An Open Letter To The Neighbours: More Cooing Dammit!

I don’t usually rant, but something has been bothering me since October. It was Mini-Tex’s first Halloween, so I dutifully dressed him up, ran him over to a fellow baby friend’s house and together our families Trick or Treated for twenty or so minutes. It was an abysmal failure; virtually every house we visited missed their marks, so I’m composing a letter to improve our experience next year.

Dearest Neighbours,

Thanks you for the sugary sweets, however as evidenced by both the presence and kempt appearance of the four adults in the group, we are both old enough and organized enough to purchase our own. We weren’t there for candy, those Smarties, even if the babies both had teeth would still be a choking hazard. No, we were there so you, our fellow homeowners, could lavish attention upon our babes.

With the exception of one effusive, older woman, all of you failed miserably at the task. Although my hopes are high for each of the neighbouring properties to be sold and a pack of infant-loving, grandmotherly types to descend upon the city, the likelihood of that happening is low. I mean heck, I would have taken a woman with a cookie house who wanted to eat our children as long as she had fawned over them sufficiently first. Admittedly, my false sense of bravado and adventuring comes from the fact that we were traveling with a member of the law enforcement whose home gym resembles Jillian Michaels’.


I’d like to see the inhabitants of gingerbread homes just try to snack on this woman’s offspring. (Photo Credit :

In lieu of a sudden influx of lovely, little, old ladies, I’ve written out some instructions for next Halloween.

  1. Fling the door open before we arrive on the stoop. This aggressive show of enthusiasm will communicate the extent of your excitement.
  2. Comment about how creative the costumes are, I mean for Pete’s sake, I almost dyed socks with food colouring for this moment!
  3. Hand out one piece of candy. It’s a rite of passage and if you’ve ever struggled to make a baby into a beluga whale by putting their tiny legs into a narrow, flippered tail, you know that a person deserves chocolate afterwards.
  4. Lastly you may choose from any one of the following statements and actions:
    1. “Yours are the cutest babies in the world! I’m going to turn off the lights and take in my pumpkin as this moment is clearly the pinnacle of my Halloween.”
    2. “Hold on, I’m going to chase down the twins from next door who just visited, as you possess the most attractive and adorable children in the world, you should have their candy.”
    3. “Well, having seen the most beautiful babies in the world, my life is now complete and I can die happy.”
    4. Or you can freestyle it with a similar statement of your own- points for originality!

Hopefully this helps to clear up the confusion so we can all have an enjoyable Halloween next year.

Five Things Friday – The Drunk on Beet Chips Edition

1. I brushed my teeth at least four times this week

Someone give me a damn medal. It doesn’t sound like much but when you’re the sole person in charge of a small person virtually 24 hours a day, things like reasonable dental hygiene need to be celebrated. In lieu of a medal I would accept a parade.

2. I witnessed a hit-and-run on Tuesday

This one is less bad than it sounds. So there I am, minding my own business, bleaching diaper inserts in the sun, when all of a sudden, across the laneway, I watch as a SUV smashes into the motorcycle that is parked next to my new neighbour’s garage. I was aghast and expected the driver to jump out and inspect the damage. Instead the SUV pulls forwards, then backs up again to hit the motorcycle, then keeps going so the bike is being dragged along the ground.  I run to get a closer look at the plates of the SUV as it drives away. After running back inside to record this information, I hot footed it back outside all ready to run and knock on my neighbour’s front door. Not surprisingly, there was already a man standing outside, righting the motorcycle. Breathless from the shock of witnessing someone trying to demolish his wheels and from sprinting back and forth with a baby strapped to me, the news came out in staccato bursts “Someone. Drove over. Your bike.” The man calmly looked at me and said “I know, it was my wife.” I don’t know whether to give these people space or make them muffins.


 3. I may be becoming Desmond Howl


This one is possibly worse than it sounds. It’s ok that you don’t know who Desmond Howl is because I’m going to tell you. At length, and then you’ll want to pretend to be a four hundred pound, drug addicted, washed up rocker too. It’s a good game, like tag but only better. Desmond stumbles through life in an exhausted haze; my days seem similar to this. Desmond falls asleep at random times of the day- I fall asleep at random times too. Desmond wanders around only partially clothed, I’m generally missing an article of clothing or at the very least have a part of my bra unclipped. Desmond survives entirely on doughnuts and cocaine. I would like to survive on doughnuts. But not cocaine, I’m not that exciting. Get ready world, at this rate, my come back tour will be starting next month. If you’d like to play the Desmond Howl Game too, I’m looking for a bass guitarist.


I’m not sure what this picture is doing here. I may be drunk. Further proof that I am turning into a four hundred pound character from early 90’s literature. (Photo Credit : Paul Quarrington, if your ghost can hear this, come be my writer-in-residence. We’ll jam together, I play a mean maraca.

4. Great Unwashed gives tips on how to mow a lawn

For ideal results and disgruntled neighbours, choose a paisley pattern. The effect is maximized if one misses spots. Although you may not have to work hard to tick off your neighbours if their spouse has taken to running over their ride.

5. If my lawn care tips weren’t enough, I’ll throw in lessons on how to be a better spouse free!

To add some spice and uncertainty into your spouse’s life, play “Hide the Car”, instead of parking your shared vehicle in the driveway, park three streets over and walk home while they’re at work. Then promptly forget where you’ve left the car and when they ask gesture in all directions helpfully. Following this advice also decreases the rate of flattened motorcycles by 87%.

This post is dedicated to Erica from because she regularly expounds to the world in groups of five. Erica is quite funny and as her blog indicates, occasionally snarky.

Robots, Fairies and Cold Blooded Murder

I’ve been woken up the past couple of nights at three am, by the man upstairs who is clearly speaking to people in another country where it is a reasonable hour. At first, I was myself, but as the night progressed, I became a blood thirsty killer.

3:04 AM

I am lying in bed with my eyes open listening to what can only be the sounds of a man describing how he singlehandedly saved the world. Or at least that’s what I assume he was talking about, after all, who could be excited about anything less than being an international hero at three am?

3: 22 AM

The man is still talking, loudly and at various volumes so I cannot fall back asleep. I sleepily remind myself that I feel homesick here too and spend an inordinate amount of time on the phone. The difference is that my family is in relatively the same time zone.

3:37 AM

Now he’s talking about cooking up a feast for three million people and describing all of the recipes he will use. Actually that’s just a guess, because what else could have taken him this long to communicate? I picture quietly tiptoeing upstairs, knocking on my neighbour’s door, looking pathetic and small like a sad twelve year old and saying “I can’t sleep when you are on the phone.”

3:49 AM

It’s becoming clear that a man who outlines the exact method that he uses to clean his bathroom at three am needs more than the pathetic image of a woman who looks like a child knocking on his door asking him to stop, in the middle of the night. I picture writing an amusing note to him.

Dear Sir,

If I was a fairy, I’d sprinkle you with magic so you’d sleep through the night without hearing your phone.

If I was a vampire, I’d bite you, not enough to kill you, just enough to make you anemic so you’d be too tired to talk at three am.

If I was a unicorn, I’d pin you with my benevolent hoof and communicate through unicorn mind powers the social mores of society- HINT: we sleep at night.

If I was a robot, I’d put you in a cage without your phone because robots are soulless, but I’d put a bed in there because I’d be a nice robot.

I think we can agree empathy isn't this over-sized toaster's strong point either.  (Photo by Paul Gilham/Getty Images)

I think we can agree empathy isn’t this over-sized toaster’s strong point either. (Photo by Paul Gilham/Getty Images)

If I was a mermaid, I’d slap you with my giant fish tail to get my message across- you’re being rude.

If I was a werewolf, I’d rip my couch apart and eat it, werewolves are unpredictable.

Please go to bed.


The Great Unwashed

4:07 AM

With no end to my neighbour’s jibber jabber about his belly button lint in sight, I move to the couch and quickly discover that our new couch is not comfortable for sleeping on.

4:30 AM

I crawl back into bed, the man upstairs is talking about all of his wonderful qualities; his ability to speak for three minutes without taking a breath, how he is so charismatic that curiously no one wants to hang out with him. He has others but I stopped listening because I had a quest.

“Tex” I said shaking my boyfriend’s shoulder gently, “the gun cabinet is locked; I need the combination.”

“Shhherfenismah” Tex replied before rolling over. My visions of appearing at the man’s door like a tiny pyjama clad Annie Oakley were crushed.

This looks like a woman who always had a good night's sleep. (Photo Credit :

This looks like a woman who always had a good night’s sleep. (Photo Credit :

4:41 AM

I rearrange all of the furniture in the second bedroom so the futon will fold out and switch out the flimsy curtains with the blackout curtains in the living room and finally fall asleep.

6:30 AM

Tex is awoken by my alarm next to the bed because I am not there and then is shocked because my first words to him are, “I want to make the man upstairs special cement boots then take him swimming.”

Apparently I am never getting the code to the gun cabinet, Tex is also looking into anger management classes or calming yoga classes for me, he can’t decide which will better prevent cold blooded murder.

Vintage Underpants: The Great Untapped Resource

Among my family and friends, I am known for being frugal. I go to great lengths to protect both the environment and my pocketbook. As a die hard conservationist, I am always on the look out for new uses for old possessions. While studying a pair of holey underoos the other day, an idea came to me; underpants- a long ignored, near natural resource. Found in every home and often on many a person, this sometimes hot, sweaty commodity has many uses.

Look out solar power, granny panties are about to to become the next big thing in environmentalism. (Photo Credit:

Look out solar power, granny panties are about to become the next big thing in environmentalism. (Photo Credit:

A Protest Against The Neighbour’s Annoying Wind Chimes

Can’t bring yourself to steal that tinkling nuisance, that keeps you awake, from the house next door? Tie your husband’s old tightie whities together in an artful pattern and string them proudly across your house like a set of summer cotton Christmas lights. Then offer to make a trade with your neighbour; you take down yours and I’ll take down mine.

Just wait until you see my boxer brief Christmas wreath. (Photo Credit:

Just wait until you see my boxer brief Christmas wreath. (Photo Credit:

A Quilt That You’ll Never Have To Share

Stitching your old undergarments into the world’s grossest blanket is a win win winter situation; warm toes and you’ll never worry about anyone taking it. Unless of course you own a dog, in which case that baby’ll be toast or possibly an appetizer depending on the time of day that your canine eats it. Women’s underwear are the most common item to be surgically removed from dogs’ stomachs

Women's underwear are the most common item to be surgically removed from dogs' stomachs. Also I feel like this artist would appreciate a underpants quilt. (Photo Credit:

This artist would appreciate a underpants quilt. (Photo Credit:

Bring Your Family Closer By Instilling a Uniform

Pull a Madonna and force your nearest and dearest to wear their old boxer briefs outside of their clothing at all times. The teasing and humiliation will inspire a sense of loyalty as you take turns shielding one another from mocking.

Middle age husbands rock this look. (Photo Credit :

Middle age husbands rock this look. Or at least that’s what you’ll need to tell them. (Photo Credit :

Use It Up, Wear It Out, Make It Work, Do Without

Old underwear are never truly used up, there’s always a swath of fabric to be saved, use these tiny scraps to patch your other less worn underwear. Who needs Victoria Secret when you have underpants that look like they were made by a schizophrenic five year old wielding a glue gun? Of course you could do without, but that option gets pretty chilly in Canada for most of the year and you’d be depriving yourself of what is clearly the next big trend in environmentalism.

These are just a couple of suggestions for your old bikini briefs. Do you have any more? Share them in the comments!