Off the treadmill

I went to the gym today- oh wait.... yes, I really did go to the gym today. My ipod was dead and there wasn't an episode of I Didn't Know I was Pregnant on, so I consoled myself by spotting dubious grammar in various locations. There was a flyer for personal trainers and one of the benefits was that you would 'lose weight and tone'. Why would losing tone be a good thing? I wondered (no I didn't, yes this is kind of douchey, exercise sucks, work with me). Then the little stream of words at the bottom of the news channel said there was a drug raid in Quebec where the police seized 'heroin, cocaine, ecstasy, marijuana and vehicles'. There's a new drug called Vehicles, I thought? (no I didn't, well maybe I did for a second).

On the way out of the grocery store, an old woman pointed out that a bag of buns was falling out of my cart. Then she patted my arm and told me to put on my coat, which I hadn't because I was hot from working out and even though the temperature was low it was sunny and felt nice-cold rather than bitter-cold. Old people always tell me to put my coat on. She said "just don't catch a cold. Take care of your life. Have a nice day, dear." It could have been annoying, but it wasn't. It was sweet.

Angus was in his last volleyball tournament (stupid teachers' union, stupid government) and he said he'd like me to come watch. I hate going to watch. I have to find a place to park and figure out whether to take off my boots or just skulk around the edges of the gym and hope no one notices I'm wearing outdoor footwear, figure out which court Angus is on, feel conspicuous and awkward, he never knows exactly when he's going to play. I hate going to watch.

I love that he wants me to come watch. So I went to watch. It worked out well. I got a good parking spot, I found the court he was on easily and he played for a good half hour and then I could leave and I got to see him make a couple of good blocks and hit a couple of serves. Plus, Good Mom points IN THE BANK.

Last day of Nablopomo. I'm not sure how I feel about how it went this year except that it's done, and I did it even when I didn't want to, and sometimes that's good enough (I tell myself this at some point during every canoe trip I've ever been on.) Special thanks to Nan, who promised to comment on every post on day one and even though I emailed her and released her from the promise immediately because I thought she might have been overly optimistic or possibly high. And then she commented on EVERY SINGLE POST - even the lame ones that only got two comments. Thanks to everyone else who commented also; it's a whole lot of blathering to have to keep up with in a month.

Okay, let's all do that thing like the volleyball team does where we all come together and slap hands and whack each other's shoulders after every single thing that happens, and maybe call each other Man or Bro or something. Okay? Because I love you all. You're my people. (It's Friday, my husband's home after a week in France and this is my thirtieth post in thirty days - I'm non-drunk drunk.)

Surly Thursdays

I actually had a pretty nice day. I went to the gym - oh wait, no I didn`t, I had a headache and it was snowing so FUCK THE GYM. I made a hair appointment and recorded some cds onto the computer so I could donate them, and then I was all I`m gettin`shit DONE today and then I tried to watch Criminal Minds but it didn`t record because my PVR is all judgey and stupid. So I went to the library to shelve books and then Eve came in and sorted the picture books and ran around the shelves and made fun of silly book titles and it was like when she used to come in after morning junior kindergarten and we`d hang out in the library except it`s a new younger library tech now and she`s less cranky than the old one, who admittedly still was lovely to Eve, and once you hang around the library for a while you see how one could get burned out and short-fused, because man, the kids, they are loud, and you tell them not to run and they walk two steps and start running again as if they think they just turned invisible or you`re too stupid to keep watching or something. And they can`t find the Geronimo Stilton books, or the Guinness World Book of Records books, or the inventions books, and then you lead them right to them and then they decide they`d rather read about lemurs or origami and it`s just all very annoying after a while. This is why I go in late in the day and finish after everyone else is gone and a few teachers are practicing choral music at the piano just outside the library and people are leaving for the day and it`s relaxed and holiday-ish. Angus`s grade six teacher from last year stopped in to say hi on her way out. Eve was very bitter that the teacher talked to me in English and her in French (force of habit). She said ``It`s after school hours - I`M ALLOWED TO TALK ENGLISH``.

I had a random memory today of one of the first times Matt came home with me to my parents`old house. It was summer and we were playing badminton in the back yard and while he was backing up to try to hit, he fell over a planter and knocked out the flowers. I thought my Dad wouldn`t care, but he was actually kind of peeved. Matt and I were both pissed at each other for not falling all over ourselves to take the blame. His position was that my Dad had to like me no matter what. My position was that the guest always got off easier. Looking back I can`t help but think what a couple of whiny suckholes we were. Geez, way to stand up for your woman - your pathetic badminton-playing had some collateral damage, own it, man. Way to stand up for your man - clearly my superior sporting skills were to blame, I should have stepped up. And Dad, Dude, it`s a few petunias - suck it up already.

Also, I was wearing shorts and a sports bra and my boobs were ADORABLE.

NOW I`m surly.

Wordless Wednesday (thank god thank god thank god)

MOTHER-IN-LAW ALERT: CHRISTMAS PRESENT SPOILER AHEAD




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I've been making up Shutterfly calendars for Matt's Mom and Dad. I've been meaning to do them for years and finally got around to it and it's easy and fun and I had them shipped out today. Until yesterday I didn't have a good November picture.

Four Days More

Oh! I was just typing that to console myself that I only have to post every day for four more days, but it made me think of this, have you seen this? Okay, most of you are Facebook friends with me so you probably have, but if you haven't, it's very, very funny.

We went to Yuk Yuks on Saturday night with (counts in head) seven other couples. We did the dinner and show thing because you get preferred seating if you do this. After we did it, we realized we probably shouldn't have, because the food is pretty much as indifferent as you'd expect and then you get to sit NICE AND CLOSE to people who are going to notice if you're not paying attention and will probably ridicule you in front of a full house if they get the chance.

Anyway, it was funny. I was expecting to be doing quite a bit of polite laughing because I always feel bad if I don't laugh when someone's trying to be funny, but they were actually funny. I would put a clip of one of them from Youtube that I found on here, but the two clips I looked at were really kind of stupid, so he was having an off day or it was early in his career or something, and if I put it up I'm worried that you'll just feel sorry for me for thinking this dramatically unfunny person was funny, or suspect that it was the gin prompting my amusement and not the comedian, which screw you, he was funny, he liked raccoons and panthers that ate people, and he made fun of people who try to make smoking weed and dildos better and IT WAS FUNNY.

I took the van in to get an oil change today. Pam came with me. I was anxious, so she parked her car in the parking lot so she would be with me while I drove into the Express Lube lane. This is one of the many reasons I love Pam.

I'm tired. I'm going to make breakfast smoothies and lunches and try to remember which book I'm reading.

Pass the effing sedatives

I had an appointment at the Royal Ottawa Hospital today to see my sleep doctor. This is the place with the small parking lot right in front of the main entrance, where every time I go I can't quite believe how easy it is to park.

Until today.

I don't know if it was a two-electro-convulsive-therapy-treatments-for-the-price-of-one Cyber Monday thing  (yeah, I shouldn't make jokes about the fact that the Royal Ottawa is for crazy people, except EVERY SINGLE PERSON I told I was going there for sleep stuff made jokes about me going to the Crazy People Hospital, and apparently if you're in a group you're allowed to make fun of the group, so...) but today the front parking lot was completely full, and there were cars parked all along the drive that led to.... nowhere. It looked like it should lead to more parking, because the lot in front is really quite small, but there was a staff parking lot, and a maintenance-and-delivery parking lot. You really had no choice but to drive along this path looking for a parking place, and then there was really no convenient place to turn around. There was a road that went nowhere, blocked with a concrete slab, so you could either make a fifteen-point turn or back up for half a kilometre, and then there was a big delivery truck I came face to face with and had to turn around in front of.

Did I mention I have pretty big anxiety issues?

There was another parking lot across the driveway that said private parking lot, which I thought maybe just meant more expensive, and I would have paid almost anything at that point, but I got over there and realized it was just a parking lot for some business that put its parking lot right beside the hospital parking lot just so they could experience great hilarity at the expense of hospital patients. Also, I almost slid into another car while trying to get out of that schadenfreude-laden parking lot, because did I mention it snowed a bunch last night?

My appointment was at 10:30. I got there at 10:20. At 10:40 I was still driving around trying to figure out what to do. Bursting into tears and going home was high on my list of preferential options. Heading for the nearest Tim's and filling my van with doughnuts was a close second.  I thought I should probably at least call the doctor's office and let him know what was going on.

Did I mention I forgot my phone?

I took one more pass. There was one spot. I would have to parallel park.

Did I mention I don't parallel park?

I took a first run at it. Ended up with my rear bumper against the curb and my nose sticking out into the drive. I thought maybe I'd misremembered where i was supposed to start relative to the other vehicle, so I took a second run. It was even worse. I figured I was remembering correctly how to do it, and remembering even more correctly that I sucked hard at it. I took a deep breath. There was no one coming down the drive behind me, so I took it as a sign. I tried once more. Now I will have to stop mocking movies where they do the big fake two-failures third-time's-a-charm thing, because I parallel parked that motherfucker like a rock star('s professional chauffeur). I got out and stood there gaping in admiration for a long moment even though I was later than I've ever been for a doctor's appointment by now.

Then I had my appointment and I've always liked this doctor but it was never more apparent than today that we just really don't speak the same language. He kept asking me things like "do you feel more rested in the morning? How much more? Is your reading comprehension better? How much better?" Um.... thirty-six percent? What do you want from me, Dude? I was sitting there feeling a bit demoralized that I don't feel that much better yet. And THEN he says, "well, the benefit from a CPAP machine really maximizes at four to six months". THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN HELPFUL INFORMATION TO HAVE UP FRONT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

He's a nice man. I hope I never have to see him again.

Pass the effing kleenex

When I was young, I cried all the time. It pissed off my mother, which seems unfair because she always cried a lot too. And it drives me insane how people think you should just be able to not do it, because duh, it's not like we do it for fun, or on demand. I got a little older. I still cried a lot. Weddings, funerals, auto shows. Then I stopped. I hardly ever cried any more. I thought maybe I was maturing. Maybe I was developing a nice hard cynical shell. Maybe I'd cried all the tears and there were none left.

Then I read a blog post where someone mentioned that she didn't cry any more because of the antidepressant she was on. I was thunderstruck. It was the drug? How did I miss that? I knew it made my eyes and mouth dry. I knew it made it hard to lose weight. How did I miss that it made me not cry? Which I was all in favour of, by the way - the less snotting up in public the better.

Now here I am. Since I started on the CPAP machine, I've gone to an extremely low dose of my antidepressant. And oh, fanfuckingtastic, I can cry again. Which would be fine if I could cry elegant, restrained movie-star tears - you know, just enough to feel in a sort of glamorous way that I'm able to hear the mournful music of the spheres, or feel the elegiac sere sadness of human life - shit like that.

But no. It's all ugly crying now. When Eve was at drama camp in London this summer and we went to the end-of-the-year show, the campers all sang this song and then the counsellors sang this song to the campers. If I'm ever caught in the car and one of these songs come on the radio? Good Christ, I have to pull over, it's freaking tearmageddon, the windshield fogs over, there are salt stains on the upholstery, HELP HELP, I NEED TO BE DEAD INSIDE AGAIN. I started watching this show because I stumbled over it on the Space channel and I needed to fill the space for a postapocalyptic tv show left when I realized that I couldn't force myself to watch the vapid, belly-button-exposing, generically-good-looking-leads dreck that is Revolution. It's mildly diverting, but it's not like I'm glued to it or anything. In fact, I was half-reading the paper today while watching. Then this woman is in labour and the baby is breech and this grizzled old soldier-guy walks in and washes his hands and says he helped the midwife turn his own daughter in utero before his wife's home birth. And suddenly I'm squishing up my face up so hard my chin is bumping my forehead in a desperate attempt to NOT START SOBBING ABOUT THIS STUPID ALIEN INVASION TV SHOW.

It's humiliating. It's undignified. Who the hell wants to walk around in constant danger of an incipient GLURT of weeping and wailing showering innocent bystanders? I'm going to have to up my dosage. Or get my tear ducts cauterized.

“Eventually something you love is going to be taken away. And then you will fall to the floor crying. And then, however much later, it is finally happening to you: you’re falling to the floor crying thinking, “I am falling to the floor crying,” but there’s an element of the ridiculous to it — you knew it would happen and, even worse, while you’re on the floor crying you look at the place where the wall meets the floor and you realize you didn’t paint it very well.” 
― Richard Siken

Going Postal

Every year, we send Christmas presents to Matt's two brothers and their partners and children (in Toronto and Edmonton), his Mom and her husband and his Dad and his wife (in Thunder Bay at two separate addresses - oh, I did make it clear that they were divorced and remarried, so obviously they'd be at two separate addresses or whoo, that would be weird). That's fine; these are all people that I love and I'm pretty good at finding the right present for the right person. What is not fine is that, for the duration of the acquiring/wrapping/packing process, which can take up a good part of November and December, my entire living room and dining room are full of boxes and presents and wrapping paper. Nothing gets bought all at once, and then somehow even when most of the packages are ALMOST ready to go, there are always one or two more finishing touches left, then I remember that I need to include a card, with a witty summation of our year, and some pictures, and THEN when they finally ARE all ready to be mailed, it takes my husband those extra few days to get around to it, and then it costs as much to mail the wretched things as it did to buy them. And it adds a bitchy little twist to the holiday cocktail that I always wish wasn't there.

Last year I vowed that things would be different. I'm a good present-shopper, but an inefficient one. I tend not to make lists and cross off each person as their gift is acquired, but instead to pick up things that feel right and then often end up with eight gifts for one person and a depressing lack of presents for another. This year I would shop online and ship directly to the recipients and I would not buy anything unless I knew who it was for.

It hasn't worked perfectly. My campaign to get the downstairs storage closet cleaned out unearthed a veritable cornucopia of clothes and toys that need to be shipped to the small boy cousins in Edmonton, so I didn't restrict myself to online shopping for them. There were a couple of things I'd ordered for Matt's Mom and her husband LAST year that didn't come until after we'd shipped the package, so those need to be mailed. BUT, I have already ordered and received delivery confirmation for the stuff for my father-in-law and his wife and Matt's brother and his girlfriend in Toronto (even though I buggered up entering their address even thought it was RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, and they're doctors so they've probably despaired of my intelligence). That's FIFTY PERCENT LESS boxes in my living room this year. Okay, that's not really correct, strictly mathematically speaking, because the Edmonton stuff has already filled three boxes, but whatever, shut up, it's a better success rate than I expected.

Also, I stopped myself from buying one of these at the craft fair. Because how would I decide who to give it to? I would have had to go back and get one for everyone. And my living room would have been full of.... okay, forget it, that would have been insanely cool and now I wish I'd done it.