01.26.09
client tell
I don’t write a lot about my work, I mean honestly how many hairy hoo-hoos do you really want to hear about? While ripping the fur from shrubberies is a big (not to mention the most lucrative) part of my work it is not all I do. The job itself requires as much my ear as my hands. I am not just a beautifier/de-furrer, I am also a bartender (without the booze of course) and just as they do with hairdressers people love to dish dirt while they are being worked on. I am a great listener and even have no problem offering a bit of advice when they ask for it and I think that might be why clients tell me so much, they know I don’t judge and I don’t spill. I hear a lot of gossip in a day and we are always the first to know who is pregnant, who is getting divorced, who got caught dealing drugs and who cheated on whom with who. Trixie and I certainly discuss all of these matters with one another but I don’t think it’s necessary to spread any news that is not my own… except perhaps to the entire internet, or the handful of people who read this blog at least. Here is a little taste of the kind of thing we see and hear.
The divorce diet.
Rina has lost 35 pounds since August, her husband has lost 75. No, they haven’t been dieting or exercising and they haven’t had any drastic surgeries or such. Their secret? They are getting divorced. She’s had enough of him and the stress he brings to her life and he’s losing his mind at the thought of losing her. She says it’s the first time in their twelve year marriage that any weight loss program has worked for both of them. I told my husband I was throwing him out to see if the divorce diet would work for me but he says I’d be more stressed without him and he’s probably right. Besides, we’d just fight over the stuff neither of us wants, like the bills and my parents.
The vampires.
There are two women in particular who come to see us who walk into the room and suck every speck of joy out of it. They are gloomy, cynical and defeatist and they wouldn’t know optimism if it bit them in the ass. “It’s a beautiful day today.” I’d say. “Yeah but it’s going to be cold again tomorrow.” she’d reply. “Wow, your hair looks great!” Trix would tell one of them. “This isn’t the color I wanted though, the stylist screwed it up again.” she’d snark back. “Congrats, I hear your daughter is having a baby!” “Yes and it’ll probably be an asshole like its father.” Now I know we all have bad days and we are happy to let people vent as they need to but these women only have one setting, negative. We try to book these ladies on different days but on the odd occasion when they are in at the same time by the time they leave we’re ready to take a long walk off a short pier ourselves. Fortunately Trix and I have each other and we can find the humor in just about anything, even in their humorlessness. We just make sure we wear our garlic necklaces on those days… just in case.
Cleopatra
This woman is the Queen of denial. From her drug addled brain to her fungal toes she is a mess. Her name is Irene and she is fifty-something years old and has never worked a day in her life. She lived off her mother when she was alive and now she lives off the inheritance her mom left yet she thinks she is so hard done by and can’t understand why people don’t respect her. I think at one time she might have been a very intelligent woman as occasionally I can see shreds of who she might have been before the self-pity and self-medicating kicked in. Now her days consist of cocktail after cocktail of painkillers and mood stabilizers and trying to make people believe that she is still the brilliant ballerina of her childhood and that she does not have fungus.
A word about fungus. There is nothing fun about it. If you have yellow toenails and something that looks like it could be limburger cheese beneath them please have a doctor check them out and prescribe you some anti-fungal medication. The only way to truly be rid of fungus is to take an oral medication. That said, it is possible to keep the fungi at bay with tea tree or olive oil. I personally and a big fan of evoo (extra virgin olive oil) I keep a shot glass of it beside my bed and dip my fingers and rub it on my toes every night before I go to bed. This keeps my cuticles soft and ensures that I’ll never have nails (finger or toe) that look like I’ve been clawing my way through a mountain of earwax. Someone once asked me if this leaves yellow stains on my sheets. I never noticed anything though I will certainly swear that if there are yellow stains on my sheets that they are most definitely from the olive oil.
Burton’s coming
Katy had more than a little brush with fame. One night back in the late 80’s she and a friend met some guys in a hotel elevator. The men invited the ladies up to their suite for a party. The girls went because, well, because we were stupider back then. It turns out the party was in the room of Burton Cummings, the lead singer of The Guess Who. According to Katy, she and Burton made eye contact across the crowded room and he approached her immediately. They danced a little, had some drinks and did some blow before he asked her if she wanted to fuck him. Now I never understood the appeal of Burton, he reminds me of Ron Jeremy, but apparently the dude can hump (or could back then at least) like a jackrabbit. He grabbed a bag of cocaine and they went to a private room where they apparently did the nasty all night long. The big secret here is that her husband thinks she spent that night with a depressed friend. I can’t help but wonder if she inspired any of the band’s hits… like maybe “No Sugar Tonight”, “Clap For the Wolfman”, “Loves Me Like a Brother”, “Share the Land” or “Runnin’ Back To Saskatoon”. Think about it for a sec, the humour in it will come to you… maybe.
As a side note here, if you aren’t Canadian you probably have never heard of Burton or his band and the truth is even if you are Canadian and have heard of them, you probably don’t care.
01.22.09
off balance
I arrived home from work yesterday to a midday unexpected phone call from my son.
“Mom, I don’t feel right.”
“What’s wrong?” my stomach dropped.
“I’m dizzy and nauseous, I can’t stand up because I feel like I’ll fall down and when I lie down I feel like the room is spinning and I’m going to throw up.”
“Vertigo.” I diagnosed.
“What do I do?”
“I don’t know but if it doesn’t settle down you better get to a doctor.”
He waited about an hour but the symptoms only worsened so he called his friend Sam next door and asked if he would go with him to the emergency room. The appartment Sam rents is also owned by the same woman who owns the house that my boy lives in and as he was leaving she met them at the door and apparently it was obvious that my kid was not ok. Mrs. K was kind enough to offer them a ride to the hospital and she and Sam waited while my boy was checked and treated. I am incredibly grateful that they were able to be there for him when I could not.
There is no more helpless feeling for a mother than to know your child is sick and to not only be completely unable to do anything to help them but also to not even be able to comfort them. All I wanted to do was book a flight to Chicago.
I was even more concerned because I have heard so many nightmare stories about the American Medical system. As it turns out however, The Boy said they were great, they treated him well and quickly. They got him into triage immediately and began asking questions and doing tests. They checked his blood and hooked him up to an ECG. The doctor told him it was indeed vertigo and gave him some medication and two prescriptions and told him he could go home. The poor kid stood up and walked to the door and promptly threw up in the garbage can.
The nurse sat him back down and gave him another dose of the drug and they waited ten minutes to be sure he could keep it down. Mrs. K. Drove the boys home and gave my son a lecture on tuna. She said tuna is killing everyone so he should be avoiding it. Mrs. K. Was not only incredibly kind and helpful but she also gave my kid a little comic relief.
He called us when he got home to fill us in and let us know that he was alright, tired, hungry, woozy and out of it but OK. I asked him what drugs they had given him and wrote them down so I could check them out, I like to know about side effects, contraindications and such, my husband laughed at me. “You’re not a doctor.”
“I know but I watch them on TV! I just like to know what he’s taking and what they’ll do to him, this is me being proactive with his health care.”
I talked to him this morning and he is still pretty dizzy and out of it… though he did go to work today. Bless that kid and his work ethic. Hopefully he can get this under control and it doesn’t mean more Hitchcock films will be haunting him. He already has Vertigo so I told him to watch out for The Birds and not to avoid all Bates motels… just in case there is a trend.
In other news Trixie called me this morning to tell me that she thinks she broke her toe last night. She got up in the dark to take the dog out for a pee and she stubbed it on the vacuum. I asked her which toe she hurt and she replied (without missing a beat) “My roast beef toe.”
I had to think about that for a second and then I laughed my ass off.
“This little piggy went to market…”
01.21.09
hail to the chief indeed
I’ve always been proud to be a Canadian and have never imagined being a citizen of any other country but if I were ever eager to follow any other leader it would be Barack Obama.
I am not a very political person by nature. I tend to be somewhat jaded and always question motives. I pay attention but as with religion I prefer to keep my opinions to myself… it’s safer and more diplomatic that way. When Obama began his race against Hilary I have to admit my support was for her. I felt that she had the experience, the knowledge and the background to be better prepared for the daunting task ahead of her. She understands the shit storm of American and world politics and she knew what she was getting into. As a side note here, I was a big fan of Bill Clinton, I think he was a fantastic leader despite his extracurricular activities which frankly were none of our business anyway but they tainted what otherwise would have been a great presidency. We don’t put our politicians under the same scrutiny here in Canada, we allow them to lead without holding them to a higher personal standard and frankly most of us don’t even know our leader’s wives names let alone what (or who) they are doing in their spare time. The truth is I might have had more respect for Jean Chretien if he had been diddling an intern on the side. It would have shown that the man had balls at least.
It was time to get the republicans out of office and I thought that Hilary was in a better position to do so. I was so wrong. I can see now that had she won the Democratic nod that today would have been a very different occasion. I wasn’t convinced that Obama had the cojones to take on the Repubs and beat them, not at their own game, but at his. He never wavered, he held his head high and fought the good fight, the honest fight, and the fight that mattered. When I saw how steadfastly he held himself, how honestly and forthrightly he spoke and heard the hope and promise in his speeches I knew he was not an average politician. This man not only meant, but also believed every word he said and every campaign promise he made.
I cried on election night and I have shed many tears over the past four months. Tears of optimism and tears of the hope and promise reflected in this man our neighbors have wisely elected to lead them. I cried when I watched the 60 Minutes interview with Barack and Michelle, I am touched by their love for one another and their daughters. They are very genuine and humble people and I don’t believe for a second there is any personal agenda in their power beyond making the world (however big or small) a better place for their children and the generations that follow. I am white and Canadian yet I can see a brighter future not just for the US, but for all of us. He is in a position to make real changes and a real difference in a world that needs to be reshaped and transformed and I have no doubt that he will do it.
Obama has restored my faith in politicians but more than that he has restored my faith in democracy and humanity.
Tears streamed down my face as I watched the inauguration today. I could not have ever imagined being so moved by any speech, let alone an American inaugural one. I am touched by his compassion, his integrity and the gentle but powerful manner with which he carries himself and by the conviction and confidence with which he leads. I understand now why people felt so strongly about and attached to the likes of JFK and Dr. King. Their dreams, their passion and their compassion are contagious. They brought light to dark times and I truly understand now why people felt so close to them. We are optimists at heart, we do want to live and thrive in a better world. Obama’s appointment to the presidential perch also says a great deal about Americans as a whole. They are ready to be lead, they are tired of being lead astray and they really do want peace and unity and they are ready to be inspired by something other than fear, force and greed.
We witnessed history today, it’s not just about a black man becoming president, it’s bigger than that, the world is seeing that individually we can make a difference and that if we set our sights and do the work, nothing is impossible.
This post was brought to you by the committee to perpetuate the Barack Obama snowball effect for change.
01.18.09
letting go
Sometimes I imagine myself as a puppeteer but the strings that my fingers are pulling are not attached to marionettes but instead they are tied to all of the aspects of my life, my job, my marriage, my kid, money, my friends, etc. I know I have control issues but that is beside the point. There are days (too many of them lately) where I feel like the strands are slipping away from me and I am grasping to keep them in check. I fear that if I let them go and give way to fate or “que sera sera” (what will be will be) that it will all fall apart and the fragments that make up my life will slip away until there is nothing substantial left to hold on to.
It is no secret that I hate going to the doctor. The clinic is a very uncomfortable place for me and I am convinced that if I am not ill when I arrive, I will be by the time I leave. I know it’s irrational but all of the coughing and sickness there just creeps me out. I have even gone so far as to have my husband get prescriptions for me so that I didn’t have to put in a personal appearance. Now let me clarify that I only take two drugs, and neither of them regularly. I get Toradol (synthetic, non-addictive Demerol) for the headaches and pain that Advil and Tylenol don’t help, and Ativan (anti-anxiety) for those nights when the noise in my brain won’t let me sleep. I won’t say “ the voices in my head” keep me awake because that would just make me sound crazy. And really the chatter I hear is my own voice anyway… for the most part.
I woke up Friday morning in a panic. I had taken my last Ativan the night before. I had been taking them sparingly over the last couple of months so as to put off making a doc appointment for as long as possible… or in hopes that perhaps my husband would have reason to go in and he could get them for me. I have been out of Toradol for a while and could have suffered through without them, but Ativan is like a bedtime security blanket and I am afraid to ever be without at least one.
My plan was to just zip in, see whatever physician was available, get my drugs and get the hell out. I would have been more comfortable buying them in an alley… although those dealers don’t accept Blue Cross so I’d have had to pay full price. I called the clinic and got set up to see some new quack since my regular doc was booked and the one I really like (Dr. G) doesn’t accept new patients.
When I arrived at the clinic I was told that the doctor I had been booked with was called to the hospital and would I mind seeing Dr. Ginny instead. I was more than ok with that. I had seen her once before and this woman is the doc that all docs should be. She has a fantastic bedside manner, she is thorough, non-judgmental, practical and very understanding… which explains why she is usually impossible to get in to see.
When she came into the exam room she seemed genuinely happy to see me. Before I even told her why I was there she asked about something I had seen her for the last time I was in. Once I assured her that the warts were gone (kidding!) she asked me how she could help me today. I explained what I wanted and she pulled up my history on the computer. As she punched in the prescriptions she asked me how everything else was, I was shocked to not get the herded cattle (get ‘em in move ‘em out) treatment, so I settled in and chatted with her for a bit. Eventually (as it tends to do) the topic got to weight. I’ve always struggled with it and anyone who thinks it is a matter of simply eating less and exercising more has their head up their ass. That in itself is easier said than done and there is always more to it, be it physical or emotional or genetic. I work hard at exercising and eating properly but it is never as easy as people who have never had a weight problem make it seem. It is a deeper issue that involves more than simply “putting the fork down”. That’s like telling a kid with acne to stop eating chocolate. Honestly, nothing pisses me off more than people who think they have all the answers when they really have no fucking idea. Fuck off already.
There are some doctors who use weight as an excuse for everything. If you stub your toe they say that if you’d just lose twenty pounds you’d feel better. When I had endometriosis I went to a gynecologist who told me my weight was the cause of all of my problems. Endometriosis was my only problem and women of all sizes get that.
Anyway, Doctor G. took a look at all of my past tests and blood work and told me that I am perfectly healthy, my glucose levels are perfect, my cholesterol could not be better and everything else is in the optimum range. “You are a very beautiful woman, you carry yourself and your weight very well, you obviously look after yourself and you are very healthy so why is the weight such an issue?” she asked.
I was stunned. For years society has preached that fat is unacceptable and I’ve been given the medical impression that overweight people are automatically unhealthy and here was a doctor asking me why I was so obsessed with it. “I guess I just want to be normal.” I sighed. The doctor smiled at me and said, “But maybe this is normal for you.”
With those seven words she lifted a lifetime of baggage from my shoulders. I actually physically felt lighter as I left that office. I might have even skipped a little if the sidewalk wasn’t so icy.
Maybe this is normal for me.
I’ve tried to find self-acceptance for a long time. I’ve always felt accepted by the people who love me but still I wondered if they only did so out of some sort of obligation or pity. Self esteem issues much? My husband tells me I am beautiful all the time yet even with him I roll my eyes and brush off the compliment like he’s saying it because he thinks it’s what good husbands do or because he thinks it’s what I want to hear. I can always find excuses not to believe I am ok the way I am. Like those puppet strings to which I cling, I have long held on to the belief that there is something inherently wrong with me, that I am somehow not worthy because I am not thin. Maybe it really is time to let that one slip from my grasp. I know that there is a lot more to me than a number on a scale, maybe it’s time I finally started to believe it.
01.15.09
ee ii eee iii nooooo
The other night I dreamt I was pregnant. The feeling of the child in my womb was so real that I had to remind myself when I awoke that I have no uterus. There is no womb at the ben. I remember laughing in the dream, telling someone that I wanted to space my children out… like 21 years apart. I found myself disappointed when the reality of consciousness reminded me of the impossibility. I can’t help but wonder if this dream fits with the unrest in my life, the feeling that I should be doing more, that I should be living with an objective and motivation instead of just existing and getting through the days.
I am looking for my purpose. I am not looking for my “special purpose” like Steve Martin in The Jerk. I KNOW where my special purpose is and if I do say so myself I am quite proficient with it. For the past twenty years my purpose has been to raise my son but my work there is done. I probably need him more than he needs me at this point, he is independent in all ways (‘cept tuition which at this point we are also unable to be of assistance) so now I find myself with more time and energy than I know what to do with.
Maybe I need a hobby, something to fill my days and make me feel like a productive member of society… or at least a productive member of my household. I considered a few things like becoming a welder or selling what’s left of my soul but I think either way the heat would get to me eventually. I thought about volunteering but there really isn’t anything I am interested in. I’ve already given seven years to Girl Guides and as much as I enjoyed it at the time I am certain I don’t have the patience for it anymore. Other people’s kids annoy me… almost as much as other people do.
Last year I mulled over the idea of getting a goat. After a little research I decided that they are too destructive and more work than I was looking for but the post that I wrote prompted my SIL to send me an email about miniature cows. The little Jersey bovines (breed, not origin) are about the height of a German Shepherd and they produce enough milk for a family of four. This is about three times the milk that we use but I do love the idea of making milk products (cheese & ice cream for starters) and I can totally see myself shoveling shit and hay and treating the critter as a pet.
But why stop there?
I could get a few chickens too. I’d build a little coop to go near the mini barn I’d (er, Heiny would) build for my mini cow and we’d have fresh eggs too. Not to mention all of the lovely fresh manure they supply. I could buy a little pig as well, they are great for composting and at the end of gardening season I could put him in my veggie garden to clean up all of the remnants and till the soil naturally. Then we would eat him.
Could we eat something that we raised and certainly would give a name to? I’m not sure. We both attach easily to animals so maybe not. Unless we named him Bacon. Kevin Bacon? Our son says we should start with one chicken and see how that goes and a client told me that maybe we should just get a puppy. I can’t see myself milking a chicken or eating a dog. One chicken is not going to provide enough eggs or manure to be useful and there is already more dog shit around here than I want to deal with as well.
I like the idea of being self-sufficient, maybe selling the excess to supplement our income, and if this recessive trend continues at least we’d not starve to death. In theory it sounds like a good idea but the pragmatic side of me keeps reminding me that come summer I won’t want to be tied to home. Once the snow is gone I’ll want to be at the lake and it’s pretty tough to tend to animals from 40 km away. I’d either have to find someone to look after them when I am not here or take them with me. I find the thought of my husband, me, the dog, six chickens, a pig and a cow riding out to the cabin in the front seat of the pick-up hilarious but slightly impractical.
I guess Old McBenny won’t have a farm after all but she still needs something to do. I’d get a part time job but there is nothing available at the moment, I’d love to take some courses but financially that is not possible either. I am not into crafting or scrapbooking so my photos will remain piled in that box downstairs. I lost interest in crocheting just after I started my seventh unfinished afghan and until my muse returns from her vacation my creativity in the writing department will remain on hold. I have to find something to keep me going until spring, any suggestions? Winters in Canada are way too freaking long unless hibernation is an option… but believe me if I could I would.
So this leads me back to where I began, unpregnant, unfulfilled, unimportant and without purpose.
Fuck it, all of this introspection and shit is too much like work, I think I’ll just play some Scrabble and drink some wine until spring or until it passes or until I pass out… whichever comes first.
01.13.09
double you
I don’t do a lot of memes anymore but this was fun.
Here’s the instructions: How this memetic works is that you leave a comment on this post, and I’ll assign you a letter. Then you write about ten things you love that begin with your assigned letter, and post it at your place. When people comment on your list, you give them a letter, and the chain continues on and on.
(For the record I did not write the blurb but I did find it funny in its badness. If you want to play along let me know in the comments and I’ll give you a letter… who wants the X?)
My friend Rox assigned me the letter W, she might very well have been fucking with me since we had just spent six (yes 6!) hours talking on the phone and maybe she wanted to shut me up. Canadians need human contact too! Honestly, the only person I could have chatted with for that long and identify as closely with would be myself. Wrap your melon around that! The point is, despite the fact that we’ve never met in the flesh we get each other and we’re a lot alike and it’s super easy to talk about everything when you agree on pretty much everything. Fortunately we differ where it matters, we don’t love the same man, she has John Mayer and I of course am Johnny Rzeznik’s girl. I don’t know what it says about me (that I am pathetic and lonely maybe?) but that day on the phone with her was one of the best days I have had in some time. I laughed a lot and I needed that… Thanks Rox, for everything, even the “W”.
Woo – This is my husband’s nickname, it started because whenever the guys from his work would see him they’d yell “WOOOO!!” because apparently that is what His Highness hollers to break the monotony at the mill. He is now known as Kenny Woo all over the land and it totally makes him sound Chinese and that cracks me up.
Woo’s Wood – Morning wood, afternoon wood, evening wood, middle of the night wood, it’s all good wood and I take it when I can get it.
Wickedness in the Wilderness – (speaking of wood) Oh how I miss the picnic table of love. Four months until camping season starts!
Warmth – I am Canadian which is Nootka for “Stupid fuckers who won’t move south.” We get six months of winter here so I never complain about it being too hot in the summer, bring it sun! Maybe when the hot flashing starts I’ll change my tune.
Wii – Nintendo brings me joy, pure video gaming ecstasy in all things hula hoop, stratocaster and moustachio’d plumber related.
Watching – I have a bit of a voyeuristic streak though streaking itself is not for me… my neighbors are relieved.
Waterloo students – my boy in particular (obviously) though he is fighting with the Irish at the moment at Notre Dame he is still technically from U-Loo.
Watermelon – Sweet pink happiness in a rind. I also love Trident Splash Watermelon Mint gum but I don’t like anything else that is phony melon flavoured.
Writing – Although I have to admit lately it’s not coming very easily to me. Fucking muse is not amusing or inspiring.
Water – I’m a damn camel, I drink gallons of water every day. I’m not fat, I’m just really well hydrated.
Whatever.
01.08.09
winter blews
Where has the time gone and where the fuck have I been?!
First of all I want to say that just because the land of blog was out of sight does not mean it was out of mind, though I have been feeling a little out of my mind, I have not forgotten my friends here despite my absence. I’ve missed you people. I’ve thought about posting, I wanted to post and I even tried a few times to write something but it seems my blog mojo fairy was on holiday hiatus with my Christmas spirit. I think the bitches went somewhere tropical leaving me wordless and humbuggered though I really can’t blame them for ditching me, it is winter in Canada and I’d rather be somewhere (anywhere) else myself.
I was void of all things tinselly and garlandish this festive season and because I did not have a lot of pleasant things to say I chose to say nothing at all. I had no intention of putting up the tree either but when my husband (who has been off work for three weeks) decided it was time to festoon the living room with the green plastic evergreen of joyful and triumphantness I had to intervene. If His Highness were in charge of decorating the baby Jesus would weep at the pathetic single string of lights and three balls that he would deem sufficient embellishment to celebrate the divine birth.
Speaking of the son of God. While we were visiting my in-laws over the holidays my husband made an offhand comment about “celebrating Jesus’ death”. I looked at my very religious mother-in-law and said “Apparently you didn’t take him to church enough.” I then corrected my husband and told him that Jesus was born on Christmas day and that he died at Easter to which my brilliant hubby replied, “He didn’t live very long then did he.”
Obviously the sentiment of the season was lost on both of us. He might as well have been celebrating Arbor Day for all it meant to him (and could have been for all he knew) and I’d have happily skipped the entire month… aside from the two week visit with our son of course. For the first time since before I was married I didn’t send Xmas cards, I did no baking (because if it was here I’d eat it) and I didn’t even get excited about shopping although I was pleased with the gifts we were able to give on such a limited budget.
Despite our financial deficit my husband felt it prudent to overspend on me this year (as he tends to do, the silly, generous with credit, bastard). He bought me a Wii and Wii Fit. I felt terribly guilty about it but never guilty enough to force him to return it. Now I know y’all are thinking “AHA that’s why she hasn’t been online, she’s been Wii’ing her ass off!” If only that were true. I do try to spend at least an hour a day with my trainer (who I really need to come up with a name for) but I don’t have enough games to keep me occupied down there for very long… until I get Guitar Hero World Tour anyway.
As it turns out I’m not really needing the Wii (or the helliptical) at the moment for exercise, Mother Nature is doing her best to work my ass off. We got about four inches of snow on Monday and since my husband is working this week (yay, we should be able to make the mortgage payment!) I shoveled the driveway so he wouldn’t have to do it when he got home after his 12 hour shift. Yesterday I paid the price (no good deed goes unpunished after all) when my body felt like it had been hit by a bus that backed up and ran me over again just for shits and giggles. Last night we got about eight more inches of snow, I was plowing it with my bumper this morning until I got to the highway which was pretty unmaintained as well since it’s closed west of here due to avalanches. It was a harrowing trip to town and back today but since there was only local traffic I was able to stick to the middle of the road figuring that at least if I did a whoop-dee-doo that I’d be less likely to hit the ditch.
The driveway (which incidentally seems thrice its size today) had nearly a foot of heavy wet snow on it by the time I got home. I donned my winter gear, plugged into mipod and headed outside. About half an hour in I was sweating like a whore in church and had to take off my scarf and toque. I wanted to remove my coat but decided it would be bad enough if someone found me heart attacked in my driveway, it’d be totally embarrassing if they had to chip me out of a block of my own frozen sweat too.
I was about 3/4 of the way through my ‘workout’ when the calvary arrived in the form of my dad on his skid steer (bobcat/mini-loader thing). He finished up and even cleared a spot for Mika to poop. The poor mutt has had a terrible time of it lately, it’s hard to squat for a dump when the snow is up to your shoulder. I spent another twenty minutes shoveling the deck and came inside for some water and a handful of Robaxecet (for back pain and muscle relief). At this point the only muscle in my body that is not screaming in agony is my tongue.
The good news is that this winter might be a great diet program for me. After two days of moving and lifting what has to amount to more than a ton of snow, I’ll be too sore to even lift a fork. I figure if the white shit keeps falling I should be skinny by spring, providing it doesn’t kill me first.
