will I see all day. With the exception of "the boss" but he doesn't count.

Dave was in the house today working on the "racing bike", and it was nice to have someone to chat with.

I think the whole reason "the boss" hired Dave is because he is a bike mechanic. Considering we are a well drilling/geothermal heat pump operation, I am sure that the fact that he could work on the boss' bike was a plus in his hiring. The boss currently has 4 bikes, in various stages of repair. (One is actually in a few boxes, and you have to look really hard to figure out what exactly is in there.)

Currently we have 5 guys working, and three of them are brothers. Dave, Fraser and Peter, "the Burns Boys". They are the reason for the phrase "Yor mamma brotcha up right". Three brothers who are courteous, polite and would do anything for you.

For example, I was at work one day (out in Butt Fuck Nowhere) and one of the other boys, Harold (not Burns), calls me from the bottom of the hill.

"Just thought I would tell ya that you're getting a flat tire" click. (Asshole!)

So I call Fraser (he was out on a job) to ask if there was a jack out in the van that I could change my tire with, he said he thought there was. Before I even made it to the van, Fraser was coming up the driveway to change my tire.

"Yor mamma brotcha up right".

I have to put Richard (the last guy) into the Burns category too, but he is older and courtesy is expected from your elders.

There are 3 types of men in this situation.....you have a flat.

"Sucks to be you" --Harold

or

"I'll get someone out there for ya" --the Boss (btw he usually sends Fraser)

or

"It'll just take me a second to change it for ya." --any one of the Burns Boys

I hope their mother knows what nice boys she has raised. If she doesn't someone should direct her to this blog because, as a mother myself, I can tell you, there is no better feeling in the world than the pride you feel when someone compliments you on your children.