Iridescent, like a dragonfly

Once upon a time, long, long ago, in a place far, far away... No, no, but seriously, about ten years ago in Toronto, I walked into Trade Secrets in the Eaton Centre, looking for a particular kind of nailpolish. I had gotten a manicure with this really funky blue iridescent polish a while ago and wanted the same colour for myself. So, innocently enough, I ask the sales girl if they have any such animal, with an iridescent sheen to it.

She looks at me like I'm speaking Ancient Greek and says "What's that [iridescent] mean?"

I hope I don't sound like a snob but I don't think that's a difficult word that only thems from high-society know. I was momentarily startled; my mouth hung open in horror until my friend jabbed me with her elbow and I started to try and explain all about the magic of iridescence.

Of course I sounded like an idiot and she definitely thought I was an idiot who didn't know her nailpolish from her haircolour. I got myself away in one physical piece but with a slightly shattered mind. I never got up the nerve to ask for an iridescent nailpolish again.

Until now. And I didn't even have to ask anybody, making a fool of myself in the process. In my quest to gain Shoppers' Drug Mart points, I found this polish. Isn't it awesome? I got one in pink too because who knows when the next time I'll be able to find them again may be.


Props to you, Winnipeg!

Kitty Heaven

Sometimes I wish I were a Cow Kitty.


Especially when it's raining like a bitch.

The Adventures of Chaos and Trouble: Day 5

I wake up to the realization that my mother is finally leaving. Yay? No yay? I can't decide.

The Dynamic Duo requests scrambled eggs for breakfast, so off I go to make them. I beat up several eggs in a container, when it occurs to me that they might want cheese in their eggs. I ask them and they give me the look of death. "Cheese?" they say. "Well, I never! Cheese in eggs. How weird. That's a new one!" I skulk backward out of the room while they continue to rage about cheese and eggs.

I ask citrusboy if he can make them because he makes excellent scrambled eggs. And he does. I take one look at them and freak out! They're too dry. They'll never eat that. Before I could hide them somewhere to be consumed at a later time, the Polish Princess walks into the kitchen and takes one look at the eggs: What the HELL is THAT?!? You can't seriously expect me to eat that, can you? That's crappy. Didn't your mother teach you how to make eggs? That's not European. (And just for the record, not that it matters, but just to show how INSANE my mother is, citrusboy is European.) So now my mother has made my husband feel like shit too. How classy.

I take over the egg scrambling duties, and barely cook them so they're as runny as a stream. Minimal complaining with that effort. I then make Bat-Shit Aunty M's morning coffee, who chooses that moment to tell me she will not be having coffee this morning but rather some tea. Why, oh why I cry silently to myself.

We sit down to the eggs and my mother immediately starts mocking me. "Look what they're eating. Look at their eggs. All dry with no fat." Auny M looks, and then imparts her great pearl of wisdom: Yeah, that won't keep them from getting fatter. Not if they keep shoveling in the lasagne like they do. Lasagne? What lasagne? Oh you mean the lasagne I made because you wanted me to? That one? Right. I feel my head starting to detonate and spew forth ugly things, like so many bits of dynamite.

But they're not finished with their condemnation of my eggs. Oh no, don't even think that I've gotten away that easy. Aunty M gets up: Where's your salt? Whoever heard of eggs without salt. This is ridiculous. Blah blah blah fishcakes. She went on but I stopped listening. My poor eggs - thank god they were already fried up and didn't have to listen to this diatribe. Unlike me, who was teetering on the edge of El Screaming Fit.

After breakfast they left us alone for 3.5 milliseconds in order to finish up packing. Citrusboy tries to calm me down but my mother decides she needs to needle me some more. She comes in with the Cuba itinerary I printed for her - yes, the same Cuba trip that I spent whole days looking for, the same Cuba trip that I couldn't book online for some reason but had to call BC for several times, the same Cuba trip that cost me over $30 in faxes as they needed all sorts of documentation, the same Cuba trip that the Dynamic Duo gave me immeasurable grief about - and says: What the HELL airline is this? What shit plane did you book us on? How could you do this? There it is: the straw that broke the camel's back and the last straw, all rolled into one. I freak out, spewing such idiocy that even I can't remember it anymore. My mother just looks at me like I'm a moron and leaves the room. Gawd, at least she shut up for a moment.

And on that note, they're off. I bundle them into a taxi with hugs and kisses, and they promise to return next year. I hope they're joking.

The Adventures of Chaos and Trouble: Day 4

I pray for a stress-free day. Haha, you say? Yeah, I know.

The Polish Princess and Bat-Shit Aunty M hauled me at of bed at the ungodly hour of 7:00 in the morning to inform me that it will be cabbage roll (golabki) making day! Awesome! I love homemade cabbage rolls. Mmm good! I had asked my mom previously if we could make them at some point, but she had laughed at me. I guess Bat-Shit Aunty M overheard my pleas for sustenance and took pity on me. Thank god for small mercies!

As an aside, I was going to link to a Polish cabbage roll recipe but they were all wrong. All of them called for ground beef and when making cabbage rolls, one should never use ground beef - it makes them too tough. Only ground pork should be used, which makes the cabbage rolls soft and succulent. End of sermon and back to our regular pogramming.

So off we went to the supermarket. I love this supermarket, The Real Canadian Superstore. It has everything you could ever want plus some stuff that you would never want. Books, blenders, cheese plates, beds-in-a-bag, televisions, digital photo printing, pharmacy stuff, ethnic groceries, and tofu - it's got it all. And I love it unabashedly. Anyhow, before I get carried away in my enthusiasm, let me just say that for all of that, it was still a painful experience.

We walked there, amazingly enough. Seems the Dynamic Duo was in the mood for some fresh air. Fine with me, maybe there'd be no complaining about buses in the meanwhile. As soon as we stepped into the store, the Duo's eyes grew three sizes too big. I could see them mentally calculating all the stuff they could buy; calculating so quickly that I swear I saw small wisps of smoke escaping from their ears. They tear through the store, flinging things into the basket from every angle: reading glasses (two pair), moisturizer, sunscreen, make-up mirror, hair pins, coffee mugs, underwear, foundation, and flip-flops. My arms begin to sag and the bottom of the basket starts to scrape the bottom of the floor, making an unholy noise in the process. I knew I should have taken a cart instead.

Lo and behold, we reach the purse section. And wonder of wonders, there's a small, plain, black, acceptable purse hanging off a shelf. That gets tossed onto the leaning mountain of random sundry items as well.





















I eventually manage to drag them over to the food part of the store. The Dynamic Duo picks up two heads of cabbage (after subjecting my ears to an argument over how many leaves each head contains; Bat-Shit Aunty M won, by the way), a baggie of rice, and some mushrooms. They agonize over the ground pork and dismiss it as too fatty. They try to badger the butcher into grinding them up some fresh pork, but the butcher steadfastly refuses in the wake of their collective tantrum. Go, butcher-man, go! In a moment of weakness, I suggest another store nearby. I must hate myself.

Aunty M finally snaps over the bus idea and demands we take a taxi. And she wants to visit the liquor store. She thinks she needs liquor? So we make a stop at the MLCC, where I wait in the sweltering taxi and they take 15 minutes to pick up a bottle of gin. Later I find out that they also managed to sneak a quick peek around the mall to see what else they could buy. Luckily they only came back with the gin. Then we head over to the Safeway, where they only take 10 minutes to grab some ground pork, and thoughtfully enough, some wings and potato salad for lunch. Thank god there are no stores in that mall or who knows what they would have dragged home.

We get home and the cabbage roll making begins! Except they make fun of my kitchen, my pride and joy. I love my kitchen and think it's very well organized. They beg to differ, of course. They make fun of my salt container, which is, you know, a regular salt shaker. They make fun of my pots and the size of my pots, which were a gift from my mother-in-law, so I'm not even going there. And they make fun of my cutting board, not to speak of where I store my cutting board. Which just happens to be in a cupboard. Strange storage spot, isn't it? Aunty M insists it should be placed behind the kitchen faucet so it's always handy. And she puts it there. So for the duration of their stay and every time they come over there after, I have to haul out my cutting board and place it behind the faucet. I think an eye-roll escaped me at that point. But they're making me cabbage rolls, so how annoyed could I comfortably get?

As the cabbage rolls are cooking and the Dynamic Duo is busy chatting up the gin bottle, I manage to escape to read some blogs. Ah, five whole minutes of solace. My mother wanders in and starts talking about her trip to Cuba. Somehow, and don't ask me how, we get on the topic of how there wasn't that much to do when citrusboy and I were there.

And she says: There's lots to do for you! You can leave the beach for a little while and go back to your room and make love. All said with a straight face while sporting a Polish accent.

I have been properly scarred for life. I guess she thought my childhood wasn't enough, she just had to twist the knife into my brain some more. *pop* Lost a couple more brain cells there.

I hurry out of the room and stick my head into the pot of boiling cabbage rolls, hoping they scald my eyeballs and if I'm really lucky, my ears too. My mother trails out behind me, saying: What? What's the problem? You could, you know. I stick my head deeper into the pot.

After I take my head out of the pot and bandage my 3rd-degree burns, I find citrusboy is home and we can eat the yummy cabbage rolls. The Dynamic Duo giggles throughout the meal (well to be perfectly honest, hyenas throughout the meal), and I can only pray that that's a result of the empty gin bottle I spotted on the counter.

After dinner, drunk off their asses, they stumble to their (our) room and pass out. Never have such loud snores brought so much comfort.

Interlude

I would just like to take this moment to say: this blog of self-pity has now been read over a thousand times. Thanks for commiserating, y'all!

The Adventures of Chaos and Trouble: Day 3

Happy Anniversary to Us!

Happy Anniversary to Us!

The Dynamic Duo is here to help us celebrate: how romantic.

Today wasn't as painful as the last two days. We were going out to dinner in the evening, so the morning and afternoon were spent gossiping. I learned some "interesting" things about my extended family, courtesy of Bat-Shit Aunty M, that my mother never deigned to tell me. I won't air dirty laundry here, but suffice it to say that it was quite scandalous. I'll never look at those people quite the same way again!

For our romantic surviving-the-first-year-of-marriage celebration, I made a reservation at the Royal Crown Restaurant for 7:00 PM. The Royal Crown is much like the 360 Restaurant in the CN Tower, in that it revolves around so that you can get a look at the city. However, the Royal Crown is on the 30th floor while the 360 is on the 90th. Not quite the same, but I had high hopes anyway. Will I never learn?

We get showered, made-up, dressed-up, and all-around put together, and I'm idiotically beginning to think "this day could actually go well" when all of a sudden I get flogged for not having a plain black purse. Just ugly purses. What the...? The Purse Whore (that's me!) is so offended she's veritably speechless. Ugly? My purses are not ugly! They are different, they are unique, they are individuals who stand on their own in this copy-cat world, but ugly they are not! What can I say? I left most of my purses behind and a black one just didn't make it into the Winnipeg Purse Pile (although I did notice that my Mother the Purloiner had my plain black Guess purse with her). But the Sandal Whore manages not to snap since she has shiny new sandals to wear.

We call a cab and the driver is the nicest cab driver ever! He even gives us his own cell phone number so we can call him when we need a cab on the way back home. I know he's just trying to make a buck, but I still thought that was awesome.

We get there and up to the 30th floor of the building we go. Definitely not as fun as the 360. Or as nice. Oh well, it is Winnipeg. The maitre d' seats us and the waiter introduces himself. I find him slightly rude. And if I, the easy-going chick that I am, find him rude, the Dynamic Duo are going to have a field day with him. And they do. Right down to the fly that drowned in Aunty M's wine. How does a fly get up that high, anyway? I'm slightly mortified, but as they don't have the smoked salmon that I specifically came for, I get over it quickly. Especially after the waiter really tries to push me into ordering something else. I don't want something else, I want the smoked salmon. If you don't have it, I don't feel like I should be made to order something else instead. We've already ordered three appetizers as it is. I was not impressed, and the displeasure of the Dynamic Duo was making me even crazier.

The only really impressive thing was the view. It was striking to see the city from such an angle - it looked decidedly nice! Although I still think downtown is rather boring looking:

Notice the over-abundance of skyscrapers? (Just in case you're not sure, that's sarcasm.)

But The Forks, where the Red River meets the Assiniboine River is, I must admit, beautiful.


And the Provencher Bridge, leading to the other side of the River where the French Quarter is, is also charming, in a this-is-Winnipeg-that's-all-you're-getting kind of way.


Dinner eventually came to an end, none too soon for me. The food was okay, but I don't think I would ever go back. Maybe to the lounge to see if I could get me some smoked salmon.

The Dynamic Duo succeeded in making me insane. I thought they were pretty rude themselves, nevermind the waiter, talking in Polish the whole time when they know citrusboy doesn't speak a word of it. Then getting mad at me when I spoke English. I know their excuse would be: we're old ladies! What do you want from us?!? We can do whatever we want! Yeah, they're real old. They haven't even hit 60 yet and they already think that the world owes them something. Somebody grant me some patience!

Great first anniversary. I hope it's not a harbinger of things to come.

The Adventures of Chaos and Trouble: Day 2

You don't have any coffee??? I awake to my mother's screeches. Coffee? What coffee? She doesn't drink coffee for the love of god! Oh, but apparently Bat-Shit Aunty M does and I've just committed the ultimate sin: no coffee in the house. Citrusboy doesn't drink coffee, I don't drink coffee, the Polish Princess doesn't drink coffee, hence there is no coffee. No one told me to buy coffee. How was I supposed to know? I know, I know, you're supposed to keep coffee for when guests drop in: blah blah blah. It didn't even occur to me, so now I'm in the doghouse, the cat litter, the ever-growing mound of crap I've subjected myself to. They settle for tea. Plain black tea. Don't have that either; the closest I have is Earl Gray, which the Dynamic Duo sighs over but manages to choke down. Who the hell drinks Tetley anyway? The stuff is foul! Oh, and the milk? Went bad this morning. About a week before the expiration date. Guess who likes milk in their tea? Which is also seriously putrid.

Now Bat-Shit Auny M gets it into her head that she wants to buy us a wedding gift since she was unable to attend our wedding. She tells me she's looked through the entire apartment and has decided that I need the following:

1. Cutlery
2. A proper dining set for a minimum of eight (8!) people (I don't think I know eight people well enough in Winnipeg to be inviting them over for some fancy dinner, but whatever)
3. A dining room table complete with matching chairs and
   
4. A sofa

If she even thinks for one second that I would let her spend that much money on a wedding gift she has to be certifiably insane!

Thus I decide to take the Dynamic Duo to The Happy Cooker, my favourite store in all of Winnipeg. I love this store. It has everything you could possibly want for your kitchen and then some. I had my eye on some things like the Big Perogie Maker or the Digital Scale or the Chinese Bamboo Steamer Baskets or the Electric Crepe Maker, so I was hoping Aunty M would take the hint. But no. She dismisses the store with a wave of her hand and labels it worthless. There goes my happy dream of owning a WÃœSTHOF Chef's Knife.

We leave and I take them to my second favourite store which just happens to be across the street. Urban Barn is the new Pottery Barn, except the prices don't cause me to go into cardiac arrest like Pottery Barn's do. My favourite things in this store are a little pricey, but if Bat-Shit Aunty M is hell-bent on spending I would love for her to do it here. Like on this chair - I love this chair even though it doesn't match with anything else in the apartment at the moment. But we can fix that. And it's even on sale! Good deal, right? Aunty M proclaims it ugly. Right. Okay, let's move on. So maybe these chairs? With this table? So pretty, and it's called Yoshi - how can you go wrong, tell me? I get "Crap" and "Bigger crap". Of course. How about this bed? Forget citrusboy, I would marry this bed if it was legal. Utter garbage, says Bat-Shit Aunty M. Or at least these cute kitty bowls? She can't find anything wrong with cute kitty bowls, can she?After all, she loves kitties! Boy was I wrong (about the cute kitty bowls, not the loving kitties part).

I decide I've had enough maligning of my favourite stores and take the Dynamic Duo to the Bridal Registry Capital of Canada: The Bay. Drag them up to the fourth floor. At this point I've escaped to an empty corner of the store, called citrusboy in a panic and asked him, nay demanded, that he get his ass over to The Bay after work toute suite! I cannot go through this alone any longer. He arrives and a little of my sanity gets restored.

I can go back to shopping now. We wander around looking at dishes and forks and saucers, none of which strike my fancy. I hate them all. Citrusboy is noncommittal. Aunty M demands that I choose something, but I really don't want to. I don't want her spending money on stuff I don't really like, yet don't want to seem ungrateful by saying "This all sucks!"

So I do something dumb and suggest going to a large mall, where they might have more selection. Off we go to Polo Park.

I take the Dynamic Duo to Royal Dalton first. I know that will give Auny M a minor cardiac episode. Of course, she likes nothing there. Good. Next we go to Barnes and Castle, a fun store. I'm sure she'll hate it. Actually, I hate it more. Not a thing I like. I beat a quick retreat before she makes me choose something from there. Finally we go to Stokes. They have square plates. I love square plates. I almost bought Pottery Barn's Asian Square Plates, but my credit card didn't approve of the price so no go for me. Bat-Shit Aunty M likes the plates. In fact she likes the entire store. She makes me pick out an entire place setting (results below) including place mats, dishes, appetizer trays, candle holders, and cutlery. Oh the cutlery.

Who needs this many spoons, I ask you? Am I entertaining the Queen of England on her birthday? I think not. But they came home with me anyway.

I rather like the plates though. Even though a certain kitty thinks he belongs as the main course. Or possibly an appetizer.

On the way out of the mall, I snagged a pair of sandals. I am a sandal whore and these are fantastic. And they were 50% off so when Bat-Shit Aunty M grabbed them out of my hands and paid for them, I almost didn't feel bad. Almost.

Oh, and right before I manage to make my great escape from the mall, Aunty M spots Quilts Etc. She decides we need a down quilt. Now, as far as I know, we already have a down quilt but it seems ours is too heavy so we need a new one. Now we have two. And only one bed. I think there's something wrong with somebody's math somewhere, but who am I to say anything?

At this point we're all starved and head over to Moxie's for something to eat. And drink. I order the largest Bellini known to man and down it. In approximately 4.5 seconds. Great shot of alcohol to the brain.

Order some Ahi Tuna Crisps and life is good again.

Except for the part where I got called a twit for not renewing my license, renting a car for the week, and instead forced the Dynamic Duo to ride the bus like a couple of {insert favourite curse word(s) here}.

The Adventures of Chaos and Trouble: Day 1

Time to meet the Dynamic Duo:

On the left is my mother, The Polish Princess, and on the right is my aunt, Bat-Shit Aunty M. And let me tell you, she is one bat short of a belfry.

On Tuesday, their plane lands on time at 2:37. I checked. I figure I have an hour to get myself ready before they get here, as they still have to wait for their luggage. But no, they show up at 3:00 since all they took with them was a carry-on. Thus my hair is still a little messy. Wonderful. Great first impression, Winnipeg Damsel.

They buzz the apartment from the lobby and I open the door and let them in. First thing out of my mother's mouth: Why aren't you jumping up and down, screaming with excitement just to see us?!? Now, as anybody who is even remotely acquainted with me knows, that's just not me. I hug, I kiss, I squeeze, but I do not scream and run around in circles, crazed with excitement like a cat drunk on catnip.

This sets the tone for the rest of the week. Five days of constant complaining. About everything. EVERYTHING. I am thrilled. Ecstatic. Looking forward to my death, actually.

Second thing out of my mother's mouth (and I'm not lying or exaggerating): Your apartment is a mess! I thought I told you to clean it! What the hell is this? As I had just finished cleaning it for two days straight. I grit my teeth and smile. I refuse to freak out in the first five minutes. I am better than that.

My mother starts opening all my closets, looking for a place to put her clothes. She takes out the clothes from my bedroom closet and starts hanging up her own. More gritting. More smiling. What is all this stuff on the bedside table? Couldn't you clean that? It's a couple of vitamin bottles and some jewelry that I have no where else to put as the only pieces of furniture in the bedroom are that table and the bed. I shrug. And grit. And smile. What is this thing up against the wall? Can't you move it? It's an amp, mom. Is it bothering you? Is it in your way? No? Okay then. What is this? Why is it almost in the middle of the room? It's a cat toy, mom. It it bothering you? Is it in your way? No? Okay then.

After torturing me for about forty-five minutes, they both go out to the living room for a sit. Why is this guitar up against the wall? Move it. Why, mom? Is it in your way? No? This room is gigantic and there's nothing in it. Leave the guitar. No, guitars don't belong in the living room. Move it to the office! I trudge off with the guitar. One nerve snaps like a guitar string. I wonder how many are left.

Are you hungry, mom? Aunty-M? Should I start dinner? No, no, we're fine. We didn't come here to eat. Some small talk passes. I start to enjoy myself. Bat-Shit Aunty M swears like a sailor and is absolutely the funniest person I have ever known. Then my mother says: Well, when are you going to feed us something? We haven't eaten since the morning, you know? We're hungry. *Twang* Another guitar string snaps.

I start to prepare my yummy lasagne. From scratch. Aunty M comes into the kitchen and starts freaking out that I'm going to feed them something "from a can". I can only roll my eyes because I have run out of words.

Finally, finally we sit down to the lasagne. They pronounce it very good and shovel it in. Then somehow we get on the topic of how fat citrusboy and I are. They lecture me on how if I continue to serve lasagne we are both going to die of a heart attack. At the age of thirty. Now, I almost never make lasagne. I made it for them because my mother requested it and because if I served them what we usually eat (tofu and beans) they would have had a fit and started screaming about how I was trying to kill them. There goes another guitar string.

It's finally nightfall, thank god, and time for some sleep. I put them to bed (in our bed I might add) and my mother asks me not once, not twice, but three times if I had washed the sheets. I say yes. Then she has to add: today? YES TODAY. I WASHED THEM TODAY JUST FOR YOUR CRAZY-ASSES 'CAUSE I KNOW YOU WOULD COMPLAIN OTHERWISE. Last string snaps. I trundle off to the squishy futon for some peace.

For all of that, not one complaint from the peanut gallery about the shower curtain. At least I managed to do one thing right.

And The Nightmare Ends

Their Plane Has Left.

Slight sigh of relief. Slight sigh of regret.

I love my mother dearly, even though she is a raving loon. I never remember how much I miss her until she leaves.

And The Nightmare Begins

Their Plane Has Landed.

Doooom. Doom Doom Doom. Dooooooooooooom.

Penguins On Parade

Remind me to never leave the house. Ever. Again. At least for the duration of my stay in Winnipeg.

Citrusboy and I are at home, flipping through the fliers that get left on our door twice a week, when we notice that Tide is on sale. Awesome, since we are running out of Tide and I need to get some washing done before the Dynamic Duo flies in. So out we go, on an excursion to Zellers. On a Sunday. On a bus. In Winnipeg. Let's just say it doesn't run all that often. We get there and the Tide's not on sale. Neither is the shampoo I had my eye on. We go and check the flier out. Turns out we were looking at the flier that ENDED June 10th, not the one that STARTED June 11th. Bah humbug, I say. How does it happen that a week old flier gets into the bag of new fliers which is then handed to Winnipeg Damsel? I'll tell you how. Winnipeg has it in for me, that's how.

But all is not lost. I did find a cool shower curtain. The Cats Without Shame decided to destroy the one we have now, so before The Crazies fly in and start screaming about the state of my shower curtain and how they absolutely cannot take a bath behind that, I decided I had better buy a new one.

You can see Cat Without Shame #1, Cow Kitty, contemplating another go at it before it gets taken down. The arrows point to all the wonderful damage that was caused by those two devil-cats.

I give the new one a couple of months, tops. But I bet The Crazies will complain about how they can't shower behind a partially see-through curtain, even though they'll be alone in the bathroom (separately, not together). With the door locked.


In order to save face, we decided to walk to Wal-Mart to see what we could find there. Of course, I find the shower curtain I just bought for less. Citrusboy muttered something about contibuting to the Canadian economy. I think I'll just go with that.

Membership Has Its Privileges

A couple of days ago, I get on the bus with my UT jacket on and student card in hand. I flash the driver (MY BUS PASS, PEOPLE - don't be dirty) my bus pass and show him my student card.



He looks at me and says "So, how was school?"

"Great, thanks," I say and move off to sit down.

I reach my destination and get off the bus to wait for the next one. Of course, the driver also gets off the bus and starts a conversation with me.

"I didn't think you were a student" *What? Now I look old too? Fantastic. Winnipeg also prematurely ages people. That figures* "But when you said school was good I believed you, otherwise you would never have said it." *Huh? Okaaaaaaaay* He starts to eat his lunch from a thermos. It's soup. Smells good. Starts to talk about zur, a Polish soup. He spells it for me: Z-with-a-dot-on-top-U-R.

"Oh, zur," I say. "I know zur. Very yummy."

He stares at me for a beat, shell-shocked. "You're Polish?"

"Yes," I say. "I was even born in Poland."

"Where?" He asks the question that every Polish person asks of another.

"Krakow."

"Ah, I was born in..." He names a place up north that I can no longer remember, but probably would if I knew my Polish geography better. So much for that year-long Polish course doing me any good!

"If I knew you were Polish," he says to me, he says, "I would have been nicer to you!" He's joking of course, but there is a ring of truth to it. Polish people are always nicer to you, once they find out you yourself are Polish. That works for me.

I ran into him again yesterday, on a different bus route. He didn't want to see my pass and he told me to study hard.

I guess being Polish does have its privileges. Even in Winnipeg.

For Whom The Telephone Rings

Ring. Riiiiiiiiing. RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING. I stare at the phone balefully.

"Hi, sweetie," says the Polish Princess, aka my mother. "We'll be there soon."

Yes. Yes, I know. How could I forget?

"Is there any place out there in Winnipeg where we can get some summer things like shorts or suntan lotion, before our trip to Cuba?"

Now, granted, this city doesn't have a lot of things, but it does have at least one store that sells summer apparel. I'm sure of it. I don't live in Nunavut yet, for god's sake! In fact, I'm pretty sure we even have a mall. Or two.

Introducing: Polo Park and St. Vital Centre, much in the manner of Yorkdale and Sherway Gardens, except way less fun, as there's no Sushi To Go or Godiva Chocolatier or Sephora, but you get the picture. However, I do believe I spied a store that sold shorts. And suntan lotion. And even bathing suits.

Never fear, mother dear, you will not go short-less to Cuba.

Tagged by Heather

I thought I could escape this tagging thing, but I've been caught unawares by lifes_Prototype, since she so kindly put at the end of her post: Anyone who reads this should consider themselves tagged back.

So, in the spirit of tagging, here we go:

Total Books Owned:
A gajillion. Seriously. Except, *sniff*sniff*, I was only able to take one box with me to this hellish city. Some of my favourites that made the journey:

Bridget Jones's Diary
The Harry Potter Series
Jasper Fforde's Thursday Next Series
Gone With The Wind
My huge-ass Webster's Dictionary

Last Book I Bought:
Oh dear. I'm not too sure. I'll just go with Confessions of a Sociopathic Social Climber by Adele Lang.
The woman is crackers and it's the funniest thing I've read in a long time, in an insane "I can't believe she just did that" kinda way.

Last Book I Read:
Boy Next Door by Meggin Cabot
Story composed entirely of emails. Truly funny.

I've just noticed that the last book I bought and the last book I read are both a "Reading with Ripa" Book Club Selection. As in Kelly Ripa. How distressing is that?

Five Books That Mean the Most to Me:
Ramona Quimby, Age 8 by Beverly Cleary
My favourite childhood book. Ramona is the best. It was the first "grown-up" book (re: it had chapters) that was ever read to me. Grade three - I still remember the day. Got me hooked on reading everything and anything I could get my hands on. Read the book, on my own, to pieces and then some.

Gone With The Wind by Margaret Mitchell
I love this book. I love it so much that the front cover has fallen off, and that's an abomination in my book. Heh. I love it so much that I read it aloud to citrusboy every night, until a million years later it was finally finished.

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
I'm not one to read depressing stories (hell, the world is depressing enough as it is) but this one fascinates me for some reason. I don't know what it is, but it just sticks and won't go away.

Anne Of Green Gables by LM Montgomery
My favourite book of all time. I've read it so many times I had to buy a new copy. In fact, I had to buy the whole series anew. Love, love, love! I didn't bring it with me because then I'd have to bring all my LM Montgomery books (you can't just choose one), and that would be a box in itself.

The Blue Castle by LM Montgomery
One of those books that is just perfect. I read it whenever I feel like I need to spend some time with an old friend.

Oh, and by the way, anyone who reads this should consider themselves tagged back. I know who you are. Don't try and pretend you didn't see this.

Cuba, si

Okay, so my aunt from New Zealand (bat-shit Aunty M) has indeed landed in Canada. Bat-shit Aunty M and my Mother will be visiting us, here in the cold and rainy Seattle-like 'Peg, next week. My mother, the Polish Princess, has made certain, erm, demands. And that's the polite way of saying it.

Above and beyond the things already mentioned in previous rant, they now want me to book them a vacation to Cuba. Yup, Cuba. For the lowest price possible. At least 4 star. White sand. Frontbeach. You heard me. Not beachfront, but frontbeach. Okay, I'm a loving daughter - I'll do it. So I look online and they have decent deals of about $1400 for 2 people. Good stuff. Will my mother let me book it? No, of course not. She makes me call the Cuban embassy in Toronto first to make sure Bat-shit Aunty M can travel on a New Zealand passport. I'd like you to keep in mind that I am currently located in Winnipeg. My mother is not. She is, in actuality, currently located in said Toronto. Why do I have to call, you ask? Because my English is better. As far as I know, and please correct me if I'm wrong, but the official language of both Canada and New Zealand is still English, so they should be able to speak it fairly well, right? Well enough to ask "Can a person travel to Cuba on a New Zealand passport", right? WRONG! WRONG! WRONG! Apparently they are somehow challenged when speaking into a phone and using the English language that they have both been speaking for over 20 years now, but whatever. Who am I to say anything? But the Cuban embassy is only open Tuesday to Friday, 10 AM to 1 PM. So I have to wait to call. By this time the cheap trips have ceased to be and are expensive again. $1800, to be precise. And who's fault is that? If you guessed mine, you win the jackpot. I'll even throw in an extra Mother and Aunt, just for kicks. Then she badgers me as to why I haven't booked the trip yet, even though she refuses to pay the previously stated amount. Does this conversation even make sense? I proceed to throw a fit so loud that I wake poor citrusboy up. Bad daughter. Bad wife.

Then she wants me to book a reservation at the 360 restaurant. Which is in the CN Tower. Which is in Toronto. Again I say, I AM IN WINNIPEG, but no matter. Apparently the dynamic duo also cannot use the phone and speak English at the same time in order to ask "Can we get a table for dinner at 5 on Tuesday?" So I email the restaurant. Mission Reservation accomplished. Then my mother calls and says the reservation now has to be for Wednesday. Can I change it? Fine. I email them again, and 360 graciously changes it for me. Then my mother calls AGAIN. Guess what? Yes, that's right, the reservation now has to be for Thursday. So I email 360 AGAIN. This time they ignore me. They have decided that they are dealing with a crazy woman and damn if they're not right. I decide to leave it because god knows, the woman will change her mind again. And she does. This time they've decided that they won't go until they get back from Cuba. Lucky me.

Oh yeah, and I also have to buy an extra quilt because they can't share one when they stay here. Oh yeah, and they'll be sleeping in our bed. Because it is unseemly to sleep in the living room, where the futon resides. God help me.

I really don't think a ticket to New York is worth this agony. Seriously, it's only, like, $259. One way. I'm okay with that. With tax, both ways, it should come out to...only $650. HOLY SHIT. Wow. I think I just suffered a stroke and a brain hemorrhage all at once. So that's what it feels like. For that amount of money, citrusboy and I could go to Cuba ourselves! I guess I have no choice but to put up with their crazy-ass ideas. *sigh* I feel the life slowly seeping out of my body and becoming one with the never-ending rain.

Boredom Reigns Supreme

I'm bored. It's 8:30 in the morning and I'm bored. Not hungry like Fatty, just bored.

Woke up, went to Timmy's.
Had a bagel and some raspberry tea.
Walked to Curves.
Walked home.
Fed the Cats Without Shame.

I have now officially run out of things to do.
I can't even go to the library 'cause it doesn't open for a couple more hours.
I suppose I could address those thank-you notes that have been sitting here for several months.
Nope, still bored.

Any suggestions?

The Key To My...Door?

Now be honest with me: do these two sets of keys look alike?

No, you say? Not even just a little bit? Still no, huh? Okay, even if there's the slightest possibility that they somehow resemble each other, no matter how miniscule it is, please tell me. Well, they are both keys, you say. And they're both on a keychain. Right. Thanks for all your help. I know that much. Winnipeg may have killed a few brain cells, but dammit, I still have some left!

Well, I'm just going to pretend that they are alike. Like twins in fact. Identical twins. Not fraternal, identical. IDENTICAL. You got that? Which is why, when I picked up the keys on the right (KOTR) I thought I was picking up Winnipeg keys, and not, in fact, Toronto keys which belong to an apartment in Toronto that I haven't lived in for over nine months and which now belongs to some other crazy tenant who has hopefully changed his or her locks since I still have their keys and could theoretically walk in at any moment. Why do I still have these keys, you ask? What? I can't hear you! Lalalalalalalalalala....

Which is also why, after a long, hot day of shopping, I come home and fish out of my bag...KOTR, also known as Toronto keys. Fuck. Fuckity-fuck. I try and try to jam these keys into the lobby door, but no luck. Some nice person opens the lobby door for me, even though I look like a raving lunatic, what with all the jamming of keys into locks going on (note: must speak to manager about building security) and so I walk over to my front door and try to jam Toronto keys into my Winnipeg door. Again, no luck.

It's after six. There's no way the manager's office is still open. I'm stuck outside until citrusboy gets home. AT ONE THIRTY IN THE MORNING. Crap. I decide to trudge over to the office anyway, just in case. And, miracle of miracles, it's actually still open. I go in and explain my idiotic plight to a woman who's about 60, yet still sports spikey blond hair. She looks at me like I'm an axe murderer.

Winnipeg Damsel says: Hi, I forgot my keys and I was wondering if you could let me in. It's building blah and apartment blip.

Spikey Blond Hair says: *Dirty look* Do you have ID?

I pull out my Ontario driver's license.

WD: My name's on the lease if you want to check.

SBH: Uh huh *incredibly sarcastic tones* How long have you lived here? You should really get a Winnipeg driver's license. Soon.

I resist the urge to scream: WHAT THE FUCK FOR??? We don't even OWN a CAR!!!!!!!

And off she goes to photocopy it and then makes me sign my life away beneath the little crappy black and white ink copy.

SBH: So how did you close the door behind you when you left if you don't have any keys?

WD: I left with my husband and he closed the door.

SBH: So when does your husband get home?

WD: After one AM.

SBH: ONE AM?!? *looks at me like I'm a lying bitch*

WD: Yes. He. Works. Until. Then. *Do you bloody well mind? My. Name. Is. ON THE LEASE!!!*

SBH: Okay. You can start walking back to your apartment. I'll meet you there.

WD: Thanks. *No sarcasm intended. Really*

I walk back. Halfway there, I see her drive by in her car. Cow.

I meet up with her in the lobby.

SBH: You know you're getting new neighbors?

WD: Really? Wow, someone finally took the place - that's great!

SBH: Actually they've been there for awhile now.

WD: Oh. Well, I didn't even notice them moving in. *giggle*

SBH: *Dirty look* I bet. *I've just let in a crazy person into someone's apartment. Whatever*

She opens the door and finally leaves. Gawd! I hate you, Winnipeg, and your crazy-ass apartment managers. This isn't The Ropers, you know.

So while I was in the office, waiting for Spikey Blond Hair to get off her ass, one person comes in and says "We're moving out next month...blah blah blah". They're from my building. Five minutes later, another person comes in and says "We're moving out tomorrow...blip blip blip". Also from my building. Is there something I should know? Other than: Don't pick up KOTR, aka Toronto keys, when you mean to pick up KOTL, aka Winnipeg keys. Even though they look exactly the same.