28 Feb 2008

The Internet Never Fails To Impress Me

When you were a kid and didn't have to deal with stressy questions of life, you had time to mull those not-so-important questions over, like:

* Why do only Smurfette and Papa Smurf have hair?
* How come Goofy, the dog, can be Mickey's friend and drive a car, but Pluto, the dog, is Mickey's pet?
* Can Jon Arbuckle actually HEAR what Garfield is saying?

That last question has been given a twist by the owner of Garfield Without Garfield - who edits the Garfield comics to completely remove the unfunny cat. The result is a glipse of what Jon Arbuckle's non-hearing-Garfield life is really like.

Mad props to Bunny LaPin of Hitched for bringing this beautiful website to my attention.


20 Feb 2008

Imaginations Aren't Always Good Things

This blog marks the beginning of a tag called "Daddy Disclaimer". My parents and some relatives read this blog and I'm pleased that they do. However, they may not be so comfortable with certain subjects. Subjects that involve my descriptions of certain Lady Parts and certain "doings" of those Lady Parts. While this particular entry isn't all that graphic, I believe that it's a nice, soft way of introducing the "Daddy Disclaimer" - which is ultimately an upfront warning that an entry will involve mention of things most daddies don’t want to hear through the narration of their daughters. It is officially your fault if you continue reading and feel icky about doing so afterward.

Daddy Disclaimer is in effect.

So, this weekend, I felt like crap thanks to my period. My period is weird and has been for many years. It starts off like a normal person's, but then about two or three days in, it kicks itself into high gear and puts the pedal (that being my ovaries) to the metal (that being my pain threshold). Insane cramping, back pain and enough of "Aunt Flow's Special" to fully satiate many an Anne Rice character. The saving grace of this is that the intense badness can be tamed by Extra Strength Midol, a hot water bottle and tampons that are about as thick as grenades. In short, it's manageable and I have a system.

Late Sunday night, none of my standbys had any effect. Despite the barrage of pills and hot water bottles, I felt INTENSE pain through my abdomen accompanied with the feeling like someone was punching my 'gina and bum from the inside out. My lower back was crying for relief - and let me tell you - those stupid ThermaCare Heat Wraps are ridiculous pieces of shit that no one would back-flip over. Relief = NO. For hours, I felt the same aching, horrible pain and it literally kept me awake through the night.

At about 3:30am, my underslept imagination took hold and formed the only conclusion it could to explain this level of pain: I was going into labour. Despite using the best birth control ever (ABSTINENCE! Ha - kidding. Sorry, Daddy Disclaimer, for that glimmer of fake sunshine!), I convinced myself in the wee hours of the night that I was about to deliver a baby on my couch. Panic took me. I was already a bad mother. How many drinks have I had over the past few months? Moreso, how many times have I been Silly Drunk? Ughhh – and what about that time the barbell accidentally flopped on my tummy at the gym? Would baby have knees growing in the opposite direction and eyes growing next to its ears? After a great deal of silent sulking, I felt it was time to just face the facts and my ugly, horrible baby: I decided to push. I decide to just do it and deal with the badness of my motherhood and to make each day an improvement from that moment.

And then.


It happened.

I released the most pent-up fart of my life.

It was a fart that could have launched a thousand ships, leveled a small city and inspired the first all-tuba orchestra. God bless that fart. I gave birth to the most wonderful bundle of carbon dioxide to ever grace the earth. I know all mothers believe their offspring are the best, but I really mean it!

When the dust cleared (literally), I felt silly and stupid for fretting over “my baby” and quickly went to sleep. All was right in the world. Guilt-free living was still mine to enjoy. My butt-ugly baby didn't have to debut just yet.


5 Feb 2008

In Good Company

After my last post about Torontonians and the snow, I was sent links to two fantastic Rick Mercer videos in which he explores a concept I am very familiar with: Toronto The Wimp. He's bang on, as usual, and has given me a wonderful (and very handy) new word to add to my lexicon. I shall use it daily.



1 Feb 2008

The Great White Narcissists

Today, Toronto is a living snow globe. Heaps of the white stuff have hit the city square in the crotch and everyone is in full-blown, keeled-over storytelling mode of their individual "survivor story" of how they made it to work.

"I had to shovel my pathway before I could leave! Yah, it was really bad!"

"What normally takes me 40 minutes took me 1.5 hours!"

"Geeez, look at my pant legs! Does anyone have a hair dryer?"

"We all had to huddle on the GO Train platform together for warmth!"

Even though I live mere minutes away from my office, I clearly can’t be left out and must rant a bit about my trek.

Torontonians, you have so much to learn about snow etiquette. In other areas of the country, where folks are much less a-holey and much more adaptive to weather conditions, there are certain rules that people abide by. They’re not posted anywhere and rarely spoken of, but we all just follow them for the betterment of humankind. Since so many people in this city have no concept of consideration for others, I’ll lay them out for you:

1. When there is a single-person path through the snow (a sidewalk full of snow, and a path that is just wide enough for one person to walk on it), you need to share. If there are two people walking toward each other, the nice thing to do is for each person to keep one foot on the path and put the other foot into the snow as you pass each other. That way, each person gets a bit of path, a bit of snow and we keep things equal. Toronto: You do not keep barreling down the path, assuming the other person will just dive out of your way like some kind of game of chicken. And if that person doesn’t immediately sacrifice themselves into a snow bank to make way for your precious self, you don’t smash up against them without a word of apology. You stupid, stupid pricks.

2. If you’re one of those dorks who uses an umbrella in the snow, LIFT or TURN the umbrella so that you don’t impale peoples’ faces with its little spokes. Do not treat your umbrella like one of those supped-up Roman chariots that takes out whatever and whoever is next to you.

3. People in cars: Get over yourselves. Think about it – you’re SITTING in a dry, warm vehicle listening to music and sipping your coffee. You can wait the whole three seconds for the people WALKING outside in the wet, cold, slippery weather to make it across the street. Glaring and huffing and puffing over this horrible inconvenience just proves that it’s not human blood that runs through your veins but the toilet flushings from a roadside cantina.

There are more, but I don’t want to overwhelm you, Hogtown. And for the wonderfully people of this city that already follow these rules: Thank you! (And what part of the country are your originally from?)

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I have no shame

Need words? I'm a Toronto-based freelance writer who injects great ones into blogs, websites, magazines, ads and more. So many services, one lovely Jen (with one 'n').

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