Friday, April 27, 2012

MIA

It's well known that there are certain kinds of girls who seem to disappear into thin air whenever they have a boyfriend.  They stop calling, they stop returning calls, you won't see them for months and months at a time.  What's annoying about these girls is that as soon as their relationships turn sour, they reappear, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they've committed one of the crimes of friendship, start calling again, and get all up in arms when you don't immediately call them back.

I wouldn't ordinarily count myself as one of their number... though I've had my moments.

As crimes of friendship go, new parents are very often guilty of this as well. 

Chris and Sara haven't done it... much.  They went into parenthood well aware that there is a tendency for new parents to pull that sort of disappearing act and prepared to avoid it.  They've made a point of having babysitters around, sometimes even when they're home, to prepare their offspring from a very young age for the idea that sometimes Mommy and Daddy are going to be out living their own lives.  They acknowledged that post-babies, priorities and finances would change, so things would not, could not, be exactly as they were pre-babies.  For example, as music lovers, they were, pre-babies, apt to go out to shows whenever they kind of wanted to check something out.  They acknowledged during the pregnancy that they probably wouldn't be able to do that anymore.  Not that they wouldn't do it, they'd just be a bit more selective, going to see musicians that they really wanted to see rather than those they were merely curious about.  And so far, they've been true to their word.

Although, just because Chris and Sara aren't guilty of it, it doesn't mean that that sort of behaviour doesn't drive me insane.  It's occurred to me that it's not just that pregnancy and childbirth are disgusting that has turned me off parenthood.  It's also that parents of our generation tend to be kind of annoying, and I don't ever want to be like that. 

I've been struggling a bit with the drinking-for-two theme ever since the birth of the minions and the closure of Sara's dairy farm.  Happily (for my writing habit, not so much for my liver), there's plenty about parenthood that drives me to drink. 



Wednesday, April 18, 2012

laundry day

To keep it simple for anyone who hasn't read yesterday's post and/or the related comments, this morning Sara wrote:

SarabethApr 18, 2012 10:56 AM


I have helped move you more times than I can count now and I have never seen this hippo shirt. I am curious. BTW one of your exes keeps on spamming me via hotmail.


There is clearly only one way to respond to this. 

1.  E-mail him back and tell him to stop it.  Also ask if he still has my microwave. And my milkshake blender.  And my camping equipment.  And my 1940's exit sign.  And my belt sander.  And maybe about $18,000.00*.

2.  See below:









Believe it or not (probably not so hard to believe for some), there were times when I wore this exact outfit out to the bar.  Maybe substitute a bock of Boreal Rousse and a Benson & Hedges Ultra Light 100 for the Android.


*In rent.  I've graciously not included board.

excuses, excuses

There was one time several years back when my summer fling of a boyfriend from 1995 showed up on my doorstep while I was in the midst of doing laundry.  As we'd broken up nearly a decade before and hadn't seen each other since,  this was a bit of a strange occurrence.

This isn't likely to shock anyone, but I tend to let my laundry pile up to the point where washing, drying and putting it all away is a chore that will take 2 days or more.  I let it go to the point where I have literally not a shred of clean clothing left in my apartment - that fits, anyway.  This is quite a feat, considering I am a hoarder and have T-shirts dating back at least as far as the early 90's in my dresser drawers.  On the elusive laundry days, I am usually found to be wearing something completely ridiculous. 

On this particular day, I was wearing an electric blue bikini circa reading week in Cuba 1998 as underwear, which was clearly visible from underneath the largely translucent and low cut nurse's outfit* that I was wearing on top.

The sudden appearance of the boyfriend 10 years past expiry date was awkward on its own.  My choice of attire did not help.

I always feel like I need to apologize and explain myself whenever there is a long gap between blog posts. 

Following yet another internet service disruption, I am starting to think that Bell Canada is plotting against me.  Perhaps as my come-uppance for a $50 phone bill from 1999 which I never paid.  Or perhaps the technicians are deliberately sabotaging me just so that they can keep coming back to my apartment to see what ridiculous thing I am wearing when they come by.

Not that anything I've been wearing has been really ridiculous, but context is everything.  When the first Bell guy came to set up my service, I was dressed for the gym in lycra capri leggings and a lycra tank top with supportive sports bra that squishes things in place so securely that I had cleavage practically up to my chin.  The next guy caught me in the middle of painting/renovating my bathroom, and found me wearing old jeans with plaster and paint splattered on, a tool belt, and a tank top that kept sliding down below nipple level.  I was wearing a bra, and I kept hoisting it up, but still.  Has it been my clothing or just that it's a repairman knocking at the door that has made me feel like I'm the unwitting and unlikely star of a cheap porn?  The most recent guy was probably a bit disappointed:  I was just home from work and clad in business attire.  I guess I may have been giving off an icy aura that said "I have to be a bitch to be taken seriously".

I can't really blame my most recent service disruption on the blog gap, however, since it only accounts for 4 of 15 days.  Nor can I blame the Easter holiday/my parents** and the 36 hours I spent visiting them.

I don't really have an excuse this time at all, except for this:  sometimes writing is hard***.  Keeping a blog, even one like mine, involves the same sort of time commitment as a part time job.  Which is sometimes problematic in light of the time commitment involved with my full time job.  Sometimes I just can't think of anything to say, and I don't want to squirt out boring crap for the sake of posting frequently.  Sometimes I have plenty to say, but my heart just isn't in it.  Even when I'm really motivated and have no shortage of subject matter, it isn't as easy as I hope it comes across.  I can spend hours putting together a few breezy and conversational paragraphs that are read through in under five minutes.  Also, like any other lifestyle choice (such as diet and exercise), it's hellish trying to get back into it once you've fallen out of the habit.    

My most recent internet service disruption and Easter with my parents were sufficient to get me out of the habit.  A general case of the blues has made matters worse.  Drinking wine and watching Netflix hasn't done anything to lift me out of this funk.  I even watched The Notebook last night, hoping that a few sentimental tears would be emotionally cleansing.  It wasn't.  But it's whet my appetite to watch more emotionally charged dramas - which will hopefully be a little less gay and predictable.  If anyone has any ideas, please let me know****.  

On a circumstantially related note, laundry day is again upon us.  I expect that tomorrow night I will be commando in a pair of zebra-striped fun fur pants that I bought in third year, and wearing the T-shirt that I was given at age 11 when I got braces, which features a hippo with braces riding a skateboard, and the caption "Braces Are Hip".


*I bought it at Value Village for $3 because it was kind of awesome and I figured I might be able to use it as a zombie-naughty-nurse Halloween costume at some point in future.  (Costume pending).

**Sadly, you can't blame your parents for everything.  Take note, Molly and Jack.

***If you don't believe me, I challenge you to try it.  I mean, I like writing, otherwise I wouldn't do it, but that doesn't mean it's effortless.

****On that thought, I cried my stupid face off when I read The Hunger Games in preparation for the movie.  This surprised several people.  I call it my stupid face because as I was reading, I was fully aware of every ploy that was used on to trigger that exact emotional response, but I was drawn into it anyway.  When I say "a little less gay", I mean "a little less obvious".

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

And...

... so ends a long and illustrious drinking career.  Officially drinking for none.

I've been living in denial for the past several weeks.  Feeling tender, emotional, tired and nauseous.  Convincing myself it was prolonged PMS.  Or some kind of virus.

But it is neither of these things.

I've opted to spread news of my unplanned pregnancy via the blog because (1) it seems appropriate, and (2) this way I won't have to deal with how to tell anyone and face their derisive laughter.  It will already be an established fact when I see or talk to anyone next. 

Anyone wishing to celebrate this unlikely event is invited to karaoke with Sweet Daddy Siki (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sweet_Daddy_Siki) on Saturday after next at The Duke Live at Queen and Leslie.  I will, uncharacteristically, not be drinking (and accordingly, probably not singing).











Oh, yes.  April Fool's.  I doubt that I actually fooled anyone, but I was struggling a little bit with tonight's intended post, and didn't want to close the lid on my laptop having published nothing.  I am aware that April Fool's pranks are supposed to be carried out on the 1st, but I laugh in the face of convention.

For real, though.  Sweet Daddy Siki could retire any time.  Does anyone really want to miss out on his karaoke experience?