Gone to work for a much needed rest...

So much action this holiday season.

Note: 'action' meaning "comings and goings", not 'action' meaning "hanky-panky". Pervs.

Christmas Eve I left work at 1:00 pm for the farmer's market to purchase the traditional stocking fruit and Cheeses of Nazareth. Zipped home to get one last snuggle with Bert under the mistletoe before moving my stuff to the house for Santa, etc. Church, food, more food, some guy named Guido, cuddles, coffee and Baileys (yum!), presents, ride-on Fire Trucks, naps, snacks, A Peter Griffin Christmas, wine, turkey, bedders, and a partridge in a pear tree went flying by in a blur. Somewhere in there was a baby in a necktie, contraband in my stocking (to be secretly shared with Fingers... *wink*), and a man dressed as a Christmas tree doing a 10-mile run.

Santa was sweet this year, and I'm rocking my new winter coat with style. Bless him, as much as he dreads it Orange continues to facilitate my transition into a crazy cat lady (I think it's called "enabling") as he found and purchased for me a Kit Cat Clock--the very one I've been searching for since first meeting Bert! It now hangs with pride in my living room, and really is the bees knees.

Boxing Day I got a visit from Joe Fresh Sleeves, which was happiness indeed, followed by a sleepover party with Beef and her double-diapered baby. Is there anything cuter than a footie-sleeper? Maybe lil'C in a footie sleeper...

Side note: I've eaten more shrimp this holiday than ever before, and I worry that like a flamingo I may just turn pink.

Today I'm back at work, the majority of my day putting together a "look what I found at the library" display (the contents for which include the library's bizarrest and most interestingly underused items, including the Teddy Bear Encyclopedia, Have Your Poo Rolled Away by Dung Beetles: and 99 other things to do before you die, A Field Guide to Meat, Swahili Phrasebook, and Kitting with Balls.)

And finally, tomorry Orange, Fingers, BSB and I (and maybe Poo and BG) will hit the trails to cottage land for New Years up North--boardgames, beer, bed, and BSB's cooking = rockin' GTs. I'm spoiled. I'm not sure what I'm looking forward to more, though: snow pants, watching Orange stroke the big wood elephant (literally), or the outdoor sauna.

Happy New Year, everyone! Stay tuned in early January for a recap of my 2009 resolutions, and those for 2010.

"Merry Christmas, everybody!" love Library Lady and Prof. Grampy

I know, I know. I post the same video every year, and you're probably getting sick of it. But when I was eight, this movie made my life. So take your grinch pants off and start watching. I mean, the man makes a train set out of a tea pot! A TEA POT! I'm no scientist, but I'd say that's pretty amazing. Not to mention the vacuum cleaner ride-on thingy...

LL's Pictures with Santa, Take Two!

... And this one came in it's own fancy-dancy card!

Please note *pulls out laser pointer* the coffee cup stains *points to coffee cup stains* and pen markings *points to ma's signature phone doodle, 'hi!'*

Clearly this card was as treasured as it was intended to be, making my suffering through more poorly-costumed Santa laps well worth the effort. That said, considering this diddy is circa 1984-85, and the fact my mother has a nasty habit of throwing out anything not physically nailed to the floorboards, I'm shocked this actually made the move from not one, not two, but three houses (in two separate provinces!)

Thanks, mom, for the nod to nostalgia.

Inside the decorative card you get a great snap of me and my bestie, Ryan (this was pre-Fingers... although she lived in the 'hood, I was more into riding Big Wheels with the boys than playing with stinky girls..) Again, I apologize for the picture quality.

What you won't be able to see in this one, especially beyond my blinding outfit, is that I'm once again not willing to sit on Santa's lap. While Ryan is comfortably seated, I'm awkwardly leaning against Santa's knee going to town on my candy cane (which no doubt had to be given preemptively in order to get me up near the big guy to begin with.) Santa himself has clearly given up on charming both of us, as he hasn't even bothered to look at the camera during our snap... To be fair, this is probably his thousandth of the day which would be a hard day's work at the legendary JS mall (scene to the childhood nightmare Fingers and I refer to as "the guy who threw lit matches at us".. but that's another story altogether...)

*sigh*

The last time I visited Santa with the intent to sit on his lap was during my undergrad when Beef and I thought we'd wow mom and dad with a cutesy sisterly photo shoot. Unfortunately, once again Santa oozed the "no feeling" resulting in yet another awkward picture with me standing slightly off to the side. I think it was when he asked me if I wanted a boyfriend for Christmas...

A couple of years ago I made the trek out to a pet store with Gary (the cat, not the uncle) as a Christmas gift for the human sea cucumber. This time around it wasn't Santa that creeped the little guy out (that cat, not the cucumber) but the other kittens on display at the store. He seriously couldn't have gotten out of there quicker, and barely made it through the shot without peeing his wee fluffy pants.

All in all, me and photos with Santa are like egg nog... just wrong. But I can definitely leave you with a Santa I'd actually pay to spend time with. It's probably best if he sits on my lap, though, because I'd probs smother him with my big butters.

Look at those wee boots... Hmm? Squishy.

LL's Pictures with Santa, Take One!

Excuse the picture quality, we're talking polaroid from 1983...

... But this picture says a lot. Creepy Santa man in some very unrealistic faux facial hair, and Library Lady fighting tooth and nail to stay as far away from him as humanely possible, complete with red, tear stained eyes and disheveled bowl cut (not to mention a ridiculous plaid jacket...)

The best part? Dad, trying to subtly stay out of the photo so he and mom can have what is a fairly standard childhood tradition: photos with the jolly man. I'm clearly not playing my part, however, as evident by my death grip on what appears to be dad's tan-on-tan three-piece corduroy suit.

For the record, this was not a phase. To this day I don't like sitting on strange men's laps. And the picture is still priceless!

Stay tuned tomorrow for LL's Pictures with Santa, Take Two!

Is it a bottle of scotch? A baseball hat?

Christmas, however different, is creeping into me. Secret gifts, homemade Christmas cakes, decorating my mantle, mom's bits n' bites, 24-hour carols on 105.7, a wallet stuffed with gift receipts, tree shopping with mom, an advent calendar on my desk, cold winter mornings, shopping lists, the Farmer's market, and night time drives to check out the neighbours lights.

There are so many memories tied to this time of year, huh? Each tradition comes with a new flood of feelings and smiles and tears and laughs. The year he hooked the tree up to an IV because it kept drying out over night... the year the turkey made no gravy *insert horror movie music*... the year Beef and I secretly unwrapped each and every present while they were at the Medical-Legal holiday party (Beef got a Coconut Joe sweat suit and I got a mommy and baby Barbie set with matching dresses.)

Some traditions we won't carry on (there's no one to buy a tacky comedic neck tie for, for example), but others we will (marzipan pigs, bayberry candles, and the 'Cheeses of Nazareth'.)

Any traditions you care to share?

Math even I can understand...

Christmas shopping
+ popcorn for dinner
+ strawberry thermal pajamas
+ new Internet treasures (Steve and merit badges on Etsy.com)
= a good Tuesday night

A list of things I need to confess:

1. I like the show 8 Simple Rules for Dating My Teenage Daughter. Don't judge.

2. There is a tub of cookie dough in my freezer that calls to me like the sweaty tang of the karaoke microphone, midnight, on a Friday night at Rays Place. Damn that chocolate chunk. And damn you cheap walking-distance pints!

3. I start listening to Christmas carols December 1st and still can't quit that sh*t until well after baby Jesus explodes onto the scene.

4. With daylight savings, I leave a light on in the morning when I leave the apartment. For Bert. So he doesn't sit in the dark. I said DON'T JUDGE!

5. I find Paul Plakas from X-Weighted disturbingly attractive.

6. I have a book on my library card that is well over a month overdue, and there are holds on it. The guilt is seriously eating me alive, but I'm not finished reading it yet.

7. My mother admitted to me that she wants shoulder pads to come back in style. This isn't my confession to make, but I feel I need to give her secret a voice/publicly mock her for this ridiculous wish. No telling, Aunt Margie!

8. In my life as a back-up dancer, I'd like Free Samples and I to learn the Let's Hear it for the Boys dance from Footloose. Whether or not we perform it in public is another thing (although secretly I'd love to...)

9. In my last Christmas shopping trip, I bought something similar to what one might classify "a slouch sock"... For me.

10. Tonight at the hair salon I walked into a glass shelf and pulled a Peter Griffin. Seriously. I thought I was going to puke it hurt so much. But an entire salon of well groomed people were staring at me so I put on my best "I'm okay" face and paid my tab. And whimpered all the way home. I now look forward to the giant monster bruise that will no doubt form on my arm--stay tuned for pictures.

And so it begins...

I'm getting snow tires on Monday. And thank the sweet baby Shiloh because I nearly collided with three guard rails, two Fords, and a semi on my way to work. Excellent. 70km an hour winds really shake things up down here in the So'O. Add that to the fact I drive a sewing machine on wheels, and you've got a big slippery mess.

Needless to say I'll be taking the long road home tonight.

Obvious product placement is starting to creep me out...

I stopped contributing to the statistics of American Idol many moons ago, but not before the gang started singing and dancing around the latest Ford monstrosity or a large Coke glass. Product placement has become an integral part of this show, and is one of the reasons I stopped following it (alongside their blatant capitalization of mocking the mentally disabled and/or sick.)

But I confess, I watch The Biggest Loser. I find the contestants inspirational, to an extent. For a reality show there seems to be less focus on the trash talk and backstabbing and more on hard work and support. For these reasons, it's actually one of the only shows I watch on a weekly basis (until Lost comes back, that is...)

But I seriously can't take the product placements! They're new to the show this year and they give me the heebie jeebies . In the middle of a workout session or a heart to heart, one of the trainers will turn to the camera and say:

"You can do this, Liz! You have the strength to push through and reach your goals. You're 22 years old you should be able to lift that 22lb dumbbell above your head! Damnit, Liz. Push! You're a strong woman, and this Extra sugar free Polar Ice gum will help you fight your cravings, giving you fresh breath and a whiter smile!" *insert creepy toothy smile*

It's... uncomfortables. Take THIS CLIP as an example... Thank god for Ziplock, hmm? And that's a mild example from last season, not nearly as seamless as those from this season.

It's like The Truman Show...

Self image is a dangerous beast. And if I really stopped to think about how much time and energy I've consumed criticizing myself, I'd finally have something to actually criticize.

Ironic, hmm?

Scary bananas

Orange and I went to see Paranormal Activity on Friday night.

Um.

Yeah.

I spent the majority of the movie with my fingers in my ears (when I get scared I plug my ears... strange, I know...) and the rest of it with my eyes shut. In between the ear plugging and eye shutting I furiously shovelled in handfuls of popcorn before scariness hit the screen again, leaving time to pull my feet up off the ground and get in the fingers-in-ear position.

I was planning on linking to the preview, but even the thought of Googling Paranormal Activity got my heart beat-beat-beating. So do it yourself...

Definitely worth the $5 cheap theatre ticket price (although Orange said my ticket was a waste of money because the only thing I really watched was the previews.)

I was treated to a charity auction tonight.

So fun!

I used to help with this auction when I was a kid--collecting bid sheets for the silent auction, acting as a runner for the live auction, and general grunt work--but this was my first time attending as a full fledged adult with a full fledged Visa card and access to the free table wine. Yes, yes, and yes. So I got myself all "did up", packed my cheque book in my fancy purse, and worked my clickity clack heels out to the car.

First up, the silent auction, where I lost out on a carpet sweeper, a tub full of chocolate and candy, a spa package (I was bidding on it for Fingers because I knew she liked the place...) and a three month membership to a local gym. Poo.

But! 'Tis a silver lining to my little black raincloud...

... I won two tickets to Medieval Times Dinner and Tournament! W00t!

*pats self on back*

Next up, dinner. And everything was mini. Mini cheeseburgers, mini fries, mini turkey dinners, mini pizza... Needless to say, I sampled a little bit of everything, including the free chocolate candy cane martinis and the chocolate fountain with l'ananas and mini cookies (of course). Fancy people in fancy dress eating plates and plates full of fancy mini onion rings. Awesome.

The live auction was next, and 'twas a bit of a bust for me. But I wasn't really in the market or a home renovation, Leafs tickets, nor dinner at Queen's Park with the MPP (wtf?) But they seemed to do pretty well, and more than one lonely soul bid on a night out with the fire department calendar men... Would you believe someone paid $1000 for that?

All in all, I had a blast. Did I need two tickets to Medieval Times? No. But I did at 8:43 pm tonight with only 2 minutes left to bid, and a flurry of people behind me pushing to get to the table (no doubt they were all competing for the designer one-cup cappuccino maker next to my Medieval Times prize, but still... I had to defend my territory...)

What can I say? The adrenaline got to me...

*psst*...

... We lost our semi-final match in dodgeball last night, so Captain Awesome and the Awesome Express is officially done for the season.

...

...

*shifty eyes*

...

*whispers*

I couldn't be happier...

Seriously. The worst losers of all time. I enjoy myself a win or two, but I haven't name called, stomped and kicked, or argued with a ref since grade school. I think they were glad to see Fingers and I go, because we were the only two who were all "yay team spirit" while they spit nails at our inability to dodge, duck, dip, dive and dodge. Meh. I'm not loosing any sleep over it. I think I'm offish retiring my dodgeball gloves.

p.s. Sit down, Carl Wolf.

Oh. My. Ehn.

Boot camp has been over for a week or so now, and with the exception of moving between the couch and the kitchen and some weekend Christmas shopping mall walking, I haven't really done much, "physically speaking." Making the decision to run Around the Bay requires a commitment to a 30km training regime, so I seriously need to kick my butters into high gear.

So a friend and I decided we'd motivate each other. Getting back into the early morning groove, we decided we'd get our training out of the way first thing in the a.m. This translates to meeting at 5:30 am for a 12 km run three times a week with increasing mileage every week...

Yeah.

So.

Fingers will tell you I'm not a morning person (unless it's a Sunday morning, and I get to sleep in, and go for breakfast at Rays with Orange for poached eggs--soft--eaten over the latest View Magazine), so I'm not exactly sure what possessed me to agree to this madness. The Gestapo my friend, on the other hand, is permanently peppy, which is is a really good thing and I'm certainly not faulting her for that (in fact, I admire it...) Except at 5:30 in the morning when I'm carrying 10lbs of bloat, and it's misty and foggy, and I've only had 5 hours of sleep, and I haven't eaten, and my ankle hurts, and I only have 3 Kleenexes and I've already used one just running to my friend's house, and I still have 11km to go... (and for the record, Gestapo friend, these aren't excuses... I was a walking/talking hot dog at 5:30 am...)

I hated everything this morning, including myself, running in general, my friend's dog, my iPod play list, the guy I passed on my way out who was on his way in, my pajamas for being warm and cozy, the length of my friend's legs in comparison to my own stumpy peg substitutes... Ugh. I especially loved it when she stopped to do tricep dips while I caught up after lagging behind 99% of the run (the only time I sped ahead was when she stopped to pick up her dog's poo... *thumbs up*)

Needles to say, I'm not gagging to get back on the horse. I'm scheduled to get my @ss kicked meet my friend Thursday morning. Here's hoping I can get my butters in better gear before then. Because "feeling the shame" (to quote Slapshot) twice in one week does nothing for one's self esteem. I might as well be lapped by another unicycle...

Dear Santa:

How are you? Well, I hope. I'm told global warming has upped the temperature your way which must make those long winter nights more bearable, hmm? Has Atkins reached the North Pole yet? If so, I would be happy to offer you a smoothie or protein bar on the big night rather than the standard sweets platter. Think about it; let me know.

It's been awhile since you last heard from me, but that doesn't mean I haven't thought of you often. Every day, in fact. I'm always trying to live like a good girl--I say excuse me when squeezing past the other ladies in the narrow Winners aisles, I eat all my vegetables (including the brussel sprouts and beans), I've played nicely with my sister, and I like to think I've been a good sport (see: 8/31/2009).

As such, I have a few items on my list this holiday season. The obvious request isn't really your territory, so I won't bother asking. But I will ask if you have any connections up there, could you be a pal and pass on a message? Tell him I said "hi" and ask him if in heaven if they have roast beef dinners on Sundays.

Second, I'd like to ask that we keep the snow in So'Oh to a minimum. That isn't to say a white Christmas wouldn't be nice, but parking around my apartment has reached capacity and I'm concerned what snow windrows would do to the already desperate situation. A sprinkle here and there for looks, crunching boots, and pretty views from my windows is fine. And I'm not opposed to more the Ellicottville way for the New Years ski trip. But that's IT. Seriously, Santa. I mean it.

Third, I'd like to lose my muffin top.

Fourth, if in your travels you come across self-cleaning kitty litter, I'm your girl.

Fifth (and this is a big one), I'd like to win the Lotto Max. I'm not trying to be greedy, but I really think I deserve it, and you can count on me to share the wealth. Cheeseburger Happy Meals for everyone!

Finally, if the Lotto Max isn't an option, I'd like a set of dachshund pillows. Random, I know. But if I can't have him, a mild deep freeze, -10lbs, less poo, and approximately $45 million, dachshund pillows are a nice alternative.

My best to the wife and elves little people.

Sincerely,
LL

Let's celebrate Bert, shall we?

One year ago today his over sized paws came into my life, and we haven't looked back since. His penchant for fluid mechanics, room decor (or relocating the toilet paper rolls to other places in the house), and partying hard (read: going loco over plastic springs and talking to the bathtub) have cheered me these last 12 months.

Three cheers for Bert:

Hip hip meow!
Hip hip meow!
Hip hip meow!

So...

... I'm thinking about doing the Around the Bay race...?

My friend Nina more or less floated the challenge out there, and after talking with Boot Camp Man and realizing I've got 19+ weeks, I think it's doable. My understanding is the hardest part of the entire event is the training in anticipation of.... Well, that and the weather, which is totally unpredictable at that time of year... And then there's the fact the last half of the race is more or less uphill... And we can't discount the fact you're "technically" not allowed to wear headphones, which to me is just sheer ridiculousness because who can run/workout/drive/do anything without music?

So really, the whole thing is probs going to break me, much like the nightmare I now like to refer to as the Fugi Paris to Ancaster 60kill-me-ometers. But what's a spring without almost wetting your pants in public, hmm?

So what you say, Cousin Toque? Think you could make you're way down here for this one? Consider this your official challenge. You'll have plenty of time after your Olympic schtick and I know you're way more prepared than I, what with the half marathons you have under your belt. It'd be just like that scene from the Lord of the Rings with Viggo, Orly, and the dwarf chasing the big orc guys arcoss the New Zealand countryside... Hee! Guess which one I'd be?

It was a big weekend in the Library Lady household...

First off, Little C's first birthday. Hard to believe my little buddy is one, but he is. Such a little man: playing with the big kids, fighting over who gets to use the digger, wearing a collared shirt and mini blue jeans (complete with a belt), and eating his first cheesie *sigh*... Oh the milestones.

As you can see, Auntie Library Lady made him a dump truck birthday cake which was eaten by the fist full (as it should be.) He's quite good at managing his eating, so don't let the picture fool you--grilled cheese cut into soldiers, tiny bites of melon off the rind, working his own sippy cup like a big boy. There's a hilaripus video of him eating a bowl full of macaroni and cheese. When it's available (get on that, Beef) I'll post.

Second, Mama LL and I booked a vacation for February. Mama and papa liked to 'holiday' twice a year, and so they should. Mama and I will continue the tradition with a nod to pop--a cruise of the Caribbean (dad loved boats of any size and shape, and was prouder of the pictures he snapped of last year's cruise through the Panama Canal than you'd think humanely possible...)

I'm excited to do this with mom. Dad and I took many a trip together--E-ville, Jasper, Mount Tremblant--but this is the first mother-daughter solo mission and I'm happy to go along for the ride. I think she worries I won't be entertained, but I can't imagine why: sitting poolside sipping specialty drinks, indulging in an afternoon ice cream buffet and late night mid-ship slot machines? Um, yes please. Don't forget a side of off-board excursions, spa treatments, an on board running track, FRESHLY MANICURED LAWN FOR LAWN BOWLING, PUTTING, AND CROQUET, and the weekly glass blowing show (wtf?)

We're taking a brand new ship called the Celebrity Solstice from Fort Lauderdale to San Jaun, St. Maarten, the BVIs, and home again. We opted for the ocean view balcony, reserved aisle seats on the flight, and the more convenient Toronto airport.

I'm excited to experience this with her, and to *fingers crossed* make this very... mmm... "uncomfortable" first time more bearable. Because it must be done. She deserves it.

Really?

EZcracker. The new way to crack and separate eggs.

Two words for this one: wow.

Almost as bad as the Bumpit, or as Orange refers to it, "the hair thing-a-ma-who that makes you look like a cheap (creepy) wh*re." Quite possibly the worst infomercial of all time--turning these women into Coneheads certainly doesn't entice me to purchase their product...

Reality Bites was on tonight...

... And while Ethan Hawke is by no means a catch (see: Ethan cheats on Uma circa 2003), Troy Dyer is one sexy b*tch. This movie is tops in my book, and the soundtrack? Uh. Well, lets just say in highschool I listened to it so much on my Sony Walkman I burned through the tape.

TWICE!

I think kids these days would say: BOOYA!

World's cutest infestation

Ladybug! Ladybug!
Fly away home.
Your house is on fire.
And your children all gone.

All except one,
And that's little Ann,
For she crept under
The frying pan.

This long running rhyme is totally bizarre and furthers my thought that just because you can, doesn't mean you should.

That said, the first stanza (pow! Where'd I pull that out of, huh? Stanza? Man, that's almost as good as pangea...) perfectly describes my house at the moment. Because Ladybugs... y'all gots to go home. Didn't your mothers teach you company was like fish: after three days it starts to stink. Seriously. How long can you guys and gals hang around my drapes and lamp shades? I don't even understand how you're getting in here! To quote Mitch, it's like I have an infestation of cute.

I feel like I'm eight again, trapping stray ladybugs in glass jars and releasing them into the wild (read: a cold, slow death, but perhaps better than through the taunting over sized paws of a cat with too much time on his... err... hands?)

Three completely separate facts relating to my weekend:

I am shamelessly addicted to arcade games that give you little tickets for playing them, that you can then exchange for tiny Asian-manufactured prizes. My 1-year old nephew has a thing for Abba and willingly sat patiently in my lap for the first 20 minutes of Mama Mia! (that's all we had time for before nap time, diaper time, big-boy-clothes time, snack time, and shaking-the-poker-chips-on-the-floor-time). Orange makes a ridiculously good chili, and waiting for a bowl was well worth the 11 months.

Summer GTs

I was going through my camera tonight, and rediscovered pictures from the summer. It feels like a lifetime ago! May 24, girls weekend, Labour day... Le sigh.

Some of the goodies:

Memories of a beautiful day, a 60km Bike Race, numbness from the waist down, coming close to losing control of my bodily functions, and crying through the last 5km. Would you believe I've had nightmares of this bike race? 'Tis true. Hopefully Paris-Ancaster 2010 will see me break the 4.5 hour mark *blush*


Mid-day patio drinks in T.O. with Poomobile and Free Samples. Yummers. Is there anything better than shopping and lunch? Someday I'll be retired and I'll spend afternoons with my ladies "lunching". But girls, why didn't someone tell me my bangs looked uber greasy? Hmm?


Beach volleyball, backyard BBQs, "Average Sized Men" (and maybe one too many banana drinks for Big Guy...?)

Winning big ($2.40) at the Dog Races. Could I be any more excited? Could it have been any hotter? Could it have been anymore fun?


Floating meat... Fresh, hot, hand delivered floating meat, to boot! Who she's delivering it too, I'm not quite sure. But she was bound and determined to egg-beater her way over there!

Paddle boating with Cowtown Heather. I'm in clear violation of the boating laws... Note the beer in the cup holder... Meh.

Orange being mistaken for a flower... Again... W00t w00t! Can you see the Segwun in the background!?

Sunset in Port Carling... Taken from another patio... After patio beers... And fries (eeee... oh but they taste so good!)

Family portrait. Minus Bert. But plus my rock awesome slippers, purchased from the alwasy fantastic Stedman's V&S.

Thanks for the good summer, peeps.

And he's a parent?

This is one of those few instances where the unfortunate minority ruin it for the well intentioned majority.

This morning on my drive into work, I passed a man "doubling" on his bike with his young son (maybe 5... 6 years old?) along one of the busiest roads in the Hammer (buses, trucks, and an insane amount of cross-city traffic.) For those unfamiliar with doubling, this is the process whereby the bike driver (in this case, the father) sits on the bike seat and the "doubler" (the child) sits on the cross bar. It not only looks but feels awkward, because the driver has to pedal around the body of the doubler. We did it a lot in elementary school when you wanted to get somewhere fast with a friend.

I have no problem "sharing the road" (as the latest environmental campaign requests), but I will not share the road with @ssholes like this. I won't share the road with bikers who bust through stop signs or red lights. I won't share the road with bikers who ride the road and hope the curb onto the sidewalk when it's convenient for them. Because if I collide with you when you breeze through a traffic signal it's MY fault.

And p.s. grow up and wear a helmet, for farks sake. If it's law I wear a seat belt, it should be law you wear a helmet. Because when you choose to ignore the rules of the road and I smush you in my sewing-machine-on-wheels, it'll be you going through my windshield, not me.

D*ck.

Dear Nestle:

Having spent the past twenty minutes aimlessly navigating your newly revamped yet ironically annoying website for a comment form, I have decided to abandon the idea and will try emailing you instead. Perhaps you would be so kind as to pass this on to your colleagues in the Smartie department by means of smoke signal, carrier pigeon or ouija board.

As I'm writing this e-mail, an individually sized box of so called "Smarties" sits in front of me, open, and yet disturbingly full. It would seem you've not only spent obscene amounts of money redesigning your website, but you've decided to "touch up" your product as well.

Let me preface by saying that I am a huge fan of the original Smartie product--your chocolate, your sweet candy coating, you clever yet effective early-1990s marketing campaign, and the always amusing bi-product of the infamous red Smartie: the Smartie lipstick applique.

That being said, while I have always been excited to "eat my red ones last", it would seem the product that currently sits before me consists of 12 failed medical experiments. Am I to understand you've added flavourings to your Smarties? Purple Smarties now taste like the unpleasant-in-any-circumstance-let-alone-in-a-Halloween-treat CK One; the orange like indelible marker; the yellow like Tide detergent. Although not a scientist, and as I always eat my Smarties in colour order, I have no idea if the other colours carry the same foul flavour, although the numbers (three out of eight) support the inevitable.

What I suggest is this. After replying to this email with worthless assurances that the matter was sufficiently researched via focus groups, targeted market research, and client input, why not leave it until the one night of the year (Halloween) when your product will reach the largest number of ideal clientele, and we'll see where your so-called "improvements" have taken you. Children the world over will sift through their candy, sadly passing by your happy blue box looking for anything other than the upsetting perfumed Smartie. Your once addicting popular sweet treat worthy of sucking very slowly and crunching very fast will fall to the bottom of the bag alongside the raisins and mini Eat Mores. Years from now, when our landfills are overflowing with tiny oblate spheroids of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, pink, and brown perhaps you'll realize the magnitude of your horrific error and regret messing with perfection. Shame on you.

So the next time you consider improving your product, I seriously suggest you consult the people at Thrills. Who, you ask? Exactly. Ahh, the popularity of the detergent-flavoured candy.

All my best,
Library Lady

Fingers and I are enrolled in a Boot Camp...

...and we're rounding the start of week two. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a month we're up at dawn's crack (literally... 5:30 am) to bust our chops. We lift weights, run obstacle courses, do sit-ups and push-ups, and try our best to emulate the Gladiators (minus the g-strings and nicknames like Blaze, Nitro, and Diamond...)

This honestly couldn't come at a better time, because the temptation of miniature chocolate bars and individually packaged chips is redonk. On Friday night, three otherwise normal adults and I sat around a bar discussing Halloween treats: those worthy of trade, those needing to be smuggled into secret hiding spots, and those you'd take or leave (or would stuff in the freezer for desperate times...)

Top five favs:

1. Individually packaged cheesie bags.
2. Mini Crispy Crunch
3. Mini Crunchy
4. Mini Butterfinger
5. Molasses Halloween candies

Bottom five ew-gross-blech:

1. Rockets
2. Twizzlers/Nibs
3. Individual caramels
4. Those random foam-jelly candies shaped like tiny hamburgers or fries or vampire teeth
5. Candy corn

Take 'em or leave 'em:

1. Mini Kit Kat
2. Mini Coffee Crisp
3. Double Bubble
4. Tootsie Roll
5. Suckers of any kind...

You?

I've always been a terrible sleeper...

I've been having a lot of vivid dreams lately. Don't know what that's all about. I'm talkin' wake-me-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night-because-they-seem-so-real dreams. Recently, I woke up convinced I had H1N1. I was so convinced I had to get up and check the symptoms online to confirm my oncoming cold wasn't swine flu.

Well... *shifty eyes*... It seems I could learn a thing or two about online research, because after a visit to the doctor Monday night following two days of fever, aches, and a smoker's cough, it turns out my initial nocturnal diagnosis was correct: I do in fact have H1N1.

Now, before we go all loco here I should clarify: I have "low grade influenza". This is a fancy way of saying I have a bad flu. I'm not in quarantine, although I've been told to stay away from work until the symptoms (fever and aches) pass. Lets keep our fingers crossed that's Thursday. Although I'm feeling substantially better than I was yesterday, I think another day away is probably best for all involved--I sound A LOT worse than I feel and nobody needs me hacking and sneezing all over the keyboards and phones.

That said, being inside watching TV all day is... boring. Thankfully dearest Beef made a drive-by drop off with Lil C', leaving enough soup, Kleenex, and trashy mags to sink a ship. And Mama LL always knows the right thing to say and do (god bless the microwavable heating bag...) My biggest concern is the possibility of my having infected Orange, Beef, Mom, and Fingers because I've spent a lot of time with all as of late. I've told them all to stock up on vitamin C and to get lots of rest... With a seven day incubation period, I've got all extremities crossed. Pray Shiloh no one else gets sick.

Ugh.
*sniff*
*cough*
Blarg.

My Favorite Memories of Dad--Part III

When we were kids, we used to spend 2-3 weeks in Southampton at a cottage we rented. Dad spent the night before leaving packing the car to the t*ts (pardon my French.) He was a packing genius, completely spatially adept able to cram thousands of pounds of stuff into all spaces left unoccupied by passengers.

Somehow, mid-car ride (the majority of which was spent listening to AM 900 CHML Toronto Blue Jays baseball), we'd stop and pick up a tiny rental TV and VHS player and one of us would sit with it on our laps. Dad used the TV to expose his girls to "good movies" like Mash or Cannonball Run, and the original Around the World in 80 Days. He'd wear track suits and get the fireplace going and sit watching with us toasting marshmallows, showing us that the perfect golden 'mallow came with a combination of patience and rotation.

I vividly remember BBQ-ing with him in the sandy yard. We'd come up early from the beach because "the men" (me being a dude until the age of 13 made me an honorary part of this twosome...) had to heat the charcoal. Dad spent hours trying to lite the damn thing, for which I'm surprised there haven't been serious chemical repercussions (*shifty eyes*). He was always proud of his q-ing skills, and never let the grill defeat him. The smell of a charcoal is still one of my favorite summer scents.

It was also Dad's idea to teach us euchre. His patience was unending, as 9 and 13 year-olds are not the best strategists. I remember the year he taught Beef Rummy 500 and I was so jealous I made mom promise to play 500 games of Crazy 8s. Whether or not he wanted to, he always agreed to play games with us, and that continued to today always humoring me with Phase 10 and Yatzee.

He taught us to windsurf at the cottage, and took us sailing in the neighbor's tiny Laser boat. He taught us badminton and bought kites to fly on the beach. He explained the tides of Lake Huron, and used the flags that lead down the main street to teach us the Provinces, Territories, and capital cities.

He'd walk with us down the boardwalk and buy his daughters french fries. He'd walk us the other way down the boardwalk to buy his daughters ice cream.

And every summer we'd have a day to ourselves. Mom and Beef did girly things, like lunch and shopping, and dad and I went golfing (and he'd let me drive the cart.) We'd pack lunches and he'd have beer and I'd have root beer. In the afternoon we went to the pond and in our rubber boots we'd walk through the marsh and he'd point out the ducks and their eggs, the water spiders, and the tadpoles.

In the evenings we'd watch the sunsets from the boardwalk. After thunderstorms he'd get us up early to see the holes in the sand where the lightning hit. If we couldn't sleep he'd sit on the side of the bed and build you a nest of pillows and blankets and talk you to sleep from the toes up. He was always the first one up, on the deck with is coffee and crossword. And he was usually the last one to bed, with his scotch and sh*tty mystery paperback (broken spine and all...)

He's so vivid in these memories, you'd swear I could reach out and touch him.

25 of Dad's silliest Pet Peeves--Part II

1. The fact you could no longer buy Herring Roe at Denningers.

2. The song Around the World, by Daft Punk.

3. Standing in lines.

4. Pledge breaks on PBS.

5. Much like my mother, the new layout of our neighbourhood grocery store--"why is the toilet paper in the same aisle as the BBQ sauce?" We talked about this on the 13th.

6. Lou Presutti.

7. Expensive things. My grandmother always said "he would drive all over town to save $0.25 on a head of cabbage."

8. Mini vans and subsequently their drivers.

9. "Mr. Sincerity" as he called him, or Joel Matlin and his Alarm Force commercials.

10. Thick spines on books, making them difficult to hold open, leading him to crack the spines, making him one of the best-meaning, worst library customers of all time.

11. Head bands on babies.

12. The song Gift of Finest Wheat in the Catholic Book of Worship.

13. Shoes with stiff backs (which lead him to walk on the backs of most of his shoes, driving my mother loopy... "But they're such nice shooooooes... Why do you have to do thaaaaaaat? Gahd, Peder...")

14. Cheesies (or 'cheese encrusted farts' as he commonly referred to them.)

15. The inability to find a good malted chocolate milkshake anywhere in the city.

16. Adults (or anyone outside of the "baby" age category) who use baby talk.

17. Hard butter.

18. The Buffalonian accent.

19. People who use the emergency room for colds, loose teeth, planters warts, work notes, aches and pains they've had for 8 weeks and then decide at 3:00 in the morning they want them fixed, etc.

20. Channel surfing during commercials.

21. Bob Saget.

22. Pleated pants.

23. Feta cheese.

24. People who take the parking spots in front of your house when you don't own a driveway.

25. Stupidity.

25 things about my Dad--Part I

1. He loved to bake. Especially bread. And he always thought a graham cracker crust would make a nice addition to an apple pie.

2. His favorite movie was A Christmas Carol starring Alastair Sim.

3. When we lived in Nova Scotia back in the 1980s, he was the Halifax coroner.

4. He liked to cut our lawn in geometric patterns, like squares or perfect circles. Much to mother's better judgement.

5. He thought Nigella Lawson was the most beautiful woman on television.

6. If he hadn't emigrated back to Canada with his mother and father, his dream was to be in the British Navy.

7. He liked to watch the planes take off from the airport, and would often take a spot of lunch up to the HIP parking lot to spend the afternoon... watching.

8. When I was in high school, we went to Mount Tremblant over March break. It was so warm that in between the ski lessons we took together, we spent most of our week sitting on the porch of the main chalet sunning our faces and drinking hot chocolate (which he made me order for us in French.)

9. He always ate a peanut butter and jam sandwich after Sunday night roast beef dinner. Usually followed by a bowl of ice cream or cereal.

10. He never liked wearing jeans.

11. One summer when we were in Southampton (where we rented a cottage), we were out for dinner and he saved a toddler from choking on a grilled cheese sandwich.

12. He could play Jeopardy and beat anyone in the room while simultaneously napping on the TV room couch.

13. He wasn't Catholic, but if you had a question about one of the Catholic Saints, Popes, or the Bible, he was your man.

14. He preferred wearing pink Oxford cloth button down shirts.

15. He loathed mini vans, and if he could find a reason to blame one of the world's problems on their existence he would.

16. He often watched CPAC.

17. His favorite food was little sandwiches.

18. He worried people didn't like him.

19. This past February we went skiing in Ellicottville for his birthday and stayed overnight at a Bed and Breakfast in the "family room" and we stayed up late watching The Godfather and eating caramel popcorn and stealing the Hershey kisses from all of the common rooms.

20. If he wanted to take you for ice cream, he'd ask you if you wanted to "Queen the Bean?"

21. He failed grade 13 math and had to repeat the year but was still only 16 when he started at Queens University.

22. If he made something for dinner, he liked to watch you take the first bite and would be nothing short of disappointed if you didn't fuss over how wonderful it tasted.

23. When he was four years-old he declared he wanted to be the King of France and when questioned why, he replied "because when one grows up one gets a family and one doesn't want to work."

24. On Christmas Eve he and I go together to the Farmer's Market and tour the stalls finding just the right fruits (veggies) and sweet treats for stockings, and he always stops to talk to the Jamaican lady who owns one of the stalls whom he once treated in Emergency. And he always gave all his pocket money to whom ever was asking for it out front.

25. He collected marzipan pigs.

Not ready. On many levels.

I'm not ready to do the post I want to post. I'm working up to it. It's going to take awhile, because I want each word to be perfect and each picture to be in place. My spelling needs to be triple checked because otherwise, even from heaven, I'll hear his teasing laugh. He deserves my best, and I'll settle for nothing less.

Until then.

Who knew there were so many sympathy cards in print?

There have been so many sent, it's truly overwhelming. I am touched (not literally) by your kindness and your love. You're all such good people--each encouragement means more than you'll ever know. And of course, you know my thoughts on receiving mail...

But still. It has to be said. I'm amazed at the fact each card is different. I think there's maybe been one duplicate? And that includes the cards mom has received, which are climbing into the hundreds.

That's A LOT of cards.

Lesson for the day? When my library career crumbles, there's money to be made in sympathy cards.

*blows into microphone*

Testing. Testing.

*taps microphone*

Is this thing on?

*ahem*

I have an announcement to make, people. This is big news.

*drum roll*

As of 5:00pm today, I am officially on VAY.CAY.TION.

*excited dance*

While there have been mini breaks here and there, this is the first extended vacation I've had since Ireland near a year ago. Dear me. Does it get any better than this? My plans for the week include: doing nothing, perfecting the art of paint-by-numbers, campfires, s'more making, boat rides, sunning oneself, sleeping, sleeping, sleeping, sleeping, taking pictures of my nephew in his bathing suit (that's not as creepy as it sounds...), making sap boats, getting back on my bike (the first time since the *shudder* 60km bike race), and midnight swimming.

Jamie's cottage might as well be Shangri-La for all I care. Just as long as I'm far, far away from a computer.

*sigh*

And on a completely different note: do people actually buy expensive fabric softeners? 'Cause I don't. I buy whatever is on sale or whatever is No Name. And do people really buy separate detergents for darks and lights? Because again... I don't. I'm going with whatevers on sale or No Name.

*sigh*

I remember in Uni I knew a girl who lurved Shakira. Like, lurved her. She bought clothes because she thought they looked "Shakira-ish". She accessorized her Shakira clothes with Shakira-ish earrings and big blonde hair. And she danced her @ss off to Hips Don't Lie.

At the times I thought it was kinda silly. Shakira? Really?

But.

I'm sorry.

Have you seen THIS video?

Girl's body is sick. I'm more than jealous, I'm green with envy. And regardless of what others may say, I also love the song (the howl is the best part...)

Don't judge. And Amelia? If you're out there? I'm sorry I judged you.

*blush*

No big deal...

... Except it is!

Omg. Last night was the last Ultimate Frisbee game of the season, and my final game as team captain. It's been a scary summer--not knowing if we'd have enough of our 20+ roster to field a team, and worrying people were planning a coup because our record was looking less than stellar.

But all the worrying was for naught because... WE WON!

Well, sort of.

*scuffs toe*

Not a game, per se. But we won the league spirit award, which includes a wall plaque (which I took home with me with plans to hang it from Yaris' rear mirror) and pink, red, and black visors for the team! Three cheers for I'm With Stoopid:

Hip hip hurray!
Hip hip hurray!
Hip hip hurray!

I'm pleased as punch dudes, and proud as a mother hen. Nice work, I'm With Stoopid. Thanks for sticking with BJ and I and seeing it through to the end. You're real chums.

*blush*

p.s. And thank the sweet baby Jesus we finally won something!
p.p.s. Could I look more excited in this picture? Ugh, and I swear I have a wonky eye... *sigh*

Orange, come on down!

For those of you not in the know, Orange bought a house and takes possession Friday.

*hurrah for Orange*

We gots to talking about it last night, and how exciting it is, and "what will you do first?" and "will you paint?" and then the more serious things like being nervous mowing ones lawn and the irrational fear that the house next door is a *gasp* student house, and then of course the always scary topic of paying one's mortgage.

"I'm gonna have to get going on my pumpkin patch so I can a jump on my pumpkin farm" he said. "Think we can grow some of those magic money making pun'kins?"

I said I thought there was more money in Cabbage Patches. "Grow some Cabbage Patch Kids," I said. "Everyone will want one. The next thing you know Angelina Jolie will be at your door looking for one to add to her brood. Hot commodities, those Cabbage Patch Kids. I'll start drafting the adoption papers and coming up with rand-o names like 'Malcolm Shane' and 'Georgia Carmen'. You'll be rich and famous in no time."

He thought about it.

"Yeah..." he said. "Seems like a lot of work. What about meth? Or maybe I'll win both showcases in the showcase showdown."

You're trippin. Stop your trippin.

Pet peeve #864

I find driving behind cars with DVD players or GPS systems seriously distracting. Especially at night when they're all lite up like little glowing billboards. However hard I try, I constantly catch myself watching the teeny-yet-ridiculously-addictive screens of the cars in front of me rather than the road.

Annoying.

Beware

My second year in University I took a Physical Anthropology class. For those unfamiliar with introductory P.A., the class revolved around the various evolutionary stages of man.

Although completely unrelated, at some point in the semester we got to talking about dinosaurs and my professor made the sly remark that evolutionary speaking, whomever or whatever was due to replace the dino (man) was quietly evolving on the sidelines while the dinos stupidly ruled the planet. 'Twas true. We were evolving. From amoeba to fish to reptile to ape, etc. etc. etc. Grossly rough description, but true nonetheless.

Turning the tables back to human evolution, he discreetly reminded us that whomever or whatever was due to replace us was itself evolving, in the present, right now, while we [stupidly rule the planet...]

Kind of creepy, when you really think about it. Somewhere, somehow, something on Earth is planning a coup. They're... *shifty eyes*... Organizing. So I became determined to grasp the upper hand, seeking out my competition for a stand off.

*que Western standoff whistle*

For awhile there I was pretty sure I had it figured out.

Ants.

There are billions of billions of them under our lawns, after all. And we've all seen 'em, crawling out from the sidewalk cracks to silently dismember a blob of gum. Gross.

I'm scared of ants. Truly. I once found an army of the apartment sized ones in the carpet of an apartment I shared with Free Samples. I went ballistic with Fantastic spraying every inch of the 6' x 6' room, placing traps in every corner. I'm surprised I didn't poison dearest FS. Since that episode I've lost faith in the collective power of the little guys, regardless of their creepiness. A bottle of Fantastic shouldn't be that traumatic.

Last weekend, however, I made a breakthrough in my investigation. It came mid-patio beer when what I perceive to be our competition silently approached our table, begging for scraps. Ha! Scraps? I think not. I refuse to help you establish yourself, sir.

The chipmunk.

Wiley, capable hands? Check.
Unassuming looks? Check.
Cardiovascular endurance? Check.
Ability to survive extensive cold and heat? Check.

World dominance? Only a matter of time.

Trust.

Or rather, don't trust. The next time you cast aside your pistachio nut, think carefully. You're empowering our competition.

Let's talk about the ridiculous, shall we?

Ridiculous is:

1. Dogs in purses.
2. Hair weaves on small children.
3. Three patties on a hamburger.
4. The price of a house in Vaughan. I'm sorry, but who wants to pay $300,000+ to live next to Canada's Wonderland?
5. The number of Weight Watchers points in movie theatre popcorn.
6. The cost of office furniture.
7. The amount of hair one cat can lose.
8. The fact Michael Jackson has only just "passed," and there's already a Michael Jackson's Last Days book on the new book truck at work...
9. Paula Dean. Full stop.
10. The newly advertised Domino's Pasta in a Bread Bowl. Who asked for this?

This is war, Peackcok!

In an attempt to do something nice for Far-Away-Orange, I put together a package of goodies and tra la's and general nicey nicey (including a Lotto 649 ticket) and mailed them East, tout de suite (that's Francais for "at once") to Orangey.

Being that Orange was technically supposed to be home on Saturday, and being that I had to wait until Tuesday to find out exactly where he was staying, the package had to be mailed priority mail to make sure it met up with Orange before he boarded the plane to So'Oh. For those of you unfamiliar with the various shipping levels of Canada Post, priority mail is what one might otherwise call the VIP of Canada Post (regular mail, xpress post, and the creme de la creme, priority mail.) I'm guaranteed my package will be received in 2 business days or less = Friday at 5:00.

Needless to say, I paid a hefty chunk to get my goodies to Orange. More than one piggy bank was robbed. But it's worth it. He's Orange, after all... So I mail, and I sit, and I wait. And I talk to Orange and hope the next time he calls he'll say, "Guess what I got today?!"

No such luck.

Now, being that I chose priority mail my goodies came with a tracking number. So I dutifully go online and check the status of my mailing, and according to Canada Post my priority package is still sitting in the post office from which I mailed it.

Hmmm...

I'm told by the nice people on the customer service end of things that my package has "no doubt been mailed and is well on it's way, but being that Orange is stuck in some teeny tiny town, they don't have the materials to scan the package at it's destination."

Hmmm...

So I wait, and I talk to Orange, and there's no hurrah or yay or woo hoo or thank you...

Hmmm...

Finally I break down.

"Don't suppose you've checked with the Concierge today?"
"Yea, all the time, why?"
"Oh. Um. No reason..."
"Okay..."
"Well, um, nothing... came... for you?"
"You mean besides about 100 faxes?"
"Um, yeah. Like, maybe a... package?"
"Wha? No..."

Poo.

Being that it'd been a rough few days, the news that my well intentioned party-in-an-envelope went astray only added to my crustiness. Have you seen that SNL skit for Annuale? Yup. That was me on Friday. So I left work at 5:00 and drove well over the speed limit to the Post Office from whence I mailed my goodies and laid into the poor, well-intentioned Postal Clerk who of course "doesn't handle lost packages... please call the customer service number..."

Which I do. From the Post Office. Waiting 15 minutes listening to public service announcements reminding people to keep their dogs locked up away from mail carriers until "the next available agent could take my call."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear your package wasn't delivered. Let me track it on www.canadapost.com. Do you have the tracking number?"
"Yes. Of course. That's what I've been using to track the package myself."
"Oh, yes, I see that it was mailed Tuesday."
"Uh, yeah. That's why I'm calling you... "
"Oh, yes, I see there's no more information on the movement of your package."
"Uh, yeah. Again, that's why I'm calling you..."
"Well I'm sorry, but we need the package to be lost for a full 24-business hours before we can launch an investigation."

Being that it was Friday, "24-business hours" translates into 5:00 Monday which translates into Tuesday morning, before I can begin the ridiculous process of tracking a tracked package.

*eye roll*

So consider this war, Peacock. I'm going to the mattresses for my goodies. Challenge extended.

*right hook*
*left jab*
*floats like a butterfly, stings like a bee*

And if I don't at the very least get my package back, Canada Post will forever be blamed for my losing the Lotto 649 because I'm sure the winning ticket is in that GD envelope.

'Twas a bad day today...

* ...A bad day.

The kind that starts with an uncomfortable hunt through the closet to find something you don't feel huge in, burnt coffee, and a wicked headache. Follow that up with an emergency run to the grocery store for certain female unmentionables, a shortened lunch, general grumpiness, and too many people asking too many questions. Top it off with no parking in front of the house, an inopportune phone call resulting in an irritating change of plans, and dinner not tasting like you imagined it would.

And for the record, because it has to be said, the whipped cream on the crap sundae is taking off your pants before bed and finding yourself pocked with underwear seam marks. I knew those pants were too tight...

Arg.

In the words of Hurr_ah, "I'm a whole basket of cuddly today". Let's hope for everyone's sake things look up tomorrow. Babysitting my peanut should help.

* Although this picture is not flattering in the slightest, and although it's a few years old taken in the Balkans, directed at Fingers no doubt for annoying me (usually with the whistling...) it perfectly illustrates how irritating today was.

Poor Femmy...

I told Nancy to relax and take a few days for herself, and Femmy agreed with me. After all, she's leaving in 2 weeks and the last thing she needs is to be worrying after her mother! Michael hasn't done anything for her since he was 25, so give him a chance. I wrote Nancy an email that said, "there's this book you should read called Sabbatical 101 and there's an entire chapter written about not taking on extra jobs before your trip." She wrote back, "Oh thank you Ruth, you made me laugh." I was pleased I could cheer her.

But really now, she drove all the way over and picked me up and then turned around and drove back to her house, and Femmy said "Why are you going this way?" and Nancy said, "Because this is the way I know!" She's lived here for 20 years! If you were going to Cambridge you'd take highway 8. But not Nancy. Imagine that...

Poor Lynne's daughter, you know the one in the ballet school, she has a deformed bone in her foot and can't dance. They're at the centre this week teaching a Chinese class... Either Chinese people learning to speak English, or English people learning to speak Chinese. She's such a nice girl. And about her mother-in-law, I said to Lynne, "Lynne, you need to relax and know you're doing the best you can. And it's only 6 months!" I don't envy her, I tell you.

Anyway, I wanted to have Nancy for lunch and not Femmy, because I think Nancy could use the break but I don't know how to call her and suggest she come without Femmy. And Peggy has a gift certificate for Swiss Chalet that she said she'd like to treat me to, which would be lovely. But she's sick now, and I can't call her because she'll think I'm calling to hint that I'd like to go for lunch and Peggy being Peggy she's probably take me out if she was on deaths door, when really all I want to know is if she's feeling better!

...

...

...

Is this conversation confusing to you?

It was for me too. But Gramma gets mad when you ask who Femmy and Nancy are ("What? Oh you remember Femmy! Femmy lived next door to Ursula and Nancy is Femmy's daughter.") So I usually just nod and say things like "Poor so-and-so" and "I agree" and "good advice, Gramma." She likes it best that way.

I've got something you want...

"Clap clap!"

Far away from me...

Orange and I took a whirlwind tour to Brock-apolco this weekend to visit Granny Library Lady in condo-land. We rocked the kite show, talked smoothie makers, got crazy in the sprinklers with a couple of hooligans, and took a couple of "old biddies" (they're descriptive, not mine) to a post-church breakfast. 8 hours of long weekend driving in 24-hours. A lot of driving? Yes. But totally worth it. Granny Library Lady rocks the house with or without chocolate brownies and the world's largest collection of Fisher Price Little People.

Sadly, however, I'm now Orange-less again. He's off saving the planet one marshland at a time.

*sigh*

Lots of time for me to clean out my drawers, I guess? Maybe I'll start that cross stitch I've been thinking about...

Meh.

Poo on cross stitch. I'd rather hold hands.

MSG

I'm frequenting a new movie store. It's actually not new, it's rather old, but I abandoned ship for awhile when the new and shiny Blockbuster dropped into the neighbourhood (that and my sister managed to accrue some serious fines at the little shop and I was scared to show my face for fear they'd take my thumbs...)

But there's a statute of limitations on movie fines, and Orange and I tested the waters some weeks ago. We haven't looked back since.

Some things to note:

1. The place smells like gyro (because of the gyro store next door.)
2. They still rent VHS. Hundreds of them.
3. They sell penny candy.
4. You can buy used movie posters from the old-new movies they once rented and advertised, and they're kept rolled up in a cardboard box next to the door.
5. They have groovy movie categories besides the cliche "drama" and "comedy" including "special interest" and "cult favorites".

The best part? The dude who runs/owns the place is priceless... He's exactly what you want in a corner store movie guy. A long haired emo dude who really couldn't give two craps what you're renting or what you're looking for. He answers your questions and gets your movies together and rings out the receipts, but is otherwise uninterested in everything about you.

"Do you have the new Russell Peter's movie?"
"Last aisle, third shelf down on the right, fifth movie in."
"Thanks..."
*glare*

"Have you seen this?"
"No."

"Thanks very much. This is great!"
"Yup."

He strikes me as someone who ironically wouldn't watch movies either for political reasons or because he's choosing to take a stand against "the machine". He probably prefers to read and talk quietly over double shot espressos about Obama and capitalism and genetically modified foods.

I'm determined to get him to like me. It's weird. Every time I go in I aim to make him smile. So far, zero success. But I'll keep you posted. Perhaps a regular update? My success with the movie store guy? MSG? Gold.

FYI: Event Horizon is some scary sh*t.

Awkward.

Orange and I got into a uncomfortable discussion about cats tonight.

While he's warming to Bertimus Maximus, he has concerns about my level of enthusiasm for all things "kitty". His fears stem from my excitement over the newly advertised Wear Him Off, Keyboard Cat t-shirts (FYI, if you're not familiar with Keyboard Cat, check out my addictions links... Priceless...)

*wanders off to watch the latest Play Him Off, Keyboard Cat videos*

But I digress..

I may also have mentioned my interest in attaining a Kit-Cat clock. For obvious reasons... Namely, monsieur Kit-Cat clock's disturbing likeness to that of monsieur Bert. And while I have no plans to frantically comb eBay or Kijiji for the latest Kit-Cat clock uploads, I'd purchase one at the 400 Market Flea Market if/when we stop there again. He seemed to think my collection of "cat things" was growing, citing my cat magnets, Faux Gary, and Sarajevo tee that may or may not have a cat on it.

He said he was worried I was going to be one of those people who surfed the Internet looking for cute cat pictures (does CuteOverload count?), commenting on cat blogs (I Can Has Cheeseburger and Stuff on my Cat?) and asking other people for cat advice (omg it was one time...)

He considered this.

"What I meant was, as long as it's not a regular thing, it's okay..."
"Is 'daily' too regular?"
"Well, what I mean is, as long as it's not a habit, it's okay..."
"What if I said I once entered Bert in an online cat contest?"

He considered this.

"This is weird..." he said.
"I feel dirty" I said.

We agreed not to talk about my online habits. And I agreed if I purchased my Wear Him Off, Keyboard Cat t-shirt I'd only wear it when he wasn't around.

*pfft*

Prude.

This is seriously something I would consider doing...

How fun are these people? The guy who walks on his hands is by far my favorite. I love his serious expression. Clearly someone dedicated to his craft.

p.s. Is this the largest wedding party every?
p.p.s. I wouldn't use a sh*tty Chris Brown song...

I had dinner with mom and dad last night...

*shakes head*

Dear me. I love them to pieces, but they're too funny for words. The word 'routine' doesn't begin to describe it. It's clockwork...

---

We had BBQ'd hamburgers. I'd say, in nice weather, Dad likes to BBQ at least once a week. We usually have one of three things: hamburgers, steak, or chicken. And every night we BBQ we go through the same routine:

At 5:30, after we've cut up the veg and scooped the coleslaw into something nice, and put the condiments in tiny bowls with little spoons (don't ask...) mom calls up to dad "P, do you want to start the BBQ?" to which dad replies "In a minute."

Dad eventually makes his way down stairs, looks at the hamburgers and reshapes them. Mom says "P, I already did that" to which dad replies "I know that... But that's not how they should be!" to which mom replies "don't forget to flatten them on the grill because Library Lady and I don't like our hamburgers too big" to which dad replies "I know dear..." finishing with an eye roll.

At 5:45 when dad puts the burgers on the grill mom bellows out the door "P, do you want your bun toasted?" (no he doesn't) to which dad replies (surprise surprise) "No thanks." Mom then walks to the kitchen, quickly turning around... "Do you want cheese, P?" (yes he does) to which dad replies "Yes, thank you."

At 5:50 when mom's getting fussy about the corn, because naturally the corn is ready and mom is hungry, she'll bellow out the door again "P, how much longer?" (maybe 5 minutes?) to which dad replies (naturally) "I dunno, four or five minutes?"

At 5:55 mom starts to pace. "How much longer is he going to be?" she asks. "We've had dinner at 6:00 every year of my life. I'd say they're almost ready." And while mom is making her way to the door to yell at dad "How much longer?" she'll note he's already making his way up the stairs.

"Did you flip the foil on the plate so you weren't putting the cooked burgers on the same foil as the raw meat?" to which dad replies "Yes dear..." followed by further eye rolls.

Mom will dish out the burgers. Dad will make chocolate milk. And when we sit down and say grace and dig in, mom will turn to dad and say "Great burgers, P. You did a great job."

And dad will puff up.

---

Love it. They are too good to be true.

Some things I did this weekend:

1. Purchased cat food.
2. Made pita pizzas.
3. Worked.
4. Bought Tootsie Pops en masse.
5. Made a baby giggle.
6. Wished on a star.
7. Drank warm beer.
8. Cuddled. Bert.
9. Binged on breakfast.
10. Went 'antiquing' with me-moms.
11. Played the open house game...
12. Washed umpteen piles of clothes.
13. Walked the stairs. Again. And again. And again.
14. Loafed.
15. Tried to watch Twilight. Ugh.

Wow. This is officially a super, duper, boring post.

My apologies.

*sigh*

Got up super early this morning and did a few rounds of the stairs....

For those of you unfamiliar with my neighborhood, I live in the valley of an escarpment and there are varying sets of stairs across the city to allow pedestrians to easily access what we commonly refer to as "the mountain". I live about six blocks from a set and I like to try and do 'em every once and awhile.

There are 317 stairs in total and I know this because someone has kindly numbered each and every step. This particular set also gradually ascends to about an 80 degree angle, which makes the last 100 steps murder (not to mention the descent, when your legs go all wobbly doodles...)

So there I am at 6:30 am in my sweatpants and my new 20-minute-challenge Running Room hat, making my way up the stairs. It's finally getting hot in the So'oh, so I'm all sticky and sweating my cheeks off (literally...) My t-shirt is sticking to me, and conveniently I've forgotten my Kleenex (Mother Nature hates me this time of year and my allergies are out in full force.)

Needless to say I was a big 'ole hot mess. But I did them. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Three times quickly. And the best part? I listened to this song the entire way down that last time:

"Jump in the line, rock your body in time..."

Gold.

How many times have I done this at the Post Office? Ridiculous.



"I was here on Wednesday, and there was also a line..."

Awkward is...

... Making a 10:00 pm one-stop-shop at Shoppers Drug Mart, and finding yourself in line behind a teenaged boy buying a pregnancy test.

Eee.

No more counting sheep!

Let's give a big "hey yah!" to Fingers and BSB for delivering my new bed yesterday!

W00t! W00t!

I slept so darn good (how's the for English?) I dreamt through my alarm, and at 8:30 was running around the apartment like a chicken with my head cut off. Bert continued to slumber on the bed, mind you. He gives the whole thing 4, gigantically squishy paws up. I'm pleased I no longer sleep in a crevasse and will ward of scoliosis for the next year or two.

Fingers, BSB: your payment arrives Saturday...

Fine.

I didn't want to play with you anyway.

Poo.

13 strange things you'll see on the way to Ontario cottage country:

1. Multiple wax candle outlets.
2. The 'Dock in a Box' store--did it come before the J.T. and Samburg SNL skit?
3. A line up approximately 1km long outside the Mandarin Chinese buffet restaurant in Barrie.
4. A condemned hotel and joint restaurant with the sign "WARNING: this building is condemned and is being torn down. Stay out." Not so weird? True. But the fact this sign has been there since the early 1970s? Kinda of weird.
5. The Big Curve Farm--home to every imaginable animal on the sun, all of whom are romping together in the same big field.
6. Two giant 24-7 Candy Shoppes.
7. What Orange refers to as the "Dick Boat" store, specializing in oddly named monster boats (like "Rock Hit Ship"... get it?)
8. A burger shop that gets so redonk busy with cottage country traffic they've built a walking overpass across the 400 N to avoid car accidents and traffic jams.
9. A used golf cart outlet.
10. A store specializing in neon plug-in palm trees.
11. The always familiar and exciting Highway Recyclers, which still narrowly manages to avoid spilling out onto the road.
12. Camp Hillbilly, whose 'luxury camp sites' boarder a major highway. Who's staying here?
13. A porn shop.

No, no... I know the word...

Happy Ka-Na-Da Day, peeps!

Small Golf

On Friday night, Poomobile, Big Guy, Orange and I played small golf. "Small golf?" you say. "Qu'est-ce que c'est?"

Small golf is serious miniature golf, sans windmills and banking walls. Small golf takes place on a course that is literally a smaller version of an 18-hole golf course, complete with sand traps, short cut grass, and water. We played it skins-styles, $0.25 per hole.

Big Guy kicked butters, regardless of the trash talk I ladled out earlier in the day. My golf glove did little to improve my game, and neither did the bank shots I hammered over the marshland (much to the course owner's chagrin.) It would appear Big Guy's decision to bring his own club and ball did, however...

What can I say? You can take the windmills out of mini-golf, but you can't take the florescent pink ball out of the girl.

In other news, T-minus 48 hours until vacation time. Dear me... Can it be true?

Poirot

Today is the launch of Summer Reading here at the library. In celebration of the event, we've been asked to dress in theme: "Agent 009". I'm told we're to dress as our favorite detective. Needless to say, there's a plethora of Nancy Drew's on the go, and a handful of Sherlocke Holmes', and one or two Harriet the Spy's.

I've chosen to dress as Hercule Poirot, which entails drawing a moustache on my finger and holding it up to my lip when asked "Who are you supposed to be?" For those of you not subjected to Saturday after Saturday of Mystery Television with your parents, this joke will mean nothing to you. To those of you who were, or perhaps for those who like Edward Gorey, enjoy the flashback!