A blog about whatever randomosity my fevered mind conceives.

Posts tagged “ramble

I’m running out of clever things to say about my rambling…

For the most part, having children is AWESOME! There is – however – one small thing about kids that’s somewhat less than desirable; they’re germ mongers. It’s really not so bad when they’re little, but once they hit school age you send them off five days a week to swim in a veritable virus pool of ugly little bacteria with their little germ monger peers. What this means – for your ENTIRE household – is that you will then spend the next baker’s dozen of years cycling through damn near every minor nasty known to man. The worst part? No amount of vitamin C, zinc and/or Echinacea can entirely spare you from these lovely little illnesses; once you have kids, they’re just a part of the natural order of things.

Yep, there’s another cold/flu making its way through the house, and this one’s shaping up to be a real doozy. So far I remain uninfected, but history has already taught me how this works; I should remain healthy up until the girls are both over the worst of their symptoms, and then BAM!!! the bugs will get me! In the meantime, I can look forward to a few nights (like last night) where I barely get to sleep at all because Kara is waking up every hour or so in a fit. The poor little monkey gets pretty cranky when she’s sick, and this time around is no exception.

Ah well, it is what it is.

I meant to come back for a second posting yesterday, but (as per usual lately) I found myself short on time and couldn’t make it. No worries; that intended posting was just a ramble and rambling can be done at anytime… now works too.

For those of you who read ‘Treat of the Week’, I really wanted to point out a few (in my mind) interesting things about it. And what you ask, is that? Oh, I’m so glad you inquired! Though the story is fictional, there are some truths scattered throughout. Let’s start with the main concept of the story; the man who – completely out of the blue – comes home from work one Friday night to poison his family with milkshakes. This may or may not be a true story.

When I was a little kid, I overheard my uncle talking about just such an event – apparently perpetrated by some man he knew – and the story stuck with me. The reason I say that this ‘may or may not’ be a true story is that the uncle who told it is the same man who once told me that he accidentally ran over the Easter Bunny, and that we’d be having rabbit stew for Easter dinner in lieu of turkey. His credibility was instantly – and permanently – damaged in my mind when the Easter Bunny did in fact drop by that year with goodies. When I got older, I always meant to go down to the library to dig through the archives and find out if the story was true, but I just never got around to it. I don’t remember much of what he said about the tale back then – it was a long time ago – but I remember being a little suspicious of milkshakes for awhile.      

The other thing about this story that you might find interesting to know is that we once lived three doors down from a man who – after discovering his wife’s infidelity – blew his brains out in the cab of his truck. The truck was parked out front of their house and a gaggle of junior high kids discovered the hideous mess on the way to the bus stop that morning.

I remember being incredibly pissed at the guy for being such a thoughtless twonk. Don’t you dare judge me for my lack of sympathy in the matter, I felt plenty bad for him as far as the disloyalty went; the entire neighbourhood knew about his wife’s indiscretions (she wasn’t exactly discrete about her affairs, and one of her paramours was a work buddy of her husband’s that would show up in a (marked) work truck five minutes after her husband left nearly every morning). I was also quite sad that he would be so broken by the discovery that he felt the only way out was suicide. He lost my sympathy when he opted to take his life out in the open where his body was almost guaranteed to be discovered by school kids. Hell, the moron had his own kids that could have just as likely discovered the grizzly scene. In pain or no, I found his way of dealing with the situation to be completely irresponsible.

The quote at the end was something I read in the newspaper once. It was stated by some guy that was on trial for killing his own family and I’m not entirely sure if I got either the quote or the man’s name exactly right. That too was a long time ago and I’m afraid my memory sucks at times. I’m not even sure how that quote worked its way into the last line; it certainly wasn’t where I was intending to wind up.

Now, I’m not overly fond of this story (but when am I, right?), but I do like the bones beneath it. It’s yet another tale that I might have to return to at some point to rewrite properly, but with this whole ‘flash fiction’ experimentation sort of thing, I’m limiting my time for both writing and editing the pieces. Besides – as this whole blog experience is teaching me – I know NOTHING about my own writing. I never really know what will or will not go over well, and I’ve been doing a reasonably good job (for me) of sharing whether I like the piece or not.

Moving on…

This is just a completely random fact to see who’s actually paying attention: I HATE ladybugs. Everyone I know seems to like these disgusting little creatures, but not I! They are just over glorified beetles, and beetles are one step away from being cockroaches; cockroaches are the most disgusting creatures (in my opinion) on this planet. As if that’s not a reason enough to hate them, they piss on you; double gross. My skin crawls just thinking about those ugly little bastards. The worst thing about not being a fan of ladybugs around here is that every spring/summer our yard (and sometimes even house) gets overrun with the damn things. It’s quite creepy.

Hmm, I’ve got about fifteen minutes left to myself before my sister and her kids get here, so I best try wrapping this up.

I have been desperately trying to catch up (and stay caught up) on at least my favourite blogs for the last week and a half or so, but I am definitely struggling with this. Please do not take my absence as abandonment! I will have some time later this afternoon (between unwanted company, tending to a sick toddler, cleaning the garage and sorting computer files – still working on getting everything in order on that note, and I’ve STILL not had much time to get my new computer set up to my liking) but I’ve already dedicated most of that time to one of my favourite blogs that I’m like a thousand posts behind on. Just know that I’m working on it!

My (hockey) team has been knocked out of the playoffs (SAD SAD FACE!!!) so at least my evenings (in theory) should start to open up a little more as April morphs into May. Though I’m not overly fond of spending a lot of time at my comp in the evenings, at least I’ll have more time to write.

Oh, last thing before I go… I just wanted to (officially) welcome back my beloved Gabriela Vargas!! Oh how I’ve missed you… can’t wait to read all about what you’ve been up to all month!

Okay, that’s it. This is me running away….

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Here I go again…

What a long week! I’ve accomplished a lot – though I’m not yet finished all that I set out to do – and I’m quite pleased with the organizational bliss of this house, even if it is only temporary. Sadly though, I really miss you guys and I feel a little disconnected from you fine folks, so I figured it was time to touch base as it were. The best way of doing that (in my mind) is to ramble on about my week. Sound good? Too bad (tee hee) here I go again…

This week I discovered that Kara (my youngest) is not a fan of either classic rock or country music. I’ve just been letting the BIG music list play all week and when I do that you get a little (a lot) of everything. I already knew that she preferred dance/pop, but I had no idea how little she liked the other stuff. Every time a song comes on that she doesn’t like – and apparently there’s quite a few – she covers her ears and says, “Noise! I no lika it!” and repeats this over and over until I switch the song.

Like my oldest, she’s been exposed to all kinds of music since day one, but unlike my oldest, this one seems a little more resistant to diversity. How do you explain to a not-quite-two year old that there is more to music than Lady-freakin-Gaga and Bruno-bloody-Mars?

Musical diversity was never an issue with  my oldest; that kid’s musical knowledge would blow you away; so I find it a little surprising (and super intriguing) that Kara seems to have come from the factory with certain pre-set preferences. Oh well, she’s going to have to adapt; I adamantly refuse to spend the rest of my days listening to nothing but the likes of Nicki Minaj!

I haven’t had much time to sit down with my new computer and get it all set up to my liking, though I have had enough time to figure out that windows 7 is very different from vista – which is mostly great – and that I have a lot of figuring-out to do before I’m completely comfortable with my new machine.

I spent a few minutes the other day trying to get all of the computers in this house on a network, but because of the different operating systems, this was not as easy as it should have been. I’ll have to work that out sometime next week.

I have my oldest computer – the one destined for the computer graveyard – set up on the desk beside this one. One of these days (as soon as I find the time) I have to go through its guts and make sure I’ve removed everything of import. I don’t think there’s much left on there, but I need to be certain. Once I get that done, I’ll strip the old girl for parts and get rid of the carcass. It’s actually just a little sad, this one’s been with me since just after I left my hometown six years ago… we have a lot of history between us.

Throughout this switch-over of machines and the cleaning out of drawers/cupboards/closets, I have come to the realization that we’re living a rather disgusting existence of excess. I have enough toys around here to open my own Toys R Us, an army of barely-to-never used kitchen appliances, and more doodads and thingamabobs than the four of us could find use in two lifetimes. Part of the problem (most of the problem) is that I’m a deal whore; if the sale is good enough, I have to take advantage of it. I haven’t even gotten to the top floor of this house yet (my girls’ rooms) and yet I’ve already dug out six MP3 Players – three of them still in their original packaging – (and that’s not even including my Achos Media Player that I just ‘had’ to have, but that’s been sitting in a desk cupboard since a week after I got it) two  portable DVD players that we bought last year (also in their original packaging) ‘just because they were a great deal’, three of those cute little digital keychain picture frames (I only remember where one of them came from) and Yevon-only-knows how many other gadgets that are of little to no use around here. Today’s smart phones render most of these thingamajigs useless; I have a 32 gig SD card in my Blackberry to take care of my portable music and picture needs and our last two vehicles have had built in DVD players. Also, portable gaming systems; my oldest daughter’s Nintendo DS and PSP; seem pretty useless around these parts since I don’t even remember the last time I seen her playing with either. She’s either playing games on her laptop or PS3 – yes, she has her own PS3, further proving my point about our disgusting excess – and she’s got at least five DS games that haven’t even been opened.

We had a family discussion about this ‘stuff’ the other day and we’ve come to the agreement that some of it will go to the transition house up the way, and then we’ll have a garage sale this spring to unload the rest. The proceeds will then be split between the girls’ savings accounts, and in the future I shall try to avoid pointless purchases – no matter how great the deal.

Let’s see, what else?

The weather has been fantastic! I have extremely high hopes about the winter being truly over now, and I’m looking so forward to our first bonfire out back. I freakin LOVE BBQ season and can’t wait to have all of our friends over for a night of good food and bad liquor, hehe.  

I have barely written a word all week. I’ve been putting in long hours around the house and by the time I call it quits for the day, I’ve been exhausted. I hope you guys have been enjoying ‘Reflections’, though (once again) I find myself hating it. I’ve gone back and forth on that piece since it’s conception… and like nearly all of my writing, once I release it into the world, I’m filled with insecurities about it. An interesting side note; Reflections was the first large piece I ever wrote in first person. Another interesting side note; there are two other parts to the story (started but never finished) written from Dean and Mort’s perspectives. One day I might actually sit down and finish them… who knows?

I’ll post the final piece of that story later today (as long as I don’t forget again) and then tomorrow – hopefully – I’ll find the time to work on something new.

Okay folks, the coffee’s run out and now it’s time for me to get back to my regularly scheduled day. Have a FANTASTIC weekend!


Spring fever…

I’m more than a little neurotic at times; ask anyone who knows me in the really-real world and they’ll attest to that without a moments hesitation. I already mentioned that I’ve officially started my spring cleaning for the year, but what you likely do not know is just how nuts I am about such things.

You see, I was born into a long line of packrats. I come from a clan where a good 80% of the women would have (should have) been on those hording shows long before those hording shows existed. When my maternal grandmother passed away (and we went to clean out her house) there were thirty some quilts tucked away in various closets – all still in their original packaging. There were clothes (of various sizes; most not Grandma’s) in all of the closets with price tags still on them. Amongst other things, there were hundreds of cassette tapes, still in their plastic wrap (my grandmother didn’t even own a cassette player), insane amounts of unopened makeup, shoes, medications, dishes, towels, soap, gift baskets (still in their cellophane wrap) shampoos, perfumes, something like fifty tubes of toothpaste, over a hundred boxes of cereal, tool kits, and – though granny never sewed – boxes of clothing patterns and rolls of fabric. This sort of thing was (is) pretty common amongst the women in my family, and serves as yet more proof (to me) that the line of mental illness in our genes did not start with my generation, even if we were the first to accept it and do something about it.

Once upon a not that long ago, I was no better than the rest of them; I used to have one hell of a hard time throwing anything away, and so when something outlived it’s purpose, I just tucked it up on some shelf or in a box somewhere. It was comfort sort of thing that stemmed – I believe – from my constant need to feel like I had a place, a home, a point in life, but it used to make moving hell.

After I started putting my life back together (following my downwards spiral) one of the first major changes I made had to do with a de-cluttering of my private universe. Before I was strong enough to move on to the people that were toxic to my wellbeing, I started with my possessions. Over a week and a half (or so) I went through every single thing I owned and parted with more than 3/4 of it. The only ‘useless’ items I kept were those that I found too sentimental to part with; like my old records and whatnot, Benny the monkey, and my writing. I donated three pickup trucks worth of clothing and things to the Salvation Army, and created another four truckloads full of landfill fodder.

This unloading felt so amazing that I have gone on a major purging once a year ever since.

Each spring when the purging bug bites me in the ass, the true strength of my OCD-like tendencies surface and I start sorting, organizing, tossing, cleaning, labelling, recycling, and fixing like a madwoman. Seriously, it took me five hours just to clean out my desk this weekend. I literally went through every pen and scrap of paper, every paperclip and thumbtack, and tossed away anything that I didn’t need, didn’t want or that didn’t work.

This is just how I roll. Everything that I deem too important to throw out or give away – but not necessary to keep at an arm’s reach – gets neatly stored in plastic crates (how fortunate that Canadian Tire just put them on sale!) and a generalized list of contents gets taped securely to the side before it goes into storage.

This is a three-story, four-bedroom, two-storage room, multiple-storage closet house with an unattached garage. There are four permanent residents (not including the cat and dog) and an endless stream of visitors; my sister and her family are always leaving things behind either because they don’t have room for it their fifth wheel (their house is in B.C. and they live in a house-on-wheels while in this province) or because it’s handier to leave things here since they spend so much damn time at my house. This drives me a little nutty, but whatcha gonna do? My point is that the spring purge around here is not a simple task that can be accomplished over a couple of days. I put in about five hours on Saturday and another fourteen yesterday, and so far all I’ve managed to get through is my desk (looks fantastic for the record), my bedroom (everything but Zed’s closet) and the cupboards in my kitchen and pantry. Since I was also working on the set up of my new computer and babysitting my sisters three kids most of yesterday, I think I made pretty good time, but I’m still a hell of a long way from finished.

Zed has known me as both a packrat and as a minimalist, and while he admits to preferring the latter (by far), he always looks just a little uncomfortable while I’m in purge mode. He does his best to make himself as small as he can (which is no easy feat for a guy that’s 6’2, 220 pounds) and stay out my way. I’m not sure what makes him more nervous; that I might throw away something he’ll later need, that I mumble to myself so frequently while in purge mode, or that he and/or the kids/dog/cat might accidentally end up out on the curb with the recycling. Or maybe he’s just nervous about what jobs I might stick on him, “Hunny, could you just…” He’s already put together two new bookshelves for me, taken a trip to the transition house up the way, fixed the hinges on my wardrobe and – oh so kindly – done a handful of other little chores for me, even though Sunday was his only day of rest♥. Regardless, he’ll be happy as a pig in shite when I’m done and; ever the predictable little bunny that he is; he’ll reward my hard work with a new houseplant (that I’ll probably accidentally kill sometime between this and next spring) and a night out. That’s just how he roles.

Because I have such a big job still ahead of me – and knowing that I won’t be able to rest properly until it’s finished – my time allowance for other obsessions is going to be limited for awhile. Later this afternoon I’ll sit down and break up that big piece I recently promised/threatened, and I’ll start posting two or three parts of that a day as well as (likely) some older poetry pieces; even though I don’t really like posting old stuff. I’ll share with you what I write (if/when I actually find time to write) and I’ll do my very best to keep up with your blogs whenever I find myself with a few minutes to spare.

If you should find yourself in need of my attentions (for whatever reason) just shoot me off an email and I’ll get back to you ASAP. In the meantime, remember that I love you all and have a GREAT day!


The Ultimate Blog Follower(s)…

Okay, first and foremost – before I do anything else today – I feel I should must acknowledge one of my followers for giving my inner-writer the ultimate ego boost. Over the last twenty-four hours (or so) this follower has caught up on a month’s worth of my blogs; and he’s commented on damn near every one of them. I think anyone with the ability to spend that much time with my thoughts deserves some sort of award… I just hope he doesn’t need to now be institutionalized as a result.

The ultimate blog follower award goes to creativeboys; thank you!

Thank you!

I have another busy weekend on hand, and while I’d like to respond to each and every one of your comments I think it would take me the better part of the next two days to do so, thus, I decided last night that I would do a mass thank you to you this morning by way of a post… this is that post, hehe.

Because I have a family, there is a point in the day when I turn my back on my computer and focus my attention to the really-real world. Even though my computer corner is connected to the main living room in my house – and I can see the thing from almost anywhere on the main floor but from the master bedroom or the bathroom – I don’t have much to do with it most evenings. I do however, keep my Blackberry on hand pretty much always, and (as I mentioned the other day) I hear a call of “What we’ve got here is a failure to communicate” every single time I get an email.

Through most of yesterday afternoon and evening, and then last night while watching the hockey game (my team lost for the second time in a row *sad face*) I was getting the message alert every few minutes. Curious as I am (and ego-petting crazed as my inner-writer is) I tend to check every one of them as they come up. Over and over again last night, this is what I was seeing;

WordPress.com [My Own Private Universe] creativeboys liked your post “______”

comment-reply@wordpress. com [My Own Private Universe] Comment: “______” Author; creativeboys

At one point I turned to my beau and said, “This poor guy is going to need therapy from spending this much time in my head”. In the deep part of me where she lurks, my inner-writer was grinning like a madwoman… this was the sort of boost she needed, and it couldn’t have come at a better time.

Yesterday, I told a friend that I felt I wasn’t taking my blog as seriously as I was in the beginning; I even admitted to being a little worried about losing interest in my blog… yikes. This was stemming – at least in part – from a growing suspicion that I was losing my readers’ interest, and that suspicion stemmed – at least in part – from the fact that I’ve noticed a bit of a trend in ‘instant likes’ of late. Let me explain…

By now those of you who are actually paying attention to the rambling nonsense that spews out of my head should be well aware of the fact that I am the reigning queen of too many words; when I get rambling, I really get rambling. Other than poetry, my average post is typically around 2000 words; not generally fast reads. Still, it seems that the minute I hit the post button, I will get two or three ‘likes’ (What we’ve got here is a failure to communicate…) in rapid succession. This upsets my poor inner-writer since – unless there are people out there with the ability to read at lightening speed – she knows the posts are not getting read, and thus the ‘likes’ are false.

This shouldn’t bother me, but as I’ve pointed out time and again, my inner-writer is disgustingly sensitive. While I know I should only focus on the many wonderful (and extremely loyal) followers who read every crazy word I write and leave behind fantastic (and thought inspiring) comments in their wake, my inner-writer has been obsessively worrying over the fake-likes. The fact that creativeboys spent so much (consecutive) time over here staggers me, especially when it’s absolutely clear that he wasn’t skimming, but actually reading every word. Wow, and then again, wow!

At some point last night I realized something that I’d been letting myself forget; the stats don’t mean a thing, and having the apt attention of the masses was never my focus. What matters – the only thing that matters – is those of you who have connected to me through my words and have opted to stick around rather then running for the hills.

So, while I owe a HUGE thank you to creativeboys for reminding me of what’s important, I also feel the need to let the rest of you know how very VERY much I love and appreciate you… each (and every damn one of you) deserve your own award for being the ultimate blog follower(s)!

Thank you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you... you get the picture.

P.S.: I’m officially over any and all worries of ‘losing interest’ anytime soon.


Happy Friday the 13th!

I really don’t get superstition. I mean, what about Friday the 13th is supposed to be unlucky? I don’t feel any different today than I did yesterday or the day before. Of course, I might feel differently if there was a freaky guy in a hockey mask lurking behind me with a machete. “Jason… Jason… Jason… Jason… Kill… Kill… Kill… Kill…”

Fun fact for you; traditionally, there are 13 witches in a coven, or so I’m told. Most of the witches that I presently know don’t have set covens, but more like loose groups with drifting members. By the way, the only witches I know are Wiccans and they don’t even have green skin and hooked noses with giant warts on the tips. How boring is that?

Another (I think) interesting fact; there are many religions around the world that have 1 prophet or messiah and 12 followers. Add the two numbers together and what do you get? You guessed it: 13. I have no idea if this is even remotely relevant to anything, but I just thought I’d bring it up.

The end of the Mayan calendar’s 13th Baktun is widely feared as a bad omen. It seems that we can’t get away from talk about this lately… you know, the end of the 13th Baktun (December 21, 2012) being the beginning of the end and all that jazz. There are a lot of people currently making a hell of a lot of money off of this particular fear, so clearly it’s not bad luck for everyone.

Did you know that it’s apparently in bad taste to have 13 guests at one table? I think that has something to do with ‘The Last Supper’ but I’m not certain if that’s something I’ve heard/read or just some conclusion my brain has jumped to on it’s own.

Oh, and there are 13 twists in a traditional hangman’s noose. I’m pretty sure that falls into the ‘unlucky’ column.

Didn’t King Philip the V or IV (of France) command the arrest of the Knights Templar on Friday the 13th sometime in the 1300’s? I imagine the Templar didn’t find that to be very good fortune.

Now flip the whole thing around, and take note of how many famous sportsmen have worn the number 13; names of note would include Park Ji-Sung, Dan Marino, Alex Rodriguez, Wilt Chamberlain and I think even Shaquille O’Neal wore it for awhile back in the day. I think the number’s been pretty ‘lucky’ for most of them, or at least not unlucky.

Of course, 13 is also the age in which our children turn (officially) into teenagers, so maybe that’s what makes it feel so unlucky for some.

Personally, I like the number 13. I don’t think of it as lucky, I just like 7 and 3, numbers ending in 7 and 3 and/or numbers divisible by 7 and/or 3. I don’t know why, I just do.

Did you know that in the Chinese culture the number 4 is considered unlucky? Apparently this is because it is virtually homophonous to the word ‘death’.

While most of us are used to seeing buildings without a 13th floor (which is ridiculous since just skipping a number in labelling doesn’t actually change the number of the floor, but whatever), in areas with a strong Chinese community – such as Vancouver – you’ll also find the 4th floor (and subsequently 14th, 24th and so on) missing from many buildings.

When I was living inVancouver, I felt the overwhelming need to look that up, since it was making me insanely curious. Interesting, no?

Personally, I’m not superstitious. I don’t even believe in luck. Oh sure, I’ll say off-the-cuff things like, “oh you lucky bastard!”, and when I play Monopoly with my eldest I say, “c’mon lady luck, momma needs a new pair of shoes” every time I roll the dice because it makes her giggle (and I love to hear her giggle) but these are just figures of speech. I don’t cross the road when I see a black cat coming my way; in fact, I’ve owned 2 black cats in years gone by; and I’ve never owned a rabbits foot. Sure, I might feel a little differently about black cats it I had a big ass panther breathing down my neck, but generally speaking the color of a kitty doesn’t much bother me so long as they actually have fur; those furless cats give me the willies. Oh, and just how lucky could that rabbit’s foot actually be? It wasn’t so lucky for the poor little bunny that used to hop around on it, right?

I’ve heard it said that it’s good luck to have a bird shit on you… how does that one even make sense? I can’t even imagine ever finding it good luck to be shat on by anything. Have you ever heard that when a dog howls, it means death is near? There are dogs howling in my neighbourhood all day every day! Then again, death is all around us all the time, so who knows; maybe that one’s not so far off.

I have aunts that are ridiculous about this stuff, but I think they just make a lot of it up on the spot. Like if you drop a fork, they’ll say, “Oh! You’re going to be visited by a woman soon!” or if you drop a dishcloth they say, “Oh no, bad luck is coming your way.” They throw salt over their shoulders when they spill it, and go out of their way to avoid walking under ladders. If you get a wart, they buy it from you for a penny – swearing this will make it go away – and if you find a penny, they insist you put it in your shoe for the rest of the day for good luck. When I was a kid, one of my aunts even told me that smelling dandelions would make you wet the bed. Really?

I will never pass on a chain letter, I don’t avoid cracks in the sidewalk, if I break a mirror, I pick up the pieces and move on with my day unperturbed, and I don’t feel very lucky when I realize I’ve been wearing an article of my clothing inside out. I also believe that we should beware of self-fulfilling prophecies… sometimes believing too much in something is a bad thing.

No matter the date, I hope you have a fantastic day!


I keep on talking that BLAH BLAH BLAH…

Greetings and salutations, beautiful people! I hope this day finds you all happy and healthy and eager to take a big, greedy bite out of the apple that is life. Now, I’ve been told that the PC thing is to never wish anymore than a generalized ‘Happy Holidays’ out of respect for different beliefs and the sort, and while I greatly respect other people’s beliefs for the most part, the same people that made up that rule apparently want to call Easter Eggs ‘Spring Orbs’. As that I find that incredibly dumb, I’m going to go ahead and do what I usually do when I find myself in disagreement with the so-called ‘acceptable norm’; I’m going to do whatever the hell I please. In this case, it pleases me to wish an exuberant HAPPY GOOD FRIDAY to all of you who celebrate/observe or otherwise recognize the day; and a HAPPY EASTER to the same lot while I’m at it. To the rest of you; HAPPY LONG WEEKEND!!

For me, long weekends typically mean a busier schedule, and this one is no different…

We’re going truck shopping this weekend (our poor Dodge was a right-off by the way… in case you have no idea what I’m talking about – and find you actually give a rat’s butt – read this) and I’ve decided that getting my new computer is a priority, so I’ll be doing my best to haggle my way into a great deal over the next day or two. I suck at haggling, so wish me luck.

As that I have the two girls, we’re going to be doing the whole Easter egg painting thing (probably tomorrow morning). I prefer carving pumpkins at Halloween, but painting eggs isn’t so bad; it’s actually rather fun I find. We’ll do an egg hunt on Sunday – weather permitting – sometime after Peter Cottontail stops by and gets my kids all hopped up on sugar. That’s usually quite amusing. We’ve decided NOT to do Easter dinner this year; we held a family vote and opted to go for Japanese food instead. Since we had to partake in five different turkey dinners over Christmas, we’re all still a little turned off by the idea of turkey, and I hate ham, so that’s never an option.

Let’s see, what else?

Somehow we got roped in to taking my niece to her riding lessons tomorrow afternoon, and we have that party thing tomorrow night which is nonnegotiable (I’m told) as that it’s an accomplishment-celebration sort of deal. I love the guy whose achievements we’ll be celebrating, but he’s kind of a twonk when he drinks. Oh well, it should prove interesting nonetheless.

My youngest has just gone through a weird and unexpected growth spurt, and nothing – especially her shoes – seem to be fitting right, so I’ll have to do something about that so the other babies don’t tease her about wearing floods. My oldest needs new art supplies; she’s a rather talented artist; and my man needs a bigger bank account; nothing I can do about that one, sorry babe.

There’s grocery shopping and house cleaning (again!) and recycling that needs to be dealt with, and both my eldest daughter and my man need computer maintenance done –unfortunately, that job always falls on me. Come to think of it, it’s been awhile since I did my own maintenance… perhaps this is at least part of the reason my computer keeps bitching at me.

A little good news; the Pagan Ball I was invited to will be held on the 28th so YAY!!! I’ll be able to attend without having to worry about schedule conflicts. I’m really not clear on whether the date was moved, or if my girlfriend just mixed up the dates in the first place, but either way it works out for me. I’m SO excited about that! Apparently there’s a whole day of medieval festivities before the ball – I still have no idea what that all entails, but it should be rather interesting – so the whole family is going. Now all I have to do is track down a kickass costume. Yes, I am just that dorky… deal with it. I have a few things in my great box of Halloweens past, but I want something new. I wonder where one finds a medieval-type costume outside of the Halloween season. I’ll be keeping an eye out for such things while out on other errands over the next few days.

So yes, my weekend ought to keep me pretty tied up, which means there’s a good possibility that I won’t find a lot of time for writing. I have been playing with the idea of reposting one of the first pieces I put up on here since it had like two views and I’d really like some feedback on said piece, so if I find myself as pressed for time as I think I’m going be, I’ll break that down into easily digestible pieces for your viewing pleasure/horror. I feel like that’s cheating, but it is what it is.

Also – because I expect to be as busy as a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest – I likely won’t have a lot of time for sitting at my computer to read your blogs over the next couple of days. I read a lot of them from my phone while I’m on the go, so even if you don’t see my presence on your pages, know that my eyes are constantly fondling your words nonetheless.

It’s looking like it might be a lovely day; most of the snow that fell yesterday has already melted, and the sun is big and bright and glorious. I love days like today!

On a funny’ish note, yesterday, when I went to the corner store, the lady that works there (she reminds me of one of those crazy cat-lady people) kept staring at my split lip, then at my man, then back to my lip. Thanks to the evils of dentistry, my jaw is still faintly swollen so when you put the two together, it looks a little like someone socked me one. By the time we got up to the counter, she was scowling at poor Zed like he was the devil. I witnessed this same phenomena a few years ago when I managed to give myself a black eye while cleaning the bathroom – don’t ask – and I learned that the more you defend your guy when people brand him the Candyman (stolen line), the more people give you that sad, pitying look that says, “Oh, you poor girl, I don’t believe a word you’re saying.” While actual spousal abuse is NO laughing matter, I intend on counting the number of dirty looks my man gets today, just to amuse myself. What can I say? I have a bizarre sense of humour.

I tried to get drunk last night to numb the ache in my jaw (which really isn’t that bad), but after three glasses of wine and way too much time on Facebook, I found I really wasn’t in the mood after all. I was asleep by midnight. Yep, I’m a badass. Before I gave up and went to bed, I did up the following picture for my oldest daughter’s amusement…

… You see, you’d really have to be a fan of both ‘The Walking Dead’ and ‘Skyrim’ to get the humour in this I think, but I’ll try to explain it anyhow. Everyone in this house is ‘Skyrim’ obsessed, and any of you who know that addiction surely know how huge the lines ‘FUS RO DAH!’ and ‘I used to be an adventurer like you, then I took an arrow to the knee’ are. (Just YouTube either line if you have no idea what I’m talking about, and you’ll see how popular these quotes have become.) Now, on the season finale of ‘The Walking Dead’, this one dude in Winnebago opens the door (like a ding-dong) while surrounded by zombies, and a few of the flesh hungry little buggers decide he looks like a pretty tasty snack. They manage to knock him down – still not sure how that happened – and then the first bite comes out of his knee. At this point, my oldest (she doesn’t have a pseudonym yet… um, let’s call her Ariel) blurts out, “I used to be a survivor like you… but then I took a zombie to the knee!” Okay, for us this was funny as hell; funny enough to have to pause the show till we all got over our giggling; and she asked me then if I’d do up a pic for her. We both forgot all about it until last night. Initially, I tried to use the exact clip from the show, but a layman wouldn’t be able to tell the knee-muncher was even a zombie, or what exactly was going on in the pic, so I dug up a random zombie from the show instead. Wow, if you really don’t care, that’s one hell of a long explanation, huh?

{NOTE: My youngest (two next month) keeps FUS RO DAH’ing everyone and everything; her poor Elmo doll seems to be her favourite victim; and one of these days I’m going to capture it on film.}

My household is just starting to wake up around me – lazy buggers – and soon they’ll all be sniffing about for breakfast, so I best wrap this up so I can quickly do the other post I have planned for today. Have a great day people!


Open up and say “ahhhhhhh”…

I’m not really having the greatest day. Not that I’m having a terrible day or anything… just not a fantastic one. The entire right side of my face is frozen, I have a split lip, and I’m pretty sure I’m doing the Billy Idol sneer, though I haven’t bothered to consult a mirror as of yet.

They always over-freeze me when I have work done at the dentist; it’s not that I require extra freezing, it just takes longer to work in many members of my family – for whatever reason. They never seem willing to listen to this logic though, and always end up giving me five or six shots when two or three would probably suffice. Since I’ll start feeling the gaping hole in my jaw when the freezing really starts to fade, however, I’m oddly okay with the overdose today.

I had a wisdom tooth out, you see. This is my third of the four to be abstracted. Originally the plan was to have them all taken at once, but apparently my teeth are very stubborn, and the ones that I’ve had taken already took nearly three hours (a piece) to extract. I have asked around… I’m pretty sure this is not freakin normal! According to my dentist it has something to do with the way my nerves or roots (or something) have bonded with my jaw. You know what else is not normal, while I’m on the subject, is the fact that two out of three people I know who have had wisdom teeth extracted have been put under for the procedure… why the hell can’t I have that?

Anyways, sorry, I got away from the point. What was the point? Oh yes…

My appointment started at nine this morning, and ended at about a quarter to twelve. I’m starving and I can’t eat; I’m dying for a smoke, and I can’t smoke. Well… I’m not supposed to smoke, but I’m seriously thinking I’m not going to play by that rule much longer since I’m getting crabbier by the minute.

I had a piece I wanted to work on this morning – naively thinking that this tooth extraction wasn’t going to be as bad as the last (my dentist PROMISED it wouldn’t be, but he said that the time before too… liar, liar pants on fire!!!), but now I find myself completely uninterested in a) sitting at my computer, and b) concentrating on anything specific.

When I got home, I wasn’t even going to sit down here but I really don’t want to get into the habit of missing posts; once I let that happen, it could start a whole trend with me and I don’t like that idea; so I thought I’d just sit down and ramble/rant about my morning before I wonder off to do something other…

Why do dentists talk to you while they’re working? I mean, they have their freakin hands in your freakin mouth; it’s not like you can answer them. Don’t get me wrong, I like having friendly dentists and all, but seriously… what do you want from me? I can only “mmph glub garble blah” so many times before I want explode their heads with the power of my mind. That doesn’t work by the way, I’ve tried.

The dentist’s assistant; sweet girl, I get her all the time and I like her a lot; wants to ask me kid related questions – since she knows I have kids – while doctor giggles is using some gawd awful appliance to wiggle-yank on my tooth. At least, that’s what I think was going on; I close my eyes while I’m having oral work done because there are still some things in this life that I’m a total wuss about, and the medieval torture device looking gadgets in a dentists office are definitely one of those things.

So anyway, I’m laying back with my eyes closed feeling enough pressure in my jaw to make me assume the dentist has decided to remove all of my teeth for shits and giggles, and his assistant is cheerily asking me about good movies to take an eight year old to see this weekend, and if I think a girl that age would be interested in getting a manicure.

At first I’m doing my part to try to mumble a response around the dentist’s hands, “glum bumble blegan glop,” and she’s trying to guess at what I’m saying. She was way off by the way… you’d figure dentists who like to talk to their patients would be better at translating mumbo-jumbo, but they usually kind of suck at it. After awhile I start thinking the whole thing’s a game – I’d probably do the same thing to keep myself amused after all, just mess with people for the hell of it – so I give up on trying to actually answer and just start making random noises so it sounds like I’m still involved in the conversation.

Then the damn dentist looses his grip on whatever tool he’s trying to rearrange my mouth with, and his hand jerks as he bashes my upper lip with something – still not sure what it is, I refused to look. Beautiful! A lovely split lip to go with my Billy Idol sneer. And oh, mmm, even more blood for me to choke on – thanks doc.

He mumbles, “Oops,” and then goes right back to wiggle-yanking.

At this point I’m thinking about how much I’d like to have a turn at his mouth with those tools. I try not to be a nasty person; I try not to have too many violent thoughts; but I’m not going to pretend there aren’t times when I’m perfectly okay with giving into my darker fantasies. At that moment I was rather enjoying the mental-movie of the doc strapped down, and me hovering over him doing my best impersonation of Steve Martin from Little Shop of Horrors.

Fortunately, the tooth finally came loose not long after that. Then there was that weird whatever they hell they do after – I think they’re plucking out nerves or something, or at least that’s what it feels like; I usually try not to hear too much of what they say they’re doing while they’re doing it since the language in a dentist’s office can be damn near as daunting as those horrid looking tools they use. He puts in a few stitches, smiles and writes me a prescription for something I’ll never bother to fill out; I don’t take pain killers unless it’s absolutely necessary, and yet doctors and dentists are always trying to overmedicate me for some reason. The more I object to the heavy drugs, the heavier they seem to prescribe me; I was once prescribed oxycontin for a very minor toothache, and I still don’t remember five or six hours of my life because of that crazy crap.

Anyway, I say “thank you” as we’re saying our goodbyes. I don’t know why I always say thank you to the dentist; it seems weird to thank someone who’s just tortured you for nearly three hours; but I do. I’m polite like that. I book the appointment for my final extraction for the end of the month –despite wanting to put it off for six months to forever – and escape into the somewhat decent day beyond.

My littlest one was with my sister while I was in the torture chamber; they’re waiting for me when I stroll out; and I open the car of her door and get smacked in the senses with the stench of vomit; Kara (I think that’s what we called my little’un last time) is not feeling well. She starts crying, “mommy, mommy… snuggle” as soon as she sees me, but then she takes a better look at my face; the split lip and Idol sneer; cheers up a bit and tells me I look like a monster. Kids are sweet, aren’t they?

Anyway, I’m home now, so YAY! I’m not in much pain yet, but I can feel the agony working up to something special, and I’m feeling more than a little sick to my stomach; probably from all the blood I’ve swallowed. Disorganized as it may be, this will quite likely be my one and only post of the day, and I don’t even think I’m going to get to any blog reading… sorry, I’ll catch up tomorrow. I’m going to go lay down with Kara, snuggle up and watch some T.V. or something. Have a good one folks.