Feeeeed the worrrrrrlllllld let blah blah it's christmas time

I've been horrid about shopping for xmas this year. I still have to figure out what to get some people. I haven't wrapped a thing. I'm going the dangerous route and planning for xmas eve to do that. Probably not the best plan, I'm sure I'll revise it tomorrow.

I think because I have kids, I feel the old schmaltzy fondness for xmas. I was listening to Fairy Tale of New York by the Pogues and realized that I'd only ever heard it recently. Either my parents were way too square to know that song (most likely of scenarios), or they were sheltering me from it due to the coarse language and mature subject matter (listener discretion advised).

Then I watched THIS for the first time.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5cX_ncZLls&feature=related

I think I felt a psychological need to punish myself for something because I sat through the entire thing. That song's refrain was practically on loop when I worked at a grocery store. It's like Clockwork Orange where Beethoven's 9th made Alex ill when played. Now when I hear that song I start to dry heave with memories of dickhead customers.

On the flipside, at least once a day I can depend on my daughter to blurt out "Don't you cry, back on Christmas day" (we watch a lot of Frosty). That kind of stuff I don't mind. :)

Have fun, mingle, be well.

Useless post is useless

I'm sitting here, bored out of my skull and watching Jersey Shore...I am desperately hoping that in ten years a tell-all confession book will come out written by the cast, stating that they were acting the whole time. I weep for the world if they really are that stupid. But you can't write stuff like "We're totally having guido babies. I'm gonna get a c-section so it doesn't f*ck up my vagina"

I know exactly where "The Situation" is going to end up. He's going to keep on keepin' on like a crossbreed of Fonzie mixed in with Larry from "Three's Company." Then he's going to hit rock bottom, almost die, disappear for a few years, then write an exposée on the show. Lawsuits may ensue. I honestly don't know why I watch this shit.

Time to enjoy xmas...I believe this is the fifth day of Christmas, so I have another 3 hours until someone gives me five golden rings....to the pawn shop I go.

The anti homemaker

I've been feeling kind of out of sorts lately. I was getting agitated easily, pessimistic, all Debbie Downer-ish. Then I figured out why. My kitchen was an absolute disaster and has been for a while and nobody (me and Wayne) seemed to notice it. Now that I think about it, I'm pretty embarassed about having my parents babysit here a few weeks ago, although it may have been in a disgusting, but less disgusting than now state.

Most people who are slobs are fairly in the closet about it. If someone is due to come by, the floors are swept, the counters are clear and the sitting area is at least manageable to walk in. Hours earlier there were almost whole bags of chips strewn across the floor, the counter was completely covered in junk and toast crumbs. Oh the horror if someone should pop by unannounced.

I'm just going to "come clean" (wa wa waaaaaa) about it and show you just how disgusting our place can get. And screw that whole "Oh I'm busy, I have twins, I have like zero time". My kids go to bed before 8, which gives me 2 or 3 hours to get shit done. Enjoy.

Isn't this gorgeous? HGTV eat your heart out! (If you click the picture you can see the grime even better!)

Oh it gets better! Note the Hello Kitty bobblehead I'm bringing for my office at work.

Yeah... just...yeah.

I'm ashamed to admit that I'm someone's mother right now.

So I got to work...

Still pretty crappy but better than it was. That microwave area is just so scary, I don't want to delve into its evilness.

Crappiest counter ever, the rust and such rings just give it character.

Sighhhh You know how people post this kind of crap and then say "Accept me for who I am! I'm messy! I make mistakes! I don't look perfect all the time! Blah blah blah!" Screw that. I wish I could change and I'm embarassed as hell about this. I know I've said it before but I'm a big fan of transparency (nearly to the point of oversharing but that's subjective.) It's kind of an "Am I the only one? TELL ME I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE!!!" Come on slobs...admit it. Otherwise I'm just going to sign myself up for that show "Hoarders: Buried Alive".

Hope this made you feel like cleaning.

Ash clouds against the perfect sky

Today is the 10th anniversary of what has been commonly referred to as "9/11". It was the announcement of joining WWII , or the JFK getting shot of our generation. "Where were you when you heard?"

I will never forget that day. I was living in Toronto at the time and school had just begun. I woke up that morning and got on my computer. Like every other morning, I tried to check out http://www.thestar.com/ for the latest news or weather. For some reason I couldn't get the site to work. So I tried my backup, http://www.ottawacitizen.com/ and that too, was also seemingly defunct for the day. Newsless, I headed off to campus. What a beautiful day it was...barely a cloud in the sky, the air crisp, just about to turn to Autumn. However, there was a strange air around the subway...something in the atmosphere seemed off. Usually passengers were stoic and reserved but everyone seemed to be on some sort of alert. I heard some people talking about a plane but I didn't pay too much attention to it. When I got to Downsview station, I had to take a bus to the campus. I took my seat, waiting for other passengers to board. One man got on and said to the driver "The second tower fell." At that point, I knew for sure something was going on, but I wasn't certain if I wanted to know what it was...it sounded bad.

When I got to campus, I picked up my copy of the Toronto Star and scanned the headlines...nothing out of the ordinary and nothing about any towers or planes. I shrugged and headed towards Vari Hall for the first day of my Theatre Survey II class with Don Rubin. I sat down with some girls in my year and they told me that the World Trade Centre had been attacked. Then Dr. Rubin came in and told us more details, that there was speculation that the terrorists were either of Pakistani or Iranian nationality but there weren't many details.

The rest of the day was in slow motion. The Star ran a second edition newspaper (the first time since the 1940s I think) and I was reading it while waiting for the bus home. One of my friends bounded over chipper as ever and I wasn't as perky as she expected and she said "Oh what's wrong?" and I motioned towards a picture of a jet slamming into a building. Her response was "oh yeah. that." I can't really blame her, it was surreal and far from home...and yet for me, it was too close to home. This was the kind of thing you saw in movies.

When I got home I stayed glued to the television for several hours. My father is a firefighter, so it was difficult to hear how many had lost their lives trying to save others. That night I had to work at Lee's Palace...there was a large party planned to center around the Toronto International Film Fest but because of what had happened earlier that day, no one really showed up. In fact, the festival pretty much stopped. In fact, it felt like everything had stopped.

More details emerged about Bin Laden, Al Qaeda, Taliban, terrorists. It made my head spin. They couldn't have picked a dumber president to fuck with, so in a way, they were lucky. But no matter how many terrorists get killed, there really are no winners. Nothing can bring back the victims of 9/11. No one can make things right after something of those proportions.

I can't even really conclude this post because I'm out of words over it. I can't even imagine what it was like. Everything I'd seen of that day was filtered through cameras. I think the only proper way  I can sign off is to dedicate this entry to the thousands of people who died, who were injured, who lost their loved ones and who witnessed New York City being brought down to its knees that sunny, clear September day.

The Death of a Salesman

I woke up to the news that Jack Layton had lost his battle with cancer. I have to be honest, I saw a picture of him a few weeks ago and in the back of my mind I thought, "He's not long for this world." I didn't like that thought and hoped that I was wrong. I'm quite saddened by this news. I used to avoid politics for the longest time, voting just to say that I did. (I really don't like hearing that someone didn't vote. It displays....well let's move on.) After a while, I began really paying attention to the world around me and broadened my vision to include things beyond me, myself and I. I would scrutinize articles during elections and try to determine who wasn't out to screw the people over as much as the other candidates.

And there was Jack Layton. Man, that guy could sell water to a fish. I remember hearing his debate points and blindly thinking "Where do I sign up?" The truth is, he really cared about Canada and fought his butt off to get his vision across. He really should have been Prime Minister, in my opinion. The feeling I got from him in regard to Harper was very "You might scare them, but you sure as hell don't scare me." and Canada really needed someone to step that up.

His battle was both sudden and drawn out. In that time where the press released that gaunt photo of him and today, I don't have to wonder if he pondered his mortality. I'm sure he wondered if what he had done had made any difference, if he had touched people, if his message was heard. My facebook updates feed listed person after person, dozens and dozens conveying condolences. If you're a politician and you garner that much love and support from the people, you know you've done something right. Yes Jack Layton, we heard you loud and clear. Thank you for all that you have done for us. May you rest in peace and may your family have the best support and love as they mourn this terrible loss.

Well, back at 'er

I went to the gym today for the first time in about a month. I'd been spending most of my evenings either at aquafit or walking around the 'hood but started getting a bit lazy, especially after being on vacation. It was good getting back into it but it wasn't easy...I left a few minutes early too. I then went to pick up a refill of the cipralex.

Some readers have privately emailed me about my post where I detailed going on anti-depressants and being diagnosed with anxiety. I'm really glad that what I wrote provoked thought. Side note: Thank you, btw for all of the encouragement. I love writing and wish I could do this for a living, that would be the dream. But I digress.  I guess I never really put true thought into the stigma attached to mental health. There are times when I feel like I'm going to lose my mind. But then it doesn't seem so bad. It's fairly day-to-day. And boy, there are a lot of mental disorders out there, I'm glad I don't have some of the really bad ones. I've been dealing with someone fairly regularly who I suspect suffers from a personality disorder and while I get absolutely enraged by their behaviour, I know I must tread lightly because it's possibly not their fault. I however wish I could shove some medication down their throats so they'll deal with it once and for all. <--this person isn't you, by the way.

So how is it going for me so far? Not bad. Sometimes I forget to take my pill and it goes downhill not that day, but a few days later. It's like PMS but worse. Also, I'm not sure if this is the right stuff for me. Yes, it chills me out a little bit, but it doesn't kill the anxiety and panic...I wonder if I need something stronger.

Then THAT opens a can of worms because due to the greed and competition of pharmaceutical companies, our society is so over-drugged that we live in a truly dependent nation. Pills pills pills.
I just need to feel ...normal? That doesn't sound right. I'd like there to be a pill where I can change my whole personality and be the person that I want so badly to be but because of my mental "condition", I say things without control and the filter gets thrown out completely.

Throw kids into the mix and it's just a whole lot of jolly good fun. Try having a two year old (and/or their twin) come up to you and ask you to play and you just want to sleep the entire day away. That's tough. I love my kids with all my heart and sometimes I can't face the day. In that respect, with these pills, things have gotten a little better. I still need to figure some things out but I'm determined that I will see some light and improvement. Then I will hopefully have extracted my head out of my ass.

Catching fish and malaria

While a mosquito bite on the underside of one's knee is annoying, having a fresh bite right next to an old one is even worse. Pam cooking spray can be used to fix a squeaky door. My kids can watch Toy Story 3 on repeat over 500 times and will never get sick of it. A bikini top does not substitute for a bra.

These are some of the things I've learned while on 'vacation'. My parents, myself, the kids and my boyfriend took off for a week and stayed at a cottage on Lac Cayamant. I had expected a non-stop stressful "never again" week but it wasn't bad at all in comparison to my imagination. We didn't have to baby proof the place other than placing a gate at the top of the stairs leading to the porch. Seth could leave the room and I wouldn't worry about him. The first night was challenging trying to get the kids to sleep. Seth was a lot better than Rayna in this respect. She did not like sleeping in her pack and play, and she did not like sleeping in a strange place. The last night consisted of Wayne taking her from room to room in an attempt to get her to sleep until she passed out from sheer exhaustion...I think we were more tired than her in the end. And then Seth puked in the car on the way home...something I was famous for when I was that age.

I was definitely glad to be home but more than anything, I was glad we'd gone. This was the same lake that I visited when I was little, though it was a different cottage. Also, my parents were there, so we had backup so I could do some fishing and swimming and the occasional relaxation with a book. I had a solid week away from work, not worrying about whether or not things were getting done.

Unfortunately however, when I got back to work it was as if my vacation never happened. Such is life I guess...

I guess I can look at my scabby gross legs and choose to forget that they ever itched...that should be enough to get me to do it again next year.

At least it's not a shit-hole crack den

I want to send a big congratulations to all my friends who participated in the half marathon last weekend.

A year ago, I would have had absolutely no desire to participate in such an event. The idea of me getting to the finishing line couldn't even be imagined. I smoked, was always worn out, ate nothing but junk and couldn't really see any point in changing.

Then I became depressed.

Then nothing fit anymore. Seriously. Nothing fit. I had to start thinking about extra large instead of large.

I don't know...out of nowhere, on Monday, April 11, 2011 I decided to change. I packed myself a lunch, which I never do, ate it and then took a long walk by the water during the lunch hour. I was out of breath, out of shape. Then the next day, I went to aquafit. Then the next day I walked at lunch again. Then aquafit on Thursday. Then I visited the gym for the first time in months. And that's how my last month and a half has been since then although I mostly go to the gym instead of walking at lunch.

I had quit smoking in mid October, so sometimes when I do walk at lunch, I spend a little time jogging. I'm not out of breath when I climb the stairs. My strength and motivation to get off the couch are quite driven. I haven't eaten a poutine since early April.

So my results so far have been loss of at least an inch and a half layer of fat and 15 lbs. My long term goal is to lose 50 lbs in a year, which is pretty wishful for someone like me but I think I can do it.

I change things up a bit, I'll walk down one path near my house, it will lead to another, I'll explore a street I've never seen before, or sometimes I'll just weave through my immediate neighbourhood. I'm beginning to really appreciate the beauty of the neighbourhood in which I live. I find myself near tears sometimes when the light hits the grass just right and a big shady tree is placed just so. If only I could paint some of the images my brain has captured. Sure it's just some schmuck's lawn, but it's fucking pretty, ok?

And that brings me to this: I've received some flack over the past 2 years for selling out and living in Barrhaven. It's a prefabricated suburban facade. There's nothing original about it. All of the houses look similar, everyone drives a minivan, I could sing the Little Boxes song from Weeds if you like... Alright, so I'm not living in your trendy part of town where urban is the right way to light. Yeah I live in Stepfordville...how square of me. Hell, I get looks for having multiple tattoos and wearing Chuck Taylors when I should probably be wearing pastels and "mom" clothes. But you can't tell me I made the wrong choice when I'm walking down the street, alongside a corn field, watching the dusky last breath of the sun wafting over a forest on the horizon. I cannot be wrong when I'm walking down a silent path, a creek unfolding as the path winds around the outskirts of an established subdivision. When I sit in my own green, private backyard and look up at the night's sky, I can lose count of the stars. Now, I know I'm not going to live here forever but I'm not going to sleep through my time living here either. A part of me still pines for concrete here and there but ultimately I'm going to retire in a forested area, far away from your idea of what I should be living in if you judge me for living in the 'haven.

But as if I'd apologize for not being another person's idea of cool. I used to say "Yeah, I know but we moved here for the kids." Now...well, kiss my shrinking ass, I like it here and my walks made me realize that. You can post this stupid crap all you want, and laugh at how clever and truthful it is, but I don't believe I ever said "Eww you live in ____? Here, watch this inferior quality video that someone with way too much time on their hands made." (Hey even Vanier has its nice areas)

And on that note, I found another path last night that I think I'll venture over to. Sure it'll probably just lead to a pre-fab school but at least it's not a shit-hole crack den. But that would be a surprise! Go! Explore! Get to know your surroundings. I'm glad I am.

Frances Farmacy

I'm sitting here disgusted with everything and everyone, remarking on what a shitty stupid day it is. Then I realize I forgot to take my pill this morning.

I am a big believer in transparency (within reason) so I will tell you that I was recently 'diagnosed' with recurring depression, more specific to anxiety. I tend to go through this cycle every few years...I get depressed, experience an epiphany, the honeymoon ends, and then I'm back to BooHooville.

The first time it happened, I had just been broken up with by my highschool boyfriend and then became this obsessive, paranoid, completely irrational psychopath. I knew even as it was happening that it was pretty fucked up but I couldn't take control of it. Several years later, I experienced another break up that really broke my heart. So it was several months of "woe is me" until I threw in the towel and asked my doctor for help. It was totally different. I was just emotionally detached and stoic for 8 months (for the record, we only dated for three months, I fell hard in those days). This time...it's really hard to say. I'm a lot different in my distress, maybe it's because it's not due to heartbreak this time around. It's like the disorder has aged itself like a fine wine...Sense the sarcasm, prithee.  I freak out really easily, am the world's worst backseat driver, my sense of the "world is a scary place" is morbidly enhanced, and I'm picking at my hair obsessively. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I'm in my bell jar, but something's definitely rotten in Denmark.

So more pills...even though it's now anxiety instead of sadness, I've been put on the same pills as before. Cipralex. Escitalopram. I was on it for three days when it kicked in. Wayne was driving me and the kids around and some truck cut us off pretty close. Instead of grabbing my seat, gasping, and bracing myself for impact, I'm like "Hmm what a dick." So I guess it's doing some good, though I realize it's just masking what I'm feeling.

I am turning into a Stepford wife.

I realize there's a stigma around anti-depressants but I don't really care. If something is taking that super sensitive almost naked fear away, it is benefitting me more than character-building ever will.

I'm not crazy, I just have issues. I guess what I'm saying is that if any of you are having or have had issues with depression, anxiety, all that fun stuff, it's a lot more common than you'd think. I think I know more people who are on them then not these days. Y'all ain't alone. Look at me. Now run away. Hopefully when this round is over it'll be a long honeymoon...the next one could involve mint julips, calling everyone "dear", and the Church of Jesus Christ & Latter Day Saints. I don't recommend you admit to knowing me when that time comes, it won't be pretty.

I just totally censored myself!

I wrote a sizable post an hour ago and posted it...then deleted it. I re-read what I wrote and I'm not ready to fully confront my anxiety problem. I'm a woman with many worries over things that pale in comparison to the shit other people are dealing with in the world. My problems are lucky compared to some of that.

I saw my Nanny today. She's doing poorly. It's like she did a 180 in a month. It's strange to see her behaving this way. Now when she sees me, she's not 'happy' to see me because she loves me, but she's 'happy' to see me because she's being polite. She's so confused and her hearing is almost completely shot. She's become very negative and defensive. She was disgusted by her supper when weeks ago she was so delighted with the exact same meal. Instead of laughing off my mom's silly banter with her, she got accusatory and offended. And she can't help it. She was very sweet with the kids though, she even remembered that there were twins in the family. She knew of my nephew Nelson.

I wonder how much of her I actually saw. I wonder if she internalized a lot of her thoughts when she was younger and in better health. I wonder if she loved her life. I hope so.

In other news, my son is going to give me a heart attack by the time I'm 35. He has to try running onto the road. He has to stand up on my mom's bed and walk backwards. He has to try climbing out of the bed of my dad's parked truck. I am a nervous wreck and I wish he could for once sit quietly reading a book or be content playing with Rayna in one place. But that wouldn't be him.

Did anyone else grab the popcorn when they announced Bin Laden was dead? Or was I being insensitive on that one? What's next?

Excuse me but can I touch your breast?

I was on the bus the other day and was grateful to find a seat, which is fairly rare when you're catching the bus at Tunney's Pasture. I sat down, exhaled, looked around, and was confronted by an all too familiar face sitting directly in my focal point. I didn't know the guy, but the look he gave me was way too familiar. He gave me the good ol' "I'm gonna tell you my life story for the duration of this bus ride and you're going to be too polite to ignore me." look.

There's a reason I haven't been to Toronto in over 5 years, beyond the fact that I have kids and obligations now. The last time I was there, I was constantly exposed to whatthefuckery.

First day there: Well to preface, I had arranged with a guy friend that I would be staying at his place for part of the time so I could save money. He didn't live in the most convenient location but I wasn't about to turn my nose up at free lodging. Unfortunately I conveniently forgot that I had once hooked up with this individual years earlier and didn't stop to think that he might perhaps be carrying a bit of a torch for me even after I gave him the post-coital "I'm enjoying being single" talk. Anyway, I had asked him if he had a couch I could crash on. He said he did, I was welcome to stay, blaw blaw blaw. What he failed to mention was that his couch was also his bed. His only bed. I was totally not into this guy and thought he understood we were just friends. Apparently this was a complicated concept. So...I basically had to sleep with my arms crossed and legs balled up under my chin. I never had experienced someone trying repeatedly to raise my face to theirs by tipping up my chin. It's not pleasant. And meanwhile I'm gritting my teeth, being polite and asking him not to. I don't want to offend him, I'm too cheap to get a hotel. Maybe if he understands that we're JUST FRIENDS he'll back off and he can act normal. I resorted to telling him that the medication I was on deprived me of my sex drive and it was pointless to try. Boy did that backfire...he considered it a challenge and put his efforts into overtime. So after a night of asking this guy to back off until he finally got the point (took around 5 hours) I realized that no amount of hints, subtle or obvious would get this guy to stop humping my leg. I packed my stuff and checked into a hotel. Screw it. I would pay $200 that I hadn't originally planned on if it meant getting away from this loser.

Day 2: I arrived at my hotel and it was beautiful. Nice view, close to the TTC and far away from couch/bed boy. I rested up, read the "complimentary" newspaper, revelled in my freedom and decided to get a bite to eat. As I wasn't familiar with the area, I gave in and went to McDonalds. This one had tables with stools facing out the window, so I could see passersby. One fellow passed by (in the direction away from the door to McD's) and our eyes met, so we gave each other what I thought was a perfunctory, polite smile. The next thing I know, buddy's sitting next to me. I didn't even see him turn around! I've got a mouthful of burger and I'm clearly trying to read more of the paper and he starts in on his life story. I'm nodding and giving half hearted answers to his increasingly invasive questions when he finally gets to the point. He's down on his luck, his horse farted in his face, now he has pink eye, his mom said he's ugly, he lost bigtime in an arm wrestling contest, could he borrow fifty bucks? I'm not the most tactful or discreet person, I just point blank said hell no. He of course, wouldn't let it go, had to know why, as well as why was I such a bitch? I stated the obvious, I don't know him, I'll never see the money again, I didn't invite him to my table and most of all, "I'm eating my supper and I'd like it to be in peace." It went around like this a few times until he finally gave up and left, but my dinner was thoroughly ruined.

Day 3: I decided to mosey over to the Horseshoe Tavern where I used to work and visit with my friends who work there. I was sporting a bag with The Pixies on it. I'm sitting at the bar, talking to my friends and this fucking hipster wannabe is sitting a few stools down and OF COURSE has to bother me. He was making lame jokes I guess in an attempt to engage me in conversation.  After noticing my not-so-subtle eye rolling, he breaks into the "You like The Pixies?" in this doubtful tone. "Yup." Sip beer. "Name ONE song." he snivells. At that point, I wasn't about to play this shitheel's game. I said "You know what? I'm here talking with my friends, enjoying my beer and you're sitting there acting the fool. Fuck off and get a life." He sheepishly took his verbal spanking and said "Fair enough." It shut him up for a while but he spent the rest of the night pointing me out to strangers and regaling the tale but with him being portrayed in a much better light. Another wtf night.

Let me just say that I'm not exaggerating any of these tales. I really am that much of a bitch and I really just wanted to be left alone.

My last night there almost redeemed the trip by way of a Mudvayne concert but even that couldn't fully cheer me up as I ended up having an argument with my friend (which I surprisingly didn't start). I could almost see the storm cloud that was following me around at this point as I walked towards the bus depot. I calmed down, ate some breakfast and went outside for a smoke. I'm sitting there, smoking away when this girl around my age sits beside me on the curb and asks for a smoke. I didn't have many left and told her as much. She then requested the rest of my cigarette when I was finished with it, which I found kind of odd but whatever. I can spare some cigarette dregs if you're that desperate. I held out the butt to her and she instantly transformed into her true form. "Can you put it on the ground? I don't want to catch your germs." I asked her how smoking the rest of my smoke wasn't germ catching when handing it over was? "Oh well the concrete will sterilize your germs." I gave this face O_o  and watched as she smoked my sterilized cig butt. Then...I remembered my whole trip to Toronto and all the stupid I had encountered and I suddenly knew what she was going to say next and I was ready for it, tired of every wacko in the fine city of Toronto approaching me and branding me a sucker. "Hey can I borrow fiv-" "Get the fuck out of here. Get lost, we're done." Scared, she backed away and vamoosed. Afterward I was mad at myself for swearing at her but I had had enough by that time.

In retrospect, I was an angry young woman, perhaps distrustful and jaded but then again, I was a lot bolder and rude-r back then. And it was Toronto. To shed some light, I'm from Ottawa. I live in Nepean. I was raised in Stittsville. The weirdest thing that I encounter is when I find dead animals in my backyard. Maybe in my previous 4 years of living in Toronto I was lucky and managed to avoid most of the mooches, desperate boners and germaphobes but they were out in full force that fateful February 2006.

So going back to my original thought, I was on the bus and some guy gave me "the look" that I learned to spot in Toronto. In the split second of that smile, I said to myself, "Fuck that" and stood at the back of the bus. Sorry, but being physically comfortable isn't worth hearing about some stranger's sad and lame tale. I just don't have the energy even now.

Wow, I'm really jaded...stranger = crazy. Says a lot about me. Anyway if you're that lonely person and you find yourself saying to a complete stranger "Ah this weather reminds me of living on my uncle's farm the year I was molested by a jersey cow", you might want to think about seeking help. And I'm sure we met in Toronto.

Oh and nobody asked to touch my breast (well maybe couch/bed boy did but I blocked it out) I just thought the title fit.

Evolution of personal taste

I recently found myself begging a friend to go to NKOTB with me. I don't know why, but I feel this sense of owing my younger self things...like I owe my 12 year old self the fact that I'm seeing them up close for the first time. Sort of a bucket list of things to do before I die.  Now I have to go, she's bought tickets and I have to sit through the Back Street Boys. I mean, both "bands" suck, their music is dated and corny, and yet they are a sure thing to make a few bucks for the industry. I'd be happier if the BSB weren't involved but it'll be a good time, I'm going with one of my most favourite people from the good ol' days. I just find it funny when I see gals who still love them. Hopeless romantics.

And then I turn around and listen to darker stuff, mostly Skinny Puppy, Wumpscut and obscure (to the mainstream audience) bands. On occasion, I do pause to wonder how I got from "there" to "here" musically.

Pull up a chair, I could talk about music for hours.

I'll give you a list of music, and I'm sure you'll see an evolution, though it might not make sense, some species skip others. NKOTB; Vanilla Ice; C&C Music Factory; then I made a very drastic jump to Metallica due to being friends with the only 3 banger girls in jr. high (you know who you are). That led to Guns n Roses, which gave way to Blind Melon. The next logical step was to examine my older brother's CD collection. He had all sorts of posters on his wall of hair bands...Cinderella, White Snake, I'm not even sure if he listened to that stuff, their band members just looked bad ass (to the standards of the early nineties, anyway). I stole his Red Hot Chilli Peppers albums, the rest of the Metallica albums, he introduced me to The Gandharvas (who I still love very much even though they're now defunct), and of course, Nirvana. My mother religiously bought the National Enquirer, where Courtney Love and Kurt Cobain were featured on occasion. I noted that Courtney had a band, so I checked out the album, "Pretty on the Inside." That made way for my obsession with L7 (Can I Run is an amazing track). Then came Alice in Chains, Soundgarden and Pearl Jam. (I am really putting dates on my lifetime).

I would be taken backwards and introduced to the Sex Pistols, and somehow that led to Nine Inch Nails. It kinda stopped there for a while. I met my soulmate in Trent Reznor.  I'll skip the showtunes part because that came from being a band geek at school. But then I'd buy metal magazines and would see a picture of a cool looking band, read the review, buy their album and go from there. Some newer friends I made in my last year of highschool got me hooked on Tori Amos...another soulmate.

During university I worked at two of the most famous live music bars in Toronto: Lee's Palace and the Horseshoe Tavern. Pretty much every Canadian band got their start at either or both venues. I loved working there...getting paid to watch live bands, keeping my ear to the door of the next big musical phenomenon. If I hadn't moved back to Ottawa I'd probably still be working at least at the Shoe. I still have friends who work there and I'm itching for a visit.

After that, many of my influences came from boyfriends...mostly metalheads and punks but I have them to thank for a lot of what I had on my ipod.

That being said, I'd like you all to take a minute of silence...my ipod died a few days ago. Long live the pod.

I wonder what's to come and how I'll find it...

Honourable mentions must go to Mr Bungle, Faith No More, Dog Fashion Disco, Frank Zappa, Mudvayne, Tool, The Residents, Gaga, Type O Negative, Rammstein, Sarah Brightman, many many many others...

Robot Chicken and the click clack of the infant swing

It seems like 20 years since those days when I lived on Holmwood, came home at 3am after a bender at the Dom, dating characters who should have been on a reality show, and relishing in the child-free life I led. My life was awesome.

Oh well.

Today was the twins' 2nd birthday party. I thought 2 would never arrive. Now we can actually take them places and I won't have a nervous breakdown, worrying about how many meltdowns could potentially happen. Well I'll *always* worry about that but at least I know they now realize what's going on around them a little more and they can enjoy things more cognizantly. I can't handle the public meltdown thing. I get extremely agitated and go into 'flight' mode and I just want to run away from the entire situation. But we took the kids to Cosmic Adventures on their bday and it was 99% stress free and I really needed that.

I can't believe it was two years ago when I was sleeping from 8pm to 12am, then from 5am to 6am and then up the rest of the day. Wayne slept from 12am to 5am (sometimes he slept in, wouldn't stop snoozing the clock, I had a baby on my lap and couldn't go get him, and I'd end up crying) then he'd nap for an hour when he got home. MAN that sucked. I thankfully had my parents helping me for the first two weeks during the day but after that I was on my own. On more than one occasion I'd phone my dad at 7am absolutely begging him to come over so I could sleep. I thought I was going to snap. We eventually found some night time sleep...I remember that night because I thought I was getting up at midnight but Wayne informed me they were asleep...so I got to sleep another 2 hours...then it got better...

I really don't miss those days...I was sitting outside in my backyard last night, enjoying the mild air and I began to remember why I didn't miss them, besides the obvious lack of sleep. During those first few months when I was up all night with the kids, I'd go out back for a smoke (I quit when I was pregnant but started up again. I've since quit) and I'd look at the houses around me, the stars above and I would miss who I used to be, what I used to do. I missed Wayne. While we lived in the same house, we only really saw each other in passing in those days. I'd have to say that those were some of the loneliest days of my entire life. I had two babies, but they were so young there was nothing beyond feeding, burping, rocking, and snuggling. If I didn't have the occasional outing with Cathy or Mimz I would have certainly gone off the deep end. Once the regular night sleeping came, our evenings started to free up a little and we could watch movies and go to bed at the same hour and for the same amount of time. We know each other again. People often credit me for raising twins but the credit really should go to Wayne, he's been such an amazing dad, really stepped up and I'm feeling incredibly lucky.

Now, I come inside from the backyard and my daughter (who should be in bed but is teething and stubborn) says "Hi Mom-MEE", spins in a circle and sings a song. Rideau St is far away. Watching Robot Chicken at 2am is ludicrous. I watch her spin her circles and realize that my life may be miles away from what I had envisioned, but it is nevertheless, just a different kind of awesome.

Rifling through mortality

I have been avoiding this but something tells me it might be therapeutic to talk about it. Feel free to skip, it's another Nanny post.

It's been medically confirmed that Nanny has either Alzheimers or vascular dementia. I can't believe we're nearing that very point in life that I've been dreading and denying ever since I can remember. She has been moved to a nursing facility and she wants to come home. Not a nice feeling for my mother to have to explain to her over and over again that she has to stay. Furthermore, she has smoked since she was 18 and she can't smoke where she's living so she's wearing a patch and trying to bargain deals with my dad so she can have her smokes back. I'm so sad.

My mom and her brothers are taking care of her old apartment, divvying up furniture and such because she is in a furnished room at the home now. Most of her stuff will go to charity but my mom asked me if I wanted anything and I decided to go to the apartment with my boyfriend. I felt bad about the whole thing, trying to be respectful, not vulture-ing the place. As soon as I walked in, I spotted at least a hundred things that Nanny's had for years. She kept everything. Oh great, here come the tears. I hadn't been in the place for 10 seconds and I was already sobbing over some ceramic figurines and picturing myself passing by them almost daily in my childhood. Running by the glass bookcase filled with treasures on my way from her bedroom to run outside and jump in the pool. Walking by countless knick-knacks while heading to the spare room at a much too late hour during our many sleepovers. I can still hear the creaking in the floor exactly as it was. The heavy dusty smell of books. The ugly doll collection (she felt sorry for them and rescued them from garage sales). The junk jewelry...god the jewelry. It was beautiful to see what she has held onto over the years. Pictures, letters, crafts we had made her when we were kids, everything. And she didn't ever achieve hoarder status, because everything was minimal and put away neatly.

How do you determine what is trash and what is treasure? I searched for the things she specifically told me she wanted me to have and located them after digging them out from beneath other things that would lead me to distraction..."Oh there's that newspaper article she cut out to show me back when I was nine...she kept that??" I found a beautiful jewellry box and I actually remember when she bought it. Inside were a few trinkets and mismatched earrings. I filled it with what jewelry I figured I'd actually wear as well as one very important necklace...

When I was really small, she bought herself a set of beads that looked just like candy. I remember actually trying to take a bite out of it. Sure enough, there it was with a bunch of stuff in a box. If I had walked out of the apartment without those beads I'd never forgive myself.

There was also a photo, almost the length of a metre stick...of her entire office in the Munitions and Supply Dept. of the Gov't....1941. Women wearing smart hats with feathers, men in suits, Nanny looking beautiful and stylish with curly hair. I took that with me as well. I plan on hanging it in my finished basement. I have a great appreciation for history and that photo was the coolest thing I could find.

Oh this is so odd, going through someone's belongings and they're not even dead. She seems pretty sharp here and there but then she'll say something really peculiar. I have to stop every now and then and wonder what the hell is in store for me...mental illness on my father's side and Alzheimer's on my mother's side. My poor children. I just hope that science will uncover the mysteries of these illnesses and find a way to 'cure' the maladies that take our living history away from us.

She ate my heart

Last night I went to the Lady Gaga concert. Normally when I go to shows, I get bored and leave early. Not this time. I would have stayed until 3am if that's how long it went. I wasn't even close up, I was on the 2nd level. The opening band, The Scissor Sisters were totally cute. The female singer, Ana Matronic said, "If you've never heard of us you're either not gay or not British." Too funny. The very fun, very cute, and very gay male singer, Jake Shears was so full of boundless energy I kinda wondered if perhaps he and Mother Monster were doing a few bumps of coke before showtime.

Gaga did not disappoint. I was blown away from the getgo. There was a huge screen obscuring the set, a purple backlight shining, an exit sign, and a silhouette of the lady herself, humongous shoulder pads, resurrecting the 80s as only she can do. It was so surreal and her silhouette was so still that I wondered if it was just an optical illusion. But then the shadow would burst into a sudden new pose.

And that bitch can sing. Her mic went kerplooie after the first or second song. She paused between songs, noted that a mic busted, and three outfits broke. "At least you know I don't fucking lip sync"

Honestly, I've never seen an artist with maybe the exception of Freddy Mercury (though regrettably I never saw him live) who engaged their audience so beautifully. We were constantly encouraged to put our 'paws' in the air. Looking around at the packed stadium, there were thousands upon thousands of "little monsters" doing her bidding. She would pause every now and then and thank us for loving her and believing in her, never to give up and to never let anyone tell us we can't do it, whatever "it" may be.

She spoke of how she was bullied in highschool and she didn't want to go to school. I could identify with that, though it happened in university. I faced some pretty fucked up stuff in my first year living in residence and I always felt like an outsider. Looking back, they weren't the kind of people I wanted to integrate with anyway.

Wait a minute...I see what she's doing. You have to hand it to her, she is an amazing business woman. Targeting the underdog is ALWAYS going to sell. Everyone has insecurities. Everyone needs someone to look up to and identify with. Fucking clever, Stefani Germanotta. I get it, we all need a hero and she has filled the position.

Anyway, she had a lot to say and it is so amazing to see her career skyrocket. Britney Spears does not deserve to be a role model. At least Gaga has a brain....and her ass ain't bad either!

When she's in your neighbourhood, I highly recommend you check 'er out. Even if you're not a fan...she puts on such a show, it actually should be called a spectacle.

PSA: I'm not pregnant, I'm just fat.

Sweet baby Jesus on a stick. WHAT is wrong with people? I don't know if it's a cultural thing, a generation thing, or what but common sense, human decency and social etiquette have died a horrible death and I didn't even know it.

I wanted to write about this a few weeks ago but I didn't want one of the people who reads this to feel targeted. Just when I had forgotten the incident, it happened again. It's now been over five or six times now where a woman (wtf! ALWAYS women! Come on, we're supposed to be comrades in arms wtf happened?) felt that it would be completely acceptable to gesture towards my post twins gut and ask me if I'm pregnant again. No matter how many times I get asked, I always end up getting really upset about it. After I had the babies, my stomach basically deflated and now it hangs over and it's disgusting. I hate it. No matter how many sit ups I do, it won't subside. I look in the mirror and what I see (under clothes) is fine, but then some idiot comes along and basically calls me fat.

Today for instance. I was at a training session and I was sitting with someone I used to work with. She's not originally from Canada, (this is important). She says to me out of fucking nowhere, "Are you having another baby or are you getting fatter?" Word for word, I'm not kidding. I looked her in the eye and said "I'm getting fatter." I hoped that would be the end of it but no. She kept on going. "Oh you're like me. I carry my weight there too." I was giving many physical cues that I was not interested in continuing the convo but she kept going. I said, "I don't know if it's a cultural thing, but that's incredibly impolite to say to someone. Very rude." Annnnnd she kept on going on about her own weight until I very sharply snapped "DROP. IT." That shut her up nicely.Afterward, I did apologize for snapping at her but I again pressed that it wasn't something that people should say to one another, even if they're very comfortable together. She apologized again and that was the end of it.

Do I need to educate you on this? Because if I do, please do me a huge favour and kick yourself in the ass as hard as you can. If you have difficulty, get a friend or your spouse or neighbour and get them to do it. You NEVER ask someone if they're pregnant, even if they're eating five meals in one sitting and are complaining about morning sickness. Do not EVER assume. Some of us are fat, face it. Some of us had kids fairly recently and are finding it hard to get back into shape. Nobody is more critical of our flabby guts than ourselves. I beat myself up enough over it, I don't need you pointing it out to me. If you see me on the operating table with a baby being pulled out of my vagina, THEN you can ask, although by that time I technically won't be pregnant....and I will think you're a fucking idiot anyway, so better not ask!

So the next time you're wondering about someone, keep your trap shut. If they are, they will tell you...and that's only if they feel that you should be privy to such information. And if you JUST met someone, don't be a fucking knob and ask "Is that your first?" like I had to deal with at my boyfriend's work Xmas party last December.

Manners go a long way...I just wish there were more people out there who had any.


*** PS I find it ironically amusing that the adsense bar down below is advertising a Slimband. Oh keywords!

Captain Downer at your service!

http://www.ottawacitizen.com/news/Police+officer+avoids+jail+child+abuse/4313648/story.html

I'm just going to stop apologizing for posting another bitch fest. It's what I do. I guess that's my niche. *rolls eyes*

Basically, a police officer was charged with physical abuse toward his children. The judge, Justice Gilles Renaud gave the officer a conditional discharge.

"I find that the refusal of a discharge in this instance would be contrary to the public interest by depriving the community of the skills and talents of (the accused) as a police officer," Renaud ruled." The officer had whipped all of his kids, one of whom was still in diapers. His ex wife pleaded that he not lose his job  because her kids would lose financial security.

WOW. Ex-wife, I don't know what kind of shit your ex threatened you with, but it must have been pretty extreme and depraved for you to vouch for him and say you believe he's rehabilitated. Did he threaten to find you if you ran away? Did he threaten that he has very powerful friends who will make you disappear if you take his kids away? Did he say other fucked up things to instill irrevocable fear into your very soul? That's the only explanation I can come up with to believe that his ex-wife DEFENDED him in court. No one in their right mind would do this. If it's about money for the children, for fuck sake get a job, get several. Just protect your children from that man. At any cost.

Children can't defend themselves. They can't protect themselves. They need someone in their lives to make sure harm doesn't befall them. The judge decided that the officer was too good of a cop to be kicked off the force. Who cares if you're a shitty dad, if you beat up small kids, you're a good cop and that's all that matters. Would this have happened if he was a good cashier at Wal Mart? A stellar plumber? Fuck, would this have happened if he was a good firefighter or paramedic??? No. A good cop.

Apparently a good cop with a lot of good connections.

We have this guy protecting our streets, possibly arresting other animals who beat or rape their kids. I feel sick.

The Citizen didn't leave comments open for discussion. Very curious. I wrote them a pretty scathing letter, damning not only the defendent, but the judge.

I don't know the whole story, but I think it's pretty fucking clear that this guy should not have been given any mercy and those kids are doomed. I desperately hope I'm wrong about the kids, but nobody is protecting them. To them, the man who hurt them so badly and let them down so hard isn't being punished for what he did, thus he did nothing wrong. What do you think that's going to do to them? That's telling them that they did deserve to be whipped and that they were bad.

All I can really say is that I am going to hug my kids that much more from now on. Please do the same with yours if you have any.

Lulz

Kinda considering putting this pic up as the main pic for my twins blog...

Sacralicious!

I've been sitting on this topic for a while, not quite sure how to present it, or how not to offend people. I wasn't sure if I should broach the subject of my breaking away from the Catholic faith but I figured that if I can talk about my boyfriend's scrotum, I can probably talk about religion. (Man, I hope his mom doesn't read this blog...as if I just mentioned his scr-) Anyway, here goes...

The only reason I would go to church today would be so I could sing really loud. I effing love that song, "Here I Am, Lord".  No joke. Whoever wrote that song "gets" me. I suddenly have the urge to join a church choir...

Stick to karaoke.

Grade eleven, Holy Trinity, we were taken on a field trip for World Religion class. This class was the reason I got baked in the parking lot before school started. We went to a Hindu temple, a mosque, a synogogue, a Ukrainian Orthodox church, some Catholic place, and a Buddhist temple. Every place was remarkable enough to have left an impression in me. The Hindu temple had the most beautiful artistry and the hosts were so kind. The mosque was quite woman-friendly, and the woman presenter was also very kind. The synogogue was neat, the rabbi was informative, and they fed us. The Ukrainian church was beautiful but the idealism was so strict compared to what we were used to and the priest treated the introduction like a lecture to a bunch of naughty perverted delinquents. The Catholic place...I can't remember what it was called, but the priest who showed us around used to be my parish priest. He was very nice to us, remembered a few of us and gave us a brief history lesson on Constantine. The Buddhist temple was definitely my favourite. The monks were friendly, approachable and gave us little 'fortunes'. I think I actually still have mine somewhere...It said "Beware of evil persons. You will succeed in the end."

I think the aim of that class was to give us open minds while maintaining that ours was the only true religion and all the people we visited minus the Catholic priest were going to hell. In truth, all it did was confuse me. I read up on the idealogy of each religion and it blew me away that they all thought they were the true religion, yet many of them respected Jesus and Catholicism...I felt like we didn't extend that courtesy their way in return. I had never heard the parish priest say "Mohammad was a great teacher" or "Buddha was kick ass" or "Shiva was more than a character on Mortal Kombat 3". It was heathen this and heresy that. It was more of an "Oh you. When will you ever learn that you can only seek salvation through Jesus Christ?"

I guess their plan backfired...I came to my own realization that there was no "true faith". I can't say one religion is better than the other. A friend of mine was regaling a tale of when a Jehovah's Witness came to his father's door. The witness aked, "Sir, can you think of one thing in this world that you don't need?" He replied, "Yep. Organized religion." The witness thanked him for his time and immediately left for the next house.

I sometimes think I'm an atheist and there are times where I catch myself being an agnostic. And then when I'm in times of severe stress, I almost catch myself crossing myself. Old habits die hard. (Not really a habit though...it's not like I'd recite the Hail Mary before jumping into a school yard fight...)

I truly believe that god is such a personal thing, whatever people think and believe. I think it's a very ridiculous thing that the matter of religion has killed so many people. And it's still happening today. Should we consider it an implement of population control? Worship however you see fit, but don't let another person's different views bother you. And don't bother them with your own. It's no one's business but your own, right?

Frig I still have that song stuck in my head...

Oh just skip this.

This is the first time where I'm deliberately making a personal post. Please feel free to skip, I fear it may turn into a pity party and I'm not really into that.

I was talking to my mom today about my grandmother, her mother. She's the last living grandparent I have. She's going to turn 89 I believe, on Monday.

Eighty-nine. She's always been there. My earliest memories are a lot to do with her. She's been there through my high school, university, working years to now, she's been there for me during breakups and bad turns. She used to play dress up with me when I was 4 or 5. I developed an unreasonable love of the colour pink. She used to try to convince me there was a little fairy living in her juniper bushes named Elsie Bullrush. She'd make peanut butter sandwiches rolled up and cut into cute shapes and tell me Elsie made them for me.  She used to chase my brother and I around her house. She'd babysit us at our house and let us stay up until Mom and Dad came home (she made sure we were in bed before they walked in the house for fear they'd find out) When I was a teenager she used to try to crack through my sullen goth non comittal-ist glassy stare and try to relate to me by dancing the jitterbug, which had a high following back when she was my age. I stayed overnight at her house well into my late teens. We used to play cards and games, we'd have so many laughs. I didn't want night time to come.

She would tell me all about when she was little, she made it so it felt like I was there, that I knew all the other little girls she used to play with. She'd describe Woodroffe (as the area was known back then, it's rather close to Westboro) back when it was mostly farmland and her sister would hop from log to log on the river when it was a logging corridor. Reeny (Irene), Einie (Eileen), someone had an Aunt Isa, Olga MacLaren...she named off her entire neighbourhood like it was yesterday. Her family was the first on their street to own a car. She would describe her friend's older sister who was a flapper and cut the buttons off her coat so she'd hold it closed (flapper fashion, apparently). She described working for the government in a war department that obviously no longer exists and how she worked with a bunch of pervy old men who always tried to get her to well...it's not like she'd come right out and say what.

We don't have that much living history of the 1920's anymore. Our elderly are fading away and now it's more common that the oldest ones were born in the 30s. I read that Manitoba's oldest person recently died and she was born in 1899. So if anyone's left in the world who was born in the 1800's, they are at least 112.

Even more depressing is that my own mother is around the same age as Nanny was when I was born. So then I think of Rayna or Seth sitting there blogging 30 years from now about my own mom. Ah the cycle of aging and now it finally hits me. I guess I have a bit of a twisted Peter Pan complex, I don't want the world around me to age. I don't want to lose Nanny, I don't want my parents to get old and pass away. My mom and I both work at Health Canada. In 30 years time I'll be retiring and remembering how I worked with my mom and she had the mental capacity for it. The most sobering realization came when Nanny's younger sister died last year. The three sisters are down to two and I'm not sure about the health of my living  great aunt.

Anyway it looks as though Nanny is going downhill. Where she used to be a little bit on the worry wart side, she is now full blown panicky and forgetful. She's going to have to live in a home and at that point, it's going to be game over. And I'm feeling guilty because whenever I do see her, I don't know how to talk to her anymore because she's spooked me a few times with the words of someone who thinks I'm someone else. I don't know how present she is. I'm really thinking that I need to go over to her apartment and find out for myself and reconcile myself to it and to express my feelings of undying love to her while she still is cognizant for it. I am so lucky to have had her for this long. No one can ever know how much she has meant to me throughout my life and what a treasure she is. I guess she passed on to me her gift of telling the story, and I hope my mom remembers a lot of her childhood to pass on to my kids.

Joan Elizabeth Warnock Hobin Dale, you are reaching the very twilight and I'm trying to keep you awake so you'll stay up with me. I don't want night time to come.

I'm calling Nanny this weekend and I'm going to her.

Oh the sick child

I had to stay home today. It used to be a nice treat to be able to stay home so I could recuperate or catch up on my sanity. This time, and many of the times lately, not so much. I had to stay home with a sick child. Last night was pretty horrific but fairly tame in comparison. Both kids were waking up in the middle of the night several times. My arrangement with Wayne is that he gets up when it's Rayna and I get up when it's Seth. Seth prefers me and wants me when he wakes up from either a bad dream, a loud neighbour or a big turd. Rayna is good with either of us but she very much prefers Wayne. Last night I was apparently snoring on top of it all, so I gave him a break when Rayna woke up. Well. Nothing went well, never does.

She's a funny kid...one minute we'll be calling her dolly and the next we'll be calling her Chucky. A blood curdling scream aimed straight at your eardrum is just the thing you need at 2am and you're still kind of asleep. One minute she'll be crying, the next she'll let out a loud toot and then start laughing maniacally. And we wouldn't have it any other way. Kids are a live in entertainment.

I'm on tenderhooks right now because she's still feeling gross and I just heard a little shriek from her bedroom. If I go in there, will I find Holly Hobby or Linda Blair?

Desperately Seeking Word to Replace Susan

You know what? That last post left such a bad taste in my mouth that I avoided writing anything in here for a while. I tend to do that. I start writing something, be it a blog post or part of my book that's taken years to even get past forty pages, or part of a play that I'm supposed to be writing; I'll write something that doesn't work, has fucked up subject matter or gets weird and I abandon the whole thing altogether.

Time to break that trend, I guess.

I'm getting sad...I'm seeing a lot of forestry or nice land being ripped up for more housing. I have watched Stittsville go from having just a Beckers (remember them?) no McDonalds, one public school, no catholic, and there actually were a few ponds near my parents' place. Now...It's like a suburban nightmare.I really feel (and I'm ridiculing myself here) like I'm one of the elves in Middle Earth and it's time for me to retire to the Grey Havens. (Yes, I'm slapping myself upside the head for being such a geek, Leslie if you're reading this. I still play the Sims btw) Now Beaver Pond is in severe danger of being destroyed for more cookie cutter houses.

I realize that I'm writing this from a townhouse in Barrhaven so I'm being a hypocrite but I chose to live here because there's Government-owned farmland surrounding us. I assumed when we moved here that it was always going to be here because the gov't was in charge but now they've gone and sold a bunch of it for expansion from what I understand. Now they're ripping up farmland off of Fernbank...this is depressing. Seriously depressing. My kids are going to climb the germ-y jungle gyms at McDonalds instead of climbing trees.

Wayne's and my plan is to eventually retire in the country, buy a nice property with the closest neighbour being a half a mile away and be one with nature. Where can we go? How do I know that there will be anything like that left in 34 years?

Stop procreating. You're fucking up my retirement plan.

NEVER acknowledge the nuisance that is the belligerent customer

Boy did I get my ass spanked tonight, and I'm not talking about anything of the kinky variety. I went to a walk-in clinic today because I've been battling this really annoying cold since before Xmas and I've noticed my throat has been exceptionally sore, so I wanted to rule out strep. I originally intended to go to one at Woodroffe and Fallowfield but they were closed. I ended up going to one that I really did not like: Strandherd Crossing Medical Centre, 3161 Strandherd Dr.

I brought Rayna there last winter when she had a really bad cold and I wanted her ears checked. Firstly they had a sign that said Dr. Sweet was prohibited from prescribing opioids such as oxycontin. Hmmm... Docs who contribute to the oxy problem... reassuring! Now apparently NONE of their doctors can prescribe them...but I think that that's probably because they wanted to avoid the issue altogether and not risk getting into more trouble. Anyway on that occasion there were probably 30 people waiting and the line up was getting bigger and bigger. We got there to be maybe 12th in line. After waiting for over an hour a man saunters in and announces that he was the doctor on duty and no one called him to remind him to come in. His shift had already been on for over an hour! Great organization skills on everyone's part! The redemption was that Rayna was fine and the doctor was very kind.

Oh this time. It's my fault...I can't help it. Remember this post? Well I was waiting this time, again for over an hour and noticed that there were a lot of people who came in after me who were being let in before me. I considered asking about it but I didn't care that much, surely they'd announce my name any minute now. Up stands this "I eat the Jared diet" guy wearing outdated tinted creepy man glasses and a lazy 'I can't be arsed to shave for four days' shit lip. He asked why people were being let in ahead and the receptionist said that if people were coming for their flu shots, they would be let in first since it only takes a few minutes. He pointed out that there was no signage and she mentioned the one on the outside door. I could see his point, being annoyed but he took it to a whole new level. I knew he was going to do it but I was hoping he wouldn't. He started acting like a belligerent bully to the receptionist, acting very aggressive, intimidating and quite frankly foolish, and of course, giving the ultimate announcement that we all love to hear and yet never believe, "I'm never coming back here again." The receptionist is a bit rattled but she handles it well. He stalks back to his seat and catches me rolling my eyes. (oops) He puffs up like he's trying to suck his thunder thighs into his shoulders and shrieks "What?!?" and I said "Oh nothing except that you're being rude and I wish you'd stop." then he starts arguing his case about why he's justified in throwing the f-bomb at the woman. I try to go back to reading and he shrieks again: "WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM???? RAWWWR I LIKE TO YELL AT WOMEN, IT MAKES ME HARD" (Ok, lying about the second sentence but that's where he was going with his tone) I conceded defeat to this mentally unstable rageaholic who I can only hope was getting a refill of anti-psychotics and say "Nothing. You win." and went back to my magazine. Man, you could hear a pin drop after that. I thought he was going to brick right then and there.

They let him through, (who the fuck names a boy Patrica??) warned all the staff about him and had him seen ASAP. When he came out, they handed him a sick note. He seemed to be over his tantrum and asked about payment and the receptionist he yelled at said "No, that's alright." and out he went. I seriously considered calling out to ask if the anal stick extraction was a success but thought better of it.

Finally I was called and taken into the same room dickwipe was put in. I felt gross being in there and felt the hate vibes he was oozing in there previously. After being in there for 15 more minutes (at this point I'd been there two hours exactly) a pretty blond doctor comes in and she looks at my throat and swabs it. Then she says she'll meet me at the front for my note. I go to the front and the receptionist charges me twenty bucks. Which I then paid. So I couldn't just walk away...noooooo....I HAD to ask. "Hey why did that rude guy who yelled at you get his for free?" She smiled a syrupy non apologetic smile, "The doctor just wanted to get him out of there. We didn't charge him."

What?...........What?????

My jaw hit the floor. "But...why did you just give it to him? You just REWARDED that guy for being a disruptive idiot!" She didn't have a clear answer beyond "It'sveryunfortunatethedoctorjustwantedhimtogoawayhowlongdoIhavetokeepontalkingpleasejust
leavewearespinelesshaveagoodday." I walked out of there feeling reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaallly upset. I could NOT believe that they saved that guy twenty bucks for being a complete prick. Basically, they were saying "Thank you for being disruptive. We welcome this kind of behaviour. Please come back to our office. And just so you know, the more you act like an entitled bully, the more you will get free stuff and preferential treatment."

Well fuck you very much, Strandherd Crossing Medical Centre. I would say that it's because of your perpetuating this behaviour that you require that sign so prominently hung in your front desk: "We will not tolerate rude or abusive behaviour. Failure to adhere will result in expulsion of the clinic." And dear Patrica,  I hope after your appointment, when you rushed to your car to masturbate over your triumph that you got a painful papercut on your tiny dick from that twenty dollars you saved by being a complete and utter scumbag loser. Keep up the good work!