Chinglesh

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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!

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!