April 16th, 2008 | 22 Comments »

I always make it a point to visit my Grammie on her birthday every August 11th, even though it is a long bus ride away.

Every year, I ask her to hang on long enough til I get there, just so I can see her one more time. She already has her coffin special made. She’s perfectly willing to use it. Look at her, all grinning in her coffin. She’s a pissah!

I always liked to just show up in her dooryard and surprise her, but the last time that happened, I was afeared I would give her a heart attack, so now I give her warning, even though she doesn’t remember stuff too well anymore.My long-suffering younger brother and I decided we didn’t ever want to put this look on her face again. Would you? It scared us.

Hmmmm, seems like there’s a lot of free boobing going on in this family.

I’ve enlisted both my BFF’s from highschool to look in on her and cheer her up, and they are both fabulous about it. In fact, they love her too. Grammie seems to have more honourary grandchildren than she can remember names of. I just tell her to call everyone “Dear”. Everyone likes to be called dear. Except me. I cried the one time she couldn’t remember my name.

Grammie’s all fundamentalist religion, the kind that frowns on the Tool of Satan stuff I do, like palmisty, tarot, and even healing. I attribute that to ignorance. She had a hard life, and has to believe there is something better. It pains me that she fears for my very soul. Because I do not believe the exact same things that she does. Anyone who does not believe the exact same things that Grammie does is in great eternal peril of the soul.

When I was younger, I teased her more than I do now. She would just shake her head and worry about my soul, because I was all bad arse.

One time, a client had given me a souvenir shop voodoo doll that she had picked up in an actual souvenir shop in New Orleans. Not a real one or anything. She told me an amusing story about how she had punked an obnoxious customs officer in an elaborate joke, culminating with the revelation of the voodoo doll. It had me rolling on the floor, and needing to pee.

I told Grammie this story, about how she had enlisted various people to go through customs and inquire if this officer was experiencing ass pain. (I regret that Americans don’t use the much kinder term arse) Quite a lot of them asking got the interest of the officer, and when my client revealed the voodoo doll, it had a pin sticking out of its arse.

Then I ceremoniously presented Grammie with the souvenir voodoo doll and told her it was her birthday present. I’m so very thoughtful that way.

Poor Grammie.

As soon as I left, she burned it in the stove. Yes, that very stove in the background of the gobsmacked Grammie picture.

She never did know what to make of me. But you know what? She loves me anyway. And I’ve stopped messing with her. There are plenty of other folk to mess with. She’s earned a rest from my crap.

The End.

Posted in Grammie, old photos, rellies
January 27th, 2008 | 29 Comments »

I was reading this post (freaking hilarious!) about colon hydrotherapy, which brought back memories of my own sessions. I was preparing for a group initiation into the energies of the Archangel Michael, and I wanted my body to be the clearest vessel possible.

What basically happens in this series of procedures is that the therapist slides a well lubed tube thingie into your backside. It has a device to connect two tubes on the outside, one for water going in to flush the system, the other for expelled matter.

Here’s the thing. I firmly believe that your backside is designed for egress, not ingress. In other words, nothing should be going in. I knew that these procedures would give me health benefits, but had a hard time getting past the method. So I paid in advance for the first four appointments. If I hadn’t paid up front for work down back, I probably wouldn’t have showed. I noticed results after that, so I showed up regularly.

The therapist was very shy, and spiritual. I expected she had heard all the jokes about what a crappy job she had, but I was determined to brighten her life with new ones. Because really? That’s just the kind of lovely person I am, making a shy woman squirm while I tell poop and fart jokes. No, you can’t reward me. I took down the donate button. Well, you could vote for me, or subscribe to my feed. I’m reliving awkward moments here, people. I can’t hear your applause, but I can see the numbers.

I used deep breathing techniques to allow the water maximum room to flush, and to alleviate the cramping that results from toxins being stirred up prior to expulsion. The toxins made me feel nauseous, but not throw up nausea, it was more in my bowel. I felt it a little with each flush. What I find funny is that my Grammie always called the indoor toilet the flush. Because she vividly remembers the other kind that did not flush.

What fascinated me most besides the bits of corn, turds, and recognizable food sloshing by in the egress tube, were the enormous air bubbles coming out the tube into the sealed container (so it wouldn’t offend your olfactory sensibilities). These things reminded me of the bubbles you get by dipping a broom handle with an attached loop into a bucket of detergent. They were That.Large. I had visions of little kids dancing in meadows, making bubbles of my farts.

I wanted to know how she could possibly deprive my family of such treasures. After all, Dances with Shrapnel had christened me Methane Mom. I had a lot to live up to. She made a choking sound, which passed for laughter masked by embarrassment. There was no getting this woman to laugh.

She was, however, very interested in the Archangel Michael group activation I was holding, and attended. She also came regularly to my group meditations/pot luck gatherings.

I often wondered if she could see those enormous fart bubbles in her mind’s eye when I was leading a meditation.

I never got a real belly laugh out of her. Doesn’t she know that poop is funny?

January 14th, 2008 | 21 Comments »

I was talking with Zoe last night, and her youngest was not able to get to sleep.

I got to telling her how old people used to give their grandbabies what they called a sugar tit. My Grammie swore it helped a colicy baby. Personally, I think it helped the baby mama much more.

Here’s where the regional aspect comes in. The old folks would then dip the sugar tit in whiskey or rum. Wahlah! Sleeping baby. It might be an indication of the enthusiastic rum drinking done hereabouts.

If your kids stay over at Grandma’s, you might want to ask her what exactly is in the “magic hot chocolate” that she makes them. Old ladies can be sneaky.

One of things I didn’t mention in my post about Bluenose Vernacular was the ever popular Canadian Tire sleeping pill. Since Wikpedia doesn’t have an entry for it, you will have to trust me that this is a phrase that is thrown around a lot hereabouts. Canadian Tire sells tires, yes, but is a major source of hardware and guy stuff. Therefore, the Canadian Tire sleeping pill is a hammer. Apply once, hammeree goes to sleep.

I wonder if these things are what they mean about the good old days?

Edit: I should have known there was a big weather system on the way. I’ve had wicked sinus headache pain since yesterday. Here’s hoping I don’t lose electrical power during the nor’easter that is due to blow through this evening.

Posted in Grammie, down home
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 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.