Holy Mackerel

Another year has left us, yet another decade disappears into our memories. It's hard to believe. This year, 2009, was a hard year for me. More difficult than many have been. I still haven't quite figured out why, but it definitely has been, what with unemployment, a job from hell that I still have nightmares about, my  mother dying, psychological warfare going on in my brain, and illness coming out my ears. It's also been a wonderful year, where I've been reminded on an almost daily basis that I have family and friends who love me unconditionally, a husband who drives me crazy but is also so much more than I deserve, wonderful children who take me for who I am, both good and not so good, a warm home, food, music, and lots of love. Here's to a better year for all of us in 2010, with less war and worries, more happiness, and as many Cheezies as we want! I also want to thank all my readers and friends who make this blog what it is. I'm working on making this

We had fireworks here Monday night. A sight to behold. Beautiful, in fact. Now, before your dirty little birds' minds go totally into the gutter, let me explain. Mr. Handsome and I were innocently sitting on the couch, watching a show about pregnant people in peril (what else?!), when suddenly a very bright and shiny blue light flashed before our eyes on the street in front of us, and seemed to move across, toward the main street. I was sure it was yet another plow coming to push snow and ice in front of our laneway once again, forcing us to push Dee out the door into the cold to shovel (he has to do something to earn his keep). Mr. Handsome, on the other hand, was positive it was an alien. Of course it was. The flashing blue light continued happening on and off for the next 29 minutes, with either myself or Mr. Handsome running to the window to check it out everytime it would appear. But, alas, we could not for the life of us figure out what the hell it was. There was no

Ahhh, Christmas. My most favourite time of the year. This year, however, things were a little different, thanks to my flu that is still hanging on tight and giving me continuous grief morning, noon and night, AND our trip to Florida, which somehow mixed my head all up and made me think it wasn't Christmas (I mean, you can't have Christmas and palm trees at the same time, right?), so then suddenly I wasn't in the Christmas spirit anymore, and everything seemed surreal, like I was in a modern version of It's A Wonderful, Wonderful Life . This year Christmas was more of a challenge than usual because I was pretty much bed-bound until Dec. 23, when I forced myself to run a brush through my hair and head out into the throngs of crazy people to get the last of what was needed for the holidays. Of course, I overdid it that day, because on Christmas Eve, I felt like crap, more than usual. My fever came back, I felt weak, and I had to lie down every few minutes. That'll

I realize this is a day late, but my motto is "Better late than never!", so ... Here's hoping everyone's had a wonderfully Merry and Cheery Christmas, full of family, friends, hot toddies, nibblies, and Uncle Festus. I'll be back Monday with more of a recap of our festivities. I just need some time to clear out my sinuses for the umpteenth time.

Well, so, it's like two days until Christmas. In case you were wondering. And I'm here, back home, still sick as the sickest dog in town. And my "g" key doesn't work on this damn laptop all of a sudden, which just makes things seem all that much worse. Which, of course, they are. At least I can now hold my head up off the pillow for more than 20 seconds at a time, and can actually respond coherently to some questions! Yes! I mean, that doesn't even happen on most of my really good days! Just ask Mr. Handsome. So, we had an amazingly wonderful, rich, happy-filled and lovely trip to Orlando, even if it was cut short one day thanks to a blizzard that made its way through Ontario Dec. 9. I won't post photos today because I'm not well enough to put that much effort into anything yet, but I promise I will. And let me tell you, I love my Canon EOS DSLR like it was my child. I still don't know how to use it for the most part, but I'm learnin

Have not been able to post. Too sick. Will write again when can keep head up for more than 10 seconds. Please send chicken soup ... and Kleenex.

Short and sweet, that's how I like it. We're still in Florida, having a great time. Except for the fact that I seem to have come down with a very nasty sore throat and cough ... in a city where the temperatures have been record highs. What did I do to deserve this, I ask? And yes, I know viruses have nothing to do with air temperature, but I thought it was a poignant point just the same. Yesterday, I told myself I was not going to succumb to the illness. I was going to Universal Studios and Islands of Adventure if it killed me, because we don't just amble on down to Orlando every day, and I wasn't leaving without doing the Hulk Coaster at least once, conscious or un-. Well, I did the Hulk twice, and would have gone on a third time had my partner in crime (also known as Em) been willing. She, unfortunately, had a headache, so we decided to bow out of a third turn. Of course, the only way I could do the coaster, or any other ride that day, was by taking lots and

Having the time of our lives.

Well, we made it! And in one piece, despite our flight being a day late and having to travel for about 10 minutes over the Atlantic Ocean. We made it, and we're having a blast. Unfortunately, I'm in mega pain, extra special thanks to my wonderful arthritis, so this post will be short. I had planned on uploading a really beautiful photo I had taken last night of Cinderella's castle at the Magic Kingdom, but this hotel's internet connection sucks the big kahuna. Seeing as it's "free", however, I won't complain, although I think I just did. Suffice it to say we're having a wonderful time so far. The weather here in Orlando has been nothing short of perfect. Lots of threats of rain, but none to speak of in actuality. We have a two-bedroom suite so that we can lock up the children when they get on our nerves and have some peace and quiet, and for the most part, it's working real well! I would highly recommend this tactic to everyone reading th

I knew it. This is an "I told you so" moment if there ever was one. Because when Mr. Handsome was booking our vacation to Florida a couple of months ago, I told him we should leave on Tuesday, not Wednesday. Call it a gut instinct. Call it kizmet. Call it woman's intuition. But no, Mr. Handsome didn't book our flight for Tuesday. He booked it for Wednesday. And now, this ... Our flight to Florida has been canceled, due to the wonderful Blizzard of 2009 that Ontario is currently experiencing. Sucks to be us. Mr. Handsome is on the phone trying to get some more information, just like 3 million other Ontarians who had flights booked. He could be on hold all day. Meanwhile, I've sent the kids to their respective rooms, because now they're all cranky and, as a result, are killing each other and screaming nastiness, and my ears are too virginal for such things. And Gryphon, who we've been gearing up to go to Grandma Camp, is now at a loss and is wan

I spent the better part of the weekend in one freezing hockey arena or another, and then I died because I couldn't warm up. But thank god I am immortal, because I had to come back to life and go back to yet another arena on Sunday so that Dee and his team could play in the finals of this tournament they had signed up for. They came in second place, which should actually have been first, seeing as the team they were up against were so much better than Dee's team that even a blind man high on Mai Tais could have seen that. And what I mean by that is that, whereas Dee's team is C level and very good for C level, this team should have been labeled AA, as in WAAAAAAY better.And they were from North Bay, which is a rather smallish city way up in northern Ontario, and they probably only have one hockey team, and the only thing they probably do up there is play hockey. Because chances are they don't even have electricity. So, I guess what I'm saying is I'm sort o

Well, I'm slowly getting ready for Florida. Slowly, I say, because that accurately describes the speed by which I am preparing my family for this trip. I can't seem to move any faster, no matter what I do. The tortoise passed me long ago this time around, I'm afraid. The other day, I had full intentions of getting up, having a quick coffee, and getting to work, as in gather up all the clothing needed for our trip, pull out suitcases, make lists, buy medication. You know the drill. Because, guys! We leave for Florida next Wednesday, and as I keep reminding myself, I AM FULLY RESPONSIBLE FOR GETTING THIS ENTIRE FAMILY READY. Which is just not my style. I mean, that's why I got married and had kids, so that I'd have people who could do the work FOR me. Instead, I lay on the couch all day long popping extra strength Tylenols, codeine and Gravol because I had woken up with yet another god-forsaken migraine that just would not budge. My head felt like a homely constructio

I had the most interesting pseudo-sexual experience while getting my hair cut and highlighted last week, and I just had to share it with all of you because, although I may not know all of you personally, I know you all need to know my deepest, darkest secrets. You're welcome. But, before I get into that, let me just tell you that my hairdresser, although she's cute and funny and listens to me blather on and on about nothing, really does not know how to cut bangs. I am in complete misery at the moment because, once again, she did not give me the nice sidebangs that I now adore (and once abhorred) and that make me look like Penelope Cruz (without the strong accent). At the moment, my bangs are cut straight across, and I look like Alfred E. Neuman. Not good, seeing as I'M GOING TO FLORIDA IN A WEEK and the last thing I need is to look like this: Not that anyone is going to notice, but still. It would be nice if someone would notice me for a change, actually, and when they did

So, my daughter informed me that my last few posts were boring, and that I had to stop talking about my feces all the time. She's so picky. And judgmental. Okay, so I'll stop. But, as I explained to Em, my blog is about me and my life, and if all that's really going on it at the time is centered around the toilet, what's a person to do? But still, I'll try and refrain from mentioning my poops or the toilet at all in this post ... although I've now mentioned them four times already. Sorry. I spent the better part of the weekend getting my brain and body ready for Christmas, because, as I'd said in a previous post, I have to take on ALL the Christmas prep responsibility this year because Mr. Handsome is working so hard. Whatever. He's just lucky I enjoy spending lots of money working so hard. As part of my preparation, I spent the better part of an afternoon shopping for gifts. I couldn't believe my good fortune since in one stop, I'd found proba

My butt has a brain. And thoughts. And opinions, apparently. Because ever since the doctor gave me the orders to get my poop tested, my butt has refused to give up the goods. It's been six days now, folks! SIX POOPLESS days, after eight tiring WEEKS of nothing BUT poop after poop after -- you guessed it -- poop. There can be NO OTHER EXCUSE but that my badonkadonk has a mind all its own, and a sense of dignity to boot! When it gazed upon the three containers I am supposed to "fill" and return, it did an about-face and ran the other way. And although I can't say I haven't enjoyed the freedom and respite from constantly having to run to the toilet, I'm just trying to wrap my head around this whole thing. How in heaven's name can I go from 20 and more dingleberries per day to none? Just like that? And everyday, I think, 'OK, today's the day. Today, I will be disgusting and poop in little wee containers and bring them to the lab and be all embarrassed

I have to buy a swimsuit, guys. And the only ones I've found so far are at least $100, which makes me convulse. And what makes my limbs flail about like they're attached to a marionette is this: I can't find one that kindly hides the fact that my chestuals are, shall we say, lopsided. Okay, there you have it. I've said it. Okay?! Yes, my mammaries are not the same size. Slut, will you still sleep with me in New York City? I promise to keep my lactoids unexposed. So, like I said, I need a swimsuit, because we're going to Florida in a few weeks, and although I'm sure everyone will be in the hotel pool more than a few times during our stay, I'm not so sure about myself, but I DO know I'll be in the hot tub with a plastic cup filled to the brim with cheap wine. So, I need a swimsuit. The good thing is, I probably won't much care what I look like (because of the cheap wine), so why spend $100-plus on a swimsuit, I ask you. The problem is, I don't hav

Here I sit, brokenhearted. Paid a dime, only ... Wait! I sort of went off on a tangent there. What I MEANT to say was: Here I sit, brokenhearted, waiting for my intestines to stop cramping so that I can plan my day, seeing as I've spent the past three days prostrate on either the couch or an unmade bed, writhing in pain as I battle yet another migraine IN ADDITION to the continuing saga of the uncooperative abdominal cavity. It's quite disconcerting, really, because you see, I have so much to do in the next couple of weeks that, when I think about it too much, I get all discombobulated (even more than usual) and I end up having a panic attack, which makes me have to lie down in the fetal position and suck my thumb while I watch The Duggars on 18 Kids and Counting over and over again. It would really be enough to say that Christmas is just around the corner, and with that, all the stress. We here take the Christmas season very seriously. Let me just say that, without Christmas

If you've read my blog for a while, you'll know all too well I try to inject a little humour (yes, that's what it's supposed to be ... now you know you're supposed to laugh) into my posts, regardless of how mundane or solemn their topics might be. Lately, however, I've been finding it kind of difficult to come up with the funnies. I can't explain it. These crazy and strange ideas usually just fly off the tip of my skull and onto the page without much effort at all, but recently, it's been a chore. A real chore. It's very hard being funny. And I don't mean funny-looking, because I do that real well. Funny-sounding, I also get top marks for. Especially lately, with my toiletting dilemmas. By the way, our upstairs toilet broke yesterday morning. And yes, I seem to have broken it, although Mr. Handsome thought it was his doing until I opened my big mouth and corrected him. If only I could learn to keep my huge gob shut once in a while and allow the

It's hard to keep a blog going. God help me. I only do three posts a week, for god's sake. You'd think I'd be able to at least manage that. But nooooo, I can't. That's probably because I'm still on the toilet 20 times a day . But, at the time of this writing, my explosive diarrheaic episodes seem to be waning. For the past two days, I'm down to about five explosions per day, which is a miracle of sorts, I'd have to say. Now, if I could only get the 15 nightly implosions that continue to barrage my insides as I try to sleep, I'd be one happy camper. I'm not sure why I feel so stressed lately, but I know I am, because my fingertips are bloody. Apparently, I've adopted this relatively new habit of gnawing on them until all the skin is gone and all that's left is exposed, raw flesh. It even hurts to type, which, now that I think of it, may be why I've only been posting once a week. I'm wondering if maybe it's because I'm

It's been a week since I last posted anything about my amazingly exciting life, and for that, I apologize profusely. I've been so crazy busy, though, that I'm surprised I'm still thinking straight. Okay, I lied. I haven't been busy at all. Not really, anyway. Unless, of course, you consider sitting on the toilet for 16 out of 24 hours every day busy, moaning as your insides are no longer inside. That awful noise you heard the other night that woke you out of your wonderfully deep sleep? Yeah, that was me. On the toilet. I'm STILL sick, and I'm sick and tired of being sick...and tired. I finally got in to see my doctor, and told him I've had this stomach thing going on four weeks now, and isn't enough enough when it comes to diarrhea? And you know what? He agreed. There is, in fact, a stomach virus making the rounds in the nation's capital, but four weeks is still an awfully long time. He told me to take some Imodium to try and settle things down

I took great joy in watching two crows throw our garbage across our lawn last Thursday morning. Because, as I watched one crow stand on our recycling bin and gingerly pick up one piece of paper after another, and throw it off the side of the box and onto the lawn, the only thing I could think of was my wonderful neighbour coming over as soon as she had a moment and picking up all our garbage so that our lawn would look presentable to her again. And that, my friends, made my day complete. And then I wondered why the crow was doing that in the first place. The only thing I could think of was that this fine crow had, in fact, a great sense of humour. Subsequently, I wanted to meet this crow and take him out for a drink. Mr. Handsome (who spent Thursday morning at home recuperating from his workshop, which went quite well) then ran out in his underwear and shouted obscenities at the crows, and my entertainment for the day ended. He's such a spoilsport. Then I thought that perhaps thes