August 7th, 2010 by Sherry

My house is still for sale. I guess that’s one of the reasons we’re having an Open House tomorrow, huh?
Ugh, open house. The thought of strangers wandering through my personal space, in my house unsupervised, yuck.
It doesn’t matter that there’s nothing really personal of me left in the space, but it’s still my space.
It doesn’t matter that I want to desperately get out and stop calling it my space, it’s still mine.
Which leads me to wonder, why am I not taking this open house more seriously? Well, because life has been stressful as always, work has been kicking my ass, there have been NO bites on the listing, and I’m just beaten up. I just don’t have the energy to give a crap and I’m back in the mindset that “it’s not really so bad”.
It’s kind of cathartic. It’s kind of scary.
It’s very much, typical me. If something has gotten so overwhelming that I can’t deal with it without losing myself in the process, walk away.
The problem is, typical me is getting really, really, easy to be.

August 5th, 2010 by Sherry

When I initially thought about doing this post, I thought it would be favorable to iPhone users only, but come to find out we’re catering to not only iPhone users, but Blackberry, android and Palm as well. This makes me happy.
If you haven’t guessed already, Gowalla is a cellular phone app. A cellular phone app that I totally dig.
I was sitting in a restaurant on vacation, gettin mah Gowalla on, when I thought it would make a good blog post. Well, probably not a particularly good blog post, but it would entertain me, hence the point.
Gowalla is a type of travelling passport status application. When you go to new/unique or favorite places, you “check in” with your Gowalla passport. Sometimes the place has been created, sometimes you create it yourself. If the location has already been created, you can see who was there and when by their “check in” status and you can have a friend list on Gowalla just like twitter, facebook, etc. It’s a mildly stalkerish app, totally dependent on how many people you want to involve or not involve.
I only have one friend. Yep, one friend, and we’re never in the same places but I amuse myself enough using Gowalla without anyone else’s help. But that’s just me.
I used to amuse myself with a spoon and a shoe lace when I was a kid. I apparently don’t have high standards.
Okay, so anyway, if you’re feeling like you could use something new, a funky whatever that you don’t necessarily need but are all about yet another toy…..there’s an app for that!!! Really? You honestly thought I could resist the cliche? Have you met me?
I’ve certainly linked it enough up there ^ to make sure you have no excuse but to check it out. Check it out! It’s a free app, too, and we like free. A lot.
Besides, I told you, I only have one friend. I need some more. I can’t even convince my family to use this app though, so prove you’re cooler than they are. Check it out.
Friend me. Or something. (User name Sherendipity, duh) I don’t know, whatever. Even if you just check it out, load it up, and like it as much as I do and just let me know I’m not the only dork out there.
And by the by, I’m going to write crap about other apps that I like too. Beware.

Hey….wait, come back…..

August 4th, 2010 by Sherry

August 2nd, 2010 by Sherry

On our trip back home from dropping Caitlin off in Montreal for her flight to Africa, we stopped in beautiful Gananoque.

I wanted to do the 3 hour boat tour, but we arrived too late and missed the last trip by a half an hour.
While checking into our hotel, I noticed a flyer on the front counter for the Gananoque Ghost Tour. It was a ninety minute walking tour of the town, boasting historical and spooky facts about it’s founder and residents. Of course, with my adoration for all those supernatural, and my love for the town of Gananoque, I couldn’t resist.
Besides, what else was there to do until morning when we could take our boat tour before heading home?

The tour was pretty cool. Not so much for the spookiness, not so much for the history, because I’m really not a history buff, but I got to walk around Gananoque and take pretty pictures of beautiful things all the while being amused by strangers. And boobs. This was our guide:

Ok, not so much boobs as just really great cleavage. It was hard not to be distracted. About a third of the way through, when we had fallen behind the group a bit because I was snapping photos, I turned to Brad and said, “Alright seriously, how many times have you looked at her rack?” I can’t remember his exact response although it was something like they were screaming at you to stare at them, and he was right.
She was adorable though, and a good story teller, and very personable and fun.
I can’t remember most of the stuff that she talked about because it really wasn’t that interesting, but I did have a good time on the tour.
Here’s some pretty:

Mad props to Gananoque founder Joel Stone, who’s life was quite the roller coaster ride, and I think based on that we could be related:

Restaurant and Inn. 3rd floor is reported to be unused and very haunted. Had I know that, we wouldn’t have been staying at the lame old Quality Inn:

What’s a ghost story post without a creepy black cat photo? Also, why is it that creepy black cat photos always look creepy without help?

“The hang tower.” Disappointingly named because this is where they used to hang fire hoses:

Not haunted, just really freaking pretty:

Third floor of restaurant and Inn…apparently haunted by a stuffed bunny:

Nana Splitz. Not haunted, just guilty of false advertising. They had no bananas.

Gananoque Town Hall and the end of the tour. Apparently haunted by the family who originally lived in the house when it was a residence. I can’t blame the lady of the house, who would want to leave such a gorgeous structure?

July 31st, 2010 by Sherry

It takes a special kind of person to recognize the infamous imprint of “sucker” on one’s forehead, when it goes unnoticed to so many others.
I am, unfortunately, not the recognizer, but the recognized.
I blame no one but myself. I let the excuse of time and want cloud my vision, and didn’t cross my t’s and dot my i’s. But time was a factor, and want, with me, always wins.
I told the story of sitting in the garage waiting for the cabrio to get safetied. I’ve even blamed karma for the results, because I slightly mocked the 300 pound lady. Truth is, the result can only be blamed on my invisible customary forehead stamp.
I, ladies and gentleman, am a sucker.
The car that I was so proud of myself for getting for my price, and not the sellers, as it turns out will likely cost me as much as I paid for it, to make it safe, road worthy and adequate.
The seller, who I invested such a high regard for, was a freakin’ schister. (I’m sure that’s spelled wrong, but that’s okay. Misspellings don’t cost extra.)
There are SO many things wrong with it. Luckily I have found a garage that is willing to do the repairs and not charge me my first born. At least I hope, anyway. The car is still there and I haven’t heard the outcome of the etest repairs. Oh, ya, the etest repairs are only the first set of doctoring that the cabbie needs. If they can get it to pass the etest without charging me an arm and a leg, then we will proceed with the safety repairs.
I was on cloud 9 with this car. She’s adorable, and fun, and I’ve waited for her for 24 years, and I fell in love. I spent the greater part of the week planning her new body work, and paint job, and possibly a new roof during the winter months. Looking around for a new stereo and seat covers for the summer.
Now I’m using that money to just make her road worthy. And yet, I still love her.
I never got the allure of buying an old car and investing time and sweat and money into restoring it. I’m far too fond of comfortable seats, cruise control and new car smell to grasp that nostalgia.
That is, until I sat in the cabbie for the first time after I shelled out an envelope of cash and made her mine.
Now I own a total piece of shit, hunk of metal that is causing me stress, and grief, and a money bleed….and all I can think of is when I can have her back, when I can cruise with the top down, and how happy she makes me.
I won’t, however, ever understand why people do this:

July 28th, 2010 by Sherry

Here I sit in the garage waiting for the results of the cabbie’s eTest and safety.
Have I ever mentioned how much I don’t like car service areas?
Now, don’t get me wrong, this one is nice enough. Lots of chairs, air conditioning, big windows so you can totally creep the mechanics and watch them work on your car. It’s okay, but it’s still a garage.
I’m still girl who knows next to nothing about cars.
I’m still at the mercy of the grease monkeys who decide the fate of my wallet.
Today I’m even the girl who got gas before she came here, and forgot her gas cap at the gas station. Did you know you can’t pass an eTest or safety without a gas cap?
Ugh.
So, after a trip back to the gas station to retrieve my cap, here I sit.
Having to move chairs because the man 2 seats next to me won’t sit still and is rocking me so hard I’m getting sea sick.
Listening to a baby cry because his 300lb Mother is force feeding him ice cream.
I swear she’s that heavy.
Watching as the place fills up with more and more people on the other side of the waiting room, hoping and praying they don’t spill over to my chairs and suck up the last remaining oxygen in the room.
I’m learning an uncomfortable fact about myself, in my old age. I don’t like crowds. Maybe I don’t like people. Maybe both. Either way, I’m finding myself more and more uncomfortable in social situations and think I might be destined to live the life of the Unibomber, except with more technology and without the “bombing” part.

July 26th, 2010 by Sherry

Look at her!!!! She’s GORGEOUS!!

This is my new, very used, Summer hobby. I LOVE HER!!
From the time that I was old enough to drive, I have wanted a Volkswagen Cabriolet. I would have never imagined that I would be buying it as my midlife crisis car.
I’ve had her since Sunday and put almost 200 kilometers on her already. That’s not necessarily a good thing, considering she’s 20 years old and I need to baby the old girl.
A plan on putting in a little money dressing her up a tad, giving her some new life, and sharing my summer’s with her.
Of course, I haven’t got her safetied or etested yet, so she could turn out to be a total money pit, but in the last 24 hours that she’s been mine…. I LOVE HER!!

July 4th, 2010 by Sherry

July 1st, 2010 by Sherry

Milestones. They are something, aren’t they?
First baby teeth. First words. First steps. First day of school. First day of high school. First boyfriend. First heart break. First car. Firsts. It was hard enough going through them on my own, let alone going through them with someone you love more than life itself.
This week brought us to Graduation and Senior Prom. And last night I sat alone and drank half a bottle of margaritas, thankful for the silence and calm. Bring on summer break.
Graduation was Tuesday night and went off without a hitch. She was beautiful in her cap and gown, and I was prouder than ever.

And then there was Prom. You know, the only Senior Prom that she will ever have. The one where she found found the absolute PERFECT dress, and was so excited for.
The day started out great. She was home early from the Grad after party, not hungover, and happy as a clam. She was able to go set up her tent for the Prom after party, pick her dress up from the seamstress, come home, shower, and we were actually early for her hair appointment…..until she realized after driving the 20 minutes to Niagara Falls, that she had forgotten her hair accessories at home. I pulled a U turn on the highway over passes and headed back home, only to realize that I should probably just drop her off at the Salon, go back home myself, and then drive the hair stuff back to the Salon while she was getting her updo. So I pulled another U turn on the next overpass, and headed back in the direction that I had just come from….with Allymonkey in the back seat chirping, “I’m pretty sure we just went in a circle.”
I was able to get back in time for the stylist to use the gold headbands, only to hate them while they were in her hair. And, funny thing, on my way back to the salon all I could think of was, “She should have tried her dress on this morning when we picked it up from the seamstress. Nah, I’m sure it will be fine.”
Hello, Mamabear instinct?? TRUST YOURSELF NEXT TIME!!!
So Caitlin is sitting in the hairdresser’s chair, as I’m looking at her hair and cringing because I hate it so much, and says, “I look like the janitor from Joe Dirt.”
Enter Christopher Walken….

And you know what? She did. So that’s when I spoke up and now her hairdresser probably hates me, but that’s okay because she only gets one senior Prom and I was not going to let her go looking like someone from Joe Dirt.
In the end, Erin fixed Caitlin’s hair and I convinced her that I liked it, even though it took until I saw it with the dress to convince myself. But she’s a gorgeous kid, and she can pretty much pull off anything, and usually does, while still looking beautiful.
We raced home while scarfing down drive thru in the car, Caitlin painting her nails trying not to give me a migraine, picked up the boutonnières, and barely having time to prep her and get her to the beach on time for pictures.
…….and she walks out into the living room, wearing her dress, in tears. I didn’t notice what it was right away, but one side of her dress was a half an inch shorter in the bodice, than the other. It was also a different shape. This is a problem, when the entire upper half of her dress is two simple pieces, that are identical to each other. Or, supposed to be.
The seamstress was only supposed to tack the straps 1/2 an inch in the back of the dress, so she could keep it and wear it again. Instead, she ripped the FRONT of the dress and altered the seams. Then she sewed the front of the dress back together, in a straight line instead of at a point, where the straps met and the upper left side of the dress was half an inch shorter than the right. I’m sure this would have been fine, if she was going to wear one heel and one flat shoe.
SERIOUSLY??!!
Long story short, I took the dress back to the idiot that ruined it, let her have it, got asked to leave, threw around some more threats, raced back to the house to calm Caitlin down and get her motivated to stop crying and finish getting ready, raced back to the seamstress with a half naked Caitlin, and arrived 45 minutes late for pictures and the prom bus.
A few more tears, a pep talk and a rushed five minutes of crappy wind blown picture taking, she was finally on the bus and on her way to, what I hope, was a memorable evening.

And I felt sick to my stomach.
If I didn’t still have the Allymonkey with me, I would have sat in my car and cried my eyes out. It was her Senior Prom, it was supposed to be magical. Not a day of disappointment and stress.

June 29th, 2010 by Sherry

It was a year ago today that my Burgie was violently taken from me. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him.