So it's minus 31 or something like that right now. The wind chill is minus 41 the Weather Channel says. It's supposed to go down to minus 35 tonight - and the next like 4 nights. What the fuck is this all about? It's been cold for days. And have y'all seen the conditions in B.C.? The daytime highs in my old hometown are like minus 13 and windchills of minus 30, and snow.... it's been like that for like a week as well, and tonight there is still a blizzard warning for the lower mainland. The frigging Conservative must be loving this, because this weather makes Al Gore seem like a kook.
So I have nothing at all interesting to say. Nothing. Went shopping again today in the cold and I think we have ALMOST everything done. We haven't wrapped sweet bugger all though, so that's gonna be fun. I am working one more day, or maybe just a 1/2 day if I can get everything done, and then I am off.
I am reading the new Wally Lamb book. Another of his 800 pagers, but I have to say I think it's my favorite so far of his. I am only a 1/4 through it, so I am not exactly sure where it's going to go. I seriously have about 12 books on the go. It's weird. Ever since my mom died, I have not been able to finish a book. I can get to ALMOST the end, but then I just can't finish it. Don't ask me what the hell that means, but whatever. I am planning to finish all these damn almost-done books at Christmas, because Steadmina is getting a little miffed at the two baskets of books next to my side of the bed.
Frigging facebook isn't working tonight.
I've got some weird-ass thing going on with my throat. I have a big tonsil, and it hurt like a bitch last night and it was sort of bleeding when I woke up. Don't ask me what the hell that is about either. All I know is that I'll wait for an hour in a walk-in clinic and have them tell me there is nothing wrong and then I'd feel like a moron. There IS this white spot on the tonsil, but I think it's just "debris" as this walk-in doctor told me I had the last time I went there with a mark on my tonsil.
Holy fuck, this is so boring. So boring.... I am just not inspired tonight, I suppose.
OMG, above me is this little Nativity Scene, I don't know where we got it, but it's small, and all the stuff is in this little wooden manger, and it's not like loose - it's all glued into place. Anyway, all the figurines look normal, except there is this one freaky looking wise man who is black with these FREAKY white eyes. he looks evil. Like it's seriously creeping me out. It is conjuring up memories of that Sambo plate I was scared of as a child.
I'm getting the hell out of here and going to bed. I need to get away from this thing. Ugh, I'll send a pic of it one day....

An Apology, dear "J" Readers

Dear Readers,
I am issuing this press release today in order to admit something horribly embarrassing to all of you. You've all been faithful readers and fans for years now, and it has come to my attention that I need to acknowledge that I am fat. Yes, while I am still phat with a PH, I am also fat in the blubbery sort of way. Not John Goodman fat - I'm not going to eat 2 Hutterite chickens for breakfast or anything - nothing like that. I am not Dom Delouise fat either, where I would pick Old Dutch wrappers out of the gutter and lick them clean. I don't think I'm Drew Carey fat either - bitch should spin that wheel himself or run up the aisle once in a while, in my humble opinion. I am definitely not King of Queens fat, although if I was forced to work with that nattering snotty bitch Leah Rimminy all day, year in, year out, well, I too would be 350 lbs. Either that or hooked on pills. Perhaps I am John Travolta fat, back when he was fatter, although I am not tall like him. Nor am I a pilot, Scientologist, or involved in 3-ways games with Tom Cruise and Kirstie Alley. I guess I am sort of Demi Moore pregnant-fat, back when she posed for Vanity Fair, but my gut isn't that big. I just don't know. Hollywood doesn't really have the equivilent for the likes of me. No, I do not see my body type in the media. When will there ever be a movie staring my lookalike and some Hollywood siren, where she chases after me and boils my rabbits? Or when will I find my people in Cologne ads? Shouldn't I be draped across a bed, undoing my cufflinks, as Iman looks down on me in her evening gown, dripping candle wax all over the bed? Or when will I be chosen as an underwear model? Shouldn't I be in a two page spread in the magazines, in my gitch, with a leg up, mountains behind me, mountain bike at my side, holding my stomach in with my one hand so my impressive package can be seen by all? Well, I don't see it happening. No, there is no room for me in the media. And it all comes down to my realization that I am indeed fat again. How did I let that happen? I am so mad at myself. Even after my personal chef, Daisy, wrote that bestselling (in Thunder Bay) cookbook "Cooking with Daisy", chock full of easy to make recipes for the average joe, such as pressure-cooked partridge, Baby Bib lettuce and truffle salad, and seal stew, I was still having trouble sticking with the program. So when I hired my personal trainer, Al Waxman, I knew I had to be dedicated. Sadly, Al passed on right away, quicker than that Pope that came before the Polish one (the one who lasted 28 days or whatever), and I was on my own. Oh sure, I've been up and down in weight, but when I looked back at the cover of the February 2000 issue of my magazine "J", well, I realized I couldn't fit into those acid wash jeans and Hypercolor t-shirt at all anymore. Even though my beloved wife Steadmina says it doesn't bother her that I am no longer marching through the streets of town pulling that wagon of back-bacon that symbolized both the weight I had lost and the many lives of pigs that were saved since I stopped eating all that bacon, I know that it bothers her deep down since she pulls away from me in intimate moments. I am sure it has nothing to do with the fact that our 27 cocker spaniels are shitting all over the bed, whilst I am kissing them on the lips. Nor do I think it has anything to do with my best friend, Gail (we call Larry by his last name because he is the last of the Gail lineage), who makes love with me while we go on road trips in search of the perfect hamburger - OOPS, I mean, "TRAVELS WITH ME" not "MAKES LOVE". I've tried to get my personal decorator, Nate (her real name is Mindy, but i call her Nate because she played Natalie on The Facts of Life") to spuce up our home so Steadmina will feel like we are making a fresh start, but that damned Jysk patio furniture she picked out for our house keeps breaking. I've even had our financial advisor Suze (I call her Suze because she hates to be identified as Sue, after she appeared on Survivor and tried to sue her nemesis Richard Hatch) over to try and see if we can afford a trip, but she's not sure we can. Or at least we think that's what she's yelling at us in hillbilly - we're scared of her and don't ask questions. I thought about asking our Doctor, Mahmet, about weight loss strategies, but it takes 3 months to get an appointment, and he is also currently visiting his family back in South Africa. Finally, I asked my friend Dr. Angelou about what to do about my weight gain, since she is indeed the actual Dr. Angelou, but alas, she just rambled on something about freedom and the benediction of the morning, and rising suns and tides and silence and God knows what, so I just nodded and smiled and rolled my eyes.
So that leads me here, dear reader. Fed up and fat, 20 years later. Again, I am saddened and embarassed. I promise, I will never speak of my faulty thyroid again. Now, back to my plate of potatoes.....

Politics would be more exciting than this post

I don't know how much time I have - I have a baby who is unsettled, so it's anyone's guess how long he'll be down for. Anyway, just popping in whilst I rip some music to the old MP3 - Most of my MP3 player is just a hodgepodge of songs I download, but lately, since I've started walking, I've wanted actual albums, so right now I am ripping Kate Bush's The Red Shoes and I am going to follow that with Purple Rain and Sheryl Crow's self-titled album and her Globe Sessions. I may also add a cd by X if I feel like it.
I just finished watching Family Guy - that, I must admit, is the best show on television. Yeah, yeah, all you sanctimonious readers will say it's offensive, because it is, but it's so damn funny and smart too. I even have mrs. JT into it, and she usually refuses to watch anything animated.

Hmmmm, just playing some random songs on the MP3 right now - I forgot how good "Sam Brown's "Stop" was. And fuck, wasn't Whitney awesome before she was on the crack pipe? I am listening to "I have Nothing", which followed "You Give Good Love". Damn that crack pipe all to hell!
Holy Aunt Jemima Jesus, this is a boring post. The Aunt Jemima reference is a phrase I can't get out of my head. I was talking with a friend of mine, a former coworker, about books, and she was saying her sister, who is a minister, was going on and on about The Shack and how it's the best book she ever read, but my friend can't get into it, and was really disturbed that Jesus (who is in the book I guess) was "this Black Aunt Jemima woman" who at one point gets covered in flour whilst cooking. Anyway, it was just the phrase that stuck with me.
Speaking of Jesus, I am still reading "Catholicism for Dummies" and that thing hurts my head. You see, I am going through one of my searching for religion stages again, and for some odd reason, I can't get Catholicism out of my head, even though I turned my back on that long ago. You see, I was baptised a Catholic, and my dad is (or was until the past year or so) a faithful attendee of Mass every week. My mom, on the other hand, converted when they got married, but from what I understand had a fight with a priest about birth control somewhere down the line and stopped going to church, so by the time I was 2 or 3, I am sure she never attended another Catholic Mass again. Her parents and sister were faithful members of the United Church, but she never went back again to any religion, ever. So anyway, I never had anything to do with the Catholic Church, except for the odd time I'd go to Mass when I was 4 or 5. Then, when my sister became born again, I went to her Pentacostal Church back when I was 9 or 10 and that experience was completely different, and I was immersed in that world for a while. Even after I got out of that, I still disapproved of the Catholic Church.
Anyway, now that I am older, I thought it was a no-brainer that if I joined a church, it would be the United Church, because they believe in everything I believe in - they are progressive and accepting. And while the reason I loved the pentacostal stuff was the relaxed nature, part of me is really attracted to the ritual of the Catholic Church and the whole ancient tradition.
So, I thought that since I was already baptised a Catholic, maybe that whole thing would actually be ok. But reading the book makes it clear yet again that I still don't believe in the Church's stance on MANY issues, and so i can't be a Catholic if I don't believe in the righteousness or whatever they call it of the Church. I was thinking "oh, I know a billion Catholics who don't agree with everything in the Church but still go" but really, that would be against the whole thing. So I just don't know. I still like the tradition and ancient aspects of it, but I don't know if I can swallow the infallibility of the Church, so who knows. But I am more than freaked out that I feel this draw to the Catholic Church, because I so disapproved of it my whole life. I dunno, what would Jackson Browne do? (I am listening to "The Pretender" right now).
Anyway, that's my spiritual dillema of the week.
On the sadness front, I am surviving. I went through a few weeks of pure hell where I thought I was going to crack up - the last 2 weeks of November were hideous, and I don't know why. I keep having regrets and reliving it, and I think the realization is setting in. And each week, when mrs. JT takes the kids to dance and I have the other two at home, I start to make supper and remember that that was the time I always called my mom and caught up on everything, and I have found myself actually reaching for the phone and then that cold realization suddenly just hits you like a kick to the nuts. And then it's Christmas and the first Xmas without her, and our family revolved around my mom - she was the star of the show, so without her, I don't know... everyone is dreading it to no end....... At least I have little kids to keep me busy that day, but I feel bad because I resent everyone's happiness. That's a horrible thing to say, but if I am being honest, I do. Anyway, that post last week with the Kate Bush video was part of working it out. When Mom was in the hospital, I kept having that song play over and over in my head and it was torture, the whole "I know you have a little life in you left/I know you have a lot of strength left/I should be crying but I just can't let it show/I should be hoping but I can't help thinking/ all the things that we never said that we should have said/all the things we should have done but we never did....", those lines just kept going around and around. I needed to finally listen to them, painful as it was.
I keep getting weepy listening to Gypsy too. It's always been just about my favorite song, but I suddenly had this realization in September as I was listening and now it haunts me. Stevie wrote it for her best friend Robin, after she died... of leukemia. So, there I am one day, making supper, singing ""she is dancing away from you now" and I got that feeling in my gut, and then the lines .... and a memory is all that is left for you now" and I coulda fell over because I remembered Robin and how she died. So, needless to say, by the time I got to the "I still see your bright eyes, bright eyes" at the end, I was bawling, because right before my mom died, I actually lifted her eye lid to take one last look at her eyes and to try to remember them (OMG, I sound so morbid, but it really wasn't - really).
ANYWAY, now I hear Gypsy and I have to steel myself for it.
But anyway, I just want to get through Christmas.
What else... tomorrow the kids have their Xmas concert, and Saturday is piano recital and next Friday the older two are performing a dance number at this Xmas thing in town, so i can't wait until that's all done too.
Anyhoooo, I gotta get to bed. Just had to say I am doing ok, and I am still alive - just busy!
xo

Hey everyone, just so you know, i didn't just off a bridge because of kate Bush - it's just been grossly hectic. I'll try and post tomorrow night - I just realized it's 1:00 am and my thumb hurts so i can't type!