You Can Puke on My Head, and I'll Just Keep on Moving

Holy hell, it's already 12:13 am! I dunno where the day went. Last night after I posted, I fell asleep for a bit on the couch and woke up with a start, with my wife on the loveseat sleeping - it was like "Wake Up Little Suzy", except her Dad wasn't waiting up, and we just had to walk to the bedroom. So we did, and then we started yakking, and talked and talked and visited with each other, and then we kept hearing voices outside, but weren't sure if it was down the road, or someone on a microphone. I thought it might be the AA Roundup, she thought it was the Polkafest this weekend, but in any event, we are close enough to the location of these events for sound to carry. When Tom COchrane played during some city-sponsored event a few years ago, the sound carried and it was like he was singing in our backyard. Ain't nothing like 'Lunatic Fringe" serenading you to make a dude happy. Anyway, I ended up running outside in my skimpy underwear and looking up and down the road, and seeing nothing, came back in, hoping against hope that nobody saw me, because I'd hate to get the ladies all hot and bothered (we have a neighbor behind us, who is a single cop who has a police dog in his yard, and he is always outside in his underwear scratching his nuts, blissfully unaware that the neighborhood can see him, and here I was last night FULLY aware that the neighborhood is full of looki-loos). Anyway, we chatted until almost THREE so when I got up at nine, I was dead tired.
We ended up going to see if we could get baby boy his hair cut, so me and him did that while the ladies went to Value Village. We both ended up bumping other people's appointments (let me tell you, that dude is a fucking chick magnet) and got our hair cut. I'm pretty much bald - this chick was supposed to give me a Ceasar, which I always get, with the #1 guard, the shortest one, and she kept saying "are you SURE?" and I was all of course, because at this place THEY USUALLY JUST USE THE #1 ON THE FUCKING SIDES. But the new girl used the one for the whole fucking thing, so I look like a marine. But it's ok, because I have so much hair and it grows so fast. My neighbor, who is like probably young enough to be my son, was lamenting his receeding hairline the other night and it was all I could do not to say "sucks to be you, because I have a mane like a fucking LION, baby! Of course, at my age, I also have hair shooting out of my nose, on my shoulders, and daughter #3 told me I needed to shave my big toe, so I guess I should just shut up, as we all have our problems. However, my back is smooth as a baby's arse, so I guess that is a bright spot - I deduce the ladies like a smooth back?
Anyway, we got the hair done, spent 135 dollars at VV (Margo, if you ever read here, I picked up a copy of Hollywood Wives in your honour - well, and to see if it's as titillating as it was in the summer of 1984, when I was a randy 14 year old. I bet not). I also got Rosie's Celeb Detox and a book about the Green River serial murders in Washington. Let me tell you, that part of the world has waaaay too many crazed killers. When I lived in the lower mainland as a kid, our house bordered an Indian Reservation, literally, and it was all wilderness, and criminals would always be chased through there. It was freaking crazy.
Anyway, after that, we washed the California bugs off the van finally and then went for a walk (daughter #3 learned to ride a 2 wheeler last night) and we went to my sister in laws, and then we came home and I weeded the garden, cut the grass, pulled weeds under the trampoline, hung loads and loads on the line, cleaned the upstairs with Rachel, then got invited to the sister in law's house for Chinese, my favorite, then visited there, then came home, made popcorn and watched half of the remake of Fame with the kids, and here I sit. The wife is super nauseated tonight for some reason, and she finally fell asleep, so hopefully she won't puke. NO, she's not knocked up - Aunt Flo is here. Yay! You know you are done having kids when aunt Flo comes and you are so fucking relieved.
Did I mention I can get my snip done in the city in 2 to 4 months? I got a letter the other day. I am weirded out by it, but I seriously want no more kids, so if it means me getting a day surgery as opposed to my wife getting on some unnatural hormone thing with the pill, I'll suck it up, buttercup. And every fucking month she was on the pill, for like 10 years, I would always fear pill failure each month. So yeah, making it permanent should make things so much better. LOL, it must be the lapsed Catholic in me that makes me think every act of fornication will end up in babyhood?
Daughter #1 just wandered out and blew kisses at me. LOLOL, this kid is crazy. I posted that she walked in her sleep last week and went out to the trailer, didn't I? If I didn't, thank the Lord we have an alarm system we arm now.
Anyway, back to the Mrs. and her pukiness. I didn't tell you, since I haven't posted about all the trip yet, but daughter #3 puked on me in Mesquite, Nevada. At 4 in the morning, she puked all over me and and my head in our hotel - we stayed at the Virgin Rivers hotel and resort. We left Carlsbad, Ca, which is halfway between LA and San Diego, and drove through the dessert and stopped in Vegas at like 5:00 to shop at the outlet mall we went to last year, but when I suggested we stay the night, the kids were all NOOOOOOOOO, because apparently they hated Vegas. It was 110 degrees out too. But anyway, we kept driving and stayed in Mesquite, which is pretty much on the Utah border, and this place had rooms for 24 bucks a night, and nice pools, so off we went. We swam all night, then we ordered Pizza Hut, which my kids love, and we pigged out, then I went to the casino after they all fell asleep, and then at 4:00 am, I awake to #3 puking all over my head. So, we showered off quickly, but still smelled of Pizza Hut vomit and had to sleep with nothing but a bedspread, and the other 4 members of the family slept in the other bed, with Rachel and the boy covering up with my hoodie, and when we woke up in the morning, we tried harder to wash the puke and pizza stink off of us. It was an experience. She was fine in the end, thank sweet Jesus. No more puking, and we made it to Salt Lake City the next day. But more on the trip later. Let me just say that I love California and can't wait to go back.
Anyway. I hope the Mrs. doesn't puke. Her nephews and bro in law were puking with a nasty flu last weekend, so I said, since we were there today, "see, you picked up their germs already!" but she was smart enough to say "I would not get sick that quick!" I love her because she calls bullshit to my crap.
Ok, the last thing I want to mention is a comment my sweet Kateness mentioned. LOL, I love the "My Sweet Katrina" thing, like the VC Andrews My Sweet Audrina book, but anyway - she said something about when I get the snip done to not wear boxers, but instead wear "gauch" that is more supportive. Well, I ain't sure of the spelling (I always just spell it "gotch"), but I find it funny that we Canadians call male underwear gotch or gitch or whatever. It's the same as the word "dink" - it's more of a Canadian thing. Rhea Pearlman said it once on Cheers, but I bet most Americans don't refer to a penis as a dink, like we do. My son thinks his member is a dinky-doodle, I am sure. LOL, I just had to mention how we say dink and they say cock, or whatever.
Also, in answer to Kate's advice, I've heard from others not to wear loose gitch. Actually, I don't get the point of boxers - what a waste of time. The point of underwear is to support the shit, isn't it? Boxers do fuck all. You might was well be free-ballin' in the jungle, if you ask me. I rarely wear boxers, because they don't support, they contribute in self-bagging accidents, and you can't even wear them around the house because the little slit in the front pretty much means you are "selling hotdogs" the second you put them on. I've been told by friends to wear a jock strap, followed by a pair of sweats, along with a nice cold bag of frozen peas, so I think I am prepared.
Anyway, I wanna go read my Rosie book - her blog always annoyed the hell out of me, with her incomplete sentences and talk of yellow, but maybe this book will be better.
Hope everyone has a lovely Sunday.
xo

It ain't anything funny, so read only if you are bored or constipated

Oh hell, it's been one of those nights. I thought I'd tell all the funny trip stories, but I've been too distracted by crankiness and such, so by now, I'm just going to do a free-flowing ramble. It will probably be boring.

It was one of those days that bordered on good and annoying. It started out with a jolt. I guess I have to give a little backfill here - I dunno if all y'all remember, but my sister has been our babysitter for the past few years. However, in the spring, she said she would be done in the summer, as she wanted to get a "real" job. So, long story short, we have arranged childcare for baby boy for 3 days a week and girl #3 will be starting kindergarten, so she will be only needing a sitter one day every second week (her kindergarten is MWF one week, MW the next week, so Rachel changed her work days to MWF). I didn't want to put her in kindergarten this year, as she isn't 5 until November, but since she'd be at a sitter, well, why not. She's smart enough. Fuck.... all you stay at home parents - I envy you to have that option. We need two incomes to support our lavish lifestyle... hahahhhaahhahahha. Lavish... hahahahahha. Anyway.
Anyway, Rachel had the summer off, but for reasons too complicated to explain, she had to work a full M-F week this week - she went back Monday after 2 months off. So, my sister, who doesn't have a job yet (she may need surgery, so I dunno if she is going to get the job after all) said she'd love to babysit this week, as the new sitter doesn't take kids until next week.
However, my sister had commitments Monday afternoon and Tuesday, so my 14 year old niece babysat Monday afternoon and Tuesday morning, and I "worked from home" Tuesday afternoon. So anyway, you remember this is my crazy busy time at work right now. Well, I woke up at 6:55 this morning, in my son's bed, with my daughter next to me (he was with mama in my bed - don't ask - we rotate all over the fucking place at night), and I thought "holy hell, how can it be morning" and uttered a silent prayer of "please don' t let baby boy wake up yet." Well, I promptly fell back asleep (wifey gets up at 7:07 to be at work by 8:00, and I get up whenever the hell baby boy wakes me - I don't have to be at work until 9:00). SO. Back to this morning. I am in sleeping bliss, when I feel this shake of my leg, and my wife is there going "Lulu (I dunno what I called my sister on here) can't sit" and I go in a panicked voice "WHY???" and she said "her period" (she awaiting a hysterectomy if anyone will do it because of her unusual health complications - she had 2 fibroids and pretty much bleeds out when Aunt Flo comes to town) so then I am freaking out because both of us have to be at work today, but then my niece agreed to babysit, so that was ok. But it was a traumatic way to start the day. THEN, my dear wife had this fucked up morning, and anyway, we decided to go out to lunch for once, just us, without kids. So we go to this Vietnamese place we love, and get there by 12:05. She has to be back by 1:00, since she works in a jail, but I assure her that this place takes like 10 minutes to fill an order. WELL. Long Duck Dong proves me wrong today. We get there, he gives us water and menus, and we get ignored while he goes to cook. The place fills up, but obviously he is the only one working, so nobody gets served. Finally, by 12:25, we just walk out, and decide a quick lunch at Taco Time will suffice. WELL. Taco Time is so busy, we can' t even find a parking spot, so we have to go to Tim Horton's, which wasn't even busy for some strange reason, since I've never seen a Tim's that isn't busy, but we are so stressed by then, that my wife can only gobble down a bagel before I have to take her back to work. So we didn't even get to visit. I also told my niece i'd leave early and be home by 2, but I couldnt break free until 3. That was still ok, but the evening still ended up a gong show, with the highlight being that my son sprayed sunscreen on the back of the leather couch, which in turn faded it and means that we need to get the back dyed at some point. Rachel took the older two girls shopping for clothes tonight and didn't get home until 10, and she didn't have a phone, so I couldnt tell her we didn't have one fucking diaper in the house, so I had to go to Walmart when she got back, and I didn't get back until almost 11, because those fuckers only had like 2 tills open. I am so frustrated from everything right now, but Rachel is being visited by Aunt Flo (thank the Lord), so I can't even pretend that fornication could make it all better tonight.
So yeah, today is a gong show. I also completely freaked the fuck out at supper tonight, when one of the kids let one of the dogs out (the one that runs away), and I apparently was completely yelling and such. I hate when that happens.
So I have nothing of interest to say. I just feel blah. You know how I always whine and moan about missing my mother? Well, for the last two days, I've been preoccupied with missing her sister, who died in November. I really, really miss my Aunty. So, I've been thinking of her and just missing how important she's been in my life. You know, all of you who have two parents, or even one parent of sound mind, still alive, trust me - just call them, forgive them of their shit, and love them. Tell them so. Trust me. Let it fucking be.
So I'm missing my aunt, I'm wondering why my dog smells so bad (I fear he's rotting from the inside or something because he stinks so bad), I am beating myself up for not being able to tell my mom how much I loved her until the end, I am feeling bad for being so fat and setting a bad example to my kids, and whatever the hell else you can think of. OH! I am also feeling like a hypocrite for everything I do. You see, I was all judgemental the other day when talking to an old family friend - let's call her... Maddie.... Well, Maddie was saying how jealous her sister's hubby was whenever he was confronted with her sister's ex boyfriend from 1oo years ago - a high school love. I told Maddie "that's insane - he's crazy" but then I realized that I've always been jealous of Rachel's ex boyfriend from like 25 years ago. She knows I am jealous but is too kind to mention it. But I am. It's nothing that's her fault, or this dude's, but it all lies within me. I guess my problem lies with the fact that they only broke up because he moved, so I wonder what would have happened if that didn't happen. Also, he was this annoying jock who I am sure pretty much wanted to beat the shit out of me on one drunken occasion (and he tried to fuck my Indian friend Barbara Ann on a separate occasion), so I just hate the everloving fuck out of him. Since I am his polar opposite, I have always wandered what what would have happened if he never moved. I know it's a stupid question, but I think being fat and such has really played tricks with my psyche and self esteem. So I always so cautious. I wish I could just love myself and realize my worth, but I am not there yet. Baby steps, I guess. Or maybe it's just that I can't believe how wonderful my wife is and how much she means to me. You know, she's really awesome - she's just the best person ever - she's the only one who has ever made me feel like I am worth something, so maybe that is why I am jealous that she had other options.... LOL, we men are a fickle bunch, hey? Or maybe I just think too frigging much. In any case, I'll maybe post something interest tomorrow, when I'm out of this head space. Time to go read what a bitch Oprah was. LOL, you gotta read that book. Poor Oprah.
xo,
JT

My Thick Ballsack and other things that go bump in the night

Good Eeeeevening....

I have no idea what I am still doing up. It's like I wait all day for bedtime to roll around, but then when everyone is finally asleep, I just sit here like a lump on a log. Let me tell you, I'm not the smartest sometimes.



I really should finish posting about our trip - there are some really funny gong-show moments, as well as a new catch-phrase all y'all can use, but I don't know if I'm up for it tonight. It just takes too much effort to remember what we did when.



I realized the other day, after I had a visit to the doctor, that I never filled my dear readers in on my vasectomy saga. It all began back in the spring. I have been tossing the idea around ever since it became clear to me that I do not want to have any more children. Up until this year, a part of me really wanted baby number 5. However, as the kids get involved in more activities, and as I get more and more broke, and more and more tired, I've come to realize that a 5th would really be a challenge - no room for a 5th to sleep upstairs, no room in the van, etc. And you know, we've been so lucky with our kids: we've conceived during the first month of trying for 3 of the 4 (baby number 2 took 3 months), all pregnancies were great, all babies were healthy, all deliveries were great, etc. So, we've been really lucky. But the older we get, the more there can be complications. If we had another baby, I'd be 41, Rachel would be 40, and we don't want to risk anything. So, I've realized we are done. And I am completely fine with it. It's a good feeling not to see a baby and think "oh, I'd love one too." So it's all good.

Now, I am pretty confident that since we know the precise moment we CAN conceive, we also are smart enough to AVOID that moment. Rachel usually knows when she's ovulating, so we could probably do some freaky Catholic voodoo birth control thing, without the charts and thermometers. Birth control is a complicated thing when you get old. Rachel was offered the pill after the last baby, but we don't feel comfortable with that at our age. My sister almost died from blood clots from the pill, so we are cautious about it. So, in between babies, we use condoms, which are a royal pain in the ass. I mean, I'm fine with them, but I keep thinking that I really wouldn't want to be 46 years old and have some condom malfunction, and have a surprise baby. So, I thought, what the hell, I'll get fixed.

For some reason, I am kind of weirded out about it, why I do not know. However, I think it will be wonderful once it's over and done.

So, in April or something, I go for my yearly physical (that I faithfully have done every 5 years or so), and after the turn and cough and the "let's talk about the weather while I finger your ass" moment, we start talking vasectomy when he asks if I have any concerns with the plumbing. He really put my mind at ease, because I told him I thought I wanted one, but was still a little hesitant. He said that these sort of major life decisions can be hard, and said he didn't have his until he was 42 (he has 5 kids). He reassured me that there is absolutely nothing different sexually, and blah blah blah, and to see him when I was ready. Anyway, he's a friend of ours, but still, I really appreciate his advice.
So then the next time I went in with one of the kids, I told him I wanted it done, and after making sure "I was there yet" he told me he doesn't do them, and he refers patients to the town urologist. He made the referral and life went on. I had heard about the urologist in town - some like him, some don't. I read his reviews on rate your doctor, and some say he was a little rude, some say he didnt like fat people, but most liked him. The few people i know who had one from him had no complaints.
So, I get the referral in the mail, and had to go to see him in June. Well, his office is this odd place, full of macrame and shit, and it was like a blast from the past. It sort of reminded me of my childhood livingroom, and it sort of reminded me of the set of a 70s porno movie - you know what I mean - macrame, ferns, brass, fur rugs....but minus the ugly naked people.
Anyway, I show up and figure the consult will be run of the mill. It sort of was, but it sort of wasnt. I get there before he gets in, and so it is me and this old guy who must have prostate problems or something waiting and watching soccer. Then this Mexican dude comes in, and I realize Ricky Ricardo is the doctor, and think "hmmmm" and wait my turn. He calls me in, and I am pretty sure I walk through those louvred swinging bar door things into his office. He tells me right away to go into the back room, where there is this examination table, and he tells he needs to examine me, and to take the stuff out of my pockets and to pull my pants down and get on the table. So, I start to take my pants off and he goes "NO, just pull them down", so I think "whatever floats your boat" and pull down my pants and get on his table, and comes over and starts the exam. WELL. He starts yanking and pulling on my nuts and tubes within my sack, and all this other disturbing stuff, and goes "OH.... You're thick skinned..." and then he starts yanking on my balls like they are a Pez dispenser, and mutters, and then tells me to come into the other room and tells me in this Mexican English of his that he is going to put me out to do it. He says "you're thick skinned.... I'll be yanking and you won't be happy" and then tells me he just put two guys out yesterday to do their snips, and that he'll authorize a week off for me, and to sign the consent form, which I did, and he said "i'll be pulling and you won't be happy. This will be easier." Now, I don't have any experience with ball sacks other than my own, but I'm pretty sure my skin isn't any thicker than the average Joe. At first I was thinking "OMG, I am a fucking FREAK, with this thick-ass nutsack - they probably will need a saw to break through it." But then I thought "I call bullshit to that". Hell, it's not like I just got out of the pool or something. Also, I don't know if I ever told you this, but i have a huge fear of being put under. A HUGE fear. If I sleep on my back, I have sleep apnea, and hold my breath and know I am not breathing but can't wake up and feel totally paralyzed and yada yada, and so I've always thought "if i ever have to be put out, I may not wake up." It's a neurotic fear of mine. So I am disturbed, but whatever, I let it go. He even gets my consent on his dictophone.
So fast forward to when we get home from California - I get these pre-op papers in the mail, telling me I can't wear jewellery, and can't drive, and have to sign to say I won't sue the hospital if I die, and it says I need bloodwork, and ANOTHER physical, and my weight recorded, and on and on, by my doctor. I am pissed and scared.
So I just wait.
But on Tuesday, we take 3 of the kids to get warts burned off - they each had a wart, and so we wanted to get that shit outta the house, so we got them burned off, and I told the doc about him wanting to put me out and if i had other options, and he looked at me like I was crazy and said "you don't have to be put out." I didn't even mention the thick skin thing, but said it was inconvenient to get another physical and to fast and whatever and he looked at me and said (this is why he is the greatest doctor in the world), "It's not that it's inconvenient. You don't take anesthesia lightly, and a general especially. You need to weigh the good and the bad, and don't take it lightly. If you can avoid it, avoid it." And then he said "it will be inconvenient, but i can refer you to some great urologists in the city" and I said "AMEN BROTHER" and he wrote on the req. that I was a 40 year old with 4 kids who needs a vasectomy with a LOCAL.
So now I am waiting for my city referral. I'll let you know how it goes when it happens.
I can't believe I told all y'all about all of this. I have no shame.
I should go to bed. I am reading three books at once. I am finishing the Kitty Kelley Oprah book, which is sort of good, sort of boring. It's supposed to present Oprah in a bad light, but it's nothing we didn't know before - just shit we forgot. I dunno - I'll write a full review when I am done.
I am also re-reading the Mick Fleetwood bio - my freakin' IPOD does NOT play random when you put it on shuffle. It is always chock-full of weird shit, like Anita Baker, and the early Fleetwood Mac, the late 60's/early 70s albums - the pre-Stevie/Lindsey stuff. I actually like that stuff, but can never keep the changing line-up staight, so I thought a reread would help. My sister lent me a book called something like "Orange is the new black: my year in jail" or something like that. I started it camping last weekend, and it's fucking good too. I also keep rereading parts of Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang, because this one chapter makes me almost piss myself. Chelsea Handler, you are one funny bitch.
Hey, question - I am 40 - am I too old to wear a tight shell-looking necklace? You see, when we were in the states, I found an Aeropostle outlet (me and my thick fucking nutsack love us some Aeropostle) and bought a shell necklace thing. I put it on, and since it sort of ties on, you cannot untie it. So, other than trying to rip it off in Tracy, California one night, in the midst of a panic attack I'll explain later in my vacation post, I have left it on. However, it occurred to me that I might be too old for this shit. Am I?
Ok, I am going to read something. Me and my thick-ass sack bid you all a good night.

Blah blah blah

I'm too tired to talk about all the vacation stuff tonight (even though there are some real gong-show moments to share). I am exhausted. We worked like dogs today. Well, we've been working like dogs all week, but today was especially nutty. We spent the week prepping our deck to stain, and I even bought three gallons of UGLY stain that we couldn't possibly use before we hit it right. The first color was this horrible gray-looking shit that made the wood look like it just came out of a fire, and the next color, which was supposed to be natural redwood was... orange/peach looking. So, we ended up going with a solid stain that looks almost the color of our siding. So, we painted until 11 last night, and most of today, and then we bought a post-hole digger thing and dug two holes and went to a metal place and bought two metal poles (We did that yesterday, actually, and spray-painted most of the poles). Of course, we ran out of paint for the poles and NOBODY has any left anywhere. Apparently, this rustoleum shit is popular. Anyway, we dug the holes and then cemented the poles into the ground, and of course we ran out of cement so I had to run for that, and I had to run for more stain, and then our saw broke, so I've been to 3 hardware stores 5 times today. We also set up our new BBQ today as well. You see, our BBQ bit the bullet and crapped out on us after 12 wonderful years last week, and since we BBQ all the damned time, it's like we are living without power or something. Anyway, since we have a natural gas BBQ, we were dreading getting a new one because they are more money. The cheapest we could find was like 450 bucks. Then, last week, when we were in Superstore, right before we went to the lake, we saw this one sitting in the aisle (this is a day after I asked the woman in the garden centre if they had any BBQs in the store and she was all "Nooooo"). Anyway, this BBQ was natural gas, and was 177 bucks, and then we had two gift cards worth 50 bucks from spending money there, so really, that bitch cost us like 125 bucks! We also bought a hamock for 35 bucks, a 3 person swing for 74 dollars, and a deep fire put for 50 bucks. Anyway, everything is set up all nice and we are just letting the cement set, so later this week, we'll be bbqing and hanging out clothes, and sitting by the fire in our swing, and admiring the stained deck. Oh, and we got new solar lights for 20 bucks, a set of 10. I tell you, it pays to buy clearance at Superstore when the season starts to end.
-- So yeah, I am sore and achy, so I can't do the funny trip stuff any justice.
-- Holt moly, John Goodman is on some commercial or infomercial or something right now, and his face looks sort of like a corpse. It looks all waxy and gross.
-- I was thinking tonight, after I read Chunks' FB status about John Mayer and how I didn't "Get" the whole JM thing (he's what, 60 lbs soaking wet? He's the frigging MATRIX), that at least she wasn't all hot over Justin Bieber. And then I realized, after seeing his freaky head on the cover of my daughter's "Yikes" magazine, that he looks sort of like Donna Pescow in a way, although in a clownish, freakish way, as Donna Pescow wasn't a freak. Indeed, her hair was quite admirable back in the day. God love ya, Angie baby. I just don't understand this Bieber shit. My kids hate him, thankfully.
-- WTF is with TLC? Last night, it was some fucking cupcake show on, and I mean, Cake Boss, Cupcakes, the Roloffs, the Little Couple, the Little CHocolate SHop of Horrors or whatever.... it's either baking or midgets, or Kate, or those fucking freaks who wear skirts and keep having all the babies - 100 babies and counting. I mean, seriously, I know you don't believe in birth control, but after 19 fucking kids, you should have some fucking inkling of when you are ovulating. Seriously. After 4 kids, Rachel can tell you the precise second she's ovulating. I'm thinking that after a dozen or so, you should maybe realize what the hell is going on each time those eggs fertilize.
-- It's kinda like those "I didn't know I was Pregnant" shows - when your gut is jumping like a Mexican jumping bean, you either are knocked up, or you got a parasite. Either way, you should get it checked out. I call bullshit to that whole series.
-- And then there is Kate. She was on the other night and they were showing clips from the old days, and home movies, and she is so fake and plastic and gross now. No wonder her family doesnt speak to her. At least John has stayed consistently ugly. Hell, he's probably living in one of those crooked houses now.
-- Big Brother: Our PVR f'ed up the other night and we only got to see 5 minutes of it, so i had to google who was evicted and who was HOH. You know, I started out cheering for Rachel and that dumb ass she's dating, but fuck, I can't wait to see her sorry ass go home. And as much as I usually bristle and immediately wish bad things on gangs of testosterone like the "Brigade" (it brings back nightmares of junior high or something), I have to say I am now sort of cheering for Lane, followed by Brittany, and... I dread saying it.... Enzo. Kathy is just too frigging stupid, and that Matt? With the mouth like he's a stroke victim? I want to hurt him. Yes, I am a pacifist, but man oh man, I'd love to just punch him in his smug head. And what the HELL was wrong with his wife when they showed her? Did she literally have marbles in her mouth?? It unnerved me. I thought "Yes, your wife doesn't have a disease, but she is harder to understand than cousin Geri.
-- I love they called Julie "Chen-bot."
-- Back to older posts - Chunks mentioned her fascination with Couer D'Alene because of the Spokane channels of her youth. Well, let me just say that I had major issues with Spokane tv channels when I was a youth. You see, when I was a kid, living in southern B.C., we got our American TV from Seattle. Seattle was a 2 1/2 hour drive from us. Hell, even without cable, we could still pick up the independent channel, KVOS, from Bellingham. Ah, those were the glory days. Then, when I was in grade 6, I was uprooted to central Saskatchewan, which might as well have been Kosivo, because when we arrived, THERE WAS NO AMERICAN TV IN OUR TOWN. Nothing. Sweet fuck all. It wasn't until about 1 and 1/2 years later that we got American channels, and even then, they were these freak stations from North Dakota - they weren't ABC/NBC/CBS - nooo.. LOL, I am not making this up - they were hybrids - we got "NBC/ABC" and "CBS/ABC", and what that meant is that they didn't show the full line-up of anything. Anyway, finally, after much time, we ended up getting the 4 biggies from Detroit, for some reason, and really, those were actually awesome stations - and EYE OPENING as well, as Detroit was sort of a violent shit-hole back then, so, for example, we'd wait until Halloween Eve, ,which they called Hell-Night, and they'd burn up half the city. We also fell in love with the news team - Mort Crim, Carmen Harlen, a pretty Black woman who had more freckles than Annie, and Chuck Gaidica on weather, who used to be fat as a kid. Anyway, since Detroit was way ahead of us in terms of time, in the summer, we'd get their 11 o'clock news at 8 o'clock and Letterman at 9:30. This meant that prime time began at 6 o'clock. Actually, it's the same still, athough I no longer have Detroit. I have... I dunno... Boston and Ohio and a whole mix of shit. I also have Seattle for my timeshift stations, but that is neither here nor there to this story.
Anyway, I got used to my Detoit, and being able to watch Carson at 9:30. However, every time we'd go to Calgary and Edmonton each year, which was actually every few months, to visit relatives, it was so frigging painful, because they got the Spokane/Couer D'Alene stations, and since they were on different time than them, that meant Letterman/Carson would be on at 12:30. It was horrible. Prime time wouldn't start until like 8 o'clock. It was horrible. So I, too, had this obsession with the place, because I wondered what was so special about them that made all of Alberta choose those stations for their American channels when Montana had perfectly good stations in their own time zone.
-- As you can tell, I have nothing interesting to say. I am going to bed now. I'll yak at y'all later.
xo

Vacation 2010 part two

So anyway, where was I? I think I left off in Southern Oregon. We spent two nights in Port Orford, which was this completely NON-TOURISTY working class port town. The population is like 900, but we made plans to stay there because this woman who we've been corresponding with who made the coast trip last year said the area looked like the Mediterranean. It did too. However, I have to admit, I ENJOY touristy things like hotel swimming pools and Walmart and gift shops and what have you. Port Orford, well, when we approached, was nothing but fog. We found our motel, and I went to check in. Immediately, I get a bad feeling. The owner said "so, are you two couples or what?" and I said, "no, one couple and 4 kids." He gets this panicked look, and asked how old they were. I told him, and assured him I told the woman who took our reservation that we had 4 kids, and that is why she had to charge us 140 dollars for the room. The room we reserved was a suite, so it promised a kitchen, living room, bedroom, and then a loft with another queen bed and two twin beds. He said "my relief help took the reservation. I never put kids in those suites. There are people under you. I hope the kids don't jump....." and he looked all nervous. In the meantime, his cat was jumping all over the place, and he had to blow all the lavender off the counter (??), and I was half expecting him to be wearing a shirt that said "When I grow old, I shall wear purple", but anyway, I went to the room and was so nervous and overworked and we spent a miserable evening trying to keep the kids quiet and planning our escape. Rachel kept saying "WHY are we staying in this town again?" and I was just ready to run for the hills. So, we decided to try and get out of the second night there and move on.
I went to talk to the dude the next morning and he said "oh no, don't leave, just make the best of it, the people didn't complain under you" and he told us what to do. He told us about the port right in front of our room, which was one of 6 in the world, where they lift boats in and out of hte water with cranes, instead of having a harbor. Why, I don't know. But you can drive right on the dock and watch them do this and watch them dump their catch on deck, and anyway, that sounded cool, and it was. I asked about agate hunting, because that's all my wife wanted to do on this trip, and she wasn't having any luck. He told us about this beach called Agate Beach and gave us directions. We ended up spending an entire day there, and it was the most relaxing time. It was well-needed. The kids got to unwind and just play. They spent the day building a fort out of driftwood and Rachel collected buckets of rocks and shells and such. We left briefly, to go for lunch, where I had the best clam chowder of my life (it apparently won an award, too), and we hit the local convenience store for junk food to take back to the beach. It was just so... working class and this creepy dude was talking to the cashier about his love of fantasy novels and he said "it's better than this reality" and it made me feel sad for them. Then this woman came in to buy a pack of Paul Mall 100s, and they were all "WHAT ARE YOU DOING BACK!" and she was all "I came for the weekend - the only good things in this town are the fishing and you honey'!" and then I somehow started joking with them, and then I bought my 66 oz. diet cherry coke, and was on my way. Did I say in my last post about how much fucking pop I drank? Well, everywhere you go, there are fountain drinks, like 66 oz. sized, for 69 cents, so I was always all hopped up on caffeine from them. Oh, and we were complemented on our nice looking family from a couple from Monterey, and they took a family picture for us.
Oh, and then I met my friend. I was walking along the beach with the younger two kids, kind of around the bend from the wife and the other two kids, and this older woman was walking her dog on some rocks by the water. I was leary of getting close to the water there because a man told us how dangerous this beach was and how they lost two women in the spring who were agate hunting and had their backs to the water and got pulled in by sneaker waves and drowned. So anyway, this woman's dog came by me and I petted it and she said something about how nice it was there and I said yes and she said she never knew this beach existed and we got to talking and she was in town for the day because she was teaching a painting class there. She lived like an hour inland and I said how much I loved Oregon and she asked where we were from and where we've been and answered a MILLION questions I had about Oregon and the coast and plants and sea life and I said we were heading to the redwoods and she used to live in California and after she got divorced and moved to Oregon, she had shared custody with her hubby, and they would drop off kids in Eureka, where we were planning to go, so she could answer many questions about there too. SO anyway, she finally gives me her phone number and said to call if we had any more questions, and then gave me her address and said if we found our way through her town, she had two spare bedrooms. She said "it's these serendipity moments that are amazing, hey?" and I thought, yeah, you know, it's true. So I'm going to send her postcards from here.

Anyway, after the long day at the beach, we went to the market and bought a bunch of frozen entres and ate in front of the tv and it was the end of a nice day.Well, ALMOST the perfect end. Because at midnight, when we were getting ready to charge everything, like GPS, camera, etc., we realize.... the charger to the new camera in nowhere to be seen. \

Stay tuned for that gong show in tomorrow's post - it won't disappoint.