Marketing Mishap

Here's a rather disturbing advertisement for Kinder Surprise Eggs from the UK. It aired in the 1980s and was pulled, obviously I think, because it scared children. Middle Child found this one.

Another Reason Why Mumma Hates Lego

I hadn't been this knocked out by a cold in probably 10 years. I even missed two of my five weekly exercise classes, which, if you really know me, would indicate how truly awful I was feeling.

I even had to go to the emergency on Thursday. No, it wasn't for me. Just before bedtime (why is it always then?!?), the kids had a great idea to play Super Hero Tooth Decay Fighters while they were getting ready. On his way to the bathroom to get his toothbrush, Baby Boy ran through his room, strewn with his brother's dirty laundry. I've been after that kid to tidy up now for a week. Well, he tripped jumping over a hard container of Lego and fell face-first into the Lego pieces that were spilled out on the floor. And he cut up his face badly.

One cut on his right cheekbone was in need of stitches so while Middle Child guiltily picked up his bedroom mess, I piled Baby Boy in the car and took him to our little hospital. It may not have every diagnostic equipment, but I've never had to wait long and they've always fussed over the kids, making them feel very comfortable.

Baby Boy was coddled immediately upon arrival, which he ate with a spoon. He was given his choice of stickers to put on his admitting ID bracelet ("SpongeBob, please!"). He was carried to the cot in the observation room and was given a warm blanket, fresh from the dryer. Even the attending physician redid the two stitches because she initially didn't like the way it sealed. He was given a topical anesthetic so Baby Boy didn't flinch one bit. At the end of it all (10 pm, waaay past his bedtime which was part of the charm), he was given two huge stickers and a banana popsicle.

"This was the best day EVER!" he announced when we were driving home.

Send In the Clowns

Get this: my MOTHER dyed my hair on Saturday. Granted, I've always trusted my hair care to my mum (she missed her calling, I swear) but what makes this unique is that Mum dyed it that purplish tone I've been trying out. I know she hates it. I know she hates that it's killing my hair. But she still did it, and did an awesome job, too.

She also rearranged Daughter's bedroom furniture (another of my mum's hobbies) to make way for an antique three-way mirrored vanity that belonged to my Aunt F. Daughter woke up completely disoriented. Will I go to mommy jail if I tell you it was kinda funny watching her get out of bed when I woke her?

Cheeses Love the Little Children

I came back after picking Daughter up from Girl Guides last night (anyone want to buy those fricking cookies at $4 a box? Email me!) I found Husband on the phone with his mother. Meanwhile, Baby Boy was reading his new pop-up book while eating a huge chunk of cheddar the size of my palm.

Needless to say, the poor kid is really plugged today.

I don't blame Husband. It's almost impossible to talk with his mother. There are too many subjects that aren't to be touched, and the topics that CAN be discussed can give anyone a headache ("The current government is a paradigm for a military-enforced racist, patriarchal, homophobic society." "Oh... I had the best pie the other day!"). No, Husband needed all his wits in order to concentrate on the mine field that is a mother-son chit-chat.

I think I have some dates and figs in my pantry.

Starry-Eyed Surprise

I crave spontaneity and I so seldom get it. So when my weekends are a crap-shoot, I usually am all ready to start the new week afterward.

I thought this weekend was going to end with me resenting someone (did I write that out loud?) but after Husband put in five hours in the lab, he came home and arranged for my mum to babysit so he and I could catch a movie or something. We piled in the car and drove the two-ish hours. Middle Sister was there with her kids, so everyone was happy, except for Mum who bought bad chicken. The roast was great, though, as were the brussels sprouts until Husband broke the Pyrex my parents got for their wedding.

After dinner, Husband and I split and drove to a new theatre my dad encouraged us to go to. He also had free admission coupons. I guess so did everyone else because we couldn't find parking. So we had to take the highway to another theatre, but that one had a line-up waaaaay out the door, which wasn't moving. Fuck that, we thought. I'd sooner go catch a movie alone in my local pisspot of a theatre.

So we went to Chapters instead. And if you saw us and registered our excitement, you'd have to remember that we're from a small town where we don't have big box stores. I'm not hungry for a Wal-Mart or anything but I adore Chapters. I like the smell. I like the comfy seats where I can peruse AND drink coffee. I like the vast selection. And don't even get me going on the magazines or the stationery. I picked up a cute journal with a Margaret Keane-inspired goth girl on the cover for a whopping $4. I also bought a gorgeous J. Otto Siebold (the guy who illustrated Olive, the Other Reindeer) pop-up book of Alice in Wonderland for only $6, a very encompassing encyclopedic X-Men book for $7 because of the torn dust jacket, and a novel that, well, I just liked the cover which had this retro Latina on it. I really enjoy Mexican folk art and the book is sort of based on La Loteria. I just wanted to have it around and, surprisingly, Husband didn't object or call me pack-ratish names. He must like me these days.

Husband bought the Radiohead CD. He almost got one by Mark Knopfler but I made a face like I would have if I was watching orthopedic surgery or something.

We slept over at my parents' and spent the next day in Toronto. Husband visited people and I took my parents to the Apple Store to introduce my dad to the idea of getting a computer. We looked at an entry-model iMac. "Where's the rest of the computer?" Dad asked when I was showing him around. He couldn't believe that everything was inside the thin monitor. Actually, I think it might have made him more hesitant somehow.

After, we all met up at Baby Sister's house. The guys got all hepped up on testosterone and watched football on the HD. My mum, sister and I got all domestic and discussed baby laundry and ideas for the nursery.

We made our way back home with the kids konked out in the back so I got to listen – without complaints – to my boyfriend, George Stroumboulopoulos. Husband knows well of, but doesn't understand, my thing for Strombo. "Why can't you just lust after Brad Pitt like a normal woman?" Maybe because I'm not normal, sugar. I mean, how many judge their days by the amount of spontaneity in it? And everyone thought I'd grow up and calm down. I must be a huge disappointment to so many in my life.

Ahhh! White Noise!

The Earth is crying today. The weather is insanely mild with a reported high of 12 C today in my area (15 tomorrow). I'm going to use my time wisely and take down the Christmas lights and then all of the decorations inside. It's a hell of a job; that's why I'm writing instead of working.

I'm glad the Christmas holidays are over. It sounds awful but I'm happy to get everyone out of my hair. Husband and I got in a huuuuuuge argument after one of his throwing-out-stuff moods.

Apparently, he tossed our bassinet, which I wanted to keep partly because my grandparents gave it to me and because lots of babies slept in it. I even wrote their names in calligraphy with their birthdays and birth weight at the bottom. I was looking for it to give it to Baby Sister when Husband broke the news.

I swear, unless it's smaller than a loaf of bread (never mind a bread box), he'll toss it. I had to go to the Goodwill to buy back my crib when I found out he just donated it. It converts to a double bed, which might come in handy. It was disassembled and doesn't take up much room this way.

But you could imagine my surprise when I once saw my one and only teddy bear at the Goodwill on my occasional troll for shot glasses. My dad bought it for me on the day I was born. Teddy has been with me during all my surgeries, very lengthy hospital stays, first day of school, and was on my bed forever. Needless to say, I bought him back. Fucker.

Typical Husband, though. I wanted to discuss this like adults should and he left the house for, like, all day and most of the night. I thought for a moment that I should just pack up the kids and fuck off somewhere without a forwarding note, but two wrongs don't make a right. So I waited. And waited. Daughter picked up on the bad air and told me she was scared. Poor thing. I hope I calmed her. She gave her dad an earful the next morning, though.

But that's his way. I need to remind myself that he's from a fucked-up family. If physically running away from a problem is his way of coping or whatever, then I should count my blessings. There are worse things.

Anyway, all is fine now, I suppose. He's back to work. The kids are all in school. My exercise classes are back to their regular schedule and I am thinking that I need to take a long, hard look at myself. I should make a resolution. But will I?

There's a Happy Feeling Nothing in the Woooorld Can Buy...

I can let a few cats out of the bag now.

After much orchestration, I bought a Wii for the family for Christmas. We had agreed (most emphatically by Husband who is from a Dungeons and Dragons, Intellivision, board game background) to forgo gifts to each other and blow all the dough on a Wii. This was in October.

By mid-December, Wii-less, I was all ready to go out and get some emergency gifts for the kids. Santa was going to be really good to them, as well, but I felt they needed something under the tree.

I had my friend Slowplum doing much of the legwork. She called two people she knew who worked at places that sold Wii consoles. It was her sister-in-law that came through. When the shipment came in to the store she managed, she called Slowplum who called Husband's secretary who helped to track me down and the kids' school secretary got the call and buzzed me over the p.a. system to get my ass down to the office and take Slowplum's call. I left immediately, right in the middle of a bake sale I was helping with, got it and hid it back at the school in the principal's office.

I thought I was going to get a HUGE reaction when it was opened. All I got from Husband was, "Oh. My. God." And then he turned his head to me and said, "That's nice, Jen. Thanks." I stood there, gap-mouthed. Of course, I'm forgetting that Husband is a bit of a milquetoast in the emotions department. He's not one for overt public displays of affection, though he still puts his hand on the small of my back at parties if he's feeling comfortable. Still, everyone is happy. Slowplum and her family are coming over Saturday to indoctrinate us into Wii-world.

We had a good Christmas. Actually, Baby Boy announced to everyone many times that it was the best Christmas ever. He was wide-eyed about everything. We went to Husband's grandmother a few days before and got to see a few aunts, uncles and cousins, too. Gramma is getting quite hunched over and so incredibly intolerant, but she's still on her own and maintains her own home. She's a marvel, really. Mind you, the oldest sibling does a lot to help her out and this particular aunt isn't a well woman. She has breast cancer among a host of other illnesses.

Christmas Day was spent at my grandmother's, another woman approaching 90 and still living at her own home. My uncle lives in the basement and is treated like crap. Mind you, he gives it right back. But the driveway is shoveled, the grass is mowed. My grandmother (with help from my aunts, mother and one of my cousins) makes a hot meal for everyone. That would be around 40 of us. My contribution was a Greek pasta salad and biscotti that Grandma quickly hid for herself. The kids went off to play video games with the basement uncle. Husband hung around his golf buddy who is also my uncle by marriage and only 10 years older than we are. I flitted around, trying to make myself useful in the kitchen, talking to almost everyone, and finally settling down with my cousins, some 22 years younger than I am, with my Taboo game. It was girls vs. boys and the boys defeated us soundly. One cousin brought her boyfriend of three years for the first Christmas. Surprisingly, we didn't scare him off. They recently bought a condo together but it won't be ready until 2009.

Boxing Day is always at my parents'. Mum makes finger food and the kids go hog wild. I love going to my parents' house because I CAN set the kids free and between one of the adults, all kids are well-taken care of.

The other cat left to be set out of the bag is that I can safely say that I'm going to be an auntie again. Baby Sister is about 17 weeks pregnant and everyone is just thrilled. So next Christmas will be just a wee bit different. And I can't wait!

Let's Eat the Lamb of God!

Oh, come let us adore... the gingerbread crêche I made! I really strive to be a cool mum.

And before you tell me it's blasphemous to eat it, remember that I'm Catholic. We eat Jesus at every mass.

Damn My iPod

I was finally getting around to writing my Christmas cards. I was in my spinning class this morning when I realized I only have a week, so I should get at it. I was writing a few, listening to my iPod (including a note to my uncle to let him know that I love him. I'll probably get in shit for it, though). I end up forwarding a lot of songs because they remind me of another time or people from long ago.

"Play That Funky Music White Boy" by Wild Cherry reminds me of my mother-in-law's second husband getting down at my wedding. We lost touch after they divorced, sadly. He was a great guy.

"Planet Claire" by The B-52s reminds me of my roller disco days at Scooter's. I never did a proper shoot-the-duck, though.

"Tonight, Tonight" by The Smashing Pumpkins was the last song I heard before I gave birth for the first time. It also reminds me of riding with Middle Sister to her wedding with me and Baby Sister singing along while the bride probably wanted to puke.

"So. Central Rain" by REM reminds me of this mixed tape a guy made me and, being young and dramatic, I read into it and wondered why he never called.

"Mr. Brightside" by The Killers reminds me of a time long before the song came out...but never mind. Let's leave that one in the past. Too bad. Great song.

There's always something, though. Some songs even remind me of my loved ones' pasts and I didn't even need to be there with them. Pretty much every song reminds me of something so if I were to take them off the mp3, I'd have nothing there.

Am I the only one who can't listen to a song without associating it?

Alone Again, Naturally

Yet again, I am single-parenting this week. Husband is helping to move his dad into a nursing home out west, yet having to travel about two hours from his brother's home to his dad's old apartment.

He really didn't want to go. I would have done the moving for him but Husband has power of attorney, so there were things needed to be done that only he could do. Seriously, I'm as fit as I ever was; lifting weights now for two years. Moving furniture wouldn't be an outlandish activity for me. Besides, Husband is self-employed. If he doesn't work, he doesn't get paid.

Having him gone, however, brings new opportunities for me and the kids. I'm totally indulging in the kitchen, making stuff that Husband hates. I've got a box of instant mashed potatoes that Daughter would hug if she didn't think she'd get teased. I made baked onion rings. Yeah, they're healthier than the deep-fried ones from Harvey's but, uh, onion rings were dinner. We had ricotta ravioli with ketchup. If you're not one of my sisters, you'll never understand that one, I'll bet. Come to think of it, I think I remember Middle Sister's youngest eating ketchup ravioli once, so the tradition lives on through the branches.

The kids and I went over to Middle Sister's last weekend. The youngest took my hand as soon as I got in. "Auntie Jen, your hair is red. Your lips are red and your hair is red. Your hair is RED!" He kept touching it all afternoon. "So soft!" Apparently, he likes it, unlike my mother and one of Daughter's friends who said I look like a clown. I'd just shrug that one off, but I think the boy is the next Carson Kressley and I've always at least listened to style advice from my gay friends. I'm still liking it, though. I've just gone from black liquid liner to brown to soften things up a bit. However, the retro red lipstick stays.

Husband left just after we had parent-teacher interviews. Daughter's lasted all of about four minutes, and only lasted that long because I had asked the teacher to explain these new diagnostic tests and Daughter's results. "My job would be so easy if I had a whole classroom of (Daughters)," she said.

Middle Child's, on the other hand, lasted about a half-hour. His report card was a sea of A's (except in gym and drama), so academics aren't his problem. It's the fact that he's soooo methodical about everything. He's the last one to get his snowsuit on or off. He's the last one to get his books and pencils ready. He's the last one to hand in a report. And if he's answering a question, he answers it and then somehow segues into another idea that would fascinate him but would lose the rest of the class. Like when he answered that one Catholic sacrament was marriage, he then went on about the break up of the Church during Henry VIII's reign and, oh, let's also talk about his many wives. Or how about when the class had to write a proper letter to the teacher, where everyone else's was "thanks for teaching me", Middle Child's first sentence was, "Have you ever wondered about the dung beetle?" And it ended, "I can tell by your age that you're probably going to retire soon, but you are still good at your job." Thank God his teacher has a great sense of humour.

I think it's subtle.

I dyed my hair with a colour called "electric grape". It came out fairly magenta on my grey but, overall, it has a nice burgundy hue.

Husband asked when I was going to grow up. And my mother is going to hate it.

He Knows If You've Been Bad or Good

Yesterday, I handed out individualized letters from Santa to each kid in Middle Child's class. It was awesome to see their reaction. They're still young enough to totally believe in the guy in red and, for all their acting cool, reading the letters had them wide-eyed with wonder.

The letters had lots of kids swell with pride with all the compliments and embarrassed giggles with the suggestions for improvement. Nothing harsh, they just said stuff like, "eat all your vegetables," "get to bed when your parents tell you," and "please remember to raise your hand if you have something to say in class."

Slowplum's son was a bit baffled when he got to the end of his letter. "Santa wrote something in Spanish. I don't know Spanish!" Actually, it was Portuguese and if you saw the kid, you'd know there's a kitchen rooster in his relative's house. Luckily, I knew it read "merry Christmas and happy new year" in Portuguese and told him. "That's incredible! He knew I was Harry Potter for Halloween AND he knows I'm kind of Portuguese!" What was incredible was watching him and his classmates read and reread their letters.

Middle Child's letter, of course, was most detailed. It went to great pains about how he needs to stop arguing, particularly with his siblings. And when he got home, he bitched about Baby Boy being in his way all the time and bit him on the bum.

Middle Sister once got a lump of coal in her stocking. She was a teenager and it was a bit of a joke (she got her gifts later), but it made a point. Would it be awful if Santa did that to my kids? I know Middle Sister would kill me, but, boy, all the kids would be really freaked out by that.

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.

You're Nobody 'Til Somebody Lusts You

I live on Wisteria Lane.

I was putting the garden to bed when I heard someone getting, uh, bedded. It was my neighbour who came to her backyard to skank with someone who wasn't her husband. Granted, I haven't seen the husband around much, but he does show up now and again.

Either I was very quiet or my neighbour didn't care, but I heard them come out the door and then she said, "Let's go up against the back fence." Yeah, where I was only about 10 feet away.

Apparently, my neighbour likes to talk dirty when she's having sex.

I didn't want to make a sound because I feared they'd freak out on me and, well, wouldn't that make for months and months of awkward moments on the shared driveway? I stopped ripping out the tiger lilies and just sat there wishing I had my iPod and hoped – prayed – that the cordless phone I brought outside wouldn't ring.

I waited until the fence stopped bobbing back and forth, making a mental note that maybe we should reinforce the posts sometime in case we get another tornado. And I hope it was all worth it for them because it was only about 10 minutes.

But this isn't the first time and I'm worried there might be something in the water. This summer, the couple directly across the street from me split up. I saw him bring home a young slip of a thing, but the wife is back now.

Down the road and across the street, a woman kicked out her husband. I think he had some drug dependency issues, but the guy's pretty cool. He rides weird bikes and can balance several coffees while doing so. He came back after about two weeks.

The gay couple who live on the corner had a falling out last spring. One guy threw all this shit out on the lawn and I heard the other guy say, "You can't kick ME out. This is my house, remember?" A very young man came around quite often after that.

And then there's the mother of the children my kids play with. They live a few doors away. She was having an affair with her children's teacher and then had the balls to kick out her husband to move the boyfriend in. Moxie! Mind you, this boyfriend had it done to him a few years ago. His now ex-wife was fucking the teenaged babysitter (male and about 20 years her junior) and got pregnant. Baby Boy is friends with said love child.

Don'tcha love small towns? Fuck. And I mean that figuratively and literally. Just call me Mrs. Kravitz.

And Right In the Middle of Oktoberfest, Too

A recent poll was taken in Germany. It asked if people thought there were any positive things the Nazis did. About a quarter of the people surveyed said that they actually did a few good things.

Okay, so for anything Germans may appreciate the Nazi party for doing, it all be negated when you remember, oh yeah, they killed 11 million people.

Saying, "The Nazis built a terrific highway" or whatever is akin to saying, "Sure, Paul Bernardo is a child killer, but he always kept his lawn immaculate."

I am the Curse of the Leafs

Did you see the game last night? I had the kids all tucked into bed and went to watch at least the third period. The Leafs were up by two goals by the end of the second. Barfalo quickly scored two goals. I went looking for my knitting and the Leafs scored. I sat back down on the chesterfield. It was tied at the end of regulation. End of the third period, and I decided to wash my face and get ready for bedtime. By the time I got back, they were well into overtime which was just about to end and the Leafs scored on their own net.

Is it a coincidence that the Leafs got scored on every time I was watching? Some may think so, but this happens all the bloody time to me. True story.

"I'm the curse of the Leafs," I said to my dad not too long ago. I explained the way they're always scored upon when I'm actually watching the TV and how they score when I'm having a sneezing fit or went to answer the phone or yawning with my eyes closed or looking down to my crafting.

"Don't be ridiculous, honey," Dad said. "You may not remember it, but you were alive when they last won the Cup."

"Uh, no I wasn't, Dad."

"I thought you bled blue and white! They won the Cup in 1967 and you were born..." He looked at me funny.

"Shit, sweetheart. Stop watching the games, okay?"

Huh?

Riddle me this: last night I had a dream that one of my teeth fell out. It was loose. I flossed and it just popped out. No blood. I woke up and I was holding a book I'm reading (Darkly Dreaming Dexter by Jeff Lindsay) with two hands in the air.

I'm having a great hair day today. It's kinda doing this Laura Petrie thing.