(Well, sort of... For those of us celebrating on the 26th--me--it's figuratively only the 23rd...) Semantics. Regardless, have a good one, peeps and for those of you travelling, be safe. For those of you staying home, make yourself cozy and snuggle in for a good weekend. Lots of love.
1. Roch Voisine and Anne Murray... Their voices could be interchanged. I'm convinced they are the same person.
2. Robert Downey Jr. was a singer at a (particularly low) point in his career, and actually had a Christmas Album. So, there's that.
3. The song "Baby It's Cold Outside" is less about Christmas and more so about aggravated assault:
I really can't stay...Dolly Parton has very few options: she can leave and freeze in the apparent raging storm, or stay and be sexed by Rod Stewart. I'd take my chances with the storm.
I've got to go away...
Say what's in this drink...
I simply must go...
The answer is no...
1. 'Tis the week for excessive spending. While I finished my Christmas shopping some time ago, I always find the last few days before Christmas to be intoxicatingly expensive (is "intoxicatingly" a word?) It's like the nearness of Santa awakens some glorious demon making me excessively generous, buying gifts not a few days earlier I swore were too expensive.
I love it. My wallet doesn't. To those who benefit, you're welcome.
2. Fancy Cousin (Toque's brother, living the high life in NYC) sent the family a Christmas card:
A merry Christmas to you all--Mama LL, Beef, Mr. Beef, Lil C', LL, and the guy who won't commit...Amazing.
There are many little people in my life whom I would call Peeps--Lil' C, of course; Bear, Pants' peanut; Manrissa's little chunker; and The Original Little, Baby Belly.
BB belongs to Belly and was the first baby amongst my elementary chums. She's the tops. I knew sometime ago I liked the cut of her 3-and-a-half year old jib. First, her voice sounds like a cartoon character. Second, shes funny. Super funny. Last year at this time she was grocery shopping (not alone, with her daddy) when from her place in the shopping cart she spotted Santa. What is a toddler to do when spotting Santa amongst the Fortino's produce but to repeatedly yell "SANTA!" at the top of her little lungs until "Santa" turned around? Turns out it wasn't Santa, and the plump lady in the red coat wasn't too pleased at the comparison.
Add to this the text I received earlier this evening:
"BB had a tantrum tonight because I wouldn't let her watch Keyboard Cat (she was being rude). Last night she was making her stuffed kitty play an imaginary keyboard."
If she didn't look so much like her mommy, I'd say she was mine. S'cute. Thank you, Belly, for such a good giggle and for such a funny little potato...
I found something. Something completely cool. And for once I'm being a really bad girl and not doing what technically (not to mention morally) I should do: I'm totally keeping it.
*shifty eyes* Muuuuahahahaha! (evil laugh)
It's mine, my precious, my only... Sucka.
*runs away clutching awesome find*
Norwegian butter crisis threatens to ruin Christmas!
*sob*
Not the butter... Please, not the BUTTER!
*runs screaming into the night*
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Getting up this morning we put on a pot of the "festive" coffee (read: hazelnut) and I immediately set to work on Dad's Christmas cakes. Two pounds of candied cherries, three cups of dried fruit, two cups of nuts, 2/3 of a cup of some serious booze, and a partridge in a pear tree later and the cakes were set to bake for the next three and a half hours. A few moments of panic between the creaming of the butter/sugar mixture and the addition of the eggs--looked like there was some serious curdling going on--but one quick call to reassuring Mama LL and my mind was set to ease.
By this time Orange had the wood stove a blaze, and Bert was happy as a clam, sunning himself between the perfectly positioned sun beam and the fireplace, underneath our three carefully hung family stockings. He remained there for the majority of the day, moving in intervals closer/farther away from the heat as required.
Then it was on to fashioning 22 miniature Christmas cards for my work peeps, followed by shopping for a Secret Santa gift, and a brisk walk in the cold sunshine with Fingers. And now, curled up on the couch with the Ginger Kid, our leg lamp aglow ("its a major award!") we're alternating between Home Alone and Elf on the television.
Aside from a minor catastrophe involving Mama LL's Christmas tree, a perfectly Christmas-y day.
Thank Shiloh November, and subsequently the November Moksha 30-day challenge, is almost over because I cannot do another hot yoga class with 45+ people. I was literally a sardine today, in more than just pose. And the girl squished in next to me had exceptionally stinky feet.
TMI?
You get to eat things like brown beans or humus for dinner without worrying about the consequences; you can watch Sister Wives in real time; you can wear your old gross slippers and no one will say "ew, I hate your old gross slippers"; and the house stays relatively tidy (Bert's hair notwithstanding...)
The disadvantages?
You miss them.
On my way out of the yoga studio last night this flyer caught my eye:
1. My SCENE card finally arrived so I can begin collecting those all important movie points.
2. A letter mistakenly addressed to "Mrs. Orange".
Guess which one I was more excited about?
This morning after yoga I made a quick pit stop at the local strip mall, or more specifically the pet store, for kitty food. On my way out, the cat who lives in the pet store was waiting at the door. Being that it's a busy parking lot I thought it best to ask, "um, I'm assuming she doesn't go out?"
"Actually she does" says the salesperson. "She's waiting for someone to take her to the tanning salon. If you're on your way out, can you take her?"
So I did. Actually, the cat more or less escorted me, all I did was hold open the doors for her, what with my opposable thumbs and all.
Strangest part? No one--not the pet store woman nor the tanning salon folks--seemed interested in explaining.
(sent via email sometime mid afternoon from his current remote work location)
"Just wanted to say hello. Miss you already... Please also relay a message to Bert for me. Tell him I'm disappointed in him and expect him to be more considerate in the morning hours... I expect him to complete his chores as I assigned him yesterday. To reiterate:
1) Monitor the toilet flow upstairs, I am concerned about the leaky check valve (due to the presence of paw prints on the lid I think he has this under control.)
2) Count the number of leaves entering the yard. I told him I need a numbers so I can purchase the correct number of leaf bags. His numbers were way off this past weekend... This is unacceptable.
3) General security duties, including a brief summary report submitted daily to both of us. I've asked him to include a count of the number of kids entering the yard, cars turning around in the driveway, and how many times troll lady stumbles around the ravine [this is the woman who lives across the ravine from us...]
Bert gave me some BS that he has too much to do and would not work in these conditions, he muttered something about slave labour but he had a feather in his mouth during this exchange making his meows difficult to interpret.
Please update me on his progress or lack there of. We may need to discipline him if this behaviour continues.
Love you
J"
 |
| (That's Cousin Toque in the red!) |
Orange: Did you hear? There's an asteroid headed towards Earth.
Library Lady: Mm...
O: I bet it's carrying the Mayans.
LL: Sorry, what?
O: The asteroid, it's carrying the Mayans back to Earth for 2012. No one knows what happened to the Mayans, you know...
LL: Uh, yeah they do. They live in Mexico, and Guatemala, and Belieze.
O: Whatever. The Mayans are coming back, and Transformers live on the moon.
LL: When you put it that way it's hard to argue with your logic.
... If this isn't under the tree for me, I'm officially boycotting Christmas. It's bad enough I have to live with the regret of not buying the t-shirt when I had the chance.
Please take this as a not-so-subtle hint, family.
1. Some kids are funny, like the two year old who came to my door tonight trying to give me her candy, or the toddler dressed as Spiderman sporting an out-of-place accompanying mustache, and the trio of Mexicans who closed out the night (who may or may or may not have been trick-or-treaters. They were kind of tall to be kids... And unlike the toddler Spidey, I think their mustaches were real...)
Some kids, on the other hand, are dinks. Like the kid who didn't want my candy because it wasn't a Twix bar. I followed him out to the yard and pushed him into the bushes. I'm lying of course... The Mexican gang in the driveway took care of him.
2. I found out today that a girl I went to summer camp with (with whom I probably haven't spoken to since) is pregnant for the second time. Fngers shared this news courtesy of Facebook, because--wait for it--she posted pictures of her pee stick.
And that's why I'm not on Facebook.
3. *sung to the theme of 12 days of Chrismas* "On the 38th day of autumn, the sweet Jebus gave to me... HEAT!" Yup. For the first time this autumn we have had heat in the house. A refreshing change after seeing my breath in the bathroom last Friday morning. And let me tell you, at a balmy 9 degrees in the house in the morning, that toilet seat was not a treat.
It's a state of the art furnace, however. I can load photos onto the thermostat as "wall art", it'll make me a perfect poached egg, and greet me in the morning while providing/playing the the MuchMusic top 40 for my daily shower. Oh, and heat the house. Only one of see statements is a lie. Can you guess which one?
*insert horror movie scream here*
In other scary news, 'tis near my favourite time of year (aside from Thanksgiving): Halloween. I am an immortal child when it comes to Halloween, and I'm not afraid to boast about it. I'm out. I'm proud. Get used to it.
Naturally, I'm busy as a Keebler elf preparing for the big event, and with Friday off I have ample time to put the finishing touches on my costume and purchase last minute items for Orange, who is taking me to Toronto for a party. I can't tell you what we're being, only that the two costumes are completely different and yet completely fabulous. I'll post pictures next week if I remember to take any...
Lil' C, however, is being a Garden Gnome, and you can bet your butters there will be pictures of that. Besides procuring and carving my yearly quota of pun'kins, all we have left to do is to make the annual trip to Costco for our Halloween goodies (yeah that's right... we give out full size chocolate bars... we're that house...)
Jealous?
Exhibit A: the Alkaline Water Tube. Who is paying $90 for this?! 102 people and counting, apparently. You've got a week left to buy if you're thinking about Christmas.
Exhibit B: the LitterHouse, which is "guaranteed to prevent Coprophagia" (I'll let you google the definition for that one...) I ask you--does this cat look happy about his miniature polyurethane Dallas-look-alike mansion? In fact, I'd wager McMeowsers here is more likely to poop on your pillow while you sleep than he is to do his b'ness in that box. 41 people disagree, however.
WagJag... Activate!
Why, I had a lengthy conversation about furnace exhaust and then fashioned a faux beard out of two yards of fun fur with accompanying jaunty pointed red felt cap. Naturally.
You?
Little Beef arrived home a couple of weeks ago to find a handful of flyers at her front door. Beef loves her some flyers, and at this time of year they can be extra awesome because of the Halloween goodies to be scored.
In she settles with her tea into her big comfy living room chair to start her browsing, choosing to begin her leisurely afternoon with the Party Packagers flyer. Perhaps she'll find inspiration for her own costume?
Perhaps not.
Needless to say THIS flyer is not from Party Packagers. Not to say Beef shouldn't get her costume here... If she does, I recommend The Wood Chipper (page 9). Maybe NSFW.
I have have been blessed with not one, not two, but three Granny's in my lifetime.
THIS is just crazy! I'd mug someone in a parking lot for a ginger kid. I giggle every time I see one on the street.
Poor unwanted gingers... Like they don't have enough knocks against 'em already...
I was in a recent email exchange with some folksies out West (Hurr_ah and Sleeves--librarians extrodinaire.) We don't have many opportunities to chat, but share email quips from time to time, like funny childrens books and "hey, I saw you in that library journal" type thing.
In this particular episode, Hurr_ah needed a venue to vent the fact she was sharing an office with someone who had eaten Itchiban soup at her desk, the smell of which was, well, gross. She feels strongly that Itchiban is an inappropriate eating-at-my-desk-in-an-office-I-share meal.
Now, at this point I had to pause and actually think about what Itchiban (ramen noodles) smelled like...? I can't say I've ever been offended by a Mr. Noodles but then I've never been trapped in a confined space with someone eating it. So, there's that. In condolensce, I relayed my own personal "food trauma": the day I rode an LRT car (subway) across the city with someone eating Kielbasa--as in, chewing it right off the sausage link--in the seat next to me. I just triggered my gag reflex thinking about it. To this, Sleeves announced she was once an offender, having eaten an egg salad sandwhich at her desk (in her defense, upon recognizing the stinky factor of her meal she stuffed the sandwich in her mouth and masticated it... Hee hee... masticate.)
This long story leads me to my question: what would you consider to be an inappropriate eating-at-my-desk-in-an-office-I-share meal?
I am ridiculously grateful for the time I'm granted there. Lucky doesn't begin to describe having some place like this to go; someplace like this to even dream about, or think about when the day is particularly awful.
There are so many things I love about Orange's grandmother's cottage: the gift of early morning sun on the dock; the stillness of the water at dusk (perfect paddle boating weather); the smell of cedar in every blanket, towel, and bed sheet; the quirky old stove; the overstuffed bookshelf full of classic novels and trashy paperbacks, boardgames, Lincoln Logs, and puzzles. I love the sound of acorns falling from the trees and hitting the bedroom roof--the first sound you hear in the morning and the last sound you hear at night. But if I had to pick a "favourite thing" I think I'd have to choose this:
... I think your song would be a lot better if it were called "Snail"
This is how an angel cries
Blame it on my own sick pride
Blame it on my ADD baby
SNAIL!
SNAIL!
SNAIL!
.. And I'm completely jealous.
Smarty pants Fingers who works for a certain provincial environmental body (*wink wink nudge nudge*) has a fancy new staff project... She's become an apiarists! Yup, she's a beekeeper. All summer long she and a few of her fellow tree hugging buddies have been raising 10,000+ bee babies in Orange's family backyard (small world), and she's doing delightfully well. While not yet at "farm status" they harvested 40lbs of honey last weekend to split between the five of them, with another 40lbs estimated before summer's end.
This past weekend we celebrated their success with a Bee-B-Q (dad would be proud of the punniness of this reference) and a demonstration:
... The Metro grocery stores now have their Halloween candy on sale. So you best get out there and get it, your Halloween candy that is, because you know how it sells out, like, every year. If I've said once I've said it a thousand times "where did all the Halloween candy go?" I'm like a broken record! I know its always impossible to find Halloween candy in, say, September or October... So being that it's only August 15th and there are only, ooo, say 75 days left before the big day, you should probably go out and get your stock of mini chocolate bars.
...
...
...
Jebus Murphy! Really? I mean, really?
I hate people sometimes. Especially Metro grocery store people.
Three cheers for fresh Onatrio fruit and local produce and summer type foods! Boo to Halloween candy in the middle of August! Vive la resistance!
Our new neighbors took possession of their house on Tuesday. They haven't been around, or so it would seem, and I don't think they've officially moved in yet (unless they are Swedish minimalists and/or their religion prohibits they from acquiring material objects.)
That said, they have moved in their lawnmower. How do I know, you ask? Because it's 10:45 pm and he's across the street mowing his 5' yard like it's a beautiful Sunday afternoon with one hand on the mower and the other on his shandy. Could it not wait...? I'm Just sayin. I'm sure the two houses on either side with 5 kids between them love it. The people perving through our picture windows is about to get reeeeeeally good...
And I thought missing the block party was bad.
If you haven't seen this, you're welcome.
I'm dedicating this masterpiece to Toque, Pants, Lil Fingers, and Susie... (although, err, perhaps better enjoyed outside the workplace ["strong language"...] unless you have headphones... *wink*)
"I think I'll run around for no good reason and act like there's stuff I gotta doo-oo...
Yup. Its a good day.
Saturday was date night for Orange and I. Having both worked during the day and with it being hotter than two squirrels fighting inside a wool sock (what...?) we opted for the easy route of dinner and a movie. Unfortunately, unless you want to risk getting shived by the underworld demons who frequent the downtown mall, you're somewhat forced to see your film at one of two mega complexes. The one or two independent theatres we have cater to a "mature audience" with the late show commencing at 9:00 (if you're lucky) which makes for a rushed dinner date, not to mention the endless candy wrapper crinkling and frequent bathroom breaks required by the other film goers.
So off we trot to the cleaner of the two theatres in the new part of town (meaning you don't have to hose yourself down with hand sanitizer in between handfuls of popcorn and touching the arm rest), thinking we'll eat at one of the restaurants in the complex.
Now... I'm going to digress here for a minute: I'm part of a design team for a relocation of a building at work, so I know for a fact that there are parking requirements for any new build, as in a certain number of parking spots are required when you're planning out your space. The lot we were planning to park in tonight is a communal lot for the movie theatre, Kelsey's, Milestones, Montana's, Starbucks, your mom's house, etc. etc. etc.
This photo is taken from where we parked in comparison to the back of the building we were planning to eat at, because apparently (along with our invitation to the GD block party) we also didn't get the memo that everyone and their everybody's were planning to be in this mall tonight, or is it that 35 parking spots for 5 major retailers isn't enough?
Orange and I spent the weekend at the cottage with his younger siblings and their friends. We had a lot of fun--lots of "boy-type" activities involving BB guns and chainsaws and illegal firecrackers purchased from the Aboriginal Reserve 15 minutes down the road...
Translation: I relished a great deal of time all aloney-on-my-owney in a deck chair with the company of Mr. Sun and two good books (Amy and Isabelle and The Other Side of the Bridge.)
That said... While great company, the brothers and sisters have aged me. 'Tis true. As if merely being 32 were punishment enough, it was their description of my iPod tunes as "classic old school". And then there was the time I referenced a timeless scene from the movie Anchorman only to be met with blank stares (none of them knew what I was talking about!):
Ron Burgundy: Discovered by the Germans in 1904, they named it San Diego, which of course in German means a 'whale's vagina'.This scene is amazing.
Veronica Corningstone: No, there's no way that's correct.
Ron Burgundy: I'm sorry, I was trying to impress you. I don't know what it means. I'll be honest, I don't think anyone knows what it means anymore. Scholars maintain that the translation was lost hundreds of years ago.
Veronica Corningstone: Doesn't it mean 'Saint Diego'?
Ron Burgundy: No. No.
Veronica Corningstone: No, that's - that's what it means. Really.
Ron Burgundy: Agree to disagree.
I came home from visiting Grandma on Sunday to find my block having, err, a block party at the end of our court (in other words, directly in front of our house...) Sweet, right? And I would have been totally cool with it, HAD WE BEEN INVITED!
*sniff*
*scuffs toe*
We are the token d.i.n.k.s. on the street and the only house without playground equipment on our front yard. We are also the only house not in the street every night, chattering about juice boxes and Leap Frog with at least two children heaving off our legs (not that I'm bitter... I have a very lovely cat.) But we always smile and wave and make efforts to chat people up when we see them. And I'd love to be included in their reindeer games if it wasn't weird for me to join their post-dinner shenanigans carrying Bert in a Baby Bjorn. So I stick to the sidelines and water my plants and hope to get invited to the block parties.
Needless to say, both Orange and I threw down the WTF when we rolled into our driveway sidestepping the toddlers and sidewalk chalk.
"Why didn't they invite us?" questioned Orange, peering out from behind the curtains.
Mom and the Beefs we're on their way to our place for a family dinner regardless, but shared our slight with equal angst. We concluded "we had been weighed, we had been measured, and we had been found wanting" and that seemed to include (exclude?) fun things like block parties. Fine. Whatever, neighbors. We don't need you or your pooy parties, damnit!
So we had our dinner, and went for a walk, and as we left we awkwardly waived to the @ssholes blocking our driveway with their balloons and BBQs and smiles, and hoped our body language conveyed our indifference.
Le sigh.
-----
The Canada Post strike is over, so last night when I got home from work I checked the mailbox for the first time in a week. No mail yet. But I did find our invitation to the block party.
And Linda was serious... Without prompting she dropped us off at the front door of a place called EJs, home of the $2 pints, which naturally became our second, third, and fourth stop (*blush*). The boardwalk is exactly what you want it to be: deep fried mozzarella balls, Snookie hair, Guidos, old ladies picking up young men, "beat that beat up" house music pouring out of every arcade at ear-piercing decibles, and the best people watching I've had in a long time. And let's not forget more Rastafarian bananas than I could count!
A new blog post is coming, with pictures of our recent mini break to New Jersey (heck yes!) but I still have to upload the pictures... Maybe tomorrow.
In the meantime: who are these people who don't know they're pregnant? I stumbled on the show last night, and the girl was talking about the extreme cramps she was experiencing, and assuming she was getting her period "used a hairdryer on her abdomen"... She then promptly called 911 because "it felt like her abdomen was on fire".
I'm not a scientist, but 1) how do you not know you're pregnant and 2) how do you not know holding a blowdryer to your abdomen might, oh, I don't know, make your abdomen feel LIKE IT'S ON FIRE?!
Also, who are the actors who audition for this show?
"Um, so basically we want you to act carefree and la tee da and then boom, there are three fake children coming out of your woo-woo real fast in a grocery store dairy aisle and all this time you've just thought it was gas so you're panicking, you're panicking, you're panicking and then you're like 'oh my gosh, that's why I gained 350 pounds over the last 9 months?"
Yesterday morning I woke to the sound of church bells, which was both lovely and surprising being that they don't usually ring in our neighborhood. "I wonder when they started ringing?" I pondered...
Last night on our walk Orange and I heard the bells again. "Isn't that nice?!" I said. "I wonder why they started ringing them?"
*insert awkward pause*
"Um, really? The church bells ring every weekend... are you telling me you've never heard them?"
Turns out my sinus infection was affecting (infecting?) more than just my sense of smell.
We take every opportunity we can to praise Lil' C for using the potty, the point of course is to reinforce the behaviour with positive feedback: "good job, buddy, we're so proud of you!" etc. etc. And he will proudly tell you any chance he gets that "when I use da potty I get wear 'Pool Ups'..." (that's Lil' C speak for "Pull Ups"... His pronunciation makes him sound Polish...)
Anywho, our praise is clearly working. Whether he's using the potty more or not I'm not sure, but this morning at breakfast when I did what he asked me to do, namely move over on the booth bench so he could sit next to me, he said: "tank you, Mana, I'm proud of you for using da potty."
And while I'm not rushing out to buy myself Pull Ups, I certainly sat a little taller and puffier next to my big boy nephew.
... Goosey Two-Shoes.
I like it almost as much as the story Beef told me yesterday about a friend of hers who asked her toddler son what they should name his new baby sister. His response? Officer Pete, of course!
Tonight at Ultimate Frisbee I really rocked the field. I caught three long passes, scored four points, flicked the disc, and broke through their dump and swing. I was pretty much game MVP, and while I wont go so far as to say I carried the team... I carried the team.
Go Zenomenon!
...
...
...
I'm lying. I pulled both my hamstrings on the first point, cursed my way down field to half time, and sat like a lump on the sidelines for the remainder of the game waiting for Fingers to finish her all-star run in cup. Poo.
That'll learn me not to stretch...
*hobbles off to retrieve the bag of peas/ice pack from the freezer*
There is a portly groundhog living under our shed, a family of raccoons cohabiting in the largest tree in our ravine including two of the wee-est (is that a word?) babies I've ever seen, a snail parked on the picture window, and a very protective mister and misses robin clogging up our eavestroghs with their home and assortment of chickies. Tonight on my drive home I had to stop the car and put my flashers on Northshore to allow a couple of bunnies to cross the road. Oh, and the other night I ran through a herd of deer. Seriously, like seven deer.
Combine this with the Canadian goose we found on the lawn last Fall and of course dearest Tripod, and you'd think Orange and I were becoming the Doolittles...
Just wait until we get our truffle pigs.
Wow. So, yeah. Not sure where time is going these days, but it's clearly not been spent here. Sorry about that, peeps. But get that hump off your back, its bad for your posture.
I can tell you I've been doing a lot of early morning hot yoga. And even though I really, really, really like my bed I actually look forward to getting up and sweating like a crazy person for 60 minutes before heading into my morning coffee. Gross, right? I know Beef is reading this and cackling with disgust alongside her "swarthy husband" (mom's words not mine...)
Speaking of the Beefs, on Sunday Orange and I babysat Lil C. Adorables. We played a lot of marbles, drove monster trucks, and watched Toy Story 3 with a raisin chaser. He kept wanting to kiss Orange on the mouth, which was confusing for Orange but hilarious watching C try and explain that he thought Orange was nice and funny, and get over here and let me give you a kiss, silly billy!
Today I had an appointment with the allergy doctor who informed me that besides a severe allergy to grass and pollen, I'm also more or less in an abusive relationship with my cat who is the asbestos to my nasal pipes. I've also has a sinus infection for, oh, about a year which I'm now on some serious antibiotics to kick. While Orange is pleased as punch to hear my heavy breathing at bedtime is soon to a thing of the past, I failed to tell him the doctor says a side effect of the antibiotics is "irritability"... Eee... Awkward.
I've discovered I have a crush on Zac Efron. Could be worse, I guess... Free Samples has a big one for Nick Jonas. Cue laugh track, please!
And that's it.
*static feedback*
Um, sorry to interrupt your regularily scheduled program, but I need to take a minute to express my total and complete HATE for the Tim Horton's ice cap commercials.
Carry on.
Not that I listen, but Fingers was poisoning my mind with their propaganda over stir fry this weekend and it was a small table (plugging my ears and yelling "la la la I can't hear you" would have been both rude and socially unacceptable in a pub that small...)
Orange, being a bit of a doomsday specialist, perked up at the opportunity to discuss his favourite subject. And so we got talking and the question was posed: if you knew with as much certainty as the wacko on the CBC did, that the world was going to end on May 21st, what would you do with your remaining days?
Enter BSB who until this point had been focused on his chicken curry.
"That's easy," he says.
Side note: those who know BSB might at this point guess he would spend his remaining days cooking an elaborate last supper for his beloved involving many courses of expensive meat and the finest bottle of Tuscan wine he could find... Or better yet, flying to Tuscany with his beloved to procure said wine and eat said lavish meal wearing a real Tuscan fedora on some sort of sun filled private villa. And he'd keep Punk and Little Tim in the guest house for last minute late night Parliament dance parties.
Or at least, that's what I would have guessed.
Wasn't expecting what I got, though.
"That's easy," he says. "I'd buy a bunch of jet skis and not pay for em."
...
...
...
Qu'est-ce que F?
This morning, while eating my Kashi and drinking my tea, I caught the last 20 minutes of Toy Story 3...
... And spent the entire 20 minutes crying.
Did you know Tim Hortons sells a donut called an 8" Long John?
 |
| (photographic proof procured by Orange of said 8" Long John) |
1. Lil' C "peed in da potty" for the first time tonight, and I have the world's cutest voicemail from the proudest little peanut to prove it. Should you be interested in hearing it, let me know...
2. I did my first 75 minute hot yoga class tonight, and at 105 degrees in the room it was a toss up as to what I should do first: pass out or barf? I went with child's pose followed by a deep "sitting on my butt open mouth breathing" centering stretch. Aces. I'm determined to go back and show a braver face.
3. My cat is currently obsessed with a cat nip stuffed taco.
... Selfishly thinking I'm in need of my own bit respite care but with neither the vacation time nor the mental stability to support it, I made a somewhat pathetic attempt to escape the grind by fondling the new book truck at work. And low and behold in and amongst the knitting patterns, locavore manifestos, and The Harmonica for Dummies, I came across this little diddy:
Oh my.
Laser-beaming babies aside, for those of you who are contemplating, wishing, fingers crossing, body-temperature-taking, ovulation monitoring, hoping to be pregnant and/or already growing your own hump and corresponding fire monster scales, this book is for you. It's also great for those of us who have cats.
How about an excerpt, hmm?
Chapter one: The Swelling:
"Greetings, woman. You are gloriously full with child, living proof of the miracle of creation, or else you wouldn't be reading this. Unless you're just curious. Or you're a man, and you have some sort of fetish. Well, as long as you paid for the book and are not soiling it in a dim corner of your lcoal bookstore, we're okay with that... Our first question is: are you sure you're pregnant? It's a little-known fact that 83 percent of people who believe they're pregnant are not; of those people, 47 percent stuffed an embroidered keepsake pillow under their shirt to see how it would look. The remaining 59 percent are merely confused about how The Secret works. And for good reason!" (3)
Things you might be surprised to learn about me:
1. I generally don't keep ice in the house. This isn't a conscious choice--I'm not a Pagophob or anything--I just forget to make it. And we don't have ice cube trays, so... There's that.
2. I like listening to political non fiction on CD, thinking intently about the points of view, formulating an argument, and then not talking about them with anybody.
3. Its entirely possible the entire time I've been complaining about my "allergies," I should really have been complaining about my deviated septum. I'm not a doctor, and I don't play one on TV. I'm just sayin... It's possible.
4. I like love the show Trailer Park Boys.
5. I have to try really hard not to say things.
6. I feel a lot of guilt, this lent in particular, for many, many reasons, not the least of which is because Orange has been away for a few days and I've had the heat cranked the entire time. That, and I'm not doing enough for baby Jesus.
Take Fingers, for example--dude has a full time job and takes care of so many people, myself included, and on her down time she preserves, makes crock pots full of delicious things like meatballs and pulled BBQ turkey (homemade BBQ sauce, of course) and bakes fresh focaccia or perfect little buns which she then delivers to me in Ziplock bags (still warm!)
I'm not making any of this up... For reals... But back off and get your own besty, because this one is firmly taken.
Channeling my inner Fingers, I spent most of today making Mulligatawny soup out of a Chatalaine recipe I tore out of a library magazine (*shifty eyes*). And if I do say so myself its pretty darn good! I added peas and red pepper, and substituted a roast chicken for chicken thighs, but other than that it's a great recipe. I then experimented with the card making supplies I recently purchased making a birthday card for a soon-to-be one year-old, and now I'm considering ordering THIS groovy little kit because I think stuffed logs could really take me to the "Fingers level" of home keeping.
Such. A good. Vacation! The weather was amazing, the pools were blue, the sun plenty, and margaritas flowing. While the hotel appeared somewhat overwhelmed by the sheer volume of residents (running out of towels, running out of beach chairs, running out of food...) it rarely detracted from the company and laughs.
And the people watching was insane: more intoxicated 14-year olds than could field a football team! I'm not sure what was better: watching them slum up the main lobby after dinner, or drag butters through the breakfast line the next morning with their hangovers and baby brothers?
There are those nay sayers who would argue we were crazy bananas for travelling during March Break (myself amongst them up until last week) but for all intensive purposes there were virtually no snags in our trip, aside from the one small threat of refusing to let me leave Cuba after losing my embarkation form... It's amazing how far "please and thank you" will get you!
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| (Lil' C couldn't get enough of Orange. And I can't get enough of this picture...) |
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(Would you believe this was a kiosk at the airport?!) |
On a crazy whim, I bought two tickets to a concert today...
... In New Jersey.
*jumpy clappy hands*
Orange and I got muchas excited when he randomly checked the Dispatch website and found they were touring this summer (and have no fears, peeps, these tickets were purchased from a legitimate source--there's no fooling the Library Lady this time around!) Of course Dispatch rarely if ever tours, and they never come to Canada when they do, and what with our being:
A) cheap
B) broke
... we decided to go the economical route, forgoing a more glamorous trip to Chicago or California, choosing instead to trot our butters down to the Shore for a summer weekend. I'm pretty pumped, man!
Spontaneous mini-breaks are exciting. And not having any ideas of how we're getting to Jersey or where we'll stay when we arrive, makes it all the more fun.
So unlike me, huh? Who is this person...?
We leave for Cuba on Saturday, returning in one glorious beach-filled, sun-soaked week. While this is by all accounts a reason to celebrate, it also means I'm down two training long runs for ATB 2011 (we leave at 6:30 am this Saturday and are in travel mode most of next Saturday, as well.) Not that I'm complaining! But my fear of the 27th is mounting, and I swear I can feel those 30km breathing down my neck. Needless to say, each training opportunity I have is important if not dreaded, feared, and grump-inducing.
With this in mind, I set out on Friday night to prepare myself for one final long run on Saturday morning, and to make it an all around positive experience for myself. You know, running is fun "rah-rah" and all that jazz? Who am I kidding...
Regardless, I laid out my clothes on the dining room table, bought myself a bagel to eat for breakfast (maximizing my carbohydrate intake and minimizing gas to cramp outtakes), charged my iPod, and set my alarm for 6:20 so as to be on time to meet my running group for 8:00 am sharp. All things accounted for!
What I was not counting on the next morning was rain. Lots and lots of rain. I took one glimpse at the tsunami raging outside (perhaps a slight exaggeration...) and promptly returned to bed. I could justify my laziness--running should be fun, remember? Even I can do that math: rain + run = bad news bears. Yet still, the stink eye from my cold, lonely sneakers was too much to bare. And so I resolved to get up at 8:00 and reassess the situation.
8:00 am, bagel consumed, body hydrated, rain still in torrential downpour mode. No longer able to delay the inevitable, I strapped on my hydration belt, packed my energy beans, and set my tasers to stun. I was out the front door and into the dogs and cats, armed with the attitude that in two hours the entire miserable experience would be over with, dogging puddles and other soggy runners calling out "lovely day!" as I zoomed past.
And true to my word, 2:18:47 later I rolled through the back door, 25km under my belt, feet soaked through to the point of wrinkled toes and more blisters than I can count on my hands. I could and did literally wring out my MEC running jacket, my cold fingers frozen into hideous claws from hours of clenched fists. But, peeps, not only can I say I did it, I managed to do it in a reasonable time with only two birds flipped to fast passing cars, one loud "F*CK" innocently dropped during a particularly gruelling uphill battle, and approximately 2/3 of the race course tried and tested.
All in all, a horrible way to spend your morning, nothing I'd recommend, and something I'll choose not to do again (except that one other time, when I'll be doing it with 15,000 other crazy people, and oh yeah, add another 5km onto that distance...)
*eye roll*
Goodness me. And to think I volunteered for this...
Now, now, peeps. Hold your horses. Don't go jumpin' to them there conclusions. There are no babies--human, feline, or otherwise--crossing the threshold. I'm talking inanimate additions:
1. I bought my first hand blender! Beef talked me into it after we made last week's ginger parsnip soup, and I'm already in love. Orange has me drinking protein shakes after long or stressful runs, and the lumpy hand shaken powder, milk, and frozen raspberry concoctions I was brewing just weren't cutting it. So along with the mulligatawny soup I plan on making next week, I'm blending up my fair share of shakes and I LOVE THEM! How did I exist before my hand blender? What can't you blend? Well, nachos, for starters... But otherwise the uses are too many to count and I'm pretty excited to get 'er all blended.
2. In one of his romanitical gestures, Orange bought me (or should I say Bert?) a Litter Locker. Now before you give him the cut eye for giving me a poo box (I admit, I gave him a bit of that same cut eye when he first announced there was a present for me in his car, not thinking said present would relate to litter...), let me just say that for those of us dealing with poo-type situations, the Litter Locker is totally worth the investment.
But the best part of this second addition is actually the searching I did on the PetSmart website for the damn thing. My coworker and I were literally in tears at all the images of litter pans and litter related goodies on the PetSmart page, and the "cat models" they've hired to Vana White the damn things! Click HERE for your own sneak peak. My favorite is hands down the Cat Genie 120 followed closely by the terrified tuxedo in the Genie Dome.
My question is: who's cats are these? Do I really need the image of the cat half-in-half-out of the pan to indicate that this is in fact a poo box? Can you imagine if this was your job!?
