December 31st, 2007 | 19 Comments »

Remember the world’s most pathetic snowman I posted here? Well, it has since rained.

Psych! Bet you thought this was about Ass Burger Boy.

Happy New Year!

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December 30th, 2007 | 22 Comments »

Hmm…where to start?

  • There is no Mr. witchypoo. I was married twice and didn’t like it. I have issues, okay? Back off. Don’t make me hurt you.
  • I’m right handed
  • I drink coffee, strong, black, no sugar, and plenty of it.
  • Dances with Explosives actually prefers to be called Dances with Shrapnel, because that is more specific to his job description. While he hasn’t forbidden me to write about him, his lovely wife, or my beautiful grand daughter, he has privacy concerns, and I respect them.
  • Anything about my family is tricky territory. I once wrote about my favourite uncle in Bluenose Vernacular and it hurt his feelings. I edited it for this blog to announce that he was not being a perv because he really wasn’t. It was for comic effect.
  • Most of my family members consider me a ne’er do well Tool of Satan. Some of them have rather extreme religious beliefs. We don’t talk much. The ones that do talk to me, I would like to keep it that way. Sometimes it gets ugly when you blog about family.
  • One of the things that shaped me was a deep yearning to connect spiritually. I went to many different churches as a child, and the last one was a total nutjob church that left a bad taste in my mouth concerning organized religion. I decided that organized religion was mostly about people setting out rules about how to worship, how to behave, and who gets to heaven. The rules often changed with the church. That just didn’t make sense to me. I continued my search for a spiritual connection on my own. When I started doing readings, I quickly felt the great wall of disapproval from churches and congregants. I think I know what a hooker in church feels like.
  • Most of my jobs have been dealing with people. Mostly sales. I was the first woman in my area to sell cars. I loved it, but was really indignant that people just assumed I was a liar. Plus the men were sneaky and would steal your customers. One of them hit me, and I found out what it is to literally see red. The air was blue, because I couldn’t see anything but red, but I found the loudest part of my voice to say very bad words in the service department. With customers there. It was humiliating.
  • Another embarrassing moment was at the same dealership. My mom had talked me into dying my hair blonde, but I panicked half way through, and I slunk into work and hid in the bathroom because the hair, it was orange. My sales manager made fun of me, saying: “Vanity, thy name is Woman!”, and told me to take the rest of the day off to fix it.
  • Still another: I have a partial plate, and have had since I was fourteen. Lets say that the ice and I connected in a meaningful way to need that plate. It broke at work when I was 20 (I worked in a bank then.) and I wanted to die. I had forgotten about it, mercifully, but this man I didn’t recognize came up to me a few years ago in a grocery store, and took great delight in recounting the story in front of his wife. Then I was embarrassed for his wife, because he was showing what a jerk he was.
  • Other than those things from long ago, I really don’t embarrass easily. I have embarrassed my friends with some of my antics from time to time, but they are used to me. Like the time I mooned a bus load of senior citizens. For some reason I thought that was hilarious. Oh, wait. It was probably the alcohol. Serves them right for giving it to me. They knew what a nutbar I was.
  • Since I started this blog at the first of November, I hardly go anywhere anymore. I was famous for being a roadrunner, always on the go, but I have a strong obsessive streak like Ass Burger Boy does. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. That’s what I tell him when he thinks he’s weird.
  • My mother’s death hit me very hard. I saw her every day. She always made me laugh. Ma was quite the character, and I loved her off beat ways. She always liked to think she was putting one over on me, and I humoured her, because as I told her “Ma, you don’t have to trick me. I’m good to old people.” I used to make fun of her all the time, and then laughed when I started acting like her. The ugliness of some family members before and after her funeral gave me the resolve to never attend another funeral or wake. I have already told Grammie this and she understands why. I still turn into a snotbag when I think about Ma. I really miss her. Even though I still hear her voice in my head from time to time, making fun of me, or bossing me around.
  • I’d be happy to have an open forum event from time to time. If you have experiences to share, I would love to hear them, and even throw in my 2ยข worth.
  • That photo of me on my readings website? It’s 7 years old. I don’t have red hair with blonde streaks anymore. I liked the blonde so much, I got more and more of it. Now I have other streaks in the blonde. Summertime I usually get green streaks because it’s summer, and they’re fun. Winter, usually brown streaks, but more subtle, because just plain blonde is boring.
  • I don’t remember ever being bored. My mind is a party. I also don’t remember being lonely, although there are many times I have been alone. I’m a gemini, so it could be that my evil twin keeps me amused.
  • Ass Burger Boy accused me of knowing when he was lying because I am psychic. I assured him it was a mom thing. Moms can tell the lie look on a kids face. That’s what I told him: “You have the lie look. Right there. On your face.” There have been a few times he was away from the house too long that I have checked in on him to see if he was hurt or in trouble, but very few. I do respect his privacy, and that includes his right to having a party in his pants without my knowledge, although I could “just tell” when he lost his virginity. I never said a word, but let him tell me. Only fair. That stuff is private.
  • I live in a mansion that was converted into flats, not all of them expertly, but I got the best deal of all. I have the huge living room at 20 x 40, and all kinds of antique features like the casement windows, the sliding glass panelled pocket doors, and the huge fireplace. It’s set back from the street in a part of the city that hardly anyone knows about. It’s like a bubble of peace and no crime. Cab drivers have a hard time finding it. I can’t wait to see what comes up in the garden in the spring, and plan for my fall bulb planting.
  • The healing work I do is whatever is needed. I don’t have to be physically with the person to do it. I can make a headache go away, and have worked on some serious problems as well. My grand daughter was very ill, and I worked on her from afar. My nephew was near death as well this year from a severe beating, and although there were many prayers and magnificent healing groups working on him, I also participated with my friend in Texas, the fabulous Lucy in da Sky. I told his mother the extent and location of the injuries, and she blew the doctors away by telling them what she learned from me. I also described the assailants.
  • Dealing with having a son deployed overseas (twice so far) is torture. He looked so very very tired, and I can only imagine the mental toughness he had to develop. The heat alone would have done me in. Carrying heavy packs in that heat? Blows my tiny little brain. I hated the newscasts that announced wounded or dead. It takes so long to get confirmation, and is agonizing for all loved ones of our soldiers. The relief you feel when it isn’t yours is always tempered by the sadness you feel for the other families. I’m very proud of him. He always tried to justify his decision to enter the military, but he never had to. He has to live his life. I don’t. When he was younger he had long hair. His father gave him a hard time about it, said it made him (his father) look bad. He tried to get a rise out of me about his hair, but I simply told him: “Sweetie, it’s your hair. You have the choice to wear it long, short, or however you want.” I was sad when he cut it. It was a thing of beauty.
  • I am not afraid to die. I have looked death in the eye, and accepted it.

This is a repost to test that my feed is not truncated. Bite me if you’ve read it before.

December 28th, 2007 | 16 Comments »

Today, I have no banked posts, and the only ones I have a burning urge to write are about Ass Burger Boy. He’s a blogging gold mine. However, I like to change it up and I haven’t even written part 4 of working with the police yet.

What I would like to know for future reference, even tomorrow, is what you are interested in that I may have to offer. I get that the geek stuff makes your eyes glaze over. Okay. Geek stuff be gone.

Do you have questions? What do you want more of? Even those of you who have never commented can make your voice heard now.

Me? I’m gonna go make a snowman. Talk amongst yourselves.

Ta-da! I present the most pathetic snowman ever.

snowcrone

December 27th, 2007 | 13 Comments »

One of the characteristics of autistic behaviours is obsessions. Come to think of it, I just might be autistic myself. But this isn’t about me. Hah!

Ass Burger Boy was obsessed with toilets ever since toilet training began. I think I may have helped to fuel this obsession, since I was pretty eager not to clean up poop.

This obsession impacted my older sister, who had taken ABB to Sears and was thoroughly mortified when he demonstrated his big boy skills in the display toilet. I don’t think she praised him for it. Encouragement is critical during toilet training. It may have set him back a bit.

By sheer accident, I stumbled onto the “What’s in it for me?” method of motivating ABB. I swear I knew the instant he was toilet trained for real. I could see in his eyes the connection as he made it to being a big boy, toilet training, and another fascination of his, which was beards. Since every time he used the potty, I told him he was getting to be a bigger boy, it really clicked with him when I said that when he was bigger, he could grow a beard of his own, much preferable to feeling up the beards of random strangers. I swear I used all the creativity I could muster to motivate that chile.

During this very long period of time,we lived in a place with air in the pipes, and the toilet made a horrifying noise, which I tried to explain by telling him that the toilet needed to clear its throat. Yes, in hindsight, this was entirely stupid of me, but hey, the kid was terrified. Frankly, so was I. Terrified he would never come near a toilet again. I saw myself changing poopy diapers up to the time I might need mine changed. The noise it made sounded like a screechy ERRRRRR, so we made friends with it, and called the toilet Errr.

This led to a great curiosity about other people’s toilets. He wanted to find out if anyone else had a toilet with personality that he could befriend.

Every time we went to a place he hadn’t been to before, he would ask the inhabitants right away “What colour is your toilet?” followed by “Can I see it?” These are the questions he came up with after I had to hurriedly explain to him that only our toilet was called Errr, because of course, he asked to see their Errr, and they had no idea what the Errr he meant.

A few years after he was toilet trained, he asked less often to see people’s toilets, and he quit entirely asking them what colour their toilet was. I didn’t fully understand the perseverance of his obsessions, but was happy to let it go.

A few weeks ago, I asked him if when he goes to a new place, he makes it a point to use the bathroom.

Yes, yes, he does. He has just gotten more subtle with his obsessions as he has matured. And now, I have more mildly amusing stories, and less explanations to provide.

December 26th, 2007 | 7 Comments »

I have been tagged by Kim. This is what the weekend is for.

The Rules Of The Meme:

 

  • Each player makes a list of eight random facts/habits about themselves.
  • At the end of your list, choose eight people to to tag and list their names.
  • Leave them a comment on each of their websites to let them know that they have been tagged.
  • The people tagged will write a post on their own website about their eight things, post these rules, and tag eight others.
  • etc etc blah blah blah…

1. I hate shopping. Really, I don’t go out much at all, except to visit with friends.

2. I used to be a clean freak, but I’m feeling much better now.

3. I graduated with honours from a database program. Nobody wants a geezer on their IT team it seems.

4. I have the conviction about these things about me that nobody really wants to know them, or cares to read them. My friends are much more interesting than I am.

5. I have sworn that I will not attend another funeral. My mother’s funeral was so traumatic that I will have none of it, ever again. I have told my Grammie this, and she is okay with it, because I come to see her every chance I get.

6. I wish I had a secret Santa to buy me a kickarse digital camera. And I’m totally sick of filling my own darned stocking.

7. You can always tell the days I don’t feel like cooking supper. Those are the days I reward myself for shopping in the first place and bring home a frozen pizza. The pizza I make at home is killer.

8. I can’t wait until the snow is right to make a big, fat snowperson. I will dress it up with scarves and hats, and hope that the kiddies in the neighbourhood will play with me.

I’m not tagging anybody, because I don’t want anyone to feel obligated.