(Things emily can do but won't do after the 2009 tax season: accounting, book keeping, taxes -- she says as the 11:59 p.m. tax deadline consumes her.)
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Milk: was definitely a good choice (on St. Viateur).
Number of:couches slept on: 3
times I didn't get caught speeding: 12
neurons recorded from: 16
grants for next year obtained: 1
times I was hit on by women: 8
transgendered people that talked to me: 3
poutines that saved my life: 1
St. Viateur Bagels bought: 12
personal revelations: 2
outrageously beautiful days (read: HOT): 2 (1 per city)
times a wrong turn was taken: 4
party dresses purchased: 1
work days skipped: 4
arabic lessons: 3
french lessons (trash-talk only): 1
fancy Toronto party invites: 1
times cake was eaten: 0 (boo)
naps in random places: 2
Friday, April 24, 2009
I'll be going away all weekend long to be with my fabulous brother. Sans my "normal" life. Sans my "normal" funtimes. Sans it all. I really hope I don't go blind (and believe me, there is a real chance of this). Read: I'm likely going to blow my mind.
MTL Roller Derby. Definitely NOT for sissies.
(Try not to be too envious Dad.)
6:45 a.m. this morning while trying to "nuggle" with me:
Me: Lew, you are WILD
[he was using me as a slide whilst playing peek-a-boo and "nuggling"]
Lew: No, no. I CRAZY.
[His eyes glowed ever so softly]
And the "Hurricane Gene"* lives on.
* My sister was dubbed "Hurricane Jane" as a toddler.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Thank you for existing: you know, for life and rainbows and water coolers and baby dolphins.
That being said: fuck you and all your fucking bacteria and viruses (virum, vira? I only got a pity B+ in latin remember). I know that some of them are "good" and "keep us alive" but all those asshole ones? Yeah, the gastrointestinal ones? Don't look so innocent and beautiful world. You know what I'm talking about. The ones that make my kid barf all over everyone five minutes before he is to be picked up from daycare? Just in time for the workers to see and ban me and my kid for TWO DAYS? (Two fully paid for non-refundable days.) Not to mention, the complete and near absolute probability that I too will be barfing exactly when I plan on taking myself to Montreal for a roller derby funtastic bonanza with my brother? Yeah those ones: can suck it. I know I'm sounding a little hostile and angry with you world, for inventing and mutating such things on a constant basis, but really? Two goes in one year? Sigh. Thanks. Thanks a lot. I hope all of your volcanoes erupt at the same time, your oceans boil and your ice caps COMPLETELY melt. So there, HA HA, Look who'll be laughing then!
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Tomorrow me and three boys do an International trip to visit our cousins. I won't lie: it's going to be ridiculous. Sixteen hours of driving, roughly 48 hours of visiting, four little boys, and all of us related to Ed Pilla (Pop). Well, Son of a bitch!
On our way to school yesterday while discussing the up and coming trip, Neville and I had a debate: if Cousin Eliot (who is also two) and Lew got in a fight who would win? His bets are on Lew because:
a) Lew is strong
b) Lew is an experienced fighter
c) Lew eats a lot of food
T minus 24ish hours until we find out! Look-Out Pittsburgh (and Eliot): Here we come!
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Nine boys and me. The amount of masculinity in my life is ridiculous. I won't lie: I love it. I've always thought that boys have more fun anyway.
Making rocket ships
A puddle of sausage
Lew: Chillin' with the balloons.
Buddha says: WTF? (Poor guy is looking a little constipated lately.)
1. Take it downstairs to the "fighting room"
2. Whoever is screaming like a girl: cut it out.
3. My god I need a pickle (me)
4. No kicking wieners
5. Wow kid! you can kick yourself in the balls...that's....awesome?...(fuck).
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Dexter's Tag: he writes it on anything, every chance he gets. And if left long enough, he'll elaborate: "you poopt."
This today in the sand, at the playground. Ten frowning boring grown-ups send disapproving stares while shaking their heads, no, no, no and shielding their babies' eyes. Me and five people under eight laugh hysterically. Some of us even lost control of our legs and might have fallen down (just a little). Yes, it may have been me and yes, my children are charming.