Don't make me keep my bra on...

Let me tell ya, the first thing I do when I get home is pop that bra strap and free the hostages. I get out of my work clothes and basically put my pajamas on. All my close friends and family know that they are welcome to drop by anytime but don't expect me to be dressed. I only stay dressed if I'm expecting company.

That's why I've been particularly irked these past couple of days.

I need to have a telephone jack rewired and have had Bell Canada scheduled to come out and do the job three times this week. The first day I got stood up they told me that they had scheduled me for the next day. The second time they said they needed a senior technician to do the work and they didn't have one available. The third time the excuse was that the technician ran out of time and couldn't come until the next day.

These scheduling snafus, while irritating are not as irksome as having to wait around all evening wearing my damned bra until 9pm.

Driving stick

For the past few days I have been driving my daughter's boyfriend's Honda Civic 5 speed. Why? Well, because Jen can't drive stick. Her boyfriend is getting another car in a few days - one with an automatic transmission -  so we've swapped cars until then.

Learning to drive a car with a manual transmission is one of those things, (along with power tool usage, basic plumbing and electrical), that I think every gal should know how to do. I learned to drive stick back in the 70s on a boyfriend's old Renault. He broke my heart but he also taught me how to do donuts in parking lots. See? There's salt and sugar in everything.

My first brand new car ever was a little 4 speed Chevy Chevette. When my step-father bought me  that car I hadn't driven stick in quite some time and was very nervous about driving it home. I can't believe I'm confessing this here but I actually made the dealership deliver the car to me because I was too nervous to drive it off the lot.

When it arrived at my parent's house my kid brother Ricky kept pestering me to go for a ride. My mom said she'd like to see me drive it too and asked if I could take her up the street to the grocery store at the mall. Gee, when your mom asks you to take her to get groceries, how can you say no?

The three of us piled in and although I stalled the car a couple of times going up the hill, we arrived safely. I stayed in the car with Ricky as he bounced around rolling down windows, turning knobs and pushing buttons while Mom went shopping.

About a half an hour later with the groceries stashed in the hatchback, I tried to leave the parking lot. I stalled that car 23 times in a row. How do I know it was 23 times? Ricky. 

Yes, my baby brother, with all the perverse glee of a nine-year-old boy, counted every single time - "That's 15, oh, 16, ha, ha, 17..." Finally a man walked up to the car and asked if everything was alright. I wanted to tell him that everything was fine but before I could say anything my mom piped up, "She just got this car today and doesn't know how to drive it." I could have died.

"I too do know how to drive it, I'm just not used to it yet," I defensively said. The man poked his head in the car and looked at my feet. "Well young lady, the first thing you need to do is take those cowboy boots off," he advised.

I balked, "What and drive in my sock feet?" "Yes," he said, "you need to feel the clutch."

I took my boots off and chucked them in the back seat at my kid brother. It took about five minutes of coaching but the stranger talked me through feeling the clutch and changing the gears. It was all coming back to me. Finally with a toot of the horn we were off and I never stalled that car ever again.

Now that's not to say I've never stalled any other manual shift vehicle. About nine years ago my brother-in-law taught me how to drive a semi. I stalled that rig many times while I was learning but he was so patient. I eventually got my semi license and was so proud.

Yep, knowing how to drive stick is a skill that comes in handy. The thing to remember is that the clutch on every vehicle feels different and that until you can feel the difference, you're best not to wear cowboy boots.

Six word memoir - meme

I saw this at Hahn's blog and thought I'd use my humble graphics skills and my sick twisted mind to design this hypochondriac's testament:


I tag:

• Drew's Brave New World
• Uncensored Thoughts
• Mimi Writes
• If I Knew Then What I Know Now
• Earth2Karen
  

Here are the instructions for the meme:

1. Write your own six word memoir.
2. Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like.
3. Link to the person that tagged you in your post.
4. Tag five more blogs with links.
5. And don’t forget to leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play!

Andrea Martin

I miss SCTV. I loved Andrea Martin's characters: Edith Prickly, Edna Boil, Pirini Scleroso and her impressions of Barbra Streisand, Connie Francis and Bernadette Peters. I think Ms Martin is brilliant and was delighted to see her in the film My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

Message in a Bottle

I've been tagged for the first time in my bloglife.

Here are the rules:

You are about to send a virtual Message In a Bottle across the Blog Ocean. Leave a message in the sand or on the bottle. Write anything you wish. Be a pirate or a poet. Serious or silly. Anonymous or not.

What message would you like to send out to the universe?






Click here for a blank picture
Write Your message
Post it and let her know you did here
Tag 5 or more people
I tag:
JLee's Place
Drowsey Monkey
My Brain Hurts
Larry Hnetka Goes Hmm..
Rainbow Pastor

Having my first...

My daughter is expecting her first baby in August. Yes, I'm to be a Memé again. In going through some old file folders I found this little piece I wrote not long after having her.

I loved being pregnant. As my belly grew, I wallowed in the glory of all the preferential treatment I received and the mounds of pecan pie that I consumed. Visions of cherubs filled my dreams. My waking hours were spent decorating the nursery and devouring parenting books and while I fought a loosing battle with girth control, I developed a stout determination to be the best mother that ever walked the earth.

What could possibly go wrong? After all, they're only babies, nature's most adaptable creatures. It would be easy to get an infant on a reasonable schedule within two weeks right? Yes, those were the blissful days filled with pleasant dreams and anticipation of giving birth to the Gerber baby.

Someone once told me that when something seems too good to be true, it usually is - I went into labour three weeks early. Now most people know me as a cool and quite competent woman but I must confess that when my water broke, I lost it. Had it not been for the composed demeanor of the seasoned head nurse, I most certainly would have forgotten everything I learned in prenatal class.

Once I got it together again and resigned myself to the fact that this baby was going to be born before I got the garage to put the snow tires on the car, the delivery went well. Apart from a brief moment of respiratory arrest when they made the mistake with the epidural and froze me from the waist up instead of from the waist down, it was eight mercifully brief hours of labour, delivery in a regular hospital bed and back to the ward in time for supper.

After the delivery I was consumed with energy, ready to tackle anything that came my way and when they brought little Jennifer to me I nursed her like an old pro. Shortly after feeding time was visiting hour and with my cooing bundle nestled in my arms I held court like the Queen Mum. Exuding confidence I proudly exhibited my latest accomplishment and boasted that I felt so good that I felt like going home then and there.

Before I knew it visiting hour was over, my new daughter was finished her final feeding and was whisked off the the nursery until the wee hours of the night when she would be returned to me for another fix. I settled down in bed to rest and dream about which of her new outfits I would bring her home in.

The morning bustle of the hospital roused me with vague recollections of fumbling in the dark with a screaming infant - surely a nightmare. When the nurse came in with my baby I asked her if anyone got the number of the bus that hit me. She giggled, placed Jennifer in my arms and on crepe soles squeaked away to get the rest of the layette.

Jennifer was wide away and hungry. Our eyes met and at that moment she began to howl. Perhaps I should have combed my hair I thought. Oh well, maybe if I feed her she might like me better. Calmly I began to go through the motions of breast feeding and as I pulled my baby towards me the reality of the situation overwhelmed me. I was condemned. For the next eighteen years I was solely responsible for this child.

Instantly my bravado dissolved, I was utterly inept and it wasn't long before I was howling louder than the baby. I spent the rest of the morning sobbing into my pillow, inconsolable, trying to bear the disgrace of knowing that my baby was in the nursery being bottle fed.

Tragedy in Toronto

Canadians sure do like to poke fun at the American media.

Extreme product testing

I seem to remember when I was growing up an ice cream treat called the Nutty Buddy. I don't think I'll look at a chocolate dipped, peanut encrusted ice cream cone the same way ever again. Man, even I cringed watching this video.

Right on!!

Tired of a political party who simply promises a chicken in every pot? Well how about a party that promises pot and weekly orgasms for all?

Yep, Canada's Rhinoceros party is back. Party president Francois Gourd says, "We are a Marxist-Lennonist party - based on the philosophy of Groucho Marx and John Lennon." Their motto: From party to party till victory. How inspiring is that?

Learn more about their platform by visiting their website at neorhino.ca. Much of their web site is in French but they are looking for a good anglophone and translator to work with. So if ya know of anyone...

Moo...

More cow capers today when, while driving through the drive-through at McDonald's, the tail gate of a trailer opened allowing a herd of eight cows to escape. People in the town of West Haven, Utah called rounding up the cows "Operation Hamburger Helper".

The poor creatures probably planned their escape after watching the movie Fast Food Nation. I know after seeing that movie, if I were a cow, I'd run too.

Holy cow!

I once had a stone fly off from behind a truck and crack my windshield. Scared the crap right outta me. Can't even imagine a cow.

I coulda been killed...

That's me. I wasn't even a year old in this picture and here I was zooming around a parking lot under the el, somewhere in the Bronx in, (oh my god) a walker! What were my parents thinking! Sheesh, by today's standards they might as well let me run with scissors!
Considering that cars didn't have seat belts or collapsible steering columns and babies were often placed to sleep in the back window next to the bobbing head Yankees player doll on the way to Bear Mountain, it's a miracle any of us baby boomers survived at all.

Job Posting

I'd apply but I already have a job so I'm passing this job lead along. I hear they are looking for a few good men. Sure hope they can find 1000 men who will measure up.

Tarbender, tee martoonies please

Childrens do learn...

U.S. "Education President" George Bush, in looking for continuance of his No Child Left Behind legislation ensured the American people that "Childrens do learn."

I'm so happy to hear that but perhaps it was little Georgie Bush who got left behind?

Why is is that every time I see that man on TV I'm reminded of the dead character in the movie Weekend at Bernie's?

Shopping for jeans

I hate shopping for jeans. After shopping for shoes, shopping for jeans will get me depressed every time. I've got a small waist and a bit of a booty so that makes it really hard to find jeans that fit well. When I find something that fits well around my hips and bum, it puckers out at the back of my waist so much that I end up showing off my knickers. The other thing is that I'm only 5ft 4.5 inches tall. Petite sizes are just a tad too small/short while regular sized clothes are often just a bit too big. What I don't understand is why the larger you go in size the longer the pant leg gets. What's that all about? Women get fatter, not taller. Yeah, I could take jeans to a seamstress but I think the jean manufacturers should just make jeans that fit real women.

After dropping waistlines and finally finding something halfway flattering in the Gap's Long and Lean jean, they tell me that the high waist is coming back. I just got rid of my high waist jeans because I thought they made me look too matronly. Sure, I may be a grandma but I'm not ready for support hose and a cotton duster.

I'll stick to Timmy's...

Many Canadians can't start their day without their Tim Horton's coffee. Travel to just about any town in Canada and you'll find locals chewing the fat and sipping on a double-double or line-ups at the drive-through.

To be honest, Tim's doesn't have the best coffee I ever had but a large coffee only costs $1.39 and since, when the birds fly over my house they say, "cheap, cheap, cheap", I refuse to spend more than two bucks on a cup of java. Hmm, I may be the only person in North America who has never had Starbucks. Lise likes one of their fancy caramel concoctions but at almost 6 bucks I'd rather not.

So being the cheapskate that I am, I just about lost my mind when I heard about cat poo coffee.

Pride Week

Well, we're kicking off Pride week here in Essex County. My friend sent us this hilarious link which I thought I would share with you here:

Reitman's For Real Life

This women's ready-to-wear store was founded in Montreal in 1926. I've never been a label whore so I don't really care or really know anything about designers. I like simple clothes that fit well and don't make my butt look too big. When all else fails I can always find something at Reitman's that fits.

These days I'm especially loving their ad campaign. It is really quite funny. You can see their latest ad by clicking on the link below. (You'll need high-sped internet to enjoy it fully)

Reitman's Fashion Show

My Humps

Alanis Morissette's parody of the Black Eyed Peas' song, My Humps. I just about had a Depends moment watching her sing the "no drama" line. Enjoy!