He runs his fingers through his hair and looks out his window.
Everything is covered with a good five inches of snow.
He didn't know it was coming.
He never pays attention to weather forecasts.
Why worry about things you can't control?
Still... it is a lot of snow.
Pure. White.
He loves it.
It covers imperfections.
Clean slate.
Well, not completely.
One set of cat tracks meandered all over his backyard.
It was as if the animal was searching.
For something.
He glances at the sky.
He's done enough sailing to know what a red sky in the morning means.
He's unsettled.
Then he starts thinking about last night.

**********

She finally climbs out of bed, after hitting snooze four times.
She opens her blind and sees the snow everywhere.
The sudden urge to make a snow angel strikes her.
She doesn't think she's ever made one before.
She really should.
She notices her cat sitting on her deck.
She slides open the door and the cat runs in and over to his favourite spot near the radiator.
She realizes that Mr. Whiskers is her longest ever relationship with a male.
She laughs.
But, not really.
She loves that the pretty pink sky is making the snow almost look like the surface of Mars.
Or something.
Looks gorgeous.
Strange.
Like someplace else.
Then she thinks about last night

**********

"I NEVER do this," she said.
She was lying.
"Oh, me either," he replied.
He wasn't.

Their relationship backgrounds couldn't be any more different.

He's had long-term girlfriends back to back (to back to back) since he was fourteen.
He doesn't know what it is like to be single.
His parents are still together.
He has a good example to look to, but feels like he needs to do more before settling down.

She's never had a relationship last more than a month.
She's "given her love too freely." She knows this.
Her parents divorced when she was ten.
She won't let that, or the thing that happened to her at sixteen, make her jaded about love.
But, these days, she's seeing the world through cracked rose-coloured glasses.

When the bar closed, they went back to her place.
She was (overly?) eager and adventurous
He was generous, but passionate.

And it was good, by any measure.
Probably even very good.

He was kind afterwards, but she wanted more.
She was fairly non-clingy, but he wanted even less.

**********

He is getting ready to go to breakfast with his friends.
Shit-shooting, discussing UFC pay per view, and diner french toast.

She is getting ready to go to breakfast with her friends.
Gossiping, discussing meeting an actual nice guy, and chai lattes.

He holds his cellphone.
He stares at her number, his finger hovering over the delete button.
Her sweetness, and brokenness, coming back to him.

She stares at her cellphone.
Debating whether she should bother taking it to breakfast with her.
His kindness, and warm smile, feeding her optimism that he'll call.

He was looking for experiences, life and freedom.
She was looking for the beginning of a meaningful and lasting connection.

Someone is not going to get what they were looking for.

Labels: mojo is elusive, yo

I feel like I've lost my blogging mojo. The vibe. Or what the Mesopotamians referred to as "angolar."*

Despite being named by the New Orleans Times-Picayune as "one of the 37 best bloggers of his generation"**, I am just not feeling it lately.

Like Stella, I need to get my groove back. Though not if it involves romancing Taye Diggs in any way. I'm probably not quite that dedicated to blogging.

(Or am I?)

(No. No, I'm not.)

So, I've decided to dig deep into the blogger bag of tricks and open the floor to questions.

You ask. I answer. (Probably.)

It would work something like this:

You: Peter, if you were a song, what song would it be?

Me: I would absolutely be Patrick Swayze's "She's Like The Wind."

You: Have you ever been arrested?

Me: Arrested or charged?

You: Team Trisha or Team Parisa?

Me: Parisa.

You: What fictional character are you most like?

Me: Democracy.

See? Easy.

Ask away.

* I totally made that up.
** That too.

Labels: Mesopotamians

Little Chick Claus



and Nipper Claus



both hope that you are having the happiest of holidays!

Labels: ACN, Christmas, Nipper, The Monkey

I'm gonna mess with the chronology of this post a little. It's going to be like a Tarantino film. Except, if it was a Tarantino film, it might involve Kirk Cameron's comeback performance as a mob accountant with a guilty conscience.

**********

The Monkey arrived at the door this morning. She was wearing pajama pants and a sweat shirt. No jacket. It was 0 degrees Canadian. (Like 32 of your dirty American degrees.)

She went straight to The ACN.

The Monkey: Snowflake, do you like my nails? Aren't they pretty?

The ACN shook her head "No."

**********

Yesterday afternoon, The Monkey was cuddling with my mom on a couch, under a blanket. The Monkey sneakily stole the remote and changed the channel to "The Suite Life of Zack and Cody."

Peter's Mom: I am not watching that crap.

The Monkey: Oh no you di'int!!!

**********

This morning, The Monkey was trying to teach The ACN how to say "Garcon!" whenever she wanted me to get her something to eat.

**********

This morning, The Monkey turned to The ACN and asked, "Is Uncle Pete a poopface?"

I had my back to them, as I was making them some toast.

The Monkey said, "She said 'Yes!!'"

I turned and The ACN was smiling. So, I walked over and put my nose to her nose and said, "Did you say Unc was a poopface?"

She shook her head "No."

I went back to toast prep.

The monkey asked her again. Again I didn't hear a reply. Again The Monkey yelled, "She said 'yes!!'"

I turned around and The ACN denied it. Though while smiling.

This went on for another few minutes.

Then The Monkey asked The ACN, "Are you afraid of Unc?"

The ACN, said "Yeeeah."

The Monkey laughed and said, "He's all talk, no action."

The ACN giggled.

The Monkey asked again, "Is Unc a poopface?"

The ACN yelled "YEAH!!!!!"

Hours later, I decided to check if I was, in fact, still a poopface.

Unc: Hasn't Unc been very good to you all day?

ACN: Yeah.

Unc: Hasn't Unc been feeding you all day?

ACN: Yeah.

Unc: So, is Unc realllly still a poopface?

ACN: YEAH!

**********
Yesterday afternoon the two goofs made cookies:

Labels: ACN, The Monkey

Upon arriving, she followed through with her promise to share her cold with me for Xmas. We were sitting on the couch when she started kissing my cheek.

Uncle Pete: Are you giving me kissies to share your cold?

ACN: Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!

Uncle Pete: You are!

ACN: Tee hee mwah!

**********

The ACN was cuddling in the big La-Z-Boy chair. Nipper walked up and dropped her Wubba next to the ACN. The ACN hugged the toy. Nipper stuck her head in and gave The ACN a kiss on the face and then wandered off.

**********

The ACN told her parents (and later me) that she wished she had gone to visit her godmother and her godmother's puppy (Spencer) for Xmas instead of coming to see me. And when I made a sad face about it, she giggled and giggled.

And giggled.


**********

I am currently still allowed to get my Xmas presents.

That hasn't been the case for her entire visit.

She arrived and said that I wasn't getting any presents because I am a bad boy.

But, then...

Gave her a hug -- Peter getting presents!

Didn't get out of bed soon enough (in her estimation) to let puppy out -- No presents for Peter!

Wanted Unc to feed her breakfast -- Peter getting presents!

Unc didn't have exactly what she wanted for breakfast -- No presents for Peter! And he isn't allowed to attend family gift opening.

ACN wants to play Webkinz - Peter getting presents!

Trouble in the middle east - No presents for Peter!

Labels: ACN

Discussions about being single seem to come up more often around than holidays than any other time of the year. (Although, I suspect with women, it comes up any time a wedding invitation lands in the mail.)

"Don't you miss having a girlfriend at Christmas?"

Well, sure.

I actually discussed my feelings on this recently. However, my counsel (aka Clink) recommended that I don't post what I told her. And not because she wants to hide my lovability. Because, really, is that even possible? It was because I've been bothered by some of the grief I've taken lately about the number of female commenters I get here.

And I don't mean the good natured ribbing from friends about the skewed demographics. I understand good natured ribbing. That's how I makes my livings.

I've actually been accused of posting stuff JUST to appeal to the female commenters. The insinuation being that I use blog posts to get female attention to feed my ego.

First of all, I had a fairly substantial crush on myself looooong before I ever had a blog. And I suspect that will continue after I stop blogging.

Also, I like to think that I wrote like this first and some of you ladies hang out here because of that.

Regardless, it kind of sucks to second guess blog posts before hitting publish. It sucks to wonder if it is going to come across as a cry for attention or some such.

It sucks that I am probably going to shut comments off on this post because of it.

It sucks.

But, I am working on getting back to not giving a fuck.

Now, the lack of a significant other thing...

There are times.

There are times when it does hit you.

You know?

The other night I called The ACN. She was hanging out with her grandmother (her dad's mom.) And her grandmother (aka Nana) told me that they were reading a book about a little boy who also has CP.

That started to hit me a little, but I powered through.

"Are you liking the book?"

She replied with the cutest little "Yeeeeah" ever.

And then she wanted to get off the phone immediately because the book was more interesting than Unc. As most books are.

I sat there.

For a while.

My thoughts were jumbled.

I felt heart broken wondering about how much she understood. How much does she understand about why she is in a wheelchair like the little boy in the story.

I felt frustrated that she couldn't just tell me how much she understood.

I felt guilty for being frustrated, because I know how hard it is for her when we don't understand her.

I felt VERY proud of her for being such a tough and sweet little trooper. She's been through a LOT.

And all these feelings hit at once.

And I sat there.

At some point I realized that this... this was one of those times when I missed having a girlfriend.

Someone with whom there is no need for an introduction or explanation before you say something. Someone with whom there is no need for a disclaimer afterwards.

Someone who will let you just express "it" and get it out.

No judging.

If you sound like a prick, it's fine.

If you sound like a 12 year old girl, it's fine.

It's just fine.

So, yeah, I miss thinking and researching and shopping for months to find that present that makes a girlfriend's face light up.

But, I miss that safe to be yourself feeling so much more.

Labels: ACN, blogging

After a visit last night that included her telling The ACN the following joke on the phone: "Snowflake, why is Tigger stinky? Because he sits next to Pooh." The Monkey was getting ready to go home.

She put on her giant school bag and we walked to the door. She spun around in circles a few times, looking for her shoes and pretending that the school bag was weighing her down.

She suddenly and inexplicably started talking in an old lady voice:

"Where are my shooooes, sonny? Oh... there they are. Ohhhh. Sore back. My spine doesn't work like it used to. Did you know, that in 1986... in 1986 I was in the World War II. It was a good time. Ohhh. One of these times I am going to break in two, there. (As I held the door open for her.) You're pretty tall for a young fella."

Labels: The Monkey

So, little Spears is preggers.

*golf clap*

There is nothing quite like sibling rivalry.

Or overachieving.

At this rate, she'll be in rehab by 17.

Well done.

Other than to her and her family, and to the producers trying to figure out how to write this into the "plot" of Zoey 101, this isn't really a big deal. I mean, come on, haven't we all been knocked up or knocked someone up at 16.

No? Oh. Never mind.

When watching this on CNN Headline News early this morning, I heard one of the funniest things ever.

EVER.

They said that this pregnancy announcement will likely delay the release of Lynne Spears' (the mother) book on parenting.

Parenting.

Let that sink in for a bit.

I laughed SO hard.

I would want to read that book. For real. However, there are a few others that I would probably have to check out first.

These include:

"O.J. Simpson's Guide to Impulse Control and Good Decision Making"

"Hitler's Hanukkah Stories"

George Michael's "Use the Washroom BEFORE You Leave Home." (with forward by Sen. Larry Craig.)

"Pam Anderson (Lee Rock Bouvier Terwilliger Hutz McClure Stu Simpson) on Marriage"

Alec Baldwin's "Putting the Fucking Dirty Little Pig Kids First"

Lindsay Lohan's "Healthy Liver, Happy Life."

and

"Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Queen of the Desert"

Feel free to add your own.

Labels: half-assed

people are waiting.
depending.
you are going to go.
one concern.
a rogue wave of emotion.
legitimate.
you are going to go.
she called you last week.
she did it to "Fuck you."
not to fuck you.
big difference.
huge.
you are going to go.
it is your home too.
when everything is painted with the same brush,
the darker tints win.
it's not fair.
but it is.
even amidst the flickering lights and garland.
she'll be hard to avoid.
a zombie of past love?
mask of deserving.
false touch.
a reminder? a taunt?
a whore.
present fears may be less than horrible imaginings.
and yet.
you are going to go.
it's the next exit.

Labels: word doodles

The Monkey was getting ready for her Xmas concert and needed help with her tie.

Me: Cute outfit. Have you given any thought to, I don't know, maybe brushing your hair?

Monkey: My mom asked if I was going to. I told her to get me a brush. She didn't. She's kind of clueless.

A little while later, she did some unladylike outfit adjusting.

Peter's Dad: That's not a very... good move to be doing.

Monkey: I know! But, my tights are right down to here. (Points) Just a little above the bottom of my skirt. They are too small. I told my mom, "I can go with neutral." She said, "No, your shoes are black." AND she told me to go get my flats. And I said, "My what?" They have a heel on them this (shows us) big. I'm not the brightest light bulb in the package, but I know they aren't flats."

Labels: The Monkey

The ACN has decided that her new name is "Snowflake."

She played one in her Xmas concert this week and now wants everyone to call her that.

Labels: ACN

What is the most embarrassing song that you can imagine to have playing in the background when you are caught masturbating?

Seriously. I want to know.

Friends, Romans, lurkers, feel free to weigh in.

Labels: I have my reasons

Dear baseball,

It has come to the point where I am going to have to start seeing other sports. (I've heard good things about jai alai.)

It's not me. It's you.

Also, please don't see my wearing of your caps as some kind of tacit support for the bacne-filled clusterfuck that you've become. I just likes me hats.

(no longer) Yours,
Peter

Labels: Roger Clemens is a douche

On some afternoons, Clink, Molly and I wear out our "reply all" buttons and send each other a buttload of e-mails. A LOT. I'm not going to lie to you, we tackle some pretty heady issues. Global warming. The middle east. Which of the 'High School Musical' kids is going to knock over a drugstore first. We feel like we owe it to a society from which we've taken so, so much and given back pretty much squat.

We even try to do a little something for the blogworld. We're good like that. Yesterday, we decided to start a new trend in blogging...

Open letters to yourself when you were a high school senior.

And here is mine...

Dear senior year of high school Peter,

Hey. What's up? Nice hair, man.

It's 2007 you. Or us. Whatever.

No, we're not married yet.

Dude, that's as much your fault as it is mine.

Is so!

Since you are being a jerkface, the majority of this e-mail is going to be about women. So there!

Oh, I see you sitting there. Thinking you know women. All smug in the knowledge that you have a cute girlfriend. Well, guess what... unless you change something, you two are going to break up and get back together 437 times. It's not going to work out. Pull the plug now, dude. She's very nice, but it's a bad fit. And you'll waste soooo much time (at college!!) before you figure that shit out. We're not exceptionally bright. It is OK to break up with her (again.) You'll eventually be Facebook friends.

Facebook.

Nevermind.

First things first, you just got accepted into Dalhousie University. Congratulations. You've done absolutely nothing to deserve it. And if you had applied yourself even A LITTLE, you could have gotten some scholarship scratch. Ship... sailed...

Also, you have been accepted into the engineering program Seriously? Who are you kidding? You have no interest in engineering. First of all, it is architecture that interests you. Second of all, it doesn't interest you that much. Get out now. And majoring in physics is not going to pan out either. Get that out of your head. Have you even met you?

We end up studying business. A concentration in marketing.

There are a lot of women in marketing classes and... Never mind that.

You can still change it.

May I suggest going to STFX?

I know that your father is pushing you to go there. And I know that we are a contrarian ass, so it is making it less appealing. But, the man is right. As he usually is. (Though you should try to figure out if its a good thing when he says that a woman "looks like she can fight, fuck, drive a truck, and drink a bottle of wine." I've always wondered about that.)

We want to go to a school with huge school spirit. Sure, STFX people are a little obnoxious with their strange fixation on their rings, but they have spirit. (Yes, they do.) Plus, dude, you already know how friendly the women are there. Come on.

I can already hear the, "But, it is too close to home. Everyone will know my business."

Despite the fact that people are, and were, much less interest in our life than we have always assumed, I'll give you that one.

OK... How about King's College? It's still in the city. It's smaller and more close-knit. You can study journalism and try out for the basketball team. (If that little dude from Mabou made the team there...)

You have no argument against that one, do you?

If you are completely convinced that you are going to Dalhousie, here is some advice for that...

- Go to class.

- Pizza for every meal = bad.

- Buy your books more than a week before midterms.

- Girl with ponytail you see on your first day walking into the School of Business building... ask her out.

- Take English or writing classes.

- Write. Adults are allowed to write! You didn't have to quit when you were 13.

- Girl from your class shooting hoops outside Lemarchant school... ask her out!

- The library is not filled with plutonium. You do not have to avoid it.

- Dorm cafeteria might be. Avoid it like the plague.

- Only live in residence for one year.

- When you are eating pizza at 3 am with the computer geeks and they start talking about ideas for money making ventures. Get involved!

- Even if it is about porn.

- It is always about porn.

- The Russian dudes from the boat that are paying straight cash for shitty old cars... sell them your shitty old car!

- It is OK for professors to know your name. You can talk to them. You are not in Witness Relocation.

- Invent Facebook.

- That apartment on Vernon St. where you'll live with the boys from home... Absolutely still live there! That place is 256 shades of awesome. Cause more trouble there. Get arrested.

- Growing the weed plant on JB's desk when he leaves for the summer... Bad idea.

- Also, destroy that apartment before you leave. DESTROY. The owner is a... genuine female sexual orifice. He's going to screw you over.

- The Naomi girl you meet at the beginning of your last year... Dude, don't drop the ball. Repeatedly.

- Go to class.

Also, with regards to women in general....

Sicilian girls = bad for us

Girls from Massachusetts = very good

I... don't know why.

But, because you are me, or I am you, you are not going to listen to word one of this are you?

Man, we're a stubborn bastard.

Before I forget, don't bother buying the Barry Bonds rookie card. Shit is NOT going to play out like you expect.

Try to be less of a goof. A little?

Best wishes in all of your future endeavours,
2007 Peter

Labels: could not land it

I use the word "cute" sometimes when it comes to women. (I use "awesome" for everything else. Apparently I am a surfer... in the 80s.)

Some people throw "cute" around willy-nilly. "This shirt is cute." "What a cute idea." "Isn't that Mahmoud Ahmadinejad cute?"

Not this hombre.

To me, there is no higher compliment than "cute." Especially when it is "cuuuuuuuuuuuuute."

When something is cute... it just makes you smile.

A cute woman can also be pretty and/or gorgeous. BUT a pretty and/or gorgeous woman is not necessarily cute. (For example, some of the bland cookie-cutter model types.)

You follow?

Cute is also not necessarily stick thin or genetically flawless. It comes in various shapes and sizes. In fact, some of the cutest women have some character to their faces.

True cuteness is more than just looks though.

A sense of humour is cute.

Creativity is cute.

Being clever is cute.

Sweetness is, almost always, very cute.

Some cute things are very specific to the cuteness observer. For me... fake pouting.

I may be nuts.

I've heard a couple women say that they don't like the word "cute." (Note: I wasn't calling them cute.) One said that she found it too patronizing. Another thought it was overused and meaningless.

I thought about that a little and then realized...

Meh. I don't really care.

"Cute" is the only way of describing what I want to describe, you know?

Now, when a woman is that devastating combo of cute/hot... Then you have something.

And if she is cute/hot with a good heart...

Start the ring shopping.

Thus endeth the lesson.

Because I do all the talking around here, I have a couple questions for YOU:

1) What is one thing that members of the opposite sex do/say/think that you find impossibly cute?

2) Ladies, would you mind being called "cute?"

Labels: cute

I got off the phone with The ACN earlier.

We were on for 46:08 minutes.

She got home from school and she and her daddy (who works shift work) curled up in the mommy and daddy bed and she called me.

I think the daddy nodded off.

I asked her if she had fun at school. No answer. (No answer on the phone means "no." The daddy was apparently napping and couldn't tell me if she was shaking her head "no.")

I asked if she had a fun ride on the bus. "Yeah!"

I asked if she had a good lunch. "Yeah!"

I asked if they read books. "Yeah!"

I asked if she went in her walker. "Yeah!"

I asked if she and Steven* raced to the bus. "Yeah!"

Then I said, "So, munchkin, to me that sounds like a pretty good day at school. Might you be fibbing to Uncle Pete about not having a good day?"

All kinds of giggles.

[*Steven is an older boy on the bus with her. (He is 10 or 12.) He is also in a wheel chair. Every day after school they "race" to the bus. The ACN LOVES it. On her first ever day of school, Steven told The ACN's daddy, "Don't worry. I'll take care of her." Cute, right? Sometimes another little boy with autism rides on the bus too. He was sitting behind The ACN one day and he got very upset. And loud. The ACN is one tough little chica, but new noises, when she isn't expecting them, scare her. Plus, she gets upset if something is happening behind her and she can't see it. So, when the little boy got upset, The ACN did too and started crying. Steven started rubbing her hand and telling her that the little boy wasn't going to hurt her and that everything was OK. We like Steven.]

So, we kept talking.

We practiced counting.

I told her everything that was going on here.

I asked her a bunch of questions.

She decided that she wanted to trade in everybody in the family (pets included) except for she and I.

I think I've mentioned before that we talk every night at 6. (If humanly possible.) No matter where I am, or what I'm doing, I make my call. Granted, some nights she tells her mommy that she doesn't want to talk to me and then giggles.

And then doesn't talk to me.

However, I didn't talk to her Saturday night or Sunday night. She had gone out of town to do some Xmas shopping with the other grandparents. And while I call their house all the time when she is there -- and they are AWESOME about it, and hold the phone to her ear for as long as she wants to talk -- I thought it might be pushing it to call their cellphone.

I figured the lack of chatting for a few days had made her more chatty this afternoon.

So, I asked.

Unc: Did you miss Unc's calls this weekend?

*silence*

Unc: Were you sad that Unc didn't call?

*silence*

Unc: Did you notice Unc not calling?

ACN: (Tiny little) Yeah.

*Unc's heart breaking*

Unc: Is Unc a bad boy?

ACN: Yeah.

Unc: Does Unc need a kick in the bum?

ACN: Yeah!

Unc: Still want Unc to call you at 6 tonight?

Few moments of silence.

ACN: (Reluctantly) Yeeaaah.

Labels: ACN

I just read a blog post by the moderately lovely and occasionally charming sidewaysrain.

I love her poems.

So, I decided, "Hey! I'm going to write a word doodle!"

And then I thought, "Exclamation points? Really? You are THAT excited?"

Which was followed by, "Don't be cranky with me, homey."

And then by, "Go Colts!"

So, I went to re-read her poem and... decided that I didn't really want to follow that.

However, I was already in blog posting mode. So, I needed something. I went to my draft folder to see if I had any ideas there. Nope. I checked my brain.

"Go Colts!"

Nothing there either.

The Colts did win yesterday. (Yay!)

But, so did the Patriots. (Booooo! Yes, Susie, I know...)

On Saturday afternoon I decided that I was going to hit my couch and watch some college basketball. Duke vs. Michigan. I'm a UCONN fan, but college hoops is college hoops. However, I thought the game was starting an hour and a half earlier than it actually was.

I had 90 minutes to go do something constructive before tip off. However, I was already ever so comfy on my couch. I think you can see the dilemma I was in. "I should totally get up and *yaaaaawn* do something productive. Or I could just reeeecline a little bit more..."

I checked out my PVR, but had nothing that I felt like watching. (Thank you, writers strike. Grrrrrr.)

I flipped through the channel guide and on MTV Canada found a marathon of "The Real World: Sydney."

I haven't watched a season of The Real World since... Chicago, I think. (I looooved Keri.) Mostly because I'm a grown man. But, also because it has become horribly repetitive and they cast the most annoying morons ever. Seriously. (You always need one house guest that people don't want to punch in the face. They are the voice of reason and, by comparison, make the evil ones seem even eviler. This is not rocket science, MTV!)

Still, there was nothing on at all.

So, I flipped the channel and quickly found out that the marathon was in "Coral-Vision."

Over the years I have seen a few episodes of those challenge shows where they stick Real World and Road Rules people in some locale and make them compete, and hook-up, and get drunk and destroy something. So, I've seen Coral before. She scared me a little. And not in a fun way.

I was pretty iffy on this whole "Coral-Vision" concept.

And I was SO wrong.

She is a genius.

GENIUS.

Over the next THREE HOURS I laughed out loud a number of times. And I am not a big laugher out louder. I am more of a smirker and light chuckler.

She was gold.

The best stuff was at the expense of Shauvon (the big-boobeded blonde) and the disembodied voice of her sackless boyfriend/ex-fiance David.

I couldn't even begin to explain this dude. He is beyond fucked. Ike Turner would say, "You know, this sumbitch is pretty damn controlling."

Every time Shauvon did anything, he threatened to break up with her... even though they weren't really together any more. Except she wore an engagement ring. But, jumped into bed with some sketchy dude.

David even cried at one point.

CRIED.

On (inter)national TV.

Over her.

Cried.

They should have been filming the disgusted look on my face and the slow head shake.

She didn't just give birth to your baby. Or, you know, hand you the Stanley Cup.

Dude... Come on.

At one point, Shauvon and the sissy got into some fight. It probably went something like this:

"Shuavon... let me speak. You're being affected by the earth's gravitational forces?!?!? I thought you loved me!! We're through!! *click*"

So, Shauvon put on her big sunglasses and went to write him an e-mail. As she finished, Coral and her friend "Evan" popped onscreen and were mocking the e-mail. I may be paraphrasing here, but it went like this:

Coral: She's just sending it. No spellcheck or nothin'.

Evan: She needs spellcheck.

Coral: She needs LifeCheck.

I cracked up.

And there were so many little moments of Coralisiciousness.

My favourite was when David was on the phone saying, "Shauvon, I have a question... I have a question... I have a question..."

Coral's head popped up on the bottom of the screen, "Well, ask it, motherfucker. Ask it."

I laughed SO much.

Wow. So, what have we learned here?

Clearly I had nothing to write about today. (Ehhhh. It's Monday morning.)

And, except if they are playing the Colts, I don't ever want to watch the evil Patriots play again.

Unless it is in Coral-Vision.

****************

Apropos of nothing:

Labels: controlling freak boyfriends on reality shows that have been around for too long, Patriots suck, TV

Do you know what I want for Christmas?
I want to meet her.
You know... HER.
I want her to be ready to meet me.
I want to be knocked on my ass.
I want to be completely bummed when I get call or text and it isn't her.
I want the world to feel more electric because I know that she is in it.
I want her to worry about her family, and my family, and the families of strangers,
And to hope that they are having wonderful holiday seasons.
I want her to be tough when she has to be.
But, soft when she can't help but be.
I want her to call me out when I need it.
I want that to somehow still feel like love.
I want to not always have to say things.
I want her to just know.
You know?
I want her to know who she is,
and to be happy with that.
I want her to know who I am,
and to (miraculously) be happy with that.
I want not to fuck it up.
I really want that.
I want her to not be completely aware of how awesome she is.
I want to tell her. Often.
Yeah, I want HER for Christmas.
Oh wait...
Scratch that.
I want one of those cute little iPod Nanos with video instead.

Labels: Christmas

So, I'm sitting here and staring at my hands.

They aren't very callus-y. (And, no, one is not more callus-y than the other. Perv.)

They are big. They look like hands. Just... soft.

I'm not sure how I feel about it.

I'm somewhat burly. I am! Well, I'm not completely without burl.

But, considering my relatives and ancestors, I would expect more calluses is all.

There are carpenters and builders all over my family. On both sides. My family tree has a tree house in it. And probably a bar.

My maternal grandmother's family were all carpenters... and brawlers.

My maternal grandfather had some building skills as well.

My paternal grandmother's family... well, I'm not entirely sure. They can certainly drink. And some can play the fiddle.

My paternal grandfather was amazing. He could build anything. He was a whiz with wood. And, when he was younger, he was in charge of testing the quality of concrete on huge building projects. He'd stop the cement trucks coming onto the job site, take a handful from the back, rub it between his fingers and either wave them in our turn them away. I can't imagine that. I can't even tell when food is cooked. When I cook boneless chicken breasts, I have to buy the exact same type, cook them for the same amount of time, at the same temperature every time. If that chicken company goes out of business, I'm gonna starve.

Or poison myself.

I have two uncles that are carpenters/contractors. My dad builds substations.

So, my family builds homes and controls electricity.

I can drive a nail.

I've done it on a few occasions. And it felt somewhat natural. Like it was in my DNA. But, waaay dormant.

A couple of summers ago, I worked on a deck with my Dad. It didn't start off well...

Dad: Just put down the decking. Nail it here and here. Alternate on every other one to here and here. And that is it.

Me: Interesting... And this "decking" of which you speak?

Dad: It's the wood, you. Wood!

Me: Would I what?

Dad: Would you feel it if I hit you with this hammer?

Fine, that conversation didn't actually happen. I am just annoyed that this post isn't funnier.

Moving on...

My father would make sure to talk to me every once in a while as we worked on a deck. He and I suffer from the same problem. Our minds wander if we are performing repetitive tasks.

For example, I started thinking about all the nails in the pouch of my carpenter's apron. (Yes, I said "apron." Again.) I was imagining them all living in their own little nail world. Going about their nail lives. Worrying about the return of their arch nemesis "Magnet Man" and trying to find a cure for oxidation.

Yes, this is how my brain works.

I thought I would jump start my inner builder one summer when I worked at one of those giant warehouse-style building supply stores. I learned quite a bit, actually. Though it had a bumpy patch or two.

One day I took a board back to the cut shop to have it, well, cut. The cut shop dude wasn't there, so I decided to do it myself. I put it on the saw and was just reaching for the on switch when he came in and yelled for me to stop.

Him: Stop! You are going to cut your hand off?

Me: But, I didn't even start yet.

Him: You just look like you don't know what you are doing.

Me: Fair enough.

He was probably right. My mind was wandering to the cute girl who I had just sold a door too.

[I helped her pick it. I carried it to the check-out. I told the cashier to give her ten bucks off because of a little scratch. The cashier looked scared, but I told her she could just tell her manager that I said it was OK. (Ha!) And then I carried it out and put it in the back of the truck that the girl was driving. We chatted for a few minutes. Exchanged names. But, not numbers. I told her that anytime she came in for stuff that she should ask for me. She smiled and said she would. Then she thanked me and drove off... And then I remembered that it was my second last day of work.]

Part of my job at that store was to help people design their decks. There was a little kiosk, with a computer and deck design software. Despite it being pretty user friendly, and hard to screw up, I laughed every single time. These people were asking for me to help design large decks to go on their huge and expensive homes and all I could remember from 7th grade drafting class was people having sword fights with the t-squares.

I should mention that I'm not completely useless. I can put up shelves. Assemble crap from Ikea and the like. But, I think it would be amazing to be able to build something from scratch, you know?

Maybe my role is to build things with my words? To create worlds with my writing?

Yeeeeah, I didn't buy that either.

I'm going to go wash my hands with a brillo pad.

Labels: Why you don't want Peter to cook your dinner or design your deck, wow this one got away from me

When I first called, she was playing in her bed with her Webkinz. We chatted. (Turns out that Unc is a pain in the butt. Who knew? That's a rhetorical question.)

Then we chatted while she ate chicken pot pie.

Then we chatted while she went to poop. (False alarm!)

While in the bathroom, she made me talk to her cat on the phone. I did the Meow Mix meowing song. The cat ignored, but The ACN giggled. Then I made a noise and she (The ACN) howled. Then I explained that it was an "angry purr" and she howled even louder.

Then we chatted while she ate more chicken pot pie. (Although she totally wanted to leave "me" in the bathroom.)

**********

Last night when I called:

The babysitter explained that she had taken The ACN out for lunch.

Unc: You didn't have a beer with lunch did you?

ACN: Yeah.

Unc: You are six! You can't have beer.

ACN: *giggles*

Unc: You didn't really have beer.

ACN: Yeah!

Unc: No!

ACN: YEAH!

Unc: NO!

ACN: YEAH!!!

Unc: Grrrrrr.

ACN: *giggles*

**********

Two nights ago when I called:

I asked her if she was cute because she looked like me.

ACN: Yeah.

Mommy: Don't you look cute because you look like Mama?

ACN: Yeah!!!

Unc: What about Unc?

ACN: *giggles*

Mommy: Does Uncle Pete look like Nipper?

ACN: YEAH!!!

Ouch.

Labels: ACN

She sat staring at the gorgeous and delicious-looking cake.
"At least it won't be with me for long."
She had made it for a party.
And it was being picked up soon.
As she wiped her hands on her super cute apron,
She felt proud of what she had accomplished.
"Thank you, MarthaStewart.com!"
But, it wasn't exactly a smooth baking process.
Chocolate Angel Food Cake SOUNDED easy enough.
Even for a girl that, as a child, used her Easy Bake Oven to warm her socks.
After a trip to the store, she had all of her ingredients.
"Who keeps pure almond extract in the house?"
And it was messy.
She somehow managed to dirty dishes that were only innocent bystanders.
"Collateral cake damage. It's sweeping the nation."
There were missteps.
"Cocoa powder in the eye! Cocoa powder in the eye!"
There were calls home to her mother.
"What the fuck does a 'stiff glossy peak' look like??"
There were apologies.
"I'm sorry that I said 'fuck,' mom."
But, finally...
There was a cake.
A brown, gorgeous mound of goodness.
She called it Taye Diggs.
She was very proud of herself.

And then she grabbed a fork.

...

She sat staring at the crumbs of a once gorgeous and delicious-looking cake.
"At least it won't be with me for long."

Labels: lacking subtlety, word doodles

Hi, sweetie.

How's things?

I know, I know. It's been a while. I'm sorry.

Been busy, you know?

No, not too busy for you. That's not what I meant.

ANYWAY, the reason I am writing is because I've been seeing something popping up on posts by various female bloggers that I read. Essentially it--

What's that?

They are just friends. I swear.

Honestly!

Yes, you told me that your ex-boyfriend is sniffing around again. But, you also told me that dude couldn't even find your g-spot if he used Mapquest. So, forgive me if I don't feel threatened.

Where did this jealous streak come from? And why do I put up with it?

Because you are cute and sweet?

Well, that's a good point.

So, the idea of these posts is the classic "list." You know, 5 celebs that if you got the chance, you could...

Yes, I know yours would all be George Clooney.

What? Jude Law?

I'm going to pretend that you didn't say that.

Now, you know me, Future Wife, I don't really care about celebrities. Sure I like cute female celebs, but no more than I'd like a cute female receptionist at an insurance agency.

That being said, here is my list:

1) Anna Friel -- Did you see the episode of "Pushing Daisies" where she mimes being a bear? COME on. The cuteness!

2) Blake Lively -- I know that she is, like, twenty. And, yes, I feel ever so lecherous. But, I think that when Lance Armstrong started dating the creepy little Olsen twin, it flung the doors wide open for lechers everywhere. Other than pissing off the French, this is my favourite thing he's ever done.

3) Sarah Evans -- I know nothing about country music. I do loves me some of your Johnny Cashes, Kris Kristoffersons and Waylon Jenningseseses, and I have been singing "She's a good hearted woman, in love with a good-timing man" all day, but I have no idea what's going on in country music right now. However, I was at my aunt's house on Saturday, and she was watching the country music station. They showed a video by this chica. Je suis intrigued.

4) Lindsey Deluce -- So, The Monkey danced on a telethon yesterday. (And it was available on satellite across Canada!) One of the hosts was this woman. From what I can gather, she is a reporter for the local news -- which, beginning yesterday, I've started watching regularly. She's delightful. (Also, she was wearing a shirt much like the cowl neck one that Caitlyn mentions in this post about how I beat her at Scrabulous.)

5) Lauren Graham -- I've been good about not blogging about the lovely Lauren Graham. Lately. But, there WAS a time.

Just missing my list was Claire Coffee -- who was adorable on two old episodes of "The West Wing" that I watched last week. (Now I am thinking I may want to replace Sarah Evans with her. Curses!)

And, yes, Rachel Bilson used to ALWAYS be on my list. However, since Hollywood RUINED her by making her all scrawnified... Curves are good, people!!!!!! That goes for you too, Ali Larter. Eat a damn hamburger.

Sorry...

So, yeah, that is my list.

While we're on the subject, any chance I can create a list of my top five female bloggers too?

Yeah, see, I knew that I went too far with that one.

Take care.

Love,
Peter

Labels: future wife, Seemed MUCH funnier in my head, The Monkey

Folks --

It is my day to post on The 'Stache.

Love and ass grabs,
Peter

-ps It sucks.

Labels: the stache