Tag Archives: Give me a break

The Print Behind The Basement Door

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I have a print that I bought when I lived in Toronto during my college days. It’s black and white with guys in a band playing their instruments on water.  When I bought it, my friend was with me and said “it’s you”.  So it became mine.  It adorned my walls from then (late 1980’s) until I got married.  It took up wall space in the first house, however, was relocated to spare rooms and basement dwellings since.  It has survived three kids, six moves, three provinces and random garbage purges where Hubby has threatened to throw it out never to be seen by anyone we know again.  I would always retrieve it and place it back in the confines of a secret hideout where I would hope Hubby would not notice it or try to remove it for a garage sale down the street.

  Hubby has, on numerous occasions, proclaimed it ‘inappropriate’ for visitors to see.  I thought it was awesome then, and I still think its awesome now.  I always take his lamenting over my 80’s print as verbal manifestations of a childhood lacking in fine art instruction and I immediately pooh-pooh his suggestions for trashing it.

It is currently sitting idly beside our refrigerator in the basement behind a door; hidden from view and any visitors coming in and giving him that perplexed “WTF?” look.  At least, that’s the look he thinks people will give him.  I, on the other hand, would expect expressions of  “Gee, that’s the best black and white print of guys playing instruments on water while jumping excitedly, that I have ever seen!” and “Where did you get such one of a kind art?” and the BEST comment EVER:  “That’s fucking awesome”.  Yeah, that’s what I expect.  I think the general public should be given the opportunity to comment on the complete awesomeness of my taste in musical art.  I have taken a picture of my print for your perusal.  Comment below.

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As for the visitors being hurt by viewing such a wonderful piece, I think it’s worth the risk.  My print should come out of the shadows and take a place prominently above my desk, you know for inspiration…and to piss off Hubby.  Yeah.  Great plan.  Make it so, number one!

When the print has taken its rightful place above my creative writing space, I shall take a picture and post it.  I can’t wait!!  It’ll be awesome.

Of course, there will be a fight about how I didn’t measure before I put holes in the wall and how it’s crooked/too high/too low/ugly as fuck…

Wow, the weekend is really shaping up!

My print sandwiched between the basement door and our old fridge. Nobody puts baby in the corner.

My print sandwiched between the basement door and our old fridge. Nobody puts baby in the corner.

Blind Shopping Forthwith

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Last night was grocery night.  A veritable joyous occasion and of course I head to the mecca of all shopping locations, Costco.  There is NO good time to arrive at Costco unless it’s in the middle of a raging snowstorm and the population has decided not to endure the trek and remain home in their cozy houses snug as a bug.  Since we live around the corner, it’s hardly a trek but it is a royal ass-pain when it’s blocked to the gills with ‘out-of-towners’ who flock to their doors like the world is ending the next day and they HAVE TO HAVE the package of 12 toothbrushes for mega-sale price of $12.99. Not to mention the 100 rolls of toilet paper and the 50 pack of batteries.  Since it’s the ONLY Costco location in the province, we locals do have our ‘special’ visitation times.  Dinner hour is the most opportune, hence my decision to hit it forthwith.  I like that word ‘forthwith’…it’s a cop word.  “Boscorelli, I need a bus forthwith!”  Yeah.

Of course, I wind up with the ‘special needs’ cart.  You know the one.  The misshapen rusted bucket of steel with the wonky wheel that heads in the totally opposite direction in which I want to go and it seems to swing at total random times forcing me to apologize to every other person the cart rear ends.  Yeah, that one.  That’s the one I get EVERY TIME.  It’s like it has a homing device on me and locks me into its path the second I step into the doors.   ‘Oh, look SHE’S here.  SHE’LL take me’. Ugh.  AND now, my eyes are giving me sauce, so I look like Mr. Magoo trying to figure out the aisles and what’s down each of them with my cart haphazardly banging into shelves and people at an alarming rate.   My squinted gaze at the deodorant aisle only heightened my attractive gait as I swung my cart to the left, meaning to go right and narrowly missing an old couple with a cart full of toothbrushes.  I guess those were for the visiting grandkids every weekend…. I thought they were going to call security on me until I swung the cart around towards the bedding aisle and crashed into the shelves of duvet covers and down filled pillows.  Nice save, Rogue.  I rock.

MAGOO TOAST

I managed to end the painful shopping experience in under thirty so headed home before I counted any further casualties from the assault-cart.  I think people were grateful for my less-than-graceful departure.  I believe I even swore a couple of times in the presence of youngsters…they didn’t look shocked so I’m thinking Mommy and Daddy have encountered the ravaged ‘special needs’ cart a few times themselves….I unbagged my groceries a little while later to find a few items I didn’t realize I bought.  WTF do I need a package of 12 toothbrushes for?  I bet that old grandpa threw that in there when I wasn’t looking!  He had a shifty look to him….Dammit……

Anybody need a toothbrush? Apparently I have enough for a small African village.

Anybody need a toothbrush? Apparently I have enough for a small African village.

 

The Spring Thaw

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So the weekend happened and the exhausting task of searching for dead bodies in the melting snow has me a little freaked.  What?  You think I’m kidding?  Pfft….I wish.  Seriously, the snow has melted in exponential amounts and everyone is afraid to go into their backyards right now in fear of what they’ll find.  I know some runners who refuse to run the path around the ‘hood in case something pops up that they would rather not witness.  I should back-story this a bit.  See, in January or February of this year a young man was last seen exiting a cab in our neighbourhood never to be seen again.  Many people believe he headed for the wooded area that a new subdivision is currently under construction and is also home to a walking path.  They think in his distraught state, he fell or fell asleep out in someone’s backyard or lawn somewhere.  That weekend he went missing there was a violent winter storm and the thoughts are that he succumbed to the weather.  Inhabitants are put on the lookout by the local police to scour their backyards before the full-on melt is on.  Has me a little jittery.  I hope he is found so he can be put to rest and his family has some closure.  I hope he is found to be living downtown after joining a band and dying his hair blue.  I can hope!

Spotted:  I so wish I had taken a picture of this when I saw it happen on Saturday afternoon.  My neighbor who lives across from me and beside Miss H has the reputation of being, not only a busy-body, but a lawn fanatic.  I guess she doesn’t give a shit about dead bodies, because she and her Hubby were out shoveling what’s left of the snow onto the road.  Yeah, I see you laughing.  I shit you not.  She’s pissed because as she gazes longingly at my house, its brown grass apparent and void of any snow or ice like everybody else on my side of the street, she looks down at her lawn and all she sees is a big pile of brownish frozen crap. Her snow bank remains piled on the edge of her front lawn, its brown ice and shit-colored edges egging her into a maniacal fury.  (insert wicked laugh here)  So out she goes after wrangling hubby out of his comfy armchair, with shovels in hands to set to right a definite wrong and swing those shovels as if it was the last thing they were put on earth to do.  Poor, Mr. Pat.  I would have paid good money to see him heave a big shovel full of snow at her in playful spitefulness.  Good money, I tell ‘ya!

Son played hockey on the weekend and ended up in emergency department with a possible concussion and sore ribs.  Have I ever told you how much I hate hockey?  Yeah.  Now I have reason to pile on the hate even more.  He is 80lbs soaking wet and the kid that power- drived him into the corner FROM BEHIND weighed as much as me…or more. (okay, he weighed a lot…)   Son bounced back up instead of staying down reveling in his pain and made it back to the bench.  He sat with his team despite the pain until the end of the period.  He followed his team into the dressing room for the intermission.  He came back out to start the third period with his team.  He sat on the bench and wanted to stay.  Then the nausea set in and Hubby whisked him to emerg.  Two hours later after seeing nice doctor and, by all accounts cutie x-ray techie, Son is fine.  He ended up missing the whole celebration on the ice, the medal presentation, the fun, the frivolity.  Kid that hit him received no penalty.  Nada. Nothin’.  They said if son had stayed down on the ice like we tell him NOT to do, the kid who committed the illegal hit would have been given a 5 minute penalty and tossed.   That’s not Son.   He has heart.

He was visited at the hospital by one of his friends and given his medal.  He is feeling fine now, just tender ribs but hockey has forever placed a sour taste in my mouth.

Hockey=yukky-poo-poo.

AND, for all of you who need a little reminder why I love to blog, read this and revel in the glory that is logic.

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Surviving Grad Night – My Plan For The Ultimate Mommy Pleasing 24 Hour Grad/Prom Day

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GAH!!!

GAH!!!

 

D2 will be celebrating her prom/grad soon (here, they don’t have ‘proms’ they have grads.  D1 informed me of this when she graduated a couple of years ago. The grads around these parts are what I imagine to be similar to the American version of a prom, but the kids here cringe at the word ‘prom’.  I don’t know either, just go with it)  In preparation for such an auspicious event, I have prepared a guideline for the parent (particularly the mommy )in surviving the broo-ha-ha that seems to follow impending graduate every step her painted toes take her.  A mother of the graduate needs to take precautions lest she fall into the unending abyss of distant high school memories of her own and drunken exclamations of ‘when I was your age, we didn’t have this fancy shmanzy stuff.  We had a diploma thrust into our hands and a ‘get on with it kid’.  You kids today with your video games and Snookie…blah, blah, blah..’’  Yeah, let’s try to avoid the self-loathing and guilt laden lectures, shall we?

Part 1- The Dress

Okay, so a lot of preparation and many woman hours manning a computer searching endless data bases of ‘prom dresses’ the internet has to offer, has left you cross eyed and vomiting pink frills.  No worries, the end of this nightmarish search is nigh.  The girls these days are so overflowing with social media that their cousins best friend’s former next door neighbor has already secured the one dress your darling desperately needs to make all her grad dreams come true and has splashed that picture all over Facebook before you can say, ‘but that’s not a dress, that’s a shower curtain’.  Have no fear.  Get daughter to revisit some of her favourite websites that hopefully occupy this hemisphere, with her three top choices.  Among top choices, check for price, availability and the ever important ‘covers-her-ass’.  Darling should look lovely, not a cheap hooker for the visiting Senator.

Once the top three are chosen and you inspect the website and assure that it does not emanate North Korean phrases like ‘you buy dress, we not take over your army and cyber warrior your ass’, then you are almost ready for the big buy out!  Get out your credit card, mommy dearest ‘cause baby’s buyin’ her first car?!  No!  That’s the price of the dress, silly!

Daughter should take friends trying on different styles of dresses before settling on the ONE style she thinks best suits her frame…and covers all her assets.  I can’t say this enough.

Our excursion to the formal dress salon was important just so I could see if the dress D2 selected was flattering for her…it was, she did a lovely job.  I was left out of the whole ‘let’s try on a gagillion dresses to see which one I like’ which was probs a good idea.  My idea of shopping is getting into the store, getting a dress that won’t fall off or make me suck in my stomach too much and getting the hell outta there.

If you visit the salon, they will actually order the dress for you!  Had I known this little tidbit two years ago, I would have done that instead of ordering it myself off the internet and waiting anxiously for two months wondering if the dress would actually show up.  To avoid this, GET THE NICE PEOPLE AT THE STORE TO ORDER IT FOR YOU.  That way, if it doesn’t come in, you can build up a good rant and blame the disaster on them.  You are free from responsibility…a phrase you have been waiting 18 years to hear.

Of course , the next step is the alterations.  Get the store to refer you to reputable local talent who can hem a dress faster than a dip like me could thread a needle.  Ain’t nobody got time for that!  We were introduced to a nice lady who had been hemming dresses for 18 years.  Tip:  If your daughter has severe allergies to cats, it’s probably wise to inquire whether said seamstress has four Persian cats living in her house and occupy every possible living space like the kitchen counters…because when you walk in and see them staring at you ominously, it’s a little creepy.  Not to mention a tad life-threatening for darling.  Not that it’s ever happened to me personally…okay, yes!  But we’re still here!  We rock.

So, we have the dress, the shoes, the accessories…what’s left?  Really?  Did you just ask me that?!!  Uhhh….THE DATE, maybe?!!!  AND…. Tickets, the flowers, the cards, the present, the makeup, the hair, the nails, the inhaler, ( allergies, remember?) the pictures with mommy and daddy and nanny and the neighbour’s cat…. Then there’s the grad dinner, the father-daughter dance, the all-night grad party, safe grad, breakfast….*sigh* …a bit exhausting.

Part 2- The Party

Once the dress has been secured, it fits, it’s not laden with cat hair, the wrinkles have been steamed and darling has managed to secure its location away from the teeth of the dog, tickets are in her hand, appointments have been made, wine has been purchased (for mommy of course)  it’s time to make sure mommy has some moments during the next hectic 24 hours.  Here is my time table for this event:

Friday evening:

Happy hour with Bestie and neighbours to ensure mommy is in a great mood for the next day and prepped for all that is to ensue.  Ensure D2 is getting to bed early and not out partying it up with friends too much the night before, lest she be the spawn of satan the next morning.  Darling needs her rest so she can remain her pleasant and effervescent self and mommy needs her wine.  Both are important aspects for a smooth day.  Trust me, on this one.

Saturday morning:

6am:  Take out dog for walk

6:15- 8:30   Down copious quantities of coffee, eat breakfast, clean floors, send Hubby out with son to Canadian tire.  THEY NEED TO LEAVE THE HOUSE…’cause they’re boys and they’re messy.  It’s a well known fact.

9am:  See if D2 is awake, ask her to make it to the kitchen without touching the floors.  (what? Her first test of the day.  Let’s see if she can do it!)

9:20:  Calm down D2 and assure her I will not be piggy-backing her to the kitchen nor force feeding her food.

9:30:  Tell daughter to get into shower before mommy decides to get in there and drain the hot water tank.  Nothing sends teenage girls into a tizzy more than NO HOT WATER!!  hehehehe

10:00  Get Bestie over to have some more coffee, and start on D2’s hair.  Ensure the shellac is close by as that ‘do can’t move for the next 10 hours!

11:00  It’s five o’clock somewhere…nip of wine while darling is on the phone and getting her makeup done.  What?  No judging, people.  I will gladly have a glass ready for you when it’s your turn….

12:00 officially lunch time.  Get Hubby to run to Subway, feed all the darlings and myself and drain that first glass of wine.  Yeah, this is shaping up to be a great day.

1:00  What do you mean, you want me to go with you while you’re getting your nails done?!  Okay!  Sit and get nails done while D2 gets hers done.  Have second glass of wine while waiting for that stuff to dry. I fucking love grad day!

1:30 Get darling in her dress, meet the date (the most exciting part as Hubby interrogates the boy) take pictures, avoid the dog photobombing by licking herself in front of the photo, have some wine while the friends wander around the house and eat, make sure son hasn’t escaped to Nurse Betty’s house to hang out with friend, make sure neighbor girls come by to see the pretty dresses and show their mommies what’s to come, smile profusely knowing that it’s almost over, share some wine with DH ladies and show off those nails!  We rock.

2:00- 6:00  stay home and fidget while D2 is off with friends getting pictures at their houses with their parents and their dogs photo bombing the pictures, have some more wine, order some food for supper, get ready for meet and greet.  By this time, the first bottle of Merlot is gone and you are well on your way to making a great impression at the meet and greet with the other parents and graduates.

6:25 attend meet and greet after Hubby swears profusely about the lack of parking, D1 complains her grad was better and son is itchy in his tie.  Stumble into the centre to see D2 with her friends, take awkward pictures with people you don’t know, have awkward conversations with parents you don’t WANT to know and send darling on her way to the dinner.  Get Hubby back into the car to drive home and wait until we are summoned back to the grad to dance with D2.  Open second bottle of Merlot while waiting…

8:00 Go back to the centre, plough our way to see daughter, take more pictures, watch Hubby and D2 dance, cry like a baby, take more pictures, give D2 kiss and see her at home, cry like a baby, get in car and go home to cry like a baby and finish off that bottle of merlot.

10:00 Wait in front room for D2 to come home only to change, and leave for the rest of the night.

Midnight:  Pace the floor, worry about D2 and her friends, text to see if she’s okay, go to bed.

5am: Open door for D2 give her a big hug and send her to bed

5:05:  Back in bed and smile that you have survived grad night.  Only one more to go…..

D2

D2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Can’t Believe You’re Reading This, Can You?

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I haven’t blogged in a while.  It’s not that I haven’t had the inclination or the desire, it’s just that I’m having a hard time coming up with something interesting to say.  I spent the better part of yesterday trying to come up with a blog-worthy topic and ended up playing endless games of spider solitaire and…ugh.  I can’t say.

I just wrote a whole speel about the-place-that-shall-not-be-named that I had to strike-through.  It was nothing earth shattering.  I didn’t just divulge state secrets or tell you where Hoffa was buried. It was just about candy and …you know, the usual.  And not candy as in ‘drugs’…  Sorry I led you on about that.  Gag order and all.  You understand.

I perused the Freshly Pressed site last night whilst daughter was keeping the puppy company and found a cornucopia of topics peeps wrote about.  I even recognized a few bloggers I visit.  Wow..awesome dudes and dudettes.  The topics were great and every time I stumbled upon one, I did a face-palm and exclaimed ‘why didn’t I think of that?!’  Yes, why indeed.  Was it because I’m not as creative as these obviously dedicated writers and bloggers?  Was it because my brain has been on vacay lately and my mojo seems to be gone for an extended hike up Signal Hill?  Maybe it’s the lack of something missing in my diet that is preventing me from producing my wit and wisdom with all to share.   Too much chewy candy.  That’s got to be it.  Ugh.

Well, I should get moving and return to topic-hunting.  In the meantime, occupy yourselves with this compilation of Bruce Willis singing (badly) on his old show Moonlighting.

Thanks for stopping by!