I should have cleaned house.

Honestly, what is wrong with me? I did everything BUT clean house yesterday. As long as doing dishes and laundry doesn’t count as house work. I read, had baths (yes, plural. Shut up), went to Starbucks to read – pointlessly, as it turns out* - sent frivolous emails to all and sundry, stared at inanimate objects and wondered if I should do something about them, baked for people, thought about new recipe possibilities…all of this when there was housework clearly needing to be done. So instead of a clean house to go home to, there is a house with work to be done waiting for me. Blast.

*B.F.S. was there. So despite being buried in the back corner, with people boxing me in, he saw me, climbed around/over the people, sat on the windowsill and complained about work. Until I finally had to say – and even with people being truly irritating, I am not good at doing this – that I was there to read and relax and he needed to go away and let me do that.

Overheard at A.'s Football Game

I was sitting on the stands, and there was one guy next to me, an empty seat behind me and a women sitting next to the empty spot. A third guy came over, whom she obviously knew, and sat behind me. The game starts. The game goes on and I get increasingly angry and ready to kill if necessary (yes, I do occasionally get upset), all warrior-woman and everything. They should ALL be happy I wasn't carrying weaponry. Not that I am likely to ever do so, but still...

Just at the point that I really need comic relief (A just went into the game for the first time...40 minutes into a 48 minute game), the guy behind me says he's cold, needs a jacket and he up and leaves. Instantly, guy beside me turns around and says to the woman "man, does he ever stink! What's his deal?" to which she replies.... "Well, he works with dead things, so it really isn't surprising". Beautiful. Works with dead things.

But I NEED those!

If you’re craving something you can’t have, you should replace it with something that makes you happy that you can have. That’s my belief for the day. So if you’re in the mall and you really want licorice, or chocolate, but can’t have it, get something else. Like lingerie. Because if you don’t have aqua coloured underwear, or peach, you should buy some, right? Or if, Maybe, you have seventeen tank tops, you should really buy three more and make it twenty. Doesn’t that make sense? Not that I’m trying to talk anyone out of having more tank tops than the Tanks ‘r Us warehouse (where you can get not only tank tops, but the French LeClerc and the Japanese T-90), I’m just saying twenty is a nice even number.

Freedom of Information & The Information of Freedom

I like an interesting speech. Rather than sitting and making grocery lists in my head, or writing bad poetry, I get to listen to someone that knows how to speak with interest and enthusiasm. Nice break in the day. So why, at yesterday’s lecture, in a fairly large room, do I end up sitting next to crazy lady? (I’m sure you’re thinking that she could be thinking the same thing. But I behaved perfectly, the whole time).

Every single point she agreed with she’d nod and whisper “yes, yes, yes” which made our end of the room sound like we were either a) playing with snakes or b) making a porn film. And every now and again she’d mutter “privacy, security”. And she spent a lot of her time rocking back and forth. Normally this would be ok, but the chairs were really tightly packed, and I was trying to write notes, and her constant movement made that difficult. I would have moved, but she arrived late and it was one of the last seats available. So, I left the routine nut house that is my job, went out in public and spent the afternoon next to a non work-related nut.
Go figure.

There wasn't even an earth shattering Ka-boom!

You’d think that the highlight of last week would be almost burning down the house (all that actually happened was my getting an electrical shock – which left a mark – the melting of an adapter and black scorch marks on a plug in. Oh, and an exploding necklace), but really, the best thing was a trip to the dentist.

It’s ok May-B – I won’t talk about burning flesh here, ok? It was just a cleaning session, that twice a year trip to tooth heaven. Except they had an emergency part way through and had to postpone half of the process to this Thursday. I think my dentist and my ex are in cahoots, trying to mess up my Thursday evenings. Is that possible?

Anyway….the cool dentist thing is that if I had money, amongst the many things that I could do would be instead of having a ceramic inlay to replace a lost tooth, I could have a Titanium insert. Titanium, embedded right into the jaw. Awesome! Cost? A mere $2800.00. But hey, I could eat marbles! Wouldn’t that be worth it?

Yes or no?

Something terrible has happened. Or maybe it hasn’t. And embedded in that very lack of certainty is my current madness. A friend MAY have done something awful. But maybe not, maybe I’m only imagining it, and reading between the lines. But I can’t ask, can I? I mean, if they didn’t, they’ll feel terrible that I even THOUGHT that they would do such a thing. And if they did, they’ll feel terrible that I figured it out. Or not, which would make it worse. So now I’m going to have to stare at them, to see if guilt is written all over their face. I see that saying all the time, but I’ve never actually seen something like “Guilty as sin” tattooed on a face. “F***”, yes, “Guilty” no.

Your dog's crazier than mine. Possibly.

I am, for the most part, used to my own neighbours thinking I’m crazy, but now…now I have to face the possibility that MayB’s neighbours think the same thing.

A. and I looked after her dog and her house this weekend. I myself went the extra mile and looked after her cold as well. Because snot-filled, cranky and crazy is a good way to spend a long weekend. It is, right? I mean I’d hate to think I’ wasted a whole weekend.

The only real nutbar in this story, though, is Mayb’s dog. If, when I get there, someone is home – even if it isn’t L. or MayB - she barks like crazy. If the house is empty, she is nowhere near as miffed. Sort of a “well, I guess if you’re the only one willing to be here with me I won’t bark my fool head completely off”. When someone is there, say my son, house sitting, she goes NUTS. I went on Sunday morning to take A. back to his dad’s, and the dog barked for a half a minute at nine thousand decibels, glared at me, threatened me with imminent death and then – coward that she is – went and jumped on A in bed, to let him carry out all the threats she’d made (As it happens, he wasn’t so happy at being woken up, but he neither barked nor threatened).

And walks? You know how most dogs go crazy at even the hint of a walk? Well, the best I could manage was a Walk ‘n Carry. She wouldn’t go for a walk from the house, but if I carried her (hence the sideways looks from the neighbours) to the park, she’d play around and then happily walk back. So that’s what we did – I’d carry, she’d walk.

Eating: yes, MayB’s dog has issues there, too. She’s female – human or canine, we all have eating issues. Anyway… she picks up one – ONE – piece of food from her bowl, carries it into the living room, drops it on the floor, looks at it, stares coolly at me (“think you’re going to get my piece of kibble? Never!”) then eats it. Then she goes back to her bowl and does it all over again. Can you imagine if we did this?

Hey, where’s crazy uncle Larry?
In the family room, eating a carrot slice. Aunt Maude is in the bedroom with a spoonful of soup. I think crazy grandma may be out back with a raisin.

Tasty Treats and Things That Suck

And boy, if that doesn't get me more than one or two new readers, nothing can! Down to Business:

I’ve never been Wonder Woman – ok, except to that one guy, and yeah I do own a lasso that’ll make you tell the truth, but other than those two things no – so it should come as no surprise to anyone that there are aspects of running a small business that I suck at.

(That was grammatically awkward – the small business doesn’t suck, there are just some bits of it that I’m not so good at).

Todays suckiness is pricing. There are some basic formulas for working out what to charge for something based on the cost of ingredients. That’s what makes Tiramisu expensive – mascarpone costs more than three times what you pay for cream cheese. But it is a whole different story when you have something whose base cost is low, but whose PIA factor is high (PIA -or as A. says PITA - is for “pain in the ass”).

I have got the whole Grissini thing worked out. Grissini are thin crispy Italian breadsticks that are so yummy that every kitchen should keep a jar of them handy for snacking on. The problem is that while the basic cost is low, they are very fiddly to make, and it took a lot of experimenting to get them just right. Not to mention that you can’t get them fresh anywhere in Regina, so perhaps rarity should figure into the pricing. Probably can’t get them fresh – or this delicious! - in Saskatoon, either. At the Italian Star boxed and shipped from Italy, yes, but fresh, no.

So how on earth am I going to work this one out, to see if it is worth making them commercially? On the hand opposite the high PITA hand (which is itself opposite the low cost hand) there is the fact that they bake quickly, and I can do three trays at a time, with 20 or so per tray. Maybe even more, if I worked on it. I hate this stuff: I just want to cook!

Pardon me?

You know, I made something of an effort today to look passibly nice - meetings this afternoon, and I thought it wouldn't be appropriate to arrive wearing a t-shirt and fluffy socks.
Which is what I wanted to do.

Anyway...I wore something that matched (I'm not TOTALLY non-girly, I can sometimes figure stuff out), and did the hair combing teeth brushing thing we all do - well, almost all - and I even managed to find shoes that suited the skirt. Anyway, here is the one remark I've had:

“That’s a very pretty outfit. You’re not really that bad looking you know”. I mean, ok, she truly thought she was giving me a compliment, so I didn’t mind, but still!

The best conclusion ever.

OK, so here is this story off the BBC - great story, until the last line. Laughed myself off my chair when I read that. I'm guessing they put it in to highlight the evil designs of dark chocolate. Milk chocolate must be less evil. I've been conned; I always thought the darker the chocolate the better it was.


US man survives chocolate ordeal

The vat was full of dark chocolateA 21-year-old US man ended up in hospital after spending two hours trapped in a vat of chocolate, police in Wisconsin said on Friday.
The man said he had climbed into the tank before becoming trapped waist-deep in chocolate, police chief Randy Berner told AP news agency.
However, other reports suggest he was stirring the chocolate when he fell in.
Rescue workers and staff at the Debelis Corporation used cocoa-butter to thin out the chocolate and pull him free.
"It was pretty thick. It was virtually like quicksand," Captain Berner said.
"It's the first time I've ever heard of anything like this," he added.
The worker said his ankles were sore after the incident, and he was taken to a local hospital where he is recovering.
The accident involved dark chocolate.

What will it take for something to go according to plan?

I would be interested to have, at some point in time, an event go exactly according to plan. I had to go to the dentist this morning to get, I thought, permanent fillings on two teeth that had each had a root canal and temporary filling.

First off, it turns out that one root canal was only a PARTIAL. Why? Why did I get all frozen and stuff and not get the whole thing done? What it means, however, is that they can't put a permanent filling in yet, and I'll have to go back and get the root canal finished. Apppointment is for October, so I have lots of time to think about how fun that will be.

They did do the permanent filling on one side, though. And all seemed to be going well, until I heard the following words (words no one should ever have to hear):
"I can't get the base down as it is. Give her some more freezing, and fire up the laser. I'm going to burn some flesh off of her gum line". So that's what they did - refroze, which hurt way more than the first needle did, and then, although I couldn't feel anything, I could still smell things. So I sat in the chair and tried to cope with the scent of my own flesh being torched. Not my most favourite Friday ever.

Not the worst, though, not the worst.

The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.

So on the one hand, here is the totally cool thing that happened:

No wait, preface first: I had to have the front yard dug up last summer to get the sewer line replaced. Now sadly, the pipe replacing people didn’t slam the earth back to its pre-dug up shape, so I had a giant coffin thingy on my front yard. This year (as suggested by City Work 12774) I planted potatoes. They took an initial battering from the dogs before we moved the leashes to the back yard. A few of them took a hit from my son and his friends who apparently MUST take the most direct route to the front door, regardless of what stands in their way, and almost all of them got mauled when the tree that was eating my house came down. They lived, and I’ve been caring for them most tenderly ever since. There, that is the preface.

As A. and I were coming home on Saturday, we saw a sign in our neighbourhood that said “Free Sod – Take from Pile”. Well, divine intervention or what? I can’t afford sod, my yard was a sodding mess, so I did what any sane person would do: I pulled up all of the potatoes. Poor things, they tried so hard, and here I harvested a month or so too soon. But free sod! So I spent the rest of the day until games time moving sod from their house to mine. And then Sunday A. and I killed ourselves getting it down. I didn’t have a roller to make it look perfect (there are some things a Saturn can’t do, and bringing home a rental roller is one of them. I couldn’t bring myself to ask anyone with a truck for help. It just seemed wrong to ask people to get out of their Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes just to come over and help me with the whole sod moving, sod laying roller flattening extravaganza. But I did get a deal on the sod – bread for sod. I think I got the better deal, yes?

So that is the good thing. But here’s the other hand: I am loading the sod into a borrowed wheelbarrow, and it is hot and heavy work. The people whose sod it is are in their garage, relaxing after their own very hard sod laying (they did all of both yards, front and back), when their parents arrived. I am just putting the forth roll on the wheelbarrow when grandma says to me “My goodness, don’t you have a man to help you with that?”

Possible answers:
“Yep, I got me a man but he’s out back a’swillin beer, and I ain’t a gonna interrupt that”

“I done divorced the man I had, and I’se too pudgy for the one I wanted”.

“Man?? (sobbing) My man done up and died on me, and I’d just about gotten over it 'til now. I don’t think I kin go on livin”.

Unfortunately all I did was say "nope" in a very surprised voice. Old bat. Stupid old bat. RUDE stupid old bat.

Mahalo for the gift, dad, and you're welcome boyo!

Your parents handed you all sorts of genetic mush as a free gift to get started in life. At least mine did, maybe yours held back.

One of the things that my dad has told me came from him is the ability to sleep anywhere, should I be sufficiently tired to want to. I’ve seen him fall asleep at loud family reunion things, so I’m guessing he certainly has the genes for it. I’m also willing to believe that I do too. For the most part, it is a great gift. My heart goes out to those of you with insomnia. It occasionally sucks, too: I slept through the entire opening act at a U2 concert, three rows from the front stage, a stage that had huge towering amounts of speakers. I only woke up when someone stepped on my head in an effort to get closer to the stage. My ex-husband was with me (boyfriend at the time, but I eventually married him) decided not to wake me up because he found it funny (perhaps I should have seen at this point that this relationship was a mistake). It sucked because I ended up being a fan of the opening act (The Waterboys) and I haven’t had a chance to see them again.

I discovered last week that I have passed that particular bit of DNA on to my son. One morning, at about ten (and yes, he went to bed at a fairly normal time, eleven, I think), I went into his room to get him up. (He hadn’t answered when I knocked). He was sound asleep. Not so odd, you say, for ten in the morning, considering he is a teenager? Well, consider these factors:

The window was wide open, so were the drapes, ergo room brilliantly lit.
City workers were doing stuff to our driveway, so, working mere feet from his open window were:
An earth tamping thing
An asphalt mixer
A weird grinding asphalt spewer*
A bulldozer
Half a dozen guys, with shovels, yelling

Next door, maybe ten feet away they were tearing up the neighbour’s sidewalk with this giant whirling rotating metal disc thingy that was making my brain convulse it was so loud.

All this the lad slept through – do I know how to pass on good DNA or what?

*Yes, that is the technical word for it. I swear.

It could happen to anyone

How many things in my life could be prefaced by that, I wonder? Anyway: I had a two hour root canal this morning, and I...well, I fell asleep.

Wait a second on the judgement here folks! There was something not going according to plan (something else that seems to happen a lot in my life), so they took another x-ray mid way through the procedure and then went to discuss it. I was tired, the office was cold, the xray thingy was like a heavy warm blanket...and I dozed off. Just about hit the roof when they came back, too. What woke me up was the dentist's hand on my face - scared the bejeebers out of me. which is good, because I'm going on vacation tomorrow and I'd hate to be bringing bejeebers with me.

Also in the lovely world of fun times at the root canal - Has this thought ever run through your head when you're sitting in the dentist's chair:
"gee, his thigh is hot"?
Because it ran through mine, and it wasn't even in the sense that you'ren probably thinking. Just the way that he was sitting, his leg was resting against my elbow and forearm, and the weather here (today being the day the earth caught fire) is sufficiently horrible that it was uncomfortably hot. Not unpleasant, though. Far be it from me to ask hot (literally and figuratively) dentist to move his leg. I'm not stupid!

Get thee hence, Satan!

Oh, God is so going to be mad at me. I am envy ridden. Or lust ridden. Maybe even both!

M. and I went to a friend’s house on Monday to deliver a thank-you bottle of wine (her husband had notarized something for me at no charge, and at the last minute). This was the first time I’d been there since the kitchen renovations.

Now the house was lovely even before the renovation. I remember when they did the flooring: gorgeous hardwood imported from Quebec for living room floor, continuing up the curving staircase. Lots of big windows, lots of warm wood. Great house! But now…

Oh my word the kitchen. Beautiful cabinetry, granite countertops (and a huge island, also granite topped), open airy space and beautiful appliances. Is it wrong to want to hug a stove? And a fridge? They bought a stainless steel fridge, it is huge, and all shiny and stuff. And the stove; not sure if it is an actual Aga, but it is certainly in that style. Gas stove, lots of burners, a warming plate, warming oven. I want her stove! And her fridge! I’m going to burn in hell over kitchen-envy.

The OED let me down.

When reading, if I come across a word I don't know, I have to look it up. RIGHT AWAY. It doesn't matter if I'm in the bath, or in bed, or in a tree in the backyard, I go find a dictionary and look it up.

Now, the thing is I read a lot. No, really, a LOT. Always have. Consequently, I am not often stumped. This morning, though, I came across a word I didn't know. Sometimes you can figure stuff out just given the context it is used in, but not this time.

As this happened at work, I grabbed the Concise Oxford Dictionary and looked it up. Not there. Hmmm. Well, it is the concise version, after all. So online to the complete Oxford Dictionary. Not there either. At this point, I'm thinking either the author made the word up, or it is a different word altogether, and I'm trying to define a typo. Except it doesn't look like any other word that would make sense in the sentence it was used in. Last resort: google it. Et voila! (in Merriam Webster, no less. I can't believe the OED let me down).

So, the word? "Apolaustic". It's a great word, too. Means "Devoted to enjoyment". There, that can be your something new learned for the day. You're free to go back to bed and still feel you've accomplished something for today.

Baggin' it

I was driving past Vic park today, and there was a guy on the sidewalk, peeing. Into a bag. Now on one hand, eewww, peeing in public. On the other, I kinda want to commend him for peeing in a bag, and not onto people, or the street. On yet another hand (I could have three hands, it could happen), it was a Safeway-esque bag, so if my experience (with the BAGS, not peeing in public. Idiots) is at all common, the pee will be in the street soon anyway, because there is always at least one hole in every bag. Not a problem if you're putting gorceries in the bag, big problem if you're peeing in it.

Saskatchewan Chainsaw Non-Massacre

There was a tree growing into the edge of the roof of my house. On Sunday, the offending part was cut down, and guess what? I got to use a chainsaw! (When I told A. on the phone, his response was "who was insane enough to allow that?" M. wouldn't even come outside and watch). I've decided that it isn't something that I'd do on a regular basis, but at least I've done it! Yeah me!

I won't have you trick me into any kind of randy sex talk!

That quote will only make sense to those of you that I’ve loaned the tape “A Bit of Fry & Laurie” to, but it was too perfect to forgo. The thing is, if you get embarrassed at the least little thing, you might want to skip this post. And I’ll probably just pretend that no one I actually know in person reads my blog.

Last Thursday, standing in the driveway talking to my neighbour (with my girl listening to everything, ears twitching), I was invited to a Home and Gift party. This is a Tupperware-esque party, sort of a cross between Pampered Chef and Candlelight. I agreed to go – why not? It was a chance to visit with grown-ups. “Also” she says, glancing nervously at M., after that there is a…more…intimate party”. Can you stay for it?

Hmmm. Am I being invited to a lingerie selling party? (Hooray!), a love shop type party? (to use when?) or some weird sort of neighbourhood swingers party? (in Whitmore Park? Not likely and no thank you). I glance at M. and mutter “yeah, sure, I guess”.

Now in my head I’m thinking “oh come on, it’ll be fun. A bunch of women getting together laughing and having fun. I’m not some 20-something year old that can’t talk about sex in front of a bunch of women”. Yeah. Like there are 20-somethings these days that CAN’T talk about it. What era am I living in?

So; first party if fun. M. is away at a movie, I’m on my own. I bought a couple of pastry scrapers, some cool pastry bags and a tiered cooling rack. The rack alone made the party worthwhile: lots of cookie cooling space without using up tons of counter space!

Fast forward to party number two – which turns out to be a sex toy party. So I give myself another talking to, and stay seated. Now let me clarify things here: I have nothing against sex. It is, to the best of my recollection, a wonderful thing. It’s watching someone go on and on about various toys and their uses that I can’t cope with. There were two older women (older than me, everyone else was in their 20’s), one of whom looked like she might be shopping for her part time job (honestly, skirt that short? Make-up that thickly laid on?), the other, well, I’m pretty this party wasn’t for her. She wasn’t invited, actually, but decided to stay after the first party, just for fun. Because, and I’m not kidding “imagine what my church ladies will think!” Good Heavens, now there’s an interesting bible study in the making!

I am still not sure I can get through this without laughing my head off, or making horny 14 year old boy remarks when in walk several women…with their boyfriends! WTF? NO ONE brings guys to these things, that’s the whole point. So now I am doubly unsure what to do. So I stay.

Lucky for me, the first half of the presentation is for lotions and stuff. Some of it bath stuff, so useful regardless of whether you’re bathing with someone or not. And some of it has alternate applications. Trust me, though, I don’t think penis numbing cream as a solution for itchy mosquito bites is ever going to catch on.

I’d like to know whose job it was to name some of the things, or even to come up with some of the ideas. Vibrating bath tub sponge? (Oh I am so sad; my first thought was “how would you clean the tub with a vibrating sponge? And wouldn’t cleaners wreck it?”).

There was some pretty cool stuff; the honey dust was one that looked fun to me. Probably the only time the words “dust” and “fun” can be used in the same sentence. Not that I bought any – but should I end up with a honey who wants to be dusted, well, ya never know. Lots of oil based things, bath salt things and chocolate things. Chocolate really does go with everything. And I thought that was a cooking maxim!

We were almost done part one of the party when the doorbell rings and in walks my girl. AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! Quick grab of the shoulders, turn her around to face the other way and out we go. I even left my purse and a cheque from someone who had ordered kitchen things on my order sheet behind. So I can’t even say that I’ve been to a sex-toy party. Half a one, yes, and nary a toy in sight.

At least I got away without spending money on something that I wouldn’t be using, anyway. I had already spent an hour in the afternoon sorting out the half of my dresser that I keep lingerie in. (Three drawers for underwear, three drawers for everything else. No wonder I’m not married – where would he put his stuff?) I had to cull old things, to make room for new things. I realized when I was done that I had a drawer of everyday stuff, a drawer of more fun stuff that I nevertheless wear all the time and a drawer of stuff that I’ve never worn, ever. I was appalled. I know other women that do this: buy things they never wear – shoes, clothes, etc. But do guys? I can’t see a guy buying a pair of shoes and then not ever wearing them. I hope I’m not the only one with a collection of things never worn, ingredients never used, tools that remain pristine in the tool box. ‘Cause I’d hate that.

Possibly the dumbest thing ever.

Which is saying something, I hear and see a lot of dumb things. Anyway:

Yesterday afternoon I took M. and a friend of hers for some vacation-esque fun. We went to the Royal Saskatchewan Museum, and Government House, a short drive in the country and pizza when we got back to town. Now, just so you know, we had a good time. They behaved well, we all enjoyed what we did, so don’t judge the fun by the complaint, ‘k?

I understand averages in life, so I am aware that there are…people who are dumber than average to balance those that are smarter than average. So I don’t waste much time contemplating the things people come up with, but Sweet Saskatchewan Lobster there are times when I do gape in shock. Or just laugh my head off, depending on the mood. And let me tell you, dear readers (or perhaps I should say dear reader), yesterday was one of those times.

For those of you that may not know, in the museum First Nations Gallery there are several dioramas to look at. One of them is titled “Fishing in the Qu’Appelle Valley”. Tipis, fish, people, canoes, fish drying on racks, the whole shooting match. There were two other people in the area, and they came over to look at the fishing scene. At which point I hear (I swear I am not making this up – she really said it) “Oh. Did the Indians know about fishing back then?”

So I laughed. Not to be mean, but because apparently I have insufficient self control. But honestly, even if she had been totally ignorant about fishing in general, and first nations entirely, did she really think that fishing was a recent invention? That for thousands of years people around the world looked at the pretty things in the water, watched other animals like bears eat them and never thought to catch them? Fishing, the invention of modern man, I can just picture it.

“Holmes”
“Yes, Watson?”
“What are you doing with that stick and string?”
“It has occurred to me that fish, if caught and cooked in some manner involving say butter and fresh herbs might make for some mighty fine eating”.
“Brilliant!”
“Elementary”.