I’m not telling you what’s happening with the last post til it happens cos knowing me I’ll jinx everything — but you’ll be like, the third or fourth to know once I find out.

Anyway. Last night, one of my former teachers was telling me a story. She teaches catechism classes (like Sunday School, only it’s on Monday nights) to a bunch of six-year-olds. The other night they were talking about Jesus and the 12 disciples going out in their boat. She had the kids draw a picture of Jesus’ boat.

One little kid had these two great big black things sticking out of his boat. She was like “Uhm… what’s that you’ve got there?”
“It’s guns! Two big guns!”
“Oh, no, Johnny. Jesus wouldn’t have guns on his boat. He doesn’t like guns. Plus they weren’t even invented when Jesus went on his boat”.
“Well, I’m leaving them anyway. In case Jesus wants to shoot any crows”.

Can you tell we live in the sticks?

Oh my God oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God oh my God

*hyperventilates*

Something good is happening, maybe! MAYBE SOMETHING GOOD IS HAPPENING!

I’m excited.

Today’s another long day. Work at school, then come home for an hour, then go teach the night class. Tonight I will sleep the sleep of the just.

Since I have no hair, I don’t really have to shave anywhere (legs, underarms, etc). I guess that’s one of the perks of being hairless. Thing is that I shower, and wash, and generally? I don’t put on deodorant, because for some reason I haven’t really needed it. As long as I’m clean and not sweating all over, I’m not so stinky. I usually swipe some on (either mine or Rob’s because I can’t ever find mine) just out of habit but as I said, it’s not a priority.

Well, that whole theory has gone to hell in a handbasket today. It’s 1000 degrees in my classroom. I didn’t put on any Pit Sauce this morning. Right now I’m wondering if the kids can smell me from 10 feet away. They’re outside right now and I’m seriously contemplating putting some antibacterial hand gel on my pits.
Happy Monday, everyone.

I had such huge plans for this weekend! Knit like a fiend! Do all the laundry! Wash my wig! Do tonnes of prep work for both the teaching (day) and the teaching (night).
What have I managed to do? Let’s see:

- Watch the entire first season of ‘Joey‘ (shut up)
- Cook a chicken
- Shower
- Brush my teeth. Three times.
- Colour a drawing of Tinkerbell
- Play with my baby nephews

In short, I am a slacker. A slacker! But I got to kiss sweet babies, and uh… yeah. Oh! And! I did manage to do some laundry!
And hang around with Rob, and play lots of Harvest Moon (shut up!). I’ve been wearing the same sweatpants for two days straight so that means life is good.

The car is fixed, so we’re not going to worry about that because there’s nothing to be done about how much it costs to repair a stupid stupid car that always needs repairing but we can’t buy another car because gah! whatever. We put in an application to live somewhere else than here in January, so hopefully something happens there. Not that I don’t totally appreciate my parents for allowing us to be their squatters but seriously, people. I want to have some loud, loud sex We’re 29 years old and should no longer be living with the parents.

My sister, who is going through a divorce and such, has asked me to help her with getting her house ready to sell. The only problem is that her ex hasn’t been paying any child support (he’s been gone a year and a half, barely visits the kids, and they have three kids who she’s supporting) so she doesn’t exactly have much money to spare in the house-fixing-up department. And believe me, that house needs fixing. Rob offered to go mow their lawn (they have a H-U-G-E lawn, and both the older boys have had broken arms or whatever through the summer so they haven’t been able to mow it since probably June, so it looks a little bad) but it snowed today so that’s out for now. Yep.

Not an interesting post, but at least it gets the big long title off the top of the page.

Fucking car. Fucking car repair costs.
Fucking fuckety fuck.

It snowed today. It’s the second snow of the season (although the first snow lasted maybe twelve seconds, so I refuse to count it), the first one to have ‘stuck’.
As much as I’m feeling overrun with snowpants and wet socks and lost mittens, it’s so much fun to see the absolute joy in these kids’ eyes as they anticipate going out and rolling around. Or to hear them come running up to me and saying in their very best French , “Madame! Madame! It neiged! And me and Laura made a bonhomme de neige!”
… okay, give them a break, they’re only six and barely started learning the words in September.

Other: Rob and I were doing supremely well, having put a whopping $200 into the Wedding Fund. Then our car decided to die — not die, like, oh the car needs a new muffler. Nope. Die as in it won’t start, nothing we do will make it start, it’s abandoned at the co-op (although my dad and I went out in the neige last night and towed it to the garage where as I type this it is being poked at by a mechanic who will probably tell us that the repair will cost way more than the $200 we have in the Wedding Fund). So I’ve been driving my dad’s truck (which I love doing, by the way) to and from work. Anyway, this brings us to a question. If I were to start selling knitted goods (custom made or or whatever) to help raising funds for the nuptials, would anyone out there be even interested? I’m making a blanket for one person, and a couple of hats. Other than that…?

Okay that was just an idea.
IT SNOWED!

Rob*: You know, I haven’t solved any of my problems with a rocket launcher in awhile. I should do that.

Louise: You should solve your armpits with a rocket launcher.

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Dear Department Stores:
FAT PEOPLE DO NOT NEED SUPER LOW RISE FLARE LEG VELOUR PANTS WITH SPANGLES AND A SNOWFLAKE MOTIF THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

Okay, now that that’s off my chest:
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I’ve always had some very vivid and very strange dreams. Last night was no exception:

I was in high school again. My best friend was Prince William (ignore the fact that he’s like, six years younger than I am in real life– in my dream we were the same age). Prince William had somehow acquired the ability to turn his British accent on and off, so that he could speak like a regular old Canadian (eh?) whenever he wanted. Apparently his Canadian accent was enough of a disguise that people didn’t realize that he’s the future King of England, even though when speaking to him, we all addressed him as Prince William. As in “Hey, Prince William, you gonna eat those fries?”

Anyway, the main part of my dream involved Madonna paying a visit to my high school. Everyone in the school was excited, but no one could get close enough to even look at her because she was hiding in a secret stairway. But Prince William and I managed to sneak up on her. Prince William started taking pictures with his awesome (hey, he’s the future King of England) super-duper digital camera. Then her bodyguards noticed us and grabbed Prince William’s camera from him and started yelling. It was time to reveal the secret! P.W. threw off his Canadian accent and elocuted in all his eloquent glory “Prithee return my camera, fair sir!” after which the bodyguard guy like, got down on bended knee and such as is fitting when you’ve just stolen the Future King of England’s digital camera and called him a dick.
So then Prince William and I got about five feet away from Madonna and took some pictures (even though I suppose we could have gone right up to her– I think our survival instincts had set in), then ran off and looked at them. She was looking a little… uhm… brittle? And leathery?
Yeah.

Okay that’s that for my dream.