And finally - I LOVE my friends

Barb Matthews in particular. A voice of calming sanity in my messed-up mind.
"Don't deny, don't pretend," she says. "Just go with the flow."

Word.

Red Alert! Red Alert! Abort! Abort!

My fucking universes are colliding. Why does this happen to me? OK, I am REALLY good at finding out information about people, but it's my job! It's what I do. It only sort of counts as stalking...

So it turns out dude grew up with my friend Barb that I went to university with, one of my BEST friends. She knew him well enough to ask "did he remember me?" No, it gets better. *I* (OK, we) WENT TO UNIVERSITY WITH HIM. He lived in residence. He was a fucking FLOOR REP. (SO not my kind of guy. I was more the resident dork.)

This is just weird. Is there any possible way i can just drop this nugget into the conversation? Yeah, I didn't think so.

O is for ...

I don't know - obnoxious opportunistic eye infection? Maybe we should just skip straight to P is for Pinkeye. Maybe not - I can live in hope. 5 minutes talking my kid down from the ceiling so I can dose him up with polysporin is NO fun. Expired polysporin, I might add Yep, parent of the century AGAIN! No surprise since half the freaking daycare has it, but I don't have to like it.

Or O could be what I'm aiming for Saturday night... I'm not spelling that puppy out. Use your imagination. You shall have to anyway, since it hasn't happened yet.

In knitting related news, I shall digress back a few day to the Frolic. It was hardly a frolic, more like a battle to stay on your feet while surrounded by hordes of bargain-hungry yarn shoppers. The Purple Purl had by far the best booth, IMHO. Best location, best sales, tons of yummy stuff and of course, the best staff, paid and volunteer!

I got to see the chick from Indigo, but I had no desire to meet her as she is clearly a spinner (in the non-yarn sense) but she did have my sock there! Colour me proud - I guess it couldn't have been too hideous.

Bought too much yarn with too little purpose - all greens, except a skein of Noro Silk Garden Sock id wild yellows and greens (oh, I guess that IS green) and some cool Dye-Version bamboo sock with lycra. They combine my two loves so expertly, and in a fabulous shade of purple to boot. (I'll do pics when my computer is back off loan.)

Today I committed myself to the Lotus Blossom tank - WITH Lickety Knits' mods or it will be a disaster. IK, what were you thinking? The original sure does have some serious flaws. But I bought some gorgeous Mist Alpaca pima cotton/silk in cornflower blue and I might just have to cast it on... NOW.

Yeah, right. HALF a tank top made of lace - who are you kidding? I give you a week before it's back in the frogpond.

N is for Neurotic

The joys of internet hook-ups. At least in a bar you have the benefit of your own perception rather than everything being put forwards how the other person want to be seen. Of course beer goggles and the horror of waking up the next morning next to a monster is even more scary- there's no going back from that mistake. Not that I would know, brought up in a convent and all...

Best case scenario - we meet, hit it off, bang, make concrete plans for the future, follow through and develop a relationship where we like to hang out and bang with the same level of interest. He doesn't begrudge talking time or see other women and he likes to be with me. I don't get all needy and start expecting birthday presents (yeah, you can laugh - I said BEST case scenario, not reality).

However, more likely to happen is:

- he treats me like a booty call at the last minute, won't plan the events and won't do other stuff. I want company as well as sex. "excitement every day", that's what he was shilling. Still it's pretty obvious they only say what they think we want to hear.

- he hates me on sight. I am fatter, more boring, blah blah blah

- he turns out to be a self-involved twat who can't get enough of the sound of his own voice. This one is highly likely, I suspect, but I might still bang him.

Why is he single? - another burning question. Some are divorced, broken up…. Not him. Just single. I know, I know, it doesn't matter. When he meets the love of his life he'll know, blah blah blah… as long as it's not me. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to be the one someone is desperately in love with and changes entirely because of , but it don't last, baby. Bang while the banging is good and get out! Actually, he seems imminently sensible and really too good to be true. No baggage. No kids. No ex. Seems to have friends and a social life. Hmmmm.

But a single 40 something dude in decent shape seems like an oddity… Nancy, quick! Turn around!

This mental lapse is brought to you by a charming series of migraines and belatedly, by Always - have a happy fucking period. This blog seeking sponsors with useful products - antidepressants, painkillers, and not least of all chainsaws, because we all know Malcolm solves his problems with a chainsaw and he never has the same problem twice.

5:34 am

Last night's post was a bit over the top, and I was quite drunk. Really, it was the rage/disappointment speaking, not the booze. However, both last night and in the sober (ha ha) light of day, I resisted sending him nasty emails. Wise move, my alcoholic friend. This is what I get this morning:

Date: Apr 25 at 5:34 AM EDT
No worries! We'll try for next week! I actually
just got up now--and went to bed almost right after we got off the phone. I was
EXHAUSTED!! Probably sounded that way too---so all was not lost by missing out
last night...(edited for brevity

Since it's dated crack of dawn, his credibility factor has gone up a lot. We shall see.

And just for the record, friends don't let friends drink and blog. I could delete last night's rant but I think it's a learning lesson for everyone.

HA

You know who's a cunting whore? He is. What the fuck? If I'm not good enough to meet for a drink, one drink, minor time commitment, then fuck you. I am not a ho.

I keep telling myself I'm over-reacting, I'm asking for too much but hey, get some self respect sweetheart. Get a grip. You are NOT asking for too much. No way. You know that and if he's doesn't see that, then kick him to the curb. NOW.

The fact that you can't discuss this with anyone is a fairly good indication that your self-respect is taking a beating. Not good.

For the love of god...

Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Auntie Flo is a cunting whore, pardon my language.

M is for making out

With any luck.

My sister is here, crusty as ever. I should take international negotiation. Being with her is like walking a tightrope for the first half hour or so, after that it's fine. The rest of my family doesn't have as much luck. OK, she's a crusty bag, but everyone needs to grow up and act civilized. Is that so much to ask? Apparantly.

We're taking the kids to the museum tomorrow. That should be entertaining. I can't believe I haven't taken them yet. This is a perfect age as they're all about the dinosaurs.

Then I'm ditching her with the rest of the family, the kids with STD, and going to help with the PP setup for the Frolic! Yay Frolic! Yay no kids!

Finally, miraculously, I am going on a date. Oh yeah baby, mama's getting lucky. Slutty? Maybe. Do I care? You gotta be kidding. Dragging my ass into the Frolic at 8 might be a challenge but he's gotta get up at 6. It could be worse!

L is for all things L

Lava dude - who I have prepared myself to be a little short of physical perfection. I found myself poring over his pictures, asking myself is that a bulge of fat? Do I see a potbelly? until I mentally slapped myself. Look in the mirror. More to the point, look around you - do you know any 40-something men who are perfect? I thought not. Lighten up and be grateful as he may not be so horrified by your gunt.

Lickerish - hours of entertainment and eye candy - say no more.

My lovely doctor who had us in, x-rayed and out in under 30 minutes. Jack now has a great appreciation for the structure of the human foot.
Injured? Who's injured?

Steps - the hard part is done. (yeah those last two have nothing to do with L)

And lemon cupcakes in progress despite my damned oven giving up the ghost haf way through. I called 9-1-mom and discovered you CAN cook cupcakes under the broiler. Go figure. But now I can get a new one! Yay! No more cooking on two burners, with no buzzer or oven light.

K is for... karma?

In some convoluted way, I'm sure all this makes sense and one makes up for the other... whatever. Karma started with K. Either that or I'm in for some mega payback.

I find I can do construction with my boys present these days. Granted it's not fast, and often not pleasant, but it is possible. Poor Cathy saw them at their screaming fighting best when she dropped off the railing (ain't she a champ? I am so grateful - must make cupcakes.) but they had settled down by this afternoon and I was actually making some progress.

I was trying to make the bottom step for the stairs and had spent at least an hour leveling the ground for the patio stone at the base when I gave up. The fucker must weigh 50 pounds and each time I had to move it it was a chore. I rolled it out of the way and propped it up against the side of the house.

Enter my charming, inquisitive Jack. He staggers towards me saying "I hurt myself, mummy". As usual. But I take off his shoe to investigate as requested and there is a GIANT PURPLE BLOB on the top of his foot!!!!!!!!!!!! I bundled him inside and installed him on the couch with a bag of frozen corn and eventually ferreted out that the goddamn patio stone had fallen on it. I feel sick just thinking about it.

After consulting the emerg # of our doctor and my local resident nurse, I decided to take him to emerg. HAR. Last time I do that for things other than breathing/head wound related injuries. 4 hours later I gave up and took my tired, overcartooned child home without even having been seen. I will seek the advice of my REAL doctor on Monday. He can't walk on it, and even when falling won't put his weight on it and I am just the teensiest bit worried.

Of course, then Calvin hit his elbow on the bathroom door and declared himself incapable of the most rudimentary tasks. Monkey see...

But the funny part is as I was leaving for the hospital I thought - where are the health cards? Having been blessed with a new wallet on Monday, I had transferred all my stuff to the new one and chucked the old, but for love or money I couldn't remember putting the health cards in (they were in they're own compartment). FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!.

I looked in the garbage and didn't see them, but then I thought - that garbage is pretty full, I bet I didn't put it out on garbage day (Tuesday) and - PRAISE THE FUCKING LORD - when I looked closer it was in there, the health cards tucked snugly into their compartment.

Karma indeed. I'm gonna pay somehow.

J is for Junk

One and a half tonnes, to be precise.
I loved Big Ben. Small, local, indy, fast, polite, non-nonsense, reasonable. Thanks, Ben!
(Perhaps my neighbour to the north should contemplate his services...)

And ohmygod where does the time go???? From the picture archives of 2006...

I is for ... I?

I am done.
(OK, no stairs or railing yet, and possibly not the most aesthetic structure ever, but the rest is done. I could have drinks if it would just freaking warm up already.)

I am 43 today. Happy birthday me. I gotta tell you, it doesn't feel any different and I'm glad but man, 43 sure sounds old. I was blessed with a migraine this morning, though, so maybe my body feels 43 - or maybe it just doesn't like the abuse I've been giving it lately.

Opted out of cleaning the house today even though it's filthy. That's not something I should have to do on my birthday.

H is for hepatic issues...

...which I will have if I continue to drink at this rate. I started at 3 yesterday, and didn't end until midnight. Not good. But fun! Drinks with Jennifer (too many of my friends have the same name) and company on the Danforth, followed by dinner with the family (always involving booze) and then out to the Cluck Fuck and Moo with my brother who was playing there again. And since I arrived with him, the cutie gal behind the bar comped my drinks! (I tried to pay, really I did.)

So this morning I forced my sorry ass out of bed at 8 and trundled down to Home Depot. To make a long story short, I managed to charm both the delivery dude (mullet extrordinaire - kinda looked like Hulk Hogan) and the little Indian home depot dude to deliver my deck stuff today rather than Monday, which wouldn't have done me any good at all. So now I can happily loaf until they deliver, hopefully early this afternoon.
Gotta love my detailed plans. I'm not at all sure this will end well. And I'm still out of booze.

G (finally) is for gung-ho!

Ah Easter. Spring is in the air, public holidays abound and my kidlets are gone for FOUR days. Time for some action!

My back porch has been a death trap for the last few years, and the insurance people finally said I had to fix it. Big surprise, it had lawsuit written all over. I am highly motivated. I spent the last few days at work planning (of course I left the plans at work) and after work yesterday I was raring to go.

Here's a sort of before pic. I had already dug out a massive lilac from in front of the porch and a euonymus (I have no idea how to spell that) and a spirea from the fence by the window:

Then I ripped the porch off the wall with my bare hands. That wasn't exactly tough and VERY pleasing. (the water barrel is still there because I'm draining 50 gallons of water into the nether regions of my garden. 50 gallons is HEAVY)
This in no way reflects the sweat involved in digging out the lilac (I broke my shovel and had to go buy another one, plus a crow bar that I didn't use - still. Who doesn't need a crow bar?). Or the amount of children's crap I had to clean out of there. And bricks from the driveway reorg.

My backyard is looking pretty Kentucky, eh?

Then I went to my friend Jen's who was gracious enough to let me crash her family gathering, ply me with copious quantities of red wine, and let me outstay everyone's bedtime. Sorry, Jen! Get a clock next time and put it where I can see it. Oh yeah, and she also pointed out that tomorrow was a holiday and I cannot replenish the booze supply in my house that ran out yesterday. Talk about bad planning. Good thing I'm going OUT to drink today.

Back to work. I wonder what will give out first - My muscles, my motivation, or my liver?