The awesome life of Tasha...

The Sock, The Dog & The Aftermath

2020-03-22T14:48:00.002-07:00

At approximately 5pm Thursday March 19th an incident occurred.

It was an error on my part, but also WTF?

I was busy cooking dinner, chicken breasts with olive oil were on the stove. I was happily frying away when I went to flip a breast and a giant glob of boiling hot oil/chicken goo flew from my spatula and landed directly landed onto my socked foot. My foot began to feel the burn and I quickly pulled my sock off and threw it aside. Disaster averted. Or so I thought.

I continue to make dinner and the sock remains on the floor. As dinner is nearly done Apollo awakes from his nap, spots the sock and in turn has found himself a new toy. He picks up the sock and begins to play. I partake in this game for a few minutes letting him run and frolic with the sock. But dinner is nearly ready. Enough!

I use my best authoritative voice and say, “Apollo! Come. Sit. Drop!” He stops his zoomies around the kitchen island and follows the first two commands beautifully. He came. He sat. But he did not drop. He looked me directly in the eye and said “Not today, Lady. This sock will be mine! HA HA HA! You shall not ever have this sock!!! EVEER! F*@k you!” And then he swallowed the sock. He fucking swallowed a sock whole.

Okay, he really didn’t look me in the eyes and say those things. But I know that’s what he was thinking. And I actually didn’t see the sock swallowed but I wasn’t sure where it went. My first thought was, he fucking swallowed a sock… this crazy mother fucker! But how could that be? Clearly, I must be wrong, how could he just in one moment SWALLOW a sock? I search for this stupid sock, under the couch, on top of things (in case it was flung out of his mouth), everywhere. It is gone. It becomes evident that this crazy mother fucker did in fact swallow a whole fucking sock.

Shit the chicken! It is still on the stove, don’t worry it isn’t burnt. I don’t have to deal with burnt chicken and a mental dog, just a mental dog. I remove the breasts from the heat. They can wait until later.

The next obvious thing to do is go into my group chat with my ladies Amanda and Carla and tell them what has happened. Amanda can help, she is our health/animal guru of the crew. She offers up that perhaps I should give him peroxide to make him vomit. I immediately google this. One teaspoon for every ten pounds. No problem, I will give this a shot. Ten teaspoons for this hefty asshole gets measured out and poured down his throat, but some of it trickles down his chin and onto the floor. He retches, but nothing. I give it a few more minutes. Nothing. Maybe it is because of the lost peroxide down his dumb chin? I pour out a few more teaspoons and dump that down his throat. Nothing. I wait a bit longer… nothing. I google “how long does it take for a dog to barf after peroxide”… the answer up to twenty minutes.

Tweny minutes comes and goes. It is apparent this dog is planning on keeping the sock. Everyone kind of agrees that this 100lbs of moron dog will likely just poop the sock out. He isn’t upset by the sock. In fact, I think he is pleased he won the game. He got the sock.

The next morning I watch him outside, trying to see if the sock will come out his backside, but I see nothing. I text Gus from work later and ask him to monitor his poop (the dog’s not his own). Of course, I am sure that the 16 year old pretended to not read that and there was no monitoring of any bowel movements.

Friday night there are lots of snacks and drinks. Apollo takes part in the snacks, he is in heaven. He is happy and being himself, I am convinced that the sock has passed.

Saturday morning there is a definite odor to the dog. He is GASSY! PEW! I can barely stand to be around him when this gas escapes his rump. And then he barfs. GAWD. That smells too. But he goes outside and has a normal poop and is acting like a complete goof. Everything is seemingly normal.

At 3:23am on Sunday morning I was awaken by the ever-dreaded sound of a dog heaving. I leapt from the bed, threw on my robe and unfortunately got lost in the dark. Where the fuck am I? While pulling on my robe I lost all sense of direction and had no idea where I was in the room. Finally I feel my way to the light switch… flick it and get the dog out of his bed. I herd him towards the door, but he is pretty insistent he would like to barf more in my room. I do successfully get him out of the room before he barfs further, but he does leave a trail of spew from the bathroom to the door.

I push him out the door. I put on some boots and am waiting to see if the sock comes out. He quickly runs to the yard and begins a very loud stream of urine, then squats to take a… Shit! I need to pee! I can’t stand here any longer to monitor, I must get to the bathroom. I quickly pee and then grab my phone. Too late. Apollo has opened the sliding door and is back in the house. Well, this won’t stop me. I use my phone for a flashlight and go to see if he has pooped the sock out in the yard. It is easier than I thought to find the poop. The ground is frozen and the fresh excrement is steamy. I look, nope no sock. But a normal BM. Hmmm. Maybe the barf was just because of the extra snacks on Friday night? Back to the house we go.

I get in the bedroom and immediately begin to dry heave. THE SMELL… OH. MY. GOD. Imagine you are driving along a hot country road in July you need a bathroom; you see a park ahead with an outhouse… you stop at this outhouse. Damn it! They are spreading liquid manure in the field beside it, the outhouse has a 16-day old decaying skunk in it and the whole interior is covered in feces. That would smell like heaven compared to what I was smelling. Oh my god… I am definitely going to barf. I am retching and retching. I go to clean up the source of this god-awful smell…. THE SOCK!!!

Now this sock disappeared at 5pm on Thursday it is now 3:30am on Sunday. This sock was trapped in Apollo’s intestine for nearly three days. I don’t recommend smelling anything that has been trapped in his intestines to anyone. I could bottle that and make weapons of mass destruction.

I retch my way through the cleanup and dispose of the much anticipated sock. It was not a good night. Turns out I won the game of who gets the sock… fuck me.

So the lesson here is, always wear protective footwear while cooking dinner.

Well... I Guess That Was Summer

2017-09-08T09:15:00.000-07:00

I guess that’s it. We can kiss summer goodbye. Kids are all back at school, nights are cool and it is time to get back to a regular routine. Although we cannot really call what we have experienced for the last two and a half months summer, I would call it a long spring with some (a total of eight, I think?) nice hot days and A LOT of rain. I think we all feel a little soggy and groggy after that many rainy days.

I had one week off during the “summer,” the second last week of August. I was very lucky that my one and only beach day I had planned was on one of those nice eight days we were graced with, August 21st, the day of the eclipse. We lucked out too, as a party of three decided to park themselves beside us on Station Beach in Kincardine with eclipse glasses! So instead of burning our retinas out, as the three teenage boys that I had with me seemed intent on doing, we got to see the eclipse through a nice safe solar filter. All of our retinas are intact and working nicely (even though we all, present company guilty as well, attempted to look directly into the sun repeatedly).

Something else kind of momentous happened to the Grafos household this summer too. For those of you who follow along with my ramblings, you may remember a story of the family pets, which at present time was down to a homicidal cat and a sweet little dog. Well, the sweet little dog, Rocco, got sick. And I got scared. Scared witless.

I had been thinking about getting a puppy in the coming year. But with Rocco being sick I was beginning to think sooner rather than later would be a good time. Not that I was looking to replace Rocco, I just know that I would have not dealt well with not having my beloved little Rocco around. I would end up running out and grabbing the first puppy I saw (or as history shows, possibly a rodent or feline) to help me feel better. As I have learned from my killer cat, getting the first cute furry creature you see isn’t always the best idea.

I had already been researching what kind of puppy I wanted and I was pretty sure I wanted another poodle cross. Rocco is a Beagle x Poodle. I was thinking Big Dog x Poodle. As I was doing this research, I came across a picture of a puppy that was almost too cute to be even real. I fell in love. I changed my mind on what kind of dog I wanted after seeing him. I had my heart set on this puppy, but with Rocco being sick and not getting better, I didn’t want to add any stress to his situation by bringing a puppy home. I had already contacted the breeder just to find out more about the breed and when she would be expecting another litter.

I am sure you can guess how this narrative is going to unfold… I have a puppy!

I am happy to say that after two months of suffering, Rocco is now almost as good as new! When we decided to get the puppy, it was thought that Rocco was only suffering from allergies, as this diagnosis was pretty easy to deal with, I decided to see if the puppy was still available and ended up bringing him home 3 days later.

Rocco didn’t improve with the allergy medication and in fact got worse. Finally it was discovered that he had a severe infection in his nasal passages. After three weeks of antibiotics, he is running around playing with the puppy… sometimes.

Now, when I say puppy, you probably are thinking, small wee dog. My puppy is not wee by any stretch of the imagination. He is a giant already. He is now officially five months old and weighs in at a whopping 60 + pounds. We can expect him to about double his current size. So, as you can imagine, I have my hands full. A 60lb baby who hasn’t quite figured out that he is ginormous… and still growing.

My hands are full, but so is my heart. I have the best son in the world, two loving, sweet dogs, and a barbaric cat. What more could a girl ask for?!

Summer Buggin'

2017-07-13T06:50:00.001-07:00

Here it is… the season I wait all year for, summer! For many this means heading into the great outdoors with vehicles packed to the brim with sleeping bags, food and tents. For me, the great outdoors is best enjoyed knowing that I have a cozy bed (that isn’t inflated with air) with quality sheets in a shelter that is not made of cloth waiting for me. I like solid walls, windows made of glass, electricity and running water, all of these things are fantastic.

The idea of camping appeals to me; enjoying the sun while floating in a lake all day - then as the air cools and night approaches, cold beverages around a fire. Sounds great! The reality of it is there is no bathroom, no electricity, and there are bugs, lots of bugs. So camping is not great, camping sucks. During the day I can handle walking to a public washroom to use the facilities, but who wants to wake up in the night and walk anywhere… the other option, squatting. Ugh. I told you this camping thing is not great. And did I mention there are bugs? Lots of them!

Clearly the whole wilderness lover thing skipped a generation with me. My mom grew up in the 60’s and is nature’s best friend. She doesn’t even kill spiders, she rehomes them. I do not rehome spiders. I kill them with the biggest object available so that I do not get any disgusting part of an arachnid near me. I squish them dead, with no remorse. When my mom witnesses my vengeance upon a spider, she is horrified. And then tries to tell me spiders are my friends, they help keep the other bug populations down. Whatever, I am not falling for that malarkey. Clearly those little maniacs are out to get me.

It is not just a love a spiders that classifies my mother as a nature lover, she is the real deal. She and my step father live off grid, in a cabin; no running water, no hydro, in Northern Saskatchewan. It is a rustic cabin with solar power to operate the little electricity they need (to charge cell phones, computers, etc.), propane powered fridge and stove and wood stove for heat in the winter. There is a water tank in the loft, which they fill directly from the lake they live on, that they filter for drinking water, dishes, and brushing teeth. Have to use the loo? Then you have to head outside to the bathhouse to use the composting toilet. So for me this is kind of like camping, not so bad in the day, but nighttime, forget about it! Oh and guess what?! There are bugs… BIG bugs that take enjoyment in harassing and taking
chunks out of you.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I do love nature. I love birds, ducks, bunnies, deer, and pretty much any furry mammal or feathered friend. But put anything with transparent wings or more than four legs in front of me, I am out! I would definitely be one of those people that would crash my vehicle because some creepy 8-legged creature descended upon me from the rear-view mirror. I would much rather sit in my Jeep with a hungry bear or even a snake than to have some gross tarantula coming at me. (A tarantula in my world is any insect bigger than a nickel.)

Of course now, with all the rain we have withstood we are sure to experience in an influx of the bug population too. Those creepy crawlies seem to flourish in the damp dreary weather. And whatever ones don’t enjoy the rain, try to take refuge in our homes. Mosquitos are flying rampant and the ants and spiders are hightailing into our personal indoor spaces, trying to evict us from our own quarters. Ugh! Bugs are the worst!

I can’t claim to be a totally heartless insect hater. I do try to help our faltering bee population. I have let the dandelions grow freely in the lawn, I have wild flower garden seeds planted, AND I have even saved a bee in distress by giving him water, which I delivered delicately from a leaf. (Thanks, Ruth; I learned that one from one of your Facebook posts!) See, I am not a complete merciless bug assassin. I do grant clemency to some of the more tragic creepy-crawly cases.

When all is said and done summer passes us by in the blink of an eye. Before we know it days will be getting shorter once again and my beloved sunny season will be coming to an end. I do try my best not to complain during the, what seems to be the very short, dog days of summer. I love the heat and it would be a rare day if you ever heard me grumble about that. I do, clearly, complain about some of things that come along with the warm weather… primarily bugs. But nothing beats the warm summer air and I only wish we could enjoy for more than a couple months out of the year, bugs or not.

Another School Year Draws to an End

2017-05-30T17:25:00.001-07:00

Can you believe another school year is about to come to an end? I know I can hardly believe the little kidlettes are finishing up serving their 10 months’ hard time in the joints. Saying goodbye to teachers, textbooks and homework within a few short weeks! For me, June marks the last month that I will be the mother to an elementary school student. Come September the boy hits grade 9, off to secondary school and leaving those primary years behind. And I become the mom of an official teenager in high school. I am not sure how he is getting older… yet I seem to be remaining the same age?!

That very first day of junior kindergarten doesn’t feel like it was all that long ago. He was so cute, dressed in his little cargo shorts, nice button up, wee Nikes on his feet, and tying the whole look together with a Lightning McQueen backpack and watch; he was taking fashion to a whole new level. Although dressed to the nines and feelin’ fine before we got to the school, the day took a quick nose dive once we opened those double steel doors and stepped through into the eminent doom behind them.

Bert (names in this story have been changed to protect the innocent, at his request) was only 3 years old that very first day. Only out of diapers for a brief period of time and only stopped napping a couple months prior, Gu… I mean Bert, was only somewhat prepared for a full day away from home and mom. He had been enrolled in daycare for about a year before to try and prepare him. I thought that would be enough, I was wrong. I had far underestimated the time he would need to prepare.

As I attempted to drop him off with his class that warm September morning, Gus Bert, decided he was leaving with me. He was crying, begging me not to leave him. Okay, what’s the big deal? I will just take him back home with me. Clearly 3 years old is too young to start school… and really how important is JK?

Apparently, that was not the appropriate response. The teacher quickly intervened, prying the hysterical little being from me and quickly whisking him away. The door was firmly closed between us, so that only his pint-sized face, full of horror, was visible through that wire veined window in the door. The water works were not only flowing from my boy, but tears were freely flowing from my eye holes too. I sullenly made my way back to the Jeep to go back home and await 3pm when we could be reunited once again.

Those torturous mornings lasted a few weeks. Then a wonderful teacher, Mrs. Barnes, along with the Fabulous (yes, that deserves a capital F) EA, Ms. Smit, took over the class. From that day forward, G.. Bert, did not give a flying fig whether I was there or not. It was all about Mrs. Barnes and Ms. Smit from then on in.

He was a handful and a ham. Ms. Smit would often take me aside after school to tell me about his daily antics. One particular story, which I plan on telling at his wedding, started with Bert having to take a poop.

Gus, I mean Bert, had to go see a man about a horse while at school. The JKs have their own bathroom, so he excused himself to use the facilities and went about handling his business. When he had completed the task, he kindly asked Ms. Smit to "wipe his butt". She explained to him that he was a big boy and at school he would have to wipe his own butt. Bert, insisted that she comply with his wishes and get wiping. This of course, led to the same response. He then informed Ms. Smit that he would not be returning to school as "you people can't even help a kid wipe his butt". The struggle!

He did recover from having to wipe his own butt at school and frankly, he's probably a pro at it now. Ms. Smit taught him a valuable lesson that day…. No matter what the task is, you can do it! Wiping your own butt isn’t nearly the daunting task it seems to be when you are just 3 – and even a 3 year old can do it when they have the right motivation.

And now that I am the proud mother of a boy who can indeed tackle his own hygiene, I can reflect on the days when he was just a wee little man and relied on the women in his life to help him with even, what may now seem, the simplest of tasks. He is nearly self-sufficient, but not totally. That small “not totally” part is what being a mom is all about. You never totally give up that role of being needed in some way, big or small.

Gus (now that that whole poop thing belongs to Bert and not Gus, I can freely say his name) will be starting a new chapter in his life come September. He seems to be handling it quite well. I, on the other hand, ugh, high school!! However, I am fairly certain between his upbringing at home and his teachers at Egremont, he is a reasonably polite and well-behaved kid, so I hope I don’t have too much to worry about. But – if I am wrong, and you see Gus up to some shenanigans, do this mom a solid and hook a sister up with the lowdown.

A Bird, a pig, and a Cat.... with a faithful Dog.

2017-04-25T12:52:00.001-07:00

We once had a guinea pig. We got the guinea pig after my budgie was found belly up one morning. Although I didn’t do much else than complain about the mess and the noise of my beloved Bananas (the budgie), I missed the little guy when he met his end. Bananas was a “Fur & Feather” find from about 6 years previous, so as the Spring edition of the show was approaching, I was expecting to purchase another feathered friend.

My first mistake was taking my son with me to the show. My second mistake was also taking my nephew along. We quickly bypassed all the cute little birds and bee lined it to furry creatures. And I wish that meant, a nice puppy, maybe even a little donkey or a goat (no one would notice a small barnyard animal living in my shed in my suburban crescent would they?). But alas, no, we did not get a bird or even a puppy. What was it that so enthralled the boys? A guinea pig, that’s what. Sure, he was kinda creepy at first, a hairy rodent living in my house. But the more you looked at him, the more he became sort of cute. The novelty wore off real quick, however. His name was Austin and he was awful. Loud – Messy – Disgusting - Scared of everything. Gus pretty much ignored him and I was left to clean the cage and wake up to his daily squawks to feed him.

Then one glorious summer day about a year and a half later, my friend fell in love with Austin. I told her to be my guest take him home…. Please. She was over the moon, she loved the rodent! I asked Gus if that was okay, he said, and I quote “Yeah, okay, that’s fine.” And a few hours later Austin was out the door on his way to his new home. I look over to Gus as Austin was heading south on Highway 6 and I was shocked to see him silently crying. My heart stopped, was he hurt, what had happened? “What happened” was he was heartbroken I had given his pet away! “What?! You said you didn’t mind?” To which he responded, “I thought you were joking.” Well, doggone it. There goes my mother of the year award, right?

I felt like a huge failure. I explained to him that he hadn’t been overly helpful in caring for the pig… to which he did probably the worst thing you can do to a mom. He said, “I understand, mom. It’s okay.” Well, shitake mushrooms! Apparently I had given his beloved pet away… that he only loved from afar, like really afar.

So now what do I do? Hours have passed and Gus sits crying; tears slowly trailing down his face, him not making a sound. Ugh. How do I make this better? I start panicking… Gus, I will get you a kitten! That did it. Tears stopped and that frown turned upside down.

But wait… what had I said? Did I say I was getting him a CAT? Good gravy… what am I going to do? A few months pass and Gus brings up the imminent arrival of our new kitten often. DRAT!

While in Orangeville doing some shopping, we pass by the SPCA. I am reminded of the time we try to adopt a little wiener dog – but were denied. The reason being they felt that 8 year old Gus would be too intimidating to the dog. My hopes were up! We would go in, try to adopt a cat; they would see that Gus had grown into a truly menacing 11 year old and we would be denied yet again. Ahhh sweet victory!

We go into the SPCA, Gus sees a cat, falls in love. We fill in the adoption papers and guess what? For cats they have same day adoption. No waiting period. Well, son of a biscuit, we came home with a cat.

This cat was cute. I liked him. Gus took care of him, changing litter, feeding him, all was under control. Then, he ventured further and further outdoors, embracing his inner predator ways. We soon came to realize what a murderous mongrel he really was. Under our deck became his dumping ground for the fragmented and tortured bodies… everything from wild turkeys (I am not kidding) to a variety of rodents.

We now harbour this hardened criminal in our home. He escapes nearly daily and we cannot be held accountable for abominable actions. He kills and eats his prey. It is disgusting. He won’t go near anyone but Gus or me. If there is company in the house, he is hidden deep within the furthest corner of the basement or a closet. God help us if we try to put him into his cat carrier to take him to the vet (this was attempted once and I decided my life was more valuable than trying to get him in this cat bag) – it can’t be done. Last year there was a fox in my yard. I was scared for the fox, not the cat.

Now, I am stuck with a cat that loves me above all. We have gone from a bird to a pig to a cat. And sometimes I yearn for the days when it was only bird or pig poop that I cleaned and not carcasses.

I should give an honourable mention to our beloved Rocco, who through all of these small pests has been our faithful furry friend. Half beagle, half poodle and always full of love, he has been a good friend to the bird, by ignoring him, to the pig, by not eating him, and to the cat, clearly or the cat would have eaten him.

Ruffling my Feathers

2014-05-30T20:51:00.000-07:00

I received my first “call from the principal” last week. He informed me that Gus had been in a fight. I am pretty sure my “I don’t give a @#$*” attitude surrounding the call did not go unnoticed.

However, I know my kid and if he got in a fight, well 1 of two things happened 1) his little fiery Greek temper reared its ugly head (that’s hereditary – so to be fair how can you get mad at a kid for his heritage??) or 2) someone really pissed him off.

It seems it was the latter. It all had to do with a ball. I would venture to guess that this is what most 10 year old boys fight over; ball possession. Seems the “victim” of this fight stole a ball and wouldn’t give it back when asked politely and then not so politely with a shove as he walked away. As it were, it came to fisticuffs.

Later, when having the “talk” about the altercation, Gus explained to me, that after the first push by him, the other boy pushed him to the ground and started wailing on him… and when the dukes came out, Gus had no idea what he was supposed to do – being his first fight and all – so he decided to punch the kid in the face until he could get back up. Not a bad strategy.

I was informed that next time the consequences for Gus would be much more “severe”. Oh no. Please, not more severe. Even as I pretended to be upset when speaking to Gus, I had a hard time mustering the gumption. He is a 10 year old boy! And I got my first “call” home at the end of grade 5, not bad by my books.

Here’s something else I find concerning at school. “The Book”.

The Book is what grade 5 students use to learn about the Human Body. I am not sure who wrote this book, personally, I believe it may have been Larry Flynt. The Book gave Gus all sorts of graphic information that I would like to thank the school system for. Pretty sure a 10 year old doesn’t need to know half of the X-Rated material my kid came home with.

While cooking dinner one night, Gus came to me and informed me that he now knows that babies do not come from the priest doing magic at your wedding. Like heck, they don’t! Of course that was true. Darn school board. Then I had endure his version of how babies are made. Let’s just leave it at it wasn’t overly accurate and he left it at the woman then has to fertilize the egg the man gave her. Hmmmm…. Close.

I like my version better. The priest waves his magic wand… and voila a baby is planted, which is then whisked out of the mother’s tummy by a doctor’s magic wand. Makes much more sense and is a much more pleasant visual for a mother and son conversation.

But, the kid no longer believes me. He now knows the technicality of it all. And a further credit to the school system, thank you for providing my 10 year old with the embellishing words to further describe this process. Because that is what every mother wants to hear, her 10 year old speaking poetically of sex.

I have also even learned a few new words from The Book via Gus. I would consider a protest burning of The Book if there are any other mothers out there that care to join me?

Completely off the topic of school, but sticking to the topic of things that irk me… The neighbour’s pool has consistently caused me a wee bit of resentment and the occasional hissy fit. Not so much the actual pool, but the pump house that goes along with it. Up until late last summer, when the good lord took mercy upon me and decided to end that miserable pump’s life, it sounded like a jet engine outside my bedroom window. When that thing bit the bullet, it was sweet relief.

The new pump is much more serene… babbling brook, rather than AK47. But I do have to say, that it still will wake me or cause me some sleeplessness as I decide if that really is the pump outside my window or a thieving sneak who is rustling grocery bags in my room as I lay in attempted rest. For the amount of use the pool gets and the grief that it causes me (I am choosing to ignore the fact that I, in my younger new home-owner days, may have caused some indisposition upon my neighbours… that is in the past. Let bygones be bygones, right!?) I should have full access to that pool. They may as well just cut a gate for us in the fence. That sure would be a lot easier for me for when I throw the pool parties that I plan to hold as soon as they grant me that 24-7 access.

Of course, I have many more vexing matters that are floating around in my old noggin… and I really wish I could share them all with you, but I am afraid that some may incriminate me. And I fear the repercussions of over sharing may get my feathers ruffled even further.

2014-02-12T16:56:00.001-08:00

Hot Topics!

Each night, before my eyes close for my much needed beauty sleep, I take glance at the CBC news app on my phone. I feel this is my way of staying abreast of things and being in the know. Not that I know all that much, most of what I learn is through the headlines. I figure I’m smart enough to figure out how the rest of the story goes from there.

This past weekend was no different from my other evenings.. I needed that one look to see what had transpired over the day throughout the world…. and this just added to the ambiance of my already craptastic weekend.

Guess who the top story was about? I imagine you could take two guesses and get it right. No, it wasn’t Justin Bieber, but yes, it was our other infamous Canadian, Rob Ford. Sends a shiver through me even saying the name in my head.

Seriously, can we just get rid of this buffoon? The story, of course, was about how RF was trying to have the Rainbow flag removed from outside Toronto City Hall. Because in his oh so respected opinion, the games are about patriotism, not… ? Not what Rob Ford, inclusion, civil rights, equality??? Thanks for your two cents, you bumbling idiot. Thankfully, now Rob Ford can add his anti-LGBT stance to his platform. Because the platform was a little shaky with the drunken misconduct, crack smoking, and consorting with gang affiliates. Thanks for that, big guy.

The second top story was about Woody Allen. Does anyone believe him when he says he did not molest his daughter? He married (or had/has a relationship with) his step-daughter whom he raised for crackin' ice! Clearly the family line is not too solid for this guy to cross. I have never understood the allure to Woody Allen. He looks like a creep, obviously IS a creep and I have NO idea what his movies are about.

Now, to veer slightly away from the top two news stories of the weekend of

February 8th… Let’s get back to the previously mentioned JB. The Biebs. Why is everyone so surprised about the behaviour of an obscenely rich, 19 year old boy?? Holy crap, if there had been cameras on me when I was 19, I could likely have put ol’ JB to shame. And just to put things into perspective:
When the life of Justin began going downhill, the whole spitting off the balcony thing…. I was discussing this in front of my then 9 year old son with his father. I said I was sure I had done a lot worse than that, Johnny said at 19 he had puked off a balcony… Gus the 9 year old, pipes up and says, I peed off a balcony last month. WHAT?! Yep, my son while on a weekend vacation with his grandmother and cousins, peed off the resort balcony. Why? Because the cousin was taking too long and he had to go. I will not divulge the location of this hotel, but I do apologise to the people that were on the first and second floors below my son. And please don’t mention this to Yaya she may never take him away again… Ugh.

Oh and JB, you have been one upped by a 9 year old. Who's the bad ass now??

So let’s sum this up… The Biebs… big deal!!! He just needs to learn to be a little more incognito about his shenanigans, maybe hire a stunt double that goes to church and tea socials while he is at the ‘rippers gettin his freak on. Rob Ford… Please, please go away. And I’ve already forgotten about the other guy.

Thank you news for being there, making sure I am fully aware of all of these important happenings.

The Family Jewels

2013-12-03T10:33:00.001-08:00

I know, I know, I am super slow! Thank you for understanding that this busy mom does not often find moments of creativity to allow me to speak to you, my most favourite readers. But alas, the time has come when my ingenuity can no longer stay contained. The wordage within me must be purged.

I often preface what I am about to spill to you with a little Parental Advisory notice – I have problems containing my potty mouth… and I don’t always stick to the high road to keep my lady-ness in tact. Today, I am afraid, is no better, and in fact you may want to stop reading right here.

If you are reading this – then you decided to throw caution to the wind, live on the edge and dance with me in a world filled with profanity and inappropriateness. Congratulations, you dirty thing.

So… what should we discuss now? Don’t worry - I know just the thing! Balls.

Yep, Balls and I am not talking sports. But you can drag your mind out of the gutter, this is a metaphoric conversation, not a literal one. Sheesh, you really are dirty.

This past couple of weeks I have been reminded and have discussed the importance of a good set of kahunas. You don’t know how vital these little instruments are until you see someone without any. And what’s worse, a person who pretends theirs are bigger than yours until a little confrontation and VOOM! No balls. Gone!

I have been described as sassy (I know you are thinking, does she mean bitchy? And yes, I do, but Sassy is a more apt description, thank you very much) and fiery, both of which I can agree to. And I consider my family jewels to be in tact and fairly operational. I have them and I am not afraid to use them. I don’t just whip them out though; they stay hidden until necessary. But when they come out, stand back. There is a world of hurt coming.

I will stand up for myself, family and friends and god help you, my son. That there, is a no holds barred session, my marbles grow by leaps and bounds, in fact I become invincible. Every mother worth her salt can attest to that. But some may not take it to the lengths I do, but whatever, that’s her business not mine. Now I am not proud to admit it, but lets just say I have made children and old men alike, quiver in fear. (OK, I am a little proud, but that’s just the old gems shining through)

Having established that I have a functioning set, let’s talk about your nuggets. You fall into one of three categories;

1. You are just fine. The bullocks are working and on the job.

2. You pretend you have a nice twosome to work with, until it comes down to it then they retreat.

3. You don’t have any.

Lets address number 3 first: I am pretty sure we all can agree, if you don’t have any, you don’t have any. You are just a sackless mess. I don’t have any advice for you, except grow some - at least a little pair.

Ok here is the complicated one #2 – The Receding Ball Syndrome. These people drive me nuts (no pun intended, really). They talk a big game, then when it comes down to it, pffft! A big disappointment. I would venture to say that these people are worse than the ball-less ones. At least they know where they stand, you know where they stand…in a corner, stones free. You know not to have the guy without any cracker jacks backing you. Then the guy who pretends he has a nice solid set gets your back… where does that get you? Nowhere, cause when push comes to shove, the set is firmly tucked and you are on your own once again.

And the people in the first category have nothing to worry about. Being Ballsy is nothing to shy from. If you can’t stand up for yourself, your beliefs, your family, etc. who the hell is going to?! You go on with your bad self and live life, cause you are doing just fine.

So, the ultimate moral of this story is learn to love and embrace your balls. Don’t be afraid to let them show. Be strong, be proud and let them hang. (sorry, couldn’t resist)

My life would suck without you.

2013-06-27T10:20:00.000-07:00

I know, I know... I have been very delinquent in my writings. I can use the old excuse that I have been too busy, which I do, but really I think the problem lies within the fact that I am never home! I find myself on the road travelling to and fro and if I could simply dictate my thoughts and have them delivered here to you, you would be up-to-date on my goings on. Which, let me tell you, really are not all that exciting. And on second thought, if I were to dictate while driving you may get more than you bargained for, hearing exactly how un-classy this mouth of mine is. Believe me, I can throw it down with the best of 'em!

Speaking of driving... Here is what has inspired me to get back at these keys and give you something to read. For those of you who know me, you know that I have been driving what I have referred to as a "Clown Car" for the past 8 months. A car, that while sitting in, I felt like a giant, all 5 foot 3 inches of me was crammed into this little beast.

I think my sister, Harmony, may recall a certain incident in the driveway on December 31st 2012, where we all (by all I mean, Harmony, Gus (#1 Son), Ethan (1 of my 2 Favourite Nephews), Rocco (20lb Wonder Dog) and myself) tried to take a drive to Orangeville with Harmony's suitcase, my overnight bag, ok - it isn't the smallest, but sure as heck isn't a full sized suitcase, and 2 backpacks.

Let me tell you, Harmony heard her share of colourful language, while my boys watched in horror as their Mom/Auntie; respectively, threw the biggest adult temper tantrum ever. Suitcases were flying, Eff bombs were flying, it was all hanging loose right there on old Church Crescent for all to see. It was a spectacle to watch me wrangle our personal belongings and children to get us to Orangeville.

Let's just sum it up by saying, the boys each sat with some sort of case of alcoholic beverage on their lap while a dog sat atop a backpack between them. Inappropriate? Yes, probably. Necessary? Sadly, yes.

I suffered through 5 more months with my minuscule wee vehicle, right through hockey season, where I wrestled with Hockey bags and battled snowy roads. And I thought I might be ok. I thought I might make it in my little car. That was until soccer season hit. When I went to put my most loved soccer chair into the car... and it didn't fit!!! WHAT THE HECK!? It is a fold up chair. I either had to put the seats down, slide it in the backseat or angle it in just so to the back and listen to it rattle against the window while driving.

This was pushing me precariously close to my breaking point, but I was battling through it…. For a couple of weeks. Then one sunny afternoon, Gus & I decided that I had neglected the little Nissan for long enough, we were going to give the stupid thing a thorough cleaning. During which time, I nearly managed to concuss myself multiple times while trying to maneuver the vacuum around the car. That was it! Gus and I packed up and headed to Hanover Chrysler Dodge Jeep, I was feeling a need to be reunite with my true love… JEEP.

My favourite car salesman EVER, Mitchell Fletcher, had to do a bit of work, but he did it, he got me out of the Nissan and into a beautiful, dark silver, JEEP Wrangler Sahara Unlimited. She is truly a thing of beauty.

I was stupid for telling the Jeep goodbye. Maybe I was wrong to trade her in. I know I have issues. But that trade in was pretty messed up too. Either way I found out I am nothing without you…

Cause we belong together now!

I am completely head over heels in love with my Jeep. She is so pretty and she looks absolutely FAB in my driveway.

Forever united here. You got a piece of me. My life would suck without you.

I love you Jeep.

From Ma'am to Bananas

2013-02-27T20:04:00.000-08:00

I am sitting precariously atop of "the hill". I arrived there this week. And I ask you to please not make any sudden movements, noise or carry on foolishly while I am teetering there. I wouldn't want to drop suddenly over the hill! My birthday, a fairly momentous one, has left me looking down from my high perch at all the young'ns, reminiscing of the carefree days of my youth.

Although, to perfectly honest, I still feel like a "young adult" and I wonder when the hell am I going to feel like a grown up? I mean, I do have a pretty grown up life. I have a child. I have a house. I have a car. I buy my own diamonds and I buy my own rings. The shoes on my feet, I bought it. All the women who are independent, throw your hands up at me. Sorry, I got a bit carried away there. I had to represent for all us honey's who's makin money... and again, carried away. Back to it... What do grown ups do, how do they feel? Cause this old gal sure doesn't feel like an old gal.

Some of my friends who are actually older than me (and believe me there aren't many!) give me hope. They don't really seem all that grown up to me either. (Sorry or you're welcome?) We still have fun. We know how to throw back a few. We know how to liven up a party. And I still think we should be referred to as "girls", damn it. Or old broad, whichever, just please don't call me a ma'am. Ma'am scares me. Like if I were to walk onto a bus, they'd offer me their seat scares me. Or help me carry my paper bag of groceries across the street scares me. Ma'am is a name reserved for ladies with a blue tinted perm. Ladies wearing a smart coat with a fur collar and a sparkly brooch.

Now that I am commuting an hour to and from work each day, I find that I have a lot of time to think. Which in some cases can be good and some, well, not so good. One thing I do often think of is the question I posed earlier, when does one begin to feel like an adult? Of course another serious thought that I can't shake is I have just realized that there must be banana farms somewhere. I am disturbed that I never gave bananas serious thought before this year. In the back of my mind I imagined bananas growing wildly in the rain forests, with locals gathering them and shipping them overseas for our enjoyment. I cannot believe that I was living in a banana fog. Bananas have to grow on farms, I mean we, as a population, eat a lot of bananas! Why have I never seen a commercial from a banana farm? I have seen orange groves, apple orchards, grapes, cranberries, but where the heck are the bananas? And to be honest I refuse to google it. I don't want to shatter my banana dream.

How did I get to bananas? I was talking about age. Oh... My.... it must be happening. I must be starting to show my age. You don't just go off on a banana tangent while talking about aging do you? That's something an old person would do isn't it? Guess I better beef up on the ginko and the other old people herbs and vitamins. My mind must be starting to slip.

I have mentioned in another writing to you my thoughts on botox and injectable fillers and again I would like to point out, if you are looking to get me a belated birthday gift, I am open to receiving medical cosmetics. Very open. Maybe if I got some botox my brain would rest for a bit. Then I could stop thinking about bananas and start thinking about young people things again, like.... oh no. What do young people think about? I must be old, because I immediately thought of Lego and Hot Wheels when trying to think "young". Yikes, I need to get out more.

All kidding aside, I still feel like a Spring Chicken. And I am going to stay that way for as long as I can. Life is about enjoyment. And I do enjoy my life. I have great friends, the best son EVER and I love my family. I never want to feel old, I will hang onto whatever piece of youth I have until the very end! It's the only way to live, live for what is good and what makes you happy!

Sorry, I got all serious there, but I do want to thank you all so much for taking time to read my little rants. I forget how much I love to write and really must make sure that I take more time to do it!!! Maybe it will keep me even younger ;)

Frosty Air, My A$$

2012-12-19T17:48:00.000-08:00

Poor Gus, so sick he couldn't even stay awake while I got my hair done!

I don't think I keep my wintery thoughts inside, but in case you are unaware, I dislike cold. I dislike snow. I dislike dry skin. I dislike static. I am not a huge fan of winter. I could live in a tropical locale very happily. But, I am Canadian. No hopes for tropics here.

I have to tell you, however, my distaste for frosty weather pushed aside.... this weather has got to go. An Ontario winter shouldn't be, as December draws to the end, seeing the plus side of the thermometer. That mercury needs to take a drastic dip. And quickly!

My poor wee man, Gus, is down and out. Sicker than I have ever seen him. Not just the man cold either, he is legit ill. Germs have run rampant in this balmy wintery weather and infected him with a triple threat. Bad enough he has caught the dreaded influenza virus (and by Influenza I don't mean the gastrointestinal version, I mean the full blown fever, shakes, runny nose, drippy eyes, body aches, etc) but he decided to throw Strep Throat and Bronchitis in there too, just for extra kicks.

This little trio has wreaked havoc in my home in 4 excruciatingly long days. A trip to the emerge department on Sunday discovered he likely had strep, but we were waiting until the results before meds. However, when that little chest of his started to seize up, we went for a four hour trip to the local hospital on Monday night (yeah, 4 hours) to discover bronchitis, then today they confirmed the strep. Explains why the little guy can't stay awake for more than an hour!

My dear son was kind enough to share with me too. I think I am suffering from the Man Cold though. With Gus out of play, I actually had to empty the dishwasher MYSELF. I flipping hate that job. That's Gus' job, but I didn't think I should wake him from his fevered slumber to put away dishes.

It wasn't without moaning and groaning that I did this dreaded task. I was like a full blown man, in the midst of a cold, trying to maneuver around the kitchen. Ugh, argh, ohhh, wahh. I needed Pam to bring the Nyquil for sure. I did manage to grudgingly and painfully slowly get the dishes put into their respective places. And in the process I actually started to feel a little better. I guess laying on the couch whining really doesn't make you better. Who knew?! With my new found dish putting away energy I actually managed to accomplish a few more chores too. And get a tiny spring in my step. I don't want to say I am working at 100%, I am not there yet, but I am doing my best to fight this bug.

I am going to continue to complain about it, however. I wouldn't want the man cold to be wasted on me.

So as our conversation began... Let's get this winter crackin already! We want some iciness to freeze the shiznit right out of the germs. Put those pestering bugs to bed and say sayonara until the big defrost. I hate to wish for a temperature cold enough to freeze my you know what, but enough already! Bring it Winter, show us what you've got!

And really, a green Christmas? C'mon that's for wimps, not us tough Ontario residents. Dump it on us, give a festive White Christmas and murder those frickin parasites... and on that happy note, I wish you all a very Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Festive Kwanzaa, or whatever your winter celebration may be, I hope it is the very best it can be!!!

All I want for Christmas is... Two Units of Botox.

2012-11-20T20:45:00.001-08:00

If I had the means (and/or the nerve) I would totally be pumped full of neuro toxins. May not sound that attractive, but heck yeah, I would do it. I think my forehead would appreciate a little relaxing.

And if it weren't for a stinking anaphylactic allergy to muscle relaxants I would absolutely give it a shot. Ha! No pun intended. And yet, even with the threat of death, it still crosses my mind at least once a week that I should look into injecting my face full of botulinum toxin type A. And really, are muscle relaxants and botulism in the same family?

But as I sit here typing away, Coco Loves IceT has come on the TV. Have you seen this show? Seriously what the heck?! Coco is apparently 33. I was so shocked that I had to Google her. She is, in fact, 33. (And just as a side note, IceT is 54! Holy senior citizen! Still, to this day, when I see IceT all I can think of is him dressed as a kangaroo... Tank Girl. Great movie even though IceT is clearly a freak)

Thirty-Three. There is such a thing as too much "work" being done. Yikes. Coco is actually so altered that I just assumed she was in her late 40's somewhere. Her face moves (or doesn't move, as is the case) like a socialite soccer mom with a crush on her dermatologist.

And I won't even begin the conversation over Coco's boobs. Holy crumb?! Who wants tatas that big?! I don't even know how she could clap her hands. Her arms wouldn't be able to connect that closely.

If I were to get poked by a few units of Botox, maybe get a little lipo, I know I could draw the line... or could I? Would I turn into one of those trout mouthed, perpetually confused looking females who start to eerily resemble wild cats? Could I just stop at a nice smooth forehead? Or wait, a nice smooth forehead and some newly wrinkle free eyes. Oh nuts... what about the preventative stuff? Maybe while they are fixing my forehead and my eyes, maybe I should get my lips plumped a bit so they don't start to line... oh yeah, and those marionette lines could begin to show any day, they really should be nipped in the bud. Crap, and I guess my eyelids could start to droop soon... what should I do there? I'll just get them to plump them up a bit too...

Ok, so maybe I could have the potential to go a bit overboard.

For now, I guess I will have to rely on my good genes (thanks, Mom) and different magic potions to keep my face somewhat crease free. There are some lines creeping in and some definitely settled. I don't like it, but as they say, I guess i have earned them. Pffft whatever that means! If anything I have earned the right to be as smooth as I wanna be! Geez louise. Now I have gone and upset myself. Botox would probably relax me. The inability to frown could trick me into thinking that I wasn't upset. Therefore, I think I could equate that Botox = Happiness. Hmmm. One of the age old mysteries solved right here. Not bad for a night's work.

I guess this whole conversation can only mean one thing... OH NO! Yep, it is true. I am in fact getting older. Scary, I know. What's scarier is I still feel like I am a teenager. A classic old person feeling. Eeeek. I guess, I could take comfort in the fact that everyone believes me to be younger than I am. Whether that is the result of the gene pool (again, thanks, Mom) or the immature attitude... I don't really give a rat's ass. Whatever it is, I'm working with it, baby! I will stick to my guns... you are only as old as you feel. So, don't bother asking the number, as my son will tell you, there are two things you never discuss with a woman, her age and her weight.

As the aged typing hands are drawing near to the end of this story.. I am reminded that I really do need to put my Christmas list together for Santa.
Dear Santa... all I want for Christmas is two units of Botox.
(possibly more, but I don't want to come across as greedy)
And since you are making the trip down the chimney anyway could you also bring me......

All We Need is a Little Patience

2012-11-05T19:01:00.000-08:00

Patience. Some people have it. I, however, do not.

Some days I think I do, then all I have to do is slide in behind the wheel of a vehicle and I realize, what a facade. Patience is not one of my virtues. And really, I am not sure why people think it is so important. I get through life just fine with my short fuse. What's wrong with a little anger? Nothing, I say. And if you disagree, well I have no patience for you.

Traffic, or rather other vehicles on the road in general, will always set me on edge. Whatever semblance of patience I may have thought I had, is blown right out the window. For the most part, I can dispel my feelings of vehicular ire by cursing a blue streak in the privacy of my own vehicle. And I am quite sure I could make a sailor blush at the variety of vulgar language I can come up with while driving. I am an extremely creative, non-patient person.

I do have to give myself some credit, I actually have a wee bit more tolerance than I used to back in the day. The kid has forced me into a bit of understanding. My child can, and does, talk non-stop. And I am not exagerating. He started talking at a freakishly early age, and has not stopped. I kid you not. You kind of just have to go with it. Nodding and mm-hmming through your day. Until you realize you have agreed that you are making jell-o and fries for dinner and given him your credit card to buy Lego online.

Now you may argue that that is not patience. But you are wrong. By the time I have agreed to jell-o, fries and UPS delivery of Lego, you have no idea of what I have endured. Multiple hours of stories of Transformers, Batman, Lego, Lego and more Lego. My house is filled with, of course, Lego, Hot Wheels and Transformer bits. I step on more transformer parts than you would think is humanly possible. I have fallen down an entire flight of stairs at the hands, or rather arm, of a Transformer. The fact that I do not have a molten pile of plastic toy snippets in my backyard proves that somewhere in me, is patience.

Learning patience is a backwards kind of trip. In the words of Stanislaw J. Lec, "You must first have a lot patience to learn patience." So, what's the point? Too much patience and you will get walked all over. Not enough patience, apparently, isn't good either. I say screw it. I like my fiery nature. Makes life interesting. If I was ho-humming it every day, what the hell would I have to talk about? So I am sticking to my guns. I am just dandy with what I have, or in this case, don't have.

And speaking of guns... I really have some Guns N Roses Patience stuck in my head now. I apologize, I am sure you are now facing the same fight with Axl now. Damn him and that catchy whistling.

Self Discovery, Healing & Bullsh*t

2012-10-02T08:28:00.000-07:00

Here I am, sitting at my desk in the ol' workplace, for my last Tuesday here. After Friday, it's all done. I am no longer a business owner. Not only that, I have no workplace whatsoever. WHAT?!

On the upside of a limited income (soon to be zilch-o income) is I can now say I am in recovery. My name is Tasha and I am a recovering Shopaholic. It's been a path of discovery and self-healing. I have really found myself and the deeper meaning of my need to be a consumer. Do I need 10 different purses? Do I need shoes in every colour? Do I need 3 drawers full of make-up? Who the hell am I kidding?! Of course I do! YES! I need all of these things! I need to shop. Its in my blood. Its who I am. I shop, therefore I am. Money does not buy happiness. Bullsh*t. Money does indeed buy me the things I need to be happy. My life needs Things. Discovery and self-healing? The only discovery I need to make is whatever new stock Winners has just put out. The self-healing... a new purse, watch, shoes, etc. will heal me up just fine, thank you very much.

Whatever, don't judge me. You can have your cigarettes. And you can keep your booze. (pffft obviously this is just a dramatic flourish, the booze is also mine) Shopping is a nice addiction. It's not just about me when I shop. I like to buy things for others too. I am generous and buying things for others makes me feel good. So does buying things for myself. But if I say I like buying for others, it sounds better.

Becoming a mother was the best thing that ever happened to me and my need to purchase. Gave me a whole new realm of shopping. Now, if I feel the need to buy something, there is Gus. He is a growing boy. He needs new things all the time! People may scoff at me if I bought a beautiful new purse while unemployed, however if I bought Gus a new pair of kicks, whatever. He needed those.

The mall. My place of worship. Where I feel whole. Where I feel a kinship of spirits. Where I feel at home. How I have missed you. My recovery is not by choice. I will be back. We will be reunited. And it will be blissful for us both. Me, filling my heart with all of its desires. You, taking all I have to offer and prospering. I will help you. I will help keep those retail jobs secure. I will help you. I will help to keep the economy going.

As my good friend, Tina, said this week; actual therapy may be cheaper. But who the hell wants to lay on some couch dredging up the past?! Lead me to the mall any day. I will buy myself into happiness. And it is now a proven fact. Retail therapy is a legitimate means of attaining an elevated state of being. Proven by science and psychology. Therefore, true obviously.

Once I am back in the game I am never letting go again. I have plans already. I know there are things waiting for me to take them home and make mine. Things that will make me happy. Things that will improve my mood. Psychologists have proven it. I will test the theory extensively. I will be happy and that happiness will happen at the mall.

FML... Bad Boys and Employment (or lack thereof)

2012-09-20T09:35:00.002-07:00

I have so much on my mind lately I feel like I am drowning in my own thoughts. I am in a constant state of thinking... which in my case can only mean one thing. I am most likely losing that last little grasp I had on sanity.

Now, don't get me wrong. I am not having a bottle of wine a night in honour of my own personal pity party (although, even at 11 am as I am writing this, that doesn't sound like a bad idea). I guess, technically, I could hold a soirèe celebrating my internal turmoil, but who the hell wants to open that can of worms?! I'll stick with my internalisation any day rather than turning into one of those Facebook status updater types who have the need to tell the masses when they've stubbed their toe, have a zit, or are purposely vague in their eternal sadness quotations, followed, of course, by the ever popular FML. Really? Is your life ending because you're having a bad hair day? FML should be reserved for things like; oh my god my only friend in the world, Chester, who happened to be a goldfish, died because I was playing Dungeons & Dragons for three days straight while drinking Red Bull and I forgot to feed him. Then by all means, please, F your L. Repeatedly.

No, I won't turn to social media to become my therapist. I'll leave those deep rooted issues buried where they belong. But, I do apologize, I am going to divulge those psychological disturbances that sit precariously on the edge of my mental stability.

Firstly, I have become slightly, dare I say, addicted to bad boys. To be clear, this all in my head. I am not actively seeking any type of relationship, bad boy or not. In fact the idea of trying to squeeze some egotistical (sorry, guys) male into my thoughts and life does not appeal to me in the slightest. No, I like my bad boys on the screen and bound in a nice cover. (Dirty minded people: "bound in a nice cover" means book, get your minds out of the gutter.)

It started, of course, with my new found love for "mommy porn", Mr. Grey. Then it has spiralled out of control from there. The typical male just has no place in my head any longer. I like them a little scary, Mr. Grey, a little dark, J.R. Ward's Black Dagger Brotherhood Series (and yes, I am slightly embarrassed to admit I find myself attracted to these vampires) and a little dangerous, the on screen hotties that are in my league of bad boys... Jax Teller and the Winchester Boys (Sons of Anarchy and Supernatural).

I am clearing the air right now, I am way too involved in the Sons of Anarchy. I actually had to give my head a shake and myself a little internal talking to after I found myself looking at a real life biker last week like I wanted to take a bite out of him. This was no Jax either. Yuck. I just had had a momentary lapse of vision (not figuratively, I mean literally) and soundness of mind.

I also have been thinking that maybe I should pull that .38 out of my purse... oh wait, that's not me. That's Jax's Old Lady. Crap. I am losing a grasp on reality.

So there it is my first problem. And maybe that really is the get out of reality card I am playing at the moment. Not that my reality is too bad, but it ain't the best either. The thing is you don't know if a choice is the right one or not until after its made. And for me, I seem to be making a lot of life changing choices lately. So, I am always wondering what's next? Which brings me to the root of my stress... I am jobless, income-less in T-minus 3 weeks! YIKES!

It's a little disconcerting that a brilliant, multi-talented, and extremely modest individual such as myself has had no serious job offers as of to date. (I think, by most accounts, I could insert a "FML" after the last sentence, but I am no baby. I will pull up my big girl panties and carry on)

I am a skilled individual! (Just in case any potential job offerers are reading this, I am going to insert some of my vast array of capabilities here; Financial/Bookkeeping, Administrative, Management, Customer Service, Design & Marketing and most obviously a superior sense of the written word. I guess many of you could argue now that the most obvious attribute could, again, be my extreme modesty... I wouldn't argue after that last statement)

But in reality, who does a girl have to know to get a job?! Maybe this is why I have consistently created my own jobs in the past. I want to flip to the other side now. I am ready. I want to be the Employed and not the Employer. I swear to the heavens, it was never this hard to get a job with me!

Everyone keeps saying, when one door closes, another opens. I am beginning to think I may need a Winchester boy to pick the lock on that door for me. The damn thing is locked. I may resort to using my .38 to blow the lock off... oh crap, yeah there goes that reality again, sorry.

My reality may be slightly skewed at the moment, but I still know that I would be the best thing that ever happened to a business or organization. I am one smart cookie with a heck of a lot to offer. So if you know of someone that needs a talented individual, such as myself, to be in their employ, I am ready to go! I am ready, willing and able! So how about you call me maybe.

List of Characters....
Mr. Grey, the ever-so-handsome Dominant in 50 Shades of Grey, a novel by E.L James
Black Dagger Brotherhood, paranormal romance series, novels by J.R Ward
Jax Teller, the drop dead sexy lead character of the TV series Sons of Anarchy, portrayed by Charlie Hunnam
The Winchester Boys, the very attractive ghost hunting brothers of the TV series Supernatural, portrayed by Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles

Summer's End

2012-09-05T09:28:00.000-07:00

Well, I guess that's it. Summer is done. There are some that like to remind us that technically summer will continue for a few more weeks, those are clearly the people without children or those willing to commit a serious fashion faux pas. Because, as all assumptions go, it's done, finito, kaput come Labour Day. The white pants go away, the children go to school, life resumes in a full non-white clothed -packed lunch kind of way for the next ten months.

As summers go, mine was a pretty good one. There was a lot of time spent in the ol' workplace. Ugh right?! But thank goodness for Grandmothers! And luckily my child has three! Without them the summer would have been awfully dull for the kid.

Yaya started the summer with a great little Wasaga Beach adventure for the three cousins. Her pocket book may have regretted the trip to Walmart and then the trip to Rounds Ranch where she had to endure hours of waiting while the kids did whatever Rounds Ranch has to offer. But the kids had fun and it may be one of the last times the three cousins, Gus (8), Cody (8) and Kayla (12) will enjoy each others company for an extended period of time. Sadly Kayla is growing up... I doubt she will endure her brother or her cousin for much longer. I think they may already be pushing their luck in that department. Soon she will be a full-fledged teenager, then I am sure that's it. Game over. The boys will be oh so disgusting and ugh soooo annoying!

Next up was Grandma. Where Gus, Ethan (other cousin) and I went to visit. A week in Saskatchewan experiencing the vast wilderness of the north and the lack of a conventional toilet proved to be something that I can do. But let's not get too excited, I'm not planning on "backpacking" anywhere or "camping". I can go four to five days without a modern toilet, but that's four to five days with minimal food and beverage intake. Needed to keep those trips to the outhouse as few as possible. I will be keeping my yearly outdoor peeing to a maximum of 5 days.

Finally last week it was Nana's turn. A week in my home province of BC. Where when you come home you think, why do I live in Ontario? BC is so beautiful that Ontario can't hold a candle to it, yes I am prejudiced. Although to break the perfected illusion that is BC, a walk down Hastings will do the trick. Gus and I along with Marilyn (my step-mom, aka Nana) and Chucky (Aunty Chucky, Marilyn's sister) took this stroll. Gus now knows how to spot a drug addict (important for a Mount Forestarian eight year old) and knows that drugs will make you ugly and scary (true story). But our whole trip wasn't about scaring the 8 year old sh*tless, (although I am hoping that vision will stick with him through highschool) we went to Whistler for a couple days, panned for some gold in the Brittania Mine Museum, visited family and a had a grand old time. Hard to come home after such great holidays.

Now... it's back to school, back to the grind, back to the stresses of "real life". Yuck. I like to pretend things are perfect when I am away, then when I walk back into my messy, dusty house and I am quickly reminded that my life is pretty much like my house, messy & dusty. And as far as my life goes, things are getting down to the wire! Only one month left here at Vmax, then I'm out pounding the pavement. So again, any of you out there looking for a super smart, mildly funny and all around great gal to fill some sort of employment need... look no further here I am! Call me!

Hopefully my next story will be filled with triumphant boasting of my great new career! Until then...

Times, They are a Changin.... AGAIN!

2012-08-14T14:57:00.001-07:00

Well, for a self-proclaimed addict to stability and a creature who cowls in the face of change, I seem to be walking directly into change's line of fire and throwing stability out the window.

Don't get me wrong, I want my good friend, stability, to snuggle in and sit with me for a while, while my dreaded foe, change, hits the road and keeps on walkin', but it doesn't seem to be working out that way for now.

It all started a few years ago when my life got flipped turned upside down. It began with a tragic accident and snowballed from there, leaving both sides of my family sad and without our beloved patriarchs. But I have to say we all put on our big girl panties and did the best darn job we could without them. Things changed, they had to, and some change was good. Some things just got different, different in a way that was, well, different.

Let's fast forward a bit, get over that teary little bit... After a lot of hemming and hawing I decided that I should take over a family business, a restaurant. I had worked there for years with my in-laws and was pretty used to the life of a restaurateur, so I thought. When my mother in law was ready to finally rest her feet for a while and hang up the ol' apron, I thought, why not!? I can do this, I can run this by myself! Pfffft! Let me tell you why not! If you are running a restaurant by yourself, kiss your child goodbye, 'cause they probably won't see you until they are old enough to work for you. Take back that giant, foam finger that cheers your child on at sporting events, you won't get there, you have to work. Oh, and just don't bother answering when the fam calls, 'cause they probably want you to come over for some turkey on Thanksgiving, sorry pal, you're working.

So after giving it a good go and shedding some tears at feeling like I had failed my family, I decided my child was number one. I needed my Gus time. I pulled away watching the restaurant fade away in the rear view mirror. Of course, this is my poetic solilquay for the restaurant sold. (See, my creative liberties are much more entertaining)

After a summer of trying to think what do I want to do when I grow up, a great summer by the way, full of family and friends, I made a decision... I was going to open yet another business. (You can shake your head and roll your eyes now, I will pretend I don't know what you are thinking)

To my credit, I see Gus much more. Unfortunately most of that time he is with me at work. He's the only 8 year old with a full time job that I know. This kid's resume is going to be phenomenal.

Gus and I have discussed selling all our wordly goods and investing in a caravan. If Gypsies, can do it (and have more than one reality tv show about their lives) why can't we? We would make for some good tv too. My Big Fat Gypsy Greek Son sorta has a nice ring to it. We would just park in the lot at 392 Main Street North. Who knows, it could be fun. Gus has always said, since he was potty training, that we should sell our jeep and get an RV, that way we don't have to pull over to pee. I see his point now. I could slip up for a nap throughout the day, rig my rig to alert me when someone was going into the studio... but alas, this is just a delusion. Let's get realistic here. They likely won't make a show based on my life so let's give up this pipe dream now. Time to get serious.

Fast forward to today... I am packing it in yet again. I think I am done being the boss for a while. (Yes, you read that right, I am done being the boss. But let's be clear, I never said I was done being bossy!) I am ready to work for someone else. I want to be the one that calls in sick and not the one that gets called when someone is sick. (For any prospective employers that may be reading this... that was just used as yet another creative liberty, I obviously would NEVER actually call in sick, that's just for babies)

So, in case you haven't heard through our little Mount Forest grapevine, I sold the studio and come October I will pull away watching as she fades away in rear view mirror.

Now, don't worry you will have a fab new owner and all will be good in the studio, but my bright eyed and bushy tailed self won't be here to greet you. Wipe those tears, it's ok you can always catch up with me here!... and if you own a business, call me! I need a job.

Who knew I was so outdoorsy!?

2012-07-24T15:07:00.000-07:00

Well, I survived. In fact, I would consider the trip again. It wasn't drinks on the beach but it wasn't torturous either. And much to my own surprise I can rough it!

I knew my week would be a "dry" one so I made sure to get a few drinks into me the Friday before we left. Two Caesars and a beer later I had a great sleep at the Four Points by Sheridan in Mississauga. Which was a good thing as 5:15 am rolls around pretty quickly!

By 11am EST the boys, Ethan (nephew) and Gus (son), and I were at our destined airport, Saskatoon. And let me tell you, the walk to the baggage claim is quick! Nothing like our workout of a maze at Lester Pearson. It was lickety split and we were out of there and off for a Saskatchewan breakfast with Grandma!

When you fly to Vancouver, you smell the sea air when you step out the doors of the airport. When you fly to Saskatoon, you smell canola. (Both of which beat the pants off of the oppressing smog that greeted us in Toronto on our return flight)

After a lay over in a mall in Saskatoon and some grocery shopping in Prince Albert, we were headed towards our home away from home. A cabin on Montreal Lake.

This cabin, has a solar panel for electricity, a tank of water for the kitchen sink, and that's about it for "luxuries". But, as my son put it, "Grandma, you have a real nice little place here"

The one thing I missed was the modern convenience of a toilet. Ugh. Waking up at 2:30am with a full bladder and the great wilds of the north outside, does not make for a good sleep. I tried for as long as I could to ignore the fact that my bladder was brimming and ready to overflow, but finally around 4am I could no longer pretend I didn't have to pee. With a sigh and a heavy heart I grabbed the tp and headed out the door into the wild.. where I squatted. And I was sober.

I did use the outhouse, which really isn't too bad in the daylight when you can make sure no extra critters are joining you. Gus and Ethan held out as long as possible for their trip to the outdoor facilities. Choosing to water grandma's flowers in most cases, but on Monday Ethan made the first trip and Gus held out until Tuesday.

Swimming, boat outings, canoeing, campfires, and games kept us occupied for the first half of the week.

On Wednesday we made the hour journey into LaRonge, where both Grandma and Grandpa work. We visited the building which house both of their offices. We also made sure to visit the toilet in this establishment. We were introduced to the entire Adult Probations division, not at the wrong end of the law, but rather as my mother's pride, to her co-workers.

On Thursday we did some illegal travel (shhhhh) in my mom's fairly luxurious 23' Airstream. There wasn't enough room in the Tundra for us all, so some of us, us which will remain nameless in light of the illegal nature of this matter, travelled while relaxing on the queen bed playing Yahtzee, Uno and Crazy Eights.

We arrived in Moose Jaw for a Festival of Words event that Grandpa was doing some readings and autographing at some 7 hours later of illegal transportation.

I am thinking that Gus was holding in all of his bodily fluids until we reached flush toilets or was just purely overjoyed at the sight of the toilet, as he was visiting the facilities at least 5 times per meal.

I have to admit when we got into the hotel and I saw that porcelain god sitting there smack dab in the bathroom I was a bit overjoyed. A tear may have escaped down my cheek. And once I sat on that white cool toilet I felt as though I could sit there forever. There was no need for me to be there, I didn't have to "go" but I wasn't leaving. I found this toilet and it was mine.

A week flew by and we roughed it, were involved in the illegal trafficking of persons, and finally met some family members that we won't soon forget. We will miss and look forward to seeing them all soon. (Hard Rock Resort, Punta Cana, January 2013!) It was a great week. The best part, of course, was spending some much needed time with the ol' mom. Grandma, Mom whatever you call her, makes roughing it, illegal activity and wilderness all okay. Thanks Mom!

Three More Sleeps

2012-07-11T10:06:00.000-07:00

The time is quickly approaching where I, along with my little cohorts, will board flight AC1121 at 7:55 am headed west. We will be arriving at our destination some 3 hours later. Saskatoon, Saskatchewan is our terminal of choice. Well, "choice" may not be the operative word here. We are here because, my mother, the little coherts' grandmother has used all her mite to will us this way.

I have been spoiled by my mom with her frequent visits to Ontario, but as the only and biggest guilt trip she has ever laid on me, it is my turn to fly to her home and visit her in the great wilds of northern Saskatchewan, our journey's end.

As I talked about in my earlier writing, Tasha and The Great Outdoors, this will be similar to a camping trip. My mom lives in a cabin in the midst of.... trees, lake, fish? Who knows what is found in the depths of the north? We shall see how I handle this all at the week's end. You never know, maybe I am cut out for a life of basics...

The boys; my nephew, Ethan, who is ten and my boy, Gus, aged 8 are totally excited. They love the idea of going to see Grandma. This visit is overdue. And they can't wait to get some Grandma lovin'!

The time is quickly approaching. I have not received my daily text from my mother to inform me of how many sleeps are left. Luckily I can figure it out on my own... 3 sleeps.

So, it's not Great Wolf Lodge or a night at the Delta Chelsea, or some other fun that Grandma cooks up here, it's just good, plain old fashioned outside fun at Grandma's. Fishing, swimming and whatever else you do in the wild.

Watch out Grandma and Grandpa, we are about to invade! Three more sleeps!

(oh, and in case you didn't catch it... the part about me maybe being cut out for a life of basics..... ha ha ha! Totally laughable!)

Tasha and the Dirty Book

2012-06-27T07:24:00.000-07:00

This post should come with a warning label. Perhaps it should only be available wrapped in a paper sleeve... yes, we are going to get dirty. And I do mean dirty in the allegorical sense. Oh my. If you are a Puritan, if you are holier than thou, if you are basically just uptight and self-righteous, just stop reading, this one-sided conversation is about to get spicy.

Last week, my will was broke. I spotted 50 Shades of Grey sitting prominently on display for sale. And on sale! I had to know what everyone was talking about. I nonchalantly walked passed the shelving and scooped up my copy. I quickly turned the book around, trying to hide my smutty choice. Not that any female over the age of 18 wouldn't recognize that cover, front or back, in an instant. I, like everyone, had heard that this book was dirty, so called "mommy porn". I had no idea what "mommy porn" would be, but still thought that maybe I should try and hide my choice from general public view.

My attempt at hiding my dirty book apparently was not overly successful. Even though my hands also carried a copy of A Tale of a Sixth Grade Muppet and Eating Clean, a salesgirl immediately came up to me to talk about 50 Shades. She needed to inform me that it was the last day of the sale and let me know that I would NEED the other editions as soon as I was done the first. I didn't listen, much to my chagrin this morning. She was right, I do NEED the next book!

I had, most definitely, been avoiding this book. Trying to ignore all the hoopla. But my curiosity got the better of me. And I had to brush my embarrassment under the carpet, take the plunge, and buy the damn book.

Now, after reading the book, I would have no qualms whatsoever about purchasing mommy porn. In fact, I think maybe all books should have a little mommy porn in them. Sure caught my attention and kept it!

The first time I opened 50 Shades, I was slightly underwhelmed. I was a little disappointed. Had no idea what all the buzz was about. But I also had only read 21 pages. My next read, was a little more eventful, and by Chapter 6, I was hooked. And let's just say, I don't care who your are, you can't put a book down while the characters are in the midst of getting freaky. You must, at least, let everyone finish what they need to before you can close them up for the night.

I had no idea when I brought Christian Grey home with me he'd be so dark, such a deviant and so dang sexy! Seriously raising the bar for men everywhere. As twisted as that seems. He is wickedly attractive and scary all at once. I guess it goes back to that "bad boy" ideal. A bad boy turned good, at the hands of a good woman. And deep down, knowing he is still "bad" in all the right ways. Who knew a fictional character, a man existing only between the pages would be so sought after?!

And once you have this naughty book in your grasp, you see it everywhere. You notice everyone is reading it. And you feel a special kinship with that person. They know your dirty little secret. They share your guilty pleasure.

Even though Grey has seduced me to stay up way past my bedtime, waking up tired and sluggish, I will not give him up. Book number two will be in my dirty mitts very soon. So when you see me and think, sheeshh she looks tired, I am. Grey has kept me up. Damn that man.

The awesome life of Tasha...: Real Estate, Church Crescent and Pools.

2012-06-21T10:48:00.001-07:00

The awesome life of Tasha...: Real Estate, Church Crescent and Pools.: New to the neighbourhood.... Thinking of moving into our neighbourhood? Well, you better check with Gus Grafos. He is definitely giving...

Real Estate, Church Crescent and Pools.

2012-06-21T10:46:00.000-07:00

New to the neighbourhood....

Thinking of moving into our neighbourhood? Well, you better check with Gus Grafos. He is definitely giving our new neighbours the ol' cold shoulder. He is bitter. That was his house.

We had made an offer on the same house they moved into. We didn't firm our offer when their offer came in, so we lost out and believe me, an eight year old can hold a grudge! (And yes, I tried to buy a house across the street from me! What can I say, it's a great crescent!)

He mutters each time we pull onto our crescent and one of their cars is parked on the street. They have too many cars, too many guests, and they need to stop parking on the street! Gus finds this disturbing. He would like them to restrict their vehicular action to their own stinkin' driveway.

He has even sunk as low as to insult their dog, who happens to be a sweet looking little beagle. Gus claims the dog 'doesn't look too smart'. He has the idea that, given the opportunity, if our own little beagle cross, Rocco, and the neighbour dog were to have a race, Rocco would finish in a flourish leaving the neighbour dog sitting in a cloud of dust still at the start line wondering what happened.

All this hostility arises from the loss of a pool. The house they moved into, the house we did not firm our offer on, has a beautiful little salt water pool. Gus really wanted that pool. And when the previous owner, Linda, was around he was privy to pool privileges. Now, not only has he lost out on owning the pool attached to the house, he has also lost access to the pool!

In order to bring about neighbourhood peace and to extinguish the lingering resentment Gus has been harbouring, I purchased our own little pool. It is by no means as nice as the salt water in ground across the street, but its a pool. It is a 16' x 42" inflatable pool. Its big enough to handle me in a floatie with an ice cold bevvie while my little swimmer enjoys cooling off.

The eight year old pool snob, however, was none to pleased when finding out that we would not be getting a salt water pool. He even questioned the woman at the check out to make sure they did not have an inflatable salt water pool in the same size. All I cared about was about my floatie chair. And then finding out that it didn't have a cup holder... obviously it has now been classified as a "childs toy".

A new floatie WITH a cup holder for me and some goggles for the kid and we are set for the summer! May not be the pool we have been dreaming of... but hey, it will work!

Mom... I'm sick

2012-06-05T11:57:00.001-07:00

The man cold has hit my house.

Well, to be completely accurate, my place of business. As that is where I have been, along with the "very sick" Gus for the last 7 hours. Yes, I have had my "sick" son with me at work for SEVEN HOURS! Luckily for me (or him, however you look at it) he has been very low key, quiet, self sufficient, with only the occasional burst of energy resulting in a corresponding outburst from me that bursts his little energy bubble.

It was my idea to keep him home. I didn't want my kid to be "THAT" kid that gets everyone else's kid sick. So after a debriefing this morning, I established that he is the first in his class to come down with these specific set of symptoms. So, with no regard for my own sanity, I told Gus he could not go to school today and would have to stay with me at work for the day. Crazy, right?!

Throughout the day, Gus has been asked by nearly every member that has come in after 9am "No school today?" To which he replies with puppy dog eyes and a suddenly nearly gone voice "no I'm sick" in the meekest voice you can imagine. It's a prime example of how early the man cold sets in. Granted Gus' sick usually does turn into something dreaded like pneumonia and/or ear infections - but this is the first real man cold symptoms he has displayed. Usually he will motor through whatever ails him, fevered, chilled, you name it. You wouldn't even know he was sick if you couldn't recognize the glossy eyed look of a fever. But it seems, at the age of eight and a half, its official my son is a man. He can no longer function when sick.

Spending the day with your child is, for the most part, something that everyone looks forward to. Having your child spend the day with you at work, not so much. I don't know what kind of nut bar would want their child to spend an ENTIRE day in the "office" with them. As it is, Gus has a chair crammed in behind my own chair, so that every time I move I fear I may dismember one of his digits. And the constant sniffle behind me is not only a reminder that he is here but also alerts me to the impending doom of the snotty mess that could lurk there.

I can tell you all that I am thanking Steve Jobs very much today. He perhaps should be considered for sainthood after a day like today... Thank you Steve Jobs for the iPad. Thank you Steve Jobs for iTunes. And thank you Steve Jobs for keeping my son entertained ALL day!

Let's see how long the man cold hangs around an eight year old. I am thinking that the prospect of another day in the "office" will cure this pretty quickly.. I am thinking the man cold is going to turn into "mom, its just the sniffles and a cough" pretty quickly! And things will get back to normal!

Tasha and the Great Outdoors.

2012-05-31T10:01:00.000-07:00

Where will I be this summer?

It's only taken 10 years, but I will be boarding AirCanada flight AC1121 at 7:55 am on July 14th headed for Saskatoon, SK with my son, Gus, and nephew, Ethan. From there we will be whisked away to my mother's idea of paradise near La Ronge, a mere 5 hour drive from Saskatoon.

I have resisted visiting my mom, Joan, over the last decade since she moved across the country, but alas, her latest plea (aka guilt trip!) wore me down. My strong, vital mother pulled the old, I want you here while I am still happy & healthy... not when I am sick and you HAVE to come. Geez louise, she really laid it on thick. But, to her credit, it worked.

The visits from my mother to Ontario have been plenty in the last 10 years and we do talk daily. My reluctancy to head over to SK was not due to any silly family feud or anything of that sort. You see, my mom lives a different sort of lifestyle. One that I am completely unfamiliar with... a RUSTIC lifestyle!

One of my favourite Anne Taintor quotes, pictures a relaxed woman in a fluffy and comfortable bed with the caption "I love not camping" And that about sums up my way of thinking. I am not outdoorsy, nor do make an effort to pretend to be. I am a "comforts" kinda girl. I like things like 1000+ thread count sheets, running water and electricity.

My mom and her husband, Ray, live "off the grid". There is no running water, no electricity. There is a bath house, cedar fired hot tub, and solar power (and I think generator) that are used for the laptops and refrigerator.

In the summer months, my mom and Ray take a boat across the lake to get to their house. In the winter, a "snow machine" as my mother calls it (we regular people usually call it a snowmobile). In the in-between months, when the lake still has ice or is starting to ice, they walk through the muskegs, which to be honest, I don't even know what that means. I have always assumed it was some sort of swamp like area. I suppose I should have googled it at some point over the last decade. I do know that when I call and my mother is walking through the muskegs, she is winded and agitated. So, I don't think the muskegs are fun. And up until yesterday, when the word "muskeg" popped up on something I was reading, I thought it was a word my mom made up.

I am not sure of the time on the said "snow machines" or boat that it takes to get to their house or vehicle, respectively. I do sort of recall hearing that a walk across the muskegs is about an hour though. So, I guess any trips away from home are pretty well thought out. With the amount of things I forget and have to go back into town to get, I can't imagine this scenario.

My son and nephew are totally "stoked". Its going to be "awesome" and "sweet" all rolled into one totally "epic" trip. Ethan flew out last year by himself and met everyone, having the time of his life and Gus has had his nose out of joint since. He doesn't understand why I wouldn't allow him to fly by himself. He is 8.

The boys will enjoy this week long adventure of swimming, fishing and hangin' with Grandpa and Grandma. And this will be the closest Gus gets to camping, with me anyway, so he will be in seventh heaven.
My mom is also stoked. She is planning lots of adventures and has bribed me with shopping, my favourite pass time. She looks forward to "showing off" her family. I look forward to meeting my extended family that I have talked to, heard of and have never met.

So for 1 week in July I will experience a Rustic Life... wish me luck and keep me in your thoughts July 14 -21.

Green with Envy

2012-05-24T09:00:00.001-07:00

50 Million, can you even imagine that cheque going into your bank account?

Well, one lucky former Mt Forest resident, doesn't have to imagine. That's exactly what he is doing this week. Lucky son of a ....

He claims he "will continue to work"!!?? Really? Why not give up your job to someone one who is not a multi-millionaire! If you want to work, start your own company, hire people to run it. Create more jobs. But, hey, I am not the one with 8 figures sitting in the bank, what the heck do I know?

I started to read the article in the paper but, to be honest, I got too angry to even read the whole thing. Silly, right? I guess its not anger, its pure unadulterated JEALOUSY! I feel like he stole my chance at winning. Really, what are the chances that 2 people with ties to Mt Forest would win? Now, my chances have greatly deteriorated. Thanks, buddy.

I actually couldn't sleep thinking about this all the night I found out he won. Crap, I thought I had the winning ticket! I still haven't checked my tickets, its too fresh.

I had big plans for that money! Now, I feel lost without it. How can I start all these foundations I have in the back of my mind without it? And where will my pool come from?! Its really quite sad.

And I would be a really nice millionaire! I would totally share!

I still will buy my tickets this week, and have my group tickets. I still think its my turn. I still think I will win. I still think that a jackpot will be mine!

All my well thoughout plans for my millions will have to wait until then.