I, for one, prefer maps. I like reviewing the map and writing my directions out by hand. I like to have all exits, turns and distances clocked out and written down for reference. I like to see the big picture.

I love my tech gadgets, but I’ve typically thought of GPS as being too annoying and quite worrisome because well, computers can mess with you sometimes, and I don’t like being messed with while I’m driving – especially in another country.

And I was right.

For our trip to Indiana, my dad offer to lend us his GPS and I agreed thinking that we would use it just as a back-up to the maps.

As a GPS newbie I was unfamiliar with the fact that YOU NEVER USE A GPS IN CONJUNCTION WITH MAPS. Not EVER.

Nor did I know that the stupid wench would repeat herself a billion times.

In 600 meters turn Left onto I69.

Turn left onto I69.

Turn left onto I69.

And! if you decided NOT to listen to the GPS.

Re-calculating….

Re-calculating….

Through Michigan the wench inside the GPS, who we affectionately named “Gretchen” was really pissed at us because we tried to use our maps in conjunction with her and she was having none of that.

You could hear the tone in her voice getting shrill and aggravated with each Re-calculating… as well progressed.

At one point I was sure if she had arms I would be bitched slapped.

The best part? Gretchen telling us to pull an illegal U-turn in the middle of a four lane road. I shit you not.

In 200 meters make a U-turn.

Make a U-turn.

Re-calculating…..

Please follow the highlighted route…

Luckily for the on-coming traffic I used my super human intuition and did NOT do as she said (unlike this dolt), which surely just pissed Gretchen off more.

I was mad at Gretchen.

There was clearly some trust issues between us, but you can’t blame me. I was a little put off by being encourage to commit traffic violations in a foreign country. How would I explain that to a State Trooper?

Sorry officer! My GPS told me to!

Riiight.

But eventually Getchen worked her way into my heart when she brought us full circle back to Target when I restarted her after our stop. She knew we weren’t ready to leave.

I think I hit something when I started the trip back up and Gretchen ended up bringing up full circle around the mall and back to Target. I couldn’t help but laugh even though I was still pissed off at her for her shitty illegal u-turn advice.

But then, in an attempt at redemption, Gretchen detoured me around construction in Indianapolis and got us back to Casey’s house about 10 minutes faster than Casey, which was pretty damn nice of her.

Thanks Gretch!

Now, somewhat in our good books, we decided to forgo the maps all together on the way home leaving ourselves to Gretchen’s devices. She utterly FAILED at getting us to a Chick-Fil-A (pronounced Chick-Flah*) where we were taken to another remote location under construction and instructed to pull another u-turn. Dammit Gretch, you’re really pissing me off. Now you mess with Chick-Flah? You’re a bitch Gretch. A real bitch.

Forgetting Chick-Flah we got back on the Interstate where we were instructed to pull OFF the Interstate and take some back country through Ohio. Again, I was angry that I let Gretchen mess with me.

If the GPS were smart it would know not to mess with a Canadian when it comes to American treats like Target and Chick-Flah.

I was sure this was payback for not listening to her instructions previously, and as we passed house after house, trailer park after trailer park, I knew we were being taken for a ride. Literally. How could a two lane road in Ohio back country with a speed limit of 40 miles be FASTER than the Interstate?

About 45 minutes into our trip through the bowels of Ohio, Hudson shit his pants. We were scared shitless HA! a little worried about stopping anywhere because the broken down abandoned truck-stops and dilapidated houses just screamed cheesy horror movie, where at one point I was convinced we were going to be part of the third installment of Jeepers Creepers. Had it been night time I think I would have peed my pants, because there is truly NOTHING scarier than being in a strange weirdo place when the sun goes down. THAT is when all the creeps come out to play. Unless we were in Jeepers Creepers of course, because that creepy truck driver is all kindsa crazy day or night.

After about 1 million miles of back country (Nice to meet you Ohio!) and a very quick stop to change a diaper (Hudson’s not mine)  we came upon some semblance of humanity as Gretchen decided to take us back to the Interstate, finally.

I’m sure she was thinking: Ha! I fucked your shit up didn’t I? Serves you right. From now on you will heed my direction you stupid Canadian bitches.

But! It was then we realized Gretch was taking us back to MY house and forgetting an all too important drop-off in Strath-Vegas which required a completely different border crossing into Canada.

NIIICE.

At this point I will mention that before we left I was reminded that, by all accounts, I was to avoid Detroit.

Yes, true Ontario snobbery. Detroit is like the sister city to Hamilton or Windsor which “we” have lovingly coined at the armpit (or crotch) of Ontario.

Not only did we drive through Detroit, but I think I saw every abandoned factory and smashed out, tagged building there is in that city. The stereotypical OMG-WTF-am-I-doing-here? Detroit. The only thing missing was Eminem serenading us.

Eventually we made it home without incident. Gretch was packed away to be returned to her rightful owner, and though I never plan on buying one, I now have a soft spot for that self-righteous, cynical bitch Gretchen.

* Yes, I now know that it’s pronounced Chick-Fil-A (just as it’s spelt), you can blame my Canadian accent for the confusion. And! Chick-Flah is more fun. Deal with it.

Yup. You’ve read that correctly. I am in love with a couple of gay men.

I believe I’ve always had a soft spot for homosexual men. I’m not quite sure why, but Colin McAllister and Justin Ryan are my two most favourite gays. Ask Karen Sugarpants, I talk about these two constantly.

I can’t tell you why or how this affinity for gay men came about, but as far as I can remember, I’ve had a feeling of comfort with them – which is even more strange because I don’t have any openly gay men close to me (Well, accept if you count my neighbours – but they are only close in proximity.).

It gets weirder.

I even have a sexual attraction to these two. I KNOW! Them and all their flamboyant gay-ness make me hot. I can’t even explain it, nor do I really care for an explanation, I just revel in the fact that they are gorgeous, funny and passionate. So neither of them have an interest in women. Small detail.

About six years ago I asked Mike to go with me to the gay pride parade to which he begrudgingly obliged.  Mike is not a homophobic person, but he is not comfortable like I am; he was not looking forward to this ‘adventure’. Even though he’d never admit it, I believe he was just a little curious about how the whole thing would go down; the whole time, he stood quietly at my side, even holding my hand tightly – I assume to ward off those prowling gays because they’re like vampires, yanno *rolleyes* – and even kept his usual derogatory comments to himself.

Nothing really significant happened that year and I was able to convince him to go with my the following year.

This time? This time was a little different.

As the parade passed us by, we stood on the sidelines, close to the route.

I kinda peaked out of the corner of my eye and noticed that he was smiling and seemed to actually be enjoying himself. Who knew this macho man’s man would enjoy a highly flamboyant event such as the Pride Parade? But! That all came to a crashing halt when a man, dressed as a fairy – covered in glitter, in a speedo and wearing wings – approached Mike with a watering can labeled ‘fairy dust’.

I think you can guess what happened next….

The guy sprinkled his dust atop Mike’s head.

As Mike’s face changed rapidly from enjoying his time to utterly pissed off and I began worrying what the outcome was going to be. The headlines flashed through my mind: A gay basher beating up a homosexual in the midst of the Pride Parade.

Not good.

I held my breath as the fairy passed.

I watched Mike’s expression soften a little as I smiled at him.

I think he likes you! Maybe he thought you were hot and could change you so that you could be boyfriends. I teased.

Mike glared at me, which only made me laugh more.

Fuck. you. He spat out. We’re NEVER coming here AGAIN.

I was almost in tears I was laughing so hard.

Needless to say that was our last Pride Parade.

He doesn’t speak of The Incident, but I believe it still haunts him because every time he sees Colin and Justin come on the television his eyes glaze over and he leaves the room.

{ images from HGTV.ca }

Fall has always been my favourite season. Though it signifies death, deterioration, cold and hardness I find it rejuvenating – a fresh start. Maybe it’s the beginning of the school season which indicates freshness and newness of brand new outfits; new, clean, and organized books; new pens and pencils, un-chewed with full bright pink erasers intact – I associate fall with new.

The sun seems brighter, the colours more bold.

Crisp.

Perfect mix of colour, so vibrant and captivating.

Spring and summer months should share the same colours that fall brings. Though, bare branches can still be just as enchanting.

What’s your favourite season?

I signed myself up for another field trip with Carter’s daycare class. I’m beginning to believe I have this sick compulsion for screaming and defiant children; there really is no other explanation for it. Why else would I subject myself to 23 snot-nosed, loud, and bossy children that aren’t my own?* (Okay 22 children, because yours? Your child was so well behaved.)**

This morning we headed out to a local farm for some pumpkin action. We went on a family outing Sunday, to a different farm, for their fall festival where there was pony rides, petting zoo (which was about four different animals caged and hiding in a corner), corn mazes as well as a puppet show. This morning was pretty much a lot of the same with exception of the frigid temperatures! I can’t believe how much and how fast the weather has turned.

Clad in my spring jacket with a turtleneck sweater, I was sure I would wind up too hot, but the wind! The wind pierced right through me like a million tiny needles, while Carter freaked and clung to me with fear that the wind was going to take him away.

With tears brimming in his eyes, snot running down his face, he forgot about the wind for a few minutes while on a mission to find a pumpkin. He forged ahead as the wind fought back, he was going to find that pumpkin.

We were instructed to find one pumpkin per class (there were three classes in our group) to take back to the school, Carter would not leave his pumpkin. He sat and waited, insisting that this was the one for his class (which I agreed because it was very nice) and was beyond devastated when he had to leave it behind.

All was forgotten when I mentioned the lamest, most craptacular puppet show and cider.

[There is nothing like apple cider on a frigid fall day, but it HAS to be hot. At least warm. cold apple cider is a no-no. Period.]

I’m just glad it was only a half day. I don’t know that my spring jacket, or Hudson would have been able to hack an entire day. Winter is coming far too quickly.

Gratuitous baby picture:

*  I think my child was the snottiest and loudest there.

** I was really too busy trying to tend to my baby to notice if your child had a snotty nose, but they were screaming. A lot. I’m just glad I opted to drive my own car.

I saw you as we entered the store. One child up front in the seat and the older one in the back, standing. I thought to myself: I hate when people do that. I didn’t think much of it after that, after all I’ve seen it so many times now.

I busied myself with my children and our own shopping, I saw you pass by again. You were distracted with the little baby up front while your older boy stood hands-free in the back, to which I winced. As I return my attention to my children and the snowsuits, I heard it.

The unmistakable sound of flesh hitting tile. The thump! of bone meeting a hard surface.

I heard you gasp and loudly whisper: Oh God!

My heart sank.

As you scooped up your son, I resisted the urge to run to you.To scoop you up and tell you that he’s all right. I wanted to bad to say that we’ve all be there at one time or another. To say, it’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself.

But I did nothing.

I was worried you were about to cry as your voice cracked while inspecting your son for boo boos. I fought so hard not to go to you. If it had been me and a stranger approached? I would have begun bawling; I didn’t want that for you.

As your son buried his face in your neck I wanted so much to sweep up my own offspring into my arms  and shush him too, though he wasn’t even crying, but running around somewhere out of sight.

Let’s go home, you said as you took your child into your arms while he continued to whimper, the younger one starting to cry in the shopping cart.

I busied myself so you didn’t see me watching, thinking I was judging when I most certainly was not. I was feeling for you. I was hurting for you and I was wanting to turn back the clock ever so slightly so I could be there and stop it from happening.

I’m sorry.

Sometimes shopping is fun. I typically hate shopping for clothing now, which really wasn’t the case when I was smaller younger. I think the significant difference between when I was smaller younger and now that I’ve gained about half a small child in weight gotten older I just can’t ever find what I’m looking for. Please, enlighten me on something; why is it that all the stylish clothing are meant for those of a less heifer-like stature but when one peruses the sizes there’s only the fuckin’ sizes zero and one remaining? Doesn’t that maybe tell the purchasers or designers something?

But I digress.

I also do think it’s significantly due to the lack of consideration from my fellow shoppers; not just for myself, but for those around as well. There’s just an all around deficiency of manners which has increased significantly over the years. Who knows, maybe I just notice it more as I get older but no one holds doors for people anymore, the able bodied people cram into an elevator as fast as possible just to get fifty paces ahead, yet they’re no further ahead than if they had taken the damn stairs that one floor. Instead they’ve otherwise taken that spot from a mother with a small baby in a stroller or an elderly person who can’t walk that flight of stairs. Society has just become lazier, more self endulgent and compassion for others is a thing of the past.

I was raised to understand the importance of manners and respect; I can’t even bring myself to treat people with disrepect. I feel guilty and ashamed if I don’t hold a door for someone, I don’t know how people can behave like this on a regular basis.

What brought this on? Some stupid lady that parked in the last family parking space at IKEA and she didn’t even have children.

I wanted to rip her hair out as I lugged my infant carrier out of the car, but instead? I bought ice cream.

Let that be a lesson you family parking space stealing bitch.

I’m looking for a swing jacket.

Okay, I’m looking for a couple of them. Denim, wool, canvas…

Yes, they’re everywhere lately, but not when you’re pushing plus size. Those jackets? Those are difficult to find. I just don’t know that there is a flattering version of this jacket for larger midriff women. Every one that I’ve tried on seems to increase my size about twofold. I am on a mission and I will not fail.

OMG!! Overstock.com is now shipping to Canada! I nearly jumped off the couch when I saw that while googling for the above picture.

*ahem*

So while perusing the malls today looking for said coveted jacket I wandered into a couple plus size stores; checked out a couple pairs of pants and some shirts while I searched and I was shocked to see the price of the clothes. In comparison: a layering t-shirt from Old Navy? About 12 bucks. A similar shirt from the plus sized store? 25 bucks. Granted the stores may be owned by different chains and have different suppliers, blah, blah, blah.. but these shirts were not that different aside from the price.

I came home and vented to Mike about the cost of the clothes and how it’s not fair.

His response?

It’s expensive to be fat.

*blink*

[stare]

*blink, blink*

Well, more material makes the clothes more expensive. We eat more food and our health sucks.

*blink*

Oh, the logic.

EDITED TO ADD: I don’t think he was really referring to me and my fat. Just fat in general.

:::

So, Friday morning – bright and freakin’ early – though, I’ll probably STILL be up from the night before, my girl Karen and Double Agent Girl will be swinging by my pad to pick up Hudson and I and then head out on a road trip to Boston for the BlogHer Reach Out in our swanky sponsored Saturn Hybrid Vue from GM. We’ve planned to race coordinated a safe and quick journey from here to Boston and hope to get there just in time for dinner with our other girls Motherbumper and HerBadMother! who’ve got the Aura.

I’ll let you know who wins the race. I’m banking on us, though those two mothers are quite badass, we may have our work cut out for us.

Good thing we’re travelling in a hybrid or my fat ass just may have brought down our fuel efficiency.

Jam packed weekend of visiting with my parents.

Kids and Me, while Mike worked.

Enjoying the final weekend of summer.

Realizing I could fall in love… with a lawn mower. Awesome!

:::

Once I get myself and my house back in order, I’ll be back with the winner of The Rookie (Mom) Challenge for week three as well as week four’s new challenges!!