Creature of habit

So I have this insulated coffee mug, this mug I inadvertently stole from my Mum seven years ago. The actual theft was completely blameless and unintentional, but by the time she got around to telling me I may have taken her mug by mistake? TOO LATE, BITCH. IT'S MINE.

I love my mug. In seven years, I have never been away from it longer than a day. Yesterday, I had dinner with Ex-Husband and Son, and had put my mug down on the floor of their car. This morning, Husbandly One looked around our kitchen and called, "Dear? Where is your mug?"

I thought about it for a minute. "Omigod, it's in 'City Two hours Away From Here' !!" And, giant loser that I am, I teared up a bit.

I know: I am lame.

At work, I grabbed some other, mediocre, non-loved cup and got my coffee. My supervisor immediately noticed the difference and said, "Irma! Where's your cup!"

I teared up AGAIN (yes, I am that lame) and wailed, "It is in City Two Hours From Here!"

Fast forward an hour. Supervisor walked in to my office with a brand new coffee mug which she had just purchased at the Tim Horton's across the street. She knew I would have my own, beloved mug back by the weekend, but she needed to acknowledge the fact that I felt lost without my good old brown plastic mug and wanted to give me a crutch for these next few days.

Yes, I AM that lame. And yes, she is that awesome. I don't know how I ended up with such a fabulous boss, but I am glad she's in my life.

(and ps, she's ALSO the one with the perfect life in the country. Whore.)

My twelve year old's favourite jokes

What do pirates pay for earrings?
A buccaneer.

Why did Tigger look down the toilet?
He was looking for Pooh.

Why does the ocean roar?
You would too, if you had crabs on your bottom.


(Works on soooooo many levels.)

But that's MY life

Me: stuck in middle class suburbia with perfect neighbours who, when they bother to look at me at all, do so with one eyebrow raised. I live in a household where lowering the thermostat is a major battle, where my plans for my garden are being met with hesitation, where the man I love feels that a green expanse of completely useless lawn is a "source of pride".

Her: hobby farm in the country with a huge organic garden. Wood stove full of wood from their own land. Large pond in the front they stocked with trout two years ago. Her husband went out to tap their maple trees this weekend. Some years they raise meat chickens, and some of these chickens get traded for half an organic cow. My friend lenjoys her life in the country, but in her words, "It's my husband who is really in to all this, I could take it or leave it."

But but but but....that's my dream life! I feel like telling her, "Listen, if your husband ever goes all Big Love on you, give me a call."

Another helpful tip

I just made a coffee cake using the last of the raspberries I froze last summer. (Note to self: this year, freeze more!)

After the raspberries thawed, they were swimming in almost a cup of their own, delicious, no-sugar added juice, which had no place in my recipe. I figured the smartest, healthiest, and most frugal thing to do was drink that ruby red cup of wholesome goodness.

If you never hear from me again, it's because the heartburn killed me.

Who knew.



Edited to add: I have now moved on to making dinner, and I just made a huge pan of carmelized onions. I had to make such a large batch because I knew I would eat half of them straight out of the pan. That should help my heart burn! Ugh.......

Corporate KoolAid

Oh admit it, at one point or another we've all received some kind of cheesy, lame ass bit of "motivation and appreciation" from our employer. Be it a mug emblazened with the word "Quality", a sunglass holder with your corporate logo on it, or the distinction of being named "Accounting Employee of the Month" in a department of ten people so you knew your name would come up at least once a year, we've all been there.

And those three examples I gave? I have personally lived through all three. And about a hundred more. Can I interest you in some t-shirts? How about a lapel pin? No? Nobody?

So a few weeks ago, there was a big rah-rah announcement that we were changing reward programs! If somebody further up the food chain catches you doing extra good work, well then, by golly, you'll get points! They'll just whip out their stash of point cards and reward you on the spot! With points! Points to recognize your superlative awesomeness! And did I mention the points are on a card? Because everyone loves a card! It's all wacky and fun and impulsive and it TOTALLY makes up for the fact you're not getting a raise this year!

The sound track in the back of my head was on a steady loop: kill me, kill me, kill me, kill me...

Today I received a Card of Recognition for 500 points, I'm not sure if it was to thank me for being superlative or if it was for being awesome or if it was just for showing up every day, but whatever, it was given to me. It made my bowels cramp, but on the bright side, I figured now I could go on-line to the Points! Redemption! Site! and get in some heavy mocking time.

And discovered I could receive "In Defense of Food" by Michael Pollan for two hundred points.

I really hurt my jaw when I dropped it on my desk, but I was in shock. I could choose something COOL as my reward? I ordeed it right away, of course, and then clicked around the site, where other way cool things are waiting for me, just waiting for me to redeem my Awesome Points. For the first time in my career, I am actually impressed with a corporate reward program. I, umm, actually want to earn more of these points if there is such cool stuff involved.

But I still want my raise.

Ripe for a power outtage

ENOUGH with the freezing rain, already. Weather had been scary crazy all day, as has the driving; I was never so glad to walk through our front door as I was tonight. And! There's more coming! More frozen daggers of slippery death being spat from the sky! Oh boy!

And you just knoooooooow what else this type of storm means: a power outtage is a very, very real possibility. Truth be told, I actually love power outtages, I love the quiet, the dark, the slowly cooling house, all of it. But, umm, only in chunks of six hours or less.... let's not get crazy, it's not like I want to lose any of the stuff in my freezer. Six hours is just enough to enjoy the silence, get creative with meals (pickles for dinner!), admire the candle light, and feel grateful for your home's shelter. Longer than six hours is just a giant blister. (Oh, also a giant blister: when the power goes out over night while you're sleeping and so you wake up not to the usual obnoxious WAH! WAH! WAH! of the alarm clock, but to that slowly flashing, silent clock and you have no idea what time it is or how late for work you are. I hate that.)

The sound of the freezing rain battering my front window is getting louder. Think I will just put one of my candles in a handier spot, just in case....

I should have known that was too easy

Ok, so the totally free snowblower? The one my company bought eight years ago, used six times, and has now given to my husband?

Turns out they didn't exactly buy new.

The snowblower may, in fact, be as old as me. SERIOUSLY, I am not trying to be cute here. It is at least 30 years old, that much we were able to figure out on our own, and forty doesn't seem implausible. We tried looking this machine up on the internet, and also on several message boards. The responses so far have included: "Sorry, never heard of it", "Wow, you have one of those? Haven't heard of them in at least twenty years!" and so on.

Husbandly One has been puttering with it in the garage all weekend, and he HAS had it running, but he keeps coming back in to the house with assorted small gunked up pieces to clean and lubricate. (He has never owned a snowblower in his life and is soooo making this up as he goes along.) His clothes reek of gasoline and I guess I now have a new test for the enviro detergent: clean his smelly "garage" clothes. His hands are black, and if I see him blowing in to some small, grotty part one more time, his lips pressed firmly against it, I may never let him touch me again.

Oh, and they are calling for 35 cms of snow tomorrow. No pressure.



PS. Only one of the people I gave soap samples has tried it so far. She loved it and plans to make her own from now on.