Humor Keeps Me Real

There’s a theory that we only use one tenth of our brain. The way I figure it, the rest of our brain is there to fill our skull space. If you think about it (with your ten percent) our skull would  be permanently misshapen just getting through the birthing process if there wasn’t something to fill it up. It also means that the ten percent of brain we use can only hold so much stuff, only I’d like to figure out how be more selective in what it retains. I can remember my phone number, the recipe for peanut butter with jam sandwiches, and that i comes before e, except after c, unless you want to win a Spelling Bee or you’re using Spell Check on your computer. I can’t, however, remember algebra, physics and other academic trivia. On the other hand, Brian can remember algebra, physics and other academic trivia. He can’t, however, remember where he put his glasses, car keys, or his sense of humor when I’ve thrown out a melted piece of unidentifiable plastic that I’ve been picking up and cleaning under on the counter for the last 83 days, because it must have been something identifiable at some time, his curiosity is piqued, and maybe he’ll find a use for it someday (someday being never).

The other day I was on the sofa, sipping coffee and minding my own business, when Brian goes to the book shelf, picks out a textbook and tells me that Math is the language of Physics. AHAAA! I thought to myself. It all makes sense to me now (not Math, just why I don’t get it) I can’t speak anything but English plus a few phrases in Mumble, which is an ancient language that dates back thousands of years and has been traced to the Frustrated Women Of Men Who Understand Math and Physics Support Group who met weekly in the basement of their local community cave facility.

So I’m sure you understand when I say that I’ll take doing housework over doing math or physics or other related stuff any day … After all, at this point in my life, I find it difficult to see algebraic, motion, or elemental equations doing much for me. Whereas housework is a constant in my life, as I watch a new layer of dust form before I’ve even lifted the cloth from the table. Now I’m not saying I can’t do any equations. I most certainly can. Here, let me give you a few examples:

b + s + wf = um (boots + slush + white floor = unhappy me)

B + w + m = hm (Brian + water + mop = happy me)

2pB + 1pC = Y (2 parts Baileys + 1 part Coffee = Yummy)

Housework, in general, isn’t really too bad, so long as you stop for a sip of Bailey’s…I mean Coffee…every 15 minutes. It’s a good way to burn off energy (housework, not coffee). I’d like to pass off cleaning the bathrooms, but I can’t get any takers in my house, although a couple of weeks ago Brian did take the drain apart to unclog it. He held up a rather large blob of hair that he was pretty sure was the problem, and gazed at me inquiringly. I was shocked because he doesn’t have that much hair and it isn’t that long. I thanked him and set to work cleaning off the floss debris artwork on his side of the mirror, while he cursed as he put the drain back together and it leaked.

Leaving him to tackle the leak, I enjoy a sip of coffee and then saunter into the laundry room. As I sort, pre-treat and load the machine, I wonder if there’s an equation to figure out how many single socks it takes to satisfy the washing machines appetite, and then I realize I’ve never HAD a machine that was satisfied, leading me to give up math all together.

Eventually…sip…sip… I grab the vacuum cleaner. Out of all the chores that need doing, vacuuming is probably the one that Brian will sometimes do without being asked. I don’t think it’s because he likes to vacuum, I think it’s because a vacuum has a motor, makes a noise and therefore could be classified as a toy (of sorts). I’ve endured patiently watched while he’s taken apart a vacuum, and then triumphantly repaired it, so that I can continue the never ending attempt to get momentary control of the dust bunnies…sip. Do you know that they’re made up of hair, dead skin, lint, dust and spider web? Yup. Dust. Never saw that coming. All I know is that a whole colony of them live in our house. The other day I found a sock under the sofa, and it made me wonder if the dust bunnies were in cahoots with the washing machine because I couldn’t find a match for it anywhere.

After…sip… assuring myself that the dust bunny colony is under control for at least 12 minutes, I head toward the bedroom, intent on making the bed. I always often occasionally get the urge to make the bed as soon as I drop the clean sheets on it, but first I have to negotiate the clothes that are having a get together on the floor in front of it. The clothes Brian wears to work in the garage like to nest there, and they’re usually accompanied by his regular everyday clothes. By the end of the day his wear to the office clothes, that I had pressed and nicely and hung in his closet prior to his wearing them, never find their way back to a hangar or appropriate resting place for one more wear (when applicable) because the fumes from the garage clothes somehow hypnotize him and instruct him to drop them on the pile. But I digress…sip. Anyway, I eventually make the bed and although the sheets fit nicely at that moment, by the time I get up in the middle of the night to pee (sorry about the visual) one of the corners has snuck its way up and is threatening to snap over my head when I’m sleeping, thus suffocating me and leaving Brian alone to battle clogged drains, lost socks and dust bunnies.

It’s no wonder I don’t usually get everything done in one day. I’m a firm believer (i before e) in putting off until next week, what I don’t feel like doing today.

Excuse me, but I think I’ll take a coffee break…Gulp…

Deck the roads with flakes of snow

Fa la la la la la la la la

Add stupid drivers and off we go

Fa la la la la la la la la

Spinning and sliding ’round and ’round

Fa la la la la la la la la

Losing all hopes of making ground

Fa la la la la la la la la

I was born and raised in Alberta, Canada. In most parts of Canada, we have a time of year we call Winter, and during that time it has a tendency to snow. When snow lands on the ground it causes the roads to become wet, slushy and icy, making it a challenge to maneuver, and at the same time causing stupid cells in the brains of some drivers to increase ten fold and for me to stock up on Tylenol and Baileys. I know that every year, we get a few new people who move here from warmer places, but that doesn’t account for the number of drivers who still act like they’ve never seen snow before.

Recently we had our first snowfall of the season, and I was grateful that Brian had already put the ice tires on my car. Being a work day, I knew I needed to head out a bit early to make it to work on time. On a dry day it takes me about 15 minutes. On a new snow day I have to take into consideration whether it’s till snowing, the amount of snow already fallen, what phase the moon is in, and the drivers with no common sense that I have no doubt will be out driving with a cup of coffee in one hand, a cell phone in the other, while trying to clear the frost off the inside of the window with a scraper attached (by duct tape) to their nose and steering with their chin. Some days I have to leave before the sun rises to get to work by noon.

Shortly after leaving my house, I turned onto a road that descends and at the bottom of the hill is a stop sign, which is a good place for it because the crossroad is a major one. The vehicle ahead made NO attempt to slow down on approach until one foot from the intersection, and then I watched as he proceeded completely through it while doing a 360 degree turn, earning him a score of only 2 for creativity, and 4 for it’s execution. Luckily for him he didn’t hit anyone or anything, although I’d guess that he had a new wet spot on his pants that wasn’t just coffee, and his cell phone buddy learned a new expletive or two.

Then there’s those who don’t own a window brush or it’s buried under a mound of other stuff in the trunk that they don’t know how to use because, after all, they pay good money for roadside assistance and DAMN IT, they’re going to use it. I passed a vehicle that was completely covered in snow except for the drivers door and side window where it had fallen off when he opened it to get behind the wheel, at which time he had an explosion of stupid brains cells because he obviously began to drive. I had doubts that his Saturn was equipped with a GPS system that included an auto pilot function. Although it did bring a smile to my lips to picture him ending up surrounded by 50 head of curious cattle in a field 152 km west of his intended destination, because we all know that GPS systems never give you wrong directions.

After watching a snow ballet involving a delivery truck a mini van and a pedestrian who also seemed to suffer from stupid brain cell overload because he was oblivious to the the Don’t Walk sign and was accompanying a chicken across the road (no, I don’t know why), I made it to the highway and continued on my way, eventually pulling into the parking lot full of vehicles that have been parked by the relatives of the previous mentioned drivers, and although I’d rather be somewhere tropical, I found myself wondering what to make for supper and humming Christmas carols. FYI, chicken and fruit cake stir fry sounds better than it actually is. After parking next to an SUV taking up two stalls, I entered the mall, checked my purse for Tylenol, and sang my way to my (Guest Services) work station,…

Jingle bells, I’m in hell

I wish I was away

Any place, but the shopping mall

But I have to work today

The season HAS begun. With Brian and Baileys waiting for me at home, I know I’ll make it through

As some of you know (and those of you don’t, you will now) I spent most of my adult life in Emergency Medical Services. As a people person who wanted to make a difference, it was a perfect fit for me. Eventually the time came to pass that responsibility to the next generation. I’m still a people person and decided I wanted a job where I would interact with people, but without the high stress of life and death situations. I found just the right job. I’m a Guest Services Representative in a shopping mall.

A typical shift has, but is not limited to, things like the following. Please note that I’m FAIRLY ….well, kind of sure any flippancy in my responses are kept within the confines of my head, although that might explain why I was called in to see my supervisor the other day, but can’t remember the jist of the conversation because I’d just switched to the I’m Not Listening Mode after dealing with a customer who talked non stop and said absolutely nothing.

Anyway ….

> Starting my shift at 9:00am and answering the phone in a pleasant manner even after repeating the mall hours to 367 people before 9:05 and I haven’t even put my jacket/purse away or … sip … finished my first coffee, while trying to prepare the desk for the day because people keep calling wanting to know the mall hours.

“Good morning, Come Spend Your Money Mall, this is Simone Speaking, how can I help you?”

“Ya, what time is the mall open ’til today?”

“9:00am until 9:00pm”

“Like, the stores are all open until 9?”

“Like, yes”

“9:00pm tonight?”

“Well if it works better for you, we’ll have it close at 7:00”

“Tonight?”

NEXT PLEASE!

> Giving direction when customers are lost or when, after I’ve spent 45 minutes listening to them babble on about how they can’t find the food court and they’re hungry as they haven’t had anything today because she/he got up late and didn’t get to the Tim Hortons on 5 Avenue by 8:30 to meet his/her friend who was going to give them a ride, so missed grabbing something there (and by the way the cranberry blueberry bran muffins are a must) but still managed to get a ride from another friend of a friend who was going to be passing by the mall and so blah blahblah blah blah………. until I’ve got the glazed over eyes look, I’m craving a muffin, and I’d LIKE them to be lost.

NEXT PLEASE!

> Listening to shoppers disgruntled and unpleasant comments after I turn them down for a promotion item because THEY simply didn’t check into the promotion rules and restrictions, but simply took what their friends pet gold fish told them as gospel.

“I was told if I collected 20 store business cards, you’d give me a _____”

“Sorry, it was not ____. It was ____, but the restrictions state that was while supplies last, and our supplies have run out. I can’t help it if you’re too stupid to have NOT read the rules that are posted at the entrances and online, or to have asked for clarification before starting out”

“ But I was too lazy to check it out and just took their word for it, and I just walked the whole mall to get these business cards! Surely you can just FIND one somewhere for me. I’m really full of myself and deserve the ____ because I’m upset that no one explained it all to me ahead of time and I was stupid and didn’t check first (Be sure to note the whine in my voice and the stomp of my feet)

NEXT PLEASE!

> Direct shoppers to the appropriate stroller/cart rental locations and then listen to them B&#@! when they find out there aren’t any left.

“I’m appalled that there aren’t enough strollers. The fact that I wasn’t bright enough to BRING a stroller, considering I have a child, or take into account that thousands of other families would also be at the mall and want a stroller is of no importance because I’m full of myself and deserve to have a stroller at my disposal and I’m pissed off that you didn’t make sure that one would be available on my arrival. Now what am I supposed to do?(Be sure to note my look of entitlement and shock as I cock my head to the side and glare)”

“Go home?”

NEXT PLEASE!

> Help shoppers find the location of the nearest Trendy store that they were sure was in THIS mall because their friend/sister/other told them it was here and so it MUST be…

“I’m looking for Trends4You and I don’t see it on your map”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have that store here”

“YES you DO. My friend says she just bought something from it the other day”

“NO we DON’T…I’m sorry, but she must be mistaken about which mall she was in. I’ve worked here for a while now and there’s definitely no Trendy4You in this mall. Can I help you find another store so you’ll go away?”

“NO, she was adamant it was here. Why would she tell me it was here if it wasn’t? I came here just for Trendy4You. Really, NOW what am I going to do. There isn’t another store like it…Danm! Can’t you see I’m full of myself and deserve to have that store available for my shopping whims? (Be sure to pay attention to my rolling eyes and flippant bob of my head). I need you to find out where there IS one”

“And I need you to take these Yellow Pages and … Sure, no problem” “Oh, hi Mr. Supervisor. Everything is just fine here”

NEXT PLEASE!

> Assist shoppers (when possible) to locate lost items such as their minds, purses, cell phones, sippy cups, vehicle or their Aunt Deirdre who’s hard of hearing and isn’t “from around here”…

“Excuse me, but I’ve misplace my car, and I think you must have seen it”

“My memory might be a tad off today, so perhaps if you give me a description, I’ll also call Security and see if they can help”

“It’s a silver minivan”

“Well that REALLY narrows it down considerably. However, they might be able to help even more if you could tell me the year, make or model, and what area of the mall parking lot you parked in”

“It’s a 2000 something, I’m not sure what make, and I don’t remember where I parked it, but it’s a SILVER MINIVAN. Can’t you see that I’m full of myself that it’s NOT MY responsibility to pay attention to where I parked it and I fully expect you to go out there and look for it while I stand here and text my friend on my cell phone and update my Facebook profile (Be sure to note my arrogant stance/look and then brush off) Oh ya, there’s a car seat in the back and it has 4 sippy cup holders”

NEXT PLEASE!

I could go on .. and on .. but I’ve probably lost most of you by now as it is. I I’d like to say that the majority of people ARE polite and  easy to deal with and I’m glad I can help them out. However, I really MUST admit that I enjoy dealing with those who might be considered a bit of a challenge, simply because of the humor it brings to the day.

Laughter is indeed good medicine. That and a cranberry blueberry bran muffin ..

BIKINIS, BIKES AND BRUISES….

Well it’s that time of year again. Yup, it’s time to haul out the lawn mower, super strength sunscreen, insect repellant, garden hose, and the toenail clippers.

Summer is one of my favorite days. It makes me want to don a bikini, go romping or frolicking in the sand and laze around on the beach while George Clooney slowly applies sunscreen aaaall over my body. However, in reality it’s more likely I’ll be donning a t-shirt and tummy control mid length shorts (after applying makeup to hide the varicose veins), walking in the dirt at the Pick N Pull self serve auto parts salvage yard with Brian, and lying on the couch facing the fan that’s on it’s highest setting, rattling louder than a bad muffler (the fan, not me) as I form a puddle of sweat from yet another power surge (hot flash) while sipping a gin and tonic lemonade. I’d like to stress that I’m all for frolicking and romping, and I can hold my own. Why just recently, I frolicked at the local garden centre while a swarm of bugs attempted to have me for lunch, and I romped through the parking lot at Superstore while chasing down runaway shopping carts, only to find out the change was missing.

I also like that there’s no snow…MOST of the time. If you’re from Alberta you understand, and if you’re from Texas….. Y’all don’t. We’ve been known to experience all four seasons in a 24 hour period. We have a law here that requires all vehicles to be equipped with (year round) a toque, an umbrella, hot packs, cold packs, a pair of snowshoes, and a pair of flip flops. There’s a well known saying here that goes “If you don’t like the weather, go home” or something like that. Anyway, after what feels like 15 months of snow, I don’t mind a LITTLE rain. I stress “LITTLE” because it’s less than a LOT. Last week it rained…and rained. And then it rained some more. I wasn’t really concerned until I was walking out to my car and saw my neighbour with his hands raised in the air and mumbling something about cubits and inches, cedar vs pine, pairs of animals, low flush toilets and whether or not a Super Jumbo Dual pack of Cheetos would last 370 days.

There as a brief half hour of sunshine at one point and Brian asked me if we should go for a bike ride…

“Sure, I’d love to. Where do you want to go?”

“Around the neighborhood” he said.

“Huh? You want to take the motorcycle around the neighborhood?”

“Nooooooooo. The bikes. You know….A thing with two wheels, handle bars, gears, and peddles you push with your feet so it moves.

“Ooooh…Ya….Well…Um…Sure” I hesitated because I haven’t been on a bike since long before we met. If I recall, Atari video games were popular, gas was 18 cents a litre, and Smokey and The Bandit was a hit (Those of you too young to remember these things, Google is your friend). Anyway he assured me he had done an inspection and the bikes were ready to go. I had absolutely no doubt that the bikes were roadworthy. I just wasn’t sure I was.

So he takes the bikes out into the pothole alley and gives me my helmet. Now in my defence I would like to point out that I was not familiar with either of these bikes. Really, I’d only met them for a moment when he dug them out of his shed at the farm. As I looked over the bike he wanted me to ride (the bigger one)) I suspected that it was somewhat high for me and might be hard to mount and dismount from. Asking to try the one with smaller tires, he said no as that was HIS favorite bike, and he thought I’d do just fine on the other. I cautiously stood the bike up and began to whisper sweetly.. Hi big fella. It’s you and me, right? You help me stay upright, and I’ll see to it your tires never go flat.. I take a deep breath, grasp the handle bars and try to balance while lifting my foot over the seat to the other side at which time it promptly tilted the other way with me along with it, LOSING my balance and barely managing to stay standing, although the bike didn’t. So much for sweet words and deals. I glance over and Brian is merely watching this with sadistic glee…hmph. On the second attempt I managed to stay on and wobbled, joggled, wiggled and swayed up the alley, trying to avoid potholes the size of kiddie pools, but I only made it about half a block at which point I non-voluntarily dismounted and landed rather ungraciously on my butt. The words that followed were anything but sweet (sorry mom) and I just laid there on my back for a minute thinking my dear man would come and assist me… I thought wrong. He was once again simply looking on and shaking his head. All I can say is I know where he sleeps. SO, you know that old saying.. It’s like riding a bicycle, you never forget how ..? Well all I have to say to that is #@%! (sorry mom).

I walked the bike back and reiterated my concern about the size of it and he finally gave me his. I tried it and actually kept it upright so we headed off. I felt like I was 5 years old again as I shimmied, swaggled and swayed my way through the neighborhood, just missing running into a tree, 3 parked cars, a pair of unicorns, a mailbox and Brian, by THIS much. We managed to make it home safely and before the clouds burst open once again.

“There, that wasn’t so bad now was it?” Brian chirps cheerfully

“Well dear, I’m not so sure the owner of that flower bed up the street would agree” I reply as I hand him over the bike and helmet. “If you’ll excuse me, all I want now is to sit my bruised butt on an ice pack, with a bottle of Tylenol in one hand and a glass of lemonade in the other”.

“OH, and I almost forgot. The guy next door wants to know if you can help him unload some wood. He also said to make sure to bring a hammer, nails and a jumbo bag of Cheetos”.

Lifetime Warranty ….

It was a dark and stormy night….ooooooooh…

Ok, now that I have your attention, it was really just an average day, but I didn’t think starting out with “It was just an average day” would draw you in. But now that you’re here you may as well continue reading, right? After all, you probably don’t have much else to do or you wouldn’t be here in the first place. Sooooo….

Brian was heading out to the garage to work on one of his many projects when he stopped and asked me if perhaps, as it has a lifetime warranty, I’d take back his broken tool to Sears. Not that HIS tool is broken or anything, but his tool that he usually plays with in the garage. Wait, what I mean to say is his ratchet … Let me try that again… Just a ratchet and socket he uses to fix stuff. Got it? Whew, good. Anyway, as I was going out anyway I said I would. Although I didn’t know that saying I would was going to take longer than learning how to use my cell phone, memorize the periodic table, or getting men to understand why women go to the bathroom in pairs or groups.

So off I go to the Sears near my home, and as I approach the hardware department I begin to feel that something isn’t quite right. I look around and realize that I’m alone. All alone. No shoppers, no department sales clerk and, as far as I could tell, no Tim Hortons. Standing next to the cashiers counter I offer out a “Hellooooo, anybody here?” … Nothing. I wander around for a bit and still no one. I meander over to electronics and there’s no one there. I wander to the other side and check out the furniture department and no one there. Then I try appliances, and just as I’m about to walk away I spot someone leaning on a counter. At first it was hard to tell if it was a sales clerk, a mannequin or a customer who had mummified while waiting for service. I’m still not sure who it was, but he offered to page someone to help me. I thanked him and continued my browsing on my way back. As I look around, I notice a sign informing shoppers there are closed circuit security cameras, which I doubt were being watched or I would assume someone would have clued in that I was wandering around in 4 adjacent departments, peeking around corners, inside refrigerators under sofa pillows and behind flat screen TV’s, while singing the lyrics to Does Your Chewing Gum Lose It’s Flavor On The Bedpost Overnight. The sign they SHOULD post is “No Salesperson Available, You’re On Your Own”

Finally I see a live person heading it my direction, and on her face was a smile….I KNOW. Who knew there were people in the customer service field (other than myself and my co-workers) who still smiled. Being a Customer Service Rep myself, I smile all the time. Well unless I’ve eaten beans, in which case I it’s more like a grimace as I suffer with ….. ah..um..never mind. It turns out that hardware isn’t her department (go figure) but states she knows a little bit about tools because she plays with her grandson and his Fisher Price tool set, so she’ll see what she can do. I show her the ratchet and explain that my husband would like a replacement as it’s a Craftsman tool with a lifetime warranty. She agrees, then takes it and we both look up and down the isles and find none (other than in a set) the same size. She heads off to the storage room, assuring me a replacement is sure to be found. Fifteen minutes into my rendition of One Eyed One Horn Flying Purple People Eater, she returns and informs me there isn’t one….Sigh. The computer is antiquated and before it agrees to searching for stock elsewhere, it wants to know who’s going to pay for the ratchet. All I know is it isn’t going to be me, so I suggest she take one out of a set and then return it when one comes in and she gasps and shakes her head vigorously while looking around as if expecting the blasphemy police to pop out from under the sofa in the furnishing department, brandishing a bar of soap.

Anyway, after a few unsuccessful calls to other Sears stores, she suggests I simply stop by one or two and hope for the best. At this point I’m thinking.. I need coffee…or Baileys…or coffee WITH Baileys. Eventually I’m sent to a Sears parts store to find out they just have parts not tools and to go back to the original store and remind them they have a catalogue and that they HAVE to honour the warranty and order me one…period. Sigh.

Are you still with me? Good. Then again you must be or you wouldn’t have answered that, so let’s continue…

I arrive back at the first Sears and to my joyful amazement there’s a young fellow, wearing a smile, behind the counter in hardware. I go through my earlier spiel and end up with the deer in the headlights response. He quickly recovers and gets on his phone and within hours I’m faced with THREE clerks and a washroom attendant..Yay!.. Although after hearing my plight they’re no longer wearing smiles, but rather grimaces which led me to conclude they had beans for lunch. After locating the catalogue and what appeared to be the right ratchet, they each take a turn at the computer, hoping to find or order it, but the computer doesn’t recognize the tool, won’t accept any order, or shows the tool is no longer available. I inquire as to a possible date for resolution as I’d like to circle it on my calendar and post it as my Facebook status so my friends can see what an exciting life I have, and suddenly they all had their cell phones in hand, each trying to find someone else who can offer their expertise on how to handle lifetime warranty replacement issues. Calls were made to toys, footwear, lingerie and the housekeeping department.

As I sat on a nearby sofa, cuddled up with a pillow and blanket, hoping someone would come by and offer me a coffee and Baileys, I see a man walk into hardware like he’s on a mission. Turns out he’s the store manager, and within two minutes he approaches me with a new ratchet in his hand. He offered it to me in exchange for the broken one and I couldn’t help but ask where it came from. Are you ready?….He took it from a set and said they would simply replace it later. Doh!

I headed home knowing I had successfully accomplished my task. Smiling, I gave Brian the new ratchet and he immediately set out to use it.

I would like to thank all the staff at Sears who kept smiling and wouldn’t give up. That is indeed great customer service.

Come on now, everybody sing along with me.. ♫ Don’t Worry, Be Happy ♫ ..

TABLE TALK …. MAY I BE EXCUSED?

I’ve always considered supper time as a time to enjoy both good company and a good meal (hopefully). A time to catch up on the happenings and news of the day, be it BEER marshmallows made in Chicago, Canada considering changing the national anthem to be gender neutral or Rick Mercer freezing his ice off in the Canadian Arctic (All real..really).

USA Today recently ran an article that said couples that eat together stay together because it can “heighten the romance” Watching someone slurp, chew, dribble and save a little something on the chin for later, can be an aphrodisiac? Who knew. Hmmm…Well….I’ve been known to strip at the table because the kick ass chili I’m eating brings on a hot flash and if I don’t remove some (or more) clothing I swear I’ll suffer spontaneous combustion. But at that time, romance isn’t on my mind so much as making a snow angel in the front yard, and even if my other half was to mistake my lack of material for an invitation, he’s quickly returned to reality when I dash for the door and the welcoming snow, leaving him with nothing to cozy up to but his chili, while the neighbours are left with a visual that could take months worth of therapy to erase.

A few nights ago we sat down to enjoy our meal and after a few moments the conversation went something like this …

“Did you hear Rick Mercer choked on a beer marshmallow while trying to sing a politically correct version of Oh Canada as he was attempting to fly a plane in the Arctic?”

“No” … he throws back his head and pops a cracker into his mouth.

“So what causes the steam from your soup?”

“Huh?” … slurp … I respond hoping I didn’t just hear the “School Is In Session” bell.

“HOW does the steam from your soup form?”

“Ummmm … air, and umm heat?” …. Damn bell … slurp

“Partially correct, but…..” and he pauses to pop another cracker into his mouth.

Words like but mean only one thing. More words are coming. In this case, words like conduction, convection and radiation were tossed around with examples involving liquid travelling through space, and objects making contact while passing gas. Then came “thermic” (heat) words like exothermic and endothermic reaction.

Now I admit I was never all that good at science, anything related to science, or listening to anything about or related to science. Actually, it’s not the listening part so much as the grasping it and remembering it part. So, not wanting to seem inattentive as he happily shares his knowledge, I resorted to responses like “Uh huh”… “Yes, I see”… “Ohhhhhhh”… and …“Please pass the salt”.

By the time we’d finished eating, information overload had manifested, and as every woman knows, the best treatment for any form of overload (or anything else) is chocolate. Any doctor without a Y chromosome will confirm that chocolate produces the chemical serotonin which helps us to relax and puts us in a better mood. Sink backed up? Relax and have some chocolate. Unexpected dentist bill? Relax and have some chocolate. Run out of chocolate? Relax and have some Baileys. But I digress… So while he continues orating about things like water droplets and the need for sunblock, I go to the kitchen and bring back the remainder of a chocolate bar from long ago… What? … Ok ok, it was just the night before…Sheesh. Anyway, as I feel it slowly melting in my mouth, giving my taste buds pure pleasure, I wonder if it’s a endothermic or exothermic reaction, only to have my query quashed with “Neither. It’s a physical reaction”. So much for information retention. No problem because by then I was beginning to bask in my new found relaxation. And then I remembered something else…

“Brian, did you know that chocolate is also an aphrodisiac?”

As I begin to strip he exclaims “School’s out!” followed by “Hey, where are you going?”

“ I’m having a exothermic reaction. You might want to warn the neighbours”

ON SALE THIS WEEK ONLY….

As many of you know, Brian likes to putter with anything that has a motor and/or engine, or works under any kind of power (Definition of Putter: disassemble, question how it works or if there’s a better way to do it, and reassemble with or without manufacturers recommended parts, including, but not limited to, duct tape, twist ties and paper clips) Although vehicles are his biggest attraction, he’s been known to take apart computers, vacuum cleaners, microwave ovens, RV furnace motors and a key chain flash light from the dollar store.

He and I recently removed the engine from his diesel truck. Ok, he did most of the unhooking stuff and verbal expletive banter part, but I did hand him tools. Now I admit they weren’t always the right tools, thus contributing to his verbal banter, but in my defence I’d like to point out that his sockets and such ( he has hundreds, if not tens of them) come in metric AND standard imperial , I’m not good at math and they all look the same. Asking for one that’s bigger than the ¾ inch he handed back to me and telling me I might have to look in the metric set, is like .. well, math. Anyway, the idea was to swap out one questionable engine for another questionable engine and hope the truck would run. I was certainly hoping it would work because the first engine was a female dog to get out, my math skills weren’t getting any better, and Brian’s banter could be heard in the next county.

So… How many of you women enjoy shopping with the man in your life? Ok, not bad. Now how many of you enjoy shopping with the man in your life for things HE wants? You know, things like, parts, tools, widgets, and gizmos. Well although I don’t often know what the hell the item actually is or what it does, I do generally enjoy shopping with Brian. You see, I look at it from an entertainment angle, and to help get the full entertainment value out of it. the trick is to go with an open mind and a travel mug filled with coffee…or Baileys….or coffee WITH Baileys. That, and it’s easier to curb his desire to overspend. There’s the “Look” we exchange when I catch him drooling over something, followed by “Ahem” . Good communication is so important in any relationship. I’ve seen couples tied to each other with a rope like they do on kindergarten field trips, so the husband can’t wander off and get through the checkout before she’s realized it.

Well Brian informs me that he needs a particular socket to remove diesel rejectors, reflectors or inspectors. What’s that dear? Ohhhhh, injectors. I stand corrected. Anyway, I opted to remain at home while he went to Princess Auto Parts in search of the socket. A $3.00 socket. And THAT’S where I made my mistake. I knew better, and I have no idea what came over me, but I let him go alone.

For those of you who don’t frequent parts stores, let me educate you. Princess Auto  is like a Toys R Us for men, only it smells worse and the guys don’t throw themselves on the floor in a tantrum if they can’t have the newest Maxirecorder Vehicle Monitor. Ok, there was ONE time, but in his defence he hadn’t eaten and was a little hypoglycemic. Anyway, this place simply oozes testosterone. You can smell it…along with other natural odours that guys seem to take pleasure in sharing. Where or why it’s called “Princess” Auto is beyond me. I have a theory that it started out as “Prince’s”, someone made a typo and nobody has bothered to correct it because, really, the only word that count to a guy is “Auto”… But I digress.

I’m in the kitchen doing kitchen stuff, and he comes in with a big smile on his face and dancing like he has to pee.

“Come on out and see what I bought!”

“It’s a socket. I’ve seen a socket”

“No no. Just come on, come on, come on!” he squeals excitedly.

How could I refuse such a plea? I followed him to the garage and as he opens the trunk of the car I’m thinking.. It must be a pretty big socket if he had to put it in the trunk. He moves aside so I can have a look, and there in the trunk is boxes and bags of tools and parts that I was pretty sure cost more than $3.00.

“Oh, this was such a good deal” he says as he digs out something called a reciprocating saw.

“Isn’t this cool?” he beams as he shows me some kind of hydraulic thing.

“Ooh, ooh, and these were on sale too” he sings as he removes a shovel, a wrench combo and a leather punch complete with eyelets. Yes, a leather punch with eyelets.

“Um, I thought you went to buy ONE socket. Do you NEED all this stuff to work on the truck?” I query.

“Well no, but it’s all stuff I’m sure I’ll use sometime” he replies and continues to show me a hook grab, a link of chain, a leveller, a 7 amp drill, and finally a socket set. Yup, a whole set. Apparently they were out of single sockets, so he bought the whole set.

“Sooooo…How much did you spend?”

“$416.00 and change, BUT all this stuff was a great deal, and it’s not like I won’t use it at some point”.

Yup, he went to buy a 1 inch deep socket which cost about $3.00 and came home with $416.20 worth of stuff…I KNOW!

SO…. I went with him to return a few things. We then proceeded to pick up a couple of minor items he really did need. He had his list and I had my travel mug. At one point we saw a guy walking behind his wife, who was not carrying a travel mug but was rolling her eyes, and the guy says “…but that’s why I brought you along” as he holds up the shopping basket. He spots us and seeing that I have the basket while Brian is scanning the place for the items on his list says “Look, HIS wife is carrying HIS stuff”. A giggle escapes from both of us, and being a woman and having given…I mean seen the look on her face before, I was fairly sure this guy was going to have a lonely night.

Anyway, after only one “Look” and one “Ahem” we left Princess Auto with nothing more than the things on his list. The truck engine transplant was a success and it runs great…Well kind of great. So, it’s time to move on to the next project. I guess I better go prepare for battle…I mean banter

Today’s Leather Weather Forecast…

It was getting late in the summer, the sun was shining and we were having a comfortably warm weather day. Forecast mentioned possible thunder and showers, but let’s face it, the odds that the weather people are correct are pretty slim. Kind of like the odds of someone winning the lottery, me understanding algebraic and transcendental numbers, or Prime Minister Stephen Harper having a clue.

So after an intense discussion….

“Want to take the motorcycle to my sisters house?”

“Sure”…

Brian gave the bike a quick go over and we donned our gear, which for him includes a helmet, full leather jacket, leather gloves and leather chaps…Buttless chaps, as in there’s no coverage for the butt, or the crotch for that matter…Hmm, there IS something to be said about a man wearing leather chaps. Although they ARE worm over pants…at least in public, hopefully. Um…I’m sure I was going somewhere with this. Oh yes, and for me it’s a helmet and partial leather jacket, by which I mean it has leather elbows and shoulder pads, but the rest is … well I’m not sure, but it’s supposed to give some protection. Anyway, I’m still new at all this motorcycling stuff, and haven’t acquired the minimal amount of leather wear like he has. Actually, he has provided me with what I have so far. If it weren’t for him I’d be naked….of any leather….for riding the bike. And if the cost of leather ever goes down, I just might take the next step of taking out a loan, and get a pair of leather gloves…for riding the bike. I’m not sure I want leather chaps though. “Dear, does my butt look fat in these chaps?” could lead to both of us being happy or one of us prying a helmet out of his behind.

After checking our back pack to ensure that our beverages were cozy, and then securing it on my back, we headed out. Ahhh yes…The warm sun, the caressing breeze, the raindrops…Wait a minute! Raindrops. As in water in the form of tiny water balloons. Balloons that burst when they make contact, rendering the contacted area wet. At this point they were only dropping sporadically and Brian wasn’t showing any sign of turning back, so I let myself relax. After all, the sun is still peaking out. No problem., just a few measly drops. Ha, I laugh at a few measly drops.

Well I don’t like Pina Coladas or getting caught in the rain….unless it’s 30c outside and I’m having a hot flash, and then I still don’t like Pina Coladas, but I would welcome the rain along with a gin and tonic with lime, not lemon …but I digress.

We were 3 minutes from home and drop……drop……drop. This soon turned into drop-drop-drop and my pants were showing some damp spots. It wasn’t overly unpleasant at this point, and as Brian appeared to be oblivious to it, I was still hopeful it would soon be gone. My optimism was suddenly washed away with… splash-splat-splash .. Ow …splat-splat-splat! ...Ow! … It was now PELTING down and combined with the speed we were travelling it felt like we were being bombarded with bullets….filled with water..and I think…Whose bright ideas was this?…Oh ya..haha…it was mine. Well it didn’t take long for my pants to become saturated, and my jacket eventually gave up any intention of protecting me and not only let the rain soak through, but completely turned on me as the neck (I swear) grew wider by 5 inches allowing a steady stream of water to run down my back, into the waist of my jeans and down my…..well you get the picture, which you’d probably rather forget. I knew Brian was dryer than I was by the simple fact that he was wearing so much leather. He seemed not to notice the rain, and proceeded down the road as if it were any other day,

When we were about 2 minutes away from my sisters, the rain stopped and the sun came out…go figure. We pulled into the driveway and I dismounted from the bike carrying an extra 25 pounds of water, and not waiting for Brian I drippled my way to the door and rang the bell. My sister greeted me with a laugh and “Come on in but try to keep the puddles to a minimum” As I stood in her entryway trying to get my riding attire off, Brian came in smiling like he’d just had a jovial jaunt down a county lane. As he stripped off his leathers, both my sister and I couldn’t help but be drawn to his crotch, which brought another smile to his face, although I’m not sure if it was pride or simply….no wait, he’s a man, so it was pride, well at least until he realized that since his chaps don’t cover that area, the rain took full advantage of that and now he looked like he’d just relieved himself.

She offered us clothes to wear while ours were drying, then we dug out the beverages from our back pack and when her husband got home, proceeded to being beaten assaulted slapped ….ok we were at the losing end of a cribbage game. During a break in the game my sister and Brian left the room and suddenly we hear “Let me feel your crotch” to which the reply was “It’s pretty good, I think it’ll do”. As her husband had not been present on our soggy arrival, he looked at me questioningly. I simply smiled and said “I’m sure it’s harmless. Drink?” and poured us another beverage.

Back in our dry clothes once again we made the return trip without so much as a spit. And now as I write this, Autumn has set in. Good heavens, last week we had snow….I know! …Sigh…I guess it’s time to store the bike and put away the leathers….Yes dear, the chaps too ….On second thought…



As I occasionally talk about our boat, I thought perhaps it would help my reader(s) to understand a few basic nautical terms.

I would also like to say that the following definitions are not in alphabetical order because that would entail more thought than my brain can produce on only one cup of coffee. So here goes…

Dock: An area where you tie the boat between voyages and where it spends 95% of it’s time due to mechanical, structural and cosmetic problems which keep the boat owner in a continuous downward financial spiral.

Engine: Mechanical device that produces the energy to move the boat. Also a device that the captain develops a closer relationship with than with his spouse. This device will fail to start prior to departing for your voyage, and will sputter to a stop (probably more than once) during your voyage. A “gentle” tap with a hammer and a few choice words of encouragement will be needed to get it running again.

Aboard: Being on the boat. This is not an actual board, although it’s a good idea having one on the boat in case repairs are required or it’s needed when your engines have failed, you can’t find the oars and you need to direct the boat away from that rather fast approaching BIGGER boat.

Overboard: No longer on the boat, but now resting somewhere beneath the water line of the boat. This includes, but is not limited to the crew, cell phones, the boat keys, or anything of value that you brought aboard and have since dropped, lost control of and slipped out of your hands, pocket, purse or brown paper bag.

Port: Left side of the boat. Also a delightful beverage that can be enjoyed while on the boat.

Starboard: Right side of the boat, which is where (many many many years ago) the boat was steered from, thus making the board used for the oar a “star” piece of wood resulting in the term “star board” or starboard.

Head: The toilet. Which is where those who don’t take well to the boats swaying have their heads hanging over.

Log Boom: A collection of errant logs waiting to be towed to a sawmill, that (not wanting to meet that fate) break loose of their bindings the closer your boat or your body (if you’re no longer aboard) enter the area causing you to participate in a game of Dodge The Log Boom.

PFD: Personal Flotation Device is worn to keep you afloat, should you decide that boating isn’t for you and you’d rather take your chances in the water where the device will keep you afloat as you wait for the next wave from a passing boat to send you toward shore, during which time you’ll be able to practice playing Dodge The Log Boom.

Anchor: Although designed to hold the boat in place when your engine fails, it’s more of a device used to test your patience while it sweeps the rivers bottom only to (assuming the rope and chain are still attached to both anchor AND boat) finally secure the boat as it comes into contact with a log boom, at which time you automatically lose the game.

Bow: Front part of the boat, where the anchor is located, and so when trying to release it, the crew member has to bow down, revealing to whom ever is at the helm, a little too much moon.

Helm: Where the steering and controls are located, and where a barrage of verbal expletives often takes place from the Captain or crew member manning it.

Stern: The back of the boat. Also the look the Captain gives me….I mean gives the crew member when she controls the boat in such a manner as to cause other boaters nearby to test out their PFD’s.

Propeller: Has 3 blades that “propel” the boat forward until it (the propeller) comes in contact with debris in the water such as logs, fishing lines and another boats anchor chain, leading you to shut down the engine, release your anchor, tighten your PFD, and grab the oars while your Captain shouts “Arrrr… Let the games begin!”

Well I hope this has helped prepare you if you’re given the opportunity to go on a boat, whether it sits tied to the dock or heads out on a voyage in open water.

Ahoy!  I’m off to find me a delightful beverage….I mean coffee

Sunny Side Up….

Spandex use is up 400%…I’m not kidding folks! Well, that got your attention didn’t it? And I’m talking about shorts and swim wear. Makes me nauseous just thinking about it. So why is usage up? That’s a good question, and even though I waited patiently for the guy on the radio to explain that finding, NO explanation was given. I know ‘retro’ is ‘in’, but spandex shorts and/or swimsuits should NEVER be allowed back in…anywhere, anytime. My eyes are burning at the mere thought of men in spandex again and I can’t find the Visine in the medicine cabinet.

That bit of news brought the whole bathing suit issue to mind, and being summer is officially a few days away, it’s time to dig through the drawers, shake it out and try it on, only to find out that it shrunk during the winter.

You notice that men don’t seem to be bothered by how they look in a bathing suit? Beer belly, man boobs and hairy backs, they don’t care. The misguided souls that they are, seem to think they look good no matter what they’re wearing. Women on the other hand try to be considerate of those whom we may traumatize at the poolside or beach. I think sunglass companies should design a pair that make everyone look good when seen through the tinted lenses. Amen is right!

Anyway, mens swimming garments have evolved(?) from wool long john type suits that I’ve no doubt itched, short suits that offered no housing for the ‘crew’, spandex that offered housing but…ouch, my eyes!…to the (thankfully) recently popular knee length cargo shorts that offer housing AND don’t burn your retinas. So when a guy needs a new swim suit he simply goes into a store, tries on couple of pairs and then buys the first one that fits under his belly and has enough elasticity to make room for that extra burger and cola chaser (beer where available) from the nearest concession stand.

Women’s swimming garments have gone from “swimming dresses” with small weights in the hem to keep them from floating up, one piece suits, bikini ‘s and, eeww, the thong suit that covers less area than a strip of dental floss.

Some women go bathing suit shopping every year. I KNOW! I won’t put myself through that rerun of hell unless I’m medicated. Well that, plus the suit I have has shrunk, is 10 years out of style or I’ve lost it…uh the bathing suit. I lose my mind at the thought of shopping for one.

It’s the same every time. Racks with suits that look like pieces of scrap material held together with little bits of string, next to racks with suits that have a bikini top and the bottom half is a skirt, to a rack with the ever present one piece suits. They come with floral patterns, polka dots, stripes, play dough day glo colors and basic black. I’ll spot one that has potential, only to find out it has no bra…NO BRA. At my age, bathing suits with just a lining in the bust area do nothing but make me look like I’ve stashed a rather long jelly roll in there…..just north of my bellybutton. Obviously whoever designs these suits are either male or still young enough that they’re under the illusion THEY won’t suffer the ravages of gravity.

Then there’s having to enter the chamber of horror..aka fitting room, which should be renamed the unfitting room as nothing I take in there fits….well….as in fits well. And what’s with the fun house mirrors? Trust me, I’m not laughing. I then have to take in at least 3 different styles that promise to hide (or at least disguise) this middle aged, menopausal body’s imperfections, by which I mean dimply, ill proportioned and gravitationally challenged parts. I also choose 3 different sizes because the clothing industry can’t seem to agree on what size is what size. You know….size 10 in one brand is a 14 in another. And don’t get me started on size 0.

Then comes trying to pull on the suit, a feeling I assume is akin to being sausage meat forced into its casing. It’s always too tight here, and too loose there. While trying to readjust areas that need tucking in, out I pop some place else, and as I glance at the mirror and see the spectacle that is me, I expect it to shatter at any moment. I attempted to try a suit on once without my glasses on, but I ended up with it on backwards, which gave me room on the lower tummy front, but, as it was a halter and therefore had no back material, left my bosom sunny side up…so to speak. It was NOT the look I was going for. It’s no wonder that once I’ve found a bathing suit that’s at all workable, I hang on to it for as long as possible.

So, after rummaging through the drawers and cupboards, I’ve not found my old suit. Aaaack! Maybe I’ll just avoid the pool and the beach this year. And with the money I save on Visine and medication, I can buy a kiddie pool for the backyard, which is conveniently enclosed by a tall fence and large trees.

I feel better already