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?

Lame Ass White Chicks

Work Sista gots huself a shiny new kitchen table.

We skipped outta work early...which translates into a 9 hour day...  I hadn't yet been to Work Sista's new pad yet, and she needed more space than her car alone allowed to pick up the new table and chairs she had just bought...so I followed her in my car to the furniture store. 

The salesman was a tall handsome Caribbean beauty with a big smile and cheerful demeanor.  He took the legs off the table and stretch wrapped it so that we could fit it into the back of Work Sista's car along with 2 of the 4 stools.  The balance of the set fit into my car.

We stood in the rain outside her car, just fitting the stools into the front seat when Buddy came out carrying the table for us.  I held the back door open to the disaster inside ma sista's back seat and grimaced.  Buddy suggested we clean out the back seat..and we zipped around the opposite side of the car as he stood there holding the table. 

The light drizzle turned into sleet.  It was frickin cold.

I opened the trunk and made a face that elicited a laugh from Buddy who shook his head.  My gurl has a lot of stuff dudes...  She crawled into her back seat scooping armfuls of clothes and gawd knows what else in the mystery mix that decorated the seat.  She dumped said treasure into the trunk and I slammed it shut.  Twice.

:)

She giggled.

We went back around to help Buddy maneuver the table into the back of her car...but there was about a half inch of window frame blocking the way.  Work Sista leaned in to help Buddy push that bad boy in..

"Dayam this is heavy!!! And you stood there holding this?  Holy crap!!!"

I held the door open like the lame ass white chick I am.  I'm like, not the right kid for this kind of work.  I push with all my weight and generally just fall down.

A passerby kindly offered extra hands, and the three of them pushed and pulled and twisted the table, trying to slide it across the seats.

Another passerby stopped on his bicycle to watched the show.  And laugh his ass off.

I continued to hold the door open and get wet.

She had to leave the windows rolled down, but they managed to get that bad boy in.

All I have to say, is don't mess with ma Work Sista dudes.

I followed her to her house and we parked across the street. 

She opened the back seat and gave that sucker a shove and it popped across the window frame...so the door wouldn't close and we had to get it out.  She pulled and I pushed..and we pulled and pushed with all our weight until finally, the table was sitting on the sidewalk.

Summavabitch we bad!

She hoisted the table in her arms with a whine-groan and I stepped up behind her to help (finally).  I was exactly one inch behind her, both of us carrying the table top with one hand, holding it at about waist level down one side of us...all the way  across the street in the pouring sleet with this funky little shuffle walk.  I think I about died laughing at this point...I have no doubt we looked ridiculously hilarious!  Two soggy chicks shuffling across the street in the rain behind table top, their butts wedged in between the frame that houses the table legs....  it reminded me of Romper Room when they used to make cars and trucks out of cardboard boxes they'd step inside and shuffle around the room tooting and vrooming.  We must have looked just like that to anyone looking our way from down the street.  We are just way too cool!

And yeah...that frickin table was one heavy motha!!!!  Holy beejaysus!!

But we did it :) 

And it roooooks mawvelous dawlinks!

It's not Monday?

Thank gawd the six year old is on top of these things....it's Tuesday, it's Tuesday, it's Tuesday....

What the hell happened to Monday?

Oh yes...picked up boys in morning...day was grey..rainy...afternoon trapped indoors with two balls of fury flying through multiple games on the Wii, swordfights and hockey games...a blurr of warnings about fighting, wiping tears, time outs, and those handy little Lysol wipes that are a must before sitting down on toilet...a vague recollection of a spaghetti dinner...and blessed sleeeeep....

Tuesday.

The sun decided to pay us a visit today...and since by 7AM the boys had had 4 wrestling matches, 2 hockey games and one Mario Kart race that ended badly for the Saminator, I decided we were going outside toodsweet.  (yes that was on purpose) I'm not sure what I looked like..but this is why God created the ball cap and sunglasses.

You don't have to drive far to find a place to set the animals free.  My apartment is fairly close to the lake and Toronto prides itself in its care of the beaches.  Rightfully so.  I'm not sure how far the beach goes but it's beautifully kept...and there is quite the assortment of playground equipment.  The best part?  Mine were the only two at the playground...

The joy of exploration of new equipment faded and a game of good guys vs bad guys began...multiple warning about sticks...about pushing...AND it was time to move on...  We ran across the span of beach volleyball courts, headed for the water.  No rubber boots...but hell...kids come washable and dryable.  

Sometimes as a parent, you must take one for the good of mankind.

We found ourselves a little spot and I plunked my arse down in the sand to take pictures while the boys searched for perfect stones to skip and to build sandcastles with their hands.  We were all equally delighted at the number of dogs walking their people up and down the beach.  Labs and terriers, Buster dogs, great danes and little pug nosed something or others.  They all introduced themselves, some offering the occasional lake water showers as their people grimaced.  It's all good.  

When Red became irritable at the happy pups blazing a trail through his sand wall, and Saminator stood up and half a tonne of sand fell from his person, I realized it was time to head home.  Lunch followed by nappypoo.

A hot shower late afternoon helped shake the cobwebs.  It takes considerable training to survive a monkey marathon, and I am sadly out of shape.  Yet I pushed on, so far unmedicated.

We went underground on the PATH to pick up new spring jackets with promises of donuts for the well behaved.  

I get a kick out of some salespeople.  Does nothing register as these retail queens watch me continuously warn the the boys to control their silly antics...repeatedly requesting they resist the urge to take swipes at their teasing sibling with their free hands, or feet, behind my back?  Do they know the power of the unbridled storm at my fingertips?  The two innocent faces barely suppressing the urge to tear free from the grip of their mother's hands,  to climb the shelves and reek havoc on the neatly piled T-shirts.  Oh the game of hide and seek that could be played amongst the racks of clothes and unsuspecting bystanders!  If they chuck all the clothes out of the bins...think of the wrestling match once they climb inside!  It's simply unwise to stand idly by and make me and my wee charges wait in line unnecessarily to make a purchase.  Two people in line, plus 2 tellers should equal no wait time...just sayin.  Especially when one teller is just moving shit around on the counter and acting like she's too good to be there.  I suggested to the older one who had damned near yanked my arm off by now, that I set them free if they don't serve us soon...saying so with enough volume to be overheard by the lazy saleswoman, cause that's how I roll.  The snotty teller offered to take me at the empty till as if she was doing me a grand favour.  Was it my comment, or the way Saminator's face lit up that inspired her?  Hmmmm...

If she only knew just how long my memory was.  That, dear friends, was that beatch's Mulligan. 

Coming back across the food court I asked the kids if they'd prefer an ice cream over a donut.  Duh.  As we waited what seemed an hour for the single person in line to finish counting their fucking pennies, the boys began to get silly...Saminator saying outrageous things as his younger, adoring brother laughed hysterically and  offered the occasional shove.  As this became a game of keepaway...with me as the barrier between the circling Terrors of Toronto, I simply looked at the ladies serving.  They were laughing at me.  Hardy fucking harr.  The look on their faces when I had the boys order their own ice cream was priceless.  Yes, I am out of my tree.  I have to tell you though, fastest freaking ice cream ever served on the planet.  Get the hell away from us, you crazy people,  was the message in that speedy service.  

See, now there are some smart people in retail.  All is not lost.

I did manage to teach one valuable lesson to my littlest angel today.

He insisted that he loved broccoli, and so for dinner tonight, I served pork chops and broccoli.  I did sprinkle some cheese on top.  Real cheese...not that Cheese Wiz that tastes nasty as shit.

When I put their plates down, Saminator was horrified, but Red had this 'oh shit I think I might be busted' look on his face.  

Saminator asked for something else .. okay, whined for anything else but broccoli, and I told him that's all there was.  He had to at least try.

I sat next to Red and watched him fidget out of the corner of my eye.

"Come on buddy, you said you love broccoli so I got it just for you...eat up now!"

I smiled as I said it, watching him measure me with his eyes.  The 'oh shit' turned into unspoken admiration.

Oh yeah, yo momma gotch yo numba.  You just learned your first lesson about your mother.  Never bullshit this bullshitter.

I let him fidget for another 5 minutes before I said "I don't suppose you'll be fibbing again will you?"

He solemnly declared he would not.

I brought out the leftover spaghetti.

And there was peace in the land of the Crazy Momma and her monkeys.

Now, it's time to clog the bathtub with sand from the beach, and go to sleep.

They will ask to snuggle me once they are all tucked in.  Saminator will wrap his arms around me and Red will snuggle into the crook of my arm and we'll tell each other we love each other.  

I'll try to remember what day it is when I wake tomorrow.

About That Church Thing

Forgive me readers for I have sinned....it's been 4 days since my last blog.

Miss me?

I've been preoccupied lately...it's true.  I know this will shock some of you, but I haven't even been out drinking lately.  Don't get all concerned..I've still been drinking, just haven't been OUT drinking.  Put the phone down...s'all good.

Yesterday PDiddy was talking about how he takes his kids to church.  United. He didn't grow up going to church, it was something he started doing as an adult.  For his kids.  Couldn't hurt.  I suspect there's more to it than that, and that's cool...these things aren't easy to talk about for everyone.

I, on the other hand, have no problem with talking.  In case you never noticed.  I know that's an odd thing for some people, but the way I figure it...we are all human, and human nature is the best subject matter going...even at the risk of what should be personal embarrassment...like finding out your mom is reading your blog.

My first thought was "frig almighty I swear a lot", and "holy jeez now they know way too much" but I settled on "meh...I've been a lost cause for 38 years...pretty sure there's not much left to shock 'em with!"

So hey Mum!  Welcome to my fuckin blog!

There, had to be done.

(10 bucks says she clucked, blushed, said 'oh Vicki!' and sighed)

Mom goes to church too. Anglican.

Oh yeah...this is me back on topic...need a minute?

She goes just about every Sunday and actively participates in all the funky functions.  She's the original church lady.  Minus the big hat.  I hope.

Mom made sure we went to church every Sunday, when we were kids.  At least my sister and I...dad wasn't interested.  I hated dressing up and can remember rebelling against this briefly at one point.  She told me it was disrespectful and...well...insert Peanut's Teacher's oboe voice here....  I had to wear a friggin dress.  Back in those days (yeah...LOVE saying that), people had "Sunday clothes".

Now, anything goes...jeans, sun dresses...whatever...just please show up.  That's kind of cool.  And having attended a small United Church that served the farming community I shared a pew with many people dressed 'down'.  People would once in awhile smell a little more fresh like country than clean as a whistle, but it's all good.  They showed up.

Anglican versus the United church has a few differences that stand out.  Now, for those really unfamiliar...Anglicans are Catholics that don't hail Mary or have one on one confession with the priest...and we are allowed to have sex before marriage and get divorced.  (hoorah!)  The United Church is even more liberal, however all you get during communion is some lousy grape juice.  If you are going for the good stuff (real wine)..you have to put in a full hour at an Anglican (or Catholic) church.  Well...at participating churches and all that.  I'd even ventured into a Catholic church once, but dude was wandering around chant-singing something and spraying shit all over me, and that's just not cool, even if you are in jeans.  Anglican is about as serious traditional church as I'd go.  I've tried the New Life Church.  That's pretty cool....  It's mostly music and singing and you get to yell a bit if you are so inclined.  Rock on dudes.

That's about as much as my limited experience in the church allows at this point.  I don't get into the politics too much...don't really care.  Not sure if that's blasphemous or not, but I know that peacekeeping amongst angry old church ladies and men that are fighting over church renovations and next week's hymns is not high on my list of things to do.  There's a lot of hurt feelings goes on and if I let myself get involved I'd..well...I'd likely just be meself..and that's not always very church-like is it?  

Mind you, if jeans are okay now...maybe an occasional "cah'mon" would be cool too.  Probably wouldn't end there for me though.  Given my tendency to burst into high speed trucker talk when provoked.  Meh...

Nah...even if I went to church these days, I'd stay out of that.  I'll stick to singing in the choir.

I remember when the Saminator was maybe 6 months old, he was sitting on his dad's knee when I stood up with the choir to sing something.  The little guy watched, stunned, as it was the first time he'd seen me up there...looking, I'm sure, like a freak in the oversized red gown.  As soon as I opened my mouth to sing my solo part, he started bawling.  Thanks man.  Apparently I really do sing like a bird.  A crow.  Or shithawk maybe.  Meh.  Rotten kids....

Oh I kept singin anyways...as if one screaming child would stop me.

Nope, these days I don't go to church.  No desire really.  I do have ongoing conversations with God, though most of them aren't what they should be.  As a Christian I know I'm supposed to be grateful, and trusting...humble and faithful...patient and...well, you know..all that good shit.  But I'm not at moment.  Big Guy has thrown a few frickin things at me over the last couple of years, and I'm not afraid to admit I'm a little ticked.  I'm pullin a spiritual pout.  Kind of like my eating habits.  I'm not sure who I'm rebelling against with my current diet, but I am.  hmpft.  Oh yeah???  Well I'm gonna eat cookies and wodka for dinner!!!  Ha HA!   Only.. the only one that is getting a big arse is me.  Fucking brilliant plan.  

The spiritual pout isn't much better.  I'm not going to church and I'm going to be a pigheaded moron because You pushed me too far.  There.  Yes, I know you found me a good job before I knew I needed it..and yes, I was smart enough to step through the open door, because even though I'm mad..I'm still faithful.  But I'm still mad.  This business about hooking me up with PDiddy then giving him cancer?  Not cool!!!  Yes, I'll continue to act in faith, but I'm also still mad and I'm not ready to do anything extra.  Pout.

Nope, I'm not helping myself.

Anyway...church is good...you should show up.  Be kind and shower, throw on some jeans...have a little grape juice and maybe even stay awake through the sermon...because He might be talking to you.

I know when I'm ready to hear Him again, I'll go back.  

And I'll try not to make anyone cry with my singing.

He Is His Mother's Son

My oldest boy turns 18 tomorrow.

The chubby baby with the big toothless grin.  The 2 year old, who insisted on wearing matching sweatshirts and sweatpants on the hottest summer days, because they were, after all, 'sweat' pants.  The 3 year old, who'd pick up his feet and fly downhill on the sidewalk, riding his little front end loader..narrowly avoiding pedestrians and laughing at his mother chasing him all the way. The 4 year old caught kissing Emily in the play tunnel.  The 5 year old firstbaseman, that pulled his mother's static clung nylons from inside his ball uniform while on first base.  The 6 year old that crawled under the desks during circle time, and spent many a day sitting in the principal's office.  The 8 year old frog catcher and tree climber.

Little shit.

He grew into a young man.

Knowing he'd be celebrating with his buddies on the big day, I invited him to dinner last night instead...  This is our texted conversation:

Him: "Alrighty. Lol.  Let me know when you're coming, cause I'll go to the gym until then."

Me: "Where's gym?"

Him: "Ymca right down the road from my school and oshawa general hospital"

Me: "Traffic is always the prob..I am guessing 5:30 but how about I call you when I get close?"

Him: "Going southbound on mary st which is running parallel on the right of simcoe if you were going northbound.  Call this cell?"

Me: "I can just pick you up at the usual parking lot at the park (by the hospital).  Yes."

Him: "Bah, that is such a walk"

Me: "Don't be a butthead"

Him: "Well it is my birthday"

Me: "Yeah, and I'm the one who pushed your big head out!"

Him: "Thanks for the picture."

Me: "You remember that..trust me, felt worse"

Him: "Alright, well that's just great..."

Me: "Lol, just a little birth control s'all...for you that is"

Him: "Should have stuck to condoms"

Me: "I think you were worth every minute"

Him: "So you'll pick me up at the ymca then"  (insert big cheesy grin emoticon)

Me: "We'll see"

Him: "Alrighty then! Badass"

Me: "Watchit...still yer mom"


I did manage to find my way to the YMCA and we headed out for dinner.  We passed a cruiser doing radar from a sidestreet.

"Fucking pig" says he.

I cock my head as I glance over at him "this coming from a future cop?"

"Not a cop yet" says he. 

Nope.  Sigh...he's 18.   Setting out to prove himself.

Dinner conversation was enlightening.  He's been accepted to 5 colleges, but has decided to stay back one more year of highschool.  He stopped my attempts at protests several times as he made his case.  Clearly his mind was not to be changed. 

Headstrong.

He is his mother's son.

He also told me about what he did for Valentine's Day.  In addition to calling me.  :)

He bought a half dozen red roses, tied a card to each..and hand delivered them to his closest female friends.  Just because.

I am proud of that kid.  Underneath the Kewl Dude 'tude, lies a big ole heart. 

This young man is going to be just fine.

Monday in Paradise

I brought cake. 


I'm not sure what's up with me, but lately I'm a regular Betty friggin Crocker.  The problem with the baking is the eating that inevitably follows.  Which is primarily why I came up with my original weight loss plan:


Feed everyone at work endless amounts of sweets, fatten them up...thereby making myself feel smaller.


It's an awesome theory.  I should publish this ..  It's got to be at least as good as stuffing 20 pounds of bacon down my throat everyday.  Right?  


No huh?  hmpft...well I tried!


Either way...I'm baking a lot lately, and the kids at work are okay with this...since I just bring it in for them to eat.  Which is how today started.


Cake placed in makeshift kitchen, I returned to my hovel, tucked my jeans into my socks, slipped on my work boots...threw on my stylin fluorescent orange safety melon, the hip hop happenin' goggles... and stepped outside for my morning stroll through paradise.  

How's that for a run-on sentence?

Mud.  Lovely squishy mud.  Slippery, splashing up the back of my legs, beautiful baby poop brown, mud.

And I love it.  Beats the hell out of pantyhose and heels boyz and girlz!  Well...on a regular basis anyways.  There are days when I miss looking like a girl...but at least I'm comfortable.

So I walked the ozone...the filter gallery...chatted with young QA dude who described problems associated with testing the big spool of pipe..won't bore you with it..  Nothing much to see outside, so I tramped back through the muck and headed for the plant.  Checked out a couple of places I knew they had planned on working last week...didn't see anyone though.  yawn.

So I was back at my desk fairly quickly...

Buddy was buggin my Work Sista about some friggin CD labels he wanted her to get for some project he was working on.  I keep forgetting how our ovaries make us beatches to some dudes.  I told him if he asked me I would have thrown him a marker.  Cuz that's how I roll.  Doitchaself arsepick!  Hard to believe that the mentality really hasn't changed ..  Women have come a long long way in the workplace, but there is always the underlying bowshit that we can't seem to shake.

I don't take it personally anymore, but it sure gets old fast.  Really, if I've learned anything, the only way to handle it is with a light hearted reminder that you just don't have to take that shit from the knuckledraggers... No sense in getting all upset..that only feeds the fire.  So I joke about it and forget about it...  meh..

I repeated my walk over to the plant in the afternoon and at least got to have a decent convo with the foreman there.  Ma brotha.  :)  And it was back to the desk shortly thereafter.

As always, the kids cleaned up every last crumb of the cake.  My ass is most grateful.

Hmm.. maybe with all this walkin, I'll walk away from the extra 15 pounds that's grown so fond of my exterior parts.  Hurray for me...a little bonus!  I can be a big loser too!

Just you leave that alone...I knowed whatcher thinkin!!