10 Things I'm Missing This Week

On Wednesday evening Paul boarded a plane for Norway. And this very minute he's running a half-marathon in Oslo. Did I mention lately how much my boyfriend kicks ass?

On the down side, I'm missing him. So I decided what better way to make time fly than do a Top 10 [warning: this top 10 is chalked full of lovey-dovey goodness].

10 Things I'm Missing This Week:
- A passport (if I had one, I could travel, on a plane, like to Norway)
- Money (if I had some, I could travel, on a plane, like to Norway)
- A fear of flying (no wait, that's still there)
- Cheering while holding signs that say "Get 'Er Done" and "Looking good babe" during Paul's run
- Seeing Paul cross the finish line
- Talking to Paul every night before I go to sleep
- Falling asleep in Paul's strong arms
- Playing with Paul's chest hair
- Sweet and passionate kisses
- [censored]

On the plus side, I am keeping busy so the time flies until I pick up Paul at the airport (wearing only a trench coat and heels).

10 Things I'm Doing To Stay Busy This Week:
- Enjoying some/ a lot of emotional eating
- Getting a passport
- Hair cut, brow/lash tint
- Dyed hair
- Purged various household items collected over the years via yard sale
- Bought various new household items during "nesting" frenzy
- Went to doctor for annual exam
- Cleaning, cleaning, cleaning (ok, I'm not really doing a whole lot of that despite the fact there is an inch of dust on everything)
- Blogging (ok, I'm not really doing a whole lot of that either - with all this non-Paul free time I thought I'd be cranking out the posts but...nope)
- Spending quality time with Billy Blanks (ok, I'm not really doing a whole lot of that either but I really need to be so I'm in tip top R-N-D condition when picking Paul up at the airport)

Will this week/next week ever end?

Today's Post Is Brought To You By the Letter F

If you're a divorced parent who's dating, there's very few moments that will make you hold your breath and pray like the introduction of your date to your child/ren (except perhaps for said child/ren waking up through the night, and quietly sneaking into your room at a therapy-causing moment).

Paul came over last Friday evening for some pizza and Game Cube to meet my 10-year-old son Aidan. Paul brought some books he thought Aidan would like (in Paul's words, he's not above bribing).

They bonded. Talked about Gladius. I pretended to know what they were talking about. Aidan explained game rules and strategy. I said, "Hey, how come you never told me any of that!" Aidan just laughed. This is going really good I thought. And then...

It's hard to put into vowels and consonants the sound of a "boy fart." Naturally, that is the only kind of farting sound because as we've already discussed, girls do not fart.

Ofcourse I shot Aidan "the mommy look" as in "Oh my god I can't believe you just did that" look. To his credit, he did say excuse me. So I figured, ok...that's that. Moving on. Back to the game. And then...

He did it again! Only this time he laughed after saying "excuse me." Time to take action.

Me: "Aidan, if you're going to do that, please leave the room and then come back."
Aidan: "You don't make me do that any other time."
At this point I'm trying to see if I'm small enough to roll under his twin sized bed and hide.

Each time, Aidan thought it was funnier than the last. I think I stopped counting at this point. It was almost as if Aidan was trying to impress Paul in some only-boys-understand way.

Paul, to his credit, was very understanding. And said, "Wait until you meet [name of his daughter]. " Eep.

After our game we drove Aidan to meet my ex-husband in a near-by "drop off point" city. I made it a point to talk to Aidan when I picked him up on Sunday. We discussed the importance of manners. And we discussed the possibility of sending him to military school if he doesn't learn some.

Nuts and Bolting

Mary (aka Undercover Mother) and I were chatting about her impending trip to the eye doctor this week. As it turns out, we go to the same one. We'll call him, Dr. Evans** I've been going to Dr. Evans for eye exams since I was a wee little redhead.

Mary confessed that for this week's appointment, she's opted to go with Dr. Evan's daughter who is a newly minted eye doctor. "Instead of going to see the nut rubber."

"The who what now?" I asked.

She said it again, without trying to laugh. "The nut rubber."

Picture it: You're sitting in the eye examination chair thingy. Dr. Evans is seated (legs open) in his wheely chair, and comes toward you to begin the exam. Granted, we're dealing with eyes here so a doctor does need to get close. And before you know it, his nuts rub against your knee. And I don't mean bag of peanuts...

At first, you think, did that JUST happen? A drive-by scrotum sack swish? You try to put it out of your mind. Clearly you imagined it. But then you come to the realization that you've had less bodily contact with lap dancers.

Mary has even attempted to out smart the good doctor. She's tried to cross her legs (he asked her to uncross them), and tried to use her purse as a knee/nut guard (he put her purse on the floor). And per usual, she was groin grazed.

And here I thought it was just me. Turns out Dr. Evans doesn't discriminate between the sexes, he's an equal opportunity nut nuzzler. He's given Mary's son, Brad, the ball brush, in addition to her daughter Bridget. The more Mary and I talked (and laughed because the whole sorted scrotum scenario is as funny as it is bizarre) we discovered it's also happened to our coworker Aaron (who was oblivious to Dr. Evans' beat with his south of the border bongos).

And here's the quandary. My next eye appointment is in January. Should I go to Dr. Evans and blow the whistle on his testicle two-step? Or should I let sleeping dogs lie, and just switch to his lack-of-sack daughter?

Hmmm...

**Definitely not his real name, what am I crazy?

Meep Meep

Paul and I were chatting about a girl he used to date who was as vocal in the bedroom as Charlie Chaplin was on screen. Paul found it frustrating because he never knew whether he was doing something good, bad, or whether she was asleep.

I offered, "Wouldn't it have been funny if you could have made little signs with phrases stuck to popsicle sticks like Wile E. Coyote does when he's chasing the Road Runner. Except the signs would say things like "Oooo baby" or "A bit to the left" and "Bob's Your Uncle".

Perhaps this could become a full scale marketing thingamajig. The signs could come in packs of 5. Keep 'em or trade 'em with your friends - collect all 20! Hmmm, no?

Perhaps this is why I don't work in marketing...

Ass-Hole

Remember what happened to my last [and by last I mean only] pair of pants?

Score! I was unpacking my winter clothes [it's getting a bit frosty north of the border] and found my light brown cords. I thought I'd given them away last winter because they are a bit big. And by a bit big I mean I could pull them down over my hips when zippered and buttoned at the waist.

But that doesn't matter because I was back to being the proud owner of one pair of pants. One pair of pants that must be worn with a belt.

Wore them to take my son to school for his first day of grade 5. Ran into former hunky high school classmate. Was told I looked amazing.

Wore them to work. Was told pants really highlight best asset (the super booty).

Washed them. Ironed them. Put them on for another redhead-next-door adventure. And that's when I saw it...a hole in the ass of my pants. To be more specific, another frey in the ass of my pants. I mean, how is this possible? Am I THAT hard on the ass of my pants that I'm wearing out the material?

So I was late for work because I had to concock a new outfit dejours.

Consulted with coworker Mary (aka Undercover Mother) about said ass-hole. As weird as it sounds, I quizzed her whether she has noticed me wiggling about in my chair during meetings which could account for freying. Mary advised that was probably something she would notice. Considering the frey location (about half-way up the butt cheek along the crack) I would have to slouch down before commencing any chair wiggling which I'm guessing would be quite noticeable.

She did suggest that maybe shirt-less lawn mowing neighbour Chip was breaking into my house and rubbing the bum of my pants [the rest of this sentence is censored] and did elicit a response of "Ew" from yours truly. In unrelated news, Mary is missing her pork chop broiler pan. We suspect it's the undetectable work of Chip.

Perhaps instead of throwing out pants, I should invest in some sturdy yet fashionable pant patches for the cords and the countless ass-worn pants that will undoubtedly follow.

[Post Post Update: I bought 3 brand spanking new pairs of pants. And I'll be keeping my eye(s) on them].

A Picture's Worth 3 Words

Paul and I braved the heat to tackle some wilderness hiking at a place called Devil's Bend [note: it's not just a name and in fact should be renamed "Feels Like The Devil's Bent You Over" by the time your done].

The hike took us hundreds of feet/meters/felt like miles...up. And then down. And back up. Etc etc etc. 6 whole kilometers worth.

We did pack: 2 liters of water (which had to be rationed) because the hike was actually 6km to the waterfall and 6km back, and 12 condoms.

We didn't pack: batteries (keep reading), bug spray (probably have west nile now), sun screen, a change of clothes (sweated our own body weight worth), and food (save for one banana and strawberry runner's gel pack which had similar consistency to ejaculation with the same salty after taste).

As all newly minted couples do, we took many photos during our trek (see above, which we will refer to as, exhibit A). The scenery was breathtaking [and I mean more than just my décolletage].

Unfortunately the camera batteries died as we reached the waterfall. So now we have vowed to one day go back just to get pictures of us by the cascading water. Or perhaps a cardboard cut out will do.

Paul downloaded the pics today and sent them to me. And that's when I discovered a picture can be worth three words...I look pregnant.

Ugh. (See exhibit B, above)

Nothing like seeing yourself looking as though your 3-4 months pregnant to spurn you into a major workout fest.

10 (+2) Things I Did This Week

1. Officially went back to being a redhead
2. Officially got a boyfriend (aka Paul)
3. Renewed membership at LaSenza
4. Spent half of funds in bank account at LaSenza using renewed membership on purple/lilac/fuchsia items which will yield a higher return than interest bearing savings account
5. Sorted through knicker drawer, and tossed out unsightly unmentionables to make room for new purple-y purchases
6. Helped sister ring in her 29th birthday
7. Attempted to take trunk load of bottles (1 and a half years worth) to bottle exchange in another province to avoid looking like alcoholic only to discover said bottle exchange was closed. Left bottles for brother-in-law to take to said bottle exchange possibly looking like an alcoholic.
8. Enjoyed black-tie pizza date with said official boyfriend which lead to...
9. Enjoyed bottle of white wine with said official boyfriend which lead to...
10. Enjoyed modeling LaSenza purchases which lead to...
11. Enjoyed "return on investment" (multiple times)
12. Came up with brilliant and plausible excuses as to why I'm walking funny like "pulled a hamstring playing ball" which is...true. Sheesh! What were you thinking?