Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Children's Story (revisited) (sorry if I overwhelm with two posts in such rapid succession)

I've learned that there has been some interest in my proposed children's book, "Why Are You Crying?"

And I'm open to suggestion. I'm thinking of "Why Are You Crying?" as an actual children's book, sort of a "Boy Who Cried Wolf" for the modern child, and "I'll Give You Something To Cry About" as the adult companion reader.  The trouble is, I'm really not sure what could be considered a reasonable and not entirely terrifying suggestion for a small child, and what is without question inappropriate and clearly intended only for an adult audience.  Some of the options are clear to me, some of them not so much.  Please tell me which is which.  I have a neverending source (it seems) of why a small child might really burst into tears.  My list of possible suggestions of what could be much, much worse is as follows:

"Are you being chased by ravenous wolves?"
"Is someone trying to sell you into slavery?"
"Is a hungry grizzly tearing you limb from limb?"
"Are you being attacked by ninjas?"
"Have you been kidnapped by aliens?  Are they about to perform heinous experiments on you?"
"Have you contracted the ebola virus?"
"Are you detoxing and would do anything for a fix?"
"Are you being murdered?"
"Have you been on a killing spree, feel the long arm of the law closing in, and have just now realized that you don't want to go to prison?"
"Have the neighbours reported me to CAS because with all the crying and screeching they think that I'm abusing you horribly, and now someone is coming to take you away?"
"Has your house been swept away by a tsunami and you've lost all of your worldly possessions, including your new puppy?"
"This sounds serious.  Take this doll, and show me where he touched you."
"Did you just watch 'The Notebook'?"

Etc.  I could go on all day.  This stuff almost writes itself.


Monday, October 24, 2011

On Request - Gas Station Drinkin' (though there's really not that much of a story, sorry)

I did not spend Thanksgiving weekend in Quebec.  Or anywhere in the USA.  I point this out because these are the places that come to my mind when I think of being able to buy alcohol at a gas station.  Having spent a considerable amount of money on cases of Molson Dry at the Ultramar across the road from my apartment when I lived in Montreal, I know for sure you can buy alcohol at gas stations in Quebec.  I don't know for sure that you can buy it at gas stations in the States, but I figure if you can get it at Walgreens, why not. 

No, I spent much of Thanksgiving weekend in very small town Ontario.  Very, very small town Ontario.  I'm not sure what the actual rule is in terms of distance, but if you live in a community considered to be unreasonably far from a proper LCBO or Beer Store, there is probably an outlet set up in whatever local business is available - grocery store, ice cream shop, gas station, whatever.  Principal business in Brigden is the Super Choice Gas Bar, hence, gas station whiskey.  The available selection cannot be described as extensive.  Jim Beam it was.  Some of it was brown bagged in the Super Choice* parking lot, which was also just outside the gates of the Brigden Fall Fair.  Which was amazing, if you're into demolition derby, monster trucks (in addition to the demonstration, you could take a monster truck ride for 5 bucks), lawn tractor races, displays of prize pumpkins and zucchinis and pie, horse shows, lumberjack competitions, carnies (both rides and food), and people walking around wearing T-shirts with wolves on, and not one of them ironically.  Having eaten a quantity of carnie food, sporting some beer bloat from the night before and apparently wearing a very, very bad choice of top, I was asked whether or not I was pregnant before I was allowed to ride the Polar Express.  No one hesitated to allow me on the Gravitron, whether because I did not, in fact, appear to be a few months pregnant, or because the carnie operating the Gravitron was not concerned about the health and welfare of the unborn no one will ever know.

Much of the rest of the bottle disappeared later that night as my companion and I ate cotton candy and played duelling solitaire while sitting in a trailer.  Not the immobile, shanty-town, 9 Mile kind of trailer (sorry, I meant 8 Mile), but the kind meant for camping, which is marginally better.  I play strategic solitaire, and won by two rounds.

*Not to indulge in a really terrible pun, but I will not (cannot) describe Jim Beam as a super choice. It was, however, perfectly drinkable.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

I'll Give You Something to Cry About

I'm almost growing accustomed to the twins' existence.  Except for spit up.*  And the disgusting snorfling sound they make when a little stuffed up.**  And the piercing shrieks.

I mean, I don't enjoy it, but I get that babies cry.  They have no other way to tell anyone that they're hungry or lonely or scared of their own wallpaper or have just peed themselves.  These situations can be dealt with with things like a bottle or a diaper change or just by picking the damn things up.  However, I don't really understand the spontaneous crying, where you have catered to every possible whim and they still won't let up.  As frustrating as that is, I still accept that they probably have their reasons and just aren't able to say.  Maybe they're pissed off to be out of the womb, life on the outside not being quite as awesome as they thought it would be during the months that they spent planning their breakout.  Like a university student foolishly looking forward to graduation, and then facing the grim reality of actually having to get a job after.

However, I always assumed that the development of language skills and bowel/bladder control would spell the end of spontaneous crying fits.  I was so, so wrong.  It turns out that these last well into childhood.

Surprisingly, I have access to little people besides the twins.  One in particular.  She is three, and is mostly a pretty good kid - which coming from me, says a lot.  She has language skills somewhat advanced for her age.  She has proven herself capable of deductive logic.  She does not soil herself - not even wet the bed.  But the crying.  It's inexplicable.  She cries when it's time to get up.***  She cries when it's time to go to sleep.  She cries when it's time to take a bath.  When she doesn't feel like eating dinner.  When it's time for her friends to go home.  After about 30 seconds of hide and seek if no one has yet found her.  When dropped off at preschool.  When picked up from preschool.  When a kitten that she has been  purposely teasing scratches her ankles, and/or when she believes herself to have suffered some other manner of injury (there is typically no injury, not even a flesh wound).  Etc.

And once started, she simply cannot be reasoned with.

I have therefore decided, in protest, to write a children's book called, "Why Are You Crying?" 

For example:

Once upon a time there was a little girl who didn't listen when her dad said to sit still until her shoes were tied. When she started running gleefully across the lawn, she tripped over her own feet, and fell down.  And then started wailing, even though she hadn't hurt herself one bit.  Her dad walked over to her and said,

"Small child, why are you crying?"

(sob, sob)

"Is someone trying to sell you into slavery?"

or

"Are you being chased by ravenous wolves?"

or

"Are you being murdered?"

And when the answer to the question is "no", the adult of the situation will cheerily say something like "what a relief.  I guess life isn't so bad then, is it.  Move along".

In actual baby news, the hellions now look like regular infants.  There were a number of things about their appearance that I found unsettling when they were new.  Mostly their legs.  I had the misconception that babies were supposed to be chubby.  The twins were not.  The skin on their legs was all wrinkly and saggy, especially around the knees, and brought to mind the legs of an elephant on the verge of starvation.  Not that I've ever taken a good look at the legs of an elephant on the verge of starvation.  But I have a visual imagination.

In drinking news, one of my most recent buzzes came from whiskey bought at a gas station.  A more recent buzz manifested itself outside a photo booth at the Steamwhistle Brewery.  Perhaps I will share these stories, or perhaps not.  More importantly,I just found out that Skull Vodka has been re-introduced as "Crystal Head Vodka".  I smell Halloween.

*About a tablespoon landed on my hand the other night.  Did I laugh and say it's only spilled milk?  If you say yes, proceed to footnote ****.  If you say I was horrified, proceed to footnote *****.

**Gross.  Like they're choking on something viscous.  Which I suppose they are.

***I'll own that I feel like crying sometimes when it's time to get up, and quite often actually whimper, but that's because I have to go to work.  If when I woke up I knew that someone was going to make me waffles and then encourage me to lounge peacefully and watch Fraggle Rock all day, I don't think I'd complain.

****you might be partially retarded.  A good occupational therapist should be able to help you implement strategies to make your life much, much easier. Maybe consider checking that out.

*****I screamed and said, "get it off, get it off".

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Circle of Life... Ongoing

No, I'm not feeling sad about the death of Steve Jobs.  Apple has had very little impact on my life thus far.  Until today I wasn't sure which Steve was which, recognizing them only as "the fat Steve" and "the other Steve".  Can't afford a MacBook or an iPad (not that I'm sure I'd want either), and still a little miffed about the premature death of my iPod.  Also not impressed with the iPhone for personal reasons.  Is an iPhone an appropriate way for an unemployed person to dispose of their limited income, I ask you?  Rather than, for example, buying groceries occasionally?  Grrr.

A very recent visit to Chatham is what has me a bit down. I know as people march through adulthood there is an inevitable point where you realize that you are taking care of your parents rather than they are taking care of you... not that it's reached that point yet, but still.  Seeing a shirtless guy getting arrested cheered me, somewhat.  Also, to look on the bright side, I may have cured myself of one of my numerous bad habits.

I live alone and have no dishwasher.  Drinking straight from the milk carton or juice pitcher is among my vices - I hate doing dishes.  While perusing my parents' refrigerator I happened upon a pitcher of what looked and smelled like refreshing and delicious limeade.  I was just awake and parched.  And was several swallows in before I realized that my morning beverage contained sugar and lime juice - and tequila.  Oops.

Could really use some good news and/or engage in some manner of life-affirming activity. I've had my fill of reasons to ponder mortality.  Inadvertantly drinking a couple of margaritas before 8:30 a.m. gave me a good excuse to go back to bed, which I liked, but was neither good news nor life-affirming.