Socks Without Partners

ONE LAST POST FOR TONIGHT...

This flurry of post'age should provide some major reading material for all y'all for quite some time. (Gawd, I hate that expression. Makes me sound so SMART.)

For those that I have not been in touch with lately--and you know who you are--here's a brief overview of the last few months. And then I REALLY have to go to bed because I am gonna get my ass kicked tomorrow with all of the work I have to do that has gone completely ignored tonight (ssshhh, don't tell Husband).

Since June:

We became Permanent Residents on June 1. Now I can say whatever I want about the Canadian government's utter lack of organization and they can't evict me from the country. Oh, wait. I did that before. Never mind.

They allowed Yaunna to finish the 5th grade. Now we enter Middle School Purgatory.

I downsized my work to approximately 25% of its former monstrous self in order to regain some sanity. (It totally hasn't worked and now I have 75% less money every month. Shit.)

You all know that my father-in-law, Ken Young, died on June 30 after a courageous struggle with liver cancer. We love ya, Grampa ... he checks in now and again from Heaven by turning on random appliances and toys throughout the house. Seriously. It's totally freaky. (Grampa, just don't watch if your son ever DOES get lucky again--go talk to God for that 4 minutes, would ya?)

Kendon turned 1. And his horns finally popped through.

Blake came up for his Five Weeks of Summer Fun. I don't know if he had fun, but he sure fished a lot. (THANK YOU, UNCLE IAN & AUNTIE KIM!!!)

I got to go to Bard on the Beach and see "Hamlet." Nothing was rotten in the State of Denmark on that night--it was S-I-M-P-L-Y divine. AND it was our first night out alone since Kendon's birth. How wondrous!

My sister came to visit for two weeks and I did the courses at SFU as the first step in my Back To School Adventures to become a full-time book editor. I won a yellow mechanical pencil and an erasable red pen in a spelling bee. (My word was 'bailiff.') Now all I need is a nanny and some books to edit. I got this GREAT pen...!

Mom is officially a Kitchen & Bath Designer and Jennifer Aniston's parents came into their showroom last week, looking for a new bathroom (or kitchen). Anyway, Momma Aniston is, let's say, ummm, ICY. Cherry must not fall far from the tree, eh, Mrs. Pitt? That's the pits. Dead horse? Okay, I'll stop.

Husband has been working like a madman and is currently on a CERTAIN comic book film, the third in the series, with the letter 'X' and the word 'Men' in its title. (We're not supposed to blog about this sort of stuff, though I WISH I could show you the SWEEEEET photos of the Really-Cool-And-Important-Model-That-I-Am-Forbidden-To-Tell-You-About-Until-The-Movie-Comes-Out that Honey built all by his wittle self! It's BEEEEAUTIFUL!)

I'm hoping to be pharmacologically enhanced soon (under the doctor's careful guidance) so that I am nicer to my kids and I can shrug off the burning desire to tell all my neighbors to find themselves a nice black hole to get sucked into. (Shit, I'm so tired, I'm crackin' myself up on that one.) Okay, ANDREA -- I didn't mean YOU. Really. I LOVE you. No, I mean it. Seriously. *Gawd, I need a tissue...oh, make it stop...my sides hurt...* Comedy is tragedy, I'm tellin' ya. Oh, and if you know Tom Cruise--tell him to KISS MY ASS. No such thing as postpartum depression??? Man, I'd like to force a 9 lb. 8 oz. turd through the end of his weenis, make his boobies swell to 40 times their normal size and then leak, crack, and bleed, and THEN see how much he feels like going for a jog. Did he HONESTLY say that jogging can cure depression? Seriously? You're not shittin' me?

I'm sure there are things that I have forgotten or failed to trivialize here, but I gotta go to bed. I've been revisited by that Thing That Makes Us Female over the last few days (for the second time in three weeks) and I think the massive blood loss is making me delirious. Too much information? Sorry.

For you male readers, take a lesson from Husband: When your wife/girlfriend/significant other asks/begs/demands that you buy corks for her, do it with pride and don't diminish the experience or rob yourself of some much-deserved admiration by hiding the feminine hygiene product underneath a Maxim. Husband marched RIGHT into the Shopper's Drug Mart tonight, grabbed two boxes of 'Ultra' corks, and paid straight away, looking the female clerk in the eye the whole time. She, of course, giggled and tee hee'd and asked him if he had any single brothers because the Knight In Shining Armor that he is, well, it's just damned irresistible to a woman that a man is willing to buy twinkie corks without batting an eye. And WITHOUT the need to conceal their girlie-loot with a glossy-paged, over-priced display of masculinity.

I love my Husband. To bed I must.

posted by JSY @ 12:41 AM