One of my very good friends from college is expecting a baby boy just a mere 5 weeks before our baby is expected. After a tragic miscarriage last year, I’m absolutely elated for her and her husband that their dream to start a family is finally coming true.

Her baby shower is tomorrow and, as excited as I am, I’m dreading it. There’s so much to plan from my end just to get there. Mike’s working all weekend (Sunday included) out-of-town, Carter’s home sick from daycare today, he’s going to my parents house for Saturday night, so I have to pack everything, and I have to drive an hour and a half together there. Oh, and I’m pregnant and can’t stand up anymore after touring the malls for about 3 hours shopping for her gift today (Yes, I dragged my sick child out to the mall today.)

I am awesome.

Oh, and I’m supposed to cook my favourite dish and bring it with me.

I say fuck that. Sorry friend, but I’m putting my foot down. Anyone has a problem with a veggie tray from the grocery store tell them to come talk to me after they work full time, care for a sick toddler and are nearly 7 months pregnant. If they approach me without first completing the above, I am allowed to full on bitch slap them.

You’ve been warned ladies.

Oh, and shopping today? Is there a holiday approaching that I’m unaware of? I couldn’t believe how packed the stores where at 11am. Every teenager - presumably on lunch break - and every stay-at-home-mom in the area were in the malls: with their elderly parents. Fuckin’ zoo. I can’t tolerate crowds even on a good day so I was in a less then stellar mood when we finally got the hell out of there.

I’ve always been taught - respect my elders, I know it can’t be hard to be walking around with a cane, all decrepit and miserable. But what about an obviously pregnant woman with a child in a stroller and about half the house packed underneath? Don’t they deserve some help and courtesy too? But no, all those damn old people and stupid teenagers look right through me and continue on cutting me off nearly causing me to ram my stroller up their asses: which I was more then tempted to do a number of times.

People just have no sense of decency anymore. Everyone is out for themselves and fuck everyone else. It’s so disappointing to see how many people don’t hold doors for each other anymore, don’t stop to allow pedestrians to cross the road and don’t help people who have dropped something. Saying “thank-you”? Thing of the past.

The more I think about how rude I am people are it gets more and more depressing.

Not to mention this fuckin’ heartburn. I think I’m about to breathe fire.

Oh, and because I don’t have enough to complain about:

I figured what the hell, if anything it will give me some good fodder.

What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.

Sundays are the hardest time to come up with something to write for me. I can sit here and read and analyze, but I can’t think of a damn thing to write. Fingers tapping on the keys, I just begin to spew out anything that comes to mind, then erase and try again.[That past sentence was written and re-written three times before I said fuck it, just write something already! ]

We try and typically spend our Sundays doing something family related; even if that means we’re all outside together while Mike cleans the gutters and I try to rake the backyard. At least it’s outside and away from the television and this computer.

So, instead of boring you with mundane weekend tasks, and my lack of photos lately; since I have been forgetting the camera a lot lately, we’ll just stop now and save you what brain cells you (or I) may have left.

Back outside, the leaves await.

I’ve never been much of an entertainer; I really don’t like hosting get-togethers or having people to my house. Growing up, my parents we never really keen on me having friends over and I think it’s something that’s stuck with me. I feel completely out of my element when hosting.

I forget to ask if anyone would like drinks, I rarely have anything entertaining to occupy them with and well, I just all around suck at it. I get nervous prior to their arrival, which leads to pacing at the door and watching out the window for their car to come around the corner. My heart stops each time I see a car approach and can only relax once it passes the house.

Performance anxiety maybe? Not sure… is there a phobia for entertaining people/friends?

Yesterday I was away on a client appreciation day, and knew that I wanted to have someone come take care of my humble little abode and let the dog out. Knowing full well I needed to have someone I could trust, that wouldn’t freak out at the sight of my beautiful pit bull greeting her at the door and wouldn’t go painting the walls with urine and feces. (Kinda like I did to Karen. Oops. Love you Karen!) Redneck Mommy was an obvious choice; but only after I had sent out the email and her trying numerous (failing) attempts to log her ass into my site (ultimately just having to do it for her) I began to contemplate what I had done.

Was I going to find her sex toys in my bathroom sink? (Oh, how I’d love to link that post, but I just can’t find it.) Or is she going to abandon my dog to fend for herself after she rips down the wasps nest outside? I quickly overcame my anxieties and knew I had made the right decision. What harm could she really do?

And I was right, she was well behaved and oh! so! charming! (As usual. Bitch.)

Don’t worry T., you’ll always be my Dooce. *smooches*

With T. at the helm I was able to enjoy the fact that I was up at the ass crack of dawn (ha!), boarding a boat for a day of fishing.

Fishing!

I haven’t done that since I was nine years old, with a 10 dollar rod from the local hardware store. I remember sitting under the bridge with my brother when I caught my first fish. I reeled it in, so very proud; there wasn’t much tension on the rod when I could see small splashes of water skimming the surface just off shore. As I landed the fish, I slowly placed the flip flopping fish; what must have been about 6oz, on the bank of the river and gently pressed down with my shoe as I tried to unhook it. After a short struggle I realized that I hadn’t place my foot as lightly as I thought.

I squished my wee fish.

Yesterday, my first time fishing since that fateful day was really no different.

We cracked our first beers as the boat left dock at 6:05am. My fault entirely.

And my 11:30, it was my time to shine. We’d taken turns up to this point for each person to have a chance reeling in a fish, and my time had come. Three of the guys on the boat had caught 20lb fish each. I was pretrified that I would have one that large on the line and be fighting it for ever to get it to the boat. I wanted to just sit, observe and drink.

As the deckhand yelled “Fish ON!” everyone called my name, I wasn’t getting out of this one. I made a grab for the rod and started reeling like a mad woman, just praying I’d be able to hold on.

Reeling, reeling, reeling… it began getting lighter and lighter. I lost my fish; or so I thought.

I kept reeling to bring the hook and bait back to the boat, then realized there was something rather shiny bobbing at the end of my line.  A fish! A small fucking fish. These guys catch 20 pounders and I get a maybe 2 pound fish. Size of bait.

As the deck hand unhooked it, the fish flopped around the deck. Me, half in the bag, tried to pick it up as the guys grabbed for their cameras to mock me and my wee fish.

As I gripped its floppy and slimy body, I may have squeezed a little too hard for within seconds he was over the back of the boat. Gone. My wee fish! You never even said goodbye! With a collective groan from the 8 men on board with me, I watched my little fishy swim back to his school.

I arrived back on shore, sans fish, and a shred of pride since I knew that the other boat hadn’t even been that lucky.

But at least I caught something other then a buzz.

Which I promptly headed home to sleep off.

I forgot how tiring it was to be drunk before noon.

We spent Sunday at the zoo with my dear friend MarthafreakinStewart and her family. Preparing for the worst, I armed myself with plenty of snacks and items of distraction, expecting melt downs and stroller fights to earmark Carter’s first ever trip to the zoo. With my camera in hand, I was hoping to catch some of his finer childhood moments (read: biggest and best meltdowns to share on my blog).

One thing about my husband you should know: should we head out of town for a long weekend somewhere, he will pack minimally. He will neglect to even think of some important items - like, say, DIAPERS! - and brush it off like it was my fault. But! when we go for a day trip somewhere? That man will have everything packed, re-packed, and bring just about everything we friggin’ own! That stroller was weighed down with extra clothes, swimming gear, cameras (which I forgot to charge the battery in my Sony and didn’t hear the end of the entire day. But! Luckily had brought along the other camera.), he also carried a backpack full of food!

With everything but the kitchen sink, we arrived right at opening in hopes of missing the huge crowd of people, because really, who in their right minds gets up at 6:30am on a Sunday morning to get to the zoo before the crowd except us)?

Well, apparently half of Toronto had the same plan; okay, over exaggeration.. but there were a lot of people with the same idea. By the time we had the entire stroller packed up and headed into the park, there was all ready a considerably large crowd ahead of us. And the worst part, for me, about the zoo is the shuffling in packs to each exhibit and fighting for space to get a glimpse of the sleeping/hiding animals. Luckily, strollers gave us the ability to squeeze the boys up to the glass and with their adorable chatter about the animals, the evil glares quickly changed to *awwww, so cute* looks.

They started off great with lots of interest in the animals. Carter would chatter at every exhibit, calling just about everything with hair and a tail “Himonkey!” and anything that was large and hairless was a “Ahippo!” and MarthafreakinStewart’s little guy was just unsure about anything that moved quickly and wasn’t behind glass (rightfully so if you ask me) but their enthusiasm quickly diminished as the exhibits got further and further apart and the animals moved less and less.
By 11:00 (2 hours into the day) we had our first meltdown. At the giraffe exhibit, the lack of stimulation was getting to Carter; he’d been to about 4 exhibits where nothing was moving or even visible to most (especially a toddler who can’t see an alligator that’s right in front of his nose unless it’s moving) and he lost it (to give him a little credit, I don’t think the suntan lotion he rubbed in his eyes helped the situation).

After stopping for lunch (which was food from the park, NOT the 400 sandwiches that Mike insisted on making) and re-grouping we tried for round two, and at this point I think both boys were wondering: Are they fuckin’ mad? We’re still going to try and see these boring sleeping animals?  until we got the meerkats who were the life of the entire zoo; I swear, these little buggers had those boys captivated for what could have been the remainder of the day should we let them (and maybe should have).

Shortly after the meerkats, it was evident we had sapped out every last drop of their interest because dammit! we didn’t drive all this way for nothing! so we headed to the splash pad for a break and to cool down.

As we hiked up a huge hill, trying to find our way back to the front of the park, where the splash pad was located, we got lost. Actually, scratch that. The boys got us lost because they refused to listen to girls bitching insisting  suggesting that we follow the sign directing us to the exit. I can’t think of anything better (worse) then sitting in the hot sun with upset toddlers, debating with two men that we’ve gone the wrong direction, while they retrace our steps on the picture map provided by the park.  Good times.

Rejuvenated, refreshed and ready to go after splashing around in freezing cold water, we tried one more exhibit - the Dinosaurs Alive!  - which if you ask me, totally sucked. Rubber dinosaurs that move by the push of a button, whooo-fuckin’-hoo. Boooor-ing.

After all the hype in line about how the life like dinosaurs may scare the shit out of the younger guests, I was hoping for a least a significant meltdown, some screaming and freakin’ out. Some action! But no. Nothing.

The most action all day ended up being Carter getting bit by an overzealous and anxious Canadian goose trying to take Carter’s cookie right out of his hand. The bugger came right up to him in his stroller and ripped it out of his hand! I was in shock, I didn’t even know what to do. Since they’re protected animals I couldn’t haul off and kick it (with people around); Mike decided that spraying water at it might deter it from coming closer again. I don’t think he took into account the fact that, um… it’s a GOOSE and they live in the water. *shakes head*  So yelling and stomping his feet while chasing it only proved to the rest of the park what I’ve known all along, he’s fucked in the head.

So, to recap.

Todders + hot sun + sleeping (boring!) animals + hills / stubborn males + strollers stuffed to the gills +  biting geese = Fabulous! trip to the zoo!

In conclusion, we survived, the kids are in one piece,  we know that anything with hair and a tail is a “Himonkey!” and anything without is a “Hihippo!”, and I can safely say.

Zoos are so fuckin’ overrated.

*Pictures to come once my lazy ass downloads them. Promise!