Because I'm a proud Auntie and I want to show off and he's damn cute...

"Hermit crabs are wh*res" (BSB, 2009).

I'd like to thank Paul Wemple for an amazing New Years (regardless of the overall lack of drugs and firearms, as per his detailed cabin instructions...) The "Old Peterson Place" was everything we wanted it to be, complete with a sketchy heating system; odd selections of canned food, VHS tapes, and hair pieces; and the even odder collection of Omen-esque antique wheelchairs. The highlight of the weekend was defs the evening four of us hit the town in Sarah Jane's children's Christmas sweaters circa 1985. Although we managed to avoid taking our own picture, more than one group of party-goers stopped us for a family photo. BSB busted out his best dance moves that night, including what he likes to call his "yeah Orange, you want to f*ck me later" face.

Thank you to everyone for making the trip such a hit, especially Fingers and BSB for all the planning and yummies, and to Free Samples (even though she got a bit drunk and started hitting on her besty's husband...)

Side note: What's the deal with ski resorts being multi level? And I'm not talking two or three floors, I'm taking we parked on the third level of the parking lot, bought our lift tickets on the first level of the resort, purchased our coffees on the second floor, and used the bathroom on the basement level, not to mention the stairs that lead down to the first run and chairlift. Walking in ski boots is hardly an easy thing to do, let alone 4 dozen steep sets carrying heavy duty skis and poles! I realize snowboarders are better equipped and demand as much of the resort as we skiers, but these places were built back in the 1970s and 80s when skiing was all about giant constrictive boots! What were they thinking?

Regardless of the GTs had away, I'm happy to be back in my strawberry pajamas, snuggled down on my couch with my Sex and the City episodes (Christmas gift from Beef) and my kitty. I know Bert is pleased to be home again--being at mother's was exciting but exhausting, and it was stressful sharing Fluff with another kitty. I hope you were all good little peeps on the big 2009. And here's to another year of blogging and ridiculousness!

New Years 2008

It's time once again for New Year's resolutions, and I'm determined to actually keep mine this year!

I remember as a kid, my Aunt Wendy was the guardian of resolutions. We would record them on paper and store them in a jar and she'd deliver them the following year so we could check to see if we'd stuck any of 'em out. Mine, of course, were always filled with good Catholic guilt: be nicer to my sister (*snort*), share, etc. I'm not sure if I'm just more cynical or more selfish now, but this year's resolutions are more personal and less confessional:

1. Floss.
2. Get myself more financially stable, i.e. actually pay attention to my student loan statements and stop using the bank machines that charge me $1.75 to withdraw cash.
3. Be a positive person. Sometimes I feel weighed down by my negativity, and it's an icky feeling.
4. Do the Guelph Try-a-Tri.
5. Pop my RRSP cherry.
6. Be greener.
7. Push myself to do something I otherwise would not do.
8. Volunteer more.
9. Broaden my musical interests.

Anyone want to volunteer some resolutions? We can store them in a Bread and Jam jar and take a page from Sleeves' book--look back on them December 31st, 2009 and see how we did?

Otherwise, a happy and safe new year to all my Peeps. Woo to the hoo. Cheers. Tra la. Etc.

Pet Peeve #1762

When a cashier returns your change to you with the bill on the bottom and the change on top, especially when you're struggling with a coffee or food or bags or some other such thing. The change should clearly go in the palm of the hand first, followed by the bills, making the entire hand to wallet transfer more fluid and accessible.

So just do eet. Okay?

Christmas Extravaganza!

Le sigh. Christmas has once again come and gone. Twas a whirlwind, complete with Santy Claus, babies, old friends, new friends, and more goodies than you can shake a stick at.

Bert and I celebrated our faces off--I, indulging in any sweet treat that came my way, and he, chasing birds from one window to the next at mom's house. Bert and Goose have apparently become besties. This puts me in third place behind beloved Fluff and his new kitty palsie. I have pictures... Will post as soon as I can.

No drams to report. Am wearing my new sweater to work today. Fingers crossed the tie I bought dad is a lucky one.

Next up: New Years in E-town with Fingers, BSB, Poomobile, BG, Orange, and others. Fingers found us a wicked amazing deal so we've rented a chalet for 5 days. All signs point to this being an amazing trip, starting with the fact we originally rented a trailer until the guy upgraded us to his own personal historical farmhouse. Not to mention the directional map he drew us so to find the place... My fav part is either the US boarder warning, or the wildlife overview:

Some things you have time to think about when Christmas Eve is not really Christmas Eve...

1) Charlotte Church, although a lovely girl, gives me a bit of the heebie-jeebies. She suffers from what I like to call "Dakota Fanning Syndrome", i.e. talking and acting well beyond her 14 years.

2) Although I still dearly love my home, it doesn't feel the same as it used to. And that's the first time I've felt this way. Perhaps it's because Christmas is delayed, and we're all trying desperately not to think of other families snug in their beds, visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads? But part of me thinks it has something to do with the fact Beef is not in the twin bed next to me, and there's now a cradle in her place. A most favorite replacement, of course! Don't get me wrong! But I think I'll take tonight to offish mourn the end of what used to be... And then I'll eat her share of the BBQ chips...

3) Baby Jesus made (one of) my holiday wishes come true... He brought the rain and made it easier for us "street parkers" to find available spots. However, this also means the roads are relatively snow free, which eliminates any excuse I might find not to run. The three million macaroons I've consumed in the last week have finally reared their ugly head.

4) Christmas Eve is a really long night when it's not really Christmas Eve.

5) Will anyone really notice if I open just one present?

6) Yes, they will.

7) Bert likes the taste of pine needles.

8) Really? Just one? Ya think?

9) I can't do it. Ever since that year mom and dad were out and Beef and I unwrapped all our presents and wrapped them back up again, I haven't had the heart to peek. But I do remember Beef got a see-through telephone, and a really sweet Coconut Joe tracksuit. Dear me... Do you remember Coconut Joe?

10) Last year at this time I was gearing up for Cuba with Dark Horse and Susie. While I'll miss the sunshine and Phase Ten competitions (or lack there of *snort*) I will not miss the ants in my bed, nor the Vodka Sodas.

Christmas comes but once a year...

Although not technically my Christmas Eve, it's everyone else's... So... This one goes out to Fingers, who is offish a PEng; Mr. and Mrs. Beef, who have given me my chubby bubby; Susie, on the birth of her... *cough*; Belly, who looked like a rock star last night; Hurr_ah and PP who are in love; Pants, who is brave enough to host a family Christmas (gluten free styles!); Poo and BG, who are snug in their new home; FS who is the prettiest hobo you ever did see; and to me, 'cause I'm awesome.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYBODY!

Fluff

Bert has a fluff that he loves best. His bestie, if you will. I think he might even like it better than me. I have no idea where he got it, and I would otherwise consider it to be garbage if he wasn't so fixated on it, carrying it around in his mouth from one room to the next. It's a tiny scrap of white faux fur, and he can't live without it.

Case in point, yesterday I made the bed and as per usual, Bert and Fluff had to be in the bed while I was attempting my chore. Both got made into it. And while Bert made it out from the sheets safe and sound, Fluff did not. So he wandered from room to room making the most horrible crying sound, as if he was in serious physical distress, until eventually it got so irritating I took the bed apart and dug out Fluff from the bottom of the pillow topper.

He started purring and puffing as soon as he saw what I was holding.

I've been reduced to second best in my own house. Le sigh.

Do you have a favorite Christmas song?

Because I've decided that "Here Comes Santa Claus" by Gene Autry is my #1 favorite non-religious Christmas song. If Yaris had a theme for the yule season, it would be this song. Every time it comes on the radio, we bop along together down North Shore Boulevard or wherever it is we are, belting out the lyrics.

You seriously can't help but smile, right?

Side note: I think Yaris needs a big red bow for his grill.

Santy Clause Time

Tonight after regular obsessive compulsive activities, Bert and I put together our "12 Days of Christmas" wreath and watched Christmas cartoons (The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, and Frosty). So now together with my tiny tree (complete with paper decorations and hand painted Bert name ornament), two stockings, advent calendar, and new wreath, Bert says we're set for Santa.

Anyone want to volunteer what's #1 on their Christmas list?

The Inside-Outside

Some people are cranky I'm not posting as often as I used to...

Muchas apologies, peeps. The stomach flu and certain other "opportunities" have kept me otherwise absent from dearest Bread and Jam. But I promise to kick my butters into high gear for the yule season.

But while we're all making complaints: Some people should comment more... Then other people will know when some people are enjoying the literary repartee.

So let's talk about the inside-outside car wash.

Both Yaris and I enjoy a good inside-outside. We try and go twice a year. He gets all puffy and smells like pineapple, and I have the added joy of a clean car. And while there are few things in my life I can control, I take great pleasure in mastering the mess that accumulates around me. There's nothing like an inside-outside for $15 that gets a motor a-runnin.

That said, the inside-outside is definitely a man's place. While I don't like the idea of designating certain places "men's" or "women's", the inside-outside car wash is defs a man's place. Much like the feminine hygiene aisle at Shoppers is very much a women's place.

1) The inside-outside car men (and I say men, because I've never seen a woman working there), are salt of the earth. I'm sure they're very nice boys, but their leering makes me quasi-uncomfortables. Especially towards the end when you have to stand outside and watch them wipe down the inside of your car... Ehn.

Maybe this goes back to the days of the Human Sea Cucumber who once regaled me with tales of the City crews he worked with, who were quite possibly the most foul mouthed individuals on the planet. To this day, I slouch in my seat when I drive past a paving crew for fear of what dirty thoughts I KNOW are going through their heads... And for Pete's sake, it's not just me... From what I'm told, a monkey driving by could generate the same raunchiness.

2) The noise. 'Tis a loud place. And loud places = men's places.

3) Those scary octopus tentacle things that do the actually cleaning. When I was a kid I used to cry in the back seat and hide my face from the scary octopus tentacle things. Maybe that's why I choose to get out of the car for an inside-outside so I don't have to relieve the horror... THE HORROR... of the scary octopus tentacle things.

4) The Sunshine Girl is always posted somewhere in plain view.

So in all, for these reasons, regardless of how much I enjoy it, I will limit my inside-outside to twice a year (once when Hurr_ah came for a visit and Yaris and I wanted to look pretty for her, and once for the Christmas holiday's... Because it's a fancy time, and Orange gave us a new "Give'er" bumper sticker that needs to be applied to a clean, dry surface.)

I'm finally getting into the Christmas spirit...

• 105.7 is all Christmas tunes, all the time, and I rock out every commute.
• There's snow on the ground.
• Someone *coughOrangecough* bought me a mini pine tree and I made tiny paper balls and foil stars for it.
• I purchased my first three gifts.
• 7:00 is Christmas special time on the CBC (television, not radio...)
• We had a Christmas themed bake sale for UNICEF at work.
• Mum put up our Christmas tree and nativity sets (we have two, but she combines them in one manager, which makes things a bit crowded in and around the donkey and wise men, not to mention the egos between the two wee Jesus')
• HGTV is advertising their Christmas craft and home decorating special for Sunday.

Hurrah for Christmas. Hurrah for babies at Christmas. Hurrah for new kitties in front of fireplaces for Christmas. Hurrah for thinking about making someone else happy at Christmas.

Hurrah.

"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire..."

Why is this only a treat for children aged 2-92? What about 93 year-olds? I'm sure if someone offered her one, GT would love a nice soft hot chestnut. Hmm? She has all of her own teeth and drinks beer out of a bottle. And what goes best with beer? Nuts. Yeah, that's right.

What about my 96 year-old Aunt Isobel--who incidentally can play the harmonica and sent Beef and I kazoos one Christmas with a piece of music enclosed so we could start up a band... She would be all over hot chestnuts. She'd go to town on hot chestnuts. And I'm sure her 97 year-old progressive bridge partner would love to share them with her.

If you ask me, Nat King Cole is an exclusive d*ck.

"Mommy, why does Frosty smell funny?"

I had this whole post written and ready to publish, and Blogger crashed.

So now I'm p*ssed.

Don't expect another post.

BG says I'm boring for not posting, so here's a post:

The heat is once again pulsating through my apartment, making it virtually unbearable for Bert and I. This means I'm usually sweating as I leave the house in the morning, which also usually means I'm leaving without a coat on, because the idea of another layer is sickening. I then get outside to my car, and my teeth are chattering because I've got a cold sweat.

Lovely.

I think it's time I get the muscley armed Landlord boy to fix it.

p.s. Today is C-day for Connor... Keep on truckin' little dude! 'Tis for the best... However uncomfortables it makes me to think about it...

I say "Buffalo" you say "Bills"! Buffalo! Bills! Buffalo! Bills!

Does a repeat-after-me song ever get old?

Yes. Yes it does. And I speak from experience, because Fingers, BSB, Orange, and I were up at dawn's crack to attend Sunday's NFL game: Buffalo Bills vs. the Sanfrancisco 49'ers. It was my first experience at such an event, and I think I can safely say I had no idea what I was in for (however many times I may have watchedVarsity Blues.)

To start, there's the drive down to the border. Traffic was bonker doodles with crazy Bills fans--honking, signs, flags, etc. We were across the line and out of the icy grip of the power hungry Border Guard within 45 minutes, parked and ready to tailgate in another 45.

And tailgate we did! Imagine it... 4 West-Ed sized parking lots full of people, campers, and vehicles drinking and cooking various types of meat at 8:00 in the morning. More zubaz than the eye can see. And to be fair, 'twas cold in Buffalo, so even we were dressed for the weather in snow pants and ski hats, but no one needs a one piece florescent orange camouflage jumpsuit with matching boots, let alone the 40 or so grown men (and women!) we counted sporting them!

And remember: this is a team for whom the #1 most frequently asked question is "Are you allowed to get married at the Ralph Wilson stadium?"

Then there are the fires. People build fires in charcoal pits, garbage cans, and directly onto the asphalt. They burn dressers, folding camp chairs, and sweaters (yes, sweaters). They cook things over them, use them for warmth, and play games like everyone's favorite "Lets See What Else Will Burn!" Not surprisingly, the air is ripe with the distinctive tang of both lighter fluid and chemically treated wood.

Game time: 1:00. We start the long trek at 12:30 or so. Everyone carries a beer right up to the gate, possibly stuffing a few travellers down the inside pant leg. We watched a man on parade, proudly rocking his Bills zubaz, unconscious to the fact they'd fallen down around his ankles mid-stride. We were separated into girls and boys for the security clearance/full-body frisk. We removed our hats for the Color Guard. p.s. Who are the Color Guard exactly?

Inside, the stadium was smaller than I anticipated, having spent so much time at Ivor Wynne this summer. But that doesn't make it any less entertaining. The big screen was straight ahead so we got prime vantage points for the much anticipated Fries vs. Snackwich vs. Big Mac race, in which more than one fan was anxiously screaming "FRIIIIIIES!" (sadly, Fries came in last, but he put up a good race. Although I don't know who would bet on a trans fatty starch when there's a healthy alternative in the mix?)

Speaking of losing, so too did the Bills, escorting themselves out of the playoffs. The kicker missed two important field goals, one from the 10 yard line, so no doubt he'll end up in someone's trunk later this week.

The ride home was redonk, taking close to three hours. But Fingers was a super trooper and got us all there safe and sound, despite the torrential sleet, ride program, and silly parking lot drivers.

What a flippin' experience.

The Worst

The worst is when you have a stuffy nose, and you forget your Kleenex box at home, and you're forced to blow your nose on the rough bathroom paper towel, which is that horrible brown recycled craft stuff, so you're more or less blowing la nez avec une 8 1/2 x 11 sheet of paper. The result is a giant red honker.

I look like Bozo the clown. Or more so, I should say...

Bert Minus Bert, Volume 1

BG is my hero...

Bert

Meet Dr. Albert McMeowsers! Bert, to friends and family. He's a professional Snuggler and Motor Boat Sound Effect Technician ("purr purr purr"). His days are spent napping, and busying himself with interior design--relocating toilet paper rolls to different areas of the house, and recovering furniture with black fur. He likes having his (giant) paws squeezed, grooming himself and his besties, and has recently discovered the endless fun of a glass topped table.

When not sleeping in the windowsill, you can find him under the Library Lady's feet or getting cozy in small,box-type spaces.

Easy there, ladies. I know he's a looker, but he's very much taken.

K-day

'Tis K-day, folks. Time for the kitty Albert McMeowsers to git 'er on home.

...

Here's hoping he still thinks I'll make a cool homey.

*fingers crossed*

New poll.
Check. Eet. Out.

I've never been good at math, but this is one equation I know I can do:

2 Highways + 2 Vehicles + 2 People + 2 Car pool parking lots + 2,000,000 Phone calls + 1, 2-Hour wait + 1 Busy signal + 1 Hysterical female + 1 Too relaxed dad = Ensuing ridiculousness.

Kitteh paws, here I come!

I found the kitty of my dreams yesterday. He's a wee, 2-year-old peanut wearing a tuxedo. I'm going to chill with him at lunch, but alas with there being no holds allowed on at this time of year (too many disappointments and no-shows), I'm hoping he'll still be there when I go to pick him Friday night...

Check HIM out (you'll have to scroll down to T for Tuxedo)

Any name suggestions? What with him wearing a tuxedo, I'm thinking it needs to be quite formal, non?

p.s. He's clearly smiling in that picture, huh? Probs knows I'm lookin' at 'em...

Meh!

I'd like to thank everyone for helping fight the man! Please give yourself a big pat on the 'ole back. We had an idea, we worked towards it, and we saw it through to the end. 'Tis the essence of success, non?

Click HERE for the full story.

And thank you to Fingers for pointing out our glorious triumph.

Uh hello...

*ahem*
*blows into microphone*

Testing... Testing... Is this thing on?

*taps microphone*

Hi there. My name's Connor. I'm a Scorpio, and every bit as intense and loyal as the tarot cards say we are. I enjoy being wrapped like a burrito, making jazz hands, and breast milk. I still have an umbilical cord nubbin, and I wear an extra tiny diaper. I travel well, like the feeling of a snug onsie, and make a variety of facial expressions.

I'm looking for someone who wants to hold hands, kiss my cheeks, snuggle close, and who will remember to turn off the flash before we take pictures. If you're interested and want to get your cuddle on, please call 1-800-FARKINGCUTE.

Connor Giovanni!

Born November 15 at 12:30 pm, weighing in at 7lbs, 7oz, he's my peanut, my buddy, and the nicest smelling baby you ever did meet. Welcome, handsome.

Ah man, you made me cry again...

*shuffles off to get Kleenex*

This wee peanut is available. Right now.

He's tempting.

He's very tempting...

*bites lip*
*shifty eyes*

I do have a thing for ridiculous looking cats, don't I?

And his name is Hayworth. I mean... Hayworth? Really? 'Tis meant to be, perhaps... Is his mouth open slightly?

Reminds me a bit of the Gherkin (pictured right), non?

Ah the joys of first aid training...

1. One of the questions on today's final "quiz/test" was:

If you come across someone who's received a laceration to the abdominal, and their intestines are protruding from their body cavity, what should you do:
a) Cover the intestines in a warm, damp, sterile cloth.
b) Gather the intestines, and push them back inside.
c) Pull the intestines further outside the body, and wipe them off.

2. My instructor is constantly referring to the laws of Ontario and Q-bec. Who says that? Q-bec... So. Annoying.

3. Transformers is a really good movie. This point is unrelated, but I'm watching it as I type this, and I thought it an important point to highlight.

4. There's a Ti-Cat in my class, and he's much too big for our wee university-lecture-hall-style seats. The three protein bars and giant protein shake he ate today aren't helping matters.

5. Instructor lady is a bit of a Penelope. For every condition we discuss, she's had a family member who's suffered from it: angina, congenital heart failure, amputation, chemical burn, and choking to death. She also regaled us with the story of her son's birth. She's 58, don't you know, and she had him late in life (43), which makes her the oldest mom at his baseball games, but she quit smoking when she was pregnant with him and hasn't looked back since, because she wants to be around for him, you know? And last week she joined Curves. She put 40 pounds on when her sister died last year of blood clots, and she just woke up on Monday and said, "I don't fit in my pants anymore." So she she went to Dominion, and Curves was right next door, and when she went inside she bought a membership, and yesterday was her first training session and usually she comes home and her son says "I need help with my homework" but last night she was too exhausted from her circuit training to even think about making dinner.

So don't feel sorry for her.

6. I get to wear pants without a waistband on a weekday.

Federal Offense

Yes folks, that's right. Beneath this seemingly sweet exterior is a seedy side. In fact, I'm currently involved in criminal activity, the punishment for which is a sentence of up to 10 years’ imprisonment.

Name that crime!

Monday 5:35 pm: Call off the hounds!

False alarm people. False alarm. Not sure how that happens, but baby, mother (and amniotic fluid) are all still very much attached.

"Daddy took me to the zoo today, and we did stay all day!" -- Raffi

(Little Wee Owl)

(African Elephant)


(River Hippopotamus)


(Lowland Gorilla)


(Great Indian Rhinoceros)


(Live Reef Corals)


(Moon Jellyfish)

Ahem. I need certain people to call me back.

D-Day!

So c'mon baby beef, let's ger 'er done. Auntie needs a new pair of shoes (and a baby to get her snuggle on with.)

The way I see it, you've been in there for 9 months. And if I was a turkey thermometer, I'd say you're ready. So unstrap yourself from your uterine hammock, put the chip bag down, turn the TV off, and get out of that womb.

Feist!

Last night was the Feist concert with Fingers. I had totally forgotten I'd given her the tickets for her birthday some months back, so 'twas a lovely surprise come last Friday to be reminded!

Feist makes me think of the hip kids in Library School--Sleeves and Hurr_ah--who knew and loved her back when she did shows in scuzzy U of A on-campus pubs. I admit I am a late Feist enthusiast, but have grown to really like her. And last night's concert only amplified that x100,000!

The highlight (besides her lovely velvet voice) was the crew of artists she had working behind her on stage. They used an overhead projector and everyday items (material, finger paint, beads, leaves, etc.) to create these scenes, which they then projected onto the giant screen behind the stage. It was totally hypnotizing! And so ridiculously beautiful and unique.

I have no idea who's concept it was--Feist's or the young people carrying out the art project--but it totally made the evening and the concert, even from the nosebleed section!

p.s. I was totally kidding Lil' F... I'm not mad at you, and we're not fighting. And you were right about the "awesomeness"...

Halloween 2008

Heather was a (third place costume winning) bottle of mustard, BSB was a keg, Free Samples was a tree, and I was a garden! Tra la! And those are real flowers people...

Will you please look at this ridiculousness?! I mean, c'mon? It's even stagged... Genius...

You gots to have some'ting missing from yer brains...

...If you don't enjoy Halloween!

I lurves it. I lurves it the most. It's my third favorite holiday behind Thanksgiving and the Baby Jesus' birthday. What's not to love? I'm combining my two favorite things: chipsies (specifically tiny bags-o-Cheesies, although I'm still miffed they phased out the Humpty Dumpty Cheesies and phased in the Cheetos kind... But an orange smile is an orange smile, right?) and dress up! I've always been a Tickle Trunk kind of girl, and Halloween is the one day out of the year (besides the Pride Parade) where dressing up is appreciated.

And pray Shiloh I always enjoy it this much. I hope I'm always willing to go wrist deep and de-goop a Cucurbita. Not to mention the excitement of getting my own costume ready...

In fact, I'm so hopped up on mini chocolate bars I'm feeling the need to list! 'Tis Friday, after all! So how's about a list of all the costumes I've worn?

2008: 'Tis a secret still...
2007: Marie Antoinette
2006: Hansel, of Hansel and Gretel fame
2005: Crabs... Of the soft shell variety...
2004: An episode of The Littlest Hobo
2003: A reprise of the chicken
2002: A chicken
2000: A cowboy
1999: The chick from The Blair Witch Project
1998: An angel. I'm embarrassed that I couldn't come up with anything better this year. But what can I say? I was in residence... I had to be a "sexy something"...
1997: Don't remember?! -- See 1996...
1996: Don't remember?! -- Does anyone from high school remember what we did for grades 11-13?
1995: Don't remember?! I do remember crimping my hair for the Halloween dance, though... I also got drunk for the first time off of one beer, smuggled into Free Samples' bedroom.
1994: A dirty Q-Tip
1993: A Q-Tip
1992: Igor, complete with my own plaster hump--thanks dad!
1991: A Gypsy, although easily confused for a hooker--thanks mom...
1990: An equestrian horseback rider
1989: Charlie Chaplin
1988: A clown
1987: A pun'kin
1986: Don't remember?!
1985: Don't remember?!
1984: Don't remember?!
1983: Something plastic that came in a bag from the Mr. Grocer. I remember riding the bus to Mother Goose in it. It was red, and robot-ish...
1982: Don't remember?!
1981: Don't remember?!
1980: Don't remember?!
1979: A lump. 'Cause I was only a month old. Not that this is an excuse, because Pants will be dressing dearest Sarah as a loaf of bread (pictures necessary, please!)

Happy Halloween!

Le sigh, indeed.

It would seem I've missed the boat when it comes to green hairspray.

Who knew? Last week there were literally dozens of green hairspray bottles in the stores, and tonight I was elbowing my way through unpackaged wigs, trampled prosthetics, and the unwashed miscreants to get anywhere close to the shelves. Not to mention a check-out line as long as Free Samples' accident record at Party Packagers.

I have hope, however. My uber preggers sister has nothing better to do than traipse (both) her butters around the city on my green hairspray whim. If she fails me, she'll be cut.

I'm joking, of course.

Sort of.

Halloween is a hell of a drug...

And now, as promised...

I've arrived at a new Improbable Life Goal, folks!

*waits for applause to die down, like they do on David Letterman or Ellen, shifting idly from one foot to the other, waving, pointing, and randomly saying 'hi' to people in the audience*

Thank you... Thank you...

*ahem*

Now, as I was saying. The last goal I added was back in... Like... Well I don't really remember, but it was some time ago. And although I have yet to earn any money as a back-up dancer, I was offered a full time contract with an aspiring singer/Mr. Beef.

So *rubs hands together* without further ado, my new ILG is...

... To attend a party at the Playboy Mansion.

Clarification: I do not want to be Heidi or Kendra or Bridget. I don't want to be a porn star. I will not dye my hair platinum blond. I have no interest in bunny costumes. I don't want to be in Playboy, nor do I want tassels on my nippy noodles.

What I want is to be fabulous enough to get all glammed up and rock it out at an all day party. What I want is to make it onto the guest list, to wander around the rooms, to meet the strange people, and to wonder what it would be like to live in an imaginary world full of silicone, money, and ridiculousness. Totally surreal, right? I mean, who lives like that?! Wouldn't you want to know what it's like, just for one day? Wouldn't you want to cross that off your list so you can say, "Yeah, I've been there. I did that. S'kay, but I muchas prefer le couch, stove popped popcorn, and free movies from the library..."

I'll keep you posted, you guys. When I'm invited, I'll get your help deciding on an appropriately slutty outfit. Ha!

I think I finally have it...

On the Labour Day caravan to cottage country, Punk and I were listening to the top 102 rock songs of all time, as voted on by the 102.1 FM radio station. Although I failed to agree with the majority of the song order, it did get me thinking... What would my top songs be?

Now I want to preface: when I say "top songs," I mean to say the songs you can (and do) listen to over and over again. The songs you stop for when radio channel surfing. The songs you not only stop for when radio channel surfing, but the songs you jack the volume for. No flash in the pan songs. No popular-right-now-but-in-six-months-time-you-won't-even-remember-who-sang-them songs. We're talking your top songs.

I've given this some good thought, and I'm pretty sure I've finally nailed down my list. So here goes:

1. Billie Jean, Michael Jackson
2. Sympathy for the Devil, The Rolling Stones
3. In Your Eyes, Peter Gabriel
4. Bitter Sweet Symphony, The Verve
5. Bobcaygeon, Tragically Hip

What do you think?

Any takers for declaring their own list? It's hard. It's a commitment. Don't rush it.

In other news, I think I've decided to add another Improbable Life Goal to the list... Tune in tomorrow for a full update!

Home for a rest...

Thanks for playing, folks! And excellent work, Fingers! I'm glad we're still on the same page. The only slight correction I'd have to make is to say I enjoy salt n' vinegar popcorn shaky stuff, not white cheddar. Although I've never actually had white cheddar, so you could in fact be correct and even I don't know it yet... Wouldn't be the first time!

In other news, 'tis been an insanely busy week. Not only at work (where I left poor BG to fend for himself most days, being completely incommunicado via MSN--sorry BG), but after work, too! Monday was yoga. Tuesday was a get together with the library ladies (bun convention), which means I missed trivia (did we win?). Wednesday was a ridiculous run, and some serious apartment cleaning. Thursday I got my hair cut at lunch and volunteered after work, followed by a much needed grocery shop. Friday is the Ti-Cat game, followed by a Saturday of shower preparation, and the much anticipated party on Sunday!

Dear me. I will need Monday to rest. At work. Under my piles of back backdated professional journals that I still need to read. And the sticky note reminders I still have to remind myself with. And the files that need organizing. And the book truck that needs unloading...

Here are some things that Fingers and I agree and disagree on. Can you tell which items are which?

1. A Swiss Chalet dinner with a side salad and house dressing.
2. High School Musical 1, 2, and 3.
3. Kate Gosselin.
4. Camping comfortably.
5. Sushi hand rolls.
6. Listening to the CBC.
7. Spreadsheets.
8. The movie "Wet, Hot, American Summer" (p.s. Who has my copy of that?)
9. Winning.
10. The song "Ring My Bell" by Anita Ward.
11. Lucky the cat.
12. The use of foul language (in an appropriate setting).
13. Tanning.
14. The word "expresso".
15. The television show "Location, Location, Location".
16. Scary movies.
17. Ketchup shaky stuff at the movies.
18. Skinny dipping.
19. Broccoli on pizza.
20. Being frugal.

p.s. Fingers! No giving the answers away until end of day, k?!

Pet Peeve #964

Sunglasses that fog.

You know when you leave the house and put your sunglasses on, and get in the car on a nice cold, sunny morning, and you jack the heat up a smidge, and start driving down the street towards the stop light, and you just know there's something fishy going on with your vision because something is just not right, and then you see it out of the corner of your eye, a fog, and it's starting to grow, and all of a sudden there's a great big foggy patch over both your eyes, and you have to take your sunglasses off and wave them around in the air a bit while you're driving/blinded by the sun?

I hate that.

Tomorrow's blog will tackle run-on sentences and how to avoid them.

Yoga

Fingers, Lil' Fingers and I are all taking yoga at the local recreation centre. We were looking for something to "take up" in the fall, as ladies like to do, so Fingers did some investigating. Specifically, I think after the buzz of ultimate Frisbee we were all hoping for something active and different. And wow! What a deal she found us. In fact, the whole venture seemed almost too good to be true--$50 for 10 weeks of yoga, all within walking distance of the apartment and 'da house!

Take my advice. Something too good to be true, is too good to be true.

Now that's not to say rec centre yoga isn't awesome. Because it is; don't get me wrong. But it certainly isn't what most would call "active". In fact, yoga lady actually encourages us to bring a blanket so we can cover ourselves and nap for the last 10 minutes of class. We spend an additional 10 minutes heavy breathing.

And that brings me to another point about rec centre yoga... The comical people in rec centre yoga (besides the obvious three clowns in the back of the room.) As an example, during our heavy breathing we're told to close off part of our esophagus to make a deep, throaty noise... We're told to "hear the ocean" in our breathing. Tonight the woman next to me (who grades science tests in between moves) calls out, "Um, I'm breathing but I don't hear the ocean..."

???

Yoga lady also encourages us to "be aware"... Be aware of our environment... Be aware of our spine... Be aware of our thumbs... Be aware of the odors in the room...

*record scratch*

Odors? In the room? Would that be the smell of middle school floor mats, feet, or the oh-so-yum-in-the-tum aroma of chlorine and peroxide from the across-the-hall pool deck?

Rec centre yoga is defs worth the $50.

The Weekend Wrap-Up!

Friday: After a vair long day at work, it was off to KW for a Rangers game. Can't say I've ever been to an OHL event, but it turned to to be some serious fun. Especially considering I was looking forward to it about as much as I look forward to my yearly physical. Funny how things work themselves out, huh? The thing you dread the most becoming the thing you enjoy the most? Factor in someone who pokes more fun at you than anyone you've met before, and you have yourself a refreshing change.

*smile*

(as a side note, this doesn't mean I'll be looking forward to my November physical...)

Saturday: 'Twas beautiful. Josie, Fingers and I took the glorious fall weather as an opportunity to attempt the recently advertised 10-acre Dundas corn maze.

Holy three hour tour, Batman! I honestly thought I was going to die in the endless expanses of the bloody highway five corn fields. Much like pancakes, the place was all exciting at first, but by the third attempt at finding destination #13 on the map, holy mother I was feckin' sick of it! My only consolation was the tiny bag of cheesies I won for decoding the pit-stop puzzle.

Saturday night, BSB and Fingers hosted a dinner party for eight. We spent most the evening discussing poo in various forms (animal and human), and horror movies. It was just what I imagined an adult dinner party to be.

Sunday: After sleeping in far longer than anticipated, Beef and I took a trip to the dog park, where I was privy to my worst nightmare: humping dogs. It would appear everyone wants a piece of my sister's black lab. She's a sweet thing who's always looking for the next lick, but seriously... Did both dogs need to take her by the jugular? I eventually plugged my ears and got up from the picnic table. I couldn't watch. Neutered or not, I don't like to think of animals enjoying sexy time, which is another reason why I champion for cats (who are much more discreet with their threesomes).

Finished the evening with a tight little run. I seriously lurve running at night. It's a redonk Corey Heart pleasure, minus the sunglasses--not only is it an amazing time to see some of the most random things, but it's cool outside, my muscles get all sore and tired, I get chilly and crave a good snuggle, there's very little traffic, no one can see my wobbly bits or the snot I'm smearing on my sleeve, and I sleep better.

But don't worry Beef, I wear super reflective clothing, including the two reflective ankle bands, and a shirt that could blind a MAC truck.

All in all it was a supa fly weekend. Here's hoping the week plays out similarly *wink*

Sweaty time

I just saw an add for a psoriasis medication that can lead to tuberculosis and open sores.

I'm sorry, but how is this a reasonable risk? Which would you honestly rather have: Psoriasis or open sores (and really, aren't they quasi the same thing...)? And what about Psoriasis vs. TB? Hmm?

*shakes head*

On a scale of one to humping dog, I'd say a disease that attacks the lungs and nervous system is about as close to the humpity hump as I'd like to get.

In other news, the heat has spontaneously popped on in my apartment, and I can't seem to turn it off. I'm working with hot water radiators, and since returning from Ireland my apartment feels more like Guam than Hammertown. And the worst of it is, the Muscley Armed Landlord boy is "away" until the 21st which = no relief for me. Needless to say my fan is working overtime, and I'm rarely if evah wearing pants at home.

Visitors be warned.

Yummers

If you could own a restaurant, what kind of restaurant would you own? And we're talking fantasy restaurant, here. None of this "I'd buy a Tim Horton's franchise".

Me?

I'd like to own a peanut butter and jam restaurant. Peanut butter sandwiches made on your choice of bread (white, brown, honey, raisin, etc.), with your choice of jam/topping (jam, jelly, fluff, nutella, m&ms, banana, etc.). Then you could get your choice of sides, and they'd all be in bulk, like chips, cheese cubes, and apple slices ('cause those are my favorite things to eat with peanut butter sandwiches.)

And of course, there would be a milk fountain with crazy straws to drink it with.

You?

Four funnies in one week:

One, seeing The Office for the first time since the new season started. I'm not sure which was better... When Jim got into the discussion with Andy/Dwight about Battlestar Galactica, or Michael beating Holly to the photocopier to be purposefully annoying...

Hmm...

*taps finger to lip*

I'll think on it.

Two, seeing a re-run of the SNL skit with Kristen Wiig (who is deliciously hilaripuss in every way), "Jeremy and Stacia". Seth Rogen is gold. I honestly wept, I was laughing so hard:



"I said we!!!"

Three, passing a man at the Rockton Fair with the world's classiest t-shirt, and wondering how on earth the woman holding his hand could fathomably leave the house with him dressed that way.

Four, having an obscenely drunk man in line for an Octoberfest sausage at the Concordia Club tell me I'm "sexy" (more like "slexly" when you factor in the slur), and that I deserve to hold his Scooby Doo. We clarified he was referring to the stuffie he won in a ring toss game, but still. Worth a giggle. Damn, I'm a lucky girl.

Irstfay atesday areway alwaysway awkwardway.

Right?

Is there anything that Bill Murray can't do?

And they thought it was weird I put maple syrup on my French Toast...

There's something slightly off about milk in other countries. Like it's thick in all the wrong places, or sour in all the wrong ways. I always leer away from foreign milk and milk products--yogurt, cheese, etc. I was the same in Cuba and Mexico and the Dominican, too. It's just... Wrong. On a scale of one to humping dog, I'd rate it about an 8.

The Australians, however, loved the foreign milk. They drank it up like no one's business, buying it by the mini jug full to drink on the bus. Mind you, they also purchased eggs at the supermarket and kept them on a shelf in the hostel, arguing eggs didn't need to be refrigerated...

"Is a chicken's arse cold?" they argued.

No, it's not. Or at least I don't think it is, although I've never actually been near a chicken arse with the exception of the occasional hot dog. I also figured it futile to suggest the egg does not, in fact, emerge from the chicken's arse. But I digress. I did, however, remind them that the milk they were shoveling down the by gallon was kept cold in a fridge, and last I checked (Rockton Fair circa Thanksgiving weekend 2007), "a cow's teat was neither cold nor refrigerated..."

There was no comment to that.

In other news, I'm thinking about a kitten again.

Just thinking...

But thinking a lot...

That commercial for Whiskas where the guy acts like a cat ("Hubert") freaks me out a bit...

Is there anything grosser than a humping dog?

*thinks to self*

Nope, I'm pretty sure there's nothing grosser than a dog that humps. On a scale of one to ten, I'd put a humping dog at a solid ten. In fact, I'd replace the scale with "on a scale of one to humping dog..." A humping dog actually triggers a bit of the old gag reflex, and that's sayin' somethin' because besides throwing up outta fear in the Ghostbusters movie theatre, and once when I had the Norwalk virus, not much triggers that sucker.

In other news, I'm off to the land of the lederhosen and Oom-pa-pa on Friday, courtesy of Free Samples and fab Cathy. Yaris and I will be making like the wind with the rest of the German's on the So'Oh autobahn/Highway 6. We all know the five words every girl at Octoberfest wants to hear, right?

Right?!

Count 'em off on your fingers for me, will ya?

Will.
You.
Polka.
With.
Me.

Like music (oom-pa-pa) to the ears, non? Here's hoping there's a replay of the last trip when someone was slipped a secret sausage...

No joke. Suzanne actually found a sausage in her purse...

*shifty eyes*

Sexy Bus Tours of Eire!

Dia dhuit!

Did ya miss me? A wee bit, perhaps?

Ah shucks *scuffs toe*

Just in case you're wondering.. It was a grand. GRAND. Fan-feckin-tastic. Good craic. Amazing. I lurved it. I want to go back. I wish I was Irish. I miss it. It wasn't long enough.

Le sigh.

I spent the first two days and nights in Dublin by myself, touring the city, pub crawling, drinking, and meeting people. I must have walked every street three or four times, and can proudly admit to eating the world's largest package of fish and chips physically possible. I toured Guinness. Slept in St. Stephen's park, ate breakfast at Bewley's, and partied in Temple Bar.

Monday I joined the tour. Super nervy I'd end up with a group of weirdos, whispering silent prayers there would be at least ONE normal person in sight.

Turns out there were about 2o normal people. I represented Team Canada, and fought many a battle against the loan Team USA-er. But we were both outnumbered by Team Australia, who had me laughing the entire trip (to the point I actually wet my pants a little.) Together we road the sexiest little bus, led by Aidan, the Irish tour guide...

We were in Westport, Galway, Doolin, Dingle, Killarney, and everywhere in between. We saw every imaginable picturesque place, and drank every little bit of blackness to be found. I learned how to set dance, who Fungi the dolphin is, what a Hooker really looks like, and from the Australians, what a "bogen" really is...

Word of advice: 'tis never a good idea to be hungover on a moving bus...

In all, I was vair sad to leave them Friday night. So much so we decided to drag it out until 4:00 Saturday morning. What can I say? The Tasmanians love to dance. And as a result, I barely slept those 8 days... Am sick as a dog now, but it was well worth the trade off...

I have a ridiculous amount of pictures... I'll post some of 'em here, but I don't want to bore you.

Doughmore Beach

Doolin

Coumeenoole Beach

Views near Croagh Patrick

Priorities...

Faerie Ring

Donkey Dealer in Dingle

*blows out candles*

'Tis my 29th year.

*looks behind back*
*looks under each foot*
*looks under each arm*
*pushes up glasses*

Yup. Just as I suspected.

...

I'm old.

Psst... But I'm also fabulous. Hee!

And I'm off to Ireland today! So scr*w you, 29!

*does Irish jig*
*blows raspberry*
*runs away*

OhmygoodnessOhmygoodnessOhmygoodness!

On the 25th day of September, my true love gave to meeeeeee...

8 days of PAID. FARKING. VACATION.

*twiddles thumbs*

I'm excited.

*drumbs fingers on desk*

I'm really not doin' anything at work.

*slurps latte*

Did I mention I'm excited?

...

'Cause I am.

*shifty eyes*

What time is it? How many hours to go? Is it inappropriate to drink Guinness at work? It's just vitamins, right?

Ehn!

Subtlety was never my strong suit...

Pet Peeve #894

Take your sunglasses off when you're inside!

Gawd.

Flashback...

Randomly thought of (and told a story about) a trip to Waterton Lakes National Park tonight... Weird. But it got me thinking about the place itself, and so I flipped through some of my pictures. And damn, that place really was unbelievable. I'm glad I got a chance to see it:

Disconnect...

In the latest edition of InStyle, there's a spread on Kimora Lee Simmons and her jewelry collection. Apparently it's massive. Apparently she has a thing for diamonds. THIS ring is but one of many given to her by ex hubby, Russell Simmons, for forgetting their anniversary. Apparently she's also "really into wearing big precious stones on [her] pointer finger right now..." Apparently precious stones on the pointer finger are chic.

Her favorite and most treasured piece is a pair of black and white diamond drop earrings, given to her by her boyfriend "just because..."

Kimora Lee Simmons is dating Djimon Hounsou.

Djimon was the star of Blood Diamond.

...

Are you getting where I'm going with this?

But wait, it gets better...

My favorite part in the story is when she highlights the Rough Diamond &Malachite Green bracelet that she and ex Russell designed as part of a fundraiser called the "Green Initiative". The Green initiative helps to protect and preserve Africa’s "most important and precious resource, human life, by supporting education programs and initiatives." All the money from the sale of the $125 bobble goes to building houses in African communities where diamonds are mined...

...

Umm...

...

Now, while I'm not the smartest knife in the drawer, I know dumb. And I smell me some dumb in this story:

Kimora is a diamond wh*re. The diamond wh*re is dating Dijimon Hounsou. Dijimon Hounsou is the star of Blood Diamond. Blood Diamond brought the true horror of the diamond industry to the forefront of national news. New initiatives are starting up to fight the injustices of the diamond industry. Initiatives like The Green project. Headed up by the diamond wh*re herself. Who continues to collect and flaunt her HUGE COLLECTION OF BLOOD DIAMONDS!?

Who's dumber? Kimora or the author of this article?

A Week of Weird:

Sunday: I drove past a man riding a motorized scooter. Like a scooter a senior citizen would ride to Dollerama or Tim Hortons for a double-double (not the Vespa kind). Not so weird, you say? It is when you consider he was pulling a hitch... A full sized, 4x4 hitch.

Monday: I ran past a Big Wheel locked to a bike rack. Remember the kind you used to race up and down the street with the neighbour boy? Mine was a Hot Wheels kind. Not so weird, you say? It is when you consider both back tires had been jacked.

Tuesday: I talked to a man on the phone who wanted to know how he could access the Latin document I had used/displayed in my class today. As in Latin, the language. Not so weird, you say? It is when you consider he wasn't in my class today. Nor can I speak Latin, let alone write it.

Wednesday: [will update when (inevitably) something weird happens...]

Peanut

Pants had a baby! Pants had a baby! Pants had a baby!

Her name is Sarah Madeline. No pictures yet, but as soon as I talk to her on the phone *scuffs toe* (because I'm a terrible friend and haven't had a chance to call her yet...) I will harass her for some fab chubster pics.

Until then, three cheers for Pants and SS and Sarah!

Hip hip hurray!
Hip hip hurray!
Hip hip hurray!

Bhahaha!

More funnies from Fingers' phone...

From Dark Horse: "Yo, I was just at Manans (?) siphoning the babies" This is a mistranslation of, "yo, I was at Mana's VISITING the babies!

From Lil' Fingers: "Hi Heather. Ok. I really called you. I didn't just want to leave you a message. But while I'm at it I guess I wanted to tell you that I like to dress up my cat in two twos and little booties. Also I am a robot. Also let me know about that diarrhea. And as well yeah I actually wanted to talk to you just about the yoga and stuff. So hope you're having a good night. Ok. Love you, bye."

Prenatal

Tonight was my first and last trip to prenatal class with Beef. First, because Mr. Beef was at a baseball game and Beef needed someone to go with her in case there was a "partner component" to the class. Last, because it was gross. While I'm all about babies, and while I know someday I will have one/two/fourteen of my own, at the present moment I did not need to see the slide show of breast feeding conditions--engorged boobs, blocked ducts, soar nipples, or my personal favorite, mastitis. Google image them. Do it. I dare you.

Good luck with all that, Beef. I will be there with a casserole when your giant boobs start manufacturing their own yeast.

Side story: Public Health Nurse lady asked the group what "others can do to make things easier on mom during those first few weeks?" I leaned over to Beef and quietly volunteered:

• Slander?
• Pushing?
• Pointing and laughing?

I then giggled uncontrollably. Beef? Not so much...

Har de har har...

Fingers has paid for a new telephone service that transfers all her voice mail to her email. Basically, when voice mail comes to her phone, it's sent to someone in India who translates it into text. As you can imagine, this leads to some pretty funny translations, not the least of which was this:

"You have a new voice mail from 905blahblahblah sent on 2008/09/09-20:19:31. The converted text is: Hey [Fingers], I got your email. That's pretty funny. I like to talk like a robot. Also I hope your diarrhea is ok. I heard that it was expulses(?) and yeah let me know about that. Ok, bye."

My fav part is the (?) like you can actually see someone sitting on the other end of this call playing it over and over trying to figure out what that second last sentence was...

3 Things You Might Not Know About Me:

1. When I was a kid, my dad used to bring home all sorts of bizarre things from the hospital, illnesses aside. When we were really young, he'd bring us preemie diapers for our Cabbage Patch Kids, and chocolate milk, and giant plastic syringes that we'd play with in the bathtub. Then there was the time he made a special trip to fashion me a plaster hump for my Igor Halloween costume. I'm not sure what we did with it after that. It was in the upstairs hall closet for a long time, but I haven't seen it in years... Odd... How does one dispose of a plaster hump?

2. The first slow song I danced to with a boy was Hotel California. I was in grade nine, and thought it was super cool that he asked me to dance to the world's longest song.

3. There are times I will go through the drive-through and just order a fountain Coke. What can I say? Sometimes I just really want a fountain Coke. Punk was astounded that anyone would actually do this, let alone do it more than once in a lifetime. He seems convinced I am the only person since the history of the drive-through that drives through for a fountain pop, sans burger, fries, etc. Sounds like a challenge to me, non?! Check out the poll...

Ireland-a-go-go

I finally booked my sweet leetle Dublin hostel, and bought some fab new hiking boots, and I think it's finally starting to set in that I'm going on vacay in three weeks! Squee! It's only a week, but it represents many firsts:

• First time in Ireland (obvi)
• First time in my professional career taking a paid vacation (redonk)
• First time traveling alone (!!!)

I plan on wasting a bit of time later today creating a list of all the things I still need to do. Laugh away, all ye fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pant-ers, but I need the organization. The last time I travelled to Europe I was with Fingers, and she'd assembled a spreadsheet of our needs and itineraries months before we'd actually left (Fingers, if you're reading this, do you still have said nerdliness, or is that ancient history? I still have a paper copy, I think...)

Beef and I are taking a mini-break to T.O. next Sunday to frequent the M.E.C. Looking for a raincoat and a carry-on/daily bag. Mother "lost" (read: pick pocketed) 185 Euros when she was in Spain last month, so she's paranoid I get a thief-proof bag. Tra la!

p.s. Pants is dilating!!! Not quite sure how one tells one is dilating, but I'm vair excited for she and SS nonetheless. Help cheer on Baby LawPants, please!

Maybe it's silly, but I can't help it.

Alternate Universe

At the game on Monday, Fingers and I joked about how different she would have been had her parents, for example, been the type of people who chose to tailgate... As in, they type of parents who chose to bring their toddler to the seedy underbelly of the downtown Hammer on the evening before the first day of school so they can get sh*t faced in an abandoned parking lot.

(For the record, Mr. and Mrs. Fingers are lovely people, and prefer to watch the Ti-Cats from the pleasure of their own living room.)

But this gots me thinking: how different would my life have been had I made different choices? Like what if I had chosen to go into French Immersion in grade school? Would I have been besties with Christian Weller? What if I had chosen to go to Trent for Environmental Science, as originally intended? Would I be a vegan lesbian? Of what if I had never gone back to the library that fateful summer when the City wouldn't hire me for a silly Parks and Rec job? Would I evah have gone to library school, or would I be the manager of the Lime Ridge Suzy Sheer? Or what if I had chosen to stay in Edmonton...?

Dear me. I'll tell you where I wouldn't be... by the looks of things, about 6 months along! Ha! Commitment phobic, indeed. It's redonk, really. Totally and completely redonk. And if you do the math, it just makes THIS even more ridiculous than it was originally seen to be.

For the record, I'm glad I'm a barren not-knocked-up, heterosexual, meat eating, anglophone, MAC grad, geek librarian living in So'Oh.

It's just silly thinking of the alternatives...

GI Joe PSA - Body Massage

Football Shenanigans

Tonight was the Labour Day Classic: Ti Cats vs. the Toronto Argos. A yearly event to perpetuate the hate between So'Os rival cities. Generally, these games are held during the day, but this year they decided to beef things up with a little TSN coverage, so the shenanigans weren't due to begin until 7:30 pm. As a season ticket holder, it's my duty to join in said shenanigans, so we went with the group tailgating in the downtown Hammer.

We should have known the event was sketchy at best when we arrived, only to find a giant open lot that once made up the recess area of a recently closed high school, littered with bottles, BBQs, the Hammer's finest toting open alcohol faster than you can say "law suit". Each car was charged $20 to get in... Who the money was going to, or what it was paying for, we're not quite sure. We eventually decided this event was hosted by the Ti Cats, while the city turned a blind eye. But we drank our beers and ate our roasted corn, regardless, and one of us even chose to partake in the SINGLE port-a-potty, opting out of the only other "restroom" option: peeing on the outside wall of the school.

We sit in the end zone. Meaning it's open bench seating. So there's a need to get there early if you want to get a decent seat. We always sit in the same area, but we arrived a decent 45 minutes early to catch the "pre-game show" (read: sketchy Argo cheerleaders working their hooch boots), and to people watch (read: watch the downhill spiral of drunkenness...)

Things eventually took the turn we were expecting. Due to the aforementioned tailgating, fans became increasingly intoxicated and belligerent to the point where I watched one man attempt fisticuffs with a group of security guards, a crowd of police officers putting on their man handling gloves before descending into the stands, and a young man throwing up in the foyer by the hot dog guy. My decision to leave the game at half time was further fueled by the girl who was pepper sprayed in the face (in the face!).

*sigh*

It's too bad, really. Although I love the games, and I love the people watching (and I'm even starting to understand the plays a bit more), I don't enjoy feeling like I'm watching my game in Beirut.

To quote Zack Morris (sort of...) "I love the Ti-Cats, it's too bad Hamilton gets in the way..."

Is it like this in Calgary, Hurr_ah? Saskamatoon, Pants?