Do they have pizza in prison????

....I really hope for son's sake they do. He'll be sorely disappointed if he gets there and this item is not on the menu.

Phone call received shortly after arriving in my office this morning....

Me "Psycho speaking..." (Insert my name here)

Husband "Your son is grounded. And whatever else you can think of as punishment for him."

Me "Uh-oh...why? What happened?" - seeing as all was quiet and calm as I left the
house only an hour ago. Yeah...they were sleeping...but still.

Husband "Well, at some point last night YOUR son decided to use a shoe lace he found out in
the garage to tie my case of screws and nails to the wheel of the car."

Me - uncontrollable laughter - "Oh my GOD..."

Husband "It's not funny! I couldn't understand why he kept looking out the window...I asked
him and he said nothing. I got 1/2 way down the street dragging this thing before
I noticed!"

Me - laughing - "Are the tires OK?"

Husband "I don't know. We will have to see. There were people standing around outside
watching as I dragged this thing down the street throwing crap everywhere. They
all saw me have to get out and take it off. Now I have to limp my ass down the
street picking up screws and bolts."

I'm not sure what he was more pissed at. That he was "punked" by an 8 year old....or that people saw the show go down. I'm guessing the second option. As for the limping explanation - he played volleyball at work. Cops tend to be....among other things....competitive and aggressive. Needless to say he crunched his ankle. The man however refuses medical attention because he's concerned they might try to put a cast on him. We are sitting at a week till Mexico and clearly this is not something he's willing to wear on our trip. Which I can understand, though if I was walking around town looking like I was trying to balance a watermelon between my knees as I walked I think I'd at least have a pair of crutches so as to look slightly less....special.

The best Prime Minister EVER!

I have categories for people I can actually associate with and stand to consider friends. Yeah, it may be shallow, and ethically wrong....but what can I say. It is what it is.

I'm sure I'm not the only one. There are just certain friends you don't show your - dark side - too. Those are the "Love them to death, super sweet, wouldn't hurt a fly" group members.

Then you have the ones you sometimes let glimpse your - cool/dark side - the people are in the "Cooler than me, I wish I could be more like them" group.

Then....there is the group you show your entire package too. Being a girl I can say that sentence without slaptastic consequences. This group is the "Sarcastic Asshole of the Year contestants who are just like me!". My soul mates...the beings on this planet that I can understand and who can fully appreciate my personality in return.

You know that question kids get asked alot by people who actually care what their opinions are? (Those would be the folks in category 1). "If you would go back in history and meet someone famous who would it be?"

My #1 choice would be Queen Elizabeth I. I picture her as the biggest, most sarcastic, interesting bitch in the history of 'people like me'.

My # 2 choice would be Sir Winston Churchill. He was awesome....a true connoisseur of dry British wit.

"Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen. "

"He has all of the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire. "

"I am prepared to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter. "

"It has been said that democracy is the worst form of government except all the others that have been tried. "

"We have always found the Irish a bit odd. They refuse to be English. "

How can you not love him?

PS. If you are in my Category 1 group you probably shouldn't have read this post. Actually, you should probably never read anything I post. Ever.

What the hell's an Aluminum Falcon?

The Star Wars themed party for son is over. Finally over. I believe it started at some point last millennium....and wound down this afternoon around 1:30.

The hostess was amazing...I can't even begin to describe the joy and giggles I got out of watching HER deal with the boys. The countless never ending number of boys. I did feel a bit bad at a couple of points...like when the boys all started throwing the fluff for stuffing their monkey's (no, that's not a joke...they did a Build-A-Bear activity and they all chose monkeys) at her head...or when they all took the blow-up light sabres and beat the crap out of each other. But, luckily I got over it.

Now, it wouldn't be complete without a "What the...???" moment. I answer the door to one of son's little friends from school. Little friend shall be named Special-Boy from here on out. Special Boy's mother came to the door with him, and introduced herself. Shortly thereafter she proceeded to interrogate me on the state of the costumes the kids would be wearing. If they were washed after every use...how often they were used....you know, the usual psychotic anti-bacterial mother-of-the-year routine. I told her I wasn't sure....and her response? "Well, you know with all the kids...and the stuff going around the schools....I'm not really comfortable with 'special boy' wearing one." I wasn't aware that Ebola had finally landed in Western Canada and was making it's rounds through the elementary schools. I mean, if it was say...something as horribly frightening as the common cold....how bloody awful would that be? Your kid....with an....ugh, cold. So fine, whatever. I understand...I assured her 'Special Boy' would not be forced to wear the diseased clothing and she went on her merry little way. Did I mention that 'Special Boy' showed up with a stuffed tiger in tow? I am a mother of a complicated child, so I fully understand that sometimes it's necessary to let them get away with weird things. For instance, at this moment son is walking around the living room in circles with 10 helium balloons between his legs like a tumor-ridden horsie. But, 'Special Boy' spent the entire party with his "Tigey" stuffed into the collar of his shirt. You can't make this shit up.

When mother-in-law showed up I thought I'd question her on this kid and his parents since she is the one who deals with them at the school every day when she picks up son....starting with the obvious question "Is he special needs?"...because if that is the case then it explains much and he is actually quite cute. Her astute answer? "No, he's not retarded. His parents baby him a bit...they are a little overprotective." Gee...ya think? She then told me about when the dad of 'Special Boy' showed up at school with a towel-covered cardboard box following his kid around. She thought perhaps it was a pet for show and tell....uh, no. Apparently "Tigey" needed a little extra TLC that day. And the parents went along with that. Why don't they just give him a wedgie and beat the crap out of him every day? Cause it won't be at ALL difficult for him on the first day of junior high when he shows up with "Tigey" shoved down his pants.

At any rate, I totally screwed up the timing of the whole party and the thousands of little boys were filled with sugar not moments before going home...but a whole HALF A FREAKING HOUR. By this time the angel in Jedi gear had left and I was in charge of the little....boys?.....hubby broke out the RUM shortly thereafter.

The Force Is Strong With This One

MmmmMmm, yes, strong is this one.

I received a call from the hostess for son's party last night. It's officially a go...which means I officially don't have to entertain 8 kids for a Star Wars themed party....7 of which will be boys.....who are all the wonderful not-at-all difficult ago of 8. If you think that the $325 I am spending for this service is too much you are sadly, grossly and undeniably mis-informed. Or at least you underestimated my desperation. I was a little crushed to learn I will still have to serve these children cake/drinks etc. However....loading up other people's children on sugar moments before they return home will be satisfying in a way that only a mother who has been on the receiving end of this service can understand.

Further proof that the force strong with this one.....I pulled a Martha last night and was able to not only whip up 12 Butter Pecan cup-cakes for the teacher pot-luck today....but was also able to ICE said cupcakes and even add a little candy to the tops. Yeah, it may have come out of a box....but the point is I managed to do it. No....really the point is I managed to remember I promised to do it. I may have had to order in dinner to pull this little trick out of my hat/ass, but dammit my son's teacher is worth it. Anyone who spends 8 hours a day with my complicated little boy deserves empty calories and a sugar high. And RUM. But, seeing as he's a very Christian guy so LOVES his job (therefore proving his insanity) I don't know that the RUM would be put to good use. So I offer up sugar. In my ever-constant vigilance for quality I forced myself to break the pre-cruise "blah" diet and sampled one of these. I had the shakes for an hour and my eyes were watering. And, seeing as I was not going through RUM withdrawal at the time it must have been the sugar. An A-1 product my friends.

I decided to test "the force" this morning. I....wait for it.....didn't call the evil/retarded/head-up-ass bus company this morning before I left to see if daughter's bus was running! I know....the daring! The outright audaciousness (took me 15 minutes to spell that) of my act - shocking. Of course, I did sit there in nervous anticipation for 10 minutes questioning my sanity and wondering if the last brain cell had finally un-hitched his horse and mosied on out of town. I don't know why...but I think of my brain cells in a male context. Or at least androgynous....like little Fraggles working in the Fraggle Rock of my brain. At any rate, the force that is ME was vindicated and the bus showed up. On time. Whoa...I think I just passed our for a few seconds there...I was actually able to say the bus showed up on time. What will they think of next? Before you know it I'll be saying something completely unthinkable like "That person at the bank was so helpful!" or "Those drivers are so considerate."

Dear man I followed home yesterday...

Dear Man I followed home yesterday,

There appears to be some confusion as to whether or not you actually hit me at that stop light yesterday afternoon. You see, I assumed when I gently started moving forward by using my gas pedal (FYI - as you are an old person I will give you this helpful hint...it's the skinny one on the right) and then felt a big lurch and shot forward, that you had hit me. Your stunned expression and use of your right signal indicator right away was also a pretty good hint for me. However, when I moved over to stop you did not follow. It is therefore only natural that I would get back into traffic and follow you to your home. You see, I really don't like being hit in traffic.....but what I can't STAND is old people who don't stop when they hit things. Now, believe me, I do understand. When you hit as many objects as that it would get tedious and probably quite expensive to stop for each one. Problem is, you never know when you might hit say... a psychotic rum-drinking mother who happens to me married to a cop. The possibility may not have even crossed your mind that when you looked through your coke-bottle lenses at me in the rear view mirror and saw me speaking on my cell phone that your licence plate was already in the hands of the police.

Well, now I know where you live. Seeing as I followed you there. Problem is, after getting out of my car to have a look at the damage - I couldn't see any. Well, none that you had caused. There is some paint missing from the bumper...that may have been caused by a certain husband dropping a 100 lb mini fridge on it....but otherwise just as I remembered it. According to husband it's a phenomenon known as brake slippage. I think this is one of those urban myths...like the python in the toilet or affordable housing. Nevertheless, it seems you may be innocent. Of hitting me. Given the thickness of your lenses and age of your person, it's likely you are guilty of hitting an object of some sort at some time. But, this time......I can honestly say.....I won't have to kill you now.



Dear Person Driving a Compact Car in Traffic This Morning,

Just a quick note to say how sorry I am at the misunderstanding that took place on the way to work this morning. I realize that when you were attempting to merge, by hitting my brakes and leaving 15 car spaces between me and the pick-up truck in front of me I was being very confusing as to my intent. It was in no way clear that I was letting you into the traffic line. After all, 15 car lengths is clearly no-where near enough room for a compact car to safely merge. Therefore you almost running into me as I passed you on the 16th car-length was no doubt 100% my fault. I do apologize. I now understand the correct procedure having called the nearest motor-vehicle branch for a refresher course. Next time I will follow the rules of the road. I will come to a complete stop, exit my vehicle, then proceed to gently hold your hand while you maneuver your car in front of me. Once I've made sure you are safely in your spot, I will then get back into my car and give you a friendly little wave to send you on your way. Please, accept my sincere apologies and know that it shall never happen again.

30 - the new "Oh My GOD I'm Old!"

I knew as a child that I would turn grey early. I'm cursed with either baldness or premature grey-hair on both sides of the family. Trust me, right now I'm thankful that the "male pattern baldness" has decided to only attack the males in the family and I'm still in possession of a full head of hair. I'd like to have words with the woman a few generations ago who thought that a little grey hair added distinction to her chosen spouse. She was obviously a completely selfish witch who didn't care what she was inflicting on the future generations.

I told myself up until 2 years ago that I would grow old gracefully. That there was no shame in letting my hair gradually turn a different colour. Sometimes I really am an idiot. When those first hairs started showing - stark-freaking white I might add - it was almost novel. I'd pluck them, even collected them for the first couple months. Now...I pluck them daily. And burn them. Then bury the ashes in an undisclosed location.

30 is fast approaching. I've got the kids trained - "How old is Mommy?"....chorus "Twenty-Four!"...."That's right! You guys are SO smart. Here's another cookie". My growing old gracefully theory has had the shit kicked out of it, been duct-taped...and is currently chained to a cement block on the bottom of the ocean.

I visited a cosmetic surgeon this past week. Among the things (I may or may not have had done) to reverse time and give genetics a gentle kick in the nuts was Botox. Speaking with a co-worker the day of the procedures (which may or may not have taken place)....I was bitching about my frownies. Those 2 little lines in between the eye-brows that make me look perpetually cranky. Which I am....but still sometimes you don't want to advertise the bitch portion of the personality. She then proceeded to show me how she can't frown. Which I thought was SUPER cool...no frownies. Fast-forward to Thursday afternoon....

"So, how long until I won't be able to frown"
"Oh, I'd say by Sunday. 72 hours normally"
"Excellent..."

Now, fast forward to Saturday night at the dinner table....

Daughter - "What? Why are you staring at me?"
Me - "I'm frowning....sit up and put the book away!"
Daughter - "You aren't frowning...."
Me - "Of course I.....MOTHER OF GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE!!! I've lost my powers!"

So....husband now has to do all of my frowning for me. And when he's working....I'm going to have to think up a new method of displaying my non-verbal rage. Perhaps a nose twitch. Ear wiggle. Narrowing of the eyes may work. Sigh. Vanity has a high, high price.

Ring around the Rosie.....

Alot people don't know this nursery rhyme is sometimes thought to be speaking of the Bubonic Plague (in 20th century folklore at any rate). Charming image isn't it?



Ring around the Rosie (red rings around the neck)

A Pocket Full of Posies (the flowers/herbs they used to carry in bags around the neck to ward off the "vapours" of the illness/or conceal the scent of the open sores)

Asha, Asha (perhaps the sounds of the laboured breathing before death? Sneezes?)

We All Fall Down (pretty self explanatory...everybody croaks)





I only bring this particular nursery rhyme up because I am fairly certain I have the plague. Those around me keep insisting it is nothing but a common cold....but I maintain my professional opinion that this is indeed the Black Death. I feel like death, I look like death. How could it not be? On top of the 24 pills - being the blasted Minerals/Supplements I have self-prescribed myself in order to lose weight rapidly (aka the Great Purge for the cruise) - I now have to cram down this Cold FX stuff...that has so far done about ZERO for me, and Tylenol Cold...which is not really doing much either. I'm going on a field trip to the drug-store in a little while to search for Tylenol Plague. I think I need something a little stronger.




How is the diet going you ask? (yeah, I'm sure I heard you ask)...well, let me tell you. It's not. You'd think eating strictly disgusting foods and taking all these "miracle" pills would have done something. So far, they have just increased my super-sweet temperament and given me heart-burn. And I'll fill you in on another little nugget of wisdom...meatloaf made with Turkey and hemp-seed is NOT something edible. Sure, it may look OK...even smell reasonable....but it WASN'T.

My next experiment will be RUM and turkey. Why not...can't hurt? At least, it probably can't hurt any more than the turkey meatloaf did. Damn, that was painful.

In Memory of Lindsay......

Lindsay Weight Memorial Fund

I am pleased to announce that the fund set up to commemorate and celebrate Lindsay Weight's life has awarded bursaries to its first recipients.

The fund, set up following the unexpected death of two-times Comrades marathon winner and UCT senior lecturer Dr Lindsay Weight on 12th September 2006, is designed to assist science students who have shown an aptitude for athletics. The criteria for selection specifies that the recipient must be a science student, a woman and have athletic potential. Lindsay was always incredibly supportive of her students and many have personal anecdotes of how she gave them advice both in an academic and athletic sense.

Therefore, we are pleased to confirm that the first two recipients of the Lindsay Weight Memorial Fund are Kathleen Fennemore and Unice Vorster. Kathleen is a first year physiotherapy student from Westville. Academically her early results are very promising. Athletically, Kathleen is currently concentrating on short distances following considerable success at high school in athletics, hockey and touch rugby. Unice is a fourth year medical student whose results continue to be in the top bracket. Unice has full Western Province colours for Cross Country and was the WP 1500m champion in 2006. She has been both UCT Cross Country Athlete of the Year and Club Ladies Athlete of the Year. Unice knew Lindsay personally and often looked to her for advice, so is a fitting first recipient of the award.

Both women will receive a bursary from the fund and can reapply for further bursaries in the ensuing years. We wish them both well and look forward to following their progress with interest.

The family of Lindsay would like to extend their thanks to all those who have contributed to the Fund over the year.

The fund currently stands at approximately R27000 and with prudence and occasional donations we can ensure that bursaries are awarded for many years to come. If anyone would like to donate to the fund please use the following details, ensuring that any reference includes 'Lindsay Weight Memorial Fund' in the text.

Bank: Standard Bank of South AfricaAccount Holder: UCT Donations AccountBranch: RondeboschBranch Code: 02 50 09Account Number: 07 152 2387Account Type: CurrentBeneficiary Reference: Lindsay Weight Memorial Scholarship Fund.

105 days.......

There are 105 days until Christmas. Which realistically means maybe 15-20 good shopping days left. I can't shop on a weekday as I work full time. Well, I'm in my office full time. The work part is debatable. At any rate, online shopping, which I happen to be very good at (and I mean SCARY good at) is the only form of Christmas shopping I can accomplish during the work-day.

I can therefore only shop in the stores on weekends, up until around December 8th. That is apparently the cut-off for the insane mall shoppers. Not that I can't compete, I have perfected the "elbows out-bitch eyes in" walk perfectly. Enter my little bubble and you're going to get an elbow in the ribs/boobs/tummy. I just don't want to deal with it. It's not good for my rage issues. Speaking of which, I just found out that my SUV horn is not only broken but that they need to replace the entire steering wheel. The service guy told me on the phone he has never heard of that happening before - and I told him I really miss my horn. It's been a long, long, long couple of hornless weeks driving in downtown traffic.

I am currently in panic mode. Usually I am 100% done all my shopping by October - this year I've lapsed. I was distracted with the "Mexican Cruise" shopping and "Trip to England" shopping for next year. If I had to leave tomorrow we'd all be perfectly co-ordinated. Christmas...not so much. My girlfriends sent out a list of items they have or are getting for their 8 year olds this year. All our kids are September 1999 babies (well, all our 8 year old kids are at any rate) so we try to get ideas from each other for birthdays and Christmas. It seems I am oddly behind this year. Compounding the issue is the fact we are having family friends come up from the states for some good ol' fashioned Canadian fun. Eh! I can't wait to have them up. I have all sorts of neat stuff planned. I just don't know what to get them - more than likely maple flavored Rum.

As the kids age I am finding it harder and harder to think of stuff they would like. Next year I think I'm just going to get them an armadillo and be done with it. I mean, who wouldn't want an armadillo? And seeing as they have every other thing/toy/weapon under the sun...or will by the time this Christmas is over....it makes perfect sense. I have no idea what the crap an armadillo eats, or whether they can be litter trained or not. Fingers crossed the answer to that last one is a "yes".

So, suggestions? And yes, I've already considered the "cage" idea. I think a giant cage is a PERFECT gift for them. However, when I mentioned it to hubby I don't think it went over too well. Something along the lines of "Blah, blah, blah....child protective services....blah, blah, blah....police officers....blah, blah, blah....lose my job"

Hysterics: Recommended Once Daily in the Morning

Apparently, having a raving lunatic of a hysterical mother calling in repeatedly is a good motivator.

Hubby takes daughter to the bus stop this morning. I, having raised my white flag yesterday, wanted nothing to do with it. I slept in blissful ignorance while daughter was getting ready for school and only emerged moments before they were leaving. I "suggested" that he call the bus-company to make sure they had a driver today. *Snicker*....yeah, I thought it was a silly notion as well. Pfff!, a driver for a bus, HA! They inform him that yes, all of the buses for the school are running as planned today. Again, Pfff, ha! Yeah right.

Fast-forward 15 minutes when I am on the road to work. 7:09am to be exact.

"Ring-Ring"
"Hello?" (Again, talking into dashboard)
"Hey, so apparently your crazy person routine worked. Her bus just left."
"Really. Interesting. It's only because you were there."
"I don't think it's personally against you sweetie."
"Whatever, the universe is conspiring against me."

Don't get me wrong, I am absolutely jaw-droppingly happy it actually managed to not only show up, but it also managed the challenging task of stopping at the bus stop. I have hopes that she may actually get to school today.

And yes. I am pissed that it showed up on hubby's watch. A little (HUGE!) part of me wanted him to have to experience the blinding rage and frustration. Once again, universe hates me. At least I know I'll always have RUM.

*SNAP* goes my brain.

Warning, explicit swearing. Necessary, but explicit.

I'm done. I give up. White flag is raised, bring on the straight-jacket and the padded walls. A few of those little cups with pills inside wouldn't be a bad idea either.

I left off planning the death of a couple of people. Sadly, they have thus far evaded my capture. Soon though, very soon.

Yesterday afternoon we were informed that our daughter's bus was cancelled. CANCELLED. Just wasn't going to come. So, being that she is on the other side of the continent from our house, and I was still working, I called hubby to go get her. Yeah, he was out fighting crime and so forth....but he was mobile I was not. The City can sponsor a quick child-rescue operation. I pay my taxes. I called the school to find out why it wasn't running and they said that they just get a call from the bus company and she wasn't sure why. I called the bus company. They told me the school cancelled it due to lack of students. So...fingers pointed in all directions and nobody is capable of solving a pretty fucking simple problem. Get a driver, pick up kids, drop off kids. Please just have the Nobel prize left on my doorstep.

Hubby went to get her...and she wasn't there. Nobody knew where she was. And here's where something *SNAPPED*. Enter dark clouds....thunder and lightening.....one pissed off mother. I called the school, I called the other school where she might have gone to await transfer to the non-existent bus....and then I called the bus company. I asked the woman to get me a manager....she said "That may be difficult..." in her 'I work for the ASSHOLE bus company and I am therefore required to be a BITCH' tone. I then informed her that because of their absolute Tom-Fuckery my child was missing and I would suggest she make some effort to find a manager. I think she saw the light. Or perhaps had a vision of me coming down there for a visit in person, at any rate they started to move their asses as required. Meanwhile, hubby called and he had found her at the other school. Wonderful. At least she's safe. Now I can carry on with my plans of torture and eventual death, instead of a rage filled massacre.

Fast-forward (past the RUM) to this morning. 7am I am sitting at bus stop with daughter. I call bus company to make sure, before I sit there for an hour, that the bus is indeed going to manage the impossible task of picking up children and taking them to a school. "Susan"...aka Twat-sicle....informed me that it was indeed running. Tick...tick...tock. 7:27am I call back.....Twat-sicle answers again and I ask her the same question, seeing as we are sitting at 20 minutes past time for the mythical yellow tube to appear. She now informs me it was CANCELLED due to lack of drivers. *SNAP* goes my brain. I lost it. Snapped my crayons. I asked her why she couldn't tell me this when I called earlier. Was it complicated? Did I frickin stutter? I demanded a manager.

She puts me through to Glen. Idiot-stick Glen. I had to deal with this monkey's ass yesterday while daughter was missing. I lose it on Glen. I asked him (and keep in mind I am doing the moronic talking into the dashboard routine again) what the crap was going on. He put me on hold and calls and tells me the bus is running, but it's late. Whooaaa Nelly. What do you mean it's running? I'm stuck in f-ing rush hour traffic, missing work because your Twat-sicle told me it was cancelled, after telling me it was running. What the fuck? Then I asked how is it possible for it to be running late when we are the 3rd stop? "I'm sorry, I don't have an answer for that"....I ask what they are doing to solve the issue? "We are doing our best.". Well, damn. That just clears it all up and makes me feel 100% better.

By this point I'm crying. I'm a mad crier. When I get to a certain level of rage I cry. Which pissed me off even more, I cry harder, therefore I can't speak. Great. I eventually make it to the school....got a little lost/stressed but got there. Pulled into a spot and right away some parking Nazi comes up and tells me I have to move my truck. She approaches and I break down. Picture a bawling inconsolable psychotic mother in the arms of a parking Nazi...daughter looking on...a bit confused.

It's a great start to the school year so far. We have calls in to transfer her to a public school. I can't deal with this crap anymore. There isn't enough RUM in the world.

Have you ever......

.....wanted to kill someone? I mean, really truly and literally kill someone? I am afraid I am rapidly approaching this state.

Daughter goes to a charter school. Don't ask me what the "politically correct" explanation for that is...I consider it a publicly funded private school. At any rate, there are several campuses throughout the city and she, being in grade 5, was moved to the middle school. This middle school is in far, far away land. It's in the deep SE of the city...we are in the far NW. In an urban-sprawled city of over a million people it may as well be on the moon.

Yesterday was the first day of school. A day for noon-hour RUM-tails and general booty shaking by parents all over the civilized world. The morning bus came as expected....3 minutes late but whose counting right? It came. She left. It was alllll good. As I was driving into work a couple hours later I got a call. Unfortunately with the blue-tooth set-up in the truck I have to basically speak into my dashboard. Which is only slight less moronic looking than say, leaving a gas tank open while racing imaginary formula one cars through suburbia. Anyway, after screaming back and forth through her "kid phone"....which by the way SUCKS for reception but is awesome in the fact that she can't dial anyone but us....I managed to deduce that her bus that connects her that was supposed to leave at 8:15 was just pulling away. It was 8:55. And yes, I said connects. Not only does my almost 10 year old have to travel across North America to get to her campus, she has to switch buses at a high school on the way there, and just to keep it interesting switch buses at a different school on the way home. Fine, whatever. The teachers can deal with late students at the school.

Fast forward to the afternoon. I left work early to pick-up son from his school. They go to different schools for a couple reasons, but the main one is that he isn't exactly "charter school" material. The advanced academics would have doomed him. He has some learning disabilities and I'm certainly not going to force him into a program he won't feel he's able to handle. I was pretty sad they wouldn't have matching uniforms though. Really sad in fact. We got home and I started the scrumptious "Turkey Loaf" recipe. This diet blows. If anyone out there know of any actual tasty way to eat ground turkey, for the love of all that's holy please pass it along. Husband came home from work a little early to a slightly crazed screaming psychopath. Daughter had called me and told me she hadn't been picked up yet. It was 3:45...she is supposed to be dropped off at 4:20. So, after I called around to about 3 campuses trying to find out exactly where she has been abandoned I called the bus company. I have a lengthy hate-on for these people.

And here's where the thoughts of torture and eventual slow agonizing death creep in. The absolute BITCH who answered my call essentially told me that she didn't know if she would have a driver available to get my child as they were very short-staffed. There was an accident or two that the drivers were stuck in. Then she cut me off and hung up. I'm sure you've picked up on the vibe that's it's not wise to hang up on me at this point. This is not a six month old 3 legged-ikea table sitting out on the curb for collection, it's my freaking kid! We had to call the school, call Daughter and tell them we were on our way. We crawled across the city. Hundreds of thousands of people trying to get to the exact same spot we were. Or that's what it felt like at any rate. We made it there at 5pm. There was a bus loading kids...at 5pm.....it appears they found a bus and were combining a couple runs into one. So...if we had waited a measly 3 hours after she was supposed to have been dropped off we could have picked her up at her appointed stop. While I understand there is a learning curve, back to school madness, etc., etc. - if you can't provide a service don't take my fucking money and abandon my child!

I guess it seems odd that I have this much rage a day after the whole ordeal went down.....it would be slightly odd if not for these two facts:

1) I am a certified BITCH when it comes to people mistreating my kids in any way shape or form (other than myself or those authorized to beat them)

2) This morning the bus was 25 minutes late. Again, I understand the whole learning curve thing....but we are the 3rd stop on ONE ROAD. How hard is it? Stop, stop, stop....not so difficult a concept is it? So I'm supposed to show up late for work every day because buddy can't pull his head out of his ass long enough to remember the 3rd stop?

So, when I do eventually capture the phone-bitch at the bus company and this bus driver who doesn't get the "stop at the bus stop" theory.....I'm thinking I'm going to lock them in a teeny, tiny room with my kids. That should take care of the torture part. Then, I'm going to play a combination of Teletubbies, Elmo, and the Bee-Gees until they cave and throw themselves off of the first available tall structure.

The Claw

Did you ever see that episode of friends where they have the Mrs.PacMan machine and play it non-stop for hours on end? I think Monika or Chandler ended up with "The Claw!" as a result.

I too, am now the proud owner of a claw. Son's birthday was this weekend. He turned 8, which means I'm old. I suppose it means a few things for him as well, such as he's old enough to stay up later than 7pm, that he's going into grade three, and that he's, for the next 30 days, only 1 numeral less than his sister in age. But, overall it just means I'm old. We bought our music loving son Guitar Hero II for the X-Box 360'. He's played with it for about 10 minutes. Hubby and I however, played into the wee morning hours. I'd say at least 12 hours combined for both of us invested in this thing already.

I woke up this morning...sore in places that only someone who has jogged 5 miles or wrestled a cracked out Orangutan to the ground should be. I can't close my left hand completely. The claw. I also appear to have pulled a back muscle. I was trying to get into the bath and nearly decapitated myself on the towel rack. This would lead me to believe that I am either so grossly out of shape that medical intervention may be required, that I should not play stress-inducing games that cause me to contort myself and my muscles into odd shapes, or that someone came into my bedroom last night and did a "Lord of the Dance" impersonation across my body.

I am off to rub RUM into my joints and start arrangements for the old-person "holy-shit" handles to be installed on the bathtub.