Entering the Crone phase

So, I'm pretty tired three days after my surgery. Maybe even a little hung over from the morphine pump. I will have a hard time staying focused on my subject and the spelling might suck, but if I have to watch Britney Spears gawddamn jazz hands in her "Criminal" video one more time, I might go nuts. Too late, I know.
     For those of you who aren't on facebook, I was diagnosed with uterine fibroids a few months ago. Many women have asked me how I knew I had them. Well, you could see my fibroid every morning sticking out of my lower belly, like the fair sex version of a pee hard-on. In fact, when I finally had it removed on Monday (along with my uterus), my OB GYN told me it was about the size of a cantaloupe. I won't post a pic of uterine fibroids here 'cos I did that on facebook and I think I lost alot of friends that day. Suffice to say, they are ugly and disturbing. Not to mention, they mess up your mestrual cycle, your hormones and (occasionally) cause some back pain.
     So, what was my million dollar question for the surgeon when he told me it would have to come out - "How is that going to affect my sex life?" Quite honestly, I could feel this... growth... for a while now and I knew it was sitting just over the somewhat elusive, and too often overlooked, G-spot. Without going into too much detail, this added pressure made for very.... accessible... climax. Not that Rod ever needed a map to find it before, but the fibroid was definitely acting like a Staples "Easy" button in my opinion.
     Dr. O'Brien dismissed my concerns with excessive confidence in his surgical abilities. I like excessive confidence in surgeons. Plus, he told me we would only do a "subtotal" hysterectomy, in which I keep all my potential sexy parts (ovaries, cervix and the like). He said it was "very European". I left his office feeling very en vogue. If that's not proof that I'm a sucker, I don't know what is.
    My only condition was to have the procedure done under spinal anaesthetic rather than general, and O'Brien said that was fine with him. Keep that in mind... it was "fine with him". His secretary was a bit of a bitch about it for some reason, but my surgery was booked for December 12th.

     Now, as part of my "goddess-based" religion, the three phases of a woman's life (Maiden, Mother and Crone) are very important milestones to be celebrated. However, I was unsure how to feel about this life change. It's very depressing to know I don't NEED a uterus anymore. And, it's a reminder of my age to start taking out things that don't work or are basically excess parts. Not that I WANT more children, but there's a big difference between WANTING them and being ABLE to make them. Am I broken now that I don't have a uterus? Incomplete?
     On the other hand, NO MORE PERIODS!!! YAY!
     Anyway, the days flew by, as they tend to do, and December 12th came. I didn't sleep the night before and I was a nervous wreck that morning. I am not nervous about being cut open, not nervous about pain, not nervous about hospitals. I just don't like being out of control. The inevitability of it sent me into panic attacks. If you don't have control issues, I can't describe it to you. It's ridiculous... like being afraid of whales (which I am). My rational, conscious personality knows this, but she doesn't make the rules. It's the disconnected, subconscious, chocoholic bitch that calls the shots here.
     Speaking of hospitals, what the fuck? Are they run by Bell Canada, too? They ought to start telling you to be available between the hours of midnight and 5 p.m. because if you have an appointment for 8:15 a.m., you are likely to expect to start getting shit done at 8:15 a.m. However, that's very stupid of you because, clearly, an appointment is just a recommendation... a suggested time of arrival, if you will. At 9 a.m. they told me I would be getting in at 10:20 a.m. At 11:30 a.m., they told me I would get in at 1:40 p.m. At 2 p.m., they started saying, "It won't be long now."
     I don't know what time I actually lay outside the operating room getting questioned and re-questioned by the staff. It's very disconcerting to be waiting for surgery when everyone keeps coming over to ask what your name is, what you're having done, etc. I mean, I just kind of showed up when you told me to; shouldn't you KNOW who I am and what I am having done while I'm here?
     First, it's the nurse, "What's your name? What are you having done today?" I told her and I made sure to add that it was being done under spinal anaesthetic and she confirmed.
     Then, the Doctor, "How are you doing? Are you ready?"< rifles through patient info > "We're doing the subtotal hysterectomy today." It's like he's just double checking, so I make sure that he knows it's being done under spinal anaesthetic. "Oh yeah, that's fine with me," he says.
     Next, the anaesthetist comes over. "So.... Sheila. I am  your anaesthetist and I'm going to make sure you're comfortable today."
     "Yes, you're giving me a spinal anaesthetic," I say.
     "Ummm, I don't think that's a good idea," he says.
     .... LOST.... ALL .... CONTROL....
    I tried to walk out. Not easy when you're attached to intravenous in a bed with guard rails. I argued. I cried. I pleaded. This was non-negotiable from my perspective. In the end, I won. On condition that if things got bad, he could knock me out. I said, "How will you know?" And he said, "Oh, I'LL KNOW."
     By the time I got into the O.R., I was hyperventilating and couldn't feel my fingers, so I had to have a sedative. I was so out of it, he could have put me out without any fight. All I remember was the topic of conversation in the room - it had something to do with really good coffee at some place called "L'Auberge-something-or-other". I'd love to know if that really happened or if I was hallucinating.
 That's really random even for a hallucination, don't you think?

     The next two minutes of consiousness were among the worst in my life and I have a VERY high pain tolerance. Like Bil Heffernan says, I'm a "tough ass county girl." Lol. But, they started shoving in the catheter, then the cutting happened... and then the shoving and tugging and pulling! It felt like they cut a hole in my stomach and proceeded to vigorously shove a vacuum hose up into my lungs! That was what I was envisioning anyway, because that was what it felt like. I think I screamed "OW, OW, OW!" and that was it, my anaesthetist saved the day.

     I don't remember a whole lot afer waking up. Rod stayed with me most of the night as I was in and out of consciousness. The nurses came in every hour or so for vitals. By 7 a.m. the next morning, about 15 hours after my surgery, they took out my catheter and I was walking to the bathroom by myself. Yeah, bitches! Tough ass county girl, right herr!

     I was sooooo hot in that hospital; could not wait to get out into the fresh (and unseasonaby warm) December air. I was beginning to worry they had taken out my ovaries, too, causing me hot flashes. Turns out, they just like to keep the hospital at about 98 Celsius. So, when I got home and crawled into Rodney's bed with my head face down and my ass in the air, I started to cry. I mean, I was blubbering like a baby. I was so happy to get into my 66 Celsius house, it was like I could finaly relax after about 3 months of worrying and panic. And, that is how I marked my metamorphosis from Mother to Crone.... I cried and gave thanks for cool flannel sheets.


I couldn't resist.... so gross!



I Don't Have to Dress Like Snookie to Fit In... Phew!



I think he looks like Vin Diesel

      If I had an iPod (which I don't, because I would lose it or it would break... like my Kobo that I bought in August. It froze last week and I have sent increasingly hostile e-mails to the Kobo help desk, featuring such endearing words as "dick", "shit" and "damn customer service". I am not a fan of the Kobo Customer Service team.)
     But, if I had an iPod, it would have an eclectic mix of songs from classical to hip hop and Celtic to Bollywood. I just like music. I probably wouldn't take the time to put any Daughtry songs on my iPod, but I would drive two hours to see him in concert and get home at 2:30 a.m. even though I have to work at 7 a.m. because Sheri likes Daughtry... and I like Sheri.
     We saw him about 3 years ago when he was opening for Bon Jovi at the Air Canada Centre and it was a good show. We had a good time. The tickets were crazy expensive as I recall, but Sheri paid. I have excellent friends :)
     So, when she mentioned on facebook that she was thinking of seeing her boyfriend, Daughtry, in concert again, I offered to go. It wasn't until about a week before the show that I asked where he was playing. To which she replied, "The Phoenix Concert Theatre".
     I had never heard of this venue, so I decided to Google it. Turns out, The Phoenix is a nightclub in Toronto! Now, this may seem like a very small deal to some of the population.To me, it is both intimidating and frightening. City night clubs are so far removed from anything I (as a County girl) am used to. She might as well have told me he was playing in a castle at the bottom of the sea!
     First of all, County girls generally have one outfit for weddings (i.e. a little black dress) and one outfit for work (depending on whether they work in a nursing home, in an office, in a daycare or at a restaurant.... those are the four choices here). There is only one outfit for a night at the bar and that is tight jeans, t-shirt and high-heeled boots.
     Now, I've seen Sex in the City AND Jersey Shore and that is just not how they do things in the more densely populated sections of the planet. Night clubs require big hair, smoky eyes, glossy lips, Jimmy Choos and short skirts. I started to panic a little bit! I'm just not a Jimmy Choo kinda girl! I mean, I would totally buy a pair (from Value Village maybe), but I couldn't actually wear them. I really like all the funky lamps at IKEA too, but that doesn't mean I'd actually have one in my house. At least not where everyone could see it.
     Anyway, I saw a pair of thigh-high riding boots at Winners that I thought would pass for haute couture with a pair of jeggings and a nice top. Unfortunately, they were $60 and I am currently broke. Not like "disconnection notice/can't buy name brand KD" broke. Just can't-afford-no-fucking-$60-boots broke.
     I mentioned my concerns to a girl at work and she offered up a nice, gold-striped, sheer black shirt that would be perfect for the occasion. She bought it in Las Vegas for $80 while drunk shopping in a sketchy boutique where she stumbled over some boxes to try it on in a store room. But, that's her story to tell and I've probably already butchered the truth of it anyway.
     At least, I had a plan. I picked Sheri up at 5-ish on Monday night and she was wearing jeans, Daughtry t-shirt and high-heeled boots and she looked really good. I was still planning on stopping at Winners to pick up those $60 CFM boots, whether I could afford them or not. On the way, I asked Sheri if she was excited to be reunited with her boyfriend after all these years. She just shrugged and said, "Not really."
     WTF?! This was not normal. I know Sheri is in love with a real man and all, but Daughtry has been her loverboy since he was on American Idol five years ago, for crissakes. He would be top of the list of celebrities she is allowed to sleep with regardless of marital status. Over the years, my list has included Ben Affleck, Adam Sandler and Gerrard Butler. I don't think anyone is on my list right now. Taylor Lautner is cute and all, but I am not interested in having sex with Lava Boy.
     I spent about 20 minutes looking for matching boots in the state of emergency they called the footwear section at Winners that evening. In the end, I said to hell with it. Sheri looks awesome in jeans and t-shirt. And, I just happened to bring a black, fitted Tee I recently purchased from grouphugapparel.com. Those highfalutinToronto bitches would just have to kiss my ass if they didn't like my traditional native moccasins!
     Took two hours to get downtown and we found the place on Sherbourne pretty easily. Parking was a bit more difficult. But, it gave us a chance to scope out the locals in the lineup. They were all wearing high-heeled boots, blue jeans and t-shirts. I had to lmao.
     The Phoenix actually looks like my kind of night club - bars at every corner, disco ball, poor lighting, creepy 20-foot portraits on the walls and a loft with comfy couches. We spent an hour standing in the loft waiting for the show, only to discover there was an opening act not listed on the ticket stub. The bleached-blonde, beach boy played about seven songs in a row that all sounded suspiciously alike. I did enjoy his version of U2's "With or Without You" and Night Ranger's "Sister Christian". My calves were killing me as we waited for the sound check crew to finish up. It was damn near 10:30 p.m. when Chris Daughtry finally arrived on stage.
     Sheri said, "I thought I was over him, but I just felt my heart go pitter-patter."
     The "loft" crowd was not excited enough for my liking. They were all sipping their coolers and quietly observing the rock concert from the comfort of their chrome chairs with the disinterested expression of perfume models. I headed down to the main floor where there appeared to be more enthusiasm. I had no problem manoeuvering through the masses because everyone was standing a respectable (and classically Canadian) two feet apart, but Sheri seemed happy to be at the edge of the crowd where she had a clear line of sight to the brown-eyed, sweaty, bald man she loves. This put me, however, behind an ogre-sized fellow wearing a robin's-egg-blue hoodie and size 13 high tops. I couldn't see shit. Not unless it was in this guy's pants because his ass was at my eye level. No jokes, this guy was tall.
     Meanwhile, a plus-size brunette and her equally stout blonde friend were pretending to be drunk and acting like tools right in front of Sheri. I say they were "pretending" because these girls had no respect for alcohol. Since I couldn't see anything else, I watched them flail around with a single shot of rye and cola for 15 minutes without ever taking a sip. There was far more booze on the floor than they ever got in their obnoxious mouths. The brunette almost knocked Sheri in the face when she leaned back to holler. Don't get me wrong - I have absolutely been "that girl" at a concert before; acting drunk and irritating the masses. But, I wasn't in the mood for her 'cause I had pulled a hamstring 3 days earlier, doing the splitz after chugging a six-pack at a 60th birthday party. I know. I'm a hypocrite.
     I was beginning to feel like Goldilocks - the loft was too laid back, the back of the crowd was too intense, but the spot right beneath the disco ball seemed perfect.
     I don't think Daughtry ever made eye contact with Sheri. She was obviously smitten nonetheless. I enjoyed the second half of his set, which included "Over You" - my favourite Daughtry song. I was also really impressed with the fact that he likes Elton John's Rocket Man and Billy Idol's Rebel Yell.

I am deceptively thin-looking in this pic. That makes me happy.

     He didn't swear once! Nor did he take off his shirt in spite of repeated requests from the crowd. I found this shocking because every concert I've ever been to has included the kind of foul language that one might hear while sitting in the passenger seat of my car as I try to find my way out of the gawddamn underground parking lot! Sheri has informed me that Chris Daughtry is a Christian man whose wife just gave birth to twins last year. Won't mom be proud? I watched a Christian rock concert while stone-cold sober and driving just slightly over the speed limit on the ride home. Can I get a witness?

Brought to you today by the letter H and number 1 (in the bushes)

I just called a cab to get home from Colleen’s house and the crazy cab driver is doing like 150K down Main Street, Picton. At home, I’m so liquored that I can’t hold a spoon to eat my rice pudding. It’s that damn Australian wine, chrissakes! Get’s me every time. This one was a Penley Estates Rose... and I haven’t drunk rose since the Mateus phase in the 11th grade. I find it tastes like Tahiti Treat.


So, who’s Colleen? I don’t know. A friend of mine is house sitting for her. I don’t think that’s her real name, but it’s the best I can come up with in my wobbly state. I bought a bottle of wine to take to my dad’s 67th birthday party and, after a couple of drunken laps with the zero point lawn tractor, I ended up getting Big Rod to drop me off at a hot tub on Main Street. We were celebrating a D-I-V-O-R-C-E... which is nowhere near final. She just had the papers served. But, that’s a good enough reason for me to drink wine in a hot tub with two girls who went to high school with me.

Hhhhhot tubs are great for all the “H” topics of conversation – such as, horseback riding, houses for sale, hemorrhoids, husbands, high school and how to hook up in the digital world. It is also like walking onto the set of Days of Our Lives, in which one woman’s ex is buying the house of her best friend’s ex in an area that is nowhere of any interest to him geographically. Meanwhile, the best friend’s ex is now dating a woman he said he hated.

That last sentence comes as no surprise to me and isn’t really gossip worthy. There’s a fine line between hate and love - just read Pride and Prejudice. In fact, I used to think my husband was a no-good, womanizing tool. The only reason I ever had anything to do with him was because he was a “sure thing” and I was a single mom with low self-esteem. Imagine my surprise when he told me he wouldn’t sleep with me because (and I quote), “The next time I get with someone, it will be the last time. It will be forever.” What an arsehole. ;)

Anyway, I’ve always wanted a hot tub, but I don’t think they are useful in the summer. They are too hot to sit in and too cold to get out of. So, you spend 3 hours in an uncomfortable position, half-out and half-in some people soup. Colleen’s does have a cool, underwater coloured light that really brings out the cellulite on my thighs, ffs. You don’t want to hear about my cellulite though. What you really wanna hear about is my pee break.

So, Colleen’s deck is a slab of concrete that is situated about 5 feet above the backyard and about 3 feet over the side yard. Although it was dark, I presume there are some flowers or shrubs along the concrete at the side. There is, fortunately, a sturdy wooden garden box with some lovely chrysanthemums, as well as, some solar LEDs. This looked like an excellent place for me to pop a squat. Clearly, I was drunk.

Drunk Pissing Over Small Bluff

I assumed the squatting position with my ass well over the side of the 3-foot drop. Now, 3 feet is clearly not life threatening, but if you are midstream and lose your balance to fall backwards into the nether, you will probably break your neck or, at least, bite your tongue really hard on impact. I’m teetering on the edge of this cliff, holding onto the garden box with my left hand and pulling my $80 Roots bathing suit (on-sale-for-half-price at Sears) to the side at the crotch with my right hand so as not to soil myself. This should absolutely be a yoga pose! I would call it, “Drunk pissing over small bluff.” Of course, my urine would not stop coming. Longest pee in history. URGH!

The fish whisperer

     One time, when I went on vacation for a few days - I think it was the time we went to Boston. Anyway, I let someone look after our fish while I was gone. When I came back, the fish tank was filled with what looked like porridge, but was actually an entire package of fish food. My fish were practically dead when I dug them out of the muck. Cleo recovered much faster than Chloe, although (to his credit) Cleo had lived through much worse in the almost 15 years that I had him. Chloe required a little bit more attention for her asphyxia. In fact, she floated on her side for 48 hours while I performed fish CPR. Every 15 minutes or so, I would hold her perpendicular and force water through her gills by pushing her through the water back and forth. I contemplated actually performing mouth-to-mouth when things were looking particularly bleak. But, clearly, my oxygen and her oxygen were not compatable. Regardless, she turned out all right and Cleo and Chloe went on to have Petit Gervais, Edward, Lestat, and Louis.
     Every summer for the last 5 years or so, I would put my fish in a makeshift pond in my backyard made from a purple kiddie pool and some local water plants. I would like to think they loved it. They ate mosquito larva and frollicked amid the foliage. However, last year, after I transported my fish from their winter home (a large, barrel-shaped planter) into their summer home, I woke up on each of five days to one less fish. Whatever it was took the babies first. When I went out to count them all on day one, I assumed one was hiding in the foliage. The second day, when both Petit Gervais and Louis were gone, I knew I had to act. I put a heavy board on top of the pond overnight. This prevented the theft for a couple of nights, then the rogue struck again. The board had been moved and Edward and Lestat were gone. I figured the menace was unable to catch the larger fish, so I left the board off and mourned my minnows. To my horror, the next day, Cleo was missing. That was the end of the fishy summer home. Chloe came back in the house and hasn`t been outside since.
     Until today. I decided Chloe had been imprisoned in her dark, winter home for long enough. It was time to set her free to be with the other carp at Point Peter or to get swallowed by the carp and be with her family. I was meeting Amanda for a quick swim before work, so I scooped Chloe into a big Tupperware container with a lid and set out.
     I parked at one end of the beach and couldn`t find Amanda anywhere. So, I took a walk to the other end. There was a group of women in their usual spot along the bluffs, and a creeper guy sitting in his K car (probably rubbing one out while watching a couple of chubby chicks flounce around in the waves). Still no sign of Amanda. There were alot of people on the flat rock beach further down, but it was going to take more time to walk there than I was willing to waste with only half an hour left before I had to leave for work. I turned back to get my car and was making my way down the dirt road when I had to stop. The creeper fellow had his back to me, legs spread out and one arm behind his back, clearly relieving himself right in the middle of the road. I thought about just walking on like nothing special was happening. Serves the old perv right for pissing in my path. However, this perv was probably exposing his manhood on purpose and would get his jollies by having me walk by. Instead, I waited him out. He was either pissing out an entire case of beer or he was specifically waiting for someone to walk by while his pecker was hanging out. I`m glad I decided to wait. It was about two minutes before he rearranged himself and started walking back to the car. I walked right past him without a word. Stupid creeper.
     I parked further down the beach without any sign of Amanda`s van and was about to give up. As I walked out onto the flat rocks, I met my friend, Shirley. Now this is weird for a couple of reasons. A) I haven`t seen Shirley in months even though she`s one of my favourite people and B) Shirley is the one who gave Cleo to me all those years ago. Cleo had been a fish she won at the fair by bouncing ping pong balls into fishbowls filled with blue and red water.
     I shared my story with Shirley by the waves and told her my plan to release Chloe back to the wilds. She clearly thought I had wandered away from my group of window lickers. But, she supported my decision and watched as I took my microwave-safe dish out into the lake and plunge it - fish and all - to the bottom. I actually had to tip the bowl so Chloe would get out. She nestled herself deep into a crevice between the limestone rocks and sat there.
     Meanwhile, Amanda came walking up the beach with her girls and we discussed the situation. Chloe hadn`t moved and I was beginning to think I might have to get all Old Yeller on her.You know the part where Travis tries to get Old Yeller to run away by chasing him with a stick or something. I never liked that stupid movie anyway. I did kind of push her out of the seaweed-covered rocks, but she just nestled back in another spot. In the end, I decided I would try to scoop her back up and she would either get back in the bowl or she would swim off and live happily ever after.

Photo by Amanda Whiten

      Well, didn`t that goddamn fish practically jump back in the bowl! I scooped her up and let her sit in the shade with Shirley while I took a quick swim. It`s so beautiful out there. But, Chloe is just as happy in her winter home with her potted water lilies and her bubbler. I am happy with the knowledge that I can at least take her for a swim at the point every once in a while to keep her social.

     It's the end of an era :( The last Harry Potter movie (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows Part 2) came out on Friday. I am, of course, very excited about the movie and very sad that there aren't any more books or movies to anticipate. I have been a "Potter-head" for several years now and even went to Florida just to see Hogwarts (or the closest available replica) at Universal Orlando last October.
     As a Potter-head, I never got the books on the day they were released or watched the movies with all the other regular people. I always had to go at midnight on opening night in full Potter garb so I could get it or see it BEFORE any normal muggle. I usually buy my tickets to the theatre WEEKS in advance and arrive AT LEAST an hour before the movie starts so I can get a good seat. This time, however, I left it to the last minute. I think part of me didn't want to admit the end was near, so I avoided buying tickets. Kind of like when my water broke with my first-born and I wouldn't go to the hospital because I was too terrified to have a baby. I have always been pretty good at lying to myself but, now that I'm older and wiser, I'm starting to catch on to my sneaky self. lol.
     Not only was I afraid to admit the end was near, I was also scheduled to work at 7 a.m. on Friday. Staying up until 2 a.m. and then driving home from Kingston, getting home at 3 a.m. and then waking up 2 hours later for work would be a bad idea. I had a feeling there would be a lot of snooty bastards wearing hot Nabob coffee and walking around with a fork in their orbital cavity if I pulled that stunt. I need my sleep. In fact, everyone needs my sleep.
     Therefore, when I heard that The Regent Theatre in Picton (Bless their little hearts!) were having a 9 p.m. show of HP DH1, followed by the midnight show of HP DH2, I was ecstatic! I announced via facebook that I would be attending "HP DH1 and 2" in Picton on Thursday night and asked if anyone would like to come with.
     Well, the response was underwhelming. Most of my so-called "friends" were confused by my acronym. Janet thought I intended to watch the making of printers (HP - Hewlett Packard). It could also have been that I was taking a course on the benefits of steak sauce, I suppose. Others have not fully embraced George Orwell's Nineteen Eight-Four Newspeak the way I have.
   Side note: That book is terrifying in it's accurate portrayal of human society, btw. Should read. No doublethinking.
     Meanwhile, back at The Island Family Restaurant on Thursday night, things are looking good for me. I have asked Ashley to do the closing duties so I can leave early and secure a place in line. The Regent is run by volunteers that cannot organize advanced ticket sales, so I actually have to do something in person rather than online. IRL sucks! The Regent Theatre Foundation.... there's no app for that, dammit! Anyway, 6:30 p.m. and I think I'm home free. I should be out by 7 p.m. All my fill-ups are done, the bathrooms are clean, the place is empty... except for that table of four. Oh, and one more table of four. Now, a table of two. Couple of more tables of 3... WTF!!! People, can you not see that I am trying to get to a very important movie!?

Me and Dev in front of The Regent

     I refused to take any tables. I gave up any hope of tips by bussing tables for Ashley and taking all the takeout orders for an hour. When the clock struck 7:30 (and not a millisecond later), I was out that door like a teenaged girl stealing lacy panties from La Senza. No looking back, hands in my pockets and trying not to look guilty.
     I went home to change and realized I had forgotten my purse at work. What a bunch of bullshit! Now, not only do I have to waste more time, I also have to face my employers who probably didn't want me to leave the new girl in a busy restaurant by herself. FML. Luckily, the only thing Amy had to say was, "Ohh, Sheila. You've gone home already?" I said, "Yep! I've got a date!" Grabbed my bag and got out.
     Meanwhile, Alex is texting me, "Don't even go home. Get here NOW." The lineup was around the corner and rumour had it there was no multiple ticket sales (i.e. you can't buy tickets for people who are not already with you.) At this point, I was speedwalking the two blocks to the movie theatre wearing my Green Lantern t-shirt and Old Navy chambray shorts. I would have liked to have the Slytherin robes I bought in Florida, but clearly Alex had beaten me to the punch because they were not hanging beside my bed where they usually are. My elder wand (the most powerful wand and one of the deathly hollows) was somewhere deep in the hollows of my son's bedroom, so I couldn't bring it either.
     Alex and Devon were waiting at the front of the line when I arrived. My heart skipped a beat with joy! Now, if I could just get tickets for Heather and Randie. Heather not only knew what I meant by "HPDH2", but also offered to watch it with me. I would not fail her.
     "Buddy", who manages the theatre, arrived late. He was one of the bastards who had come in for dinner at The Island when I was trying to get the hell out of there. He gave us a little warning about using video cameras in the theatre. Nevermind that after you buy a ticket, no one is there to take it from you to make sure you bought one. Anyone could walk through the front doors and push past all the people buying tickets in order to find a good seat. In fact, that's just what Heather and Randie did. Unfortunately, I had already purchased their tickets. I'm just saying... some security is in order.
     We got some pretty good seats in the exact middle of the theatre. The new seats are not uncomfortable, especially considering we were sitting there for about 5 hours, but the flat floor makes it impossible to see anything taking place at the bottom of the screen because even one row of heads in front of you impedes your line of sight. Heather had to read the subtitles for me (when Voldemort spoke in Parseltongue).
     Anyway, during the first movie, there's a scene where Harry visits his parents' graves. For some reason, this was where Heather got a case of the giggles. The woman just celebrated her 40th birthday and she's busting a gut, trying to start a popcorn fight. Well, this gets me started on some nervous tittering, thinking we are about to get kicked out of Harry Potter for being obnoxious. If I try to hold back my laughter, it just finds some other way to come out. Sometimes I blow a snort out my nose that sounds alot like a horse - which is what I did at this time. Other times, I fart, and I am glad that did not happen like it did in my grade 12 classic civilizations class. That bit of gas caused my friend, Alison, to fall out of her desk onto the floor in fits of laughter and get us both kicked out. Damn that Ms. Grimley!
     To make matters worse, Heather suggested we needed a slingshot to try to get popcorn into the balcony where Alex and Devon were sitting. I said, "Take off your underwear and we'll see what they can do." By this point, Randie is hiding her eyes from the scene with Nagini and Bathilda Bagshot, which is even more hilarious. This continues until the point where... SPOILER ALERT! If you haven't read the books and (for some odd reason) you haven't seen the first part of Deathly Hollows, please skip to the next paragraph. Thank you. SOOOOO, we get to the part where Dobby has been stabbed in the chest by that bitch, Bellatrix LeStrange, and he is dying in Harry's arms on the beach.
     Randie and I are bawling our eyes out. I'm sniffing constantly and wiping my eyes with the backs of my hands, while Randie is suffering silently beside me by covering her mouth with her hands and biting back the tears. So Heather says, "It's alright, girls."
     With red-rimmed eyes and a vicious, almost satanic growl, Randie and I simultaneously give Heather a death glare and say, "NO, IT'S NOT!" We were practically insulted that she could suggest everything was alright while Dobby lay dying! I'm sure the whole theater heard us.
     In an effort to keep the shenanigans to a minimum, I told Heather and Randie that I would sit with Alex and Devon for the next show. After a quick pee break, I took a seat beside Alex where she had been storing her back pack. She said to me, "You're not going to want to sit there. The guy sitting in the chair beside you needs both of those seats." I assumed she was overreacting and I think I called her a drama queen before going out for some refreshments. When I returned, there was a large gentleman in a brown t-shirt in the space beside mine. He politely offered to stand up and move to the aisle while I took my seat beside Alex. He was quite spry for a man of over 300 pounds and very polite. Plus, he didn't stink. So, I was down with sharing some of my seat with the fellow.
     However, trying to relax while I am leaning over into Alex' seat so I don't touch my neighbour, while Alex leans over into Devon's seat so she doesn't come close to her own mother (who obvsly has a bad case of mom cooties) lost it's cosy appeal after about four minutes. It was then that I felt my blessed smart phone start to vibrate and glow, indicating an incoming text. Who could that be?

              Heather: Who's your lil friend beside you?

     I look down to the floor seats to see her pointing up at me and laughing because my face has probably turned all shades of red, hoping my "lil friend" isn't reading my glowing, bold text over my shoulder. After all, I might as well be sitting in his lap. I quickly tuck my phone into my shorts and yell down at Heather, pointing, "You bitch, you!" I tell my lil friend not to bother getting up and I squeeze out of the row to go and sit with Heather and Randie, who clearly need my supervision.
     I decided I had to see the movie again tonight, this time in 3D. It's really much better in surround sound with 3D glasses, but I wish Heather and Randie had been with me. I'm sure Randie would have bitch-slapped the moron behind me who was giving a running commentary on the "believability" of the film.

Teaching an old (female) dog new tricks



Chucking the deuce with my Nintendo DS game

      So far, July has been all about learning. For example, I wanted to learn Chinese. I thought, "Maybe, if I learn a few words in Chinese, I can impress my new bosses by ordering a Combo Number 4 in their native tongue."
     Therefore, I spent countless hours trolling the used video game sections and surfing eBay to find a copy of My Chinese Coach for Nintendo DS. I learn best when I'm trying to beat a video game and it seemed like a good idea at the time. I finally got one for about $30 from eBay seller 12skip12... and then we had a postal strike. It took a couple of extra weeks, but I did eventually get the game and couldn't wait to start learning!
     A couple of late nights and I had figured out numbers 1 - 10, the days of the week and I could say, "Mother scolds the horse" with perfect tone. Writing in Chinese was another matter. I cannot grasp the concept of symbols vs. letters and I can't absorb the meaning of all the little lines. When I write Chinese, all I see are little windows, little roof tops and an occasional ladder. This is quite a blow to my ego.
     Not to be discouraged, I learned how to say, "Today is Sunday. Yesterday was Saturday. Tomorrow is Monday." I repeated these sentences over and over in my head all day Sunday at the Waring House so I would be ready to recite them for George in the afternoon.
     When I walked in the kitchen at 4 p.m., I took a deep breath and said, "Hey George! Jintian shi xingqi tian." He looked up from his huge plate of vegetables and stared at me for a second...  just before he started laughing so hard that sauce came out his nose. "I don't know what you say!" he roared. I explained that I had spent $30 to learn how to say "Today is Sunday" in Chinese and he was ruining everything by not understanding me. He said, "You spend thirty dollah to learn how to say THAT?" And he roared with laughter some more. This made Amy come into the kitchen, so I told her what I said. She didn't laugh, but she did give me a little tip. Apparently, Mandarin and Cantonese are the same language in writing, but are pronounced completely differently. It's kind of like I can write the numbers, "1, 2, 3, 4" and everyone knows what those numbers are, whether they speak Spanish, German, French or Italian. However, they are pronounced differently in each of those languages. Similarly, what I had learned to say was in Mandarin, whereas George and Amy speak Cantonese. If I could just master all the little symbols, maybe I can write out the orders and George will not have to laugh at me.
     So, it's a work in progress. Another language I'm trying to master is urban. What the hell am I talking about you might ask? Lemme break it down for you, my brotha'. I am listening to alot of Nicki Minaj and Wiz Khalifa these days and I'm having a hard time figuring out what the hell they are saying. I'm sure it's very cool stuff, I just want to be cool, too. If you want to be cool, check out urbandictionary.com. Meantime, I will give you a couple of examples:

Urban -  "I ain' gon' flex, I'm not gon' front. You know when I ball then we all gon' stunt"
English - "I'm not fake. I really do have quite a lot of money. And, when people are with me, everyone looks good."
County girl- "I am so down to earth. I'm going out on the town tonight, wearing my best Old Navy tank top, Payless sandals and jewelry from Ardene. Prolly taking a cab."

Urban - "I mack them dudes up, back coupes up and chuck the deuce up"
English - "I flirt with boys, drive fast cars and give respect to my friends by waving my two fingers in the air"
County girl - "I like to make out with random people when I'm drunk, I drive a mini-van and I give people the finger when they piss me off."

     Now, that I can talk the talk, it's time to learn to walk the walk. Apparently, there is a dance called "The Dougie" that is either hard to do or just a basic step that everyone needs to know. It's latest claim to fame is being featured in "The Lazy Song" by Bruno Mars, in which he sings, "Click to MTV so they can teach me how to Dougie". I have been meaning to Google it, but I never find the time... until now. Check out http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJxYiIfr4WM&feature=share
     I showed my new-found skills to one of the girls at work on Tuesday. Thanks for not laughing, Lindsay. And, I will officially post a link of my dance debut from The Waring House on Sunday afternoon. Be prepared.
     Another hot dance craze is The Shuffle for LMFAO's "Party Rock Anthem". This is going to be a little more difficult as "The Running Man" is involved. I have NEVER been able to do that. Check out http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=luqf6E3DILc for more info.
     I learned a very cool Salsa from a friend-of-a-friend who I was hanging out with today. "Kate" is THE coolest handicapped woman (second only to my own niece) because she really likes Selena Gomez from Wizards of Waverly Place, but she also watches "a show that has SEX in it", she laughs at all my jokes and she did a lap dance for someone at her church - complete with the customary hair whipping. I also thought she said that she liked "penis" today, but what she really said was that she liked "pitas"... so we went to the Pita Pit in Belleville for lunch. Excellent, btw.
     Anyway, in the middle of what Kate referred to as a "half rain" (but I would more likely call "a fucking downpour") in front of said Pita Pit on North Front Street, she showed me the Salsa, in which she steps back and forth and claps her hands. I showed her the Dougie and she told me it was old. Must not have been too bad though 'cos she included me in her prayers tonight. "God bless the one that gave me lunch and danced with me in the living room", she said. Lol. Awesome.
   

Somebody Up There Really Likes Me... lol. j/k

Did you ever have one of those days where everything is just perfect and awe-inspiring and life-affirming and... and... just so cool! My dad had one of those days on Sunday (coincidentally on Father's Day). He came over this morning to tell me about it.
     First of all, his blood pressure is down. He's been consulting a local health enthusiast/naturopath who has been prescribing a daily regimen of lemon juice, celtic salt, nettle tea and kefir. He is also eating for his blood type and staying clear of wheat and dairy products. He isn't craving foods at night and he has lost some weight.
     To top it all off, he pwnd at the racetrack on Sunday. Dad races a vintage MGB in the VARAC circuit and, this weekend, he pulled a personal best lap time of 1:42. He says he feels like he's on cloud nine; invincible; unstoppable.
     Quite honestly, I was very nervous as he was telling me all this. Maybe I watch too many Hollywood movies, but it's my experience that whenever life is giving you nothing but cherries, it is preparing you for a HUGE pitfall. My idea of pitfall insurance - a piece of wood. I am super superstitious. If I spill salt, I throw it over my left shoulder. I can't walk by a penny without picking it up. I don't open umbrellas indoors and I never walk under ladders. Why tempt fate? And, if I am ever stupid enough to open my mouth and say what a great time I'm having, or how great my financial situation is, or what a long time it's been since I had a cold/flu - I ALWAYS TOUCH WOOD. It's the cheapest protection against speaking too soon or counting our chickens before they've hatched.
     If you Google this practice, you'll find I'm not the only cuckoo on the planet. Every culture from Arabic to Turkish has the same little quirk. Sometimes it's knocking under the table, sometimes it's touching a wall and(strangely enough) sometimes it requires spitting over your left shoulder 3 times. Ew.
     Regardless, I am glad dad is on top of the world where he should be. I was hoping the same for myself today since it is Summer Solstice and one of the few spiritual holidays that I like to celebrate. In the past, I have stayed up all night long to mark the longest day of the year. Belleville often holds its annual Relay for Life 12 hour fundraiser close to this date which is a perfect excuse to do so. This year, however, I celebrated with family in honour of Father's Day and my Mom's birthday. We had a nice lunch together, which was brief, but entertaining.
     I still had about 3 hours before my evening shift started, so I decided to go to Point Petre. If you come to the County, don't waste your time spending $20 to park at the Sandbanks and swim in the sludgy, slimy filth with 4000 cidiots (city dweller+idiot=cidiot) in Speedos. Find Point Petre and relax in the sun with a book like I did.
     It's been far too long since I took the 10 minute drive to the point. I could barely recall where the entrance is. I was so frightened that my car would bottom out on the rocky terrain to the lake, but I was lucky enough (touch wood) to make it through unscathed. Parking wasn't a problem. I just pulled off the trail towards the rocky, 10-foot bluff. There were some other folks enjoying the cool, clear lake, but I basically had access to a private beach.
     I immediately stripped down to my new bathing suit (Roots $71.99 at Sears... I have 30 days to get a price adjustment and I'm hoping it goes on sale soon - fingers crossed!) and let the crystal blue water take my breath away. That's when I saw the carp. These fish look alot like your common goldfish, except for the fact that they're either dark brown or grey and they are about 2 or 3 feet long.
     The one carp was followed by a group of three and then a group of five. They swam peacefully through the water just steps away from me. At one point, I felt like I was surrounded. It was so cool. I just don't know how else to describe it. I guess, it's a poor person's version of swimming with dolphins. But, probably a lot colder and less noisy. Who wants to hear all that annoying dolphin chatter anyway?
     I sun-baked on the rocky shore while reading Game of Thrones. I took some pictures of honeysuckle and hawkweed that was growing out of the cliff. I closed my eyes and listened to the nothing. The sweet, sound of nothing (nothing but a few thousand little gnats, flies, and other bugs) is so nice. After an hour, I packed up all my shit and headed back to the car to get ready for work. All relaxed and happy. Blissfully happy. Just as I was coming up the dirt trail to the main road, I saw a huge doe not 10 feet in front of me. I could have sworn she was there just to say, "Hey, thanks for coming out! Nice seeing you!" Like a message from the gods on this glorious, blessed day.
     Speaking of messages, I should check my phone. Damn! It's in my beach bag in the back seat. Strange... I don't think the Bluetooth is working. I'll just have to wait until I get home. No hurry. I'll do about 60km/hour in to town. Lots of time before 4 p.m. Maybe I'll even stop in to visit my aunt's grave site in Cherry Valley. She would have loved such a beautiful day. Damn! There's a graveside service going on. Is it rude to strut around in your $70 bathing suit at a graveyard? Maybe I'll do it another time. Okay. Almost home. Good thing cos I really gotta pee. Damn! I should have known my period was coming. My pants were feeling pretty tight this week. Oh well. Nothing could ruin such a perfect day. I'm going to check out those pics I took at the beach. Now, where's that phone.... Hmmmmm. I thought I put it in this bag. It must be in here somewhere. Is it in the car? No. Is it in the bathroom? No. It's not on the counter. Surely I couldn't have left it at the point. I remember putting it in the bag. Do I remember putting it in the bag? Maybe I was going to put it in the bag. That would explain why the Bluetooth wasn't working.

     Too make a long story shorter, I have lost my phone and I was an hour late for work. I wasted a half tank of gas going back and forth trying to find the damn thing and I was panicked the whole time. Part of me says, "Big deal. I'll go get another phone. I wanted to do that soon anyway." But part of me is saying, "I hope to hell no one finds that phone... and all the naked pictures I've texted to Big Rod in the last six months."

38 and Great!

     I'm a high maintenance princess for one month out of every year. Just for one month, basically from Mother's Day through to my birthday on the 23rd (and as many days after as I see fit), I expect EVERYONE to stop what they're doing and pay homage to the excellence that is me. The other months, I am pretty humble. That may be because no one actually agrees that the world revolves around me :(
     Or, at least, so I thought... It started last night (the 22nd). When I got home from work, I had plans to go to the local drive-in movie for an all-nighter; on long weekend Sundays, the drive-in shows four movies from sundown to sunrise. I even got a 6-pack of beer to take with me. However, by the time Rod was finished working on his hot rod and had a shower, it was already getting dark and I am already indignant that he would dare to spend time on anything other than me during my birthweek. At the movie, everyone had taken all the good spots so we were as far from the screen as you could get without using binoculars. Urgh.
    Many of the dark fighting scenes in Pirates of the Caribbean were indistinguishable. I found myself asking Rodney, "Who was that? With the sword?" or "What was he grabbing for?" or "Who's fighting who? Is that Barbossa or Black Beard?" I also remarked on how much better it would be in 3D. Then, I wanted to get out and break some headlights, taillights and truck cab roof lights. Jeesh, I really need to write a courtesy manual for newbies to the drive-in.
     Honestly, I was a real party pooper. The beer wasn't helping either. I wasn't feeing anything after two bottles. Just the need to pee. The last time I went to the canteen/washrooms, I offered to help scoop some unidentified horror off the floor with the maintenance staff (Holla! Tammy and Kelly!) So, the next time I just popped a squat in the back field near the fence line.
     Ater the movie was over, I wanted to take advantage of our "alone time" and get some lovin' in the back of the Kia. This proved frustrating at best. I'm certainly not a prude and I have no problem with public nudity, but the idea of having random headlights shining on my husband's bare ass did not put me in the mood. Plus, I didn't want him to touch me with anything that had been near a public restroom. In the end, we got into a workable position with my head hanging off the folded-down seats and his feet pushing against the back window, knees bent. However, this caused him to get a Charlie Horse in his right calf. The whole thing was a nightmare and the worst two minutes of my life.
     I was disappointed and unsatisfied. What a complete waste of an evening. I decided I was just going home to bed, so that I could get up and go for a coffee at Timmy's before work. Unfortunately, Rod had made plans with his buddy, Phil, to go for coffee... ON MY BIRTHDAY! WTF?! It was the final straw for me. I was completey pissed. Went for breakfast with my dad and step-mom. Got a lovely card, a cool outdoor turtle lamp, and some spending money, plus homemade slippers and more spending money from mom.
     Rod was spending the morning wiring the lights on his hot rod, so I thought I'd spend the afternoon shopping in Belleville. Got in the car, rocked out to "Rolling in the Deep" by Adele and "Rock me Gently" by Andy Kim, started to feel a little better about my life... then I noticed how quiet it was on Bell Boulevard. Hmmmmm, looks like the mall is closed on the May Twofour Monday... How odd? Surely, Walmart is not closed! By the Jesus... even Walmart is closed! I parked the car and just started bawling. Yet another complete waste of time. Drove back home in the pouring rain. On the way, Rodney texted me, "Holy shit! It's really coming down!" I replied, "That's my soul... condensating."
     When I walked in the door, I went straight to bed. That's the only thing you can do when your day is taking a shit... Take a nap and wait for the planets to realign. However, my cell phone is linked to my facebook account. So, every time someone wished me a "Happy Birthday!", my phone would vibrate. I have about 300 friends, therefore, I got no sleep. And, I didn't want to turn off the phone just in case I missed something important.
     I decided I would just go to work and be as miserable with all the bastards at the restaurant as the universe was being to me. Total sour grapes attitude. I unloaded my tragic tale to Amanda, who basically ignored me... and then returned from the walk-in fridge with a chocolate cake and 3 lit candles singing happy birthday.
     Finally! Some recognition! Someone who took time from her busy day to say, "Dammit, Sherla! You ARE someone special! And, you deserve some chocolate AND a little birthday song!" I would have cried, but I spent all my tears in the parking lot at Walmart.
     Two hours later, I was taking extra napkins to Table 3, when I saw my friends Janet and Jenna carrying what looked suspiciously like a plate of cupcakes up the steps to my work. I was standing at Table 3 with the napkins in hand when I exclaimed, "Oh My God!" I think the poor woman at the table thought I was having a seizure. She almost jumped out of the booth to perform CPR or some shit. Next thing I know, another rendition of Happy Birthday comes parading through the door with Janet, Jenna, Jordian, Justin, Ryan and Heather. This was awesome! I was getting recognition AND making a public spectacle of myself! <3 <3 <3
     At 8:30 p.m., I got a beautiful vegatarian dinner prepared by my daughter, complete with a detailed menu of the repast.
A blooming onion, "Because of that time we had one at Coach's and loved it". That's where I started to cry again.
Grilled aubergine with olive oil and salish, "How the hell did you want me to fry the eggplant?"
Shut Up And Eat The Stuffed Tomato, "Don't give a fuck whether you want it or not - I had something like it in Greece."
And, Duh! Birthday Cake for dessert, "Mostly cause Dad wanted it,"
"Happy Birthday and shit," she said
     That's my girl. At moments like these, I could not be more proud.

     Then, there's the infamous birthday card from my son. Every year, I get something creative from him. This time, he spent hours drawing a picture of his World of Warcraft character. He also consulted with masses of anti-social, delinquent gamers via World of Warcraft trade chat to find out what words of wisdom he could impart in celebration of his mother's birthday. The results are as follows:
"I'm glad you're pro-life"
"Good job last night"
"Dad needs a blowie"
and "When I'm with my GF, I think of you"
The list goes on and on...
     So, I have received love and best wishes (and pornographic suggestions) from my facebook friends, my family, my co-workers, my beloved children and even complete strangers who probably have criminal records and definitely have social phobias. It is a good day.

They don't make Gramma's like they used to

     I'm sooooo tired. A word of advice to anyone with a teenager taking a Parenting class - "Don't let them bring home that godforsaken robotic baby."
     When Austin came home with a note from the school to say he would be participating in the "real" baby experience, I was excited. I wouldn't say I am eager to become a Grandmother, but I anticipate being very happy about that joyous news... assuming it doesn't come until my own children have moved out, graduated post-secondary and got a job. After that, I expect I will feel elated in the same way I did when I found out Austin would be bringing home a doll that cries, drinks, poops and burps.
     The first weekend he brought home "Garrosh Hellscream", named after the Warchief of The Horde on the popular online game, World of Warcraft. Unfortunately, Garrosh never even started to cry or eat or poop. He was a dud baby.
     A few weeks later, Swifty arrived. I'm not sure where that name comes from. It turned out to be appropriate because AS SOON as he finished a bottle, Swifty would immediately produce a dirty diaper.
     Just for some background on this assignment, the local highschool parenting program has these robotic, life-like dolls (worth about $1000 each) that they send home with a teenager for the weekend to experience what parenting might really be like. At 3 p.m., the doll activates and the student is required to use a magnetic wristband to respond to the baby. Basically, it's like scanning the baby's back in a grocery store except you use your wrist. This prevents mom and dad from babysitting all weekend; no wristband, no ability to take care of baby.
     After they scan, the baby proceeds to cry in a specific manner to indicate whether they need feeding, changing or burping. Sometimes - and this is the real clincher - the baby is just fussy and cries no matter what you do. Depending on the circumstance, you use a magnetic baby bottle to feed it, a magnetic diaper to change it, or pat it's back to burp it.
     Now, I had been warned that this would be the worst weekend of my life. I had heard stories of the student's parents putting the pretend baby in the trunk of the car overnight so as not to hear the crying. I had heard of other kids breaking the necks of these babies on purpose to ensure a failing grade. I had even heard of totally family meltdowns as a result of these inconsolable little machines. I didn't believe it. But, I believe it now.
     The first day was a cinch. If nothing else, Austin is a quick learner and an efficient caretaker. He had a system whereby he would keep Swifty's arms and legs up in the air while sitting in his little carseat (that comes complete with safety straps,  I might add) to expediate diaper changes and provide "hands-free" bottle feeding.
     I was quite smitten with little Swifty. He sounded just like a real baby when he was drinking that bottle. You know how babies are. They sound like they haven't had a meal in days and they're gulping back the milk like it's a cold beer and last call at The Regal Beagle. <<sigh>> It took me back to a time when my own two teenagers were just babies and not the disrespectful freeloaders they've become.
     With a smile on my face and a song in my heart, I would come home from work or back from the grocery store and the first thing I would do is check on my little Swifty.
     I found it most satisfying that the greatest demand Swifty had for Austin was food. On the first night, he would cry for food about once every two hours and would drink his bottle for about 10 minutes each time. Austin has a similar appetite and is constantly saying, "Mom, I'm hungry." Now when I say "constantly", what I mean is just that. If he is awake, he's hungry. I have made a roast chicken and a box of Lucky Charms for this child.... as an after school snack. Teenaged boys are cheaper to house than to feed, trust me.
     Anyway, I enjoyed feeding times with Swifty. Austin would scan his back and hand the baby over to me. I was not permitted to remove him from his car seat because Austin was afraid I wasn't holding Swifty's neck properly. I would proceed to rock and feed him until he made the cutest little gurgle, indicating he was satisfied. He was soooo sweet. My cat was not impressed with Swifty. He sniffed at the doll disgustedly and probably would have pissed on him if anyone's back had been turned.
     Even in the middle of the night on Friday, I never heard much from Austin and Swifty except for the initial cooing, the scanning beep and the eventual satisfied gurgle. I did have a dream that I broke the doll's neck accidentally. In the dream, I was picking Swifty up from his car seat when I heard a snap and I looked down. There, in my hand, was a gear shaft with yellow grease on it that had popped out from the back of his head. I think I tossed and turned for the rest of the night trying to find a way to put Swifty back together again.
     Saturday night was a little different. After having a few beers to celebrate my nephew's 40th birthday, I woke up to full out screams around 3 a.m. from Austin's room. Swifty was crying and Austin was sound asleep. I had to shake the hell out of him to "wake up and get the damn baby". It only happened once though. I was disgruntled about losing sleep, but I couldn't be angry with my darling grandchild. This prompted another dream in which we had to prepare magnetic baby cereal for Swifty in order to keep him satisfied for longer periods of time. The cereal was kind of green and Swifty doesn't swallow, but we just kept shovelling it over his face hoping to stop the screams.
     I worked on Sunday from 7:30 a.m. until 8:30 p.m. and was exhausted when I got home. All I wanted was a little quality time with my grandson and a nice hot bath after an episode of Game of Thrones. I didn't even read a chapter of my books before falling asleep. Round about 2 a.m., all hell broke lose. Swifty started to cry and no one could find his bottle. He cried, he drank, he shit and he burped. An hour later, Swifty is up and crying again. Austin is tearing all the sheets off of his bed looking for something when I come in the room. His sister is helping him look for something too. I said, "What are you looking for?" But, Austin can't answer me because he's panicked almost to the point of hyperventilating. I can clearly see the magnetic bottle and the magnetic diaper beside the carseat. So I ask again, this time with more authority, "What are you looking for?!" Meanwhile, Swifty is screaming. To which Alex yells at me, "He can't describe it! Obviously! Stop asking him!" I tried to explain that Austin clearly had a case of "baby brain" because there was NOTHING missing. Alex stomped back to her room and shut the door. Austin came to his senses and managed to calm Swifty with a diaper change after 5 more minutes of inhuman screeching.
     At 4 a.m., I wake up to more screams that have been going on for about 5 minutes at least. I'm pretty sure I can hear Austin crying, too. As I jump out of bed, I scream, "Give me that goddamn thing! I'll rip its fucking head off myself!" Alex is already in Austin's room and she blocks the door so I can't take the machine and MAKE it shut up with my bare hands. Austin is frantically rocking Swifty back and forth while he has a 20 minute "fussy" time. I bury my head under my pillows and pretend that this is all just another bad dream.
     At 5 a.m., Swifty is crying again. I walk into Austin's room, grab the doll from his carseat (careful of his damned neck), grab Austin's wrist and scan the baby's back. At this point, I've decided I will sleep after Swifty has returned to a nice box in the closet at the highschool. I change his shitty ass, but I can tell there's more to come because he's not doing that peaceful, rhythmic breathing that he does when he's not about to get all "Old Testament" and start raining fire or calling on locusts. Sure enough, we do another scan and he drinks a bottle for 15 minutes while I watch Totally Spies on Teletoon. Still no rhythmic breathing. Scan again. This time, it's patting and rocking until he burps 10 minutes later.

     Later that day (because we slept in after Swifty "timed out" at 6 a.m.) I drove Austin to school. I said, "If you EVER think about not using a condom, I want you to think back to this morning and the hell that was Swifty Pringle."

Insidious Spoiler Alert Spoiled

I have been waiting to see Insidious since it came out in the theatre. I love a good scary movie to make my skin crawl and make me jump. I’ve been nervous to see it alone, but it couldn’t be helped. My friends don’t share my creepy cravings and I have used up my date night with Big Rod going to see Hannah (which was a disappointment, btw).

So, I put on my big girl panties and headed for Belleville. There were only a handful of people in Theatre 8. The one time that I would have really liked to have some company, everyone decides to stay home and leave me alone to put my feet up. That’s Murphy’s Law of big screen entertainment, right? If people can irritate the shit out of you, they will.

The first thing I noticed about the movie was the impressive use of silence. A good scary movie maker knows the most frightening noise is dead silence and the creepiest monsters are the ones you can’t really see. My first impression was good right from the credits; Lots of black and white scenes with shadowy figures behind curtained windows, ominous grandfather clocks and long hallways. To really put me in the mood, there was some blood curdling violin music similar to something from the original Psycho. I’m certainly no expert on the genre, but I know what I like... and there was a big grin on my face as I shoved handfuls of buttery popcorn into my face.

As the plot thickened, the digital sound system worked its magic. When Dalton first encountered the monster in the attic, there was a sound like cracking eggs and clicking fingernails. Still no visual though; typical of the Paranormal Activity films. It wasn’t long into the movie when I heard nefarious whispering over the baby monitor and lots of thumps in the dark that seemed to come from beside me, behind me and even underneath me. The next thing I know, the baby is crying and, when the mother runs into the nursery, there’s a veiled figure looming over the crib. I wasn’t expecting it, of course, and it made me jump and swear out loud.

At this point I worried that my child-size Coke and the surprise spooks might contribute to me peeing in my big girl panties. I started to watch most of the scenes through my fingers.

At 7:15 p.m. I was starting to get really spooked. All the creepers had made their appearance: the early 20^th century boy in short pants, the 50s plastic family with the bright red lipstick and Raggedy Ann eyes, the black leather-wearing bouncer with disfigured face...  not to mention the Freddy Krueger/Darth Maul wannabe demon. My skin was starting to hurt from the constant chicken skin.

And, the worst was yet to come. In an attempt to save his Dalton, the father tries astral projection to travel through ghostly dimensions. They were trapped in the nothingness of endless black when I decided to leave the theatre. That’s right. I am a chicken shit. The way I saw it, none of the Saw/Paranormal Activity movies have happy endings and, at this point in the film, I could fool myself into believing the dad returns to his body and the boy comes out of his coma and everyone wins. Besides that, I was losing precious daylight hours and there was NO WAY I was driving home in the dark by myself after this movie.

Farting at the table - yes or no? NKOTB fan - yes or no?

     So, today sucked, quite honestly. I woke up at 5 a.m. because I was having a waitressing nightmare. This is a recurring dream in which the restaurant suddenly gets swamped with patrons. I'm all by myself trying to take everyone's orders, but they keep switching seats or leaving because they have been waiting too long. The menu keeps changing, so I can't get the orders straight. And, when I finally get an opportunity to get someone a beverage, I can't find the Pepsi because it's being kept in a secret compartment in the barber shop next door. ARGH! I wake up in a cold sweat, heart racing and ready to stab a chopstick in my jugular.
     Then, when I actually go in to work at noon, I am serving a bus tour of 46 people. So, my dream was actually a premonition of how the day would go. Most of the old bastards were pretty nice, but there's always that oooone table that has to ruin my life. One fellow flagged me down to insist that I had not taken his drink order, to which I replied, "Really? I was sure I had been to all of the tables." Sure enough, he clearly had a cup of coffee in front of him. What he meant to say was, he could really use a pint of beer and my substandard server skills were preventing him from getting his 1 o'clock buzz on. I had just taken his drink order when the food was ready. This means I spent the next few minutes taking plates three at a time from the kitchen to 46 hungry bus riders. (Grab the eveing paper and sit down in your chair, Grab yourself a toupee cause you're osing your hair - The Guess Who).
     When I set down a plate of quiche and salad in front of the old fart (quite winded from running back and forth and definitely breaking a sweat), he says, "Where's my drink?"
     I was flummoxed and started to stutter. "I can't... I didn't... Uh.. Um... Er...... <sigh>. I will be right back, sir." But, before I could turn around, the woman across the table from him asked, "Could I have a dinner roll with some butter, please?" I just stared at her, red-faced and panting. "He has a starch with his meal," she explained, referring to the crust of the quiche. She was having the chicken salad. "I need to have a starch!"
     This would not normally be a big deal, however, if I had the foresight to predict everyone would want a dinner roll, I would have brought them all out BEFORE the meal. Now, things were going to get messy. I returned to the table with a dinner roll and some butter on a plate. Of course, now the other five people at the table want to know why I didn't bring dinner rolls to them as well. Back to the kitchen for five more dinner rolls and more butter. No sooner did I set that mother fucking basket of buns on the table when that mother fucking drunk tank says to me, "Did you forget my beer?"
     Now, this little nightmare situation is not as easy as it sounds. It is not just a matter of 10 steps to the kitchen and back to the table. Our big groups sit in the "FAR" verandah, as opposed to the "NEAR" verandah. We call it the "FAR" verhandah because it is so goddamn far from anything that you might need to serve people properly. Like bread, butter and beer. To add insult to injury, as I turned to walk away, a man at the next table asked me when his group might be getting their dinner rolls. FML.
     All I wanted to do was go home and play the Zumba game for my Xbox 360 Kinect. At 3:30 p.m., I walked in the door and took off my work stuff (down to my lucky orange underwear) with the intention of putting on my yoga pants, my tight black bra and my tank top for a serious workout. I NEED that black bra for a workout. It's the only thing that keeps my knockers from flopping around and causing serious injury during my serious exercise. I couldn't find that sonofabitch anywhere!
     I was so frustrated, I decided I wasn't putting on a stitch of clothing until I found that bra. But, I clearly had to clean my house before it would turn up. I started with the dishes, cleaning off the counter, and throwing in some laundry, all the while my tits are swinging around and knocking into each other. I vacuumed, sorted laundry and even made my bed. It was quarter of five before I found my bra... on the door knob of the bathroom where I keep all of my bras. I just assumed that I hadn't put it away.
     The Zumba for Kinect was too hard for me. It was too fast and not really very fun. I prefer the Kinect Adventures or Biggest Loser.
    After supper, I thought about trying to salvage what was left of my day with popcorn and a movie. I would really like to see Insidious. But, my niece Facebooked me to invite me out to play cards at her house, which sounded like more fun. For an example of how to play Pass the Ace, check out a previous blog http://sherlas-life.blogspot.com/2010/12/im-dreamin-of-redneck-christmas.html .
    As I was driving out to McKinley Crossroad, there was a bright rainbow that looked like it might end right over Angie's house with a pot of gold. This was the sign I had been looking for and I knew then that my day was going to get a lot better. I won the first two hands of cards, lost one, and won a third. We had a little bit of dinner, including a lovely broccoli salad with nuts and berries and some nachos with the ground beef picked off (Thanks, Ang!). The conversation was great - I found out all the latest news, had my own scoops to dish about, and reminisced about things I haven't thought about in 15 years or more! Even talked about some things I wish I didn't know, like the existence of a photograph of my nephew with a mangina (if you don't know what that is, Google it).
     Next thing you know, one of the other ladies lets rip a big fart. Now, I'm all for passing gas as long as it doesn't gag your neighbour. And, since we were finished eating, I was kind of hoping I could work up some flatulence of my own for a little contest between the ladies. My bowels were a no-show though.
     Speaking of my bowels, New Kids on the Block are performing in Ottawa again this June. My other niece has been a fan of Joey, Johnny... Tommy, Dick and Harry ever since they were still singing soprano, so she's going again. Somehow (I missed the segue), the topic switched from an innocent concert viewing to whether or not NKOTB fans suck dick. Apparently, if you are a fan of the boys with "The Right Stuff" you DO NOT perform fellatio. This statistic could easily become a euphesmism for cocksuckers. For example, you might say, "My wife never liked New Kids on the Block and now, all of a sudden, they're her favourite band!" (That means, she used to suck it, but she doesn't anymore). lol.
     This is where the conversation got really weird. Amie says to another lady at the table, "You should tell Sherla about your dog."
     To which I respond, "Why? Does your dog suck it's own dick? Because I know someone who has a dog that does that." I really do. And, apparently, he isn't just cleaning himself. I haven't seen him in action, but I've heard eye witness accounts.
     No word of a lie, the lady beside me says, "Is it a Jack Russell Terrier?" As though this is common practice for the breed.
     "As a matter of fact, I think it is!"
     Turns out, Jack Russells are NOT New Kids fans.

My body too County.licious for ya, babe.

     Oh, County.licious. The best part of spring and fall in Prince Edward County, especially when the winter temperatures are so determined to stick around.
     I didn't think I was going to get the opportunity to try the new menus this year because I am working all the time AND I shouldn't be spending $35 on a three-course prix fixe meal. But, I don't always do what I'm supposed to, particularly with my money, which is why I'm in this predicament in the first place. My best excuse is that Janet had been stuck in her house with four kids and a dog for a whole week all by herself
and she wanted to go. How could I say "no" to her?
     Normally, we like to try something new when we go out. I haven't been to Angeline's since a ninth grade, french class field trip, but the new chef there is Michael Potters, former owner of Harvest, which is where we went last year. I would also like to try East and Main Bistro or The Devonshire Inn in Wellington. They all have some interesting things to try, such as, nut and mushroom meatloaf in phyllo pastry or rabbit civet in red wine.
     If you go, check out the menus at http://www.countylicious.ca/ . It seems the popular foods this year are beets, israeli couscous and pork. I don't know who the hell Blaine Way is, but he's selling a lot of pigs to local restaurants.
     Strangely enough, we settled for dinner at Amelia's Garden - the restaurant where I work during the day on the resort where Janet works. This decision could go either way; we get special treatment for being employees or we get "special" treatment for being employees... in the negative sense. It ended up being a little of both, I think.
     So, in order to get ready for my date with Janet and Danielle, I decided to get all spiffy. I showered and put some fancy, silk protein mousse in my hair for which my daughter probably spends $20 a bottle. I tried to blow dry my hair with some success, but it tends to make my hair more frizzy than normal. So, I decided to curl it. I have less patience for curling my hair than I have for blowing it dry, which means I do a couple of ringlets on boths sides of my face and leave the rest. My daughter, Alex, was disgusted with my attempts at preening. She used a strightening iron to curl the rest of my head. Don't ask me how to do this. It looked like she was using a pair of Fiskars scissors to curl the ribbons on a birthday present. It worked anyway. My hair was all Shirley Temple. Then, she sprayed it all over with half a can of extra hold hair spray that my son uses for his faux hawk and proceeded to "scrunch" it up with her fingers.
    Every once in a while, we all have a little bit of OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder), right? Some people are obsessed with a certain number, others like to keep things lined up, others have to do things in a particular order. Apparently, I have to be able to run my fingers through my hair. This is not possible when there is half a can of extra hold hair spray on your hair. I had a little bit of a panic attack when this was brought to my attention. But, I had to (eventually) admit I looked pretty good.
     Initially, I put on my dark wash, skinny jeans with my red, Christmas shirt and a pair of high wedged sandals. In my opinion, a heavy set woman does not wear this outfit well. It was very "white trash" and was more suited to having tickets to Maury Povich. But, Alex insisted that my skinny jeans are the best pants I have and I value her opinion. I switched to my pink, sleeveless shirt... I don't know how to describe these things. It's pinkish and flowy and shows a lot of cleavage. I covered it with a black cardigan to make me less trashy. What about shoes? I have all kinds of shoes, but no flats! Who doesn't own a nice pair of flats? I absolutely need to rectify this situation ASAP! In the meantime, I put on my black and white Pumas. Now, I feel this was dressing down when I was clearly trying to dress up. Alex insisted that all the work on my hair, my face, and my jeans could only be accentuated by wearing running shoes. I still believe she was totally messing with me.
     At least Janet thought I looked hot. We picked up Danielle and headed out for our reservation. I wanted to be extra high maintenance on this special night and it was my intention to call ahead to make sure they had a vegan alternative on the menu, just for shits and giggles. I also wanted to make sure we had a window seat far away from any of the filthy plants and a server that wasn't going to get on my nerves with a patronizing attitude or over-exuberant personality. Hmmm. I guess I am high manitenance.
     I had the beet salad. It was served with an herbed cheese and the tiny slices of really dry baguette toasts. I neary broke my incisors trying to get through that toast, but the beets were good. Janet had the smoked salmon and feta cheese tart with smoked pineapple, which she loved and I agree the pineapple was tasty. Danielle went for the apple cider and old cheddar soup, which is very popular at lunch.
     For the entree, I ordered the Arctic char with tomato and asiago risotto. Both were incredibly good, but in hindsight, I'm pretty sure I got the pickerel and not the char. It was supposed to be porcini crusted and topped with brie, swiss and braised leeks. There was nothing but breadcrumbs on my fish. It was good anyway. Janet and Danille both got the surf and turf beef with sashimi grade tuna steak and crab cake. The crab cake had noodles in it. I didn't try it, but Janet liked it. They both loved the steak (which they could cut with a butter knife, btw). In fact, Janet wanted to take it home and make love to it. In the middle of Amelia's Garden fine dining restaurant, I pretended I was at home rubbing steak over my musn't-touch (thanks for that word, Heather) and calling it's name. Even the idea of touching meat made me want to hurl. Janet, however, fantasized about making her own "gravy".
     Among our other fine dinner conversations, Danielle brought up the very terrible Gayle King Show on the new O Network. I haven't seen it. In related news, Danielle said, the tabloids started rumours in 2006 that Gayle is Oprah's lesbian lover because they shared a tent while camping somewhere. To which I replied, "Well, that makes me a lesbian, too." Not to be outdone, Janet claims she is a "triple lesbian" because she shared a tent with three women. Overachiever.

Someday we'll find it - The Rainbow Connection. The lovers, the dreamers and me - Kermit

     April showers bring more than May flowers... they reveal all the dog shit on your lawn from the last 6 months. So, one of my other jobs that I've tried in the last 5 years is a business I call "Call of Doody". I started it in the spring of 2009 and did quite a few spring clean-ups, but the idea didn't really take off locally. After three years of part time poop scooping, I can tell you Great Danes have the biggest and Rottweilers have the worst smell. Also, please don't let your dogs have anything from the Easter dinner table.
     My best client is a gentleman in Belleville who calls me every spring to clean his little yard of the excrement from his little, scruffy dog. It takes me about half an hour and this man always gives me twice my asking price. Today, he gave me almost three times my asking price and I could almost cry at the generosity of some people. Before I had a chance to open the envelope he gave me as payment, I took the time to ask him about his winter. Now, I haven't said more than a few words of small talk with this fellow in the last 3 years, but I pegged him for an interesting sort and I was curious about his life. Within seconds, he invited me in to see his house.
     I know what you're thinking, but this is not a horror flick. However, a scene from the movie "Faster" did replay in my mind for a split second as I was taking off my boots at the front door. If you haven't seen it, The Rock (Dwayne Johnson) plays an ex-con who is looking for revenge. One of the men he kills is a frail, little, old man who makes snuff films with young girls by luring them into his house and drugging them with Kool-aid. I pity the fool who feels the need to drug an almost 40, pertnear 200 pound woman with a glass of juice when there are hundreds of scantily clad, 20-somethings obliviously staggering down Oxford Street in London, Ontario on any given Saturday night. I seriously fear for the lives of those silly girls (even if I was one back in tha' day <<sigh>>).
     Back in the house, I am getting the Royal tour. The place is like a show room or a museum with displays of his father-in-law's art. This man, who had fought in the First World War, was a painter (he mostly did flowers - like pansies), a wood carver (he had at least a hundred different bird species on display) and a furniture designer (he built an 8-piece bedroom suite for his daughter about 70 years ago).
     My client, let's call him "Bob", also collects old clocks. He had a grandfather clock on display that he said was over 100 years old and still kept good time. His sitting room, where he used to enjoy coffee every morning at 10 a.m.with his wife (now in a nursing home with Alzheimer's), had 18 clocks ticking away. This would normally drive me insane, but I found it nostalgic and even serene as I shared stories of Bob's life. He likes gardening, he likes to keep the house really warm (even if it costs him a fortune in electric heat) and he remembers going on a field trip to Deerborn, Michigan with 130 sixth grade students once.

     What I find so interesting about how I spent my morning is how everyone really does have a story. Sometimes stories, like the ones I write for this blog, are not always nail-biting, laugh-out-loud, future screenplays. But, they all have a genuine person behind them and I'm glad I took the time out of my "busy" life to make a connection with someone. Notwithstanding the fact that he gave me $80 (!) to pick up his dog's poop. And, regardless of whether or not I could have been abducted and killed.
     After my visit, I went to the mall... obvsly. I had to pick up some things at the Bulk Barn, had to get some sushi for lunch and had to get my husband the new "Nascar 2011" for Xbox 360. While I was at the game store, I picked up "Country Dance" for Wii. That may be what I'm doing tonight after work. I'll let you know how it goes.