Showing posts from September, 2009

Relax, Go With The Flow, Part 4, In Which We Get Serenaded By A Puppet

Due to overwhelming demand for more of my weekend getaway (which happened like a month ago, and it's more than about time that I finished this damn thing already), I am FINALLY posting Part 4 of this exciting, yet longer-than-it-really-should-be, encyclopedic analytical saga of Mr. Handsome's surprise to me for our recent 18th anniversary of marital semi-bliss. Believe it or not, Mr. Handsome himself has been begging -- yes, BEGGING -- me for the next instalment. I KNOW! Who knew that this would turn into such a monumental event?!

If you have not yet read Parts 1, 2 and 3 of this blockbuster event, I'd really strongly suggest you do that first, otherwise you might get hopelessly lost, which would be pretty unacceptable, if you ask me, which you haven't, but I'm not one to wait around for permission (just ask Mr. Handsome). Just do it. Now. Thanks.

Did you know that even at a 4 1/2-star bed and breakfast, the beds creak? And to that, I say, "What the heck?! Did w…

Never Leave Home Without A Migraine

So, the other day, I did something that is, even for me, amazingly stupid with a capital "S".

I was driving Em to a shopping mall parking lot, which was a pick-up point for a camp she was going to for the weekend. I looked all disheveled, not having washed my hair, and having thrown on a dirty pair of sweats. I also was experiencing Day Three of a migraine, which often makes me look like this:

Not only that (if you can imagine things getting any worse) but I was driving my dad's old car, with a rusting license plate and a heater that doesn't work. It also had a plastic dog poop in the back window before Mr. Handsome demanded it be taken down. Now, it's in the glove compartment, a much better location.

So, I was driving along a busy road, worrying that we were going to be late dropping Em off for the bus to camp because she demanded I go through the Tim Horton's drive-thru for an iced cappuccino, which I did because she was buying. I managed to time things perfec…

Unemployment Has Its Perks, And Our Neighbour Has No Life

I am so thankful that I am unemployed at the moment.

Otherwise, I would never know who it is that keeps coming on to our property to pick up little pieces of garbage, or the odd dog poop we haven't yet scooped up because HELLO! the dog only barely made it back into the house!!!

Yes, that deserved THREE exclamation marks.

I was sitting in the living room yesterday, enjoying my morning coffee and MINDING MY OWN BUSINESS, when I happened to look up from my MAD magazine and what to my wondering eyes should appear but Mrs. Arsehole from next door (aka our neighbours to the right), and she's ON OUR LAWN picking up the remnants of a bag of garbage that the garbage men had left behind because that's how they roll.

Why does this peeve me, you ask? I'll tell you why this peeves me. It peeves me because it's got to be one of the most passive-aggressive things a person could do to another person, and also a really great way to make a not-always-the-most-secure-person-on-the-block…


Part of the challenge of having a child who has had cancer is the after effects. Of course, when you're in the midst of the major challenge of trying to save your child's life, the poisonous drugs the doctors pump into him are welcome. Anything to make that ugly beast go away.

Life after cancer is not something most people really think about. Get rid of the cancer, that's the goal. Although we were warned numerous times about how the doctors weren't really sure what the effects of the chemo would be on Dee, we knew we had no choice but to use the drugs in an effort to kill the tumour. This, along with everything else done to Dee, was in an effort to save his life.

The nature of Dee's cancer (Stage 3 Neuroblastoma) required heavy artillery. In addition to numerous surgeries, there was a medley of chemos injected into his tiny body on a regular basis. One of the numerous and varied chemo cocktails injected into Dee was Doxorubicin, a drug the colour of blood.

Doxo is a…

Who Does That?! We Do, That's Who!

Our upstairs bathroom needs a makeover. It's the only room in our entire 60-year-old house that's actually even been redone since we moved in back in 1998, and yet, it needs one again.

Our house is a four-bedroom house, the largest model in the neighbourhood. We love it here. But the bathrooms? They suck BIG time. You see, back in the 50s, apparently they didn't need more than one full bathroom for a family. Somehow, they all got along, they all fit into the space of a closet, and somehow they were all able to function well without the use of cupboard space.

I'm here to tell you that either the families of the 50s were half our size, both in height and width, or they needed only half the number of showers and towels and extraneous appliances and lotions and things, because god help me, there is not an inch to spare in that room.

Not that we'll ever be able to do anything more with our bathroom than we've already done, except maybe update it someday when we actuall…

This Is Nuts

Did you know that when a man rides a bicycle, his testicular members hang off on either side of the bike seat?

I'm supposing this won't be news to any of my male readers, unless they've never been on a bike.

It certainly was news to me.

Mr. Handsome and I had this discussion the other morning, over coffee, as he was getting ready to bike to work, while I got ready to open up another box of bonbons to down during yet another day of unemployment.

Yes, Mr. Handsome bikes to work, most every day, in fact. He only stops when the mornings are so cold that his testicles freeze to the side of his bicycle seat. Hence, the topic of discussion.

So, after we went over the day's schedule (Mr. Handsome: work, Me: eat bonbons), I wondered where in fact do a man's plums go when he alights upon his bike seat. You see how I'm trying to keep my mind engaged and operating while I continue to look for work? I'm a deep and extremely profound person, I am.

And Mr. Handsome told me.


Relax, Go With The Flow, Part 3, In Which The Monkey Jungle Banana Machine Turns Princess On

Here we are, Part 3 of my amazing, romantic, tantalizing getaway weekend. If you missed parts 1 and 2 (and if you have, you need a spanking), go here and here to bring yourself up to date before reading on. Okay?

So, after our marvelous dinner at Le Chien Noir Bistro, Mr. Handsome says to me, all nonchalant-like, "So, like, do you want to maybe go to a casino?" and I'm like, "Well, I don't know," and he's like, "Well, you said you'd always wanted to go to a casino, and there's one not too far from here," and I was like, "How far is it?", and Mr. Handsome rolled his beautiful brown eyes and told me to shut up and walk. He's romantic like that.

So, we walked back to our B&B, got in our car, and drove for 20 minutes to this place, which is actually quite a sight in an amusement-park-like, Christmas-tree-like sort of way when you first lay eyes on it. Then, it's just an eyesore, but that's just my opinion. You'r…

My Very Exciting Life

I thought today, instead of posting Part 3 of my amazingly romantic getaway trip with Mr. Handsome, I would bring everyone up-to-date on my amazingly exciting and out-of-this-world weekend. I thought you might also need a break from the excitement of my getaway weekend, because it was just so amazingly exciting that I can hardly contain myself still, and it's been a week now since we've returned. Are you also now sick and tired of my usage of the word "amazingly"? I am. And, by the way, I did that on purpose.

Yes, guys, it's time I admit to all of you that I lead a very exciting life. Sucks to be you.

So, Saturday morning, I get up, pry my eyes open and stick in my contact lenses, without which I would be blind, and stumble down the stairs. I'm greeted by groups of white and reddish-pink balloons hanging off the ceiling. Hey! It's my birthday!! I actually said that in my head, because I had been trying really really hard NOT to remember my birthday, but the…

Relax, Go With The Flow, Part 2, In Which Mr. Handsome Begins To Really Impress His Princess

For the love of god, if you haven't read the first part of this amazing, out-of-this-world adventure, you need to go here first, read it, then come back here.

After driving for two hours, with me nattering on and on AND ON in Mr. Handsome's ear and continually trying to guess where we were going for our weekend anniversary getaway trip, we finally arrived at our destination. At first, I thought we might be heading to Quebec City, because that is one of my favourite places in the world, with its Old World charm, its buildings that are older than old itself, its amazing history, and its food (of course).It is also the first time I experienced one of Mr. Handsome's ... shall we say ... gaseous exuberances. So, as you can see, it holds many special memories for me.

A photo of Quebec City. I actually had a dream of this actual street once. Thought you'd want to know.

But, of course, we didn't go there, because Quebec City is a good five to six hours away from Ottawa, and M…

Relax, Go With The Flow, Part I, In Which Mary Learns To Pack A Bag

I'm sorry it's taken me a bit longer to blog this week. But I have a good reason. A very, very good reason. I bet you can hardly wait for my reason, which is really good, by the way.

What's my reason, you ask? Well, hold on to your panties, ladies and gentlemen!

Here it is:

and this:

and this:

and some of this:

Yes, guys, this is why I haven't managed to post anything until today. Because this, this is heaven on earth, and that, my friends, is what I lived this past weekend. A veritable heaven on earth.

As some of you may know (and you would if you read my blog regularly, and if you don't, shame on you), Mr. Handsome and I celebrated 18 years of wedded bliss on Aug. 31. Yes, I said 'wedded bliss'. Stop laughing.

And on that day of celebration, we did nothing. Nothing. As in, nothing. Mr. Handsome has been working very hard, and I've been lolling about doing nothing but whining and watching Jon and Kate Plus 8 reruns, so there was no time or energy for any kind …

The Saga of Gryphon

The Gryphon Chronicles continue.

The poor dog. As if it's not bad enough that he has to be a poodle who gets shaved by unprofessional owners who want to save a buck. Now, he's on meds for The Allergies so that he stops gnawing off his paws and scratching his skin until huge welts rise.

His itchiness seems to be subsiding, thank the lord. However, what the meds seem to be doing is creating an adverse reaction on the inside of his very large body. The Dog With The Very Sensitive Stomach now has The Constipation instead of the usual problem we have with him, which would be The Diarrhea.

Over the past few days, I've noticed a change in him, namely, his pooping procedure. He takes the Official Dog Pooping Stance we all know, but then, nothing happens. He just stands like that, back arched, looking extremely forlorn and confused, occasionally looking behind him as if to say, "What the hell is taking so long?"

He then starts to walk about the ground, back still arched, hopi…

Filling A Void

The kids are back at school, and my heart is both heavy and happy.

I have to admit I miss them when they're not home all day, and I'm not at work. The house seems too empty, too quiet. I don't know what to do with myself, because my days are usually full of taking care of the kids, making sure they're okay, that their needs are met. After all, that's my job. Not only that, but when they're home, their voices and bodies -- their souls -- fill any void in the house. It bursts at the seams with all the life and love, noise and boisterous activity.

It never ceases to amaze me how just their footsteps coming up to the house at the end of the school day fills me up again, makes me happy, makes me smile and long to hold them, or even just to rub their arm, to let them know I missed them, that I hope they had a great day, and that I need them in my life.

I realize that, when they're home, I don't often show those emotions, because much of my time is spent telling …