Channeling my inner New Yorker

29 06 2009

I have a temper to be reckoned with. Surprised? Not bloody likely if you know me. Now, I have been trying to overcome this in my own life for a while, through yoga and meditation and self-realization and all that.

But there are days when really, I just want to smack a bitch. And look out if you piss me off. The older I get, the less I worry about people’s opinions of me, and that has a rather interesting effect when I get mad. I have a rather rough side of my tongue when I choose.

Well, I was in the mall one day, a few weeks before Christmas. I had finished my shopping, and was feeling pretty darn proud of myself. I had the hormonal insanity otherwise known as PMS coursing through my veins like a hurricane, but I was under control. I even smiled at people in Wal-Mart at Christmastime. I considered myself in a good mood.

I saw two girlfriends in the coffee shop, so I came in to say hello, pushing my full cart of Christmas presents in front of me. The barista came over and asked me to remove the cart. And I said, (in retrospect, probably a wee bit bitchy) “Where? It’s full of stuff I don’t want stolen.” She was nice enough, and I conceded that there wasn’t enough room, so I pushed my cart out of the shop, and along the way, knocked a chair into the wall.

I came back and flopped onto the chair beside my friends, ready for caffeine. Just then, the owner came up to me.

Can you tell where this is headed?

Now, the rage that ensued shortly after she spoke to me has clouded my recollection of what she said. But in my hazy memory, I recall vaguely the sensation of being lectured. Apparently I had bashed my cart into the wall on purpose and she felt it necessary to give me an etiquette lesson.

I stood up. I am fairly certain my left eye began to twitch, and I let loose. Again, the haze of rage leaves me the inability of recollection of words uttered forth. I am under the belief, however, that I told her off with a few expletives. (I do love to swear.) She blinked a few times, I told her not to lecture me like a child and that she lost a customer for life.

I huffed out of there, so fucking mad that I forgot to say goodbye to my girlfriends.

Did the rage abate? Oh hell no. Apparently I felt it important to yell goodbye to my friends as I walked away. Naturally, they were peeing themselves laughing, as I am generally known for idiocy and making an ass of myself.

The best part of all, though, is that I never felt bad about it. Sometimes it feels good to let it out.

Moral of the story? Look out bitchez. I will cut you.

The Shiz My Kids Say…

25 06 2009

I’m “borrowing” an idea from another blogger that I read, over at Lilu’s house . Of course for her, it’s Shiz Her Boyfriend Says, and it never fails to make me ROFLMAO folks. Never. Check her out, she is one funny gal.

You all know, well, maybe not all of you, but most of you know that I have two kids, a girl and a boy. Aw. How perfect. I know. And you all know that kids say some funny shit at times. I do try to remember as much as possible and write it down, since it’s these little gems that make life worth living, IMHO.

Here we go!

Elisabeth, while watching me iron some pants one day.

E: Whatcha doing Mom?

Me: Well, I’m taking the wrinkles out of these pants.

E: Well, you might want to put that iron on your forehead then.


The other day, Nick came up and gives me a friendly kick in the ass. Laughing hysterically, he told me “Your butt jiggles JUST LIKE JELLO!”


There you go. Stay tuned. I am positive there’s more to come.

The 21st is already being planned….

23 06 2009

“How was the reunion?” I’ve been asked quite a few times in the last two days.

There’s only been one word that I can use to sum it all up.


Oh, man. It was a really really good time. The best part, which was not even remotely surprising, was how easy it was for all of us to be together. I never once felt awkward. Never once did I feel pressed to search for a conversation topic… It was like.. like nothing had changed for any of us, yet everything has changed, but it didn’t matter. We fell back into our friendships as easy as sliding on an old pair of jeans.

I’m not sure if it’s like this for everyone. Maybe because we were a small group back then, and we knew everyone so well. Perhaps if a grad class has 350 kids, their 20 year reunion is more along the lines of “Who are you????” instead of “Hey!!!!!!!! Let’s drink our faces off like old times!!!!” I would hope that it could be as fun and as amazing as my reunion was, but seriously, I think we set that bar up really high.

Instantly we regressed to 17 and ripped it up in a way that I hadn’t done in years. Rolling in at 3 in the morning isn’t something that any of us do too much of these days. But, let me tell you…. It was worth it. The oogy hangover the next day? WORTH IT!!!! Still feeling tired three days later? WORTH IT!!!!

Seeing all my old high school friends and reconnecting with the people who helped define me? So fucking worth it.

As we all said our (regretful) goodbyes on Sunday, jokes and hesitant plans were made about a 21st reunion next year. Maybe a get together at the campground, sitting around the fire for a couple days and hanging out…. Some might think it’s stupid…. But, why the hell not? We all know life is too short. Let’s go for it. I think it would be a blast.

I wish I could live this past weekend over again… So maybe next year, if we do try to get together again, knowing this will ease the twinge of sadness I have that my 20th has come and gone.

I love you guys!!!! GRAD 89!!!! Whooooo-Hoooooo!!!!!!

Of all the weiners I have seen….

8 06 2009

A couple of (minor) things happened that made me think of this. First, at hot lunch last week, Diane and I had a gigantic giggle fit of enormous infantile proportions over the word weiner. Yeah, we are juvenile, and no, we are not 12 year old boys, but mature  *cough* women. Cooking the hot dogs, and talking about weiners sounds stupid, but C’MON!!! Weiners, people. WEINERS!!! How funny is that word and all that it implies? Anyways, the other thing was, Dan and I watched the trailer for the movie The Hangover. It looks absolutely hysterical. Raunchy, disgusting, and totally my style of comedy. That, in turn, got me thinking of all the crazy-ass parties we, as in you and I and the rest of us collectively, have been to. Now, I am not much of a partier these days. My debauchery and personal hangovers are a thing of the past. Don’t get me wrong, I am totally okay with this, as I prefer feeling relatively good the next day after a gathering. But man, in the day, we ripped it up pretty good. Didn’t we all? Truly, what is life without a few awesome drunken disreputable stories to tell? Without going into too many sordid details involving alcohol and weiners, (for good reason…. Hi Mom!!!) I wanted to share my two favorite weiner stories.

Ironically, they both take place in Sparwood, the tiny coal-mining town I grew up in.

The day before I flew to Europe back in 1994, I stayed in the ‘Wood with Melissa and Lisa, to visit the old watering hole, The Black Nugget. Or as we lovingly referred to it, The Black Maggot. Ah, the countless times we carried on in that place, drinking ourselves silly. Good times. This particular evening, the place was jumping. Packed full, we were having a great time. Near the end of the evening, a fellow, whom I will not name, came and sat next to me. He was inebriated to the point that his eyes were going two different directions at the same time. I was only slightly juiced, as I was flying the next day. Slurring his words, and mumbling quite incoherently, I concluded that he was either trying to pick me up or talk about the good ol’ days in school. I found out, though, that he clearly was interested in the first option, when he stood up and unzipped and whipped out the ol’ twig n’ berries. Keep in mind that he had stood up next to me, therefore placing his man-parts directly in my face. Yes, I was eye level with a purple penis about eight inches from my eyeballs.

Now, some of you may have been mortified, or shocked or even disgusted. Me? I laughed out loud, smacking Lisa to get her attention. I probably screamed that it was a purple penis a few times. Mr. Weiner zipped up and sat down, rather pleased with himself. I didn’t have the heart to disillusion him with the truth though, and enjoyed the giggles that ensued with me and my girlfriends.

Now apparently, this act was perceived as anti-chivalrous, and lucky me, another inebriated guy came over to defend my honor. *snort*. What happened afterward was a bar brawl of epic proportions. Us girls saw what was coming down the line (hey, we grew up in a coal mining town. If you can’t read the signs of an impending fist-fight, then you have not been paying attention…) and grabbed our purses and drinks and went to watch the fiasco, while sitting on the pool table. A barmaid got punched in the face, chairs and tables went flying, cops came, blood flew. It. Was. Awesome. During the melee, Lisa leaned over to me and deadpanned “Huh. It’s a cockfight.” I shit you not, I could not laugh hard enough.

The second weiner event happened a couple years back, in the ‘Wood as well. Not nearly as epic, mind you, but still worthy of a giggle. It was the Grad 87 reunion, and there was a big party at the rec centre. Tania and I had gotten into the wine before supper, so I do believe we were all having a super time, seeing blasts from the past, dancing, laughing and enjoying ourselves. Out on the dance floor was a lonely fellow. Again, this man’s eyes were clearly trying to see what was on either side of him, like a human chameleon. Stumbling, smiling, drooling, he was a sight to see. As a few of us danced, he shimmied stumbled into our midst and pulled down his pants. Our reaction was obviously misread by the poor guy, as our hoots and laughter egged him on, wrongly implying that Yes, indeed, we would LOVE to see more of your tiny penis!!!! He shook his sausage like nobody’s business. The image of it sort of sadly waggling around will haunt me forever. In retrospect, I’m really glad that no one had a camera at that point.

My conclusion to these tales is this. I sure hope that both guys were so drunk, that they had absolutely no memory of what they did the night before. Because no one should ever have to live that down.

And my heart broke a bit….

1 06 2009

Today, I chaperoned a field trip with the Grade 4, 5 & 6’s from my son’s school. Well, we went to Grohmann Narrows, a very cool wetland sanctuary tucked beside the highway to Castlegar. Painted Turtles thrive there, as well as multitudes of funky critters. Salamanders, frogs, dragonflies, snakes, ducks… We saw insects of all manner of creepiness and awesomeness. We listened to our guide, we learned things that amazed all of us, we skimmed the pond and collected samples of water life. We played camouflage tag, we at our lunch in the sun. We all had popsicles brought to us by the school principal. We had fun. These children are so lucky to have a great school like they do. Small, connected, fun.

Except one thing. I watched on the side lines, not involving myself in any form of guidance, parenting or discipline, except when needed, of course, to help the children pay attention instead of horsing around, and only when I knew a teacher wasn’t there to do this instead of me. My role was for fun only, and to escort any kids to the outhouse of they needed to go. (Yep, I was the Go-To Mom if you ever needed to pee!!!)

Have you ever noticed there seems to be one child in every group that stands out? Many times, this child stands out in a socially malnourished way. I have seen some kids display behaviour that people naturally congregate to, and, sadly,  sometimes a child will be “that kid” that people naturally dislike. For reasons I cannot put my finger on, but if you pay enough attention to, you will see one or two in every crowd. I have a hard time defining what it could be. Human nature is so fucking confusing and has so many facets, that it is never a definitive description that can capture these oddballs, these societal cast-offs. The nerds, the geeks, the weirdos, the losers, the _______s.

But this one boy,  he is a year younger than my son. I have heard a few of the kids talk about this boy, whom I will call “David” for obvious reasons. David is disliked by most children, even my own. Most terribly of all, he is disliked by his step-mother, whom I have had the uncomfortable pleasure of meeting. Right away, the first thing she let me know is that David was a little handful. She was up “to here” with his behavior. Right then and there, she defined him to me as a bad, awful and terrible little boy. At this point, he was 6. Six!!! Six fucking years old, and already he was a little motherfucker, an asshole, if I received the gist of what the step-mom was trying to say.

When I first met David, he approached me with a smile that went ear to ear. He was interested in what I was doing, and was immediately comfortable in asking me questions and informing me of his own passions and desires, likes and dislikes and things that he did on the weekend. I did see, from time to time, inappropriate social behaviors, but nothing that made me cringe. More the opposite, I gently told him a few times, David, we don’t do that, or David, would you like to use a nicer tone? David was exuding love and sweetness, wrapped up in frustration of not being honored and cared for and loved the way he deserved.

I saw today, almost everyone, including my own son, who spoke to him used a exasperated tone. Most times, he was admonished for behaviour that quite frankly, every single kid was displaying at one point or another. Even a teacher who had to get his and 3 other boys attention spoke to him much more roughly than the other children. And what I saw was that he was fulfilling the prophecy laid out before him. That obviously, he was a bad kid, he was the jerk no one wanted to be around. And so, he acted like it. He became more argumentative through the course of the day, leaving his spunky fun-loving self behind. He has obviously heard throughout his life that he is a bad boy. And so, he is working hard at becoming it. In his child way, he is doing what he is told.

But he is SO not. He is just a little boy that craves a mother’s love, a safe and soft place to be, and gentle guidance into becoming a fine young man. He is a little boy with soft brown eyes and a passion for video games and a love of jokes. He is deserving of all that this world can offer to him. In return, can you imagine what he could offer to us? If only some one could extend their hand and love him for who he is.

As the bus drove away, I watched all the kids aboard, laughing, sitting with their friends, being complete goofballs. And in one seat, all by himself, David had his forehead pressed against the window, gazing out into nothing. No smile was on his beautiful little face. Only sadness. And as I saw that, my heart broke for him.