Those Voices in my Head

Ben's Your Uncle

2011-05-17T12:56:00.005-04:00

Lunch is a rarity for me at work.
And when I do partake, it is ~~usually~~ always at my desk.

While grocery shopping this weekend,
I thought I'd try Uncle Ben's Bistro Express rice packages.
They were on sale for 99 cents.
Helluva deal, I say
and a pretty inexpensive experiment.
Not to mention, I can nuke these suckers in 90 seconds.
Can't ask for much more than that.

So I bring my Sun Dried Tomato and Herb package to work today.
As I'm hoovering my lunch,
I'm reading the back of the package.

The Bistro series boasts "No Preservatives".
Really?
This edible product has a pretty long shelf life.
It doesn't expire until 2012.
That's a year from now.
And it doesn't need to be refrigerated or frozen.
How can it not have preservatives?

It also has no artificial colours.
Pffftt!
Pulleeze!
As I read through the ingredients,
I note the third-last item is colour.
Granted, it doesn't say "artificial".
But if you have to add colour,
doesn't that make it fake?

Despite all of that,
it wasn't too bad.

But I'm still hungry.
It was rice, after all.

I hope the boss sends me to Starbucks later.
I could go for a latte and a fudge oat bar.

What's it made of?

2011-03-01T11:09:00.012-05:00

Cousin Alex sent me this cool email.
You can't really tell what the thing is made of
until you get to the last few pictures.

Despite its size, it's kinda cute.
It kinda looks like an enormous drunken dolly.
And who doesn't love a drunken dolly?

Once I realized what these were, it really pissed me off.
I searched all summer last year for a decent pair of flip flops.
Now I know why I couldn't find any!

Damn You Auto Correct!

2011-02-10T13:19:00.021-05:00

This site is the funniest thing I've seen in a long time. I've received this email several times, but to truly appreciate the Effed-Upedness (yes, that's a word) that is iPhone, you really need to visit the site. This is why the only apples I own are the edible ones picked off of trees.

To get you started, browse through these:

What TH is Making for Dinner

2011-02-01T11:25:00.013-05:00

A few weeks ago,
I was out with Lady Fairchilde and Robi for dinner.
Red Lobster.
We were pretty excited.
Yeah, we don't get out much.

Not to be outdone,
TH sends me a shot of his dinner:

Farfalle noodles,
with ham,
mushrooms and
black olives,
tossed with an Alfredo sauce.

His message reads:

Tonight's dinner. Wieners and beans tomorrow.

Nice.
I need to sit down with the Minister who married us
and ask him if hording the good food was in the vows.

A few days later, he's home for the day.
Sends me this:

Homemade patty,
onions,
lotsa cheese,
mayo,
hot peppers.

And this message:

Had craving for big cheeseburger.
Made this.
Wadda ya think?
Too much man vs food?

Never!
'Big Cheeseburger' is an understatement.
That's a regular-sized dinner plate.
The original patty was larger than a bread plate.
He said it filled the skillet when he fried it up.
Awesome!

Mess with Bull = Horns

2011-01-12T18:13:00.006-05:00

It's a mark of popularity when you begin to get spam email.
At least that's what I'm telling myself.

I'm referring to the comments from people who
tell you to visit their awesome site
that links to something written in Klingon.

I deleted your comment, jerkwad,
and I reported your ass.
Don't mess with me.

I'm this close to activating comment control.
Actually, ditching the whole thing might be easier.

Beautiful Nail

2010-12-20T11:24:00.002-05:00

Robi handed me a brochure this morning.
Said: "You HAVE to blog this."

I agreed.

First of all,
the name of the salon
made me think of Anjelah Johnson.
Her nail salon bit
(the last half of the video)
is hilarious.

Even if you don't get your nails done,
you can tell from the howling laughter in the audience,
that her rendition is spot on.
I can confirm it is.
The last time Cousin Alex and I had our nails done together,
the head technician greeted each customer with
"Hi Honey!"
Alex and I couldn't make eye contact
cuz we'd just burst out laughing.

So back to Robi's brochure...

Looks harmless enough.

They have your typical spa services.

But, upon closer review...

Helluva deal, really.
Where else can you get the side of your ass waxed?
And for only $7.00?

Calvin and Hobbes

2010-12-10T09:12:00.039-05:00

For the longest time,
the Calvin and Hobbes cartoon
was my method of birth control.

As a child, and well into my teens,
my mother often cursed me
with the burden of raising a child like me.

I have no doubt,
that if I'd had children,
they would have been just like Calvin.

I am eternally grateful that my stepkids
are of the Stepford variety.
It's eerie, really.

Thanks to M'Licious for sending me these.
I have no doubt she was the female version of Calvin.

And, we're back

2010-12-06T12:12:00.021-05:00

You probably didn't even notice I was gone.
No worries.
It doesn't really feel as though I left.

Not to mention that when I left last Friday for Mexico,
I was only wearing a t-shirt and a sweater.
(And pants. I was also wearing pants.)

This morning?
Only three days later?
I'm wearing winter boots,
a hooded down-filled coat,
mittens,
and shovelling 10 cm of snow!
Snow, I tells ya!

WTF?

grumble grumble grumble

I do, however, console myself with
memories of a wonderful trip.
We went away again with Crayon and her TH
When we went away with them last year,
the constant joke was that everything was deep-fried.
Which, in my humble opinion,
is a non-issue.
I mean, really,
there ain't nothin' wrong with deep fryin'.

Having said that,
the Grand Serenis took deep frying
to a new level of godliness:

You may think,
OH! MY! GOD!
But let me tell you, mi amigos,
that deep fried bread,
and baked beans
and bacon,
make one helluva breakfast!

That, my loyal followers, was breakfast.
Every. Day.
Now, you may think there isn't much on that plate.
There isn't.
But remember, that's my second plate.
The one before that had
fruit,
waffles,
danish,
and some egg concoction,
which I'm sure was also deep-fried.

Surprisingly, I only gained five pounds.
I'm guessing the alcohol cancelled out the oil.

See.
There is a God.

Officially Published

2010-11-11T14:24:00.031-05:00

I can say,
with more than a little pride,
that I am now a paid, published writer.

Last night, at The Rivoli,
I read Memère Rosa.
I wasn't as nervous as I thought I would be.
Though I did ask TH if he could see me quivering.
My hands didn't shake,
but my legs were like Jello the entire time!
He assured me it wasn't noticeable.
Then again, he does have a Shallow Hal complex,
and thinks I'm a size 2.
God bless him!

Which brings me to this snapshot:

Sadly, it's the best picture of the lot.
I'm not talking about the fact that it's out of focus.
That's because the room was dark,
and we don't have a high end camera.

I'm talking about the fact that
I need to have a conversation with TH
and explain that he needs to work on
taking pictures that don't
accentuate my muffin top.
Cuz the bottom two-thirds of that picture
have been cropped.

And burned.

I do have great pics of the anthology, though.

Look! That's me, right there on Page 27.

The audience was great:
they laughed in the right places,
and clapped loudly at the end.

It was perfect!

Shout out to
Lady Fairchilde, Robi, M'Licious and Bobby-Jo
who came out to ~~heckle~~ support me,
and even one of the associates from the office.

A special thanks to Vikki Summerfield who pushed me to write,
and harasses me on a daily basis,
for more pieces to record for Life Rattle Radio.

And, of course...TH...
who puts up with the usual crap
that a writer's spouse puts up with.
Probaby more.

No...definitely more.

Hiding all the sins

2010-11-02T15:13:00.015-04:00

We're going to Mexico.
Again.

And we're going to the Grand Sirenis.
Again.

I've said it before,
and I'll say it again:
Yo amo México!

You'll recall last year
when bathing suit shopping,
that I pondered whether
Bikini Village had a berka section.
Well, maybe they don't,
but someone does.

Lady Fairchilde was kind enough to send me an email today.
"Ready for your vacation in a few weeks?
FCP* has some new swimsuits if you need one!"

Turns out, Solé Swimwear carries Burquinis.

The controversy behind these suits makes my head spin.
But I think I'm going to pick one up
and bring it with me.
Not for me, of course,
but to hand out to the few people who
insist on going topless
but shouldn't.

No one needs to see those droopy loaves, honey.

*First Canadian Place

The Mom Song

2010-10-26T12:07:00.003-04:00

This is brilliant on so many levels.
I can't believe she gets through this without stumbling.
And the lyrics are genius.
I'm sure Anita Renfroe was channeling my mother when she wrote this.

How are you?

2010-10-18T13:11:00.016-04:00

It's a rhetorical question, really.
'How are you?'
No one really cares about the answer.
It's asked more out of habit rather than a need to really know.
And yet, we ask it all the time.
We know in our heart of hearts, that if someone were to respond
with tales of their failing eyesight and acute lumbago,
we'd cringe and curse ourselves for asking in the first place.

Many years ago, I asked a colleague about his response.
As usual, I said good morning and asked how he was.
"Fine," he said, then proceeded to talk about something else.
I cut him off.
"Joe," I said, more than a little annoyed, "I just asked you how you were."
"Yeah," he says. "So?"
"Common courtesy dictates that you, in turn, respond with 'Fine. And how are you?'"

He looked at me, and with a small laugh, said "But, Mo, I don't care how you are."

I was insulted.
A million things flew through my mind,
all of which would have got me fired if I'd actually said them.

We stared at each other for a moment.
I could tell from his expression that he was waiting for me to get it.
And then I finally did.

He was right.
Of course he doesn't care how I am.
Why should he?
And I certainly could care less how he is!

So I stopped using the token response
and now only say "Fine" when someone asks.
Don't ask.
Don't tell.

If I really want to know,
and have time to hear the response,
I'll ask.

Not too long ago, I was working overtime.
Overtime at my office means
working with the night staff
(a group of secretaries who work the night shift,
assisting lawyers who are working late into the evening).
I call up the lawyer who is my assignment for the evening.
He answers the phone all cheerful,
knowing from the call display that it's me.
I have to admit that I'm immediately annoyed.
Fake jovial banter pisses me off.
We're not friends, you and I, and we both know it.
You don't need to butter me up.
I'm getting paid to do your work.
It's going to get done.

"Hey, Mo!" he says. "How are you?!"
It's like we're long lost friends.
I may have thrown up a little in my mouth.
"Fine," I say, waiting for him to get on with his instructions.
Time is money.
Chop chop.
Sun is shining.
John Deere combine's running.
Hay is waiting.
Let's go.

There's a pause.
Then he says, in his annoying, insipid way,
"I'm fine, thanks for asking."
(Insert Big Gay Al voice here)
And immediately carries on with his instructions.

Since then, each time I've seen him,
he ignores me.
We're standing in the lobby by the elevators,
waiting for a car.
He makes eye contact with me,
then immediately looks away,
says good morning to the building janitor,
(like they're best friends, no less)
then turns away and goes into the elevator,
never saying a word to me.

Ask me why I don't care how you are.

Grover and Old Spice

2010-10-13T10:28:00.017-04:00

I know it's weird, but I'm a commercial junkie.
(though none of you should be surprised by my weirdness at this point.)

Ask TH.
I love commercials.
Well, not the ones that are actually trying to sell you something.
Those are boring.
Why would I want to watch those?
I want to laugh,
and if a commercial makes me laugh,
then I'm sold.
Probably not on the product,
but at least I'll make a point of NOT changing the channel
when their bribe comes on.

One of my current favourite commercials is the Old Spice Commercial.

Ah ... (wipes tear of laughter) ... that cracks me up every time.

But not to be outdone, Sesame Street has taken a crack at spoofing it.
And no one is hotter than Grover.
I mean, just look at those hairy, blue pecs!

HA! (wipes more tears) Brilliant!
I am on a horse. (MOO!) Cow.

R.I.P. Memère Rosa

2010-10-07T16:24:00.016-04:00

I am sad to announce that Memère Rosa died on Sunday, October 3, 2010 at noon. Leave it to Memère to arrange it so that she dies at an honourable hour.

It's not as though she didn't arrange everything else. My mother told me that on Saturday, she insisted on telling them which clothes she wanted to wear and selected the jewellery. She even patted her white curls at one point and asked "Does my hair look ok?"

I'm sad that I won't see her again and hear her laughter, but I know that she's happy now. There's a card game somewhere that's been on hold waiting for her to deal. And I'm positive that the old saying "you can't take it with you" doesn't apply to her. She has thrown her dimes into the pot and ordered everyone else to ante up.

It is only fitting, then, that I announce that I've been invited to read at the Totally Unknown Writer's Festival at The Rivoli, on November 10, 2010. I'll be reading Memère Rosa, a story that pinpoints Memère's personality. For a sneak preview, you can listen this Sunday, October 10 at 9 p.m. to CKLN 88.1 FM Life Rattle Radio where you'll hear four stories written and read by me. Three stories have previously aired on Life Rattle, including Memère Rosa, but there is also a new story titled Hare of the Dog. Listen in on Sunday and stop by the Rivoli in November and say hello.

Je vous aimes, beaucoup, Memère. A la prochaine.

And the Magic Begins

2010-09-30T17:51:00.008-04:00

Have I mentioned I'm a huge Harry Potter fan?
An enormous Potterhead.

I can't tell you how many times I've read the books.
Well, I can.
I read the first book soon after it was released.
I was reading it to a friend's daughter,
the quintessential bedtime read,
and was intrigued by the story.
My friend insisted I'd like the book,
so I bought it.

And fell in love.

Each time a new book was released,
I would reread the series from the beginning.

Whenever a movie is released,
same thing.

Do the math.
I've read the books many times over.

Part 1 of the last movie is set to be released
on November 19.
Needless to say, I'm well into the series
for the umpteenth time.
I am now reading The Order of the Phoenix.
They're sorting the first years right now.

By far, my favourite character has become
Luna "Loony" Lovegood.
And the actress who plays her in the movies
is spot on!

Lady Fairchilde, Robi and I have a date to see the movie.
I just ordered my t-shirt to wear on opening night.

I wonder if the WB will send it by Owl Post.

Chinglesh

2010-09-17T11:39:00.030-04:00

Long time no blog.
Didya miss me?
I know, probably not.

BJ's husband sent me an email today,
and I felt it worthy enough to break my blogging hiatus.

I know you've seen these before,
(perhaps not these exact ones)
but they make me laugh every time.

You could probably bring your travel time down to 5 minutes if you run a lot.

Goot to no.

Yeah, I've run into a few slipperies. They are very crafty!

There's no point in beating around the bush. So to speak.

Brings new meaning to Mind the Gap, doesn't it? Think this will catch on in London? They'd probably sell more souvenirs.

No effort to even make up a word. Just Cow 'Something'.

I'm going to this next year.

Thangs you for to halfing me.

Friendly bunch, aren't they?

This is brilliant! I like that their 'friendly security guards' are more than happy to 'sort it out for you'. I'll just bet they are!

Maybe this Elmo is like a Baby Burp and Poop.

I bet Elmo eats here.

Wash by hand in coleslaw then iron at 120C for a nice light snack.

This disturbs me. It's quite possible that this machine cooks hot dogs (though, why you'd need a machine for the sole purpose of cooking hot dogs is beyond me), but the picture of the dog is throwing me off. Is the wiener made of dog meat? Does the machine warm up dog food? Is it for the cremation of small lap dogs? I don't get it.

YOU NO DIE HERE!

As Lady Fairchild pointed out, it's especially funny that the Stick Man's NoNo Zone is crossed out (extra points to LF for using the term 'NoNo Zone').

Not quite an anatomically correct figure of a tranny, is it?

CRAZY!!

Helluva deal for fresh herpes, I'd say. I guess there's no frozen herpes available, since the freezer is out of control.

WHAT THE?! I don't want to know what this tastes like or, for that matter, smells like.

This is one of those retro grenades, like those huge cell phones from the 90s.

But if you're kidnapped, call someone else.

A glass of wine or bottle of beer while you're having a mani and pedi is never a bad idea.

I knew my cell phone smelled funny.

Love the fine print at the bottom!

Think there's a stained cape that goes with this t-shirt?

Wang's gotta do what he's gotta do.

This is my favourite one. There is so much going on with this sign, so many random warnings, that I want to rub up against the wall, just to see what happens.

Few and Far Between

2010-07-23T14:01:00.005-04:00

I realize I haven't been blogging much.
Well, not HERE, anyway.

I've been spending all my free time writing.
It's not easy juggling everything
and keeping it all in the air.
I keep dropping stuff.
It's not pretty.
And to be quite frank, it's stressing me out.

This is my half-ass way of apologizing,
and assuring everyone that I will continue to blog,
though it will be less frequent.

I'm on a mission.
I want to complete my book by the end of the year,
set it aside for a while,
then finish editing by next Spring.

At least, that's the plan.

Life has a way of messing things up.
Which is why my posts will be far and few between.
Be patient with me.

Horse Power

2010-07-15T08:04:00.004-04:00

Thanks to Budge for sending me this:

On the farm lived a chicken and a horse, both of whom loved to play together.

One day the two were playing, when the horse fell into a bog and began to sink.

Scared for his life, the horse whinnied for the chicken to go get the farmer for help!

Off the chicken ran, back to the farm. Arriving at the farm, he searched and searched for the farmer, but to no avail, for he had gone to town with the only tractor.

Running around, the chicken spied the farmer's new Harley Davidson Motorcycle.

Finding the keys in the ignition, the chicken sped off with a length of rope hoping he still had time to save his friend's life.

Back at the bog, the horse was surprised, but happy, to see the chicken arrive on the shiny Harley, and he managed to get a hold of the loop of rope the chicken tossed to him.

After tying the other end to the rear bumper of the farmer's bike, the chicken then drove slowly forward and, with the aid of the powerful bike, rescued the horse!

Happy and proud, the chicken rode the Harley back to the farmhouse, and the farmer was none the wiser when he returned.

The friendship between the two animals was cemented: Best Buddies, Best Pals.

A few weeks later, the chicken fell into a mud pit, and soon, he too, began to sink and cried out to the horse to save his life!

The horse thought a moment, walked over, and straddled the large puddle.

Looking underneath, he told the chicken to grab his hangy-down thingy and he would then lift him out of the pit.

The chicken got a good grip, and the horse pulled him up and out, saving his life.

And the moral of the story?? (yep, you betcha, there is a moral!)

When You're Hung Like A Horse,
You Don't Need A Harley To Pick Up Chicks!

The Extra Mile

2010-07-12T07:30:00.011-04:00

We have nice boardrooms in our office.
The firm spent a lot of money on presentation.
The boardrooms have a beautiful view of
Lake Ontario and cityscape.
It's quite lovely.
Clients are always impressed.

And we often have clients who will ask
to use our boardrooms for meetings.

We're nice people.
So we say "Sure!"

Boss #1 had a client call for such a request.
It seems he needed neutral ground for a meeting.
No problem.

Boss #1 was meeting out of the office,
so when Mr. Client arrived, I went up to greet him.
I ushered the group into the boardroom,
showed them where the washrooms were,
gave them my telephone extension in case they needed anything,
made sure they had coffee, juice, water and cookies,
then left them alone.

At the end of the meeting, Mr. Client sends me an email:

Thank you for your hospitality this morning. The meeting went very well. My guests were suitably impressed.

I read the email to Boss #1.

"It sounds like I did more than just shake his hand
and bring him to the boardroom."

Boss #1 gives me a thumbs up.
"Good girl."

One Ringy Dingy

2010-07-09T07:30:00.000-04:00

Boss #1 tells me that
John Doe, a consultant client,
will be meeting another lawyer in our office.

"Phone him and see if he's available to meet with me at two."

So I call him.
The voice on the other end of the phone says:
"John Doe Consulting, how may I help you?"

I smile.
The guy sounds like he's 15 years old.
How cute is that?
Somebody got themselves a summer job
answering the phone at mummy or daddy's office.

I ask, in my professional voice:
"May I speak with John Doe's assistant, please?"

"One moment, please," he says.

I hold for about 15 seconds.

Then there's a click,
and the call is picked up,
and the EXACT SAME VOICE comes on the line.

"John Doe speaking."

There was no mistaking the voice.
It didn't just sound a little bit like him.
It was EXACTLY like him.
It WAS him!

Dude, if you're gonna fake having lots of staff,
at least disguise your voice.

It was all I could do to keep from laughing,
while visions of a Lily Tomlin skit ran through my head.

Summer Slam

2010-07-08T08:43:00.011-04:00

It's summer, and you know what that means.
Office Summer Parties.

Ho hum.
Or, in the words of Vampire Willow:
Bored now.

Our party is tonight.
A BBQ on the patio behind our building.
Burgers and such.

The interesting thing to note is that
we're expecting thunder showers today.
Hmmmm...

Regardless, I can't go.
I'm staying at the Sleep Clinic tonight
and have to go straight home after work.

Oh well.

I was using my sarcastic font on that last line.

M'Licious sent me an email yesterday,
bragging about her office summer party.

Our summer party, she writes,
is at La'Maquette at King and Church.

And she sends a link.
Which I click on.

The first thing I notice on their site
is their claim to fame:

VOTED "MOST ROMANTIC" 2007

I see.
And this is where you're having your office party?

I want to read her job description.
I'm guessing it's a little more 'involved' than mine.

2010-07-07T12:41:00.015-04:00

Had drinks and snacks and drinks and drinks
(in that order)
with the girls last night for a
belated birthday celebration.

Lady Fairchilde,
Robi,
M'Licious, and
Trampy.

A motley crew, to say the least.

One Guinness was all I ordered.
One.

But then...

Lady Fairchilde decided she didn't like Guinness
and pushed her pint over to me.
sigh
There's no accounting for taste.

And M'Licious orders a round of
Swedish Berry shooters.

Deeeeeeeee-Lish!
It was like Kool-Aid for grownups.

Not the wisest choice on a school night,
but I had a great time
and for a drinking light-weight,
I was none the worse for wear this morning.

Which probably isn't a good thing.
It sends the wrong message.
The message should be:

yurrr no 20 inee moorrre, hen.
ye canny be doin' this ta yurrrrself.

Instead, the message is:

ack, hen! trrreeee? Ohneee trrreeee?
ya kin do bettah 'n dat!

Since the group agreed that
this should be a monthly
*ahem*
"meeting"
it may be difficult to ignore the voices that cheer me on.

Even if they're speaking with a drunken Scottish slur.

Adventures in Babysitting

2010-07-02T14:10:00.012-04:00

Do you have children that need to be looked after?
Are they rude?
Condescending?
Spoiled?

Send them here.
We have a whole bunch of them,
Yours will fit right in.

Our Summer Students are a pain in the arse.
Spoiled, pampered and a little too haughty.

I want to tell them ...
you ain't all that,
nor are you a bag of chips.
And even if you were,
you'd be Sour Cream and Onion.
I hate Sour Cream and Onion.

They're Summer Students.
Not even Articling Students, yet.
They haven't finished school,
they have no clue what they're doing,
yet they insist on acting like they do.

The worse part is that they cannot fend for themselves.
I don't know what parents are doing nowadays,
but whatever it is ...
stop doing it!

You're raising an entire generation
of spoiled brats
who cannot take care of themselves,
have no respect for others
and insist that the world owes them.

Today = Straw = Broken Camel Back.

One of the students comes over to
the network printer next to me.
Not everyone gets a printer, especially the students.
There are several high speed printers
on every floor for people to share.

So the student comes over to the printer.
I conclude that he has sent something to print.
The printer makes no sound.
It's not printing.
Printer Boy just stares at it.

I type at my computer and make no eye contact.

I can see him out of the corner of my eye.
He looks up at the shelf above the printer.
Squats down and opens the cupboard below the printer.
Opens the printer tray.

It's clear there's no paper.
Not in the printer,
not below in the storage area,
not above on the shelf.

Printer Boy stands there for about 30 seconds.
Stands on his toes again to look at the top shelf
(he's short),
squats down and opens the cupboard doors,
checks the printer tray.

The paper has not magically appeared.

He stands there another 30 seconds or so.
I continue to type at my computer,
avoiding eye contact.

Printer Boy goes through the routine again.

Really?
The paper is not going to just appear, you know.

Then finally:

PB: Do you know where I can get more paper?

Me: Supply Room

PB: Oh.

(I know he hesitated to see if I would volunteer to go.
I don't. Screw that!)

Printer Boy finally walks away.
He surprises me by coming back with a package of paper.
I really expected him to just forget the whole thing.

As he opens the package,
I ask him (already knowing the answer),

Me: Did you tell them that we were out?

PB: Oh. No.

Me: Well, that wasn't really smart, was it?

And you want to be a lawyer when you grow up???

Magic Mushrooms

2010-06-29T08:46:00.014-04:00

Hey!
Pssssst ... yeah you.
Cm'here!

I got some good stuff.
Organic.
Home grown.
In my backyard.

I'm not sure how this happened,
but TH and I have a serious Grow-Op
happening in our backyard.

Last year it was clover.
A lot of it.
We still have some, but it's much better this year.

Maybe Mother Nature is trying to tell us something.
Perhaps we were supposed dry out the clover.
That does explain all the baggies in the kitchen.

If you need to kick back
and chill,
I can hook you up.

100th Birthday!

2010-06-28T12:07:00.017-04:00

I'm back now from Sudbury,
celebrating mine and Memère's birthday.
Although we had a big party for Memère in May
a few of us gathered for lunch on June 23 for the actual day.

There were balloons

We opened cards

And, of course, there was cake.
Not just any cake, mind you.
A special birthday cake.
For Memère AND me.

At least Mom and Cecile were kind enough to not put my age!

Memère was her usual fiesty self,
joking with everyone
and kicking our asses in cards.
We played Pass The Ace.
Memère didn't win, but she didn't lose either.
I was the first one to lose and was 'on the bus' very early.
Memère had a good laugh at that.

I hope I'm just like her when I grow up.

Bonne Fête, Memère. Je vous aimes beaucoup!

Outta Here!

2010-06-18T09:11:00.008-04:00

As you may know,
our fair city is hosting the G20 Summit.
World leaders,
media
and protesters
(not necessarily in that order)
will converge on our turf.

A three-metre fence has been erected,
enclosing an area of the downtown core
that includes, among other things,
the Convention Centre,
the Royal York Hotel and
my office building.

Security will be tight.
Rumour has it that there will be
one or two doors to enter the secured zone,
forcing thousands of commuters
to funnel into a narrow confined area.

Everyone in my office has been issued
two security passes,
which are to be used in conjunction with
our regular security pass.

Stores in the underground are expected to be closed.
Announcements are made daily on the GO Train,
advising us that there may be delays next week
and we should bring food and water just in case.

Our office will have a toll-free number
for employees to call for information
regarding the status of security.
We have been warned of a
potential lock-down of our building,
should protesting become a security issue.

Erring on the side of caution,
our office will be closed on Friday.

Me?
I'm getting the hell outta Dodge!
I'm off next week.
Heading up to Sudbury for Birthday Week.

Cousin Alex's birthday is the 20th.
Memère’s birthday is the 23rd
(though we already celebrated it).
And mine is the 24th.

It's a busy month.
I'm guessing that the men in my family
get a little randy in the Fall,
hence the Summer Baby Boom.

So I probably won't be posting next week.
Then again,
maybe my brother will let me use his laptop while I'm there.
If not, I'll see ya'll when I'm back on the 28th.

Wolves and Sheep

2010-06-17T11:02:00.008-04:00

I got an email today from a Wolf.
Not in the literal sense, of course.
He was, after all, wearing sheep's clothing.

It was a message at my tiny business.
It's a wee little thing...nothing, really.
But it keeps me occupied,
keeps me out of trouble (most of the time),
and allows me to participate in craft shows a few times a year.

And it's mine.

So, back to my story ...
I get a message today,
completely unsolicited,
from a name I do not recognize.

The message reads:

Good day,
as promised,
Jonathan.

The Subject line was Changelog 07.06.2010
from Jonathan Eddy.
His email address, allegedly, is sentryhu1@renson.com.

Attached to the Wolf's email is a zip file.
Of course, I didn't open it.
Do you think I'm stupid?

I just wanted to let Jonathan The Wolf
know that I'm on to him.
Your little game didn't work.

And I've reported your ass.
Stupidhead.

Neighbour By Proxy

2010-06-10T11:44:00.015-04:00

We have *ahem* neighbours.
Note that I didn't add an adjective.

I can't honestly say they're wonderful,
because, who is, really?
They're not horrible, either.
I want to say they're nice,
but I hesitate.

They haven't really done anything wrong,
so it's very unfair of me to say that.
And TH will probably lecture me on this.

But they didn't really bother me much,
until he pointed out something.
(So it's TH's fault, really.)

TH began to notice that the neighbours
are always there.
ALWAYS.
When we leave the house,
when we come home,
when we walk Puppy,
when we're gardening.

They're always there.
It's like that scene from What About Bob
Whip the door open:
He's always there!

When the girls were over for Spa Day,
I pointed this out to BJ.
We left Cousin Alex at home
(she was in the middle of an intense game of Wii)
and we went out to return a video,
and pick up pizza.

As we left the house,
Neighbour Guy was getting into his car and also leaving.
I waved.
Big smile.
"Hellllooooo!"

Total Game Face.

But BJ knows me very well.
We get in the car.
"What the hell was that all about?!"
I laugh, and fill her in on
TH's stalking theory.
She doesn't believe me.

Until we return to the house.
And Neighbour Guy is also getting home.

"Oh. My. God." says BJ, "TH is right!"

And sure enough,
when we took Puppy for a walk,
Neighbour Guy and Neighbour Son
were out raking the lawn.

BJ gives me a knowing smile,
which Alex doesn't miss,
and she asks what's up.
We fill her in.

So now we're all on Neighbour Alert.

Last night, TH picks me up from the GO Train.
It's after 10 o'clock.
It's dark.
As we pull into the driveway,
we notice there's a teenager
sitting on his bike,
in the middle of the sidewalk,
in front of the Neighbour's house.

"Who's that?" I ask.

TH replies:
"That's the Stand-In.
They couldn't be here when we got home,
but they wanted to be sure someone was there for us."

You know,
he might be right.

Things that make you go Hmmm

2010-06-04T14:03:00.013-04:00

I am having the most gawd-awful day.

I slept at the Sleep Clinic last night.
Wait.
Let me rephrase that ...
I was awake most of the night at the Sleep Clinic.

The computer is not co-operating today.
Outlook is possessed.
I have cursed Bill Gates to the Nether Regions.

And I barely got to drink my coffee this morning before it got cold.
There's nothing worse than cold coffee.
Except, perhaps, warm beer.

But Courtini was able to make me laugh today.
God bless you, Courtini!

* * *

If you yelled for eight years, seven months and six days you would have produced enough sound energy to heat one cup of coffee.

Hardly seems worth it.

If you farted consistently for six years and nine months, enough gas is produced to create the energy of an atomic bomb.

Now that's more like it!

The human heart creates enough pressure when it pumps out the body to squirt blood thirty feet.

This could be a new Olympic event.

A pig's orgasm lasts thirty minutes.

In my next life, I want to be a pig.

A cockroach will live nine days without its head before it starves to death.

Creepy.

And I'm still not over the pig.

Banging your head against a wall uses 150 calories an hour.

If this were really true, I'd be much thinner.

The male praying mantis cannot copulate while its head is attached to its body. The female initiates sex by ripping the male's head off.

Honey, I'm home. What the...?

The flea can jump 350 times its body length. It's like a human jumping the length of a football field.

Thirty minutes. Lucky pig! Can you imagine?

The catfish has over 27,000 taste buds.

What could be so tasty on the bottom of a pond?!

Some lions mate over 50 times a day.

I still want to be a pig in my next life. Quality over quantity.

Butterflies taste with their feet.

Does that mean they don't have smelly feet?

The strongest muscle in the body is the tongue.

Hmmmmmm......

Right-handed people live, on average, nine years longer than left-handed people.

If you're ambidextrous, do you split the difference?

Elephants are the only animals that cannot jump.

Okay, so that would be a good thing.

A cat's urine glows under a black light.

I wonder who was paid to figure that out.

An ostrich's eye is bigger than its brain.

I know some people like that.

Starfish have no brains.

I know some people like that too.

Polar bears are left-handed.

If they switch, they'll live a lot longer.

Humans and dolphins are the only species that have sex for pleasure.

What about that pig??!

The Good Ol' Days

2010-06-02T10:59:00.007-04:00

Thanks to Bobbi-Jo, who sent me this.

Yeah, I know someone named Bobbi-Jo.
And she's not the President of her 4H club,
even though her name implies it.
She may own a pair of overalls, though.
I'm not sure.

Bobbi-Jo is not to be confused with
my other friend, BJ,
who is the Bingo Junkie.

I don't know if Bobbi-Jo goes to bingo,
but if she does, she'd fit right in
cuz the girl can swear like a Teamster!

Anyhooooo ...

When I was a kid, adults used to bore me to tears with their tedious diatribes about how hard things were when they were growing up; what with walking twenty-five miles to school every morning ... uphill ... barefoot ... BOTH ways?

yadda, yadda, yadda

And I remember promising myself that when I grew up, there was no way I was going to lay a bunch of crap like that on my kids about how hard I had it and how easy they've got it.

But now that I'm over the ripe old age of thirty, I can't help but look around and notice the youth of today. You've got it so easy. I mean, compared to my childhood, you live in a damn Utopia!

And I hate to say it, but you kids today, you don't know how good you've got it.

I mean, when I was a kid we didn't have the Internet. If we wanted to know something, we had to go to the damn library and look it up ourselves, in the card catalogue.

There was no email. We had to actually write somebody a letter–with a pen! Then you had to walk all the way across the street and put it in the mailbox, and it would take like a week to get there. Stamps were 10 cents.

Child Protective Services didn't care if our parents beat us. As a matter of fact, the parents of all my friends also had permission to kick our ass. Nowhere was safe!

There were no MP3's or Napsters or iTunes. If you wanted to steal music, you had to hitchhike to the record store and shoplift it yourself. Or you had to wait around all day to tape it off the radio, and the DJ would usually talk over the beginning and screw it all up! There were no CD players. We had tape decks in our car. We'd play our favourite tape and "eject" it when finished, and then the tape would come undone rendering it useless.

We didn't have fancy crap like Call Waiting. If you were on the phone and somebody else called, they got a busy signal. That's it.

There weren't any freakin' cell phones either. If you left the house, you just didn't make a damn call or receive one. You actually had to be out of touch with your "friends". Imagine the horror of not being in touch with someone 24/7! And then there's TEXTING. Yeah, right. Please! You kids have no idea how annoying you are.

We didn't have fancy Caller ID. When the phone rang, you had no idea who it was. It could be your school, your parents, your boss, your bookie, your drug dealer, the collection agent...you just didn't know. You had to pick it up and take your chances.

We didn't have any fancy PlayStation or Xbox video games with high-resolution 3-D graphics. We had the Atari 2600 with games like 'Space Invaders' and 'Asteroids'. Your screen guy was nothing more than a little square. You actually had to use your imagination. And there were no multiple levels or screens, it was just one screen...forever. And you could never win. The game just kept getting harder and harder and faster and faster until you died. Just like life.

You had to use a little book called a TV Guide to find out what was on. You were screwed when it came to channel surfing. You had to get off your ass and walk over to the TV to change the channel. No remotes.

There was no Cartoon Network either. You could only get cartoons on Saturday Morning. We had to wait all week for cartoons.

We didn't have microwaves. If we wanted to heat something up, we had to use the stove.

Our parents told us to stay outside and play–all day long. And if you came back inside, you were doing chores!

And car seats–oh, please! Mom threw you in the back seat and you hung on. If you were lucky, you got the "safety arm" across the chest at the last moment if she had to stop suddenly. And if your head hit the dashboard … well that was your fault for calling "shot gun" in the first place!

The last one made me snort my Ice Cap Mocha out my nose!

Jeff Vadar

2010-06-01T06:10:00.002-04:00

BJ's husband Twittered that they went to see Eddie Izzard the other night.
Sadly, he didn't do the Jeff Vadar routine.

Of course, after reading the Tweet,
I had to go to You Tube and watch the skit again.
It makes me laugh every time.

You're Mr. Stevens!

So, for your amusement,
cuz everyone should have a laugh,
I give you ...

On the Road Again

2010-05-31T08:24:00.006-04:00

Finally!

After two years of waiting ...

That's me on the left.
TH's is on the right.

With our crazy schedules,
we haven't been out for two years.
It seemed that whenever we got the chance to go for a ride,
it would be raining.

Me and Mother Nature don't always see eye to eye.

Not to mention that there's something wrong with my bike.
TH changed the battery,
drained the old gas out of it,
and it's working better,
but still not perfect.

It's not accelerating like it should,
and seems to top out at 120 km.
Which I appreciate is fast,
but I know it can easily
and comfortably,
do 140 km.

TH is going to bring it in for service.
He thinks the carburetor needs cleaning.

But that didn't stop us from going out for a ride yesterday.
It was a gorgeous day!
We went out for breakfast
(I love to go out for breakfast!)
meandered out to Lindsay,
then wandered back,
stopped to pick up some tarts at a bakery,
and headed back home.

I have the oddest ~~tan~~ sunburn.
Raccoon eyes, since I was wearing goggles.
A nice V-burn down my throat.
And my forearms ... from my elbow to just above my wrist ...
the only part of my arm exposed from wearing
a three-quarter length sleeve and gloves.

I look like a dork.
A biker dork,
but a dork, nonetheless.

Million Dollar Questions

2010-05-28T11:39:00.013-04:00

As I mentioned previously,
I'm participating in a sleep study.
I've done this before,
so I'm pretty familiar with the routine.

Every night before bed,
I take the test medication.
Because it's a double-blind study,
neither I, nor the sleep lab,
know for sure if I'm taking the real thing
or the placebo.

I can assure, I'll know.
If I get more than four hours of sleep,
not only will I be a happy camper,
but I'll know that I'm taking the real deal.

I'm given a log pad that looks much like a Black Berry.
I complete a questionnaire every evening before bed,
and every morning when I wake.

How well did you sleep?
How many times did you wake up?
How many minutes/hours were you awake?
How do you feel right now?

blah blah blah

The drug company is a little paranoid.
It's their first time testing a sleep drug.
They're covering all the bases.
They're particularly concerned about
depression and suicide.

The screening questions were very interesting.
Some were expected and not surprising.
Others ... well ...

Do you sometimes believe that messages are relayed to you via the radio, television or newspaper?

Hell yeah! How else are the Powers supposed to communicate?

Do your friends or members of your family think some of your ideas are questionable?

Of course. Have you heard some of my ideas?

Do you sometimes think that you are invincible and above reproach?

Yes. And I even have a cape to prove it.

Then the questions got weird
and crossed over a line even I wouldn't travel over.

The answers I posted above were in jest,
and not what I said during the interview.
But the responses below were, in fact, my answers.

Do you sometimes hurt or kill small animals?

WHAT?! NO!!

Have you ever forced small children to have sex with you?

WHAT?!! WHAT THE HELL?! NO!!!! HAS SOMEONE SAID YES TO THAT?!

That was disturbing on so many levels.
I had some pretty vivid nightmares.
It's no wonder I didn't sleep well last night.

Sleepless in Toronto

2010-05-28T09:15:00.006-04:00

I have insomnia.
It's pretty bad.
I am perpetually tired.

If you've ever seen the movie Fight Club,
you'll recall the voice over;
how he talks about being tired
and going through his day in a daze.

That's what it's like.
I may joke that I can't remember what I had for breakfast today,
but most of the time I'm not kidding.
Most of the time I'm so tired, I can barely think.

TH heard an ad on Q107 a couple of years ago.
It was for a clinical trial for a new sleep aid.
He wrote down the number.
"Call these guys," he says.

So I did.

It was a fascinating process,
and I learned so much about my sleep habits.
Or, rather, lack thereof.

The drug I tested worked like a charm!
I became a morning person.
I would wake at 5 am, before the alarm went off,
bound out of bed, excited about the day.

It drove TH nuts.

But the pharmaceutical company merged with another
and the other company already had a good sleep drug,
so the one I tested was shelved.

Crap!

Now I'm testing a new one.
Last night was my first night at the sleep clinic.
Not surprising, I didn't sleep very well.
Ask me how tired I am.
No ... wait ... ask me what my name is,
cuz I can assure you, I'll have to think about the answer.

Breakfast of Champions

2010-05-27T12:29:00.008-04:00

So, Robi and I are at Union Station this morning,
doing the daily coffee/breakfast run.

Timmies for Boss #1.
I decided on Timmies, too.
Robi had a craving for Mickey Dees.

We're standing in line at the Golden Arches.
An older man with a rolling suitcase
(I'll give him late 60s, early 70s)
was in front of us.
It appeared that he changed his mind,
decided against McDonalds for breakfast,
and he started to leave the line.

He turns around and asks me:
"Do you know if somone sells ice cream around here?"

Without hesitating, I put on a mock stern face.
"Are you having ice cream for breakfast, sir?
Didn't your mother raise you better than that?!"

He laughed.
"I can have whatever I want for breakfast."

I have a new hero!

Dinner for Two

2010-05-20T08:44:00.011-04:00

TH made dinner last night.
Not that this differs from any other night.
The fact is, I work stupid hours.
And since he usually gets home at least an hour and a half before me,
it makes sense for him to make dinner.

Not to mention that he's waaaay better at it.

I'm thinking of starting a new blog for him.
He really does deserve it.
Dinner by TH
or maybe
Creations of a Would-Be Chef
but more likely
Chef by Default

On Tuesday, he made homemade hamburgers and frites.
While that was all cooking, he was chopping veggies
and throwing them into a bowl.
I asked him if he wanted lettuce for the salad.
He said no, "This is for tomorrow."

Tomorrow?
What's tomorrow?

"It's the day after today."
Smart ass.

He said he was coming up with something for dinner.
Said it with that grin he has that says he's up to something.
I was scared.

But then, I was downstairs on the computer,
putting some time into my book,
and this delicious aroma wafts down the stairwell,
and seduces me.

I walk upstairs.
"Smells good in here," I say,
trying to get a look at what he's doing.

"Good," is all he says.
He won't give up his secret.
I hate that about him.

I came home from work yesterday,
late as usual,
though not as late as normal.

"I can make up sausages
to go with the salad if you want," he says.

I start to drool. "Perfect!"

"Good thing," he says, and walks downstairs.
He's already boiled the sausages
and now he's going to BBQ them.

We pop open a couple of beers and sit outside while they sizzle.
How much more romantic can it get?

I didn't get a shot of the sausages,
but I did take a picture of the salad.
Am I a lucky girl, or what?!

Rhythm Nation

2010-05-14T06:30:00.005-04:00

A co-worker just got engaged.
Her boyfriend popped the question last weekened.

She is the sweetest thing ever,
and I'm so happy for her!

She raised an issue that I'm sure
many women have wrestled with.

Do I take his name?

I have to admit,
(and know that I love you TH!)
that I often regret not keeping my maiden name.
I have a very French-sounding name
and it flowed well with my maiden name,
though most people mispronounced it.

Now, I've traded it in for another one
that no one can pronounce.

But Janet,
that's my co-worker's name,
has a huge dilemma.

Her fiance's surname is Jackson.

Yup.
You read that right.
Our tiny, white-bread friend
will be called Janet Jackson.

It gets better.

Her maiden name is ...
wait for it ...

Black.

Sweet, little Janet will hereafter be known as
Janet Black Jackson.

But don't call her baby.
It's Janet.
Miss Jackson, if you're Nasty.

Such a Tool

2010-05-12T16:52:00.008-04:00

Courtini sent a bunch of the girls at work
this little quiz.

* * *

Do not go to the next calculation
before you have finished the previous one.

You do not need to write or remember the answers,
just do it using your mind.

Here we go ...

How much is:

15 + 6

3 + 56

89 + 2

75 + 26

I know! Calculations are hard work, but it's nearly over.

Come on, one more:

1233 + 5

Now ...

THINK ABOUT A TOOL AND A COLOUR!

Scroll further to the bottom...

A bit more...

You just thought about a red hammer, didn't you?

If this is not your answer,
you are among 2% of people
who have a different, if not abnormal, mind.

98% of folks answer a red hammer while doing this exercise.

* * *

Is it any surprise that I'm in the 2%?
I'm definitely different.
Probably abnormal.

I thought of a green screwdriver.
Of course, since I'm colour-blind,
it could be blue.
Who knows.

Courtini thought of a blue saw.
(or maybe it was green.)

At one point, she pipes up:
"Sarah thought of a red hoe!"

I laugh.

"That's cuz she IS a red hoe!"

Layers of Yummy Goodness

2010-05-12T08:08:00.012-04:00

When I posted the pictures from Memère's birthday party,
I was scrolling through the other pictures on my camera.
It's surprising how many pictures I have on that thing.
I should probably do something about that.

Anyhooooo ....

I came across a few that I had meant to post ages ago.

TH's parents know he's a pretty good cook.
So my Father-in-Law hits him up.

"Son," he says, in his thick accent.
"I haven't had lasagna in a long time.
Would you like to make us some lasagna?
I could buy the noodles for you."

TH rolls his eyes and smiles.
It's really hard to deny the FIL.
He must be the sweetest man on earth.
I'm thankful TH inherited that gene.

"Yes, dad," says TH, with a laugh.
"I'll make you a lasagna."
Thinking it will be a week or so.

Nope.

The next day, we get a phone call.
"I bought the noodles.
When can you come over?"

So TH made lasagna:

You can see the mouth-watering layers of spinach and Ricotta.
The oozing goodness of Mozzarella.
The crisp edges of the top layer.

I'm so happy I married a ~~gay man~~ good cook.

Still Going Strong

2010-05-10T09:47:00.025-04:00

Just came back from a wild party in Sudbury,
celebrating Memère's 100th birthday.

Well ... as wild as that kind of party can get.

She was in good spirits and,
other than having some difficulty walking,
is in pretty good health.
Not bad, considering she's a century old.

We drove up on Friday.
TH and I stopped at the French River
for a picnic lunch.

Notice we have placemats?
TH's doing.
*cough* queer *cough*

This rest stop is very pretty.
And very quiet.
I took a few other pictures.

We spent the evening with my parents.
I haven't seen them in a while,
so it was really nice to just relax.
Well ... as much as you can relax
when playing Mario Brothers.

Memère's party was on Saturday.
We woke up to this lovely weather:

WTF?!?!

But this didn't deter anyone from coming to the party.
We're a hardy bunch, if nothing else.

My aunts and uncles arranged for certificates
from various people, including
the Mayor of Sudbury,
the Prime Minister of Canada, and
the Pope.

Various grandchildren were selected
to present Memère
with the certificates.

I presented the Mayor's congratulations.

We played cards with Memère.
She won every hand.
Actually, it's not that she won every hand,
but she didn't lose either.

I'm telling you,
the old woman cheats!

While we're playing cards, an old man shows up.
I don't recognize him.
Neither do the other people playing cards.
He leans over to Memère and gives her a kiss.
On the mouth!
I look over at Cousin Alex.
"I'm sure he's a cousin," I say.

Apparently not.
Turns out, he's one of Memère's card playing buddies.
Does this sound clandestine or what?
He tells us they've been playing cards for ages.
Then proceeds to tell us he's 98 years old.
Cousin Alex pipes up, "Well, Memère likes them young!"
We all laugh.
Even Memère.
And Cousin Alex turned a deep red!

Then time for cake.

Notice the earrings and broach.
And her nails are just so.
It's not for the party.
She's always done up like this.
Memère is a bit of a diva.

When we left the party,
it was still going strong.
And Memère was in the middle of it all.
God bless her!

Despite the snow,
there was no accumulation.
But it did make for a pretty drive home.

Out of Town Guests

2010-05-04T09:20:00.011-04:00

So, I have this friend at work.
We'll call her POB.
Pissed Off Bride.

POB has a psycho future Mother-in-Law.
I've told POB to run away.
Now.
While she can.
She won't listen.

Fine.
It's your ~~funeral~~ wedding.

The stories POB has told make me wonder if the MIL
is living vicariously through her.

She insists that the wedding be a certain date,
so that it works with HER schedule.
To hell with the bride and groom.

She tells people she's paying for the wedding,
when she's not.

And she's giving POB a hard time on her choice of attire.
Honey, if you want to wear pink cowboy boots under your dress,
you go girl!

But the icing on the cake, was the guest list.
POB was presented with
a very long list of guests
from the MIL.

She sent it back.
Pare it down.
We don't have the budget for this.
MIL sends it back.
These are all people who MUST be invited.
So POB sends out invitations.
One, in particular, is sent back.
She spends weeks tracking down a new address.

Only to find out the person is deceased.
Passed away EIGHT YEARS AGO!

I say,
If MIL really wants this person at the wedding,
she should pay for the travel arrangements.

The Dog's List

2010-05-03T11:28:00.000-04:00

Thanks to Tara who sent me this piece.
Tara, BTW, lives in the Cayman Islands.
All together now ...
"We hate you, Tara!"

There are pros and cons to living in the Caymans.
Every once in a while, I get an Out-of-Office Reply
after sending her an email:

"Please be advised that due to the impending hurricane,
our offices are closed until further notice."

Well.
That says it all, doesn't it?

But on to funnier things ...

* * *

The Dog's List of Things to Remember

I will not eat the cat's food before they eat it or after they throw it up.

I will not roll on dead seagulls, fish, crabs, etc., just because I like the way they smell.

The Litter Box is not a cookie jar.

The sofa is not a 'face towel'.

The garbage collector is not stealing our stuff.

I will not play tug-of-war with Dad's underwear when he's on the toilet.

Sticking my nose into someone's crotch is an unacceptable way of saying 'hello'.

I don't need to suddenly stand straight up when I'm under the coffee table

I must shake the rainwater out of my fur BEFORE entering the house - not after.

I will not come in from outside and immediately drag my butt.

I will not sit in the middle of the living room and lick my crotch.

The cat is not a 'squeaky toy' so when I play with him and he makes that noise, it's usually not a good thing.

Now, if I could just get Puppy to read 1, 3 and 12.
And 7. Especially 7.
Cuz I'm usually the recipient of that one.

All in the name

2010-04-27T09:15:00.004-04:00

As I mentioned previously,
BJ and Cousin Alex came over last week
and we hung out at the Elmwood Spa.
We had a lovely time.
I mean, really, how can you not?

If you've never been,
after you check in,
they give you an itinerary
listing the services you are going to have,
who's going to pamper you,
what time each service begins
and on what floor.

It's a big place.

So we're in the locker room,
I'm sitting on the bench,
reviewing my itinerary.
I glance at the names of the people
who are going to be my Pamperors
(me, of course, being the Pamperee).

And I notice a pattern.

"Hey," I say, to no one in particular,
"All my service people have porn names."

The girls look at me. "What?"

"Listen," I say, and rhyme off the names.
"Kashmir, Lilac and Laguna."

I hold out my itinerary. "See. Porn names."

BJ takes the sheet from me and scans it.

"No, honey," she says, "those are the names of the rooms."

Spa Week 2010

2010-04-19T19:53:00.013-04:00

TH left early yesterday to visit The Boy in Calgary.
He'll be back on Friday.
Cousin Alex arrived last night to spend the week with me.
We're trucking downtown to meet up with BJ on Wednesday,
and we'll be spending the day at the Elmwood Spa.

The cat's away, so the mice, as they say,
are going to have a helluva time!

There is going to be a whole lot of Buffy watching,
copious amounts of Wii playing,
and a disgusting amount of junk food eating.

The guest room was completed not a moment too soon.
The girls will be our first guests.

It was a disaster for a while, to say the least.

We repainted floor to ceiling,
and had Jim from Pristine Clean come and do his thing with the carpet.
It used to be a dingy peachy-beigey sorta icky colour,
but now it actually looks rose.

I made some curtains,
made matching table covers,
covered the chair in the corner.
and I still have some fabric to make pillows,
although that might be a little too matchy.

I think the girls will like it.
In fact, they may never leave.
Which is OK with me, but TH may think otherwise.
Then again, three women cooking and cleaning for him ...

Talking Good

2010-04-15T10:45:00.015-04:00

My Facebook status update is:

Crazy Mo is amazed that so many Facebook users can't properly use contractions or even spell. Honestly, people, the entire world is reading your text ... take some pride in what you write.

This is one of my (many) pet peeves.
Grammar and spelling, that is.
Not Facebook.

I grind my teeth every time I see
a comment that reads:
"Your so right!"

Your?
Really?
As in MY so right?
You're kidding, aren't you?

We're not talking about teenagers here;
although that is still inexcusable.
These are adults.
People who have post-secondary education.

Is it because they're too busy to proofread?
Or too lazy?
It can't be because they don't know the proper use
of their, there, and they're.

If that's the case, their education is sorely lacking and there really is nothing more to do than shake my head and hope they're not reading this.

Then again, they probably didn't understand that last paragraph.
Even with the red font.

And don't even get me started about the plural of YOU.
Unless, of course, you're joking,
then yous can use it all ya'll want.

Having bitched about that ...

Last night,
TH picks me up at the GO Train.
We head over to Burger King
for Whoppers and Rings.

As always, as I get out of the car,
I remind him to turn his lights off.

"Is your lights on?" I say.

And I stop in the middle of the parking lot.
"OH MY GOD!" I shout. "Did I just say IS your lights on?!"

TH shakes his head and says in his best drawl,
"C'mon Ma, let's go git us some vittles."

Go, Helen, Go!

2010-04-09T08:10:00.007-04:00

GO Transit recently changed the schedules.
Juggled them around to add an extra train to our line.
They cancelled my normal train, but added one
several minutes before and
several minutes after.

It was enough of a difference that
I made the choice to come in even earlier.
So I'm catching the 7:03.

Sadly, GTB is catching a later train.
And I miss our morning bitch sessions.
Sending visual daggers at the morons who
talk too loud,
play pop music on their cell phones,
and insist on encroaching on your personal space.

I really missed him this morning ...

It was a wonderfully quiet ride in.
Everyone was sleeping or reading.
The few people who were talking were whispering.
It was bliss.

And it was shattered in the last 10 minutes of the ride.

"Hello?!
Hello, Helen.
Thought I'd call you and say hi.
Yes, I did try to call you.
Just a few minutes ago.
Yes, I thought I'd call and say hi."

Heads snap up at the intrusion.
We look around to see who's shouting.

Some idiot, three quads away from me,
is talking very loudly on the phone.

He starts telling Helen about his headaches,
and how the medication the doctor gave him isn't working.
But the therapist he's seeing with his wife
wants to start having more frequent sessions.
He's been making an effort to do things her way,
but he is coming in to work an hour earlier
and staying later.

Everyone is looking at each other,
with looks of "Is This Guy Serious?!"
People are popping up in their seats and
turning around to see who's talking.
He just talks louder.

The woman sitting in my quad turns to look behind her
to see who's shouting.
She turns to her husband, who's sitting beside me.
"Who's talking?"
He points the guy out.
I say to them:
"If I was his wife,
I'd leave him for telling the whole train our business."
The other coupled laughed.
The guy says, as we're pulling into the station,
"Pat him on the shoulder as you walk by
and tell him everything will be ok."

The usual fun commute, but not the same without GTB.

Hmph...

2010-04-08T07:43:00.012-04:00

I get a phone call from Lady Fairchilde the other day.
She speaks in hushed tones.
Her whisper is frantic.

We're both at work,
and although we're both very busy,
I know it's not work that has her all riled up.

I know her.
It can only be one thing.

"Cousin Alex has a duck with a KITE in it's mouth!"

LF is awed and more than a little jealous.
I don't know where Alex gets all the cool items on FarmVille,
but I'm convinced she 'knows a guy'.

LF even named the JPG attachment "Hmph".
She wonders how Alex got it too.

We'll be starting FUA soon.
Farmville Users Anonymous.
But the acronym means so much more.

Don't roll your eyes at me cuz I'm a FV Junkie.
I don't judge you because you're a sci-fi geek,
or watch back-to-back episodes of Dancing with the Stars,
or spend hours playing World of Warcraft with total strangers.

You want to make fun of me and FV ...
My name is Mo, and I'm a FarmVille Addict.
FUA.

Duke-ing it Out

2010-04-06T08:15:00.007-04:00

When I joined this department last year,
Boss #1 insisted that I join the NCAA March Madness pool.

I don't know anything about basketball, I insisted.
Doesn't matter, he assured me.

So I paid my $10.
And I picked my teams.

Last year, I had Michigan State going all the way.
North Carolina ended up winning,
but I won the pool anyway,
simply because I had Michigan State in the finals,
and a lot of my other picks were good.

People were pissed that me -- a newbie -- won.
"Why Michigan State?" they all asked.
"Um ... cuz I've been to Michigan,
and ... um ... I had a good time."

There was a lot of eye-rolling.
And I think I learned a few new swear words.

This year, I was positive my $10 was a donation.
There's no way I can win two years in a row.
I mean, I really know NOTHING about basketball.
It's a bunch of really tall guys,
bouncing a brown ball around,
making squeaking noise when they run.

But I was wrong.
Not about the tall-guy part ...
about not winning two years in a row.

Before tip off last night,
I was in second place.
It didn't matter who won,
I was coming in second.

I had Duke going all the way.
And Duke went all the way.

I don't think they're going to let me play next year.

And the reason I picked Duke?

Well ... North Carolina won last year.
And Duke University is in NC.
It's just logical.

Coffee Cup Size

2010-03-31T06:30:00.004-04:00

Robi and I went down to Timmie's for coffee.
That's Tim Horton's for all you Americans.

I take my coffee black.
I can drink it with milk or cream if I have to,
but sugar makes me gag.

Robi gets a Double-Double.

I know that this is a Canadian phenomenon.
And for those of you not in the know,
a Double-Double is a coffee with
Double Cream and
Double Sugar.

I know.
Ick.
I'm shuddering just thinking about it.

So we get our coffees...

The Timmie's downstairs was quite busy this morning.
Not that it's not usually busy,
it was just more so today.

So they label our coffees for us:

This is mine...Black:

This is Robi's...Double-Double:

But, of course, I can't help but notice
how wrong these labels are.

Cuz, let me tell you, my friends...

There's no way I am now,
nor have I ever been,
a B.

And, God love her,
but Robi's not
a DD.

I think someone mixed up our lids.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

2010-03-30T08:51:00.011-04:00

I haven't been having the best time lately.

Maybe it's because I haven't had a proper lunch in six weeks.
It could be because I haven't been sleeping much lately.
Perhaps it's the 12 hour days I've been putting in at work.

Yeah, you're right.
It's a combination of all three.

Regardless, the final result is that I have become
a person I no longer recognize.
I don't know where this angry woman came from,
but I don't like her.
I used to be nice.
Stop laughing ... it's true!
So nice, in fact, that I was a doormat.
Just ask the First Stupid.

I was mulling this over in my head last night
as I walked home from the train.
Giving myself a Pep Talk:
Something about making lemonade
while the sun shines through clouds with silver linings.
I may have gotten my metaphors mixed up.

But as I'm trudging along the street,
I came across a beautiful sight:

The girls next door took advantage of a beautiful Spring day
and broke out the coloured chalk.

The pictures were strewn across their front yard
and well into the neighbour's.
I wonder if their mother stopped them from going further.
Personally, I'd be delighted to have artwork in front of my house!

At the end of it all was this:

Something made me stop and stare at that for a while.
I felt something wrap around me like a warm hug.

I took it as a message.
Not from the kids,
but from someone who's telling me to slow down.

It wasn't a careless greeting, or even a suggestion.
It was a warning.

Have a great day...
Or I'm going to come down there and have a talk with you.
And you're not going to like it.

I got the message.
Loud and clear.

Words, Words and More Words

2010-03-23T06:00:00.001-04:00

Thanks to Barna-Boo for sending me this!

The Washington Post has published the winning submissions to its yearly contest, in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common words.

And the winners are:

1. Coffee, n. The person upon whom one coughs.

2. Flabbergasted, adj. Appalled, by discovering how much weight one has gained.

3. Abdicate, v. To give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.

4. Esplanade, v. To attempt an explanation while drunk.

5. Willy-nilly, adj. Impotent.

6. Negligent, adj. Absentmindedly answering the door when wearing only a nightgown.

7. Lymph, v. To walk with a lisp.

8. Gargoyle, n. Olive-flavored mouthwash.

9. Flatulence, n. Emergency vehicle that picks up someone who has been run over by a steamroller.

10. Balderdash, n. A rapidly receding hairline.

11. Testicle, n. A humorous question on an exam.

12. Rectitude, n. The formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.

13. Pokemon, n. A Rastafarian proctologist.

14. Oyster, n. A person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms.

15. Frisbeetarianism, n. The belief that, after death, the soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.

16. Circumvent, n. An opening in the front of boxer shorts worn by Jewish men.

I agree with Barna-Boo ... #7 is pretty darn funny.
I also like #1 Coffee, and #14 Oyster

Not to be outdone ...

The Washington Post's Mensa Invitational once again invited readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition.

Here are the winners:

1. Cashtration, n. The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period of time.

2. Ignoranus, n. A person who's both stupid and an asshole.

3. Intaxicaton, n. Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.

4. Reintarnation, n. Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

5. Bozone, n. The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

6. Foreploy, n. Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.

7. Giraffiti, n. Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.

8. Sarchasm, n. The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.

9. Inoculatte, v. To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

10. Osteopornosis, n. A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

11. Karmageddon, n. It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.

12. Decafalon, n. The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.

13. Glibido, n. All talk and no action.

14. Dopeler Effect, n. The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.

15. Arachnoleptic Fit, n. The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.

16. Beelzebug, n. Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.

17. Caterpallor, n. The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.

Is it any surprise that I think #2 Ignoranus is brilliant?
There are too many people in my office who have a Bozone Layer.
And my hands were flapping like crazy in an EW! gesture at #15! *shudder*

Are You Experienced?

2010-03-22T08:50:00.008-04:00

Out walking Puppy last night.
TH mentions that a few Witnesses had
stopped by the Funeral Home
and dropped off some Watchtowers.

The director who greeted them
took the magazines with a smile,
and put them in the office downstairs.
With the bibles.

Let them duke it out in private.

TH walks into the office
and sees the stack of Watchtowers

"Alright!" he cries. "I love Jimi Hendrix!"

He works with a bunch of people in their 20s,
who listen to dance music.
They didn't get it.

*sigh*

There must be some kinda way out of here.

Daily XXXword

2010-03-19T13:28:00.011-04:00

I had lunch today with Lady Fairchilde.
I use the term 'lunch' quite loosely.

What I mean to say is that I got to leave the office,
go to a fast food place,
and buy some food.
I even got to eat it.

This is quite miraculous,
given that I haven't had lunch in three weeks.
You'd think this would be
a great weight-loss programme.
It's not.

But I digress.
As usual.

Walking back from getting said lunch,
LF tells me about a crossword puzzle
she was working on yesterday.

"It was all about sex," she says.
And she mentions some of the words,
which I thought were funny.

Then she sends me a copy of the puzzle:

That is frickin' hilarious!

Either the guy who wrote this puzzle
is getting too much,
or not enough.

Either way,
Puzzle Boy has some dominance issues.

I'm a little surprised
'SPANK' wasn't in there somewhere.

There is 'DOG' though.

The Eye of the Beholder

2010-03-17T10:55:00.010-04:00

As you know, I'm taking a writing class.
I don't know what I expected to take away from it,
but I can tell you I'm a little disappointed.

I've taken some workshops,
and I've entered several competitions.
In every case, I have received positive critiques.

The first story I wrote for my class,
was a coming-of-age piece with some Canadiana.
My professor loved it.

Then again, he's a Canadian author,
who proudly waves the flag for the home town.

I get it.
I should be proud to be Canadian.
And I am.
But if any Canadian author is honest,
they'll admit they want to break into the American market.
It's where fame and fortune resides.

I thought I'd flex a little on the second story.
It was a rewrite of an older piece.

He panned it.

I was down for days after that.
Not because he butchered it.
I'm OK with that.
I was upset because it bothered me.
I thought I could take criticism better than that.

But after a few days of moping,
it occured to me he was wrong.
That piece was good.
I had completely rewritten it for a competition.
The result was that I was short-listed and,
although I didn't win, to me, that says an awful lot.

I made further edits for the class and it was much tighter,
far better than my original piece,
and better than the competition entry.

Perhaps I wouldn't have felt as bad about his criticism
if I hadn't received such a glowing critique from the competition.
But they told me it was good,
good enough to be sent to the final judge.

And my prof wasn't impressed.

So, for my last submission,
I wrote something just for him.
Well ... not really.
I wrote it for the Life Rattle radio programme,
but I knew he'd like it.

I read it in class,
giving a disclaimer before I began:
"I have yet to read this story without crying,
so bear with me."
Everyone nodded.
And I cried.

He loved it.
The few amendments he suggested were good technical changes.

And then he panned someone else's piece.
It was a great piece,
similar to my style of writing,
and definitely not the prof's.

Which cemented it for me.
It's not me--or us, rather.
It's him.

I sent TH a text:

Me: On break. He loved the story. Figures. And he panned another guys story that was brilliant.

TH: Great literature = Mad Magazine.

Protecting Your Assets

2010-03-11T08:28:00.006-05:00

You've all been to the library.
There's always the little sticker
at the bottom of the spine
to identify the book and author
and code it according to the
Dewey Decimal System.

I came across this book in our legal library:

And the spine now reads:

It'll probably take way more than six hours to protect mine.

It's a Pig Sty

2010-03-10T15:53:00.011-05:00

I have issues with the state of our staff kitchen.

Each floor of our office has a cafe.
I don't know what the other floors look like,
but ours is quite manky.

People leave their dirty cups,
often with remnants of yesterday's coffee,
lying about the counter.

Even worse, are the lazy sods who
leave their Starbucks take-away cups
on the counter.
On. The. Counter!
They are called take-away cups for a reason.
They are meant to be binned when you're done.

And lunch dishes are never put in the dishwasher.

It's disgusting.
It's like I work with a bunch of cave people.
And to prove this point,
today I found this:

For the love of Pete, people!
Were you born in a cave?!

Rinse off your plate, then put it in the dishwasher.
If the dishwasher is full or running,
then rinse it off anyway,
and stack it neatly on the counter.

And is that a bone?
What the hell is wrong with you?
Do you think you are so important,
that you can leave your manky leftovers lying about?

My DOG is neater than you!!!

Racing to the Altar

2010-03-05T06:30:00.000-05:00

My brother, Budge, sent me this.

Not for little ears
or easily offended big ones.
There's some four-letter words.
Just warning.

Marriage is just like a horse race ...

Birds & Bees, Goats & Sheep

2010-03-04T13:07:00.008-05:00

Unless you live in a cave,
you've heard of FarmVille.

In the event you are a cave-dweller,
FarmVille is a community game on FaceBook.
Players have a farm,
they plant and harvest crops,
raise animals,
purchase and organize buildings.

As ridiculous as it sounds,
everyone I know who farms,
is seriously addicted.

Me included.

For those of you not in the know,
I must explain something
before I tell you my story.
When you add animals to your farm
you have the option of making them stay in place,
or letting them roam around.

Remember that.
It's important.

Yesterday, I get a call from Lady Fairchilde.
She whispers into the phone,
barely able to contain her excitement.

"Cousin Alex has a DONKEY!
How did she get a donkey?!"

I rush over to LF's desk to see.
Sure enough, Cousin Alex has a donkey.
Very cool.

But then LF notices something else.

FarmVille allows you to
take pictures of your farm.
So LF takes a snapshot,
and posts it to Cousin Alex.

Look closely:

LF posts beneath the picture:

"How the heck did you get a DONKEY ... and just what is that goat doing to the luv ewe???"

Cousin Alex responds:

"The Donkey came out of the golden egg silly,
and it is a luv ewe!!!
That's why all the other animals turned around... lol"

Of course the donkey came from a Golden Egg.
Where else would it come from?
The stork?

Cousin Alex confirmed that she doesn't 'stay' her animals,
that they roam around on their own.
That makes it even funnier!
Then she points out:

"I love the black chicken that's bent down
to see everything under the fence...
Nosy chick! lol"

I started really looking at the picture.
ALL the chickens are watching!
Like it's some live X-rated play.

And what about the little pink calf?
She's going to need therapy for a long time!

Camera...Action!

2010-02-26T10:40:00.008-05:00

Walking to the office today,
GTB noticed there were Road Closed signs
sitting on the median,
waiting to be put in place.

He pointed them out,
wondering if they were doing construction.

I suggested it was probably a photo shoot.
Morgan Freeman and Bruce Willis
are reportedly in town filming.

As we approached my building,
there was a line up of cars:

We live in Toronto,
not Chicago.
So, unless these guys are lost,
or they heard that Tim Hortons makes great coffee,
I'm pretty sure I was right about the filming.

Me being right doesn't happen too often.
Ask TH.

GTB questioned whether the cars were
parked overnight specifically
to have them snow-covered.
Then he suggested we clean them off
and see what happens.
Or better yet...
write something naughty in the snow.

Going on 13 ... Again

2010-02-23T15:48:00.005-05:00

Yesterday was TH's birthday.
He hates his birthday.
So much so that he snaps at anyone who mentions it.
Conversely,
he's miserable if you don't.

Don't ask.
Just ignore him.
I do.

I got home from work yesterday,
prepared to ignore the event.

"What do you want for dinner?"
I ask.

He mutters something about
just making soup.

"Fine," I snap,
and storm off to the kitchen to make soup
and tuna sandwiches.

We eat and when we're done he says,
"There's dessert downstairs."

I look at him.
"Downstairs?"

He nods.
"Ice cream cake in the freezer."

"Your staff bought you cake for your birthday?"

He nods.

"Did you yell at them?"
I ask this because if I had bought the cake,
I would have received a lecture.

"No," he says, "it was hard to be rude
when it was such a nice gesture."

"Yes it was," I snap.

"Yeah, well..." He stops
and I can tell he's trying to suppress a smile.

"What?"

He starts to laugh.

"They wrote on it
Happy Bar Mitzvah TH"

"Mazel tov," I said,
once I stopped laughing.

Hang on Sloopy

2010-02-22T08:18:00.015-05:00

Thanks to my brother, Budge, who sent this gem to me.
It has been insanely busy at work
and I have come to hate Mondays.

But as the prelude to this email promised,
I giggled insanely.
When you get to the bottom, you'll laugh too.
Not just with me,
but AT me.

I don't blame you one bit.
Go ahead.
Laugh.

I am.

The following is excerpted from a children's book,
Captain Underpants and
the Perilous Plot Professor Poopypants,
by Dave Pilkey,
in which the evil Professor
forces everyone to assume new names.

Here are the rules:

FIRST:
Use the third letter of your first name
to determine your new first name:

a = snickle
b = doombah
c = goober
d = cheesey
e = crusty
f = greasy
g = dumbo
h = farcus
i = dorky
j = doofus
k = funky
l = boobie
m = sleezy
n = sloopy
o = fluffy
p = stinky
q = slimy
r = dorfus
s = snooty
t = tootsie
u = dipsy
v = sneezy
w = liver
x = skippy
y = dinky
z = zippy

NEXT:
Use the second letter of your last name
to determine the first half
of your new last name:

a = dippin
b = feather
c = batty
d = burger
e = chicken
f = barffy
g = lizard
h = waffle
i = farkle
j = monkey
k = flippin
l = fricken
m = bubble
n = rhino
o = potty
p = hamster
q = buckle
r = gizzard
s = lickin
t = snickle
u = chuckle
v = pickle
w = hubble
x = dingle
y = gorilla
z = girdle

LAST:
Use the third letter of your last name
to determine the second half
of your new last name:

a = butt
b = boob
c = face
d = nose
e = hump
f = breath
g = pants
h = shorts
i = lips
j = honker
k = head
l = tush
m = chunks
n = dunkin
o = brains
p = biscuits
q = toes
r = doodle
s = fanny
t = sniffer
u = sprinkles
v = frack
w = squirt
x = humperdinck
y = hiney
z = juice

My name?

Sloopy Dippinfanny.

Doesn't that just make you laugh out loud?
I couldn't make that up if I tried.
That is brilliant!

TH's name is Dorfus Dippinfanny.
Which raises a whole slew of questions
that I am NOT going to answer!

I do think that TH and I
should start introducing ourselves as
The Dippinfannys.
The Dipps, for short.

Now here's what I want you to do.
Follow the rules.
And post your new name in the comments section.

Oh come on...
as the email said:

"And don't go all adult -
a senior manager is now known
far and wide
as Dorky Gizzardsniffer!"

I wonder if everyone calls him
Mr. G?

Ashes to Ashes

2010-02-17T13:00:00.009-05:00

Today is Ash Wednesday.
Although I no longer call myself
a practicing Catholic,
I still like to go to Mass for Ash Wednesday.
It does give me a warm fuzzy,
and I always feel cleansed after.

It was pointed out to me that
given my current standing
I might spontaneously combust
as I enter the Narthex.

Good point.
But I took a chance anyway.
And Robi and I went to Mass.

Robi went to the Deacon,
who is a woman.
I went to the Priest.

I think he knew,
because he REALLY blessed me.

This is Robi...
discreet.

This is me...
clearly undergoing an exorcism.

When Lady Fairchild
took these pictures for my blog,
she adjusted Robi's hair
and received a static shock

When I tried to adjust
the angle of Robi's head,
I received a static shock too.

Robi's cross may be small,
but it packs a lot of punch.

Then again,
maybe mine is working double time,
and doesn't have enough energy
to zap people.

Let the Games Begin

2010-02-16T12:32:00.009-05:00

This was the first time I've watched the
Olympic Opening Ceremony.

I enjoyed it.
As the commentators pointed out,
it wasn't as spectacular as the last Olympics,
but then again, should it be?

We're in a recession.
There would be an outcry if we spent millions of dollars
on showmanship.

I cried when the Georgian athletes paraded in.
I hope they win a medal.
For no other reason than to say that
the spirit of Nodar Kumaritashvili lives on.

There were some glitches in the ceremony...
not all the pillars lifted
for the torch, for instance.
But Bryan Adams was, by far, the biggest screw up.
It was disappointing beyond words for me.
Kind of like knowing how the magic trick happens.
I don't want to know things like that.
I prefer to be awed through ignorance.

And the idiots running in front of the pick up
that carried Wayne Gretzky to light the second torch!
Hello people!
Do you not see the moving vehicle?
Did your parents not tell you it was dangerous
to run in front of moving cars?
Sheesh!

More Valentines!

2010-02-12T15:09:00.006-05:00

Robi put on her Saint Valentine hat
and handed out treats.

Popcorn!
Francisco!!

First she hands one to Cortini.
Cortini looks at the package.
Closely.
See ... top left corner:

"It pops red," Robi points out, as she hands me my package.

"Shut up!" I shout.

Then Devi walks by. Robi hands her a package.

"It pops red," Cortini and I say together.

"Shut up!" shouts Devi.

Robi calls Lady Fairchilde over and hands her a package.

"It pops up red," we all chant.

"Shut up!" shouts Lady Fairchilde.

Well, Kernels, you have outdone yourself.

Shut up, everyone.
Shut up, indeed.

Happy Valentine's Day!

2010-02-12T07:30:00.009-05:00

As you know, it's Valentine's Day.
(Well, Sunday is.)
The day the patron saint of
Chocolate and Hallmark Cards
leaves gifts for good girls and boys.

Or maybe it's naughty girls and boys.
I'm never sure.

Our mail room delivered treats:

Not one to waste a moment in eating chocolate,
I immediately opened the white one.

Hmmmm...

Call me a pervert,
but does that look like what I think it looks like???

Tasting the Nummy Treat

2010-02-11T16:08:00.012-05:00

I got to eat the cupcake.
Oh yeah!
Me.
Got to eat the nummy treat.
Chocolate.
With chocolate icing.
And a wee chocolate button.

Oh, you were thinking
the other cupcake.
Easy now!
I'm a married woman.

I'm all about presentation.
The cupcake comes in a wee box.

Let's take a peek inside, shall we?

Now if that doesn't scream
"Come take a bite outta me!"
I don't know what does.

It's pefection, dontchya think?

And now it's over.
I'm a little sad.
And more than a little spent.

Another Nummy Treat

2010-02-01T15:50:00.009-05:00

Lady Fairchilde wanders down to Starbucks the other day.
She is our resident Cupcake Expert.
On more levels than one.
Keep reading.
You'll understand why in a moment.

On the first--and foremost--level,
she makes the most yummy cupcakes.
She sold out at our craft show.
Even had one man come back for seconds.
If I'm not mistaken,
he even proposed to her.

But I digress.
We're back at Starbucks.
With Lady Fairchilde.

Robi, Courtini and I told her
(in great detail!)
about the Cupcake that works there.

Our Lady is on a mission.
Her boss has sent her for "a wet latte".

Don't jump ahead!
Let me tell the story!!

Lady Fairchilde orders her wet latte.
Strolls over to the Barista counter
where our resident Cupcake
is diligently working.
He hands her the latte and says,
with a devilish grin,
"Tell me if that's wet enough."

Lady Fairchilde admits that
a million things went through her mind.
Including the coquettish retort:
"Well, baby,
if anyone can make it wet enough,
you can."

But (sigh) she said nothing.
In fact,
I think she muttered
something about it being
her boss's latte
and she was sure it was fine.

Only Lady Fairchilde
can get into these situations.
And ... she was as red as
the Red Velvet cupcake she bought that day!

Short and Stout

2010-01-28T09:05:00.006-05:00

I've been fighting a cold for a few days.

But by the end of Tuesday's class
I started feeling worse.
Uh-oh.
When I woke up yesterday,
I was feeling pretty craptacular.
Hence my FaceBook status update.

My friend, Carrie, suggested I get a Neti Pot.
I've been thinking about getting one
for a while.
And thanks, Carrie, for reminding me.
My head is pretty fuzzy right now
and I can barely remember how to get home.

If you don't know what a Neti Pot is,
check this out:

Now, before you ask ...
and I know ya'll are thinking this ...
I am NOT going to video-tape myself doing this.
Don't even bother asking.

It wasn't uncomfortable at all,
just ... an odd sensation.
I have to admit that
it did clear out my sinuses
and I was able to breath again.

The entire time I was doing it, though,
I had "I'm a Little Tea Pot"
running through my head.
Mine does look like a wee tea pot.

This is the one I bought:

Sadly, it doesn't cure the cold,
and I feel like several heaps of crap today.
I can breath, but I'm coughing like crazy.
GTB got a glimpse of that on the train this morning.
It's worse now.

I already told Boss #2 I'm going home early.

The real stinker in all of this
is that I booked tomorrow off
so I could hang with my sisters.
We're meeting for breakfast at Cora's,
then some serious retail therapy.

BJ mentioned that she wanted
to pick up something
(I don't remember what it is now...
give me a break...I'm sick!)
and I know that I want to pick up some books.
Alex is always up for the bookstore!

I hope I don't make them sick.
And if I do,
I'm really sorry, girls,
but I need me some girl time
and I'm not cancelling.
Dammit!

Oh ... we got homework, by the way.
Basically we have to start writing our stories.
I finished my 'Postcard' story.
Go check it out.

It's a School Night

2010-01-26T16:34:00.008-05:00

I starting my writing class tonight.
It was supposed to start January 12,
but was postponed to tonight.

Our instructor is Richard Scarsbrook,
author of
The Cheeseburger Subversive,
Featherless Bipeds,
Destiny's Telescope, and
The Monkeyface Chronicles.

I've read Cheeseburger--
twice, in fact--
and it was great.
A wonderful coming-of-age story.
I kept picturing TH
the entire time I read it.

I'm beyond excited about this class.
Rich sent us the course outline.

We are expected to write:

A 'Postcard' Story - 250 words
A 'Short-Short' Story - 750 words
A Short Story - 2500-5000 words
Then...
one final, edited and revised version
of one of the assignments
to be included in a class anthology.

Awesome!

I hope we get homework tonight.

The Man Rules

2010-01-25T12:43:00.004-05:00

Thanks to Courtini
for sending me this.
I’ve read it before
but it makes me laugh every time.

Note that all the rules are numbered 1.
I’m guessing it’s either
they deem them all to be equal, or
whoever wrote this can’t count higher.
Probably both.

And, for the record,
I’m almost positive that TH
has uttered each of these phrases
at least once.
ESPECIALLY the commercial rule.

The Man Rules:

1. Men are NOT mind readers. (FIRST & FOREMOST RULE)

1. Learn to work the toilet seat. You're a big girl. If it's up, put it down. We need it up, you need it down. You don't hear us complaining about you leaving it down.

1. Sunday sports. It's like the full moon, or the changing of the tides. Let it be.

1. Crying is blackmail.

1. Ask for what you want. Let us be clear on this one:
Subtle hints do not work!
Strong hints do not work!
Obvious hints do not work!
Just say it!

1. Yes and No are perfectly acceptable answers to almost every question.

1. Come to us with a problem only if you want help solving it. That's what we do. Sympathy is what your girlfriends are for.

1. Anything we said six months ago is inadmissible in an argument. In fact, all comments become null and void after seven days.

1. If you think you're fat, you probably are. Don't ask us.

1. If something we said can be interpreted two ways and one of the ways makes you sad or angry, we meant the other one.

1. You can either ask us to do something. Or tell us how you want it done. Not both. If you already know best how to do it, just do it yourself.

1. Whenever possible, please say whatever you have to say during commercials.

1. Christopher Columbus did NOT need directions. Neither do we.

1. ALL men see in only 16 colors--like Windows default settings. Peach, for example, is a fruit, not a color. Pumpkin is also a fruit. We have no idea what mauve is.

1. If it itches, it will be scratched. We do that.

1. If we ask what is wrong and you say "nothing," We will act like nothing's wrong. We know you are lying, but it is just not worth the hassle.

1. If you ask a question you don't want an answer to, expect an answer you don't want to hear.

1. When we have to go somewhere, absolutely anything you wear is fine...Really.

1. Don't ask us what we're thinking about unless you are prepared to discuss such topics as Football or Hockey.

1. You have enough clothes.

1. You have too many shoes.

1. I AM in shape. Round is a shape!

1. Thank you for reading this. Yes, I know, I have to sleep on the couch tonight; But did you know men really don't mind that? It's like camping.

A Nummy Treat

2010-01-20T13:26:00.003-05:00

Robi, Courtini and I went to Starbucks yesterday.
It's an addiction, I know.
Don't give me a hard time about it.

So Robi places her order
and walks over to the Barista counter
to wait for her Caramel Macchiato.
I order my Skinny Vanilla Latte
and as I wander over to the Barista counter,
my eye catches something yummy behind the glass display.
Oooh! Shiny!!

Cupcakes.
Three of them.
Vanilla with white icing.
Strawberry with pink icing.
And ... wait for it ...

Chocolate. With. Chocolate. Icing.

OHH! EMM! GEE!

I walk up to Robi and whisper:
"There's a delicious cupcake over there."

Robi nods and says, with meaning,
"I know!"
But she's not looking at the cupcake display.

Robi has nodded her head towards the Barista counter.
My gaze follows her line of vision and I understand.
Behind the counter is an Italian god.

"Oh yeah," I say, in complete agreement.
"That is delicious cupcake."

Another Rejection

2010-01-19T10:57:00.010-05:00

I've entered a few writing competitions.
I try to enter ones that will give you back a critique.
How are you supposed to improve, otherwise?

I really like the Abbey Hill competitions.
They give you a prompt
and basically tell you to run with it.
The catch (if you can call it that)
is that the story MUST begin with the prompt.
Verbatim.
Or you're disqualified.

My first submission received a good critique.
They made positive suggestions,
which I incorporated into my next submission.

Although I didn't win,
I received another great critique:

"This was a compelling story with a crisp, surprise ending that was well hidden by the author over the course of the narration. Several sentences, paragraphs and descriptions were particularly attention getting, especially as related to Venom’s appearance, gross and/or threatening actions, smell, etc. The author transports the reader to the dark, dangerous streets, and never allows Venom and the narrator to fall out of character – keeps the pressure on until the end. This story, in fact, was a finalist that was included in the group sent to the primary judge."

Can you believe that?
I was short-listed.
Me!
Short-listed!!
That's as good as winning to me.

Or, as my old mentor and boss, Bob MacKinnon, used to say,
That's as close as damn is to swearing.

Writing Workshop

2010-01-18T16:01:00.011-05:00

I signed up to take a short story writing course.
It was supposed to start last Tuesday.

Unfortunately--or perhaps, fortunately--
the start date was delayed two weeks.

You can imagine how excited I was to start this course,
and how disappointed I was when it was delayed.
So I decided to take a workshop on Saturday,
just to tide me over.

I wasn't going to take this workshop--
after all, I was already taking the Short Story class.
But I'm so glad I changed my mind.

The workshop was given by Ruth Walker.
It was on dialogue,
both internal and external.
Like I need more voices in my head!

It was an awesome class
and I had so much fun.
We were given assignments
then 15 minutes to write.
We read our pieces to the class,
who then critiqued our work.
It was very inspirational.

I posted two of the pieces on my
Monica Manning site:
An Untitled piece and
another titled Between Floors.

More Holiday Greetings

2010-01-13T08:40:00.001-05:00

As I've pointed out previously,
many people in our office
decorate their glass walls for the holidays.

Not to be outdone,
Robilicious bought some gel letters
and stuck them up on Boss #2's window.

Originally, it looked like this:

Festive, no?

But there are a few people in the office
who simply cannot resist temptation.
And I recently arrived at work
to find this:

I'm not sure what a Dipshy is,
but I'm guessing it's a derogatory term.
Or, perhaps, the 'Y' is supposed to be an 'IT'.
Since I know who re-arranged the letters,
I'm going with the latter.

On the plus side,
at least they said hello.

Right back atchya!

Cupcakes

2010-01-12T06:00:00.001-05:00

I made cupcakes.
They turned out a lot better than the last batch.
And they actually taste as good as they look!
There may be hope for me yet.

This is what they look like naked.

This is what they look like in their Sunday best.

Note the sprinkles.
That's 'bling bling' for cupcakes.

Some things don't change

2010-01-11T11:14:00.006-05:00

Don't let it be said that you outgrow klutziness.
I'm living proof.

When I was a kid,
Children's Aid was beginning to have a large impact.
Teachers were encouraged to contact the organization
to report anything unusual with their students.

Imagine my mother's surprise
when a caseworker knocked at our door.
She introduced herself and told my mom that
my kindergarten teacher had noticed
that I was coming to school--quite often--
with bruises.

My mother was about to give this woman
more than just a piece of her mind, when
--with perfect timing--
I came tumbling down the stairs.
Literally.
Head over heals,
landing in a big heap
right in front of the caseworker.

My mother looked at the woman,
raised an eyebrow,
and gestured to me with her hand,
in a 'voila!' sort of way.

The woman muttered an apology
and left.

Last Thursday,
the scenario was repeated.
Big heap, and all.
I missed the last step coming down the stairs,
and sprained my ankle.

As I screamed out in pain,
both the dog and TH came running.
One (perhaps both) of them
began licking my face,
making sure I was OK.

TH made it quite clear
that I was a walking disaster.
Crushing thumbs...
cutting limbs...
breaking bones...
I was relegated to the sofa
for the duration of the weekend.

I wonder where that caseworker is now?

Hide and Seek

2010-01-06T06:30:00.010-05:00

Do you believe in ghosts?
I do.
Without a doubt.
I've had far too many experiences
to think otherwise.

Case in point:
My Uncle Bob.

Today is the anniversary of Uncle Bob's death.
We all miss him a lot,
especially Cousin Alex.
But I must admit, it's hard to be sad about it.
If you knew Uncle Bob, you'd understand.

Uncle Bob was a mischievous soul.
He was always pulling pranks,
teasing us kids,
making life miserable for us,
but making us laugh the entire time.

One thing he was notorious for was
moving items when you weren't looking,
so that when you turned back to your task,
whatever it was you were using was gone.
Poof!
Disappeared.

Soon after he died,
my mother (his sister)
started noticing things would go missing.
Then they would turn up
in exactly the same place she had just looked.

In her house, there is a picture of Uncle Bob
that is often found face down.
No one in the house has moved it--
no one would dare dishonour his memory--
and there is no explanation for it.
We know it's him.
Just reminding us he's still around.

After she told me this, I started to clue in.
Suddenly, all the items I was misplacing
started to make sense.
So now, when I'm missing something,
I say in a stern voice
"Uncle Bob! Give it up right now!!"
The item I'm looking for usually shows up soon after.

So, it should come as no surprise,
that when I misplaced my memory stick,
I wasn't too upset about it...
despite the fact that
all my writing is on that stick,
and even though I have hard copies of everything,
I didn't want to re-type it all.

I searched the house,
several times,
and finally came to the conclusion that I had left it at work.
So I searched my desk yesterday.
Moved my keyboard,
checked under the monitor stand,
sifted through every drawer.
Nothing.

I sat at my desk,
letting my mind wander,
trying to remember where I last used it.

Then it occurred to me what day it was.
Of course.
I sighed.
"Uncle Bob! Not funny, you know!"

And I lifted my keyboard,
the one I had just looked under,
and there it was--
my little black memory stick.

"Very funny," I muttered.

When I meet him again,
I'm going to hide his wings.

A little off the top

2009-12-31T09:03:00.005-05:00

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

2009-12-15T06:00:00.010-05:00

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

2009-12-14T10:46:00.005-05:00

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

2009-12-11T10:01:00.009-05:00

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!

2009-12-10T09:26:00.005-05:00

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

2009-12-09T12:00:00.003-05:00

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

2009-12-08T08:21:00.019-05:00

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?

2009-12-07T08:26:00.009-05:00

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

2009-12-04T13:33:00.005-05:00

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

2009-12-03T11:17:00.007-05:00

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

2009-12-01T06:00:00.003-05:00

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 ...

2009-11-30T06:00:00.016-05:00

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

2009-11-27T06:00:00.004-05:00

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

2009-11-26T06:00:00.004-05:00

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

2009-11-25T06:00:00.008-05:00

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

2009-11-24T06:00:00.000-05:00

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

2009-11-23T06:00:00.004-05:00

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

2009-11-22T06:00:00.007-05:00

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

2009-11-21T06:00:00.002-05:00

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!

2009-11-20T06:00:00.012-05:00

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!

2009-11-19T06:00:00.005-05:00

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!

2009-11-18T08:14:00.003-05:00

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

2009-11-17T06:00:00.001-05:00

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!