centre of the universe - the dreaming

So. Only one of these scenarios really happened in the really really world.

You might not know this, but I spent the weekend at a monastery while His Nibs and the kids stayed at home. And do you know what happened there? A whole lot of sex. Serioulsy. Couldn't get away from it. A staggering amount of sex. What's the collective noun for an awful lot of copulation? There was a nuzzle of sex. (Wait; can you *have* a collective noune for a verb? It does seem rather counter-intuitive, doesn't it? Maybe it's a collective adjective then.) There was nuzzling and caressing and humping and fucking every time I turned around. I am *totally* not complaining. At a MONASTERY (and yes, the Benedictines are Roman Catholic).

Now, in the dream I had last night (yes, that first part actually happened), Neuba and her J and their gorgeous baby, and Darth Xander and *his* J and *their* gorgeous baby, and a bunch of people who haven't any gorgeous babies at all were all staying in a hotel of sorts. It seemed to me that Neuba and her J were living in this apartment/condo complex, because they had a bathtub in the main room. It was a large clawfoot tub with coloured water and jets. And Yours Truly was about 5 months pregnant. (**sigh**) I mean, lots of other things happened, but that was the real salient point. Oh, and my mum showed up. She and I and my grandmother had a *really* long conversation last night (thank you, mugwort tea!), but I wasn't expecting to see mum again tonight. She was disdainful of all the crap I'd brought to the hotel/apartment (with good right). She also told me to lose some weight (she's been telling me that since I was eleven, and she's right).

So a big hey to Neuba and her J and their wee wiggler, and to Darth Xander and his J and their wee wobbler. You guys seem to be doing great!

Also, babies and toddlers from now on shall be called 'wigglers and wobblers', and in the store I own that has toys, handmade clothes, and other kidstuff, that's how their section shall be labelled. Make it so.

Labels: babies, dreams, smart folks

In Which Stephen Hawking phoned me last night: he was Very Concerned about my water filtration service. I thought it was odd that Stephen Hawking would be so concerned about my water filtration service, since it was not he who installed it. Nonetheless, he asked me several questions about the system, the service call we'd recently had done, and our overall impressions of the water filtration system company.

Keep your eyes peeled for some Grand Water Filtration System Unification Theory. That dude is SMART. Although you'd never have known it from the way he was phrasing his questions - must have had an undergrad write them.

In Which the Canadian government is being totally hypocritical ... FOR A CHANGE: Television broadcasters in Canada are In Trouble. They're thinking they might have to move out, go to visit an aunt in Calgary for about nine months and when they return, they'll have dark circles under their eyes and fabulous hair. But rather than send them away, the Canadian government has decided that it will...okay wait. Before I get in to this, I want to make a point or two.

Point the First: The Canadian government currently calls itself "Conservative". Usually, "Conservatives" are allergic to socialism and Great Equalisers. They want no one to have the same as anyone, and believe that It Is Okay to run a country so that the people who have the most never have to come in to contact with people who have nothing. They are not really so much about making things equal. Particularly this government, who decided to do away with the Royal Commission on the Status of Women. Oh wait, they didn't *do away with it*; they just cut most of the funding. Or said they were going to. They've also done things like do away with any motivation for some kind of National Daycare Program, choosing instead to give $100 to families for each child under 6 living in the house. Enough about how they don't like to make things equal.

Point the Second: The Canadian government likes to talk big about how it supports independent business and how government should get out of the business of business and concentrate on government.

Now. The Canadian Government saw that many smaller television stations in the country are In Trouble. So, in these times of difficult economic dwindles and thrusts, the Canadian Government has decided they will ...how does that expression go... oh yes. Rob Peter to pay Paul.

In Which cenobyte makes dinner:
The Captain (in a Whiny, Petulant Voice, all the way from the sitter's): "What are we having for supper?"
cenobyte, vigorously: "Turkey brains!" or "Pinecones!" or "Sauteed midget!"
The Captain and The Nipper, at home: "What's for supper?"
cenobyte, filling one pot with water: "Noodles!"
cenobyte places another pot on her head.
"Uh. Mum?"
cenobyte, in a totally neutral tone: "Yes?"
"Um. Why..." stares intently at cenobyte for a moment. "Why are you wearing a pot on your head?"
cenobyte scoffs. "Pot!!?? POT?? This, SON, is a HELMET. We must always observe the Canadian Food Guide's Recommendations for Cookery Safety. At ALL TIMES."
The Nipper shakes his head. "Mum. That really is a pot."
"Oh ye of little faith."
"Moo-oommm. You can TELL it's a POT because it has a big sticky-outy handle."
cenobyte glances up at the big sticky-outy handle. "Oh. You appear to be right." Replacing the pot on the hangar, she retrieves the steel colander. "THIS is my helmet. Remember: Safety first!"
"Mum, that ...thingy... doesn't have any padding. If something hit you in the head..."
"SUCH AS A METEOR!??" cenobyte shouts, interrupting, which is a Big No.
"Uh. Sure. Such as a meteor...if something hit you in the head, you'd still get hurt because there's no padding in there."
Cenobyte pads off to the living room and retrieves a leather fringed purse she purchased as a costume. She places it on her head so that the fringe falls down across her face, then replaces the steel colander and ties it under her chin with a shoelace.

Now the children are *really* staring. Cenobyte grabs a handful of uncooked spaghetti.
"Mum?"
"Yes, son?"
"What. Are you doing?"
"Safety first."
"No," The Captain says, staring.
"The SPAGHETTI!" The Nipper shouts. "What are you doing with that spaghetti?"
cenobyte stares at her children. "Making antennae. Duh. I have to be able to communicate with Command. How else will I know when the meteor is about to strike?"
The boys stare, open-mouthed, at cenobyte.
"That's...that's..."
"Really weird." The Nipper contributes.
"No! That's BRILLIANT!" The Captain shouts.

cenobyte grabs a large steel spoon off the wall. She holds it to her mouth. "This is cenobyte, man on the street. I'm here interviewing The Captain, for your Man on the Street update. The Captain? What are your feelings about meteors?" cenobyte shoves the spoon in The Captain's face.
"Uh. Meteors are huge balls of frozen space debris that cruise through the universe at incredible speeds?"
"Pffft." Says cenobyte. "How long until TOTAL ANNIHILATION occurs, due to meteors?"
"Um. Never?"
"There you have it. The Captain believes we have Nothing To Worry About. As for me, I'm wearing a helmet, so I'm Perfectly Safe."

Moments later, The Nipper grabs the spoon and wanders around the kitchen shoving it in our faces. "What do you think about meteors?" he hollers. "WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT DINOSAURS!!???"
"Hi my name is cenobyte and I think dinosaurs will someday be destroyed by meteors thank you very much GO RIDERS!!!"

Again with the staring.

THAT was a good night.

Labels: Canadian politics, dinosaurs, helmet, kids, meteors, safety, smart folks