Fat Kid with Cake, Farting Bus Ladies & GWAR

Today was the day. Yesterday was supposed to be the day but I got lost and chose to get some supper instead of continue the adventure. Doesn't matter though because this morning I got up with one mission in mind: get my GWAR tickets. I didn't realize just what an adventure it would be but it sure as hell turned out to be an interesting one.

The day started out normal, just like any other morning of any other weekday. Miss Lily got up and ready for school; I showered and dressed. Little Miss and Little Man are visiting Big Cranky back in the Place I Don't Speak Of so, there was no extra rush today. It was nice, relaxed and I was damn wired about leaving the house. Miss Lily and I walked to school and once the bell rang I gave her a kiss, a hug, an "I love you" and watched her walk into her school before I bounced through the schoolyard and off to the bus stop. Seventeen minutes until the next bus came along and all I could do was stare at my watch.

I transferred buses and waited impatiently to reach the ferry terminal downtown. The ride seemed like it took the far side of forever and the guy beside me singing to himself made it a little worse but I made it. I skipped off the bus, took a deep breath and started walking. I thought I knew where I was going so I strolled happily thinking that within the next few minutes I was going to be holding those damn concert tickets. No, I was mistaken. That street is a lot longer than I had anticipated and the road that I thought I was going to find was turning out to exist only in my imagination. But I did come across a nice tourist couple who took their picture with me because they wanted their picture taken with a local.  They were very sweet and I was very happy to oblige although I'm not technically a local Haligonian but the friendly Caper part of my twisted personality came out and I told a little white lie so as not to disappoint.  That part doesn't come out that often anymore, seems I've been walking with jaw clenched and fists ready lately.  Not really sure why that is but it is what it is.  ... That was a lot of "is".

Anyway, once I left the nice tourist couple, I kept walking and believing more and more that I was dreaming this whole concert and there was no such venue.  I meandered into a Tim Horton's for a cup of tea and a pee before the trek continued.  The place was crowded with steel-toe booted/coverall covered men from the docks.  It was interesting to say the least.  The place smelled like coffee and hard work which was an oddly enjoyable experience.  I got my tea and started walking again but reached the end of the road with no sign of the road I was looking for.  Panic.  I really was dreaming this whole thing.  Why didn't I ask for directions in Tim's?  I guess hard work intimidates me.  Joke people, that was joke.

I turned my butt around and found a taxi parked on the side of the street.  I felt like a complete boob jumping in the car because I knew I was close but I was lost.  Totally and utterly lost.  The cabbie laughed at me, gave me directions and assured me that this place was not a figment of my imagination.  He also refused to drive me since I was so close.  That was a good thing though, saved me five smackeroos.  So, I started back towards Tim's and back to the end of the road.  I walked through one of the creepiest, longest, ominous pedestrian tunnels I have ever come across and popped out at a dock.  It felt like a gopher coming out of a hole.  I looked to my left and voila, there it was:  that foolish, well-hidden site.  Skip in my step again, I was home free...

Not so much.

I walked in and found a strange group of people setting up tables with highfalutin’ tablecloths, plates, silverware, etc.  I asked for assistance with finding the box office but they looked at me like I was a talking gopher.  I mean, I just walked out of a hole but I wasn't a zoo display.  They got me a manager who looked a little scared and I asked again where I could pick up tickets but was told very plainly that they don't have a place to get them.  There is no box office.  Huh?  My reaction was that of a tired, cranky and disappointed metal head. 

"Bullshit.  I called this place yesterday and it was YOUR administration that told me I could pick up tickets right here."

"For the wine and cheese event here this evening?"

Standing in my short sleeve t-shirt, tattoos on exhibit, I flung up my arms, "Do I look like I go to wine and cheese parties?"  Oooohhh sarcasm is a wonderful weapon.

This manager stepped back from me and replied quickly that I was misinformed and he was sorry but I'd have to get the tickets through the TicketPro website or the local large-chain grocery store. 

Then some acid spilled out of my mouth before I spun on my heel and tramped out of the place, "You might want to check your staff and make sure that they're damn well informed about these things before they pass on the wrong fuckin' information to people.  That way, people like me don't have to take four or more hours out of their day to get lost and find out they went to the WRONG FUCKIN' PLACE and end up spending even more time finding the right one!!"

I’m pretty sure my left finger was pointing while my right hand stayed balled in a fist at my side.  Interesting mental picture of myself.  I’m such a crab lately.  Hmmm … could be the raging hormones from my … nevermind.

Done.  Totally not the way to handle things but I was feeling a little extra cantankerous this morning.  Cantankerous is a fun little word isn't it.  I left that snotty place and headed back to the ferry terminal.  Walked the boardwalk this time though and enjoyed it.  Bagpipes, tourists taking pictures, kids playing on the little playground, the smell of beaver tails being made, the gentle sound of waves on the dock.  I loved Halifax for a few minutes.  Even stopped to sit and watch the harbour for a little while.  I stared at the shipyards across the water, watched the traffic on the bridge, the ferry making it’s crossing; enjoyed the sites and sounds and smells of the waterfront. 

I got to the bus where the only problem I had was the woman next to me with her gas issues (please people, don't fart on the bus) and I amiably went to that disgustingly large and intimidating grocery store.  Strutting myself directly to customer service, content again that I was finally going to get my tickets but I was Wrong.  (Typo on the capitalization of wrong but it works.)  The clerk at customer service was friendly and I restrained myself from swearing at him because he's going to the concert too and loves Lamb of God and GWAR.  He kindly explained that they only handle Ticket Atlantic and not TicketPro events but pointed me in the right direction.  We even had a nice discussion about how the administration at the concert venue doesn’t know what they're doing because they keep sending people there for tickets and providing the wrong information. 

I called TicketPro, they told me exactly where to go and the phone number of the place so I could call myself.  I called them too and they assured that they really do have the tickets and could pick them up any time before 4:30pm.  I'm sure the lady on the other end of the phone was confused by why I asked her so many times if she was sure that she had them, could she see them, could she hold them if she wanted to.  I was going to make sure she could smell them but stopped myself since that may be a little too weird.

By this time I had to go get Miss Lily at school.  I couldn’t believe that it really did take that amount of time for this adventure.  I picked up Lily and she was happy to come on another ticket retrieving undertaking with me.  Bus again, another bus terminal and transfer.  The box office.  The tickets.  We did it.  Miss Lily is a little upset that I won’t get her a ticket but I don’t think a concert that will have a mosh pit known affectionately as  the “Wall of Death” is an appropriate place for a seven year old.  The little girl does know every word to “Sick of You” and “The Road Behind” though.  Ahhh, my budding little Scumdog.  That’s not an insult my dear readers, that’s a compliment.

I now have my tickets for one of my favourite bands.  A band I have listened to for the past eighteen years, GWAR.  Check them out at http://www.gwar.net if you're not sure who they are.  YouTube them and watch some of their live stuff.  Theatrical.  Fantastic.  I am sooo damn excited and even more excited to share this concert with one of my best friends!  His favourite and one of my favs playing the same show. so who could ask for better?  Watching amazing, talented bands with a great friend is the best recipe for an intense and amazing night out.

Here I am, the fat kid with cake.  The rocker chick with her rock tickets.  Now just for the adventure for Megadeth and Slayer concert.  Awesome. 

Quite the Intricate Entanglement This Is…

Complications??  Oh there are so many complications.  There is so much I want to spew and spill and discuss and open up about BUT it’s way too personal.  Too much is too close and I will end up telling too many secrets.  I’m good at that.  Just feed me rum and I tell all.  Yes, there is more to that story but we’re not touching it.  Sorry. 

I do need to vent a little tonight and this is the place I seem to love the most.  At least going back and reading these silly things when my head is a little clearer I can see my immaturity and stupidity which allows me to correct myself.  And sometimes, most times, I find that I need to trust my own instincts and follow what my gut told me to do in the first place. 

I’m just trying to piece together the last few months and stop my head from spinning so I can finally get a grip and decide whether or not to throw up my hands in a disappointed, catastrophic fit of defeat.  I need to decide whether or not to cut my losses and bail out completely or just ride out the storm and see what comes.  In the end it really comes down to which is the more respectable avenue of choice. 

You see, my conundrum is this:  I’m almost enjoying this ride.  I’m almost enjoying the spinning head and everything that is coming with it.  However, the ride has to eventually come to an end, the spinning has to slow because fantasy and reality never mix, never touch and most certainly leave us confused and burned and out of control.  But cutting my losses leaves me at a great loss and waiting it out could also lead to a great personal cost.  Do I beat the inevitable to the punch and jump off the rollercoaster?  At what point does this personal sacrifice become too great?

Decisions.  Decisions.  Hate those damn decisions.

 

Got my shitkickers on & ready for the wall …

I guess it’s time I sat down and wrote another one of these little ditties (is that how you spell that?).  I’ve been avoiding it, hiding from it for fear of a bunch of crap spilling out.  It’s happened a few times already and they’re sitting in my Drafts folder waiting for me to decide what it is that I want to do with them. 

There really hasn’t been much going on for me to make quirky observations about.  The babies are fine and perfect and destroying the house on cold rainy days the way kids usually do.  Haven’t been out of the house much except to do errands and go to the playground which always proves to be an adventure.  Waiting for my landlord to hurry up and cash my rent, he’s now fifteen days late and I keep staring at my bank account balance and dreaming about the gigantic grocery order I could buy or the tickets to the GWAR/Lamb of God concert in October.

GWAR and Lamb of God.  That is one concert that I have to get my ass to.  I skipped KISS because of my hateful stomach, I certainly do not want to miss this.  I’ve been listening to GWAR since I was about 13, loving them in all their Scumdog glory and now, at almost 30, finally have the chance to see them live and loud.  I’ve only recently started listening to Lamb of God and must admit that I do enjoy them.  The only thing is that I have had to promise myself to completely avoid the Wall of Death.  Don’t know what the Wall of Death is??  Look it up on YouTube, you’ll avoid it too … that is unless you’re a lunatic who likes to fight.  I guess it could be an interesting way to get out some pent up aggression but I’m too stumpy and girly for that.  Regardless of the benefits of Walls of Death, one broken nose in a mosh pit is more than enough for me so I won’t be travelling that road again.  The Road Behind.  Hmmm…good song.

Now I’m hearing that Megadeth and Slayer are playing on November 9th.  I think I just had a mini aneurism of over- excitement and glee.  Glee??  What’s wrong with me today??haven’t been my usual turn-the-air-blue/make-a-sailor-blush swearing self.  Ahh well, maybe it’s a good thing that I’m learning to curb the cussing.

But fuck it:  GWAR! Lamb of God! Megadeth! Slayer!  It’s all my childhood, angst-ridden, moshing in my bedroom and wildly playing air guitar fantasies come true!!

I’m sure as Hell getting my ass to those concerts … whose in???

Catharsis: Not Just for Purging Your Bowels …

I’m finishing my tea, eating a chocolate popsicle and contemplating my navel.  Okay, well I’m not looking at my belly button as much since I’ve decided to write but I did discover that if I suck in the leftover baby chub just the right way, my belly button looks like a sad face.  That was way too much information wasn’t it? 

I’ve got a lot on my mind the last couple of weeks that I’ve been trying to avoid but now I’ve decided that there’s really no point and I may as well get it all out.  So far this move and this city has been nothing but positive and amazing.  It’s been healing and cathartic and wonderful.  Let’s list shall we:

Painting this apartment has made it home.  The actual painting leaves me with a sense of empowerment and accomplishment because I am a dork who hasn’t really painted before.  Mind you it’s half-assed and messy in places but I did it!!  (A few carefully placed pictures can surely hide the places that are obvious I’m an amateur at this painting thing.)

My apartment is a welcoming place, I feel like I’m home when I’m here and I’m positive my babies feel the same way.  We’re all comfortable, settled, content.  We had a picnic today on the back step with fruit and Nutella, granola bars and juice.  We were all fine until Mr. Wasp decided to visit us and haunt poor Meatball (now the proud owner of a Mohawk hair-do).  Poor Mr. Wasp, his incessant need to buzz my son brought out Momma-Bear and he ended up getting swatted with a dust pan.  I feel really bad about it and held a little waspy funeral when no one was looking.

My neighbourhood is quiet.  I couldn’t ask for more.  There are no crazy people running through the yard screaming for someone to hide them from the cops; drunken fools falling out of cabs with a different man every second night; crazy landlords, ahem, slumlords who don’t care if you fall on your ass on the ice … and so on.  Once 9:30 pm hits this place, there isn’t a sound to be heard or a soul to be seen.  Just a thought:  could everyone be on house arrest??

My family is in this city.  Sure, I left my “real” family back in The Town I Refuse to Speak About but we were never really all that close.  My friends, the family we choose is here and has really been here for me when I needed them.  I’m having quite the dating dilemma as of late and these poor girls are being wonderful about listening to all my whiny, “poor single me” revelations and the bitter Fuck You attitude that comes with a broken heart.  A broken heart that is all my own damn fault but that’s a story for another time.  Dammit.  Moral of the story:  people from your past are better left in your past and Goddamn people, head games are for teenagers and the socially impaired.

Onward and upward.  My friends here are amazing.  Seriously.  Absolutely 100% impressive … stupendous even.  Thank you girlies, for all my rants about kids tearing my house down, men who don’t know what the hell they want, my issues with the digestive system and all the toots that come with it plus all the other nonsense that spills out of my mouth on a daily basis.  And thank you for not letting me punch anyone in the throat.  That’s another long story not meant for this forum.

Long story short:  I LOVE HALIFAX!!!  Karma smiled on me and allowed me to reach a place where I can heal in peace and quiet. 

Oh you dirty, dirty dishes …

I have a “To-Do” list as long as my arm of things I’d like to either get started to have finished today but instead I’m sitting on my ass and blogging.  I would love to make a “Honey-Do” list but it’s a little difficult when there is a lack of a honey.  I’m not complaining about the lack of one, quite enjoy being single actually, I just want someone else around to take over sanding the damn kitchen wall.  Is that so much to ask?  Besides, I’m short and I don’t have a step ladder so the tops of the walls are a little beyond me at this point.  Standing on a chair works but even then I still have to stretch.

My list includes painting.  I don’t want to paint, it’s lost it’s charm now.  I just want to close my eyes and it’s over and painted and pretty.  Colourful and wonderful and done. 

Then there are the dishes.  The everyday, three times a day chore that is the bane of my existence.  I hate those things to the point where I’m actually considering becoming a scourge on the planet and buying disposable crap.  But the pots and pans, still stuck washing those suckers.  It’s not a bad job, not horrible and it only takes a few minutes but it never ends.  They are always sitting on the counter staring at me with their dirt.  I can almost hear them in a whispered sleazy voice: “oooh we’re dirty, dirty dishes, clean us silly woman, dip me in the hot water and wash my dirty off.”  Okay, that was weird.

Dishes are usually hand-in-hand with laundry.  They are the dynamic duo of the “to-do” list.  They are the ones that you write down just because you’ll have to do it anyway.  Sort of like bread and milk on a grocery list, you always have to buy them so you just write them down first.  At least I do anyway.  Laundry is a dark place that I don’t want to go right now … shudder…

The housework isn’t bad, I don’t mind it.  Keeps  my busy and makes the day go buy a little faster but it does get overwhelming since I’m the only one doing it with a house full.  All the cleaning, all the cooking.  I’m going to start my training of the babies.  Meatball is almost two, he can start cooking breakfast from now on, hehe.  Little Miss can do the dishes and Miss Lily can do the laundry … there, it’s settled …

Oh if only it were that easy.

My list also has budgeting, cancelling (don’t ask), a giant list of phone calls to make and lots of other stuff that I really don’t want to do today.

HA!!  I figured it out!!  I’m avoiding my list because I have a horrible case of the “THE MONDAYS”!!

Sleepy Much??

I’m half asleep.  It’s almost time to start cooking supper and I’m laying on the couch under a blanket listening to the kids play while forcing my eyes to remain open.  I look slightly psychotic at the present moment – wide eyed with the occasional head nod into a semi-slumber.  I’m doing well in the no drooling department although I’m sure if I did allow myself to nod off, I’d be in a different situation.  Eyes open = no drool.

You know, if I was on the bus right now, I’d be the crazy person.  There is always that one person who looks a little out of their mind on the bus and right now, that would be me.  I am a little better dressed and I put deodourant on today so I at least I smell better than the other half-asleep loons on public transit.

Where the Hell is this post going?

I’m not too sure so I’m going to blame it on my fatigue and just go with that.  People can blame anything on fatigue.  “Sorry officer, didn’t realize I murdered my roommate, I was really tired.”  Okay, maybe not that far but you get my drift here.  Sometimes lack of sleep or even when we do get enough sleep but are tired for other reasons causes our brain to become ever so slightly catatonic with a speckle of functionality.  I’m at that point right now.  I’d probably agree to just about anything right now.

“Hey Allie, gonna rob a bank, need you to drive the getaway car.”

“Sure, no problem, just gotta pee first.”

See, the thing with that situation is that I can’t drive.  Or maybe the problem is that the last sentence didn’t say I wouldn’t do it because it’s blatantly wrong and illegal, just that I can’t drive.   Ugh.  Time for a nap.

It’s about time I wrote again …

Another post.  I started one earlier today and wrote quite a bit but I didn’t like the direction that it led.  The gloomy, rainy city weather sort of left me on a sour note that as much as I tried to hide, ended up shining through like a ray of much wanted sunshine.  The exception to that comparison is that it was the lack of sunshine breaking the rain that brought the foul and lazy mood.

This rain is getting old.  The fog is ruining my view of the Bridge so much that I can’t stand in my bedroom window and watch the traffic the way I like to.  I can hear fog horns which, oddly enough, I’ve been loving as they are a nice compromise to my distorted view.  The noise and sounds of the city are a great comfort.  I know that sounds strange but it’s true.  I’m far enough out of the downtown core that I rarely hear a siren or traffic but when I do I just sit and listen and enjoy the interrupted silence.

I don’t have a lot of humour today, just full of (shit … no no, not that) nostalgia and contentedness.  Good conversations with great friends.  Everything is coming together better than expected and karma is finally shining a little bit.  Aside from the fog, drizzle and rain, it’s a very bright place to be.  Oh my, I’m getting to the gush factor point where I’m turning my own stomach.

Now it’s time to start new plans for Greece, finish plans for Seattle and, the most important thing, celebrate with Miss Lily all the A’s she got on her report card today.  My girl is growing fast, heading to the big Grade Two with her “advanced intelligence” and “willingness to learn”.  Another bright spot, my little smarty pants.

Halifax....

Silence.

That's it. That's all I hear right now and I'm loving every minute of it. The girls are in bed, snuggled up for the night with their dolls. The boy is asleep in his crib, curled under his blanket and twitching in a dream. They're tired from the playground and the walk and the excitement of a new home, a new city.

There are older kids outside playing basketball, I'm watching them from my living room window while they laugh at each other's failed attempts at stealing the ball or missing the basket. A man is walking what looks like a German Shepard up the road and the lady the next house down is waving to him while she plants her flowers.

Almost feels like a twisted Norman Rockwell painting.

I'm finding it hard to believe I'm in a city at all while at the same time I'm loving the anonymity of it. There are still smiling faces and friendly hello's but no one cares to look twice. No drama. No expectations. I'm simply the new girl who moved into #84; she has three babies and a big tattoo. And the talk is over at that point.

This week has been one huge sigh of relief. I feel stronger, capable and resilient. I feel like I'm becoming myself again, laughing again, singing silly songs while I wash the dishes again.

I forgot what happy felt like. I'm positive I'm remembering.

After only a week I can honestly say that it will be a cold day in Hell before I would even consider going back to that Island....

Halifax is home.

Flower Chucking Glory

That bouquet left my hand with the typical comic book "swoosh" and landed with a very gentle "thud" before skidding across the gravel in the driveway. My arms went up in frustration and I stomped back to my step where the neighbours were waiting for me. I was met with the obligitory "are you okay?" and I just shook my head. I couldn't tell you if it was up and down or side to side but it was shaking.

The situation is comical to me now and I wish I could've seen myself but at the time I was so mad. My brain was swirling in a fit of "how dare you!" and ... well, that was about it. It would be so liberating to just blabber it all out here but I really don't want to. We'll just say that Big Cranky (the ex) came by with flowers, presumably from the kids for Mother's Day but a slight, quick conversation happened that ended in a way that made me feel as though I still had a special place, that I still had a piece of his heart in some weird way. It was nice to know that I was still cared about and thought about. A couple of weeks earlier I was shown something else by him and told a little story that made me think that all those years weren't in vain after all and that we both still held onto the good memories.

No so much.

I walked outside with him thinking I was walking him to his car, flowers in hand, smelling them and smiling, feeling special and like I was still an important part of his life aside from being the mother of his children. When I looked up, there she was. The Icky Pixie. Smiling at me in that too-young-to-understand coy "I've got your man bitch" kind of smile. He knows that after the name-calling, the midnight hang-ups and the emails of the two of them together from her and her friends, that I didn't want her around. I didn't want to see her, meet her, know her. Not yet, I'm not ready. Don't get me wrong, I don't want him back but seeing the girl who was (from what I am told and don't know if it's true) sleeping with my fiance while I was pregnant with his son, hurt like a sonofabitch. Even if it's not true and he didn't cheat, I find it odd that they were together in a serious relationship only a week after I left ... fishy fishy.

Insert Alanis Morrisette here: It was a slap in the face, how quickly I was replaced ...

I'm standing there feeling ambushed by reality. My own little world crumbled and my newly found confidence dwindled away. My self-control supply depleted and I gripped those flowers to keep from screaming. I looked at my neighbour and she looked at me, we were both thinking the same thing and I turned on my heel, ran my chubby ass to that driveway as they were pulling out and swwwwoooossshh. It was slow motion, watching those flowers fly through the air and plop on the gravel. Oddly enough, I watched the bouquet and not their reaction. I can see them flying, petals falling off and floating to the ground below them. Beautiful at first and then falling apart, much like our relationship had been. That analogy is almost ironic isn't it ...

Maybe I would've been less angry if it was any other day and the visit was for any other reason. Maybe it would have been easier if I knew what I was going to see. Maybe I would have reacted better if I had been given the chance to decide when my first glimpse of her would be. If I had known she was there that day I would have declined the visit until another time, when I could gather myself and be a little bit more open to the idea of meeting. In any case, showing up like that, saying what he said to me and doing what he did only to have her in that car waiting was inappropiate at best. That kind of surprise would only lead to an emotionally charged situation and I honestly don't know what either one of them were thinking.

Now that I think about it ... they're lucky I still had enough self-control that I didn't pick up a rock. But let me tell you, I have my biffin' arm all warmed up and I'm ready for the big Flower Chucking Competition. And, in an odd sense, I feel relieved. The flowers are in the dumpster and it felt good to put them there, watching them fall apart as I dropped them in felt like letting go. Sometimes getting that proverbial kick in the teeth makes you realize that being alone isn't all that bad, makes you take stock in yourself (again) and realize that rebuilding your life on your own can be an amazing journey. We all do stupid things like chucking flowers but in all honesty, I don't think I was throwing them at the Crank and the Pixie, I was throwing them at my own hurt and the situation as a whole.

With that said, I'm off and running to clean my house. Smile on my face and a skip in my step. Will I throw flowers again? Only if it feels as good as the last time ...

COOTIES!!

That’s right people, you heard it here first:  there is a rampant Cootie infection that is sweeping the globe!  Just remember, to be properly diagnosed, you must seek the advice of a child aged five to nine as they have the most acute sensitivity to the Cootie virus.

So, here’s the deal on Cooties:

Cooties is a highly contagious virus that is usually passed between children during recess at school, normally on the playground.  The two strains, male and female, are passed interchangeably between both boys and girls and so, not just one particular sex carries the virus.  A male will carry Cootie Type-M and be highly susceptible to Cootie Type-F which is carried by females who will, in turn, be highly susceptible to the male Cootie strain.  It was previously believed that Cooties was carried by a female host and only infected males but research over the last ten years has proven otherwise.

However, recent studies have shown that adults can now carry the Cootie virus.  The source for this study is none other than my own daughter, Miss Lily who, at the age of six, is at the height of her Cootie detection sensitivity. This information has also been passed to her from other highly aware children in her school.

The Cootie contagion is both airborne and waterborne, as well as having the capability to pass through the mucus membranes.  Hand-washing, while ideal for the impeding of other ailments such as colds and flu, is unnecessary as it does not kill the Cootie virus.  The virus can be passed through direct or indirect contact with a member of the opposite sex.  Simply sharing a couch or loveseat, using the monkey bars in a playground, a hug (ahem, my apparent way to catch them, not the couch as originally suspected), walking by or even talking to someone of the opposite sex. 

Symptoms of Cooties are varied and sometimes hard to diagnose.  In young girls and women it can show as almost flu-like symptoms, weight loss, the watching of 1980’s Brat Pack movies such as the Breakfast Club or Pretty in Pink and drawing hearts over their i’s when writing.  These can also be confused with an actual flu (like me) or the onset of another disease commonly known as “Fascinated Infatuation”.  Older females may also begin paying more attention to their attire, hairstyle and hygiene.

With male victims of Cooties the onset may come on the same way as females but with slight differences.  The younger males may turn toward almost violent behaviour towards girls such as teasing, pinching or knocking books off of their desk.  It could also result in young boys wanting to spend a little more time with other boys watching Transformers and discussing the possibility of Cootie infestation as well as the drawing of “boobies” in the back of their schoolbooks.  The aversion to girls of their age group is not uncommon in the beginning stages of a Cootie infection.  Older boys or men may also begin paying more attention to hygiene and clothing coupled with an attempt to spend more time closer to the opposite sex.  Again, another symptom related to Fascinated Infatuation.

There is a guard against this dangerous infection, an inoculation that will provide a lifetime of Cootie protection from both Type-M and Type-F Cooties.  It is a simple vaccination that is best performed by a close friend of the same sex.  To perform this, have your friend draw two circles on your arm followed by placing a dot in each circle.  During this process you should both recite the following lyric:

Circle, Circle

Dot, Dot

Now you’ve (I’ve) had your (my) Cootie shot!

That is all the protection you need from this incessant bug.  If, however, you have already been infected by a case of the Cooties, you should see a local Cootie immune child immediately for a Cootie-ectomy.  This procedure is too graphic to detail in this short informative yet Cootie-ridden blog.

In closing I would like to wish you all the best of luck with this recent global Cootie outbreak.  Hopefully none of the infections will be as severe as the one I apparently have although I am absolutely convinced I have the damn flu.

Click here for an important Cootie PSA!

Something to Think About …

I’m going to write something a little more serious today.

I went out last night with a good friend and some people that are close to her.  We went to see a friend’s band play at a small local pub and wanted nothing more to do there except have a couple of drinks and enjoy the music, support our friend and his band.  However, I am absolutely appalled at some of the disgraceful and disgusting behaviour that occurred during the time that we were there.

I don’t normally consider myself a naive person but I think that there are some things that I just don’t believe can still exist anymore on certain levels.  Pride in being a bigot and holding onto discriminatory ideals being one of them.  I know that there is still a lot of hate in this world but I was under the impression (or the hope) that the tides were changing and that minds were opening.  I may have this thought because I was lucky enough to never be exposed to true violent hatred towards another person simply because of how they identify themselves – gay, straight, black, white, etc.

Don’t get me wrong here, I’m not totally in the dark and have come across racists and bigots throughout my entire life.  I have been exposed to their hatred and unkindness on many occasions but I have also seen them shut their mouths and keep their opinions to themselves for the sake of keeping the peace and knowing that what they say or do isn’t going to change anything anyway.  The people of this ignorant mentality that I have known in my life have all kept to themselves and never acted the way they boasted when push came to shove or when given the opportunity.  I have heard the slurs, the jokes, the name-calling and, in all honesty, everyone has a twinge of pre-judgement in them.  It is. unfortunately, human nature to feel that way.  However, I think that the ability to put that aside and get to know a person despite what that silly thought in the back of your mind is telling you is also part of human nature.

Last night I saw something completely different.  I saw pure, unadulterated hate.  There is no other word to describe the words or the actions that I had the displeasure of witnessing but “hate”.

Here’s the thing:  two of the girls in the little group of friends that I went out with last night were a couple, partners or girlfriends or whatever you want to call their relationship.  No one in our group gives a shit.  They’re good people and, just like the rest of us, were just enjoying the music.  We all kept together or broke off into pairs for bathroom breaks, dancing or going outside to smoke.  No one was bothering anyone, just enjoying an awesome night with fantastic music from very talented musicians.  At some point a slur was uttered towards our friends.  I’m not sure if it was in the pub or outside where people went to smoke but it happened.

“Dirty fuckin’ dyke.”

That might not sound like much to some but it does when comes out of the mouth of someone whose aim it is to hurt and degrade another person.  It didn’t stop there.  When my friend and I stumbled upon the situation outside it was a heated battle of words.  One spewing hate and insanity in a drunken sectarian rant, grabbing and pushing the object of her disgust while the other, our friend, trying to defend herself and her partner from a flurry of words and attempted, sometimes connecting, slaps and grabs.  I couldn’t believe that there were people who were coming to the defence of this horrible display.  The group we were with split and tried to calm the situation but then one of the worst things happened:

The bouncer at this establishment came outside, threatening to ban these girls from the premises permanently.  No, not the instigators of this fiasco but the those who were the ones forced to defend themselves.  This bouncer, in his wisdom, thought it would be better to throw out quiet patrons rather than one who did attempted to start an altercation and effectively “gay bash” with verbal and physical assault.  He admitted that he knew what was happening and just didn’t care.  I never thought I would see such blatant discrimination defended by someone who is supposed to be impartial.  Throw out the troublemakers is his job but in this case, he preferred to keep them there.  In the end we all walked away.  This is a situation that could have gotten out of control very quickly with a lot of repercussions for everyone involved.

I must say that I am proud that these girls acted with knowledge that no matter what, nothing was going to change these people.  They walked away with their heads high and hands together, the way it should be.  There is no reason for them to hide.  They have my utmost respect after seeing their display of common sense and strength.  They walked away from a very heated and repugnant situation that would make even the best of us want to stay and fight.  I find myself disillusioned in this small town by allowing such things to occur on an apparent regular basis.

Aren’t we all adults?  Aren’t we all just trying to make a good life for ourselves and our families?  Is it really anyone’s business who we choose to make our life with? 

I was raised with the knowledge that love was love and that’s what mattered most.  I just wish that everyone else could feel the same way and this sort of nonsense could become a less frequent occurrence.

Resurrection Adventures

It’s Easter.  My house is full of noise and chocolate.  There are a couple of dolls and one hell of a kick-ass car set but for the most part, it’s all chocolate

I started out my Saturday in a flurry of laziness.  I shirked my dishes and my laundry, just stared at it sitting on top of the kitchen table begging to be folded and the counter pleading to be shoved into some hot water.  I could do nothing but roll my eyes and stir my tea.  I needed a day off.  I managed to get the babies and I dressed and washed which was a good thing considering Maggpie called for some impromptu shopping.

Shopping was fun for a change.  Didn’t seem quite like the battle I usually have but then again, I wasn’t alone.  We hit Wally-World and found absolutely nothing and so, opted to explore the vast expanse of" “The Mall” which turned out to be a lot better.  We really only went on an adventure to one particular store and that’s where I found what I was looking for.  I also found a Christian Audigier handbag that I would love love love to have but really can’t justify the expense right now.  Maybe I could write it off as a fashion crisis?  No?  I didn’t think so.  But c’mon people, CHRISTIAN AUDIGIER HANDBAG!!  Need I say more???

Okay, I’ll stop.

After the big one stop shopping trip the “The Mall”, we meandered our way to a new restaurant in said mall.  It all started out great with crayons, little colouring books and ended with the Meatball throwing his chicken nuggets all over the place.  He discovered he can throw and he’s got quite an arm on him which makes things a little difficult to control.  Random baseball pitched chicken nuggets followed by an empty plastic cup.  Fun.  Honestly, it is rather hilarious but we’re not going to let on to the Meatball that we think that way.  I think I’d like him to grow out of this one.

Saturday ended well with three babies happily going to bed.  Meatball fell asleep almost right way while the girls talked and laughed about what the Easter Bunny was going to bring them.  They were so excited and had to get up to pee many, many times.  I’m positive that it was just to check to see if he was there yet.  My girls are just like me, always peeking at the surprise.

Mommy’s Saturday night was just as good.  Maggpie came for wine and an old friend came for company.  However, waking up Sunday morning was a different story.  I realized that you shouldn’t take a day off from sweeping when you wake up to find a French fry on your bedroom floor from supper the night before.  That’s just highly embarrassing and oddly humourous.  I found that at seven in the morning while the girls were hollering at me that they needed to pee and couldn’t hold it.  I did my half-asleep run to the room and took them down and got the Meatball out of his crib.

At this point insanity ensued.  The damn bunny was here and he left presents.  The Easter egg hunt was a huge success and the presents were even bigger.  Simple things, small things and yet, such a treat.  They had their breakfast and dressed themselves in their new clothes then had a couple of treats.  Not much.  I asked if they wanted more and they asked for a banana instead … they make me wonder.

Once the extravaganza of destroying the living room and me discovering that I need an engineering degree to open a Barbie Doll, the babies all went to visit Nanny and Big Cranky…

That’s when my adventure began …

Hellenic Obsession

It’s getting closer – The Big Move and I can’t wait.  Time is dragging along and it’s starting to get to me.  I want the move to be over, I want to be settled into my new place and taking my kids for a walk in the warm weather to the Commons, to the parks, roll down Citadel Hill, play in the Public Gardens and watch the Buskers on the Waterfront at night.  I want to take Lily to the plays at Dalhousie and the babies to the kids shows.  The symphony!  I can take them to hear music played by classically trained musicians.

Oh the fantasies I have.

At the same time I’m wishing that it was time for the passport picture so I could send that silly paperwork away and check off the first box in the plans for the big Eurotrip.  I’m so overly excited with this vacation that Greece has taken over my life.  Alright, that’s not true but it is something I’ve been thinking a lot about.  Sometimes I think the series of strange Grecian coincidences have sealed my deal for this vacation.  At the same time we started discussing it, I start up a conversation with a lovely Greek man, Lily gets a school project on Greece, we end up watching movies that have characters based in Greece or are Greek themselves, discovered a local Greek festival, found references to the country or it’s language in our crossword puzzles and a whole slew more but I have neither the brain power to remember them all or the patience to write them all down.

The last couple of days I’ve been satisfying my Hellenic lust by starting the Rosetta Stone lessons in Greek.  I am now able to say The boy fell down or The man and woman are dancing.  You know, the kind of sentences that are really going to get me around Greece in October.  I suppose the ability to ask someone to dance isn’t a bad thing or recognizing when someone would be asking. Oh, I think I’m getting an impromptu lesson in European flirting.  I have learned that the inflection of the language is more important than the actual word and that pronunciation variations can change the word completely.  At the same time, I’m told that a big smile and feigned tourist ignorance will save me from insulting someone for an accidental lingual boo-boo.

I have been attempting to read, write and pronounce Greek for a good portion of the afternoon and my tongue is so twisted that I can barely speak.  Although, I have learned to roll my R’s quite well which I’m sure is a talent that will come in handy.  The more I learn, the more I want to be there and the more I know that I’m not letting anyone in my little Greece-obsessed circle get away with not coming.  I can get chloroform and a rag and I will drag you to the airport so that you wake up somewhere on Santorini Island with an olive in your mouth.  Did that sound psycho?  I thought I had the crazy successfully bottled but maybe not, tsk tsk.

On another note, I sat in Opa! on a couple of weeks ago with Maggpie and Miami, drinking a yummy Italian wine and enjoying our spanakopita.  With more wine, lamb kleftico, feta cheesecake, kataifi with vanilla custard, whipped cream and crushed pistachios and almonds we talked and laughed and enjoyed the night.  My belly is now begging me for more and I’ve lost my point dreaming about all things food.  OH … Maggpie and I were able to possibly talk Miami into coming to Greece with us in October.  It would be amazing to have Miami with us.  What could be better than two great friends in Europe??  THREE great friends in Europe!!

Still Trying to Figure This Out …

I’ve come full circle and I’m considering dating again.  I gave up for a while for some emotional growth, taking stock in myself and pretty much trying to get my airport trolley of emotional baggage in check.  I think I might be coming on the outskirts of “No-Fuckin’-Way” to the highway of “Maybe-They’re-Not-All-Bad” in the great world of Dating in the galaxy of Men. 

But it seems to me that dating has a whole list of rules and regulations that I just didn’t get the memo about before I became single again.  There are rules regarding phone calls that no one seems to agree on.  Things  like when you call someone back, how much calling is too much, what time to call, how much time passes in between, whether or not you take turns, and on and on. 

Then there are the regulations on how often to see each other which is aptly followed by at which exact point do you stop seeing other people.  Is it three dates, four, never until you both agree to change your Facebook relationship status?  Do you have to sleep together first to test the bedroom compatibility factor?  Is he your boyfriend once you sleep with him?  No, I didn’t think so because that would leave a lot of messy one night stands and a one night stand is a whole other ball of wax.

Then there is the pesky sex-factor that lingers over you.  We all know a man will hop in bed at the first inclination of nookie but there is the problem of us women holding the responsibility of figuring out the right time, if there ever is a right time.  Alright that was me painting men with a broad spectrum brush but the majority will hop in bed at just the mere hint of it.  There is only one person I know that could completely control himself and it would be hard for me to explain him right now as he would be a completely different post.  No, he wasn’t gay in the least, we’ll just say that he greatly enjoyed having control.  I greatly enjoyed having him around.

I’m way off on the beginning of a BDSM tangent that I would prefer to stay away from.  It leaves me at this:  sex ruins everything, makes you question everything, the whole relationship, the whole dynamic of what was going on.  At the same time that it’s ruining everything, it’s making things better because it can also solidify you, give you the appreciation you crave and be a way to passionately show someone what you feel for them.  Oh my, that became way too mushy for my taste at the moment.  BUT, you see my conundrum here … sex ruins it, makes it better, complicates it and puts value to it.  The problem is that it’s misused, mishandled, misunderstood, undervalued, devalued and dishevelled.  Well, with any luck you’ll be dishevelled when it’s done. 

So, here I am.  Single and Dating.  I despise those words as much as they excite me.  I wish I could take all these little quips I’m hearing about dating behaviour and throw them all out of the window.  I’m coming to the conclusion that there really aren’t any rules and if someone doesn’t like you, fuck it, they don’t like you – move on.  If someone does like you, they’ll let you know.  It can be hard to swallow the bitterness and it can be humiliating to walk around with your heart on your sleeve but if you stay hidden, no one will find you. 

The rules that I have found are:  honesty, laugh at yourself, laugh with them, don’t be pushy to be with them, don’t back away either, stay single until you know who you are and what it is you really and honestly want in your life, take your time to make sure they’re the right person to compliment your life and not become your life, have fun and don’t give yourself labels like “bar star” or allow yourself to believe that sex equates love.

That’s my after school special for the day, thanks for tuning in.

The Tale of Four

I’m sure I had something snippy to write tonight.  Some sarcastic and dry wit to spew onto the scre en for the world to read.  Naw.  It was one of those days that didn’t end.  Well, I guess it did because the babies are in bed and I’m laying in bed trying to decide what movie to fall asleep to tonight. 

Started out just like any day.  Miss Lily and Little Miss screaming from the top bunk that they need to pee, can’t hold it and can’t get down.  That leaves me in my PJs and blue crocs (slippers) to run into their room as fast as anyone who hasn’t realized their eyes are open can run.  That’s not very fast, more of a slow drawl of dragging feet and moaning.  I got them down and they peed without incident but Little Man Meatball was a different story.  He pooped out of his diaper – again.  It’s the usual morning poop, right out of his diaper so I took him out and changed him only today I dropped the diaper on my foot and had poop stuck in the holes in my croc and smooshed between my toes.  Nasty.

Got cleaned up.  Got breakfast.  Cheerios with strawberries and blackberries, dry with a glass/sippy cup of milk on the side.  Ohhhh … gourmet.  After that, teeth are brushed, toilet is painted blue with toothpaste and the the potty is promptly scrubbed with my toothbrush.  Thank you Meatball.

Lazy morning today.  I laid on my bed watching Tinkerbell for the 100th or so time while It, Dit and Shit jumped all over me, stole grapes out of the fridge and fed them to the dog, took all the sheets off of their bed and threw them all over the house.  We had fun though, laughed and carried on.  Well, we got along until the fart contest.  Meatball won.  Little Miss thought she took the prize.

The housework starts after that.  Sweeping, laundry, dishes and then lunch.  Bagels with Nutella.  Hey, they asked for it.  They jumped up and down in the kitchen chanting Nutella.  Bouncing babies, how could I resist giving them more protein for even more energy.  Once that was done, more dishes, more sweeping and definitely more laundry.  I had the wonderful idea to start scrubbing the kitchen and broke out the Lysol.  The kitchen walls were my first victims followed by the table, the counter, the washer, dryer and finally, the floor.  From there I meandered my way through an intriguing game of Barbies (all naked of course) and the Meatball efficiently running them over with his truck, into the living room.  There I victimized more walls, desk, end tables, coffee table, loveseat, the poor dog and her crate.  I moved everything, rearranged and scrubbed it all followed by careful organization of what I needed to put in boxes.  Imagine, all this in between diaper changes and temper tantrums and explaining that the things flying across the sky aren’t rocket ships but airplanes but it’s fun to pretend they’re rocket ships anyway.

Supper.  Late supper.  Pizzas.  It was a lazy cooking day today.  All gourmet lazy though, I swear.  Supper was followed by baths.  Little Man Meatball was first but he hates the water so much that he won’t sit down so I have to give him a shower with a cup while he screams like I’m killing him.  It’s a less than five minute bath after which he has to be snuggled in a the towel and coddled for about fifteen more minutes.  The poor little guy always hated water, right from day one, I don’t understand it.  Once he’s wrapped in his towel and the screaming stops he looks at  you with his baby blues in a very disgusted manner and you just know the thought in his head is, “how dare you!!'”  I think of Stewie when he looks at me like that.

(Mommy & the Meatball)

Next is the girls who were both naked before I even ran the water for Meatball.  Once he was dressed for bed in his robot jammies and Grampie Joe slippers (my Dad had a pair almost identical) and running around with his Lightening McQueen car, it was time for the girls.  Miss Lily jumped right in, enjoying the water while Little Miss needed some help (she’s very petite).  I asked her if she was going to wash her bum and she replies, “yes, and I gonna wash my penis too”.  I looked at her, puzzled and then smiled and told her that she didn’t have one, that she had a vagina.  The Little Man always points to his southern regions whenever the diaper is off and I always kindly tell him what it is which elicits a smile and a giggle every shot and so, I think this is where Little Miss’ confusion had come from.  So, she looks up at me and with her messy blonde curls, big blue eyes and the matter-of-fact tone she inherited from her father says, “Oh, well den I wash my nina”.  And with that, she gets in the tub.

Once everyone is out, dry and dressed for bed we have some fruit for bed lunch, one more glass of milk and they’re off.  The girls want to sleep “up top” because they like pretending they’re in a ship of some sort.  All the money I spent on bunk beds and they still want to sleep together.  Miss Lily reads us all a bedtime story from “up top” and then I get Little Man Meatball snuggled in his crib.  Kisses and “I love you’s” all around coupled with wishes for a goodnight.

That’s my day today.  That’s the Tale of Four.  My little family.

(Little Miss, Mill Lily & Little Man Meatball)

Halifax, Europe & Welcome Change

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, a lot of wondering and daydreaming and half-assed planning.  I’ve decided to move away to another city which is an approximate five-hour drive away from where I am now.  Big move.  If I remember correctly, I half-assed blogged about it not that long ago.  Well, now it’s coming on crunch time, packing time and the real planning is starting to commence.  I’ve started eating paper and dye so I can shit money so I able to do this.  It’ll come together though, I know it will because I’m fighting for it.  I don’t really fight for too much but this is one thing that has become exponentially important to me.

Tomorrow the plan is to attack the closets and go through the unopened boxes from the last move.  To take out all the junk and things that we can live without and get rid of it, repack it and tape it back up.  I plan on my living room looking like Box Valhalla by Wednesday.  Even if we can’t get our asses out of here until June, I want to be ready.

Oh the planning!!  Not only am I planning this giant move, (can anyone drive a U-Haul??)  Maggpie and I were talking the other night and have decided to plan a vacation.  We’re not doing the usual sunbather vacation and heading south to Cabo or Mexico, Cuba or Jamaica; we’re going to Europe.  It’s a toss up between Italy and Greece but I think we may be able to figure out a way to do both. 

I feel like a little kid when I think of it.  I become almost breathless at the idea of seeing the Parthenon, the Acropolis, the Sistine Chapel and all things Italian and Greek – including the men.  Oh my.  I dare say that I really am going for the culture, the history and the ability to stand on the cornerstone of modern civilization.  Of course, a friend of mine very politely told me that “no single woman comes to Europe without romance on her mind”.  He may very well be speaking the truth, we’ll see.

So, you see my excitement?  Not only am I planning a completely life altering move for my family and getting the babies and I away from drama, bullshit, gossip, lies, rumours, Jell-O trees and insanity to go and live in anonymity within a quiet neighbourhood but also starting the planning of a once-in-a-lifetime vacation to Europe.  I’m bouncing and giggling for all of it!!

I am losing all concentration on this entry, I can’t even write anymore tonight ….

del.icio.us Tags: Europe,Greece,Italy,friends,packing,moving,Halifax

Open Letter to ALS

Dear Lou Gehrig's Disease:

I know you are never going to write back to me.  I know you are never going to answer or give me an explanation, an excuse or a reason.  I know that you are never going to offer condolences or an apology but I have to talk with you anyway.  I have to tell you exactly how I feel about you and what you have done to myself and my family.

You see, ALS, a year ago today you took the life of my father.  You robbed his slew of daughters, his Daddy’s Girls of  the man who fixed their cuts and bruises and broken hearts along with their frozen pipes and income tax.  There is a group of children that doesn’t have their Grampie anymore.  They can’t bounce on his knee, watch golf and hockey and paint him pictures and teach him games.  He can’t show them how to tie flies for fishing or the proper way to cast a fly rod or answer any of their questions about anything at all.  He was our father, he knew everything and if he didn’t, he’d certainly find out.  There are a few who will never remember the way he would hum to himself while he did his puzzles or the faces he made when was working on something.  They’ll lose on the benefit of knowing a true gentleman which he was in every sense of the word.

ALS you have to understand that even though he wasn’t a well educated man, he was a highly intelligent man.  A well read individual who devoured knowledge.  His ability to understand and learn made him, in our eyes, smarter than any doctor, lawyer or engineer.  This was because to us, his family, he knew the important things like tents and cabins and bedtime stories and not just inner workings of engines and understanding the cosmos and astronomy which were things he loved. 

I have to tell you that in the brief time we knew of your arrival, you took away his freedom to fish, to read, to do his endless puzzles – the crypto quotes, the crosswords – which were always beside him with a sharpened pencil and a glass of pop.  You took his ability to hug and hold his grandchildren even though he found other ways to show his affections.  In the short time you spent touching our lives through him you made us question our own faith and strength and stability.  You introduced a new fear to us in that even the strongest people in our lives, our rocks, the steadfast and steady comforting hands of our father could be quelled and quieted and made weak.

In the time that you lived with us we fought against you.  This fight brought us closer in that we made our decisions to fight together as a family and became that much stronger.  But you, ALS are a worthy opponent.  The weaker you made our father and the more you took from him, the harder we worked.  My sisters fought daily through exhaustion, schedules, medications, nurses and their own families t o fight the losing battle.  Our father fought daily to hold his spirits and keep his strength, both physical and mental.  Every day was a new progression as you worked your forces through him quickly.

I’m wondering how you could do this.  Don’t get me wrong here, I am certainly not speaking from a naive point of view as I have read the medical journals, reports, documents, pamphlets, websites, listened to the specialists  and so on and so forth.  I have listened intently to my favourite nurse (my sister) tell all of us in detail the ins and outs and medical ups and downs of you.  I know your symptoms and complications and your horrible truth.  I want to know why you picked my family, my father.  I would like to know why you would pick anyone’s family for that matter.  The answers are getting closer but my heart aches for the families like mine for whom the answers have come too late.

You taught me a lot.  You taught me the importance of valuing every day.  You helped me to learn not to take anything for granted.  You taught me that the people we think are going to live with us forever just can’t.  You taught me the value of family, the importance of siblings and the true meaning of what it is to be a daughter.  It is so much more than can ever be expressed in words and I’m sure that at this moment, from wherever he is, my father is shaking his head in his quiet, knowing way.

I think of you now and even though I’m still angry with you for destroying a strong man, I can’t help but think that I’m glad that he was such a worthy opponent to you as you were to him.  He gave you a fight and defeated you.  I know that it sounds odd for me to say that he defeated you because you were the one who took his life but it’s the truth.

ALS, in the last few days, hours of my father’s life you confined him to his bed and you had taken his voice.  My gentle sisters, our nurse and our sensitive, loving sister who is so much like our mother gave up their time, their lives and cared for him in our other sister’s home while I cared for a very young family and did what I could from where I was.  The one sister who has taken on his quiet and introspective resilience heard him before his final moments tell her that he loved her.  It was in that moment, when he spoke those words he defeated you, he beat you.  You took his life, you couldn’t take his love and that little bit of love proved more powerful than anything you as a disease could muster.

So you see ALS, we are a stronger force because of this and we will still keep fighting you so that other people can tell the ones they love that they love them day after day after day….

Yours truly,

~A Survivor

 

~~ Written in loving memory of my father, Joseph Young who passed away one year ago today:  March 5, 2008.  If you would like more information on ALS/Lou Gehrig’s Disease please visit http://www.als.ca/ – The ALS Society of Canada and walk for a cure.

Half Blog/Story Hybrid

It’s been a long and hectic few days.  A semi-decision (I say that because I’m still not 100%) to move to another city has been draining me.  Travelling the five hours up on Tuesday evening for job interviews on Wednesday only to travel another five hours home Wednesday night is draining me to no end.  The battle with the flu on Sunday and Monday is still taking it’s toll on me.  I’m achy and exhausted and exhilarated all at once.

Coming home to find my three babies asleep in their beds was the best welcome home I could ask for.  I was only gone for a night and missed them more than I thought I could.  Miss Lily was stretched out while Little Miss was curled up beside her and my Little Man Meatball was in his crib on his belly, knees tucked and bum sticking up, snoring and content.  We get cranky, we want the bedroom tidy, the clothes in the laundry basket and beg to not leave half-eaten apples under the bed but when it’s all said and done, at the end of the day, watching them sleep and smile and dream is the ultimate gift anyone could ask for.

So…  Picture it:  Halifax, 2009.  A single girl walking around downtown alone, finding her way to a temp agency hoping for administration positions.  Tests, interviews and then a chat ensues.  A chat that makes her realize once again just how much rests on her shoulders.  Alone.  Three children.  Limited family contact even when living at home.  Friends she doesn’t want to burden, they have lives of their own.  The interviewer makes it a point to tell her that she’s glad she’s not her because the burden is so great for someone still very young.  What a thing to say to someone.  On that token, a pity job.  Government.  Just call when she gets there and it’s hers.

Walking out of that building with new shoes clacking on the tile floors, feeling a little empowered in new dress clothes, passing business men who didn’t look at her as a tattooed little girl but as if she was someone they would be working with, one of their esteemed colleagues,  lifted her spirits.  But she knew the difference.  She knew that if they saw her outside of this building wearing her sweaters, jeans, showing off her ink, her braids, her sarcastic and sometimes dark sense of  humour with her three babies in tow from her tiny apartment, they would change their mind and turn away.  She felt empowered but she didn’t feel real, the better term to describe her at this moment was out of body and splendidly surreal. 

Oddly enough.  This wasn’t bothering her, it wasn’t depressing her and it was very, very far from getting her down.  She felt pride in her abilities to do a good job at any job she’d obtain.  She felt good that she was a capable, loving mother regardless if she was single or not.  She was content in her abilities to make the best decisions for her family at the time.  Sure, they could be bad ones but at least she did what she felt was right and stayed true to that… for the most part.  We all waiver and do things that make us put our face in our hands and shake our heads and she was not without her share of those weak moments.

Here she was feeling like she was in front of the whole world.  A new girl in a big city looking for her place, her niche, that little carved out space she could call her own for herself and her little family.  Three babies all waiting on the one person in the world they could count on to be there for them and she was standing all alone with the burdens that the interviewer had so kindly pointed out.  These burdens gave her strength, they gave her hope, they made her smile and laugh and cry.  These burdens were her reasons for pushing forward and fighting.

She smiled a coy little smile and walked tall out of that office building.  Putting her best face forward and hailing a cab like she had been a city girl her whole life.  She arrived at her friend’s apartment where she was staying and took a deep breath as she changed into her usual hoodie and jeans.  The make-up that made her feel pretty yet fake was washed away and she stood in the mirror feeling refreshed and at home in her own skin.  She grabbed her bags and ran for the cab to take her to catch her shuttle bus home.

Could it be called home anymore? Or was it more of a transitional dwelling?  A little bit of both maybe.  A home until a home could be found.  A safety net until the safety was established and whole.

The shuttle waited for her as she ran from her taxi saying her goodbyes to the friendly driver who spoke to her so kindly.  She tipped him well and jumped into the front seat of the waiting van, quietly buckling her belt and feeling oddly at ease.  Somewhere Over the Rainbow was playing on the way up, a song that had become the beacon of her childhood happiness and reminder of her mother.  This time she quietly sat as she heard the voices of Foster & Allen waft from the windows of a nearby apartment building.  This was a group who was a favourite of her father’s and songs she had listened to on many many drives to this city in the back seat of his big blue station wagon.  She closed her eyes and pictured his strong hands on the steering wheel while he hummed along to his favourites just as she had imagined her mother the night before, playing the piano in the basement of their house and singing to her while she sat and watched. 

She missed them.  Wanted nothing more in this moment than to run to them, to run home and ask for help with her decisions.  At the same time she felt that being sandwiched in nostalgia for her childhood had helped her come closer to her decision.  Would she take these songs as a sign of their love and approval?  Of course.  Even though she had lost their parental guidance, she had not lost the ability to see through coincidence.

The feeling of calm in her did not dissipate during her five hour journey to home.  Having the feeling of everything going to be alright grew stronger.  Somehow, the next steps were going to be the right steps and the fears and worries for her families’ future dissolved into sense of ease and peacefulness.  The day turned to night on the drive and she closed her eyes until she could walk through her door and see her babies again …

Rambling as Usual….

It’s been awhile.  Why do I go through spurts of mad writing and do it constantly.  Writing down everything that comes to mind and making observations on every little thing I see or experience.  I guess sometimes I get caught up, just as we all do, in the hum drum and mundane things of everyday life.  Dishes.  Laundry.  Homework.  Appointments.  Cups of tea.  All those things which are unimportant and yet exceptionally critical at the same time.

Seems I have lost the desire to write about any one thing and my brain has been flooded with a multitude of little things.  These are the things like the pangs of nostalgia from the music I’ve been listening to or the wonderment of what the future is going to bring while applying for jobs and looking at new apartments.  The fear of changes and the excitement of starting over.  I’ve started over too many times and this time it’s going to be my last …

I’m going to think …

Bring on February 15th!!

I am a firm believer that Valentine's Day is only good as a type of New Year's Eve to February 15th. Why?? Easy answer to that: half price chocolate. It's Half-Price Chocolate Eve!! It could even be considered the Single Girl's Holiday because we all know how wonderful Valentine's Day is to us single ladies, heartbroken ladies, divorcing and abused ladies. All of us ladies who are still looking for love, attention and affection. Boys too I suppose but sorry guys, you don't count in my blog tonight.

I have found it easier, as a recently separated single girl with an ex who moved on barely a week after I left (questionable, I know) who is celebrating her first Valentine's alone in over six years, to think of the day as one of growth. The type of growth that allows us to pull the blanket over our heads in the morning and groan that the bed is empty. We lay there on our back, hands at our sides and staring at the sheet that's covering our face like a veil. We start thinking about what we did in past years, who we were with and how we felt. Then with another groan, possibly a grunt and fart, maybe a little belly or butt scratch (because we can do that when we're alone) we fling those blankets back and proclaim: "I will NOT let this day bother me!!" However, we did buy that extra box of Kleenex because after that proclamation, we tend to cry a little.

The day bothers us, there is no question about that. How we handle it is the key. Some of us eat as much as we can to stuff the bitterness down, some celebrate their freedom and enjoy a night out on the town, some drink alone or with a couple of close single friends. Generally, no married people or couples around because you guys are a different breed and us lonely single fools don't like you today. Stay away, we're a little vicious at your public displays of "true love". Blech, you make me sick. Sorry.

But this morning after my proclamation, my watery eyes and my obligatory pout, I turned over to see my little girl standing there with a big read piece of construction paper and the messy "I Love Mommy" scribbled under a rough but beautiful heart. Sometimes Half-Price Chocolate Eve can surprise us that maybe the love we are celebrating on the day isn't necessarily that of the person, man or woman, who is, has been or will be sharing the other half of your bed. Sometimes it's the mini-people who make you the most eye-catching and amazing pieces of fridge art, the itty-bitty blonde three-year-old who squeezes my neck and tells me that she "wobs" me. Then there is my little man, my Meatball whose steel blue eyes tell me that there are going to be a few ladies doing my little lonely Valentine 1st Annual Pout and Fart because of him. They all crawled in bed with me, they all hugged me and jumped on me and all of a sudden I realized:

That half of my bed is full. It's full of three little people who will make Half-Price Chocolate Eve one of my favourite commercial holidays.

Insanity is the Breath of Life ... what?

Topic: Insanity
Mood: Insane

Had an excellent conversation with a good friend of mine today about the importance of being slightly insane. Is it true that intelligence and mental illness border on one another?? If that's the case then I'm either intelligent or completely batshit crazy. I like to think I'm an eclectic mix of both.

Is it possible that some of us see the world in a completely different way than everyone else?? Is it that our quiet and introspective selves of those of us who may have an askew view, make us come across as being a little on the "needs to medicated" side of life? I ponder this as I think about growing up and being a very strange child, talking to my imaginary friend who whispered in my ear and acting out whole scenarios by myselfn which was for shear entertainment. I attribute a lot of that to spending a good majority of my time alone and, as a result became an observer of life around me, blending into the background of my home life and watching my family's interactions.

Now, as an adult, I am still an observer of life. I have horrible tendancies to tune people out when they talk to me and just watch what's going on around me. I have a great ability to adapt myself to any situation I'm in and just blend into the background - Allie the Chameleon. However, when this happens and I tune these people out, I can't answer questions about what they were saying or remember a topic because I didn't hear it and as a result, I come across as being flighty and aloof. Alright, I am pretty flighty and aloof but I'm not stupid, I'm just not paying attention and I lose my concentration quickly if the topic of conversation is vapid gossip or unimportant rumour and sometimes even stories of things that happened or movies.

I do find it odd that even though I end up tuning people out and just watching their actions and the actions/reactions of those around them ... the give an take of human interaction, there are some people who just hold my attention intensly. Maggpie is one, Miami is another. I think that's why we've been friends for so long; due to the fact that they understand me whereas most people just don't know how to read me. I do come across as quiet, somewhat shy to some and to others I'm mouthy and brazen. Odd combination which makes it difficult for anyone to really know me or understand me. There are a few others who hold my attention and with silly topics that would normally send my brain to paying attention to the way they moved their hands to emphasize an emotion or the way their lip twitched when they said something that excited them and away from what they're actually saying. It's weird.

Just because I tune out does not mean that I'm ignoring them or disinterested. I can't explain any further, I don't have the words to do so correctly. Does this chameleon-like behaviour and my brain's ability to drift off into it's own study of the world around me make me crazy?? Does the fact that my constant jabbering to myself all through my childhood carried over into my adulthood give a good argument for mental illness?? Is my brain tuning things out as a way to keep the insanity at bay?? Does my psyche realize that I can be hyper-sensitive and so, drift off to other things as a means to protect itself?? Phew...self-psychoanalysis ...

I honestly think we all tune out, we all talk to ourselves, we're all observers in one way or another and introspection, in it's finest and most intense form isn't always a bad thing. Sometimes a little insanity is the breath of life ... Maggpie, you just may have stumbled onto something with that statement

Turning 29? Yeah, sure ... why not ...

So, a week from tomorrow I'm going to have a birthday. It's a scary birthday because it means I'm going into the last year of decade. This particular decade is the one that is supposed to be the one that defines us, sets us up and makes us who we are as people. Me, personally find that it's just a beginning because my head is still as far up my ass as it was ten years ago. My 20s are almost over, I'm turning 29. Wow, twenty-nine. That's not old by any means but it's an age that I used to plan for. As a little girl I'd think to myself, "When I'm old, like twenty-nine, I'm going to be married to Donnie Wahlberg (yes, that is a New Kids on the Block reference) and have two babies and house with a pool and a car". Oh my. Sort of turned that fantasy on it's ear.

Why does that particular age sound so phony? What I mean is this: when someone says they are twenty-nine we usually look at them like "yeah right, how far into your thirties are you?". So, here I am turning twenty-nine for the very first time. I say the first time because I plan on turning twenty-nine again next year and the year after. Well, maybe not because I am oddly looking forward to turning thirty. The prospect of getting older doesn't really frighten me because I have come to the conclusion that getting older only breeds knowledge and maturity. Both of these are things that I am looking forward to. I'm already looking back and shaking my head and some of things I did and said along the way -- hindsight.

Do I have any big plans for my First Twenty-Ninth Birthday?? No, not really. I think I'll just do what I do every birthday and avoid the world. I'll snuggle in at home and enjoy the day. Spend time with the babies, enjoy my Happy Birthday phone calls and maybe a visit. I don't really want to party or go out or get crazy. I might change my mind when the time comes but right now, I think quiet is the best way to go. Reflect and think about the last year ... the last nine years since turning twenty and see where my life has gone, how I can change those things I'm not happy with and how I can make those things I am happy with last.

Do I want any presents? No. I don't want a single thing. What I'd like for my birthday is hugs from my kids and that's about it. Well, that and a million dollars, a muscle-bound Swedish masseuse, a self-cleaning toilet and a trip to the moon. Actually, I would give anything to spend my birthday with my parents and my daughter. You know, I might do just that and make a trip to the graveyard. I should be thanking them for giving me the ability to have a birthday. If it wasn't for my parents, I couldn't be sitting here now and blogging my random nonsense.

So, I'll raise a little toast to Ma, Da and Mommy and say thank you for giving me the life that I am screwing up and thank you to my little girl Hannah for showing me how precious life really is.

Alright, this is a little intense for me...

There is a lot going on in my life right now, between learning to survive completely alone with three small kids to facing a looming and possibly ominous medical diagnosis. I've managed to break down, crack up, go insane, question reality, debate decisions and try to define consequence. All through this my blog has become very cathartic for me, my outlet for my emotional outbursts. They were pretty frequent and most of them are sitting in a draft folder, never to be published publicly but saved for my own memory. It took me reading all of those things to get some perspective as to the journey that I am on.

This perspective has made me realize just how strong I have become, just how much I have grown and the immense amount of things I learned in the short time I have been fighting internally about this break-up. What I am realizing is that the stages of grief do apply to a break-up with the exception that the loved one lost in a break-up brings insurmountable challenges every single day. For example, there is dealing with someone new taking your place the minute you leave it; someone else who is trying to be a parent to your children; the financial difficulties; the loss of physical closeness; the loss of spoken words and comforts; trying to face them to make the decisions regarding children when you wish they would just disappear because even the thought of them not being a part of who you are anymore makes you cringe; trying to figure out how to keep and hold onto friends and loved ones. The list can go on and on.

For me I know that I did deny that there was any major change and things would never be the same again. I know that I bargained and pleaded for them to go back to the way they were. Sound familiar? Stages of grief. But, I have come to a point now where I'm moving on a path towards healing and understanding. I have come to know that he is always going to be a part of my life through the children and I am always going to love him unconditionally because of that. I know that I will always consider him family as I will his mother, brothers, etc. That aside, I have to leave room for them to get to know the new person and build their relationship with her. I am being replaced and as much as it pains me, I've accepted it. Another stage of grief.

Through all this fighting and crying and loneliness I seem to be coming out on the other side with a realization. A realization that what I had wasn't really what I wanted and couldn't have been really happy or would still be there and leaving wouldn't have crossed my mind to begin with. The realization that my loneliness is what was making me remember all the good things and only when I accepted reality did that make me that the amount of hurt I was feeling was outweighing what was good. I can't go back to the frequent fights, threats and punches only to feel the infrequent hugs.

I am beginning to feel renewed, as though I am starting to become the person I am meant to be and not just the other half of someone else. It's as though I'm not being defined through someone else but as a whole person, standing strong and fighting for what she needs for her family to survive. In this feeling of being renewed I am also rediscovering who it is that I am. I have started to remember the music that I like, the movies that I enjoy, the goals and aspirations that I had for myself and not just what I wanted for someone else. I don't have to coddle and push someone else's emotional growth any longer and can foster my own self-discovery without fear or retribution for my attention being taken away.

So, after six years of living my life trying to make a better life for someone else and being in their shadow, I am standing on my own two feet and reclaiming my life. I am reclaiming my strength, my intuition, my independence, my individuality and perspective.

Reclamation of Self.

Yes it still hurts. Yes I still miss him. Yes I get knots in my stomach at the thought of him with someone else. Yes I have regrets but they are becoming an afterthought and the pain doesn't seem to be as sharp anymore. I believe this is what would be called the beginning of moving on ... and on that token, I don't believe that I need another man to help me get over this one. I think that leaving my bed empty and figuring out what went wrong with these last six years and putting some closure on it for myself, allowing myself to lick the wounds and fight the sadness will give me a better understanding of what I really want from a serious relationship. I think that allowing myself to heal and become stronger will ultimately help me find someone who is beyond reproach and worthy of the love that I have to give him. Being alone to find yourself again isn't all that bad and the knowledge that you can be a whole person even when you're utterly alone can only make you stronger in the long run. I think we really need to know what's inside ourselves and allow ourselves to heal before we can open our hearts to someone and risk that hurt again. But that's my opinion.