I'm from the Prior, wanna try 'er?

       I'm so exhausted right now. Hangin' out in the basement of my friend, Jeri's, house with my friends, Dannle and Tairn*, listening to poorly buffered songs on Youtube.

     In spite of all the forecasts to the contrary, we did not get 16 cm of snow in The County on Friday. My kids were pissed. So far, no snow days for any high school students in 2010-2011. But, it was good for me cos I have been planning a trip to Arnprior for a few months. Just a weekend visit to Jeri's house and an excursion to Calabogie Peaks for "tubing".
     Now, I've never been tubing before, but I assumed it was like tobogganning and I was really looking forward to it. That is, until people started telling me how dangerous it is! A girl at work told me your head shakes all around and bangs onto the ice when you fall out of the tube. Someone else told me they knew a guy who dislocated his shoulder while drinking and tubing. These stories got me thinking, "I need a helmet".
     I left for Jeri's house after working at the Waring House until 3 p.m. I tried to enter "Spruce Street, Arnprior" into my GPS, but the only thing that came up was "Sprice Crescent".
     Close enough.
     I was off in the Soul with a six pack, a half a bottle of wine, my new Columbia Omni-Heat jacket, red snow pants and a box of Always Infinicel (sarcastic "yay"). Did I mention, gas was $1.19 a litre? WTF?
     I was driving down Highway 49 when Def Leppard's "Poor Some Sugar on Me" came on the radio. Now, there is a line in that song in which I am convinced that Mutt Lange had some kind of vision of the future. The song was written in 1986 and yet Joe Elliott clearly sings, "Livin' like a lover with a red iPhone." How did they know about iPhones in the 80s? Hmmm? Tell me that's not creepy!

     Anyway, I expected the GPS would take me east on the 401, north on the 416, and west on the 417 to Arnprior, but instead I exited in Odessa. (?) Although confused, I decided, "What the hell. Might as well have an adventure." Surely, the GPS can't get me lost in my own province like it did when I drove to Florida last year. It wasn't long before I was driving through Maberly and making a right onto Bennett Lake Road. FUCKING GPS!
     So, I'm driving down a dirt road (now covered in snow and ice) in February, at night, listening to The Who's "Teenage Wasteland" with no goddamn clue where I am headed. All I know is the people in this corner of the province really like their pancakes; Friggin' pancake houses around every corner, but nowhere to buy a damn map.
     Fortunately, my GPS managed to get me to my destination on time, although I am convinced my particular contraption has an extra digital chromosome. I rang the doorbell and I heard everyone scream my name from inside. That's a great feeling - hearing your longtime friends verbalize their excitement for your arrival. Especially when you aren't sure if "Sprice Crescent" is the same as "Spruce Street" in the real world.
     I had two beers in 20 minutes, I met Jeri's family, we rocked out to Queen's "Fat Bottomed Girls", and then we got out the Wii. We started with Michael Jackson The Experience for a warm up. After a while, Jeri's neighbourhood started showing up, including her hairdresser and a nurse. I just cannot express to you how crazy this party was. At one point, two people were up dancing while five of the rest of us were doing synchronized speed skating to a techno version of "Satisfaction" while sitting on the couch. Nobody knew anyone else's name - Lessia (or was it Crystal?) was calling Karen by my name; I was convinced Kim's name was Pam. But, it really didn't matter cos we were all getting liquored and making fun of one another's funky dance moves.
     Karen and I were totally calling each other out because I am clearly the better dancer whether or not I can shake my ass like Beyonce to Crazy in Love or not. Then, Kelly the hairdresser took a turn and suddenly neither of us could win a round... so, I hip-checked the bitch and knocked her to the hardwood floor! Nobody puts Sherla in a corner! lol.

  
     We shut it down around 1 a.m., which is pretty early for Dannle and Tairn and I, but we were all pretty exhausted and everyone else was going home to vomit (Lightweights... sheesh). The girls and I bunked down in the basement on a couple of foam mattresses and a futon. It was just like the old days, which is awesome! I don't remember much after my head hit the pillow. That is, not until I started dreaming that some guy was chasing me with a chainsaw. The chainsaw kept making the same annoying sound, which was pissing me off more than scaring me. That's when I realized Dannle was snoring. I kept wishing she would just roll over, but she didn't. I had to get up, shake her and tell her to roll over. She didn't roll over, but at least the snoring stopped... for a little while. I had to get up once more in the night and threaten her with physical violence, although she doesn't remember anything.
     The next morning, we headed for Calabogie Peaks, which is a 30 minute drive from Arnprior. Dannle was dressed in a one-piece, denim snowsuit with reflective tape on the arms and back. I wore a Firefly helmet on loan from Jeri. On the drive, I discovered that my snow pants had zippered vents on the sides, which got me to thinking that I'd rather have crotch vents. I mean, that's where I could really use some fresh air, especially at this time of the month when my underwear looks like a crime scene (I loved that line from "No Strings Attached". You should totally go see that movie). Anyway, I mentioned this brilliant idea for crotch vents to the rest of my friends in the car and I found it so incredibly funny, I laughed at myself for about 5 minutes. Clearly, I did not get enough sleep. Meanwhile, Jeri kept her hungover head out the passenger window so as not to blow chunks in the Vibe. ACDC's "Highway to Hell" was playing on the radio, no jokes.
     We arrived at the hills around noon. Picture three, 30-something women standing in the sunshine near the chalet, tapping their boots to The Rolling Stones, which is being blasted from the sound system, while we take turns applying Chapstick. We must have looked soooooo frickin' cool.
    You know, it only cost $10 each to go tubing all day? That's awesome! I thought I'd be looking at about $40. Ten bucks cannot be beat for unlimited leisurely lifts on a human conveyor belt to the top of an icy slope with your own bouncy inner tube. I didn't want to go down as a group on the first run, but I didn't want to be a party pooper either, so we each grabbed one another's tube handles while the two little girls in charge of the tubing hill tried to lug our asses to the edge and push us over. Well, the first big drop started my gag reflex and the second big drop definitely brought a bit of bile to the back of my throat. But, having said that, I couldn't wait to go back up and do it again.
     We went down twice before we decided to get some poutine to settle our stomachs.We ate outside on the patio in the sunshine, but poutine gets cold very quickly in -11 weather. Being outside also made us all very sleepy, so we didn't stay too much longer.
     On one of our last runs, I noticed these two little brats (girls, about 7 or 8 years old) kicking and throwing snow into Dannle and Tairns tubes. There's a bottom on the tube so if snow gets inside, it will make your ass wet when you sit down. I told the little bastards to smarten up and they laughed. Then, Dannle turned around and, seeing what they were doing, she said, "Hey!" Then, promptly kicked a big blast of man-made snow into their faces. Serves them right, I say.
     We were all piling into the car when I finally removed my helmet. I was the only one at Calabogie wearing one anyway and it really wasn't necessary. So, I took it off and stepped into the back of the Vibe. That's when the zipper on the left side vent of my red snowpants got caught on the door of the car. I was just trying to detach myself when Mark started to drive away! I was laughing too hard to protest, but Dannle and Tairn were both trying to get him to stop while I hopped along beside the car - helmet still dangling from my right arm. Just when you think it's safe to take off your protective headgear...
     Props to Jeri's husband, Mark, though, who not only cooked us breakfast and dinner all weekend, but also refilled our drinks, entertained us with his dancing skills, drove us to Calabogie and held my purse while we had fun all day.

* See my blog on Snowstorms for more information about D&T

10 True Things About Bingo

I went to Bingo at the local Elk's Lodge on Tuesday night to celebrate my friend's birthday. Here's what I discovered:

1. It is about $30 cheaper for me to go out drinking at the bar between 10 p.m. and 2 a.m. than to dab random numbers on foolscap between 6:30 p.m. and 9:30 p.m. By the time I bought Lightning Rounds, my reguar book of 16 cards, my 60/40 specials, my Winner-Takes-All specials, Bonanzas, Nevada tickets, 50/50 tickets, and extra jackpots... I'm about $50 more broke.

2. In order to get a seat at a Bingo hall, you have to arrive at LEAST an hour before the Lightning Rounds start. Even then, you will probably have to knock out someone's false teeth because they are either saving seats for a blue-haired friend, or they refuse to give up the seat they've been occupying for the last 20 years. Donna, Amanda and I arrived half an hour early and we had to sit in the leper section - the farthest table from the caller under a shitty, 15-inch, black-and-white television where the floor walkers can't get to in order to replace your Bonanza cards because there isn't any room to squeeze between the tables in the place. Clearly, fire code regulations are being ignored on Bingo night.

4. I used to be annoyed by people who insisted on yelling out "Clickety-Click" every time O 66 was called. Now, I am extremely annoyed by people who repeatedly yell out "Freedom!" every time G 55 is called. The first three times I heard someone exclaim, "Oh look! There's Freedom!", I thought they were talking about someone's 40-year-old love child that they hadn't seen in a long time, not a reference to London Life's 25-year-old, pipe dream slogan.

5. Bingo callers are among the most hated people on earth. I know that bitch, Linda, ruined my life on Tuesday night (j/k Linda!). I was set for the "any three lines" special (which is worth about a trillion dollars) and she called 10 more numbers before someone else won. I seriously thought about waiting in the parking lot for her. Hahaha. Funny thing is, I know I'm not the only one who thinks that way. The Bingo ladies get all kinds of bitchy when they don't win and I know there would be brawls out in the parking lot if they weren't in such a hurry to get to Tim Horton's.

6. Bingo callers-in-training are even more hated than Bingo callers who know better than to make a mistake. This is proven by the fact that Linda is the only one who has called a Bingo game at the Elk's for as long as I can remember. No one else can take the pressure or the abuse! It is an absolute criminal offence, punishable by public ridicule, to call anything under the Ns during a Letter X game. The crowd was pretty nice to the newby on Tuesday night, but they usually yell obscenities, scowl and shake they're heads whenever the caller is too quiet, too loud, too fast, too slow, doesn't call the number they want, calls the numbers someone else wants, or mispronounces a number.

Letter X = No Ns

7. Don't give someone else the money to go and get more specials for you. I gave Donna my Loonie to buy more 60/40 Splits and she came back with all her extra cards and some 50/50 tickets. She said, "Look! I brought 50/50 tickets for us."
"But, where's my 60/40 Split?" I asked.
"Oh, I forgot. I wondered why I had an extra dollar. That's why I bought the 50/50 tickets," she said. "One sec, I 'll go get them for you." And, off she went through the crowds to get me my card. Five minutes later, she returns with Jackpot cards (not 60/40 Split cards) for me and Amanda. She was obviously very proud of herself for making it back before the break was over.
I just looked at Amanda with my mouth hanging open - like, "You just can't get good help these days!" I threw my chair back in disgust and pushed back to the front of the hall for my cards. Meanwhile, I could hear Donna saying, "What? What did I do?" and Amanda was laughing her ass off. I wasn't really disgusted, but I wanted to drive home the idea that a birthday had done nothing for her mental skills.

8. If I am ever wondering where my in-laws are, I can always find them on Tuesday nights at the Elks. My mother-in-law, sister-in-law and niece were all there. I also saw other friends and family I haven't seen in a long time. It was like Old Home Week. My mother-in-law couldn't help but make the comment, "Are you lost, found or stolen?" In other words, I haven't been visiting nearly enough lately, which is totally true and I need to get to Downes Avenue ASAP.

9. No matter how much you fiddle with the rabbit ears on a hard-wired, 15-inch, black-and-white television, it is not going to make that television stop flickering and going fuzzy. The rest of the tvs, that aren't in the leper section, work just fine because the wires are connected properly. Regardless, Johnny spent about 15 minutes standing over our table adjusting the rabbit ears with a hooked pole in an effort to bring in better reception. I'm just glad he was wearing dedorant.

10. The number 30 does not fall under the N column. It wasn't until the last three games that I realized I had been looking under the Ns every time a 30 was called. 30 actually falls under the Is. This might expalin why I didn't win anything.

Believe it or not, I can't wait to go back. I love Bingo ;)

Dont be a Drag, Just be a Queen

     The new Lady Gaga song is out. I like it. Good Message. Now, back to me.
    I started work Friday morning at 7 a.m. That means I had to wake up no later than 6:30 a.m. in order to be out the door at quarter to. I am NOT a morning person and I had a long day ahead of me. Could have been the worst day of my life. But, no sir. I worked until 3 p.m. I served two blokes from Australia in the morning who were trying to mess with me, but I brought my "A" game. He asked for two cackleberries "Du soleil" and I just nodded my head as if people asked me for sunny side up eggs that way all the time. He also asked me if our ham was kosher. Clearly, the waitresses in Australia are retarded if they can be duped into asking the kitchen if the pork is kosher. I liked this guy, though. We had some lulz.
     Later on, I served a woman who wanted to have the Pork and Apple Cider Stew as long as it didn't taste like apple cider. Hmmmm. Isn't that like wanting to eat pussy, but not wanting it to smell like fish? Just sayin'.
     Like I said, I was done at The Waring House at 3 p.m. and I had to work at The Island at 4 p.m. Just enough time to go home for a shit and a shower. So far, I had been on my feet for 8 hours. Fortunately for my feet, there was no one at the restaurant until quarter after five so I walked around in my socks for a while. This is unfortunate for my car payments. If things don't pick up, I am sent home early without any money in my pocket. That just wouldn't do because I had made plans to go dancing after work. That's right. No rest for the wicked ;)
    Pretty uneventful night at The Island. One lady was in a big hurry for her spot o' tea and actually banged her fist on the table to bring this fact to our attention. Really? It's not medieval times and you're not a five-year-old, bitch. Get ahold of yourself.
     I got the hell out of there around quarter after eight. Went home and got dressed to go out on the town. I made plans to see Chatterbox at the bar. Turn R Up is a fairly new dance bar in Picton with a pool table, a big dancefloor and a stage. The building used to be a bowling alley. The clientele is relatively diverse, but getting dressed for the place is still a challenge. First, I thought I'd wear my jeans and a nice, dress shirt with my high heeled boots. Nope. As I looked in the mirror, I realized I would look too mature and a bit ostentatious. I changed into a hoodie with a pair of black Pumas. Nope. I would get too hot on the dancefloor and I may even be underdressed (in hindsight, I couldn't have been underdressed for Turn R Up). So, I went halfway and wore a white polo with a black jacket, my jeans and my Uggs... comfy, yet fitted.
     Stopped to pick up Amanda, who looked like a million bucks. About two years ago, Amanda was stick thin with a little booty you could probably hold in one hand. Then, she started drinking red wine. Now, she's still "thin", but she has this beautfiul, round Beyonce-like ass which is only more pronounced when she puts her long legs into a pair of knee-high, leather boots.
     Bitch.
     We arrived at "the club" just in time. There were plenty of people there, but they were all just playing pool or drinking at their tables while the band played. That is just a damn shame. Chatterbox plays a good mix of 70s, 80s and 90s music. I went to school with three out of four of the band members - Tony (singer, guitar... and Dave Coulier impersonator) was my baby daddy's best friend in high school; Mouse (bass, singer) is my friend, Becky's husband and my friend, Cathy's brother; I used to go to parties with Terence (drummer) and I think he hooked up with a friend of mine once. Highschool is a bit of a blur now. It was 20 years ago, after all. Derrick plays guitar and has a porn star moustache that I love. You can check them out at http://www.freewebs.com/chatterboxband

     Anyway, I barely had the bottle of Labbatt's Blue in my hand before I was up on the dancefloor. Becky came out in her Little Miss Chatterbox t-shirt and glow-in-the-dark, dragon jeans. Very cool. I was not overdressed or underdressed, but I had forgotten to wear my industrial strength bra. I should know better than to go lightweight when I want to dance. Any small movements are likely to register as minor Seismic energy with my tits. To demonstrate the extent of my "problem": When my friend, Sheri, asked a client of hers if he had seen me at The Waring House, he replied, "Is she the one with the really, really, REALLY, big boobs?"
     So, there I was, all dressed up and not able to really shake a tail feather. I watched Amanda and Christine instead. Skinny people are fascinating to watch. They go so fast - all legs and arms and knees. Amanda reminds me of a cobra in a snake charmer's basket. I got back on the dancefloor for the next couple of songs. One of my favourites is Sexy Thing, by Hot Chocolate, which is slow enough to prevent bouncing and funky enough to really groove with. About halfway through the song, Amanda yells into my ear, "Ohmigod! I just got the worst whiff of rotten crotch smell!" And, I had to admit, something was off in the Turn R Up crowd. So, I bent down and started sniffing out the culprit like a two-legged Bloodhound with  hip dysplasia (I couldn't stop dancing. That would blow my cover!) We decided it was a girl from out of town with blond hair because every time she whirled by, all you could smell was fish sauce and rubber tires.
     I said to Becky, "I think someone has a bad case of Vaginosis."
     She grabs me by the shoulder and says, "Ohmigod! That sounds serious. Is it life threatening?"
     Before she could call 9-1-1, I explained that it was just a fungal infection. She's such a joker, that Reba.
     Not long before I had to go, they played a new song that I hadn't heard them play before and it is my new favourite. Run, Run Away, by Slade requires lots of jumping and moving. So, I just grabbed hold of the girls with my two hands and bounced like a 6-year-old on a sugar high who hasn't taken a Ritalin. Awwwwww, good times!

Going to all the Ottawas

     Traveling with Kasey is always an adventure. My niece was diagnosed with congenital hydrocephalus about 13 years too late. Therefore, she has had some brain damage and she has regular seizures; some are just little tics and others are more... catastrophic. The little tics are often kind of funny. As a rule, we keep Kasey's drinks far away from her in case she has a myoclonic seizure, which means she will involuntarily throw out one or both arms and clear off the table, drenching anyone within 10 feet. The seizures that freak me out are the kind when she loses consciousness and just stares out of one corner of her eye and then opens and closes her mouth like a drowning fish. I really don't like the drop seizures where her arms go flying out like Superman in flight, and then she falls, usually face first. But, my least favourite are the tonic-clonics.
     Sounds harmless enough, right? Kind of like a drink you'd order at a fancy jazz bar. As in, "I'll have a tonic-clonic on the rocks. Hold the olives, please". Not so fun when she has one in the back of your car. I would like to believe that the series of seizures Kasey experienced Tuesday night was due to her overwhelming excitement to be in Ottawa for Winterlude.
     We picked up Kasey and my sister in Trenton on Tuesday morning. Surprisingly enough, they both got some sleep the night before. We prefer to keep travel plans a secret from Kasey until we are actually leaving because she does not stop talking about it. For about a week, all she will say is, "Where's Kasey going?" To which we must all reply, repeatedly, "Kasey's going to Ottawa." She needs constant reassurance that she is going, as well as, daily affirmations that everyone else is going, too. All of her questions are on repeat, so you have a constant loop. It's like KaseyTV - 24 hours of all of her favourite things to say.
    Getting back to Highway 416, a brain fart made me turn East on the 417 instead of West to get to Moodie Drive, but we eventually arrived at Mongolian Village in Nepean. For those of you who have never been, it's kind of like a buffet where you gather various foods in a bowl, which is weighed, and then fried on a big cast iron grill while you watch.

     This is one of the places my mother has on her bucket list of things to see before she kicks it. She saw an ad for the place about 15 years ago, so she has been waiting a long time to go. That might explain why she had to pay $20 for her lunch. When she saw all of the fruits, vegetables, noodles and meat she could put in her stir-fry, she decided she had to try a little of everything and her metal bowl was overflowing. She had crab meat, pineapple, spinach noodles, beef, banana chips, sesame seeds and taro root in there (among countless other things) and she enjoyed everything except the crab meat. Kasey was actually pretty adept at using the chopsticks with her meal, but she didn't like the wraps. It was a perfect meal for my mom (who can't eat spice), my sister (who is on the low-carb diet), me (a pescetarian, who can't get enough spice) and Kasey (who just likes going to restaurants). While we were there, Kasey told the server that she was going to Ottawa. With her, Ottawa isn't just a place; It's a series of places that include restaurants, hotels, tourist attractions and shopping malls.

     Next on the itinerary was a visit to the Chinatown Royal Arch... which we drove through at about 50 km an hour before heading to the hotel. lol.
     Our room at the Hotel Indigo wasn't quite ready when we arrived, so it was a good time to check out the ice sculptures of Winterlude in Confederation Park. Hahaha. First of all, parking in downtown Ottawa is terrifying, even if you have a parking pass. Underground parking is only accessible to those who drive Smartcars or Mini Coopers. Good thing I'm a professional driver. It was -18 C, so we bundled up and walked two blocks to the park, stopping to talk to a cute Red Cross volunteer looking for donations. Kasey told him we were going to Ottawa.

     We walked through a teepee (this irritates me because local natives lived in longhouses - not teepees - but you never see a longhouse at these events) and then walked through a Mongolian Yurt. I would gladly trade my little, 3-bedroom shithole with attached garage and above-ground pool for a year in any of those three structures. They're so rustic and homey. However, I can't see big Rod enjoying any time in a yurt.
     This brisk walk took about 10 minutes and, by then, my mother'd had enough of Winterlude. She insisted it was never so cold when she lived in Ottawa. Rest assured, Global Warming is not a valid theory - so says my mother. Her face was too cold to pronounce "One Killaloe Beavertail without cinnamon, please". I thought she might accidentally spit out her false teeth. My sister gave her a hot pocket for her mittens, but she insisted it was "giving her electric shocks" and felt like "something in it was alive". Meanwhile, Kasey was asking the Beavertail bakers, "What's your name?"
     Everyone is always so polite to Kasey. How could you not be? She's the cutest little 21-year-old on the planet. So, one guy replied that his name was Matt. Then, he asked what her name was, but Kasey did not reply. She just carried on the rest of the conversation without him; she usually tells people that her mom is at work (even though she is right there beside her) and her baby is at home (even though she is pointing to the doll while she says it) and that she is going to Ottawa. Of course, being polite, Matt tries to participate in the conversation by asking her other questions about herself and her doll. I explained to him that he needn't bother. Kasey gets to ask the questions, but she will very rarely answer anything.
     She and I shared a Quebecoise Beavertail (with maple sugar and chocolate). She enjoyed it so much, she wouldn't even let her mom smell it. It WAS good. Not just good... fucking exceptional! I love Beavertails! I carried mom's coffee while she tried to eat hers with mittens and walk through uneven snow at the same time. She whined that she couldn't feel her fingers enough to squeeze her lemon. This statement made me lol and I spilled her coffee onto my beautiful, blue mittens. At least laughing brought some feeling back into my face. Mom continued to stumble through the snow, falling into potholes occasionally, as we made our way back to the hotel. Although slightly understated, I think Kasey said it best... "It's so cold."
     That was the extent of our Winterlude activities. We went back to the hotel and spent half an hour in our winter coats, hats and mitts beside the indoor pool and jacuzzi. We must have looked like homeless people on a sea-side vacation.

     Hotel Indigo is very new age (for lack of a better description). There were haikus in every room and in every section of the hotel. Our room was really nice, but really small. There was a mural on the wall of a blue, cable-knit pattern, which is very appropriate for my mother who is an avid knitter. We had two queen-sized beds, a desk, a bureau, a chair and barely enough room to walk to the window.
     We decided to go downstairs for an afternoon swim. I got into the hot tub first, which is a bad idea because that makes it harder to get into the warm pool. Anything less than 90 degrees F feels cold after being in a hot tub. But, I was determined to have my own version of a Nordic Spa, so we all gathered in the hot tub first and cooled off in the pool. Back into the hot tub to get warm and into the pool to cool off. That was enough for me. I headed to the sauna.
     I was in the process of taking some naked pictures with my cell phone to send to Big Rod back home when I heard my sister say we needed to get Kasey up the stairs ASAP because she fainted in the bathroom. My yoga pants are a bitch to put on, especially if I'm a little bit wet, so I hopped around the sauna trying to get my feet in, fumbling around for my socks and bra at the same time. They had to wait for me because there is a swipe key to get into AND out of the fitness center.
     Kasey was not looking good when we dragged her up the stairs and into the elevator. She passed out on the bed and it looked like she was developing a cold. She was achy and chilled, she was sneezing regularly and she was sniffly, as well. We let her have a rest for a couple of hours before heading out to the Elgin Street Diner.
     ESD is one of my favourite places to go in Ottawa when I'm there. I think it's mostly nostalgia - memories of the time I spent at the bars downtown, getting breakfast after a late night of drinking and sampling all the various versions of poutine. The portions are huge and I like the poutine, but it's not the best poutine I've ever had. The potatoes are cut too thin and the gravy is made from a powder. I love it there anyway. Check the menu at http://www.elginstreetdiner.com/
     The diner is nine city blocks from our hotel, but we drove because of the weather, and within two minutes, Kasey started having a tonic-clonic seizure in the back seat. This starts out with her little body going stiff, then her limbs start to convulse and she starts to make a lot of noise with her breathing. In this case, she was snorting so loudly that it sounded like her throat was tearing. She tried to stretch and roll after about a minute and by then, my sister got an Ativan under her tongue so the seizure would stop. Although we are all used to this kind of thing by now, it still makes me unsettled. I feel bad for Kasey, I feel bad for my sister. But, like Cis always says, there really isn't anything we can do but wait them out and we can't put Kasey's life on hold on the off-chance that she has a seizure. That's what these little road trips are all about - spending time with a very special girl whose basic joys in life are quick visits, shopping at Walmart, and food.
     We waited until she could walk again, but she was tired out from the seizure. It must have looked like we were bringing in a drunk, with me and my sister linking arms on either side of Kasey, who was staggering with her head down. We took a seat and ordered our meals while she rested in the booth. Mid-meal, her eyebrow started twitching involuntarily, meaning another seizure was coming. The poor girl hadn't regained her strength from the last one and here was another on the way. Nobody stared at us while we waited out another tonic-clonic that lasted about three and a half minutes with the same convulsing and the same snorting noise. The servers asked if they could offer any help, but like us, there was nothing they could do. We finished up our dinner and I went to get the car. All the staff at the diner were very helpful and polite.
     In spite of all this, we all had a great time. We got to see all of the Ottawas (or at least the important Ottawas) while we were there. She was very happy to be going home the next morning and Rod was as happy to see me in person as he was to see a picture of me, wet and naked in a tiny, hotel sauna 300 km away.