Our fine city is celebrating Gay Pride this week with Two-Snaps-Up-In-A-Zee-Formation.
Every year, during Pride celebrations, I am woefully reminded of how beautiful I am.
Quite a few years ago (back when I was young, hot and skinny) a few of my friends from the Rainbow Lions Club held a fundraiser during Pride Weekend. A dunk tank was set up and, for a few bucks, you could Dunk-a-Hottie.
A bunch of us from work swung by to support the Girls. It was a very warm day and I was dressed for the occasion. A short wrap-around skirt and a racing tank top. Underneath it all, a thong.
We watched them fill the tank, all the while "sipping" Mike's Hard Lemonade. I was feeling pretty good, which is probably why, when Steven asked if I'd be the first Hottie, I slurred Shuuure! Why not?!
It wasn't long before I was dunked. Standing in the tank, my skirt immediately floated to the surface, hovering somewhere around my armpits. My Lemonade-soaked mind deduced that the wall of the tank was high enough so no one could see my thonged behind. It's all good! I left my skirt floating, turned around with my back to the crowd and watched with rapture (I'm easily entertained) as the ladder was re-assembled.
I climbed back up the ladder and took my seat. I had just made myself comfortable when -- WHAM! -- same thing. Skirt floats up, turn around, watch the ladder, climb up, dunked again. Before I knew it, there was a line up of women about two blocks long. Women were approaching the tank, chatting me up. This went on for about two hours. WHAM! Dunk. Floating skirt. Thong. Turn around.
Finally, I was getting a little waterlogged (and a wee parched) and asked to come down. As I climbed down, there was an audible Aaaaw! from the crowd.
I walked over to where the coolers were stored and grabbed another Mike's. As I'm squeezing the water from my skirt, I turn around to watch the next Hottie get dunked and I freeze. Steven and Neil are laughing like maniacs. I am completely mortified. I had no idea that the entire front part of the tank was see-through! No wonder these women were lined up to dunk me. Free show everyone! Come see the straight girl get dunked and see her hiney!!
"Why didn't you tell me?!" I asked, giving Steven a shove. "Are you crazy?!" he says, "Do you have any idea how much money we made off you?" Glad I could help.
However, I now have a nice collection of phone numbers!
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
The Screenplay of my Life
Today is my birthday. I'm not sure how I feel about this.
I'm always melancholy on my birthday. I tend to treat it like New Year's Day. Not so much an opportunity to start fresh with resolutions to improve myself (although God knows I certainly need an overhaul), but more a retrospective look at my life.
If you read Sylvia Browne -- and believe what she has to say -- then we have pre-determined our purpose for being on this planet. We are all following some cosmic (or is that comic??) screenplay written by our spirit selves.
Whether you are born into poverty or wealth, abuse or love, illness or health … you decided this on the Other Side. The people you meet, the joy and sadness you experience, are all things that you have mapped out. Everything that happens to us, good or bad, is something that we have decided we are going to experience. And the purpose for these experiences is to either learn something or teach something. Perhaps both. If you don't learn your lesson or deliver your message, then you're coming back to get it right the next time ... or the time after that. However many times it takes.
I look back on the screenplay of my life and think … WTF was I thinking?!! Clearly there is alcohol on the Other Side, cuz I was really drunk when I wrote my map!
However, I think that Sylvia is right. We're supposed to learn something and/or teach something.
I have learned that I'm a survivor. For all the negative things I have experienced in my life, all the extra baggage I have carried around, I think I've turned out ok. Thank God I was sober long enough to write in my screenplay that I should be accompanied by a wonderful cast of characters. My co-stars are what get me through each scene and I couldn't have carried my part without them. Little gold statues to all of you!
So what happens now? Have I learned everything I'm supposed to learn? Have I taught everything I'm supposed to teach? If I have, is it over now? Am I leaving? Where will I go?
Woah! That's waaaaay too deep. Someone get me a martini.
I'm always melancholy on my birthday. I tend to treat it like New Year's Day. Not so much an opportunity to start fresh with resolutions to improve myself (although God knows I certainly need an overhaul), but more a retrospective look at my life.
If you read Sylvia Browne -- and believe what she has to say -- then we have pre-determined our purpose for being on this planet. We are all following some cosmic (or is that comic??) screenplay written by our spirit selves.
Whether you are born into poverty or wealth, abuse or love, illness or health … you decided this on the Other Side. The people you meet, the joy and sadness you experience, are all things that you have mapped out. Everything that happens to us, good or bad, is something that we have decided we are going to experience. And the purpose for these experiences is to either learn something or teach something. Perhaps both. If you don't learn your lesson or deliver your message, then you're coming back to get it right the next time ... or the time after that. However many times it takes.
I look back on the screenplay of my life and think … WTF was I thinking?!! Clearly there is alcohol on the Other Side, cuz I was really drunk when I wrote my map!
However, I think that Sylvia is right. We're supposed to learn something and/or teach something.
I have learned that I'm a survivor. For all the negative things I have experienced in my life, all the extra baggage I have carried around, I think I've turned out ok. Thank God I was sober long enough to write in my screenplay that I should be accompanied by a wonderful cast of characters. My co-stars are what get me through each scene and I couldn't have carried my part without them. Little gold statues to all of you!
So what happens now? Have I learned everything I'm supposed to learn? Have I taught everything I'm supposed to teach? If I have, is it over now? Am I leaving? Where will I go?
Woah! That's waaaaay too deep. Someone get me a martini.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Today is Memère's 98th Birthday
I have wonderful memories of Memère. My grandparents lived about a five hour drive from our home. Whenever they visited, they would stay for several weeks. Memère would always bring date squares. They were absolutely delicious!
Mom and Memère would play game after game of Yahtzee. Every game was played for money … no point in playing if it's not for money! They'd each break out their little containers of dimes and ante up. At night, the cards came out and they played late into the evening. Memère still plays cards and Yahtzee for money and she wins all the time. Quite frankly, I think she cheats!
As she ages, her ability to speak and understand English is diminishing. She refuses to see the English doctor because she thinks he's incompetent … she can't understand him, therefore he doesn't know what he's doing. You gotta love this kind of logic!
I know that I'm going to be a crotchety old lady in a nursing home and I am proud to say that I have learned from the best!
Bonne Fête, Memère, je t'aime!!
Mom and Memère would play game after game of Yahtzee. Every game was played for money … no point in playing if it's not for money! They'd each break out their little containers of dimes and ante up. At night, the cards came out and they played late into the evening. Memère still plays cards and Yahtzee for money and she wins all the time. Quite frankly, I think she cheats!
As she ages, her ability to speak and understand English is diminishing. She refuses to see the English doctor because she thinks he's incompetent … she can't understand him, therefore he doesn't know what he's doing. You gotta love this kind of logic!
I know that I'm going to be a crotchety old lady in a nursing home and I am proud to say that I have learned from the best!
Bonne Fête, Memère, je t'aime!!
Saturday, June 21, 2008
The Bunny Serial Killer
It's been one year since we adopted Puppy.
Puppy is a retired racing greyhound. He's a joyful addition to our family. Kitty, however, will tell you otherwise. She's a bitch and doesn't like Puppy. Puppy wants to play, but she just hisses at him.
It's chaos if they're left to roam the house together, so Kitty lives happily sequestered in the master bedroom. All her toys are there, her food is in the corner and the walk-in closet houses her 'shitter' (as The Husband calls it). She stayed in the bedroom all day anyway, buried beneath the covers, so this isn't really any different from her life pre-Puppy. Or at least that's what I try to tell myself. I figure if I say it often enough, I'll begin to believe it.
The other night, I let Puppy out for his evening pee. He did what he normally does. He bolted out the door and ran to the back garden. There is often a neighbour cat lurking about and Puppy has a good time chasing it away. It's all harmless fun for everyone. Well, maybe not so much for the neighbour's cat, but we get a good laugh out of it.
But this time was different.
This time he caught something. I heard the most horrible squeal and a crunch. My heart leapt into my throat. I couldn't catch my breath. Puppy turned around and came running back to me. In his mouth was a baby bunny, feebly moving.
OH. MY. GOD!!
I yell for The Husband who, hearing the panic in my voice, comes running. He stops in his tracks. Oh my God, he mutters. He walks towards Puppy slowly so as not to make him bolt. "Drop it!" Puppy won't let go. The Husband tries to pry Puppy's mouth open, but he won't budge.
After much effort, Puppy finally drops the bunny. The bunny flops a bit, then dies.
We look at each other, The Husband and I, and I know that the sadness I see in his eyes is mirrored in mine.
We bury the bunny in silence.
Later that evening, The Husband says to me, "I saw the bunnies in the backyard. I even took a picture of one of them." He's really broken up about this. We both are.
The next day, The Husband is working a double shift. I'm on my own. I let Puppy out for his evening pee. He's running around the back yard, sniffing in various places, trying to find just the right location. He stops and sniffs in one spot. His sniffing becomes more animated. Suddenly he lunges and I hear that horrible squeal again and crunch.
JESUS!
He comes running towards me with this bunny flopping around in his mouth. Puppy drops his present for me at my feet. This tiny, helpless bunny is flopping away.
I lose it.
I was OK last night, but two nights in a row … how much can a girl take??! I get Puppy inside the house. The bunny is still thrashing around. I call The Husband at work cuz I'm freaking out now and I need some advice. The answering machine kicks in, so I leave a message: "Call me!" I'm crying and hiccoughing.
I go back out to the backyard and the bunny is still thrashing. Shit! I know what I have to do. And I know that it's the only merciful thing to do, but I'm sick about it. I go to the shed and get a shovel … and I end the bunny's suffering.
I start bawling. I don't mean just crying. I mean BAWLING! I'm hyperventilating and hiccoughing, all the while asking the gods not to smite me for taking an innocent life … I'm really losing it.
The phone rings. I answer the one in the garage. I'm still hiccoughing. The Husband asks what's wrong … thinking someone died, someone hurt me … all sorts of things are going through this poor man's head. I tell him what happened, stuttering the entire time. I can hear it in his voice; he's sick about this. He feels bad for the bunny, but even worse that I had to go through it alone.
The Husband did what he does best and he calmed me down and made me feel better. I love this man! I thank the gods every day for him.
It's been two weeks and, as the saying goes, time is slowly doing its healing thing. I can still hear those squeals and crunch. It knocks the breath out of me every time I think about it.
I know that Puppy was only behaving in the manner in which Mother Nature intended. And I know that I did the right thing by ending the bunny's suffering. But I can't help but think that Puppy is now a serial bunny killer. In fact, I'm an accomplice in all of this, since I had to kill the second one. And we're only aiding and abetting by burying the bodies in the backyard.
I can still see Puppy's face. He was so excited -- ears up, tailing wagging. I'm sure he was thinking: "Look Mom!! I've been chasing these things for years and I never caught one before. Look at this! I finally caught one and I'm going to give it to you cuz I love you so much! "
Thanks Puppy. I love you too. Next time, just get me a card.
Puppy is a retired racing greyhound. He's a joyful addition to our family. Kitty, however, will tell you otherwise. She's a bitch and doesn't like Puppy. Puppy wants to play, but she just hisses at him.
It's chaos if they're left to roam the house together, so Kitty lives happily sequestered in the master bedroom. All her toys are there, her food is in the corner and the walk-in closet houses her 'shitter' (as The Husband calls it). She stayed in the bedroom all day anyway, buried beneath the covers, so this isn't really any different from her life pre-Puppy. Or at least that's what I try to tell myself. I figure if I say it often enough, I'll begin to believe it.
The other night, I let Puppy out for his evening pee. He did what he normally does. He bolted out the door and ran to the back garden. There is often a neighbour cat lurking about and Puppy has a good time chasing it away. It's all harmless fun for everyone. Well, maybe not so much for the neighbour's cat, but we get a good laugh out of it.
But this time was different.
This time he caught something. I heard the most horrible squeal and a crunch. My heart leapt into my throat. I couldn't catch my breath. Puppy turned around and came running back to me. In his mouth was a baby bunny, feebly moving.
OH. MY. GOD!!
I yell for The Husband who, hearing the panic in my voice, comes running. He stops in his tracks. Oh my God, he mutters. He walks towards Puppy slowly so as not to make him bolt. "Drop it!" Puppy won't let go. The Husband tries to pry Puppy's mouth open, but he won't budge.
After much effort, Puppy finally drops the bunny. The bunny flops a bit, then dies.
We look at each other, The Husband and I, and I know that the sadness I see in his eyes is mirrored in mine.
We bury the bunny in silence.
Later that evening, The Husband says to me, "I saw the bunnies in the backyard. I even took a picture of one of them." He's really broken up about this. We both are.
The next day, The Husband is working a double shift. I'm on my own. I let Puppy out for his evening pee. He's running around the back yard, sniffing in various places, trying to find just the right location. He stops and sniffs in one spot. His sniffing becomes more animated. Suddenly he lunges and I hear that horrible squeal again and crunch.
JESUS!
He comes running towards me with this bunny flopping around in his mouth. Puppy drops his present for me at my feet. This tiny, helpless bunny is flopping away.
I lose it.
I was OK last night, but two nights in a row … how much can a girl take??! I get Puppy inside the house. The bunny is still thrashing around. I call The Husband at work cuz I'm freaking out now and I need some advice. The answering machine kicks in, so I leave a message: "Call me!" I'm crying and hiccoughing.
I go back out to the backyard and the bunny is still thrashing. Shit! I know what I have to do. And I know that it's the only merciful thing to do, but I'm sick about it. I go to the shed and get a shovel … and I end the bunny's suffering.
I start bawling. I don't mean just crying. I mean BAWLING! I'm hyperventilating and hiccoughing, all the while asking the gods not to smite me for taking an innocent life … I'm really losing it.
The phone rings. I answer the one in the garage. I'm still hiccoughing. The Husband asks what's wrong … thinking someone died, someone hurt me … all sorts of things are going through this poor man's head. I tell him what happened, stuttering the entire time. I can hear it in his voice; he's sick about this. He feels bad for the bunny, but even worse that I had to go through it alone.
The Husband did what he does best and he calmed me down and made me feel better. I love this man! I thank the gods every day for him.
It's been two weeks and, as the saying goes, time is slowly doing its healing thing. I can still hear those squeals and crunch. It knocks the breath out of me every time I think about it.
I know that Puppy was only behaving in the manner in which Mother Nature intended. And I know that I did the right thing by ending the bunny's suffering. But I can't help but think that Puppy is now a serial bunny killer. In fact, I'm an accomplice in all of this, since I had to kill the second one. And we're only aiding and abetting by burying the bodies in the backyard.
I can still see Puppy's face. He was so excited -- ears up, tailing wagging. I'm sure he was thinking: "Look Mom!! I've been chasing these things for years and I never caught one before. Look at this! I finally caught one and I'm going to give it to you cuz I love you so much! "
Thanks Puppy. I love you too. Next time, just get me a card.
Friday, June 20, 2008
I'm soooo beautiful!
When I was young, my mother told me "You either have looks or you have brains. Few people have both."
I'm sure that she was trying to tell me that -- in her eyes at least -- I was both pretty and smart. But she never really clarified this.
Many years later, I made the mistake of telling The Husband this story. I ended it by saying "and my mother never told me which one I was".
Big mistake!
To this day, whenever I do something stupid (and believe me when I say this happens a lot!) he turns to me, and with his Serious Face, says "You're so beautiful."
I'm sure that she was trying to tell me that -- in her eyes at least -- I was both pretty and smart. But she never really clarified this.
Many years later, I made the mistake of telling The Husband this story. I ended it by saying "and my mother never told me which one I was".
Big mistake!
To this day, whenever I do something stupid (and believe me when I say this happens a lot!) he turns to me, and with his Serious Face, says "You're so beautiful."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
