I have discovered Hennie’s kryptonite. We cannot discuss anything to do with insurance without Hennie turning into an angry Hulk. The first time we ever went in to get an insurance quote, Hennie leaned across the desk of the agent and asked how he slept at night in a very threatening voice. Then recently when we were changing all our insurance again, even at the mere mention of it made Hennie into a rage-a-holic. And every time these things happened I made a mental note. The reason being is, as a kid, I watched a kids game show called KidsStreet. (This took me half an hour on google to get the name of it btw.) Your partner would leave and then you would be asked questions about the partner like, what was her favourite food and they would come back and you would compare answers. I am positive there was an adult version of it to but whatever. So when I see Hennie lose his shit over something like insurance, I picture us, should we ever get on that game show answering that question correctly. They would ask me, name one thing that makes your husband totally turn into a crazy mad person and I would yell insurance! Then he would come out and say the same thing! Weee! Yes, I do take mental notes of things like this in case of possibly being on a game show that hasn’t existed in years…this makes sense…

Driving in the city is a whole other ball game. I am used to things like racoons, turtles or tractors slowing me down on my speed race to work. But here, it’s just traffic. It’s just a ridiculous abundance of other cars and street lights where it’s impossible to get anywhere fast unless you are on the highway. For instance it can take me fifteen minutes to get to the Loblaws at the end of the street or 25 minutes to get to Carleton Place. It is sooo crazy like that!

I’m not sure about this turning thirty thing. To me it just seems like after thirty people will really expect me to pop out a baby, own a house, settle down, be responsible and my boobs, which are already a bit sad, will just become arm pit decorations. Sigh, what a sad state of affairs. 30 sucks.

We went to see Aretha Franklin!! Who was amazing! We showed up only to find a million people in lawn chairs. I have never understood bringing a chair to a concert. Sit on the grass or stand, figure it out people. But my Mom, of course, found the standing and dancing area. After my Mom loudly complained about the height of the people in front of us they acknowledged she was indeed right and let her stand in front/beside them. But My Mom needed space y’all! She was grooving up a storm! I was doing my best to keep up but when my midget of a Mother is on a dance roll, there is no stopping her and no keeping up. It was a riot.

We went on a crazy cycling adventure yesterday! We biked from the house (off of Iris) to the Civic to visit my Grandma then to Cafe My House for a vegan lunch. It was 45 minutes each way in the blistering heat. But wow, the bike paths here are amazing!! I hadn’t been biking in a few years so about half an hour in I needed a break to possibly vomit. Then I kept yelling to Hennie in front of me that if this trip got any longer, I could see the benefits of vaginal rejuvenation surgery and it might be needed at some point. My seat also would randomly move front and back as it needed to be tightened. Hennie asked how I dealt with that while biking. I told him I adjusted it by having sex with it a little. It’s like a pelvic thrust, it really drives your insa-a-a-ne. Then on the way back I kept yelling about how painful my undercarriage was and that my dream rest of the day would be spent sitting on a soft cushion. My lady parts did require a break after that, I am even considering buying biking shorts. I don’t know how people do it?! I already bought a fat ass cushionie bike seat, should I just duck tape a pillow to it?!

Our new neighborhood is like Boca Raton retirement meets the Hood. Ghettos to the left of me, old people to the right, here I am stuck in the middle with you. I figured we would fit in just perfectly as we represent a bit of column A and a bit of column B. But after our first week here we heard the neighbours were already complaining and bitching about Tina, my Honda parked on the street…really?? 50 feet down the road there are generally cop cars and gang activity and you are worried about my Grandma’s old Honda?! Give me a break!

We were visiting my Grandma the other night at the hospital. We seemed to be getting somewhere in the conversation when Grandma said there was something wrong with her but she didn’t know what. So I took my chance, I knew I could make my Grandma understand, so I looked at her and told her that Grandma, you hit your head. But unfortunately it came out in a thick Irish accent. So I tried again, Grandma you heet your hayed. I was struggling. Dad was laughing at me and Grandma looked more confused then ever. I tried one last time but it was no good, the Irish accent was stuck. My poor Grandma, not only was she confused, she had also woke up to a family that had become Irish. I couldn’t figure it out. Maybe it was a line from a movie or something that was permanently etched into my brain? There are some things that I absolutely can’t say without accents it’s true, but I didn’t realize that was one of them. Dad suggested that when I grow up I could become an Irish nurse. Maybe it was just multiple personalities shining through, who knows. But we laughed, we cried, we hoped Grandma wasn’t more confused then when we got there by thinking one of her Grandchildren was Sinead O’Connor.