Holy Mackerel

Guys, I can hardly believe my amazing luck and good fortune. You won't believe this. Just a few blocks from my house, just up the street, are hundreds upon hundreds ... of uniformed policemen, firefighters, and paramedics. And you all know how I feel about these guys, right? Well, if you don't, let me just put it this way: put me in front of a Dairy Queen chute full of endless chocolate-dipped soft serves, a Cheetos factory, and these guys, and the uniformed men win, hands down. Oh. My. God. Okay, just imagine ... you're driving down the street, and suddenly, a gaggle of hot, muscular, sweaty men in uniform gather in front of your eyes. That's what I saw as I drove in to work. And can I say that I actually enjoyed going into the office for a change? Because there they were, right in front of me as I turned the corner and neared the stoplight: a veritable slew of paramedics and firefighters, a field of tents, and lots of testosterone. I think my neck underwent a bit of

The kids come home tomorrow afternoon. Bittersweet, it is. Because I love my kids, and I miss them when they're gone for 11 days straight, but I sure don't look forward to the constant bickering, quarrelling, nasty comments, and WWF rounds in our living room every single day when they return. I'm sure they had a blast at camp. They went to Camp Trillium , a camp for kids with cancer and their siblings. It's located on Garratt's Island, which is close to Picton, Ont., which is nowhere really for most of you reading this, but I'm mapquesting a link for it anyway because I'm nothing if I'm not meticulous and helpful. Except when it actually matters. Then, don't bother looking for me, 'cuz I won't be there, homie. Camp gives the kids the chance to just hang, and have nothing but fun from morning to night. It also gives us (read parents) a break from the daily routine (see above), which is really sanity-saving, to say the least. Dee and Em look f

Today's lesson is about Kobe. You know Kobe the Japanese cow ? Yeah, that one. I had the pleasure of meeting Kobe Saturday night when Mr. Handsome and I took advantage of the fact that Em and Dee are still at camp and we are spawnless, so we went out for an actual nice dinner at a place called Milestones . This was a first for us at this eclectic restaurant, a place I've wanted to try for a couple of years now, but have never gotten around to because there are more important things that keep coming up, like laundry and grocery shopping, and washing hair. Anyway, Mr. Handsome left it totally up to me to choose a place, which was stressful because I don't do well with choices. Ask me to choose which crayon to use, and I have to take an extra Xanax. I started out choosing a Japanese restaurant, but Mr. Handsome made one of his faces at me, which told me he wasn't happy about it but would go and pretend to enjoy it for me, so that one went out the window pretty quickl

Hey guys!! Guess what today is!! That's right! It's Shannon Tweed Day here in town! As if you didn't already know, she is an Ottawa gal, now shacking up with Gene Simmons of Kiss fame. However, as I just found out, Ottawa council has now proclaimed that Shannon Tweed cannot in fact have a day, eh. Why? Because she was a Playboy playmate, that's why. Whatev, guys, because everyone wishes they could put Playboy playmate on their CV when they're looking for a job with the municipal government. Damn right. Oh, I remember those days back in the 1970s, when I heard she was named Ottawa Valley Girl, while I was a lowly high school student trying to look like Farrah Fawcett, except my nipples wouldn't get all perky like hers did in that red bathing suit, so it was all for naught. Yes, that's right. Shannon Tweed was an Ottawan. There's hope for me yet... I like Shannon Tweed, although I remember being disappointed in her when I found out she had left Ottawa an

Mr. Handsome is a true man. For what other man could spend an entire weekend putting together a basketball net for his son? He found the net online at some place in the United States, because apparently all they have available here in Canada are those portable nets with the big black stands that Mr. Handsome decided weren't good enough for our family. Everyone in the neighbourhood seems to have one, so we had to one-up them, apparently. The net was Fed Exed to us the other week, and the battle began. That Saturday at noon, Mr. Handsome sets all the little nuts, bolts and other doodads on the floor, proclaiming his space and the importance of his task at hand. I, on the other hand, quietly went about my business of solving the world's latest economic crisis, and doing 10 loads of laundry. Oh, and supplying my dear husband with coffee while he toiled over the basketball net. I knew this was real serious business when the tools came out. And when I say tools, I mean all the tools

Today some rich people yelled at me. And I say, "Bring it on!" More power to you, rich, snobby people with the airs and the perfectly manicured lawns, and with more time on your hands than you know what to do with. You go right ahead and yell at me, and point your gnarly little rich fingers at me, and scuff rich dirt in my face. We all know you do these things because in your heart of hearts, you know I'm better than you, always were, always will be. It all started when I dropped Dee off for his soccer game on Wednesday. The field where he plays most of his games is located in a "hot" neighbourhood. It's an old neighbourhood, one that has been rejuvenated, with young rich blood coming in, tearing down the old homes and building gargantuan mansions and castles and things. It's always been a nice area, but now, it's THE area to live in, if you know what I mean. In case you don't know what I mean, what I mean is that, you want to live here because

Many of you live in the US of A, I realize. So, for you, July 4 is like the be all and end all of summertime holidays. For we Canajuns, it's July 1, Canada's Birthday. The day Canada became Canada. It happened 142 years ago. That's a long time ago. I feel older than that most days. And I also realize I probably look that old. Not only that, but I realize that this post should have been posted last week. Such is how I roll lately. I planned on spending the day with the family, doing fun family things that fun families do on Canada Day, like going for a bike ride, all cheery-like, or maybe going for a picnic and enjoying the warm summer breeze, or perhaps going to the beach, since we in Ottawa are fortunate to have plenty of beaches to enjoy. But nay, guys, none of those things happened. Why, you ask? Because it was cloudy. And cool. And the weatherman said it was going to rain. But it didn't, guys. And that just pissed me off even more. Which made me want to do nothing

My son does it right. Any job he has to do, he sings. Washing the dishes (as he's doing right now as I write), he's singing a song he's made up in his head. When he vacuums the downstairs, he sings. Taking out the garbage, he sings. And it's not just any song. It's often a song he's totally made up, with pretend words and a tune that plays somewhere in his head. And it's always happy, and full of life. I once asked him why he sings all the time. "Because, Mommy, it makes the job much easier." I'll have to remember that next time I'm on the verge of tears at my job. Singing makes it much better. Thanks for the reminder, Dee.

There is probably nothing more irritating than standing in a grocery check-out line, being in a hurry, and watching as the cashier slowly takes each of a customer's items, passes them through the scanner, one by one, ever so slowly, and in-between each scan, tells the customer a story that said customer really couldn't give two hoots about. I dare you to find anything so unamusing, frustrating, and homicide-inducing, except perhaps when your husband throws a pair of his used underwear across the room and they land on your head and then he laughs because he thinks he's so farking funny. I happened upon perhaps the most irritating such cashier last week, on a day when I had both a migraine and a very sore arthritic foot, and I was in a big hurry to get back home, and the last thing I wanted was this guy taking his bloody time with the food scans. But take his bloody time he did. I should have known when I got into the line, seeing as every other line was three times as long.

Mutant flies have invaded our home. Mr. Handsome spent the entire weekend killing these larger-than-life flies that had suddenly appeared, as if overnight. One day, no flies. The next, a fly inundation of epic proportion. To the tune of Queen's Another One Bites The Dust , Mr. Handsome made it his job to kill every single flying monster that appeared. And appear they did, over and over and over again. As soon as he would be finishing off the last of 20-some flies, another group of 20 would start flitting around, coming from out of nowhere. And these weren't just your average house fly. Nay. These flies, they are the Hulk version of the house fly. They're all relatively young flies (how can I tell, you ask? Because they don't yet react to movement. They just sit there, oblivious to everything around them, kind of like most husbands), but these flies are the size of three full-grown house flies. I kid you not. They're HUGE. Both Mr. Handsome and I came home from wor