Is There Anybody Out There?

Hi there! I thought I’d drop a quick note to let you know I am still alive. Cause y’all are beside yourselves with worry over my whereabouts, right? RIGHT?!?!

I hate teenage girls. Except my own. The rest of them are hateful little drama queen’s intent on absorbing all of the attention in a kilometre radius like a black fucking hole. Casualties be damned.

My head is apparently attempting to mutiny. I would happily oblige by decapitating myself to end the pain but I’m afraid that may be detrimental to the health of my body and mind. They seem to be terribly co-dependent. Who am I to separate them? Though my head is threatening what seems an infinite migraine.

I am nearly done my Christmas shopping but for the boy. It’s the same thing every year. I have the wickedest time buying for him. Is it because he’s easy to please or because he already has so much? A little of both really. Other than that? Stocking stuffers; which are a cake walk. Buy 10 lbs of chocolate and divide it between 4 stockings and by December 31st we have all gained 10 lbs. Do not question the math, you know it to be accurate, you have witnessed this phenomenon personally. The question of stuffers becomes a smidgen more difficult if I am required to put anymore thought into them.

I read Coraline this weekend between bouts of debilitating pain. It’s a book! Whodda thunk it? Review to follow.

I watched Inglorious Basterds on the weekend. Brace yourself because I am about to make a very bold statement I know many of you will not agree with. Are you ready? Quentin Tarantino is a genius. I adore him. Yes, it was that good. A tad gory for my tastes (not constant, but definitely copious when it was), but the dialogue was fantastic. I would have watched The Hangover as well but (and this will come as no surprise to many of you), I fell asleep. Oh yes! A party animal am I. I find myself hard pressed to stay awake past Midnight these days.

Table for One? Not On Your Life!

The following post will be written by several of my personalities. Most of whom I manage to keep in check most of the time. This week, however? This week has been a Shit storm from the onset (for the purpose of this blog post a week is a rolling 7 day period as opposed to the more traditional Sunday to Saturday definition). But maybe not as bad as all that. - See? Conflicting buggers! - So it will be both a pity party and gut churningly - Microsoft doesn’t believe ‘churningly’ is a word. You know what I got to say to Microsoft? Fuck off! It is now! – Where was I? Oh, yeah! Gut churningly cheery and optimistic. Also, it’s about to get way personal up in here!

First, the Cannonball. Yes I am still reading, albeit at a snail’s pace. Yes, snails read and yes they read slow. Poor, speed challenged molluscs (Canadian spelling, my Ameri-friends). Anyhoo, maybe if I had picked something a little smaller, I may have finished it. But I didn’t. I’m on the third book in the Outlander series and the thing is enormous. 900 + pages and while the story is fantabulous (oh! Fantabulous is a word but you underline ‘churningly’? I repeat; Fuck off, Microsoft!) I’m feeling a little overwhelmed at present. Evidence to follow. Also, because it’s a series and I’ve started the next book, I’m having trouble remembering where one ends and another begins and Dani has my book, and I am too lazy to go looking up the info I require on the World Wide Webs. A review is forthcoming. Promise.

For those of you that have the benefit of being my friend on Crackbook/Facespace, speak to me on the phone or know me in person, you already know I had my hair done for my work Christmas party on Saturday. Not an up do. I’m not an up do kinda girl, but I had it cut, coloured and highlighted. All for one low price of $75. Because my stylist is an angel and she decided about a year ago she no longer wanted to be a slave to the man, so she opened up shop in her in-laws house (read: she had a baby and the in-laws are what you call ‘built-in babysitters’). No longer having to pay astronomical chair fees equates to charging her clients less. Yay for me! Which is exactly what I was thinking when I backed my car into a tree in her driveway!

Fuckin’, fuckity, fucker, fuck. My car is new. I got it in February. I have the worst luck with vehicles. Seriously, if you suspect mechanical trouble with your mode of personal transportation; please, allow me to take it for a spin around the block and I assure it will have fallen apart by the time I return. Also, I am easily distracted and my attention span is very tiny. And I’m unobservant. I pray the Ministry of Transportation never finds my blog because they will insist I hand over my license to operate a motor vehicle.

I won’t drone on too much about the work party because Dani did a wonderful job summing up the festivities and you have probably already read that. What? You haven’t?!? Whas amatta wit’ ya? –haha, I think spell check just died! - Go on, read it now! K, now that that’s fixed; The party was a big plate of Meh. I drank 7 (7!) Ceasar’s with jalapeño infused vodka (those are Bloody Marys for my Ameri-friends (damn y’all are high maintenance)). Those were yummy, mmm mmm good. I was breathing fire before the night was out but well worth it, I gotta tell ya. And one dirty gin Martini. I am a cheap drunk. Which is the reason I can say, without fear of being wrong, that shit was watered down. I walked out of there stone-cold sober. 8 alcoholic beverages and I should have been telling everyone how much I loved them, I should have been dancing like nobody was watching, I should not have had a care in the world. Not the case.

Note to the people who run the establishment that disappointed me last Saturday evening: do not water down your alcohol. Some of us depend on a little jalapeño infused lubrication when attending functions of the sort I was obligated to attend that night and are sorely let down when the expected release of tension is not forthcoming. Your only saving grace in the matter, Sirs, is that I did not pay one shiny penny for the waste of time. Thank you.

Now, a little back story; my husband is the light of my life. There are few men on the earth as wonderful as he. He is not without fault, but his strengths far outweigh his shortcomings. As a rule, I am single minded in my devotion, there isn’t anyone who will sing his praises as loudly or as zealously. As a rule. But there are exceptions to every goddamned rule, are there not?
As much as I adore my man and as much as I believe we are made for one another, ours has not been an easy road. And right now, that road is rocky. You see, the move to Nova Scotia was not enjoyable for me. I have nothing against the province itself (it is a lovely place), but moving here effected me in one negative way after another. Mostly in the employment department, but not exclusively. I had a job I loved that made good money. I worked for the same company when we moved but my hours were cut considerably. Consequently, so was my pay cheque. Stress, no? Let’s also make a few bad decisions (such as my current place of employment, where I still do not make the money I made in Ontario and my boss is well, Narci). Add to that the absence of all of the family and friends I was used to having at fingers reach. Stir in the utter lack of ability to deal with the mounting stress. Sadly, life did not stop to allow Eyvi time to recoup. Even sadder still, is that Eyvi (yes, I enjoy referring to myself in the third person) allowed this to effect not just her married life but her family life. I’ve allowed the anger, sadness and disappointment at my current lot in life to weave its way into the one place I shouldn’t have; home. In short, I felt sorry for myself and didn’t take other’s feelings into account. So it should come as no surprise to anyone (but myself of course, because I’m self-absorbed dammit) when my family started getting sick of my pity party. My kids being adorable little angels haven’t said anything, of course, because that would be insolent and I would have to beat them – I am kidding, put down the phone! There is no need to call the CAS – but my husband and I had a talk on Sunday about the unhappy. The anger. The D-word was mentioned. No, I have no qualms repeatedly typing fuck, but I will not type out that word, because if I don’t type it, it doesn’t exist. So, what’s a quick cure for a case of the” I feel sorry for me’s?” Point out the effect of that particular infliction on your loved ones. It’s been pointed out before, by the way, but apparently I need to have it beaten into my skull because subtleties are lost on me. In fact, I’m such an obtuse ass I thought “fine, maybe it’s true; maybe we’ve come to an impasse”. I took a little time to think about it though and I have to admit; I’ma have to shoulder the brunt of the blame here.

I know there are a number of you who are chomping at the bit right now and you want to point out that it takes two to tango and yadda yadda. But I accounted for that, remember? I told you how fantastic he is. Up there (I’d provide an arrow pointing up, but I don’t know how). I also mentioned that he has his faults, too. And a few of them are doozie’s. See? Totally got ya covered. But trust me when I say this – and yes, you may check if hell has frozen over or if pigs are flying – this is almost all my fault. Any differences we might have that make our road require the use of a 4X4 occasionally, are one thing. One of us moping around feeling bad for themselves for the better part of two years and taking said feelings out on those around them is another thing entirely.

So, fun new skill for me; reining in the selfish bitch before she’s pointed out to me.

Oh! I told y’all I joined Weight Watchers, right? Well I lost 4lbs last week! Yippee! Fun fact: 7 Ceasar’s = 21.5 points (60 was the entire night! Sorry, Dani, I misremembered). Oops, hehe.

Finally, (cause that really is enough for one fuckin’ day, isn’t it) Christmas is right around the corner. Right there, see it? I know! I’m excited too! I love Christmas. I love everything about Christmas; the giving, the receiving (I really like receiving), the cooking, the baking, the eating (again, really like), the pretty lights, the pretty paper (starting to sound like a Willie Nelson song). You get the idea. The hubby and the kids have a couple of weeks off, I have at least 5 consecutive days off (on the right days too, imagine the luck!). Here’s an early Christmas wish to you and yours, I hope it is everything you want it to be!

Told ya it was gonna be a roller coster ride.

It's Famous, I Tell Ya!

Tomorrow, my husband will attend a pot-luck lunch at work. Being a man of minimal cooking ability he will unfailingly offer up my services to make a dish when asked for his contribution. His go-to dish used to be beet salad. Yes, you read that right.

The majority of my family is from the great province of Newfoundland. Home of a vast array of edible ocean creatures, vision impairing moonshine, the yummy bake apple and beet salad. Beet salad is a simple concoction: mashed potatoes, mayo, sugar and pickled beets.

Early in our relationship I presented this dish (among others; never mention the flying Honey N' Garlic chicken wing, I'm afraid the trauma is still too fresh) as evidence of my superior culinary skills to my (not quite) husband. I was, as I am sure you can understand, apprehensive. I worried he, being of Finnish and Australian heritage, would look upon my humble offering with distaste. It is an unusual dish. My worries were unfounded. He did not turn up his nose. In fact, he embraced my quirky pink potato salad with delight. It quickly advanced to the top of his favourites list. So much so, that he began to volunteer my salad for every potluck, every backyard party, for every event where it might be acceptable to bring food.

I glowed with pride, in the beginning. I soon tired of explaining the significance of the salad, assuring the non-believers that it is a traditional Newfie salad, encouraging the more courageous. Eventually, I began suggesting other dishes. I understood the usual reaction, the salad is PINK, for the love of Pete! Had I never encountered it before, I would question it as well. As it is, I've been eating since I was this big. But he never wavered. Until this week.

I do enjoy a good beet salad. The potato salad I prefer to present to polite company however, is much less controversial. Not any less traditional, though. Auntie taught my Mother how to make potato salad and Mom taught me. I've tweaked it a little over time, so it has my stamp, but it is essentially Auntie's salad. This salad I have never had to explain, there was never a need to encourage anyone to try it. It does have a little surprise, though. It's a regular ol' potato salad with egg and mayo, whatever spices you might like to add for a little more flavour, a little onion perhaps. Auntie put apples in hers, and so did Mom, and so do I. Simple enough, but nummy just the same. A crowd pleaser as well, my potato salad was always invited back.

It has probably been about 14 years since I introduced my husband to beet salad. I brought it to every event he asked me to for approximately 10 of those years. This week he asked me to make potato salad. Not My potato salad mind you. I don't think he likes apple-y potato salad half as much as he likes the beets and so, it makes no sense to him that I should prefer to make the apple one. I do, though and I did.

I find I may just miss making the beet salad for the unsuspecting party-goers. Fickle, aren't I?

No Whining Wednesday, I Would Never Forget You!

I know I've been lax in my posting duties here lately and for that I apologize. Not that anyone has complained about my silence. I know you've missed my regular wit-filled wonders though, didn't you? Didn't you!?!

Guess what made my NWW just the bestest? I bought a plane ticket. To where, you ask? Well, let me tell you; I'm going home! I'm going home! -Home is Toronto, for those of you that haven't been paying attention. Now, smarten up! There will be a test!- Only for 6 days, but it is going to be 6 glorious days spent in the awesome company of my sister and my cousin. Both of whom I miss so much it causes me physical pain. Cause I'm needy like that. Oh, did I mention that it's for my birthday? And my sister's birthday is 8 days after mine, so it wouldn't be unacceptable if we celebrated both, simultaneously. Not to worry, we plan to warn the local authorities. I'm going to see my Mom, too and hopefully, Auntie and Mad Max. Everyone combined? The pressure has reached dangerous levels. I feel like I may explode. Also? The ticket was wicked cheap. I couldn't have justified the expense, otherwise. I have to admit though; I'm a wee bit apprehensive about flying in February. Please do not regale me with your extensive knowledge of anything air traffic related. In my case; ignorance is bliss.

Wanna know what else I got to be happy 'bout? Do ya? Do ya? Huh? I have managed to walk for at least 45 minutes a night regularly, for a month. If you know the potential for lazy I possess, then you understand this is a fantastic feat. AND for 4 days in a row I got out of bed at an ungodly hour and used the elliptical that has spent an alarming amount of time posing as a dust catcher. Amazing, right? Inspired by my seemingly endless will power, I also re-joined Weight Watchers. I kinda feel invincible right now.

That's just a little something to keep y'all hanging on. Cause I know you hang off my every word! I cannot be held solely responsible for my absence though (cause, I'm all about passing the buck). I have discovered so many wonderful blogs that by the time I catch up on all the writing you're doing, I haven't time to write anything myself. So really, who is to blame here?

Ta-ta for now!

Another Award? Seriously, You May Need a Recount.

Yep, you read that right. Cynica Sarcastamos saw fit to bestow the Awesome Blogger award on me. This means I am required to tell you, my devoted followers 7 things you didn't know about me. So here we go boys and girls, this is gonna be quick and dirty.


1. My first serious boyfriend was a crack addict and a criminal. I thought I could fix him.

2. I moved out of my Mom's house when I was 16 years old.

3. I was an obstinate teenager (see 1 & 2). I'm an obstinate adult (ok, so you knew that).

4. I am afraid of the dark. Seriously. You want to cause me irreparable damage? Throw me in a dark room (especially an unfamiliar one), and lock the door. I will curl into a ball and cry like a baby while imagining unspeakable horrors in the dark.

5. I have never broken a bone. I am tough as nails.



6. I like my steak served blue. Google it. When you are done tossing your cookies, don't yell at me. I am not going to make you eat it. If you didn't toss your cookies, congratulations, you earn one brownie point.

7. I am a lucid dreamer. Which means I can control my dreams. While I sleep, I am the coolest, happiest, most successful me. Is there any wonder I like to sleep?

Good Gawd, that was difficult. I must admit though, while I am a crazy embarrassed by these crazy awards, I am also pleased as punch.

Now, it's your turn. You didn't think I was going to suffer through this alone, did you? Oh no, my friends, misery loves company!



1. never passing this way again
2. Anna von Beaverplatz
3. Platitude Paradise
4. An Oreo in Trouble
5. Girl with Curious Hair
6. Welcome to Stabbymart
7. Xtremely Boring/Ragey

And because I'm feeling rebellious (even though misery loves company, but remember how lonely I'll be), I am not going to insist you follow the rules and post 7 things about yourselves (Although, I love to learn more about y'all). I'm also not going to insist you nominate 7 more bloggers, because that shit is hard. I don't want to hurt any one's feelings!

Cannonball Read II - Book #2: Inkheart by Cornelia Funke

My second effort for the Cannonball Read was Inkheart by Cornelia Funke. The book is about a young girl named Meggie and the secret her father has hidden from her entire life. Meggie’s father, Mo, is a reader; when he reads out loud the story comes to life. Literally. In doing so, Mo has managed to read several less than desirable characters out of the novel Inkheart, including the black hearted Capricorn (get it?), his devout minions, and the fire-eating Dustfinger and his trusty marten. The catch? For every character or object Mo reads out of a story something from our world must inexplicably replace it. Mo is forced to tell Meggie that this is the explanation for her mother’s disappearance and subsequent absence from the previous nine years when it becomes apparent that Capricorn will stop at nothing to possess the copy of Inkheart that Mo owns.

Sounds like a solid idea, right? I thought so as well and in different hands this story could have been much different. Much better. I understand Inkheart is Cornelia Funke’s sophomore effort and her first novel, The Thief Lord, was highly praised. I can’t imagine why and I’ll never find out. I wouldn’t go so far as to say she can’t write, I just didn’t enjoy her writing. I am sure she is adequate technically, but she failed to pull me in. The characters felt one dimensional. I couldn’t have cared any less about whether they managed to rescue Meggie’s Mom. I never once truly feared for anyone’s safety. Dustfinger’s actions left me impassive. The story was repetitive. Capture, rescue, escape, betrayal, repeat. The entire novel fell flat. Sadly, I won’t read the other two in the series, Inkspell and Inkdeath. I am so apathetic; I won’t even write another paragraph.

Flu Assessed

My daughter came home from a weekend away with a fever and chest racking cough. My first thought? Swine Flu, of course. Now, I’m not an overprotective, hypochondriac type normally, but three of her friends had already been diagnosed and her symptoms were very literally the first 5 symptoms listed on Public Health Agency of Canada’s website and so I thought it a good idea to get her to a damned doctor. Imagine my dismay when I discover the medical community has far different ideas from my own.

I get up bright and early Monday morning to be sure I am the first voice my Doctor’s receptionist hears that day after a night of listening to my poor kid hack up a lung. Her coughing was so bad in fact that when she finally stopped, around 4:30 am, I had to check on her. This, after 2 tablespoons of a cough suppressant. Back to the Doctor’s office. The receptionist informs me they are not seeing possible cases of the H1N1, I have to take my daughter to the Flu Assessment Clinic set up at such and such an address for patients such as my daughter. Is there a doctor there, I ask. Oh yes, of course, I’m told. And so, I wait until noon (when the clinic opens), load my sick child into the car, cursing all the while because I am expecting a clinic full of hypochondriacs and real sick people causing a ridiculously long wait when my child could see her family doctor, be in and out in no time and be back home, snuggled up on the couch watching movies and drifting comfortably in and out of healing sleep.

At the Flu Assessment Clinic, we are greeted by security guards (yes! Security Guards!). My daughter asked me why the clinic needs security guards. Fucked if I know, babygirl, was my reply. They block the inner door whilst insisting we sanitize our hands and don the facemasks provided in the vestibule before permitting us to enter the Clinic. Then we are instructed to take a number. Luckily, we were the second people to arrive and so our wait was a short one. We are called into one of the patient’s rooms, where a Nurse introduces herself, pulls out a carbon form (triplicates! who in the holy hell are they all going to?) and proceeds with the questionnaire. We answer all of the questions, she dutifully checks off our responses on the form. Perhaps we’ll see the doctor now? No, no such luck. She then tells us my daughter may or may not have the regular seasonal flu, possibly H1N1 and it might be a regular run of the mill cold. All of which I knew myself and I said as much. She smiles and says they stopped doing the swabs because they were too time consuming. Just watch out for this and that and keep her home from school for the rest of the week. Apparently, Google is giving away nursing degrees, because that's what Google said. They did nothing. Waste of Time.

Just An Excuse

Let’s play a little catch up, K? I’ve been crazy busy because the military hates me and seems to think my husband doesn’t need to be at home right now. Seriously, he was gone a week, home a week, stir, add lime, repeat. A couple more times, just to make sure you’ve got the taste. So, in the mean time, rather than making up for lost time and building up the reserves for when he’s gone again, guess what hubby and I have been up to? We’ve been catching up on the first season of The Legend of the Seeker. Don’t know what I’m talking about? Doesn’t really surprise me. The Legend of the Seeker is a television series based loosely on The Sword of Truth books by Terry Goodkind. Absolutely, gloriously full of cheese! It’s fantastic! I love that my husband is nearly as nerdy as me (in fact, it could be argued that he created this particular facet of my nerd) or is content to go along for the crazy ride with me and let me enjoy the gratuitous helping of Craig Horner abs.

I am desperately trying to complete my second book for the CBR II, Inkheart. Not a terribly bad book, just not a terribly good one either. I won’t say anything more lest I spoil my review!

After all the hype surrounding the fundraiser last week, work is painfully quiet. Aside from taking two telephone calls trying to explain why the bank requires an inspection done by an accredited appraiser before they will release funds to continue construction on my client’s house, instead of accepting the inspection done by the municipality. So, since my client seems to be opposed to asking the municipal employee himself whether or not he is accredited, I have called to ask myself. He has yet to return my call. Also, the same client’s lawyer called and left a message for me to call him yesterday, I returned his call this morning and now I’m waiting for him to return my call. Nobody is calling me back. Literally. It’s been like this all week. I might get a complex.

Has anyone round these parts noticed I’m a bit of a Daddy’s Girl? I’m here to tell you that I am. I won’t go into great detail but whenever I have to confront my Father with what I deem to be a controversial subject (read: anything I think will make him mad) I get very, very nervous. I would endure unspeakable tortures before raising my Father’s temper without just cause. And the cause is somewhat subject to interpretation depending on how brave I happen to be on any given day. I have abandoned entire crusades in the name of peace between my Father and I. Well, one crusade in particular really. It happens that this particular situation of which I speak came to a head a couple of months ago and it took me a couple of months to gather the courage to talk to my Dad about it. Ready, willing and able to defend my stance, I broached the subject. Turns out, I got myself in an unnecessary tizzy. I usually do, by the way. My Dad has a short fuse, but the blast is hardly ever as bad as I remember it. In fact, this go ‘round there was no blast at all. Someone please remind me I have a tendency to blow things out of proportion next time (my husband does, regularly). But it wasn’t the lack of blast that was a relief, it was the response itself. Sorry to be so vague, but the story is a long one and to make you understand a five minute conversation, I’d have to tell you damn near my life story.

CBR II - Book #1: Outlander by Diana Gabaldon

I finally finished my first book for the Cannonball Read 2. Let me ask you this. Who picks an eight hundred page book to read in a week while her husband is away, she is a part of planning 2 fundraisers, is working full time and has two children with various extra-curricular activities? Me, that’s who! In case you were wondering; yes, I am a bit of a sucker for punishment.

Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander was recommended to me by a co-worker. It didn’t really sound like my idea of a good time because I don’t normally enjoy Harlequin Romances. In my stubbornness to stick with what I knew, I perceived the way this was presented to me as a Harlequin. That conversation ended badly, but I decided to read the book anyway. Turns out, I’m glad I did.

As the Second World War winds down, Claire reunites with her husband after a ridiculously long separation caused by their serving in said war, she as a nurse and he as a soldier. While enjoying a second honeymoon in the Scottish Highlands, Claire and her husband, Frank Randall, witness a modern day druid ceremony at a set of standing stones. When the ceremony has concluded, being a bit of an amateur botanist, Claire is drawn to a flower amongst the stones. But Frank’s attention has grown short and he wants to get back to whatever it was he was doing back in town. Genealogy, probably; Frank has just discovered information pertaining to his several times great-grandfather, Jack Randall, a Captain in the English Military during the eighteenth century. Just in case it isn’t abundantly clear, Frank bored me to tears and I am grateful he only occupied a very small portion of the beginning of the book. So, Claire resigns herself to returning for the flower later.

Return she does. And this is where the going gets good. When she returns to the stones, Claire finds she can hear a ‘buzzing like bees’ that intensifies as she draws closer to one stone in particular on which she rests her hand. Claire is overcome. When she recovers she believes herself to be in the middle of a re-enactment or filming of a period movie, because of sounds of battle nearby and attempts to find her way back home. It becomes clear to Claire that things are not as they should be. Her surroundings are the same, yet different. Claire hasn’t quite figured it out yet, but you and I have (and if you haven’t maybe you should read this after you do), our little English nurse has been hurtled back in time. She encounters an English army man who could pass as Frank’s twin. But he’s not Frank, not by a long shot. No, this is the infamous Captain Jack Randall and, taking in her clothing, pegs her a whore and attempts to have is way with her. Before much damage is done she is rescued by a Scotsmen who then brings her to his travelling party. It is here she meets the absolutely adorable Jamie Fraser (oh darn! Am I being obvious again?). His shoulder has been dislocated in a scuffle with the English. Being a nurse during the war, Claire wrestles the young man’s shoulder back into its rightful place.

And so begins the adventure and romance of Jamie and Claire. They are met with resistance that takes many shapes, including themselves. They are forced to marry to protect Claire from Jack Randall and then realize they’ve fallen in love. There is sex, lies and no videotape (cause it’s 1743, silly) but a good helping of violence. And time travel! And some of the difficulties that come with it.

Diana Gabaldon has done a fantastic job of painting the mid-eighteenth century life in Scotland. My knowledge of Scottish history would fill a thimble, if I am lucky, but she makes it believable. The characters are real. They are heroic, without being untouchable. They have flaws. I dare you not to feel despair when Jamie leaves Claire at the stones. Tell me your gut doesn’t wrench when Jamie talks of his imprisonment. Tell me you aren’t able to affect a near perfect Scottish accent when you’re through reading Outlander, which is a bonus really, because when is a Scottish accent not cool?

This book is a far cry from Harlequin (unless Harlequin has evolved since I last read one) and I would recommend it as a romance, and an adventure with a little sci-fi-ishness thrown in for good measure.

The Answer to Your Question

So this is where I tell you the artist and titles to the song lyrics I posted yesterday. For the record, Danica won. She doesn't get anything but bragging rights, but you can bet your ass she is gonna exercise them rights! My hubby (who shall remain nameless) only got three of them (3!). My Dad (who is apparently still reading my blog, yay!) got 5. gp gets 5.5 because he got 5 right and was really very close to another.

1. He oversees his kingdom, so no stranger does intrude. His voice it trembles as he calls out for another plate of food. Bob Dylan, One More Cup of Coffee

2. White ones, black ones, yellow ones, red ones. Necrophiliacs looking for dead ones. Dr. Hook, Freakin' at the Freaker's Ball.

3. This is it, last straw, that’s all, that’s it. I ain't dealing with another fucking politic. Eminem, Run, Rabbit, Run!

4. Gonna give my heart away. Leave it to the other girls to play. For I’ve been a temptress too long. Portishead, Give Me A Reason To Love You.

5. Rise up and take the power back, it’s time the fat cats had a heart attack. Muse, The Uprising

6. But um, they gave chase, they caught up quick. They started cryin’ on my shoes and grabbin’ my dick. Snoop Dogg, Lodi Dodi

7. He chased us with bullets, he rained us with shells, and in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell. The Pogues, And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda.

8. And if I seem to be confused, I didn’t mean to be with you. And when you said I scared you, well, I guess you scared me too. Concrete Blonde, Joey

9. Well, we drank champagne and danced all night under electric candlelight. The Kinks, Lola

10. I need no soft lights to enchant me, if you would only grant me the right to hold you ever so tight. Norah Jones, The Nearness of You.


Until the next Seriously Random Quiz, G'nite!

My Version of The Internet's Hottest Sensation

Today is the day I will make up for the lack of posts lately. First, I am going to steal a popular idea from Danica and Xtreme, The Seriously Random Quiz (although the randomness of these quizzes could rightly be called in to question at this point). Then I will take care of my award. Yes, I am award worthy! And finally, the NWW post, which won’t come till later tonight.

My Seriously Random Quiz will require you to guess either the artist or the song based on the lyrics I provide. I have eclectic taste in music. You have been warned. And I don’t want to have to go postal on y’all or release the Assassin Kitteh like Danica, so please play!

1. He oversees his kingdom, so no stranger does intrude. His voice it trembles as he calls out for another plate of food.

2. White ones, black ones, yellow ones, red ones. Necrophiliacs looking for dead ones.

3. This is it, last straw, that’s all, that’s it. I ain't dealing with another fucking politic.

4. Gonna give my heart away. Leave it to the other girls to play. For I’ve been a temptress too long.

5. Rise up and take the power back, it’s time the fat cats had a heart attack.

6. But um, they gave chase, they caught up quick. They started cryin’ on my shoes and grabbin’ my dick.

7. He chased us with bullets, he rained us with shells, and in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell.

8. And if I seem to be confused, I didn’t mean to be with you. And when you said I scared you, well, I guess you scared me too.

9. Well, we drank champagne and danced all night under electric candlelight.

10. I need no soft lights to enchant me, if you would only grant me the right to hold you ever so tight.

That was kind of fun. I hope I’ve managed to stump you, but I would be ridiculously pleased if someone guessed them all. I tried to include a couple I think are obscure and a few I think everyone should know. But maybe my musical well isn’t nearly as deep as I like to think it is and these are all kindergarten easy. Either way, have some fun. Oh, by the way, of the people participating I put my money on Spender (or my hubby, but really he has an unfair advantage and he ain’t gonna comment, cause he’s all mysterious and likes it that way), or Danica. Aw Hell, maybe I did make it too easy.

And The Award Goes To......

...Me? Oh! Hey! Me! Yay!

Danica thinks I'm talented and for that I get to win an award! Thanks, Dani! Although, I have to say, whatever you've been told? It ain't true. None of it! Seriously, except for that one time.....Just kidding. So as penance for being award worthy I get to amaze y'all with 10 things you might not know about me. That's not really that easy to do without getting overly personal. But I'll give it my best shot.

1. My favourite colour is red. I very nearly shun all other colours except black which goes with red really well and pink, which is really Red's little sister.

2. I wanted to be a lawyer when I grew up. Then I realized law is interpretive and not absolute and knew better than to try to fix the world's problems that way. Then I decided I would become a writer. I sell mortgages. Go Figure.

3. I had my daughter when I was 18 years old and hate the look I get when people do the math and figure out a 31 year old woman has a 13 year old daughter. She is taken care of, well adjusted, lovely and spoiled within an inch of her life. I am with her father and have been since I was sixteen. Take your judgemental eyeballs and have a look in your own closet before you peg me with a stereo type. Yeah, a little passionate about this.

4. I have a growing obsession with all things fantasy. I used to think fantasy was the geekiest thing imaginable. Then my hubby introduced me to role playing computer games, a number of which lean heavily toward the type of D&D Fantasy I like. They lead to reading fantasy and Bam! I'm hooked. Now I proudly let my geek flag fly. Where the hell did you think Eyvi Sprite came from?

5. I couldn't carry a tune if my life depended on it. I wish I could. Because I love to sing. And do, much to the chagrin of my family, at the top of my lungs.

6. I am grossly weak willed but inherently stubborn. How does that happen?

7. I was raised with religion and have abandoned it. I cannot bring myself to rest my fate in the hands of a whatever, for which there is no substantial proof. My faith is broken. I wish it weren't, because the idea of religion is beautiful. Not the good, clean living, that's nice but not what I love. It's the ability to believe. I envy those who do. Those with the ability to free themselves enough to have faith. But I can't do it. I do however, allow my imagination free reign and frequently wonder at the existence of far stranger things than God. I haven't figured out how not to be a hypocrite.

8. I have been to every province east of Ontario except PEI and have never been west of Hamilton.

9. My nickname as a youngster was Piss Ass. Mad Max hated the name my parents chose and called me that instead. On my wedding day, when he told me he couldn't call me Piss Ass anymore, I cried.

10. I don't like fudge. I know, I should be tarred and feathered. Drug out into the street and shot. I can't help it. It feels gross in my mouth and the taste does not make up for that. Not even close.

Wow! That was hard! I hope I have lived up to each of your expectations. If not, I'll try not to lose any sleep (hmm, the sarcastic font is missing on my blog too!)

My nomination? Lainey Bobainey - because she makes me laugh everytime I read her blog and cause she started NWW. It takes alot of guts to tell people to quit their bitchin' even if just for a day.

I'm a wee bit tired now. Maybe I will write about Wednesday on Thursday.

Blogger is making me wonky because it won't leave the spaces I keep putting in! Argh!

Obsession, for Me!

No Whining Wednesday went off without a hitch today. I did my very best not to gripe, moan, whine or otherwise complain about anybody or anything. I was determined when I woke up this morning to amaze you tonight with my ability to see the silver lining today, but really there is no need. Today was a good day. I didn't even have to try. Although about an hour ago all the energy I had leaked out my toes and is now a puddle on the carpet beneath my desk. I've yet to muster up the energy to climb the stairs and fall into bed. Once we've had our little visit, I shall retire.



I've mentioned a time or two before that I am mildly obsessive. I possess a bit of an addictive personality. I have no problem admitting these things. Those who know me well, know it and accept it, because I normally have a short attention span as well. It will end in due time.



So far my Sookie Stackhouse/True Blood obsession has given me a run for my money. I read all of the books in the series that have been published to date. I watched the first season of True Blood online (with Japanese subtitles for the most part, which just goes to show the depth of my crazy), then I rented the entire second season from the evil monsters at Blockbuster (soul - sucking company). I watched that. Then I visited HBO's web site to find out when season 3 starts (June/10 for those keeping track). Oh come on! It has Alexander Skarsgard (how do I make the dots?!?!), that man is Hawt. I submit this picture as evidence:




Go ahead and tell me that isn't all kinds of goodness, right there. Yeah, I didn't think so.



So then I went to the authors website to find out when the next book comes out (May, if I remember right) and while surfing around her site I read a word I had never paid much attention to before, because I had never needed too, and that word is Fanfic, or maybe it's Fan Fic. Either way, I asked myself why I had never heard of this and went in search of some. I should fucking know better! In all honesty some of it isn't so bad. Some of the stuff I read showed some promise, but that was far out-weighed by the dreck. Jesopus Creepers, people. These things should have no other title than: This is My Secret Sexual Fantasy About... Blah! It was ridiculous. And I have been put in my obssessing, jonesing place. Serves me right.


More obsessive stuff, this time related to music. My hubby found a song and played it for my last night and asked me what I think. Last night I thought it was good. Today, I have listened to it 3 times since supper. I will listen to again before I go to bed, for sure. Here it is, tell me what you think.



I heard a Jack White song tonight I want to become obsessed with, but I don't know the name of. It was in a trailer for a movie called The Drifter. At least I'm pretty sure it was Jack White. I'm usually fairly good at knowing an artist by sound and he's distinct, but I have been wrong before. Anyway, I will Google the movie tomorrow and see if I can't find out.

I will have these two songs played out before the middle of next month. I'm surprised the vampire obsession as lasted as long as it has. It'll probably burn out soon. Ridiculously short attention span and all. Besides I have 52 new books to look forward too!

No Whining! I'm Not!

As you are aware, my hubby is enjoying an all expenses paid trip to the big city, which makes me slightly busier than a one legged man in an ass kicking contest.

This is what made me smile today:

- I volunteered to be the fundraising coordinator for my daughter's hockey team (What was I thinking? Oh, that's right! I wasn't!). This is something I've never done but am attempting in the name of being a supportive parent (as if driving her all over god's country and paying for the most expensive recreational sport EVER isn't supportive). Today I booked one event and laid 3 more on the table. That should take care of things up until Christmas. Something ridiculous, like $5000 left!

- Being the ever attentive driver that I am, I nearly hit a car in one of only two intersections I have to navigate in a day. In my defense, I was turning left and she was running the red light (that was green and then changed to yellow while I waited). I should have waited though, to make sure she wasn't going to gun it before I did. But I was going fast and she braked hard and we didn't collide!

- There wasn't any snow last night. I adore the first snowfall, there are few things as beautiful, but not on October freaking 14th, thankyouverymuch!

- I slept poorly last night, I always do the first night my hubby is away and last night was no exception. The good news? I am bound to sleep like the dead tonight.

- I got my very first Halloween Party invitation as an adult! cough*loser*cough Yay for me! What am I gonna dress up as? I am so excited for all the possibilities.

- And finally, it feels like Tuesday because it's only the second day back to work but tomorrow is Thursday already. I love long weekends!

Well, That Was Easy.

My hubby is gone. Again. But you know what? I'm not too upset about that right now. Why, you ask? Because it's dang cold here and the weatherperson is calling for two centimetres of snow (not quite an inch, my Ameri-friends) but I gotta tell you, that requires a fire. And so I built the first fire in the stove this season and guess what? I have FLAME!!!! And red hot blazing coals! Whoo hoo! For those of you who do not rely on a wood stove as your main source of heat you are probably just smiling politely to yourself, thinking I've lost my ever lovin' mind. But if you have ever used a wood stove for heat, if you have ever been the one responsible for starting the fire that provides the warmth, then you know my satisfaction, my success.

I used 1 egg carton, a flyer, some birch bark and a few pieces of kindling (I usually need the equivalent of a newspaper, 4 - 5 egg cartons, and half a tree worth of kindling to start the damn thing) and I have a very impressive bed of coals. Not to mention, I put a junk of wood half the size of my thigh in there and it caught and is burning beautifully! I feel like I could scale Mount Everest tonight!

I took my girl to the casting call this evening. This morning I very quickly poured over every recent photo I have of my princess, and could not find one that I thought sufficient to land her the job of Actress (yes, I am taking this a bit too seriously). And, yes, I should have scoured over our photo albums before this morning, but I am the Queen of Procrastination Island. This is the way we do things here. Alright? Finally ended up taking 3 photos with her digital camera (it's better than mine) and then choosing the best one while I was at work. I corrected the red eye, and printed the picture at Wally World on my lunch. Drove the 45 minutes after work to pick up the princess, drove the 45 minutes back to the town I just left to fill out a form, provide my name and cell phone number as the parent to the child whose acting application I just handed over to a lady on the opposite side of a folding table. She promptly stapled my daughter right through the forehead so that her face would not become separated from her application. She told us they would contact us via email if my daughter was needed. By January. Okay. So....that was anti-climactic. I'm not complaining, it was kinda fun. But not exactly what I expected. I don't know what I expected but that wasn't quite it.

I signed up for the Cannonball Read II today. 52 books in one year. For those of you that aren't in the know, you can get the low down here. Reading 52 books in one year, a book a week, will be a cinch. Getting the reviews up is going to be tricky. I hate reviewing stuff. But I'll give it my best because it's for a good cause and everyone should read. It's good for ya. < -- That's evidence of the depth of my wisdom tonight, folks.

Anyhoo, tomorrow is another NWW. I will be sure to participate and I may even follow through with blogging about it.

Just one complaint before tomorrow. The Military has sent my hubby home for the week. That's right, he's in Toronto. I am green with envy. Green, I tells ya! I wanna go home too! I wanna stay in a five star hotel on the tax payer's dime in Downtown T.O. I wanna see my family and friends. It's not fair! *picture foot stomping here*

Can You Smell The Cute?

Today I show up to work and my good friend Danica is not here because she is a leaky phlegm faucet and the other lady I work with has taken the day off. Guess what that means! I’m a little freaked out because someone has to cover for them and it’s been so long since I worked hard I was worried I had forgotten how. It turns out there wasn’t that much to do and my worries were unfounded, so I am blogging to kill time.

In honour of Thanksgiving and my wedding anniversary I thought I would sicken you with the maple syrup-y sweetness that is my husband and me once in awhile. Another of our goofy conversations had via email recently (and if you think I’m a little full of myself because I post conversations between my hubby and I, well, all I have to say is Duh! I blog, I obviously think I have something worthwhile to say and everyone wants to read it). Names have been changed to protect the innocent:

Me: How is your day going?

Him: Good, so far. A bit bored because all the things I’m working on require people that aren't here or can't do it right now. Other than that I’m gearing up for an afternoon of complete boredom. This course I’m taking is painfully useless for the most part and I have to force myself to try and even go to the damn thing. No more of these for me after this I think. At least for a while. The politics one had some interesting topics at least. This is just force fed malarkey !! OK love ya see you later on. Oh, how is your day going ??

(you see, he didn’t forget to ask me how I was after his little tangent)

Me: I’m ok. I have to talk to Narcissus about some work the real estate company would like me to start doing, but he’s avoiding me like the plague and it’s driving me bonkers. Other than that? Yeah, it’s ok.

Him: You should pour something on the floor in the foyer. He'll stop to complain and while he's looking down you can commando roll from behind the desk and give him a flying armbar. That should get his attention !

Me: Hmmm, I’m not sure attacking your boss is something sane people do. Without being provoked. While it would be intensely entertaining, I doubt it would have the desired effect. Besides, I don’t think I could do the commando roll. I’ve got the flying arm bar covered (I even have a war cry, but I’m not telling you) but I’m not confident I could execute the commando roll with accuracy (or grace, yep, definitely no grace).

Him: You’re so boring but ok fine. How about just doing the War cry from behind the desk? At least. Only if it doesn't sound like Xena's. You have to wait until he’s quietly pondering something all alone and then let it go !

Me: No, Sadly, I cannot channel Xena. Although, it would be the cat’s ass if I could. I’m not sure why the cat’s ass is so spectacular, but they say that it is. And before you ask: Yes, I listen to everything they say.


That’s all. I didn’t get the opportunity to defend myself. To explain that having a war cry is proof that I am anything but boring because boring people don’t think about what their war cry should be (neither do sane people, bet then y’all knew I was a little left of normal, didn’t ya?). Perhaps conversations like this one are the reason my boss doesn’t want to leave me alone at the office. Not that he read this one (cause it was had by email. Did I say that? Yup, I did.), but maybe he intuits.

Anyhoo, back to the topic at hand: Anniversaries and Thanksgiving.

I am thankful the hubby and I have managed to remain married for 6 years (we’ve been together a grand total of 15!). Seeing as we are obviously from opposing universes – no Mars and Venus for us, noooo, neither of us fits the description of a native Milky Way-er (?) – it is a blessed miracle we have made it this far. But you know what? While it is a little easier for both of us to become irritated with the others quirks (that is far too cute a word to describe our shortcomings), he is still the hottest guy I know. The smartest person I know (what? brains are sessy!). The best conversationalist (when we have any energy/time left to talk to each other). And he loves me. Which is, yanno, important.

OH, gag! Where’s the turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes and other Thanksgiving goodness?

Coming Up For Air

Well, Hello, my blogging friends. How do ya do?

I've promised myself I will force things, if I have to, to return to normal shortly. I've indulged my book junkie quite enough, I think. Problem being is, there is one book left. I started it today, it will be done tomorrow, then Sookie Stackhouse and I are going to have a little break. Will I jones like any chemically dependant loser? You bet ya! Only my dependence relies entirely on paper and type (not entirely true; I am sated if the type is on my computer screen as well). Until the next one comes along. I don't nurse my books. I guzzle them. It is rare that a book's attraction is so weak that I will take my time reading it (I take my time with fairly challenging books too, but who are we kidding? I read to escape. I'm not lookin' to better myself (usually)).
When I have completed my read-a-thon (9 books in 10 days qualifies, doesn't it?) perhaps I will offer up a complete review. Then again, maybe not; the next book in the series is due this month. Oh, Jesus! I can't quit!

Yeah, my personality hosts a score of defects. I am aware.

Work sucks. Always does, but it's sucking extra hard this week. My boss...well, there aren't words, really. Danica tries and comes close, but I promise you still only have an inkling of the man.

When Narcissus (apt nickname for the man that signs my pay cheque (that's 'pay check' for my American friends, hee!) ) moved his business into the new penis extension...ahem, building he built, he rented half of the building out to a local real estate company. Included in their rent was one receptionist. Me. I have been a receptionist (receptioned? Naw.) for a real estate company previously, I knew what I was in for. I asked for training. I begged to be told what was to be expected of me; what Narcissus had agreed to. I was avoided, put off and ignored. I was never told what exactly was in the contract. So, since May I have played it by ear. I like most of the real estate agents, and while they can be self absorbed and demanding, I don't have much else to do so I don't mind doing what they ask. Fax, photocopy, keep the filing cabinet stocked, update the listing book, so on and so forth. Combined with what I do for my own company this takes up about, if I stretch it, 4 hours of my day. - Now you understand why I spend so much time at Pajiba. I keep going back because the Pajiba community rocks my socks, but I never woulda found y'all if not for my pretty feathery work load.- So when they ask me if I can do more I usually agree. They've recently asked if I can begin inputting new listings into the system (MLS) and edit existing ones. I said I would be happy to, if they would train me. I asked the boss man to have a morning to spend at the real estate company's main office to receive the training. I made sure to tell him that his own personal real estate agent had requested this (she works for the company he is leasing me out to (that sounds horrible! I don't think I'll respect myself in the morning)), she sells all his real estate, of which there is acres, making herself and him wads of cash). It has taken me a ridiculous amount of time to get him to consent to me doing this. My problem is this; he told me to make sure they were happy, because when he builds the next office building next door to the one we are in, he wants to be sure it's this company that leases it. So I must make sure, where I can, that the relationship remains honeymoon like (plus, like I said, I like most of them and I'm not doing much else). He basically told me he thinks they are getting a little too handy with his receptionist. Colour me confused. I'd love to know what he expected a real estate receptionist to be. I'd love to know how I am supposed to nurture the relationship if I'm not doing anything for them. Impeccable phone manners only goes so far. I would love to know what was in this contract. Will I ever? Not bloody likely. The only thing I know for sure is that I am supposed to answer their phone. Did anyone really think that's all I would do for them?

I really need a different job.

The other day my daughter told me she wanted to be an extra in a movie. Abrupt topic change,. by the way. Her friend had done it when she lived in Germany and it was all kinds of fun. I absently agreed that that would be fun and promptly forgot the discussion. A day or two later, one of my co-workers tells me Jason Priestly is producing a series for HBO in the next town over. "Cool!" I think and move on. In today's paper there is an open casting call for all ages and types for the above mentioned production. I cut out the ad and brought it home. Gave it to my kid. Watched the sun rise in her eyes. Right now, my kid thinks I am the coolest Mom on the planet because I agreed to let her go to a casting call. I can't tell you how happy that makes me. I've tried to set her expectations, warned her she most likely will not get called. It's not reasonable to expect to get a call after attending one casting call (although, I can't imagine why they wouldn't call, she is the most beautiful girl I know! /Mommy thoughts). I doubt she heard a word I said. She is literally floating right now! Oh, to be 13 again! It isn't until next Tuesday. Perhaps I will write about the casting call experience.

This weekend is Canadian Thanksgiving. I love Thanksgiving. For two reasons. 1) turkey, duh! 2) it's also my wedding anniversary. 6 years. We haven't killed each other yet. Yippee! Love ya, babe!

I've gibbered on long enough and abused more than my fair share of parentheses, I think. I will talk at y'all tomorrow and let you know how miserably I failed at not whining!

I Know, I Missed One.

I know I missed last NWW and that 'cause I had sort of developed a reclusiveness for the past couple of weeks that was new to me. I was even being reclusive online, mostly lurking. Strange, eh? Digital recluse? It was accompanied by having a hard time seeing the brighter side. So I abstained from NWW. I kinda missed it.

I tried to look at the brighter side of things all day today, which is good, cause it really does work and if you're a person that has trouble finding the silver lining, try committing for just one day. Really truly committing, I assure you, you will not be disappointed.

But I don't really want to talk about NWW. Wanna know why? You do?!? Great!

I started reading an oft praised series of books. And then, then I had to see the show based on the books. Yeah. Count me amongst the number of TrueBlood fans. I'ma huge geek. I know. I bought the book set on Sunday. I'm on book two. Nearly finished it, in fact. No, not much else is getting done round here. And the show? Well I watched 7 episodes yesterday. 7!

Have I mentioned I have a bit of an addictive personality? And escapism is my drug of choice? Yeah. I do. Tomorrow, I think it would be prudent if the little mind reader and her band of vampy friends and I parted ways at least for a day. You know, so my family doesn't write me off for lost.

Ok, I totally had to come back to add this; the one, the only Danica Dragonfly has participated in NWW!!!! Publicly. On her blog. I kind feel like I mighta had something to do with that (I did, I so did). Danica, I promise not to gloat at work tomorrow. Well, I promise to try not to gloat anyway. Aw, C'mon, you know I looooove ya! And you love me, too, especially when I am being annoying!

Wow! NWW, Again!

Hehe, I stole the picture from AvB and she stole it from Lainey, I think and I'm pretty sure I know where Lainey got it. And all this petty theft is making me a little giddy.

Little bit of bad news (it's taken me this long to gear up to tell y'all), I didn't get that job I applied for. Can one be too over-eager? If so, I was. Anyway, I'm not too upset about it, I think I've got something else cooking.

Speaking of cooking: The kids and I went to a local apple farm Sunday and picked a shit ton of apples (about 40lbs or 18.9 kgs (that's the official calculation of a shit ton, seriously, look it up)). I have already baked 9 (9!) apple crumbles. I am about to go bake Apple Streusel bread....mmm streusel...maaahhh....Oh! Sorry! and Apple Blueberry muffins with a crunchy topping. I want to make a Spoonerism of my muffins, like Mooberry Bluffins. Hmmm. How 'bout Mapple Bluffins? Maybe. Your turn! Think of a Spoonerism! It'll be fun!

Ok, I'm going. I know, I'm reaching.

Adios!

Is It Just Me?

Ok, so I know it's not, my co-worker Danica mentioned that she saw it too. I'm just wondering who else can see it? Oh, and I may be a little obsessed with Leonard Cohen at the moment. Don't worry, I generally have a short attention span.

All I got to say is: Whoa!

Never Forget

I kind of borrowed the title from Ahamos and Figgy, I hope they don't mind.


Do you remember where you were eight years ago today? I do.


I had taken my not quite 1 year old son (he turned 1 on the 18th) and all of the comforters in the house to the Laundromat to be washed. We only had an apartment sized washer and dryer at home and the comforters didn’t fit in them. When I walked in everyone was gathered beneath a TV hanging from the ceiling in the waiting area. Curious, I joined the 6 or 7 already there and asked the attendant what was going on. They were tuned into CNN and a skyscraper was in flames. It seemed they were playing an endless loop of a commercial airplane colliding with that skyscraper. The attendant explained that someone had flown a plane into the World Trade Centre. My first thought was; one of the major airlines was going to have to do a whole lot of pretty talking to get out of the hole that accident had just dug for them. Then, as we watched in horror, another plane hit the first skyscraper’s twin. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself that it was an accident, I knew in my heart of hearts, catastrophes like that didn’t happen twice in one day. But perhaps thats just hindsight talking.


As soon as I could, I called my husband. Being the world traveller that I am ( < -- a lie) I asked him where the World Trade Centre was. He told me New York and asked why. I told him why. He relayed the information to the rest of the crew he was working with that day. Insert appropriate exclamations of surprise, sufficient ooooh’s and ahhhhh’s.

For the remainder of the day, I tuned in to CNN and watched the truth unfold.

For those of you that have spent any amount of time around here, you know my husband is gainfully employed with the Canadian Armed Forces, for my newest readers, now you know too. At the time, my husband worked a 7am – 3pm shift. The base was approximately a 6 minute drive from our house. At around 4:15pm, I called the base. One of my husband’s superiors took a message. A few minutes later my husband returned my call.

When my husband joined the Military (along with two of his closest friends) it was a decision carefully weighed between us. My only stipulation was this: Non-Combatant. For my peace of mind, he agreed, all the while reminding me ours is a peace keeping country. Canada does not fight wars. We believed every word he said. Naive. So, he is an airplane mechanic.

My husband told me he didn’t know what time he would be home, the base was at it's highest security level and he had been armed. The base we were living on was the designated alternate runway for Toronto's Pearson International Airport and in light of the day's events, Pearson had refused anymore air traffic. My response through tears brought on by one of the most intense fears I have ever known was; “But we’re peacekeepers, we’ve never hurt anyone, we DON”T FIGHT! YOU PROMISED!” He had to go; there were other men and woman with families at home wondering why they were late.


If I remember correctly, he came home shortly before midnight. He was to be ready at a moments notice.


I was watching President Bush address the world. I was enamoured with the man who called the world to arms against terrorism. Heh.


My husband has completed 4 tours in the Middle East in support of the War On Terror. During each of those tours there was a ban on all media in the Sprite home. I did not want to know how many soldiers were being sent home draped in a Canadian flag. My mother would, unfailingly, call each and every time another soldier was killed to ask how long it had been since I last heard from my husband. Communication blackouts on the base overseas drove me very near to the edge. Once, I just happened to be looking out the front door when an MP's cruiser pulled into my driveway. My hands and feet went cold, every bit of moisture in my mouth dried, my heart jumped into my throat and imitated a jackhammer, sound took on a fishbowl quality. He was simply using my driveway to turn around. Relief unhinged my knees. And so I sat until I could stand again.


I dried the tears of my children many times because they feared for their Dad, because they missed him. How do you explain war to a child? One you aren't sure your country has any business fighting?


We have a friend, one of the ones that joined the same day as my husband, he joined Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry. The first battalion that deployed from Canada. The very battalion that was a part of the friendly fire incident. He's not the man he once was.


My cousin; sent home with an injury after the tank he was in ran over a roadside bomb.


I can only imagine the grief 9/11 has caused the families of the victims. Of the plane crashes and of the subsequent war. I know the heartache it has caused in my world and it has only touched us in a branching sort of way. I don't know if memorializing 9/11 has any great effect. For my part, it was a day I shed a measure of innocence for a maturity I may have been better off without.


The pebble was dropped in an American pond, but the waves have touched the world and the world has changed in their wake.

Strange....

Whenever I post a video, the comments link goes bye-bye. Anyone know what's up with that?

Update: So it seems I may be the only one experiencing this particular problem with my blog because, well, people commented. The only way I can see that there are comments is to click on the post and bring it up on it's own. Still strange...

You Know What Today Is!

Let me start out by apologizing to anyone who was checking in to see how I did on Friday (I know there is at least one of you). I was in a bit of a funk this weekend that was preventing me from piecing together a coherent written sentence. But if you are still interested, it went well. I think. I hope. Anyway, I got some good advice from a friend and am going to follow up tomorrow (I would have sooner, but this week is flying by).

On to the festivities!

My reasons for being happy today are:

1. My daughter and I are getting along very well this week. She's thirteen and that seems to be about the age that young girls begin honing the devil in them (I remember nurturing mine), and her and I have been a little like a lit fuse and dynamite. We could only come together long enough to cause an explosion! This week though? Not so much. We've been talking, working together, and laughing! It's wonderful. I hope it lasts. It probably won't. Because like I said, 13 year old girls are all like Linda Blair in the Exorcist on occasion, but this is a welcome relief. Now that I have told people about this phenomenon, it will surely disappear and leave no trace of it's existence.

2. I seemed to have developed some sort of killer housewife skills over the summer. For those of you who don't know me, I try mighty hard but I am not Martha Stewart (the good Martha, not the criminal Martha). I would like so much to be organized, creative, happy when it comes to the stuff a wife and mother is responsible for. I rarely am. I have moments, I do, but no lasting power. Well, the kids went back to school last Wednesday and things are going smashingly! So far, all the dishes are done, everyone is getting a healthy lunch (it's usually the hubby that misses out), most of the laundry is clean (I would love for all of it to be done, but listen, I'm not Super-Mom).

3. I'm kind of happy about No Whining Wednesday. I woke up this morning ready to tear a strip off the first available mammal because I have developed trouble sleeping. Which in and of itself is making me nuckin' futs. My parents used to host the odd party at our house, where my father's speakers proved their worth: I slept through it. My parents went through a fairly vocal divorce: no trouble sleeping. My hubby and I separated for a year about 10 years ago, did I lose sleep over it? No. My point is nothing has kept me from getting a good night's sleep before now. Lately? On weeknights, you know, the nights before I have to go to work the next day, I sleep like shit. On the weekends, nooooo problemo, comatose. Which leads me to believe, despite my ability to sleep through all manner of noise previously and be unaffected by stress, my job has managed to cause me enough stinkin' stress to interrupt my sleep pattern. Anyhoo, I decided not to tear any one's head off cause I was poorly rested and tired because "It's No Whining Wednesday, so I can't bitch and moan".

4. I have gone for a walk 5 days in a row! Yay! A small step toward a healthier me (no pun intended).

And just for fun, my favourite dance from last nights SYTYCD Canada, Corynne and Austin (I couldn't find a shorter clip, they start around the 5:10 mark).




Oh and Mr. Sprite has taken to calling Austin Ponch Jr. Go ahead and look up Eric Estrada and tell me the resemblance doesn't exist.

Hmmmm.....

Hi! Happy No Whining Wednesday! What? I know it's Thursday, thanks for pointing out that I'm late, but I thought better late than never. Yesterday I was at home sick. I promise I didn't whine too much. Not anymore than was absolutely necessary to get the attention required to get all better. Other than that, NWW was pretty uneventful.

I'm not sure what to blog about tonight. My thoughts are all disjointed, no real train to them. Nothing really interesting has happened this week. Cause, you know, I'm all kinds of interesting every other week.

Things I would like to blog about but don't have attention span needed tonight:

1) Age inappropriate songs I would sing each and every word to as a youngster (the next edition of By Today's Standards)

2) Whether or not Canada should pull out of Afghanistan when our UN/NATO commitment is up in 2011. I read a newspaper article about a month ago that got me pretty riled up. And as the blog title would suggest, I have an opinion on the matter. Also, I'm a military spouse so, it's kind of a given.

3) A poem I wrote and have yet to finish (attention span) for NWW.

Oh! The kids started school yesterday. I'm not a parent who shoves my kids out the front door the first day of school and then thanks whatever brand of God I pray to that they are finally out of my hair. I like having my kids home. If I could afford it (and thought I was even close to being able to do them justice) I would home school them. So I'm always a little sad on the first day of school. So, my son gets off the school bus all long faced and glum yesterday afternoon. I ask him why the long face? Did he have a bad day? He tells me he got into trouble. I know my son. He's got the attention span of ....well a 9 year old boy (he leans a little toward 9 year old on chocolate, if I'm being honest, sweet, milky chocolate). He has to be engaged. He doesn't yet possess the will to concentrate on the task at hand without guidance. The other end of that is if he is interested, its hard to get him to notice anything else. I figured he got into trouble for goofing off. Not so much. He tells me they were asked to record a summer memory, but they can't use sentences. They have to use words and pictures (it took a number of questions before I got the gist of what he was told). He was having a hard time limiting himself to that. So there's a note in his agenda saying he didn't think he should have to follow instruction and I quote "Not a good start to grade 4". On the first day.

Last year, I tried to be super sweet. Last year, I tried to be nice. I wrote long notes spouting how much I agreed with the teachers point of view and how I thought it was important we communicate. I drilled my son every day. To no avail. My son got stressed, I got stressed and the teacher continued to be a bitch. Don't get me wrong, my son can be a challenge, and I can only imagine how much more challenging it becomes with 20 or so more very much like him. Fact is though, she teaches for a living. Is patience not listed as a job requirement? This year I said fuck it. I wrote a note back. I informed Mrs. Impatience that I thought she was being a little hasty with her judgement and requested she give the kids a chance to get back into a groove. I was not polite. What happened? She wrote a note back. It was full of butterflies and puppy kisses assuring me she wasn't judging.

So tell me this folks: why is it when I bend over backwards to be nice, I go out of my way trying to appease the unappeasable (hmm, not sure that's a word), I get jack for my efforts. I get a bit of a backbone, tell a person or two off and then people start treating me differently. With more respect. Ok, so let me see if I've got this straight: Nice Girl = Door Mat, Bitch = Respect? Nope, that ain't fucked up at all.

Well, I'm done spreading sunshine for this evening. I'll be back tomorrow cause I've got a job interview and I'm going to need someone to wallow in my pity with me or to help celebrate (let's hope for the latter). G'nite folks!

Hey! Did You Change Your Spots?

Sunday mornings are usually reserved for catching up on my favourite websites and blogs and this Sunday was no different. This morning I read a rather insightful post on Michael Murray's blog. I began reading this particular blog for no better reason than Michael Murray writes for Pajiba (my favourite site, for those of you who don't know) and he lives in Toronto and often writes about my home town. I stuck around because his writing is fantastic.

In case you haven't found the strength to or aren't interested in clicking the link above, I'll fill you in. On Friday he wrote about a visit to a pub. Whilst in the pub Michael observed the activities being carried out by both employee and patron. He focuses his attention more so on the owner of the establishment and "the career waitress". His observations were so astute I felt myself drawn to another time, another place.

I have mentioned before my parents are divorced. As a single parent, my Mother worked very hard to make ends meet. The type of employment available to a woman of meager education is limited and menial. Factory worker, housekeeping, cleaning lady and waitress are all jobs often filled by a single mother. The (perceived) lack of skill required is only the first of many reasons why. The hours are often flexible (to work around childcare, school, etc.), and the number of positions available are usually numerous. My mother has done every one of them, often more than one at a time. But the one that profited us best was waitress. And it did so for approximately 15 years.

I was just shy of 13 when the death throes of my parents marriage finally ceased. We moved back to Toronto from my Dad's home province because that was where the majority of my Mother's family lived; where she would receive the most support. Almost immediately she found work as a waitress. Nor had this been the first time. Waitresses have the luxury of being able to find work almost anywhere, at nearly any time. She continued waiting tables until well after I had moved away from home.

I was usually in charge of the homestead while Mom worked. Occasionally, whether by choice or necessity, I was at the restaurant. Michael's post transported me to a time when I was perhaps 15 years old. School books and binders spread across the Formica topped table, the smell of stale cigarettes, beer and fryer fat heavy on the air. I sat and watched my Mom. She never wrote down an order. Raising the inevitable question, followed by amazement at her ability to remember orders. The pride in her voice when she assured the non-believers she didn't need a note pad, never had. The troublemakers that tried to catch her with complicated orders. They never did; she saw them coming.

I remember marveling at the seemingly super human ability to carry an impossible number of drinks, glasses and bottles alike without a tray. To arrange platefuls of food and transport them to their destination without dropping so much as a fry, again without a tray. She rarely utilized the bartenders book when mixing drinks, every ingredient, every measurment committed to memory. More often than not, she approached the table of a newly seated regular, already armed with their drink of choice.

At the wise old age of 15 I knew I never wanted to be her. I knew the hate she felt at her station in life. I saw the wasted and missed opportunities mirrored in her eyes. I understood the fear she felt at the thought of what she would do when she was too old to do this. I heard the audible click in her throat every time she swallowed her pride after being reminded she was only a waitress, at the mercy of every customer. I watched as she measured success in a tip cup.

But she was a goddess among women. As much as I focused on her faults (the breath of many a career waitress carries the scent of her favourite vice), I knew her sacrifice was great, so mine or my sisters wouldn't have to be. She provided for us the best way she knew how, never knowingly asking us to return the sacrifice. And eventually it became all she knew. It became all she could know, because everything else frightened her. To begin again induced anxiety and so she began to hide behind her memorized menu, cocktails and orders. Too old to start anew.

A career in the service industry is not without its hazards. Many attempt to drown the emotions related to the supposed lack of achievement. Often age becomes a hindrance so great, employment in their chosen trade is no longer an option. Occasionally, their wrists give out. I don't know how others have addressed this particular disability when waitressing is all they've known. I do know that my Mom, after attempting to deny it, falling back on one or two of the previously mentioned jobs, reigned in her will, her resolve, her strength and enrolled in college.

I used to know the woman in Michael's post. My Mom used to be that woman. Not anymore though. Now my Mom is a college graduate who has a career in Social Services. Shame on me for forgetting a leopard can change her spots.

I Accept Your Challenge!

It's No Whining Wednesday again. Damn, time is just zooming by. At this rate, I'm going to be blogging from the old folks home in no time.

I've lots of things to talk about today but I had fallen a little behind on the blogs I follow and there were 6 (6!!!!) comments on yesterday's post that I had to reply to plus my family were hilariously distracting this evening (they were watching Wipeout and laughing like half-crazed hyenas), so I'm short on time.

To begin, I have a new follower! Yay! Welcome, Xtreme. Come in, sit down. Tea (or booze, there's some of that too)? Each new follower makes me ridiculously happy!

I let No Whining Wednesday slip to a sort-of co-worker last week, not that NWW is a big secret, but the blog I use to document my NWW's kind of is. So it's the blog that I let slip really, which I sort of hope she forgets about. NWW she hasn't forgotten about, though. Last week she tried to convince me I had to clean the cartridges on the photo copier just to see if I would whine about it. It seemed fishy from the beginning, but I was game. Trying my damnedest to be polite, I said I thought for a copier that looked like it could very well operate as mission control for NASA, you'd think it wouldn't require that sort of maintenance, but I'd do it, if it needed doing. She laughed at me and then let me in on the joke (oh yay! practical jokes on NWW to test my resolve). Today, she simply asked me how NWW was going so far. She said she was to busy to test me. Thank God for small mercies.

Little does she know, I hope the idea begins to manifest itself in the lives of others. Hopefully, without conscious effort on their part, kind of what happened to this blogger. Another co-worker has also begun to take notice of NWW and I hope that she too, will one day partake. Lainey should be proud, she's started a movement, an anti-massacre movement. If fifty people a day....sorry, bit of a tangent there. I'm a geek and if you aren't familiar with Arlo Guthrie that last bit made absolutely no sense to you. If you are familiar, then you are now fully aware of the depth of my geekdom. I have made peace with it.

Guess what I did today. Go ahead......Ok! Fine! I'll tell you! I had a phone interview for a new job! Which I think went very well. I expect an interview in my near future. Yipee! It's not my dream job, but it will get me away from the shit storm that is my current place of employment. It's something I've done before, so I know I can do it and will be content until the dream job does rear it's head.

Speaking of the Shit storm; one of the people that is responsible for attempting to drive me out of my ever lovin' mind while I am at work made a comment today while I was speaking to another co-worker that, combined with past comments, I took offence to. Rather than brood about it for the rest of the day, I decided to address it. I told him as professionally as I could muster that I thought his comments offensive and would appreciate if he would not attempt to make jokes at my expense because I thought his comments rude. I kind of want him to get the idea that I don't like him and that when he insists on listening to a conversation being had between two other people of which I am one, his comments are not welcome. It isn't really his fault, he's just that person. You know the one you can't stand, no matter how hard you try? The upside there: I didn't tell him to Fuck Off and save his asinine comments for someone else. Which would have been very unprofessional, something I am trying very hard not to become (which is hard to do in my current environment, I gotta tell ya). I hope I've staved off any further unwelcome comments/advice/speech from him.

Oh boy, it's late and this is much longer than I thought it would be. Coffee is gonna be my best friend tomorrow. Oh! Who am I trying to kid? Coffee is my BFF everyday!

Think! Before You Speak!

This doesn't have anything to do with why I came here tonight, but it's a thought I had and would like to share. I have two ideas floating around between my ears in the muscle that resembles a brain. Two ideas that I would like to commit to paper. In my minds eye these two ideas translate into pretty good stories, something I would like to read if it were written by someone else (that's the way it should go, right?). Well, I shared them with my co-worker the other day, and this isn't her fault because she was as gracious and receptive as any audience should be, but the magic is gone. I feel like I did something wrong. The stories sounded silly out loud. Perhaps they are, maybe I am not meant to write a single fiction that will be enjoyed by others and that's OK, but the proof is in the puddin' right? I can't get past myself to find out what anyone else thinks. I shut myself down before I've even begun. My imagination is wonderfully overactive, I could churn out stories left and right (I'm not suggesting they would all be quality) but I don't. Why? The answer differs everyday. I've got a dozen of 'em. Sucks. I'm sick of it, I want that freakin' turtle back. I want to believe in myself.

Moving on.....

I'm currently debating whether or not I should take part in a flame war of sorts on Facebook.

Oh, Facebook, how I love your ability to start all kinds of trouble. Just this weekend, I was checking the statuses of various family member's (and how you nurture the voyeur in me, Facebook). My cousin's status says she "feels bad for So 'n' So's family, RIP, So'n'So will be dearly missed" Just so happens So'n'So in my Grandfather's name. I call my Grandparents house. My Nan answers and sounds perfectly OK. Feeling a little silly, I explain why I've called. She assures me that no, it wasn't my So'n'So, but someone of the same name. Then she curses Facebook because several times over the past year or so, loved ones who are away from home have found out that a loved one has died before they have been properly informed. When did it become Ok to announce your condolences on Facebook? One of the many grievances I have with social networking sites.

Back to tonight. A friend's (loosely used term) status said he thought having an aerobatic flight show above the town was dangerous. The performance was given by the Military Snowbirds. The town, Gander, is home to an international airport. Is, in fact, the first stop for many transatlantic flights. Do you see my problem with his status? To live in a town that hosts an airport and complain about air traffic is ridiculous.

I realize now that I shouldn't have, but I commented. I tried to point out that the Military would hardly put the lives of civilians in danger for the sake of entertainment. That I had lived on an air base for years where the Snowbirds practiced regularly (I didn't mention the countless aircraft that had flown overhead everyday) without incident. Granted, the Snowbirds have a less than stellar track record. I've done some research, though, and while the Snowbirds are the worst, their counterparts in the US and the UK have spots on their records as well. As does Nascar, Monster Trucks, drag racing. I haven't actually checked any of those facts (for Nascar, etc.), but it would stand to reason that once in awhile things go wrong. If I'm wrong, fine. Correct me. If all of these spectacles have impeccable records then I will shut up. But I doubt that they do, because you are dealing with machines and humans and both are prone to error, regardless of the best of intentions.

If safety is your number one concern then you should be railing against the dangers of all of the events listed. But he wouldn't. Why? Because he takes part in a demolition derby every year. Yes, the man who cried unsafe to the Facebook world, gets into a car at least once a year (sometimes more) and intentionally collides with other cars. Sure, they take precautions. But accidents happen. Just last year a car caught fire (I can't find the YouTube video of it now!).

Let's just pretend he's not that kind of hypocrite. Really, there is only one argument to be made here; you live in close proximity to an airport. Planes fly overhead everyday. Period. They could fall out of the sky, overshoot the runway, run off the end of the runway, hell, they can even catch fire while grounded. They do. But rarely. If you still fear for the lives of your family, move.
Otherwise, quit your bitchin'.

Yeah. I'm not going to continue debating with him. He's going to think he said something brilliant that made me see the error of my ways, I'm sure. I don't care. Let him. I don't have the energy to argue when there is no hope in hell of getting through.