Thursday, March 20, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Well, let's just say I told Kim all about getting a double handful of a little kid's puke the other day at work. And instead of reliving it again by typing out the most recent incident here, I'll just regale y'all with some of my old musings on grossness. Have a lovely day, dear readers, and after you're done reading, go out and smell some flowers. It's Spring! :)
Besides the fact that I would never climb out on a plane's wing, bungee jump off a sky-scraper, or ride in any car that goes purposefully airborne (except for that one time in Tai's old Charger), I could never win at a show like Fear Factor because they would probably ask you to eat something disgusting.
Now, embarrassingly enough, I used to enjoy that show because I figured I could at least do as well as the onscreen contestants at the gross stuff like eating tentacles and bugs. I'm not Eval Kneivel perhaps, but I'd always prided myself on not being grossed out by...things.
I mean, come on, I tried worm pancakes in Grade 4 science class, and once I tried (didn't actually get very far to be honest)eating a mouse as a child. WHAT was I thinking, you may ask. Well, thank you very much Mr. Farley Mowat (mmmm, remember the recipe for souris a la creme in "Never Cry Wolf" when he tries out what the wolves are eating?)
Also, I seem to recall some really disgusting "corn" bread made from gerbil food when my dear pre-adolescent friends and I liked to play "We're Lost in the Woods and It's a Survival Situation".
So I hypothetically had a shot at winning if I should ever find myself in front of cameras on that sort of reality show eating or wallowing in something gross. But now I know I've been fooling myself.
Somewhere along the way, my olfactory sense has honed and turned against me. NOW what would I do In a Survival Situation?
The SMELL factor would really be my downfall.
Two recent incidents have led me to this conclusion.Once, several months ago, I opened a small Tupperware container from the back of the fridge. "Hmmm, I wonder what this could be?", I said all unknowing.
By the gods! How could vegetables in salad dressing become a Thing of Satan? The thought of eating this runny lettuce suddenly sent chills down my spine! I would probably die if I had this smell in my mouth.
Suddenly the rat-milkshake people from television had more of my respect (if that's the word).
And today at daycare, just at the end of a sunny pleasant day, my intestinal mettle was tested anew. I heard my co-worker calling out for someone to help her. I went in to the children's bathroom and was met with the sight of one of our kids projectile vomiting. My co-worker was splashed to the knees. The four other children in the washroom were similarly decorated.
There was a tide of chunky pink puke everywhere. On the mirrors, the baseboards, the art cupboard.
And the smell was a creature all its own.
The other kids and Justine started to heave in sympathy. No, please, no!! If there were going to be six people throwing up, I don't get paid enough!
I helped Justine herd them all out before disaster could strike. She took care of the poor little sick girl. And me, I was on cleanup duty. I waded in with rubber gloves and towels and bleach.When I came out of there,my eyes were watering from the smell.
Bazooka barfing in Technicolor Smell-A-Vision. That'll do it to ya.
And that's why I will never be seen on Fear Factor.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Hmmmm...that's funny...the water filling the bathtub won't warm up.
Hmmm...strange... we don't have any hot water from the kitchen tap either.
Funny how that impending sense of doom comes over you when you're walking down the steps to check out what's happening with your hot-water tank.
Yep. I think the water tank's gone bye-bye. I think SPLOOOSH is a fairly accurate description of the area of the floor in that vicinity.
Sigh, so apparently hot water tanks that are run on natural gas have to be installed by a licensed gas fitter (which is fine by us as we really don't want to mess around with that sort of thing ourselves, do-it-ourselfers though we usually are).
But our tank blew on a weekend and gas fitters charge time and a half for Saturday and double-time for Sunday, so we're waiting for Monday to get our new heater installed by the only fellow who returned our phone calls.
He charges seventy-five bucks an hour which makes me feel like I might have gone in for the wrong career choice, oh, plus travel time and plus eighty cents a kilometre driving down from Campbell River. He seems like a nice enough fellow (gave us the tip to drain the tank ourselves first so he doesn't have to charge us for that time), but it seems like a lot of money that all of a sudden is (ahem) going down the drain.
But, drat it, I need my hot water. Bath-time is just not the same at the moment. *sigh*
Now, if I put the kettle and a large pot on every burner on the stove, heat them up, run them up the stairs and pour them into the tub, run downstairs again---repeat. Well, then I have roughly two inches of warmish water. Ah, woe!
*more tragic sighing*
Friday, March 14, 2008
* that I obviously had no clue that the odd-looking plant off in one corner was a Himalayan honeysuckle (and not the What-sit as I have referred to it for the last five years), or what species my ornamental cherry trees might be
*that there was a large dead mouse lying across one of the pathways ("I have bunnies too!" I exclaimed brightly)