Wednesday, June 29, 2005

Last days of school

When I was finishing grade eight I got a little camera from the Big V Drug Store. And Sandy and I took all these pictures of the last few days. I think this one was the last on the film.

What a weiner.

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For some reason I thought it would be really funny to put a scarf around my head and hold my Living New Testament. Gotta love my two different hair cuts on the same head.

And as you can see, I was as much a slob back then as I am now. If I hadn't been, though, this picture wouldn't be half as much fun for me to look at. There are all my beloved books, "Pistachio Prescription", "The Cat Ate My Gymsuit", all the Judy Blumes. I can tell just by their well worn spines which ones they are.

And on my dresser is my Ms. Pac Man tin, my ceramic bunny that had the cotton balls coming out of its arse. My girl statue that sits on my dresser right now. In the drawer is my fuschia eagle sweatshirt. And you gotta love a detail like a vacuum cleaner attachment under my desk, in a room that maybe got vacuumed once in four years. I probably used it to make a straight line because I had lost my ruler.

I am going to find a few more of these pics. I may even have a MR CRONK in there somewhere.


Monday, June 27, 2005

I wish I could title my posts like everyone else.

But it doesn't come up for me. So I look like a person who doesn't have it all together, AS PER FRICKIN USUAL.

Jay took the boys camping this weekend. Ahhh, me and the Looch, hangin out in the quiet house and havin' fun. It was nice. I cleaned! I know, it doesn't sound like the most super fun thing ever, but I actually don't mind givin' er when I can not be interrupted for a few hours. And I adore the results. I also had my friend Lisa come and sleep over with her daughter Ruby, so it was ladies only, ladies night, ladies forever! Then Sat I went to my ma and pa's and slept over with Lucy. Fun.

The boys had a lot of fun, doing a top notch job of exhausting their daddy-O. Tee hee. The mosquito bites were bad though!

Today I think we are supposed to write about smells as a mrtlotif.

Hmm. Smells.

There are smells that bring me back to childhood. Of course, Play dough is one of them, but not in a good way. Playdough smell makes me feel creeped out. Because it was Christmas Eve, 1977 or so, and we were at my grandparents apartment and it was late. I think my parents were probably partying and the four of us were sleeping in the living room. We had gotten playdough from someone and had played with it. I woke up, and on the TV was this terrifying show about this little black creature that this woman was trying to shove down the toilet or something. Then it was behind her in the car. It was awful. And I smelled playdough. So it's a scary thing now.

Years later I found out that this movie was with Karen Black, not sure what it was called, but there was this little black statue thing that attacked her.

As an aside, there was another movie that I only saw partly and there was a TV in an attic that called, "Suuuusssaaaannnn". Anyone know what that is from?

Smells! I have another one that hurts me. It is the smell of a bath gel that my cousin got me, that I brought with me to the hospital when I had Sam. It was called "Snow Musk". It really is a lovely smelling thing, but not to moi. Because Sam's birth was a nightmare. I won't go into the whole birth story (I will save that for his 10th birthday this fall. Sorry. TENTH?!!!) But long birth story short he took forceps vacuum high forceps to come out and then he DIDN'T BREATHE OR MOVE for 8 and a half minutes. So after that bloody and terrible article I was a wreck, emotionally and physically. And for the week in the hospital afterwards I used my "Snow Musk" shower gel when my darling mom helped me drag my poor body into the bath/shower thing. And I still have the almost empty bottle. And if I ever have tears that need to come out for one reason or another all I have to do is smell that damn bottle.

Hows about a good smell, Amy! Before they leave this maudlin show? Ummmm. Good smells. Basil. Spearmint. Lucy's head, even when she is in desperate need of a bath. I like the smell more then, even.

Christmas trees. MARSHMELLOWS. (I have always thought the smell of marshmellows would make an excellent parfum.) Love's Baby Soft. Strawberry Shortcake's hair. Bailey's Irish Cream. Skin after the sun.

That's all for me. I'se tired.


Friday, June 24, 2005

Stuff Portrait Friday! Come one, Come all!

First up is something borrowed and never returned. In my case, some things. Cause I be a bad returner. This is only about half of the books I have that do not belong to me.

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If anyone sees 'one of theirs' in this pic, let me know. I have had some of these so long I can't remember who belongs to them.

MOving On!

Unopened or unused gift. I know i have some of these, but for the sake of the children, I took a quick pic of this from hubby's dresser.

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I mean, honestly. Who uses English Leather in 2005?

Next up is Your Perfume. This is not your perfume, it's mine. (and sort of Kristine's too i guess)

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Amarige I wear when I go out. The Lothantique my mom got me for Christmas at a boutique on Locke Street and I do so like it. I have a thing for ginger.

Aright! Cheers! Happy Friday and all that!


Wednesday, June 22, 2005


Now I can relax. Our gig went pretty good. They were a bit sticky as a crowd. We were on at 330 pm, they had been listening to department reports/billing/accounting stuff all day, so by the time we got them they were like, Feh.

So we just trudged on with our little points and got them out of their seats a few times, told some jokes, gave some pointers and lickety split Barba trick it was over in No Tahme.

My ma does seminar type things on humour and anxiety and stuff. And I have been dabbling in stand up comedy for about six years. So together we do a sort of combo of fun and facts about humour and laughter and all the good stuff it does for you and your bod. We seem to get gigs from gigs, or from word of mouth. It's pretty cool. And almost always goes well. Once we did a seminar with quite a few mentally ill people in the audience. That was tricky, because they kept yelling stuff out and interrupting us. Like, my mom would say, "Laughter gives your immune system a boost." And the one guy would put up his hand and say, "I have three cats and one of them is overweight."

Wells, I'se pretty tired now Miss Daisay. I am going to go vegetate my brain matter on le couch. Maybe there will be a Without a Trace that I haven't seen yet.

Toodle- Out.

PS. That funkalicious pic of me and The Ade (my ma's name is Adrienne) was from an 80's stag n doe. Hence my Desperately Seeking Susan Get-up.

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Wish me Luck.

I am (of course) up tonight preparing frantically for a gig tomorrow. My mom and I are doing a seminar on humour and laughter for a hospital's pediatric dept. Hardee Flippin' Har Har.

Ahhhhhh. Tomorrow at four pm. It will be done.

That is all.

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Monday, June 20, 2005

Motif Mondae - My Favrit Teechir

Hmm. I had some good ones. I shall write some quick poems about the ones I had in grade school.

Mrs. Brown.

In Grade Two
You had an updo

You had a mole
And glasses
And kind of an English accent.

You wore brown often.
Or do I think of you wearing brown
Because that was your name?

You were proper.
And sometimes harsh.
But you liked me.

Because I was a good speller,
And had good manners.

On the wall above the blackboard,
You had a picture of a poodle, with
the words,

"Whatever you do,
Do with your might.
'Cause things done by halves
Are never done right."

Miss Kennel/Mrs. Vasilak

Very pretty,
Glossy black hair and tanned skin
Big smile.

You got married halfway through the year
And we all had to call you by your new name.
(It was kind of confusing to an eight year old)

But you were lovely.
And you were kind.
And I was new that year,
And grateful for your friendship.

When Carmela Trombetta had a birthday party
And I was the only girl not invited,
And I cried quietly at my desk,
You came by,
And put a hand on my shoulder.

Mr. Dibrizzi.

You were mean.

Mr. Cronk.

You were kind of a hunk.
Tall, tanned, tennis-y.

You didn't really pay that much attention to us.
You wrote stuff on the board,
Said, "Get to work",
And then practiced your golf swing with the yardstick.

You always had a Halls Mentholyptus cough drop in your mouth.
You wore polo shirts and khakis.
You were cool.

Mrs. Shaw

We were the worst behaved class in the school.
Or so you said.

You were nice.
But we were bad.
And I think we wore you down.

I remember when your Dad died.
And you came back to school a few days later.
And we were subdued, unsure of what to say to you.

And you said, "I hate to say this. But you guys are behaving
So well today. And I am wondering, does someone have to DIE
EVERY DAY for you to keep being good?"

I have never forgotten this.


When you are a kid,
Teachers are mostly
Kind or mean.

And this you can deal with.

But when they are other things,
Like unpredictable,
Like neutral,
Like human,
It's hard to know where you stand.

Sunday, June 19, 2005

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Happy Father's day to all the Daddies. The new ones, the old ones, the in between ones. The tall ones. The strong ones. The fun ones. The serious ones. The smart ones. The ones who get up in the middle of the night to make sure the front door is locked. The ones who scoop up their kids and kiss 'em. The ones who keep the kids in line. The ones who worry. The ones who work. The ones who love.

I saw my dad yesterday, we were at his cousin's funeral. He looked so handsome in his suit, and seeing him cry made me cry too.

My dad has strong hands. And an arse kickin' sense of humour. And he is always working away at something. He has always had a moustache. He makes the best tea. He loves us kids. He loves my mom. He is crazy about his grandkids, and he doesn't just say so, he does so.

I love the above pic of Lula and Jay. I wish I had one of me and my dad, because this is how it feels when you hug them.


Friday, June 17, 2005

Got this from Annejelynn, who got it from Susie
It is really cool to do, takes a bit of time, but really brings out the memories. Good for preventing Alzheimers, for sure.


I am from dark, cool cubbyholes, from Crest Toothpaste and Joy 2 dishwashing liquid in the bathtub to make tons of bubbles.

I am from a small house that barely contained us and bigger houses with more room but even as we moved in and unpacked we grew bigger still, from stone fireplaces and pocket doors, from a brand new 7 eleven opening across the street in the open lot where my brother lost his orange skateboard.

I am from the lilac bushes in the corner of our yard, from the basil that grew wild, and you would crush a leaf between your fingers and smell it until you had no breath, until the smell was gone. From the tulips that came up every spring and you would stare into the middle of them, at that black centre, at that yellow dust, and wait for something to happen.

I am from camping in the summer and being told not to touch the sides of the tent or the rain would come in, from funny stories told over and over, from Marie and Charlie, from Florence and David, then from Adrienne and Michael Sloan.

I am from the conflict avoiders and the super-sympathetics.
From “Makes no nevermind to me” and “do you want a medal or a chest to pin it on?”.

I am from First confession, then from first communion (in my sisters dress, and my mom put a new sash on it so it would feel like mine), from “The only reason to miss church on a Sunday is for a funeral and it must be your own”. From parents who didn’t take us to church every Sunday. From calling the PTL long distance at age 9 in California and getting in trouble when the phone bill came in. From praying or at least making the sign of the cross every time I saw a hitchhiker or an ambulance, and from wanting to be a nun until I was fifteen.

I'm from Hamilton, Ontario, Canada, from England and Ireland and Alsace Lorraine. From Beef and barley soup and oatmeal in the crock pot.
From the young couple who had four kids in five years with no money, from the mom who went back to college full time and worked on the weekends with four school age kids, from the dad who brought home a Christmas tree even though he had just gotten leg surgery, who took us toboganning and skating and to Drum Corps, and I am only just now beginning to understand that he probably didn’t feel like doing half that stuff, but he did it anyway. From a grandma who could do anything, like sew me a top in ten minutes to wear to mass, or go on TV and teach sewing, or go on a Nora Lam crusade, or raise six kids with an alcoholic husband. From another grandma who loved tea and made the best fresh cut French fries, who taught us manners, who raised seven kids with an alcoholic husband.

I am from yellowing photo albums and pictures that I know my sisters and I will argue about someday, from a quarter cut oak antique china cabinet with a round glass door which we will also argue about. From eggshell thin cups and saucers with family pedigrees, from a painting called “Moving Day for the Marsh Marigolds”, from musty ancient books, from IKEA bunk beds, from Paderno pots and a big red depression glass punch bowl.

Told ya it was cool. Go do it!

It's Stuff Portrait day!

And I am on le ball. Well, that is not true. I am never on the ball, I am usually trying to find it. But I have some stuffs! This is what we were supposed to do.

Friday, June 17
1. Stuff that makes you wonder "What Was I Thinking?"
2. Stuff you're obligated to keep/display
3. Something you think no one else owns

Stuff you are obligated to keep:

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KIDDING! I would keep em even if they weren't mine.

Okay. So, for the first one, instead of taking a picture of half my wardrobe, I looked around on the main floor for something. I bought this painting about eight years ago.

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A friend of mine and her fiance had just closed their really nice restaurant. And when that restaurant had been doing well, he had commissioned an artist to paint seven pictures. And this was one of them. It is called "WinterGarden" and it is by Robert Fennell. The fiance paid about 800 bucks for this picture. I paid him 250. I loved the painting at the time.

Now I am kinda tired of it. Incidentally, a little pro golfer named Tiger Woods supposedly has paintings by Robert Fennell in his house. So he is not nobody.

But I am still tired of this painting. I kind of chose my living room colours around it. And now I would like to change those colours. But what to do with this huge painting? Here is a picture so you get the scope of it's size.

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So anyhoo. This is a double stuff portrait. It is a "what was I thinking" and a "obligated to keep". Any advice would be appreciated.

Moving on. This is an object that I am obligated to keep and display. And it's not that I don't love parts of it.

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I looove the cross stitching done by my uncle peter's wife, Kim. It is truly beautiful.
But what's with the hat and gloves and cane motif? Who's puttin on the Ritz? I AM.

NOw. For the third thing. I had misread this all week. I thought it was "something you think noone else KNOWS" not "OWNS". So all week I am soul searching. Trying to think of this deep dark thing that I think noone else knows. And I came up with a few ideas, but NOBODY KNOWS about them as far as I can tell, and I LIKE IT THAT WAY. So I was struggling. Then I thought maybe it was a sign to let go of something that I had been keeping in for too long. Then I thought but I don't need the whole internet to know whatever. Up until this morning I was still going back and forth dans la tete about this.

Then I reread Kristine's list. And it was 'owns'. And the sun came out again.

So! I don't think anyone owns one of these!

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It's an antique cross stich I bought off ebay. Still haven't found the right frame for it. I love "look pleasant please".

Alright. I better go. Happy Friday!

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

The Beach is That way.

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Ahhh, tummy beach. A sought after vacation spot. Kind of round, a little gurgly. Ticklish tendencies, but very sunny and relaxing.


Monday, June 13, 2005

Enjoying my new camera very much....

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Sam looking quite dignified performing an impromptu outdoor concert for my mom and dad.

This was Friday in my backyarday. I was babysitting little Eleni and Gabriel. Made a sheet tent for the kids to play under because the sun was evil that day.

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Friday was also Stuff Portrait day. But as I wrote below, I was too bloody hot to do anything, let alone stuff portraits. But this is something I want less of. It's clutter. It's my fridge.

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Now. That said, I love the picture of the beach that Sam did on there, and beside it you can see that one day he and monty decided to start a cleaning business and used Word to make a little sign. I don't want less of this stuff. But what's with the cookbooks, the sno-cone box? The Ziploc container, the papers sticking out? Blech. Somebody come over and save me from myself. Please.

I am happy with how this picture turned out.

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Not so happy when I was handed this flower by Monty. Not that I don't love getting flowers from little hands. But this was a Gerbera daisy that I bought at Home Depot and had planted in a pot. And then it promptly died. And I was sad. And then, out of the death stalks, this gorgeous thing comes up and says hi. So I was a little annoyed when Monty picked it and handed it to me. Don't worry. I didn't smack him or anything. I just said, "Oh Monty, that flower was planted, it's not for picking, buddy." And I put it in this little creamer. And I took a picture of it so I would remember how it bloomed in spite of the grim situation it was in. And then he picked it up and said, "This flowers gonna live, mommy."

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This is what he's going to look like when he brings flowers to his wife as an apology for something. And damn it, it'll work like a charm.


Blogger in Absentia returning to her post.

There is a reason why I did no blog since wednesday last. My computer is in my room. And my room, well, the whole upstairs, has been too hot to breathe in, never mind come up with something to write. Seriously, I would get on the computer, go visit a couple of my peeps blogs, and then get hot. Then I would leave.

But NOW. My hubba installed a window air conditioner in our room! And I am cool likea cucumbah. It is a marvellous, marvellous thing.

This weekend my gratitude was multitudinous for that man. He is technical and perfectionistic, yes. He is a WORKER. He spent most of Saturday installing a window unit in our dining room, and most of yest on the bedroom one. And let me tell you, them things is installed REAL GOOD.

He is the kind of guy who measures nine times, fits bits of wood in the windowsill like they have always been there. Stands and stares at the project for long minutes, tilts his head and gets a better idea. If he makes a mistake, he takes it all apart and redoes it. I can barely stand it. He says, "That piece of wood is not catching the edge very well." I am like, "Gah. It'll be fine. Just leave it." He looks at me.

"I am only doing this once, Aim. So I am going to do it right."

Ah, another life metaphor smacks me upside the head. This is why we are a good match, he and I. Because if we were both like him, we would drive each other crazy, measuring everything, second guessing, third guessing, redoing, perfectionisticking. If we were both like me, um, our house would be like an old movie set. You look from the front and all is well. Then you go around the side and there is nothing there but a table and a chair and an extra or two. The rest fell apart.

When it comes to jobs around the house, I am apart. He is together. I am thumbtacks and duct tape. He is hammers and nails and nuts and bolts.

Oh. One more. I am miss eyeball. He is mr measuring tape.

This weekend. I fell in lurve all over again.


Wednesday, June 08, 2005

I have been scavenging the house for an old picture of Jay. There is a grad photo that will give you shivers, if you ever had the hots for Bon Jovi or the like.

You would think I would put this kind of thing in a reasonable place. Nope. not me. I will find it in the bathroom drawer or underneath the blender up in the cupboard sometime.

I lost my wallet. My beautiful green and pink wallet with all my beautiful credit card/id/student card/library card/health card/20 dollar bill/receipts from stores for magical nail remedies/and other stuff. I discovered it missing on Saturday.

But I was not alarmed.

Why would I be? I knew it was somewhere around here, it was just a matter of turning a bunch of stuff inside out. I have lost it before, and I always find it. There is no need to cancel credit cards when you are like me. You just sift few the piles and eventually the cream rises to the top.

I found it yesterday. It was tied up in a plastic grocery bag with (get this) a bunch of GARBAGE I had collected out of my van. WTF? I don't remember doing this. I guess I had been gathering up the coffee cups and papers and pieces of bagel, and thought, might as well throw my wallet in here so I don't lose it?

Weird. Person. I. Am.

Yesterday we went to my ma and pa's for dinner. Fun. I figured out my new camera!!! See if you can spot the added megapixels. There is like, two thousand of them.

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Lucy's feet in the Sandbox

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Kids in the trunk of Grandma's new 2006 Volkswagen Jetta Diesel.

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Sand? I haven't eaten sand for MONTHS! Why??


Monday, June 06, 2005

It's LOVE Monday, according to Mrtl's Motif Madness .

Boxing Day, 1987

"Amy, can you come in to work today for a couple of hours to make popcorn? We need to prep for the WWF tomorrow."

I say yes. I take the Upper James bus downtown to Copps Coliseum, the arena where I have been working part time for five months.

The place feels so empty the day before an event. There are little pockets of life that catch your eye: someone sweeping in the stands, another person wiping the escalator rail, another person pushing a dolly with big cardboard boxes. I take the elevator to the concourse level. I round the corner of this huge place and I can smell the popcorn before I see the lighted plexiglass rectangle with steam coming out of the popper above it.

There is a guy in there. I know of him. A few of the girls I work with think he is cute.

He is not my type. Even though, at 17, I don't even have a type. I myself am an interesting but awkward hybrid. I wear saddle shoes from the Bass outlet, with a preppy ducky yellow raincoat. But I shop at thrift stores and adore both charming, ancient sweaters and hippie skirts. I like The Cure, but I love Mel Torme.

This guy. Is A Rocker. He wears tight Levi's and fake Converse high tops. He has long layered hair halfway to his waist. He is skinny. His name is Jay.

"Hey," I say, watching him pour a coffee cup of coconut oil into the top of the popper. "Is the oil pump thing broken?"

He looks up, smiles. "Hey." "Yeah. You gotta pour it in like this every time." He shrugs. "What are ya gonna do, eh?"

I enter the stand, take off my army purse and put it on the counter. There are bags and bags of popcorn. The floor is greasy with oil. The air smells like fake butter.

"You're Amy, right?"

"Yep." I am casual. He looks me up and down. I am wearing my sister's boyfriends navy turtleneck sweater, my sister's black Edwin jeans, and a leather belt. I wait for him to talk.

"I'm Jay. I guess we are making popcorn together today."

We get to work. I bag the popcorn with a big metal scoop. He holds the clear plastic bag open for me. We shoot the breeze. He goes to John A. (Rocker school down the street from Copps.) He has a sister and they live with his mom. He has already been promoted to Stand Manager, though he started at the same time as me.

At one point he takes the elastic band from his wrist and puts his hair back in a low ponytail. He has a nice face.

The coconut oil is solid and yellow and we have to melt it. He does this, with a heated metal bar contraption. I can tell his fingers are getting burned almost every time. He says nothing about it. I say, "Let me do that for a bit."

"Nah," he says. "It's friggin heavy."

We talk about the place, our bosses. I laugh when he describes Bruce, the head guy, walking down the concourse like a big shot. "All you gotta do, when that guy comes by," he says, "Is grab a J cloth and start wiping the counter. Then he just walks by. If you are standing around, he gets pissed off and yells at you."

"Good to know." I say. He is not my type. But I am enjoying this long haired guy, with his light green henley top tucked into his jeans. He has a great butt. He has warm brown eyes. A nice mouth. We work for a couple of hours, then take a break.

He plugs in one of the pop machines. The top lights up, and it hums. "What's your poison?" He asks me, unaware that he quotes Emilio from The Breakfast Club.

"Sprite's good." I say. We get our pops and some nacho chips out of a big box. We climb up on the counter in the stand and sit there, not talking, just sipping our pops and eating the nacho chips.

"Better get back to work," he says. "Lots more popcorn to make."

And so we work. And talk. And the bags of popcorn pile up across the counters, and line up in front of the stand.

This Jay has these beautiful hands. And this long thumbnail. I point to it. "What's the deal with the nail?" I say.

"Oh," he says, looking at it, scraping a popcorn kernel out from under it. "I play guitar."

I nod like I know how a long thumbnail and a guitar are connected.

He tells me about his guitar. It is a pink flying V, Ibanez, sort of like what Steve Vai plays. I nod like I know who Steve Vai is. He talks about the guitar players he likes. He tells me about Randy Rhoads, and Jake E. Lee, and Vito Bratta.

I tell him about Drum Corps, and being on student council, and how I always wanted to take dancing lessons my whole life, so when I got my job at Copps the first thing I did when I cashed my first paycheque was walk into a dance studio and sign up for tap, jazz, and ballet.

We make enough popcorn to feed ten thousand wrestling fans. Then we clean up. My saddle shoes are covered in coconut oil. I have smears of yellow popcorn salt on my sister's jeans. My hair is tied up at the back with a twist tie. We walk down the concourse together, to sign out at the office. Kim, one of our bosses, asks Jay to stay for another half hour to deliver some CO2 canisters. He says yes. He looks at me.

"Thanks for making popcorn with me." He smiles.

"No problem." I say. I turn to leave, wondering if he is checking out my butt.

I go home, sitting on the bus, swaying from side to side because I am tired. And I think about him.


PS. Fast forward almost 18 years. That same guy just walked in the door from night class. I gotta go see how his day went. Night night.

It's such a shame that men don't dress like this anymore, Dontcha think?

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I got a new camera over the weekend! Not the coveted Nikon D-70, before you ask. It is a Canon something something. I think it looks pretty good. As soon as I figure out a few things I will post some pics.

As for me and my house this morning. I am off to Sandy's to pick up Eleni and Gabe, then I have to drive my SIL and her little guy for a doctor's appt downtown. At least the FIVE CHILDREN in the back of the van will be contained. That is something.


Friday, June 03, 2005

Portrait of the Stuffs de Friday:

Well, as I didn't participate in this for two weeks due to a missing USB cable, I am all over it this morning. Because Kristine didn't tidy up her desk, neither did I. (And I was totally going to.)

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What a mess. There's bills, junk, letters that need to be mailed, VHS tapes, coins, bank card (from when I paid bills online), credit card (ahem. from when I bought a Spearhead T-shirt online), and who knows what else. Note that this picture didn't include the floor, which is disgusting. Toys, books, papers, the empty bowl and spoon from when I had a before bed snack of Honey Nut Cheerios last night. The only thing missing is a starter for Amish Friendship bread. What a pig am I.

MOVING ON. This is a collection of mine. I love love love baby planters. They harken back to a more innocent time, when you would go into the hospital with your suitcase packed with a bedjacket, and they would keep your baby in the nursery all day instead of screaming it's teeny head off beside you, and people would come visit you and bring a flower arrangement in one of these planters.

I buy them when I am in the thrift stores. None of them cost more than fifty cents. I love them. I did set them up for the picture, mind. They are up on shelves, in different areas of me house. One day I will have a place for them to be together. A few of them arent included because they are full of junk and I don't have time to dump them ALL out on my bed.

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Lastly, unfortunately, sadly, depressingly, devastatingly, we have the kids room. This was CLEAN on Monday. It is Sam and Lucy's room. We have three kids and only two bedrooms for them. So for now Lucy shares with Sam, because you know Monty would be in her crib every night showing her how to climb down the side of it with a rope ladder.

I wish it was nicer in here. I mean, my Lady Luck sleeps in here in all her redheaded glory. But it's a boys room. Sam has a really high bed that we got from Ikea that her crib is underneath. And we got another loft bed from a friend of my mom's, Norma Jean. Props to NJ because she gives us tons of stuff from her two boys. Norma Jean. I loves ya.
So here is Lucy waiting for Sam to wake up and get her out. Taken at 7:15 this morn.

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Here is Sam still sleeping.

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And lest you think the room is not that bad in terms of slovenliness, here is a partial floor shot.

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Blech. It is almost eight o clock so I don't have time to go into how devastating it is that the apples fall right beside the tree in terms of tidiness, or untidiness. The mental anguish it causes me when I see how messy my offspring can be which is directly related to how I am. It cuts me so deep. But that is for another day.

I must go and get Sam off to school, then go to Sandys and pick up her two little ones who I am baby sitting for the morning. Four kids! Alakazzam where are the Wake Up pills.

Have a phantasmagorical Friday!