What's Next?

On....What We Post.

My best-friend-from-grade-5-Laurie has her own blog and I have learned in the past few days that one should be brutally aware of what one types on her blog.  Especially when it concerns what a whiny-ass, intolerable, life-sucking baby her husband is when he is sick.

Laurie was slightly overwhelmed with an upcoming school band trip for her 14-year-old daughter's Catholic school in which she was to be responsible for protecting the virginity of at least 20 other 14-year-old Catholic school girls.  She already feels like she is going to be struck by lightning every time she walks through the esteemed, judgemental halls of her daughter's school and felt that, although she was volunteering for kicks and chuckles, all of the eyes of the good parents would be upon her.

Now, the added stressor; her husband gets sick a couple of days before she is to leave.  Not just a little:  puking, rolling, panting, moaning, sweating, begging, needy sick.  Laurie has two thoughts; "I need sleep and he better not give whatever he has to me."  And she expressed this explicitly in her blog and, most certainly, to him.

She rides a bus with 52 teenagers for 15 hours to get to the great city of Vancouver, where I happen to be for work.  We have a great couple of days touring and shopping "away from it all" but, alas, the husband is still sick.  Men, seriously!

Here's the punchline; he is really sick!  She calls me at 1 am to tell me that she is catching the next flight home because her husband is in the hospital awaiting surgery for a bowel obstruction.

He's full of shit!  Sorry, it had to be said.

I can only imagine the rollercoaster of guilt and worried emotions that the 2 hour flight had in store for her.  But, my friend is resilient.  What a trooper!  By time I phoned her to check on them the following afternoon, she was just leaving the hospital room telling me that she had to get out of there because whatever that shit was that they were suctioning out of his gut, was really gross.

He's fine, she's great and all previously intact virtue is still intact, or so it is assumed.  And, I will make one more phone call to her to make sure that no one has died before I push the post button.

I NEED This T-Shirt

"Sorry I missed church.  I was busy studying witchcraft and becoming a lesbian."

Who Knew?

I have taken this one off of the Facebook site of one of my friends.  This is so her!

Why I Have Reproduced.

I have always tried to be open and honest with my children; because I care.  Anytime they have asked me why I decided to have them, I have told them the truth; I had them for my entertainment.  I have never claimed to be attempting to improve the genetic pool for the future of our species.  I have never claimed to be a martyr whose lot in life is to sacrifice my time and money for duty.  I have never claimed to be attempting to conform to societal norms.  They are here to entertain me.  Simple.

And, of course, a perfect example of their ability to entertain me happened today.

Today, I was working, driving along with my partner, Patrice (she is my work partner not my life partner; I'm not gay; not that there is anything wrong with being gay).  So, we were driving along keeping the community safe when we came up behind Liam (the 12 year old male offspring) and one of his friends walking home from baseball practice.  As we slowly approached in our stealth, diesel 5 ton truck, I said to Patrice those fateful words; "Watch this!"

I hit the siren about 20 feet behind him and, honestly, could not have rehearsed a better response.  The two of them:  full body startle, in the air, contorting like Wile E. Coyote over the cliff.  Spry little things.  We laughed to the point of being slightly embarrassed at the joy we were getting from victimizing two small children.  That took about half an hour....or so.

Seriously, too much fun!

In Case There Was Any Doubt

We love our pets.  Sadly, at times more than the humans amongst us.  Here are a couple of pictures from a typical Saturday morning, sun coming in the window and something annoying coming out of the TV.

I, of course, was able to quickly snap these pictures between vacuuming, sweeping, dusting, washing and swearing at the offspring because of the slugs they are; never moving very fast or accomplishing much but still leaving a trail of slime and refuse in their wake.  Note that Luna (black dog) is the only one looking even a little guilty.

Oh....The Trauma

I know it has been a while.  I have been a little afraid of the internet lately, I think I'm better.  Let me take you back a few days.

I was having a happy morning; the kids had gone to school, the dogs were having their third nap of the day (the mid-morning nap), I was enjoying a particularly strong latte and trying to think up the lies that I would tell my nutritionist.  And, of course, checking my email.

A "friend", we will call her Cruella deVille, sent me this cute fun little link; www.myheritage.com "Find the Celebrity in You".  At this site, you upload a photo of yourself and it tells you which celebrities you resemble based on facial recognition technology.

Well, the first photo I uploaded went well.  I run the risk of being mobbed by the fanatic autograph seekers of Sandra Bullock and Jessica Alba and a few lesser known celebrities of obvious Asian descent (???).  The sun was in my eyes.

Then, as I continue scrolling through the pictures of my co-beauties and feel my ego growing, up pops a picture of Quentin Tarantino!  I bear a slight (but mentioned) resemblance to Quentin Tarantino!  He is not an attractive man; and he's a man.  Now, if this program was finding similarities in brilliance and creativity, this would be fine.  Looks, not so much.  I immediately closed my laptop, pushed my chair back and stared at the computer that was once my ally as though it was a basket containing a snake that I wasn't sure how to dispose of.  Then, to the mirror to check out my hairline and the profile of my nose; ego right back down there where it belongs.

Shopping in Europe: A Generation Removed

I don’t think that it’s important if or when I spend money or even how much is spent. What is important is that I am satisfied with what the money was spent on. Hit and miss, really. Sometimes, I can look at a purchase for years and revel in the warmth of realized opportunity and then there are the times that I would rather stick knives in my eyes than look at some horrific mistake that I can’t possibly get rid of because of the money I’ve spent on it.

Enter, stage left, the red gingham high heeled shoes.

 

Of course I didn’t buy these myself! Give your head a shake! I did, however indirectly, pay for them.

My daughter has just returned from Europe; school trip that I have been paying off for a year. My parents sent me to Europe in my high school glory days and I still look fondly at the pictures of my friends standing in front of various statues, fountains, gardens and duomos. Taryn forgot her brand new digital camera in the Jeep before she left. At this moment, beyond the lid of my laptop, I can still appreciate the beautiful 8-piece decanter set made with Venetian glass, hand painted and topped with 24 kt gold leaf that I purchased in Venice and carefully packed and brought back to Canada.  It has made at least 8 moves with me since 1984 and it is as stunning as the day I bought it.

Taryn bought red gingham high-heeled shoes. My Little Baby Prostitute. I try to be a good parent. The first time I saw her making her way across the kitchen in denim Capri pants and a giraffe-like gait, I blew coffee out my nose. Told her that I was just choking for a second after I regained my composure and told her that she looked fabulous.

This morning I told her that I wanted to take some pictures of them. *giggle* She strutted, she posed and then her face darkened and she asked me suspiciously, “You’re not going to try to sell these on Ebay, are you?”

Oh no, My Sweet Princess, not a chance of that.