Happy Dance!

I'm leeeeeeeevin' on a jet plane. Don't know when I'll be back again.

Well, I suppose that's not exactly true. I'll be back next Friday. But I could stay in Mexico if I wanted to. Oh, who am I kidding. I'll be back next week. Crap.

We leave tomorrow for the beautiful Grand Sirenis Riviera Maya resort. I can already feel the warm sun on my skin; hear the waves wash against the shore; taste the fruity cold drinks slide down my throat ... Aaaaah! Paradise!!

I will think of you, my faithful readers, with each sip of my margarita.

Cheers!!

WWJD??

I found this Post-It note on the driver's side window of my car, right above the door handle so I couldn't miss it:



Hmmph!

I pulled the post-it from my window and went back in the house. I called The Husband who was already at work.

Me: "Did you have a note on your car when you left today?"

TH: "What??"


Me: "There was a note on my car this morning."


TH: "What did it say?"


Me: "You Need Jesus."


TH: "To do what, exactly?!"


Me: "I'm not sure."


TH: "Well, who left it?"


Me: "I dunno. God maybe?"

Same Thing, Only Different

The countdown is on. Three more sleeps until we leave for Mexico! WOO HOO!!

While we were at the wedding on Saturday, I leaned over to The Husband. "One more week," I whispered.

He looked at his watch. "Know what we'll be doing this time next week?" he asked. I grinned, my mind wandering to beaches and fruity umbrella-laden drinks.

The Husband looks around. "We'll be listening to music, in a room with hundreds of people we don't know, lining up for a dinner buffet. Essentially, we'll be doing the exact same thing."

Ha!

"Only we'll be wearing Bermuda shorts," he added, with a shrug.

New Ties / Old Ties

I attended my cousin's wedding on Saturday. Although we missed the ceremony, the reception was a lot of fun. Everyone had a great time.

Before heading out to the reception, however, my Mom mentioned that there was supposed to be a surprise guest there. The surprise was for my Dad. My Dad loves surprises and hadn't pressed anyone for information, so the anticipation was building.

As with most weddings, when we arrived, there were hugs and kisses from relatives we hadn't seen in a while. Dad held back catching up with a few friends and Mom and I wandered into the hall. As we entered the room, the evening's entertainment was conducting a sound check. Suddenly this velvety voice began singing. I stopped, dumbstruck. Wow! His voice was like buttah!!

Mom leans over to me and says "That's your Dad's surprise."

What? This guy?

I looked back as my Aunt was escorting Dad into the hall; they're both laughing. Then she points towards the singer and Dad turns to look.

It was priceless. His mouth fell open, his facial expression ranges from shock, to surprise, to utter joy. And he begins to tear up.

"Who is he?" I ask Mom.

"John Morello."

OH!! I had heard stories my entire childhood about the guys at the warehouse where my dad used to work. Dad talked about John Morello a lot. How he often broke out in song at the warehouse, entertaining his co-workers. Dad, and everyone else, always said that John was wasting his time at the warehouse. I guess he finally got the message and is now, as they say, singing for his supper.

My heart swelled to see Dad so happy. John seemed to serenade Dad the whole night, interjecting the odd exclamation of "Frenchy" into his songs.

And all the way home, Dad kept exclaiming in an awed tone "John Morello!" while shaking his head.

That's Hot Baby!

I recently changed jobs. Departments really. I now work with some pretty crazy people. Coming to work is fun.

More often than not, one of us will have a craving for something and, in the spirit of sisterhood, the others will follow.

Yesterday, Frantastic had a craving, announced that she was going to McDonalds for Flap Jacks and promptly re-named yesterday Jeudi Gras.

I didn't feel like Flap Jacks, but got the Cinnamon Melts. OMG!! This is Heaven!!

The bottom right hand corner caught my eye.



Is the caution a reference to the Cinnamon Melts or was someone in Marketing feeling a little frisky one day?

Biker Bombshell

It's important to look cool when riding your motorcycle. Jeans, t-shirt, hot leather jacket. Chaps if it's cold.

The cool factor is the most important thing about riding. But once in a while, one has a momentary lapse in coolness.

Case in point ...

My friend Kerry is out riding with her boyfriend Rob. It's a cool day, end of the season, the wind is drying and chapping their lips. Their ultimate destination is a shopping mall where Kerry has a hair appointment. In their meandering, they've lost track of time and are now running late. They arrive at the mall. Kerry gets off the bike and heads towards the mall. "Wait!" calls Rob. "Give me your chapstick. My lips are killing me!" She digs in her pocket and tosses him the chap stick, then runs into the mall.

Rob does what we all do when our lips are chapped and liberally slathers chapstick all over his lips, generously applying all around the outside too.

Don't get ahead of me here, wait for it.

Now, you have to picture Rob. He looks like a biker. Big leather jacket, chaps, boots, skull cap, goatee. He gets off the bike and saunters into the mall, stopping here and there killing time while he waits for Kerry. When he gets to the salon to see how she's doing, Kerry bursts out laughing. He frowns. "What?!" She turns him towards the mirror and Rob is mortified. Unbeknownst to him, Kerry passed him her tinted chapstick and he now has Cherry Blaster smeared all over his mouth. He looks like a biker drag queen bag lady.

"No wonder people were staring and snickering!" he says.

No wonder, Rob, No wonder.

Biker Babe

I am married to a serious James Bond fan. I have seen every James Bond film at least three times.

There are valuable life lessons to be learned from these films.

For instance, at any given moment, you may be attacked by an evil world conqueror. In your water- and wrinkle-proof tuxedo, you will have to cleverly devise a means of escape. But you will only have two options: either slip into your scuba gear that miraculously folds into a 1" square which is now stashed in your breast pocket, or jump onto the motorcycle that is conveniently abandoned steps away from you.

With this in mind, a few years ago I decided to get my motorcycle licence. Besides, I was getting a little tired of sitting on the back of the bike. The back of The Husband's helmet just doesn't do it for me.

So I took the course. One of the ridiculous things they make you do is maneuver your bike around a tight 45° angle. Anyone who rides knows that you can't make your bike turn unless it's actually moving. But I couldn't give it gas otherwise I would have toppled the pylons. As I'm trying to make this corner, the bike wobbles. My boot gets caught on the spikes of the foot pedal and I can't stabilize myself. I begin to tip and can't get my leg out to stop myself from falling. Just as I fall with the bike between my legs, my foot comes loose and my ankle is crushed between the pavement and the bike pedal.

Ouch!

We were being tested later that day. Needless to say, I failed the test. BY ONE FRICKN' POINT!! AARRRRRRGH!!!!

Sigh. So I went back the next week and re-tested. And passed! I am now the proud owner of a 535 Virago. Ain't she sweet?!

Next on the Bond List ... scuba lessons!

Check your mail

Coming home late from an event downtown, we took the subway home. Arriving at Wilson Station, The Husband decides he should visit the loo before taking the bus home.

So I wait on the bench outside while he goes in.

Not 5 seconds later he comes racing out of the bathroom, skidding to a stop a few feet away. He looks up at the signs, looks over at me, hangs his head and goes into the other door.

I look up at the signs. Women. Ha!

When he came out, I was still giggling. He sheepishly explains "I noticed that there weren't any urinals, but I didn't think anything of it. Figured maybe it was some new concept the TTC was trying. Who knows, right? So I go in a stall. Then I see the mail box. This isn't right!"

Let's hope Canada Post doesn't deliver there.

Don't Believe Everything You Read

I organized a craft show that was held on Saturday. It was the first craft show I had ever participated in, let alone organized. Talk about blindly jumping in! Despite my inexperience, it turned out to be quite successful. So much so that the other Crafters agreed to participate in a Spring Craft Sale. Needless to say, I'm quite pleased with myself.

However, there was a small glitch.

I received a frantic voice mail message Friday morning. "Hi, Mo? It's Chris at the Ajax Community Centre. You need to call me right away!"

All sorts of things were going through my head ... The room was no longer available. They mixed up the date. The community centre burned down.

So I called him back.

"Listen," he says. "Do you have a sign on the lawn on Harwood?"

"Yes."

"Some of the neighbourhood kids have re-arranged the letters on your sign."

Oh-Oh.

"And you're now advertising for an Anal Sex Show."

Oh crap!

After my fit of laughter, I called Michael the sign guy and told him what happened. He was mortified and said he was right around the corner and he'd go over right away and fix the sign. I'm kicking myself that I didn't get a picture of it! I mean, really, that's quite creative!

Alex was at the show and says she saw two young single guys walk in and look around. She said by the looks on their faces, they were really confused. They looked at each other, frowned, shook their heads in a "this ain't it" sorta way and walked out.

The Husband pointed out that at least we know the money we spent on the sign wasn't wasted. Advertising works!

Got Milk???

Frantastic found this on a blog and sent it to me.

She posed the question:

"I don't drink milk. Can anyone confirm this?"

Anyone? Anyone?? Bueller???

Lest We Forget

Stories of battles fought and won,
Yet so many more are left unsung.

Who are you that gave your life me?
For my freedom, my rights, my liberty?

My thanks to you, who I've never met.
I promise you I will never forget.

Will Wonders Never Cease?

I witnessed a miracle today.

I firmly believe in miracles. Miracles come in many forms. Some small, some large. It's the small miracles that usually go unnoticed. The ones that are chalked up as being coincidence or fate. Like catching your bus in the nick of time, or having the line go fast at the coffee shop.

The big ones are almost always noticed. Not everyone acknowledges them as being miracles, but you certainly appreciate that something special happened. Like the birth of a child, or surviving an accident.

I have witnessed some amazing miracles in my life. In fact, my father will tell you I am a miracle. To begin with, my mother was in a horrific head-on collision when she was a teenager. She was the only survivor, but wasn't expected to live. She surprised everyone. Later, she was told she'd never have children. She surprised everyone -- twice, in fact. And when I was a few months old, my father will tell you the story of when he was holding me. I stopped breathing, turning blue. He gently shook me and I began breathing again. My father believes in miracles too.

But the miracle I witnessed this morning will probably never happen again. I have heard tell of these things happening to others, but no one I personally know has ever experienced it. I thought it was an Urban Legend until today.

What is this miracle of miracles, you ask?

This morning, The Husband changed the toilet paper roll.

Hallelujah!

Rock-a-Bye Poultry

Dad owns a hobby farm in Alban. A tiny, sleepy town about 45 minutes south of Sudbury. The Farm used to have cattle, sheep, rabbits and chickens. On our way home from a camping trip one year, we stopped in for a surprise visit. Dad wasn't home, but we slipped on some rubber boots and took the kids for a tour of the barnyard.

As we walked through the barn, The Girl spies a dead chicken on a bench. She looks up at her father, her big doe eyes pleading, questioning. "What's the chicken doing, Daddy?"

I close my eyes. Oh man. I wasn't prepared to explain the cycle of life to a four-year old. Please God, I'm thinking, give me the right words to say so that I don't traumatize this child for life. I had visions of The Girl running screaming from the barn and vowing to never eat chicken again.

The Husband doesn't hesitate. He presses a finger to his lips and whispers "Shhhh. The chicken is sleeping." The Girl's eyes widen. "Oh!" she whispers loudly. And pressing a finger to her own lips, she begins to tiptoe out of the barn, pulling her father who is tiptoeing behind her.

This is a Test. I repeat ... This is a Test.

OK. I really have nothing to blog about right now. But it's driving me crazy that I can't seem to get the previous post to have the ability to accept comments. I'm thinking it may have to do with the link.

So to test it, I'm going to share with you my favourite commercial.




I'm gonna post and see what happens ...

IT WORKS! Phew!

Does this commercial bug anyone else?




The part that makes me really Grrrrrr is when Julia calmly says "But I called my mom and she said try OxiClean."

First of all, she's smiling while she tells this story. Clearly she's on some serious medication because I don't know any woman who would be smiling about the fact that her Ritalin-deprived child was running through the house WITH MUDDY SHOES! I know that if I did that, I would have been beaten to within an inch of my life.

Second, if I called my mom and told her the kids had run through the house with muddy shoes and jumped on the bed, she wouldn't calmly tell me to use OxiClean. She'd tell me to beat those kids to a pulp and make THEM clean up the mess. And you can bet that the next time the kids visited Memere, she'd lecture them.

I guess my commercial will be filmed from prison.

Witches and Poodles and Dragons ... oh my!!

Halloween was a blast! We had 63 kids trick-or-treating at our house.

Each time someone knocked at the door, Puppy would growl and bark. I don't know why because the moment I opened the door, he'd press his ears back and slowly back away from the monsters. You see, being a retired racing greyhound, Puppy isn't used to anyone shorter than him so he's scared of children.

It didn't help when the cutest little munchkin dressed up like a furry blue duck came toddling up the driveway. I saw him coming so I opened the door. He smiled up at me with the fattest little cheeks (I just wanted to squeeeeeeze them!!).

Then he spies the dog.

"PUPPY!!" he squeals. And fearlessly launches himself at Puppy, clinging to his neck. Puppy doesn't know what to do and very slowly starts to back up, dragging this kid with him. The parents are laughing, I'm laughing, the little duck is laughing. Everyone's laughing except Puppy. Poor guy.

A few more trick-or-treaters later and a Witch, a Poodle and a Dragon show up at the door. The Witch starts babbling away to me, but I don't recognize her. Then her mother comes up the walk. It's the family two doors down. Puppy sees the girls all the time when we go for a walk, but he doesn't seem to recognize the Witch either and there's no way he's getting close enough to smell her! She reaches out to pet him, but he backs away. "It's OK, Puppy!" she croons. "It's a little girl under here. Look!" She whips off her Witch hat. "It's me, Leah!" Puppy immediately recognizes her and happily trots over for kisses.

What a suck!