Music of my Life

I have decided that this is my new theme song.



Thoughts?

Pink and Fuzzy

I'm not sure you know this but I have a real soft spot for Pink. Yes, Pink - the singer Pink. I think her real name is Alicia or something.
I don't own any Pink cds - but I did enjoy the "behind the music" story on her.
And whenever I hear her stuff on the radio I think to myself - that girl can write.
I also think whenever I hear her perform - that girl can sing.
She can indeed.
But Perez Hilton (and yes I enjoy him too) pointed me to this song, Sober, and the matching video. His comments were akin to this video and song are both amazing - and he is right.
He's also right that the bit with her in the bed - is awesome.
I am not an alcoholic. I don't even ever really drink anymore.
I am not a crack addict or a heroin addict - but we all - each and every one of us do things compulsively.
I know I do.
And no, I am not about to confess my compulsions to you here. Did you really think that I would?
Why do we do it? Why do we drink? Why do we over eat? What are the triggers and the causes and what makes us end it?
I was at the Naturopath last weekend - more to come on that - I PROMISE - and she asked me if I loved diet coke for the caffeine or the bubbles or the taste? Is it because its cold? Nope. None of those things. I can't quite figure out my compulsion with it. I really have no bloody idea but I have to. I have to figure out what is triggering my compulsion to drink diet coke.
Okay - you got me - I confessed my love of a caffeinated soft drink.
But its more than that. I have a lot of compulsive things that I do.
I don't know what it is.
I do know that I am a people pleaser and nothing cuts me more than to say no.
I know that I'm a lazy person - and I hate to do actual work - like cleaning and things like that. I'd happily live in a pig stye. Happily but guiltily. I secretly want to be clean and tidy but at the same time could care less about it.
I'm a mess of contradictions.
I live a life of contradiction, compulsion and denial of both.
How's that for fun Pink?
Back to Pink.
I am posting it for you to talk to your demons.

Aahh, the sun is blinding

I stayed up again

Oohh, I am finding

That's not the way I want my story to end

The Wonderful Foods of Disney

It has been forever and a day since we got back from Disney World (World not Land - Land is in California). We went back in August.

One of the things I did to prepare for the trip was research the restaurants we would be eating at. Partly out of vegan-necessity but part of it because if you are on the meal plan, you have to have reservations for your sit down dinners - or you have to wait forever. Fletchers hate to wait.

So, 2 months before I started searching the Disney website for places for vegans to eat at Disney. There are a lot actually.

But, before I start describing my glorious meals, I must tell you that I didn't keep completely vegan on vacation. HELL - I was on VACATION. I had some baked stuff that more than likely had eggs in it. AND I had some cheese. I love cheese. But I didn't cave and eat ice cream. Oh okay, I did have some whip cream but I'm sure it was edible oil product and not real cream. (God it was good though!)

K.

First night...we went to the Animal Kingdom lodge to a buffet restaurant called BOMA. It is African themed and was recommended by the nice lady who was doling out the reservations on the Disney phone line.

Because it was African, there was a HUGE amount of vegan products. On my plate you can see evidence of the nice salad bar. And the selection of dips (black bean hummus, red bean hummus, and red pepper dip) on the right hand side. The giant flat bread that i dipped is the triangle on the top right on the table.

Next is corn bread, Spanish rice, ratatouille, baked pumpkin and of course, falafel and sauce. Mmmmm. I think I ate my own body weight in falafel!

I recommend Boma because the Animal Kingdom lodge was gorgeous. Because everyone in my family loved the food and because it was so unusual and delicious.

The next day we spent the day at Magic Kingdom. Lunch was an awesome veggie wrap with carrot cake and fries that I wish I had a picture of. It was awesome. Snack - funnel cake with powdered sugar. Messy but good.

And dinner was at the "Crystal Palace". This is a "character dining experience" which I wasn't sure we would like but, it was a buffet where we could watch the amazing fire works show so I thought it couldn't suck that bad.

Turns out, the kids loved the idea of visiting with Winnie the Pooh and friends while they ate.

The food was really basic but fresh and quite nice. I really liked the salads and the breads. Again, all you can eat. I should have stopped eating long before I did but hey, I was on VACATION!

Day 2 we were at a water park - Blizzard Beach where I ate the worst veggie burger of all time. Veggie burgers can be so very hit and miss no matter where you are. I don't blame Disney really.
That night we went to Epcot - to the Fresh Dinner place...I can't remember the name really. It was "family style" dining.

We had big salads with the largest cherry tomatoes I've ever had. They were also the best cherry tomatoes I've ever had. All served with hot biscuits and corn bread. Yes, I ate my own weight in corn bread.

Hubby and the kids got platters of steak, catfish, fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, roasted potatoes and veggies. Later we learned most of the food is grown underneath Disney in their super farm place - we went on a cool tour of the place.

I, as a veggie, got the best risotto ever. Made with veggie stock and peas and asparagus. SO good. Sure, it had Parmesan on it but it was so amazingly good I didn't care.

The next day we were at Hollywood studios. We had excellent Pizza and giant salads at "Toy Story Pizza Planet" which I didn't get pictures of. Frankly, we didn't like Hollywood studios much. We enjoyed the Muppets theatre and the stunt driver show but, we didn't like all the scary rides and the High School Musical crap. ICK.

Dinner was another story!

We went to this 50s diner. Very kitchsy. They check that you don't have your elbows on the table and that sort of thing.

Ben had the best fried chicken he's ever had - or so he said. He also fell in love with collard greens and bacon. Who wouldn't?

And his dessert was gorgeous...photo....

I think it was M&M brownie cake.

It was smothered in whip cream and came with ice cream too!

My dinner was good. It was a rice stuffed pepper with ratatouille (I should really learn to spell that word!) on the side. Good but not very filling.

I could easily have eaten two peppers. AND there was no protein in the meal at all. No beans. Nothing.

It was one of those meals that I'm glad we were on the meal plan or I would have been pissed at paying a lot of money for it.

Dessert was a different story...

I had an angel food cake - most likely full of egg whites - oh well - with berry compote. It was all fresh and yummy!

The dinner was good but we were all hungry later. Sorry Disney, but it isn't exactly filling in the 1950s!

We ate in the German Buffet the next night. It was a cool place where you share tables with other families. We had dinner with a nice lady (it was her birthday) and her daughter. They were from Florida and just there to celebrate her day.

It was a challenging meal for the family though. Wayne told sammy that the schnitzel was chicken nuggets and he ate it - but they he went back to get more, figured out it was pork, and was pissed off.

Ben ate his own weight in mini wieners and sauerkraut.

Wayne loved it all.

I liked the salad part. You can see here - pickled cabbage, roasted potatoes, pretzel bread, apple sauce, carrots, spetzel, and tomato salad. MMMM.

AND all of that while listening to a live polka band. Does it get any better than that?

The last night we went to Planet Hollywood in downtown Disney. I didn't get a picture of my meal. Or the meal of the guy beside me - although I wish I had!
The emo/semi goth kid sitting beside me had vegan fajitas. They fried up onions, peppers, broccoli, tomatoes and stuff and served it with tortillas, lettuce, guacamole and salsa. It looked amazing. And wasn't on the menu. If I'd known about it before I ordered, I would have had that!

As it was, I had yum-o-lish pasta with fresh tomatoes, herbs, peppers and mushrooms. Really huge portion and really really good!

Everyone liked their dinner there - and it was on the meal plan!

I really did think before I left for Florida that I would end up eating nothing but french fries and ice burg lettuce salads the whole week. Instead I had really good meals that for the most part were better balanced nutritionally than I eat at home. Bravo Disney for a good vegetarian menu!

Thanks giving feasts

I had to look back and check last years blog to be sure that I wasn't repeating the same blog again and again and again - you know how easy it is to do that, right?

Today I was asked for my 5 things that I'm thankful for. And I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. Hahahaha. No really, today I want to talk about the Thanksgivings of my childhood.

As a kid we would work for a week on Thanksgiving projects in art. Making turkeys from potatoes or cut outs of our hands or tissue paper. Sometimes we even did American Thanksgiving crafts and made pilgrim hats and Indian head-dresses. In the 70s it was like we were drunk on the Brady Bunch or something....and we just blindly followed along untouched by the fact that Canadian Thanksgiving is a tribute to the harvest and NOT a copy of a Pilgrim dinner party held centuries ago.

In my family we never did anything normally. Not even thanksgiving. But normal, it has been said, is all relative. Right?


From the time I was born we would always take off on the Thursday before the Thanksgiving long weekend in a "convoy" of the Burt Reynold's variety with all of my cousins following behind. Vans and trucks with trailers attached, making their way across South Western Ontario from Stratford to Sarnia. We would snake our way across the highway stopping at the border to chow down on egg salad sandwiches, cut in thirds and wrapped in tin foil.

We drove across the border (at that time it was a hey-how-ya-doing no passport required kind of border crossing). Our convoy headed over to the state park on the St. Clair river. Camping. We were going camping.

Well, camping of a St. Clair family fashion. Sure, we all had campsites. We put all of our picnic tables together commune style and built a HUGE fire pit. BUT, our main purpose was not to camp in the chilly fall and enjoy the changes in the colours of the leaves. Nope. Our purpose for our visit was to shop. Every day. From sun up to sun down. Target. Kmart. Farmer Jack.

We would go from store to store and load up on whatever we could get our hands on. Cheap underwear and socks! Purses and coats and all kinds of clothes. And because even then in the 70s Americans were fatter than Canadians and we could get unusual and somewhat more fashionable clothing there.

My favourite Thanksgiving outfit was the matching swan sweatervests and checked baby blue gabardine pants my Mom and I got. Awesome early 70s chic!

Often we would go to Mary Maxim the world's (as far as we were concerned) largest craft store. There I began learning from my mother how to stock pile craft projects - so many that I can never be truly finished! When my Mother died - she had about 3 dozen balls of un knit yarn. Hoarding hobbies was a habit that neither of us have ever broken.

We ate well in the US. Sure we were "camping" and did the burgers and dogs on the bbq - but we ate at the Sweden House buffet. Back in the day it was the most awesome buffet ever. I am not certain but I think the lunch buffet was $5. Sure it was! Hell, I was a kid - I didn't know anything about money! It might have been free!

Funny thing about the Sweden House, it was not Swedish food. It was all the goodness of an American buffet. Yepper. Meat - carved meat. Many kinds of potatoes. And I guess there was a salad bar but I don't remember ever visiting it. Of course, all the dessert you could carry.

The blue slushies from Kmart stick in my head as a big deal. We loved those slurpee like drinks - so blue and totally full of air. I can remember getting one and sitting out in the front of KMart and waiting for my mother to meander around the store endless times. She'd pick up nylon nighties and packages of knee highs. It was a happy thanksgiving for all of us.

But no traditional turkey dinner. Not for the St. Clair family. Not ever. We would, on thanksgiving Monday, stop at the Arby's (this is before we had Arby's in Canada) and pick up a dozen junior Arby's sandwiches. Once we smuggled all of our purchases across the border, hidden in the bowels of the trailer, we would stop just outside of London and have our sandwiches. Mmmmm cold roast beef.

But no turkey.

Until one year when my mother got tired of hearing us whine and complain about not having the thanksgiving that all of our friends had.

So she cooked up a turkey on the Wednesday before we left. Put it, all wrapped in tin foil, into the cooler and surrounded it with ice packs.

Off we went to Port Huron with the thoughts of stuffing and turkey and gravy swimming in our heads.

"I'll make the potatoes on Monday" she said.

Every time all weekend someone tried to sneak a bit of turkey my mother smacked their hand. She guarded that turkey like a rabid Tiger guarding its prey- perhaps a dead Zebra! (okay gross analogy but I'm making a point) She was adamant that we have this dinner on Monday and she would be the one to ensure it was perfect.

Monday came - socks and underwear and nighties are bought - and we open the cooler. Out wafts the most horrific smell ever. I was about 11 years old and if I think about it today - 31 years later, I can still remember that smell. It was vile. Barfaliscious. Horrible. Just nasty.

Oh but it got better. As my Mother pulled back the tin foil, the entire turkey was GREEN - grass green with mould and slime. Just awful.

My mother cried.

We all laughed.

Then she cried and laughed. We all still laugh about the thanksgiving turkey that never was. We ate the mashed potatoes and of course, Arby's. Yum. Roast beef sandwiches.

Now the point of me telling you this story is that I wanted you to know, I put a lot of importance on the holiday meals I serve. I am likely compensating for a life time of Arby's. I also know that every time thanksgiving comes I think of my Mom laughing and crying all at the same time over that stupid green turkey. Its the company you keep not the food that you eat that makes the day the day and I give thanks for that.

Crying over you

I was 14 before a boy made me cry.

He wasn't my boyfriend. He was just a boy that I knew. That I liked. He was my friend. Well, in retrospect, I suppose he really wasn't. He made me cry by telling me that no one would love me because I was ugly.

He used my insecurities to manipulate me.

He even had me come back for more - I needed more - I needed to have him completely tear me down.

He said that I wasn't the right person. That I didn't have what it took.

That it was something that I did.

And then he laughed. He laughed AT me - not with me - but at me. And that ripped my guts out through my nose.

I did what you are supposed to do. I kept a stiff upper lip. I said he was full of crap. I stared him down and sat eye to eye with him in full possession of every ounce of self confidence I could muster. I was un-affected.

And as soon as I left - I was a mess. I cried so hard I heaved sobs. I thought in the fashion of a 14 year old that it would be LESS painful to actually be dead than to feel what I was feeling just then. It very likely would have.

But, I stuck it out.

And amazingly, it happened again. Another boy. He and I were making out. He lifted my shirt and traced the silvery spidery lines of my stretch marks. And he laughed. I don't remember what he said - but I remember the laughing.

And at the time, I blocked it out, carried on, let him kiss me again and again and then again - as soon as I was alone - I exploded with that same painful sob.

I remember walking into the kitchen and cutting some cheese and getting some saltines - still crying crying crying and choking on the cheese and crackers the two kinds of salty mixing and making me gag on the tears.

I have a delicate relationship with crying.

I can cry during movies like a normal person. I cry in commercials for Hallmark and at funerals for ANYONE (its the least I can do for them). I cry gently and lady-like. I cry in a controlled manner. I cry for show. But some days I could cry like it was the last time ever.

That pain wrapped up in the same cocoon that contains all that hurt - whether its mine to feel or not - that's how it escapes.

I know I'm not unusual. I know that we all cry.

Hell, I'm crying RIGHT now. For no reason at all. I'm not hurt or sad or upset or lonely or disgruntled or even inconvenienced. I just feel intolerably upset.

My husband tells me that the problem is when I'm upset by something or someone - I don't SAY anything. I let it go. I pretend "fake it till you make it" and the "suck it up buttercup" with my "stiff upper lip" and all that jazz. And then, well then I just break loose. Cry like the blubbering puke I know deep down inside that I am.

I remember going to the doctor once and having my eyes dilated with orange dye. And when I left he handed me a giant WAD of Kleenex. He explained that I would need it later when my nose started to run - orange snot. Where do you think your tears go when you don't cry? Good question. They are just snot.

Today I cried. Tomorrow I'll cry again. For as many times I've cried I've laughed 100 times more. For all those days I forgot or just didn't get around to crying, my guess is that I blew my nose more that day.

As for those boys that made me cry? They were the first and likely not the last. I'm a delicate flower of a girl!

One, Two, Three and Four

You think that the only truth that matters is the truth that can be measured.
If I'm right, then I win.
If, in theory, a 9 gets a 9
then a 3 gets a 3.
If, in theory, you can only move the spaces that you roll on the dice then shit isn't always fair now, is it?
What if a 2 gets an 8?
Is everyone around them bound to check thoroughly and completely that everything is even and in balance?
That rarely happens though, does it?
The Honeymooner's.
I guess really it only happens on tv - The Flintstones, Happy Days, King of Queens, According to Jim...there must be more.

Big fat guy with his trophy wife. How often does that REALLY happen?
Remember that song that went "Three dressed up as a Ni-eye-eeeye-ne"?
You know I had to google it to remember it was Trooper - right?

Well you can say what you like
Be what you wanna be
You can suit yourself baby
But you don't suit me

What makes a 3 a 3?
It's only physical right?

What you can see from far away.

Have you ever seen Trooper? Like they should judge, am I right?
But what is my point today?
The point is, today in the paper they said that the national association for fat acceptance is trying to convince everyone that fat can be healthy.

Steve Harper is running the country I love and he has the ugliest hair of anyone I've ever seen. Its like painted on Ken doll hair.

Madonna is hailed as superfit superstar 50 year old woman and I can see the individual strands in the muscles on her legs and it makes me have a little vomit in my mouth.
The point is, that once a man told me that I was "quite unattractive" and while I think his momma needed to teach him some manners before he gets himself killed, I think he was also a giant idiot.

Who is he to judge?

Well, actually, he is the judge.

And so am I.

And so are you.
Every last ugly warty pimple covered one of us can judge the other.
Because if the only truth that matters is the one that can be measured, today I am a 4.
Please feel free to score yourself below.

"You used to be fun"

Many years ago, I used to be a lot of things.
I have always been tall.
I have always been fat.
I have always been smart, and funny, and nice.
But, much to my regret, I have not always been fun.
Oh I have had fun.
But I haven't always been fun.
Back in high school I knew that I was a weirdo. Frankly, I think most of us do know that. A whole building FULL to over flowing of people who feel that they don't belong. Taught by people who likely feel very much the same way.
I was not fun. I might have had fun. I even might have created some fun - but I, was not fun. I was scared and smart and studious and a slacker. I was a liar and a hard worker and even a thief. I was running away and looking for love but I was not FUN.
My favourite favourite movie of all times, the Sterile Cuckoo with Liza Minelli says it best and every time I watch it I think to myself "she gets me - she really gets me" but really, she likely gets us all when she says, "It's gonna be nice to get away from all these weirdos".
When I left high school, that's what I really thought I'd be doing. But little did I know I would be taking all the weirdos with me - they were weird only because I made them weird. I looked at people like they were different from me, which in all reality they weren't.
At university I spent more days terrified than not. My roommate scared me stupid. We were instant best friends that hated each other on sight.
I didn't have many friends there and the ones I did were weirder than I was.
The gay army cadet poet who lumbered around drinking root beer schnapps from a mug every night.
The girl next door with 6 inch high hair who wore blue mascara on her eyebrows and was having an affair with her 60 year old boss while dating his 20 year old son.
I wonder what ever happened to them?
At that point in my life I sought out like minded people -like the fat girl across the hall who tried to kill herself and had all gay friends- she was like me, right?
These people would not be my weirdos - they were just like me.
Like a pretty girl who wants to be beautiful surrounds herself with ugly girls, I wanted to be normal so I surrounded myself with the super weird. Did it work? No idea. But they were good people and I adored them.
Did I have fun? Sure. Was I fun? I think I was starting to become fun.
I was funny.
I was charming.
I was learning to be fun.
When I was out on my own I was alone and awfully lonely. At 20 I lived in the largest city in Canada with few friends. To be less alone I clung to the friends I had - I cultivated my gaggle of gays and became their diva hag.
I made myself into an amazing companion - I did whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted.
I had the best time - probably the best times of my life.
I just let stuff happen.
I enjoyed everything I did no matter how small or insignificant and as far as I can remember - that is when I used to be fun.
But life encroached on my fun.
I fell in love, which was fun. But it isolated me a bit from my friends.
Then I had kids - again fun - again isolating me from my old kind of fun.
The "let stuff happen" fell out of my life and was replaced with real grown up responsibility.
I am still tall.
I am still smart.
I am still fat and funny and nice.
But I'm the Vice Chairperson of the School Community Council.
And a Manager.
And a Mom.
I am an orphan.
And a wife.
And a Privacy Officer.
I have a mortgage and debt.
I have life insurance.
The dynamic of what makes up who I am has changed.
I still have fun.
Fun is karate tournaments.
Fun is this blog.
Fun is being with my friends the two times a year (maybe) I get to do that.
Am I still fun?
Not every day.
So when someone said "you used to be fun". They weren't wrong. I had no right to be as GUTTED as I felt.
I "used to be fun" though - I suppose I'll always have that.
In that same movie, Liza Minelli gives the most moving speech about how short life is. And it is. But, when I was fun, I had more than my one minute of good things. I know I did. Lucky me.

You know what the trouble is? The trouble is that probably all the good things
in life take place no more than a minute - I mean, all added up. Especially
at the end of 70 years, if you should live so long, you still haven't
figured it out. You spent 35 years sleeping. You spent five years going to
the bathroom. You spent 19 years doing some kind of work you absolutely
hated. You spent 8,759 minutes blinking your eyes. And, after that, you got
one minute of good thing.

Blog-sharing

Yesterday I was off work and trying to clean up my horribly messy house. In the kitchen I found fruitflies and rotting bananas.
Banana cake, I said. Banana cake.

Not loaf - cake.

Too lazy to walk up the 15 stairs to look through my dozens of cook books and WAY too freaking lazy to sort through the shoe box of my Mom's recipes to find Shirley Pugh's banana cake, I googled Banana Cake on my laptop.

I found this site http://seasonalontariofood.blogspot.com/ and a recipe for the most deliscious banana cake ever.

I tried to "vegan it up" but I left in the eggs. Instead of buttermilk I used soy milk with 3/4 tbsp of cider vinegar added to it. And instead of the chocolate icing I used the "Vanilla Butter Cream Icing" from the book Vegan Cupcakes.

The cake is yummy and I didn't end up having to make banana smooties. Again.

Check out that other site too - last week there was a recipe for minted carrots that looks AWESOME........

Do Not Call ME

I don't answer the phone in my own house anymore.
Why?
I hate telemarketing with a white hot burning passion that knows no bounds. I really do.
But, say those of you who know me, you used to work in telemarketing, you used to write telemarketing scripts....
Yes - totally true. I did. And, frankly, if I may toot my own horn, I was quite good at it.
I can write a script to sell anyone anything. And for every reason why they don't want to buy whatever it is my telepeople are shilling, I will give you 3 reasons why that reason isn't a good one. And, if you know what's good for you, and I will tell you that it is good for you, you will want to buy what they are selling. You will. Oh you may regret it later but for now, you will want it.
But in my house, we had 7 phone calls tonight.Three telemarketing in the half hour we were eating dinner - all pushing doors and windows - and like I said, all during dinner.
I say "hello".
They start their speech and I hang up quietly.
That was for the first 3 calls.
Then SeyHuhn called for Ben. I swear he talks on the phone more than I do.
One more telemarketing call from a real estate agent.
I did the same thing, hung up.
And another for doors and windows. By the time this one came, I was getting pissed off. Really pissed off.
I had been thinking about all the things that I had been reading about the miracle promised by the "Do Not Call Registry" through the government. I'm sure you all read all about it. Well, I was there in the very beginning. I remember going to meeting at the CMA - Canadian Marketing Association years ago and hearing about the do not call registry. You see, to people who market the world, the telephone is the holy grail of sales.
"The do not call registry is on its way!" spoke the scary man in his scary booming voice from the podium. The ominous tones of sure sales campaign failure echoed through the room in the airport hotel conference centre. You could hear, slightly, in the background the theme from Jaws...da duh....da duh....da duh....dun dun dun dun.......
We all sat, mesmerized contemplating careers in the wonderful world of home decorating or retail merchandizing. But no, they told us. This registry is not for us! Its not for "legitimate" marketers. Its for the fly by night window and door companies...THOSE are the companies that will go down when all of Canada signs on for the DNCL.
BECAUSE>>>>>>>>>>>
the DNCL does not stop your bank from calling you - that means insurance, credit cards and other bank products - they can still call.
Political parties can still call you for any reason.
Oh - and any place where you have a pre-existing relationship - they can call you. For example, your cable company, your phone company, your electric company or the company that provides your gas....all those people can call you.
And surveys - well any one can call you to conduct a survey.
Let me tell you how the call is going to go now....
Hi, can I speak to Mr or Mrs. Feltcher.....?
Hello Mrs Feltcher - I am
calling to ask you a few questions - do you have time to take a survey? Great.
When did you last purchase windows?
When did you last purchase doors for your home?

Then they start to sell you windows and doors

So essentially no matter what the hell you do, register or don't register for the Do Not Call List it will make NO difference or VERY LITTLE difference to how many and what kind of calls we get. And I got a bunch of calls in a row.
Back to my story - I was pissed.
The little girl started in on her spiel for, you got it, windows and doors. And I got pissed, sighed - one of those big heavy sighs and then I hung up.
I just hung up.
Not slammed down the phone but hung up.
Then came last call.
It was a man.
May I speak to Mrs. Fletcher.
Yes. Speaking.
And this is what he said to me
"Can I interest you in some free menopause medication bitch?"
and then he hung up.

When I *69-ed the number, of course, it could not be reached - the cornerstone hiding technique of the fly by night windows and doors people.
"Bravo" co-worker of frustrated telemarketing chick - "Bravo!"

Sure, I was a bitch, and I deserved the snarky call back.
Is the do not call list going to help that?
Nope.
People are still going to get paid minimum wage to make those calls.
And people, like me are still going to be bitchy and hang up.

In a Rush

When I was in grade 7, back in 1979 (yepper) there was a big push on fitness in Canada - "Particip-action" they called it. Everyone was made to exercise. But, exercise in that nonsensical 70s way: situps and chinups, jogging and jane fonda-esque workouts. "Lets get physical physical" Perhaps this was the Olivia Newton John headband era - I can't really remember.
But anyway, my school started an after school running program as part of this shift to health and fitness sanctioned and supported by the government. So, like a good girl, I didn't join. Frankly, I'm sure you can guess this, I've never been much of a joiner or a jogger.
But, all the boys joined. And after school every day, they would run around the block 5 times. They ran around the block that I lived on. Lucky me.
What I decided to do to participate in the health and fitness craze was run home and watching from my front porch.
Each day when school ended and all the running keeners would sprint to the gym to change into their 70s adidas shorts and absorbent terry cloth wrist and headbands, I would sprint home and sit on the porch.
I would quickly change my clothes into something I thought of as alluring (at the time anyway). Shorts and t-shirts that showed off my 13 year old good legs and bigger than average boobs were what I picked. Sure I was already fat - but I could flaunt what I had even then.
I would poise myself in full view - sitting sideways on the stairs, Tab in one hand and novel in the other. I would pretend to read carefully chosen novels like Catcher in the Rye and Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. Things that if you just were jogging leisurely by my house you could tell by the cover what i was reading.
Each day I did this for about a week - watching the joggers from overtop of my book - and reading nothing.
Eventually, a guy I knew from class, Mike and his friend Steve stopped to chat. "Want a drink?" I said.
Sure they did. And Steve stopped jogging and sat with me and Mike jogged away.
We talked about the novels I hadn't read. We talked about music. And we talked about the world in general.
I was in HEAVEN. I adored Steve and had forever. And here he was talking to me. Eventually, he stopped going jogging altogether. He would just come over. We would take my record player out on the front porch and listen to Rush - Moving Pictures. Later, we morphed that into Duran Duran, Rio and so many others. But, we started with Rush.
It was the very first time I used "sex as a weapon". The very first time I figured that the combination of my tits and my brains were a good thing. And that men liked both.
I was thinking about you the other day - thinking about how I haven't heard from you in ages. I need to put on my short shorts and a tight t-shirt and sit on my porch, pull out a novel and put on Moving Pictures.
But maybe you're still just jogging by my house. Not that you're not interested. But sometimes life just makes you stick with the program and keep jogging by.
Whichever, I do have my Tab and my novel, that I SHOULD really read - and of course, Rush to keep me occupied. I'll just wait here.

"the random wanting is my truth"

"the random wanting is my truth"

The random wanting is my truth
it is - my truth

I am a big ball of half-complete and contradictory truths
Terms I confuse and over write
and right now all i want is to hear you beg
I will oblige
though i doubt that will resolve any of the contradictions

I doubt that it will fix the truth
truths
wantings
I doubt that it will solve a thing

The random wanting is my truth
The truth that will heal me
and no doubt set me free

Just a pair of earrings

This week, as per my last post, I am waiting for my Aunt Jeanne to die. I started trying to think why she was such an important part of my life. She is my great Aunt, we really shouldn't be that close, right?
But really with the weird way that my family morphed into itself and over itself - its not all that illogical.
But my Aunt Jeanne was kind of special. She taught me important stuff about old fashioned manners.
Aunt Jeanne never forgot a birthday. We each got a card with $10 in it every birthday until we were 18 years old. We also got Christmas gifts - every year. At 18 we were cut off because we were adults. Fair enough.
But every year, she gave me a card.
As a kid I likely thought - "oooh free money!"
But, as an adult, I take that from Aunt Jeanne and I send out cards to my nieces and nephews every year with money or a gift. Birthdays and Christmas because I want to be THAT Aunt, just like Aunt Jeanne, that NEVER forgets.
My kids got the money in an envelope from Aunt Jeanne every year too. And while we only see her once or twice a year and they very likely forget who she is from visit to visit, since they have been old enough to draw I have made them send a thank you card. For the birthday money and for the Christmas money too.
This Christmas Sammy sent a letter thanking Aunt Jeanne for the Walmart gift card he got for Christmas and for the $10 he got for his birthday because he saved up all of this money and bought an Nintendo DS with Pokemon Pearl.
The next week I got an email from my cousin saying that Aunt Jeanne wanted to know what "those things" were. How cute is that?
But my kids got it - they GOT the need to write the thank you letter. You reward thoughtfulness with thoughtfulness back.
Getting stuff - even money - from someone thoughtful I hope makes them thoughtful too.
When I graduated from high school Aunt Jeanne and her husband, Uncle Ken, gave me a pair of earrings.
This was 1984 and everything was all Madonna-esque. Think Annie Lennox's punked up bright red buzz cut.
Pearl drop earrings.
UGH.
I accepted them, said my "thank you"s and never wore them.
The are pearls.
I was 17.
Ugh.
When I got married I wore my Grandmother's pearls. Do you know what went perfectly with them? The pearl drop earrings.
Over the 11 years that had passed, the pearls had yellowed slightly and they were just a perfect match.
I wore them for the wedding and then I put them away in their velvet box.
When my cousin Amy got married, do you know what went perfect with her wedding dress? Those same pearl drop earrings.
I'm not sure why Aunt Jeanne gave those earrings to me. I didn't get any other graduation presents - not even from my parents. But they meant something and I'm not sure what.
Who knows, maybe we pass them along generation to generation as the earrings that go with wedding dresses.
Maybe we should pass along Aunt Jeanne's rum ball recipe as the greatest rum ball recipe ever on the planet.
Maybe we pass along her New Years Day dinners or stories of her golfing and winning at the age of 80 and how she ran around town until just this past summer.
There are a lot of cool things we could share about her. But for me, her thoughtfulness is what touches me always.

A Matter of Time

I got an unusual unwanted email tonight from my cousin Janice. She said that my Aunt Jeanne,her Mom, is in paliative care in the hospital and its only a matter of time.

Only a matter of time.

A matter of time.

Time for her, matters.

I get that time matters for all of us.

Its all we have really. But, for my Aunt Jeanne, this weekend, time is ALL that matters.

From what I hear, her family is with her.
From what I know, this is the worst time for them.

With my dad, when he had a matter of time, we sat with him around the clock and waited for him to stop breathing.

Just waited and every half minute, hoped that it would be his last gasp.

We just wanted him to stop. Stop having time to matter.

But as with all things, you can only control what you can control - and as we all know - no one controls a goddamned fucking thing.

Poor Aunt Jeanne.

Think about it.

As if this was your very last weekend.

The last weekend that mattered.

You can't GO anywhere.

You might not be able to talk.

You can't run or walk or be alone.

What do you want to do with your time?

If you can see your family - you can likely see them scared.

Do you want to die?

Do you just want to go?

Or do you want more time?

I don't have a smart smarmy answer for you.

I don't have anything clever to say about how I would like to eke out every last second I have to be with the people I love - and if you are reading this, you may very well be one of them.

I wish I could say I'd fight.

But I might not.

I might just wish the clock would run out.

Like it was just a matter of time.

I'm late I'm late I'm late

I had really meant to write more on here. And I still do mean to write more. But, I've been working on this blog that is totally blocking me.
Its about when I was 11 years old - so, I'm reaching way way way back.
I'll finish.
I'll move on.
Until then.....enjoy this...

That is all....

Its freaking one in the morning and I have been awake since six. I am not tired and I need to be awake again at, shockingly, 6am. Why can't I sleep?

_____________________________________________________________

Great now its fucking 2:01am and I am STILL awake.
I'm going to be a mess tomorrow.
Why dammit - why???

Solstice this

The longest day of the year left this as my horoscope:

Gemini (May 21 — June 21)

You will improve awkward areas of your emotional world. At the moment, you are keenly aware of what's missing in your life, but soon you will realize how much you have.

_______________________________________________

I have awkward areas in my emotional world.
Things that I can't explain and won't.
We all do.
I swear that half of the life we live, we live in our heads and not out loud.
Half of all reality is fantasy. That's what makes it fun.

The things I do.
The things I say.
The thoughts I think.
All of these are very different.
Only the thoughts I think actually belong to me. Right?

When I write down what I think, it stops being mine.
I write too many things.
And then I portion them out in tiny packages to different people.
Even a grocery list.
Its a sharing thing. And frankly, I don't want to share everything.
Nor can I.
Nor should I.
I'm trying, again, to find my balance folks.
Hang in there....we're getting closer.

So on a day that is all about EXCESS - the longest day of the year - the most sunlight - the biggest pleasure - I give you all a giant push towards the sun.

From Fourty-One to Fourty-Two

Today I am 42. Fourty two freaking years old.
I looked and listened for a song that would capture the last year of my life. I toyed with more Concrete Blonde, went through all of the Stars that I know and love. Hell, I even thought about some Blue Rodeo for old time's sake. But nothing quite hit the roller coaster year I've had.

I went back, and frankly thanks to the blogosphere you can too, and re-read last year's birthday stuff - just to get a feel for where my head was. I thought about where I was and where I am today and I came up with this pearl of wisdom for you.

There is nothing quite as sobering as a brush with almost near kinda death to make you see what a crazy insane psycho bitch you have the potential to be.

No.
Wait.
That's not it at all.

Love will save the day, set you free and sustain you.

Well. That's closer anyway!

Anyone who knows me even a little knows that my one real rule in life is that everyone must love me. The idea that someone doesn't like me is really the worst thought ever! I take what affection and attention that is offered and I revel in it - I really honestly do. I seek it out. I embrace any kind of love. In fact, I've said a tonne of times before - do we find love often enough that we can afford to ever turn it away? No matter who it is?

Well, with age comes wisdon and this year I changed my attitude a bit. I started to try to find love that made me FEEL loved and in turn made me feel good about myself.

I mean all kinds of love. Friends - family - where ever love finds us these days.

This past year I took a new attitude with my family. I love them all - each and every one of my extended family: cousins, aunts, uncles, dead parents, divorced in laws, estranged brothers. But, I'm not going to force myself into places I don't naturally fit. My kids need family - as much as I do. But they need it to be effortless and comforting not forced and surreal.

They say the definition of crazy is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Well, I can't throw holiday parties that my mother would love. I just don't have it in me. And you know, she's never going to fucking show up. So, it doesn't really matter does it? Its time I started pleasing myself - not my dead mother.

When I went to my cousin's funeral and my Aunt said that they were all "so proud" of how I'd handled myself in spite of the shitful fucked up hand I'd been dealt (paraphrasing of course gentle reader - my "Auntie Lois" would NEVER in a million years say shitful or fucked up)I cried for days like the blubbering puke that I am. Why? Not because she was right, although in hindsight she likely is, but because I needed that approval and validation from them - I sucked it up.

After I gave my head a good shake (read: Rick told me not to be such an idiot) I realized how pathetic that is. I don't need what essentially amounts to pity. I know I cope amazingly well. Somtimes I forget. But I KNOW I rock the crisis hard core. I am "Crisis chick". I should get a t-shirt - maybe even a cape.....hm.

I also made some decisions on how I manage my personal relationships. I know I hurt people who love me and who I love. I didn't mean to because, hell people, if you are following at all, I just want to be loved, but not all love is good for you. Some love was not good for me.

I did some pretty fantastically stupid things this year. And NO I am not going to make you a list! Suffice it to say that each and every wrong turn I made, I made a note of. I will try not to do it again. I can't say that I won't because I am the queen of unfulfilled promise, but I do have geniunely pure intentions.

I had, what some might say, a triumphant year for a 41 year old woman.

I discovered new things, bits and peices of confident sexy me that haven't seen the light of day in forever. Those peices of me own good high heels, push up bras and rock the short skirt. I like that girl. She's fun and flirty and confident and pretty fucking brilliant and in her fourties. She's not ashamed of her age, she's not too old to do anything, she's got wrinkles and sags and doesn't give a rat's royal ass. Because after all this time she's figured out that it really IS what is inside that gives her the bravado. She forgets sometimes and still wears crocs but I think we'll keep her.

I made moves to take this chick places. I took her to the magazine and wrote an article they actually published. And sure, its in ESL level 4 english but its a start, right.

I have read, this year, peices that have inspired me. I have collaborated. I have shared things I never thought I'd have the courage to share. I have opened myself, my heart and my soul to people in ways I never thought I would and for that I am eternally grateful. I FEEL exceedingly excessively loved.

Sometimes life is about opportunity.

I had tremendous opportunity this year. I took them. I didn't solve all my problems or make the world a better place or cure cancer or feed the homeless. None of those things. But I did the best I could.

My friend Dan said this today: "you just have some "tweaking" to do. not on your blog. but on life..." And, I think, he may be right.

Is it too corny to say that I'm taking steps in the right direction? I'm surrounded by people I love who love me back and they are walking with me where I need to go.

The Magazine

I haven't been blogging much lately. Okay, let me correct that. I have been blogging plenty - just not hitting the magical "Publish Post" button.
Why?
Because they SUCK ASS.
No, I'm not being self deprecating. I'm being honest. They do.
They are mostly whiny and snivelly, self indulgent and sad.
Why again?
Because that's how I feel.
I feel just overwhelmed and under achieving.
If I have let you down recently I apologize.
I'm doing an awful lot of that to myself too.
I'm taking some time to regroup.
Re-think.
Re-write.
In the mean time - please feel free to peruse Canadian Newcomer Magazine and my fascinating article on summer festivals.

Gilligan's Island

I have worked (again) this year on the Fun Fair at the boy's school. Hours and hours and meetings and planning and shopping and errands. Days and days and days I have spent trying to help the fun fair committee - affectionately called the Fantastic Four.
Days I was awake until 2am - emailing my fellow members and having them answer me.
I typed folktales and translated folktales and laminated folktales and spiral bound folktales...all with my buddies...all in the name of rabid multiculturalism. All in prep for the fun fair.
Today alone, I drove a quarter tank of gas on errands all over hell's half acre. I ran around town, I shopped, I wrapped, I organized.
I sold fucking tickets for raffles and food and freezies.
Candy floss and popcorn.
Burgers and dogs.
It was exhausting - for all of us.
All 4 of us looked like we'd been beaten up.
The principal gets up on the stage and says - "I'd like to thank the pta for all of their efforts to put on the fun fair....." and I'm thinking well, you're welcome. Then she continues - "this fair would not take place without our great team: Mrs Sharma, Mr. MacKay AND THE REST..."
And the rest?
WTF?
There are only fucking 4 of us.
And the rest?
The rest is Miss MacDougall and Mrs. Fletcher.
For fuck's bloddy sake there are fucking four of us.
I know now exactly why the Professor and Mary Anne were always so annoyed. They probably COULD have gotten everyone off the fucking island but were just pissed off at being ignored.
I'm annoyed.
No one volunteers to be acknowledged. You do it out of the goodness of your heart - from a sense of duty to your cause. But, its shitty when you're colleagues are recognized and you are not.
Ah well. I supposed it could have been worse.
The could have gotten my name wrong altogether or spilled ketchup on me or .... wait. Or maybe she's just a rude bitch.
That's the one I'm going with.
Its not like she doesn't know my fucking name!
There are 3 more events at the school this year although there are only 21 days of school left.
Teacher appreciation lunch. Fuck that - I'm working and although I COULD take time out to be there - fuck them - order the big 6 foot long fucking sub and be done with it. Last year I was in charge of supplying all the dessert. This year, let them eat fruit coctail from a can.
Volunteer appreciation tea. Fuck that. I don't want their tea.
Grade 8 grad. Now, that I WILL go to. One of the fantastic 4, her daughter is in grade 8 - and I want to make sure that she has a good night. After all - she is "and the rest" too.
But after that, I seriously need to re-evaluate my reasons for doing this. What do I get out of this? What is my motivation? Why does the P.T.A. make me so angry?
And how bad is it to be just like "the rest"?

Mother's Day

Sunday was, of course, Mother's Day. I'm not sure if its "International" Mother's Day or just plain old North American Mother's Day.
I actually had a really great day. This year I asked for no bought gifts - just the stuff that the kids made for me - and a day to be treated. I decreed, unilaterally, that this day would begin at 6pm on Saturday night. Hey, its my day it starts when I want.
This meant that someone else did the dishes, someone else made dinner, someone else made breakfast and then someone else made dinner again.
I know, it doesn't seem like a lot - but it was great.
It is the simple act of acknowledgement - hey, that's a lot of work - that I was looking for. That, and the opportunity to be lazy.
I am the laziest person I ever met.
My ass.
The couch.
Two and a half hours of Coronation Street.
Pure heaven.
I must also say that the quality of Mother's Day gift is improving as the kids get older. This year I got a fridge magnet from Ben, a mug from both (the sitter), purple diorama frames from both (the sitter) and this lovely trinket box that Sammy painted at school.
Apparently there wasquite the controversy over the trinket box painting at school. Sammy wanted to paint it purple (which he insists is my favourite colour)but the teacher wouldn't let him. Score one for encouraging a child's creativity.
It did however inspire a great debate in the car about Picasso and his "blue period" and the many variations of blue.
We went to the zoo and froze.
It was perfect.
And the best part - for the first time in a dog's age I didn't spend the whole day pining over my poor Mom. The kids asked what my Mom used to like to do on Mother's Day - and I mentioned (because it was at breakfast) how my Mom used to love scrambled eggs and ketchup. And that was the only time she came up.
I'm quite proud of myself really.

Riding the Bus

I try to do my part. Right? We all should. Save the planet and all that shit.
I recycle - paper, cans, bottles, boxes - all that shit.
I crush up the egg shells and blend them with coffee grounds and sprinkle them in the garden.
I compost all of my banana peels and veggie scraps and hubby's meat bones. All of the above.
Today I had a meeting out of town - and I had to drive. Drive all across the gta from Scarborough to Brampton. Almost 300 km in one day. That, my friends, is insane.
Why?
Because it was $1.221 a litre for gas. My trip today used about half a tank of gas. That is wrong for so many reasons.
So, me being the quintessential enviro-friendly cheapskate, I decided to take the second half of my day's journey (Scarborough to downtown Toronto) via good ole public transit.
I parked the car at Scarborough Towne Centre. That meant the RT to the Subway, switch trains, take another train and walk to the doctor's office. MUCH easier than getting in the car and driving the 30 minutes downtown. Much more environmentally friendly. Much cheaper.
I had forgotten how creepy it is on the subway.
Mostly, when I am sequestered in my van, I know that all the people I am riding with, mainly me, have had a shower and brushed their teeth. When on the subway, this is not the case.
We were, quite literally wedged into the trains. Squeezed in with not enough oxygen per person. Remind me that I am not doing enough to plug up the ozone layer.... And people on top of people on top of smells and textures and stench and horror of faces and colours and UGH!
The subway sucks.
Sure - it took us three times as long to get there and back.
Sure - it cost us only $6.90 for two people for a return trip.
Sure - Ben loved the fun of it all.
But I will have nightmares. The smell the smell the smell. Oh the things I have seen today. I have to say it again - UGH!
Did I save a tree?
I don't have a clue.
Nor at this point do I care.

The Real Deal

Just because I miss her - because she was the best Mom.
She loved me, supported me, made fun of me, joked with me, and raised me to be full of myself.
She taught me to never stand up without pulling down my shirt over my ass.
She told me black and brown should never be worn together.
She threw a box of crackers at my head.
She broke my metabolism and taught me all her bad habits.
She was the worst cook, the laziest housekeeper and would never allow talking during All My Children.
She had a big smile that was full of love.
And she loved me.
She, quite likely, was chosen randomly by a clerk in an office somewhere to be my Mom.

Who Knew?

Today was errand day for me. You know those kind of days where you leave the house before the stores even open - just to be the first one there - to rush through buying your share of crap so that you can get finished and take your crap home when everyone is just waking up.....?
That's the kind of errand day it was.
At Best Buy I lied and told the cute little homosexual pimply faced returns clerk boy that I had no idea what happened to the Wii game. "It just stopped working" I said with a look of bemused ignorance on my innocent face. "My sons are very distraught!" Which was true. The part I left out is the part where wayne sat the game on top of a lit candle and burned it. Um yes. We'll just forget about that part. I said thank you - have a great day as I ran for the car before they sussed out my liar vibe. OOOOOH!
I went to Old Navy. I went to Walmart. I went to Rogers Video. I bought a new BBQ at The Superstore. I got gas and bulk foods. And then I went to the grocery store.
And as a I wheeled my shaky cart up and down the aisles of No Frills, bemoaning the price of bread and looking for soy based proteins, I saw a vision in the frozen food aisle.
There. In front of me...with her very own cart...was a giant vision of Cher inspired loveliness....it was a humongous almost 7 foot tall black drag queen!
Now, I am an oddity among humans and have seen many things in my life time that many people will never see......but if you have never seen a drag queen in the middle of the day, it can be a horrifying experience.
With the drag queen, I find that all things are exaggerated. Bigger hair, taller shoes, MORE make up than one human needs, longer nails, more (fake) cleavage, all big big big.
This was the harsh fluorescent lighting of Tom's No Frills in Ajax, Ontario - population 80,000. This is not a pretty place for a glamazonian man lady to be. This was unkind.
But as I approached her, and instantly my head began to think up names for her, I thought to myself, well, even a drag queen needs to eat!
BTW: potential names, Nofrills Mary, Gimmea Banana, Alotta Foodstuff....I know I'm bad at this!
I have friends (and even more acquaintances) that are professional drag queens. They get paid to perform - men dressed as women - glamourous glorious OTT women. They are ALL fantastic. I doubt any of them would do their shopping in 6 inch stilettos!
Then I thought with horror....oh no....no no no no no...what if its a woman?? An extremely ugly woman with no fashion sense, no common sense - no sense at all? I know I see an Adam's apple and giant hands...but what if what if?? Please no.
Please let it not be an ugly woman! Please let Tom's No Frills have a giant drag queen shopping in the frozen foods!
It makes getting out of bed to run errands at the crack of freaking dawn on a Sunday morning TOTALLY worth it!

Black Plastic

There is a black garbage bag stuck in the tree outside the window of my office. I keep seeing it out of the corner of my eye and thinking maybe that it’s a bird or a flag or something. And then I turn my head – look at it – and it’s still a black plastic garbage bag stuck in a tree.
It makes no sense that it’s stuck up there. I’m on the 3rd floor of an office tower. The tree is equally as tall as the building. How can crap have blown so high?
It’s the crap of the spring thaw. You know the kind where you find pennies and old chewing gum packaging as you walk around? It gets all hidden and mysterious over the winter and then all of the sudden just one day, it’s released.
No – this all has no deeper metaphorical meaning. There really is a black plastic bag and there really are pennies and crap in the snow. Nothing deep going on here today.
I’m really quite tired, blog people.
It doesn’t seem to matter what is going on in my life I will find one reason or another to be tired and indulge my chronic insomniac fantasies.
Am I really a chronic insomniac or am I just a freak that doesn’t like to sleep? Tell me that, will you!
The doctor actually referred me to the Toronto Sleep Clinic for a diagnosis for whatever the fuck is wrong with my sleep pattern. No. Of course I didn’t go. Have you met me?
I suspect that the doctor thinks that because I am a giant girl with big boobs that crush my chest that I have sleep apnea. Sleep apnea is where you stop breathing during the night. It is often characterized by excessive snoring – not that I snore more than a kitten would – and exasterbated by weight. I refuse to have this.
I think some times I keep myself awake on purpose. I know I can survive on a half hour of sleep – so why not? I will be fine. I always am.
What if I don’t get everything done – I better stay awake and finish it.
What if something happens and I’m asleep? Then I’ll be annoyed.
What if someone wants to call me or write me – I’d want to be awake as soon as the email arrives. I wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting for my oh so important reply.
So I stay awake. Often doing absolutely nothing. Often watching re-runs of Little House on the Prairie or Saved by the Bell and wishing it was still 1985.
Lately I’ve been writing – which is at least a tiny bit more productive than sitting on my ass.
I wish if I was going to stay up all night I could be on the floor on a cute pink or possible purple yoga mat doing leg strengthening exercises and hundreds of thousands of really properly done crunches. Ah – that’s the life.
But I don’t. Instead I catch something out of the corner of my eye and have to turn my head to look at it – sigh and carry on doing nothing.

Springsprung

.Today as I walked the dog (not at the crack of bloody dawn like I usally do) n the actual morning (before stomach flu like symptoms overtook me and I started barfing up happiness from all orafices), I realized that spring has arrived.
Ah yes - the screams of my husband could be heard far and wide as kids attempted to walk on our snow ravaged lawn.
Kids with jackets and not coats. It makes it difficult when kids change coats to tell one from another. I will often refer to Sammy's friends as "dingle nuts" and "whats-his-face" because, without hats and coats on they all look the same don't they?
It even smelled different outside today too - didn't it?
Again this was BEFORE I started yacking up a gut - so everything was right with the world.
And now I shall tell you why spring in suburbia sucks.....
Because at 10:30 in the morning on a Sunday walk I was the only person over 11 that I saw. Hershey and I were out for almost an hour and not one person was outside of their house.
Its not like we could walk to the store - whatever store that would be. The closest one is 3.5 km from my house. Yes. Too far for a walk to get juice, condoms or insense.
There were also no tiny animals - squirrels and the like scurrying around.
We don't have trees big enough to sustain squirrels in my suburban hell. We have rabbits- dozens of them that had been forced from their homes in the woods that used to stand right here.
And we have one pair of beavers. Why they are here in Ajax I will never know. But they came here from somewhere to terrorize our baby sized trees.
Spring will send them into their lovely damn they have built. Its pretty cool actually.
The other spring thing that frightens me is my illogical irrational urge to clean. I am in the mood to downsize my crap. So, if there is crap of mine that you would like to be crap of yours, let me know.
I'm all ready for it though. Bring it on.
I need to be warm again.
And you all know I hate snow and winter with a white hot burning passion that knows no boundaries.
So spring spring with all its goodness all over the place

School crap - the aftermath....

Last night my complicated convoluted confrontation with the people that run my son's school ended with Dan's question posed to the Vice Principal. "Do you think that my being involved in the school - at the school is making Ben's problems worse?"

Her answer "You're never here"

I was obviously upset by what she said and I responded maybe too defensively "but but but - I worked here - I am always here for basketball and concerts - I do the snack program - I am on the school council - the Campbell's soup label program - I run that...."

Again she said - "you're never here"

I just left. And went to a Move-a-thon planning meeting for 3 hours. Where I was assigned accounting duties. Where I made "test smoothies". Where I was told to bring my blender on Friday for mixing smoothies. Where I was assigned to make Friday's snack - nachos and salsa - on my own on Thursday night. Where I was told my volunteer services would be appreciated from 8:30 to 3:35 on Friday. I am the uber compliant always willing volunteer.

Screw her I thought. Look at what a nice person I am. I rock. I rock out loud the volunteer bullshit. Screw you lady and while you're at it - eat a fucking sandwich - you are skin and frigging bones!

Then today I wrote my resignation from the school community council (or the PTA). I was tired of doing so much work for the school and for the kids when it was quite obvious that no one involved in the school gives a right royal rat's ass about me being there but me. No one cares and no one cares and no one cares and on one cares at all but me.

So here it is:

I wanted to let you know that I made a decision last night and that the move-a-thon is going to be the last time I volunteer at the school.
I apologize for leaving the rest of you with yet more of a burden but I don't think that anyone in the school values my time or contributions as a member of the team and perhaps my time would be better used elsewhere - helping people who need it more.
I am resigning my position on the council as of Monday.
I will miss hanging out with you! Last night was a great and I absolutely value your support and friendship.

But I saved it to my drafts folder and didn't hit send. I needed to think about it more because I like being a part of the school. It makes me feel like I'm contributing something to my kids education.

Sure I'd be useful at the Cancer Society or the AIDS committee or Jews for Jesus. But the work at the school makes me HAPPY!

Then I got this email from the President of the council - just a broadcast email to the 4 of us that were at that meeting last night - that do EVERY BLOODY FUCKING THING IN THE SCHOOL - not that we are bitter - just tired.

We all work so hard for the school and there are some rays of sunshine - I wanted to make sure we all had some today because last night was pretty dark.

We were all negative last night and with good reason. Today has been a good day financially for the school but it doesn't change the fact that there are a small number of families carrying the school either financially or through volunteering or both. That is what frustrates me but we go on for a while longer.

The response to that from Nan - the most volunteer-liscious of any of the volunteers ever in the history of mankind was this:

As always I will personally continue to do what I do for the school, no matter the outcome of others. After all, the reason why I started doing this has never changed..."To set a good example for my children and to be involved in their lives."...

And fuck her if she isn't right.
To set a good example for my kids. The example being that even if you don't think you are valued your contribution to the lives of others is always valuable.
There ARE moments of sunshine - when some kid comes up to you in the book store and starts a conversation because he remembers you from school. Girls in the nail salon chatting to me - I remember them from when I did career day with the grade eights!
And I am involved in my kids lives - whether they like it or not! I pray to whoever is up there, that the kids don't regret it and neither do I! But for better or worse - I'm involved up to my cute little ass.

And that, my bloggaliscious friends, is that!
Email from drafts file deleted.
I am going to stick it out....Maybe, just maybe, I'll take pictures of the move-a-thon! It could be worse - you could be volunteering to help!

April's Fool

I have a lot of stupid shit that I pay attention to on a daily basis.
Family.
Friends.
My gastrointestinal tract.
How to make a good martini.
Music.
Literature.
The Biggest Loser.
Art and Science.
Facebook Scrabble.
Tim Horton's makes bad chai tea yet I drink it every day.
What I eat.
What you eat.
What I don't eat.
The dog.
The neighbours.
International politics.
The list goes on and on and on.
Some things I sort out and pay more attention to and some things I just don't really ever get around to giving a second thought. Still others, I just can't figure out ever.
It's not that I don't WANT to solve all of the problems of the world, figure out how to bring the soldiers home from Afghanistan or stop the spread of HIV in the US prison system or determine what to make for dinner - but I don't have all the tools, the experience or the information to do it all.
Its the same for the little issues as for the huge ones.
I don't know HOW to do stuff sometimes.
Tonight I have 2 meetings.
One at 5pm with the Principal, Vice Principal, Teacher and another parent to talk about our kids and bullying.
Then one at 6pm to finalize plans for the school's biggest fundraising event of the year - the Move-a-thon.
Yes people, Ben is still being bullied.
There is a group of kids that are consistently picking on him and have been since the second week of school. When they pick on Ben he doesn't fight back. He tends to just stand there and take it. However, his friend Tyler doesn't. When he sees the kids picking on Ben, he fights back. He has started, at the advice of his father who is a police officer, to take matters into his own hands, and THUMP the kids that are beating on Ben.
This is great on one hand because it shows that Tyler is a good friend and has good character for standing up to bullies. But now Tyler is getting in trouble.
Tyler's Dad wants us to present a united front to the school and say, if you don't protect our kids from bullies then we will allow them, whatever the school rules, to protect themselves.
The whole mess makes me sick to my stomach.
I've mentioned here before how I find it just so awful to see that my son doesn't or doesn't want to stand up for himself. The fact that he now has other kids standing up for him because he won't is too terrible.
He has the size to defend himself (which is likely why he's being picked on). He has the skill to defend himself from the almost 2 years of karate. He has the intelligence to know that this is bullying.
He does not have confidence.
He's smart and funny. I wish he saw himself as we see him. Because, if this is him at 10 - how will he be at 20?
If anyone has any idea how to fix this once and for all - please let me know because although I understand the politics and psychology of bullying and all the psycho-babble bullshit that the powers that be and pop culture magazines preach to overturn it, nothing and I mean nothing seems to work.
And then at 6pm I will meet with the 3 other parents that volunteer to help raise money to support all the programmes and shit that allow our sadly underfunded school to function.
I will volunteer my time - yet again - to run around and do crap that the parents of the other 599 kids in the school just won't do.
I will volunteer my services to supervise a dance because we can't possibly have the teachers to that.
I will make fruit kabobs and make sure no kids stab each other in the eye with the sticks.
And I will count the money we raise.
Then I will vote on how best to equally distribute the funds even though I really want fans put into the classrooms so that my kid who has asthma will be able to breathe come June. By the way, I have been trying to get the fans for 3 years now and I am constantly out voted in favour of other things that need to be paid for first. First - before my kid who can't breathe....
My points in this whole confusing mess of a pile of crap blog are this:
1. If I can't solve the world's problems, who can?
Seriously. If we had stopped someone like George Bush from being a mealy mouthed rat-bastard snot-nosed bully when he was in grade 4, could we have stopped him from invading other countries as an adult? If we sit by passively and watch while the US beats the living crap out of Iraq are we not enabling a bully? Who can stop a bully - especially one who is stronger and more powerful than you?
2. If I can't solve the my kid's problems who can?
Who gets to be the one in charge of a kid's life? Really.
When my kid is at school, who's responsibility is it to protect him? Himself? His teacher? His friends? The school board? Me? Where do the lines get drawn?
Where the flaming fuck are the parents of the bullies?
3. How involved is too involved in my kid's life?
A friend said that he HATED it when his parents came to his school - for anything. Now, is my involvement in the kid's school and on the pta and meeting with the teacher, etc. - AM I MAKING THIS SITUATION WORSE FOR HIM???? Am I causing part of this by mortifying the poor child?
4. Why don't more parents give a rats ass about their kid's education?
5. Why does ANYONE have to raise money to buy fans for the classrooms so that the kids can breathe?


I'm full of questions and I don't have any answers. I apologize for barfing up worry and crap - but like I said, I have a lot of stupid shit I pay attention to.

The Princess Veil

This is a short story I wrote recently called "The Princess Veil". I haven't written many short stories so of course I am a feedback/comment whore and beg you call to critique me.

She saw herself in the mirror, basked in white light and lace – almost ethereal - almost feminine. She had to watch it. She couldn’t stop staring. Surely, this was going to be the best day of her life. Surely, this day that she had painstakingly planned every single second of, would be the most perfect day ever.
It was always difficult to make everyone happy. Weddings are like that. Everyone has their own agenda. But, the books all said that this is “her day”. All about her. Funny that when someone else is paying and someone else is doing all the inviting that anyone thinks that the day is YOURS.
Oh but this day was hers.
Sometimes she thought that people underestimated her. Maybe they underestimated her intelligence, her wit, her cunning nature – whichever – but no one gave her as much credit for being a manipulative bitch as she quite deserved.
The wedding, which was all her idea, was to take place in 2 weeks time. Her dress had come from the dressmaker’s today. Of course, her mother bragged to her friends, she couldn’t “buy off the rack”. This nugget of information was doled out as a piece of hoity-toity one-up-man-ship. But, it was really a matter of necessity rather than privilege.
Her giant butt would have never fit into even the largest wedding dress known to man. She smiled to herself as she laughed at her own joke. She wasn’t the fattest woman to have ever lived but she gave that woman a good strong run for her money! And, as butts went, hers was a giant one.
She was built with a big bubble butt she often thought she could set things on it – like a shelf. Maybe a vase or nick-nacks! But this dress was very kind to her ass.
It was white lace over-laying white satin with a hoop type skirt underneath. It was just heaven and made up for a multitude of her past sins (fries and gravy, pizza, cake….etc.).
Now, today, she didn’t have the FULL effect but, in the mirror, she could see enough of the extras in her minds eye to know that this dress would be beautiful on her day. (Hiding her ass.) But she’d need her brand new good girdle with the extra panel in the back to make it just right.
She planned on doing her short mousey hair with a slight wave. Just combed flat with that slight wave to sit underneath the princess headpiece. There was a veil – but a short one. Nothing for her to trip over.
And pearls. She would wear her grandma’s pearls.
She had met someone. She was getting married.
She, as well as everyone else, had assumed that her life would take her nowhere exceot for the twin bed set in her room in her parent’s house for the rest of her life. She wasn’t a spinster but she wasn’t fresh out of high school like her girlfriends had been when they got married. When someone asked, she said she was waiting for just the right man. IN truth, that she actually did was wait for a man.
That was her only option. To wait for a man. No matter what her head told her on a regular basis or what her body betrayed her by thinking of its own accord, that was her option. It was her only path to take. And she did.
Now, in 2 weeks, she’d be headed down the aisle of the Park United Church. It wasn’t a fancy church by any stretch of the imagination – very 1950s minimalist décor but nice nonetheless. They would decorate it with paper flowers – crepe paper roses. Blue, of course, everything would be blue. She’ planned it all.
She would hold her head high at precisely 11am on Saturday the 6th of June and she would hold tight to the arm of her father and march down that aisle. Her fear of tripping and falling on her big fat face put to rest by her flat serviceable footwear hidden under the giant poof of a skirt that hid her butt that was hugged in by her girdle that smoothed out her belly and the smooth belly definitely made her boobs look bigger but just in case she was holding flowers in front of it to make everything definitely look perfect. It was all going to be perfect.
She knows – just now – looking into the mirror that the ceremony will be a tear jerker. Partially from everyone’s relief that she was getting married at all and partially from the thrill that she, was getting married. And who didn’t cry at weddings, right?
She’d chosen just the right blend of bridesmaids. Her sister-in-law who was a complete and absolute bitch was her maid of honour because it was the “right” thing to do. But really, she was 7 months pregnant and it didn’t suck to have someone fatter than you to draw the attention away from your own belly. And since her sister-in-law always looked so incredibly horribly awfully sour, it would make her look sweet in comparison – right?
Then there was her friend and her cousin. Both were miniscule, tiny little people - so much so they looked like children or elves. No worries there. They didn’t even look like women.
All three were wearing lovely blue dresses. The colour of robin’s eggs or the sky. It would be just perfect – along with her all dressed in white that they were just so blue.
After the ceremony she arranged that there would be a luncheon tea in the basement of the church with sandwiches and dainties, punch, tea and coffee.
Oh, it was unusual to have a wedding luncheon. Highly unusual – which is why it appealed to her mother’s sense of grandeur. It was an eccentric choice – a sophisticated option – another illustration of why SHE was better than her mother’s friend’s daughters.
That wasn’t it really at all now, was it?
She couldn’t bear the thought of anyone looking at her. She definitely couldn’t bear the thought of dancing in front of people. She couldn’t bear the thought of dancing at all. Looking in the mirror she though that, in retrospect, this dress would have swirled quite nicely around the dance floor.
But, the luncheon eliminates the need for a dance. Voila. She smiled at herself and her devious manipulation, curiously not reflected in the mirror.
Calmly, through a haze of diazepam, she visualized the day one more time. Dressed, photographed, aisle, ceremony, luncheon, escape.
Then, she would be married. Then SHE would be married. Then she would be MARRIED.

Riding on clouds with lollipops and kittens and springtime and sunshine

I have been in the best mood this week.
I'm even going to go out on a limb and say AWESOME MOOD! (Those of you who know me well know I never use that word....)
I'm smiling at people and once, maybe twice, I think I actually giggled.
Its odd really.
Out of character for me to be happy with 8 feet of snow on my fucking lawn. Once again, may I remind you, that I hate winter with a white hot burning passion that knows no boundaries....
Also, I have a chest infection. Yes again. No I haven't seen the doctor. Why? Because I'm convinced that is where I GOT the chest infection from! It will go away eventually and if not, well, I just don't care cause I feel great.
AND even odder little known fact - there is no diet pop (including diet coke) in my house. Not one. Sure I have the occasional one while I'm out and today I had 4 cups of tea, but I am shaking my addiction.
While we are on the subject of addiction, I am doing exceptionally well with the cheese monkey. I would never hurt an animal but I think this monkey is packing his bags and getting ready to move on - no need to actually kill him. Its simply mind over matter.
Yep, I can smell the stench of mouldy windows and see the beginnings of a thaw in the universe. Today, I saw sun. Okay well it was in a photo from last summer - but I remember what it feels like.
My article for Canadian Newcomer Magazine comes out at the end of the month. I'll post it here. For those of you who are unemployed newcomers to canada I'm sure you'll find it all kinds of fascinating!
My next assignment for them (yes they like me and I am on the "preferred freelance writers" email list) is on summer cultural festivals called "Seeing the world in your own backyard".
I also wrote a short story that I like. I'm not sure whether to post it here or not. For once its not about me. At all. It was fun to write though and I like it I just haven't shared it with anyone (read: Dan) yet and I'm hesitant to just push go and shove it out into the world unprotected.
Spring is going to change my life people. Are you with me?
There are so many good things in my life today.
*grin*