My boots are no longer "made for walking."

I need new shoes.

And a new outlook on things. I'm Feeling very... blah.

Big Wheels

I'm sick of the bus. It's noisy, and dirty, and because of the bus I have to take, I end up at work 1/2 hour early, and home 1/2 late. It might not seem like a big deal, but it is. It makes for a very long day. And, I might add, not a very nice start/end. The other day I watched a woman punch her husband in the throat, which of course proceeded into a loud verbal argument in the middle of the street. Well, I guess so... I think I'd want to fight too, if someone punched me on the throat. And then there's the man with all the "flare"... It's never ending, really.

Imagine if they made Big Wheels for adults?! How great would that be?! Now there was a sweet ride. When I was little I had a Strawberry Shortcake Big Wheel, and Ryan Furlong and I would ride them back and forth across the street. His was a Hot Wheel's Big Wheel, and I coveted it. Ooo, it looked so slick and "Night Rider-ish."

If I had a Big Wheel now I'd drive it everywhere.

Stumpy

I’m trying to find something “hip” to wear to a wedding in August.

I should preface this by saying, it’s not just any wedding. It’s a wedding I MUST look good for. Not just look good, but look so-damn-good-you’ll-all-want-to-dance-with-me. It’s a long story, and a story I don’t need to/want to explain, but I have some baggage, and the baggage will (unfortunately) be at the wedding. Thus, my need to look good.

But you wouldn’t believe how difficult it is to pull off the hip look if you’re not accustomed to wearing it. I look like a spaz in everything I try on. Worse, I look like a stumpy spaz. I’m not that disproportional, am I? I never realized how completely small my legs were until I tried on a million pair of capris. Sigh.

I need to do some serious shopping.

And so begins today, and the next little while, the prospects of which make me very, very, happy.

Not much more to say.

Obituary

Mr. Furley (nee Larsen)

Died mysteriously and suddenly on Thursday July 14, 2005, surrounded by his loved ones. Survived by his brothers, Rocky Balboa, Henry VIII and Douglas; mother, Amanda; and father Adam, all of Edmonton.


Damnit! I want my $1.99 back! Did you know PetSmart actually has a 14-day guarantee, so if you bring back the body of your dead fish with your receipt, you can claim a new one?!

Is it sick I'm actually considering it?
More than considering it... Mr. Furley's in my freezer in a ziplock.

Here fishy fishy fishy fishy fishy!

Adam and I brought home 5 fish last night.

Two longfin Zebra Danios--they look like this:



Two longfin Blue Danios--they look like this:



And one Betta, who looks like this:



They told us their names were:

Chubbs,
Rocky Balboa,
Mr. Furley,
Henry VIII,
and Douglas.

We also got them some new green, flowy plants, and a little rock home that looks like this:



Welcome to the family, boys.

You know...

... When you just don't want to do something, but you feel you should?

That happened to me last night. I really didn't want to go to this restaurant after our baseball game was rained out, but the rest of the team did, so I went. But it was a pretty fancy place--considering we were wearing our baseball clothes, and Adam had a shirt on with giant holes in both armpits and people kept looking over--and the food was expensive. It was the kind of restaurant that just had a number beside the menu item... No dollar sign. Just a great big, stinkin' "22" beside the warm goat cheese salad.

Warm goat cheese salad. Yes. That's what I said.

I mean, c'mon people! We're coming from a baseball game where we drink Bud, and chew Spits! We're supposed to go for Nachos at the Powerplant, not someplace where the waiter makes witty jokes and puts your napkin in your lap!

So I was in a rotten mood, and didn't enjoy my overpriced greek salad. I kept thinking, "I want to leave and go to PetSmart and get some fish" (not the kind you eat, but the kind you put in a tank and watch and name and love.)

That's what I wanted to do last night, not drink my water with my pinky up.

I don't get it!!!

Okay, this is something I've been confused about from day one. Not only confused, but in a way, really really cheesed about.

Problem: What's the deal with airshows?


First, they're boring. You're basically standing around all day in the blazingly hot sun, looking up into this blazingly hot sun. Good times. Or maybe, if you're really lucky, you'll get to tour an equally hot, concrete runway looking at the goodies on these planes. But so what? There's an airplane museum in Hamilton and all I have to say is: you've seen one, you've seen 'em all.

I mean really, does this crowd look like it's having a good time, or what?

Two, does a year ever go by when there isn't an airshow death?

Every stinkin' year, a perfectly capable, talented pilot dies in one of these crashes. Literally! Can you think of a summer that's gone by without an airshow catastrophe? And what's the point? What are you risking? You life, for what? An airshow?! There's no glory. There's no point. You're dying doing loop-dee-loops above a crowd of people.

Maybe this is the point? Maybe people enjoy the possibility of going to an airshow and seeing someone "crash and burn," so to speak?! Maybe people like the rush?! If that's the case, than these things should be for 18+. Imagine the trauma of a 6 year-old seeing a plane hit the ground?

I'm sorry if this is crass, but so be it. Two guys were killed on Sunday at an airshow in Moosejaw, and they're just the tip of the iceberg. I'm willing to wager someone else will die this summer at an airshow. I'd bet the farm on it. And for what? Do these people look like they're having a good time?

Warning:

Don't click here if you don't have the time...


(I warned you!)

Remember that time we were in school?
Huh?
Remember that?
Those were some good times.


(Flip! It feels like a flippin' lifetime ago...)

Oooooo...

Adam and I got our cable hooked up last night. This is not to say we got our cable a girlfriend, but rather a man came in a van from Shaw and fiddled with the back of the TV for an hour, and the next thing we knew, we had access to 50+ channels: TBS, Discovery, TLC, and some 15 music/radio channels (that I haven't actually been able to find yet... hmmmm...).

So of course, what do I do first? I sit in front of the TV to peruse what's on. A couple of thoughts:

First: Who watches the CSPAN channel? Actually, scratch that, I know who watches it. My dad. In fact, there's a running joke between he and I that he single handedly manages to find the most boring thing on TV every time he's in control of the remote (which is next to never, because of the aforementioned boredom). But really... Does anyone out there ever watch the parliamentary debates outside of history class, or a Turkish prison torture chamber?

Second: Why do I get so sucked in by the shows where they're making something? The discovery channel has this show How's It Made, and I can't not stop on it... There's not much talking, mainly just elevator music, and watching big machines churn out, I don't know, say, 1000 popsicles every minute or so. It's fantastic. I used to love that part of Polka Dot Door, too, when they took you through the door to see how things were made. So hypnotic.

Welcome back, Cable. I've missed you. Let's never part again, okay? You're too dear a friend for such trivialities... Sniff, eh old buddy?

Two Things: One more sober than the other...

Number One: I lived in Southern Ontario when Karla and Paul were at their worst. Not 40 minutes from where Kristen French was picked up. I remember my mum being scared to let me walk to school. I remember being nervous going to the park in broad daylight. I remember the prayer services and vigils held for those girls, hoping one might come home. I remember having a moment of silence at our elementary school to honor the families.

Yesterday was a very scary day. I don't care what "she" says, that "she's no longer a threat." She's a bad lady. And yesterday, I'm sad to say, some 3000 km away from her, I was still scared.

Number Two: I have found, what I now deem to be, my favorite artist. His name is Michael Sowa, and he paints what appear to be rather dull or serious, realist paintings... Until you take a closer look and realize what's at the centre. My two favorites are:

"Bunny Dressing"

AND


"Kohler's Schwein."

Check out the rest of them! Too good.

Costco

I went to Costco this weekend.

That place is dangerous. I get way too side tracked.

I went in thinking, "okay, I know what I need, I'm going to find it, put it in my basket, and check out... No looking around... No sampling..."

Yea. Right.



Then I saw the movies and I just had to flip through them... And I had to listen to the new Cuban CD on display... And sample the cheesies and Pringles and mozzarella sticks and pasta with teriyaki sauce... And then there were with faux fur throws I had to snuggle against, and the fall coats to try on, and the 18 bananas per bunch I had to convince myself I'd eat, and the giant trampoline to try out, and computers to type on, and the jewelry to look at, and the big screen TVs to watch Peter Pan on and... and... and...

Adam asked me where I'd been for 2 and 1/2 hours. I said "out." He knew better when he saw the 2k container of peanut butter in my hands.

Damn you Costco!