Am I Missing Something?

As is my usual morning routine, I was watching CP24 and eating my bowl of Oatmeal Crisp (it's not oatmeal!) when the news scroll flips over this: "Transgender woman sues LPGA for right to play".

I did what I usually do...I Googled.  Here's the story...

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Transgender Woman Sues LPGA for Right to Play

Published October 14, 2010 | FoxNews.com

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Lana Lawless, a transgender woman who underwent a sex change five years ago, is suing the LPGA over their refusal to allow her into the league. 

The LGPA's "female at birth," requirement violates a California civil rights law, according to Lawless. The 57-year-old retired police officer is also suing three LPGA sponsors and the Long Drivers of America, which holds the annual women's long-drive competition. 

Lawless participated and won the event in 2008 with a 254-yard drive, but the organization has since changed its rules to model the LPGA's. "I am by all respects, legally and physically female," she said in a statement Wednesday. 

"The state of California recognizes me as such, and the LPGA should not be permitted to come into California and blatantly violate my rights. I just want to have the same opportunity to play professional golf as any other woman." 

Organizations such as the International Olympic Committee, the Ladies Golf Union in Britain, the Ladies European Golf Tour and the United States Golf Association do allow transgender athletes to compete. 

On its website, USGA states, "In the event that a player has had gender reassignment surgery at any point after puberty, that player must provide certain documentation to the USGA in accordance with the procedures set forth below." 

Lawless wants the LPGA to change its policies to admit transgender players before play resumes in the state of California. "Transgender is at the forefront of civil rights," said Christopher Dolan, Lawless' attorney. "Transgender people have been pushed into the dark for too long." 

The LPGA's CVS/pharmacy Challenge began in Danville today. 

The Associated Press contributed to this report. 

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Hmmmm

So it gets me thinking...

She was born a he...and professional athletics are divided by gender.  Now as a female who was relatively athletic a hundred years ago, I have never taken offense to the division.  In my limited experience,  men are, generally speaking,  bigger, stronger and faster than women...it's only fair to the athletes to measure their physical skill and strength by gender.   

Track and Field measures the skills, strength and speed of individuals.  Just for a quick comparison, Canada's Donovan Bailey still holds the record for 50m sprint with a time of 5.56 (held since 1996...yay for Canada and our friend Donovan!)  The woman holding the record since 1995 for the same 50m sprint is Irina Privalova from Russia, and her time was 5.96.  Here's a link if you are curious http://www.trackandfieldnews.com/records/  Go ahead and do the comparison...the men are consistently faster, jump higher and further and throw things further.  If these are indeed the best of the best, then I'd say it's a reasonable source to back me up.  Right?

I know there are exceptions as always...but if we removed the gender division in physical competition, would it be fair to the women?  I don't think so.  

So if a man has surgery to become a woman, should he be able to compete against women?

I'm fairly certain its not the reproductive system that makes the difference in athletics.  In fact, I'm quite confident its the muscular system.

So she's ticked off that she can't play in the women's league.  Maybe that's because she should be competing, in all fairness, against the men.

So am I missing something?

The Downtown Beauty Shop

Ah..the beauty shop.

Well...we certainly don't call it that anymore..now it's a spa or salon...

Styles change...but women don't.  We do enjoy our time together, getting all gorgeous :)

A short time before I actually moved into the condo, I was walking past my building, showing The Short One where I'd be living...when I noticed the salon operating out of my building at street level.  Right next to Tim Hortons. 

....insert choir of angels....

La Jolie Femme. 

The first place I went to after I had officially moved in.

They do hair, manicures, pedicures, facials, massages...they do it all baby!

Here's the link...plug, plug, plug...La Jolie Femme

But it's not just WHAT they do is the ladies themselves.  They remember your name and they hug and kiss you and they absolutely dote all over you as they pamper you...and I do like to be doted upon :)  What can I say?

Last night I went in to have my hair done.  I was greeted with a big hug and warm smile, as usual.  Nina put me in a chair and I started chatting with a young girl who was sitting beside me.

And this is actually where I'm going with all of this.  Women are women are women...and The Beauty Shop doesn't change, no matter what the year or the location. 

You would expect a bunch of snootball hoity toity nose-in-air women in a downtown spa.

....but oh no...

The young girl was gorgeous..  She had moved to Canada from Polysesia about 3 years ago.  A young mother of 2 babies..her husband has a nanny come 3 days a week to give her a break and she always visits the ladies at La Jolie Femme.  She has no other friends...isn't that sad?  She had brought some Collett Cards and we all giggled as we took turns reading predictions. 

My new young Poynesian friend kissed me goodbye when she left.  How cute is that?

Another lady about my age came in .. turns out she lives in the suite directly above mine!  How about that?  She's an avid shopper with a fantastic sense of humour...There's a store she keeps going into though she vows each time she's not going back...because she can't spend less than $1000 in there. 

Good gawd

She was sporting a new pair of flip flops adorned with a massive pretty jewelled flower..and she let one of the girls try it on...  We talked ex-husbands and kids and hair as Nina applied colour to her roots.

Then she grinned her pretty grin, pointed a finger at me and told me not to leave until she was done her massage as she was led into the back.. 

This little gem of a salon is like girl heaven..we all relax, enjoy one another, laughing and giggling!  When we leave, we leave relaxed, happy, beautiful, and with new friends.

It's true...the nanny scenario and $1000 shopping sprees are signs of lifestyles beyond what most of us have, but they are just people.  Women, that love to be pampered, to laugh and have fun...and they get lonely and need time with friends that care, relate and understand, just as much as every other woman.  The local beauty shop provides just that.

Women are women are women

:)

Fairy Butts and Meatballs

Saminator has such an great sense of humour.

A couple of years ago, that clever little boy looked in a mirror when Dad pointed at it.  Dad said "look at the monkey!"  grinning at his own joke.


"All I see is an Incredible Hulk" said the cheeky 4 year old, without cracking a smile nor missing a beat.

Atta boy!

On Sunday we had dinner at my parents' place in Hagersville.

That's Hay-gers-ville, not Hah-gers-ville...for all you big city folk.

:)

Mom served a fantastic smorgasboard of culinary delights.  Among them, was a casserole that had penne noodles, tomato, onion, mushroom..and chick peas, there was salad, meatballs, sausages....it was awesome!

However, the now much more mature 6 year old Saminator, had never seen chick peas before.

"They look like bare butts!"

He's right...they do. 

Mom suggested parmesan cheese would make them taste better and he sprinkled some on.  He gave the lid of the cheese shaker a lick with his tongue before setting it down.

And recieved a mild scolding...that's pretty gross dude.

His little face dropped a bit and I leaned over to whisper..."you are right, they do look like bare butts.  Little fairy butts..."

He giggled and picked up his fork.  The cheese didn't help...he simply doesn't like little fairy butts.

That's okay.

I still like the imagination :)



Funny...smart...creative... 

My little man.

Nothing beats watching your little ones grow!

It's Peanut Butter Jelly Time

OMG it's so good...

What is it about peanut butter and jam sandwiches?    Brings me right back to lunchbox days..that squished delight that smelled like bananas because mom happen to pack a banana too...

Kinda gross actually

But it stirs up several sensory memories from childhood.

The smell of the ink from the old style copies the teachers would run off.  Remember those?  They were more purple than black and the smell was unmistakably chemical.  That had to be good for a kid...

We survived :)

The sound of kids hollering and playing, skipping ropes tapping the ground, balls smacking gloves or swooshing hoops.

Feeling the hot sun..and not feeling the cold water..

Gawd I miss being 10.

Few worries, lots of play...

Although...it's kinda still the same.

I do work in a big 'ole dirt pile, and building a water treatment plant is kinda like Legos.

Today the fitter superintendent had a birthday so I brought an ice cream cake.  The Work Brothas sang him happy birthday and they shared.

It was nice.

Picture that a minute...

When we were kids we'd all spin around in circles until we fell down, dizzy as hell.
Now we just partake in adult beverage consumption.  It's similiar.  Less energy required.

Tomorrow we're all meeting after work to play baseball...expect full report Thursday...

I suppose when you start examining things, there's not much difference.

In fact, I might as well face it...all I do is count things and colour all day....

And eat peanut butter and jam sandwiches.

Play nice, share and smile often kids.

Don't Stop Believin!!!!

The group is Journey...the song...'Don't Stop Believin'

A singer in a smoky room....
Smell of wine and cheap perfume...

That's all it took.......you are singing it now too aren't ya.....come on...

heh heh heh....

It was downstreaming on my computer..and I hollered at Work Sista...laughing at the memories it brought back...

We sang this song at the top of our lungs, alongside the crowd gathered around the piano man at The Redhead..in Chicago.

THAT was one hell of a weekend..

And as we reminisced about our little last minute trip to Chi-Town, it was decided that that Friday was hands-down the best day of the weekend.

It started with leisurely morning...followed by breakfast....followed by SHOPPING (sung with biggest loudest opera voice...which makes it even more fun than just plain shopping).

We were walking up the busy sidewalks, giggling and chatting up an excited storm...pausing only when distracted by people who amused us.

Like the two young black girls that were behind us discussing their plans for the evening.

"I ain't goin to no lame-ass white bar!"

We giggled.

I think we hit every store down Michigan Ave.  And I'm fairly certain that I put a few kids through university.  The smoking credit card is usually a good indicator.

Work Sista however, had purchased nothing...nadda...zilch.

All that poor girl wanted was boots and a coat.  So once we unloaded my load of treasures at the hotel, I took her hand and told her that we weren't leaving Chicago without new boots on her feet.

And I meant it.

We went back down Michigan Ave, scouring every shoe store in sight. 

Finally, there they were.  Her boots.  A soft glow surrounding them.

Well not really...but I'm fairly certain I DID hear a choir of angels....

She asked for a couple sizes, unsure of which one would work...and settle for the smaller size.

Dayamm ma gurl looked hot in dem boots!

She left wearing them..carrying Ninja Slippers in the boot box.

We dumped the slippers back at the hotel and decided it was time to eat. 

Arm in arm, we sauntered into the streets of Chi-Town, lookin for grub.  And perhaps a beverage or two. :)

We came across this little pizza place...Pizza Uno...sitting on a corner of I forget where...  Down the steps we went, into the cutest little Italian restaurant.  We ordered a couple of personal size pan pizzas, and .....

OH MY GAWD

Best pizza ever!!!!

The crust was the perfect thickness, and sweeter than what we are used to here...almost like a Bisquick dough....  Toppings piled high and cheeeeese heavenly cheeeeese....

The Work Brothas seem to think it's impossible to shut the two of us up...but it's not ma friends....just shove Chicago pizza at us....

Orgasm in a pan...

Sorry mom

Appetite's more than satisfied, we left the restaurant and stood at the intersection, wondering what to do.

Across the way a little sign glowed at us...The Redhead....a picture of a piano under the neon red scrawl.

We looked at each other, shrugged...and walked over.

It was indeed, a piano bar. 

The piano man sat at one end of the bar...the 4 sided bar ran the length of the same side of the room, surrounded by tables.

We parked our asses at the end of the bar, closest to the piano, spinning around noting the small crown that sat in front of the piano man, chatting casually and singing along.

Cool

We surveyed the rest of the room from our respective perches, noting that every single person that worked here was beautiful...men and women alike.  That was odd...but very cool.  No complaints. 

We shrugged, spun back around and came face to face with Gorgeous Tarbender.

And smiled our biggest smiles.

We told Tarbender that we were from Canada.  Which means, just don't let the glasses get empty.  He gave a cute wink as he told us his name and asked us to holler should we need anything.

Yay for us!

We drank.  And drank.  And drank.

The crowd grew..and everyone, I mean EVERYONE sang along with that piano man as he played songs from 70's, 80's and 90's.  Songs we all knew by heart....

Like Journey's 'Don't Stop Believin'

:)

(See eventually I bring it back home)

At some point I remember turning back to face the bar...only to come eye to abs with the Gorgeous Tarbender who was reaching over our heads for something..  I slugged Work Sista in the arm..not taking my eyes off that perfect Six Pack.  She turned, and her eyes grew wide as they focused on the same image I was staring at.  I'm sure we looked attractive from the other side of the bar...sitting there with our mouths open, staring at the Tarbender...

What a couple of geeks....

Meh...

It's all good. 

It was a good night..my gawd we laughed.

At closing time, we left, walking arm in arm...doing this little leaning walk thing we do...

We stopped somewhere on a a bench along the river for a breather.  Her new boots were a little stiff and her feet hurt....

Then we carried on...back to the hotel.

I put on pj's and fell asleep immediately.

Work Sista did not get that far.

Remember those new boots?  In the smaller size?

They were too small.

And she couldn't get them off.

She leaned over to pull those beautiful boots off..but they wouldn't budge.

Out of breath and completely exhausted by both the effort and the long day ... she pulled her jeans down to the top of her boots, lay back on her bed and passed out cold.

Just like that.

At some point, she woke uncomfortable (go figure), and resumed the battle with the stubborn boots.  She leaned over and pulled and pushed..and still the boots remained.......She stopped to get her breath..  At this point she was prepared to cut them off if only there was something she could find that WOULD cut them off.  Poor Work Sista was terrified she'd be trapped forever in boots and the same jeans... 

Gritting her teeth with the grim determination only my Work Sista could muster, she leaned over one last time...and she did finally manage to yank those bad boys off.

She slipped into her cozy pajamas and crashed.

I missed the whole thing...fast asleep.

Fun times :)

I love my Work Sista!!!

PS...the next day we swapped the boots for the bigger size.....

it goes on and on and on and on.....

Getting The Heck Outta Dodge

You know that chick in the horror movies that hears a noise and goes to investigate?


Not me.

Hell no...my ass is outta there!



So now there's the G-20 coming up, here in Toronto.

We'll be hosting the heads of the World Bank, the International Monetary Fund, the Financial Stability Board, the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development, the International Labour Organization, the World Trade Organization and the United Nations.
The G-20 includes 19 countries – Argentina, Australia, Brazil, Canada, China, France, Germany, India, Indonesia, Italy, Japan, Mexico, Russia, Saudi Arabia, South Africa, Republic of Korea, Turkey, United Kingdom, United States of America – and the European Union.
 
That there's some important folk.
 
They've decided to host this little tea party right downtown...the lake a couple blocks away...surrounded by our financial district, the Roger's Centre...the CN Tower.
 
And my building.  My home.  Me casa.
 
yee frickin haw
 
We're flying in the Canadian Armed Forces, the RCMP, local police.  We're building walls...sticking snipers on buildings, putting boats on the lake...  so I should feel safe, right?
 
Fuck that shit
 
(sorry mom)
 
Maybe 911 is still fresh in my mind...maybe I'm watching too much TV...I dunno
 
But aside from the fact that I'll need special security clearance just to WALK home (can't drive, streets closed) ...  aside from the fact that this is basically a huge pain in my rump...
 
I simply have no faith in my government.  On any level.
 
First off, I'm amused that we are spending money we haven't got in order to host a summit on economics.
 
Secondly, we've chosen a location that's nearly impossible to secure and offers a gazillion opportunities for terrorists to infiltrate and reak havoc.  Let's face it, anyone with a political agenda had plenty of heads up should they have decided to actually move in to the area a month ago, so that they are already here with access to do as they please ...the frickin boneheads can't even keep a secret.  They could be here already.. they could attack from the water.. the sky...the damned trains.... the underground....  Shitballs almighty, there could be bombs already planted in all the underground paths for all we know...
 
I just have this image of the Marx Brothers doling out directions to the men and women expected to keep everyone, and everything safe.
 
And Pinky and the Brain sitting in a cave somewhere, laughing maniacally as they rub there hands together.
 
Bottom line...
 
Call me paranoid, call me chicken, call me a traitor...I don't feel safe..and I'm getting the heck outta dodge until it's over!
 
Fuggedaboutit!
 
 
 
 
 

Danger Is My Middle Name

I stand a towering 5'4".  I weigh in at a staggering (eff you ain't telling).

Raised in the the rough side of .. um... Hicksville ...  my street senses are finely tuned.

Okay, I'm full of crap.

I'm not very big, and my personality is very, very small town.

I smile a lot, talk to everyone and get laughed at when I'm actually angry.

In the words of Katie from Horton Hears a Who ... "In my world everyone is a pony, and they all eat rainbows, and poop butterflies."



But I had a moment. 

Once.

It was a sunshine filled morning and I was driving the long stretch of country road between my house in Bealton and my folks' place in Hagersville.

Ordinary enough.

I had been talking on my cell phone and lowered it casually when I saw the police cruiser approaching from the opposite direction.  I glanced in my rear view mirror, and saw him turn around to come back and follow me.

Crud.

I put my cell phone in my purse, check my speed, and put on my most innocent, angelic face.

He followed me into town.  And put the cherries on.

Summanabitch he HAD to wait until I was in town where people I knew would see.....

He was in his late 40's and approached my window from a distance.  I rolled it down, and grinned my 'yes officer, thanks for the friendly visit' grin.

"Where you going?"  Says he.

"My parent's house in town here" I point.

"Where you coming from?"

"My house in Bealton" pointing a thumb behind me.

He talks into his radio, and 2 cruisers pull up across the street, and a third cruiser pulls in behind him.

"Um....what are we doing here" I ask, fighting back a giggle.

"You are driving a vehicle matching the description of a vehicle seen leaving the scene of a crime.  A lone woman in a grey vehicle, suspected carrying arms"

"Really?"  I said "How exciting!!!"

I clapped my hands together and laughed.

He laughed when he said "I don't think it's you, but we have to go through the motions to be sure.  Do you mind if we search your vehicle?"

I looked over at the young officer who stood outside my passenger side...canine unit.

"Wow, really?"  I laughed..."sure!  Geez, I didn't know I was so scary!!!"

He sighed and shrugged and blushed a little...

As the canine unit officer poked around my back seat I said "boy am I ever glad I just had the car detailed!"

I giggled. 

He didn't.

Plththtth

They wrapped up their big search of the mom mobile...car seats and all...and the original officer apologized and thanked me.

"No worries, it was going to be a dull day!  Glad to have a little excitement!"

I laughed all the way to my parents' house.

After all...YOU may think I don't look like much....

......but I AM danger!!!

Four cruisers to handle me....be afraid!!!!

Ahhhh....Fresh Meat

The new guy started this week. 

MUAHAHAHAHAAAA

I returned from the loo to find him sitting in my chair going through a file.  He looked up with the most sheepish look on his face.  I couldn't resist.

I gave him the "wtf" gesture, palms up, and told him to get his ass out of my chair.

He started to fumble his way through an explanation and I cut him off...

"It's not a fucking library man, what are you doing?"

Outright panic as he gathered papers.

I started laughing and told him I was giving him a hard time...

"Take your time brother I need a smoke anyway"

But I scared him a little.

heh heh heh

Earlier today he asked Work Sista and I where someone was.

Now, keep in mind, neither one of us are secretaries or whatever the politically correct title is anymore.  So it's game on when a dude sees a bra and makes an assumption.

We both looked at him and told him the truth...we didn't know.

He stared at us with the "shouldn't you know" look...disapproving frown and all that.

"Yeah, we just work here buddy.  We don't have the secret password to the Clubhouse.  We think we figure it out and they just change it on us".

He kinda got that one ..

"They gave me 'Pink Petunias'...should I be concerned?"

"Maybe brother".

It's all good.  He's learning.

The other new guy is a little slower...and I think he's afraid of me.  I said as much one day and Six Foot Scary whispered that Skinny new guy is afraid of everyone. 

That kind of takes the fun out of it.

Skinny stood in front of me and asked me to fetch him a file on his second day.

insert eyeroll

I pointed to the cabinets behind me and told him to have at at.

"Well (dramatic pause for effect) ...what do you do when (topdogs) ask you for something?"  he says, insult laced with that not-so patient 'teach the dumb office beatch her place' tone of voice.

"They don't ask, they just help themselves."

I swallowed the "they know better" that almost came out.  He doesn't know better after all.  He, like the other new guys, assumes that if you have ovaries you must be there to serve those with balls.  Some dudes don't think hard enough to imagine some of the ovary carriers have a few more credentials...  But I cut them some slack.  It takes a lot of concentration just walking upright. 

:)



At least Sheepish has a sense of ha-ha.

And at lunch today, he earned Kudos.

We had pizza brought in for a going away party for Six Foot Scary and Eyeballs.

The usual banter and insults were flying - it was hilarious...often extremely inappropriate, but hilarious.  At the butt of most jokes was the Italian Stallion who is the self appointed class clown. 

The Italian Stallion was bragging about his ninja like qualities (he is a big dude and most definetly not ninja-like) when Sheepish pipes up and says "only an Italian ninja would wear a fluorescent orange vest". 

Holy mother of mother's comin outta left field.

"When did you fuckin start?" says the Stallion

Lawdy we were dyin with the one liners...what a hoot.

That's the business...this is the atmosphere...and this is how we treat the fresh meat.

We break em quick.

:)

A Date With Two Young Men

I don't know what normal is for most mothers, but normal for me has become a series of moments that inspire feelings ranging from pride to utter horror.

No bloody wonder I'm nuts.


Saturday morning I whizzed through Toronto traffic and made the trip down to the metropolis of Bealton to pick up the boys. 


(whizzed through Toronto....metropolis of Bealton...heh, heh, heh...I kill me!)


I reached my destination at 9AM and found them in their pajamas watching cartoons.  Red had a mouthful of green 'breakfast' liquorice.   


Sigh


I wanted to take them shopping before ball hockey at noon, so I began the process of getting them away from the TV and dressed immediately.  Promises of new hoodies from the cool store and a trip to the sports store sparked interest momentarily, but its pretty hard to compete with the Madagascar penguins.


And they had the Nerf launchers out too.  I got shot in the ass while hugging the Saminator.


Game on.


Red handed me my own weapon of mass destruction and skipped over to his hidden stash of 'bullets' so that I could defend myself.  It's only fair.  I pressed the yellow foam bullet into the barrel, cocked that bad boy and shot Red in the belly.  He fell dramatically to the floor with a giggle.


I reloaded and aimed at Saminator...who's eyes were glued, unblinking, at the large screen...mouth slightly open.


I shot..and the little rubber end hit young Homer in the neck, thwap, and stuck.  That was cool.  Saminator laughed as he yanked it off.


At least I had his attention.


Eventually the war game ended, the boys were dressed and we were on our way to the stores.  They were somewhat behaved as we made our purchases (after all..it was all for them), and we decided to go to Boston Pizza to visit The Short One and have a snack (and COFFEE) before ball hockey.


The boys bolted into the restaurant, barely managing to remain in the "To Be Seated" zone when I asked them to hold up.  I need to get their brakes checked.


Their sister greeted us with a big beautiful smile and the boys were off in two shakes to pick a booth.  We were in one when Saminator decided to run into another one.  I just gave him 'the look' and asked him to get back here.  The Short One whispered that someone from their head office was there so she'd have to be very formal.  I shook my head in understanding and said a quick prayer that the boys would leave the restaurant in the same condition it was in when we arrived.


Coats off, Red beside me and Saminator across from me, we ordered a snack and drinks.  We managed to get through the half hour with only a few requests to Red to get out from under the table, and a few looks at the Saminator when he stood up to fire his TecDeck across the wall.  That's a successful restaurant trip.


Then it was time for ball hockey.


I'm going to save you the play by play simply because there were too many wicked moments to count!  Saminator started the game by swooping over to the ball and running it past the other teams' defense to score with a cool little toss into the top corner.


Oh yeah...


He then moved back to defense, later taking the goalie position where he didn't actually have much action.


Cuz the RedMan was on frickin fire.


SIX goals ma friends.  SIX!!


The other team didn't have a chance as Red whipped the ball away from frantic players and maneuvered in, around, and through the other players until he got to the net where he'd fire in a shot.  After every goal he'd come running down the arena to get a fist five and helmet tap from his grinning mom.


My favourite play happened at the net.  He actually faked a shot bringing the goalie diving down to block a corner, then Red calmly pulled the ball back and shot over the grounded goaltender.


Like...where does the dude come up with that stuff?


My heart just thumps reliving the moment.  Kid rocks.


I drove back to Toronto to the sound of snoring in the back seat.


An hour after arrival, the kids decided they were hungry.  Now.  It was 4:00.


Time for our date.


Ever been to The Spaghetti Factory on Front Street?  If you haven't, go!  Highly recommended!  Lots of interesting decor, food is fantastic and you don't feel financially raped when the bill comes.  It's ahhhhite!


The hostess led us through the restaurant to our table.  I pulled the chairs out for the boys and pushed them back in for them.  The floors are covered with cushiony carpet that makes sliding chairs impossible...


They were each given 5 crayons bundled together with an elastic.  An elastic.


Sigh


We ordered chocolate milks and coke and discussed menu options as the boys untied their crayons and began working away at the paper place mats.  Spaghetti and meatballs all around.  Bonus!


Chocolate milk arrived in glasses with two straws.


'Please don't blow bubbles.'


'No...don't slurp.'


'You are not a walrus..please take the straws out of your mouth.'


Eventually I just took their milk away and they returned to colouring, briefly.


'yes, you have a big foot, now get that big floppy thing off the table.'


'Don't lean back in your chair, it's gonna go over.'


'No, really, it'll go over.  Sit properly.'


Dinner arrived and was enjoyed.  Butcha gotta have dessert.


Ice cream for everyone!


Sweet...


Leftover spaghetti cleared away the boys had to entertain themselves.  And if you take an elastic, and pull it between crayons like this....


'Put the elastic down before it flies off and hits someone.'


Two little lightbulbs appear just over the horns on two little heads.


The 'Ibroughtyouintotheworldandicantakeyouout Look' appears and the light from the light bulb momentarily dims.


The elastic turned into handcuffs.  They discovered they could handcuff themselves with wrists in front or behind.  Red explained he was going to jail.


'For what?'  Says me


'I was bad.'  Says him


'What did you do?' Says me


'I stole something.'  Says him


'Oh dear, what did you steal?' Says me


'Popsicles.' Says him


It's a tough world folks.


Handcuffs got boring and they tried pulling the elastics back between the crayons..(give them credit for not giving up easily) but their mother was on to them.


Saminator though it would make a nice necklace but that didn't fly either.


Who was the brilliant mind that thought that would be a good plan?  Bundling crayons with an elastic and giving them to kids at a busy restaurant?


In hindsight I should have let 'em have at at it, just so I could shrug at the distraught staff and tell them they shouldn't hand out elastics to kids.  I am kind of curious just what the little monkeys would have come up with, given the freedom to explore the possibilities...

Ice cream finally arrived, was eaten...bill paid..and we bolted before they discovered anymore fun uses for elastics.  

End of date.

Restaurant still standing if you'd like to check it out :)


We were home by 6:30, played a bit, bathed, and watched a movie.  We were all in bed by 8:30.


Not terribly surprising.


It was a good day though :)  And I am proud of those kids...despite the moments of shock and horror.

A Decade of Change

Check out Tim McGraw's song...sums it all up rather well :)

Back When

We had an exhilerating Safety Meeting last night and our team sat together through the meal, laughing about some of the funny exchanges we've had.  Most of them head slappers based on the things those of us over 30 know that the 20 somethings never heard of.  Like the rubbernecker theory and the Rumpelstiltskin stories I mentioned in previous blogs.

Things change, of course they do.  But what a difference a mere 10 years can make!

They don't remember rotary phones.  Remember those?  We had an avacado green wall mounted phone in the kitchen.  That was THE phone for the longest time too btw...  The cord was stretched 15 feet long and would get all tangled up.  You had to dangle the receiver and let it spin to untangle it.  You had to get rid of the rotary phones when 911 came into effect...it took too long for the 9 to go around...tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick....  Talk about a pain in the ass when you dialed the number wrong and had to start all over.  However, slamming the phone down on someone was gratifying.

We sit and listen to the young guys talk about their fancy gidgets and gadgets.  Dudes love that shit.  Six Foot Scary (45) finally broke down and got a BlueRay.  Hey, that's cool right?

Remember the disks?

Think back...way back...before the VHS, before the BETA.  The disk.  A big ass album looking thing. 

Albums...omg.  I'm about to get sidetracked for a moment.  But apparently I'm old and this is acceptable....

When The Short One was a little girl, we were visiting my folks at the farmhouse.  She found a 45 in my old bedroom closet and asked me what kind of a frisbee it was.

Wow.

The Tall One was about 6 when my grandmother was enjoying her birthday cake at our dinner table.  The mini Tall One asked her how old she was, and when she replied "71" his eyes just about popped out of his head. 

"Did you see the dinosaurs????"

I thought she was going to throw her fork at him.  But it had cake on it.

Getting back to the kids at work...who are only 10 years or so behind me...most of them...****sob****

They don't remember the PC era.  That's Pre Computers.

I remember when the office I worked in changed over to computers.  Big ugly ass yellow things with iddy bitty monochrome monitors that gave you a headache after an hour.  And the gigantic mainframe.

And using a typewriter.

In fact, it was a really good typewriter if it had the little preview screen that let you preview one bloody sentence at a time before you hit enter and it typed it out for you.  That was an electric typewriter.  I learned on the really ancient model you had to drive the keys all the way down, and listen for the satisfying little wack, wack, wack as you typed away.  And it dinged when you got to the end.  And the whole cartridge moved when you hit return.  You had to make sure your table was sturdy or shit would get knocked over.

Laptops.

pffft.

IPods.

sheesh.

Things have changed so much...but it's fun to remember..

Big hair, harlem pants, Cougar boots with the laces undone.....

Rumpelwho?

Stiltskin....Rumpelstiltskin.

It happens every day around mid afternoon.  We are tired and likely suffering from dehydration...and the conversation always tends to head south.

Big J is going to be a dad for the first time this summer, and so Little Bro made a wager that the baby would be born a week late.

"What's your wager?" I ask...

"I get the baby" says Little Bro

"The baby?!  Who are you, fucking Rumpelstiltskin?" I ask? 

Well really.

"Who's Rumpelstiltskin?" asks Little Bro.

Now, I love my lil bro...but sometimes he makes me wonder.  There's 10 years between he and I...I'm the old chick, and the stuff I figured everyone knew...

Frigalmighty I sound like my folks.  Shitballs.

Six Foot Scary, St. Louis and Work Sista joined the conversation.  I refreshed their memory on the story of Rumpelstiltskin (Six Foot Scary is old like me and remembered), but do you think we could remember how the story ends?  It was a happy ending for the girl...but what happened to Rumpelstiltskin?

Do you remember?

St. Louis googled. 

Gawd bless the makers of Google.

Originally the story ends this way:

Rumpelstiltskin ran away angrily, and never came back.

However, and this is disturbing, the ending was revised in 1857 where Rumpelstiltskin drove his right foot so far into the ground that it sank in up to his waist; then in a passion he seized the left foot with both hands and tore himself in two.

That's just gross! 

The chat fluttered between the freakish minds that came up with the revised ending, The Grimm Brother's movie (which was good by the way),  then ended with a few final jabs at Little Bro..

And that was our strange conversation of the day.

In the meantime, we really are building a water treatment plant here....honestly.

I think I need to go to bed early..and drink more water....

Red's Pet

The trip back to Toronto with the boys was rather amusing today.  This is the conversation I had with Red:

R: "We need to go on an airplane to see Sonwon"
Me: "That's right hunny"
R: "When are we going?  He misses me.."
Me:  "In June...after blackfly season"

pause

R: "I have a blackfly."
Me: "You do?"
R: "Yes.  He's my pet."
Me: "Really?  What's his name?"
R: "Charlie.  And he's blue."

choke back giggle

Me: "You have a blue blackfly named Charlie?"
R: "Yup"
Me: "Where does he sleep?"
R: "In bed!"

I should have known...

Me: "In an itty bitty blackfly bed?"
R: "NO...he's a big boy!"
Me: "Oh..."
R: "He sleeps in my bed."
Me: "My goodness, you have to be careful you don't squish him!"
R: "Mom....he sleeps ooooover me"

I'm so uneducated...

R: "He's 36"

blink

Me: "36...my, he really is a big boy"
R: "yup"

Me: "Does he bite?"
R: "No...he doesn't eat people.  Only Saminator.  He chases Saminator.  Then he eats him."

Well that explains a lot....

Me: "So you have a 36 year old, blue blackfly named Charlie that eats Saminator?"

R: "AIRPLANE!!!"

Red's equivalent to something shiny...and the end of the story of Charlie.

He'll be back though.

Safety Moment: Mess Hall Memories

Work Sista and I sat yammering away at Swiss Chalet between bites of lunch yesterday.  We talked about the men in our lives,  parties, work, friends... The conversation was fully animated..both of us hand talkers... 

Booths are a good idea in restaurants..food can fly off a fork at any given moment and the extra barrier provides somewhat adequate protection.

Somewhat.

I remember a shorter version of The Tall One winging an unwanted pickle across McDonald's.  It landed on the biggest, scariest looking meathead's table.  Splat.

I stifled a laugh, being the mature mother I am, and tried to act like I had no idea what just happen as I quietly scolded the little guy.

It was not the only pickle incident.

Recall the story told previously about Red flinging his pickle at the Duckman..and how it landed perfectly in the middle of one lens of his dark cool guy sunglasses...and stuck there.  And how Duckman didn't flinch or crack a smile..stern as ever as he stared through the pickle at the offender, waiting for me to take action.  Rightfully so, children shouldn't behave that way.  The poor lad has a freak for a mother however, and I only laughed my blessed ass off...cah'mon..that there is funny!

I must tell you though, dinner with my offspring has, in the past, proven outright dangerous.

At some point, utensils are introduced to children.  Saminator's early days with the spoon were indicative of his creative nature.  It was tricky actually putting the food on the spoon, so he'd simply lower his mouth to the edge of the table and use the spoon to slide the food across the table and into his open mouth.  Whatever works for ya brother :). 

When the fork was introduced, his creative side kicked in again.  He was quick to discover that the fork doubled as a weapon..and would whip it across the table.  The Tall One, who sat directly across from him became a target..and Saminator found it rather amusing when The Tall One's eyes would bulge in shock as he used his cat like reflexes to dodge the flying four pronged spear.  Dude had quite an arm on him for a toddler.

We've since managed to tame the wild man, but one should still be wary.

....there is always the possibility of some poor innocent sustaining injury...it could happen anytime, to anyone...

As with my Work Brotha JL...  He was cutting into a piece of crispy battered fish when the end flew off and bounced off the neighbouring table, falling harmlessly to the floor.  whew!  That could have ended poorly! Seated at the next table where a gangly crew of railroad workers...no doubt looking for any excuse for fun.  As it were, the only thing that got hurt was JL's pride as the 6 of us that watched on howled at his misfortune.   Well, the 6 of us and the railroad crew...and a couple of people that witnessed from the bar.  Nice one :)

We are sure to remind him of this on occasion.  Because we luv him :)

We'll be sure to get a booth for my Work Brotha next time we take him in public..as I do with my boys.

No promises though.

Consider yourself warned.

One Step Forward and Two Steps Back

When I'm pregnant, I'm a friggin heffer....

This wide angle pic was taken the night before my fourth baby was born.  I refuse to get on the scales after I hit 200lbs...which I did 3 out of 4 pregnancies.  For someone who's a size 6..that's a lotta extra meat to be carrying around.  And let's face it...the babies are less than 10 lbs a piece...

Mooooooo

It's not easy to do anything with all that weight...including sleep.  I couldn't lie on my belly (duh), if I laid on my back I couldn't freaking breathe and if I tried either side, my hips ached.

But we had this oversized rocking/swivel chair (yes...it had to be oversized to fit my enormous ass), and if I pushed back just so that I was on a slight incline...I was comfortable.  Hallefrickenlujah!

So the XX (reminder...that's hubs #2) got the idea to block up the chair on that incline for me, so that I could sleep.

Brilliant right?

Not so much....

Because when you are this flippin fat your bladder gets all squished and you have to pee frequently.

As with every other blasted night...the urge to pee came when the house was black and silent...everyone fast asleep.

And here's me...reclined in the chair....unable to get out...  I can't hoist my belly over the side, the arms are too big, I can't reach the wooden block to kick it out from under, my legs are too short...and my back teeth are floatin I have to go so bad.

So I start calling for help...which eventually arrives.

Hardy harr

But isn't that a bit like life?

Things aren't easy, so you think you find a way to make yourself more comfortable, but you've overlooked the obvious.

Sometimes ya just have to bite the bullet and holler for help.

No matter how bad it is, how embarrassing...people that care will help you.

And you may end up back at square one again, but if you hang in there, keep trudging along...things will get better.

Eventually I had the baby.

And lost the weight.

S'all good.

Behave all :)

Motivational Issues

I'm trying, I'm really, really trying....

The paperwork is here...the computer is on...but my mind is in a gazillion other places.

Outside for one.

It's beautiful out there.  Light breeze blowing off the lake...warm sun...sigh....

Kinda makes trudging through dirt an okay activity.

And I'm thinking about houses by the beach, and fast cars, and McDreamy...about kids and vacation and parties...even cooking retreats and furniture.

I stare down at this fascinating list of submittal register items that needs review and I'm trying desperately to be interested.  But I'm not.

pout

Motivational Issues.

I'm making cheesecake tonight.  :)

I need to do some as built drawings......

McDreamy is taking me for lunch tomorrow and I'm gonna take him for a wee tour of the jobsite.

I need to set up a new RFI binder....

I'm going for a cig.

This is exhausting dudes....

Smell Ya Later!

Let's talk odour...shall we?

Tonight I shared the elevator at home with 4 men...three regular type dudes and a suit.  Now I didn't get close enough to find out who carried which particular scent, but the ride up to my floor was not especially pleasant. It was a strange combination of nasty old garlic and onion breath and fart.

Not cool.

But it got me to thinkin....

Boys can be stinky.



3 sons and 20 years in construction...I feel fairly confident in my expertise on given subject.

I don't mind that after work smell that a dude who's been physically working carries.  That musty sweat combined with whatever he's been working on, whether it grease and oil or wood or whatever..it's kind hot actually.  Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't rush out and buy a bottle of that shit for my man to douse himself in any sooner than I would wear 'Eau de Bacon' for him.  Just saying, it's not an unpleasant scent.

As opposed to working sweat, nervous sweat stinks..no doubt about it.  In both case however, kindly keep armpits away from my face.  As funny as it may be watching me turn 60 shades of green when you have me in headlock, it's simply not a good smell.

Never mind the variety of particularly gruesome fragrances that pass from a man's butthole.  A source of entertainment for a guy and no doubt some chicks.  But not me.  Yack.  Can only imagine what the air monitors would indicate in some instances.  In fact, I've walked into a washroom innocently and unsuspectingly after a man has finished dying inside, and I'm almost certain that had I first tested the air with said air monitor, I would have been warned away from the toxic fumes inside.

They should have one of those things, in my opinion.  It doesn't have to flash and no siren is needed...in most cases...but it would be nice to have some sort of advance warning.  And a green light when it's safe to enter.

It's true...I will say it...that women poop and toot too.  But never in my 38 years have I ever been knocked to near unconsciousness after being assaulted by a lingering scent of fecal matter that came from the fairer sex.  Men pretty much dominate the market on that one.  Yay for you.

Now men can smell really good too.  There are some kick ass fragrances available in many varieties.  I prefer some over others, like anyone else, and personally I like to keep the scent subtle.  Body wash is often enough.  A bottle of Polo splashed over a dude has never done it for me.  Generally speaking, if you are clean, and have doused cologne on your person...yet people stop dead 3 feet in front of you and make a wide arc around you, I'm guessing you still stink.  Too much of a good thing and all that.  Just saying.

And ohhhhh does the same apply to women.  Men do not corner the market on the overuse of perfume.  Women do that way too often...

Then there's the hockey bag.  It's like a mulch bin of sorts.  The sweaty equipment goes in, you zip it up...and gawd knows what kind of biological development occurs in that dark place until the next time you open it.  All I know, is that it stinks.  Therefore by default, so does the change room when 20 bags are all open at the same time.  The frightening part is that the smell stays in the change room long after the bodies and bags are gone.  What exactly are we breathing into our bodies when we breath that shit in?  I don't want to pursue that train of thought any further.



And ahhh...the smell of alcohol oozing from pores in the morning.  Y'all outta walk into our site trailer some days after the boys have fired it up the night before.  Yeah, yeah, yeah...girls smell the same the morning after a bender too...but men must have bigger pores or something, because the smell is just...bigger.  Thank gawd for plug-ins.  Go Glade!

Getting back to the dudes in the elevator.

No doubt someone farted at some point.  I've also used my extraordinary powers of deduction (cough, snort) to deduce that someone, or several someone's, ate something garlicy and oniony.



Brush your teeth please.  Floss occasionally.  Listerine.   And try gum.  I'm begging you.  You open up that orifice and I know I'm not the only one about ready to fall out of my boots when the stench emerges.

Now I'm not immune to being stinky...no one is.  As a smoker, I know I don't smell great all the time.  But I wash my hands after a cig, I chew gum...I wash my clothes frequently.  I do what I can .. it's only kind.  I only wish everyone did.  Kind of like I wish I could win the Lotto or we could have world peace.  I know it'll never happen, but I can still wish for it.

I'm just gonna add, that even Jimmy the Irish street person smelled good.  It can be done boys and girls.

I have one more thought I need to get out before I leave you with today's nonsense.

How come no one ever frickin says anything?