Barbie Zombies...

Rissa has always been a little off-centre.  I was about to say that I blame David for that, but I couldn't type it with a straight face.  Instead, I shall say that we are equally bad influences, but in good ways.  I do think that she gets her sense of humour from him.  The pair of them watch  Fletch  and Airplane and she will giggle madly at the "Are you the singing bush?" scene in the Three Amigos.  This morning she was wearing her new polka-dotted lunch bag on her head, with the handle sideways on her face, creating an eye-hole.  She grabbed a pencil and was running through the kitchen.  David asked, "Are you jousting?"  "YES I AM!"

The other day, as David and I were working in the study, Rissa was gallumphing up and down the attic stairs with a friend.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see something fly by the study window on a swift downward trajectory.  Then Rissa and her friend would gallumph down the stairs again, leaving the sounds of  maniacal laughter in their wake.  There is nothing like the sound of a child laughing.   Deep, infectious belly laughs are the absolute best.  When I hear Rissa laugh like that, I'm a happy mom.  It was obvious that the two of them were having incredible amounts of fun.  They were rushing up and down the stairs, things were flying from the attic window.  Hilarity was dancing upon the very air.

The third time they came up, I just had to ask.  I wanted to be in on their youthful hijinks.

"What exactly are you guys doing?"

"We're throwing barbies out the window!"

Of course they were.  Makes complete sense.  "Why?"

"After they lose limbs or their heads, we're turning them into zombies."

Ah yes,  this is the sort of activity that floats Rissa's pontoon boat.  This is what brings her joy.

"Okey Doke.  Try not to infect the neighbourhood."

 This is what they did.

Worthy of an art installation, yes?

Closeup: Headless Barbie Zombie with axe

Leg-crutch Barbie Zombie with axe.

I am assuming that the green painter's tape indicates where their bodies are now rotting.  I particularly enjoy the multi-tasking of one of the zombies - using her own severed leg as a crutch.  Note that beside her head it indicates that she is saying "Rawr!"  Nice to add that graphic novel element to the display.  I was somewhat surprised that they didn't go into the refrigerator and take the sticky rice to make Barbie-sized brains.   Perhaps this will turn into a mother-daughter craft!

F%*k Me Pumps...

I have a thing for shoes.  Not quite a fetish, but close.  I used to have lots and lots and lots...  before I got pregnant and developed duck feet.  'Cause after you've had a baby, your feet aren't the same size.  If you look at my feet when they're not touching the ground, they look fine, I won't say dainty, but with a nice toe polish they look... fine.  Then I actually put weight on them and - ta-da! - DUCK FEET.  They spread.  They're not webbed or anything, but they DO have a slightly flipper-like quality to them now.  I think that this is on account of the fact that I gained 50 lbs with Rissa.  Bad idea.  For so many reasons.  The duck feet are only one of those reasons.

One of my favourite books as a child

I should take a survey of women who gained, say only 20 lbs, with their pregnancies, and ask them about their feet.  Like everyone in my Mom's generation.  Because, there were decades and decades when you were only allowed to gain 20 lbs with your pregnancy.  And then all hell broke loose.  When I asked my midwife how much weight I should gain, she said "Well, some women gain 15 lbs and grow a healthy baby and some gain 60 lbs."  Which end of the spectrum did she think I would choose?  Bring on the mini buttermilk donuts!!  Bad choice.  Bad choice.

I try to keep my mouth shut with advice for pregnant women.  Let them have their own experience.  Let them own it.  Don't scare the crap out of them with your harrowing birth stories.  Except for this:  I tell every pregnant woman I see, "DON'T GAIN 50 POUNDS!!!"  It took me 4 years to lose that weight.  Rissa was a big baby - she weighed 9 lbs, but that, plus placenta and other crap really only amounts to 15 lbs or so.  Which left me with another 35 to lose.  Which, I think, is why I now have duck feet.  And I'm telling you this because it explains why I had to pretty much throw out all my old shoes and replenish my collection.  Which I am still doing, 12 YEARS after Rissa was born.

Today I bought three pairs of shoes!  It was a really good day.  And before anyone gets all "discretionary spending' on me, the three pairs cost me $130 in total, so just shut up.

See, what I was looking for, was either a pair of Scarlet-Coloured F%*k Me Pumps OR a kick-ass sexy dress.  Here's why: I'm workshopping my vampire rock opera next week in Toronto.  There is a showcase performance on the last day and I have to be in front of a crowd and I don't just want to look good, I want people to salivate.  It's a vampire rock opera, so I should look a little bit vampire-y, right?  I thought "Hey, a pair of red F%*k Me Pumps would help solidify a vampire look.  I could wear a black something and then have some va-va-voom on my feet." 

So a while back, I started the search.  There are expensive shoes and there are cheap shoes.  I don't have a lot of extra money, so I prefer the cheap shoes.  Problem with most cheap shoes?  They really hurt your feet.  I tried on the cheap, skanky near-fetish shoes and they were crap.  $40, but really crap, and I couldn't imagine wearing them for more than 5 minutes before wanting to amputate at the ankle.  Then there are the expensive shoes and I'm sorry, but I cannot spend $165  (ON SALE down from $300!!!) on a pair of shoes that might not be worn more than once, just for effect.

But this afternoon?  This afternoon I found Scarlet-Coloured F%*k Me Platform Stilettos!!!   I'm pretty sure that I'm 6 feet tall in these shoes!!!  And they cost $29 and change!!  Because they were from Payless AND they were on sale,  AND they had a rub on the back of one heel for which I got another 15% off!!! BOO-FREAKIN-YEAH!   PLUS (but wait there's more!) I got a pair of Black satin (esque) (it was Payless after all) peep-toe sling-backs in case I can't learn to walk in the Scarlet-Coloured F%*k Me Platform Stilettos by next week AND (oh yes I did!!!) a pair of black satin (esque) kitten heels with fancy-schmancy pleats of fabric on the toes!!!

May never be worn outside the bedroom

Just imagine these with bright red toe nails!

Fabric detail on the kitten heels.

The first pair were the ones I 'needed' to buy.  The second pair were the emergency pair that will show off blood-red vampire-y toe nail polish in case I can't walk in the first pair.  And the third pair?  Was because I WANTED them.  I've been looking for vintage-style kitten heels for two years and I these were them.  They are perfect.  They look like they're straight out of the 50s and are perfect for my vintage addiction.  Yes, I could have bought the $15 cheaper plain kitten heels, but I did not,  and you know why?  Because the nicer ones were only $39.99 and I knew, that even buying ALL THREE PAIRS of shoes, I would still be spending less than if I had bought ONE PAIR of expensive shoes.  Yes folks, tt's Heather Logic - Hard to follow and nearly impossible to argue with.

How Rissa almost blew chunks...

This is the story of how Rissa almost blew chunks on the family room rug.

My mothers-in-law came over for dinner the other night.  They brought regular fruit crumble and gluten-free, possibly sugar-free crumble.  David's Mom is doing the gluten-free thing, I'm doing the gluten-free thing.  The rest of the folks got the sugary-gluteny-oaty-goodness and Mer and I had the gluten-free, extra crunchy bits, slightly-sweet, 'good for us' crumble.  And it was pretty good.  I'm used to gluten-free alternatives.  I was thankful for it.  Because there are people in the world who hardly get to have ANY food at all, let alone gluten-free fruit crumble.  I had ice cream on mine.  I can only go so far with being good.

Fast-forward to the next night after dinner, when Rissa discovered a container of leftover fruit crumble in the fridge.

"Can I have the rest of the fruit crumble Mummy?"

"Yes.  Yes you may." 

She slathered it in whipped topping (mmmm, edible oil product) and put a bite into her mouth.  She chewed twice.  She then said,  "Euls lis la gooen hree hrungle?"  (Is this the gluten-free crumble?)  I nodded.  Her eyes may have rolled back in her head a bit, and she looked like she was contemplating a projectile vomit.

"Swallow it!" I said.  "Do not throw that up."

Her eyes rolled more - she gave a chewing performance worthy of an Oscar.  Watching her, one could have sworn that she was eating raw worms covered in diarrhea, instead of a healthful dessert.  After several MINUTES of chewing, followed by the most dramatic swallow I've ever seen in my life, she said, "THIS.  IS. NOT. GOOD."

I could have have warned her.  You see, that morning, I had eaten the leftovers of the non-gluten-free crumble.  Because it was there.  Staring at me from its see-through container from the second shelf of the fridge.  Saying "Heather... Heather... Look at my oaty-goodness...  See my brown-sugar crisped topping!!  Imagine how good I would taste in your mouth!"   I CAVED, alright?  I CAVED.  I didn't feel like sprinkling brown sugar all over the gulten-free, mostly sugar-free crumble to make it taste like the real crumble.  And honestly, I don't think that oats are that much a problem for me.  And the amount of white flour used in crumble?  Come on... it's like half a cup - tops!!!  For the whole recipe, which would mean I'd be eating maybe a tablespoon of flour... And yes, I know that I'm making excuses.  I don't care.  It was a perfect choice for breakfast.  I had vanilla yogurt on top, which is... healthful.  It was healthful and totally worth the gluten/sugar headache that I got after eating it.  And you know what?  The brown sugar was freaking awesome!  And there was none left, because I ate it ALL.

Which is why Rissa had taken the gluten-free crumble, which had been masquerading as regular fruit crumble, because they had been placed in see-through containers and they looked remarkably similar.  She was making "Pah!  Blech!  Pah!" sounds at the sink where she was rinsing her mouth out with water and gargling. 

Then she held up a piece of something in front of me.  "Okay this... "  She put a piece of something between my eyes.  "THIS was in the crumble AND IT'S GREY."  She was holding a sunflower seed.  "THIS HAS NO PLACE IN CRUMBLE."   Then she glared at me and said, "I'm having frozen mango!"  Can't fault her for that.  When your mouth is expecting a certain taste and you're left with bits of sunflower seeds NOT covered in brown sugar?  I can see it would be disappointing.  And if was a a good mother I would have given her a heads' up on it.  Her reaction was so totally worth my being labelled a bad mother.

Aaron Sorkin is a GOD!

Aaron Sorkin has a new series on HBO.  The Newsroom.  Thank the freaking universe!!  It's been so long since Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip and even longer since The West Wing and Sports Night.  David PVRd the show without my even knowing that there was a new Sorkin show.  He presented it to me me like a Tiffany ring.  I almost wept.  It tasted like the best chocolate ever... in my ears.

Sorkin is BACK!

Afterward, I was bouncing on the couch.  "Can we download these scripts and just read them out loud... NAKED?"

It's the intellectual/auditory equivalent to porn.  At least for me.  Well, for us.  We salivate as we get ready to watch.   We snuggle and sigh as we let the words rush over us.  I make yummy noises.

And you know what?  The Newsroom isn't even his best show.  I hate to say it out loud, because I'm just so thrilled that there IS a new Sorkin show, but...  it's a little... heavy-handed.  I'm okay with that though, because we seem to be the same kind of liberal-minded people, and I agree with what he's writing, but it's a little too "Rah!  Rah!"  For me.  But still, I'll take what I can get.

We started re-watching Studio 60 the other night and Rissa turned to us and said "THIS IS SO GOOD!  Everything's so fast!!!" An added bonus for Rissa was that Matthew Perry stars in the show and she LOVES Matthew Perry - she is addicted to Friends.  (I know, I know, we are TERRIBLE parents for letting her watch Friends.  But honestly, Friends is pretty freaking tame when you compare it to the sit-coms out there now.  Like The New Girl (totally hilarious, yet WAY too sexual for a tween) and How I Met Your Mother.  We had to ban HIMYM from Rissa for a bit, because we felt that her idolizing Barney Stinson at the age of 9 was inappropriate.  Now that she's 12, she can watch once more, with the caveat that she cannot discuss any of the episodes about sex, binge drinking or general douche-baggery with her friends.  We only let her watch 2 episodes (44 minutes) of any show anyway.  Unless she's watching something with us; that doesn't count as her viewing minutes, because we're 'educating' her.)

Oh and by the by... Aaron Sorkin wrote a part that William H. Macy played on Sports Night and Macy was drop-dead sexy.  Continually cast as the nice, milquetoast character, Macy was freaking brilliant as a seemingly ego-maniacal network fixer guy.  There are some scenes with William H. Macy and Felicity Huffman where I got wet watching them together.  I would rewind and watch him give her this 'look,' that was... I'm digressing.

William H. Macy as Sam Donovan on Sports Night

Sorkin's writing is tasty, tasty, tasty.  It's fast, it's furious and it's fan-freaking-tastic.  Even when it's a little too "Rah, Rah" it's still pretty much the best thing on television.

But he was gay, and this is yoga class!!!

Warning - lurid adult content

I should have known it was a dream, because I was in a yoga classs.  I don't take yoga class.  I think I can honestly say, that apart from the impromptu yoga instruction that my friend Alice gave David, Anna and me on the beach of her cottage property, that I have never done yoga in a group.  (I don't exercise well with others - see previous blog post I DON'T GLOW)

But this dream seemed SO real.  There were a bunch of couples all taking the class and it was the warm-down portion of yoga.  Warm-down from YOGA??  Is this where your heart actually stops?  Plus, couples were doing yoga?  I should have known how the dream was going to turn out.   (Feel free to insert the 'bow-wown-chicka-wown-wown' music cue here.)

So here I am on my yoga mat, in the very dimly-lit yoga studio that is apparently at some fancy-schmancy Muskoka-like resort.  (Again, should have known it was a dream - we can't possibly afford to go to a place like that.)  And there's this friend, who is sort of an amalgam of every gorgeous gay male I've ever been friends with/met.  In the dream he's married to a woman (??),  but I'm still convinced that he's gay, and that his wife must just be oblivious to his obvious gayness.  Because he's the best dressed guy in the yoga studio and could out-panache freaking Cyrano.  And this dude is on a yoga mat beside me.

Then this absolutely gorgeous gay friend of mine starts talking dirty to me!  Luridly, descriptively dirty.  Telling me all the things he wanted to do to ME.  I was understandably shocked because 1) he's GAY and 2) we're in YOGA CLASS.  I was also shocked because although we've been in an exhausting yoga class,  I'm not all sweaty and gross.  I look around, but nobody seems to be the wiser because the lights are low and I guess everyone is in their own 'cone of silence' and they can't hear all the incredibly descriptive things he's saying to me.  I'm thinking to myself, "I'm not flexible enough for half of what you're suggesting."

And I say to him, "Dude!  We're in yoga class.  Your wife is right over there."  Then, in possibly the sexiest voice I've ever heard since Johnny Depp said in Chocolat "I'll come round sometime and get that squeak out of your door," this guy says, "I don't care. I just want to take my (random body part) and rub it all over your (random body part)... " and he itemizes once more all the things he wants to do with my body.  And there I am, just trying to do the Cobra and mind my own business, in spite of the fact, that the guy is very, very, very attractive and even though I know he's gay and that his wife is in the room with us, and David is probably somewhere around too, I'm worried I might cave.  But I persevere.  I do not break my Cobra pose.

Then, as he's still talking to me, the dude starts to... uh... get 'friendly' with himself.  RIGHT THERE IN THE YOGA CLASS.  "Dude!!  You're in a room full of people!"  "I don't care!  All I can think about is...(many more vividly descriptive words)..."  So then he... um... finishes... STILL describing everything he wants to do to me, and there's no possibly way that people couldn't know what he's been doing, because frankly, it looks like he's had an accident with a squeezable mayonnaise bottle and... he's wearing black.  Which should have also let me know that it was definitely a dream,  because it was so much more than a teaspoon, if you know what I'm saying.  And he goes off to clean himself up and he rest of the class is looking at ME, while I'm still in Cobra pose.  And they're all giving me the "Heather, what have you done???" look.  To which I panic and say, "NOTHING!  I'm just doing my Cobra pose!"  And his wife is really not pleased with me.  And I don't know what to say to the wife of a gay man when she apparently doesn't even know that the man she's married to is gay.  I mean maybe he's never talked to her that way and she's upset that he had that much of a response to my proximity.  Then I think I was banned from yoga class in spite my objections.  "But he's GAY!!!  And I was doing the COBRA pose!  My hands were on the ground!!"

Any couch-psychologists care to analyze that sucker?

I'm raising a cynic

There are ramifications for encouraging one's child to pay attention to shit.  For encouraging an awareness of female behaviour and how women are perceived by the media and the world.  At 12 years of age, Rissa has become a dyed-in-the-wool speech pattern cynic.

Rissa loves cake decorating shows.  She loves watching people design cakes.  She loves the engineering of them.  She LOVES when they create flowers out of icing that look like real flowers.  When we go to the Bulk Barn, instead of candy, she asks for fondant, you know, so she can sculpt with it at home.  Hoping to find her something other than Cake Boss (shudder), I tried DC Cupcakes.  It looked promising - two sisters in DC who start their very own cupcake business.  Possible female role models in the making.  We started watching.  Rissa nearly went apoplectic.

"Mummy!!  These women sound like idiots!" (She changes her tone to Valley Girl speak) "They speak in, like, questions?  Where they, like, SAY things? And they use like as a comma or just as a, like, pause, be - like - cause they don't have brains?  ARGH!!!!" 

(Rissa at 12, is now realizing that how women are perceived in the world may be directly proportionate to how they present themselves.  My plan to indoctrinate my daughter has totally worked!  YAY me!!)

Rissa was particularly upset when the women on the show thought they might be arrested for making a cupcake slot machine, when in actuality they were almost arrested because the route they chose to drive had their truck driving near the White House thereby they were nearly flagged as terrorists and because they were riding in the back of the truck without seatbelts.  You'd figure that living in DC, these gals would know that trucks are pretty much not allowed anywhere the White House.

While we were watching DC Cupcakes, Rissa also realized that reality tv shows have pretty much NO content.  They repeat the same clips over and over, so in 22 minutes of a 30 minute slot, maybe there are really only 17 of actual show.

"They just keep repeating everything!  I KNOW this already!  I KNOW that this one customer is trying to surprise her husband for his 40th birthday at a fancy-schmancy hotel.  I KNOW that they are going to try to make a cupcake slot machine, and I KNOW that the one girl's husband is going to be the one trying to make the cupcake slot machine work.  Why do they KEEP telling me this????  I AM WATCHING THE SHOW RIGHT NOW!!!!"

At this point she collapses on the floor in a heap - a move she has perfected, in spite of her giraffe-like legs.  Then she says "WAILEY!  WAILEY!  WAAAAIIIIILLLLLEEEEEY!!!!!" (She's a big fan of Terry Pratchet's Wee Free Men - which if you haven't read - you should.  Google it.  There's a character called "not-as-big-as-medium-sized-Jock-but-bigger-than-wee-Jock-Jock")

First book in three.  One of the best YA series ever!!!

"So I take it, we don't need to save any more of these shows?" I ask, rhetorically.

She looks up from the floor in utter disbelief.  "NO!!!!  We never need to see another one of these.  EVER.  EVER."  She bangs her head on the ground.  "EVER!!!!"

What's scary?  This show made Cake Boss look almost tolerable.

I am STILL a dirty old woman...

It's Zeb's fault.  David's friend Zeb, who posted to Facebook about someone wearing a vintage Hanson t-shirt.  I'm thinking:  "VINTAGE HANSON?  How old does that make ME??"  But next thing you know, I'm googling Hanson to get my timeline right - it can't be 20 years ago and it's got to be at least 20 years before something qualifies as vintage, doesn't it?  I refrain from watching MmmBop - I don't want to head into Skanky Cougar land right away.  No it ISN'T 20 years - a mere 15 since 1997, when MmmBop hit the charts.  I find out that they are still together - still performing and, more importantly for my purposes, are now ADULTS. 

Isaac, Taylor and Zac Hanson circa 2012

Which makes me feel so much better, because I lusted after Taylor Hanson when he was 14 freaking years old.  Which wouldn't have been bad except for the fact that I was... let me do the math here, oh good God!  I was 29 years old.  He was skinny, he was blond, he could sing.  And boy, did I have a thing for skinny, blond, artistic types.  (actor Leonardo DiCaprio, skater  Ilia Kulik, any random blond, skinny, teenager busking near me) If I couldn't lift them over my head, or at least carry them under one arm like a clutch purse, what was the point of the crush??

I wasn't going to look at the old videos 'cause that's just SO wrong on SO many levels.  Until I realized that while I shouldn't be watching those videos, my 12 year old daughter Rissa could TOTALLY watch the videos with pre-teen immunity!!!

"Rissa, come here!  I've got something to show you!!!"  I drag her to the tablet and load up MmmBop.

First thing she says, "Are those guys or girls?  'Cause they kind of all look like girls."  I guess long hair for boys isn't the style in 2012.  But she totally dug their music.  "This is WAY better than One Direction!"

So, Taylor's the one on the left,  NOT the one in the middle - I am not THAT much of a perv.

It all came rushing back.  Just looking at the photo now makes me blush.  I am quickly writing the next paragraph before I get arrested for impure thoughts!

In my 'research'  (wink-wink-nudge-nudge),  I found out that they're still making music, still touring, still gaining fans.  In fact, they are going to be in Peterborough, ON August 25, 2012 - on the same freaking night that my rock opera has its showcase presentation in Toronto.  (I raise an arm to the Heavens and yell "WHY, GOD?!? WHY?!?")  But what's really cool?  It appears that these guys have a sense of humour and are just generally good people.  Check out the video for Thinking 'Bout Somethin' that they made in 2010, where they riff on Ray Charles' scene from The Blues Brothers...

AND ... but wait there's MORE!!! Last year a dude started a video blog campaign to have Hanson play at his wedding.   He made hundreds of video pleas to Hanson.  He was DETERMINED.  After 458 videos this is what Hanson did in return:

I know, right?  Not able to make the wedding, they offer to play the HONEYMOON?!?!?  So they're NICE, too??  And now, I'm pretty much convinced that Taylor Hanson would be the perfect artist to play the lead vampire, Aethan, in my rock opera.  You know, when we hit Broadway next year...  Just as a reminder, scroll back to the top of the blog and look at him - he's the one in the middle.  Just imagine HIM, in an Armani Suit - preying upon the female form...  I might need a second.   A girl's gotta dream.  And now that HE'S 29, I wouldn't even get arrested!