The Bad Smell is a Party Pooper

I wrote this whole thing about my mum's 60th birthday party, about how she had a great time but I didn't. It was soured because of The Bad Smell which is also known as a relation of mine whom I haven't got along with since I was way too young. How The Bad Smell jokingly tried to abduct my Baby Boy (like an abduction can ever be a joke...getting an inkling why I consider The Bad Smell so gross?).

Anyway, Baby Boy just tried to pop in a scratched CD rom into my ancient iMac and I lost my post.

So, to sum up: Mum = happy, me = threw up in my mouth a little, Baby Boy = safe, food = good, cousin's bruchetta = especially good, my youngest aunt = sad, my stupid off-hand comment to sad aunt = result of a brain fart brought on by The Bad Smell.

Oh, but I would be remiss not to mention my sister's actions on behalf of one of her best friend who had lost her mother on the doomed Air India flight 20 years ago. Nikki (the friend) has been imploring all who can and would to contact the prime minister to ask for an inquiry into this, Canada's very own terrorist attack and the debacle of its investigation and trial. Paul Martin's email is pm@pm.gc.ca if you care. I'm going one step further and contacting my backbenching MP. I didn't vote for him, nor will I ever, but since he's there, he can shake his fat ass for my taxes.

Could you imagine the fresh hell this woman goes through every day?