I have decided to change blog sites. I have several reasons for doing so, some I am prepared to disclose and some I am not. I will be posting elsewhere but I will keep this one open so that I will still receive alerts and be able to keep up with everyone here.

I am not posting publicly where I have gone as there is a little matter of (in)security so if you are interested in keeping in touch please PM me or send me an email (benthere@gmail.com) and I will be happy to pass on my new addy...which incidentally I am quite excited about.

This is not goodbye, I am not quitting blogging, I am just doing it elsewhere. The internet would have to close completely to get rid of me!

I was going to do a thirty minute purge but I didn't have half an hour so I picked at this for two days instead...now I've made it bleed. I know it makes no sense, that seems to be a running theme with me lately...out of sight and more than a little out of my mind.

I drove to Cowtown last Wednesday afternoon so that I could do some running around and get my hair cut before my boy flew in at 10pm. My one winged stylist (sings the song sounds like she’s singin’) is recovering nicely from her snowboarding accident and she says she is pretty content not to be going back up the hill again this year. This is precisely why I avoid ski hills, that falling down shit is traumatizing. My husband told her it’s time to take up a less dangerous sport, like knitting. The girl is all of 24 years old so I’m pretty sure there is not a basket of wool in her near future. Despite her injury she did a fine job on my ‘do. She put a splash of platinum on top and darkened up my grey Icelandic blonde roots.

I called my girlfriend Jack and asked her if she’d like to meet my brother (sic) and I for dinner at the gluten free restaurant where my sil works. I don’t mind skipping the gluten if it means I can eat with my brother without him worrying about getting the shits afterward. The three of us ate a delicious dinner and then hung out and visited for another two hours. It’s not very often we have that kind of time to just talk and it was wonderful. They both worked on me a little about moving to the city, being able to spend more time with the two of them certainly sweetens the pot.

After dinner I did a little shopping and picked up some vittles for the weekend. What I save on groceries in the city almost pays for my gas to get there. The quality however is where the real difference is. Our local grocery stores should be ashamed of the produce they sell but they are not because there are only two here and they both are lousy and they have a monopoly (biopoly?) so they can feed us (literally) any crap they want and we have to pay twice what it’s worth and eat it up and say “mmm that was good, can I have some more rotten lettuce?!” There is always a big hubbub here about shopping locally but I feel no guilt in making purchases out of town. When our grocers give a flying fig about the oldy moldy vegetables and mushy brown fruit they sell us then maybe I’ll make an effort to spend more of my money in their stores. *gets down off soapbox*

It was good to see my boy. He was the highlight of my week (my life) He always looks taller and skinnier to me when I haven’t seen him for a while. I might be a Jewish mother. We got out of the city at 11pm and I was completely exhausted and not looking forward to the long drive home but we talked all the way and the three hour trek went by pretty quickly. I love driving with my son, we have our best conversations in the car. Poor thing is a captive audience. He HAS to listen to his mother when his only alternative is to jump out of the car and brave the Canadian wilderness in the dark.

The weekend was great, we had the family over for Chinese potluck (potruck?) on Saturday night. The food was fantastic and the company was pretty good too. Despite my love for my clan it wears me out having people over. By the time they all left and we got the kitchen cleaned up I was ready to drop (stop and roll). I think I try too hard. I know I don’t have to but we don’t do the gatherings here very often so I guess I like to do it up right. I had chopsticks for everyone, there were appies on the table when they all got here, drinks were flowing, I had all of the food organized to be hot and ready at the same time and I even put together a platter of goodies (fortune cookies and easter treats) for dessert. Anyway, I know I bring it all on myself as I want to be the hostess with the mostest but frankly it’s too much like work. Oh, my aunt made some coconut shrimp that were incredible, we decided they were so delicious they’d be fabulous on ice cream. Only my family would even consider shellfish on dessert.

The Boy caught the big silver dog back to Vancouver. What should have been an eight hour bus ride became a twelve hour nightmare. The bus he was supposed to catch was full so we had to wait an hour for a second bus. He traveled an hour and the bus stopped for an hour. They drove another hour and stopped for another hour. The kid was frustrated and more than a little pissed off but when you travel on the back of a mutt you get what you pay for and are at the mercy of the company. They don’t give a shit. We could have driven him to the coast, gone to a movie and been half way home again in the time it took him to get there. The good news is he arrived safely and even made it to work on time the next morning. It was sad for me to see him go but at least this time I know he’ll be home again in a month. He has a week between this job and having to be back at school...and that week is his mommy’s!

In other news I am busy as hell. Trixie left on her three week vacation (I am not bitter!) so I am flying solo and working like crazy picking up her slack. I’m not complaining, the money is good, but it leaves me with no time for blogging or anything else for that matter. I’ve also been working on our brochures and business cards and I keep over thinking it and starting over. There is a perfectionist in me...I want to kick her ass. I have more than 70 alerts that I may not get to until there are twice that many and I feel worse about not keeping up than I do about not posting. My husband is off work this week (temporary-we hope-shut down) so he has been painting and putting window trim and moldings up and generally being my house bitch. Mama is bringing home the bacon this week and daddy is acookin’ it. Just don’t tell him I said that.

Speaking of bacon, we are heading to the bank tomorrow to sign the papers for the re-mortgaging of our house. It sucks. It sucks huge furry mammoth testicles that we are in this position (over a barrel) but we are and I have to suck it up and accept this fate and deal with the repercussions of our debt. It’s just a lousy place to be and it gets worse but I am not in the mood to go there now. Maybe later. Maybe not.
I usually try to end a post on an up note or with a giggle, guffaw or chuckle. Tonight the barrel of monkeys are rabid, the laugh factory is condemned and the fountain of fun is puking piss. Oh that sounded bad...almost bad enough to be funny. Fuck it, it works for me tonight.

The family voted (behind my back) and decided (to vote me of the island?!) that Easter dinner would be at my house this year. I’m ok with it, we’re doing Chinese potluck for a little something different. It means I have to host about twenty people for the evening but it also meant I got to choose the cuisine and as long as I don’t have to eat the dirty bird (foul fowl turkey) it works for me. We are not Asian but we do enjoy the food, who am I kidding, my family likes all food. The boy thinks we should make chocolate sushi for dessert but I am afraid that it might not be proper to combine Asian plates like that.

Our clan is not much for the religious significance of the major holidays, we are all heathens, but we look upon them all as an opportunity to hang out together, nosh and enjoy the company of people who have to like us because they are connected by blood. Easter has always been more about chocolate eggs than anything else and really, is there anything else?!
In fact my memory is getting so bad I could start hiding my own eggs.

I have to work for a bit this morning and then I am heading off to the city. The Boy doesn’t fly in until almost 10pm but I have to get my hair cut and pick up a few groceries for the weekend and then I plan to meet my brother for dinner. We’ll be dining gluten free at the restaurant his wife manages. We had lunch there last weekend and it was delicious and no celiacs were harmed during the eating of that meal. We’re heading home right after the plane lands which means three more hours of driving and a hella-long day for me. I am not complaining though, I’ll never complain about the kid coming home...unless he turns all crack whore junkie or something, I don’t think I’d like that so much.

In a lovely little bit of karmic retribution, The Boy’s boss (who has been a total douche sucker since the kid got there) is being investigated by Immigration Canada. There is a possibility that he is going to be deported. The boy said “Maybe the repo man is coming to get him.”

In the past two years my kid has lived at home, in university residence, with six strangers in Ottawa, with four friends in Waterloo and now with my mom’s cousin in Vancouver. The cousin, Liz, is a mucky muck in real estate, she’s almost fifty years old and she has a beautiful house in a very nice area of the lower mainland. Liz smokes but she never does so in her house so the boy found it hilarious when she had some friends over one night and asked him if he’d mind if they smoked pot in the house. Of course even if it bothered the kid he’d be far too polite to say so. Liz is not chronic by any means but she digs the herb. Last time she had company from out of town they got high and ate the boy’s ice cream. The couple said they are always on a diet and it’s been ten years since either of them had ice cream so apparently all it took was a little munchie inducer to lure them to the freezer and loosen their dairy inhibitions. Tonight a different couple are visiting and again they passed the dutchie and they too found their way to the kids ice cream. I am not a dope smoker and apparently it's a good thing, ice cream calls my name when I am straight and sober, I'd be fucked in ignoring its advances if I was high. What is really funny to me about all of this is that he was not exposed to this in any of his other homes. How ironic is it that the one housing situation we set up for him is the only one with free flowing booze and puff the magic cousin?!

Ok, I gotta go, I have a monster day ahead so I better get on it. Have a Happy Bunny day/weekend!

The rabbit left you some raisinettes!
OoOoOOoo

I am feeling the urge, I’ve need it and I need it real bad. I’m a dirty dirty girl and I need a clean clean house.

I freely and happily admit I am not a cleaner. My husband does the majority of the everyday domestic duties, he likes it, it keeps him busy and since he is hyperactive with ADD tendencies (not really but close) he needs to be kept occupied. Now that is not to say I am a total slug. I do plenty around the house (when I have to). The kitchen is where I shine, I do all of the cooking and I excel at it. My husband does the dishes regularly but usually that chore is completed by whoever is in the vicinity when it needs to be done...I try to make it not me. I love having a tidy house and if I had to do all of the housework to keep it that way I would. Fortunately, I don’t or I would live in a much smaller dwelling.

About twice a year I get bit by the bug to scrub and the urge to purge. I dung out everything and polish every surface in the place. This spring cleaning fever started for me on Friday. I had the day off so I started first thing in the morning. The office took me nearly four hours. I went through every paper in every drawer and on every shelf plus I cleaned out the desk and the closet. I threw out two full garbage bags of crap. It felt so good I headed for my closet. I filled another two big green trash bags full of clothes that have already gone to the church. It appears that over the winter some of my more summerish clothing has shrunk a little. Fucking closets, why can’t they make them stop shrinking my damn clothes?!

Yesterday while my husband tidied the basement and made The Boy’s bed, I dusted the living room, repotted some plants, scrubbed my bathroom and cleared the cobwebs and dust puppies from every corner of my bedroom. I vacuumed the carpet and my bed and washed all of my bedding. The place is so fucking pristine I don’t even want to be in there never mind allowing the hubby and the dog admittance.

Today His Highness cleaned the oven which is really self-cleaning so basically he turned it on and vacuumed out the charred remnants of whatever spilled in there and sets of the smoke alarm every time we baked anything. I went to work early because I could not stand the smell.

My husband will do the floors and sanitize and disinfect his bathroom tomorrow so all that is left for me to do before my baby comes home (oh yeah, did I mention my kid is coming home for Easter!!??!!) is a quick once-over of the kitchen and dining room.

I feel lighter...despite my shrunken clothing...having gotten rid of so much shit and getting my house so sparkly clean but there was another bonus to this cleaning frenzy. I read somewhere that women get turned on when they see their men cleaning house, frankly it doesn’t do shit for me but I did discover that watching me clean is better than porn for my husband. Most men think their women are at their hottest in short skirts, high heels with hair and make-up perfectly done. My man however gets all worked up over me in sweat pants and a hoody with no make-up on and my hair pulled back in a pony with a dust rag in one hand and a garbage bag in the other. In fact the more I cleaned, the dirtier he wanted to get. At least I know when he gets old(er) and can’t get it up anymore that he won’t need Viagra, I’ll just dab a little bleach behind my ears and start scrubbing the toilet.

(Jimmy Eat World)

In an attempt at some levity or at least some minor entertainment I am putting a soundtrack to this post. I miss the “Listening to” dealie on the old blog site. Instead of choosing one song for the whole post however I am just going to throw tunes in wherever they fit. If this is too hard to follow I can draw a picture (Kid Rock). I am very good with stick figures.


Broken - Seether

We went to the city this weekend, I had planned to get my hair cut but my stylist broke her wrist. How dare she, does she not know it’s all about me and tending to my blonde roots?! The crazy bitch (Buckcherry) was snowboarding and fell. This is why winter sports are bad mmmkay. People get hurt and can’t cut other people’s hair, it's a fucking tragedy (Bee Gees). It will be another week or two before I can see her so I will go back in then. My husband couldn't go next weekend or the weekend after so we decided we go in for the night, do some visiting and pick up some necessities (dog food and toilet paper) and use our Home Depot gift cards on the pressure treated lumber for the base of the cabin. It’s just for the foundation but it’s a start.


Hot in the City - Billy Idol

The Weather Network said it’d be 12C on Saturday which is summer compared to what we’ve been used to but not quite warm enough for partial nudity (short pants/sleeves) so we were not prepared for the heat of the sun and what felt like 20 degree temperatures. It was truly a beautiful day (U2). We’ve been considering a move to the city and if it was trying to entice me this trip it was doing a good job… weather-wise at least. It felt fantastic, albeit sweaty, to feel the sun all day long and it was still t-shirt temps at nearly ten pm when we made our way back to the hotel after a lovely dinner with my girlfriend (Avril Lavigne) Jack.


Situations-Jack Johnson

Jack is my oldest friend, she has known me since birth and if there is one person on this planet (aside from my husband) who I am completely comfortable with it is her. Someday I want to write a whole post about Jack, she is truly the most real, wysiwyg, honest, simple and genuine people I have ever known or known of and she deserves more than just a blurb. Jack is leaving her husband, it’s been coming for some time she’s just working up the courage to make the break. The two of them have been married for eighteen years but have been little more than roommates for the latter half of the marriage. He’s not abusive, he’s not a bad man (though I am pretty sure he’s cheated and he did tell my husband that he was in love with me a couple years ago) but he is neglectful and takes her for granted. Jack broke my heart the other night when she told me she thinks he is embarrassed of her. I hope she is wrong but if he has made her feel that way (even unintentionally) it is an unforgivable offense. It’s a crying shame (Jack Johnson) and it will be a rough road for her and that gives me one more reason to want to move to the city, to be closer for her.


Money Honey-State of Shock

While out for dinner at Chili’s two teenage boys were seated next to us counting their pennies. When the waitress asked them what they would like they asked her what they could get for six bucks. These were not street kids, they were well dressed and both had cell phones but I have a feeling they were high or illiterate as they obviously couldn’t read the menu to see how much it would cost them for an order of fries. Which incidentally is about all you can get at Chili’s for less than six bucks.


I’m Broke - Limp Bizkit or Hot Dog - Limp Bizkit

We asked my parents to look after the dog while we were out of town. They are always very accommodating and we trust them to care for our bitch (Meredith Brooks) as if she was their own. Mom came down here on Saturday morning to pick Mika up but she brought their new pick-up down to do so. She forgot that she didn’t want the dog’s sharp nails on the leather seats and loaded her instead into the back of the truck. Mika jumped into the back happily enough but my mom also forgot that my girl is a princess and is used to riding in the front seat so it should have been no surprise when the dog panicked and jumped out of the moving vehicle. Thankfully my mother saw that the dog was antsy and had slowed down but the height of the jump was still enough that Mika hurt her leg. She’s been limping and favoring it ever since and my mom is devastated. She has offered to take her to the vet and to pay for any expenses. I have to say I am more than a little bit touched that she feels so bad about it. I assured her that the dog will be fine and we are not upset with her at all and if there are any expenses incurred from the incident that we would NEVER expect her to pick up the tab. She feels terrible that something bad happened to our baby on her watch. I told her it is not her fault our dog is a dumbass… a limping dumbass at that. We’re calling her ‘Speedy’.


Full Circle - Collective Soul (sole?)

My shoes disappeared from work a couple weeks ago so I felt completely justified in buying two new pair… though neither of them are even remotely similar to the pilfered footwear. Every year my bil and his wife buy us gift cards for The Bay and we really never shop there so we find them difficult to spend (unlike the Home Depot cards, how lame are we?!). It so happened that by the time we hit that end of the mall I was in the mood Glenn Miller for shoe shopping and my feet were swollen which is the best time to buy them… I can justify anything. I found the cutest little black ballet flat Privo’s and managed to spend both mine and my husband’s gift cards on them. I used his up before it expired, I am generous that way. The other pair is from *gasp* Payless but they are the most adorable little wedge heeled slip on sneaker from American Eagle. Barefoot season is coming...eventually...I am sure this is the sign (Ace of Base).


The Sound Of - Jann Arden

There are a few bands whose CD’s I buy just because I like them and I am pretty much guaranteed to enjoy everything they release...Goo Goo Dolls, Collective Soul, Matchbox Twenty and Dave Matthews to name a few. The Trews are another such treat for me, they are a Canadian band from Nova Scotia and they combine the east coast sound with an alt rock flavour to create a blend that appeals to me on every level. Their lyrics are fun, their beats are strong and their melodies are memorable. The new disc is called No Time For Later and I highly recommend it. Furthermore I even higherly recommend their first album House of Ill Fame, it is brilliant.
My other musical purchase is from yet another band that always gets my attention and affection, Seether. The new CD is called Finding Beauty in Negative Spaces. Seether is a little heavier than a lot of the music I listen to. I love loud violent music at times but for my everyday listening pleasure I prefer the kind of music I can sing along to. While Seether is not quite Disturbed, they do have some seriously beat-y bass and more than a bit of an edge. I fell in love with the single Fake It a couple months ago but now that I own the disc my favorite song on it has become the catchy little romantic ditty FMLYHM...it stands for fuck me like you hate me. It’s kinda dark and dirty, I dig (Incubus) it.


Suzie is a Headbanger - The Ramones or Window Paine - Smashing Pumpkins

I was so exhausted from the trip and the rude awakening in the middle of the night… at 3am (Matchbox Twenty) the next door neighbors in the hotel decided it would be a good time to rouse the entire building with their rendition of Sweet Child of Mine (GNR). Some kid was bellowing along to the blaring CD at the top of his lungs, which I would have happily punctured to shut him the fucker up. Three songs later someone must have told the bastard to turn it down. We did get back to sleep but it was restless after that so it was no surprise (Three Doors Down) that I began to doze in the truck. I balled up my husband’s jacket and tucked it between my melon and the side window and it was time to enter sandman (Metallica). I had been napping for about twenty minutes when suddenly it felt as if someone grabbed my head and slammed it backwards into the back window knocking my eyes wide open (Goo Goo Dolls). My husband blames the frost heaves on the highway for the abrupt whiplashing moment but I am not convinced he wasn’t just tired of talking to himself and wanted me awake for company and conked me back in some kind of bizarre automotive wrestling move. He probably hoped that the emerging goose egg on my cranium would prevent me from sleeping for some time. The joke was on him however when the resulting concussion made me even drowsier. Next time I think I’ll wear a bubblewrap (Mcfly) helmet so my noggin doesn’t wind up black and blue (Van Halen) and really I don’t need another hole in the head (Nickelback).

It's Over - Roy Orbison

I’ve been busy, stressed, full of anxiety, considering selling my house, considering moving to the city and in a general state of financial and emotional disarray. I am not into writing about all of it at the moment as I don’t think whining (whinging?) will fix anything or even make me feel better right now. Instead I am playing word games and reading to distract myself from my real world. When all else fails, go into denial.

Things will get better, they have to and when they do hopefully my muse will be more amusing. For now though I wanted to share this email my boy sent me. It came on a day when I needed it most and made me smile. I do want to preface this tale by mentioning that I have never thrown out an egg carton. We used to save them for the school and Girl Guides for crafts and since we’ve been living here we’ve been collecting them for our hillbilly farmer neighbors who have chickens and sell the eggs, it’s recycling as well as being neighborly.



On my last night at university before Christmas, the roommates and I were on a cleaning frenzy to make sure that the place was half decent for the subletters.  C was throwing everything out, the girls were doing whatever, I was packing.  So we're all in the kitchen and we notice the huge pile of egg cartons in the corner.
Everyone looked to me for direction. 
I asked who was going to take the egg cartons home. 
Everyone looked back at me in confusion. 
It was then that I realized that not everyone lived next to J and G who will take your old egg cartons.  I had been saving them for some Ontario farmer that I assumed one of my roommates knew and the roommates followed suit.  R said that she even took a carton out of the garbage and was then conscious of it because she didn't want to be a waster. C went through more than a dozen eggs a week and all of his, mine, K, H's, and R's egg cartons were heaped, looking back at us as we looked at them wondering what we should do with them next.

You say that the music store is still in you, well apparently you can take me out of the country but you can’t take the country out of me.

Monday morning our first client arrived at the salon annoyed and venting. She had just been to the gym and while she was working out someone mistakenly (she hoped) left the building with her shoes. She had a pretty good idea who it was so she didn’t think it would be too much trouble getting them back but we all had a laugh over it and wondered what kind of fool doesn’t know their own shoes.

That afternoon as I was leaving work I slipped my sneakers on and while they felt slightly odd they were the last pair in the foyer so I never considered that they might not be mine. It was my husband who noticed when I arrived home from my walk that day that indeed I had walked a mile (two miles actually) in someone else’s footwear.

“Are you sure they aren’t mine?” I asked him... apparently I am a fool who doesn't know her own shoes either.

“Positive. Yours are brand new and exactly the same as mine, those have purple on them, you would never buy purple shoes and look, “ he pointed inside “there is no dog hair in there.” Mika fur is like a label on everything we own from our bed to our cars to the margarine.

The shoes I wore home were the right brand and even the correct size but (for once) my husband was right, they were not mine.
I called Trixie to have her check to make sure my runners weren’t at her house before I started investigating clients who were potential crooks. She was giggling as she checked by the door. “Nope, the only shoes left here belong to me.” she confirmed.

We started going through the list of Monday’s clients. I called my cousin to see if his MIL or wife had come home with new(er) shoes. He asked them both but neither had even worn sneakers that day. Trixie called her clients from that day and none of them had taken them (or so they say...thieving bitches) and finally I called my former boss at the paper. No, I wasn’t going to take out a missing New Balances ad in the classifieds. I was calling to talk to the receptionist who had been in to see me but she was out for lunch. I explained my soleless situation to Jane and she started laughing. “You’re not going to believe this.” she said. “I was at the elementary school this morning and someone stole Jody Ore’s shoes too.”

What are the odds that three of us would be the victims of mistaken footwear identity in the same day? I told Jane maybe she could do an article about it… I was kidding but seriously it would be more exciting than anything else in the paper.

I have since called everyone else we saw that day to no avail, my brand new balances are gone. I am left with white and purple sneakers that I never would have bought and more than a little trepidation regarding the wearing of my good shoes to work… or anywhere else I might have to remove them. Now I basically have two options if i don't want such a thing to happen again, I can leave my footwear in the car and walk barefoot into the house or I can revert to my kindergarten ways and Sharpie my name into all of them.

I just had a moment of panic as I thought how ironic it would be if somehow I was responsible, that I had taken the wrong runners from somewhere and the whole debacle was my doing. Fortunately I did not remove my sneakers at any point that day other than at work so I am not out of line putting the blame on someone else. It would have been doubly funny if all of the shoe switching was related but it appears they are all isolated incidents. The one thing I am grateful for in all of this is that the shoes I ended up with are at least not stinky… though at this point I am wishing mine were!

We took a drive out to the lake on Saturday. Up until last year the road was only accessible by snowmachine in the winter months but that all changed when a backcountry lodge out that way realized it would be cheaper for them to plow the road than to fly everything and everyone out by helicopter. Since we may very well be the lamest rural Canadians as we don’t own a sled or any other rec vehicles (I don’t even have boots or ski pants for fuck sakes) we have never before had the opportunity to visit our home sweet away from home in the off season.

We weren’t sure how good the road would be and the tires on the old Ford are pretty bald but we figured if it was treacherous we’d just turn around and come home. I packed some snacks and a few just-in-case emergency items (a lighter, extra water and toilet paper) while His Highness was more concerned with bringing a drink, or rather a pail of drink. He mixed himself a 32oz screwdriver to bring on the trek and never even considered bringing a shovel, snowshoes, sandbags or anything that might have been remotely helpful should we get stuck or stranded. Priorities.

The dog was first in the truck, she didn’t know where we were going but she was determined not to be left behind. We packed our necessities into the cab and headed out into the beautiful sunny day. We were amazed that despite the amount of snow that had accumulated over the winter that they had managed to keep the road so well maintained. We never even had to shift into four wheel drive.

We arrived at the turn-off to find that the road into our camp site had not been plowed, the only trail over to our little island was the track of my uncle’s snowmachine from the weekend before when they had come out. My husband looked at me and the running shoes on my feet and said
“You want to give it a shot?”

“Absolutely.” I told him. “If it’s too bad we’ll just come back.

He was wearing his honkin’ winter boots (that might as well have been snowshoes) so staying atop the crust of the snow was fairly easy for him. I however, in my sneakers and weighing a fair bit more than he does, found myself knee deep on more than a few occasions. I was exhausted by the time we arrived at the island. The two(ish) kilometer trek in deep snow told me two things, my heart is in good shape even if my body isn’t else I would certainly have had a coronary and that it’s time for me to invest in some winter footwear. I did find some snowshoes out there so the hike back to the truck was much easier than the walk out... my heart is grateful for snowshoes.

We hung out in The Nana’s porch as it is the only dry covered seating area at this time of year. Heiny had his drink(s) and a bite to eat while I took some photos. I would post some but Photobucket is being bitchy with me today and won't let me load them. The views were breathtaking (beyond my need to catch my breath) and I was amazed at how tranquil and peaceful my little nirvana was even under five feet of snow. The Bluebird Hilton (the camperized school bus that is our guest suite) is nearly buried and our trailer has enough snow on and around it that there is no way we could have gotten into it. So far it looks like it is holding up under the weight of the white stuff but right now I am almost hoping it collapses so that we are forced to put something better in its place. I am more determined than ever to build a cabin out there. If we can put one up this year it would mean we could continue camping into November and start going back out again at this time of year. Our old trailer has no heat and no insulation and it leaks so there is no way we can use it beyond the warm months… all of the snuggling in the world won’t stave off the hypothermia. Camping is supposed to be fun and relaxation, there is nothing about freezing to death that would provide any joy at all.

We are in the midst of some financial shuffling and some refinancing of our home so we have decided that we are going to attempt to borrow a little extra in order to build our cabin this year. We figure we can find some decent deals on supplies and do all of the work ourselves and since we only want a cozy little building (that is wood heated and well insulated) it should cost us less than one tropical vacation and it would be a vacation that keeps on vacating rather than a one shot deal. We will be content to not take any major holidays if we have a place to go to get away from all of the hustle and bustle of country life. We work in a town with a population of 5000, We live half an hour out of that town where there might be a dozen households within a ten km radius of my house and still we feel the need to get away from it all. I could never be a city girl again.

From the moment we arrived at the lake (such as it is at this point, nearly empty and frozen over) my husband became Belinda Carlisle and began singing “Heaven is a Place on Earth” and it stayed with him all the way home and well into the evening as well.

“Why do I have that song stuck in my head?”

“Maybe because the lake is our heaven on earth?”

“Hmm, I think you might be right.”

After thinking about it for a while last night he decided that maybe there was something he could do to raise the cash to build our cabin.
“I could pose naked.”

“On the street? I think you’d get arrested.”

“No, for a magazine.”

“National Geographic?”

“No, Playgirl, they pay for that. I’ll give them whatever they want, hard, soft, medium-ocre standing, laying down, I can give them my sexy tongue sticking out pose if they want that. They can even get a couple gallons of olive oil and make me all slippery, chicks dig that.”

“Your body hair and olive oil would make you look like a fresh born calf.”

“There wouldn’t be blood.”

“You’re messed up. Besides, they usually prefer the men in those mags to be more…”

“Famous?”

“No…”

“With bigger dicks?’

“No, yours is fine.”

“What then?”

“Well, the men are usually… younger.”

“Maybe I would start a trend, real men in magazines. You always bitch that they never have real women in them, maybe it’s time to show real men, no airbrushing or anything.”

I shook my head.
“Alright baby, you go for it.”

“I’ll call Hef in the morning.”

“What?!! Hef is Playboy!”

“Yeah but I am sure he has connections, he’ll know who I should call.”

“Like the nuthatch?”

As he drifted off to sleep he was still singing (his version)...

"Ooooh baby do you know I have girth, we'll make heaven a place on earth."

So? Do you recognize me?

What do you mean you can’t see any difference?

No, I haven’t lost weight or changed my hair.

I have new word processing software and this is me writing on it! I’ve been using Text Edit (like notepad, the chisel and cave wall of writing tools) since I got m’iMac and I have hated it. It is the difference between drinking from a mud puddle and a glacial fed river, you can survive on dirty water but there is no joy or refreshment in it. Ok, so the new program has not helped my metaphors at all.

I have issues with pirating, I’m not all high and mighty about it or anything but I am on dial-up (and I have no choice!) and I have neither the bandwidth nor the patience to download anything more than the occasional donkey show. Kidding! I just wanted to see if you were paying attention. I also have no idea about bits and torrents and such so the entire process is quite above me. Aside from all that I really don’t mind paying for something I will use… which is why I also pay for my music. I could go on about that but then I’d be getting all preachy and I hate that shit.

I looked at Adobe’s Creative Suite 3 but to buy it would cost me over 1200$ and that is a million miles out of the financial question. I mostly wanted it to do business cards, brochures and such for work, if I were a serious graphic designer monkey and making mad monkey money off of the software then certainly it would be an investment. For me, not so much.

Then I discovered iWork on my computer. It was just a sample version but I gave it a test drive and discovered that it does pretty much all of the things I need it to do...and a few things I don’t. It consists of Pages (word processing and simple graphic design), Numbers (charting, graphing and such) and Keynote (fancy powerpoint-type presentations) which I am excited to try out but I don’t know what exactly (if anything) I’ll do with it yet. I bought the software for a whopping 79$. And frankly I think a lot less software would be pirated if it was sold at a halfway decent price. Sure there are a lot of things that CS3 contains that iWork doesn’t, but there is certainly not a thousand dollars worth of difference...at least not for me.

There is a learning curve to new computer programs, especially for me, but it’s coming together. It takes time and patience and I am not exactly overabundant in the latter so I tend to fritter away the former to distract myself from my frustrations and inabilities. I already know more than I did a few days ago and in a week I will be better at it than I am today. I’ve spent a lot of time in Pages working on my business cards and brochures. It’s hard to get those creative juices primed when you’ve let them dry up. If I can figure out how to do so I will post a pic of my new business cards so you can all see (despite the generic hideousity of my blog) that I do have a slight sense of style and some graphic ability.

So that my friends is a big part of what has been occupying my time… that and loading all of my CD’s on to my computer which is becoming a post in itself. If you’ve never heard of Bonepony, you will soon... and no, it's not like a donkey show. And in other computerly news I got myself a handy dandy convenient rotating hub. What is that you ask? I have no idea, I was just reading it off the box. It’s a thingy to plug my extra thingies into. I have a port for my modem, one for my mouse and one for my keyboard and then there are two on my keyboard but that is not enough to plug in all of my stuff, printer, camera, pod etc. Now I have four spare ports so I can operate everything at once. My brother and SIL put a USB powered massager in my stocking at Christmas but it wouldn’t work off of my keyboard ports. I have just discovered that it buzzes along like the happy little bee it’s supposed to when plugged into the new hub. Hubba Bubba! I think I’ll go try it out now and massage my… wrists.

My husband is working tonight and there is nothing worse than having VD alone so I thought I'd spread a little love around for the occasion.

This communicable disease is a couple's meme I contracted from the fabulous Roxanne.

How long have you been together?
20 years, two months and three days.


How long did you date?
I invited him to go to the city overnight, he moved in with me five days later. I was pregnant and we were married within seven months. I don't waste time. 


How old is he?
Ancient. He is 40 days older than me.


Who eats more?
He eats more at lunch than I eat all day and he's still skinny… bastard.


Who said ‘I love you’ first?
He did, it was a very sweet moment. He said "I want to tell you something that I have never said to anyone else... except my mom."

Who is taller?
He is, by about four inches.


Who is smarter?
I am… as long as the subject is not math.


Who does the laundry?
He does, and he irons too.


Who does the dishes?
We both put our dirties directly into the dishwasher but he probably unloads it more than I do.


Who sleeps on the right side of the bed?
That depends how you'd define the right. If you stand at the foot of the bed looking down at us I am the one on the left and you are a creepy stalker.
No, don't leave, I like it.

Who pays the bills?
I washed my hands of all things financial years ago, I can’t deal with the stress of it… or the math.


Who mows the lawn?
He mows the weeds.
 I tend the gardens.

Who cooks dinner?
I do all of the cooking though he makes a mean beer can chicken on the grill.


Who is more stubborn?
That would be me. He knows he can't win so he folds like a bad poker hand. 


Who kissed who first?
I think it was me, I’m a bit of a tart that way but if I had waited for him to make a move we’d still be waiting.


Who asked who out?
Again I was the aggressor, he liked my brazenness because he had no moves. 


Who proposed?
He did after he knocked me up.


Who is more sensitive?
He cried at the end of The Banger Sisters! Nuff said.

Who has more friends?
Me, he is too busy doing laundry or banking or dishes or lawn mowing.


Who has more siblings?
We both have two brothers, his are both older and mine are both younger.

Happy VD!

Partly because I wanted to bury the last post and move on and partly because I wanted to play along, here is the latest in memeology.


MOUTHOLOGY

Q. What is your salad dressing of choice?
A. It depends on the salad, sometimes I like Ranch or honey mustard, sometimes I am feeling more Asian (though I’ve been politely asked to stop feeling Asians) ginger/sesame inspired.

Q. What is your favorite fast food restaurant?
A. If I am hung over I want a Teen Burger from A&W but normally I don’t eat fast food. Dairy Queen makes a decent salad but it defeats the purpose when I can’t make it through the drive-thru without a Blizzard too.

Q. What is your favorite sit-down restaurant?
A. It’s been a long time since we’ve been to anyplace exceptional, food, service et al. The place in Seattle with the orgasmic salmon chowder would be right up there though. Most local are redundantly sucky so we don’t eat out very often.

Q. On average how much of a tip do you leave at a restaurant?
A. That depends on the service or lack thereof.

Q. What food could you eat every day for two weeks and not get sick of?
A. Ice Cream. The hope would be that I would get sick of it so it would stop calling my name and taunting me.

Q. What are your pizza toppings of choice?
A. I love a thin crust, pepperoni, mushrooms, peppers, bacon and extra cheese. A heart attack special. Unfortunately (or not) the pizza joints are as lousy as the rest of the restaurants here.

Q. What do you like to put on your toast?
A. Bread is the devil but when I do submit to carb consumption I love it with butter and my mom’s homemade choke cherry jelly.

TECHNOLOGY

Q. What is your wallpaper on your computer?
A. I think it’s a waterlily. Some close up or a pink flower anyway.

Q. How many televisions are in your house?
A. 2, one in the bedroom and one in the basement rec room in front of the elliptical (guess which one I watch more?) and they are both miniature and ancient.

Q. What kind of cell phone do you have?
A. I hate cell phones so when my husband insisted I have one I wanted cheap and easy (that’s how I roll) and went with an LG pay and talk thing. I use it as little as possible, sometimes the battery is dead for days before I notice or bother to recharge it.

BIOLOGY

Q. Are you right-handed or left-handed?
A. I am all right. Lefty loosey-righty tighty.

Q. Have you ever had anything removed from your body?
A. Tonsils when I was four, a child when I was 21 (though he chose to come out before he was forcibly removed), my gallbladder at 24, my uterus, fallopian tubes and cervix when I was 32. Hopefully everything else stays put or I might collapse in on myself.

Q. What is the last heavy item you lifted?
A. Lifting heavy things is a blue job.

Q. Have you ever been knocked unconscious?
A. Only by anesthesia and I appreciated that.


BULL[CRAP]OLOGY

Q. If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die?
A. Absolutely. Only so I could make sure I had done everything by then. Who am I kidding? Even if I knew I would still procrastinate.

Q. If you could change your name, what would you change it to?
A. I always love the black women names that only black women have, like Shoniqua, Myeishia, Chaka Kahn or Lekysha, you never see women of other races with such commanding monikers. “Brenda’ is seriously bland in comparison.

Q. What color looks good on you?
A. I love pale pink, it’s a good color and I like it on me but most of my wardrobe is black… I am a closet ninja.

Q. Have you ever swallowed a non-food item by mistake?
A. If it contains protein and slides right down the gullet is it still considered non-food?

Q. Have you ever saved someone's life?
A. If you asked my mother she’d say I tried to kill my baby brother the day he got into the bottle of baby aspirin and ate them all. If I had been as irresponsible as she said I was (At TEN years old!) then I would not have noticed or called her immediately to get him to the hospital and get his stomach pumped before he OD’d.

Q. Has someone ever saved yours?
A. Nah, I have a higher tolerance for baby aspirin.

DAREOLOGY

Q. Would you kiss a member of the same sex for $100?
A. I’d do it for free though I bet we could make some real money if we charged admission.

Q. Would you allow one of your little fingers to be cut off for $200,000?
A. At this present time of financial duress I am quite sure I would… or at the very least I would offer up one of Heiny’s digits.

Q. Would you never blog again for $50,000?
A. I doubt it, though I would be more productive... or just have more time for Scrabulous.

Q. Would you pose naked in a magazine for $250,000?
A. Of course! If someone wants to see all this for all that they can have it.

Q. Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1,000?
A. No, heartburn is bad enough, I don’t need flaming reflux.

Q. Would you, without fear of punishment, take a human life for $1,000,000?
A. It’s not the punishment I would fear, it’s the Karma. My luck the next offer would be a million dollars to someone else to bump me off.

DUMBOLOGY

Q: What is in your left pocket?
A. Lint.

Q: Do you have hardwood or carpet in your house?
A. Hardwood, carpet, lino, tile and laminate flooring, we have it all. If I had it to do over again there would be no carpet. It doesn’t camouflage the dog hair as well as the hardwood and vacuuming sucks.

Q: Do you sit or stand in the shower?
A. I admit that I am not the most active girl on the planet but I think if you have to sit to shower (barring some physical challenge) you have bigger issues than cleanliness.

Q: Could you live with roommates?
A. Hell no! My husband is the first person I have lived with that I didn’t want to kill after a month… it took a little longer with him. I put up with his annoying habits, he does laundry, it’s a trade off ;)

Q: How many pairs of flipflops do you own?
A: You have to understand that I would happily live in them year round but Canadian winters do not support such footwear. I do however find my feet flip flopped throughout the non-snow part of the year (April-October). I have cheap ones, expensive ones, some for gardening, others for camping, some for around the house and others yet (the really cute ones) for work and going out. I’ve never counted exactly how many but I’d guess about twenty(ish) pairs.

Q: Last time you had a run-in with the cops?
A. They know better than to mess with me.

Q: Who is number 2 on your top 8
A. I always get this confused, number one is pee right?

Q: Last friend you talked to?
A. I just sent a Facebook message to Roxanne.

Q: Last person who called you?
A. My former boss called me to book a pedicure. Nobody calls me at home, I am on dial up, it’s the sure fire way to keep the telemarketers (and everyone else) away.

Q: Person you hugged?
A. Heiny is on Afternoon shift, I smooched and hugged him goodbye and then flashed him my boobs as he drove out of the driveway.

CURRENTOLOGY

Q: Missing someone?
A. I always miss my boy.

Q: Mood?
A. I'm actually kind of excited. There is a project rolling around in my head that I think has some serious potential.

Q: Listening to?
A. The growling in my belly and the pitter patter of paws pacing by the dog dish telling me I am not the only one needing feeding.

Q: Watching?
A. More snow falling. 
*sneers and flips off the snow*

Q: Worrying about?
A. Everything... also how I roll.

RANDOMOLOGY

Q: First place you went this morning?
A. Pee.

Q: What do you want to do right now?
A: Go somewhere tropical.

Q. What's the last movie you saw?
In the theater, PS I Love You (PS we loved it and we blubbered all the way through it)
On TV, Superbad (supertwisted and superfunny)

Q. Do you smile often?
A. Whenever anyone is looking.

Q: Are you a friendly person?
A. Yes, despite what you may have heard from my mother.

I tried to post this last night but the site went down which fueled my frustration even more, when it rains it pours... when it pours it pours shit all over me. Welcome to my pity party, grab a drink or your drug of choice and settle in for a lovely upbeat post.

I am angry.

Very angry.

I want to blame, but there is nobody and nothing to pin it on.

There is a lot contributing to my angst and I don’t want to feel this way. I want to smote my challenges with brutal force and come out the victor but at this moment I just don’t have anything left with which to fight. I cried myself to sleep last night over it after yelling at my husband over the injustice of it all for two hours (wore myself and him right out).

We’re in a financial mess, way more money going out than is coming in and we’re looking at potential layoffs at his work AGAIN! I could go into the details of the debt but it’s pointless to dwell on it... it's pointless to dwell on all of this but I'm purging. We’re trying to refinance our house, extending our mortgage and borrowing against the equity to lighten some of our monthly burdens. It’s a nasty process and all we’re really doing is robbing from the left hand to pay the right. We know it’s just a bandaid fix but unless that lottery comes through or some rich relative (that we don’t have… or know about) dies and leaves us a boatload of cash we have no choice.

Add to that my husband’s death trap on wheels and the shit gets deeper. He drives a 1989 Dodge Dynasty. We bought the car almost ten years ago, it had less than 100,000 km on it and cost us $5000 so really it doesn’t owe us anything despite all we’ve put into it in repairs over the last few years. It’s falling apart… literally. The wheel wells have more holes than a lace doily due to the rust, the tires are on their last treads, the interior moulding is long gone, the seat belt on the passenger side is fucked, the driver’s side door handle is the only one that works, none of the windows roll down… and if by some miracle you get them open you need a winch to roll them back up again. Most recently and more worrying is the fact that in -20C weather the beast is overheating. Isn’t that fanfuckingtastic?!? The air conditioner (which has not worked since we bought it) finally started working then too...instead of the heat!! He works afternoon shift two weeks a month and has to drive home on an icy highway and I swear I hold my breath from 1 am when he gets off work until 1:30 am when he pulls into the garage. If he’s late I panic. Thankfully we at least have cell phone coverage out here now so if he does run into trouble he can call me, providing he’s not hurt...or dead. Of course my head goes to the most negative of scenarios… it’s how I fret. If by some miracle we can get our monthly expenses down we will need to buy a new (new/used) vehicle which will put us right back into high payments again. It’s an endless cycle… and I want to get off!!!

What put me over the edge yesterday was cabin fever I think. We’ve been buried in snow for almost five months and I’ve had enough. I think I am dying of vitamin D deficiency. Not to mention lack of vitamin fun and vitamin life. We don’t do anything in the winter, there is nothing TO do. We don’t ski, snowboard or sled, I can’t stand to be cold. We can’t afford to travel yet every second client I see is heading somewhere tropical for a week or two or in Trixie’s case THREE! Fucking right I am jealous. I know it’s a bad way to feel but it’s also a lousy way to feel… stuck beneath four feet of frozen water crystals with three months to go before I see sun and greenery. I am forgetting how it feels to have the sun warm my skin, this cold parched weather has my flesh all dried out and swimming an ocean of lotion wouldn’t make me feel like less of a scaly old alligator. This is precisely why I will NEVER complain about the heat of summer.

When the spiral into the pity party begins it takes on a life of its own. With enough tears to raise the Titanic it all came out. I cried because we’re not where we wanted to be at this point in our lives, I cried because we’ve been married twenty years this summer and have never had a honeymoon, I cried because my boy is on the same side of the continent and I can’t go see him, I cried because I am afraid that somewhere along the line we made a bad decision (or six) and we’ll never know where we went wrong or how to fix it, I cried because I want it to be summer and I want to be at the lake, I cried because we can’t afford to build a cabin at the lake, I cried over the range (which stopped working over the weekend again), I cried because we still don’t have all of the window casings and mouldings up in our house, I cried because they can’t figure out what is wrong with my husband and I am convinced he’s going to die, I cried because I need new glasses, I cried over my sore tooth which I am sure needs a root canal, I cried because we always thought we did the best we could with what we had and it got us nowhere and finally I cried because I couldn’t stop crying.

I know I have a lot to be thankful for and I fully intend to be grateful tomorrow (but now that it is tomorrow I find I am not quite there yet, maybe tomorrow will be better). Tonight however I am wallowing. If I were a drinker or an addict I’d be wasted instead of writing. Yes, I know that is unhealthy and I know it gets me nowhere but it is where I am at at this moment. Nobody in my offline life will ever see this side of me. They see the girl who is excited for her friends and family who are taking fantastic vacations, the see the smile, they get cheery, positive ben who never crumbles under adversity. They get cheerleader ben, encouraging them through tough times and sad times and always willing to help carry their burdens.

I don’t blame anyone for not ‘being here’ for whatever is behind this crisis, the people around me don’t know. I am a much better actress than they’d ever give me credit for. And the Academy Award goes to... me! My husband and I split up twice early on in our marriage and I never told anyone until years later and they were shocked, they had no idea. I don’t like people to know my life is imperfect, I don’t like people to know I am imperfect, I don’t want people to see my dirt. Pride goes before the fall.

Only those who read my blog and my poor husband know my dark side and believe me when I tell you that even you don’t see it all. I feel bad for you both but if I didn’t let it out somewhere I could very well find myself heavily medicated in a bin of the loony variety… in fact that is not sounding half bad at the moment.

Is this PMS? Maybe, though I thought that was why I ate the pan of brownies last week. Depression? I don’t think so, my dark place is never that dark. Seasonal Affected Disorder (SAD?) That is possible but it wasn’t until I looked at the date that it started to make sense. It’s February, the longest, coldest, greyest, darkest month of the year for me. If I ruled the world I would cut the month from the calendar, permanently. Fuck leap year, fuck Valentines day (it’s just a Hallmark holiday anyway) and fuck trying to remember how many days are in the stupid month. Fuck February. DING DING DING, I believe we have a winner, finally something to blame and only eighteen days until it’s over… or is it seventeen days this year?

Maybe I need to take up a hobby, something soothing and cathartic like scrap booking, knitting or hatchet throwing.

I rarely watch daytime TV, I am usually working or can find something better to do... even doing laundry is more exciting for me than pretty much anything that is on before prime time. The exception to that is that I actually enjoy Ellen (not in the Portia way) when I tune in at the right time to catch her. Every once in a while however while I am getting ready for work or puttering around the house I leave the TV on for noise. It was one such day when Oprah came on. I am kind of ambivalent about Her Winfreyness, I don't hate her but I also don't go out of my way to watch her either, at least not most of the time. I have however become a huge fan of the guest she had on that day. His name is Dr. Oz and if he had his own show I wouldn't miss a singe episode.

Dr Mehmet Oz is a physician, he's written and co-written a couple books and he occasionally has a special on the Discovery Health channel. The man knows his shit...literally and figuratively. He's not like most doctors, he explains things in terms that make make sense. He teaches people how to be their own best medical resource, he understands that as patients we know our bodies and we know when something isn't right. He takes a lot of the mystique and fear out of having tests done and doing sometimes uncomfortable diagnostics. He has a manner that is so gentle and genuine and he gets very excited about getting information to people. I liked his approach immediately and began to pay attention.

I get a lot of sinus headaches, in fact I wake up most mornings with a throbbing pain between my eyes that is so bad it makes me teeth hurt. Usually once I am up and showered the soreness subsides, if not a Sinutab or some such drug usually is enough to quell the ache. When Dr. Oz began talking about allergy and sinus sufferers and the non-drug way to treat the ailment I listened. He introduced us the Neti Pot.. He brought a sinusitis sufferer up onto the stage and proceded to instruct her on the fine art of pouring salt water into one nostril and allowing it to drain out the other. Apparently this method bathes any pollen, dust, debris or other allergens out of the sinuses and nasal cavity leaving nothing to irritate inside the schnoz area.

I went directly to ebay and ordered my own little Aladdin's lamp looking nose rinser. It arrived last week. I rubbed it and wished for no more pain in my head. My wish was granted. I have been using my Neti Pot every night for just over a week now and have not woken up with a single sinus headache, in fact I've not had so much as a sniffle or a wayward booger in that time. I am so incredibly thrilled.

Why didn't anyone tell me this before? Nasal lavage is not a new concept.
I blame the drug companies, they don't want me to breathe without their assistance. What pisses me off about all of this though is that our own doctor never told us that this works. Does she not know? Is she beholden to the drug companies? I will be cluing her in next time I see her and I might even tell her what she can do with all of the sinus meds she's told me to try over the years. Maybe it's time for a new doctor...I wonder if Dr. Oz is taking new patients. My husband however(still suffering from belly pain, and the parasite has been ruled out) would still prefer to see Dr. House.

I can't wait until someone who doesn't know about my Neti Pot it sees it, I will show them how it works and then tell them I have a drinking problem. I'm funny that way :P

I’ve always had body issues and with good reason, I am not, nor have I ever been a skinny girl. I won’t make excuses, I am sure that if I ate ‘right’ and exercised more it would help. The problem is that I have spent my entire life on some sort of diet or another and I have gotten to the point where I don’t know what to eat anymore. Low calorie, low carb, low fat, sugar-free, high protein, food combining, supplements, shakes, cabbage soups, Zones, South Beaches, Weight Watchers, Atkins, it gets to the point where food is simply a nightmare and every bite induces guilt and self loathing from every direction.

Then there is the brilliant diet wisdom that spews from people who have never had a weight problem…”Just put the fork down.” “Step away from the buffet.” Like they know best. It’s not always a question of volume. I have put my body into starvation mode more than a few times, falling into the ‘eat less lose weight’ mentality. Unfortunately however when your form is not fed properly it panics sensing famine and stores every morsel just in case it’s not going to get any more. Most of us simply eat the wrong things, it’s figuring out what the right things are that gets complicated. There is no one simple fix for everyone and despite what some people say one look at my family proves there is something to genetic weight issues. I also happen to believe that for some of us the weight is masking something (besides a smaller ass) deeper as well. Stuffing emotions with food is a form of medicating just like drugs or alcohol, for some it is an addiction and as real a disease as any other. Still there are shallow fucks who think themselves above reproach who think that fat people are lesser human beings and it is ok to treat them (us) as such. It is not.

Fortunately I have never (knowingly at least) been directly targeted by such ignorance but the sad truth is that such shaming is not necessary. I am far more malicious regarding my own body than even the nastiest fattist could be. My husband loves my body, all of it. For a long time I didn’t believe him, I thought it was just something he said to be nice. We’ve been together long enough now however that he’s proven he likes everything just the way it is… and he’s totally an enabler (buying ice cream and such) so if he does have a problem with it he can take some of the responsibility. Still for as long as I can remember I have been consumed with bodily self-loathing. It’s a pretty lousy way to live when you like the person you are but you don’t feel that what is on the outside is any reflection of the person who lives within. Women (especially) seem to get it in their heads that if they have the perfect body that everything else will fall into place, they’ll get the perfect guy, find the perfect job and live the perfect life. It furthers the sad state of affairs when we find that the scale is not a magic lamp and that reaching that goal does not necessarily fulfill all of our wishes.

Finally someone gets it.
His name is Gok Wan and he is the host of a British TV show called “How to Look Good Naked” (I have heard there is an American version of the show starring Carson Kressley of Queer Eye fame but I haven’t seen it yet and I would frankly be surprised if he could fill Gok’s designer shoes) and he is the new love of my life. He takes real women who hide behind baggy clothing and undress in the dark and slaps them in the face with a shot of reality (and their underwear clad image posted on the side of a building for the world to see) and shows them that what they see as flaws are not necessarily what other people even notice or often actually appreciate, he boosts confidence and increases self esteem in women who prefer hide their bodies from the world. He does not subscribe to societal standards of beauty or perfection and he doesn’t preach diet, exercise or cosmetic surgery. He teaches women how to work with what they have and not just accept their shapes for what they are but to love them as they are… even uncovered. Accentuate the positive and learn to appreciate the negative. It is what it is, no point in hating it.

The show is full of tips for dressing different shapes (not better shapes, not worse shapes, just different) what works and why as well as emphasizing that the proper reinforcements are in place… most women wear the wrong undies and bras but we’re too humiliated by our bulges and intimidated by Victoria’s Secret models to get fitted properly. Gok is leading the crusade to end our bodily repugnance and I hope it catches on. We should not hate our bodies, one woman’s flaw is another woman’s endowment and who says we all should be a size two anyway… or is zero the new two? I have never wanted to be a tiny model or a ballerina I like my boobs and I am quite happy that I will never be mistaken for being a boy. My husband can’t keep his hands off my fat ass, that should be enough in itself to make me appreciate my ample bottom and I am working on being happy to be loved by someone who appreciates my brain, my humour and my booty as it is. It may not be the ‘perfect package’ but it is mine nonetheless.
If a smaller pair of jeans is in my future then so be it but if it’s not I don’t want to slit my wrists over it either.

By the end of each episode Gok manages to replace the women's body issues with enough confidence to pose naked for a photo shoot and walk in her skivvies down a runway. While I have not quite gotten to the point where I love all of my wobbly bits or would be caught dead in the buff in front of an audience, Gok has helped me to see that there is more to life than trying to squeeze into someone else’s mold and despising myself when it doesn’t fit. The misery, frustration, anguish and despair that comes with the constant battle with food and fat is not worth the aggravation. There is no point to it, the skinniest person doesn’t win anything, we should just enjoy living instead. Life is not perfect, nobody said it had to be and dammit we don’t have to be either.

The boy has been living in Vancouver for a month now so I thought I'd do a bit of an update as to how life is going for him in lotus land.

It would be a serious understatement to say he is not thrilled with this position. For starters his commute is an hour and a half each way... bus to skytrain to bus... leaving him no time on weekdays for anything other than eating and showering. I told him to shit at work to save time. The job itself has been one trial after another. His direct supervisor is an idiot. He is also Asian which does not necessarily contribute to his idiocy but it certainly adds difficulty with the language barrier. The majority of the people working at the research facility are either Chinese or Korean so nobody can even pronounce anyone else's name let alone communicate in an effective fashion. The Boy says some days it's like a comedy of errors watching them all duke it out in argument after battle after spat when it turns out they are all wanting to get the same point across.

My boy is a pretty bright biscuit but the supervisor treats him like a mentally challenged monkey. He tells my boy to research things and then tells him he is wrong when he doesn't like the results. He has no concept of Google, he told my boy to call SFU to see if they has some machine and the kid did as he was told but the university did not own such a machine. When my son told his supervisor this he 'tsk'd' my kid and got all annoyed and typed SFU and the name of the machine into the search engine. Of course there were hits but they were all for SFU's that are not Simon Fraser University "See," he said "It says they do have it, now call them back!"

My kid is not one to get his panties twisted but this supervisor has already managed to get him to raise his voice...I told him next time a fist might be appropriate. The boss is a bully and a racist. He talks down to everyone, he bitches about Canada incessantly, he hates the price of things, he says our government is cheap (despite the millions in grants he's been given) he says the people are stupid and he even bitches about the weather. My boy finally asked him, "If you hate it so much why did you come here?"
"Because Americans are fat!" he snapped.

Last week was hell week for my boy... like it had been so pleasant to that point. He has not yet been properly trained in the lab but he has been thrown into the deep end. This is not the place to adopt a sink or swim mentality, it's a lab for fuck sakes not American Gladiators! His first incident was the spilling of nano-particles. It was an accident (obviously) but rather than explain to him what he did wrong and how better to handle it next time the supervisor just got pissed off and told him to clean it up. I keep forgetting to ask my boy how one cleans up nano-particles. A nano is one billionth of a meter, dust would be boulders in comparison.

The next day he was told to pour liquid nitrogen from one container into another.
"Should I wear gloves?" he asked.
"Yes, but not latex."
The only other gloves were insulated work-type gloves and since liquid nitrogen is -70C it made sense to him to wear them. What my boy was not told is that when you pour liquid nitrogen it is similar to pouring a slurpee. Have you ever tried to drink a slushee without the straw? You put the rim of the cup to your lips, tilt the vessel toward yourself and sploosh, you get a face full of sticky sweet ice. Apparently liquid nitrogen works the same way.

He tipped the full container toward the empty one and the entire contents blooped onto his hand and down into the glove. He dropped everything and shook the glove off but it had already been held against his finger long enough to burn. He said his index finger was yellow and he watched in pain as first one blister then another and another popped up until his entire digit was one big blister. The first aider was more concerned with filling out the incident report than actually administering first aid. Nice.

It was near the end of the day so he went home. I happened to be online (big surprise) when he came on msn.

"Hi Mom."
"Hey Buzz (his nickname) what are you doing home already?"
"I had an accident."

I couldn't close my connection and get his number dialed fast enough. He answered the phone with, "I'm ok, I didn't mean to freak you out."
He told me what happened and I gave him my best advice as to how to treat the burn. He went to the doc the next day and was told the exact same thing... apparently I missed my calling.
He told me last night that it looks pretty gross but it's not hurting anymore at least. Poor kid.

To add insult to injury (literally) his supervisor asked him later that week to do something on some machine (he told me the details but it's all way over my head) but the machine would not work. His boss got all pissed off at him and said "Why do you have to break everything you touch?"
I want to smack that fucker right upside the head...with a baseball bat.

Beyond the job he is enjoying his stint in Van. He's been doing a lot of touring and exploring on weekends, he volunteered for an Alzheimer's walk and he is looking into getting a part time job at a sport's bar in his neighborhood. He loves living with my mom's cousin, she's a few years older than me but she's lived a somewhat sheltered and privileged life so my boy gets a kick out of her naivite. My boy knows how to shop sales but the cousin buys what she wants without concern for cost. He saw that chicken breasts were on sale in the flyer so he was going to pick some up. She asked if he had to show the cashier the flyer so she'd know that he wanted the sale price.

While I certainly feel for my kid I keep reminding him that he's only got a couple more months there and that even the bad stuff is a learning experience. He'll know how to handle nano-particles and liquid nitrogen next time although he says ultimately he does not want a lab job. I am thankful for that and also extremely grateful he's not dealing with explosives.

This post might fall under the 'too much information' category so if you're squeamish about shit or don't want to hear about the crap habits of my husband you may want to skip this post. You have been warned.

For years my husband has had tummy troubles. He has a lot of pain and he shits way more than he eats. He's had scopes done... in both ends though thankfully for him it was not at the same time... blood tests, poop tests and he's been given a myriad of drugs. So far there has been no definite diagnosis, prognosis or psychosis. He's had a particularly rough time with his belly for the past two or three months. It's making him miserable and it frustrates me that the doctors have not found anything. I had begun to wonder if it was all in his head, until last night.

If there was ever any question that my husband had no shame I am about to abolish all doubts. My part in it might be a little disturbing too unfortunately.

"Baby come here for a sec." he called me from the bathroom.

"I don't think so."

"Please come here, I need you." he giggled.

"What for?"

"You gotta see this."

The last time this happened he told me he pooped a ladybug...which turned out to be a partly digested strawberry.

"I don't want to see your shit."

"Seriously honey, you have to see this."

I stood in the bathroom door, held my breath and shook my head as he sat snickering on the toilet.

"What is it?" I asked not really wanting to know.

"Grapes."

"Shut up."

"Seriously."

Forgive me my friends, but I had to look. Sure enough there in the bowl... along with other matter that I will erase from my memory... were two whole green grapes.

"That's not right. For fuck sakes you're not supposed to swallow food whole, apparently you don't chew any better than you digest!"

"I chew!!"

"Oh so how did whole grapes get in there then? Either you are shoving them up your ass or you've got vines growing up in there." I pointed at the toilet "If not I believe THAT is proof otherwise."

Poop is funny, we giggled over the dung incident for a while but the more I think about it the more it concerns me. There must be something wrong with his digestive system when he can shit out entire grapes... not to mention something wrong with him for not chewing first! I don't spend a lot of time checking out my own waste but I have never seen anything that has gone that completely undigested... with the exception of corn or the occasional sesame seed. This morning he made yet another appointment with the doctor and I told him to make sure he lets her know that he's shitting like a goose and that things are passing through without breaking down. Too bad he didn't think to save the grapes, he could have taken them in to her as evidence... unless she couldn't diagnose his problem in which case he could just give them to her as a snack.

According to science it is the sense of smell that is most closely associated with memory but to me it is sound...the sound of music. Apparently the hills are alive with it. Every stage of my life has its own soundtrack and when I hear a song from a particular era it immediately returns me to that time as well as the emotions I associate with it.

My parents tell me I was singing along with Charley Pride songs before I could talk, I still know all of them by heart...I Never Picked Cotton, Kiss an Angel Good Morning, Kaw-liga etc. It was what my parents were listening to at the time. Charley helped my MIL and I to bond. She is in love with him and has seen him in concert many times (my MIL the groupie) and she was beyond thrilled to discover that I knew all of his songs... any friend of Charley was a friend of hers, it made me an acceptable catch for her baby despite the fact that he doesn't approve of Charley at all.

I discovered boys in the seventies. I was young but that didn't stop me from noticing the cuteness of Leif Garrett, Derek (the child molester?!) from The Bay City Rollers and Shaun Cassidy. It was posters of these guys that first adorned the walls of my bedroom. It wasn't long after that my friend Jack and I discovered her brothers albums and our tastes matured with the likes of REO Speedwagon, Sweet, Chicago, Supertramp and Toto. By the end of the decade it was all about disco and I have to admit I loved Leo Sayer, KC and the Sunshine Band. "Do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight!"

It was also in the seventies that I was introduced to three men whose music would be a big part of my next several musical decades.
- Billy Joel, the piano man looking for an uptown girl to tell her about the pressure of my life.
- Sir Elton before he was knighted and before he took himself too seriously. I still love Elton but he's come a long way from Crocodile Rock, the Bitch is Back and Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.
- Rod Stewart. The Scot seemed to be able to see into my teenybopper angst ridden diary and he understood me, he put into words the things that I felt. He knew that the first cut was indeed the deepest even if I was only joking. When I write mush to my husband I often quote Rod the bod...
You're in my heart
you're in my soul
you'll be my breath should I grow old
you are my lover you're my best friend
you're in my soul.

I believe I have mentioned it before but I once was a recording artist. When I was in sixth grade the two music teachers at my school put together a group of seven of us who liked to sing and who didn't completely suck. We wrote our own songs and performed at other schools and at every town function. Our music was simple and folky but the locals loved it. The next year we went to Vancouver to a real studio and recorded an entire album. The single came out on 45 and a short time later the record was released. There was only a limited pressing but they sold out... our album went aluminum. People even asked for our autographs which was a big deal to a bunch of 13 year old girls. It was my very dim fifteen minutes of local fame.

Because my formative years were the 80's there is a squishy warm spot in my heart for the music of that time. I listened to all of it, hair metal (Def Leppard, Poison, Motley Crue, Whitesnake, Cinderella, AC DC etc.) new wave (Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Duran Duran, Flock of Seagulls, Skinny Puppy), pop/rock (Bon Jovi, Billy, Elton, Pat Benatar, Prince, Police, Huey Lewis). etcetera etcetera. When I hear Radar Love-Golden Earring and ROCK You - Helix and so many other songs of that era it transports me back to the Bamboo Inn Chinese Restaurant where we spent many days after school (and I worked for a short time) plunking quarters into the jukebox and eating the best fries and gravy in the world.

My husband is notorious for making up his own words to songs. In all the time we have been together there is only one song he ever sang that he indeed knows all of the lyrics to. Life's Been Good - Joe Walsh. I bet there are few women who can say they've been serenaded with "I go to parties sometimes until four, it's hard to leave when you can't find the door." On a more romantic note there are some mushy songs (as if it gets mushier than Joe Walsh!!) that make me think of him too. One night we happened to stumble on a Garth Brooks concert on TV and when he sang Unanswered Prayers my husband began to cry. It is about being grateful that he didn't get what he wished for because what he has is so much more. I was incredibly touched by it and now the song affects me the same way. We were never much for country music but our wedding song was Randy Travis' Forever and Ever Amen. It was less about the genre or the artist and more about the lyrics for me. It's sweet and sappy just like us.

There are songs that remind me of past loves too.
Lost in Love - Air Supply (nobody did sap like they did)
I used to dedicate it on the radio to a boy I was head over heels for in high school.
Slide It In - Whitesnake
Minds out of gutter! I borrowed the cassette tape from a boyfriend and never gave it back after we broke up... so technically he stole my heart and I stole his tape.

There are many songs I associate with my kid. I like to think I instilled in him the same love for music that I have.

All My Lovin' - The Beatles
I was never much of a fan of the fab four but I used to sing this song to my son when he was little.
"Close your eyes and i'll kiss you,
Tomorrow i'll miss you;
Remember i'll always be true.
And then while i'm away,
I'll write home ev'ry day,
And i'll send all my loving to you."

Kryptonite - Three Doors Down
I held my breath as my sixth grader danced to and lip sync'd this song for a contest at school. My stomach was in complete turmoil as I projected my stage fright onto him. He was a frickin' rockstar, his performance was brilliant and hilarious and it was at that moment that I realized that despite the fact that he was of my loins he thankfully did not inherit my self consciousness, anxiety and stage fright. He danced to his own drummer...in the Superman shirt I painted for him...and won first prize in the contest.

I won't dance - Frank Sinatra
In tenth grade as a Phys. Ed project the students were forced (under duress and penalty of failure) to do an interpretive dance. My boy was away the day the assignment was issued so by the time he found out about it everyone else had already gotten themselves into groups. I was furious that the PE teachers would put teenagers (who already feel awkward enough) on display and judge them and worse yet allow their peers to judge them as well. My son stressed about it for a day or two, it was one thing to voluntarily put oneself on display, it was quite another to be forced into it in the form of interpretive dance.
I offered to battle the PE teachers. I was willing to be THAT mom and go in to the school and demand that there be an alternative to the public humiliation. My son said he'd do it but he was going to do it his way. I then suggested he do his dance to Phil Collins' - I Can't Dance and just stand there the entire time. It was then that we recalled Mel Gibson's moves in What Women Want to the Sinatra classic and we choreographed a similar cutting of the rug, complete with some tricky hat moves and a step up and over a chair. The kid was the only student to perform alone and he knocked their collective socks off.

I spent seven years working in a record (CD) store. Any other retail job would not have made me want to kick puppies but the music is what kept me there and kept me (reasonably) sane. I listened to everything... even jazz.. which I still don't like. I was introduced to some of my favorite artists that I might never have otherwise discovered. It was during these years that I fell in love with Collective Soul, The Trews, Finger Eleven, Matchbox Twenty, Seether, Tonic, Fall Out Boy, Live, Nickelback, Jack Johnson, Dave Matthews, Metallica, Jay Z, Linkin Park, Foo Fighters, Steeple Chaser and so many more.

My current playlist...

Anything and everything Goo Goo Dolls (Johnny Rzeznik can sing to me... or do anything else to me for that matter... anytime)
Money Honey - State of Shock
Fake it - Seether
Adored - Collective Soul
Into the Night - Santana featuring Chad Kroeger (though I prefer their song Why Don't you and I)
Chelsea Daggar - The Fratellis
I'll Keep your Memory Vague - Finger Eleven

This is a long entry. I won't apologize for that, nor will I apologize for my taste in tunes. My brother and sil have long chided me on my preferences but music is subjective and there are so many genres and artists that nobody has to agree on what is good or what sucks. I could have a whole other entry on what I dislike and another one yet on my thoughts regarding the pirating of music. I am very passionate about this subject and as I have said before, you can take the girl out of the music store but you can't take the music store out of the girl.

Today for the first time in years I typed an entry directly into the box rather than saving it to my documents first. Naturally because I didn't save the fucking thing, the moment I hit 'add new entry' my internet connection burped and I lost it all. What follows is what I can remember of it.

I have been working on the soundtrack of my life... in similar fashion to what Slade, Heidi and Slayerbarbie have done... though mine is (surprise!) much longer winded. The process reminded me of a post my friend Rox did a while back about the mixed tape.

I adored the mixed tape. I was thrilled to get them. I, like most girls would look for hidden meaning (as in how much the boy who made it was secretly in love with me) in ever tune and when I made a compilation for a boy I would put my heart and soul into ever selection. Sadly, boys (especially of the teenage variety) are about as deep as a puddle and completely oblivious on all counts. They didn't put any more thought into concealing messages than they did to look for them.

In a fit of nostalgia for the lost art of the mixed tape I thought I would have some fun with the idea and ask you all to make me a virtual cassette. Let me know what songs you would put on a tape for me, they could be songs that remind you of me or songs you think I might like and in return... if you want me to...I will do the same for you. There is no limit to how many or how few you choose... just have fun with it.

And I know you all have mad crushes on me (ha!) so I won't be looking for subliminal messages in your choices... or will I??

The snot has stopped dribbling, my nasal passages have finally cleared (thankfully without having to resort to requiring the aid of hand grenades or a bulldozer) and I have hacked up the last of the oysters that had been camped out in my lungs. The mucous has left the building... er... body!

So far my husband has not gotten sick. I am amazed, he's like a germ magnet so I am beyond surprised when I catch a bug that doesn't go on to attack him. Speaking of my dear hubby, rest assured that I am all in love with him again now that I am feeling better and he has been rewarded for his patient loving care despite my illness induced (as opposed to the everyday) abject bitchiness.

We went in to the city Friday because he had an appointment with the dermatologist...I always want to say Gynecologist. He's had a strange rash for a couple of years, it is very itchy but it only comes in the winter...like Santa. It is not contagious or I would have killed him by now for passing it on to me. The doc here has prescribed dozens of creams and potions which offered little or no relief. Finally the irritation has become so severe that he begged to see a specialist before he was driven to taking a belt sander to his legs.

The highway was clear and dry when we left home but we knew better than to hope the trip through the mountains would remain so smooth. About an hour and a half into the journey it became increasingly obvious by all of the vehicles in the ditches that the road was very slippery. In the next half hour we saw at least a dozen vehicles that had gone off the road. Two of the accidents looked like fatalities judging by what was left of the wreckage. It was horrible.

We decided that due to the nasty traveling conditions we would do our business in the city and head home as quickly as possible so that we could get through the worst of the drive in the daylight. I called my brother while my husband was getting his skin checked to let him know that we'd not be able to get together for lunch with him as we had planned. I apologized and explained the situation and he understood. Hopefully we'll be able to go in in a month or two and spend a few days so we'll have to celebrate his birthday then...besides, from what he said on his blog it appears he did not miss a meal despite our absence.

My husband returned to the car with a list of supplies and a couple of prescriptions. Apparently he has eczema...which is pretty common and I am now very annoyed that our family doc could not dignose that...and he now has a whole new washing and moisturizing regimen. We decided to pick up his necessities in the city as the savings from that alone (compared to what they would cost us here) would pay for our trip. We picked up his stuff and a few groceries and got the hell out of Dodge.

It was blizzarding by the time we hit the pass so I urged (threatened) His Highness to drive slow. I'd rather take forever to get somewhere than not get there at all...in the winter. I was still feeling pretty shitty and was very tired and cranky so I am sure the poor man was wishing I'd just dope up and go to sleep and shut up.

Between the long stressful day in the car and the lack of sleep for the previous five days I was exhausted by the time we arrived home. Apparently that was what it took for me to finally get some rest. I slept for nearly ten hours. It was what I needed. By Sunday I was actually feeling human again and by this morning all that is left is the occasional throat tickle and the permanent indent across the bridge of my nose from the breathe-right strips...and maybe the odd undercover tissue in the bed that hasn't yet been unearthed. The crises are over...life is back to whatever normal is... with a little less itching and scratching for Heiny.
I think we (I) take our (my) health for granted, I never think about how good I feel until I feel shitty for a while. I am now making a point to be grateful for every day I don't piss myself from coughing or sneezing too hard, for every unrestricted breath I take and for every night spent on a dry pillow.

*tap tap tapparoo*

Did you hear that?

It was me, I am knocking on Death's door.

I kinda hope he's not home.

I don't get sick very often and usually when I do get attacked by a bug I can kick its hairy parasitic ass before it has a chance to worm its way into me. Not this time.

I felt great on Sunday.

I woke up monday morning in a panic when i realized someone had super glued my nose shut at some point in the night. I blamed my husband...because that is what I do.

I took Monday off hoping to make a speedy recovery but after a breathe-less day and a sleepless night I wasn't feeling any better on Tuesday. I had to work so I loaded up on cold meds and put on my healthiest smile and did my thang...trying my best not to infect anyone. Most of my clients either already have the bug or are just getting over it. It was probably one of those bastards who gave it to me! I can't blame my husband for that, he hasn't been sick. I am quite certain though that since we are going to the city this weekend he will come down with it by then...in my mind it will be just to spite me. I do not expect him to baby me when I am ill and I have zero patience for him when he is under the weather. "Just get over it already, take some Cold FX and some vitamin C, blow your nose, you don't even try to fight it,you are such a baby."

I try to keep my misery to myself (and you) but he moans and groans and whines and it annoys the piss out of me. In sickness and in health my ass. Apparently I am a little cranky. The poor guy isn't even sick (yet) and I am already mad at him. How does he put up with me? I think it helps that he's working afternoon shift.

I am on my way to bed, it's time to get sexy. I'll slip into my favorite comfy sweatshirt, pop enough antihisthamines and tylenol to relieve the 40,000 leagues under the sea pressure in my head and the miserable aching in my everything else. Then I'll flush my nasal cavity with saline to try to drain some of the snot...so there isn't so much left on my pillow in the morning. *gag* After that I will slather my chest and back with Vicks vapo-rub and finally to make me completely irresistible I will put a Breathe-Right strip across the bridge of my nose. Oh the hawtness...of my fever. My husband won't be able to keep his hands off me when he gets home. How could he possibly resist the overwhelming seduction power of mentholatum, Buckley's breath and soggy tissues.

Now I lay me down to sleep
my bed's become a kleenex heap
If I can rest before I rise
I won't have such bloodshot eyes

Sadly, my cold/flu/ebola has not improved my mad poetry skillz.