I get so easily distracted by the little details. I was watching a high drama tv show called the Killing (after burning through the show ‘Orange is the New Black’ in days). It’s an intense show but I am so easily sidetracked nonetheless. At one point the private investigator hands the man running for mayor a folder full of the information he wanted. But I’m like, wow, that’s a nice folder. Is he going to give it back? Is he going to remove the contents and then give back the folder? It looks expensive! Is that included in the price? I would want it back, it looks nice. And then the character closes it with an elastic and walks away and I realize, sweet, it has an elastic part and secondly, that I have missed all the important dialogue in the past five minutes because apparently I have a fetish for office supplies and a tiny little brain.  

Oh but I do have a thing for office supplies! We just found out Hennie got accepted at Algonquin College for the fall and my first reaction was, holy shit, I need to pull some money out of my butt-stat and then oh my god I get to go back to school shopping without actually having to go to school!! Eeeeee! I have been researching the best Academic day planners at Chapter’s all day, even sending pics of the best ones to Hennie, asking if I can PLEASE pick out an planner for him! So exciting! Don’t even get me started on notebooks and PENS oh my god PENS! 

So after Hennie found out he had been accepted he seemed pretty quiet, almost like he was in shock. He said he hadn’t been in school since 1994, 9 years ago! I was like dude, that’s 19 years ago. The look on his face went from confusion, to surprise to disbelief. It was hilarious!

I just realized that ad on the radio where that jingle gets stuck in my head all day is them not singing “black people” but actually singing “bath depot.” Awkward.

I was really excited to go to the wave pool with one of the kid’s I work with last night. It’s fun to go to a pool when you no longer give a shit what you look like in a bathing suit. Like when I used to convince myself that the sneaky skirt on my bathing suit was disguising my hips but I know now that it is a giant skirt hanging off my giant hips and it’s okay. I was trying to keep a lid on my OCD in the change room when I realized their was dirt and hairs on the ground and I was walking on it in bare feet. And then I went to the toilet and was still in bare feet. I literally was singing a song to myself in my head so I wouldn’t think about the diseases my feet were totally absorbing. I really attempted to keep the crazy at bay but every time I entered the change room to use the bathroom (because drinking a bottle of water right before going swimming is fucking stupid) I was reminded how disgusting public pools were. That’s not even mentioning how stressful it is to take a wet bathing suit off to use the can and then putting it back on. It turns me into the Hulk. Like an agro monster, like I never want to swim ever again. It feels like a million suction cups stuck to your body all working against you as you pull up the wet, weird material suit. I was on the verge of having an OCD anxiety attack and losing my mind trying to get my bathing suit back on when it happened. We went back into the pool and then we were quickly called back out. Like something had happened. All the lifeguards blew their whistles and looked intense and formed a plan. We rushed into the hot tub to watch the commotion in luxury comfort. I wondered the worst, of course, but everyone seemed too laid back for anything crazy serious. And then, there it was. The floating turds being scooped up by a big dude, apparently in charge of the shit skimming. Someone had shit in the pool. It was too much. I told my kid we were leaving immediately and would never, ever return to a public pool ever again. All this and when I realized I was in the age bracket to not need to hide in a stall while changing in the change room back into my clothes, it occurred to me it was the one day I was wearing the one beige pair of granny panties I own and putting them on in the public change room was the nail in the coffin. Never. Again. Wave Pool. Never. Again.

Rachelle and I decided that wearing our matching animal print slippers to the LCBO would greatly lessen our chances of being sold alcohol. We realized we probably could have got away with it when the 13 year old looking boy bought a mickey of vodka in front of us.

I don’t know how we got on the subject of threesomes but I am pretty sure it was just Rachelle saying, if I had a threesome it would be with two guys. I wanted to agree with her but, as I explained to someone before, I love Joan from Mad Men enough that I could see myself being in a Don Draper and Joan sandwich. They are very hot people. Then we tried to come up with the best threesome combinations, which ended in Opie and Jax from Sons of Anarchy. I would happily be the white stuff in the middle of an SOA oreo. I told Rachelle the only down side to that would be that you would walk away from that experience with full-body beard rash. Those biker’s have some intense facial hair. It would be a skin nightmare only calendula could save you from.