DOUBLE WIDE

It's really kind of a small miracle that I ever and I mean EVER, get out of bed. I have been blessed, or more correctly, had the foresight to buy myself "the shit" of all beds. Now, they don't actually use my term, "The Shit" in their advertising, but they should. There really is no other description that truly and accurately describes this cloud on a frame. Now technically, it's a simple queen, pillowtop mattress, which many have done and have bragged that they've done well. I beg to differ. Kingsdown, you are the master and commander. I will bow to the God of you. This is my vow.

I've owned this piece of heaven for just over 3 years. Every night/morning when I get/crawl onto this cushy space, I thank the Powers That Be, which of course are the nice designers and factory people that crafted this, not any kind of mystical higher being. Let's all give real and huge credit where it is due. Fuck John Paul. Let's circumvent the usual procedures and waiting time and consider these people for sainthood. And let's say it out loud, Mother Theresa is a hack next to these genius's.

Italian Jaquard. I don't even know how to spell it, but I surely know how it feels. That's the outside material this little beauty is draped in. All that means is it feels like cotton, with all of it's soft and natural goodness. They've left out all of those nasty and annoying buttons as well. Just a few to insure it stays in place. This combination makes it "give" with your body, thus replicating the imaginary cloud experience.

I actually have to hop a wee bit to get onto this mammoth structure. It was much more difficult to do this when I was, ahem, rotund. It still can be a chore when I've tipped a few cocktails. I've yet to actually fall off, but I've a had a few close calls. According to my daughter and her girlfriend, who witnessed the following event, I actually got lost on the bed. I know it to be true and not some creative story conjured up by evil teenagers, because they showed me the 17 pictures they took of this debacle. The last thing I clearly recall is finshing 5 double shots of tequila and 2 double shots of vodka in a very, very short period of time. I really hate when my competitive side comes out. I went from zero, to on my face, in about 40 minutes. Now, to my credit, I did know enough to come in the house and not have my nap outside, in the dark. I am an environmentalist at heart and never could have lived with myself if I had got gotten the southern Calgary mosquito population drunk. And they're meaner when they're hung, so I really am a model citizen as well, looking out for my community first. According to these pompous girls, I was flopping around on the top of the bed (how I got there was never explained as there are no witnesses) and bleating about needing to pee, but couldn't find my way off. "The bed is too big" was supposedly the much repeated phrase, but said with a discernable slur. I eventually did make my way off, with the help of a friend. So no, I didn't soil anything, cause I'm a big girl now.

I share my space with a tall man and three cats. The 20 lb. ball of black mats likes to park his clingy self right where my feet should go, every night. He is a true creature of habit. This has caused me to have a defined curve in my postitioning. The kitties rule and one must never forget that. He does stray from his post if you look at him, or give him the slightest indication that you would even consider giving him a rub. There's nothing like his fat ass sitting on your chest, crushing the life out of you and pawing at your face. Love you Normy. Dave on the other hand, kind of treats the bed like his best friends' house. He's not always there, but is hard to remove once he's parked it. He prefers the 3/4 mark down the other side, which causes Bruce to lay on his back and spread his knees. The Prince must be accomodated. There's nothing like a snorer flat on his back. Thanks Dave. My little ray of sunshine Huey, does pop in now and again, but rarely stays for long. He prefers the equally exquisite ottoman in the living room. He began his life alone under a dumpster and I think prefers his down time to be solitary. Communal beds are not for him.

I'm not sure when this post declined into a tale of drunkeness and my cats, which naturally everyone loves to hear about, so I'll attempt to get back to the point.

I get to wrap myself up in a fine, white goose down duvet. If you've never had this pleasure, please find a way. The next time you're considering a candidate for a late night romp, ask them what kind of bedding they have. If it's white goose down, go for it. You'll get over the lisp and the STD in no time. It's worth it. I got ahold of this beauty during my post-inheritance/house-buying splurgefest. Money? Irrelevent! It's fucking white goose down!

All of this nirvana goes to shit about mid-morning. The sun comes screaming through the window, without even asking first. Very impolite I say. Now, some people may get off on this sort of thing. Not me, as I'm a vampire. I am so, shut up. Ok, not really a vampire so much, with all the bloodsucking and the killing and such. I just don't do alot of daylight. I hit my peak energy and mental levels about midnight (don't pay attention to the time I'm writing this - I'm still a little tipsy and am definately going back to bed). It becomes a game of dodgeball as the sun moves across the sky and pours onto my naked, sweaty body. I swear I'll erupt in flames if it hits me directly, or at least bitch and moan alot. It does torture another side of the house about elevenish, thus leaving me my last precious minutes to be enjoyed in a peace that only can be appreciated after an apocolyptic storm such as I had just endured (ummm, this a subltle hint for a purple heart nomination).

My alarm clock is there for show only. I do set it, although not always properly (I have motorskill issues), but the bed clearly rules all that come within it's reach. The bed will decide when it's going to release me. I know that I have no power over this and I'm fairly certain that there is no 12 step program or any amount of will that can change it. Work and life can wait. There is some serious lounging to do.

Now, I've become very weary and my precious is calling, so I'm off to complete my mission. I'll get to the pillow another time.

Nighty-night.

D.

A NOD TO AN URBAN MYTH

It's 1:00am two weeks ago. I'm with a few pals driving home from parts unknown and we approach Canmore. We're tired and it's pissing rain. Well, the caffeine educated ones say "Timmy's!" with all the glee of a child on Christmas morn. I respond with a simple shrug. I've been hearing this mantra for years and I don't get it. It's like a Canadian in India watching a cricket match. "Huh? What the?".

So we turn in and park and meander into the gas station that sells the name brand coffee. Much discussion breaks out over the travesty of the real Timmy's that is in the next building, but closes at an obscenely early hour. For shame. The boys are oohing and aahing and practically salivating waiting to get that delicious brew up to their wanting lips (getting kind of erotic heh?). I'm watching their faces and and feel the urge to get in on the action. There's got to be something to this. I tend to be a late bloomer and the time has come to join the frenzy. I wisely grabbed a medium cup, as the small was described to me as merely a thimble's worth. I prepared the sweetener and cream and thought to leave a little room for the coffee. On the lid went, a saunter up to the register, a quick exchange of cash and I officially became a Canadian. I thought I had done that many years before, but apparently this is the final requirement.

Now we flash to a scene being played out a few wet miles, ok kilometers, down the road. I'm halfway done my little medium energy in a cup and begin the caffeine bounce. My eyes are glazed, my speech rapid and my breathing uneven (again with the erotica - I think I need..........). "Where's the next Timmy's? Where's the next Timmy's?" I am anticipating the bottom of the cup and KNOW that this is my new best friend and must be with me at all times. I can't think about a thing - obsessed, compulsed, whatever. I NEED IT. We approach the city proper and I find some comfort in that there will be a dealer, I mean Tim Horton's, on every corner.

But, the inevitable happened. The after-effect. The nasty part about every addiction that's worth having. There has got to be a downside to all this goodness, naturally, or I'm certain I wouldn't like it. The stomach rot begins, my shaking is no longer on par with my energy level, and the crash has begun.

So, to the point. I have an addictive personality. I can hear all that know me laugh out loud here. "No kidding!" they're saying. Well yes, it's true and I wouldn't even begin to deny it . That would be foolish and futile. I have said on many occasions that I wish I could be addicted to something that was good for my mind, body, or soul. But no, that would be too easy. I regularily trade one addiction in for another, kind of like rotating them so they don't get stale. It's become a game for me to try and guess which one I'll give up and what will replace it. Hey - I suggest a pool! Oh wait, that would be gambling, which of course is one of my addictions that is currently on the backburner. Maybe not a great idea to arouse that demon.

Ok - here's a game. For those that choose to play and actually know me, please send me a list of all the things I'm currently addicted to. Perhaps in email form , yukschick@hotmail.com would be best. Although that does remove the fun comment part of this, I don't need ALL my shit out there. If you've known me for a long time, then you could add a subsiduary list of the things I USED to be a addicted to. Doesn't this sound like fun? I will try to come up with a grand prize for whoever gets the closest to the truth. How about an office party for you and 19 of your.............. or an XL steaming cup of..................

D.

By the way - I'm on Timmy's now. I feel it coursing through my body like the drug it is. I wrote this in 2.4 minutes. I really meant to take a serious look at addictions, but Timmy is also a publicity whore and took over the post. Not my fault.

QOTW

Since you didn't, I will answer for you............"Boxers or Briefs?" - er, no.

Sometimes it's just for me kids.

D.

TICKLING THE OL'.......

The following is an excerpt from a wonderful article written by the Mormons AND one of the funniest things I've ever read, so I'm sharing, cause that's the kind of girl I am. Enjoy!

"A Guide to Self-Control:

1.Never touch the intimate parts of your body except during normal toilet processes.
2.Avoid being alone as much as possible. Find good company and stay in this good company.
3.If you are associated with other persons having this same problem, YOU MUST BREAK OFF THEIR FRIENDSHIP. Never associate with other people having the same weakness. Don't suppose that two of you will quit together, you never will. You must get away from people of that kind. Just to be in their presence will keep your problem foremost in your mind. The problem must be taken OUT OF YOUR MIND for that is where it really exists. Your mind must be on other and more wholesome things.
4.When you bathe, do not admire yourself in a mirror. Never stay in the bath more than five or six minutes — just long enough to bathe and dry and dress AND THEN GET OUT OF THE BATHROOM into a room where you will have some member of your family present.
5.When in bed, if that is where you have your problem for the most part, dress yourself for the night so securely that you cannot easily touch your vital parts, and so that it would be difficult and time consuming for you to remove those clothes. By the time you started to remove protective clothing you would have sufficiently controlled your thinking that the temptation would leave you.
6.If the temptation seems overpowering while you are in bed, GET OUT OF BED AND GO INTO THE KITCHEN AND FIX YOURSELF A SNACK, even if it is in the middle of the night, and even if you are not hungry, and despite your fears of gaining weight. The purpose behind this suggestion is that you GET YOUR MIND ON SOMETHING ELSE. You are the subject of your thoughts, so to speak.
7.Never read pornographic material. Never read about your problem. Keep it out of mind. Remember — "First a thought, then an act." The thought pattern must be changed. You must not allow this problem to remain in your mind. When you accomplish that, you soon will be free of the act.
8.Put wholesome thoughts into your mind at all times. Read good books — Church books — Scriptures — Sermons of the Brethern [sic, Cistern too?]. Make a daily habit of reading at least one chapter of Scripture, preferably from one of the four Gospels in the New Testament, or the Book of Mormon. The four Gospels — Matthew, Mark, Luke and John — above anything else in the Bible can be helpful because of their uplifting qualities.
9.Pray. But when you pray, don't pray about this problem, for that will tend to keep [it] in your mind more than ever. Pray for faith, pray for understanding of the Scriptures, pray for the Missionaries, the General Authorities, your friends, your families, BUT KEEP THE PROBLEM OUT OF YOUR MIND BY NOT MENTIONING IT EVER — NOT IN CONVERSATION WITH OTHERS, NOT IN YOUR PRAYERS. KEEP IT OUT of your mind!"

Now, my personal favourite is #5. I really think they should have put a link to assist us in finding an outfit/contraption that would limit our ability to touch ourselves. The only things I could think of, I'm pretty certain they wouldn't approve of. Now what will become of me?

To find out more about the wonderful world of Mormoning, check out: www.jjjorgensen.blogspot.com. She has a wealth of information and links that can help you begin your journey, or give you hours of good, clean fun laughing at the absurdity that is a Mormon (the article damning oral sex is a gem too).

D.

INTERVENTION

I have a friend. For anonymity sake, I'll refer to him as Mr. Big, or simply MB. Now Mr. Big could probably be considered an over-achiever. I don't think he'd protest that. He latches onto an idea, or a project, sinks his teeth in and runs. Now that can be a mighty handy trait to have. For instance, if you're trying to build a lawn mower out of old spare parts, or write a movie script, or lay a woman properly, (ooops, that one just slipped in there - it's been a few days and I can't concentrate) the dedication and focus required to complete these tasks is already hardwired. But, and you know there had to be a but, these same qualities can take over the body and remove all sense of reason and balance..........

You see, my friend has a serious blog problem. MB appears to have slipped into that seedy, underground world of chronic bloggers and I don't know how to get him out. I'ts a bigger problem than I can handle myself. I'm forming a committee to assist me in this undertaking to bring MB back and make him want to live in THIS reality. From a distance, it does seem harmless. It does start that way. Someone will introduce you to the blogging world, by telling you how wonderful and fulfilling it is and the best part - it's free! Well, free if you don't consider your soul as a commodity. At this point, it's still all sunshine and roses. All the creativity that's unleashed, releasing your demons, producing wonderful works of literature, it seems like you've found Nirvana and wish you had found this sooner. But then...........

The comments and emails start. Innocuously at first. Praise for your stellar style, wit, insight, bravery. Critisism for your foolhardy and unpopular remarks on..............fill in your own topic here. But we all know that any attention is good attention. Toddlers have been blowing hissy fits in stores from the beginning of time to continue to showcase that theory. The volume of readers rapidly grows, with more fans than dissenters. YOU are a rock star!!!! You have a Sally Field moment, "You like me, you really like me!". But the glory comes with a huge price tag.............

You see, the blogger people just keep uping the ante. They are bloodthirsty vampires that can't get enough of MB's blood, sweat and tears. He is drowning in the cesspool and barely knows how close he is to going under for perhaps the last time. This one-time recreational hobby has become an all-encompassing, full-time occupation. Feed the monkey MB. Feed the monkey. Friends are gradually left behind. We tried to participate so we could have that in common, but he quickly outgrew us. We are leery of taking this blogging further, where he has no fear and charged on. Farewell good friend. Family, largely ignored. Chores left undone. There is blogging to do - everything else must cease to exist!

The responsibility to the blog people is eating MB up. If you sit back quietly, just outside of the perifery, you can see him starting to crumble. The eyes are a little wider and sometimes frantic. I don't have proof, but I bet food, hygiene and physical pleasure have been largely ignored as well. There is no other topic worth discussing outside of the blog. It was never supposed to be this way, but he doesn't know how to make it stop. Neither do I, but I will.

Hold on Mr. Big, we're coming for you.

D.