Bathtub of Horror

Like most people, I enjoy a good soak in the tub. It's not about getting clean, because, really, you are just sitting in a soup of your own skin cells and hair and fart bubbles. No, if you want clean, take a shower. Bath time is for relaxing and for getting your body back up to normal temperature after having too much frozen smoothie.

In all the apartments I've lived in I've had horrible little 4 foot long tubs where I had to choose between my shoulders or my knees being in the water, unable to stretch out. So, if my shoulders were warm, then my knees were cold and wet, waiting their turn in the soak.

 When I was able to buy my first condo, I was thrilled that it came with a soaker sized jacuzzi tub! Oh the relaxing times I would have with a book and a glass of wine. Just like they show women in the movies when they want "me" time.

Or "Look At Me" time.

Word to the wise, don't spend extra on the jacuzzi tub. That thing sounds like you're sitting next to a jet engine and really doesn't do much more than make you super annoyed and stressed. Ahhhh, I think I'll take a long soaky bath in this screaming water belcher. Not so much.

I have a friend who once had a huge, round jacuzzi tub that had, like, disco lights in it, and a sound system. I felt my life meaningless whenever I saw that tub.

When Weirdo and I bought the house we are in now, again, it came with a jacuzzi tub in the ensuite. It was a good soaker length, so I knew I'd be able to fit my monkey arms and legs in and everyone would be happy and toasty, even if I knew enough to avoid the jacuzzi option.

la la la la la la la la la la

Except by the time it makes its way to the top floor, There is only enough hot water to fill the tub about 25%. And then the rest is tepid, and then plain cold, water. They call this "energy efficiency". I call it straight up hateful. I had to bring a kettle up and boil water several times, adding it to the cooling water, just to get the tub at a temperature where I wasn't having shivering fits while hugging my knees. It wasn't perfect but it worked.

Until I realized that millipedes had set up light housekeeping in the jacuzzi jets of the tub.

this effing thing

So finally I am laying back in the tub, the cares of the day floating away, getting my body temperature to just above reptile, and next to me I spy a little floaty friend with a billion horrifying legs, and razor sharp jaws (probably).

I removed myself from the tub.

Just a one off, perhaps? No. They live in my freaking bath tub. Whole families. Generations of creepy alien insects. A veritable Forsyth Saga of Shuddering.

So I no longer take baths because it's too cold, and too damned terrifying

The cats are fascinated, though, and will sit inside the tub, staring at the nozel like its full of (billion legged) cat treats.

Once in awhile they catch one and I will find only a few rogue icky legs, that might be mistaken for leg hairs, but really aren't.

It's only showers for me, sadly. So I am clean, but cold and unhappy.

There is no God.

Hi again.

So some woman I don't even know asked me today if I was ever going to post again. She is a quilter I met on Facebook. I have no idea how we are connected. I do not quilt. I have more quilter friends on Facebook than I do, say, people I know from my high school. What I have learned is that quilters are super intense about quilting and they like wine. Anyway, she's a nice lady and so, Teri, you weird stranger, here you are. A new post. And it only took me ten months and one friendly nudge.

 So you're probably wondering what I've been up to. Probably thinking I'm writing a new album, a novel. Maybe I've been travelling. Digging wells in Botswana. Being a volunteer fire fighter.

 Nah. I've been watching TV and eating rice crackers. 

But some stuff has happened. I'll get you caught up.

 We got a new cat. A friend of mine who is way, way more vegan than me, had a cat that needed rescuing. Needed rescuing real hard. So, despite Brian's fear of black cats, we took on our third cat. We named her Mickey, after my mom. But we call her Mertz because that's the sound she makes. Pretty much nonstop. Especially in the early early morning time. She is now Brian's favourite. He says all other cats in the world suck compared to Mickey/Mertz.

 My friend Bill and I did a fundraiser concert in support of Happily Ever Esther, the new farm animal sanctuary for Esther the Wonder Pig and her farm friends. It was my first solo show in, um, 14 years. I was nervous, but we had fun and we sold out 2 shows and with the help of some generous donations of raffle prizes, we raised over $3000.

I cry for the animals.

 Went to Cancun with my friend who exercises a lot and is super hot. She's also smart and funny and nice, so I didn't fill her bikinis with sand and scorpions. She was also kind enough to hold my hand while I had a panic attack for no reason. I'm super fun to travel with.

those are defined abs on my friend. It is not an appendectomy scar.

I had some quality nose picking time.

 I watched some excellent tv and read a couple books.

I learned a new term for the tiny bathing suits that older, overweight men wear: Budgie Smugglers

 I continue to stalk Castle. Not Nathan Fillion. I'm mad at him because he ignores my Twitter shout outs. But the character he plays on TV still gets all my lovin'. I'm a bit concerned that the show has jumped the shark, but I will continue to watch. Because love is like that.

 Bill and I did a show at Christmas. We had special guests join us, including the amazing Peter Lebuis and Megan Saunders and Paula Henry. We sang the songs from the old days.

fa la la la la

 I went to visit my mom.

 I somehow acquired 8 new quilter friends on Facebook. Who the hell are these people?

 I continued to not care about sports.

 That's about it.

Ok.

See you in 10 months.

 Here is a poem.

Knitting

I've decided to give knitting another try.

In the past I've been unable to stick with it because knitting is hard and I don't do anything unless it comes really easily and makes people think I'm all that (is the phrase "all that" still a thing?)

But it's turned cold here in Toronto and I've got a cat and a fireplace and it is a universal truth that all middle aged women with fireplaces and cats MUST knit. It's kind of a biological imperative. Like sex might be for some people.

I have many accomplished knitters in my life, including (but not limited to) my Mom,  Megan, Dianna, Lori, Marsha, etc. My friends Ryan and Channing are also amazing knitters, but they are not middle aged women, so they are kinda ruining my theory. Stupid Ryan and Channing.

Some of my earliest memories of childhood are watching my mom knitting; counting stitches, the click of the needles, winding yarn into a ball while my dad held the hank up in two hands, like a supplicant, or like a man begging for his bachelorhood back.

I figured the knitting gene must have skipped a generation and instead of that skill I was blessed with an extremely "low tolerance for frustration".  My knitting projects were only deemed "finished" when I had dissolved into tears and had moved on to Dip-a-Flower.

But here I am again, facing the needles. Why now?

Because my current needlepoint project has about eleventy billion miles of background and I'm giving it a rest for now.

So, all excited about trying to outsmart my tantrum gene, I trundled off to The Purple Purl to get myself some yarn.

 I was given balls of fuzz and a pattern and sent on my way. I was going to make mittens, dammit, as my mom says mittens are good things to learn on because they cover a lot of different techniques that are common in knitting.

When I got home and got set up to start my project I realized that there was one key difference between my previous stabs at knitting and my current foray:

Youtube. (you thought I was going to say "booze", right?)

Whereas before I had to count on the patience of others to teach me, now I could just search "how to knit ribbing" or "knitting how to decrease". And up would pop several videos of English ladies with perfectly manicured nails showing me how to do exactly what I needed to do.

And now, instead of having to soldier through a rage of frustration, I could just put-the-knitting-down-and-walk-away. Before, if I'd had someone teaching me, I'd have to show at least a pretence of stick-to-it-iveness. Youtube enables my short attention span and quick draw whininess.

I abandoned the mittens after 6 attempts. 

I thought I'd try making this adorable little kitten:

You can get the pattern HERE!

This is how it turned out:

So I started a a scarf pattern that seemed straight forward. This is what a shawl version of it looks like:

You can get the pattern HERE!

This is how it turned out:

I thought maybe I'd just try some straight knitting. You know, like a washcloth? 

I found a pattern called The Idiot's Dishcloth. Perfect, I think to self. This is how it's supposed to look:

You can get the pattern HERE!

This is how it turned out.

And yet I keep trying.

Now I am doing a basic knit knit knit til the freaking end of time scarf.

We'll see how long I last before I totally lose my nut.

Cuba 2012 - The New Traditions

So Cuba was great.

This was our third time, so we knew to expect awesomeness. The sun, the sand, the beach. All heavenly and blissful.

But this time around I learned some new things to love about our annual Cuba vacation. Things that will become repeat experiences. Things that need to be committed to the lore of holiday traditions.

First, let’s get the sun, sand, beach part out of the way. Here are some pictures of the sun, sand and beach. These are basics. The reasons we go to this place.

our sweet little backyard

There are the people at the resort who make us feel so welcome and remember us a full year later. Having a 6’1” husband with a shaved head and a bottomless pocket of tips doesn’t hurt, either. Tamara, who books spa treatments for people, is my favourite. She is kind, friendly and is potentially the most beautiful woman in the world.

 I should not have been photographed next to her. It sullied her, somehow, and it is not right.

I love the music. It is impossible to listen to Cuban music and not waggle your bum. I look like a fool waggling my bum, but I don't care. The resort has amazing musicians every night. It's like the Buena Vista Social Club is your dinner music. It must be pretty mind numbing for the musicians though.

This trio was amazing. The woman's expression never changed. Not once. 

These are the usual delights of our Cuban vacation. 

But there were, this time around, a few new things that will bring me back, yet again, to our favourite spot in the sun. I don’t have photos of some of these new things, so forgive my feeble attempts at artistic interpretation. You always do. You are so kind.






             THE A-LIST CELEBRITY BUNWICH

I call the bed things around the pool “bunwiches”. They are coveted lazing around real estate. You have to get up at the crack of senior citizen to claim one. There is a bunwich that is in the middle of the pool with a path to it, but it is very central, and close to the swim up bar. My friends call this the “Celebrity Bunwich”, because it is the most desirable and visible of all bunwiches. 

However, there is another bunwich that I call “The A-List Celebrity Bunwich” because it is up high and hidden from the prying eyes of the oiled up, sagged masses. We scored this bunwich on two occasions and we were totally better than everyone else because of it. We were the David and Victoria Beckham of Bunwiches. Tucked away behind lush foliage and at the top of a little waterfall thing. We. Were. The. Shit.

Look how exclusive.

Inaccesible except via awesome coolness.




FRENCH FRIES FOR DESSERT

One day, while my other traveling companions were ordering ice cream after lunch, I knew, in my heart of hearts, that what I really wanted was more french fries. So I ordered french fries for dessert. No word of a lie, this doubled up french fry experience was a highlight of my trip. People are STILL talking about it.

EARLY BEDTIME

Last year, we stayed up late. There were 27 other people to be entertained by. Some nights we wouldn’t crawl back to our room until 1:30 am! Imagine. And we’re over 40! This trip, Brian and I were asleep before 10pm on more than one occasion. We said the words “Early Bedtime?” to each other like we were whispering a poem. Nothing happens at the resort after 10pm that we have any interest in seeing. We’re too young to be interested in the stage show, and too old to go for drunken skinny dips in the pool. So after eating to the point of extreme discomfort and shame, we’d weeble and wobble back to our rooms, remove the towel art from our beds, and sleep like big, fat, overfed, over-heated, middle aged people.


                                 STAR GAZE

Attached to early bedtime is Star Gaze. This activity involves Brian getting a mojito from the bar on our way back from dinner, maybe I get a tea, and then we sit in our back yard on the loungers and stare up at the stars. It’s amazing how many more stars you see when you are out of an urban centre. We saw Venus. 

And we looked for either of the dippers, but might have been too far south. We saw the Belt of Our Ryan. Mostly we just looked. 

HAM CATS

Cats that live at resorts keep the rodent population down. They also provide entertainment for crazy cat ladies who miss their kittens back home. These cats are usually quite thin, likely flea ridden and look like... well, not your Mensa cats, let’s say.

 One of my traveling companions, Felicity,  would take ham from the buffet and feed them. I discovered this activity late in our trip and am already planning next years trip around Ham Cat Time. 

Cruise director Felicity also initiated the new Cuba traditions of "Drink and Float", which is what you think it is:

Eyes have been blocked out to protect identities.

And "Beer Walk" which means going to get a beer when you are not near a bar. 

I think that making new traditions is a great way to plan and look forward to a holiday. It's also a good way to be drunk and to plan to be drunk and to look forward to being drunk.


We are already scheming about Cuba 2013. What will happen? How many new running routes will Brian find? How many new adorable phrases for exercise will Felicity invent to make it sound like it's a fun thing to do? How many hard boiled eggs will Roger eat? How much ham will Ellen stuff into her beach bag to feed feral cats? There's only one way to find out.


Save your pesos, friends.