Bye Bye, 2007

So this is the final 2007 post, it's been a good year.  Had a great pregnancy, not such a fun birthing experience and sometimes the Fusspot made me want to build a time machine to go back to the past and change a few things.  On the upside, mommy can go back to dealing with her issues with the occasional drink that always puts a smile right back on her face.  Oh how I've missed my wine while pregnant, it's such a joy to be able to enjoy alcohol again even if it's in small amounts.  A memorable night was had recently at Oscar's when there was the chance to sample from several bottles due to the number of people in attendance.

Anyway, so the holidays were good.  The baby was mostly well behaved, except for a few times when we saw family and she was overwhelmed, swarmed, tossed around like a hot potato and yelled at (Asians are especially loud and excitable).  But then, I can't really blame her for being upset when she was just obviously scared.  Of note, one of the grandmas (my mom) should never drink when the Fusspot is around.  A few drops of the fun juice revs up her loud and excitability factor exponentially.  Hot potato turned into a rugby scrum and I had to step in several times to rescue my screaming baby lest she become many baby parts before the night's end.

Fusspot is all ready for the New Year celebration tonight, within the last week she has discovered screeching.  At first very cute, it has now become a nails on chalkboard kind of scream she incessantly enjoys making.

So there you go, I gotta get back to my New Year's party.  It's all about video games, snacks and Jell-o shots.  I just had my first... never was a big fan of vodka but it'll do.  See you all in the new year.  

Boxing Day Giant

I usually don't go out and mosh with the crowds coz I don't like crowds but yesterday Mr. Stinky and I decided to venture out and introduce the baby to the crazy, crazy world of mob shopping.  We stuck mainly to the boring places (furniture stores) but did hop along to a nearby Best Buy just to check out what the draw was.

I've always been super annoyed with people who take massive strollers out to crowded places and bung up traffic.  Now I'm one of them.  Oh well.  Mr. Stinky got through the doors and thought I was right behind him except some guy who just purchased a gigantic flat screen TV of no particular brand was coming out of the doors.  I waited for him to pass before pushing through, except his TV fell off the end of his cart.  He hurriedly tried to toss the TV back onto his cart but with no one to hold the cart in place, it kept rolling backwards and the poor guy's brand new TV hit the ground two more times before his wife caught up to help him.

Having caught that bit of comedy, I proceeded to inch towards the doors but was cut off rather rudely by several eager shoppers.  This may be severely racist and stereotypical but these people are from regions of the world where lining up for something is not done.  It bothers me immensely when I line up patiently for something like the bus and when it comes a swarm of people appear.  Anyway.  So I tried to carefully enter the doors while the eager shoppers actually hopped around or contorted themselves around the stroller when out of nowhere the biggest, tallest, most awesomest man came to rescue me.  He grabbed one of them by the arm and yanked him out of my way like he was swatting a fly.  Dude.  That guy flew back like a piece of paper.  Images of Chara and McCabe fighting from a few years ago sprang to mind and while I giggled away madly inside my head, I politely thanked my knight in shining leather (his jacket was longer than my height!) and finally walked into the store to rejoin Mr. Stinky.  

Inside the store I hung out near a relatively safe display and Mr. Stinky snaked his way around the store to look at a few things.  The entire time I had my eyes on Mr. Humongosaurus doing his own shopping, he was not easy to miss, he towered over every single display rack.  He looked like he could be dangerous but as I watched him interact and laugh with the store staff I decided that he was just a big, tall teddybear.  I might've drooled a little just being in his presence, I'm a sucker for cool people like that.

We didn't stay long, just a few minutes.  There wasn't anything really worth buying but it was fun nonetheless.  But who cares, that wasn't the story anyway.

Nanou and the Tap-tap Shoes

Nanou is the nickname of my first friend in elementary school when my family moved to the GTA.  Her real name of course I won't use, but is also what we named our Fusspot.  I have a lot of special memories of Nanou, the second of a large family of girls and one boy I met her on my first day of school.

It was grade 2, I tugged on my teacher's sleeve at recess time and told her that I didn't have anyone to play with... to this day I can't believe I did that since by grown up standards that is the lamest thing in lamedom you could ever do but then again, kids are much more honest and open.  It was the truth and I needed someone to play with.  So after I told her that, she asked the class if there was anyone who would play with me.  I don't remember how many people volunteered but Nanou was the loudest and most insistent.  We became instant friends.

It was serendipity that she lived two doors down from me.  We spent a lot of time playing and laughing before her family outgrew their house and moved a few streets away to continue their expansion.  Nanou was a special creature, she was beautiful with blond hair and blue eyes but she was also incredibly intelligent and free spirited.  She could command attention easily but it was her ability to make people laugh, and her fearless feats of physical comedy that would years later make me think of Lucille Ball... she still makes me smile.

Every once in awhile we would plan to bring our tap-tap shoes to school.  They were simply our pretty dress shoes with a bow in the front and a little bit of heel to make a young girl feel all grown up.  When it was time to go to the washroom we would both ask the teacher for permission and with an arm over each others' shoulder we'd tap our way merrily down the hall cum personal dance floor to the washroom.  Sometimes we'd lose track of time and take too long, our teacher caught onto us and banned our together washroom trips after that.  We were resigned to tap-tap during recess and lunch time when everyone else was around and it was never the same. 

We went our separate ways come high school and didn't see much of each other anymore.  Once in awhile I would bump into her father, a slight man of stature with exceptional intelligence and manners who could put the fear into anyone who dared test his patience.  Of  our conversations he would always proudly sing of Nanou's accomplishments as a young lady coming into her own, bringing home report cards filled with only the letter A and preparing for a bright future doing whatever she wanted.

After awhile I didn't see him anymore so there was no more catching up.  I rarely saw her either.  Imagine my shock when one day out of the blue I saw my old friend as a stranger who would not acknowledge my presence.  From the beautiful and happy girl next door she had transformed into a beautiful but cold goddess.  The smile was gone, she looked so forbidding.  She was completely buried underneath layers of hairspray, eye shadow and leather.  She could have been 20 if not for the fact that she still looked like a young girl, I didn't talk to her.  I didn't know how. 

Her tap-tap shoes had turned into dangerous stilettos, all sharp and daring.  I looked down at my feet and saw an old pair of grubby runners so worn that walking across the dew covered grass in the morning my socks would get wet.  We obviously existed on completely different dimension with nothing left in common upon hitting puberty.  I turned to baggy clothes and sports, she embraced the lifestyle of high fashion and sleeping around.  Last I heard she had become a mother several times before leaving her teenaged years and dropped out of school.

I often wonder where she is now and what she's doing.  Does she remember our time together when we pretended to be mermaids during recess and made faces at each other just for laughs?  Would we have anything to say to each other should we ever meet again?  I look at my Fusspot  and hope that she's as fearless and funny and smart as Nanou was, that she'll wear her tap-tap shoes with another friend and be transported to their special dance floor.  But that's where the similarities should end, I hope that my Fusspot never loses her sparkle or smile and bright future when she could be whatever she wants to be.  I wish Nanou the best, I hope she's happy wherever she is. 

Sexy Hickey Story

Coz you know that title's full of crap.

A few days ago I had the Fusspot sitting on my lap and we watched TV together.  I decided that since she was relatively still - omg I think she's got some weird tic or something.  That kid never stops moving... even when she sleeps! - and her nails looked kind of long, I would give her a little manicure.

She's at the stage now where everything gets sucked on; her fist, her fingers, her bib, the shoulders on her sweaters which is convenient if all she has to do it turn her head to the side, her toys, your hand should it get close enough... There's a lovely gloss of baby drool on any and everything she can get her mouth on.  You could even say it's festive at this time of the year.  But really, it's just gross.

So while I was cutting her nails she turned her head and started licking my inner arm.  No wait, my stunningly toned and tanned bicep.  I was cool with this, if she was distracted long enough I could finish her nails and not have to leave that one sharp claw for later because she was tired of staying still and started to fuss.

Snip snip... suck suck... snip... babies have very good sucking abilities.  Very strong suction.  My arm (toned and tanned bicep) started to hurt.  Then it really started to hurt.  I hurriedly finished the manicure and pulled the little parasite off my arm only to find a very red and angry memory of times gone by, my daughter had given me a hickey.  This is stuff from like, forever ago.  What the hell indeed.

Christmas Shopping

'Tis the season I dread it every year.  Not because I'm a scrooge but because inevitably all the shopping hours and efforts focus on me.  That's right, I gift myself so many more times over than everyone else on my shopping list and at the end of the day that's OK.  Who doesn't like new and pretty things, especially when it's exactly what they want?  You so know I'm right.

I think sometime after a few years of adulthood most of us realize that every year is about the same.  Your friend can only use so many scarves, mom doesn't really want another set of flannel PJs because she hasn't even opened up the other four sets you had surprised her with in the previous years.  And honestly, when people ask what you want for Christmas you're not thinking a sweater or that new set of candlesticks.  What you're thinking as the words "sweater", "I don't need anything", or "the pool boy" fall from your lying lips (Santa knows!) are more to the tune of "pay off my house/car/yacht/illegal mail-order "house boy"", "a huge-mongous pile of money to swim in a la Scrooge McDuck" or something completely insane.  But it's what you really want, right?  In the end, who am I to turn down presents no matter how much at the bottom of my wish list they may be?

The problem is when I make my way to the stores to buy for other people.  Because it's so difficult to remain creative for others, my attention always manage to fall upon the familiar which of course is the stuff I like and want.  Before you know it, I'm leaving the mall at the end of a long shopping day with a ton of bags all filled with goodies for yours truly.  Incredibly fulfilling.  Until the credit card bill comes.  Even more frustrating just because I know that list I was supposed to be working on is still fresh and crisp, having never even been looked at.

One year Emma and I spent the day at the mall "buying stuff for other people".  We couldn't decide what to get each other while satisfying the criteria being A)affordable, B)the other person would like it and C)keeping it a surprise.  Of course C is just asinine since in order to get someone something they like you have to ask what it is that they want and come Christmas Day when they open up their present from you and it's exactly what they had asked for it really isn't a surprise.  Anyway, we just decided that if we should see something we liked or wanted we'd just buy it for ourselves and say it was from the other person.  All of a sudden, shopping for each other was so much easier.  Too bad you can't really do that with everyone else.

So yah, I unexpectedly had access to a car a few days ago and grandma was home for the day.  The Fusspot was left with her and I sang all the way to the mall.  After several hours of looking in all the wrong stores I came home with a few things for myself (there was a lot of self-control exercised) and nothing for anybody else.  What a waste of a shopping trip considering I rarely get such freedom nowadays.  I am so disappointed in myself.

Well, not really since I got presents but I should wallow in some guilt for a little while for the good of mankind.  I hear it builds character or something anyway... 

Magic Carpet Toilet Paper

I don't have anything colourful right now to offer my loyal legions of paid fans, so you'll have to make do with something that's been sitting in my draft folder for some time now.  Be in awe, be entertained.   

You wouldn't think that the topic of toilet paper would be so important but since I'm the primary shopper in the household and use so damned much of it these last several months it's got me thinking. And reminiscing. What a loser. You are. Shut up.

My public school dispensed toilet paper by the square. They looked like mini paper towels in that they were tri-folded and when one sheet was taken, the next would pop out ready to service. I hated that toilet paper. Not only were the squares tiny and useless, you really had to pull out a gigantic wad, even as a kid to effectively wipe anything, but curiously, one side of the sheet had a wax paper-like finish to it and the other side had the abrasiveness to skin a pig with a couple of passes. Now who invented that nonsense? What does a waxy finish do besides smear things around?! That's the last thing I want happening when I'm finished doing my business. The worst part had to be the odd times you pulled one square out and the entire stack followed unexpectedly so now you had a pile of useless "paper" on the ground and one sheet with which to wipe. And if you know public school washrooms you would know that they lived in perpetual shortage of soap. Mmmmm.

Mr. Stinky and I share a need for quality toilet paper. A comfortable product that doesn't exfoliate you down to the raw, inner flesh of the nether regions with every wipe. I promised him when we moved in together that he would never have to worry about crappy toilet paper as the household would always be well stocked with sale-priced, but good stuff. If you must know, anything $0.25 and less per roll is a fair deal. I never get the "ultra" stuff because the more ply per square, the less squares per roll and the higher chances of a clog occurring when that fluffy stuff soaks up the toilet water. It's all about the math people... and having too much time to ponder the trivial stuff.

I don't know who the supplier is for my employer but we get some magical stuff. It's not great toilet paper, but it's exponentially better than what Mr. Stinky has at his work. I had to pee once while visiting him and the paper in the stalls weren't even 1-ply, more like 3/4-ply. It was see-through and practically disintegrated in your fingers if you tried to unravel it too fast. Sad. Anyway, magic toilet paper. It straddles the abyss between semi-soft and barely tolerable but for the most part, is OK. What amazes me is that this stuff floats. Like the Cheerios mothers use to toilet train toddler boys this stuff doesn't sink or flush.

This morning after the first of many pees for the rest of the day I had to flush quickly three times in a row hoping that each one would employ the inertia of the previous flush to suck the stuff down the pipes. Honestly, I didn't use that much paper, it's just magical like I said, and I'd hate to leave proof of my presence for the next washroom user. It's a common courtesy; no one should have to look at stuff someone else left behind no matter how innocuous. Of course hearing all that flushing would lead anyone around with ears to think that I took a massive and unflushable poo and was now doing battle with the toilet to get rid of it. Not that it really matters, there are only so many options of action one could take in a washroom and I'm certainly not embarrassed to answer the call of nature. But shoot, three flushes. That's a lot of... stuff.

Talk Radio

Mr. Stinky enjoys it, I find it highly annoying and avoid it whenever I can. Sometimes it's hard when we sit in the car together and he's got the radio controls at his fingertips. Sometimes, when I'm really not in the mood I make him change the station.

I dislike talk radio because when I turn on the radio I want to listen to music. People talking happens everywhere, it's rare for more than one to share space and not have to discuss something, so I don't feel that I need to turn the dial to listen to strangers talking over the airwaves. I turn on the radio to get away from conversations and just let the music soothe my ears and mind.

What I hear on talk radio is a bunch of people talking and yelling over each other to convince someone else of their opinions and thoughts. But honestly, how often do you change your mind on a topic just because the next person wants you to? It doesn't matter whether it's people calling in to argue with the host or the hosts themselves spitting at each other, to me, angry people on the airwaves constitutes annoyance. Why would I tune in? Pish posh.

To illustrate how trite talk radio is to me, the following exchange is what I get everytime I am forced to listen to the program du jour. The words may be different but the sentiments are consistently about the same. Could be just me.

"Today we're discussing whether or not you agree with the new tax the city has voted to implement in order to pay off debt and refill the coffers. I'll start. To me, this is a pathetic ploy by the right-wing politicians to punish their constituents and fatten their wallets. It's a horrible idea that makes my head spin."

"Oh, all you left-winged conspiracists are always complaining about something or other. The city is bankrupt and we need them if we are to keep growing."

"Don't you patronize me!"

"Stop whining, you big baby."

"Oh shut up, you stupid dumbass."

"I don't like to shut up, I like 7-Up!"

"Pooface!"

"Poobrains!"

"I know you are but what am I?"

"I hate you!"

"I hate you too!"

"I hate you times infinity!"

"I hate you times inifinity plus 1!"

"There's no such thing, you uneducated and malformed humanoid!"

"Is too coz I just did. Stamped it, double stamped it, no reverse-ys!"

"I'm telling on you!"

"I'm telling on youuu!"

"Mooooooom!!"

OK, you get the point.

Cold Season

It's coming. I haven't got one but cold remedies are all over the news these days and last week I felt a minor dryness in my throat that went away quickly with lots of water and as much sleep as the Stinkerbug (aka Princess Pruneface) would allow. But on another site I visit, the author is suffering from a cold right now and it reminded me of a story from a long, long time ago...

I once had a bad cold during exam season in high school. The kind of cold where your nose is so badly congested that it feels like the snot has turned into one big solid plug. Blowing and sniffing were both ineffective as the log jam prevented any clearing of the nasal passages. I wrote an exam and halfway through my nose started dripping onto the paper. My horror turned into panic because in a quiet gymnasium an otherwise silent drip sounds like a Hollywood movie splat. I wonder who heard and who saw it fall. Since I couldn't sniff it back up my dammed up nose and blowing it with the scrap of tissue I had with me wasn't working either the only thing I could do, albeit in a humiliated fashion, was to shove the tissue up each nostril and let them soak up the excess drippage. But hey, when you're sick, feel like shit and have to write an exam, public image really falls by the wayside. As I recall, that exam was about 2 hours long. The tissue barely held back the flood waters.

I turned in my paper with snot splatters. I had tried to clean it up as much as I could but there was no hiding the evidence, you didn't need to be on CSI to see the evidence. A small part of me felt stupid but the rest of me only cared enough to go home and sleep the cold off. I remember hoping that no one who touched my paper would get sick because I oozed germs and boogers all over it.

First Trip

If you ever want to see a group of civilized women turn into a frenzied pool of sharks all you have to do is bring a baby into their midst.

Saturday was our first big trip out of the City. We had a family wedding to attend and were not looking forward to it at all since the drive was about 1.5 hour long and we would be staying overnight in a hotel. But with family gatherings so far and few between, we sucked it up and decided that the joys of seeing everyone would ultimately outweigh the stress of a screaming baby.

Surprisingly the Stinkerbug behaved very well. She slept in the car and when she fussed we stopped to feed her before continuing along our merry way. Upon arriving at our destination she was spirited away to be fawned over by cooing ladies and Mr. Stinky and I got to hang out sans baby. If you've never been swarmed, have a baby.

To watch the action play out is fairly amusing. The soap opera-ness of being passed around like a trophy, women being possessive and jealous became a great source of entertainment for Mr. Stinky and me. It's much like a wrestling match as people fought for elbow space and any bit of advantage to get her into their arms. All the while she remained calm and didn't fuss too much. Even as she slept, there were requests to hold her. I know, she's da bomb. We were so relieved things were going well.

The action at breakfast was pretty much the same. I fed her before we went down to eat and passed her off into willing arms. You should know I've learned how to gorge in record setting time... it has always been my reputation to be a painfully slow eater. Now I'm scraping my second plate clean before people have even unfolded their napkins. This is a survival tactic for when she starts fussing while I'm communing with my meal and/or there's no one around to help out... although I've also mastered the ambidextrous skill of eating with whatever hand's available. Anyway, as soon as we got to the dining area she was out of my arms. As relatives woke up and made their way down she changed hands like a hot potato, with everyone wanting to be the taker, never the giver.

The weekend and trip away from home turned out to be fantastic, even if we were tuckered out by the time we got home. The three of us passed out for the entire afternoon as soon as we got home. What a great weekend.

Mall Madness

"Did you think we'd ever be sitting side by side on a mall bench breastfeeding our babies?"

Yesterday was mall day with my friend and also new mommy Oscar. It was to be a big day since I haven't gone out too much with Stinkerbug (aka Princess Pruneface) just because she's such a difficult baby. But hey, we figured in a mall we'd be among many mommies and babies and it's always loud. If one or both babies start screaming, who really cares, right?

The strategy is to learn how to juggle holding a fussy baby while pushing an empty stroller for as long as you can before plopping a calmer baby back down, hoping for the peace to prevail.

We had lunch and walked around. When it was time to nurse we visited the "family room" located in the mall washrooms for some privacy. It turned out to be a dingy corner in the washroom with two worn and stained chairs and a plexiglass enclosure in what could only be described as a windex-deprived jail for toddlers. We decided to head for an empty bench out in the mall.

As we sat there next to each other, boob juice flowing, babies a-drinking and chatted away it occurred to me how odd the situation was. Not in the sense that we were doing anything wrong, but this was a girl I had known since I was a kid. We weren't always friends and lost touch several times over the years, but never did I ever think we'd be together in a situation like now. How far we've come.

Despite all the unpleasant bits to our day; tired arms (both), projectile vomiting (mine), giant poopy diaper (hers), fussy and screaming (both) it was also very enjoyable to be able to spend time with a friend who is going through the exact same experiences... although her baby is several weeks older than Stinkerbug so she can actually pass along tips to help me out.

Yesterday was a fun day, even as we were leaving and had to strap two screaming babes into the back seat of her car. We couldn't help but giggle as they bawled and wailed away like they were singing some dissonant duet until the car ride calmed them down to a drowsy surrender. Thanks for the date, Oscar.

What They Don't Tell You About Giving Birth the "Other Way"

I'm walking around and scratching like I got a mad case of crabs.

Rewind? If we must.

"You can stop pushing, Stinky T. It doesn't look like baby's coming out this way so we'll have to prep you for a C-section. Do you have any questions for me?"

Reading my pregnancy and baby books in the past 9 months I had always skimmed over the C-section chapter, just like the multiple babies chapter. Just like all the stuff that would never apply to me. How was I to know that I would end up getting sliced open while strapped down to the operating table crucifixion-style while hollering and complaining about the horribleness of the procedure?

They cut you open below the bikini line but I find it odd that they neglected to "clean" the area up a little before starting. Now I'm not a hairy person to begin with, but everyone's got something down there and to have a healing scar cluttered up with stragglers of the pubes seems a little... half assed. I also yelled more on that table than I did the entire time I was trying to push that baby out, actually, the pushing itself wasn't half bad. There's no pain from the surgery but you feel everything. The cutting, separating, pushing, tugging, all of that nastiness. I couldn't handle it, I was glad they knocked me out as soon as they pulled the baby out.

Afterwards I was told that surgery tends to turn the digestive system off temporarily and until I passed gas I would have to be on a clear liquid diet. I shrugged OK, like whatever, right? Dinner time. They delivered my tray. I devoured that apple juice, ate up my chicken broth and pushed the jello at Mr. Stinky and... that's it?! Oh hell no! I worked extra hard to get things churning again and let me tell you, I was farting like a champ and back on solids by breakfast time.

Why a C-section? Turns out some arch in my pelvic passageway is a little too high. It became the roadblock that prevented Stinkerbug's slide to freedom. During my marathon 4 hours of pushing I had a multitude of nurses, doctors and obstetricians visit me and invasively shove fingers into tight spaces to check on the progress of birth. Mr. Stinky and I joked that everyone but him was getting any action that day, he was wondering if the postman would drop by as well to join in on the gang probing.

The recovery process is just as fun. I was bedridden for much of the time afterwards in the hospital while they pumped all kinds of IVs and drips into me on one side. In the nether end I was hooked up to a lovely catheter. I was so bloated from all the liquids I looked like the Marshmallow Man. It was kind of like Show and Tell too, when I received visitors. "Look, I made this bag of pee all by myself! Wanna see?" All women bleed copiously after giving birth, whether vaginally or by C-section. Since I was stuck in bed I had to ask the nurses on a regular basis to change my underpads. So yes, I was also swimming around in my own sauce which resulted in a lovely and itchful diaper rash on my ass.

Once I was out of bed I was loaded up on painkillers. You never realize how much you use your stomach and ab muscles until they've been cut wide open. Every little move I made was extremely painful; if I sat for more than a few minutes I got out of my chair or bed bent at a right angle and would have to slowly straighten myself out. Mobility was quite the issue for many days afterwards. The afterpains hit me extra hard because as my uterus contracted and shrunk guess where I felt it the most? That's right, that nicely stapled smile on my belly.

So I walk around with my hand over the incision for support - it does help - and it looks like I'm a chronic masturbater too. Now that the scar is healing it's itchy as hell, along with the folds of wobbly skin that's working hard to shrink back to it's original tautness (ha!) and I'm holding and scratching and rubbing and having to explain to everyone around why exactly it is I've got my hand(s) down my pants.

Baby Boot Camp

I've survived my first two weeks. They say as with any new event in life the human person needs two weeks to adjust whether it be exercise, a new routine, diet, or in my case a screaming, fussy newborn. I long for the days of sleeping whenever and however long I wish. It's a distant memory, the days when Mr. Stinky and I could lounge around and do nothing just because we felt like it. Time has no meaning to me right now except that about every three hours I begin the cycle of feeding, changing, consoling and pleading with an unreasonable person to relax and go to sleep. I don't know what day of the week it is anymore, nor can I recall when something happened. Yesterday? The day before? All I know is that it did, don't ask me when.

I have adjusted to catnapping throughout the day when the baby allows me to. When I tell you I got 5 hours of sleep yesterday it's quite an achievement considering that over the course of 24 hours I can grab an hour here and there to total 5 and be able to function. Not very well I should add, but I doubt anyone's judging. And if you are, well, just wait until you have one of these beastly little babies. I won't be there to say I told you so coz I've already got my hands full but you'll see. A few hours of fragmented sleep doesn't even come close to one undisturbed snooze of the same amount of time in terms of satisfaction or refreshment.

I plan on discussing in the coming days about how the past couple of weeks have been like. I need to warn you that the material will be graphic, I never was a prude but after being in a hospital and having the entire hospital staff examine what's between my legs on a regular basis, there's really no need for me to beat around the bush (tee! I said bush...). If you're squeamish you probably won't want to read it, so take this as my forewarning to you.

Home But Not Back

We welcomed our new Stinkerbug on August 22, 2007. I don't have much time to get into specifics, or time at all.

Will try to update when I can but don't hold your breath.

Get Out Get out Get Out!

Here's an update on recent days.

Not sleeping. I sleep a little but am awake a lot... not fair. I don't even have a baby to tend to yet... unless you count the amount of time I've had Whiskey draped over my shoulder while I pace, pat her bum and she purrs into my ear as practice... It's now 4:15am. I've been up longer than I've slept so far tonight.

Going out to eat. The "enjoy the alone time before baby comes" dates, we've done several this weekend. I'm already planning for next weekend.

Gardening. I'm bored and it's nice outside, now for at least the next little while my garden is neatly pruned, weeded and watered.

Laundry. No matter what, the world still revolves around the sun, we still need clean underwear and I still don't trust Mr. Stinky to handle my delicates. I'm anal like that.

Cleaning. My floors needed some attention, I got down and gave them some. Haven't found a mop that works as well as being on my hands and knees, but then the latter is almost always the way to go when performing any task. Wait, did I just say that? ;0)

Visited people. Went and saw some friends who are new parents and talked shop about banal stuff like diapers, weight gain, vomitting, etc.

Walked. The stairs, the neighbourhood, the malls... yesterday Mr. Stinky took me down to the Lake and we hiked up and down the Bluffs to check out the beach. That sounded more arduous than it actually was but you can be impressed anyway.

Set several world and Olympic records for urinary frequency. My bladder actually feels worn out and bruised, I have to go so often. And let's not even talk about how many times I've almost peed myself getting to the toilet.

You get the picture. I did everything but push out a squalling baby. I should be in the hospital screaming my head off while plugged in to several epidurals and knocking back my cocktail of morphine and girly coolers. Does morphine bung you up? I know codeine does so I'm staying away from that... but I hope morphine's not so wicked on the digestive system. Anyway, let's have this kid already. I'm tired of waiting!

Mindless TV Gold

Let me set this up for you.

Was watching one of those police chase video shows. Actually, I don't want to admit to that. I was more channel-surfing and just happened to stop for a clip that looked promising. Of course this is from the United States, and needless to say the most entertaining stuff usually occurs down South. I don't know why, is it the I.Q., the way they speak, just crazy coincidence? Who cares.

A highway trooper had pulled over a guy for suspected drunk driving. The dash camera rolls as they stand in front of the cruiser and he notices a pickup truck coming their way. Really fast. He grabs the guy and shoves him out of the way just before the pickup slams into the front of the cruiser and then the guardrail. Wow. But that wasn't the coolest part.

The trooper runs over to the pickup and this next part is what kills me, not enough for me to go into labour (damnit!) but it shore just 'bout bust mah gut!

Trooper: Sir! Are you OK?

Driver (Imagine beer-swilling, gun-toting, good ol' redneck boy in his gravest voice): Officer, I pooed my pants.

Trooper: Well yes, I can smell that.

Driver: Is that alright?

Trooper: Why didn't you have someone else drive? Look at you, you can barely talk and just sitting there... in your defecation.

Driver: I know.. it's not an easy thing.... sitting in your own defecation.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA

Ow My Frickin' Face!

My vacation has started off quite well. Yesterday I decided to join Mr. Stinky on the deck as he BBQed dinner. As the sun was still out I pulled one of our camping chairs up against the corner of the deck where there was a bit of shade and settled down for a nice, relaxing spell just chatting and hanging out.

Out of nowhere a wasp dived at my face, full frontal attack. I yelled in surprise and swiped it away. It circled back and hit me for a second time, I could feel its legs on my face. Again I yelled, smacked it off me but this time I got up quickly (sort of) and ran away. Unbeknownst to us, there was a wasp nest tucked underneath the handrail of a corner of our desk and I had coincidentally parked my head a few scant inches from it. !! It was a newer nest, only about the size of those cute little round cakes of hotel soap so really, there were only about 8-10 wasps but they're still quite bothersome. And normally I don't care about bugs and such, I'm not one to run around, screaming and flapping my arms like an idiot when I see one but it's quite different when they're deliberately attacking me.

So yah, I got stung just below my eye and it burned. I immediately put ice on it for the swelling and the pain while Mr. Stinky carefully finished making dinner. Guess the venom got to my sinuses or something coz my nose started running for a little while but it wasn't a bad sting, I think I smacked it off before it dove its butt in too deeply. This morning the swelling's all gone and it doesn't hurt unless I rub it but I haven't turned Igor-ish so that's good enough.

Whiskey got out the door as Mr. Stinky went out to check on dinner and went straight for the nest. She parked herself in front of it and he had to drag her away by creeping in and grabbing her tail. What a fearless warrior (read: stupid) princess to want to help out her mistress.

Mr. Stinky avenged me, he put a few kinks in the hose and turned it up. Next he positioned himself strategically some distance away and released those kinks, blasting the nest and wasps into oblivion. Of course being the vindictive person that I am, I did my due diligence by burning up any wasps that remained with one of my trusty BBQ lighters. This morning a few stragglers congregated where the nest used to be and again I charged in with my lighter. I managed to get another one. Take that, stupid bugs, sting me will you?!?

It's Like, a Monday Thing

I had a rough afternoon yesterday, I'm still trying to scrub the damage from my mind.

Heading for the trains (sans Shuster) I witnessed a horrible wreck in the form of a big girl coming towards me on her bicycle. Her fashion choices included a very low cut and loose tank top, the kind you see Walmart women wearing. She also chose not to wear a bra despite owning a very large pair of sloppy and free-swinging boobs complete with stretch marks on them. She obviously owns the Mirror of Denial whereby her reflection reveals a perky, high and youthfully tight chest. The road was bumpy, it was horrendous. I shed many tears and my eyesight took forever to return. The itching took longer to subside.

On the train, a middle-aged she-beast walks by in a mini-skort although I doubt it was made to be a "mini". The skort stretched mightily around her hips, why didn't she pull them down? Must I bear witness to the remnants of her shorts, the fabric not already devoured by her wobbly butt jowls? What better way to end the scene than to have her daintily bend over in front of my delicate eyes as material not made of cloth flapped around?

When I thought peace had finally arrived the female beside me let a silent one rip.

When will the spasms stop, the cold sweats abate and the rocking end? Cleanse me, purge my mind, make the bad pictures stop.

The Ups and Downs of Pregnancy

It didn’t take much for me to capitulate but I’ve gotten a few gentle prods to put thought down and do an update. I don’t have much but I’ll try to make it entertaining.

I’ve enjoyed being pregnant immensely; it’s been a wonderful first 8 months. I’ve suffered few side effects and reaped the pleasurable rewards of bigger boobies and the lovely, healthy glow of knocked up-ness. Everyone says you can’t tell from behind that I’m pregnant, it’s not until you look from a more advantageous angle that it appears I’ve swallowed a basketball but somehow I’ve still managed to grow quite the bubble butt. I suppose it’s nature’s counterbalance, right? Oh, and you’ve probably heard that the weight distribution causes pregnant women to be a little less balanced (I’m talking physics, not neurology!) but the good Lord in His infinite wisdom saw fit to bestow upon me a stout pair of cankles during these last few weeks. The better to plant my feet with, the sturdier my stance. Sexy time!

I’ve got a couple of weeks to go but I’m ready now. I want to serve this baby with his/her eviction papers post haste and get it out, it’s been stewing long enough. Mama wants to sleep on her stomach and reach her toes again! It’s also not very amusing to have to pee constantly, you’re going to dehydrate her.

What is there to really rant about? I’d say the only things that turn this mild-mannered butterball into a feral beast are hunger and relatives. It’s amazing the rage that low blood sugar levels can bring about in an expectant mother. There have been times where I could barely control myself in the presence of others due to hunger. It’s a crazy ride. It’s also why I usually carry around an emergency granola bar, must temper the rage…

Relatives bring out the absolute worstest in me. I try to avoid too many functions where we have to mingle because I cannot tolerate their asinine and medically unfounded admonitions. Relatives you see, don’t offer advice to be helpful. Rather they feel that it’s their right to lecture you as though you were mentally retarded, it’s a cross they must bear. It doesn’t matter that I’m a fully functioning and educated adult who carefully did her homework, researched the pregnancy process and connected with a great obstetrician, they still know better. Better than the medical community for that matter. You see how one would turn into a slathering beast ready to rip off the nearest face when forced to sit and endure the “You shouldn’t…” and “You have to…” pompous remarks of ignorance. I was once forced to get up and change seats at a restaurant, thus causing a scene because there was a clear and present danger of the wait staff taking running starts from the kitchen to Red Rover into my midsection... and cause my belly to spontaneously explode all over the place. How silly of me not to have realized that.

And yes, I know Eastern Medicine has been around forever as opposed to the newer and less ‘tried and true’ Western Medicine. I don’t doubt that some of the stuff works but now’s not the time for me to start experimenting especially since a lot of their highly touted remedies are extremely suspicious and idiotic. Deer penis soup, anyone?

What Happened?

I want to apologize if you still troll these waters to kill time. I've got nothing for yous. I'm waiting for something to happen too, but the creative stuff is inexplicably out of the picture and I don't know why.

It sucks. I think a lot and try to come up with something but it ain't working.

I'll be back. Promise.

When Food Goes Bad

Last night we went out to eat. I was starving and cranky so I tried not to talk too much lest I scare off everyone around. I really wanted pasta too, and was excited to open the menu and pick my fare after a quick scan. Somebody suggested the restaurant where the logo has a mule on it, I won't name the offending establishment. I hadn't been there since high school so didn't have an opinion on their food and readily agreed. I just wanted to gorge, I was already in such a bad mood.

I know now why I don't go to that restaurant. The menu is horrible and so was the food. Their pasta selection is as much a disappointment as your report cards used to be and after turning and flipping the menu over about 6 or 7 times I finally settled on the pizza. If I can't have something I want then pizza should at least be somewhat OK, right? Pleh!

I'm still pissed off enough about wasting money there last night that I felt a public service announcement should be made this morning. If bad food pisses me off then spending my hard earned savings to pay for the bad food makes me even more angry. Curses to the stupid mule, I will never eat your crappy offerings of "food" again. How you're still in business I do not understand. If I could I'd flush your sorry ass down the toilet. I had to resort to toast last night when I got home since I was still hungry and know that toast, at least is more enjoyable than the swill you make. I hate you.

Don't Send... Yet

What do you do when a co-worker has been grating on your nerves as delicately as grinding the gears heavily while shifting in that brand new ride? Maybe your jobs mesh with each other like jellyfish tentacles drifting in the ocean, occasionally making contact with each other, touching base, a neighbourly ''how d'ya do'', barely a relationship. But when there is contact, there is a need. From one to another, and you try to acquiesce. If only so to push off and enjoy the freedom of swirling about in your own little dance again. What can I say, some jellyfish are nicer than others. I can't explain the jellyfish analogy, it just seems like something I need to talk about. Perhaps the toxicity of something so innocuous looking might play a part in this account. Maybe not. Who really cares?

So it could be the hormones, although I have been told that being knocked up has made me much more mellow than usual and I tend to agree. Just last week the cashier rang my bread up 30 cents more than what the posted price was and I let it go, just didn't bother to correct her beeping machine's mistake. Any other time and I would've pointed it out and then manage to wrangle an extra 30 cents off my total bill just because it's the principle. Then call out the store manager, make him cry and then do a jig of principle in his puddle of sorrow. Then walk out with a voucher for free groceries for a year. I'm a tough customer like that. All for 30 cents.

Back to the point. I'm finding that there are certain people who raise my blood pressure effortlessly either through their stupidity, ignorance, laziness or condescending nature. OK, I concede that they piss me off on any regular day of the week but lately, I'm approaching the point where I may turn green and bulgy, lose my verbal skills and then grow all gigantic-like which causes my clothes to disintegrate all over the place except for the articles required to cover up the no-no bits. Say hello to maternity underwear!

This may never end, remember my problems with the attention span thing? So let's get back to the co-worker du jour who is the focus of my anger. She sent an email today scolding me for work undone. For her, mind you. It's not for my lack of work ethic, I've just got a ton of crap to shovel and for a goodly stretch of time (haha, goodly..) there was just me to do the work of several people. I'm not really complaining about that in itself because it's a common situation for many people and I accept that, as dumb as it may sound. But hey, there is only so much one person can do in a day, so my job is invariably about putting out the fires followed by trying to catch up and maybe chip away at the steadily leaning tower where my in-box and any available desk space should be located. Which means, I've got to prioritize. And mind you, if I'm going to entertain the idea of maternity leave in a couple of months, somehow I've got to shove my hand up my ass, pull out a magic wand and make those piles disappear. Even as they grow. Think Tetris. I've never beat that game so what the hell am I to do here?

So we've reached my point. Finally. Without burning bridges, raising shit, getting petty, throwing a tantrum and getting fired, here's how to respond to a not so subliminally condescending email from a person who already sits on the list of people you'd like ______ (ad lib time!). You hit the reply button and write an angry missive detailing exactly what you want to say to them. Curse words and insults need not be filtered, be as stupid, immature and irrational as you want to be while conveying the message of why you haven't gotten back to them yet. Bring up the fact that she's dumb and smells like poo and her momma's so______ that ______ (again, ad lib time!), and maybe you want to make mention of that nasty mess in her mouth they usually apply modern dentistry to, if only for the sake of everyone else around with working eyes. Perhaps you want to rub her face in an emu's butt and make her smell the emu's fart and then call her names like Emu Buttface and Emu Fartbreath. You get the point, childish as it is.

Then you don't send.

After you deal with some real and urgent stuff, you come back to it and edit yourself a little. But you don't send. After you go pee for the third time in an hour because the baby's head, which has been down since 6.5 months enjoys juicing momma's bladder constantly, you edit some more. Everytime you get up to do something, complete another task and let the minutes and your anger tick away you return back to that email and whittle it down until it becomes just another workplace reply; a bland, emotionless and dishonest auto-response that bears no resemblance to your original rant.

Hi Co-worker,

I've got a lot on my plate at the moment but rest assured your request has not been forgotten and I will get to it as soon as possible.

Thank you,
Stinky T

But at least this way you applied some self-therapy (that sounds kind of dirty!) as well as getting to keep your job for another day... so that you can write more angry emails that never get sent to the people you cherish at work.

Garden's In

It's been a busy weekend but Mr. Stinky and I made time to put in our garden for this year. He did most of the sweaty yardwork, mowing, edging as well as washing the car and front of the house. A little elbow grease goes a long way. We picked up a few flats with different types of annuals, nothing crazy fancy... I prefer the hardier types that don't require too much fussing about.

I did the weeding, put down bone meal and pruned the overgrowth to make room for my annuals. I wish perennials were showier for longer periods of time. Alas they're not but I like that they're super low-maintenance and will keep growing no matter how much you deadhead, prune or mutilate them. Well, except for the rose bushes, those got some extra TLC. My tulips may be reproducing, they seem to be more dense this year. I've given up on my daffodils and crocuses, my feeling is that they got dug up and eaten coz there were no traces of them this spring. Oh well. I think next year once things settle down a little bit we'll start a little vegetable garden. My thumb is getting greener every season!

My garden toad also made his return, or at least I think it's the same one. I had one last year too and would see him occasionally, this year he's bigger. I named him Doody coz of his cappuccino colouring and the fact that he looks like a pile of turd. Hopefully he likes what I've done this year, I left plenty of shady spots for him to lounge under. I love working on my yard, things look so much neater and nicer once you've spent some time on it. Besides, Mr. Stinky and I work well together it's a great way to just hang out. I'll let you see how the yard looks once things fill out. Who'da ever thunk I'd like gardening??

Standing Up

An obviously pregnant woman gets on a crowded subway and the only people to offer her a seat are a couple in their senior years even though she feels the eyes of many other seated people flicker briefly in her direction before eclipsing into feigned sleep or ignorance.

She's young, stable on her feet and doesn't mind standing. She doesn't demand to be treated like a delicate flower and have everyone jump up to "rescue" her but she was taught to offer her seat to those who might need it. She thought it was a common courtesy everyone knew of and practiced at least from time to time. She was wrong.

She would never, no matter how heavy and tired she was with child, make her grandparents stand while she enjoyed the comforts of sitting and for that reason among others, refused the generous offer by the couple who really had no business standing in a crowded train in the first place. It's not because she thinks she's better than them, there is no self-righteousness in standing but they needed to sit more than she did and she couldn't pretend away that need.

A loud, inward sigh resonates within her body when a nearby seat finally becomes vacant only to be filled immediately by a younger female who then looks directly at her and smiles sweetly. How does one interpret that?

It's not herself whom she pities but the depths into which a large portion society appears to have fallen. How can things change so much from when she was younger and things were different... or at least seemed to be so. In a few short months she'll bring a child into such a world and she doesn't know if instilling the lessons of morality, etiquette and the virtues of wearing a white hat will bear meaning in the "Me first" matrix we live in. She realizes it's maternal anxiety, the mother hen instinct wanting to protect and hopefully not smother, but if we are to lead by example and the world is full of walking examples which ones will our future progeny follow?

Randomosity

> I don't care how old and therefore entitled you feel, or how poor your grasp of the English language. A lineup is universal; get thee to the back of it.

> Mr. Stinky says I still take his breath away, it's pretty much instantaneous when I sit on him!

> Blatant ignorance bugs the hell out of me. How some people can live in a complete vacuum of awareness and not see anything wrong with that is beyond me.

> A grown man slathered in layers of kiwi pear lotion can smell deliciously wonderful in a nonsexual way. But I'd still have him for dessert.

> Going with the flow is my specialty but sometimes you need structure and organization. My idea of fun isn't being set adrift in the open waters and waiting for something that may or may not happen. That's called a waste of time.

> Being in the company of males is indubitably funner than females in almost every single way, especially when alcohol is the centrepiece on the table.

> I won't hold you back from living in denial but don't play the victim when this is obviously what you've chosen to do. My role isn't to be your enabler.

> Achieving the state of duplicity while amongst the company of men is the coolest when you're treated like a lady but also as one of the guys. The dirty, bawdy pigs... I love 'em!

> Being Asian doesn't automatically mean I want the baby to be male. I don't care what it is as long as it's healthy because I don't plan on an exchange or refund anyway. Should it come out crippled, sickly, deformed and retarded I will not rejoice just because it's got a penis.

> I felt like such a tool when my dad started telling me about the family cruise being planned for November, and I thought he was extending the invitation to us but he only wanted someone to go feed the cat and scoop her poo.

> When someone with big, black nostrils is talking to you it's never a good idea to become fixated upon their gaping nasal passages. Doing so will make you stare, realize you're staring, make conscious efforts to not stare, which results in a hypnotically, magnetic bond between your eyes and said nostrils. Then you need to exert Herculean strength to keep a straight face whilst staring and try to hide the mysterious appearance of tears in your eyes. Hopefully the other person brushes off the strange facial twitches and flaring nostrils as your usual, odd manner and takes those gigantic black holes away before you dissolve into uncontrolled laughter and tears.

Night Screams

So it's not quite as enchanting as coyotes singing but last night we had a moment. It's getting warmer now so I had the ceiling fan on and the windows opened while I slept. I love fresh air, but you know that already. As far as sleeping goes it was quite noneventful, a snoozefest if you want to throw in some extremely non-funny comedy. It's not even comedy, forget that last bit.

It was a quiet night, only a couple of chirps from random birds and insects. In the early hours before the sun came up Whiskey and I were jarred from our slumber by two very shrill but short screams. Whiskey bolted from her warm spot, ran to the end of the bed and perched at the corner where it's closest to the window to wait for the next bit of action.

Meanwhile, I laid in my fort of pillows - I need a whole bunch to keep me from sleeping on my back and pinching off the inferior vena cava, a no-no for beached, pregnant whales... although these same pillows seriously impede my efforts to get up and out for my midnight pees - trying to figure out what was going on outside.

A cat? A bunny? A small dog? Probably not a dog since they usually aren't let out of the house at like, 3am to wander the streets. And it didn't quite sound like the scream of a cat, although I suppose if I was being attacked, my screams of terror wouldn't sound like what I'd expect either.

Attack? Who said attack? That's just my assumption since I can't think of any other reasons for the shrieks which ended as quick as they began. I'm also going to assume that there was a coyote or other wily predator involved... doubtful that we have anything bigger in our area. A drunken, bald and ugly flasher perhaps? Uncle Bobby? Goose?

My conclusion is that predator (coyote) got a very surprised prey (bunny) quite quickly and that's why we only heard the two short screams. There was a pause... let's say coyote clamped down to make sure dinner was done and then a series of grunts that faded into the night.

Whiskey was on guard until the alarm went off this morning, no doubt to protect her juicy yet defenceless mistress should the boogeyman set his sights on an easy meal while I happily drifted back to sleep, wallowing in a sea of pillows. I have just stretched a 5 second story into an essay. Wanna come over for a slumber party? We'll tie up a bunch of bunnies out back and listen to the sweet sounds of twilight massacre, oh jolly fun!

Morning Breath

When Mr. Stinky is away Whiskey sleeps in his spot on the bed right beside me. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement because not only does she not get kicked in the course of the night I can reach over anytime I want to pet her, thus earning me loud, rumbling purrs.

This morning when the alarm went off, I shut it off and rolled over to say good morning to her. Ms. Dopeyface looked at me and then let out a big, stinky yawn. As I commented on her mad case of halitosis she demonstrated how much a human's opinion, even the gatekeeper to the big, white box in the kitchen means to the feline race.

She bent over and started licking her lady bits.

Sometimes You Gotta Wonder

Was that a kick or an unreleased fart?

The sensations can be quite similar.

What, you don't?

Ima Stupid People

This one's for Shuster and T-J.

Today at lunch, Clueless asked if I wanted to go run some errands with her after we ate. There were a few things at the nearby store on sale that she wanted and seeing's how it's a nice day I agreed. Our summer student, Candy had lunch plans but wanted instant noodles which are also on sale so I said I'd pick some up for her. She said she wanted 6, four in chicken flavour and two in the vegetable. No problem.

Two minutes later I drew a blank. I asked her if it was four veggies and two chickens and she corrected me but said that she wasn't picky; any combination of those two flavours were fine. I wrote down what she wanted so I wouldn't forget and stuck the note on my wallet. Foolproof.

As soon as Clueless and I arrived at the store I headed straight for the instant noodle section and grabbed four veggies and two chickens... so I wouldn't mess it up, I told her. We spent some time milling around the store checking out everything else before it was time to head back. At the cash, I dumped the packages on the counter and pulled out my wallet. That's when I noticed the handwritten note... the same one I had personally recorded not an hour ago and realized that I had gotten exactly the wrong number of each flavour.

What's a girl to do? Grabbed the offending two veggies, hurled over my shoulder to the girl that I'd be back in a sec and ran to go make the exchange... with a huge, long line up bearing witness to my idiocy and knowing that they'd have to wait that much longer to pay and get out. The story has a happy ending, but dude, how dumb to screw up one simple task.

And sure, we can justify the scrambled brains on my condition but in the end, stupid is as stupid does. I can only shake my head and roll my eyes to the heavens. At myself.

P-Something

I'm popping one out sometime in the second half of August.

I've become an awkward beachball of a creature. I have now joined the ranks of millions of women before, around and after me to get knocked up and stretched out of shape.

There you go, that should hold you for awhile. Here's hoping all goes well, it's been fairly easy thus far.

Damn you Holden for being so eerily intuitive, is this (one of) your superpower(s)? You're 2 for 2 if I recall correctly, first this, then that.

That Didn't Help

Damnit. Now all I want to do is nap underneath a tree somewhere.

It's Only Thursday?

I'm tired, I'm so friggin' tired all I want to do is sleep. I took the day off yesterday because I was too exhausted to roll out of bed and slept in 'til late morning. Then I was alert for several hours before succumbing to the afternoon nap. If you thought that was enough I went to bed at my regular bedtime and slept until it was time to get up this morning for work.

I'm sitting here being a drowsy, useless lump because it's 11am and I've barely done any work. I can't blame it on the weather because it's super nice outside. Guess I'll take a walk for break, get some downtown "fresh" air and dial the volume on my iPod up. Hopefully that helps.

Moon Theatre

Mr. Stinky and I went shopping. I saw something in a store that looked interesting and told him I wanted to try it on. He moaned something pitiful and told me he'd wait outside. I'm used to his sudden bouts of tiredness, you should see it. His eyes all of a sudden become bloodshot, his face gets all haggard like he hasn't slept in days and he physically deflates into a helpless little blob. It's quite interesting, the morphology of defeat.

So y'all know that I have a butt of which I'm proud to own. I can admit that I've checked out my apple of a heiny more than once, we don't all hate our rears. I guess one of yous needed proof, or wanted to admire it too. Whichever the case, while I was trying on a skirt (which I didn't buy coz it was just OK) I heard a woman's panicked voice asking where her blouse was. Why the hysteria? Some people just like to make a scene is all. As I was bent over pulling the skirt down the drapes to my fitting room wooshed opened and I stood face to face and ass with Ms. Hysteria and her 5 year old son.

She didn't close my drape upon realizing her stupidity, just stared at me and bleated some more about her missing blouse. I was mass mooning the entire store too, in case you forgot. I didn't adjust the skirt because, what was the point by then?

Fitting rooms are small, it was obvious her blouse wasn't in there with me unless it had somehow shrunk into the pretty pink thong that was now on show and tell. I hope her son got a good look, I hope he asked her lots of interesting questions afterwards too.

A saleslady had to come close my drape because while she stood there like an idiot asking me the same retarded question repeatedly, all I could do was stare back in annoyance. A tumbleweed rolled by... or maybe just a dust bunny. Whatever.

Honestly, how do some people function in society? She had no manners, not an ounce of decency and her overall behaviour just floored me. Oh well, I suppose expecting people to be "normal" is too much to ask for these days. At least I have a nice ass. She must've been mesmerized. And jealous.

Flipped

I have this weird oddity of putting my underwear on inside out.

I don't know why or how it happens as I usually check before slipping them on. That's right, I said "slipping them on". Sexy aren't I?

But then I'll go somewhere and use the washroom, only to discover too late that once again the seams are facing out.

I have no explanation for this phenomenon, it's not an everyday thing but it occurs often enough and over a long enough period of time that I felt it should be shared.

Sorry for the imagery.

No I'm not.

Meany

There’s a person I have regular contact with, and I’ve always associated her with me ending up in a fiery hell. Even today, all morning and most of the afternoon everytime I thought about my feelings towards this person it would invariably end with “I’m so going to hell”.

This person is physically handicapped but mentally fine. I only see her a few days a week but it’s enough to rub my nerves raw and most days if I don’t avoid her I try to ignore her. I know it’s completely rude but it’s the only way I can deal with the situation without being labelled discriminatory or politically incorrect. As much as I bathe in the freedom of being unPC, we know that there are always limits as to how much you can express freedom of speech, thought and anything else out there. I know that. So do you. And when you read about what I think of this person you may still think that I have a thing against special needs people. But I don’t. To me they’re still people, just sometimes visibly different in some way.

So this lady bothers me because it is my belief that she plays up her handicap. She frequently shifts from happy to depressed in the span of minutes according to the level of attention meted out to her. She has a habit of calling, seeing and phoning people up several times a day, dismissing the fact that most of us are bogged down with work and busy, to ask them if she could ask them a question, then profusely apologizing for being rude followed by begging to please keep it between us. You could spend 10 minutes with her trying to figure out what exactly it is she wants and come out of it having gotten nowhere. She needs the attention to feed itself because there really isn’t anything she wanted in the first place other than the person’s sympathy. Almost 5 years I've known her and we've never once had a conversation that went anywhere.

She will stand at the doorways of offices, sigh deeply and wait patiently until someone looks up to ask her what’s wrong. Then she will sigh some more, wave her hand at you and pitifully tell you that she doesn’t want to talk, or that it’s nothing, or that she’s very upset before wandering away to find someone else who might be more comforting. I see her as a person who does nothing but waste my time by using her handicap as a crutch to garner charity and so I try not to engage in her little game by ignoring her whenever possible.

But then a lightbulb went off and now I feel justification in my distaste for her. Sure I’m still going to hell but that’s for a multitude of reasons, not for any one specific thing. I shouldn’t feel guilty for not liking this person because it’s not her difference that bothers me, it’s her personality. OK, there’s still a little bit of leftover guilt because for some reason there's an arcane rule that if you feel an iota of negativity towards a person of special needs, that’s just extra wrong because you must be looking down on them. But on the whole, I couldn’t care less about her disability. I now realize that I saw past it eons ago and what we’ve got left is just a clash of personalities. And you could say that perhaps her attitude stems from her lifelong handicap and therefore, indirectly I’m still a horrid person but I believe that somewhere, we need to draw that line in the sand and make a decision. I won’t wallow back and forth any longer about my guilt, her bothersome nature and the way I should treat her. I have the right to feel the way I do and be civil to her when she’s up while walking away when she makes a show of being down.

She is the boy who cried wolf and I’m finally able to see that. I won't be damned because I'm unwilling to play the game.

Boogerific

Today after lunch as I stood at the sink brushing my teeth, another woman made use of the other sink. I don't know her name since she's not in our section but I see her regularly. She must be the most miserable person on earth because in all the time we've worked in the same vicinity together I have never seen her smile once. She actually walks around with the most dour expression on her face, like she's got a permanent pickle up her butt. I don't think she has any mien other than perpetual pissed off, remember that whole "don't make faces coz your face will freeze like that" saying? Yah.

Anyway, back to the story. So I'm busy making those neat, little circles on my teeth when she turns on the tap, leans into the sink and hocks out a loogie. Mmm. Then she blew her nose into her hand.

She must've made a handful because from the squishy, soggy sounds I determined that the boogie chambers were definitely full. You know at the height of cold and flu season when you're hesitant to blow your nose in public because of how gross you know it's going to sound? And the sheer volume of nose goo which means several Kleenexes are necessary for one blow absolutely guarantees that it will be an insufferably painful minute for everyone around? This was one of those. I was quite shocked, as it's not an activity I'm used to at the sinks, and very grossed out. You know how easy it is to gag with a toothbrush in your mouth? It's extra easy when you're subject to gag-inducing, nasty nose blows. I couldn't even feign nonchalance and turned my back fully to her so that I could continue brushing my teeth while staring at the wall tiles. If I had to listen to her Sound of Mucus at least I could avoid accidentally catching a glimpse with the wayward peripheral vision that always seem to get HD sharp when disgusting stuff is happening around me.

I was trying so hard not to vomit lunch through my toothpaste that I lost track of where the neat, little circles were going and just kept brushing away mechanically willing her to finish up and go away. I think she started to take in water with her mouth and expressing it through her nostrils for that extra deep clean. I lost my vision momentarily as the sounds of her swishing and burbling away overcame me but I prevailed and never once turned around.

She finally finished and left the washroom. I summoned all my powers to not look into her sink for whatever leftovers might be there and locked my eyes straight ahead. I managed to spit, rinse, clean my sink and leave the washroom without looking but the sounds of her snotcapade lingers. I hope we never meet in the washroom again, it's enough that I have to see this severely morose person on a daily basis. I really don't need to be audience to her evacuations as well.

Unwritten Truths

Sometimes therapy is served by the mere writing/typing of what I really want to say instead of really making those feelings public. Sometimes you realize that to open the can of worms really does make things messier than you want them to become.

Something happened last week which enraged me. On the anger meter you might be able to see "pissed off" if you squinted really hard backwards into the horizon on a clear, sunny day. I banged out what I wanted to be made known but had the smarts to not post it because in the end all I needed to do was put it down, even if it was only for myself. Don't worry, you probably wouldn't have understood it if I did publish as roughly 40 of the 50 words were of the no-no kind, linguistically... you might've instead thought I was chanting some x-rated cheer or something.

Besides, sometimes when shit like that happens you inevitably get questions from people asking what it was that made you so angry in the first place but by then your fire's died down to embers and it really wasn't as monumental as while the situation was going on. Then you've created a situation where you've got more questions than you want to answer and not much hot air left with which to blow. My attention span to most everything is extremely short-lived, it probably wasn't worth the two aneurysms I gave myself last week. I need to reconnect with my teenaged self who couldn't care two shits about anything or anyone. Disconnect.

Deny All You Want

What you have isn't a mere sinus infection, a persistent chest cold, bronchitis, post nasal drip or allergies. What you've got is a good case of stupidity and denial going on because you're a smoker. Yah you stinky, hacking piece of trash, you're an idiot if you think those cancer sticks aren't killing you one by one while you greedily suck in your addiction every hour of the day.

OK, so maybe you were diagnosed with any one of those afflictions but that's only because you smoke. All those lovely poisons you're sucking back only serve to enhance and speed up the condition we'll all eventually face called death, however yours is a daily malaise you "just can't seem to understand or shake" which will most likely take you away in a horrible and painful fashion in the end.

Oh wow, am I being a little harsh? I sit across the hallway from a lifetime smoker who is constantly "sick" and spends her day trying to tuck her wet, sloppy, slimy lungs back into her chest after every coughing spasm which racks her body breathless and leaves the rest of us, her audience retching at the sounds we must endure. She's on the phone with clients who must listen to her physically choking on her own phlegm, her hands when she remembers to cover her mouth, are just a breeding ground for all things gross, wet and germy. Then she comes into my office needing information, touching my pens, my monitor, breathing all over me and slurping her insides back in again as yet another fit of coughing overcomes her smoke-filled body.

I know of another smoker who proudly showed me his how-to book on how to stop smoking the day he bought it but the bookmark never made it past the introduction. He reeks of burning garbage after every trip outside which is about once an hour and snapped at me about nagging him when I asked once how his resolution to quit was going.

Hey all you smokers who think it's your own thing so the rest of us needs to butt out, here's the thing: if you didn't litter your butts everywhere, stink up the air for the rest of us, tax our health system because your habit just happens to make you incredibly sick, resulting in a bereaved family left without a mother or father then by all means, smoke yourselves crazy. That bad boy/girl image you thought you'd cultivate? Only in the movies. The raspy, sultry voice you thought you'd use to pick up? Sexy burned up and turned into nasty an entire tobacco plantation ago. If you don't subject me to your disgusting illnesses and sounds then I really don't care how you live your life. But since we've got to sit in our offices and listen to that shit 5 days a week, 8 hours a day I think that it is our business. We didn't ask to be your audience or receptacles of germ spreading, some of us just want to do our work in relative peace and quiet.

Life on the Boulevard

He's there everyday. Walking his short, little route up and down the boulevard in front of the plaza. He's the walking advertisement for one of the stores there, wearing his ridiculous shoulder placard, holding another sign and waving to the passing traffic with his free hand.

I wonder who he is and why he's there. Without fail, everyday that I go home on the bus he's walking the beat and trying to sell a product. In all kinds of weather he's a constant, even if the temperature isn't. On the weekends when we happen to drive by he is there like a robot traversing the same path, up and down waving to the passerbys.

He's not old but he looks worn. Probably in his 30s although being outdoors all the time doing an uninteresting and dead-end task would surely age anyone. He's got the frizzy, straight-haired, rocker mullet which by daily examination, seems like the only kind of style he could do anyway with that hair type. He's got a sad, resigned smile that never leaves his kind-looking face as he waves automatically to people zooming off to more important jobs and careers.

I've watched as his grassy trail turned from glossy green to threadbare yellow, finally becoming just a crooked little compacted, muddy rut bearing testament to his constant patrol. Now that it's getting warmer he's veered off his well-worn tracks to advertise on the grass next to it, no doubt to save his shoes from the melting mud. I look at his life, stamped out in a 50 foot length and wonder where he came from and why he's doing this.

As dumb and pointless his job may seem to be, perhaps he's racking up business for the little store in the plaza. Maybe he's a super rich guy who's doing this because he likes to be outside and wants a stress-free life. Who knows what his motivations and thoughts are, it could be all he could find to make ends meet. But if you think about it, we're all in the same boat. Looking at the big picture, we're pretty insignificant even though we try to make a dent in the span of our extreme finiteness. Our footprints only remain for so long until they're swept away, his are just more obvious for now.

Fridge, Meet Your Match!

My sense of smell has evolved from that of a wolf to one of a shark. It's awesome, if you want to be able to detect a drop a blood in the environment a kilometer away. On land, it'd be like having the power to smell someone's cologne or lunch from down the hallway. Magnified. I can't begin to count how many times a day I run away from blasts of stink at the risk of projectile vomitting and passing out for what seems like no good reasons at all. I hate my omnipotent nose. God totally must've felt like a tricky bastard the day he handed out superpowers and saw my name. Thanks.

My fridge has been assaulting me with the stench of sour something lately, I couldn't find the source. I've thrown out old crap and laid out dishes of baking soda in the hopes of neutralizing the grossness. Nothing worked. Of course when I asked Mr. Stinky about it, he took a long, deep breath inside and pronounced it safe thus making me think I'm either crazy or have become a higher being of some sort. Everytime I opened the door the noxious fumes made me gag, it was so horrible.

Last night me and the fridge threw down. I couldn't stand the bouquet anymore and decided the showdown was happening at sundown. We went toe to toe, the fridge was completely emptied and I washed everything in there: shelves, walls, tupperware and jars, with my favourite cleaning duo of vinegar and water. I used to hate the smell of vinegar, such a turn off! But since I decided to go "green" and mostly stopped using commercial cleansers in the house we've become almost best friends... it cleans and deodorizes without leaving a scent once dried. Obviously my keen sense of smell prevents me from enjoying the smell of the store bought products and vinegar and water is so much more economical anyway. So last night was a fridge sanitizing frenzy of madness. I tossed out a bunch of old stuff, scrubbed and sliced up a lemon afterwards to absorb any lingering stink. This morning it smells fine, I'm hoping it stays that way. I don't want to go insane detecting molecules of anything in there, however it may already be too late. Stay tuned for my next senseless war story when I think random guy in the crowd is sending me morse code messages with his eyes when really he's just blinking, so I go off to fight hurricanes.

Smelly Fridge: 0
Stinky T: 1