1. We all got colds a few weeks ago and there was a lot of coughing. It was that cold, the one that’s going around, where you cough for weeks afterward. I know y’all have had it because I’ve seen your updates on Twitter and Facebook. I joked there should be a google maps app to tell you where the latest virus is now and what its symptoms are but I don’t think I need that, I have social media in my life. We all got over our colds but my mom had to showboat and get herself some pneumonia. How ridiculous is that. She hasn’t even healed from the broken spine yet and oh hey how’s about a lung infection that makes you cough. Everyone with a broken spine needs to COUGH MORE.
She’s better every day, thanks for asking.
1.1 I bought a mascara about a month ago and I have applied it on two separate occasions; both times, someone has ended up in Emergency at the end of the day.
2. I took Trombone to the library on Monday afternoon. He pulled some random books off the shelf and we sat at the little table to read them. The first one was about a little fireman and it was the most irritatingly over-detailed book. I guess there might be kids who really want to know every single step to putting out a fire but most kids, I think? Just want to see pictures of trucks and hoses. All right I’ll just speak for myself: I just want to see trucks and hoses. I don’t want to hear about how Little Fireman Joe unreels the hose from the hose reel and then puts it over the fire hydrant and then calls to his co-worker, OK, grab the hose and then turns on the fire hydrant. I don’t need a cartoon fireman procedures manual, is what I’m saying. So I was annoyed anyway, reading all this procedural crap feeling like I’m back at work for the government and the other mother at the table said to her son, “That book is too young for you. That book is for babies.” I didn’t look up because I was reading a book and it was none of my business.
“So, fireman Joe climbs the ladder, one rung at a time…left foot..right foot…”
“Why don’t you pick some books for someone your own age?” she said. She was loud. And cranky. “You’re six years old. You should be reading something like these books.” Her kid didn’t answer, just kept flipping through whatever book he’d chosen. “Here, pick one of these books. These are the ones you can take home.”
Louder. “And then Fireman Joe sees a little girl waving from the top window of the house! Oh no! Fireman Joe!”
“He keeps picking these baby books,” she said to the kid’s dad who had just turned up, “I’m telling him, he has to pick from THESE BOOKS.”
Finally I looked up. It was hard to hold Trombone’s attention anyway, what with the boring book and all the noise the lady was making. She had 10 books spread out on the table. Her son was looking across the room. The dad was nodding at the mom.
“Here,” he said to the kid, “pick a couple of these books and we’ll go.”
So the kid picked two books without looking. Handed them to his mom.
“That’s IT?” she said to him. “He is just not interested in reading,” she said to the room. The room didn’t answer.
Fuck, lady, if you want your kid to be interested in reading, let him choose his own books and don’t berate him for his choices. Telling a six-year-old (or anyone) that he has no taste is mean, disrespectful and will not get you anywhere.
Also, INSIDE VOICES at the library.
After they left, a couple of people with coffee cups and kids who were engaging in sword play (I am not exaggerating) came in, followed quickly by a toddler and his motorized truck (seriously) so I hustled out of there before I went all Chuck Norris is: The Library Patron on their asses.
3. On Tuesday night, SA and I went for a pub date to the Thirsty Duck pub here in the Mizzle. Oh the Thirsty Duck; I have wanted to go there since my very first bus ride to work in April 2006 took me right past its shiny, ducky, neon sign. I love beer. I love ducks. Why have I never been there? Because moving to a new city when you’re 6 months pregnant and then having a baby and then getting pregnant again and then having another baby means yeah, it might take you four years to get as far as the Thirsty Duck. Word to the wise.
Seriously. Three times I’ve been out for beer in this city in the past 4 years. Drugstores and grocery stores of the Mizzle, I could write you a full length book. Pubs, not so much.
We probably won’t go back there, unless we have to, because the draught was, um, limited and the Shaftebury Cream we “chose” (Or: Budweiser!) had that overcarbonated, sweatsocky flavour that I remember from my ’20s. But we had a good time – there was a digital jukebox! – even though there was a hockey game on and every time we settled into our chairs to look out the window at scenic 12th Street, someone would score and the guy behind SA would scream and SA would have a small heart attack.
Then this guy came in, he was burly and mustachioed and he walked over to our side of the bar and yelled at the tv, “Punch ’em in the head! Punch ’em in the head! Punch ’em in the head!” When the hockey players continued apace without punching anyone in the head, our friend yelled, “Buncha pussies!” and left. He hugged the waitress on the way out.
And that is what is wrong with people.
(A few minutes later, the buncha pussies won the game so I hope that guy is prepared to rescind his insults.)
One good: Mother Mother. They are a band. They made an album. It is amazing. Every single song sounds like a different favourite band of ours from the past 10 years. My current favourite song from the album is “Wrecking Ball” but you can hear a bunch here.