Upper body suckage...

So the other day after my walk, I had a small reserve of energy and I thought that I'd mow the lawn.  David usually does it but I was thinking I'd get major spouse points if I did it for him.  Except  I couldn't start it.  I tried like 10 freaking times to yank the starter thingie.  Nothing.  And now both my arms were strained on account of the fact that I tried with my left arm when my right arm couldn't do it.

Why I would think to even try my left arm, when my right arm is OBVIOUSLY the stronger one, I don't know.  I could have plugged in the electric mower, but that is a real pain in the ass.  Of course now thinking about it, I'm feeling guilty for not having tried it, but I almost always  mow over the cord, which even I know is bad.

Can they (whomever 'they' are) not have a gas-powered mower that you don't have to dislocate your shoulder to start?  I hate to say it, but can they not make a girlie mower?  I mean, I'm not some frail little flower here.  I actually HAVE arm muscles.  I can do pushups (real ones) and everything.  I'm one of those girls folks refer to as "STRONG LIKE BULL."  I can heft things.  (As long as I'm lifting with my legs too, you know, so my lower back doesn't go out and I don't displace a rib.)

So I messaged David and he said "Did you hold the lever down?"  And I thought AH-HAH!  That must be it!  I didn't hold the emergency release lever down.  So I  went out and tried again, holding the emergency release lever down...  and...  NOTHING!!!  (Why you need to hold that down while you're mowing doesn't even make sense to me.)  Now the slight strain on my arms had morphed into real strain.  And I was getting stressed about it too, so now my angina kicked in.  So then I needed to have a rusty nail and lie down for a bit.

And then of course, David came home and he could just do it - ZIP BOOM - because he's a man and stupid men have more stupid upper body strength (by and large) than women.  I'm not being a dismissive of feminine strength here girls, I mean, maybe there are tonnes of you out there who have crazy-ass upper body strength and awe the general populace when you're called in to tighten lugnuts for your neighbours and such.  I'm wallowing in my own personal physical ineffectuality here... I might need a moment and another rusty nail.

JOYFUL DISBELIEF!!

David is twisting the lids back on the peanut butter and jam.  I am looking at him incredulously -  eyes wide,  my eyebrows raised nearly to my hairline.

"What?!" asks David.

"It's just..."  I'm nearly speechless.  "I never see you do that."

He snorts.  "I do too!"

"HAH!  You NEVER put things away."

"I put things away in the morning!"   He turns to Rissa for backup.

"No, Daddy, you don't."

"Usually I do!"

"No Daddy."

"At least half the time."

Rissa and I shake our heads.

"I put things away!!"

I place a consoling hand upon his shoulder.  "Sweetie.  I'm sorry.  Let me restate.  Yes, occasionally you do  put your sandwich making ingredients away, but you always leave something."

"Not always."

"Yes.  ALWAYS.  You might put the sandwich meats away, but you'll leave the wrappers from your cheese slices.  You'll put the cheese slice wappers in the garbage, but you'll leave the bread bag open and Miracle Whip knives on the island."

"I just leave those things so that Rissa can make her lunch."

"I don't use Miracle Whip Daddy."

"Fine!  Fine!  I will put away EVERYTHING!  You just watch me!!!  See this!?!  I am PUTTING AWAY the sandwich meats!  These knives?  Going in the dishwasher.  You," he turns to Rissa,  "are going to have to find a NEW knife!"

"Okay Daddy."

In a dramatic show of domesticity, David takes the dishcloth and 'cleans' the island of its bread crumbs and morning muck.  His hand carefully carries the detritus of sandwich preparation to the garbage under the sink and he deposits it with a flourish.  "Let it not be said that I can't clean up after myself!"

Rissa and I hold our tongues.

David leaves for work. Then, Rissa makes her lunch and leaves for school.  I have already started writing this post.

I make my way back into the kitchen, I tidy the cheese knife Rissa has left behind and put all of her breakfast dishes, which she has left on the counter right above the dishwasher, into the dishwasher.  Then I take a damp dishcloth and wash the island before cleaning up the floor under the sink where dramatically thrown crumbs have fallen short of the garbage can.  And as I'm doing this?  All I feel is LOVE for the pair of them.  Because after I nag and nag and nag?  They really do try.

Storm's a comin'!

David arrives home, a little later than usual. 

"I have things for you,"  he says, before running back out to the car.

"Oh really?"

He comes back, hefting a full bag of firewood and making He-Man- look-how-strong-I-am noises.

"Firewood?"

"In case you're cold."  He says as he runs out once more.  (Yesterday, I'd had a fairly violent code blue - David kept throwing blankets on me and Rissa ran me a hot bath.)

He returns, arms laden with a veritable cornucopia of items.  He displays them with husbandly pride.  "You can have Fleur de Sel dark chocolate  and/or chocolate chip cookie lava cakes and/or cookies & cream ice cream!  You could have all three - together!  Plus (but wait there's more!)  I have these too!  (He indicates a bottle of Pinot Grigio and a box of Shiraz.)   I wasn't sure which you might want.  And there's a six pack of Stella Artois - mostly for me, but if you want them you can have them.  I wanted to cover all bases.  You can do a little from column A, a little from column B if that works."  He is an eager border collie puppy.

So either... he is making up for that extramarital affair he is having or...

"Is this because my period is coming?"  (I'd been on the cusp for a couple of days now)

"... I thought I'd be prepared."

"So you're saying that my period is akin to preparing for a category 4 storm front?"  (His eyes widen slightly.)    "Oh my God!  I'm Hurricane Heather!  You're battening down the hatches!  This is you calling in food and alcohol equivalents of the National Guard!"

 I can see him thinking very carefully about his response.

"No...  this is me, your faithful and loving husband, providing coping options to you, my lovely wife, in the event of any situation that might arise."

Smart man.
 

Don't open that Tupperware!

We could make our own penicillin with some of the contents of our fridge right now.    Show of hands, who else only cleans their fridge out on a quarterly or bi-annual basis?  As a science experiment it's kind of cool - as a surprise when you're opening a container - not so much.  That's why I highly recommend the see-through containers.  Then you can just see all the delicious, moldy-green bits (shudder) and know what has to go before opening the vessel and releasing the new species you're cultivating into the air like Anthrax.  There are times, when the entire container ends up in the garbage.  Usually it's David who does that.  I can't stand to throw anything away that could be properly recycled.  I will empty even the foulest container, overcoming my food odor gag-reflex to get that sucker washed and put into the recycling bin.

We don't have a garburator, which means that when we do have a refrigerator stacked with muck and yuck plastic containers - we need to take a large spoon, walk to the main floor bathroom (oh so conveniently located off the kitchen) and begin the FQQ (Food of Questionable Quality) purge into the toilet.  WARNING - make sure the food is in bite sized pieces when you do this!  Don't just take a whole freaking chicken breast or head of broccoli /cauliflower and think you can flush it - it WON'T work!  Also - make sure that you have a plunger on hand - just in case your bite-sized pieces of FQQ get clogged in said toilet.  'Cause nothing says party like a bathroom floor filled with an inch of contaminated water.

Fridge cleaning is one of those household chores that just gets put on the back burner for other more noticeable things, like say dirty dishes in the sink or occasional chairs covered in cat hair.  I'm all for the lower effort housecleaning - the things that take next to no time to do but make it look like the house is really clean.  Vacuuming is a good one.  You see those nice vacuum marks on the floor and it can go a great way to perfect the illusion of cleanliness.  Every day when I'm done my shower I make sure the bathroom sink is clean.  I can do that quick fix in about 60 seconds.  I was a Molly Maid during university, so when I'm motivated, the house can get cleaned fairly quickly.  Or it would if I didn't get all distracticated - which happens ALL the time to me. 

I start in one room and then something else will catch my eye, so those papers that I had intended to file up in the study wind up on the stairs as I break down cardboard boxes which remind me there are more in the basement, but then I notice that the kitty litter needs to be changed, and when I'm in the tool room locating the garbage bags for the kitty litter I see that the floor needs to be swept and then when I go to get the broom, I notice that the cats have taken a strand of the carpet underneath David's drum set and are unraveling it... and then it's the end of the day and other than the clean bathroom sink that I managed to wipe after my shower, the house pretty much looks the same.  And then, even when I do go on an all-out cleaning fit and the house is vacuumed and counters are clear of crap, Rissa comes home and says "Is someone coming over tonight?  The house is so clean!" 

"NO!! NO ONE IS COMING OVER!!!  YOU KNOW IT IS POSSIBLE THAT WE, AS A FAMILY, WORKING COOPERATIVELY, COULD LIVE IN A HOUSE WHERE THINGS ARE CLEANED, TIDIED AND FREAKING VACUUMED AS A MATTER OF COURSE!!!!"

Brad Pitt and Chanel No. 5??

Okay, so Chanel No. 5 ads.   WHAT. THE. POOH.  Brad Pitt is the new face of Chanel No. 5?  My friend Meg said that it happened, but I thought she was high.   Brad Pitt?  Chanel No. 5?

And then I found it - a 31 second commercial that can make the most nonsensical hallucinogenic experience seem like watching the most simplistic inaugural address.

"It's not a journey;* every journey ends, but we go on.  The world turns and we turn with it.  Plans disappear, dreams take over."

My eyes rolled back in my head so far in disbelief, I almost gave myself a brain aneurysm.  My snorts of laughter almost choked me.   But then, somewhere around the 18 second mark...   Brad Pitt actually turns to the camera and looks directly... at ME.

"But wherever I go... there you are... "  

And there it is folks, that's where my near-hysterical scoffing got stuck in my throat.  Because when he looked into the camera and said those words?  I actually clenched.  With my girlie bits.  Dead serious.  My mouth got dry.  It was akin to Johnny Depp in Chocolate suggesting that he'd "come round sometime and get that squeak out of" Juliette Binoche's door.   But then?  Pitt looked away and the spell was completely broken with these words...

"My luck.  My fate.  My fortune.  Chanel No. 5.   Inevitable."

I had to watch it again.  It was like a train wreck.  Eye roll, eye roll, snort, scoff, eye roll, snort, snort, scoff, eye roll, eye roll, eye roll,  blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, eye roll...  OH. MY. BLESSED. GOD, blah, blah, blah, snort, scoff, snort, blah, blah, blah de freakin' blah.

Six times.  I have watched it six times.  And I gotta say that in the midst of those 27 painful - they paid him HOW MUCH?? - seconds?  The other  4 seconds where I'm pretty sure he's promising that he will leave Angelina Jolie for ME?   Effective advertising.  And you know how I know that?  Because I'm not even attracted to Brad Pitt.  I mean sure, when David and I play Would You Rather - we both pretty much get stuck at the "Would you rather have dinner with George Clooney and Brad Pitt?"  option, but that has everything to do with how much fun they are in the Oceans movies.  So I was a bit surprised that there was any attraction for me at all.  'Course, my period's due (again) and I am incredibly horny.

Chanel perfume ads always seem to be fashioned as cinematic melodramas from the 1940s.  And let's face it, Bette Davis did it so much better in Now Voyager.   

"Oh, Jerry, don't let's ask for the moon. We have the stars."   

You know why these ads don't work?  Because it's no longer 1979 and none of these spokespeople are Catherine Deneuve.  You have to be her to pull off that existential, melodramatic shit.   Although Audrey Tautou did a pretty good job in 2009.  So maybe what I should say is that you can't be American, or Australian, or British or a Russian immigrant to pull off a quintessentially French ad.  I think you have to be French.  Like with a capital "F" and italics, kind of French.

* and you just KNOW that there would have been a freaking semi-colon there!

Wedding Weekend Roundup

We're at another wedding this weekend with little time to write/edit (fingers crossed for sunshine around 3:00 p.m. for Pete & Kate),  so may I please direct your attention to these:

Shilling for Schools  (How to encourage our children to pimp)

YAY!!  YOGURT!!  (Another reason why I love my crazy daughter)

 

and

The Twitching Hours  (Me at my most logical)

For Your Sanitary Needs...

Yesterday I was in a public washroom.  In one of the stalls, someone had left a makeshift toilet seat cover made from artfully placed toilet paper.  Woman after woman turned away from that stall as if it the Black Death were in residence. I guess they all assumed that someone had done their business and then left the "seat cover" there. And I was thinking, what if this was a 'pay it forward' gift, left as a fresh offering for the next user?  What if it was a true moment of altruistic kindness?  Because logistically, I kind of think that if that toilet paper toilet seat cover had been used, wouldn't it have stuck to the ass of the person who had used it before?

I mean, I'm not sure, because, me, personally?  I have never used a toilet seat cover in my life.  I don't comprehend the whole idea of toilet seat covers.  All they make me think is Why??  What possible use do they serve?  I mean really?  What is your ass going to catch from a toilet seat?  If the seat is wet, can't a gal just wipe it off with a great wad of toilet paper?  You're washing your hands afterwards right?  'Cause if you're not washing your hands?  Then YOU are pretty much the Typhoid Mary, not someone who just haphazardly tinkled on the seat.

If you place toilet paper strategically over top of a sprinkled (with someone else's pee) toilet seat, is that now slightly wet toilet paper, not just going to stick to your ass?  And won't you have to pull that wet paper off your ass with bare hands? Unless you wear gloves in the stall - which begs a whole other set of questions if you're doing that.

This may be simplistic, but isn't the important part of your ass actually NOT on the seat, but rather suspended over the toilet bowl?  What are these toilet seat cover users afraid of exactly?  Are the cheeks of your ass going to catch a disease from a toilet seat? 

(Warning: graphically descriptive passage to follow)
The only people who should be worried about the germs on the cheeks of their ass are the people who spend a lot of time touching their own ass cheeks.  Do they... I don't know, scratch or massage, or just generally play with their ass cheeks and then what?  Eat finger foods without washing their hands first?   shudder  These folks must be worried about what they're going to catch from the seat because they obviously devote considerable time to playing with their own asses.   Practically speaking, even if you had hemorrhoids, wouldn't they too, be over top of the toilet bowl, you know closer to... wait for it... ur...anus?  Wouldn't they?  And before you suggest them... ass cheek zits?  Think about it.  How hard would someone have to sit on a toilet seat to actually pop ass zits that just happened to be in a ring around their ass exactly where they would rest upon the toilet seat?  I'm just sayin' here.

A friend told me that she actually sits ON HER HANDS on the toilet seat.  I was dumbfounded, and it  must have shown on my face.  "But I wash my hands afterward!"  This makes it better how?!?  She would rather have her HANDS touch the seat upon which other peoples' asses had rested rather than her ass?  That makes aboslutely NO sense to me.  Then there's the camp that doesn't ever sit on the toilets, they just squat.  Which, to be fair, is probably great strength training for your legs.  Basically what it comes down to?  Wash your freaking hands. A lot.  Especially if they've come into contact with someone else's pee, or ass.  Washing your own ass would be a good thing too.

p.s. Do not even THINK about hinting that crabs are another reason to use a toilet seat cover.  This from the Centre for Disease Control:

"A common misconception is that pubic lice are spread easily by sitting on a toilet seat. This would be extremely rare because lice cannot live long away from a warm human body and they do not have feet designed to hold onto or walk on smooth surfaces such as toilet seats."

So unless crabs have secret sweat shops that make wee little suction cups for their feet - I think humans and our asses are safe sitting on a public toilet - sans covers.