A Dog Shaped Hole In My Heart

I got Daisy when I was 31. I was living with one of, if not the best abusers on the face of the earth. He happened to be a police officer which made him that much better at it. He knew how not to leave marks. Every day was an interrogation, a trial, which I inevitably failed at. I lost 20 pounds in less than 6 months. I didn’t eat. I barely slept. Panic attacks became my reality and I started to shake when I knew he’d be coming home. He decided to move us out to the country. I believe it was just to have more control over me and less prying eyes.  At that time, I decided I needed a dog, as an alarm, as protection from cougars and bears.To let me know when he was coming home. And of course because I needed company.

My parents had come to visit and while they didn’t know precisely what was going on, I think on some level my dad knew how bad it all was. Without any forethought and with the abusive ratbastard beside him, my Dad bought me a puppy.

He handed it to me as if it  were a gold-plated sapphire. “It’s a female! There was some guy selling them outside of a tire shop! She was only 50 bucks! She peed on me on the way here but that’s okay. She seemed like the quietest one.” And lo, I had a dog.

I found out within a few days why she was the “quietest one”. She was sick. So, so sick. Didn’t eat, wouldn’t drink. I made 3 trips to the vet, Daisy staying overnight with an I.V., just to bring that poor sick little puppy around. Abusive ratbastard kept raging about how a bullet would be cheaper than that fucking dog. I didn’t care. In less than 2 months, she went from a $50 dog to a $900 dog. But she was mine. The more he tried to crush me, the more I loved the dog. When I thought about ending me, I stayed here for the dog.

I think I’d had Daisy 3 months when I left. She gave me the strength and love to move on. After that, it became “love me, love my dog”. Two years later, she went on the second date I had with my hubby. He passed the test.

Daisy was with me through our courtship, baby and marriage. She was treated as a member of our family. My hubby bonded with her when Daisy went fishing with him and had to lick every fish he caught. When she greeted him at the door at the end of the day. And when we brought our new baby son home, she sniffed him head to toe and wagged her tail, as she finally had her own child to play with.

I kept her here for maybe 2 years longer than I should have. Her hips were gone, to the point that she had to be helped up a couple of steps to get into the house. She was losing her bladder control. Her breath. I made the decision last Saturday. I knew. She knew. We were both very brave as we took our final walk and car ride. She had chicken for breakfast and a hot fudge sundae as a treat. Chocolate is bad for dogs but on their last day here exceptions can be made. I held her and thanked her for all she’d meant. She butted foreheads with me, which was her “I love you and I get it” sign. It was peaceful. And my heart broke.

We went away for a few days this week as a distraction from our grief. When we got home I checked messages. The vet had phoned and Daisy’s ashes had arrived at the office. I dropped everything and told my boys,”I’m going to pick up our girl and bring her home.” They both got teary and nodded.

Tonight is a blue moon and we sprinkled her ashes around the yard she loved so much. How perfect. How fitting for my rare dog.

Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened. ~Anatole France 

Bye, Daisy. Good girl!

Will Work For Cheap

Hubby: I think it’s time you got a job.

Me: And what is wrong with the occupation I have now?

H: Umm, what might that be?

Me: Well, I have several.

H: Go on…

Me: Let’s see. I’m a wife, obviously. That takes up time.

H: Hmm.

Me: You do require a fair bit of effort, you know. There’s feeding you, making sure you cut your toenails. Nagging.The nagging alone is a 35 hour a week endeavor.

H: Okay. What else?

Me: Mothering. Hello? Remember that 10 pound ball of flesh I pushed out of my vagina? Turned into that skinny blonde kid? That didn’t happen by itself, you know. I have had to mother the snot out of that thing just to keep it going.

H: He’s in school full-time now. You’ve done well.

Me: Thanks. And then there is blogging. Twitter. Cat herder. Being a gusty windbag. All of this stuff going on…*sigh*

H: Yeah, about that, umm, what’s the cat count at now?

Me: I don’t know. Sixty? Sixty seems about right.

H:  You can’t take a fucking step in this house without tripping over a cat.

Me: Exactly!!! Keeping everyone safe from the cats is a fulltime job.

H: So, what does all this “stuff” you do pay?

Me: Dude. You can’t put a dollar value on what I do in a day. Is this about money?

H: Well, no. Not really. It just seems like you are, I don’t know, not thriving.

Me: Have you been listening to Dr. Phil? Thriving.The fuck?

H: Well, it’s 6:30p.m. You’re still in your pajamas.The boy is eating peanut butter out of the jar and you are shovelling mac and cheese out of the pot into your mouth with your bare hands.

Me: Whafst? Hmp? *wiping hands on pajama pants and swallowing* Look, eating peanut butter out of the jar is a right of passage! He has to learn how to survive before he gets to college! And as far as the pajamas I only put them on at 3:00.

H: Why the hell would you put them on at 3 p.m.?

Me: Because, Dumbass, I can’t very well go pick the kid up at the bus in my panties, now, can I??? Duh!

It’s about this point that voices were raised, some cussing and eye rolling ensued. I’ll spare you the deets but suffice to say we got down and dirty. One of those good old-fashioned name calling, threatening kind of fights. The fight where you walk away from each other, wondering where the shovel is and in which corner of the yard the dogs would be least likely to dig up a corpse.

But…the sumbitch is right. SHHHHHHT! Shut your mouth! Never tell him I said that! *showing you my shiv, making frowney eyebrows*

To that end, I started looking. Here’s the shite part; I absolutely, unequivocally do not want to do any of the jobs I’ve ever done and am even remotely qualified for. But I’ve been trying. It’s going a little something like this…

So, Mrs. Flummshitz, why do you want this position?

I answer with all of the called for responses. (And in my crazy little head, to entertain myself, ending each response with ‘Your Momma’!)

And could you explain the 4 year gap in your employment?

I lost my sitter and couldn’t find another. (I was raising my CHILD, you horse’s ass! Your Momma!)

Pardon me?

Oh nothing. (JESUS SHITSTICKS! Did I just say Your Momma out loud?)

I thought I heard you say you were a momma, which I understand. Anyway, what else did you do during this time?

I studied such and such, which I’m in the process of completing, blah, blah, blah (Mostly I looked at shit on the internet that would make your pubes straighten, you little twerp.)

Okay. Almost done. Could you describe yourself in three words for me?

At which point, I’m so fucking bored and so very certain I don’t want this job, all I dream of doing is leaning over the desk, getting close to his face and saying very slowly,

I. Have. Gas. (And with a wink and an upraised middle finger taking my leave! YOUR MOMMA!)

The job hunt continues. But if anyone wants to pay me for all of this *sweeping arm around, showing you the splendour of my words and nonsensical bullshit*, please let me know. I will work for boxed wine.

Spring Break

Spring break sends me into escape mode.

I love my son but I am really not a ‘kid’ person. I used to be when I was younger but now I’m  a parent and jaded. He’s seven. Gone are the days when I could stare in fascination at his cleverness. I am just Lego-ed out. We also know each other so well that we bore one another after eight hours together. Yes, it sounds awful. Yes, you go through the same thing.

When five o’clock hits and Daddy gets home, I look for any excuse to get the hell out of the house.

“Oh Hi! Honey, do you want a beer? Oops. Shit. Out of beer! Let me just run and get that for you!!! Back in a flash, you big stud of a man.” (I don’t really say that last part. That’s what I’m sure goes through his mind. And any other variation of stallion, hero, sex machine, etc. I let him dream.)

Off I go, twenty precious silent fucking minutes to myself!!! Amen! (Can you hear the angels singing?)

I get to the small town country store that sells gas, groceries, prophylactics and booze. We require one-stop-shopping here in the wilds of Alberta. You have to be able to live your whole life in your truck. And apparently, to work in said store, you have to be certifiably batshit crazy.

As a reformed mental health worker, I still carry that wondrous professional demeanor that attracts all manner of folks to engage in conversation with me. I believe it’s the kind look, the tented fingertips and the sympathetic nodding. I look like you can confide in me. I look like I give a shit. Oft times, I’m okay with it. Hubby is too. He stands off to the side as I get my ear bent by a dirt covered street person who is telling his story as I give him money.

But on breaks from school? Yeah. NO TALKYTALKY!!! I am here to get beer, groceries, gas and prophylactics!!!!! Not to fucking VISIT!!!

As I walked into the store, the gal who’s been there FOREVER said to me “Greetings”. Because I was in a good mood from being in the cone of silence (otherwise known as my car) I responded with “Earthling”. That was the absolute worst thing I could have said.

“Oh, did you know that on other planets, they don’t call us earthlings? They call us Terrans”! (oh my fucking god.) “Did you know that aliens with tails already live here??? They’re called shape shifters”! (nod and smile, Leanne. nod and smile.)

That woman blathered on excitedly for I don’t know how long. So much so that she started to get those little pockets of spit at the corners of her mouth.

I have never before prayed for a horrible, slaughtering blood-bath of a hold up. I figured I could sneak away while she was busy with the carnage.

SPRING BREAK!!! NO TALKYTALKY!!! I extricated myself, finally. Got in my happy silent car and with a sigh of relief, headed for home. Ahhhhhhh…

As I was motoring down the road, quite near my home, my car did this weird thing. It decided to spin its rear end around. I thought, “Well that’s puzzling.” A well-trained winter driver remembers to drive through the skid and not lose their shit. I tried that. For a moment. It didn’t work.

I believe my exact thoughts were “Whoops!WhoopswhoopsWHOOPSWHOOPSWHOOPSOHDEARGODTHISISGOINGTOHURT”! 

I stopped with one front tire almost squeaking over the edge to take me down sideways into the coulee. I grabbed my wallet and phone to jump out and as I did so, the car slide another foot towards the trees. Which hurt my feelings. I was like, “Really, Subaru? 165 pounds? Really? I’m that heavy?”

I rang the hubby and the neighbour to pull me out. Then I tried to call Jesus. I couldn’t get him so I called his dad.

“Hey, Holy, it’s me. What. the. fuck?”

“Hi. Listen, hang on a sec. I have to pause my PVR.” (Yes. God has one.)

“So….?”

“Oh that! Look, I was just fucking around with you! You seemed kinda bitchy to that alien lady in that store and well, I thought I should, you know…”

“Kill me?”

“Aw, no, just, you know…”

“You’re bored, aren’t you?”

“Little bit.”

I hung up. When Holy is bored, there is no point in telling him to knock his weird shit off. If he thinks he’s getting a rise out of you, he feeds on the attention.

When hubby pulled up, he got a strange look on his face. “How the hell…”

“I don’t know! There was an alien lady at the beer store and Jesus wouldn’t take my call and I’m never leaving the house AGAIN!!!”

“Oh. Well. That explains everything.”

I kissed my son. Many, many times. We loved each other hard for the next few days. And yesterday, during a tickle fight, his foot flew out of nowhere and hit me on the bridge of my nose. We all heard the crunch.

Three days into spring break. Not sure if I’ll survive.

Back On The Horse

Writers Block is a bitch.

Last week, I had the start of my Red Dress Moment, and I had several thousand people visit my humble little place here. Quite frankly, it scared the shit out of me! All of a sudden, I felt like everyone was looking at me. And all I wanted to do was turtle.

It’s not that I don’t feel oh-so-honoured. (Thank you, Jenny!) I do. I’m glad you stopped by. (Oh hey, to whoever accidentally lit this place on fire? You can’t smoke in here!) But I’ve put this pressure on myself to do right by everyone watching and reading me. Which is ridiculous.

I am just me. This blog is a lot of satire, just to make you laugh. Because I love that feeling, making someone laugh. It breaks the tension, eases people. And if you have gas, a big hearty guffaw covers the sound of a big banging fart. (Yes, feel free. Break wind around me. Everyone else fucking does.) This is also my place to be very serious. With the only hope that maybe I can touch someone’s heart, just a little. You will definitely know the difference. I categorize things as Ducky (fun, good) and Not Ducky (shit that bothers me, or means something). Which also leads me to my blog name. (See the segue there? My god, I’m brilliant!)

I chose One Odd Duck because that’s how I’ve always felt. Different. Not quite the same as everyone else. But I’ve realized that this duck? Maybe not so odd. Methinks there are a ton of folks who think and go through all the same things I do. And that makes me feel less alone. Less odd. A bit more Ducky. So I thank you for reading me. For being here. Cheering me on.

A friend of mine tagged me in a meme today. Erin at www.myweeklyjoy.com. (Actually, I’ve been tagged in a couple of others that I’ll get to this week as well. Wink.) I thunk to myself  “Self, what better way to start writing again?” So anxiety be damned! I’m back on the horse! (And off the wagon!) YeeHaw!

This meme is called Eleven Things.

First off, 11 Random Things About Me.

1. Wait. My left foot is super itchy. Okay, better.

2. I sometimes have trouble focusing.

3. I wear a robe as a sweater at home. If you are a really good friend of mine, I will wear it to your house. And you will start feeling comfortable enough to start wearing yours in front of me.

4. I’ve become a much better friend as I get older. I fuss over my friends. To the point where I have heard the words “For Chrissake, will you quit it! My bowels are fine!” I guess I really value them. If you are my friend, I will show up at your house with a gun and a spade, no questions asked.

5. My heritage is Scottish and Dutch. That means I really like to drink, but I don’t want to pay for it!

6. My kid is the best thing that ever happened to me. I look forward to every day because of him. He keeps me here, in this life, when my anxiety and depression are so overwhelming that I just want to go. He knows how much he means to me. He also knows that it is not his fault.

7. I almost brought a Bum home today. Well, I don’t know if he was a Bum, but he asked me for money for a loaf of bread and he looked dirty and tired. Was about 50 years old or so. I seriously thought about it because I hate seeing anyone or thing down on their luck. Then the little voice in my head said “You have a child. What if he is a pedophile?” And I hate that we as a society have to think that way. I didn’t bring him home. But I did give him money.

8. I just want everyone to be happy and safe. I know that’s not possible, but it’s what I wish.

9. I worked in health care for years, in all different areas. I was good at it, but I burnt out and started to hate it. I thinks it’s important to know that about yourself and quit when you need to.

10. I would marry my husband all over again. He is my mate. He surprises me all the time. He “accidentally” throws things at me. Like every time we fish, he’ll take an ugly slimy thing off the line to throw back, and it will come flying at my face. I think it’s deliberate. He says not. Sometimes I want to kill him, but I think that’s par for the course.

11. I’m a book-a-holic. I own too many books. I’m very learned on a wide variety of shit that doesn’t matter.

Okay! So, now comes the part where I respond to 11 questions Erin laid out.

(This is long! I’m tired. You probably are too. Go have a nap and come back later. I’ll wait.)

*whistling* *picking nails* I wonder if I can Yodel? *yodeling*

Hey! You’re back! Did you know I could yodel?

1. What’s the last song that made you want to dance? Metallica-Whiskey In A Jar.

2.  Favorite shoes you ever had? In my punk days, I had a pair of kitten heeled zip up boots that were ankle height and had three skull buckles to fasten the across the top of my foot. I bought them second-hand for cheap. I loved them. My mother threw them out 15 years ago. I am still mad.

3. What movie most resembles your life? Hmm. A tie between Steel Magnolias and Fight Club.

4. What is your passion in life? This. Several other things. I’d like to get good at them all.

5. What’s the first thing you would buy for yourself if you won millions of dollars. Perky boobs. Then I’d build a beautiful retirement home for disabled people with the best staff on the face of the planet. Then some Botox.

6. Favorite person in the world? My son. Then the Dalai Lama. I’d like to give that crazy old man a hug.

7.  Sleeping Beauty or Cinderella? Sleeping Beauty. I loves me some good snoozing. If napping was a sport, I’d go for the gold.

8. Favorite outdoor activity? I like doing yoga outside on my grass. It makes me feel like a kid because I get a great upside down perspective on the horizon. And I get to lay down at the end. Maybe have a nap.

9. Person who shaped your life the most? Pema Chodron. Dorothy Parker. Cher. Mostly Cher. This is hard, Erin!

10. What does your dream house look like? Exactly the one I have now. As long as the same people are in it.

11. What is your perfect date night? Date night? Wha- Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!! What is that? (Actually, me and hubby are going to a Full Frontal Nerdity expo in April. Date night? Date weekend! Hello! Did I mention the whole cast of Star Trek: Next Generation will be there? I’m taking Will Wheaton cookies and Flonase. His sinuses are bad. And I’d like to bake for him. Does anyone know if he has a peanut allergy? I don’t want to kill him.)

So, now it’s my turn to make up 11 questions to be answered.

1. If you could turn water into wine, would you share with your friends? And what’s your address?

2. If you had to be on a deserted island for an extended period with just your spouse, would you consider eating him/her?

3. Do you own a cat? (If not, I’ve got one for you.)

4. Are you ready for the zombie apocalypse?

5. Can you explain why my neighbour’s horses and dogs end up finding my yard to crap in? I’d really like to know.

6. Where were you on the 17th of November at 11:32 p.m? (Your wife wanted me to ask you.)

7. Why is my left foot so itchy?

8. Disco or Death Metal?

9. If Gretzky and Jesus were playing street hockey, who do you think would stop for a beer first?

10. What makes you snort laugh?

11. If I invited you for drinks and target practice this weekend, would you come?

Wow! That was hard. I feel a bit like a cop.

The rules for this meme are that I have to go tag 11 bloggers to do the same. I will, but I’ll just warn you all – you will not see me coming. I move like the wind and I fit in small closets so you won’t be able to get away. To anyone else that wants to respond to these, have at it! Comments are open for everybody and I’d love to see how you answer!

Well, I think I’m getting over my anxiety. Thanks Erin. (You should go read her. She’s pretty sweet.)

Grounds For Divorce

My husband went ice fishing with a buddy this morning. No big deal, right?

Until I went to the fridge. I saw this as I grabbed milk and kinda thought,’ Well that’s funny. Why are these there?‘ Huh.

These are fake,right? Dear god, tell me these aren't real...

And then I went back to said fridge and grabbed one of these and read the package. And saw the wiggle.

Yup. Real. And alive. And very wiggly.

OH HOLY CHRIST!!!!!!!!!

Me: What the fuck is this? Why are there maggots in my fridge?

Hubby: Well, they have to be kept cold.

Me: In the fridge???? I spend half my fucking life trying to keep maggots out of there!!!

Hubby, sighing: They’re not maggots if they’re bait. Duh…

Ummm, yes. Yes, they are. But you gotta admire his attempt at logic.

If you’ll excuse me, I must go bleach my fridge.

And beat my husband about the face and neck area.

December-Part One

I’m home!!!!!!!

Oh home! How I missed you! If I could hug a house I would, that’s how goddamn happy I am to be home!

We went to the ‘Chewan for our lovely holiday visit. Nothing like driving 5 hours across bald, scrubby prairie to help one to understand the concept of horizon. It should be a very Zen experience. However, try doing it in a fully loaded Outback, with an almost seven-year old, who is perpetually in motion, a twelve week old kitten, a hundred and ten pound Shepard cross, and a thirteen pound lap dog.

I think we were an hour into the trip when the son started his plaintive calls of, get ready, “Are we there yet?” No shit. Every twenty minutes. Followed closely by “I’m borrrrrrred!” Look at the scenery, son. “What scenery???” Exactly.

Now, add in the big dog. She has always been a back seat driver. She cannot lay down and enjoy the trip. Oh no. She must get her head and upper body right between the buckets so she can see out the windshield and assess how well you are driving. This is very exciting to the old girl and the more excited she gets, the more she pants, therefore, the more she drools. As you are motoring along, your arm is getting wetter and stickier with each passing moment. Whats funny is that she is so big and sits so erect and close to your right shoulder, I’m certain it looks like some strange two-headed conjoined beast twin driving our auto. Either that or everyone thinks we have an extraordinarily ugly daughter. Who has a drooling problem.  

The small dog (we think he is a Pug/Jack Russell cross. A Jug, if you will) has a rather high-strung personality. This manifests itself in a non-stop vibratory shiver while in the car. The poor thing is a nervous wreck. He acts as if he is about to be raped and castrated at any given moment. It goes like this: Shake, open eyes, quickly smell penis, nutsack and anus to make sure they are all still there, give a dirty look to the closest human so they know you are watching them, close eyes, shake for ten minutes, repeat.

The kitten was an awesome traveller. She just hid until we arrived at our destination. We took her as a surprise present for my folks (read that as getting rid of her) but they were having none of it. We had a rousing game of ‘nonchalantly throw the cat in the car, nonchalantly throw the cat back in the house’ as we were saying our goodbyes. My parents won. Pricks.

The top cat didn’t come. I tried to get him in the cat carrier, but he is huge and wouldn’t fit. It was like trying to stuff a horse into a Corvette. But with claws. I decided to just throw him into the car and let him ride free. He escaped as soon as hubby opened the hatch, and it was a sight to behold, watching my poor man fighting with a huge ball of flab and fangs. Honestly, I don’t know who was more petrified, the man or the cat. So I got out and caught the miserable sonofabitch (the cat, not hubby) and brought him struggling and fighting back to the car, which I then quickly threw him into and tried to slam the door. Not surprisingly, he had his tail half out. Did you here the shriek over at your place? I opened the door as fast as I shut it and that cat flew out so fast, I didn’t have time to see where he went. Our neighbour let him in and fed him but he is still not speaking to me.

But we made it home today. I have had a hell of a couple of weeks. This is going to be a long one, so I’m breaking it up for you. Part two of it all tomorrow. 

Did I mention I’m glad to be home? *Hugging house*

 And does anyone need a cat?

Dreams, Diet and The Eye Shat

Wow. It’s quiet in here…

Which is odd, as I just woke up from a dream in which the Dalai Lama actually asked me to leave his four star resort/meditation monastery because I could not stop talking during meditation. In my dream it was a terrible misunderstanding, as we were in the midst of a releasing excercise and one of those old highschool mama’s boys (you know the ones) burst into tears because he said I was standing on the fake grave he’d imagined for his mother, who hadn’t died yet. I tried to explain that it was unintentional, but mammas boy wouldn’t listen to reason. I also tried to explain that it was a fake invisible grave, so how the hell would I know where he put it but the D.L. told me I was being disruptive and asked me to go. He was very nice about it. But still. I then went to find hubby to get him to pack up, and as it turns out, he had found a new friend and was in the attached sports bar watching the hockey game. I tell you, that is some fancy Buddhist retreat. I should really be the business manager for the Buddhists. Ideas, my friend, ideas.

So in the past while, I’ve been trying to lose some weight. It’s not that I’m big, but if I don’t change my habits now, this winter I’ll be giving Santa a run for his money. As I’ve always burned most of what I’ve eaten, this whole weight gain and loss thing is a flipping mystery to me. I really feel for people who struggle with this their whole lives. But I’ve started eating way too much. To combat this, I am eating a lot of Middle Eastern food, things like couscous, dal, and humus. Yes, my friends, I reek of garlic and onion! Can you smell me over there? My hubby keeps asking if I have any gum. And I keep trying to neck with him. S’fun.

I’ve also started taking a fiber supplement that its supposed to fill you up. It also cleans out every dark, forgotten corner of your bowel, which is okay, because I’m a bit of a neat freak. But it has an unfortunate side effect of producing extremely loud gas. With every step you take. While it is not malodorous, it is going to be a bit inconvenient. Today, in turn, I have made the small dog bark, the big dog look at me and ask “Is that gunfire?”, and I also managed to make the cat stop his frantic licking of his non-existent balls (they’ve been gone 3 years! Give it up, already!), and with his tongue still hanging out, he looked at me and said “Good God, Woman! Was that you?” I generally don’t enjoy flatulence, and I try to avoid it at all costs. But this… this could be fun! It’s like having my own personal stock of chinese firecrackers up my ass! I think I’ll try to punctuate everything I say to my family with a nice loud bang.

I’ve also had an unwanted guest for about the last month. I have a clogged tear duct that has taken on a life of its own. Honestly, this thing has started to grow arms and even a mouth. It’s been talking to me in the middle of the night. “Hey. How you doing?” “Okay. Could you leave now?” “Nooooo. I like it here. Shhhh. Go back to sleep. Dream of the Dalai Lama. Shhhhh… Lullaby and good nite…”Oddly enough, it sounds an awful lot like William Shatner. While I love the Shat and his velvet voice, I think maybe I’ve been listening to his new cd too much. That is courtesy of my dear hubby, who puts it on, giggles and sings/talks right along with it. Obviously, neither of us has a life.

I went to my physician after not being able to get it to go away on my own. “Hmmm…” he said.

“Can I poke at it?”

Umm, no.

I quote directly:”Come on, let me poke at it! Don’t be a baby!”

I let him poke at it. No one calls me a baby! I even held the lighty thingy for him. Would it be okay to tell you that it hurt like a BITCH when he was done. And nothing happened. So with a “Thanks, asshole” on my part, he’s decided to send me to a opthamologist. Tomorrow.  I’m a bit sad to see Eye Shat go, as we’ve built a bit of a relationship. But I’d like to be able to wear mascara again at Christmas.

Hubby asked me how I’d feel if I had to wear an eye patch. I told him I would then get to pretend I was a pirate. And I would talk like one all. the. time.

Arrrr, matey. A gassy,windy pirate with my own built-in cannon sounds. I think I have my Halloween costume ready for next year! Squeal!

Wish me luck.

October Part One

Ready? Because this may a long one. October has been very busy. Like really busy. Like shoot myself in the head just to be unbusy busy. With events. Parties, everything from a BBQ to meet the neighbours to a fancy dress up dinner party, to our anniversary, and back to the neighbours for a Halloween party, then to Halloween itself. Just for shits and giggles, I’ve been sick this whole month. Even better, I can’t really breathe. I’ll get to that later, but there were photos promised, and stories to go with such, so I’ll start where I can. Give you a glimpse into this craziness. I may have to nap in the middle, so bear with me.

My hubby had an awards banquet at a smancy hotel on the exact day that the world decided to OCCUPY in support of the protestors on Wall St. Now if that isn’t something to make a thinking person feel uncomfortable. As we were driving into the city to stay at the lovely mansion where said dinner was, we passed the protestors. We honked in support and|I noticed how neat and orderly they all were. A good Canadian protest! Safety first, please stay on the sidewalk. You ever hear that joke “How do you get 50 Canadians out of a pool?” You say “Okay. Everybody out of the pool!” S’true. Anyway, we all dressed up, and my best guess was that there were around 300 of us being treated to $100 a plate dinner and a quick glad hand and paparazzi shot with the provincial CEO as he gave each lucky employee with 5, 10, 15, etc. years of service a lovely pin to wear on the lapel of the suit they will only wear to this function. Did I mention we all got our rooms on the company? Well, you can do the math. My hubby, who is generally reticent about social injustices (god knows he’d have to be with me as a wife. I am always tirading about something) asked our young Asian busboy if he and the others got to partake of the rest of our banquet. Fair question. A lot of food left. Young fellow said no, it gets tossed. My dear spouse about shit himself at the waste. And on Monday, when asked by one of the brass how he enjoyed it all, he made sure to mention that “it’s bullshit” that all that food was thrown away. Hubby’s idea was perhaps a soup kitchen would have been happy with it all. This is ranty, I know. It’s nice to be acknowledged for hard work, but it seems like it may be time to move away from 1980’s excess and into a more socially conscious way of rewarding employees. Just saying.

Hubby, Me, Bombshell, Bombshell's Man.

Why do I always end up with pics like these?

A week later was our sixth anniversary. I’ll tell you a short story about our wedding day, just to lighten things up.

We’d been together for a fair bit of time and had a son before we actually bothered to get married. We are pretty casual, so we wanted something small and easy. And as neither of us are particularly of a religious bent, having it in a church seemed kind of wrong. Plus, we’re flat out sinners. We’re okay with it. At any rate, I pretty much found a guy through the yellow pages who sounded like he could be the man for the job. He also took care of the licence as well so it was one stop shopping. We went to his house to meet him and he led us into his office to make arrangements. He was personable, friendly. He was going to say what we wanted. He also had on his walls innumerable certificates from the Freemasons. I’m also fairly sure he also had some guy’s finger preserved for use as a bookmark, but I may have just been a wee bit scared.

So all good, with a price tag of $50, legal and everything. He arrived at the hotel about 3 minutes before we were to marry, red-faced, slurring and reeking of booze. He told us this was his third wedding of the day, and as he paid for parking, we owed him an extra $2 bucks. Hubby and I kinda glanced at each other and with that unspoken ‘sounds about right‘ look went ahead and did the deed.

I'm trying not to giggle. You see how red his face is?

We look a little stunned. Did we just get married by a drunk Mason?

The best part? See how we are holding hands tightly behind my back? Neither of us has let go yet. I don’t think we ever will. I couldn’t have picked someone better to share this funny bumpy ride with. Happy anniversary, Honey.

Oh, holy shit! I didn’t show you the best part of my month yet!!! Remember a while back when I was worried about weaponry for the impending doomsday? Look what I got!

Mama in her rocker. GET OFF MY PROPERTY!!!

Guns from my Daddy!!! He sent out a few, but this is my favorite because it’s held together with electrical tape! It’s just so hillbilly I can’t even tell you. How the fuck do you expect it to shoot? What? Oh fine. Hubby says they were gifts to “the family“. Whatever. They are mine! Seriously though, I love this picture. Me, looking all elegant in my sweats and jewellery, with the septic tank in the background. God. So much right about this photo…

Halloween. We went to a party at my neighbors on Saturday. It was something. Every room in their house had decorations, from a jumping 2 foot spider to broom that danced by itself and a smoke machine. She told me she has 15 tubs of decorations. It was a sight to behold and I congratulate her on her spirit. Some pics.

Me and Hubby. He won a prize for best costume.

The host and I.

Smurfette. She had wine for me when I need it most. I love her.

Leaping 2 foot spider. Scared the fuck outta everyone!

Some decorations.

Hubby did this one.

Now I only have a few words of advice about partying with your neighbours. First, if they drink shooters, get ready to get to know them verrrrryyyyy well. There was a neighbour, who I don’t think gets out very much, that proposed an orgy very early in the evening. To me. And another married woman. Couple of guys. Yeah. Like that. Probably shouldn’t do that if you have to come to my house in a few days and make small talk while your kids trick or treat. Just saying.

Well I warned you I’d need a nap half way through! I need a good long eight-hour nap. I’ll try to get back tomorrow and tell you about this not breathing thing and what I’m going to do about it.  Hope you enjoyed this. And that you had a great October.

Oh and Al, gonna work on that rss thing. This blog is only 7 months old, for chrissake! I can’t be expected to get to everything…

Cheers, Folks. Have a lovely day!

Flow Charts On The Neighbours

Conversation I had with hubby just now:

Where were you?

I just met the new neighbour over at Dave and Lori’s. Her names D. I got a tour of the house. And Dawson said he’d baby sit for us Saturday.

Whose house did you tour?

Dave and Lori’s. Sara got a new bearded dragon for her birthday and D has worms.

What! Dee has worms???

No for the dragon. And it’s not Dee, it’s D. The new neighbour, on the west side of the subdivision, across from Lance and Leanne?

Oh. Whats her husband do?

What? How the hell should I know? I just met her!

Are they coming to the party? How old is she? (?)

I don’t know. A bit older than me? Anyway, I told Dawson that if he wants to baby sit, it’s fine but I don’t think I want Josh over?

Who’s Josh?

Georges kid. Anyway, we all agree something isn’t right there and I guess Dee told him not to come to the party unless his dad was there. Dave said he doesn’t blame her. Why should he come over there so his dad can go out?

Whose dad? Which Dee?

Josh’s. Anyway, Scarlet and Paxton will just go home with Dana and Vince or go over to Dave and Lori’s for that night. They can hang out with Jessie and Sara and Lindsay.

Who is Scarlet and Paxton? Who is Lindsay? Who is Jessie?

Scarlett and Paxton are Dana and Vince’s kids. Lindsay is the new D’s kid’ and Jessie is Dee and Jays kid. And I had to chase that damn Mickey home tonight.

Who is Mickey now????

Dave and Lori’s dog.

I’m gonna need a flow chart to keep up with all this.

 

 

A short explanation. We live in a subdivision of acreages, and have just all started meeting each other, and partying together. We are going to a haunted house party at Dee and Jay’s Saturday. It could get ugly. So we need to find a spot for all these damn kids. On the flip side, we all  live fairly close so it’s awesome to know who is whose, and where they all be. One of the benefits of living in the country.  And yes, I’ll be sure to put the photos of that night up here!

The Husband Doesn’t Believe

You’ll be happy to know that stinky wife week has ended. Well, you won’t, but my family is. Although the dogs paid me much more attention than usual.

As I’ve said in my previous post The End Is Nigh, it is practice for the apocalypse. The hair I let grow on my legs is for camouflage (I figure I can hide like a Sasquatch. Or a Wookie. Lets say Wookie, because Wookies are real!) but I do shave when it gets to the point that if I move quickly, I smell burning hair. This is all stuff that my husband can’t understand.

“What’s with the armpit hair?”

“I’m pretending.”

“What in the fuck are you pretending? That you are a hairy man?”

I don’t tell him a Wookie.

“I’m pretending I’m a French girl. Or Italian. Spanish. I don’t know. Some European country where it’s considered sexy not to shave.”

“Well maybe you should be pretending to be a not hairy Canadian and get a razor. And a bar of soap.”

That man has no sense of adventure.

Last spring I was alone here in the country. Son was at school. All peace and quiet. I looked out at my neighbour’s and saw three men in orange vests moving slowly across his property. They had helmets and walkie talkies, and some sort of weird machine that I thought was a Geiger counter. I was convinced aliens had crashed in his yard.

I phoned my husband and spoke in a terrified whisper.

“There are guys all over the place! They’re looking for aliens! I think it’s the government! You’d better get home! They might kill me because I know too much!”

To which my hero replied: “Did you put a bra on this morning?”

Ummm, what?

I’m not sure how that would have saved my life. Perhaps he thought if I was buxom and pert, they may let me survive.

I have pulled him out of bed to look at something in the sky that I was sure was a UFO. That was headed for our house. To get me.

“C’mon! Just look at it! What d’ya think it is?”

“A plane. Listen. Hear It? Are you even sober? I’m going back to bed, weirdo.”

He doesn’t believe. It’s all right. He indulges my whimsy and I think it gives him something to talk about at work.

The upside? When my emergency preparedness funkiness ends, he thinks something really exciting and special is happening.

“WOW! You look great! Is it our anniversary? Did I miss it?”

No, baby. This is just for you.

(And because my pit hair was actually starting to tangle. He doesn’t need to know that.)