Category: Relationships

Hobbit Feet and Toadstools

I have a new Dentist.  Not only is he absolutely adorable but he’s kind and more than just a little talented, too.  I don’t want to gush but he’s managed 2 miracles in the past month alone.  If he keeps this up, I’ll have to contact the Vatican and recommend Sainthood.

My problem is Dry Mouth, caused by nearly 10 years of pain medication that keeps me on my feet and not in a wheel chair.  I don’t eat candy all day long, I brush my teeth, floss and use mouthwash like every other responsible person but I have no spit.  At all.  No enzymes that kill bacteria.  It’s the Sahara Desert in there which leaves me with a surplus of cavities and a deficit of Dental Coverage.

The Dental Clinic that I had been supporting created a mess with revolving Dentists, inferior materials, no quality control and insane prices.  I have a filling in a molar that was installed in 1998 and it’s pristine while every filling that was installed at this clinic lasted less than a year.  After I spent a month on IV and oral Antibiotics I finally said, “Fuck this shit!!” and started looking around for a decent Dental Clinic.

Oddly enough, it was my Hair Guru that recommended the Montgomery Dental Centre .  I had nothing to lose really; that infected tooth had to be dealt with if I wanted to avoid more antibiotics.

So, I called them and made an appointment.  I was expecting Dental Shaming at a bare minimum and perhaps flagrant condescension.  What I didn’t expect was Dr. Manu Dua, DMD or the sweet women that greeted me, prepped me and kept me calm.

Dr. Dua – okay, wait.  I can’t call him Dr. Dua all the time, it’s bulky and awkward and I’m old enough to be his mother.  I understand that he’s a very talented man who spent a lot of time and money being educated and I want to show my respect for that education but can I salute him or curtsy or something and then just call him Dua?  I’m going to ask about that at my next appointment.

Anyway, Dua arrived in my cubicle wearing a face mask and snapping his plastic gloves.  He poked and prodded around in my mouth with several sharp instruments he ordered from The Tower of London.  He started tap, tapping here and tap, tapping there like my mouth was a xylophone and he was playing Everybody was Kung Fu Fighting.  “Does this hurt?  How about this?”  After a lengthy examination, he pulled down his mask and said, “Yeah, I can fix this.”

The confidence in this one is strong.  I like it!  I was worried he would pull all my teeth and send me for dentures, which is one of my worst nightmares.  Your whole face collapses and you suddenly look like Whistler’s Mother even if you’re still in your teens – which I’m not.

He said, “Begone!  Come back in two days” at which time he would do Dua Magic.  And he did!  He built an entire eye tooth out of fairy dust and sunshine!  It’s brilliant!  I stop and look at it in the mirror a couple of times a day, turning this way and that so the light shines on it.  Even better?  He called me a couple days later to ask how my Magic Tooth was doing!  In my excitement I accidentally said, “I love you.” Which I do but maybe he was creeped out.  It’s a totally platonic love, Dua.  No need to move to another city and change your name.

He tackled the infected Asshole Molar right after Christmas.  He drilled it out and cleaned out the infection, gave it a stern talking-to, then filled it with some temporary stuff – probably toadstools and Hobbit feet – so it will hold until my Dental Coverage kicks in again in April.  That’s when the Dua Plan kicks in.  He knows exactly which tooth will receive the Dua Magic next, and I find that comforting.  Also, he called me a couple days later to check up on my Hobbit Tooth, which is wonderful.  I managed, in the nick of time, to keep my affections to myself.  And it wasn’t easy, Dua.

So, now I’m working on a dental clinic VooDoo doll (for the old clinic) which is harder than you would think because where do you jab the pin?  I could jab the receptionist but unless she’s the actual owner of the clinic it wouldn’t be fair.  And I don’t want to jab the Dental Assistants because they, like Nazi soldiers, were only following orders.  So where does that leave me?  They have rotated at least 5 Dentists through that clinic in the past 5 years and I can’t remember them all.

Well, I suppose I’ll just send special wishes to Universe regarding the old clinic.  I’m not too bitter, but I’m still annoyed enough to take reasonably aggressive action.  Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t risk messing with Universe because that can easily backfire.  Waiting for Karma can be a lengthy proposition, though.

PS:  Don’t even think about relocating, Dua.  It takes no time at all to make a VooDoo doll for you.

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Julefrokost!

The ground under my feet shifted on December 23rd.  Not literally, of course, but something moved and my soul moved with it.

As you know, Mim (my amazing daughter) got married on that day.  When Mim arrived at the church, her father (Stanley) and I made our way downstairs to the staging area.  When we reached the bottom of the stairs and saw her…….time stopped.

Where did this gorgeous creature even come from?  I looked at Stanley and saw my awe reflected on his face.  He said, “She looks like Princess Ariel!”.  And she did!  I said, “I can’t believe we made that!”

And there was that moment.  Thoughts that had been waltzing around my brain for a couple of years suddenly coalesced into a brilliant moment of clarity.  My family circle had holes that needed to be filled.

I looked at Stanley again and my heart hurt.  We’ve been so awkward since we separated but all the negative feelings have long since fallen away.  Stanley found Mildred and I found The Viking and we’ve all created wonderful lives for ourselves.  And there I stood, looking at our daughter, falling in love with Stanley all over again.

Skreeeetch!!  Not like that!

Stanley and I are connected.  We each hold a small piece of the other’s heart.  There is kindness and respect and a deep love that will last until we die.  We just weren’t meant to love like married people love.  Instead, we were meant to love like only the very best of friends can love.

The question then becomes ‘How do we go from awkward and weird to Hygge* Friends?’  My last encounter** with Mildred was sort of tricky.  What we need is copious amounts of booze to rub off the rough edges and lubricate the Hygge.  OR!  Moderate amounts of Akvavit because that shit is like a truth serum.

So, on December 30th at 2:00pm, the Julefrokost began.  There were six of us – Junior and his girlfriend, Stanley and Mildred and The Viking and me.  It was sad that Mim and Kevin couldn’t come – they were both very sick and making the 4-hour drive in freezing weather was beyond their capabilities.  We missed them both terribly, but the party went on as scheduled.

The Viking, Junior and I were the only seasoned Julefrokost-ers at the table so you would think we would break the Newbies in gently.  You’d be wrong, though.  It was Trial by Fire, Baby!!

We started off with Pickled Herring on rye bread topped with onions and boiled egg.  Take one bite and shout SKÅL!!, a shot of Akvavit with a chaser of beer.  I must confess, that first shot of Akvavit is a killer.  My right eye slams shut and my left starts to water.  My mouth contorts into an alligator smile.  My throat burns and I can’t breathe for about 15 seconds.  Then my entire body shudders and an involuntary moan wheezes out of my nose.  I was so busy trying to survive my own first shot that I have no idea how Stanley and Mildred did.  Apparently, they were fine because no one was on the floor when I finally stopped gasping.

Mildred & Stanley

As the courses progressed, we all became increasingly tanked.  I kept spilling things (it’s what I’m good at) but Mildred was fast on her feet fetching the paper towels.  I blame the Akvavit because Stanley started gesturing with his shot glass to emphasize his verbal points and we all thought he was Skål-ing so we shouted and drank.  I was even trying to just sip my shots but it didn’t matter.  I’m just happy I didn’t have a repeat of two Julefrokosts ago. Don’t ask.

Stanley demanded Honorary inclusion in The Viking Club, and after a short visual conversation between The Viking, at the other end of the table, and myself, we granted his wish.  He & Mildred were embracing the Julefrokost better than anyone I know and so deserve it.

The conversation went from “How’s the weather on the hill?” to “We want to go to Europe.” to “We should go to Europe together!!” to “Gawd!! I love you guys!”

The Viking and Mildred bonded and Stanley and I sashayed down Memory Lane.  We marveled at Mim’s Wedding and reminisced over vacations past.  It was beautiful!

The next morning, though, I was a wee bit nervous.  I hoped I didn’t need to ‘Apologize For Anything I May Have Done While I Was Drunk’.  I thought Stanley and Mildred enjoyed themselves, but in the sober light of day will they ever come back?  So, I handled it the way any rational human being would – I called my son.  I pumped him for information so hard he finally had to tell me to ‘RELAX!!  It went great!’  When Mildred accepted my friend request on Face Book I was thrilled!

Princess Mim called two days later and demanded to know if this will be a new family tradition?  The Viking and I certainly hope it will.  There will be plenty of other occasions together so we may as well do it as good friends. Junior was very happy to see both his parents sitting at the same table, enjoying each other’s company and Mim was sad to have missed it.  We’ll just have to do it again.

Besides, if Kathy & I are friends we can be Back-Up Labor Coaches in the delivery room (Mim’s not pregnant yet but I can dream, can’t I?).  You know….in case Kevin passes out or something.  One on each side.  Stereo encouragement!  I’m sure Mim will appreciate it.

In the meantime, the holes in my family circle are filling up.  How blessed can one woman be?

 

*A Danish word for spending time with loved ones, being cozy and calm.

**Click that link to read “Is That You, Mildred?”

Superman and Spanx

At one point in my life I was an Extrovert.  At least I think I was.  There is a significant amount of evidence to suggest I might have been a badass Extrovert as a youngster.  I’m not that anymore, though and the only explanation is that my inner Extrovert was ambushed, tortured for several decades and killed by my inner Introvert.  The war happened so slowly that I really wasn’t conscious of it.  It took one well-timed meme on Facebook and I was suddenly confronted with the reality that I’m a total and complete Introvert.

Under normal conditions this isn’t a problem.  We work and live at home so there are entire days where I don’t need to see anyone.  It’s lovely.

However, this past month has been filled with occasions where I needed to leave my dark cave and intermingle with other humans.

Mim and Kevin got married on December 23rd and I was forced to dress up and smile and shake hands.  There were a few awkward moments when my brain locked up and I was concerned I may need to run.  Like when Kevin’s Dad introduced himself as Kevin’s brother and I looked at Kevin and then at the guy in front of me and what I wanted to say was, “Get the fuck out of here!  You’re too old to be his brother!”

via GIPHY

And then conflicting thoughts started:

Maybe their parents had too much love for just one kid and by the time they realized it the first love-child was already in his twenties.  It happens and I’m not judging.  In fact, it’s lovely.

Maybe they have different mothers but the same horny father.  This, too, happens and it’s nothing to be worried about.

Maybe the older one fell out of the sky as a baby, making a huge crater in the middle of Russia, and then crawled for months without food until a nice farm couple found him and raised him as their own.  And then he realized he had super powers and logically decided to become a reporter with the Daily News as a cover for his Super-ness.  Maybe I’m standing here with Clark Fucking Kent!  What does one say to Clark Kent?  What’s the etiquette?  I hope he doesn’t expect a curtsey because I am way past the point where a curtsey is a curtsey but rather an awkward slow fall to the floor.  But he’s fucking Superman – he can just pluck me up and put me back on my feet again like nothing ever happened.  And, I bet he can really get the lid off a pickle jar in a hurry, too.  He probably doesn’t even shout about how I managed to get the lid on the pickle jar so tight that only Superman can get it off because he IS Superman so no harm, no foul.

Fortunately, for both of us, Kevin’s Father correctly identified the emotions racing across on my face and took pity on me.

And then there was the woman who looked me up and down and decided I didn’t meet her standards.  So, I frowned and looked her up and down and decided she didn’t meet my standards.  Apparently, she’s not the kind to back down so looked me up and down again.    I retaliated with another look up and down but with a bigger frown.  And then she did it again and I did it again and then The Viking decided he should break up the war before someone’s face got stuck in a sneer for eternity.

via GIPHY

When it came time to dance I was happily sitting at my table, minding my own Introverted business and suddenly Kevin showed up.  I said that Mim promised I wouldn’t have to dance.  He said he didn’t make any such promise and if it would make me feel any better he wouldn’t twirl me around.  I said that was probably the best idea he had ever had in his entire life.  That scenario was full of terrible possibilities, most of them ending with me on my back, my dress up around my ears and my Spanx letting go.

via GIPHY

I ended up in Emergency again, on Christmas Eve.  And the second Emergency waiting room was packed with only two seats available – one squished between two guys and one beside a lady, but her husband’s wheel chair was blocking access.  My Introvert didn’t even pause.  It said “Fuck this shit!  I’ll stand in the hallway!”  But then the lady noticed me and recognized my Introvert because she said, “Come over here and sit beside me, dear.”

I loved her in that moment.

The ultimate test of my Introverted-ness came when we hosted a Julefrokost (a Danish Christmas Feast) on the 30th for my kids and my ex-husband, Stanley and his wife, Mildred.  Stay tuned because that’s my next post.

The Queen Of Mean Has Cold Feet

We have snow – a good 6 inches of the stuff.  And considering where Denmark is on the planet, you might be surprised to know that The Viking hates snow and cold with a passion.  The kind of passion that makes him shout and curse and grumble.  Except when he has a snowmobile under his ass and then he’s as close to giddy as he is capable of being.  And I am giddy when he has a snowmobile under his ass because it means he has journeyed to the mountains, leaving me at home in absolute bliss and solitude.

However, as much as The Viking hates snow, there are two other individuals living in the household who hate it more.  Teddy was rescued in the middle of winter when he was about 10 months old, cold and starving.  So, he isn’t a fan of an empty food bowl or snow and cold.  He manages to amuse himself though, running through the house and playing with a squeaky toy and napping and coming for a quick love every once in a while.  He takes short forays outside but it isn’t long before he’s back inside.

Izzie, on the other hand, is pissed-the-fuck-off!  If you’ve visited here more than just a few times you will know a lot about Izzie.  She’s a monster; a beautiful, biting, clawing, hissing, spitting monster.  She learned the basics of civilized cat behavior from Mim’s cats (my daughter) and then Teddy keeps her fairly calm but all bets are off if something isn’t right in her corner of the world.

And there’s snow and the cold in her corner of the world right now.  She has stuff going on and being cold blows her schedule all to hell.  Who’s supposed to mock and name-call the neighborhood cats?  The dogs across the alley will be unmanageable if she doesn’t bully them daily.  And Peter isn’t going to break into his own house and bellow at the door to be let out.  And what about Charlie?  Who’s going to chase him away if her feet fall off?  What about her ears?  Frostbite can make the tips fall off and then she’ll have square ears!  It’s pretty hard to be beautiful if your ears are square!

And then there is the weight issue!  Laying around the house all day slows the metabolism and pretty soon she’ll have a belly like Teddy’s!  And she’s already getting bored with chasing him around the house as the only form of exercise.

With the snow, her existence has gone all to hell.  Her feet got cold and three snowflakes dared to land on her back.  She bellowed at the door and demanded to know exactly what the fuck is going on?!  She stood in front of me scowling and indignant.  I told her that I had nothing to do with it but she’s refusing to believe me.

Her vocabulary is devolving into hair-raising insults and if her scowl deepens any further it will look like I hit her with an axe.  And that might actually end up happening because the forecast is calling for cold temperatures for the next several days.

It’s going to be a long, long, long winter.  Sigh.  When the Queen of Mean gets cold feet it’s only good sense to step lightly.

PS:  To add insult to injury, Daylight Savings Time screwed her over for an entire hour.  I gave up after 45 minutes and fed her and Teddy.  It was either that or say good-bye to what little self-esteem I have left.

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I Don’t Want to Alarm You But…

I was once accused, by a boss, of being aggressive.  Once I got over the shock I asked around and found out that I’m not really aggressive*, I’m assertive; which was a description I could live with.  That was years ago though.  Nowadays, I’m not so much assertive as prone to bouts of slight aggressiveness.  If I were Freud, I would say I become aggressive on occasion because I’m not being assertive enough to avoid the necessity of aggressiveness.

I bring this up because I am being stalked by my Gel Nail Technician – Nancy.  She’s really, really terrible at doing Gel Nails but I’ve been going to her because I haven’t had any alternative within a reasonable distance from my house.  But my former Gel Nail Technician is back and she’s amazing, she’s closer and I want good quality work again instead of horrible, terrible work.  But now, Nancy is calling my cell phone and leaving messages.  And since I’ve been dodging her calls from the shop she’s become shifty and crafty and called from her personal cell phone and I answered it because I thought it was someone else.

“Hello Lori!  It’s Nancy!  When do you want appointment?”

Well SHIT!  It should be easy to not go to one place anymore because you would rather go to some other place instead.  But Nancy isn’t playing by the rules and because I’m not assertive enough to explain that I found someone better, it will probably need an aggressive response to get her to stop calling me.  Sigh.

And I bring this up because I went to the salon where my former Technician is to get my nails done.

There was a man at the front desk and three other women puttering around the shop.  When Anne looked at my nails, she muttered something in an Asian dialect and those 3 women rushed over to look at my nails too.  There was a flurry of words and tut-tuts and lots of shaking heads.  One said “Who did that to your hands?!”  I waved in the vague direction of the street.  “Some other place out there.” I mumbled.

Long story short – I have beautiful nails on my Man Hands!**  Woop!  Woop!  I’m pretty sure Nancy isn’t done yet though.

AND….the reason I’m telling you this is because later that day, The Viking said:

“You have Sex Hair!  Why do you have Sex Hair when we haven’t had sex?!”

Of course I went directly to the closest mirror and he was right.  I definitely had Sex Hair!  I’m as mystified as he is.  Before I left the house to get my nails done, I made sure my hair was presentable and the only guy I saw the whole time was the guy at the front desk in the salon.

Me:  “Okay.  I don’t want to alarm you but I may have experienced a Missing Time event.”

The Viking:  What the fuck is that?

Me:  “Well, it’s when you can’t remember what happened in a certain stretch of time.  Like people who are abducted by UFOs.

The Viking:  “You were abducted by aliens?  Is that what you’re saying?

Me:  “No.  Well maybe.  I don’t know!  How do aliens have sex?”

The Viking:  “I don’t know!”

Me:  “Maybe that’s why aliens don’t have hair.  Maybe their sex is so wild it was easier to just evolve into hairlessness.”

The Viking:  “So you think you had wild sex with a hairless alien?”

Me:  “It would explain my Sex Hair.”

The Viking:  “Or maybe you were just playing around in the bedroom today when I was working.”

Me (shocked and insulted):  “I wouldn’t do that!  And if I did I think I would remember it.  Unless I was experiencing a Missing Time event.  Geez!  I wonder if I do that every afternoon?”

The Viking:  “I think I’d better check on you more often in the afternoons.”

Me:  “I have noticed that my right hand aches quite a bit lately.  I thought I was just getting The Arthritis!

The Viking:  “I want to go with you when you try to explain that to your doctor?”

Me:  You know what?  I may not remember doing it but I’m still a little proud of myself.

It occurs to me that I am right in the glory years of menopause, when my body is producing less Estrogen and more Testosterone and we all know that Testosterone can make people a little aggressive, more hairy and a lot horny.  With the plethora of other wonderful things Menopause has introduced to me I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that Missing Time events and sore hands might be in the mix.

But now that I’m thinking about it, it occurs to me that of all the other crap that comes with Menopause, missing time and the possibility that I might be hanging out in the bedroom in the afternoons isn’t so bad.  So, there is that.

*I’m not really aggressive….except when I flush the toilet.  Apparently I am an extremely aggressive Flusher because I broke the handle right off the toilet which set off an entire bathroom renovation because The Viking doesn’t trust me with conventional flushing handles anymore.  Instead, he bought a Push Button Toilet with a flushing apparatus developed at NASA.  If it’s good enough for Aliens it’s good enough for us.  I guess.

**Despite our best efforts and an iPhone 4S (yes, I know it’s an antique but it works for me), we couldn’t get a decent picture of my beautiful nails.

 

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Pains In My Ass

Izzie woke me up this morning – she started the exercise by dancing a German Polka on my stomach and ended with a sharp, single claw stab through the soft tissue in my armpit.  “OW!!  FUCK!”  In between those two events were whispered threats of the dire consequences should I not get out of bed and a fairly lengthy litany of curses.

I muttered a few curses of my own as I stumbled to the bathroom for my morning pee.  Izzie took a position on top of the vanity where she began poking my left cheek with increasing insistence while Teddy swarmed around my panties, purring and feathering my inner thighs with his tail.

“Teddy, I have paperwork to do – get out of my panties.  Gawd!  Quit poking me Izzie!  Geezus!  Teddy!  You’re not helping!  For fucksakes!  STOP POKING ME!!”

They want out, of course.  I slept in a bit and she’s late for her Queendom Inspection where she’ll be handing out Stink Eyes and slaps to anyone or thing that happens to get in her way.  She’ll belittle the two Labradors on the other side of the alley, the orange cat down the block will be mocked and she’ll stop to extensively cuss out Charlie next door just to set a precedent since he’s new to the neighbourhood.  And Teddy, bless his kind-of-dumb but sweet soul, will most likely follow behind at a safe distance apologizing.

When she returns from her reconnaissance she bellows for admittance into the house and then demands prolonged loves.  It was at that point this morning that I started to wonder why the fuck I even have pets?  Honestly, they annoy the hell out of me.

Over the years I’ve had quite a few pets and they have all been a nuisance in one way or another.  Dogs are needy and smelly and dirty and you have to pick up all the poo that is never in one convenient location but spread around the yard like Turdstools.

Birds…..well who really wants squawking, shitting, molting pets that fly around the house if they happen to get out of their cage.  I have enough problems without trying to catch a damned bird with a fish net.

Fish.  I had one of those Siamese fighting fish once which actually was fine.  I would say “Good morning” and wiggle my head back and forth and Norman would swim over and wiggle his head back and forth.  I really liked him; he lived in a small and pretty tank that was easy to clean and the fish food was cheap.  Unfortunately, Norman only lived for about a year and Norman 2.0 only made it 6 months.  I asked for a young fish next time but Norman 3.0 only lived for a couple of months so I gave it all up.  Fuck fish!

Hamsters.  Well I didn’t mind the one hamster I had.  Tubbs was a goofy and chubby little thing and was only awake during the night.  I accidentally killed him because I wanted to find a little house for him and when I couldn’t find what I wanted in the pet stores I decided to make one with a relish jar, fake jewels and spray paint.  RIP Tubbs (I think either the fumes killed him or he chipped the paint off the jar).  Tubbs 2.0 wasn’t nearly as sweet as Tubbs 1.0 and he bit me, the little fuck.  I gave him away to a friend – good riddance.

Cats!  I’ve had a few over the years and the only one I ever liked was the one I got strictly for the kids.  Guess who she ended up loving the most though?  Maggie was a great cat; she was sweet and clean and we didn’t bother each other except for the odd conversation.  She developed Kidney Disease though and I had to put her down.

Three years later I kind of wanted another cat.  Idiot.  Izzie was adorable but her personality turned out to be somewhere between Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Freddy Krueger.  It was a blood bath for nearly a year.  I have scars.  The Viking has scars.  Seriously.  Scars.

We finally convinced her to stop trying to kill us but she’s still loud and belligerent and she shouts curses at us and stares at us like we’ve tragically disappointed her..  Thank Gawd for Teddy who, despite his sweetness, manages to put up with her shit and curtails the worst of her homicidal tendencies.

And she’s a sneaky little shit, too!  She looks all sweet and love-y and approaches like she would welcome a chin scratch and just when you fall for it and put your hand out……SA-LAP!!……and she walks away laughing while you are cradling your severed hand to your chest.

All of this brings me back to my initial question of ‘Why the fuck I even have pets?’  I suppose it’s a moot point because there is no going back; we can’t get rid of them now.  Despite all the apologies we have to make we love Izzie.  And Teddy…..well, who wouldn’t like Teddy?  We’ve had to frisk people to be certain they don’t take him home with them.  It’s a package deal, people!  You take Teddy, you have to take Izzie too!

So, my giant pains in the ass won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.  Sigh.

Izzie – Grow Some Balls, Already!

I have a new collar.  Finally.  Mom took her sweet time replacing my Pearls.  Okay, maybe I’m being too harsh with Mom; maybe the fault belongs more with the 2 dogs across the alley.  Specifically, with the Owner of those dogs because he’s the genius that built a fence with the chain link that broke my Pearls.

And don’t think I had the choice not to bully the dogs.  Of course I had to bully them.  They are dogs!  Yappy dogs!  The kind of dogs that spend the entire day barking and barking, like they need constant assurance from humans.  That gets on my nerves!  I want to take a walk down the alley and Sweet Geezus!!  All hell breaks loose!

“OH MY GAWD!  Bark, bark, bark!  THERE’S A CAT!  A CAT!!!  HELP!  Bark, bark, bark.  SOMEONE SAVE ME!  OH GEEZ!!  IT LOOKED AT ME!  Bark, bark, bark!  HOLY SHIT IT’S COMING CLOSER!!”

Every damned time I walk in the alley!

And it’s not like they are little dogs either.  These are great big Labradors and I only weigh like 8 pounds.  It’s not like I could actually kill them.  Teddy and I sat in the middle of the alley last week, watching them run around their yard in a total panic, barking frantically.  Honestly, we were literally just sitting there, chatting between ourselves.

So I went in their yard to try and have a civilized conversation and come to a reasonable understanding about the barking.  It didn’t go well because the brown one started pissing everywhere!  I started to get a little verbally abusive and the barking escalated and I called the blonde one a “useless waste of fur” and then the Owner came out and I had to make a quick getaway.  Unfortunately, my beautiful pearls caught on the chain link and I was naked, streaking across the alley and back home.  I shouted a few expletives over my shoulder as I went, though.

So, how can I not bully them?  If they were barking death threats at me I would have at least a little respect for them, but the frenzy of fear is just pathetic.  Grow some balls, already!

But now, happily, I have a new collar.  Pink and clear beads.  It’s not Pearls but I suppose Mom did the best she could.  Maybe next time she’ll find Pearls – they are my favorite after all.

Mom tried to get a picture of me with my new bling but that didn’t work out for her very well.  She finally stripped them off me and took a picture of them.  What can I say?  I don’t like getting my picture taken.

If you care, please share.  To Facebook, Instagram, wherever.  I might get my Pearls faster.

Is That You, Mildred?

So I was at the grocery store yesterday – just picking up a few things for dinner.  It was nearly that time already but I had other things on my mind all day and suddenly I thought “Shit!  What am I going to make for dinner?!  It’s blisteringly hot outside so I’m not cooking inside.  Bar-B-Que it is!”

And everything went really well, almost right to the end.  Because as I was waiting for the scale to verify the weight of my bags I looked up and…..time stopped for a moment.

Is that Stanley’s* new wife?  Can I even call her the ‘new’ wife because it’s been a while since he married her.  I consider myself the ‘old’ wife so I suppose that would make her ‘new’ wife.

That kind of makes us sound like cars, doesn’t it?  I’m the old trade-in and she’s the shiny new one that smells awesome inside.  EWW…!!  That didn’t come out right.  Not that she doesn’t smell good inside…..but how would I even know that?  Geez!  Let’s just pretend I never said that, okay?

So……I look up from the scale and I see her, but I’m not 100% certain it’s her….I’m in more like the 85 percentile of positivity.  It looks like her but it’s been a while since I’ve seen her so maybe I’m wrong.  This store is a little out of her neighborhood and while I don’t mind her shopping at my grocery store, I would like to know if it is, indeed, Mildred* or not, because shopping like a Meerkat is going to get weird.

Let’s put that aside for now though, because there are bigger issues here than whether she is Mildred or she isn’t.  Namely, did she see me?  We didn’t quite make eye contact before I dropped my head and stared at the screen in front of me.  I diligently started scanning my items while my mind kicked into overdrive.

How am I supposed to behave?  What’s the protocol?  Do I wave?  Should I do the Floppy Wave and keep it loose and friendly?  A rigid, proper wave – my fingers straight and squeezed together, and make Wash On, Wash Off movements?  Maybe a Queenly Wave – my hand cupped, palm towards me with kind of scooping motions?  Or maybe she didn’t see me at all and the guy at the cashier behind her will think I’m hitting on him and I’ll have a situation in the parking lot?

Maybe I should just take a deep breath and plunge into the morass of awkward Divorc-i-ness.  I’m not harboring any bad feelings but I have no idea what the other side feels.  Maybe there is an incommunicado policy in place that I’m not aware of.  Did Stanley tell her that I wanted to give him away at their Wedding?  I thought it was a brilliant idea – the old wife officially giving him to the new wife.  That would have started things off on the right foot, in my opinion, but Stanley threatened death and dismemberment.

Even if I do decide to take the plunge, what do I say for an opening salvo?  Do I holler across 6 cashiers and say…..what?

“How’s that husband working out for you?”

Or “Hey Mildred!!  Lookin’ good!”

Or should I be more formal “Felicitations Mildred!”

By the time I finished paying for my stuff, I had decided to just screw up my courage and make an oblique approach and maybe accidentally bump into her cart.  I could pretend that I just saw her at this moment and not 5 minutes ago when I ducked down like a 3rd Grader.

There was a tiny whoosh of relief when I couldn’t see her.  And then I wondered if she was doing the same thing that I was doing because she had no damned idea how to behave in these circumstances either.  Maybe she hissed at her cashier to hurry the fuck up, then ran out of the store like the hounds of hell were at her heels.  Maybe she even squealed tires trying to get out of the parking lot before I made my way out of the store.  Probably not because she’s an adult, but I still wonder if she felt awkward too?

I’m going to blame this entirely on Stanley.  First, because I haven’t done that for years and second, because he should have let me give him away at his damned Wedding.  This wouldn’t even be an issue if we had started this off on the right foot to begin with.

In the meantime, I need a plan in case we bump into each other again.  I need a suave and elegant opener and then hope to hell I did my hair that morning.

 

*I’ve changed his name to protect his identity and privacy.  Because I’m just that kind of person.

*I’ve changed her name to protect her identity and privacy.  Because I’m just that kind of person.  What?!  I like the name Mildred and it goes quite nicely with Stanley.  Mildred and Stanley – see?  It rolls right off the tongue.

Just Listen Already!!

People don’t listen to me.  I talk and they nod like they are listening and then they go and do as they damn well please!  Like I hadn’t spoken at all!  I believe in doing your own thing and being your own person but when I’m paying for something I’d like them to LISTEN!

I just got home from the grocery store and I’m still a little annoyed.  Safeway sells wonderful collapsible square bags that are actually boxes that stand on their own, can handle a lot of weight and are easy to carry – I have many of them.  So when I got to the cashier, I placed the box in front of my groceries and moved down to the other side where she was packing the box.  She put in a six pack of canned flavoured water and I said….

“Just leave both six packs and the jugs of Cranberry Juice out of the bag.  I won’t be able to lift it if there’s too much weight.”

Her:  I was going to put all the light items in a plastic bag and the heavy stuff in the box.”

Me:  I don’t want a plastic bag.  Just leave the heavy items unbagged and I’ll hand-bomb them into the car.”

She put a six pack of the flavoured water in the box.  I reached in and took it out and put it loose in the cart.  She scans in the second six pack and puts it in the box!  I take it out and put it beside the other six pack in the cart and said….

“Don’t put the Cranberry Juice in the box.  I would like it loose and unbagged, please.”

She scans in some cereal and the fresh produce and deposits them in the box.  Then she scans the Cranberry Juice and puts it in the box!!!  What. The. Fuck?!  She pretends I’m not even there!

I just gave up at that point. I paid for my damned groceries, muttered all the way out to the car and came home.  If that was the only example I wouldn’t have much to complain about, but it’s not the only one.

About 6 weeks ago I went to the dentist and it was a total shit show and the ultimate end product was an incredibly painful TMJ issue.  I went back to the dentist, he took an x-ray and said my TMJ was just fine.  So I went to a physiotherapy clinic and they recommended I see Anne, the Traditional Chinese Massage Expert.  I told her what the issue was:  the entire right side of my face is killing me and the pain shoots up from my neck, through my jaw, up through my temple and across my forehead.  I explained that the dentist said it wasn’t TMD so it must be from the huge lump on the back of my neck.

Her:  Your face hurting but problem isn’t face.  Your face like computer screen that not working.  You think the problem is screen but it not screen.  It hard drive or software.

Me:  Oookay.

Her:  Lay down face up.  Show me where the pain is.

Me (laying down, face up, waving my hand all around the right side of my head):  Everywhere but mostly in my jaw and temple.

Her (poking my jaw):  Here?

Me:  OMG!!!  Yes!  That fucking hurts!

Her:  Ah!  You see?  Like radio.  You hear radio but radio not here.  Is over there.  You have to follow wiring.

She carried on talking about computers and radios and cars and other shit I wasn’t listening too.  I wasn’t listening to her because 1). She’s using her hands to point at the invisible computers/radios/cars, and 2).  I can hear the ticking of the clock and every tick is another minute I’m paying for while Vanna White is NOT fixing my problem!

The next appointment I said my face was feeling well enough for me to feel the lump on the back of my neck stabbing into my brain.  She shook her head at me and said….”Not neck.  You feel pain in neck but neck is not problem.  Your neck like computer screen that not working.  Not screen problem.  Software problem.  Blah.  Blah.  Blah.  Blah.  Blah.”

And she tortured my face some more.

Next appointment – my face is still hurting and now I can’t even touch it because she’s bruised every muscle on my entire head!  AND my neck is really hurting from the big lump.  I take her hand and push her finger on the lump.  Right there!

She smiles and nods.  “Lay down face up.  Neck not problem.  Like radio.  You hear radio here…….”  Blah, blah, blah, blah BLAH!  And she tortured my face in between her Vanna White impressions.  I go for 4 appointments with her not listening to me.  She would torture my face for a little bit, but then she decided to torture my left leg because I have nerve damage and walk with a limp!  What. The. Fuck?!  That’s the furthest place from my neck that she could possibly be and I’m almost certain my damned leg isn’t making my face/head/neck hurt!!

Two can play at this game, you know!!

The next appointment I said my face feels wonderful!  No pain.  It’s very good now.  She showed me a demonstration of how my jaw joint works.  She asked where the pain is and I said….”I have a terrible headache.  It is the back of my head all the way over my skull to my forehead.

She smiles and nods.  “Lay down face up.  Forehead not the problem.  Forehead like computer screen.  You think forehead is problem but it not the problem.  No.  You have hardware or software problem.”

And she finally worked on my neck like I wanted in the first place!!  Gawd!!

And then there’s The Damned Viking!  He only listens to the first 3 words in my sentence, decides what I’m about to say and then starts hollering, like he’s a fucking Clairvoyant!  I stop talking and make the universal sign of WTF by turning my palms face up in front of me with a confused face.

Me:  So, I was thinking that I should get……

The Viking:  WE CAN’T AFFORD ANYTHING RIGHT NOW!!  DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT WE NEED TO SAVE A LITTLE MONEY?

Me:  I was thinking that I should get busy doing the…..

The Viking:  DON’T YOU HAVE ENOUGH THINGS TO DO THAT YOU DON’T HAVE TIME FOR WITHOUT DOING MORE THINGS?!

Me (sighing heavily):  I was thinking that I should get busy doing the laundry.  Your dirty clothes corner is almost touching the ceiling.

The Viking:  I’m almost out of underwear.

And then there are the cats.  They don’t fucking listen either, unless I’m shaking the treat container and then they are listening so hard I’m tripping on them.

I don’t think I’m asking too much for people to fucking listen when I’m talking!  I’m becoming more and more convinced all the time that cranky old people are only cranky because no one would fucking listen to them and they’ve had enough!

I don’t need my cane to walk anymore but I’m thinking of taking it with me anyway, just so I can poke those non-listening fuckers!  And maybe I’ll sharpen the end into a point.  A nice sharp point.

 

The Completely Viking Wedding

So.  I’m no longer living in sin.  I’ve been legalized.  Gone is my hippie rebellion against the norms of tradition.  My naked, mutinous ring finger is naked no longer.

Almost three weeks ago at 11:00 in the morning I rejoined the Wife-Force.  I was a little belligerent about the whole thing if I’m honest.  I’m not going to obey The Viking!  I’m not going to let him boss me around!  He’s not the head of the household!  And I’ll decide when and how much I’ll honor him depending on his behavior at any given moment and not because some official tells me I have too!  Because I was happy as a sinner!

And because I was busy ranting against Wife-dom in my head, I forgot my bouquet at home.  We were half way to the ceremony when I said “Ahhhh fuck!!  I forgot my bouquet!”  And now I’m going to be late for my own wedding.  I muttered all the way back home about the stupid trappings of an obsolete institution that has kept women in subjugation for centuries.

When we finally arrived at the park, an itty, bitty, teeny, tiny woman marched to the car like a miniature Stalin.  I hadn’t met our Commissioner of Wedded Bliss before this moment and, quite frankly, I didn’t know they made them so small.  The top of her head barely reached my chin!

She took one look at me and started chanting soothing words and platitudes.  “You made it.  That’s great.  Take a deep breath.  Let it out.  Take another breath.  Let it out.  This is your special day so enjoy it.  Concentrate on your love.  Your soon-to-be husband is a wonderful man and he’s waiting for you.”

I thought, “Don’t tell me how wonderful his is!  I’ll do the deciding around here!”

But he was waiting for me and he is wonderful.  He was smiling and his face said “Take it easy.  It’s going to be fine.”

My face said “I’m not going to be a great wife, you know.”

His face said “I already know that.”

My face said “Thank Gawd!” and “Can I have a Lemon Gin and Tonic now?”

His face said “Soon, but not right now because it would break a couple of laws and might anger our miniscule Commissioner of Wedded Bliss.”

We held the ceremony under the trees beside the Bow River in Bowness Park.  It was a pretty place and convenient and we didn’t need to make reservations or pay an exorbitant fee.

We had only just begun the ceremony though when a helicopter came buzzing in low from the east.  Someone said “It’s the Paparazzi!!”  Our Commissioner of Wedded Bliss looked annoyed because this was a solemn occasion and no place for jokes!

I further annoyed her because I couldn’t figure out where she wanted us to stand.  In my defence, she kept moving.  She would stop and stand still so The Viking and I positioned ourselves in front of her, facing each other, and then she would move somewhere else.  Every time she scurried I would lose her behind the drape of my jacket.   It was like a Marital Musical Chairs game except there weren’t any chairs and there wasn’t any music.  This wasn’t supposed to be so difficult.  Stand still for fucksakes!

And then two young ladies floated by on the river in a raft and Brad pointed at Junior and yelled “Single man here!!”  Then one of the ladies in the raft shouted back “Single girl here!”  The Commissioner sighed heavily and gave Brad the Stink Eye.

Rafters at the Wedding

When it was time to make our vows to each other……. “OH MY GAWD I’VE LOST MY VOWS!!!”  I started patting myself up and down and turning in tight circles, there was a pressure in my head and my vision started to blur.  The Viking was standing there, his vows in hand, more than a little alarmed.  Just before I passed out, someone calmly touched my arm and handed me my vows.  The Commissioner of Wedded Bliss was chanting “Take a deep breath.  Take your time.  Take a deep breath.  Take your time.”

We finally made it through the vows.  I lost my shit twice but everyone just stood there and waited for me.  That’s the thing about having only my closest loved ones at my wedding – they already know me and expect their patience to be tried.

There were other comments and more laughter and the Commissioner’s make-up began to settle in scowl lines around her eyes.  She had a few more things to say about marriage but, to be honest, I wasn’t really listening because I was married.  Again.  Holy. Fuck.

Me, The Viking, Annette and Erik

And everyone breathed a sigh of relief.  Mission accomplished and no one had to go to the hospital.

Once she had completed her duty, The Commissioner of Wedded Bliss sprinted to her car, shouting over her shoulder that she would file the paperwork.  This was, in all probability, the least solemn and dignified ceremony she had ever attended.

And then it was time for pictures.  Ugh!!  A gaggle of young women in spandex and baseball caps came through like Olympic Speed Walkers and Brad wanted to get them in the pictures.  More rafters floated by, unintentionally photobombing us.  The Paparazzi made several passes overhead, forcing the photographer to shout her instructions.

We climbed among the rocks, sat on a bench, hugged, kissed, smiled and smiled some more.  All the while I couldn’t help thinking “Where in the hell is my Lemon Gin and Tonic?!”

The Viking kept saying “Be careful, Babe!  You’re going to fall!” every time I had to move to a different rock.  Junior and Erik had their hands out, ready to catch me at the slightest wobble.  All I could think about at that point was the Sponge Paper Towel commercial with the Sponge Guys surrounding the kid with a huge jug of orange juice.  And that made me laugh (maybe a bit hysterically) which made me wobble even more.

 

However, I didn’t fall, didn’t break a leg/arm/finger nail and we all made it back to the house for a big Danish Feast.  My part in this thing was finished, but it didn’t stop me from trying to interfere.  The Viking kept sighing deeply and shoving me out the door to sip my drink in the shade.

Erik & The Viking served up the most delicious Danish Feast ever and Annette created a beautiful table to serve it on.  We were surrounded by people we love and were feeling like the most blessed couple on the planet.  And then the Completely Viking Wedding came to a crashing, shouting, screaming halt.

 

 

The Feast Table

Because Brad turned our Wedding into Fight Club.  It took us days to come to grips with all the carnage.  We had been under the strictest orders from Mim to be especially kind to Brad because they had had a fairly severe fight the week before.  So we did our best to ignore his bullishness throughout the day.  It was all for naught though, because he couldn’t have killed the Wedding faster if he’d brought a machine gun.

I’m in knots about it.  I’m ashamed that my new sister, Annette, was treated so disrespectfully.  I’m embarrassed that Junior’s friend was witness to the whole debacle and even our neighbors heard the shouting and screaming.  I’m furious that our Wedding was ruined.  And I hate the taint on what should have been the happiest day of our lives.  I’m particularly enraged at the position Brad put Mim in.  She was as embarrassed and ashamed as the rest of us but he weaselled his way out of any accountability; trading on her love for him in order to forgive what he did to us.

We’ll be asked to get over it, to refrain from bringing it up so he doesn’t feel like it’s hanging over his head for the rest of his life.  The memories we have will be less important than his feelings no doubt, and we’ll try to do it because we love Mim.  Maybe had he come with a sincere apology it would have been easier but that’s not what we received.  We received a belligerent, narcissistic declaration that negated any responsibility on his part.  He breezed into our home, said “That conversation shouldn’t have happened last night!” and then breezed out again.

Out of the ashes though were a few salvageable memories.  The love and laughter we shared with everyone else was lovely and we’ll cherish the fact that they were here with us on our Wedding Day.  Junior’s friend turned out to be a great girl and we consider ourselves lucky to have met her.  I hope she’ll come back sometime so we can show her what we’re really like.

So, there were some redeeming moments that we will try to focus on instead of the shitty way the day ended.

 

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