Effervescent
writerly girl seeks opportunity to put pen to paper.
Writing style is alternately described as humourous,
flippant and offbeat. If
you have a publishing adventure you'd like to share,
drop
this girl a line.
Call
it mild food poisoning, some kind of stomach bug, whatever
you want. But let me tell you, it's going to be awhile
until I can have Dim Sum ever again.
Am
feeling icky and in need of cheer,
Blah.
a
<wednesday
february 16, 2004 - 4:30 p.m.>
You're
parked in a regular parking spot in a regular parking
lot, on a regular kind of day. You return to your car
two or three hours after having left it, tired, with
two tired children and a spouse who desperately needs
to be fed and watered. (That would be me.)
Some
idiot has parked his car directly in front of yours,
despite the fact that there is plenty of parking within
sight. There is little or no room to wiggle the car
out, even if you were able to execute a 180-point turn.
The situation appears nonsensical. WTF? Who would park
here? Is there a point? Is this a joke? After a short
time, you are able to get out of your spot, but only
because the owners of the next car over happen to be
leaving at the same time.
So
here's my question. You have a pen and paper. Do you
leave a note on the instigator's windshield? If so,
what do you write?
-
Sarah has a cold, and has been waking up in the wee
hours to call us to help blow it.
"My nose is tangled up Mummy," she says sadly.
This
is very cute, but it also makes mummy and daddy very
very tired.
-
Valentine's Day has come and gone. I believe that the
many of society's problems stem from the Valentine's
cards that are available for purchase and mass distribution
by this country's children.
V-day
began early Saturday morning when Emma came into our
room complaining about a sore tummy. We were sleepy,
and weren't reacting to this news fast enough. Before
you know it she was throwing up in our bed. Something
she'd eaten didn't agree with her. Something rather
chunky.
Happy
Valentine's day hon!
Went
shopping on Saturday afternoon. Sans children, hallelujah!
There's been a lot in the papers about lingerie lately,
especially with V-day and media coverage of a new panty
boutique opening somewhere in T.O. Because I can't shell
out three figures for underthings, I end up at the Bay.
Here they satisfy my need for name brand garments that
actually go on sale from time to time. But mostly I
was going because I needed new pjyamas.
I
am not one of those people who sleep in the buff. I
get cold. I need coverage, insulating things that keep
me toasty under the duvet. I sleep with a hot water
bottle sometimes. You get the picture.
Anyway,
my current roster of nightwear is in sad sad sad shape…
stretched and overwashed beyond recognition and well
past its natural lifespan. And hey, if I'm going to
sit around and be sullen and b!itchy in the morning
I might as well look good while I'm doing it.
PJs
were chosen (pink top, pinky pattern light flannel bottoms)
and en route to the fitting room I picked up some other
things.
I
have already written about the intense feelings of hatred
and loathing I feel for the entire lingerie trying on/buying
process. Frankly, it's a grueling test for those who
aren't happy with particular bits of their own bodies.
And the ones involved in this kind of purchase (the
top, the bottom, the thighs) are coincidentally the
parts that are most likely to be the ones we're not
exactly pleased about.
I
have also written about the horrid lighting in the fitting
rooms that makes everyone (or maybe it's just me) look
like an underbaked Pillsbury crescent roll.
But
this time the process was made easier by a forgiving
salesgirl, who let me in with my armload of about 12
items, despite a maximum allowable seven. Whoever made
up that rule must be male, or a perfect size 2 who only
shops for one style of underwear at a time.
I
think it would have killed me to go in and out of the
fitting room multiple times, dressing and undressing
for each trip out into the jungle of racks on the salesfloor.
But
I survived, and I have some lovely new things to show
for it. Yay for me!
Our
V-day evening consisted of a quiet dinner after the
girls went to bed.
Mark
and I ordered our traditional V-day dinner from Thyme
and Again, a great catering company here in Ottawa.
Our meals were amazing.
His:
Green curry fried shrimp with coconut lime dip; baby
spinach, strawberries, marinated shallots with white
balsamic vinaigrette; roasted beef filet with grilled
jumbo shrimp, red wine sauce, served with shallot roasted
potatoes and vegetable medley; heart-shaped chocolate
cookie sandwich filled with vanilla mousse, and hazelnut
crème anglais
Mine:
Crab and artichoke puff pastry bites;
spinach salad (same as Mark's); potato rosti topped
with grilled portobello mushroom and herbed red pepper
chevre with parmesan crisp;
raspberry and white chocolate bombe served with heart-shaped
cookie, berry coulis and crème anglais.
There
were also chocolate-dipped strawberries and a couple
chocolate truffles.
Our
meals were amazing. We drank a bottle of wine named
Fat B@stard (I am not kidding. It was good, white and
fruity.) And indulged in MORE truffles that we bought
earlier that day from the chocolatier down the street.
Oh so divine.
We
stayed up later than usual, and were roused from slumber
to change Sarah's wet sheets. Her bladder awareness
is almost perfect during the day, but not so great at
night.
Next
day I woke up tired. The wine and the late bedtime hour
didn't help. I went to the gym, where I pulled a major
muscle in my shoulder and spent the rest of the evening
massaging tiger balm into it.
Mentally I had a long weekend. For some reason I'm still
feeling the effects.
Mentally I had a long weekend. For some reason I'm still
feeling the effects.
