Here it is. My first day as an Internet blogger. I have no idea what I’m doing, but hey! you gotta start somewhere, right? I’ve been told by many people that I should write a book, but that task just seems a little too daunting to me so, as an inherently lazy person, I am starting with something that will take as little effort as possible, I can do on my couch and in my jammies, and that doesn’t require me to unhook my coffee IV. I’m sorry if that offends you, dear blog-reader, but that’s just how I roll.
Prepare yourself to be amazed and inspired by my pointless ramblings and lame observations. I was told once that I have a knack for seeing the absurd in almost any situation and my plan is to share that gift with you, whoever you are, anonymous trollers of this interweb thingy. Please feel free to leave a comment, should you love, hate, or are completely indifferent to any part of what you read here. I’m just dying to get to know you all. (I typed that with a little smirk on my face, but y’all can’t see me, so of course, my facetiousness is not known to you and I find that quite amusing!)
I am the terminally separated (going on eight years) mother of two sons who, at 22 and 15, will, I am sure, provide much exasperated fodder for my new and exciting blogging hobby. My main goal in life, right now, is to get them adequately prepared for the world so that they can move out of my house and the steady stream of dirty dishes and laundry will cease. But for now, there is no end in sight. For those of you who do not follow me on Facebook, my boys are referenced by the handles of The Teenager and The Man/beast in a thinly-veiled effort to give them some anonymity. Some have found the title “Man/beast” to be harsh, but I assure you, it is a love-name much like the widely used “Sweetie” or “Honey”, and is not meant to be at all derisive (not too much, anyway). I certainly don’t find it any more offensive than the love-name that my mother often used with me and my two brothers, growing up. “Stinky” is just not something you want other people to hear. At least I make some effort not to call him Man/beast in front of his friends, a courtesy that was NOT given to us by my mother. Not that I’m bitter. Much.
I have a “day job” in the field of education but, because of the highly sensitive nature of working with other people’s kids, you will not hear me speak of it often. Unless I’m impressed and/or irked by the shenanigans of a co-worker, in which case you’ll likely hear all about it. As a blogger, I’m thinking, ranting pretty much has to be a prerequisite.
I have a house full of animals: two Shi-Tese (Shi Tzu/Maltese cross and no, it is not said “shitties”, although that pretty much sums up my opinion of them) Winston and Oliver, and two black cats, Izzy and Ozzy (although we never call him Ozzy…he is just known as Kitten, even though he is almost a year old and past that cute stage). You’ll soon find that they are all the source of great consternation to me, adding greatly to my work load and to my financial burden. I often talk about them as though I hate them but, between you and me, they are the only ones around here, besides myself, who don’t leave their underwear in the middle of the living room or forget to flush the toilet, so they aren’t REALLY as bad as I’m going to make out. I’m hoping you’ll be able to detect the underlying love and not flood my comment section with messages of Greenpeace-level outrage.
I have a few “hobbies” and I put that in quotation marks because they are, largely, passive activities that require little actual movement. Reading, wine-drinking and couch-slouching along with marathon Netflix-watching are among my most treasured past-times. Oh, and snacking. The fact that I’m not four hundred pounds is pretty much a miracle and I attribute that to the providential genetics bequeathed to me by my parents. It’s certainly not from any kind of moderation on my part, as evidenced by the crumbs currently adorning my keyboard. I do own a FitBit that I wear and I average about 15,000 steps a day, but I do so grudgingly at the behest of the hounds, who simply must get their daily “walkies” or I am treated to some pretty dramatic pouting that would rival any three-year old.
I live in mid-Canada, in the heart of snow and mosquito country where, if the driving ice and frigid temperatures of winter don’t drive you indoors, the gargantuan blood-suckers of summer most certainly will. Summer is only about three months long here and the seemingly endless winter regularly drives anyone in the area, who possesses a working brain, to ask themselves why, why, why do we live here? I apologize now, in advance, for the onslaught of temperature and snowfall lamentations that you will have to endure should you become a regular visitor to my blog-spot. It can’t be helped. I’m fairly certain I’d spontaneously combust if I had to hold all that in.
So there. Now you know a little bit about me. I guess that means we are friends and I can tell you anything. So get ready for a no-holds barred, slightly twisted, and highly incongruous trip into mediocrity…