Where were your peeps on this one Miley?

Yes, you're the #1 trending thing today, and you're probably going to be getting all sorts of requests for late-night TV, so it'll blind you for a bit to how extensive all this really was.    And you'll even say that you won't lurk online and read stuff about yourself sweetie, but you will.   And a lot of it'll be nasty and hurtful and you will be devastated.

I think that there needs to be a support group.  And not just for Miley, but for ALL the child stars out there who want to bridge that gap between childhood and adult stardom but pull an Icarus and fly way too freaking close to the sun.   There are precious few who make the leap without crashing and burning.  For every Christina and Dakota who seem to have their heads on straight, there are many more Lindsays and Amandas who, I'm only guessing, are surrounded by 'yes' people and no one who actually keeps them grounded in reality.  Where are the mentors?  Where's Drew Barrymore - guiding you into the light?  I think that Meryl Streep, Jodie Foster, Tilda Swinton and Glenn Close should each get six to ten girls teetering on the edge between successful teen star and starlet given to public displays of drunken crazy and make sure they don't tank.

Miley, now might be the time to reach out to those people who tell you the truth and have your back. Your real friends and family - not the ones who smile and nod and tell you you're cool and that every idea you have is brilliant. You're only 20 years old.  You've got a whole lot more living and learning to do.  I'd love for you to still be around so I can watch you do it.

Why did I have to beat the dead horse?

WARNING: This is about MENSTRUATION and shit - well not actually shit, really just other female-centric issues that go hand in uterus with menstruation.  There will be blood. I might also talk about vaginas.

from quickmeme.com

Why couldn't I have just let it fade away quietly?  After months and months of erratic menstruation, a la Jackson Pollock, I booked time with an OBGYN to suss out the situation, you know, maybe help with the massive blood loss and 'knock you out for the first 36 hours' pain.  Of course while waiting to get in to see this specialist, there was a 12 week period where I didn't have my period.     Nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.  That's when I should have let it be.  I should have cancelled the appointment.  I should have let Mother Nature take the reins.

But I didn't, and now I've pissed her off.  Mother Nature is getting her own back.  "Think you can outwit ME?  Chemically try to rule ME?  See how you like THIS!"  The OBGYN put me on pills.  Not THE PILL, but pills that I was supposed to take for the first 15 days of the month, to regulate things, take the edge off the crazy-ass pain and weird-ass menstruation symptoms.

The last three months (though I might not be bleeding quite as much), have given me new byproducts of the feminine mystique heretofore unexperienced in all my 45 years.   I used to cramp for the first 36 hours.  Now the cramping lasts 72 hours.  I developed back pain which had me convinced that, despite David having been fixed, I might actually be pregnant.  And clots?  Let's not go there. 

See?  You mess with Mother Nature and she'll fuck you over.  What was I thinking?  This last month?  I've now been having my period for the last 10 days - twice as long as a regular period, with none of the perks.  Although really what ARE the perks that come of having your period?  Unless you have a pregnancy scare - then the opening of those menstrual flood gates is something you kiss the freaking ground for.

"THANK GOD!!   OH THANK SWEET JESUS! 
I will never be so stupid again!!"

And yet, here I was, defying my body's natural inclination to stop the bleeding.  I knew I shouldn't have.  I knew, deep down, that I should have gone with my gut.  My Mom had her last period when she was 48 - what if my lady shop was closing down for business even earlier?  I mean, I'm so freaking sensitive to every other physical thing that I go through in life.  What if, by messing with my body chemistry, my period decides to stick around until I'm 60, just to spite me?  What if, by fucking with my body chemistry, I don't ever want sex again?  What if I suffer from dry Vagina the rest of my life because I decided to fuck over Mother Nature?

Wait.  Wait.  I need to calm down.   Breathe Heather.  Just breathe.  This will not be a problem.  That's totally what they invented Vagisil Intimate Lubricant for.  Sahara Vagina averted.

Is this a healthy hookup?

I have to ask.  When someone you love suddenly becomes completely enamoured with an... uh... we'll call it an appliance... to the exclusion of their other toys... Should you do something about it?  Or should you just let them have their moment and hope that they'll eventually move on and not hurt themselves in the mean time?

Minuit has hooked up with our Universal Remote.  We tried to take it away from her, but she... uh... she couldn't be dissuaded.  She actually growled and bared her teeth.  I'm hoping that it's just a phase.   Could be worse I guess.  She could be huffing catnip.

 

It's wrong to threaten the Canada Revenue Agency. Right?

So you know how, when you have to go through Customs, even if you aren't smuggling anything you get all freaked out and start to wonder, "Hey!  Maybe I DO have a condom full of cocaine in my lower intestinal tract"?   Every single time we get a letter from the Canada Revenue Agency I lose my freaking mind.

David gets a letter.  I think that I actually read it before I start freaking out.  On first glance it seems like we haven't paid the crazy-ass thousands of dollars in taxes David owed last year.   And seeing as I have a distinct memory of making an online payment of crazy-ass thousands of dollars, I panic a titch.  We don't have that extra cash in our savings any more.  I know that because I'd paid bills the other day and saw how little money we had in our accounts.  My chest starts to hurt.

"What's going on?" David asks as he sees me hyperventilating as I go through his tax statements.

"I can't find it!  I CAN'T FIND IT!!!"

"Can't find what?"

"The... the... the RECEIPT!!  The... proof!!  The," I claw for the word in my brain.  "CONFIRMATION!!!  I CAN'T FIND THE CONFIRMATION!  WE'RE GOING TO GO TO JAIL!!!

"What are you talking...?"

"HAH!"  I brandish my online  confirmation.  "We DID!  We DID pay it!  See here?"  I wave the confirmation in David's face.  "See that?  We paid them ALL this money!  I'm going to call them and give them a piece of...."  I stop talking when I look at the piece of paper from the CRA again.

"What?"  What is it?"

"I think this is for this coming year.  It says 2013.  This is an Instalment Reminder.  Is Instalment actually spelled this way?  Do Americans spell it with two 'l's??

"Focus."

"We're supposed to pay instalments because our taxes were so high last year.  Oh God!  It says that we need to pay $6,325.00 on September 15th!!  We don't have $6,325.00!  We just gave all our credit money to the roofers!  Where are we going to find...?"  I roll my shoulders back, trying to relieve the pressure in my chest.  This is not angina, this is NOT angina.

I  frantically read over the sheet again. Your options for paying your tax by instalments are:

1.  two payments of fucking ridiculous amounts of money that we have calculated for you.
2.  3/4 of 2012, blah-de-fucking-blah, makes no fucking sense plus CPP and EI on this date and then 1/4 on this date.
3.  Even more incomprehensible tax jargon that means we might have to sell our only daughter into slavery to meet the September 15th deadline. 

Three options, all of which are a lot of money and had a first payment of September 15th.  I try to catch my breath.  I look at the document again, I must be missing something.  I start again - looking from the very top of the document.

There it is at the top-top part at the top of the document - the one in big-ass bold letters:

This instalment reminder was issued to you because you MAY BE required to pay income tax by instalments in 2013.

Do you have to pay tax by instalments in 2013? 
If your net tax owing for 2013 will be $3,000 or less ($1,800 or less if you live in Quebec), you DO NOT have to pay tax by instalments in 2013, and you can disregard this reminder.

"You can disregard this reminder !!!  WE CAN DISREGARD THIS REMINDER!!!"  I slump to the floor.  "Those tax bastards!!  Those Canada Revenue Agency tax bastards!  They couldn't put this information in a box and bold it ALL?  Why wasn't the DO NOT in bold?!?  Don't they know that I spent my entire day in front of the freaking computer and my eyes don't work when I get home and finally look at personal stuff?  Don't they KNOW that??   They seem to KNOW everything else!  They made me freak out!!  Who SENDS a letter like this?"

"So we don't have to pay anything?"

"We don't have to pay ANYTHING!!  ANYTHING!!!  You know why?"  My eyes stab at David accusingly.  "You know WHY???  Because you will have not been paid for ANY self-employed work last year and all your teaching pay will have been taxed super high and the CRA will then have to give US money!"  I panted after my rant.  "Oh crap!  They're going to AUDIT us, aren't they?  They are going to fucking audit us because you had to pay taxes in the last two years because of the self-employed work... No wait!!  WAIT!!  Maybe they won't, because your employment income won't really be that much different... it'll...  it'll...  be okay... it might... just be... okay..."

"Are you done now?"

"I think so."

"We're going out for dinner tonight.  I'm going to buy you alcohol."

Why your Nana shouldn't be behind the wheel.

We lived next door to a lady named Kay.  She was in her 80s.  One of those Europeans who, although she'd been in Canada for 50 years, still had her accent - just like my own Granny.  Kay was effusive in welcoming us to the neighbourhood.  We had to learn to lock our door during the day because she'd would occasionally walk in with a coffee cake when I'd be trying to put Rissa down for a nap.

One day, Kay backed out of her driveway in her massive Crown Victoria - she basically did a reverse U-Turn as she left her driveway, rolling over the curb onto our yard, hitting the For Sale sign on our lawn, then running into our tree.  She then put the car into drive and left.  Shortly after that, she asked David to help her get into the garage.  The door to her garage was locked, you see.

"Where are your keys?" David asked.  "Did you lock them in the garage?"

"No, no, they are here," she said, handing them to him.  "But there isn't a place to put the key."

There were no keys for the door.   It was one of those doors where you have to push the handle in and turn it to lock and then do the opposite to unlock it.  Problem was, Kay didn't remember how it worked.

"It won't work!"  She tried turning the handle this way and that.  "You see?!?"

"Why do you need to get into the garage Kay?" David asked.

"I need to drive to the grocery store."

"How about I drive you to the grocery store?" David suggested.  David palmed her car keys, sneaking them into his pocket.  After driving her to the grocery store, he called her doctor.

"Thank God," said the receptionist.  "We were hoping that someone would stop her from driving."

Apparently everyone in the doctor's office knew that she wasn't safe to drive, but no one thought to do anything about it.  Makes sense I guess.  It should really be left to her neighbour to suffer the brunt of her outrage when said neighbour wouldn't return her car keys to her.  We were in suburbia - not having a car for her was like having an arm cut off.  David, however, wasn't willing to pass that sentence on to unsuspecting pedestrians.

One friend's grandfather, who had terrible cataracts, still continued to drive - using his wife in the passenger seat as his navigator.  Driving behind a tractor one day, he pulled out to pass and narrowly missed being hit by an oncoming car.  He hadn't seen it.  Nor had his wife in the passenger seat.  You see, her view had been blocked by the tractor.

My own grandfather suffered from Alzheimer's, most days he couldn't recognize me, but my Gran took him out every day driving, "so he wouldn't forget how."

I stopped by the pharmacy the other day.  The parking lot to this particular shopping area is crap.  There's a gas station that empties into a driving lane as well as an entrance off the major road.  There was an older lady pulling away from the gas station.  She was focused on me, as I approached the entrance to the parking lot.  She didn't see the car coming on her right towards the exit.  The guy in the other car honked his horn in warning - several times. She kept driving.  She looked accusingly at me as the guy leaned on his horn, now desperate to get her attention.  If she were younger, I have a sneaking suspicion that she'd have flipped me the bird for honking at her.

I pulled up to the store.   Two of the plate glass windows at the front had been decimated.  Construction fencing had been erected around the damaged area.  I figured some local hooligans had maybe gotten bored and did the damage.  I went in to mail my packages at the Canada Post Counter - people were still sweeping up.  There were a couple of official looking guys in suits who were on their I-Phones "We need this covered Stan.  Don't tell me tomorrow, I need it today!"  As I got to the postal counter, packages in hand, I asked the gal manning the cash how her day was.

"Well, I'm better now," she said.

"That's good to hear."  I rummaged for my wallet, preparing to pay.

"It's not every day that someone decides to make their own drive-thru in a store where there isn't a drive-thru."

"Pardon?"

"A lady drove right through the window."

So, not hooligans then.  An older lady in her SUV was the culprit.  Panicked when she initially pulled onto the curb, she stepped on the gas, was propelled forward and then smashed through the windows.  No one was in front of those particular windows at the time, a fact which I'm sure will cheer her right up.

I'm not saying that ALL elderly people shouldn't be driving.  There are plenty out there who are exemplary drivers. What I'm saying is that there are some Grans, Opas, Mimaws, Dedas, Grampies and Nonnas out there, who, right now?  When they are behind the wheel?  Shouldn't be.  They're like James freaking Bond!  They have been awarded '00' status.

Sure, in Ontario, after the age of 80, you have to take a written test, and have your eyes tested, but that doesn't necessarily mean that you have to pass a practical driving test.  A study from Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh and the AAA Foundation for Traffic Safety suggests  that drivers over the age of 85 have quadruple the fatal car accidents of male teenaged drivers.  Some senior driving advocates, say that this statistic is unrealistic because seniors are more frail than other drivers and do not recover from car accidents in the same way that younger victims do.

29% of the Canadian population are baby boomers.  My Dad is 69 and my Mom is 68 years old.  They, like a lot of parents, retired to their dream home.  They live 5 km from their nearest town and are dependent upon their vehicle for shopping, socializing and medical appointments.  They speak of down-sizing, not for driving reasons, but due to property maintenance.  My Mom's already scoped out the senior condos that are a walkable distance to the golf course.  She's forward thinking. 

David's Dad lives in a similar location, far removed from transit.   Thankfully, David's Mom is in a city centre that has a transit system, and they're located about a 25 minute walk from the closest mall and grocery store.  Within the last few years, all three sets of parents have altered their driving habits.  They won't drive in snowy weather and dislike driving at night.

No one likes having the difficult conversations.  "Hey Mom, what do you think about us taking away all your independence?"   But you know what?  We need to start talking about this stuff now, before there is a problem. The local pharmacy incident is going to be my conversation starter.  My parents are very practical, but I know that it'd be an incredible blow to my Dad if he could no longer drive.  This is one bullet that I don't want to bite, but I'm going to have to.  Maybe I'll never notice anything with their driving.  Maybe they'll never become those seniors who can't make a left turn.  I hope to God that's the case.  I hope to God that they give my parents a citation for perfect driving when they're in their 90s.  But if that not the case?  I have to have the balls to call them on it.

Free boobs with page views...

Yes, folks, you too may purchase your very own boob juggling set! 
Includes 3 breasts for the true juggling experience!*

I think that I may have acquired a new audience for my blog.  Teenaged boys.  Any post that I have with the word boobs in the title ends up with ridiculously more page views.  My post, I hope that the Bloggess didn't notice my extra boobs, which I posted over a year ago, gets page views every single day.  Which makes me think that there are people out there searching for "extra boobs" and zip boom - they're getting sent to that post.  Although, when I went searching for "extra boobs," there were a lot of links to porn and not a one (at least in the first 10 pages of results) to my blog.  I really gotta get working on my ranking.

It did get me thinking that perhaps I myself am a little pre-occupied with boobs. When I went looking, I realized that 16 of my posts deal directly with boobs.  (Taming your tatas, Don't Show anyone your boobs online, My boobs aren't supposed to be there - the list goes on.) And then I was wondering if maybe I was having psychotic breaks and it was me who was doing all the boob page views.  Maybe I was spending all my time reading that post.  Although when I did a subsequent search using the word "sex" - I have 48 posts that focus on that.  I bet if I charted when I wrote those posts that they'd directly relate to whether or not I'm ovulating and getting ready for my bouts of naked wrestling with David.  That made me think I should see what other words came up.  Top words are 'Mom' (appearing in 82 posts), 'cat' (121 posts), 'Rissa' (155 posts), and 'David' (a whopping 169 posts). I'm not going to share with my Mom that she's trending below cats.

*By the by - it took me a while to find a boob juggling set that had three boobs.  Most, came in a package with two.  Unless you're doing it one-handed that ain't juggling folks.  

And that's how you displace a rib

I used to be really bendy when I was younger.  (Steady folks.) Comes of being a gymnast.  I was incredibly flexible.  (STEADY...)  Which is great when most of what you do in sport is bend in half backwards, run, skip and bounce.  Trouble is, all those extra-stretchy ligaments?  After years and years of stretching?  They get loose.  Think 1950s streewalker plied with cigarettes and mint juleps kind of loose.

I can pop a rib out of place by, say, putting on a dress.  The other day I did pop a rib putting on a dress.  I dragged it on over my head, stretched to get my right arm through... and pop!  Stabbing pain through my chest wall.  Which each frickin' breath.  My body is so screwed that I can pop a rib by tilting to the side when I blow dry my hair.

And once that rib's out?  Hard to pop it back in all by yourself.  I can't just whack myself against the wall like Detective Riggs, hoping that everything will be all hunky dory.

I pop those ribs and I'm making a call to my chiropractor who then yells at me for not coming in for a tune up sooner.  "You need to MAINTAIN!  You have to MAINTAIN your spine! How many times do I have to say this to you?!?"

But really?  Who has the time or the money to do maintenance on themselves?  I don't have extra cash just there, waiting to be spent on me.  After I separated my shoulder several years ago, I was supposed to have massages once a month to ensure I didn't seize up. I was really good about going... for the first year and a half.  Okay, the first year... Okay, six months...  Then I started to slack off.  I think I'm lucky now, if I get a professional massage once a year.  I go into the clinic and my massage therapist 'tsk-tsk's me.  She shakes her head and gives me the same eyes that disappointed European wives give to their spouses. 

What kind of disposable income does a gal need for spine and rib maintenance?  I'm sure that I must be able to scrape together the extra dough to be able to tweak and tune.  I don't need to be  rich.  I just need that little bit of extra cash at the end of the month.  You know... after we've paid the remaining six grand on our new roof, chipped away at our credit line debt and Visa bill, saved for our retirement and Rissa's education, shifted funds for our house insurance, bought food, paid for Rissa's dance lessons, utilities and ensured that David's salary dip (because of union and membership fees etc.) doesn't bankrupt us come January when we lose $250 every two weeks.  Oh yeah, I'm sure that after ALL that, there'll be more than enough so that I can get a... massage.  Nice to have these 1st World problems, no?  This is all they're thinking about in Egypt right now.