February 09, 2005

What's the worst possible thing that can happen when you borrow your husband's boss's car?

If you answered "Run over a class of pre-school aged children, killing them all instantly and setting off a chain reaction that results in the nuclear annhilation of all mankind", you'd probably be right. In fact compared to that, what I did (backed into a fence with Sam's Navigator and crunched up the hindquarter) doesn't seem too bad, right?  I JOKE TO HIDE THE PAIN. What kind of jackass borrows her husband's boss's car and SMASHES IT ALL UP????

Okokokokokok.  Can we please rewind, that was the very last thing that happened the whole trip, and I'm a-gettin' way ahead o omeeself which apparently turns me Scottish.

Got into 'ronto, and a lot of people have let me know how my proclivity to shorthand names of places is extremely annoying but that's just too darn bad 'cuz typing 'Toronto' just seems like an incredible waste of my valuable time, where the hell were we? So we get to Canada Thursday evening and right away I'm getting hassled. The chick at the customs desk asks me to provide written proof that I have permission to travel with my kids from their father. This has never happened before. Of course I didn't have written proof, so we get dragged back to some secret KGB-ish room and Finbar gets strip searched. I'm not making this up. Meanwhile, no less than 300 arab families get waved through without incident. Dinner, sundaes, home to bed, where I thrash around for a while because my sour stomach won't let me sleep. This is normal for me these days, I've had a chronic stomach pain for the last month, basically since I got home from the big race in 'Zona. (SHUT UP.) It's not whether my stomach hurts, it's how bad. It's a dull ache until I eat or exert myself, then it's a sharp shooting pain that goes up under my ribcage. Unbeknownst to me Mike mentioned my affliction to the team doctor, so Friday night after the game this nice looking fella walks up to me with his hand extended and says, "Hi, Katie, I'm doctor so and so, Mike tells me you have bloody stools?"

Whaddya say to that?

"Why yes! He tells me you have halitosis! That Mike...." (shake my head in bemusement...)

So the doc puts me throught the rigmarole of questions and tells me to see my doctor when I get home. It was very nice of him to take the time, just saying it was too surreal to even be embarrassing.

There is a Y really close to Mike's place, we swam there Friday, but Mike arranged it so we could use the facilities at the Four Seasons which is even closer. Plus the pool is outside on the roof (super heated) and the kids thought that was great fun. I worked out there also, though as I say not too hard what with my sore tummy and everything. I actually think it was pretty heroic of me to do it at all.  But our ritual became our daily saunter down to the bakery the kids love, remember I mentioned long ago our friendly french waiter?  Then on to the Four Seasons to spend the day in the pool. Game Friday night, Molly stayed with the babysitter. We won.

Saturday we took the kids to see Finding Neverland.  LOOOOOOOOOOVED IT. I bawled at least six different times. Johnny Depp was just magnificent, so was Kate Winslet. Oh my gosh did I love it, and now I have something to totally root for on Oscar night. And how fitting that throughout the whole movie, Finbar, who couldn't see so was sitting in the aisle, was sliding down the theater stairs on his coat. That is until he passed out.

"Little boys should never be put to bed, they always wake up one day older." Oh, my gosh, I'm bawlin' again.

Then we went swimming, took the kids home, dumped 'em with the sitter and Mike and I went to The Aviator. It was good, although after the first four hours I felt a nap coming on so I slept for a while, then went into the restroom, washed up, went out and had a couple of drinks, did a crossword, spackled the ceiling, went back to sleep and when I woke up, Alan Alda finally came on screen so I watched for a bit more but then we were hungry so we finally left and when we got home there was a note from Meg saying she'd gotten married and had seven children one of whom was graduating Georgetown medical school in May and it would be nice if we sent a gift. It was a long friggin' movie. Ooooooh, the peas are blue....Scorcese.

After the game Sunday, where Molly peed all over me by the way, we had a replay..swimming, sitter, dinner and a movie.  I've been on a sushi kick believe it or not, this may have something to do with my stomach ailment but I'd rather not think about that (the truth is I always get the vegetarian stuff, I refuse to eat raw fish. So we went to this sushi place that someone recommended and it was pretty yucky. The problem was that the pieces were the size of donuts. I mean a little morsel you can pop in your mouth is yummy and tasty in an unusual and exotic way, but a huge blob of the stuff all at once was pretty vile. It felt like it got bigger and gloppier the more I chewed.

Sunday's flick was Million Dollar Baby, rounding out our oscar contender weekend.

This movie has been lauded pretty much across the board. I thought it was a big fat cliche-riddled snoozer. Sorry, I'm sure no one will agree with me, but it was. Old grizzled guy with an estranged family, fiesty chick battling the odds, wizened old black coot who provides voice-over narration....am I seriously the only person who feels like I've seen this before?? Plus, EW promised no way would I guess the ending and Oi Am Soirry, but Ray Charles could've seen that coming. Plus the whole thing was so bleak and washed out looking, I was begging for some blue peas to show up. Hated it. I know I've just invited all sorts of abuse, but there you go. Consider that sacred cow tipped.

Next day we packed up, smashed Sam's car and went to the airport. The kids and I had to rush to make our plane, got all our kid stuff unpacked, and the waitress announces the plane has a flat and we have to de-board. FIVE HOURS LATER we got back on. FIVE HOURS. In. An. Airport. With. Three. Kids. One of whom is three years old. Hell does not even begin to describe. By the time we got home I had a headache unlike any I've ever experienced. We all went straight to bed and I let the kids sleep all morning, forget school.

So that's about it, I get nauseous every time I think about Sam's car......I mean I would probably have felt nauseous anyway what with my abdominal tumor and whatnot but really. I see the doctor in the morning.

Watching American Idol. Thinking about cutting my hair short, not Annette Bening short, but short-ish. Must be February.

© Katie McCollow, 2005 • katie.mccollow@mac.com