tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330725922024-03-05T21:31:08.936-05:00ontario escapadesmy life, as it is lived, in the weird & wacky province of ontario...mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-60986122054662279972007-09-15T15:39:00.000-04:002007-09-15T17:01:52.452-04:00stories of loss<div><div><div><div><div>i don't know if it's true, and i probably will never undertake the research to prove or disprove it, but it feels like i've had more than my share of loss over my lifetime. and i'm not talking about keys, because i know i would probably win that contest for sure, but about things that are less tangible: friends. beliefs. convictions. loved ones.<br /><br />last week, i sustained another huge loss. however, the background story is important in understanding this loss, and not many people know it. but when i wake up in the morning and think of this person and the people who are mourning her, i am always taken back to a time eight and a half years ago when we first met. so if you're able, come along for the ride.<br /><br />late february, 1999: i am in delhi, india, with sweat running down the back of my legs, and tears running down my cheeks in dusty rivulets. i am living with an old anglo-indian woman in a tiny asbestos-tiled room off of her living room, which has been arranged for me by a kind woman at the centre for kids with autism, where i <a href="http://www.crimelibrary.com/graphics/photos/serial_killers/notorious/necrophiles/New-Delhi-India-map200.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 173px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 181px" height="181" alt="" src="http://www.crimelibrary.com/graphics/photos/serial_killers/notorious/necrophiles/New-Delhi-India-map200.jpg" border="0" /></a>am volunteering. an excitable newscaster on tv is delivering the news in hindi, which sounds as though it is a made-up language. i can hardly believe that a language that sounds so little like english is understood by everyone but me.<br /><br />i know that this is where i want to be, where i have chosen to come and volunteer, where i must be for at least six months (or else i will lose face in front of my family and friends! and what about the expensive indian visa and plane ticket and immunizations?) but i feel so isolated, so singular, so different and alone. each day i awaken, plug in the heating coil to place in my bucket of water for my bath, nod and smile at the young servant girl (who makes me very nervous with her toothy grin and quick, erratic movement in the kitchen) while i guiltily eat my breakfast of sliced bananas topped with curd and the big-crystalled sugar that i've come to like so much. when i am dressed and armed with my extra stick of deodorant (which i will need later in the day, when the temperature soars to 48 degrees), i negotiate my way through <a href="http://z.about.com/d/goasia/1/0/a/M/2/D-autorickshaw.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://z.about.com/d/goasia/1/0/a/M/2/D-autorickshaw.jpg" border="0" /></a>throngs of cows, street sweepers, vegetable vendors, begging children, and professionally-dressed indians to flag down an autorickshaw driver, who inevitably charges me triple the amount i should pay, laughs at me, or takes me the scenic route to the centre. often, he does all three.<br /><br />i am the only non-indian in the place i volunteer, which is what attracted me in the first place. i didn't want a 'sanitized' experience...i wanted the real thing. i wanted it to be hard and challenging and different than anything i could experience in canada. i wanted to know what it felt like to be the only one who is <em>something</em> - foreign, white, not brown, canadian, etc. now that i am here, i am desperate to see another white face, to hear canadian english spoken, to have something in common. to not be so white and so different. the shame i feel as a result is thick, hot, and oppressive, much like the incessant heat.<br /><br /><a href="http://www1.istockphoto.com/file_thumbview_approve/175726/2/istockphoto_175726_hindi_script.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 158px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 127px" height="140" alt="" src="http://www1.istockphoto.com/file_thumbview_approve/175726/2/istockphoto_175726_hindi_script.jpg" border="0" /></a>everyone speaks english, so language is not at all a problem. further, the women with whom i work are really great - half of them are christian, and the other half hindus - and because the centre is small, they are quite close-knit. they welcome me, and in the beginning, defer to me as 'the expert' on kids with autism. i realize (more quickly than they do) that this is absolutely not true; that in fact they have more expertise on autism than i ever will.<br /><br />sometimes, in between supervising the kids' playtimes, lunches, and completing observation reports as they are being tutored by the centre's staff, i excuse myself and go to a hot, dusty, empty room and cry. i haven't had a hug in what feels like weeks, and although everyone is kind, and inquisitive, and caring...there is still a division. i am 'other.' even though there is no language barrier, there is definitely a communication barrier. it is not entirely safe for us to tease and make jokes with each other, because we haven't sussed out who we're dealing with. i feel inadequate, like i'm a huge disappointment, because i don't have the knowledge and experience they expected of me. i am the furthest i can possibly be from all the people who love<a href="http://www.johnbartlett.org/Desktop%20Folder/Eck%20images/6"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 239px; CURSOR: hand" height="162" alt="" src="http://www.johnbartlett.org/Desktop%20Folder/Eck%20images/6" border="0" /></a> me, and my schedule is such that the 11.5 hour time difference makes it hard to connect by the phone, and the frequent electrical blackouts and the lack of internet cafes and their distance from 'home' means that my email use is limited. never mind the prohibitive expense of international communication, the fact that my landlord doesn't have outgoing long-distance (this is very common in india - in fact, you usually have to go to an 'STD/ISD' booth, and no, don't be funny, you don't need a condom to use them) or an internet connection, and the fact that i am so overwhelmed by the sheer number of human and animal bodies that i would rather sit in my sticky, hot room and hope that my parents and best friends have suddenly become able to read my mind from halfway across the world...<br /><br />so i am laying under a mosquito net in my room, trying to cry as quietly as i can, with rivers of salt coursing down various parts of my body. it is not hard to feel those feelings again, today, as i write this...and i want to remember them, to honour them, to validate them. (i have a different perspective now on those first few weeks in india, both because i survived it, and because i think it was an instructive experience on what newcomers to <em>our</em> country must feel like. it was a lesson in compassion that i wanted, and needed, to learn, and i am grateful for that.)<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">* i will continue this post soon, starting from march of 1999. it's interesting how this is taking shape...i really didn't think i had so much to say. but i am going with it. so stay tuned!</span></div></div></div></div></div>mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-33647104836483807882007-09-15T15:26:00.000-04:002007-09-15T15:37:57.308-04:00WW III is coming...or at least it sounds like it from below us. although we no longer have to put up with the antics of <a href="http://ontarioescapades.blogspot.com/2007/02/from-comatose-to-furious-in-no-time.html">the slug</a>, we have new housemates who are gamers. and not just gamers, but <em>avid</em> gamers. like gaming-in-any-spare-moment gamers, which roughly translates to about eight hours a day, usually from about 3 pm to midnight. and they often play different games, too (in the same room). one on the computer, one on the xbox 360, both with their volume cranked to levels that make our floors shake and sends our cat to hide in the drawer that houses our skivvies. yup, it's <em>that bad</em>.<br /><br />of course, their games of choice are RP (role-play) games where they, inevitably, have to blow things up, fly airplanes, and use most of their vast arsenal of weapons (which we guess ranges from handguns to uzis to cannons) to save the world. typically, their virtual survival is punctuated by screaming, yelling, howling, cheering, and sometimes, top-volume expletives that would make ozzy osborne blush.<br /><br />we can't figure out which is worse - the slug, or the gamers. the slug is definitely winning in grossness, but general annoyance? it's a toss-up. <br /><br />i'm too old for this shit.mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-34890278246825977322007-09-09T21:40:00.001-04:002007-09-09T21:40:44.936-04:00Childhood Cancer Awareness<div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'><p><object height='350' width='425'><param value='http://youtube.com/v/AGS4yE5v9rM' name='movie'/><embed height='350' width='425' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' src='http://youtube.com/v/AGS4yE5v9rM'/></object></p><p>as some of you may know, over the past year, i have connected with a number of families with an unsettling common denominator: their kids have cancer. from neuroblastoma to leukemia, from hepatoblastoma to wilm's tumours...their families call their sons and daughters 'warriors,' and i have to agree. these kids are stronger than i think i ever could be.<br /><br />lots of people think i'm a total nut for reading through these blogs; for developing relationships with families i may never meet in person, for caring about kids who are really, really sick (some of whom are terminal), and for 'subjecting' myself to 'unnecessary' sadness. but i can't explain it - that it's not just about grief and loss and hopelessness. that stories of beauty, strength, and resilience; of community, belonging, grace, joy, and simple pleasures abound. there are lessons to be learned, and i feel compelled to soak them in. <br /><br />mine wasn't an intentional foray into pediatric cancer...my connections to and losses from cancers have been related to adults in my life. i don't remember exactly how it happened, but i stumbled onto one blog, which linked me to another, and to another. i am showing this video this month because it is pediatric cancer month, and because some of the kids i follow are featured in this video. is just one of the little ways i can help to raise awareness of cancer - which affects people of all ages, all socioeconomic brackets, all races, religions, and ethnicities, and all abilities. i can assure you, however, that regardless of whether i 'know' them or not, all of the kids in this video have lessons in acceptance, in faith, in playfulness and bravery, to share with each of us. take a few minutes to school yerselves!</p></div>mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-42555975398057762292007-09-07T15:23:00.001-04:002007-09-07T16:16:07.126-04:00so i'm irregular<div><div>not in <em>that</em> way, mind you. i'm all good on that front (or should it be 'behind'?)<br /><br /><div>anyway. </div><div> </div><div>so, i've been MIA for a couple months now, and let's just say i've been processing. lots has gone on. you know, like the fact that i've gotten married (in nova scotia), eaten copious amounts of seafood, made all kinds of beautiful and artistic <a href="http://www.justmommies.com/articles/bbt-charting.shtml">temperature charts</a>, gone on a group <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNDm1vcJtyunXPKKxLsssT7rxlQfHO_zKr9Cy2qkm3TNNoVdZ01SesaBEIjfcSFZs3uYIfynUvSHw4Rjr5uzHmq_lRfb0WYWS6EXnl5RZIlVlmf-m_iDHJjpQM9oJPSVxXbel93w/s1600-h/moose.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5107553920413232546" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 158px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 113px" height="113" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNDm1vcJtyunXPKKxLsssT7rxlQfHO_zKr9Cy2qkm3TNNoVdZ01SesaBEIjfcSFZs3uYIfynUvSHw4Rjr5uzHmq_lRfb0WYWS6EXnl5RZIlVlmf-m_iDHJjpQM9oJPSVxXbel93w/s200/moose.jpg" width="176" border="0" /></a>honeymoon with some of our single friends (in cape breton & PEI), seen my first six moose (all on one day, off the cabot trail!!), flipped through bazillions of sperm donor profiles (yay <a href="http://www.canamcryo.com/">canam cryo</a>!), started on fertility drugs (<a href="http://www.medicinenet.com/clomiphene-oral/article.htm">serophene</a> - which, as the drug companies predicted, does make me headachy, clumsy, sweaty, psycho and bloated), started singing in the choir again, and most recently, began year 2 of 4 years of school for midwifery. yesterday, i attended my first pharmacology class, headed by the creepy prof who hits incessantly on midwifery students (we had him last year for anatomy, too). he even has a facebook group dedicated to his lech-like ways. if i figure out how not to get arrested, i'll try to find a way to link all of you to his site.<br /><br /><div>but really, this summer has seemed a blur. there have been <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-YVQ78cGERaieLLiH59IFp8lVlg7qR_OPcM5E5wGisGSUSmUGBXwARVIC7x_9BU8Th_ZeQ_XXUjbU-6NFMnZXi2iEJWLG-UMzLMw9Zpg3RXpmAG0S2Y7UcFoP0DkjI69mWx8f0w/s1600-h/cheticamp+sunset.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5107554242535779762" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="126" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-YVQ78cGERaieLLiH59IFp8lVlg7qR_OPcM5E5wGisGSUSmUGBXwARVIC7x_9BU8Th_ZeQ_XXUjbU-6NFMnZXi2iEJWLG-UMzLMw9Zpg3RXpmAG0S2Y7UcFoP0DkjI69mWx8f0w/s200/cheticamp+sunset.jpg" width="187" border="0" /></a>gowns, feuds, make-ups (and make-up - i actually wore make-up!!), there have been hairdos and rainstorms and lobster-gorging, there have been copious amounts of tears shed - some happy, but many borne of frustration, anger, hurt, and grief - and i'm just talking about the wedding here!! - but i can't forget the moments of bliss, as there have been those, too. it has all felt a little...busy. i'll get back to you once i've processed how i'm feeling. it's coming. </div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>i feel like now, it's time for reflection, only there IS no time for reflection...it's time, instead, for cleaning my disastrous house. and doing laundry, cuddling the cat, freezing batches of soups and stews for the stressful winter months, scrimping together the cash to buy $2000 of textbooks (seriously.) and of course, memorizing drug cards for the 'midwifery pharmacopoeia' (that's fancy for 'drugs that midwives can prescribe,' but our prof says the former and therefore i shall, too), paired with figuring out how i can appeal canada student loans' decision to give me $148 for the whole year...yay for the canadian government. they allow us to get married, now, but then they make it as difficult as possible for us to create a life together. </div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4aFp_mYADRlVWo2_g19vAoL-wAVJ2w_4aTvUVOJivoNJwS8aOj6LKxwnKs5mXfEZxD3JAheFLIbW-5SmrN0OssuYNHmqMBPKvbowg2bgb31qwyxzOCAlbIXv14dCYOQcT07tCeA/s1600-h/me+n+b+PEI_edit2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5107556317004983762" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4aFp_mYADRlVWo2_g19vAoL-wAVJ2w_4aTvUVOJivoNJwS8aOj6LKxwnKs5mXfEZxD3JAheFLIbW-5SmrN0OssuYNHmqMBPKvbowg2bgb31qwyxzOCAlbIXv14dCYOQcT07tCeA/s200/me+n+b+PEI_edit2.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br /></div><div></div><div>i have to say, though, i think her cuteness will get us through it. :) </div></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>so, yeah. i will be back. but as aforementioned...irregularly. </div></div>mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-74074128418594328312007-07-18T01:43:00.001-04:002007-07-18T02:05:20.419-04:00i told ya once, i told ya twice, and i re-told ya againokay so here's the thing - i'm a word junkie. in fact, i consume words like...well, like i consume chips when i'm PMSing: desperately, obsessively, and without pause.<br /><br />now there's a lovely visual to put out into the blogosphere.<br /><br />in any case, there is a word that has stumped me for years. years, i tell you! and it is this one: reiteration.<br /><br />here's why i don't get it. 'iteration' means repetition - for example, i am now iterating why the english language is so ridiculous, and was obviously created by some white dude with a goal to make it the most difficult language to learn for non-native speakers. 'reiteration' means to repeat over and over again - basically, to re-repeat. what the fuckity-fuck - is this not overly redundant?<br /><br />(heh heh)<br /><br />anyway. seriously. i'm glad english is my first language, only because i didn't have to learn it, word by word, counterintuitive sentence by confusing sentence, irregular verb by stinkin' verb.<br /><br />okay children, all together now:<br /><em>i iterate<br />you iterate<br />he iterates<br />she repeatedly iterates (a.k.a. reiterates...)</em>mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-23423055718025404322007-07-10T02:55:00.001-04:002007-07-12T11:01:23.707-04:00an untrendy trendso, i'm pretty sure i'm 'off' sleep. or i need to re-master my sleeping skills. we just got a new bed, and it's pretty sweet, so it's not that. i'm out of ideas about the how and the why of it, but i am stark raving tired.<br /><br />tonight, after doing a couple hours of editing for this summer contract i've scored, i initiated my usual nighttime routine: brush teeth, wash face, down three shots of rum, feed cat, drink water, feed fish, kiss cat (x 143), read library book, kiss soft forehead of my sleeping b...you know, the usual...yet for the umpteenth night in a row, the sweet unconsciousness of sleep evades me. reluctantly, i have to admit there might be a no-sleeping trend in my midst.<br /><br />my mind is catapulting around, and i can hear the blood rushing through my arteries at a very lively, awake pace. bah. i tried a few of the tricks that often work: picturing slumbering babies, counting to 30 in as many languages as i can (about five), practicing choir music in my head to the rhythm of my heart...and none are working. my body is aching to rest but my mind has other plans. so, i am going to try a virtual headstand to empty out some of the stuff rattling around up there. i'm warning you, it's pretty random. you might need to be sleep-deprived yourself for it to make sense.<br /><br />one of the things i've been pondering lately relates to intentionality - that is, our intentions with others, as well as our intentions with ourselves. in speaking with a number of people about this, it is interesting to realize how differently we all see intention. what is particularly mind-boggling to a control-freak such as myself is that sometimes, what we mean can be entirely irrelevant to how it is experienced by someone else.<br /><br />okay so check out this conflict-resolution scene: one person feels hurt by someone else, and attempts to share how they are feeling. in response, the hurter says to the hurtee, 'that is not what i meant at all' or, even better, 'i didn't mean to.' (there are extra annoyance-points to be awarded if this is followed by, in a petulant voice, 'you know that i would never hurt you on purpose!'). now, as far as i'm concerned (especially when i'm the person who is feeling all ouchie inside), how it was intended is kinda extraneous. my response would probably be something like, 'okay, that's nice, but here's the thing: hurt is how i'm feeling right now.' (it is important to note that at this point, the four year old inside of me is also screaming, 'you're not the boss of how i get to feel!!')<br /><br />i don't know if there's something iffy about my my orientation <a href="http://www.livescience.com/images/human_heart_graphic_03.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 223px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 225px" height="252" alt="" src="http://www.livescience.com/images/human_heart_graphic_03.jpg" border="0" /></a>in the world...but i walk around feeling pretty positive about the human race - particularly those members with whom i associate regularly. i try to surround myself with good people - the kind who are generous and caring and kind. a heterogeneous bunch, who screw up fairly regularly (so i don't feel so alone), and who are down-to-earth and fun. the kind of people - and this is key - <em>who don't go around hurting others on purpose</em>. so frankly, hearing the words 'i didn't mean/intend to hurt you' from any of these people is redundant. see, the thing is, that's why they're in my life in the first place - cuz they don't walk around hurting people on purpose. so being told that again doesn't for a moment take away the lump in my throat, the wetness on my cheeks, or the ache in my heart.<br /><br />there's something else, though, that kinda begs to accompany my above paragraph. i strongly believe that we - all of us - need to understand that what we put out in the world, regardless of how we intend it, is up for intepretation. we don't get to be the bosses of other people's experiences...once the words have left our mouths, once the action has been initiated, it's kind of out of our hands. cuz we are all - inherently, beautifully, epically - flawed. and we will hurt other people in our quest to exist, possibly on a daily basis. do we mean to? hopefully not. will we anyway? you betcha.<br /><br />now, i never want to be that gal who criticizes something and then offers no ideas on how to approach it differently. so, other than what has already been suggested, i have thought about an appendage to the reflexive response of 'i didn't mean to hurt you', and it goes something like this: <em>but i can see how you'd feel that way.</em> wow. immediately, it feels like you're listening. we both know you didn't mean to, but you did. <em>i can see how you'd feel that.</em> hallelujah! and no apology is necessary (cuz don't get me started on apologies. that's another night, another headstand).<br /><br />so for those of you like me - does this resonate with you? or are you a person whose hurt feelings dissipate upon hearing the hurter's intention? (and if so, how do you do that?!)mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-4145607548969149342007-06-27T22:06:00.001-04:002007-06-27T22:33:23.204-04:00only onei found this meme <a href="http://lifewithbriar.blogspot.com/2007/06/in-word.html">over here </a>today, and thought i'd give it a try. anything to distract me from transcribing interviews from mothers with angry daughters (my current project, for which my b is my boss).<br /><br />basically, you have to respond to each question in one word. and trust me, this is quite the challenge for ms. hyphenating-everything pants. particularly because <a href="http://lifewithbriar.blogspot.com/">AmandaD</a> used some of my favourite, most-often used words as her responses, and, well, you know how much i hate repetition and non-uniqueness...<br /><ol><li><strong>Where is your cell phone?</strong> table</li><li><strong>Relationship?</strong> lifelong</li><li><strong>Your hair?</strong> streaky</li><li><strong>Work?</strong> insufficient</li><li><strong>Your sister?</strong> unborn</li><li><strong>Your favourite thing?</strong> twilight</li><li><strong>Your dream last night?</strong> twisted</li><li><strong>Your favourite drink?</strong> perrier</li><li><strong>* Your dream car?</strong> subaru</li><li><strong>The room you're in?</strong> stuffy</li><li><strong>Your shoes?</strong> closeted</li><li><strong>Your fears?</strong> numerous</li><li><strong>What do you want to be in 10 years?</strong> peaceful</li><li><strong>Who did you hang out with this weekend?</strong> bedelia</li><li><strong>What are you not good at?</strong> physiology</li><li><strong>Muffin?</strong> cookie!</li><li><strong>One of your wish list items?</strong> barbeque</li><li><strong>Where you grew up?</strong> winnipeg</li><li><strong>Last thing you did?</strong> exhaled</li><li><strong>What are you wearing?</strong> deodorant</li><li><strong>What aren't you wearing?</strong> bra</li><li><strong>Your pet?</strong> purring</li><li><strong>Your computer?</strong> imperative</li><li><strong>Your life?</strong> expansive</li><li><strong>Your mood?</strong> heightened</li><li><strong>Missing?</strong> innocence</li><li><strong>What are you thinking about right now?</strong> wedding</li><li><strong>Your car?</strong> saturn</li><li><strong>Your kitchen?</strong> disgusting</li><li><strong>Your summer?</strong> packed</li><li><strong>Your favourite colour?</strong> ocean</li><li><strong>Last time you laughed?</strong> minutes</li><li><strong>Last time you cried?</strong> tuesday</li><li><strong>School?</strong> hiatus!</li><li><strong>Love?</strong> always</li></ol>* <span style="font-size:85%;">i can't help it - it's true!</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"></span><br />so, give it a go. i promise, it's not as easy as you look, capturing yourself in stark, single words for all to ponder...mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-21593382211165042262007-06-27T13:38:00.000-04:002007-06-27T22:39:04.591-04:00not as funny as the first one, but......still watch-worthy.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/33f2687080">check it out</a>.mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-51481469784812942152007-06-26T23:11:00.000-04:002007-06-27T22:46:13.276-04:00exploitation: verbatim<div><div><em>her, worriedly peering into the newly-established fish tank:</em> "do you think there are too many bubbles for this tank? i'm worried that it's too chaotic for them in there!"<br /><br /><em>me, rolling my eyes at her neuroticism, which now, apparently, extends to our fish:</em> "i think they're fine. if you're so worried, though, just change the bubbler thing..."<br /><br /><em>her:</em> "well, can you help me?"<br /><br /><em>me, hobbling (as a result of a fresh football injury to my groin) to the bathroom:</em> "help you? what do you need help with?"<br /><br /><em>her:</em> "well, putting it in there."<br /><br /><em>me, peeing, yelling incredulously over the bathroom fan:</em> "you don't need two people for that! you just reach in there and change the tube-y thing, i've done it about four times today alone!"<br /><br /><em>her, muffled:</em> "i just don't want them to nibble my hand..."<br /><br /><em>me:</em> "what? are you serious?!" (starts to giggle)<br /><br /><em>her, tersely</em>: "shut up, b!"<br /><br /><em>me, hobbling back out to check if she's for real (and she is):</em> "they don't even have teeth!"<br /><br /><em>her, doubtfully, eyeing 'the guys' (our fish, in plural):</em> "how do you know that?"<br /><br /><em>me, snickering:</em> "i'm pretty sure guppies don't have teeth..." (as i proceed to watch her haul up the bubbler thing by the tube so her hand doesn't touch the water) "oh my god, you're serious..." (dissolving into laughter that sounds strangely like a smoker's cough, complete with whistling exhalations)<br /><br /><em>her, fiercely, while nervously watching the opposite side of the tank where the fish have congregated:</em> "shut up, b...! okay, where are the guysOHGOD!!" (jumping backwards, yelling at our yellow guppy) "a-lice!! get lost! why is she over here? she's supposed to be afraid of ME!!"<br /><br /><em>me:</em> clutching my stomach and making squeaking sounds<br /><br /><em>her, angrily, eyes flitting at warp-speed between submerged hand and 'the guys'</em>: "shut UP, b!"<br /><br /><em>me:</em> shaking in near-silent mirth with tears running down my cheeks<br /><br /><em>her, panicked:</em> "why are they not staying OVER there?!"<br /><br /><em>me, gasping:</em> "i...am....so...going..........to blog this!"<br /><br /><em>her:</em> squealing as lincoln (the molly) crosses into her half of the tank<br /><br /><em>me, trying to catch my breath:</em> "come on...are you serious here?"<br /><br /><em>her, pleadingly:</em> "stop making fun of me and help me!"<br /><br /><em>me:</em> doubled over again<br /><br /><em>her, desperately, doing a real hack-job of sinking a bubbling wand to the bottom while trying not to put her hands in the water:</em> "come on! i need some help!!"<br /><br /><em>me:</em> useless<br /><br /><em>her, on the brink of hysteria:</em> "you think this is reaaallly funny, don't you?!" (to our blue guppy): "come ON, che, get away from here!!!"<br /><a href="http://www.sederquist.com/Images/piranha.jpg"></a></div><br /><div></div><a href="http://myfwc.com/fishing/images/fish-pic/piranha-teeth.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 160px; CURSOR: hand" height="185" alt="" src="http://myfwc.com/fishing/images/fish-pic/piranha-teeth.jpg" border="0" /></a> <div>...and on it went. ten minutes later, here i sit with a throbbing groin, rivulets of salt down my cheeks and a sore gut from laughing, when i hear:<br /></div><div><br />"are you blogging in there, b?"<br /><br />"yup!"<br /><br />(quietly resentful): "smartass..."</div></div>mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-34365498716753279652007-06-25T01:50:00.000-04:002007-06-27T22:38:26.254-04:00so you don't like the heavy stuff, huh?all righty then, then i present you with some random, pointless information! :) this is one of those memes that is circulating right now...i just looked for shits n' giggles, but some of the stuff that came up was strangely prophetic and adept...so i thought i'd share it with you.<br /><br /><br />basically, you click your way to google and then type a search for "[your name] needs" and see the top<em> x</em> things (i'm choosing 15) that come up. then, you share them. ta-dah!!<br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#003333;">FIFTEEN THINGS I NEED</span></strong> </div><div align="center">(according to google, that is)</div><br /><span style="color:#000000;"></span><br /><span style="color:#000000;">KD needs...</span><br /><ol><li><strong><span style="color:#000000;">"...to know exactly what time she is to be doing something and exactly how it is to be done."</span></strong> <span style="color:#336666;">(uncanny!)</span></li><li><strong><span style="color:#000000;">"...to get out of the house more."</span></strong> <span style="color:#336666;">(i knew it. google has spies!!)</span> </li><li><strong><span style="color:#000000;">"...this type of concrete feedback to grasp her own progress."</span></strong> <span style="color:#336666;">(i wish there were an example of what type of feedback it was that i needed...i need to <a href="http://pbskids.org/sesame/coloring/images/15_telly.gif"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 242px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 218px" height="204" alt="" src="http://pbskids.org/sesame/coloring/images/15_telly.gif" border="0" /></a>know *exactly* what is meant by that, pronto!)</span></li><li><span style="color:#000000;"><strong>"...to be patient." </strong></span><span style="color:#336666;">(ouch-ah!)</span></li><li><span style="color:#000000;"><strong>"...a schedule."</strong> </span><span style="color:#336666;">(i will agree, on the condition you pronounce it <em>sked</em>-jule and not <em>shed</em>-jule)</span></li><li><strong><span style="color:#000000;">"...help again!"</span></strong> <span style="color:#336666;">(again?! more like 'still.')</span></li><li><strong><span style="color:#000000;">"...to vent."</span></strong><span style="color:#336666;"> (i am assuming they mean vent my issues, and not my armpits. i have been showering regularly, after all...)</span></li><li><strong><span style="color:#000000;">"...some serious prayer for health and personal problems surrounding her life right now."</span></strong> <span style="color:#336666;">(wellll...who doesn't have health and personal problems? at this point, i'd request that you save those prayers, though...they make me a l'il bit nervous...)</span></li><li><strong><span style="color:#000000;">"...a big hug."</span></strong> <span style="color:#336666;">(very true. from someone providing concrete feedback, preferably)</span></li><li><strong><span style="color:#000000;">"...match the content of any story."</span></strong><span style="color:#336666;"> (wha?)</span></li><li><strong><span style="color:#000000;">"...quiet."</span> </strong><span style="color:#336666;">(seeeriously! i could use about 3 servings more o' quiet per day!)</span></li><li><strong><span style="color:#000000;">"...constant antibiotics to stay healthy."</span></strong><span style="color:#336666;"> (listen, when people keep wanting to pray for your venting problems...you do what you have to do!)</span></li><li><strong><span style="color:#000000;">"...to spend less time on the computer and more time doing some weight training or something."</span></strong> <span style="color:#336666;">(google. totally. has. spies.) </span></li><li><strong><span style="color:#000000;">"...to get busy and model a few for us."</span></strong> <span style="color:#336666;">(a few what? g-strings? ankle bracelets? beer bongs?)</span></li><li><strong><span style="color:#000000;">"...something good!"</span></strong> (<span style="color:#336666;">yeah. like my ego back from under the google-spy's shoes.)</span></li></ol>mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-83911472420597605552007-06-18T12:45:00.001-04:002007-06-27T22:37:58.324-04:00what happens to clean laundry at our house...<p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGi2kijwOpdGxv1goNoVA7MhWls9lG6oz-EpFHq-q7_Mrn_6azcoGVB4IXiySog3ag8SOfEpJ9z2u9JM-_n7dKlGAw15tn8At4a-J7A5my26UJKxzVmhlmIQC5KnyKwdWpxWwbZA/s1600-h/DSCN6033.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077447206087064018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGi2kijwOpdGxv1goNoVA7MhWls9lG6oz-EpFHq-q7_Mrn_6azcoGVB4IXiySog3ag8SOfEpJ9z2u9JM-_n7dKlGAw15tn8At4a-J7A5my26UJKxzVmhlmIQC5KnyKwdWpxWwbZA/s400/DSCN6033.JPG" border="0" /></a></p>mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-89357230455785231992007-06-18T00:38:00.000-04:002007-06-27T22:36:53.803-04:00deep as a puddle? not i, madam...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUxk46kHG_A4lv1RPpzKc_ujU7z1yzz4_qd5evTaBaNfzHL0hvm-wAHW4P-QlRlIvDzg1664qFzlKVf4fqmHNAvMZ-sAXex16TDcB4V-uHS7rzZFAubW-qcEeTadh3Polg41tcTw/s1600-h/Puddle.jpg"><span style="color:#000000;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077276223439010194" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 162px" height="154" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUxk46kHG_A4lv1RPpzKc_ujU7z1yzz4_qd5evTaBaNfzHL0hvm-wAHW4P-QlRlIvDzg1664qFzlKVf4fqmHNAvMZ-sAXex16TDcB4V-uHS7rzZFAubW-qcEeTadh3Polg41tcTw/s200/Puddle.jpg" width="200" border="0" /></span></a><span style="color:#000000;"> i have been told that i think too much (or too hard, or too deeply, or too <em>fill-in-your-favourite-word-of-excess-here</em>). though i personally would prefer to err on the side of being thoughtful, people often make this comment to me with a tone approximating disdain, accompanied by much sighing and eye-rolling. well, put your exasperation aside, folks, cuz i just can't help it. as much as i like quacking to my favourite songs, i am not much like a duck at all (this being a reference to the whole water-rolling-off-my-back thing).<br /><br />lately, i have been plagued by a sense of loss. there have been tangible losses, such as the loss of my </span><a href="http://ontarioescapades.blogspot.com/2007/05/for-those-left-behind.html"><span style="color:#000000;">beloved nephew-dog</span></a><span style="color:#000000;">, and there are a couple of others that i don't even know how to write about yet. but there have been other, more illusive losses that unfurl themselves in my stomach, with slow but sharp tendrils prickling behind my eyelids and making my heart ache. these are the ones that are the most unsettling. these are the losses that have caught me unawares.<br /><br />it sounds kind of dramatic, but my sense of being in the world has shifted. i have come to some very uncomfortable, painful conclusions about myself and my interactions with others, and they are not things i can control, or change...or forget about. these conclusions are like the hushed, reverent voices of a hundred little lamas in my ears, and they have been whispering 24/7 over the past three weeks.<br /><br />i can assure you i am not cracking up...i've already been there, done that, and trust me, this isn't what it looks like - for me, anyway. after 13 years of battling, denying, and finally accepting my life with a diagnosis of major depression, i am quite familiar with the 'landscape of my madness.' but this...this constant feeling of emotional indigestion is almost more painful, both because i am facing a difficult truth, and then because it is one that people have pointed out to me all my life (which, in kd-land, means that i have been compelled to resist it!!). damn, i hate when people know me better than i know myself.<br /></span><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6600;"><strong>~~~~~~~</strong></span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#000000;">however: something wonderful has happened as a result, and i'm pretttttty sure you're going to think i'm really off my rocker when i tell you what it is. i can't describe it how it feels, other than it's like a dam has been broken somewhere inside of me...and i now have this new superpower (it truly feels that way!) that enables me to cry like a normal person. that is to say, i can cry more openly, and most exciting - i can cry <em>when i feel like crying</em>. it's crazy. these days, when i feel sad, or happy, or when something has touched me, i can tear up with the best of them. i'm on the top of the world, i tell you. </span></div><br /><p><span style="color:#000000;"></span></p><p><span style="color:#000000;">don't get me wrong, i'm a gal that does my fair share of boo-hooing, but my crying has always been hush-hush, a covert activity that i undertake privately and usually alone. somewhere <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOnXa-ZfuCu1Cc6UuNycyCyc1RESN9IO0ZxRx8IExeRkADJjSjI6iNmEM5NFCNbTiyymw5KWElum-tMgwaQe0QF3buHvK7t3s0DMTglHcUP6uQtRg7o_A5AtaegNws-0OZJ9dh7A/s1600-h/crying.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077280312247876002" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 157px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 177px" height="182" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOnXa-ZfuCu1Cc6UuNycyCyc1RESN9IO0ZxRx8IExeRkADJjSjI6iNmEM5NFCNbTiyymw5KWElum-tMgwaQe0QF3buHvK7t3s0DMTglHcUP6uQtRg7o_A5AtaegNws-0OZJ9dh7A/s200/crying.jpg" width="166" border="0" /></a>along the line, i perfected the art of deferring crying from when i felt like it, to a time when i was hidden away from everyone else. it became an almost academic undertaking, whereby i replaced feeling with thinking - mostly thoughts about how i absolutely couldn't and shouldn't cry. (note: here again, hypocrisy abounds. i have none of the judgmental and punitive feelings about other people crying. just myself.) indeed, i have yearned for years to cry when i felt like crying - <em>years</em>, i tell you!! - and i have saluted, envied, and prayed for all you normal people to write cognitive-behavioural books so i could try training myself to cry or something...but alas, somehow i have figured it out, when i least expected it. and it is divine.<br /><br />so, yeah. i know i am on the upswing. sometimes it just has to be bad awhile for it to get good, right?</span></p>mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-30297078596699133032007-06-17T22:36:00.001-04:002007-06-27T22:35:43.086-04:00AWOLyeah, i know. i'm really inconsistent with this whole blog-writing thing. i don't know what to say, except that lately, there has been SO MUCH to say that i've been immobilized. silenced. for once, quiet (at least here. i'm rarely quiet this long in real life).<br /><br />not that i flatter myself that you're all waiting with bated breath for my brilliant entries, but i <a href="http://www.muckraked.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2006/03/hypocrite_wallpaper.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.muckraked.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2006/03/hypocrite_wallpaper.jpg" border="0" /></a>know how irritated i can get when i check people's blogs, and they don't write for weeks on end. i know. i'm a hypocrite. i'll write it out 100 times on my little ikea blackboard in the kitchen, i promise. plus, i'll drink my morning merlot from this mug for like, the entire month of july.<br /><br />anyway, somehow i've found my voice and enough focus to sit down and write, mainly so you can breathe easier. prepare yourself - it's all a-comin' down tonight...mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-19640266339755429062007-05-25T03:29:00.001-04:002007-06-27T22:34:22.152-04:00for those left behind<embed name="FLVPlayer" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" src="http://www.onetruemedia.com/share_view_player?p=" width="350" height="328" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" flashvars="&p=2cb1663add2047208a8ddb&skin_id=0&host=http://www.onetruemedia.com" salign="LT" wmode="transparent" scale="noscale" quality="high"></embed> <div style="MARGIN: 0px; FONT: 12px/30px verdana,arial,sans-serif; WIDTH: 350px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="http://www.onetruemedia.com/share_player_link?p=2cb1663add2047208a8ddb&skin_id=0&source=emplay&coord=" target="_blank"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px" src="http://www.onetruemedia.com/share_player_link_image/2cb1663add2047208a8ddb/0.gif" width="350" /></a><br /><a style="TEXT-DECORATION: none" href="http://www.onetruemedia.com/landing?&utm_source=emplay&utm_medium=txt0" target="_blank">Make photo slide shows at <span style="TEXT-DECORATION: underline">www.OneTrueMedia.com</span></a></div>mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-66921784224899777072007-04-20T00:58:00.000-04:002007-04-20T01:12:33.089-04:00empty-headedthis is all i'm really capable of today. i was desperate and borrowed it from <a href="http://thedailymeme.com">here</a>:<br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">SOUP TO NUTS</span></strong><br /><br /><strong>1. Are you a fan of soup?</strong><br />why yes, yes i am. i could probably eat soup every day.<br /><br /><strong>2. What is your favorite kind of soup?<br /></strong>hmm. that's tough. my baba made a wicked chicken noodle soup that far surpassed any chicken soup i can recall, but i have to rely on retrospective memory, as she passed away 15 years ago. a close second would be my mom's borscht.<br /><br /><strong>3. Are you a fan of nuts?<br /></strong>yes - particularly of the human variety.<br /><br /><strong>4. What is your favorite kind of nut or dish containing nuts?<br /></strong>to eat raw, i think i'd have to say almonds. but i just might choose a cool scoop of pralines n' cream...though really, any nut with sugar is a sweet deal.<br /><br /><strong>5. If you had to eliminate either soup or nuts from your diet for the rest of your life, which would you choose?</strong><br />definitely nuts - but only of the edible kind. human nuts are always invited to stay.mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-87900200104988389872007-04-17T12:14:00.000-04:002007-04-20T00:16:27.335-04:00oh. ma. god.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAxmg0M8_O5anC4iD8Hb7YS0XmiJ0U6MOlXZa5ssKV9z5urmZsCuEOI-mRVl9HOLLSyzwIsltClUbVp4wU7a6aJoyPQ8r0fyUGcBQ4kMKoMPbs3hy7JCKMtz8CLZedVVyUat43zw/s1600-h/george+izzy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054432844341106322" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAxmg0M8_O5anC4iD8Hb7YS0XmiJ0U6MOlXZa5ssKV9z5urmZsCuEOI-mRVl9HOLLSyzwIsltClUbVp4wU7a6aJoyPQ8r0fyUGcBQ4kMKoMPbs3hy7JCKMtz8CLZedVVyUat43zw/s320/george+izzy.jpg" border="0" /></a>i didn't know there was a blog about grey's anatomy...but <a href="http://www.greyswriters.com/">there is</a>. and shonda rhimes writes on it! and they talk about their decisions for plot things, like the whole izzy and george sex thing. i've been trying to boycott grey's since that episode, but i just...can't...do it, captain! it's too good!!! and i know that makes me pathetic (never mind the serious <em>procrastinating</em> that is going on - hello, remember my exam tomorrow, and how i have only reviewed 2/19 lectures?!) but i can't help it, is the thing.<br /><br />i'm addicted to grey's anatomy.<br /><br />and i will find a 12-step group for it, too, once i get the pencil surgically removed from my left <em>orbis ocularis</em>.mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-91953931055921689502007-04-17T11:42:00.000-04:002007-04-20T00:16:00.408-04:00it's official, folks<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">it is with great joy that i annouce that as of 22 hundred hours and seven minutes last night, we received notification that <a href="http://ontarioescapades.blogspot.com/2007/02/from-comatose-to-furious-in-no-time.html">the slug</a> is indeed moving out on july 1st. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">the delight we feel is only outweighed by the fear that the entire house may need an exterminator to rid it of residual slugliness. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">and there are some concerns...i mean, how will our guests find us, without the trail of slime up the mountain to guide them? will our neighbours miss the pornographic bass-line that nearly constantly eminated from our basement? will i never hear the opening to 'superman' in mind-blowing surround sound again? </span>mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-46171069141747875742007-04-16T11:10:00.000-04:002007-04-20T00:15:38.321-04:00no one's tryin' to make me go to rehab, so don't worryso i took advantage of some of the new features on blogger, but there seems to be a bit of a fault with the music honour roll thingy. when i typed in 'amy winehouse' (the artist to whom i would like to draw your attention), blogger linked to only one of her songs and its million versions, entitled, 'rehab.' while true that i love this song, there are other amy winehouse songs that i love. so don't get your knickers in a knot. i don't need to go to rehab.<br /><br />now excuse me while i get back to my morning merlot.mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-24899461070796371342007-04-16T00:17:00.000-04:002007-04-20T00:13:01.500-04:00almost unmentionable......cuz it's so exciting. <a href="http://ontarioescapades.blogspot.com/2007/02/from-comatose-to-furious-in-no-time.html">the slug</a> might be moving out!!!!!! wahoo!mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-807333518398448222007-04-15T21:06:00.000-04:002007-04-20T00:14:52.840-04:00d'ya think pelvis in plural would be pelvi?so here it is: my friend j told me that she was tired of reading my 'anatomically corrrrrrrect' post and that i should hop on writing a new entry. however, just to be clear, this is not the reason i am writing a new entry (cuz she's not the boss of ME). i am writing because i want to. because it's about that time.<br /><br />exam time.<br /><br />and frankly, i gots better things to do in my life than study. like blog. (yo peanut gallery - ssshhhht! i had better things to do over the past two months, too...)<br /><br />so....i wrote my anatomy exam this past thursday, and i am ridiculously relieved. in preparation for the big 8:30 am event, i pulled a geriatric all-nighter on wednesday night - a term i coined to refer to an all-nighter with a nap in the middle. y'know, for all of us supah-old-almost-31-year-olds. i also invited another student midwife and friend, L, to keep me from going entirely insane. and with the assistance of coke, chocolate, tandoori doritos, and lots of knee-slapping jokes (which i won't repeat here, cuz our anatomical word wizardry would certainly be beyond you) we were able to stave off our nap until 4 am.<br /><br />i set my alarm for 6 am in order to re-review respiration, urine production, and the innervation of the penis (what kind of morning starts out like that?!), we drank some scary-ass potent coffee, and we were at school by 7:45 am. but the exam was not the highlight of the day - no, no, no. that honour is bestowed to another fellow midwife-to-be, my friend S, who ate two boston creme timmy ho donuts. <em>in a row</em>. right before we entered a room full of a bunch of pickled organs (yes, including <em>those</em> organs), cadaver portions, and The World's Nerdiest Professors for our bellringer. now that, my friends, is a strong stomach.<br /><br />in other school-related news, i meant to study the whole of this weekend for my communications exam on wednesday, but it really felt like i had to re-socialize (or de-anatomize) myself. my mind was chock full of the names of blood vessels and their layers, potential pathologies of the kidney, the direction of fetal blood circulation vs. adult circulation, and the path of an ovulated egg. i needed to just *not think* for a bit (not to mention that i really needed some good sleep - takes us seniors a long time to catch up). plus, check out <a href="http://www.humanities.mcmaster.ca/~lmussio/index.php">my professor's website</a> for the subject for which i am supposed to be studying. as you do so, try to imagine what kind of lecturer he would be. and then, imagine that he is about 10 million times worse than that, and you may get a glimpse of what my monday nights this term have been like.<br /><br />so, yeah. studying this weekend just didn't make the cut. but here's what did:<br />- eating indian food with my bro and B at <a href="http://www.hamiltoninternationalvillage.ca/modernIndia.htm">my new favourite restaurant</a> (and no, smart asses, not cuz it's a buffet, but cuz it's got amazing food)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMViOj3TUN7Q5FOfHH__aWis-QUDmJnR2MnzB2-NdSj2OYUb2czXErcDV9DMbggHSLMS-Lvw6uYwRPzTPFLQqyKWuYeSpvP1fq9EWxbKO8oIDgCKtop4ar_dD655nQ4W2XLvg8_g/s1600-h/DSCN5862.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053860071797479042" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 136px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 177px" height="173" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMViOj3TUN7Q5FOfHH__aWis-QUDmJnR2MnzB2-NdSj2OYUb2czXErcDV9DMbggHSLMS-Lvw6uYwRPzTPFLQqyKWuYeSpvP1fq9EWxbKO8oIDgCKtop4ar_dD655nQ4W2XLvg8_g/s200/DSCN5862.JPG" width="123" border="0" /></a><br />- being visited by J and baby scouter<br />- watching our taped episode of grey's anatomy from thursday<br />- eating party mix (loudly), drinking grape juice mixed with soda water, and burping<br />- running the 894 killer stairs leading from suburbia-land (where we live on the mtn) to the 'hood down below us<br />- buying a new stereo for the car (finally - only 9 months since it was stolen!!)<br />- playing a new video game on the computer<br />- reading all the blogs i haven't been reading<br />- burning my anatomy notes<br />- cuddling with the cat<br /><br />i figure it's all worth it. and by tomorrow morning, bright and early, i will be ready to conquer lectures with titles like "framing the victorians: the development of photography," "the renaissance computer: being a lecture on the subject of gutenberg's printing press and the consequences pertaining thereto for european societies" and my favourite, "who killed the picturephone?" (within whose lecture our professor actually quoted 'video killed the radio star'). and, if you call me before wednesday and i don't answer, it's probably b/c i've stuck a pencil in my eye from trying to translate his feckin' weekly comedy routines into something i can study to prepare for an exam in which we are expected to write three. essays. in. three. hours. gaaaaaahhhhhhhh.mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-74741421975905197072007-03-05T16:59:00.000-05:002007-04-20T00:12:19.746-04:00anatomically corrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrect<a href="http://universe-review.ca/I10-13-anatomy.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://universe-review.ca/I10-13-anatomy.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>i just wanted to share with my blogging public that sleeping with my anatomy notes under my pillow (aka osmosis) must work after all! i am significantly smarter than last term - that is, if we use midterm grades as our benchmark...can i just say that i have never been so happy to be only 3/4 right in my whole life?!</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>anywho...i am on a library-owned HP laptop sitting smack next to a couple of 19 year old valley girl sound-alikes, but i've had about all i can take. soooo...until later!</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-26764984512396199292007-02-24T19:18:00.000-05:002007-02-24T19:43:46.077-05:00can you spell 'misspell'?if i read 'wierd' one more time on a sign, blog, or in the paper, i'm gonna go ballistic. i know the stupid rhyme is 'i before e except after c' but c'mon people...oh, and i also have a book club recommendation for you. it's called the dictionary.<br /><br />P.S. you'd better not differentiate right from left by holding up your hands and seeing which index finger and thumb make an 'L', either.mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-8836412446366812692007-02-23T00:19:00.000-05:002007-02-24T19:43:25.772-05:00a wohk in the pahk (to be said a la dick van dyke in 'mary poppins')as the mercury in southern ontario rose to a balmy 1.9 degrees, and as i am the world's best procrastinator (self-proclaimed, mind you, but i bet i would beat <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQP8HMqc_3W3UKGcaSlKtAjdg6Ma9TerNkzZzB8iDYExN4x6W9HRMqI6VqQZ7DsY085lYRXIFnJu164dX4nTtcWAR2N0yO-nZcJ4_NKbHZdAMeQqCkacdIr8LN9rYRcEmqAKaVfQ/s1600-h/DSCN5751.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034602448661160082" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQP8HMqc_3W3UKGcaSlKtAjdg6Ma9TerNkzZzB8iDYExN4x6W9HRMqI6VqQZ7DsY085lYRXIFnJu164dX4nTtcWAR2N0yO-nZcJ4_NKbHZdAMeQqCkacdIr8LN9rYRcEmqAKaVfQ/s200/DSCN5751.JPG" border="0" /></a>you anyway), i went into guelph yesterday afternoon to hang out with two of my favourite babies (and their mommies, who are not too shabby either). contrary to the title of this post, there was not <em>really</em> any walking in the park (too much slush and ice to navigate precious cargo down the big pre-park hill), but there was a lot of walking. and a fair bit of talking, cake-eating, and some of us even filled our pants (shame on you, jess!).<br /><div><div><div><br /><div>it was a glorious day - sunny, crisp, mucky, with a hint of spring, <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz6RRH1c-Zi3NNX0okUg6U8H-K00m_JzskCHZ-QadmsvxKDsSwWqwiC4q_B-mkngwEAnwcpIKvCTV-Lx0ZkpCKgYLitnHW41WFcNCA868zI3xc0cnR4aPf4xi8QOb8w-LbpaB4BA/s1600-h/DSCN5753.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034601125811232882" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz6RRH1c-Zi3NNX0okUg6U8H-K00m_JzskCHZ-QadmsvxKDsSwWqwiC4q_B-mkngwEAnwcpIKvCTV-Lx0ZkpCKgYLitnHW41WFcNCA868zI3xc0cnR4aPf4xi8QOb8w-LbpaB4BA/s200/DSCN5753.JPG" border="0" /></a>and it was just what i needed to balance out the hours i have been spending trying to memorize the types and functions of white blood cells, the crazy mathetmatical formulas for lung elastance, and what the stomach looks like under a microscope as compared to the jejunum. although i was feeling quite apprehensive before the visit about taking so much time away from my studying/ panicking/desire to ram a pencil in my eye, it was a wonderful reprieve. so thank you girls! and thank you, my sweet babies!! </div><br /><div>just one last note...as we walked and pushed the lucky monkeys in their deluxe, ready-to-scale-mountains stroller systems, with their visors to shade their drowsy eyes from the sun, their little warm fuzzy carseat sacs, their blankies, and their soft squishy pillows to cradle their heads...i wondered, for the umpteenth time, why someone couldn't make strollers for adults. someone hop on that, mmkay? i'll tradeja some really cool physiology facts about the liver that are sure to be party pleasers... <div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVZjWVFYh5x1yt73u9l0Fogvz7Td8QweNvx3utb_wo5HDJaS6MnE-Wn4rnocIgfvZONrMS_coDvUKDBjqL1C20HOh584l_Gb0Si3IvW0TQSo6hMnQM_vw0Y5jojKShbXWDN6xMfw/s1600-h/DSCN5755.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034603586827493586" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVZjWVFYh5x1yt73u9l0Fogvz7Td8QweNvx3utb_wo5HDJaS6MnE-Wn4rnocIgfvZONrMS_coDvUKDBjqL1C20HOh584l_Gb0Si3IvW0TQSo6hMnQM_vw0Y5jojKShbXWDN6xMfw/s200/DSCN5755.JPG" border="0" /></a></div></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVZjWVFYh5x1yt73u9l0Fogvz7Td8QweNvx3utb_wo5HDJaS6MnE-Wn4rnocIgfvZONrMS_coDvUKDBjqL1C20HOh584l_Gb0Si3IvW0TQSo6hMnQM_vw0Y5jojKShbXWDN6xMfw/s1600-h/DSCN5755.JPG"></a></div><br /><p align="left"></p><br /><p align="left"></p><br /><div><br /><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb1BYT192TYEVcjnVdF_I02w-UoBaki0v5gWG9SMyTdFhy3S5uoBPPFBeaA2SmXn1WCGk8LHaEyAAfUrJxJ6fHNFs4KMBPPKPEC-JVlqz8z-uGyW8rnKATlNPBMMoaN6mBLCZ9NQ/s1600-h/DSCN5757.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034603578237558978" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb1BYT192TYEVcjnVdF_I02w-UoBaki0v5gWG9SMyTdFhy3S5uoBPPFBeaA2SmXn1WCGk8LHaEyAAfUrJxJ6fHNFs4KMBPPKPEC-JVlqz8z-uGyW8rnKATlNPBMMoaN6mBLCZ9NQ/s200/DSCN5757.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVZjWVFYh5x1yt73u9l0Fogvz7Td8QweNvx3utb_wo5HDJaS6MnE-Wn4rnocIgfvZONrMS_coDvUKDBjqL1C20HOh584l_Gb0Si3IvW0TQSo6hMnQM_vw0Y5jojKShbXWDN6xMfw/s1600-h/DSCN5755.JPG"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVZjWVFYh5x1yt73u9l0Fogvz7Td8QweNvx3utb_wo5HDJaS6MnE-Wn4rnocIgfvZONrMS_coDvUKDBjqL1C20HOh584l_Gb0Si3IvW0TQSo6hMnQM_vw0Y5jojKShbXWDN6xMfw/s1600-h/DSCN5755.JPG"></a></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVZjWVFYh5x1yt73u9l0Fogvz7Td8QweNvx3utb_wo5HDJaS6MnE-Wn4rnocIgfvZONrMS_coDvUKDBjqL1C20HOh584l_Gb0Si3IvW0TQSo6hMnQM_vw0Y5jojKShbXWDN6xMfw/s1600-h/DSCN5755.JPG"></a></div><br /><br /></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVZjWVFYh5x1yt73u9l0Fogvz7Td8QweNvx3utb_wo5HDJaS6MnE-Wn4rnocIgfvZONrMS_coDvUKDBjqL1C20HOh584l_Gb0Si3IvW0TQSo6hMnQM_vw0Y5jojKShbXWDN6xMfw/s1600-h/DSCN5755.JPG"></a></div></div></div></div>mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-1296554952153151282007-02-23T00:16:00.000-05:002007-02-24T19:42:43.560-05:00it's kinda hard to study when...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIwJ5d_uiOD98fxiSSHDu2osDbXE0vlzLpTI6XHonm-RCm7TaUJMlSsdy4fzPhu5qKPHQ4Zgog-AAZ1LtrXoSFVg80Yk7shksTaypT5IV6L1OK0WNC7EcwVFoAFU-bMLopRz9S3w/s1600-h/DSCN5767.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034594460021989442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIwJ5d_uiOD98fxiSSHDu2osDbXE0vlzLpTI6XHonm-RCm7TaUJMlSsdy4fzPhu5qKPHQ4Zgog-AAZ1LtrXoSFVg80Yk7shksTaypT5IV6L1OK0WNC7EcwVFoAFU-bMLopRz9S3w/s320/DSCN5767.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>...something this cute sits on your anatomy textbook! </div>mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33072592.post-84099355429903755172007-02-19T14:23:00.000-05:002007-02-24T19:42:21.617-05:00from comatose to furious in no time flat<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCQNXGPZDLKdHH48ZiM-swfAedyW1mb2PL7Ik2EOPXH0tUb7qPVl-idhg0pI54GtX06d2mjo2vIOo6Nv1bD2Df3RaMCoSWcUrbwNO8JuuwDGZjHSqXYjA94819TsRxiVkDNENPfw/s1600-h/slug_curled_up_sm.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033330335182659602" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCQNXGPZDLKdHH48ZiM-swfAedyW1mb2PL7Ik2EOPXH0tUb7qPVl-idhg0pI54GtX06d2mjo2vIOo6Nv1bD2Df3RaMCoSWcUrbwNO8JuuwDGZjHSqXYjA94819TsRxiVkDNENPfw/s320/slug_curled_up_sm.jpg" border="0" /></a>as many of you will know, i am a passionate person, but not unless i am descending into the depths of one of my terrible depressions does this passion fuel rage. however, there is one person who can make me go from comatose to vibratingly murderous in about 0.243 seconds. his name is kris, and he lives downstairs.<br /><br /><div><div></div><div>b and i have taken to calling him 'the slug' because frankly, that's what he looks like, and i would estimate that his intelligence is at slug-like levels as well. (do take note of the fact that the slug in the diagram below is heading <em>away</em> from the maze entrance.) the two things that differentiate him from a slug, however, are a huuuuuge ego and a thunderous voice that he uses to announce/trumpet/bellow the details of his life to our entire <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji3I-z96eVfNyEVeyk6AnL_LcA_EDCB1XZoMWqh_cxn1blDGBBXkEGmYemJU-Smw1enKzbaRMABbOrwVZhqAU_PLhLPYWIGm1bTicx77HEG4fPvhQqVYAWS5jU6oLvW8M2Dhem9g/s1600-h/slug-maze.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033331481938927650" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 202px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 145px" height="149" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji3I-z96eVfNyEVeyk6AnL_LcA_EDCB1XZoMWqh_cxn1blDGBBXkEGmYemJU-Smw1enKzbaRMABbOrwVZhqAU_PLhLPYWIGm1bTicx77HEG4fPvhQqVYAWS5jU6oLvW8M2Dhem9g/s200/slug-maze.jpg" width="222" border="0" /></a>neighbourhood. and because we are so fortunate to live above him, we are privy to every. fucking. thing. he. does. and yes, that includes sex, watching porn (we wish this was an uncommon occurrence, but alas, no.), using the bathroom (far less gross than the porn and sex), singing really terrible songs on his untuned guitar (almost worse than the sex), and other similarly revolting things that we could all do without hearing - and i mean <em>ever</em>. </div><div><br />kris' whole ego thing is odd, cuz i'm thinking most slugs have probably seen themselves in a mirror, and have the good sense to know they are slimy, lumpy, and pretty much disgusting to anyone--except other slugs, that is. enter kris' girlfriend, kristina (yes really. kris and kristina). she too, is from the <em>sluggus grossus</em> family, but is paler and has more hair. i know waaaaayyyy more about this girl than i know about some of my best friends, and there is a reason for that--it's TMI. contrary to popular belief, i don't want to know what you sound like at the height of ecstasy. i really don't want to be able to hear about (and then, actually hear the soundtrack for, your preferences for porn). i don't want to hear the sweet nothings you whisper/holler into the ears/tentacles of your lover/slug. i will like you better for not knowing that stuff, believe me.</div><div></div><div></div><div><br />speaking of being better for not knowing things...i just have to say that i didn't need to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slug">learn </a>that slugs are hermaphrodites. i also didn't need to read ANY of the section on reproduction, and i'd suggest that you don't either. </div><br /><div></div><div>as i am typing out this tirade, i can hear more of the daily slug-drama unfolding: <span style="font-size:130%;">"HEY KRISTINA DO YOU WANT SOME TEA?" "YEAH WITH LOTS OF MILK AND SUGAR, NOT LIKE LAST TIME. I ONLY SEEN YOU PUT IN 3 SPOONS OF SUGAR YESTERDAY."</span> note that the hollering comes from our living room, which means they are probably next to each other on the couch. earlier they were watching 'superman,' which is one of the two movies they loop continuously on surround sound (the other is 'moulin rouge'). thankfully, he has not played anne murray today, nor has he played the CD recording of himself singing...but wait! hark! as he does like clockwork each day, he is launching into a million-decibel lecture at his seven year old daughter (yes, the same one whose bedroom door opens out to the oily futon where hermaphroditic slug-intercourse takes place). this time he's ragging on how sick and tired he is of cleaning up after her. (as an aside, she is actually pretty cute. from the looks of her, i don't think she is a full-blooded slug, but i worry about her prospects, given her custodial parent. which reminds me: what court of law in this godforsaken province determined him to be the better guardian?!) aha, just on time...she is now sobbing. so the slug should stop now--he usually keeps it up until she dissolves into helpless tears. it turns out that this is a win-win situation for <em>everyone.</em></div><div><br />we need to get out of here. seriously. this is a violation of human rights on a number of levels, i'm sure of it. i think we will have to start a non-profit organization (entitled 'rescue mission: from slugs to safety') and an accompanying bank account for donations. you've got to help us get out of here. you know we'd do it for you. just follow the trail of slime up the hamilton <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxes2ZSuiyqXd_30bwboSHmIzZpJFgh5cBkzw_LmLsQvW55CsDcCn0IKu3FXppg2g9UFoutiaUTIhgBwT4RC7fjbTzTpmnMul8V2DaK2DfzjUnxViGbzdH7n2_6ySfw1pJZO0fIw/s1600-h/headphones_02.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033387093175476274" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxes2ZSuiyqXd_30bwboSHmIzZpJFgh5cBkzw_LmLsQvW55CsDcCn0IKu3FXppg2g9UFoutiaUTIhgBwT4RC7fjbTzTpmnMul8V2DaK2DfzjUnxViGbzdH7n2_6ySfw1pJZO0fIw/s200/headphones_02.jpg" border="0" /></a>mountain...but knock loudly, as we are holed up in our bedroom (located above the kitchen - the least disgusting noises come from there), wearing earplugs covered in cotton batting under our headphones with our heads pressed to our white noise-blaring sound machines. </div><br /><div></div><div>p.s. does it help our cause to mention that we share a washing machine, and have started to suffer from strange, mysterious slugly symptoms (e.g., laziness, weight gain, affinity for parading our bloated bodies for all to see, etc.) </div></div>mama in waitinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14873859824186501392noreply@blogger.com2