April's Real Blog

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Widower Humour?

So, I started 2 tell U, in yesterday morning's entry, abt a recent visit my dad had w/George Stibbs, the guy who owns the lil house my dad has been totally lusting over 4 the longest, longest, LONGEST [boring] time. Cuz it has a big yard. Where a choo-choo guy like Dad wd B able 2 stick a huge model-train layout.

NEway, I've heard that when they were in the house having coffee, Mr. Stibbs was all, "I've had an appraisal dun on this place, John.... Looks like it's worth quite a sum--w/the property and all." He showed Dad sum papers 2 demonstr8 what he meant and asked, "Do U think U'd B interested?" Erm, has he not been paying attention to all the stalking? But insteada saying that, Dad was like, "Umm... When can we come and look it over?" Mr. S was like, "NEtime, now. I've cleaned 'er up sum. She's in pretty gd shape. I h8 2 sell, but I can't live here alone. Nope. Can't do it. My boys tell me 2 re-marry... But when Lois died, I decided that from then on.... I'd go it alone." It seems Dad was all, "I think... If Elly died... I'd do the same thing." Mr. S: "Yep. ...Once is enuf." Dad felt himself having a gobsmacked look in response 2 that. MayB he was also thinking of that terrible comment from Mike abt buying a house being "worse" than getting married.

Oh, and what is the deal w/ppl referring 2 places an' things as "her" and "she"? I know I remember Gordo doing that w/his garage (when it was still just a garage an' not yet the mega-emporium it is now). What's wrong with using "it"? These places and things do not have a gender (@ least not in English). Sheesh!


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  • At 9:03 AM, Anonymous Diana Artemis, Esq., Ph.D., Ed.D. said…

    Good morning. I just wanted to report that the evaluation process of Patterson potential childhood sweethearts/suitable spouses for April Patterson is still underway. We have expanded our search beyond Miss Patterson's peers at the R.P. Boire Senior Secondary School, and are now also evaluating candidates at the separate schools, the local college (Milborough College of Arts, Technology, and Tractor Pulling), as well as local businesses, particularly "artsy" locales such as the music store, amateur theatre, and night clubs.

    Please stand by for further updates.

    Diana Artemis, Esq., Ph.D., Ed.D.

  • At 9:28 AM, Anonymous lonlyanthdad2fran said…


    The less said about last night's conversation with your dad the better. It started off well enough, talking weather and chores, your dad slouching there with hands thrust deep into pockets. After that the conversation turned to tensions caused by having too many women in the house. Your dad agreed that he was very, very tense. Then it got really creepy. He was saying stuff about one woman in his life being enough, but not enough in a way. I think your Dad thought I was asking him to move in with me!

    You're dad got the strangest expression on his face I've ever seen. If I didn't know better, I would have sworn his lips were swelling. Among other things.

    Please tell your dad to get rid of those loose-fitting pants!

    He's left like three messages for me at work, too.


  • At 9:31 AM, Blogger April Patterson said…

    be afraid, anthony. be v. v. afraid. i heard dad saying he'd luv 2 take u on a "nice drive" 2 show u what his crevASSe is capable of. then he got this glassy look in his eyes and started scratching an itch inside his pockets.


  • At 1:13 PM, Anonymous michael patterson said…


    Sorry, old chum. I’m afraid what happened last night with dad was my fault. I told him I thought the model train salesman was coming up the walk and he went out to greet you thinking you to be the salesman, just as I said. You, being a good sport, took my advice to look upward, since dad can be somewhat excited when he thinks about model trains. Unfortunately, you, being the polite fellow you are, extended your hand out for the appropriate greeting handshake, and grasped what had been extended to you, as if it were dad’s hand, and I suppose, gave it a firm grip and a vigorous shake. Perfectly understandable, since I had told you to look up, you didn’t see exactly what you were grasping.

    Since the conversation ended with dad coming back into the house, and going to his train room, (and not delivering Elizabeth to you as we had hoped), I knew something had gone wrong. There were also the comments from the women in the house which were big clues. Elizabeth said, “I want a man just like dad.” Then my Deanna said, “Now I know where you get it from, Mike.” Then April said, “Gerald is bigger than that.” April’s comment led into a completely different discussion with her mother, one that required the children to be removed from the room.

    After dad’s sojourn in the train room, he then took me aside and asked me a whole series of questions about how it was to be roommates with Josef Weeder and how he had a certain fairly intimate test for prostate cancer and how it didn’t feel very good to him, but he wondered if other men felt the same way. I had to tell my dad the honest truth, that I hadn’t had that particular test for prostate cancer. Then he tried again using the words “felt like that particular test but not actually that test”, but I got confused about what he was talking and eventually he gave up.

    As for dad leaving you messages at work, remember your goal is to harass him into giving you Elizabeth. Spending time with him should give you some opportunities to emphasize this point. Just make sure it’s time with him in public places or with someone else present. The attention he gives you may make you uncomfortable at times, but it will work. April’s boyfriend has been working that angle for quite some time, with some success. I know a good old chap like you can’t fail but to win over dad to give you Elizabeth.

    Michael Patterson

  • At 2:30 PM, Blogger howard said…


    Poor old George Stibbs, so unlucky in love. I know it may seem like he is anti-marriage, but during the time I was staying with him after my prison break, I got to hear more about his relationship with his late wife Lois.

    She had been a newspaper reporter, back in the days when they were called girl reporters, due to a lack of them in the industry. She fell for a fellow reporter named Clark Kent, but it didn’t end well when she found out he had a secret life, he had kept hidden from her. When George met her, he fell instantly in love, as we men often do, proposed and they were married.

    But later on he started noticing pecular things, like he would come home from work early and find his wife lying naked in her bed, with the window open when it was bitterly cold outside. And sometimes he would find flowers on the table, which an old gardener like George knew were not local to Canada or even North America. And once he found a large red cape with an “S” on it, which Lois claimed she had bought because it was the latest fashion. George suspected his wife was becoming demented, and unfortunately the more demented she became, the colder she became to George claiming that his ability to constantly change his facial appearance was not “Super” enough for her.

    It was a sad story, and I can frankly understand why he might not want to get married again.

    I had a similar discussion with Becky and I asked her if she would marry again after I died (after we were married, of course). She said, “Heck, yes.” Well, not those words exactly, but that was the point.

    Just to let you know, my hearing is over and my lawyer, Mr. Benis, was great. He gave a consise statement of the facts of my case, listed the grounds for appeal, the points of the law which had been violated in my case (which were several), and nature of the relief desired (which was my freedom or a sentence reduction to the time I had already served). There was also a ton of paperwork he had to file in triplicate on my behalf. It is one of the things I appreciate about having a lawyer and not being a lawyer.

    In the oral arguments, the representatives of the Crown from Milborough repeatedly argued, “But she is a Patterson.” It did not seem to impress the panel of 3 judges on the Ontario Court of Appeals.

    When the panel of judges read that I was appealing a case from
    Milborough, they all kind of snickered. Later I heard one of the judges talk in private (but I overheard him with my good ears) about how he was on a panel for another Milborough case involving Pattersons for one Kortney Krelbutz back in 2004. She was convicted of theft without anyone pressing charges against her or testifying in court against her except an aunt who had a history of letting the accused sign cheques for her. Needless to say her motion to appeal was accepted.

    My lawyer, Mr. Benis, says the Registrar will telephone him that the judgment will be released at 9:30 a.m. on the following morning at the Registrar's office after the judgment is made, and he warned me that sometimes the judges are not timely. It means at least another night in Mimico for me, and possibly more. I am still happy my hearing went so well.

    Howard Bunt

  • At 3:58 PM, Anonymous jeremy jones said…

    anthony, wen john patterson wuz shoppin' 4 a new car, he took me on a lotta test drives. it wuz like a torture. if he's plannin' on house-huntin' w/u, u shud definitely make an xxcuse not 2 go.

  • At 5:46 PM, Anonymous lonlyanthdad2fran said…


    Okay, your dad is suggesting that we meet at a bar called the "Pink Caboose."

    Has anyone heard of this place? I mapquested the addy, it's more toward Toronto but not real near Toronto, but less kinda far from Toronto than Milborough. I get the feeling it's somewhere between Mike's old apartment and the Lakeshore Landscaping area. Seems like a nice neighborhood, there are a lot of art galleries, clothing boutiques, euro-style bakeries, dayspas, and gyms.

    I tentatively said yes since it is public but it seems like kind of a far way to drive, especially for a drink. I'm trying to convince him to bring Liz, because she does like a drink now and again. Or again and again. But your dad got all evasive when I suggested it. Donna offered to do my hair so it looks good.

    Mike, you're very very clever, but you're not really a get-it-done guy, and I need a get-it-done guy to somehow entice Liz to come along with your father. Howard, I know we've had our differences, but you're really good at stratagems, considering how long you managed to stay out of jail with the full weight of Milborough Law Enforcement bearing down on you, plus keeping track of all the fake marriages and real fake engagements and so on indicate a better than average mind. Maybe you can do a stratagem to get Liz into the Pink Caboose by accident when I'm there with her father and we can all sit down and discuss the living arrangements regarding getting Liz out of the Patterson house and into the Caine house.

    Howard, in return for this favor I can write a testimonial for your appeal stating that I believe you are fully reformed and no longer a threat to anyone's shirt.



  • At 8:38 PM, Anonymous michael patterson said…


    “Not really a get-it-done guy!?” Seeking the advice of a convicted convict over my sterling advice?! Anthony, old bean, you cut me to the quick.

    How can you espouse the brain power of Howard Bunt when it comes to keeping track of fake marriages and real fake engagements, after my track history of marriages and engagements, fake or otherwise? During my marriage year of 2001, a lesser man than Michael Patterson wouldn’t have been able to keep it straight if he was married or not, but I am made of sterner stuff. Howard is but a rank amateur compared to the nimble marrying skills of Michael Patterson. Just because I say buying a house is as bad as getting married, it doesn’t mean I am not good at it.

    Just to let you know the kind of fellow I am, Anthony, old sport, when dad started to leave for his rendezvous with you at the Pink Caboose, I said to the old Lizardbreath, “Say, Liz. Dad’s going to get a few drinks with an old chum of his who has promised to spring for a few free drinks for you too.” Liz was, “I don’t want to get drunk in front of Dad, ugly brother (her pet name for me). Dad makes fun of me when I have a hangover.” I said, “Not if he’s drunk too, and with this particular friend, he’s bound to get blotto.” Liz said, “Oh, all right. I’m tired of sneaking drinks into my room.” And there you have it. I hope you had a great time drinking with dad and Liz, and you didn’t even need Howard to arrange it for you.

    Michael Patterson is too a “Get-It-Done” guy! So there!

    Michael Patterson

  • At 8:53 PM, Blogger howard said…


    I am a little familiar with the “Pink Caboose.” It is relatively reputable place, although if Dr. Patterson invites you to go with him to a private room in the back, you should decline the invitation. The same advice applies to anyone who invites you to go to the back. Both you and Dr. Patterson have fairly lithe figures, so I am sure you will get some invitations.

    I would thank you for your invitation to write a testimonial for my appeal, but my lawyer, Mr. Benis, says a part of my success in getting my appeal accepted, is based on your unusual actions during your testimony, which I will have to admit, did get a good laugh from the judges on the panel. In any case, the appeal hearing was completed today, and now it is up to the judges to render their decision.

    As for clever stratagems, I think the easiest thing to do with Elizabeth Patterson is to ask her out yourself and ask her if she wants to live with you. That’s what I would do if I could stand to be around her after she got me put in jail.

    Howard Bunt

  • At 9:56 PM, Anonymous lonlyanthdad2fran said…


    I was born under an evil star, I guess.

    The evening started out quite promising. The Pink Caboose is a very nice club. There were a few too many men, but I felt at home because a lot of them had mustaches. It catered to a rather tall clientele where women were concerned. But they were sleek, well dressed, beautiful women, if a little heavy on the makeup.

    My hair looked killer. Donna had "teased" it and added some highlights. I was getting admiring looks from the women and a few jealous glances from the me, and one of the guys complimented me on my narrow hips, which was pretty sporting of him.

    I was a little late for the meet-up because Frannie was out of both food and water in her "gated community" as we like to call it and I had to see to it that she had plenty of both, being the Champion Dad that I am.

    I found Liz teaching your father to play a game called "quarters." They were both pretty far gone, because there was an older man, a rather tubby and hairy motorcycling enthusiast, buying your father rounds of drinks. Several of the men were making nasty comments about Liz's sensible schoolmarm attire, hair, and features, even though she had her lips on.

    I was all ready to confess my love to Elizabeth Patterson in front of God and the women with too much pancake and everyone else when she called me "Warren" and asked if I had some Black-model wood for her. I got up real close and corrected her and pointed out that I was Anthony, Super Dad and President of the Milborough Astronomy Club and she promptly threw up.

    For the rest of the night I was pretty busy, wrangling your dad to keep him from going into the back room and getting the puke out of your sister's hair while she kept demanding "black wood." Luckily no one offered to go get her any.

    The less said about the drive home the better. Liz was lying in the back seat with her ankles on the headrest using her toes to play with my ears and calling me Paul. Then she started shouting "(f-word) the police! (f-word) the police!" in sort of a hip-hop rhythm.

    April, you have to give your sister more time in the bathroom to properly wash her feet, btw.

    Your dad made it in the house just fine, though someone gave him a cute little leather dog-collar with a name embroidered onto it that you will probably want to hide from your mom. Liz staggered off onto the lawn and ended up in some shrubbery and I didn't want to wake everyone up digging her out.

    With a little luck, she'll forget that the night ever happened.

    Anyway, I may have to abandon this plan to harass your father into giving me Elizabeth. It doesn't seem to be going very well.


  • At 2:34 AM, Anonymous michael patterson said…


    You have had a bad run of luck, old sport. However, it is so good to see you trying. I was afraid you were taking so much time getting the nerve to approach Elizabeth, that when you finally did, we would have to explain to Elizabeth who you were. Of course, I guess that is what happened, eh? The next time will be better. Don’t worry. Dad and I both have money on you to win.

    Thanks for making sure Dad and Liz got home. I have to cut this short, because I have to pick up Elizabeth out of a bush. Last time she passed out in a bush, she killed the bush.

    Michael Patterson

  • At 2:38 AM, Anonymous michael patterson said…


    Formerly little sis. The day finally arrived in which mom would get to see what George Stibbs’ house looks like. As you know Deanna and I had pretty much decided before we went that the house was too small for my family, so the trip ostensibly was to satisfy mom’s curiosity. Dad had written in his monthly letter from February that the house had marble countertops, oak trim done everywhere, with some tile floors; so I was curious to see if there actually were those things in the house, or if dad, as he does so often in his monthly letters, was simply making things up. I am glad to say I did see some oak trim where the wall met the ceiling.

    As mom entered the house, she does as she normally does when she enters someone’s house---she tells the owner what a lovely house they have. Some people might shake hands with the owner or ask to be invited in, but that is not the way mom does it. I remember once, Mira Sobinski, told me it was polite to greet people as you entered their house. She obviously didn’t know what she was talking about.

    George responded to mom’s statement with “Uh-huh…We designed it for our retirement.” I know how that is. Deanna and I have often said that we would not get nice furniture until our children were full grown, and the time spent in our room with the new furniture there is certainly a good example of that. In any case, I understood George perfectly. Save the nice house for your retirement.

    Dad got confused though, and he was whispering to me. He said, “Please forgive George. This is a wartime house, built shortly after World War II for wartime veterans coming home. George may be old but he’s not old enough to have designed the house for his retirement. What he really means is that he redecorated the interiour for his retirement.”

    Then George started wandering off talking about something or other having to do with how there used to not be many houses here 10 years ago before his wife died. I sort of tuned him out and he sort of tuned us out, too, and walked away. Then Dad whispered, “Lois died last year, so George has only been here for the last 11 years. I think he has forgotten we live just down the road from him. The neighbouhood wasn’t that barren 11 years ago. You were only 19 then, Mike. Then dad launched into a story about how things were 11 years ago. Deanna rolled her eyes at dad so hard, I thought they were headed off her head.

    I suddenly realized I had forgotten to zip up, so I went over to the window in silhouette to disguise my actions. Mom came over to help, and then said to me in a voice plain enough for everyone to hear, “Your dad has always loved this corner lot. What do you think, Michael?” I replied in a loud enough voice for everyone to hear, “It’s pretty nice, alright. But there are only two bedrooms.” Then mom said per her cue, “Yes, the house IS small.” Dad had been muttering about how he liked the place because it was on 3 lots, and not because it was a corner lot, but interrupted himself saying, “But….you could add on!!” I whispered to mom, “Does dad know we’re not buying this place?” Mom said, “Apparently not. Why doesn’t he listen when I tell him things?”

    So, I decided to squelch dad right then and there. I was feeling about 10 cm taller than he was, and I said, “Dad! For what this house and property are worth…Deanna and I could buy YOUR place!!” I have to admit that was putting it on the table for me. I threatened him where he lives. I touched his chest and even gestured to dad down below as if I were getting ready to touch him personally, an action which usually gets his attention. Mira Sobinski says when I do that with Wilf Sobinski, it makes me look like some kind of pervert. Shows how much she knows. I had dad’s complete attention and he gave one of those looks he does, where he has no mouth, or eyes, or nostrils. It’s difficult to read his emotions when he is like that, but I knew it was a positive response.

    That’s it for right now, formerly little sis. I’ll save the rest for tomorrow.
    Michael Patterson


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