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?