Showing posts from May, 2009

Pure Joy

This weekend, I get to babysit this

and snuggle with this

and cuddle with this

and kiss and hug and play smooshy face with this

My little nephew. My only nephew. Gotta love the little bugger. It's going to be an awesome weekend.

Pay Me To Eat Your Doughnut -- It's A Win-Win Situation!

Hear ye! Hear ye! Mary still likes her job! She actually thinks it's a keeper! Even if it doesn't pay nearly as much as it's worth. Let's just say, if this were in the good old government, it would pay twice as much. But Mary is not a greedy guts, so she will keep her big mouth shut, smile as she walks into the office every morning, and just be glad she has a job she enjoys and that her ungrateful family now has enough money to buy extra tacos on Friday night.

Yep, it's been two whole weeks, folks (minus two days, one for Canada's Victoria Day, in which we celebrate a dead queen's birthday, and one for my day of ultimate misery), and I'm still liking it. I'm liking the job so much, guys, that I actually look forward to going in every day!

That, in itself, is a miracle in the making, because I haven't felt like that about a job in a very long time. I'm talking a decade here, folks.

Truth be told, I haven't done much of anything except watch …

Whistle While You Toot

Hot metal pokers in both eyes would have been more welcome than my recent double dipping experience, forever to be known as the Endoscopic/Colonoscopic Examination From the Depths of Hell.

I'm still recovering, so this post will heretoforth be in point form.

* 7 p.m. Sunday. I scarf down 6 oz. of Pico Salax. Not the best tasting stuff, but not god-awful either. Taste: something between lime juice, tart orange, mixed with a bit of fizz.

* 9 p.m. Sunday. Who knew a butt could pee? Pico Salax = constant and extreme diarrhea. I'm still feeling pretty good. This Pico Salax stuff ain't half bad, I say to Mr. Handsome.

* 9:30 p.m. Sunday. Utter and extreme nausea. They didn't warn me about this.

* 10 p.m. Sunday. The migraine begins. I take five extra strength Tylenols, a couple of Gravols, and I pray for sleep.

* 2 a.m. Monday. Hello toilet.

* 4:06 a.m. Monday. Yo. Here I am again, bathroom.

* 6:12 a.m. Monday. You know the drill.

* 8 a.m. Monday. I'm due for my second Pico Salax…

Viral Annoyance

I'm afraid it's spreading.

All our neighbours are now assholes.

What the hell is happening? Did we move into the Asshole Neighbourhood without knowing it? Or did these neighbours all take some course in asshole excellence one weekend when we were gone? Because I'd just like to know.

Sunday morning, 7 a.m. The Nasties across the street from us, next door to Vacuum Man (oh, you must remember him and his van vacuum, right?) decided that would be a great time to pull out the lawnmower and give the lawn a good cutting. Em calls these people The Richies, because they have an intercom at their front door and a giant silver and white seahorse in their garden. I had to explain to her that they are, in fact, not rich, and only have the intercom because they are extremely anti-social, think they're better than the rest of us, and refuse to meet anyone face-to-face. And the seahorse ... well, that's pretty much inexplicable. One of these days, when I've had an extra vodka and…

A Mixed Medley of Melodious Mumblings

It's early Saturday night, and I just sent both kids to bed because I couldn't (and shouldn't have to) listen to their fighting and bickering any longer. And dammit, I need my peace and quiet, now that I'm a working girl. It's also interrupting my digestion.

It's been a hard week, but a good week. I'm really liking my new job, although I haven't really done anything but watch for the most part. This job is challenging, interesting, exciting and worthwhile, and I can't wait until I'm actually doing something. I also can't wait until I get my very own desk! Which, guys, is probably happening next week! Then, I can decorate it with all my little doodads and thingamabobs that will make it ALL MINE! I'm territorial that way, and am also getting tired of hauling my big ass bag around with me all the time, not to mention my Starbucks thermos cup full of hot coffee to keep me awake, and my packet of Mentos. They need a home.

I'm also starting …

When In Doubt, Get The Po Po Out

So, guys, I went to Dee's school's Volunteer Thank You Breakfast a couple of days ago. It's the school staff's way of saying "thank you" to the parents who volunteer their time to help things go more smoothly at the school, as well as to provide extra-curricular activities that would otherwise not be available to the students.

I don't do much, but for the past few years, a couple of times a week, I'd go into the school office first thing in the morning and do something called "safe arrival", where I take attendance for all the kids at school. If a child is absent, the parent is supposed to call the school and let them know, so that we don't start freaking out and call the police and get search parties out blahblahblah. Of course, more often than not, the parents don't bother calling, so it's my job to call them and shit on them make sure their precious little ones are safely ensconced at home.

I actually quite enjoy doing this, but…

Coffee Please!

It was a momentous day. It was a day of joy, a day of discovery. A day of confusion, a day of hunger, and a day of satisfaction. It was my first day of work. I made it, and now I lie naked on my bed, unable to move. No, there are no photos. You wouldn't want to see them anyway. Believe me.

I didn't really know what to expect with this job, except in general terms, but I'm here to tell you that I really think I'm going to like it.

Heck, I get to talk to people on the phone all day long! And get paid for it! You can't beat that, unless it includes boxes of bon bons, an endless dribble of mojitos slowly trickling down my throat in-between calls, Patrick Dempsey massaging my feet, and a Cirque de Soleil performance outside my window. I'm going to work on it as soon as I'm a little more established.

All in all, this job is going to be more challenging than I thought, and that's a good thing. I wanted something that wasn't borrrring and would have me droolin…

Long Weekends Are Great Illness Inducers

I've spent this long weekend sitting at home, on the couch, mounds of snotty toilet paper around me, as I battle my second bad cold of the year. Well, actually, it might very well be my first of the year, because that other thing I had back in April, I think that was a full-blown influenza. Maybe even a precursor to the H1N1 Swiny Flu: the Piglet Flu.

I think I might finally be turning the corner, because my head no longer feels like a ball-peen hammer knocked on it for about 27 years straight, and my throat now only feels like semi-sharp shards of glass are poking it instead of a steady stream of brand new, hot razor blades. I'm still coughing, though, but it's more of a controlled hack instead of a full-blown phlegm-spewing lung storm.

I had big plans for this weekend, my last weekend before I am once again gainfully employed and can no longer sit on my ever-widening ass and eat crumpets while I blog/boss the kids around/think about doing a load of laundry.

No, folks, those…

How Does One Remove A Boyle?

My husband wants Susan Boyle, and in a bad way.

Everytime he goes upstairs to the office, after a few minutes' time, just long enough to allow the computer to boot up, I hear the faint strain of Susan trilling her little song on Simon Cowell's British cash grab show, Britain's Got Talent.

Out of utter curiosity, and because my background is investigative journalism at its finest, I asked him why in hell's name he does this.

His response: "She's hot."

Last night, he listened to her six times. SIX. TIMES.

He tells me she's inspirational.

I tell him, "I'll show you inspirational. Get over here, big boy."

But no, guys, he won't budge from the computer. He sits there, staring at her, like a dog at a bone. She's irresistible. I even found a pool of drool on the keyboard later that evening.

Then, Mr. Handsome was sitting beside me on the couch, and we were both watching something inane, as we always do after dinner, because that's our sched…

And Where Did He Learn This?

Outside the window, a family of three slowly walks by: a dad, very pregnant mom, and their 3-year-old boy.

Me: Oh, look! It's Matthew and his parents. Look how big his mom is getting. She should be having that baby soon.

Dee, sitting beside me: OH MY GOD!!

Me: What?!

Dee: She's HUGE!!

Me: Well, she's going to have her baby soon.

Dee: Again?! (Pause) Those guys sure must have a lot of sex!

I Got The Job!

I got the job. It's the job I was hoping to get. The one I interviewed for on Monday.

Obviously, they haven't read my blog, or else they'd be running so fast the other way, all I'd see is the dust and their heels kicking up as they disappear beyond the horizon.

It's all still very surreal. It seems like it was almost too easy. One interview. That was it. A two-day wait for their decision.

And then, when I think about my husband's face when I got off the phone and told him, I get all mushy inside. This means so much for me and my family. I won't feel like such a leech any more. And, although Mr. Handsome has been so very patient through everything, I know he's been very worried about things (and not because he's super-anal about all things financial), and probably praying a bit, despite the fact that he's not a religious person.

You see, since Mr. Handsome started his doctorate studies, and since Dee was born and shortly after diagnosed with cancer, …

Cravin' For A Beaver Tail, Or, How I Became a Canadian Blogger

Blogging has been somewhat of a saviour in this life of mine. I started late last October, and I soon found myself addicted, needing my "fix" of blog writing everyday as much as I need my supersized bag of Cheetos beside my bed.

I live in Canada's capital, and a wonderful place it is. Most of the blogs I follow are written by my American friends. It doesn't seem like the blogosphere has hit Canada in the same way, although I could be very wrong. I am still pretty new to all this. Maybe it's just that we up here in the North are just too busy trying to keep warm, and our fingers just can't type as fast. Or maybe it's because most of us don't yet have electricity or running water... Just kidding, for god's sake. I have a running heater in my igloo that keeps things pretty toasty.

Anyway, as I was looking around for some Canadian blogs, I happened upon Canada Blog Friends. This isn't just your everyday blog. In fact, this blog exists to highlight o…

I'm A Contendah

It's been a bit of a crazy few days, what with Mother's Day, exams and job interviews coming out my ears.

The weekend began with a sad message from Mr. Handsome's sister, who told us their beloved dog, Laker, had passed away. He was 12 years old, a pretty German Shepherd, and apparently his stomach had somehow inverted and he died. So sad. He was getting old, but it's always very sad when your pet passes away. We'd spent many holidays and long weekends with Laker, and we're going to miss him, especially Gryphon, who loved his cousin and still expects to see him. The cottage, where he spent all his summers, and the lake, after whom he was named, will miss him too.

I had multiple government exams all day Saturday, which isn't really the way anyone wants to spend a Saturday, as you could tell by the grimaces and groans as person upon person filed in, like cattle. I was so flustered that I left my insulated coffee cup on top of the car, and my cell phone at home,…

It's My Turn

It's always a great Mother's Day here. Mr. Handsome and the kids make sure of it every year. But this year, I was less than happy, and I even cried. Par for the course for me these past few months. Crying jags for no reason. If I didn't know better, I would think I am either pregnant and full of raging hormones, or an angst-ridden teen. Of course, I am neither. I'm just sad.

Every year, I get a wonderful breakfast, full of fresh fruit, omelette, coffee or tea, and lots of love. The kids make me lovely gifts, Mr. Handsome gets me beautiful flowers, and I love being enveloped in all that love. A lazy day ensues, sometimes doing nothing but reading books and hanging out, most times visiting the Canada Tulip Festival and enjoying the amazing spring breezes and music that greets your ears as you walk. A feast for the senses. We often end up getting fudge at the festival, and we eat it all, out of the little paper bags it comes in. And then we go home, have a wonderful dinner…

A Flood Of Flowers And Love


No words can express...

... the absolute beauty of a flower.

My house was inundated with beauty this Mother's Day.

As my heart was filled with love.

A Mother's Day Sojourn

My weekend is a study in extremes.

Saturday will be spent indoors, being tested yet again by the federal government peeps. Yes, I actually passed my second language French testing a couple of weeks back, and now I go in for an entire day of flotsam and jetsam. I have to admit I'm quite proud of myself, because I really wasn't 100 per cent sure that I would get the level they required to move on. And I did it without any cheating! See, all the little children? Miracles still do happen.

I'm not bitter about having to go in for more tests, except that perhaps I wish Saturday's weather forecast called for hail and rain and pestilence instead of simply a possibility of a bit of rain, and perhaps I wish I wouldn't get so stressed out about such things as silly tests. But I think this testing segment will be better than the last since it is all in English, I now know I need to bring food and drink because they lie when they tell you there are open food concessions, and I th…

Happy Season

Spring has sprung in our lovely city. One of my favourite times of the year, besides Happy Hour.

One of our first tulips in our front yard. Most neighbours' flowers have been up for awhile. Our tulips are developmentally challenged.I'll be heading to the Canada Tulip Festival soon, I'm thinking. Because their tulips are amazing.

Not sure what these are. Daisies, perhaps? Any garden gnomes out there have any ideas? Anyone? Buehler?

The muted, hazy colours caught my eye as I walked Gryphon at the local dog park. Of course, he was too busy sniffing another dog's crotch at the time to notice and share in the joy with me.

Bloom bokeh.

Dogwood blossoms in my front yard. Awesomeness.This dogwood bush used to be huge. Now it is a mere ragged bush. This is what happens when you ask Mr. Handsome to trim the bushes.

Tree seeds. When I took this picture, I didn't notice the little purple dots. I love my camera.

A flaming yellow bush at the Experimental Farm, our farm in the middle …

Cool Pride, Warm Memories

We walk into the school, hand in hand, I to the office to do some volunteer work, Dee to his classroom to begin his day.

We pass a scrum of little boys and girls in Grade One, all sitting against the wall, their colourful lunchboxes clanging against the floor as they wait to be told what to do next.

Suddenly, one, two, then all of them, begin saying, "Hi Dee! Hi Dee!" in adorable, lilting, happy voices. And then, one little voice says, "Dee, you're so cool."

I look over at Dee, who is grinning from ear to ear. I smile, proud of my little boy. And I think, cool? My son? When did this happen? Just yesterday, he was one of these little ones. And now, he is the one they look up to.

"Yeah, I watch them at lunchtime. They really like me," he explains.

They sure do, I think to myself, so proud of him, and yet so sad that he's growing up, becoming himself, and needing me less and less. But his hand still fits perfectly in mine. And always will.


How About Some Kielbasa Up The Poopshoot?

Well, guys, it's worse than I thought it could ever be. It's so bad, I had to pre-empt my previously scheduled post for today. Yeah, I know. Reeal baaad.

Yesterday, I went for my appointment with a new gastroenterologist to try and figure out what has been plaguing me all these years and making me lose all sorts of weight, and be a Type 7 most of the time.

First things first. This doctor = awesome. I was worried he might be kind of weird, since who really decides to work on people's asses and intestinal inner workings? No one in their right mind, that's who. But this doctor, he was okay.

Really thorough, really smart, but I honestly think he's on Quaaludes or whatever those things are that make you hyper (are Quaaludes uppers or downers?). The guy reminded me of Speedy Gonzales, or the Roadrunner. Wiiiiiing!!! Swoooosh! One moment, he's here, the next, he's gone. I need whatever he has. And yesterday please and thanks.

I realize this guy is of African-American …

Want Some Kielbasa?

I'm a little worried, a little scared, a little concerned, because who really wants a Polish sausage down their throat? Bet you don't get asked that question every day.

I'm off to my first appointment with a gastroenterologist this afternoon, to start trying to get to the bottom of my gastrointestinal malaises that have plagued me oh so much for what seems like three lifetimes, but is only really about five years. Maybe six. No more than eight. Tops.

Okay, so I've been very hesitant to get this thing investigated properly. Why? Well, it's not like it's a pimple on my cheek that needs a good squeeze, or an ingrown toenail that needs trimming, or even one of my many other ailments that are not so fun to have, and yet, not as bad as my tummy woes. This, folks, this is the real thing, the honker of illnesses, the kowabunga of killers. Because I know what the doctor is going to say, and this is what I dread. He is going to say I need a very invasive procedure called a…