Rocky Halloween Horror Champagne Breakfast Cuban Gone With The Hurricane Picture Show

BOO! The last three weeks seem like something out of an old episode of Twilight Zone - the Robert Redford as Mr. Death epi, not the 'there's something on the wing of the airplane that's going to kill us as William Shatner spoon feeds us his overacting for the first time' 22+ minutes of fame episode.

The Job Front: job offers up the ying-yang. Have accepted 2 part time jobs where most of my work can be done at home. The same day I received a call from the hospital wanting me to come in for an interview on Tuesday which, of course, I'd be a moron not to say 'no' to. The following afternoon I get an 'urgent' e-mail from the College wanting to know if I'd haul my carcass up to Barrie and teach 5 days a week. Hmmm, travelling north to Barrie...in winter...for a short term teaching position...umm - NO! Drunk but not stupid.

Champagne For Breakfast: lunch and dinner. Currently working on bottle no. 3 since Tuesday, that's when the man drove my car (for the first time) to Pearson, with me in the passenger seat, as I silently cursed him for running off to Cuba with his buddies for a week. A whole week in Cuba with sun, sand, booze, really bad food, even worse plumbing, a real bad case of the shits, sunburn/stroke/sand flea bites, heat rash - dermus eruptus of the crotchus - itchus of the testicallus and lastus but not leastus - Flying into Hurricane Rena by way of Cancun. BWAAAHAAAHAAA. I opted to stay behind and spend a week alone, with 2 cats, 4 bottles of champagne, a mani/pedi/massage, a cute haircut, sleep in the middle of the bed, watch marathons of The Simpsons and assorted chick flicks (still looking for 'Black Swan') an evening of pseudo-scary Tim Burton-directed Johnny Depp movies and absolutely NOT resisting the call of boxed Halloween chocolate. Sorry kiddies. Oh, and the champagne thing totally does not have anything to do with the trip to the dentist for an afternoon of needles, drilling and happy gas, or the emergency trip three days later for the pieces that fell out (no charge for that one). Or, maybe it does.

Pause to sip...sip...sip...etc.

Garden put to bed for the winter. House suitably decorated in seasonal kitch - thankfully found the orange pumpkin candles. (Whew) Turned down a party at the local watering hole as I couldn't find my Wizard of Oz Dorothy costume. Note that I did find the shoes! Had a truly mad thought about going out dressed in a certain Canadian iconized police uniform but would probably wind up with tall brown boots up my butt if it ever got back to a certain police person that I unlawfully absconded with a uniform which no longer fits him but fits me like a glove! Boots were too damned big anyway. Hat fell down over my eyes. Have an upper lip rash from trying to wipe off the moustache I drew on with eyebrow pencil. Damn - I looked good in red. Sip-sip-sippy sip.

So, while OTHER people are enjoying all-u-can-eat repititive Cuban fare, I'm here free-basing on Greek Yogurt, cognac pate, 50% off chocolate truffles from the Upper Canada Candy Co. which is closing for the winter and yep, you guessed it....sippity sip sip. I also consider myself on vacation although I haven't been drinking straight from the bottle - yet. And, since I can't squeeze a face lift/boob job/lipo in between now and Thursday it's just me time with Arbor Mist and Meryl Streep. Had planned to see "Annonymous" - pause to sigh over the thought of Elizabethan costumes and CGI polluted Renaisance London and cut away portions of The Globe Theatre - however above mentioned movie hasn't made it up here to the boonies yet. Unfortunately, the only thing polluted here is me. And a damned good job I'm doing - sippity sippity sippilicious! Damn the laundry and full speed ahead. If I run out of mindless Halloween tv to watch - apart from "It's The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown" - and that horrible Van Helsing thing that was sooooo bad even though Vigo looked sooooo good - I may have to resort to throwing on my beloved copy of Gone With The Wind and let the bubbles land where they may; for although tonight is devoted to the narcissistic (did I spell that right?) consumption of alcohol and calorie-free chocolate (and you thought the sippies weren't affecting me, foolish mortals), Tomorrow Is Another Day!

TTFN.....

oh - P.S. speaking of Wills and Quills...Congrats to my writer friend Wills who married his long-time partner Joseph this month. And if you have to read this again and think about it...sippity sip!!

Thanks - Now Lets Work On The Giving.

Happy Thanksgiving all. Unlike you, I am not full of turkey and therefore the tryptophan (the hormone in turkey that makes you want to sew your ass to the sofa and doze after supper) is clearly not working since it's 1:30 in the morning. A writer's favorite time. Also insomniacs, Big Bang Geeks, shift workers and people whose meds haven't kicked in for the night. Pick one.

Since I am WH tonight (without husband - who is somewhere doing something) I am naturally out of the whole sleep rhythm thing. Also I cooked a bird last weekend and am still siphoning off the last of the carcass dregs so the sleepy drug stuff it probably already gone. Casserole today. Turkey stroganoff in the near future.

Yesterday - the yesterday that occurred prior to midnight - a good friend of ours turned 70. He had a little party which required a cake from yours truly. My third in the last thirty days. I've warned everyone that cake season is officially over now until December - or at least until I can find a job that pays enough to replenish my baking supply cupboard. We were invited over for a little get together starting at 11 a.m. Wow - wine before lunch. Grape juice with a kick. A few party munchies - cold cut cubes, cheeses, crackers, dip - the usual carbs and this awesome black forest cake which was painstakingly put together over two days. All this before lunch - made me I was on one of my favorite all inclusives except there was no beach or pool. Also no too-gorgeous-to-be-straight guys in tighties running around with a volleyball snuggling their hips. Just good company, good food and a lot of razzing and hazing going on about the age of the Septuagenarian.

I still doubt I'll ever get there. My nerves are just a little too fragile. Ditto my ego. Rinse and repeat on the RRSP. I was just wound waaay too tight for 50. I'll still be feeling the feedback when I hit 60. Seventy isn't even on my radar. Yet for all that, there are still a lot of things I'd like to be doing if/when I hit the big 7-0. Sex for one thing. A friend of mine told me a story about how her mother, then in her late 70's and settling into a nursing home after a broken hip, met a man she wanted to have a relationship with. My friend picked her mom up to take her to a doctor's appointment and accidentally left the mail key sitting on the passenger seat. Mom gets in and plants herself on the seat. Next thing you know, Jill gets a key tossed at her by a very frazzled mom who points to her bottom with a tarty, "have a care! I've only just started using it again." Things you really don't want to hear from your mom!

I'd like to still be skiing. I'll probably be sporting the latest version of TOH's grow-your-own-knee-replacements from a busted fingernail I mailed in from a dollar store genetic test kit. Same goes for the new pelvis and lower spinal plastic fusion. I'm thinking while I'm under for surgery, I'll get the works with some face paste and an anti-gravity, droop-proof boob reconstruction. A tummy tuck and a little lipo and I'll be good to go. And first I'll go to my bank to finance it all and then to my lawyers if those boobs are just a millimeter off centre and then I'll sue the bastards. Come to think of it, 70 will give me something to look forward to. I'll still be writing. And of coarse, the dog will have replaced the long ago displaced husband (private joke).

So, after having considered the things I get to look forward to I've decided it's worth giving thanks after all. And if worse comes to worse, I know I'll still have my mom to accompany me on a little travelling adventure. OTOH - mums will be close to 90 so maybe having her pimp out our beach umbrella might not be the best idea. I can't see her luring in any prospects with GenXXXiPod featuring Tony Bennett duets numero 40. Somehow the cryogenically frozen crooner with electrical throat stimulations croaking next to the transplanted head of Lady Gaga to Madonna's preserved body isn't doing much to set the mood. Hate to leave y'all with that site floating around on top of the gravy but I'm done for the night. AND...I get to sleep in the cushy middle of the bed all by my only. No snoring, no farting, no loud flushing of toilets.

...and for this, I am truly Thankful!