Rockton

The best weekend EVAH. Seriously. Why is Thanksgiving so good? Hmm? Is it the turkey? I don't know... But seriously... So good.

Friday we partied like it was 1999, including some kick @ss bingo with the ladies. Saturday we searched the city for our turkey and baked a punkin pie. On Sunday, I ate. And ate, and ate, and ate. Turkey, mashed po-ta-tos, sweet taters, peas, squash, brussel sprouts, cranberry, gravy, pie, and whipped cream. Oh, and wine. It's a wonder my pants didn't es-ploded!

And then there was Monday. Dear, sweet, Thanksgiving Monday. Hotter than h&ll at 31 degrees, but also the day of the Rockton Fair, and ipso facto, livestock, beer nuts, mini gourds, old men in farm hats, and french fries with too much ketchup eaten in the stands while watching the Clydesdale's. Some pictures to further illustrate the goodness. Seriously. Next year, y'all gots to get yur butters there:

p.s. My fav is the supa' cool chicken at the end who's all "cluck, like, what?"

My "New Shoes"

It's a big weekend.

Exactly one year ago Sunday I packed my bags, kissed my kitty cat, and walked out the door. One of the hardest things I've ever done, but undoubtedly, one of the best. Because now I have my new shoes on, and:

"suddenly everything is right,

I said, hey, I put some new shoes on and everybody's smiling,
It's so inviting,
Oh, short on money,
But long on time,
Slowly strolling in the sweet sunshine,
And I'm running late,
And I don't need an excuse,
'cause I'm wearing my brand new shoes."

*gets down and boogies*

Here I am! Here I am!

The Internet is down at our house. Grrrr... I hate that! Papa is working on it as we speak, and I'm glad I'm not there to watch him battle it out with the Bell guy before working a 2:00-6:00 shift. Eeee...

I'm eating a bran bar. Yum.

And there's a fire drill in 20 make that 10 minutes.

*twiddles thumbs*

Aren't cha glad you came back and checked again just for this?

Pfft... Sorry guys, I got nothing. Maybe tomorrow after my *dum dum duuuuuum* performance appraisal!

Pet Peeve #767:

Annoying loud noises.

Like, when you're sleeping in, and at 7:34 in the morning the street sweeper comes along to clean your street, and it gets stuck, like, behind your Yaris, while it's waiting for the minivan three blocks down to pass, so there's basically a 4 tonne street sweeper idling outside your bedroom window for two minutes...

Or when you're booping along to a good tune in your Yaris, and the windows are down because it's really nice day, and it's sunny and there's a sweet breeze, and a big 18-wheeler pulls up beside you, and refuses to pass, and just sort of coasts beside your driver's side window until you get angry enough to go 140km in your hatchback to pass the truck that could crush you with it's horn, rather than rolling up the window and suffocating in the sadness that is no breeze.

I really hate that.

Taking Action!

I had an epiphany.

It came to me as I was moving Yaris to comply with our German Dictator city parking by-laws--something like no parking on the one side of the street from the 1st to the 15th of April to November, and then on the opposite side of the street the 16th to the end of the month, December to March... I know, crazy, right? Try reading it plastered 5 feet above your head on a tiny piece of tin... But I digress.

I realized it was the 1st of the month (my favorite month), and thus time for a fresh start in my life, as well as Yaris'. So in the words of Fubar, I "gave'r."

1. I joined *dum dum duuuuuum* a cult!

Well, not really. But I joined one of those Running Room running clinics, which is pretty much the same thing as a cult, because we have matching shirts, and we're all instructed to do the same thing at the same time, and there's no Kool-Aid, but there is an electrolyte drink.

It's a 10km training clinic, "developed for a variety of time goals including just 'to complete' all the way up to finishing a 10K in 38 minutes. The night consists of 20 to 30 minute seminar followed by a group run of varying lengths and speeds." Ten weeks, every Tuesday. I'm pretty pumped. Plus, I got a sweet pink t-shirt out of it. I will draw the line at one of those running coats, though. I WON'T buy one of those... Unless it comes in turquoise, in which case maybe...

2. I also signed up for an art class at our local college. Woo to the serious hoo. I've been feeling way too left-brain-ish lately, and I can't seem to get myself motivated to do anything creative. My box of colored pencils and markers sits lonely. I can almost hear them singing a melancholy tune... "Lonely... We're so lonely... We've got nobody, to call our owwwwwn!"

The class is called Drawing One, and it will "enhance my ability to observe and record, using detailed studies and quick sketches. Explore form, space, line, texture, composition, and gesture using charcoal, pencil, and conte crayon." Three hours for ten Thursdays (well, now nine, because I'm starting a week late.) And it's credited! Meaning I'll get graded at the end of it! Meaning I really might have a mid term to look forward to! Ha! Total karma, huh?

All in all, I'm feeling much better, and generally less lumpy. And Ash was right--I can't let somebody else lead. If I can boast I'm f&ckin' fabulous, than I need to back it up, right?

The only thing left to be considered is what Free Samples and I discussed at Subway over a couple of six inchers... I think I'm ready, FS... Wanna take that leap with me?

Focus on the Positive:

The month of October = nice things:

• Crunchy leaves.
• Seasonally appropriate sweaters.
• Cool breezes and a warm bedders.
• Thanksgiving.
• And subsequently, turkey.
• Wearing the scarf that reminds me of Sarajevo.
• An improved apple selection at Fo'tinos.
• The Rocton World's Fair.
• The smell of a fireplace fire.
• Casseroles.
• Less sweating.
• Stressing out over mid-terms.
• Realizing I don't have mid-terms.
• Trivia.
• "The Tudors".
• Wearing a wig. In a room full of other people in wigs.
• Trading Rockets for molasses candies.
• Being hired on permanently as Beef's Halloween artistic director.

So there's lots, right?

I'm just sayin, is all...

I'm not saying the shoes make me run faster, but...

... The shoes make me run faster.






And the pedometer tells me such.

Sidebars and Hooks

Thinking of another sidebar. Specifically, blogs I like to visit. Namely, yours.

So--Pants, Sleeves, Hurrah, Ash, Obi Wan, Manrissa, etc.--what do you think? If you don't want your blog included, drop me a line. But everyone's always asking, "who's this person? and this person?" Opening these blogs up would be nice as pie. Okay?

Groovy.

Also, America's Next Top Model... We're betting the next cycle will include someone with a hook arm. And all the other girls will be like, "Oh no she di'int with that skank hook arm of hers!" *head moves from side to side* And Nigel will be all "I love the awkwardness of your hook arm." And Tyra will be all, "Giiiiiirl, that hook is fierce!"

And finally, for Saturday, I bought a pink party dress. Because the party girl, should wear a party dress. And I can't remember the last birthday party I had where I wore a party dress.

I'm now as old as you people...

Double hurrah with knobs! A rockin' birthday all around (or as "50" would say [or is it Fiddy...?] my birfday...).

To start, Delewish and I went for a jog with the puppy, and I got my daily dose of Oscar stories--who doesn't love a dog who wears jerseys, hmm? Shower (and Smashing Punkin's "1979" came on... Um, hells ya!). Dress. Wore my fav boots (because they were made for walking.)

Obvi, Yaris and I rocked it out on the daily commute to a little Timberland and Kanye. Word. I'm so ghetto, it's fabulous.

Next up it was a large coffee from my favorite Second Cup, complete with milk, and a wink from a handsome stranger. Getting to work, one of my many supervisors brought bars (yes, multiple bars) of chocolate in... So there was an ENTIRE BOWL of Mounds, Cadbury Mint, Caramilk, and Smarties in the office (let's not argue the semantics of Smarties in the chocolate bar category, k?) Needless to say there was a little "munchy munchy" of the chocolate goodies.

Log into the ole' email account... Whamo! Piles of emails from my besties all across the country. Word. I lub you guys. Smiles and smiles and mucho smiles. Desk shift... Coworker yelled at me for answering her telephone line. Punched her in the face (not really... but maybe *shrugs shoulders*)

Lunch. Yum.

Got some serious laughs in with my coworkers over some ridiculous emails regarding bagpipes and sans serif fonts *shifty eyes* No, but really... Ask me about it sometime. It'll make you laugh, I promise. We librarians can be s'rsly funny sometimes.

Trotted home with Yaris singing "Take Your Mama" by the Scissor Sisters (in the words of Bill and Ted, "most excellent tunes.") Mother had chips and dip ready. C'mon now... Pfft. Perfect. And then, time for presents!

1. Sweet @ss running shoes.
2. A fancy globe that I seriously love so much. Not only can I imagine my way around it, but it'll help me bone up on my geography so I can kick some serious Trivia Lady butters.
3. "Jane Austen's Guide to Dating" from my Hurr_ah. Sigh... Can't wait to crack it.
4. The world's (globe's?) bestest card and necklace from Susie.
5. A Kalan Porter CD, from an anonymous source, but for whom some of you might guess... Too sweet. I promise to try, Anonymous *more shifty eyes*
6. And last but not least... KELLY CLARKSON TICKETS from the Beefs! That's right, folks. Beefy and I will be travelling to the T.O. one last time for yet another Top 40 concert. Gotta finish it off right: Gwen, Christina, PCD, Justin, Kelly. It's been a pop-tastic summer!

A family sushi dinner topped it all off. And let me tell ya, I've been dreaming of this sushi. A cucumber roll, asparagus roll, vegetable tempura, and two pots of green tea. And the sushi guy--Tom--is more or less a family member. He knows Papa as "No Salmon" (or with his accent, "No Saw-mon".) We've been going to his restaurant for years, and so as a treat they gave us these kick-butt potato things, and a piece of cheesecake with a sparkler. So cute. They even sang happy birthday. Squee!

All in all, it couldn't be better. 28 feels better than 27, them's for sure. And things are only going to get better. Thank you to everyone for makin' me feel like a million bucks.

Love,

Library Lady

Two HUGE Announcements:

1. Girly, for whom I am replacing on maternity leave, moved to Victoria. In July.

2. I have finally decided on a Halloween costume, and have purchased the appropriate wig. Long live October, the month of turkey, the Rocton fair, and my favorite holiday of the year...

Home Again, Home Again...

... Jiggidy Jog.

Was away laughing in Kingston this weekend with Lady G and Big Fingers. The apartment was wee, the drive was long, but the company was excellent! Lots of shopping, cider, and smiles. Thank you, Fingers, for your hospitality and German Dictator-ing (*boop boop* You know I always enjoy your snuggles.) Perhaps, should you have time, you could pass that particularly fetching video along and we'll give these bloggers a real show?!

*ahem*



Not my finest hour.

So now I'm back. And it's the cusp of a special day. And I'm thinking (perhaps thinking too much...)

It's going to be a good year. I know it is. There's too much to look forward to for it not to be--apartments, jobs, sombody with a baby... But I will admit (and I'm going to try not to sound too 'woe is me' here), but it's hard not to fixate on that one thing.

I know it'll come. I KNOW it will. But damn, all the same.

One things for sure: all 28 candle wishes will go to the same wish. Hopefully someone up there is paying attention.

Warning: I'm Drunk

1. I stood next to a speaker that was blasting so loud I could feel, *feel* the music. And not just like, feel the music, as in I was givin' 'er to the beats. As Big Fingers would say, "My heart beat was altered."

2. I'm drunk.\\

3. Im having trouble finding the ENTER button. I'm mistaking it for the \ on the laptop.

4. Cheese is #1.

5. Pants can be underwear. You can choose to wear pants (not the person, Pants) and/or underwear. It doesen't have to be both.

6. Lady G said something about c*ck and balls.

7. Fingers is acting a bit like a German Dictator, but she ordered pizza, so I'm not complaining. I'm barely functioning....

Dear Sleeves:

I Should'a listened to you. You knew before I did:

I'm just not "that girl."

Seriously. I'm too f&ckin' fabulous.

The List

1. There's something about a really good song that messes with me.

Susie, the Belly, and I downloaded a bunch of tunes onto the ole' iPod, including "The Way I Are" and Kanye West's "Stronger". When I drove the ladies home at 10:30 I was completely and totally tempted to keep driving so's I could keep listening. When Yaris and I pulled up to the house, I actually talked myself out of going for a run. I was that pumped up.

...Tha f&ck? I just know I was seriously (s'rsly) born to be a back up dancer. As I type... I'm dancing... Around... The room... Oh yeah... *tappity tap*... Uh huh... Can you see me, or can you see me?

2. I think I've stated a Shopper's DrugMart coup. Vive la resistance!

3. I went window shopping for new sneakers at The Runners Den. Girly spent a ridiculous amount of time talking about my technique and my feet, and examining my steps. Then she grabbed two shoes from her wall of plastic and rubber, and told me to choose. So, for the first time in... Well, in forever, I didn't end up with the prettiest shoe or the shoe that was the most fun. I ended up with the shoe that worked best with *ahem* "my stride". Yup, that's right. I have a stride...

Puff puff, as they say. And HERE they are.

4. There is a new air freshener in the TV room. A little canister thing that emits a puff every once and awhile. Said puff makes an upsetting "EEEEHHHN!" sound (which scrs the cat...), and the fumes are nauseating. I've just thrown up in my mouth.

5. The perv at the library is back at it. Every once and awhile he places a call to the reference desk and asks the person who answers how to spell something.

The last time he called I had to spell P-O-R-N-O-G-R-A-P-H-Y.

This time I had to spell V-A-G-I-N-A.

Really?

I always use my Hitler voice when library perv calls.

6. Crap @ss wireless... GRR!

7. I want to buy a hammock. I have no idea where I'll put it, but I know I need one. I'm thinking, when I get my place, I'll find some way of suspending it like through the studs or something. Hmm... Maybe I'll check with BSB about this. Regardless, I needs me a hammock. Just as I was born to back-up dance, I was born to rock.

8. Bubblemint gum. Get some. Do it.

9. Every night I run along the escarpment, and I pass this cutie on his bike. Every night. Every night at the same time, in the same place. At first, we did the tight-lipped downward nod. Then it escalated to the smile. Now it's at the smile and upward head bob. I'm tempted to wave next time, and see what he'd do...?

10. Speaking of running (and this is the last point, so I'm making it good), Poo and I went for a run/walk/stair climb on Wednesday, and we were on the trail passing a couple of people on their bikes who had pulled off to the side, looking up into the bushes. I assumed they were commenting on the sheer volume of golden rod. So we continued our rather boisterous talk of "waxing" when all of the hidey-ho I get the uber hairy eyeball from biker girly because we'd scared off the deer they were watching.

We scared a deer. We scared a deer talking about waxing...

Yarr!

Happy International Talk Like a Pirate Day, Biznatches.


p.s. I recognize "biznatch" is not a pirate word, per se.

Not so much...

Okay. I'm going to put this out there:

You know when you're in a conversation, and someone starts describing the layout of their house and/or apartment? You know, like the floor plan? Like when someone starts describing the layout of their rooms?

"You go in the front door, and to the left is the blah blah blah, and then off the blah is the blah blah with the cutest little blah blah blah, and a nice built in blah. And then off the blah are the stairs that lead down a floor into the renovated blah, and then back up again into a sunken blah blah. Oh, and then off that blah is the stairs to the basement, and to the double blah blah, and to the right off that is the blah."

This sort of conversation is... super boring. And I'm rarely, if ever, listening.

There. I've said it.

Forgive?

There are way too many of us out there--with the exception of Beef--who have had bad weeks, myself included. And there's nothing worse than a bad week. We get too down on ourselves, and way too bumbed out. It's crazy-doodles. We are far too good for such ridiculousness. To put it in perspective, this week I:

1. Got upset at someones e-mail signature...?
2. Got out-of-control screamy at Wednesday night's traffic.
3. Spent too much money in lunch time retail therapy.

So I'm pledging to start this week off right. This week I will focus on the positive, including:

1. America's Next Top Model. It starts on Wednesday.
2. Pilates.
3. Seeing the baby belly.
4. Driving to Kingston.
5. Anticipating the birthday.
6. And in general, sorting sh*t out.

Who's with me?

T-2 hours, 10 minutes

Blame it on the weekends.
God I need a cola now.
Oh we mumble loudly, wear our shame so proudly.
Wore our blank expressions, trying to look interesting.
Blame it all on me cuz
God I need a cold one now.

--Modest Mouse, "Blame It On The Tetons"

*applause*

And a big ole' woo to the double hoo for Beef, who on this very day was awarded a permanent job teaching primary tots (not to be confused with the tater variety...)

And an extra big 'boo ya' for me, because it's Thursday, my favorite day of the week, soon to be Friday, which basically means today is the weekend.

But nobody ever said...

Why has no one ever told me I sound like a FLIPPIN' CARTOON?! And gawd I'm weird. Seriously. Like, seriously weird. Why are you people friends with me?

Exhibit A)



Exhibit B)

Jack

I've rediscovered Jack Johnson.

There was a once upon a time, back when the iPod was gifted to me, when he stood as a permanent on my play list. And yet the love song additions to said gift seemed almost comical in the after thought, so I deleted them. But life has most certainly gone on, and as JT tells us, what goes around, comes around. And Jack Johnson has come back around.

My current lurve is Better Together:

"And all of these moments
Just might find their way into my dreams tonight
But I know that they'll be gone,
When the morning light sings
And brings new things,
But tomorrow night you see
That they'll be gone too,
Too many things I have to do,
But if all of these dreams might find their way
Into my day to day scene
I'll be under the impression,
I was somewhere in-between
With only two,
Just me and you
Not so many things we got to do,
Or places we got to be
We'll sit beneath the mango tree now..."

Check it out. He's replaced The Hip as my driving tune. Double yum with a cherry on top.

Gawd...

I am in serious need of vacation time, because these weekends spread here and there just leave me wanting more.

I literally dragged my sorry @ss out of a hammock at 5:00 last night to face the weekend cottage country traffic. Not cool.

Oh well. Only 5 more days 'till the next weekend.

Sigh...

Dumb Pharmacists

You know what really grinds my gears?

The pharmacists at Shoppers Drug Mart. For some reason, there's always a few of them working, and only one--occasionally--will step up to the desk to actually help their gigantic line up of customers. The other two hover behind their wall of Nicorettes and Robitussin, fiddling with who-knows-what.

The phone will be ringing, and twelve people will be waiting to drop off their bladder infection prescription or pick up their asthma puffers, and they just stand there... Opening boxes and writing things down and chatting to each other. Like they're chained to the back of that desk.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly help you. I'm stationed back here, filling prescriptions. I didn't take Multi-tasking 101 at Pharmacy School."

Blah.

Gawd, they really grind my gears.

Labour Day Goodness

What didn't I do this weekend?

Friday night I fought to the death in a euchre tournament. Actually, it was no where near death. Poomobile and I kicked some serious ace playing against Punk and the aptly named Euchre. What can I say? We're just good. Then it was over to the Westown for a few wobbly pops. Yum.

Saturday morning, moms and I ran our errands and had lunch at the local bagel place. Double yum. I ran, napped, finished my book, played some online euchre, and had a late afternoon golf game with Poo and the Big Guy. *ahem* Again, with the ace kicking. Afterwards, the three of us went for dinner at McDonald's, and we sat in a booth. I declared this more or less made us a family, because families eat in booths.

Then it was time for Wii. Big guy made me a very convincing Mii, and I was quickly enrolled in the Big Brain Academy. And I'm sad to say I loved it. Why sad? Because I know I either need to have one, or I will become that desperate, pathetic girl who hangs around outside her friends homes waiting for them to invite her in to play. Le sigh.

Sunday was sleeping in, followed by coffee and the Post sudoku. Tra la. Driving range with me dad. Tres bon. I worked it out with my irons. Or, at least, I attempted to work it out, which really just resulted in my working out some serious blisters. Toasted tomato and lettuce for lunch. Again with the yummers, although the toast cut the roof of my mouth. I hate that. Why does toast have to cut my mouth? Hmm?

Monday, Fingers bought tickets for the Tiger Cats Labour Day classic game. Too much fun. Not only was it beautiful out, which meant I could work on my tan, but there were guys on stilts shooting hot dogs into the stands out of a big air gun. Now that's my kinda Sunday afternoon. And Big Stinky wore an over-sized foam hat. And I have photographic proof.

After the game, I ran off my football beers and hot dog, got sucked into the "Real Moms of Orange County" marathon (gawd that's an awful show... But gawd it's awfully addictive). Once I got my butters off the couch, I made some dessert for dinner, and washed Yaris.

I mean seriously. What didn't I do? What'd you do?

Penelope

Mum and I were chillin' on the couch this afternoon, enjoying the early afternoon sun, and I was giving her the once over CNN Situation Room review from the "dating front". She had yet to receive the full dish regarding a certain Mr. Smarty Pants of recent Friday night fame. My favorite part in the dinner-and-a-movie story goes something like this:

Library Lady: So, have you travelled much?
Smarty Pants: Well, actually some, yes... blah blah 20 minutes later blah diddy blah... You?
Library Lady: Well, actually yeah. Um, Fingers and I went to Budapest last--
Smarty Pants: Budapest? That's cool. I will now regale you with all the wonderful things I know about Budapest.

Needless to say we were laughing. She said the story reminds her of someone she works with. I guess no matter how well you get to know her, this woman will always find a way to either a) name drop, or b) one-up your story.

I've had a few of these people in my life. You know, the kind to whom you'll say "Oh, I had a great weekend!" And they'll say, "Yeah, but I bet it wasn't as good as mine..." And so you say, "I read a really great book." To which they'll reply, "Yeah, but I bet you would have enjoyed my book better..."

I always just assumed it was a pet peeve of mine. Some completely irrational irritation that I--in my uber librarian, ultra anal, wierdo-ness--found irritating. But then Poomobile and Big Guy pointed me in the direction of Penelope, and a light went off!

We all must have a Penelope in our lives! Surely there can't be an SNL skit about it, if it's just me, can there be?! Say it's true! Do you have one?! Hmm? Do you have a Penelope story? Hmm, do ya? If you do... I bet your isn't as good as mine, sooo... If you have a Penelope story, mine will be better, sooo... Don't even try because I'm the best, sooo...

Fu Manyou if you think I'm paying that!

Beef, Poomobile, Lady G and I all tossed around the idea of taking Karate lessons this fall. So on top of the photography, I'd have a little "wax on, wax off" action going on. What's not to love about karate, huh?

• Exercise? Goooood.
• Fit, boys looking to toss me about on a mat? Gooooood.
• Wearing pajamas to the gym? Gooooood.

All in all, this looked like a completely rock-on idea.

Today, Beef decided to look into things a bit more for us. She contacted our local dojo, Hamilton West United Family Martial Arts (as Beef said, "say that five times fast...") To start, you get a couple of introductory lessons, and a chance to meet with the owner for a one-on-one session, and after a week of trial and a free guy (the cute pajama outfit with the matching belts), you have the option to sign up for a 12-month membership...

...

... FOR $90 A MONTH!!!

Are you kidding me? I mean, I pay $40 a month for my current club membership, and that gets me a full gym, treadmills galore, and the occasional class. In this rip-off deal, at the very most I could take 2 classes a day (morning and evening), for a total of 10 classes a week. And if my beyond basic math skills are correct, that's almost $21 a week.

Ridonkulous.

I don't need tae bo abs that badly. I actually kinda like my buddha belly.

Mea culpa

I've been slacking. Please forgive. But to be fair, it's summer, and it's nice out, and it's perfect patio weather, and I have some cute shorts that need strutting around in, and... and... and...

Sue me!

Okay, how 'bout to make up for it, I give you something extra special? Hmm? A little something from my back pocket that I've been saving for a rainy day?

Okay. Okay. Okay... Are you ready for this? Hmmm. I don't know if you're ready for this... I mean, this is beyond cute.

*thinks to self: they're not ready for this*

Alright, alright. Cool your jets. Fine. Okay. You're right. You've been patient with my slackage. Okay, I'll show you.

*ahem*

And without further ado, I give you...

*drum roll*

... ETHAN, a.k.a. Potato. Beef's nephew, of former foot crack fame.

This boy can dance. Better than J.T. maybe even. I actually stopped Beef mid-JT to get a viewing of this video... IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CONCERT!

Those "hips"? I mean, he's like Elvis with those hips! The finger point at the end? Serious choreography people. Jazz hands, etc.

And please note the song in the background?! Um, yeah. That's "Hot Legs" by ZZ Top...

More randoms:

1. Alan Rickman is one sexy beast. He's been added.

2. Sleeves says that if there's been no kissing, there's no need to write the "it's not you, it's me" email. That if there's another invitation, I can just say "I'm busy... And I think I'm just too busy for anything more right now..." What say you, dear Readers? Does he deserve an official-yet-hideously-awkward email, or can I just brush my shoulder off?

3. I spent the entirety of yesterday(outside of the golf game that had me cursing the golf gods... "Why?! Why must I be so bad at this game?!") horizontal on the couch indulged in some form of reading, t.v.-watching, or euchre playing. What's better than a completely self-indulgent day?! Hmm? Not much.

4. As a result of #3, I've come to a serious conclusion: everything boring on T.V. starts and ends with U-boats.

5. Tuesday is goth day, for which I will be teaching a one and a half hour class on the principles of Microsoft Word wearing a studded belt, skull and crossbones toque, black lipstick and eyeshadow, and various pieces of facial jewelry. I'm taking odds on how many seniors will walk out before the course actually begins. Anyone want in?

Lisa Turtle: Ignorant Turd

I started work a bit later today, so I had time to watch a little telly with my bran flakes this morning. And low and behold, "Saved by the Bell: Wedding In Las Vegas" was on. Lucky day, indeed.

While I'll spare you the majority of what could become a tirade of criticism, I can't help but comment on the following scene:

Picture it... The valet parking lot of some swank Las Vegas hotel. Zach and Kelly getting ready to jet off to Bayside after their whirl-wind wedding. Saying their goodbyes to old friends and new. Out trots Lisa Turtle and her new "man", Kurt...

(Are you picturing it?)

... Wearing tie dyed t-shirts, moccasins, and what appear to be headbands (buddy bands?) with feathers sticking out of them.

Lisa: We're sure gonna miss you.

Kelly: Us to, Lis. Hey, thanks for coming.

Lisa: No problem, Kel. Anything for you and Zach.

Zach: Lisa, what are you wearing?

Lisa: Oh *giggle* Kurt is taking me to the Indian Reservation, so I thought I'd DRESS THE PART...

Fo' serious, people. This movie came out in 1994.

So fun

There's something about THIS sound, that sucks me in every... single... time.

I was in the middle of watering the back flowers tonight *ho hum* when I heard him coming up the side street. And I literally could not drop the hose fast enough to run up front and see him pass. I was all smiley, and giggly, shifting from foot to foot...

But I felt so sad for him when no one came out to buy anything. Damn ice cream guilt. I imagine the truck is like my dad, when he asks if I want to go for Baskin and Robin's after dinner, and I'm trying to be good, so I say "no thank you", and have an apple instead. He gets all crest fallen, and "oh... okay... no no... it's alright... I understand..." Eventually I end up going and getting a double scoop of mint chocolate chip because of that damn ice cream guilt...

Boy Can Dance

Trotted into T.O. for Justin Timberlake on Monday night.

Now, I know he's not everybody's cup of tea. Heck. I'm not even super crazy about his new album. Too much "ooo, girl" and "damn girl" and "baby, yeah, ooo".

But... When your mom's makin' her specialty, like turkey with mashers and gravy and carrots with brown sugar, you get thee butters home, because everyone loves their mom's turkey dinner (except Poo and Susie, because they don't eat meat...) Similarly, when Justin comes to your city, you go. Because who would take a miss on s&x dancing? Hmm?

And that's exactly what it is: s$x dancing. Boy can move his legs in some ridiculous ways. And he looks vair vair nice in a t-shirt. Or a suit, because he wore one of those, too--question: do you suppose he has a new suit for every show, or do you suppose he gets them dry cleaned every night, and if so, would he have a cleaner set-up in every city, or what? These are the things I think about.

Highlights of his show? Me thinks it was "What Goes Around, Comes Around." This song has a laughable sentimental value for me *ahem* so's I sang along something fierce and rocked it out. Just for old time's sake. And for the fact that I have faith: what goes around, will seriously come around. Trust.

Howev's. I have to say the best part of the show was Timberland who popped out mid-concert, and took over during the 20 minute intermission. First, the dude is built like a brick sh*t house. Seriously, his arms are the size of my body. And two, I've never realized how many songs he's actually produced. I danced my cheeks off to his set. So. Good. And totally unexpected... I love unexpected.

There were a few low spots, too, however. Namely, the ten year-olds sitting two rows behind us who had the highest pitched screams I've ever heard. Their screaming actually hurt. And I can honestly say I've never wanted to punch a child more (and I've wanted to punch my fair share of children...)

And then there was the clown sitting two rows in front, who really, really, really loved JT. So much so, he couldn't sit down, or stop cheering and screaming and "h$lls ya-ing", or stop yelling at those around whom he felt weren't enjoying the show enough...

So in honor of JT and the bringing of his sexy back, I thought it would be apropos to talk about those things we'd like to bring back. Me?

• Pudding pops.
• Gary.
• Sex and the City.

You?

And ode to my bed:

Justin Timberlake concert last night...

... So tie-tie this morning. Eyes... Barely... Open.

Couple a late night with my parents being away and the subsequent "chores" added to my morning routine--feed kitty, clean kitty litter, give kitty treats, love and adore kitty so he doesn't feel we've abandoned him, empty dehumidifier in basement, water plants in front and on stoop, double check doors to make sure locks are functioning (!!!), make house look lived in, collect mail, collect newspapers, write small essay on the principles of chemistry underlying the functioning of the Earth's biological systems so we know you aren't on drugs--and I can justify the Venti coffee I bought this morning. It's like drinking from a trough.

Promise full JT update tomorrow, complete with pictures and video and commentary.

Who's looking out for her?

My mom works with a girl about my age who has just broken up with her boyfriend.

Shocker? Not so much... Such is the life of an unmarried 20-something, I think...

But get this. About a month ago she took a vacay to Cozumel with her mother, and had a really good time. I gather she met a few people who work at one of the resorts, and got on with them. So in response to the breakup with said ex, she's taking another trip to Mexico, to the same all inclusive resort, at the end of the month. By herself.

Now, there's travelling alone, and there's travelling alone. But an all inclusive resort where the entire purpose, more or less, is to drink and party...? Not so much. Couple that with the goings on in the Caribbean the past couple of years with girls going missing, shootings, stabbings, etc. Mix in the fact that no one will have her back on this trip, checking to make sure she gets back to her room at night, or for that matter, will know she's (possibly) gone missing until she doesn't show up for work the following week. And add a splash of HURRICANE SEASON for which a level 4 storm is currently plaguing the Yucatan and Belizian coast, and you've got yourself a disaster in the making.

Someone needs to give this girl a serious shake.

OJ

I poured a glass of orange juice for breakfast--not something I usually do (orange juice, not breakfast), and my cheeks actually puckered at the thought of drinking it. Mouth watering, cheeks puckering.

Know that feeling?

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!