Count With Me, Now.

Prophecy in Retrospect:

During tonight's Grey Cup game, in which our province's beloved Roughriders played the Montreal Alouettes, there were frequent screen captures of the RiderNation fans holding signs which read:

The 13th Man Is Your Worst Nightmare!!!!

And apparently... he was.

I'm still reeling in shock. And I'm not even a huge football fan. That was more ridiculousness than one game can handle. And I'm guessing that one Defensive Line Coach will be wearing a RiderNation melon hat on his head for some time. That is, if he still has his job.

Good work, Riders. Sorry that it didn't turn out for y'all. Better luck next time.

Stuff I've Noticed About Having a Puppy.

Just a few things I've noticed lately. Things related to the new little fur-ball in the family and I thought I'd share.

1) There has been significantly more laundry. The odd housetraining accident. A puppy bath, changing the "linens" in the crate. (cause we roll Classy around here, people!) Laundry.

2) I feel the inexplicable need to converse with the puppy when it's just me and her in the house. I'll be doing my thing in the kitchen or whatever and whenever she walks by and looks up at me, I feel like I'd be rude to not, well, SAY SOMETHING. What's that?? It's kinda embarrassing, is what that is.

3) The children have come through with approximately 3.675% of their pre-puppy Promises. 3.125% is due to the Princess. .55% is due to the Kid. This is REAL WORLD MATH, readers. Don't doubt.

4) I have come through with 145% of pre-puppy Promises and 239.75% of all puppy-related obligations. This roughly translates to a rising trend of Alpha Mommy Syndrome. The puppy worships me. When it's not trying to pee on my stuff.

5) Puppy stretches, snurgles and snuffles, and puppy yawns are insanely cute. So cute they could be measured in gigawatts of cuteness.

6) Having a puppy gives you repeated opportunities to walk in the backyard and talk about "taking a whiz" and "going potty". I'm sure the neighbors have never been so entertained.

7) Repeated walks in the backyard at ridiculous hours of the morning, evening and night makes me ever so glad that we don't have much snow at all. I am so loving El Nino at the moment. And so dreading the day when it all hits us like a mack truck of snowglobes.

8) Having a puppy means I am once again stepping over a baby gate and periodically almost killing myself.

9) I cannot leave a garbage bag out of it's receptacle for the afternoon to fill it just that last little bit full before taking it out.

10) I cannot leave anything out.

11) Unless I put it on something higher than she can reach.

12) Thank God in Heaven she is a Chihuahua and not a Great Dane.

13) Puppy feet smell like corn chips.

14) I may have difficulty ever eating corn chips again.

15) I like the *snick snick snick* sound of her nails on the floor. Cute.

16) I have realized that, while I probably am truly a Cat Person, I'm pretty fond of my lil pup. She's pretty precious.

Howling at the Moon.

Tonight I dragged Mr. F. to watch New Moon at the theatre.

For those of you who have had your head under a rock, or simply prefer your fiction to be grounded in reality and substance; it is the sequel to "Twilight".

It's about teenage angst and vampires (and really, now... clearly those two things go hand in hand.) and life-altering LOVE *sigh*. Oh, and werewolves. There may be some other elements involved, some semblance of a plot and really some interesting action sequences. But really? Mostly about vampire love.

Which begs the question. Why did I care to watch?

Which is really something I haven't got around to asking myself, yet. The answer revolves around being bored at my old hotel front desk job and picking up the book to read to pass the time. Which then begged me to fulfill my curious wonderings... "Is the movie better or worse than the book?" Which really could be a toss up. Cause the book wasn't all that hot. Should be easy to improve on. But... I digress.

What is will say is that I was shocked at what passes for a "PG" rating nowadays and just how many children (really... CHILDREN) were at the movie theatre to watch this. Cause it was pretty violent/perilous and there were a few steamy moments that I sure wouldn't want my kids to watch. I know that "kissing" falls under a PG rating, but dude... those were some HOT kisses.

I will also say that I was not adverse to the fact that werewolves are kinda hot. And mostly shirtless, apparently. (I mean, when they're not werewolves... cause, obviously... wolves don't wear shirts when they're wolves. Or whatever.) Heh heh... it appears that the wolves brought out my inner Cougar.

Lame... sorry.

I guess it was entertaining enough. Better than the book in some ways, and not as good in others. The pacing lagged through some of it... I could do with less angst and more action. But all in all, not bad. Some themes are universal, and anyone who's been thrown to the gutter by love can probably relate to these characters. And I think that's why people love the story.

That, and shirtless werewolves.

I Need A Hug.

There, that wasn't so bad to admit.

I'm on the board of directors for a certain... errrr... team. (There, was that anonymous enough???) I love being a part of making this particular sport better in our city. Of working with great girls who, largely, have the same goals and drive as I do. These are my friends and teammates.

But there's one particular relationship on this board that I struggle with. I very much like this person and enjoy her company on certain levels, but I find her management persona to be hard to deal with. She tends to lecture and be very passive-aggressive and easily threatened by other people's drive and initiative. It was one thing to deal with on the board, but after some time, I noticed it was carrying over to how she treated me (and others) on the track and I knew it was time to stand up for myself. To put some boundaries in place.

And this isn't easy for me. She is an intimidating person, both in stature and personality. She is prone to being unpredictable and dramatic and this makes most people simply back off and let her have her way, lest they incur a temper tantrum or worse. And, truthfully, that is my first inclination as well. (**site previous post and self-proclaimed wimp status**)

But it got to the point last month where I felt compelled to do something.

I don't want to get into details, but there have been two occasions on which (in a public forum) I have had the need to firmly but reasonably call "Bullsh$#" on her shenanigans and stand up for my right to be treated as an adult and not a childlike minion under her purvey.

Yesterday was one of them and the fall-out hasn't been pretty.

I want to be this tough chick who can just sit back and laugh at it all. To not care. To say "to hell with her and all who think like her".

But I'm not and I can't.

And today, I just wanted to sit with a Friend. A true friend who knows me inside and out and knows what my heart is in this all. Who could handle my tears of frustration and tell me it will be OK. That it's OK to stand up for me. That I should be understood and respected.

I needed a hug. That's all.

Open Letter to the Three Douches Sitting Behind Me Tonight.

Really, guys? You pay $18.00 each to watch a pro hockey game and can think of nothing better to do than converse loudly during the Whole. Game???? Really?

I mean, normally, I might be slight entertained to overhear about your great sex life since you've been pregnant and all your various and sundry opinions about life and finances and general Stuff That Does Not Pertain To My Life In Any Way Whatsoever. Normally.

But when you insist on dropping the F Bomb with ridiculous intensity and accuracy in the very near vicinity of my 7 year old son, I tend to, hmmmmmm.... NOT APPROVE. Really, people. Is that necessary? Is it some sort of required linguistic compulsion fostered in the trash bin you grew up in?

Cause I really don't see the point. I mean, beyond the sheer ridiculous tally of curse words you managed to fit into your steady stream of annoying conversation -- a number which, alone, boggles my mind -- I am left agog and amazed at the levels of self-absorbtion you all managed to wallow in.

And the irony. My good Lord, the irony of you sitting there blustering with pride over how you have managed to incubate a baby for all of four months and the steadfastness with which you already proclaim to know all about babies and parenting as though you were the Immaculate Incarnation of Parental Perfection, yet remained entirely oblivious to the very cute and very impressionable product of my SEVEN FREAKING YEARS OF PARENTING was an astounding marvel of incomprehensible vapid obtuseness.

If I were a different person, you surely would have merited a solid dress-down of the sternest kind, not to mention a punch in the throat. But, you may count your lucky stars that I really am a pussy and therefore just sat there and fumed and imagined little stabby darts being hurled at you each time my ears blanched with your repeated assault. And called you "Douche-bags" in my head. Repeatedly.

I hope that your child is graced with the most grating, wretched, whiny voice.

I'm sorry. But I do.

Goodbye.

This past week my Grandpa passed away.

It was abrupt and shocking just like that sentence sounds. In any other case, I would say that the massive heart attack was a blessing. Eighty-eight good years spent in health -- still vital and possessing strength and independence. Ending quickly and without suffering. This is what everyone wants.

But he was my Grandpa and I wasn't ready to say goodbye. I assumed I had more time. More time to spend with him, to hear his stories and watch hockey with him. More time to see him delight in my children. More time.

I was wrong. There was no more time.

And so I grieve for my Grandpa. A loving, solid, generous man. A man who would do anything for his family, would give anything. I wish I had more time with him. The things I want to say thunder in my heart and it seems impossible that I can't ever say them to him.

And I wonder why I didn't when I had the time.

I trust that somehow he now knows and sees and understands in fullness. I trust that we will be reunited one day.

Until then, Grandpa.

A Hammy Led Us To Her.

Sometimes it seems that the strangest things happen in the strangest ways.

This past Sunday, we took the kids to the local pet store to look at hammies. We were thinking of checking out the fuzzy rodents and possibly stepping back in the hammy game.

We spent some time wandering the store first, being captivated by kittens and puppies and a particularly friendly parrot, finally making our way to the Rodentia area. The kids were speculating about the personalities of the dozing hammies and there were a few already contending for the coveted spot of being the next Flutterbyhouse Hammy. One of the little ones they had picked out was dozing in the corner and I was just pointing out to the kids that I didn't think we'd want to pick him cause he was very skinny compared to the others, when said little, skinny hammy moved laboriously and I could see that something was Very Wrong with him.

His tiny little head turned and it was immediately apparent that he was badly injured. Grossly injured. My sharp intake of breath and girly squeak immediately alerted the kiddos and before I could stop them, they, too had gotten a full view of the carnage done to the little guys' eyeball. The Princess pleaded with me to find someone to help him and I quickly tracked down an employee who also gasped and paled and took that miserable little hammy out of the cage. We were left feeling sickened and heartbroken for that poor tiny hammy. The Princess looked green and said she felt faint. And, in all our adult wisdom... my mother and I decided to distract the kiddos with some time spent with a little puppy in the "bonding room".

And this is what I get for doing so.



I know, right? It's ridiculous. And very Cute. And named Goldie. Cause my kids rock with the Naming Originality like that.

But she is now ours and it's very possible that I wouldn't have it any other way.

I also may have a hammy habitat for sale.