So, as far as Bill 60 goes, we might be in pretty good shape. It's still up in the air but it looks like the government might make a law that separates us from tobacco legislation. Here's hoping.
During a recent consultation with the Dept of Health and Wellness it appeared that the government is open to the fact that ecigs have to be legislated differently than tobacco. The meeting went well and we left hopeful.
Some interesting stuff coming up in our future. Starting to spread the joy a little bit and are going to start to wholesale our exclusive juice vendors to other brick and mortars. As well, we have decided to bring in a whole new juice line, Mad Mikes.
Just getting the lab set up now and with a little luck we should be shelving it in a couple of weeks.
And another thing...
Got a tattoo the other day.
Really didn't intend on getting one, was at the tattoo shop to talk to the artist about painting my car. Once there he said, "Are you sure you don't want a tattoo? I have time right now."
Well, I just happened to be carrying around the graphics for a tattoo that I had been thinking about for a few years now. So I pull out the pic.
"Oh ya...I can do that in an hour or so."
I am really starting to sweat, I was not prepared. I mean, I don't give a shit who you are, tattoos hurt. Like HELL!
Not sure if I was hoping it would stall him but I mentioned that I wanted the little reaper to be holding a guitar instead of a scythe. He was quick and had a sketch in a few minutes. I was cornered.
It's a bit angry right now, but I think it turned out pretty good. He still has to shade some more white and put The Boy's birth date in there.
So, TBF won the lottery. I know, you are saying "There is no God." So you think maybe he spread the wealth to his son? Not a freakin' chance.
The Boys coworkers from TBF's shop looked upon him in pity and said, "Dude, too bad yer mom didn't win." Even they knew he wouldn't see a dime.
So today the boy is 23. I could not be more proud of him and took him yesterday to buy new work clothes and boots. TBF says to him, "New gear? What's the occasion?" Mind like a steel trap, that one.
Quick thinker that he is, he sends his daughter to MacDonalds to pick up lunch and as a birthday honor, he allows The Boy first pick from the assortment of cookies.
The man is generous to a fault.
UPDATE: New Information: Turns out the daughter bought lunch, TBF didn't even pay for the cookies. Pitiful.
What I like about Mother's Day is that, for me, its not a big deal. The Boy lets me know every day that he loves me and appreciates everything I have done for him. I am so proud of him sometimes that I could bust.
How did I end up here? Living in butt-fuck-nowhere in a trailer with my sister?
Many planets aligned to make this happen. I was living alone, happily (despite my rednecked neighbors)in a two bedroom apartment in our little town. My sister was living not so happily alone in a trailer in butt-fuck-nowhere and working away on a ridiculously well paying job in another province. The Boy was living with his father and enjoying making his father and step monster miserable with his mere presence in their home.
All was right with the world.
The Boy is still living with his father and experiencing the joy of living there only because it makes them miserable. Not really a tough job since everything seems to make TBF and the step monster miserable. They have refined it to an art. However, The Sister and I became another story.
First The Sister's job came to an end and her unemployment insurance was soon to follow. She asked me a couple of times if I would consider moving in with her. She owned her own home, so there would be no rent and two incomes would be better than one. Sounded good, but I was enjoying living alone for the first time in forever. I had already converted (somewhat) the boys room into an exercise room. I had my home the way I liked it I was livin' (in my opinion) the dream.
The second set of rednecks (brother of the first) that lived below me were preparing to move and I was told by the landlord that(for the new tenant) he would be fishing from a different gene pool. That being said, I was very surprised to find the younger brother of the previous two tenants moving in one day. Give me strength!
Let me give you just a brief rundown of the first two. Sister redneck was the first. She and her 'husband' had triplets and stole the bed I had in stored in the barn and used it for two years. I thought someone stole it from the barn but when they moved out, thankfully, they left it behind.
The next to move in was the brother. He had two children and as many derelict cars in the driveway. None of his friends could grasp the concept of not blocking me in the three car wide driveway. No matter when they arrived, day or night when given the option of who to park behind, it was always me. Fuckin' maddening. Also when given the option of where on the property to set up their fireworks display they inveritably chose six inches from the front bumper of my car. (no matter where it was parked)
This is just a drop in the bucket as to what I had to deal with. I could go on but I won't. So you may understand why my heart sank when I saw the third installment moving in. But hey, I thought, this may not be as bad as I think.
Wrong. This is turning into a long drawn out post but it has to be said. First problem...they had a dog. A puppy, really. Keep in mind that I work from home. As far as I could tell, neither of the two people that moved in seemed to have a job so I wasn't concerned about the dog to start with. However, the first time they left it at home alone, he lost his mind.
I mention that this is unacceptable and that he can't leave the dog inside alone because I work from home and can't work with the dog howling. His solution? Leave him outside...alone. Guess what? He still howled. So I head down to leave a note on his door that his solution does not work when the little shit comes in the drive. "Dude, you can't leave the dog tied up."
He tries to ignore me. "You said I can't keep him inside so I put him out." and starts to get back in the car.
"In or out, he howls."
"Well I can't take him with me everywhere."
"Then I guess you can't have a dog then."
"Yes I can."
"Actually, no you can't. You can't have a dog in city limits if it disturbs the fucking peace and it is disturbing my fucking peace."
"Whatever." and he gets into the car and drives away.
THAT IS FUCKIN' IT! This was not a one day thing, and I had experience with this particular gene pool before so I knew how this was not going to be an easy road.
I called my sister, "You still want to live together?"
"Are you sure?"
"Question is, are you sure. I know I can deal with you, but you need to be sure you can deal with me."
"I can deal, but I don't think you mean it."
"As soon as we hang up, I am ordering a dumpster."
And that was it. Decision made, I phoned the landlord and gave notice.
Sure, its funny to hear about but when you live with it, it gets old really fast.
The Boy is stomping all over my last nerve with this car.
-He goes out every single day and vacuums it. Every day.
-We don't have a hose so he takes two buckets outside with him. One with soapy water and the other with clear water and washes it. Oh, and a t-shirt... to dry it. (No, it is not a Porsche or a Ferrari.)
-He doesn't like the condition of the driveway (mud puddles, rutts etc.) so he parks it on the lawn. He has no idea why that would upset me. Aside from the fact it kills the grass, it is just so Trailor Park Boys.
Now he wants me to take it to the garage because one of the tires has the writing facing in instead of out like the other three. I kid you not.
Maybe he is afraid someone will start humming the 'one of these things' song when he drives up. That would be humiliating.
I believe my crazy addiction faze has run its course.
I don't usually succumb to those sorts of all-consuming activities. Well not since my 36hour HTML coding marathon. I was surfing the net, way back when, and thought I should try this HTML shit. I bought a book and sat at the keyboard for almost 36 hours straight, I think I napped a couple times but it was like as soon as I got to sleep my mind would work out the problem I was having spacing the tables correctly and I would snap awake and have to go right back to the computer.
I guess it happens at the beginning of anything interesting for me. I can't seem to find a happy medium. When the FarmTown thing started winding down, meaning I had the biggest farm I was ever gonna have and more money than I could spend, I started looking at other things that I could do to fill the time between harvests. I dabbled in YoVille and BarnBuddies, but I think I am over it now.
So, what has been happening around me while I was single-mindedly tending to my fake life online?
Well, The Boy got a car, you knew that. But he has yet to move back with his father. Don't get me wrong, I love The Boy, but I was living the life while he was gone. My house was never more dirty than I made it. There was no obstacle course on the way to anywhere (ie: towels, socks, clothes, shoes). There was always something to drink when I opened the fridge and I was never surprised with an empty carton of ice cream.
While he was gone for that year, my power bills were cut in half and now I know why. The washer and dryer have never stopped since he walked back in. He takes two showers a day and has to make sure the bathroom is full of steam (nice and warm) before he even steps foot in it.
He never says where he is going or where he has been and forgets to say 'luv ya' now when we part company. He won't take the garbage out or clean a dish or even just pick up after himself. He goes to school when he feels like it and takes a fit if you say anything about it. And he lies! I am not sure why, but he lies about everything, stupid things that don't even make any sense to lie about. It's almost pathological.
I have figured it out, seems that the person he is living with is the person he shits on.
I fixed his wagon as far as school is concerned. If he misses one more day this year, I will have his father cancel the insurance on his car. No exceptions!
So, I am just waiting for TBF to get his shit together and get his house built so the boy can move back. Hopefully I will not be wiped out financially by then.
This plan might work and would most definitely work if not for one thing. The Boy's Father.
The Boy is jones'in over this car.
Most likely strictly because of these rims.
His plan? To have TBF co-sign a loan for him to purchase this car. Twenty-five hundred bucks, you're thinking, not a big deal, especially for a guy that just bought a Porsche for cash, right?. For any other father out there, probably wouldn't be a big deal, but I don't think The Boy should hold his breath.
I wish he had seen this car before I spent the income tax refund, I would have bought it for him. I fear that this is as close as he is going to get to this car if TBF has anything to say about it. Somehow when it comes to The Boy, TBF is loathe to part with a quarter. I have no idea why that is, but it is.
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.
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.
Could you pick me up at the hospital after work. Someone hit me in the nose and the cops saw it and they are taking me to the hospital to have it checked.
What the hell?
Apparently he was walking next door from his house to the pizza place when one of his so-called friends came at him and hit him in the face with a pipe.
I show up at the Outdoor (ER for you yanks in the audience)and find that the cop has just dumped The Boy and left after he got his statement. The doctor tells me his nose is broken and most likely the bone in his cheek and there is possible muscle damage that will require surgery.
The Boy looks like...well...he looks like someone hit him in the face with a pipe. His nose is forming an S and he will have a pretty good shiner in the morning.
I start to tell the doctor that it was a pipe, not a fist, that he was hit with and she says, "Were you there?"
"Ah, no. If I were there the other kid would be here as well. With tubes and wires coming out of him. I would be in cuffs and there would be doctors and nurses running around saying 'STAT' and shit!"
So, I take him home with me because he will have to be woken up every two hours to make sure he is not nauseous and he needs to be back at the hospital at 7:30am for a CAT scan.
I don't bother trying to phone his father because he never answers the phone anyway. I sent him a text. I am told he finally knows how to read these. We shall see.
All week it has been very cold here. Last night it was -26C (that's -14F) when I had to venture out to drive The Boy home from his girlfriends. The car was not at all happy that I was trying to make it do anything in this weather. I was concerned at one point it would just refuse to take me any farther.
I sat for quite a while just to be able to see out the windshield. Even then I had to scrape the 'inside' just to see out. The clutch was sluggish and I felt like I was arm wrestling for the gears. Not to mention all the lights on the dash were going crazy. The open door indicator, even when the door was closed, and the fasten seat belt light when (you guessed it) I had my seat belt on.
The weather is not fit for humans or machinery. And that goes for pipes to. This is the second morning I have woken up to frozen pipes.
The first night of the really cold weather, the landlord calls and asks me to open up the hot water tap a trickle to keep it from freezing. That night I had nightmares of the drain getting clogged and me having a flood. All kinds of fun'ness. I once (once) lived in an apartment building but it was a nightmare. Before I went to bed, I would make sure nothing was turned on (ie:stove, iron, etc)and would double check my ashtrays to make sure there was nothing smoldering. Ok, so I am slightly OCD. Even after 10 minutes of checking and rechecking, I got no sleep at all worrying about who was checking all the other guys smoldering ashtrays. I had to move out. I just couldn't take the sleep deprivation.
So now I am in a house with just one other apartment, less worry. Or so I thought, except for the nightmare about being swept away at sea.
I wake up in the morning and there was no flood and the water was still running. So, I figure I can turn it off, right? Three hours later, no hot water. Frozen pipes. Three hours, that is all it took.
So, the landlord comes and borrows my little portable heater and heads to the basement. An hour or so later, the water is flowing again. What I am 'assuming' is that he has fixed the problem. I hate that word, assume. It never ends well. Sure enough, I wake up this morning to no hot water again.
The landlord just left, he is starting to make me nervous, suggesting that we leave an electric heater going in the crawlspace to keep the pipes warm.
Uh, and possibly burn the house down? There has got to be a better, more copacetic way to keep your pipes from freezing. One that doesn't involve me having nightmares.
And when I say 'Santa', I mean my sister. The Boy has been Jones'n for this guitar for a while. He had resigned himself to the fact that it would take him forever to afford it. So when my sister pulled it out from behind the couch....he was floored. At one point I thought he might topple her.
She has been bugging him to learn House of the Rising Sun since he first started playing at age eleven. Guess he won't be able to avoid it now.
Then I found out that my nephew is on YouTube. Talent runs in the family. His father used to play guitar and sing, back in the day. This is Gummmy playing an original composition.
Now all I have to do is convince The Boy that this is the way to go. Maybe I can hear him play more often.
The Boys father called me this morning at 7:30am. He has been calling a lot lately. Where is The Boy? Did he go to school, was he really at work? What is he doing with all his money? He lives with you, why don't you fuckin' ask him?
I know the boy has been trying to save up for an iPod Touch. But was foiled recently when he had to use that money to buy hockey gear. (Gear his father should have paid for, but was conveniently out of town and unable to purchase.)The Boy was defeated.
I had to giggle at the 'all his money' question. He works at Wendy's he might make $150 a week, if he is lucky. And since getting the job his father won't even give him 5 bucks for his ice time for hockey. 'All his money' is what he is living on.
So this morning, he finds a business card from the Cash Store (payday loans) on the bathroom floor. He calls me and goes ballistic, "If I catch him at that place I will rip his head off. "
"What the hell are you on about?" I didn't hear much of his ramblings, except for the last part.
"I don't want him to end up like you!" And then of course he hangs up. One of the many reasons we are no longer together, he doesn't fight. He is more of a hit and run kinda asshole.
I am not completely sure what he meant by that, or how he imagines I ended up.
Luckily we live in the 21st century so I get out my mobile phone. And text him.
End up like me? Just remember that YOU are the common denominator in this scenario, Asshole!
No reply.
As long as he doesn't meet some asshole and have to try and figure out how to raise a child ALL BY HIMSELF, he should be fine.
Still nothing
And what exactly are you doing about it? Except treating him the same way you treated me? We'll be lucky if he doesn't turn out like you.
The man is lucky he was not standing in front of me, I would have dropped him like a rock.
Turns out The Boy needed something to write a confirmation code on, he had ordered a meal at Swiss Chalet. TBF will be disappointed that there was no cloak or daggers involved. Sometimes I wonder what I ever saw in him. Wait, now I remember, it was the car.
They say it takes a village? Well my sister is the Queen of that village. She heard about the boy having to spend his money on hockey gear and promptly ordered an iPod touch for The Boy. It will be here in a few days. She wanted to have it engraved 'Because your father is a prick' but I went with 'Love Aunt Adah'. I think the prick thing is implied.
TBF wouldn't even think of lifting a finger for anyone, ever. Unless, of course, there was something in it for him.
That is the difference in the gene pool between our family and TBF's. I am sorry I ever swam in the shallow end of his.
There are some things you just can't buy at a retail store anymore, and thank God there are people like you and me who never throw anything out.
Let's say you are decorating the new cottage at the lake. One of those big ol' stuffed fish would look really great over the mantle. Problem is, you're not much of a fisherman and any time you catch anything over three inches long, your wife just wants to throw it out, or worse - cook it. Plus, the mantle is four feet wide, and let’s face it, nothing that big is coming out of that lake without search and rescue.
Well you won't find a Stuffed-Fish-R-Us store, but somewhere there is a woman staring at just what you need. And she is thinking, 'If that thing doesn’t go, the wedding is off!' or ‘I wonder if I set it on fire, would he believe it was an act of God?’
Half the time I buy things I can't even identify. If it looks interesting, I buy it. For instance, I just happen to have a Weston Model 703 Foot-Candle Meter. I have no idea what it is for, but it is old and came in a cool leather case. Don’t laugh, you never know, I might need that someday. (It could happen! Shut up!)
I took The Boy to the flea market once, as we were browsing I stopped to look at a record player. I actually needed one, I had been thinking of dragging my record collection out of mothballs.
As we are discussing the sale my son walks up and lifts the dome. "Where do the CD's go?"
The woman and I have one of those 'you know you are old when' moments and she gives me a pleading look, "Make it go away." I send The Boy on a mission to find hubcaps.
But I ask you, where are you going to purchase a record player or a foot-candle meter, for that matter, if not from someone else who has one? Flea markets are great in the summer, but this is Canada. What do we do during the 10 months of winter? When we absolutely gotta have it?
• A stove to match that avocado green fridge, or a purple toilet to match the tub • A floor model version of Cat Com Bowling Arcade machine • 20-30 year old telephone poles (They are great for clothes line's) • A Copy of “Descriptive Atlas of Western Canada” dated 1899 (I bet ya they don't have that one at Coles.) • A 1946 Hudson Commodore (Way cool!) • A Cute & cuddly Bishonfrise (Okay, I have no idea what that is, but if I wanted it I could get it right here.)
Where else are you gonna find a horse drawn cultivator, or walking plow? Canadian Tire? I don't think so.
If you need it, someone out there has it. All you gotta do is let your fingers do the walking.
Thankfully they don’t have a twelve step program for pack rats.
Got my new car today. Well, it's new to me and only had one other owner, Nurse Darling.
It's a 1998 Toyota Corolla, 5 speed.
I have a laundry list of things I want to buy for her. Wheel covers, being the most obvious. But I also need seat covers and a steering wheel cover, etc...
I am selling the old girl. A 1997 Chevy Cavalier. Shame really, I just had a shitload of work done to it. Breaks, shocks, struts, muffler. But Nurse Darling had told me she wasn't getting a new car until next year, so I put all my money into fixing the old girl.
However, as soon as Nurse Darling saw this little beauty, she couldn't resist. I asked The Boy if I should sell the old girl or did he want it. You know what he said?
"Go ahead and sell it." WTF?
Does he think he will get a better offer than 'free' for a car? Sometimes I don't understand what is going on in that boys head. So sell 'er we shall.
Really didn't intend on getting one, was at the tattoo shop to talk to the artist about painting my car. Once there he said, "Are you sure you don't want a tattoo? I have time right now." 
