Will somebody please put my mom in a straightjacket already?

I can't seem to find an entry about it, but back in February when we went to Mexico, my mother got conned. Despite our years of dire warnings not to hand out her credit card number over the phone or believe in a deal that sounds too good to be true, she gave her number to a "travel company" on the phone and purchased a Mexican holiday good for four people, supposedly for $600. After paying for flights, a separate room for me and Gilly, food, and a number of other things not included, the trip came to more than $5000 for 8 days. The 90-minute sales presentation turned ugly and I had myself thrown out after 3 hours because I told the guy to shove it. Gilly walked out soon afterward. Mom, left alone, threatened and overwhelmed, somehow gave them her credit card and they charged $2600 to it. She told them she wanted the charges cancelled, she didn't want the membership, and she was told she had not been forced into anything and had agreed to the purchase of a time-share thing on her own. Knowing we would be angry, she didn't tell me or Gilly. She kept sneaking off on her own over the next 5 days, and while we were curious what she was up to, we just laughed and decided to let her get herself in all the shit she wanted to. On the fifth day, the last day she could back out of her "purchase" under Mexican law, she was still being given the runaround by the travel company, so she went to the hotel where they were doing the sales pitches and threw a hairy fit in the restaurant, going from table to table and telling people they stole her money and not to give them anything. The staff rushed her out and supposedly cancelled the transaction. It still took three months and a fraud complaint to Mastercard in order to actually get her refund. Also, $300 in promised refunds for air travel turned out to be fraudulent as well. Although she followed all their rules, the "travel agent" said she didn't qualify.

So Mom said she had learned her lesson, and would never do such a thing again. She threw out the brochures about the Florida trip they were offering us for the following year.

Predictably, she has fallen for the same scam again.

She called Gilly the other night and mentioned she's going on a cruise in January. Gilly pried into the source of this "fantastic" cruise deal, but Mom was evasive. She called me tonight and I asked about it, and finally got it out of her that it was another random phone call where she'd put out her money. A three-day cruise from Fort Lauderdale to Nassau, which she insisted on extending to 5 days by paying an extra fee. Also included is 7 days in Orlando and Daytona with one "90-minute" sales pitch, a week-long car rental, all meals included, two tickets to Disney World, blah blah blah. All for $800, which doesn't include flights. And she doesn't have anybody to go with.

So I looked up the cruise line online and discovered that she's not taking a 5-day cruise, she's taking a 3-day cruise twice. It's just that the ship arrives and leaves on the same day. She can pay for the cruise herself and get a very good room for under $300 for the 3 days. The I looked up package deals to Orlando, and found that for $400 you can get a hotel room for 7 nights, and flights included. I tried to convince her to go to a real, reputable travel agent, but of course that would be ridiculous. And when I told her that if she chooses to take this trip she'd better keep her wallet closed and not hand ANYBODY her credit card, she blew me off. Multiple times.

Mom claims this is a different company offering the trip, but that company goes by so many different names I'm sure it's the same crowd. Also considering they're offering basically the same Orlando-Daytona "deal" they mentioned in January, I'm quite certain it's the same bunch of con artists.

Mom says she received the "information package" already, which probably means she's given them her credit card info over the phone again. She had to do that to get the last package in the mail. I hope I can convince her they're full of shit before she gets conned again. At least this time, I won't be sucked into going with her.

A couple of days ago I finally changed my Facebook relationship status from "single" to "in a relationship" for the first time. I hesitated before doing so, as it's only very recently I started seeing this fellow, but I'm enjoying it greatly and wanted to share the news.

I met him a few weeks ago through my local singles' club, although we didn't really get to talk until last weekend's party. His boyish grin, geekiness and enthusiasm for all things silly drew my attention. After a couple of days of rapid-fire flirtation via internet, I invited him over for a lovely evening of the sort I have been deprived for three years now. It led into the next day, with both of us blowing off commitments to enjoy each other's company.

I'll not mention his name here yet, for reasons I will explain later. We have loads in common, including a shared cultural background not just by country, but by region within that country. He's much older than I've ever considered dating (he's 42) but you wouldn't know it to look at him. I guess involuntary celibacy is the secret to staying young forever.

Al (Gilly's beau) has asked if this is lust or a budding relationship. Given my guy's current complicated situation and the newness of our time together, I can't really say. I'm interested in a relationship, but there's no way of knowing anything so soon. I'm just quite happy to go with the flow and enjoy it for whatever it is. This past week has felt much longer than 7 days, in a good way. I've seen him three times in the past week, and now have to wait until Thursday to see him again, and that will be with a group of people. I'm looking forward to next weekend and another opportunity for alone time.

Low-pressure sustained activity, steadily increasing to intervals of
high-intensity from varying angles. Periods of heavy breathing and
pounding heart rate. 100% probability of perspiration.

Later: Chance of muscle soreness or possibly stiffness. Will subside
after further low-pressure activity on flat surface. Comfortable
sleeping conditions overnight with sunny smile sometime tomorrow
morning.

I'm becoming a psycho magnet.

I went to the super's office to get a new laundry card (I've misplaced
mine) and was just filling her in on the psycho woman that verbally
attacked me in the garage on Friday afternoon, when the woman walked in
and started screaming at me and calling me a liar. The woman had her young daughter with her, who was behaving the same way, all snotty and making rude remarks, name-calling and sticking her tongue out, and telling me to shut up. She's like 10, maybe not even. This woman was jumping all over me. The super was trying to get her to back off, but she wouldn't. I lost it myself in a very short time, and told the woman she needed psychiatric help. What prompted all this commotion?

Friday afternoon I came home with groceries, pulled into my spot in the garage and started taking my stuff out of the trunk. She had parked in the spot next to mine, which didn't belong to her. I didn't care, and I said nothing. But then she pulled her car out and turned, and then shouted out the window that I needed to move so she could go forward, further into the garage. I pointed out politely that there was plenty of room for her to back into the two empty spaces directly behind her, if only she cranked her wheel a little further to miss the corner of the pole. She had a small car and loads of room and could have easily done it. She started swearing at me, saying "Yeah, that's right, just take your time! I've got all bloody day!" She called me a fat slob, and I told her it wasn't my fault she got her licence from a Cracker Jack box and didn't know how to drive. Then called me a bigot, because she's black and assumes that anyone who doesn't like her does do because she's black.

I did report her as soon as I got upstairs, but she had moved to her own spot by then and gone into the building. Theresa (the super I spoke to) said she knew the woman, that she's a bitch that goes around calling people bigots and picking fights. I'm told this woman has lived here longer than I have, so all this time we've never seen each other and suddenly it's twice in four days, and she's just psychotic. Now I'll have to watch over my shoulder for a while to see if she's anywhere near me. I don't know her name and she doesn't know mine, so fortunately that means she can't look up which apartment is mine. Still, I was so shaken by her attack that when I got upstairs I locked the door behind me. That's something I rarely do during the day.

I phoned Shirley and apologised for losing my cool, and said I understood she couldn't take sides but I was glad she witnessed this bizarre behaviour. I plan to keep my cell phone on me when I am about the building, in case I run into the woman again and need to call the super or, if she goes really off the deep end, the police.

I news of other crazies, my grandfather died a week ago last Sunday and his funeral was last week. When Grandma died, Big Dave's wife Linda freaked out and screamed and flipped the bird and swore in fron of the church as the funeral procession lined up. This time, guess who caused a scene? Yup, my mom.

At the visitation, she and Dave kept arguing loudly over varying memories of events. Mom kept bullying Pete about wanting communion at the funeral service, even though Pete said he'd talked to Grampa about it already and he said Grampa didn't want that. So Mom started her tantrum and was calling Pete every name under the sun. he had already agreed (much against his will) to allow her to read a eulogy during the service, even though Tara was also giving one. Tara didn't mind Mom speaking, and they really didn't overlap as Mom talked about her childhood and Tara talked about recent happenings. Mom's only gaffe during her speech was ending it by saying her dad was a bigot, followed by quoting a long line of his favourite racial slurs. Now, it was no secret he was racist, but I thought it was in very poor taste to actually say those particular phrases in a church, in front of a crowd. Isn't it enough to say he was a bigot and leave it at that? Surprisingly, Mom choked up on the last couple of words of her speech. She still hasn't cried over Dad, so this crack in emotion was remarkable. We hugged her afterward and told her she did a good job.

So we went to the grave side and they finished the service. Mom and some other relatives pulled flowers out of the arangements and put them on graves of other relatives in the cemetary. Mom got her scooter bogged down in a soft spot in the grass (possibly a fairly recent grave? <shudder>) and we had to pull it out and around while she toddled to her grandparents' grave. Then we returned to the church hall for the reception.

St. Alban's Church is not wheelchair accessible. We had to lift the scooter up two steps to get it inside, then Mom sat in a doorway at one end of the altar to give her speech. When we left for the internment, we had to carry the scooter down those two steps. No big deal. However, Mom insisted we hd to carry her scooter up 10 steps to the parish hall "because it's a part of my body". I told her no. Gilly told her no. Al, who had taken the day off work to come along, didn't know what to do. The three of us went inside and took note that the tables and chairs were packed so tightly, there would be nowhere for Mom to scoot even if we did take it upstairs. I said we should just tell her she had to walk up and sit in a chair, and if she didn't like it she could sit in the car and scream while we all went inside. Unfortunately Gilly caved "because it's her dad's funeral." Seriously, she would have come around just fine if we had stood our ground. Now, the idea that tantrums result in getting what she wants has been further ingrained into Mom's mind. Dad always did the same thing, and it REALLY pissed me off.

I stayed at the back of the room where Mom couldn't get near me, and sat with my cousins and their friends. I passed around old photos of us as kids, and we had a good laugh.

In pleasant news, Friday September 19 was International Talk Like A Pirate Day. First Wench Gilly and I (Cap'n Ali) hosted a pirate party on Friday night. We all wore piratey costumes and drank a bunch of rum. We ran downstairs and Graham and I had a sword fight in front of the elevators. We chased Teffy the Ship Jester around the living room with the Dalek, and Waffles enjoyed being hit by Graham's clanging plastic sword. We played Taboo, and Gilly kept screwing up because she was really drunk. A piratey time was had by all! YAARRRR!!!

I just answered this Featured Question; you can answer it too!

Inspired by Jess' post, I'll answer this too.

Certainly, I spend too much time at the computer. I will have a mental "to do" list in my head, but unless I get my ass out the door first thing in the morning, I stay on the computer all day and accomplish nothing. Where is my life going? Beats me. Into oblivion while I read about other people's lives online. I am signing up for morning activities to get me out early, so I do errands and stuff while I'm out. Yoga classes Tuesday and Thursday, cleaning cat cages for the Humane Society on Wednesday, making a workout date with a friend on Monday and Friday. I've been looking at the classes offered by the city's recreation department, and I plan to re-enroll in bellydance, possibly take Spanish lessons, and I've signed up for a 10-week course about self-esteem. I've spent much of the summer indoors and immobile, and it's high time to get back to the routine I had in the spring, where I was barely home and just came home for naps and food.

Ah yes, food. I've fallen off the healthy eating wagon over the summer, big time. It started with my trip to Nova Scotia, and I haven't recovered from it yet. Again, a schedule requiring regular meals will help with this, as when I sit around the apartment I forget to eat for hours and then grab something junky instead of making a proper meal.

My debt is frighteningly high, mostly due to the fact that my living expenses are nearly double my disability pensions. On top of this, I have a tendency to find ways to "justify" purchases if I want something badly enough, and this just needs to stop. I manage to talk myself out of small purchases like lunches at Timmy's and drinks at bars, but then I buy things like a GPS and another pair of sandals. Justification: the GPS saves gas due to not getting lost, and the sandals were $20 and very good quality, and I wear them all the time. Even so, the fact still remains that I have no way to pay for these things, and my line of credit is near its limit.

I've been staying up far too late over the summer. Note the time stamp on this blog entry: 4AM. I was up almost this late last night, and slept until 3:30 this afternoon. This only adds to the problem of getting up and staying in my room for the rest of the day. Again, the problem should be rectified by my morning scheduled activities.

I think my worst and most self-harming habit is my tendency toward anger. I'm MUCH better than I used to be, thanks to the past year of counselling, drugs, and being away from my mother. However, I still get emotional at times, mainly in the direction of anger and annoyance but also in the feelings of fear, loneliness, and sadness. I've noticed I've been talking about my dad a lot lately. I miss him terribly. Maybe it's because he provided the stability in my life, and now I feel like I'm on a tight rope without a safety net. Gilly used to distract from these thoughts a lot because we were together so much, but now she has Al and I rarely see her. I'm happy for her, but I don't really have anybody left to talk to. I don't get my 3 hours a day of laughter therapy that did me so much good. I have friends here, but nobody I'm really close with or that has time to just hang out and enjoy each other's company.

Anyway, those are my vices. Otherwise, I'm perfect. Ha!

Yesterday I went to the CNE and the Chinese Lantern Festival. I had four people with me from the singles' club here. We had a great time, and I didn't spend anywhere near as much money as I usually do at the Ex, so I was quite pleased with myself.

Mom called me tonight for the first time in probably a week. She said she had terrible chest pains at church this morning, worse than she's had in the past. The pain started in her chest and radiated out toward her armpits. Someone called her an ambulance and Mom said she wanted to stay for communion as it wa just starting, but fortunately Carolyn insisted Mom go outside with some church people to help her. The ambulance arrived as she got out the door, and she spent the afternoon on monitors. She was very tired the whole time, she said. She was sent home this evening with orders to get a lung scan ASAP to look for a blood clot. I'm really surprised they didn't do one in the hospital, and I hope she manages to get in on Tuesday so she can get treatment as soon as possible. Normally her chest pains are due to muscle spasms, but this sounded more intense and serious. I'm glad it happened while she was at church, as she normally ignores chest pains for quite some time before going to hospital.

Anyway, I need to get my ass into bed and go to the gym tomorrow.

Tonight I went to a public concert that was mainly aimed at children. Once again I was angry to see so many adults standing in the midst of hundreds of toddlers and young kids, puffing away on cigarettes. It's bad enough when people smoke in a crowd of adults and force everyone nearby to be trapped in their stink. When you're modelling your filthy habit and poor manners to not only your, but everyone's children, you need to be kicked in the head.

Honestly, I think smoking in crowds should be illegal. Nobody is going to die if they don't get to smoke for the three hours they're at a concert or playing at a park with their kids. Save the cigs for your own porch or find a place to stand away from the crowd and away from doorways, and stay still to smoke. I really hate when a smoker paces, making it impossible for me to avoid the stream of smoke. If you're sitting still, I can move around you. If you're moving, you're making sure EVERYBODY gets stuck in your cloud! Also, don't light up close to a non-smoking stranger without asking. There's always a place you can stand near another stationary smoker or at least away from those who choose not to smoke. Every time I sit in a public place, somebody sits down beside me and lights up. If I'm there first, it's my space and you need to smoke elsewhere. If you're there first, it's your space and i'll choose another spot to sit. Why does this not register with people?

So the smokers whine about their "rights". Seriously folks, smoking is NOT a right. It is a habit tolerated by government because prohibition simply won't work. The only way to control tobacco use is to keep it legal and severely restrict it to try to reduce harm as much as possible. You don't see drinkers whining that they have a "right" to drink wherever and whenever they want, do you?

When people see litter, smashed beer bottles, or needles strewn on the street, they get upset. Why do many of these same people think nothing of tossing their butts everywhere? Carry a butt can in your pocket and throw them out at home. Field strip so there's little evidence of your having been there. Or nip the problem in the bud and work on quitting smoking altogether.

Human rights are about the needs for a decent and humane way of living. Food, water, shelter, air, sunshine, health care, education, safety, and respect are rights. Not allowing someone to smoke in a doorway or a crowd is not harming them in any way, and those that bitch and moan otherwise need a reality check.

Have you ever been held indefinitely with no trial and no charges against you?

Have you been beaten for showing more than your eyes, or for teaching your daughter to read?

Have you been denied medicine because you're too sick to work and can't afford to buy it yourself?

Have you ever gone a week without eating?

Have you ever been harassed because of the colour of your skin?

Have you ever been afraid of violence in your own home?

To the smokers who make a genuine effort to keep their smoke to themselves and comply to the laws without complaint, thank you. Your positive attitude is appreciated.

To the whiny smokers who insist on poisoning those around them any time and any place they can get away with it, shut the fuck up and take a look at what's really important. Smoking isn't a right. It's just your personal bad choice. Don't punish the rest of us for it.

I am long overdue for a blog entry. I keep thinking about writing, thinking of things I want to write about, but I never seem to have time. So I'll recap some highlights of the past two months.

June 16: My mother went to Barrie for her driving test. She griped about paying a man from the seniors' centre a bunch of money to drive her there, but if she had all her wits about her she would have realised that Woodbridge would have been a lot closer and easier to get to. Before the test she called and asked me to drive her to it, saying she "thought it would be good" if I was there to see her "pass with flying colours". I said no, I wasn't going to stop her from taking the test but I wasn't going to aid her in trying to get her licence back. She was angry with me and didn't speak to me for days, which was just fine with me.

She took her test and waited a couple of days to phone with the results, at which point Gilly answered the phone. Somehow, she passed the test! Ack! However, when she demanded her licence back she was told that she would have to wait 6 to 8 weeks to get a temporary licence in the mail, then take two one-hour refresher lessons (at her expense), then another test, and if she passed that test she would get her full licence back in 6 to 8 weeks. "So I might be driving by Christmas," she said. Gilly hung up and we laughed and laughed. It sounds horrible to laugh at our mother's frustration, but we couldn't do anything else in the face of her passing the test and our fear that she could possibly be allowed to drive again.

Grampa was released from hospital into a nursing home in Cambridge around that time. Pete called Mom and gave her hell for never visiting. More recently I called Pete to ask about getting the rust spots fixed on my car as he had offered, and he told me off for not visiting Grampa. I said I had no relationship with him and that I would take Mom when I was able to do so. He doesn't seem to understand that for me to bring Mom here it takes four days of my life (I can only do the drive between here and Newmarket once each day), a lot of gas and money, and the dificulty of having my mother spend the night in our apartment. He whined that he had to bear the burden of caring for his dad all on his own. Seriously, I am NOT the person he can whine to about that. I have carried the burden of my mother's illness since I was 8, and nobody (especially not Pete) even phoned to see how things were going. He certainly never visited her in hospital. The more I think about it, the angrier I feel, but I don't think telling him is going to make things any better. Considering he is basically a casual acquaintance, I haven't lost much if he decides not to speak to me again.

I did manage to take Mom to Grampa once early this month, and he seemed alright but very confused. He was happy to see us. I did mail him a postcard from New Brunswick, but I doubt he received it as he was moved to a Fergus nursing home while I was away.

In mid-June we went camping at Elora with a dozen people, and we had a blast. We weren't able to go tubing as the water level was too high and the river too fast. The swimming hole was riddled with bacteria so swimming was prohibited. However, the quarry was open so we went for a swim in the icy water there and te sunbathed on the warm rocks. We took a 90-minute hike aroudn the gorge looking for a geocache, and Matt made a huge marshmallow fork that looked like a deadly weapon. It truly was an awesome camping trip.

The following weekend Gilly and I volunteered for the Relay For Life in Newmarket. We sold t-shirts, hats, jewellery and other stuff for a few hours, and had to shut down because we ran out of receipts. It seems we sold more in those few hours than had been sold all day. Before we left the site we took a lap around the track and found the luminary I had bought with dad's name on it. We had a cry and then wandered back to the car.

The following night Chris the Greek invited us over for supper at his place before we went to a Newmarket pub to see an Aerosmith tribute band. Before dinner was even completed, he managed to stab his left hand while removing the meat from a coconut. He was bleeding profusely, so I stuffed a big wad of paper towel in his palm an hoisted his arm up in the air. He ran upstairs to tell his mom to take the chicken out of the oven when it was done, and she came out shouting "Chris! Put sugar on it! Put sugar on it Chris!" We have no idea what she was talking about, and we rushed him out to the car and went to hospital before she could see the mess in the sink.

We spent about three hours in emergency. Chris' mom came over after she saw it looked like we had killed a cow in the sink. His sister also came over and asked what happened, but she's squeamish and nearly fainted so I don't know why she even bothered to show up. She kept talking about neurosurgeons and stuff, and was fighting back tears. Seriously, Chris' fingers were cold but still pink, and he had both feeling and movement in his whole hand. When the nurse came in and removed the dressing, blood spurted out and she had to jump aside. The doctor put down a drop cloth, and they spent half an hour stopping the bleeding before giving Chris six stitches and sending him home. We didn't get to see Aeroforce, but it was an entertaining and memorable evening nonetheless.

On June 26 Gilly and I went to the Andrew Slonetsky Tribute Concert, to honour our favourite high school music teacher on his retirement. We saw loads of people we hadn't seen in years. Many were professional musicians and gave great performances. I got up with the alumni choir at the end and sang "Out on the Mira" with them. Slone got up at the end and cried. He said he had no idea how much he was loved and he was honoured to have known and taught all of us. Then Half told him a bursary was being set up in Slone's name, and Slone cried some more. At the reception afterward, Slone hugged everyone with great enthusiasm. It was a great evening, one I'm sure we will all remember for the rest of our lives.

The following weekend was a busy one for me and Mom. We went to both the Dyke March and the Pride Parade in Toronto, and we had a great time. She was asked to be in the parade since she was so well-decorated, but she said she'd like to watch instead. She says maybe next year she'll go in it, and asked if I would go with her. I definitely would!

On Canada Day we went in the Aurora parade together. She decorated both scooters, and a girl dressed as a clown rode one of them while Mom rode the other. I wore all white with a red hip scarf and veil and bellydanced down Yonge Street. It was loads of fun, but I was exhausted after dancing for 2.5 kilometres in blistering heat. We won the award for Red Hot Canadian Family. The judges didn't know our names so they called us "Lady in a scooter family". Since then, Mom keeps telling people we won the "Red Hot Canadian Scooter Family Award". We have a plaque with the real award name on it, but Mom is insistent she knows better. Anyway, our names are on a plaque at Aurora town hall for posterity.

Waffles had dental surgery a few days later, and was amusingly stoned due to his kitty morphine patch. He had a broken fang removed, but it didn't seem to bother him. We just enjoyed his wacky stoner behaviour for the next five days.

Then came my choir trip down east. I got along really well with my roommate Anita. She's a morning person and was happy to get up and shower and stuff and then wake me just in time for me to throw clothes on and go to breakfast at the crack of dawn. We sat together on the bus and the planes, and even at some meals. Sometimes we went our separate ways too, and that was just fine. I got along well with the other choir members. The problem, as always, was Alf. He's our conductor, he's 79, and he's rude and obnoxious and thinks it's funny to humiliate people around him. In the first three days, he said EIGHT nasty things to me. The straw that broke the camel's back was when we were entering a church hall for a ceilidh in Cape Breton, and I was the last one to enter. "WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS LATE?" he boomed, "Now our order is all screwed up!" I had been consistently early for everything on the trip until that point. Earlier that same day we had been rushed to Rita MacNeil's tea house for lunch and Dana ha arranged for Rita herself to be there. Alf had us all line up to sing for her, and I paused as I stepped into place and snapped a photo when Rita smiled at me.  "WILL YOU SIT DOWN ALREADY!" he shouted. Asshole!

So I went into the ceilidh and sat with the group. It was a suffocating heat wave and I was sitting there stewing about Alf. After two fiddle tunes, I told the woman next to me that I felt unwell and was going to take a walk. I worked my way through the crowd and managed to get out through the kitchen and walked up the hill so Alf and Dana couldn't see where I went and interrogate me. I ended up at a small harbour where I sat and watched the boats coming and going, and phoned Gilly and Mom. About 9PM I walked back to the church hall and sat across the road with a book, waiting for the group to come out so I could get back on the bus. Ken, Alf's sidekick, cameover and asked if Iw as alright, where I'd gone and so on. He said they'd been freaking out trying to figure out where I was, and that I shouldn't leave without telling someone as they're responsible for me, blah blah blah. I told him I'd mentioned to the woman beside me that I was leaving, but apparrently she hadn't said anything when they asked the group. I said I'm an adult, it's daylight and we're in fucking Baddeck. My high school has a bigger population than that village. I had no vehicle and there were no buses or taxis, so I wasn't able to go anywhere. I told him I was angry about Alf's constant rudeness, and to assure him that I didn't jump in the sea and end it all. Alf didn't even look at me for the rest of the trip, let alone speak to me. He did continue insulting others, making several women cry and making men angry. The odd time someone confronted him, he said "I was just joking! You people can't take a joke!" The word "sorry" is not in his vocabulary.

We had each paid $2000 for the trip, expecting to se the sights and have a good time. Instead, the trip consisted of about 6 hours a day on the bus. We were pushed out for half an hour a couple of times a day to get food and use the toilet, but then Alf would always want us to sing and then he'd badger us all to get on the bus because we were running late. In many places we got to the motel after supper, offloaded our bags, changed into our choir uniforms within 10 minutes of arriving and had to be back on the bus to drive another half hour to a concert. We'd then sweat to death in our ridiculous long-sleeved shirts (as we'd complained would happen long before we even left Ontario) and feel sick during the concet. We'd sing badly due to heat, dehydration, poor food, sleep deprivation, and a full day of recycled bus air, and then we'd get back on the bus right away and go back to the motel for a few hours sleep. In the morning we'd have to have all our suitcases back on the bus by 8:30AM, and repeat the whole shitty routine.

There were three highlights of the trip. The first was the Roya Nova Scotia Internaional Tattoo show on the first night. It was three hours of marching bands, dancing, gymnastics, and other great entertainment. The next was a power outage at the university residence where we stayed in Frederickton. We got back from a concert and security had to lead us up the stairs to the third floor in the dark. We busted out our booze supplies and had a party in the dark in the lounge. It was so hot we moved the party into the hallway. When the lights came on a couple hours later, we all went to bed.

The final highlight was when we sang for the university muckety-mucks after their convocation dinner. Michael and Krystyna, old friends of Alf and Dana's, had arranged our visit and out two concerts there, and Alf was terribly nervous and really wanted to impress these people. We were to wait outside until called, then go up and sing five songs and leave. Well, we waited and waited, and were finlly called up much later than anticipated. The room was acoustically dead and the air conditioning vents were right over our heads, choking us as we tried to sing. The crowd was unresponsive, and Alf kep conducting us to sing faster and faster in his nervousness. Finally when he went to introduce the final song, he commented that it was nice to have Krystyna play for us again (she used to live in Kitchener and played for the choir) and made a joke that he had an affair with her for 15 years. The room was filled with priests and nuns, and it went over like a lead balloon. Krystyna's face was priceless. I couldn't see Michael, but I can only imagine he was just as embarrassed as he's very high up on the totem pole at the university. After our final song, Michael got up and said he'd like to clarify that Krystyna was Alf's pianist for 15 years, since "not everyone understands the bizarre southern-Ontarian German sense of humour." Alf had been prepared to make a big speech at the end, but Michael dismissed us and we filed past Alf, who was sheepishly looking at his shoes. Alf didn't say much the rest of that night. The choir members, however, were laughing like hyenas as we left the building. We stripped off our uniforms and out came the booze. I put on black clothing with my red bra and panties over top, my new red plaid cap and started dancing in the party room.

The following night we stayed in a fancy hotel in Moncton and had a farewell dinner. Alf got up and said that had been the best choir trip he'd ever taken. The group members looked at each other and laughed. There was some hilarity where then men from the trip (the ones that were not part of the choir) came in with little flashlights on their heads and called themselves "Men of the Dumps". We had sung with Men of the Deeps early on in the trip, and they are a choir of miners that perform in the dark with their mining lamps on their heads.

So we got home safely, having woken at 2AM Toronto time and then flown home and arrived in Kitchener at 9AM. We were eager to get home. We jumped off the bus and ran to greet our families. Then Alf said "Everyone line up so we can sing!" ARGH!!!!!! Asshole.

The day after getting home, I went off to Rovers Only Moot. It rained for a chunk of the weekend, but we had fun. The pinata that Gilly and I had made was a success. I saw some people I hadn't seen in a couple of years, and spent the weekend catching up with them.

On Monday I went to Newmarket for a psychiatrist appointment, and when I arrived I found out my appointment had been cancelled. The doctor was very apologetic about it, and I vaguely remember getting a phone call while I was away saying that it was cancelled. Anyway, I wasn't angry. in fact, it turned out to be a very good thing because I called Jenn and heard the her sister Christa was in town. I haven't seen Christa since her wedding about 7 years ago, and I'd never met her daughter Heidi who is now 28 months old. I spent the afternoon with Chris the Greek and the evening with Jenn, Christa, Heidi and family, and then had dinner with Mom. I wanted to visit with Ellen and Brian while I was there, but when I went over late at night to crash in their basement I noticed they had guests already, so I snuck out and returned to Mom's place to sleep on her couch.

I went to a Zumba class with Michelle on Tuesday night, which was fun but I thought I wouldn't make it to the end. Being immobilised for so long in the bus, breathing recycled air and eating no fibre, milk, protein or vegetables had made me gain fat and lose muscle. I feel like hell! Zumba was fun but I think a little too much to start with. On Wednesday I didn't make it to the gym, so I did some Pilates on the living room floor. Yesterday I lifted some weights but didn't so the full workout, then did a yoga class. Fortunately, the instructor was easy on us yesterday. It was about 45 minutes of simple stretches and then a couple of poses that were a lot harder for me than they would have been a month ago. I am quite sore today and intend to have a swim and stretch in the sauna downstairs later this afternoon.

This week, everyone seems to want to see me and talk to me, but I just haven't had time to fit it all in. Ellen e-mailed me to see how my trip went, so I'll give her a call sometime and chat. Bishop keeps phoning and phoning. I'm never home and he doesn't leave messages. He's starting to get rather creepy. He called me several times in the three days before I left on my trip, and he kept saying "I'll miss you, I don't know what I'm going to do without you." Umm, yeah. That would be sweet coming from a boyfriend that I was spending a lot of time with. From the guy who led me on and then said he wasn't interested, that's just creepy. On Friday Michelle went to a barbecue he had for the singles' club, and when he found out she hangs out with me a lot he kept asking her where I was and if I was going to show up. She didn't know where I was, but even if she had she wouldn't have told him as she got the heebie-jeebies from him. He had called me on Thursday afternoon to welcome me home, and he was distracted because he was at work. He asked if I could call him back later, and I said I was going out. He kept trying to find out where I was going, and I just said "out" because he has a habit of inviting himself along. I was only going out for dinner at Ethel's with Gily, Sandra, and Natalie, but that was my business. Michelle and i had a long catch-up chat at the gym on Tuesday night, and she asked if I thought he might be on drugs. I said I didn't think so, and that it's more likely he SHOULD be on drugs but isn't!

So that brings us up to date. Tomorrow I'm supposed to go to Wasaga Beach with my singles' club, but the weather report is iffy so we might go to Niagara instead. Either way, it'll be good times. Ciao for now!

11:10AM. May 30. One year ago today, my father looked at us for the last time breathed his last breath. I'm crying now like I cried then. I miss him so much.

Yesterday I was walking in Victoria Park, and I saw an old man that for a moment I thought was my dad. He was sitting on a park bench, looking over the water. He wore brown pants, a red jacket, and a large-brimmed tan hat just like my dad's. I had to fight the urge to go over and sit with him. I wanted so badly for it to be my dad.

Today, more than usual, everything reminds me of him. I brushed my teeth using the electric toothbrush I inherited from him. He had an odd excitement about electric toothbrushes, and had bought one each for me and for Gilly after he tried one for the first time. He used his so much he wore it out, and bought another one with the same amount of product research he would put into buying a computer or a camera.

Waffles rubbed my legs as I brushed my teeth. When I finished, I picked him up and hugged him, and thought about how much Dad would have loved him. My dad was very much a cat person, and when Puff died we went out the same day to get another cat. Dad was enamoured with a large ginger cat at the Humane Society pound, who looked a fair bit like Waffles. He decided against adopting that cat, only because it was four years old and he couldn't bear the thought of seeing his kids cry over the loss of a pet again any sooner than he had to. A few hours later, we found Teffy through an ad in the newspaper. This morning I also tried to hug Teffy, but she wouldn't let me near her so I had to settle for waving to her from across the room.

Gilly offered me tea, and although I normally don't bother, today I felt inclined to have some. I would love to sit and have a cup of tea with Dad again. Mom called as we sat down with our tea, to tell us she was thinking about Dad and about us, and to see how we were doing.

I took Gilly to work as her car is in the shop. I dropped her off and went to Zehrs, and I remembered how much fun it was to go shopping with Dad. Right from when I was a little kid, I enjoyed grocery shopping with him. He would buy us treats and let us ride on the mechanical horse at Mr. Grocer. As an adult, he would obsessively read labels, search for the best prices on everything, and get really excited at a good deal or a new product. I encountered an Instore Focus sample lady in the store, and remembered how much time he spent hanging around my sample table helping me sell my product, all the while eating my samples. I asked the butcher for beef kidney, something Dad always loved, and was truly disappointed that there was none available.

When I got home, I pulled Dad's giant crock pot out of its box and put six pounds of boneless pork roasts in it. My dad was a wizard with the crock pot, despite his initial reaction when Mom brought one home from the Goodwill store. "What the hell do you do with that?" he said. His attitude quickly changed when I looked up crock pot recipes online and he realised he could make the most awesome meals early in the day and then forget about it for 6 or 8 hours. The crock pot allowed him to indulge his home cooking tradition, but afforded him the relaxation so he didn't feel rushed when he sat down to eat. As I mixed up the sauce for the pulled pork I thought about how he would have disapproved of it due to the high sugar content, and also about how obsessed he was with apple cider vinegar. Now Gilly mocks me for my excessive use of vinegar, but hey, it's tasty, calorie-free, and cleans your bathroom to boot. My dad was a brilliant man!

I fully expect this reminiscing to continue, not just today but for years to come. There's so much I wish I could have said to my dad, and so much I wish I could have learned from him. I no longer have dreams of him returning with a grin on his face, laughing that we thought he was dead. It's been ages since I dreamt about being at home, in our house, and that everything was as it used to be. Although in many ways I'm much better off now than I have ever been, I still feel like a part of me died with him. Even a whole year later, I have no idea how to deal with that.

Wow, it's been a long time since I've gotten around to blogging! I miss it, but I've been so freaking busy I haven't had time to write. As a result, this entry will be pretty convoluted and random.

On May 11, we got a new cat. He is teh fluffeh. Very squirrel-like. And of course, Teffy hates him. He doesn't seem to take it personally though; he just keeps trying to play with her and she just keeps swatting him away.

This cat came from Freecycle, after his original family developed allergies and the next family's other cat was still attacking him after four weeks in their house. He is a year and a half old, orange and white, fixed, front declawed, and has had all his shots. He's always been an indoor cat so he's perfectly happy to stay in the apartment all the time, although he does cry at the door when we leave and we can hear him all the way down the hallway. He was named by a 10-year-old girl, who hugged him and said "You seem kind of gay. Your name should be Peaches!" We have renamed him Waffles, based on a Williams Coffee Pub employee that looked like Antonio Banderas, who later voiced the ginger cat Puss In Boots in the Shrek movies. "Antonio! Serve me waffles!" Today I had the thought that we should one day get a blue cat and name him Grover. However, that will be many years away as Teffy had her teeth cleaned yesterday, and blood tests show she's healthy as a horse.

I asked the vet to give Teffy a good combing while she was unconscious for the cleaning. They combed and combed and combed, and ended up with a hairball the size of a cantaloupe. They also trimmed her nails as short as they possibly could, because she makes such a huge fuss when they do it while she's awake. Teffy looks really good now that the lumps have been combed out of her thick coat, and she even looks smaller than before. She's still slightly groggy and more angry at us than usual, but she'll get over it sooner of later. It was worth the money, as she also had the cleaning done before developing any cavities so we didn't have to pay for any tooth extractions. Huzzah!

On the Mom front, we gave her a custom t-shirt for Mother's Day that has pictures of her and her cats on it. Later in the day, she handed me an envelope and said the letter inside was in response to a challenge I gave her. "I gave you a challenge?" I said. The letter inside was a list of things for which she was proud of me. I had told her in the car one day several weeks before that she never said anything nice about me or to me, despite my bending over backward to help her. The letter was poorly spelled (in a charming way), had one little snide remark in it ("When you're not putting me down you're actually a very loving daughter"), and mostly listed things from my early childhood and even pre-birth. I was stunned by it, and went to her and hugged her and cried and cried and cried. She asked if we could have a fresh start, and I said I hoped so.

So she came home with us for one night, and we took her to see Grampa, who was still in hospital in Guelph. A couple of days later, he was moved into a nursing home in Cambridge. Interestingly , he has been on the brink of death several times. The DNR has been signed and the funeral planned, and treatment stopped. Somehow he managed to cure himself of a serious blood infection without antibiotics. He surprised the nurses by escaping his bed in the middle of the night and hobbling down the hallway buck naked. They took him back to his room and put him in a chair with a tray across his lap so he couldn't get up. He keeps bugging people to give him a glass of water, but his swallowing reflex is terrible and they'll only give him thickened fluids. The doctor said he is so fragile he could choke on his own saliva, get pneumonia from the fluid entering his lungs, and die from it. Bizarre!

Anyway, back to Mom. The day after Mother's Day we had lunch at Swiss Chalet, and she told me she had
told the psychologist about my "challenge", and the psychologist was
the one who told her I really needed to hear good things from her. She
said she took many, many tries to write it, and that the night before
she had laid in bed thinking of a whole bunch of things she forgot to
put on the list she gave me. So she told me a bunch of the things she
thought of, and we had a good laugh and a pleasant afternoon together. So things were all rosy, although I fully expected her to turn on me again at any moment. Also, my elation was tempered by the realisation that the letter doesn't mean much unless she shares it with all the people she has badmouthed me to. I'm going to e-mail a scan to Dorian and ask him to make it famous within the parish. It should be pretty interesting if he does it, as right now Mom isn't talking to me.

She phoned me on Sunday at 10:15AM, and asked when I was going to pick her up from church. I had planned to be in Newmarket over the long weekend, but plans changed and I didn't go. Mom had left a message on Gilly's cell phone the day before, but we didn't get it because it was turned off. Despite the fact that she hadn't heard from us, Mom assumed we were in town. When I told her I was at home she was really angry. "Today's Dorian's twentieth anniversary of ordination service, and I have two big presents and a cheese tray to take!" She kept telling me off instead of trying to find an answer. I started to tell her to just call a cab, but she hung up on me. I looked at the phone and laughed.

On Monday Mom called me, much calmer. She said she had balanced all her stuff on her scooter and was going to try to ride to church that way. When she got outside her building, a neighbour who goes to the same church was waiting for a taxi. She took Mom's packages and cheese tray with her, and Mom rode her scooter to church and all was well.

So I was forgiven. Then Mom started talking about her upcoming driving test on June 16. She had been given a list of testing centres she could go to, and even though I pointed out that she could get to Woodbridge by bus, she insisted Barrie was somehow easier to get to. So she booked her test for Barrie, but then realised she had no way to get there. So it was during Monday's phone call that she asked me to make a special trip to Newmarket that day and drive her to Barrie for her test. I said no, I was the one who worked so hard to have her licence removed, and I wasn't going to have any hand in assisting her to get it back. She tried to stay cool (as cool as my mom gets) and said that it would be really great for me to go up there and see her pass the test, so I would see proof that she's fit to drive. Now, I seriously doubt she'll pass, but then she often manages to fool experts just long enough to get her way. I'm afraid she'll pull one of her tricks again and get it back, and I'll never live it down. All I can do is hope and pray that she's as crazy in front of the testers as she is in front of me. And of course, if I were to drive her to Barrie and she did pass, her reaction would surely be that she'd get in the car and drive away without me, just to "teach me a lesson". No. Fucking. Way.

So within ten minutes of her calling me, she was all angry and hung up on me again. She hasn't phoned since, and that's fine with me. I'll just wait until she gets desperate enough to call me again, which will surely be when she wants another favour.

Enough about my mom now! (Bet you'd never see me write that!)

Our friend Sandra has just moved here from Hamilton, and the peasants rejoice. We get to keep her for 16 months while she's doing an internship in town. We spent much of the long weekend with her and Matt, who we'll also get to see lots now that he's coming to visit his lady. We really haven't seen either of them much in the last couple of years, so Gilly and I are excited to have them around. The next goal is to convince Cheese to move here, so the old Crew can be reunited and make lots of trouble.

The other social news is that Gilly and I have both found men that will date us more than once each. Huzzah! Gilly met a guy online and later ran into him at Tammy and Monte's buck and doe party last month. They have since had two good dates and are planning a third. I met a guy through the singles' club I took over here in town, and we've been seeing each other a lot in the group context and have also gone on a couple of dates on our own. He's definitely interested and I've made it clear I'm interested in him, but it still feels rather high-school in that he seems kind of shy regarding dating. It's cute though, and I'm going with the flow. Perhaps he's also taking it slow because I met him during a crazy time at work and he won't really have time to date properly for a little while, but he assures me things will settle soon and we'll have more time to get to know each other. That's fine with me; I'm busier than a one-armed paper hanger these days and quite happy being so.

I'm still diligently going to the gym, weight training two to three times each week, increasing my weight and number of sets, doing longer runs of cardio, stretching more, and doing occasional yoga classes. I've gotten quite good at lunges and managed 60 reps on each side recently, and wasn't too terribly sore afterward. Gilly and I are still bellydancing and getting better at it, and our new instructor is pretty hardcore about form so we're getting an even better workout from it than before. I still haven't lost an ounce, but I can flap my "wings" under my arms by flexing my muscles, and I've never been able to do that before. People are telling me I look great, and I'm hoping the fat-to-muscle conversion continues and eventually results in a few pounds off overall. I love being at the gym, zoning out to music on the elliptical machine, seeing my muscles bulge as I work out, and tasting the sweat as it pours from my brow, down my nose and drip onto my chest. Staff and workout buddies laugh and ask me why I don't carry a towel and wipe my face while working out, but the sweat makes me feel good in that I know I'm working hard and making real progress. I might have to give in soon and take a towel though, because lately I'm sweating so much my eyes will sting and burn from the pooled perspiration.

I've been seeing a dietitian at Sunnybrook for a few months, and last week she said we're basically done and I'll just follow up with her one more time in August to make sure I'm sticking to my portion control strategies. I discovered that Breyer's makes these awesome no-sugar-added ice cream cups in Fudge Brownie flavour. The ice cream is rich and delicious and chunky, and each cup is only 100 calories. It's quite satisfying, especially when I eat it with a tiny baby spoon and savour each mouthful. When the weather gets hotter and my ice cream cravings increase, I'll make my own popsicles using Silhouette yogourt and fresh fruit combined in the blender. The yogourt is only 50 calories per half cup, and low glycemic load berries are getting to be cheap and plentiful now. I can make cherry, blueberry, blackberry, strawberry, raspberry, and any combination thereof. I suspect Gilly will be pleased with this idea as well! If I get chocolate and coffee flavoured whey powders, I can even make those popsicle flavours. I could add a litle almond extract to either of those, or a drop of Mexican vanilla in the coffee kind. Or Mexican chocolate popsicles using cinnamon, vanilla, and a pinch of chili powder! Mmmmmm!!! I'm looking forward to this experiment!

Come to think of it, perhaps I should make a batch of Mexican chocolate popsicles for Rovers Only Moot in July, as it's a Mexican theme and I live near the camp. I'll have to make a batch before then and see if it's as good as I imagine it will be. Now my brain is ticking... I could use sifted cocoa powder or decaf coffee crystals instead of buying expensive flavoured whey powders. I'M A FRIGGING GENIUS!!!

Yesterday I saw the endocrinologist, and got a promising treatment to try to clear up my face. As usual, my acne treatment is no longer working well after six months on it, and the dermatologist says he can't do anything more other than giving me Accutane. This, of course, is out of the question due to my fragile psychiatric state. Even though I've been doing very well the last couple of months, I'm starting to approach panic attacks again and have been taking Lorazepam again to try to settle my nerves as breathing techniques just aren't cutting it. I was worried about going to Austin's wedding earlier this month, but a fun first date with Bishop the night before made me feel great and I wasn't so bothered by it. The only time I got really upset was when Emma danced with her father at the reception, and I sobbed from the realisation that I would never dance with my dad. I turned around and Gilly was crying too. (I did manage to catch the bouquet though!) I think maybe the return of the anxiety is related to the upcoming anniversary of my dad's death, and all the memories surrounding it. There's also my fear of my mom getting her driver's licence back, which will only be relieved if/when she fails the test and finally has to accept that she really can't drive. I'm hoping that she might even stop blaming me for it, although I think that's a pipe dream. She'll probably say that I got to the testers first and told them to fail her. her conspiracy theories have no limits. She'll certainly claim that her driving skills are just rusty after a year without practice, and she'll blame me for that. So yeah, I'm anxious.

Anyway, back to the endocrinologist. She gave me a prescription for a drug that blocks male hormones and thus reduces acne breakouts. It's cheap and known to be very effective, and it's covered by my ODSP drug plan. Yay! It's also not supposed to conflict with my other medications, and it has the double-whammy of lowering blood pressure. Mine is slightly elevated again, but nothing like it used to be.

My psychiatrist suggested a few books to read, and I'm very, very slowly working through the first one. I cringed when I saw it's an Oprah Bok Club selection, but decided to give it a try. Well, I can tell you, Eckhert Tolle has a handful of interesting points to make, but the guy doesn't know how to write. I have to read everything multiple times to follow what he's saying. He's repeating himself anyway. He's a total New Age hippie type who gives me the impression he's smoked a little too much weed. Gilly and I are now joking that "my ego doesn't like your ego" and "your ego isn't funny" after I read her some passages. When I get through the book, I'll take it to a used book store and I should have no problem getting most of my money back by selling it.

I'm sure I'll think of lots of other stuff I forgot to write about, but that's OK as it's past noon and I need to get a bunch of stuff done before suppertime. Have a fantabulous day!

  

I must rant briefly before going to bed.

Tonight we were out at a karaoke bar with the singles' club here. Things were going well, people had a good time. I got up and sang a couple of songs, and so did some others in our group.

Toward the end of the evening, the girl sitting beside me asked if I was doing anything Saturday night, as she is going to a party. I don't know this girl well; I have met her a couple of times and she gets on my nerves so I generally just try my best not to sit next to her at events. Anyway, my calendar is packed to overflowing for a couple of months in advance, and while I couldn't recall my plans for this Saturday night, I knew it would be a packed weekend.

"I'm busy that night, but thank you for the invitation anyway," I said. She asked if we were having a group event that night, and I said no, because I knew we weren't. She began badgering me, asking repeatedly what I was doing and where I was going that night. It made me uncomfortable and frustrated. It's none of her business what my activities are outside the group, and if I don't volunteer the information it's rude of her to insist I tell her where I'll be on a specific night. So after trying several times to tell her I was "just busy", I finally snapped at her and told her she didn't need to know exactly where I would be and what I was doing. I had tried the polite way, but this girl is the clueless type that doesn't just accept what you're saying for what it is, and you have to be extremely blunt with her. And seriously, that behaviour is not only annoying and rude, but it's creepy and mildly stalkerish.

What bothered me the most was the reactions of Gilly and this girl's friend who was sitting beside her. They didn't think I had the right to be pissed off and snap at this girl. Now, just because I'm now officially the leader of this group does not mean that my entire life should be the business of everyone in the group, nor does it mean that I should have to tolerate inappropriate behaviour that crosses my personal boundaries. I am still a human being, and if someone really offends me I still have every right to express that.

As clueless people do, this girl moaned about my bitchiness when I went to the washroom soon afterward. She said she didn't want to come back after that. Gilly told me this after we left, and honestly, part of me was happy. I'm pretty indifferent to this girl's presence at events provided we have minimal contact and don't sit anywhere near each other. However, I don't feel inclined to chase her down and apologise for reacting to her creepy interrogation. If she doesn't come back, it just means I won't have to deal with her again.

Aside from that, the evening was fun and there were lots of new people.