hi. miss me? i've been busy doing grunt work for my husband, the mister engimaneer.
1. we have finally gotten possession of our house last week and got down to work immediately. he is the brains of the operation; i am the brawn, weak and pathetic though i am. he plans things, drafts blueprints, figures out the strategic placement of 2x4s, while i madly rip up carpeting, pull nails from wood with abandon, and carry the de-nailed and ripped-up bits and pieces out to the driveway out back. oh and the sweeping. lots of sweeping. like i said: grunt work.
and you know what? i like. especially how my ass feels like i've been to the gym, without actually having to set foot in one, how my arms feel like i've done some heavy duty yoga, how tired i am at the end of the day in that good physical way. not to mention the feeling of intense and irrational feeling of satisfaction at having mastered the saw. i rock. demolition woman - c'est moi!
2. so hey, have i bitched lately about what the general population eats? it frightens the crap out of me. they are saying now that canadians are becoming an obese nation. really? hmmmmm....i could've told you that based on what i see in people's shopping carts. you know i love my frutas y verduras: i keep telling you that. but for the average joe rigpig and his missus? well, let's see, there's wonder bread, usually white; pizza pockets, pizza puffs, pizza snax, frozen pizza; cheese products in various shades of nuclear orange; crackers and cookies and other yummy members of the hydrogenated food group; 1 banana; whole milk; diet (!!!) pop in disturbingly large quantities; kraft dinner and/or frozen mac'n cheese; frozen dinners of all kinds, barring any strange and weird "ethnic" food 'cause who knows what those weirdos in other countries eat anyhow; bologne; flats of ground beef and sausage-shaped beef-flavoured product; deep pre-fried frozen fish fingers and/or chicken fingers; overpackaged jello and pudding cups that you can bet will end up in the landfill because social and environmental consciousness is so exhausting; campbell's canned soups because god knows cutting up a bunch of veggies and cooking them in water is well beyond the culinary grasp of your average north american these days; chunky soups which deserve a category of their own because they are a soup that eats like a meal with enough sodium per serving to bring down a hypotensive elephant; potato chips, french fries and other vaguely potato-based pre-fried frozen products and so forth. you get the general idea.
yikes! we are all going to die!
well, we won't because our innards are full of fibre and strawberries. but everyone else will. and i really don't care.
3. perhaps i am a tad anal about this but the next person who tells me that winnie the pooh is their favourite disney character will be on the receiving end of a well aimed kick to the groinal area. people: winnie the pooh is not a disney character. disney might have purchased winnie, but winnie is a goddamn character from a goddamn book by a. a. milne, and that's that. ok? oh, and hans christian andersen's little mermaid (also not a disney character, jesus!) does not marry the prince in the original. nope, the chick commits suicide to allow the man she loves to marry the woman he thinks he loves. a little passive aggressive, yes, but far more interesting than the disney version which, i am sure, has by now spawned sixteen sequels in which twelve dancing barbie princesses and the entire mattel toy shelf feature prominently, in a typically incestuous marketing ploy.
my generation knew about books. real books. written by real people. sometimes even by real dead people who wrote scary stuff where children were eaten and people got their eyes poked out. today's children are kept away from horrors such as these. they just play grand theft auto and learn about violence without the annoyance of morals and all.
4. if i am repeating myself it is because my brain has been malfunctioning lately. as i offered my place for a friend to crash with his children, i suddenly failed to remember if i have put away barney, my purple personal...ahem...massager. after all, i do not want to scar the delicate innocence of the future generation. did i or didn't i? every bloody day a little more brain goes south. jesus, perhaps that's why pooping is fun at our house - not because of the copious quantities of fibre we consume, but because each bowel movement is lubricated by the grey matter that breaks off my brain in chunks in a manner not dissimilar to the icebergs of the north pole, polar bears be damned. so if you see me wandering down the street wearing my pants on my head, call mister monkey or take me home. please.