Mission Impossible!

I have a sob story to post today, so feel free to offer your pity as you see fit.

I wanted to go to Walmart to buy some hairclips because I don't know what to do with this savage mane anymore. It took me 45 minutes to get the kids ready, what with the screaming and the running and the pooping and the hiding.

Mission Dress 3 children: complete!

Oops, found a kid playing in the toilet!

Mission Re-dress Nicky: complete!

To be proactive, I tried to pump up the tire on the stroller before I left (it has a slow leak). Unfortunately the valve was imbedded so I gave it a tug, then a bend, and then a yank, and it came off in my hands.

Mission tire destruction: complete!

So, I loaded up the kids, and headed to the store. The lot was full, but I have ways of coping with that.

Mission park illegally: complete!

The stroller with the flat tire and two kids in it required all my strength to push it. Like a workhorse, I had to put all my weight behind it to keep it moving straight.

Mission pull ligament in right arm: complete!

Got tired of that workout and moved the kids to a shopping cart. One in the seat, one in the basket area. This did not prove to be a good idea either, especially since there were no seatbelts.

Mission keep kids seated in shopping cart without resorting to threats and embarassing displays in public: no comment.

My 4-year-old wants to see the fish, shop for Hotwheels and and browse the candy. He decides to do this without me noticing.

Mission frantically locate 4-yr-old: complete!

Found some nice hair clips, a new brush, and misc. toiletries in under 4 mins. My son asked me for the 100th time if we could eat at McDonald's.

Mission get pissed off and leave everything and go home: complete!

I was so close! If I shave my head, I think people would understand.

Little Statements

Though our parents tried their best, childhood is full of mixed messages. For example:

364 days/year: "Don't you EVER talk to strangers or you'll be kidnapped by the evil clown in the black van and when we find you in a ditch we're gonna give you the whippin' of a lifetime!"

Halloween: "It's ok to go up to that decrepit house at night and take candy from the one-eyed weirdo who owns the rabid pit bulls and smokes crack while he's out on bail."

No wonder we grow up all screwed up. And then we screw up our own kids. It's the circle of life. And there is no better time for screwing up your kids than at Halloween! The following examples are all true:

#1. My parents were super strict and big on the whole "no dating until you're married" rule - but then why was I dressed as a prostitute for my grade 4 Catholic school Halloween party? (OMG, I am totally not kidding here!)

#2. I was raised to respect all creatures great and small, and was dressed as a hunter (complete with camoflage and a "rifle") one year.

#3. Lastly, as a nod to our First Nations people, I was dressed one year as a native indian with an ARROW through my head.

I wonder if my parents were making their own little statement when they dressed me up. Was I their little "inside joke"? Well this year, my kids are all politically correct in their costumes, unless any sensitive dragons, vampires or little witches are out there.

But now that I think of it, their costumes are kinda metaphorical...

Happy Halloween Everybody!

Fear Itself

I wanted to write something scary because of the time of year, but lately my kind of scary is not "Halloween" scary. For example, if a freaky zombie-army wants to eat my brains for breakfast, meh. But if a freaky zombie-army wants to call my references, ARGHHHHHHH! (cue "Psycho" music)

Things were much simpler as a kid. The scary stuff wasn't real: Ghosts were scary. Monsters were scary. Now, running into my old boss from the 7th Ring of Hell is scary. And that can actually happen, because SHE actually exists. And she's still out there, somewhere...lurking. I can still feel the chill of her cold grey eyes, I can still smell the stench of her "just ate a part-timer" breath...

I miss being scared of my grandmother's washing machine in the basement. (Only I knew what lived in there.) I miss being scared of the trout in the hot water tank. Yes, I even miss being scared of sleeping on my left side in the bunkbed because that was how the devil would take my soul at night. (Unless of course I first kissed the white rock I took from my neighbor's driveway and begged Satan to stay away.) Hey, I was a weird kid.

When I was 8, I saw an episode of "Highway to Heaven" in which a space heater started a fire that nearly killed the old fat guy. I was totally traumatized for years about that. I kissed my house goodbye everytime we went visiting because I was sure it would burn down while we were gone. I even had an escape route all planned out, and though I shared a room with 2 younger sisters, it was every man for himself! At best, my sisters were the step stools for me to reach the window.

Now I have a long list of people who need to get out before I do.

How things have changed! My current "monsters" include job interviews, my husband's snoring, public ridicule and the phone bill, to name a few. They don't just live in the washing machine either. They're real! But running into my old boss from Hell trumps them all. Nothing strikes terror like - hey, what's that creepy music? And that unmistakable stench..?

Maybe I should have kept that white rock afterall.

Giggle Riot

My 20-month old son just started laughing at the dinner table today. For absolutely no reason. It's like he remembered a joke and couldn't control himself. So naturally, all the other kids started laughing too. And me. This went on for 10 minutes.

I still have no idea what was so funny.

Thats the wonder of children, though, isn't it?

It's Not About Cheesies

I decided today that I really need some Cheesies. Badly. I haven't had Cheesies for several months now, due to various issues and scheduling problems and sundry. I just never got around to getting the Cheesies. Honestly, I didn't really want them. Until now.

Suddenly I've noticed that I'm having a Cheesie dry spell. So what to do?

Make my own Cheesies? Sure, self-serve is alright, but it's not really what I have in mind. Run out and get Cheesies? What kind of girl do you think I am?! Some people would even PAY for Cheesies, and there was this time in university where the thought crossed my mind - I was pretty broke...but not broke enough I guess! Though I am not without my own Cheesie adventures: I remember when we were teenagers, sneaking Cheesies in my parents basement. Cheesies in the car wasn't unheard of. Cheesies for breakfast are the BEST, Cheesies in the park...but I digress.

I like to savour my Cheesies, but right now I'll settle for a Cheesie snack. In a house full of children, you have to eat your Cheesies fast anyways. The last thing you want is for your kids to catch you in the middle of the Cheesie binge. It's bad enough that my mother-in-law caught us having Cheesies once. I do not care to retell that horror story. I didn't want Cheesies for a long time after that.

Ok, so the only way to deal with this problem is head-on. My Cheesie craving MUST be fulfilled. When my husband gets home, he will bring me Cheesies.

He just doesn't know it yet.

More Demons

My new washing machine just attacked me. It's one of those really tall, fancy front-loaders, and I was sitting there in my chair, admiring its first load as it washed silently, effortlessly. That is, until the spin cycle. Suddenly the frigging machine burst from the wall with a sound equivalent to 1000 jackhammers, and it began leaping towards me.

I threw myself upon the machine to weigh it down, but it just took me along for the ride. We were woman vs. machine, jerking wildly across the newly-laid vinyl tiles.

"HONEY HELP!" I shrieked. "THE WASHING MACHINE IS GETTING AWAY!"

"What was that?" My husband was sure to rescue me, once he knew my peril.

"I SAID HELP ME! THE WASHING MACHINE IS GETTING AWAY!!!"

"OH...IT'S NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT!" He shouted back helpfully.

I would have said "well d'uh!" but by then it was so loud with the slamming and the banging that it wasn't worth the effort. Though my vision was vibrating wildly, I managed to press a ton of buttons and eventually found "pause". A few seconds later, I climbed off of my demon-possessed death trap fucking cursed washing machine and stumbled away.

My head is still spinning as I reassess the value of this very expensive new technology.

If that's not bad enough, I am wondering where my hero went. You know, the one that was supposed to come running to save me? Cuz' if there's one thing you notice during your near-death experience, it's where the hell is everybody?

It's hard when the things you believed in evaporate, or never even existed. You feel empty, hollow and infinitely sad. And the things you thought you wanted turn out to be nothing more than baubles to fill the emptiness. But you can never fill in all the holes, can you?

Demons and Psychos and Wolves, OH MY!

We went on this creepy ghost walk on Saturday night, in a creepy wood on a creepy night. The bright moon, the moving clouds, the dead forest, the ruins of a once-grand estate...all the elements were in place for a deliciously frightening experience.

However, it's difficult to be scared in a group of 50 people.

First of all, if there were evil spirits there, they'd probably possess the guy with the tattoos first, or at least someone with extensive body piercings - more ways to enter? I'd say the goths would be an excellent choice too. They're already halfway there.

Or let's say some psycho cat-skinning rapist lurked nearby: there were plenty of more petite young women to drag off into the woods, never to be seen again. Let's face it. I am 5'11". I weigh - well, let's not talk about my weight. My point is, I am not the ideal victim. I am a lot of work.

We were warned of wild animals, specifically wolves. Again, even a whole pack of wolves will only be able to pick off about 5-6 people before the rest run screaming to their cars. My odds are pretty good there. And if they're smart wolves, they'll go after the guy with the cane first. Easy meat!

And then there were the ravines. Only those without flashlights and those that were drunk to all hell were likely to fall and break their necks. I had a flashlight, as well as a crucifix, just in case, ha ha. (*nervous laugh*)

So, I'm not scared. Here's the (gory) logic:

No. of people possessed by demons: 6
No. of people killed by the people possessed by demons: 6
No. of petite young women dragged into the woods by psychos: 10
No. of petite young men dragged into the woods by psychos: 2
No. of people eaten by wolves: 5
No. of people falling into ravine (no flashlight): 8
No. of people falling into ravine (drunk): 12

TOTAL no. of people massacred, maimed, murdered, etc: 49

Therefore, total number of people making it out of the woods alive and demanding a refund: ME

See? I'll be okay!

Blame the Breeding

I am a Roman Princess. Stop laughing! Apparently, if you trace my mother's line, back...I mean WAAAAAAY back, I am a descendant of ancient roman nobility. I swear that mosaic looked like me...maybe that's why I was getting dirty looks when we were touring the Colosseum in '98. But it could be my imagination.

I am a Peasant Daughter too. My father comes from a LOOOOONG line of rural Sicilian farmers. And when I say rural, I mean it. You know, sleeping in a room with 10 other people, commuting to work via donkey, eating cactus for dinner and being thankful for it. Real hardcore, hardworking Catholics. So in conclusion:

My mother's family fed my father's family to the lions.

I have determined that this is why I am slightly schizophrenic. I have this insatiable need to punish myself and to enjoy it at the same time. Imagine what that revelation would have cost in psychiatry? We're talking a LOT of coin, (which should have my face on it by the way.) And while we're at it, where are the damn servants to clean my house and nurse my children - all 14 of them, to help out on the farm of course...

And though there may be cactus for dinner, it shall be cooked in orange blossom water and by someone else. After dinner, we'll hitch up the donkey to the chariot and go for a drive. And we'll catch the late show at the colosseum. Haven't yet decided if I'll watch or participate. Maybe a little of both!

See?

I wonder if my father knows about this...

Not Quite Dr. Seuss

This girl that I know,
She lives in the city
Her life was in turmoil
Her marriage was shitty.
Her house was a mess
Her car needed work
Her kids drove her crazy
Her boss was a jerk.
Things were quite glum
For this girl that I know
She wanted to run
But had nowhere to go.

And just when you'd think
Things couldn't get worse
They did, Oh they did
She lived under a curse.
So sadder she got
This girl that lost hope
Too tired for crying
Too angry to mope.

And then a surprise
That she didn't expect
Though she wasn't quite happy
She wasn't quite wrecked.
And then came another
And soon came the light
It didn't take long
For her heart to grow bright.
And now in the city
This girl rounds the bend
To each trial, a triumph
To each sadness, an end.

Young Minds

I am alarmed by children's programming these days. Allow me to explain:

Dora the Explorer: Where are this girl's parents? Her and that wierd little monkey traipsing over volcanos and crocodile lakes. I think the Children's Aid Society needs to pay a visit to that household.

Bear in the Big Blue House: Is it just me that finds it creepy that he smells the kids watching his show? "Mmm, you smell like salmon and blueberries!" Am I the only one who know what bears eat?

Bob the Builder: You can't hide behind that macho job, buddy. I'm on to you. You're a big fan of the Village People. Wendy, look elsewhere.

Caillou: The kid is four and he has NO HAIR. Look it up.

The Berenstain Bears: The mother cheerfully cooks, cleans and sews all day in an apron and dress. Plus, there's always a morality lesson shoved at you. Might as well get a pulpit and call it the The Berenstain Bears Hour of Power, complete with a hotline to make donations.

Blues Clues: Okay, I love Blues Clues. Joe is HOT.

The Wiggles: One guy is a compulsive overeater, another is a narcoleptic. The 2 sane guys keep them under control. It's like a psychiatric ward, except with an octopus, a pirate, a gigantic 2-legged dog and a green dinosaur...

In my day we watched wholesome shows like He-Man; Masters of the Universe, and RoboTech and Transformers. A few sword swings, a couple laser blasts & bombs and the bad guys run/fly off, waving their fists and saying "You haven't seen the last of me!", which is true cuz they were always back the next episode.

Hey, at least it wasn't confusing.

Sneaks

It is a dark evening. I find myself in a compromising position.

Hiding.

Illicitly.

Shoeless.

Every few minutes they walk by. I hear their heavy footfalls. I make myself smaller, hold my breath. They pass me without notice.

Yes, I am getting away with it.

Suddenly, a shriek! Attention is drawn to my hiding place. They're coming!

I scurry to the darkest corner just as two large figures appear. Their eyes, like flashlights, scan the area for anything unusual.

I am still.

I hold my breath.

Seconds pass like hours...

I remain unnoticed. They are leaving.

Beads of sweat on my brow, I let out a breath.

That was a close one.

Dare I make a move?

Dare I take the chance?

I crawl from my dark corner towards the light, head down, keeping a low profile.

I am attacked. Three pairs of hands and feet and very hard skulls crash down upon me.

I am helpless.

I am injured.

I am laughing my ass off.

"Honey, they're closing up. Would you and the kids come out of the bouncer now, please?" my husband urges from the outside.

As we put our shoes back on, I scoff at the sign on the wall:

AGES 8 AND UNDER ONLY

This is our little secret.

Career Sabotage 101

In my search for a job, I have the touch of death lately. I think I am trying too hard. They can smell the desperation.

Empowered by this knowledge, I have amended my stellar answers to standard interview questions. Don't try this at home, kids:

Q: Where do you see yourself in 5 years?
A: Probably doing YOUR job (pointing around the room), or yours or even yours, but not yours because your work seems to have prematurely aged you.

Q: Do you work well in a team setting?
A: Not if I'm working with a bunch of idiots. For example, I hate people who don't do things MY way, or people who try to talk to me about stuff and "new ideas".

Q: What attracted you to this job?
A: The money. I am behind on my MasterCard payments, and Rashid in Outstanding Accounts is coming to break my fingers soon.

Q: Are you able to work independently and without supervision?
A: Didn't you just ask me about teamwork? What the heck do you people want from me anyways?

Q: Are you comfortable working with computers?
A: I can get *REAL* comfortable with a computer, if you know what I mean (*wink, nudge*).

Q: Tell me about your communication skills.
A: Are you deaf?

Q: What are your strengths?
A: You should see me weave in and out of traffic! And I can pack back 1/2 a pizza!

Q: Your weaknesses?
A: Honestly, I don't respond well to authority, I am lazy and I don't like to work. I also have violent PMS.

Q: Well this concludes our interview. Do you have any questions?
A: Just one. Can I bum some change for parking?