Shilling for Schools

So it's that time of year where schools do their fundraising and your child gets to sell useless shit to your family and friends.  I'm sorry, that's unfair.  In the past couple of years, at Rissa's school, they've been selling magazine subscriptions which can actually be good things.  They make good Christmas presents and such.  Much better than selling chocolate bars or freaking candles.  She comes home with the special catalogue and I spend immeasurable time tittering over the titles.

There is a Canadian Stamp News and  Canadian Coin News.  There is Dog Fancy and Cat Fancy - which pretty much makes me think of animals dressing up in tuxedos and ballgowns - perhaps with accompanying capes.

Horses are apparently VERY big in the magazine world.  For instance, did you know there is a Canadian Horse Journal (Central & Atlantic Edition) AND a Canadian Horse Journal (Pacific & Prairie Edition)?  There is Horse & Rider, Horse Canada, Horse Country, Horse Illustrated, Horse Sport and Horses All.  I am not making this shit up.    Wait!  Wait!  There is also Western Horse Review!   Sadly I could not find neither Unicorn Style nor Dolphin Fancy - which I think would most definitely sell if all the horse stuff does.   Tween girls and closet stuffie collectors would totally eat that crap up!

My two favourites have to be PREDATOR XTREME  "Predator Xtreme's target audience consists of predator and varmint hunters."  Yes, you read that right "varmint hunters." Yep, Elmer Fudd has a magazine aimed at him.   AND... wait for it... GUN DOG "Tips Training and Expert Features."   And all I can picture is a Labradoodle with and AK-47.  "You'll never take me alive coppers!!"  I am supposed to be ordering magazines right now, and instead I'm making my way through the catalogue... and snorting with laughter... AGAIN.  Wait!  I just found FRANCE "The next best thing to being there."  Sometimes it really is the little things.

YAY!!! YOGURT!!!

We went grocery shopping today at the No Frills and it was an ADVENTURE.  I bribed Rissa to come by saying that she could pick out a treat.  First off, we had the turquoise shopping trolley on account of the fact that we walked.  Rissa was adamant that she pull it along "I..." she paused dramatically, "am a BIG girl!"  She might have then thrown in some jazz hands which sent the cart careening for a bit, but she managed to salvage the situation before she launched herself into traffic.

She was very helpful in the store.  Kept me on track because we were, after all, shopping between the hours of 3 and 5 p.m.

"So I was thinking Mummy..."

"Yes?"

"We already have a lot of treats at home, so I was wondering..." labrador retriever eyebrows "if... um... you know..." more labrador retriever eyebrows "I could pick out a treat the NEXT time we go shopping??"

"You're planning ahead."

"Yes, I am.  You know why?  Because... I ... am a BIG girl."  Toothy grin.

We managed to get home, Rissa dragging the full cart behind her, almost getting killed crossing Division Street, but refusing to allow me to help because, "I AM A BIG GIRL!!!!"

We unpacked the groceries and Rissa made her very excited baby giraffe noise when she lifted the yogurt out.  "Oohoohoohooohooohoooh."  She took the assortment of 16 yogurts and opened the cardboard covering with near reverence and an accompanying angelic "Aaaaaaah-aaaaaaaaah" noise.  She then snap-snapped the 2 tiers of 8 attached yogurts into 4 groups of 4 giving a maniacally-pleased laugh as she did so.  "Heeheeheeheehee."  Those 4 groups then became 8 groups of 2 with more self-satisfied giggling.  "Snap - Titter - Snap - Titter." 

When down to the yogurt duos, she had 8 different ways so separate them: 

Like castanets - "Ssssnap!" 

Over her head, with a flourish - "SNAP!" 

The reveal of a magic trick - "TA-DA! SNAP!" 

Covertly, behind her back - "Snap." 

To the side with a cackle -"heh-heh-heh - SSSSSSSNAP!!"   

Nearly silent, underneath her shirt - "..." 

Meticulously - "s...s....s...nap!"

Nonchalantly, while looking the opposite direction -  "snap"  

Then it was time to colour coordinate her yogurt.  And yes, according to the ROYGBIV spectrum.  I adore my child.

Apparently I DON'T learn...

Okay, so I might need a babysitter.  I know that I keep posting that I don't, but I think maybe... I do.  My hips are hurting... AGAIN... Because why?  Because I jogged on the treadmill and now my arthritis/bursitis is acting up.  (And yes, I'm only 44 freaking years of age, but I was a gymnast, hence the 72 year old hips.)  Last week, when I jogged on the treadmill, they hurt and David said, "You probably shouldn't jog any more."  So leading up to the weekend I totally didn't jog.  Now some of that is because I just didn't have the time to do anything, but I was trying to make sure that I'd be able to dance at the wedding on Saturday, because it would suck not to be able to dance at one of your best friends' weddings.  So I left off the jogging and was able to dance.  YAY!  

But today I jogged again.  I could lie and say that I was just testing to see if my hips hurt EVERY time I jogged, but I won't do that.  I was jogging to burn more calories.  I only had one episode of Buffy on the media player and that only last 41 minutes, so I figured I'd up the cardio ante by jogging.  I kind of thought, if I only jog every other time, maybe I can manage it.  I was wrong.  This is me admitting that I'm wrong.  See that?  Gold freaking star for Heather.

I was wrong on Saturday too.  I ate the wrong food.  With full knowledge of my blood sugar issues, I might have eaten, um, two pieces of wedding cake, and then for the late-night snack, I might have had um, two pieces of Pizza Hut pizza and maybe, a, uh... lemon square.   (The cake part was totally understandable and you would have done it too.  Usually wedding cake sucks!!! But this cake was SO good!   JULIA IS AN AMAZING BAKER!  After the first piece, the 2nd piece just called to me in a siren voice that made me lose my mind a bit.)

I'm pretty sure it's the Pizza Hut pizzas' fault.  Because Pizza Hut pizza is basically pizza toppings slathered onto deep fried white bread - which is apparently my nemesis.  You'd figure that it'd be something WAY more dangerous, involving, say, throwing stars and maybe a mace, but, no it's white bread. That, combined with being exhausted was a bad combo.  There are good combos.  Like ham and pineapple on a thin crust gluten-free pizza or Gene Kelly & Donald O'Connor, but me tired and eating the wrong foods is pretty much a recipe for falling into near hypo-glycemic shock.

The wedding was divided into two camps  One camp thought that maybe I'd just heard that someone had died.  Any light in my eyes faded and I spent a lot of time trying not to cry. I think I might have been mourning the passing of my common sense.  And then the other camp was all, "Look at the drunken Matron of Honour - poor thing can't hold her liquor."  Which, by the way, I totally can, and if I could have actually articulated more than two words together I would have told them that. "I'm Danish by God - I can drink anyone here under the table!  Pass me that bottle of Aquavit!  Skol!!" But when you're basically drunk on sugar, you're pretty much screwed until you can reboot, which for me means having something sweet like orange juice along with some protein and a place to sleep.  It was such a bad sugar crash that I actually allowed David, Rissa and the groom to pretty much carry me to the car.   And this from a gal who refuses help at the best of times.

So, if you see me in public, veering towards slices of deep dish pizza or late night baked goods, lay a hand upon my arm and say "Remember the wedding?"  It might just be enough to keep me in line.

BLARGH!

WARNING: LANGUAGE

Rissa was snuggled into her bed.  I was lying beside her.  From the main floor we heard David:

"BLAAAAARGH!!!!!!  SON OF A FUCKING BITCH!!! ARGH!!  FUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!"

Followed by "I'm FINE!. FUCK!!!  I'M FINE!"

David stomp, stomp stomps back up the stairs.   "Grumble, grumble, grumble..." 

"What happened?" I asked, maintaining a straight face.

"I stubbed both my toes...  at the SAME time... grumble, grumble...."

Rissa and I say nothing. I can taste blood in my mouth from the effort.   David stomps back to the study.

"Daddy sometimes over-reacts to pain," Rissa observes.

"Sometimes," I agree.  "I think you should tell him that.  Go ahead." I make a you do it motion with my chin.

"Nuh-unh.  You!" she says, pointing at me.

"No way.  You!"  I point back.

"Mummy you just have the right rhythm for it."

"The right rhythm?"

"Yeah, your rhythm is all... thump ba da thump, ba da boomp... booomp...    booomp...  snooooooore...  See?  your rhythm is so relaxed it's almost ASLEEP.  You should totally be the one to tell him.  You're a calming influence.  Me? Not so much."

You'd think I'd know better...

So last night was the night before I'm the Matron of Honour in a wedding party.  What time did I get to bed?  2:45 a.m.  Not because I was partying beforehand at the rehearsal dinner.  (Although I did see a friend totally kick ass in a drag king contest!!!  Woo-hoo!)  But I was home at 11 freaking 30 p.m. and made the mistake of checking my email and then my brain woke up.  So I was playing Scrabble and answering messages and chatting.  And then it was 2:45 and I went to bed and David said "ARE YOU CRAZY?!?"  To which I replied "Well, yes...  Oh... but you mean because it's so late."  And then, as I was falling asleep I was totally having anxious bride moments:

OH MY GOD!  WE DIDN'T SET 3 OF THE TABLES (we totally did)

OH MY GOD!  WE DIDN'T CLEAR THE PIZZA BOXES OFF THE DANCE FLOOR!  (totally did and the groomsmen can worry about all that shit today before we get there.)

OH MY GOD!  THE HALL DOESN'T HAVE A CEILING!   (!?!)

OH MY GOD!  RON MCLEAN IS PERFORMING AS A DRAG KING.  WAIT!  THAT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE - RON MCLEAN IS A DUDE.  DRAG QUEEN?  DON MCLEAN?  WHAT IS HE/SHE SINGING?  (that's when I knew I was just confabulating shit.)

Apparently the bride gave me all her pre-wedding anxiety cause she slept like  a freaking baby. You're welcome Amber!

At 7:55 a.m.  Minuit, our VERY fat black cat, decided that I must arise from bed.  David had already put food down for all the cats, but she was adamant that I had to get up.  The thing you need to know about Minuit is that she sounds like Edward G. Robinson when she talks.  Or at least she sounds like how Mel Blanc used to voice Edward G. Robinson.  Check it out for the 2:08 mark - and every time he saysYEAH?  YEAH?  Imagine it's "MEOW,  MEOW."

Palpating my hips, my stomach, my neck.  "Hey."  palpate palpate.   MEOW.  MEOW!!!"  Palpate, palpate...  "MEOW!"  Head butt, nibble on chin, pat, pat, pat on face.  "HEY!"  Climbing over my abdominal aorta and cut off my blood supply for a second.  "MEOW!"    And then I was up. 

But now, it is 3 hours later, and I shall attempt an hour long nap so that I won't fall into a sleep-deprived coma in my platform stillettos later today.   This photo?  This is the photo of Heather as she did a face plant during the meal.  That is baked potato  We had a baked potato bar!  And what's sad?  I can remember being able to stay up for much later and having much less sleep than this and still managing to cope the next day.  Without caffeine either, 'cause I never used to drink coffee.  Okay sure, that was probably in my 20s, although come to think of it if I was up for 24 hours then my legs would just KILL me the next day, even then.   Oh how the mighty have fallen.

I ain't a ballerina...

...but in my dreams I dress like one.  In my dreams I also carry myself like Audrey Hepburn.  The way she glides down a staircase in Roman Holiday?  That's how I imagine I look. In reality I have WAY more linebacker in my presentation.

I salivate as I pass by windows featuring adorable little smock-like dresses.  There was a shop just down the street that had a window full of clothing made for women with no boobs.  I coveted everything in this shop.

This shop had precious clothing for A or B cup ballerina women who can wear something sans defined waist-lines without looking like they're pregnant.   A-line and over-dresses in wild patterns that are made for teenagers or twenty-somethings without  my 36DD chest.  In the 90s, I wore tonnes of clothing that wasn't right for my body type.  Long tunic sweaters that went down almost to my knees.  It's no wonder that people kept offering me their seats on public transit.  With boobs my size, if I wear something waistless I'm going to look 5-6 months pregnant just from the shelf of my rack.

Basically whatever shape you are - you need to wear clothes which accentuate that shape.  I am a generous version of the hour-glass.  I have NEVER been that petite, dude-can-sweep-me-into-his arms, flat-chested girl.  I am more of the emphasize-the-tits-and-ass kind of gal.  But that doesn't stop me from wanting to be able to wear all the pretty ballerina-y dresses that my 12 year old daughter can wear.  Of course Rissa actually IS a ballerina with little to no body fat on her.

I know, I know - women always want what they don't have.  If you have large boobs, you want perky boobs, if you have small boobs, you want large ones.  Curly-haired redheads want to have straight raven black or blond hair.  If you have long legs... okay really, who am I kidding, NOBODY wants short legs. 

Once I knew that I had to wear things that fit my shape, life got easier.  And then when Mad Men came on?  I was pretty much in Nirvana!!!  Curvaceous women celebrated on television?

1960s-inspired clothing actually IN stores?  A freaking dream come true for girls like me.  I embrace my curves.  There are tonnes of women who don't.  Women who think they're hiding what they consider figure-flaws by wearing baggy clothing and un-flattering undergarments.  These women are wrong.

My Mum came downstairs one day wearing a forest green velour upscale tracksuit (just even typing those adjectives make me shudder) she had received from a family friend who was cleaning out her closet.

"Look what I got - it's practically new!!"

"Mum it doesn't FIT you.  It's too big in the shoulders, the bust - the hips -  it's too big EVERYWHERE.

"Oh... it's fine."

"Mum the pants are ginormous on you."

And then Rissa walked into the room "Wow, Mor-Mor - that's a LOT of crotch!"    This observation held so much more weight than anything I could say.  The tracksuit has been retired.

You've got to kiss a lot of a**holes

THERE WILL BE ADULT LANGUAGE IN THIS POST

Every girl experiences it.  Asshole Douchebaggery.  Behaviours that change the way a gal sees the world of potential romantic interests.  It happened to me when I was 18.  I  had a string of bad luck.

First there was "Kevin the Asshole." We met doing summer musical theatre at Rainbow Stage. If you think about it, the odds were that he should have been geeky or gay (or both), not an asshole.  I had an inkling he wasn't terribly committed to a monogamous relationship when he decided that a good way to make us closer would be to have a menage a trois with one of my best friends.  I thought I'd call his bluff, but he wasn't bluffing.  AWKWARD.

So I broke up with him.  Later, at a University of Winnipeg theatre social, I ran into his ex-girlfriend.  Me being the kind of girl I am, I said, "I think we broke up with the same guy."  To which she replied "How long did you date Kevin?"  "About 8 months."  pause, two, three... "I've been seeing him for 2 years."  That there? That would be the sound of the other shoe, which I didn't know even existed, dropping.

Yep - there were at least two of us - if not more.  Turns out Kevin the Asshole explained me to her as "A little puppy who just wouldn't take the hint."  And her to me as "an ex-girlfriend who just won't let go."  He gave us the same Hudson Bay Teddy Bears for Christmas (remember those snuggly white bears with the red scarves?), the Valentine's Day rose I gave to him, he gave to her.  The Valentine's handcuffs I gave to him, he USED with her. It was... illuminating - if that word meant soul-destroying.

I borrowed my friend Heidi's car and the other girlfriend and I drove down to The Keg where Kevin worked.  We found Kevin's section and sat patiently, waiting for an opportunity to converse with him.  To his credit, he was fairly calm when we greeted him.  Didn't panic.  Almost nonchalant as he said he'd "get his stuff and then we could talk."  And then he escaped through the kitchen.  A coward AND an asshole.

The other girlfriend and I drove back to the social, commiserating all the way.  How could we have been so stupid, so blind?  How could we not know??  When we arrived back at the social, Kevin was waiting for us.  "I didn't want you both showing up at my house (he still lived with his parents), so I figured I'd come here and let you yell at me."  That's when other girlfriend and I devolved into shrieking harpies and he stood there, oh-so-calmly taking it.  "You broke up with ME, Heather, I don't see the issue.  How can you be angry?"  At one point, when we had finally taken a breath in our haranguing, he said, "I need a drink.  Why don't you girls wait here to think up other things that you can blame me for."  And he walked into the social.   I, honest to God, saw RED.   I followed him in, shoved him in the middle of his back and cuffed him on the side of his head.  And then I ranted.  I don't remember what I said, but what was important was that it was loud,  incredibly dramatic and crowd-captivating.  I then took another swing at him which he ducked.  After that, he ceased to exist for me.  It was the strangest thing.  I looked at him and had no emotional response to him at all. The sad part?  At the end of the night, I saw him still trying to work his magic with the other girl.  And even sadder?  I saw her falling for it.

Shortly after Kevin the Asshole, there was "Older Dude Who Wanted a Hummer in his Car."  My dad was a Lt. Colonel in the Air Force.  On occasion I might go to events with my parents at the Officer's Mess.  This one time a Capt. who taught with my Dad at the Nav School hit on me.  I was 18.  He was about a dozen years older than me.  AND, (I'm sure you can guess this part)... He was married.  As Rissa would say "CREEPER."

And right after that, there was "Dude with no Moral Compass."  I was at a family cottage, hanging with my older cousins and their friends who were in their mid-twenties.  We were enjoying a nice bonfire - some folks having some laughs - roasting marshmallows, drinking beverages.  I was a bit tipsy, I won't lie.  One of the guys, a good-looking and affable gent, asked if I'd like to go for a walk.  On this walk he became, shall we say, amorous.  As he kissed me, something was kicking around in the back of my tipsy mind.   

Wait a second... this guy is married!!!  And like NEWLY married, like only a YEAR married.
"HEY!  You're MARRIED!"

"Baby, that should bother me, it shouldn't bother you."

REALLY?!?  I mean, Really? 

And then... I didn't date anyone for about a year.  I needed to regroup.  I'd been wounded and had turned into one of those girls who would say "All men are assholes." Finding myself spouting pejorative cliches made me crazy, but I totally had facts to back that shit up.  It was a LOOOOOOONG time before I was willing to trust anyone, but eventually it happened.  I dated again, I even fell in love and eventually,  I found THE ONE and his name was David.  And I can say with complete certainty that David, is NOT an asshole.