Groundhog Day....According to EVILBOY

I know this is a little outdated, but you see, the thing is that this kid hasn't stopped talking about Groundhog Day since February 2nd so it's still a little fresh in his mind. 

#Electricalstorm2010 and sexy undies, this post has it all!

Dear Internet,

I am sure you have all heard by now about this electrical storm that is supposed to wipe out the Internet, possibly forever.  Before I go to harvest my Farmville, catch up on my YouTube videos, and update my Twitter status hash tagging the heck out of #electricalstorm2010, there is something I want you all to know.

I am a passionate person. So when you all thought I just wanted to make out with random things all the time, well you were right, but I must also let you know of the things I am really most passionate about.

My passions have changed over the years.  For example, when I was 21, I was passionate about those little underwear that came up over my jeans. When I was 22 I was passionate about fitting back into those little underwear.  When I was 23 I was passionate about surviving each day and trying to smile.

Today I am passionate about life.  I'm passionate about doing everything I can to make our life normal, not boring normal, fun normal!

Because he deserves it.

and so do I (as hard as that might be to admit sometimes).

My passion is to make him laugh, because he has the most amazing laugh you could ever imagine.  Four and a half years ago I thought he would never laugh as much as he does, boy was I wrong.  I want us to have things like normal families have.  I want him to be able to do things that normal kids do and I never want him to know that it was a struggle to raise him on my own because it really never was.  It was passion that helped us through the hard times.

My passion is our little life.

 This post is an entry into Mabel’s Labels BlogHer‘10 Contest in which I am hoping to win a chance to win a chance to visit BlogHer '10 and a year long contract as a blogger for Mabel's Labels. Check out the contest and please let me know in the comments what your passions are or why I deserve to win. 

The Olympics... According to EVILBOY

EVILBOY loves to talk.  He is very good at explaining things to people.  Even though the information is not always accurate, it's fun to see his take on the world.  He's like a miniature Tom Cruise (read: way less creepy) with his theories and babbling on and on about things like planets and science and stuff.  I figure this will be a good way to boost his confidence...and who knows, you might learn something as well!


This week I asked EVILBOY what the Olympics were and asked him to describe what happens at the Olympics.

Free

I'm losing you.

Your voice, your smile, your smell and your perfectly groomed facial hair have been slowly dissolving from my memory.

Our memories.  Forgotten.

The only reminder is the people you left behind.  The ones who have overcame so much without you.  The little boy who has your laugh, the family who gathers without you.  The only reminder is pictures of your face, now a stranger.

You are gone.  Forever.

I never think of you anymore.  I don't feel as if you are in the room. 

Waiting. 

You are gone.

My ring.  I've become allergic to my ring.  The one you gave me.  I stopped wearing it.  When I hurt, I wear the ring to make myself feel better, but then the reaction starts.  A rash, perfectly shaped to the ring. 

I take it as a sign to move on.  To stop thinking of you.  To stop waiting for what probably doesn't exist.

Your world, wherever that may be, may not really be anything but a dream.

Cards and junk....

Mason got a whole crap load of Valentine's Day cards this year. In fact, this year alone he probably got more than I ever got in my whole life.  When I was a kid, there was none of these rules that made the children give a valentine to each kid.  When I was a kid you got one if you were popular, pretty, or had big boobs. In fact, even when I actually had a boyfriend in grade seven, my only boyfriend in my school life ever, I didn't get a valentine.  Not a single one.  So I bought myself a little stuffed dog and told my friends it was from him. (lame).

I bought a nice little mixture of Cars and Scooby Doo valentines for him to hand out to his friends.  I made him sit down and write out all 39 (!!!!) valentines for all the kids in his class and daycare, as it was mandatory.  While old me would have made cute little valentine's with his picture on it, new me doesn't have time or energy for this kind of stuff anymore so new me just made four personalized valentine's for the teachers and called it a night.

The next day Mason came home with a mountain of valentines.  I mean there were pretty much every kind I saw in the store (even the lame dollar store ones that I chuckled and said nobody would ever buy...guess I was wrong).  Not only did he come home with cards, but he also brought home presents, and baked goods, and candy bags full of candies and cards. 

Seriously?

Am I missing something here? Since when is Valentine's Day supposed to be something more than a little paper card with your kid's name written on it.  It doesn't mean anything.  In my opinion this is just a cash grab for card companies.  Could be that I am just bitter because I have never received a Valentine's Day card that actually meant anything, nor did I ever go on a date or get flowers or chocolates on Valentine's Day.  Okay, okay I am bitter, but since when do we have to give kids at school bags of candy for Valentine's Day?  Why isn't a card enough?

I found myself feeling bad that I only sent Scooby Doo and Cars cards to these kids.  I'm sure they went home and were wondering where was the candy from Mason.  Where were the home baked cupcakes or the pencils with stupid little cupids on them?  In all fairness the Cars valentine's I sent in did have lollipops attached to them.  Lollipops that came with the cards that tasted like ten different kinds of ass. These kids are going to hate my kid now.  They will probably hate me as well.  All because I was too tired to bake some damn cupcakes. 

What about next year? What if they're giving out jewelery and DS games next year.  Then what? I don't know what the valentine trend is, someone please fill me in!

-

I did manage to get one card this year for Valentine's Day.  A new bank card that is.  Oh lucky me.  It started off on Tuesday when I went to use my bank card to pay for my chai latte and it was declined.  The chai latte lady told me their debit machine was kind of wonky.  After two tries the debit machine was not working at all, and stupid me never carries cash, so I had to use my credit card (at 28% interest) to buy a $4 chai latte. I vaguely remembered the time when my bank card was in my pocket and came out in an 'S' shape, but figured it was just their stupid machine.

That night I went to see a movie with my friends.  Again the card was declined  This was just too much of a coincidence now so I decided to call the bank.  I was told that my bank card had been used in a business where the cards were being "skimmed" so they deactivated my card to protect me from theft.   How nice of them to tell me. I asked why they would not call me or put up a message in my online banking profile or on the debit machine screen or something and the girl replied "oh, that's a good idea! I'll let the feedback department know".  Yes, it is a good idea to tell people when you deactivate their cards so they don't go around getting declined for a $4 coffee arseholes.I was then instructed to go into my branch and get a new card. 

Which I did.  Then I went to use the new card, and it was declined again.  This time for $7 at a thrift store.  As if that's not embarrassing.  So I drove all the way back to the bank and spoke with the manager who gave me another new card.  I was told that my card has been used in a card skimming scam three times.  Once in December, once in January and once in February.  They wouldn't tell me where though because there was still an investigation and they haven't been charged yet.  Which is really frustrating to me because now I don't want to use my card anywhere and either get money stolen (not like there's much to take) or have my card deactivated again. 

The bank manager told me to never let your bank card out of your sight while you are paying for something.  If they swipe it, make sure you have it back in your hands before you enter your pin number.  If your card does leave your sight before they give it back, refuse to enter your pin or press cancel and pretend it was a mistake. What these scammers are doing is taking your card to another machine out of your sight and swiping it while either they or a camera is watching you type in your pin.  I always "play tricks" when I'm entering my pin.  Even though I will be entering one number, I move my fingers quickly over all the buttons to make it difficult for anyone to watch and I pretend I'm pushing other numbers. The scammers have even found a way to do this with the new chip cards. 

I am very frustrated with my bank, especially with all the mistakes they have made with my new card and with my money order last week, but I am very happy they are working hard to prevent theft from my account.

Did you ever know that you're my heeeeeerooooooooo....

So I think I might die tomorrow, and it will all be my fault.  There is no one else to blame in this situation but myself.  I will walk in to that dentist office tomorrow with my head held high (mostly to hide my double chin) and know that it was only I that caused my own death.  All because I was too afraid to get a simple blood test done.  Wimp I am. 

All I ask is that you make sure my son has a good family and that you play "Wind Beneath My Wings" by Bette Midler at my funeral (by the way, have you noticed how good Bette Midler is looking lately?? - ugh, did I really just type that in what could possibly be my last post ever???)

Oh and please bury me with my iPhone because I really can't even be dead without it (I learned that the hard way when I forgot it at home this morning).


All joking aside, I am terrified. 

I mean, who doesn't hate the dentist.  I surely do but I have come to find it tolerable.  I have an excellent dentist who has a really awesome assistant and a really really nice secretary.  They have been so wonderful to me and EvilBoy. 

The last visit I had (which was last fall) started off like any other painful visit.  I had to get a filling, which is never fun, but I'm used to the routine as I have been blessed with the shittiest enamel ever in history, either that or my addiction to sour candies.  I'm laying there with my super awesome circa 1983 shades on thinking about all the sour candies I would make out with once the freezing wore off and I can hear the dentist talking to the hygenist with a little bit of panic.  I decided to put the sour candy dreams aside and listen in.  I heard words like bleeding....excessive....won't stop....packing....pressure...sour patch kids....I mean...can't see a thing....lots of blood.  I watched as she worked frantically, laying there like a slug with my mouth wide open.  I was thinking of how embarrassing it would be to die at the dentist and wondering who would pick EvilBoy up at daycare if I died.  The dentist asked me if I took any medications that day and I managed to choke out no. 

Two and a half hours.

I was in that chair for two and a half hours before the bleeding was under control and the tooth was able to be filled. My back was sweaty by the time I peeled myself from that chair.  I think it was from nerves because it definitely wasn't hot in there.  I was told that I had another cavity to fill but that I shouldn't come back until I get a test from the doctor to make sure I don't have a bleeding disorder. I was light-headed and worried about getting to the daycare on time before they closed shop and gave my kid away to the hobos. They said they would send me the bill and I went off on my (dopey) way to pick up my kid, with blood staining the corners of my mouth - what a pretty sight.

The kicker - I got the bill a few weeks later and they charged me the extra hours it took to stop the bleeding.  I mean it wasn't really my fault my mouth bled excessively, it wasn't theirs and I guess someone has to get paid for me laying there bleeding from my gumular area but I almost DIED. If anyone should get a break in such situation, I would like to nominate myself.

I had three appointments set up after that, each one I canceled because I hadn't completed the blood test yet.  I'm afraid of needles, yes, but the bigger fear in this situation would be to find out there is something wrong with me.

Which brings us to tomorrow.  I still have no blood test results and I have a dentist appointment (that was rescheduled for the third time on my own account) in the morning.  I guess the proper thing for me to do would be to confess that I have not yet done the blood test and hopefully just get a cleaning.  The cavity I have has yet to cause any discomfort.  I wouldn't even have known it was there.

So if this is my last post ever, I am sorry for it being so lame.  Also I must confess that I am not related to Brian Adams and I am sorry that I told that girl in Grade 6 that I was because that was just wrong. 

It was fun while it lasted.

Accomplished...

We never felt like we were poor, until our kitchen ceiling collapsed.

Suddenly we found ourselves in the position of potential renters.  We were deep into classified ads, rental applications and phone call after phone call to potential landlords.

It always ended the same though.  "We'll give you a call". 

We were good people.  We paid our rent on time always and took care of our apartments.  We never moved out without proper notice and we were generally good to get along with. Bad tenants are people who roll up the new sod you just put down and sell it to the people down the street or the ones who take money off their rent to paint and end up painting around a bed so after they move the wall is not painted behind where the bed was.

but neither of us were employed, and that makes it pretty near impossible to rent an apartment.

We were on the Ontario Disability Support Program at the time because R. had cancer and his employer was not able to accommodate to his illness, specifically his PICC line.  Even though neither of us had a job, we never really felt poor.  Looking back now, I wonder how we managed to live off such a small income, but we managed by being thrifty and we really didn't go anywhere or do anything so that saved a lot of money.  Our dates pretty much consisted of trips to chemo treatment.

Looking for an apartment while on Disability was never easy.  You would think having a couple on a disability income would be a blessing because they have a steady set income, it really wasn't that easy to get potential landlords to see it that way. 

R. used to tell me each time, "don't get your heart set on this place".  He was right because each time I fell in love with an apartment, we got the same finishing line "we'll give you a call".  The only time we were able to rent somewhere successfully was when the landlords turned out to be understanding, or they knew us, or they knew a friend of a friend. Luckily we only had to look for an apartment two times the whole time we were together, but it was never easy.

After R. died I had to move out of our apartment because the building was sold and the tenants were asked to move.  Luckily R's mother was moving out of her apartment and recommended me to her landlords and I was able to live there without having to apply, as I still was unemployed at this point.

Then that house was sold and I was forced to move again, but this time my mom came along with me.  I had finished school and was now employed in my full-time job and I couldn't believe how easy it was for us to get an apartment. 

and now I am looking for an apartment again.

Which is really scary because I am completely alone now.  My mom moved 2 hours away, as did my brother.  I have no other family here and now I am having to find an apartment, all by myself, something I could have never imagined myself doing. 

Then I made a mistake.  I set my heart on an apartment I wanted (and I mean as set as the beetle buying incident set).  The day I looked at it I knew this was my apartment.  Right beside Mason's daycare, behind his school, beautiful older building with character, a balcony that I can sit out on and watch the trees sway in the wind (I'm weird), a swimming pool, a superbly nice building manager and affordable.  All those things were nice and all, but I really knew the apartment was mine when I looked out on the balcony and saw a little statue of a Beetle on the railing.  I know that sounds weird, but it was like a sign to me.

Then came the dreaded application part where the superbly nice building manager lady informed me that a young couple had just applied for MY apartment before I got there.

Devastated.

but persistent.

After more inquiry, I learned that this couple had not yet turned in the required deposit for the apartment, in fact they hadn't even filled out the entire application or given the proper paperwork as of yet.  So I took an application, I got the money (thanks Terry and Mommy!) and the required paperwork and I was determined to get this apartment. 

Realization.

I realized that the other couple would more than likely have a dual income, and I hesitated even applying for fear of rejection.  I remembered how it felt all those times we were not called back for places I had my heart set on.  I felt defeated and I hadn't even tried yet. Then I cried, and then Mason asked me if I was crying because the guinea pig bit me, and then I laughed.

Decision.

I decided to apply anyway.  I would have to apply for apartments sooner or later anyway, even though I felt like I had a disadvantage since my income would quite obviously be lower than the other applicants as they were a couple. 

The superbly nice building manager called the other applicants to let them know I intended on applying as well and they would have to bring in the rest of their application and deposit in order to still be eligible for the apartment.  and they did.  Shit. At this point I felt like my chances were slim to none.  In my mind I kept hearing superbly nice building manager say "we'll call you" over and over in my mind.  Flashbacks of all the apartments I had cried over, would this one just be another notch in my belt of crying over apartments?

and then I got a phone call. 

From the superbly nice building manager. 

A call I never expected.  "welcome to the building!"

It turns out the other applicants failed to bring in the rest of the required information, even with the proper warning, nor did they even bother to fill out the application completely. 

Which made me feel better.  They just didn't want it as badly as I did.

...and for the first time since being alone, I was approved.  It feels good.

and now I'm at the part where I realize I am moving in less than two months and I have three years worth of junk to get rid of in this house (hoarder!)

I'm Not Dead...

You see, this blogging every day thing was not really working out for me.  I felt like I was missing out on all the little things in life that makes blogging have substance and makes it all worth it.  Blogging every day can be a good thing if you have an exciting life, or if you're really smart, have an opinion on lots of things or are the best at Farmville, but it is just too hard for someone who has the exact same routine every day of the week. 


My life is full of mundane, and mundane doesn't write a blog, or it does but it's incredibly hard to write and read such a blog. The problem is, I'm not very fascinating. 

I'm sure you were tired of hearing about my can opener and toe jam just as much that I was tired of typing about that stuff. 

or maybe I want to be more privatalized. 

(That's not a word. I just made it up.)


So I FAIL.

but I lasted for 35 days.  So that deserves a round of applause, or a martini or billions of dollars.  I will let you decide. 

but I'm not giving up completely.  I will still be blogging it out the rest of the year on my 365 blog. 

I'm taking this as a lesson learned.  Taking on too much at once can only lead to failure, in my case at least.  I have also learned that I need to be more exciting and spontaneous.  It may be a little harder than I imagine, but I'm going to give it a try, but I'm not going to say when I'm going to start being more exciting.  This is me being spontaneous.  

Day 35: Walking on a Tightrope...

EvilBoy walked along the sidewalk in a straight line.  He was concentrating so hard that he was slowing us down.  We were in no particular hurry, but for some reason I can never slow down and walking this way was unacceptable.

When I pointed out his walking speed and that it was unacceptable, he protested and informed me that he was in the circus and he was walking on a tightrope.  He described the setting and pointed out the shadow on the sidewalk from the railing in front of us.

So I joined in.

and it was fun, even if I looked like a big total dork in public.  We were having fun.

It made me think of my childhood.  Everything was magical.  There was no reason to rush, there was no stress at work, there were no bills that came in the mail each month addressed to you.  Everything was wonderful.

Until I became a "tween" and I spent most of my days hating on my mother because she made me babysit all the time and wouldn't let me go hang out with the rest of the kids past midnight on weekends.

It made me realize that I walk my own tightrope every single day.  One wrong step and I fall.  Wrong steps could include things like car trouble, getting a bill in the mail, arguments with family members.

My rope is tight and frayed.

I hate the feeling, but I can't seem to get off this rope.

I think it's time I get one of those big giant balancing sticks or a safety net.

Tightrope walking is not always fun.

Day 33: My Sad Movie

Sometimes it all plays out like a sad movie. 

My life.

Something as simple as opening a can of corn can turn into something so meloncholy.  I find myself writing a depressing movie in my mind. 

A bright yellow No-Name can.  I fumble clumsily with the can using a can opener that has been around forever, but I'm not quite sure where it came from.  I had a really nice can opener once.  R. and I were picking out things we needed for our new apartment.  There was a really nice brushed metal can opener.  I'm sure they didn't advertise it as brushed metal because that doesn't really sound appealing when you are describing a can opener, but it was a really nice looking little can opener. 

R. frowned about the price.  After all, having the shitty job of cancer patient really didn't bring in much money.  We had happiness though and all the time in the world, so we thought, maybe not so much time in the end.  After some words back and forth over the look and feel of this can opener, it was mine.  All mine. 

I couldn't wait to open my first can with it.  Life was so simple, yet somehow complicated back then.  To be excited about a can opener, I can only imagine now.  I opened the first can, surely just to test it out. I really had no interest in the kidney beans inside, but I just had to test this brushed metal beauty out. 

and it was crap. 

The paper can of the label tore and scrunched itself up into the gears of the can opener.  The slimy kidney bean juice then spilled out of the can, landing all over the counter and myself.  I could hear R. hollering from the other room, asking if everything was okay. 

and I lied. 

It's fine.  This can opener is great, thank you so much!

That was the shittiest can opener I have ever had to use.  I used it for a long time, mostly because I couldn't bring myself to admitting that I was wrong.  Somehow we ended up with the can opener I now have and I stopped using the brushed metal beauty.  I never got rid of that can opener though.  I kept it for years and years.  I guess that would make me a Hoarder of some sort. 

Tonight I opened a can of corn and thought about that brushed metal can opener.  I marveled at how well this can opener is still holding up, even after six years of use.  I thought about R. and how he didn't make me feel stupid for wanting that can opener so badly in the first place, and I missed him like that.  I don't miss the late night wake-ups, the falls, the ambulance that had to transfer him to his appointments, his appointments, his chocolate milk addiction even though it made him fart the smelliest farts I had ever smelled in my life. 

I dumped the corn out into a bowl, dropping the lid in the mixture, of course because I was never good at cans.  I'm not even that good at cooking.  I made a meal of meatballs and corn over rice.  Very odd mixture, but the texture is amazing.  It's all about the texture.  I could never serve this to anybody else, but for us it works.

It's okay.

and that was the sad movie that played through my mind as I made a meal of meatballs and corn over rice.

I need a hobby.

Day 32: SUCKS...

February begins, which should otherwise be known as the day I officially start getting the numbers messed up on these posts.  It was easy in January when day 20 would be January 20th.  Not very hard to make a mistake when things are that simple, or you would think not anyway *blush*.

I've always hated February.  It's always cold, it contains the worst Holiday ever (Valentine's Day - I'm bitter) and it's short but you still have to pay the same amount for rent and insurance so it's a win for those people, sucks to be me though when I get ripped off a couple extra days.

I am good at seeing the negatives in anything.  I'm trying to change, but bear with me, at least until the end of February. 

I guess the best way I could describe this month is that February SUCKS.  I also dislike the word 'sucks'.  I don't even really understood where that term came from. I decided to turn to my good friend Google to help me out. 

Sucks

Definition: A verb used to indicate that something is unpleasant or that someone is bad at doing something in particular.
Usage: You suck at pwning noobs.

- Geekdictionary.computing.net 

Which really isn't that helpful and kind of gave me a complex a bit because I really don't know what pwning noobs means either.  Don't laugh.  I've been hiding that from you, I have no idea what it means, I don't think it really matters anyways because if I ever caught myself saying that I would have to hit myself in the face.

Doing some more research it basically means something that is sucking on something that is not nice.  Like eggs, or a donkey's ass or the lowest teat  (yes these are all definitions I found on Yahoo Answers).
 
I really don't like when kids say something sucks, but I am guilty of using this term all the time. I think I was raised on the term "this sucks" and I didn't even realize it until the other day when I gave EvilBoy crap for leaving his dresser drawers open. 

I was yelling something about a "pig sty" when EvilBoy looked me right in the eye and said "Mom, I didn't close my drawers because they SUCK"

and I just blinked and stared, most likely with my mouth hanging open.  The kid that scolds me for saying things are stupid just uttered a word that was semi-swearish.I couldn't believe that the "swear cop" said, without even so much as a smirk on his face, that something sucked. 

and then it hit me.

Like a load of fresh folded laundry.

My mother was putting clothes away in his room this past weekend and one of the dresser drawers broke.  It went something like *censored* *censored* THIS DRAWER SUCKS *censored* .....*censored*.  Ah yes, I remember it quite well now.  Since there was not much from that sentence that EvilBoy could actually describe back to me, he chose the lesser (of the many) swear words. 

Sort of like one time when we were in my mom's car.  My mom likes to use not very nice words when she is driving.  God forbid you cut her off, or go slow, or turn into your driveway, or brake too long at a stop sign, or turn left, because if you do, watch out because you are about to be called a *censored*.  Mason was two and I remember right down to his pudgy little foot shoved into that Finding Nemo light-up sandal.  He reached his little foot forward to roll down the window of the Jeep and proceeded to yell out ASSHOLE.   My mom thought it was hilarious, and even though it was a little bit humorous, I just thought of the phone calls I would be getting from the daycare, the school, the prison. It's one thing when they are six and let a swear word slide, at least you can explain to them that it is not a nice word and they will then gasp like a firetruck siren and scold you every time you say the word "stupid".  When it's a two year old you are dealing with, it's more like a loose cannon.  The word could "slip out" in the grocery store, at the park, at daycare, in front of a group of kids. It's just not a good situation to be in, knowing such words could come out of your child's mouth at any time. 


Thanks mom for another fine lesson in vocabulary.