I have to go up to Edmonton on Friday for a seriously, kick ass Creative Memories scrapbooking conference called Showcase (stop laughing). It’s held once a year and I am looking forward to many things about Showcase.
- Sleeping in a Heavenly bed (that’s seriously what they’re called at the Westin)
- Listening to loud music on the drive up
- Seeing friends and colleagues, some of whom I haven’t seen since CM’s last Showcase
- Cocktails on Friday & Saturday
- Hanging out with my cousin who I am brainwashing exposing to the business end of scrapbooking
I registered for this conference a while ago & began having heart palpitations around leaving Jude and Emmy with Alec. Now, it needs to be said that I scored in the husband department (and no, I’m not sucking up for a little cunnilingus – it’s just a fact). Alec is like the Thor of husbands, except he can change a diaper while wielding his hammer. So, I really shouldn’t have any reservations about leaving the kids with him. They will all be just fine and have a great time. Once I accepted that as soon as I hit the highway the house wouldn’t burn to the ground, the heart palpitations went away.
I have to pay respects to Statler & Waldorf once I hit the city & again on Sunday. I was debating not telling them about the trip, but that’s just lying by omission, and Statler possesses an unholy ability of finding shit out. So I decided to let them in on the trip but letting it be known I won’t have a lot of time to visit because I paid for this mofo and intend to get as much out of the weekend as I can. That’s when Statler asked me if it costs money to park my vehicle at the hotel. I say “yes, $26 a day” OUCH! That means I’d be paying $78 bucks just to park my friggin’ car, that kind of financial anal rape just pisses me off, but I accepted it. So, Statler says “Well, why don’t you park here and Dad can drive you downtown and pick you up on Sunday”. Crap. It’s a really kind offer (which I accepted), but it doesn’t come without a price. With Statler & Waldorf, never, ever confuse price with cost.
Parking will cost me zero dollars.
Price will be an extended visit I hadn’t banked on.
Statler & Waldorf just redid their kitchen. After threatening to sue the cabinet people, calling a separate contractor and calling a news channel (seriously, don’t fuck with her) it appears the work has been completed to her liking. Couple this with having a new driveway poured & having the city show up because the concrete dudes jackhammered a giant hole in the road in front of their house (I totally think in retaliation to how they were treated, but maybe I’m too spiteful). This has made for many phone calls in my direction to generally bitch and moan about how the cabinet guy didn’t take his shoes off, the concrete guys had too many tattoos and she had to deal with all of it, because apparently, Waldorf is a door mat (no shit).
Anyway, picture if you will, Statler yelling at the cabinet company (on the phone), then having to go outside to deal with the arrival of the city & getting that straightened out. It took hours I tell you, hours to properly bitch these people out. Having sufficiently yelled at everyone, she heads inside & decides she needs some juice. Finds a glass, gets ice out of the dispenser & reaches to open the fridge door – which promptly falls off it’s hinges. This visual was God giving me a little gift for the hours I spent on the phone convincing Statler that the cabinets would turn out great, the driveway will be just fine and that it was highly unlikely that any of the men would want to have sex with her, so it was probably okay that she was home alone with the workers.
I am mentally preparing myself for the onslaught of questions regarding my weight, choice of hair colour and why there’s a receipt on the floor of my vehicle (which my Waldorf will undoubtedly find while looking after the SUV for the weekend).
I’m thinking of fucking with them. I’m going for a pedicure tomorrow, while at the mall, I may buy some lingerie – not for Alec, but to leave the receipt in the vehicle so Waldorf can find it. I’ll put some loose leaf tea in the glove box so Statler thinks I’m smoking pot and leave some kind of sexually explicit book lodged under the driver’s seat – with highlights. I’m open to suggestions too.
Perhaps the visit won’t be as bad as I thought. At least I’ll get to see the damn cabinets.