Anyone else have a crush on Mike the hitman?

Posted on January 19, 2013 by Nicole Boyhouse

Wowza, it’s been quite a strange week. I was eyeing the bottle of wine on the counter, wondering if it would be acceptable to enjoy a glass before dinner; it’s a Friday after all, I spent ninety minutes standing in the playground this afternoon, my husband is working late as usual and what the hell. I need no more excuses. I cracked that baby open and am now enjoying a polite, lady-sized glass which will be replaced by a few big-ass trashy ones later. IT’S FRIDAY.

Yesterday I was contemplating ending it all, or at least drinking myself into oblivion, because I could not get the song Crystal Blue Persuasion out of my head. Those of you who have been watching Breaking Bad may understand why this is pertinent. My husband and I have been watching this show for a few months now, and now that we are all caught up on episodes, I am feeling bereft and wondering what I have left to live for, on weekend evenings at least. Anyone want to talk about Breaking Bad? Because I’m kind of upset it’s all over until the SUMMER. I’m also realizing that there is something inherently wrong with me; no one else seems to have a crush on Mike the hitman.

Crystal Blue Persuasion was soon replaced by – oddly enough – Old Time Rock and Roll. If there is a song that can possibly be more “get people out on the dance floor at a wedding”, I would like to know what it is. In fact, dancing with my husband’s best friend – who was our wedding MC – to that song is one of my favourite memories from my wedding. Other than getting married to my awesome husband and being totally the centre of attention, of course. That was pretty fun too.

Old Time Rock and Roll seems a standard at weddings, bringing about nice memories of happily drunken dancing. See also: YMCA, Do the Locomotion (with the bride leading the chain), Macarena, Celebration, and, of course, the Chicken Dance. For my wedding, my brother gave me a card with a picture of a very drunken guest, tie on head, yelling at the band “Play Freebird!” while the bride and groom danced sedately. The caption: “Why You Shouldn’t Have an Open Bar”. We did have an open bar at our wedding, however I am fairly sure we didn’t play Freebird. Freebird! The 70s was a great time for such songs. Freebird, Baby Don’t Get Hooked On Me, and By The Time I Get To Phoenix. All songs about how monogamy is the WORST, apparently, and only suckers go for it. Suckers who do not wish for a life of loneliness and STD’s, I guess. The other day I was listening to Summer Breeze, one of my favourite songs, and I was struck at the idyllic picture of domesticity it portrays, given that it was written in the 70s. Did the writers not know that casual and unprotected sex was where it was at? *draws a square in the air with fingers*

A little note on open bars: I voiced a slight concern about one of our wedding guests – a notable messy drunk – and my aunt gave me these words of wisdom, “There is a drunken idiot at every wedding. In my case, it was my husband.” BURN.

I opened up my computer today and in the “news headlines” was a story about child stars – where are they now?  The star in question pictured was Tina Yothers, so I had to click on the link since Tina Yothers looks uncannily like one of my cousins. It turns out that Tina Yothers – and most of the other child stars – are not really doing much, from a Hollywood standpoint, unless you count reality television, which I do not. However, I was stunned – STUNNED – to discover this little piece of information: Leonardo DiCaprio was on Growing Pains. He was? This feels like something I should have known, although why I should know this I’m unsure since I essentially am terrible at pop culture. I’m not as bad as my dad, however, who confuses Will Smith with Samuel L. Jackson. DAD. It’s the Fresh Prince versus Mace Windu.

My plan for this post was to copy Amber Strocel and compile a “happiness list” but right now I have wine and After Eights on it. Oh, and this cashew “cheese” recipe. Oh! I just thought of something else: my husband, dear man, bought me my very own copies of The Breakfast Club (Judd Nelson – where is he now?) and Say Anything (ditto Ione Skye). Squee! That’s happiness right there, on a DVD. Ditched in the Malibu! It’s your castle!  I gave her my heart and she gave me a pen. Diane Court is a show pony, and you, my friend, are a stallion.

Am I digressing? I’m digressing. There are lots of things that make me happy but at the moment I cannot adequately organize my thoughts into a list. I got too distracted after I found this kind of awesome live version of Freebird on youtube.  And this bird you cannot tame. Also this post has taken longer than I initially thought to write, and now I’m onto big-ass trashy glasses of wine.  What are we talking about? Whee! Happy Friday!

Such a cliche

Posted on January 16, 2013 by Nicole Boyhouse

I don’t know if you could detect it, but when I wrote my last post, I was very low in spirits. One might even say that I was blue. I later realized that it was Blue Monday, the saddest day of the year! I was sad on Blue Monday! I’m a walking cliche.

The tide has turned, so to speak, although I have a School Council/ Parent Association meeting tonight that I’m looking forward to in the same way I look forward to a pelvic exam, or perhaps tooth scaling at the dental office. But – and maybe this is just the coffee speaking – I am feeling equal to the task.

Speaking of the school, yesterday was Dress As What You Want To Be When You Grow Up day, which is the WORST school spirit day ever. It is the only spirit day in which I discourage participation. It’s a terrible concept. Unless a child wants to be something that requires a uniform, or that has a “typical” look, planning an outfit is simply an exercise in frustration. For example, both of my children have the career goal of “wealthy businessman” and, let me tell you, there is no good way to accurately portray this with what they currently have in their closets. Mark ended up opting out altogether, while Jake, after some thought, decided to dress up like a “wealthy businessman who is doing business on the golf course”, wearing khakis, a golf shirt, and his orange Ricky Fowler hat. When I picked him up at lunch he changed back into his jeans, confessing that he felt the explanation would have taken too long, and so he did not tell anyone he was dressed up.

My children’s obvious materialism aside, does this not seem like a ridiculous dress-up day? When I was a child my career goal was to be a concert pianist. How does one dress up like a concert pianist? A long sparkly gown? I was talking about this to a friend yesterday who suggested an appropriate outfit would be wearing something with musical notes all over it, to which I say NO. No concert pianist would ever wear a sweater with musical notes all over it. That would be perhaps an appropriate outfit for a retired music teacher, maybe. Apparently my kids have inherited my tendency to want reality only when dealing with Dress As What You Want To Be When You Grow Up day. Fortunately their lack of participation will only result in two less points for the Red Team, and therefore the world will keep on turning.

Who are we kidding. The world is going to keep on turning, even if the stakes were higher. I came across this piece by Anymommy which gently and beautifully reminds us that we all make choices:

I just don’t want to choose judgment over understanding. Because the minute we mark our choices as right by marking other choices as wrong, we lose the power of choice.

I loved this piece so much, and it said so eloquently what I’ve been feeling lately. I have been bombarded with the Facebook equivalent of op-eds about the following topics: breastfeeding, cloth diapering, home births, the Waldorf system of education, hockey, native land treaties, veganism, co-sleeping, rescue dogs versus dogs purchased from breeders, vaccinations, gun control, the government fucking up the country, the government saving the country, and – my personal favourite – the failure to buy into a particular home business is equivalent to failure to care about one’s health or financial well-being. And while I recognize that social media is a reasonable outlet for one’s personal opinions, i.e., this blog, I also vehemently object to its utilization as a stick of judgement with which to beat people. I am going to choose understanding over judgement, and continue to resolve to remember that merely because something does not take great importance in my life, that does not mean that it is not greatly important to someone.

In other words, I think I’m ready for the meeting tonight.

"I think you need a pin, dear."

Posted on January 14, 2013 by Nicole Boyhouse

I had a rather strange and upsetting weekend, which I am not going to talk about except to say that my role as School Council/ Parent Association Chair is priming me for a career in diplomatic relations. Or perhaps, given my experiences of this weekend, I can now apply for a job as a very, very low-stakes hostage negotiator. In any event, I had moments of maybe I should quit this ridiculous job, which was echoed by my husband’s view of when are you going to quit this ridiculous job? My zen state was severely tested, although I think the situation has now, happily, been resolved, even though the process made me feel simultaneously wrung out and irritated that something so unimportant could take so much time and energy. OM SHANTI.

My zen state was also severely tested by all the swearing in my house this weekend. Football, you know. Saturday was fine but the Sunday games left a blue cloud in the living room: Seattle “shit the bed” and the officiating in the Patriots/Texans game was “fucking moronic”. However, the Pats came out on top, which made my husband happy; I was less so when I realized that we were watching the Patriots’ “Fifth Quarter” when I could have been watching the Golden Globes. Instead of looking at all the fashion, I was wondering how heavy Vince Wilfork’s Mr. T-style chains were, and if I put them on would I tip over, and also what’s with the hat? In any case, at some point my husband took pity on me and changed the channel.

I’m no Tom and Lorenzo, but I do enjoy fashion, which is the only reason, save entertaining hosts, (shout-out, Tina and Amy!) that I watch awards shows. Frankly, I couldn’t care less who wins or loses or what their speeches are like. I’m into it for the dresses! And the Botox-spotting, which is always kind of fun in a disturbing, schadenfrude-ish sort of way.

A few years ago I wrote about Sophia Loren and her terrible, terrible plastic surgery, and in response one of my girlfriends said that reruns must be hell for actresses: the constant reminder of what one used to look like. That comment stuck with me. If my face was my fortune – which it most emphatically is not – it would be very difficult to see the ravages of time on it. As it is, I have a hard enough time looking at this recent picture of myself:

Forehead wrinkles and undereye circles! Granted, this picture was taken mere days after my bout with Norwalk, and a number of sleepless nights due to my children’s bouts with Norwalk, but still. It’s hard for me to look at, and I’m not exactly a world-renowned beauty.

These days, most actresses are beautiful. There isn’t much room for “character” actresses anymore; there is so much pressure to be beautiful and physically perfect. I can understand, then, the impetus for surgical options; I don’t condone it, and I think that such unnatural interventions just look…unnatural and strange at best, but I can understand why an actress would start reviewing her options in her mid-to-late thirties. Roles start to dry up with the drying up of the reproductive years. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and if one’s career and livelihood depends on looking younger, thinner, sexier, more gorgeous than the competition, well, then, one must do what one must do. It’s a sad testament to our appearance-obsessed culture, but it’s a reality.

I came across this old picture of me, circa 1995, getting ready (i.e., drunk) to go out dancing with girlfriends:

Hoo boy! I had a rack back then. Even though I appear to be wearing very high waisted jeans, my perkiness is still pretty obvious. If a perky rack and smooth, youthful skin was my livelihood, you can bet that I would be pretty depressed looking into the mirror these days, what with my deflated bosum and my grey roots and the horizontal lines permanently etched into my forehead, not to mention the network of fine lines around my eyes. However, it’s not, and I’m not, but that’s not to say I don’t understand the angst that must drive women – and men too; I’m talking to YOU, Kenny Rogers and Sylvester Stallone – to the surgeon’s office. It’s sad, is all I’m saying.

Speaking of perky racks, I noticed a definite trend last night; that of the deeply plunging neckline. Can we all agree that this is just not a good look? I also recognize that it’s important to MAKE A STATEMENT, but if that statement is “I have lots of double-sided tape and also I better not sneeze”, then I’m not sure that’s the one you want to make. For example:

This would be such a cute look and dress, were it not for the neckline. The neckline brings it down from glamorous and classy to kind of trashy and slutty. See also: Sally Field.

Sally, I love you, and I think this dress is gorgeous – EXCEPT FOR THE NECKLINE. As my grandma would say, “I think you need a pin, dear. Or maybe a nice brooch.”

Now, Jennifer Lopez is beautiful, and she has a va-va-voom figure, but I really dislike these kinds of dresses, the “nude without being nude” genre. They remind me a) of figure skating outfits, and b) nylon nighties of the type found in the Sears catalogue.

I don’t think I’m a prude – after all, on the beach I wear tiny little bikinis that, borrowing a phrase from Laurie in Little Women, “reveals a whole new Nicole”, but I think two of the loveliest dresses of the evening were those worn by Adele and by Julianne Moore:

Stunning, am I right? And no double-sided tape required! No fear of a wardrobe malfunction, just plain loveliness.

High Street Bingo

Posted on January 10, 2013 by Nicole Boyhouse

Starting back to school on a Tuesday after a holiday virtually guarantees that I will be in a constant state of confusion for the entire week. This week has been no exception. Yesterday I had to keep reminding myself that it was WEDNESDAY and that the following day was THURSDAY and I had committed to volunteer in Mark’s class for the morning. So today I spent the morning volunteering for what is known as an in-class field trip, or when the class brings a presenter with hands-on materials into the class. It is a well known fact in my family that although I spend a vast amount of time doing volunteer work for the school, I WILL NOT volunteer for traditional, bussed, second location field trips. I do not want to ride on the school bus. I do not want to be responsible for a group of children that aren’t mine in crowded, unfamiliar settings. Also, as my children have pointed out to me, I’m just not that much fun.

However, I’m here to tell you that this morning’s “The Amazing Race Alberta!” was a barrel of fun! I learned a great deal about the boreal forest and the Canadian Shield. The object of the game was to visit six stations that boasted facts about the different regions of Alberta, and in the end the group decided WHICH region was the best to build a brand new town in. Also the group was tasked with naming the town, choosing a mascot and slogan, and deciding what industries would be represented.

Are you still with me? It was actually way more fun than it sounds, possibly because this age group seems to be up my alley. The last time I volunteered for one of these in-class field trips, I ended up spending a vast amount of time digging googly eyes out of glue sticks. I much enjoy the non-crafty, brainstorm-then-write-it-down age group.

I found it somewhat interesting that the project was named The Amazing Race but there was no racing actually involved. It reminded me of my fantasy Amazing Race team, which consists of myself and my friends Hannah, Beck, and Misty, the latter of whom is the only one in our group with a strong sense of direction, the ability to drive anything, and who can get through the day without bursting into tears. The rest of us would have to rely on being fan favourites as the team that cries a lot and gets lost all the time. We could possibly get sponsorship from a line of waterproof mascara.

Speaking of sponsorship, as you know, I’m not a “sponsored post” kind of girl, but I do often receive product pitches that, if I wrote about them, I would receive those products for free. Generally, they are nothing that I – or you, dear reader – would be interested in reading about: mainly household cleaning products or television programming for very young children, and so they get deleted almost immediately. However, the following came to my in-box the other day, and I saved it because it made me feel like I’ve finally made it as a writer:

Hi,

I am currently working for a high-street bingo client who is trying to get some articles live with links back to their homepage from websites and blogs just like yours.

What they are looking for is for bloggers to write the content in order for the articles to look natural on their site, you can do this by writing about topics such as:

– Personal Bingo experiences of yours or of a friend.

– Top three ways to relax when the kids are out of the house or finally fall asleep (only one of the three reasons has to be about on-line bingo)

-Stuff to do on rainy days..

Or anything like this…let me know if you can think of anything better.

Please not you will not be linking to some spammy site at the back of the internet, I am working for an actual betting company with shops in the high street.

I am very much looking forward to your response,

Best regards Jack

I do not even know where to start with the awesomeness. Is it the references to a high-street bingo client/ actual betting company with shops in the high street? Is it the assumption that I actually have personal bingo experiences? No, I think it’s the request to write about the top three ways I relax without the children, and only one of those ways has to be about on-line bingo.

Only one? I’m not sure how I got this pitch, but prior to it I did not even know that on-line bingo was in existence. Insultingly there is no reference to compensation anywhere in that email. Perhaps Jack thought that just writing about bingo would be a reward in itself. Sorry, Jack.

One Week

Posted on January 7, 2013 by Nicole Boyhouse

The first week of January is gone, and I’m completely scattered, so here are some random things going on in the Boyhouse:

1) The boys go back to school tomorrow, and I am having my usual last-day-of-vacation mixed feelings: happiness about the return to routine, and melancholy about the fleeting nature of time, and what city will the kids go to university in, and will it be close, and god, I sure hope my future daughters-in-law like me. Physically this manifests itself as me cheerfully filling in my calendar for the week with errands and appointments that are unpleasant or impossible to do with the children, and also me randomly grabbing and hugging the nearest child, or screaming “I LOVE YOU!” down the stairs where the children very patiently say “Thanks, Mom.” THANKS MOM. It’s like my life is a weird sitcom episode.

2) My appetite, which has been absent all week, has returned with a vengeance, so in between my week planning and my melancholy, I am also thinking near-constantly about FOOD. Let’s see, I should go to Costco on Thursday, and maybe make quesadillas tonight, I have to remember to make up the School Council agenda, should I maybe make some of that eggplant dip right now, hmmm…do I have any crackers? Because the kids were disappointed that I baked brownies to take to a baby shower yesterday rather than for their own consumption, I baked another pan of them this morning, combining my food obsession with my over-indulgence due to the aforementioned fleeting nature of time.

3) Yesterday I actually got teary eyed watching Ray Lewis come onto the Ravens’ field for the last time. I would blame hormones but I can’t really, which reminds me of the evening not long ago when I was lying on the couch, tearful with hip pain, with a heating pad on my back, washing down Tylenol for Body Pain with red wine and Christmas chocolate, crying to my husband about being sad, so very sad, since my incredible back and hip pain indicated that I would now have to spend the rest of my life in a chiropractor’s office. I became annoyed with my husband for not being more sympathetic to my plight as a cripple. Then I started googling chiropractors, acupuncturists, and scoliosis. Maybe 2013 will be the year where I finally recognize ladies’ holiday symptoms rather than concluding that life as I know it is over and the rest of my life will be all about pain management and sadness.

4) Speaking of Dr. Google, I fell down the rabbit hole last night by looking up “rashes and stomach virus” since Jake had developed a rash on his stomach and chest. Instead of concluding reasonably that Jake, being prone to rashes, simply had a bumpy red manifestation of the virus that we had – probably Norwalk – I started clicking links that were, frankly, terrifying. Consulting Dr. Google is never a good idea. I blame my undernourished brain.

5) If there is a bright side to contracting a virulent stomach virus such as Norwalk, it is that a post-Christmas cleanse becomes completely unnecessary. Not that I was really contemplating a cleanse; I did the Wild Rose cleanse back in 1999 and although that is now nearly fourteen years ago, I still get the shivers thinking about it. That cleanse was the reason why, whenver anyone tells me that they are doing a similar detox, all I can think is exploding intestines, and I hope you have a nice bathroom. But in any case, being sick has made post-Christmas weight-loss plans unnecessary, which is a minor upside to a deplorable week.

How was the first week of January for you?

COME ON DOWN!

Posted on January 4, 2013 by Nicole Boyhouse

Yesterday I optimistically cleaned the house, sanitizing all the surfaces and disinfecting doorknobs. I baked muffins and indulged in such self-care rituals as applying moisturizer, blow-drying my hair, and shaving my legs for the first time in many days. I just finished reading How To Be A Woman, and while I enjoyed it, and felt a strong and hearty agreement with it, I also feel that there are many nice things in life, and having smooth legs, underarms, and bikini line after days of achieving yeti-like status is one of them. Relatedly, I realized as I plucked them that my eyebrows would, if left unchecked, morph into a blend of Frida Kahlo and Martin Scorcese’s on my face. There’s nothing like a few days of stomach flu and no sleep to make normal daytime rituals seem like the epitome of luxury.

Oh! But I was too optimistic too soon, because my remaining healthy child took a turn for the worse last night, causing me to pull a very gross all-nighter with him. I’m doing a lot of laundry, is what I’m saying. My husband is also feeling nervous, like there is ominous music playing just for him. If you hear a strange noise, do not leave the campfire. Do not go into the dark woods.

The funny thing about kids is how quickly they bounce back, eating freezies and playing video games. Even while sick, in the middle of the night, Mark both maintained his polite manners – “Please may I have a tissue?” – and his incredulity about the whole situation. “I think I have the barfing flu” he said after heaving into the toilet for the seventh time in two hours. Yeah, maybe. Jake, on the other hand, maintained sunny optimism: “Every time I barf I feel a little better!” he said after the tenth bathroom visit. “I think I’ll probably feel better tomorrow!”

And he seems to be correct. Yesterday, while attempting to find a suitable children’s show on television, I came across The Price Is Right! I was so excited. The kids enjoyed the show in the same way I did when I was a kid. The prizes and games were all so exciting! A barbeque in the shape of an egg! A new car! A trip to New York! A freestanding sauna! I was kind of disappointed that there were no dinette sets to be won, as in my youth, but maybe I need to watch more.

When I was a kid, I loved that show. I used to want to be a Barker’s Beauty, and this wish also coincided with my idea that I would, one day, be crowned Miss Canada. My mother even made a Halloween costume to that effect, complete with red gown, crown, and sash proclaiming MISS CANADA 1982. But the idea that a whole career – such as it was – could be built out of being pretty, wearing stilettos, and showcasing RV’s and sectional couches was fascinating. I didn’t know about sexual harrassment, obviously, so it seemed pretty prime to me.

Of course, the Price is Right that my kids are now happily being exposed to has 100% less sexual harrassment – I THINK – and also has a male, um, Barker’s Beauty. I guess they aren’t called that anymore but I cannot imagine what they might be called. Anyway, this guy is disappointingly modestly dressed and also, it appears, in charge of driving the New! Cars! to be won. What’s up with THAT? The women can still drive cars in the presence of a man, thank you very much.

In any case, I’d like to thank The Price Is Right for the much-needed entertainment for me and my recovering children. One episode had almost every single audience member in blocks of colour-matched t-shirts, which made Mark think that the audience was made up of “teams”. “Oh, the red team is up.” I guess it’s kind of true. We also saw a woman win $1000 spinning the big wheel, whereas she promptly fell on the floor and rolled around. “Wow, she’s REALLY happy.” Mark said. “What would happen if she won one million dollars?” I’m guessing she would probably die, but die happy, I suppose.

One of the best parts of watching The Price is Right is the commercials. You have to hand it to the TV executives; they know their prime audience, and it isn’t me and my kids. In one hour we saw two separate commercials for motorized scooters, several for Ensure, laxatives, and other supplements for Colon Health, and one featuring Henry Winkler advocating for reverse mortgages. FONZIE. Have we learned nothing? Reverse mortgages are a very, very bad idea. NOT COOL. Stick with the Colace.

Annual Roundup – 2012 in the Boyhouse

Posted on January 2, 2013 by Nicole Boyhouse

I know, it’s January 2. I meant to get this post out on Monday. So I’m a few days late and a dollar short, but I have a good excuse – I rang in the New Year by sleeping. I had what I had – optimistically, it turned out – thought was food poisoning but given how I was up all night with a barfing child, I am now leaning towards the concept of “stomach virus”. It’s unfortunate I didn’t have a weight loss goal for 2013, because I could have attained that by January 1st. After pulling an all nighter last night, I am in a zombie like state, wondering how kids can barf all night and then be perfectly chipper in the morning, and thankful that my own stomach can handle coffee today because HOW did I do it when the kids were babies? I don’t know.

In any case, not the most auspicious beginning to 2013 but luckily I’m not superstitious like that. I mean, often March comes in AND goes out like a lion, am I right?

So, year in review! What happened in the Boyhouse in 2012? Quite a bit, it turns out.

January

January was a banner month in that Mark wore pajamas to school for Pajama Day for the first time ever, I realized that, just like back in the day when I was “clubbing” – although I don’t think it was called “clubbing back then” – coloured jeans are in style (sign of impending apocalypse?), and I got all defensive of yoga.

February

I went to Maui for the first – but definitely not the last – time, saw some whale tail, and then I came crashing back to earth while reading the Lutheran Ladies’ Family Favourites Cookbook.

March

March was a difficult month in the Boyhouse, and not just because I became nearly homicidal in the grocery store. On a happy note, Mark turned eight, and I admitted to being totally FLY.