Everyone is Entitled to My Opinion

It's Not You, It's Me.

2011-06-13T20:26:00.004-03:00

I know, I know. Y'all are miserable without my constant Internet presence and I continue to disappoint. Well, at least in that I am consistent. Please accept my sincerest of apologies.

There's been a lot going on round these parts. Most of it centers around my 15 year old daughter. I think when I told her the fucking world didn't revolve around her she took it as a challenge. And oh boy! did she rise to the occasion. But I ain't about to air that dirty laundry here.

Here's the Cole's Notes on the goings on of one Eyvi Sprite.

On Friday night I will participate in an all night walk to raise money for cancer. Me. The girl who routinely falls asleep at house parties at 11 pm. On the couch. In the middle of the party. The girl who falls asleep on her husbands first night home after a -insert appropriate time frame here- deployment. The girl who wanted to get a tattoo with Agent Blonde and then go bar hopping and then came home and promptly fell asleep half-way through beer number one (and had absolutely no problem whatsoever blaming the tattoo artist because he told AB she couldn't wear a bra). Oh yeah, all night walk was a brilliant idea! Jeebus! Just for the record; I can and have partied/stayed up all night. I am not a stick-in-the-mud! In fact, it's all part of my master plan. Make 'em believe I'm a wet blanket and then party like a rock star!

I've been bitten. I was warned. I never take these things seriously. Eyvi, of the addictive personality. I want another tattoo. Many more. I have wee bit of a problem though. I don't mind tattoos. Obviously. I'd be a mighty big hypocrite if I said I did. But I'm gonna go ahead and be a little bit of one anyway. I want to be able to hide my tattoos. If you've seen my tattoo, it's because I chose to share (please don't spout off about my FB/twitter pics, I reiterate - it was my first, it needed to be shared!). I know, I shouldn't really give a rat's ass what everyone else thinks and I don't. Like I told the Spinster at work (yeah, she deserves a title) when she asked me why I didn't get it where every one could see it, what was the point of getting a tattoo nobody could see? I told her I got it for me, because I loved it, not because I wanted everyone else to love it. That's why. If you are permanently marking your body with the hopes that everyone else is going to love it then you need to stop it. Now. The chief consideration in the placement of your 'tat' should not be the number of people that can see it. Sorry, I'm feeling ranty it seems. So this is my solution, I'm going to ink the crap outta my torso. When I run out of room, if I still have the fever I'll have to include appendages out of necessity. Works, right?

I've been reading, of course! When am I not? I've read Wuthering Heights, loved the prose, hated the actual story. I started a series based on a friend's recommendation, Bitten or Bound or some such by Kelly Armstrong. I'm reconsidering that friendship. I bought all four books in A Song of Ice and Fire for a wicked, awesome deal. I'm almost done the second book. They're good but I kind of don't like it when a book requires an index to keep all the freakin' characters straight (seriously, there is literally an index).

I've been watching teevee! Guess what I have been watching! Sons of Anarchy. If you haven't seen this show, you need to. Right now. Seriously. Go! It is full of awesome. Who knew Peggy Bundy could be oh so much more than a ditz? And the English kid that plays Jax? Mmmm mmm, good! Ron Perlman? I can't help it, if I close my eyes, he's Hellboy.

I quit smoking. Again. More on that when I feel like success is a reality instead of wishful thinking.

Finally ( I think. Honestly, I had a lot more to say than I thought I did, and y'all are hanging off my every word, aren't ya?), since I started my job a little more than a year ago, I've lost 40lbs. I haven't really made much of an effort, to be honest. I'm no longer sitting on my ass all day refreshing Pajiba and Crackbook, my job requires that I actually move, I was smoking half a pack a day and halfheartedly trying to eat well. Now that I've actually lost some, I want to lose more! About 40 more, maybe 50. That may be a bit too much though. If I lose 50lbs I may be all hands, knees, veins and ass. Not pretty, eh? I aiming for 40, see what it looks like when I get there. So here's my plan, I'm going to wholeheartedly try to eat well and exercise regularly. I started Saturday. I woke up, got in my gear and proceeded to do a half an hour of circuit training. It was awesome! By Saturday afternoon I was walking like a sixty year old. Sunday morning I crawled out of bed and nearly cried when I tried to sit on the toilet to pee, my thighs hurt so much. Not so fucking awesome. My ridiculously out of shape ass is not giving up though. I will reach and maintain a suitable weight. And when I do, I'm gonna get a tattoo to reward myself!

Nite folks!

Birthday Bash!

2011-03-04T19:42:00.026-04:00

About 2 months before my birthday I realized I was having a hard time dealing with the fact that I was about to turn 33. As I've said before, 30 came and went and I was not phased. But random 33 had me freaking out. So many things I've yet to do! So much procrastination! Life was happening and I was not at the helm, I was a passive-aggressive passenger watching it fly by and the list of things I must accomplish had very few items checked off. I'm starting to loathe my self-appointed rule of Procrastination Island. I have begun to seriously contemplate abdicating the throne.

My husband told me about 6 weeks before D-Day that I should take the day after my birthday, a Friday, off. He was planning a surprise. Add the surprise to my early mid-life crisis and I start losing my shit (a drama queen too!). "A surprise!" You say. "Oh, Joy! Everyone loves surprises!" Not this girl. I'm a wee bit of a control freak so surprises aren't really my bag (I hate rainbows and unicorns too ( < --a lie)). And my imagination is on steroids. Tell me there is a surprise and I will work up to an unattainable crescendo and be disappointed with the actuality. I know, no one's fault but my own.

I spent the week of the surprise in a frenzy. I asked a bazillion questions. Is someone coming? Should I clean the clean you do when company's coming? Should I buy a new outfit? New shoes? Will there be a party? Do I need to pack? Will we need extra groceries? How much time do I have? WHAT IS GOING ON? My barrage of inquiries was such that I expected my husband's next response to be his rank and service number. But he did not break, the man is a vault. I intend to inform his boss that his talents are wasted as an airplane mechanic; our country's secrets should be entrusted to this man. And it's genetic! My daughter was in on the fun and equally elusive.

I vented to my cousin. I balked at the unfairness. My husband is well aware of my disdain for surprises and delights in my discomfort. My cousin sympathized, she too hates surprises. We listed all the things it could be. Was my sister coming? My Dad? I didn't even entertain the idea that it could be my cousin because her job security was in question at that particular moment and imagining her visiting cast a shadow over any other possibility. We began to concoct methods to discover the truth. Alas, my cousin is far sneakier than I and was willing to commit acts I was not (let's add wuss to the growing list of attributes). Do not underestimate the sneakiness, Sir! And so, I was still in the dark and worked up even more than before. The morning of my birthday arrived.

In anticipation of the impending event (which may or may not happen today. Grrr!) I wore real clothes to work instead of my usual uniform of scrubs (I'm allowed to wear either business casual or scrubs; usually a no brainer but there was the surprise to consider!). I spent the entire day with one half of my brain doing my job and the other alternating between allowing my imagination free reign and trying to suppress it. The effort was exhausting. During the drive home the division of my brain space changed in favour of the imagination game I had been playing all day and bare minimum attention was paid to the vehicle I was operating. I drove home, I know I did because I arrived. I just don't recall doing so. Now ask me what I imagined the surprise to be. And how hard I was squashing all the anticipation.

The walk from the garage to the back door is about 30 feet. To me, it felt like an eternity through the bowels of hell. I was so worried I was going to look into a window and see the object of the surprise and ruin the whole thing or I would be disappointed and do a horrific job of hiding my disappointment and crush my husband's heart. So I walked from the garage with my head down, eyes on my feet. I entered the house and announced my arrival, trying not to look around lest I spy some clue before the big reveal. I walked up the stairs, eyes on the stair in front me. Three steps from the top, I look up at my husband standing in the kitchen. He smiled the most infuriatingly smug smile and asked me how my day was. Fine, I said. Clipped and monotone. Because even still, knowing the surprise is about to come to pass, his smile says it all, I'm afraid to let annoyance or excitement have even a little ground or I may have lost my careful grip on the little control I did have at that point. He told me to follow him into the bedroom. I asked him why and he said to see the surprise. So, I followed him and half way down the hall he stopped and looked into our son's bedroom and made some nonsensical remark. I was about to ask him what the fuck and tell him to just get on with it already when I heard a voice behind me speak. I have no clue what the voice said because the words weren't important, it was the voice that was. My cousin! I screamed (literally) and did a little dance (one I do when I've been scared witless or when I've been incredibly surprised, apparently. Imagine Fred Flintstone's set up before he rolls the bowling ball, mix in a little spaz, some T-Rex and a hop and yeah). Then I ran over and we hugged and said something about how amazing this was and how surprised I was and then we hugged some more and maybe we even cried a little.

My 33rd birthday was perfect. A visit from my cousin, who will be known as Agent Blonde from here on out, was the best gift I could have gotten (even better than Jensen Ackles calling and leaving me a message, which he didn't do, by the way. Who was on that? You failed). And the quickest way to bring me out of my funk. We didn't do anything too crazy. We did a lot of talking, we ate, we drank, we listened to music. Oh and we got tattoos! Her fourth, my first. They're matching, cause we're nerds. But they sure are purdy!

Mr. Sprite and Agent Blonde are my favourite people. I'd like to give you both a heartfelt thanks for the best birthday ever. And a big sloppy smooch too!

Reasons I Love Supernatural

2011-02-20T09:04:00.017-04:00

Sometime before Christmas I got it in my head that I should watch Supernatural. I don't remember if someone suggested it or if I read something or saw an ad and decided it would be up my alley. Which is funny because from what I had gathered it's about ghosts/urban legends/scary stuff in general and 1) I am nyctophobic (afraid of the dark), which leads to 2) I am weary of all things that go bump in the night. Just go ahead and try to tell a ghost story around me and see how fast I shove my sock in your gob! But you all know me and once I get my teeth into something I'm a little like a pitbull; I'm not letting go until I'm damn good and ready. So I asked the hubby to get the series for me for Christmas. He didn't. So, seeing as he was away for the whole month of January; I got it myself and started watching. And now I am hopelessly addicted.

Beyond here there may be spoilers.

Supernatural is a show about two brothers, Dean and Sam Winchester, who travel the country hunting and ridding the world of the things nightmares are made of. Their relationship is not an easy one. Hunting is a family business and Dean accepts the family legacy, balls to the wall. Sam, on the other hand, has almost succeeded in escaping the family business and the family, for that matter. He's off at college, has a girlfriend and is resolutely ignoring anything that reminds him of his past, white picket fence in sight. Until he's awoken by a bump in the night. He investigates, discovers someone lurking and ass kicking ensues. The lurker turns out to be Sam's big brother, Dean. Dean tells Sam their father has gone on a hunting trip, hasn't returned and he needs Sam's help to find him. Sam reluctantly agrees as long as he's back in time for the interview of a lifetime. They go, they search, they hunt, they rid a town of "A Woman in White"(the pilots creepy du jour). Sam returns home in time for his big interview only to find his girlfriend draped to the ceiling, her midsection sliced open. The ceiling catches fire and Sam's girlfriend is consumed. This is the exact same way Dean and Sam's mother died 22 years earlier. Sammy has the carrot he needed to begin hunting again and Dean has his brother.

Eric Kripke, the shows creator, has said he wanted each show to be "a different horror movie every week". For the most part he succeeded. There were many a night the bathroom light was left on. Initially, I could have started watching anytime and would have had no problem following along. There's a backstory, of course, but I didn't need to know it to enjoy. It quickly evolved though and it became necessary to know the backstory to understand what was going on much of the time. Which is fine by me, because I watched the entire series in about 3 weeks (plenty of late nights and bleary eyed mornings), so I'm in the know.

Let me tell you about the things that got me hooked. Besides the actual story, because that's pretty good but I think if you took any of the following away, I wouldn't enjoy Supernatural nearly as much as I do. More or less in order of importance.

The Soundtrack
The soundtrack kicks all kinds of classic rock ass! Zepplin, AC/DC, Cream, Nazareth and so, so many more. My Dad would love it. It's the soundtrack to my childhood and my informative years. Every once in awhile I'll hear a song on the show I had completely forgotten about. I have stopped the show to YouTube whatever has caught my fancy. Fanfreakintastic! Season 6 is coming up a little short, though. The ear candy has diminished and that makes me sad. For your listening pleasure (also, the Ginger in the video? Oh God, The hair! Wow! And the lead singer? Does he remind you of this guy?)

Jeffrey Dean Morgan
I know, I know! He's already gone. And that is tragic. Jeffrey Dean Morgan is talented, adorable and oozes charisma. On the show he played Dean and Sam's Dad, John Winchester. John's idea of parenting makes me quiver. The therapy bills that would be the result of being reared up by him would make a wealthy man weep. In his single minded determination to find the demon responsible for his wife's death he's used one son's unquestioning devotion to turn him into an obedient little soldier (Dean says Yes, Sir, more times that I'd like, and I cringe, every time). The other son, he's alienated all to hell (heh). Sadly, the powers that be felt the need to have his character bite the dust. And I know why. Javier Bardem. Jeffrey Dean Morgan got a job Javier Bardem didn't and Señor Bardem couldn't have that, so he hired a hit and Jeffrey Dean Morgan is hiding out. <--- The previous statement is not in the least factual.

Misha Collins

Misha Collins plays Castiel, the angel that pulled Dean out of hell and occasionally divinely intervenes. His character amuses me greatly. As an angel, he's often ignorant/envious of the ways of humans or "hairless apes" as humans are endearingly called by the majority of the celestial inhabitants. His deadpan is fantastic. One problem and it has nothing to do with the show. When I was "doing research" for this post I checked out the actors I wanted to write about. Sometimes, I find it difficult to separate the person from the talent. Misha Collins played Paul Bernardo in a movie called "Karla". That strikes a chord. I was born and raised in Toronto. I was a teeny-bopper during Paul Bernardo's reign of terror. I remember the fear The Scarborough Rapist incited. I remember watching or reading the words of the parents of Kristen French and Leslie Mahaffy. I'm not sure a movie about Karla Homolka needed to be made. And I'm having a hard time reconciling an actor I like with a role. But he Tweets. A lot. So, that's something.

Jim Beaver
Mr. Beaver plays Bobby Singer, fellow hunter and father-figure to Dean and Sammy. You know why I like him so much? His character is the shit. He's all full of wisdom and snark and love. Awww. Need some info on some obscure demon? Call Bobby. Need to be ripped a new one? Bobby will do what needs doin'. Need to be reminded why you're fighting the good fight. Bobby knows and he's got no problem bringin' your ass up to speed. Mr. Beaver seems like he's pretty fantastic in real life too. Father, author, actor and he still seems like the kind of guy you could invite into the backyard for a beer and shoot the shit for an hour or so. And he Tweets, too. Also, he's wearing a Sturgis hat.

Jared Padalecki
Jared Padalecki is a cutie-patootie. And he has a gorgeous smile. And he's possibly half-giant. He's 6'4, fercryinoutloud! That's an inch shy of a foot taller than I am. Geez. Jared plays one half of our dynamic duo, Sammy. The little brother. He's a sweet boy, the rational one, the one with the conscience. The one that was fed demon blood as an infant (about a minute and a half later the demon doing the feeding pins Mommy to the ceiling, rips her open and sets her ablaze) and so, he has a freak streak a mile wide. And he is just tormented because of it. Which is my chief complaint with Jared's character. Sometimes, I wanna slap him he's so whiny. And then he went and lost his soul for a little while and he was kind of fun (what? I got a bad boy thing, alright?). And then he got his soul back and he's whiny again. And maybe it's just me, because I've been around the military so long now, but he ALWAYS has his hands in his pockets. And he slouches. Lots of tall dudes do, a bad habit formed when they were taller than everyone else in 7th or 8th grade, (and I imagine he is still taller than everyone else) but still. I wanna ask him if his hands are cold? And tell him "Take your damn hands out your pockets and stand up straight, son" (and now, I'm my mother). I didn't get the sex symbol thing either. I mean he's adorable, but that's just it, he's got a baby face. And then I saw this on an episode not long ago and I did a spit-take. Coffee everywhere. Cause the last thing I was expecting was for him to invoke anything other than "Awwww". You see the hips? You see the grooves? What are they called? I only know the dirtiest name for that portion of a fit mans anatomy and I'm feeling a little like a prude (a very little) just now so, I won't write it. But SWEET JESUS. Have some bloody mercy, would ya? It's not so easy to get coffee off a monitor and outta the keyboard. The keys stick.
Oh and just for fun, Sammy's last words are going to be "Dean, I get it. I do. But..."

And last but most definitely not the least,

Jensen Ackles
Jensen Ackles is a whole lotta pretty. Distractingly so. But I'll get to that. Jensen plays Dean. And Dean is a bit of a badass. He drives the hottest car since The General Lee (no, The General Lee didn't do it for you? How 'bout Nic Cage's Eleanor?)He's kicking ass and taking names. He's getting down to business. He's lovin' 'em and leavin' 'em (well, mostly). And he's dripping with sarcasm the whole time. But he's got a soft spot (mostly for Sam, don't get me started on the co-dependance/unintentional homoeroticism. The show actually makes fun of itself, regularly). I adore him. Lately, he's softening up a little more, which I can dig because you know, he's been through a lot, but if he turns into Sam, I am going to cut someone. Be warned. Back to the pretty. There are a dozen or so parts of this mans anatomy that I could sing the praises of. The eyes, the lips, the teeth, to name a few. But the sexiest thing he possesses? His voice. Oh. My. God. It's aural orgasm. Seriously. Move over Sean Connery, you've been replaced as the man with the sexiest voice alive. It's that good (my husband disagrees, to which I say; Oh reeeeeally?). So, um, I got a birthday coming up (I'll be 33 on Thursday *pout*) and if anyone knows how to get this boy to call me, I'm all ears. I don't even want to talk to him. I want him to leave me a message. A long one, but that's it. And then, I can listen to it whenever.... um, later. I can listen to it later. And as many times as I want. And now I've said too much. A girl can dream, right? Here, have a listen. It's not all Jensen, but it's fun anyway.

Friday's a new episode folks! The boys will be in an alternate reality where they are Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki. Too meta? Jumping the shark? Or, pretty freakin' funny? I think y'all know where I stand.

I almost forgot. Jensen Ackles should play Eddie Dean in The Gunslinger. He's essentially got all the character traits down. But can he play a strung-out heroin addict? I have faith. From my lips to Ron Howard's ears or Stephen King's. Whatever gets the job done. Also, I don't think Javier Bardem should play Roland. Not because I'm Team Jeffrey or anything, I don't think either of them should. I don't think either is right for the part. I'm going to go with the majority on this one and throw my vote in for Viggo Mortensen. I'll get back to you with my opinion on who should play the balance of the characters in My Favourite Book Series.

Judgey Much?

2011-02-17T19:21:00.005-04:00

Valentine's is a bit of a trumped up holiday, don't you think? That isn't to say that I will refuse a gift on Valentine's, no, I would never do that. But the hubby and I don't usually subscribe to the accepted methods of celebration on the holiday reserved for lovers. Which partially explains why we chose to watch Machete during the time we set aside to observe the festivities.

Have you seen Machete? Oh, you should! It is 7 different kinds of cheestastic awesome. Unless, of course you have something against gratuitous violence. Then, umm, no, you really shouldn't. Little background, hmm? Machete started life as a trailer between the two movies that were the result of the Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez union, Grindhouse. That last brilliant decided it would be a good idea to make a full length motion picture out of the trailer, paying homage to the B Movie. The result? Glorious! Click here for the trailer. Don't worry, that you reveled in that little bit of cinematic beauty will be our secret.

Did you see the naked Eva Mendes wannabe at the beginning of the trailer? The one that asks "What's this long, hard thing?" To which Danny Trejo replies "My machete." ***SPOILERY TYPE STUFF AHEAD*** Somehow, she gets the jump on Machete (Danny Trejo's character), I don't remember how, it ain't important. But she does and when she does, she takes a step back, reaches down and pulls a cell phone OUT OF HER FUCKING VAGINA!!! And then makes a phone call on it. I mean, c'mon! Really? That is nasty. It wasn't no slim wonder of technology, either. This chick yanks out something like a first generation blackberry. I was appalled, and said so. My darling dearest laughed at my discomfort.

Fast forward. Machete is in the pool making out with Lindsay Lohan and another woman. Mr. Sprite makes a favourable comment on Lindsay Lohan's bangability. When the speechlessness has passed I ask him if he's kidding. He says that he's not and wonders why I should think otherwise. "Because she's a cum guzzling, coke whore, that's why!" (Thank you, from the bottom of my heart for that bit of eloquence, Dani. There was never a more fitting description). It's his turn to look appalled. Never one to be left speechless, he just comes right out and asks me how I can take issue with a woman pulling a cell phone OUT OF HER FUCKING VAGINA!!! but I have no qualms whatsoever with uttering the above mentioned phrase.

Honestly, I don't see the comparison. Ladies don't shove cell phones up their hooha's (I don't care how convenient a hidey-hole it is!) and Lindsay Lohan is a cum guzzling, coke whore. I'm speaking truths here, people! Am I right? ***END SPOILERY TYPE STUFF***

I Have Commitment Issues

2011-02-13T21:28:00.004-04:00

You know, in case you hadn't noticed. Seriously though, life has been one chaotic shit storm after another. And like the good little Pisces that I am, when the going gets tough, I amp up the escapism. So I have spent the past couple of months immersed in one obsession after another, doing my damnedest to avoid real life. Reading (a dozen or so books since we last met), movies (not as many of these as I'd like), TV(the latest obsession: 5 seasons of Supernatural in just under 2 weeks), music (whatever, whenever, wherever), creeping you on Facebook (no worries, my stalker is well fed). You name it, nothing really productive, just whatever it takes.

My 14 year old daughter is trying on every teenage stereotype in existence. So far, we haven't killed each other, but we've come close once or twice. My husband may run screaming, so much are the estrogen and stubborn. Or he may end up killing us both. No judge would convict him. Just in case you read that last paragraph in a literal sense instead of heaped in sarcasm, as it was meant to be read; I love my daughter dearly, but, wow! Were we all like this? Jesus, we were unbearable!

Female Rep hockey is the bane of my existence. That's all I got to say on that subject. For now.

The month of January, 2011 has done little else except convince me that it is indeed a fabulous idea to retire in a warmer location. You know what? Why wait, I say we relocate! Holy Snow, Batman!

Finally, I will be 33 in a couple of weeks. I think I may be having trouble dealing. Yeah. I hate to say it, because 30 came and went and I was a cucumber. But I'm staring down the barrel of 33 and feeling a little shit balls retarded. If I were a dude, I'd trade my new car in for an older, sportier model, like this:

Or I'd trade my hubby in for a younger, newer model. No, never mind, I don't think I would. I don't have the patience for that. Besides, younger men kind of seem like they may be a little too metro for me. I like my men, well, manly. If you've used more wax than I have since the new year or you've got your hair stylist on speed dial, you need not apply.

Aaaand, I've just proved that I am indeed old. Just shoot me now.

Anyway, Imma try to pay more attention to my little slice of Internet heaven.

A Whole Lotta Nuttin'

2010-09-18T19:56:00.005-03:00

I was over mucking around on Crackbook, bored outta my tree, when I decided I would watch something on the idiot box. This being Saturday night, nothing's on. Wondering what to do with my ridiculously under-stimulated self, it came to me. My blog! So, what wise words have I to share? What interesting stories? What profound thoughts have I been a-pondering? Bupkis, boys and girls, that's what! I'm just going to prattle on about stuff so that I can say I have actually been on this poor, neglected blog.

Let's stick with the neglected theme for a moment, shall we? Alright-y then. The Cannonball Read II. Yes, I signed up. And for awhile I did a half decent job of sharing my adventures in reading with y'all, my bloggy friends. However, my resolve quickly dissolved and the reviews fell by the wayside. But I did not quit reading. Oh no, I read my little heart out. Here is what I have read and not reviewed:

The Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter series by Laurell K. Hamilton, books 1-12
They started out solid; your average supernatural mystery type books and quickly spiraled recklessly toward pure, unadulterated porn. They were fantastic!

The Outlander Series by Diana Gabaldon, books 1-7
I believe I actually managed to review a couple of these. These books kicked some serious ass. There was a brief time during The Fiery Cross when I could put the book down, but that didn't last long. I cannot wait for the next one. Is it out YET? No? How 'bout now?

The Mortal Instruments Series by Cassandra Clare, books 1-3
I bought this set for my daughter. I try to read whatever she's reading so that I can curb any errant thought processes resulting from her reading material (see Twilight, although, she hasn't really needed any explanations from me, she's smart when she wants to be). Anyway, back to the topic at hand. These books were pretty good. There was a particular plot line that made me squick a little, but it played out alright. And yes! I am very articulate this fine evening.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon
I was surprised by this book. It was given to my daughter as a Christmas gift and so, naturally I expected a book for a teen. Not so much. It was alternately funny and heart-breakingly sad. A quick but good read.

Well, let's see, I'm up to 23, right? I also reread the Sookie Stackhouse novels, so that's another 11. And I think that's all of 'em.

Ahhh, True Blood, how I do love you. However, I think my husband may have been right, Mr. Ball tried to cram a little too much into this season. Also, if we're sorta, kinda, maybe, a little bit trying to stick to the books, shouldn't Eric and Sookie have spent the better portion of this season gettin' it on? I was seriously disappointed when I realized that wasn't going to happen. Anna Paquin married Stephen Moyer in real life and on screen they have zero chemistry together. Anna Paquin and Mr. Skarsgard, on the other hand, ooze chemistry. Or maybe it's just Alexander Skarsgard. You know what? It's probably that. Perhaps they will get their groove on next season. From my lips to Alan Ball's ears.

Hmmm, what else? Oooh! How about movies? I watched Valhalla Rising recently. Beautiful scenery, great acting, freaking MESSED up story. It's been along time since a movie left me dumbfounded but this one did that and then some. And the Expendables. I love me some mindless, 'splodey, action movies. And we watched The Princess Diaries and Men in Tights with the kids, which was awesome! And nothing else is coming to mind right now even though I've watched a tonne of movies this summer. I guess that says it all, don't it?

Finally, I'm crushin' on this little hottie right now, Eric Balfour. Thanks to a fun show I've been DVR'ing all summer, Haven. In case you haven't caught it, it's about an FBI agent who finds herself in a little town in Maine riddled with strange events the locals have pegged "The Troubles". It's based on the short story by Stephen King, The Colorado Kid aaaand it's filmed in the lovely Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, which I'm sure you know, is close to home.

Alright, boys and girls, I'm outta here! Hopefully, I'll be back soon!

Oh wait! Wait! Come back! Last year, my daughter and I started watching The Vampire Diaries together (anybody else notice that I seem to like my vampire stories? Yeah, me neither!). When the season ended I wanted to read the books the t.v. show is based on. Let me save anyone inclined to read the books some suffering, don't. It ain't worth it, man! They are fantastically bad. Not in a cheese-y bad way, just bad. Absolutely sucked! Seriously. And there are six of them (40!). And yes, I read them all, because I can't start a book and not finish it. Although I probably should have. Time I'll never get back, folks, time I'll never get back.

It's Here! It's Finally Here!

2010-07-14T18:59:00.003-03:00

What? You ask. Well, my sister's blog. I've finally succeeded in harassing her enough that she started one of her own. So, I ask you as a favour between friends, go! Visit The Rantings of an Awkward Genius, I promise she will have you laughing your butt off in no time (as long as she blogs at a reasonable hour!). And if she doesn't? I cannot be held responsible. It's not like I twisted your arm or anything. Or hers. Okay, maybe I twisted hers a little. But only because I think her brand of funny should be shared. Have I built her up enough? Do you think it will hurt when she falls off that mile high pedestal I've put her on? C'mon, my expectations aren't that hard to meet! Also, writing in any form offers a reprieve that is difficult to find elsewhere and who doesn't need that once in awhile? I know all of my bloggy friends understand. So? What are you still doin' here? Go! Read! Enjoy! And be nice, or I'll beat you up (she is my little sissy, after all)!

Divinely Uncoordinated

2010-07-11T13:29:00.005-03:00

As you are aware, or would be if you read this post, about three and a half months ago I started a new job. My new job is fabulous. The people I work with are awesome as well. Which is why, when I was invited to a gathering of my co-workers hosted by the doctor that owns the practice, I was happy to go. I was duly warned by one of my co-workers that the doctor likes to dance. And he likes the company of his employees while bustin' his move. I took the warning in stride, because really, who doesn't like to cut a rug once in a while? So, I shouldn't have been surprised when the little party came equipped with a dance instructor. I was, however. The nail biting began when I was informed that participation was not optional.

I enjoy dancing. I have been known to let loose and get my groove on. And the more alcohol I've consumed the groovier I get. But, seeing as this was a work function and I am the newest addition to the team, I had not ingested nearly enough liquid courage to take dance lessons in front of 12 or so of my newly acquired co-workers. Better yet? The dance being taught was the Samba. Have I mentioned before that I am the klutziest person I know? That I have very little rhythm? That I am divinely uncoordinated? Oh yes, hand to God. And participation was not optional.

I lined up opposite my husband (spouses were invited), said a prayer to the god of dance and fiercely concentrated on the feet of the little man instructing us. I tried. I really did. If I had of been in the comfort of my own home, or even a private lesson and perhaps a month to practice, I may have been able to execute and combine the 3 steps he taught us. I imagine what I produced looked something like I had suffered a seizure standing up. To add insult to injury, my husband is like liquid on the dance floor. Particularly any version of Latin dance. The instructor congratulated me on my husband's capacity. My co-workers were awed by his grace. My only saving grace? His suave effectively hid my ineptitude.

You think this would have been the end of this nightmare. You would be wrong. The other doctor at the practice was also in attendance. Being a little bit older, perhaps a little more mild mannered, his choice of dance was a little different. In fact, he was obliged to provide his own Cd with the music required for his lesson. Don't worry. I make it sound as though he taught us the Waltz and insisted we only touch at the arms, that isn't the case. No. The truth is much worse. He taught us the bunny hop. While the family in the link is very cute, I beg you to imagine doing this with a group of people you have known for approximately 8 weeks. Also, the family in the link are holding each other at the shoulder, we held each other at the waist. Why was I not informed of my options? You understand my unease. Aaaand, I'm, uh...top heavy. Bouncing around is not conducive to comfort when you are blessed with breasts. Especially when you are ill prepared.

Let's add it all up, shall we? Near strangers + divinely uncoordinated me + unfairly coordinated husband + big boobs + dance lessons = incredible embarrassment. Thankfully, my embarrassment seems to be my own. Mr. Sprite is (usually) remarkably good humoured; he was unfazed by my lack of grace. My co-workers were equally accepting; none of them were horrified by inelegant display. Shocking, isn't it? That no one but myself was put off. It always comes as a bit of a surprise when I am reminded once again that the world doesn't revolve around me. But, know this: I will practice those three steps until I have perfected them and I will don a garment capable of keeping the girls in check. And next time, I won't be so god damned uptight.

The Scent of A...

2010-06-13T17:48:00.005-03:00

I went in to the house from the deck the other weekend and the smell of the spaghetti sauce I had been cooking and the laundry I had been washing hit me. I had a second to think how homey it all smelled when I was transported approximately 18 years into the past. Suddenly I was in my mother's kitchen on a Sunday afternoon. The memory was so strong I heard the voices of friends I hadn't spoken to in ages; the pale green walls of my own kitchen morphed into the forest green of the apartment in Toronto all those years ago and the ceramic tiles beneath my feet became linoleum. The emotional stew that bubbled during my entire teenage life accompanied the other sensory memories as well, but this post isn't about those.

The relationship between scent and memory is fascinating. So fascinating, in fact, I went hunting for a scientific explanation. About 10 minutes into my research (which was about 7 1/2 minutes longer than I remained interested), I was easily led astray by thoughts of scents that evoke strong memories. For lack of a better idea for a post (and God knows, I am severely lacking of late), I thought I'd share some with you.

Oscar de la Renta perfume unfailingly brings back the time my Mom spent every morning painstakingly curling her hair and applying mascara before going to work at the restaurant. A routine that often included an entire pot of coffee and several phone calls (all to the same three or four people. Everyday.) but no less meticulous for the time it took. My mother had the most mesmerizing eyelashes of anyone I had ever known. Icy blue-grey eyes set in the creamy, freckled face with the startling long black lashes framing them.

For a couple of short years in my life I lived on the island of Newfoundland. While there, it was fashionable for young ladies to wear their hair in such a way that paid tribute to the biggest of '80's hairdos. I'd spend hours curling my then bone-straight, nearly waist length hair, then teasing it all so that it often stood just shy of a foot off my head and fixing it in place with at least a half of a can of Salon Selectives hairspray, Extreme Hold. To this day, a whiff of the previously mentioned hair product brings me back to my bedroom in the drafty old house; arms burning with the strain of an hour spent holding the curling iron in my hair.

My Dad is a denim and leather kind of guy. So much so, that I was convinced I would never see him wear anything but (except for those little blue shorts with the white stripes down the side that were the cause for much embarrassment during my childhood, but they are a story of their own). For the first twenty or so years of my life my Father's daily uniform consisted of a pair of blue jeans (sometimes black ones, but not often) a brown leather belt with a huge brass buckle, a t-shirt and a black leather vest, adorned with buttons collected along the way (he had plenty of flair). As a result, the scent of worn leather fills me with images of my Dad when I was little. They are usually accompanied with the sense of awe I felt over just about everything he did or said (have I mentioned I'm a 'Daddy's Girl'?).

Finally, jet fuel. It's not the only scent that reminds me of my husband, there is also Joop cologne; shoe polish; and orange air freshener, but jet fuel is one of the strongest. As an airplane mechanic, he regularly brings the scents of his trade home with him but that is one that leaves a lasting impression. One day, very early in his career, he arrived home from work, I went to give him a kiss and was brought up short. The stench of him was breathtaking. I swore and asked him what he'd been doing and why did he stink so bad. He laughed and told me he'd been crawling around inside the wing of a plane, which is where the fuel is stored. It was empty at the time, but, you know. He was probably highly flammable, he was going to shower and could I please wash his uniform in cold water and line dry it instead of use the dryer. Just in case.

How 'bout y'all? Does the smell of chocolate chip cookies remind you of your Grandma's lovingly made cookies as a kid? Does the smell of stale beer and cigarettes remind you of that night you've tried so hard to forget? You spill the memory beans and I'll work on flexing my writing muscle and maybe I'll write more often.

Almost There

2010-05-01T09:36:00.004-03:00

Well, my other half has been gone for two months. Tomorrow, he returns. I'm here to tell you, it's a good thing.

I'm not an incompetent person. Military life is what it is and I have adjusted accordingly. I'd be lying if I didn't say that the deployments are, on occasion, a relief. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that. I wish I could say that simply missing my husband and the comfort of a complete family unit are my chief complaints when he is away. It's not the case, though. And this particular deployment has been trying in the extreme. It wasn't all bad, I can't say that. There were some definite high points, but my limits have been tested. When life shows her teeth, I withdraw. It may not be healthy, but it's a fact.

And that's my excuse. The reason for my absence. I'm not quite comfortable enough to relay the events that have been so cataclysmic, but they were such that even my need for social interaction was severely crippled. I have however, in my way, dealt. Am dealing. And tomorrow, Mr. Sprite will return. The world is once again tilted at approximately 23.5 degrees and has resumed orbiting the sun. Tad bit melodramatic, aren't I?

Let me tell you about the good stuff.

I am no longer in the employ of Narcissus. I was recommended for a position (something that has never happened to me before and was an incredible boost to my ego) at a local ophthalmologist's office. I emailed a resume, met with the office manager and the HR manager and was hired in short order. So now, I am officially a Ophthalmologists Medical Assistant (in training). This job is awesome! My co-workers are, so far, fantastic.

My daughter plays hockey. Her team this year was not a good one. They won only one game and tied another. The end of the season tournament was designed in such a way that even my daughters team could win a medal. I'm not sure how that works, haven't tried to figure it out. It's not the sport I enjoy, it's watching my kid have a blast doing it. Anyway, after putting a little more than 800 kilometers on my car over 3 days of the Easter weekend with my son and my father (who visited for a week, one of the highlights) in tow, the last game was a welcome sight. Strangely, our girls were to play a team that had beat us 15-0 at the beginning of the year. We took our seats in the stands to bear witness to the trouncing that was about to take place. But our girls rallied! 3 periods passed and no one scored. Everyone played well, but our goalie and defense played their asses off (my daughter plays defense. Surprised? I think not). Officials decided the two teams would play a 3 on 3, 10 minute overtime period. My daughters defense duo was chosen to play the second lineup (is that what it's called? I'm not concerned enough to research it; you get what I'm saying). I was proud. And so they played the overtime period and still no one scored! The officials then decided a shootout was in order. Each team picked 5 girls with the best shot and my little girl (not so little, she'll be 14 in a month) was chosen! I was bubbling over with pride at this point. And my father, who was happy just to be able to see her play, had a perma-grin from ear to ear. I should also point out that the tension in the arena was palpable. Our team, a team that had done so poorly all season, played hard that day. Harder than they'd ever played and the cheers in the stands for our girls was deafening. The game they had played so far was vindication enough, victory wasn't even necessary. But our hope was renewed and we shouted every encouragement we could. Ten girls were lined up against the boards waiting for their turn to shoot the winning goal. The opposing team got the first shot. It was evident that the players knew the stakes; formerly sure footed and quick skaters looked like it was their first time on skates; the best puck handlers were rarely able to control the puck (one of best forwards took a shot that went about 10 foot wide of her mark). Our third shooter scored! The crowd literally went wild! But the other team still had a chance. Then, with my daughter at center ice and them with one more shot, my daughter pushed off. I will be honest and say the following description contains it's fair share of parental pride, but it doesn't make it any less accurate. She handled the stick and puck like they were God given appendages, she skated like she had been born to do it. She took the shot and I marveled at how picturesque she looked with one foot slightly off the ice and the stick held out in front of her. I looked at the net. Did it go in? The force of the puck hitting the back of the net over the goalies right shoulder told me it had! My girl skated around the back of the net and came out with her stick high above her head, cheering when her team mates piled on top of her. The weight of 16 girls confirming she had just secured the bronze metal for them. And in the stands I was surrounded by parents who were jumping and hugging. I screamed cheers so loud I could barely talk the next day. My father looked like the cat that caught the canary. Even my son, who abhors hockey, jumped and shouted. It was truly amazing.

Like I said there were some high points.

My Dark Little Corner

2010-03-09T19:28:00.005-04:00

My, that sounds uplifting don't it?

I'm back from vacation and my vacation had only one shortcoming; it was too damned short! I hung out with my cousin and her wacky boyfriend. It's often been said that she and I are the light and dark versions of one another. She's light (blond hair, blue eyes) and I'm dark (Brown hair, brown eyes). Are personalities are similar as well. Not in the way that mirrors every fault you have causing you to despise the person for acting as a constant reminder that you are less than perfect and may be something worse but in the comfortable, chummy way. I can be goofy and honest, two things I have a hard time being, and she can be the same. We mesh well. We have a lot in common. More than I knew.

A conversation began and evolved into another thing entirely. From aspirations, then literature, on to religion and finally ghosts. Yes, I believe in ghosts. And yes I am painfully aware of how that belief contrasts the lack of faith I have discussed previously. Hypocrite, who me? Here's the thing, and maybe you'll laugh but I can live with that, I have experienced something called Old Hag Syndrome. And apparently my cousin has also.

Occasionally I'll awake from sleep and not be able to move, not a finger or a toe. It's damn near impossible to draw breath because there's something on my chest. Something holding me down and sucking the life out of me. It's fucking scary. Occasionally, when I have finally been able to draw breath, I let it out in a scream of sheer terror. When I told my cousin and her wacky boyfriend this (Ha! look who's calling who wacky!), my cousin very simply stated "That's the Old Hag". Who....what...huh?

Old Hag was described as a witch that rides the chest of her sleeping victim and sends him/her nightmares (oh yes, the nightmares). When the victim awoke, they would be unable to move or breathe. That's the Coles notes. You can skip around Wiki for hours finding all sorts of interesting variations (I did) but that's the gist. Science explains that when a person is sleeping, a function of the brain paralyzes them so they don't act on their dreams (mine's broken, I sleepwalk all the damned time, there's nothing like waking up in the middle of the night in the middle of the living room). If a person wakes before that function has been turned off completely they experience a moment of sleep paralysis. The modern explanation. A likely story.

I honestly can't tell you which I believe. The scientific explanation sure does sound pretty and when it's daylight, it's easy to accept. But if you've ever felt the Old Hag, you know the terror is hard to logically explain away.

Old Hag isn't the only reason I lean toward the existence of the paranormal but it's a big part of the whole. In my short life I've seen and felt some creepy shit, but I'll save that for another post. So, tell me; do you? Don't you? I want all the dirty details.

You Know You Want It!

2010-02-23T15:52:00.000-04:00

He he! I am leaving for the T-dot in 2 days! I’m a wee bit excited, in case you hadn’t noticed. My cousin, my sister and I are going to have a good time. There will be dinners at fancy-like restaurants, manicures and pedicures, visiting, and drunken debauchery. I’m sure we’ll throw some shopping in for good measure. And a little more drunkenness, just because.

The only downfall is my return. Not because I don’t want to come back, but because two days after I return, the military is sending my husband on course for two –TWO- months! So I will be up here (you can’t see me, but I’m on my tippy toes with my hand way above my head) and then I will violently fall all the way down here (now, I’m flat out on the floor). I can’t even savour the sweetness of my vacation for a few extra days. That makes me pouty.

Also, my vacation was, unbeknownst to me, well timed. It gives me the opportunity to escape from the 7th circle of hell that has become the relationship between my daughter and me. I realize she’s a teen and teens are mildly psychotic and possibly suffer from multiple personalities but that doesn’t make it any easier. But I can’t get into that here and now because I run the risk of my head exploding.

Alright, enough of that.

So, here I sit on the eve of my 32nd birthday and I am going to spend time with two of the most important women in my life. My cousin, who I was estranged from for about a decade for unfortunate reasons, but thankfully we are back and just as strong and I wonder how I managed without her, and my sister, who was possibly the bane of my existence until I turned 24, when I realized everyone’s human and she maybe realized I wasn’t the control hungry bitch she had accused me of being. In other words we both matured and became very good friends. Don’t ask us to live together again, though. We will kill each other inside of a week. So even if all we three did for 6 days was hang out and drink and talk and just generally enjoy one another’s company, it would be a memorable birthday.

My only wish is that I could bring the hubby with me. I know, it kind of ruins the girls only theme but I am fortunate to be very good friends with the man I married (and when we remember that, we knock it out of the park!) and he’s also good friends with my sister and my cousin. It would be so much awesome! But not too much, they could never be too much.

Aww, look at me gettin’ all sappy. But there it is folks – the short list of “cannot do without” people in my life. And I didn’t even know I was going to go there. I just wanted to brag about justified absence from my place of work and my impending drunkenness. A nice surprise, I must say. Blog posts that write themselves. Fancy that!

The Hound of Hell

2010-02-19T16:21:00.001-04:00

I am the receptionist for an insurance/investment/mortgage firm as well as a real estate company. I don’t have much on my plate. I mail out mortgage letters once a week. I fax out group insurance requests once a week. I occasionally design business cards and marketing material for both companies. If I am lucky, I get to work on a mortgage. Once in awhile I am required to enter a new listing into the MLS database. I answer the phone. And as infrequently as I can manage it, I file. Before this I worked as a teller in a bank. I was much busier and made better money.

Even though a retarded monkey could perform my job, I try to take pride in what I do. To be honest I adore designing the business cards and marketing material. I’m an amateur but it’s fun nonetheless and the people I do it for appreciate it. Sorry, a little off topic. I try to be unfailingly professional. I am only human and once in a blue moon some dorksnorkle slips under the radar and manages to piss me off enough to make me forget myself. That being said my crimes against professionalism pale in comparison to some of the shit I have seen while I have worked here. I write about them today because there have been 3 such events in a very (unacceptably) short span of time. The same person is guilty of all three.

We received mail from a courier today addressed to one person. Another person entirely opened it.

While talking to a bill collector on the phone (yes, collector), a request was made by the collector for the name of the party he was talking to. The name was given several times and when it was apparent the language barrier was making the conversation difficult, the question was posed: “if you ask for information, then clean the crap outta your ears and listen”.

Finally, because this person is a very serious control freak, one requiring extensive psychiatric therapy in my humble opinion, completely ignored one of the boss’s clients. Why would she do such a thing? What could possibly be considered reason enough to ignore the client of the man that signs your paycheques? Because I was on lunch (which incites misery each and every fucking day, as if I am not entitled to it or rather the jealousy because Dani and I eat together every day), the real estate agent on duty greeted the potential client (in her eyes) when they entered the building. Upon discovering he was in fact a client of my boss's she looked to my co-worker for help. My co-worker simply shrugged and left the real estate agent to fend for herself. Having no knowledge of the boss’s whereabouts or what his schedule was she took the gentleman’s name and sent him on his way. When the name was relayed to my boss and his anger at having his scheduled client sent away was apparent, my co-worker hung the real estate agent out to dry. And the fuck of it is; she thinks her childish little display of passive-aggression was justified.

To add insult to injury: this woman’s mood swings makes the character Linda Blair played in The Exorcist look downright fucking playful. I am often left flummoxed, wondering what I could’ve possibly done to warrant the death stare and knife edge-like tongue.

When did professionalism and respect in the workplace become an option?

When I leave this place (and I will, it is only a matter of when now) it won’t be because of Narci , Dirk Diggler, or any other minions. It will be because of the soul sucking female in his employ.

Hello, My Name is Eyvi.

2010-02-08T10:43:00.002-04:00

My time management skills leave a lot to be desired. My follow through is not as strong as it could be, either. Also, I have an undeniably addictive personality. In addition to that, escapism is my drug of choice. What am I trying to say? The Cannonball was probably a bad idea for me. Don’t get me wrong, I love having a reason to read. But I hate writing the reviews. I’m not very good at them and they get in the way of the next book. I am 10 reviews behind. 10!!! And so, because I feel guilty for being so behind on my reviews I avoid blogging altogether. Every time I log in I think I should be writing a review, and then whatever I was going to write drowns in the pool of guilt. So I avoid my blog. This means I am missing out on y’all. Well, the ones I’m not friends with on crackbook. And of those I am friends with; I am missing out on what it takes you more than 400 characters (or whatever the limit is) to say. This all makes sense in my head.

Not to worry though! My blogging friends aren’t the only social circle I have been avoiding. I’ve neglected everyone else as well. This weekend I tried very hard to remind my family that I am still there and I still care and I am willing to participate in family life in between pages and chapters and books. I decided if I couldn’t spare my company (because you can do a lot of things in tandem with reading but talking to people isn’t one of them), then I would demonstrate my love via the culinary arts. I made Spaghetti sauce, chili, cream of potato soup and molasses baked beans. My husband is required to expand very little energy feeding the family this week and it’s all healthy!

So what’s my point besides sharing my faults? Putting one of the many dark areas of my mind on display? What? That isn’t enough? You want blood, too? I don’t have much of one really. I just wanted to share and thought at least I’m blogging something. Right? Right.

Where'd I Put That?

2010-01-27T15:38:00.001-04:00

You know what? I’m at work right now. I probably have some semblance of work I could be doing. But I’m not going to. Want to know why? Besides the fact that the work is really just some make work project my boss gave me because he sees me sitting here at my desk, Facebooking and reading Pajiba on the fucking spy-cam he had installed over my desk (it’s for “security”)? I haven’t posted in a month of Sundays and I miss you yahoos and I know that if I don’t pay y’all at least a wee bit of attention you may just up and hop the fence. Which, I can’t have. I’ve grown accustomed to your affections, I’m afraid.

I’ll explain my absence. I have developed an alarming case of apathy. Yup, my give a fuck is fubar’d. Seems no one knows how to fix it either. Could be that I hold the secret to refilling my well of interest. Could be. I can’t really be bothered to go looking right now. It’s a vicious circle, folks. - No. Not that kind of circle. Pig! – I suspect the time of year has a great deal to do with it. Truth be told, I’ve known for awhile that my so called seasonal depression is not really seasonal. I’ma do a little Scarlet and deal with that tomorrow.

The good news is that I have read 4 books (none of which I have written a review for. D’oh!). Three of which are young adult novels. You see, I have a thirteen year old daughter, so there are piles of this shit lying around my house. And ‘shit’ is a generous description, but you’ll understand when I get around to writing the reviews. I feel compelled to read them because I should know what my daughter is reading. It’s trash, seriously. There are good books out there, I know there are, why do we keep ending up with crap? I shouldn’t complain too much though because while she was happy to read Twilight, she was more excited to begin reading the Sword of Truth series and several Stephen King novels. And you naysayers can keep your opinions about the Sword of Truth series and Stephen King to yourself, ya hear? But feel free to lay into Twilight.

More bad news? I have completely fallin’ off the weight loss wagon. Dani and I went to the local grocery store to supplement our lunches today. With what? Barbecue chips and brownies... ...with chocolate chips. It may or may not have anything to do with PMS. It has absolutely nothing to do with helping me achieve my weight loss goal. I can’t tell you exactly what that is, ‘cause I don’t want to ruin your image of me. You know the image where I’ve got a body like Brittany Spears before she flipped her bicky and showed the world her cooter. That being said, it wasn’t the trip to the grocery store that was my diets demise. No, the defeat of the mighty diet can be traced back to Christmas. I took a vacation from my attempt at a healthier lifestyle. Because, really, what fun is Christmas when you’re counting the calories in your rum and eggnog and turkey with mashed potatoes and gravy? So, yeah, I’m just hoping I haven’t exhausted the supply of will power I had.

Hmmm. More good news? I want to end on a high note like George Costanza. It has been gorgeous weather wise in my corner of the world. Gorgeous! Yesterday it was plus 15 (59, my Ameri-friends) in the sun. Here in Canadialand during the winter months that is something to sing Hallelujah about. Today, it is plus 5 (41!), the sun is shining and there is not a cloud in the sky. Loverly. Sadly, it’s supposed to start raining tomorrow, turn to snow tomorrow night and then snow off and on until Wednesday. Oh! That high note? Lemme see... ... all the snow is good for skiing. Maybe I should start skiing? You have no idea how amusing that thought is!

A Loss for Words

2010-01-13T20:57:00.002-04:00

That would be the reason I haven't posted much lately. I'm not lacking for topics but I seem to be having trouble putting it to words.

That isn't going to stop me tonight, though.

It's No Whining Wednesday and true to form I had plenty of reason to whine today. But I tried not to. Mr. Sprite was promoted last year and because the Department of National Defense here in Canada takes the motto "hurry up and wait" very seriously, Mr. Sprite has only just been scheduled for his leadership training. He's scheduled to leave for 2 months of training two days after I return from Toronto. Sucks, no? But in the interest of adhering to the rules, I tried to look at the brighter side.

1. Queen size bed all to myself!
2. Lots of one on one time with my children (this can also be viewed as a bad thing).
3. Rent all the movies I wouldn't get to see when the hubby is home.
4. Eat the things the hubby doesn't like.
5. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and by that I mean we are guaranteed at least one week of really fantastic sex when he comes back!

See? Not so bad, right? Tomorrow I'll tell you all the reasons it sucks ass. That's gonna be a much longer list!

On the very bright side: I am going to Toronto in 43 days! You have no idea how much I am looking forward to 6 days of my cousin and my sister and very little responsibility. You may envy me, I don't mind. We've decided we're going to have dinner in the revolving restaurant at the top of the CN Tower, we may go skiing (I am hopelessly un-athletic, so this may prove to be dangerous, hilarious and pathetic all at once) and we are definitely going to drink more than our fair share. Expect drunken shenanigans.

That's all for tonight boys and girls. Stay outta trouble!

Cannonball Read II - Book #6: The Law of Nines by Terry Goodkind

2010-01-11T19:00:00.002-04:00

Warning: If you have not read this book, leave now. It's about to get all spoilery up in here. If you like Terry Goodkind and don't think you can handle someone questioning him, you should also leave now. If you cringe at strong language, you too, should head for the exit and perhaps not come back, cause let's face it, I can make a sailor blush.

What the fuck, Terry Goodkind? What the hell is this shit you are trying to pass off as literature? OK, so maybe this might pass as literature, 'might' being a stretch. But for you, Terry Goodkind? For you? Oh no, Sir. No, if you expect your devout fans to accept this steaming pile of dung, not only have you apparently pissed away all of your talent but you seem to have lost your ever lovin' fuckin' mind too!

*deep breath*

Sorry, let me explain.

I bought The Law of Nines for my husband for Christmas. My husband and I have both read The Sword of Truth series and loved it. My husband had mentioned what a talented writer he thought Terry Goodkind to be. So, upon seeing this new book on the shelf I thought I should pick it up, because my husband liked Goodkind for both his imagination and his ability. I was even a little excited to see what kind of "electrifying new direction" (this is what it says on the inside flap of the dust jacket) he might have taken. It promised "Longtime fans and new readers alike will not forget...THE LAW OF NINES". Because it ruined any good fucking will I had for Terry Goodkind? Sorry, back to the review. Now, Mr. Sprite is still thoroughly engaged with the books I bought him for his birthday, The Outlaws of the Marsh, and I needed another book before I started the next Diana Gabaldon one and I knew I would have it read in a jiffy, so read it I did.

The Law of Nines begins with Alex, a young man celebrating his 27th birthday, standing on a street corner waiting for the light to change when he notices a plumbing truck careening toward him. It's then that he realizes there is woman (whom he doesn't remember seeing before now) waiting for the light as well and she doesn't seem to have noticed the approaching danger. He grabs her arm and yanks her out of the trucks path in the nick of time, saving her life. Then he invites her into the gallery where his paintings are on display. He's an artist, he paints trees and stuff. In the gallery she calls him by his name, he's shocked! But wait, she must have been to the gallery before and seen his paintings. When he pointed out his, she remembered the name, right? Well, turns out.... ....this is your last warning... ...go now if you don't want to be spoilered... ...she's from another world. She's from a world much like Alex's world but her world has magic and his doesn't.

We just slipped outta thriller folks, and put on a nice comfy fantasy. That's okay. I can handle that, because I've read Terry Goodkind's brand of fantasy and it kicks all kinds of ass.

The girl disappears into thin air again and we're left with Alex pondering his sanity because he's 27 and his Mom lost her shit when she turned 27 and she's been institutionalized and heavily medicated ever since. So he goes to see his grandpa because grandpa is also a little loopy but harmless and he always makes Alex feel better, or some shit. Grandpa has something for Alex. It seems Alex has inherited approximately half of Maine! Why, because it's his 27th birthday (grandpa thinks it has to do with the 7, something about the 7) and because he's a Rahl. Yes, you read that right. And yes, I also got all warm and tingly, like any good Goodkind fan should. But it's not what you think, my friends and what it is is not freakin' pretty.

This book is essentially a continuation (1000 years in the future) of The Sword of Truth. But there is no sword and no one names Alex the Seeker. But he has a pretty knife that has a mate with the letter R for the house of Rahl carved in the hilt. Oh and the mysterious woman? Yeah, the hints dropped that she's a confessor would sink a fucking boat, but he never comes right out and says so. Which would all be a-okay, if Terry Goodkind wrote this book in the same style as the others. But he didn't because of that "electrifying new direction" we read about on the dust jacket. Mr. Goodkind wanted to write a thriller! So we have what is either a continuation of the last book or a blatant bloody knock off of the first book of The Sword of Truth with choppy, clipped writing. Examples (the following examples are not only short sentences but entire paragraphs! For emphasis, I suppose): "He looked like a man stepping out of a nightmare." or "The world seemed to rush back in." or "Her voice was as captivating as her eyes." and one more for good measure, "It was as wicked a grin as Alex had ever seen". And this is only the first seven pages! The entire book is like it! It's horrible. It's disheartening.

Don't even get me started on the climax. Honestly, it isn't worth it.

Please, Mr. Goodkind, I implore you; do not change your writing style! Your fall from grace need only be a short one if you go back to fantasy. Hell, I'm not opposed to you beginning a new chapter in The Sword of Truth, but do it right! Oh! But don't let your political ideals and objectivist beliefs seep into the story like you did in Confessor. That was glaringly obvious. Preachy too.

Cannonball Read II - Book #5: Voyager by Diana Gabaldon

2010-01-11T16:06:00.001-04:00

Voyager, the third instalment in the Outlander series, has Claire discover that Jamie may not have died in battle at Culloden. Confirmation forces her to face the most difficult of decisions: should she leave her grown daughter in the hopes of seeing Jamie again? The decision is made at the 11th hour at Brianna’s behest – Go or I do! So Claire does. She travels through the stones and across Scotland to seek out Jamie. She finds him right where she expects to and one of the most adorable scenes every committed to paper unfolds. When they finally determine they are both real and not a figment of the others imagination, they get on with familiarizing themselves with each other again and not just in ‘that’ way! And of course the adventure begins. I know it wouldn’t make for very interesting reading otherwise, but these two sure do seem to find their share of trouble. There’s a brothel, a fire, bigamy, a kidnapping, long lost jewels, slaves and voodoo! They cover Scotland, France, the West Indies and more!

Again, Diana Gabaldon does not disappoint. I am so in love with these two characters I may follow them even if they led a normal quiet life. I usually encounter some form of disappointment in the portrayal of a beloved character this deep into a series. So far, I’ve no cause to complain, Diana Gabaldon has done a fantastic job of not deviating from what we’ve come to expect of the people in her story. And while the sheer volume of excitement is a wee bit unbelievable, her use of historical detail is always accurate.

I have only two complaints, one being her verbosity. I hold to my belief that she could have used a braver editor. The second, and this is no fault of the authors, only my apparently unreasonable expectations, I wanted Brianna to go back in time too!

There, now I’ve written this review as I promised myself I would before I began the fourth book, Drums of Autumn. My procrastination has had a palpable effect and I am dying to begin the next one (although Spot has made me just the teeniest weary).

Cannonball Read II - Book #4: Coraline by Neil Gaiman

2010-01-02T16:46:00.004-04:00

Ah ha! I didn't think I could count Coraline toward Cannonball Read because it weighs in at a very feathery 162 pages, but I checked the Facebook page and Woo hoo! Nicole has graciously allowed a length of "150 pages or so"!

I had seen the movie Coraline having not known it was based on a book. It was visually stunning and incredibly creepy. I enjoyed it thoroughly. You understand then, how happy I was when I came across the novel at a local used book store. I read it one afternoon while my husband drove us to and from an away hockey game.

Coraline's family has just moved into a new apartment in a house that has been divided into apartments. Coraline is an explorer and having met the other eccentric inhabitants of the house, one of whom warns her to steer clear of the dangerous well, she "set off to explore for it, so that she knew where it was, to keep away from it properly". When the weather prevents her from exploring outdoors her father encourages her to explore indoors, "Count all the windows and doors. List everything blue. Mount an expedition to discover the hot water tank. And leave me alone to work." She discovers 153 blue things, 21 windows and 14 doors, one of which will not open. It is behind this door that adventure lies. Behind this door is the other mother and near perfect copies, creepy copies with button eyes, of all of the tenants in Coraline's divided house. The other mother has promised Coraline happiness, heavenly food and the attention her emotionally absent parents fail to give her, but at a cost.

Coraline is the adventurer just about every kid wants to be. She exhibits the courage every kid wishes they had in but she still experiences the fear they know they would feel. When she realizes her parents are gone, the police won't help and her neighbors are useless, that she is utterly alone, despite being terrified, she fights back.

Neil Gaiman paints the picture perfectly. He does a fabulous job appealing to children and parents alike. He had begun writing Coraline for one child and ended it 10 years later for another. The eldest read it when it was completed and when Neil said he hoped she wasn't too old for it, she responded by saying "I don't think you can be too old for Coraline." I'd have to say I agree.

Cannonball Read II - Book #3: Dragonfly in Amber by Diana Gabaldon

2010-01-02T14:21:00.006-04:00

It happened. I was afraid it might and it did. I forgot. Not what the book was about but the specifics of this particular entry in the Outlander series that would make a review relevant and coherent. I wiki'd and read other reviews, I asked Dani all to little avail. The story has become a whole, it would seem I may be unable to view its parts going forward. Which begs the question - I understand I may have used that phrase in the wrong context but to be quite honest, I don't understand how the other context works and old habits die hard and can a phrase not evolve/adapt? Commence freaking out- Where was I? Oh yeah, begging the question; how will I treat the remainder of the series? We shall see.

Outlander concluded with Claire in Jamie's arms and the very strong hint of pregnancy on her lips, everyone firmly in the 18th century. So you can imagine my surprise when Dragonfly in Amber opens to find Claire in the 20th century. She has just returned to Scotland and has her 20 year old daughter Brianna, in tow. Claire has returned intent upon revealing that the man Brianna thought her father, Frank Randall, was not and her biological father was in fact an 18th century Highlander. In her attempt to convince Brianna of the truth Claire has recruited the help of an historian and family friend.

Clarie's return to the 20th century is explained by way of a lengthy flashback. We learn that Jamie and Claire attempt to change the course of history and save the lives of many highlanders by doing every thing they can to prevent the Jacobite rebellion. When they fail, they return to Jamie's home, Lallybroch, in hopes of avoiding the battle and weathering the subsequent hardship endured by the Scots. Jamie is forced however, to support the attempt on the throne. Knowing what Claire has shared with him of recorded history and the results of the battle, Jamie begs Claire to return to her own time because he knows she is pregnant and wants to ensure the safety of her and the child.

Suffice it to say, the writing is fantastic albeit a bit lengthy. I don't mind the more than 750 pages, but I don't think an editor with a slightly heavier hand would have hurt the tale any. I continue to love/hate the many characters both old and new and when I finished Dragonfly in Amber, wild horses could not have kept me from Voyager, the next installment in the Outlander series.

Is There Anybody Out There?

2009-12-21T16:31:00.000-04:00

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!

2009-12-09T16:25:00.005-04:00

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!

2009-12-03T21:34:00.004-04:00

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!

2009-12-02T21:53:00.005-04:00

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.

2009-11-24T21:45:00.009-04:00

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

2009-11-19T16:28:00.003-04:00

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

2009-11-17T16:27:00.004-04:00

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

2009-11-13T15:28:00.002-04:00

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

2009-11-09T16:08:00.003-04:00

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

2009-10-29T22:06:00.004-03:00

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

2009-10-28T11:03:00.004-03:00

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......

2009-10-27T17:55:00.011-03:00

...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!

2009-10-21T21:30:00.008-03:00

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!

2009-10-14T19:32:00.005-03:00

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.

2009-10-13T20:07:00.004-03:00

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?

2009-10-09T16:38:00.003-03:00

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

2009-10-06T19:01:00.004-03:00

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.

2009-09-30T21:54:00.003-03:00

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!

2009-09-16T19:36:00.005-03:00

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?

2009-09-14T21:01:00.004-03:00

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

2009-09-11T18:38:00.009-03:00

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....

2009-09-09T21:51:00.002-03:00

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!

2009-09-09T20:37:00.005-03:00

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.....

2009-09-03T20:03:00.006-03:00

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?

2009-08-30T20:07:00.006-03:00

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!

2009-08-26T22:07:00.005-03:00

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!

2009-08-25T20:10:00.004-03:00

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.

It's a Random Thought Kind of Day and Other Tales

2009-08-22T14:31:00.006-03:00

Random Thought 1)

Reuben sandwiches are the best sandwiches ever. Don't bother trying to change my mind, it won't work. You are wrong and your sandwich is inferior.

Random Thought 2)

Kanye West and Eminem take turns being the douchiest of douches, but when they are good, they rock my freaking world! Which annoys the hell outta me.

Have you ever heard (or read) Kanye West speak? He is so consumed, so impressed with himself, so god damned egotistical, it is sickening. I watch or read anything he says slack jawed at the level of narcissism. I read an article in Rolling Stone when Kanye and 50 Cent had albums drop on the same date. I went into that article liking Kanye's music but not knowing the man. When I was done, I didn't want to know anything else. 50 Cent entered the town square carrying a six shooter at high noon. Kanye is dancing from foot to foot round back of the school when class let out ready to go fisticuffs, thinkin' he's Mohammed Ali.

Eminem irks me for other reasons. Here is a man who has the ability to bend words to his will and possesses a rhythm few rappers can achieve. Take away his ability to bitch about his mother or his ex-wife and we're rarely given anything better than his alter-ego Slim Shady. Who accomplishes nothing but remind me that most 12 year old boys annoy the shit out of me.

Perhaps unfairly, once an entertainer falls out of favour with me for reasons unrelated to his/her brand of entertainment (actors, musicians, etc) I usually dislike their product as well. Kanye and Eminem are exceptions to this rule. And for reasons I am unable to explain, I continue to dislike them with fervor when I do, but when I like them musically? I might as well erect a statue in honour of whichever one happens to be on my radar, and it's both of them right now.

Random Thought 3)

Okay, so I forgot my third random thought because I re-read the Rolling Stone article.

Here are some fun facts for ya:

1)Facebook hates me today. I have had to post every comment I have made two or three times because I keep getting errors.

2) Never ground your children from electronics when you aren't feeling well, it's forty degrees outside, and all of their friends seem to be away. They will do their best to break your will and drive you crazy. I've got news for them though, my resolve remains strong!

3) Hurricane Bill is very low on my popularity list right now. Mr. Sprite is due to go away again tomorrow morning (when Bill is supposed to hit us the hardest). I have no problem holding down the fort when the Military calls Mr. Sprite away. I do however, have a problem literally holding down the fort. They (you know who they are) are saying Bill is going to hit us pretty hard and I don't mind saying that not having my bigger, stronger, more knowledgeable in situations of extreme peril counterpart around for this is freaking me out a little.

That's it for now folks. If the weather predictors are right, I may post on location tomorrow from Oz!

It Ain't Happenin'

2009-08-19T22:22:00.006-03:00

Well, it's No Whining Wednesday again. Helllllooooo! I know as a rule Wednesday follows Tuesday and so I really have no cause to complain but I've gotta say, Wednesday, you picked a hell of a day.

I told you a couple of weeks ago about my Auntie. Well, she was only one half of the fantastic whole that filled the void where grandparents on my Mom's side should have been (I do have a grandmother, but hers is a story better left untold). The other half is my Uncle, of course. We're going to call him Mad Max, not because he is in anyway like the character Mel Gibson portrayed all those years ago, but because it's an awesome name and he is an awesome dude and so that makes it all work in my mind. Don't question it.

Mad Max was diagnosed with Alzheimer's yesterday.

I'm not taking it so well.

I haven't done any research yet, so I'll have to beg your forgiveness if I make an erroneous statement.

I realize that Alzheimer's is a condition that worsens over time. Mad Max for the most part still has his wits about him and with medication, probably will for some time. He's 76 (I think) and so it is probably time I prepare to face his mortality anyway. But that's just it. Auntie and Mad Max were such an incredible influence in my life. I have yet to be able to face the fact that neither of them is likely to live forever without breaking down into tears. At just the thought of their eventual passing I'm a snotfaced, bleary-eyed mess.

To be honest, I should be better armed against this eventuality. Auntie has suffered from Scoliosis her entire life. As she ages it becomes increasingly worse. Where she used to be mobile and independent, she is now confined to a wheelchair and is entirely dependant on Mad Max to do most of the cooking, cleaning, shopping and so on. She also has a nurse come in regularly to help with the things my Uncle cannot. Her condition continues to worsen with age. Eventually, her spine will twist so much it will crush her internal organs. I know this. I haven't accepted it. I can't, I don't know how. And I don't know why that should be.

Now to add insult to injury, Mad Max is sick. If he worsens to the point of needing round the clock care and is put in a home, then Auntie will have to go to one too. I can't begin to tell how many different ways that sucks ass. These two deserve so much more.

It breaks my heart to know that Mad Max will digress daily to eventually become a measure of the man he once was, possibly not even that. That I am here in Nova Scotia and he is in Ontario and the memories I have, could be all I have left.

I'm sorry I've dragged you down here with me into my pit of grief and despair. I'm sorry I wasn't able to overcome the sadness for just today. Blame Tuesday, cause it came first.

NWW - It's Kinda Related

2009-08-12T22:42:00.003-03:00

Today was a pretty decent day overall. I have things I would like to complain about, but I have promised to keep my negativity to myself today and the rest of my day was pretty meh, well, except my daughter is a superstar goalie in soccer and there is going to be a meteor shower tonight which I plan on watching in about 5 minutes with the kids. Other than that, meh. I thought I would share one of my favourite things with you instead (in a sort of poetic way, sort of):

As August grows, every morning seems filled with fog that is quickly burned off by the insistent summer sun. But....before the sun gets hold, before the cool of night retreats to allow the warmth of day, before the world fully awakens in that twilight: I stop and I breathe in a cool dew heavy breath. I sip my morning coffee while I watch little things that signal the coming of a new day. Another day in August. Where summer has begun to smell mature and the surrender to Autumn is on the edge of every sense. I love this summer. Not the blazing sun of mid-July, the sticky sleepless nights. But the quiet solitude of an August morning, one with September at her door and August whispers "Shhh, just one more....." And September waits, giving in for a little while before he lets Fall in.

Hehe, August makes me a little heady, slightly drunken. Less inhibited with my word creations. It's......lovely, the effect. I thought this this morning while standing on my deck. It's a little corny, maybe, but I tend to love corny! Be gentle.

Amused? Why, yes! I am!

2009-08-11T19:32:00.005-03:00

Because I had a fantastically shitty day at work - what else is new lately? FML - I am going to share an exchange between my hubby and myself because it makes me smile.

Just a bit of history, Mr. Sprite (I should tell you his screen name, he'd kill me, but you'd laugh I'm sure) and I have a history of having very strange conversations. Perhaps everyone has unusual conversations with their significant other. I don't know, people never tell me about them if they do. I wish they would, I find other people's eccentricities incredibly interesting. Once we discussed the existence of God. Not interesting in an of itself, but the turn the conversation took was. The question was posed "If God were flesh and blood and you had the opportunity to sit with him and talk to him as you would any man, what would you say?" The answers were many and varied. Thought provoking and ridiculous, but fun nonetheless.

We still partake in an ongoing discussion as to whether or not time exists in nature or if it is a concept created by Man. My sister was present for the beginning of this one (one where we all have differing theories, and no I don't think any of us has actually done any research, ewww) so she will call occasionally and if we aren't home, leave a 7 and half minute long message on the machine arguing her point.

We really aren't pretentious. And no, we don't think ourselves intellects. We have these debates for fun. Sometimes it's just because we're curious. Sometimes we're ridiculous. Sometimes we learn a thing or two: occasionally about the topic, more often about each other. Mostly our conversations start out/are full of/end up being silly and more often than not Mr. Sprite turns a perfectly normal conversation sideways just to get me laughing, because he loves me! Anyway here is one of the sillier ones (had through email)(Oh! and did I mention the hubby is gone away till Friday? He is. Expect pining) < -- abusing parentheses everywhere I go: Him (after a request for funnies): Hi Hun,
I hope you found the gas money on the counter this morning. I have a favor to ask you today. Would you mind withdrawling the 650 smackers from the bank for me today ? I'll be needing it for tomorrow.
P.S. Remember a job is a job it does not define YOU ! Love ya:)

Me: K, Because I'm a bitch, I have to point out that you are Canadian and it is "favour" and not related to your nationality but just you general lack of attention to detail it's "withdrawing" (no L).
And of course I will :)

Him: Ok OK ! Yeesh I know its favour... Amd withdrawling is a word but perhaps most often associated with medical symptoms etc... :P Cut a guy some slack so early in the morning... Ill see if your funny worthy today now :)

Me: Nope, not even medically speaking is withdrawling correct. Don't you have spell check? Cause my spell check is freakin' out right now.
I can hardly cut you any slack: you are going to Newfoundland and I am not!!!!! You get no slack!!!!

Him: I say wiki it then !! Get back to me with your findings and regardless the leg work may prove to be worthy of a funny !

Me: I wiki'd and I googled and they both asked me if I meant "withdrawing"(sarcastic undertone totally meant). However, as you hinted, there were some very interesting hits nonetheless. After reviewing some of those hits though, I still have to insist on your refraining from using it. The average iq of the persons responsible for the unintentionally funny hits for "withdrawling", is in question. The prosecution rests, your honour.

Him: OK that sownds reesonable. I should send you a funny know !!

Me: My head just exploded

Him: My work here is done....now if you could return the -favour- tonight I'd appreciate it !

Sorry, that last line may have been a bit TMI for some folk. I apologize. Just, uh, brain bleach, or something.

See? Funny, eh? Right!?! .......psst, lie to me even if you didn't find it so funny, cause I think we're adorable.....***sigh***I hate when Mr. Sprite goes away.

PS- Shhh, don't tell Mr.Sprite my responses were rife with typo's, k? I don't think he noticed.

No Complaints Here!

2009-08-05T21:42:00.009-03:00

Hi! Guess what I did today. Go ahead......OK, fine, I'll tell you, we went to the beach! I am so excited because normally I am not a fan of natural bodies of water, nor do I like walking around in what equates to my underwear in front of strangers (or non-strangers, for that matter). I also don't like to venture too far from home. But I got a tip on a really nice beach here in Nova Scotia, checked it out online, ran it by my other half and planned an outing.

OK...so, I'm all impressed with myself because this is my definition of adventure. Shut up! 2 hour drive to a place I have never been to run around barely dressed. What do you call it?

Things didn't go exactly as I would have liked this morning before we left, but this is No Whining Wednesday and I'm a dedicated individual (surprise, surprise) to participating, so I turned my thoughts to the things that could have gone wrong but didn't. It's all about perspective.

Before we left our cooler bag blew a zipper (and the cooler had an unidentified object growing in it, eeewwww). Mr. Sprite suggests we hit the store to buy a new cooler before we leave town. Right on, let's do it! In the car Mr. Sprite suggests we buy a beach umbrella. Fucking Awesome! Lately, Mr. Sprite and I have not been seeing eye to eye. In fact we have been arguing about just about anything two people could find to argue about and some of the things they couldn't. The fact that we were thinking the same thing on two separate occasions today would've been enough to make my day. In the store my newly re-exalted hubby (word? Is now.) finds two beach chairs on sale. He bought them. How great is that? No sand in places sand has no business being (more on this later).

Purchases made, we hop back in the car and make our way to the beach. We made it door to door, so to speak, without one wrong turn. Which, in my world is a rarity.

The beach was everything promised. The sand was soft, white and sparkly. Yes, it sparkled. The water was crystal clear and a beautiful blue. The Atlantic ocean is not usually known for being welcoming 'round these parts so this was especially surprising.

Now, some of you may know that I am not a thin girl. And if you didn't, well, now you do. This is a never ending cause for anxiety for me, yet I have yet to find the catalyst that has actually given me the will to quit shoving food into my pie hole (just a quick side note, I quit smoking a few months ago and the food shoving has become alarmingly worse, inevitably so has the weight gain. TMI? Sorry, end side note) and get off my increasing arse and do something about it. My weight, of course contributes largely to the fact that I am not comfortable in a public place scantily clad. Today? I said fuck it. I wore a bathing suit. Yup, and I didn't care what little miss size two in the two-piece down the beach thought about it. Wait.....maybe....awww, shit! Well, I mostly didn't care.

I spent four and a half hours at the beach with the family and it was heavenly. The kids collected sand dollars, explored the beach, found a (dead) crab, rolled in the sand. I read and relaxed. We had a beach picnic. AWESOME.

Just a few notes on my beach experience that were less than awesome. I am not complaining, just including them for your amusement.

1) Deer Flies are nasty little buggers. Seriously, I must have donated (unwillingly) at least an ounce of my blood today to prevent hunger amongst deer flies. Oh and DEET? Yeah, I think it attracts these little blood suckers. "I take your fuckin' DEET" < --Overheard being said by one of the offending insects.

2) When applying sunscreen DO NOT forget to apply it to your face. Obvious, right? Apparently not. I look like a freakin' tomato! Also, not so obvious, if your bathing suit bottom is of the shorts variety, do not neglect to sunscreen the very tops of the back of your legs (aka, bottom of your bum cheeks) cause they will burn. Which makes sitting slightly uncomfortable.

3) Regardless of how inviting the Northern Atlantic appears to be, no matter how much it resembles those pictures of the Caribbean you've seen, it is not warm. Not at the beginning of August. The info I've found on the average temperature is sketchy, between 8 - 16 C (46 - 61 F) seems to cover it. Either way, that is not bloody warm enough to be swimming in, but swim my family did. Yeah, I was the only one too chicken to dive in. Screw that! My feet were cramping up just standing in it.

4) Remember that fantastic sand I had described? The sand I was hoping the beach chairs would prevent from getting in low places? No such luck. Not only is it where it has no business being but it's everywhere else too! Everywhere! It sure was purrrty, though.

Fried Cocks and Dandelions.

2009-08-01T21:46:00.003-03:00

A friend of mine thought stories from my youth would make for good blog fodder. I am here tonight road testing this theory. If this works out, it'll be a re-occurring post I'll call "By Today's Standards", 'cause most of the stories I will tell would have Children's Aid Services banging down my parents door today. Not that they were bad parents mind you, we've just gotten a hell of a lot pickier about what's deemed to be OK and what isn't. Both to the detriment and betterment of today's youth. It's a slippery slope. I'm digressing. I'm not going to allow that to happen because this could so very easily become an opinion piece and well, I've been painting for four days and I think the fumes have fried my brain. I need time to recover before I put my heavy handedness out there for the world (read: 6 followers, 6 (I love you all, I'm not ungrateful)) to question. I think I may have abused a few parenthesis in that last sentence. Yup, entirely possible.

Between the years of 1983 and 1988 I spent a lot of time at my Great-Aunt's house. There were a number of reasons for this; she loved kids, she had a kid old enough to look after the rest of us, her and my Uncle were foster parents and there was always 5 or 6 kids (3 of their own) there so what was two more. Mostly, I think it was because my parents trusted her more than anyone else to look after us and she was more than willing to do it. I would have been 5-10 years old during that time, and while I'm a whiz at blocking out some memories, I cherish the ones I have from there.

Auntie was one of those adults that I loved absolutely. There was nothing she could do wrong in my eyes. But she had a strict streak in her a mile wide. It wasn't a mean streak, but she sure knew how to scare the livin' shit outta ya and get you to do what you were told. And you were 'told' a lot.

The kids at Auntie's house often felt as if we were treated like hired help. We were never allowed to use the front door unless it was life or death. For example, if one of us walked through the front door, she'd hear (damned door squeaked something serious and there never seemed to be any oil to fix it), she'd holler from wherever she was in the house "If that's one of you kids your leg better be fallin' off or you better be dyin' ". At which point, the offender would go back out the front door, run around to the back and enter that way. I would love to have been a bonafide visitor after a statement like that one.

We weren't allowed to use the bathroom upstairs. Oh no, we were relegated to the depths of the basement. When it was time to eat, we'd all line up on the basement stairs and two at a time we'd wash our hands in the sink in the basement bathroom. During the summer months there were an average of ten kids in her care at any given moment. What amazes me is we were only ever told once or twice that upstairs was off limits except in the most dire of circumstances (like a bloody nose, or an upset tummy). The really amazing part is that everyone one of us thought that bathroom was as haunted as the day is long, whole stinkin' house was, but that's a story for another time. Point is, we caught on to the routine real quick in spite of said belief (and basements, just being creepy as a rule), such was the power of Auntie.

If we happened to be hanging around the kitchen while the food was cooking -which was unusual, because unless we were big enough to help, we were underfoot- it was inevitable that one of us would ask what was for lunch/supper. The answer to that question varied but it was rarely accurate. Some examples: Horse Shit and Ponies Piss, You'll Get What You're Given and my all time favourite, Fried Cocks and Dandelions. Now, I was around five when the latter was first said to me. A five year old who had until then never heard the word "cock" (at least this is my first memory of it) and the context it was used in led me to believe it was plant life of some sort. I always laughed and left the kitchen, I understood I was being told that it didn't matter what was being made to eat, we would have to eat it anyway because nobody eats plants(vegetables are not plants, duh)! You can imagine my surprise when I was set straight.

While we were eating all of the common table manners were enforced with fervor. I was careful not to reach in front of my neighbor's plate lest I catch a fork across the knuckles. I never, ever rested a forearm on the table or hugged my plate. The forearm resting would lead everyone at the table to sing "Mable, Mable, If you're able, Take your elbows off the table ". It was embarrassing. If I were caught hugging my plate, I was asked if I was worried about someone stealing something, which again, induced embarrassment. I wouldn't have thought of resting my head in my hand while eating, because that meant I was too tired to hold up my own head and was then sent to lay down (don't think anyone ever actually made it to the threatened bed, unless we really were tired, in which case we were made to finish eating first). A couple of the strangest table "manners" I ever encountered were at Auntie's house, which I can now explain but baffled me as a youngster.
1) The drink glasses were always turned upside down on the table. We weren't allowed to drink until we had finished our meal. I understand now that this is meant to keep a kid from filling up on Kool-Aid instead of the nutritious stuff, but to this day it is nearly impossible for me to eat without having a drink with my meal. That nasty little rule was painful.
2) One of us had to read a card from the "Daily Bread" card box that held it's place of honour on the kitchen table before every meal. As an adult that leans towards agnostic (not now folks, that's a discussion better had at a later date), this annoys the ever-lovin' crap out of me. Freaking religious propaganda! As a kid, I both loathed and revered the opportunity to be "The Reader". I loathed it because it was written in bloody bible speak and that shit was hard to read at that age and I never understood what in the hell I was reading anyway, but I wanted to. Oh, dear God, did I want to. It was special because no matter how badly we screwed it up, how ever many missed missed words, ill-used inflection, didn't matter, we were always rewarded with a beautiful smile and a "Thank you, Eyvi. Now you can eat". The religious shit fell by the wayside as the majority of us grew. I think Auntie recognized us for the heathens and savages that we were and knew we didn't want God to save us, so all the scripture and preachin' was fallin' on deaf ears. I have to ask her about those cards. She is a God-fearing woman, but she is not a thumper by any stretch of the imagination. I don't think she was trying to recruit anyone. We were never forced to attend mass other than holidays. She gave each of us our first bibles, but never forced us to read from them. Auntie is a woman who very much believes to each his own. Hmmm, I may be on the edge of an epiphany, but I'm currently in the thick of a beer cloud and can't see my way clear. Tomorrow, maybe.

For all her militant ways though, Auntie was full of awesome. She always baked and always let the kids help (and by help I mean, we ate the dough and ate the finished goods). She used to do crafts with us long before it became trendy to have craft time with your kids. In the summer there was always popsicles. She would let us watch just about anything on t.v. or in movies as long as there wasn't nudity, although we could only watch when it was raining or too cold to go outside. Otherwise we had to be outside getting fresh air. Auntie knew that a kid that had played outside all day was one that was going to go to bed by 8pm and was going to sleep like the dead 'till the next morning. She always had time to answer questions (which is an amazing quality for any adult to have to a kid). Praise was always given when it was due. Love was abundant and felt. Many of the kids that were fostered there keep in touch. One girl called from Texas a number of years ago, 20 years after having been fostered there and once she made sure Auntie remembered her, she told Auntie she had named her daughter after her in the hopes her daughter would grow up to do her namesake justice. I too, named my daughter after her because she is responsible for most of the brighter times of my childhood.

Well, folks I think that'll do for now. The clock has struck midnight here and this girl is getting sleepy. More on Auntie and other things that would make today's standard makers cringe another time.

I'm Not Whining!

2009-07-29T23:18:00.003-03:00

I'm super late, but better late than never, right? But because I am so late you're gettin' point form:

-family rec room is a little better than half way painted. Yay!

- I am, surprisingly, lovin' the above mentioned paint (I was worried, Mr. Sprite picked the colours and I wasn't overly enthused by them). Whew!

- the a/c guy came into work today to look around, he'll be back next week to install a/c. Yay times two!

- I am going to be on vacation next week! Super Yay! The countdown is on, I have two full working days and then I am off for a week! We are going to travel around the lovely Nova Scotia and see what we can see. We've been here couple of years but we've yet to experience all that N.S. has to offer. We figured we better get crackin' before the military decides the hubby is needed elsewhere (Germany would be fantastic. Not likely, but a girl can dream).

Anyhoo, that's the breakdown of my happy thoughts today. Thanks go out to Lainey again for inspiring the rest of us to quit our bitchin' for the day!

Where does the time go?

2009-07-28T21:44:00.007-03:00

Hi! Tomorrow is No Whining Wednesday, so I thought I'd pay a quick visit to purge my weekly complaints. First and foremost, last NWW was a doosie (sp? it's not in spell check!) and I hope this week is better. Already I've guaranteed it's going to be trying. The hubby decided he wanted to paint tonight, which of course is spilling into tomorrow and seeing as he's from Mars (or more likely a further planet, we've yet to figure out where, because he's unlike anything anyone has ever seen before) and I'm from Venus, we disagree on just about everything. Whenever we try to do something like this, we both have entirely different ideas on how to go about it and neither one of us is very adept at compromising most of the time, so inevitably we end up arguing. Neither of us is rational when we're angry. Well, you can see where this going. I'm determined though. Tonight I will let it all go, tomorrow I will be a clean slate!

1) We started the painting process, were actually having a pretty good time lovingly nagging one another, even had a drink. Bam! I have a migraine. It isn't bad yet, but I put my drink down, declared I wasn't going any further tonight and logged on here. I'm going to finish up here and hit the hay.
2) I sent my resume to two places today. Both are government positions but in different departments. I hate, with a green galvanized passion, writing cover letters and tweaking my resume so that it looks like I was made to do the position I am applying for. Hate it. The two of them took me better than an hour to get just right -no, I am not a perfectionist, why do you ask?-and I was wound tighter than a bloody spring when I was done. (the good news here is that I applied for two jobs though).
3) I have mentioned that I work in the seventh circle of hell presently, right? Well, I do. Normally though, the temperature inside the office doesn't reflect the level of hell I work in, but the past two days.....Oh Sweet Jesus, it has been hot! 29 and 30 degrees with 85% and 65% humidity (that's 84 and 86 degrees Fahrenheit for my American friends). Makes for a nice day at the beach. The office? Not so much.

This one isn't a complaint. My daughter is fantastic. While her Father and I were taping the family room in preparation for the paint, we were in all kinds of ridiculous positions, stretching over furniture, trying to get the hard to reach places (I would have moved all the furniture first) and she gets her camera. I told her to go right ahead and take a picture if she wanted, she could even post it to Facebook if she was prepared for my retaliation with 13 years of blackmail photos I have been saving up. I told her she would have to ask herself one question "Do you feel lucky punk?" (Of course I did). She didn't take any pictures, but then logs on to Facebook and updates her status. What does it say, you ask? "I was watching my parents getting ready to paint, was going to take pictures of it, but Mom might murder me in the face." Awesome, right?

Edit-It's Wednesday morning and I've just come back to check things out, only to discover this thing was rife with errors. I apologize for my lack of attention. And I will refrain from blogging with a migraine. It's better for everyone that way!

Fundy Fun

2009-07-26T19:10:00.011-03:00

As I have mentioned before we live in Nova Scotia. Today we went to visit The Bay of Fundy. The Bay of Fundy is famous for being home to the worlds highest tides. In little more than a 12 hour period the tides in The Bay of Fundy will rise and fall approximately 17 metres or 56 feet (according to wiki). It is this nifty little fact that has secured The Bay of Fundy a spot on the short list of nominees for the New Seven Wonders of the World. You can get yourself into all kinds of trouble related to the tides. When the tide is coming in, you can ride the resulting tidal bore in various locations. Or if the tide is already gone when you visit, why not go mud sliding? You can also go whale watching, kayaking, hiking...ok, so I'm started to sound like a tourist guide, I'll stop. The few times that I have witnessed it, just watching the tide go out or come in is a thing of beauty. It's a pretty phenomenal thing to see. NASA has some pretty cool pictures. Here is high tide and low tide from space.

Neat, eh? Well, I have pictures too, NASA!

Note the arrow I took the time to add so that it is easier for you to see the height of the water at the time of this picture (you're welcome). And just an hour later;

Okay so NASA's pictures are neater, but hey, I learned to use Paint.

The kids had wanted to go in the cave you can see to the right of the arrow. When we first got there we would have been able to get in, but getting out again was questionable. So I was a mean Momma and said no. I have promised we'll go back again earlier in the day next time so that they can go spelunking. They got soaked as a consolation. My car is going to stink of seaweed and saltwater for the rest of the summer.

Oh, my car! My hubby suggested we take his car. This being one of the first hot, sunny days we've had yet this summer and me being a wimp, I said no, let's take my car, because it has air conditioning. He asked me was I sure, and tried to remind me of the condition of the road we would have to travel. I said "bah! It wasn't that bad" He didn't argue. We took my car. I got my car in March. It's an '09 Kia Spectra5. It isn't a Porsche or anything, but it's mine and it's peppy and I drove a mini-van before it, so it sort of is like a Porsche to me. The route to the bay took us over a mountain on a single lane dirt road. It has been a fairly rainy summer here. The road is not one the town maintains regularly, so the runnels that had formed were damned near big enough to swallow my car. The surface is closer to full on rocks as opposed to crushed gravel. My tires are low profile. The forest lines either side of the road has nearly swallowed the road. I will leave the condition of my paint job to your imagination. Sheesh, I'm an ass sometimes.

Smile! You're on Candid Camera!

2009-07-22T19:31:00.012-03:00

I agreed to participate in No Whining Wednesdays with a fellow blogger, Lainey Bobainey , as I mentioned yesterday. I tried to purge myself of all negative thoughts last night by blogging. Much to my surprise, I had nothing negative to say. As fantastic as it is to have no complaints, it did not bode well for my No Whining commitment. It is rare for there to be two complaintless days in succession. I don't know what that says about me and my life and I don't really care, you aren't Freud and I ain't here to be judged. The fact remains. It is out of the norm. Well, boys and girls, Wednesday arrived and true to form, today was intent on testing the strength of my resolve. Walk with me, talk with me......

I woke up this morning much like every other morning. Aware that today was the day I wasn't going to complain, I put on my happy face, determined to succeed (I needed a little motivation, I have been too "Eeyore" for my own good here of late). For breakfast I chose my favourite cereal, Cranberries and Flakes (I don't know what kind of flakes, but they are nummy). About mid way though my bowl of cereal, I encountered something a little crunchier than normal. Hoping beyond hope it was perhaps a cranberry that skipped past dried, right on to crystallized -stay with me here- and not something nasty (like one of the ants that seems to have taken up permanent residence in my kitchen) but reluctant to actually spit it out and check it out. 'Cause if it had been the latter I would have tossed my cookies. Sometimes what you don't know, won't hurt you. I chewed the required amount and swallowed, washed it down with some coffee for good measure. The very next bite a dried cranberry managed to adhere itself to the inside of a number of my top molars, using my tongue to dislodge said cranberry I discovered one of the teeth involved was a little more jagged than usual, a little sharper than usual, a little less there than fucking usual! That crunchier crunch in my morning cereal was a filling! So I ran to the bathroom for a closer inspection and sure enough, my fucking filling was gone!

Okay, so last November I developed a bit of a tooth ache and after a visit to my regular dentist, I was informed I needed a root canal. Fine. Two trips to the specialist and one more trip to my regular dentist for a filling that my regular dentist informed me was only temporary because "that tooth is going to need a crown". Jesus wept! I could have had the darned thing pulled for four hundred bucks! At that point I had spent $1100 for the root canal and another couple of hundred for the regular visits. Damned tooth. Damned me for not taking better care of the damned tooth! *I am not complaining, I'm story telling, stick around.* So you can understand my hesitation to fork out yet more cash to have a crown put on the tooth.

I called the dentist's office expecting to beg and plead to get an appointment to fix my tooth today, they had an appointment right away! Woo Hoo! I finished my morning routine (ironically, I had to brush my teeth!) and prepared to leave. While I was brushing my teeth, Heaven decided to turn on the water works. Fantastic! These pictures were taken with my phone so the quality is not spectacular, but you get the point, this is what I drove to the dentist in.

Beauties, huh? Small bit of a torrential downpour, but hey! My flower garden is going to be luscious!

Upon arriving at the dentist the rain began to fall even harder and the 30 or so feet it was from my car to the door resulted in an thorough drenching. The dentist promptly began to admonish me for not coming in sooner. This is not a point that needed to be further driven home, in my opinion, but I figured I deserved it, so I accepted her scolding with as little contempt as possible, choosing to focus on how quickly I was given an appointment. Once the dentist decided I had learned my lesson she had a look at my tooth. Turns out the filling I was given after the root canal is still firmly in place (ha! temporary, my ass!), it was my tooth that fell out! Not all of it mind you, but a good portion of it. There is apparently enough left of it to affix the much needed crown to. Yay! Oh and when the tooth finally has it's elusive crown, I will have a tooth worth a little better than two grand. One tooth. I'm having that shit insured. Surely there is a company that wants to protect my pricey tooth from further damage or even theft!

I had been poked, prodded, drilled and filled when the hygienist came in to inform the dentist that she has had an opening this afternoon and could take another appointment. The dentist mentioned to me that I am due for a cleaning and offered me the slot. I figured work was a write off; the roof of my mouth felt like a pin cushion (still does) and my jaw felt like it was held open with a car jack for a cruel amount of time (still does), so why not suffer more abuse at the hands of my dentist! Sure! I tested my luck and asked if I could bring my kids in for a little torture *cough* cleaning as well. Why, of course! Score! It's a family outing, sans patriarch, outing nonetheless.

To prepare for the dentist, I had the kids brush their teeth real good, and then floss. Because you know, that's gonna make up for all the lazy dental hygiene since the last dentist visit. I was helping my son brush his teeth when he tells me he's going to sneeze. I told him to spit first (in an effort to avoid a toothpaste-y spray all over everyone). He hoists himself up on the vanity, he's short, and spits. Just in time, too. A sneeze immediately followed the spit; used toothpaste shower averted! Sadly, there wasn't enough time for him to avoid the hazards a sneeze and the bathroom sink present and he whacked his forehead off the faucet. I wish I could say I was a better mother. I wish I could say that I grabbed him as quickly as I could to kiss his boo boo better. I am not and I did not. What the hell did I do, you ask? I laughed. I laughed so hard I could barely breathe let alone ask him if he was okay. I would like to think if he were crying I wouldn't have laughed, at least not as hard as I did, but he wasn't and I was beyond control. I should add that his sister did not help the situation, she too laughed like she had never seen anything so funny. Once I regained my composure, I apologized and asked if he was OK. He was, obviously, but I'm sure it helps to know your mother cares enough to ask about your well being when she hasn't done such a stellar job of showing it. For the first time in my life, I wished there was a camera in the bathroom today, so I could share with you the unintentional comedy that occurred. Perhaps then you would understand why the loss of my Mother of The Year nomination was completely out of my hands. I was a slave to hilarious circumstance.

I could go on. My entire day followed a very specific set of rules, it would seem. Every situation seemed designed to break my resolve. The Whirling Maelstrom of Whining, as Spender so eloquently put it. I am happy to report; I didn't lose my cool, I didn't break down. I forced my self to find the good in each situation today and did. You know what? I think it might get easier too, next time it may not be so hard to be optimistic. Could I become an optimist? Will my pessimistic ways be a thing of the past? I am guardedly optimistic.

What? No Complaints? Hmph!

2009-07-21T22:08:00.003-03:00

I thought "I'll post a complaint blog tonight, get it outta my system". I agreed to have a No Whining Wednesday (I think that's what it's called) because of a fellow blogger, Lainey. Guess what. I've got no complaints. Nuttin'. Ha! My day has been pretty good. Work was ok as far as work goes. When I got home, things here were pretty fantastic. I've worked out. Yup, this girl's got nothin' to whine about tonight. Which leads me to believe the shit is gonna hit the fan tomorrow. Optimistic, aren't I?

Decisions, Decisions

2009-07-16T22:19:00.002-03:00

I would like to write an ass-kicking fabulous post tonight, but I am afraid my brain is pre-occupied with other things. The pre-occupation is worrisome in and of itself because normally I have absolutely no trouble whatsoever tuning out realty and pulling up a front row seat to my imagination. I'm going to assume my imagination is in perfect working order and I have absolutely nothing to be worried about where that is concerned, perhaps I am learning how to make a decision. If that is the case, I don't wanna. I don't wanna because the decision bites big hairy you know whats. My job sucks. My jobs sucks in so many ways and on so many levels it is staggering. I hate my job. I wanted so badly to start a career, to be successful, self-sufficient, blah, blah, blah. I applied for and was given a position as a mortgage consultant. First and foremost, it would appear I am not cut out to be a sales person. Fine. I can accept my shortcomings (no, no I can't). It would also seem I may work for one of the devils nearest and dearest minions. My boss is ......well, let's just say he's something special. Many of his other employees would aspire to be top ranking members of the Dark Lord's team as well. I am only trying to be a little funny. But this, this is not my problem. My problem is my confidence is shattered. I thought I had made a good decision when I started this job. I thought it was the answer to what I wanted in a career. I was wrong in a big way and now I am afraid to make a decision, because I'm afraid of the outcome. Oh. And I have never failed at anything. Well, I have failed before but it was because I procrastinated or I didn't really give it the good ol' college try or whatever. I have never failed when I really put my mind to it. But this I failed and I'd be lying if I didn't tell you if feels like a punch in the gut. The realization that I am not perfect, I cannot do whatever the hell I want to is pretty fuckin' hard to swallow. It goes down a little easier with a rum chaser, but really, that's a dead end street ya know. And I have made a couple of friends. I will still be friends with them when I leave, but still, it's the kind of situation that makes me want to rescue someone. So, I guess I have decided I am going to quit (not before I find another job) but will I leave for something better or anything? Can I put up with it long enough to find something that could very well prove to be a career, do I trust myself enough to be judge of what is better? Or, do I cut and run? Take the first thing that comes along? Gah! Imagination, where are you?

Why Do I Torture Myself?

2009-07-12T15:03:00.003-03:00

In an effort to increase the number of classics I have read, I recently completed Rebecca. I chose this book as a result of reading a favourable review on another blog. I am glad to have read it because when I say it was atrocious I can tell you exactly what it was about the book that I disliked as opposed to saying "Oh, I tried, but I didn't like it so I never finished it".

Rebecca is the story of a young woman who is of a lower to middle class upbringing and becomes the second wife of a well to do older gentleman.

My problems with this book are many. The Narrator (that is what we have to call her, for she is never named) meets Maxim De Winter while being the paid companion to an obnoxious woman who is obsessively nosey and incredibly snobby. When the insufferable old coot falls ill and is bed ridden for a couple of weeks, The Narrator occupies her time getting to know Mr. De Winter, whom is presumably on vacation recovering from the loss of his wife. Once the employer regains her health she decides to visit a daughter in America. The distraught Narrator informs Maxim of her impending departure and he asks her to marry him. Yep, after a scant two weeks of courtship. Fine, I'll swallow that with only a mild grumble.

The Narrator has married a man twice her age. She moves into his home and assumes the role of a woman above any station she has been familiar with in life. Good, a little bit of a May-December Rags to Riches romance book. Great, I can enjoy a romance when it's well written. When the characters are likable. The Narrator is not. She is a nitwit. She constantly worries she is not up to the task of running a home such as Manderley, yet she never tries. She simply differs to the staff. She is harassed and terrorized by the former Mrs. De Winter's maid and says nothing, for fear of appearing weak, yet she never questions how weak she is when she is hiding or keeping secrets from from Ms. Danvers. She incessantly wonders if her husband loves her and whether she is living up to the reputation his first wife has left behind, without ever asking her husband what that reputation might be in his eyes. She eventually resigns herself to a loveless marriage so long as there is a facade in place so that the servants, family and public beyond never need know she has failed. She is certain Maxim does not love her. He cannot love her, she is unworthy of it.

I will give Daphne du Maurier credit, she threw a curve ball when I least expected it and it was the only thing that kept me from heaving this book at the wall. The twist was exactly what this book needed when it happened. Try reading a couple hundred pages worth of the the thoughts and ramblings of a woman with little to no self-worth. It is bloody draining. You want so much to root for her, you know there is something wrong, you are sure it isn't a result of The Narrator, but you find yourself rooting for her only because you know you should, such is the effect of her depression on you.

I have one other complaint. I usually enjoy when authors make use of speech/grammar trends of a particular era. I don't know if this one did, I would imagine its so, it is the only explanation I can think of. It seemed to lack an article where there should be one here and there. The chosen phrasing irked me on occasion. I don't know, I'm not doing an adequate job of explaining my meaning, I don't think. It could be this book is written in a style I haven't encountered before and am unfamiliar with, having nothing to do with the time it was written. Regardless of the reason, I did not enjoy reading the style.

I won't read this book again. I am glad I finished reading it because it was tough. It annoyed me and bored me, but I finished so that I could say I did. I didn't give up. So, there's that.

Just a Thought or Two.

2009-07-05T10:28:00.006-03:00

Have you read Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged? I have. I found it intriguing. I have believed a person or society, for that matter, that is stronger, richer, healthier should take care of those that are weaker, poorer, sicker. Ayn Rand did not believe so. She coined the Objectivism philosophy. I am over-simplifying it, but it essentially the right to your own genius, profit and.....No, no I can't over-simplify it, because my explanation above doesn't nearly do it justice. Read the book. Seriously, it's long, but I think it's worth it.

Ayn Rand wrote an entire book (a few, actually) devoted to her philosophy. She makes an excellent argument. Atlas Shrugged had me questioning my beliefs. A particularly poignant part of the book is a conversation between the protagonist and another character - I don't remember who, I also don't remember the quote word for word and it's Sunday morning so I am reserving my right to be lazy and not look it up. You will get the gist, I am sure - The question is posed; If Atlas carries the weight of the world on his shoulders and the world is thankless for it, what would you have him do? The answer; shrug. I found that to be some of the most powerful imagery I have encountered in my reading travels. The image carried so much weight I had to put the book down for a bit to devote some thought to it. But it isn't the idea of Objectivism I am here to talk about today, it's that they want to make a movie based on this book. So I checked IMDB . Apparently one person or another has been threatening to do this for awhile. I have a number of problems with this.

1 - the book is better than a thousand pages long.
2 - there is a monologue in the book, a very important monologue in the book that took me 3 hours to read. Yes, 3 hours, don't let it discourage you though, I found it to be the only part of the two books I have read by her (the other was the Fountainhead) where her preachiness was overbearing. I think the entire thing could have been said in a hell of a lot less words, but I have never written, edited or published a book, so who am I?
3 - from what I have read on IMDB so far, I think they may miss the point.
4- and this one isn't a problem, per se, just something that makes me go hmmmm, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are tied to it. Angelina as Dagny Taggart obviously, but will Brad Pitt be John Galt or Hank Reardon? Hmmmm
5- I already said it in 1 & 3, but it bears repeating, this is a big fucking book, BIG book, not just in length but the idea, the story that conveys the idea....I just don't think Hollywood can translate it to screen without losing a lot of the message. Plus, I'm not sure the general public will want to see this movie. Ayn Rand takes self-serving, shoves it down your throat, asks you to chew on it a bit, digest it, and enjoy that fucking meal. People don't like self-serving. Unless Hollywood completely re-writes the characters, I would be willing to bet most people will dislike the leads in this story. If they succeed in writing the characters so that people will care about them, I think they will lose the idea. I dunno. Again, I have never written a screenplay of any sort, let alone one based on a book, so what do I know?

I don't know if I want this to be made. I'm not sure my faith in Hollywood is strong enough to trust that they can do this. I don't know if, when they do it, I will want to see this movie or if I will be able to resist my curiosity. We shall see.

A Sad Post

2009-06-28T21:12:00.003-03:00

My husband and I returned to the vet with Indy on Saturday after a round of medication, hoping beyond hope for a miracle. We did not get one. The medication was only succeeding in maintaining his already poor condition. He had not worsened, nor had he recovered any. He still wasn't in any condition to survive surgery, and if he were, chances were very small there was anything to be done for him. So, my husband and I made, what was for me, one of the most difficult decisions of my adult life; to have our family pet euthanized.

Indy was a unique cat who very quickly wove himself into the fabric of our family. He will be very dearly missed. Thank you to everyone for your thoughts and prayers.

Pancakes and Watermelon Martyrdom

2009-06-22T21:30:00.006-03:00

My daughter turned 13 at the beginning of the month. Yes, I heard the hiss your breath made as you sucked it back in through clenched teeth. And yes, having a 13 year old daughter is as scary as you think it is. Scarier, in fact. I remember being 13 years old. If she is doing half of the shit I was doing at 13, I need to remain blissfully ignorant. Ponder that for a moment, your 13 year old self and what you got up to. Oh, I know. You need to sit down? Yes, please go right ahead. I understand. No, no, please don't talk about it. My Dad reads this blog and he thinks I was a good girl (I was Daddy, I swear. This is all for fun. You know that, right? Right?).

Anyway, she wanted to have a sleepover. You have that image I helped you conjure of one 13 year old girl? Now picture 5 of them. They are Lululemon wearing, ipod Touch toting, Twilight watching, gossip mongers. Just listening to their interactions exhausted me.

As is the sleepover tradition, I cooked a smorgasbord breakfast. Kings and Queens have not known such plentiful fare! Well, maybe I'm exaggerating a little bit; there was scrambled eggs, bacon, chocolate chip pancakes, blueberry pancakes, and watermelon. I am usually a fantastic pancake maker, but I require an electric skillet to make my fantastic pancakes. Sadly, last fall, my skillet was in the dish rack drying (I do not dry dishes, they will dry themselves if you let them) atop a mountain of similarly drying dishes. I may have accidentally brushed the the skillet with the fold at the elbow of my shirt as I turned to reach for something and wouldn't you know it! The damned skillet jumped right out of the dish rack, threw itself on the floor and broke! Now I have to rely on a cast iron frying pan for my fantastic pancakes and it usually takes me 6 pancakes or so (3 fit in the pan at a time) before I get the temperature just right and those first ones are always a little darker than the average taste bud prefers. Who usually gets these? Why, me of course! I also got the ends of the watermelon. And so I pose this question: Why do parents do this? Why not make the kids eat the burnt pancakes and watermelon ends? Oooo, that sounds mean. Is it 'cause we love the little buggers? Do you think 20 years from now they will remember my pancake and watermelon martyrdom? I don't think so. Why don't I throw them out you ask? Because then I can hear the little voice inside my head that sounds suspiciously like my mother reminding me of all the starving children in Africa; waste not, want not, etcetera etcetera. So I eat the burnt pancakes and watermelon ends.

Mr. Sprite and I got our movie on this weekend. In fact, we watched 3. Allow me to play critic a moment.

The Reader

I sat down to this one blind. I had read something, somewhere about this movie but I was damned if I knew what, where. Ahhhh, Kate Winslet, is this the one she won the Oscar for? By the time the movie had finished I decided it had to be. That was definitely the type of performance the Academy folk like. I haven't bothered to verify that. I may still be wrong. It was good. I enjoyed it. I don't want to get all spoilery so I will be brief and vague. She has an affair with a 15 year old boy (that's not a spoiler! It happens in the first 10 minutes or so), as he is young and impressionable, when the affair has run it's course (that may be an inadequate description, but I'm gettin' tired, sorry), she continues to plague his thoughts. She lacks a particular skill the rest of us take for granted. The lack of this skill, her inability to admit to it and the fact that she is a guard for the Nazi's lands her in a heap load of trouble. I'd recommend it. Not the happiest of love stories though, so if that's what you're looking for, look elsewhere.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

Mmmmm, Brad Pitt......Oh! Sorry! Yeah, so unless you've lived under a rock this year, you have to have heard of this movie (the same could be said for The Reader, I know). A baby is born old and as he ages he gets younger. The baby is played by Brad Pitt. His love interest is played by Cate Blanchett. I think I may trade in my current girl crush, Scarlet Johansson, for Ms. Blanchett. She has such classic beauty. Is there anything she can't do? Anyhoo, not much to say. If you are talented at suspending reality and ignoring the numerous questions this premise begs, then by all means, see this movie. You will enjoy it.

JVCD

Meh. Jean-Claude Van Damme is cool, don't get me wrong. Cute, too. But this? This was meh. I didn't hate it. I wouldn't trip over myself to watch it again. It's supposed to be sorta, maybe, a little bit, kinda autobiographical, so I'm told (again, I haven't bothered to look it up. I'm all about repeating all sorts of unsubstantiated shit tonight, sue me). Back to the maybe, could be, sort of, might've been autobiography. Reeeeally? I raise one eyebrow at you, Mr. Van Damme. I imagine I would have to be a bit more of a fanatic type fan to fully understand what happens in this movie. Perhaps, if I had an inkling, I could do a little research and be enlightened. I'm not so much into researching my movies to be quite honest. I had a similar experience not so long ago, where I felt so strongly about my experience I was compelled to write an email to a website I frequent regarding a movie I had watched recently. Awww, What the hell, I'll include that too, since I am playing critic tonight. Oh! If you are looking for Jean-Claude patented ass kicking, don't watch this. If you are a fanatic, go right ahead, fill yer boots.

I'm Not There

Now, just in case you’re a huge Dylan fan let me explain before you hire a hit. I like Bob Dylan; in fact my affection resides in the much stronger territory of love where certain songs are concerned. My Father made sure I was well acquainted with the music of, in his opinion, the best musicians on earth. Bob Dylan was one of them. So, when I saw a preview for this movie I was excited. Unfortunately, life happened and I didn't get to see it as early as I would have liked. I happened to be at the movie store without the other half last weekend, and there on the bottom shelf, in the corner of the bottom shelf, were two copies of this movie. I got all excited because I had forgotten all about it and I remembered how much I wanted to see it. I scooped it up, paid for it, drove home, popped me some popcorn and fired up the DVD player. I watched all 2 hours and 15 minutes of it.

If I had an ounce of knowledge on the subject, perhaps I could say this movie is visually remarkable. I didn’t invest 2 hours of my time for the cinematography. If I had wanted to see the result of Todd Haynes flexing his writer/director muscle, then I might have been impressed (although I was intrigued by the idea to use 6 different actors to portray one man). What I wanted was to learn a bit about the legend. To walk away feeling as if I had been audience to a small portion of Bob Dylan’s life. What I got, however, was a whole lot of “What the…?!?”
I thought I should sleep on it. Maybe I would feel better about it in the morning, you know, digest a little. I woke up still confused. What was I missing? Everything seemed out of context, nothing tied one event to another. I mean, what in the name of all that is good does Billy the Frikkin’ Kid have to do with Bob Dylan? I obviously was missing some very crucial information here. And that’s it. This movie left me feeling like there exists some secret VIP Dylan Club for which I was not a card holding member. Amateur’s need not apply.

For what it’s worth, I enjoyed the acting. Heath Ledger can (could?) do no wrong. Christian Bale was broody and he does that well. Cate Blanchett is amazing and everything she touches is gold in my eyes. Richard Gere, well, again I ask you, what does Billy the Kid have to do with Bob Dylan? I should add that I did look up Billy the Kid’s relevance shortly after I woke up and the explanations I found left me still confused. I did find a satisfactory explanation of Marcus Carl Franklin’s character. Even when I didn’t know why he was there or why he was calling himself Woody Guthrie, I was amused by the kid.

This movie should come with a warning; if you aren’t a die-hard, a Dylan aficionado, get your kicks elsewhere. This movie’s not for you.

Th-th-that's all folks!

Indiana Jones and His Last Crusade

2009-06-16T20:40:00.008-03:00

This is not a tale you will be familiar with. If you are drawn here this evening by a whip carrying, adventuring archaeologist, then you may be disappointed. Stay awhile though, listen to the tale of a girl and her kitten and you may be glad you did.

My childhood pet was, more often than not, a cat. As an adult, I continued tradition. When my husband and I first moved in together, we got a cat. After having our second child, our son, it became painfully clear the cat had little tolerance for the curiosity and mischievousness of a young boy. Sadly, Fidjet was given a new home with my father-in-law, where he lived to old age, never having his tail pulled, or cuddled against his will, or riding in the dolly stroller. He began his new life with my father-in-law in February. By April, I was in desperate need of a feline fix. After making many promises I never had any intention of keeping, my husband agreed to take the whole family to the local Humane Society to look at all the potential....err, nice animals.

When we arrived, we learned there had been a box of kittens on the door step awaiting the employees arrival. In the short time since discovering them, the employees had determined the kittens were barely old enough to have been weened. I asked if they were ready to go to a home. My husband scowled. The kids squealed. I was told it was unlikely they would be ready to go today, they needed to be thoroughly examined. My husband heaved a sigh of relief. I frowned. The children groaned. They asked if we planned to give the kitten we chose all of its shots and have it spayed or neutered. I said we did. My husband said we didn't because we had no intention of taking a cat. I pouted, batted my eyelashes, pleaded. The children watched, wide-eyed and hopeful. He broke down. Admittedly, I wasn't playing fairly. I had picked up a brown tabby female and she had nestled in the curve made by my neck and shoulder and began purring. There was no way in hell I was going to be able to leave without her and he knew it.

When it was obvious a decision had been reached, we were taking a kitten, one of the staff said there was one more kitten from the litter. He was in the back because he wasn't very friendly. Not unfriendly, but not friendly either. They couldn't let me go in all good conscience without seeing all of them. So they brought him out. A ball of black fur that fit in the other neck-shoulder curve perfectly. He began purring right away, and what a purr it was! My husband took one look at me and said "No! We are not taking two cats home, you can forget it!" The staff told him they would give us half of our money back when we brought in proof we had had the kittens fixed. I said "It's a discount! 2 for 1 sale! Please! Please! Please!......" The kids joined in "Please, Daddy! Please, Daddy!" The three of us are in the Humane Society, we have him surrounded, I have two purring kittens wrapped around my neck and we're jumpin' up and down chanting "Please!" Resistance is futile. To fight us was useless, our pitiful faces, our pouty pleading; you couldn't have denied us anything. The kittens were ours!

During the car ride home, we discussed names. Sitting in the front seat with a box with two kittens in it in my lap, I asked the children for suggestions. They wanted to call the female "Beautiful", because she had beautiful marks on her face. We decided beautiful was a little long, but settled on "Bella". When it was the males turn, my daughter suggested "Indiana Jones". At the time, she adored Indiana Jones (I pity the man who aims to be her husband), we were subject to watching the movies on a regular basis, so it came as no surprise that she immediately went in that direction. Everyone agreed that was definitely too long and maybe a little too much of a reputation for just a little kitty to live up to. "Well," she says, "we can call him Indy for short and I think it fits, 'cause he hasn't stopped trying to get out of that box. He's looking for adventure!" Now, you can't fault us for not arguing with logic as sound as that and so we named the male kitten, Indy.

As happens once in awhile, an animal that was intended to be a family pet ends up taking to one member of the family more than the any of the others. Such was the case. Our daughter and Indy quickly joined the ranks of Mutt and Jeff, Abbott and Costello, Charlie Brown and Snoopy, inseparable. Hers was the first lap he would seek out (although he would never turn down a good petting). He would sleep with her, under the covers, until my husband and I turned in. At which time, Indy curled up between my husbands feet and there spent the remainder of the night (a good nights sleep has been few and far between for my hubby). They spent hours together, her petting, him purring. She was the only one he would play with and only her hair at that.

Felines are normally aloof. They usually have loads of personality, but are incredibly choosy about when and to whom they show it. Cats are usually solitary, content to lounge in an empty room, an out of reach shelf. This is not Indy. Indy has oodles of personality and doesn't mind showing it. He is aggressive in his search for lovin'. If my daughter is unavailable to satisfy his cuddle need, he is not above crawling into another family members lap or even a strangers. When he is hungry, he follows whoever he can, meowing. He insists he is an outdoor cat, despite the fact he has never been allowed to be. An open door is another opportunity to escape. Where does he go, you ask? Nowhere. He's never gone beyond the backyard. He eats grass, chases butterflies, tires quickly and comes back to the door that let him out in the first place, waiting to be readmitted. Oh! He was fat. He was the biggest cat I had ever seen. Garfield had nothing on our Indy! And he purrs. When he is happy, I mean, delightfully content, he sounds like a diesel engine. Except for the squeak. When he purrs, I'm not sure if it's when he inhales or exhales, he squeaks. If you have met him, you know him and know there aren't words to do him justice. He is just about as perfect as a feline can get.

About a month ago, he began to lose weight. I wasn't too concerned because we had recently added another kitten to the growing zoo and I thought his rambunctiousness was doing the Fat Cat some good. Then I noticed he wasn't eating much. My husband and I began discussing a trip to the vet. The very next day Indy was basking in a sunbeam and I noticed his skin had a decidedly unhealthy yellow tinge. On Tuesday we took him to the vet. The vet determined there was no infection because Indy was not running a fever. All signs pointed to a very sick liver. He spent the night in the vet's office and after a barrage of tests and an early morning ultrasound -which confirmed that his liver was indeed grossly enlarged), it was looking as if our worst fears were coming true. Our dearest Indy, the friendliest kitty (I once watched my toddling niece drag him and his substantial weight by his head across the floor and he did nothing), my daughter's friend was knocking on deaths door. Cancer of the liver seemed the likeliest culprit but a biopsy would be necessary and Indy wasn't strong enough to be anesthetized. If he survived the biopsy, there was very little hope what ailed him could be cured.

After a tearful conversation with our veterinarian, I called my husband to relay the news. I told myself it would be selfish to put the cat through the trauma of trying to make him well enough to have the biopsy when the chances were so small there was anything to be done for him other than diagnose him. My heart ached with love for our family pet and the devastation my little girl would know when she learned his fate. I resolved to have him put to sleep. Knowing this would also be my husbands suggestion, I was already prepared when I had finished telling him what the vet had said. Chances are slim, not looking good. Hubby had questions I had not asked and so called the vet. Then he called me back to tell me Indy was coming home. We were going to treat him in hopes of him gaining enough strength to undergo surgery. I was surprised because I am usually the one who clings to the smallest of hopes. I normally think with my heart rather than my head. Our roles have been reversed. And I love my husband all the more for it.

I don't know if one decision makes any more sense than the other. I know our cat is home and we are giving him medication and it seems to be helping. That could be wishful thinking. But you know what? My daughter has doted on him since his return from the vet. She has been near tears the whole time but she is stoic. His comfort and care are paramount. This morning she spent 10 minutes kneeling by the edge of the bed Indy was laying on with her forehead pressed to his. Both of them, their eyes closed. Him purring for all he was worth. It was painful and enchanting to watch.

Because there was never a feline like him before, because he is my daughters friend, because he's a part of our family, I hope he makes it through. If he doesn't, I am glad we have known him, because he's part of the family, he's my daughter's friend, because the mold broke when they made Indiana Jones, Feline.

Where'd it go?!?!

2009-06-07T22:21:00.002-03:00

I published a post tonight I had started on the 17th of May. So where is this post you ask? Filed chronologically, of course! Grrrr.

While I am here explaining the mystery of the missing post, perhaps I will give you a little insight into the post. I started and abandoned it because it is very opinionated and even though my blog title may suggest otherwise, that is not always the point. Yesterday, however, I watched He's Just Not That Into You. On the surface, it's a cute movie. Not a a cinematic masterpiece, but it'll do for some lazy Saturday afternoon viewing. Mindless entertainment. The more I thought about it (as much as I tried not to, the damn movie had wormed it's way into my brain) the angrier I became. My anger focused on Scarlett Johannson's character and her love interest. Not her character actually, but the indifference her character showed toward another's marriage. For his part, Bradley Cooper's character seemed marginally more concerned. But not much. And so my rant was given new life.

Road Rage

2009-06-04T22:10:00.004-03:00

I have a dirty little secret. I like to drive fast. I am usually a good little law abiding citizen, I would never demean another person for following the letter of the law, even when I have chosen to bend a law a teensy bit. Normally, I have no problem whatsoever sharing the road with drivers who obey the speed limit.

I grew up in Toronto, the 401 ( the MacDonald - Cartier Freeway or Highway of Heroes, as it is more recently known) was where I learned my highway etiquette. Granted, it may have bred a slightly aggressive driver where speed is concerned. But the aggression was not unknown. In fact, if you were of a less aggressive nature, you knew your place on my fair city's highway. The unspoken rule (one the Ontario Provincial Police would, I'm sure, love to rid the highway of) is the actual speed limit is 15 - 20 km/h above the posted speed limit. At least. If you cannot bring yourself to follow the flow of traffic, remain in the far right lane and deal with merging traffic. Otherwise, prepare to be tail-gated, flashed at (lights, dirty minded!), or flipped the bird. If you are the reason a driver going faster than you has to brake or *gasp* cancel cruise control, prepare to be ridiculed. You most likely won't hear it, so the emotional damage is minimal, but know that it is happening. The other driver is most likely cursing the day you were granted a driver's license.

Mr. Sprite is a member of our fine country's esteemed military -no, I didn't just choke, why do you ask? A couple of years ago, the powers that be determined my husbands ability would better serve another military base and so being the patriotic family, we obeyed orders and were relocated. Since relocating, I have to travel a good portion of the 101 highway in Nova Scotia's Annapolis Valley in order to make it to work. I don't mind. I like to drive. I like to drive fast. Fast is not a word that often enters the common resident of the Valley's vocabulary. So much so, they have robbed Mexico of their laid back motto and more often than I care to admit, I hear the locals refer to Valley Time.

Even though I grew up in a city where anything I could ever want was literally at my front door, where I could buy diapers, roofing nails and roti all a four o'clock in the morning, it wasn't hard to get used to "Valley Time". I polished up on my organizational skills, adjusted my expectations and voila! I am no longer a child of instant gratification.

I cannot, however, handle the drivers in this portion of the province. While in Ontario the posted speed limit suggested the slowest you should drive, here, I am lucky to encounter a driver actually approaching the speed limit! It is not uncommon for an entire caravan of vehicles to be trudging along at a leisurely 90 or 95 km/hr. The speed limit is 100! To add insult to injury, the majority of the highway is a single lane in either direction. The passing sections, where the line is not solid to one or both sides of traffic, is use at your own risk. Because I know a guy, who knew a guy, who has a degree in civil engineering, I am confident when I say; this road was not designed to support a 100 km/h speed limit. 80 maybe, but not 100. Attempting to pass in the oncoming lane is a game of Russian Roulette. It's a twisty, turny, sort of hilly stretch of road and those passing sections may be sufficient if drivers were coasting along at a comfy 80. But when you are trying to pass the Pappy Parade, propelling past at 130, it is grossly insufficient.

So, I often find myself chomping at the bit. Inevitably, I am usually the 32nd car in a line of 50. I await the opportunity to pass with baited breath. I used to enjoy driving. I drove in a city that boasts two of the country's 10 most dangerous intersections and rarely felt stress as a result of driving. After moving to a more rural location, my anxiety behind the wheel was usually weather related. Here, in what is peddled as one of the most relaxing provinces in the country, I fear my daily commute. I would hardly have cause to complain if my complaint were speed limit obeying drivers. But it isn't. My complaint is people who can't seem to find the strength in their right foot to apply the pressure required to the gas pedal to go just a leeedle bit faster. It may be my sanity's undoing.

2009-05-31T20:52:00.003-03:00

It happened. As I feared it would. I started writing out the post on my nifty version of associative thinking. It's like oatmeal people, it's better hot. I let it get cold. And while it held together well, it wasn't smooth. There was an internal dialogue between my whiner self and the bitch (another part of myself, I have many, we will all be well acquainted one day, promise). It was fairly awesome -you have no idea how hard it is for me to be conceited in this regard, but I figure if you fake confidence long enough it becomes natural- but it was the only portion of the whole thing I was impressed with and out of context it was useless. So, to the back burner it has been relegated, one day I may revisit it.

I have discovered a nasty little side effect of blogging. I feel obligated to post often. There are two reasons for this, 1)because I promised myself I would and if you can't keep a promise to yourself...yadda yadda and 2) because I wouldn't want to disappoint the people who read my blog. I started this blog so that I could flex my writer's muscle, which is more or less working, some days are better than others. I told a few people I know whose opinions I trust and asked them to read and give me feedback. Aside from incessantly harassing those whose opinions are most important, I also find my self obsessively hoping someone I don't know has commented . I view my own profile regularly to see how many visits I have had. I mention this only because I read a post this evening by a blogger I have kind of, sort of been following because I am impressed by her writing and she mentioned behaving in the same manner. I guess what I am trying to say is it's nice to know there are other bloggers who have the same need for validation, even those who have been at this longer. I don't feel quite as lame anymore. Aaaaand that's enough sharing.

Just in case you didn't come here tonight for Confessions with Eyvi, I will leave you with a poem I have written. First poem in a long time. Be gentle.

My Mind Mirrors The Aging Season

My thoughts, heavy and grey.
Dark, dreary, always falling.
I become introspective, fold in
Wrap myself in my imagination
My selfishness.
Reality is an intruder
A fact I cannot escape.
I dream and sleep becomes my salvation.
Like a drug that promises,
But only masks.
And it becomes harder.
Harder to face my unwelcomed guest,
To make my clean escape.
And I hate it, slumber and waking.
For false promises of freedom
For reminders of chains, anchors.
I embrace the anchors, the reminders
And find strength at the bottom of this body of water,
That caresses me, tempts me.
But there is always light behind the clouds.
And I hold my anchor, cling to it.
Praying the clouds in my mind, above the water,
Part before I have to draw breath again.

Do I think? I Think I Do.

2009-05-27T21:35:00.003-03:00

A member of my extended family, once told me he believed the majority of the population doesn't think. A small percentage think they think and a smaller percentage still actually do. There were actual percentages quoted, I have forgotten them unfortunately but I am sure you get the gist. Alternatively, my husband believes there is no such thing as original thought. If that's so, doesn't that drop those poor buggers who're out there rackin' their brains into the group of "Think they're thinkin'" thinkers? This particular thought process is causing my brain to hold up it's hands, palms out, in an 'I am unarmed' gesture. I am too tired to even think about thinking I am thinking tonight. I've digressed here and you didn't even know it. I'm sorry. I don't want you to leave me tonight with a 'What the...?' aftertaste.

I'll try to keep this short. Just a bit of an introduction to my version of associative thought, because I am tired and I can guarantee I will not be able to articulate my thoughts adequately.

I drove my daughter into the city on Sunday. She will be thirteen in about a week and seeing as we live just outside of Nowheresville, I thought it would be a treat to drive into the city and let her shop at the stores she rarely gets to shop at. So I am driving along at a good clip and in the space of 10 km I have to avoid the messy results of an unsuspecting raccoon and an unidentified animal trying to cross the highway sometime before I got there and not making it to the other side.

Riddle me this; Why did the raccoon cross the road? Because we put the fucking road in the way!

The wheels started turning folks, the cogs were.....well, whatever cogs do. I started thinking. Or did I? Just kidding! Anyway, for the rest of my drive I pondered the plague that is the human race and what we have done and continue to do to both our cohabitants and our habitat. Ladies and Gentlemen, I have solved all of our problems! I will cure famine! I can end global warming! The cure for the economy is within my grasp! I can and will prevent any future wars! I am all knowing! And what brought about my epiphany? My profound understanding of the queries the minds of men have struggled with? Why, Roadkill, of course.

No, I really don't have all of the answers. In fact, I have more questions now than before my roadkill catalyst. But they are questions I have never asked myself before. You know what happens when you start asking yourself questions you've never asked yourself before? You answer with thoughts and opinions or even more questions you didn't know you had. Here I sit, with thoughts and ideas I've never had floating around up there and the best way to work this shit out is to put it to paper. But now my brain is dragging out the white flag and waving it, pleading me to give it a rest tonight. I'm trying to convince myself to keep going because I've been hanging on to this since Sunday and I don't want to lose it, even if the result is me looking like a big ol' hypocrite, then so be it, because the ride will be fun. It's gotta wait though, I just don't have the juice tonight. Tomorrow night, maybe. But for now, G'nite.

Where The Music Takes Me.

2009-05-21T20:54:00.008-03:00

Pajiba posted an article concerning the relationship between ones musical tastes and ones tendency toward racism, homophobia, age, etc. I began the article immediately infuriated by the ridiculousness of the idea. Because my musical collection does not contain a high enough number of artists of colour, or the majority of my selections are too 'white', could a person suppose I am racist? Balderdash (that word is fun, say it out loud, g'head, tell me you can do it without cracking a smile)! I am glad I continued reading though. A portion of the way through the comment thread the author of the article defended his position as tongue-in-cheek. Ok, I can understand that (I submit my blog title as evidence), but still, I call bad taste.

I started thinking about musical preferences and what they reveal of the listener (which may have been the real point of the article). Specifically, what does the music I listen to tell a friend or a colleague about me?

As with many children, I was influenced first by my parents selections. Essentially, my father held greatest sway over my ear. I cut my teeth on Dylan, The Stones, and The Beatles. I learned to walk to the likes of Hank Snow and Hank Williams Sr & Jr. I believed for an eternity that Joe Cocker's Beautiful was written just for me, my father sang it to me so often. I have made mud patties to a Led Zepplin soundtrack, my Barbies danced to the ballads of John Prine and David Alan Coe. I could sing verbatim: Alice's Restaurant, Freakin' at the Freakers Ball and Patricia the Stripper at far to young an age. School's Out For Summer was played at the end of nearly every school year when my Dad was there. I think I saw Good To See You Again before my tenth birthday. My favourite song of all time, hands down, second to none is Meatloaf's For Crying Out Loud.

My first album purchase was actually two: True Blue - Madonna, and Thriller - Michael Jackson. My Dad's heart may have died a little that day, but hey, I was testing the waters. Experimenting. I listened to pop for awhile, I thought Cyndi Lauper's style was rad! It didn't take me long to find my way back to something a little closer to home, although I hadn't strayed far in the first place. I was still listening to Dad's albums: CCR, The Steve Miller Band, Graham Parsons. The first two tapes I ever bought were Appetite for Destruction - Guns N Roses and Back in Black -AC/DC. I loved screaming lyrics and banging my head. My metalhead never fully matured though, Metallica was as hard as it got and only a few songs at that. I couldn't handle it, the likes of Iron Maiden, Megadeth, they scared me a little, they all seemed so angry. The music they made sounded like so much noise to me. But I revelled in the hair bands; Bon Jovi, Poison, Cinderella, Whitesnake, the list is so long. I dreamed like every other 12 year old girl and bands were pumping out anthems for my dreams like candy.

Around about '89 or '90 I got my hands on a tape. I don't remember where I found it, if it was given to me or by who. It was all rap and I loved it. I had no idea what it was because everyone I knew listened to hair bands, but it made both of my parents cringe and that made it a-okay in my books. I mostly can't remember what was on it exactly, some Ice-T (if you are under the age of, say 25, you may not know this but Ice-T was one of the O.G.'s and he was cool!), a little Public Enemy, maybe some NWA, and various other early thug types. What I do remember for certain was the song by Grand Master Flash and the Furious Five. I also remember thinking my parents wouldn't get my 'new' music, I remember thinking how archaic their tastes were. I was in my room listening to the song on my ghetto blaster, singin' along and my Dad walks in. "C'mere' he says, "I want to play something for you". I rolled my eyes and thought this was another desperate attempt to bring Daddy's Girl back to Daddy's music. But I was Daddy's Girl and couldn't say no, so I followed him to the living room and watched him put the vinyl disc on the turntable (so antiquated), then place the needle ever so gently at the beginning of the song he wanted. What happened? I got schooled, that's what happened. I got a whole silver platter full of my own smug handed right back to me. My Dad was playing Steppenwolf's Magic Carpet Ride. My new found rap stars had sampled, no, covered a Steppenwolf song! World's collided! I had thought I was blazin' a musical trail. I was going to be one of the first in my world to embrace rap. At the tender age of twelve I was certain my fathers music was dead (we should all reserve a little of that cocky, that absolute surety for later in life), I was assisting in the ushering in of a new age (yet, it never crossed my mind that my hair bands were trying to replicate the greatness of bands before them). I didn't realize it all at once but my father was the catalyst to the realization that the new music could not be without riding the coat tails a little of the music before them.

My tastes continued to evolve (or not, you decide). I spent 2 years listening to groups like Jodeci, Shai, Boyz II Men almost exclusively. I discovered the joys of reggae and my love for dancing (which I don't do well, but do anyway, much like my singing, come to think of it). My future husband introduced me to a little more of the 80's (what I hadn't heard while listening to my hair bands), I still didn't like much of it but I could stomach it. He dared me to listen to rap for a better reason than rebellion and I discovered intelligent lyricists. He challenged me with music in another language. I reeled at the idea at first. What was the point?! My deepest enjoyments in music often resulted from lyrics, rap was the only exception until my hubby. Honestly, the music could be all kinds of horrible, but if the lyrics caught my attention, I was hooked. So what was I supposed to do with something I had no way of understanding? Fall irrevocably in love with the feeling a song can summon. That's what. There aren't many, I still find it difficult to dig a song I can't understand, but if it gets it's hooks into me, I'm a goner. Alternatively, I taught him to get past Bob Dylan's drone and appreciate the poet (which he can do once in awhile). I have introduced him to Rock and Country songs he had never been in a position to hear or appreciate and he does (Mr. Sprite likes when his music elicits one of two reactions: happiness or hyperness, he hates all of the stuff that makes him angry and/or sad).

I learned to play the violin a little a few years ago and that experience taught me to appreciate a very small amount of Classical. Up until then, I found it insufferable. It's best quiet, in the background when the task at hand requires concentration. Blues also ranks high in the insufferable's (g'head, lynch me!), but there are exceptions to every rule. Except dance (house, techno, trance, whatever your brand of poison, it's all the same to me), dance makes me want to hurt the source. Really heavy metal (I don't even know what it's called anymore) makes my ears bleed. I try being more open, because I have discerned effects from music that I wouldn't traditionally listen to. Case in point: Men of the Deep, a group from Cape Breton who sing about mining. I don't like it all, but the harmony is beautiful and a friend is giving me a cd this weekend based entirley on the love of one Portishead song. It may be hit or miss but I think the hits will be hard ones.

So what does all of this say about me (besides that I enjoy talking about myself)? I've touched on the more frequently played portions of my rotation but the songs and bands mentioned above are by no means an exhaustive list. In fact, one could draw entirely different conclusions if you were to spy my differing play lists from one day to the next. Today my choices may include Neil Young and Allanis Morissette. You may say I am patriotic and outspoken. Tomorrow, Lupe Fiasco. They have little more in common then their joy in telling the industry they will not fit the mold. The next day, however, I may be listening to the top 40. Not exactly fighting the system. I don't stick to a particular era, I am just as likely to be caught belting out with Patsy Cline as Beyonce. I don't prefer black to white or vice versa, but the representation of the world population is thin. I'm not trying to make a statement, my ear candy may be political right now and ridiculous later. I cannot be defined by genre, I am genre-less.

I will however tell you, my music is a great indication of my mood. If I am listening to something because I can sing along, look out, I am on a mission. When I am done I will be hoarse and the object of my mission will be complete. If ballads are my choice, I am working through something. I am singing along but standing still, all the motion happening in my grey matter. If I am rockin' out, head bangin', I am excited, I have energy to burn and have apparently forgotten my last session and the subsequent whip lash. If I am butchering a Caribbean accent and dancing to old school reggae, I am feeling pretty confident and just want to have a bit of fun. If I am listening to my father's music, and yes, in my world that is a genre, then I am usually feeling nostalgic, pensive. Occasionally, I will be listening because I have heard something new and am just learning to appreciate it, which leaves me feeling giddy. A phone call to Daddy will soon follow, much to be discussed. If hip hop beats are resetting the rhythm of my heart, I am all cocky and rebellious today (cliche or not). Country and Western, I am both nostalgic and badass (obviously, while I don't shun it, CMT's pop country need not apply). Certain songs will elicit immediate results; it is nearly impossible to control myself when Hells Bells starts, Sam Stone almost always makes me cry even though I know it word for word. Other songs will never garner a response and therefore are paid little heed.

No, music can not tell you who I am, Hell! I can't do that most of the time! But if you are listening to my music, it offers an indication of my frame of mind. And if you have time for a story, music will be my soundtrack, it will set my stage, lend weight to my tale and wind it's way through my history.

Edit- I won't change it in the actual post, but I will tell you here; I have been corrected. My Father: The Musical Erudite tells me Mr. Parson's name was not Graham (as I have recorded it), but Gram. And yes, my Daddy reads my blog. Wanna make sumthin' of it?

Why I Do The Things I Do, I Don't Know.

2009-05-18T19:53:00.006-03:00

Have I mentioned that I quit smoking? I have, I quit smoking. It's been a month. I was assisted by that lovely little drug, Champix. Apparently, it tricks the brain into thinking it's receiving what you're addicted to without allowing you to become addicted to the drug. That's ok with me. I run a severe deficit in the will department, so I was happy to take all of the help I could get. Also, I would have Richter measuring mood swings when I had previously attempted. One of the side effects is sleeplessness or very vivid (very, very vivid) dreams. I was determined to see the treatment through to the end (3 months), because I always think I am doing ok, I've kicked the habit, I am born again, only to promptly fall right back into my old filthy ways. But I was having a hard time with the sleep deprivation, and when I was sleeping; my dreams were in IMAX. Intense, techni-colour, Dolby surround sound dreams. Hardly the stuff rest is made of. So I stopped taking the drugs. So far so good. It's been about a week and I haven't thought about having a smoke (well, not really). You know what always catches me by surprise? What is the equivalent to a swift kick in the gut? I'll tell you; every once in awhile when I'm least expecting it, when I am not thinking about smoking I will exhale and it will taste like a cigarette. I call this the Phantom Smoke. This may be the perfect deterrent for some. I am not one of those people. I enjoyed smoking. I enjoyed the taste of it. I enjoyed the seven or so minutes of peace while I smoked my cigarette. My idea of the perfect activity is a warm, sunny afternoon, on my deck or my swing, a good strong cup of coffee, a good book and a cigarette. That right there is my own personal nirvana. But it stinks, it's expensive ($10/pack in the lovely Nova Scotia), I am setting a bad example for my kids, it's gonna kill me, and I am getting sick and fucking tired of being a slave to my vices.

Coffee is another of my vices. I drink a lot of coffee. I can't give it up yet though! I have to be sure I have kicked the nicotine, before I face on the caffeine. I am saying this because I have had nothing but coffee to drink today. Seeing as the human body is, what, 70% water, and coffee is a diuretic, I probably could have added a little water to my drink menu. But I didn't, I didn't even think about it until a few minutes ago. See what I am saying? Slave.

Ugh! I am depressing myself. I'm going to change the subject.

I like to read and I like to write (I may have told you once or twice already). I like to think I will one day write something that will get published. Somewhere along the way, however, I have convinced myself that my lack of formal education makes getting published an impossibility. I know that an education does not a writer make, but I've convinced myself nonetheless. Ok, fine. What to do to improve my confidence? I'll read what I imagine would be required reading should I attend an institute of higher learning (I didn't go to university straight out of high school because of a few poor decisions and general poorness, finances are what keep me from attending now). I have scanned required reading for a few universities and decided I would do okay to stick to the classics. Which I didn't mind, because I love to read, I will read almost anything once and I was interested in understanding the influences of classic literature on today's literature, music, anything really. Also, if I do happen to be lucky enough to become a student again, perhaps I will be a step ahead of the reading game.

Years ago I began reading Dante's The Divine Comedy. I say 'years' because I am embarrassed by the actual number. Equally embarrassing was the number of times I had to start over. I'd get so far and realize I was completely oblivious as to what was going on. I was reading the words but I wasn't understanding them. I was nowhere near a point where I would be privy to a deeper meaning. It might as well have still been in Italian (I have a translated version). I refused to give up though. I started paying attention to the notes in the margin. I made sure my computer was booted and ready to Google if I came across something that required Googling (lots and lots of stuff). Eventually it began to mean something. I began to see the point. I made it all of the way through Inferno. I have begun Purgatory. I don't know that I have begun to understand the deeper meaning, but I certainly get the story. I think. Ha!

In an attempt to further my 'classics quest', I have also read; Jane Austen, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (I love, love, love Sherlock Holmes); Tolkien, some Oscar Wilde although I will have to revisit him, and others. My latest? Geoffrey Chaucer. I bought The Canterbury Tales at the used book store the other day. I haven't gotten past the introduction. Already I'm disheartened. From what I understand (keep in mind I have read, maybe, 6 pages), even though Chaucer was born and raised a Brit, he decided, oh I don't know, for shits and giggles, to make up his own language!

Example:

For when thy labour doon al is,
And haast maad alle they rekenynges,
In stede of reste and newe thynges,
Thou goost hom to thy hous anoon,
And, also domb as any stoon,
Thou sittest at another book
Til fully daswed is thy look.

The book I have picked up is a 'Selection Edited with Introduction and Notes by Daniel Cook', who is of the belief, it seems, that 'it is a needless deprivation of pleasure to be obliged to read Chaucer in a translation'. What?! Does this mean the whole book is written like the above passage? Oh good heavens, what have I gotten myself into? He goes on to assure me he is going to teach me the language Chaucer uses with relatively small effort on my part. Apparently, he doesn't know his student. If the length of time it has taken me to read as much as I have of Dante is any indication, I should be able to tell you what The Canterbury Tales are all about in a decade or so.

P.S Ha! I just did a spell check, 'cause I am done for the evening, and I think the program had an aneurysm after trying to spell check that god damn passage!

I Never Promised You a Rose Garden

2009-05-17T21:11:00.005-03:00

My parents are divorced. Which is ok with me. Maybe in another lifetime, another universe, another dimension, their marriage may have succeeded. Not this one though. There were just too many things going against them, including each other. Don't get me wrong, I believe once they loved each other passionately, but all of that passion did a severe about face and they began to despise each other passionately. Their fights left destruction zones of nuclear proportions, they measured on the Richter scale. It was brutal. Which is why it's surprising when I say I think divorce is an option far too easily exercised in today's day and age.

Before you start screaming at me through ground teeth and spitting all over you monitor, hear me out. There are exceptions, of course. There always are. Physical abuse, chronic infidelity (yes, I said chronic), a permanent and drastic deviance from the person that was, these are a few. I'm here to talk about the reasons that are being used that really amount to nothing more than "I'm looking for an easy way out" (Oh Boy! I am going to take a shit kickin' for that one!).

Call me a little old fashioned, but I kind of took the "for better or for worse, through richer and poorer, etc" to heart. Sure, you started it all full of the warm and fuzzies, but then you both got comfy. Maybe she put on a couple pounds. Maybe he goes to work and comes home and sits his butt on the couch and doesn't move it again until 11pm and then crawls into bed, farts and goes to sleep without so much as a "G'nite". Nowadays, people start thinking back to the chant their parents relied on during child rearing years "You can have anything, you can be anything". You look at your significant other and you start comparing her to the new receptionist at the office or him to that hot guy on Grey's Anatomy. You're thinking you could do better. You are thinking that maybe someone else would be more fun or marriage just isn't your bag, single is what you need.

Your marriage is not like your cell phone, your computer, your whatever is broken or you have grown bored of. You cannot replace it. Suck it up, buttercup. You signed on for the long haul. Before your go dipping your stick in someone else's tank or picturing yourself in another mans button-down shirt, take a long hard look at your spouse. It may seem like a cliche but it works, ask yourself why you fell in love with the person across the breakfast table? Why did you marry the person who's hogging all the blankets.

If your answer falls anywhere near the territory of; I thought he/she would change, it never hurts to try, if it'll make you happy, etc. You were doomed from the beginning. This is your stop, my friend, you were on the wrong train to begin with. You just better hope you haven't left too many casualties in your wake.

Then there is the ever popular "She was pregnant". Let me put a nasty little rumour to bed. For good. It will not, I repeat, not be better for your child to witness the loveless marriage that is a result of someones misguided attempt at being responsible. And for the women out there that think a man should marry them because you are hosting his offspring; you are mistaken and both of you deserve better. As I have already said, there will be no benefit to your child nor will there be either of you. It is perfectly acceptable to choose to raise a child separately. In fact, if you are not compatible, it is down right responsible to decide to raise the child as a team of parents rather than a husband and wife. Also, I will say it just in case there is someone reading that thinks I may be, I am not condoning having children all willy nilly, with whomever, whenever. I'm a big advocate of birth control, but if an accident happens, I don't believe it's a death sentence...ahem...marriage license (Oh, good golly! Take it easy, would ya? I am trying to be funny!) The only saving grace in these scenarios is that they happen less and less often.

Back to the blanket hogger and the other occupant of the breakfast table. For the sake of argument, your marriage was never a sham. You didn't do it for some ridiculous reason, but the only good one; Love. You look at your spouse and remember a time when you hung on their every word. When you couldn't wait to spend more time with them. When the sun rose and set on your partner. When the thought of causing the object of your affection even the slightest discomfort, let alone pain, was unheard of! Now, you're here, looking at your marriage and wondering what the fuck happened. Well, let me ask you another question; did you think it was an eternal flame? To burn forever without the even the tiniest of stoking? I've got news for you. Any flame, left unattended long enough, will go out.

If you find yourself with a smoldering pile of ashes; you have work to do. Getting started will most likely be the hardest part. Communicate. I know, I'm freaking Confucius. It's true, though. Tell your other half how you're feeling. Sometimes, the other half is completely oblivious, for whatever reason, kids, work, selfishness. Sometimes, your significant other was starting to feel the divide as well and didn't know how to close the gap and is intensely relieved that you have. Whatever the problem, talk about it. No sex? Talk about it. Boring sex? Talk about it. Working too much? Talk about it. Not helping out around the house? Talk about it. Not doing enough together? Talk about it! Not talking to each other anymore? TALK, damnit! Don't forget to listen too. For this to work, you are both going to have to hear what the other has to say. Don't sit there thinking that everything you're hearing is an attack on you, cause you aren't really listening then, are you?

Look, I don't have all the answers. I'm not naive enough to think that every marriage can be saved. Like I said, there are situations where divorce is the only option. Marriages die. Sometimes they are loud, painful deaths and other times they just slip away quietly. And occasionally, they were never meant to be in the first place. But it seems to me, that so many relationships end because we are taught we can always do better. So, when the going gets tough, we go looking for better. I have known a number of relationships to end this way. More still that almost did, but for one partner being the screaming voice of reason. Everyone has doubts, everyone has a wondering eye, everyone wonders if the grass is greener on the other side, everyone gets a little lazy, everyone forgets to fan the flame. The real test is whether you recognize the relationship has gone stale, and try to revive it or you simply walk away and look for a replacement.

TGIF and Other Things I Will Use to Take Up Space.

2009-05-15T22:28:00.003-03:00

If the title is any indication, this is not going to be one of my critically acclaimed posts. It's been a long week cut a girl some slack.

First, there was work. Not overly horrible. Intensely boring this week. I think my brain is turning into a grey goopy mess in my head cavity and I would blame my current stint as a receptionist with a little mortgage consultant thrown in for taste. I did realize a little something about myself. I don't like people. Most of them suck. I used to tell anyone who would listen I loved helping people. It was soooo satisfying! Hah! Nope. I may become a recluse. Well, not really. I like my kids and hubby and the people I choose to surround myself with. I shared my new thought pattern on the shortcomings of the majority of the human race with a co-worker. I don't know what she thought about it. She seemed a little taken aback. I hope not too taken aback.

I finished reading the second book in the Dark Tower series: The Drawing of the Three. Fantastic, of course. Again, there was so much I had forgotten (does this make me a horrible fan? I worry real fans are obsessive and commit to memory entire passages, glean information at the slightest hint, know the back story of even the most minor character, where I don't have that kind of commitment. But I want to be a fan!) I love Eddie Dean and all his pop-culture referencing. Odetta/Detta/Susannah .....what to say.....The way King conveys the version of....what?....Ebonics or Patois Detta Walker speaks is awesome. I never once thought "What in the hell is that supposed to say?" But (I remembered this yucky little side-effect) it left me with a severe case of cotton mouth. In case you are not familiar with this particular affliction, picture the day you had your wisdom teeth removed (if you haven't, I'm sorry, I'm not nearly clever enough this evening to think up an anecdote for you as well). The dentist shoves an endless supply of cotton balls into the back of your mouth where the offending 4 teeth previously resided. The purpose of this is unclear to me (I am notoriously awesome at not really hearing the things I'm told when I'm not really interested in hearing them), but the result is crystal clear. It feels like your mouth is full of cotton! Dry and crowded. And that is what Detta's speech always made my mouth feel like. Dry and crowded.

When I went to retrieve my copy of The Wastelands from the bookshelf to put in my bag for work the next day (bored silly, remember), it was not there! I vaguely remember something happening to it. I cursed my self for being the Queen of Procrastination Island (All Bow To Me!) and not replacing my copy when whatever event I had forgotten first occurred, and high-tailed it to a local second hand book store (how people get rid of books, I'll never understand) and bought another copy. Which I have not started reading yet because I have the garden from hell.

I own a beautiful home. It really is the home of my dreams. My dreams are modest in this regard and this home fulfills them perfectly. The yard is fantastic. When all of the various plant life is in full bloom, it is a sight to behold. Sweet Mother Mary of Gawd, it sure is a lot of work. A lot of bendy, back breakin', fingernail breakin', bug bitin', work. It sucks ass. So I have been trying to restore my beautiful garden to even a measure of last Spring's majesty. I will be at it for awhile. So the weeds don't get the opportunity to really grab hold and choke the living life outta everything else in the garden. I will surely be near dead when I am done (don't laugh, gardening is hard stuff! *pouts*) . K, gotta say g'nite folks, kinda falling asleep sitting up here. Which will conveniently explain the following: spelling mistakes, poor sentence structure and grammar, incomplete/incoherent thoughts.

It's (almost) Manic Monday

2009-05-10T17:34:00.002-03:00

Another weekend gone. Too quickly, in my opinion. Not a bad one though. Mr. Sprite was on his Facebook account today and followed a link to what has to be one of the coolest things I've seen in awhile, so I donned my explorer apparel and braved the wilds of Youtube.com until I found my prize (an excuse to embed a video). I am so glad beatboxing hasn't died.
Check it out-

Nathan "Flutebox" Lee

Cool, right?

While I am on the topic of things that are amusing me this weekend; there was quite the war between two of the regular commenter's over at Pajiba regarding the merits/worth of the new Star Trek. For a time is was pretty entertaining. Then I got tired of reading that because I liked the movie, I was a victim of group think, that my tastes and intelligence were questionable, I took a break from reading the comments. My big mouth has already gotten me into trouble this weekend so I chose to stay out of it and just enjoy the back and forth.

I've also discovered the man responsible for Star Trek (also Alias, Lost and Fringe) is the very same man threatening to turn my beloved Dark Tower books into a movie. I may have to rethink my absolute disdain at the idea. It seems JJ Abrams is familiar with either creating or catering to a neurotic fan base. I'm tentatively admitting he may be the man who can do it justice. Very tentatively.

That's all for now. I am not very exciting today and glad for it (I am incredibly impressed with my ability to add a video. I know the host makes it idiot proof, but still).

To Boldly Go Where No Man Has Gone Before.

2009-05-09T12:30:00.005-03:00

And that my friends, is exactly what JJ Abrams has done. He's taken a franchise that has a devout (dare I say, fanatic) following, re-worked it using his own artistic license without completely flipping the bird to those fans and directors that have gone before him. In my opinion, he has in fact, schooled some of those who have gone before him.

I would not be classed as a Trekkie and especially not a Trekker (I've actually only just learned that a Trekker classification of fan exists and from what I can glean, because it seems the word is too new for even Wiki to have a definition, they take devotion to a whole new level). I have only seen a handful of the original series, although I am very familiar with the main players. Really, you'd have to live under a rock not to be. In a cave. On an, as yet, undiscovered island. I am unfamiliar with anything in between Star Trek and The Next Generation. I may have seen a movie or two as a youngster, but I have forgotten them if I did. I tried very hard to watch as much of TNG as humanly possible, I dabbled in DS9, was not overly impressed, gave it up. I've seen Generations, First Contact, and Insurrection and enjoyed them all. I also watched a good deal of Voyager and was pleased for the most part. If I left anything out, it's because I don't know it exists or don't deem it important. Now that I have given you my Star Trek resume, you may decide whether or not you think me fit to have an opinion worth considering. If you've come to the conclusion that I am not nearly experienced enough to pass an opinion on the empire that is the Star Trek Franchise, fine, you are entitled, as am I. See you next time.

I was excited about this movie. Even though the rule of thumb would have me believe that reboots, remakes, prequels, sequels and whatever else you call 'em, usually suck hard. I wanted so much for this movie not to suck hard. I even avoided reading the review on my favourite site for such things (Pajiba!, only ever Pajiba!) for fear they would tell me it was a waste of time and money and an abomination to all things Star Trek. So I went into the theatre praying to whatever gods are responsible for good Star Trek movies and they answered my prayers!

The movie stays true enough to the original premise to do it justice but it doesn't pander to the purists. The main plot comes over slightly weak, but it is more than made up for. The action scenes are edge of your seat exciting. The camera work was a little shaky and at points left me a little motion sick, but I get sick on a swing set so I'm hardly credible. The character development was fantastic and the actors have paid homage to the icons that were while managing to set the stage for the icons that will be. And they will be icons. Chris Pine has played James T. Kirk to perfection (and I promise you, there is none of that infuriating stop start talking William Shatner coined). He's cocky, he's charming and he's cute. Kirk was the badass of the Federation, he played by a set of rules all his own. Chris Pine's Kirk insists you follow his badassery and rule breakin' and you do, without ever questioning him. Zachary Quinto nails Spock. The purists would argue he's too emotional. I disagree. As half human/half vulcan, Spock surely struggled with keeping his emotions in check. What you are getting here is not a mature, fully in control Spock, but one who is still trying to find that fine line between emotion and logic. Personally, it made me identify with him a little more. I will be happy to follow this Spock to the full fledged Spock to come. I should warn you, Zachary Quinto gives Spock something you are not expecting; all kinds of sex appeal. I was a little skeptical when I realized Eomer (Karl Urban) was playing the doctor. He seemed a little too, well, masculine. I don't know as much about Bones as I do some of the other characters, but he never struck me as overly manly and Karl Urban exudes testosterone. He reigns in the mans man enough to be Dr. McCoy, but lets just enough loose to make Dr. McCoy manly. Like I said, I don't know much about my Mom's Dr. McCoy, but this one I can get behind. Oh and Sean of the Dead! Mr. Simon Pegg plays Scotty. Do I really need to say anything else? His part wasn't as big as I would've liked, but he played it well. Rest assured Scotty can be counted on to get the ship moving and beam the crew in and out of her while keeping a smile on your face. And just to keep the corny fans out there happy (and I count myself amoung your numbers) every phrase the original coined is mentioned here in all of their cheesy glory! I giggled each time the respective actor uttered his required line.

JJ abrams Star Trek is one for this generation and with a bit of an open mind, one for William Shatner and Patrick Stewart's generation as well. A new love affair with a familiar lover, if you will. Will they be able to stay true to Gene Roddenberry's original vision with the new actors, story and audience? I can't say. I think that may be a tall glass to fill. Will they be able to honour the legacy that Star Trek has become? I, for one, cannot wait to see what is in store.

Blood is thicker than water. You have a point?

2009-05-08T15:50:00.006-03:00

This is my second time writing this post. The first attempt was verbose. Apparently I have opened Pandora's box and well, I should have seen it coming but I let my pride get the better of me. I have been guilty of this particular offense in the past.

I have a cousin who, on Facebook of all places, informed me that she doesn't think I am paying enough attention to her. And because she can think of nothing she could possibly have done wrong (I can name a dozen, one is exponentially more offensive than the rest, but I chose to deal with it moderately long ago and so my chance has come and gone) is therefore deserving and entitled to my attention. Now, maybe I should be flattered because my attention is of value to her. If I thought this was in anyway about her wishing to have more involvement in my life because she values my friendship, I would indeed be flattered. I know better though. This is simply a woman who has gotten just about anything she has wanted and when she hasn't, regardless of the reason, proceeds to terrorize the object of her interest until a) the desired result is achieved or b) she loses interest.

After reading the message that all but demands I pay her more attention because she deserves it, I responded. Did I respond without thinking? Oh no, I thought very hard about exactly how I would tell her she can take her self-importance and shove it up her ass. I just didn't think about the repercussions. If you can believe this, she called my mother to ask what my problem was? After informing the world of Facebook that she "IS FUCKING PISSED!"

Aside from conducting herself in an unbelievably immature fashion (I know, I'm the last one who should be spouting off about maturity at this particular moment, pot calling the kettle black and all that jazz), her tirade begs the question: Why do we feel obligated to our relations? Does being a product of the same gene pool entitle a person to a limitless supply of your time, an unearned respect? I think not.

Let's just say you meet a person on the street, at a friends party, or a work event and find them to be absolutely insufferable, not at all the type of person you would befriend. Perhaps you are even revolted by this person, their actions are offensive in your opinion. After you have definitively decided you dislike this person, you discover they are a long lost relation.

Regardless of what relation, brother, mother, son, cousin, aunt, or grandparent, they all hold the same weight for the sake of argument. Would you revisit your original assessment of their character? Would you completely renege your opinion in the name of family? Would you even go so far as to back peddle and find endearing qualities and valuable characteristics? This person is still a complete stranger and minutes ago repulsed you. Doesn't this make you a hypocrite?

Why then, do we afford our relations this luxury? Anyone with a healthy sense of self-respect would end a relationship for acts far less offensive than those we allow our family to commit against us. But we endure unspeakable behaviour and excuse displays of disrespect. We forgive and forget in the name of family. We write numerous blank cheques, give away get out of jail free cards hand over fist as long as the recipients are related.

I realize the topic is not nearly as black and white as I have made it here. I understand there is a vast grey area. For my part, I am done swimming in the ocean of grey, searching for or being given another reason to tolerate an event or abuse at the hands of a family member. Other than sharing an ancestry, we may very well have nothing in common. If the only thing you have given me is the opportunity to make excuses for your behaviour, than I owe you nothing. I don't care how thick blood is.

Believe it or not, the first one was building up to be much, much longer.

Hump Day

2009-05-06T21:56:00.004-03:00

I am glad I am closer to the end of the work week than the beginning for two reasons:

1. I am going to see Star Trek with my hubby Friday night. I hope he won't mind me totally drooling over this Chris Pine fellow, he is rather cute. I don't think I have seen anything else he has been in but he looks promising in this (and by promising I mean hawt, if he can act its an added bonus). I'm excited about the movie too. C'mon! A new Star Trek!? Any reason to start saying "Make it so!" or "Beam me up, Scottie" and the ever popular "Engage!" Oops! I let my geek show!

2. The mother of all clusterfucks that has been this week will be at an end. And I swear, if the chaos spills into next week, I will need to be heavily medicated in order to cope. I believe a little Bailey's Irish Cream in my coffee will do the trick and no one will be the wiser. I can pass it off as some pretentious Grande Carmel Machiwhatthefuckever from an equally pretentious cafe (is it sad that I had to look up a Starbucks menu to come up with my clever (not so clever) little coffee name? It is, isn't it). Oh well, I can join the "I think I am the absolute shiznit and everyone else is an underling" club at the office. Oh wait. No, on second thought, I don't think I will.

Tomorrow's Thursday folks! The end is nigh!

P.S An excuse to try to post a picture to my blog for the first time .......

......see? Hawt!

G'nite and sweet dreams.

Slowly Immerse or Dive Right In?

2009-05-04T21:32:00.002-03:00

My husband is a gem. I am indeed a lucky woman. I woke this morning to my radio alarm clock elbowing it's way into my dreams. I stretched and discovered I was in an empty bed. I had not yet unglued my top lid from my bottom one and was still more asleep than awake (and I had hit snooze on the alarm, so the scales were tipping back toward sleep with every passing second), so I figured I had dreamt my husbands return. The fact that it was Monday and he was due to return the day before barely registered because he has been delayed before and so in a fuzzy, sleepy way I reasoned this must be the case, although I couldn't remember why. But I was sleeping and it was Monday and sleep is always sweetest Monday mornings. This is the morning when you really don't want to get out of bed because you know there are 4 more mornings just like this one to follow. And thought kind of hinders sleep, so I didn't think. Then I heard clanging pots. And I realized I had hit snooze, was almost all of the way back to dreamland and had nearly convinced myself my husband was still away.

In the kitchen my husband was well on his way to making the usually reserved for Sunday morning breakfast; bacon and eggs. This is unusual for two reasons 1) Mr. Sprite is more likely to be just heading to bed when I am getting up, therefore, not much of an early riser and 2) Mr. Sprite avoids cooking like the plague most days. His reason for this departure from the norm; he just wanted everyone to have a good breakfast before a busy day. That's it. Nothing spectacular, just good ol' fashioned kindness. Very refreshing on a Monday morn.

Next, due to a mix up in scheduling (that's Eyvi for "I forgot and got it bass ackwards"), Hubby and I were out the door by 8 am, I was off to work and he was off to do me a pretty big favour. While killing a few minutes together with conversation before we went our separate ways, I realized I had made a mistake and he didn't need to fulfill said favour until tomorrow! Which means he did not have to get up early, make everyone breakfast and head out the door today, he had to do it tomorrow (although I'm pretty sure the breakfast card is all played out). He wasn't angry, nope. He looked mildly amused, kissed me goodbye and wished me a good day. He's a saint!

Work was work. A means to an end. When it was done, I had no trouble returning to my jubilant mind set from earlier this morning.

As is my usual practice, I daydreamed the drive home away. Don't worry, I still pay attention to the road, you aren't in any danger. I began to entertain a familiar daydream I have often wanted to commit to paper but have always talked myself out of. I have always convinced myself that my brand of imagination is not one that would be accepted as fun or interesting or relevant by anyone other than myself. Years of daydreams, of spinning story webs and I never thought up anything relevant?! Isn't there a Law of Averages or something that may apply here? Can my imagination be that alien? Doubtful.

So, I played a little devil's advocate with myself. If I am as talented as I think I am, why can't I make this piece interesting and relevant? I decided that I could. I could try at least. And with precious few changes, I think I may have something. Don't get me wrong, I'm not telling you I've thought up The Next Great Canadian Novel, that's not my point. My point is that I have decided to commit this scene in my head to paper (or hard drive as the case may be). And I told my hubby about it. Not something I normally do. I am not one who readily allows visitor's into my imagination, in fact I tend to protect it fiercely, but tonight I wanted him to visit. So I told him a little, a very small vague glimpse, but I wanted to share nonetheless. Apparently with you too.

For tonight, I am only writing about writing. It's been such a long time I feel like we need to get reacquainted, writing and I. Get comfy again. Baby steps. I have all the support and encouragement I could ever want from my other half. I am gaining confidence in myself. I can almost see myself as a someone who could write without fear of rejection. Someone who could write solely for thyself, for the enjoyment (guilty pleasure perhaps, indulgence not allowed?). Almost. So what am I waiting for? Hmph. You got me.

Guilty Pleasures and Sweet Reunions

2009-05-03T21:04:00.005-03:00

I have read Twilight. I'll admit it. It was terrible and wonderful all at once. I can comment on and understand each and everyone of it's failings. Did that make me throw all four books in the wood stove? Hardly. Try to convince a crack addict to throw away the pipe and you'll understand what I mean. While I understand the initial pull, the spell had worn off fairly quickly, so the mania and obsession that is a result of the books and the movies baffles me a little. That's why, when I saw this on Perez Hilton the other day (yes, another of my shameful indulgences), I had to laugh. Boys and Girls of Twilightdom, behold! Draw your attention to the gentleman accompanying a young Robert Pattinson in the Vintage RPatz post and you will have had a glimpse of the future. I would be willing to bet that is the teen obsessions Poppa and if I were to win that bet, I would then go all in that this is a very close facsimile of what your little hottie will look like in about 20 years. And that my friends is what tickled my funny bone.

Would you mind if I shared another of my guilty pleasures? How 'bout three? I give you; Hugh Jackman, Liev Schreiber and the home grown Ryan Reynolds. All three of which I got a healthy dose of in X-Men Origins: Wolverine today.

I went into the theatre with a good measure of trepidation; every review I bothered to read touted negativity. Shortly after the movie began I realized I was looking for crap, I was expecting cheese. And none of it in an awesome, craptastic enjoyable cheesy way. No, I was watching an X-Men movie like I was Roger fucking Ebert and this was Schindler's List. I re-evaluated the situation. Had my family and I come to the movies today to see an Oscar worthy performance? The kids were here for the cool weapons, the 'splosions and to see the superhero best the villain. Damn it! So was I! Once I set myself straight, it was golden. The movie was fantastic. Did it stay true to the comics? Don't know, couldn't care any less. Was the plot without holes? I honestly have no idea, I wasn't paying enough attention. In my defense I will again remind you that Hugh Jackman, Liev Schriber and Ryan Reynolds are in this movie. And there were 'splosions. And a guy jumped onto a moving helicopter. And Hugh Jackman was nekkid! My only complaint? There wasn't enough Ryan Reynolds.

As I am not one to resist even the mildest of temptations I began reading the Dark Tower books again. I have finished the first one; The Gunslinger. I was not disappointed. I am once again in a love/hate relationship with Roland. Although, it's mostly love.

I am surprised at how much I had forgotten. Before today, if you had of asked I would have told you with utter certainty Jake does not make his appearance until the second book. My heart rate increased ever so slightly when Roland first eyes the waystation. At the mention of the figure in the window I was sure he had caught up to the man in black. All the while something tugged at the drawers in my memory, suggesting I might be mistaken, wanting to find proof. The proof didn't come from a found memory but from the pages. With that the drawer flew open and the realization that I would have to endure the sadness I had felt at the loss of the boy so soon dawned. I thought I had another book! I wasn't ready to fall in love with Jake, to admire his inherent strength right along with the gunslinger only to have the gunslinger throw it away. I swooned over the growing bond between Roland and Jake like a mother would when her child finds a friend in a new neighborhood. And then the bastard lets him drop. And the boy says "Go then. There are other worlds than these." Jake doesn't scream, he's resigned to the fact. I wanted him to scream, blood curdling cries that would haunt the monster that let him fall for the rest of his days. But I think the silence will haunt him more (I have accepted that I don't remember, I'm excited to experience it all again). I spat expletives at the gunslinger on Jake's behalf. I cursed Roland. And then I wondered where the man in black was. Single minded.

I can't wait to start The Drawing of the Three. I have to though, I promised tonight I would write. If I let myself go, I would not eat, sleep, work or communicate with a real, live human being until I had read all 7 of books. My home, family and friends would be left grossly neglected. I am a confessed book junkie. I make no apologies.

Last, but most definitely not least; my husband came home early! He was in Greenland for work and wasn't due to return until today. We had no idea what time today, work had not given him his itinerary. We often joke the motto of the Canadian Military is "Hurry up and wait!" Although, he may have known a tad more than he was letting on. I, forever in the dark, was pleasantly surprised when the phone rang last night and it was my hubby from what call display promised was a local number. I promptly picked him up, brought him home and very happily slept with a warm body beside me last night as opposed to his carefully arranged pillows.

Sadly, when I began blogging this evening, my darling hubby was listening to a few newly acquired songs on his computer. As his computer is directly behind mine, I am also subjected to whatever selection is playing. I was distracted. I am still mildly distracted. Every time he moves, I worry he's leaving the room, dejected because I am not paying enough attention to him. I ask him how he's doing every couple of minutes to alleviate my guilt. I think he intuits my predicament and finds it amusing. I'm a terrible person, I know. He's just returned after two weeks away and I'm worried about my blog (it's the writing! The therapy of it damn it!) Now, my dog is licking his paws, unrelentingly. It's driving me out of my ever-lovin' mind. Case in point; I am writing about how easily distracted and annoyed I am by the goings on of my family (human and animal alike). I think that's it. I am apparently spent. I should call it a night before I start writing about absolutely inane shit like bathroom cleaning (which I did an outstanding job of yesterday and then spilled hot candle wax all over). Ack! I'm outta here!

Another day, another.....What? What exactly was today's product?

2009-05-01T21:59:00.001-03:00

If you've come to measure the progress of my "Write To Be Happy" oath, leave, leave now! I don't want to mar your perfect vision of me.

I am not crotchety or anything. I am not railing against the injustices or the inhumanities. I am not going to whine over my pathetic existence. I don't feel that way. I'm just......meh. Meh sizes it up pretty well, actually. I hate that word. I hate reading, I hate writing it. But I am so meh right now I can't be bothered to look up a better word.

Hey! If I wiki'd 'meh', do you think the wiki thesaurus will give me something better since I appear to be inarticulate this evening? Lemme look......Well! Will wonders never cease? God bless Wikipedia or in this case Wikitionary.

*Ahem*

meh - adjective

1. mediocre; lackluster; unexceptional; uninspiring.
2. apathetic; unenthusiastic.

meh - interjection

1. (slang) Expressing indifference or lack of enthusiasm
2. (slang) Used to express a mild disagreement where the person does not have either the solid foundation to actually argue a point, or does not feel the argument is worth pursuing any further. Due, in most situations, to the argument being opinion based in subject matter.

There. I am feeling mediocre, unexceptional, both uninspired and uninspiring. I am not feeling lackluster. I know the definition of the word, but I always feel as though I am saying I am not shiny enough.

Today the company that employs me relocated. The owner, my boss, moved his business from an old converted story and a half house he rented to an office building he built. Sounds like it sort of, kind of might be exciting in a by proxy sort of way right? Wrong. What a clusterfuck. I have never been involved in the relocation of a business previously, so I am completely talking out of my ass when I make the following statement; The level of disorganization and chaos involved was amazing. Very little of it was prepared in advance. The majority of it was handled by one person, who was not the owner of the company. I'm impressed she didn't quit. I should mention that this task is so far outside the territory of her job description it's pretty much another continent. Not that job descriptions hold much weight around these parts.

If the rest of us had had even an ounce of interest in aiding in the relocation of anything other than what pertained to our job descriptions and what was located in our offices it would have been tricky. Information other than that of the gossip-y kind is not readily shared among all of the staff in our office. Not a hateful kind of gossip, but a kind of Perez Hilton sort of gossip. Ok, not a good example. I mean we're not all back biting each other all of the time. So I, and I will speak for myself, was completely and totally unaware of what was going on from any given moment to the next. Even when I was abreast of a situation, it was likely to change before I had a chance to make a difference anyway.

So I did very little all day. Yup, jackshit, fuck all, bubkiss. I found little make work projects. But little they were and accomplished nothing more than wasting a bit more of my time. Very nearly could have been the most tedious eight hours of my whole 31 years.

Meh.

I tried to turn the tide when I got home. I have surfed all of my fav's and then some. I have read every missed article and re-read others. I had a look at my movie collection and walked away from it again, to meh to make a decision. I wanted to tell you a fantastic story tonight, but I just don't have it in me.

I'm filled with meh. I told you to leave. I tried to warn you. I hope you didn't catch it, cause meh is contagious. I would've told you to sport one of those face masks that seem to be all the rage right now. But if you had listened, I would've wondered about your sanity and then I would've feared for mine because we all know crazy is catchy.

Ok, that's it! I've spread enough love this evening. Until next time!

2009-04-30T21:35:00.002-03:00

I am going to try to link to a post I read on a site I adore. Mr. Prisco of the Pajiba crew broke the unfortunate news, which you can find here. Mr. Prisco is not for the faint of heart, consider yourself warned. I can only hope, like so many other Hollywood dreams, this attempt fails and my precious Dark Tower will remain safe in the place in my imagination I have reserved for the likes of Roland, Jake, Eddie, Susannah, Susan, Oy and yes, even the Man in Black. As an unexpected result of reading Brian's post, I find I miss Mid-World a little. It's been awhile since I last visited. And though I know where Roland's journey ends (my heart shrunk a little that day, because I lost a measure of love for Stephen King), I think I may take it with him again. Do you think a person can read The Golden Compass and The Gunslinger in tandem? We shall see.