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.
Showing posts with label crazy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crazy. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
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.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Spring Fever
Dex had his first fever a couple of weeks ago. I would like to tell you that I calmly handled it and did everything right but I did nothing of the sort. I was using an electronic themometer that I put in his ear. The reading seemed pretty high and I had heard, from a friend, that if you take their temp up their butt you get a more accurate reading. Well, in my haste I just went and tried to put the ear themometer in his butt. Doesn't work like that. Lesson number one in taking a baby's temperature: Don't try to use your ear themomater up their butt. I felt kind of weird trying to put something up his butt anyhow. I mean, if he wants to do that stuff when he's a consenting adult, more power to him, but for now I'm sticking to the ear reading. I thought I would have been a bit cooler when he got a fever but I have to tell you, I was slightly hysterical. The problem is I read the newspaper everyday and I pretty much assume that whatever has happened to everyone else, is going to happen to me. I've been a wreck with the whole Omar Khadr debacle. It could happen to me, you never know.
I think we`re led to believe that when we become Mothers, suddenly we`re bestowed with this amazing ability to know what to do in ever situation that requires mothering. I think I have clearly disproved this theory time and time again. Secondly, I am not a nurse or doctor and have no medical instincts. Here are instincts that I have:
a) if a dog is chasing me, I instinctively run.
b) If I'm talking to a member of the opposite sex in a suggestive manor I instinctively make sure he's over 18. I won't make THAT mistake again.
c) If I take a sip of a beer bottle that has cigarette butts in it, I instinctively spit them out.
These are a few of my natural instincts. Knowing what to do when my baby has a temperature over 100 degrees is not an instinct that I had developed, at that point. Now that's it over with, I'll know what to do next time but don't feel bad if you're a lunatic when your baby has their first fever. At least you didn't sodomize them with an ear themometer.
So a few strange things have happened to me this week. There is something in the air in East York and whatever it is, it's laced with crazy.
I went into Tim Hortons after swimming lessons on Monday. The lessons are for Dexter. I am a world class swimmer as you probably can tell from my broad, strong shoulders. The woman who walked in before me didn't bother holding the door for me and it came crashing into the baby buggy. In her defense, she had a newborn strapped to her so who knows if she had even slept in the last 48 hours. This beast of a woman behind me yells."What the hell! She could have opened the door for you! Like you don't have your hands full or something."
"Yes" I reply as she holds the door for me, "she must just be lost in thought or something."
"Ya right" beast replies, "you need to look out for one another."
"Sure", I respond doing my best not to encourage her.
Now we're fully in line at the Tim Hortons and her voice is getting increasingly louder with every word. Did I mention that she had an INSANE mop of wild gray hair and her eyes were a freaky yellow colour? On anyone else, they would have looked amazing but on her they just screamed perscription-meds-overdose-waiting-to-happen.
I thought she was done but oh no.
"I mean especially as WOMEN. We need to look out for each other AS WOMEN."
As she's saying this, she's inching closer to me, but looking over my head at the girl in front of me, who is the one to whom she is directing this whole exchange. She turns around. She is a sweet looking girl with a tiny baby strapped to her that doesn't have a clue what's going on. Crazy looks at her and says, "You've got to watch out for each other. AS WOMEN."
Now she's kind of puffing her chest out, like guys do to one another when they're about to fight over me.
Holy shit, I think. Is this lunatic going to try to fight this woman with a baby over not holding the door open for me?
I say, "Really, it's ok, just leave it be. Please."
The young girl with the baby turns back around and crazy miraculously shuts up. Now we're just standing in line waiting for our coffee and I feel the need to keep talking because it's gotten quietly awkward.
"So" I say to crazy, "Have you won anything on roll up the rim to win?"
Why did I feel the need to continue to engage crazy in a conversation? If I didn't, what kind of blog would this be really.
Crazy responds, "Ya, I'm here to collect my free coffee."
I point to the sign that says there's been 10,000 winners at this particular Tim Hortons. I say, "Well, I guess they'll have to change the number to 10,001 when you get to the cash."
'Whatever", she replies, "That's just what they WANT you to think."
"Huh?"
"They want you to think 10,000 people have won here, so you keep coming but I know different."
Oh, is that right crazy? Have the CFO and CEO of Tim Hortons been in touch today? I'm sorry , I didn't realize. What a nut job. Who actually thinks there's a big Roll Up The Rim conspiracy? I don't even know why I'm asking that question. She was about to fight a young Mom with a baby over not holding the door open.
Anyhow, I have another crazy story that happened yesterday but I'm getting carpel tunnel from typing this blog. Ta for now.
I think we`re led to believe that when we become Mothers, suddenly we`re bestowed with this amazing ability to know what to do in ever situation that requires mothering. I think I have clearly disproved this theory time and time again. Secondly, I am not a nurse or doctor and have no medical instincts. Here are instincts that I have:
a) if a dog is chasing me, I instinctively run.
b) If I'm talking to a member of the opposite sex in a suggestive manor I instinctively make sure he's over 18. I won't make THAT mistake again.
c) If I take a sip of a beer bottle that has cigarette butts in it, I instinctively spit them out.
These are a few of my natural instincts. Knowing what to do when my baby has a temperature over 100 degrees is not an instinct that I had developed, at that point. Now that's it over with, I'll know what to do next time but don't feel bad if you're a lunatic when your baby has their first fever. At least you didn't sodomize them with an ear themometer.
So a few strange things have happened to me this week. There is something in the air in East York and whatever it is, it's laced with crazy.
I went into Tim Hortons after swimming lessons on Monday. The lessons are for Dexter. I am a world class swimmer as you probably can tell from my broad, strong shoulders. The woman who walked in before me didn't bother holding the door for me and it came crashing into the baby buggy. In her defense, she had a newborn strapped to her so who knows if she had even slept in the last 48 hours. This beast of a woman behind me yells."What the hell! She could have opened the door for you! Like you don't have your hands full or something."
"Yes" I reply as she holds the door for me, "she must just be lost in thought or something."
"Ya right" beast replies, "you need to look out for one another."
"Sure", I respond doing my best not to encourage her.
Now we're fully in line at the Tim Hortons and her voice is getting increasingly louder with every word. Did I mention that she had an INSANE mop of wild gray hair and her eyes were a freaky yellow colour? On anyone else, they would have looked amazing but on her they just screamed perscription-meds-overdose-waiting-to-happen.
I thought she was done but oh no.
"I mean especially as WOMEN. We need to look out for each other AS WOMEN."
As she's saying this, she's inching closer to me, but looking over my head at the girl in front of me, who is the one to whom she is directing this whole exchange. She turns around. She is a sweet looking girl with a tiny baby strapped to her that doesn't have a clue what's going on. Crazy looks at her and says, "You've got to watch out for each other. AS WOMEN."
Now she's kind of puffing her chest out, like guys do to one another when they're about to fight over me.
Holy shit, I think. Is this lunatic going to try to fight this woman with a baby over not holding the door open for me?
I say, "Really, it's ok, just leave it be. Please."
The young girl with the baby turns back around and crazy miraculously shuts up. Now we're just standing in line waiting for our coffee and I feel the need to keep talking because it's gotten quietly awkward.
"So" I say to crazy, "Have you won anything on roll up the rim to win?"
Why did I feel the need to continue to engage crazy in a conversation? If I didn't, what kind of blog would this be really.
Crazy responds, "Ya, I'm here to collect my free coffee."
I point to the sign that says there's been 10,000 winners at this particular Tim Hortons. I say, "Well, I guess they'll have to change the number to 10,001 when you get to the cash."
'Whatever", she replies, "That's just what they WANT you to think."
"Huh?"
"They want you to think 10,000 people have won here, so you keep coming but I know different."
Oh, is that right crazy? Have the CFO and CEO of Tim Hortons been in touch today? I'm sorry , I didn't realize. What a nut job. Who actually thinks there's a big Roll Up The Rim conspiracy? I don't even know why I'm asking that question. She was about to fight a young Mom with a baby over not holding the door open.
Anyhow, I have another crazy story that happened yesterday but I'm getting carpel tunnel from typing this blog. Ta for now.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
People vs. Dogs
First of all, I forgot to shave my right leg. Just realized it.
Anyhow, Dexter is a little over 5 months now and cute levels are at an all time high, I can't take it. Having a cute baby, I am often stopped by strangers in the grocery store, or drug store or somewhere, and they talk to the baby. Sure, it's friendly and I'm polite but truthfully, I'm beginning to find the whole thing a bit weird. Don't get me wrong, I like people and I have no problem talking but it's the way in which I have to communicate that is starting to weird me out. Here's the thing, I have to talk for the baby. Here's an example: "Ohhhhh, how cute. And what's your name?" Me: "His name is Dexter." "Ohhhhh, and how old are you?" Me: "He's 5 months". "Ohhhhhhhhh. What a cutie. And you crawling yet Dexter?" Me: "No he's not but he's writing Arabic and speaking Latin like a priest."
It's just that when you have a baby, you're forced to talk to people you really have no desire to. It's probably the same for people with puppies. I sound like an uppity beatch but I'm ok with that. You know who I like talking to? Crazy people. Crazy people have all sorts of interesting things to say. In fact, I was once recited a poem all about farting by a crazy person. Now if someone came up to me and Dex and said, "Hey lady with cute baby, can I recite you a poem about farting?" No hesitation. Yes. Of effing course.
Short but sweet. Next blog hear about how Dexter managed to get one sunburned arm. Whoops.
Anyhow, Dexter is a little over 5 months now and cute levels are at an all time high, I can't take it. Having a cute baby, I am often stopped by strangers in the grocery store, or drug store or somewhere, and they talk to the baby. Sure, it's friendly and I'm polite but truthfully, I'm beginning to find the whole thing a bit weird. Don't get me wrong, I like people and I have no problem talking but it's the way in which I have to communicate that is starting to weird me out. Here's the thing, I have to talk for the baby. Here's an example: "Ohhhhh, how cute. And what's your name?" Me: "His name is Dexter." "Ohhhhh, and how old are you?" Me: "He's 5 months". "Ohhhhhhhhh. What a cutie. And you crawling yet Dexter?" Me: "No he's not but he's writing Arabic and speaking Latin like a priest."
It's just that when you have a baby, you're forced to talk to people you really have no desire to. It's probably the same for people with puppies. I sound like an uppity beatch but I'm ok with that. You know who I like talking to? Crazy people. Crazy people have all sorts of interesting things to say. In fact, I was once recited a poem all about farting by a crazy person. Now if someone came up to me and Dex and said, "Hey lady with cute baby, can I recite you a poem about farting?" No hesitation. Yes. Of effing course.
Short but sweet. Next blog hear about how Dexter managed to get one sunburned arm. Whoops.
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