Redneck Shower

Tanis of The Redneck Mommy got to bring home her newest addition last week. It's a boy!

In honour of her newest arrival, some fabulous folk are hosting a shower. Yup. It's an online baby shower for Tanis. They want to know: How are you a redneck mommy (or daddy)?



This is a toughy for me. 'Cause while I do live in the middle of the redneck prairies, in what I suspect is actually the redneck capital of the world, I don't quite fit in here. I don't have a double-wide. My firepit hasn't been used in about three years. No one in my family makes moonshine. I don't own a set of hair curlers. I'm involved in the arts, an advocate of gay's and women's rights, and I've never voted Conservative. There is nothing plaid in my wardrobe. I have two very tame tattoos, no piercings (other than the ears), and I don't shop at any store that uses the word "Hemp". Don't smoke. Barely ever drink, and when I do I tend to grab Blue Monday martinis. My musical tastes are eclectic, including various jazz standards, The Offspring, and Captain Tractor, but I loathe all things country. I work in finance, have diplomas in music and law, and am currently studying for an H.B.Com. and accounting designation. My family is religious, educated, and very very calm. No skeletons in our closets. I don't know what to tell you.

So ... yeah ... I guess you know you're a redneck mommy when you're not me?

Pathetic, I know. I hang my head in shame. Alright, I'm off to buy a head jacket now. I think I stand out a little too much, so I've totally gotta try and fit in better.

Love ya, Tanis. Congratulations again on the new boy!

Hamster Rap

So, I posted a comment on another site a few days ago, and my word verification popped up as "hangstr". I speculate that this is supposed to be some rare breed of gangster-hamster. Only, you know, it's missing the "e", which I think is a sign that spelling words with missing vowels is all the rage these days. And also, that a silent "e" is really kind of an optional vowel anyway. Silent letters only complicate the world and ultimately, they lead to civil unrest. Really, we should spell all words phonetically and avoid all the heartache. And you know what word is totally not spelt phonetically? That's right: "phonetically", which, using my new and improved English, should be spelt more like "funnetiklee". But that just looks stupid and unrefined, so you just know it will never catch on even though it totally should.

And then I thought: You know who I bet could totally get behind this phonetic spelling idea? That's right ... Jenny, the Bloggess. And I'm pretty sure she could make use of a few gangster-hamsters, too. She could send them out to do her bidding. I bet a gangster-hamster could be pretty intimidating in the right circumstances. I mean, if it had an appropriate wardrobe and weaponry and such. Or maybe if it was hyped up on speed and infested with rabies or something. It could probably get some real results then.

Think about it. It could kill any snake that dares to come within 25 feet of her car. Make her many minions behave themselves appropriately. I bet it could off the Comics Curmudgeon for her and put her higher up in the running for Best Humour Blogger. At the very least, she could use its warmth to help operate her iPhone. Enough well-placed gangster-hamsters, and Jenny could rule the world!

Of course, her new puppy would probably just eat them. And then poor Mr. Pickles would die of rabies, or a speed overdose, or some such thing. And naturally, she'd sue me for giving her the idea. Yeah; she'd probably win too, given that she's wildly popular and totally influential ... I mean, she's like the world's 3,500th greatest grampa. And also, from what I understand, she's not above bribery or blackmail. Plus she can kill kittens using just her words. I like kittens. I really shouldn't get on her bad side. (Please don't kill any kittens, Jenny?)

So maybe we should just forget the whole thing. Leave the gangster-hamsters alone. In the lab. Being subjected to all those experiments. The animal testing, and all those injections of rabies and speed. Of course, that will totally be on Jenny's head and I don't know how she'll be able to live with herself. But that's the cross she'll have to bear.

Okay. Enough of this. Go visit Jenny, the Bloggess. (Just like everyone else!) 'Cause she's all kinds of awesome! *


* Fact: No kittens are killed when I say "awesome". That sort of thing is exclusive to Jenny. I don't know why.

It's in his kiss

Last night, I had a dream that I flunked my first assignment in the current class. Apparently, my efforts were so abysmal that they didn't even bother to grade it. They were actually insulted by my low quality project and just wanted me to redo it in its entirety. (This is actually unheard of; in these courses, there are no do-overs ... if you fail, you fail.) Assignment marks should be released some time today.

Now, on to business ...

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Today's inspiration comes from Heinous over at Irregularly Periodic Ruminations, another fabulous writer with a most excellent imagination. Heinous works hard, but still takes time out of his busy schedule to periodically answer readership questions from the male perspective. He's a good samaritan and, in his spare time, enjoys visiting with his eccentric neighbours and helping them out with their gardening problems.

See? Saintly.

The other day, Heinous posted about, among other things, his first kiss. Which of course only served to make me think. And that kind of thing can be dangerous; I don't recommend it. (I know you like humour in your posts, Heinous. Hope you aren't too upset that you inspired this little diddy.)

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When I was a kid, I went to bible camp every summer. A true tomboy, I marched to the beat of a different drummer, and I really didn't fit in (not that I tried too hard). But the summer I turned 12, camp was different for two reasons. Firstly, there weren't enough junior or senior highs to make up two camps, so they combined the groups into one and held a junior/senior high camp. The second change? More boys. You see, normally the camp had three cabins of girls and three of boys. But this year, there were only enough girls to make up two cabins, while the boys filled up four. In years past, the camp was divided in half, with boys' quarters on one side and girls' on the other. But in the current year, one cabin on the girls' side was relegated to the boys, and we all got to hang out in closer proximity. As you might imagine, this would work out rather well for my 12-year old tomboy self. More comfortable with the new arrangement, I became a bit more outgoing and sociable than had been the case in other years. So I got noticed a bit more.

That summer, there were at least three new boys in attendance. Tyler, Gary, and Andy all hung out together. They were great guys, but they also didn't quite fit in at church camp, and they seemed to want to hang out with me. I was reclusive and had trust issues, so that took some work on their part. Persistent little buggers that they were, they really put themselves out there trying to get to know me.

Andy was shy and quiet; we didn't get to know each other well. Tyler and Gary were both hilariously competitive and a laugh riot to be around together. Gary was hyped up and unobservant; he never seemed to pick up on my cues, couldn't tell when I was serious or joking, and he'd keep picking until Tyler reined him in. That didn't go over well with me. So Andy, Gary, and I were chummy, but we never really became friends.

But Tyler and I hit it off. We were both quiet, sensitive, dreamy kids, and I liked him a lot. He was an intuitive sort, and he understood me. No easy feat, I assure you. So he and I spent a lot of time together that week, hunting for frogs in the swamp and hanging out in the back of the group at campfire. He was a really sweet boy, known for his red-brown hair that flopped in front of his face and the fact that he wore the same orange football jersey for the entire week.

We weren't dumb, and we knew that the other kids considered us to be a couple. But we were a young, shy pair; a 12-year old girl and a 13-year old boy. We enjoyed each other's company, had a bit of a crush, and called it a day. Nothing more. He was my friend. About the nicest, sweetest, most respectful little rednecky farm boy I'd ever known. At the end of camp, we exchanged addresses and phone numbers and promised to stay in touch. We wrote back and forth a couple of times, and he sent me a school picture, signed "With all my love". It made me smile; mostly because I noticed he was no longer wearing the famed orange jersey. And then, as too often happens, we just lost touch.

One day, I was cleaning out an old drawer, and I came across his picture and address. I decided to write him, to see what he'd been up to. For all I knew, he'd moved. It had been a few years; I was now 15. But I still had fond memories of him and thought it would be nice to renew acquaintances. I mailed the letter, thinking nothing would likely come of it anyway.

A few days later, he called. Said he thought of me often but wasn't sure how to reach me these days, and thought maybe I didn't want contact with him any longer anyway. I was happy to hear from him. It had been far too long. After we hung up, Tyler decided he really wanted to see me again. I still lived in the city, and he still lived on the farm. So he hitched a ride to town, called when he arrived, and made his way over to my house. I was surprised; still a pretty reclusive sort, I didn't get many visitors.

We hung out and talked. He was still the same sweet, sensitive boy I remembered. We decided to go for a walk, down to the community league playground and tennis courts. He stopped me while we were walking through the tennis courts and said: "Can I do something I've been wanting to do for the last three years?" (Even then, I thought that was a pretty cheesy line, but it was kind of cute coming from a 16-year old boy.) And when I naively said "What?", he leaned in and kissed me for the first time.

He spent about a week in town, staying with family and hanging out with me. And then a family obligation arose and he had to leave in a hurry. Once again, we lost touch. I never saw him again.

There are some people who always hold a special place in your heart. Who you will always feel connected to, no matter how much time passes. Tyler is one of those people. The sweet, sensitive, oddly intuitive 13-year old boy who befriended me one summer. He will always be special.

Every so often, I think of him, and I wonder what he's doing these days. I hope he's happy. He deserves a life filled with good times and great possibilities. I tried searching Facebook a few times, but he wasn't there. I wasn't too surprised; social networking wouldn't really be his thing.

And then, I read that post, and I thought of him again. So I googled. I figured nothing would turn up, but I'd just like to see how he's doing these days. He should be a well-adjusted adult by now, thriving and enjoying life.

But it was not to be. I learned that Tyler passed away Halloween of 2003. Over five years ago. I kept searching, hoping it was some sick joke; hoping to see different results. Denial is a beautiful thing when it happens. He's gone. It's real. And so I mourn that amazingly cool 13-year old kid I once knew. My old friend, taken too soon.

Which is all to say that sometimes, life just ain't fair. But at least we have our memories to carry with us. Treasures we keep always. And for that, I am thankful.

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Okay. So now, you probably need a good laugh. Go read Heinous and enjoy. You get a mixed bag of emotion over here, but Heinous is always hysterical!

You're the inspiration

Yes, you are. All of you. You'll soon see why.

I'm glad I've got online bloggy friends. For when I get stuck for a topic, I can often find inspiration by reading others. And so it goes this week, when I have some writer's block issues. Check out the bloggers I link to for the next while, if you don't already. They're fabulous folk, I assure you!

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Today's post is inspired by the very awesome Goodfather. You know Goodfather, don't you? Oh, I think you do! But in case you are unfamiliar with his work, you should know that he's an excellent writer. He never welches on a bet. And he has the best blogging costume ever, which knowledge I am sure helps to keep him cheery these days while he brushes up the old resume.

The thing is, whatever life throws his way, Goodfather always rises to the challenge in search of hilarity. Plus he's just a really nice guy. Husband, dad, blogger ... pirate. If only he lived in Saskatchewan ...

Yes, Goodfather is indeed The Last Saskatchewan Pirate ... except, you know, not in Saskatchewan, which may impede his progress somewhat. They have rivers where you live, right Goodfather? You can still pillage and plunder?

Join me in wishing Goodfather well in his job quest. I'm sure he'll get something very soon. Because even in today's tight economy, companies are still eager to hire great people like him. He's all kinds of awesome!

Writer's Workshop: Memories

So, Mama Kat over at Mama's Losin' It wants us to post about memories. Specifically, "I remember when ..." is one of her weekly writing prompts. And we all have memories. So this should be easy. Right? Right? Yeah ...

Try as I might, I must admit that I've got nothing this week. I tried to think of something to write about. And I know that when you're having writer's block, other people can provide inspiration. And my advanced management accounting textbook just isn't inspiring any great writing moments for me today. (I don't know why.) So I wandered around and visited some of my best bloggy friends to try and find some inspiration.

I checked out Steenky Bee, of course, as she is all kinds of awesomesauce and I was sure she could help me out. But I was dismayed to learn that she's gone today. Fortunately, she was located in the vicinity of her neighbour's kitchen, taking a meeting with Clark Kent. But she couldn't talk, as she was busily belly crawling back to her home at the time.

The Bloggess is also busy today, dealing with her Pringles cravings and trying to save the world's kittens. This is an admirable goal, because everybody loves kittens. Even God. No matter what that email implied.

(Look! A bunny!)

Okay then. How about Heinous? Heinous always has something good to say ... but not today, apparently, as he is having some writer's block issues of his own this morning and can't think up witty comments. WTF, Heinous?!?! (Thanks for the shout-out, btw. You're awesome!)

This isn't working out so well.

The Stiletto Mom had some promising things to tell me about memories. But then she went off into some kind of strange tangent about monkeys. Now personally, I have nothing against monkeys. But I have no monkeys in my past. No memories of monkeys at all. And I couldn't come up with anything, monkey-related or otherwise, to write about. (In hindsight, I wonder if she got confused when I asked about "memories" and thought I said "monkeys". That makes sense. Miscommunications like that are the reason for much of the world's strife, I am certain.)

Okay. Nothing. I've got nothing.

Fortunately, Captain Dumbass posted yesterday about a great memory of his. He says he remembers that the trailer for "The Shining" scared the hell out of him when he was a kid. Well, that I can certainly relate to. I remember the first time I saw it, too. Totally freaky. And if you check it out, I'm sure you'll find it very, very scary too.

Can't find it? Well, thanks to the wonders of YouTube, I can help you out with that. Here it is!

See? Terrifying!

Okay. That's as much of a study break as I can afford just now. Must get back to the riveting details that are advanced management accounting. Jealous?

How about this: I remember when I could memorize an entire textbook word for word without too much trouble. Today? Yeah ... not so much.

How much is that doggie costume in the window?

I've got a couple of photographer friends. They have a great eye, and sometimes they get some really beautiful shots. Oriana Bella, for example, has several pictures that I would just love to have framed and hung on my wall. My favourite to date is this amazing shot she took of three pigeons perched on an electrical wire. The lighting is perfect; birds and wire in glorious silhouette against an overcast sky. I've never seen anything quite like it. (I don't really want to link to it here because of, you know, copyrights and stuff. So you'll just have to trust me that it is gorgeous.)

Oriana also really loves taking abstract shots, which can be quite breathtaking. And sometimes, she photographs amazing oddities.

She recently managed to nab this picture (reproduced here with her permission). Apparently, she got in trouble for taking a picture of an item for sale in a store. But seriously. How could she possibly have resisted this?


This crazy Halloween costume, designed to be worn by a dog, is clearly geared toward proponents of overkill. For many people dress their dogs up as hotdogs. And pumpkins are, of course, a traditional Halloween costume. So someone evidently thought ... why not combine two great ideas into one, and dress your dog up as both?

Now, I know that Cute Overload and Martha Stewart have teamed up to run a Pet Halloween Costume Contest. But seriously? Would you put this crazy outfit on your dog? Even for Cute Overload and Martha?

"This Halloween, Bowser is going as a pumpkin wearing a hotdog costume."

The pumpkin wasn't Halloweenish enough all by itself? The pumpkin needed its own costume, did it? Does this seem like a realistic costume choice? Does anyone ever make a point of getting a special Halloween costume made, just for their pumpkin to wear? And if so, how did such a person end up with a great abundance of cash to spend on outfitting a pumpkin, when said person clearly has absolutely no common sense whatsoever? And since this person has such a great abundance of cash and lack of common sense, do you think he or she might lend me five bucks? How 'bout fifty?

Your thoughts?

You've got the entire face of a stranger

Oh, don't I wish!

And on a considerably less flattering note.

Make it stop?

I found the site through Jenny the Bloggess. Go. Make your own morph. They're fun.

Update: To get your own morph, go here and click on "Celebrities".

Rotten day

Don't you hate it when you're laid up with a broken knee that you got when you fell down the stairs after tripping over the cat in a bizarre laundry-related incident, and your generally happy 4-month old chooses this moment to start cutting teeth, and the Tylenol doesn't make him feel much better and the Orajel doesn't last long enough, and you can't figure out how else to soothe him because what he really likes is movement, but you can't pick him up and carry him around because you're on crutches and you just don't have that many hands or that much coordination, so you put him in his swing to try to soothe him only to discover that the swing batteries are now dead and the swing will no longer rock in the particular rhythm to which your 4-month old has become accustomed and no other rhythm will pacify him, and you can't fix this because all of the batteries are kept in an inconveniently situated cupboard that you can't easily get to with the crutches, and they're also in a heavy case so that, even if you could get to it, you can't pick it up and sort through it while on the crutches because of the aforementioned lack of hands and coordination, and so you can't keep your 4-month old happy no matter what you do, so you just have to try to keep smiling and crooning to him in soothing tones while he screams directly in your ear in a piercing tone that sounds like some kind of demented whale in heat while your cat tears around the house like a bat-out-of-hell making bizarre noises as he tries to catch that one housefly that just won't die?

Yeah. Me too.

Wanna play?

I get a kick out of you

I recently discovered Tuesday Girl, a wonderful blogger who aspires to be "the girl with the most cake". She makes for good reading.

Tuesday asks "Who do you want to kick in the balls today?"

Despite the migraine, late assignment, teething baby, et al, I find myself in uncharacteristically good spirits today. No anger, not even misdirected anger, plagues me. The only person who springs readily to mind is Stephen Harper. But that seems like a boring response, since everyone wants to kick that guy.

So I can't answer Tuesday's question today. Can you? Stop by her most excellent blog, and let her know who you would like to kick in the balls today.

I know I'd go from rags to riches

Looking for something decent to watch on TV. The following movie is apparently showing on Bravo right now.

Frogs for Snakes

Synopsis: A talented---but underemployed---group of theater actors support themselves between roles by acting as debt collectors and hit men for the mob in Amos Poe's suspenseful comedy-drama.

I really don't understand the title of this movie. And I don't think this sounds remotely suspenseful or dramatic. But it does sound funny as all hell!! And I think it's a good indication of what artists sometimes have to do to survive. Y'know, when they're not off whining about their grants at taxpayer funded galas and stuff. (As an aside: "rich artists"?!)

Here's the thing. I'm a classically trained pianist who also has a diploma from a prestigious jazz program. And I actually had to work as a debt collector for quite some time in order to survive. I mean, I didn't work for the mob or anything, though a debtor did die in an unusual manner shortly after speaking to one of the other collectors in my office. But it wasn't me, and I didn't kill him. Anyway, my point is that "debt collector" is not a particularly glamorous or fulfilling line of work. It's what you do to pay the bills. Also, the term "starving artist" isn't meant to be sarcastic. It's the norm for artists to struggle. Now "rich artists" on the other hand are few and far between. I don't actually know any of them. And I personally have never been invited to a taxpayer funded gala. Which leads me to wonder. Who are these artists, and how can I make them love me? 'Cause I'm clearly doing something wrong.

Fine. The theater actors in this movie had to work as debt collectors and hit men for the mob. But let's get to the real issue here. Did they declare all of their income on their taxes? 'Cause otherwise, they're in a whole heap o' trouble.

Hot fun in the summertime

Last September, H and I went to Maui. In preparation for the trip, we went shopping for some new clothes. I really needed a new swimsuit. I tried on a whole bunch before I found one that really worked for me. I hate trying on clothes. Swimsuits are particularly painful. I wish I'd known then that there were other shopping options available. But I did not.

I can blame Jenny, the Bloggess for not telling me earlier that there was a Swimsuit Tester available online.

Now, a woman no longer has to go to a store and try on swimsuits to see how she will look. The Swimsuit Tester looks after this for you. You can see nearly anorexic realistic teenagers models of a certain age parading about in various styles of swimsuits. And, by the various activities they perform, you can tell just how cute you will look in each suit. Yes, the models perform various activities. Activities like walking, stretching, playing with frisbees and beach balls, and (my personal favourite) carrying about various pieces of sometimes incorrectly labeled fruit. 'Cause that's what really matters ... sure, it's cute when it's just me and the suit, but how does it look when I have a bunch of grapes in my hand?

We waffled for a time over whether or not to take J with us on our trip. It was hard to decide, but ultimately, we went without him. At the time, I felt this was a good decision. But after watching The Swimsuit Tester, I question it. See how that model looks, strolling about in her teensy two-piece and carrying a child's plastic pail and shovel set? Clearly, her toddler must have been nearby. And if this proves anything, it's that I would have looked absolutely adorable crammed into a tiny bikini and playing on the beach with my son.

Maybe ... not ...

When we asked friends if we should take J to Maui, those who were childless encouraged us to take him. They said we should think about how cute he'd be playing on the beach. Those friends who had children had a rather different take. It went something like this:

Oh, okay. "Think about how cute he'd be playing on the beach." You take him to the beach. In the Hawaiian sun. And you cover him with sunscreen, so he won't burn. And then he gets all upset because he's covered in sunscreen and he feels sticky. And a breeze comes in, and coats his sticky sunscreen covered body with little grains of sand. And he cries. So you put him in the water so that he can get clean, and he freaks out because the water is cold, and the saltiness feels weird and his eyes sting when he rubs them. So you relent. You take him out of the water. You start to dress him in regular clothing. But before you can finish, he runs back into the ocean, and his diaper fills up with saltwater and then it either explodes or, if you're lucky, it just falls off and floats away. And then he cries because he's naked and wet and his feet are getting sandy. What a great time you'll have!

It sounded right at the time. But clearly, those friends had never seen the footage of slinky-model-in-bikini-with-plastic-pail-and-shovel-set, and had no idea what they were talking about. 'Cause you will note that in all of the video clips, there is not even one labeled "Chase your manic toddler around while his diaper fills up with water and eventually explodes or floats away test". So obviously, this kind of thing never happens.

I guess we should've taken him.

Things can only get better

Thanks to Dawn over at Embracing the Ordinary Life for these words, which I totally needed to hear today.

"Start BELIEVING things will be ok...cause no matter how bad things are, they will get better...Faster even if you just have Faith."

There is a lot going on in our lives just now. We've taken a few major hits lately. But I know things will get better. It just takes time. And Faith.

Things always get better. They just do. Because life moves in cycles. It can't stay like this forever. And that gives me great comfort and hope today.