A Few Things That Piss Me Off

1. People who walk on the road in slushy and/or icy road conditions instead of walking on the sidewalk are just asking to get hit by a car.
2. Hoarking. Ew. Ew. Ew. I don't care if you're congested. Use a tissue.
3. Phony bastards who treat me different when they learn I'm "a doctor's wife".

Let's expand on number 3, shall we? Granted, I'm not your average middle-aged mother of three, or at least I don't think I dress the part. I play the car stereo way too loud. My footwear of choice is usually Chuck Taylors or Airwalk slip-ons (the 80s version). I wore liquid eyeliner and red matte lipstick before it was in fashion and I'll still be wearing it when it goes out (yup, me and Dita von Teese). Sure, some people look at me like I eat kittens or something.

But it's these same people who take their parents to Husband and then see my photo (holding baby Daughter) in the opertory and then, the next time we meet, I'm worthy.

I don't watch Oprah. In fact, I hate her with the fire of a thousand suns. Okay, maybe I don't hate her. I just don't relate to her and she could never relate to me. Oh, and I think she reeks of falseness. But I digress. I caught an episode (actually could only stomach 15 minutes of it) about how people judge you according to your appearance. A stranger immediately upon looking at you will make assumptions on your income, upbringing, and way of life. And I'd buy that. I know this from my days as a blue-haired goth with straight As (except in math – I won't lie).

So when people treat me differently when they know what my husband does, I get put out.

Only today did I realize that when people ask us, "How the hell did you two ever get together?" or make the comment "You guys are such opposites," that maybe people are wondering what could Husband possibly see in me.

I Ache

My mum was over this week. If you know her, you'd know she had me hopping. Time to sit on your ass? Hardy har-har. Thank goodness she has a bad back. She's been hell-bent on dismantling the boys' bunk beds, repainting my red dining room a pastel or something icky, moving bedrooms around and bringing my main floor laundry to the basement. On the flip side, my kids were treated with the best soup in the country and I got caught up with lots of chores while Mum kept Baby Boy occupied.

I did, however, make a serious dent in my Christmas shopping while she was here. I'm just kicking myself in the ass for not picking up a Little Tykes digital camera for my nephews though. I went back to the store after Dad took her home and they were all gone.

It looks like Husband is going to visit family yet again. My father-in-law had a bad fall months ago and it looks like he'll never totally recover. This means he's going to be put in a nursing home of sorts. This also means that Husband and his brothers have to plow through all sorts of shit to get the old man settled. This may mean a really fucked up Christmas, but I hope not. Husband may not be westward AT Christmas, but with the lost work days, he's going to have to make them up somewhere. Such is life. We knew this day was going to come at some point. It's just a crappy time because he gets lots of patients calling just before Christmas. But I can't complain too much. My brother-in-law and his wife are doing the lion's share already.

I feel sorry for Husband's dad. He doesn't have much so he really prided himself that he lived alone, despite his disability. Now he doesn't even have that. And we're going to have to get rid of almost all his stuff. I mean, there's nothing really that anyone would want and he won't be able to take them along. I'd love his old photos, but I'm sure he can take those with him. It's his doodads and furniture I'm talking about. Actually, he does have this velvet green day-glo painting of a couple going at it – in a driftwood frame no less. I'd looooove that but:

a) could I hang that up in the house with kids around?
b) is it middle-of-the-road enough for Mr. Milquetoast, I mean, Husband?
c) would Husband actually carry it through an airport all for the love of me?

No, no, aaaaaand no.

So, to get me laughing again, Middle Child and I watched this series called Making Fiends on the internet tonight. The school librarian told me all about it after we learned we both share a great love for Franny K. Stein. There are a few similarities, though Franny is much, much friendlier than Vendetta.

Lunch With Richard Manuel

I wasn't invited or anything. I just showed up for lunch at Richard Manuel's place by the river. I brought tea and oranges (yes, they came all the way from China), as well as some leftover tandoori chicken I made last night. I don't think Richard minded. By the looks of things, no one is beating a path to him these days.

So, you're probably wondering, "Who the hell is Richard Manuel?" Ever heard of The Band? They had songs you'd know if you heard them like "The Weight" and "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down" and "Up On Cripple Creek". Anyway, he was the keyboardist.

Now, I live too far from my relatives but I really wanted to have lunch with someone today. It's a New Orleans tradition, though it's supposed to be done around 12:01 a.m. Yeah, if I ate that late at night, one of the gym instructors would give me a lecture if they found out. Anyway, Richard doesn't live far.

I talked a bit, pulled some weeds and did some polishing with the napkin I packed. Got hit with a couple of wonderful inspirations (could it have been the creative presence of a musician? Or maybe I'm just that brilliant). And I enjoyed the sun that found its way to beam on my face. Ooh, it felt so great I needed to really bask in it, so I lay down beside Richard right there on the cold, damp floor. I dig juxtapositions. I wondered aloud if many women lay with the guy these days. But, again, by the looks of things, no one has been around much.

Hopefully, I'll do it again next year. I forgot how peaceful cemeteries can be.

Lunch With Richard Manuel

As Count Floyd Would Say...

2007 Pumpkin
Originally uploaded by Nimcheena

"Scary! Eh, kids?"

This year's jack-o-lantern was George Bush. Most people got it right away, which is a far cry from last year's Kim Jung Il (who, in my mind, is far scarier).

My neighbour and substitute husband (every woman should have a spare) said, "Dumbing it down for the people who don't read newspapers?" Sad, but true.

Another one of my neighbours took a photo of it last night. "I look forward to your pumpkins every year, Jen," he said. He emails out pics of my pumpkins every year along with photos of his two children.

So, I think I need to invest in a Dremel tool so I can get into some heavy-duty carving.

Baby Boy got one more wear out of the plush dog costume. I bought it for Middle Child about four or five years ago. I'm cheap that way. Actually, I'm cheap in lots of ways as well.

Middle Child went as a vampire again, but told everyone he was Louis de Pointe du Lac from Interview With a Vampire. He got the idea from me, admittedly. He was disappointed because he has fairish hair. "Vampires have black hair." "Not Louis de Pointe du Lac," I said rather absentmindedly. Thus began.

At the last minute, Daughter decided to go as Kat von D from LA Ink. She loves that show. Thinks it's all about girl power. "That's why you like it, right Mummy?" I don't want to tell her that I have a huge crush on the chubby, balding Corey. It's never the standard guys. Never was. Never will be. Anyway, Daughter did an AWESOME job. We got these fake tattoo sleeves from the Tiger. She threw on a black skull t-shirt and black pair of peg pants, her low-tops, a flower in her hair, red lips, big goofy glasses and a wide white belt with silver stars. I got out my liquid liner (there is no substitution. Never was. Never will be) and drew the stars near her eye and leaves on her neck.

Am I asking for trouble?

She went out with two friends, trailed by her dad and brothers. And, by her account, it was the best Halloween ever.