The Importance of Lending a Hand

     It is really important to help out wherever and whenever you can. Call it "karma" or "the golden rule" or "what goes around comes around" - I believe every person has a connection to all of the other living things on the planet and, in my opinion, helping others is just another way of helping yourself.
     This week, I declared it my personal goal to revisit the words of my old Brownie motto and to "Lend a Hand"... even though I hated Brownies. So, hold up your right hand and extend your pointer and midde fingers. Ah ah ah... use BOTH fingers! And, repeat after me.

I promise to do my best, to do my duty to God,
the queen and my country, to help other people every day.

     Very good. So, first things first. Japan. I don't watch the news about all the devastation caused from the tsunami because it will hurt my heart. But, I do know they need cash. Unfortunately, cash is something I don't have because I spent it all on a $35 face massage. Urgh! But, I did attend the Karaoke Kitchen Party at Books & Co. last Thursday. They were taking donations at the door for the Red Cross and there were all kinds of other ways to donate.

My origami crane as a tapas for my Sandbanks wine

     Kudos to the organizers because I haven't seen that many interesting things to do at a bookstore since the midnight release of the fifth Harry Potter book at a Chapters in London. There were matcha-flavoured marshmallows for sale, face-painting for the kids, origami cranes to make, wine sampling, face sketchers, arts and crafts demonstrations, local entertainment, a silent auction, photographers.... the list goes on and on. I was particlarly impressed with a young man named Bradley Higgins, who designs and creates his own jewelry.
     No word yet on how much money was raised, but I think they did quite well based on the turnout. Although I dropped a couple of bucks at the event, I didn't feel I had filled my quota for good deeds, so I offered to help my baby daddy's parents move on Saturday.
     I bet he just loooooves that I call him my "baby daddy", which is all the more reason for me to continue to do so. There is currently no love lost between Jeff and I, but I frequently waffle back and forth between liking him, tolerating him and downright hating his guts. Today, I am somewhere between cursing the ground he walks on and accepting him for the jackass he is. That's only because we haven't spoken since last summer (via text so I didn't have to see his nasty face). Prior to our last big disagreement, I spent several Christmas days with him and his family (including the time we spent putting up lights on the eavestroughs - which baffled his neighbours), I attended his wedding, I went on vacation with his wife and I rolled half-naked down his neighbour's snow-covered slide in February at his hot tub birthday party. It makes me a little sad that we can't be friends anymore, but I was still glad I didn't have to see the motherfucker this weekend. He was golfing in Florida.
     Anyway, I picked up my mother-in-law at 6 a.m. on Saturday morning so I could take her to visit friends in London for the night. I HATE 6 a.m., just so we're clear. We picked up coffee at Timmy's and made good time to London, which is about 4 hours (and $40 worth of gas) away. My daughter slept in the back seat for most of the ride. Big Reet and I listened to Crooked Wood (http://www.crookedwood.ca/) to keep me awake. Tim Finnegan's Wake makes me laugh every time I hear it.
     By the time we got to the house at 10 a.m., gas prices rose to $1.29/litre (!) and Brian's two nephews already had most of the big stuff in the U-haul. All that was left to do was pack up more stuff in boxes and keep piling them into the other vehicles. I was probably more of a distraction to the efforts than anything because I managed to corner Dana (Jeff's stepmom) at the new house and harrass her with all my child-rearing woes for about an hour. So, here's the secret to raising your teenagers - you can't raise them aymore. Once they hit 18, they have to make their own decisions and you have to let them go. Even if that means that they don't live out the dreams you didn't get to fulfill (like going to University and becoming "successful"). You just have to love them, which doesn't always mean picking up their messes for them either. Just love them and let the chips fall where they may. And, yes, people are going to say "you should have..." or "what if..." and "Oh, what a shame...". Well, too fucking bad. You do the best you can with what you have and, after that, you deal with the consequences.
     In the meantime, your children (and anybody, really) will treat you like shit because they can. My daughter and I play this game of "I-can-hurt-you-more" and there is never a victory. She says I am unbearably irritating and I say she's a high-maintenance princess with no regard for other people's feelings. It gets quite nasty. It is now (according to Dana) my job to stop the vicious cycle, which means biting my tongue and mentally pushing her away so she is free to grow up without completely alienating her... or binding and gagging her in the back of a U-haul van and dropping her in a remote area where they speak only Spanish.
     So, the moral of the story is, when you help people move, you get invaluable life lessons and advice. "What goes around, comes around..."
     In other news, I went to Wonder Sushi on Highbury Avenue in London at the suggestion of my co-worker, Lisa. They were just getting ready to close for the afternoon, but we put in a quick order of Salmon sushi, edamame, vegetable tempura, fried tofu, salad, miso soup and grilled eggplant. I went to wash my hands and who did I see on the way back from the washroom? My co-worker, Lisa, from Picton. What are the odds of that?! I'm still shocked, especially since both of us were off on a Saturday... but that's another story and I can't wait to hear the repercussions of it at work tonight. :@
     Before the server took our order to the kitchen, she told us we did not order enough food. In spite of my better judgement, she encouraged us to get two sushi rolls, two hand rolls, 4 more fried tofu, vegetable udon and 4 spring rolls.
     Now, at the risk of being stereotypical, I cannot eat like an Asian. So, her idea of "enough food" and my idea are going to be very different. I've seen my boss, George, eat a large mixing bowl portion of fried veggies with a side of two cups of boiled peanuts and a bucket of Chinese fruits for dessert. We watched the staff at Wonder Sushi enjoy a meal of what looked like 3 roasted ducks and countless other plates filling the entire table, which they devoured in less time than I took to figure out how to wrap the udon noodles around my chopsticks. I did not make it through all of the food we ordered and I was pretty sure I was going to blow chunks in the parking lot.
     I kept everything down and even sucked back a cake pop from Starbucks. That afternoon, I offered to watch my nephew while Sarah went to work, in keeping with the "lend a hand" theme of the weekend. I turned on Mario Brothers Galaxy 2 (which he calls The Walking Game... he's soooooo cute) and we proceeded to get all the bad guys and save Yoshi. There is one part of the game where you have to destroy a little evil wizard who repeatedly shoots mean mushrooms at you. It was at this point that my darling, innocent Buddha Boy, whose birth I witnessed some 3 years ago, started to tell me how the mushrooms were "a pain in the ass".
     "Those guys are a pain in my ass," he repeated over and over - emphasis always on the word ass. "They're a real pain in the aaaaasss."
     Well, I got to laughing so hard I thought I'd pee. Sara says it's Dana's fault because she is always saying that when she plays the game. Unfortunately, I have added to the problem because every time I got to a new level and the star shoots Yoshi and Mario ever further into the galaxy, I would exclaim, "Hooooly Shit!", which was (by the way) my daughter's first real sentence back in 1993.    

A little goddess in the outfit Alexis brought back from Greece

Life's Little Rewards

A womb with a view lol

     You wish you were me right now.
     I just got back from the Claramount Spa where I had a 1/2 hour facial with a woman named Lisa. My cheeks are rosey, my skin is dewy and my lips are plumped. I'm ready for spring.
     This trip to the spa has been well-deserved. I have been doing some spring cleaning, working long hours and being very good about not using my maxed out credit card for the 40 days of Lent (I hope God doesn't feel that is cheating. lol). I even helped a friend of mine groom her horses for two and a half hours on Monday. I would have blogged about it, but there's not much excitement in a rubber curry brush and two quarterhorses. In the end, there was enough hair to fill a pillow case. Tara had a lot of gas (she farts when she coughs, hehe) and Hope has the cleanest horse vagina I've ever seen, but I didn't get kicked or bitten so who cares, right? I just smelled like a ranch hand when I got home.
     So, I feel I deserve a $50 facial, especially when it only costs me $35. I get a discount because I work at the Waring House. Mom deserves a pedicure for all her hard work, too. That's why I got her a gift certificate for Christmas. My mom frequently comes over to visit me and she does my dishes while she's here, or folds my laundry, or sweeps and mops, etc. Basically, she is still picking up after me even though I'm almost 40.
     She also took me out for lunch today as payment for doing her Income Tax returns. We decided to go to The "Warring" House, which is so known for it's commonplace staff bickering. I've heard others refer to it as The "Whoring" House, but I can't comment on that. (Aaaaah, Norah would kick my ass if she read this. Thankfully, she's too busy decorating to read blogs.)
     Lunch was reeeeeally good. Heather was crazy busy with a big table of Red Hats and the rest of the place had filled up, as well, so I expected a bit of a delay. Red Hats are women over 60 who like to travel in groups wearing purple outfits and red hats (obvsly). They are usually pretty nice and don't tip too badly either, therefore, I can't say anything bad about them. Except that some of them are a little freaking weird. Not half as weird as the group I'm serving tomorrow... Aaargh, I am totally getting off topic. Sorry.
     Regardless of the busy lunch, Jenny brought us water right quick and Heather took our orders toute de suite. She even took time to give mom a little compliment. I got the rapini and mushroom quiche with salad and mom had the roast beef dip and sweet potato fries. We were out of there in less than an hour. I would recommend Amelia's Garden or the Barley Room Pub at The Waring House for lunch or dinner. And, I'm not just saying that cos I work there ;)
     Now, if you want to go have a facial at the Claramount here's what you need to know.

1. Get there 15 minutes early to fill out a redundant form about your health issues, medications and insurance information. None of that shit applies to me, so it's silly. I'm in for a facial, not day surgery. Rub my face with hot cloths and send me on my way, chrissakes.
2. Don't be surprised when they ask you to take off your clothes and put on a bathrobe. I couldn't rationalize this request - considering I was just having a facial - but it turns out the facial includes a "decollette". Either way, it's more comfy than jeans and I'm all in favour of being skyclad.
3. Be very excited! There is soothing spa music in the background, a mug of cherry sencha (green tea) in your hand... and then you get to take off your bathrobe and climb into a cozy little bed that has been warmed up with a heating pad. There's even a little pillow to take the pressure off your lower legs. It's like laying in a womb without the goo and the darkness. 
4. There are lots of applications of hot cloths on your face. That's how the facial starts, that's how it ends, and there are all kinds of them throughout the half hour, too. If she covers your nose with a hot cloth and you can't breathe, you prolly pissed her off somehow.
5. The Claramount uses Eminence organic products from Hungary. Very "green" according to the literature. For all I know, it's made with formaldehyde in a Chinese bicycle factory. There are hundreds of cleansers, toners, exfoliants, masks, serums and moisturizers and they all smell good. According to Eminence, you are supposed to cleanse, exfoliate, mask, tone, treat, moisturize and protect you face twice a day (morning and night). I'm lucky to find a fucking bar of soap in my shower for my daily facial regimen.
6. Apparently, the fact that my cheeks get pink when I have a glass of wine means that I have rosacea. I thought it was just a mild allergic reaction to alcohol.
7. The Lemon Grass cleanser really smells good, but strong. The Rosehip and Maize exfoliating mask is gooey and chunky - not my favourite. The Rosehip tonic is sprayed on your face in a fine mist - you can barely feel it - but it's supposed to "infuse" your face with vitamins and minerals. The serum is the best stuff. I got Couperose-C serum, which reminds me of fresh cut lawns and Zambuk. Follow this with the Thermal Spring whip moisturizer, some Wild Plum eye cream and a bit of Citrus plumping lip balm and you could totally eat your own face.
8. The best part of my facial was when she massaged the serum into my forehead. That seems to be where I keep alot of my stress; right in the furrow of my brow. The worst part is the neck massage. I don't like anyone touching my neck, especially along my carotid artery.
9. A "decollette", btw, is a massage around that part of your chest and shoulders that does not necessarily extend all the way to your fun pillows. You can't wear a bra to a facial because the straps get in the way of the moisturizing massage.

     I would really like to have this done AT LEAST once a month. I would also like to take Pole Dancing lessons at By The Moon in Belleville, but they're both too expensive and I would have to get a job as a stripper before I could afford it. That's a bit of a Catch 22 as I see it. Nobody wants to pay to see a stripper with a poor complexion who can't dance on a pole yet.

Free Stuff!

     I woke up Monday morning with severe PMS. I notice the symptoms more and more as I get closer to the elusive promise of menopause - sudden, uncontrollable urges to whip somebody's ass at work, hating the world, a desire to spend money I don't have, and frustration with the word "shampoo".
     I kid you not. Monday morning I Googled the word "shampoo" to find out who came up with such an insult to the English language. I was in the shower, absent-mindedly reading the various bottles therein, and decided the word was stupid. I even contemplated whipping a little, harmless, bottle of Aveda that I got from a hotel room because it contained the French word for conditioner (Apres-Shampoo) written on it.
      That, my friends, is severe PMS. Donations to my poor husband to ease the trauma I cause every month can be forwarded to him at RR#8 Picton. Hahaha. Nah, he's good. A mood swing is just around the corner.
     Retail therapy is a known cure for hormonal imbalances. Well, maybe not a cure... but a Band-Aid solution, at least. However, I can't shop for clothes at a time like this. Everything I try on will make me look like a cow. I hate shopping for household items because I just don't care that much about what my house looks like. Shoes are fairly safe to shop for, but they are expensive. Basically, I am limited to groceries and books the week before my period arrives.
     The next dilemma is $$$. I've got a car payment and an RRSP withdrawal coming out of my bank account on Tuesday morning. Tips have been the shits lately (NOT related to my PMS, so shut up!) so I've got very little spare cash (if any). What's a girl to do?
     Here's the plan. Put $10 in the Soul to get to Belleville. There, I am going to pick up a book for Janet at Walmart. Shopping with other people's money is a fabulous idea when faced with iGRIEF (instant Gratification Required. It's an Emergency, Fuckhead!) That's the best acronym I could come up with in 5 minutes. I know it's lame. So, sue me.
     Like I said, shopping with other people's money is the best, because there's no guilt or buyer's remorse and you still get the feeling of accomplishment. Water for Elephants is about $12 at Walmart right now and I hear it's a very good story. When Janet is finished, I get to read it, so she's like surrogate for me - she pays for the book and I get to read it in about 9 weeks or less. The only thing that would be better is shopping for somebody else for something that costs a little more than $12. More adrenaline with a bigger purchase.
     Next on the list: The Bulk Barn. I would have made it out of there with about $5 in purchases; whole grain spaghetti, short grain brown rice, a handful of dried apricots and peanut butter was all I had on the list. Unfortunately, I found Miso paste, which I have been searching for these past few weeks. It was $6.99! So, I am minus another $12. Now, if I can remember what I wanted Miso paste for, I'll be set.
     Had to stop for mall sushi. That's another $10 :(
     At this point, I could have used a gift card at Old Navy to buy something, but clothing shopping is out of the question. So, I head to Canadian Tire where I can use my Options Mastercard points to buy a cutting board and windshield washer fluid. Cutting boards are on sale this week for 60% off and, in spite of my messy housekeeping, I'm a bit of a germaphobe when it comes to cutting boards and countertops. Points = free! I'm winning!
    The best deal of the day, however, comes from No Frills. I purchased tomatoes (because there aren't any available at Crowe's tomato farm on County Road One until April - and that's another story), relish, sweet chili sauce, frozen butter chicken dinners for Austin, a cucumber for Rodney (I hate cucumbers) and Pogos because they were on sale for $5 off. Couldn't get kale because you can never do ALL of your grocery shopping at one fucking store! Noooooo. You have to go to all three goddamn places if you want to get everything on your goddamn list, don't you find? Or, is it just me? I guess mom can't read this blog because of language. Sorry, mom.
     So, I'm already pissy when I get to the cash and the only cashier without a lineup is the one I've seen you all mention on facebook. I can't say anything defamatory here because she's related. Suffice it to say, she wasn't any nicer to me than she is to anybody else. When I checked my bill, I found the Pogos cost $8.99, not $3.97 as the sign said. In order to get a refund, I had to go to a different cash register. That cashier was leaving for break, so I had to wait for another cashier to come down from "upstairs". That cashier was taking her damn sweet time giving me a refund and I was getting more irritated by the second. All my retail therapy was for nought. I envisioned grabbing this young lady by the ponytail and giving her a face roll on the price scanner.
     Instead, I said I would go and check the sale sign so that she wouldn't be troubled with another refund (since they are clearly beyond her realm of knowledge). I brought the sign back to the cash register and it wasn't just one of those yellow stickers they put up over the regular retail price. It was a letter-sized placard in a metal frame. Clearly, people have been scooping up $4 Pogo boxes and paying $9 all weekend.
     This simple maneuver of removing the sign was, apparently, a game-changer. Now, I would not only get my refund, I would also get the box of Pogos for free! WINNER! GAGNON! I actually said "YAY!" right out loud.
     As an added bonus, I got home and discovered my sweet chili sauce has the word "COCK" all over the label. This just made my day even brighter because, unlike "shampoo", I really like the word "cock".

     Another good free thing is time. I had a good talk with my papa when I returned from Belleville. He was between items on his "to do" list so he came in for a chat and a chai. I wanted to vent about how much my jobs suck this week and dad is a good sounding board; he helps me to sort out my genuine feelings from my superficial feelings. But, we also discussed flying (and how it will be a cold day in Brazil that I get trapped in one of those death machines), flagging down trains, traveling with a dead moose and how to hotwire a minivan. There are so many good stories in that sentence and so little time to explain them all. lol.
     After the planes, trains and automobiles, we turned to Julia Roberts movies, which led to more traveling. Dad did the "Eat, Pray, Love" excursion a couple of years ago and had the time of his life. It was only across Canada (not Italy, India and Bali), but he did manage to find himself. Before he left, though, he wondered if he could spend that much time in his own company without getting on his own nerves. I think my dad may be schizophrenic based on that comment.

Ditch the Workout, Join the Party.

There's nothing quite as nasty as 15 pasty-faced, middle-aged, white women trying to shake their asses off in a Zumba class. Some of the participants in Wednesday's class at the Prince Edward Fitness and Aquatic Centre were not middle-aged and some of them were not pasty-faced. But, it was all kinds of messed up.

     When you see the ads for Zumba workouts, the people always look young, sexy and bronzed, wearing the latest, ultra-hip Zumbawear and walking like Ricky Martin on a cruise ship in rough waters. I would like to look like those people. Instead, I wore some black yoga pants and a black t-shirt that says, "Inside me is a really thin woman trying to get out. I can usually shut the Bitch up with chocolate."

     I wasn't out of place either. Some women wore cotton capris and Ts, others wore shorts and Ts, some even wore pyjamas. My friend, Kimmy, on the other hand, went shopping just for the occasion. She was decked out in brand new Spandex yoga pants, spaghetti tank and running shoes. Show off, lol.

     So, the basic Zumba moves are Merengue, Salsa, Cumbia and Reggaeton. I don't know which steps were which, but there's some stepping out and in, some waving your arms around, and alot of rolling your hips. It's the hip rolling that is both hilarious and unattractive when performed by our group. We were all trying our best to look like sexy belly dancers while twisting and humping and sache-ing around the hardwood floor, but it was just really pathetic. Lots of fun though and definitely a good workout.
     The top half of my ass is really sore today. And, yes, when your ass gets to be the size of mine, it has to be divided into sections - the top half is the part of the ass that forms a square in your "mom" jeans and the bottom half  is the part that generally folds over the back of your legs. Anyway, I attribute my ass pain to the humping move. It's just like it sounds - bend your knees, extend your fists in front and push your butt out, then pull your fists towards you while you squeeze your butt cheeks. Do this as fast as you possibly can and you, too, can Zumba. I could not go as fast as the instructor and I consider myself a pretty avid humper.
     Can you imagine seeing your mother do this? The instructor's grown daughter was taking the class for the first time! She was obviously mortified, but she also couldn't stop laughing. My kids would have run from the room screaming for someone to stab them in the eyeballs.
     Then, there's my groin pain. Let's talk about the move in which I had to squat with my legs spread and my arms bent, hands up, out at my sides; kind of like a dancing bear. In this position, I shake my hips from side to side, trying to make my elbows touch my love handles. This is very fun and about as close to sexy as I'm gonna look in this class. However, it causes a cold rush of air to my hoohoo. It also jostles around my vag in a very uncomfortable manner. It's disturbing even for me to think about my poor labia wobbling around in my panties like watermelon Jell-o. That's a nice visual, isn't it. Your welcome!
     Coincidentally, I had been talking about this same sensation with some of the girls at work about 3 weeks ago. It is most commonly experienced while doing jumping jacks. Go ahead, try it right now. If you don't feel it the first time, your underwear are too tight. Take them off and try again.
     Kimmy's favourite move was "Wiping the Counter". With your left hand raised above your head, use your right hand to wipe an imaginary countertop in a counter-clockwise motion. Then, follow suit with your hips in a biiiiiiig circle. It's hoola-hooping in slow motion, so it's easy and a bit naughty.
     I have to keep going to Zumba so I can practice the Beyonce move from Crazy in Love, in which she squats with her legs apart and does booty pops. This is my favourite move and it will help me to kick Tairn's ass next time we are Wii-ing with Just Dance 2. Oh, IT IS ON, my friend!

This is me after a few Zumba classes. Actually, it's Beyonce. But, you will not know the difference soon...

     So, the class on Monday night in Wellington had about 85 people attending. I heard it was a blast. Quite frankly, it would have pissed me off to be in a room with that many rhythm-impaired people throwing their arms around for the "machete" move (yeah, that sounds safe, doesn't it?) I'm more of a mosh pit girl myself. If you want to go, take $8 to the Wellington Arena on Mondays at 7p.m. or book your spot in advance at PEFAC Wednesdays at 7 p.m. or Thursdays at 9 a.m. I would give you the phone number, but I can't find it on the website at http://www.pefac.ca/

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!