Prayers And Illegal Drugs Would Be Most Welcome

There are but two three things on my mind right now.

Mr. Handsome has announced, rather quietly, that he is no longer reading my blog. Actually, he didn't so much announce it as he mentioned it under his breath in an almost inaudible way. Apparently, he finds my blog disgusting and inappropriate. He is ashamed, and he wants me to stop writing it.

Whatever, I say to him.

And then, I curled up in the fetal position and sucked my thumb until it was as flat as a pancake.

Seriously though ... WHAT. THE. HELLO KITTY??!! MY blog is "inappropriate"? MY blog? A little silly, maybe. Perhaps quite inane and ridiculous at times. I'll even go so far as to say that, at times, when I discuss certain bodily functions, maybe one could take that as being a bit too much information.

I see it more as part of everyone's everyday life. We all poop and pee and have sex. We all have either a vagina or a penis, or perhaps a combination of the two, or maybe a few of us wish we had what we don't actually have, and have to instead strap one on, or put on women's clothing. We just don't talk about it all the time.

I ask you, what is so wrong about actually talking about these things once in a while? I honestly think that's part of where this world is going oh so very wrong. We have become too sanitized in our daily lives, too concerned about what the neighbours will think, whose car is nicer, whether our kitchen floors are shiny and clean enough. My point is, who really gives a shit?

I know I don't.

Of course, Mr. Handsome would disagree, and he would say I SHOULD care. And when I would ask him why, he would either (a) not reply or (2) respond with a question, such as, "Why do you think we should care, Mary?" or better yet, "Why don't you care?"

When I started writing this blog back in October 2008, I had many reservations about what Mr. Handsome would think about it. I wasn't sure how much I should divulge about our private lives, what I should keep under wraps, what language I should or shouldn't use. I know Mr. Handsome too well, and I knew he would probably not like the whole idea. He's a very private person. So, I began the blog, and I didn't tell him for quite a while, because I wanted to write, I wanted to start a blog, and I was pretty sure I knew what his reaction would be.

And I was pretty much on the money, although it's taken a while to get to this point where he now apparently refuses to read it.

And you know what? I am pretty okay with it. I would much rather Mr. Handsome read my blog, enjoy it and have fun with it, but he can't, so I have to accept that. He's just not big on topics like yeast infections, ingrown vaginal hairs, and menstrual cramps. And although those topics are not at the top of the list of things I write about most often, they are there, and they will continue to be there. I can't write for him, or for anyone else. I have to write for myself.

So, there you have it. Another one bites the dust.What's one more disgusted and alienated family member, I say.

The other thing on my mind is that I am quite possibly going to have to take some high school night courses beginning in February, to get my high school biology and chemistry courses, since they are prerequisites for the college courses for which I'm thinking of registering. For both paramedic and nursing, they want these courses, as well as Grade 12 mathematics and Grade 12 English, both of which I have (I hope!). For god's sake, people, I'm 47 years old! I don't remember most of high school at this point.

So, as you read this sentence, I am probably at the school board office, ordering my high school records, and calling the college to find out if there is any other way of getting around having to have these prerequisites, in-between pulling my hair out and groaning softly to myself. Because, if I have to take these two courses, it means being in night school for four hours a night, four nights a week, from February until the end of May.

Guys, the only way this is going to happen is if I have my very own avatar. I don't do well after 2 p.m. My whole day ends then. The carriage turns into a pumpkin and I slowly sink into the ground, not to be seen or heard from until the next morning. Seriously. Any suggestions, including illegal drugs, would be greatlly appreciated right about now.

To end on a really happy note, we're spending some quality family time in a very cold hockey arena all weekend long because Dee is in a hockey tournament, and we'd rather do nothing else than sit by frozen water watching little children slash each other with sticks and elbows. Not only that,  my friends, but we have to travel an hour to get to this arena, which is situated in a little place called Spencerville, also known as The Devil's Cold Ass In Hell. 

Dee actually went to bed feeling really ill Thursday night, so if I squeeze my eyes shut really hard, and block out all positive thoughts, maybe he'll be too sick to play Saturday and we can just stay home instead and pick lint out of our navels. Please pray for me.