Friday, 25 January 2013

Zombie Mary

I Have the Zombie Virus

It began with my oldest son getting a cold. HIS cold lasted one week. He also generously shared it with me...and it mutated.
This went from a cold to some kind of snotty, vomity, pasty-gray skin pallor I-don't-even-want-to-be-around-myself-ickiness.
I have been SO SICK... I am now Man Sick.
I came to this conclusion when I lost my sense of humor.
My children's Dad walks up to me in the kitchen and says:
"Hey, you have a three-inch long hair growing out of your back!"
"What?! NO! Please tell me you're messing with me."
"Scout's Honor," he says and holds his hand up - LIKE THIS:
I'm bawling away and he says "What? I swore like this!" And does it AGAIN!
"So? There really is! I can't see it!" Now I'm crying harder.
"Scouts don't swear like that!" he explains - all exasperated.
"How would I know? I'm a GIRL!!!" I wail.
"...Wow, you're really sick. You should go lay down."
And THIS is how I knew I was Man Sick.
NOW, how I know I have the Zombie Virus? It was my first guess. I was the right color, after all. (Not to mention I coughed, dry heaved AND sneezed at the SAME TIME - I didn't even know that was possible. It could only be worse if I had shit my pants.) 
Google is wonderful - or horrible - or an enabler. It all depends on how you look at it. After chatting on Facebook, I put my symptoms into Google and, Ta Da!...NO, it didn't say Zombie. It said Typhoid, or kidney failure, or I swallowed an object (I think I'd KNOW), or an anxiety disorder (which, okay - I already know), or dementia (which I'd forget), nearsightedness (I shit you not)...the list just got more horrible.

So I'm pretty sure I was just going to stick with my first guess. I'm becoming a zombie. I already have the shuffle down pat.
My brother is certain with my crappy immune system mutating a cold into something THIS AWFUL that I will cause the zombiepocalypse.
That's me... Zombie Mary.

School is Dangerous

Somedays I wonder what ACTUALLY goes on at my oldest son's school. This story will explain why.
I pick my son up from school today and I ask him how his day was.
"Pretty good," he says.
"What'd you do today?" I ask.
"Oh, I don't know. I made a paper airplane and some zombies," he tells me as he waves his paper airplane at me. It was pretty cool!
"What about reading? Did you do some reading?"
"......Aside from the killing, this place wouldn't be half bad," he says.
WOW...sounds like a negative to me.

Thursday, 17 January 2013

Some Ass Violated my Turkey

Maybe the Bird was a Vicious Criminal

and These Things Happen in Turkey Prison

Being a Tuesday, it was my designated how-can-I-make-this-a-Disaster-Night (or Family Dinner Night to those who keep up with these things).

I was NOT the original designated cooker - although to be completely honest, these things are kind of a blur to me. My Mom asked me if I would cook since my middle brother (aka: the designated Chef Boyardee of the week) was busy this day with a big meeting.

"No problem!" I tell her. Really, I should know better.

My Mom had pulled out a turkey to thaw and I was good-to-go.

Personally, I think it says FABULOUS things about me that when I approached said turkey I noticed nothing amiss. I am THAT non-discriminatory that I didn't realize at first my turkey was missing a leg.

I suppose I was also distracted by these strange plastic flexi-cuffs on my bird. I had the criminal turkey that was so dangerous he required restraints AFTER beheading...

I'm attempting to pop the cuffs from my criminal bird when I finally realized he had just the one leg in the cuffs...and the other leg was missing. I ACTUALLY glance around like I'm going to catch my leg thief in the act. I think they cuffed the wrong bird.

I eventually get the cuff popped and pull on it, but it goes NOWHERE. Shit, it's stuck. I lean down and see the cuffs are attached to some sort of medieval IUD jammed up my turkey's cooter. It's cuffs and a giant plastic "T"! Yikes, some sick bugger at the turkey plant was having a BAD day when they did this.

NOW I'm playing turkey gynecologist. I have my hand up the turkey's cooter and I'm yanking and yanking on this thing and it won't come out. I keep having to look up the turkey bum to see what the hell - I'm horrified and yet impressed with my badass self.

Finally the bird gives up the goods with a POP - and a splat (EWWW!), and I'm checking to make sure I didn't get nailed with turkey cooter juice. Yuck! So much for my massive level of badassity.
I dig out the gibleys, throw them in a pot and get them boiling up for stock (because I'm OUT of chicken base). There is NO WAY I'm telling the kids they are eating Gibley Gravy - not until they're 30, ha ha!

I get the turkey cooking and whew! Time to make cranberry sauce, carrots and all the other good stuff.

After everything but the turkey is done, I go pick up Reece from school.

He climbs in the SUV, sniffs. "What is that delightful smell?" he asks reverently.

I lift my arm and sniff myself, realizing I smell. "Turkey."

"Family Dinner Night..." he says with awe.

Sheesh... Just then my oldest brother TEXTS me.

This just goes to show perhaps we should could save us some trouble. But THAT wouldn't be nearly as entertaining.

We get home, I finish cooking my differently-abled turkey. I make the Gibley-Gravy (heh heh, and I don't tell my kids). Reece asks:

"So, did you have to - you know - cut off it's booty?" as he points at the turkey.

"Ummm, no. This turkey comes booty-free (not to mention light on the limbs)."

"Whew! What about the guts and the neck? What did you do with those?" he asks, turning very pale.

"I cooked them. Then I chopped up the gibleys, fed them to the puppies and threw the neck away."

"Oh good!" he exclaims, all relieved. Color is returning to his face.

Thank goodness he wasn't around for the flexi-cuff incident...

Monday, 14 January 2013

Going to Hell and NOT Feelin' the Love

Burning in the Pool of Love

I went to college for Advertising and Public Relations. A requirement was Speech class.
We gave a lot of speeches, mine usually were critiqued by my professor as being very "tongue in cheek." Sad to say, I had to ask her what she meant by that... She replied that maybe I should go into comedy instead. (Way to start my Advertising/Public Relations career off with a bang...not.)
One day our professor informed us we were to critique a speech in public. We had two weeks to complete this assignment. This was to be a major portion of our final mark.
The problem: there was a serious lack of public speakers in our area at that time.
So, I came up with a  "brilliant" solution. I decided to ask my Grandma if I could go to church with her, then I could critique one of the speakers there.
Oh, it sounded like SUCH a good idea...
My Grandma was SO happy! She attended a church where they start bright and early (have to have Bible Study first, I guess not EVERYONE gets that day of rest on the seventh day).
I sat and listened to the speakers - and it was NOTHING like what I expected.
I thought it would be one person giving a sermon...but nooo. There were many "brothers and sisters" - and it was PAINFUL. I felt so GUILTY (I'm sure it didn't help that God was watching). These were young teenagers stuttering out their sermons (they were trying SO HARD!) and I'm filing it away in my mind (picture my horns growing here), knowing that I am NEVER going to tell my Grandma why I'm here...EVER. Or God will get me.
Hours pass - literally. My bum is numb when we finally get to stand up. I'm all - YAY! It's over! But, no... My Grandma leads me away to something called Relief Society (like a ladies league).
Many ladies are gathered in this room, lined up on chairs to listen to one lady talk. The topic of this talk was how we were all connected in the "Pool of Love."
Then the speaker passed around a bottle of hand lotion.
"Each person will rub a tiny bit of lotion onto the hand of the person next to you to represent how we are all connected in the Pool of Love," she says.
I admit, my mind is drifting by now. It's been a long morning, I'm hungry...and I kind of wish there was lunch served on the deck by the Pool of Love. So, I'm not paying the BEST of attention.
The lotion bottle reaches my Grandma and I can smell its perfume. She starts rubbing a tiny bit onto my hand and I can feel it start to...burn. She's gazing lovingly at me with shining eyes, so happy - as my flesh is starting to melt off my hand.
I'm on FIRE in the Pool of Love and I'm terrified to say anything in case I get cast as a heathen and burnt at the stake!

I smile back at my Grandma, with tears in my eyes. It's a touching moment for her - and I'm trying desperately not to bolt to the bathroom to wash The Love off my hand.
I survive - not only through Relief Society (ironically with no relief) - but the gauntlet of visitors following (who also blocked the bathroom access). And my hand now has a red hole growing in it.
Grandma and I make the drive home and I have NEVER been so grateful that she drives 30 km over the speed limit before IN MY LIFE. I bolt from her truck, race to the house and SLAM into the bathroom.
"How'd it go?" asks my Mom.
"It was lovely," says Grandma enthusiastically.
I get out of the bathroom after GENTLY rinsing my hand. My mom looks at it and asks what happened to it.
"I don't think I belong in the Pool of Love."
*I did get an awesome grade...

Thursday, 10 January 2013

Aromatic Offense - Green Beans of Death

Worst. Potpourri. EVER.

I awake to the realization that an ACTUAL winter day has arrived.
Snow is falling, swirling about. It's time to bundle my sweet muffins up in toques and mittens (from children to sumo-wrestlers in 20 minutes) as we trudge off to school. (And by trudge... I mean drive. I totally don't trudge in the snow...ick.)
Thank goodness they aren't as whiny as I am. My nose starts dripping the second I step outside, my body convulses in COMPLETELY unsubtle shaking... How I ever lived this long is beyond me.
I get home after my non-trudge and vow to stay indoors. I'm going to wage a war on germs instead.
I slap on my uniform (or fuzzy slippers), straighten my shoulders and once more unto the breach!
Then I see it.
The cat has hurled on the fireplace... Oh no, not just ON the fireplace, but also right down the front - all over the glass as well.
The fireplace has been running nice and hot, too - since today decided to be WINTER.
Okay, I can be grown up about this. I grab a bottle of spray cleaner and a roll of paper towels. I spray the "nasty" and...shit. It dries!
HOWEVER, that second of moisture was enough to allow me the complete close-encounter aromatic experience of "hot cat barf potpourri."
Spritz, spritz, spritz! Dry. Swipe... Gag.
It's a shitty game of beat the clock and I was LOSING.
Darn cat...he's lucky he hid through this or I could have had the first casualty of my war on germs.

Green Beans of Death

My oldest son has a hate on for vegetables - they are his Kryptonite. HATE doesn't even begin to describe it. If they go in - he projectile vomits them out.
I'm certain he's going to get scurvy.
Determined parent that I am (or delusional, it's all a matter of perspective), I keep putting them on his plate in the hopes that he may one day succumb to my subliminal messages - and eat them.
The night of the "green beans on a plate" I hear Kaelan educating his younger brother as to WHY he won't be eating them.
"I have a barf door," he tells Reece.
"It's at the table. It goes down, the door opens."

Occupational Oppurtunity Knocks...

"I'm going to be a Fairy Odd Father when I get big."
This is Reece's big announcement while we're standing at the stove... We freeze - MOTIONLESS, mouths agape - slightly confused doesn't even BEGIN to cover it.
"I mean a Fairy Godfather."
Oh! Well THAT makes more sense... No, not really.


I have a sickness... More than usual. I'm afraid I have computer dumb-assery.
My laptop was having "issues" - and I'm not entirely sure they weren't "empathy issues" from hanging out with me so much. It started getting slllooowwww. It was painful to deal with.
So I ransacked it - like any good pirate with a head full-o-rum (I believe it was wine at the time) and uninstalled programs, deleted a bazillion things (a bazillion being the  only number I could almost count to at the time)... The poor machine didn't have a whole lot on it.
Then I asked for help.
"Sooo, you updated your virus protection?"
"Yes, I did."
Which showed up when we double checked, kudos for me, AND that I actually ran it (again - yay me)... But the buggering bastard wasn't turned on for some reason, so - shit, I was a dumbass.
Next, my laptop has something called a System Mechanic installed on it.
"Have you run the System Mechanic?" I was asked.
"I don't know, I hate that thing. It doesn't DO anything," I respond (if I knew I'd be eating these words, I'd have said something smoother).
"Hmmm, looks like you haven't run it in a year."
System Mechanic is a freakin' tattletale...
SO, after going through this program's list of my compu-short comings - the tattletale mechanic gets run.
Between things actually being turned ON and USING them, my laptop seems to be running fine now....imagine that?

Thursday, 3 January 2013

Melting Eyeballs and Losing Minds

I'm Mellllting!!!

"My eyes are turning into water," Kaelan informs me - rather testily (I think) considering how impressive that is.
"Are you melting?" I ask (a la Wicked Witch of the West).

Why Improving your Vocabulary is the Best Entertainment...
and the Most Dangerous

I'm driving my children home and I hear from the backseat:
"Mom, what's a tart?"
After I recovered from a coughing fit (why do they always try to kill me when I'm driving?), I respond with the MUCH more appropriate answer:
"It's a small pie!"
"What does it start with?"
Don't say too much booze, don't say too much booze...
"The letter T."

Losing my Mind...but NOT my Hearing

We have a small pharmacy in our town. There is parking along Main Street and parking in the back. Usually we park in the back, since trying to find a parking space along Main Street leads to needing to purchase more pharmaceuticals...
Today we managed to find a space out front and went in to fill our prescriptions. After paying, I grab my kids hands and start to head out the BACK of the pharmacy.
I pass one of the ladies that work in the store and stop mid-stride...WHOOPS!
"Oh, hey guys! We parked in the front!" The lady that works there looks at me, my prescription bag and giggles.
"Obviously I need more sleep," I tell her.
SO helpful, Kaelan looks up at me and says "Mom, you're confused. You need a hearing aid."


Getting Batty in my Old Age

"Do you know how old fruit bats are?" Kaelan asks me.
Stumped, I was forced to admit I did not.
"How old are they?" I ask.
"Vampire," he tells me.
"Wow, that's pretty old."
"Maybe they need a youngulator," he tells his brother. "Then they'll only be as old as Mom."
WOW... I was stumped twice. Be flattered I'm not Vampire old yet, or ground his whippersnapper butt.
(This is a picture of Kaelan's bat collection!)