Camera...Action!

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

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

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

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

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!

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!

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

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

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!