Umm, Exercise?

So, three kids into this life, and my body's definitely not what it used to be. I'm almost 30, always been really energetic, and never really cared nor had the time to care about my body all that much. I eat pretty healthy, not because it's a healthy decision, but because I'm really cheap, and why buy it when you can grow it yourself?
But with age, and help from being preggo with kids at diferent intervals, My body has begun it's quiet rebellion. For the past five years I've had to do the lean and stuff with my boobs, in a b-cup no less. Lately It's been more of a roll and tuck action, which is nice...
My cute little bubble butt is drooping, my feet have been swollen and deflated so many times that I have to roll my pinky toes under my foot to fit into any type of high heel. Sciatica is my frenemy, and my joints hate me at the least opportune times. I don't really mind any of this, it's a part of life, and all my aches, pains, and bulge-y bits show me that I've lived.

The reason I bitch is this.

I'm to be in a wedding this fall, and we ordered our dresses and shoes online. It's to be a pin-up style wedding, so everything is skin-tight and smokin-hot. I'm wearing this dress that's fit to burst the boobies out, and sizzle the attention. Also, these super-sexy three inch patent teal shoes that make drool burst from all orifices.

I had my third boy this past Christmas, and he took a real toll on me. I was a hot sweating aching mess the whole pregnancy. And after was a big blur, as the family moved, got the stomach flu, and other such fun things. So I've not really been paying attention to myself, other shit is going on.

Did I mention that with each of my pregnancies I've gained roughly 85 lbs each time? And that each time a year's combination of insomnia, illness, and too much work has gotten me roughly back down to what I was before, give or take 5 lbs. Lucky me. So I think I was kind of leaning on that fact to fit me into these clothes.

We got our dresses and shoes a month ago, and like the genius I am, I got everything in the size I was before the last kid. I bought spanx to help smooth everything out, and I've been running after kids 24/7-excercising regularly, so I haven't been worried at all. But I didn't try anything on until recently, as I knew it would be dissapointing so early in the game.

And I was very right. After a few sweaty minutes with my spanx, I had to conceed that even they weren't going any higher than midthigh. And after a  few minutes tottering around like a drunk chicken with my pinky toes shoved under the rest of my foot like they were frightened, I had to tell myself that wearing this stuff was going to take a LOT of practise and dedication. And Since I love the lady who's getting murried to pieces,and I'm too cheap to exchange everything( shipping prices to the states suck the balls!)  I had to try.

So I started running again.

I've never been a fan of  running on treadmills, My aunt calls them 'The long run to Nowhere', and I agree.
Plus, I live in a small enough town that really, the only option is outside on gravel roads. I've been going nice and fucking early in the morn, when my household still sleeps, and so does the town. I also go before the town running group. Yes there is one, but they're mostly comprised of older ladies that take a specific meandering route that ends in the town coffeeshop.

So my first morning out, blisteringly early, blearingly tired, with the last of winter slapping me in the face.(yeah we had winter until last week) I got outside. I'd made sure to wear my loosest, comfiest sweater, tightest and best ventilated yoga pants, and brand new runners. I stretched, and started walking. So far so good. I broke in to a light jog as I rounded the corner, and after 30 seconds or so, I realized someone was behind me.  At the next corner I stopped and pretended to stretch, and nonchalantly looked around, but whoever had been behind me must have turned into a house or something. I continued on, trying to keep my breath in check, trying to move my body so my boobs didn't get too excited, and wondering how red my face was. I also started hearing footfall behind me again, and as there was no one awake at that hour, I started to wonder if it was a dog or a maybe a cow or something following me. The oddest part? I think it was trying to keep time with me...I did that sneaky, over the shoulder check, almost tripping over my new fucking uncomfortable shoes, and again, nothing was there. I decided to head back to the house at that point, feeling a little creeped out, and the footfall started following me again. I ran faster and so did they. Then my little caffiene-deprived brain connected the dots and yelled at me, " It's your ASS. Your ass is following you, dummy. Look, it's trying to escape your fancy-pants.'
And there it was. My ass was trying to beat the back of my legs into submission, trying to tell me to stop. Lovely. That was when I noticed my shoelace had come undone, so I bent over, ass flapping in the wind, to tie up my shoe. And that's when my tit rolled out.

At least it was early enough that only a couple farmers may have seen me do the lopsided walk of shame home.

These things can eat you. I swear.

I have a serious question. it's been bothering me all day, and I can't figure it out on my own.



How in the world are mullets still popular?



I've seen two today. and I wonder... do hairstylists still do mullets anymore? do they know how to cut the hair to make the mullet? it seems like a very complex procedure. It's all perm-y in the front, and long layered in the back, and the two cuts meld into one another. I seriously don't think you can get that shit done in any respectable salon anymore. Hell, I don't even think you can get it done in a magic-cuts, or cut-rite. do they have home haircutting kits? like back when regal and avon were big on the bowl cut and they gave you a 'specialized circular shaped hair-measuring tool' or a BOWL and a plastic sheet that's shaped like an upside-down umbrella and some scissors? they even had many sized BOWLS depending on the size and shape of your head, or when the x-mas catalogue special came out, one of those collapsable traffic cone-thingys. and INSTRUCTIONS!!! cuz any half-sane or mostly un-retarded person is gonna need to know how to put a bowl on their head and cut around it without cutting off an ear or giving you an *Gasp!* un-even cut. I personally wouldn't go out in public if I got a bowl cut, whether it be even or not. likewise with the mullets. Not sure what these people were thinking. ohh! Mebbe, 'gee, if I get a mullet, people won't notice my overly HUGE fuggin forehead... hmm

Caffeine and Music makes Me a happy Girl!!!!

I like coffee. not just for the caffiene, as these days you can get caffeine any old where, be it in pop, pills, juice, even on it's own(in liquid form of course, but still.) I like coffee for the taste. Sure, I know what you're thinking, T.P why do you like something that tastes so horrible bitter and rots your guts from the inside out making you into a literal walking espresso machine? (by the way, my love for coffee runs so deep in my veins, the least amount I've ever had would be 2 cups a day) Do you do it because all the cool geeks wearing berets and quoting Tolstoy are doing it? well guys, to tell you the truth, I like it because it tells me too. Frankly, I've been drinking that frothy steaming bevvie for soo long, that I don't think I could possibly start any day with out it anymore. It has become one with me and burrowed so deep and dark roast into my cerebral mush that I don't give it orders anymore. it talks to me. tells me what kind of day to have. tells me all sorts of things rea-


Hi there! sorry about that. My mind may have wandered too far off of the mission-I mean topic, that has brought me here today. Today I wan't to tell you about a great new thing called 'Starbucks'. These beans and bevvies have brought beauty and justice to the world, and in doing so, have made me a better person. If not for them, I wouldn't be the mindless drone upstanding citizen I am today. Why, there's lots of fun things that Starbucks brings you. Such as their commercials. I love their commercials. You should too. Commercials are fun. They let you know what you need to buy. and there's no brainwashing, I promise. Now just look into my eyes....

a Whimsical Winter Wonderland of Wisecracks

I love winter. No joke. Most people here don't really like the white stuff, but not me. I love it. Here are ten good reasons why.(just cuz ten seemed like the right number to put down. gut feeling, that's all.)

1.Location, Location, Location:

I live in a province (yes I said province) where 6-8 months of the year are covered in snow. you can't get rid of it. You can't form petitions to have it forcefully removed, cuz goddamn muther nature will just keep giving it back. You can't escape it because the land is so flat you give up trying after about three days of running. all you see is white.

2.Kids:

I have a child, who loves to build and throw and destroy things. yes I have a boy-beast. Snow,to me at least, is a built-in toy/friend/bribe that I don't have to pay for. I mean... what the hell. yeah. it's free. and that makes me happy in my pants. and my heartstrings. if I had any.

3.Weather:

I can't quite describe the feeling I get when I look up and see the murky grey sky, that chill in my bones, and the wind through my hair. It makes me happy inside. it makes me think of past winters and hot chocolate, and don't eat yellow snow-too late, and forts and making graves for dead squirrels that you find in your annoying neighbours/ neighbourhood nemesis's yard, just so you can have the satisfaction of 5 months later having the snow melt and the looks on their faces. Now that, my friends, was long-term fun.

4.Clothing:

mittens. and toques. I believe that says it all. oh wait...

5.Holiday aromas:

The sizzle of wet mittens and toques as you dried them on the heating vents and the almost overpowering smell of wet dog that seemed to waft from these seemingly harmless little knitted accessories.

6.The Holiday Sales:

Not the Holidays themselves, those are just a bullshit commercialized reason for you to buy things for other people so they'll be your friends for another year. No. I like the shopping for me. and what better time to buy useless, and sometimes harmful, or at least pretty stuff, than when it's on sale for a completely different reason? no time like snow time, I always say. like just now.

7.Tunes:

On the topic of Holidays, that pretty much go hand in hand with winter, my next favorite thing is the X-mas Songs. Now, I'm a bit un-orthidox about this one, as I can't seem to remember any bloody holiday jingle when there's actually need for one, but give me a nice hot sunny sunday in June, when everybody else is singing about their blings, ices, ice-cream, umbrellas and whatnot, I'm singing Jingle bells.

8.Chocolate:

Yes kiddies, the Queen of all things sugary, bittersweet, and overpriced. Now, you can get chocolate pretty much any day of the year, but only during the winter can you get Cadbury's Chocolate elves a'la pop rocks. If you haven't had one of these things, you should. if you don't know what pop rocks are, you're stoopid. if you don't care, that's fine by me. These things are on the highest pillars of awesomeness, and they will never come down. unless they start putting pop rocks into reese's.

9.Boots:

well, a chance to buy new shoes of any kind really. I'm not particular. But I guess for the occasion, It'll have to be boots. or sexy heels for new years. . . mmmmmmm, shoes....

10.Golden Glowing Glacial Graupel:

otherwise known as: yellow snow. ahar de har ha ha. too funny.

attack of the Nine foot snot ball!

So every year that I take sonny-boy out to the trick or treating, there's always sickness afoot to follow us down those dimly lit streets of mask and marshmallow goodness. Usually it's the little one with the sniffles, where at least the right sleeve of whatever costume he happens to be wearing(or not). This year however, I have been blessed with the mass sniffles, the snargles, the loogies, lung butter, quantum nose explosions, whatever you want to call it. It's okay though. I was searching for my winter coats earlier this week, and I came across at least three twelve packs of mini-kleenex, so I apparently had a little pre-cog in the realm of this 'holiday' and decided maybe I should stock up on the nose fluff for future fun with the holidays. yay for me.
Or, as I should put it more accurately, agghhaayy for Bhee.
However, My mind seems to be working properly, at least for the time being, or maybe this is all a big snot induced dream and I'm going stark raving, but I have a story for you. well, more like a tutorial. It's called, How to Wear Face Paint. or more importantly, How to Look like a Tool While Wearing Face Paint.(even though you're not even in school yet.)
This is a tradition that's passed down from generation to generation, mostly through sibling to sibling, then sibling's child then child's sibling, and so on.
Now I have vague recollections of Aunty Awesome wearing Face Paint at some point in my young life , although I'm not sure it was for Halloween, (it was the 80's after all.) But obviously, I thought it looked super-cool, and one year, either my 4th or 5th (or my 3rd or 6th, can't remember, I know I was young, and It's therefore one of my first memories) and on a particularly chilly halloween I decided I wanted to be a witch. I'm sure I wasn't really particular about what kind of witch, but I was dressed as the Wicked Witch of the West, with a lovely costume one of my Kin/clan/brood had made for me, might have even been my mother, she was a whiz with the needle. (in the most respective way!. idiots.) My memory wants me to say that my aunt was there, and that we were getting ready in her apartment, so I will. Also, I believe that it may have been my aunt smearing me with the green paint, and therefore mebbe my theory of sibling-child-sibling contact has been debunked, Mebbe I'm confused, what ever, but all in all what I really, really remember, is the texture. Now if you've ever had your face painted before, you'll know the texture I'm talking about. you might even like it. Me, however, not so much. I gag at even the sight of unnkown snot, drool, unverified liquid, let alone having it rubbed into my face and letting it dry. Not to mention the chalky/acrylic smell of a Face Paint Stick.

side note: I wasnt' even sure they made the Face Paint Sticks any more, as all I've seen are those newfangled Crayons, or pots of paint. These Sticks are basically Tongue depressors that have been dipped in the nasty non-toxic goo that then gets dried Onto the stick and packaged in a variety of Five colours for your convenience.also, the only picture I could find without actually searching was a link to a link, so whatever you do, don't press close window, cuz you'll lose the story. if you pressed it already and the window closed on you, you're a tard. just sayin. kay. back to the story.

So Here I am, in my Black dress-over-snowsuit and my cape, hat and broom, and My aunt is getting up close and personal with my face and this Glow in the dark green paint stick, and all I can do is sit quiet and not complain, because I'm sure at the time there was no reason. Now let me ask something else. Has anyone tried to give themselves a home facial? you know the Face mask that's supposed to peel off that top layer of skin and all that icky dirt in your pores? That gel-ley one that you're supposed to leave on for ten to fifteen so it can dry and then you peel off and feel refreshed? remember that feeling. That's what the paint stick feels like once it has dried. For all those that have never had a home facial before, sneeze in the crook of your elbow, let the snot dry, then try moving your arm. That's what it feels like. bleagh.
I spent quite a while outside covered from hairline to chin in that stuff, completely oblivious to the fact that it wasn't coming off very easy, not even when my face was getting sweaty from all the running and the high from the sugar-adrenaline mix. after that night, I vowed I would never, ever, EVER cover my face in that stuff again. Then I realized I was only five or six, and so probably promptly forgot about it and went back to arguing with my dad over the nibs/licorice. I remember, a few years later, My sister wanting to be a devil for hallow's eve (myself having moved on to gypsies and fairies, smart choice), and she was bedecked out in the hidious stuff, in the colour of red. I also remember her face after about half an hour and thinking, gee they don't make that stuff like they used to, as her face had either disintigrated, or bled onto her mitts and coat collar. Now, this year, My sonny-boy is going as Scooby-doo, something he is very adamant about, and I'm contemplating passing on the curse to him, but I just can't find a paint stick in even a close colour to the baby-shit-orange his costume is. Somehow I don't even think I'll be able to take him outside after I paint him. I'll be too busy rolling around on the floor, peeing my self with tears in my eyes.

Creatures of Habits

I love crazy magazine lovin wierdos. I Really do.
Like the guys who match their coats and hats to the cover of their stealth-hunter magazines, or the little old british ladies who think they're part of the royal family just because they buy, well, Royalty magazines. But I sincerly want to put out a big HELLY-O and a thank-you to my favorite bunch: The Overbearing, man-panties-in-a-bunch, Tight-uncomfortable shoe wearing Businessman.
These Gentlemen, or, as some of them prefer to be called, Phat Cats, are true chameleons in the realm of the 'zine. They Can flit back and forth from Rap Mags, Porn rags, and Quilted fags like nobody's biz. ( sorry, I just had to find another ryhme-y word for that last one. Not to mention, it's true.) Now, the normal time of day to spot the P.C's (for those of you who are slow, that means Phat cats) is either 11ish in the am, or just after one in the pm. Basically anytime around the lunch period, but not quite, so they don't have to answer any uneasy questions to any associate/collegue who might also have a penchant for perusing the papers over lunch. You can tell a P.C apart from a normal business-person by the long black high-end looking dusters they prefer to wear no matter how tall or not they are, their tommy-curl hair that looks thoroughly shellacked, and the smell of Geriatric spice or Cowboy-CAN'T YOU TELL I AM A MAN- perfume Emanating from every pore on their person. These such people always elude me when they come in, sometimes, I think, just from the pendulum effect their coats have on me, and then I'm completely oblivious to the fact that there's a sub-human being under all that pizzaz. These P.C.'s always walk with a purpose, though they usually take 5-10 minutes( or whenever all the other customers have left) to purposefully stride to their glossy destination. Which is almost always one of the three sections I have mentioned earlier. However the Typical P.C. is careful not to let on that they are purchasing anything suspicious, so before making their final stop at the counter, they swish over to the News aisle and pick up whatever Market paper is available, ie. Barrons, Newyork times, wall street journal, western investor, etc. Then these crafty buggers hide their true purchase in the folds of a paper and return to the cash register looking lofty and pristine. I've learned to look in all papers that a business-person is carrying now just to make sure there isn't a hidden glossy somewhere, as most times they, as do all other customers, think that we retail personnel are experienced mind-readers and shouldn't need to be told that they are hiding dirty, dirty smut somewhere between the Housing and Stocks section. and hey, to give credit to them, it's not always smut. Sometimes a Real Man just has to loop a coupla Circle Shell Stitches to unwind, ya know?

-manly AND Complicated!

Anyway, they almost always pay with some form of Mastercard super-multi-platinum-double-gold-fingered card, just to let you know that they still are an imposing figure when it comes to using other peoples cash, and it' really surprises me that they don't use, you know, cash, cuz that would just make it impossible to trace, and so, not letting the entire banking world know that they bought a 'no-no'. I dunno. just thinkin aloud. through my fingers.

N-E-yways, after which, they throw a smoke bomb down on the floor, and with a swish of their coats, disappear into the smoke laced interior to the external life without leaving a trace! exept for, well, the door chime thingy going off as they make their escape. ;)

Things I wish I never heard of

Kay. Surely everyone has heard the Fountain tire commercial on the radio. yes. radio. I happen to listen to it at work, since I LIKE hearing the same five songs over and over again. anyways, You know the ad, that one where the Fountain tire spokesperson is trying to gip a free box of cookies out of an unsuspecting girl guide. Well, I have to say that I hate that spokesperson with a passion. Not only does he have a nasally-impaired voice, not only is he blatantly dumb (and not the cutesy-Mr. Bean-not a clue dumb, the other dumb),but he's annoying too. However, He's got Midas beat, and so I can't Hate him entirely. Shame. Now, the politics of Tire-selling and adjustments and pretty arranging of the tires so they don't fall off, pretty much escape me. I don't know shit about cars. But I'm pretty sure the folks at Midas don't know much either. I do know that awesome phrase 'Righty-tighty, Lefty-Loosey" comes in handy when trying to replace a tire. The gents at this particular establishment anyway, do not. at all. In fact, the last time my car was in an accident(not by me by the by, but that's another story. and a few more by's) I had the unfortunate advantage of bringing it there, because they were the only place close by that was open on christmas. Now, it could have been the little fact that they were stuck working ON Christmas, or whatever. I make no excuses for the idiocy of this town and it's businessmen. They had to re-align my tires. and they did. They also left the car door open for about 2 or three hours after, so my car was completely dead when I came to pick it up. And cold. They also told me that my front passenger side rim was bent out of shape and they had to beat it back into shape. uhuh. I had to get that rim replaced by the by, as they had completely STRAIGHTENED IT, and it was literally shaving my tire bald. They also did Not apply the 'Righty-tighty, Lefty-Loosey' rule, and the two back tires almost fell right off my car on the way home. So. I ask you, oh Great Fountain Tire spokesman of the radio(yep, he's a man. that explains a bit) what are your promises? Cuz If you're place is anything like the Midas guys, I don't want anything to do with you. See, when cars get that 'Midas' touch(get it? Midas touch? heh? heh?... nevermind)at least in My town, Midas is essentially screwing itself over for not only it's own incompetence, but thousands of employees in hundreds of franchises across North America. Oh well. I'm sure your competitors aren't complaining, Midas. Like that Annoying Fountain Tire guy.

My Final and probably only piece of advice in this spiel is that no matter how insignificant, stupid people have a purpose too. That annoying dude on the radio may have to be someone to listen to, though unless it's on how to torment girl guides and brownies and such, I don't know. And for gawd's sake, DON'T Trust the Midas touch.

Of Sweat and Snot, Of Balls and Tots

Kay, so I'm running on about 5 hours sleep, and about 9 pots worth of coffee, so if the following thingy doesn't make a whole lot-a sense, then.. whatever. I don't really care. I just feel the need to express to all of the 40+ gentlemen out there, and even some of the women, that it is NOT OKAY to have mass amounts of spare change in your pockets when wearing sweatpants. you probably shouldn't be wearing sweatpants out in public anyways, but especially not with 10 bucks in change. Small, small change. This leads to the question of why you were wearing sweatpants in public, as most people who do are, well, exercising and sweating, or just a tad to big for any other material, and therefore, probably sweating also. This leads me into the knowledge that all of that big hunk of change vicariously swinging around your nether regions has probably also been co-mingling with the inevitable sweat of your said regions ( See: why people wear sweats in public), and saying that, I have just one question for those who apply to the previous. WHY DO YOU INSIST ON PAYING FOR SOMETHING ENTIRELY IN SWEATY BALL/GUNT CHANGE!???!?!?!??? eww. This is why every store should buy stock in Purell. or any kind of sanitizing agent. I seriously do not want to be touching coins covered in unknown/unverified liquids and/or moisture and heat of some kind. makes me kinda barfy. Maybe that would stop the sweaty change-exchange. If you hand me your taint-ed coins(get it? taint-ed? heh? heh? ahh.. nevermind) and I barf on your purchase(no refunds, sorry) that'll teach you a lesson. or maybe I'll just lose business. damn. no way to win.

Coming back to why I'm on minimal sleep/maximum caffiene exposure, I have one very sick little boy.This weekend was long, tiresome and snot filled due to my kid contracting some kind of throat icky. I tell ya, even though it may be cute when your little one sounds like a mixture of Big Gay Al and Miss Piggy when talking, throat infections are not fun. Sure the 'banana' medicine is awesome! I mean who hasn't actually looked forward to that tasty concoction when diagnosed with some ear/nose/throat malady? I certainly haven't. But even with the mass advancements in making all our drugs taste like candy, no one has entirely figured out how to make acetominaphin (spelling? bah. who cares, you get the gist.) not taste like ass. First they had grape and orange (Tylenol people. still have nightmares about it myself) , then cherry and bubblegum(even in the no name brand!), even mint(didn't last long as the menthol came off on your hands and subsequently went into your eyes. stingy.), and now a 'fruit medley' and 'citrus squeeze' or something like that. And My son Still Runs screaming from the room with his hands over his mouth while blubbering and choking on his own snot any time I mention the 'chewy pills'. They made Chlortriplon taste all right, why can't they perfect this? gawd, even my Allergy pills have a candy coating, and they came out with those Halls dissolvable sheets, like the listerine thingys. silly pill makers! get it right! for all the parents of sick kids! do it for us! pleeeaaaassssseeeeee!!!!
that's it. for now.

Chocolates with Extreme Dizzying qualities?

Don't get me wrong, I LOVVE chocolate. Dark chocolate, light chocolate, truffles, clusters, muffin and cake form, whatever. Chocolate is Guuuuddd. I do not love the people who organise the chocolate in my store. I don't care what looks better per shelf, I don't care that the regular size bars go on a higher shelf than the king size bars, in fact I don't even think that we should be having king size bars in my store, if not for the fact that the fat people love them so much. I happen to have the few representatives from each chocolate company that the rest of the world deemed 'too retarded to actually work in a real city' so they sent them to bellybutton Saskatchewan so they could run free and play. seriously. Mr Cadbury isn't past puberty yet, and stares at those bloody white chocolate bars like they're the creamiest thing he's gonna see, Mr Hershey is usually a no-show, although he usually does have the courtesy to book an appointment to come in so he has a certain time that he can NOT bother to show up for, and Ms Nestle? Picture Foreman's mom from That 70's show, skinny her up a bit, then ladle on some extra annoying. She's got that tasteful way of saying the most tactless thing in her honeyed voice, then following it up with a little twitter and an 'okaaaaayyyyy....'. I want to slaughter her with the sharp edge of a Skor Bar.

Ms Nestle came in to my store today, rearranged everything whilst I did my damnedest to ignore her, proceeded to take 'before' and 'after' shots with her new for-work-only digital camera, and in the midst of her in-home candy renovation, tried to talk to me about my life like she actually spent more than 10 minutes every 3-4 months in my store wiping the dust off of old product before replacing it. I have to admit that I might have given her some of the ammo to work with, but the rest she managed to pull out of her own a**. or at least out of someone else's life.

So she comes in with her BINDER OF ALL IMPORTANCE, her LABELS OF DESTINY, and her BOX CUTTER OF JUSTICE, and tries to butter me up with a free smarties box. Now I've said I lurve chocolate, but smarties doesn't really contain a whole lotta chocolate. just so you know. In fact if you look at the Label, the first ingredient is Milk Chocolate, which then has a brackets bar naming about 9 ingredients, 5 of which Ms Nestle herself couldn't even pronounce, and about four or five ingredients down in the sub-ingredients listing is unsweetened chocolate, but diluted by chemicals and 'Modified milk ingredients' so it can't really be considered chocolate) (I could be just making this shit up, but Ms Nestle should saw the backlash coming.) ANYWAYS, she gives me smarties, I say I don't like 'em, she looks like a puppy I just booted, so I try to comprimise and pull a little kindness out of a rarely used orifice and say that I could probably give them to my son, he'd like them. (which is true, I do bribe him when teaching him the alphabet, see 'By the power of Leapfrog') She lit up at this, and I thought all was well. Too well, it turned out. I was rearranging books in the small section we have that carries various romance titles and such (for the little old ladies, I just love them and their constant perfum of toilet cleaner and kitty litter) and she starts asking me about 'my little girl'. I corrected her once or twice, but she seemed set that my kid was Not born with the barnacles of manhood, so I went with it. what the hell. Then she started asking me about my husband and his Dad's business. So apparently now I'm married to my bosses non-exsistent son, which is kinda... different... anywho, this went on with her making shit up, and myself grunting the odd acknowledgment until she aquired how my pa-in-law was coping with the loss of his wife. a little caught off gaurd I was since my boss is a step father to a coupla daughters, and vice versa his healthy wife. I can only keep up with a made up a story so far, then I kinda lose point of what my goal was in the original making of the story, which was to keep this woman happy with the least possible amount of participation on my part, and mess with her head a little. I was wondering if she wasn't doing this to me. she didn't do a very good job tho, cuz I wasn't really happy with her. I think she sensed my pause of discomfort as a 'it's too personal, don't really wanna talk about it' kinda thing, at which point she did her finest Foreman's mom and Nasally twittered into the ackward feeling silence and 'okaaaaayyyy....'. Then she left. I don't know if she was actually done, or if she just wanted to leave the scene of the crime, although I'm not exactly sure who's crime it was, or what it was for that matter. I'm still all of a tizzy trying to figure it out myself. ..

weird.

Willy wonka and the Cancer factory

I officially hate wednesdays.

So far today I have managed to yell at a customer on the phone, not once, but three times and counting(apparently can't take the hang up hint AT ALL), dropped all of my daily newspapers that come into my store(about 15 different titles, 5-20 apiece), then barked at a customer wanting to help.And these papers didn't just go in an up-down motion. oh no. I did the full version of the 'I got it! I Got it!' dance, and there was news every where.. and that nice, naive customer held the door open for a full 4 minutes while I did the 'mumbly-don't help me- I said I got it' stretches. all this going on, while behind me, and so unbeknownst to me, a good crowd of 4 or 5 people had gathered, either apparently too scared to pass the messy News-explosion into the helpfully opened door, or trying to keep their laughs down to a reasonably silent snorting session. yeah I heard it. helpful.

and it's not even 10:30.

ok now it is.

And enter- Oompa Loompa! Well. Not quite. He's a bit surlier than your average oompa. But he's short! And cancer-peely Orange! Someone should send that man to the tanning nazis. NO MORE GLOOP FOR YOU! ick. As always, he, like every other regular schmuck in my store, expects my mind-reading capabilities to kick in before lunch, or at least my third cuppa. So I'm behind the counter, vaguely aware that he likes to top off his carcinogenic routine with cigars, but I'll be a surgeon generals left t** if I can remember which kind. And so I start from the left of the display and move on, while he's making jokes about the intelligence level of retail employees in this day and age. I imagine the slow painful death he's made for himself, and picture him wheezing and purple, and somehow the comments bounce off . Not bad for 10:30. in the a.m. After I finally get the amount of and the kind(get this, a carton of bandi cigars, five to a pack , five packs a carton, twice a week. I hope he shares.) Oompa gets on his cell phone. Guess my converstional skills were no match to his lackey who can get him starbucks at his whim. So I'm standing there while he makes his order, still waiting for a form of payment. And the little bugger starts wandering around the store, visually picking out artery-clog inducing pastry! Hello! I want you to get the f out of my store! If you're not out in 30 seconds, your lackey better be bringing ME a venti-smooth-hot-something else-blahblah-water-more fake italian-latte, AND a muffin! I don't care which kind. not picky. haha... So , he finally comes back, and then tries to leave without paying. yeah. Saw That coming from a mile away, even in my caffiene-free coma. So we argue for a little minute, then I , in my graceful, refined and patient glory, say 'I have a video camera that's been watching you SIR! Why don't you have a look to jog your memory, cuz I am QUITE SURE that you didn't leave any fu**in money.' whoops. First rule,big one, no swearing at customers, the customer is always right. well I happen to know that most of the customers I serve don't know right from their own toes, so I guess that makes me a shitty manager. Whatever. So, wisely, he shuts his mouth, we go to the camera and rewind , he looks at himself going through the coffee summons, while I look on(thank god my back was to the camera, I'm pretty shure that I said many more unsavory things while watching his communicative ordeal.) (hah! big words! not even sure if they fit or make sense, but surprisingly they're the only words coming to mind)

And all he says is 'huh. so I guess I didn't pay ya.' and gets out his wallet. . kay best part. so he pays, says 'see ya next week, you know you don't have to let these things get to ya, don't let the world get ya down.' or something to that extent. then-'umm, I looked kind of orange in the camera... you might want to fix your contrast.'

priceless.

By the Power of Leapfrog!!!

So here we are again, me showing off with the tardiness of my writing capabilities. bad! bad me! I have shamed myself. really. and with so much news to tell! I got a part in that Crazy white trash musical, since past,(the last showing was July 26th, to be exact) and it was a complete blast. really. lotsa fun. lotsa work too, since I was also working at the same venue that I was rehearsing, and eventually performing at. All at the same time. So if we work out the total life time I lost to this from the rest time I received, I technically only had Wednesday evenings off, with Sunday to Tuesday nights reserved for learning the play, and Thursday to Saturday nights for working. And Monday to Friday days for also working. But still, lotsa fun. Lots of drama too, and I don't mean with the actors. My own life tends to spiral out of control when I least expect it, which due to my goldfish memory-holding capabilities, is quite often. And in the midst of the swirling vortex which is my agenda, I usually tend to lose sight of the big picture, whilst trying to keep each little piece in order, resulting in broken appendages both literal and figurative. all of my own making of course, me being the control freak that I am. But enough of that. I know what I've done, and by means of keeping something slightly private, and away from prying webular eyes, I'll move on. This is no pity party after all.

No! this is about my son!

Do you know how interesting it is to teach a boy to recognize his ABC's?

My son is learning his letters, albeit reluctantly. After all, who needs letters and books when there are movies and video games to be had! and the funniest bit? I don't have TV, we rarely watch movies, and I don't own a gaming system of any kind. This is all learnt exclusively through outside sources, via babysitters, friends, etc. So... three hours, and a coupla timeouts later, and we now know ABCDFOSTXZ, and not in that order. But it's a start. I tell ya, if not for leapfrog, I would be forced to do it by hand, and then, even though I'm sure the letters would be learned in order, we would not have gotten as far. Also, I would thank nameless, who has a heck of a lot more patience than I, for about half an hour in, I was cleaning to relieve the tension, while sonny boy and nameless were still going at it. my parenting skills stop at a certain limit, apparently, mostly with teaching school-type things, as I can't even remember how I learned my alphabet, though I do recall a certain book with pictures of things that started with each letter, the most eye-catching picture being the ashtray labeled under Aa. And people wonder why I smoke. ha ha. ha..yeah.

Keeping with the subject of Learning new things and My son, there's the small matter of sports. Which is really quite big, if you look at all angles. He's starting in a swimming class come September, and myself and another have been trying to teach him other various sports, such as baseball, soccer, etc. Mostly starting with the fact that he can't just quit or cry when he doesn't get it right the first time. And let me tell you, not the easiest thing to instill in a child. there has to be a magic sentence or something that you say to the child, and BOOM! no more whiny give-ups. And they are not 'you only cry if you're a girl', 'big boys don't quit, you wanna be a big boy don't you?', ' if you quit then you don't get ice-cream', and other such bribes. And no, I am not above bribing, sometimes it's the best way to quiet the situation. I'm not saying it solves anything, just that sometimes it's better to compromise with food and/or toys and/or free-time, than to lose Mommy's sanity. But on the upside, he's learning.... slowly, like snail-speed multiplied. Example. I took him out to the park with a soccer ball, and took him to the field, and we started by running the length of the field while kicking the ball in front of you. that lasted about 20 yards. then we kicked it back to each other, which resulted in him picking up the ball and throwing it at me because he was frustrated. so I hit it with my head. THEN he was interested. So what was Going to be a teaching session, turned into a half-hour of Me throwing the ball at his head, and him running around trying to get it to bounce back to me. see? Not entirely wasted, but not the first thing I would've preferred to teach him. Enjoyable though. Kind of satisfying when you get to whack your son on the head, and he wants more. yup. Caring and responsible parent. That's me.

that's all my rantings for now. at least until we learn LMNOP. that should be fun. ha ha. ha....

HALLOWEEN!

ok, so it's a little late, but not too too late, so I'll tell you all about it.
So The Last week of October, my son has had a bad flu,(this is a reminder, Please, get a flu shot, to save the ickies.) So, sonny had been spiking temps of about 103.-whatever since Monday the 29th, and was not in the best of health for tricky-treating. But, alas, daycare is such a wonderful place, that by the time pick-up time came around, he was up and about, full of Motrin, and running a wonderful little 'I'm goin tricky-treatin! yay for candy' rant, and since his dad had promised a week before to take him out, I couldn't really say no. Could I? so off home we go, and by the time we pick up daddy from work, the little tyke is passed out. yup, snoring in the car seat, oblivious to the whole day. Should I have just moved him from car seat to bed and not even tried the rest of the night? said enuf is enuf, and be done with it? probably.
so we get home, and daddy gets sonny out of the car seat, and sonny wakes up and lo and behold, starts the rant again. Now this whole rant was really kinda cute to hear in a way, since he was losing his voice, and it was coming out a squeak, so it kinda sounded like he was daydreaming. huh. So we get home, and bring out the spider man costume, figure we can tour the apartment building, and go home. Here is the first trial. even though Logan has worn the costume before, He doesn't want to wear it with clothes on. so we take off the clothes. Then he doesn't want to wear it at all. He can't understand as we try to explain that you can only get candy if you dress up. 'I can't wear it', he wails, and for a kid that's losing his voice, that's pretty impressive. So we ask why, and he replies' I can't tell you' and then proceeds to get really upset. So I ask Daddy to go put on his chef whites that he wore to work that day, and tell Logan that Daddy dressed up for candy, can you? NO. but if both daddy and mommy dress up for candy, then can you? NO! and more balling.
So this goes on for about, oh, 10-15 minutes, and then finally I tell daddy to calm kiddo down, don't ask him any more questions, and I start rooting thru the boxes in the storage closet for years past costumes. can't find anything. Start looking in my closet and his for anything that he can dress up as. Can't find anything. Then, on the brink of everyone bursting into tears, I find a pair of kiddy wranglers that good ol' uncle Hungarian and auntie got him for the Christmas before, that were a couple sizes too big, and I can't say inspiration hit me,... it was more like desperation. So in the background with Logan wailing, and daddy only slightly freaking out, and me more so, I find a vest that I wear and a cowboy hat I have that badly needs reshaping, and ask Logan if he wants to be a cowboy. NO. the wails get worse and after yet another failed attempt at explaining that only dressed-up kids get candy, it's daddy's turn for a brilliant idea. How about we just get you re-dressed and then go out for candy?
ok.
So we put him into the wranglers, and then a sweater, and then another sweater, and then his big boots, and a scarf, and get a pillow case. Sneaky. At this point we ask him if he wants to wear the cowboy hat. Big mistake. The wailing starts again, and at this point the mommy-meter for patience wears out, and I go 'OK! NO HAT! LETS JUST GET A BASEBALL CAP AND PRETEND YOU'RE A FARMER!'
But we bring the hat along just in case.
So we decide to go outside, to the street just behind us that Logan and I have meandered through many times before, and when we get to the first house, I ask sonny if he wants to wear the cowboy hat.
Ok.
AHHHH! I should have known.
So we get to the first couple of houses okay, including the one guy who just moved in and was renovating, so he gave Logan a couple of granola bars and a box of kd, then shut his porch light off. So as Logan is finally getting into the spirit of things, we get to this house in a cul-de-sac thing, and Logan goes up yells(as best he can, which isn't much with no voice, so mom and dad have to help) tricky- treating! and this little old lady answers the door, and she falls all over him like he's the cutest thing she's ever seen and of course in doing so, boosts up said parents egos and confidence, and then she asks him The Question.
'Are you a cowboy?'
and at this Logan looks so offended, and responds angrily' NO! I'm a Logan! '
and the lady lets out a twitter, and says 'I'm sorry, we don't get many Logan's dressed-up here."
and Logan says, 'I'm not dressed- up! Don't talk to me'
and turns around.
yeah.
Fan-tastic.
So after mass apologies, and I think the lady wasn't too offended, she still gave him raisins, and we're on our way. So I think Logan cheered up a bit after that, and did his usual flirting, and got mass handouts, and I do mean mass handouts, we hit 20 houses or so, and Logan filled half a pillow case. There was even one house, where the parents were ready to take Their kids out, and so they gave Logan like six bags of chips. This was also the house Logan met spider man. There was a five-six yr old dressed up as spider man, and he gave Logan one of the bags of chips, and you can just see His eyes go Wide! and soo surprised, and he says,'HI SPIDER MAN!' and goes to give this kid a hug, and I'm glad this kid wasn't older and more wary, cuz he returned the hug, and Logan is just glowing. His dad and I didn't really have the heart to tell him that spider man is a little taller than 3 foot 3. And after we hit one side of the street, it was time to go home, as his dad and I were taking turns either holding the candy-filled pillowcase, or holding Logan, and to tell the truth, it was hard to tell which weighed more.
So we get home, and logan gets back down to his diaper, and mommy dumps out the pillow-case to search for tainted goodies, and it wasn't bad, I only threw out a marshmallow thing and the box of raisins. I swear some people should definitly check expiration dates if they're going to give out healthy food. I don't condone it, in fact I recommend it, but really. Dont just give it away cuz it's been in your cupboard for the last five years, and you can't bring yourself to throw it out....
so that is the halloween story, and it's pretty scary, at least parts of it are in my eyes.
Stay tuned for more adventures from the Tiny Pianist!

IN-VEN-TOR-Y!

AHH! ERNIE!
So today at the Store of Marvolous Magazine Magnificence, we have our
inventory crew coming in from WIS, which I am assuming is Western Inventory something...
school? they all look like they should be in school, some on the short bus. K that's mean. But seriously! Their Leader sounds Like Ernie! as in Bert and? and there's this other mean little woman who I guess since I'm at the front all the time and they wouldn't want a guy to come and count everything(we might start a convo. *gasp*) they paired up the diminuitive shrew with me. So every 2 minutes or so, 'what's this price?' 'you guys forgot to sticker this' and the oh so popular 'oh nevermind, you don't know anything I'll go ask your boss.' I LOVE IT! My goodness, if that little bleep wasn't 4x4 I would've punted her across the store by now. I still think that WE who work in the store, should've been paid to come in on a sunday, and count everything ourselves. I mean three hours of counting things? not hard. and he would've been paying us probably a little less. so bossman would've been saving money. sheesh. oh well. It has provided me with enough entertainment to last not just the two hours they were in here, but for the next three hours as well. at least until I get my 2:30 brain shut down.
K that's it for today- mebbe...
Stay tuned for more ad-ventures from the TinyPianist!

It Was Me!

HAHA! Yes It was me Saskatoon! It was me that denied Matt Good his oh-so precious New York Times Daily! and if he's not happy settling with the lousy weekend edition of the paper, and decides not to go on tonight, as I was told expressly, then you know who to blame! HAHA!
and don't you worry, my number's included in my 'apology' note to said singer, so I will be the one who gets the talkin to by whoever persons are in control of his personal and mental health! And if said newspaper puts him over the edge, and he decides to go on a lack-of-newspaper-crazed killing rampage, know, Saskatoon, that it was I that put him in that place! HAHAHAHAHAHA!

seriously, if you can't read a certain paper everyday, or if you can't do the crossword? in said paper, you should not be singing for a 80 bucks a ticket, you should be singing for like-minded gown-wearing, drooling, fellow crazies in the psych-ward! blagh!
I guess I could understand the importance of the New york times horoscopes though... I myself Never go out without consulting my ever-important msn horoscope. Heaven forbid I should be wearing the wrong colour for the day, or if I'm overly talkative, when I should be silent, lest I put my foot in my mouth...
well that's it for today..
Stay tuned for more adventures of the TinyPianist.