At least I get a free trip… May 30, 2008

Guilt trip that is. Why oh why do we procreate if not to ensure that every moment of every day of the rest of our long, tormented lives are packed full to the brim of shiny hot molten guilt? It’s miserable. We have these babies and we love them So. Goddamned. Much. and they bring us so much joy but along with the joy there’s a disclaimer; the fine print that nobody notices until AFTER the birth has already taken place: JOY TO THE WORLD YOUR CHILD HAS COME*

* Joy to be accompanied by lifelong grand-piano-full of guilt that you will carry around on your back crippling you more and more with every step. Enjoy.

When Jules was teeny tiny I felt guilty because “omg I put him down for a few minutes and he just sat there and stared at that wall and was soooo understimulated and is probably going to be a violent social misfit a la Charles Manson baaah” and then he got bigger and I started to expect more from myself (domestically speaking) and I started to get into “omg I left him alone while I ran downstairs to switch the laundry and he pulled himself up against the couch and fell back and bumped his head and probably has brain damage and will put his shoes on the wrong feet until the day he dies baaah” and then began The Era Of The Obsessive House Moving (story: bought a café in the city, moved in temporarily with relatives while we looked for a house, realized we couldn’t really afford to get back into the real estate market in the t-dot quite yet, decided to rent and save up some money. Endofstory) so one minute he’s living in his own house in the burbs, the next he’s living with nana, the next in a little apartment and then in the next year or so we’ll move AGAIN into a house (that I vow to stay in until they carry me out in a straight jacket… you sooo thought I was going to say “pine box” didn’t you? huh? didn’t you? but I have key insights into my own mind and don’t think I’ll make it that far before they lock me up) and anyway I’m plagued daily by the fact that Jules has been bumped from house to house and “omg are we f*cking him up from all the moving and he’ll have detachment commitment Oedipal abandonment Freudian sociopathic issues from now until eternity baaah”. AND more recently when I was at home with him (until I started working in this godforsaken place 2 mnths ago) (oops! Pay day. I love you new job. Pay me please!) I was always “omg is he watching too much tv we should totally go outside oops I just lost him in that snowbank did he eat the yellow snow are his toes going black and falling off from frostbite maybe we should go back inside is he watching too much tv baaah” AND NOW I’m at work and he’s at home with John. They have a great time together and they get to do all this male bonding BUT I know he misses me and tonight I have deigned to make plans to go out straight from work and NOT be home to eat dinner & put Jules to bed for the first time since I went back to work (what were you thinking? A social engagement? For no good reason than because you wanted to? You’re the worst mother ev-ah!) and then Sunday morning I’ve agreed to do some volunteer work so I won’t be around (tsk tsk tsk. Soooo selfish) and next week I’m having dinner with friends one night and AGAIN won’t be home for dinner/bed (*gasp* one social engagement was one thing but two? TWO? Can someone please get me the number for child services?) and next Friday is John’s and my 5^th wedding anniversary so I’ve arranged for him to go to my mom’s for the evening and stay OVERNIGHT and that is a huge, huge thing for me, Internet. I’ve only spent one night away from him since birth – that’s one night in 2-1/2 years. So tally it up and that’s two evenings, a morning and an overnight and it’s just bad timing that all these things have fallen within a one-week-span and I feel like I already never get to see Jules cuz I’m here at work and “omg I’m the one thing that’s been constant through all the moving and snowbanks and head-bumping and wall-staring and now I’m going out for dinner and what if he thinks I don’t love him anymore and while running upstairs when I get home to hug him and reassure him that ‘mama loves ya babeee’ I slip on a dinky car and fall against the gas stove and eff up some gas leaky pilot lighty mechanism and we all die in a blazing inferno baaah”

Crazy much? You’re starting to understand the whole ’straight-jacket’ thing now, yes?

Thank You For The Music May 29, 2008

Had ladies over last night for food, wine & So You Think You Can Dance. It would have been a hell of a time except that I spent 90% of the evening wrestling an almost-2-and-a-half-year-old into bed. That is what happens when you have a son who just looooves to hang out with the ladies and bestow upon them all his manly charms… Or a son who loves to be one of the ladies – we’re still unsure. He did come out of my closet the other day wearing a pair of heels and proclaimed, “I’M READY TO GO TO THE BALL, MOMMY!” and this morning he put his water bottle and hippo into a purse, slung it over his shoulder and said, “Let’s go to school!” and he loves pink… and wants to be a princess when he grows up. John thinks he needs more male friends because all the wee people we know are girls but I say, nope: gay burlesque. For sure. I can’t wait. I’ll totally get front row seats and all my old lady cocktails & early-bird dinners will be comp’ed. I soooo better start pumping the ABBA and teaching him some of my classic dance moves like the Roger Rabbit. That one’s a show stopper.

eek May 28, 2008

So one of the creative directors just came over and asked what the most exciting moment of my day was today and I said: “Cookies”. One word answer. Do you think that’s what he was looking for? Oy.

International Cookie Day May 28, 2008

Whooo hooo I looooove International Cookie Day. Well, can it be classified as ‘international’?… I don’t know, maybe it’s National… or Provincial. Is it municipal? Kirstinipal? I think that last one may be it. So I went to get my Phat Starbucks Huge Cookie Lunch and when I returned? Cookies E-V-E-R-Y-W-H-E-R-E. A package of cookies on a table in the creative department (that’s where I sit cuz I’m waaay creative, yo) (actually they didn’t know where else to stick me so they put me here and no one really talks to me). And then I went to the kitchen and SHA-ZAM hot-diggity-dawg someone must have won the lottery and spent all their winnings on sweet, sweet cookies. There are two huge bags, no, SACKS of cookies, like, Santa Sacks FULL of cookies in the kitchen. Whhhaaaat. (side note: the ex-proofreader in me begs to put a question mark after ‘what’ but the gangsta in me believes that in this context it’s not meant to be so much a question as a statement. It’s an internal struggle and denotes the fact I’m a complex girl with lots of deep thoughts and layers… Wait, what?) (ha, get it? What. What?… is the word ‘what’ starting to sound funny to you? What? No, really, what?)

Soooo, speaking of my kitchen at work, John and Julian came to meet me for lunch on Monday which was the best surprise EVER and when I gave them a tour of the office John decided to leave me and marry my office kitchen instead. We actually have two kitchens: Upstairs Kitchen is the grown-up one with a glass-fronted wine fridge with a little temperature-gauge-thingie and it looks all InStyle Home; then Downstairs Kitchen (in my hood) has a flat-screen and a couch and a fridge full of beer and some kind of video-game console. I don’t know what it’s called, there’s, like, a P and maybe an X and some numbers after it, maybe a ‘box’ in there somewhere? but it has a video-game drum set and a guitar that go with it and John nearly creamed in his pants when he saw it so it must be good. I have a feeling that one of these days I’m going to go to the kitchen for a coffee and find my husband and 7 or so of his closest friends sitting around in there and that they’ll never leave. Then I’ll roll my eyes and get all “WHA-ever” and go catch a matinee of the Sex in the City movie and I’ll never leave (the theater, that is) I’ll just watch it over and over and eat popcorn and cry and remember the days when Big didn’t look so broke-down and Samantha hadn’t had quite so much work done. Custody of Julian will be divided equally between the Movie Theatre and the Downstairs Office Kitchen and Jules will develop dual personality disorder – half video-game-playing duuuude & half late-30-something fashionista with a healthy sex drive.

What the f*ck am I talking about? … What?

Oops, gotta go. Looks like someone might want me to do something. Oh… no, wait. They were just walking by me on the way to the cookies.

Working on the chain gang May 28, 2008

Oy, I’ve had, like, work to do today and sh*t. Yesterday too. Could it be that this job is turning into a… job? Man alive I’m hard done by. Ooh, wait. It’s lunchtime. I’m going to walk to Starbucks and get a latte & a cookie (it’s either that or eat my G.I.-Diet-compatible lunch… ya, I agree. That sucks balls. Latte it is).

May 26, 2008

So I’m totally busy at work (he-hem) but thought I’d take the time out anyway to find you guys a pic of the Tipi Tales cast. Check is out y’all

Omg ghetto puppets, right? Russell (the moron referenced in my last post) is second from the left and here’s what the official Tipi Tales website has to say about him: “Russell is four and a half but looks six. He is big for his age but is a very gentle and sensitive boy.” Again, I must ask, WTF?! He’s four? He’s the same size as Great Grandma and has the voice of a moronic big-rig trucker. I’m dying. Here are some other things I’ve learned from the website. It was the “2003 Parents’ Choice Gold Award Winner” and it features award winning singers, actors, writers and directors… The only explanation for any of this is that the only award they’ve ever won is the one mentioned above and the only parents who were polled for this “Parents’ Choice Gold Award” were the parents of the very singers, actors, writers and directors who work on the show. Tipi Tales! GAK!

ell is four and a half but looks six. He is big for his age but is a very gentle and sensitive boy.

General Update & Nonsensical Ramblings May 26, 2008

Went to Riverdale Farm on Saturday and OH.MY.GOD everything’s having babies and they’re way too cute – like teeny-tiny pigs and goats and sheep (oh, sh*t, Julian told me sternly that “baby sheep are called lambs, mommy”. I keep using the wrong terminology) I would sooo recommend going if you’re in the GTA and have a love for itsy-bitsy barnyard animals. Warning: YOU MUST ACT FAST – baby-animal cuteness is a limited time offer as cuteness decreases exponentially day-by-day and soon they will simply be medium-sized animals and have poo-clumps stuck to their ass fur and then it’s just not the same.

Discovered Julian is a child genius as he read his first word this weekend. He knows all the letters and their sounds (this kid is actually, like, obsessed with the alphabet. He stirred in the night the other night and sat up and said “A-B-C” and then fell back down to sleep. He will also point at nothing and say, “look, mommy, ABC’s” and then it turns out he’s found the shape of a letter “Y” in a crack in the pavement. It’s one of those qualities I find endearing but anyone else would find creepy). Anyway, we were going to bed on Saturday night and about to read Dinosaur’s Binkit and he pointed to the word “Binkit” and said (phonetically… uhhh, this may be difficult to spell) “Buh” “Ii” “Nnn” “Kuh” “Ii” “Tuh” “BINKIT” – can you believe that? He’s sooo one foot in the Mensa door (Is there a door? Is there a Mensa building or gathering place of some sort? Or do you just belong to Mensa from the comfort of your own livingroom or Smart-Person-Library or Smoking Room? Hm, Julian’s mother? Not so much one foot in the Mensa door). Am I a little disappointed that the first word he ever read wasn’t a real word but one created by Sandra Boyton? Not really. Does it take away at all from the genius factor that he also this weekend repeatedly hit himself in the head with a shovel? Perhaps. But We’ll focus on the fact that HE READ A WORD! My kid RAWKS. Today? Dinosaur’s Binkit. Tomorrow? The collected poetry of Charles Bukowski.

Finally, for anyone who watches the Treehouse network (which is our little people programming – 24 hrs of Dora, Blue’s Clues & Little Bear. Let us all sing the praises of Treehouse: Hosannah! Exalt! Exalt!) but have you guys ever checked out Tipi Tales? What the sh*t is UP? Seriously. This is a show that John and I shield Julian from because it just seems So. Very. Wrong. But then late at night if we’ve had a couple of glasses of wine and are surfing the cable guide and notice Tipi Tales is on we sooo watch it ourselves and John mutes the TV and talks for all the characters and I laugh until I’m crying and on the verge of peeing myself. It’s this puppetty show about Native People (if the name didn’t give it away) who live in the woods and talk to animals and crap and I’m all about the concept – LOOOOVE the concept. Like, native cultures have some crazy kick-ass mythologies and lessons on respecting nature blah blah blah that would translate beautifully into a kid’s show but this? It’s these primitive puppets and I thought they were all, like, physically-challenged wood-living native people that walked with two canes but it turns out that the huge poles coming out of their arms are just the puppet-moving mechanisms. Like, sorry to tell ya folk, but Jim Henson had puppets riding BICYLCES with NO STRINGS a million years ago. There is NO excuse for this travesty of puppetry. And then on top of that one of the main characters is a kid who not only has the worst hair EVER (worse than Kelly Osbourne… and actually not all that different from Kelly Osbourne), he talks in a voice that sounds like a caricature of a moron. Like, in cartoons the character that can barely stand up cuz he’s so dumb and sounds like this: “Duuuuh… okay boss”, ya know that guy? THAT’S the voice this guy has. And last night he was wearing a belly top (that I think I may have personally donated to Goodwill in 1995) and I think he had breasts… WTF?! John made up this fantastic little song about him and his estrogen pills that was some of his best work, so hats off to you, husband, you’re jokes, but laughing at the show’s expense still doesn’t explain why? WHY? Please, internet. I beg you. Watch Tipi Tales and someone EXPLAIN IT TO ME because I do not understand why the eff this show is on the air if not to humiliate an already misunderstood culture? WHY? WWWWHHHHYYYYYYYYYYY?

TTC Smackdown May 21, 2008

A Strongly Worded Letter to the TTC:

Dear TTC,

Why oh why are you so useless and full of assholes? I was there for you, TTC, during the strike, not supporting you so much for the “right reasons” but supporting your right to strike nonetheless and I defended you, TTC. When everyone else was pointing out what useless assholes you are, I said you guys were just menh and not all assholes and now look what’s happened. You brought it, TTC, and it’s time for the smackdown.

I am obligated to report to you, TTC, that today when I left work at 5:00 I waited for a zillion years for a streetcar. A zillion years. That’s a very long time. And when one finally came it was crammed with people and I couldn’t have squeezed myself on to it with an econo-size tub of lube and a shoehorn. Another one came – same deal. Then another one came. Now, my streetcar is called the 504 – Broadview Stn via King; this one said 504 – Parliament. Well, I thought to myself (because I’m an outta the box kinda girl) Well, Kirstin, I thought, maybe, just maybe, because this streetcar has the same number on it as the one I usually take, it ends up in the same place but detours along Parliament. Is that a crazy thought? Is it so unreasonable to imagine that two streetcars that share the same number would end up in the same place? So, when this streetcar stopped I bared the elements (it was spitting a bit of rain and I was grossly underdressed for the cool weather so it was pretty harsh) to ask the driver in my sweetest voice, “Excuse me, can you tell me-” at which point I was CUT OFF by the useless donkey driving the streetcar who said (in a bored yet belligerent voice) “I’m going to Broadview and Dundas” and I thought, Ah ha! Perhaps what he’s telling me is that it goes up Parliament to Dundas and then along Dundas to Broadview at which point it turns north to BROADVIEW STATION BECAUSE IT HAS THE SAME EFFING NUMBER AS THE BROADVIEW STATION STREETCAR, so I said, “And do you end up at Broadview Station?” to which this ball-licking TTC crap-bag replied, all slow-like as if he was obviously in the presence of a moron, “I am going to Broadview and Dundas – what is so difficult to understand about that?” WTF?! I know one of the issues you guys are having is with your drivers being physically attacked and now I know why – I kind of wish I’d unleashed my mad kung-fu skillz on his ass. Instead I told him he was a useless asshole and have chosen to write you this angry letter.

I mean, maybe this is my fault, TTC. Maybe I should carry a magic 8-ball in my purse and ask it each time I see a streetcar coming: “Magic 8-Ball, is this streetcar’s driver going to verbally attack me?” or perhaps I should have the TTC map including all alternate & short-turn routes tattooed on my arm for quick reference.

I am completely at one with your incompetence, TTC. Others complain about your incompetence but I have come to embrace and expect it. However, I take issue with the abuse. And thus I am asking merely for a refund of all the fares I’ve ever paid the TTC since I began riding it in the mid-1980s. That will be $1,647,402.75 please. Cash or certified cheque will be fine, thank-you.

Sincerely,
Kirstin

Holy Hell May 21, 2008

Wow.

Like, wow.

I couldn’t even blog last night – my fingers were too relaxed to type and I couldn’t keep my eyes open and then fell asleep putting Jules to bed at 8:30 and slept until 7:30 this morning. I guess Jules must have received some of my green tea/voodoo/sea salty goodness through our mother/son bond and he, too, was zen enough to sleep for 11 effing hours. That was the cherry on the top of a perfect day.

But for those of you who’ve been waiting on the edge of your seats to find out how my day in the puddles went (so, uh, essentially, the one person who was there with me) here’s how it went down:

10:30 – Tarra and Kirstin meet at GO station, squeal like little girls, jump up and down hugging and attracting the attention of commuters. We tell them to eff off and mind their own business and “I bet your boss would be interested to know you’re just getting here at 10:30 jackass” (…are you kiddin me? We didn’t really go that far – this is our day of zen, people, and do we really want it to begin fending off the attacks of angry commuters with our mad kung-fu skillz? Nuh-uh. We let them gawk and we continued to squeal and that was that).

10:45 – Tarra and Kirstin arrive at Starbucks, stand in line wearing sweats alongside people in suits and talk openly about sex (cuz we waste no time, yo. We skip straight to the good stuff) while the suits talk about corporate-nasdaq-exchange-trading-snore-hang on, stop talking cuz those ladies just said the word “clit”.

10:55 – Tarra and Kirstin stop at a park across the street from Body Blitz to finish their coffees and special treats and befriend a cute but scruffy little bird. We throw our new friend a crumb of special treat and then run screaming from the park when our new little friend SELLS US OUT and a swarm of angry, hungry street birds go on the offensive.

11:00 – Arrive at Body Blitz and are given a health/consent form to fill out. Being true to our jackass natures our forms include such answers as “OVERALL HEALTH: physical? good; mental? questionable”; “OCCUPATION: mom, wife, maid, chef, pool girl, mental patient”; and my personal favourite, under a checklist of what areas of your body you tend to get the most pain they posed the question “WHAT IS YOUR PRIMARY COMPLAINT?” answer “My husband”. HA – that’s good schtick.

11:05 – Tarra & Kirstin read & reluctantly sign “consent” portion of form which means we’ve signed away our right to engage in physical affection but can’t help but wonder what the hell’s the point of a first date if there’s no hope of gettin’ some?

11:10 – Tour of the facility begins. Body Blitz employee whistles “amateurs” under her breath when Kirstin and Tarra are driven to the point of squeals once more to see that the showers include complimentary shampoo.

11:15 – We proceed into the “waters room”. Silence ensues. Tarra finally manages to stammer that “this is what heaven must look like”. The Body Blitz employee now finds our amateur status endearing.

11:17 – Kirstin and Tarra are left alone in the dressing room and laugh hysterically because in the first few minutes of being here we’ve already seen old lady bush and old lady ass. It’s people like us who make “clothing optional” trying at times and make me question whether I’m truly a 33 year old woman or a 12 year old boy trapped in the body of a 33 year old woman.

11:20 – Tarra and Kirstin start their “water cycle” in the warm sea salt pool and are nearly brought to orgasm just from sitting and relaxing in the idyllic setting (complete with little waterfalls, dim lighting and spa smell). See? Maybe we don’t need physical affection after all to make this a satisfying date… and the water jets certainly aren’t hurting the situation.

Water cycle continues. It goes something like this: 1) Warm sea salt whirl pool (oh, where we were brought our detoxifying fruity shakes to sip while we relaxed) 2) eucalyptus steam room (which kinda made us feel like our lungs were burning… and I usually like steam rooms so this was totally a steam room on crack) 3) rinsing shower 4) plunge in cold pool (definitely the least deluxe of all the therapies is the cold plunge… but it does make for some entertaining boob-watching as the ladies tended to run up and down the stairs to the pool. AH ha ha… seriously, what’s wrong with me?) 5) infrared sauna 6) rinsing shower 7) lie on the loungers around the edge of the pool to “relax your body” (for Tarra and Kirstin “relax your body” means “read trashy magazines that you’ve snuck into the facility”) 8 ) hot green tea pool 9) cold plunge 10) rinsing shower… and I think that’s the end of the circuit. After we’d finished we did another stint in the warm sea salt and another stint in the sauna and then we hit the showers. The only thing that made it bearable to leave the heavenly waters was how psyched we were about the free shampoo.

We headed out and vowed we would be back (provided we haven’t been banned) and next time we’re going to spend even longer there and get a mud wrap or something cuz the only thing that beats lounging in a watery heaven is lounging in a watery heaven and then having some strong, capable hands rub mud & seaweed all over your naked bod. Humena-humena.

It was the best day ever and I haven’t even remotely done it justice in this description so if you’re in the GTA and don’t have a penis you just have to go there and check it out for yourself. It’s so nice. And if you need someone to keep you entertained while you’re there Tarra and I are happy to come and play with you (as long as you pay for us and supply us with a steady stream of detoxifying juicy drinks). Hell, throw in a mud wrap and I’ll even go all ‘clothing optional’ for you and run in and out of the cold plunge pool.

Yay May 20, 2008

Leaving the house in an hour. Hyperventilating and heady with excitement. Worried I’m going to be one of those prisoners who gets released from jail after 20 years and commits a crime to get back in cuz they can’t handle life on the outside. May sit in hot water for 5 minutes, panic with all the freedom and good times, bite nails, pull hair and run home to clean some shit off something and prepare a healthy snack.

Tarra right this second is dropping kids off at her mom’s. Worried for her, too. Have we bitten off more than we can chew with this whole “relax and have fun” idea? Will report back later.

Right now, tho, I’m like a kid waiting for parents to wake up on xmas morning… if xmas only happened once every 7 years…  at Disney World… covered in chocolate & skittles.