I should be working right now. That's the problem when you work from home, it's so easy to get distracted. Here is an example of a conversation I've had in my head, while I'm working at home: "Hey Larissa, do you want to work or do you think you should watch that episode of Game Of Thrones you PVR'd? "
Anyhow, I was supposed to have a birthday party for Dex but he got sick. Ah well, I hate cleaning up after those things anyhow. Nothing but condoms and pills left behind.
We live in Toronto and it's no secret that housing prices are ridiculous. Will and I bought in the East End of the city in 2008. Even back then we paid far too much for the house we have but whatever. Toronto is where we want to live so you just have to accept that this is the way it goes. Our neighborhood, as I have mentioned in other blogs, isn't exactly the most upscale of 'hoods. It's not the worst neighborhood in the city, but its got some "elements" to put it nicely. In fact, about 6 months ago there was a big prostitution bust at our main intersection. That, in itself, is not really shocking. There's prostitutes everywhere and who really cares. To me the bit that was slightly unnerving was that one of the prostitutes was 68. Lets do the math here. You're 68, which probably means you've been a prostitute since your early 20's, maybe even earlier. But wait. I'm jumping to conclusions here. Maybe she was a high-powered judge, living in BelAir with her 3 gorgeous children, while also taking in her wise cracking nephew. What do I know. Anythings possible. But lets assume she didn't have a mid-life crisis and decide to start hookin' (street lingo for hooking) when she was a younger woman. That's about 48 years as a pro-stitute. No amateurs on this corner. That is downright nasty.
I've lost my point here. My point is, before Dex, this kind of stuff rolled off my back. It was kind of funny that 68 year old women were spending their golden years giving Golden showers by the Golden Arches at Vic Park and the Danforth. I liked that my neighborhood had some grit to it. Now, it angers me and every idiot I see drinking Labatt Blue at 9am on their government funded porch, pisses me off. It's the part of Maternal Instinct they leave out of the baby books.
On the other hand, if I didn't live here, I wouldn't have any material for this blog, or at least very little.
Here's a doozie. As I mentioned, Dex was sick last week. I stayed home with him all week because it was the kind of illness you can't dump on your daycare, although there were days I really wanted to. Total gong show of a week. Anyhow, Dex was feeling slightly better so I walked to the Scotiabank at Danforth and Main. It was about 4 o'clock and the actual bank was closed but the machines were open. Dex and I were the only ones in there until this absolute bat shit crazy woman came rambling through the door with her cart of crap. I usually know, or recognize, most of these people in the neighborhood, and for the most part, they're pretty harmless. In fact, it's the super crazy ones that I have a heart for. It's not their fault. The crack heads, on the other hand, are the scummiest and scariest. They're too unpredictable and is it just me or do crackheads always seem like they're in a rush? Where the hell do they have to go except to score more crack? Anyhow, this woman comes into the bank machine area and is muttering to herself. It looked as though she had recently shaved her head and it was good to see that she was keeping warm as it appeared as if she was wearing about 14 layers. Anyhow, she went up to a bank machine and just started losing it! SHe started swearing like crazy and getting louder and louder. At this point I started to freak out slightly, it was kind of scary. I was desperately trying to finish depositing my $500,000 cheques before she totally lost it. As her voice starts getting louder, Dex gets scared and now he starts crying, while this lunatic is saying every variation of Fuck you can imagine. I grab my bank card out of the machine and just as I quickly get all my stuff together, the swearing stops for a split second. Now I hear something else. It's a recognizable sound, I've heard it before. Birds chirping? Nope. Harps harpsichording? Nope. Crazy ass woman pee'ing herself right on the bank machine floor in broad daylight? Ding!Ding!Ding! That's the sound. It occurred to me later that she obviously didn't have anything on under her 4 skirts because the pee hit the floor with such gusto there was certainly nothing in it's way. I get the hell out of there and calm Dex down by cuddling him and promising him a timbit, at the Tim Hortons on the corner. He settles down and so do I, slightly. We get to the Tim Hortons and the aforementioned crackhead who opens the door all day is there with his cracky girlfriend who is doing that weird cracked out dance. You know the one? It's sort of half jitterbug, 1/2 shimmy with a tiny dash of spaz? As we're approaching the door, I see some other guy come and pass the door-opening crackhead drugs. Nice. The crackhead makes eye contact with me, I look away and go inside. I come out to find the drug dealer and the two crack heads in a full on brawl. I don't know what the hell happened but they're all yelling at one another and whatever has calmed Dex down has now stopped working and he's crying again. I literally break out into a run to get off of this corner. I'm clear of the madness when I look down and see that I've nearly rolled the stroller over a dead pigeon.
Needless to say, I can only take so much, no matter how good of a story it makes. We're moving out of this neighborhood one of these days. I just need to find a few extra hundred thousand. I anyone has any ideas as to how I can, very quickly, round up a few hundred grand, I'm open to suggestions. The obvious answer is to sell drugs. I think I may know some one who is upset with their current supplier.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Well whaddya know
Spring is here which means shaving ones body, now becomes priority. This is why swimming in the winter, with your child,is somewhat problematic.
I was at swimming lessons with Dexter a few weeks ago. The instructor that day, was a super hot, half Japanese, half Scottish surfer dude. Just because I'm married, and a mom, doesn't mean I'm blind. So I'm staring at him and playing with Dexter in the pool. I'm thinking, "geez, I bet he thinks I'm pretty hot, everyone else in here needs to stop eating Blizzards". So Dex is jumping in the pool and I'm laughing and chatting away to him. I even noticed him staring at me while he thought I wasn't looking. I thought to myself, "Stiiiiiiilllll got it!"
So we have the baby swimming lessons and I say goodbye, come home and shower. Whilst in the shower I realized I hadn't shaved my armpits in quite some time. Like maybe all winter. It was comparable to Nena, in the video 99 Luft Balloons. I then realized why he was really staring at me.
I tell you what, that Will Macky is one lucky man.
So two days ago was the 2 year mark of the most thrilling day of my life...up until this point. It was Dex's 2nd birthday! I say, "up until this point" because I have yet to meet Gary Busey and I'm pretty sure that's going to be super awesome.
Anyhow, he's just about the cutest thing in the world, even if he can be a bit of a handful at times. I love how he talks and especially that he'll repeat nearly everything I say. I, of course, take this special opportunity to use him as a puppet to repeat my (often inappropriate) meanderings. A lot of people wish their babies and toddlers "Happy Birthday" on facebook but Dexter isn't on Facebook yet so I don't see the point.
So now that he's two, we often get the question: "when are you going to have another one?" Fine, it's a standard question but when I start getting ovulation advice from my neighbor, I start to get a bit grossed out and annoyed. What I really want to say is, "Do you really care when we have another child? Is it really any of your business?"
In high school we had this ridiculous teacher who had his wife come in and preach "the rhythm method" to us. I would be trying to rip apart the pages on birth control that they had glued together in our health text books, while she was talking about her discharge. Then I would look to my right to see a pregnant 16 year old, then to my left to see the same thing. Catholics.
Anyhow,I did take something away from this. If you tell someone you're practicing "the rhythm method" they usually stop asking questions about your sex life.
So that's it. Two years down, 14 more until Dexter's our designated driver.
I was at swimming lessons with Dexter a few weeks ago. The instructor that day, was a super hot, half Japanese, half Scottish surfer dude. Just because I'm married, and a mom, doesn't mean I'm blind. So I'm staring at him and playing with Dexter in the pool. I'm thinking, "geez, I bet he thinks I'm pretty hot, everyone else in here needs to stop eating Blizzards". So Dex is jumping in the pool and I'm laughing and chatting away to him. I even noticed him staring at me while he thought I wasn't looking. I thought to myself, "Stiiiiiiilllll got it!"
So we have the baby swimming lessons and I say goodbye, come home and shower. Whilst in the shower I realized I hadn't shaved my armpits in quite some time. Like maybe all winter. It was comparable to Nena, in the video 99 Luft Balloons. I then realized why he was really staring at me.
I tell you what, that Will Macky is one lucky man.
So two days ago was the 2 year mark of the most thrilling day of my life...up until this point. It was Dex's 2nd birthday! I say, "up until this point" because I have yet to meet Gary Busey and I'm pretty sure that's going to be super awesome.
Anyhow, he's just about the cutest thing in the world, even if he can be a bit of a handful at times. I love how he talks and especially that he'll repeat nearly everything I say. I, of course, take this special opportunity to use him as a puppet to repeat my (often inappropriate) meanderings. A lot of people wish their babies and toddlers "Happy Birthday" on facebook but Dexter isn't on Facebook yet so I don't see the point.
So now that he's two, we often get the question: "when are you going to have another one?" Fine, it's a standard question but when I start getting ovulation advice from my neighbor, I start to get a bit grossed out and annoyed. What I really want to say is, "Do you really care when we have another child? Is it really any of your business?"
In high school we had this ridiculous teacher who had his wife come in and preach "the rhythm method" to us. I would be trying to rip apart the pages on birth control that they had glued together in our health text books, while she was talking about her discharge. Then I would look to my right to see a pregnant 16 year old, then to my left to see the same thing. Catholics.
Anyhow,I did take something away from this. If you tell someone you're practicing "the rhythm method" they usually stop asking questions about your sex life.
So that's it. Two years down, 14 more until Dexter's our designated driver.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
This sounds fake but I swear it's not
Hey.
So it's pretty crazy that Dex is going to be 2 years old on March 20th. It feels like only yesterday I pooped on the delivery table. Oh the memories.
He is officially in toddler mode which is hilarious but certainly tries your patience, anyone who says it doesn't is a goddamn liar. Like seriously kid, I made this amazing meal that took forever and you're going to throw your spoon and chant eggs? I guess I deserve it, I did teach him to chant a lot. I find it usually gets you what you want. For example, if you want a free ride on the subway just go up to the sloth working for the TTC behind the glass, and just chant "FREE RIDE FREE RIDE FREE RIDE" for as long as it takes.
Anyhow, the other thing about a toddler is that you really have to always be doing something with them. They're not into hanging around while you read the Hunger Games trilogy. This is why daycare and work are often a welcome relief to motherhood. Anyhow, Dex and I were hanging out on Friday and I had heard on the radio, that The Cranberries were going to play a few songs down at this station on the lakeshore. I was a teenage girl in the 90's so it was part of my puberty path to listen to and love: Alanis Morrisette, The Cranberries, The Indigo Girls and Ani DiFranco.
Alanis really spoke to me. She was so in tune with my hormones. Wanna know why? Cause I'm here, to remind you, of the mess you left when you went away.
So it was disgusting out on Friday, freezing rain and general gross winter plummeting from the sky.
We had already been swimming so Dex was pretty tired and fell asleep on the way to the concert. Shit, I thought, he's going to be miserable for this thing and having worked in radio myself, I know it probably wouldn't be a great idea to have a cranky 2 year old around during a live broadcast. So I put one hand in my pocket, fished out my Roll Up The Rim donut winner, and went to Tim Hortons to get a bunch of chocolate timbits. I figured if Dex started to fuss, I would pull a Pez dispenser and keep loading him up with sugar.
I'm in the parking lot and he is OUT, like Mommy on a Sat night trying to watch Moneyball after drinking too much 7 dollar red wine. He's drooling, zipper imprinted in his face, totally out.He was a Zombie, Zombie, Zombie eah eah eah. I'm gently trying to get him up. Nothing is working, so now I clap and start to sing. Nice Mom eh? Also, I must have looked like an idiot, clapping and singing in the parking lot of a radio station. He wakes up slowly and I can see he's pissed, I mean I would be too! But what he doesn't understand is that Mommy spent a lot of Friday nights listening to The Cranberries, getting ready to go to NRG all ages nightclub where she would drink firewater, a mixture of all of Grandma and Grandpas booze. Surely he could understand how important this was for me!
I immediately initiate Operation TimBit overload and he seems to be content. We run through the hail and sleet, into the reception area of the radio station. I had noticed two Escalades had pulled up while I was torturing my toddler out of sleep and sure enough, it was The Cranberries! There was Delores O'Riordan! Some guys had been waiting for her and jumped to get their stuff signed. I went up to reception to ask where we went to get into the studio. Dex was a few feet behind me, eating timbits. I turn around and there's Delores O'Riordan coo'ing at Dex and talking to him. Now I'm going to attempt to write in an Irish accent, like Frank McCourt. She said, "ohhh, isn't he soooo cute." Wait, it sounds Irish in my head, but it just looks normal. I'm all smiles watching this and suddenly Dex drops his Timbit on the floor.
Before I was a parent, I would probably have judged someone who let their kid eat food they dropped on the floor, but now that I'm fully in it, I could care less. It happens ALL OF THE TIME. Besides, we all know about the 5 second rule so who cares right? Delores O'Riordan apparently. I'm staring at her smiling like an idiot and she blurts out, "Oh, the baby! Don't let him eat the donut from the floor!"
Shit. An international rock star is telling me how to parent. If this was some idiot in Loblaws I would have a contrite, witty comeback but I couldn't do it. So I jumped and ran to Dex and grabbed the Timbit out of his hand before he put it in his mouth. He was looking at me like "What the hell was that all about?" She smiled at me and walked away with her entourage. I gave Dex his timbit back.
So we go into the studio and it's rammed with people but it turns out, if you bring a super cute 2 year old to a live broadcast you get treated pretty well. They only sang two songs, but I figured as much, they don't give that stuff out for free very often. That's why you have to steal it.
Anyhow, Delores O'Riordan kept smiling and winking at Dex but I pretended in my mind she was doing it to me. Then the show ended and she came up to us and crouched down and started cooing and talking to Dex. She asked me how old he was and all that stuff you ask people with an adorable kid. Having just been ripped from a deep sleep, Dex was in a total daze, even after the show. He just stared at her but at least he didn't hurl his Timbit. I was super tempted to make a joke about how he was a Zombie, since he had just woken up but I knew it seemed funnier in my head than it would have been out loud. Instead I just said, "Oh I think he's a bit star struck."
So that's it. Our small brush with fame on a Friday. I came home with a smile on my face and just for old times sake, mixed together a bunch of booze and danced to 90's dance tunes. It was just like being a teenage again. Except for the state of my breasts.
So it's pretty crazy that Dex is going to be 2 years old on March 20th. It feels like only yesterday I pooped on the delivery table. Oh the memories.
He is officially in toddler mode which is hilarious but certainly tries your patience, anyone who says it doesn't is a goddamn liar. Like seriously kid, I made this amazing meal that took forever and you're going to throw your spoon and chant eggs? I guess I deserve it, I did teach him to chant a lot. I find it usually gets you what you want. For example, if you want a free ride on the subway just go up to the sloth working for the TTC behind the glass, and just chant "FREE RIDE FREE RIDE FREE RIDE" for as long as it takes.
Anyhow, the other thing about a toddler is that you really have to always be doing something with them. They're not into hanging around while you read the Hunger Games trilogy. This is why daycare and work are often a welcome relief to motherhood. Anyhow, Dex and I were hanging out on Friday and I had heard on the radio, that The Cranberries were going to play a few songs down at this station on the lakeshore. I was a teenage girl in the 90's so it was part of my puberty path to listen to and love: Alanis Morrisette, The Cranberries, The Indigo Girls and Ani DiFranco.
Alanis really spoke to me. She was so in tune with my hormones. Wanna know why? Cause I'm here, to remind you, of the mess you left when you went away.
So it was disgusting out on Friday, freezing rain and general gross winter plummeting from the sky.
We had already been swimming so Dex was pretty tired and fell asleep on the way to the concert. Shit, I thought, he's going to be miserable for this thing and having worked in radio myself, I know it probably wouldn't be a great idea to have a cranky 2 year old around during a live broadcast. So I put one hand in my pocket, fished out my Roll Up The Rim donut winner, and went to Tim Hortons to get a bunch of chocolate timbits. I figured if Dex started to fuss, I would pull a Pez dispenser and keep loading him up with sugar.
I'm in the parking lot and he is OUT, like Mommy on a Sat night trying to watch Moneyball after drinking too much 7 dollar red wine. He's drooling, zipper imprinted in his face, totally out.He was a Zombie, Zombie, Zombie eah eah eah. I'm gently trying to get him up. Nothing is working, so now I clap and start to sing. Nice Mom eh? Also, I must have looked like an idiot, clapping and singing in the parking lot of a radio station. He wakes up slowly and I can see he's pissed, I mean I would be too! But what he doesn't understand is that Mommy spent a lot of Friday nights listening to The Cranberries, getting ready to go to NRG all ages nightclub where she would drink firewater, a mixture of all of Grandma and Grandpas booze. Surely he could understand how important this was for me!
I immediately initiate Operation TimBit overload and he seems to be content. We run through the hail and sleet, into the reception area of the radio station. I had noticed two Escalades had pulled up while I was torturing my toddler out of sleep and sure enough, it was The Cranberries! There was Delores O'Riordan! Some guys had been waiting for her and jumped to get their stuff signed. I went up to reception to ask where we went to get into the studio. Dex was a few feet behind me, eating timbits. I turn around and there's Delores O'Riordan coo'ing at Dex and talking to him. Now I'm going to attempt to write in an Irish accent, like Frank McCourt. She said, "ohhh, isn't he soooo cute." Wait, it sounds Irish in my head, but it just looks normal. I'm all smiles watching this and suddenly Dex drops his Timbit on the floor.
Before I was a parent, I would probably have judged someone who let their kid eat food they dropped on the floor, but now that I'm fully in it, I could care less. It happens ALL OF THE TIME. Besides, we all know about the 5 second rule so who cares right? Delores O'Riordan apparently. I'm staring at her smiling like an idiot and she blurts out, "Oh, the baby! Don't let him eat the donut from the floor!"
Shit. An international rock star is telling me how to parent. If this was some idiot in Loblaws I would have a contrite, witty comeback but I couldn't do it. So I jumped and ran to Dex and grabbed the Timbit out of his hand before he put it in his mouth. He was looking at me like "What the hell was that all about?" She smiled at me and walked away with her entourage. I gave Dex his timbit back.
So we go into the studio and it's rammed with people but it turns out, if you bring a super cute 2 year old to a live broadcast you get treated pretty well. They only sang two songs, but I figured as much, they don't give that stuff out for free very often. That's why you have to steal it.
Anyhow, Delores O'Riordan kept smiling and winking at Dex but I pretended in my mind she was doing it to me. Then the show ended and she came up to us and crouched down and started cooing and talking to Dex. She asked me how old he was and all that stuff you ask people with an adorable kid. Having just been ripped from a deep sleep, Dex was in a total daze, even after the show. He just stared at her but at least he didn't hurl his Timbit. I was super tempted to make a joke about how he was a Zombie, since he had just woken up but I knew it seemed funnier in my head than it would have been out loud. Instead I just said, "Oh I think he's a bit star struck."
So that's it. Our small brush with fame on a Friday. I came home with a smile on my face and just for old times sake, mixed together a bunch of booze and danced to 90's dance tunes. It was just like being a teenage again. Except for the state of my breasts.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
The HorseWhisperer
When I was a little girl, I pretended to like two things to fit in: Grease Lightening and horses. Little girls love Grease Lightening and horses. I went so far with the whole horse thing that I even asked to go to horse camp with all of my little friends one summer. Once there, I was quickly categorized as one of the kids that didn't have a clue and realized that I was, in fact, terrified of horses. These things were effing beasts! Why the hell would I want to put myself on the back of a giant animal? I don't. The same way I don't want to put myself on the back of a cow or a Rhino. I also don't want to ride a dolphin. Gross. The only thing I'm interested in doing with animals is eating them and petting them, which sometimes leads to making love. WHOA! Sorry, that's for my other blog.
Anyhow, even though I was 8, I was aware that the "Blue" group was in fact, "the idiot group." Those of us who usually weren't in the idiot group knew that the real difference in the groups wasn't the name of the group, it was the mental and physical abilities of the group. Remember the different reading groups in Grade 1? We all knew that the Snowflakes couldn't really read.
Being in the "Blue" group, to me, was a real failure but I endured. I continued to ride horses with the crossed eyed, glue eating kids of the "Blue" group.
The first horse I had was called Mr.Mugs. He was a dick. He was so fat and all he wanted to do was eat and walk in circles, which wasn't helping my plight in getting out of the "Blue" group. I began to spiral further into a world I didn't want to be in. Glue started to look tastier and tastier.One day we had to brush or horses. This meant that I had to get in a stall with this evil beast and touch it and stand really close to it. This was terrifying but Mindy 18 year old moron who was in love with horses and was our instructor, told me it would all be ok. Liar. I started to brush Mr.Mugs and just as I was starting to become less terrified, the fat ass horse decided he wanted to see out of the other end of the stall, which meant he wanted to turn around. Just so you know, these were tiny stalls and I was already pinned against the side of it, trying to brush the jerk. Mr.Mugs starts to turn around and I am now suspended in mid air, getting suffocated by the side of a horse body! My face was smooshed into his body and I had been lifed off the ground as I was flailing about trying to get the eff out of this situation. I'm trying desperately to get some air but each breath is just another mouth full of brittle horse hair. I'm screaming into the side of the horse for someone to help me, I throw my head sideways to scream some more and now my face is sideways squished up against him but at least now I can breathe. So he settles into a position he's comfortable in and I can breathe again. I start to cry and Mindy,(in a few years when I was a teenager, her label would have easily been "nerd") comes over and tells me it's ok, he would never hurt me. I'm calling bullshit on that Mindy. This horse has a hit out on me and I refuse to have anything else to do with him. Ok, Fine, so they then give me Jewel. Jewel was an older horse who would hopefully be pretty calm. Jewel was blind in one eye. We went on some kind of horse hike and I fell off of him twice because he couldn't see out of his left eye and hit two different pot holes which caused me to fall off of him, hanging onto the saddle for dear life.
Finally they gave me Frank a horse that was about 3 days away from being shot but before his dying breath, he had a bit of fight left in him and when a truck drove by and honked it's horn, Frank got spooked and started to freak out, galloping around the ring, me screaming on his back.
It was finally the last day of horse camp and my Mom and Uncle Morris who was visiting from Sudbury (The Primeau's come from an established line of aristocracy hailing from the finest regions of Sudbury and beyond) came to see the horse show. They put me back on Mr.Muggs the dick and when it came to be my turn to do some tricks, Mr.Muggs and I just stood in the middle of the ring and walked in circles. I could hear my Uncle Morris laughing. It was the worst.
What does any of this have anything to do with the main subject matter of my blog?
I want my son to do whatever he wants in life and realize his dreams, no matter what. If he shows an interest in horses, he's kicked out.
Anyhow, even though I was 8, I was aware that the "Blue" group was in fact, "the idiot group." Those of us who usually weren't in the idiot group knew that the real difference in the groups wasn't the name of the group, it was the mental and physical abilities of the group. Remember the different reading groups in Grade 1? We all knew that the Snowflakes couldn't really read.
Being in the "Blue" group, to me, was a real failure but I endured. I continued to ride horses with the crossed eyed, glue eating kids of the "Blue" group.
The first horse I had was called Mr.Mugs. He was a dick. He was so fat and all he wanted to do was eat and walk in circles, which wasn't helping my plight in getting out of the "Blue" group. I began to spiral further into a world I didn't want to be in. Glue started to look tastier and tastier.One day we had to brush or horses. This meant that I had to get in a stall with this evil beast and touch it and stand really close to it. This was terrifying but Mindy 18 year old moron who was in love with horses and was our instructor, told me it would all be ok. Liar. I started to brush Mr.Mugs and just as I was starting to become less terrified, the fat ass horse decided he wanted to see out of the other end of the stall, which meant he wanted to turn around. Just so you know, these were tiny stalls and I was already pinned against the side of it, trying to brush the jerk. Mr.Mugs starts to turn around and I am now suspended in mid air, getting suffocated by the side of a horse body! My face was smooshed into his body and I had been lifed off the ground as I was flailing about trying to get the eff out of this situation. I'm trying desperately to get some air but each breath is just another mouth full of brittle horse hair. I'm screaming into the side of the horse for someone to help me, I throw my head sideways to scream some more and now my face is sideways squished up against him but at least now I can breathe. So he settles into a position he's comfortable in and I can breathe again. I start to cry and Mindy,(in a few years when I was a teenager, her label would have easily been "nerd") comes over and tells me it's ok, he would never hurt me. I'm calling bullshit on that Mindy. This horse has a hit out on me and I refuse to have anything else to do with him. Ok, Fine, so they then give me Jewel. Jewel was an older horse who would hopefully be pretty calm. Jewel was blind in one eye. We went on some kind of horse hike and I fell off of him twice because he couldn't see out of his left eye and hit two different pot holes which caused me to fall off of him, hanging onto the saddle for dear life.
Finally they gave me Frank a horse that was about 3 days away from being shot but before his dying breath, he had a bit of fight left in him and when a truck drove by and honked it's horn, Frank got spooked and started to freak out, galloping around the ring, me screaming on his back.
It was finally the last day of horse camp and my Mom and Uncle Morris who was visiting from Sudbury (The Primeau's come from an established line of aristocracy hailing from the finest regions of Sudbury and beyond) came to see the horse show. They put me back on Mr.Muggs the dick and when it came to be my turn to do some tricks, Mr.Muggs and I just stood in the middle of the ring and walked in circles. I could hear my Uncle Morris laughing. It was the worst.
What does any of this have anything to do with the main subject matter of my blog?
I want my son to do whatever he wants in life and realize his dreams, no matter what. If he shows an interest in horses, he's kicked out.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Wang Chung
So it's the thick of winter. Body hair is at an all time high. Aside from that, life continues as usual. Just getting ready to be a seat filler at the Oscars. I'll probably shave my legs for that.
Yesterday morning I went to drop Dex off at his daycare. As I've mentioned in previous blogs, he goes to a home daycare where he's cared for by a lovely lady named Shakira.
Anyhow, the house is right across from the Donlands Subway station and right behind another daycare but like a real daycare, not a cheapo home daycare. Anyhow, there's an alleyway between the real daycare and Shakira's house. I'm just painting the picture of what's to come.
So I get out of the car, get Dex out of his seat and turn around to see a man, pee'ing on the side of the wall of the real daycare. I can see his man junk hanging out all over the place and so can anyone else who might be walking to the subway or walking their kids into the daycare.
Now I thought in 2012 I should change a few things about myself. Some call them resolutions, as though there are things that you want to change. To me, they're just improvements on what is already adequate. One of these was to maybe keep my mouth shut more, when I see weirdos doing weird things.
It was a bit of a grey area in this situation because he didn't seem like he was super weird of homeless or anything out of the ordinary. He was wearing a Patriots jacket, clean jeans and shoes that weren't falling apart. Maybe he was on the crazy cusp but how am I supposed to know that? Anyhow, I would like to say that I thought for a second not to say something, but I didn't. With child in tow I yell, very loudly, "Excuse me? Are you peeing on the side of a daycare?" He turns to look at me. Turns out he was on the crazy cusp, or at least his face was. He responds with an incoherent grunt. I start getting louder. "You know, that's a daycare and it's 8:30 in the morning and no one wants to see your wang ok?"
Now he's looking straight at me and he makes one of those moves people make when they want to fight. You know when they kind of throw their shoulders back and move their head forward?
Normally this would have scared me. It should have scared the shit out of me but I had one of those crazy adrenaline moments where, if this loser who can't hold his pee for 5 seconds, were to try to come at me, I would have thrown down. Why? Because I had my son in my hands and I think I experienced that weird thing where women can lift cars if their kid is under it. I saw it once on Oprah. Back when Oprah was still smutty.
What you should know is that, under normal circumstances, this kind of threat would have been enough to either make me faint, or at the very least just take off. I hate physical fighting. I will almost never have your back. Ever. One time my friend in highschool got in a girl fight at The Sound Of Music Festival at Spencer Smith Park and I ran away to tell a cop. I'm good at starting the fights, just never really excelled at the follow through.
So then the guy sees I'm not running away and just yells, "FUCK YOU!" so I of course take the high road and yell back, "Fuck you too!" He yells "You're a fucking bitch" I yell, "No, you're a fucking bitch!". You can see I'm especially creative when I'm in a yelling match with a psycho at 8:30 in the morning, as I'm dropping my son off at daycare. He ran down the alleyway and I was left to look around at the faces of the people who had been watching all of this. No one else did, so I started a slow clap for myself. The crowd followed suit and suddenly there was a thunder of slow claps happening at my bravery. Nope, that didn't happen. People were watching on their way to the subway but on one really gave a shit.
At this point I looked into the face of my, not even 2 year old, and I think I saw a glimmer of respect twinkle in his eye. That or fear. Either way, it's a victory.
Yesterday morning I went to drop Dex off at his daycare. As I've mentioned in previous blogs, he goes to a home daycare where he's cared for by a lovely lady named Shakira.
Anyhow, the house is right across from the Donlands Subway station and right behind another daycare but like a real daycare, not a cheapo home daycare. Anyhow, there's an alleyway between the real daycare and Shakira's house. I'm just painting the picture of what's to come.
So I get out of the car, get Dex out of his seat and turn around to see a man, pee'ing on the side of the wall of the real daycare. I can see his man junk hanging out all over the place and so can anyone else who might be walking to the subway or walking their kids into the daycare.
Now I thought in 2012 I should change a few things about myself. Some call them resolutions, as though there are things that you want to change. To me, they're just improvements on what is already adequate. One of these was to maybe keep my mouth shut more, when I see weirdos doing weird things.
It was a bit of a grey area in this situation because he didn't seem like he was super weird of homeless or anything out of the ordinary. He was wearing a Patriots jacket, clean jeans and shoes that weren't falling apart. Maybe he was on the crazy cusp but how am I supposed to know that? Anyhow, I would like to say that I thought for a second not to say something, but I didn't. With child in tow I yell, very loudly, "Excuse me? Are you peeing on the side of a daycare?" He turns to look at me. Turns out he was on the crazy cusp, or at least his face was. He responds with an incoherent grunt. I start getting louder. "You know, that's a daycare and it's 8:30 in the morning and no one wants to see your wang ok?"
Now he's looking straight at me and he makes one of those moves people make when they want to fight. You know when they kind of throw their shoulders back and move their head forward?
Normally this would have scared me. It should have scared the shit out of me but I had one of those crazy adrenaline moments where, if this loser who can't hold his pee for 5 seconds, were to try to come at me, I would have thrown down. Why? Because I had my son in my hands and I think I experienced that weird thing where women can lift cars if their kid is under it. I saw it once on Oprah. Back when Oprah was still smutty.
What you should know is that, under normal circumstances, this kind of threat would have been enough to either make me faint, or at the very least just take off. I hate physical fighting. I will almost never have your back. Ever. One time my friend in highschool got in a girl fight at The Sound Of Music Festival at Spencer Smith Park and I ran away to tell a cop. I'm good at starting the fights, just never really excelled at the follow through.
So then the guy sees I'm not running away and just yells, "FUCK YOU!" so I of course take the high road and yell back, "Fuck you too!" He yells "You're a fucking bitch" I yell, "No, you're a fucking bitch!". You can see I'm especially creative when I'm in a yelling match with a psycho at 8:30 in the morning, as I'm dropping my son off at daycare. He ran down the alleyway and I was left to look around at the faces of the people who had been watching all of this. No one else did, so I started a slow clap for myself. The crowd followed suit and suddenly there was a thunder of slow claps happening at my bravery. Nope, that didn't happen. People were watching on their way to the subway but on one really gave a shit.
At this point I looked into the face of my, not even 2 year old, and I think I saw a glimmer of respect twinkle in his eye. That or fear. Either way, it's a victory.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)