I Would Have Paid Extra for Delivery

Whenever my dad visits from Montreal, he brings along a stash of smoked meat from Schwartz's. This is an essential part of his visit, without which I probably wouldn't bother to invite him over. No, not really, but my point being is that I really REALLY like Schwartz's smoked meat.

My dad and I have been discussing his trip to Toronto for this week, basically working out the likely timing of his arrival and departure, as well as the quantity of smoked meat he had to bring along. We were going to have a family member joining us for dinner on the night of his arrival, so we had to make sure that there was enough smoked meat to go around. The added bonus is that dinner would already be made, and I wouldn't have to do any work.

Dad arrived via carpool with a fellow Montrealer, who dropped him and his luggage off at my front door, then took off for his own destination. Upon rifling through his many bags in my kitchen, Dad asked, "Where's the smoked meat?"

'G-d damn, mother f-ing, son-of-a, f*ck, F*ck, F*CK!!!!!', is what I thought, but I managed to just sit there breathing deeply while Dad walked around kicking himself for his error. He didn't know his friend's cell number. So we began to sit and wait, hoping that his friend would look into the depths of his trunk for something that we and he would undoubtedly prefer to find sooner rather than later.

Knowing that I didn't have a chance of putting together any sort of edible dinner given that it was already dinner time (not that having extra time helps much), I resigned myself to the idea of pizza or Chinese food. I actually heard my taste buds start to cry and dry up in the anticipation of such a let down. Then Dad remembered something.

His friend's home phone was being forwarded to his cell! We made contact! It was rush hour, so I did a cost/benefit analysis of driving through Toronto in our usual gridlocked traffic versus not having my beloved Schwartz's that I had been thinking about all day.

I've gotta tell you, that was the longest drive I've ever taken to pick up dinner.

Maybe it's Time for a GPS?

I'm notorious for forgetting to carry along necessary papers that I have set aside for various purposes. I often make grocery lists, then find myself calling home from the grocery store, asking whomever is home to read me the list that I inevitably left on the kitchen counter top. I often print out maps to destinations, only to find myself trolling along through foreign neighbourhoods, trying to recall what was on the map which undoubtedly still resides next to the printer.

About 15 minute ago, I took Pumpkin to a birthday party. I didn't bother to print out the map because I'm fairly familiar with the area, but I did manage to forget the invitation with the house address on it. Meh! How hard could it be to find a court, beginning with the letter S, in such a small neighbourhood. I didn't know the house number, but I anticipated that it would be the house with all the cars parked outside.

I found a court, beginning with the letter S, off the street that it was supposed to be off of, where I saw a house decked out with streamers and balloons. Without a doubt that I was at the right place, I pulled in to the driveway and got Pumpkin up to the front door, ready to party.

Too bad that Pumpkin doesn't know eight year old Jordan who is celebrating his birthday at that particular house today.

We had better luck on the next street over. A little variation on the street naming please!

It's Not About Me???

We were at a Bat Mitzvah this past Sunday. Typically we don't bring our kids with us when we attend formal events (not that we get invited to too many), but a Bat Mitzvah party is actually kid oriented, regardless of the black tie optional designation, so we decided to bring Pumpkin along, who is now old enough to appreciate a good time.

The last time we attended one of these, we were still a childless couple, and I remember not quite getting why these parties were orchestrated in such a way. Once again, it was black tie option, and everyone was in their formal wear. The DJ was going nuts, riling up all the kids, who were going crazy dancing, screaming, and trying to get their share of the toys and paraphernalia that the DJ was flinging off of the stage.

I remember looking at my FIL, who was clearly annoyed by the loud music, sitting there with a frown, in a tux, with a glow stick wrapped around his head. I decided then that this type of party was the most ridiculous thing going, regardless of any cultural significance.

This past week-end, I figured it out. I guess I had to actually bring my own kid to realize that the party was actually FOR kids. Duh! THEY like to get dressed up and have a fancy night of celebration. We adults are just extra! We weren't even in our right to tsk tsk at the gaggle of twelve year old girls who were all scantily clad in short, tight, sequined black dresses! It was THEIR night. (Eeeek, nonetheless!)

Despite my realizing that the night wasn't about me in the slightest, I had the most fun that I ever had at one of these. Pumpkin was a hoot! She felt so special in her 'fancy' dress (cough, $16 at Winners, cough cough), and danced around like she was the belle of the ball. I ended up getting my groove on too, as we had to get up to the stage and boogie if we wanted any of the t-shirts, boas, pillows, and inflatable junk that the DJ crew was doling out.

This was purely for Pumpkin, of course. I wouldn't have been jumpin' around to Lady Gaga in a crowd full of tweens otherwise. I'm much too s'phisticated for that...

First on the floor, dancing like no one was watching.

'Cause Everyone Wants to Know how it Turned Out

Since you've all been waiting for it, this is what Ma's hair looked like styled after enduring three days of Bieber Hair:
As the week wore on, her hair got flatter, which is not what straight-haired people generally like, but is actually quite desirable when you've got straightened, curly hair. As you Torontonians are aware, this was a particularly humid and rainy week, which usually causes frizz, but in my mom's case caused a tendency back towards 'The Bieber'.

I guess it's fair to say that the keratin straightening treatment works. Hurray, if that's your thing.

This is in no way an endorsement for the straightening of curly hair. EMBRACE THE CURL!!! (unless you want to be on TV, in which case it seems that straightening is the only option. Oh, and if you have a Bat Mitzvah to attend this Sunday night and your hairdresser doesn't work on Sundays, rendering you to live with a 'do' that will carry over from a Saturday appointment. But those are the only allowable circumstances!)

She Just Needs to Master the Hair Flip

I have curly hair. Up until about 7 years ago, I was quite resentful of it. Throughout high school and years after, I did my best to straighten it, or tie it back, or braid it, or imprison it in a banana clip, but I can't say that I ever liked it. In my late 20s, the curls and I made peace. I figured out how to work them to my advantage, and now I have strangers approaching me on the street, asking me how to obtain the same curl definition. I'm so proud.

My mom, on the other hand, hates her curly hair and has always had her hair done by professional stylists. Every week, her hair is straightened and set, such that most people are unaware of the pent up curls hiding within her perfectly styled coif. This has presented her with the problem of avoiding humidity, sweat, rain, wind, sneezing, spicy food..., you get the picture. It now appears though that there is finally a method for dealing with this affliction.

There is a keratin treatment that is all the rage, which is more or less a reverse perm, that truly keeps hair straight for 3-6 months. It may not leave hair looking like Jennifer Aniston's, but apparently any remaining curl will only manifest itself in the form of smooth waves, and not some Brillo pad that has scoured one pot too many. Oh the 80's were painful for me!

So back to my mom, she decided to bite the bullet and cough up the bazillion dollars required for such a treatment, hoping that she can go out for a walk this summer without coming home looking like Roseanne Rosannadana. There is really just one catch, unless you consider the bazillion dollar fee a catch.

Once the hair is treated, it must be ironed flat against one's head, not to be styled, covered, washed, or touched for three days. Consequently, my mom now reminds of a segment that I recently saw on The Tonight Show titled, 'Too Old for Bieber Hair!'

I've gotta tell you, I'm having so much fun with this! Every time she walks into the room, I point and shout, "Bieber hair!!!", while laughing maniacally, as mom raises an eyebrow at me in annoyance. It's totally been the highlight of my day!