It Smells...

In an attempt to be proactive, I, Library Lady--the oh-so-clever sausage--tried to cook rice in preparation for the weekend at the cottage (it's easy, and will keep, and it goes with everything.)

But then I got caught up in CSI Las Vegas.

And then the fire alarm went off.

Have no fear. There was no fire. Only a raging, imminent threat. In panic mode, I pulled the rice from the burner, shut off the blasted alarm, and prepared for serious damage control when Mame et Papa came barrelling down the stairs.

No Mama and Papa. It would appear they didn't hear the alarm (no doubt a result of the obscene TV volume they've become accustomed to). Good to know they'll be prepared when there's a real blaze. I guess I'm playing Fire Marshall for the house...? If this is the case, I'm gonna need a hard helmet and loud speaker.

I'll have to wait for the fit to really hit the shan tomorrow morning when they wake up to the smell of burnt, and spot the blackened pot and apology note... eee... awkward *pulls at collar*.

EDIT:

1. On my way to work, I saw a woman jogging. She was jogging with her dogs. The dogs were weiner dogs. Have you ever seen a weiner dog run? Vair amusing, and tres hiaripuss.
2. Upon arriving at work, and going in for my extra large coffee, I watched a woman fill a mug with three creamers, and boiling water. Double sick with a side of ew.
3. I had a dream last night that was so realistic, and so vivid, I just know--I know--that it's a deja vu waiting to happen. I get these a lot. But this one made me so happy. It's as if I have something to look forward to.
4. And that's it.

Lurking vs. Inappropriate Lurking

It's weird to think about who's reading this blog--that my inner most blunderings and personal whatsits and whosits are available to anyone and everyone who should so please. I guess that's the wonder of the Internet, non?

But I mean, I've been talking to people I barely know, like at a party or something, and I'll be telling a story and they'll say to me, "Oh yeah. I know. I read your blog." That's just odd. Spooky kinda odd. I don't know this person all that well, or even at all, but because they know of me, like through a friend of a friend, they will know about dearest Bread and Jam, and my latest library escapades, or my pet peeve #423 (babies that have creepy adult attributes, like glasses, or earrings).

And there are some readers... some... who really just shouldn't be here at all. And that's all I have to say about that.

This brings me to my question: should I make Bread and Jam private? Do you have thoughts on this? I should preface by saying that I would give access to anyone who asked me. The point being that you'd have to ask, insofacto, I would know who's reading.

Just curious... Just a thought...

Someone once asked me:

"Where do I find some of the things I find on the Internet?"

The truth is, most of them are sent to me in emails. Like Pants telling me about Natalie Dee and Lainey, or Kathleen and that vair silly monkey story from way back when. My old boss sent me the link to the Harry Potter Puppets. And CuteOverload was a happened-upon from early blog lurking days.

This, however, I'm not too sure about. It's bizarre. And it's accurate. Like, spot on. So someone... SOMEONE... is updating it on a regular basis. So the questions begs:

"Where does someone find the time to put these things on the Internet?"

Guess the Dictator and/or Television Sit-Com Character

Kids by the Dozen

The statistics:

• Michelle and Jim Bob Duggar.
• Married twenty-two years.
• Sixteen children: Jackson Duggar, James Duggar, Jana Duggar, Jason Duggar, Jedidiah Duggar, Jeremiah Duggar, Jessa Duggar, Jill Duggar, Jinger Duggar, Johannah Duggar, John-David Duggar, Joseph Duggar, Joshua Duggar, Josiah Duggar, Joy-Anna Duggar, and Justin Duggar.

... the f&ck?

I can't even think of the physical implications this would curse upon a woman, let alone the mental, multiplied by the silliness of the names. I was impressed by a lady whose four children required a weekly fridge stocking of sixteen gallons of milk. But a mother who has to literally drive her children to school in a school bus--not because she was the town school bus driver--but because their family car is a school bus, is beyond me.

Not to mention the soggy bottom boobs. I mean, would there be any perk left?

I think not.

Hip Hip Hippies!

Saturday night was a vair different kind of party.

A farm house way out in the middle of Siberia (not literally... Just far, far away from me). Home made beer, home made rye bread and humus, home made toasted sesame seeds, but no drinking from the home tap, for fear of developing kidney stones--or so the sign on the faucet warned.

The mud room where we kept our shoes smelt like a maple sugar farm. Wood smoke and sweetness. Lots of weed being passed around in the living room, but as one girl said, "it was okay to inhale in the house because there were no babies around."

One of the couples who rented the place worked at (or maybe even owned, I'm not sure) a nearby organic farm. Consequently, in an amongst the hodgepodge of couches and chairs were beautiful vases overflowing with freshly cut tulips, all different colors and shapes, and hot off the farm.

An impromptu bonfire, and a serious discussion: at what point does a fire stop being a "camp" and start being a "bon"? Someone started in with a guitar, followed by drumming, and then naturally, people started dancing. I just watched, drinking my shampoo bottle wine out of a coffee mug.

All in all, a lot of fun. A big hip hip hurrah to Anne and Emily for taking me (and 'specially to Emily because she loaned me her jacket and she drove our buzzed butts home.)

Here's to getting out of a rut!

And now for something COMPLETELY RIDICULOUS.

Swingers

It's been a bizarre-o weekend for some of us, dear Readers (and I say 'Readers' because oddly enough, there is more than one of you out there who has told me a similar story). I know you're feeling as though it will never get worse than this. But I promise you--I promise you--it will only get better. I am living proof of such betterness, although I myself have had my ups and downs (as BG has proof in the form of my whiny text messages... Sorry about that, BG *blush*).

Someone once told me the movie "Swingers" got them through a nasty break-up. I thought he was being ridiculous. Vince Vaughn? Burger? Vegas? But let me tell you, it's an hour and a half well spent. This scene in particular:



Try it. You'll like it. Because you're both "the money".

And for those of you I can't hug in person: ({{{{hug}}}})

New York, Take Two

Alright, I promised you full coverage, so you're getting full coverage. Don't blame me if it's too long. It's the first night in a light year I haven't had something to do. So I blog. Sue me...

Friday night: Free Samples is sick as a dog. Literally. Here she is sleeping in the airport. Fingers and I were actually pretty worried about her. At one point she turned blue. Not so good. But she bucked up, and by Saturday morning she was eating a bagel along with the rest of us.

Here I am with a bagel smile (the greasy spoon fry guy toasted 'em on the grill with the eggs and bacon, so even though it's only a heaping pile of cream cheese on there, everything tasted like yolk).

First things first, we took the Staten Island ferry. Vair Working Girl, but a bit on the boring side. Ho hum. The Statue of Liberty was wee, and the view was comme-ci comme-ca. It took too long.

Then we took the subway to Times Square. Wowza. That's about all you can say. Way too many people, way too many flashing lights, way too many naked cowboys. Actually, just one, naked cowboy, but too many nonetheless. We saw David Letterman's studio, and more cops than you could shake a stick at. Literally a cop on every corner. Cops reading magazines. Cops drinking coffee. Cops looking hot. Cops, cops, cops. The entire show (and I say show, because I don't really think anyone is seriously driving through Times Square), is vair cool. Overwhelming, but cool.

Next up we walked up Fifth a bit. Visited Mr. Tiffany and gawked at the $750,000 "show pieces". Thought of Poo and her charm braclet. Thought about buying a diaond the size of a hard boiled egg. And then I put my eyeballs back in my skull and screwed my head on straight. We walked by Louis and Coco and Sachs. Le sigh.

Next stop? Buying a handful of ridiculously expensive Jelly Bellies at FAO Schwartz. Whilst there, I got caught up in a giant octopi, creeped out by the grown women swooning over the doll collections, and of course, I got silly on the piano. Would you believe I waited in line for this thing, in and amongst the five year-olds? It's true. And it was worth it. Every delicious second. Tom Hanks would be proud, me thinks. Here's a video of FS and I doing it up, chopsticks style. Woo to the hoo.

Then we crossed the street and wandered into Central Park. We're talking 20 degrees by this point, so we picnicked outside the zoo next to some dude playing "Twinkle Twinkle" on his harmonaca. We took in a baseball game and watched a clever old dude sell a guy a beer in a paperbag. It was hot.

Then we took the subway to Union Square, shopped at Forever 21, and wandered home. Here's where we get ready for our big night with Mike and R.E.M. Ho hum. Celebrities and such.

Next morning, more shopping and the "Hurrah for Israel" parade that forced us to walk 72 blocks out of the way. Yes. 72 blocks. It was worth it to get to the Met, though. Unbelievable. Completely and totally. I think it's gots to be my favs part. Van Gough, Picasso, Renoir, Degas... What's not to love? I even got to see my buddy Vermeer.

We wandered around Central Park a bit more, thought about a Broadway show, and decided we were better off getting a slice of pizza and having dinner with my cousin and his friends. His girly lives in the Village, "across the street from Keifer, and a block down from Sarah Jessica and Matthew." Apparently Matthew shovels his own snow. Who knew?

Not that Banker Man's house wasn't impressive enough. He lives in an apartment paid for by his work. It's, you know, how do they say it? "Comfortubles"? I think that's what the locals say. His view alone was worth writing home about. Banker was very generous that night and treated us to a lurvely meal. Then it was home to watch The Tudors on ShowTime, and a good nights sleep on a bed made for three.

Monday, more shopping, lunch in a greasy spoon, and something called a "Mr. Softie". Fingers got a chocolate softie. Hee hee hee... Chocolate softie. And then the next thing I knew we were back at the airport, flying home again, home again, jiggidy jog.

All in all, a funtastic trip. But I'm a small town girl. And as much as I like going away, I love coming home even more. My bed, my shower, my Yaris, my family, my friends. That's what I lurve the most. But I'll admit, I'm pretty puffed watching Sex and the City and Law & Order... I can point out the spots I've been (and I can only imagine how irritating that will get...)

p.s. I warned you it was going to be long...

New York, Part One

Okay, it's late. I'm tie tie. So I'm going to make this a quick one, but I'll promise complete updates after tomorrow's softball game and Wednesday's interview (expect something Wednesday night). But this part couldn't wait:

Saturday night, we went for dinner at Otto--a dark, cozy Italian restaurant owned by Mario Batali (of the Food Network, and Iron Chef America fame... He lives beside it, too). Good food (arugula and tomato salad, spaghetti carbonara, and gelato). Had a Cosmo. Drank a bottle of wine. Lurvely. I'm the only one facing the front entrance, and consequently the individuals waiting for tables. I'm telling some story (about a trip to Ellicotville and my spooning Fingers... Don't ask...) and there's a guy standing right next to the table, waiting, but I don't think anything of it. So he walks away with an entourage of people, and Cindie freezes, and whispers across the table "Um, is that Michael Stipe?" And low and behold it was...

So here's a picture of me, with R.E.M., but now that I'm looking at it, it's kind of blurred because we were trying to be so cool about it all... So really, here's a blurred picture of me and Mike (I think I can boast I'm buddies with him now, don't you? I mean, I've got his blurry picture and all):

G to the D... Daniel Craig, A.K.A. James Bond is some kinda lovely. Quivers, etc.





And will someone please comment? I'm gettin' kinda lonely over here... I know you're lurking. You might as well speak up...

*scuffs toe*

Lost Spoiler Warning!

If you're not watching the current season, read at your own risk.

Me thinks the show has taken some rather dark turns as of late. For example:

• Mr. Echo slaughtering those dudes in the church?
• The couple buried alive?
• Sayid torturing and burning some innocent woman?
• Locke being thrown from an eight storey window?
• Eye-patch-man who hemorrhaged in the sound parameter fence?
• Charlie getting an arrow in the jugular?
• Sawyer killing that dude last night?

What's up? I mean, don't get me wrong... I like it. I think we're finally getting somewhere with the plot line. But wow... That's some kind of gross. There was barely any violence in the first two seasons... Nothing gratuitous, I don't think...? And now WHAMMY.

Any thoughts?

p.s. Still le sigh-ing for Sawyer. He's back on the list.

Mr. Beef

I've just come home from the first Sparkle Motion team meeting (it's not official, but I'm pretending like it is because I really like saying "Sparkle Motion"... Just try and do it without the jazz hands... I dare ya...), and I got a ver cool surprise.

It would seem that Mr. Beef is not only a sauce making-chef extraordinaire-khaki connoisseur-looking good in the tux-all around great guy, but he's also a baseball mitt angel. He went out of his way to pick me out the prettiest, softest, bestest three pitch mitt that ever was (pictured above). And he said he'd work it in for me using shaving cream and a freezer. And he just did it 'cause he's that kind of guy.

My soft spot for Mr. Beef was solidified somewhere between the guided tour of the Lego dream house, and the day he let Stanley sleep on his beloved Lazy-Boy. But now... Well, now I'm inclined to stop teasing him. And I'd probs go so far as to say I like him more than Beef.

Kidding. Kidding... Don't go all "me me me" on me Beef. You know you're my favorite one of all. For realsies, and beyond. Don't know what I'd do without ya.

(No, but seriously... He's that good...)

Big Apple

We're going to New York City (I'm not sure who yet, so we'll leave it at "we're"). It's sort of a last minute thing. But my cousin--let's call him Banker Man--lives there in a ver posh apartment "near Wall Street" (as I've been told to tell the cabbie), and he's given me an open invitation. So Fingers did the math, and we came up with a cheap flight, and now tra la. I'm going to New York City. On Friday. For a long weekend.

And now I can't stop thinking about the movie 200 Cigarettes, with Christina Ricci and Gaby Hoffmann. Because, like us, they're two small town girls (Ronkonkoma, New Jersey) on a trip to the big city (New York), to stay with Christina's cousin (odd coincidence...). And also I think I look a smidge like Christina Ricci.

So Heather and I are Val and Stephie (see picture), and I promise we'll stay the f*ck away from B. My goals for the weekend include:

• Eating a slice of New York 'za.
• Playing chopsticks on the giant piano at FAO Schwartz.
• Buying something from Victoria Secret and Forever 21 (and maybe a fake Fendi...)
• Seeing a Brownstone. Preferably Carrie Bradshaw's, regardless of whether or not she's a real person.
• Having a Starbucks Monday morning on a park bench near Wall Street, enjoying the boys in suits parade by.
• Riding the Staten Island ferry.
• Having an unplanned meeting of some random celebrity. Like, in Central Park or something.
• Hailing a cab.
• Having a New Yorker yell at me (preferably while hailing said cab).
• Strutting, like Tony Manero.

I set out to have a very girly evening. I baked cookies, rented "Marie Antoinette", bought a fancy new 'Schick Quattro for Women' razor, wore my pink pajamas, and painted my toe nails.

I got somewhat sidetracked in a bag of Doritos and "Lord of the Rings" on TBS. Neither of which was very girly. But the effort was made, nonetheless.

(What if I told you I cried when Gandolf died, and hid my face at that giant Orc being pulled from the jelly stuff? Does that make it girly-er?)

11:30 on a Saturday Night

I've just walked home from Locke street. I walked the same route I walked in elementary school. Everyday from grade two to eight, twice a day. I looked at all the houses I used to imagine owning someday. Thought about the couples who live in them now. The families.

It was such a nice night for a walk, but the whole thing--the moon, the weather, the houses, the memories--they just made me feel worse.

I used to think that by my age, I would be established. I would have a life. I would have some sense of where I was going, and who I was going with. I would have someone to give all these thoughts and feelings to. But what I realized tonight, on that pretty walk home, is that I'm no closer to that ideal than I was some fourteen years ago.

Someone said to me this weekend, "You don't seem yourself." And it's true. Some days, I honestly have to will myself into thinking of the positives. Some days I'm so acutely aware of what's missing, I can't even begin to remember what I have. Some days I feel like I can taste that empty void beside me.

Some days it's just one deep breath after another. Today... Tonight... Is one of those moments. Deep breath after deep breath.

Please don't comment on this.

Kevin Bacon = Sexy Beast

It wouldn't matter what he did. And even though he's only in this for two seconds, don't tell me you aren't having Ren McCormack flashbacks.

LG? More like Le Gross...

Has anyone seen that commercial for the LG Steam Washer/Dryer? You know, the woman in the Tiffany blue dress running around the city, getting her outfit all gross from the hustle and bustle of downtown congestion (construction sites, sitting sweaty and squished next to a bunch of people on the bus. etc.)? At the climax, she runs into her house (not literally), pulls the dress over her head, and promptly throws it into the LG Steam Washer/Dryer (presumably to get rid of all those nasty day-time smells). Chiquita runs off in her slip to touch-up her make-up and hair, and then 15 minutes later *bing* her dress is all fresh again, so she puts it on again for some rendezvous with her man toy, waiting patiently at the door...

But what about about that nasty @ss slip she's been wearing all day, hmm? She's still wearing that slip when she puts the dress back on! B*tch can spend $3000 on a washing machine, and she can't fork over $15 on a new slip from Sears?

Which genius in marketing missed this detail?

More Random-ness...

1. I'm gonna miss the Pussycat Dolls show. I know. That's embarrassing, right? But to quote their song, "I 'preciate them". They're slutty, I know it, but at least they admit it. Plus, if I could shake my booty like some of those girls, that's pretty much all I'd do. I'd walk like that. Just picture it... Me walking to the reference desk for a shift, booty shaking... Can you see it? Hmm? Can you see it?

2. I was at my friend Manrissa's house last night. You know, the girl who most of you think is fake? But Poo met her, so we can prove she's for realsies. Anywho, the thing is... I flippin' lub her house. Her moms has kept all the toys from when Manrissa was a kid--like all the board games, and the stuffies, and the fashion buttons, and the stickers, and the Barbies... It's like my dream come true. Her house is awesome. Just yesterday me moms was telling me she wanted me to "go through my stuff in the basement to see what [I] want to get rid of"... Um. I have five boxes in the basement. Stacked next to the kitteh poo. I'm pretty sure they're not in the way over there. Cheers, thanks a lot.

3. Although she's fightin' tooth and nail to get my stuff out of her basement, she's also pretty keen to get herself a new kitteh. Well, actually she's trying to say it's for Goose, claiming he needs a friend *rolls eyes*. So she's been sending me these links to the Burlington Animal Shelter--adds for adoptable kittehs--and ONE in particular has caught my eye. They're polydactyl. As in, six toes on each paw. As in, they have thumbs. As in, I need to have one of them. So I can call him Gordon, and love him as my forever friend. Specifically the McFluffersons black one...

4. For the last couple of weeks, I keep waking up at, like, 2:00 a.m., rolling over and looking at my clock, and realizing I have five hours of sleep left. It's, honestly, the greatest feeling in the universe.

5. I have a canker. It hurts. Yuck. Double yuck-ersons.

6. How come no one commented on the cute bun? Not cute enough for you? I challenge (say it like that guy from The Cosby Show... Challaaaaaange!) you to find a cuter picture. Post it here. I'll make a fair and judicial ruling.

I'm sorry, but the pictures of these buns are so hilaripuss, I had to share them. So round! Those tongues! His moustache?! I'm tellin' ya, if you're not already a Cute Overload addict, you very soon will be:


And a close up...


As Meg says, "he's extremely disapproving of his quarters. Check out his mini mustache, perfectly shaped. He's all: "Good DAY SIR!" and "Bleeeeeeeeeh!" And it's true. He's totally disapproving, non? Can't you just see it?!

For those of you who haven't seen it...

It's replaced "Fred's Slacks" as that horrible reaccuring song trapped in my head.

Le sigh.

"Snape, Snape, Severus Snape..."

Fringe, etc.

It was so nice out yesterday, I gave our favorite little Yaris (or "da Bahs", as I've affectionately come to refer to him) his first bath. We pulled out the soap, hose, soft cloths, and Windex and gave him a good ole' fashioned scrub down. He lubbed it. Now he's all squeaky and shiny and back to his wee baby self. Like the day I first pulled him off the lot (except for that one war wound...)

Oh, and it's official... I have bangs. They were cut on Friday afternoon. Adrianno was very gentle--like tearing off a band-aid, really. One minute he was telling me about the concert he was going to with his boyfriend, and the next, 7 inches of hair had fallen from the front of my face into my lap. A picture, for those of you I won't be seeing anytime soon:

Aren't I saucy? Poomobile tells me "if I stop eating and get oversized sunglasses" I'd look just like Nicole Ritchie. I'm not so sure about that, but I'm happy all the same. I defs feel prettier. Although I'm looking at this photo and thinkin my conk (nose) is looking a bit on the gigantic side, non? I think my only option is plastic surgery...

Kidding. Kidding. Don't have a nervy spaz...

*syrup-y sweet* "We are back safely and as promised we brought [her] home a mini sombrero..." *giggle*

Bhahahah... Oh... Sorry... *clutches stomach from laughing*... It's just so COMICAL. I mean, really... Because dude, fo'serious: you can stop trying so hard. It's ridiculous, and I'm embarrassed for you.

1. I don't care.
2. It's no prize. The lotto 649 is a prize. A red ribbon is a prize. A gold star is a prize. Hell, I'd even rank one of those letters from Publisher's Clearing House above that kinda prize...

But If you want me to say you've "won", I'll do it. I have no problems admitting it. And I'll even use bullets:

• You're the winner!
• You're the champion!
• Victory is yours!
• You have prevailed!
• King of the castle, and all that jazz.

Le sigh... I guess that makes me the loser then, huh?

Ho hum... If you consider being way happier (prettier, smarter, more creative, witty, charming, and polite; being a faster runner and a better skier; having better taste in clothes, movies, books, and most things in general; having a much sweeter, not-so-generic car; and not to mention no imminent threat of being stuck alone with a mortgage three years from now when the emotional vomit once again regurgitates), a loser.

Le sigh... I guess I'll just have to live with being second best. What ever will I do? *looks into distance with furrowed brow* Hmm...

And just because I'm feeling saucey, a little Avril to illustrate my point:

I'm admitting it. I'm putting it on the table.

I love the show Corner Gas. Well, actually I love the first season of Corner Gas. I haven't really seen much of the other seasons. I took the first season out of the library and howled all the way through it. Then I pirated my ver own copy, I lubbed it so much.

I like best how ver smart they all are, and how ver sensitive they are to spelling and grammar. I like how they drink Pilsner. And I like all the inside Canadian jokes (because there are so few outlets for good Canadian jokes).

In my tiny pea brain, I like to imagine this is what Saskamatoon is like. Although on a larger scale. And SS is Brent. And Pants is Wanda. And Sleeves is Lacey. And Keri is... Hmm... See, I like to think of Keri as a Davis, but I don't want her thinking I look at her like she's a dude. It's just that Davis is so sweet. Does that make sense?

Take this scene for example:



It's just funny. In a clean joke kinda way. Everyone loves a clean joke, right? (don't make me tell the one about the interrupting cow or the fish eye...) It's the same kinda simple humor. And it's hard to find good clean comedy nowadays. But as I've been told twice already tonight, I'm both a dork and a nerd. So what do I know?

But for now, I say hurrah to Corner Gas. If you want to borrow the first season, let me know. I'll hook ya' up *wink*

MAKE ME A MIXED TAPE! MAKE ME A MIXED TAPE!

*whispers while scuffing toe* I want one...

Damn, Sawyer. Damn. Why can't he exist in real life, hmm? And to think I used to tease Free Samples for her real-life crush on Ed.

Le sigh x1,000,000...

p.s. I'm still checking yesterday's post... No winners yet. Keep the guesses a-comin'.

Final Jeopardy

Yesterday's post was such a success, and you guys were so good at the game, I'm throwing in a bonus round... AND I'M OFFERING A PRIZE!

To the person who posts the most correct answers, you'll get a special somethin'somethin' just for you. I'll even hand deliver it, or mail it, 'ya know, because the Sch'wan and Alberta are a bit too far to trek. But it'll be something fabulous for Bread and Jam's Royal Smart Person. What do you think? Hmm? Are you up to the challenge?

WARNING: There may only be five of them, but there's no fooling around here... They're some new fancy kinda tough. In fact, I might even offer a second prize to the person who can come up with #5...

1. Family. Motocross. Initiation.
2. Reagan era. Obscene finger gesture. Partner.
3. Adultery. New England. Wedding.
4. Gambling addiction. Impostor. Male nudity.
5. Egg. Backgammon. Snake Charmer.

I'm stealing this from Obi Wan...

... Although I wasn't very good at guessing hers.

"Go to IMDB and look up 10 of your favorite movies. Post three official IMDB 'Plot Keywords' for your 10 picks. Have your friends guess the movie titles."

If you're stumped, I'll offer hints. But here's one right off the bat: none of them are on my "Movie Lurrve" list, although I'm sure I've mentioned each and every one of them with all of you at some point in time...

AND NO CHEATING! Because as Kathleen says, it makes baby Jesus cry.

1. Bowling. Rainstorm. Atlas.
2. Cadaver. Sign language. Swan.
3. Ethnic cleansing. Onion. Sunset.
4. French lesson. Shot in the butt. Marching band.
5. Mathematician. Outhouse. Severed arm.
6. Mail box. Broken heart. Epidemic.
7. Prank. Dance. Camping.
8. Monkey. Bare butt. Drinking syrup.
9. Weight loss. Bra. School bus.
10. Quest. Coconut. Shrubbery.

In fact, I think I might go so far as to say that I doubt any one of my Readers would be able to guess all ten...

When you work in a library, a slow day on the job means loads of time for "research". For example, I recently researched bangs--should I get them or should I not? So you know, real intense, intellectual stuff.

On Saturday I researched camping in Ontario, ver unselfishly taking the time to confirm the aptitude of the online reservation system by reserving two campsites for a weekend in July (ver proactive, I felt). I then practiced with Microsoft Paint so to improve my skill, creating a detailed template for a t-shirt:

I have plans to sell them. I'll be setting up a complex spreadsheet on Monday for orders. Let me know...

I followed up with some in depth investigation into noteworthy personalities using electronic databases like IMDB and YouTube. I made the grandiose decision that I'd like to develop a friendship with someone too cool to speak the English language, like Snoop Dog.

I finished the day with extensive Sirsi training, cruising the newest additions to the library catalogue and placing holds on Casino Royale, The Illusionist, and the new Jodi Picoult novel, Nineteen Minutes. Oh, and the Martha Stewart: Everyday Food cookbook.

Tra la...

Lainey & Library Lady: Kindred Spirits?

I was never really one for celebrity smut. I very rarely believed what I'd heard until it ended up on the cover of People, my gossip bible: if it was on People, I believed it. If it came from anyone else, like Mary Hart the giant talking head, it was crap.

Until, that is, Lainey came along. I was an immediate fan. During a rough patch, Pants/Rosie sent me the link to LAINEY'S site as a pick-me-up, and I was an instant convert. Hilarity obvi ensued.

Now I trust in Lainey... "Praise Thetan, ah-Xenu!" She is the voice of reason and all things celebrity in this fickle world. She's smart. And sassy. And has an excellent way of phrasing all those catty things you wish you could say about Paris and Lindsay and Posh and Jennifer and Tom and Katie... You get the picture.

My faith in the Goddess that is Lainey has been even further solidified this very day.

For the most part, we've always agreed on our praise of celebrity boys--Joaquin, Clive, Daniel, Jake, Ryan, Sawyer, to name a few. Loin quivering, etc. But then this morning, Pants alerted me to Lainey's most recent post: two giant thumbs up for none other than... *drum roll please*... John Krasinski. My Jim. From The Office. Jim from the Office. Original Freebie Five member.

"I like him because he’s cute. In a regular guy cute kind of way. The kind of guy it took you 6 weeks to notice during first year Psych at university but then as soon as you noticed him, he was That Guy…you know That Guy? John is tall – which is unusual in Hollywood. John isn’t orange, he isn’t at Les Deux every night, he hasn’t – to date – f*cked Paris Hilton. Love. John."

It's like she's reading my mind...

*Twilight Zone music begins to play*

Kindred spirits, non? Le sigh... Je t'aime Lainey, mon petit chou.

Pawsitude

The kittehs in my life are acting silly-billy.

Take Stan, for example. Fat cat extraordinaire. He's currently suffering from an acute bladder infection brought on by due stress and/or depression... fo s'rous. He's depressed. I always joked he appeared worried, what with his furrowed brow and sad eyes. But I thought it was just his look... You know, like Blue Steel, or Ferrari, or La Tigre. But nope. Turns out he's eating his feelings.

Then there's Goose, all twitterpated by the spring-like weather. He meows at the side door, and then runs like a mad cat from one room to the next. If you say something to him mid-run, he stops on his right foot, triple takes three times, eyeballs you with his "WHOTHEHELLAREYOU?!" look, and runs screaming up the stairs. It would seem the chemicals from the fridge photographs he used to climb up on the kitchen counter to lick have finally gone to his brain...

Then there's THIS CAT. I don't know this cat personally, but I'd like to. I'd also like to imagine he wears a chapeau.

It's all ver silly, non?

Earlier tonight, Beef reminded me of a particular childhood trauma. I should preface that there are many such moments from those early years, among which I'll include:

• Being dumped by Kevin in grade six in front of the swing sets at the HAAA and subsequently in front of eight swings of classmates.
• Getting confused for a boy by Mr. Paglia of Paglia's General Store for the first twelve years of my life.
• And the legendary grade nine tucking in of the kilt to the back of my tights.

The particular trauma I'd like to discuss this evening, however, was the week I spent at McMaster Sports Fitness Camp.

To start, I was a chubby kid. Chunky. Full. Plump. Robust. What have you. And every morning they forced us to do a daily run. Although I enjoy running now, for many years my motto in life was "Why run when you can lie down?" So this run nearly killed me. I made every excuse in the book to get out of it: I feel sick... I have asthma... I think I've broken my ankle... It's not you, it's me... I'm married to the sea...

You know, anything.

Then there was the afternoon swim. And the fact that I had my period for the entire week. For which I wasn't prepared, and for which I lamely sat on the side of the pool literally aching to get in, faking an ear infection (which doubled well for the morning run) so as to avoid a bathing suit and thus the dreaded tampon.

There was the girl I went with, whose mother pitted me against her out of some abnormal competitive itch. She was prettier than me. And smarter than me. With permed hair and a movie star-type name. And a nine-minute mile. Needless to say she promptly disowned me the minute her Nike Jordon's hit the pavement that first day. Le fat girl sigh.

I was registered in golf and softball. S'kay... You can say it... Lesbian sports. Like you weren't all thinking it.

The end of the week was topped off with a report card given out by my team leader, along with a hefty hand shake and a boot out the door. She "suggested" my strengths lay in my creativity (in the excuses I made up to get out of EVERYTHING), and my weaknesses lay in my athletic ability. Um... Thanks. Considering it was an athletic camp.... the f&ck?

Needless to say, the entire week was mortifying. Start to finish. Thanks for the memories, SFC. Best friends for life.

Le Weekend:

For not really doing much this weekend, it sure feels like a lot happened.

First there was the hockey game--drinking beer out of my mother's coffee mugs and watching the mighty Beavers crush our beloved Chuck Norris All Stars. Le sigh. A group of Beaver mothers sat in front of us, one of whom had a tight perm filled with some unidentifiable red glittery things. We liked imagining that before the game she was hanging out in the "green room" with the hookers, blow, and confetti. Because no good hooker party is complete without confetti.

Then came Friday, taking Yaris to pick up the slightly *coughHAMMEREDcough* intoxified Poomobile, Big Guy, and random others in a crusade to find a working Buck Hunter machine. That's right. I said Buck Hunter. Which we eventually found. In the depths of downtown Hammer, at a bar that served "mini kegs" rather than pitchers (not that they encourage binge drinking, or anything *rolls eyes*)

That night ended differently than expected...

Saturday--horizontal for most of it, courtesy of the aforementioned Friday. Nothing like an afternoon nap to work up an appetite. Lent is over, and I wasted no time getting my hands on a bag of smokey bacon. I planned to settle into the couch with the 5th season of Sex and the City, but the unforeseen phone call that caused me to actually spit the chips from my mouth (and I hate to see a good chip go to waste), was beyond a pleasant surprise. Just about topped the weekend... week... month for me. For s'rous, you two. Made. My. Day.

Sunday started and ended with a good book.

Today involved a hefty run, a cake being baked, a camping trip planned and booked, and a whole lotta money spent at Slime Ridge. Not to mention Easter dinner, and egg hunt, and the season premier of that Little People show (insert Fingers' "I don't like Little People" joke here).

Time check: 9:30. Watching some program on the People's Temple cult and cartooning in my sketch book *doodle doodle* Thinking about not wanting to work, taxes that need doing, an apartment of my own, and things I'd like to look for on eBay.

Ho hum.

And that's it.

Like a Man Should Sit

Gerard Butler was on Jay Leno last night, alongside Tim McGraw.

For starters, I saw Monsiure Butler in that Lara Croft movie years ago and I remembered thinking then that he was a sexy beast. 300 only "mon dieu-ed" that gut reaction. Um *makes jotting motion in the air with fake pencil* He'll defs be making the list.

Now, there are beaucoup reasons for a dude like Gerard to end up on the list. But last night, with the combination of both he and Tim on the couch of the Jay Leno show, I put my finger on yet another reason. The way a man should sit:

Heavy. Legs wide.

None of this crossed leg business. None of this ankles hooked. Heavy. Legs wide.

Just think about it. You may hate his music, but the combo of manly-man Tim and Gerard "I-have-a-crooked-sexy-beast-mouth-and-speak-with-a-deep-Scottish-accent" Butler was deadly.

Take note, male readers. Sit heavy. Smell like Old Spice or something equally as le sigh. Flaunt your strong hands (if you have 'em). That's pretty much all it takes for the female head turn.

I look dead inside, non?

Vaccant? Like... Blank?

Amy glows, and I look like a zombie. But with great hair. A zombie with great hair. A big thank you to Andreao, or whatever his name was, a.k.a. the gay man who spent two hours curling and pinning.

Le sigh...

And one more thing...

1. Thanks, Kathleen. But dudes... Screw Facebook! Honestly. You seriously haven't tasted addiction 'till you've tasted BOOMSHINE. For realsies. No sound necessary (although the happy little trippy song makes a nice background noise for the hours you're about to commit to online gaming...) Don't say I didn't warn you, peeps. But I'm telling you... This sh*t is good...

2. I MUST HAVE the new Avril album. April 17th can not come fast enough. I love that tiny girl and her kick-ass songs.

3. Speaking of kick-ass, I've also decided I love my kick-ass legs. FS has a shiny new money car. Fingers has a Masters program. Poomobile has brown cow Beaugar. BG has Poomobile. Pants has a new house. Beef has a mortgage. But Ace Gang... Dudes, I gots the movie star legs. Hurrah for me--and all y'all--but mostly, seeing as this is my blog, hurrah for me. 'Cause look out... Summer is a'comin, and my movie star legs aren't far behind. Ho hum... So much for modesty, eh?

4. The awkwardness that is the first meeting of The Bachelor and his 20-some odd ho's is unprecedented.

Lots of things I could say,
And lots of things I shouldn't say,
And even more things I'm sure you'd like me to say,
But those are the things I think I'll keep to myself.

*wink*

Do be doo dooooo

I love loud music. Seriously. Lurve it. Especially when I'm in Yaris, and we're bootin' it along to or from work... I just pump it. 'Till my sweet wee seats are vibrating with the noise. And the windows go kinda blurry with the bass. I drive better with loud music.

And there's certain songs that I 'specially love to drive to. None of this "oompta oompta" shat. It used to be Aerosmith's "Sweet Emotion," but I'm over that. Right now it's "Poets" and "Fireworks" by the Hip:

If there's a goal that everyone remembers it was back in ol' 72
We all squeezed the stick and we all pulled the trigger
And all I remember was sitting beside you
You said you didn't give a fuck about hockey
And I never saw someone say that before
You held my hand and we walked home the long way
You were loosening my grip on Bobby Orr...

"What Goes Around Comes Around" is another good one. If I pump it right off the start, it'll take me to the Brant exit. Proviso the timing is right, and no one's being a highway asshole. And like I said, I drive better with loud music.

Confession time: sometimes I even car dance.

*ahem*

But enough about me. What's your pick for driving? And no lurking on this one. If you read it, post it... Dooo it...

American version: What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.
Canadian version: What happens in Winnipeg... let me say it again. What happens in Winnipeg?

Holy pajamas... Just say it already!

Gawd...

Two posts in one day?

Crazy, I know. But this cat makes me laugh. A lot. Seriously. So much so, I felt the need to share it with the group.

Although generally speaking moustaches annoy me (see item #6 on the list), kitty's moustache is redonk. The "yeowy yeowy yeow" noise kitty makes at the end of the video is redonk. Kitty's fluffitude is redonk. Owner-man's "BLAH" noise made in response to poor kitty's spaz is redonk. And kitty's pouting is redonk. So very clearly hiding from owner-man behind that window ledge, all "get away from me, I haaaaate ch'ou". Le sigh. So funny...

Generally speaking, you should always appreciate Pants.

Because, see, Pants are very reliable, and very comfortable. So comfy, you often take them for granted and think, "Oh, Pants. Yes, I know them, and I have some of them. But they are way at the back of the closet."

You should reach for them more often, instead of the ones that are right there on your legs, because you always have those ones on, but those Pants in the back... they are special. Ver special.

So then you do, and they fit nice. And they make you feel pretty and good. And you wonder why you keep them in the back of your closet.

I love my Pants. They are the bestest and the cutest and the ones I will always have and love. She (oops), I mean they are my favoritest. I hope she (damn) I mean they know that...

So far I've:

1. Made coffee with no pants on.
2. Watched TV and eaten green grapes with no pants on.
3. Danced around the second and third floor to "Girlfriend" (again, with no pants on).

Having the house to yourself is f&ckin' aces. I'm never putting pants on again...

There. You've had your warning. If you're planning on stopping by sometime this week, don't be startled by my pantless-ness.

Have you ever noticed the "Aldershot Cold Storage" place along the highway? If you're going towards Burlington, it's on the right hand side.

I'm pretty sure it's full of bodies.

It totally looks like something out of a horror movie. Totally and completely. Full. Of. Bodies.

"Don't let the name throw you Jimmy. It's not really a floor, it's more of a steel grating that allows material to sluice through so it can be collected and exported."

Listen, when this story breaks, you remember who reported it first.

*ahem*

This one goes out to all y'all who either:

1. Speed along at morning rush hour in the 403 passing lane past the Highway 6 cut-off, knowing that you're going to cause all traffic trying to merge to slow and/or come to a complete stop, to which you react by swerving quickly into the middle lane, resulting in my slamming on of the breaks, and subsequent cursing, shouting of obscenities, etc.
2. Speed along at evening rush hour in the 403 slow lane up to the Main Street East exit which you know splits into an overpass (and yet you do it anyway), to which you react by swerving quickly into the middle lane, resulting in my slamming on of the breaks, and subsequent cursing, shouting of obscenities, etc.

I'm estimating you've shaved about 4 years off my life, and 4 hours onto my commute. I'm shaking my fist at your right now!

p.s. Jack and his "... but I'll come back for you." Le double sigh! I'm telling you, dude. Subtle is sexy. And this coming from the girl who usually pulls for Sawyer...

p.p.s. I've said it once, I'll say it again: Bitch... please. I backed up and started getting my own sandwich months ago. Sr'sly? WHAT'S WRONG WITH GIRLS?!

Sometimes people say things to me and I think, "Wow. Did you really just say that out loud? I wonder if you meant to just think that in your head, and not actually say it to my face...?" 'Cause sometimes... Wow... Sometimes that sh*t is just mean.

Also, I have a picture on my desk taken while lying on a beach chair in Cuba, and all you can see are my really tanned feet and the really blue green ocean. Fantasy locale, right now.

And finally, I try so hard to be a good girl and eat even the brown parts of my bananas, but sometimes it's just so hard.

I'm trying to think of something witty to say...

*reaches for bag of cheddar Crispy Minis*

Hmm...

*chew chew chew*

Mmm...

*licks lips*

*slurps 5 Alive*

Nope... Nothing comin' to me.

*crunch chew chew*

I guess we've discovered why I have such a ghetto booty...

Trade In

It's Friday and I'm feeling crazy...

Library School was dull. Le sigh. So we tried to mix it up a bit (such naughty librarians, non?) As part of this, Hurrah and Sleeves organized the Seven Deadly Sins parties.

There was the greed party, where we gambled (I think... I might have been drunk...). The gluttony party, which involved a halloween pot-luck, and a riDONKULOUS amount of mini chocolate bars. The wrath party, where we had great plans of burning our notes and text books and cursing the evil Velociraptor. But then we chickened out and ended up on Whyte drinking Grass with lemon and eating Fish and Chips. I think... Again, I might have been drunk...

But the Lust party. Now that was memorable. The deal was we all had to bring a clip from a movie of what we considered to be the most lustful on-camera scene of all time. And no telling who's was who's. Strict policy.

So there were cute clips from "Love Actually", and the standby Angelina in "Original Sin". And of course, the infamous "Y tu mamá también"--ver ver sexy, if you haven't seen it.

Mine... Well, I'm willing to share. I'm an admited romantic. And lust to me isn't "necessarily" *ahem* about who's stradling who. Ho hum. My clip was from Jane Austen's "Mansfield Park". I won't even try to explain it to you, because the scene will get seriously lost in translation, and yes, I know you're all giggling and thinking I'm a huge dork. S'kay. I know. I'm alright with it. You can go ahead and laugh... But I'm telling you: subtle is sexy. And there were people in the room that night who agreed with me.

But I'm trading in my scene. I've found a new one. If you haven't seen "Girl With a Pearl Earring", see it. And not just for Scar Jo, my new ho of choice. And not just for Colin, who I've been intimitaly connected with these ten years now.

See it for the subtle lust. See it for this scene. Now this... This is sexy. Are you with me, or are you with me? Excuse the subtitles. Damn YouTube.



Triple dog dare you to post your own...

40 Random Things That Annoy Me:

1. Excessive use of the windshield wipers.
2. Trying to spread cold butter.
3. Socks that slouch.
4. Forgetting where you put your glasses.
5. Searching for your misplaced glasses.
6. Moustaches. Full stop.
7. Room temperature milk.
8. Big crowds.
9. Slow, indecisive walkers.
10. Mascara that won't come off your eyelash-ers.
11. Wet band-aids.
12. Fake accents.
13. Fake.
14. Toothpaste that doesn't leave you with that "it stings" feeling. Like Aquafresh.
15. Inserts in a magazine that make it hard to flip the pages.
16. Trying to find someone in Winners.
17. That flappy sound you hear when only one car window is down.
18. Salt and Vinegar chips that aren't vinegar-y enough.
19. Hilary Duff's uni-tooth. Not her. Just her tooth.
20. Witnessing the pig trucks on highway 6.
21. Not knowing if your sleeping bag is cold or wet.
22. Swallowing your mint gum by accident.
23. Pictures hung too high on a wall.
24. Yawns that won't come out.
25. Cheaters. Unless it's Monopoly...
26. Dancing with the Stars.
27. F&ckin' Escalades.
28. Movies that could be good, but aren't.
29. Lost mail.
30. Hair elastics that snap prematurely.
31. Micromanagement.
32. The word "caramel", when it's pronounced "car-mul".
33. Rude people. When there's no reason to be rude. And yet they are anyway.
34. When there's nothing on the radio.
35. Sitting in a chair that's hot from another person's bum.
36. Finishing a really good book.
37. The mustard nubbin that forms on the top of the mustard bottle.
38. Forgetting to turn your alarm off on a Friday night.
39. The subsequent waking up too early on a Saturday.
40. Hang nails.

To quote Monty Python:

You're no fun anymore.



No one wins.

Poo.

Random List (because I'm like that, yo)

1) Why choose Coke or Rootbeer when you can choose Dr. Pepper--the perfect combination of the two. Superior in every way. Second only to chocolate milk. Although first on a hot day. Unless there's a Slurpee to be had. In which case, always. The Slurpee, that is. Oh god... Dr. Pepper Slurpees... Could such a thing be true?

2) I'm diggin' this apartment thing. Poomobile, BG, Free Samples, and Fingers came for an impromptu dinner last night. We rendezvous-ed. I made Indian (*pats self on back*). However, that being said, I will never own/rent another casa sans a dishwasher. So either someone needs to move in with me who enjoys doing dishes, or I need to be making more money.

3) Cat paws are funny things. It's like they have some sort of magnetic pull: they MUST be squeezed. 'Specially when they're just dangling there over the couch, all fat and fluffy... I can't help myself. It's like crack.

4) Spreadable vs. Squeezable honey. I'm partial to the squeezy kind. Discuss.

5) A woman I work with made a rather personal call from our office to her doctor yesterday, re: the "swelling on her butt that is causing [her] some discomfort". I'll tell you what's uncomfortable... Listening to that conversation! She started work at 1:30pm yesterday. So I'm wondering why this call couldn't have been placed from the privacy of her own home? Almost as bad as that time in Deadmonton when a male coworker called to book he and his brother "massages". Hmm... Yea. Sure. "Massage". Right (*rolls eyes*)

6) (*squeezes paws*)

7) Let's hear it for full on non-lesbo crushes on Scar Jo! Whoot! Whoot! I admit it. I lub her.

8) Read I Am The Messenger, by Markus Zusak. Just do it. Because I told you to. AND STOP YELLING AT ME! Oh wait... I'm the one yelling. Sorry...

9) I'm wearing my hair down today... Something different. Mixing it ups a bitters. I feel ver ver weird, though. Like a completely different person. Maybe that explains the yelling...?

10) That's it.

p.s. *poke*

Bog and S'later Facebook

Fingers and I went on a bit of a wild goose chase today. We scoured sketch-town Hammer-ville for the Bosnian grocer her work chum gave her the DL on. Although there's not much from the Bosnian/Serbian/Croatian menu I'd actively choose to remember--Calf's head? Bowels?--there are a few things I'd like to get my hands on again. The cheese BUREK we ate for breakfast, for example. Or that chocolate covered somethin' fabulous cookie that I'd probs commit murder for. Le sigh... It just wasn't meant to be.

But I'm giving you a little treat, dearest Readers. A video. Staring none other than your fav library lady: me. Not the Paris Hilton kind, though (thankfully). In this diddy, I'm trying a Clipsy for the first time. And for the record, that's a peanut butter flavored cheesie. It used to be said I'd never met a chip I didn't like. Now? You be the judge... Do you think I liked it? Hmmm?

p.s. I have officially deactivated my Facebook account. Just 'cause. It's not personal, it's business. Quite liberating, really. I won't be getting those emails saying you've tagged me or posted on my wall or just generally stalked me. So if you want to talk, use email. Or blog it. Or text it. Or whatevs. But for my Pants... *poke*

Karma

So I got a pair of pants taken in at the Stitch-It place in the mall, and I'm wearing them today. Nothing new. Ho hum. But what I failed to see (until I was helping some dude in the stacks find books on antique coins) is that they left a HUGE gap in the bum seam... So my 'tocks are totally hanging out for the general public. Nice. I now have a bazillion safety pins holding my pants together. Cheers, thanks a lot.

That's what I get for wearing my Tuesday underwears on Friday.

CCR--Bad Moon Rising

If you really listen, it sounds more like "bathroom on the right".

Remember that time we went to Cuba, and all I wanted was a drink-a-licious-somethin' in a coconut, and Hurrah and Fingers were all, "Oh, silly Library Lady... Doesn't she know that sort of thing only happens in movies that star Elvis or have something to do with beach blankets and bingos *scoff scoff*" and so we went into town and got followed around by a dog and I got a smiley face suntan on my tummy and when we got back to our hotel the entire beach was strewn with coconut drinks because they'd had a coconut drink party while we were away and it would have appeared that everyone in Cuba had fun with coconut drinks but me?

Hmm? Remember that?

p.s. That was a long sentence.

Woa Doggy!

My bestys need to breath. I wasn't writing about anyone. I'm not mad at anyone. There's no problem. There's no issue (and I certainly don't need to relax...) I'm workin' on it. I'm gearing down. I was just venting 'bout nothing in particular. "Mindless ramblings," as they were. I do that occasionally. Probs you need a glass of chocolate milk or something. Come over to my house... I'll make you some.

So to satisfy your funny bone, I'm bringing back what (I think) I do best:

When I'm at the gym I spend the majority of my time on the treadmill, as Poomobile can attest to. The gym is set up so that the treaders face the rest of the building, including the weights and the walkway you use to get to the change rooms. Needless to say, this lends itself awkwardly to lurkers ogling your wobbly bits while you're hoofin it. Ladies, this is where the supportive bra becomes an essential.

But, I digress... I'd like to comment on the 5:00-6:00pm gym crowd.

First, There's triangle man. He's built like a brick shit house. And he looks like this:


Note: this is not an accurate representation of Triangle Man. This is something I did really quickly using paintshop. But you can imagine.

Then there's thong girl. You know her. She's the one that wants everyone to know she's wearing a t-back, so she yanks it so far out of her pantaloons it's uncomfortable. Or at least, it's uncomfortable for me just looking at it, let alone being the one with my underwears wedged up my butters.

There's "The winker". He's cute.

And Mighty Mouse. She's about 4'10, seventy pounds dripping wet. But she wears about 300 pounds in weights strapped to her wrists and ankles and spends about 45 minutes going full force on the elliptical. She frightens me a bit. Kinda edgy like... I know she could totally take me. And for sures she's on that elliptical thinking about all the people on her list...

We can't forget the guy who wears women's t-shirts. He's pretty fit, actually. Kind of a Baldwin, to quote "Clueless". But he wears shirts that come to just above his navel. Not so Baldwin. And he spends quit a bit of time looking down at his own chest. Again... Not so Baldwin.

The children. Those are the boys and girls who come to the gym and hang around the machines, usually in matching clothes (some form of Lululemon and/or sideways hats). They never really do much. But they do a good job of pretending. I'm convinced *rolls eyes*.

And last but not least, there's creepy gym guy. He actually works at the club. I made the mistake of telling him during my initial physical assessment that I thought all public libraries should carry 'Playboy'. Now, whenever he sees me, he says "Librarian" and gives me the once over. Ew. Gross. Quit it. Blech. Blech x10.

And to quote Hurrah, that's it. And now I'm going to watch the Avril video again...

Mindless Ramblings, Take Two:

Bear with me, this could be a long one. Please feel free to quit reading anytime you like. In fact, maybe you shouldn't even start. I'm basically thinking outloud. Or should that be writing outloud...? Regardless...

I've never been very good at saying what I want to say--I can obsess over it in my mind for days, and it can be on the tip of my tongue just waiting to be word vomitted from my lip-balmed pucker, but I can very rarely bring it up. I bottle. I zip. I get quiet and I like to be alone. Such is the life of Library Lady. And there are few who get this about me.

Moreoften than not, I end up writing it down.

Bread and Jam became that vent, I guess, although I never really intended it to be my Sherpa... It just sort of happened! With the exception of a few peeps, I really have no idea who even reads this. Occasionally they come out of the woodwork as closet lurkers and I'm shocked to learn they're faithful followers. This is both encouraging and startling, I guess.

Before she was born, I had this big red book to occupy me. Something like a journal. I mean, they were my thoughts and my feelings on basically everything that happened in a five (six? seven?) year period. But they were never really my words, so I can't really claim them. When something happend--good or bad--I looked for a song or a poem or a movie line or a book quote to explain it. Maybe I always thought someone could phrase it better. I put all my trust in their their ability to say it right.

This brings up issue number two. I'm a Locke girl (and I think Free Samples is the only one who's gonna to get that reference). For those of you who didn't take PoliSci 2H03--Globalization and the State:

"In the state of nature humans mostly keep their promises and honor their obligations."

In other words, I'm completely nieve. I put my trust in people without question, assuming that for the most part, like me, they're looking out for those around them and not just themselves. That's not to say I'm a pushover. 'Cause I'm not. I know what I want. I know what I like. And I don't feel the need to justify it to anyone. That much I've learned. What you see is what you get with me. I guess that's all part of being nieve... Maybe I open myelf up too much? Blech. I don't know...

But I think I'm starting to realize it's all connected. That Hokey Pokey I talked about earlier. Two steps forward, one step back. I have to realize that just because someone's able to put it into words, doesn't mean they know what they're talking about. They could just be good with commas and semicolons. Just because they say they're going to, doesn't mean they actually will. They could just be a liar. But that's all part of it.

And so is learning that keeping it all in isn't going to make it go away. Just writing this has helped.

p.s. Who is this person? That's, like, three serious posts in a month... Too much thinking while running makes Library Lady a dull girl.

Who Knew?

Avril... I'm shocked. Yea, I'll admit it. I'm secure enough to say it... I heart her new song. And her new video. It's got that "Hey Mickey!" feel to it. Good on 'ya, girly. That, and she's ridiculously pretty nowadays. Less bitter, maybe?

See for yourself:



p.s. The Peanut Gallery can shut it.

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...

Most boys are dicks. Not all. But most.

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.

Cute Overload says: When Kittehs ATTACK!

Hmmm...

Update: *TAPPITY-TAP DANCE OF UBER ELATION!!!*