What are the chances?

Quick recap of what happened while I obviously haven't been writing...

Christmas was great. Got to spend another one with my grandmother, which is always a joy because, well, you never know.

Submitted my video for Body Pump certification. I had to film myself on stage presenting a whole class and then ship it off to headquarters for someone to assess my skills. I'm thrilled to say that I passed with flying colours. It was a glowing report. I'm teaching two classes now and even have groupies! Two people follow every class I teach.

We went back to Daughter's Mecca over the weekend. Husband's grandmother was having a birthday party nearby so we made our way. Before the party, though, I ran into the Home Hardware to buy a t-shirt. Any Avril Lavigne fan worth their mettle knows about the Napanee Home Hardware shirt she wore on Saturday Night Live. Anyway, I walked in, took a cursory look around and then just went to the counter.

"I'm looking for 'the t-shirt.'"

"Ah, yes," said the clerk. "And how old is the recipient?"

Daughter was absolutely chuffed. "It's totally the exact same!"

It's great to see that girl smile again. We had lightning strike twice earlier this month. Daughter's friend's mother suddenly died of a cerebral aneurysm. She was only 34; the mother of three. My friend was fit and quite possibly the nicest person around. I've never seen her in a foul mood. I've never heard her raise her voice. She was so calm and friendly. She lied down to sleep. Her husband turned off the lights and not long after came the aneurysm. Quick.

I see people that look like her all the time. I still can't believe she's dead.

I signed Daughter out of school so she could go to the funeral home with her friends. When we got home, I was bracing myself to answer those tough questions when Daughter said, "Someone left us a message on the phone." So I had her answer it. It was from her violin teacher's husband. It turned out not 12 hours after the one mom died, the violin teacher had a brain aneurysm too.

Thankfully, she was very lucky. They took her to Buffalo of all places (they looked locally, even to closer big American hospitals, but no beds were available) where she's had a few surgeries and is expected to make a very good recovery. They're unsure if she will be able to play music, though. I call her every once in a while and she's very scared to pick up the violin.

Anyway, Daughter has learned a hard lesson about the fragility of life. She has been absolutely golden these days, albeit a little clingy. She makes a point of kissing me goodbye or goodnight. She hasn't been nasty to her brothers. She has little tolerance for people who are in the Happy Life Night Club and they're complaining about the noise. She knows life is short. It's a big pill to swallow at her age.

So Busy

I only have time to ask:

Am I just being nostalgic or does "Chinese Democracy" start off the same way as the theme from "Beverly Hills 90210"? Seriously, all Axl needed to do was add the hand claps.

Guns 'n Roses fans are suckers for having to wait for that tripe. Not my cup of tea.

I Fall To Pieces

And now the furnace is busted.

All That I've Left is a Band of Mould

What I didn't include in that last post was why, when I finally and happily arrived home from my weekend of sadistic fun, my high was cut down like a sucker punch in the solar plexus.

"Congratulations, but I have bad news," Husband said immediately. "The second-floor bathroom ceiling fell in."

Thankfully, no one was hurt. But I suspect our bank account will have a scar for a while.

We had noticed a few drips a couple of weeks back. We cleaned out the eavestrough, thinking that was the problem and, sure enough, the drips stopped. But we had a hard rain on Saturday which brought the ceiling down, displaying a colourful array of mould. Nice.

It turned out that we had a bare spot on our roof, not that we could see it. A roofer came by early this week and patched that up but told us that there's nothing under our shingles. I know the people we bought the house from and learned they did the roof a year before we bought it. Of course, my next question was, "And who did the work?" I want to make sure we avoid the company at all costs.

So the short of the story is that we need to tear down the entire bathroom ceiling, air out the mould and remove it. Then we'll do a bit of renovating.

The funny thing is that we were discussing short- and long-term goals at my training weekend. I mentioned that I want to earn more money so I can start on renovating that bathroom, which was supposed to be a project I was going to tackle with my dad. Looks like there's no time like the present.

My BodyPump Instructor Training Experience

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. I'm sore, yes, but I can still climb stairs and sit.

So - hooray - I passed the Pump training weekend. It was crazy but so very cool. I wasn't the oldest (there were two other women in their mid 40s). I wasn't the fattest, either (two others were heavier than me, I reckon). Still, I went in there, looked at the group of 19 and thought, er, should I even be in their midst? There was a natural body building champion (and she was absolutely gorgeous to boot - no, I loved her), more than half the class were already certified Les Mills instructors (tons in Combat), and fricking everyone was wearing Lululemon and makeup. My middle sister warned me...

Should I have been there? Well, my worries were quelled right off the bat when we ripped right into a masterclass. My friend and instructor, SVN, was so right. I had more weight than anyone (even equalled one of the three guys). The skinnies around me saw me slapping on the 10s during squats. "Seriously? You can do those weights? Do you need a spotter to get it over your head?" I giggled and told them I'm a mom and I live in the country and swung that baby over my head like it was a scarf. Respect from other participants? Check!

There was lots of mental work on the first day. Discussing choreography and technique took up most of the afternoon. We did some more physical challenges, broke for dinner (I went with the bodybuilder and another woman who trains in a big city south of me. Why? We were the alternative girls. How alternative? The nearby woman is named Morticia. True story). Because I signed in but went to the bathroom before getting my stuff and signing up for a track, I was left with two choices: lunges or shoulders. So because of my crappy ankle and the ear infection that's screwing up my balance, I chose lunges. Makes total sense, right?

Went back to my sister's, with a bundle of nerves. Opened up Jools's portable DVD player to rehearse, rehearse, rehearse, and found the card she made me. And I cried. Hard. Had a crappy sleep (I could hear the lunge track in my dreams). Woke up waaay too early. Drove to North York, not being able to listen to music at all and feeling like I wanted to barf. We presented in groups of three - so three people are simultaneously teaching the same track in another part of the studio. I was presenting with a superstar step instructor and possibly east Toronto's most popular Combat instructor (another Combat instructor was pretty much laying prostrate before her all weekend). But I dug in, nailed the choreography and was highly complimented on my technique after everyone watched the video that was taken of me. The trainer said my coaching was good for a first timer, but that I needed to vary my voice and use sharper arm movements. He asked how I felt. I said that it was not unlike giving birth: much nervous anticipation, hurt like hell, felt very vulnerable, and then complete relief when it was over with a real sense of accomplishment.

The rest of Saturday was very physical. There was one challenge that was going to be saved for the afternoon but we worked through what was supposed to be our lunch break because, seriously, if you did this on a full stomach, you'd hurl. So, get this: there's five stations positioned around the studio. Each station has a set of six barbells, starting with 7.5 kg on each end and the other five bars are in increments of 2.5 kg. The stations had two different moves each (eg. squats and clean-and-press) which we had to do 20 reps with a weight 50 to 75 per cent more than what you regularly use. Yeah, I entered the hurt box. We broke for lunch and seven of us all decided we wanted hot protein. I swear, it was the best chicken souvlaki I have ever tasted. A little more blah, blah, blah on coaching and connecting which was very cool to have the instructors with us sharing what works for them in their Attack class or whatever.

Then, with the morning's critique and armed with what we learned so far, we presented our tracks again. I did even better. The trainer said my group was the most advanced threesome he's seen in a long time (maybe he was just being nice, but I took it). We were "master technicians" and I was singled out for being so far advanced for someone who has never done this before. Of course, a lot of what I did up there, I stole from classes I've taken back home. After we watched this second video, I was told that I'm a natural at connecting with the participants but I need to keep them hooked in because I varied my range of voice to the extremes. I was too quiet during the transitions and too animated in other parts. Balance has never been my forte.

Before we broke for the day, I was told I would be teaching the shoulder track. Now, I am the weakest in my shoulders but I was feeling strangely confident. Was it because I was actually learning? Was it because the trainer would take me aside at every break and tell me that I was hitting it out of the park? Was it because I was having fun? Or was it because I could see the light at the end of the tunnel?

Went back to Baby Sister's. Home Chef made delicious fresh pasta with veal-wrapped asparagus. Daughter was spending the weekend with them and, wow, I was amazed to see how much she and The World's Easiest Baby (TM) had bonded. He was reaching for her, just lighting up when she even so much as looked his way. They had a big day, too. Baby Sister had a medical appointment downtown and then they went to St. Lawrence Market and to Home Chef's place of work, a media powerhouse. Daughter got to sit at the news desk table thingie of a breakfast morning show we watch. Got to stand in an entertainment news show's set. Toured a music station. Big day for her. Very exciting and new.

Drove back up to the gym in the morning with a good night's sleep behind me and the ability to have eaten a filling breakfast. I was mentally able to listen to the shoulder track in the car, going over my cues. I did that twice. I was that confident.

We did our tracks. Shoulders being the last teaching track, I was tired but was "on". Nailed the choreography (save one part near the end), the technique, connected wonderfully with a nice contrast in voice range, but the trainer thought I was too funny for the song. I need to mind the humour and be more gritty and serious through the song, saving the humour for transitions. The guy told me the day before to have more fun and I guess I took it too far.

More technique drills, getting and keeping new participants, and on what is called "fitness magic" which is what happens when everything clicks, and then we presented one last time. And I was PERFECT! The body building champion bowed in front of me and an Attack instructor asked me to write down some of my funny cues for her. I was so honoured. "There's nothing more that I can tell you to do. Just keep physically pushing yourself," the trainer told me. "You were born to be a fitness rock star, Jay-Z."

Yes, that was the nickname I was given the minute I first walked into the studio on Friday. It was only because there was another Jen and not because, when you look at me, you think of a millionaire rapper married to Beyonce.

So I left there feeling awesome but sore. I made a great friend in Morticia. When she gets certified, I'm SO going to one of her classes. Maybe we can team teach. That would be a riot!

It's funny. When I was told who the master trainer was going to be for my weekend, about four other instructors at my gym pretty much grimaced. But maybe he was having a great day because I found him warm and helpful and encouraging. And I made him cry at the end when I thanked him for such a profound personal experience. "I'm a big bloke, Jay-Z, and you reduced me to rubble. You really do have the gift of connection. Kia Kaha."

Kitschy Coo!

A little over a week ago, my friend and I had a table at a craft show in a relatively big city nearby. We had to apply to get in as "guest artists"; it was all so above-the-board.

We've had a table at our local farmer's market for a couple of months now, run by myself and my friend's husband. His t-shirts sold pretty well, often selling three or so every week. My stuff, on the other hand, ran hot and cold. Some days, I would sell a couple of album bags and other times I would be lucky to sell a little $5 wallet. It's not the place for us to sell our funky stuff. People are there to buy meat. But the cost of the table was cheap.

Participating in this craft show, however, was like coming home. The DJ was already set up, cranking out Stevie Wonder's Superstition as we walked in with our boxes. A good start. After we set up and walked around a little, my friend made the astute observation that all the sellers looked like us. We all dressed the same. We all had bobbed hair with the severe bangs. Oh yes. We fit in quite nicely.

And our handiwork? Well, not only were the other crafters like-minded, but the customers were too. Finally, our stuff was appreciated. My friend's retro hanger plaques, the ones that never ever sold before, were all lapped up within a few hours. Many people were buying two at a time, as they were with her coil-bound journals. My album bags were well-received, along with my purses made from books and way more Kool-Aid Jammer accessories than I thought would sell. Profit? Well, let's just say that I earned enough for that bathroom sink, cabinet and faucet I've had my eye on.

The other crafters came around to see us through the day and they were very welcoming. "You guys put the 'kitsch' in our name." We were even invited back to participate in the Christmas show (which we are SO doing).

We were also asked if we'd be interested in joining their roller derby team. I considered it for a nanosecond, but then remembered I like my teeth.

Visiting the Queen

We went to Daughter's version of Graceland over the weekend: Napanee.

Daughter is a huuuuuge fan of Avril Lavigne and has always wondered when we'd go visit Husband's aunt and uncle who live there. However, we'd see them when they'd visit Husband's grandmother in Toronto – kind of like meeting half-way, you know?

But now that Gramma moved to Napanee, we made plans to go visit. And Daughter promptly mapped out all the places she wanted to go while we were there: Avril's favourite pizzaria, the church she sang at, the Home Hardware to get a shirt like she wore on Saturday Night Live, her school, etc.

We stopped to visit friends along the way (they took me to this thrift store where you buy records by the pound) and despite that Husband's friend had made a cannon that shot potatoes, Daughter couldn't wait to get moving.

It was such a long drive that Husband needed to pull off the road and rest his eyes a bit. I couldn't take over because I was just as tired. Of course, neither of us could really rest with the nagging in the back seat. "We're so clooooose! Daaaaaad!"

As we were finding Gramma's new home, we passed La Pizzeria, home of the Avril Lavigne pizza (which, Daughter informed us, wouldn't be what she'd eat now because Avril is a vegetarian). The "Oh my gaaawwwds" started there, pretty much. We ate there after a quick visit with Gramma (who rushed us out a bit - in a polite way - because she had a euchre game) and Husband's aunt and youngest cousin met us there.

And it really was excellent pizza. Everyone had one pizza but Daughter had to have the Avril Special (green olives, mushrooms and pepperoni, despite that Daughter hasn't acquired the taste for olives yet).

Auntie J told Daughter that she should ask the owner for a tour. "He's a really nice man. I'm sure he wouldn't mind." And he didn't. Daughter was allowed behind the scenes, got lots of photos taken (Avril memorabilia everywhere) and was given a notebook to write her favourite rock star a personal message. Apparently, when Avril is back in town (or was it when her parents go to visit her?) the notebook is presented.

Daughter had to do two things more. The first was when we first came in to the restaurant and no other customers were there: Daughter sat in every chair so she could say she sat where Avril sat. The second thing had to do with sitting too. She went to the bathroom. "I know I got the same bathroom she used," Daughter exclaimed. "There's only one toilet in the girl's room!"

Anyway, we had a great time and ended up sleeping in a retirement home. It wasn't bad at all. For $50 a room (we took two), we were given nice beds with full bathrooms, satellite TV and even a walk-out to the Napanee River. The rooms were on the activities floor so no one else was there. If we weren't such a big family, Husband's aunt could have taken us in but there's so much up at their farm that trigger my allergies, I would be better off sleeping on the main road.

Gramma is doing very well. I swear, the woman has so much courage. She's a born and bred Torontonian but moved to an assisted living place out in Eastern Ontario because she wanted to look out to nature rather than, oh, Bathurst Street or a brick wall. And her new home is really, really nice. I've seen lots of these places, tagging along with Husband when he makes house calls (yes, he still does). Gramma's home is one of the best, if not the creme de la creme. Even their food smelled great. AND they plated it!

The boys had the best time ever at Auntie J's farm. Auntie J's whole family was there, including her 4-year-old granddaughter who led my kids everywhere. I'm still picking hay out of everything. They caught all sorts of insects, played with the animals, dug in the dirt (I got a hazelnut tree!) and slept divinely on the way home.

It was such a great trip, by everyone's account. My only downside was when I almost drank a housefly. I made tea in the farmhouse (a swell abode built in the mid-1800s). I don't know if the fly was already dead in the cup or if I smothered it with the teabag and drowned it with hot water. I was drinking the very last bit (I'm dry-heaving as I type this, mmmlleck) when I got a small clump rolling around my tongue. Initially, I thought it was a sugar lump that didn't disintegrate but, rolling it on my upper palate now, I realized that wasn't it. Maybe a bit of twig? I discretely pushed it out past my lips when I saw it was a fucking housefly. I spat out the tea in my mouth back into the cup, dumped everything in the sink and went outside toward the barn wanting to barf but couldn't.

I still want to barf just thinking about it. And I may never drink tea again. On the way home, we stopped at an apple orchard. While Husband and the kids went to get 20 lbs. of royal galas, I fished through the overnight bag and gargled with mouthwash for as long as I could. Something like that would drive Baby Sister and The Artist Formerly Known As Sunshine to boil their tongues or get a colonic or something. Am I right?

Baby, Baby, Don't Get Hooked On Me

I think Husband wants to have another baby.

Since spending some time with The World's Easiest Baby (TM) a couple of weeks ago, he's mentioned, in passing, that it would be great to have another baby. Okay, he didn't say that in so many words but his comments over the days ranged from:

- You look so sweet holding babies, Jen.

- Do you miss the times when the kids were that little?

- Oh, you don't want to eat? Are you nauseous? Do you think you're pregnant?

- I'm still young. I would still have the energy for a bigger family.

And my favourite:

- Nothing is foolproof. We can change the plumbing, if you're game. I wouldn't mind. (Because, without saying the word, the only way I could get up the pole now is if I bumped uglies with another guy, if you catch my drift.)

Would I mind having another baby? Oooohhhh, I so would.

Frankly, my younger husband probably does have the energy for a bigger family, but I don't. I'm still tired from going to a drink-up with a bunch of 26-year-old friends on Saturday.

No More Acoustic Motorbike

Waaaahhhh! Someone stole my bike!

It happened in a rainstorm very, very late on Sunday night. What slays me is that the thief didn't take the others' newer, more expensive bikes, nor did they take any tools. Just my crappy bike with a dented rear wheel that was completely flat. AND they had to move the said more expensive bikes out of the way to get my bike.

Lots of people steal bikes around here for meth money. Good luck trying to sell mine.

Pox on your family, fucker! The bike was a piece of crap, but I loved it!

All three kids are pukey sick today. I blame the A & W dinner their dad bought them last night.

And my grandmother's surgery went a-okay!

Very Superstitious

If my grandmother wasn't having surgery tomorrow, I wouldn't be so rattled by the three chain e-letters I received today.

You know the sort: blah, blah, blah, God is great, here's an angel for you, now be strong enough to pass on this letter to eight of your friends in eight minutes and a miracle will happen tomorrow. Or something like that. Chain letters suck. It's proliferated by superstitious people, I say. Maybe my sense of spirituality is skewed but I believe in preordination or karma or whatever. If you knew the story of how Husband and I met, you'd know why I think this way.

I saw my grandmother at The World's Easiest Baby's (TM) christening on the weekend. She seemed to be in good spirits but one could tell she was worried none-the-less. I mean, how else do you read her sighs of, "Whatever happens, at least I saw this little one's baptism."

My grandmother is one strong dame. She's still very "with it" in her head and in her body. She stays active. She gets out with friends. She still lives in her own home. And you would SO be on her shit list if you called when "The Young and the Restless" is on. I believe she has strength on a different layer, knowing how she lived her life and the tough situations she maneuvered with aplomb. Case in point: she knew she had to learn to speak and read English because my grandfather was in the army and got moved around quite a bit. So she picked up some Beano comics and started from there. That story never gets old!

Simply put, I can't imagine life without her. I know it will happen one day, but I'm not ready for that. Will I ever?

My mum and my aunts (and cousin C) were there at the christening. I don't know if they were just enjoying the day or if they were taking it as it comes, but they seemed very relaxed and happy. I think I can safely assume that they are as tense as I am, if not more, but seeing them laugh and having a good time made for a day of happy memories.

Anyway, I didn't pass on the chain letters. I figured my grandmother herself would say it's a load of crap to believe in their threats.

Jitters?

I don't know if it's because today is the first day of school but I had the shittiest sleep last night (note the time stamp here).

I woke up twice because of bad dreams. One I was revisiting a murder scene. It was really creepy. I was walking down an alley but it looked like a country road. I was spooked because the murder was never solved. The other one centred around a white rat that daughter found. It was pretty large and was either dead or was dying. So, uh, she put it beside me on my bed while I read and the kids played around the bed. I was about ready to call it a night when I looked down at the rat and noticed her eyes were blinking and she was having babies. Baby Boy said, "Yeah, it is. I just saw two of the babies on the floor." Then the little dark grey rabbit MIddle Sister had in university chased after the baby mice but they escaped in the corner of the wall. So Daughter and I took the rabbit and put it outside, but I felt like a dolt because I thought I took the rat.

Bad dreams for me often foretell bad times up ahead. Again, maybe I'm just uptight about the first day of school. I don't know why. The kids are dying to get back to it.

Pump It Up

I received a sort of frantic message from my gym's head office. "I know you're all ready to take RPM instruction, but I need you more now in BodyPump."

So now I'm back to my original plan and am a little freaked out because it's way tougher. I also requested to take instruction next month in Burlington (the other options were Windsor or Calgary - and I have to pay my own expenses). However, GoodLife bought a new chain of gyms and their existing trainers and instructors will be going for Pump certification in Burlington. That being said, they're desperate for me to start asap so I have five (FIVE) people at head office shuffling things around for me so they can fit me in with these hard bodies. Great. It's going to suck so hard for me.

On the one hand, these people are brand new to BodyPump where I have been taking the class for three years. On the other hand, they're already fitness instructors. I'm a short 40-year-old mother of three who doesn't say no to cherry cheesecake.

I hope I can go through all three days without crying.

A Moment On the Lips and a Lifetime On the Hips

"A Scottish Treat" read the sign at the apple fritter kiosk at the local farmer's market. Curious, Daughter and I decided to fork over the $2 and give it a whirl.

What is it?

Hands up if you said, "Deep fried Mars bar." I am so not kidding.

It's battered and then deep fried for, I swear, five minutes. It has to be the richest thing I have ever ingested. Daughter and I split it and we couldn't finish it. And, yet, I know of an Irish girl who can eat two-and-a-half in one go.

Having been turned off by this was not the reason why I'm glad Husband hired the fresh-off-the-boat Portuguese immigrant over the been-here-30-years-and-still-has-a-brogue older Scottish dude. He's looking for a lab technician and put in ads all over. The Portuguese guy has been in Canada for two years, reasonably good English, wife, two young children. He's currently in the last month covering a maternity leave but will need to buy a car to get to work out here in the country. The Scottish guy was in his mid to late 50s, pretty much runs a lab but wants a slower pace.

I was thinking of writing about the details of Husband's decision-making process, but I'll refrain though I do believe he made the right choice. Let's just say that sometimes I really don't understand the guy.

A Change Will Do You Good

Middle Sister, do you like this layout now?

She said my last layout was too faint for her. Hopefully, this works for everyone because, God knows, the whole damned world should be reading what my spawn are up to.

Such a fascinating life I lead, eh?

Oh, and, JP, I'm all for Trojans in Teen Packs. You forgot I volunteered at the birth control clinic out in Squidney.

I'm Becoming My Mother: Chapter 5

Perhaps only my sisters and maybe my cousin C would understand, but I'm having another "I'm feeling old" day.

I bought Daughter her first Shopper's Drug Mart Teen Pack.

I am now going to listen to some James Last, pour myself a G & T and pull the rocker on the porch. And weep at how time flies.

As always, comments are welcomed. You can do them anonymously. Just be kind.

Putting the Rocker on the Porch

Ever since Husband's birthday (my younger man), he's been quite down in the dumps. His age, it appears, has slapped him upside the head. And it hurt him.

He's generally happy with how his life is turning out. He says he doesn't really have any regrets about things he's done or failed to do.

What gets him is how big his forehead is getting. What gets him is that he notices he isn't as fit as he once was (still stick-figurish but now with minimal muscle tone). What gets him is that he is suddenly middle-aged and feels it.

Then there's me. I'm doing okay. I wear my age like a badge of honour. I'm being pro-active about my health. I just need to do something about my job. So, yeah, I can't say I've been the most supportive wife there ever was. "You're younger than me," I say to him, half joking, "so suck it up and get 'er done."

Middle Sister is another one who doesn't like aging. I've never heard her complain about herself but she has a problem with my advancing age. On my 18th, she was nauseous at the speed at which my life was slipping through my fingers. Since that birthday, cards from her were always signed, "I can't believe you're (fill in the age)!" When I turned 40, she was in a downright funk that I might as well have been 140.

I don't think I'm alone in having an image of myself frozen in time – around 20. In fact, I have recurring nightmares of looking down at my university class schedule and not knowing where the hell to go (or feeling that I've missed so many classes). I don't shop at Tan Jay and have no intention of doing so. Granted, once the wrinkles are more pronounced, I'll probably have to tone down or abandon the Dita von Teese/Amy Winehouse School of Makeup. I don't want to scare the kids like the local middle-aged woman with the white hair and black lipstick and blush look does.

Which reminds me: The Slits are back together! Ari Up is a grandmother now. Which would make her husband, Johnny Rotten, a grandfather.

Wait until I mention that to Husband. It will make him feel so old.

You Spin Me Round

I was asked by a fitness instructor to consider instructing BodyPump last winter. It's a low weight/high repetition exercise class.

So after jumping through a series of hoops, I had my audition today. Sort of.

I did an "extreme" spinning class for an hour and then spent the next hour at BodyPump. Then I met with the group exercise coordinator for our region of Ontario.

"As far as I'm concerned, you had your audition already," she said. "I strongly urge you to take up instructing RPM (the spinning class) instead. You're a natural."

"But I haven't been taking RPM nearly as long as Pump," I said.

"Look, take Pump instruction if you really, really want. But I could use someone like you in RPM. You have great posture, awesome strength. You have cadence and speed. Seriously, you'd do well and I plan on expanding the RPM schedules."

I start certification in September. Pedal on.

My (Free) Hi-Fi!

What's better than a stereo but a free stereo?!!

My professor friend, J, accepted a position at an American university and is purging. The family needed a good home for Granny's hi-fi which J was given but never hooked up.

"I thought 'retro' and thought of you!"

So, upon my pleading, Husband helped to move some furniture around the dining room and I hooked up this sweet Pioneer/Technics system and – get this – the speakers are made by Enigma. Funk-a-dunk-dunk!

I unearthed some of my albums, much to the curiosity of the boys. The first one I pulled out was The Who's Meaty Beaty Big and Bouncy. God, it was awesome to hear again that fullness of sound that albums give.

Then I started in on a bunch more: Bowie, The Clash, The Dead Kennedys, The Bunnymen. Ah, the spoils of youth!

Then I started in on stuff I haven't heard in probably 20 years: The Mighty Lemon Drops, Japan, The Gruesomes (man, they were great! What are they doing now? Probably real estate agents in Pointe Claire or something).

Then I started getting silly, listening to Kajagoogoo, Captain Sensible, John Denver's Christmas album (only my sisters understand that one).

I'm waiting for Husband to get home from the golf course (yes, he's golfing in the pouring rain. It's like a demanding mistress or something). He'll be impressed that I got it hooked up and working. And then he'll crack out his Rick Springfield records to, yet again, prove to me that: a) I met him when I did because I wouldn't have given him the time of day before that, and b) we really don't have much in common.

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.