January 30th, 2009 | 16 Comments »

I had an MSN messenger conversation with one of my nieces, CutiePie, whereby she asked me if I had a man in my life yet.

WP: I’ve decided to sublimate my urges into the consummation of carrot cake.

CP: Not afraid of getting fat?

WP: Welcoming it. Keeps those pesky mens at bay.

CP: You have a point. What are the benefits? (She’s young)

WP: Carrot cake doesn’t leave its dirty drawahs lying on the floor.

CP: (immediately getting it) Carrot cake doesn’t leave the toilet seat up.

WP: Carrot cake doesn’t hog the remote control.

CP: Carrot cake doesn’t fart in bed and pull the covers over your head.

WP: Carrot cake doesn’t find fault with your relatives.

CP: Carrot cake doesn’t cheat on you.

WP: Carrot cake doesn’t expect the world to revolve around it when it’s sick.

CP: Carrot cake doesn’t give you any lip.

WP: You win!

Posted in Cutie Pie, little bits
January 29th, 2009 | 10 Comments »

I keep a little notebook beside me to jot down memory triggers for stories that I might like to tell here.

Presently, I have twenty three items in my notebook.

Do I have a post I want to write?

No, sadly, I do not.

I think my last remaining brain cell went for a walk and forgot to come home.

If you see it, tell it I miss it, will you?

Posted in little bits
January 27th, 2009 | 10 Comments »

Ass Burger Boy and myself were talking about “the Nan”, which is what everyone called my Mom. She had many quirks, as most people do, but we found hers an endless source of amusement.

Ma was a cooking fool. I well remember her baking bread at the same time she had a hoover washer/spin dryer hooked up to the sink. Just imagine piles of wet laundry, and flour flying in clouds. This was a regular activity.

She would make up a huge batch of something to have leftovers which she could freeze. If she had leftovers that didn’t make it to the freezer, and she was suspicious that it might not be at its peak freshness, she was quick to offer food to anyone who visited.

If it seemed a bit off, I would 86 it. ABB has a real problem throwing away food, and sometimes it worked to his detriment. Every once in a while he got the squirts after being at the Nan’s.

Today, we had a decision. I made a shephard’s pie which was yummy, but the next day, we both had the squirts. I wasn’t really sure what caused it, but decided that if we were going to eat the remainder of the very large shepherd’s pie, it was going into the oven as if it were never cooked previously.

I had a large portion, showing no fear. ABB had a smaller portion, which for him, is unusual. That boy can chow down.

I guess we will see what tomorrow brings, won’t we?

Shaddap, Ma. I hear you laughing at me.

January 26th, 2009 | 11 Comments »

I’m grateful for my neti pot, or snotty potty, as I like to call it. I don’t know how I’ve managed to live without one before. If the weather messes with me to give me a sinus headache, the morning rinse will clear it up.

I haven’t had a cold since I started using it. Except when I was travelling without it. I got a wicked sinus infection that did not migrate to my chest because I expectorated admirably. (See? It’s better to spit than to swallow) Soon as I hit the mainland, I hied myself over to Shopper’s Drug Mart and bought me a plastic neti pot, which is entirely travel-friendly.

I only bought the real deal because there were no plastic tea sets in the dollar store. I’m cheap frugal that way. I don’t use the packaged rinses they pack with it, rather, I use a small amount of salt, about an eighth of a teaspoon to mix in the water.

Everyone should have one of these, especially if you are prone to sinus infections, colds, or have allergies.

January 23rd, 2009 | 17 Comments »

I didn’t sleep at all last night. Sounds like an old song, doesn’t it? Old people, be sure to chime in.

Truth is, I ran out of my prescription sleep aid. I’ve always been a hyper vigilant sleeper ever since I was a wee lass. I cannot sleep without my meds. Can’t sleep on a plane or train or bus, where there are strangers around me. It has nothing to do with being potentially horrified by my own drool or snoring. It has everything to do with my bedroom being on the way to the bathroom when there were card parties my parents hosted. My mom couldn’t figure out why I started wetting the bed at the age of six, especially since I was completely potty trained so early. The doctor said I was just too lazy to get up at night. You’d think I would be over early childhood night time intruders, but I guess not. Perverts. The gift that keeps on giving. Wah, wah, wah, we all have our sad stories. I’m baffled that it still affects me.

Don’t get me wrong. I have come a long, long way. At one time, I was afraid to sleep when I lived alone. I could only sleep when dawn broke. It set a pattern of sleep deprivation. I always had lots of energy, could get by on five hours, no problem.

It’s different now. To work properly and to deliver my best effort to my clients, I need more like six or seven hours now. Today, I didn’t log on at all. I was saving myself for the private, in person clients I had scheduled.

I was always terrified to take narcotic pain meds. I did not want to be addicted. Last night proved to me that I am addicted to my sleep meds. And, boy howdy, I am taking those puppies tonight.

Don’t you find it ironic that a woman who works in her jammies all day doesn’t get much sleep time in them?

I know I do.

And, please? I know there are lots of sympathetic folks out there who want to say poor you, but I am so not comfortable with that. It is what it is, my parents didn’t know, and they never dreamed their friendly neighbourhood card parties were attended by pedophiles.

From reading palms, I estimated that one out of every three women I read had been molested in childhood. I stopped looking in that area of the palm after a particularly naive woman was astounded when I told her that her brother was molesting her daughter. Her stunned reply: “I thought he had stopped when I was twelve. I thought she was safe.”

I replied that he stopped molesting her when she got too old for his tastes.

I just didn’t have the heart to tell another mother that. I don’t go there anymore.

Now do you understand why I refused to take my kids to sit on a department store Santa’s lap? I was suspicious that the old bugger would sport wood. There’s a reason why your kids cry when they have to sit on Santa’s lap. Listen to them. Validate their perceptions. And don’t make them hug or kiss anyone they do not want to.

Even if it’s Great Aunt Minnie. Maybe she just smells bad. I always let the kids come to me on their own terms, because to them, I smell like an old lady who smokes. And who doesn’t get enough sleep.

Posted in it's all about me