And we thought we wouldn't have fun.

Another road trip to Halifax for more training and Lenny and I are the only ones left from the original road trip gang. We were sort of worried it wouldn't be as fun without Pablo and his stories.

We were wrong. This time we had Bawb. (When you say his name you have to say it like you are stoned.)

We pull into Bawb's place and out he comes dressed head to toe in camouflage. Would have been more effective had all the pieces matched but they were four different colors and pattern. "Oh this should be good." I say.

Bawb gets into the back seat and I put the car in reverse and start to back out, coming face to face with him. I stop the car. "Bawb, what the hell is that on your chin? Is that a Fu-manchu?"

In perfect stoner diction, "No man, its my pirate whiskers." I give him the look. Since we last seen him he has grown his hair long and has these whiskers coming from his beard and they are about 3 inches long.

"You mean like Jack Sparrow?"

"Ya." And he tells me his pirate name which I completely forget.

"You'll have to get beads for it." I am being sarcastic.

"Oh I spent 300 bucks on hand painted beads for it."

I give him a look like he has two heads, "Uh, ya, cuz that would look less retarded."

He misses that. "But I don't wear them in the winter, only in the summer."

"Of course. You wouldn't want to look silly."

"Exaaaaactly."

Quite an eventful day.

My new fridge shows up just as I am about to start work, so I had to call in and say I would be late.

Out with the old.


And in with the new.


Then with an hour left in the shift I get a call from the principle at The Boy's school. There had been an 'altercation', can I come pick him up?

One of the 'friends' of the kid that hit The Boy with the pipe decided to pick a fight with The Boy. The Boy told him he didn't want to fight him in school but the kid insisted. So The Boy had to KICK HIS ASS!

That is what the principal told me. Well, he actually used different words. "He didn't throw the first punch but he got most of the licks in." (Edumacation makes it sound so purdy, donit?)

Anyway, I go get the boy and I am off to take Sammy to the vet. He is not happy with me at all. I get him into the carrier and he pretty much flips out. It was like I was carrying the Tazmanian Devil in a burlap sack. The vet just looked at me and asked if it was domesticated. I stick my finger in the cage and he calms down. That is enough for her.

Then she brings out the forms and runs down the 'extras' for me to decide on.

- Advantage treatment? "Uh its February, he doesn't have fleas." NO
- Post surgery take home treatment? "He routinely comes home looking like he has been through the Bore War, he has proven he has no problem with pain." NO
- They will cut his nails while he is sleeping. "Dude, he comes back looking like he was in that war and lost, are you kidding me?" NO
- Shots and vaccinations? NO
- Pre-surgery blood work? What? "Is that optional? Really?" Then NO

We do agree that he needs to be cleaned up. She tells me that they will bath him if he doesn't wake up too soon after the surgery. "Huh?"

"Well we only bath them while they are asleep." She explains that they throw him in a bucket of soapy water. I kid you not, those were her exact words. So, I agree to that.

So now I have some time. I decide to take the video card that I bought yesterday back to Staples. Couldn't find any drivers on the planet that would make it work and on my way back I decide to buy a kitchen table that I saw the other day at Canadian Tire. (We have already established my Canadian Red-neck'ed'ness.)

I purchase the thing before I ever wonder how I will transport it. So in the store it stays for now. I go home and regroup. While doing that I toss my old table and rickety chairs out for the landlord to take to the dump.

(Wow, I have had a long day.)

So I remember that Sister has a truck, sort of. An SUV. I call her up and off we go to pick up the table. She brings her friend with her. I don't know yet how I worked this out, but I managed to be the only person in this little trio to not handle the table as it is schlepped through the snow and up the stairs.

But there she is...a Debbie Travis Walnut Parsons table.


Let's just take a moment, shall we?

Now that it is together, I realize it is too big and I have no chairs. But I am too tired, it is just going to have to stay.

And how was your day?

TBF will probably charge him for the electricity.

Got my taxes done today so I took The Boy out to cash in his birthday I.O.U.

He wanted a mini fridge for his room, so away we go to the Walmart. I know what you are thinking and The Boy thought I would pull a horror show too, but I just ended up educating the greeter on the way out. You know...."Fuck off, if the alarm goes off, then you can look at my receipt."

Anyhoo...we got the little fridge (not the one with the separate freezer, it is just a bedroom not a dorm) and of course we have to fill it up with stuff. Pop, subs, prepared meats that sort of thing.


You can't imagine how appreciative he was over this thing. He loves it and when he got it hooked up he discovered it had a little mini freezer in it, with an ice cube tray. He was thrilled. Sent me these pics with texts, telling me that I was the best etc.


They call it the joy of giving for a reason. I enjoyed it. Why doesn't TBF get this much joy from giving? He really doesn't know what he is missing.

On another note, I did actually get something for myself. As we were entering the store The Boy asks what I am gonna get for myself. "OH! I know what I want!" I say.

"A flashlight!" You can imagine the eye rolling that went on. But he didn't understand. This is not just any flashlight.


This is three million candles, baby! [Insert Tim Allen grunting]

Also, I got a new coffee maker for the office.


Not a bad day, not a bad day at all.

It's all in the eyes.

Ever wonder what makes for a good animal rights protest subject? Think about it.

Save the whales! Not crocodiles.
Save the baby seals! Not cod fish.
Save the dolphins! Not cockroaches.
Save the Panda! Not Iguanas.

Its the cuteness factor for sure, but when you think about it, its all about the mammals.

And its all in the eyes. Look closely, cute baby seals, big soulful eyes complete with eyelids and lashes.

Forced to watch crap.

I never agreed with the whole 'Canadian Content' thing. And now they are trying to impose this idiotic rule on the internet.


For years our airwaves have been clogged with crap no one wants to watch but because it's Canadian it gets put on the air. There is a law

"With no regulation on the Internet, there's a big fear that all Canadian content will be buried by foreign content," Mochrie said.

Here's a radical concept. Make content that doesn't suck ass and people will watch/listen to it. Even people in the states. Imagine that.

I feel safer already.

About a week or so ago, my front door blew open and ever since then it wouldn't actually close all the way. Well, it would close but you could open it without turning the handle, so it wasn't latching.

So today I call the landlord. He came over with his partner in crime to fix it. Well they of course jerry-rigged it into closing. Problem was that when they got it to close, they couldn't get it to open up again.

So there they were, one inside and one outside trying to open it.



Santa's Little Helper is getting desperate.



Gonna have to start charging him rent.



This is where they figure out what went wrong.



Free at last, free at last!



And the aftermath.





I believe this is the reason his wife won't let him do things around the house. She calls in the professionals. This is the same man who tried to paint the trim on my door with a god-aweful yellow paint. The same paint they use to make those yellow lines on the road.

Interesting convo with TBF (via text messaging)

The Boy's Father has learned to text message. Which is great, since I can actually have an argument with him and he can't hang up on me. That is the most infuriating thing, he says something and hangs up. Maddening.

Any-whoo, The Boy taught him how to text message. Last night he was at work and wanted me to text his father and ask him to leave $10 on the counter for a cab home. So I did.

TBF did not respond so I was worried he wouldn't have a way home, so on my way to bring Sister some ice cream I stop by his work and give him a 20.

Around 3am I get a text message from TBF.

He got a drive and still took my money.

Oh Boo fuckin hoo! This man is so cheap he squeaks. So I text him back.

Well tell him u cant aford 2 b doing that. after all u need that money 2 have the Porsche detailed or your girlfriends $18000 ring cleaned - kids

To which he replied:

You can ho fuck yourself.

And then:

Maybe we should look at send ing him back because there some problems that are really getting bigger by the day

Ya, he is expecting you to act like a father and not a landlord. So I reply.

I ask him every day why he is there, after all you make him feel sooooo welcome and loved.

I know that none of this gets through to you, but you make him feel like you really don't like him at all. You make him pay you back $10 then park a luxury automobile in the driveway.

You make a point of showing him the reciept for a very expensive ring, then proceed to NOT give him anything for his birthday? Do you not get how that looks? Are you really that thick?

Why not give him a break, he is not a tenth as bad as you were when you were his age, give him some credit.

I get no real reply to this and I don't really expect one. TBF is a thick as a brick moron who can't see what he is doing. He acts like the boy is a drug czar or something, everything he does is suspect.

Point of fact, the other night he was given the truck (rare) so he could go visit his girlfriend. When he got there he picked up his girlfriend and he took her to Wendy's. TBF freaked. How did he know The Boy went to Wendy's?

Because he FOLLOWED him. I kid you not! Had a big screaming match in the parking lot, told The Boy that he would 'kill' him. No word of a lie.

I know what you are thinking and I can't believe I slept with that man either.

How does this survive?

Ever have a conversation with someone who couldn't say enough nice things about themselves? Someone who goes on and on about how great they are, about their accomplishments (both real and imagined) and how you would just love to be them? Don't you just love talking to people like that?

Then why the hell would you listen to rap music?

Just finished watching the Grammy's. Holy crap.

I won't pretend that I have any idea who these people are but one was a girl...very, very pregnant. Watching her gyrate around the stage was almost as difficult to watch as it was to listen to. (this is the actual outfit)

You would avoid these people like the plague in real life, how do they still sell records?

The Boy is 18 today.

Happy Birthday, Buddy. Luv you!