Warlock, What Have They Done To You?

I remember the day Uncle Matthew died.

 I did the math and I was ten years old when it happened.  I remember Uncle Matthew laying on his right side facing the window.  Even though he was drifting in and out of consciousness, he kept telling the doctors he was more comfortable on his side.  He had been in the hospital for a couple of weeks at that point but he had been fighting cancer for over a year.  When he was admitted this time, it wasn't supposed to get this bad.  He went downhill quickly.

 I really liked Uncle Matthew.  He was around ten years younger than my dad and was around ten years older than I was.  He was old enough to trust with taking me places, but young enough that we did really fun stuff.  I saw him more than I really should have too.  I lived in Nova Scotia with my mom and dad while Uncle Matthew lived with Grandma Linda in Ottawa.  But every year my parents would choose one holiday to visit and twice a year my dad would need to come to Ottawa because the headquarters of the company he worked for were located there.  When I turned five or six, Dad would take me on the trips with him and we would stay with Grandma Linda and Uncle Matthew. 
We were in Ottawa for one of those trips when Uncle Matthew was admitted.  When he started getting really bad, mom started making the trip from Cape Breton to be with us.

It was also that visit that dad told me I was born in that very hospital.  I was surprised.  I just assumed I was born in Nova Scotia.  Dad told me that they had come to visit for Thanksgiving and during the visit him and mom were in a car accident.  Somehow, this sent my mom into labour and I showed up way sooner than I was scheduled for.  Dad told me that the doctors had given up on me.  After a day in an incubator they were told I was too weak to even cry and if I didn't start breathing on my own, it wasn't going to end well.  Dad told me that when he heard crying come from my room he ran so fast he wiped out before he even got through the door.  As he told the story he started to cry.  He looked at Uncle Matthew laying in his bed and said that when he got himself off the floor, Uncle Matthew was standing next to me crying.  That's probably why Uncle Matthew took such a liking to me. He was there when I finally decided to start breathing.

I remember when Grandpa John arrived to the hospital.  He brought Papa Jack and Nanny Margaret with him, which were his parents.  So, my great grandparents.  Right after them was Grandma Linda who was somewhere in the hospital.  Everyone started hugging everyone and wrapping their arms around each other and tried to keep from crying.  In retrospect, it was nice to see Grandma Linda and Grandpa John hugging because they really did not get along.  I never did figure out why. 

The only person not taking part in the comforting was Nanny Margaret.  She was in that strange phase of dementia.  I don't know how else to put it.  Sometimes she was lucid, sometimes she stared off into space.  When she was present, you didn't know what was going to come out of her mouth.  Sometimes it made sense, sometimes it didn't.  When everyone arrived, she just sat in her wheelchair and stared off into the distance.  That is until she looked at the hospital bed and said "Who is that?"  Papa Jack told her it was Uncle Matthew, her grandson.  She wheeled herself all the way around the bed in what looked like an absolute panic.  Some tried to help her, some tried to stop her and some just tried to figure out what the heck she was trying to do.  When she got to the other side of the bed, she looked at Uncle Matthew and started to cry.  She started stroking his cheek and said something weird.  "Warlock ... what have they done to you?"

Papa Jack asked "Mother, what are you babbling on about?"  I always found it interesting that Papa called Nanny "Mother".  I don't know why.  Anyway, Papa Jack told Nanny that now was not the time.  Nanny Margaret looked at Papa Jack and said, yet again, something weird.  "He must have crossed the guild."  Papa Jack rolled his eyes and said "Lord, here we go with the guild."  Then just like that, Nanny Margaret was staring off into nothing again.  Papa Jack explained that several years back Nanny Margaret had started talking about a guild that she was part of.  Some magical group that could do wizardry and other spectacular things.  She insisted that because her birthday fell on the thirty-first of October, this granted her entry.  She had told Papa Jack that what everyone knows as Halloween had become so askew, but there was some truth to it.  After he told everyone this, he apologized for Nanny Margaret's outburst and figured that since Uncle Matthew's birthday was also October thirty-first, she just dragged him into the illusion.

 The weird stuff did not end there.  After a little while Nanny Margaret became present to what was around her again.  She looked at Uncle Matthew and began stroking his cheek again.  She wasn't crying though.  Then she turned and looked right at me and smiled.  It really scared me.  It was weird that she was smiling while next to her dying grandson and even stranger because I didn't know which Nanny Margaret was actually smiling at me.  It was just scary.  I still shudder when I picture it.  I sat there scared out of my mind.  As bad as it may sound, the fact that Uncle Matthew passed about twenty minutes later, helped because it got my mind off the look Nanny Margaret had given me.

 As much as I do remember of that day, I cannot remember how it ended up that Nanny Margaret and I were left alone in the room with Uncle Matthew.  Not only were we in a room with someone who had died, but I was left alone with a woman who no one could predict minute to minute.  But that's when Nanny Margaret looked at me and said "I'm not crazy you know."  I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded my head.  She then told me that she simply gets tired of day to day life sometimes and goes to visit her friends at the guild.  Again, I had nothing, so I added a smile to my knod.  She then looked at me and asked if she could tell me a story.  I will admit, it was purely to appease her and keep her calm, but I said yes.  This is the story she told me.

 "There was a husband and wife driving through the city.  They were not very familiar with their surroundings and unfortunately made a bad turn causing them to get into an accident.  The wife was pregnant, but was not due to give birth for more than two months.  The accident caused her to go into labour.  She gave birth to the baby, but the baby was very weak and the prognosis was not very positive.  It was almost a certainty that even with modern medicine and prayer, the baby would not last more than a couple days.  However, the baby's uncle came to visit.  He saw the heartbreak and sorrow of his brother, sister in-law and other family members around him.  The unlce was a member of a guild.  A very powerful and magical society that had a rather exclusive membership.  Standing next to the baby, he visited the guild and demanded that something be done to save the baby.  The guild refused.  There was many things they could do, but save someone from dying who was not a member of their society, was forbidden.  If every comrade could save the life of every person they did not want to die, no one would ever die.  The uncle tried and tried to find some kind of alternative, but failed.  It was then that a comrade said something very interesting.  If the baby had been born on the day it was intended to be born, they would have been part of the society.  The baby still would have been over a month premature, but would have been saved.  The uncle attempted to convince the council that the baby was supposed to be part of the guild and therefore needed to be saved.  The guild again refused because should have did not translate to is.  Even though they were defiant, the uncle did see some weakness and consideration from the council.  He felt he was making a decent argument.  He then stated that he would trade his enrollment to allow the baby into the guild.  The council deliberated and stood firm that it did not make it true.  However, they told him that the only circumstance that they would agree to was if the uncle denounced his membership to the guild, the baby would be saved.  The uncle immediately and simply looked at the council and said "Goodbye".

 At that point Nanny Margaret went away, even though she was still sitting next to me.  I saw the similarities in her story and the story my dad told me only a few hours earlier, but I wrote it off as Nanny Margaret's ramblings.  Using real life events and melding them with what she believed was real, but wasn't.

 Every once and a while, I remember Uncle Matthew, which makes me remember Nanny Margaret, which makes me remember the story.  I'm not saying I give the story any more credibility than I did at age ten.  But sometimes it's a nice story to believe is true.  Even for a few seconds.

Canadian, Single and Pissed Off

by : Matthew Terry

Current Canadian & Single bachelorette, Laura Manger, is hot with the YSI Network as well as the show's producers and may have gotten herself in hot water in the process. Manger's issues derive from the show not telling her information concerning fan favourite and odds on winner, Michael Osgoode. 

 This past week's episode featured Manger on a date with business owner Chris Byrt.  While her and Byrt were leaving a restaurant, Manger noticed Osgoode leaving an adult establishment with dancers, adult movies and other attractions.  Manger did not have the opportunity to confront Osgoode in the moment and ultimately asked the show to dismiss Osgoode without speaking to him herself.  Manger is shown telling host Beau Walker to let him go but not tell him that she caught him coming out of the establishment.  Walker obliged, leaving a very confused, and crushed, Osgoode leaving the house.

However, those who viewed the show, including Manger, saw Osgoode was there at the request of fellow bachelor Chad Oshawa, who infamously stated "If she doesn't want me tonight, I'll find some women that do."  Oshawa left the bachelor house in search of adult entertainment which he admits is a favourite pastime of his.  When his money ran out, Oshawa called the house begging for someone to bring him more funds that he had stashed in his dresser drawer.  Osgoode reluctantly brought the money to him but didn't even want to enter the building when he got there, asking the doorman to deliver the money to Oshawa.  When the doorman refused, Osgoode quickly ran in, delivered the cash and quickly made an exit.

 Before the episode finished, Manger took to TWITTER with "I swear no one told me that the strip club was not Michael's idea."   Followed almost immediately by "I truly think I'm going to be sick."  Fans began tweeting the bachelorette with messages like "Take him back." and "It's not too late."  After a few hours Manger tweeted "Just took my head out of my ass.  Wish time travel existed.  Not that easy to fix everyone."  Manger's tweets took a more and more angry tone over the next couple days with examples like "The show had LOTS of chance to tell me.  They destroyed us for good TV." and "No one is answering the [expletive] phone # they said "Call anytime." followed by "Reader's Digest version of the e-mail response I got ... "See you at the finale."

 Bad mouthing the network, the show and the people involved is only the tip of the trouble Manger may be in.  It has long been known that bachelorettes on the show must sign a very strict confidentiality agreement.  Which may come back and bite Manger after she tweeted "No disrespect to the kicker, but this really would have changed things."  This statement seemingly suggests that she ultimately chooses former pro football kicker, Kirk Long, in the end.

 Osgoode, Long and everyone involved with Canadian & Single have been Twitter
silent since the episode aired.  While Manger has been silent for three days prior to this writing.

  We will update this story as things occur.

GET THE BALL GRANDPA

GET THE BALL GRANDPA
by: Matthew Terry

I try my best to be a good grandpa.
 
 I live in Niagara Falls, Ontario.  While my son and his wife live in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia.  Obviously, my grandson lives with them, so I don't get to see and do things with him as much as I would like.  I try to make every visit as special as I can.  The problem is that he's six years old and all he wants to do is play, play and play some more.  I'm okay if I can lay on the floor and play cars or army men or board games, but I lack the ability to run with him and play outside with him.  Almost forty years sitting in the driver's seat of an eighteen wheeler will do that to your body, but I do everything I'm capable of when he asks.  So, when he said he wanted to go see a Toronto Blue Jays game, we were certainly going to see a Toronto Blue Jays game.

I wanted to get as good of seats as I could for his first ever ball game.  I don;t know if you're familiar with ticket prices these days, but they are not cheap.  However, I found three seats in the first row of the right field bleachers.  They were reasonable as far as prices go.  So, my grandson, his grandma and myself went to the game.  The one thing I did not count on was the stairs.  Lots of stairs.  At least lots of stairs for me.  It took me a while to get to our seats.  I know I held a few people up while I slowly climbed down, but they were polite and understanding.  But, when my grandson said "You're slow Grandpa.", that stung quite a bit.  Luckily, one of our seats was on the aisle so I could stretch my legs out the best I could while the game was going on.

 We were playing the New York Yankees.  During the game, my grandson asked questions about the Blue Jays, about the Yankees, about Rogers Stadium, about many things having to do with baseball.  I am not a baseball fan, but I did the best I could. 

 Thank heavens for hawkers.  Those men and women who carry drinks and snacks around the stadium.  I dreaded having to climb back up the stairs to get any kind of food or drink should my grandson want something.  Although, it did bother me when he said "Why do we have to wait?  Why can't we just go get it Grandpa?"  That being said, he was more than happy when the food was in his hands and he could chow down on it.  Unfortunately, the tears almost welled up again when everyone in the stadium started doing the wave and couldn't stand up with everyone else.  At least not in unison.  My grandson noticed.  He asked if I was okay and said I should stay in my seat so I don't hurt myself ... more.

 I can't tell you what inning it was or even what player was at bat.  I know it was a Yankee player though.  He hit the ball hard and it was heading straight for us.  I heard my grandson yell "Catch it, catch it!!"  I missed the ball entirely.  I'm pretty sure it went right through my hands.  It landed in the stairway a couple steps up from out seats.  I don't remember thinking it through, but I got out of my seat and actually lunged for the ball.  But so did several other people.  I was essentially at the bottom of the pile.  There were hands reaching all over the place, trying to grab the ball.  I can still hear my grandson yelling "Get the ball Grandpa!!"  I watched as the ball rolled away to the right, more than out of my reach.  Even if my body could muster the strength for one last stretch, I wasn't going to get it.  I watched as a man in glasses grabbed the ball and tucked it into his body for safety.  I was tryng to get up when someone grabbed my right hand.  I thought someone was trying to stablize themselves until I felt a baseball get placed in my palm.  I looked over and the man with glasses was looking me straight in the eye.  He said "You got the ball Grandpa."

 The pile broke up and another man helped me to my feet.  I looked over and saw my grandson staring at me.  I showed him the baseball and he cheered harder than he had at any point during the game.  I got a nice round of applause as I handed my grandson the ball.  I briefly looked over my shoulder and saw the man with glasses returning to his seat.  I sat down and my grandson jumped in my lap.  He gave me a real snug squeeze around the neck and said "Thank you Grandpa!"  He stayed in my lap and was simply mesmorized by the souvenir.  After a few minutes he asked if I wanted him to get off his lap.  My legs were pretty stable and I was enjoying the affection so much that I told him he didn't have to.  He went back to staring at the ball.  I wasn't even watching the game anymore.  I was enjoying that moment with my grandson so much.  Eventually, I just could not stop it.  Tears began building in my eyes.  My lip began to shake trying to limit the outward show of emotion.  My wife noticed and asked if I was hurt.  I told he that I was fine.  She asked if I was sure.  I squeezed my grandson and said I was positive.

 When the ninth inning came, the man with glasses came to mind.  I needed to thank him.  I casually looked over my shoulder and realized that his seat was empty.  The people he seemed to be sitting with were gone too.  A quick look at the score showed us leading 13-1.  I thought th eman must have decided to beat the crowd out of the stadium.  When the game did end, I slowly walked up the stairs and into the concourse.  I kept a lookout for the man with glasses, but never did see him.  For that I feel awful.  He probably figured he was giving my grandson the ball, but was using me as a middle man of sorts.  He undoubtably heard him yell "Get the ball Grandpa." and quickly devised a plan.  I don;t think he realizes just how big of a moment he created.

 About a year later I was in Cape Breton visiting my son, his wife, my grandson and their newest addition, my grandaughter.  When I got out of the car, my grandson was playing catch with his little friend on the front lawn.  He ran up and gave me a hug.  I looked at him and said "I hope that's not the ball from the Blue Jays game."  He hung his head and said that he had lost that ball and that he was sorry.  I'll admit, it hurt a little bit.  Then his little friend asked "What ball from the Blue Jays game?"  My grandson then started telling the story with so much enthusiasm that you would have thought I hit the home run rather than caught it.  That cancelled out any pain I could possibly feel.

The McEwans - Youth These Days

Bert and Ruth are sitting at the kitchen table.  Bert is reading his newspaper.  Ruth sips on her tea.  Ruth then looks out the window and ...

Ruth:  Do we have grandchildren?

Bert:  Oh no.  You are slipping away from me.  How could this happen so ...

Ruth:  Be quiet you old ...

Bert:  Well, what kind of question is that?  Of course we have grandchildren.

Ruth:  Really?  Where are they?

Bert:  Do you want exact locations or ...

Ruth:  Will you be quiet.

Bert:  You keep asking me dumb questions.

Ruth:  And you keep giving me even dumber answers.

Bert:  Why don't you get to the point.  You and I may not have enough years left to beat around this particular bush.

Ruth:  Do you remember when they used to call us every day?  They thought you and I were the greatest thing in the world.  They would run into our arms every single time we saw them.

Bert:  If they ran into our arms now, we'd fall to the ground.

Ruth:  You know what I'm talking about.  They never call anymore.  They never come over anymore.  We have grandchildren less than a mile away from this house.  Yet we never see them unless they're brought here against their will.

Bert:  It is not against their will.

Ruth:  Oh, yes it is.  They came over here for our anniversary.  Charlotte would not get off her cell phone and she kept bugging her mother to let her go out with her boyfriend rather than be here.

Bert:  They do have lives.  I'm sure if she truly didn't want to be here, they would not have made her come along.

Ruth:  Really?  Do you remember when we dragged Joseph to your parents house?  We did it on more than one occasion.

Bert:  We didn't drag Joseph anywhere.

Ruth:  If you only knew.  I don't know how many times Joey came to me saying "Mom, don;t make me ...", "Mom I don't want to go.", "Mom, Grandma smells bad and Grandpa smells worse."

Bert:  Get off of it Ruth.

Ruth:  It's true.

Bert:  Then, are you not being hypocritical by saying that Charlotte was forced to be here.  You supposedly made Joseph go places.  How can you complain that Charlotte is made to come here?

Ruth:  I see the error of my ways!  I should not have made Jospeh do anything he didn't want to do. 

Bert:  Fair enough.

Ruth:  But most of all, I can't figure out why she wouldn't want to come here.

Bert:  Maybe we smell.

Ruth:  We?

Bert:  Funny.

Ruth:  I'm calling Charlotte.

Bert:  What for?

Ruth:  I'm going to make her want to visit us.

Bert:  How are you planning on doing that?

Ruth:  Shut up.  It's ringing.

Bert:  This should be good.

Ruth:  Hello?  Charolotte?  Hello sweetheart.  It's Grandma. ... I'm doing good.  How about you? ... Great.  Sweetie, when is the last time you saw your grandfather? ... Really?  That long? ... Did you tell him you loved him? ... You don't know? ... You don't think you did? ... Oh, sweetie. Your grandfather just died.  Bet you wish you said you loved him now. ...

The McEwan's : Goin' Outside

The McEwan's: Goin' Outside


 Bert and Ruth are sitting at the kitchen table.  Bert is reading his newspaper.  Ruth sips on her tea.  Ruth then looks out the window and ...

Ruth:  Why won't you let me outside?

Bert:  Excuse me?

Ruth:  Why the heck won't you let me outside?!

Bert:  Ruth, you're an eighty year old woman.  Not a ... basset hound.

Ruth:  What do you mean by that?!

Bert:  I mean, you let dogs outside.  You do not let people outside.  They just go.

Ruth:  Forget that!  You think I look like a basset hound!

Bert:  I do not think you look like a basset hound!

Ruth:  You just said I look like a basset hound!

Bert:  I said basset hound as an example of a dog.  That's all.

Ruth:  Basset hound was the first dog you thought of?

Bert:  Yes.

Ruth:  So in the process of trying to think of a type of dog, you thought 'Hmm ... Ruth ... Basset Hound.'

Bert:  Ruth, stop!  It's just a type of dog.  You would not be happy with any breed of dog, would you?

Ruth:  No, because I'm not a dog!

Bert:  Which was my point!  You are not a dog!

Ruth:  Fine.

Bert:  Good.

Ruth:  Why can't I go outside?

Bert:  No one ever said you cannot go outside.

Ruth:  All we ever do is sit at this table.  Read newspapers and drink tea.  It's like winning a prize when someone knocks on the door or the phone rings.  Seems the only time we ever leave is when we go to the doctor.  Which means all the fresh air we get is from the door to the car.

Bert:  Ruth.  If you want to go outside.  If you want to get some fresh air.  There are no locks on the doors.  Just go outside.

Ruth:  Okay.  I will.

Bert:  Wonderful.

Ruth:  I'll take my tea out onto the deck.

Bert:  No you can't.  Remember, the boards are all loose.  The guy is coming next week to fix them.

Ruth:  Okay.  I'll take a walk down the street.

Bert:  Well, you know the sidewalk isn't very level and neither of us are very stable these days.

Ruth:  I'll go tend to my flower garden.  I don't know when the last time I did that was.

Bert:  About three years ago when you said you couldn't garden anymore and told me to dig everything up.

Ruth:  Well ... I'll ... How about ...  Uhhh ...  Can I sit in the driveway.

Bert:  The car is in the driveway.

Ruth:  ...

Bert:  Any other ideas.

Ruth:  No.

Bert:  Okay.

Ruth:  Why the heck are you trying to make me go outside anyway?!

FIVE MINUTES TO KILL ME!

FIVE MINUTES TO KILL ME!!
by: Matthew Terry


      Running down the hallway, she entered the bathroom as quickly as she could.  All she wanted to do was get as far away as possible from her boyfriend.  She locked the door behind her, threw her purse onto the counter and tried to slow down her breathing.  She grabbed her purse and started looking for her cell phone.  She needed to get out of this house.  She needed her boyfriend to come get her.  She looked and looked through her bag, but could not find her phone.

      Suddenly, her boyfriend tried opening the door.  Finding it locked, he began banging on it.  He exclaimed "Open the door.  We need to talk about this."  She continued trying to find her phone.  "C'mon, open the door!"  She yelled back "Go away.  I don't want to talk about anything."  After a couple moments of silence, he said "Really?  I find out you're seeing someone else and you think we don't need to talk about this?"

    She now had every item out of her purse.  Her cell phone nowhere to be found.  He began banging on the door again.  "Stop banging on the door." she said.  "You're acting like an animal."  He responded "I'm acting like an animal?  Out of the two of us, I'm the one acting like and animal?  Humans have sexual relations with one person at a time.  Animals have sexual relations with multiple partners.  Which one of us sounds more ... "  "Real mature!" she yelled back.

   Once again, he started knocking on the door.  She really does not want to deal with this.  She just wants to get out of the house.  She would do anything to just get out of this house.


   She grabbed the handle of the door and flung it open.  She looked him straight in the eye and says "You have five minutes to kill me."  He sat dumbfounded as he looked at her.  "What the hell are you talking about?"  She took a deep breath and continued.   "I just called the police and told them I was being assaulted.  You know what they heard?  You yelling and banging on the door.  I'm guessing it will take them about five minutes to get here.  So, I recommend you kill me now before they get here."

   "Why the hell would I kill you?" he asked.
   
   "Because if you don't.  Then they're going show up here, I'm going to tell them how abusive you are and you're going to get arrested.  Then, I promise you, you will be sitting in a jail cell repeating over and over 'I should have killed her.  I should have killed her.'

   "Abusive?  I have never laid a hand on you in ten years."

    "I know that.  But it doesn't matter.  I'm the woman in distress.  They may figure it out eventually, but not before you spend a few nights in jail and ruin your reputation in this town."

    "Really?  You would do that to me?"
   
   "Amazing what people will do when they're backed into a corner."

   "You know I'm not going to do a damn thing to you."

   "Then maybe you should just run.  You have my word I won't tell them where you are.  You can go away and let things calm down.  I'll just tell them I was scared.  They'll buy that."

    "So I just walk out the door and let you handle the police that are coming in five minutes?"


   "Well, like two minutes now.  You should get going."

   "And they're on their way because you called them after you ran into the bathroom?"

   "That's right.  Good thing I had my cell phone on me."

   He stepped out of the doorway and walked down the hall.  She leaned onto the bathroom counter and started taking deep breaths.  Relieved she thought so quickly.  Suddenly, he appeared back in the doorway.  He looked her straight in the eye.

   "Maybe I should just kill you." he said.

   She began to feel scared.  This is not how the plan was supposed to end up.  He pulled her cell phone from behind his back and threw it to her.

  
"Just call who you need to call and get the hell out of my house."

This Is The World We Live In

by: Matthew Terry

 A young woman is driving home around two o'clock in the morning when she hits a median and damages her front driver's side tire.  She tries calling her father, who does not answer.  She tries calling a friend, who also does not answer.

 A car pulls up behind her and two men get out.  They walk up to the car and knock on the window.  The girl, scared, tells them that she's fine and does not need any help.  One of the men, sensing her fear, says "I understand being scared.  If you can just pop the trunk, we can change the tire without you ever getting out."  This makes sense to the girl, so she pops the trunk.

 The two men take about ten minutes to change the tire.  They take the old tire and place it back in the trunk.  They close it, give it a couple taps and tell her to have a good night.  They then walk back to their car, get in and drive away.

 The next day the girl's father calls her and asks why she had called the night before.  She explained what happened and the father immediately felt terrible for not answering the phone.  The girl says she feels bad as well.  These two guys were nice enough to stop and change her tire in the middle of the night and she immediately treated them like they were out to harm her.  Her father assures her that by the man coming up with the "pop the trunk idea", he surely understood and would not have been insulted.

 No sooner did she put the phone down, when there was a knock on the door.  She answered it and a woman was standing there smiling.  She stated her name and said that her husband had changed her tire the night before.  The girl was immediately confused and again scared.  The woman explained that she had texted her husband while he was changing the tire.  He must have put his phone down in the trunk and neglected to pick it back up.  They had used a "Find My Phone" Ap to locate her and the phone.  The husband insisted that his wife retrieve it.  Feeling that was much less threatening than him suddenly arriving on her front step.

 They walked outside and opened the girl's trunk.  Sure enough the cell phone was laying inside.  The girl is still missing to this day.

 This is the world we live in.

Whose (You Know) Is She (You Know)?

WHOSE "You Know" IS SHE "You Know"?
by: Matthew Terry
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E-Mail : yourspittingimage@gmail.com

Have you ever been watching a television show that you, probably, have never seen before and in the act of watching the show you see an actress that catches your eye. Then half way through the show you cannot help yourself. You must sit up, point at the screen and say "Whose (You Know) is she (You Know)?"

To try and spend time with a young lady that I wanted to spend time with, I started to watch a soap opera called Passions. She wanted to watch Passions, so I wanted to watch Passions. Some guys will get what I'm talking about. To those saying "You watched a soap opera to get next to a woman?" I say, first off, yes. Second, Passions had a witch, a little boy that turned into a doll, a mind reading girl and a blind priest that could sense evil, so if there was a soap opera to be watched, this was it. One of the girls was Charity, played by Molly Stanton. If I remember correctly, she was the mind reading girl that was in love with Miguel but didn't think it was fair not to tell him about her secret power and therefore refused to allow herself to be with him. Remember, I did say it was a soap opera. Now Charity was a focal point of Passions, which is all fine if myself and even the young lady I was trying to court were not looking at the screen and saying "Whose (You Know) is she (You Know) to be on this show?" Yes it was a soap opera, but even by what I consider soap opera standards her acting was way over the top and stuck out so far from all others on the show that you could not help but wonder whose (you know) was she (you know).

Fast forward several years and I see a commercial pass across my TV screen. This commercial was for a show called Do Not Disturb. And within this commercial I saw the (you know) girl. I had no idea what her name was at the time. In fact, I didn't know her name until the idea for this blog came to mind and I found it online. So, the (you know) girl is on Do Not Disturb. I have no real interest in watching the program. No aspect of the commercial made me want to watch it. I was not simply turned off by the fact that (you know) girl was on it. That being said, one night while looking through the guide I came across Do Not Disturb. With lack of better options I decided to try it out. I remember thinking when I started the show "Maybe I'll like the show. And as far as (you know) girl, maybe soap operas were not her strength. Maybe she would excel more in a sitcom/comedy type of environment." I also remember finishing the show and thinking "Good for her, she's still (you know) someone's (you know)."

Fast forward several more years and I am watching one of my absolute favourite series, Law & Order : SVU. And who should appear on my screen, but Molly "You Know" Stanton. I will now take this opportunity to appologize to any Moly Stanton fans who disagree with my assesment that Ms. Stanton cannot act. I will also appologize to Molly Stanton because I may have been harsh with my words insinuating that she (you know) anyone's (you know) to garner the roles that she has achieved. Her perfromance on SVU was bang on. She did not seem out of place, she did not overact and she played her part perfectly. She played someone that was under arrest. For doing what you might ask? You know.

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

That "Whole Other Blog" 2

That "Whole Other Blog" 2

by: Matthew Terry
FACEBOOK : https://www.facebook.com/tplxwrestling?fref=nf
TWITTER : https://twitter.com/UrSpitngImg

E-Mail : yourspittingimage@gmail.com


This entry derives from UNEMPLOYED PIECE OF GARBAGE - http://yourspittingimage.blogspot.ca/2015/07/unemployed-piece-of-garbage.html

My friend, the one who is unemployed actually, called me one day and told me that I needed to get BBM. I have no clue about new technologies or software or services of any kind. My mindset is still back in a day when having two phones, in one house, was a luxury. Now, I almost feel embarassed to carry around a mini computer that can also make phone calls no matter where the heck my fat butt is standing. But I digress.

He tells me that I need to get BBM. I ask him what that is, and as I'm sure 100% of you already knew, it is a messaging system that at one point was apparently exclusive to Blackberrys. He tells me that I can now download BBM onto my I-Phone and him and I can message back and forth. My response to this was that my name is attached to a home phone, a cell phone, a business phone, an e-mail address, a FACEBOOK account, a TWITTER feed, something called SNAPCHAT, Instagram and Pinterest. That is nine different forms of communication. Most of which is, thanks to my phone, at my fingertips at all times. If he is having difficulty getting a hold of me at any time, he just is not trying hard enough. However, he explains to me that for instant contact BBM is best for him because it doesn't count against his long distance, his cell phone minutes or his text limits. So, I download the damn BBM.

Now, I told you all of that so I could tell you this. I hate answering machines. As lyrical as I can be, I always feel like I freeze up or stumble when it comes to the answering machine. Not to mention that I am the streotypical "Is that what I actually sound like?" when I hear any type of recording of my voice. So, it's a self conscience thing. But it's also a "I don't need to leave a message thing too. There are so many forms of communication today that if I really need to contact someone, I can figure out some way to contact everyone. Yesterday I wrote about how I left a "funny" message on my friend's answering machine, only to have him call back and say that he had not listened to the message, he simply saw my name pop up on his call display. Why the heck should I need to leave an answering machine message when when 99.9% of phone owners have a call display function? Now, my friend needs to take the time to call his voicemail box, listen to my message, which he already knows what it says, then delete it. That may not sound like much, but that's time consuming. (Not really, but I'm trying to vent here.)


There are days when I want to take my cell phone, laptop and tablet and just lock them away in a closet. Just give them up all together. But owning my own business and needing a line of communication for outside bookings, in this day and age, requires that I have these things to try and keep up with the competition. I guess in my perfect world, a glitch that no one saw coming. That not one single technical marvel could foresee. That two that shows up inside of those zeros and ones would come along. For whatever reason every cell phone loses signal, every Wi-Fi is gone offline and every web site is completely useless and all the brilliance in the world scratches their head's and says "I just don't know."

Even for a day or two. I think it would be good for everyone.

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

Dedicated to Mom who always complained I never left messages on her answering machine. Miss you.

Unemployed Piece Of Garbage

UNEMPLOYED PIECE OF GARBAGE




by: Matthew Terry
 FACEBOOK : https://www.facebook.com/tplxwrestling?fref=nf
TWITTER : https://twitter.com/UrSpitngImg
E-Mail : yourspittingimage@gmail.com

A good friend of mine has recently become unemployed. By no fault of his own, mind you. He simply wasn't able to meet the quotas that were put in front of him. Which may sound like fault of his own, but allow me to clarify. Without getting specific, my friend not making his quotas equates to someone saying they will pay you $1000 to move a large pile of sand down one block using only a wheelbarrow, and you have twenty minutes to do it. The money is good and they have given you the right tools, but you know going in that the task is near impossible. He gave it a shot, but couldn't get the sand moved in time. He's okay with it because he saw the hopelessness going in. Now, he's unemployed and I still haven't gotten to the main point of today's blog.

I called him the other day, two days after his release (so everyone can follow along), and got his answering machine. I'm a little odd with answering machines to begin with, but with good friends, it's beyond that. As soon as I heard the beep I proclaimed "Hey, you unemployed piece of garbage. It's two o'clock in the afternoon. Get your a** up and actually do something." Which doesn't sound nearly as funny reading it back at this moment, but at the time, hilarious.

He called me back a couple minutes later, without hearing the message. He simply saw my number and called back. Which is a whole other blog two*. I told him what the message said and in the moment. he laughed. Not hard laugh, but laughed. Okay, maybe it wasn't that funny in real time either, but that's not the point. The point is that I said it and it got my brain thinking.

What is the timeline allowable for making jokes about an unemployed friend simply to try and cheer them up and help them not get down on the situation? Can I make a joke two weeks from now? The severance will start coming in, so he'll still have an income. How about two months from now? Knowing him like I do he'll be pretty squirrely by then from not being able to lock something down. How about six months from now? Resources can only bring you so far, and the well may be close to dry by that point. Can you make a joke while the guy is carrying his TV to the pawn shop?

I can say all this because he's my very good friend. This blog, in and of itself, is to try and cheer him up and help keep his chin north of his breast bone. He is very good at what he does and can adapt to a new environment if he truly needs to. I certainly do not foresee him without work six months from now. If he is, I'm going to have some explaining to do. Because that won't be funny.

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

* - Foreshadowing

I Am Not A Man

I AM NOT A MAN


by: Matthew Terry
FACEBOOK : https://www.facebook.com/tplxwrestling
TWITTER: https://twitter.com/UrSpitngImg
E-MAIL: yourspittingimage@gmail.com

I am not a "man". Emphasis on the quotation marks.

I am male, yes. And no, this is not me admitting who I truly am inside. Although, I suppose it is me proclaiming something that I have known for a very long time. I am not a "man". At least not by majority's definition.

I don't do the strip club thing. I have been to strip clubs. I have outwardly enjoyed strip clubs. However, inside I have never really enjoyed strip clubs. The first time I patrionized a strip club a naked woman danced in front of me. No surprise. Awkwardness, but no surprise. Then ... another naked woman danced in front of me. Little less awkward. Then ... another naked woman danced in front of me. Less awkward. After that naked woman danced in front of me, another naked woman danced in front of me. By this point I'm just grooving to the music and wondering where my rum and coke is. Point being, I know that this woman, or that woman or the women that bookended those two women, are not looking to date me or even come home with me. Boiled down it's a form of entertainment. Ladies and gentlemen dancing for your enjoyment by literally shaking what God gave you.


I don't hunt. Maybe you don't need to be the definitive "man" to be a hunter, but I think it certainly adds to the enjoyment of the whole thing. Actually, I digress, I do like to hunt sometimes. I like to do the Elmer Fudd tiptoe through the woods carrying a .22 rifle, and find things to shoot type of hunting. But tree blinds or crouching down inside a bush, while staying completely silent and remaining 100% focused on the salt lick or crab apples you have left as lure, is in no way enjoyable to me. I lose focus five minutes in. I cannot sit still for a long period of time doing absolutely nothing but focusing on one single task. Although, I do enjoy fishing, which is odd. Then again, if I cast out my bobber and stare at it to the point of boredom, I can look around at other things and check on the bobber every once and a while. Heck, I can walk away and get something out of the car, cook some food, take a pee in the bushes (hopefully not on a hunter) and still come back and see if that bobber is still ... bobbing.

I don't own a pickup truck. Oh man, the pickup trucks. To supplement my income I umpire softball. There are ladies leagues, there are co-ed leagues and there are, of course, men's leagues. Of the three, my preference certainly goes Ladies, Co-Ed and then Men. The ladies are my favourite due to the fact that they generally just want to have more fun playing than caring who's winning and who's losing. That and they look alot better in ball pants. Although the women may disagree on that point, but that's to be expected. At the opposite end of the scale, the men's leagues are nothing but sausage casings of testosterone and pickup trucks. The need to win and win convincingly is first and foremost on all of their minds. Even if it plainly says in the league name "Fun League". And finishing up for the night is always trying to find my vehicle in what basically amounts to a Dodge Ram dealership. Folks, I drive an SUV and I have issues finding my vehicle in a forest of oversized half-tons, three quarter tons and whatever other designated weight those things come in. But I know they need to be heavy. I saw it with my own eyes when a player bought himself a new truck and was showing it to his "buddies" only to have them say "that small a** piece of s*** is not a truck. It's a matchbox toy." Apparently "My truck is bigger than your truck." is a game "men" like to play. I don't play that game, so I guess that's another check in the "You're Not A Man" tally.

So, in an effort for everyone to get to know me a little better, I'm not a "man". Sometimes I can adapt to my surroundings like the chameleon I can sometimes be, but it doesn't take long for the pride to sniff out the pretender that I am trying to be and shunning me from the herd. You'd think I'd be upset or feel inadequate by not being what I suppose I'm bred to be. To be honest, sometimes it does cross my mind. Then I remember I am how I am and I still go home to my sexy wife in my beautiful home and I think to myself "Who cares?"

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

That "Whole Other Blog"

THAT "WHOLE OTHER BLOG"
by: Matthew Terry
FACEBOOK : https://www.facebook.com/tplxwrestling
TWITTER: https://twitter.com/UrSpitngImg



When I blog about someone, I'm always worried I'm going to offend that person. Even if I'm writing good things. Words and their meanings are subjective. "You have a beautiful wife." "You want to screw my wife?!" It's all in how you interprut the words that are said or written. I told a very good friend, talking like guys do, that he had a very hot girlfriend. His response was "Ummm ... we're not swinging if that's what you're getting at." Which, I wasn't. Although in hindsight ... Point being, Kevin Smith, the subject of this "whole other blog", won't care in the least, no matter what I say because Kevin Smith feels that if you have less than three hundred followers, your opinion means nothing. So, I fall way under the wire on that one. Whew. Pressure gone.
First, the term "whole other blog" comes from yesterday's blog where I profess my new found admiration for Marc Maron -(http://yourspittingimage.blogspot.ca/2015/07/pleased-to-meet-you-mr-maron.html) Within that blog I state that I have theories about Kevin Smith's anger but that is a "whole other blog". Please note, these are theories. Not facts, not educated guesses and not any kind of opinion based on personal or professional interation with Kevin Smith. Kevin Smith and I have never met. I have reached out to him, he has not responded. I have professed my love of his work to him. Nothing in return. I have written e-mails, tweets and facebook messages to Kevin Smith and have seen not one single response. Kevin Smith ... wait, starting to sound a little bitter. Save that for later.

What is my theory to Kevin Smith's anger? It's the weed. It is my humble observation that when Kevin Smith "chain-tokes" or is able to smoke freely in his environment, he either gets very giggly, or gets very angry. Emphasis on the verys. Check out Smith's Smodcast with Chris Jericho (http://smodcast.com/episodes/smod-is-jericho/) and you will hear giggly. Check out Marc Maron's WTF Podcast that I referenced yesterday (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a56YGrR8w9o) and you will hear anger. There are other examples throughout, especially the SMODCAST library (http://smodcast.com/channels/smodcast/). In just about every single episode of that particualr podcast, I find Smith either annoyingly giggly or annoyingly angry. However, when I check out Smith's other podcast ventures, like Jay & Silent Bob Get Old (http://smodcast.com/channels/jay-silent-bob-get-old/) or Hollywood Babble-On (http://smodcast.com/channels/hollywood-babble-on/), I find Smith very entertaining, charismatic and funny. The difference between the former and the latter is that Smith can continueously toke away while doing SMODCAST or being a guest on WTF, but on Get Old and Babble-On, Smith admittingly "gets baked" immediately prior to the show and then reports to the stage. Where, of course, he cannot indulge out in public.


Now seems like a good time to once again state, these are opinions. These are theories. These are thoughts in my mind. I concern myself with entertaining you who read this blog. I don't concern myself with Kevin Smith because Kevin Smith is admittedly not concerned with me. However, I would like to say to each and every person reading this that you are appreciated deeply. The fact that sometimes as many as forty people read this amazes me. Even the offerings that garner ten or less views make me smile because someone is reading it. Someone is entertained by what I offer.  I don't care how far below three hundred I fall, you all mean something to me.  (There's the bitterness.)

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

Pleased To Meet You Mr. Maron

PLEASED TO MEET YOU MR. MARON
by: Matthew Terry
TWITTER :     https://twitter.com/UrSpitngImg
FACEBOOK : https://www.facebook.com/tplxwrestling
E-MAIL :         yourspittingimage@gmail.com



People may have noticed that I've been a little different as of late. My writing has been different. My thought process has been different. In fact, I'm writing alongside that thought process. I found something that smartened me to the fact that, "I can do that? I can write the same way I think? I can dispense my thoughts rapidly? The exact same way they fly through my head." I have Marc Maron to thank for that.

I actually found Marc Maron a little while ago. I saw him on television doing stand-up at the Montreal Just For Laughs Festival. He was sitting on a stool and just talking. Not really making jokes, just talking. And I loved it. However, when watching Just For Laughs without a PVR, you need to take note of their names as they come on stage, it flashes on the screen for about five seconds, because otherwise, there is no going back. I wanted to know this guy's name, but there was no going back.

Then, Barack Obama dropped the N-Bomb on a podcast. I hate the N-Bomb. I hate people saying around me, even if I don't hate that person. Really, I didn;t care if Barack Obama used the word, but it was news, so I wanted to hear it in context. So I found it, like most things in the GOOGLE age, really easily. The photo that came on had Obama and that guy from the stool. I now knew he was Marc Maron. I listened to the Obama podcast. Loved it. Listened to a selection of the other podcasts. Loved them too. Bought "Attempting Normal". Read it, read it to my wife and am reading it again. Then, while looking for other podcast treasures, I found WTF Pocast With Marc Maron : Kevin Smith. This is where things got nasty. I should have known.

You see, I used to be a Kevin Smith Guy. I was a Kevin Smith Guy when I found Marc Maron. To put it into perspective, in hindsight, Maron was a woman I met and really fell for, but I was married to Kevin Smith. I kept thinking about Maron, but I was loyal to Kevin Smith. Then, I ran into Maron again, still had those head over heels feelings, but I was still married to Kevin Smith. Now, oh God, Marc Maron and Kevin Smith were going to be in the same place at the same time. This is intriguing, yes, because I haven't done anything with Maron, but at the same time, you know this can't be good. And it wasn't.

For the first three quarters of the podcast, everything was wonderful, my man Kevin and my mental mistress Marc are on point. They're funny, they're witty, they're telling stories. Then, we get to the whole "Too Fat To Fly" thing. Being a Kevin Smith guy, I had heard about it, of course. I compare it to that one thing that you hate bringing up with your wife because you hate how angry it makes her. Unfortunately, everyone wants to talk about it. So, Kevin goes off on his usual tirade and tells the "I am TWITTER. I'll show you." story. Which is a little pompous, but I don't blame the guy for using the resources at his disposal. Then, it got bad. For me anyway. You see, I always found Kevin Smith more "I was someone no one liked and I made good regardless." While at the same time remembering and respecting what not being liked meant. Still very relatable. However, during the podcast, Smith went over the top. For me anyway. He started into "I am Kevin Smith, who the f*** are you?" Lines like "If you don't have 300 followers (you mean nothing to me.)" "So what, I'm fat. I can f*** your wife. And if I can't f*** her, I can buy her." I have my theories about Kevin Smith and his anger, but that is a whole other blog. Plus, what do I really know about Kevin Smith? I've never interacted with the guy. Which is odd because I have reached out several times, especially on TWITTER and the TWITTER Whore (I mean that in a good way) has never acknowledged me. I still like Kevin Smith's work. I truly do, I just don't really like Kevin Smith. Which, to me, sounds like a great deal for Kevin Smith. "So, this guy likes my work, keeps giving me his money and I don't need to meet him on a personal level? Awesome."

WANT TO HEAR THE PODCAST? : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a56YGrR8w9o

So, I have entered into a trial separation with Kevin Smith. I'm pretty sure he's fine with it. I'm probably more heartbroken then he is. But Marc seems nice. He treats me better. He relates to me better. He talks a lot nicer to me.  Do I blame him for exposing this side of Kevin Smith to me and ultimately causing my estrangement?  No, I think it would have happened anyway.

   I think we might be happy together as long as things progress nicely. I'm sure he's okay with me still checking in with Kevin every once and a while, just to see how he's doing. I think everything is going to be just fine.

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

Meet Marc Maron ...
Website:              http://www.wtfpod.com/
Twitter:               https://twitter.com/marcmaron
Facebook:           https://www.facebook.com/WTFPodcast?fref=ts

Bitter Feelings

BITTER FEELINGS
by: Matthew Terry

We're selling a bookshelf/cabinet type piece of furniture. This isn't an ad for that. In fact, it's probably no longer available while I write this. In another fact, the fact that in fact it's no longer available brings me to the fact I'm trying to cover. Someone sent me a message asking if it was still available and that they could pick it up at my convenience. Here's my response.
Yes, it is still available.

As far as convenience, if you'd like it today, I will check with the availability of my wife. She's on vacation while I go to work (Yes, a little bitter). Tomorrow, we can do it anytime after seven. Keep in mind, it's not light. Happy to help move it out, but may need help.

-Cheers
So, now may be a good time to explore the bitter feelings that I seem to have about my wife being on vacation while I find myself at work. Keep in mind, I'm not bitter with my wife. Hopefully that becomes clear as you read.

My wife works for the YMCA of Niagara. She's a Child and Youth Specialist. I call her a very glorified babysitter. I say that, we laugh (I laugh). She watches children all day at a daycare. A very good daycare with a very good program to help educate and help develop children. She is also very good at her job. She has a very good education and has a very good reputation within her field. So, bottom line, my wife is a very good employee for a very good employer. As I already suggested, she gets vacation time. Well deserved vacation time.

I, on the other hand, own my own business. Well, we own our own business. Okay, in the interest of full disclosure, there are five of us that actually "own" the business. I don't anyone misinterpruting my statement. That being said, for better or for worse, I am the business. I am the guy that runs the business, negotiates for the business, works every signle aspect on every single day. Literally, every single day. We have owned this business for close to four and a half years and I have been here every single day the open sign has been illuminated. Yet, I do not get vacation time.

See why I'm bitter. I'm not bitter at any one person. Just the fact that the time is not available, the circustances don;t allow it and frankly, the finances won't allow it. For me to take a vacation, I would need to close the store. Thankfully, our business never experiences a true down time. There is no point where we would not busy and therefore, may as well take some time for myself. My partners know little things here and there about the store, but not nearly enough to manage it for a week. And to be totally honest, the store needs to remain open to pay the bills.

Someone once told me that the reward to owning your own business is that your time will come when your older and can reep the rewards that you have built over three or four decades. The problem with that is, with inflation, Cuba won't be getting any cheaper. I've beaten my body up over the years already and I'd hate to see what a 65-70 year old Matthew Terry will be looking like. And most of all, I have a hot wife that I want to show off now, not later.

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

Getting Too Real

GETTING TOO REAL
by : Matthew Terry

My mom passed away six weeks ago. That part has always been real. I believe that that has actually happened. Don't get me wrong, I've said the words "I can't believe she's gone." , but that's just what people say. She's gone, I know that.

The furniture that I grew up with is gone. I know that that is true. My brother and I split everything relatively easily. We had the "You want this?"/"You want that." conversation. We're lucky we get along on a good level, otherwise this could be harder than it already has been. The dining set, the hope chest, the credenza, the wall unit and such have been there for as long as I can remember. The house around it changed, but they were always there. It sounds silly, I'm sure, but seeing those things go was a little tough. But, neither of us had any need or room for any of it, so it needed to be done.

We're driving my mom's car. I know that it's my name on the owndership. I know that it's my garage that it's sitting inside of. I know that it was me that put the money into the safety and car bombing (yes, I wrote car bombing) of the car (Mom was a heavy smoker so they needed to "bomb" the car.) But when I drive it, and when my wife drives it too, I'm sure, it's my mom's car. I know it's legally and literally not her car anymore, but it's my mother's car.

The house has made it too real. Up to this point it has been "What do we ask for it?", "What's out bottom line price?", "Should we pay someone to take over forty years of cigarette smoke out of the house?" Which we did. We didn't need to bomb the house, but it may have been a realistic option. All easy stuff. Things that I had very little trouble analyzing and deciding. Now, there has been interest in the house. Now, someone wants answers about how old the roof is, things about the furnace, the age of the hot water heater. Someone wants my childhood home. The last bastion of my childhood in Osgoode, Ontario is close to no longer being in the Terry family.

I want to keep my childhood home. I have all along. I can't. Financially, I think I could manage it. Geographically, not so much. I live in Welland. My wife is born, bred and apparently rooted in Welland. I can't live in Osgoode and I can't afford to move the house here. This may sound grandious, but it's reality inside my head. I'm trying to think of options that allow me to keep the house. I know I won't keep the house. It's better if I don't keep the house. It's better if I let the house go. It's better if someone takes the baton from here.

I told my brother I would much rather a young couple starting out would be my prefered choice for a buyer, rather than someone who simply wants to flip the house and make a dime off of it.

Fingers crossed.

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

Definition Of Courage

Definition Of Courage
by Matthew Terry

the ability to do something that frightens one.

"she called on all her courage to face the ordeal"

strength in the face of pain or grief.

"he fought his illness with great courage"





It's all subjective. It's all a matter of opinion. You can say that a hockey player suffering a cardiac episode, then getting up and wanting to get back into the game is courageous. But definitively, to me, that's wrong. To be courageous is to face a fear. To be courageous is to attempt to conqueur with the knowledge that odds are not in your favour. This man was felled by his heart. He was revived. He was brought back to conciousness. Then he demanded to be allowed back into the game. Despite his fear of dieing on the spot he wanted nothing more then to ... play hockey. Participate in a game that meant very little in the standings of the league. Participate in a game that by the time he "courageously" demanded to return to, was long since postponed by the league. What fear did he face head on? What mountain did he demand to conquer?

Do you remember the jock in school? The guy who was on all the teams. The guy that seemingly could do anything. The guy that when he won the annual awards, you said "Of course he did." That guy was the freaking man. You wanted to be him. You wanted to be looked at like him. You wanted to be revered like him. At least for an hour of a day, if not the full twenty-four hours. Now, picture him telling you "I think I want to be a woman." Doesn't even need to be school. Take the guy that excels in the beer league. Baseball in the summer, hockey in the winter and golf when he can find the time. We all have one. Even if you are one, you hang out with your same ilk. One night, he looks at you and says "I think I'm really a woman." How scared is someone to say that? How scary is it to admit that? How scary is it, knowing that it's not going away. Day after day after day after day ... it's there.

Good on the hockey player who's heart stopped. Day by day he has gotten better and better. The man that is now a woman? His heart stops every morning. Her heart stops when she walks out the front door. Their heart stops every time they look someone in the eye.

How Could I Forget About Max?

     Last week I crafted a blog about the dogs that have enlightened my life.  My wife however asked me why I did not include a very special and beautiful huskie dog that we only knew for a very short amount of time.  Allow me to introduce everyone to Max.

     It was New Year's Eve several years ago.  We had a group of friends and family over to the house to celebrate the changing of the calendar.  After partying, cheering and partying a little bit longer, we were out front saying goodbye to the last of our guests.  As we were standing there, an absolutely beautiful creature approached us.  As I'm sure you can guess, it was the afore mentioned husky dog, Max.  Max had a beautiful coat, was very well groomed and was obviously very well taken care of.  He also had something else.  A leash.  A leash that did not have a human counterpart at the other end.  I began hoping that there was not someone passed out in snowbank or ditch close by.

     We figured that this beautiful animal must belong to someone, so checked his tags.  They said that he lived in Brantford, Ontario, Canada.  A good two hour drive from where we stood.  Without any other leads to his owner, I called the number on the tag.  Worst case scenario I will contact someone who knows Max and can contact the person who should have Max.  I got an answering machine and left my name and phone number, and of course, the fact that I had their dog.

     I came up with the plan, without any assistance from alcohol, that I would take Max for a walk and maybe he would instinctively take me back from where he came.  Sounds odd I know, but the other option was to hold onto Max overnight.  I pictured Max at around four n the morning letting out a "You guys are great and all, but I wanna go home.  Aaaaaaa Ewwwww!!!"  So, off for a walk we went.  Just as we started our trek, a police car flew around the corner.  It briefly stopped, but then sped past us.

     Now Max was no help at all.  I don't really blame him, he wasn't from the area after all.  As we aimlessly walked around, I heard a really faint call for "Maaaax."  It was faint and I asked my wife if she heard it too.  She agreed that someone was saying something.  We then heard "Maaaaax." a little louder.  As we turned around, we saw a woman running towards us, again calling out "Maaaax."  Obviously, we had found someone who knew out four legged friend.  Before the lady got to us, the police officer stopped by us and asked if we had found the dog.  We said we had and he drove off.

 

     The lady reached us and could not thank us enough for finding him.  She asked I we lived in the area.  At this point, we were standing directly in front of our house and pointed it out.  After a couple more minutes of thanks, she again asked if we lived close by.  Again, we pointed out that we lived in the house right in front of us.  After a couple more minutes, she asked if we had far to get home.  Obviously, it was a good new year.

     A couple weeks later there was a knock on our door.  The lady at the door asked if I was Matthew, which of course I was.  She said she wanted to thank me for everything I did for Max.  I drew a blank.  My wife works in a daycare and my only thought was it was a parent of one of her kids.  My wife walked over and I repeated that she wanted to thank us for everything we did for Max.  My wife, who is the smartest person I know on Earth, knew what the lady was talking about, but could tell I didn't.  After reminding me about out New Year's friend, I clued in.  The lady gave us a Tim Horton's card to say thank you.

   Even after several days, I find myself still thinking of that poor dog that got dropped in the Welland Canal with his legs hog tied and two bullet wounds in his head.  Last I heard, not one single lead had been given to the proper authorities.  I write these stories of past pooches in my life as a dedication to a dog who left in a completely wrong way.

     Just so we're not leaving each other on a sour note.  The story as I understand it was that there was a New Years party.  Someone thought it would be a good idea to take Max for a walk.  Some time later, that person returned to the party, without Max.  When asked where the dog was, this person simply responded with "I don't know."  This caused the owners to start banging on doors around the neighbourhood looking for the dog.  Keep in mind that this is around one-thirty, two o'clock in the morning.  Hence, the reason neighbours were annoyed.  Annoyed enough to call the police.

     By the way, The Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

- Matthew Terry

A Man And His Dogs

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     I know, I know, I'm trying to get away from the negativity.  But when something so negative consumes you, you become negative yourself.  Rather than wait until Monday when my passion, and frankly disgust, dissipates, I'm going to address this today.

http://www.niagarafallsreview.ca/2015/04/30/dog-hog-tied-shot-and-dumped-in-wellands-recreational-canal

     The Reader's Digest version of the above article is that someone, or a group of people, hog tied a dog and then shot her in the head with a small caliber weapon.  Obviously to most people, this is disgusting.  Most people I say, because obviously there is at least one person that thinks this is without issue.  I can go on and on and on about how disgusted this makes me feel, but I won't.  Everyone else already is and will be over the next little while.  Instead, I choose to honor the memory of a dog that, to my knowledge, I have never encountered.  I would like to introduce you to the dogs that have enlightened my life.

    I cannot start anywhere else other than Sam.  Sam was my childhood dog.  She was a schnauzer that my family, by some means, inherited.  Sam fell in love with both my brother and I and was very protective of us both.  My mom tells the story that at night Sam would walk into my room, then my brother's, then would sleep right between our two doors once she knew we were safe in bed.  My mom jokes that she could never lose me because all she needed to do was drive around town and wherever Sam was sitting on the front step, she knew that I must be inside.  Sam used to run alongside my bike when I rode around town.  Over time and as she got older, she couldn't keep up and would walk home when her body couldn't take her any further.  One day I rode to the store to pick up a wrestling magazine and as I sat and read it in front of the store, Sam began moaning.  She had made it all the way to the store this time.  By the time I was able to find help, Sam was gone.  That was over twenty years ago but it still makes me cry while I write this.

     I had two dogs in my early twenties.  I have absolutely no recollection of what the first dog's name was.  My girlfriend and I were given the dog because someone didn't want their dog.  A few months later we were all outside, the dog was tied up by a rope.  After some time we looked around and realized the dog was nowhere to be found.  He had somehow escaped the rope.  We looked and looked and looked for the dog with no luck whatsoever.  As my girlfriend was out looking, I took the initiative of calling the Humane Society.  As it turned out, they indeed had our dog and told me that it would cost some sum of money to get him back.  When I informed my girlfriend that they had the dog and we would need to pay this money, she decided that the dog was not worth it.  I was of the opinion that he was.  I lost.

     My second early twenties dog was Hershey.  My girlfriend decided that we should get a dog for her two kids.  We went to a flea market to look at a poodle which was advertised as a puppy, but upon review was nowhere close to puppy status.  While she went off to argue with the vendor if "reserving" the dog meant we were "taking" the dog, her son and I looked at other litters.  I started playing around with a group of puppies, when the little guy asked what kind of dogs they were.  I told him they were schnauzers and that I had had one as a kid.  Instantly he wanted one of them and ultimately we did get one, which was the afore mentioned, Hershey.  Now we got this dog because the kids begged to have one.  There was nothing more, according to them, that they wanted.  The dog, according to them, would be taken care of by them without any help from their mother or myself.  However, over time, according to them, they did not have time to feed, bathe, walk or even interact with the dog.  So, with my girlfriend not being a dog person, Hershey became my dog.  Which I was fine with truth be told.  Couple years later, the girlfriend and I went through a rather difficult breakup.  I insisted that I take Hershey with me because she had no use for the dog and the children had lost interest a long time before.  She responded by saying that the dog belonged to the kids and that there was no way I could have the dog.  I told her that if she ever changed her mind and wanted the dog gone, to get a hold of me.  ( See where this is going? )  Three months later I stopped by to pick up some items I had forgotten.  Things were okay with her and I.  We sat and chatted, I hung out with the kids.  It wasn't a terrible visit.  Until I asked where the dog was.  I was told that she gave the dog away about two weeks after I walked out the door.  I asked why she never told me she was getting rid of the dog.  She told me with a laugh "What do you expect, I was mad at you at the time."  I walked out the door again and never walked back through.

     I'm trying my best to think of a justifiable reason why this dog ended up in the canal.  I'm having a very hard time coming up with any type of answer.  The only thing that keeps crossing my mind is that there must have been another option.  Put an ad in the paper.  Bring the dog to the Humane Society.  If the dog was ill, take them to the vet and humanely have them put down.  I would prefer that they bring the dog to my store and allow me or someone else to do something.  I'll even take cats.  Contrary to what my wife says, I am not a cat person.  But no animal deserves to leave this world in such a way.  Sorry if I went backwards on the happy scale.  Monday will be better, I promise.

     Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

- Matthew Terry