The journey between here and there

Boring. Slow. Dark. By the time the action happened it wasn’t even all that great. Bruce you can do better!

1 out of 5

Wait for the 99 cent rental.

I’m someone who hates sappy romance movies… I normally don’t rent these flicks. I like Ashton, so I had to take a look. It was ok. Nothing great, it’s a chick flick. Would I see it again? No. It really was quite average. It was cute, predictable but nothing to rave about.

Wait for it when it goes to favorites section at Blockbuster.

2 out of 5.

STUPID. Not even worth the rental. Don’t go see this one… Trust me! It was so boring and just dumb. Almost as bad as “Gerry.” Almost, but not quite… Gerry really sucked ass. I did feel like I wasted away my life on “Hitchhikers.” Time NOT well spent. It would be funner to pick your nose and examine it under a microscope.

NEVER rent this.

0 out of 5.

I like the sound of running water and usually let the water run through my hand soothing my nerves. To me, it’s a few minutes of peace I have to myself.

There is nothing more relaxing than washing my face in the evening with warm soapy water. Scrubbing my face gently and getting it all soapy and bubbly, removing all the gunk and grime off my face. I close my eyes as I splash the water on my face to take all the soapiness off my face. For a sublime moment, I am happy.

I reach for the fluffy towel on the rack and wipe my face. Ahh, life is good. I take a deep breath as I gently rub my face and dab the excess water off… and this is where my journey goes to hell.

To my horror I realize that the towel smells like ass! A stinky ass! And now the stinky ass smell is all over my face! I can smell it everywhere! I turn left, I smell ass. I turn right, I smell ass! It won’t go away! Damn! Obviously this towel needs to be washed!

I race to the linen closet, swearing like a sailor and grab another towel then race back to the bathroom. I scrub and scrub and scrub with my facial cleanser frantically trying to get the ass smell off my face.

Scrub, scrub, wash, wash, rinse, rinse, sniff… ASS!

Scrub, scrub, wash, wash, rinse, rinse, sniff… still a little hint of ass? One more time!

Scrub, scrub, wash, wash, rinse, rinse, sniff… Oh thank the Lord for tender mercies… the smell is gone.

I take the fresh towel and press the soft fluffiness in my face. I inhale… Ahhhhh… it smells like Vanilla Fleecy. Mmmmm, that’s what my above moment should have been like. Now I’m pissed because my night time routine that usually calms me down has got me all worked up.

I go looking for the culprit that polluted my towel… “RRRRYYYYAAANNNN!!!!!!!!!!!”

I don’t have to look very far as he is under the blankets, getting cozy and happily farting away.

“QUIT USING MY TOWEL!”

“Huh?” I get a blank look. He’s oblivious as always.

“You need to quit using my towel! We have separate towels for a reason. I just wiped your ass all over my face cuz you used my towel! We have tonnes of towels! Get your own damn towel and leave mine alone!!!”

“How do you know it’s not your ass you’re smelling?” he retorts.

“Now listen here Mr. Ass man. I KNOW it’s not my ass cuz I have 2 towels, one for my hair and one just for my body. When I wash my face I use my hair towel. Use more damn soap or something! You’re pissn’ me off!”

“Well, I forget to bring my towel in the bathroom, so I just use what’s available and it just happens to be yours,” he says slightly smiling with a look of mischief in his eyes.

OMG! OMFG! I think he does this on PURPOSE in some passive-aggressive manner! That would be soooo like him.

Oh ya! Well, the game is on ass wiper… the game is on… be afraid, be very afraid. Hell hath no wrath like mine.

Wow, so not impressed with you! I asked you to stop farting so you decide to make me sit on the toilet for an hour and expell everything I’ve eated in the last 24 hours? I have never ever experience anything that horrific, vile and disgusting in my entire life.

Nice, really nice. You are so rude! I don’t appreciate it! I’m in agony. I’m nauseous, sick, dehydrated, tired, cranky and I’m dying over here. You really don’t care do you? Well, screw you! See if I eat anything for the next 24 hours except maybe a piece of toast and some water. That will teach you!

Behave!
Joanne

When we moved to the new farm shortly after Jumbo died, I was 5.

Every time I got in trouble by my parents I would either get a spanking by hand, or whatever was in their hand or by the belt.

Afterwards I would go to my bedroom crying. My bed was pushed against the wall and I would climb behind the headboard and slide my little body under the bed. I would hide out under my bed and sob uncontrollably until the pain subsided. I hated my parents and wished for a nicer, happier family.

All I remember was the chaos, the yelling, the fighting, the screaming and the constant spankings. Frustrated and fed up by the chaos that entered my life on a daily basis I grabbed a small suitcase from the spare bedroom. I packed it with clothes and some toys. I kept it hidden in the back of my closet, waiting for the opportunity to leave.

That day came while my parents were out doing the farm chores. After being spanked for eating ice cream for breakfast I sat in my room and sulked until I heard them go outside to the barns. I grabbed my suitcase, walked into the woods behind our house and headed for the highway.

I didn’t know where I’d go or what I’d do, but I just had to get away. I was 5 years old and I hated living with my parents. I constantly got spanked and yelled at, usually when I just wanted a hug or some attention. I just wanted someone to tell me that I was loved and show they loved me by not hitting me all the time.

So with my new dog Sandy by my side and Kitty (that was my cat’s name. Original I know.) following behind us, I walked the 1/2 km to the highway. When I got there I stayed in the bushes, sat down and watched the traffic go by. Being that it was northern Alberta in the middle of nowhere there really wasn’t a lot of traffic. There were a few semi trucks, cars and trucks that passed by, but not a lot.

I was tired from walking through the forest. I sat down on a dead log and thought about what I would do next. Where would I go? I didn’t know. The city? I knew I wanted to leave, but where? I thought of flagging down a car and just going where ever they were going… but then what? The idea of hopping into a strangers vehicle also scared me. My mother had threatened and scared me silly by telling me of all the terrible things that would happen to me if I ever got into someones vehicle.

I also worried that if I did run away, would I be happy elsewhere? Who would take care of me? I knew I wasn’t old enough to take care of myself.

I envisioned being in a happy family that did not yell or spank or criticize me. A family that loved me, that had brother’s and sisters I could play with and liked me. I so badly wished that I could be in a different family. There had to be someone out there that would take me in… but what if they did and it was just as bad as what I had right now? What if everyone treated kids like that? Then I’d be no better off. I mulled these thoughts over and over in my head. Stopping the negative thoughts for awhile to think about positive, happy ones daydreaming of a perfect family.

I heard my parents calling me, but I didn’t move. The cat abandoned me, he was hungry and seeing that I didn’t bring anything for him to eat he high tailed it out of there. When Sandy heard my parents calling he too took off. I was all alone.

All alone in this lush green forest. I felt so lonely, unloved and sad. I picked up my suitcase and dragged it over to the little pond across our little dirt road. I sat throwing rocks into the pond watching the ripples they made in the water. The light breeze rustled the leaves of the trees around me. The sun was getting lower in the sky. It’s warm rays fell upon my skin warming me. I felt like it was giving me a big hug. There was not a cloud in the sky. Just the loving bright yellow sun that was turning golden and beginning it’s decent into the horizon.

I sat watching the tadpoles dart in the water and little fish swim along the edge. It was so peaceful out here. No yelling, no screaming. Just peace. I lay back on the dirt and closed my eyes basking in the warm sunlight.

I wished I could fly so I could fly away from here. Soar high above the clouds and go away. Far, far away where no one could find me. I would land in a home that was filled with love for me. Who wanted me, who loved me.

Eventually, I got cold. The sun was well on its way to bed, the sky now turning orange and fiery red. I was tired and I was hungry. I forgot food. I’ll have to remember that for next time, I thought. I picked up my suitcase and went back into the woods. I walked home with dread in my step.

The dry twigs snapped under my feet taunting me as I walked home. ‘You’re not brave. You can’t even run away.’ ‘If you go home, you’re just going to be spanked again.’ This was the only place I knew of.

I stopped as I got to the edge of the garden and stared at our house. The small 700 sq. foot bungalow with yellow siding and brown trim stood about 10 feet away. It never looked so ominous and dark before. It seemed to join the twigs in mocking me. ‘You’re never going to be good enough. You should just stay away.’

I could hear my mother cooking. I sighed knowing that I had to go back inside even though I really didn’t want to go. My grumbly stomach was insisting I hurry up and go in.

I hid my suitcase in the woods behind the house. I’d have to get it tomorrow. They’d know something was up and I’d get in trouble if I brought it in now.

When I walked through the door, my mother turned to me with anger dancing in her eyes.

“Where have you been? I’ve been calling you for over an hour!” anger and hate leeched off her body and surrounded me.

“I was playing by the pond. I didn’t hear you.” I lied.

She raised her hand and hit me across the face. “Next time I call, you need to come home! Do you understand me?”

I cringed from the impact. My eyes welled with tears, “but I didn’t hear you!” I sobbed.

“Stop crying!” she hissed, “Or I’ll really give you something to cry about!” She raised her hand again.

I turned and ran towards my room. Once in the safety of my bedroom I closed the door.

Kitty looked up at me and meowed. He had been waiting for me to return and was happily resting on my bed. I flopped down on my bed and snuggled my cat. “Why did you have to leave me out there?” I asked him. He just meowed and rubbed his head into my hand. I still felt the sting from the slap across my face. I sobbed and hugged my cat. Tears streamed down my face and onto his grey fur coat.

I just wanted to be loved. All I wanted was a hug when I walked through the door, not a slap. Just a hug. I wanted to be told, “Welcome home, I missed you!” Instead all I got was a slap. She hates me I thought. She really hates me. No one loves me. I’m all alone. The only one that loves me is my cat and dog… and even they too abandon me when push comes to shove. I’m alone. All alone.

My dad was 63 when I was born. When I was little I always thought he was going to die because he looked so old. People would think he was my grandfather instead of my dad.

Whether or not it was a conscious decision I don’t know, but I did not get close to my father. I was afraid he was going to die, so why bother getting to know someone if they were going to die and be taken away. Stupid of me I know, but as a kid that’s what I thought. I always thought I would find him dead in bed or out in the farm laying on the ground.

To prevent myself from getting hurt I didn’t go out of my way to get to know him or value my time spent with him. I did not attach myself to him because I thought, why should I? He’s just going to leave me soon, he doesn’t play with me and just gives me the belt when I’m in trouble…. maybe it was because he belted me so often that I stopped attaching myself to him.

I hated the belt. The belt always seemed the punishment of choice with my father. I would hide his belts in order to prevent the constant lashings. He would find them and I would get belted again next time I did something wrong. Soon I got better and better at hiding them. I would hide them behind the water tank or up in the attic. Unfortunately for me he would go to town and buy another belt… and so the game would go. I would hide the belt, he’d buy another one.

He’d be so exasperated because his belts kept missing, but I claimed innocence and would not tell him that I took them. I resented him and I resented the fact that he always hit me with his belt.

Dear Body,

What the freak is wrong with you today? What did I eat that you are making me pay dearly by making me almost pass out every time I let one rip?

I think a rat crawled into my ass and died. Holy! I can’t even stand the smell of my own farts! I have no idea what the hell I ate, but I better figure it out so I don’t ever eat it again.

You know you’ve got bad farts when your eyes water and you can’t breath. It’s toxic. I’m running around the house away from my own farts spraying Febreeze behind me. Nasty. I need to stop farting! I hate farting. Damn body!

Please stop farting cuz it’s making me ill.

Thank you,
Joanne

I think when I was shown a selection of guys to choose from to meet and eventually marry, it went a little something like this:

Behind Door #1 we have a man who’s charming, romantic, will always make you laugh, kind, he has a university degree, a great job that pays gobs and will be a devoted father, geeky looking.

Behind Door #2: we have a man who has an good paying job, university degree, good father, likes a lot of sports, average looking..

Behind Door #3: we have a man who’s intellect is just above the cave man. He has no education, he can reproduce, he can eat and take a dump. He is nice at first but will turn into an asshole as he reaches middle age. He is very, very good looking.

oo oo oo oo oo oooo! I want that one! I want what’s behind door number 3 cuz he’s hot!

Well, now I’m wondering… Can I get a refund? or even an exchange? Maybe store credit? Something, anything cuz this man is starting to turn sour with age. His personality, attitude and intellect is not impressing me and now I don’t care if he’s hot.

I’ve got something… maybe it’s cancer. Ryan calls me a hypochondriac but I swear, I’ve got something.

Every time I watch the crazy ‘Health Beat’ segment on the news I think I’ve got whatever they are talking about. Sometimes I’ll go to my doctor and list all my complaints to which he just laughs, shakes his head and says, “You have 4 kids. They are what cause your ailments. You’re healthy. You’re fine.” I’m beginning to think he’s a quack doctor. I keep looking at his medical certificate to see if he graduated from the Looney Toon academy. Well, he didn’t… but maybe it’s a fake diploma. If Leo can do it on ‘Catch Me If You Can’, then anyone can do it I’m sure… *sigh* Whatever… point is.. I’ve got something.

Whenever I go to those sites, diagnose yourself.com, I go through the charts and it all points to: Go see your doctor. I do and my doctor just gives me a funny look. I think I need to go see another doctor. Cuz whenever I go to his office all I hear coming out of his mouth is, “quack, quack, quack, quack… quack, quack? Quack, quack, quack… and another thing, quack, quack, quack.”

I swear I think I have Diabetes, Alzheimer’s, Chronic Fatigue… maybe Lupus?, Arthritis or Bursitis, Irritable Bowel Syndrome, or is it Colon Cancer?, heart disease, manic depressive disorder, seasonal affective disorder, allergies, not hypertension but the opposite of hypertension… whatever low blood pressure is and maybe I’m getting a hunch back since I slouch all the time?*sigh* Well, the list could go on and on.

I know I’m not crazy, but who knows? Maybe I am, but the Quack Doctor doesn’t diagnose me properly. I don’t handle aches and pain very well. I’m a very healthy person on the whole and get sick maybe once a year with the flu or cold… but lately I swear something is wrong. Something is wrong with my matrix, I just know it.

I wish I lived in the States where you can get those nifty whole body scans where they check every inch of you to see if you have cancer or something. See? We need that here in Canada so I can go, take one of these tests. Then I can rest my poor tired mind from thinking I’ve got some disease.

I swear every time I go book a dentist appointment he probably runs to his wife and excitedly exclaims, “Joanne’s coming in! Joanne’s coming in! Book a trip to the Bahama’s here comes the money! Or we can add this money to our big money vault or I’ll just bring it home and we can roll in it! She’s coming, go buy yourself something pretty honey!”

I always have to shell out gobs of cash every time I go. I went and got a teeth cleaning, then found out that I needed a root canal (figured, cuz my teeth hurt) and I’ve got to get my wisdom teeth out because they are putting pressure on the rest. *sigh* Thankfully insurance will cover 80%, but still. I hate the fact that I have soft teeth. I swear I’m going to get dentures by the time I’m 40.

The hygienist was about to clean my teeth, but before I opened my mouth to let her dig around in there I said, “OK, I’m telling you this now, I don’t floss. I do sometimes, but on the whole I don’t. I just read that if you floss you can add 7 years to your life. I DON’T want to add 7 years to my life! I’ve already got longevity in my family. I don’t want to live an extra 7 years being Alzheimery, Schizophrenic, senile and all gribley old in some old folks home! Sheesh! Thanks, but no thanks, I’d rather just die thank you. Yes, next part of the journey please. I don’t want the extended 7 year ride for sitting in a wheel chair, staring out the window, drooling at the TV screen that plays Tyra Banks (who’ll probably take over for Oprah.) This world is going down hill as it is. I don’t want to stick around for it to turn into hell, cuz it’s quickly going that way.”

The hygienist laughed, “You’re funny.”

“Funny to you, but I’m serious.”

Cuz I am! I mean really! I hope to die a quick and painless death. ooooohhhhh or if I can get my sh*t together maybe be transfigured or something… now that would be cool, but I’ve gotta get a lot of sh*t in order first, like stop swearing for one. *sigh* I’m prolly gonna end up in the underworld with Satan kicking my ass all over hell. Great, now there’s something to look forward to. Better start working on being lovey n’ all that jazz.

I’m just disgruntled cuz I didn’t marry a dentist. I wish Ryan would become a dentist. When we were 18 I kept telling him to go to school to be a dentist or a surgeon. He can be so anal retentive about being exact about carving a chicken or following a recipe.

I don’t have the patience. I knew a long time ago, I couldn’t do anything that required precision. I’d be sitting in the operation table and be like, “Ya, I’m tired and I’m sick of standing here for 5 hours, let’s just quickly wrap this up and get outta here.” Patience is not my virtue when I’m bored or sick of something.

I want Ryan to go back to school to be a dentist or surgeon so we can have horse money. Horse money would be nice. Right now I don’t even have dog or cat money. Horse money would be nice, although giraffe money would be even better. Right now we have earthworm money.

I suppose I should explain these terms. I got the term “giraffe money” from the Ellen show when she was talking about Denzel Washington. Denzel has giraffe money. He gets paid in the millions and has gobs of cash. When you have so much money you can afford to buy a giraffe, that’s giraffe money. So then I changed and added on. Horse money, so rich you are able to buy a horse. Dog money, etc. So yes, I’ve gotta figure out a way to get me some giraffe money. I sure can’t depend on Ryan to do it for me.

I wonder if I could get into organized crime somewhere? They seem to make lots of money. I think I’d make a good henchwoman or a bounty hunter or an assassin. That would be a fun job. But where do you look for jobs in organized crime? It’s not like it’s advertised in the paper. If they were, they’d obviously be stupid. Then again, maybe Bill Gates (nice pic Billy) is in OC and Microsoft is just a cover? Hmmm… you never know, you never know. Now Billy boy has giraffe money, hell, he could buy up the whole damn zoo if he wanted to.

Maybe I could just be my own crime boss. Hire my own lil’ Soprano’s type thugs to go pillage and kill. My slogan would be, “People, we kill’em and rototill’em!” Heh. Catchy. I could set up a website: www.chill.com. On the surface it would be an ice cream store, but when you clicked on a certain cone it would bring you to the underground site with kill rates n’ stuff. Ryan tells me I’m too sadistic. I blame it on my father Darth Vader, he’s such a badass.

However, I suppose if I did get into OC I’d end up in outer darkness for sure. *sigh* Ya just can’t win. Ya just can’t win.

What fun! We had a blast. I of course was late as usual. It’s odd how I can plan out what time things need to be accomplished by and yet I can never seem to accomplish those tasks at the designated time. I can’t figure me out. I do want to be on time. I really do. Well, my friends of course realize I’m constantly late, so they arrived an hour late as well, which is fine cuz I needed the extra time.

Our fix it man came in to install our microwave above the stove. Hooray! Now hopefully the kids won’t hang on the door and pull the whole thing down. So that was part of the reason I was late. Cuz the power was shut off to the stove and I couldn’t cook around them. The other part was that I had procrastinated shampooing the carpets and now I was doing it the day of…. nothing like leaving it to the last minute. I drive myself crazy. I’m annoyed at me.

Dinner was yummy. Ryan made BBQ chicken. He’s an awesome BBQ’er. I made rotisserie chicken, potato dumplings, roasted potatoes, mashed potatoes, corn, mixed beans, rice, gravy and fresh baked buns. I want 2 ovens. It would make my life easier. I made 5 cakes. A jello face cake, a black forest cake, a chiffon cake, ice cream cone muffins and Mya’s teddy bear cake. My only pet peeve was that everything wasn’t perfect. I had to fix the gravy Ryan made. It was so bland. I didn’t hear him ask me to check the seasoning and he doesn’t know how to season gravy. My friend made mash potatoes and she doesn’t know how to make mashed potatoes. They were lumping and sludgy. Not light and fluffy. My black forest cake fell apart when I tried to slice the layers. *sigh* I hate it when food isn’t perfect. It almost makes me not want to eat.

Mya’s 1st birthday was so much fun. The kids raced around and had a blast. My friend J, who has only one child had her eyes wide open and was aghast that I let the kids race around the house, jump around and scream. I just shrugged and said I was used to it. Not a big deal. The kids were mostly downstairs or upstairs but the little ones played on the main floor. So it was a houseful. My friend J doesn’t let her kid jump, run or shout in the house. I just shake my head. Whatever, she’s only got one. She was so stressed out and got a headache with all the kids by the time she left. All my other friends with 2 or more kids just shrugged it off cuz they were used to the noise as well.

Mya dove right into her teddy bear cake and covered herself full of icing and cake. She was grinning and happy as could be eating her birthday cake. She was a mess. I took her upstairs to bath her afterwards.

I heard this horrible sound… The sound of someone banging my piano with something hard… like a toy. I raced to the top of the stairs and looked down. I started screaming over and over again, “STOP! STOP HITTING THE PIANO!” My poor piano. It’s my baby. I LOVE my piano. All my friends know how much I love this piano. It gorgeous. It’s a 1906 upright Heinzman that we had restored. It has Alaskan wood and Walnut wood. It’s a dark walnut color with gorgeous carvings along the legs and sides of the piano. I love it.

I’ve wanted a piano since I was 5 years old and Ryan finally bought me one 4 years ago. It was one of the best gifts ever! This little kid (not mine, cuz I’ve uttered death threats to my kids if they touch the piano with their toys, so they know better) was taking the balloon pump and smashing my keys. Little bits of white piano keys were flying everywhere. I was just horrified as I saw little bits of white flying through the air. I kept screaming to stop as I flew down the stairs. The kid didn’t stop. I grabbed the balloon pump and said, “Stop! Don’t do that to my piano! You’re wrecking it!” AAAHHHH… I felt like swatting that kid and tossing him across the room. I was so upset. 12 keys were damaged. They were chipped by the hard force of the balloon pump.

His mother came into the room and was dismayed that it was her child causing the trouble. I turned and went upstairs absolutely shocked and horrified. The only thing I could utter over and over again was, “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, my piano, my piano.” I went upstairs back to bathing Mya in the tub. I felt like curling up in the fetal position and rocking back and forth in the corner. I couldn’t believe it. My poor piano. We spent so much money on that piano, it’s my baby. I don’t care if kids wreck other things I own, but my piano is my cherished possession. It’s the one inanimate thing I own that I adore and I love. *sigh* And now it’s keys are damaged.

Silence enveloped the house. Everyone knows how I feel about my piano. The mother of the little boy came upstairs and sat down apologizing from here to high heaven. She felt so bad and I could tell. She had tears welling up in her eyes and she was just mortified that her son did that to the piano. I told her it was ok. I was just in shock and I just needed some time to process this through my brain and get over the shock. I told her it was just a piano and it would be ok. I had calmed down by then that I wasn’t angry. I knew it was an accident. They don’t own a piano so the little boy didn’t know.

I figured it was my fault because just before that happened I had a strong impression to take away the balloon pump and put it away. I didn’t and this was the result. My piano was damaged. I won’t make my friend pay for the piano keys. I invited them, it was my house, I didn’t listen to myself to take the balloon pump away and I really don’t want to ruin our friendship over a piano. In the whole grand scheme of things, it is just a piano. It’s fixable. I cherish my friendships and even though she is making me promise up and down to tell her the price to fix it I won’t tell her. I’ll just say it’s covered under warranty.

I know first hand what it’s like to have my son wreck something at someone’s place. I know how she feels, so I don’t want to make a big deal about it. It was quite amusing though, cuz everyone was quiet waiting for my reaction and seeing what I would do. LOL. I didn’t freak out. I didn’t yell or throw a fit. Besides rocking beside the tub and muttering, “Oh my gosh” for a few minutes I think I handled myself quite well.

What was so nice, was my friends cleaned up the kitchen for me. It was so thoughful of them. They loaded the dishwasher, swept, put away chairs, tables and cleaned everything. It was so nice to come down to a clean kitchen. I dread the clean up, cuz it’s such an arduous task. That made me feel better.

Soon everyone was laughing and talking again, cuz I made everyone play animal charades. Kind of like headbands. Tape a picture to someones head and their partner has to act out the animal. No sounds. The person wearing the headband animal has to guess the animal. It was hilarious.

My friend Rachel has a tongue like Gene Simmons from KISS. Holy! I’ve never seen a tongue that long before. She’s so sweet and such a quiet shy person, so she just died when we made her show us her tongue over and over again. Everyone was shocked and intrigued. Funny.

So besides my piano being damaged, it was a fun night. Even though I vowed not to do another party, I think I will, just not go all crazy. I’ll do pizza or a spring roll party instead.

I watched this report last night on Primetime and I’m panicking. I’ve got to go see my doctor who all ready thinks I’m crazy to get him to prescribe some Tamiflu for my family so I can have some on hand in the house. Another drug that is being helps is Relenza. However, this is inhaled and is not ideal for young kids like mine. The Avian flu, H5N1, is just scary. So far this virus is transferring to humans via birds. I hope it doesn’t mutate and start transferring human to human.

There are lots of great blogs that deal with the avian bird flu.

www.birdflutoday.com
http://tahilla.typepad.com/birdflu

After seeing that the US is not prepared I called the Canadian government to see what they are doing about it. I was referred to a website and I was able to speak with the public health agency. I’m still waiting to hear back from them, to see what kind of medication they are stockpiling and how much they have in stock. It looks like Canada was one of the first to start stalk piling, I just hope they are able to store enough and I hope if this does it, these meds work.

When I asked Ryan what we would do he said, “You stay inside. If this hits and comes to Canada. Stay home and don’t leave your house until a vaccine has been invented and it blows over.” That would be how some people survived the Spanish flu. Man, that means being prepared financially, food storage, etc.

After watching what went on in New Orleans, I’ve come to realize that I need to stop procrastinating and make my family ready for emergencies. We have no hurricane danger here, but we have tornado’s (as rare as they may be), flood from the river, train derailment (train runs through town. Damn train.) and earthquake. We live close enough to Vancouver that if the big fault that runs through Vancouver ever decided to rumble really badly, I’m sure we’d feel the after effects here on the other side of the mountain.

I’ve gotta get prepared and be ready for whatever storms, whether they be environmental, fire or disease, that may come our way. They will come, it’s just a matter of time.

“What do you want for your birthday?” I ask Ryan.

He quickly responds, “Shoes, sunglasses and a blow job… but not necessarily in that order. You could give me a blow job while I wear the shoes and sunglasses OR you could give me a blow job in the truck on our way to buy the shoes and sunglasses. I don’t really care which way it goes, just as long as I get a blow job, shoes and sunglasses.”

“Maybe we can find a store that you can get all three? If you buy the shoes and sunglasses maybe the cashier will give you a blow job as a bonus for spending lots of money!” I retort. “Now there would be a very popular store amongst the male population!”

“…OR they could direct us to the change rooms and YOU can give me one in there!” he grins happily.

“Highly unlikely.”

He’s such a persistent rascal.

me: *sigh* I need another dishwasher just to keep up with all the dishes!

Ryan: Well honey, I would get you a couple if I could, but polygamy has been outlawed.

I’m downstairs and I hear Brandon and Mya laughing upstairs. She cries a little then laughs. Brandon says, “shh, shh” when she does cry to settle her down.

I tell Josh to go get Mya from upstairs and bring her down because I don’t trust Brandon with Mya. He’s 2 1/2 and my lil’ terrorist. Brandon drags her around constantly. The fact that she is still alive is a miracle.

So Josh goes upstairs and says, “mom you better come see this….”

I go upstairs and Mya is sitting in a big puddle of brown stuff with a spoon in her hand grinning away. Brandon is beside her, happily looking on.

Brandon took the entire box of QUIK chocolate powder 2L and dumped it on the floor AND on Mya. He then poured milk on the floor AND her. She is sitting in this chocolaty syrupy mess, eating syrup off the floor with a spoon, covered in chocolate, happy as can be.

The chocolate mess starts by the stove continues by the fridge, the island and finally ends by the table.

*sigh*

I cleaned up Mya who was a little upset that she was removed from the chocolate goo. I’m sure I would too, since chocolate is so sweet and yummy.

After spending some time in his room, Brandon came down and cleaned up the mess. I gave him a wet cloth and he wiped the floor, while I mopped beside him.

“Am I done now?” he asks. Once every last little drop and trace of chocolate syrup and powder was off the floor he happily went off to play satisfied that his penalty was served and he could now play… off to cause more destruction.

This kid is killn’ me.

I will be making this for Mya’s 1st birthday. I love this cake. It always works for me. When people come over, they request this cake. It’s delicious!

Party Chiffon Cake

2 Cups All purpose flour
1 1/2 cups sugar
3 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
1/2 cup vegetable oil
7 egg yolks, unbeaten
3/4 cup cold water
2 tsp. vanilla
1/2 tsp. cream of tartar
1 cup egg whites (7)

Icing:
1 - 1L whipping cream
1 pkg. Otker Whip It
1/2 cup of icing sugar.
1 can of peaches

Heat oven to 325F.

Sift first 4 ingredients into mixing bowl. (flour, sugar, baking powder and salt)

Make a well and add oil, egg yolks, water and vanilla. Beat until smooth.

In another bowl, add cream of tartar to egg whites, beat until stiff peaks form. (DO NOT UNDERBEAT)

Pour egg yolk mixture gradually over beaten egg whites, gently folding in with a rubber scraper until just blended. (DO NOT STIR)

Line a spring form pan with parchment paper, then pour into pan.

Bake 55 minutes at 325F then increase to 350F for 10 - 15 minutes or until top springs back.

Cool down and then put in the freezer to freeze the cake slightly.

When the cake is partially frozen, cut the cake twice: 1/3 way from the top and 1/3 way from the bottom.

Add 1 pkg. of Otker ‘Whip It’ to the whipping cream. Whip 1L of whipping cream. Once it has stiffened and is forming peaks I add about 1/2 cup of icing sugar to the whipping cream. (Add as much sugar as you want, depending on how sweet you want the whipping cream to be.)

Open a can of peaches and dice the pieces into bite sized chunks. I place the peaches in a sieve and let any excess juice drain out.

Take about 1/2 of the whipping cream, add the peaches and mix gently. Then spread mixture to the bottom of the cake. Add middle section, spread more whip cream and peach mixture onto another layer, add top.

Spread the rest of the whipping cream that has no peaches on top of the cake and all around the sides. Any left over whipping cream can be used to make rosettes along the top edges of the cake.

Sprinkle the sides with curled chocolate. Decorate the top of the cake with drained mandarin oranges, sliced maraschino cherries and fresh strawberries.

Store in fridge. Serve the same day.

I’ve given this recipe to friends and they seem to screw it up and it doesn’t turn out as good as mine. I don’t know what their problem is. I do have a convection oven, maybe that makes a difference, I don’t know. I will make the cake the day before a party, but will decorate it with whipping cream and fruit about 1 -2 hours before a party. Mmmm…Yummy!

I went into this movie hearing that it sucked. Well, I liked it! It is mindless summer fun. It’s funny and action packed. It revolves around a couple of ex-Navy Seal guys, Matthew McConaughey and Steve Zahn, who are treasure hunters. They are looking for a missing Civil War boat that carries rare Confederate gold coins. Along their way they meet Penelope Cruz a doctor who is researching a virus. They travel to Africa, encounter a warlord and an evil businessman. There is lots of great action, chase sequences and funny quips between the co-stars. I enjoyed the film, but the only thing that annoyed me is they had to put a romance between Penelope and Matthew…*sigh* why? It made me roll my eyes and want to vomit. Keep the cheesy romance out! They have no on-screen chemistry together!

3 out of 5 stars. A good video rental.

This was sent to me via email. I enjoy these and plan on trying these out for fun. Especially #4!

1. At lunch, sit in your parked car with sunglasses on and point a hairdryer at passing cars. See if they slow down.

2. Every time someone asks you to do something, ask if they want fries with that.

3. When trying on clothes in a dressing room, yell out, “There’s no toilet paper in here!”

4. In the memo field of all your checks, write: “For Sexual Favors.”

5. Finish all your sentences with “in accordance with the prophecy.”

6. As often as possible, skip rather than walk.

7. Specify that your drive-thru order is “To Go.”

8. Sing along at the Opera.

9. When money comes out of the ATM, scream: “I won! I won!”

10. When leaving the zoo, start running towards the parking lot yelling, “Run for your lives! They’re loose!”

I’ve had a crazy week. My son’s are heavily putting their terrorism training into use and are inflicting their guerrilla warfare upon me and this house. Their goal: to drive my insane. It’s working. My mother’s curse has come to haunt me. The typical curse that most mothers tell their children: I hope that when you have kids they will be just as crazy as you and worse!

Operation Paint: I let Brandon paint with Tempera paint. I have large paint pots and I squeeze a small amount into egg cartons that way when he is done, it is easy clean up, just toss the egg carton out. I sat and watched him paint since Laura and Josh were in school and Mya was taking a nap. I was asking him about his painting, telling him I liked his colors he choose, etc. He looks at me and says, “Go away. Leave me alone.” What a kid. Here I am trying to spend time with the kid cuz he never gets any one on one time with me and he could careless. So I left. I returned a little while later only to find him painting the kitchen chairs. A lovely green color. I guess he doesn’t like the dark cherry colored wood. He was quite proud of himself. Thank goodness it’s washable.

Operation Paint #2: This time Laura, Joshua and Brandon were painting. I left them alone cuz I was tired and wanted to take a nap. So off I went. I woke up to Laura screaming, “You guys are in sooo much trouble! Mom is going to be mad! Stop it! MMMOOOOOMMMMM!!!”

I ran downstairs to find the boys have opened up the big bottles of paint that I left on the island and decided to add a little color to the carpet. Black, green, red and yellow splattered all over the light tan carpet. The boys were covered in paint. Laura was watching TV and didn’t notice their antics until Josh came along, took a gob of green paint and squished it into her head. That’s when she saw the mess and freaked. *sigh* I was not impressed. They had an early bed time. I hope my carpet cleaner can get the colors out.

Operation Scatter: I had a bag of dried peas in my office, which I finally got around to cleaning. I was going to make bean bags out of the dried peas. Well, Brandon and Mya got into them first. They scattered dried peas all over my clean office, then carted them out into the rest of the house, because hey, dried peas is a great decorating idea!

Operation Leak: My kids play in the backyard lots. They usually turn on the garden hose and spray each other, spray the neighbors, spray inside the house, spray the windows, spray the deck, or spray the neighbors dog. I’ve finally decided to unscrew the hose and take the turning part of the tap off so they can no longer play with the water. I made this decision after I got my water bill $175.00! Yikes! Normally it’s only $80.00 and I haven’t been watering my grass this summer, the kids are using waaaay to much water. So now they have no water to play with outside… so what do they do for fun? Well, I caught Josh taking the garden hose and peeing in the garden hose. *sigh* Why is it that boys feel the need to put their dumbstick in any hole they seem to find? I don’t get boys.

Operation Destroy #1: Josh was sent to his room for being mean to Brandon. He felt this punishment was unjust so he spent the next 10 minutes tearing apart his books out of his bookshelf and throwing all his clothes on the floor that were in his dresser and laundry basket. I was not impressed. It took him 3 days to clean it up all by himself.

Operation Destroy #2: The boys have a little tykes car that they like to drive around. However, they have gotten into the habit of playing “crash”. Crash is not a good game for my walls as it puts holes in my walls. Ryan was so upset he tossed the car off the deck. Now the boys are resorting to crashing their firetruck, ambulance and monster trucks into the wall thereby causing small dents to appear in the wall.

Operation Destroy #3: Josh likes to play the drums. Since we don’t own a set of drums (thank God!) He uses anything he can for a drum stick and drums. One day he was using his hockey stick to beat the Rubbermaid boxes that hold their toys… that was fine by me. What was not fine was using the glass on the french doors to our entertainment room downstairs as cymbals. A plastic hockey stick can smash through glass. Now we need to buy a new french door.

Operation Destroy #4: Mya likes to pull everything out of the cupboards. Now that she can crawl upstairs and downstairs she is free to roam. She likes to take out all my kitchen linens and throw them all over the floor. She also likes to take the kids plastic cups and plates out of the cupboard and spread them all over as well. If someone leaves the bathroom door open, she crawls in and plays with the toilet paper. She loves to pull on it and unravel the entire roll. She also opens the bathroom cupboards under the sink and likes to play with the lotion. She eats it and spreads it all over herself. Yuck! She is not even one yet and has already gotten into a lot of mischief.

Operation Chef: My kids like to experiment with food. I was setting the table for dinner and had placed some food on the table. I had my back turned and was taking stuff out of the oven when Brandon decided that the rice needed ketchup. He proceeded to dump the entire 1L bottle of ketchup into the rice. Now there’s a dish Emeril hasn’t thought up!

Operation Water #1: Someone (Joshua) has taught Brandon how to work the childproof taps on our water cooler. Brandon has then used this new knowledge to his advantage. He has created a swimming pool in our kitchen….twice… in the same day. Once in the morning, once in the evening. Obviously he didn’t get in enough trouble the first time. Water was everywhere, under the baseboards, under the phone desk, under the fridge. What a nightmare.

Operation Water #2: Brandon loves water. It’s usually him that instigates the water fights with the garden hose outside and inside. The kids were up in their bathroom getting ready for bed, brushing their teeth. I was downstairs cleaning up the kitchen after dinner and Ryan was suppose to be helping them get ready. He came down to help me clean the kitchen. Big Mistake. Brandon took the water cup and began a water fight. He flooded the bathroom sink, which spilled over onto the floor, then grabbed the cup, filled it with water and began throwing at his brother in their bedroom. He then turned and got his sister wet and her bedroom wet. We heard laughter, but did not clue into anything destructive happening until Laura began screaming. Now I have to use my carpet cleaner to suck up all the water that soaked into the carpet.

That has been my week. I am frazzled to say the least and am certain to say that we are done having kids. They are driving me insane. I think I should check myself into a mental institution… at least I’ll have a little peace.

So I’m surfing my web pages and this guy Trent from Pink is the new blog has a funny website devoted to pictures of celebrities. He usually makes fun of them and points out funny things or makes up funny comments.

I was hoping he’d one day put Tom Welling on his blog. Today is a happy day! He finally he put my Tommy up. You have to scroll to the bottom to see the picture of Tom and the comments.

Some people complained to Trent saying the image was a photo manipulation. So he got a clip from the show and ran it again. It’s not fake! The man is well endowed.

It looks like Erica’s comments dealing with Mr. Welling are true after all…

Quote from an interview she gave:
Erica Durance, who plays Lois Lane this season, was impressed when the two stars shot a scene in which Tom was naked in a cornfield. “Tom had the appropriate parts covered,” says Durance, “but I still had to tell myself, ‘Keep looking up!’ I will tell you, he isn’t Superman for nothing!”

Just to reply to Trent’s question. “Daaaamn … what is that boy smuggling in his pants?”

It’s a banana Trent… It’s a banana…And might I say, that’s quite the banana!

I always get these comments from people and I’m not to sure how to handle them. These are the top 3 comments I hear most often and said with a surprised tone.

1. YOU are a Mormon? You don’t look like a Mormon!

2. YOU have 4 kids? You don’t look like you would have 4 kids!

3. YOU lived on a farm? You don’t look like a farm girl!

*sigh* Now these comments are said with no explanation and always by complete strangers. So trying not to be rude I just look at these people like they are from Mars and then reaffirm that Yes, I am Mormon and Yes I go to church every Sunday. Yes, I have 4 kids and yes they are all mine. Yes I lived on a farm until I was 18 when I left the hole for the big city.

I just don’t get it. Monday I was bombarded by #1 and #2 when I went over to Bowness Park for a Ward picnic. We went with friends and happened to meet up with one of their friends while we were there. Once she asked #1 I got annoyed and said, “Why? What do I look like? Why don’t I look like a Mormon?”

To which she looks at me and laughs, “Well, you wear those shirts that show your belly and you’re so bouncy and bubbly and all over the place.”

“My belly isn’t showing!” I looked down to check and no. My black Banana Republic shirt came to the top of my low-rise Capri’s. I guess when I reach my arms up my shirt my does raise up to reveal my midriff, but I don’t like shirts that go down to my knees or to my crotch for that matter. I don’t like baggy shirts unless I’m frumping around the house. They make me feel like crap.

“Well, we are all in sweat shirts and clothes like this and you’re not,” she responds.

“Well, hey, like my friend Julianne always says, ‘If you got it, flaunt it.’ I like to look like a yummy mummy. This is how I dress. I’m wearing a sweater too, it’s just a cardigan.”

“Well, you just have red painted toes with red flip flops that have bling on them….”

“Oh please, they are fake diamonds. These are from Old Navy! I don’t see what’s wrong with wearing these….”

For freak sakes! Just cuz I don’t dress like a slob and don’t look like I just rolled out of bed in the morning doesn’t mean I don’t look like a Mormon. I mean what the hell?!? My shirts are fitted, not tight, tight, but fitted. I don’t have abs, and my stomach isn’t as flat as it used to be, but I don’t have a rolly bulge. I know how to dress according to my body type. I don’t like to wear baggy clothes, I’m not a 15 year old rapper boy.

I can’t help it that I’m not fat just cuz I have 4 kids. I eat whatever I want, my only exercise is chasing after 4 kids. There’s no secret. I just have good genes and a fast metabolism. So don’t get cranky at me cuz you feel bad about yourself. I get so defensive cuz it comes across like a put down. Well, screw you. Screw you all! I’ll dress how I want, cuz I don’t think I’m dressing like a prostitute on the corner of 3rd Ave.

The other comment I got was #2. I’m sure people are trying to be nice, but it sure is coming across as rude.

“Wow! 4 already? You should have more, because if you look like that and they look so cute, you should really think about having more,” lady comments to me at the park.

“Thank you, but the 4 I have is making me go crazy as it is. Do I look like the poster woman for Breeders R’ Us? Thanks, but I think I’ve already gone above and beyond the call of duty,” I laugh it off.

Snarly mean me feels like saying,
“Really? You only have 2? Well, maybe you should have more, cuz you’re fat already and your kids look so cute. If you get pregnant again, you’re already fat so hey, why not have another kid?”

Why can’t people leave me alone and keep their asinine comments to themselves?

and more laundry baskets. I do about 11 - 15 loads of laundry a week. I constantly have laundry baskets that line the upstairs hallways filled with clothes. Now they are folded, so it’s not like a total mess. Everything is sorted according to each child, folded nice and neatly straight from the dryer. I like the washing, drying and the folding process but I hate, hate, hate the putting away part. Weird I know, but I just really hate that part. If you need something, look through the basket.

When I do more laundry that is usually when I give in and put clothes away just so I have a basket to put another load of clothes into. I already have 8 large laundry baskets.

Friends always laugh and make fun of me because there’s laundry baskets upstairs all the time. Today I decided to give in and just put everything away in closets and drawers. I must say WOW! It really does amaze me how wide my halls really are. I feel my mind becoming clearer cuz there’s no clutter in the hall and I no longer am tripping over the laundry baskets.

That being said, I still feel the need to get just one more basket. I’m glad Walmart is close to home. It makes me happy to be able to go out on my deck, look out the South-East corner and see Walmart. I wave. “Hi Walmart! I’ll be there soon to spend Ryan’s hard earned money.”

Ryan hates Walmart. When we first moved to Okotoks there was no Walmart in town. He was thrilled. He saved money cuz I didn’t go into Calgary that often. He no longer had to “lose” my keys so I couldn’t go out shopping anymore. He cursed Walmart once he found out they’d be coming to town. I did my happy dance. My happy dance is like Elaine’s off of Seinfeld.

Then Macs came along! Whoo hooo! Slushies anytime I want! We are only 5 houses away from Macs. Now Blockbuster has opened up a block from our house too! Yipee! No more late charges! Oh happy day! Everything is so close to our house, I’m just all smiles.

Now when I wake up in the morning I go out on our deck and face North-East wave to Blockbuster, I look to the South-East and in the distance I see Walmart. “Good morning Blockbuster, Top o’ the day to ya Walmart.” Then I scowl at the high school kids as they come screeching into the parking lot of high school across the street with the stereos blasting, the base thumping and the hot wheel emblem splashed across the side of their trucks or cars.

Bunch of show offs. Sheesh. They better just watch out cuz one day I’ll challenge those little pimple faced, hormone raging kidlets to a race. I’ll show them a trick or two and I swear I could kick their ass in my minivan. It’s amazing how much speed a minivan can get and how well that puppy can corner. Not as good as the Bishop’s Ferrari mind you, but I know how to make that baby move. Whatever doesn’t move out of my way, I just ba-bump over it. I gots me some racn’ stripes too! May not look like the hot wheels emblem… but hey, it works. *sigh* I miss my racin’ days.

Mya is 11 1/2 months old! I can’t believe she is almost 1. Time flies. I still remember giving birth to her and then going out to dinner 3 hours after she was born.

Mya loves the Numa Numa Dance by Gary Brolsma. Maybe cuz he says her name over and over in the song, I don’t know. She starts laughing, rocking her body back and forth and shakes her head up and down. She then gets up to dance. She bends her knees and shakes her body. I love her. I really do. She has her little finger wrapped around my heart.

When Ryan comes home she rushes over to the door with the other kids and grabs onto Ryan’s leg until it’s her turn for a hug. She then snuggles right in, placing her head on his shoulder and she pats his back grinning madly. She loves her daddy and is so excited to see him. She will stay like that for a minute then look at him and give him an open mouthed kiss. Then go back in for the snuggle. She’s so sweet.

Anytime I pick Mya up she kicks her legs like a little highlander dancer. She kicks and kicks, so excited that she’s in my arms and we’re going somewhere!

Whenever she is in my arms and wants to see what I am doing she leans around my thick cascading hair that falls around my face. She peers around it to see if I’m eating something or what my facial expression is.

She puts her head and hands on the ground, sticks her bum up in the air and looks behind her between her legs. I think she must like that perspective on the world because she does it all the time.

She can crawl up the stairs very well now. She will go down, but only if I’m behind her to help her in case she gets scared.

She loves her brothers and sister. When she hears them coming she sits up straight, wiggles her body and smiles as they burst through the door. She laughs and plays with them. She loves watching them jump around, run around and be crazy. It makes her laugh.

She’s such a sweet baby. I just adore her. Her hair is a light, light brown. In the sun it turns blond. She’s so fair. I love her hazel eyes. The coloring is a tiger hazel I call them. They have a lot of yellow, light brown and a smidge of green in them. She has 4 little teeth; 2 top, 2 down. She’s got a beautiful smile that brings sunshine to your soul. I love her to bits.

I seriously hate, hate, hate, hate talking to people who have only one kid and think they know everything. They offer up advice and chastise me on how to parent and what to do. SHUT THE F*CK UP B*TCH!!!! F*CK!!!

I have this one friend, *J* whom shall remain nameless, but she has one child. ONE CHILD. I can’t stand talking to her cuz she always asks how my kids are doing, then when I tell her the crazy antics they pull she freaks out and begins to lecture me on how to make them behave or what to do with them. SHUT UP! Unless you have 3 or more kids of your own don’t give me advice!!! That and have 3 or more that are close in age, not with gaps of 3-4 years in between.

One, ya granted you’re a parent, but you don’t understand the dynamics of having more than one. One is easy. It’s a piece of cake. A walk in the park. Got knocked up.

Two, gets a little busier, but not a big deal. It’s easy as well. Got knocked up yet again.

Three, Well, hell’s bells. At 3 is where life gets interesting. Three is what breaks you. For the longest time when I only had 2 kids and I saw so many people that only had 3 I always wonder why they didn’t have more. I’d ask them, but didn’t understand their answer of, “Oh 3 is lots to handle.” After I had 3 I understood. 3 is crazy. 3 gives you a run for your money. 3 is where it gets hard. You are out numbered. You only have 2 hands and when you have 3 small children that each want a hand it gets tricky. Also if 2 out of 3 kids start crying at the same time over different things it is stressful. After a good 9 months, I got used to it and vowed not to have anymore kids…

I guess the good ole’ “Pull out and Pray” method doesn’t work that great. Got knocked up again. So then along came number 4. I was freaking out! If I was having a hard time at 3 how would I handle 4 I thought? Well, after consulting with friends who did have 4 or more they assured me that 4 was no different than 3. And thankfully I found it to be true.

Four is also crazy, but you’re used to the zoo already. You are so busy with 3 that 4 kids is just a number. It’s just one more thing. I was used to being so busy that 4 was not a big deal for me. Having four has taught me a lot of patience. I’m much more easy going than I used to be. I’ve let my 6 month old have ice cream! Ahhhh! I remember when I had Laura, she wasn’t allowed sweets until she was almost 2. I was really anal and wrapped up tight.

Now in order to save my sanity, I’m a lot more relaxed and not as high strung as I was. Talk to any parent with 3 or more and you can see them relax the more kids they have. They are not neglectful, just don’t freak out every time baby isn’t reaching a certain milestone predicated upon by society. They’ve also learned to relax and enjoy the kids. Kids will be kids. Some things they do is not the end of the world. As long as it’s not endangering their life or someone else or being immoral I don’t freak, or try not to anyway. I have other things to worry about.

So this ‘friend’ on the phone is giving me hell because my 2 1/2 year old boy is still not potty trained and she got her son trained at 18 months. To which I say, “Ya, but you have one, I have four, all close in range. I have 4 that are 7 years old and under. I don’t have the time or the energy. Once he is ready and starts to show interest I will go ahead and do it. Right now fighting with a 2 year old, trying to make him sit on the potty, while he screams his head off freaking out is not my idea of a good time. It’s not pleasant for him or me. I don’t want to traumatize the kid.”

To which she gives me a long winded speech and repeats herself 3 times about why I should put more effort and *make* him do it. Sorry honey, you can’t make my kids do anything. Blame it on genetics, but they are headstrong. Besides I don’t need them to go see a child psychologist because of hellish potty training.

Well, my child can do the alphabet and my child can blah, blah, blah.

Good for you. I’m happy that you have lots of time to spend with him and when I only had one I was able to do all those things too. This isn’t a race or a game, but if it makes you feel better about yourself then yes, you child is smarter than my child. Congratulations. Your prize is in the mail. So will you please Shut the F*ck Up now?

TIP #1: If I don’t ask for advice or help, don’t offer. At the best of times I don’t like to be told what to do. At the worst of times I don’t like to be told what to do. Especially by someone who doesn’t have a clue what it’s like to be in my shoes.

It drives me crazy that she repeats herself 3 times. She says the exact same things just maybe changes the wording a little, but only a little. It drives me insane. Why I keep up a friendship with her is beyond me. This is one of those things where I try to be polite. She extremely anal retentive and doesn’t let her kid run around the house, jump in the house or be too loud in the house. She is very soft spoken and I’m sure she has an OCD. She constantly has to check her oven and doors 3 times before we leave her house. She is a person who can only schedule in one thing to do and that’s it for the day.

IE.
me: Hey what are you doing tomorrow? Want to get together?
Her: I can’t. I’m doing my laundry.
me: Right, next you’ll be telling me you’re washing your hair. Oh come on. Do it during the day and come play with me at night.
Her: Sorry, I’m just tired after doing laundry. Let me check my calendar…. hmm… 3 weeks from now I’m free all day. If it works for you I’ll put you in my calendar.

*sigh* Maybe she’s blowing me off and I’m just clueless. She’s been like this since we were teenagers. She’s just not a spur of the moment person. Everything has to be run on a schedule. I’d describe her as a slow moving turtle. She doesn’t go anywhere or do much of anything. She lives a very boring life. She goes to work, comes home, eats dinner and watches TV then goes to bed. Same thing, day in and day out. She’s a homebody. That’s fine, but shake it up and live a little. Maybe that’s why she’s friends with me.

Anytime she wants excitement she calls me up. After talking to me she says, “Oh, You have so much energy. I’m tired just talking to you. You wear me out.”

Whoo hooo there’s a crazy wild time. Talk to me on the phone. Yowza! (I’m being sarcastic in case it’s not coming off thickly enough)

If I consumed alcohol, she would drive me to drink and get stupid drunk. I’d need a really strong drink to unravel my nerves and unwind after talking to her. So since I don’t drink, for fear of getting even stupider, I blog. This is my rant for the day. I’m tired. Goodnight.

You Are Likely an Only Child

At your darkest moments, you feel frustrated. At work and school, you do best when you’re organizing. When you love someone, you tend to worry about them. In friendship, you are emotional and sympathetic. Your ideal careers are: radio announcer, finance, teaching, ministry, and management. You will leave your mark on the world with organizational leadership, maybe as the author of self-help books.

I was an only child until I was 12 when my parents adopted 2 boys at my insistence and nagging. Yes, I was spoiled.

I am a great organizer. If I could only keep my house organized I should get a prize. I can organize everyone around me but myself. How dumb is that.

I’ve always wanted to be a radio DJ. I think it would be fun, but I’d want the job that made people do crazy, stupid things for prizes.

Finance: That’s laughable, since I scored below average on the math IQ test. That and I only got 13% on my Math 30 departmental. Sad, but true. I suck at math. Don’t make me add. I stopped learning in Grade 2.

Teaching: Yep, I’d love to be a teacher. It’s one of the things I really love to do. I want to go back to university so I can be one, but I don’t want to teach math. Maybe English, CALM, Phys. Ed. or Social Studies. I wonder if I could teach an elective like Toilet Papering 101. I’m self taught and damn good.

Ministry: Yes, I think it would be great to work for the Red Cross or some sort of organization helping people.

Management: Ya, I’d be a bitch boss. I think it would be fun to lead the employees in sing along in the boardroom and sneak up on them while they were deep in thought only to scare the piss out of them. Heh. I’d make them wear neon green or t-shirts with those funny sayings on them for casual Friday. Person with the funniest t-shirt would get free lunch anywhere they wanted. In order to talk to me they would have to tell me a joke and make me laugh before I would listen to them. Instead of going to the bar after work, I’d make them go to the arcade or internet gaming cafe. Corporate lunches would be at those medieval diners where you have serving wenches and watched joust matches. I’d be cracking the whip and having a great time at their expense… but I’d compensate them for it. So in their minds they’d be weighing: Do I stay with the crazy, creative, quirky boss and enjoy my great pay or get the hell out of this zoo. Those that don’t have a sense of ha-ha would be out. Hmmm… now I’ve gotta think about what kind of business to run. I wonder if Bill Gates is looking to retire?

Self help books huh? I’ve been thinking about that. Mine would be: How to handle crazy mischievous children.

OR: Ya, your life does suck. So what?

Yep, I can hear Pulitzer calling me… lmao.

hmm… that’s quite true. How do they come up with this stuff? Is there someone in a cubicle making all this stuff up?

I couldn’t have ask for a better result!

Your Daddy Is Darth Vader

What You Call Him: Big Daddy Why You Love Him: He takes you to Disneyland

You are dependable, popular, and observant. Deep and thoughtful, you are prone to moodiness. In fact, your emotions tend to influence everything you do. You are unique, creative, and expressive. You don’t mind waving your freak flag every once and a while. And lucky for you, most people find your weird ways charming!

I like to wave the freak flag. It’s fun.

Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.” Unknown.

“I start to feel like I can’t maintain the facade any longer, that I may just start to show through. And I wish I knew what was wrong. Maybe something about how stupid my whole life is. I don’t know. Why does the rest of the world put up with the hypocrisy, the need to put a happy face on sorrow, the need to keep on keeping on?… I don’t know the answer, I know only that I can’t. I don’t want any more vicissitudes, I don’t want any more of this try, try again stuff. I just want out. I’ve had it. I am so tired. I am twenty and I am already exhausted.”
~ Elizabeth Wurtzel

I just can’t shake it. It won’t go away. I feel like I’m being dragged along life’s highway under a bus being ripped to shreds without the ability to break free. I just want to curl up in a dark hole and disappear forever.

I can’t handle it anymore. I just feel like killing myself. I can’t do it anymore. I’m so depressed. I can’t keep up with the house and 4 kids. I can’t do it anymore. I’m not supermom. I’m not even super. I’m a poor excuse for a mother. I’m pathetic that I can’t even hold it together. They’ve worn me down and I don’t want to fight anymore.

I don’t have a supportive husband. He doesn’t show up until late at night. Leaving me at 5 am home alone with 4 kids until 8, 9, 10, 11pm at night. I just can’t do it. I haven’t been happy for so long. I’ve made so many wrong decisions in my life. I’d never marry Ryan again. I can’t depend on him. I don’t trust him. He doesn’t make me laugh. He only makes me cry or makes me mad. I was warned so many times by so many people and in so many different ways not to marry him. I was stupid. My rose colored glasses were on too thick and too tightly. I thought he would change… What a laugh. I’m stupid. So stupid… When you dance with the devil, he doesn’t change, you do.

I’m so miserable and I don’t know what to do about it. I’m trapped. Trapped in a world I created for myself. What a piss poor creator I am. My bubble can’t even save me now. I keep getting thrown out of it more often than I would like. My brain feels like it’s going to explode. Maybe I’ll have an aneurysm and die. Now there’s a happy thought.

I can’t shake myself from this miserable mood. I’ve been unhappy my entire life. Do I even know how to be happy? No. Probably not. I have brief, fleeting moments of happiness that disappear as quickly as a snuffed out candle. I have no family to depend on and friends have their own problems to deal with. No one wants to be burdened with mine. I don’t want to burden others with mine. All I do is bitch about my problems, but I can’t find a solution. I’m too stupid to find a solution. I’m never happy with anything I have. I’m tired of trying. I’m tired of existing. I just want to die and wither away as the decaying fall leaves.

The only reason I don’t jump in front of a semi is because I feel guilt. Guilt over leaving the kids. Ryan’s an idiot. He wouldn’t be able to take care of them…. then again, maybe he could. Maybe I underestimate him. The kids are not any better off with a mother that is emotionally distant. Yes, granted there are lots that are worse, but they deserve someone better. They are good, sweet kids. I wish Mary Poppins could show up at my door step during the day. I’d make a great weekend mom.

I have nothing for my own. Anything I used to enjoy I don’t anymore. I just don’t care about anything. I’m drowning in a vat of negativity, sadness, heartache and misery. I’m tired. I’m done. I’ve had it. The darkness just won’t leave. I wish it would go away. My head is pounding and I wish it would stop.

I have such hi highs and low lows. Today is a terrible low. I wish I could just stay in my happy high. Ryan always pops my bubble and sends me spiraling downward. Down to the dark abyss that never leaves. It holds its icy dark fingers around my neck, choking the life out of me. I just want to sleep and never wake up. I don’t even want to run away and start over. Guaranteed that I’d screw that up too. I just want this pathetic existence to end. Precipitous finis.