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.