Gun Show

Before I start my rant, I got the funniest piece of spam the other day, and I am going to post the man's picture for all to see. Supposedly he has throat cancer, and if I give all my particulars, I will get one million euro's. Wooohhoooo!!!! I will be rich and buy some cashmere long underwear. Check out the chest hair, I am suprised the dopplers stick. Those spammers are getting very creative. Thanks Hakim Marsha for the generous offer, but I think I will have to pass. I knew it was going to be one of those days when I woke up and my nose ring had dissappeared into the great beyond. I got up, looked at my face and something was missing. My dot was gone. It was the perfect nose dot. Over the past few years, I have kept the nose ring makers in business, I refuse to wear a hoop, or anything other than a small inconspicuous dot. I checked the bathtub, the pillows, EVERYWHERE. My nose repells the dots like deet. Wookie was yelling at me like a howler monkey, Tully was whining "mama mama", and Stella was just snorting. The kids were fighting over the remote. It is raining like crazy outside, and I poked myself in the eye. My bum is sore from one hell of a workout. I love aerobics, but, methinks I worked my gluteus maximus just a little too hard and now I am walking funny. I do have muscles though, holy doodle. I checked out the "guns", and there is actually definition. If someone had asked me if I would ever join an aerobics class or start power walking three years ago, I would have laughed in their face. Not that I am good. I have lost my coordination, and during the class I try very hard not to laugh, because the mirrors that are reflecting back at me show a tall blonde twitching to techno Sheryl Crow and Kid Rock, in an Elaine off Sienfeld kind of way. I used to be coordinated. I used to be sporty. . .until highschool happened, and then I made fun of people like me.

My left eye is stuck

I had a one sided conversation with someone the other day. I felt absolutely drained, and I wanted to cry by the end of it. The person talked at nauseum about a certain subject, and consequently I felt my left eye getting smaller and smaller. I realize,at the end, I only took away fragments of what they were regurgitating. What is it that makes someone a good conversationalist? What makes someone interesting to listen to? I doubt it is based solely on subject matter. It is the way the story is being told. I have a problem with those that recount movies or books. Personally, just tell me if it is good or bad. Please do not tell me what the star of the show had for dinner, and if it included peas or mixed vegetables. I guess the idea of a movie is a case in point. Do you normally see the actors taking a poo? Do you see them caught up in the day to day activities of minute importance? No. Not normally, although I did enjoy in Pulp Fiction when the character played by John Travolta was killed while taking a dump. Pulp Fiction on the other hand was a look at the Absurd, it was contextual. When someone tells a person about their walk the other night, normally, the receiver,does not need nor want to know about the empty coffee cup they stepped on, or the large grapefruit that rolled down the road beside them. (Actually, that may be a good conversation tidbit, the grapefruit, that is). Some people can tell stories, some people just can't. Good story tellers/conversationalists know when not to get caught up in the small stuff, it is to the point, and only the points relevent to the story, or those points that are made to enhance the story, are used. Please ask friends and family if you are a good story teller. Ask them to be brutally honest with you, just in case you may be one of those storyteller's who cannot weave a good yarn or even recount your day to day activities. My left eyelid has still not sprung back from the trauma.

Thank You Bum and Clad

On Friday, my husband and I started to lay the steel roof down on the main part of the rental mobile home we have, we were half way done. This is the "Best Little Roof in Blyth". Prior to the steel, the first thing we put down was the bubble wrap insulation, then styrofoam insulation between the strapping, then ice and water shield. This was not a job for the faint of heart. Of course it rained prior to the application of the ice and water shield, and there was some water that came inside. I had made an agreement with some new tenants (they were in desperate need of a place, but the trailer wasn't ready). Saturday, as I was standing on the roof, cursing at my husband ("don't think too much, make a decision, and get it done"), (he is a type B personality, and I am a type A), I saw a red Chevy Blazer backing into my driveway next door. I thought I was hallucinating. The Blazer had an aura of light, angels playing trumpets and strumming on harps, rainbows shooting through the air, little gold bells were chiming, along with some background effects from Hare Krishna hand tamborines. . . MY PARENTS had come down to help! I think I may have started jumping up and down on the roof, and my daughter said that I was screaming "my Mom and Dad are here, my Mom and Dad are here"! My mom brought her special soup, and baking and moral support. It has been a hard year. For my husband, with little time, he has been stressed out at work, and the sweat equity on the rentals for both of us, has been a bittersweet pill to swallow. I try and do everything I can, without him, but there are a few jobs that require two people to do the job. My father is the epitome of "Jack of all trades". He can work schematic diagrams out in his dreams, he plumbs while he is flipping burgers, he routers while he is clipping his toenails and he will rewire an engine while he is trimming out a house and eating a sandwich. His mind is hard wired faster than any CPU, and his wit is so quick that most people are too slow to catch it. By Sunday night the roof was 99% done. It needs two vertical little pieces (difficult angles, on the side of the addition that is attached to the main mobile home), but everything is winterized and water tight ( I was in charge of caulking). What a weekend. Blaster (the brother of Wookie), frolicked with my three dogs. I was in heaven. Not only did I have four wet noses in my house (not including my two cats), my Mom and Dad were here. It was such a surprise. It was an action of absolute love and support on their part. I can't thank my Dad and Mom enough.

Stone Mosaics

Well, I just received word that possibly the store that had my mosaics is wondering if I have any more mosaics on hand to sell in their store, it seems that they sold out. Here is a pic of a huge one that I did in 2000. It measures approximately 2 feet by 3 1/2 feet. It is extremely heavy. I still own this one, and a smaller one in my bathroom. So I will have to dig out all of my recycled paint, plywood, mirrors, and all my other recycled stuff to start the process of artistic expression again. The store that sells them is very ecologically friendly. I had stopped doing all forms of art for a while, due to time constraints, people wanting my stuff "for free", or for gifts or whatever. I find that it irritates me. Also when someone wants to replicate my stuff, instead of buying it. I have been doing mosaics for years, and my philosophy is now, if you don't want to pay for it, I am not giving you advice or free art. One year I was nice and gave friends,family and neighbours mosaics for Christmas. I must have done 25 or so picture frames. NEVER AGAIN! That is what stopped me from doing any art, I think I only recieved one thank you card. But then I guess that is considered "Heaven's Reward Fallacy", and I can not expect others to be thankful for a gift that they didn't ask for. Now I am stingy. I will have to talk to the owner of the store (which is a really neat store, very nice products, located in Bayfield, Ontario), and see how many, sizing etc., that she wants. I will also have to buy a few masks, the adhesive really stinks, and gives you dizzy headaches. I love the tactile quality of rocks, smooth ones, they are moulded and etched by the sands of time, water sculpts them. They make me feel tranquil. I guess that is why I have an affinity towards smooth rocks. There is a peacefullness that I associate to them. Imagine what they have seen, the history of the rock.

The Raisin Theory

Instead of going to aerobics tonight, I decided to sit at home and eat the rest of the Halloween candy. Rockets were the only ones left over. I love rockets, a bit sour, a bit sweet. Yes, I feel guilt ridden (actually,not guilty, just missing adult interaction), but between dogs and kids and laundry, I just didn't have the inertia to do the Grapevine, or the Pony. I still am having trouble with my coordination. It is hard being so freaking fantastic and, yet so clumsy. Adding to this, none of my shoes seem to fit anymore, and this includes my workout shoes, which are falling apart. I have glued the soles on with Goop & Carpenter's Glue, and the buggers still seem to fly off. They weren't cheapo shoes either, Nike's, I am so dissapointed. As I recall, the molasses candies were always the last to go. Wrapped in orange and black paper, they practically extracted most of my teeth growing up. I am sure they still sell them, they were so sticky and gross, I don't know why anyone bought them. I feel the same about raisins, as my brother says "they are unwanted grapes". I ate a box (like a kilo), of raisins as a child (sitting under the counter), and try to avoid them now at all costs. Again, with jujubes, I over indulged and ate a whole bag,(hiding behind a chair at the cottage) and will not eat them now. Raisin, what a funny sounding word. Raisin. Raisin. Raisin. Say it three times. Who ever thought of the RAISIN? Here is my theory. Ronald was an old man, who busied himself by picking grapes during the day for his wife, who would then stand in a barrel, and pulverize them with the large bunion, that grew out of her right foot. He was a wine maker by trade. Growing up in the hills of Italy, he picked the bulbous fruit from the vines, and strapped them on his back. He was also a recovering alcoholic, and although temptation was always there, he stayed away from the vino, and was content with the collection of the FINE fruit. (It comforted him to be close to the primary ingredient of his old vice). One day, in the heat of the sun, he was stung by a vicious fire ant and had an anaphylactic reaction. His face swelled up, and he was unable to breath. It was also unfortunate that a large grape was stuck in his throat. He passed out, and remained in the scorching elements for hours before his wife noticed that he had not returned home. "Ronald! Ronald!" His wife called. She had become worried and angst. Through the vines she ran. . .faster . . .faster. The vines lashed out at her swollen ankles, and the perky fruit that hung heavy, stained her dress. "Ronald! Where are you? Have you taken up the drink again?". . . And there he was, lying in twilight, barely breathing. His wife sniffed his breath. . . the bastard had been drinking, she thought. He had fallen off the wagon! What a blight on the family! She thought she smelled the remnants of fermented grapes. But wait, what is this? Beside his gasping mouth lay a wrinkled, turd like, crusty brown thing. Anna had discovered the RAISIN. She quickly realized that the amylase (an enzyme in your saliva) mixed with the juice of the grape, gave off a pseudo booze odour. Simultaneously, the grape had lost some of it's precious juices, and after dropping out of Ronald's mouth had dried in the sun. She popped it in her mouth, and kissed her precious Ronald on the mouth, and revived him. Ronald and Anna became raisin makers, and Ronald did not have to live so close to his temptation. They threw out the vats, and got drying racks instead. The End

What I DIDN'T serve my family for dinner tonight

Instead of the "Continental Appetizer's" from "Cooking For Two" that are pictured above, with an extensive assortment of protien, of which includes eggs, different cheese varieties, what I think is an onion, sausage, a wedge of fresh lemon, a raw artichoke, an open can of sardines (or could that be kippers?), a charming lobster, and some brine products. . . I told them to "make yourself a dang quesadiLLa". ~~~ Just joking, I love "Napoleon Dynamite", and have waited to use that line somewhere.

I really feel the love

I keep making Darth Vader sounds to accompany my new boots. aaaaaaah ahhhhhhhh. My UBER BOOT. They are Ugg Adirondack Otter's. I cannot believe how comfortable they are. Reminiscent of the pug, they are so ugly, that they are beautiful. The first time I wore them outside, I slid in some dog doodle that did not belong to any of my dog's. It was definitely alien dog excrement from elsewhere in town. I shook my fist at the grey sky and cursed the bowel movement that had adhered to my pristine sole.

I feel the love

My feet are encased in ecstasy. I have never, in my life experienced this feeling before. Utter indulgent, self absorbant sheepskin. These boots represent the toils and troubles and the anti-dismissal of my role as a SAHM, and a small business owner. These boots represent the hard work I have done, and the lack of drywall that surrounds me. Yes, I could rationalize these puppies in in any way, but this is what they mean to me.

Get the School Out of My Uterus

While reading an article in the Blyth Citizen, I was quite taken aback by an "anti abortion" message endorsed by one of Huron County’s Schools, one of 1400 schools that allowed this through the “Stand True Ministries”. A child refused to speak for the day, and taped her mouth shut on the way home from school. The principal had agreed to this demonstration. In an age where the Lords Prayer, Halloween, and other celebrations have been wiped out of area schools, why should schools promote and endorse anti abortion messages? If we are a supposedly "Politically Correct" society, shouldn’t this extend to Right Wing messages as well? School is not the place for political or moral agendas. If school is a place for this, shouldn’t the opposing message be allowed a place as well? I have yet to see a Pro Choice rally happening in a public school, and there ought to be a balance of Right Wing and Left Wing agenda’s ~if any. If my daughter went to school with a Pro Choice t-shirt on, I am sure she would be sent home. (They don't even allow spaghetti straps). I am very pro-choice (meaning, women ought be allowed to have control over their bodies, and have the ability to choose, though I am by no means endorsing that every woman of child bearing years to run out and have an abortion). I do not think that this is a message (Pro Life or Pro Choice)needs to be promoted in schools. Stick to the Sex Ed and where the ovaries and gonads are situated. Illustrate how the parts fit together. Show different types of birth control, promote abstinence, promote safer sex, educate the kids from a young age. My thoughts are this, yes, abortion is a reality, be it due to pregnancy complications, unwanted pregnancies, rape, etc. Those who adhere to the Pro Life stance are entitled to their opinion as well. But School, be it Primary, Secondary or Post Secondary, should not be a stomping ground for groups with any of these agendas. Save it for the Debate Club or AFTER SCHOOL, if the flipside of the argument cannot be given equal time as well. Actually, the child has a lot of confidence to make her views known, but maybe a street corner (with parental supervision), and a placard would be a more appropriate place to vent.

Frida Name Change

Frida's name has been changed to Wookie. Just like Chewy in Star Wars, she makes sounds. WAAAAAaaauuuuuu. auuuuuuh.

It is Nostril Sticking Weather

Well, the snow has hit, and although there is only about half an inch on the ground, the offending white stuff is here. I have no gloves, my hands look like that of a 90 year old grandmother today. Last night, my husband and I, tried to take three dogs for a walk. It was hell. Frida nipping Stella, Stella screaming, Frida trying to catch up to Tully, Tully tried to hump. I think I may do separate walks for the dogs, Stella and Tully on one shift, Frida on another, until she settles down a bit. The other night was cold when I walked Frida alone. I had talked previously to our groomer about "heel", she said to automatically change directions if the dog is pulling, that way his/her attention is always on you. Well, I must have looked like a complete moron spinning down Queen Street in Blyth, but it does work. What I have found interesting, is the idea of the "loose leash" theory, on how, not to make your dog "heel", but to walk with a slack leash. Which in theory could reduce dog aggression. It may reduce my aggression, as I try to teach "heel". Really Frida is a good dog, there are moments though, when all three of the dogs are extremely irritating and I wish that I could crawl into my own crate for some form of tranquility. I think I am the Crazy Dog Lady. This morning I took Frida out for another walk. I am trying to get her to meet 200 people. Blyth is a village of 600. That means she needs to meet 1/3 of the population of Blyth. She met a very nice lady today with her baby in a stroller. Frida sat, sniffed at the baby, kissed the lady, and was extremely well behaved. I talked to the woman for about 5 minutes, and I thanked her for meeting my dog.