I am tired. The hubby isn't going to be home till friday. That'll be 7 weeks that he has been gone. We had anticipated him being home either yesterday or today and I'd done my work schedule accordingly. So now I have to work tonight and tomorrow and am in the midst of arranging for sitters. So far the only option I have for this evening is to be picking up the kids really late. Not a big fan of that. But what's a sorta single mother to do.
Then I went to the gym last night and discovered that they lied to me. Ya I know. Big stretch for a fitness facility. When I first joined I hadn't anticipated needing the day care because Hubby was working here still. So the chick signed me up and told me not to worry about paying the day care fee, that I should just drop the girls a toonie every time I might need to use it. Since then things have changed and with the hubby gone I have to use the day care a lot. So last night I handed the girls two bucks, as usual, and one of them said, "What's this?"
"It's two bucks."
She looked confused and said, "Um, the day care is 3 dollars per hour, per child."
Instantly I could feel my face getting a few degrees hotter. "Why would the chick tell me to drop you a toonie if it's actually 12 bucks a visit? That's 50 bucks a week! And why didn't anyone tell me this until now?"
"Maybe they didn't want to embarrass you ."
Embarrass me? No. Not telling me and being misinformed in the first place is the embarrassment. Letting me pay my shitty little 2 dollars like a cheap bitch who's trying to get away with something is the fucking embarrassment. Face. Getting. Hotter.
So we went to the front desk to page the chick. Of course she is 'busy' and will call me later. I still haven't heard from her. She's lucky. My face has almost returned to it's regular temperature.
Showing posts with label tired. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tired. Show all posts
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
"A couple is 2"
Finally. No more holidays. There are officially no more cookies (of the nineteen dozen I exchanged at work...), turkeys, candies, gravy or 5 varieties of cheese and crackers lingering in my kitchen. No more giant dinners for breakfast, brim with champagne and croissants, tongue and Branston or bagels and lox. The only thing left is the tedious task of putting away the decorations. I think I may even be done with the copious amounts of wine and other spirits...for a little while anyhow.
Last night, for the first time in over 4 years, I actually slept for 12 hours. And although I am not inclined to make resolutions I am entertaining the promise to let myself get more rest. The fine balance I maintain between mothering, working and having fun has been stretching thinner over these last few months. So far, I have not discovered a bean of caffeine that will sufficiently replace my lost hours. And since purchasing my ultra -comfy, new linens I'm considering moving the entire house into the bedroom and setting up shop around my bed.
I've also decided that I need to find the kids daycare for a couple of days a week. And as my daughter always reminds me, a couple is 2. The hubby is taking off again some time in the new year to work on another hotel. But this time he has to stay from start to finish, which means an easy month in Alberta. If I am to keep my sanity, I cannot have work as my only time alone. So with my 2 days I plan to write. I've not been able to do it much in the last year. All of that time and all of those ignored thoughts equals my right hemisphere bulging like a parasitic twin.
If by chance you're hungry I'll be posting last night's dinner later today: Pear and Potato Soup with a couple of years old cheddar.
Last night, for the first time in over 4 years, I actually slept for 12 hours. And although I am not inclined to make resolutions I am entertaining the promise to let myself get more rest. The fine balance I maintain between mothering, working and having fun has been stretching thinner over these last few months. So far, I have not discovered a bean of caffeine that will sufficiently replace my lost hours. And since purchasing my ultra -comfy, new linens I'm considering moving the entire house into the bedroom and setting up shop around my bed.
I've also decided that I need to find the kids daycare for a couple of days a week. And as my daughter always reminds me, a couple is 2. The hubby is taking off again some time in the new year to work on another hotel. But this time he has to stay from start to finish, which means an easy month in Alberta. If I am to keep my sanity, I cannot have work as my only time alone. So with my 2 days I plan to write. I've not been able to do it much in the last year. All of that time and all of those ignored thoughts equals my right hemisphere bulging like a parasitic twin.
If by chance you're hungry I'll be posting last night's dinner later today: Pear and Potato Soup with a couple of years old cheddar.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Green
The last time I can recall celebrating St. Patty's Day was about 10 years ago. The operative word being recall. But, March 17th, 2007? This day is forever etched into my psyche.
We hopped aboard a GO bus bound for Toronto. A bus I used to travel on frequently back in my University days. A bus I had forgotten existed. Too bad really. I'm sure I've wasted much time, gas and road rage travelling the Q.E.W. in my car all these years. Earlier that day I was smacked with a headache when the hubby smoked us out of the house by burning his must have toast. (He's always eating. That is something we'll discuss again a little later.) The pounding had almost subsided when much to my displeasure did the idiot behind me start laughing at regular and annoying intervals. What was he laughing at? Dunno. Don't care. But we snapped a pic on Liz's phone all the same. Maybe she'll show it to ya.
6:30 or somewhere there by; We have arrived at GO Union Station(not to be confused with Union Station. Another thing we'll come back to later.) Damn it's chilly. No. Make that freezing! The wind is whipping up my skirt like a wind that isn't whipping won't. Another forgotten T.O. memory. Chicago ain't the only windy city my friends. And with the wind comes the lovely stench of rot...or maybe it's Angus Thripshaw? Da Da Dum (a little elbow swingin' dance). In any case, we walked a few city blocks full of anticipation. Along the way we passed my old stompin' grounds and a few pubs that were already overflowing with lines of eager drinkers and drunkards and maybe even a few leprechauns...or maybe that was later. Not sure now. Worry started to set in that we might have to wait in the literally stinkin' cold. Nearing the bar I could see that the line was much smaller than we had seen previously, consisting of 30 people at best. Well. Let. Me. Tell. You. A line of 30 waits 2 hours. I'm fairly decent at math, so that's 60 minutes per hour multiplied by 2 is 120 minutes divided by 30 is 4. So, every 4 minutes 1 person entered the building. HOLY SHIT! Except that sneaky miss Liz was slipped a smoking pass by some loverly fellar leaving the bar and she got in 20 minutes before the man and I. Bitch! I almost lost my toes.
9:00pm, or there abouts and we are finally sitting down with a pint and an irish whiskey in hand. Ahhhh. As my good friend Bucky used to say, thank god for that sweet, delicious booze. About 1/2 a pint later and Moxy and Green Fish make their entrance looking much like the fine photos they have shared; Fish sporting his fabulous mohawk and Moxy with her sweet sweet smile. But as the night went on, we discovered they were just the sort of folk you only come across when stars collide (or is that align?). They are rich with character, humour and warmth. Later that night Moxy fluffed the pillows and turned down the sheets to her own bed for me and the man, whilst she slept on the couch and fish slept on a dog bed. He insisted. But the man repaid them with a fridge full of floor kaisers, meat, sliced cheese and hot sauce. Let me come back to that.
Entering stage right is Newfie Steve. SIDE STORY- earlier in line I was telling liz about the show Keeping Up Appearances and how Hyacinth was a wannabe royal brit who insists that her last name,Bucket, is actually pronounced Bouquet. Not sure how the topic came up but it did. Then low and behold we meet Steve...END OF SIDE STORY- ...but we can call him Bucket. What did he say? We can call him Bucket? Of course we just had to tell him the side story and his response was "oh ya. I used to work with a fag who insisted on calling me Bouquet." Allllllrighty then. What are the ridiculous chances? Turns out Bucket was here from the East Coast to support his cousin who was touring with his choir, Men of the Deeps.
And as all good leaches do, he hung on. As you can see, I was rather confused by his presence. He also had an equally annoying friend who sat behind me muttering and occasionally would ask me if I was all right. Funny. I had been wondering the same thing about him.
After much laughter, Irish song, and copious amounts of deeelicious booze we had closed the bar. When the last time I did that was...well...3 weeks ago for Liz's birthday.
Anyhoo, with the offer to stay at our new blog friends' apartment we forcibly piled into a cab and then spilled out onto the sidewalk a few blocks later. On the way towards the apartment we stopped at one of the many RABBA food marts for a little drinkie mix. Once settled in upstairs, Green fish poured us a fine green cocktail (rather fitting) of which we were not to ask the ingredients. All of a sudden the hubby realized he was starving and a little unnerved at the fact that noone had purchased any beef. Cause everyone needs beef at a quarter to four in the A.M. After discovering noone would deliver any beef, he trotted back down to the store, returning with none other than...no beef. He did however find the floor kaisers. Yes. In the gals first trip into the store they had admired in horror the bags of kaisers that were being displayed, elegantly on the floor. Apparently the man thought they needed rescuing along with one length of polish sausage, sliced cheese, 2 tomatoes, 4 Johnny Canuck-ring of fire dried pepperettes, 1 bag of blue corn chips, 1 tub of hummus and of course- something the man can never do without- a bottle of hot sauce. None of which he ate. Instead. He passed out.
For 3 lovely hours the man on I slept on our friends' soft, warm bed. Several hours and numerous vomits from the male section later, we made our way out for breakfast. Despite clear skies and a blinding sun, the streets were windier and colder than ever. In return for the comfort of their abode, we treated moxy and fish to breakfast and bid them a short farewell. We had a bus to catch. Our cabbie must have been more hungover than we were cause he took us to the train station(Union Station) instead of the bus station(GO Union Station). They're close. But not close enough. By the time our feet hit the platform it was 11:33 and we had missed the bus we'd planned on taking. Ah well. Liz found an abandoned newspaper to occupy her time. In it we discovered that someone may be plotting the death of Stephen Harper.
We hopped aboard a GO bus bound for Toronto. A bus I used to travel on frequently back in my University days. A bus I had forgotten existed. Too bad really. I'm sure I've wasted much time, gas and road rage travelling the Q.E.W. in my car all these years. Earlier that day I was smacked with a headache when the hubby smoked us out of the house by burning his must have toast. (He's always eating. That is something we'll discuss again a little later.) The pounding had almost subsided when much to my displeasure did the idiot behind me start laughing at regular and annoying intervals. What was he laughing at? Dunno. Don't care. But we snapped a pic on Liz's phone all the same. Maybe she'll show it to ya.
6:30 or somewhere there by; We have arrived at GO Union Station(not to be confused with Union Station. Another thing we'll come back to later.) Damn it's chilly. No. Make that freezing! The wind is whipping up my skirt like a wind that isn't whipping won't. Another forgotten T.O. memory. Chicago ain't the only windy city my friends. And with the wind comes the lovely stench of rot...or maybe it's Angus Thripshaw? Da Da Dum (a little elbow swingin' dance). In any case, we walked a few city blocks full of anticipation. Along the way we passed my old stompin' grounds and a few pubs that were already overflowing with lines of eager drinkers and drunkards and maybe even a few leprechauns...or maybe that was later. Not sure now. Worry started to set in that we might have to wait in the literally stinkin' cold. Nearing the bar I could see that the line was much smaller than we had seen previously, consisting of 30 people at best. Well. Let. Me. Tell. You. A line of 30 waits 2 hours. I'm fairly decent at math, so that's 60 minutes per hour multiplied by 2 is 120 minutes divided by 30 is 4. So, every 4 minutes 1 person entered the building. HOLY SHIT! Except that sneaky miss Liz was slipped a smoking pass by some loverly fellar leaving the bar and she got in 20 minutes before the man and I. Bitch! I almost lost my toes.
9:00pm, or there abouts and we are finally sitting down with a pint and an irish whiskey in hand. Ahhhh. As my good friend Bucky used to say, thank god for that sweet, delicious booze. About 1/2 a pint later and Moxy and Green Fish make their entrance looking much like the fine photos they have shared; Fish sporting his fabulous mohawk and Moxy with her sweet sweet smile. But as the night went on, we discovered they were just the sort of folk you only come across when stars collide (or is that align?). They are rich with character, humour and warmth. Later that night Moxy fluffed the pillows and turned down the sheets to her own bed for me and the man, whilst she slept on the couch and fish slept on a dog bed. He insisted. But the man repaid them with a fridge full of floor kaisers, meat, sliced cheese and hot sauce. Let me come back to that.
Entering stage right is Newfie Steve. SIDE STORY- earlier in line I was telling liz about the show Keeping Up Appearances and how Hyacinth was a wannabe royal brit who insists that her last name,Bucket, is actually pronounced Bouquet. Not sure how the topic came up but it did. Then low and behold we meet Steve...END OF SIDE STORY- ...but we can call him Bucket. What did he say? We can call him Bucket? Of course we just had to tell him the side story and his response was "oh ya. I used to work with a fag who insisted on calling me Bouquet." Allllllrighty then. What are the ridiculous chances? Turns out Bucket was here from the East Coast to support his cousin who was touring with his choir, Men of the Deeps.
Entering stage left is Angus Thripshaw and Larry David. Not too much to tell here except that I had no idea the 2 were musically inclined. WTF?
At some point this guy joined our group.
And as all good leaches do, he hung on. As you can see, I was rather confused by his presence. He also had an equally annoying friend who sat behind me muttering and occasionally would ask me if I was all right. Funny. I had been wondering the same thing about him.
After much laughter, Irish song, and copious amounts of deeelicious booze we had closed the bar. When the last time I did that was...well...3 weeks ago for Liz's birthday.
Anyhoo, with the offer to stay at our new blog friends' apartment we forcibly piled into a cab and then spilled out onto the sidewalk a few blocks later. On the way towards the apartment we stopped at one of the many RABBA food marts for a little drinkie mix. Once settled in upstairs, Green fish poured us a fine green cocktail (rather fitting) of which we were not to ask the ingredients. All of a sudden the hubby realized he was starving and a little unnerved at the fact that noone had purchased any beef. Cause everyone needs beef at a quarter to four in the A.M. After discovering noone would deliver any beef, he trotted back down to the store, returning with none other than...no beef. He did however find the floor kaisers. Yes. In the gals first trip into the store they had admired in horror the bags of kaisers that were being displayed, elegantly on the floor. Apparently the man thought they needed rescuing along with one length of polish sausage, sliced cheese, 2 tomatoes, 4 Johnny Canuck-ring of fire dried pepperettes, 1 bag of blue corn chips, 1 tub of hummus and of course- something the man can never do without- a bottle of hot sauce. None of which he ate. Instead. He passed out.
For 3 lovely hours the man on I slept on our friends' soft, warm bed. Several hours and numerous vomits from the male section later, we made our way out for breakfast. Despite clear skies and a blinding sun, the streets were windier and colder than ever. In return for the comfort of their abode, we treated moxy and fish to breakfast and bid them a short farewell. We had a bus to catch. Our cabbie must have been more hungover than we were cause he took us to the train station(Union Station) instead of the bus station(GO Union Station). They're close. But not close enough. By the time our feet hit the platform it was 11:33 and we had missed the bus we'd planned on taking. Ah well. Liz found an abandoned newspaper to occupy her time. In it we discovered that someone may be plotting the death of Stephen Harper.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
St. Patty's Day Tales
So much to tell so little time.
Full story -complete with photos- to come and here are some of the highlights:
- met moxy and green fish
- Angus Thripshaw lives!
- laughing on the inside
- Keeping up (newfie) Appearances
- Larry David on keys
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)