Beef and Mr. Beef are going to pina colada-a-go-go land on Friday for a whole sunny week.
Boo. Well, no. That's not fair. Hurrah for them. Boo for me. I wanna go. Gimmee. But, to every empty popcorn bowl there is a Milk Dudd lining...
... They've asked me to stay at their place for the week! Yay! This idea is fantastic for two reasons:
a) I'd get to be away from casa-de-Library Lady for a week. As much as I lub them, they drive me a bit bonkers-doodles. It's been a bit rough living 2500km away for nearly four years, only to return to the microscope that is me madre's eye.
b) I'd get to spend more time with Stanley. Maybe convince him to jump ship and join my crew? I think I almost have him convinced (See picture below. He looks very moishe content, non?)
However. This idea is also scary:
c) Beef is constantly telling me about the crazies who live in her neighborhood (dare I say her "hood"... Hmmm? You with me?) I've sworn to secrecy the scariest of incidents. That of the elusive break-in axe murderer, which in the end was only the squeaky door... Oops? Did I just say that out loud?
Le sigh. Which do I choose? Imminent death, or the love of a good kitteh and a place to call my own?
Why Saucers are Better
So Fingers and I went tobogganing tonight. Or, that is to say we tried to go tobogganing tonight. Mostly it was a lot of running, and cursing, and laughing, and wheezing, and then some laying down. Family atmosphere, people. Family atmosphere. That means you, Poomobile... Lezzie.
Basically, it wasn't as cold as we thought it was going to be. Or, it wasn't as cold as I thought it was going to be... So after hiking the ten minutes along the Bruce Trail, I was all sweaty in my long johns, snow pants, sweater, jacket, hat, mitts, boots, ski socks, and goggles (I'm a serious sledder, looking for serious speed. Goggles are a must.) We get to the top of the hill, Fingers' readys herself for a take-off, and I decide to dig my super fast wicked red crazy carpet into the snow so I can take off my toque...
... And then my crazy carpet decided it wanted to go down the hill without me. And across the green. And over the grassy knoll. And past the group of shrubs. And then for a stroll across the 8th fairway.
So Fingers goes running for it (as best she could in knee deep snow), while I take the trail and try cuttin' 'er off halfway. Like a Velociraptor. Crazy carpet's all preoccupied with Fingers behind her, while I lurk up the side. Clever strategy, I thought. But crazy carpet is all, "Screw you guys, I'm outta here" and takes for the trees.
I'm now hoofin' it along the trail, cutting new tracks in the snow (clearly no need to go back to the gym this week) screaming down to Fingers "To the right! To the right! F&ck S%!t She's headed to the right!" all the while watching the aptly named "crazy carpet" bluster over the hill, far far away from us. Thus:
Lost: One red crazy carpet on the white plains of Chedoke Golf Course. If seen, please contact Library-"Who's Idea Was This Anyway?"-Lady
Kidding. Fingers found dearest crazy carpet lurking in the trees somewhere. Lounging around. Lookin' all "Oh, sorry. Were you waiting for me?" Damn crazy carpets. We eventually took about 4 runs. But we were both so damn tired from all the running that we mostly just laid at the top of the hill and watched some punks in a Volvo hotbox their parent's car.
p.s. And I'm still wearing my snow pants...
*whisper*
I'm sneaking this in at work because I was to tired to do it last night... Shhh... Don't tell...
But I hate it when you go to brush your teeth and a hard excess toothpaste ball has formed on the top of your toothpaste tube, and you end up getting some of it on your toothbrush, and consequently brushing your teeth with it.
Ew.
Sick.
And that's it.
I got two somethings in the mail today:
The first was a ver funny card from a someone who never fails to make me laugh. What can you expect from someone who contributed to the nickname "Gert"? He's encouraging me to use his sweet ass house in Ottawa this summer--any takers? The last time I stayed with him, he got me hooked on My Super Sweet Sixteen, and his cat, Toque, ate my bar crawl glow stick. We actually had to call poison control at two in the morning to find out if it was poisonous--neither of us in the the best state to be making such a serious call... "Hello... Um *giggle*, my three year old 'daughter' ingested some glow stick fluid..." Silly Toque. And her silly, ridiculously tiny paws.
The second something was from a someone I wasn't expecting to hear from again, let alone get a special something in the mail. A someone I thought was being phased out of my tiny existence. It's actually kinda weird to think that not six months ago this person was completely and firmly entrenched in my life. Like that grey hoodie I have with the frayed cuffs and busted bunny hug. It doesn't fit me anymore, but part of me refuses to believe it's time to give it up... Then there's that part that's proud to say it doesn't fit anymore, because it means I'm doing something right. That might not make sense to you, Reader. But it does to me.
Bit of a stunner, really. Funny how people can do that, huh? I'm floating along, trying to make each day come out even, and then KABOOM! Two steps forward, one step back.
I think I'm slowly starting to realize life is eerily comparable to that of the Hokey Pokey.
The Oscars
The Oscars. Ho hum. I'm not really invested in them this year... Maybe 'cause I haven't seen the majority of the shows nominated? I think "Babel" is the only one I made the effort for, and we all know my feelings on that. But seriously... "Dream Girls"? Fo reals? People are actually going to see it? Like... Paying money to see it? Snoresville, man. Blech.
It gots me thinking, though. If I got my wish, and I was made full time Queen of the Universe (but not including onions), what/who would I have nominated? Let's have a look, shall we? Hmmm?
1) The Pink Panther. But not really.
2) Crocodile Dundee 6. I don't think that's been made yet. But I think someone should get on it. Just so I can say "...the f&ck?" when I see the previews.
3) Daniel Craig. And all of his muscles. And that smirk. And whatever it is that's oozing out of him that makes me want to pee my pants.
4) The cute wee little pug that was taken out of the movie "Marie Antoinette" much too soon for my tastes.
5) The Gingerbread Man from "Shrek". This movie came out a long time ago. But I liked it. And I want to see it again. Hmmm... This also makes me think I want some milk.
6) "Dick in a Box".
7) Milk Duds. I know this isn't technically a movie. But they're one of my favorite movie theatre treats, and it just wouldn't be the same viewing experience without them. So for this, I thank you, Milk Duds.
And that's it. What do you think? Anyone want to post their nominations?
p.s. I was having reservations about Clive. Until I saw him last night. And then read Lainey's description. Dear Lord...
Officially Grownsed Up?
I bought my first car today. Officially. A 2007, "Bayou Blue", 5-door, automatic Toyota Yaris (as seen in the picture to your right). Ver ver cool. I'm so pumped about this, it's not funny.
One, because every little bit of freedom counts when you're living with your mama and papa.
Two, because this is the first major purchase I've ever committed to fully and completely on my own, with the exception maybe of last summer's vacation to the Balkans.
And three, because I now get to peruse the "automotive" section at Dollerama and actually consider purchasing the miniature first-aid kits, steering wheel covers, and cup-holder Kleenex dispensers. Amongst other Dollerama delectables.
At first I was all, "This is my first grownsed up decision! It's offish! I'm an adult!" But then I thought about it, and realized it really wasn't. Because there was that small, yet humongous decision to move out West. And then of course the equally small, yet humongous decision to move back East. No one made those choices for me... So I think they count, don't you?
Although, it has to be said: the heartbreak I felt when learning I wouldn't be getting my all-season floor mats for free was hardly comparable to that of previous decisions. And that realization alone is worth the $64.95.
Next up... Naming her!
Now What?
I know you're all just salivating for a full run-down of Saturday... So here it is (ooo, I bet you were thinking I was going to say something like "but I'm not going to give it to you"... I'm not that mean...)
1. Not a single hitch. From start to finish. One and a half years of planning, and not a single hitch. Not a run in a stocking (who knew you could buy such expensive hose at Shoppers Drugmart?). Not a flower out of place (except the one I lost and then found). Not a drink left unfinished (well, there were a few we put down and couldn't find, but I'm sure someone gave them a good home *coughMrs.Mightoncough*
2. I bawled the... entire... way.. down... the aisle. Finally, as I got to the front of the church, Mum screamed "SMILE!" and I think the photographer snapped some snotty-nosed puffy-eyed picture. Great.
3. There was little-to-no spittle bubble on Fr. Tim's lip. Surprising. Yet not surprisingly relieving.
4. Beef made a good choice with our dresses. Comfortable yet fancy, and not the hideous bloody train wrecks we saw on another wedding party later in the day.
5. Vodka and soda should be made with vodka... and soda... Not vodka and Ginger Ale, or vodka and Tonic, or vodka and Sprite.
6. Fabio was as bright as his name would lead you to believe.
7. A cart full of booze and ounce glasses is not, as one would think, a "Shot Trolley." It is a "Liquor Selection".
8. Chuck Taylors are always fashionably acceptable.
9. a) "Rock Lobster" is a really long song.
9. b) Never trust a wedding DJ. He'll always find a way to include country music. Even when you specifically request not to hear it. And then request again for it to end. And then request again for whomever is choosing to play country music, to please quit it before you get a boot to the head (or a Chuck Taylor... See point 8).
10. Father's should never be left unattended on the dance floor. They end up doing things like the splits, or playing their leg like a guitar.
CORRECTION: In general, people over the age of 50 should not be left unattended on the dance floor. There is always a chance of inappropriate groping, shaking, and/or backing-up of the ass...
11. No one likes Chamilionaire.
12. Beef was beautiful. Stunning. She was a real live Grace Kelly.
Unfullfilled
Today was a very unfulfilled day. First and foremost, I'm fighting a cold with full force, willing myself to feel better for tomorrow (the rehearsal) and the big day. As a result, I had to back out of sledding and thus snow pants and crazy carpets and red cheeks and friends. Furthermore, I had to back out of Valentine's day celebrations with Free Samples and Tsuzanne, and thus chips and jello hearts and chocolate covered strawberries and good times.
Le sigh... Le double sigh...
But certain things made it better.
Fingers, for example. Who made me cry. And the idea that the snow would still be there tomorrow.
Sidebar officially added.
p.s. I bought a pair of jeans at Winners yesterday. Diesel. Not that I was too aware of that when I was buying them. I just liked the way they looked, and as Poomobile and I discussed, they were the one pair in the store that didn't have jumbo thighs. Le sigh. But I digress. Getting them home, I read the little tag and realized they usually sell for $365! WTF?! I gots 'em for $60. The winner was DEFS me that day. Certainly deserves a round of "let's go down to the disco" don't you think?
I don't know why, but I've always given nicknames. Those who lived with me during university--both MAC and UofA--are perhaps most familiar with this habit. Need I remind you? Best Friend, Hair Eater, Punch n' Pie, etc.
In an effort to conserve your anonymity, I've continued with this long standing habit on the blog. I very rarely if ever refer to anyone by their real name. This is as much for your privacy as mine. Recently, however, several people have asked me to clarify these nicknames ("who is this 'Pants' person?"). And it gots me thinking, it did.
Please vote:
1) Would you like me to create a sidebar with nicknames vs. real names? (No last names, of course...)
2) Would you like me to create a sidebar with nicknames vs. how I know this person? For example, Pants = Talked me off many a ledge at the UofA.
Let me know. Much like mail, feedback is always nice.
The Hip
I was away laughing on a fast camel tonight, i.e. at the Tragically Hip concert with Free Samples, Tsuzanne, and AT. Good times. Not nearly enough old Hip, though. Regradless, Gord... Damn. You could make it onto the list someday, buddy. There's potential there. Just eat more meat or something, 'cause you're looking a little skeletal.
In other news, the boys sitting next to Free Samples were ver ver friendly. Perhaps too friendly. On their way out to buy a beer, the one asked me if he could buy me a drink. I says to him I says, "No thanks. I'm good." Because 1) me moms told me never to take candy from strangers, and 2) I like a side of lemon in my beer, not date-rape drug.
When they got back to their seats, beers in hand, the following conversation manifested:
Random Guy: "I offered to buy your friend a drink, but she said no."
Free Samples: "Yea. She doesn't drink."
Random Guy: "Why not?"
Free Samples: "Because she's an alcoholic."
Random Guy: "Well, than isn't that a reason to drink?"
Free Samples: "She's been on the wagon for two years."
Who doesn't love Free Samples? Even if she has turned me into a lush.
It's the small things in life...
... Like mastering your VCR to tape your most favoritest televeeshon show whilst you are aways. Or beating cancer.
You know. Whatevs.
Let's all channel our inner ninjas, shall we?
Ho Hum...
Not much new, so I'm posting a random list:
1) Tomorrow is the first new episode of Lost... In like, forever. Now I have a major dilemma on my hands... Super fan vs. Lost, and thus Sawyer... Super fan?... Lost?... Super fan? Hmm...
*uses hands as imaginary scales*
2) Today I went shopping in someone elses closet. So now I have some "new" pretty skirts and sweaters. And a t-shirt with a clam on it. I'm probs most excited about that. The clam t-shirt.
3) Facebook is a cult. I'm convinced of it.
4) Phuket is an island. Punket is not.
5) I have a habit of crunching my lollipops too soon into the lollipop experience. Consequently, I have green apple in my teeth. Heretofore, my mouth tastes like green apple. Moreover, yum.
6) I got mail today. I heart mail.
7) I went to Williams for dinner with Beef. We both ordered the salad. The girl asked if "ranch was okay?" as the dressing selection. So we thought about it. But no, it wasn't okay. So we asked if they had any alternatives. And yes, they did. Like, A MILLION alternatives. Well, maybe twelve. But still! So why ask if ranch is okay? What about the creamy Greek? Or the sun dried tomato and pesto? Or the balsamic vinaigrette? Why choose ranch as the default when you have so many exotic options? Ranch is probs my last choice. Except for dipping. I love to dip with ranch.
9) That's it.
I pulled into a parking lot yesterday and my eye caught on a bumper sticker I'd never seen before. It was one of those "Support our..." ribbons, but instead of being in standard yellow, this one was purple. So I went right up to the car, all nosey-like, and read it:
Support Our Guide Dogs
Okay. So. I'm confused... Again with …tha f&CK???
What kind of monster doesn't support guide dogs?
Probs not one whose gonna stop and read your tiny bumper sticker, lady. They'd be too busy tripping the elderly and clubbing baby harp seals.
…tha f&CK???
So Friday night Fingers and I went to karaoke at "Jay's Sports Bar" with Big Stinky Baby (BSB for short) and his elusive pallies. I think it's fair to say that up until now (with the exception of a few), Fingers has been relatively sheltered from said pallies. So this was a new experience all around:
1) Fingers and I have never been to karaoke together.
2) Neither of us had been to said karaoke establishment.
3) Neither of us had met Christopher Walken or the $800,000,000 man before...
*ahem*
So, it turns out that BSB has some seriously good singer friends. It also turns out that these friends include a little person--i.e. a dwarf; the richest guy in the Hammer--who also carries quite a nice falsetto; and a man who looked so much like Christopher Walken, it was upsetting. I couldn't stop staring. I eventually said something to him, and he confirmed that he had in fact been told this before. And yes, isn't it uncanny. Still. Couldn't. Stop. Staring.
Also, here's a tip straight from me to you: DON'T use the ladies at Jay's Sports Bar. Words can't describe that kind of carnage.
p.s. And, no, neither of us sang. Fingers did reveal, however, that she's always thought the song was "Secret Asian Man"... Hmm... Don't judge her... She's new.
Babel What?
I don't even know what to say?! Honestly. Manrissa? Can you comment? I think we agreed it was the most upsetting movie of all time. Ever. In the history of movies. Top of the upsetting list. Can I say it again? Super upsetting. Crying in your popcorn sad.
I hate this idea of movies that leave you with no hope. Crash was the same way. I walked away feeling as though the director/writer/whomever was telling me that people are evil and/or do evil things, and no matter how hard we fight to shift the system, nothing is ever going to change, so quit trying. I don't get it.
What do I know, you ask? I know that watching Brad Pitt wander around a Moroccan village moaning about his wife's gangrenous arm, his children abandoned in the Mexican abyss by a drunk lunatic, while half way across the world a naked Japanese deaf chick contemplates suicide is not my idea of a good time. Nor will it ever be.
Now board games? There's my idea of a good time. Sign me up.
Who's not Moping? ME!
In the words of dearest Lainey: Bitch... please. Get over yourself. Seriously. In the most ridiculous of ways, he actually helped me realize I'm further along than I thought. Who knew one email could do so much for the ego?
It's actually laughable.
Talent Show Auditions
I volunteered at an elementary school on Friday--I was the storybook lady, travelling from class to class with my picture books and stuffed faux Gary (I should mention that it was "Snuggle Up and Read" day, and we were all in our 'jamas). Part of the deal was that I got to be the "celebrity judge" at the lunch-time talent show auditions.
*ahem*
The highlight of the day?
Two grade one boys (approximately 6-7 years old) walking into the room, both a little on the baby-chubbs, both wearing those Spiderman shoes that do the little light-em-up action on the side. They wanted to show us the "dance" they had "choreographed" to...
Smack That, by Akon and Eminem.
For those unfamiliar with the lyrics:
Maybe go to my place and just kick it, like Taebo.
And possibly bend you over.
Look back and watch me
Smack that, all on the floor,
Smack that, give me some more,
Smack that, 'till you get sore
Smack that, oooh.
Oh. My. God.
Can you picture my reaction? Hmm? Can you?
Just a Thought...
Sufficed to say, we can all assume where some widely used traditional cliches originate:
"Bee in your Bonnet": No doubt, back in the days of yore or whatevs, some woman probs did have a literal bee in her bonnet, and had a nervy b--I did the same when there was a bee near my head, as Fingers can attest to.
But what about some of the more modern (and arguably less classy) cliches?
"Pickle up your @ss" for example.
Who started this saying, and why? Hmm?
Just a thought.
Odd Experiences
Friday night I had both a flashback to 1995, and a flash forward to bizarro world. Where, you ask? Well, gosh darnit, it was at a good-ole' fashion girly sleepover with the "gang" from high school (listen to me, will ya? I sound like Archie for crying out loud... The gang...)
1995 World: Having a rocking time playing "Girl Talk" with Free Samples, Fingers, and Poomobile, to the point of almost peeing my pants. Highlight? When Poomobile had to call someone and ask if the cutest boy in school had a crush on her. So she called her brother in sucky Victoria and inquired as to whether or not he thought Poomobile's husband actually liked her, because, you know, she really likes him and all (*scuffs toe*)...
Bizarro World: Sharing a bed with Fingers. There we were, me doing Sudoku and she reading a book, tucked in for the night with our glasses of water and (for me anyway) a Kleenex tucked in my sleeve. I looked over at her, just before giving up on my blasted puzzle, switching off my bedside lamp and rolling over onto my good side, and realized that this is what my life would be like if we were married.
Good lord.
I'm Switching It Up
Things have been rearranged on the list, Muchachos. Daniel Craig, although dreamy, is cut. For those of you fearing for his post-list stress, don't worry. He'll most likely return with his portrayal of Lord Asriel in this year's "His Dark Materials: The Golden Compass" (a personal fav in the book category).
For now, I'm replacing him with Clive. Dearest Clive. First and foremost, because he's taking up with Cate in "The Golden Age"--I'm a sucker for anything historical-romance-y, especially if it involves Clive swooning over Queen Elizabeth in a pair of tights.
Also, because I really liked "Children of Men". Also because he's got a deliciously deep voice. Also because he's been monogomous for 19 years (let's hope the fame doesn't go to his head). Also because I love him.
Do we need further explanation?
The Last Kiss
On one hand, it confirmed for me what I think I already know--that, for the most part (a few good ones aside), men shouldn't interact with woman on an emotional level until their 30's. All the men in this film are whiny babies. They're unsatisfied with their lives, do a lot of shitty things to the girls they're dinking, and for the most part, go unaccountable for their uber wrong actions. I think it might be the first time I was rooting for the girl not to end up with the guy.
That's not to say there's no blame to lay on the leading ladies. Rachel Bilson plays the classic "prowler"--you know the one... she's a sideline lurker, just waiting for the puck to drop; for that thread to pull. But in the end, unless you're a wee bit of a crack pot, I'm ready and willing to argue that all girls in their mid-late twenties are looking, in one way or another, for a relationship. No matter how free they may appear to be. Take me on. Just try me.
I think there's something to be said for balancing a movie's romantic angst with at least one couple in a healthy relationship. I believe they exist. I refuse to admit that all consummated partnerships are as negative as this film portrays them to be.
And with that--yes, I realize this is a movie and not reality.
But I'm disapointed, nonetheless.
The Weekend:
1) The snow has finally arrived--hurrah! A small sprinkling, but it's lovely to see nonetheless. What excites me most is the idea of skiing. I was a wee bitter to learn that Banff is in the midst of it's best season in 38 years. Ironically, it's also the first year in six I'm not there to use it. Poo on Banff.
2) The worst part of the snow is the shoveling. Sore back, chapped hands, blah blah blah. The horrificness of it all is amplified when you have a cracked sidewalk. The shovel jars on those devilish cement outcroppings and you end up jamming your hand (or worse, your nungas) up against the handle. Poo on shoveling cracked sidewalks.
3) Amy's stagette was a success--double hurrah! She had fun, and no one threw up on themselves which is always a bonus. Hightlights: white chedder popcorn; uber pink; bottle service; Lindsay Lohan's Hpnotiq; 12 long-stem thong roses; Mandy, the carny from Iowa and Missy, the sandwhich artist from Scranton; and let's not forget our run-in with the "Department of Erections"...
Possibly Screwed
On my not-so-lucky-lucky day, I got a job interview, found $5 on the ground, and won (at least) $6 on a Bingo scratchy ticket. Those tickets are so big, and there are so many boxes, sometimes it's hard to tell if you're a winner. I get all nervous... I'm a wiener.
On my way home from dog-sitting tonight, I stopped at Big Bear to turn in my ticket and collect my prize. My favorite part is when the machines makes the "do-do-do" noise. Needless to say I was pumped--this was my not-so-lucky-lucky day ticket.
So I go in and present my winner, all smiles and happiness, and the guy behind the counter scratches the secret box that correctly identifies in some sort of scratchy ticket code if I've one something, and he says to me:
"How much did you win?"
And naively, I say:
"I think $6"
So he puts the ticket aside, and asks me if I want more tickets or the money. But I wanted that "do do do" so I ask:
"Aren't you gonna run it through the machine?"
And he says:
"Money or tickets?"
He then hands me $6 and turns away. I'm now completley convinced I won more and that he's not only collecting my excess cash BUT ALSO my excess "do do do's". I'm pissed. PISSED! I read about this in the National Post. Not to mention, this is the second time in a month I've been ripped off at a corner store... (*mumbles*) $1 tax on $3.50 my ass.
I'm thinking about flying SS down here for some recon work and a law suit.
Dearest Pants clued me into this one. Dear lord. How do people get so funny? Honestly? Are they born that way, or is it learned? Seriously, this girl is my hero.
Natalie Dee
p.s. When the t-shirts are available in Canada, I want 'em all. Buy 'em for me. Somebody. Please. And the bags. Thanks.
p.p.s. Keep your fingers crossed...
A group of kangaroos is called a "mob".
The Galapagos Islands belong to Ecuador.
The only letter not found in the Periodic Table is "J".
Howard Stern made $190 million dollars last year.
Kit, of Night Rider fame, was a Trans Am.
There are 36 black keys on a piano.
Chartreuse is a shade of green.
The Titanic was built in Southampton, England.
Peppermint was the first Life Saver Flavour.
I love trivia night.
Slacker
I'm a slacker. My posts have been mucho boring lately. Sorry, punks. I'm getting back on top of things. In honor of this pseudo-resolution, a more informative update:
1) I've started a couple of things as of late--habits, if you will--none of which I'm prepared to reveal, all of which are guilty pleasures. The question: is there anything wrong with guilty pleasures? And again, for certain individuals (*coughFreeSamplescough*), keep it clean.
2) A certain something was alluded to this weekend. Sent me into a bit of a tale spin, really. I guess it made me realize how "not normal" I still am, even after 3 months of coziness. Not that I've ever been conventionally normal, but you know... *scuffs toe* I've been in denial, I guess. And I don't mean the river in Egypt.
3) I'm dreaming of my first car, which I'm so far from, and yet that one step closer. My dream might be an eggshell Mini Cooper, or maybe a green VW Rabbit... I can't decide. I don't know who I'm kiddin' though. I'm totally ending up with a Yaris. It's my family's schtick.
4) I don't like awkward situations.
5) I dislike secret-tellers.
6) WARNING: Catty moment. Do not proceed if you object to cattiness. There's this girl who goes to my gym and she really bugs me. She's maybe 19-20. She wears the same outfit every time she's there = uber short shorts and a tiny pink spaghetti-strap tank. And she's a "social gym-er". In other words, she flutters from one machine to the next, never really doing anything on any of them, making sure that everyone sees what she's not doing. At one point, while I was all sweaty and gross in the corner doing my sit ups, she sat on the bench I had my feet hooked under reading a magazine. For like, 20 minutes. Why? That's all I ask. Why?
7) Also, in light of certain realities, I've made some changes to my layout. I think it's time I start moving forward, and stop looking back. Not that I'll stop loving those things not seen. They're still tops in my heart (and framed perfectly on tops my TV)...
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. I have an interview. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.
Thoughts on Spontaneity:
Isn't it strange how people--just in general--surprise you? I'm never really ready for when that happens. I guess I'm kind of cynical in that sense, always assuming boys/girls/old friends/new friends will behave the same ole' way. And then, out of the blue, someone comes along and blows your whole theory out of the water.
Usually I'm the kind of girl that likes her routines. But I think I like this type of spontaneity. Keeps me guessing.
Seriously, why is Guess Who so much fun? And why am I so good at it? Too bad there wasn't a job opening for a professional Guess Who player. I can see it now: A world Guess Who League... International tournaments... A life of debauchery and extravagance... Women, booze, jazz...
Do you have facial hair? Are you looking to the left? Do you have full eyebrows? Are you a person of color? Are you DAVID? I'm right, aren't I?! Oh man... The excitement!
God, I love Guess Who.
p.s. For those questioning minds: floss more and get my act together.
Party Poopers
Three cheers for people who will be sadly missed--hip hip hurrah!
Some people might say (not me, but some people) that in moving to stinky Victoria said somebodies will be losing out on all the fun here in the Hammer/Dundas. I mean, seriously... Who moves to Victoria? I'm pretty sure only old people and people who like to take "strolls" in "gardens" and people that look like THIS GUY move to Victoria.
I mean, you might as well move to Manitoba. And for those who know me, that's not saying much, let me tell ya. The pariah of the prairies. The make-shift province. The awkward guy at the party. Manitoba. Even the name is icky... Manitoba... The provincial equivalent of brown.
p.s. And don't think I've forgotten about your Judas-ing, Free Samples... Betraying me on New Years... Punk!
Name Change
Attention everyone! Attention! I'd like to make an announcement!
*Clears throat*
Poomobile's name has officially been changed. To Pimpmobile.
That's it. Okay, back to your regularly scheduled lurking.
Bizarro Christmas
Don't get me wrong, it was a great Christmas. But it was different, no doubts 'bout that. Something I'm going to have to get used to. But old habits are hard to break, and certain traditions held strong. I hope she knows I'm happy in my pink and green plaid pajamas--all starchy and crunchy and new smelling, straight from the box onto me. They'll keep me warm here in my strange bed. Nevertheless, I'm missing both of my peanuts tonight.
Merry Christmas, Everybody!
I know I've always told you that 'A Charlie Brown Christmas' is my favorite Chirstmas movie. But it's really all a sham. I'm a liar. I'm a Christmas movie phoney.
My true favorite is no classic, and it's certianly not a box-office ringer. No fancy animation or clamation. No Yukon Cornelius'. No Rusty, or Clark, or Audrey. No Whoville or Frosty. And I guarantee none of you blog lurkers will have seen it.
Basically, my gramma bought Amy and I this old cartoon VHS tape when we were small, and we still have it. It became this huge tradition to watch it when we went to her place on boxing day. In and amongst the cheesy Humpty Dumpty and Mickey sketches, lay gold, Jerry. Gold. It's called 'Christmas Comes But Once A Year.' And I've found it on YouTube.
I'm so happy, I'm peeing my pants. My favorite part might be the vacuum cleaner pony. Or the umbrella tree. I'm just not sure. So, I hope you like it (*scuffs toe*). If you ever want to see it on the original VHS, I'm your girl.
Merry Christmas, Everybody!
Rather than sending out a mass email that none of you will read, I'm using my little soap box here to pose the inevitable question:
And no, I'm not that irritating girl who always has to have an awesome plan, who expects New Years to be this awesome deal full of awesome parties and awesome exploits. I know it's not awesome. And I know it usually sucks. But I'd like it to suck with my friends this year. So... If you're interested in doing something with me, or if you have ideas about what to do, please email me, or post them here for all to see.
So that means you: Fingers, Free Samples, Poomobile, Big Guy, Lady G, Manrissa, and all those anonymous' out there (no insult to you Sleeves, Hurr_ah, Ash, Violette, or Pants--I just know you'll all be miles and miles away from little wee me, and that some of us can't be in Cuba...)
So, yea... That's it.
The Final Battle
It was vicious. It was personal. A complete physical and emotional usurping. The very essence of good versus evil brought into question, if you will. It was...
...Library Lady vs. The iPod.
But don't worry. Much like the Oilers, I came out on top. There are now 220 songs on three different playlists for me to beebop along to... You know (*scuffs toe*)... Just in case you were all worried, or somthin'.
Come to think of it, this was just like that time I battled that thing in the mine shaft. Do you remember that Cindie? Man that was tough. I think I have that on tape somewhere... Oh yea, here IT is.
Hmm? Don't 'cha think? The similarities are uncanny. I'm glad I shaved that beard off, though. And Cindie you were wise to get out of that "Medieval" phase. I'm glad you're no longer working that cape thing. Although I like your hair curly.
Soundtrack to my Life
I'm not the only person who has one. Fingers has one. But her's is mainly man-made noises: beeps and doodles and hums and whistles and whatnot. Elo had one. But hers was a voice over that described what she was doing at all times of the day: Elo is walking from 18th Century History in Togo Salmon to the Mills Library bookdrop... Elo is buying a coffee from the Bread Bin...
Mine's basically a Top 40 soundtrack, however embarrassing that may or may not be. The songs that run through my head over the course of a day, and the songs that I pump in the car, when no one's with me. And don't think I'm not belting along. Oh yea. That's me out there in the car, shaking my tail feather... Brushing my shoulder off. For the record: I have no shame.
These 9 will most like be to no one's taste. I'm not forcing you to listen to them. So don't give me poop about it, capeesh? I can't help it. This is my soundtrack, people... Did Tony Danza pick his theme song? I don't think so. He wasn't the boss on that one.
So (*ahem*) without further do... The Soundtrack to my Life (videos attached):
Jump, Madonna
Irreplaceable,Beyonce
Breathe, Telepopmusik
Money Maker, Ludacris
Gyasi Went Home, Bedouin
Santeria, Sublime
I Don't Need a Man, PCD
Gunnin', Hedley
I Don't Feel Like Dancing, Scissor Sisters
Part Deux
I've given you the list of things I'm smitten with. Now it's time for the things that, to date, drive me crazy with RAGE. Well, that's a bit much. Hows abouts the things I just don't like right now:
1) Rachel Ray. She bugs me for many reasons:
(i) She tucks in her shirts. Like, all of them. Her t-shirts. Her long sleeve t's. Her sweaters. All of them. I'm pretty sure that went out with overalls.
(ii) If I followed her '30 minute' meal plans, I'd be humongous. Like, Shamu huge. That's not cool, man. How in good faith can you put together a meal for your family when beer and 4-cheese fondue, with a side of pigs 'n blankets is on the menu?
(iii) Thanks for the tips, "Rach", but I'm pretty sure any idiot can eat-out while traveling on $40 A DAY! For reals? I'm pretty sure there was a time in Sarajevo where Heather and I ate pizza, 3 scoops of ice cream a piece, four beer, and a couple a hits on the ole 'shisha for like $4. Now that's a deal. And if you can do it in Sarajevo, you can sure as hell do it in Onkatonkwa, Wisconsin.
2) Canadian Tire. The entire franchise. I've never had good service there. And the one in Dundas is full of useless twats. I once had the same key cut six times there by three different sales staff over a one week period. None of them worked. How does that happen? Today, my Grandmother was looking for a wet/dry dustbuster to give my cousin as a Hanukkah gift (such a Gramma gift), and the saleswoman not only ignored Helen Ruth and her cane, but went so far as to give the exasperated, "Uh, hold on a minute" while she finished stocking her shelves of rat poison, or whatever. We went to Walmart.
3) The shrimp that comes on the side of your virgin caesar at Red Lobster. Can you think of another drink that comes with a piece of meat hanging off the side? Can you? Hmm? Beer and a burger? Spritzer and a Strip loin? Vodka/Cran and a Wiener schnitzel? I think not. Sick. I love shrimp but I defs don't love a shrimp shirt on my drink.
p.s. I do love, however, that the "R" in the "Fortinos" sign (my local grocery store) has burnt out. So now I sound all ghetto when I say I'm making a milk run... To Fo'tinos... Say it with me... Fo'tinos... Oh yea...
I'm smitten as a kitten with several things:
1) The new show on TBS, "My Boys." Too funny.
b) Crispy Minis, "cheese" flavour.
2) Pug dogs. I want one.
F) My new shampoo that smells of pina colada (which, by the by, is Spanish for 'squeezed pinapple').
p.s. It's ME in the picture, and I'm NOT wearing my pajamas... I'm wearing a ver ver fashionable sweater... (*cough*)... But good one, Lady G. Good one. I'll get you, my pretty... Oh yea...
Switch 'Em Up
I'm switching up the Freebie Five. As much as I heart Clinton, let's be honest: it's never going to happen for us. I'm not his type (and although it's never been publicly declared, I don't believe I'm the right sex either). So I'm substituting in someone who really should have been on my original list, because I loves both him, and his rockin' band:
Jay Malinowski from Bedouin Soundclash.
I mean really... Don't you agree?
For my Pants: A Peter Griffin Christmas
(Oh who am I kiding? It's for me, too. It might just be my favorite 'Family Guy' clip of all time... Well... Almost... There's really too many to choose...)
Also, a special treat for the first one to name the movie attached to this quote (and Hurr-ah, you're out of this competition... Too easy for you...) Ready?
"Clark, Audrey can't feel her legs."
Mmm boy...
I mean seriously. It's pictures like these that remind me of why... Um... Uh... Oh, hee hee... Um just a sec... Um (*drool*) Oops, sorry 'bout that... Oh jeez... This is so embarrassing... Eee... It was just, you know... I was so TRANSFIXED BY HIS GORGEOSITY that I forgot what I was saying. You know... (*scuffs toe*)
Dear Lord, Joaquin.
God bless Lainey.
Snaps for PP
God bless Parker Posey. I was reminded of that Pepsi commercial she did with Jimmy what's his name, and I suddenly realized: after a year of seeing that thing, it's still piss-your-pants funny.
While we're at it, hurrah for THIS commercial, and THIS commercial, and THIS commercial, too. They're all piss-your-pants funny.
Sing it with me: "A moo moo moo mooooooo..."
(*ahem*) For the record, the definition of BANDIT is:
ban·dit /ˈbændɪt–noun, plural ban·dits or (Rare) ban·dit·ti /bænˈdɪti/
1. a person who takes unfair advantage of others, as a merchant who overcharges; swindler; cheat.
A bandit I am not. Given freely, it was. Now, a pirate... Well that's something completely different. Because a pirate is always looking for the booty.
p.s. Keep it clean, people, keep it clean. Family atmosphere.
As requested...
My computer is going all wonky-doodles on me, so posting has been slow. Mucho apologies to those lurking and waiting for party scandal, etc.
So, Saturday was a good time. A ver ver good time. There was a party. There was a cheese ball, handmade by Suzanne (uber good work on your ball, Suzanne). There was music, and dancing, and a tipsy Free Samples. There were boys, and flirting, and a dance competition for which a trophy was one. There were 24-hour hamburgers and more poutine than you can shake a stick at. There were inflatable mattresses, and I think there was someone sleeping in the closet. Alas, there was no room at the inn for me on the bed.
A little red faced in the morning and a wee hungover. There's a wee something else that I'll keep to myself, because Lord knows, what happens at Cindie's, stays at Cindie's. Right?
I'm slacking! I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Don't give up on me. Not much new to report, so maybe I'll share some things I'm happy about?
1. Today is the first day of December and thus the first day for Advent Calendars. Hurrah.
2. Speaking of Hurrah, her birthday present, once lost, has now been found.
3. Tomorrow I'm going to a party.
4. I'm wearing my camo pants.
5. I'm also wearing 'Tuesday' underpants.
6. You can buy the entire DVD series of 'Sex and the City' in one boxed set.
7. A coupon for 'Michaels' came in the mail today. I'm thinking of buying something crafty.
8. I've decided to ask for photography lessons for Christmas.
9. I'm going to Heather's tonight.
10. Heather will soon live closer to me.
11. I have a hard boiled egg for lunch.
12. I woke up smiling this morning.
13. I only work until 12:30 today.
That's it. More to come after the party tomorrow night. Stay tuned.
How old is "too old"?
Ho hum pigs bum. I bought a pair of camouflage pants tonight. They look like this:
And now they's gots me thinking. Prior to this purchase, I was involved in a very deep discussion (not really, it was actually pretty shallow) with a good friend (let's call her C. Hietanen. No, that's too obvious. What about Cindie H?) I was worried that I might be too old for such novelties. We decided that the decision to buy or not to buy the camo pant really rested on the size of the print, the wash, and the cut... Bah. In the end, I think I went with the very pant we decided I was too old to have.
I've since realized I've been having that feeling a lot lately--too old to be taking CDs like 'Now 20' out of the library (for the record, I checked it out myself, and snuck it into my bag before anyone would see me.) Too old to be browsing the bar scene (Cougar pounce!) Too old to be choosing the 'Elle Girl' instead of the 'Maclean's' in the doctor's office waiting room...
So here's my question, dear Reader. How old is too old to be sporting the camo pant? At what point is it deemed unacceptable for me to be reading up on Misha Barton's make-up regime? And is it okay that I still enjoy Shakira?
Sometimes I find it hard to believe I'm 27 (*she writes as she reaches for the remote to her Nintendo prepared to play yet another hour of Super Mario*)
I've been thinking, and I've come to the conclusion I've had too many (*ahem*) "heavy" posts lately, and so for this, my next entry, I'm going old school for you, putting together a mish-mash of random thoughts. This one goes out to all you blog lurkers, perhaps too timid to leave a comment, stuck in an office somewhere, working on something tedious, something heavy, maybe looking for a mental break. You know who you are...
1. Congrats to my good friend WSM, literary genius and the smartest heterosexual male in the history of library school (with the exception of that James guy, maybe, but only because he used words like "Byzantine" and not in an 'I'm smarter than you' type way, but in an 'I know what that word means' type way...) Also, a big hurrah to Sleeves, who never gives up on what she wants, and who will--mark my words, dear readers--be a world famous chick-lit writer some day. I will by your book.
2. I really like that little person show on TLC. I don't know what it is about those damn little people. And is it me, or does the father, Matt Roloff, look like a smaller Richard Gere?
3. I just saw a commercial for toilet paper made with cashmere. Fo reals? Above and beyond, people. Above. And. Beyond. Is this really necessary? Discuss.
4. Sometimes you just need a fountain Coke. Are you with me?
5. Why is Britney Spears dating Mario Lopez? Has she never seen an episode of 'Saved by the Bell'? Two words: Spandex. Twins.
6. I've recently discovered that my cat has lips.
7. Smarties mixed in with your movie theatre popcorn are a good idea in theory, but a pain in the ass, practicly speaking. You spend all your time rummaging in your bag for chocolate love when you should be watching, say, Daniel Craig all nippy noodles on the big screen.
8. Did I mention my cat has lips?
9. I know this woman, and I can't help but notice that the ass of her jeans is always slightly askew. Like, the back seam, which should, hypothetically, run smoothly down the middle of your butt, is always seriously to the right on her. My mission, people, is to determine if her jeans are just messed up, or if her left ass cheek is SERIOUSLY larger than her right. Either way it's messed up, I suppose.
10. I had a dream I won $20,000. Random, I know. But can I tell you who happy I was when I woke up? I was actually cheering in my brain, with a huge smile on my face (much like the one I sport when I've been into the vino). Such a bummer. I was all "Oh... Oh, I see... I get it... There isn't really $20,000 for me... Yea, that's coo... You know... What evs" (*scuffs toe*)
And that's it.
On that note, I'm glad to see the return of a few familiar faces--Keri and Manrissa, who, oddly enough, both live on the opposite side of the planet... You still all "Kangaroo-a-go-go" Keri?
The Stereotype
So I'm working in this temporary position getting a branch of the library up and running for RFID. My end of the project is pretty much done, so I'm joining the legions of other librarians lending my boss-lady a hand getting the library ready for it's post-renovation grand opening.
It's funny, because as a librarian I've spent so much energy fighting the stereotype that all I do is shelve books and put things in order ("Oh you're a librarian? So, I guess you know all about the dewey decimal system and stuff, huh? Ha ha ha...") and yet my boss-lady and I stopped ourselves today from getting into a full on fist fight, hip deep in kids paperbacks, as to weather or not we should shelve the 1500 books we'd just spent the last 6 hours organizing and putting in alphabetical order left to right, or up and down...
Say it isn't so.
And just like that, things change. One minute you can be all "woe is me" and the next you're feeling a kinda giddy. It doesn't take much: good friends, a phone call from your Pants, shopping, a night out, and a little unexpected attention.
The latest question: at what point does one join the ranks of the Cougar?
There's this girl that I know, and I think it's fair to say she's embarking on a new relationship. It's quite cute, really. Lord knows, after all the wieners she's had to deal with, she deserves a gooder. Things are moving along "swimmingly" (to use her word). There's been wine. There's been lots of talking. I think there's been some kissing... She's happy, and that makes me happy.
But here's the thing, and I'm not really sure how to tell her... As happy as I am for her--and believe me, there's NO ONE out there happier for her than me--there's this little awful, disgusting, shameful part of me that just can't muster up the enthusiasm I know I should be giving her. She has stood by me through everything, thick and thin, and she's always had the words I needed to hear. And now, at the very moment she should be getting them from me (the 'give me the scoop!' or the 'tell me all about it!') I just can't do it. Just thinking about all those wonderful feelings she must be living--the butterflies and the rethinking every wonderful kiss--makes me realize my heart is still sitting in a plow truck somewhere in Edmonton, and that I'll never have that same heart back again.
I only wish there was some way I could tell her this without sounding like the gross person I feel I'm being.
New Column
For those of you dedicated readers (helllloooooooo [hello hello hello]... is anybody out thhheerrrrreeeeee [there there there]...) you may or may not have noticed I've been spontaneously adding to my profile column: a picture of my peanut, and a picture of the cutest baby alive. Well, surprise surprise, dearest fans, I've got another addition to make! I bring you (drum roll please):
The Freebie Five (as inspired by Lainey)
They are, in particular order...
1. Joaquin Phoenix
2. Josh Holloway (the actor, not the character)
3. Jim Halpert (the character, not the actor)
4. Daniel Craig
5. Clinton Kelly
Now, I should preface something first. These are not, as typically explained, the five fantasy boyfriends I could... you know... without guilt, should they come to my door and ask. They are, rather, the five fantasy boyfriends I'm allowed to have without explanation.
They are not the top sellers at the box office, i.e. your Georges or your Brads. They are not all your macho-i-est, nor are they necessarily straight. But I loves them. And I don't have to explain why.
So, your challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to post your freebie five in the comments. Hurrah for (some) boys!
"Little Thing", Dave Matthews Band
I can't remember where I was going
But I can't remember where I was leading to
Or what led me to you, but
Oh, and the weight is all through my head
The look of you, the sound
The way you laughed at me
From then and then, I didn't know where I was going
But always I cry
And so, hey, oh
The hands that pour my hands on you again
Hey, I will beg you, I'll beg, oh
See me, please find me again
Oh, I'm lost again
I sit here drinking coffee
Or water depending the time of day
But, oh, you're with me like a ghost of a mother
Oh, you're with me like the pain of a father
Oh, I wish I, I wish I could call you something
Other than the guy that I saw then...
...Do I even cross your mind lately
With more than just a laughing
Did you think as you walked away, maybe
You were, hey
Oh, I hope you did
So, hey, yeah
You would, you would have been feeling
The same thing as I am know
Halloween
Honestly, it's gotta be my favorite day of the year, next to Christmas, and Thanksgiving, and the day we go for pancakes and maple syrup at the sugar shack in the woods, and any day that involves cheesies, kitty paws, or Lost... But next to those things...
This year, as an extra special treat, Heather and I dressed as Hansel and Gretel. I was Hansel, Heather... Well, you can figure it out. We did not, as my mother wanted to know, go door-to-door. But we did paint the town. It was ridiculous, really. No, sorry, it was actually so beyond ridiculous, it was ridonkulous. But we had fun. So much fun. We danced. We flirted. We drank German beer (how fitting?) We distributed candy and bread crumbs (well, actually they were more like croutons). I'm mean, who could blame us for looking that silly when there was that much fun to be had?
Hope your day is filled with mini chocolate bars and Rockets (although, I always traded my Rockets for those molasses candies, because I hated Rockets...)
Chubbs
I'd like to send a great big "howdy doody" out to all my fat babies in the house.
Whoot! Whoot!
Yea that's right... That means you, and you, and especially you, Chubbers. Yea, you know what I'm talking about. That's right. You over there in the corner with the peanut face. You with your chubbified cheeks, so fat they should be illegal. You and your sausage legs all bundled in a blanket--don't think I don't know you're in a onesie under there! Oh, I know... Probs wearing your little stripey pants, too. Damn cute, fat babies and their tiny legs.
But for reals... Welcome, cutie. We've all been waiting on you. And you arrived fashionably late, as all ladies should. And you arrived looking better than we could have imagined. You're fabulous, sweetheart. And I mean it from the bottom of my fat-baby-lovin' heart.
Props to Madison, y'all.
Paula's Home Cooking
Apparently anyone can get a cooking show on the Food Network, because as of today I've officially discovered the worst of the worst.
Her name is Paula Deen, but you gots to imagine it said with a thick Savannah accent, a la "Pawow-la Dah-een". She's this woman who started her own cooking business in Georgia, and her specialty is something called 'Boston Butt'. I'm not sure what that is.
She has the most nasal voice I've ever heard. Today she made something called "Sausage Balls" (I've linked you to the recipe, just in case you feel so inclined...) These taste treats involve opening a box of biscuit mix, adding a pound of sausage meat, and a package of pre-shredded cheese. Roll them and bake them for 10 minutes or so. And such is the glory of the Sausage Ball. Don't forget to mix generic mustard and whipped dressing (not even mayonnaise) for your dipping sauce. You'll be happy to know this recipe will yeild you five dozen Sausage Balls.
I mean, for real? Is that all it takes to have your own cooking show? Open a box of Bisquick and slop some Hellman's in a bowl? Sick. I can't stop laughing. I keep saying "Sausage Balls" over and over in that awful nasal Savannah drawl... Say it with me: Sausage Balls. Sausage Balls. Sausage Balls.
Bhahahahahahaha!
I like Monkeys
The pet store was selling them for five cents a piece. I thought that odd since they were normally a couple thousand each. I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I bought 200. I like monkeys.
I took my 200 monkeys home. I have a big car. I let one drive. His name was Sigmund. He was slow. In fact, none of them were really bright. They kept punching themselves in their genitals. I laughed. Then they punched my genitals. I stopped laughing.
I herded them into my room. They didn't adapt very well to their new environment. They would screech, hurl themselves off of the couch at high speeds and slam into the wall. Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into its third hour.
Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive: they all died. No apparent reason. They all just sorta' dropped dead. Kinda' like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. Damn cheap monkeys.
I didn't know what to do. There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my room, on the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase. It looked like I had 200 throw rugs.
I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn't work. It got stuck. Then I had one dead, wet monkey and 199 dead, dry monkeys.
I tried pretending that they were just stuffed animals. That worked for a while, that is until they began to decompose. It started to smell real bad.
I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in the toilet and I didn't want to call the plumber. I was embarrassed.
I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortunately there was only enough room for two monkeys at a time so I had to change them every 30 seconds. I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so it didn't all go bad.
I tried burning them. Little did I know my bed was flammable. I had to
extinguish the fire.
Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys in my freezer, and 197 dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed. The odor wasn't improving.
I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my monkeys and to use the bathroom. I severely beat one of my monkeys. I felt better.
I tried throwing them way but the garbage man said that the city wasn't allowed to dispose of charred primates. I told him that I had a wet one. He couldn't take that one either. I didn't bother asking about the frozen ones.
I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them out as Christmas gifts. My friends didn't know quite what to say. They pretended that they like them but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in the genitals.
I like monkeys.
Reflections on a Home Coming:
1. Things never change.
2. The fact that things never change is somewhat comforting.
3. I've always believed that my father had the uncanny ability to find the most boring things on TV to watch. I've since realized that for the most part, these "shows" have one unifying theme: Tiger Woods. I'm pretty sure Tiger Woods is the most boring person alive.
4. Grammas are always good, especially when they take you with a triple jump on the checker board.
5. Traffic in Ontario is gross. So is the sheer volume of minivans on the road. Subsequently, minivan drivers are gross. I've always been good with math.
6. Ontario's Pizza Pizza is superior to Pizza 73. I'm sorry, Hurr_ah and Sleeves, but It's true. It's the dipping sauce. I love the creamy garlic dipping sauce.
7. I miss my library ladies. And WSM. But he was one of the girls at school anyway, for the most part. So really, I just miss my library ladies. Both from school and from work. And then there's Pants/Rosie... Besty.
Books Books Books
I'm feeling the need to puff myself up a bit. So here goes.
Over the course of the last year and a half in my stint as a Children's Librarian, using my lunch hours, breaks, and lengthy bus/LRT rides, I have read or re-read, interspersed with copious picture books, the following junior and YA titles (in no particular order):
Skellig
Whales On Stilts
The Clue of Linoleum Lederhosen
Kissing Tennessee
Fifteen
The Luckiest Girl
Jean and Johnny
Sahara Special
What Mr. Mattero Did
Catherine Called Birdy
Lucy Whipple
The Midwife's Apprentice
Matilda Bone
The Cat Ate My Gymsuit
There's a Bat in Bunk Five
Coraline
Among the Hidden
Princess Academy
Shug
Ida B
I am the Wallpaper
The Star of Kazan
Kira-Kira
Gossip Times Three
Girls
Worth
Spying on Dracula
2gether, 4ever
Kensuke's Kingdom
All Alone in the Universe
The Bailey Game
Spiral-Bound
Endymion Spring
Flipped
Bad Girls
Girls in Love
The Illustrated Mum
Feed
Noughts, and Crosses
Forever
The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants
The Second Summer of the Sisterhood
A Great and Terrible Beauty
Rebel Angels
Wild Orchid
Nicola and the Viscount
Grecian Holiday
Spanish Holiday
California Holiday
Ready?
Looking for JJ
The Perks of Being a Wallflower
The Fattening Hut
The Red Kayak
Someone Like You
That Summer
This Lullaby
Keeping the Moon
The Truth About Forever
Just Listen
A Northern Light
The True Meaning of Cleavage
The Isabel Factor
I Capture the Castle
Looking for Alaska
The Minister's Daughter
Perfect World
The Raging Quiet
Alice MacLeod: Realist At Last
Alice, I Think
Miss. Smithers
Girl, 15, Charming But Insane
Girl, 16, Absolute Torture
The Giver
Gathering Blue
Messenger
Silent Boy
The Beckoners
Love, and Other Four Letter Words
Sloppy Firsts
Second Helpings
Charmed Thirds
Not the End of the World
White Darkness
Feeling Sorry for Celia
Sang Spell
Teach Me
Angus, Thongs, and Full-FrontalÂ…
On the Bright Side, I'm NowÂ…
Knocked Out by my Nunga-Nungas
Dancing in my Nuddy Pants
Away Laughing on a Fast Camel
Then He Ate my Boy Entrancers
Startled by his Furry Shorts
How I Live Now
Small Steps
The Safe Keeper's Secret
The Truth Teller's Tale
Sumemrs at Castle Auburn
Dust
What My Mother Doesn't Know
No Shame, No Fear
If We Kiss
What Gloria Wants
Hard Love
Sorcery and Cecelia
Summer Sisters
Nellcott is my Darling
My Sister's Keeper
The Pact: A Love Story
The Tenth Circle
The Book Theif
(*ahem*)
Puff Puff.
That's all folks.
Just Call Me Oprah...
So I was on TV this morning. Yup (*stretches*) just another day in the life of a Children's Librarian (*pats self on back*). It was for Raise-a-Reader, which premiers tomorrow in the Edmonton Journal. Look for me in the library centre fold... Hey! Not that kind of picture! Get your mind out of the gutter.
But seriously. Heather from Hamilton says I'm like Oprah. So who wants to be the Gail to my Oprah? Hmm? Only, as Heather says, I don't look like a pug dog without my make-up on.
Thanks, Heather.
Gold Star
I would like to arrange something like this with my library peeps:
(p.s. A gold star to the one who can name the fantastical movie this is from...)
Susie: You guys, I'm really going to miss this place.
Coop: Me too.
Ben: Hey, let's all promise that in ten years from today, we'll meet again, and we'll see what kind of people we've blossomed into.
Susie: Yeah!
Ben: What time do you wanna meet?
J.J.: You mean ten years from now?
Coop: Let's meet in the morning so we can make a day of it.
Susie: Okay, so what is it? Is it like 9:00? 9:30?
Coop: Well, let's say 9:00, that way we can be here by 9:30.
McKinley: Well, no, why don't we say 9:30, and then make it your beeswax to be here by 9:30? I mean, we'll all be in our late 20s by then. I just don't see any reason why we can't be places on time.
Gary: Okay, then, it's settled. 9:30 it is. All agreed?
Together: Agreed.
McKinley: Good, because I have something at 11:00.
Gary: You just have like a trapper-keeper full of appointments, right?
McKinley: No, I just have something at 11:00, and I can't change it, because I already moved it twice.
Royal Smart Person
A royal smart person (namely, Hurr_ah) once said:
"Tis far better to get your life started in Hamilton, than to wait for it to end in Edmonton."
I think I shall make a t-shirt with this bit of wisdomostiy.
Bravo, Hurr_ah.
I don't ask for much. I mean, seriously. I'm already doing everything I can to make this as painless as possible for all involved. We're supposed to be grown-ups, right? So when I ask for honesty, I expect honesty. That's not a lot to ask for... It's not like I'm asking for a loan, or a job, or something else that would be considered a major commitment that I can't think of right now...
I don't understand where/when things took this turn. I don't understand. I don't understand. I don't understand. It makes me feel as though I've done something wrong. As though I'm the bad one--the one to be avoided and forgotten.
I guess in a way, this gives me a reason to hate him. I just didn't want it to come to that.
A Tribute to the Small Things in Life:
Due to recent 'issues' in my life, Pants has been sending me distractors--items of goodness meant to keep me busy at work, where for the most part I'm busy already, but when I'm not... Well, you know... I'm procrastinating.
But I digress.
The latest distractor is the God-send, Lainey Gossip.
Lainey is fantastic. A total cow. She says all the things we're thinking, but in a deliciously funny, well written way. For example: THIS.
Warning: if you're not into celebrity news/trashing, then don't hit it up... Savvy? (as Lainey would say)
There. That's all the warning you'll get. Now click on it, and get your fill of hilarosity.
p.s. I've added her link to my 'Favorite Places to Visit' section, by the by.
Mindless ramblings of a crazed woman...
Such is my life. A mish-mash of nonsense that even I don't understand at the best of times. It's the same thing over and over and I can't seem to escape it. All I want is some form of normalcy. I've seen it, so I know it exists. It exists all around me, just not with me. What do I have to do to be normal?
I know a lot of you will say:
a) The grass is always greener...
b) There is no standard on which you can accurately measure yourself...
c) Nothing is what it seems...
But I gotta think that some people have it better. I gotta hope that this isn't what I'm doomed for for the rest of my life. This isn't what I bargained for and worked for and transplanted myself for.
The question is: am I ever going to find it here? If not, at what point do I throw in the towel and move on. Bigger and better, as they say.
And now for something completely different...
For those of you who won't have the pleasure of reviewing all 1,000,000 of my pictures, I've uploaded a couple of things for your perusal. These are by no means the highlights, or the lowlights (is that a word?). Just some shots I liked.
This is a toughy...
Brace yourself, this could take some serious time and deep contemplation. It's not an easy choice, nor one pregnant mother's or those with heart conditions should take lightly. If you're ready, and I mean really ready, to face the toughest choice of all time, scroll down...
Kevin Federline's performance on the MTV Teen Choice Awards
VS.
The movie "Snakes on a Plane"
Which is worse?
Tough call, I know.