Life skills

I am amazed at my natural ability to take any situation and use it to make myself feel like a hunk of shit. Piece of dirt. Loser. Nothing. Idiot. Pig. Moron.
I can take any innocent perfectly normal conversation and find offense.
I can take a complement and see the evil in it.
I can hear a question and twist it into an order.
I can take a statment and make it into an insult.
I'm not sure how I developed this amazing ability. I don't know what twisted warped thing happened to me, no doubt in my childhood, to make me feel this way. I don't even know that I want to know in case it makes me even more insanely sensitive.
The other day I drove through the Taco Bell drive thru, as obsessive compulsive eaters often do by the way, and the nice lady at the drive thru said "you look nice today". I took this as a sign that I go to Taco Bell too much and haven't been back. She was likely just being nice. But I can't deal with that. And her kind words cost her a customer.
Once when my husband and I were fighting he said something about the kids not taking a bath everyday. And I screamed "so now I'm a bad mother?" I knew that wasn't what he said - but it was what I heard.
I always purport to not be one of those fat chicks that has low self esteem. And if you know me well enough to know my secrets you know that I have a manic depressive state of self esteem. High when I need it and running on empty most other days. Its insane really.
Is it that constant waiver between feast or famine of I'm fantastic and I suck that sends me into tailspins when someone says something totally innocent to me? I don't know.
Just yesterday my sweet Auntie Lois told me that the family is proud of me. Proud. Of me. Because I have done so well for myself in spite of the fact that I have no one.
I was a fucking basket case afterwards. I cried - I think I had a panic attack. Is that where you can't breathe and feel like your heart is going to explode out of your chest? Yes? Then that's what I had. It was scary sobbing heaving crying. UGH.
I know what she said was nice.
And I also know that she's wrong. I don't have "no one". I have family and friends. I have people who like me and people who love me. I am well respected in my profession and hopefully give a lot of myself to people who need it. But at that moment - when I processed it - in my head - I had no one. I was totally alone in the world.
On my own.
By myself.
Why can't I see through the crap and take things as they are intended?
Why does it take me 24 hours to sort my shit out? Why, even now, is it making me cry?
Self aware.
I like to think so.
I know what I like and what I don't.
I love honestly and openly and say virtually all of what is on my mind.
I am not afraid to tell people what I think.
But I have regret and sadness and unfulfilled potential and fear. Why can't I just ask them to leave?
To tell you the honest truth - the reason this is so easy to write is because I don't want to talk about it. I don't want anyone to try to help me work this through and get over it. Its mine. I own it. I can fix it or not fix it as I like.
Should I? FUCK. Yes I should its making me crazy.
Will I? I really don't know. I hope so.
Until then, I would suggest keeping your complements to yourself!

Old Blog - New Home

I wrote this blog a year ago today and thought I'd share it with a new perspective.

Aint it good to have friends?
Current mood: nervous
Category: Life

Once I went to a party and buzzed the apartment buzzer - and a guy answered the buzzer. Gawd he was funny. So funny. I ran up the stairs to the apartment to see who it was and I haven't left his side since.
Its rare to find someone who you love who loves you back. Sure he's gay but frankly, who these days isn't?
My best friend tells me when I look like crap and when I'm being a bitch. Honest without hurting me. He also loves me unconditionally and always takes my side as any best friend should. He was my best man of honour or whatever we called it. They say if you leave your best friend behind at the alter you married the wrong person - I'm not sure that's true - cause this way Rick and I never argue about money or sex.
Rick will be my kids guardian should my husband and I ever be killed in a horrible accident. Cheery thought eh? But seriously - I hope my kids learn from him how to live a life without compromise. Do what makes you happy - always follow your heart - take joy where you find it.
Everyone should seriously be so lucky as to have a friend like mine.

I even remember where my head was the day I wrote this - a year ago. I wrote it because I felt alone. Like I had one friend in the whole world who loved me and cared about me. I felt rudderless except for my one person pulling me home and reminding me of who I actually am and where I was supposed to be.

I was afraid to make new friends and meet new people. I didn't think they would like me - I wouldn't fit in. I was so comforted and comfortable with who I knew liked me that I just didn't think I could cope with new folks.

Last year, I won the lottery, of a fashion. I brushed mortality as we walked in opposite directions down a narrow hallway. We, as Canadians, apologized as Canadians so often do. And we went our separate ways.

I collected a few things on that walk. Some healthier self esteem. And a mother load of new friends.

Now some people don't believe that friends you have only on line have the same value as "real" friends. And I disagree. I have a healthy mix of both - some crossovers and its worked very well.

As a matter of fact, I had lunch with a bunch of people I used to work with the other day. And while I wouldn't have ever called them friends a year ago in my semi-self indulgent ruderlessness, I don't know what I would do without them now. They love me for "the loser that wears flip flops with a suit if I can get away with it" that I am. And not a lot of people will accept shit like THAT! Then they tell me that I'm dead inside and we all hug.

These are friendships totally out of my comfort zone and character. But if you don't stretch - you don't grow.

I grew around the world this year. Virtual strangers helped me cope with my life as best as virtual strangers can.

I have a hard time getting to know people. I really do. No. Seriously. It is hard for me to just be myself. This year I forced it. I joined the PTA. I met Moms and Dads and didn't act like someone else. I just was myself. And I think they liked me. I made friends and I was proud of myself for - again - pushing out of my comfort zone - I am part of a group. Not the leader - not the boss - just part.

From rudderless loser with one friend to joiner - group member - cyber friend. And I lost nothing. What was I afraid of? Whatever it was - lets hope it passed. The blog still holds true - he is an amazing friend - my best friend - and I never would have busted out without him.

a kiss is just a kiss

I've been a friend to the gay man for a very long time. Its something that I've done for so long I doubt I'd know at this point in my life how NOT to be one. Being a FAG HAG is a badge of honour, a walk of shame, something I pride myself on and the bain of my existance.

I have acted as the reserve prom, wedding or family party guest for all of my homo friends at one time or another. If my straightening services are required I shall be there for you. If you need someone to go with you to buy you a suit, I will be there (especially YOU - and you know who you are!). If you require a date for the company Christmas party who won't spill your beans, its me. I've done it forever. I will keep your secrets if secrets need to be kept.

And in return what do I get as your hag (a term which most, including me find offensive)? I get the attention. I get the affection. I get to be the only girl in a gaggle of boys and sure - they don't want to fuck me but they want to BE with me - and in most cases, that's enough.

I get love-a-plenty and shopping advice. Someone will watch chick flicks with me.

Someone will tell me I'm pretty and smart - cause they believe it - not because they want to get some.

And yes, it is good for my self esteem - usually.

But there are those times - when your faggots drop you for an anonymous cock (or 4) in the alley or a boy with a promise of forever - and its destructive and it hurts like someone ripped your heart out through your nose with a spoon.

Sometimes the hags fall for their gays - cause like I say - fag hags are attracted to boys - sometimes our hearts get confused and hurt.

Its best, when your gays kiss you, to hold your breath and think of England. Do some complicated long division in your head. Don't - whatever you do - DO NOT let yourself buy into the kiss. No matter how long it lasts. No matter if there is tongue or not (cause sometimes these things slip in by accident). No matter if he makes your insides all gooey like jello. No matter how hard he holds it - or you do. No matter WHAT - don't let yourself enjoy it!

How many girls have said after that one stupid drunken or stoned kiss goodnight, "I really felt something - maybe....". Maybe will kill you.

Sure they look great. They feel great. They love you or at least like you a lot. They smell (usually) like you could eat them up - but its all a trick.

Not by the gay. He's totally innocent in this. He knows not what he does.

Its a trick that you are playing on yourself. Wishful thinking is a cruel mistress.

The other night - I was out - had a few drinks and met a few new people. I met a new cute boy - yum - who looked fantastic and smelled like heaven. When we left, I kissed him goodbye. It was a good one. Firm and soft and just a bit of tongue. One of those kisses that could go for hours if you left your head. But even drunk on double Gin and tonics and a promise, I stopped short. I pulled away before I let myself go. Smart girl.

Except later that day I found out he wasn't gay. He wasn't gay. Not gay. What the flaming fuck?

I have to stop assuming that everyone I meed is gay. It robbed me of good kisses. It robs me of adventure. It makes me a GIANT fag hag - and that is not always a good thing.

Sometimes a kiss is just a fucking hot wet warm really good kiss.

Fag Hag. My definition: A girl, usually a fat girl, who for one reason or another endears herself to one or more gays. Over time, the number of gays she gathers may expand and contract - usually though - there will be a primary gay. The role of the hag is to support, stroke egos, act as confident and overall BFF - to tag along, to follow and to become part of the entourage.
Out of her gay environment, the fag hag may appear just as a normal girl. Sometimes fag hags can marry and procreate although this is rare as the only men she usually meets are gay. She may be sad -deep down inside and full of wasted potential.

Image courtesy of damnstraight.oversampled.net

Where have you gone?

I am somebody's Mom.
Of course I am.
And normally, I'm quite good at it.
I know the right vitamins to feed them.
We have food charts with all 38 of the required food groups.
We use tupperware that is all recyclable for the perfect boomerang lunch.
We have chore charts and allowances.
I belong to the PTA.
We have activities and play dates.
We have a limit on computer time and age appropriate video games.
We have healthy snacks.
We check homework.
We have an "asthma plan".
We wear clean pjs every day.
I try so very hard.

But the kids are whiney. Super whiney.
I don't know how to fix it. I just don't know how.
Is the answer herbs?
Behaviour modification?
Councelling?
Change in diet?

I just don't know. What is the secret?
Do I need to read that Doctor Phil book? Could Dr. P help?
Don't tell me I have to call Super Nanny??!?!

My cousin Amy, who is 30 something now, was the whiniest child in the history of the world. She sucked her thumb until she was almost 12. She pouted for ever. She just breathed complaints. Until she hit her teens. She was the most agreeable person ever come age 16. Now, Amy has 2 kids of her own. She is one of my favourite people in the world.

So, Amy gives me hope. Hope that this is a phase that they will grow out of. I'm sure it is but, frankly, how do we all make it through ALIVE?

I see so many of my friends make bad horrible mistakes with their kids.

I see their kids go off the rails. Get in trouble with drugs and the law. Get kicked out of school or drop out of school. These people thought that they were good parents too.

I can't rely on the hope that my children are anti-social nerds to be the plan for the future.

There is nothing worse than seeing your child hurt. The boo boos hurt physical or mental or social. I can't even seem to handle my own social interactions and friendships let alone those of my kids.

I can't protect them.

I remember when Ben was 3. The little girl next door, Jodi, was 4. He always wanted to play with Jodi and be with Jodi. And Jodi held ALL the cards all the time. One day in particular, Ben asked Jodi if he could come and play and she SHUT HIM DOWN. NO. And Ben started to cry....Jodi won't let me play....and I tried to soothe him - its okay - another day - you'll be okay. Ben screamed "but I LOVE her!" In a voice that made me believe that he really truly did love her. And although his heart seemed broken, I can't tell you how it gutted me. His first rejection - his first unrequited love - and he was 3.

How do you mend a broken heart? Hell if I know.

Humbug Ho Hum

I don't HATE Christmas. The holiday itself doesn't offend me - but, quite seriously, there are so many things about the season that bug the shit out of me, it would almost seem that I do.
Today we went to the Santa Claus Parade in Toronto. I LOVE the Santa Claus Parade. When I was a kid, I watched it on tv. When I lived in Toronto to go to University, I went alone. When I lived in Toronto and had friends, I dragged them along. I even forced my parents to come and bring my cousins when I live right at Christie Pits. I love that parade.
I love that they use the same costumes and floats year after year after year. In person the colours are super human - super flourescent. If you watch on tv, it looks normal - but really, its not.
Pink pinker than pink.
And rightly so.
And who doesn't love the upside down clowns? In fact, this is the FIRST year that Ben noticed that the upside down clowns have eyeholes in their asses. At 9, its starting to lose its magic for him. I swear to you, it will come back!
The Christmas that I don't HATE didn't begin with the parade though. It began yesterday at Loblaws where I fought to get the last two carts available in the store apart for me and some old Papi. They were fused. I had to wait for some poor sap to unload his groceries into his car before I could get a cart. WTF? It is NOVEMBER?
Walmart was a zoo yesterday. People had carts full to overflowing with crap. Toys toys toys.
The kids have started their Christmas Whine. Gimme gimme gimme. And we encourage this by having them write letters to Santa asking for STUFF. Everyone at school, on tv, who calls wants to know what STUFF they want. Always. Gimme gimme gimme....
Bah Humbug!
Because we are SEASONED Parade go-ers, we knew to park and take TTC to the parade. BUT we had to walk through the mall to get to and from the car. The mall was INSANELY busy. We were all starving - and I wouldn't stop at the food court. Too many people too many lines too many too many too many.
I couldn't take my hands off of Sammy - paranoid as I was that I would lose him. In the subway, Sammy, who's had I did have, and I got on to the car. Wayne and Ben did not. We had to wait for them at Kennedy. Sammy sobbed uncontrollably on the super jammed subway car "we lost Ben and Daddy" the whole way there. I'm sure that made everyone else's trip as enjoyable as mine.
And don't even get me STARTED on the radio station that plays only Christmas music from November 1 to January! What the hell? Its like nails being driven not only into my ears but my psyche....I hate is so very very much. Mariah Carey has no place in a civilized society. Even worse - today I heard Rod Steward and Dolly Parton murder "Baby its cold outside". Make it stop.
But, Wayne loves this station. As soon as he gets in the car, on it comes. If I even try to change it he says "Why do you hate Christmas"?
I DON'T!
Wayne wants to buy a set of deer made out of lights for our front yard. This would be in addition to our two 3 foot high candles that say "NOEL", lit bushes, garland and bows and light up candy cane walkway. As I SCREECH "no way!" He says again, "Why do you HATE the holidays?"
I swear to you I don't!
Last year I had 6 parties in 7 days between Christmas and New Years. I was scheduled within an inch of my life. This year, only 5. Much better.
If I don't bake cookies, I stand the chance of being harrassed by both my mother in law and Wayne. Last year, I made 12 different kinds and made gift boxes of cookies for neighbours and friends. Do you think that any of them guess that they are cookies motivated not by love and good wishes but by guilt and intimidation?
My Mother was the Queen of Christmas. This year, I promise you all, I will NOT try to compete with her. I will NOT let Alan Jackson's version of "all I want for Christmas is my 2 front teeth" drive me to a homicidal rage. I will not pressure myself into making fudge. I will not buy my kids way too much out of a combination fo guilt and confusion. I will relax.
Breathe. Just Breathe.
I do not hate Christmas.

labels

I think it may indeed be unfortunate that my favourite thing about my new job is the Brother P-touch electronic label maker. It has 8 different fonts. I love labelling things. Files - that's a no brainer. My calculator. I wish I could stick labels on all my stuff. I have a lot of stuff at the new job
I am also enjoying the industrial strength shredder.
So far I'm only taking joy from the office equipment because I don't really know what the fuck I'm doing. When I know - you'll know.

Program Manager

As everyone in the free world knows, Monday I start my new job. New company. New culture. New responsibilities. Things are changing - not just for me but for my whole family.
So what is the job? Well, I'm going to be the program manager for the Scarborough Specialized Job Search Program. Its provided by my employer - and funded through the government of Canada. We will work with people who are either new to Canada or who have literacy issues. Its a 4 week intensive job search course. Or so they tell me. I don't really know anything for sure - seeing as I don't start until Monday.
Scarborough is on the outskirts of Toronto for those of you not in the know. The area I'm working in is stuffed to capacity with immigrant families. Its not the safest neighbourhood after dark - mental note to self - and is colourful and super populated. I can't wait!
It really is a tremendous opportunity, I think, to do some really good feel good give yourself a big hug kind of work for my fellow man/woman. Its also a HUGE challenge and I can only image what kinds of barriers we will come up against.
Its also the first time I've managed an office or other people in about 4 years. Which is kind of scary. Not that I'm worried - cause you all know how I LOVE to be in charge - but its still a challenge to be new to a company and new to an office and come in and just TAKE OVER.
A stupid yet HUGE challenge for me is the business formal dress code. I have fatted myself out of even my fattest of fat pants. This is not good. Everything I wear has to have a blazer with it - so I suppose I can cover up a multitude of flab with a jacket.
My husband wanted me to buy a girdle - ostensibly to "rein it all in". Screw that - I'm just going to let it all hang out - FIGURATIVELY of course. I am sure that pantyhose will be discomfort enough for all concerned!
And, Yes. I like to be in charge. I start this routine off by being physcially intimidating. I'm already pretty huge and 5'10" but I like to wear high high heels and tower over everyone - it makes people think you are the boss. Biggest person = highest rank: Amazonian Rules.
I will also keep to myself. Because as much as I like people to like me - hey, these people are strangers and I won't know who to trust for a while. Its that "I'm not here to make friends" mentality.
Dan suggested that I could be whomever I want to be in this new and strange place. Speak with an accent or create a whole life or background for myself from fiction - not from fact. And I guess, in a sense, I'm planning on doing just that. I will be aloof and focused. And for anyone that knows me - that's not who I am at all. Okay, maybe a little.
Routines change for the kids - the school - the sitter. We all get up HOURS earlier then we are currently. We have to have cook ahead - preprepared super mom meals. The kids need to get to bed earlier and SO DO I. So, if you are expecting to talk to me on MSN at 3am - lets hope I have to let you down. I don't want to insomniac my way through this job on diet pepsi and red bull.
So - wish me luck. Of course, I'll tell you all about it! I hope there isn't a Smallville fan there that makes me watch it everyday at lunch...or someone who refuses to wear shoes....or someone who shows her boobs to people at her desk...I've already done that!

Going down with the ship

The other night I fell asleep in the bath tub - no big deal really - I've been falling asleep in the bathtub for years. But it occurred to me after this nap, that its not a particularly safe thing to do.
I can remember back in the early 1980s when I had my first job at A&W there were two shifts you could work: 9am to 6pm or 6pm until 3am. The best weekends were when you had Friday closing, Saturday closing and Sunday day shift! Tonnes of hours and a full day's sleep on Saturday. And hey, I was working at A&W so it wasn't like I had a social life to worry about.
After these shifts I came home coated in the horrific stench of fried meat and bacon. Sometimes in a shift I had fried 10 pounds of bacon...it does wonders for your skin!
Anyway, on a closing shift, I would come home to a sleeping house. I didn't usually want to watch TV or talk to anyone - but I was usually too keyed up to sleep. I would take a bath. In the middle of the night, in total silence, I would take a bath.
I would go over the evening in my head. Replaying the conversations I'd had with the super nerdy greasy A&W dudes that I totally adored I would think of all the things I should have said but didn't. I would devise all sorts of plans to become my most beautiful me and woo the boys so everyone would love me for me - and not just because of the faint smell of maple bacon I always had.
I would float in the semi darkness of the bath tub - scented with my mother's bath beads - green and red and full of smelly oil. And in the total silence - tired from prepping burgers and making coney fries I would fall into a deep sleep.
And what woke me up? Often it was when the water turned cold - I'd have been asleep for hours - and I'd start shivering in the water - and it would wake me up.
Other times, I would wake up when my ears hit the water. The only sound I could hear was splashing - in my ears - and this was enough to wake me up.
As time went on and I moved from my parent's house to apartment after apartment, I always had a great bath tub for my night time baths.
One of the best bath tubs was in my apartment in London. Sure, the apartment had some problems in that my upstairs neighbour was a prostitute that worked from home and my back door neighbour was a recently released convicted murderer, but the bathroom rocked. It was in the basement - a seriously scary late night stumble down some seriously scary stairs. You couldn't stand totally upright in the bathroom but, what did I care, I sat down to pee. And it was a gorgeous old claw foot tub. Amazing for bathing - and once I caulked up the drainage valves, amazing for sleeping.
The only other claw foot tub I had was in the apartment on Maitland - that was 100+ years old. It was a great apartment until the roof over the tub collapsed because our upstairs neighbour, Bongo Jesus, had a problem shutting off this taps.
When we bought this place I wanted the super sunken tub - not whirlpool. Whirlpools make noise and are very distracting for sleep. Again, once I caulked up the drainage valves on the tub, I was in business. A dose of bath salts - a bath bomb or some bubbles and I can sleep like a baby....
But now, in addition to waking up when my ears hit the water or when the water goes cold, I also wake myself up snoring....you know you're getting old when.... But a nice hot - blazing hot scented bath - that is the way to sleep.
I'm sure one day, the bath will be my undoing - I will fail to wake up - I will go under and not come up. If that's true - I want that in my obituary....she went down with the ship!

on death and dying....

I have a confession to make today. Nothing earth shattering I'm afraid. Nor is it a deep seated confession of sexual perversion.....nor that I am really a man...nothing as cool as that.
I read the obituaries in the newspaper - every day. Sometimes I even read them on line. I have a consumptive interest in the death and life stories of other people. I figure if they took the time and trouble to live their life, the least I can do is read about it.
I started reading them back home - in Stratford - where the entire daily newspaper is less than 20 pages long most days. Usually there are half a dozen dead people - some days more or less. And, best of all, sometimes they run the obit for multiple days.
Sure, the obituary gives you all the facts - where they lived, how old they were when they died and where and when the funeral crap will be. It even tells you where you can make donations in memory of the deceased - which can sometimes give you an idea of what killed them. B
But to me, the important bit is the listing of family. Married to, predeceased by, meeting his parents in the great beyond...that's the information that lets you piece together the important bits of someone's life. That's what tells you what makes the man.
Its in the family list that you can find out all of the bits and pieces of a person's history that they may leave out if they were to tell you themselves. Like the child that they had that died at birth and the brothers and sisters they are estranged from - even the divorces and remarriages. If you were to have met the person while they lived it is likely they would never have told you so much about themselves - all the juicy bits and pieces.
If you are very very very lucky, you find obituaries in the newspaper that tell you about how that person lived. What they did for a living, where they worked, what their hobbies were, charities they worked with and things and people that were important to them. That is like discovering a gorgeous novel!
Always, the gold star for obits is a photo. An old photo is the pinnacle of newspaper obituaries. Not only do you create a history for the person - you can picture the actual person as well. Excellent.
Okay, well not really excellent - cause the person is still dead. My husband thinks its sick that I read them. But, hello, what the hell are they in the paper for?
I want people to read mine. I'm asking you right now, one of you write me a fantastic obituary (preferably AFTER I die) and the rest of you read it. Someone find a picture that doesn't make me look fat. Photoshop it if you have to.
Lisa recently wrote a blog asking how she would be remembered after she died (my suggestions are in the comments) and hypothesized that maybe it doesn't really matter how we are remembered after we die - cause, you know, we're dead. But, it matters to me to remember people.
Today in my troll through the star obits (2 full pages and lots of photos - yay!) I found someone I used to know. Someone I used to work with who beat me out for a Supervisory position once that I really really wanted. She got the job. She also got cancer, suffered for 10 years, and left a husband and child behind and died at 54. Given the choice, I'd rather be unemployed.
I called Wayne to tell him - Jennifer died - and he already knew. Oh no, he said, you're reading the obituaries again. I am. And I'm remembering Jennifer and thanking my lucky stars just to be here.

The Part

I went to a party last night. A party that sucked ass. Hard. And not in a good way. In a very bad very bad way. And I was bored and not amused. Wayne said I was objectionably bored.

I drove around today early waiting for the stores to open when they weren't. I bought meat and felt bad about myself for no reason. Letting down no one. Unfulfilling no promises I had made or not made.

I listened to the radio. I sang along and no one could hear me - or at least I hope they couldn't.

I yelled at my kid today. I said - stop crying or I'll smack you. Cause that makes it all better. And although I knew what I said was wrong, I didn't know what was right to say. It will only get worse - not better. I only make it worse.

I wanted to call you today - yes, you. But I couldn't because of your stupid rules. But more than wanting to call you, I wanted you - yes, you to want to call me. I don't suppose that ever happens, does it?

I imagined my life changing today. Squinting my eyes and praying to be able to visualize a new life a new place and new head and all I got was a headache.

I saw you on MSN today - yes, you - and I wanted to talk - but I didn't. I don't want to be the one to say hey first anymore. I want you to buzz me and then I want the right to be a bitch and ignore you - yes, you. I was hurt for no reason and alone for even less of one.

I felt bad saying that said I love you today - yes, you - and I'm not sure I do. I'm not sure I ever did. I'm not sure I want to.

I emailed you today - yes, you - and deleted it before hitting send. It was too easy. I didn't want to give you an out - give you an in - make it easy. You work this time - not me.

I took a shower today - and in it I had an imaginary conversation with you - yes, you. And you said - of course I miss you - of course we should spend more time together - of course I'm sorry - and I didn't believe you even in an imaginary conversation.

I felt bad today for what I wrote about you - yes, you again - all the mean things I said about you and how I hate you hate you hate you hate you. And although, they are true, every last word, I still feel bad.

I found spots on my leg today and wondered if it was a monster come back to haunt me and eat me from the inside. I showed my husband who said - are you just LOOKING for something to be wrong? And I guess that I am.

I cried a little today. Setting up the computer and I couldn't figure it out and I couldn't make it work. I felt old and useless and stupid and today that was enough to make me cry.

I hid today. From my family in rooms where they weren't. In the car. Just sitting and staring and singing to the radio so I wouldn't have to talk to people and yes, you. I shut myself off here in a blog that spits into the wind.

Puppy Love

I spent part of today bonding with the dog. Cause that's what everybody needs to spend a day doing every once in a while. Getting some love.
This morning when the wind was howling in the open window that I was too cold to get up and close, the dog crawled UNDER the comforter with me. I could hear her saying "although I am covered in fuzz (she doesn't really think of herself as particularly furry), it is considerably colder than it was the other day when the house smelled of meat. I feel the need to warm myself under the thing - I enjoy the thing as we are a similar colour. I understand that as a dog I am colour-blind and shouldn't know this." Then she snuggled up to me and slept until the alarm went off.
Later in the day, as I was making the same bed with the flannel sheets (Good Lord I love the cold!) we played an interesting game of "you can't see me" while she tried to pretend she was invisible and hide under the sheets as I made the bed. Always fun.
In the afternoon, while I was on line in the office, she layed right in the doorway - I assume she does this to protect me, should the cat decide to come in the area and attempt to give me love. Hershey's presence will prevent this. Hershey knows that the cat sleeps all day under my bed - right where she wants her.
When I'm not home, the dog stays in her crate in the living room. Usually I leave either the tv or the radio on for her - don't tell anyone - it seems weird.
It is in those times that I imagine the cat asserts her dominance over the dog. She does this by walking - back and forth - back and forth - in front of the crate the whole time we are gone. In her best prissy kitty voice she says to Hershey "you're in a cage - well, it looks like a cage....I get to walk anywhere I want - anytime I want. Do you know why? Cause they trust me. Its a matter of respect. The humans respect me. Do you know why? Cause I don't eat my own poop. Yep. Do you know why? Cause that's disgusting. You are a disgusting animal in a cage...." and she says this over and over again while Hershey silently weeps "I am not...I am not..."
Hershey only wants to love the cat. Its all she's ever wanted to do. She enivisions them running together in the field near the house - "here Pumpkin - come play with my frisbee!" and Pumpkin rolls up her nose and says "I despise you poop eater>>>harumph".
We drove Ben to karate tonight and Hershey rode in the passenger seat - where she feels she rightfully belongs. She sits primly and watches the cars out the front window. She's not the kind of stick your head out the window to feel nature kind of dog. She's a people watcher dog.
Not that she doesn't have a lot of dog friends. She has Pepper the little poodle we play ball with at the park. The black and white border collie who isn't really a friend but gets her all excited and agitated when he comes around. And the daschund and his brother the cockapoo (they have two daddies) and the little ball of fluff down the street named Charlie, the Rottweiller named Princess and the old Beagle from the park. Lots of doggie friends.
One of my favourite things she does is groom the children! After they get out of the tub or the shower, Hershey tries and tries to lick them dry - tries to comb their hair by licking it - it hard not to let her - she thinks they are her babies...but hey, she eats some gross stuff....
Now as I sit here, Hershey is back at her post, in front of the door. When I stop typing she turns around to look at me to check that I'm okay. I assume if I turn to her she'd come lick me. Just to see if I taste okay. So here's to Hershey. Cause everyonce in a while everyone needs some love from the dog.

Thanksgiving List

Every thanksgiving I think I should have a list of all the things that I am thankful for. I think that it comes from an old episode of some tv show - I want it to be the Brady Bunch, but, I don't think that it was. In this tv show, the family would sit around the table, hold hands and each one would say a little speech about what they were thankful for.
I am more of a list maker than a speech giver. Okay, well, that's strictly not true in that I'm both a list maker and a speech giver. But my obsessive compulsive listmaking is legendary. I rock the comprehensive multi-tasking list like only a woman can.
So, instead of my thanksgiving speech I give you my thanksgiving list 2007 in NO PARTICULAR ORDER:
I am thankful each day that my kids aren't hooligans or wierdos. I am thankful that they think burping and farting is hysterical and that they love cartoons, don't do crack and aren't giving or getting blow jobs behind the school. I think that its so wonderful that they are so incredibly normal.
I am thankful that my friends listen to me when all I have to say is something about nothing. Its a generous thing to do.
I am thankful that people don't think I'm as annoying as I think I am.
I am eternally thankful that I remember little stupid things about the past that I should likely have long forgotten. Like bendy-straws. I remember my grandfather saving up his bendy-straws when he was in the hospital when I was about 10 - and bringing them home to me because I loved them so. I was so excited to get a straw wrapped in paper. I'm thankful I can remember that.
I'm thankful to have my body. No matter how horribly ugly I often think it is. No matter how it betrays me by making my brain feel sick and my stomach turn. No matter how it takes normal things and makes them difficult. Its still all I've got. Perhaps if I was nicer to it and treated it better it would be better to me.
I'm thankful that I get to spill out all the thoughts that are in my head and very rarely does someone tell me how badly I suck.
I'm thankful that I have the time and abilty to think.
I'm thankful for silence. And music. And good movies.
I'm thankful that the dog just likes to sit with me. Sometimes she sits right up against me and just sighs. She loves me.

Its not a comprehensive list. But its a start. Because, quite frankly, if I look at the nowhere place that my life is right now, I just get too scared to be too thankful for too many things in case someone says I have more than my share and takes anything away.