On the Brink of War.

Ever think you have a little person living inside your head, telling you what to do, what to think, how to go about your daily meanderings and most of all – sowing doubt in your mind? No? Good. Then you’re better off than me.

The happy thing is - I have come to terms with it. It's not like I need to take medication for it or anything. I think everyone has some kind of Little Person inside their heads. Some just choose to listen to it once in a while.

I call this little person The Little Person Living Inside My Head. And I’ve been ignoring the little person’s bid for attention for a couple of days now. It bites, it gnaws, it hurls things at me when I decide to stop paying attention. Then I get mad and tell it to go away. It usually works.

Last couple of weeks, it didn’t. Hence no posts. I’m back, now. Soon, the 2006 retrospective. Blah.

Findings in Cleaning House and Other Distractions.

Don’t get me wrong. It is not the first time I vacuum since we’ve arrived here. It’s just the first time I do it properly. Don’t look at me that way. I am lazy. I do it properly more often than not. Oh, shove off.

(Wait – was I having a conversation with the little person living inside my head again? Sorry about that, throng of readers. Carry on.)

It pains me to even think of vacuuming properly ever again, because – oooh having four floors is fantastically awesome – but goddammit (my spell check tells me this should be spelled g-o-l-d-s-m-i-t-h) I had to plug the vacuum cleaner in three different outlets – three! – to vacuum all of the stairs. Breathe in, Caro, breathe out. Little person living inside my head, I suggest you go get dressed and quit whining. What? No. You don’t look sexy in a loincloth. Now go.

(Again, I apologize, numerous fans.)

There are 20 steps total in this house, divided in 3 staircases, one of which angles at some point. When I go up the stairs, it angles to the right. When I go down the stairs, it angles to the left. Very strange. It’s like one of those Escher drawings. Anyway. The vacuum’s tube is not long, so after I’ve vacuumed the bottom two steps, I have to hold the vacuum up in the air with one arm, and vacuum vigorously (it’s carpeted stairs) with the other hand. Okay, granted, this is a petty whining topic, but it pisses me off! I just had to write a post about it. I know someone somewhere is agreeing with me right now, sitting in front of their PC (…or Mac) nodding and remembering it’s about time they vacuum too. Sorry for reminding you. I recommend going home after work tonight, having a glass of wine, and completely discarding the thought from your mind. Okay, maybe two glasses of wine. Drink half the bottle. Then you can do something else and not feel guilty. Oh - and about those vacuum tubes? My whole life, I’ve thought these things look like elephant’s trunks. Especially those fabric-covered ones, just like on my grandmother’s old Electrolux. But that is beside the point.

The Two and the Twenty-Three.

Today, I am cooking. Okay, okay, I am also knitting. I knit every day. Too much knitting to do before Xmas. Gotta get these gifts ready in time...but in between the knitting and the watching Battlestar Galactica, I am making cretons for fun and also ragoût de veau for tonight’s dinner. I have to get dressed this afternoon (yes – I am still in my jammies, get off my case) and get a decent bottle of wine at the SAQ. I’m thinking a nice Beaujolais or a Pinot Noir. Mmmm. Yesss. Definitely a Pinot Noir. Today is our 1st month anniversary living in our new home. We still think it rocks.

What rocks less is last night. We had our first annual general meeting of co-owners. About 25 people in a small room at the University, sitting around tables arranged in a big rectangle, butts hurting for three hours because of the conference chairs (which, I admit, could have been worse, they could have been plastic chairs). Twenty-three of these people were at ease or at least looked it. Twenty-three of these people were well-off, probably upper middle class (or higher), and discussed important issues about expenditures, investments, budgets, special kiss-my-ass budgets for new windows and doors, and air-conditioning systems. Twenty five not-too-pleased people found out they would need to fork out between seven and ten and a half thousand – thousand – dollars next year at this time to replace windows and doors for the whole block. There was an election.

Two of these people went home, had martinis, and played tennis and bowling and golf on their new Wii.

A Girl Walks Into a Fabric Store...

…with her better half. Today, he IS her better half because he, unlike her, does not have shooting pain in his back, uterus, or buttocks. He is the picture of cool. His hair looks good. In one word, he is hot. He, ladies and gentlemen, unlike his not-so-better-half, does not feel like strangling the woman entering the store behind them because of her incessant throat-clearing.

The girl gets irritated and impatient because her better half does not seem interested in looking at the drapes at all, which is the sole purpose of being in this store. She reminds herself she is not interested either when they take mandatory monthly trips to Future Shop to look at video games and the X-Box 360. You know, just to go have a look. So she tries to make it quick. Understand your man.

Long story short, we got drapes. They look good in the package. They’re somewhat what I was looking for, although not exactly the color scheme or texture I was hoping for. The color scheme I ogled over for was not on sale, and cost three times the price we paid for what we bought.

Now you’re all caught up on my home life, I’ll let you sit there and be happy for me while I go stare at the new curtains in their plastic packages.

I never thought I could write better half so many times in one post. Says a lot.

The One with the James Mason Impersonation.

The weather is crappy, I am a housewife, and I have too many projects: I really don’t know where to start.

Okay, technically, I am not a housewife. I am just a girl who stays at home, bakes, makes her boyfriend’s lunch in the morning, puts little notes in it, does laundry, makes dinner, and cleans up. Also, I knit, and have started talking to my cat. Closest thing to a housewife I’ve ever encountered. But I like it. Why does all this sound familiar?

Talking to the cat is not really a problem: I’ve been doing it close to 3 years now. The problem is he now answers me, in a James Mason voice. (Click here to see one of my favorite comics, Eddie Izzard. He’s doing James Mason as John F. Kennedy. Couldn’t find any James Mason sound clips.) Well, I do the voice. I’m just pretending the cat talks like James Mason. And he ends all his sentences with: “puny human”. So a conversation with the cat sounds like: “Oh, Boo, why do you do that? You are so cute, all on your back like that. Cute little minou. You cute little minou thing, you. Yesss.” He then answers (in the James Mason voice): “Quit whining, bitch, and feed me my yummies. Can’t you see I’m being cute for a specific reason, puny human?”

Don’t judge me. He’s my entertainment, because I do not watch television.

So before I started telling you about my delusions, I was saying I have too many projects. I’m thinking of starting …a list. Shit, this does sound familiar! I’ve gone full circle. I’ve run out of things to talk about. Better get cracking and get interesting things happening!

The One About Seeing.

I have never been the type of person to hold back tears just to look good or strong; I cry when I need to. I'll cry at a funeral. I'll cry at a wedding, if it's two people I love getting married. I’m just saying – I’ve been at a wedding where it was a friend getting married to a complete idiot, and I did not cry at that particular wedding.

I cried on Saturday, because they played The Last Post on Radio-Canada as part of Remembrance Day coverage. Last time I had heard that, I was at my grandfather’s funeral, at the National Military Cemetary. The monument he designed lies feet away from where he does. So I cried for him. I’m proud of him. That's him unveiling the monument two years ago:

A friend recently told me she was celebrating a broken heart. She said the sorrows in her life she could think about with a smile instead of a sharp pain in her heart were the ones she had cried all the tears in the world for. She wished me tears to help with the pain and avoid festering of the wound. I thought that was the wisest wish I had ever gotten. Her celebrating her broken heart was also a pleasant surprise for me – how can you celebrate having your heart broken? So I went back upstairs, had a cup of coffee, and tried to make sense of it.

Then it just hit me, and I understood. He does not weep who does not see. I can’t take the credit for that one – Victor Hugo said it.

I’m celebrating my grief by giving it a name. I am celebrating, because although this pain is sharp and had all kinds of edges, it goes down easier if I look at it with a smile. I see, therefore I weep.

So, friend, you know who you are, thank you for the wish.

Happier Post.

I got stuff done today. Which is good.

Being at home is good for me right now. It is giving me time to think. It is giving me time to appreciate what I do have rather than what I am missing. It’s also creating a much needed special protective padding around me: I can shield myself from inquisitive eyes, mouths and ears. I can live through this day by day, at my own pace. And being able to do that is crucial to me. Voilà.

Today: good day. I went for a walk to the yarn store this morning (really, it’s sad I live about 5 minutes walking distance from it…very sad) and got yarn my mom needed as well as a special treat for myself. My friends came over to knit, drink tea and eat cookies they baked for us. I learned how to knit that pattern I just couldn’t wrap my head around (maybe I should have tried wrapping it around my head). We agreed we have Christmas knitting to do, so we made this a weekly date. I made chicken broth. I am having a friend over for drinks tonight. Life is good.

I am sitting in the baby’s room, and I’m ok.

A Lion In Its Cage.

Rediscovered the web this morning after nearly two weeks without a computer. Moving deprived me of a fantastical world of…stuff. Replied to my e-mails. Looked up felted clogs pattern and did not find it. Read blogs. Wrote The Great Bookscape post. Got an e-mail from a friend’s mom asking me if I’ve given birth yet and how am I doing. Realized it was time for lunch. Was not hungry. Tried to find out how to revive my potted azalea that is slowly dying. Had my vegetable curry for lunch at 12:45. Ate it all, ate too much. I make good vegetable curry.

Have to work up the courage to do some laundry.

It is raining and blustery out, I do not want to go for a walk as originally planned. I am not masochistic. Good to know.

Feel like knitting. Pulled out a project, dropped it on the table and stared at it. Maybe I should cast on for a new project. That cotton/linen blend I bought yesterday, perhaps. I just don’t know what to knit with it yet. Thought of making coffee. Checked pulse. Racing. Coffee not a good plan. Picked up a book instead. Don’t feel like fantasy. Maybe I missed something on the web. Better go check again. Went down one floor too many, ended up in my bedroom. The bed is very tempting. Stared at the bed for a second. Picked up laundry basket instead. It’s filled with mittens and scarves and the thingamabobber to store them in the closet. Trying to work up the will to go organize mittens and scarves in the hall closet upstairs. Writing this instead. I think I’ll have some of that Kusmi tea. It’ll warm me up inside.

Just say it. Write what is really on your mind. This is your therapy. You have to grieve. You have to write. Your throng of readers won’t mind. They can always close the window if they don’t want to read this post. You need to write this down. It’s driving you mad.

I am sitting in the baby’s room.

It was occupied by my seven-week old niece over the last couple of days, and there are ever so subtle remnants of her sweet baby smell. I try to catch them when they pass, but I inhale them too quickly and the bliss disappears instantly. My sister, her husband and my niece came over last Sunday and while they were picking up their gear and getting ready to leave early Monday morning, I was looking after the baby. She was lying on her back on a thick blanket on the living room table. She is so tiny. Gabrielle was tinier, I thought. And just when I thought that and was trying to block the image I have of her in my mother’s arms, the baby looked at me and smiled a smile that never ended. My eyes filled up with tears. I felt like she could sense my thoughts and could see Gabrielle in my eyes. She just kept smiling and staring into my eyes like she knew, at that precise moment, exactly what was going through my mind and was trying to tell me everything would be ok. I was having a breakdown I did not expect.

This room does not look like a baby’s room yet. There is a dismantled crib in a corner with the little mattress propped up against it. The rocking chair is in the middle of the room with stuff on it. There are six bins in the closet filled with baby clothes and other baby items. I had to put them away, I could not have them piled up in this space staring at me until I can empty them and put their contents to good use. I could still see where we had applied masking tape and written Gabrielle. The ink marked the plastic, and her name is forever written on six plastic bins in the baby’s room closet. I miss her.

Happier post to come. I promise.

The Great Bookscape.

I found this on J's blog, and thought it was the best thing I'd heard of all day (it's still early).

From zombiesquirrels.blogspot:

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 4 sentences on your blog along with these instructions.
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.

"The guards," Moiraine muttered as if to herself. "I saw them in the corridor still, and never thought." She smoothed her dress, composing herself with an obvious effort. Elayne did not believe she had ever seen Moiraine so out of herself as tonight.

Great. Now people will think I read cheesy porn.
The first book I found had a graph on page 123. Crap.

Gabrielle

Dear few who read this blog,

I did not know how to do this. I did not even know if I would continue this blog. But I have decided it is a good idea to keep on going, and this entry is unfortunately not a happy one. I had to notify K, I did not want her finding out here. H and I lost our baby girl, Gabrielle.

I had not felt her move since the night before. I decided not to be alarmed. I had a long day at work, I was tired, and figured I had been too busy to feel her kicking. When I called the clinic the next morning, I was told it was better to show up at the delivery room to get monitoring for a while just to make sure everything was ok. When two nurses did not find her heartbeat, a sonogram was done. We are still reeling from the shock of not seeing her little heart beat in black and white on that monitor. I think we will be for a while. I delivered her Friday, the 13th, at 1:30 a.m., at 28 weeks of pregnancy. The autopsy revealed the umbilical cord was too tight about 1 cm from her belly, making it impossible for food and air to make it through. This is a complete fluke, and is not something that could have been foreseen or prevented. We are relieved to have an answer to this - we were told in 60 to 70% of cases, there was no answer, no cause, no relief. I am glad this is not unexplicable. It would have made it all tougher. We got to see her, we got an answer to our disbelief and sorrow, and we know it will be ok next time.

We are doing well. We have not given up our desire to start a family. We just need a little time for the stars to align again, and we'll try again with hope and excitement.

We're packing up the appartment. The big move to our new condo is on Saturday. It's very exciting to move into a new home, and a welcome beginning to a new chapter in our lives.

Away.

I took the train so fast it seems like I barely hung up the phone after my mom called me. The 36 hours between her call and my boarding the train were filled with a bunch of things that I now only vaguely remember. All I know is that I am now at mom's place until next Sunday.

Grieving does that. A time warp migrates into your life, replaces time as you usually know it and suddenly, it's two weeks later. You've planned and held a funeral, a burial, and you're back into you everyday routine. Except you've got one less person in your life.

This person, in my mom's case, is her dad. It is weird for me to help my mom through what I have already been through. I can only be here for her and give her what she needs in the moment. The day no longer grinds minutes away, it grinds moments. A moment this morning when we were both up at four a.m. and met in the kitchen at five. A moment when the catering business was finalized for Friday's funeral. A moment when we determined she had called everyone she needed to call.

I cannot make this go away, I cannot bring him back. I cannot completely dry her tears, she needs to cry them for the healing process to begin. I need to cry them too - I was very close to my grandfather. I shed tears when the call came. But not since. I think it's because I am relieved. I am relieved he does not have to suffer in silence anymore, watching the world go by from the bottom of his Alzheimer-riddled well. Last time I saw him, he didn't talk anymore. I'm pretty sure a lot of it was his medication. But even though he was close to catatonic, there were his smart blue eyes.

For just a moment, I saw him look at me and a vague wave of rememberance flashed by, ever so slowly. He smiled and tears welled up in his eyes. I know he knew it was me. Because he held me tight in his arms and looked at me again.

What I Meant Was...

Yesterday’s post was meant as an affirmation, not an admission of fear gripping me… ;o)
Let me explain.

Someone very close to me gave birth last Friday. And I got into a conversation with someone, or rather – someone started talking AT me about how I should deal with my pregnancy and giving birth. This person told me all about my fears and they knew how I felt and take it one contraction at a time and blah blah take advantage of every moment you have and blah you should be grateful for everything you have and…totally unsolicited, all this advice from a newly graduated pro of parenthood was poured into my ear.

I just felt like screaming right back at this person: “Let’s get one thing straight. You are not a tenant of my brain or my heart. I’d be making more cash if you were. You do not know how I feel. In fact, you are projecting all of your fears onto me right now. I am not afraid of giving birth. I am looking forward to it. I am having an exceptional, healthy, happy pregnancy and the little mini-aches I feel make me smile because they are leading to the birth of my daughter and I already love her. Giving birth is natural, it has been going on for oh – what – millions of years, and fuck you for assuming I am scared. And also, fuck you for being a pro all of a sudden.”

Ahhhh…Sigh. I feel much better. Sorry about that. This person I wanted to scream to I actually like a lot. It was just a condescending way to deal with me, and I do not appreciate being talked to like that. It insults me. But I am too nice to say Fuck You. Voilà.

The comments I got from my Urban Nomad and my favorite Brigitte were most welcome and appreciated, and I completely understand how one could have interpreted yesterday’s post as fear. Fear not, my beautifuls, I am not afraid. I have never felt this strong.

The Absence of the Heebie Jeebies.

I am not afraid.
I will know when it’s go time, and until then I will enjoy every moment of being in this state.
I will not falter. I will not doubt.
I will be supported and loved and encouraged. I will not be told what to do.

I am strong.
I will not listen to lectures from experts.I will not be fazed by other people’s fears.
I will block the naysayers out.
I will give life and receive something too magnificent to describe in return.

I will be a mother. I am not afraid.

The Operative Term Being "Things".

I have to start packing. We’re moving into our new home in…possibly 5 weeks. Seven weeks tops.
I’m just thinking I don’t want to be stuck with last-minute crises.

I’ve been throwing away unnecessary things for the past couple of weeks in preparation for Packing Without Hassle, but it seems everywhere I turn there is more shit lying around. It really isn’t that bad, though. It’s not like there are piles of things everywhere. Things are generally in their place, and the apartment is pretty tidy. But there are things hidden in places where I’ve put them thinking you never know this might be useful some day. And in four years living in this appartment, these hidden things are slowly being discovered, one by one.

The hideous wine-bottle-holder thing I got as a present. It’s hideous. (“Oooohhh thanks! Oh look at that! They look like three little Hobbits dressed up like maître-d’s holding up the bottle!”) I’ve never used it, and would not even re-gift it or put it up for sale in a garage sale. The one use I’ve thought of so far for it is that it would be funny to use as a dildo holder. Three little hobbits sitting on my dresser going: “Look! Your dildos!” But that’s just not my thing for now. The scraps of paper I’ve been piling in a box to reuse. Not happening - I don’t use that much paper after all. The piles of magazines I was stashing in my bookcase, taking up room dedicated to books, books piling up elsewhere. Never going to re-read these magazines. Although I did stare at the ones published days after 9/11, wondering whether to hang on to them or recycle. My mom kept newspaper articles after John Lennon’s death and now I have them…Bah. I think the world will do a fine job of perpetually reminding me of 9/11 from now on, so recycle it is. My recycling bin is now obsolete. I need a container. There are pile of things going to charity, things that have lost their twins/partners/sets, and things I don’t know anything about. So many things. That’s just it, though. They are just things. I can get rid of them. Yes, I can.

I think I’ve come to the point where I need to stand up, introduce myself and admit I’m a pack rat. The first step towards healing is acknowledgement, right? Right.
Unless you make or buy pretty boxes to stuff all the things you like to accumulate.
Then, you become an organized pack rat.

Awake.

It is waaay to fucking early to be awake. I am taking this with a grain of salt, as in a couple of months I will most likely be kept awake by my daughter. So I am seeing this as training. I’ve been up since two a.m. and there are a variety of reasons for this.

Reason One: I think I didn’t do enough pacing yesterday;

Reason Two: I woke up at two in the morning because my Princess Frog was boxing my bladder and something else I have not yet identified and I never got back to sleep after having gotten up to pee and been harassed by the cat who was very happy to have someone to talk to that early in the day, and therefore attempting to trip me;

Reason Three:After I went back to bed, I started thinking and had to get up again because I was fully awake.

Thinking is bad when I wake up in the middle of the night, because it quickens my brain’s pace. It wakes it up. And the resulting neural activity is pretty much comparable to running in a really long corridor aggressively lit by hundreds of neon lights, flinging all the hundreds of doors open and asking “what are the answers to my questions” repeatedly in a loud voice.

What are my questions?
That’s an interesting question. Brace yourselves for an intrusion in my psyche. (Don’t be scared. It’s not like this all the time. It has not happened in a really long time, in fact.)

1. What is the catch with the perfect, newly rebuilt condo we just signed for?(Yyyesss!)

2. What will I be like as a mom? I hope I am patient. Will we be happy in general with the way we are bringing up our little one? What will she look like? Oh god – I hope she has her Daddy’s eyes. He swears it’s impossible for her to have blue eyes, because mine are brown. Ohhhh sweet - I get to cuddle her and love her and watch her grow up…oh wow. We made a person! We made a living being! How fucking awesome is that? We’re good people. We’ll do just fine. I’ll have to stop swearing. Fuck.

3. Where do I start when I get to work this morning? I’ve been away for three months. I’ve lost touch. How do I keep a good working relation with my coworkers and reintegrate the workplace without pushing my pregnancy on them? How do I keep calm when all I want to do is tell some of them to fuck off?

4. Why is my technique for breathing out my anxiousness and breathing in calm and serenity not working?

5. Oh – it’s because in my head, I’m singing ‘What I Am’ by Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians. Okay. That’s why.

6. Now I’ve switched to ‘Long December’ by the Counting Crows. Maybe if I replace the singer’s voice with a guitar gently strumming, I will actually lull myself to sleep. Huh. Sounds good – I wonder why they didn’t just do an instrumental version. Ah – radio play. Shit, can’t do it.

7. Breathe in calm. Breathe out tension. See the red ball rolling away from you. The red ball represents all the questions and thoughts in your head. Push the ball away. See it roll away until it is a pinprick in the distance. Sleep. … Why can I hear Mussorgsky’s ‘Night on the Bald Mountain now?

8. Fuck. Red is such an aggressive colour for a relaxation technique. Make the ball blue. Aaaahhhh….much better. Wait – it’s not rolling away!

9. I wonder if H is sleeping. Should I ask him? No. I'll wake him up if he's sleeping. What time is it?

10. What kind of drapes do we get for the new house? I need something sheer and something opaque over it. I am sick of this apartment with the plastic horizontal blinds in mismatched colours. I want a classic, sober look with flair. Beige? Tan? Hmm. Maybe moss green. Oooo, ooo! I know! Moss green with a soft pattern for the sheer drapes, and a nice raw-canvas beige for the opaque drapes over top. Yyyes. But for the bay window in the dining room…wood blinds with a sheer drape? Huh. We’ll need to take measurements. How soon can we do this? Wood blinds are expensive, I hear. I should check Home Depot online.

See? These are the times I think I am going crazy.

I don’t know how to stop it. If I did, I would not be typing this. It’s now five thirty. I got up at two thirty after twenty some minutes of fidgeting and sat on the sofa, reading. The cat was lying on top of the book. I moved the book. The cat was flailing its tail at me and purring very loudly. Like I said, he was so fucking pleased with the company in the middle of the night. So I pet the cat and whispered sweet cat things in his face. He loved it. So he sprawled himself smack dab in the middle of the pillow I use to prop up my book on my lap. I let him, as I was trying not to get pissed off. I figured, kill him with kindness. So I pet the living shit out of him and he stayed for ten minutes, then went away. ‘Victory’, I thought to myself. I was convinced reading for twenty minutes would do what it usually does before bed, i.e. put me to sleep. But I read until four. Then I thought maybe I could give sleep another chance and go to bed. Didn’t work out. Sigh.

I am going to get ready for work in an hour and a half. But it’s okay. I am not even mad. I am just a little worried, and I hope to get a better night’s sleep tomorrow.

Waiting.

So I am sitting here, waiting. I never thought I’d say this: I wish I were at work, where I could have some form of distraction. I can’t read, the same paragraph is printed on all the pages, it seems. I can’t nap - I don’t want to. I can’t go for a walk, I’m waiting for a phone call. I should frame my flower prints. I’m too fidgety. Boo has given up following me around the apartment, he’s done the hallway/living room/dining room/kitchen trajectory too many times today.

I wish the phone would ring. Just so I get some meat to gnaw on. Just so I get confirmation that no, time has not stopped. I’m holding my breath. I read somewhere it’s not cool to hold your breath too long. Well, not when you’re stressed out, anyway. You’re supposed to pay particular attention to your breath in these specific occasions and use it to calm down. Especially when one is pregnant. Such as myself. Princess Frog is kicking, she can most likely feel the rush of adrenaline flowing through my blood – and hers…

Breathe in through the nose. Hold for one or two seconds. Breathe out slowly through slightly parted lips. Repeat as needed. Sit down. Stop pacing.

I’m happy though, because at least this is good stress. I am not expecting bad news. I just want this to work! We made an offer on a really awesome condo this morning. We wants it, precious.

Lakes and Cowboy Hats.

Just because I promised.
This was my definition of happiness at the end of July.

Time to F?*& It.

The Cosmos is telling people something this week. I am not the only one learning to say Fuck It.
Check out All & Sundry. She funny.

I'm getting a haircut today. How short? Dunno. We'll see.

Reading the Onion Is Fun.

I forgot to include these articles from The Onion in my last post. Here they are, along with the reasons why I think they are funny.

This one's funny because when I approached my little bro about why his razor was making that noise (it buzzes, yet looks like your average Gillette Sensor Excel - only orange), he not only gave me the speech you hear in the commercial, but informed me it has FIVE blades. I think there's even one on the back of the razor for those precision shaving moves.

This one's funny too because, well, it's sex in the White House. And renovations must be made to "meet the sexual demands of the nation's president and his advisors, and to fulfill the lurid fantasies and carnal desires of high-ranking foreign dignitaries who visit the United States." I just think that's funny. You don't have to click on it. No one's forcing you.

I like The Onion.

Shift in Focus.

There are times when you realize something about you has changed and sometimes, it’s too late to be part of the change. The change has already happened and you realize it’s done. And so you sit there and think hmm, that’s funny, I would not have said/done/thought/put up with that a year ago. What happened? Huh. Somewhere along the way, I must have changed/let go/stopped caring.

There are other times when you feel different. Something is going on – you can feel it. And that’s when you’re part of the change. You’re actually in the process of changing and you’re not so sure you want to notice what’s going on, just in case it destroys the magic at work. You know, to avoid self-sabotage, because usually these changes happen for a good reason. You think to yourself hmm, weird, I’m not sure how to react to that, my first reflex would be to [insert course of action here] but now I want to [insert appropriate alternative course of action here].

That’s what I’m going through right now.
And it’s weird. It’s good – but it’s weird.

I feel strangely at peace with the world. Don’t get me wrong, I still have all the worries I’ve always had. But somehow, they are not affecting me as much. That is because gradually, I am becoming a huge fan of the Fuck It Response. The Fuck It Response is great. The Fuck It Response has allowed me to go back to work and, although today is the conclusion of my first 2 ½-day week back, I am satisfied with what I’ve done. I haven’t actually done anything. And I feel okay about it. I think it’s called Learning to Work Within Your New Limitations. Can’t do something, don’t do it. And certainly don’t feel shitty about not being able to do it. Do what you can. Accept it. Move on. Fuck It.

This, I noticed, applied at work this week. And there was much rejoicing, as H says.

This, I noticed, is starting to apply to what people do and say. Do you realize what this means? It means I am almost rid of my tiresome and taxing habit of feeling responsible for everything around me! How awesome is that? I think I have to update the letter I wrote to my kid a few months ago.

Dear Little Girl in my Belly,

My poor little monkeygirl, you have a psycho mom who does things to people in her mind and that makes her feel better. Just a friendly warning - she will probably do this again when you become a teenager. You know, when you insist on wearing clothes that make you look naked/make your real face disappear underneath five coats of foundation and other cosmetic things/refuse to listen to Wu-Tang/do fuck all with your life at 25/total her brand new turquoise Segway. (If Daddy ever agrees to let her have one. He still has not agreed to the Vespa plan. But that is another story, which we can discuss at length with him when you start asking for one too.)

Your mom will deal with it. Because now, not only does your mom do things to people in her mind - now, she knows the meaning of Fuck It. And she will attempt to better understand the concept so she can not only apply it to all the funny unexplained things you will unleash on this family, but also explain it to you and spare you years of unnecessary self-inflicted guilt.

Love and monkeykisses,

Your mom xoxo

Wild Flowers of Eastern Canada.

I’ve had an idea for a « project » for a couple of months now, and I figured out how I was going to go about it when we returned from the cottage. My project is entitled Wild Flowers of Eastern Canada. Why the pompous title? It’s the title of the book I’m ripping the pages out of. Yes – you read right. I manage a library, yet I rip pages out if books. That’s okay, no need to panic. This book was being discarded. It was falling apart. It has a big blue “withdrawn” stamp on the title page. So I saved it. This book is now part of my small recycling project.

Now that we know no one will report me for defacing public property, on to the project. My first step was to choose the pictures of, well, wild flowers of Eastern Canada that I thought were the prettiest. They are all nice, being delicate 2 ½ by 4 inch paintings of said flowers, but some actually look better. That’s how far I’ve gotten in the actual project so far. I’ve got two piles: the yes pile (containing 16 paintings) and the maybe pile (containing 14 paintings). In my yes pile, I’ve got interesting flowers like Canada Lily, Fireweed, Chicory, Pitcher Plant, and Hedge Bindweed…just to name a few of the prettiest.

The idea, as you might have gathered, is to ‘mount’ the paintings onto pretty paper and stick them into glass frames. I’ve already paid a visit to my favorite art supplies shop and got all my materials: glass picture frames and pretty paper for the ‘mount’ around the pictures. All I need to do now I make up my mind on how many frames I want and cut around the paintings. Problem is, I’ve got room for ten paintings in my glass frames. How to choose? Have a lottery? Spend a lot of time staring at them? Throw them in the air and see which ones land closest to me? I don’t know. And it’s funny that something so trivial is actually keeping me from actually starting this project. I should just get more frames. That way I could frame all 30 of them. Heehee. Yeah that sounds about right. And if there are too many frames and not enough room for them, I’ll give some away.

Now – how do I get the Matrix posters to magically disappear from the living room without my husband noticing? Hmmm…yet another obstacle. Challenging! I’ll keep you posted.

Three Observations and One Bottom Line.

Good morning! It is a beautiful day out there today. The sun is shining, the birds were chirping a minute ago (which is why I am awake) and …I am going to stay inside all day. Which is not dramatic, but slightly unpleasant. Why will I be staying inside, you ask? Because of my generosity. Now do not get me wrong, avid reader: the following comments are in no way directed to the recipient of my generosity. She is a sweet girl, and has been a good friend for many years. They are directed at me.

First Observation: I Am Generous with my Friends and Loved Ones.

This is good. This makes me a Good Person. And it is purely altruistic, too. I am not doing this for profit or recognition. I have learned (apparently not quite) that being generous sometimes leads to selflessness (I think this is the proper use for this term). Selflessness is also a good character trait, but in healthy doses. To cut to the chase, selflessness often makes me accept to help someone with a task and completely forget myself in the process. Which leads us to the Second Observation.

Second Observation: There is Such a Thing as Equivalence of Things.

Abstract as this may seem, it is true. Concrete example for you: usually (unless you’re being had), four quarters equal a whole dollar. That is equivalence. In French this is a common saying: échanger quatre trente sous pour une piastre. Very often, I’ll give you two bucks for your four quarters. I’ll give more than what you’re asking for. I am sure this resides in the fact I want people to appreciate me, I’ve been given the lecture quite often enough, thank you. The point is, I’ve done it again. Which leads us to…Observation Number Three.

Third Observation: It’s the Fucking Weekend.

I know I am not working right now. I know I am at home doing housewifey things. But I still have a concept of what is a weekday, and what is a weekend. And today, unless some evil gnome has fucked around with my calendar, it’s Saturday. I don’t work weekends. One could argue helping out a friend is technically not work. It’s helping out a friend. I agree wholeheartedly. I am feeling guilty bitching about helping her out, I assure you. But this post also a tricksy way for me to procrastinate, which I am the Queen of. I think having a baby will probably give me a couple of reality checks in that department…Which leads me to my Bottom Line.

My Bottom Line:

Because of my generosity, I have accepted to help out a friend with a pretty hefty translation job (i.e. translate it for her) that is due Monday morning and I should have better evaluated the time it would take and now I know I will spend the whole weekend in front of my computer. Oh – and I’m not a translator. Oh – and I’m not working on it right now. I am posting this. I am a terrible person. Okay, maybe not terrible. Just a procrastinator. I don’t like being a procrastinator. Okay – I’m getting to work now.


Phew! That was therapeutic! Thanks for bearing with me.

...I hope it rains. That would help.

Projects. Time. Happiness.

I’ve been avoiding writing here today.
I don’t want to just rush into things and let you guys know what sex our baby is.

But since I can’t get a hold of some of you in person, and others already know, I guess there is no need for suspense anymore! So, throng of readers, H and I are expecting a baby girl! We are both ecstatic. Truly. I didn’t know it was possible to be giddy like this. I was pacing yesterday afternoon, I was so giddy.

We let out the customary ‘merde’ (it lasted half a second, really), because we wanted a boy so bad (I was honestly SO convinced it was a boy!), but now H has realized she will be Daddy’s Little Girl and I have realized this is the best thing that could ever happen to me, we’re really, really happy. So voilà for the news!

In other things of interest to me lately, I have been truly silly this week and I wrote a whole post that I just forgot to put online. So here is what you should have been reading on Monday. I'm posting this just because it is relevant to stuff I wanted to mention today. But I will talk about that stuff tomorrow instead, because I care about your eyes and do not want you squinting at the screen and rubbing your eyes at the end of my post today. That, my friends, is how much I love you. Just sayin'.

August 14th, 2006.
Lil’ Electric Frog.

The event I’ve been waiting for with much anticipation is almost here: on Wednesday, H and I are going to see Shrimp on my first sonogram! Given he/she will be 7 to 9 inches long at the end of this month, Shrimp will henceforth be referred to as Frog. He/she moves all the time! And it feels more like little summersaults in the morning, and more like kicking/jumping jacks/tae-bo in the afternoon. Pretty amazing! As soon as H puts his hand on my belly, Frog stops moving. I’ve told H he already has the calming hands power. Three cheers for H!

I am going for lunch and a little knit-along this afternoon at D’s. She’s figured out the pattern for the little cashmerino (yes – cashmere and merino – yum.) bootees I'm trying to knit. The pattern seemed pretty straightforward but somehow, for an instruction-challenged person like me, who’s never knit anything but scarves and flat, squarish things (the operative term here being flat), it was a bit frustrating when it didn’t look anything like bootees. Well, okay, it did. I’m exaggerating again. But it didn’t look like the finished product on the picture, that’s for sure. I hope to be able to complete a pair for my sister’s baby girl before she is born…which could be anytime now. I’m going to be an aunt soon! The blankie is almost complete. I just can’t get no satisfaction from the border I’ve settled on. Its sucks! I am thinking I’ll just scrap wht I’ve done so far and start over, in a different color, keeping the core for the blanket, which is slate blue and moss green rectangles all knit together. More later. I know you guys are virtually glued to your screens waiting for me to update on my knitterly ventures. I just know it. Cheers.

Must. Think.

Hello, friends.

I really want to write about our two weeks away, but I don't know where to start.

My thoughts are...disconnected today. I can't put two sentences together. So fuck working on A's book, and fuck thinking at all. I'm going to knit today. And watch movies. And not eat Pizza Pockets for lunch. Because they actually taste like garbage once you've eaten half of one. But you finish it anyway just in case it stops tasting like garbage.

It always sort of throws me off when I can't put two sentences together, or organize my thoughts in a logical manner. That's okay, off days are how the cosmos lets you know you're fragile and human. Somehow, it always makes me feel inaccurate and awkward. Sad and depressed.

I am suddenly thankful for the row counter D gave me. I won't have to concentrate on counting rows. Just turn the knob after each row I knit. Sweet.

I am thankful for the sudden coolness in the air, which enables me not to break into a sweat at the thought of standing up.

I am going to go finish knitting my sister's baby's blankie, now.

A Dream Come True.

Nope, I’m not gone yet. Two dodos left. I just had to mention this: I’ve finally done something I’ve been wanting to do for a while. It’s no big deal. It’s just…fun. And on this glorious day, it makes me very happy. Ready?

I got a cowboy hat. (Yyyessss!)

Yeehaw! (Damn – I sound like Bush…Difference is I look HOT, beeyatch. And I am not a psycho.) I swear I got double takes walking down the street earlier. A pregnant hottie with shades and a cowboy hat? Come on – even I can’t say no to that. If you’re really, really nice, I’ll post a picture of me at the cottage with my cowboy hat on. But you have to be really really nice.

Okay, I’m done bragging. You may resume your activities. See you in two weeks.

Did someone say...lake?

With this heat, I haven’t been updating lately. We’re having trouble keeping cool in the rest of the apartment…and the office is the last place I want to be, with at least 4 computers running full-time. It’s a goddamn furnace in here. So I’m keeping this short.

We’re getting ready to leave for two weeks next Saturday.
I’ve got lots to do…

I’ve got some bananas that are about to walk to the mixing bowl by themselves…I hate wasting food, so I’ll cook/bake everything I can and will stuff as much of it as we can into a cooler we’re borrowing from a friend. Fresh homemade food for us. Yum! And an empty fridge without nasty surprises in it when we come back. I don’t like it when the veggies and ground beef throw us a welcome back karaoke party. It’s just creepy.

There definitely will not be any technology at the cottage we’re going to (at Clear Lake, north of Peterborough), or of there is I will be ignoring it. Except maybe for my i-Pod. But other than that, here’s what I will be doing for two weeks:

Spend a few days at Mom’s with my sister, her hubby, their cutie-pie-to be born in September and my bro;
Drive to cottage in our new car – I made some awesome CDs for the road;
Sit H’s dad down. Give him a beer or something. Tell him he’s gonna be a granddad;
Wake up early. Drag Adirondack chair to dock. Sit and read (before the sun becomes hell’s furnace);
Rescue dragonflies from the evil spider’s web on the dock;
Go for long walks;
Pretend to fish;
Write in the shade;
Read (I’ve got quite a pile of books coming with me);
Stare into the distance, feet in the lake;
Build kickass fires and roast marshmallows;
Build kickass fires and make some SMores;
Maybe go for boat rides if the drivers promise to behave;
Greet the loons and herons and attempt to get better pictures than last time.

Should be a good two weeks. Will have stories when I return.
Clear Lake, here I come.

Back Home.

Fear not, for I have returned. I know you missed me. Well, I know K missed me.

First order of business: Shrimp needs a new name. He/she no longer resembles a shrimp. By the end of his/her fourth month of existence in utero, which is in 3 weeks, Shrimp will measure five inches and really look like a little person. Hence the need for a new name. Any ideas? Everything is still peachy with the belly. I am mostly tired. But that is my only complaint. I love it!

I’ve been sitting here at my computer since I woke up this morning. As B puts it, my brain will soon liquefy. A grand happy total of almost five hours spent, just to catch up on the blogs I did not check the whole time I was away. That’s okay, I’m all caught up now. And I am loyal, so I had to read everything I missed. And look at all the pictures. And leave a few comments.

So what did I do for ten days, away from my cat and my man (or is it the other way around)? I enjoyed:

1. A train ride to Ottawa with very annoying people sitting right across the aisle from me. Take a deep breath. Now imagine a very whiny, overly affectionate 40 year old woman begging her husband to play cards with her and her bastard belching caveman of a husband refusing to play cards with her and pushing her away when she tried to kiss him, probably on their second honeymoon or - worse yet - on some sort of trip to reconcile after ten years of a marriage containing an even blend of routine and unhappiness. Man, was she whiny. That was next to me. Also, for dessert, there was a lady standing next to me who was waiting to get off in Drummondville – 10 minutes away – who, after asking what I was knitting (I had two projects on the mini-table in front of me) and telling me it was very pretty, proceeded to talk down to me like I was her fucking poodle, telling me in a chastising tone I should start and finish a knitting project, not work on more than one at a time because that was just bad habit and I would never get anything accomplished. So I resisted the urge to use the pointy sticks I was wielding (they were size 7.5 mm and plastic…but I’m pretty sure I could have done some serious damage) and concentrated on P’s urge with pointy fondue forks around a certain politician. Which probably made me smile and nod appreciatively, albeit with a slightly glazed look in my eyes. Because I was probably looking just a little to the left, right over her shoulder. She stopped talking to me and got off the train. I must have looked like a psycho. Thank you, P. You saved me from the evil yellow pudgy lady.

2. I also enjoyed my parents’ place, which features a pool, a spa, two tall little bros and their buddies most of the time, a Gamecube, flowers, and two cats. Here is what I did all week at my parents’ place while they were working. Sssuckers. I slept. I ate. I ate. I slept. In between eating and sleeping, I sometimes read. A very good book K lent me years ago entitled Eating Crow (thanks, K! I promise to return it one day!). When it rained, which was most of the time, because it was sunny for two days, it never really just rained…it fuckin’ poured, no cliché intended. So I watched Asterix & Obélix: Mission Cléopâtre. Twice. It’s too funny. I also watched Pirates of the Caribbean.

For the record, I think Bruckheimer’s idea of having Orlando Bloom and Johnny Depp (or is the other way around? I can’t make up my mind) in the same movie is genius – pure genius. Because they’re HOT. Also watched Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Johnny Depp is not really hot in that one, more like creepy, but he’s still hot because I know what he looks like for real. So I can focus on his acting in this movie. Enough girlie gushing over hot movie dudes. I apologize. When is Pirates 2 coming out?

When the sun came out (for two days) I squeezed into my bathing suit (two cup sizes too small, goddammit, not a pretty picture) and entered the coolness of the pool. I would wave one of my bros over while blowing kisses at him to get him to come closer, then ask him to refill my gigantor glass of juice by pointing at its emptiness. No words. Just diva behaviour. He complied and giggled. A manly fifteen year-old giggle, but a giggle nonetheless. That is because he rocks. So basically I read while standing belly-high in water walking around the shallow end of the pool and generally took deep breaths of satisfaction and contentment. Then I’d feel a (slight) tinge of remorse for enjoying myself so much. All this time, my poor man was slaving away twelve to thirteen-hour days making video games, in air-conditioned frigidity…while imagining me in my bathing suit all oiled up and roasting in the sun. I’ll bet the two cup sizes too small would not have bothered him at all.

3. I finally enjoyed two days and three nights in a very cute little cottage in Notre-Dame-des-Monts (Charlevoix) with mom, my sister, mom’s friend and dozens of frogs in the little lake in front of said cottage (said cottage kicking ass, by the way)…We played Rummy, we played cards, it rained the whole time except the afternoon we drove to visit the factory where they make the Migneron and went to Baie-Saint-Paul. The frogs were hilarious. They just sort of hung out on the surface with their hind legs splayed and humped. It was a frog orgy. Very funny, as I had never seen a frog orgy before. You could tell they were very happy frogs. Who wouldn’t be, right? Just floating around and humping all day, repopulating the lake? Fuck yeah. Bring it on. I’m just being honest.

The best part of the ten days, though? Coming home. Why? That’s my little secret. H knows. Sssuckers.

The Train! The Train!

I am leaving for Ottawa after lunch. It will be sooo sweet.

I am very much looking forward to sitting by the pool at my parents' place and reading. And sleeping. And hopefully playing chess with V. And maybe even writing. Knitting for sure.

As usual, I packed last minute, because I hate packing with a fookeen passion, and this time I just can't fit everything I need for a week in Ottawa and a weekend in Charlevoix in a backpack. I tried. For real. So, I've got a suitcase. I hate suitcases. They're heavy and awkward to lug around.

I am happy, though, because I am travelling by train. I LOVE the train. The dudes are really nice if you smile at them (which apparently doesn't happen very often). And I have my iPod all loaded up with good tunes. Yesss. Good times.

The Little DJ That Could

Unreal.

First the Dr. slid the Doppler on my belly and we could hear Vvooom-Vvooom, real slow. That was my blood flow. A little lower and to the right, however, there was a rave party going on. For the rest of the day, H and I would look at each other once in a while and do our best imitations of Shrimp’s heartbeat. I think I’ve replayed that sound in my mind every hour since yesterday. I am still in awe. The other thing that took my breath away was hearing H’s reaction. I could not see him – all I heard was him sucking in his breath when the beat came on the speaker. I laughed and the Doppler moved. No more baby beat. Then we found it again and the Dr. was nodding in time. It was…wonderful.

Shrimp’s got a little setup in there with little turntables and all. Right now, he’s working on getting the bass down pat. And it sounds very promising.

PsychoBird and Captain Nemo

Okay, okay - I was wrong last week. I was too excited: I miscounted. Shrimp was eleven weeks old. Now Shrimp is twelve weeks old. (I wanted to write he’s twelve weeks old – how odd is that?) And I’ve got my first appointment with my ob-gyn this afternoon…I’m not sure what he’ll do. Something about checking the height of the top of the uterus, along with the usual prodding around where only H usually does. H is coming with me. Not to supervise the prodding around. But hopefully to hear the heartbeat. I hope we get to hear it this time – I hope ob-gyns do this. I just can’t believe we have to wait to twenty weeks to see our mini-us at our first ultrasound! That’s at five months, yo! Long time to wait. I’m just saying. So, more news later.

I read it’s important to have your questions ready when you have appointments like this. Weird thing is – I don’t have questions. I’m not worried about anything. I am feeling great. I am eating okay, I am sleeping sort of okay (read on for explanation on title of this post), and I just don’t have weird, bothersome things happening to me. Well, besides having painful (impressively big) breasts and having shooting pain for a couple of seconds when I sneeze. And a swelling belly. So long story short, I have no questions for the Dr. this afternoon. I’m going to tell him we’re thinking of having a doula and that we want to hear our baby’s heartbeat. We might stage a sit-in if he tells us he can’t. I’ll rip the stethoscope from his neck, run to the nearest bathroom with H in tow, lock the door behind us and do it myself, dammit. Oh – you need a Doppler. We’ll figure it out. No sweat. My man’s a technofreak.

And now the moment you have all been waiting for: the explanation for the title of this post. Why PsychoBird? Because a PsychoBird lives in my neighborhood. This little fucker is playing with my mind. I’m sure he is all cute and fluffy-brown with his beady black mini-eyes and his cute head cocking thing and the little hopping move I adore, he was maybe even born this spring, but he’s playing with my mind nonetheless. I suspect his favorite spot is right outside my bedroom window.

Other interesting feature of pregnancy: you have to pee a lot. So I almost always (read: six nights out of seven a week) need to get up in the middle of the night. Usually only once, around three or four. If it’s three, I get back to sleep. And if it’s four, that’s when my feathered foe strikes. He waits till I get back in bed and close my eyes, then starts screaming. Technically, it’s not called screaming, but that’s what it sounds like to me at four in the morning. And it’s not melodic little fluffy birdie chirping – it’s wake up cause I’m telling you to screaming.

Since it’s impossibly hot at night, we sleep with the window open. So I hear this bastard going tweet - no wait it’s not tweet it’s eee! - waiting one or two seconds, then eee! again, and keeping this up – I swear you could use this in techno he’s so timed – for fifteen, sometimes twenty minutes at a time. Just long enough to get me annoyed. And fully awake.

Eee! Pause. Eee! Pause. Eee! Pause. Wake up! Pause. Fuckin’ now! Pause. Eee!

Even after shutting the window when I hear the first couple of eees, I can still hear him. I try to fall back asleep, every time. It never works. So after half an hour to 45 minutes of tossing and turning, which half the time wakes H up, I get up and go sit on the couch with my mini-wheats and Boo. And thus my day begins at four, with PsychoBird.

I have (almost serenely) chosen to accept PsychoBird as my new conditioning partner. Surprised? Me too. But PsychoBird is getting me used to waking up at four in the morning, because he/she knows Shrimp will eventually emerge from his Nautilus and demand breastmilk from Captain Nemo, sometimes at four in the morning.

This morning, I didn’t fight it or get pissed off. I just got up and had some cereal and spent quality time with Boo, who was delighted. And then I fell asleep on the couch with a purring heap of happiness next to my belly.

Thought of the Day

Funerals suck dead rhino balls.
And to make matters worse, some people actually go to funerals to see who will be there and greet you at the door by saying - isn't is great to see you, I was wondering whether you'd show up or not! And then they walk away. Strange.
That makes these people suck dead rhino balls.

In better, happy news, Shrimp is twelve weeks old today!
Holy crap. That means I'm almost at four months! And I feel great.

Spam Haiku

Seen this morning in my inbox, as three distinct titles of e-mails. Probably meant to offer me to enlarge my penis, start taking Viagra or seeing live action from hot single pussies in my area (what am I waiting for?):

Went gripe her Elijah
You rabbi torpid
Not bewhisker may hundred

...and so I decided that was the Spam Haiku Of The Day. More to come, surely.
I would be interested in knowing everyone's interpretation of this haiku.

Pointers to help you in your reflexion:

Elijah: Hebrew prophet (9th century) who ranks with Moses in saving the religion of Yahweh from being corrupted by the nature worship of Baal.

Torpid: Apathetic, numb.

Bewhisker: To equip with whiskers.

I Will Hurt Technology Very Badly

Dammit. (You know it ain't good when a post starts with Dammit.)

I remember the time when I had to get up to change the channel on my parents television.
I remember having to turn the dial. And it made a loud clunk-clunk sound when I did so.
Things were simple then.

Just yesterday I was telling P how cool it is now that we have a new amp and kickass speakers and gimme a Y, gimme an A, gimme a Y - what does that spell. But today, not so much with the yayness. I want to throw all things with little lights and buttons and obscure abbreviations and codes out the fucking window and pretend I don't know what a television is.

I have been busy today. And I am in my pyjamas because the only pair of pants that fits me now is in the wash. I am lounging, so to speak. Feels good. And I feel that since I must return the first season of 24 to a buddy next week, might as well watch the episodes I haven't watched yet. It's a quarter to three. I can fall asleep watching 24 and have wet dreams about Keifer Sutherland if I want to.

So I turn on the TV. Step one.
I power up the amp. Step two.
I turn the DVD player on, stick the disk in. Step three. By now, I know my hydro bill is shivering with excitement. I am not, yet, because Keifer is not on the screen yet. But soon, I tell myself...soon.

Then I sit, with a total of three remotes in my lap. I try not to look like this is ridiculous, instead adopting a cool, demure attitude as I expertly aim the amp remote towards the beast and punch the button marked DVD. Because that is what I am going to do, I am going to watch a DVD. The little green light moves next to the DVD setting in the list on the front of the beast. ( Yyesss!) Then I grab hold of the VCR remote to change the setting to L1, because right now it is set to the TV and the one channel we get. Wait - did I confuse you with the VCR thing? Ha. Thought so. Because that, my friends, is exactly when I got confused. So I took the third remote - the one for the DVD - and pressed PLAY. And nothing happened. Blue screen of death on my TV. So I thought, OH! I forgot to switch the VCR to VCR. Because obviously now it's set to TV. And I want to watch a DVD. Which is connected to the VCR. Because everything else is.

Then everything was a blur. I was still sitting in my rocking chair, but the three remotes were on the floor around the TV, even though I was sitting 4 meters away. And now I have just finished trying to put matching batteries back into each one of the remotes after having retreived them from under the TV stand. And I've left a message at my technofreak's office. He knows the exact sequence of buttons to push on all three remotes in order to watch ONE FUCKING 45-MINUTE SHOW.

When we got the amp my technofreak told me he would write down the procedure to make things easier for me to switch things around and I told him to fuck off, I wasn't a retard.

Seriously. And the truth is - we actually have four remotes. The fourth one is for the projector. We barely use it. But I still think we've got four remotes too many. Why can't we just control things with our X-Box controllers! Oh wait - we can. Aw fuck it.

In other news - D got news today that he is accepted as a pilot. I am extremely happy for him - it has been his dream since he was still wearing diapers, I think. I wonder how many remotes you need in a plane.

Local Woman's Incredible Restraint Guarantees Her Choice Spot in Heaven

Late yesterday afternoon, Ms. X agreed to grant this reporter an exclusive interview, after dodging said reporter's attempts to contact her directly for hours. Ms. X has issued an official statement as follows:

“I have overcome my impatience and been good with the annoying know-it-all, even after unpleasant comments moments after entering the workplace. I am proud of this and will continue displaying restraint and calm in the face of such annoyances. Who da boss, beeyatch.” When asked what she had succeeded in exerting such control, Ms. X laughed and mumbled something about mind powers.

Officials in Heaven have now confirmed the rumours stating that Ms. X had retained a choice 15,000-square foot mansion in Heaven, equipped with a jungle room, high tea salon, home theatre room and an elephant sanctuary. “Her request for an end to world hunger, immediate vaporization of all arms and ammunition and global harmony was rejected at first”, says Peter, gatekeeper of the swanky resort-like property “but we decided she had displayed really kickass behaviour in the last couple of hours and thought, what the heck, she deserves it.” Neighbors Douglas Adams and Sid Vicious were overjoyed at the prospect of having such an admirable person on their block: “I am embroidering towels for her and her family” smiles Adams, “I think we’ll have great fun around here.” Vicious and wife Nancy had already built a jungle gym for Ms. X’s little one in their backyard and were busy destroying it with hammers, but took the time to issue this comment: “Shrimp will be quite welcome around here. We’ll teach him to say things like bollocks.”

A shipment of monkeys, cats and Legos are expected this afternoon at the property. Ms. X has also requested that live performances by Jimi Hendrix, Dr. Dre, Madonna, the Ramones, Wu-Tang Clan and Arctic Monkeys be scheduled every Friday night at the weekly Dart Night Motherfuckers event, to be held in the enormous tent outside Heaven’s gates.

Being good does pay off.

Pluck my Twanger!

Note: This post was meant to go live yesterday morning, but because of technical problems with Blogger, it's 24 hours late.

Hello, Boys and Girls.

I laughed my ass off this morning when I was reading CraftyGrrrl's blog. She makes me laugh very often. Some days, British accent + Children's show + sexual innuendos is what I find funny. In this case some people might not...oh fuck it. I am not going to justify finding something funny. (I am not sure how to go about this, so I'm just going to copy the link to this funny thing. Thank you, CraftyGrrrl!) Enjoy.

In other business, I am going to eat crepes for lunch today. I will be happy. I will mentally run to P for protection when someone starts telling me what it's like to have kids. And then I will mentally scream in her face that I find her very annoying with this and I would like her a whole lot more if she wasn't such a fucking smartass about everything, and I will have kept my dignity the whole time and I will walk away a better person. And I will not be arrested for disturbing the peace.

Shrimp is ten weeks old today.

Dear Shrimp,

You poor thing, you have a psycho mom who does things to people in her mind and that makes her feel better. Just a friendly warning - she will probably do this again when you become a teenager. You know, when you insist on wearing clothes that make you look naked/make your real face disappear underneath five coats of concealer and other cosmetic things/refuse to listen to Wu-Tang/do fuck all with your life at 25/total her brand new turquoise Segway.

Your mom will deal with it.
Love,

Your mom xoxo

Monday Bliss

Oh, Throng of Readers, I am so happy. I really don't mean to rub it in your faces. Here goes.

Unlike Garfield on Mondays, I feel all yummy and toasty inside, and am actually pondering what to start with. (Note to my throngs of readers - Garfield, you will remember, hides in his little box-bed on Mondays and refuses to get up. He stays under his little blankie as long as he can, reaching out from under the blankie once in a while to whack the fuck out of the alarm clock. He feels like an ass all day and does not smile.) So far, I've had breakfast, listened to the news on the radio, pet my cat, checked out my favorite blogs and now I am typing away gleefully while listening to the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I am thinking of going for a shower sometime today (no one will know if I smell), going for a walk all the way to Cartier to get some fresh fruit and veggies, cleaning my aquarium and reading some more of Jonathan Strange and Mister Norrell.

I spent half an hour cuddling in bed with my man before he had to get up to go to work. I called the bus station to find out how much a bus ticket to Ottawa costs (holy shit, Batman - it's cheaper to take the train!). I had a fond thought for P who has to fend off and survive all the female hormones kicking around the office. I had a fond thought for K who is going through difficult and funny times all at once.

Also I am so happy because it smells like fresh cut grass. The smell has invaded my appartment because all the windows are open. And I am going to make muffins. And soup. Ok, I am done.

Now for the complaining part. (I can hear everyone sighing in relief - 'Finally, she'll stop waxing happy on the joys of free time') My Dr. never even tried to hear Shrimp's heartbeat. Nine weeks is a little early, I know. But she had said she was going to try last time I saw her! She said 'At nine weeks, we'll be able to hear the baby's heartbeat'...I got H out of work on a deadline to hear it. And first thing she said was 'We're not even going the try hearing the heartbeat, we'd be wasting our time.' Then she gives me the phone number for the hospital to get an ultrasound, it actually takes me half an hour to talk to someone, and they don't do pregnancy ultrasounds anymore! They haven't done them in years. This leads me to question my doctor. I like her, I really do. But she's not consistent. So I called her office and left a message saying she had given me the wrong information, thet they don't do pregnancy sonograms anymore. She should know this - she tells me she follows 4 pregnancies a year. Anyhoo. No point in being pissed off, I just find this unprofessional. Rant over.

So I'll be making phone calls to other hospitals today. I also have to get an appointment with my ob-gyn. Yay. I guess I'd better get used to it! I am in my third month now, it is pretty cool. I am thinking of keeping a pregnancy journal. It would be cool to look over in a couple of years.

Words

Medulla Oblongata.
Gnu.
Hippopotamus.
Spoon.


...And I just found out Abracadabra actually comes from the Aramaic avra kehdabra, which means I will create as I speak.

So cool.

Freedom Dideleedum

Holy crap. Here starts my summer! Woooo!

I have been at home for a total of one and a half hours now and I have not started freaking out yet. That's good. It really gets to me how almost everyone has said, in a very concerned tone: "Wow. ( - or - Oh My God!) What are you going to do all summer?" And I give them a blank stare like I don't understand what they are talking about. Because I genuinely do not know what they are talking about. What do you mean, what am I going to do? You're fucking kidding, right? I actually told someone (with a really serious look): "I really don't know. I guess I'll try to keep busy..."

I have tons of things planned for the summer. I plan of cleaning out all the closets in this appartment. I am sure I will find long lost relatives in there. They have literally never been cleaned. So much shit will go to the curb, charity or recycling.

30 of the Gazillion Things I Will Do This Summer :

1. Try out new recipes. As soon as I can deal with touching food. :o)
2. Go to SnBs. A couple of friends and I just planned the whole thing. We're happy.
3. Paint. Squibbits, triptych for J's room and D's samurai helmet.
4. Read. I've got lots of catching up to do.
5. Go for super long walks.
6. Go to lunch with D.
7. Go to Ottawa to see Mom.
8. Go to a cottage with Mom, her friend and my sister. There will actually be five of us, both me and my sister being preggy!
9. Discover new music.
10. Actually wash, dry and fold clothes the same day. (I swear.)
11. Finally clean up the office that has become the depository of all things pack rats like to pack. (Think about it for a sec. That's too much stuff, yo.)
12. Blog better. Blog more.
13. Sleep when I'm tired.
14. Pet my cat Boo. He will be pleased.
15. Shop for a house.
16. Go grocery shopping and get it delivered.
17. Write.
18. Do nothing.
19. Watch X-Files all over again when it rains. Love having all 9 seasons! Love DVD technology!
20. Water my flowers on the balcony.
21. Try to grow a herb garden again.
22. Lie in the grass, surrounded by coolers full of popsicles, grapefruit juice and chocolate ice cream sandwiches. And lettuce and carrots for good measure. And celery. And grapes.
23. Write letters to friends. Not e-mails.
24. Keep a journal.
25. Spend some time with J.
26. Do pilates. My mother-in-law got me a book on pilates for pregnant women.
27. Clean out all the closets and make sure there is nothing left on the floors. Quite a challenge.
28. Paint my nails. Fingers and toes.
29. Slather lotion all over my body often. Smell and feel good as a result.
30. Play music and sing along while making things.

So for all you worriers out there, hear this: I am not worried about getting bored this summer. What worries me is people who worry because I am not worried. Fuck y'all. I want a happy worry-free pregnancy.

T Minus One.

I'll cut to the chase.

I've got one day left at work. That is, this afternoon and tomorrow morning. Whoa.

After that, I am off until the end of August. To protect the mini-us growing in my belly.
I am sort of freaking out, and not necessarily in a good way. I have got to get over this guilt trip. It can't be good. I know things will go fine at work, I am not indispensable, and this is all for my good (and that of Shrimp). Shrimp is nine weeks old now, and in less than an hour I will be in the doctor's office. She told me last time we would get to hear the heartbeat today! Whoa again.

Most likely updates later.

K, girl, this is for you. Check it out!

Ok go see this:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=OIwad-omZAo&search=Speaks

It made me laugh till I cried. I watched it three times in a row.

A Goddamned Blog Gimmick.

My alphabet thing (I am sure it has a name - oh! The ABCs of Me)

A is for Age: Turned 30 in March. Will feel like 25 for a long time.
B is for Booze: Red wine, please! Not so much these days, though...
C is for Career: Library manager. That's the short title.
D is for Dad's Name: P. That's all you get. I don't give out names.
E is for Essential Item to Bring to a Party: Socks without holes in them.
F is for Favorite Song at the Moment: Oh - I have to choose? Ok. It's been in my head since yesterday: St. Lawrence River, by David Usher.
G is for Goof-off Thing to Do: Trying on hats with D at Simons.
H is for Hometown: Ottawa
I is for Instrument You Play: None currently, but piano, violin and clarinet once upon a time.
J is for Jam or Jelly you Like: Raspberry.
K is for Kids: In progress! Yay!
L is for Living Arrangement: Nice appartment, looking for house.
M is for Mom's Name: S. See D.
N is for Names of Good Friends: I do not name names. And a list of letters would look funny. You know who you are. (Ha!)
O is for Overnight Hospital Stays: Once - had a tumor (benign!) removed from my jaw.
P is for Pets: One Boo (cat extraordinaire).
Q is for Quotes you Like: "I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be." (Douglas Adams, 1952-2001)
R is for Relationship That Lasted Longest: Current. Best thing that ever happened to me.
S is for Siblings: Three - one sister & 2 bros, all younger.
T is for Texas: You want me to go WHERE?
U is for Unique Trait: It is not unique. I exaggerate.
V is for Vegetables You Love: Asparagus, fresh green beans (the canned kind is just nasty), hearts of palm.
W is for Worst Traits: I exaggerate. Did I mention that?
X is for X-Rays you've Had: Spine and teeth. Checking for dents and holes.
Y is for Yummy Food You Make: Soups and cookies. All a girl needs to survive. Oh! And shakes. Z is for Zodiac Sign: Aries, but Dragon to the Chinese.

There you have it, boys and girls! Now I feel naked.
I'm gonna go get dressed.

Knitting Limbo

I have come to realize I want to be a better knitter.

My first problem is I am always knitting scarves. Well, except for that afghan.

My second problem is, I am just not taking all the chances I should be taking, like trying new stitches. Embrace life! Take more chances! Oh - how tiring.

Hell, I haven't even looked at patterns yet. Well I have, but I immediately blacked out and pretended there was something really urgent I had to do elsewhere in the house. I found myself crouching in the kitchen, playing with the cat.

Promise to myself #1 for today: I will come home after work, smile, say hello to the furball, pour myself a cold one, and sit with my stash. I might knit a square or two for the afghan, just to warm up. I will then pick fine yarn and try a new pattern. Today.

O Pixies of all thing Knitty, give me the courage to take charge of my knitting.

Elation

Spring, Spring, Spring. Yay!
That will be all.

Mustang Bitch

I am going to tell it like it is.

Mustang Bitch, you filthy swine.
Bat-swinging and cursing and out of line
Young and pretty and all dolled up
Mustang Bitch you
Aren't worth my time
Mustang Bitch you
Wear me out.

I am going to
Scream at the top of my lungs
Mustang Whore you're such a waste
Bad-mouthing gum-chewing fuck
Tall and thin and lacking class
Mustang Whore you're
Such a bore.

I Didn't Do It!

I've managed to do it again. I have once more lost sight of The List of Priorities.

I think - scratch that, I know - this is a trend in my life. I've got the important things down pat, you know. But somehow when I decide to put a little less pressure on myself and set priorities, the imaginary list they are set on mysteriously vanishes.

In a mighty and sincere attempt to reduce pressure on myself, I've given up making ten lists every day. Ok, I am slightly exagerating. Not ten. But I used to start too many to keep track of. I'd lose them, for fuck's sake, and find them weeks later. My loverly crafterly far away friend K does the same thing. She keep lists. I'll have to ask her how many she has and how she manages them. She's still sane, so... (*waving furiously* Hi, K!)

But I've got two lists now. Number One : my grocery list. This list I keep to avoid unfortunate and frustrating episodes of coming home after running my errands, you know, and realizing I've forgotten to get something that we've run out of last week. This is something I've picked up from my mom. She has a list that she divides in the number of stores she has to go to. So one section for the Costco, one for groceries, one for the pharmacy, and so on. My mom goes so far as to rewrite her list right before she leaves to go shopping, so that she can put the list in the order that she walks through the store. Wait - does she still do that? I don't know. I'll have to check. So when I notice we need something, I write it down on the puppy notepad that sits on top of the fridge. That was list Number One. H does not like this puppy notepad because it's not manly to walk around the grocery store with a puppy notepad list in your hand.

The other list is my to-do list at work. That one's long. It's a work in progress, that one. I almost never cross things off it. Always keep adding things on, though. And there's a thorough and serious love/hate relationship with that list going on these days. But that is a story for another day.

However, there is a third (and secret) list that exists. It is secret because it is in my head. I don't write it down, because it would be, well, extremely anal. To put it nicely. This list basically contains my priorities in knitterly and crafty thingees to start/finish/work on. I was rereading a post last night and realized I've started new projects since establishing my priorities. Not that it's really evil to do so, but it is beginning to be a little irritating to mentally check my list only to realize I've committed to three knitterly/crafty things and that I almost never work on them because I've started new things. Again with the boredom of works-in-progress. What is the solution to this? In that same post, I had established I was going to work 30 minutes on something, then leave it be till the next day just for the sake of making a little progress. I just have not been doing that at all.

The more I write, the more I tell myself it's not so bad. I just felt like writing about it. You know, to cross that item off my imaginary secret mental list. The item being "Post entries on blog more often so that K knows what I'm up to"... So K, if you're reading this (and I know you stop by once in a while): I have not gone insane yet, but I do miss you enormously. Your lovegeek better be taking good care of you, because if he isn't, I'll kick his monkey ass. No mercy from the sexy librarian chick, no matter how much he begs and calls me Uncle. Oh! And K, just so you know, round number two of practice has begun *cough, cough* if you know what I mean. If you don't, write me. I miss you. I know, I've said that already, but it's just for good measure.

Hamsterface

Couldn't go to work after the dentist's.
I look like a freakin' hamster.
More importantly, my whole face is numb, from my chin to my eyebrows. I can't even talk.
I can't even eat or drink! I tried slurping up some soup through a straw, but it just dribbles down my chin and onto my chest.

Fuck.

This was the last time I got 6 cavities fixed at once.
Never again with the 'get it over with' crap. No sir.

...Oh crap the numbness will go away...Ooohh nooooo.

Fuzzy Yarn, Bitte!

I just got back last night from Ottawa where I got to visit with my grandparents.
It was a quick visit - I got there Friday night with my sister (who has the most awesome almost-4-month-pregnant belly I have ever seen) and we left Sunday afternoon. It was good to see them. I wish I lived closer, just to go see them once a week...

On Saturday we visited a cute little yarn shop in Gatineau where my little bro V chose the yarn for my next knitterly creation. It's Schachenmayr Nomotta Fantasy (can't find a suitable link to show you the look, sorry) in dark green, mossy-grass green and beige. It's all fuzzy! Soooo fuzzy! It's like knitting cat hair. Not that I've ever tried that. Not that I ever will.

Work on my mohair scarf is going well, and I've finally found short needles to work with. Love them!

Enough knitterly stuff for now. I'll eventually have a camera to take pictures and post them here for you to see. Gotta go suffer for two hours in the dentist's chair now. And I don't even get to see the dental hygienist with the bling on her tooth. Damn!

Energy, please!

It's finally Spring here...so good to see snow melting and brown gook surfacing.
I stood outside for 20 minutes today with my face in the sun...it was so warm!
Finally! No more freezing! And my nifty new spring coat was purchased at just the right time.

Why are changes of season so exhausting?
I'm guessing that's what's causing my general fatigue and irritability. Well, that and the fact I'm smoking again. But we're quitting Monday. Just like we quit last Monday.

I met an old friend today on the street today. It was cool to see him - but something was strange. I think I was happier to see him that he was to see me. Weird. Anyway, it's not like we have each other's phone numbers and nobody feels the pressure of giving news once in a while. Just weird.

Anyhoo, gotta go. Dinner at J & M's tonight. Yum.

Should Telepaths and Mind-Readers Be Legal?

At first I was just sitting there on the bus after work, going home, tired, next to this girl I don't know. We were making slow progress towards my getting home, having a glass of wine and taking it easy.

And then I realized that guy that was sitting across the aisle and two seats back was probably a student at my previous workplace, and that was the reason he looked so familiar. I was happy about (sort of) identifying him, because I always see him on the bus and wonder time after time why he looks so familiar.

Then something happened in my brain. Unsollicited, although not altogether disagreeable. But just the fact it happened started a whole chain of thought that prompted me to write this post.
Check it out: I could hear this very clearly in my head, music and all.

Don't just stand there let's get to it
Strike a pose there's nothing to it
Vogue (piano thingee)

That in itself was ok. I love Madonna. What was not ok was that my brain decided to loop it. So it started playing over and over - yes, just that little bit - in my head and I could not escape it. I decided to give in, and considered listening to the song when I would get home 10 minutes later just to get rid of it. That's what I usually do when I get unsollicited brain music. I listen to the song and it goes away.

That is when the weird thing happened. I started hoping the girl sitting next to me or other people on the bus were not mind-readers, because they would think I was completely off my rocker, looping Vogue in my mind. Then I thought maybe there were two kinds of people: some who could drop into anyone's brain at will and have a listen, and others who would just catch random brain noises people around them were making. I started hoping the mind-reader on the bus was one of the latter, so I could not be identified. Then it was my stop, and I happily noticed the song was gone. Then, I thought to myself 'This is one for the blog'.

And to think there are some days where I find myself too normal. Ha.

Sunday Knitty Sunday

I would like this to be Sunday Knitty Sunday.

But I can't get my arse out my office chair to get to my big green box in the living room, to pull out D's scarf and to make some significant progress. Why? I don't know. Ok, I do know. I get bored with my projects! This is why I had the idea, months ago, to start a knitted quilt - to see progress in all the little squares that took me 20 minutes to knit. But I promised D his scarf, I started it over a month ago, and I've got about one-thirds of it done.

And since I'm not faithful to one project alone, probably also because of boredom or a short attention span - come to think of it, both - I've got 3 projects on the go. Two scarves and one quilt. Must-kick-my-own-ass.

My need for structure is now forcing me to lay down the law. I will work in 30-minute blitzes. These things need to be finished! *Whip* Pull out D's scarf. Knit for 30 minutes. Put it down. Pick it up again the next day. Work on it for 30 minutes. Put it down. I can do this!

My sister will be giving birth in less than 6 months. The quilt needs to be finished. Plus I've been commissioned to paint something for baby's room. I'm thinking a tryptich in greens and yellows. Deadline number one.

Deadline number two is, well, passed. D's winter scarf cannot be worn in the springtime. Unless you're really, really cold. So his scarf will actually not be useful until next winter. But I'd like to have it done soon...maybe I can really give it a go and finish it before next Monday. I mean REALLY give it a go.

Deadline number three is extremely flexible. It's my own mohair spring scarf. Spring is here, might as well finish that too. Plus I'm almost done.

Okay, I gotta go knit now.
Next post, I will tackle the delicate issue of cleaning up the pigsty that is my office. It's scary.

Cheerio!

On Saturdays and Their Yumminess and on Being a Trucker

Saturdays Rock.

This I already knew, but this particular Saturday was better that a lot of other Saturdays.

Last weekend was pretty fun-filled and busy. Friday I went boogying with my little bro, the next day was my 30th b-day party (what a night...) and then the whole week just took forever to end and was filled with late nights, almost no sleeping, and stress. Rollercoaster of a week. Annual general meeting on Monday. Real b-day on Tuesday. Darts on Wednesday. Work thing Thursday. Drinks on Friday. And today....I got to sleep in. Looking back on the last few sentences, I now realize how I could really have it worse. I could be a heart surgeon, working 80-hour weeks and never seeing my family. I could also be a bus driver and have to do the Quebec-Montreal run every night of the week. Or a trucker. Being a girl trucker would be cool.

I would get to say Roger, Ten-Four on my radio. I think I'd bug the other truck drivers just to be able to say this. Roger would say

'Ok boys, we're meeting at the truck stop off the 40 and staying there overnight
to sleep in our cabs.'

Then I would get to say

'Roger, Roger. Ten-Four. SlikChik out.'

SlikChik would be my trucker name. Would they let me have a trucker name? They all have trucker names, right? It's lettered on the front of the cabs in italics, usually. Ti-Joe. Le Flo. Bernard 'Tiguidou' Lalancette. So I get to be SlikChik. I can do what I want, I am a girl truck driver. And they would protect me and make sure I did not get shit from other truck drivers from other provinces. We'd be hauling those giant tree trunks from one end of the country to the other and we'd stop in, like, Manitoba, and the Manitoban truckers would be all like,

'Ooooh check it out, Bill, it's SlikChik. Shush, she's coming this way'

And I'd walk up to the bar at the trucker's hangout in the middle of Nowhere, Manitoba, and order a glass of red wine. And I'd sit at the table with my crew and all the Manitobans would stare at me because I would be a legend. And my boys would get up and walk over to their tables and tell them off, high-fiving each other on the way back to our table. And I'd be the silent type. Would barely talk. The less words, the better. They would be meaningful words. And I'd have a long cowboy-type coat, all oiled and shit, and I'd have motorcycle boots. Black ones. And leather pants. And after my glass of wine, I'd retire to my truck affter saying 'Later, boys' to my crew, leave the trucker joint and walk through the parking lot, all the way to the other end (parking lots are huge in those truckstop places) climb on up into the back of my cabin and pull all the curtains for privacy.

Then I'd turn my laptop on, check out my favorite blog, turn off my laptop, pull out my knitting, have herbal tea and kiss my kitty cat.

Damn, Saturdays are cool.

Old Blog + New Blog = Retrospective

Surpriiiiise! This is a bilingual thing I'm doing. Ha! Yeah that's right.
I knew I'd get you someday. And that day, my friends, is today.

Before we move on to other things, I must mention my sadness at losing someone I didn't even know yet. I am rationalizing this right now with coldness because I am sick of crying. I know I am allowed to cry. But I've been doing it for 2 days now. I feel....dry.

Ha. That rhymes with cry. Lookadat.

I will survive. I have people around me who love me. I am choosing to be a being of light. I will not crawl into a cave and roll up into a little ball of pain. *Deep breath* Aaahhhhhh. *Stretch*. Ok. Here we go.

So as a new feature to this otherwise featureless thing I'm writing, I thought I would include in this blog entries from my first blog, which I started and maintained very unfaithfully in 2004-2005. This was in a fantastical place called Diaryland. It was not all fairies and pixies and pink marshmallow trees, nooooo. None of that. Just thousands of people, doing a writing thing. Much like Blogger. But not as cool with the templates and all that. So! Hence the title of this entry.

We are rewinding time *ooo-eee-ooo-eee-ooo* and going back to 2004. Not very interesting. But somewhat entertaining. So hang on to your berets, here's September 21, 2004:

So...hiya, world. Or whoever will read this. Or not. This is me doing something I've been wanting to do for a while: to have something I create be online. Dunno how this is going to turn out. We'll see. It's never too late. Maybe this is what I need to vent all these evil thoughts I've been having lately. God I need to eat something. Don't get me wrong, I'm not voluntarily not eating or anything. I'm just calming down from an out-of-control episode I've just had for the past...uhhhhm...4 or 5 hours. Ok. Grilled cheese sounds good.Currently listening to Dr. Greenthumb, by Cypress Hill. Very good.

Well! Phew! Not many things have changed, since that day. Let's see. I still have evil thoughts and out-of-control episodes. But I'm learning to control them, now. Okay, okay, I see where you're going - things have changed a bit. Next, I still like grilled cheese and Cypress Hill. Classics. How can you give up grilled cheese and Cypress Hill, seriously.

Okay, my readers! If you are not a figment of my imagination, I hope you enjoyed today's retrospective episode, and keep your eyes peeled for more soon. I've got better ones. And if you are a figment of my imagination, well, it's good to see you again. *Wink*

See ya.

Charogne

Bien fait. Je paie aujourd'hui pour ma négligence.
J'admets avec une grimace que je dois mieux garder l'inventaire de la nourriture qu'il y a chez moi.

Depuis hier, un curieuse odeur flotte dans l'appartement. Pas la fumée de cigarette, pas la litière du chat. Depuis hier, je me dis que je vais faire enquête. Et en entrant tout à l'heure, j'ai été littéralement assaillie par une odeur insupportable. J'ai honte de le dire, à force de chercher, j'ai pu retracer la source des effluves de charogne qui empestent l'appartement: j'ai oublié le poulet dans le tambour. Pestilence! Damnation! Horreur! La pauvre carcasse que je devais transformer en somptueux bouillon vient de passer beaucoup trop de temps sur la sécheuse, dans la pièce attenante à la cuisine. H me l'a fait remarquer, ce weekend. "Faudrait faire quelque chose avec le poulet" Et ce n'est pas tombé dans l'oreille d'une sourde. Mais j'ai...oublié. Pas fort! Cette pièce où il n'y a pas de chauffage est merveilleuse l'hiver: dépendant de la température qu'il fait dehors, c'est un réfrigérateur ou un congélateur. Excellent pour y conserver les biscuits de Noël fait à l'avance, les carrés au chocolat qu'on ne veut pas manger tout le même soir où...les poulets en attente de dépeçage. Avec le temps doux des derniers jours, ça aurait dû rester le tambour. Et pourquoi, d'abord, qu'en janvier, on goûte à deux degrés et à la pluie? Pas normal, pour ce coin de pays. Voilà, c'est le réchauffement de la planète. Ça doit être ça.

Et là, avec ma journée dans le corps, j'ai payé pour ma négligence. Je crois maintenant au karma. Non seulement est-ce qu'il aurait été suffisant que je doive ôter le couvercle de mon creuset pour jeter les restes odieux au fumet pestilent, mais il a fallu que je ne vérifie pas l'état de putréfaction de la chose. J'ai donc pensé bien faire en faisant d'une pierre deux coups. Je me suis dit qu'en vidant la poubelle de la cuisine (qui est d'ailleurs beaucoup trop grosse et qui est parfois la source d'odeurs désagréables...) je pourrais de facto faître disparaître le poulet en putréfaction. Mais voilà, les restes étaient en train de se liquéfier... J'ai donc versé par inadvertance une bonne tasse de gras et de bouillon puants sur le plancher de la cuisine. Vite! Aux toilettes jeter le reste! Il faut filtrer le mélange offensif! Il faut retenir son souffle! Devenir verte! En échapper sur ses manches de chandail pour que ça sente encore plus! Oui! Oui!

Et là, par -15 degrés, les fenêtres de l'appartement sont grandes ouvertes. Boo se demande ce qui se passe. Et mon nouveau gourami qui nageait allègrement hier encore est mort.

Quelle journée! Ça a commencé par des problèmes informatiques au travail qui m'ont bouffé la moitié de mon avant-midi. C'est à se demander pourquoi je m'occupe de l'informatique au travail. Je n'y connais rien. J'en sais un peu plus que la base. Mais pas de là à gérer la chose! J'aurais aimé pouvoir trouver une phrase, une seule, pour calmer les collègues. Mais l'irritabilité était au rendez-vous. Une chance, l'après-midi s'est bien passé, si ce n'est que du mal de tête et du dos en feu. Je ne suis pas retournée au bureau après mes quatre heures à la bibliothèque.

Qu'à cela ne tienne! Je ne laisserai pas des riens comme ça me faire une mauvaise journée, parce que ça pourrait être pire. Il faut remettre les choses en perspective. La journée n'est pas finie, par contre...il pourrait arriver d'autre chose! Nnnon! Je refuse de me laisser abattre! Il y a des gens qui vivent sans bras, sans jambes, il y a des gens qui ont perdu des êtres qu'il aiment aujourd'hui. Il y a la guerre quelque part dans le monde. Des orphelins, des veuves, des gens qui sont perdus, sans le sou, dans un pays étranger peu hospitalier. Il y a un enfant qui vient de mourir. Il y a une maman qui souffre, quelque part. Voilà. Remise en perspective efficace.

Je vais tricoter, tiens. Ne reste plus qu'à ne pas échapper de mailles...En fin de semaine, j'ai constaté que laisser des tricots en plan dans un sac de papier invitait le désastre. Surtout les griffes de Boo. J'ai donc vidé le bac Rubbermaid vert qui n'était qu'à moitié rempli dans le bureau et je me suis fait un coin pour mes réserves de laine. J'ai de beaux projets dans mon bac vert. Une couverture de bébé pour la petite chose qui grandit dans le ventre d'I. Un foulard pour D. Un foulard crocheté pour moi. Un début de courtepointe. C'est fou ce que le tricot occupe une grande place, maintenant. C'est bon contre le stress. Sauf quand on apprend à tricoter autre chose que des mailles à l'endroit et qu'on s'attaque au jersey pour la première fois. Je pensais bien perdre la tête dimanche, les mailles étaient tellement serrées! Mais j'ai persévéré, pour les cent mailles du rang, et je me suis répété mon petit mantra. C'est juste un tricot! C'est juste un tricot! Il faut le tricoter avec affection et patience, insuffler aux mailles toute la douceur dont je suis capable, c'est pour un petit bout d'amour que je vais aimer avec tout mon coeur!

J'expérimente donc une alternance jersey/point mousse avec le foulard à D et la couverture du futur petit pou (ou petite puce). Et je suis très satisfaite des résultats! Je suis si fière d'enfin conquérir ma peur du nouveau, peur de me tromper, peur de ne pas réussir. Ça fait du bien.