Stare all you want, I don't care!

I love my not-quite-winter winter coat. It is total madness, but it is the most gorgeous shade of blue. And it’s cozy. And apparently huggable. But…it is very furry. Sort of muppet like furry. Can I carry it off? Who cares – it was five buck at Dot’s and I LOVE it! Actually, part of what I love is the way people stare at me and/or the coat. Total shock and amazement, seasoned with poorly hidden horror. Maybe they think I killed a muppet for its skin? Naw, it’s just that crazy a coat.

Is opportunity knocking?

The space next to the games shop in my neighbourhood is available for lease. Or maybe rent. It’s pretty small; too small for a café, but big enough for a bakery. And the mall is accessible, with parking. Is there cosmic significance in this?

And then it's her turn

So just as a line from A. made me laugh on Friday, M. had a line that made me laugh on Sunday. We were driving to Safeway and we came upon these two women. As we drive towards them, M says
"look, those ladies are dressed for a hallow'een party" (Long pause. And then we pass by them)
"or maybe for church".

Favourite Friday Line

A (hands templed in front of him) : "I am not ascared of the house of Bronwyn".

I've been BURGLED!!

I’m not particularly upset at being robbed, I am more…puzzled. Someone – or someones – has stolen my city garbage bin. For a lark? Well, ok but how drunk or stupid do you have to be for garbage can purloining to be a lark?

I phoned the city (because there is NO WAY I’m phoning the police over this) – and the woman I talked to was bewildered, but helpful. Apparently someone from waste management will give me a call. I, however, must curb the mystery reading and watching Numb3rs and Criminal Minds. Because it did occur to me that with numbers stamped on the side of each bin, if my bin turns up on the edges of town with a body inside, someone other that a city waste worker will be turning up on my front step.

Poisoning people, plate by plate.

Having three separate sets of dishes (no wait, that would be parts of three separate sets) of dishes for years, when I got a gift certificate for Home Hardware one of the things I got was a dish set. Corelle Hearthstone, Chili red, in the round. Nothing to go wrong there, right? I’d have matching dishes the next time people came over. As if anything that I touch can have nothing go wrong! What were you thinking?

Because when we got the box home, it was short one of everything. Clearly – although there was nothing on the box to suggest this – we got the box that had been used for the display. And since Home Hardware is at the far end of town, I had to wait until I had time to make the trip. They did, at least believe me. Not hard to do as the set was right there, on display!

So we decided to have people for supper, to use the lovely matching set. Which did happen, once. Because a mere two weeks after their inaugural use M. broke one of the dinner plates. So we have three of the Chili red, which makes it like the other sets that are not really sets.

I really did want to have things match, though, so I thought I’d buy the set I’d seen at Wal-mart. Same colour and shape, etc. But the box I’d seen was gone. In its place, though, was a warning about Corelle Indigo blue dinner plates, yellow plates and chili red lunch plates. Unsafe levels of lead, DON”T USE THEM. You’re killing your kids.

So my set was minus a dinner plate, and four lunch plates. Wal-Mart did have dinner plates in Chili red, but square. Huge and square, as it happens. So big that the cupboard doesn’t close. I bought two, and if we have the Hingstons over we can still match, I’ll just give my son and Grae the giant plates. Maybe I’ll buy one more, and we can have three and three. Or find a whole set somewhere (Home Hardware?) and use the giant plates for serving platters.

I also contacted Corelle; they’re mailing me new lunch plates, and sending a sticker back to send them the toxic ones we had been using.

You want to PUSH me? Well...O.K.

I went to Winners on Saturday, ostensibly to look for some turtlenecks but really, whose to say what one could end up buying?

I did, because I felt obliged to, go through the sweater section. As I was looking, a woman wanted to get past me. Being the polite Canadian that I am, I backed up to give her some room to get by. Not, apparently as much room as she needed, as she shoved me backwards into the rack. Now, I’m sure she meant to be mean and pushy (it didn’t look accidental. It looked more like she didn’t care one way or another who or what was in her way), but as it turns out she did me a favour. Ha! Being halfway into the rack I noticed something incredibly snuggly against my arm. Sort of like those incredibly soft stuffed toys you can get, or those fluffy comfy socks. I pulled it out and it was a sweater…my size… in sea foam green.

How great is that? And just the cuddliest thing ever. I almost wanted to make it into a pillowcase but felt that with my inability to do so much as hem a skirt I should probably just leave it as it is. I’ll just have to keep in mind when wearing it that it would be bizarre to continually caress my own arms muttering terms of endearment.

Sunday Afternoon Head Trauma

I had high hopes for Sunday afternoon, really I did. I had several possibilities in mind:

Going to Lumsden, to play some Cribbage (before I forget how to play altogether)
Going somewhere for a walk in the country
Board games, if my kids were home
Chocolate, in either sense of the word (I never said they were REALISTIC possibilities)
A walk with Lexi at the off leash park
Hot chocolate and a good book
Tea and a really good book
Tea, and writing a chapter for a really good book
Getting the laundry done (I also never said they were high hopes for fun things)
Cooking supper for somebody. No particular somebody, just felt like cooking
Sushi making with A. should the kids come home
Really long walk with the music that makes walking a serious work-out

What really happened? A headache, and an attack in the bath.
What was that? An attack? Yes, and here’s the story:

I had a headache, and when it started to get worse I decided to take the last of the Motrin and have a bath in the dark. This might have worked, but soon into the bath a rumbling noise started from somewhere (hard to tell direction when your brain hurts and you’re in the dark) and the house started SHAKING. And one by one bottles of shampoo and conditioner started coming of the shelves, most of them managing to hit me in the head on the way down. I started yelling, which sent the dogs outside the door CRAZY with worry, so much so that Lexi was making a serious effort at breaking in. Even though I’d stopped yelling as soon as I realized what was happening.

I’m glad that the dogs care enough to try to save me from being attacked - albeit from generally harmless plastic bottles - but the noise! Adding to the barking and the shaking was a horrible grinding sound. I lurched to the front door to see what on earth was happening, and it turns out that they City was putting the final layer of asphalt on the road in front of the house. The pounding machine – or whatever it is – was the house-shaking culprit. It was also making the grinding noise, as it spewed out hot asphalt. I thought about going somewhere else to sleep, but even that wasn’t a choice, because they were at the end of the driveway, effectively sealing me in. I ended up going to bed with ear plugs in and several pillows over my ears too. (Ha! To all who mocked the six to eight pillows I usually have on the bed. They were needed!). Not the best solution, but better than nothing. Much worse than anything else on my list of possibilities, including doing the laundry!

Shirtless. But not in Seattle.

One of the things I like to sleep in is a flannel shirt, man sized and well worn. (That was sleep in, not with!) The last one I had - given to me so long ago I have no idea where it came from. The Snooks, maybe? - is, well, dead. I decided it was beyond worn when I put it in the wash, and it came out in five pieces: the collar, two sleeves, the main body and one strip from where the button holes are. So it has served me well. But now it is really truly gone. Tis no more. Not even as a rag. Burial at three, wake at four.

Now before you get all commenty and stuff, they really do make great nightshirts. When they’re old, there is nothing softer than flannel that’s been washed a bazillion times. And if you get a man size shirt they’re long enough to allow you to go out and get mail or start the car without alarming any stray neighbours. (See? I’m starting to think about neighbourhood etiquette). At least they’re long enough on me. The Sisters of Loveliness would be half naked. Curse them and their model-long legs.

The problem is that I need a replacement shirt. And it isn’t something that one asks friends for. Although now that I think about it, the sisters of L. loaned A. one when he was in Oklahoma!, so maybe they have spares hanging around. Or I could mug someone. Or – and really, this is the solution – I could BUY one, the way regular people do, and just let it get soft in its own time. Then I’d be just like all those regular shirt buying people.

This post is a clear reflection on the boredom of the day. So no, you don’t need to intervene; I haven’t gone round the twist. Yet.

Two Hands. Plus one.

On hand A, there is the fact that it turns out that the problem with the new computer is...EVERYTHING. CPU wrecked, motherboard screwed (which sounds like a title to some sci-fi x rated film) hard drive dead. A pretty bad hand, oui? BUT...

The other hand is that because it wasn't a virus causing problems, or software, the whole thing is covered by warranty. Yeah!

The third hand is that the guy said "really bizarre that this all happened", which is almost EXACTLY what the Sasktel guy said when he couldn't find the dead line to replace to make the phone work. He ended up having to just do a whole new line. So I am a little concerned that these things are part of the weirdness of stuff that happens to me all the time. Although really, if it happens all the time, it isn't weird, is it?

A Relationship, of sorts.

I keep thinking I’m single. But maybe, just maybe, I’m not. After yet another trip to the dentist – which ended up not even being for what I thought it was for – I realized you could almost say I’m in a relationship with him. Oh, c’mon: he leans his leg against my arm, stares at me intently the whole time, rests his hands against my face, his fingers are always in my mouth, and every now and again when he has to reach across to get something his chest brushes against my cheek. Shouldn’t all that count? He’s cute, too. I think. I’d have to see him out of the office. And be able to recognize him. I’d know him for sure if he was upside down wearing a mask. Yeah, stew on that for a while.

And here I thought I didn't need it.

Our home computer has some serious emotional issues. Every time you try to talk to it, it freezes. If the kids want to play a game on it, it freezes. It is just an unhappy frozen expensive dust collector. HOWEVER... it is still under warranty. So we took the tower back to PC Place. Please let it not be a virus - warranties don't cover virus and software problems.

The real thing is, I would have said that I didn't use the computer much. I would be wrong. I can't tell you how many times I've stopped to turn it on, only to stand there wondering what it was I was planning on doing. I want it back!

I have my seemingly weekly dentist appointment today. This one, though, I'm happy about. I lost a tooth once (no, not in a fight. Say you didn't think it was a fight), and I just found out that the dental plan here will cover 100% - or at least close to 100% -of the replacement (which, I have to admit, it one of the good things about this sucky job). So I won't have a trailer trash smile for my sister's wedding!

The only remaining question is do I go home after, as it is my EDO today, or come back to work and bank some time for some future emergency? Because I run in to sudden emergencies all the time. Or so it seems.

Thanksgiving 101

I have learned things this Thanksgiving weekend, things that I apparently needed to learn. So I’m going to share them with you.

I’m not ready to open a café.

Wanting to write and being able to write are two wholly different things.

Being able to write and being able to write well are also two wholly different things.

If I don’t get cracking on the Christmas baking brochure, I will not have much of a baking season.

Chasing a dog that is trying to run with a turkey carcass is not as funny as it sounds.

Hot chocolate and board games with your kids on a rainy afternoon is a wonderful thing.

No matter how serious or painful the injury you sustained was, if it happened because you punched yourself in the face, your children will laugh their heads off even as they’re checking to see if you need help.

Before you make more than one pie for Thanksgiving, you should make sure you have someone to give the spare pie to. Two desserts for three people doesn’t work. Particularly after a really good meal.

If the friends you might normally cook for are visiting their aunt, you might not need an 18 pound turkey.

I need to either:
a) get a turkey buddy. Sort of like an F-buddy, but instead of having them around for the occasional booty call, I can call them when the turkey is done, to save myself the bi-annual turkey hack ‘n slash.

OR
b) go to butcher school, and learn how to carve a turkey. Because all the books and magazines I’ve tried to follow have done NOTHING to remedy the disaster that is the end result of turkey carving as done by me.

I also need to clarify that NO, I don’t have the first type of buddy either, May-be. I woulda said so. I was just using it as an example, ‘K?

Life is sweet when you’re watching a good movie and eating great seafood in excellent company. (M. was at the Stones on Friday, so A. and I got to eat scallops with no fear of poisoning my girl. It was a great night).

Life is even sweeter when those near and dear to your heart are hale, hearty and happy.

Mahalo a le Bon Dieu for a great Thanksgiving.

Does Bush EVER think about what he is saying?

I was reading about the Amish school shootings, and came across what Bush had to say about it:
Speaking during a visit to a school in Stockton, California, President Bush said Tuesday he was "saddened and deeply concerned" by the recent school shootings.
"Our school children should never fear safety when they enter their classroom," Bush said.

Personally, I've never feared safety.

Girls and Shoes

I love my daughter, honest I do, but sometimes she just slays me with her worry over my appearance (which is apparently something between homely and hideous). We’ve even had a talk about not saying anything if you can’t say something nice.

In an attempt to see if the kids would like to do one week with me, one with their dad they spent a whole week with him, from Sunday afternoon until the following Sunday after A.’s football game. (Turns out that a week away was a failure for all of us.) I mentioned to M. that I bought shoes while she was at her dads. And the conversation went something like this:

So, I bought some shoes while you were gone.

You bought shoes? ON YOUR OWN?

Umm…yes and no. I was on my own, but I had gone shoe shopping with May-B the day before and she had picked them out.

Oh, that’s ok then. What colour are they, can I see them?

They’re tan, and yes, they are in that bag, you can see them.

Well. These aren’t tan, mum, they’re camel (which, bizarrely enough, was what May-B called them). And I could have guessed you didn’t choose them, ‘cause they’re really cute. But they’re kid size. What are these foamy things for?

They’re to keep the shoes on, because they’re too big for me.

Too big? You’re a freak, mom. And these heels, can you even walk in these heels? Did you even try to walk when you tried them on?

Ok, we’re done here. Go find some chore to do, you little monster.

She may be a monster, but she is my monster.