Lessons

For the fall: French lessons or the Photography classes I was going to take back in January?

Which do I choose?

Both will help in Morocco...

Tennis

I was watching the Canadian women play tonight on TSN. And I gots to say...

...For a sport whose birth lies in garden parties and country clubs, there is a grande amount of grunting and balls up the butt.

Exhibit A.

Your thoughts?

Running

Most every evening before dinner I go for a run. And tonight was no different.

Yaris and I got home, and I changed into my "Happy as a Clam" t-shirt and black runnink pant-a-loonies. Sneakers... Check. iPod... Check. Kleenex to mop the sweat off my face... Double check.
Stretch, stretch, stretch. Bending down to stretch back hamstrings, chin to tummy. Hmm... What's that on my t-shirt? Looks like jam... Sniff... Yum *sucks jam spot off t-shirt*

Start running. Running past a car, I check myself out in the windows. Hmm... This clam t-shirt is much shorter than I thought it was. Must adjust pants to cover wobbly bits. Now I'm worried I have a wedgie in my butters. Or worse yet... The dreaded front weggie. Ew. Now I have to pull my pants back down, because I'd rather risk the wobbly bits than "the toe".

Running up the path, and it smells like dog poo. Pass the garbage can at the top of the trail that's filled with bags of dog poo. Thinking to myself, "This must be the source of the poo smell..."

Officially on the trail, trucking along. I can hear myself breathing. I hate that. Huff puff huff puff huff puff. Gots to turn the iPod up. Now everyone in a 100 foot radius can hear my Pussycat Dolls. Double thinking my music tastes while I turn down the iPod.

Passing the golf course. There's always cute boys on the golf course at this time of night. Damn those wobble bits! Sucking in my tummy. Huff puff suck. Huff puff suck. This is harder than it looks.

Pass through the parking lot, past the poor suckers running the escarpment stairs. Chuckle to myself and think about how much I hate those damn stairs. And BLAM!

Ordinarily I would continue along the trail into Ancaster... But the trail is "closed for maintenance"?!... tha f&ck? Hmm... Do I take the trail anyway? Risk it? What are they doing, cutting the lawn? Thinking to myself this is just like that time in Banff where that triathlete went for a jog in the mountains and came across a closed trail, and decided to run anyway, and then the man eating bear who was the cause of the closing of the trail popped out of a nook and chased her up a tree and ate her.

...

Rethinking this analogy. It's really not like a man eating bear at all... Man eating racoon or bebe bunneh, maybs. Poison ivy. No man eating bears.

Huff puff huff puff. Doing the damn stairs. Man... I hate these stairs... 287, 288, 289, and I've reached the top. There must be rag weed or something growing along the side of those damn stairs. Huff puff wheeze snot huff puff wheeze snot. Gross. Now I'm using my sweat kleenexes to mop up my runny nose. Blech. I bet I have bits of kleenex stuck to my face... Hmm... Mental note: check for face kleenex at next possible window.

Jogging along the side of the road is different from jogging along the path. Lots of cars to dodge. I hope I don't see anyone I know in one of these cars.

Damn. I've just seen someone I know. Waving. Hi... Yes, yes... It's me... Yes, I know, I'm sweaty. Double crap with knobs. I have kleenex stuck to my chin. Make an excuse and get out of there, make an excuse and get out of there...

At last, I've made my escape. Just in time to trot back down the stairs. Past the guy who literally and figuratively lives on the stairs. Past a wiener dog takin' em two at a time... Wowza, that dog has tiny legs. Double wowza. That dog with the tiny legs can climb these stairs fast. Thinking about getting a wiener dog. Remembering the wiener dog who belonged to a woman I babysat for. I could feel her ribs. It creeped me out... Remembering why I don't want a dog whose ribs I can feel.

Thinking about pugs.

Now I'm laughing.

Back on the trail, along the road, and down the hill. It's getting harder now. Thinking about the weekend. Thinking about dinner. Mmm... Pizza. Now I'm hungry. Tummy rumbling. Huff puff rumble. Mouth watering. Great... Now I have to spit. All this thinking about food (and the rag weed) has left me all gobby. Hmm... Shifts eyes from side to side to side. Hoping that no one's looking...

... There, I've done it. I've spit. Now I have spittle running down my chin. Sick. If I hadn't snotted all over my kleenex, I'd wipe my face, but then of course I'd end up with more kleenex stuck to me. Lifts up t-shirt to wipe spittle. Uber wobble bits. Wobbly bits flailing all over the place. Quickly pulling down shirt.

Huff puff huff puff. Up the hill. I've got to be running backwards, because I swear I'm getting farther away from the finish line. Car pulling past me on the left... Glaring at him thinking "What's he looking at? Perv." Oh wait, it's his house I'm running past. Eee... Awkward. Give him the polite nod. He doesn't return the nod... Running faster now.

Nearing the top. Almost there. Bedouin Soundclash's "Gyasi Went Home" pumping through my head... Toes are curling, calves are burning, deep breaths... mega huff mega puff...

Weeeeee! And I'm done, for another night. Until tomorrow.

Already thinking about the slurpee I'll have later, whose sugar content will negate all the work I've just spent the last 45 doing.

Damn you slurpee.

Mmm... slurpee.

Like I said, most every evening before dinner I have to go for a run.

Things and stuff

Amongst many bizarre-o conversations had this weekend was the conversation had about my guilty pleasure movies.

"What's a guilty pleasure movie" you ask?

Excellent question, Muchachos.

A guilty pleasure movie is a movie you watch time and time again, even though you know it's double crap with knobs. Maybe it's the terrible acting. Or the quality of the sound. Or the bad editing. Regardless of what qualifies it as "bad", there's something about it that sucks you in every... single... time. You try and flip by it on channel 7, but it catches your eye, and the next thing you know two hours of your life have been sucked away and you feel violated.

Consider the following questions:

1) If it comes on cable do you sit down and watch the entire film even though you've already seen it 20 times?

2) Do you watch it even though you also own it on DVD or video?

3) And finally, would you ever admit to anyone that this film is one of your favorite movies?

My guilty pleasure movie might be:

• 'Days of Thunder'.
• Or maybe 'She's All That'.
• Or maybe 'Return to the Blue Lagoon'...

Anyone willing to confess theirs?

Also, as an aside. Has anyone ever seen THIS website? Holy bananas! I mean... They say you can learn to do "just about everything" but man alive... There really are instructions on literally everything! How to make a peanut butter and jam sandwich. How to ride a donkey. How to blow your nose. How to keep from getting angry at fast-food cashiers. And how to clip a chihuahua's toenails... Yes, a chihuahua. See for yourself. It's remarkable, and yet, eerily upsetting as to how much time some people have...

I just saw a girl in a catsuit.

This Saturday is not turning out how I thought it would.

Ruined

A movie came out a long time ago called Dangerous Liaisons, with creepy John Malkovich and Glen Close, amongst others (Keanu, Uma, Swoosie, Michelle, etc.) Very cool, very luxurious. A good, twisted, involved, French period movie, complete with amazing costumes, giant powdered hair, and fake beauty marks.

Then about ten years ago, Cruel Intentions with Reese Witherspoon premiered. Essentially the same movie, but with rich New York socialites instead of French aristocrats. Oh, and remove the costumes, luxury, and beauty marks. Emphasis on the sex and cocaine.

Why am I talking about this?

Because the second monstrosity totally ruined the idea of the first. It's too bad, really.

Seriously, go out and rent the first. New Mommy, I totally think you'd dig it. And you too, Pants.

Once upon a time...

...two girls found each other in and amongst the crowds of people, and they became fantastic friends.

One wore funny pants. One had tall shoes.

And for a short time, the girls spent mucho time together. They discussed important things-- relevant things--like The Bachelor, and Barbies, and the saltiness of dill pickle chips. They planned weddings, and moves from one house to another, and the bitterness of discovering you can no longer eat sandwiches. The girl with the tall shoes loved her friend with the funny pants.

Then one day, tall shoes decided she needed to move far, far away from funny pants. And funny pants hugged, and held a hand, and patted a back, and swore and cursed and called names those that needed to be called names.

So shoes left pants. And for that she was sad.

But they continued to talk, almost daily. Shoes wrote to Pants, and Pants wrote to Shoes. And they discussed important things--relevant things--like The Simpsons movie pig, and cherries (which, by the by, are the greatest summer fruit, unless consumed en masse as I did just recently, which resulted in uber sickness...), and the categorization of chocolate bars.

Pants remains Shoes' bestest writing bud. She is the alter ego she never knew she had. The ultimate confidante, voice of reason, and guaranteed smile. She is a friend people hope they'll have someday.

They are far apart, but Shoes always keeps her Pants close.

The end.

p.s. Thank you for my box of goodies, dearest Pants. You made me cry.

Bon Echo 2007

Warning: this post is going to be long, because I had so much fun, and it's worth writing about. Plus, I gotta thank all my ladies for makin' it the vacation I wanted and needed. There. You've had your warning.

Back in March or April, Fingers, Poomobile, and I hatched a plan to take a wicked, awesome vacation together (along with our significant others), and anyone else we could drum up. So we booked two campsites at one of my all-time favorite Provincial parks, Bon Echo. It's about 4 hours from home, far enough North that you feel you've left civilization, but far enough south that you're not in the car for what feels like forever and a day.

Bon Echo has a lot of history to it, including the remnants of an old hotel, originally built back in 1889. The hotel was then purchased by famous business woman and suffragette, Flora McDonald, who in turn attracted writers and authors, including members of the Group of Seven. But this story doesn't even come close to the history painted on the over 100 meter rock cliffs bordering the park's Lake Mazinaw. The rock is covered in hieroglyphics, dating back some 300-1000 years ago.

And then there's the giant sturgeon living close to 400 feet below the water's surface. His name is Stanley.

But that's enough of the boring stuff.

Basically, we girls decided it was best to take it old school and packed for a girly clan: Poomobile, Fingers, Free Samples, and Library Lady. No boys. No drama. And best of all, no need to get fancy. We've seen each other at our bests, and our worsts. So there's no one to impress.

Fingers, Poo, and I left Friday afternoon, cruising through Toronto traffic at a dead stop. This was the longest part of the drive. But got through it with car games, banana muffins, and dreams of McDonalds (which were never fully realized that day, I'm sad to say).

We arrived at Bon Echo at 8:00, with just enough sun to get our sweet tents set up. Fingers worked on the one tent that would include our closet, liquor store, and MiniMart, while Poo and I assembled our hotel room, with wall to wall double-high ma tresses and a disco ball. Not to mention the welcome mat. I got us a fire started, and we congregated for a beer and chips. Seriously... It's like my dream come true.

Slept beautifully. Morning was grey, but perfect for a long walk down to the water front, and to the local artisans festival. Back to the campsite for an impromptu campfire and an attempt to further reach my yearly hot dog quota. The drizzly rain ended lunch early, but left us in perfect condition for a nap and a couple-o-hours of trashy magazines.

Free Samples arrived around 5:30, right after our evening dip (and can I just say that Poomobile is a terrible shoulder-getter-on-er...), and just in time for our park organized Kickball game. Seriously, I think it was supposed to be for the tots, but Poo has such a competitive streak, she was bound and determined to kick some kickball ace. You'll notice Poo and FS out there on the field.

After the game we marched off the the "Spirits of Bon Echo" campfire. Fingers and I had been to this the last time we were at the park and tried warning the others as to the atrociousness of the event. But they couldn't be shaken. I spent most of my time gimping (and I should mention I got so hooked on gimping, that I recently went out and purchased my own roll...)

Sunday was spent at the beach. I fashioned a tiny boat out of driftwood (christened "Scooner"), napped, sunned, played cards, and snacked. Then we busted into the Euchre, and I'm sad to say Poo and I lost the 7 game series 4-3. We're still pretty pissed about the whole thing, because Fingers is a dirty cheater. But I digress. Ahem. (This is awkward because she's probably reading this...)

Sunday afternoon we took a drive up to a quieter lake, and I launched Scooner, accidentally peed on my foot, and learned more than perhaps necessary about my three travel companions. We also watched a family of five lug their canoe, three banshee sons, and one tiny dog wearing a life jacket, out of the water and up the portage. It was collectively agreed witnessing this scene was wonderful birth control.

We had pita pizzas for dinner and more s'mores than you can shake a stick at. We also saved our neighbors--whom I affectionately named Cinco de Mayo--from the ravaging of Raccoons. They in turn cursed us for getting involved by coming back later that night to taunt me with their creepy noises. I'm taking about the raccoons, not Mr. and Mrs. Next Door.

Monday morning we took the aforementioned tour of the lake, and FS demonstrated safety first. FS left us later that day, but we carried the party on with hair braiding, an evening show on Herptiles , not to be confused with Hermaphodites ("I think he said 'SKINK' not 'SKANK', Poo...). Fingers worked up the nerve to ask one of the naturalist guys how snakes consummate their relationships. Apparently snakes have dongs. Who knew?

It was a relatively early night, but not early enough to avoid further altercations with the raccoons. We had grilled cheese for dinner, more s'mores, beer, and lots of girly talk.

The drive home was easy going, and we finally got the long salivated over McDonald's value meal. And it was glorious.

I have to say, ladies, this was perhaps the best camping trip evah! Sun, sand, good food, good conversation, and good laughs. I couldn't have asked for more than I got. In fact, it was so fantabulous, we've already planned next year's trip, right down to the campsite we want, and the weekend we want it for. Here's hoping it's as much of a pleasure as this year's adventure. And to finish it off, a few of the pictures I couldn't squeeze in...

Hurray for Ebay!

A couple of weeks ago, Manrissa came over to my house in her snazzy little Thai Fisherman Pants. And I lubbed them. But rather than making a special trip to Thailand to purchase me a pair from a Cambodian child for $2 (like Manrissa), I decided to order them from Ebay. So off I went, and off I shopped, and If I bid, and off I waited... Until today! And as I write, I'm sitting here in my new, fancy, dark green Thai Fisherman Pants. Happy as a clam. Tra la.

In other news, my sister watches Battlestar Galactica. Don't judge me.

More to Come

So much to say about Bon Echo. Honestly, the bestest camping trip evah. H to the hoh yea! So much fun. But I'm gonna wait until I've gathered me some pictures before I post any real details. Until that time...

Is there anything better than a Caesar? I've always thought they were a tasty drink. More of a meal than something I'd scarf at the bar. But uber tasty, nonetheless. Fingers brought these canned ready-to-drink Motts Clamato Caesar drinks. And I'm telling you, although I've never thought I'd enjoy something in which the main ingrediant was the juice of a clam (... tha f&ck?), at 5:00 or so, one of these yummy little diddies--chilled to perfection, mind you--just goes down like love. And she even brought a couple a celery sticks for dipping. What's better than this? Hmm?

A big thank ya goes out to Fingers for sharing the love.

Channeling Julie Andrews

Fo' my readers, who won't have a post for some four days, "these are a few of my favorite things!":

Kelly Rowland and Eve, "Like This":



A Favorite Natalie Dee:



...and last but not least...

MONKEY LANDER

Enjoy, and I'll see you on Wednesday!!!

So You Think You Can Dance

It's still my favorite ROUTINE.

And he's still a sexy beast. Oo la la Wade.

Vacation Countdown

25 th of July.
24 cold Moosehead beer.
23 years I've known Fingers.
22 dollars plus $100 for a campsite.
21 tiny potatoes to cook with oil in foil on the grill.
20 marshmallows in a bag, perfect for toasting.
19 tacky items decorating my tent, bought at Dollerama for $1.
18 years-old when I moved in with FS.
17 emails sent to confirm plans.
16 somethings... I can't think of a #16.
15 times I've checked my packing list to make sure I've got it all.
14 years-old when Poomobile and I shared a desk in Religion.
13 different types of snacks.
12 hours I'll need to work tomorrow so I can leave early Friday...
11 new songs I downloaded onto my iPod.
10 books I'm trying to choose between to bring with me.
9 years since we were all in high school together.
8 D batteries to power up my lantern and air mattress pump.
7 o'clock, our estimated time of arrival.
6 ty percent chance of rain on Saturday...
5 days days away from "my room".
4 hour drive to Bon Echo.
3 girls in a Jeep singing along to some sweet beats.
2 days leave without pay.
1 super, duper fun, girly fantastic weekend.

So 'cited!

Damn the illusion of movement!

*blink blink*

*mouth hanging open*

*looks around*



Um... Yea.

*cough*

Well, um...

*awkward pause*

*ahem*

Well, many thanks to, um, Little Fingers (who may or may not have been high on bumwados--I'm not sayin', I'm just sayin'...) when she found this... this... um...

*shifty eyes*

... this "something," and sent it to me.

And remember, no smokin', and no flash photography. My head is now a giant egg!

Must... Go...

Can't talk.

Reading.

So.

Good.

Will be offline avoiding spoilers. So call me, if you need to.

Can't believe I've wasted this much time typing.

Back to the book.

p.s. FS, don't you think Jen (or the Jen-sa member, as she prefers to be called) from Big Brother reminds you of a certain person we lived with who may or may not have been looks obsessed, whiny, and somewhat of a liar?

Freebie Five Addition

Let's talk about Harry Goldenblatt.

Uh huh. Yes. Yes. I agree. Excellent point.

*dabs imaginary pencil to tongue and jots fake notes*

We're unanimous then? All agreed say "Aye".

Montion passed. Harry Goldenblatt has been added to the Freebie Five.

Let's Go Down to the Disco, non?

Stamp, stamp to the left,
Left leg kick, kick,
Arm up,
Stab, stab to the left,
Stamp, stamp to the right,
Right leg kick, kick,
Arm up,
Stab, stab to the right,
Quick twirl round with both hands raised to Thor
Raise your (pretend) drinking horn to the left,
Drinking horn to the right,
Horn to the sky,
All over body shake
Huddly duddly,
And fall to knees with a triumphant shout of “HORRRRNNNNN!!!!”

How does the song go?

"... And when you're up, you're up,
And when you're down, you're down,
And when you're only half way up,
You're neither up, nor down."

Such is life, n'est pas?

You know what really grinds my gears?

When you go shopping, and you buy something--say, like a cute little pink jacket with tiny buttons up the front, and a sweet little tea collar, and a matching tank with little sparkles around the neckline--and the salesperson takes your debit card, and runs it through the machine, and politely punches in the $67 or whatever amount it is you paid for your cute new outfit, and prints your receipt and folds it neatly and places it into a wee envelope, and then literally bunches your cute little outfit into a rough pile and STUFFS it ferociously into the corner of the bag. Sometimes I think they do it on purpose... Like I can hear them snarling and going all Bilbo Baggins on my clothes, cackling, all MUAHAHAHAHA on my new, bunched up, scrunched up outfit.

This really grinds my gears.

Big Plans

So I'm making plans.

For many years, talking about the future was like some sort of taboo. I just didn't do it. Ridiculously, I feared jinxing what I now know would never have worked. Lesson learned, hindsight 20/20, and all that jazz. I've moved on to the bigger and the much better and I know my life is taking me where I was meant to be.

And I'm excited.

First. I love where I work, and ideally something will come of it. I'm actually hoping for permanency, which is weird. I know I don't seem like the kind of girl who likes change--what with my pressing need to nest wherever I go, and my overwhelming preference to preserve tradition--but the Human Sea Cucumber rubbed off on me. There is some sort of appeal in not knowing what will come, or being tied to one place. With nothing holding me down, I have options. And I can still comfortably use the phrase "When I grow up I want to..."

Banking on this (a permanent job and thus a career), my first plan involves a condo. The minute a permanent job is on the table, I will buy a home. Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Beef have rubbed off on me, the reality that their cosy gingerbread dream came to fruition. I too would like a place of my own. I want to paint it the colors I love. I want to put my paintings and pictures on the walls. I want to fill it with my stuff.

The second is something completely different from the first, and perhaps a little easier to believe (easier for me to believe, maybe not so easy for you, Dear Reader). In January, at the end of the contract, I want to take another GAP trip. And I already have it picked out.

I will go to Morocco. Starting in Casablanca, ending in Marrakesh. Fourteen days, January 5th to January 18th. And I think I will most likely be doing it on my own, the idea of which is scarier to me than a $200,000 mortgage. But I'm really thinking on this. Drastically different than plan number one, but equally as exciting, and equally as far from where I thought I would be some 12 months ago.

So... What do you think?

I can't believe it...

I forgot to post last night. What's wrong with me? It must be all the country music getting to me. Those catchy tunes running through my head and the infernal toe taping that coincides... It's tiring me out!

In other news, I have a new Harry Potter theory:

My forever idea was that Harry would live (obvi, pfft) and he would become the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and the series would continue in a few years with a new group of kids, and Harry as their teacher. He would play a minimal role. But JK would get to leave her options open. Tra la.

*ahem*

Now, however, upon re-reading Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, I'm worrying that...

*wait for it...*

... Harry's scar is the last Horcrux, and insofacto, Harry must die for Voldermort He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named to die.

What say you?

Confession:

I think I like country music. Don't judge me...

And Other Such Things...

Padre bought a GPS system. And it gives me the creep-a-zoids.

Maybe it's the weirdo British, male voice-over telling me "after 400 meters turn left". Or maybe it's the fact that somewhere, somehow, somebody will always know where I am... I mean, do we really know who's at the other end of that of that satellite? For all I know, the province of Manitoba could be collecting data on where I buy my gas so they can destroy me and Yaris. I know! Totally likely, right? Pfft. It's hard to believe it hasn't happened yet.

...

Now that I've gone all conspiracy theory on you, lets get to the real reason I don't like GPS systems: while driving home from TCBY in Westdale after dinner last night, Padre drove right past the four streets that lead up to the house. When I asked him "why didn't we turn?" he answered... "because I'm waiting for the machine to tell me to."

...

Fo. S'rious.

In other news, at TCBY I ordered a milk shake, and the girl forgot the shake. Literally... into cup place frozen yogurt, malt, chocolate sauce... insert straw and sip. What tha? Where's the mixin? Hmm? I can't drink a solid. I pity the foo'.

I'm sitting on my couch bawling my eyes out.

Because of the movie...




(wait for it)



... Gladiator.



... tha f&ck? I'm either seriously PMS-ing, or I need therapy.

His Nibs

I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I've been a bad Library Lady, leaving you without a new post. But it's time I got down and dirty and followed up on the long weekend (again, sorry for the time delay).


So, July 1st was spent at BSB's cottage ala cottage country. Tres bon, etc. The weather was poo, but that just meant there was extra time for jigsaw puzzles (for which two were completed), eating (for which cheesies were consumed en masse and in stale form), and my new favorite past time, drinking Jenga. I read. I sat in a hammock. I made short but sweet dips into the water, followed by long and mediocre-ly hot sauna sessions ("ooooh, so the water is supposed to go on the rocks...")

But what I'd really like to focus on is... His Nibs. Because I had literally forgotten about His Nibs until Wednesday afternoon, when while sitting on the reference desk he suddenly popped into my head and I began laughing laughing laughing. Hilarosity!

The story, you ask? Whilst enjoying the boat dock in our nightly 15 minute break in the clouds, Poomobile had a nervy spaz after finding the skeleton to a cicada bug clinging to the fencing. For those of you unfamiliar with the anatomy of a cicada, they basically moult their skin, leaving behind a sick looking cicada shell...

Being a silly Library Lady, I took it upon myself to rescue the cicada skin, and to then position him in funny locations on my shirt and in my hair... You know, to scare people and what not. Vair vair funny. I highly recommend it.

But then Poo and I took a fondness to the little dude, after all the photos and the silliness and merriment and what not. Clearly, we needed a name. Whilst enjoying a thrilling game of cribbage (who doesn't love cribbage?) we came up with... His Nibs! .And so His Nibs came to be our gaming mascot in the evil euchre battle we played later on, and in the Scrabble, and in the puzzling, etc. etc. And Now that I'm telling this story, I'm thinking the drinking Jenga had something to do with the comedy of His Nibs. I'm also wondering what happened to the little gaffer... And how I can go about getting a t-shirt with His Nibs' picture on it...

Library Goodness

Happiness is picking up your library holds.

It's like getting mail--the thrill of going to the mailbox (or in this case the holds shelf) not knowing what you'll find, and being pleasantly surprised that one or two things were meant just for you. I love picking up my holds. They're always sitting there, waiting for me, wrapped in their happy packages and elastics, silently hoping that you're there for them.

Tonight I did the habitual trot down to the mail room, ran my finger along the spines of the books and CDs, and found my name amongst the L's (for Library Lady). And holy Toledo, three things!

1. The Dixie Chicks CD, Home, because I'm harboring a not-so-secret lub for them. Yaris and I have been rockin' to "Long Way Round," and we just can't get enough.
2. The book "The Last Summer (of You and Me)" by Ann Brashares (the Travelling Pants lady). Started it at dinner, and I'm tellin' ya, it's up there... It's rivaling some of my personal favs. It's a simple story. But there's defs something about a beach town and complex relationships that suck me in every... single... time. Don't even get me started on the goodness that is Summer Sisters. You name me one person (just one) who started that book and couldn't finish it. So simple, yet soooo good. Top five on my list, and that's fo sho.
3. And last but not least, a movie I haven't seen in ages. Seriously, a dog's age. Called Clarissa, with Sean Bean. It was on BBC forever and a day ago, back when a Saturday night meant watching Masterpiece Theatre and Mystery Television with me moms and pops on the green sectional couch (insert joke about 'what's changed?' har har har). But when Lord of the Rings came out (yes, I'm a geek), and Boromir first appeared, I remember thinking to myself, "I know him..." *looks into distance and has awkward flashback to some ridiculous movie that I lurved* So I pulled out the mad librarian skillz and found it in our catalogue (totally bizarre-o that we'd even have it...?) and voila. Now it is mine for the taking. For one week, at least.

I'm telling you, love is a many splendid thing, and tonight, it's a splenda-ing my library holds. And that is le fact.

Other reasons I don't like mushrooms:

They grow in poop. And they're absorbent. Which means to really enjoy them--in the gourmet sense--you're not supposed to wash them. Which means the poop is still on them when you begin to cook them, which means you're cooking in poop.

If you don't believe me, just ask BSB.

"27, and no prospects..."

Do you give much thought to the eighteenth century?

That is to say, if you were going to live in another time period, have you ever wondered what time period that would be?

For me, I'm pretty sure it would be the eighteenth century, doin' it up King George styles. Woo to the hoo. But none of this lice, poo thrown out the window, dirty, nasty stuff. Nope. I'm strictly talkin' Jane Austen styles--ribbons in the hair, pretty dresses, balls (the dancing with partners kind), turns about the room, the drying of flowers in 'the parlor', and "the improvement of one's mind through extensive reading."

I'm pretty sure I was born for this. Yaris and I just stumbled into the uterus a wee bit late. Well, maybe just me *blush*.

Sometimes, though, just sometimes, when I'm reading Austen or watching Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility for the umpteenth time, there's a part of me... A tiny part, that gets so wrapped up in it all... In the beautiful writing, and the (albeit) completely ridiculous story line, that I become somewhat sad I'm not a part of it all.

That's silly, right?

I know it. But, le sigh... It is le fact.

Ho hom. On a related matter... Remember the Lust conversation? Well, against my better judgement, as Mr. Darcy would say, this Keira scene with the gonna-kiss-ya-not-gonna-kiss-ya-staring-at-the-mouth-business is creepin' up on Girly with the Pearl Ear Bobble:

Goth-tastic

It's amazing how UGLY you can make yourself look when you're really trying, non?


Bhahahaha!

Top Three: Ice Cream

And finally, to round out the series:

3. Chocolate Mousse Royale®, Baskin Robbins.

2. Mint Chocolate Chip, Baskin Robbins.

**drum roll**

1. That heavenly thing that we got from the Kawartha Dairy that time we visited Little Fingers up at camp, and it came in, like, four mountainous waffle cone scoops, and it was so good, we actually drove the 30 minutes back into town the next morning, not 8 hours later, to get another cone... Oh ma gawd... I think it was this one:

DEATH BY CHOCOLATE: Chocolate ice cream with bittersweet dark chocolate chunks and thick chocolate twister sauce.

Thanks for playing, Gang. We'll see you next time on... LIBRARY LADY'S TOP THREE!


*cue applause*

Top Three: Penny Candy

3. Big Foot

2. Double Bubble

**drum roll**

1. Coke Bottle

Fourth runner up--should number three not be able to fulfill her duties--is the Fuzzy Peach (I sort of overloaded on these one summer when Manrissa was working at the candy factory, and she gave them to me in giant vats. Since then it's been a love/hate relationship with the Fuzzy Peach).

Although the Double Bubble is not technically a candy, but rather a gum piece, I categorize it as such because it can be purchased from the penny candy aisle, comes in bulk in a tub for individual resale, and goes nicely with a Slurpee, which is when I purchase penny candy, for deposit in the cup of the aforementioned Slurpee for freezing and later consumption.

Top Three: Chocolate Bars

3. Skor

2. Crispy Crunch

**drum roll**

1. Crunchie

Mixed in a blizzard or the much preferred TCBY Shiver, however, and the order would be in reverse, with Skor ranking number one. Oh yea. Skor.

Fourth runner up--should number three not be able to fulfill her duties--is the Cadbury Premium Dark.

You?

Air Sickness Bag, Please! And pronto!

I have a problem with this commercial.

*ahem*

As someone who has taken her fair share of flights, the very concept of this add is beyond redonk (let alone the idea of eating something consisting of two patties, fake bacon, mushrooms, and plastic cheese). But I digress. My issues with the commercial are three fold, and I will explain them thus:

1) Male Passenger (MP) begins eating his Wendy's combo before the flight takes off, let alone is fully boarded. This is wrong. MP would have to literally inhale his disgusting mess of a meal before buckling in or be forced to shove his burger, fries, and frosty/medium soda under his seat prior to take of so to ensure the safety of his fellow passengers (because no one wants to be hit with flying meat, or be scalded by swiss cheese sauce in the chance of turbulence). Why wouldn't he wait to eat? Particularly knowing he's in the middle, and will be forced to get up at least once to let sexy window passenger girl through to her seat. As per the theme of the commercial.

2) The opening shot is that of a woman carrying a baby down the aisle. Baby is crying, clearly distressed by the smell of meat and grossness, as set up by the object of the add: the Wendy's Steakhouse Double Melt. Clever advertising people are implying that a crying baby is worse than the consequences--both olfactory and digestive--of a Steakhouse Double Melt. I disagree. And for this argument, I appeal not only to what would later restult for MP in the washrooms at the front and rear of the cabin, but also to my final point.

3) The irony of the commercial is that MP is "sandwiched" in between two pretty girls (Wow. Funny.) The voice over says "Good move Mr. 14B..." as if to insinuate that 14B is going to get "laid" at some point in the flight. This is further implied by pretty window girl dabbing at the side of her mouth in an I'll-lick-that-burger-juice-from-your-face type way.

This is where my experience as a flyer comes in. See, if I sat down next to a guy eating what appeared to be meat in liquid form--grease and fake swiss melting all over his shirt; the smell of processed bacon and onions filling the airplane cavity, not to mention the spilly messy that would coincide with the aforementioned inhaling of the meal--I would be far less than lusty. And don't think that burger smell would fade, either. 'Cause it wouldn't. You just know that sh*t would hang in the air like a fart cloud for the entirety of the flight. I think there's a strong argument that, faced with such a scenario, both women would become physically ill at some point in the flight, if not imediatly upon seeing what they'd be sitting next to for pressumably the next series of hours.

In fact, I'm pretty sure that pretty window lady's dabbing at the side of her mouth is American Sign Language for "you're disgusting, and I'm going to tell the first steward I see you have a bomb in your shoe."

Knights and Ladies

Anyone in for Medieval Times on Wednesday? Trying to get a plan together here...

Some things I think you'll be surprised I don't like, and it's true I really don't like them so stop thinking I do, okay?

Thanks for staying tuned, folks. And now for the second part of our series:

1. Desserts flavoured like lemon.
2. The movie "Dumb or Dumber".
3. Babysitting.
4. U2.
5. Wheel of Fortune.
6. Plain chips.
7. Scrabble.
8. Sport sandals, like THESE.
9. Swimming in lakes where you can't just jump in/climb out, you have to wade in/wade out.
10. Yawning.

Follow up from yesterday: Yes, I've been to Manitoba. I landed in Winnipeg on a stop-over for Deadmonton, and my plane hit a truck parked on the runway. Enough said. While I support other people enjoying Manitoba, I myself will continue to think of it as the provincial equivalent of brown.

Tomorrow I'm in a goth photo shoot. More to come on that for Friday. Needless to say I will be channeling my inner Ash... And now that I'm thinking about Ash, I'm thinking I'm a terrible friend who has forgotten to send her special surprise for being the best movie guess-er... I will "go to the box and feel the shame" now (try naming that movie...) And then I will get on it like a fat kid gets on a Smartie, and I will send your special something. Cross my heart. Forgive me?

Some things I think you'll be surprised I like, but really I do like them so stop thinking I don't like them, okay?

1. Brussels sprouts.
2. Watching golf on TV.
3. Cleaning out my closet.
4. Billy Bob Thorton.
5. Law and Order: Special Victim's Unit.
6. Onion rings.
7. Boggle. Despite my spelling "issues".
8. Getting up early.
9. Manitoba. Bhahah... Okay, that one was a joke.
10. Ice cream headaches.

Stay tuned for tomorrow's "Some things I think you'll be surprised I don't like, and it's true I really I don't like them so stop thinking I do, okay?"

What'dya mean 'hyperlink'?

Today was a really good day:

I slept in. Had some coffee. Watched a little late morning TLC. Visited the driving range with me pops, and practised with a 9 iron. Frequented the Booster Juice. Finished "The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing". Went to Walmart (*ptewy* spits to the side like she's said a bad word) with Fingers. Visited the library and consequently my besty Librarian bud, Rebecca. Loved me some chili for dinner. Rounded things off with some Little People, and a whole lot of Chef Ramsey... And a glass of milk with a Digestive cookie to dunk.

p.s. I heart Wikipedia.

Woo to the Serious, Impossible, Hoo

I very rarely toot my own horn. But this is one such occasion where I'm gonna do some serious rootin' and tootin'. Because Poo and I tewtaly deserve it!

On Saturday, we ran in our first ever 5km race (toot #1) It was back in March, I think, that Poo initially mentioned a 5km race in June... Something about raising money for cancer treatment... And so I made a mental note, but never really thought much of it. We're vair new at this running thing, Poo and I, see. At least I am. I used to boast my motto was "why run when you can lie down?" But certain life situations lit a fire under my @ss, and as such, I had the burning desire to run, and to run far and to run fast. And run I did. On a track, on a treadmill, inside, outside, with a fox, in a box, Sam I am, etc.

A few weeks ago we revisited the decision, and decided that yes, we would participate. And yes, we would do a practice run of the course. And yes, we would go to Lululemon and treat ourselves to stylish new running gear so we at least looked profesh, even if our racing results proved otherwise.

We did none of these things. I ran at night, as per usual, and Poo did her thing. And no fancy gear was purchased, and we actually got lost on the way to the site, because neither one of us had bothered to check the directions.

*ahem*

This is me gearing up for the race. They gave us band-type thingy's to track our times, and you'll note I'm wearing it around my left arm, and not on my ankle (as we later found out was the standard... le sigh) We were most excited by the prospect of our pinny's, which we spent mucho time positioning just so... We then spent all our pre-race time worrying we were crinkling them during our stretches and "how were we going to scrapbook them if they were all crinkled?"

Start time... We gear up, and head to the back of the line, behind the moms pushing two kids in a stroller, and some dude carrying his wee Toto dog. We didn't want to get trampled by the fast-ies who were going to blow right by us...

*Horn blast* and we're off. Avril and "Girlfriend" set a nice pace, and before we know it, we're passing all the aforementioned fast-ies who burned themselves out running the first .5km at top speed up hill. 1km, 2km, 3km, a quick Gatorade break for which there wasn't a ready cup for me even though I was most excited about grabbing one as I went by, like that lady in the multivitamin commercial who grabs the grapes and the baguette... But I digress...

4km... I'm feeling tired and thirsty and whiny, Poo pulls ahead and I'm thinking of slowing to a walk... But the adrenaline kicks in and I surge forward, passing dearest Poo and what she would later describe as "Seabiscuit"--a rather snarly woman who was damned she wasn't gong to let both me AND Poo pass her.

Would you believe it?! We both finished in less than 30 minutes! I know! I can hardly believe it myself! Here's Poo looking pleased as punch post-race. But wait... You haven't even heard the best part... My stats:

• 27th overall (out of 145).



• 11th female overall.



• 3rd female in my age category!

They even called my name and gave me a pin! I almost peed my pants! Poo and I were so puffy about ourselves, thinking we'd done really well by beating our expected 45 minute mark... But to come in 3rd and 5th in our age category?! Holy bananas!!! Totally floored. We were both standing there with our mouths open all, "Um, did this just happen? I think this just happened... Did they just call your name? Ohmagawd they just called my name..."

I'm just so pleased with us and how hard we tried, and how completely unexpected-ly good we both were! Our goal is to next year go back to the same race and run the 10km. But next up is the Dundas Cactus Festival 5km. Not to big, not to small. Woo to the serious, impossible hoo.

Blah.


You tell me somethin'...

A list of things I've eaten so far this week that start with the letter M

Mu shu chicken.
Mustard.
Macadamia nuts (in a cookie).
Melting Dairy Queen blizzard.
Milk, and subsequently cereal.
Moth (accidental, while watching T.V.).
Million pieces of rice.
Miscellaneous food.

Mmmm...

Make fun all ya'll like...

... My new music lub, downloading onto the iPod as we speak:



So now when am I gonna get my homegirls out dancing to this funky beat, hmm? Let's put on some sweat pants and running shoes, push our way past the bone head bouncers into Koi, and show those tartlets workin' their tube tops and hookin' boots what real @ss shakin' looks like, okay?

Because I'm a professional back up dancer now. And I have to hone my craft. Mr. Beef told me so.

Sun Worshiping

It's early evening. I've spent most of the last two days lazing about in the sun--in some way, shape, or form--be it on a beach with palsies, on a patio with a bevo in a onsie, or on my deck with a trashy novel and a sweet tea. It's just now dark on Sunday, and I'm about to change into my summer pjs, lather my newly acquired tan with orange smelling lotion, open my bedroom window for the evening breeze, and crawl into bed to watch Under the Tuscan Sun.

All in all, a vair, vair *big yawn and long stretch* vair good weekend...

Foot Crack, Etc.

The hygenist literally GOUGED out my gums. The gums she said looked really good and nice and shiney and just the right shade of pink... It hurt so much, I could actually feel the blood. Not just taste it, I could feel it. It might as well have been a "folding table and a dirty knife". That sh*t is just wrong.

Also, a wise person once said "kitteh paws are like crack". That was me, actually. But I digress. An even wiser person said "baby feet are like crack" (again, me). Exhibit A:


These are Ethan's feet. After the gum gouging, I was jonesin' for a hit off the ole' foot crack, and so we ended up at Beef's sister in-law's place. Her baby is redonk cute. Exhibit B:


I gots me my fill. Oh yeah. I gots me my fill. I mean, just look at him! He's tewtly making eyes at the camera. Tewtly working those cheeks. And like you can't just imagine the fat legs under that onesie? Hmm, can't ch'a?

I've also decided the word "onesie" is probs my fav word in the English language... Onesie... Onesie, onesie, onesie, onesie...

*sing song voice*

I know someone who sooooo could have used THIS lesson...

Coincidence:

Why do ghosts and ambulances make the same sound?

" WooooOOOOOOooooOOOOOoooOOOOOoooo"

Seriously now... Who thought that up?

Brusha brusha brusha...

I'm off to the dentist on Thursday. Scary bizniz, man. Scary bizniz. Although I lurve having my teeth cleaned by the shiny, smiley hygienist, I fear the dentist and his huge mouth needles and pain drills and screaming whirring machines and claws of death pull-er-out-ers. I'm pretty sure that's the technical name... "Pull-er-out-ers."

To prevent the dentist from using any of the aforementioned machinery in my mouth, I've been maintaining a strict night time and early morning routine: serious circle brushing ("brush your teeth, round and round, up and down, side to side... brush your teeth the round and round way... help fight tartar and tooth decay... brush your teeth"--thank you Toothbrush Family!), flossing, and a swish with the Listerine.

As a result, my mouth is vair vair clean. And vair vair numb.

p.s. I've just heard on the radio that the words "ho" and "muffin top" (as in the fat that spills over the top of a low wasted jean resulting in something resembling a muffin top), have been added to the dictionary...

Oooooooooh...

*hick*

I think I drank'd too moishe last night...

*shuffles away vair vair slowly*

Oooooooooh...

I think it's time we did a big ole' woo to the hoo for Mr. and Mrs. Beef. They've purchased their first snuggle den, and it's safe to say it's as cute as a wee button. I'm pretty sure the previous owner was the gingerbread man, or maybe Mrs. Tiggywinkle, because it's that freakin' cute. See for yourselves (click on the picture for the MLS link):


It's cute enough for kids, that's for sures. Now *cough*... Maybe they'll get to some of that "snugglin" so I can get me to buyin some of them there tiny jeans for a baby I actually have dibs on holding and squishing (as opposed to online mental squishing, that is... You know I love 'ya, Fred.)

Also, I'd like to hit up Medieval Times this summer. And Canada's Wonderland. Who's with me? Hmm? I know Manrissa has a Wonderland trip planned, but alas, I'll be running in a marathon that weekend. Not really, it's more of a run/walk, but I get to wear a pinny, so it's basically the same as a marathon. But I feel the need for both a cookie-wich and food served by a wench.

So *dabs pencil to tongue* who can I recruit?

B-A-N-A-N-A-S

Last night was Gweny-Gwen-Gwen. She was hot. As always. At one point she actually climbed up into the stands and was standing about ten rows from us singing "Cool". Woo to the serious hoo. I kept my arms up frantically singing along (because she told us to), and also 'cause I thought that maybe if I stretched that little bit farther, she'd come and stand next to us, too... *scuffs toe*...

And I'll admit I actually rocked it out to Acorn, or Akon, or whatevs. I smacked that. Yea. Word.

A Terrible Plight

Gather round, dear Readers, I've got a story to tell. It's a goodie. So get yourself some hot cocoa and tuck yourselves in, maybe pull a fat kitteh into your lap. You're gonna laugh, you're gonna cry, you're gonna call out in fear for our hero's safety. But fear not, dear Readers... All comes out well.

Monday night... It's dark, and as I remember there was a certain chill in the air. I was woken to a wee honk and the sound of heavy footsteps (this is where I should tell you I live in a vair quiet neighborhood... So quiet, in fact, I'm routinely woken by the sound my neighbour's sprinklers coming on). Needless to say, the sound of a horn at 1:00 a.m. was startling.

All of a sudden, I could hear me dad racing down the third floor steps (*stomp stomp stomp*) I'm putting in sound effects... Do they add something? I'm not sure their adding anything. Now I'm off track, where was I? Oh yea, so I hear the steps, and I gets all nervous. Me parents are usually tucked into their bassinet long before 9:00 p.m. What was dad doing up?

Next thing I know, he's racing out to the front lawn and (*gasp*) over to Yaris parked safely in his designated spot, all shiny and happy and plump (or so I thought!) What was happening to dearest Yaris?!

(picture me peering out my bedroom window and practically peeing my pants with fear for my dearest BAHS).

Neighbourhood pirates had bootied dear Yaris, taking him captive! They pried open his tiny doors, and pillaged his goodies... A mere captive! Oh poor Yaris! Dad found him with his trunk wide open, and his inside lights on. I'm convinced he let out that beep in protest, calling out to his mommy for help (when really, I know, it's just a sensitive horn, and the punk who broke in prolly just accidentally rested his arm on the wheel... I mean who wouldn't? It's so easy to snuggle into Yaris).

But have no fear, Readers. Our hero wasn't hurt. Those nasty pirates made way with all of Yaris's wicked beats, including Gwen and Avril and the Pussy Cat Dolls. But he managed to hide my iPod car hook-up thingy in his driver side glove compartment. Sneaky Yaris.

I'm also most happy to report they ran off without grabbing my Barrel of Monkeys or Travel Monopoly set. Phew. Now that would have been a tragedy indeed...

So what do you think? Feel good story of the year, or what?

My Dream Jeopardy Categories

Inspired by Obi Wan, this is one Poomobile and Pants will likely weigh in on.

If (someday) you were to be elevated onto the almighty kingdom of Trebek--Jeopardy--what would your dream categories be?

Me? Pfft... That's easy. I'd kick anyone's ace at:

1. Potato Chip Potent Potables
2. Children's Books (a final Jeopardy smack down between Library Lady and Obi Wan...)
3. Blobs named "Barba"
4. Board Game Name Game
5. Mr. Sketch 101
6. Rockton Fair Potpourri

My name is Library Lady...

... and I'm addicted to online jigsaw puzzles.

Other stuff and such

1. Cars that advertise their brand. Like the one that was driving behind me today with the big "PONTIAC" splayed in blue decals across the front window. Um, not so cool. And to top that, what about the Ford Focus that I was trapped behind in a traffic jam on Wednesday that had little DVD players attached to the back of the head rests, and huge shiny rims. 'Cause yeah, you're gonna get your money out of that man-tastic mobile when you sell it, buddy.

2. 'Lost' what? Oh you must mean 'So You Think You Can Dance'. Because that's my new favs show.

3. It's hot.

4. And Will Ferrell was right, milk is a bad choice when it's hot. Regardless, I had a HUGE glass of it tonight. With graham crackers. Because I like to dunk.

LOST

OhmagawIlovethisshowsomoishe!

• Flash forwards?! Why didn't I think of this?! *gripping hair* I'm so impressed... LE SIGH.
• The funeral... Totally Kate's. Are you with me, or are you WITH ME?!
• "He'll wonder where I am..." Who?! Is it Sawyer? Please tell me it's sweet, sweet, mixed-tape Sawyer...
• Sayid and the neck snap? Not that gratuitous violence is sexy, but that neck snap was sexy...
• And don't even get me started on Charlie... I cried when Gandolf died, for Pete's sake... I was in total dither spazz mode watching the little wee hobbit sacrifice himself. I'm convinced he'll pull a Locke or a Walt or a Cyclops-guy and reappear all mended and safe.

Total love. Total obsession. This show is gold. Will anything ever top it?!

OhmagawIlovethisshowsomoishe...

"It Could Always Be Worse"

This is the lesson for today. For example, you could forget your suntan lotion, or get sand in your buns, or maybe even have your friends bury you in the sand and then forget about you. There are really a million possibilities. But why am I telling you this when Spongebob can sing it for you, ala square sponge dans le pants styles:

Piracy.

The weekend was fantastic-alasic!

For the most part I was either:

1. In a hammock. Eating.


2. In front of a campfire. Eating.


3. Eating.

How can I complain when such is this? Hmm? What's not to love? In fact, I'd go so far as to say this cottage is worthy of piracy. Makin' Peg Leg Lars more than a nickname, if you know what I mean. I've already told them my plans for the summer will center around sitting by the phone waiting for them to call and invite me up again. Not that that's awkward at all. But you know... A girls gotta do what a girls gotta do... Right?

The one and only active thing I did this weekend involved canoing out to the boat we thought we had tied up, which in fact we had not, and moreover weren't aware of said absence until it was clear across the lake. This wasn't my fault. It was Anne's. But I'm not pointing fingers. I'm just saying it was all her fault and no one else was to blame and really she should be more responsible and it was Anne's fault, Anne's fault, Anne's fault! Note the tiny boat in the above picture.

Also note how completely pro-active I am, illustrating "safety first" when you're talking canoes and giggling. I'm wearing two life preservers, one of which--the bobbles around my waist--date back to the dawn of time. I think it was determined that in the event our boat capsized said bobbles would probs put me in such an awkward position my face would fo' sures have ended up in the water. Not so much effective in the fight against drowning, but theys gots me a good laugh.

In other more important matters, The Bachelor is so hideously awkward, I can barely stand to watch it. I'm pretty sure Andy is semi-retired. And he's next door to fugly. Close to camping in fugly's backyard. But if they ever have a Canadian Bachelor, I'm totally applying. Can you see me, can you see me? Hmm? It'll be aces.

And finally, hurrah for a four day work week.

A going away treat!

I'm fleeing for the weekend, and won't post until Tuesday, so here you are with two posts in one day. Lucky you! This here comes from some blog I lurk on rather sneakily, and I thought it was kinda cute:

Tired of all of those surveys made up by high school kids?

• Have you ever kissed someone?
• 'Missed someone?
• Told someone you loved them?
• 'Drank alcohol?

Lame. So here are 50 questions for the people who are a little more "mature"...

1. What bill do you hate paying the most? OSAP.

2. Where was the last place you had a romantic dinner? *shifts awkwardly*

3. Last time you puked from drinking?Never. Not once. I've prayed to the sweet baby Jesus to make it happen, but he must not have been talking to me that day, because it all stayed inside.

4. When is the last time you got drunk and danced on a bar? Billy Bobs, every Saturday in 2000 until I fell off and almost broke my elbow.

5. Name of your first grade teacher? Ms. Beatie. In Halifax. I remember her being vair small... And she had man hair.

6. What do you really want to be doing right now? Cruising in Yaris up the 400 North to The Hip, "Bobcaygeon".

7. What did you want to be when you were growing up? A member of the Peace Core, a Zoologist, and a Camp Director.

8. How many colleges did you attend? Two: McMaster, UofA.

9. Why did you choose the shirt that you have on right now? Because it's cute and sassy. And I'm cute and sassy.

10. Gas Price? I don't really look, to tell you the truth. It's like milk... Does it really matter how much it is, 'cause I'm gonna buy it anyway...

11. If you could move anywhere? Imaginary: Virgin Islands. Realistically: Ottawa.

12. First thought when the alarm went off this morning? "Gawd..."

13. Last thought before going to sleep last night? Quit sticking your cold, wet nose in my face, Goose!

14. Favorite style of underwear? Boy cut. But cute ones...

15. Favorite style of underwear for the opposite sex? Mhe.

16. What errand/chore do you despise? Bathroom cleaning. I have serious issues with hair off the head (*gag*), and the bathroom seems to be the Mecca for such attocities.

17. If you didn't have to work, would you volunteer? Uh huh. Fo sho. Like me moms did.

18. Get up early or sleep in? Sleep in. But not ridiculous sleeping in, like until noon or something. 10:00 a.m. on weekends, maybe? And then a nap, if I'm feeling so inclined... And then a snack. Because naps making me hungry. They're a lot of work.

19. What is your favorite cartoon character? Gingy, the Gingerbread Man from Shrek. My library is on Drury Lane, and I can't help but laugh everytime I turn onto it.

20. Favorite NON sexual thing to do at night with a girl/guy? Movies. And popcorn with shaky stuff. And a kool-aid. And hand-holding.

21. When did you first start feeling old? HERE.

23. Favorite 80's movie? Clue.

24. Your favorite lunch meat? Honey Maple Turkey, shaved. Specifically on rye bread, with mustard, salt and pepper, leafy lettuce, and cucumber.

25. What do you get every time you go into Sam's Club? Or Walmart? I don't.

26. Beach or lake? Both. Always. Can I go now?

28. How many people do you stalk on Facebook? Belch. No one. Ew and double ew.

29. Favorite guilty pleasure? CuteOverload. And chips. And cheesies.

30. Favorite movie you wouldn't want anyone to find out about? The Secret Garden...

31. What's your drink? Beer. Preferrably Grasshoper with a lemon wedge. Or something cold on a patio.

33. Cops or Robbers? Ninjas.

34. Who from high school would you like to run into? Maybe the Dreaded. Just to see what he looks like in person. But I see all the people I want to see.

35. What radio station is your car radio tuned to right now? 99.9. I'm a sucker for Mad Dog and Billy.

36. Norm or Cliff? Who? Neither. Maybe Cliff, but only because he's the voice of Pig from Toy Story.

37. The Cosby Show or the Simpsons? Simpsons. Unless it's that episode of The Cosby Show where Vanessa gets drunk. In which case, The Simpsons, always.

40. If you could get away with it, who would you kill? *shifts awkwardly*.

41. What famous person(s) would you like to have dinner with? John Krasinski.

42. What famous person(s) would you like to sleep with? Joaquin.

43. Have you ever had to use a fire extinguisher for its intended purpose? Nopers.

44. Last book you read for real? The Time Travelers Wife.

46. Strangest place you have ever brushed your teeth? In a canoe.

47. Somewhere in California you've never been and would like to go? California. Full stop.

48. Do you go to church? Uh huh.

49. At this point in your life would you rather start a new career or a new relationship? Yes and yes. Although, I turned down one yes. So maybe just yes.

50. Just how OLD are you? 27.

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}}}})