Digging Deep: The Agnony of Revisions

My dog is an opportunist she watches perched on top of her chair and waits patiently as I prep dinner in the kitchen.  She always  knows there are morsels of scraps in the trash bin and will seize the opportunity to raid the bin as soon as I leave the room.

The end result is disaster across my kitchen floor and the only words uttered across my breath are “SADIE!”  She then like any scolded child slinks to her room and hides for the next hour.

idea

The other day as I removed the chicken bones from the stock and threw them in the bin. The girl could not contain herself and within seconds she had lifted the bones from the trash in front of my very eyes.

The NERVE! She didn’t even have the impulse control to wait until I left the room.

In my life I can be just as impulsive!  It is that moment of throwing caution to the wind  with that extra shot of tequila or two  on the beach and  enjoying the freedom to dance all night long.  A good idea can have the same effect and it  strikes when you least expect it!

The next day usually results with a very strong hangover. The spur of the moment of creating and the end result always a  disaster! But the key of a good idea gone ugly is surviving the  hangover.

My routine is to awaken with weary eyes, blink several times, slumping down in my chair, and then force myself into the process of revision.  The room  spins  from the agony of it all but deep down I know there is a story to tell.  Just as there is poutine waiting to rescue my belly from the heaviness of a hangover – there is a keyboard waiting for my fingers to connect to my brain and revise the story.

If you are good opportunist you wait to share that story not at its first, second, third, or fourth draft. You wait until it is perfected and that your words will be understood.  All you need to do is lift the idea from the  bottom of the bin, polish, and then trim it with cautious love. Some days revising  feel like a  spinning hangover but in the end I know with patience I will be sharing my first novel with you.

Santa and his Evil Elves

Once upon a time I loved the Christmas season, the decorating, the baking, and the good holiday cheer that spreads amongst most people during the season. However, all of that changed thanks to being at the same resort as Santa Claus this summer.  What turned into a simple misunderstanding between Santa and I has opened the gateway of  evil elves attempting to toy with my computer and create havoc in my life.

hh2

I will be honest I had a few too many rum punches when I spotted Santa in an uncompromising position. I thought it was hilarious because he was so red and jolly!

I should have respected his privacy but instead took several photos. I thought they would have made the perfect Christmas postcard for the holiday season.

However, one of the elves spotted me taking the photos, tackled me for my camera, and I socked him in the nose. An elf might be quick on their little feet but they cannot compete with my Jackie Chan moves.  You can only imagine the mayhem at the resort when a full-out brawl broke-out on the beach.

The next morning we were kindly asked to leave and never return to the resort.  Who knew Santa had so much pull everywhere he went?

Once we arrived home there was phone calls from his public relations office requesting the photos. They were very concerned if there photos fell into the wrong hands that it would be a publicity nightmare for Santa and tarnish his name over the Christmas season.

I did what any guilt-ridden person would do and handed over the photos to the elf bureau.  But let me tell you those elves are paranoid and they were convinced I made copies on my computer!  They hacked into my system and planted a virus!

I wanted to sob!  They erased everything! My content Calendar! My drafts! My Photos! Everything!

I have no way to exact revenge on Santa Claus after all he was the naughty one at the resort and if anyone did see those photos…Well lets just say you wouldn’t be very comfortable with him coming down your chimney on Christmas Eve.

I hear a knock at my door! It sounds like elf shoes shuffling in the snow. I better go before they attack me with a candy cane hook and poisoned hot chocolate.

I have to dig back into my bug-out shelter  under the snow before it is too late!  I just wanted to pop-out quick to wish you all a warm holiday season may it shine bright with love and joy. I hope to see you all in the New Year! If not,  you can assume the elves have had their way with me and I am imprisoned somewhere beneath Santa’s workshop.

The Halloween Posts that Ran into the Woods

In the past few weeks all of my Halloween posts vanished into the dark woods never to return. As I hollered  to each one “Don’t go in there!  We must stick together! The delete button will get you!”

One by one they ran off vanishing into the night leaving behind the echoing sound of their words!

halloween1If you come across any of these posts please tread with caution! God only knows what horrors could be trapped inside each post waiting to be unleashed onto your screen.

1)  The Lingering Smell

What happens when your tween brings home their hockey bag after an intense game? A smell that lingers throughout the whole home. It haunts morning, noon, or night.

I am gagging on the smell as I write this and if you don’t hear from me in another week than you know the smell has gotten me.

2) The Diablo Sauce that was not Hot

It is a secret sauce of an eighty year old lady who swears it is hotter than Hell.   No one has the heart to tell her that on tablespoon of Worcestershire sauce and garlic does not qualify it to be hot sauce. Unless of course you are the devil!

3) The Haunted Blender

My blender will turn on when you least expect it! It waits until you  have gone into a zombie state while washing the dishes and without warning a loud grinding noise startles you taking you back to Children of the Corn. You know there is no escape!  All you can do is walkover with trepidation and quietly unplug it.

4)  The Howling Coyotes

Bright and early before the sun rises the coyotes howl, they yip, and they feast on their prey. You lay awake dreaming “If only I had a BB gun. “

5)  A Witch Learns to Twerk

Enough Said.

6)  Slacker Mom Creates Stoner Pumpkins by Accident

Martha Stewart would sigh at the sight of my crazy glued pumpkins.  Time was not on my side to carve the perfect haunted house pumpkin but the magic of a glue gun transformed my pumpkins into potheads. Yes. They sit on my step glorified with their hippy wigs, stoned out eyes, and beards. I swear they were not supposed to look like Cheech and Chong!

7) Up comes the Full Moon with an Unnatural Wind

Never wear a skirt on a windy day. That is all.

8) I Never Threw an Egg

I never threw an egg when I was in Grade 7 at that toad of a boy who was in Grade Nine on one dark Halloween night. In fact, I would never admit to it there is no proof.  No proof. Whatsoever. *whistling in the wind*

9)  Halloween Punch Hangover

Halloween Punch is a bad idea. A very bad idea. It’s poison!

10) Rob Zombie’s Dragula Possessed My Foot! I swear!

It’s true! The Moment I hear Rob Zombie’s Dragula it takes over my whole foot hitting the pedal to the metal.  The music  just takes over and I end up going twenty over the speed limit. I can’t be held accountable for it because really my foot is possessed.  But please  Just keep that between you and me. Thanks!

All I know is all of these posts ran and vanished! They are somewhere out there in WordPress Neverland echoing their lost pages one key tapping next to the other key each day.

The Luring Call of the Sirens

I have taken to swimming several times a week which has been great for my aching joints with the additional benefit of the calorie burn.  I also have been very vocal about finding the perfect swimsuit to keep everything in place while attempting to do the back crawl.

mermaid

On one coffee induced sunny morning it dawned on me as I reflected on my visits to several big box sports chains. The recommendations from the store employees were not for comfort or endurance  but advice on  fad colors of the season such as pumpkin orange.

It was at that moment  I heard the sirens call luring me into an over-priced swimwear boutique!

As I walked  in I was greeted by a sales associate, “How can I help you?”

“I am looking for a bathing suit that fits my long torso and holds everything in place so I can have a more comfort when swimming laps.”

“How many times a week do you swim?”

“Usually 2-3 times but my bathing suits seem to want to go in another direction from my body.”

“Not a problem. I have several that might work for you. Lets go one size-up from your frame because the do fit very snug.”

It was within ten minutes that I found the perfect swimsuit and it meet all of the requirements for this curvy girl. A nice fit, high neckline, with a flattering leg line.  I loved the style so much that I purchased a second one in a different color.

The only problem is that I did break my budget by spending  over a hundred and fifty  dreadful dollars. One of the many  treacherous hazards of  caving to the  lure of  the sirens call!

The Legend of the Cookie Dough Tapeworm

It is whenever I bake chocolate chip cookies  I have childhood memories of  trying to steal a taste of the dough from my Mother’s mixing bowl.  The whole process was a very pain-staking  because you  had to watch for her to get distracted  and leave the bowl alone for a minute in order to get a gooey taste of deliciousness.  If she came back and you were caught with the hand in the bowl then you knew you were in for the story about the tapeworm.

cookies

My Mom would glance over “Get your hand out of there! Do I have to remind you of what happened to your Aunt when she was a child?”

“No. I know”

“I don’t think you do. It was one day we were all going for a walk and your Aunt was hit by a drunk driving down the road. Do you know what flew out of her mouth?”

“A tapeworm.”

“Yes. A tapeworm and the reason your Aunt had the tapeworm in her stomach  was because your grandmother would always let her eat the raw cookie dough.”

“I know. But a little won’t hurt.”

“Fine. Have a smidgen. But don’t blame me if you get a tapeworm.”

It was with slumped shoulders defeated I would think of the drunk neighbor that hit my aunt on the side of the road. I would do anything to give him a piece of my mind for ruining the perfect treat which should be eaten by the breakfast bowl.

“Did anything happen to the neighbor?”

“No. He just got back in his car and drove off.”

The lessons my mother taught me from this story was  I was always to stand in a ditch when a car passed us on a country road because you never knew who had too much to drink  after church on Sunday afternoon.  And second the household ban on cookie dough taught me how to bake my own cookies so I could enjoy a taste of dough without my Mother’s watchful eye.

The other day I caught my son trying to put his hand in the mixing bowl trying to sample the  dough.  I looked him straight in the eye ” If you eat that you will get tapeworm. Do you want to know why?”

And that is how legends like “The Cookie Dough Tapeworm”  carry on from generation to generation.

Onion Boy and his Hot Dog

My first minimum wage job at the age of fifteen was  working the late shift  at a small town convenience store .  On the night shift one of my duties was to clean the dreaded hot dog machine. I would take the hot dogs out that had been sitting there for fifteen hours, drain the water,  try not to gag, and  then clean it.

I can still smell the putrid aroma of rotting hot dogs floundering on the edge of hell. It was disgusting.

onions

Another part of that job was dealing with a wide array of customers renting and returning videos. My favorite customers were the ones who would attempt to rent a video while they had a  fifty dollar late fee for not returning the latest porn video on time.  Usually, they would blush,  give you a good  reason for it being late , and with  a “one time only” warning  I would waive the fee.

However, there was always the exception to that  rule with  the one belligerent jerk that insisted on berating you, calling you names, and then wait for you to remove the late fee.

It would never happen – I would get the very scary manager and she would tell him off.

Problem  solved! He would storm out of the store flabbergasted that: 1) He was out of line for verbal abuse 2) Expected to pay the late fee 3) And now looked like a complete asshole in front of everyone at the store.

So when I go to my local convenience store for odds and ends I remember being swamped at the cash, dealing with a wide array of people in the public, and all of the dirty jobs of keeping the store clean while working for very low wages.

Just the other day I felt lucky and popped into the local convenience store to purchase a lotto ticket.  I waited my turn in line as the clerk worked to serve each customer. It is when I heard one angry gentleman yell across the store, “Onions! Where are the onions?”

The clerk politely smiled “I will be with you in a minute.”

“There are no onions for my hot dog!”

“Just one minute, Sir!”

He huffed! He stomped! And he huffed some more! I was waiting for him to blow the store down.

As I watched his silly gesturing and anger I thought only one thing  - you sir are a huge asshole!

This  lovely clerk working by herself did not deserve to be bullied into rushing to the rescue with onions.   What I wished for this clerk was that her manager was standing close by to usher onion boy out the door.  No one deserves to be treated like a doormat over the simple case of missing onions.

So as I watched onion boy hold his hot dog all I could think of was the putrid smell and how long that hot dog had been sitting in the machine. I imagined the pain he would feel in his  stomach and  the sudden rush to go to the washroom countless times that night. One can only hope his stomach is weak!

If he had only been polite maybe someone would have warned him not to eat the hot dog.

The Horror of Shopping for the One Piece Bathing Suit

If you were to peek into my swimwear drawer you would see an array of colors in bikini and tankini styles for fun in the sun. The one piece that is missing is the dreaded Speedo bathing suit.  It’s not that I have not tried to purchase that perfect one piece but fate has it that all swimwear companies are against me!

Back to the Beach 1-1

I believe there is a swimwear conspiracy were long-waisted curvy women are doomed never to have the leisure of finding that perfect one-piece for their active lifestyle. I say this as I have gotten back into swimming my tankini’s just are meant for more fun in the sun and not swimming laps. Everything moves and I am constantly readjusting my top in the middle or at the end of each lap.

The worst part is there is someone always looking from above at all of us lane swimmers which means I have innocently flashed a lurking bystander watching from above while attempt to do my back stroke.

I dream of a one piece that goes above my chest line! The effort of struggling into the contraption is almost as bad as SPANX except once pulling the bathing suit on I would make Pamela Anderson blush because it barely covers my nipples.

So if Speedo, Nike, TYR, or any other swimwear company is listening I want you to think of me in my plight in finding the perfect one piece bathing suit. It just has to cover my breasts and keep the girls in place for one hour of swimming three times a week. If you create this miracle suit I will forever be in your debt and will an add an extra day of swimming to my routine just for you!

My Week of Uncensored Tweets

I have a Twitter rule which is attempt to be upbeat and positive with most of my tweets. However, I recognize at times that I can be borderline snarky and sometimes cranky.  So if I am having one of those “special weeks” I think before I compose and tweet.

So I thought I would share with you all of my past week of uncensored tweets that never made it to my Twitter Profile.

to tweet

Day 1

Dear God! What is that smell? OMFG! What the hell is it?

Day 2

People it is a girl swinging on a wrecking ball. Big Whoop! Please divert your attention back to Syria.

Day 3

CRUNCH is the sound of my front bumper in the parking lot.  I think I might effing vomit.

Day 4

Holy Hell! It is 3 am in the morning and someone just tried to break into my basement window.  Holy Hell!

Day 5

In celebration of Friday the 13th I am becoming agoraphobic. Did I spell that right?

Day 6

You did not just say that! You did not just say that! #angry #weepy

Day 7

Wiping drool from my mouth after a long nap on the couch. Why is my dog on TV? Wait! I am on TV! I am a CBC rerun! #squeal

As I look back through the list I realize they are just the day and a life of an average person going through a very bad week.  Also, I actually would have tweeted Day 7 but I couldn’t find my phone (that was stuck in the middle sofa cushion next to the stale Cheetos).

My only hope for this week is a warm cup of coffee each day because my standards for the good life have succumbed to being very low. Can I  Tweet that?

The Creative Energy Suck

It happens when you least expect it! Your mind  gets lost in  a dark thicket and there is no escape! You  wake-up to realize you have been surrounded by the ill-tempered and they have zapped every once of your creative spark.

thicket

They circle like old hags exclaiming again and again “Watch  what you eat! You are wearing that!?  Is that a drink in your hand? Oh My! You are not reading THAT! Are you?”

You are left dredging around in the fog! You can almost see the creative light! Grasp it!  Touch it!

Until some old miser out of nowhere dims the light by exclaiming and rattling his cane  “Science is the only truth.  Liberal arts is nothing but misfits and degenerates. Nothing but misfits and degenerates! They know nothing!”

The fog gets thicker and you drudge on  feeling all of the creative energy being sucked from your body. Your mind is replaced with self-doubt as you ignore the light that once twinkled before you.  You go about your routine trying to forget about the unfinished story  waiting for you.

Somewhere in the distance  you hear a whisper as it calls you back like a long-lost lover “You need me. I need you. We love each other.”

You feel the warmth of the energy moving back into your body as you move forward  to the keyboard  and return to the story. You begin to work on  the next chapter which was lost in the fog surrounded by useless noise. You type on knowing your love affair will only last as long as you put the words to the page with a selfish silence unspoken between the two of you. It is through that silence you escape from the poison of the hags and the miser.

Congratulations! You have escaped the creative energy suck for one more day!

I Have Been Held Hostage by FedEx

It is day two as I sit and wait for a parcel to arrive.

matter of time

The condition is scarce. I have not left the house.

I have not showered.

And I was brazen by taking a chance to bake blueberry muffins. I am hoping the scent of cinnamon and blueberries will lure the FedEx driver to my house and deliver the parcel within a reasonable time.

It was only yesterday I sat and waited, doing laundry, taking care of my to do-list,  only to trace the tracking number on my computer that evening to discover they were at my house at exactly 2pm.

I was in my house at 2pm! I will tell you this! There was no knock or note on the door and there was no ringing of doorbell!

I quietly wait and lurk through the back pages of McSweeney’s.

I am getting nervous , twitchy, and wonder if I leave the comfort of my main floor – will  he appear, sneak on the deck, and run-off again with the package.  I wonder what is this FedEx drivers game?

I contacted their customer service and explained my plight. Her only advice to me was “to leave a note on the door for them to knock or ring the doorbell.” If the FedEx man does not already have the commonsense to do any of that – I wonder is he playing with full deck?

Only time will tell as I sink into the stinky abyss of my stringy hair and day old yoga pants.  I wait as time marches on. I wait for that one hope of  a knock on that door, a friendly smile asking for a signature, and the freedom to go about my day.

Please keep me you in your thoughts my deodorant is beginning to fade and the odor. Oh! The horror of the insidious odor!

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