Remember when you used to see posters like that and the small print would say something like: "now that I have your attention, let's talk about chicken fajitas" or some such thing? Good times.
So today is Flashback Friday, a day that I've vowed to be lazy by not composing a new blog repost some of my older (funnier) blogs. But this one just so happens to actually be about sex. Enjoy it and have a good weekend!
I was thinking of the end of the world the other day as most of us do and I wondered where I'd like to be. In London or Paris? At Disneyworld? I mean why not celebrate the saddest day on earth at the happiest place on earth, right?
So on 21 December 2012, if the world is going to end, will I be in any of those places? Nope. I'll be in my living room with my husband and kids and cat around me. I may or may not be wearing my Snuggie. I'll be full after eating a meal of poutine and doughnuts and we'll be watching a dvd of Star Trek.
Yup, if that is the last evening of my life, that's exactly what I'll be doing. You?
Products that invent a problem so that their "new and improved" product can solve it. It may be a valid issue but it's usually so inconsequential that it doesn't impact any part of your life.
Here are my current 3 irritants...
Pre/pro-biotic yoghurt. Really? You mean I went 42 years without belly dancing after eating curdled milk? How did I survive so long? How am I not doubled over with explosive gas and riddled with anal polyps?
I just saw a Listerine commercial that claimed that their newest formulation combats some new kind of magical plaque (with some scary made-up technical name) that can't be brushed away. What? Are you kidding me? So if I brush and floss like my dentist has told me to do all my life, I could still get attacked by the anthrax of plaque? If I was a gullible sap, I'd be hiding under the bed.
The Bounce Bar. The ad tells me that it's a colossal pain to remember to put a fabric softener sheet in the dryer. You know, you're right. Reaching up and to the right to pluck a sheet out of the box and tossing it into the open dryer is hard. Seriously people? The only inconvenience I can see with the old system is if you keep your Bounce box upstairs in the vegetable crisper of the refrigerator or you buy it a sheet at a time from the corner store.
I hate when ads treat me like a drooling moron. I've got a mind, I can think, I can even put two and two together. It's called critical thinking, guys. Stop trying to make me buy your stupid, useless products.
You go into your local middle school, walk the halls then pick any 14 year old boy. You don't know each other but you invite him to live at your house anyway. Don't actually do that, I just want to illustrate the atmosphere in my house right now. Repeat, this is not an endorsement for a summer activity!
Anyhow, Elliott and I are in a weird place. He's like a stranger and any exchanges we have are awkward like we've never met. I don't know how to treat him and I feel almost uncomfortable when he's around. Is this what having a teen is like? I'm told by friends that it's completely normal and that it'll pass by the time he's 18... EIGHTEEN? That's a pretty long time to live with a strange kid. All I know is that I miss my baby.
I was thinking about this the other day as I downloaded the latest Metric album onto my mp3.
When I was little, my dad listened to Sam Cooke and Dionne Warwick on the 8 track player in the car. When I got older I bought vinyl records. In fact, the first single I ever bought was Bad Girls by Diana Ross. I used to love the whole routine of buying them. Walking up and down the aisles of Dutchy's Record Cave and finally settling on the inevitable Smiths album. I'd gently remove the shrink wrap and lovingly slide out the card wrapped disc. If I was lucky there's be photographs of the band on the inner wrap. If I was super lucky, the lyrics would be printed out. If they were, I'd always read them all the way through before playing the record even once. I used to choose my favourite song based on the lyrics and see if I felt the same after I heard it. Good times.
Later I graduated to cassettes but I hated them. You couldn't just skip ahead to a song unless you had a really good player and I didn't. My tapes used to frequently end up in the hungry jaws of my cut-rate Sears player and I had to either spin the cassette on the end of a pen to collect the loose tape it or watch it end up as a kindergarten craft project.
I waited as long as I could before I started buying CDs. It was only when my Violent Femmes album got so scratched it played in half the time, that I thought I should replace it with this "flash in the pan" CD thing. I still have that CD and it plays great.
But now it's on to mp3s. I seriously don't remember the last time I walked into a record store. I don't need to. If I want the lyrics, I google them. I don't have time to pore over them for hours like I used to anyway. All I need the lyrics for is to make sure I don't sing "I smell like a clown, I'm lost and I'm found" while belting out Rio like I did at my friend Jackie's place and humiliating myself for life.
So when was the last time you actually bought a physical album?
This is clearly more exciting for me than it will be for you. Today I'm going to link you up to an older, funnier blog from older, funnier days. It'll be a good way to share some blogs from the last 4 years for those of you new to The Kaye Way.
I woke up this morning in a vastly better mood than I was in yesterday at this time. I attribute it to two things: the fact that I paddled last night and blew off some steam by coming in 3rd in a tandem outrigger canoe 6k race and that my iPod alarm clock woke me this morning to this song:
See what I did there? The first words sung are "Get up, get on up"... how could I not wake up with a smile on my face?
It made me think of my cell phone. Here are my ringtones (Hee! Looks like my geek is showing again...):
Star Trek Next Generation door chime
I'm definitely a geek but I'm shy about the world (apparently aside from you all) knowing it. Whenever my phone rings in a public place, I nearly break my arm grabbing for it before it goes on too long. But I'm not too embarrassed to change them, though. No way, they make me laugh.
Now, the only thing that would make my cell phone ownership life complete is if I could get Futurama's Hypno Toad as a sound for my phone...
It's so foreign to me. I love to chat and I love to weave a story into a long complicated tapestry of words that inevitably bunch up and trip me up, causing me to fall and bite my tongue and... where was I? Yes! Microblogging.
They call twitter and Facebook "microblogging sites". I've read blogs that moved me to tears, blogs that made me laugh my ass off and blogs that made me think. I've yet to read a tweet any deeper than: "Peanut butter... crunchy or smooth? The debate rages on." Really? Maybe I should follow more poets or something if I'm looking for profundity.
That said, you just read one of the least intellectual blogs I've ever written. But I managed it in more than 140 characters. So HA.
I've just come back from Belgium and London and while it was an amazing trip (especially since I could bring the kids), it wasn't my favourite trip. The best trip I was ever on was my surprise trip to Paris.
At the time Scott travelled a lot for work and that year (I think it was 2002) around Valentine's Day he told me he had to go to Paris. What? You are leaving me with 3 little kids plus 2 daycare kids to go to the most romantic place on earth? On Valentine's Day? You've got to be kidding me.
The beginning of that week I was supposed to get paid by my clients. Strangely they were always on time before but this time both were late with lame excuses. That should have been my first flag. Then a couple of days later Scott asks me if I want to go shopping. When do I not? But he offered to come along while I bought shoes, tops and pants, letting me model them for him and holding my bags for me. Hm. Second flag.
Then, a couple of days before he left, he brought home a bunch of flowers. I thought they were one last suck-up attempt. But there was a card attached that led me on a treasure hunt picking up clue cards along the way. I'm starting to twig onto something since he only does this for big gifts. Each card led me around the house to travel related things... my suitcase, my passport, even to the computer where I had to Google the hotel we ended up staying at. I finally got to the card that said to look under the computer keyboard where there were 2 tickets to Paris. This was Friday and we left on Sunday.
What a man. He had planned everything. He arranged for the kids to be taken care of. All my friends knew. In fact, he wanted to do it like an ad that was popular on tv where a woman drove her husband to the airport and when she opened up the trunk to get his bag hers was in there as well. My friends freaked and told him that while it's romantic and all, a woman wants to pack her own bag and shop before a big trip. He even told my daycare clients and that's why they didn't pay me for the week.
What followed was a dream come true. A trip (First Class) to the most romantic city on Earth with the most wonderful, thoughtful man on Earth. It's a trip I'll never ever forget. My best trip ever, bar none.
(Can I just add a quick sidebar about the above photo? Scott wrote this and I love him for it but he used half a tube of my favourite expensive MAC lipstick. Ouch. And awww.)
So I was thinking about my hair the other day. Or lack thereof. I shaved my head in 1994 right after I got married and never looked back. I just got fed up with the upkeep of hair. There were expensive and painful relaxer treatments, panicking about wind and rain, concern about it coming out in clumps, irritation about choosing hairstyles, hot rollers, blow dryers, curling irons, straitening irons, not being able to swim because of it, bad hair days... If you want a feeling of what I went through, check out the documentary Good Hair. It's about me.
I love my hair now. I can't stress this enough. When asked if I'm ever going to grow it back, my answer is always a quick and certain no. Never. The only thing that bugs me is that it looks the same when I wake up in the morning as when I'm the bridesmaid in my best friend's wedding. But I get over it quickly as I'm taking photos afterwards in gale force winds.
Anyway, I spent the morning trying to dig up some old photos of me with hair. They're hard to find, let me tell you but I managed a few:
This is me studying for my Early Childhood Education Exam in the early 90s as you can see from the ancient laptop. Always the fashionista, I'm demonstrating the timeless versatility of the mullet.
Here I am in Quebec City. You can't tell but the carefree curl and blowsy style took an hour to accidentally happen and if Scott had the stones to touch it, it would have felt like straw. Good times.
This is what happened when I had no time for blow drying. After showering I'd grease it up with some expensive Black girl hair product, throw a headband on it and make like a hippy. If it had gotten wet, There would have been an oil slick around it. But it never got wet. Never.
Scott (in hairier days) knew not to come any closer to the crispy goodness that is my best wedding coif. I'm smiling here but I'm no end of pissed that the wind is wrecking my 'do.
Today I went for the baking so today's blog is going to be pretty light. Yesterday I just happened to look at the family blackberry wall calendar and noticed under Saturday's scheduled inlaw BBQ, the words "dessert" and "8-10 people". Looks like somebody volunteered me to bake without telling me.
Here again I earned my "good wife stripes". Here's yesterday's exchange:
Me: Hey, I noticed there's a note about dessert on the calendar.
Him: I was going to tell you.
Me: No problem.
Him: Maybe you can do something summery like cupcakes with like water or a beach or something...
Me (smiling through gritted teeth): This late?
Him (shrugging): Whatever you think.
See, no arguing, no fighting, just cupcakes. Thirty plain white cupcakes with plain white icing. I'm actually going to practice with my frosting tips so they will look pretty. I'll even put sprinkles on them. They'll be delicious and they'll love them, even without "water or a beach or something".
I'm attempting an outing with the baby in tow. People have suggested water slides... um... baby in tow. Not going to happen. As it is, we're trying to squeeze it in between naps and meals. I think it'll work if I give him lunch and he sleeps in the car. We're leaving in an hour. Fingers crossed...
But I didn't want my lovelies to go without a blog so I'm going to whip one up. Here goes:
As I was loading up the car for our getaway (funny how the smaller the kid, the more stuff you need to bring), a construction worker was working on a backhoe across the street. He saw my cat run out of the house and stopped the backhoe to let me know he'd run out. This started a full on conversation about cats. While the man was supposed to be working. He talked about how his sister's cats (Tigger and Spaz) have 2 personalities, one aloof and one loving. They are coloured just like Taz and are really good hunters. Even though he loves cats, he doesn't have any himself because his wife is allergic. Then Taz came over and let the guy give him a scratch. Later the worker made me pick him up and put him back inside because he was getting back to work and may run him over.
How funny was that? I love chatting with complete strangers. There's nothing like a manly man that loves cats and will stop a backhoe to let you know it.
The other day I was introduced to a bunch of new people. They were East Indian and I just couldn't get my mouth around their names so I asked them to spell them out for me. After they did, I could picture the names in my head and connect it to the person. I remembered their names all night.
I've been doing this for years. I think I got it from my friend Kathy. I notice if it's an unfamiliar name, I have to hear it spelled out for me to feel comfortable pronouncing it and to feel like it goes with the person. At first it's a little weird to have people spelling their names for me but it's either that or the humiliation of asking them 15 times a night to repeat it. Talk about looking like a doddering old lady.
Even last night at the canoe club, it was my first time out in an outrigger canoe. I kept getting instructed not to bump or touch the omagh?/ammah?/oma? on the ground... I must have heard the word 10 times yesterday. I asked someone how to spell it and they had no clue. So when I got home I surfed a bit and found that it's called an ama. Now I feel okay using it and I'll never forget how to say it.
Do you have frequent senior moments? Do you suffer from minor dementia? Maybe this'll be the trick for you.
Okay, peeps, I'm sorry for the trainwreck that was last week's blogs. Elliott was being a highly hormonal 14 year old boy and getting into American Pie style trouble at band camp. I'm over it and pleased that he wasn't kicked out for it. He's scrubbing latrines doing extra duties and hopefully in complete and utter misery. Which saves us from going through said misery in the house. Thank you Canadian government. For 3 weeks you can deal with what I go through. Not so easy, eh? I also want to thank those of you who shared stupid teen stories. I'm eternally grateful and you helped me get to my happy place.
To celebrate the return of my frothy mood, I'd like to talk about my most favouritest day of the year. My birthday. It's under a month away so that only gives you a few weeks to get your decorations up. My favourite colours are orange and fuchsia. As usual I'll be posting my wish list and just for fun, I'm going to let you know what my dream menu is for that day. Ready?
As usual there are Louboutins and a Smart Car on it. I know I'll never get them but the day I forget to add them, we'll win the lotto or something and I'll be sunk.
It's amazing what a little perspective will do. My mother used to say "God doesn't give you anything you can't handle" and amazingly, that's pretty comforting. We're just going to deal. I'm still too embarrassed to spill what's happened but needless to say, Elliott's a complete and utter moron. So in order to keep my sanity and to disavow my growing view that either I raised a sociopath or I'm the worst mother in the world, I wonder if I could ask for your help. Can you give me one idiot teen story? Doesn't have to be your teen, it doesn't have to be long, it can even be a movie you saw. I just need to not feel so alone. You have the whole weekend to give me a funny story... I really appreciate your help, guys. I'm just trying to have a nice weekend, here... kxx
Because of something stupid done by the subject of yesterday's blog (I can't even say his name right now), we got a call from his commanding officer and we may have to go to Toronto to pick him up. I'm beyond pissed and can't even think of a light-hearted blog for today. Sorry, guys...
Elliott was dropped off at the base Saturday morning to take him to cadet band camp. It took about 5 hours to drive down to the place where he'll be staying for 3 weeks. At dinner that night I bet Scott that we wouldn't hear a thing from the boy until the weekend. Well, last night I lost the bet because my baby called.
According to him, he lost his calling card and that's why he hadn't called until now. Frankly, I was surprised he called this soon anyway. He said the food there is pretty bad, that he's sharing a large tent with a bunch of other cadets and that they hadn't been issued their instruments yet. They've just been doing marching drills. He mentioned that he'd like me to bake cookies for him to share with his buddies. He also asked me to contact his girlfriend Erica to tell her that he loves and misses her. Hmph. I may just forget to do that one. I'll just be way too busy baking...
That's the good thing about having a blog that's not supported by ads or sponsors. I can talk about what I want, when I want. So there.
Today I want to bitch about my husband. He's a wonderful man and a loving father but he drives me crazy when it comes to waking up in the morning. The alarm clock is on my side of the bed, something that we've established years ago because he lets the clock ring and ring and it wakes me up. If it's on my side I can promptly switch it off and head back to sleep. Unfortunately he doesn't leave the bed right away. In my semi-conscious state, I realize he's going to be late and kick at him until he gets out. Of course, after all that punting keeps me awake. My alarm is set a full hour later than his so is it too much to ask him to get out of bed when the alarm goes off? I feel gypped of the hour of sleep that's owed to me. Owed.
Whew. I've gotten that off my chest. See, even though this blog makes no money and takes up a good chunk of my morning in the writing, it keeps my marriage from dissolving into a puddle of petty gripes and little resentments. And although the morning physical abuse helps (a lot), it does nothing for my psyche. So thanks for listening. You can now return to your regularly scheduled lives.
I've been looking at my feet in the Canada Day post and I can't get past it. No matter how many pedicures I get, no matter how much I moisturise, it doesn't stop my feet from looking like a kindergarten arts and crafts project gone horribly wrong. Something featuring a potato print for the foot and elbow macaroni for the toes. Sigh.
On Wednesday night I had an audition. The director, to help me curb my nerves, kept saying "It's just your average Wednesday night." Not bloody likely.
If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you know I worked for a few months at a tv production studio. My old boss recommended me to audition for narrator in a video teaching grade 11 students about Ethiopia. Why not? It's something I can add to my sphere of experiences, right?
Well, I don't think I got the part. I think the only thing I had to my advantage was that I was Black. The narration was impossible. I had to read super slow... and... I... mean... soooperrrr... sllllloooowww, and I had to enunciate every syllable. When I get nervous or excited I talk even faster than I normally do and tend to cut out whole sections of words to save time. I also speak very nasally, sometimes making my m's sound like b's. That coupled with the fact that I was shot from the waist up so I had to make appropriate hand gestures (What? I can't gesture pointing my index finger up when I say the word 5?) and I found the word "rural" to be completely impossible to say under pressure (too much 30 Rock, I guess) makes me pretty sure I didn't get it. But it was really cool to see the process and again, I can chalk up another experience in my biography pamphlet.
Anyway, I love this holiday almost as much as if I was going to get a present! We barbeque, we wear red and white, we go on rides, we eat beavertails and poutine, there are fireworks... everyone is in love with each other and our country. I can't sit around writing anymore, I hear the helicopter overhead from the nearby park! They have HELICOPTER RIDES!! See ya...
I'm a married mother of 3. I'm Canadian. I'm a Whovian, a sci-fi nerd, a ukulele player, knitter, cartoon/animé lover and a tv/pop culture-holic, I keep a blog that inflates my already swollen ego. I'm not all that interesting but I have high self-esteem which makes up for it.
Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org. Let's talk about the stuff I love.