Wednesday, December 01, 2004

I don't get mad, I get stabby.

Now, why would I get stabby? Well, maybe I should rewind and tell this story in sequence.

Happy December 1st, by the way. I woke up this morning, which is like a Saturday for us because Jason works Saturday through Tuesday and ideally has Wednesday through Friday off, although this week he's all about overtime, and that's where he is now, leaving me enough peace and quiet to sit down and write. Well, sort of semi-sit down, and I'll get to that too. We woke up kind of early because I was volunteering this morning at 11:30, and before I left my house I needed to dye my hair because the colour was beautiful in the front but faded in the back, which is worse than if it was equally faded all the way around. So we woke up at 8am on our technical Saturday, which I think we can all agree is crazy.

So anyway, I go into the Agape Center, and talk to Charlie for like an hour, he is a sweet man, though a little 'slow'. Our conversation covers such hot topics such as "Have you ever seen 2 rainbows at the same time?", "Is blue your favourite colour?", "One time when I was tuna fishing in Prince Edward Island, I threw up 7 hot dogs", and "I used to play hockey up north where they train NATO pilots in -50 degree weather, but when I lived in Edmonton for 17 years it would be -90 with the windchill". I could only get him to shut up when he was served his 33cent lunch. I was anxious to cut the visit a little short because we spent this whole time sitting on the only seat available, an old church pew. As most people know, I have had some surgeries on my back, in that tender spot that bends when you sit, and so sitting can be really uncomfortable for me, and this morning, it was just dreadful. When I shifted my weight, I could tell I was bleeding. But I can't just blurt that all out as an explanation for why I can't sit much longer, and Charlie is just paying rapt attention to me today, so I was trying to tough it out. And just as we were saying goodbye, I saw the potential reason why I had kept him captivated so completely for the past hour: the pivotal buttons of my blouse were open, spilling forth my jumblies. I mean, I was EXPOSED. Big time. And the room was completely crowded, particularly with men who can't see their children until they complete anger management programs. So it was a pretty good idea for me to just get out at that point.

So Jason is there, ready to pick me up and I catch him playing air-guitar. Again. Now, I keep telling him to cut that out, he looks like such a dork when he does that. So yes, air-guitar makes me mad enough to get stabby. Now I admit that once I played air-xylophone. But come on, that's funny. Plus, I apparently go around showing my breasts, and everyone knows that girls who do that get away with a lot. And I've also played air-saxophone, pretty much every time that I hear this one song off the New Kids On The Block Christmas album. If you had any idea what I was talking about, you'd be nodding in agreement right now. But you don't, and you aren't. In my defense, I only had that album way back when, and it's my mother who has made it 'tradition'.

So it was only 1pm, but I was tired, and it was rainy, and I was feeling kind of bummed out, and Jason kept making his frowny face when I told him that I thought we should go cut down a little tree somewhere. I figure that there are parks and wooded lots, and even people's yards that are just littered with trees that would make perfect Christmas decorations. And besides, trees belong to everyone, right? Well, I don't think Jason particularly agreed with that, and he did not feel like going into covert operations in the rain on this particular Wednesday, so I was doing the pouty thing. But he was driving and couldn't see how far my bottom lip as sticking out, so it didn't work its magic. Instead, he told me that he remembered me once telling him about a court case involving a man who felt that he was God, and that because God makes everything, everything belonged to him and therefore he was allowed to shoplift. The judge did not agree with him, and the man was diagnosed as schizophrenic and sent to cool his heels in a psychiatric ward. Apparently my husband thought it suitable to compare my feelings about trees with this man's feelings about whatever he could stuff under his shirt. And the saddest part is, if he's calling me a schizo, it's still more polite than last week when he told me I had B.I.T.C.H.Y.
At the very least, we had to go get our Christmas stuff out of storage, and that's what we did. Of course, I had an unfortunate accident involving the tie of my sweater coat. Apparently it had been caught in the door from Cornwall past Long Sault, dragging in the rain. So it was a sopping mess by the time I made this discovery. Oh, and at some point in there, the rain turned into snow. It's probably about time (in fact, it's long overdue) but I hate snow, I hate cold, I will gladly sacrifice the belts on all of my coats if only we could forget about snow this year.

I thankfully sent Jason off to work late in the afternoon, and I had some time to myself to put on my Christmas CDs and get down to the serious business of decorating. I put up my little 3 foot tree, and even I have to admit it's cute. I put out my gingerbread house cookie jar, but since I don't care for cookies, it's filled with clementines. And I hung the ornaments, admiring each one, remembering (or not remembering) how and when we got them. Finally I got to the last box, the one containing the fragile stuff. Any bets as to what will happen next? Obviously some sort of crash will be involved, but how will it happen? Well, would you believe that I was being so very careful with this fragile box that I didn't notice what my feet were doing, and I stepped right on my bag of Christmas thumbtacks. I immediately threw the breakable stuff across the room, right into the wall, and screamed some of my favourite obscenities. When I lifted my foot to see what the hell was going on, the bag was still attached to my foot via the dozens of tacks that were piercing the sole of my foot. So that was nice. At this rate, I can't afford to be sentimental about any of our ornaments!

Now for tonight, I plan to curl up and watch 8 Crazy Nights. I have denied myself that privilege all year long so that I can keep it sacred for my holiday time (which is ironic, since I celebrate Christmas, but since when do I make distinctions like that?). I plan to watch it every single night between now and the 25th. So, if I miss 8 crazy blogs, don't be surprised.

1 comment:

arash said...

jumblies. I do remember that from Austin Powers. It's such a wonderful word. Kinda like an onomatopoeia. Maybe not. But it's hardly ever used, and thats a shame. You are funny.