A little off the top

It's obvious that I should not have
opposable thumbs
or try to cook.
Probably both.

I was making lasagna the other day.
Thought I'd surprise The Husband.

I have the noodles in the pot, cooking.
I have ground beef sizzling in a pan,
and I'm chopping some onions,
when I decide that some extra meat
might be nice with the lasagna.

And slice a bit off the top of my thumb.



Despite how much it hurt,
all I can think is:
TH is never going to let me live this down.

I tightly wrap it up,
slap a bandaide on it,
and continue to make dinner.

I'm a trooper, if not coordinated.

But it won't stop bleeding,
and I quickly soak through two bandaides.

I finish cooking the sauce
and the noodles,
but my thumb is beginning to ache.

And I'm getting a little worried,
'cause it won't stop bleeding.

I call TH at work.

"When are you coming home?" I ask, my voice a high-pitched falsetto, trying to sound all innocent. He doesn't buy it.

"Why?" He sounds suspicious.

"Now don't laugh when I tell you this," I warn, "'cause it hurts and it won't stop bleeding."

He laughs anyway. "Were you trying to cook again?" And I laugh in spite of the pain and the need to choke him. In a rush of words, I tell him what happened, and he immediately puts his Responsible Hat on.

"Is it above the nail?"

"Yes."

"That's good."

HUH??!

"Well...it's good that you didn't chop your thumb off."

Always looking at the bright side. Thanks, TH.

By the time he gets home, the bleeding is minimal. It looks like I'll live to ring in the new year. But I'm a little sore and I don't have the energy to put together the lasagna. So TH kicks me out of the kitchen, puts it all together and throws it in the oven.

He calls me to dinner and when I sit down, I notice that his place setting has a knife and fork. Mine only has a fork.

"You need to earn your right to have a knife."

"Very funny," I sneer.

The Muppets

As a kid,
I loved Sesame Street
and even as an adult,
I still love the Muppets
(notice I said adult
and not grown-up).

I think Animal and Beaker are my favourites.

Devi sent me this video,
which I loved:



The Old Farts always cracked me up.

They had a a remake of
Bohemian Rhapsody,
but I discovered this morning
they they removed it
due to copyright infringement.
Damn!
It was a good one, too!
The ending was hilarious.

So, instead,
I give you this,
which is Animal at his best:



If you search Muppets Studio on YouTube,
you'll find their Channel
with tons of videos.

Almost Famous

Well...I think my literary debut went quite well.

The Husband, Puppy and I
all sat together in the living room
and listened to the show.
Puppy kept looking back and forth,
from me to the stereo,
wondering why my voice was coming from
way over there,
when obviously I was sitting right beside him.

I got a few text messages once the show started.
And the moment it was done,
my BlackBerry exploded with messages
from friends and family
congratulating me.

What a great feeling!

Thanks to everyone who supported
me in all of this,
and continue to inflate my ego.
Special thanks to TH who,
when listening to "Grandma's Quilt" said:

"Philip?! Who's Philip?!!"

Look-a-Likes

The Husband got a new coat yesterday.
A black wool pea coat.

This morning,
we're getting ready to walk out the door;
he's wearing his new pea coat
and a black toque.

I start giggling.
"You look like a long shoreman.
Either that, or you're going to rob a bank."

He glowers at me.

"I look like George Clooney!"

*snort!*

Wii are Playing Now!

I bought a Wii console and Wii Fit Plus last night.

I worked out for almost an hour
and was having so much fun
that I didn't realize the time went by.

I jogged.
The guy kept turning around and waving at me.
Just watch where you're going, dude!

I jumped a skateboard.
I was doing some awesome jumps!

I swung a hoola hoop.
My hoop almost fell down until I got the rhythm.

I bicycled.
Where the hell did that stupid dog come from?

And I boxed.
I kept hitting my trainer in the face!


It was a little depressing when I set it up, though.
If you've never done this,
the program prompts you to enter your height
then tells you to stand on the console.
My bonhomme's hips and waist spread out,
then she hangs her head and says "Ooooh!"

I just about fell off the console,
I was laughing so hard.

It will be fun to watch me and my Mii
get smaller and smaller.



When I called The Husband yesterday
to told him we were going shopping
to buy the Wii, he said
"It's like living with a 12-year old...
only I don't get arrested."

'Twas the Night Before Christmas, Legally Speaking

Thanks to Courtini for sending me this gem:


* * *



An old Holiday story, after it has been reviewed and modified as necessary by the legal department:


Whereas, on or about the night prior to Christmas, there did occur at a certain improved piece of real property (hereinafter "the House") a general lack of stirring by all creatures therein, including, but not limited to, a mouse.

A variety of foot apparel, e.g., stocking, socks, etc., had been affixed by and around the chimney in said House in the hope and/or belief that St. Nick a.k.a. St. Nicholas a.k.a. Santa Claus (hereinafter "Claus") would arrive at sometime thereafter.

The minor residents, i.e., the children, of the aforementioned House were located in their individual beds and were engaged in nocturnal hallucinations, i.e., dreams, wherein vision of confectionery treats, including, but not limited to, candies, nuts and/or sugar plums, did dance, cavort and otherwise appear in said dreams.

Whereupon the party of the first part (sometimes hereinafter referred to as "I"), being the joint-owner in fee simple of the House with the party of the second part (hereinafter "Mamma"), and said Mamma had retired for a sustained period of sleep. (At such time, the parties were clad in various forms of head gear, e.g., kerchief and cap.)

Suddenly, and without prior notice or warning, there did occur upon the unimproved real property adjacent and appurtenant to said House, i.e., the lawn, a certain disruption of unknown nature, cause and/or circumstance. The party of the first part did immediately rush to a window in the House to investigate the cause of such disturbance.

At that time, the party of the first part did observe, with some degree of wonder and/or disbelief, a miniature sleigh (hereinafter "the Vehicle") being pulled and/or drawn very rapidly through the air by approximately eight (8) reindeer. The driver of the Vehicle appeared to be and in fact was, the previously referenced Claus.

Said Claus was providing specific direction, instruction and guidance to the approximately eight (8) reindeer and specifically identified the animal co-conspirators by name: Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen (hereinafter "the Deer"). (Upon information and belief, it is further asserted that an additional co-conspirator named "Rudolph" may have been involved.)

The party of the first part witnessed Claus, the Vehicle and the Deer intentionally and willfully trespass upon the roofs of several residences located adjacent to and in the vicinity of the House, and noted that the Vehicle was heavily laden with packages, toys and other items of unknown origin or nature. Suddenly, without prior invitation or permission, either express or implied, the Vehicle arrived at the House, and Claus entered said House via the chimney.

Said Claus was clad in a red fur suit, which was partially covered with residue from the chimney, and he carried a large sack containing a portion of the aforementioned packages, toys, and other unknown items. He was smoking what appeared to be tobacco in a small pipe in blatant violation of local ordinances and health regulations.

Claus did not speak, but immediately began to fill the stocking of the minor children, which hung adjacent to the chimney, with toys and other small gifts. (Said items did not, however, constitute "gifts" to said minor pursuant to the applicable provisions of Federal Tax Laws.)

Upon completion of such task, Claus touched the side of his nose and flew, rose and/or ascended up the chimney of the House to the roof where the Vehicle and Deer waited and/or served as "lookouts." Claus immediately departed for an unknown destination.

However, prior to the departure of the Vehicle, Deer and Claus from said House, the party of the first part did hear Claus state and/or exclaim: "Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!" Or words to that effect.

Mark Your Calendars

Well, that didn't take long!

I ended up recording three stories
for Life Rattle:

"Grandma's Quilt",
"Saturday Morning Cartoons", and
"Memère Rosa"

which are all expected to air
THIS Sunday!!

There are two ways to listen to the show:


On Sunday, December 13, 2009 at 9:00 p.m.

Set your FM Dial to 88.1

OR

Listen live at ckln.fm


As my stories are not long enough
for the entire 30 minute time slot,
they will also play another story
by another author.

The recording was fun.
I did all three stories in one take.
I only fudged a couple of words,
at which point I would pause,
then re-read the paragraph
and Virginia edited-out the errors.

She sent me the audio files after editing.
Now that I listen to them,
I realize I could have talked more slowly.
It seemed slow when I was speaking,
but listening to someone read
and having a conversation
are two entirely different things.

I also think I could have been more animated.
But that will come with experience.

And I had no idea my voice is so deep.

I have visions of the scene in Spaceballs
where Princess Vespa is singing.
"Nobody knows the trouble I've seen.
Nobody knows but Jesus."

I'm a bass!
Who knew?!

Is this thing on?

If you're keeping track,
you know that I was invited to
record a couple of stories
for Life Rattle Radio.

Tonight's the night.
I'm recording
"Grandma's Quilt" and
"Saturday Morning Cartoons"
with Virginia Ashberry and
Vikki Summerfield.

Vikki's going for support
and to make faces at me while I read.
Probably the latter, more than the former.

I don't know when it will air,
but as soon as I know,
I'll let you know.

Colour me Crazy

When we lived in our apartment,
we hung Christmas lights along the balcony.
Since everyone had white, green or red,
we decided to be different
and hung blue lights.

The next year,
our neighbours with the adjoining balcony
followed suit and also hung blue lights.

The year after that,
two more balconies had blue lights,
and each year, more joined the blue team.

When we moved into our house eight years ago,
we noticed that all the neighbours had
white, green or red lights.
Perfect, we thought, we'll be different again.
So TH strung blue lights along the eaves,
added red bulbs to the coach lights,
and set two blue spotlights
to shine on the front window.

The next year, a few more people had blue lights.
And each year after that,
more people joined the blue team.

This year, just about everyone on our street
has blue lights.

*sigh*
Maybe next year we'll get yellow lights.
Just to see what happens.

Rudolph and Hermey

The Husband and I watched
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
last night.

It's been a while since I saw this.
And I certainly don't recall this
claymation animation
being so politically incorrect.

I just about peed myself laughing
when Donner rebuffed Mrs. Donner
and told her she couldn't join him
in the search for Rudolph because
"this is man's work!"

I know for a fact that TH
is going to use that line a lot!

And is it just me,
or is Santa a bit of a jerk?
Telling the elf choir to hurry it along ...
I mean, really!



While watching this scene,
I said to TH
"It's obvious that Hermey is gay."

TH replied:
"Yeah, but they couldn't say 'gay'
in the 60s, so they said 'dentist'."

I laughed. "I mean, look at his hair," I said.

"Yeah," said TH. "And look at his shoes!"

With that in mind, this scene
(in fact...the entire movie)
takes on a whole new meaning!

Artwork

The Husband got a little bored
after dinner one night.



I can only imagine what kind of child
this man was.

And we're back ...

I'm back!
Although my pants say otherwise,
I lucked out and didn't gain a pound!

We met quite a cast of characters
while on vacation.
Of course, everyone was given a nickname.


Side Show Bob
Is really named Marco.
He was the entertainment director
who wore a wild Rasta wig,
hence the name.
Oddly, he understood
who we were talking about
when we called him this.

Duff Man
Is really named Cesar.
Cesar was one of the bartenders
who pushed the Dos Equis beer cart
around the pool.
Needless to say,
Cesar quickly became our BFF.

Dos Equis Man
If you've ever seen the Dos Equis commercial,
you know what I'm talking about.
The Husband came back from a
bathroom break
to tell us he just met
the Most Interesting Man in the World
from the Dos Equis Commercial.
It seems that while TH was washing his hands,
the old guy clapped him on the back and asked
"Are you having fun my friend?"
TH pointed him out to me one night.
He was the spitting image of the old guy!
"Stay thirsty my friend"
became the slogan of the trip.

Comic Book Guy
The epitome of an IT Geek,
this guy was overweight,
had unkempt hair, a scraggly beard
and wore a ragged grey sleeveless shirt
every day in the pool.

Precious
I'm pretty sure I saw this spoiled brat
on some Sweet Sixteen show.
She was so rude and demanding
to the staff.
Someone needed to bitch-slap
this blonde bimbo.

Titanic Lady
There was this cute old white-haired bitty
who looked strikingly like the old lady
from the movie Titanic.
She walked about with a walker,
but surprised us one morning
by walking quite briskly without it.

Aunt Bea
We met an elderly couple half-way through the trip.
They retired to Mexico 30 years ago.
We introduced Aunt Bea to a
marvelous drink called a Dirty Monkey.
Rum, cafe liqueur, cream and banana.
Yum!


But not to be outdone,
TH re-christened our friend Karen, as
Crayon

We were sitting at the swim-up bar.
(not surprising, we spent a lot of time there!)
Crayon was wearing a blue bathing suit.
TH, having had a few, suddenly starts laughing,
points at Crayon and says, giggling,
"Mon Crayon est bleu!"

Comfort Food

I'm on vacation this week,
but, as promised,
I have posted some prose
written under my pen name.

~

Comfort Food
by Monica Manning

The sun penetrates through the blinds; bright stripes dance across our sleeping bodies. The smell of brewing coffee nudges me awake and I send a silent thank you to the gods for inventing automatic coffee makers.

A grunt behind me lets me know that my love is also waking. He turns towards me and wraps a possessive arm around me, drags me closer to nuzzle into my neck. I turn to face him and push his hair from his eyes. He needs a haircut. But we’re newlyweds, and we have better things to do.

I hear the grumble of his stomach—an angry demand for fuel. He opens an eye and I raise an eyebrow in question. We both laugh. I sit up and ask what he wants for breakfast.

I can make pancakes, I offer, or how about French toast with some bacon? Or I could make an omelette with sausage and fried potatoes. Or how about …

He just stares at me and a grin slowly begins to spread across his face. I know that look. I’ve been seeing that look quite a bit lately. But before I can stop him, he wraps an arm around my waist and traps me between him and the bed.

Alright, I concede. Breakfast can wait.

~

The comments that I received on this post
over at Monica Manning
were hilarious.
People! Believe me when I say
this is a work of fiction.
If you know TH ...
the boy has no hair.
AND ...
I'm not a morning person.
Not to mention ...
TH would likely take
the homemade breakfast
over the alternative any way.
We ain't fluffy for nothin'!

~

I anticipate post-dating
some posts at the
Monica Manning blog,
so head on over there
and check out
today's submission.

Junk

I'm on vacation this week,
but, as promised,
I have posted some prose
written under my pen name.

~

Junk
by Monica Manning

"Do you need to keep this?" The exasperation in her voice was obvious as she held up a metal toy truck. Only one wheel remained and most of the red paint had been replaced with rust. Phil glanced over and sighed.

"No." The word was dragged out—a mournful surrender.

"Look," she began, "you can't keep everything. Our old junk is starting to take over the house. We need to purge." Jennifer tossed the truck into a nearby box designated as garbage.

Marrying a fellow pack rat had finally taken its toll. The basement had begun to look like a small-town flea market that sold only tattered out-of-date clothing, broken toys and worn furniture. Jennifer had already filled several boxes with her own memories. Dolls, stuffed animals; even her high school cheerleader uniform. Phil had argued the merits of keeping the uniform but—rolling her eyes—Jennifer had added it to the trash pile.

And now they purged Phil's mementos. Half-finished car models, armless action figures, moth-eaten Varsity sweatshirts. Was that a KISS poster?

Jennifer pulled a tackle box from a bookshelf, brushed the dust off. She wondered when Phil had last gone fishing. Before Jennifer could open the box, Phil snatched it away from her.

"I'm keeping this." His tone made it clear that this was not negotiable. Intrigued, Jennifer held her hands out.

"What's in the box, Phil?" She wiggled her fingers in a "hand it over" motion. Phil shook his head.

"This is my personal stuff." He held up a hand, palm facing his wife. "You can't have this."

Jennifer was only more intrigued. What was in the box that he needed to keep? What could possibly be so important? She raised her eyebrows and thrust her hands out.

"Hand it over."

Phil closed his eyes and sighed; knew it was fruitless to argue. Shaking his head, he reluctantly placed the box in her hands. Lifting the lid, she was surprised to find the metal box held nothing but paper. Dozens of squares, worn from repeated folding; cards with faded graphics. Frowning, she pulled a piece of paper from the stash and carefully unfolded it.

Jennifer's eyes filled with tears as she recognized her own handwriting. A letter written some 20 years earlier professed her undying teenage love. She opened cards and unfolded other letters—all written so many years ago and long-forgotten by her.

She looked over at her husband, dazed. Phil shrugged, clearly embarrassed.

"I kept every letter and card you've ever given me." It was said as though he challenged her to laugh at him. Instead, Jennifer wrapped her arms around his waist, overwhelmed by the surge of emotion that had filled her. "It's no big deal," he muttered, but pulled her close to him.

Jennifer lifted her head and met Phil's gaze. The corner of her lip turned up as she gave him a knowing look. "We'll keep the cheerleader outfit."

~

I anticipate post-dating
some posts at the
Monica Manning blog,
so head on over there
and check out
today's submission.

Running Loose

I'm on vacation this week,
but, as promised,
I have posted some prose
written under my pen name.

~

Running Loose
by Monica Manning

Jerked suddenly awake, Shawna sat up in her bed, her little chest heaving, gasping for breath. Carefully reaching over she snatched Teddy up, squeezing him against her in a strangle-hold, knowing he’d protect her, despite the fact that he was missing an eye.

Shawna strained her little ears, listening for the slightest sound, the tiniest warning. Then she heard it. A slight creak of the floor. Someone—or more accurately—something had stepped on the loose floorboard at the end of the hallway.

She eyed the large expanse of her bed, the boundary defined by the SpongeBob SquarePants bedspread. That was one good thing about getting the new big bed. And just about the only good thing. She had pleaded with her parents to keep the old bed, but they had patiently explained that Grandma and Poppa could sleep in her new big bed when they visited and she could sleep on the camp cot. Shawna had tried to explain to them that the old bed was much safer because there were drawers beneath it and nothing could escape. Never mind the fact that she would be even more vulnerable on the cot!

But they wouldn’t listen. They had simply laughed at her, dismissively waving their hands, telling her that there was absolutely nothing under the bed.

What did they know? Shawna snorted into the dark. They were grown-ups, and grown-ups didn’t understand monsters. In fact, they couldn’t even see them, every kid knew that. But Katy Wilson’s brother told her that his best friend Mark Henderson’s older sister told him that their little cousin saw a monster.

That—in Shawna’s mind—was proof enough.

And now, one of the monsters living under her bed was wandering around the house. She knew there were more of them...there always were. One had obviously escaped already, the rest were just waiting for her to make a move, or worse, a mistake. Kneeling on the bed, she contemplated how she was going to reach the salvation of her parents’ bedroom, knowing that the moment she stepped onto the floor, she would likely be attacked. As she considered whether she could run fast enough, she saw a shadow slowly creep over the crack below her door, plummeting the room into complete darkness.

With a squeal, Shawna dove under the covers, yanking them over her head, knowing instinctively, as all children do, that bed sheets offer an invisible force shield that no monster can penetrate.

Trembling uncontrollably, Shawna squeezed her eyes shut, whimpering quietly, willing the monster to simply crawl back under the bed. She heard the squeak of her door as it opened slowly. Her hand edged over, reaching for the comfort only Teddy’s fur could provide, but she found only empty air. Horrified, she realized he must have fallen off the bed. Paralyzed with fear, Shawna shrank under the covers, imagining the gruesome tortures that Teddy would endure.

As she wondered if the protection of the bedspread would fail, wondered what would happen if she dared try and rescue Teddy, there was a loud—SNAP!

The room was immediately drenched in light.

Sharp footsteps carried across the room toward her bed, then suddenly stopped. The covers were snatched from her and Shawna tremulously opened her eyes, looking up into her mother’s face, who appeared to be holding back a smile.

“I know you’re scared, honey, but believe me—there is nothing under your bed.” And to prove it, Valerie Phillips got down on her knees and peered under her daughter’s bed. Popping her head back up, she announced brightly, “all clear!”

Valerie picked up her daughter’s teddy bear and, turning the stuffed toy over, noticed that he was becoming quite worn. “Teddy’s getting kind of old, don’t you think?” She waved the bear in front of Shawna, then tucked him in beside her. As she left, Valerie glanced back, Shawna’s terrified face stared back at her. Shaking her head, Valerie left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Left alone in the dark, Shawna pulled Teddy closer to her, smug with the knowledge that she, herself, now had proof of the monster conspiracy, for she had seen Teddy’s face clearly when her mother had swung him over her.

Teddy was now missing the other eye.

As she lay grieving for Teddy’s blindness, she heard the distinct tink, tink, tink, of a button bouncing across the floor, followed by the unmistakable sound of hollow, mocking laughter coming from under her bed.

~

Although this story isn't finished yet (and I may never finish it) there are two more chapters. If you're interested, pop over to the Monica Manning site to read Chapter Two. From there, you can link to Chapter Three.

The Last Supper

I'm on vacation this week,
but, as promised,
I have posted some prose
written under my pen name.

~

The Last Supper
by Monica Manning

He sat alone at the table, his calloused hands folded in his lap. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a fine meal. Perhaps never.

Footsteps echoed off the walls and he sat up straighter, fidgeted a bit. He closed his eyes to heighten his senses, wanting to savour this moment, burn the memory in his mind.

The smell assaulted him first. His mouth watered in Pavlovian reflex and he swallowed thickly, greedily licking his chapped lips. Aroma wrapped around him, caressed him like a familiar lover who promised to fulfill every perverted desire. The plate gently touched the table before him and he waited until the footsteps faded away.

Alone again, though he knew he was watched, he slowly opened his eyes and stared at the feast before him: an enormous piece of prime rib—rare—garnished with a large dollop of strong horse radish. Arranged around it in homage to the succulent meat were parisienne potatoes, crisp asparagus and fried mushrooms.

He slowly cut into the tender meat then placed a small sliver on his tongue, relished the juices as they filled his mouth. The small morsel all but melted. The crisp outer shell of the potatoes housed a tender white interior. A mushroom cloud of steam erupted when he split them open. The asparagus, steamed to perfection, lay in a pool of melted butter next to over-sized seasoned portabellas.

His contented sighs punctuated the silence as he steadily ate through the meal, laying down his utensils after each mouthful, delaying the end as long as possible.

Crème brullée was the final indulgence. He tapped the crust gently, watched as the fault undulated across the golden scab, exposing the vulnerable richness beneath. Each spoonful was sheer joy.

The utensils now lay across the empty plate, meticulously lined up. He wiped his mouth carefully with the napkin and gently lay it atop the china. His eyes closed briefly as he sent silent thanks to the god he was convinced had long since turned away. He would remember that banquet as long as he lived.

He smirked as, once again, the footsteps approached, confirmation that he was watched. How else would they know he was done?

“Ready?” The question was asked, as though he had a choice. He merely nodded in reply, rose awkwardly and shuffled towards the door. With one final glance at the barren room, he followed the uniformed fellow out the door.

As he hobbled down the long corridor, the chains around his ankles clinked ominously, barely heard above the bellowed “Dead man walking!”

~

I anticipate post-dating
some posts at the
Monica Manning blog,
so head on over there
and check out
today's submission.

Sad Little Bear

I'm on vacation this week,
but, as promised,
I have posted some prose
written under my pen name.

~

Sad Little Bear
by Monica Manning

He remembered that first day as though time had not passed. The grown-ups held him by his waist and swung him to and fro while the child gazed at him in wonder, giggling with delight. Small, pudgy hands squeezed and held him tight, while strong gums gnawed and sucked his left ear until it was mangled beyond recognition.

In the early years, days were spent attending lavish tea parties and participating in extravagant parades, always wearing the gaudy orange hat and the pink feather boa. Evenings, he was lovingly held close in peaceful slumber; though he often woke up on the floor as if he'd spent the evening on a wild bender.

Later on, he was privy to such classified information as to what was said at recess, to whom and how, and detailed dossiers of those who didn't play well with others. It never occurred to him that he could retire on the royalties that such a tell-all book would bring.

Recent years were a mixture of long hours of solitude, lying prone on the flowered bedspread, and listening intently to the tortured lament of teenage love, offering the condolence only a hug can provide.

It was all coming unravelled now, as he sat watching her pack her worldly possessions, eagerly anticipating the freedom of university. He contemplated his dismal future, imagined it would involve being boxed and sent to a charity where he would lay with other abandoned stuffies, bewailing better times.

She stood up then, set the last box upon the bed beside him and looked around the room, a wistful expression flickering across her face. She picked up the box and, tucking it under her arm, scooped him up in a one-armed hug, squeezing him close to her.

"You have to come with me," she mumbled into his fur. "You're my best friend."

And with that he left the room, held firmly in her hand, happily swinging from one leg, visions of the next great adventure speeding through his fluffy head.

~

I anticipate post-dating
some posts at the
Monica Manning blog,
so head on over there
and check out
today's submission.

Deliberation

I'm on vacation this week,
but, as promised,
I have posted some prose
written under my pen name.

~

The challenge/rules for this piece:

Select a word to be the title of your 11-line poem. The last word of each line must be a word of no less than four letters created using letters from the title of your poem.


* * *


Deliberation
by Monica Manning

“He partied at a festival, was filled with great elation,
and staggered out knowing he was too filled with libation;
his drunkenness forgotten—completely in denial.”
screamed the burly big-shot lawyer hired for the trial.

“If this man had only thought, used only half his brain,
that woman’d be alive now, and we would not detain.
Instead I’m here before you; my temper in a rile.
In fact, I must pause now, to swallow down my bile.”

The prosecution rests, no longer does berate.
The drunkard sits and waits while the jury does debate.

The verdict’s in, the man has sinned, the public does elate.

~

I anticipate post-dating
some posts at the
Monica Manning blog,
so head on over there
and check out
today's submission.

The Narrator

I'm on vacation this week,
but, as promised,
I have posted some prose
written under my pen name.

~

The Narrator
by Monica Manning

The streets were thick with fog. Minute tornadoes swirled around her feet as she walked purposefully, her hands crammed into her coat, the collar turned up against the chill. Straight, raven-black hair, seemed to sparkle as the streetlight reflected off the tiny drops of moisture. Impatiently pushing a few stringy strands away, she shot an annoyed glance at …

“Cut it out!” Anger shot off her in waves. “You’re pissing me off!”

He glanced away, shrugging. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Well it’s annoying.” She walked faster and he lengthened his stride to keep up with her.

If he didn’t accomplish the mission, he would certainly be punished. And eternal damnation was not something he wanted to experience. He was unsure what the gods expected him to learn from this mission, but he was determined to succeed. No matter how irrational it seemed.

They arrived at the tall building she called home.

She fumbled in her bag, looking for ...

“That’s it!” She shoved at him hard so that he stumbled back two steps. “I’ve had it. Go back to wherever you came from.”

“I told you already...”

“Yeah, I know.” She dragged a hand through her wet hair. “You’re being tested, the gods sent you to be my Narrator, yadda yadda yadda.” She looked up at him, into those deep grey eyes that seemed to reach right into her soul. If he wasn’t so annoying, she could actually let herself get lost in those eyes. “I don’t care,” she whispered. “You’ve been following me around all day. Aren’t you done yet? I have a boring life. There’s not much to Narrate.”

He slipped into the elevator with her just as it closed and followed her to the penthouse unit. At the door, she turned to him, a bemused look on her face. “You can’t come in.”

“Oh, but it says so in the Decree.” He pulled a piece of tightly rolled parchment from his cloak and unfurled it. She snatched it from his hands and scanned the paper, her eyes growing wide as she read.

“You idiot!” Dropping the parchment on the floor, she opened the door to her unit and slammed it resolutely in his face. He picked up the scroll and read it through once again.

“Oh my.”

There, clearly written in the Lord’s intricate penmanship was the Decree that he should be her Navigator.

Not Narrator.

“Oh my,” he repeated.

~

I anticipate post-dating
some posts at the
Monica Manning blog,
so head on over there
and check out
today's submission.

Hasta Luego, mi Amigos!

As you read this,
we're leaving for Mexico,
heading to sunny
Puerto Vallarta
with some friends.

I considered having
guest bloggers.
I also considered
simply post-dating my posts.

Then I thought:
Hey! I can do both!

I'm going to completely
step out of the closet
and 'out' my alter-ego.

So next week,
while I'm sipping
umbrella-laden fruit drinks,
I have post-dated
several posts
from my writing blog.

I know that Blogger
sometimes has issues with the
post-dated feature.
Hopefully this works.
If not,
I'll see ya'll when I get back...

We will resume our regular
blogging schedule
November 30.

Hasta luego!

Great News!

There is a radio show
called Life Rattle
heard on Sundays
from 9 - 9:30 p.m.
on CKLN-FM 88.1,
where local writers read
a couple of their stories on air.
It's quite entertaining...
there is some wonderful talent in this city!
If you live in the Toronto area,
you should listen in.

My friend,
who writes under the pen name,
Vikki Summerfield,
is one of the hosts of this show.

Every year,
Life Rattle presents
The Totally Unknown Writers Festival.
Local unknown writers read their stories
before a live audience.

Last night,
BJ and I went to the Festival
at the Rivoli.

While I was there,
Vikki introduced me to
the other hosts of the show.
I knew she had taken
a couple of stories from my
Monica Manning blog
and had presented them to her co-hosts.

They asked me to record two of my stories
for radio play.

I'm going to rework the stories
and record them when I'm back from Mexico.

I'll let you know when they air.

I'm so excited about this,
I can barely type!

One More Sleep!

I'm driving everyone I know nuts with this.
My Facebook status updates are all about
how many more sleeps before my vacation.
Specifically,
about the fact that
even though we leave Friday
I really only have one more sleep
(being tonight)
because, let's face it,
I'm not going to sleep tomorrow.
We're getting picked up at 3 a.m.
to drive to the airport anyway.
Why bother?

I have posts set up already
for the entire time I'm away.
I may not blog tomorrow,
so if I don't,
I hope you enjoy what I've
post-dated for the time I'm away,
and I'll see ya'll when I get back
on November 30.

Hasta luego!

'Tis Already the Season

I can't believe it's here.
We're still eating
Halloween candy
and the stores are already
hauling out
Christmas crap
and playing carols.

Really?
It's no wonder everyone is
stressed out this time of year.
How many times can you listen
to Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer
before you go postal on someone?

To make matters worse, someone
who shall remain nameless
*cough* Cousin Alex *cough*
already sent out their Christmas cards!

Slow down woman!
You're making the rest of us look bad!!

Despite my ranting and raving, though
I got a great kick out of this video.
I stole it from Nasira,
who posted it on Facebook.

I especially love
"Seven Eleven Workers" and
"Eleven-Syllable Names".

Very clever!

Manic Mondays

Over at The One Minute Writer C. Beth's prompt is "Monday".
Specifically, she asks:
What is the best thing about Mondays?

Really?
Isn't that an oxymoron?

I'm not a morning person.
Never have been.
Never will be.

Sadly, I married a morning person.
You cannot imagine how annoying this is.

I think of Mondays as a perpetual morning.
So I'm sure you've already figured out
how I feel about Mondays.

The only saving grace this week
is that it's only a three-day week for me.
I'm off Thursday to pack and primp
before my vacation.
We leave Friday for Mexico.

So I will drag my sorry self
through this gawd-awful day
and know that I have
sunny days ahead of me.

And next Monday,
will definitely be much better.
I mean, how bad can a Monday be,
when you have a swim-up bar??

Flu Shmu

Thanks to Lady Fairchilde for this ...


I'm not really worried about the swine flu,
but I do have a concern ...

Three years ago:
Chinese calendar year of the cow = Mad Cow disease

Two years ago:
Chinese calendar year of the bird = Avian flu

This year:
Chinese calendar year of the pig = Swine flu

Next year is the year of the cock.

Anybody else worried?

And what's the vaccination for it going to be?!

The Countdown's On

Next Friday,
we're leaving for Mexico.
I can't wait.
Other than my staycation
while TH was in Europe,
I haven't had a vacation since
this time last year,
when we went to Mexico.

Can you tell I love Mexico?

Last night,
I did what every woman
absolutely detests.
I went bathing suit shopping.

I don't know where
Bikini Village
found their mirrors,
but they were all warped.
The person reflected back at me
had way too many
dimples, lumps and bumps.

I don't just have a muffin top,
I have an entire bakery section.

The skinny bitch nice sales girl
asked me what kind of suit I was looking for.
"Something that covers all the sins?"
I suggested.

TH immediately pipes up
with a sarcastic
"Why don't you just take her
out back and show her the
berka section."

I appreciate the fact that
TH has a Shallow Hal complex.
He looks at me and sees
a hot skinny girl.
God bless him!

But I'm wondering if the berkas
come in a nice floral print.

A Pittance of Time

My heartfelt thanks
to those who gave all
that I,
a total stranger,
may live free

A Thrilling Night

I left work on time last night.
Well, sort of.
But at least I didn't stay late.

This is akin to a miracle for me.

I'm on the GO Train.
And this guys sits down beside me.
His iPod is screaming loud.
And he's playing Thriller.

I text The Husband
to let him know I'm on my way home.

on 5:10. beside some idiot who's playing thriller so loud i can make out the lyrics!

TH responds:

raking leaves. jackson rules. shamon.

Death from Below

Marc, over at Daily Writing Practice,
had a link to this piece.
I can't tell you how many times
I've watched this.
And I laugh harder every time.



Also worth watching are The Poem About Kicking Your Ass and Living on a Prayer.

Think before you speak

Thanks to CourTini for sending me this.

CourTini is leaving for Italy tonight.
All together now ...
"We hate you, CourTini!"

Oh, not really.
Have a great time, Court!




Have you ever spoken
and wished that you could
immediately take the words back?

Here are the Testimonials of
a few people who did:


FIRST TESTIMONY:

I walked into a hair salon with my husband
and three kids in tow
and asked loudly:
"How much do you charge for a shampoo
and a blow job?"

I turned around and walked back out
and never went back.
My husband didn't say a word...
He knew better.


SECOND TESTIMONY:

I was at the golf store comparing
different kinds of golf balls.
I was unhappy with the women's type
I had been using.
After browsing for several minutes,
I was approached by one of the
good-looking gentlemen who works at the store.
He asked if he could help me.

Without thinking, I looked at him and said,
"I think I like playing with men's balls."


THIRD TESTIMONY:

My sister and I were at the mall
and passed by a store that sold
a variety of candy and nuts.
As we were looking at the display case,
the boy behind the counter asked
if we needed any help.

I replied,
"No, I'm just looking at your nuts."

My sister started to laugh hysterically.
The boy grinned,
and I turned beet-red
and walked away.
To this day,
my sister has never let me forget.


FOURTH TESTIMONY:

While in line at the bank one afternoon,
my toddler decided to release
some pent-up energy and ran amok.
I was finally able to grab hold of
her after receiving looks of disgust
and annoyance from other patrons.
I told her that if she did not start behaving
right now she would be punished.
To my horror, she looked me in the eye and
said in a voice just as threatening,
"If you don't let me go right now,
I will tell Grandma that I saw you
kissing Daddy's pee-pee last night!"

The silence was deafening after
this enlightening exchange.
Even the tellers
stopped what they were doing.
I mustered up the last
of my dignity and
walked out of the bank with
my daughter in tow.
The last thing I heard as
the door closed behind me,
were screams of laughter.


FIFTH TESTIMONY:

Have you ever asked your child
a question too many times?
My three-year-old son had
a lot of problems with potty training
and I was on him constantly.

One day we stopped at Taco Bell
for a quick lunch,
in between errands.
It was very busy,
with a full dining room.
While enjoying my taco,
I smelled something funny.
So of course, I checked
my seven-month-old daughter,
and she was clean.
Then I realized that Danny
had not asked to go potty
in a while.
I asked him if he needed to go,
and he said "No".
I kept thinking
"Oh Lord, that child
has had an accident, and I don't
have any clean clothes with me."
Then I said,
"Danny, are you SURE
you didn't have an accident?"
"No," he replied.
I just KNEW that he must have had an accident,
because the smell was getting worse.
So, I asked one more time,
"Danny, did you have an accident?"
This time he jumped up,
yanked down his pants,
bent over,
spread his cheeks
and yelled
"SEE MOM, IT'S JUST FARTS!!"

While 30 people nearly
choked to death on their tacos laughing,
he calmly pulled up his pants
and sat down.

An older couple made me feel better,
thanking me for the best laugh they'd ever had!


LAST BUT NOT LEAST TESTIMONY:

This one had most of the
State of Michigan laughing
for two days and
a very embarrassed female news anchor
who will, in the future,
likely think before she speaks.

What happens when you predict snow,
but don't get any?

We had a female news anchor who,
the day after it was supposed
to have snowed and didn't,
turned to the weatherman and asked:
"So Bob, where's that eight inches
you promised me last night?"

Not only did HE have to leave the set,
but half the crew did too,
they were laughing so hard!


(Quite frankly, I can't believe
none of these experiences are mine)

Yeah ... what he said

Thanks to Devi for sending this one.

Devi is possibly the most
Christian Hindu I know.
She pointed out to me yesterday
that her friend
calls her Chrindu.
*snort*
Good one!

Face to Face

Barna Boo sent me this gem yesterday (thanks Boo!):


UCLA Study

A study conducted by UCLA's Department of Psychiatry has revealed that the kind of face a woman finds attractive on a man can differ depending on where she is in her menstrual cycle.

For example:

If she is ovulating, she is attracted to men with rugged and masculine features.

However, if she is menstruating, or menopausal, she tends to be more attracted to a man with duct tape over his mouth and a spear lodged in his chest while he is on fire.

No further studies are expected.

Those songs in my head

The Husband has this
uncontrollable desire
to drive me insane.
I'm not sure why.
Perhaps it is his purpose in life.
Many of us wonder why we're here
on this earth.
TH knows.
It's to make me nuts.

His favourite way of doing this
is to plant an annoying
song in my head.

Today was no exception.

The news this morning
was all about
Prince Charles and Camilla
who are here in Canada
visiting for the first time
as a married couple.

The news reader said that
they will be attending
the opening ceremony for the
Royal Winter Fair.

"Gee," I mused to TH,
"When's the last time royalty
opened the Winter Fair?"

"Oh, I don't know," he countered.
"I'm sure there's always someone
who attends, even if it's just..."

and he pauses
for just a fraction of a second
and I know that he's up to something

"...the Duke of Earl."

And I can see it in his face.
He's trying not to smile.
He has this evil smirk on his face.

And then I hear the chanting
in my head

Duke, Duke, Duke,
Duke of Earl,
Duke, Duke, Duke ...

*sigh*
Well ...
I supposed it's better than
Kungfu Fighting,
which is what he usually
tortures me with.

Halloween 2009

Puppy is not excited about Halloween.

Someone's knocking at the door
every two minutes.

There are little people
(strangers, no less!)
dressed in scary costumes.

He's not a happy camper.

So I was a little surprised
at his reaction to the first
trick-or-treater:

a curly blonde
two-year old
Bunny.

"OOOOoooo," I exclaimed.
"The dog LOVES bunnies."

Mom knew exactly what I was
talking about and we laughed.
Puppy wasn't too sure though,
and backed away.

"We have a big dog too," says Mom.
"She loves him."

And to prove the point,
the cute little Bunny holds out her hand.

I don't know what Puppy was thinking ...
maybe he thought she had a treat.
But he ran full tilt at her
and licked her face
from her chin
right up to her forehead.

One giant slurp.

I was a little worried about their reaction,
but Mom laughed and
the little bunny squealed in delight.
She gave Puppy a big hug
and they were instant best friends.

I don't think I'm ever
going to figure this dog out.

Trick or Treat

I ran out of dog cookies.
I gave Puppy the last one last night.
Now I have nothing for today.
I'm a bad mommy.

When I was talking to The Husband today,
I mentioned we need to get Snacks for Puppy.
We can't say 'Cookie' in front of him.
He knows that word quite well.
He'll come running over to you,
with his ears up,
panting like a lunatic,
expecting a treat.

We usually buy his cookies
at Costco,
but given that Halloween is tomorrow,
there should be hundreds of people
lining up to buy candy by the cart load.

So I suggested we go to the pet store.

"There shouldn't be that many people there," I mused.
"Except, of course, all the ones who are buying
costumes for their dogs, cats and hamsters."

"Right," says TH.

"Do hamsters wear costumes?" I wondered.

The ever-knowledgeable TH replied:
"They limit it to face-painting for hamsters."

Circus Freaks

I don't often get to leave work on time,
so when I rushed out to catch
the 4:53
I didn't have much choice in seats.
I sat across from an enormous man
who sat with his legs widely spread,
and a ginormous gut hanging down.

Not pretty.

GTB is almost always on this train,
but I know he prefers a car at the
opposite end of the train.

So I text him:


Me: On 453. You?

GTB: Yes. Car 7. No seats tho.

Me: I'm in the middle somewhere.

GTB: I see. It's hot in here.

Me: It is! I'm across from a HUGE man.

GTB: Bigger than a bread box?

Me: Oh yeah!

GTB: Bigger than a dancing circus bear?

Me: Bigger than a bakery!

GTB: Oh, I have to think bigger I see.

Me: He's a circus elephant.

GTB: Is he wearing a hat?

I glance over

Me: No hat.

Where's he going with this?

GTB: Dumbo wore a hat you know. So he's really a zoo elephant then, since no hat.

Me: LMAO!

She Gives Awards

I follow a wonderful writer,
who blogs under the name
ShePoet.

You really should go over
and read her work.
It's dark
and mysterious
and sensuous.
I love it.

She gave me an award,
under my pen name
which I have posted over there.
But I felt bad that
even though I adore this woman,
I wasn't going to write a post about her
at my other blog.

You see,
I want to keep my writing blog just that:
only writing.
I don't know why I need to do that --
I just do.
All you people with OCD will understand.

Something happens when I log in
under my pen name.
It's like a muse to me.
Here, I can be Crazy Mo
and make everyone laugh
(although, I appreciate, today ...
not so funny),
but with my Writing Hat on
I can be someone else.

There,
I am a Writer;
hunched over a manual typewriter,
cigarette dangling from my mouth,
half-empty glass of scotch
leaving water rings on the walnut desk.

I know that ShePoet understands.
So, ShePoet,
Know that I love your work
and I very much appreciate the award.

Blessings.
xo


Updated: ShePoet has left the BloggerSphere.
We don't know where she is, or why she left.
I hope she's well.
ShePoet ... if you read this, post a note
so we all know you're ok.
We miss you!"

Mini Means More. Right?

Halloween is right around the corner.
Actually, since it's this Saturday,
I supposed it's not just around the corner,
it's right down the street,
just a few houses away.

Whether or not you celebrate this holiday,
it's hard to ignore.
Everywhere you go, there are
witches,
spiders,
pumpkins,
ghosts,
black cats ...

and little mini candy bars.

Whoever invented these wee nuggets
should be canonized.
We could call him
Saint Morsel.

I got in the elevator last night
to go home
and was watching the little tv.

There was a bold announcement
that went something like:

"Don't want leftover candy?
We have a recipe for you
that will use up all the
leftover Halloween treats.
Visit captivate.ca"

'Leftover candy'?
What is this phenomenon of which you speak?
Who in the world has leftover candy?
I don't know about ya'll,
but The Husband and I buy
MORE
than we need,
just to be sure we have leftovers.

Isn't that the point???

We pick through the stash,
setting aside the ones we each like most,
then leave the rest for the
wee kiddies.

If we run out ...
well, too bad.
You kids don't need all that sugar anyway.

What?
You think I'm actually going to dip into
my OWN stash?
Pshhhht!
Yeah.
Right!
It takes a lot of work to be this fluffy.

Texting for Dummies

The other day,
Nephew #2 texted his mom ...
Cousin Alex to the rest of you.

But rather than texting her cell,
he accidentally texted the house.
If you've never experienced this,
what happens is you get a recorded
phone message that reads
the text message to you.

So Alex gets a phone message,
from a woman,
who says something about
the science trip on Wednesday.

Cousin Alex said it was really weird
to hear a message that was from her son,
but in a woman's voice.

Of course, Nephew #2 gets a confirmation text:
"your text has been successfully sent by atnt".
He doesn't notice his first mistake,
thinks his mom has texted him back, and
immediately sends a reply:
"what the f*ck is atnt?!"

Cousin Alex gets another voice message,
and the woman even says the eff word.

Now, if you don't think
I'm not going to start texting everyone at home,
you don't know me very well.

The texting saga gets better ...

The next day,
Nephew #2 sends a text message to his mom:
"bringing Friend home. can u drive him home?"
she replies that she can't,
she's in Newmarket and will be home late,
"text your dad"

Which he does.
And he gets a reply back:
"Sure thing buddy."

So he brings his friend home.
And his dad immediately asks
why he didn't call first
cuz he can't drive him home,
since the car is in the shop.
Nephew #2 argues that he did,
and that he responded.
His dad asks to see his phone
and looks up the text message.

Turns out, Nephew #2 texted
my brother.
And if you know anything about
French Canadians,
we're notorious for being
trouble-makers.

Dad hands the phone back to
Nephew #2.
"You texted Uncle Donald."

Needless to say,
Nephew #2 is pissed and texts Budge.
"Why did you respond?"

Budge replies:
"Pay attention son."

I laughed so hard when Cousin Alex told me that.
And I know that my brother is going to be laughing
even harder when he reads this and re-lives that moment.

Cell Phone: $100
Wireless Package: $40 / month
Smart Ass Uncle: Priceless

Facts about the Human Body

Thanks, Budge, for sending me yet another gem!

I added my own comments in italics.
What?
You're surprised by that?




It takes your food seven seconds to get from your mouth to your stomach.
(Why, then, does it stay on my hips for 10 years?)

One human hair can support 3kg (6.6 lb).
(That explains the whole Rapunzel story.)

The average man's penis is three times the length of his thumb.
*snort*

Human thighbones are stronger than concrete.
(Considering the size of my thighs, they better be!)

A woman's heart beats faster than a man's.
(Well, of course! How fast does your heart have to beat when you're lying on the couch?)

There are about one trillion bacteria on each of your feet.
(EW! and may I add ICK!!)

Women blink twice as often as men.
(It's a natural tick that occurs from repressing the urge to kill.)

The average person's skin weighs twice as much as the brain.
(I have a lot of skin and very little brain. This doesn't surprise me one bit.)

Your body uses 300 muscles to balance itself when you are standing still.
(This body needs WAY more than 300 muscles, man!)

If saliva cannot dissolve something, you cannot taste it.
(Has someone actually licked everything in the universe to prove this theory?)


And, not surprising ...

Women reading this will be finished now.

Men are still busy checking their thumbs.
(I looked at my own thumb. If I was a guy, I'd be in movies ... in a Ron Jeremy kinda way.)

The Corner Book Store

My brother sent me this gem. Thanks, Budge!


If you can't find the book you want
you're probably shopping at the ...

A Fart in the Wind

Our United Way Campaign continues.

Today's event:
A Chilli-Off.

Various people in the office
have made chilli
which will be judged today at lunch.

Boss #2 is a judge.
He was trying to recruit more judges
and asked the other partners in our group
to join him.

They all turned and asked me
why I wasn't judging.

You want the real reason?
Yes, they said.
Well, then ...

If I judged the chilli competition,
I told them,
the IT Department would have to
move my computer to the bathroom
cuz that's where I'd be all afternoon.

They nodded sagely.
Oh, they said.

Personally,
I think we should be improving
the ventilation system.

After everyone in the office has chilli for lunch,
we're gonna need it.
There's gonna be some serious
trumpet blasting later today.

I Appreciate You

Warning!
This blog post contains coarse language.
Reader discretion is advised.



It's that time of year again.
The time of year that we are bombarded by
the United Way
to donate money to their cause.

Many of the law firms in
downtown Toronto
participate in fundraising for the United Way.

We, for instance, have a two-week-long
campaign including
various raffles,
a silent auction,
bake sale,
and today's event:
I Appreciate You Day.

For $2 you can purchase a chocolate
send it to your friends,
your boss,
or whoever else you want to suck up to.

You will recall that last week
was not a good week for me
computer-wise.

My computer crashed 13 times last Tuesday
and I just about lost it.
Oh ... who am I kidding?
I totally lost it.

I was on the phone with one of the IT geeks.
John was trying to fix my problem
but my computer had crashed so badly,
that he wasn't even able to
access it remotely.
He muttered something about the computer
and I agreed.

Me: The f*cking computer is a piece of shit.

John: The what computer?

Me: [louder] The f*cking computer.

John: The what computer?

Me: [even louder] The f*cking computer.

John: The what computer?

Me: [louder still] The f*cking computer! Do you want me to come over there and say it?!

John: I really don't appreciate that kind of language, Mo.


Now, John normally has a pretty good sense of humour.
And I wasn't yelling at him--
I was merely venting.

But I started feeling a little guilty about this.
And I was telling Lady Fairchilde about it.
She suggested I send John a chocolate
with an anonymous note that reads:

"I f*cking appreciate you, man!"

As hilarious as that is,
I didn't do it.
Ironically, something tells me
he wouldn't appreciate it.

Hit and Miss

I was cleaning out my camera and
came across a picture I took at Robi's Cricut Party.

Her mother buys little figurines at the Dollar Store
(can they be called 'figurines' if you buy them for a dollar???)
for her grandchildren.

One year, she bought little hugging bears
for Valentine's Day.
She gave one to each grandchild
and one to Robi as well.
The word KISS was engraved on the heart.

We all had a laugh when we saw that Robi's
had a misprint:




Robi hasn't found Mr. Right yet.
We think her mother was trying to make a point.

Metal Mounds

Most of my friends already know this,
but I'll put the warning out now ...

If you email me,
talk to me,
write me,
text me,
FaceBook me ...

You're going to end up on my blog.
Especially if it's funny.

BJ never lets me down.

Yesterday she sent me an email:

I went to La Vie en Rose
for a new bra
and saw the new
magnetic bras they have for sale.

The saleslady talked me into trying one on
and said that if I get a bra fitting,
I'd get 10 bucks off it

(lady, you want to touch these for ten dollars,
go for it.
Ten bucks is ten bucks, right?)

Oh my goodness, it is the most comfortable bra ever.
Ever.
Seriously.

Now, granted, my little saggy A-cups
are not asking a WHOLE LOT from the magnet,
but it is such a strong little magnet,
I'm surprised that watches aren't flying off people's wrists
and attaching to my chest.

It is AWESOME.

Of course,
I had to reply:

You know ...
I would have felt you up for free.
Then again ... Ten bucks is ten bucks.
I'm not proud.
I'll take the money.


Considering she sent that email at 9 am,
and I'd already rebooted my computer four times,
I really needed that laugh.

If my computer goes flying off my desk,
at least I can say it wasn't me ...
it was BJ's boobs.

(Note:
For the record, my total
reboot count yesterday was 13.)

Bear Warning

Barna Boo sent me this picture.
The caption above it read:

Only in Canada!

I'm sure this is fake.
I can't imagine the Canadian Government
posting a sign that had the word 'shit' in it.
Let's face it ...
they wouldn't say shit if their mouths were full of it.

Well ... Trudeau would have.
Then again ... he did say he only said
Fuddle Duddle.

Officially ... rejected

Well ...
it's official.

I am an honest-to-goodness writer.

How do I know this?
I've received two rejection letters.
In the last week, no less.
You're not a real writer until you've been rejected.

The first was from
the Abbey Hill Literary Challenge.
I entered their third-quarter contest.
I didn't expect to win.
I entered because you receive a critique back.
The critique was really quite good
and I learned a lot from it.

The second was from
The Totally Unknown Writer's Festival.
A co-worker suggested I submit something
that I would then read at the Rivoli
in front of an audience.

That sounded like a lot of fun to me ...
I don't have a problem speaking in front of people.

Plus ...
everyone's stories are published in an anthology.
But, after submitting,
my friend gave me a couple of previous anthologies.
I immediately knew that I didn't fit in their genre.
And the note said as much.
But I will aspire to write something for next year.
Or something for their radio show.

They did tell me to continue writing.
There's no way I couldn't, really.
I have to. It's a driving need.

In the meantime,
I'm going to hang my rejection letters in my office.

Proudly!

Management 101

Another oldie but goodie from the internet.
Thanks to Lady Fairchilde for sending this to me
and making me laugh yesterday.



Lesson 1

A man is getting into the shower just as his wife is finishing up her shower, when the doorbell rings.
The wife quickly wraps herself in a towel and runs downstairs.
When she opens the door, there stands Bob, the next-door neighbour.
Before she says a word, Bob says, "I'll give you $800 to drop that towel."

After thinking for a moment,
the woman drops her towel and stands naked in front of Bob.
After a few seconds, Bob hands her $800 and leaves.

The woman wraps back up in the towel and goes back upstairs.
When she gets to the bathroom, her husband asks, "Who was that?"
"It was Bob, the next door neighbour," she replies.
"Great," the husband says, "did he say anything about the $800 he owes me?"

Moral of the story:

If you share critical information pertaining to credit and risk with your shareholders in time, you may be in a position to prevent avoidable exposure.



Lesson 2

A priest offered a Nun a lift.
She got in and crossed her legs, forcing her gown to reveal a leg.
The priest nearly had an accident.
After controlling the car, he stealthily slid his hand up her leg.
The nun said, "Father, remember Psalm 129?"
The priest removed his hand. But, changing gears,
he let his hand slide up her leg again..
The nun once again said, "Father, remember Psalm 129?"
The priest apologized "Sorry sister but the flesh is weak."
Arriving at the convent, the nun sighed heavily and went on her way.
On his arrival at the church, the priest rushed to look up Psalm 129.
It said, "Go forth and seek, further up, you will find glory."

Moral of the story:

If you are not well informed in your job, you might miss a great opportunity.



Lesson 3

A sales rep, an administration clerk, and the manager
are walking to lunch when they find an antique oil lamp.
They rub it and a Genie comes out.
The Genie says, "I'll give each of you just one wish."
"Me first! Me first!" says the admin clerk.
"I want to be in the Bahamas , driving a speedboat, without a care in the world."
Puff! She's gone.
"Me next! Me next!" says the sales rep.
"I want to be in Hawaii, relaxing on the beach with my personal masseuse,
an endless supply of piña coladas and the love of my life."
Puff! He's gone.
"OK, you're up," the Genie says to the manager.
The manager says, "I want those two back in the office after lunch."

Moral of the story:

Always let your boss have the first say.



Lesson 4

An eagle was sitting on a tree resting, doing nothing.
A small rabbit saw the eagle and asked him,
"Can I also sit like you and do nothing?"
The eagle answered: "Sure, why not."
So, the rabbit sat on the ground below the eagle and rested.
All of a sudden, a fox appeared, jumped on the rabbit and ate it.

Moral of the story:

To be sitting and doing nothing, you must be sitting very, very high up.



Lesson 5

A turkey was chatting with a bull.
"I would love to be able to get to the top of that tree," sighed the turkey,
"but I haven't got the energy."
"Well, why don't you nibble on some of my droppings?" replied the bull.
"They're packed with nutrients."
The turkey pecked at a lump of dung, and found it actually gave him
enough strength to reach the lowest branch of the tree.
The next day, after eating some more dung, he reached the second branch.
Finally after a fourth night, the turkey was proudly perched at the top of the tree.
He was promptly spotted by a farmer, who shot him out of the tree.

Moral of the story:

Bull Shit might get you to the top, but it won't keep you there.



Lesson 6

A little bird was flying south for the winter.
It was so cold the bird froze and fell to the ground into a large field.
While he was lying there, a cow came by and dropped some dung on him.
As the frozen bird lay there in the pile of cow dung,
he began to realize how warm he was.
The dung was actually thawing him out!
He lay there all warm and happy, and soon began to sing for joy.
A passing cat heard the bird singing and came to investigate.
Following the sound, the cat discovered the bird under the pile of cow dung,
and promptly dug him out and ate him.

Morals of the story:

(1) Not everyone who shits on you is your enemy.
(2) Not everyone who gets you out of shit is your friend.
(3) And when you're in deep shit, it's best to keep your mouth shut!

Toot Toot!

The Husband had to come downtown for a meeting yesterday, so we agreed that it was a great opportunity to have dinner at The Hornero. It's a tiny bistro at Yonge and College that makes amazing thin crust pizza in a wood-burning oven.

We're perusing the menu.
Looking at the long list of pizzas they make.

Each pizza is numbered.
We debated about several pizzas,
then narrowed it down to
#5, #6 and #15.

Then TH spies #9
which was a blend of cheeses,
including Gorgonzola.

I couldn't pass that up.

Next, we move onto appetizers.
Insalata Caprese is my favourite.

And, as you may have guessed,
my mind starts to wander.

Me: "What's my pizza number again?"

TH: "Nine."

Hey, I sez to myself.
Isn't his pizza six?
You can see where I'm going with this ...

and I lean towards him, grinning,
ready to impart this brilliant comedy.

He looks at me.
His eyes narrow.


TH: "Did you fart?!"

Me: "WHAT!!!"

TH: "You have that look on your face that guys get when they've just let one go and they know it's gonna stink up the place, but they're not going to admit it, but they want to share it with their friends ..."

*sigh*

Chocolate Skor Cake Recipe

As I've mentioned many times before, I can't really cook.
The Husband, despite all his teasing,
insists that I can.
Says that I just don't try.
I think he's wrong.
He does have a Shallow Hal complex.
He does think I'm a size 2.
God bless him!

Anyhooooo ...
as I mentioned previously,
I made this Chocolate Skor Cake for
Robi's Cricut Party.



I only brought enough that day
for the girls to inhale eat.
Which meant more than enough
to make a second batch for me and TH.

After our lovely dinner at The Keg on Sunday,
I dished out
what I thought was
a healthy serving of Chocolate Skor Cake.

TH made yummy noises the entire time he ate it.
About 30 minutes later,
he went downstairs and came back
with an even larger helping!

"Dude!" I laugh.
"Do you have any idea how fattening that is?!"

"Yeah, but it's good," he argues.

Which made me realize that ya'll might want the recipe.

So here goes ...

You will need:

1 chocolate cake mix/recipe
1 butterscotch pudding mix/recipe
1 large tub of Cool Whip
4 Skor chocolate bars, broken into small pieces or 1 bag of Skor chips

Directions:

1. Bake the chocolate cake according to directions.
   Allow to cool, then cut into pieces.


2. Prepare the butterscotch pudding according to directions.


3. Layer pieces of chocolate cake in a glass dish.
   (a glass dish makes for better presentation)


4. Spread a layer of pudding over the cake pieces.


5. Sprinkle Skor pieces over the pudding.


6. Spread whip cream over the Skor pieces.


7. Repeat with at least another set of layers.

Let me know if you make it and how it turns out for you.

Happy Anniversary

Yesterday was our eight-year anniversary.
I know that doesn't seem like a lot,
but it's more than twice as long as
the combined number of years
each of us was married previously.

Anything after this is a bonus.

We don't exchange gifts for anything.
Not birthdays, Valentine's, Christmas
and certainly not anniversaries.

In fact,
if it weren't for The Husband's
dear ol' Aunt Betty,
we'd never remember.

But we got a card in the mail last week.
Wishing us a lovely anniversary
and many more blessed years.
"Oh, right," we both said.
And decided we should at least go out for dinner.

So we did.
To the Keg.
Where we had a lovely dinner.

Just as the evening was coming to an end,
the group to be seated at the table beside us arrived.
TH starts to smile and, because my back was to them,
I asked who it was.
"It's Alex Robertson," he laughs.
Alex was the photographer at our wedding!

Of course, he recognized us, as did his wife who assisted him.
She remembered us for two reasons:
We were married at Parkwood Estate, and
I wore a red dress.

Hey ... second time 'round, I can wear what I want.
And I look great in red.

They introduced us to their daughter and son-in-law
and little two-year-old granddaughter.

Turns out, their son-in-law, Jerry,
owns GP Bikes.
When they told us this, we both went
"OOOOOOoooooo!!!"
Jerry laughed and said he often gets that reaction,
but it's mostly from the men.
I was very quick to point out that I ride
and have a 535 Virago.
Which, of course, veered off onto a bike conversation.
I mentioned that I really wanted a Honda Shadow
and he quickly pointed out that he had several good ones
in the showroom.

We'll be visiting soon, Jerry!
(Jerry's our new best friend.)

Robi's Cricut Party

Lady Fairchilde and I went to Robi's house for a Cricut Party.
Don't know what a Cricut is?
Click here.

If you do know what it is,
and don't already have one,
then you have goosebumps on your arms,
and are totally jealous.

Of course, being the etiquette freaks we are,
LF and I cannot show up empty-handed.
It's gauche.

So LF made the most awesome cookies,
and presented them to Robi in a very pretty
glass cookie jar.



You'll notice the jar is half empty.
It's not because she Forrest Gumped it
and "eht sum".
It's cuz I took the picture after lunch,
and we'd already hoovered half of them.

I came bearing glitter craft paper for the Cricut.
I also made a dessert:
Chocolate Skor Cake.



We had an absolute blast,
got to meet Robi's niece,
and ate like royalty ...
Robi made grilled panini,
made with focaccia,
smoked chicken and
swiss cheese.
Deeeeeelish!!

I can't wait for the next time!

Sign of the Times

So The Husband and I are out on one of our hot dates last night:

Costco.
Groceries.
Zellers.

I know you're jealous.
Me and Paris are livin' large.

Personally, I think I should have my own reality show:
The Pathetic Wives of Durham Region.

Anyhooooooo ...

We've been out for a while now.
I'm worse than a kid ...
I can't go more than a couple of hours
before I gotta pee.

So we're in Zellers, and
granted
it's not the best place to go
but I gotta go
really bad.
So I do the pee walk to the bathroom
(you know the walk:
knees together,
duck waddle,
Lamaze breathing).

The bathroom was surprisingly very clean.
Go Pickering Town Centre Zellers!

I do my bidness,
wash my hands,
dry
then go to leave.

On the door,
exiting the bathroom,
is a sign that reads:

Please flush toilet after every use

Is someone actually leaving,
slapping their forehead,
then running back to flush?

Would this kind of sign
not be better located,
saaaaay,
behind the stall door?
Where it can actually make a difference?

I'm just sayin'

Short Bus Muffin

Lady Fairchilde, Robi and I have a ritual every morning.
Once we're all in ...
and we all arrive at different times ...
we stroll downstairs and get a coffee and something to eat.

This morning it was Tim Hortons.

Ice Cap.
Blueberry Muffin.
(and I wonder why I'm fluffy)

I got to my desk,
took the muffin out of the bag,
and saw this:



I think this muffin should at least come with a helmet.

Now, Cousin Alex used to work at Timmies.
I have a question, Alex ...
Should they have given me this muffin?
I realize it will taste the same.

Better, in fact, given the well-doneness.
MMMmmmmm ... crunchy!

But doesn't this break all their rules of quality control?

I won't return it.
Even if I was sitting in the store I wouldn't.
Why bother?
As I pointed out, it'll taste the same.

However, this does beg the question:
If I was staying in, would they have given me a different muffin?
Did they give it to me knowing I wouldn't see it until I got back to the office?

Jump in folks ...
what would you do?

Waterslide

My brother sent me this video.

I realize this is a stupid stunt.
Right up there with the drunken frat boys
who use a driver to hit a golf ball
that is sitting on their buddy's butt crack.
(I'm not kidding ... look it up)

But despite that,
you really gotta admire the physics that went into this stunt.
The precision is awesome.



Hey, Budge ... we could set one of these up at the farm.

Open Letter

An open letter to the drivers travelling westbound on the 407ETR.



Monday, September 28, 2009

Dear Idiots,

If you were driving this morning, westbound on the 407, at or about 9:00 a.m. this morning, in the torrential downpour, without your lights on, then this letter is for you.

Yeah, I'm talking to you, you moron in the grey cube van. And you ... you there! ... in the black Hyundai. And don't think I didn't notice you, Mr. White Honda.

If it is raining so damn hard that your wipers can't keep up, and you can't see more than 10 feet in front of you, let alone the car that's there, would it not stand to reason that the poor schmuck (read: me!) behind you can't see you either? Or is that too difficult for your pea brain to figure out.

Daytime running lights on older cars only activate the headlights, not the tail lights. Therefore, you need to turn on the entire set of lights when the visibility is the equivalent of dusk--with a dash of hurricane thrown in for good measure.

And don't give me the excuse that you'll forget to turn them off. Perhaps standing in the driving rain jump starting your car will teach you a lesson, Spark.

Oh, and Mr. I-Don't-Need-To-Change-My-Tail-Lights, you can join Sparky in the driving rain to change your bulbs. Driving around in a storm, with nothing but the tiny overhead break lamp working and neither of the two main ones, is a suicide mission. You're either blind, or stupid.

Probably both.

Sincerely,

The only driver with lights.



There. I feel better now.

Sonic Hearing Aid

My guilty pleasure is infomercials.
I absolutely love them
and I'm completely addicted.

I find them entertaining.
You see someone who is trying,
for instance,
to curl their hair.
They have a tortured look on their face,
their curling iron is caught in their hair,
and they're struggling like mad.

Then they show someone using the
Turbo 2000 Curling Iron Pro
(or some equally ridiculous name)
and suddenly they're smiling,
they're aura is glowing brightly,
and their hair looks absolutely maaaahvelous!

My current favourite infomercial is for the
Sonic Hearing Aid.

They go on and on about the things that you'll hear,
like conversations you'll covertly listen to.
Isn't this illegal?

By far, the best line in this is at the 110 marker.
Some chick in a bikini (sex sells, right?)
walks by two other girls on a beach.
One girl turns to the other and says:
"Her body is amazing!"



There is no way on God's green acre that ANY woman
would say that about any other woman.
It's more likely she'd be saying

"Would you look at that skanky ho.
Who does she think she is?!
Did she look in the mirror before she left the house?"

They're slogan is:
"Get Super Sonic now and hear things you've never heard before."

Yeah.
You know what?
I don't need to hear what people are saying out of earshot.
I have a pretty good idea already.
Probably the same thing I'm saying about them.

And it's not nice.

Twitteleh

Are you on Twitter?
I used to be.
But I got bored and deleted my account.

No one needs to know what I'm doing,
every second,
of every day.

More to the point ...
no one cares.

But then I found this:



Hilarious.