Business Transactions

I wrote this vignette to cheer up a friend (who shall remain nameless), and decided it was the perfect piece to publish on a snowstormy November evening.

Constipation is Serious Business

You're sitting across a table from your intestines. Your colon is across from you; to his right is your large intestine; to his left is your anus.

You write a number on a piece of paper, fold it, and slide it across the table. Your colon pauses, then reaches out, slides it the rest of the way toward himself, then opens it, reads it, looks at you, raises one eyebrow, and leans over and shows the paper to the large intestine, who also raises an eyebrow. 

The colon and the large intestine look over to the anus, who doesn't even need to see the paper to give an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Colon refolds the paper and places it on the table. With one finger, he slides it back and forth in front of him in a graceful arc before picking it up one more time. 

Without reading it, he tears it in half and flings it in your face. In unison, your guts stand  up and leave the room.

You sit still, aghast, with nothing to do but pick up the pieces of paper, wait until no one can see you, and exit the washroom.

Worse Things

Sandcat and I were discussing, in disbelief, that Disney had already begun working on the next Star Wars film. That conversation is transcribed below, as is usual with me, more or less faithfully.

"What can it possibly be about?" was the gist of our chat.

"What can it possibly be about?" is a stupid discussion to have with me because I will immediately begin thinking about things it (whatever it is) could possibly be about.

"I hope they hire Harrison Ford and Carrie Fisher and they're all old and stuff," I began.  But for me, beginning is never enough. Ask Sandcat, who has the patience of two St. Lucias.

I continued in a quavering old-man voice. "Leia! Why don't you put that costume on again for me?"

I switched to a quavering old-lady voice. "Go jump in a vat of whatever that was and freeze yourself, Han!"

Old Han voice:  "I shot first once, I can shoot first again!"

By then Sandcat and I were giggling/cackling like morons. Now that I'm typing it out, I wonder if it had more to do with my silly voices and hand motions that my actual dialogue.

"Why don't YOU write the new Star Wars movie?" asked Sandcat. "It will probably be better ..."

I replied, "Do you know if Jar Jar died? I really need Jar Jar ..."

SCENE I

Scene opens with HAN and LEIA, both rather aged, lounging in wicker chairs in their space mansion. HAN wears the same outfit he did in the original movie, only his gut sticks out from underneath. LEIA is wearing a simple dress, head turban, and a giant moissanite ring on her left ring finger. Both also wear wedding rings.

HAN: Remember the good old days when we had an evil empire to defeat and I was the best smuggler in the galaxy with the fastest ship and I remembered what a parsec was? Have you seen my glasses?

LEIA:  Oh yes, the "good old days" [LEIA uses super-exaggerated Chris Farley-style double finger quotes]. The "good old days" when the fashion was the stupidest hairdo imaginable. Oh my lord. The headaches I used to have in the "good old days", when I was a slave to a fat greasy slug who starved me and made me wear a slitted bed sheet.

HAN: Do you still have that?

LEIA: Do you still have that carbonite freezer pit? The times I've wished we'd never thawed you.

HAN: [Sitting up abruptly, knocking over his wicker table with its blue space drink on it, pointing his finger like a gun at LEIA] I SHOT FIRST ONCE I CAN SHOOT FIRST AGAIN! [An ewok and a hunchbacked JAR JAR BINKS rush in to help clean up]

JAR JAR: Mesa clean for Mr Han! Yousa Ewok clumsy! Yousa mop up spill with yousa nappy fur! Mesa favourite of Mr Han! Yousa smell like tree!

LEIA: I wish someone would shoot that thing first.

EWOK: [Gives JAR JAR the finger and goes to hide behind LEIA]

CHEWBACCA: Waaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrr

 END SCENE

SCENE II

Scene opens by panning across a scummy looking space hotel room. Space pilot relics are strewn about untidily. An orange helmet here, R2D2's head there. On the bed lies a young brunette with cinnamon bun hair. Pan to the window, where we see the back of old LUKE, one arm resting on the frame, up above his head, the other on his hip in a slightly feminine manner. Whichever hand his Dad cut off is lying on the bedside table (unless it was reconnected but I think it was a prosthetic, don't ask me, I'm a Trekkie).

BRUNETTE: Hey baby, wanna come into my "death star" again? [she says "death star" like it is a question, unsure of what it is. Likely, she wasn't born when Luke blew it up]

LUKE: No, no. [Turns from window swiftly, head first, too-long hair rippling as he does so] This is so wrong. Put this on. [Tosses her what appears to be a bed sheet]

BRUNETTE: Is this a sheet?

Luke: Sorry, old habits. Find your clothes and get out. JUST GET OUT! [Spins back to the window, EVEN MORE DRAMATICALLY]

END SCENE

SCENE III

DARTH VADER, unmasked, unlegged, connected to an oxygen tank, still wearing his epic black cloak, sits in a wheelchair in front of a TV. He is surrounded by many other very old people. One of them uses DARTH's upturned helmet as an ashtray. Another particularly wizened alien continually mutters "It's a trap. A trap," under his breath.

TV: Planets with only one continent for 500 please.

DARTH VADER: I cannot believe I repented and they put me in a fucking home.

NURSE: Next time sign your DNR, bro.

END SCENE

Magic Earmuffs

A few winters ago, I discovered a pair of gorgeous white-rabbit fur earmuffs at the Bay for some ridiculously low price. Like $30. Certainly below forty. I saw them. I caressed them. I put them on my head, and then I bought them.

They've been my hat-for-when-I-have-a-ponytail-in for the past three years, and I guess today we're starting our fourth winter together. (Happy anniversary, earmuffs!) They're still in lovely condition, partly because after I dropped them in a mud puddle last year, Magpie took them home and cleaned them for me and kept them for about nine months, so that saved some wear and tear.

Today, I wore them for the first time this winter, and I discovered that Magpie's cleaning had unlocked a new power hidden deep within them.

Here's how I know it is a magic power. This is what I looked like:

Only colder.

As you can see, I'm not exactly at my most attractive in my winter coat and earmuffs, bundled against the cold of November. How then, do you explain what happened to me today?

9:00: I'm rushing to work. I am later than I want to be. I still have to cash my paycheque before grabbing my coffee and heading to the office. I cross the street to the Second Cup (yes, the one where once I stood without my keys) and a young man addresses me.

"Excuse me," he says. I lift one of the muffs off one of my ears. I note that he is wearing construction gear, crossed reflective stripes on his vest, a black toque, and that his face shows obvious signs of FASD. "Yes?" I reply. "Are you single?" he asks me.

Taken aback, I pause longer than normal for this sort of question. It's not that I've forgotten Hawk, it's just that I was expecting him to ask for directions or change. "No," I say, and move on.

I told Sandcat about it later on that day, and we both had a chuckle, but neither of us suspected it had anything to do with me. Now, I still don't think it's me, but I do think it's the earmuffs.

Why the earmuffs?

Well obviously because it happened again with a different guy this evening!

Hawk is heading out on a mandate tonight with Mr. Crow so I decided to stop at Oodle Noodle for supper. 

17:30: I pause for a red light. A young man pauses beside me. He glances at me, away, back, then says he is new in town and begins to ask about the neighbourhood.

So, we do a walk and talk until he pops into Wener's shoes which had been recommended to him: but not before pausing outside, introducing himself as Rider, and shaking my hand.

Remember what I looked like?

Except colder.

Thank you, magic earmuffs, for making me attractive to men NOW THAT I'M STUCK WITH HAWK.

Did someone say stuck? LOVESIES!!

Things To Be Thankful For

Hay Guise. Coraline again.

W.T.F. Is. Wrong. With. These. People.

 Yes. It was so. Much. Fun. They did it twice.

Happy Thanksgiving guise. I guess.

Football Games: Update

HAY GUISE!

It's me, Coraline, again!

I found something disgusting at Nana and Papa's house.

We were there to play football.

I think Mum is going to catch this ball, or else she is using magic to hover it. I blame the camera angle.

I got distracted by that last photo. Where was I?

We were there to play football.

And I found a football.

An Eskimos football.

Because I am a Superfan, however underappreciated, I took care of it. I took care of it like a TRUE BC Lion. I took care of it like a cougar. Like a puma. LIKE A MOUNTAIN LION.

First, you have to get penetration.

Then, you're in a position where you can really bring the pressure.

Now, you're right in the quarterback's grill. You know what to do.

Lay him flat on his back.

Leave the coaching staff to pick up the pieces.

Now that I've proven just how big of a fan I am, Aunty Beccs, Mum, Dad, Gramps, Grams, please. Please. Let me watch the next game with you.

Thank you.

CORALINE OUT

__________________

Some photos courtesty my Mum.

Coraline out for realz

Football Games

HAY GUISE IT'S ME CORALINE, REMEMBER ME? THE ONLY ONE OF THE FAMILY WHO WASN'T INVITED TO COBRASTARSHINE'S FIRST FOOTBALL GAME, AUNTY BECCS' BIRTHDAY FOOTBALL GAME? THE LEAST YOU COULD HAVE DONE WAS PUT THE TV ON TSN FOR ME SO I COULD HAVE WATCHED, TOO!

Don't they remember how big of a fan I am? 

Don't they remember how I devour tiger-cats?

Or single-pawedly saved the world from one less ridiculous watermelon hat
that one time?

Don't they remember how when Aunty Beccs put the Lions jersey on me I was so excited that I couldn't even sit still for a single photo?

Oh well. Since I didn't get to come, even though I've been a superfan since before Cobrastarshine was born, I'm going to tell the story of Cobrastarshine's first live football game and there's nothing anyone can do to stop me from making it all up.

Superfan on the bus. Enjoy the way it smells, little boy.

I'm Aunty Beccs and I have my own jersey now and it's
signed and I'm sooooo special.

Oh, so this is a "warm-up". I wouldn't know. I've never seen this part of a game.

Oh, now he's doing my favourite thing, getting cuddles from Aunty Beccs. HOW NICE FOR HIM AND GRAMMERS!

It's hard to tell from so far away, but I can read humans.
66 there is saying, "Ooh Mr Offical #36, your butt looks fiiiine."

You've got to be kidding me. They didn't bring any of that home for sharesies!
I bet the kid got some, though.

Something exciting is going on here, that much is obvious by the expressions on the Fletchers' faces and the fact that Uncle Hawk is looking at the camera. Poor Cobrastarshine, he probably can't see past his tall, tall Daddy. They brought him, and he didn't get to watch! CRUEL! CRUEL, I SAY!

This is probably something really cool like a sack or a touchdown. Look at my parents' faces! Now, look between my parents' faces. Cobrastarshine is playing with Tall Guy. He doesn't even care! I WOULD HAVE CARED!

I guess he just needs to be told when to look. A little slow on the uptake, maybe?

You know, Cobrastarshine, if Big Sis Coraline were there, she'd teach you how to chew a football properly. Big Sis has SO MUCH to teach you!

Not sure if photobomb or yawn.

Cobrastarshine decides he really likes this football thing, and that he looks great in orange and white.

The game is getting tense. The night is getting darker and cooler. The wind is blowing, and the bowl of the stadium is filled with the smoke from repeated firework blasts (not from an excess of Eskimo touchdowns though, mostly from the halftime show. Cobrastarshine sure loved that halftime show!)

Trees against a dusky horizon.

Eskimos pennants fluttering in the strong, but not unpleasant breeze under the stadium lights.

Night deepens behind the scoreboard.

Grandpa has Cobrastarshine, so something boring must be happening on the field. Probably an Eskimo hurt his pinky or something.
Maybe a really lame set of challenges.

Cobrastarshine tries to get the Lions' attention after their touchdown. He is crying because his parents just told him they have to leave early so he can go to bed. I'm with ya there, little dude.

I leave you now with a final image of what could have happened if only I'd been allowed to come, too.

CORALINE OUT!

______________

Some photos courtesty Meghan Dougherty.

Conversations with Hawk

Living with another person is an adventure. Especially after living on my own again for a full year. However, living with Hawk is a special kind of adventure because Hawk is a special kind of person. Caring and sweet, smart and handsome, he is also fully insane.

Not that I'm not also fully insane. I'm the one who stuck a party favour in her hair at work the other day to save it for my nephew. I'm also, obviously, the main participant in the forthcoming conversations, transcribed as faithfully as my shaky memory will permit.

While watching Supernatural:
RED PANDA: Will you protect me from demons if they attack?
HAWK: Of course I will!
RP: I don't believe you. You don't know the first thing about demons.
H: Yes I do.
RP: Well, what's the first thing about demons, Hawk?
H: Um.
RP: Fine, I'll protect you, then! The first thing about demons is to draw a circle of salt and stay inside it! This wouldn't happen if you were a Winchester! [Epic pout]

While discussing a recent blog post:
H: Oh, this isn't about me.
RP: No ...
H: I though it was going to be about me. Your readers want more Hawk.
RP: You asked for it.

Hawk reading at Transcend.

Hawk and I at Transcend today:

[Jeep booms LMFAO.]

H: That's like J-Dawg and I when we'd go out. First thing we'd do is rip off our shirts.

RP: [Grabs camera. Snaps pic as jeep starts to zoom off.]

An example of how Hawk and J-Dawg used to behave when they were younger. Apparently.

I'm out of time, folks. Gotta head to the store for sandwiches, then get ready for the Lions to kick the Eskimos' butts. I'll be wearing my new jersey (story to follow).

As for Hawk?

More of that to follow, too.

Advice Columns

I thought I'd try my hand at answering some of those Wiki Answers/Yahoo Answers questions that are all over the internet. I'll come up with a clever name ... like Ask Aunty Beccs. And I'll post my answers on the question, and here on the blog. If Hawk is free, I'll get his opinion too, and we can help twice as well by giving two sides of the coin for people to look at.

I think I can be really helpful.

What started me on this track is a question I got from a reader, so my first Ask Aunty Beccs column won't be an official internet question, but a write-in one.  Here it is:

Dear Aunty Beccs,

I'm afraid my son might be Italian-American. Here's a picture. Do you have any advice?

Sincerely, an Irish Reader

Aunty Beccs Says:
Dear Irish,
Luckily, his hair is still blond. That's a good sign. Keep him away from pasta, gangster movies, and tomatoes. Feed him a steady diet of potatoes and turnip. Depending on how quickly he recovers, you might want to play some fiddle music.

Hawk Says:
Don't be racist.

Magpies

By now you are all quite familiar with my little sis, Magpie. She's the funny sister, and, depending on whom you ask, also the pretty sister, the fun sister, the successful sister (career + husband + baby), the forgiving sister, the artistic sister, and now that I'm shacked up with Hawk, the good sister, too.

Well you know what? I'm the tall sister and I was here first!

I'm off topic. The topic was supposed to be that because Magpie, Mum and I had a lovely girls' night last week for the first time in what felt like ages, I wanted to write a post about Magpie.

We went to Transcend, had hot drinks and cookies, and chatted for a couple of hours. The evening was a very pleasant one. It started out as a party: Hawk's good buddy was still at our place, and we invited Mum, Magpie, Noolbenger, and Cobrastarshine for dinner. I made taco salad without spilling taco meat on any of my appendages. After dinner, there were some shenanigans with the camera:

I think there is a baby in this photo, too. Otherwise, I don't know what Noolbenger is looking at.

I give up protecting Cobrastarshine's identity with black bars over his eyes. When he hits puberty, he's either gonna think this is awesome and I'm the best Aunty ever, or hate me for the rest of his life. It's a gamble I've got to take for the sake of my art.

Then the boys went their separate ways, Hawk and co. to write, Noolbenger and Cobrastarshine to their home in Dovercourt. Finally, the girls were free!

There are no photographs to document the next several hours because that shit got crazy.

Anyway, that's not the point of the story. The point is, the good conversation Mum, Magpie and I had made me want to blog about Magpie.

But how do I go about this? Do I try to define the essential Magpieness of Magpie?

Or instead, do I tell MORE AWESOME MAGPIE STORIES?

That's what I thought.

Story time!

I'll work backward in time. The other day, when everyone was here, I guess I left my massive to-do list out. Magpie saw it and added to it. When I saw her addition, I had no choice but to check it off and send her a picture. The subject of my email was "Done and Done".

It says "Eat Poops". I crossed it out and double check-marked it for comedic effect.

Her reply to my email?

"i'm so funny"

I only get to see Magpie about once a week. That's pretty good for most sisters, I guess, but we lived together for years and worked together for years. Now that she's on maternity leave, I think it's safe to say we're both in sista withdrawl. Sure we used to get into raging fights and hated each other for large swathes of our teenage years, but I think now that we are adults, we can finally fully appreciate each other.

She's been drawing a sketch a day and I think she's got an idea generator. When it told her to draw her BEST FRIEND, I instructed her to draw ME. She agreed, not even very reluctantly. However. I have not yet seen this picture. It's been several days. I'm getting worried it might be a picture of her husband or the dog or WORSE! Another WOMAN!

Because we're besties, we send each other LOTS of emails. (Example to follow. Let me get there already). I was saving this one in hopes that there'd be more like it, and I could do a post that was all Home Maintenance by Magpie, but alas, nothing in ages. So, I think I will end this post about Magpie in Magpie's voice.

So yesterday I started doing some outdoor home maintenance that I always gotsta do in the summer.  Like trimming stuff, mowing blah blah, sweeping the siding.  I was working on the front step when I noticed that the "1" in 13303 was missing.  I wasn't sure how long it hadn't been there, but was pretty certain I had just swept it away.  I looked all over.  Could not find the "1".  So, I made my OWN.  This is the far away shot.  Looks...okay.  But in the next email you see that no.  It does not look okay.

This is an upclose shot.  Yep.  Cardboard, permanent marker and duct tape.  I know.  I am amazing.

There is something missing from the list at the beginning of the blog. She's also the resourceful sister. If she weren't so damn funny and self-deprecating, no one would notice how hilarious that 1 looks. How many people do you know can solve problems and be hilarious at the same time?

Dear god, I hope she sent me those photos with the intent of publishing them ...

Guest Posts: Dick's Final Installment

Here it is! The breathtaking conclusion to DICK'S SURGERY!

DICK’S SURGERY 

Instalment Six, Success and Checkout

10:00. “I’ll lie here and wait for the urge. I’d better not sleep in case my bladder relaxes then spasms; that would be a disaster. I’ll just think of pleasant things:  Mrs. Dick in the garden pruning her roses; better yet, nurse Sarah in the garden.”

10:30. “Nothing yet. I suppose I shouldn’t get so uptight; the nurses have been very kind and supportive.” 

10:45. “I may as well get up and see what happens. It’s pretty dark in here; I’d better ring for Nurse Fannie.”

“What’s up Dick?” she chimed out in her usual friendly way.

“Let’s do it,” I said. Fanny led the way to the bathroom, turned on the light, ran water in the sink and slid the door closed behind her. I sat there, the plastic sombrero situated expectantly in the front of the toilet. I was more relaxed now. “And here we go:  100 ... 200 ... 300 mL,” I counted as the plastic hat filled.

From there the night went well. Not much sleep, but more peeing and even some pooping. I had succeeded!

One last physio session, dressed in the hospital gown over my pyjama bottoms.   “Drop your pants so I can check your wound,” said Nurse Gillian. The wound looked good.

Next was X-ray:  “Drop your pants so I have a clear shot at that hip.”  

Then to ultrasound:  “Drop your pants so I can check your leg for blood clots.” 

Time to be discharged and here’s Nurse Gillian with the checkout sheet. “Physio, check. BM, check. 200 mL of pee, check. X-ray, check. Ultrasound, check. Fragmin self administration ...”  Before that dedicated nurse could continue, my heroic Mrs. Dick threw her entire five feet nothing, 100 pound frame on the unsuspecting nurse and sent her flying into a nearby laundry cart. I grabbed the sheet, checked off that final item, signed the sheet, grabbed my copy and hobbled away as quickly as I could, dragging my walker behind me, through the front doors to the old truck, hand in hand with my very own Mrs. Dick.

Mrs. Dick, ready to turn the compost.

Excuses

I know you are all waiting for the final instalment of Dick's Surgery.

You will have to wait some more. It comes with an illustration by Magpie, and that illustration isn't done yet.

Here's part of why. In Magpie's words:

I hate today.  I was just out cleaning the front of the garage because it was super dirty.  I was going to use my windex sprayer that attaches to the hose.  But it loosened off and I got drenched, so I tried to reattach it and got more soaked, so I turned the water off and reattached it, but it fell off again and I got even MORE soaked.  

Then I decided to just use the normal sprayer and got soaked by that, then I cleaned the doors and paint chipped off of them.  

Also, the second time I tried to use the windex it popped off while I was in the driveway.  I took it, threw it (hard, while making some kind of warrior amazon woman roar), it hit the fence so I ran up and PUNTED it while yelling MOTHER FUCKER.

Our neighbours probably fear me.

Then she illustrated that little incident instead of Dick's Surgery.

I think I'll remind her about the picture she promised Mr. Finchley when she calms down.

Conversations

That's right. I can speak Baby.