Close your eyes and imagine me...this will be easier for those who know what I look like...in a pair of coveralls and a plaid flannel shirt. Slap a straw hat on my melon and a shit-shovel in my hand.
I'm going to be a farmer.

I'll wait for the laughter to subside.

My MIL (Katy) has been with Sal for almost twenty years. When Sal retired he sold his farm (better than 'buying the farm') to his son but he still goes out to the property every day and works in the fields and with the critters. Sal is a farmer if there ever was one, it's what he knows.

We went to their place for dinner over the holidays and my husband was complaining (as he tends to do) about his sore belly. I think he was just trying to get out of eating much of his mother's bland cooking. I love the woman dearly but her 'spice cupboard' only contains her salt and pepper shaker...and she uses them sparingly.

"You have ulcers." Sal informed my husband.

"I live with her." he pointed to me. "Of course I have ulcers."

"If that was the case ben is the one who should have them." Katy defended me.

"You need to drink goat's milk." Sal is not only a brilliant diagnostician he has a cure too. "You should get a goat."

We laughed hysterically.

We thought about it.

We discussed it.

We stopped laughing.

We live on an acre of land and it takes us a lot of time, effort and energy (not to mention fossil fuel) to keep the shrubberies and weeds down in our yard. We never planted grass because we didn't want to have to mow it but until we figure out or can afford an alternative our landscape is ripe with ugly wild shrubs, crabgrass and stinkweed. We want to keep the area around the house clear of underbrush as it looks terrible, is a fire hazard and I don't want it to resemble my parent's hillbilly yard. I'd prefer mine look a little more pleasant... and without any vehicles or appliances buried in the shrubberies!

Goats eat anything...and everything. One nanny (though my husband asked if he could milk the billy goat) could keep our yard well maintained and we could even take her out to the lake to get some of the brush down around there as well. We had quite a giggle when we imagined Heiny, myself, the dog and a goat in the front seat of the truck, camping bound.

Sal told us that most goats are very well behaved, they can be trained to walk on a leash just like a dog and in the winter she would just need a small shelter and some grain or hay. And apparently there is no better manure for fertilizing the garden.

I have been doing a little research on goats and have learned that goat milk is far better for us than cow milk and that one doe would provide enough milk for my husband and me plus plenty to make feta cheese and even ice cream as well.

So far the only concerns I have (beside the fact that we know diddly squat about goats) are that we'd have to fence off the gardens to keep it from eating the good plants. Although a fence would also keep the deer out it will still be a big job and expense...and the fact that a bred doe (not bread dough) will have kids eventually which means that we will either have a litter of goats or we'll have to get rid of them. Sal told us that goat meat is delicious but both my husband and I are the type to get attached easily so I am not sure we could raise a pet and then eat it. Otherwise the dog would have been running scared a long time ago.

We do have some neighbors who are farmers and there is a possibility that they might take the kids off of our hands...then they could do what they please with them. They already have one old, three-legged billy goat named Joe who thinks he's a dog...to the extent that he bullied the dog out of his house and he 'barks' when anyone enters the driveway. I am sure if they wouldn't adopt the kids they would be able to make use of them. We would just have to get rid of them before we get too attached or we could end up with a whole fucking herd. At least our yard would be clean...and my son would have a hell of a dowry.

It's a rare occasion in my computerly endeavors that I am able to accomplish a task without assistance or direction from someone geekier than me. Today was an independent "Huzzah!" day.

As I have mentioned once or twice...or six bazillion times...I got my new iMac just before Christmas. Now that the holidays are over I have time to play with it and figure some shit out. My number one complaint (Hey, wait, I've got a new complaint) was that in changing from miDell to miMac I lost all of the music that I had on mitunes. It has always bugged the shit out of me that the power (mongers) that be set it up so that I could transfer mitunes to mipod but I couldn't transfer mipod music to mitunes. I understand that this was their way of trying to curtail mass music trading but it fucks over the paying customer (me) as well. Don't fuck with me people!

I checked out several sites (Google is my friend) and finally discovered ipodrip and to my great surprise and glee it was a quick download (even on dial-up), incredibly easy to use and it worked! If only all movements were so smooth.
*pats self on back*
*gets cramp in arm*

There is a glitch in the electrical system of our house. It's been an issue since we built the place and something we just never got around to fixing...like the moldings and the paint touch-ups. When I am blow drying my hair in my bathroom with the light and fan on and someone is in the basement bathroom with the light and fan on it inevitably trips the breaker. It's an annoyance especially when we have company using the downstairs lavatory...nothing like leaving friends or family to poop or shower in the dark until someone can get to the box to flip the switch.

It was the Thursday before Xmas, my boy was in his shower and I was coifing my mane when suddenly the lights went out and the dryer went silent. I cursed the incompetency of the electrician and headed down the steps to the utility room to flip the breaker. I entered the dark room, turned on the light, found the proper switch, turned it back on, turned off the light and trudged back up the stairs. When I walked back into my bedroom my husband was awake and cranky with me.
"You bugger."
What?'
"You know what."
"I don't know what."
"You never go into there."

I figured out that he must have been hiding something in the small room that houses our furnace, electrical panel, water softener and built in vacuum but whatever it was had escaped my tunnel vision. I was on a mission and only saw the switch. My husband did not believe me.

"You had to have seen it."
"I didn't see fuck all."
"That would be like me going out to the garage to get into my car and not seeing your car."

To say that His Highness is anal is a serious understatement, if I open a drawer on the desk and close it again without touching anything he knows I have been in there. He can tell if anything in the entire house has been moved or is missing...he's observant that way...I am not.

I swore to the man I married (and at him) that I had not seen whatever he had 'hidden' in plain sight and then I got pissed off.

"First of all if you had gotten that fucking breaker fixed years ago we would not have the tripping problem and I would not have been required to enter your utility sanctum. Secondly, you must have heard the breaker blow (or at least the hair dryer stop abruptly and me bitching about it) so why didn't you drag your ass out of bed and go down and flick it? And thirdly, why didn't you wrap the fucking thing to ensure that I not know what it was in case I did stumble in there?"

He gave me a "Hmph!" but he was still convinced I had seen what he was 'hiding'.

I have been known to be a snooper. I have pinched, poked, prodded and even lifted (carefully) the tape on the ends of a gift prematurely to get a glimpse of what was inside well in advance of opening day. As a kid I knew where my parents stored their purchases and even into my marriage I could sniff out a hidden gift faster than a bloodhound could find a butcher shop.

Don't judge me, it was a compulsion. I have, in recent years, learned to appreciate the element of surprise and subsequently I have curtailed my exploratory inquisitiveness. Besides my family stinks at secret keeping so I usually have a bit of an idea what's coming before it gets here anyway.

All of that being said I had no idea what was in the electrical room. I didn't even go back downstairs to check.

Christmas eve we sat around the table visiting and eating (which we did a lot of over the holidays) when I realized that I hadn't taken any photos of my tree. I was quite pleased with it this year and it looked so pretty in the dark. I wanted to get a shot of it while the gifts were still neatly wrapped beneath it.

I probably took about twenty shots of the tree. I tried the different settings (like I knew what they meant) and several angles and at one point I was laying on the floor trying to see if I could get a decent shot from below.

When I returned to the dining room my husband was shaking his head at me. It was then that I noticed something in the front entryway...not ten feet from the tree. There was a sheet covering what I now realized was a new office chair. There would be no waiting for the morning now that I knew it was there. I ripped the cover off of it and promptly parked my backside in what is the most comfy executive ass cradler that my ample bottom has ever beheld.

He took me downstairs to show me how it (and the massive box it came in) were situated in the utility room. A blind person could not have missed them. We are pretty sure that I must have had to push the box out of the way to even get to the panel yet I didn't notice a thing. I had tried in vain for days to convince my husband that I didn't know about the chair but it wasn't until he saw me take photos all around it without seeing it that he finally believed it was possible for me to be so oblivious. In my defense I am always keenly aware of what is important, like if we're running out of coffee or where the remote is.

My brother pretty much summed up our Christmas which is convenient for me since I have been spending my time (s)mothering my kid with time and affection and have hardly been on the computer at all. The boy heads to Vancouver tomorrow as he starts his co-op job on Monday..some kind of fuel cell research...and he wants to have a few days to find his bearings and figure out his bus route to work.

My husband and I have both had tornado bellies this week and I am sure that having to let the boy go again has something to do with it. It's been so great to have him home and it pains us both (literally) that we have to say goodbye to him yet again. I thought this would get easier but it doesn't.

It's been strange for me to be living life offline for a change. I never realized how much time I spend on the computer until I got busy with other things. My husband and I have both had the better part of the last two weeks off work so we've been able to relax and enjoy the time with our kid. We've hung out with the family, played tons of Guitar Hero, watched a few movies (Transformers is by far the best thing I have seen in ages) we've played a lot of Super Scrabble (twice as many tiles and a bigger board than the original) and my boy and I have spent a lot of time in the kitchen together. Last night he made us quinoa and it didn't smell like pee at all though interestingly (or not) it came out this morning looking much like it did going in last night. His Thai noodles and chicken are fantastic (Elisa you'd be impressed by his peanut sauce) and I can't get enough of his chocolate lava cakes...though this holiday I think I did partake a little too generously of the cocoa bean as more than once I have felt myself slipping into a sugar coma. So many sweets and treats and so little self control. I am ready now to return to salad days...so is my ass.

sic tells all of the best Heiny tales of the season over at his blog and he mentions Nana's Christmas day collapse...she was dishing up her dinner and began to wobble so my mom yelled at my sil to take the old girl's plate and mom gently lowered her to the floor. My mother despite her faults is amazing in a crisis, she just jumps in and does what needs to be done. We called 911 and the ambulance came and took her to the hospital, apparently her iron and salt levels were low and that had something to do with it. She was embarrassed about 'ruining the party' but by the time she got home she had forgotten the entire day anyway. Trixie admitted later that she was freaked that Nana was going to die on Christmas day while Harry was more concerned that it was going to be in his kitchen. He was ready to put the house up for sale. We can laugh about it now but at the time it was fucking scary.

My boy had plans with some friends for Dec. 31st and Heiny and I weren't into going out so since Trixie and Harry were going out of town for the night we took the opportunity to spend the evening at their house to play with the Wii. I pay rent I can hang out there when I want to. The two of us partied all night long (Mario Party 8), ate pizza and neither one of us had a drop of booze...I know, I couldn't believe it either. The boy returned to ring in 2008 with us and we were home by 12:30. It was nice to wake up without a swollen head yesterday. As for resolutions, I didn't make any this year, I try not to make promises that I know I won't keep.

That's about it for now, I am off to catch up on some alerts while my son is in town visiting some friends. Tonight we'll have our last dinner together before we send him off to lotus land. When he went off to university my husband told him not to join a cult and when he spent the summer in Ottawa he warned him to stay out of politics. Heiny's pearl of wisdom for Vancouver?

"Don't join an Asian youth gang."

The man is a sage.

My boy arrived home yesterday afternoon. My parents had to go to the city to see my (tattooist) brother, his beast and their kids so they timed their visit so they would be able to pick up my baby as well. I would have loved to have been the first face he saw as he exited the aircraft but because I had to drive him the six hour round trip to the dentist today I didn't want to have to make the same length trip in two different directions two days in a row.

I had a rough night Wednesday. By the time my husband got home from work at midnight I was sobbing uncontrollably. I wasn't sure why I was such a mess at the time but I imagine it was a combination of things. I was overwhelmed with grief and sadness for Kimmi. I put myself in her place and began to think about how I would feel if I lost the love of my life. It didn't help that the highway was a sheet of ice when I came home...I was worried about Heiny driving it after work. I hate late shift in winter, I spend the entire four months terrified he won't make it home. I had also had a bad day at work. I am thankful that in my current position the shitty days are very few and far between but they do happen. All of this combined with the stress of the impending holiday and being anxious to have my son home safe got to me I guess. There is a strong possibility I was PMS'ing too which would explain my bawling leap over the edge of reason.

My world felt much more upright when my boys were both home. The control freak in me is a pain in the ass...I have this thing where I feel like if they are with me I can protect them from anything...superben?!

This morning my boy and I headed for the city built on the muskeg so that he could get his wisdoms yanked. The trip down went quickly, we talked continuously catching up on the details of the last six months. He told me stories of his roommates and school and while I enjoyed them he could have been telling me about agrobiotechnology or the applications of nano neuro knitting or the benefits of underwater basket weaving for all it mattered. I couldn't get enough of his voice and was content just to have him next to me.

We spent most of the day trying to find my husband's Xmas gift...he wants a Cuisinart Griddler and apparently it might as well be Tickle-Me-Griddler as it is fucking impossible to find. I now have my brother and Harry on the case to scour the city for the appliance. I did get a rain check for one at Canadian Tire (they were on sale and sold out there) and if all else fails he's getting that.

We arrived at the dentist at 3:55, just enough time for me to kick his ass at Ms. Pac Man...my dentist's waiting room is like an arcade, he has several full size games that his patients can play for free while they wait. He just got Galaga and I wanted to kick the eight year old brat who was playing off of it but I managed to restrain myself. I decided to go for a walk across the street to the strip mall to window shop instead of standing behind the child sighing and tapping my foot waiting for her to free up the machine.

I wasn't gone ten minutes when my cell phone rang. It was the receptionist asking me to return as the dentist wanted to speak with me. I hurried back to his office fearing the worst.
He greeted me with a big smile and "I love your hair! It looks great."
I so dig my dentist.

"I took a pan X-ray and if this was my kid I would leave those teeth alone." he said.
Apparently dentists make a lot of money for pulling wisdom teeth and according to our guy most of the time it is completely unnecessary. He says my son won't have any problems with his and there is plenty of room for them to come in.
How do I love my dentist?
Let me count the ways.
He saved me a lot of money.
He saved my kid from a world of pain and residual discomfort and an unnecessary surgery.
Not to mention he has video games and he loves my hair.

When people ask me why we would travel so far to see him I will happily remind them of these things. He is well worth the trip...even in crappy weather.
My one sadness is that I was hoping he'd give the kid some good post extraction pain meds and I'd get to keep the leftovers. Maybe next time.

We headed for home at 6pm a couple of happy campers but our joy was short-lived. My battery light started coming on and going off and as it did so it dimmed my headlights. This is not an optimum situation on curvaceous, dark, icy, mountain roads. I called my dad to ask why this might be happening.
"Your alternator is going."

"So what happens if it dies completely?" I asked.

"You'll be driving in the dark."

"Great, like it's not hard enough to dodge the elk and see the yellow line WITH headlights."

"Just get behind another vehicle and follow their lights."

I heeded his advice for the first two hours of the trip but beyond that we seemed to have the highway to ourselves. It was about that time that the battery light came on and stayed on. For about half an hour I might as well have been Ray Charles, I was driving blind. The only lights on the front of my car were the daytime running lights which might as well have been candles. I was thankful for the sparse traffic as it allowed me to drive in the center of the road.

I am pleased to report that despite the odds we made it home in one piece (well, two pieces, him and me), a lot tired, a little rattled, my shoulders up around my ears and a tension headache the size of Texas but safe nonetheless. I'm really wishing now that the kid had gotten those drugs. Oh yes, I am a good mother, I want my kid to be my supplier.

I am not so pleased to report that what we saved at the dentist will instead be going to our mechanic.

I am feeling all warm and fuzzy (surprisingly without alcohol) with the holiday approaching and my baby coming home...TWO MORE SLEEPS!!...so here's my holiday meme ripped from my friend Rox.


When people say Christmas you immediately think...

I know this will seem trite at this point but it makes me think of my boy...it is the one time of year when I KNOW he will be home. Before he left home my first thought would have been fudge.



Favorite Christmas Memory

My grandfather loved model trains, he collected them for a long time. The year before he died he gave the entire set (boxes and boxes of them) to my son. I will never forget the pure joy on both of their faces as the gift meant so much to both of them. The memory still makes me a little weepy.



Favorite Christmas Song/Carol

Is it surprising that most of my answers revolve around my kid? When he was five his kindergarten class sang "Old Toy Trains" at their Christmas concert. It's always been a heartstring tugger for me but its meaning and sentimentality is multiplied now. 



Favorite Christmas movie

The Ref, Home for the Holidays, Christmas Vacation, Bad Santa and that one with Nic Cage and Duchovny's wife...apparently I like it so much I forgot the name.
*edit* The Family Man

Favorite Christmas character

Prancer...the gay reindeer. I think he's highly underrated...and fabulous!



Favorite Christmas ornament/object

Mistletoe...though I still only make out with the usual guy and he doesn't care if there is mistletoe around or not he is always happy to kiss me with or without provocation.

Favorite Christmas treat
It is not Christmas here without Nanaimo Bars...my boy likes them 'female' (no nuts) and my dad likes them 'male' (with nuts).

Favorite tradition
I have two...
I love stocking stuffing. The seven of us (mom, dad, boy, heiny, sic, ec and me) all buy something for everyone else's sock...so no one person has to do it all. There are always all sorts of goodies from candy to booze to lottery tickets to gag gifts. I have as much (or more) fun shopping for the stuffing for theirs as I do opening the stuff in mine.

Many years ago my dad was looking for a silly something to put in my husband's stocking when he discovered a deformed snowman candle. It was melted on one side and the paint was chipped off. Dad thought it was hilarious so he bought it for Heiny. The next year my husband searched tacky gift shops and dollar stores for the ugliest candle he could find to give to my dad. After that every Christmas became about which one of them could find the most disfigured, naughty or hideous candle to give to the other. I love that they mean enough to each other to make the effort.

Plans for this Christmas

My brother and his wife will be staying with us for the holidays and we will all be going to Trixie's for Xmas drinks...and appies and probably eventually dinner. Beyond that I predict a lot of video games and a lot of hanging out...perfect.



Is Christmas your favorite holiday?
yes but only because Flag Day doesn't have presents.

The iMac has landed!
The ben is a happy, albeit slightly confused, camper.
I am completely honest about my technological (dis)abilities and I am the first to admit that sometimes I just don't know what the fuck I am doing. Since the boy left home I don't even have a resident geek to help me out when my eyes have glazed over and my head is swimming in nerd-o-babble. I have to figure shit out on my own...which usually ends up being the bandaid version of a soluton...or I have to wait until I can ask my brother or one of my few geek friends for info. I always feel like a total moron asking questions...especially when to them the answer is so obvious, like I should have kown it..tsk ben tsk. The one thing that makes me feel better is that to most of my friends and family I am the resident tech support.

I totally dig m'iMac. It's so shiny and pretty and it has that new computer smell. Maybe there is more geek in me than I thought when the scent of fresh wiring and circuitry gives me a bit of a thrill. Slowly I am figuring shit out but I have a few questions and concerns that I haven't had a chance to attack yet.

The only word program (that I can find) is Text Edit which both sucks and blows. I miss MS Word already and I am wondering if it is available (freely) for mac. I also have no idea how to transfer my itunes library...I tried with my pod but it won't let me...which pisses me off huge. I can access the music that I bought from itunes but it'll be a pain in the as to have to rip all of my CD's onto here when they are already on the PC. Small potatoes I guess...but that's what I use the computer for. I would also like to get hold of Adobe CS3 but because I am on (stoopidfuckingpaininthesphincter) dial-up it would take me months to download it from a Bit Torrent. I asked my former boss about cloning a copy of theirs (from the paper) but they don't even have the new version yet and she seemed more than a little hesitant about even giving me CS2. Bitch. It's not like I am going to start my own publishing empire, I'd just like to have photochop and InDesign so that I can do my own business cards, price lists and menus for work. All it does is save me from having to pay some design bitch to do it all for me...I don't intend to steal their business...they couldn't pay me to take it!
If anyone has any helpful hints or suggestions I would appreciate them greatly.

While I am asking for assistance...
...we are planning to have another Familial Special (Spshl) Olympics on Christmas day and I could use some new ideas for events. Remember that we are in a frigid (as in temperature though this is a family function and some things are simply inappropriate) climate so we won't want to be outdoors very long...if at all.

In other news...
...SIX MORE SLEEPS ND MY BOY WILL BE HOME!!!
Not that I am anxious or anything.
He told me last night that he is bringing a girl home for the holidays.
"Oh really?" I raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Yes and she doesn't like to fly. She might be a little disheveled when we get there."

"Oh, you are bringing my grandplant home!" I laughed.

Last year my son bought himself an ivy. When I asked him why he wanted the responsibility he said "Plant then pet then relationship."
It's a line from the movie 28 Days with Sandra Bullock. She plays a drunk in rehab and when she is finished her stint in the clinic she is told that if she can keep a plant alive for a year she can get a pet, if she can keep the pet alive for a year then, and only then, she can consider a relationship. For some reason...and despite the fact that he is not an alcoholic...this apparently stuck with my boy. It makes me giggle that he's all green in the thumb, the only plant I tried to grow when I was his age was a pot plant when my girlfriend and I lived in Vancouver. We had a pretty decent one growing but her parents came to visit and we hid it in the closet and forgot about it and it died. Apparently I wasn't ready for a relationship.

I do think my boy is very wise and responsible but to be honest I won't mind if he kills a plant or two...at least until he graduates and gets a job. Not that I have anything against plants, in fact I quite enjoy them and I am sure that I will be adopting my grandplant as I figure after her four hour flight and three hour car ride to get here she will not want to travel any further. I would also prefer he practice his patience and nurturing on something a little more expendable than puppies. Fish might be ok but if I thought he'd look funny hauling a plant on a plane it would be absolutely hysterical to see him disembark with a big goldfish bowl in his arms. Not that he could do that either with the restrictions regarding bringing liquids onto a plane. He'd have to smuggle his 'pet' and then he'd get caught and be accused of aquarial terrorism and he'd go to jail and end up the bitch of some monster named "Snake" and we'd lose all of the money we've put into his education (because ultimately it is all about me) and it'd all be really ugly and messy so it's just best that he sticks with plants...and preferably the kind he (and his roommates) can't smoke.

We also found him a place to stay when he goes on his work term in Vancouver. I emailed my mom's cousin (who is only a few years older than me) as she is a realtor and I hoped she could put me in touch with some kind of rental or roommate agency. She did one better and offered him her guest room...at a mere $550/month. Yes I think it's more than a little steep (especially for family) but when we consider that he will have his own furnished room with his own bathroom, cable, internet and the use of the laundry and kitchen..not to mention the big screen TV in the living room, it's not so horrible especially considering how expensive it is to live in Vancouver in general. It will be about an hour commute for him to take the bus to work every day but he is excited that he will be able to live in something nicer than student housing or his current 'ghetto' for a few months.

I am just so ready for him to be home The house is decorated, his bed is made and most of his goodies are prepared. I will make his lasagne and Nanaimo bars this weekend, not that it matters because he has to have all of his wisdom teeth out the day after he gets home and I doubt he'll feel much like eating anyway. Still it will all be ready when he wants it and his mom will be at his beck and call, happy to baby her baby again.
:)

I have an addiction. It’s a compulsion that I cannot control. I would go to some support or ‘anonymous’ group but I’m no quitter. I can’t get enough and I don’t ever want to stop. I am a game junkie.

It’s no secret that I am hooked on Scrabble, I believe I have mentioned it a time or two. It can be a live game with my husband or a bout with a stranger on isc.ro and yes, I admit it, sometimes I just play against myself. I can’t help it, I won’t be shamed!

My whole life has been one game obsession after another. From Pong to Trivial Pursuit, from Centipede to Clue, from Burgertime to Boggle from cards to chess I can’t get enough and holy fuck as I write this there is a spider crawling above me on the ceiling. *shudder*

It’s dead and flushed now, and yes I did it myself. I am brave that way.

My husband calls me ‘Red’ and it is not because of my hair color. I have earned this moniker because when we play video games (primarily the Nintendo variety) I am usually Mario...the little Italian plumber in red. I also tend to win more often than I lose…not bragging, just saying…so my husband always tried to get my son to join forces with him to take me down. In any given match my husband urges “Go for Red!” or “Get Red!” hoping that if the two of them gang up on me they might then have an opportunity to be victorious by getting me out of the way. It takes more than the two of them to crush the mighty Mario…though if anyone can regularly defeat me it is my brother and I bow to his superior video gaming skills in general.

I am quite proficient at most games and I am more than a little competitive but I also consider myself a good sport. I like to think I lose as graciously as I win because for me it’s more about playing than winning. Sure I like to be the Nintendo Queen and there aren’t many people who will tackle me at trivia but I don’t enjoy any of it for accolades, it’s about the pure joy of gaming. The play is the thing. Even when I play Scrabble online I am always aiming to beat my highest score…which is 572 btw...I hope the other person has a good game but I am not out to slaughter anyone…though I take great pleasure (literally) in beating my husband.

My latest obsession is my cousin’s Wii. I am not allowed to have one because someone thinks I will forget the rest of the world exists if I have one. He might be right but he is also mean. When my son was young (and living with us) I would buy video games as gifts for him. Apparently I wasn’t fooling anyone.

A few weeks ago Trixie bought Dance Dance Revolution for Kayla for her birthday. Trixie is learning from me how to get what she wants…buy it for the kids. The game comes with a floor mat marked with directional arrows. The point of the game is to step on the correct arrow at the correct time to ‘dance’ along with the song. Now I am no Denny Terio, hell I am not even Cliff Claven or that Helio racecar driver and I am not about to dance with the stars but surprisingly (or not) I rocked that directional pad! We were playing on the easy level and we only played one evening but I was the only one to score an “A” letter grade. While I was able to hit the right steps at the right time I know it wasn’t pretty and smooth and we did have to close the drapes; the neighbors were starting to gather on the lawn, eating popcorn and laughing at us.

Yesterday Trixie told me about a new game she found for the system…Wii Boogie. It is the love child of karaoke and Dance Dance Revolution. The point of this game is to sing into the microphone while strutting your stuff to the tune. You are scored by how close you are to hitting the proper notes and how well you shake it accordingly. I love to sing and I sound fantastic in my car when nobody else can hear me and if I wasn’t so self conscious I would totally have been a rockstar. I want desperately to play this game; I just don’t want to play it in front of anyone.

Stop looking at me!

Harry bought Guitar Hero III for the kids (and me) for Christmas and we picked up Mario Party 8 for them (and me) as well so I imagine the holidays will be spent fighting over whose turn it is. I will be waiting for school to reconvene in January so that I can spend my down-time at work with the system to myself.
My husband says I might as well move into their house. Maybe I will.


From the mouths of babes…

Recently Trixie’s boy, seven year old John, cuddled up to his mom and told her that she was almost the best mom ever.

“Almost?” she queried “What am I not the best mom at?”

“Well,” he replied with all seriousness, “Auntie Ben is the best mom at Nintendo.”

I had a bit of a rude awakening tonight, like a cold slap in the face with a dead fish it hit me. Age. I’ve always been pretty good about accepting my rapidly increasing number of years…as it certainly beats the alternative…and I (I am told) don’t look as old as I am so maybe that makes it easier to tolerate.

I know there are a lot of Crackbook/Facecrack haters but I’ve gotten quite a kick out of the whole thing. It’s put me back in touch with a lot of people who I had all but forgotten. This is nice in that I’ve enjoyed reconnecting with some of them but it’s shitty in that it’s tough to see that some assholes never change.

I mentioned a few posts ago that I had been messaging back and forth on Facebook with an ex. Last night said ex and two mutual friends went to the Van Halen concert and before the show some photos were taken and Facebooked. When the notification showed up I clicked on the link to get a giggle at my friend’s expense. What I saw instead was something that made me quite sad. These guys who were all quite good looking…in that dope smoking, 80's long haired bad boy kinda way…have become old men…probably dirty old men at that. The photo of the ex was especially shocking. For years I had been heels over head in love (and lust) with him, he was the man I compared all others to, he was the one who I thought was ‘the one’. Thankfully I learned a long time ago that that was not the case and I have been extremely grateful for that unanswered prayer as it led me to someone who loves me with abandon and without condition. Exes are exes for a reason.

The ex was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease not long into his marriage…a few years after my own…he was in bad shape apparently. His mom used to stop in to visit me regularly and she filled me in on a lot of the details, the rest I gathered from the rumour mill. Several surgeries, the inability to work and two kids later his wife left him. Now before we throw him a pity party we must consider the fact that he was never very ambitious, he was a heavy drinker and a drug user. Now in fairness I don’t know that he didn’t straighten up before his illness…I’d just be surprised is all.

In the emails he sent me he told me that he had been with another woman for the past three years and they had had a child together on his 40th birthday (almost two years ago) but she left him about a month ago. He’s had a fucked up life and a good part of that was his own doing but I still can’t help but feel bad for him.

It was the photo of this guy that blew my mind. I once loved that face and now I didn’t even recognize it. He’s lost a lot of weight…due to the crohn’s no doubt…he looks kind of frail, his hairline is receding a bit and he has wrinkles, honest to goodness laugh lines, crowsfeet and creases. I was looking at a stranger.

In my head this guy had stayed the twenty-two year old who I kissed goodbye for the last time twenty years ago. I am a very long way from that girl who cried as she drove away, knowing and yet not wanting to believe it was for the last time, I don’t know why I would think that he had remained the same.
Memories don’t age for shit.

It’s all very bizarre but what’s really scary is the idea that they are all looking at pictures of me wondering how the fuck I got so old.

My mother-in-law told me that I brought her youngest son out of his shell.

I asked her how we can put him back.

Apparently my husband was a bit of a loner as a child. He is the youngest of three with a four and six year age gap between him and his brothers and because he was the quiet, less needy one (believe it or not) his mom admits he often got overlooked. While I would love to take the credit (blame?) for my husband’s idiosyncrasies but he told us some stories recently that prove that he was a little ‘different’ long before I even met him.

Heiny was in his early teens, it was near Halloween and he had recently been in the US and smuggled back some firecrackers…which were illegal in Canada at the time…without the approval or knowledge of his mom or the border guards. Heiny waited until dark, took his minor score of pyrotechnics and went down to the park to set them off where he was certain he wouldn’t be caught with the contraband.

Just as he lit the first cracker a vehicle turned the corner and the lights hit him. He panicked knowing he could be in serious shit from his mother as well as the police if his sneakiness was revealed. Without even thinking of the repercussions and rather than just tossing the mini explosive and running away, he instead hid the firework behind his back.

As the vehicle passed the park the firecracker went off…in his hand.

Young Heiny raced home, his thumb on fire from the small blast, and held his hand under cold running water until the pain subsided. He told his mom he had pinched it in the chain of his bike.

My favorite tale of my husband as a child tells more about him than any other. Here is the proof that his anal traits go back a long way.

It was a Saturday morning in March when seven year old Heiny hopped on his bike and headed to his best friend’s house for his party. He pedaled across town, gift in hand, excited to attend the soiree. He rang the doorbell and waited a few minutes before someone finally opened the door. Guido’s mom opened the door to find a neatly dressed, hair perfectly combed Heiny on her front porch.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I’m here for the party.” the boy grinned eagerly.

“But it’s 7:30 in the morning, the party isn’t until two.”

I’ve been low carbing for the past couple months, in that time I have maybe had three drinks…vodka and diet sprite, which is a far cry from the Paralyzers I so adored but were full of sugar and thus not on my diet. I have been very good with the entire eating plan but Friday night all plans…along with my sobriety…went right out the proverbial porthole.

Trixie and I met our friend Katie at the pub at 6pm for a couple drinks before our 7pm dinner reservations down the street. I had considered several cocktail combinations in my head throughout the day trying to decide what I could possibly have for libations that wouldn’t taste like ass or fuck up my diet. I had finally decided that I would give vodka and diet coke a shot knowing full well that it wasn’t going to work for me. Sure enough when Trix ordered herself a double diet paralyzer my ‘want’ overruled my ‘should’ and I told the waitress I would like the same.

It had been ages since I had imbibed on this heavenly nectar and the first one went down easier than water. We ordered another…and then another. I had only eaten two eggs, a can of salmon and a handful of almonds all day so it was no surprise that I was feeling a little loopy by the time we staggered to the restaurant…the three inch heels and the icy sidewalk didn’t make the walk any easier.

The hostess sat us in a booth by the window and told us that Cosmos were the beverage of choice that evening. I wrinkled my nose (thinking the drink might be too sweet and fruity for me) but the girls insisted that I would love it. I don’t know exactly what is in a Cosmo but I think they must use moonshine…or turpentine…and I didn’t like it at all. One should never mix alcohols to start with but for me to go from my delectable milky nectar to the tart acidity of the ‘tini was more than I was prepared for. I drank it fast just to get rid of it and before I could order something else the waitress brought three more that a neighboring table had purchased for us. I tossed that concoction back just as quickly and ordered a paralyzer before anyone else could continue me on the path to the cosmos/outer space time continuum.

It was too late.

By the time our appies arrived I knew I was in trouble. I ate one of the most incredible fish cakes I have ever tasted and a bite of a meatball hoping that the food would soak up some of the booze. It didn’t. The Cosmopolitans hit me like a ten pound sledge and I was hammered.

I went outside for a few minutes hoping the cold (-24C) air would sober me up. When that didn’t help I went to the bathroom thinking maybe I could yak some of it up so at least the wooziness wouldn’t get any worse. I couldn’t puke so I peed instead…thankfully I knew which end was up (or down as the case was) enough for that. When I tried to leave the stall I lost my balance and thudded back against the wall. I heard a giggle from a couple of stalls over as I tried to gain enough composure to at least make it out of the toilet.

By the time I got back to the table cousin Barry had arrived and everyone was laughing at my inability to sit upright or speak coherently. I was done like dinner. I put my coat and scarf on and informed my friends that I was going home (to Trixie’s). “I can give you a ride ben.” Barry offered. “No thanks,” I slurred “it’s not far and I need the air.”

Slippery sidewalks, three inch heels, arctic temperatures and extreme drunkenness are not friends. At least they are not friends of mine. I walked about eight blocks when I heard a vehicle pull up beside me, it was Barry. “Katie was giving me shit for letting you walk; she figures you are frozen in a ditch somewhere.” I got in the Jeep and he drove me the last block to his sister’s house.

I called my husband and told him where to pick me up after he got off work, then I went upstairs and logged onto the computer, I hadn’t talked to my kid all day and wanted to say hi…there is no reason to a drunk.

I had to close one eye to focus enough on the screen and hold onto the adjacent bookshelf to keep myself upright. The boy knew right away that I was out of it and he laughed accordingly. I know we chatted for a few minutes but I am not sure what else was said. Finally when I could not see the letters any longer I told the boy I had to go crash.

I felt a little like Goldilocks as I went first into Kayla’s room but there was stuff on her bed and I didn’t want to move it. I then went to John’s room but there were no blankets. I figured I might as well opt for the horizontal surface closest to the door and went to lie down on the couch. My alcohol thinned blood had me freezing and with the sofa next to the window I was shivering and shaking…I was getting motion sickness. Finally I crawled into Trixie’s bed. I held on to the wall to stop the bed from spinning and I looked at the clock as I dozed off (passed out?) it was 9:30.
I am such an animal.

I woke to giggling at midnight. My cousin came home to find someone in her bed…though I hadn’t touched her porridge. She crawled in next to me telling me of the parts of the evening that I had missed. Katie hit on Barry but since he wasn't biting she opted to call her hubby to come pick her up. Trixie stayed and snacked and drank with Barry and the restaurant owners until she mentioned she was into fisting at which point her brother felt it was time for her to go home. She snickered as she told me this saying “I’m not even really sure what fisting is.”

As we lay there waiting for Heiny to come get me she grabbed the phone and we (she) drunk dialed my girlfriend Jack (no answer), cousin Jess (she left a message telling him she was into fisting) Katie (who was already passed out), my husband (who hadn’t left work yet) and her husband (at work) who did not find any humour in the whole fisting thing.

I was still well lit by the time Heiny arrived. Thankfully he finds me quite adorable and charming when I am pissed. I am the most easy going drunk ever...but he did have to pour me out of the car and into my own bed. It’s kind of like payback for all of the times I have to deal with his drunkenness…though you’d never find me dancing atop my car singing at top volume or crawling out of a bar and vomiting on the front step. I know when to say when…usually…and after the way I felt yesterday I think I can say 'when' for a while.

Today I am a very happy mom.
First of all I am now able to count the days until my baby (I am sure he loves that I still refer to him as such) comes home for Christmas. We have booked his flight and in precisely twenty-one sleeps he will be back where he belongs…for two weeks anyway. I will take what I can get.

He is already making his list of meals and goodies he’d like while he is home. The obligatory lasagna and chicken parmesan, his marshmallow/peanut butter ‘heavenlies’ (I think I posted the recipe for them once) and some female Nanaimo bars to start with. In precisely twenty sleeps said child will be going under the laughing gas…and I may ask for a jolt for myself too…to have his four wisdom teeth yanked so I am not sure why he worried about food when he’ll not be able to eat much beyond Jell-O, soup and ice cream for the majority of the holiday.

I also find it more than a little ironic that the boy is asking me to make his favorites when he cooks more than I do these days. He’s become quite kitchenly proficient, in fact his confidence with cookery has improved so much that he and one of his roommates had an Iron Chef battle just for fun. They went to the grocery store and bought several unrelated items and had to create three dishes in an hour. I saw photos of the concoctions and was pretty impressed with their efforts. Apparently it was my son’s Oreo cookie crusted chicken breast that pushed him over the top and won him the competition.

I think it’s fantastic that he’s cooking and he's even trying things that even I have never attempted…shark, millet and quinoa (which he said smelled of urine)…his dad tells him maybe he should consider culinary school in case this whole nanotechnology thing is just a fad…plus it’s cheaper for us than engineering school. I am making my own list of things I want him to cook for me while he is home though I think I’ll pass on the (pee scented) quinoa.

Now for the real reason I am so excited today.

The boy has been a little down lately as he hadn’t yet been offered a co-op position for the January term. He was really beating himself up after the last interview when he did not get hired. I tried to console him telling him I believed that the reason he didn’t get it was because there was something better coming. I am sure he didn’t buy it but I held firm knowing that if he didn’t get a job he’d come home for four months so it was a win-win for me.

This morning he had two interviews, the first was at the uranium plant that supplied Fat Man and Little Boy (the atomic bombs that were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945) and the second interview was for a job at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver. Obviously I was hoping (beyond hope) that he’d get the job that would bring him to the same side of the continent and not so much for the one that seemed a little creepy.

Five minutes into the telephone interview the interviewer offered my boy the position. The kid accepted…had he refused his mother might have had to take him out behind the woodshed (if we had a woodshed) for a whoopin’.

What does all of this mean?

I will be about an eight hour drive away from my son from January to May. Realistically I probably won’t see him very often but there are a couple of long weekends in that stretch when he could come home and it is not inconceivable that I might take an extra couple of days off here and there to go visit him. It’s all at least more conceivable than me driving the thirty hours out to Ontario to see him. To fly out there is very expensive (a flight to Europe is cheaper) and hardly worth the few days I’d be able to spend.

Now we have to find him a place to live on the west coast…which won’t be cheap or easy…and if anyone knows anyone with a room they might want to rent to a real nice kid (who cooks and is very clean) please let me know. Tomorrow I will call a cousin who is a realtor in the Vancouver area to see if she knows of anything and we’ll check out what is available on campus.

The countdown is on now I just have to keep myself busy for the next three weeks so the time goes faster. I don’t think that’ll be too much of a problem since there is cleaning and decorating to be done, we have to prep for our holiday guests (sic and sil), I have baking to do and I haven’t bought any Xmas presents or written in a single card yet.
Shit, maybe three weeks won’t be enough time.

I’ll get it all done…or my husband will…we’re both anxious to have our baby home again. Finally we’ll have someone to talk to besides each other. I just can’t wait to have him back here, I miss him more than I can express and there is a peace that envelops me when he is here; his presence makes everything right in my world.

Today I am a happy mom.
In twenty-one days I will be the happiest mom!

The cheese is swiftly slipping off of my nana’s cracker. She’s been on a steady decline for the past few years but now we’re seeing further mental deterioration on almost a daily basis.

Last weekend as my aunt sat at her computer she glanced out the window and noticed her mother heading toward her house. This is nothing new, Nana drops in several times a day (and when she’s not stopping by she’s calling to see where my aunt is) and when her daughter asks her why she is coming over Nana tells her that she called and invited her. This particular day however Nana seemed to be on a mission. She was wearing her giant red down-filled coat and her hideous fluffy red hat (we’ll never lose her in the snow) and carrying a canvas bag.

My aunt watched with curiosity as my grandmother walked into her yard, looked around, walked back to the sidewalk, crossed the street, went down a block, crossed the street again and came back. Finally my aunt went outside to see what was going on.

“Hi mom, what are you up to?”
“I’m looking for someone to knock the lock off of this.” She pointed to the bag.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know but it was in my room and I can’t get into it.”
My aunt looked in the bag to find the lockbox that holds the old girl’s meds. She had smuggled it out of the home.
“Oh mom, that holds your medication, you don’t need to get in there, someone comes and gives you your pills every day.”
“Well nobody has given me any pills for several days.”

My aunt promised her she would look into it and took her home. On the way back she stopped at the hospital to talk to the person who looks after the senior’s medications and to let them know that they had forgotten about our dear nana. The woman checked the schedule and indeed the person had been to her place twice that day already and he had watched her take her pills as always.
Thankfully Nana doesn’t have bolt cutters or know how to pick a lock…this was the woman who mistook the spray to slow her irregular heartbeat as breath freshener.

Yesterday evening my mom made her usual call to nana to check in with (and on) her.
Nana was agitated.
“They are telling me I need to pay my rent.”
“No mom, your rent is paid for the rest of the year and we look after that anyway, you don’t have to worry.”
This was about the seventeenth time they had had this conversation but this time Nana added a new twist.
“Well the man was here to pick up my cheque but I was wearing cut-offs and he seemed more interested in writing in blue pen on my bare leg.”

My mother was (for maybe the first time ever) at a loss for words. Her mother has not worn shorts in at least twenty years and even then none of us can ever recall her in cut-offs…not to mention that it is well below freezing here and the old girl can’t seem to stay warm even in the heat of summer. The idea of her in Daisy Dukes with some rent collector doodling on her leg was more than my mom could bear. She quickly changed the subject knowing she might burst into hysterical laughter if her mother continued the story.

I like to think that if she was right in her head that my grandmother would get as much amusement from her antics as we do (I know that my grandpa is somewhere laughing his ass off over it) but if I had one wish it would be that whatever is eating her brain makes her last days as peaceful and as painless as possible.

While we are sad that she is no longer the woman we knew we can’t help but find the humour in her current state. We all know that we’ll probably be in the same (leaky) boat at some point in our lives and I hope when it’s my turn that whoever’s left can get a giggle out of it…as I said before, it beats the alternative.

Several months ago my cd/dvd drive went tits up. I don’t know why or what happened but one day it just stopped working. I asked my geekiest friend what the problem could be and he walked me through some kind of system check and even had me look inside the tower to be sure everything was connected properly…I am proud to say I did so without electrocuting myself or breaking anything, although there was so much dust in there I thought I had been magically transported to the dryer vent and couldn’t breathe for two days. Who knew you were supposed to clean those things out?! Not my husband obviously.

Apparently electronic devices have a life span…and it’s not very fucking long. We’ve only had this computer for about five years which makes this one practically an antique by most standards.

When my husband asked me what I wanted for Xmas this year I told him a Wii. He said he won’t buy me one because he is afraid I either won’t use it enough to make the purchase worth it or I will use it too much and he’ll never see me.
“Fine,” I huffed “get me a new disc drive for the computer then.”

His Highness is a little different (ok a lot different) than most men, rather than simply (and cheaplier) fix the old Dell, he ordered me an iMac. He told me on Friday that he had wanted to buy me a Mac for my birthday back in July but he wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted so he didn’t buy me anything…unless of course you count the (un)surprise party and the trip to the city. He says this is my belated birthday/early Xmas gift and I can’t open it until the 25th of Dec.
We’ll see about that.

Yesterday we watched a program about the Leopard operating system (yes, the two most computerly challenged people on the planet watched Dotto Tech...and the tv wasn't even stuck on that channel) and I was so excited by all of the features (that I will likely never learn how to use) that Heiny (who likes it when I am excited) immediately got on the phone to Apple. Why the phone? That’s how my husband does shit; he looks things up online and then calls the 800 number to see if he can talk his way into a better deal. He does this with hotel rooms, flights and all kinds of things. The smartass saved over 100$ compared to what it would have cost to simply order the imac through the website. He was almost as excited by the 'deal' as I was that he ordered it.

I have a little bit (actually more than a little bit) of guilt over the cost of the new machine. We can’t afford it and there are far more important purchases we could have made. Flying the boy home and back at Christmas is already a big expenditure and then there is the cost of gifts and food and all of the other holiday expenses. All of this on top of our regular bills and university tuition and frankly I can’t even bring myself to look at our bank statements. That’s not even denial, I am not pretending we aren’t eyeball deep in debt, I KNOW we are, I just need to keep believing we’re not in over our heads…ha! Riiiight.

He tells me not to worry about our financial state (of disarray), he says it’ll all work out…when we’re dead?!...and that I will forget all about the cost of the iMac the moment that I plug her in. My man could have gotten off about 1500$ cheaper if he’d just bought me the damn video game but at least with this gift there will be no question as to whether I am using it too much or not enough...too much is a given.
I can hardly wait, I worked on Macs when I was at the paper and have (quietly) wanted one ever since.

Now I can finally stop pretending.

There have been a lot of goodbyes in these parts lately. It’s been hard for me and frankly a little depressing to watch so many people I have come to care about over the last several years just walk out of my life. Well, out of my blog life anyway…I will keep in touch with them in the real world…or MSN or facebook at least.

I have often found myself missing the old days of blogging, it was just different then and I wish I could put my finger on the difference but I can’t. Maybe this is just the natural progression, maybe we burn out and run out of things to say, maybe offline life simply becomes more of a pressing priority.

Whatever people’s reasons are for taking their leave I do understand…even if I selfishly don’t like it…and I have even considered a farewell post of my own. It is a good thing I am not rash or I would have written it a few days ago. My typical MO is to lose my biscuit over something and make all kinds of absolute judgments and decisions regarding my life but I have learned (in forty years I better have gained some wisdom) that I should not come to any conclusion or make any assessments or proclamations when I am in that state. Sure enough once I have had time to stew a little bit and let the fog from the source of my discontent clear out of my cranium I can then be rational and sane.

I have some idea that all of this madness relates to PMS but since I haven’t had a period in seven years I can’t be sure when I am riding my cycle. I am guessing that since I spend every day with Trixie that she and I are on a tandem bike so I pay attention to the time of the month that she wants to kill her husband and base my own menstrual projection on that. It’s all very scientific, like period astrology. Trix got hers this morning so I can stop wigging out and punching bunnies now and regain my kinder, gentler, human form.

That was a bit of a digression and not someplace I intended this post to go. My point was that sometimes I am really not in control and I need some time to let the beastly moon bitch wreak her havoc and then fuck off for another 21 days. And I have to learn to let her phase pass without doing anything drastic...like quitting blogging.

That being said, and although I considered it, I am not leaving. Yes, things have changed, yes, I feel somewhat abandoned, yes, there are days when I feel like I am not being read at all and it is a little more than disheartening. On the other hand there are a good number of people still here who I care about and would continue to read even if I were not actually posting anymore. I don't want to stop writing, it’s something I feel pretty good about most of the time, it's therapeutic and (usually) fun and until or unless I can get my shit together and write some fiction, this is the best way for me to keep up my typing ability if not my writing skills. This blog is also a place where my boy can check in now and then to hear news from home…and occasionally be mortified by something his parents have written or done. And here is the really pathetic confession, listen closely it’s not something I will admit very often. I get lonely. My kid has left home and two weeks a month my husband is working afternoons. I have friends and a social life but I live in the middle of buttfuck nowhere and I don’t want to go visiting anyone in the dark in the winter any more than they want to risk their lives to come visit me. So for half the month it’s just me and the dog and while she is my fearless protector and pretty good company she’s not very talkative. I am not terribly needy as a friend but I do appreciate human contact, even if it’s only via a screen and a keyboard.

My posts may not always (ever) be entertaining, in fact they might be redundant and boring and I have on more than one occasion been called longwinded...who else could write two pages to not say goodbye??...but it's not about that, at least not for me, it's about having a place to feel secure enough to be myself and being surrounded by people who accept me in spite of it.
I have always said that I blog for myself and now four years later I am discovering how accurate that is.

They call Seattle the Emerald City and while I appreciate the architecture and I am sure that at some times of year it is beautiful I don’t think it earned it’s moniker in the blah grey month of November. I found the city to be drab and dreary and lacking in sense. Apparently the city grew too fast and the street system is complicated and oddly organized. Even with a map it took us almost two hours to find our hotel. The street it was on stops and starts several times and there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to any of it so we found ourselves going in circles as the one way routes would not allow us to get to where we knew we needed to go. It was then that we decided that we’d take taxis when we ventured from our room. It became quite obvious to us after waiting nearly an hour for the first cab that there is somewhat of a shortage of these in the city too. When one finally arrived we were greeted by a very friendly and helpful driver though it seemed he must also live in his place of employment. The visors were stuffed with papers and receipts and such, the front seat was littered with food wrappers and containers, there was a bag on the floor that appeared to contain clothing and there was a blanket in the back seat. The auto was filthy…inside and out…stains on the seats dirt everywhere…I figure the guy was driving by memory because I don’t know how he could have possibly seen out the windows, I certainly couldn’t. He confirmed what we had suspected when he told us that cab companies just simply could not find drivers and the transit system was lacking and without enough parking facilities in the core it meant that there was no way the demand could be met to serve the number of tourists, travelers and even locals who venture into the city.

Still Seattle certainly has its charm. We spent a few hours at Pike Place Market, checking out the shops and vendors, assaulting out senses with the sights sounds and smells of such a busy bazaar. There is such a lively energy in that place and if I lived there I could see myself doing the majority of my shopping there. Fresh seafood…scallops the size of my fist…meats, cheeses, breads, condiments, flowers, restaurants and dozens of assorted handicraft shops line the streets displaying all of the wares that the Pacific Northwest has to offer. It was the best part of Seattle for me.

We made our way to a restaurant near the market where I discovered a soup that may very well be the best thing I have ever tasted. It was a smoked salmon chowder that was an orgasm in a bowl…that didn’t come out right. My husband had their cedar plank salmon and even though we eat the red fish regularly he said it too was the most delicious that he’d ever had. After dinner the waitress asked us if we’d parked in the underground lot and if we’d like someone to bring our car around. We told her we had not driven but we’d appreciate her calling us a cab. “Oh, well if you’re staying downtown I can just call you the shuttle.” She said. “Shuttle?” I asked, a sudden image of Heiny and I as astronauts flashed in my brain.
“Yes, the restaurant has a van that we use to transport our customers to and from the restaurant. There is a shortage of transit here so it’s just a service we offer our diners.”
What a concept. I thought this was brilliant and it also protects the ass of the restaurant if people have been drinking.

After a short wait the driver came to our table and ushered us and two other couples out to the waiting vehicle. In a feat of perfect casting the driver could not have been a better chauffeur. He chatted with us, pointed out landmarks and told us a little about Seattle as he dropped each couple at their destination. We were content to be the last deposit as we quite enjoyed touring with the fellow and we showed him our appreciated with a generous tip that was still probably less than it would have cost us had we had to pay for the ride.

ARE YOU READY FOR SOME FOOTBALL????
Me neither.

Monday was game day.
We learned our lesson the day before so this time we called a cab about an hour before we needed it. The car that picked us up was almost as grubby as the other one but at least this time we could see outside. By the time we got within three or four blocks of Qwest Field the traffic was so thick that we decided to walk the rest of the way. This was the beginning of the NFL adventure that I now refer to as ‘hiking and climbing and hiking’. I was exhausted by the time we reached the arena…in my out of shape defense we had already put a lot of miles on our feet shopping over the preceding few days…and my dogs weren’t just barking, they were howling. We got frisked at the gate; I panicked a little and asked the woman running her hands all over me what I was not supposed to be carrying as I had never even considered that I might have something contraband on my person. She told me they were looking for alcohol but it was my camera that I feared would be confiscated. She said that still cameras were fine so I didn’t tell her that mine has the video feature. I am such a rebel.

Qwest Field is a breathtaking structure; 70,000+ seating capacity and not one of them with a bad view of the gridiron. We walked around the main concourse checking out the booths and vendors and my husband bought himself and Harry each a Seagals calendar from Miss October and Miss May and they perkily (cheerleaderly) signed and personalized them both.

It was time to find our seats so we began the (very long) trek up the ramps to the top concourse. From there we had to climb about 48 million steps to our seats. We were almost at the top of the stadium in fact there were only two rows behind us…thankfully I am not prone to nosebleeds. By the time I hauled my ass all the way up there I decided that I would not be drinking during the game. There was no way in hell I was going to go all the way back down those steps and back up again if I had to pee.

The game itself was a blowout. The 49ers never scored a point. Would it have been more exciting if it was closer? Not likely. Football is boring. B-O-R-I-N-G-O! I think it would take more than copious amounts of alcohol to make the sport even remotely interesting to me…if men in shiny pants don’t do it for me, nothing will.

My husband however had a great time and I never let him think for a second that I too was not completely entertained. I even cheered when I was supposed to. My sweet husband made the rest of the trip, all of the shopping and everything else about me so Monday and the footy was all about him…I am generous that way.
After the game we walked about two miles toward where we thought the hotel was before we finally managed to hail a cab. I was about to start crying and beg a cop to take us to our room…or at least point us in the right direction. Thankfully my humiliation and the admittance of my directionally challenged-ness was not necessary.

Tuesday morning we left Seattle and headed north. A few quick stops for some last minute shoppage (I found the cutest houndstooth coat) and we made our way to the border where my husband gathered his best bargain of the weekend…two forty pounders (40 oz, 1.14l) of vodka for $17 each. I swear he heard a choir of angels when he saw the price.

Seven hours later and we found ourselves 90 minutes from home, in a snowstorm and on one of the worst stretches of highway on the entire Trans Canada. I had been in the car too long and I was overtired and hypersensitive and I began to freak out. My husband was not speeding, he wasn’t even going very fast but because I could not feel the road and because I was not in control I panicked and thusly ripped his head off. He now understands my reaction and that it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with me…and it only took two days of not speaking to him after we got home for him to get it. The poor man deserves a hero cookie for putting up with my crap and still loving me in spite of it. I think next time we go anywhere, as a treat for him I will take something to knock me out and put me out of his misery.

It’s been a while since I have written anything; MS Word is even looking a little foreign to me.
“Where have I been?" you ask…or not.
I ‘ve been around. I’ve even kept up with my alerts and everything around here but I have also gotten back into playing online Scrabble (www.isc.ro) and I am afraid it is more than a little addictive. Some days I sit down for a game and suddenly three hours have passed. I’ve also been lacking a little in the blog mojo department…and judging by how quiet this place has been lately I am not the only one. I have notes and post ideas but when I sit down to write my attention wanders and I find something else to do…like play Scrabble…in fact I think maybe I have SADD (Scrabble attention deficit disorder) or OCSD (obsessive compulsive Scrabble disorder) or maybe I am just a word nerd.

We leave tomorrow for Seattle. My husband and I both plan to be finished work early (3pm ish) so the plan (because you know he has a plan) is to make a run for the border. It’s roughly eight hours from here to the US which puts us at the gates at about midnight. We want to get through the crossing because chances are that particular entry point will be very busy on Saturday since this is a long weekend and our dollar is going through the roof. We make money just in exchange…this is better odds than Vegas!

On the surface it sounds good that our money is finally worth something but the reality of it is that many industries and businesses that rely on a strong American dollar (and their purchase power) are hurting and even going tits up. Naturally the mill where my husband works is affected…because it’s always something at that fucking place. As an exporter the company claims they have lost almost twenty million dollars this year. From what I gather (and economics is not my forte and it makes my head hurt) a product that five years ago cost Americans 80 cents to import should now cost them $1.10. Most large companies deal with big contracts and predetermined prices which do not fluctuate with the dollar so companines make less than projected and if our dollar gets too high the US will simply find a more competitive market.

It took me a while to wrap my head around the whole thing and then my boy explained it to me because he’s all universitified and takes economics and it's about time I got something from all the dough I shovel into his damn education.

He says, “It's the opposite reasoning for why you're excited to go shopping in the states because what once was $10 is now $7.”

So basically it’s great for us as consumers but lousy for us as exporters. Once again this blog enlightens as it entertains. Ha, whatever I am going shopping.

In other news…
I got a message on facebook the other day from an ex. Actually this guy wasn’t just an ex, he was my first love. We were together off and on for about four years but after he went to jail (forging cheques, long story) he stayed down on the coast with his dad. I went down to visit him a few times and it was always great but we hit a point when I was ready for more and he just wasn’t. We’ve had no contact since and that was twenty years ago. His mom has stopped in to visit me many times over the years and she’s filled me in about him. There was never any anger or bitterness on my part; in fact I have always hoped he’d find happiness. He was always a bit of a lost boy…a little bad and a little sad.

I have to admit my heart fluttered a little when I saw a message from him. I was seventeen again. It’s all above board, I have told my husband about it and he trusts me and he knows any time he wants to read those messages he is welcome to them. It’s just kind of strange to imagine that boy, who could turn my knees to jelly with a look, as a 42 year old man. I can’t even imagine what he looks like now (he has no photo on facebook) but in my mind he’s still 20. Oy.

We’re just catching up…I will admit that I am curious about how alike or how different he is now…it’s nice but it’s so very surreal and I am not sure how I am supposed to feel about him (if at all) after so many years. It bothers me a little though that even after all of this time he rattles me and makes me all nervous
and flustered.

On that note I am being called to bed…apparently I need my sleep so I can stay awake for the drive tomorrow night. That’s what coffee and scary highways are for. We have two mountain passes to hurdle so send us some good vibes for a safe journey, no car trouble, iceless roads and reasonable traffic…as opposed to the usual unreasonable traffic. And all of you who are into NFL watch the game on Monday night, I’ll be in pink and I’ll be waving and I'll probably be a little drunk.
Have a great weekend!

ben

1)What is your favorite TV show? My name is ben and I am a TV junkie, my current faves are Chuck, Heroes, Survivor (go James!), Amazing Race, South Park, Simpson’s Family Guy, Kid Nation, Top Chef and that show like American Idol (America’s next band or some fucking thing) with Johnny Rzeznik…the show itself is okay(and the only watchable thing on Friday nights) but Johnny could just stand there and I would watch him every week…hell, I would tape it and watch it over and over. Dude is hot.

2) What one word in your opinion describes you? The boy said “maternal”, Heiny said “funny” so I am going with “goddess”.

3) What is your favorite CD at the moment? Collective Soul (Afterwords) and the new Foo Fighters (Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace)

4) How many contacts are in your cell phone? You can put contacts in a cell phone??

5) Favorite rock song? Classic faves This Flight Tonight-Nazareth & I Wanna Be Sedated-Ramones. Current faves Chelsea Daggar-The Fratellis & First Time-Lifehouse

6) Favorite sandwich? As my sil says “Bread is for peasants!”

7) What characteristic do you despise? Superciliousness (it’s super silly and asshole-ish)

8) Language you would love to learn? Italian

9) Do you throw your clothes away or donate them to charity? We always donate my old clothes but my husband’s get worn out…we scrimp on his wardrobe to splurge on mine ;)

10) Hot Dog or Hamburger? Cheeseburger…no bun.

11) Favorite vacation spot? The lake obviously but when it’s fiscally feasible, Vegas and maybe someday Europe.

12) Do you participate in group discussions or just sit and listen?It depends on the group, if it is intelligent conversation I participate, if they are idiots I mock them silently.

13) Where would you retire to? I fully intend to be wherever my grandkids are…should my son not provide offspring he can reach me in Italy.

14) What was your most recent memorable birthday? I am 40 now; soon I won’t remember any of my birthdays…or anything else. This one was pretty good, a ‘surprise’ party and Nickelback.

15) Favorite sport to watch? Men’s Curling (it’s all about the flexible fellas in tight black pants)

16) Favorite saying? “hmm”, it’s an all purpose sound that can indicate disgust, amusement, annoyance, ponderance or ‘what the fuck?’ depending on the tone in which it is delivered

17) Are you a morning person or a night person? I am an owl by nature but I flip back and forth every two weeks with my husband’s shifts.

18) Do you laugh out loud or keep it in? I love to laugh and I try to do it as often as possible. My everyday laugh is somewhere between a giggle and a chuckle but the full on cackle (see Heiny singing video)is reserved for what really tickles me.

19) Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with us? My stove is fixed!!!

20) What did you want to be when you were little? famous

21) Favorite sweet tooth item? I am off sugar; the only sweet I get is the Splenda in my coffee. I dream of chocolate cake.

22) Favorite flower? *wipes the drool off her keyboard* Gerbera daisies.

23) What are you listening to right now? Old Goo Goo Dolls…Johnny gives me HFO’s. *shudder*

24) Do you wish on stars? Yes, last night I wished that Tom Cruise hadn’t become such an L Ron Hubbabubba wacko.

25) If you were a crayon, what color would you be? My husband calls me ‘Red’ so blue.

26) Favorite food to cook? Homemade soups and appies…I also make wicked desserts…that I can’t eat :p

27) Favorite wine? “Honey, could you please rub my back.”

28) Favorite soda: unless it’s with vodka I rarely drink pop but when I do I like A&W diet rootbeer

29) Favorite beer: root

30) Favorite liquor? You brought her here, you liquor! Vodka!

31) Favorite restaurant? Any that serves fresh seafood…NOT Red Lobster!

32) Hair color? Black with some caramel highlights on top…mmm caramel.

33) Siblings? Two brothers, sic and twisted.

34) Favorite days of the year? Saturdays and any day my kid is home.

35) What was your favorite toy as a child? Mrs. Beasley, Easy Bake Oven and Stretch Armstrong.

36) Summer or winter? Summer…all two months of it that we get here.

37) Hugs or kisses? Depends who the recipient is.

38) Chocolate or Vanilla? Mmm chocolate.

39) When was the last time you cried? It’s been a while, I think I am due...be nice to me just in case.

40) What did you do last night? Watched Beauty & the Geek, Reaper and Top Chef.

41) Favorite scent? Gio (Armani)…when my husband wants sex all he has to do is put it on and I start humping his leg…this does not bode well for other men who wear it.

42) What are you afraid of? Serpents and illness though sick snakes don’t bother me at all.

43) If you could be any profession, what would you be? A writer or a lottery winner.

44) Who knows you better than anyone? His Highness in the biblical sense, J otherwise.

45) Popcorn? My ovenless dinner of choice…low fat nuked & smothered in butter...all of the flavour without the guilt.

46) How many keys on your key ring? 11, I still have keys to the paper and the music store.

47) Favorite day of the week? Saturdays

48) Favorite 80's Song? Relax-Frankie Goes To Hollywood…it was my sex fantasy song

49) How many cities have you lived in? two cities, one town, one village and now the boonies...next stop hermit.

50) Do you think your friends talk about you behind your back? My friends talk about me behind my back in front of my face!

It’s Halloween night, I am home alone my husband is working and we are remote enough that there will be no trick or treaters at my door. It’s nights like this (aided by all of the scary movies on TV) that it's easy to let my mind wander to what makes my skin crawl...or what crawls on my skin.

I was nudged out of sleep by the feeling of something tickling my arm one night. I flicked at it thinking in my half unconscious fog that the sheet had brushed against me. I began to doze off and felt it again. Once more I knocked the blanket away. The third time brought me closer to awake and I swatted at myself. My stomach turned as I felt wetness and realized whatever I had just squished had once been alive. I squealed in disgust as I flipped on the light and sure enough there on my arm was what was left of one of those big black hairy spiders.

Last week I went into the pantry to get some dog food. I reached into the bag and scooped two cupfuls into her dish. As I walked back into the kitchen, out of the corner of me eye I saw one of the kibble move. I practically tossed the dish into the sink when I realized it was not live dog chow but instead a large, ugly, brown arachnid. It headed for the drain so I turned on the water to flush him down. Then naturally all I could think about was the itsy bitsy spider coming back up the water spout. So I ran the water for a while and then put the plug in the drain.

Most bugs don’t bother me too much, contrary to what these two incidents might suggest. I am not afraid of spiders but that does not mean I want to share my house (or my bed!) with them.

My husband freaks out if I pick up a grasshopper, he is afraid I will throw it at him which I would never do as I would fear the karmic retribution from such an act. I had a boyfriend once who was a real tough guy…he was my ‘bad boy’…and he was afraid of all insects. One summer night we were driving to a party. The windows were down and he had the interior light on a he searched for a particular tape (yes, this was back in the dark age of cassettes). A tiny white moth flew into the car and past his face toward the light. From his reaction you would have thought it was the devil himself coming to take him away. He screamed (like a girl) and then hollered at me to “Kill it, kill it, get it out of here!!!”
Thankfully I was driving or we would have hit the ditch for sure. I had to pull over, not to kill the beast that was ‘attacking’ my boyfriend, but because I was laughing too hard to drive. I gently cupped my hands around the evil killer moth that had frightened my (then) man so much and released it out the open window. Once I had composed myself enough to start driving again he stopped me.
“We have to go home before we go to the party.”
“What? Why?” I asked, still giggling.
“So you can wash your hands after touching that thing.” He shuddered.

I don’t have any fear of rodents either, that particular phobia belongs to my dad. When I was little we lived on a small acreage on the other side of town. We had a few chickens so my town friends called our place ‘the farm’. My dad used to wear gum boots (wellies?) when he went out to the coop to feed the fowl but he rolled them down so they were easy to slip on and off. One morning we were eating our breakfast when he came storming in looking for the broom. “What’s wrong?” my mom asked, unable to comprehend what kind of sweeping emergency would have him in such a dither. “Mice.” was my dad’s reply.
Mom asked him if he wanted her to go take care of them but my father (unlike my ex) was quite alright with doing his own dirty work. She handed him the broom as she watched him roll his rubber boots up and put on some gloves. He walked out of the kitchen like a warrior off to battle the horde. There were no more rodents in the henhouse when he was finished; in fact I am sure there were none around for miles. I figure my dad was like a cautionary tale that big mice told to little mice, their own urban myth…the crazy wild eyed man with the boots and the broom.

I am no more afraid of rodents than I am of bugs but that does not leave me completely fearless. I have many little fears, I am mildly claustrophobic, I am not crazy about being alone in the dark and I am a bit of a germphobe. I do have one real phobia and there is nothing mild about it. I am an ophidiophobe. Actually in reality I am not just afraid of snakes, I have panicked more than once over a garden hose, a piece of string or a stick that I mistook for one. My fear is so bad that my best friend is getting married next winter in Australia and I can’t go because of it. I used to want to visit Oz until I discovered that the world’s top ten deadliest snakes live there. And really I don’t even care that they are deadly. The only snakes that live in my area are little non-poisonous garter snakes but I am no less afraid of them than I would be anacondas or brown snakes. The stress of visiting Australia comes with the idea of the quantity not necessarily the quality of their reptiles.

So on this eve of All Hallows I wonder, what are you afraid of?

Here he is, the man, the myth, the legend (in his mind at least) my husband.

I took this video last weekend on our way back from the dentist. It took less convincing than I expected it would to get him to allow me to post this. His one stipulation was that I let you know that he had just consumed half a bottle of Pepsi before this song started...so the burp was not just him being piggish...and that he was scratching, not picking, his nose.

Please enjoy, I did and yes that would be me cackling in the background.