This Was a Total Waste of Nice 'n Easy

I spent the week choreographing and practicing my routine. I had nightmares. I refused a trip to Dairy Queen. I exfoliated, dyed, waxed. And the bitch cancelled on me at the last minute.

I was just changing into my "I look thin" workout clothes when Husband said, "Oh, you're back from the market." I was hocking my stuff again, completely preoccupied, mind you. "Your gym friend, Sweet Young Thing, called about an hour ago. Your audition was cancelled."

I phoned the gym to confirm. Yes, sure enough, it was cancelled.

"Any reason why?" I asked. "Is it postponed or something?"

"Uh, all I know is that we were told last night that the audition was cancelled and I was to tell that to anyone who asked."

Word is I was the only person who confirmed interest to head office in becoming an instructor. This really isn't a surprise to anyone. Not everyone is comfortable enough to stand on a stage with perfect form and shout out choreography that will be two beats ahead of the music and the moves you're currently doing. Often, when approached to consider instructing, people's response is usually, "Are you fucking crazy?"

So, did they cancel because only one person was going to audition? Why waste the gas on just one, sort of thinking? Or should I take it personally? I don't know, but common courtesy would have been to have contacted me to let me know it was off, I think.

I emailed the woman who was to do the audition, politely asking if she'd reschedule. Any time I've emailed her, she has never written me back. Oh, except once, though it took her two weeks to do so.

I made myself a rather splendid chocolatini last night.

Baby Sister's Baby's Nickname

We visited Baby Sister's house on the weekend where my brother-in-law, Home Chef, made a wizard barbecued cheeseburger pizza. The kids are still talking about it. And they had a cake for Husband whose birthday is soon.

Anyway, I just want to say here, in public, that Baby Sister has The World's Easiest Baby (TM). Yes, this will be my sweet nephew's new nickname here until I am proved otherwise.

Also on my mind:

- In case you are wondering, I'm on Team Whoopi. Why? Because my gay friends can call themselves queer. Same diff.

- I'm a little freaked out because one of the hardest bodied instructors at the gym is voluntarily taking me under her wing on Thursday and will help me to choreograph a routine for my audition with the regional manager.

- I am so loving Jemaine Clement. Would it be wrong to put up a picture of him in my laundry room, despite the fact that a) I'm not a kid, and b) Husband is more of a Bret McKenzie?

- Baby Boy can sing a bevvy of classic rock songs thanks to Guitar Hero. It's funny to hear him break out into "Rock You Like a Hurricane" in the middle of the grocery store.

Selling Pieces of Craft

Jules's husband and I shared a table at the local farmer's market today. It's something that he's been on about for some time. Well, he finally decided to go through with it, hoping it will result in a full-time job or something. And I'm tagging along for the ride.

I made my record album bags and some Kool-Aid Jammer accessories. Not a lot. I figured I wasn't going to sell anything because people didn't know we were there, it being our first week and everything. Okay, I thought my Jammer headbands would go because I priced them at a toonie.

I did sell half of my Jammer headbands, but also two Jammer purses and a record tote! It was a K-Tel album called Power House with a very ugly picture of a nearly nude Styx. The woman was thrilled with it. "It's for my sister's birthday. I was just going to head out to the mall, but this is perfect! It's so ingenious! You should be paid double just for having the creativity." She said she would have bought the Rod Stewart's Greatest Hits one for herself but didn't have the cash. She'll be back next week, she said. We'll see.

Jen's Babysitting Service

Was it a moment of weakness or onset guilt that made me agree to a sleepover at our house after Daughter had dinner at her friend's?

Whatever it was, I had, at the time of agreement, forgotten that the mother of said friend is not the most punctual person. I only remembered it when she was late to pick up her daughter the next morning that she had done this to me before. The last sleepover resulted in the friend being picked up just shy of 90 minutes late.

"My other daughter has a soccer game tomorrow morning so I may be a little after 11 am picking up. Is that okay?" the mom said.

"Sure. A little late is fine," I reassured her. Eleven o'clock or 15, possibly 30 minutes, later would still allow me to get to my grandmother's house in north Toronto for her afternoon gathering.

Yeah, 11 am would have been fine. Of course, the mom didn't pick up her daughter until 2:30.

"That was some rain storm, eh?" she said possibly by way of an excuse.

So she got some free babysitting and I feel like a chump.

So much has happened, really.

I turned, er, an age that is, literally and figuratively, an f-word. Got my drunk on with very close friends though none of us got actually drunk. And we went home by 11. No need to call Children's Aid on us moms. I did, however, introduce the group to whiskey sours and some guy tried to pick us up.

He started on me because I was wearing the tiara and leopard print elbow gloves, I assume. He asked me to marry him and I replied, "Sorry, but that would really piss off my husband." Jules added with a guffaw, "Stay away from the cougar! She's the mother of three, you know." That scared the guy off enough to hit on my friend and gym instructor I shall call Tall Blonde.

Now, Tall Blonde is rather beautiful in a classic good looks kind of way. Perhaps that gave her the obvious experience in handling the guy with aplomb. She kept her distance but was really nice, later explaining that she was trying to get the guy to buy us a round. Then he made a comment about how Jules, Tall Blonde and I could probably kick his ass, which may be an astute observation considering we're gym rats. Tall Blonde then decided to ditch him and unleashed a barrage of intimidating questions. It was lots of fun! I didn't feel bad for the guy. He was pretty drunk to start. I mean, the guy stumbled to our table. And he really was just a baby. He was drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade, for goodness sake.

And I got a nephew on my birthday too (which I hadn't mentioned in that earlier post). When Baby Sister told Middle Sister and I that she was pregnant and when the due date was, I gave her a hug and said, "So, I guess I'll be sharing a birthday." Everyone, my parents, the husbands, poo-pooed the notion. "Your birthday is nine days later. There's no way." "You'll see," I replied.

Husband thinks I should play the lottery.

The kids are finished school and, mean mumma that I am, I am making them do a page or two of "homework" every day in order to earn screen privileges. On the flip side, I got a season's pass at the local outdoor pool which is just around the corner from our house. They all did well on their report cards. Middle Child was especially pleased because he finally got an A in gym, making him a true straight A student. Okay, he didn't get an A in music, but it is a well-known fact that the music teacher doesn't give A marks to anyone (which pisses Daughter off supremely. "I knew what mezzoforte meant in Grade 2 because of my violin lessons. I'm in two choirs and even I don't get an A.")

We just got back from touring the Maritimes as well. We've seen Western Canada many times, but not Eastern. Actually, Husband only has to get to Newfoundland, NWT and Nunavut and he's seen it all. We had a great hotel in Halifax, right downtown, spacious and everything. We did tons of walking which wasn't the easiest thing for Baby Boy to do, so he was carried a lot. I think we did really well to fill the days, though we did hit every candy store we passed.

My parents came too and had a great time. My father immigrated through Pier 21. He wasn't in the door 90 seconds when he began to cry. You see, Dad was paying our admission fee ("It's my honour and privilege") when the woman asked, as every Pier 21 employee and volunteer asks, "Do you have any history here?"

"As a matter of fact, this was my port of entry. I immigrated through here."

"Welcome back, then!" The woman reached down and pulled out two gold stickers that read "Pier 21 Alumni" and handed them to Dad. "You could wear one today and keep one as a souvenier."

And that got the waterworks flowing the first time. He cried a few times after that. Mum told me the next day how much he enjoyed the museum; how much it moved him. "I think he cried so much because he was thinking of his mum and his sisters and how much he misses them now that they've died." I kinda disagreed. "That's probably only part of it. He mentioned many, many times that he had recently retired and how he owes so much of his happy life to Canada." Dad is fiercely patriotic. He had also mentioned to one Pier 21 guide that his sons-in-law are a descendant of the United Empire Loyalists, the son of recent immigrants and a status Indian. That kind of shit turns my dad's crank.

And all my video that I took is, I think, wrecked. I think there's something wrong with the DV cassette, dammit. Photos are fine, though.

Oh, and I made the local CBC News on the first day we arrived. They showed the boys and I sitting on rocks and pointing things out in Dartmouth Harbour. Apparently, there's going to be some development there. We weren't interviewed or anything.

Daughter said the Pier 21 day was her favourite. Middle Child enjoyed the scenic countryside drives, the seafood and going to a Ministry of Fisheries biological institute where he got to see (and touch) mutant fish. Baby Boy's favourite day was the beach in PEI and the hotel pool.

And I bought myself a totally rad Six Million Dollar Man t-shirt to which Husband simply sighed and muttered, "When are your middle-aged boobs going to wear floral prints?"

I may be older, but I'm not sagging yet.