The most judgmental people in the world aren't Judges. They're parents. Especially first time parents. You don't want to be judgmental by nature, but it's simply the insecurities that go along with having no idea what you're doing, that seem to create this sort of environment.It's just human nature that, to feel better about yourself, it's easiest to put others down. The best way to conquer this, is to just admit that you don't have a clue and drink your way through it. Anyhow, as I'm a perfect mother, I'm sure no one can pass judgement on anything I do, however for the purpose of this blog I will share a moment when perhaps my mothering came in to question.
Dex is in daycare a few days a week, and as a result, is building up an immune system that even Agent Orange couldn't penetrate. He's pretty much always sick at this point, some times worse than others. A few weeks ago happened to be one of these times. He had ear infections, chest infection and just general malaise.
So I kept him home from daycare. That day, however, I was sick. I had the Norwalk or some other disgusting ailment where you feel really sorry for yourself and everything you ate since 1998 is coming out.
Since Dex is nearly 2, it's pretty hard to just layabout with him, because he's constantly moving. I decided that I would take him to the drop-in center down the road, where he could just run around with all the other little kids, while I quietly switched between a combo of sweat and shiver, in the corner.
So I'm sitting there in my own vile filth while he's doing his thing. At this point, I hadn't barfed and didn't really think I would because I'm not much of a barfer. I've only barfed from booze a handful of times in my life. Pretty good eh? Anyhow it's this kind of barf arrogance that ends up getting you into trouble.
Suddenly it starts happening. The warm spittle and constricting throat starts to creep it's way up into my mouth. I try to mentally push it back but even my Jedi mind isn't strong enough to conquer this influx of reflux.
Oh shit, I think, here it effing comes.
I jump up from the play mat, push some creepy twins out of the way and make it, just in time to the bathroom, which, you should know, has a tiny toilet.
I get myself together and think "crap, I hope someone is watching Dex."
I leave the bathroom and scan the room for my son. There's tons of kids there so I can't seem to spot him, and have a mini panic. My eyes are darting back and forth. Where the hell is he? As I feel like I'm going to barf again from panic I spot him at the front entrance way. Pheefuuuf. Wait a sec. What's he doing? My eyes adjust to the fluorescent lighting after I've been barfing in the dark comforts of the kiddy bathroom. Yup, he's doing it. He has dumped some woman's purse upside down and is emptying her wallet and rooting through all of her crap.
I moan and say (out loud) "You must be fucking kidding me" , lurch towards the front door, grab Dex and all of his crap and get the hell out of there. I didn't bother with the purse. Just left it there, strewn about.
Oh! I almost left out a very important part of the story. Like millions of Canadians, I suffer from Oral Herpes. Hot. So I happened to have a boiler on my lip, this particular day. I hadn't bothered to look in the mirror after the "incident" and hadn't realized that this little beauty had started to bleed. Must have been the force of the spew. So when I left the kiddie bathroom, having just spent 10 minutes heaving and moaning, I appeared with blood trickling down my face. Nice. Let's not forget that I dropped an F Bomb, out loud, as well.
I got in the car, came home and allowed the cat to parent Dexter for the rest of the day while I tried my hardest not to fall asleep.
There are a few things in my life that I need not repeat. Finite math,trying to install a dimmer switch, getting a gum graft and taking my toddler to a really bright indoor playground while in the throws of the stomach flu.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Park Life
I'm going to be completely honest here: the park is boring. The only time the park isn't boring is when you're 1 until 12 and the againa starting at 14 to 16, when you steal a bottle of Ouzo from your parents and get wasted with your other stupid teenage friends. Yes, it's sweet and cute to see your little one run around and go down the slide and giggle, but it's got a pretty short entertainment window, for me anyhow. I'm pretty much over the park in 10 minutes, so I do my best to entertain myself my striking up conversation with others. Sometimes it's well received, other times I'm given the major cold shoulder. That usually happens in the posh parks like the one in the Beaches. I was at the park the other day with Dex and started talking to this dude who had a SUPER cute little baby girl. Turns out he moved from Sudan 10 months ago. He was pretty interesting and we had a nice conversation. It got weird when he scratched my back as he said goodbye. I mean a real scratch, not like an accidental swipe of the finger. I was wearing a tank top and he put all five finger nails on me and gave me a quick back scratch. Under normal circumstances, I welcome a back scratch from just about anyone, but this one seemed oddly misplaced. A back scratch from a dude you just met at the park? Am I being too judgemental?
I was sitting around a sandbox last week and there were about 6 toddlers playing in it, which meant there were 6 adults sitting around it. We just sat and stared at the kids and no one said anything. Here's the thing:if you took those kids out of the equation, and it was just 6 adults, would we try to find something to talk about or is the sandbox like the playground equivalent of the bus? Just look forward and make sure your kid doesn't bite someone. As you may be able to tell by the verbose nature of these blogs, silence makes me uncomfortable. I then am wracking my brain to think of something to say to someone but the trick is to not make it about the kids, or about being a parent. So then I ask some dude about what he does for a living and now I feel like I'm hitting on him at the sandbox. Fuck. That wasn't my intention but now everyone is listening and he feels the need to answer me. So he does. And doesn't continue the conversation. So now all I've done is blurted out some question to a stranger, which he politely answered, and we all continue to just stare in the middle of the sandbox.
That, however, is preferable to listening to some annoying people talking about, or putting into practice, their stupid parenting techniques which I find so nauseating.
Dex was going down this baby slide. He was hanging around the bottom of it when some other little girl was about to go down. Her Dad said, "Char Char, wait for the little boy to move." I'm going to assume her name was Charlotte. Dex moved about a second later, so I wouldn't necessarily say that she waited, it just worked out that he got out of the way. She goes down the slide and the Dad says, "Char Char, come over here.Char Char, Daddy is so proud of you! Daddy is so so so proud of you."
Oh my god disgusting. She's effing 1 1/2, she doesn't give a shit dude and seriously? You're proud of that? If she were to start speaking Yiddish and tap dancing, then ya, you can tell her you're "so so so proud" of her. This is the reason that there are so many effing entitled young adults out there who think that because they wake up in the morning, they should be given a gold medal. I'm certainly not against encouraging your kids, and telling them how proud you are of them, but lets make sure it's something worth being proud of shall we? Waiting for someone to get out of the way is not an accomplishment. What happens when Char Char graduates from College? This dude is going to lose his mind. I can just see him in the audience, uncontrollably sobbing, snot running down his face while he screams, "CHAR CHARR. I AM SO SO SO PROUD OF YOU! OOHHHH CHAR CHAR." She'll grab her degree from DeVry and trip off the stage.
I was sitting around a sandbox last week and there were about 6 toddlers playing in it, which meant there were 6 adults sitting around it. We just sat and stared at the kids and no one said anything. Here's the thing:if you took those kids out of the equation, and it was just 6 adults, would we try to find something to talk about or is the sandbox like the playground equivalent of the bus? Just look forward and make sure your kid doesn't bite someone. As you may be able to tell by the verbose nature of these blogs, silence makes me uncomfortable. I then am wracking my brain to think of something to say to someone but the trick is to not make it about the kids, or about being a parent. So then I ask some dude about what he does for a living and now I feel like I'm hitting on him at the sandbox. Fuck. That wasn't my intention but now everyone is listening and he feels the need to answer me. So he does. And doesn't continue the conversation. So now all I've done is blurted out some question to a stranger, which he politely answered, and we all continue to just stare in the middle of the sandbox.
That, however, is preferable to listening to some annoying people talking about, or putting into practice, their stupid parenting techniques which I find so nauseating.
Dex was going down this baby slide. He was hanging around the bottom of it when some other little girl was about to go down. Her Dad said, "Char Char, wait for the little boy to move." I'm going to assume her name was Charlotte. Dex moved about a second later, so I wouldn't necessarily say that she waited, it just worked out that he got out of the way. She goes down the slide and the Dad says, "Char Char, come over here.Char Char, Daddy is so proud of you! Daddy is so so so proud of you."
Oh my god disgusting. She's effing 1 1/2, she doesn't give a shit dude and seriously? You're proud of that? If she were to start speaking Yiddish and tap dancing, then ya, you can tell her you're "so so so proud" of her. This is the reason that there are so many effing entitled young adults out there who think that because they wake up in the morning, they should be given a gold medal. I'm certainly not against encouraging your kids, and telling them how proud you are of them, but lets make sure it's something worth being proud of shall we? Waiting for someone to get out of the way is not an accomplishment. What happens when Char Char graduates from College? This dude is going to lose his mind. I can just see him in the audience, uncontrollably sobbing, snot running down his face while he screams, "CHAR CHARR. I AM SO SO SO PROUD OF YOU! OOHHHH CHAR CHAR." She'll grab her degree from DeVry and trip off the stage.
Friday, September 9, 2011
What a rip
Right so it's been like 6 months since my last blog. In that time I have been working, sleeping, eating, farting and seducing. In that order. Dexter is now a year and half, which is outrageous. Why is it, when you're a kid, time passes so slowly? It took FOREVER for Santa to arrive. It seemed like a million years before the next summer rolled around. Now a year is just a blip. Is it because we drink? I mean because I drink?
So now that I am working my butt off on my new company (if anyone knows or needs online video content, let me know) I put Dex in daycare a couple of days a week, which I think I already mentioned. I just needed an organic way to plug my company (www.elpeaproductions.com) so that's why I mentioned it. Anyhoo, you want to know what the biggest rip off is? When you pick your kid up from daycare at 5pm, and you still have to clean up two shit diapers. I figure he's there for 8 hours, surely he should have gotten all of his pooping done. What the hell are we paying for? Education? Love? It's one of the perks of having someone else take care of him all day. I don't have to deal with disgusting turds. As a matter of fact, I'm thinking I might ask Shakira(the daycare lady) for some money back. I think it's only fair. Unfortunately, due to her limited English, I'll probably end up just getting his poop diapers from her or something.
The other day I picked Dex up and was just going to head straight to the cottage. I had forgotten his sippy cup so when I went to get him from Shakira I asked her, "Shakira, can I grab Dexters sippy cup from you? I'll bring it back on MOnday it's just that I've forgotten his and we're going to be in the car for 2 hours." She is standing smiling at me. "Ok Shakira, so can I have his cup?"
Shakira. "Jes"
She's still smiling and staring at me.
Me, "Can I have it now?"
Shakira, "Jes. No problem."
She's not moving, just smiling.
So now I start to make the motion of drinking and I've now started to talk really loudly because for some reason I think volume might help,
"SHAKIRA. I NEED TO GET HIS CUP SO HE CAN HAVE A DRINK." I'm tipping my head back and making the drinking motion. I can see people walking home from work looking at me like I'm an alcoholic. "Jesus Christ, just forget. He can drink out of the water bottle."
Shakira, "Jes."
She has a good enough command of the English language, I guess I'm just going to have to brush up on my Persian.
Speaking of daycare, can we seriously start some kind of Egypt style revolt to change how daycare works in this province? It's bullshit. It's expensive and impossible to get into and expensive. The problem is that the people who are willing to fight for this are too busy and tired because we're all trying to work, be parents and look hot. I don't have to try too hard at the last one, just wanted to be inclusive.
If anyone from the Black Bloc is reading this, maybe you can give me some ideas as to how to start a pointless riot to get my voice heard. Until next time.
So now that I am working my butt off on my new company (if anyone knows or needs online video content, let me know) I put Dex in daycare a couple of days a week, which I think I already mentioned. I just needed an organic way to plug my company (www.elpeaproductions.com) so that's why I mentioned it. Anyhoo, you want to know what the biggest rip off is? When you pick your kid up from daycare at 5pm, and you still have to clean up two shit diapers. I figure he's there for 8 hours, surely he should have gotten all of his pooping done. What the hell are we paying for? Education? Love? It's one of the perks of having someone else take care of him all day. I don't have to deal with disgusting turds. As a matter of fact, I'm thinking I might ask Shakira(the daycare lady) for some money back. I think it's only fair. Unfortunately, due to her limited English, I'll probably end up just getting his poop diapers from her or something.
The other day I picked Dex up and was just going to head straight to the cottage. I had forgotten his sippy cup so when I went to get him from Shakira I asked her, "Shakira, can I grab Dexters sippy cup from you? I'll bring it back on MOnday it's just that I've forgotten his and we're going to be in the car for 2 hours." She is standing smiling at me. "Ok Shakira, so can I have his cup?"
Shakira. "Jes"
She's still smiling and staring at me.
Me, "Can I have it now?"
Shakira, "Jes. No problem."
She's not moving, just smiling.
So now I start to make the motion of drinking and I've now started to talk really loudly because for some reason I think volume might help,
"SHAKIRA. I NEED TO GET HIS CUP SO HE CAN HAVE A DRINK." I'm tipping my head back and making the drinking motion. I can see people walking home from work looking at me like I'm an alcoholic. "Jesus Christ, just forget. He can drink out of the water bottle."
Shakira, "Jes."
She has a good enough command of the English language, I guess I'm just going to have to brush up on my Persian.
Speaking of daycare, can we seriously start some kind of Egypt style revolt to change how daycare works in this province? It's bullshit. It's expensive and impossible to get into and expensive. The problem is that the people who are willing to fight for this are too busy and tired because we're all trying to work, be parents and look hot. I don't have to try too hard at the last one, just wanted to be inclusive.
If anyone from the Black Bloc is reading this, maybe you can give me some ideas as to how to start a pointless riot to get my voice heard. Until next time.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Can someone else do this please?
Bless me Father for I have sinned, it has been 22 years since my last confession. Oh woops! I thought this was my sinning blog. I like to keep a blog of my sins, then confess them to the Internet. It's less creepy than a priest.
Anyhow, Dexter Jean-Claude Macky is no longer a tiny little baby. He is nearly a year a half (or will be in about 2 months) and he is running around like a lunatic. It is the cutest thing ever to see him walking, with his hands in the air, and his center of gravity high on LSD. It looks hilarious. I always say this but honestly, his cute levels are through the roof. Except for yesterday morning. I went into his bedroom at a little after 7am, because I could hear him whining to get up. I go into the room, smile and say good morning, but something isn't right. What's that smell? Has there been another garbage strike? Did someone just do an egg salad burp? Have we been bombed with Agent Orange? Nope, Dex has done a colossal turd and it is everywhere. He slept in just a onesie because it was ridiculously hot. The poop had seeped out of his diaper, on to his legs, into his hand, and all over his face and his crib. It was a goddamn Poo-nami. It was Poomaggedon. Just as I realize what's happened I see him go to put some in his mouth. "NOOOOOOOOO!" I yell as I dive in slo-mo, "It's not a shit biscuit!" He tastes it and, quite obviously, starts spitting and makes the most hilarious/disgusted face of all time. He ate his own shit. I figure it's a tough lesson to learn but I'm glad he learned it early. You don't want to be learning that lesson your second year of University or anything.
Anyhow, I had to get Will in for backup because I couldn't handle the mountain of turd that surrounded me.
In other news, we went to NYC for the long weekend, which was the best. It was the longest we had left the baby, and let me tell you, it was awesome. I felt anxious before we left, because I knew I would miss him and would he be ok, and all of that. But then, when Will and I are sipping cocktails at 2:30 in the afternoon at some cool bar we're not cool enough to be at, any and all anxiety I had went out the door. Here's the thing. Getting away from work is THE BEST. Waking up when you want to, not answering emails, not dealing with your weird co-workers; it's all well deserved. When you have a toddler, that feeling of freedom is times 10,000. Don't get me wrong, I was happy to see him when the weekend was done, but I didn't pine for him, let me just put it that way. If you're a Mom and you don't think you can be away from your kid for more than a night or whatever, I'm here to tell you that you can, and you'll love it. Although I don't know too many Moms who seem to have a problem with that.
We saw Joey Fatone in New York, I know you're jealous. Will thought it was Lance Bass and when we walked by him said, "HA! It's Lance Bass." Hilarious.
I'm sweating my armpits off right now so I have to go. Until next time.
Anyhow, Dexter Jean-Claude Macky is no longer a tiny little baby. He is nearly a year a half (or will be in about 2 months) and he is running around like a lunatic. It is the cutest thing ever to see him walking, with his hands in the air, and his center of gravity high on LSD. It looks hilarious. I always say this but honestly, his cute levels are through the roof. Except for yesterday morning. I went into his bedroom at a little after 7am, because I could hear him whining to get up. I go into the room, smile and say good morning, but something isn't right. What's that smell? Has there been another garbage strike? Did someone just do an egg salad burp? Have we been bombed with Agent Orange? Nope, Dex has done a colossal turd and it is everywhere. He slept in just a onesie because it was ridiculously hot. The poop had seeped out of his diaper, on to his legs, into his hand, and all over his face and his crib. It was a goddamn Poo-nami. It was Poomaggedon. Just as I realize what's happened I see him go to put some in his mouth. "NOOOOOOOOO!" I yell as I dive in slo-mo, "It's not a shit biscuit!" He tastes it and, quite obviously, starts spitting and makes the most hilarious/disgusted face of all time. He ate his own shit. I figure it's a tough lesson to learn but I'm glad he learned it early. You don't want to be learning that lesson your second year of University or anything.
Anyhow, I had to get Will in for backup because I couldn't handle the mountain of turd that surrounded me.
In other news, we went to NYC for the long weekend, which was the best. It was the longest we had left the baby, and let me tell you, it was awesome. I felt anxious before we left, because I knew I would miss him and would he be ok, and all of that. But then, when Will and I are sipping cocktails at 2:30 in the afternoon at some cool bar we're not cool enough to be at, any and all anxiety I had went out the door. Here's the thing. Getting away from work is THE BEST. Waking up when you want to, not answering emails, not dealing with your weird co-workers; it's all well deserved. When you have a toddler, that feeling of freedom is times 10,000. Don't get me wrong, I was happy to see him when the weekend was done, but I didn't pine for him, let me just put it that way. If you're a Mom and you don't think you can be away from your kid for more than a night or whatever, I'm here to tell you that you can, and you'll love it. Although I don't know too many Moms who seem to have a problem with that.
We saw Joey Fatone in New York, I know you're jealous. Will thought it was Lance Bass and when we walked by him said, "HA! It's Lance Bass." Hilarious.
I'm sweating my armpits off right now so I have to go. Until next time.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
What did you say?
I am officially the worst blogger in the world, but this just in: I don't really give a care. That's right,give a care. So Dex is fully walking now. It is super cute and I am constantly laughing my head off but at the same time, we're constantly running our asses off and it's hardcore. I normally try to give him decent food but I pretty much just fed him cookies tonight so he would stay in his highchair while I drank Newcastle Brown Ale with my neighbour. It's a beer worth getting your kid hopped up on sugar for. So he's in daycare a few days a week while I work and the other days I send him to work as Rob Fords taster. There are far too many people who want to poison that man.
His daycare lady is called Shakira, as in the she wolf, as in my hips don't lie. I was at first attracted to this woman because of her name. It's awesome. The only other name that could compare to this, with regards to the person who I am going to entrust with my child's life, would be Magnum. If I could have found a daycare provider whose name was Magnum, that person would have beaten Shakira as Dexters daycare provider. There was another time I based a decision solely on the name of a person. I was looking for a new voice agent here in Toronto. I was going through the list of agents and saw that this one guy at AAB Talent was accepting submissions. His name was Warren Beatty. I called him right away. I wanted Warren Beatty in my corner. I met him and he looked like a regular sized Webster. I was going to say giant Webster, but that's really just a regular Webster right? Anyhow, turns out Warren was useless and I wasn't getting any auditions. I started asking around if this guy was any good. Turns out the A A B stands for Asian Action Booking. I am neither Asian or capable of any action. Well, that's not entirely true; I can do a pretty sweet high kick. Anyhow, I learned my lesson from making life decisions based on cool names and decided to do a little more research with regards to Shakira. Turns out she's awesome. Her English is a bit Persian but we seem to communicate effectively, except for the other day. When I picked Dex up from daycare Shakira tells me, "Oh Lareesa, diahrrhea sooo bad."
"Oh" I say, "That's too bad."
"Yes",she says, "it's very stinky."
"Oh ya? Well, was it something you ate?" She replies, "Maybe, what you eat him?" I say, "Oh ya, he's so cute I just want to eat him up." She looks at me really confused. "Well" I say, "I hope you feel better. Diarrhea's the worst." Her face twists from confused to understood. "Oohhh, noo" she says, "Shakira no have diarehhea, baby has diarrhea" She's saying this as she's pointing to her own bum. OHHHHHHHHH. Woops. She was telling me the baby had diarrhea and here I am telling her I hope her trots clear up. Hilarious but I think this makes our relationship even stronger. I was ok with hearing about her diarrhea and she was cool with me thinking she was talking to me about her floopy poops. That is precisely the kind of relationship I need with the woman I entrust my baby's life with. That's it for now.
His daycare lady is called Shakira, as in the she wolf, as in my hips don't lie. I was at first attracted to this woman because of her name. It's awesome. The only other name that could compare to this, with regards to the person who I am going to entrust with my child's life, would be Magnum. If I could have found a daycare provider whose name was Magnum, that person would have beaten Shakira as Dexters daycare provider. There was another time I based a decision solely on the name of a person. I was looking for a new voice agent here in Toronto. I was going through the list of agents and saw that this one guy at AAB Talent was accepting submissions. His name was Warren Beatty. I called him right away. I wanted Warren Beatty in my corner. I met him and he looked like a regular sized Webster. I was going to say giant Webster, but that's really just a regular Webster right? Anyhow, turns out Warren was useless and I wasn't getting any auditions. I started asking around if this guy was any good. Turns out the A A B stands for Asian Action Booking. I am neither Asian or capable of any action. Well, that's not entirely true; I can do a pretty sweet high kick. Anyhow, I learned my lesson from making life decisions based on cool names and decided to do a little more research with regards to Shakira. Turns out she's awesome. Her English is a bit Persian but we seem to communicate effectively, except for the other day. When I picked Dex up from daycare Shakira tells me, "Oh Lareesa, diahrrhea sooo bad."
"Oh" I say, "That's too bad."
"Yes",she says, "it's very stinky."
"Oh ya? Well, was it something you ate?" She replies, "Maybe, what you eat him?" I say, "Oh ya, he's so cute I just want to eat him up." She looks at me really confused. "Well" I say, "I hope you feel better. Diarrhea's the worst." Her face twists from confused to understood. "Oohhh, noo" she says, "Shakira no have diarehhea, baby has diarrhea" She's saying this as she's pointing to her own bum. OHHHHHHHHH. Woops. She was telling me the baby had diarrhea and here I am telling her I hope her trots clear up. Hilarious but I think this makes our relationship even stronger. I was ok with hearing about her diarrhea and she was cool with me thinking she was talking to me about her floopy poops. That is precisely the kind of relationship I need with the woman I entrust my baby's life with. That's it for now.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
It's been a while
I am not the best blogger in the world, this I can admit. I think this might be the first one this month. Don't judge, I've been busy. I got married and became the Duchess of Cambridge. I just had my last show after 25 years of talk show magic and I've been trying to come up with more ways to make myself sound like a giant idiot by going about trying to disprove Barack Obamas citizenship. I've been busy. Needless to say, chasing around a toddler may be as exhausting as having a newborn suckle on your teat. Dexter is hobbling around like I do on a Friday night after a bottle of $7.50 Fuzion. He's so cute it's hilarious but at the same time, he's definitely figuring out how to push the old buttons. It's so interesting to see his little mind work. What blows my mind is how much and how well I know this little person. What's really scary is that my Mom knows my mind this well. God help her. She must lose sleep at night knowing what goes on in this warped mass of brain matter.
I'm still working on my business while mothering while scanning for other jobs. It's pretty busy but what the hell. If I didn't have this taking up my time I would probably just be scanning the internet for porn. I'm still taking Dex to baby swimming lessons on Monday mornings. I think I'm the baby swimming lesson pariah. Here's the thing; I'm a talker. When I'm in the pool with a bunch of babies and adults, I'm going to chat to the adults. Let's just be honest here for a second. The babies are cute and everything but after about 10 minutes in the pool with them, it sort of gets boring. How many times can you sing "The Wheels on the Bus" until you want to shoot yourself in the face? I can tell you. Once. You will sing that song once and then you're over it. So, I spend the other 20 minutes of the lesson bopping Dex in and out of the water while I chat to the other Mom's and Dad's. At first I think they were a little bit weirded out by me and I can't blame them. They're probably thinking, "Um, how does a professional fitness model get Monday's off?"
The Filipino nannies have been the chattiest, and I appreciate it. After swimming, myself and two of the nannies go to Tim Hortons where I drink too much coffee and pretend to know what they're talking about. One of the nannies asked me who I was nannying for. I said, "I'm not his nanny". Maybe my disinterest in baby swimming lessons made them think that there's no way I'm the Mom.
So one of the Dad's in baby swimming lessons has started to warm up to me. We'll chat and laugh and we share weekend stories. I'm 90% sure he's gay but I'm sure people say that about me too so I try not to jump to conclusions. Anyhow, I hadn't noticed up until recently, but he has a nipple ring. It's not as if I haven't seen nipple rings before. The 90's were a real boom for piercers and nipple piercing was the norm. I didn't go for the nipple but like a lot of idiots in their 20's I thought it was an AMAZING idea to get my eyebrow pierced. Lesson number one in making yourself more unattractive: Pierce your eyebrow. So I'm chatting to the nipple pierced Daddy in the pool and for some stupid reason I couldn't stop looking at his nipple ring. We're talking and I KNOW my eyes are bobbing up and down from his face to his nipple. I know he knows I'm looking at it, but I couldn't stop! 'What the hell is the matter with you Larissa?' I internally scream at myself, 'Stop looking at his freaking nipple!' but I couldn't. It was like I was in a nipple trance. I was being hypnotized by his nipple and it started to get uncomfortable. Now I was staring at the spot directly above his nose so that I would stop staring at his nipple, but I felt that was super obvious too. I started to sweat, even though I was in a pool. He then looked down at his own nipple. 'Oh shit. He's onto me'. Yup, he was. He took his baby girl and waded over to the Filipino nannies. 'Oh God', I think, 'Don't tell my nannies! I need them.' They started talking and I swear one of them gave me the sideways scorn. Anyhow, class ended and I got the hell out of there. I didn't even bother to stick around afterwards to pee in the pool. I like to leave my scent.
I've been to baby swimming lessons since and he's not been there. I hope I didn't scare him off with my staring problem. I'll let you know if he ever returns. My relationship with the Filipino nannies seems to have survived the incident. We're still just smiling and laughing at one another even though I'm pretty sure neither of us understand the other.
Maybe to smooth things over , I'll re-pierce my eyebrow so that he knows he wasn't the only one in the 90's who got sucked in.
I'm still working on my business while mothering while scanning for other jobs. It's pretty busy but what the hell. If I didn't have this taking up my time I would probably just be scanning the internet for porn. I'm still taking Dex to baby swimming lessons on Monday mornings. I think I'm the baby swimming lesson pariah. Here's the thing; I'm a talker. When I'm in the pool with a bunch of babies and adults, I'm going to chat to the adults. Let's just be honest here for a second. The babies are cute and everything but after about 10 minutes in the pool with them, it sort of gets boring. How many times can you sing "The Wheels on the Bus" until you want to shoot yourself in the face? I can tell you. Once. You will sing that song once and then you're over it. So, I spend the other 20 minutes of the lesson bopping Dex in and out of the water while I chat to the other Mom's and Dad's. At first I think they were a little bit weirded out by me and I can't blame them. They're probably thinking, "Um, how does a professional fitness model get Monday's off?"
The Filipino nannies have been the chattiest, and I appreciate it. After swimming, myself and two of the nannies go to Tim Hortons where I drink too much coffee and pretend to know what they're talking about. One of the nannies asked me who I was nannying for. I said, "I'm not his nanny". Maybe my disinterest in baby swimming lessons made them think that there's no way I'm the Mom.
So one of the Dad's in baby swimming lessons has started to warm up to me. We'll chat and laugh and we share weekend stories. I'm 90% sure he's gay but I'm sure people say that about me too so I try not to jump to conclusions. Anyhow, I hadn't noticed up until recently, but he has a nipple ring. It's not as if I haven't seen nipple rings before. The 90's were a real boom for piercers and nipple piercing was the norm. I didn't go for the nipple but like a lot of idiots in their 20's I thought it was an AMAZING idea to get my eyebrow pierced. Lesson number one in making yourself more unattractive: Pierce your eyebrow. So I'm chatting to the nipple pierced Daddy in the pool and for some stupid reason I couldn't stop looking at his nipple ring. We're talking and I KNOW my eyes are bobbing up and down from his face to his nipple. I know he knows I'm looking at it, but I couldn't stop! 'What the hell is the matter with you Larissa?' I internally scream at myself, 'Stop looking at his freaking nipple!' but I couldn't. It was like I was in a nipple trance. I was being hypnotized by his nipple and it started to get uncomfortable. Now I was staring at the spot directly above his nose so that I would stop staring at his nipple, but I felt that was super obvious too. I started to sweat, even though I was in a pool. He then looked down at his own nipple. 'Oh shit. He's onto me'. Yup, he was. He took his baby girl and waded over to the Filipino nannies. 'Oh God', I think, 'Don't tell my nannies! I need them.' They started talking and I swear one of them gave me the sideways scorn. Anyhow, class ended and I got the hell out of there. I didn't even bother to stick around afterwards to pee in the pool. I like to leave my scent.
I've been to baby swimming lessons since and he's not been there. I hope I didn't scare him off with my staring problem. I'll let you know if he ever returns. My relationship with the Filipino nannies seems to have survived the incident. We're still just smiling and laughing at one another even though I'm pretty sure neither of us understand the other.
Maybe to smooth things over , I'll re-pierce my eyebrow so that he knows he wasn't the only one in the 90's who got sucked in.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Math nurd
When I send an email from my Blackberry it does a spell check before I actually send the email. Most of the time this is a good thing but whenever I write our sons name as Dex, it auto corrects it to "Sex". Do you know how many emails I've sent where I refer to how cute our little Sex is? "Oh, you should see Sex these days. Sex is nearly walking and Sex is chatting up a storm!" The best was when I sent an email to an old friend and signed off with, "Gotta go, Sex just took the biggest shit and I'm about to be elbow deep in it."
I really have to figure out how to fix that.
In other news, Dexter is 1 year and 1 month old. Yup, that's how I'm saying it. Here's the thing, everyone speaks in months, after their kid is a year old. "Oh, she's 17 months", someone will tell you. Well guess what? I was never particularly good at math and making me sit there and figure out 17 minus 12 is annoying. I don't even know my 12 times tables! Seriously I don't. I had measles that week and I honestly missed the time when we learned them and unless it's 12 times 12, I don't have an effing clue. I think we all need to agree to speak in years and months, after the babies are a year old, d'accord? I'll start the trend. Right now I'm just saying, "He's a little over a year." I'll continue to do that until he's a year and 5 months, and then I'll say, "He's a year and five months." I also feel the same way about the 24 hour clock. Please don't tell me it's 19:00. I am not British and it's not the 18th century.
A while back I wrote about a crazy week but I never got around to talking about the 2nd crazy thing that had happened to me. Spring fever is in the air in East York and I think the fever has turned scarlet because people are slightly more crazy than before. So I was heading to the pharmacy to get my prescription (by pharmacy I mean the LCBO and by prescription I mean red wine). So I'm heading down the Danforth when about half a block away I see, what appears to be a very old woman, collapsing into a young woman. There was another older lady looking on. I was pushing Sex in his stroller and started running, to see if I could help. I was right. The woman couldn't really stand up, she looked to be about 85, she was super hunched over and it was as if her legs were simply giving out on her. The girl that was helping was about 20 and was not doing a very good job holding her up. I said frantically, "Can I call you an ambulance? Are you having a stroke?" As if she could actually answer. So the old lady responds very calmly and clearly, "No, I'm fine,I just need to sit down. I know they have chairs in there, I just need some help to get there." She points to a community centre, the door to it just around the corner. The other older lady was standing there and said to me, "Don't worry, I'll watch the baby, you just help." Now I generally expect the best from people but for a split second, I thought I might be in some crazy granny kidnapping ring. Totally irrational, yes, but I smelled stranger danger and it smelt like old mothballs. Anyhow, I said, "Ok, just follow right behind us." My adrenaline was pumping and the 20 year old was useless so I literally put this old bird over my shoulder and proceeded to carry her to the centre. Remember I mentioned earlier that she was super hunched? So even stooped, she was slightly taller than me. I'm a leggy 5 ft 3 inches so if she could fully stand up, the old bird was probably about 6ft 2inches. She was one tall fossil. What I'm trying to get at here was that she wasn't a petite waif of a Granny. Baby had back...which was hunched, and full of what I thought was lead. Anyhow, as I'm carrying this woman, keeping an eye on my baby that another old lady is pushing beside me, I catch a whiff. A whiff of what? Oh, I would say it was a bit of vodka, maybe some whiskey with a beer chaser to get it all down. She was totally drunk. I was carrying an 85 year old waste case to the community centre. At first I thought, "Holy shit lady, it's Tuesday at 2pm and you're 85!" But honestly, I can't judge. I've been a total waste case at 2pm on a Tuesday afternoon so who the hell am I? Maybe when I'm 85 with nothing to do, I'll throw back some Jaggerbombs in between bridge and naps. Why the hell not? I figure if you make it to 85 you can do whatever the hell you want. Honestly, I might even try heroin if I make it to 85. Needless to say, we got to the community centre and as luck would have it, there was a doctor on site! I pretty much dumped her there, told them what had happened and left. She was in good hands. So there you go. Never assume an old person in distress isn't just having the best trip of their life.
Until next time.
I really have to figure out how to fix that.
In other news, Dexter is 1 year and 1 month old. Yup, that's how I'm saying it. Here's the thing, everyone speaks in months, after their kid is a year old. "Oh, she's 17 months", someone will tell you. Well guess what? I was never particularly good at math and making me sit there and figure out 17 minus 12 is annoying. I don't even know my 12 times tables! Seriously I don't. I had measles that week and I honestly missed the time when we learned them and unless it's 12 times 12, I don't have an effing clue. I think we all need to agree to speak in years and months, after the babies are a year old, d'accord? I'll start the trend. Right now I'm just saying, "He's a little over a year." I'll continue to do that until he's a year and 5 months, and then I'll say, "He's a year and five months." I also feel the same way about the 24 hour clock. Please don't tell me it's 19:00. I am not British and it's not the 18th century.
A while back I wrote about a crazy week but I never got around to talking about the 2nd crazy thing that had happened to me. Spring fever is in the air in East York and I think the fever has turned scarlet because people are slightly more crazy than before. So I was heading to the pharmacy to get my prescription (by pharmacy I mean the LCBO and by prescription I mean red wine). So I'm heading down the Danforth when about half a block away I see, what appears to be a very old woman, collapsing into a young woman. There was another older lady looking on. I was pushing Sex in his stroller and started running, to see if I could help. I was right. The woman couldn't really stand up, she looked to be about 85, she was super hunched over and it was as if her legs were simply giving out on her. The girl that was helping was about 20 and was not doing a very good job holding her up. I said frantically, "Can I call you an ambulance? Are you having a stroke?" As if she could actually answer. So the old lady responds very calmly and clearly, "No, I'm fine,I just need to sit down. I know they have chairs in there, I just need some help to get there." She points to a community centre, the door to it just around the corner. The other older lady was standing there and said to me, "Don't worry, I'll watch the baby, you just help." Now I generally expect the best from people but for a split second, I thought I might be in some crazy granny kidnapping ring. Totally irrational, yes, but I smelled stranger danger and it smelt like old mothballs. Anyhow, I said, "Ok, just follow right behind us." My adrenaline was pumping and the 20 year old was useless so I literally put this old bird over my shoulder and proceeded to carry her to the centre. Remember I mentioned earlier that she was super hunched? So even stooped, she was slightly taller than me. I'm a leggy 5 ft 3 inches so if she could fully stand up, the old bird was probably about 6ft 2inches. She was one tall fossil. What I'm trying to get at here was that she wasn't a petite waif of a Granny. Baby had back...which was hunched, and full of what I thought was lead. Anyhow, as I'm carrying this woman, keeping an eye on my baby that another old lady is pushing beside me, I catch a whiff. A whiff of what? Oh, I would say it was a bit of vodka, maybe some whiskey with a beer chaser to get it all down. She was totally drunk. I was carrying an 85 year old waste case to the community centre. At first I thought, "Holy shit lady, it's Tuesday at 2pm and you're 85!" But honestly, I can't judge. I've been a total waste case at 2pm on a Tuesday afternoon so who the hell am I? Maybe when I'm 85 with nothing to do, I'll throw back some Jaggerbombs in between bridge and naps. Why the hell not? I figure if you make it to 85 you can do whatever the hell you want. Honestly, I might even try heroin if I make it to 85. Needless to say, we got to the community centre and as luck would have it, there was a doctor on site! I pretty much dumped her there, told them what had happened and left. She was in good hands. So there you go. Never assume an old person in distress isn't just having the best trip of their life.
Until next time.
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