on the 7:45am ferry sailing

to the persons smoking pot on the upper decks:
the concessions stores are now open and have a variety of snacks and cookies available.
and please take your smoking to the stern of the deck.

I love living on the west coast.

so, I lied

You knew this was going to happen. One week after I loudly proclaim that I shall no longer be posting on Fridays and Saturdays, here I am posting on a Friday and planning to post on a Saturday.

You'll live.

There was no helping today's post. As soon as it happened, I was plotting it's web presentation: I got my bangs [fringe, anyone?] cut.

Okay, while good, that's not really the good part. My stylist [can't call guys who cut hair hairdressers...don't know why. mental block of some sort] came to the horrible realisation that I really walk around looking like I do on the days I get my hair cut. You know, the days that you know you're going to drop a wad of cash on a cut and colour, so why bother doing anything other than to make sure there's no gum stuck in it because it's going to look so much better in a few hours anyway?? Yep, that's how my hair looks pretty much most of the time.

Poor guy. That's probably not how he wanted to start his day. But it did inspire him necessitate that he have at my head with an array of [two] styling products to uber-mess my hair. Because really, it was suggested, it's not a good idea to just sleep on one's hair and run a brush through it [oh....why not, again?], but one must make it look like that on purpose, but better.

I must have had a look or something because he went on:

you have to really mess it up - serious bed head, like you just had a quickie. I mean, people will see you're hair and they'll smile. It'll make them happy and - hell! - I'd be happy for you!

It was at that point that I informed him I would be making that my new quote on the blog. While I love my Emily quote at the bottom of the page, I may need to use some version of this instead. [any thoughts?] Even while I ponder that, though, there are several important, immediate results from this little morning excursion to the salon:

1. I got my bangs cut - yay!
2. I now smell like mousse and hairspray. The cat will, unfailingly, sleep on the bed tonight and get stoned off my hair.
3. You know damned well what was going through my co-workers thoughts when I sauntered in this morning, 40 minutes late, with my uber-messy quickie bed head.

Oh yeah. And of course you, dear readers, get to read about it.

**********
As alluded to at the beginning, this week's Sunday Edition will be post on Saturday, to make room for the Blog Exchange on Sunday [be sure to stop back on Sunday for that]. Then we'll see what happens next week...

because everyone needs fishnets and nursing pads

So, how did everyone around here survive yesterday?

Surprisingly well.

I have to say that knowing that she was home with Mr.Q made everything pretty much okay. I mean, I've gone for four hour hair appointments, so really, this wasn't that much longer.... Yes, I did call home. Yes, I did harass pester interrogate make sure everything was going okay. And, yes, I did snatch her away from Mr.Q the second I got in the door.

Okay, that was in part because my poor, beleaguered boobs were busting at the seams. Literally. I had to stuff toilet paper down my bra today and, for the first time in my life, I would have been happy if it had somehow un-enhanced my cleavage.

And, yes, she was happy to see me, but there was no terrible realisation on her part that I had been gone all day. She was not excessively clingy and let me put her to bed with no problems. She did her usual thing.

She doesn't really need me.

ouch.

The dog was the only one who seemed to acknowledge that something was up today. For the rest of us, it seems to have been a one-off: a different kind of day, but nothing we can't handle.

Give me a few more of these days in a row and I'll let you know how I - and the Magpie and Mr.Q - feel about it then... Maybe, just fine.

**********
Overheard outside Starbucks this past Sunday morning before we went grocery shopping:

...people are still going to go to Shoppers [Drug Mart] even if the hookers do shop there...

Yes, I'll admit that I took a look at the two women between whom this comment was shared. I'm not a worldly enough girl to tell you with any certainty what their chosen professions were.

**********
note to self: remember to wear nursing pads to work today. Also, get more from Shoppers.

baby shower!

It's like buying a new car or a new purse: once you have a baby, it seems everyone else does too. And, there are three more on the way: Liz, Christina & Tammie are all en route and, in their honour, a couple of ladies of the 'sphere have solicited our best and worst advice on their behalf and are rounding it all up in one convenient location. So, here you have the nuggets of wisdom I received:

Assvice: "get that baby on a schedule right away!" Are you kidding me? The Magpie had no schedule whatsoever for the first entire six months of her life. I could not tell you from one day to the next when, if, how or where she would nap or eat. Period. Would she fall asleep in the stroller on our evening walk? Would she feed every half hour or every two hours? Would she decry the notion of sleeping in her crib and demand the comfort of our bed, or would she only pass out in the window seat or across my legs? Schedule, my ass. I could plan nothing. Fortunately, for those six months, she also slept through anything. Once I got my pregnancy hormone ravaged brain around that, it was suddenly all good.

Advice: "you guys are so laid back, you'll be fine." Okay, not technically advice, but this was the best thing anyone - in this case, the public health nurse - said to us in the early, early days. Related to the lack of schedule, but also to pretty much everything else that came down the pipe, not freaking out unless it was really and seriously warranted has sort of become our mantra. It took a lot of doing [I'm not really known for not freaking out...], but damned if it doesn't work.

Congrats to these three expectant mamas [though not expectant for long!] and be sure to head over and check out the baby shower. There are photos! There are games! There are prizes! C'mon!! Exclamation marks mean it's good!!

why I just adore having company

oh, you don't look well at all!

This is how my aunt-in-law greeted me yesterday when she arrived for the afternoon. And then she repeated it.

Yep, she reiterated that no! I don't look well at all. Before that, I actually thought I was having a pretty decent hair day and, while I hadn't put blush on that morning, I had had coffee and wasn't too difficult to distinguish from the walking dead.

It turns out I was wrong.

Is this familial concern? Simply honesty? Did I detect thinly veiled glee at my apparent disheveledness? Is it merely awe at the vastness of the bags under my eyes? What is it, exactly, that makes someone feel compelled to suggest that I look like shit?

I suspect that the familial component does have something to do with it. Who else but your relatives is supposed to be able to get away with "the truth". Sadly, for me, that only works one way. I can't even get out of staying at my in-laws' next month, though I'd be much more comfortable staying at my sister-in-law's or a hotel. The truth really wouldn't go over too well there. Even the thought of it - that we might stay at the sister-in-law's - was met with wounded consternation and guilt. So, no, my truth only gets told anonymously online.

You're welcome.

So, watch yesterday's Sunday Edition video and let me know the truth: am I a pale shadow of my former self or could I pass for living should I wander down the street?

have you seen her father?

upon my comment that her daughter's hair has grown in so fast: yes, it's gotten so thick!

pause

has [the Magpie's] hair actually gotten thinner??

does this mean another trip to the vet?

A guest, upon realising that my cat was being anti-social and searching her out on a couch downstairs: how old is Miss Kitty?

To which I reply: seventeen

Sighs sadly: yeah, our cat used to find a spot to try and hide, too, right before he died

Good thing she's just trying to avoid you then ... jeez.

**********
Yay Golden Globes! [I don't watch, I just recap] Hugh Laurie won, Grey's Anatomy won, Hellen Mirren won and Jennifer Hudson won! I'm a happy girl.

gene pool

Now that the holidays are over, and we are between waves of relatives [the next one to hit within a week or so], I am struck by the fact that my favourite in-laws are the crazy ones.

To clarify: the self-proclaimed and medically diagnosed ones.

Seriously, the one family who has actually acknowledged their conditions and, god forbid, deals with them, are the most awesome, bull shit free bunch of the lot. It's great. Two are lawyers, so they know how to argue without taking offense. All are willing to discuss and, here's the clincher, listen. Their minds are open and they're willing to take chances. And they often do.

So, what happened to the rest of them - the religious rights? the in-denials? the co-dependants? the happy-in-ruts?

Yeah, and then there's my family...

I shouldn't condemn the whole lot. My sisters-in-law are both pretty damn awesome too. More because of their "faults" than despite them. And maybe that's it. These are the people who know who they are, or are willing to put the effort in to find out.

Not a bad way to live.

**********
What a segue way into a new little segment I'm going to try out. In the spirit of my sanity and the need for my husband to have me vent somewhere else on occasion, I bring you:

little gems

Things that have been said or emailed to me that just seem a little...wrong.

upon seeing my new hair cut: "I love your new cut! Because you were starting to look frumpy, you know."

upon hearing that were looking for a larger bed: "Oh, you'll have to buy all new sheets! But that's okay, I guess, since you really do need some new ones."