Thursday, May 28, 2009


This is my most recent win at Pictures, Poetry and Prose. I loved the picture by Sabrina! My immediate thought was the teenage angst so many of us felt -- wanting so much to be cuddled and loved, yet needing to have that tough exterior so your friends wouldn't tear you apart. Didn't I mention yesterday that I was feeling all broody and what-not?

Our suggested prompt: "She was waiting to serve ..."

My submission:

She was waiting to serve.

It was a sleepy little town, no doubt about that. Jane shrugged. No matter, it was only a pit stop. Somewhere to eat. Maybe rest a bit. Hide.

Opposite the gas station was what appeared to be the only restaurant in town. It did boast having The Best Burger for Miles. We'll see about that, she thought. Throwing her backpack over her shoulder, she made her way across the street.

Quite a few customers for mid-afternoon, she noted. Maybe the sign was telling the truth. She made her way to the counter and sat down on a stool, carefully placing her backpack at her feet where she could keep an eye on it. Everything she owned was crammed into it.

Mama had seen her come in. Scared little thing. Oh, she had the tough exterior, alright. The short, spiky hair dyed an unnatural purple, heavy black eyeliner. And the tattoos! My word, she tutted to herself. But when that poor dear sat down, Mama's heart just melted. She could see the fading bruise around her eye and the cut on her lip that was beginning to heal. Mama pursed her lips. Damn shame, that is, beatin' on a child like that.

“What can I get you, honey?”

“You really have the best burger for miles?” Jane eyed the waitress, taking in the teased, bleached hair that was ruthlessly sprayed into place and the ample bosom floating above an equally ample body.

Mama leaned over and whispered, “Truth be told, honey, we’re the ONLY burger for miles, but you best believe it’s fine!” She let out a raucous laugh that made Jane smile. “Now you just sit a spell and let Mama take care o’ you.” And off she bustled.While Jane picked at her hamburger, Mama wiped the counter nearby, keeping an eye on what she already thought of as her new charge. She kept up a steady stream of chatter. “You staying in town for a while? Cuz if you are, we sure could use some help around here. We need a new waitress since Missy’s off havin’ her baby an’ all.”

Stay? Here? In this one-diner town that was in the middle of … where was she anyway? She’d been driving for days, not really knowing where she was going, just knowing she had to get away. Far away. She couldn’t stay there anymore. She’d put up with his abuse long enough. Her mother just ignored it, wouldn’t see him for what he was. Jane tried to talk to her, but she just said it was the drink that made him crazy like that. Yeah, the drink. That’s what made him get angry and hit and …

Well, she got away, didn’t she? And she was going to start all over again. A fresh, new life. Make it right. Jane smiled up at Mama. “Yeah, sure, I could use a few bucks.” Mama winked at her and tossed her a fresh apron. “Start tomorrow at eight. Come in a little early and I’ll fix ya some breakfast. Could use a little meat on them bones.” And she was off again, serving up pie and coffee to a man who had just come in.

Jane sighed. This felt good. It felt right. It felt like home. Better – it felt like a new beginning

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

The Church

Not a winner, but I like this piece I submitted at Pictures, Poetry and Prose. It's obvious that I've been feeling melancholy and mushy lately. And before you ask, this is a completely fictional piece. Frank is NOT The Husband. Sheesh. TH reads this blog. I'll never hear the end of it if he thinks I've been trying to escape from him!

Our inspiration was a photograph of a quaint little church, taken by Dan Felstead. Our suggested prompt: "I stood looking across the field at the church and knew I had to...."

My submission:

There are days when I just need to get away. Take some time for myself away from work, home, Frank, the kids.

Today was one of those days.

I don’t know what’s gotten into me these days. I can’t seem to focus on anything. And my emotions are riding a crazy rollercoaster ride. I’m up. I’m down. This morning was the icing on the cake. The quiche didn’t work out and I completely lost it. Just started bawling. Frank tried to console me, but I pushed him away and ran out of the house. I just needed some time. Alone.

It was nice, actually, just wandering through the fields. I haven’t done that since I was a kid. Crops are coming in nicely. We’ve had a lot of rain lately, which is nice after that dry spell. But today was nice and clear. I followed Old Man Johnson’s fence to that stand of trees, planning to sit a spell and just let my mind wander. Then I heard music. And singing.

I glanced over and saw the old church that Nana used to take me to on Sundays. She always said that everyone should have a relationship with some sort of higher being. She said it didn’t matter who or what it was, just so long as you believed that there was something bigger than you. I didn’t know what she meant by that at the time. I just really liked being with her. She always smelled of Ivory soap and kept candy in her purse.

I listened to the singing for a while. It was so beautiful. People working together in harmony to make something so wonderful. I stood looking across the field at the church and knew I had to go in.

I suddenly knew what Nana was talking about.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

The Ferris Wheel

Another win at Pictures, Poetry and Prose. I'm gonna quit my job and write full time. I'm really liking this! Oh, calm down, TH. I was kidding.

Our inspiration was a fabulous picture of a ferris wheel by Highlander, with the suggested prompt: It happened on the ferris wheel.

My submission:

Mary Sue sat alone in the seat. Waiting. "Single rider!" shouted the Carney. She could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. Just put the bar down and go, she prayed. All she wanted was a ride on the ferris wheel. To see the pretty lights from the top. Feel the sway of the chair.

"Right here," came a voice. It was Billy Wilson. He sat down next to Mary Sue and pulled the bar down, trapping them together. She lowered her eyes and glanced over at him through her lashes. Billy grinned. "I've been watching you," he said, "waiting for the right time to say something." Her heart skipped a little. "Really?" He nodded.

The wheel began to turn slowly, then faster and faster. As the chair rocked back and forth, they talked. About nothing. About everything.

“So when did you know?”

Mary Sue shook herself, grudgingly came back to reality. “What?”

“When did you fall in love with Grandpa? How did it happen?”

Mary Sue smiled wistfully at her granddaughter, as she stirred the cake mix. “It happened on the ferris wheel.”

Friday, May 22, 2009

Naughty Lifts

I'm sitting at my desk.
Minding my own business.
When the little window pops up that I have mail.
It pops up on Robi's email too.

The window has the sender's name, and the first few lines of the message.
It's from our dear Lady friend.

There is a pair...of panties...just sitting the middle of the elevator floor here!! eiwwwwwwwwwww.

Both Robi and I burst out laughing.

I immediately respond with: TAKE A PICTURE!!
Always thinking about the blog, of course.
I know my loyal readers will want to hear about this!

Many thanks to Lady Fairchilde, who risked ridicule and possible association with said panties, to bring us Exhibits A and B:

I'm not sure what people in our office are doing, but this brings a whole new meaning to "Down Time".

Scaredy Cat

I didn't have anything to write about today. But while I was reading my favourite blogs, I had an Aha Moment. I was visiting C. Beth Blog and while I was making my comment the proverbial light bulb turned on. Aha!

C. Beth was talking about fears.
I have several.
The usual ones.

And the dark.
Yes, you read that right.
I'm 43 years old and I'm afraid of the dark.
Terrified, in fact.
I said it.
Stop laughing.
It's not funny.

I think I can pinpoint when it happened.

I was a wee thing; about 5 or 6 years old.
I was tossing and turning in my sleep.
(I've never really been a good sleeper.)
I woke up in the middle of the night.
Desperately needing to pee.

The room was dark.
I couldn't really see anything.
But I knew where the door was.
So I hop out of bed and walk to where I know the door is.
But the door wasn't there.

Suddenly, I was completely disoriented.
I panicked.

I frantically started feeling around.
No door.
Where's the door?!
My bladder is full to brimming now.

In my panicked state, I start fumbling around in the dark.
Bumping into things
When suddenly ... yes ... my bladder lets go.

I was crying.
Even at that tender age, I was humiliated.

Eventually I found the door.
Got to the bathroom.
Cleaned myself up.
Cleaned up the floor.

Never told mom.

But since then, I am fully aware that things go bump in the dark.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Geeks Galore

Watched Star Trek on Sunday night.
After a long day of shovelling and raking, we needed a treat.

I admit, I wasn't a huge Star Trek fan as a kid.
I saw many episodes, but wasn't a loyal follower.
I wouldn't classify The Husband as a Trekkie either, but I'm sure he can hold his own with Trek Trivia.
Despite that, we both agreed it would probably be worth seeing.

And it was. Go see it.

You probably know that Leonard Nimoy had a cameo. There's a scene towards the end of the movie where Nimoy makes a comment that he won't say the line because it's self-serving. The entire audience laughed. It was funny.

But on the way out of the theatre, there were two geeks behind us who were seriously debating this scene.

"How can he say that the line is self-serving?"
"It wasn't self-serving."
"It's totally a Spock line."

And on.
And on.
And on.

I look over at The Husband.
Raise one eyebrow.
The universal symbol for WTF.
We're trying not to laugh.
I glance back to see who's talking.
Expecting the obvious.
And was disappointed.

The least they could have done was wear pointy ears.

Having watched Galaxy Quest the night before, it was exactly what I was expecting.

"You are our last hope!"

Wednesday, May 20, 2009


I think I'm finding my groove.
Another one of my pieces was selected at Pictures, Poetry and Prose.

Our inspiration was a photo of a daredevil flyer, submitted by Dan Felstead.
You should go check out his photo blog, by the way.
Laura Jayne gave us this prompt:
"She was the most daring girl he had ever met."

This was my submission:

"She has to be the most daring girl I've ever met," he thought to himself. His gaze travelled over her face. Her pouty lips were quivering with the hint of a smile. Almond shaped eyes sparkled with excitement and ... was that fear? Probably. If he was in her shoes, he'd be scared too.

What did she see in him, anyway? He was from the wrong side of the tracks. Everyone knew it. Her folks told her he was no good. Forbade her to see him, in fact.

Oh, he tried to make her see he was the wrong guy. Broke it off many times. Didn't call, didn't write. But she still came back. Caressing his face with her soft, delicate hand. Smiling at him, then gently kissing him. He could feel those soft lips, even now.

She believed in him. He wasn't sure she was right, but she never gave up on him. Not once. That meant something, didn't it? She believed in him and she made him believe in himself. God help him, he was head over heals in love with this woman. And by the look in her eyes right now, he knew she felt the same way. "You must be crazy," he muttered. "Probably," she whispered back, with a wink.

He held out his hand and she gently took it. Their fingers laced together in a familiar bond. His lopsided grin made her smile as they heard "We are gathered here today ..."

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

The Long, Long Weekend

It was a long weekend.
In more ways than one.

Monday was a statutory holiday in most provinces.
Traditionally, it is the weekend that people open their cottages.
Do a little spring cleaning.
Get the garden in order.

It's also, traditionally, the crappiest weekend ... weather-wise.
It's cold.
It's usually raining.
And yet, everyone seems to go camping.
This has always boggled my mind.

So, not owning a cottage, and not being crazy enough to go camping this early in the season, The Husband decides to have four cubic yards of top-soil delivered to the house. It was dumped in the driveway on Thursday. Where it was covered up to await the weekend.

We shovelled.
Carted wheel barrels.
Spread top soil over the entire front law.
And half the backyard.
Mixed peat moss and Vermiculite.
Spread that over the same area.
Next we spread fertilizer.
Then grass seed.
Then we rolled over it with a heavy roller.

Then crawled our sorry asses into the house late Monday and collapsed.

Every muscle in my body is swearing at me right now.

If I had the energy, I'd flip those muscles the finger, but it would probably hurt.

Monday, May 18, 2009

I'm Luvin' it

I like commercials. I know that sounds weird, but I like them, especially if they make me laugh. I'm also impressed with any commercials that are particularly creative or just simply make you want to buy their product, despite the fact that you probably don't want or need it.

My current fave is the McDonalds commercial with the dad and tomboy daughter.

It brings tears to my eyes every time.

My step-daughter is a goalie.
A kick-ass goalie, if I do say so myself.
And she's a bit of a tomboy.
Doesn't take guff from anyone.

We're so proud!

Friday, May 15, 2009

Surrounded by Idiots

I'm cranky today.
I've been cranky all week.
All month!!
Are you happy?

I probably wouldn't be if I wasn't surrounded by idiots.
People act like they're the only ones on the planet.
Like the world revolves around them.
And I know for a fact that this is not true.
Because the world revolves around ME.

Case in point:

In the downtown core, there is an underground pathway system (called the PATH) which is 17 miles long. It is a labyrinth of shops and restaurants connecting several office towers, hotels and shopping malls. Scattered throughout the system are doors that separate various sections of the PATH. There's anywhere from four to eight of them in a long row.

These doors are very heavy.

In rush hour, there is a constant stream of people walking to and fro. Picture a freeway with bumper-to-bumper traffic, only everyone is walking. It borders on organized chaos. There is a steady flow of people going through the various heavy doors.

Two things drive me bonkers:

1. People who cut everyone off to go through the one door that is open.
2. People who don't hold the door for the guy behind them.

The Lemming Syndrome is a huge problem. People are so friggin' lazy and won't move over to another set of doors. God forbid they should open the door themselves! Instead, hundreds of people will bottle-neck and try to go through one door. Yesterday morning, some stupid broad cut in front of me to go through the door I was going through. I made a point of not breaking my stride and stepped on her heel. She gave me a look. I shrugged. "Shouldn't've cut me off. Shoulda opened the other door."

Common courtesy would dictate that you hold the door open for the guy behind you. I don't expect you to wait there. Just give the door an extra push so it remains open a while longer. It's easier to push it a little more open than to try and open those heavy doors from a closed position. This morning, some psycho hose-beast is walking in front of me. She has her purse strung over her shoulder. Both her hands are free. She just skooches in the door and lets it slam in my face. Biotch. The next set of doors is just a few feet away. I'm right behind her and reach past her to open the door. She clucks her tongue at me. Tsk! I looked her in the eye and said "Well, you let the last door slam in my face. Get outta my way."

You mess with the bitch bull, you get the horns.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Brainless Twits

I'm beginning to believe that it is a requirement to be the recipient of a lobotomy in order to land a job at GO Transit.

Like a lot of people, I subscribe to their "service" (and I use that term loosely) where they will email you whenever there is a delay. Needless to say, this is a useless service.

Last night, I attempted to catch the 17:53 train home. At 18:17 (do the math), I received an email on my Blackberry:

The Union 17:53 - Oshawa 18:38 train trip is operating 15 minutes late due to earlier equipment issues.

15 minutes?
Add much?

This morning, at 10:28 (again, do the math), I received this:

The Union 10:13 - Oshawa 11:08 train trip is estimated to be delayed 10-15 minutes from Union due to earlier operational issues and an earlier police investigation.

Can these people even tell time? Or add? I know that I'm mathematically challenged, but even I can figure out that it's EXACTLY 15 minutes behind. Not 10 minutes or perhaps 12 or even possibly 14. Exactly 15 minutes.

Now, I admit, I'm not even on this train. But as a subscriber, I get all the emails, regardless of time. I'm willing to bet, though, that it's well beyond 15 minutes late.

And GO Transit wonders why everyone is pissed off at them.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

I didn't do it!

Had dinner and drinks with BJ last Thursday. This is becoming a sort of inconsistent ritual. We plan on getting together about once a month on a Thursday after work. However, the plan changes depending on who is sick, busy or both.

Last Thursday was especially fun because BJ brought a Show-and-Tell item.
She brought Baby Bingo along with her!

The little guy is getting so big now. He's walking running everywhere and apparently getting into everything too. But that can't possibly be right. My sweet little angel would never do anything wrong. Isn't that right Bingo? Auntie Mo knows the truth. Mommy's telling tall tales.

And tall tales she did tell. She had me laughing so hard with Bingo stories. He is a mischievous little bugger. It makes my heart swell with pride!

Bingo isn't really talking yet. I've seen this dozens of times before. The late talkers always seem to give the parents anxiety because they're worried that something is wrong. Then, once they do start talking, you can't shut them up and the parents long for the days when it was a little quieter. Just wait, BJ, he'll talk. Oh, he'll talk alright. Talk back!

In the meantime, BJ is teaching Bingo some sign language. He seems to have the universal symbol for "I don't know" down pat. He holds his arms out to the side, raises his eyebrows and shrugs his shoulders.

Bingo likes to play with the buttons on the washing machine. They're fun to play with because they beep when you touch them. That totally sounds like fun! He's been told he's not supposed to. But the other day, BJ suddenly heard beep beep beep. She walks across the hardwood floor, which Bingo can clearly hear. The beeping suddenly stops. When BJ walks into the laundry room, Bingo is standing away from the machines, with one arm thrown over a box, all casual-like and gazing at the ceiling. Dum dee dum dum dum.

She's trying not to smile or laugh.

"Were you playing with the buttons?"

More ceiling gazing. Completely avoiding mommy's eyes. Good call, Bingo.

"I heard the buttons. If it wasn't you, then who was it?"

Bingo looks right at BJ, holds his arms out, raises his eyebrows and shrugs. I don't know.

That's my boy!

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Español – clase número tres

I'm really enjoying my Spanish class.
Yesterday was the third class.
So far, I've learned:

  • some basic phrases,

  • counting,

  • telling time,

  • days of the week,

  • months of the year,

  • seasons, and

  • a host of nouns

Yesterday, we started conjugating verbs.
We started with the verbs ending in AR.
For my fellow Canadians who were forced to take French in school, you know the drill.
Drop the AR and add the appropriate ending.

There are several pages in our workbook that we're working from.
There are lists of sentences with a blank in each sentence.
In the margin is the root verb which we must conjugate.

We're going through the list and Señora Sierra is writing on the blackboard.
She calls on each of us one at a time to read out loud.
We must conjugate the verb and translate the sentence.
Or at least take a crack at it.
For the most part, she has her back to us and is writing on the board.

Then we come to this sentence:

[preguntar] Ella ___________ la hora.

Now, for those of you not in the know, preguntar is the verb "to ask" and hora means time. Ella means she or her. Stands to reason that this sentence will probably translate to She asks the time. Or something to that effect.

Señora Sierra asks Buddy behind me to conjugate this sentence.
Which he does.
After conjugating the verb, Señora Sierra asks "¿Qué significa?" (What does it mean?)

Now either Buddy wasn't paying attention or he simply became flustered at having to answer the question, but all he seemed to focus on was the word hora. Not surprising, since we had just learned how to tell time. So he says "What time is it?"

Señora Sierra glances over her shoulder as she's writing and drawls out in her strong Columbian accent "Nooooo", with a slight lilt at the end. She smiles at him to prompt him to try again and reads the question herself: Ella pregunta la hora.

"Oh!" he exclaims, as though a big light bulb has gone off over his head. "When are you going to be pregnant?!" And he said it with such conviction as if to say, 'of course that's what it means, why didn't I see that?'

Everyone in the class burst out laughing.
Señora Sierra whirls around, her face is beet red, and the look of mingled shock and embarrassment was absolutely priceless.
Eyes wide, she stammers: "¿¡Qué!?"
Which made us all laugh even harder.
The girl sitting beside him whispered the proper translation to him.

Hard to say who was redder, Buddy or Señora.

Friday, May 8, 2009

Is there an Architect in the house?

It's just a matter of time before my head swells to the size that it won't fit through the doorway.

Awards for writing.
Awards for being Charming.
Honestly, people, how do you expect me to stay humble?

Most recently, Little Miss Sunshine State gave me an award. It looks like this:

And means this:

"This award is given to the writers of blogs that are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers. Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award."

Pfft! Certainly have her fooled, don't I?

But all kidding aside, the award did give me a warm-fuzzy. I was really touched. I love to laugh and, in turn, I really enjoy making other people laugh. Laughter truly is the best medicine. I know that no matter how bad a day I've had, if I can have a good laugh with a friend, all is well in the world. Not just a giggle. I'm talking about out-loud, belly-jiggling, sides-hurting, tears-streaming laughter. The kind where you can't catch your breath and your ribs ache.

Good times!

So I now pass the torch on to eight fellow bloggers who make me laugh, make me think, make me cry and make me feel good. To all the Award Winners, if you wish, pass on the award. To one blogger or eight or somewhere in between. Whatever inspires you. Nothing makes a blogger feel better than to see the number of followers increase. Also, post this award on your blog. And add the text noted above.

Thank you all for your inspiration, kindness and words of wisdom.
Big kisses to everyone.

And now, for the award ceremony:

It goes without saying that Little Miss Sunshine State gets an award from me. But the other winners are ... may I have the envelope please ... and remember that the music will start playing if your thank-you speech goes on too long ... drum roll ... oh, look, is that what's-her-face? OMG, what is she wearing??! ...

  1. Lyndsay at I used to be witty.
    I don't know why she thinks she "used to be", cuz she really is quite witty. Still.

  2. Domestic Goddess (In Training) at Love, Laughs and Lice ... stories from my life.
    Somehow, DGIT manages to laugh at the craziness in her life. And always takes the time to drop me a note.

  3. Busy Bee Suz at Day by Day ... My Life as a Busy Bee.
    Other than the fact that she makes me laugh, I'm not really sure why Suz is on my list. Her house is spotless, she's organized beyond belief ... honestly, I don't know why I'm friends with her!

  4. Lady Fairchilde at eat-ALL-ogy.
    I know Lady Fairchild in real life and I don't know anyone else who loves food as much as she does. Eating is truly a spiritual experience for her.

  5. Evil Twin's Wife at The Glamorous Life of a Hausefrau.
    ETW is honest, seldom apologizes and makes me laugh. Gosh I love her! I know that if we actually met in real life, we'd get along like smack on crack.

  6. Clippy Mat at Tales from Clippy Mat.
    Clippy Mat was one of the first people to follow me. Oddly enough, she's one of the few fellow Canadians who follows me. She also happened to find me on Facebook, so we're FB buddies now too.

  7. Laura Jayne at Pictures, Poetry and Prose.
    I find this blog to be truly inspirational. It challenges me to be a better writer. It also showcases some exceptional talent.

  8. Mojito at Wasting Time.
    Her name is Mojito. Come on ... how can you not follow someone who is named after a drink? As I've mentioned to her, I'm pretty sure our husbands were separated at birth. She sent her sympathies.

Joy Riding with Pooh

I'm a huge Winnie-the-Pooh fan.

I have:

a Pooh cookie jar (Poohkie Jar),
a Pooh toothbrush holder (Poohthbrush Holder),
two pairs of pajamas with various WTP decals (Poohjamas) ...

and the list goes on.

Quite a few years ago, my brother bought me a little pull-tab Winnie-the-Pooh for my birthday. When you pulled the string, he giggled "Woo hoooo!" I loved it! I immediately hung it from the clothing hook in the back seat of my Honda Civic.

To celebrate my birthday, BJ was taking me to bingo. What else would we do for my birthday?!? At the time, BJ lived in a snotty neighbourhood where the homeowners do nothing but complain. This neighbourhood also happens to be a go-through area where people tend to cut through to avoid congestion on the major streets. This, of course, results in heavy traffic in a family neighbourhood. So the homeowners complained. And the City installed calming bumps in the road. These are not your ordinary speed bumps. These are large, wide bumps that you can't go over quickly without bottoming-out your car.

So I'm driving through BJ's neighbourhood.
The tunes are cranked.
I'm singing.

And as I go over each bump
(probably more quickly than I should have)
I can hear a noise.

Uh oh.
What's wrong with the car?

I keep driving.
Tunes still cranked.
Next speed bump.
Uh oh.

Keep going.
Next speed bump.
Noise again.
Oh crap.

Keep driving.
Turn down the radio to hear the odd sound.
Next speed bump.

What the????

Pooh is swinging from the hook in the back seat. Every time I went over a speed bump, he would swing and activate the pull-cord.

Woo hoooo is right, Pooh!!

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Iced Coffee

Our coffee at work is made with a Flavia machine. It makes individual cups of coffee. There's quite a large variety of flavours, including espresso, moccachino and cappuccino. The various flavours are neatly displayed in a drawer system.

Unfortunately, like anything mechanical, it tends to break down a lot. Most recently, the coffee maker on our floor has consistently displayed this message:

Waddaya mean "cools down"?

I'm guessing this is a result of Liebeck v. McDonalds.
No one is ever going to be able to drink hot coffee again.
Nice goin' guys.

I like my coffee hot.
In fact, the hotter the better.

Look ... I promise not to sue if I spill it on my lap.
I mean, really ...
If I put a cup of coffee between my legs and drive off,
I should expect to spill it and burn myself.

You play with coffee, you're gonna get burned.

Whatever happened to taking responsibility for one's own stupidity actions?

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

You like me, you really like me!

I'm so honoured!

My writing was chosen as an exceptional piece of work over at Pictures, Poetry and Prose.

I'm very excited!
It means that my writing is not half bad.
It also means that my work is displayed below the picture.
Which everyone can read.
And criticize.

Deep breath, Mo.

I'm fine.
I'm OK.

Thanks, Laura Janye!

It Runs in the Family

Got a text message from Cousin Alex yesterday:

Sitting at the Sports Urgent Care Clinic with Nephew #1. His finger will make your thumb look good. Bent pinkie finger back. Football. EWWWW. I took pictures. I'll email.

And she did. Apparently he was playing football and some kid pushed him so that he wouldn't catch the ball. Oh, he caught it alright!

He must be doing ok, because his only complaints are that "going to the bathroom sucks" and "how am I going to hold my girlfriend's hand and change my songs on my mp3 player or use my phone?"

Well ... as long as he has his priorities straight.

Alex is wondering at what age does a parent stop wiping their child's butt? I figure she's lucky he didn't ask how he was supposed to ... you know ...

For the queasy-hearted, I suggest you stop here. If you have the stomach, go ahead and scroll down ...

Damn, kid! Call me crazy, but that just makes me proud!!

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Bedtime Story

I grew up in a small town. There was only one diner. We never went out for dinner, but we would often go out for breakfast after Mass on Sundays.

To this day, my favourite eat-out-meal is breakfast. I love going out for breakfast! It brings back so many fond memories. So most Saturdays, I take myself out for breakkie. The Husband is usually working and, besides, he doesn't really get into the "going out for breakfast" vibe. I bring my book, have several cups of coffee and usually some form of pancake or french toast.

There's a really neat restaurant in my town called Eggs Crepes Restaurant. As the name would imply, they specialize in crepes. Savoury crepes. Fruit crepes. Sweet chocolate crepes. Yum!

I was there on Saturday. Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone. Two cups of coffee. Crepes filled with strawberries and English Cream on the side. Heaven!

As I got into my car to go back home, I noticed the store beside Eggs Crepes. It's a health care store. My brain sort of registered the words 'Sleep Therapy'. Having chronic insomnia, this caught my eye. And I looked closer at the sign.


Now why would I want to pay for Crap Sleep Therapy Products? I sleep like crap already. I don't really need help in that department. I can handle the crap sleeping on my own, thank you very much.

Then I re-read the sign.


Maybe there's a literacy store nearby.

Monday, May 4, 2009

New Math

1) April = March + Optimism

2) Laughter = Ha x 3

3) Wedding Ring = Metaphor – 3,000 bucks

4) Pirate = Thief + Boat + Bandana – Leg

5) Perseverance = If at first you don’t succeed + repetition

6) Ponzi Scheme = ROI - R – I

7) Layed off = It’s not you, it’s me + Your job

8) Divorce = Marriage ÷ 2

9) Nepotism = Who’s your Daddy? ÷ Ability

10) Beauty = Public Opinion + The eye of the beholder

11) Revenge = Do unto others – As you would have them do unto you.

12) Compassion = What if that were me? ÷ I’m glad that’s not me

13) Maturity = Things you used to do – Things you used to do

14) Happy = Unhappy – Un

15) Crazy = Talking to oneself – (Cell phone + Ear Piece)

16) Raisin = Grape + Time

17) Dog = Cat + Loyalty

18) Maybe = (Yes ÷ No) + (No ÷ Yes)

19) Paternity = What? + Are you sure?

20) Contrarian = 1 ÷ The way everyone else sees it

Friday, May 1, 2009

Thumb Update -- Twin Thumbs

It's been just over nine weeks. Things are looking good. I've managed to cut everything off that was dead, lifting and just plain gross.

It's becoming quite sore. The nail is growing downward into the thumb. And the part on the left is actually quite thin and not really a nail. So it's very tender.

Whenever Dad says or does something ridiculous -- which is quite often -- Budge and I will point out that there's no way this man could be our biological father. In fact, Budge will argue to the death that he was left on the doorstep. Me ... I'm convinced I'm the milkman's kid. Dad laughs the loudest at all of this.

But after this weekend, I now know that although Dad may not be our father, there's no question that Budge and I are brother and sister.

We have matching thumbs.

It's sometimes hard for Mom to tell us apart.