Is there an app for this?

Answers to Todays FAQs
1. Yes, that belongs to Husband.
2. Yes, that is the new one.
3. Yes, it used to cost more than my first car.
4. Yes, it makes a lovely coaster.

Honey, I Maced The House

When they turn my life into a movie and Uma Thurman begs for the starring role, the following story will likely be a humorous counterpoint to the tragedy which is my inability to play sports, bake cupcakes or go more than five minutes without injuring myself.

Belleville, ON ~ 2006

The reasons I was leaving the house in a rush that day aren't important. You need to know that I was running late, that Husband was walking the dogs early and that my father-in-law may be trying to kill me.

I needed mittens. I had hoped to get away without them but it was early on an October morning and the frost was still on the pumpkin. Mittens were stored in the mitten basket in the front hall of our house.  I grabbed it down, plunked it on the sofa and started rooting for my favourite blue pair of handmade mitts just as Husband came clomping up the front steps with the Beasts. Blind fingers felt the scratchy wool I was looking for.  I had to tug as the knobbly yarn seemed to be caught on the bottom of the basket. The tangle came free, my hand tightening around the mittens as I pulled them loose to hold them high and shout something clever like "A-HA!" just as Husband came through the front door.

Triumphant, I turned to my beloved, ready to sing the praises of neatly organized wicker from Pier One only to see him turn an abrupt about face onto the porch.

I looked back to the lumpy bundle held tight in my hands in time to see a brown cloud shoot from the nozzle on the can of bear spray* that I was squeezing. (*Caution: Shoots up to 25 feet! Point away from face; use only outdoors, in a well ventilated area, preferably on a bear but certainly not in your living room.)

The brown cloud hit the far wall as I stepped forward to follow Husband out the door. I was nearly there when I recalled that we also owned a cat and I would have to grab some air and go back.

Ever had a lung full of mace? It's like Hell and a hot August day lit a fire with a blow torch to bake Christmas cookies in your chest.

Only more worse.

Coughing, eyes streaming, I stripped off my sweater as I raced ahead of the mace to slam our bedroom door shut, locking in our cat and stuffing the sweater into the crack. I turned and nearly made it to the front porch before my lungs began to heave, then hurled vomit and profanity at the rose bushes for fifteen minutes.

When I could finally take a breath without sobbing, I looked up into the loving and concerned eyes of Husband, who brushed the hair from my face and tenderly asked "Why did you do that?"

I hadn't.

My father-in-law had carefully tucked this aerosol propelled mace into my mitten basket after a hiking trip through Algonquin Park. Father-in-law is not a man to give things away if there is any possibility that he might need said item at some distant point in the future. However, even his parsimonious soul knew that Customs might question the need for a can of bear spray on a domestic flight to BC via Montreal.

Why he chose to hide it after disengaging the safety catch is not much of a mystery if you consider that after meeting me for the first time, he suggested Husband think about traveling to a foreign country 'where the women are more docile.'

Crown Isle, the Jewel in the Crown of BC Which Is Vancouver Island. Sieg Heil!

Last week a gentleman came in looking for a lawn care & property services list as he wanted someone to look after his place for the summer.  He insisted I give him our list of reputable service providers so I made certain not to give him the list of cutthroats and felons.

Then Sir seemed to feel the need to explain.  I guess I have the sort of face that says "She doesn't get it, use little words and take your time, it's not like she's busy."  I was subjected to a long list of complaints about living in Crown Isle, with Sir frowning sternly about how the properties have to be maintained just so and how one can't keep one's giant boat parked in the drive or allow one's grass to grow too long "...because the neighbourhood commission board are ... "
And here he paused.  Searching for a word.  Straining to find a way to communicate.  I took pity and made a guess.

" ... Nazis?"

I guessed wrong.  As the blistering silence spread outward from the two of us, a large vein in Sir's forehead began to throb. His eyes bulged and his Adams Apple began bobbing up and down, as though forcing himself to swallow something distasteful.  The pause between us lengthened and I became aware of a strange, whistling sound.  It was Sir, inhaling pure indignation into his lungs.  When he spoke it was with barely controlled contempt. 


"No. I mean fastidious.  I don't have to drive down my street and look my neighbours' crappy cars and shoddy lawn care.  Crown Isle looks the way a neighbourhood should.  It's perfectly ordered and well maintained."

"So ...  nothing like the Nazis, then?"

I didn't really say that.  I am certain my expression did.  What I actually said was "Okay! So, good luck with that list, have a nice day!" in the chipper tones of  someone who parks a crappy car next to her shoddy lawn with the free spirit of an Allied national.

As I watched him goosestep away I reflected that it takes all sorts to make this funny old world go around.  I'm so happy that most of them seem to find their way to me.

It's Not As Bad As Vogon Poetry So Quit Yer Whining

Ode to a seeping puddle of water I found under my car this morning.

I stepped in you and you squished,
Noisily and smooshily,
As I opened my car door in the sunshine.


Puddle, you are here and you should not be.
Get thee gone, 
From my lawn and my life.


Neighbour-man,  useless greenest grass grower,
Waster of seven generations of water,
On sneezy Kentucky Blue Grass/Red Clover Blend.


Fix your crappy, five thousand dollar, 
"We had it installed by specialists" sprinkler system
Before I dig it up with my bare hands and jam it through your kitchen window.


Or else.

My favourite app is the off switch.

Husband bought an iPhone 4. It's my fault really, I left him unattended in the mall while I picked up movie tickets. I was barely gone 15 minutes and in that time Husband went from 'just looking' to 'where do I sign?'  


I'm sure the little sales goblin heard me coming back and sped up his pitch, too.  I saw him nearly slice his own arm off trying to speed swipe Husband's Visa just as I turned the corner.

Now Husband owns a phone which cost us more than my first car.  A phone designed to be more sleek and powerful and invisibly slender than all other wafer thin phones before it.  A phone with literally more bells, bings and strange vibrations than any device Husband has ever owned and this is a man who owns an airplane.  For the record, Husband is a bit of a gadget junkie but he also has the rage of a gamma-rayed lowland gorilla when it comes to things that beep, flicker, disconnect, or fail to send up a flare when he loses them.


Yup.  This tiny, 5 ounce 2.5" X 4.5" phone is just the best idea ever.

And just to add unicorn sprinkles to the salesman's day, Husband mentioned that  he was afraid to drop it on the way out of the store.  This prompted the grinning demon spawn behind the counter to offer us a selection of highly durable 'sleeves' with which the wretched thing patently does not come.  These are all designed to protect it from 'mild shock or jarring' and, to his credit, the salesman was able to say this with a completely straight face.  Husband bought a black one based solely on the fact that it was actually marketed as a 'flippy sleeve.'  I love him.

Husband is very excited by all of the many features the phone has and by the apps that (ha ha) one can buy for it.  


"It's not just a phone, Sweetie," he geeked at me on the way home.  "It's a personal lifeline. It GPS's; it searches; it emails. It informs, educates and shrinks to world to the palm of the hand."  He is a lot of fun when he is in this heightened, nerd-like state and I enjoy showing him off at parties for the entertainment value.

These apps, the ones that will expand his mind so far he'll be able to knot it under his chin, are many and varied.  They will indeed shrink the globe and expand his horizons.  With the power of the Internet in his pocket, Husband will be a Swiss Army Spouse, knowledgeable and ready to react.

As soon as he beats level 12 on 'Angry Birds'.

I have to pee sometime

Creepy sneaker down hallways
Felted feline feet 
You wait.... 
                    And wait....  
                                        And wait
Until the guard is dropped, the post is left, the station abandoned.


And then you take my pen.

Friday Mornings

Friday morning means saying farewell to your pillow, while at the same time promising to spend more quality time with it soon.  It means dressing from the funky side of the closet and maybe using the glitter spray on your hair.  It means coffee for breakfast because you have a co-worker who likes to bring in baked goods. It means drive through.  Friday mornings can be exciting launch pads into a day filled with easy tasks, lunch plans and things-not-important-enough-to-stay-late-for.  

Friday mornings pull you from sleep like the tiny, warm hands of your best child hood friend and whisper 'Let's go! We have so many plans to make!'

Friday mornings rock.

A Celebration Of Learning

"Don't move, I am a First Aider!  I will not touch your skin with my skin or refer to you in any way which references or seems to disparage your gender, age, fashion sense, social standing or how that hamster got lodged in there.  I will refer to your skin tone as 'pink' because that is how I have been trained. Can I help you?"


Military First Aid,  A Glossary of Terms

Weapon: gun

Mr/Mrs/Ms/Miss/Ma'am: honorific used for a civilian  
Civilian: whiner
Gloves: thin vinyl line between you and the zombies
Pink, warm and dry: apparently racist phrase used to describe evidence of normal circulation for a person who has a pink complexion
Back to black: apparently acceptable phrase used to describe evidence of normal circulation for people of colour
People of colour, with quotie fingers: apparently 'not us'
Celebration of Learning: less stressful, but exactly the same as a test, exam, assessment or practical demonstration of knowledge gained
Politically correct language:  rainbow sprinkled birthday gift to my blog


After two days, I can honestly say that I have no doubt in the ability of my classmates' to save my life, should I experience a life-threatening emergency. I might feel different if I weren't pink.


And for the record, if it goes without saying don't say it.


For MC, who giggles when things are funny.  We giggled a lot.