Surprises

It’s snowing this morning.  Am I thankful for snow?  Not particularly.  All it’s doing is a) making walking the dog more difficult and b) supporting my procrastinatory ways in allowing me another excuse not to plant the garden (albeit a good one).  Besides, I was a good girl and took the winter (studded) tires off of my vehicle already, so if the snow keeps up, it will be slow going on the roads.  Not to mention all the maniacs out there refusing to change their driving styles despite the distinct change in weather pattern. 

So, I don’t actually tend to like surprises very much.  I’m not a big fan of the overwhelming emotion that surprises stir up in me.  I guess it’s probably a control thing.  I go out of my way to make sure I am not surprised.  I knew about the surprise baby shower that my friend threw for me before I had Sweetman; not that it was difficult to find out given that one of my classmates at the time sent out an email about the shower on our education listserv that I was, of course, subscribed to.  She made me promise to delete the email without reading it.  Do you think I read it?  Of course I read it!  Do you not know me at all?!  First of all, I’m nosey as all hell.  I like to be in the know about shit.  Even if it’s not my business.  I’m just curious is all.  So, I read the email, and boy was I glad that I did!  Knowing provided for two more benefits other than emotional control: I was able to dress appropriately.  I mean, jeez, I mighta shown up in my sweats otherwise (I was six months pregnant, after all), and there would have been fifty of my closest friends, family members, classmates, and coworkers.  No thanks! Instead, I prettied myself up good-like, in so much as I could in my whalish state at the time.  And I was retaining some serious water at that point too.   Second, it ensured that I didn’t try to bail out.  I was tired a lot at that point.  And not a big fan of socializing.  I mean, I’m not a big fan of socializing in the first place, so add water retention and all the other shit that goes on when you’re pregnant, and my crankiness level was turned up a notch.  I may very well have tried to tell Chuncho that I wanted to beg off for the evening and go hang out and bbq some other night.  He would then have been forced to tell me that there was a surprise shower waiting for me, and there was no begging off allowed.  Knowing in advance ensured that poor Chuncho wasn’t put in such a position.  I told him later that I knew from the email.  But, to this day, my sweet friend still thinks she pulled the surprise off.

The odd time, though, someone succeeds in surprising me.  As was the case of the surprise visit from Miss Italia several years ago.  And talk about a response from me!  Screaming, jumping up and down, crying.  She did good on that surprise.  And I was wholeheartedly emotionally overwhelmed!  It was wonderful.  And all caught on video, unfortunately! 

The most recent surprise happened on Tuesday night.  Chuncho was working out of town, and so I was making him a late dinner.  He’d phoned to say he was a few minutes away, so I was putting together his quesadilla.  Sweetman met him at the door with his standard, “Booyakasha!”.  Then, he came running to the kitchen, “Mummy, mummy, daddy’s got a puppy!”  I didn’t believe him, “No, no, Sweetman, we’re going to pick the puppy up on Saturday.” Because that was the plan.  Chuncho was heading south, and on Saturday morning, Dea, Sweetman, Brumby and I were gonna head down and pick up the puppy.  Silly me thinking that things would go according to plan!  Again, Sweetman says, “No mummy, daddy’s got a puppy!”  All the while, he’s jumping around like some kind of 42 pound maniac, so I’m thinking that something is making him pretty excited…maybe it’s a neighbour’s dog with Chuncho or something.  But no.  Chuncho, the sneaky bastard, had to go down to the puppy mama’s neck of the woods for work in Tuesday, so he brought the puppy home with him early!  In all honesty, I’m cool that I didn’t have to make the six hour return trip.  I would have really enjoyed meeting the other puppies, but I’m okay with it.  And now, this is the view in my living room:

How can you not love it?  Well, I’m not in love with the big deuce he left on the carpet this morning immediately after he ate breakfast, but at least now I know that his digestive system works FAST! 

Anyways, in my age I am coming to learn that sometimes, surprises ain’t so bad.  And I’m grateful for this week’s puppy surprise (and no more puppy surprises on the carpet, little Mr. Sampy Pants, please and thank-you!)

Chunk

That's right. Today I am thankful for chunk. That beautiful, wonderful squeezable chub that is a baby's thigh, that shows he is growing and healthy and developing the brain of a super genius like Einstein, only with some common sense, too.

That chub tells me that my breastmilk is doing its job; that I am doing my job (well, at least part of it) in creating a healthy new life on this planet.

I mean seriously, how can you not want to just squeeze and love that little hambone?!

I know I have a much larger task ahead of me the rest of Brumby's youth, trying to raise a happy, healthy, well-adjusted man who will respect the women, and indeed, all people, in his life appropriately. But by being thankful, today, for the first step along that road: my wee bebe's brain-developing chub, I'm off to a good start, I think. Go, go magical boobah juice!

Johnny Drama

So. My mother came over for a visit last week. You know, it seems that all of my most interesting posts revolve around my mother. Maybe I could do something similar to a Shit My Dad Says blog, but instead it would be Crazy Talk by My Mother. Anyways. Two things of note: 1) My mother has started smoking again. She hasn't smoked since I was, oh, about nine years old. So, in well over twenty years. What caused the sudden switch? You got it, hanging around with The Drunk. She is so contradictory it kills me. Here she is busy tramping through the sub-boreal forest to find deciduous tree conks so that she can make nasty assed tea out of them because they are supposed to be ever so healthy; she's growing her own sprouts; she's making serious overtures to eat healthier because she's trying to manage her thyroid problem without prescription medication. And then she SMOKES?! What kind of sense does that make? Henhouse chicken crazy kind of sense, that's what. Okay, so that's the first thing of note. The second thing is this: she seriously believes that when I was vaccinated against the H1N1 virus, I was also implanted with a government tracking chip because the needle was bigger than your average flu shot needle. Help me Jebus. I asked her why. She said, "so the government can track you." I told her that your average flu-shot getting person isn't a criminal and so why would the government spend a bajillion dollars implanting chips in the general populace (I mean seriously, that kind of nanotechnology ain't cheap and we've got serious debt problems already). She said, "Look up Alex Jones, he'll explain it." I haven't looked up Alex Jones. I'm sure that he is some manner of educated conspiracy theorizing crackpot. Truth be told, I'm a little bit nervous to look up Alex Jones. What if he's, like, seriously crazy. Then what do I think about my mother?! I can't think about it anymore.

So, I have been really irregular about the whole blogging business lately; I've allowed it to go to the back burner now that the end-semester break is over and my newest course is back in full swing. So, I was thinking that I have to have a goal in mind in order to motivate myself to blog regularly. No, I'm not going to blog about my mother! Well, ok, I totally will sometimes, but it won't be my motivating factor. Instead, I am going to try to blog daily about something that makes me thankful/happy/positive/grateful each day. In an attempt to think positively and bring positivity into my present state of mind, I will be forthcoming each day with a tidbit of positivity. Because a positive state of mind is important, and I have this tendency towards sarcasm and negativity.

Today I am thankful for technology. No, not nanotechnology floating through my bloodstream allowing covert government ops to track my every move (and boy would they be bored…there she goes to the laundry room again. Now she's in the bathroom. She sits her ass on that couch in front of that laptop an awful lot, I think I'll take a nap). No, I am thankful for baby monitor technology. The kind that allows me to sit here typing this while listening to my little Brumby falling asleep. It will also allow me to go downstairs later and watch part 9 of The Pacific knowing that if my sweet little bebe makes a peep, I will hear it. It will give me the freedom to go outside any evening this week that I choose to plant my garden in the backyard. Or have a shower without imagining that I might be hearing him crying out there. This technology gives me freedom, and tonight, I am thankful for that freedom.

the most boring meme in the universe

Okay, this is what you do:

1. go to google dot com
2. type in each letter of the alphabet, one at a time
3. tell us what the first thing in your search history is

a - air canada
b - best buy canada
c - canadian tire
d - dictionary
e - ebay
f - facebook
g - gmail
h - hotmail
i - ikea
j - job bank
k - kijiji
l - london drugs
m - mapquest
n - nhl
o - olympics 2010
p - plenty of fish
q - quotes
r - rbc online banking
s - scotiabank
t - td canada trust
u - urban dictionary
v - vancouver 2010
w - weather network
x - xs cargo
y - youtube

DISCLAIMER: I share this computer with other people, as evidenced by "nhl" in the browser history. And Plenty of Fish?!?!?!? I blame either my mother or Miss Italia. Lastly, I think google gets paid by organizations to put them first in the browser search, because not one, not two, but THREE ban ks that I do not bank with and therefore have never googled show up in there. Lame.

My Family is Fucked

Well, let me clarify, my immediate family that includes Chuncho, Sweetman and the baby, previously known as Bundlekin, heretofore referred to as Brumby, (yes Brumby, no, not that I want him to take on the characteristics of feral Australian horses, it just suits him so well) is not fucked. The rest of them…talk about DYSfunctionAL. Jebus help us all.

First of all, my mother decides she's gonna get all up on her high horse and tell my brother that he ought to get back into contact with my dad (my step-dad) because he hasn't spoken to him in nearly a year. And she informs me that my dad hasn't bothered to contact my brother either, and that I should encourage him to do so. Fair enough. So, when I was home visiting my dad over Easter, I bring it up, and lo and behold, my dad a) sent my brother a Christmas gift, b) sent him a birthday gift, and c) called and left my brother a message on his birthday as well. None of which my brother has acknowledged. Quel surprise.

So, then of course I set my mother straight on the matter, and all she could come up with was that my dad was "always rude" to my brother when he was a teenager and never wanted me or my brother to have any friends over when we were growing up. First off, I'll admit, I wasn't around when my brother was a teenager; he was only eleven when I moved out. But I don't remember my mother needing to fight with my dad in order for us to be allowed to have friends over. What I do remember is never being allowed to go anywhere as a teenager because my mom had so much faith in me she figured if she let me out of the house I'd get myself knocked up like she did. Selective memory I guess. But between my dad not wanting friends over and my mom not wanting to let me out of the house it's fairly amazing I had any friends at all????!

And then, my mother has the good sense to drag my aunt (my dad's sister) into the whole situation, asking her to encourage my dad to seek out contact with my brother. And then my mother informs me that my aunt said she doesn't blame my brother for not wanting contact with my dad thanks to the influence his new fiancée has on him????! I don't know what the fuck that is supposed to mean, but first things first: my dad is no different, for better or worse, than he ever was; his new fiancée has not changed him. Secondly, the new fiancée could not be more like my mother unless she was my mother. Red haired, opinionated, dominating over my dad, just Irish instead of Scottish. And my mom spells and understands the processes of written grammar and punctuation better.

So, apparently my dad was so terrible to my brother that my mom eventually told my brother to stop listening to what my dad said to him. That couldn't possibly have anything to do with things, no. Nothing like one parent undermining the other. So much for presenting a united front. And, if she thought my dad was so terrible to my brother and all the while she was also so fucking unhappy, why, then, did she not just pack the two of them up and get the fuck outta dodge? That's what I'd like to know. But, I wasn't there, so I don't get to have an opinion. I'm stuck down in the trenches, the sole line of defense of my dad's parenting skills and parental love. Seriously. This is a guy who, when he was only twenty years old, took me in and proceeded to treat me like nothing less than his own kid. This is the guy who treated his actual kid so poorly? I'm pretty decent at math, and I'm sorry, but this math just don't add up. How much you wanna bet my dad said shit like, "Son you gotta man up and stop playing so many effing video games, get out and do something with your life!" Yeah, poor parenting, wanting his kid to grow up and become a contributing member of society. Again, only conjecture on my part. And my brother might not have contacted my dad recently, but then, maybe he hasn't had any car trouble recently…

I'd like to put my brother and Chuncho's dad in a room together and see what happens. That would be a fun social experiment. It would amuse me; maybe not my brother. "What's the matter? Are you mute? Do you have the power of verbal communication?" Don't get me wrong here. I love my brother. I basically supported the guy for the better part of a year until he got his shit together and found a job here. Sure, I had to give him some tough love, but the fact of the matter is that is what he'd been missing. My mom has basically handed him everything he's ever needed on a silver platter. She even borrowed money from my grandfather (my dad's dad) while he was still alive to help pay my brother's bills when he couldn't support himself in Vancouver. All without my dad's knowledge (while they were still together). And now my brother has this horribly unattractive expectation that he is owed something from the universe without working for it. I want to slap that attitude of entitlement right off his face.

Hey, I'm no angel. I made probably more than my fair share of mistakes when dealing with my parental units over the years. I used to go home and visit my boyfriend and not tell my parents I was in town, and then someone they knew would see me on the street and tell them I'd been home. Classy, I know. But by the time I was twenty-eight years old I had my shit together: I no longer blamed my parents for the mistakes we ALL made when I was a teenager, and I made concerted efforts at maintaining positive relationships with my parental units (which is considerably more difficult for me than for my brother given that I have twice as many of them). Sometimes that meant forgiving and forgetting when I really didn't want to. Sometimes that meant keeping my mouth shut when I really wanted to yell. Loud. Sometimes it meant hearing things I didn't want to hear from one parent or another, and agree or disagree, recognizing that whatever they said was borne out of a place of love for me. That being said, also at age twenty-eight, I was well along a career path, married, and about to start a family. My brother is none of those things. Maybe he's just taking a bit longer to mature. Maybe there's hope for him yet. I hope so.

Oh, and on a completely unrelated note, before I forget: the RCMP are not above overt obfuscation in their attempt to bust you for speeding! On our way home from Easter, we saw a ghost car with a new driver "N" in its rear window with a speeder pulled over. Now, somehow, I highly doubt that good officer was actually a new driver. Just FYI.

memes are the new black.

Hi, my name is: Booches. Yes, that's my real name (no, it's not, don't be foolish)

1. Never in my life have I been: to Disneyland. Doesn't bother me. Many other places I'd rather go first.

2. The one person who can drive me nuts is: Chuncho when he "plays the cat". That's when he treats my cat like an accordian and he sounds like all of his appendages are being simultaneously broken.

3. High school: university kicked high school's ass

4. When I’m nervous: I clam up. Because if I open my mouth, I will start talking and not know when to stop, and then I'll overshare whilst inside my head I'm screaming, "SHUT UP YOU FOOL! SHUT! UP! OHMYGOD I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU JUST SAID THAT? I WANT TO CRAWL IN A HOLE AND DIE!" Clamming up is just...better. For everyone.

5. The last song I listened to was: "men men men men manly men men men. men men men men men, ooo ooo"

6. If I were to get married right now my best man/maid of honor: been there, done that. very little would change. Miss Italia would simply be added to the roster.

7. My hair is: at a stinky gross in between phase that I don't love at all. I will be pleased as all get out when it's past this evil shoulder area that causes the evil flip out.

8. When I was 5: my favourite shirt was pink and said "kiss me, i'm a princess"

9. Last Christmas: we were at home and it was Gideon's first Christmas. I made easy pseudo turkey dinner and it was a lovely day.

10. I should be..: working on my strategic plan. but i'm not.

11. When I look down I see: slippers

12. The happiest recent event was: a fun visit with Miss Italia

13. If I were a character on 'Friends' I would be: hmmm....probably Ross, I guess. Science Geek.

14. By this time next year: I will be back at work. Weird.

15. My current gripe is: drivers that don't understand the difference between yield and merge. I want to ram the shit out of people that are STOPPED in the merge lane.

16. I have a hard time understanding: theoretical physics. I did try to read A Brief History of Time but I just couldn't force myself to give a fuck.

17. There’s this girl I know that: tries to earn mens' favour by offering them massages all the time. It's weird and creepy. But I'm glad she doesn't offer them to me.

18. If I won an award, the first person I would tell would be: Chuncho, of course.

19. Take my advice: or don't

20. The thing I want to buy: a new crackberry. a shiny purple one.

21. If you visited the place I was born: you would find a big wooden man made of logs fashioned in the image of a dude who likes to chop logs down. The irony is amusing to me.

22. I plan to visit: my dad this weekend.

23. If you spent the night at my house: I hope you aren't allergic to cats. Or dust.

24. I’d stop my wedding if: too late.

25. The world could do without: cameltoes. wear pants that fit, people.

26. I’d rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: sing in public.

27. Most recent thing I’ve bought myself: shampoo and shampoo. that's what i get for not paying attention.

28. Most recent thing someone else bought me: a skor ice cream waffle cone thingie. i meant i wanted a skor bar, but that worked too.

29. My favorite blonde is: reese witherspoon. actually that's the first blonde that came to mind because of "Legally Blonde".

30. My favorite brunette is: are these supposed to be men or women? I pick Christian Bale.

31. My favorite red head is: an asshole sometimes.

32. My middle name is: hard for most people to pronounce.

33. In the morning I: need caffeinated beverage.

34. The animals I would like to see flying besides birds are: pigs. shit could happen then!

35. Once, at a bar: I was dancing inappropriately and inebriatedly and I fell on my ass. I can't believe I just admitted that. It haunts me, but in a funny way now since that was like a decade ago.

36. Last night I was: watching Friends reruns.

37. There’s this guy I know who: is the son of a guy who always write these awful, bigoted, narrow-minded letters to the editor of our paper. it makes me question the values of the guy i know.

38. If I was an animal I’d be: a cat of course! probably a cranky siamese cat. smart, attractive, and bitchy.

39. A better name for me would be: I have no idea. I think I suit my name pretty well.

40. Tomorrow I am: gonna finish the laundry and pack for our trip.

41. Tonight I am: going to watch another episode of Lost that will probably annoy the holy hell outta me, but I look forward to it anyways. I like the Locke Monster. He's cool.

42. My birthday is: to be avoided this year. I'd like to stay 34 for awhile. Mid thirties is not ok with me. I am so NOT a mid thirties spirit.

People Suck, and Other Things

So, there I was, in the drive-thru line at Starbuck's and what do I see? I see a middle aged woman driving a cornflower blue PT Cruiser throw a LIT cigarette out of her window at the window before she drove away. Said lit cigarette then wafted the lovely smell of cigarette smoke up in through the drive through window, and into my window when I drove up. What is the matter with people?! I don't judge smokers. I was a smoker once, I understand that it is a hard habit to kick. That being said, if you are going to make the decision to smoke, then do it responsibly and use your goddamned ashtray for fuck's sake!! Is that so hard? Anyways, I got out of my van and put the cigarette out, and then had a nice cathartic conversation with the Starbucks barrista about how much people suck. Working in customer service, she, of course, has many "people suck" stories. You know, the kind that make you want to run down your street spitting fire. J

Yesterday was St. Patrick's Day. It was also Beardog's birthday. So, I packed the fam up, and out we went to visit Beardog's grave. I lit some candles and incense, and left a doggie biscuit on his cairn. It's a place I go to simultaneously mourn and feel close to both Beardog and Chuck. It is going to be difficult for me when Chuck's place is eventually sold and that connection is lost for me. Dan and I were going to dig Beardog up and have him cremated so that his ashes could be put together with Chuck's, but his family requested that we not do that. Apparently they don't think Chuck would have wanted it. However, they cremated Chuck, so that whole thing confuses me. However, it is important to me to respect the wishes of his family. I guess it's just that a part of me is selfish. Yes, Beardog was Chuck's dog, but I felt like he was my dog, too, and I think that Chuck would want to do this for me, given that he's not here anymore either. But I guess it's moot, really. The fact of the matter is that I thought losing Beardog was going to be the most difficult thing I had to deal for awhile. I never, in a million years, thought I would be mourning both Chuck and Beardog at the same time.

Part of me doesn't know what to do with my grief, and so I'm going to stuff it full of a floppy, drooly, lovely little English Mastiff puppy. He should be born sometime next week, and we'll bring him home at the end of May.

My mother came over for a visit last night. Luckily, she came alone. Otherwise, Chuncho may very well have turned her away at the door if she'd had her rehab-failing beau with her. And I say rehab-failing because last night my mother informed me that after spending 3 months in a rehabilitation facility, this dude proceeded to spend the following two weeks at my mother's apartment DRINKING. Yep, that's right. And she did not stop him because "he's an adult and he can do as he pleases", she says out of one side of her mouth, while the other is saying, "What kind of friend would I be if I just abandoned him when he needs me?" I'm sorry, but are these two statements not completely opposing? Also, they are "just friends". He spends the week nights at the mens' shelter, and the weekends staying with mom. But his is not sleeping on the futon in the living room. In the ever so wise words of Chuncho, "friends with benefits". I guess. Pretty fucked up can of worms, if you ask me. I did my daughterly duty and told my mom that I was concerned for he, and she told me that there was no need to worry. I then told her that I was concerned that he was using her (given that the guy doesn't have a vehicle or a driver's license, it's pretty handy that my mom has both of these things and uses them to shuttle him hither and to, sometimes as far as 4 hours away to court hearings he has in other cities). He response, "Well, I'm not concerned about that", in a very this is the end of this conversation sort of tone. She also told me that rehab failer would very much like to meet us all. First of all, I can tell you with 100% certaintly, that the only part of Chuncho with any interest in meeting him is the end of his fist. I felt that I was very diplomatic in my response, stating that I thought it would be better to wait, that I was not comfortable with meeting him at the present time, and that he needs to be sober for awhile longer, have his life together, and not be living in a mens shelter before I'd consider meeting him. I think that left it fairly open-ended should I choose to never change my mind on the matter.

And on an opposing coin-side, something to be very very excited for: a visit from the Lovely Miss Italia!!! I pick her up from the airport this evening. The cat dander removal mission is 98% complete, and all I've yet to do is a quick swiffer antibacterial of the upstairs floors, which I'll do this afternoon while Chuncho and Sweetman swim. I am so looking forward to this visit. It is long overdue, and much needed. She still has not met the Bundlekin, either. Speaking of Bundlekin, we've come up with another cute nickname for him: Brumby. So awesome. I think this one may completely supercede Bundlekin. It's a Kiwi term for wild horse, though, so not sure what we may be getting ourselves into with that connection, but we shall see. In any case, it is time to take Sweetman to dance class, so I'm off and running. Au revoir.