Tahnks!

Yes I made a typo on my blog title, but I don't really mind right now because I'd had a few to drink. One time as a young kid I remember being woken up by my mother. It was probably 2 am on a night nearing Christmas. I woke up to my toes being shaken back and forth. when I opened my eyes I saw my mom sitting on my bed. "Mom?" I said.
"I'm pissed!" mom said.

I've got no idea how old I was that night, but I'll remember that forever... especially right now, because I am also pissed.

Tonight At 1:32 AM I turned 35. 35 is the dividing age between young and old, so I rang in becoming "Offically Old" by going out with Megan and Jenn and Jen. I had a really great time. Thanks you guys!

I'd also like to say thanks to Debbie and Colleen who helped me celebrate last night as well. You guys and your kids are all great.

Best birthday gifts ever.

P.S. Special thanks to the DJ who wished me a happy bday over the loudspeaker. I don't often raise my arms and yell "wooohooo", so I am glad I had the chance tonight.


Oh! Tara! I just checked my messages! Tahnks to you too!

Devin!

This is just a message for Devin.
If you are not Devin then you can quit reading now.
Hey, I said quit reading.
God you're nosy.
Fine.

Hey Devin, I saw that you dropped by my blog the other day. I don't have your email address anymore, send me a message k? sarah[.]j[.]m[@]gmail[.]com

Sarah and the Bees

Last weekend I walked to my mom's house. Google maps says it is 9.2 km, but I actually walked a shorter distance because I stuck to side roads and walked through people's yards and houses. Despite my shortcutting, I probably only shaved a couple kilometres off my trip so I knew that by the time I got there, I wouldn't want to walk back. Luckily I had called ahead to see if my mom would drive me home later. She said she would.

I visited with my mom for a while and then we got in her car so she could drive me home. After that big long walk though I really wanted to stop on the way and get a slurpee. To my surprise my mom declined my request on the grounds that I have diabetes, and therefore I shouldn't drink slurpees. I begged and pleaded, and I thought I had won her over as she made a left turn towards the 7-11 instead of a right turn to my place... but as it turns out she just forgot where I lived. A few seconds later, as she was turning around in the 7-11 parking lot I looked out the window and saw slurpee machines just a few metres away, but she still wouldn't stop for me.

I arrived home and drank ice water. I guess it was just as satisfying in terms of a cold drink, but part of my brain kept nagging at me to get a slurpee. It kept nagging at me so bad that the next day after work I had to stop and get one. I got home and sat down to drink it on my balcony futon. I drank about ¾ of it before I set the cup down and forgot about it. For the last few days that cup has been out there on the balcony collecting dust (and other things).


~ ~ ~ ~
Today I went out for another walk and on the way home I picked up another slurpee. I went out to drink it on the balcony and I saw the old cup still sitting where I left it. It wasn't a see-through cup to begin with, but the bottom of it was getting there as the sugary water tried it's best to soak through. I picked it up, but there was no mess underneath. I imagined that was because by now, after several days of evaporating, the contents was more thick gooey syrup than liquid. I carried it into the kitchen and left it on the counter while I went back out to drink my new slurpee and read some Archie comics.

About 45 minutes later I went into the kitchen to throw out both slurpee cups. I took the lid off the old cup so I could dump out what was left over, but I didn't get that far. As soon as I took off the lid about 5 or 6 hornets* flew out of the cup! I think that was the first time in my life that I actually shrieked like a woman.

I've often smiled at my sister Jenn when I see her reaction to a nearby bee. She goes into a temporary panic as she does anything possible to avoid the non-threatening bee. I like it best when she can't see it, and she has no clue where it is, but she ducks, shucks and jives anyway. OK, I know, I sound like a bitch laughing at her fear, but most of the time it isn't even a bee! One time I saw her dive under cover when someone down the block started up their weed-whacker. That behaviour of mine is in the past though. I have re-evaluated how amusing it really is because when I released that cloud of hornets I started flailing my arms like a drowning swimmer. I ran highstepping around the apartment like I was running through tires training for a football game. All the while I was shaking my hair around like a true fan of 80's music. When I was sure no bugs were on me or in my hair I ran outside to my balcony and almost derailed the screen door as I slammed it closed. The irony was not lost on me that I was outside using a screendoor to protect myself from insects that were inside (inside drinking a slurpee no less). I honestly didn't know what I should do. I was out of breath, disheveled and quite distressed about my situation (but part of me snickered as I imagined what might happen if my roommate came home early from work).

I tend to calm down easy though, so I sat down on the futon and read a Betty & Veronica Double Digest for a half hour or so before I quietly snuck back inside. I tip-toed through the apartment like a wabbit-hunting Elmer Fudd and I peeked around the corner into the kitchen. I saw the cup on the counter - but no cloud of hornets was in sight. I reasoned they were either inside the slurpee cup again or they were all waiting, ambush-style, in my room. I took a few steps closer and this time I saw them. They were in the cup alright, and looking pretty smug about it too. I knew I had to do something before they attacked, so I picked up the dome shaped slurpee lid and readied myself to slam it back on the cup. I stopped because the lid has a really big straw hole. I realized an upright slurpee lid is about the same shape as an upside-down hornet's nest so I am sure they were all feeling quite at home in there. Even if they weren't all hopped up on sugar water they could easily fly out through that lid to kill me.

I grabbed a roll of aluminum foil and pulled off a 3 foot strip. I waited until none of the hornets were looking at me and then I slammed the lid down on the cup and covered the straw hole with foil. I flipped the cup over and after I wrapped more foil all around it I jammed it upside-down into the larger cup from today's slurpee. Somehow I did all this with one hand, as I frantically waved my other arm around in the air to shoo away any escapees. I finished by bunching up all the remaining foil into an impenetrable mass in the open end of the new cup. I didn't see any get free, and it looked like the foil prison was secure, but I didn't feel safe yet - I was afraid the hornets could chew their way out. I grabbed a couple plastic safeway bags as additional chew-buffers and tied them both around the package. Only then did I run my makeshift hornet coffin down to the dumpster.

Even now as I write this I still don't feel safe. I didn't actually do a head count at any point. For all I know not all the hornets were in the slurpee cup before I put the lid on it. If there are still some in the apartment I haven't seen them, but maybe that's how they want it. Maybe I am not supposed to see them. Maybe they want me to think they are all gone. That's why I am writing this blog article on my laptop in the living room - because I am worried a few of them escaped, and are maybe in my room...
Waiting for me...
Ambush-style.

--
Sarah Mathiason

* I called them hornets, but I guess they are called Yellowjackets. My grandparents always called them Yellowjackets, but I always assumed that was just a colloquialism.

Portable Babysitters

It is pretty obvious that we have a lot of benefits that previous generations didn't have. I mean, when our parents were kids they all walked twelve miles to school, even in a blizzard. These days just try to drive by an elementary school at 3:30 - it is a a traffic jam of parents picking up their kids. When I was that age I don't remember any of my friends getting rides home, but then I think maybe times were safer then. I'd probably want to pick up my kids too, just to make sure they are safe.

In line with keeping the kids safe, it is pretty common to see young boys and girls with their own cell phones as well. It makes sense. As the technology gets cheaper why wouldn't a parent want to be able to keep closer tabs on their children? I understand the virtue of it, but it still seems odd to me. I grew up in a time when nobody had cell phones and the closest thing to it was a car phone. Even then it took a big wig vice president to have one of those. I sometimes imagine one of these little kids getting a call on his or her phone, they pause for a moment and say, "Whose baby is that? What's your angle? I'll buy that!" *

It isn't just about safety these days though, it is also about keeping them entertained. I remember when I was young hearing the TV being referred to as the babysitter. These days with so many DVD's available for kids, all a parent has to do is slide the favorite 'babysitter' into the nearest player and relax. It works really well. I remember when Heather's little brother Mark was younger. For at least a year he preferred the company of the Lion King to that of actual people. When I was a kid if my sisters and I were making a ruckus in the back seat my parents'd just sternly request (yell at us) to shut up. The threat was typically shut up or they'll pull over, and I think our imaginations were too active to envision a pleasant outcome if they had to pull over, so we shut up. These days the parents just stick in a DVD that the kids can watch as they drive.

Today I was in my car waiting at a light and I saw the portable babysitter had gone one step further than the one in the back seat of a minivan. A couple walked by pushing their child in a stroller, and strapped to the food tray of the stroller was a portable DVD player.




* "Whose baby is that? What's your angle? I'll buy that!" is a line from the Flintstones of course. If you are like me and miss the Flintstones showing every noon, then watch this video and relive some good memories of time spent with my favorite babysitters, Fred & Barney:

A Flintstones Minute (0:59)

200!

I was really looking forward to blogging today because when you combine my private entries, and the ones that you all can see, this is my 200th post. I wanted it to be a good one, but instead of finding something to write about I ended up sleeping through the day. Even when I was out and about I was still mostly asleep with my eyes barely open. As a result I've got nothing new to write about. Even this evening I was laying in bed after my long day of resting, and instead of thinking about what to blog about, I started to wonder about why I even like blogging at all, and this made me decide to post something old instead.

I mentioned in an previous blog that even 20 years ago I used to like to write some stuff down in a Doogie Howser journal, but that was more like a diary, recording the events of the day as only my gender confused brain could relate them. This blog is a little different in that I often try to write stories that turn my daily life into entertainment. Strangely I can actually pinpoint why I started doing that. Considering when I started writing these stories I was a 19 year old boy, the reason is obvious. It was for a girl.

Thanksgiving, 1990 in Porcupine Plain, Saskatchewan I sat down at the table and I wrote a story. I was trying my best to make it funny in order to woo Deanne, the amazing blond girl who was in all of my classes that year. I didn't think I was making much progress, but she wasn't telling me to take a hike, so I kept at it. I didn't know it at the time but she kept all those stories I wrote her. Ten years later they paid off and we fell in love. Things didn't work out, but to this day whenever I am trying to write a funny story about my boring life I am always wondering if Deanne will like it.

I met Deanne almost 16 years ago to the day, in the left-handed desk area of lecture hall 103 in the physics building. Since then we've had our highs and lows. In fact probably my highest high and lowest low both involve Deanne, but through it all to this day we remain good friends. One of those private blogs I mentioned was actually a short email from Deanne about her and I that contained the most emotional words I've ever read. I always feel good when I think about Deanne and the relationship we have. It is hard to believe that it all started off with embarrassing letters like this one:

Dear Deanne,

Do you remember when every morning you used to get up and eat breakfast while reading the back of the ceral box? Those were the days weren't they? Well, fortunately for me they aren't quite over yet. Whenever I have a bath I sit back and read the backs of shampoo bottles. It lacks the variety of cereal boxes though because it seems all shampoo bottles say the exact same thing.

Every bottle has the same set of instructions regarding the proper use of the shampoo: Wet hair. Apply shampoo. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Now, if a person is idiot enough to require instructions to use shampoo, don't you think the instructions provided are a little vague? I don't like how the producers of the shampoo include instructions for idiots, but then condemn the poor bastards to a life of perpetual cleaning as they apply shampoo, lather, rinse, and then as per the last step begin all over again. My mind reels at the thought of people trapped in the bathroom for the rest of their lives, all alone -- their families long since dead of bladder explosions.

Speaking of explosions, I just came out of the bathtub. After a long hard day of shirking responsibility, avoiding work and sleeping on the couch I thought I'd go have a nice hot bath to unwind. I watched as the steam rose from the tub, fogging the mirror, and then I added some bubble bath out of a bottle of pink stuff my mom bought yesterday. I could hardly contain my excitement as I thought of the new reading material I had in my hand. I had grown weary of shampoo bottles and I yearned for the back of the bubble bath bottle. I got undressed and slowly stepped into the tub. (I had to go slowly because certain parts don't like sudden heat.) I sat back and began to read. A fireplace magically appeared and snow fell outside. I read through the instructions and then I came to something shampoo bottles don't have - ingredients! Never in my life had I imagined such a wonderful thing could have happened to me. My excitement soon waned however, after I read: Water, C-14-16 Olefin Sulfonate, Sodium Laureth Sulfate, lauramide DEA,... and then the next ingredient sent a shiver down my spine. I gently placed the bottle on the side of the tub and even slower than when I entered I stepped out of the water. I couldn't believe it, but the next ingredient was nitroglycerin! I didn't want to dry off, the friction of the towel might set off the nitroglycerin in the soap residue still on my skin. Wearing clothes would certainly cause an explosion that would doom me to an even worse fate than if I was an idiot washing my hair. I didn't want to take any chances so I walked out of the bathroom completely naked. I kept my arms well away from my body and I walked like I had been riding a horse with no saddle just so nothing would accidentally rub and set me into flames. I needed water to wash off the soap, but from where? I rounded the corner to the front door and went outside. That is where I stand now, hoping for rain and greeting all passers by with a smile and a 'How do you do?'

No wonder it took ten years to win her over eh?