And then there was candy.....

The yearly loot has been collected, sorted, and the 75% cut due to the parents has been accounted for.

Finally, having kids pays off.

Carving the Gourds

Plan A was scrapped after son learned I in fact CANNOT make skeleton eyes hang in mid-air.

First year she's been allowed to cut out the pieces herself. Possibly the last year.

Manicure gone to shit. Damn holiday.

Schlop. That's the exact sound it makes.

Further......no...further......

He vants to gut your gourd!

McSpecial boy.

"Hellooooooo? Common sense....are you in there?"

If it wasn't for the drooling this would actually be a good idea.

More Boo

No...I take it back.

THIS is the most pissed off cat in the world.

Strap Yourselves In, On, Down....

This is going to be a post-heavy day. Like...I'm going to make your poor little computer groan with the heaviness. Just remember, if you smell smoke STOP-DROP-&ROLL.

Go check this out....I'm being featured (well....no. That's not actually true. I'm being mentioned...) on Five Star Friday.

I hear you. Yes I do. "But Holly, oh dear Rummy one, I've already read your post!".

Yes. But you haven't read the OTHER posts they have listed there (not by myself, so you are pretty much guaranteed better quality) and you know there is nothing more important than bloggy entertainment. So go. Read.

I'll be right here when you get back.

Happy Boo Day

You are looking at what may be the most pissed off cat. Ever.

She is going to kill me in my sleep. Or pee on my pillow. I just know it.

An Open Letter to Martha Stewart

Dear Ms. Stewart,

I don't want you to take what I'm about to say in the wrong way. I give you full props for your perfect little empire. Well, almost perfect. There was that little stint you did in....well, you know.

I just wanted to tell you, if you wouldn't mind....

...PLEASE TAKE A GIANT FUCKING LEAP OFF OF THE NEAREST TALL OBJECT.

I am incapable of describing in full what my body/kitchen/hubby's drill look like right now. But I will say this.

When you suggested that to achieve your glitter pumpkin, I should cover my work surface in newspaper and coat my pumpkin in first glue, then glitter....I did it. Because you are Martha Stewart. And even if you didn't make this up in your own brain, you no doubt supervised your little team of Type-A's which is one in the same.

Only...oh, dear Martha....did you know that glue and paper....what's the word....stick? Yes, they stick. Together.

You also informed me that I had to make sure my pumpkin was a certain thinness...or thickness....before I used my husband's drill to make the holes for the lights. Only, darling Martha....how does one measure the thickness of a pumpkin that is round. This led me to having to use the drill bit post glue and glitter to get those lights in the holes. And Martha, I honestly don't know exactly how I'm going to explain the state of my hubby's drill to him.

I just know he'll be all, "What the HELL!" and I'll have to be all, "Rawr, I've been watching 10 solid hours of porn."

Mommy Dearest - Part Six

Graduation...I'm the one in the ugly dress!

Mommy Dearest - Part One

Mommy Dearest - Part Two

Mommy Dearest - Part Three

Mommy Dearest - Part Four

Mommy Dearest - Part Five

When my mother got a job at a fabric store I thought that it was good for her to get out of the house. It made the house feel like it was beginning to get back into a rhythm. A disjointed, altered rhythm....but it was closer to normal than it had been in the weeks since Dad had died.


Two weeks after she started there, she asked me what I thought about her going out on a date. I was positive...encouraging. Sure, if it made her feel better I didn't have a problem with it. The timing was fast, but it wasn't something that would really affect our lives.


She heard from a former neighbor shortly after that. He had learned that she was now a widow and wanted to reconnect with her. Initially I was OK with the dating. When she first spent the night away I was terrified, but still managed to throw a positive spin on things in my mind.


Then she moved out.

She didn't move into a healthy place. They fought, alot. I'd come home from school, then work...to find her at the house crying. She would darken the house with her misery, then when they would make-up she would leave again. Eventually, she decided that I should live in the basement suite, and she would rent out the top portion of the house. As that decision was made, she also informed me that she and her boyfriend were going to Mexico on vacation.


It had been 4 months since my father had passed away.


I didn't handle the news well. I was terrified to be in the house alone. On a bigger scale I was just terrified to be alone at all. There was no family, no friends who could help me if I needed it. I was horribly jealous that she was going off to another country on vacation and I was to stay in that house by myself, with school and work. There was no light at the end of my tunnel during those weeks. We had an argument....and argument in which I blurted out that I "might not be here" when she got back. When she asked me where I would be my reply was purposefully cryptic, "I'll be nowhere.".


Was I suicidal? No, I don't think so. I was desperate to shock her...to make her stop and give me what I needed. At that age I might have attempted something, but with no desire to succeed.


Her reply, "Well, then I'll lock you up in a hospital till I get back. You are not ruining this trip for me."


I shut down. Something finally shifted in my brain. I realized that she wasn't worth it. She wasn't worth my life, she wasn't worth my effort, and she wasn't a mother. I made the mental leap of evicting her from my thought process, from there on out I was relying only on myself.


She went to Mexico. I began to live my life without considering her. And I realized I hadn't lost anything. I hadn't lost a mother. I hadn't lost support. I had only gained my own self-sufficiency.


In the spring she informed me she was pregnant. I can remember that phone call very clearly. I was enraged. How could she be so irresponsible? I asked her,


"Where does that leave me?"

She didn't have an answer for that. It wasn't necessary. That left me alone.


My brother was born in December......less than a year after my father's death. He was small, sickly looking - and had beautiful eyes. She smoked throughout her pregnancy. She barely ate. She fought with the father without pause. I would hold him, and imagine the life he had in front of him. I didn't hate him, I felt nothing but pity. He had almost no hope for a happy childhood.



My mother continued to show up unannounced with the baby after the boyfriend would kick her out. It was an annoyance. And I started to get mad. I wasn't allowed to have a mother, or a stable environment, and now I wasn't even allowed to have privacy in the place I was living.



I coped by ignoring her. I didn't ask why she was there. I didn't ask for details if she brought it up. I told her that she was an adult, and it was her decision when she asked if I was, "Upset that I am staying with him." - it enraged her. She thrived on the attention she got from her 'abusive' relationship.



I had removed her from my life, and I resented her presence.

The spring after my brother was born, I met a college student at a friend's house. He volunteered at the Police Station with a guy I went to high school with. And he owned a new Mustang. Enough said...I was hooked enough to tackle him during a game of basketball, and scratch his eye. Which was enough for him to go, whoa....I better ask her out. I had a life again. I had a circle of support again. After I graduated that summer I moved in with him and didn't give my mother another thought.

We eventually moved further away. Away from her drama and neediness. My life evolved, and grew into something I wanted it to be. The last attempt she made for attention was in the form of a phone call. I was shopping with my boyfriend. He handed me the cell phone and it was my mother calling to tell me that she had left her (by then) husband, he had broken her arm. She asked if I was upset with her for staying with him...again...and I told her....again...that she was an adult and those choices were hers. I personally didn't care who she was with.

She went back to him within a month.

Christmas Morning 1996 - Engaged 1 year after graduation. 18 Years Old.

Trendy McTrenderson - THE CONTEST

So the new blog trend is to have a contest. And...I'm all about the Lemming thing. Where the hell is that cliff?

So here goes.

Send me the best/most unusual/most original and ARTISTIC WEDDING PHOTOS you can find. Why?

Well, aside from the fact that I really don't know what else to have a contest for...other than who can mail me the most RUM - or RUM related items (Danielle holds the championship ring to that one)....hubby's cousin has asked me to do something that I hate to do. Photograph her wedding next year.

I. Hate. Weddings.

Hate.

But...she's family. She's got an Italian mother. And unless I want to have a curse-caused humped back, or have all my limbs fall off...I think I have to agree to it.

What is the prize you ask?

Have you read this blog? No really....you do 'get' me right? The prize will be fun. Quirky.

Think stuffed Armadillo quirky. But more....kitcheney. That is absolutely a word.

So if you are a sensitive soul, who doesn't like weirdness....look away.

Email Me Those Wedding Photos!

Fine print.

Contest closes December 31, 2008.

Winner picked by my hubby (who may or may not be tied to a chair with a gag and a laptop placed strategically in front of him...we may have to tape his eyelids as well now that I think about it.)

Prize mailed to the winner by January 15th, 2009.

I take no responsibility for any trauma inflicted by the receipt of said prize.

Girlfriend....you SO did NOT!

Mail me rum?

Seriously...they make rum in a drink box format? What shithole backwoods outhouse have I been living in that I didn't KNOW this?

Danielle, I'm sorry hun but I'm officially going to have to be your "stalker chick" now. I'm having business cards made up.

I. Love. You.

Can you believe customs let that through with "journal" as the description? That's what Canada is all about - we'll question you for 10 hours if you try to declare bubble bath, but sneaking in booze? Hells yeah!

At least.....I think it's booze. I looks boozy. And....rummy. It's not like...Iguana Milk or anything right? RIGHT?! No no....it says Alcohol es blah blah blah (and they said I'd never learn to speak another language! Pffa.) so it just has to be something that will make me tipsicated.

She also sent me this wine cork. Which you can see I took a long time to use. Approximately 32 minutes from the office to home to be exact.

Oddness

Huh....I can't see my blog. Weird. Maybe the blogging gods are switching it over to my net address? Maybe...

Whatever. It's Monday morning and I sort of don't care. I mean, I care in that I like to look at it once in awhile...you know....and cringe. But then, I realize that I have a full day of the "office" ahead of me and there are bigger things to be concerned with.

Such as zombies.

OK, not really zombies. More like...diseased people who eat other people.

Hubby took me to the movies on Saturday night. He specifically took me out for cheesecake and then a horror movie. Because when your wife is throwing the mother-of-all shit fits....that's a smart thing to do. We saw that movie "Quarantine" which was pretty good for a horror. I haven't seen many lately that didn't make me all "am I just desensitized or was that really lame?".

Speaking of desensitized, I have determined that we are. Or rather, hubby is. Not that I'm knocking what they did with this particular scene, because let me tell you, if I have some creepy ass person trying to eat my neck I'd totally use whatever I could to kill him/her/it. Unless it was like, a vampire from Twilight...then I'd just die happy. I digress. The movie is shot in the same way that worst movie ever made Cloverfield was...handheld. But not in a way that makes you vomit. Or spend 80 minutes with your head between your knees begging your spouse for permission to "please-for-the-love-of-fuck-can-we-leave". The guy uses the camera to bash in it's head.

Let me set the scene. Late show....10pm start....there are a grand total of 5 couples in the theatre including us. Camera-head-bashing scene shows. And hubby just about pees his pants laughing. Like....I can see him crossing his legs he's laughing so hard. So I start laughing because whenever someone pees their pants it's funny. And....I dunno. Seeing someone freak out on a creepy neck-eater with their camera is kind of amusing.

Silence.

Nobody else thought that was funny.

Huh.

So yeah...conclusion is that we are sick people. Which I pretty much already knew.

Counter Funeral

On Wednesday night I laid down on the kitchen counter. Crossed my hands over my chest. And declared that the kids had finally killed me.

Son continues to stress me the EVER LOVING FUCK OUT. I've warned Grandma repeatedly that if hubby isn't home don't let son go out to play unless he's staying in the front yard. Giving a watch to someone who doesn't give a flying rat-crap what time it is or when he is supposed to be home is rather useless. Yet, she lets him out.

When I came home from work she told me he was out but he was told he HAD to be home by 5. I of course had to go out so that I could go fix the bank mess. AGAIN. So I circled the block and looked for him. Nadda. I called Grandma and told her to send daughter out to look for him - I had to get to the bank to meet hubby.

When we got home from the bank daughter, son, and Grandma all crowd around the door trying to get the story out first. I believe I may have screamed.

Daughter went all the way to the shopping centre looking for him. So she got yelled at because she knows she isn't allowed to go all the way to the shopping centre. For any reason. Grounded until the weekend.

Then son got a yelling. It appears he "wanted to play more". That was his excuse. Holy hell. So....grounded until next week and that playdate I was strong-armed into may get cancelled as well.

I think Grandma saw the epic fail in my brain looming, because she offered to order in Chinese food. Thank CRAP.

Fast forward...I have just had a relaxing bath. Ahhh. Bubbles. I'm drying off and daughter is in the bathroom supposedly having a shower. Phone rings. Another parent. It would seem that my child who I have all my hopes for college the most trust in, neglected to tell me that she had a group project due Tuesday that never got done. Or that she was in a group with 2 other girls and she hasn't put any work in. Or that she has refused to talk to them about it.

Brain. Go. Snap.

An hour later I was on the kitchen counter, listening to her try to piece together an overdue project, while hubby threatened her with excommunication (well, more like grounding until marriage...but that doesn't sound as cool).

That's where I realized my back is severally arched. I made hubby stick his hand under my back and push on my tummy so he could see just how BENT these kids have made me.

PS....the bank issue? Well, they didn't attach the Savings portion of our account to hubby's bank card so we had to go investigate. Turns out they opened it as a Sole Account. Yes....that makes sense. We are opening up a joint chequing account, but we want the Savings to be sole. SIGH. This morning I logged in to make sure they hadn't screwed up anything else...and they charged me a dollar...in my EMPTY savings account....for a historical search? WTF? I called this morning (it's the principal...I don't honestly care about the dollar....but I DON'T want any more headaches with these people!) and they will have it reversed. I swear...if they come back and tell me they charged me because I went in to have THEIR mistakes fixed? Oh...the fur that will fly....I can't even begin to tell you the carnage they will witness.

Self-Approved Raise

After working the numbers through the calculator for the rest of this months budget I had a little....problem. I kept coming up with more money than I should have. Like way more.

It was one of those situations where I know I'm screwing up somewhere but I just can't figure out where.

Mortgage? Check.
Insurance? Check.
Assortment of bills I can't afford? Check.

So what the crap? I was all, "Honey, this isn't making sense. The numbers don't work!" and he was all, "Honey, they never work. I think you have to have money to make them work."

But we DID have money. And that was the problem. I get a funny little tinkle in my tummy when we have money because I know that it's wrong. But I just don't know HOW it's wrong. Of course...after running the numbers for the fifth time I decided to accept it and planned out various options for the extra cash.

Pay off a credit card? Hmmm, maybe.
Put it into savings? Sigh, probably should.
Get my new tattoo? Hells yeah!
Remember I have an insurance deductible coming up that I'll have to cough up? Fuck. Right. Sigh. There's the winner.

This morning, being payday...I ran the numbers again. And as I punched in the last one I realized something.

I was adding $5o0 into my paycheque.

It's really too bad I don't write my paycheques.

....and then I killed them

I take it back. The bank people will NOT live another day.

I tried to set up hubby's online access for his bank card. So he can check the account...kind of the whole purpose of this little endeavour. Only...it didn't like my postal code or phone number. Odd. You know.....out of all the things I can, and do, screw up.....those aren't usually the ones.

So I called him and gave him the number he has to call. One of his - things - is that he's not good with little details like setting up accounts. Or speaking to people. So I always leave this as a last resort. Well...we were at this last resort. I couldn't call them using his bank card number (the whole....identity protection, blah blah blah thing) so I told him to call me when he found out what was up.

What was up? Well....it would seem the little hiccup is the fact they had our old address. No...not the address from our last house....our address from before our last house, before our military housing, before our townhouse rental.... the condo rental where our daughter was born. 11 YEARS ago. And we've never had a bank account with this bank before.

Spooky or what?

So, he updates them, finally gets into the account online....and one of the accounts is missing. They didn't link it.

Oh.
My.
Crap.

Seriously? It's really that hard? So...today after work we'll have to go down to that branch and get them to fix it. Or die trying. Option 2 works better than option 1 for me right now.

So the bank people lived another day....

...it would seem Carlos at the bank forgot to click off a button after we signed our forms.

Yesterday...the bank clicked the button. And we now have a real...not imaginary...working bank account. Miracle.

Son continues to try to kill me. After his freak-out on Wednesday I thought we'd be good for awhile longer. Nope. I come home and daughter informs me that son is currently making phone calls. And arranging playdates. For tomorrow.

Yeah. No.

So, I have to explain to him AGAIN how he has to ask for permission, that a days notice is not adequate, and that Mommy doesn't want to have to medicate herself BEFORE dinner. Then, I tell him to call this little boy back and explain to him that tomorrow doesn't work, but how about next Thursday?

Secretary to a 9 year old. My, how I've climbed the ladder of success in life.

Then, he blurts out..."Put your Mom on the phone." Sonofa.....so then I have to explain to a confused mother on the other end how my son has taken it upon himself to arrange playdates and while tomorrow won't work for us, how about next week?

I think I convinced her that I am reasonably sane. At least by the end of the conversation she lost that confused tone.

Now, for those of you who read my little rant about the kid son was playing with Wednesday (Oh, I'm looking at you anonymous...I can see you....and your little dog too!) I'm over it. Got it out of my system. But McSnarky commenter made me have a little think about the swearing...and name calling...and I've decided it's probably not best to rage about it on here. I'll save it up and give it to hubby. He likes it when I do that. Anyway, I don't think I was wrong for expressing my distaste for a bully, nor has my opinion changed.....but I'll just let it go for now. Yes....the pills helped.

Now...I have to give a little shout out to this lovely lady... One Tree, Many Nuts (which....if I hadn't already named this little show I'd TOTALLY steal) - I know her from secret places I can't speak of. They know where I live! Anyway...go read it. She tagged me but I already did one of those little taggy things...then I tried to leave her a comment but the word verification box wouldn't show up. Even when I clicked on the "Are you really that stupid? Sigh. Click here." button. Long story short...I'm ignoring her tag but giving her a shout out. So there.

Banks Make Me do This

Drink.
Swear.
Cry.
Hit things.
Scream.
Mutter.
Cross my eyes.

It's. Not. That. Hard.

Just hand me the control to you super secret bank files and I will set up my own bloody account.

I won't, however, set up a completely different one than the one requested, put a hold on instant funds that should not have a hold on them, or hang up on myself by accident.

I have a sneakiest suspicion that the banks are run by circus animals. Just a feeling.

Drinking on the Job. Why we do it here.

In walks boss (the old one whose pants fall down. Alot.) from lunch with his assistant.

Receptionist (in her British accent): "Martin, you've got a napkin still."
Old Boss: "What? Huh!?"
Receptionist: "You've still got your napkin on!"
Old Boss: "Oh dear! Your right...oh, a petty thief!"

For some reason the fact that he was a napkin thief was more of a horror to him, than the fact that a full grown man....with 30+ years of legal practice under his belt.....walked 5 blocks down the street with a napkin around his neck.

We plan to tell people he was out on his day pass. And drools.

The Weakest Weakedy Ass Weakerson

Thousands of years of inbreeding in Europe...and you get ME.

Farkenagle.

Sunday night I had a really sore neck. It was giving me flashbacks to that time I ended up in the hospital...and had the most AMAZING on call doctor who prescribed me Ativan and Percoset. At the same time. You know...instead of say...oh, I don't know, muscle relaxants? That was a fun, fun week.

Hubby tried to massage it...it didn't help. He's got the massaging skills of a baboon on 'roids though so no big surprise.

It's been a steady pain...mostly when I turn my head. I've been taking Motrin before bed every night - party for the pain, partly to reduce any swelling, and partly because it knocks me the crap out. Mostly because it knocks me the crap out. Honestly, it hasn't really hindered me.

Last night I had a breakthrough. One of those "Ohhhhh....ah" moments. And yes, it does take me 6 days to do simple math. The accident where the OLDEST HUMAN BEING ON THE PLANET ran into my door. Riiiiight.

Thing is....I'm not one of those, "Oh! I have whiplash! Oh my neck! Oy-vey!" kinds of people. There is no soft tissue injury allowance for insurance claims. Roots out the "Oy-vey!" people. But....I kind of have to conclude that it is a result of the accident.

The whole thing was really slow. As in...if I hadn't looked over and observed his bumper in my door, I would have had to pull over to see if damage had been done. So yes, I gave myself whiplash whipping my head around to look at the car, and then yell at him.

Special.

The lawyer (the one whose pants fall down all the time) dictated a letter to the OLDEST HUMAN BEING ON THE PLANET's insurance company yesterday, indicating that his client had suffered a personal injury. Apparently that is the norm for these kinds of letters. And now, bless me, it's true. Except I can't get any compensation for soft tissue injuries. Or injuries caused by whipping my own head around, on my own neck, to scream at someone.

Is there no justice?

It's HOW MANY sleeps till Christmas?

Well, crap on a stick. I'm not ready.

Hubby's gifts I haven't even thought about yet. Not...a...clue.

It's his birthday Friday and I warned him he will receive the same thing I did for my birthday. Which FYI is nadda. Granted, we had just come back from the most expensive trip ever, in the history of mankind. And I told him he didn't have to get me anything.

Still.

OK fine. So I'm going out while he's at an overnight conference and buying him something small. Stupid OCD.

I had a brilliant idea last week...a brilliant idea I'm rethinking as a stupid idea now. I had business cards made up, with daughter's name, email address, and cell number. You know, to hand out to her friends. Because if I hear, "Mom! Where is blah-blah's phone number? It was on that piece of paper! Yes, that tiny 1 inch square piece! Well why NOT!!!" one more time, I'm going to lose it. Business cards seem much more....oh crap, whatever. I just like how organized it would make things. I'm seriously hoping that all the other girls get super jealous and all the other Moms are forced into this little organizational coup as well. I WILL organize them.

Son's gifts are ordered. They consist of a castle and knights. War is a great gift for him.

Daughter is proving more difficult. I have the feeling it will be a gift-cardy year under the tree.

I know. I'll buy her BRAS!

So, hubby is away for the night. I'm alternating between insane jealousy (WTF...he gets a paid hotel room, paid meals....and adult conversation? That does not include his mother? FUCK OFF.) and bliss that I have the TV and bed to myself tonight.

Oh...and yes I voted. The results? Well, the Canadians now have the EXACT SAME GOVERNMENT WE HAD 2 DAYS AGO. Another Conservative Minority. Sigh. And you though the states had leadership woes (OK, granted, we don't have Bush. That's a plus I guess....though he too, has pretty awesome hair).

That Whole Voting Thing

So today is the day. Canadians choose a new/old leader. What? You didn't hear about this south of the border? Shocking. More Canadians watched the US debates (myself included) and then when that was over tuned into the last 5 minutes of the Canadian Leader's debate (which was held in true Canadian style, all the leaders around a ROUND table). That kind of tells you how much we really put into our politics.

We have been dealing with a Minority Government for awhile now. What's that you ask? Your country is ruled by kids? No...it's this....thank-you Wikipedia....

A minority government or a minority cabinet is a cabinet of a parliamentary system formed when the governing political party or coalition of parties does not have a majority of overall seats in the parliament. It is also known as a hung parliament. In bicameral parliaments, the term relates to the situation in the chamber whose confidence is considered most crucial.
In general, a minority government tends to be less stable than a majority government, because the opposition can always bring down the government with a simple vote of no confidence. Also, it is often argued that a minority government is less accountable because the leader can dodge responsibility and shift blame to the opposition. However, a minority government tends to be less arrogant because it often requires compromise between the different parties to ensure the passage of legislation.

I think that is kind of why we stare at you US peeps with that circus side-show expression in our eyes....can't look away.....because you are the antithesis to our political views. Sure...we have a few people who take it very seriously. But they don't come out in daylight. There are just SO MANY of you down there who bleed your political party colours. (Yes. It is spelled that way. If it's good enough for the Queen it's good enough for us. )

Do you all remember our former leader (well, 2 leader's ago)...Jean Chrétien? I've noticed a certain...cringe....that people get when George Bush opens his mouth to speak. Imagine that...times what...10 years? Or more.

Our current Prime Minister, Stephen Harper....has awesome hair. Beautiful eyes. And he can speak without making you want to slap him upside the head with a giant salami. Oh, and he lowered the national tax. Twice. So yeah, I guess he's the one.

see Sarah Palin pictures

Fall, for your Viewing Pleasure

Commence the Boozing

Friday sucked ass. Hard.

First off...that post I thought everyone was going to kick my ass over a few days ago? The one where I had a very very red neck? (And thank-you, all you well behaved readers who refrained from ripping me a new one...mucho appreciated)....I would just like to say in a quiet, not at all 'I-told-you-so' tone of voice, "I FREAKING TOLD YOU SO!"

Screaming mad.

The oldest human being to still be breathing and driving smushed up my pretty orange car on Friday. Let me set the scene....

On the main street I use from my office to get home, running through downtown, there is an intersection where all THREE of the left hand lanes turn left. The two right lanes (it's a 5 lane one-way) go straight, and then right. I was in the third lane. Mr. Old Man (who I'm not going to say came from China, because to be honest it could have been Japan, or maybe even Vietnam...but I'm guessing with a name like Chang.....) was in the second lane. Our light turned green. We slowed for pedestrians...then I went through the intersection in MY LANE. And he went into me....IN MY LANE. Hucking Fell! Seriously.

Then they sat there and stared at me. In a way that made me start to wonder if I had appeared out of thin air.

I used my arms, hands and yells to show them how to get OFF my door, and proceed around me to pull over on the side of the road. So they pulled away. And drove on. Yes, that's right. Not stopping. I caught up with them at the light, rolled down my window, and proceed to scream like the banshee I am.

"You HIT me. You need to PULL OVER."

The wife nodded and mumbled something about the next intersection. I followed behind the ancient duo and we exited the vehicles to see the damage. Yep....damage was done. Clucking bell. I went back into my car for the information they'd need....and out comes Sir Ancient-Hits-Alot with an ACCIDENT REPORT FORM he printed off the internet! I think he's been down this particular road before. Just a hunch. Then, 25 minutes in freezing cold wind trying to pull a tree out of my nostril get all the information required, before we were on our way.

I got home, got hubby, and we headed out to the police station to fill out the report. I have to say, it helps to be married to someone who knows how to fill that crap out. My witness statement ROCKED. Sigh. At any rate.....the damage isn't horrific. The door is still functional, though they may have to replace it. The window works. The insurance claim is filed. It could have been worse. Still, what a royal pain. I hate insurance companies. I hate jumping through hoops. So I expect to be merrily pickled by the time this is all done with.

I spoke with the Paralegal at work and on Tuesday apparently we are taking the "strong approach" and sending a letter to his insurance company informing them of...something. I dunno. I'm basically going to sign a form that let's the law firm take care of everything. I have a feeling they are going to think I'm the most WEIRD person on the planet for involving a law firm over a tiny bit of damage...but since I work there....and it's free.....why the hell not right? If it saves us money.

You know, I get the slightest inkling, thinking back to my red-neck driving post (the one where I almost killed that guy), that whoever is in charge of this here universe has a wicked sense of humor.

OCD and Self-Packing Do NOT Mix

Thoughts in the mind of an OCD victim while packing the groceries....I'm NOT saying this was necessarily me....but I'm also not NOT saying it was.

- alright, hubby did a pretty good sorting job on the conveyor belt. All the fruit is together...hehe...fruit together.

- what the hell....does this woman not understand...put the fruit through! Hehe...fruit through.

- cheese...can cheese go with fruit? You eat cheese with fruit. Yeah...cheese can go with fruit.

- shampoo? OK, now she's just fucking with me. What the hell?...OK. New bag for the shampoo...I'll have to put it with the dry goods in boxes even though it's not square.

- sweet potato. Damn, that thing is HUGE. How am I going to cut that up...huh. It should go with the fruit too but will it bruise my bananas?

- butter tarts...butter tarts and eggs should go together. We must protect them. Oh my CRAP - she needs to slow the hell down! I can't...focus....bah!

- deep breath taken. OK. It will all be OK. I will simply place the frozen items on top of the meat. It's OK, she didn't know. Who in fresh HELL puts frozen foods with pasta? Come ON!

- this was so not worth the tiny bit we'll save by shopping here. Never again.

On of those taggey things...

This lovely lady tagged me with



this

















thingy. Thanks!




So...I'm supposed to tell you all 6 random facts about myself....though....almost everything on here is random so I'm not sure it's really going to be any different than normal.





1. I could live on Tuna fish sandwiches. I'm thinking my high mercury levels while pregnant explains son. What? They didn't WARN me about it way back then!





2. I have two tattoos (yes I can show them too you...I'm not letting a needle anywhere near those/that/here) - one is a British Heraldic Lion (uhm, kind of resembles the Royal Bank logo) and the other is the Celtic version of the tree of life.





3. I read geek things. Like Smithsonian, British Home, Popular Mechanics, etc. I also indulge in geek shows. Documentaries rock my little world.





4. I drive too fast. All the time.





5. I am anti-social. I like my own little group of people...and the internet people....but I don't like work functions for hubby or general contact with the public.





6. I secretly hope for fire alarms at work so that I can a) get away from my desk for a little while and b) oogle the fire fighters. Rawr!





I'm supposed to nominate (insert number of people here because I forget) people so I will...but they'll just have to see it because I can't go around leaving messages on their blogs all day...I work people! Come on! Now....let's go see what is new on Perez.....

They've Named Me Momma

A Little Left of Lost

Disfunctional City 911

Miss Grace's Disgrace

Notes from the Bunker

Notes to Self

Is that enough?

Do People Actually Do That?

Hubby and I have this ongoing little battle. I like to think of it as, "keeping the marriage exciting"...he thinks of it more along the lines of, "just cause in my trial".

I like the window open. I also like to have a fan in the window. In normal places where the temperatures aren't freezing by October 1, this probably wouldn't be an issue. Here....well, we end up with frost on the inside of our window. But....we have blankets! What could be better? A nice cold bedroom with your body snug-as-a-bug wrapped in a feather bed and wool blanket? Nothing. That's what.

He whines...about my 'tucking and rolling' which I can assure you is not as naughty as it sounds. I like to tuck the blankets into my side before I go to sleep. Unfortunately for hubby I also roll in my sleep. Creating a burrito effect and leaving him with a sheet and sometimes the corner of a blanket. His recreations of the shivering he does are pretty freaking hilarious...ask him to do it next time you see him. You'll see what I mean.

The point of that long explanation is that I have my bedroom window open all night, all year. Huh...probably would have been easier to just say that. Last night I was in bed early-ish in order to be able to get up at o'ugly this morning for work. Just as my wine and Motrin were combining in the blood stream to create a blissful sleepytime effect....I hear loud retching. And I mean LOUD (said with that strong Canadian 'OW'). It took me a minute to figure out it was coming from outside.

I stood up and plastered my face to the screen trying to figure out which back-yard this was coming from. My contacts weren't in so it was a bit futile - given that without my contacts a giant pterodactyl could spring up in front of me and I'd just reach out to pet my kitty. I was sort of hoping though, that someone would come out and ask this retching man if he was OK. It wasn't sounding like he was having much success. It was more of a loud cough...with retching at the end....and the occasional sound of wetness exiting his body.

It stopped and I went back to bed. And as I drifted along came the retcher again. I got mad. I know for a fact the houses along my street have a minimum of 3 bathrooms. I am going to take an edumacated guess that the townhouses behind us have a minimum of 2. Is there some particular reason he had to do it in the backyard? And that loudly? I got up, and slammed the window shut. I sure showed him! I'd like to think that while he was in the process of bringing his internal organs up through his throat he thought to himself, "Oh, that poor person. I must be bothering them. I really should be more considerate when I vomit."

The question of the day becomes....do people actually go into their backyards specifically to vomit? WHY?!

Yes Universe, I'm listening.

That Work Place

11 Year Celebration

The Actual Day of the Birthday....also known as the Present-Teaser Day

_____________________________________________________________

The best breakfast EVER!

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Teasers

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At the pool for the family celebration!
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I love my juice! No really...

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Reluctant contact with each other. SMILE dammit!________________________________________________

The wave pool!____________________________________________________________

Refusing to smile.
____________________________________________

The key is to tell him NOT to smile. Then you get this. I love my rum.
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Where the kids slept in the hotel.

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Mom and Dad's bed...no privacy = no nookie.
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I'm sure this isn't in his future...sure. Yes...absolutely.
__________________________________________________

I know she looks drugged...chlorine and my kids don't mix well.

____________________________________________________________

Cool room accessories.
____________________________________________________

OK, NOW you can have the real presents.

_________________________________________

American Girl loot.

_______________________________________

Yet more loot.

________________________________________

Time to play!
_____________________________________________________

Treats! Only plastic....
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Black Forrest Cake
_____________________________________

11 Candles!
_______________________________________________________

Weakest blow ever!

_____________________________________________________

Not quite there.

_____________________________________________________

OK, officially 11.